"clustering" poems
MELANIN BEAUTY
She was adorable in her coffee tinted skin
Her beauty as rare as the clustering of dragonflies
Amazing to look upon like the gathering of butterflies
Through her eyes stars felt closer than ever
Her lips was as beautiful as the opening of petals
My heart paused when our eyes came in contact
I felt like i have seen the queen of all that is beautiful
The envy of every woman there is to be
She was thin tall and adorned in elegance
Endowed with charisma of an Ethiopian princess
Her smile was first born
Her beauty always suffocated the crowd
All i could see was the wonder of her skin
I have fallen under the spell of this black queen
She was a fragile treasure, the elixir of beauty
She sparkled like she was kissed by the morning sun
She was never satisfied with her perfection
Trying to fix what GOD has personally certified
Denting you to wear a skin that isn’t yours
Like sharp sand i watched her beauty sink rapidly
She was deep rooted in self-doubt of her skin pigment
Not knowing the magnificence of her existence
She never knew she was a gush of glamour
Glorious to behold and graced with melanin
Gradually she became high on inferiority complex
She became lost in a world she was created to own
Your beautiful brown body is a work of art
Dipped in black gold and coated with brown sugar
You define an indestructible uniqueness
Your black skin is a badge of superiority
Black is magical and above comparison
Black complexion is the new religion .
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
Spasming in life’s web,
Clustering under eight legged dreads,
Watching some rise from its smother,
But only for short pathetic seconds.
I watch many downfalls,
Idle in wait for my own,
Seizuring with a horrible burden,
Fortune telling with no end fortune.
All mere blinded mirrors laying in wait,
Distorting the spidery figure differently,
Mine reflects its harsh fangs and nature,
Others reflects admiration towards the creator.
The web a complex beauty,
But I can’t claim cruelty home,
The ripples of intertwined death,
Some by father...foe...or friend.
The inhumane humanity,
Puppets and the almighty player,
Cloud me from things called prayer,
For that hope must be alive and well.
I’m just waiting for my bones to decay,
Peace in nothingness or so you claim flames,
Free from the *******
And all that it stands for.
I’m an unholy ghost.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
Pi, at the end of its endless decimals' grandeur,
meets a human being—who holds a mirror!
Until now, the number, knowing only sway,
has been lost in discovery’s polished way.
No more: it begins—on a human—in front of its eye.
Patterns and unique precision, patternless waves,
new math tides soar, pivot at the cosmos' height,
only to bag the ultimate truth:
Fathima—the first spiritual woman—mooned there first!
Fathima steps forward where nature falls behind,
across the dead end, the irrational chasm she strides.
For the cosmos' deep mind, Earth, the ocean is but a drop;
the rope to the top is the lead—the feminine Fathima’s lock!
Raw Fathima moves; in shadow, nature follows,
clustering atoms span between the two,
only to witness her encrypted, secured fashion—
intact, uncharted, yet fully functioning,
in Makkah and Medina, while she lived.
The red fairies at midday’s spot-on,
the black swans arching rainbows in wonder—
marvel how Fathima deduces, straw by straw,
the maestros’ dream of ascension,
potion-polished, taking Ma pauses in liminal crescendos,
between past and future, here and hereafter—a circular duo.
Limning out chiaroscuro in light and shadow—
nothing like it exists, in plain sight or the world in toto!
Rainbows shaded in, sparking out,
the scent of roses in her veiled black hair:
the cosmos anew glinting off her edge,
deeper quintessence than dark matter!
The blueprint, the intelligent pre-design, rests in her elements.
The breakthrough exponent—hidden in her eyes.
Yet beyond the masses’ gaze,
she remains Zahra—light upon the original way.
Truly, only one feminine form has reached across
the other end of the cosmos' endless highway,
zooming past nature’s hidden gems—the irrational Pi,
the complex chasm—a mathematical goldmine.
Beyond the masses’ eyes and their painted canvases,
shine the daylight and the glowing fireflies of the night.
Viva Mankind! Fathima is the Moon at the highest high!
Dec 12, 2021
Dec 12, 2021 at 11:53 PM UTC
Ye who have passed Death’s haggard hills; and ye
Whom trees that knew your sires shall cease to know
And still stand silent:—is it all a show,
A wisp that laughs upon the wall?—decree
Of some inexorable supremacy
Which ever, as man strains his blind surmise
From depth to ominous depth, looks past his eyes,
Sphinx-faced with unabashed augury?
Nay, rather question the Earth’s self. Invoke
The storm-felled forest-trees moss-grown to-day
Whose roots are hillocks where the children play;
Or ask the silver sapling ’neath what yoke
Those stars, his spray-crown’s clustering gems, shall wage
Their journey still when his boughs shrink with age.
3.5k
The grass was clear in the moist of the ruins moat
Twas dawn and all this hike, not even a city I could sight
The plains were sheer as the white satin coat I've seen
Clash, a clustering view from mountains down to hills
Shaking knees as I rise to pick up my bed of sheets
Then the breeze swept as I shivered to its grasping chills
Distant peeks; unbridled stallions are troubled free
The sunray spots the verge and brightens the darkest end
At lost in the moment, a nature's sage of imagery blends
A brown wren swiftly glides upon to rest at my tent
In the midst of the day like rain in June and blooms of May
Swans, Geese and white petals dancing to a bluish bay
Solitary to be, but with the rivers overflowing symphonies
We'd sing hymns to delight in an afternoon galore
A steadfast rhythm clinging as I walk with God alone
Euphoric army of billows cascading, a purple-orange scene
As I idle in the view of fields depicting a justful liberty
To smile and remember someone cared with all is please
Singing crickets and fireflies we're all a friend of mine
At eve I rolled endlessly, frolicking at the midnight meadow
Casting joys and crowns as the moon beams a silver line
To the hinterlands, life's a breeze and everybody twas at ease
An escapade I was wanting to get lost from life's reality
Meeting pauper's, gazing wonders, then we'd all fall asleep
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 12:11 AM UTC
Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest)
Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles,
The rushing amorous contact high in space together,
The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,
Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,
In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,
’Till o’er the river pois’d, the twain yet one, a moment’s lull,
A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing,
Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight,
She hers, he his, pursuing.
2.8k
tented World of Bubbles and
critters, monkey-wild,
the slant-
off,
the fathoms of a depth,
of Worlds whose histories end
in a fraction of what nature does do.
Amola mola, designator
a bulb of light dangling down to the nauticals,
the bubble armoured polyps.
The lively cesspool of micro-seamounts, where,
once there stood strong
a sea-green zoo,
now vaguely stands a mineral vestige.
Gaia shut off the vent
everyone goes away.
visited by wraiths --
These black lampreys, hooded and veiled,
clustering, cloistering,
the successors who
they and they only
the new deepsea robbers.
now a lighter sinking feeling,
the demigod sinks hitherto like nature does do.
a giant ***** whale dies above
Casting its shadow of hope
and the wraiths appear in the umbra
pushing & shoving for a spot
food arrives with a thud;
a castle of whale bones as their home
they were never so happy.
so crazily, thoughtlessly food-driven
deepsea "things"
swish-swash swish-swash goes the weird fish circus,
and then, crazily so
upon their trophy, the mirror wraiths,
of a bubbled World
feed in frenzy.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
Last week we bought a bottle of epilepsy to share
at a party made to crash on dinner plates
rolling down uphill battles.
The clustering warm anticipation set to pounce falls short
with talks of who is late and who can't make it
because someone in the family disapproves.
Who cares about the bitter salt cakes in the dust of fossilized crustaceans?
The polar bears march to beautiful, pointless noise beating off the living receptacles.
The locals are scars in the conclusions deep in the visiting sounds—almost forgot but still murmuring.
The first citizens of noise.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
I want to live in a protoplasmic land:
Where only earth's natural resources are availed...
but not any exploitable extraction from nature.
where the cacophonies of friction are unheard..
Where the toxic air doesn't seem to arouse from the rooms of renaissance,
Where the sky synergizes with the nature,
Where the oeuvre of the planet remains pristine,
Where the trees vacillate with the harmony of winds.
Where there exists no manufactured light....
But only the piercing rays of self-igniting sun to synthesize the earth with seemingly eonian brightness...
And on nocturnals,star and moon drives me,if moon masquerades,i.e.,
When the commixture of cirrocumulus clouds form an impenetrable layers of watery clouds,
let the thundering light texture me while its clustering clouds embracing me with its rapturous rain,
Let the nature do its own karma,
I am not here to meddle in nature's subtle poise,
but to infuse into it......
O'shiva pave me the unobscure and quintessential way for me to dissolve in to you,
Let me drop my essential earth and dissolve my sumptuous and non-matter soul in to everlasting you....
Let me hush in to those singular days and solitary sounds....
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
We both were sitting still;
I, just clustering courage
to hug you and have a deep feel.
You were fast-
Blew my cheek with a long kiss,
As you hugged me, the moment turned full of bliss.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC
I want to warm my hands in you,
the soft merrigold folds of your
buttercream skin.
Lay in the crook your shoulder,
hiding my face deep in the smell
of ocean breezes and mist,
spraying up around me,
setting me free.
Trace my spine like the highway,
hitting every bump in the road,
sliding off the side once in awhile
to skirt down the slope if my side;
tuck your knees to your chin,
like you do,
like you are.
How when I think of you,
I think of the cosmos,
and nebulas,
and star filled spaces
All clustering like broken glass.
Because that's what you are,
you are broken glass.
See through in most places,
Tiny splinters here and there,
so you can
Still see through,
see your reflection,
But when the glare hit just right,
you are inpenetrable,
no ones eyes able to look for long.
I wonder what you think of when you
think of me?
Do you think of wind?
Always around you,
touching inch of your skin,
setting you free,
or setting against you,
heavy.
Or do you think of somethin else?
Something worse?
Something,
like invisibility maybe?
Can you really see me?
Cause I don't think you can.
Not with the way you treat me.
Pretending I exist only half the time.
You let me do things for you,
put myself out there..
And then I get excited about something ,
or maybe I need you.
And you jut sit there,
and pretend I don't exist.
And it feels like my lungs have been cut out.
But it's okay,
what's the point of breathing anyways?
When the life is knocked of you,
again,
and again.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
Celestial and spritely flower head
A cloud of white in a wheel
A spread of stars on a sunny bed
Enchanting - a vision ethereal
Blooming afar and clustering nigh
What bud, what blossom, what ****
Blowing away with just a sigh
In a breath, in the wind that breathes.
While the rose is crowned and daisies loved
How often are you brushed away
But magic lies in your snowy fluff
As wishes fly night and day
You greet the morning, a languid dawn
As the skies turn pink and bright
Then gather close with the moon's rising song
That plays with the coming of night
A fairy's flower you seem to me
A joy - a charm - a delight
Flying away over meadows and leas
In the wind with your wings of white.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 12:31 PM UTC
Chapter I
I once was young minded,
vulnerable with wide tooth grins
and fluttering words,
binding soft skin with liquid
metals - like gallium,
clustering in my ribbed fingertips and
letting love level in my lips.
I turned old the day I watched
rough bodies portraying the new style
of
***
on a vhs tape, and he
gave me a shaking milkshake to
turn off my developing
voicebox.
I always wore this barbie nightgown
that had tears from the nights before,
but that's ancient dust that folks
flip past in encyclopedias.
as he knelt down to tie my veins
together in little bows,
I untied after each loop was set in
my bones.
his acidic fingers braced my eight
year old metal frame,
so I broke the nuts and bolts since
I wanted to see if he was
a part of the human race,
I wanted to see if he could bleed
iron-richness that kept myself breathing.
Chapter II
he was beautiful.
his philosophy branched in
segments and he tasted of
earthy tones, but sometimes
he couldn't smile easy and
I felt his love only in acts of passion.
The football game stuttered in
pure vertigo,
as if my body was still
positioned in missionary.
he held me in concern, his arms
laced as protection from myself.
as a survivor, his words felt like
whiplash or lagging from too much
flying in the high altitude.
I needed to forget, float, forgive
and begin the process over again.
I would never see the shades of love
from anyone other than from him,
his words used to brand me.
Chapter III
I drank too much.
I wished on meteorites,
lead-filled, hoping they wouldn't
fall on the tent.
my luck was never strong enough.
I felt as if a wildfire was singeing
my dysfunctional limbs.
I wanted him off. now.
and my tongue was made of
parchment paper. crisped.
I woke up ten after nine.
my body repulsed me,
throwing up the last of poisonous
alcohol I left stranded the
night before.
I devoted that I will never sleep in
a tent again.
Chapter IV
I am finally free.
I still have energy in these
old bones,
and I want to put them
to good use.
so I'll walk for centuries to
find truth and trust.
I use my voice to tell myself
I am more profound than the
surface film those insignificants swept
on my skin.
I found my voice again.
Mar 31, 2011
Mar 31, 2011 at 4:51 PM UTC
I, in a field amongst my peers;
We are so similar
Almost all the same-
We grow together
From the soil beneath
Our stems, our roots
Combining, clustering,
We are all connected.
I feel like I am different though,
I have my own stem
My own hue of pink
My own pretty petals
My own green leaves
My own movement
My own form of life.
I realize there are others
That look like me,
That grow like me,
That sway in the wind as I do.
But I also know that
I am my own flower-
I am not like the rest-
I am an individual.
This field of wildflowers,
Filled with stems and petals
That may seem the same-
Yet so exceptionally different,
Is simply a community.
What makes this vast meadow
So whole and complete,
Is every distinct blossom
Coming together-
Creating a natural
Convergence of unique,
Beautiful, living beings.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC
Statistically speaking
my sample size
of your thoughts
is minimal at best
biased at worst
I cannot draw
a reliable conclusion
from this mess
Convenience hurts
my chances
Clustering too
separates me
from understanding you
Estimated Probability:
a questionable
unlikely to rare
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
Times New Roman reminds me of a time when I knew that romance was not dead because I got to hold it in my hand
The curve of the characters reminds me of the uneven curve of your cupids bow
The claustrophobic clustering of vowels reminds me of the cringe worthy cling of your foggy glass frames stuck to mine, failing sight feeding failed intimacy
The simplicity of each symbol reminds me of the systematic sufficiency with which you seduced me in so few words,
the straightforward soliloquy with which you struck me and bereft me of my sanity.
The length of each letter reminds me of the longevity of our last embrace
Lanky limbs looped laterally to the length of my body for literal milliseconds
The overuse in overdue essays typed in early hours of the morning reminds me of the overuse of three words and the emptiness and lack of effort behind them,
Submitting those three words for a good grade and a pat on the back, coming up short because professor and princess alike saw through the inability to do
With meaning,
That your words had no feeling.
The fact that though I've faced fancier fonts and fell for them fanatically, I always return to the first, reminds me that though a fair few have found more than friendship in my fragile forearms that the first is the forever
and if at times the former
then always the future
the finest font I've ever found is you
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Swift falls the night!
Clear comets burn like fins on sirens.
The darkness is silent; hypnotic as some black void!
To find peace In clustering solidity
Hushes and shrieks among the
Raging of this city.
Snow is cascading down long walks to
High crackles and alluring
Roaring of Bacchanalia's.
Drinks at my preferred haunts;
Broken bottles of brew, down-town, under flat roofs.
Budding breeze smoking with boon companions.
Lingers on and on
This ether, this buzz;
Ascending further and farther to those heavens up above
All the rhubarb; commotion hanging in the air,
Till we shatter our limbs among still song.
Late early-mornings and sunken swollen eyes!
Regrets are like dreams:
Something forgotten in time.
Slush edged roads
And shoes gliding
Over Welcome mats.
(Mine as well, It's the weekend)
Get faded.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 12:34 AM UTC
neon simple lights littered street
well glowing;
deeply
purpl.e
tired bodies roil
clustering
for warm liquid spouts)
they don't ever stop
summoned by loose
whim of smooth youths
to dash their minds on wet rocks.
what shallow indulgents
those
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 4:35 PM UTC
Coiled, grey March –snow patches slow to disperse on the townscape -
trying to turn the year.
A grey plume drifts through the low sky, like smoke but not smoke,
slow to disperse
reforming and palping like a long streak of foam on the sea; a grubby bag
turning, plastic and drifting
dividing in the sky: a shifting exclamation mark pulls out of shape
turns pale to vanishing, is gone.
A sound like pages riffling, like a thousand paper fans rustling, a darkening in the air
turning in the low light all together
wheeling , breaking, re-combining, stretching again. Sky geometry.
Still that dry whisper-clustering
of many wings holding close formation, turning and swooping together.
The cloud is back, is gone, is back again – endlessly
The grey light feels unnaturally late
above the Eagle Rec
starlings are moulding shapes, most beautiful murmuration.
The complex maths of defence – stay close, stay close –
turn, wheel, stay close.
Against the pale dusk the moment stretches beyond bearing,
that high, remote plasticity floats on as the light hesitates
dragging out the turn towards darkness.
The hawk must be near, striking into the crowd -
spin, turn on a wing-tip, wheel close, divide and turn: with luck
she will take your neighbour.
The black bunched crowd drops as one, to roost, to rest.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
*Stars born clustering
On earth as in bright heavens
Child picking flowers*
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 9:58 PM UTC
The night winds howled--the billows dashed
Against the tossing chest;
And Danae to her broken heart
Her slumbering infant pressed.
"My little child"--in tears she said--
"To wake and weep is mine,
But thou canst sleep--thou dost not know
Thy mother's lot, and thine.
"The moon is up, the moonbeams smile--
They tremble on the main;
But dark, within my floating cell,
To me they smile in vain.
"Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm,
Thy clustering locks are dry,
Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust,
Nor breakers booming high.
"As o'er thy sweet unconscious face
A mournful watch I keep,
I think, didst thou but know thy fate,
How thou wouldst also weep.
"Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds
That vex the restless brine--
When shall these eyes, my babe, be sealed
As peacefully as thine!"
1k
It’s the motif of my life to dream things that other don’t dream,
So while I was dreaming of you, you weren’t dreaming of me,
And I walked through a hazy field, until the cool moon broke the horizon,
And the glorious clouds began to swell and bellow until they sang,
That as you spoke those words of yours were soothing sweet rain.
I let the drops fall to parade about my mind,
They washed my weariness and spoke of the refined,
But rain may not always be tame, and so joyous,
Too much can be alarming and ominous,
The nascent of floods that drown air in lungs
Or causes the sprout of a little seed I buried deep,
From a past that I don’t want to repeat.
So that as I lingered through these rain drops
In this large outstretched field; the seed’s buds vegetated
Into glorious trees stretching out, so at their sight my foot stops;
And clustering their branches they yielded a lustrous fruit,
The mere sight quivered my tongue in desire to make them sweat their juice,
But though it may be glorious such fruit has potential to offend;
I’d eaten it before; though scrumptious, with its effects
Now I feared to taste it once more,
Yet it now grew before me yet again.
My heart’s beats rang an alarm bell as I swallowed my inducing saliva,
That quickly I began to pluck them from where they grew,
So all were hastily pulled, as though their sight would be as eyeing Godiva,
And behind my back (to cease their being at my front) I threw,
Turning to leave -- there they all exhibit, elegantly displayed,
All neatly piled before me where they were accidently reaped,
In fear I grabbed them for their destruction and I started to run
Searching for a ravine, to dump this tempter that I heaped.
The sweet smell illuminated, I looked at the lovely red orbs,
I pulled one out, and rain drops continued to pour,
The more rain that fell, the more I would adore,
The fruit beckoned a bite, a small bit to absorb;
Always the rain continued to pour.
The rain led me on, so I thought it could be,
So I took a bite of the fruit that it made me see,
The taste was all but what I see in a dream’s eye,
For in a dream is all where the glory of such tastes lie.
This revelation struck me hard with that first small bite
The thunder clapped before me with a flashing bright,
I slipped in the mud, all the fruit upon my back rotting
Fell to the ground, splattered, dripping, melting in despair,
I dared to dream of you with that bite right there,
But it’s the motif of my life to dream of things that others don’t dream,
So, when I was dreaming of you, you weren’t dreaming of me.
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 6:49 AM UTC
You gotta remember
that we're just
upright primates
full of fear,
pounding chest,
full of joy,
vicious in survival.
Small band of the Hand
clumping together,
increasingly clustering,
like fractal adolescence.
Fighting and *******
Cuban Missile Crisis,
and Free Love Sixties.
Proof that solutions
for small Hand & Bobono
don't fit sullen temperament
of precious preteen.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
A smattering of stars
Strewn across the sky
Little pinpricks of light
Blinking in the soft night air
Planets and Moons
Suns and Stars
Constellations and Galaxies
Clustering together
Against the darkness between them
Light from far-off worlds
Light visible to us
Light visible to each other
Light the language of the universe
Light the conversation in the multiverse
And yet we stand here
Human Beings on this our planet Earth
Contemplating in the soft night air
Feeling large and powerful and in charge
Our hand is larger than those pinpricks of light
We hold up our hands and block out the light
And darkness swallows the night
Feeling small and insignificant and adrift
We are programmed to seek the light
And in this seeking we come ever closer
To understanding the true nature
Of the conversation of the multiverse
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
Sweet crumbling words construct my madness.
Life renewed from within the embers in the ashes,
and on the boundaries of the remaining darkness
monsters plunged in to the depths.
Hope whispered murky clear, clustering the facts.
Reality blurred from steam of visions,
long dead stars clouded in the skies.
And as I burrowed in my crystal castle,
a breeze whispered of hidden passions;
it crawled, stealthily, to my covered ears
quietly, faintly, slitheringly.
A serpent in the kingdom of the chaste
A flame in the frailty of ice.
A truth that shattered all frontiers and my words
the sensibility of ours.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC