"columbines" poems - Hello Poetry

i disembody you in poetry: thin scabs film over your bones, i pick them until i find new skin to lay my kisses on — a new land to baptize with my own heathen hands, i disembody you with them: chest spread open like that of a dressed foul. my body is too corrupted but it knows of intense longing, piercing live-coal eyes, it burns my neck like a crucifix, like flames on a burning metal — it heals, almost cleanses like holy fire and with new bones, i disembody you in poetry: an attempt to see you, hold you, love you whole without it consuming me: a sight of pink lips, pink tongue, pink columbines on your wrist; i take apart your entirety, press it, piece by piece on my fragile nail bed — hidden away somewhere the world loses its sight. and maybe now after all the cycles, it is the world's turn to fumble far and wide, to despair in search for your hands — your eyes that unsettle and leave the cosmos collapsing majestically in its own harshest daylight leaving us all disembodied in blinding, vivid, solar colors. forgive my compulsions to love you like this.

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Feb 6, 2022

Feb 6, 2022 at 12:15 AM UTC

femininedeath

apocalypse

i disembody you in poetry: thin scabs film over your bones, i pick them until i find new skin to lay my kisses on — a new land to baptize with my own heathen hands, i disembody you with them: chest spread open like that of a dressed foul. my body is too corrupted but it knows of intense longing, piercing live-coal eyes, it burns my neck like a crucifix, like flames on a burning metal — it heals, almost cleanses like holy fire and with new bones, i disembody you in poetry: an attempt to see you, hold you, love you whole without it consuming me: a sight of pink lips, pink tongue, pink columbines on your wrist; i take apart your entirety, press it, piece by piece on my fragile nail bed — hidden away somewhere the world loses its sight. and maybe now after all the cycles, it is the world's turn to fumble far and wide, to despair in search for your hands — your eyes that unsettle and leave the cosmos collapsing majestically in its own harshest daylight leaving us all disembodied in blinding, vivid, solar colors. forgive my compulsions to love you like this.

30

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart.

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2.5k

William Cullen Bryant

To the Fringed Gentian

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart.

20

Foggy breeze through my fingertips when sunburnt days seem coveted in memory. When the columbines came back from the dead. Burnt up cities... The last glimpse of firefly lights grew dim behind me The trees sprouted everywhere like stardust The pillars I once worshipped in incense with amulets became faded ruins... The weathered walls texture were like sequins with no glimmer I escaped again to a place with green lakes and forrests of pines It's quieter up here in the mountains Like a shudder through the window I hear the old house moan all through the day and all through the night The sunlight pierces through the blinds illuminating his face which is already illuminated But you're my bumblebee that insignia- a honey gatherer If you subtract the intimacy out of *** Nothing's left, but hollow mechanical ******* Stealing the rythmn from the music Sturdy as a beam I lay Unable to grasp at anything It's just noise Sweaty day, shivering nights-juxtaposed It's like living on Mercury In decomposition like a basket of rotten lemons Past conversations crush their weight against my open ribs No parent teacher or friend told me how all consuming the sensation would be... Dazed eyes staring through disheveled blinds, I was dropping rose buds off the second floor balcony in the night They hit the scratchy asphalt like a gentle meteor shower Monotonous nights replay the same phases That moon... A face splashing from gibbous to crescent Waning on my malady Always stirring like a steady torch

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Mar 1, 2018

Mar 1, 2018 at 2:40 AM UTC

bowsnarrows

NEON

Foggy breeze through my fingertips when sunburnt days seem coveted in memory. When the columbines came back from the dead. Burnt up cities... The last glimpse of firefly lights grew dim behind me The trees sprouted everywhere like stardust The pillars I once worshipped in incense with amulets became faded ruins... The weathered walls texture were like sequins with no glimmer I escaped again to a place with green lakes and forrests of pines It's quieter up here in the mountains Like a shudder through the window I hear the old house moan all through the day and all through the night The sunlight pierces through the blinds illuminating his face which is already illuminated But you're my bumblebee that insignia- a honey gatherer If you subtract the intimacy out of *** Nothing's left, but hollow mechanical ******* Stealing the rythmn from the music Sturdy as a beam I lay Unable to grasp at anything It's just noise Sweaty day, shivering nights-juxtaposed It's like living on Mercury In decomposition like a basket of rotten lemons Past conversations crush their weight against my open ribs No parent teacher or friend told me how all consuming the sensation would be... Dazed eyes staring through disheveled blinds, I was dropping rose buds off the second floor balcony in the night They hit the scratchy asphalt like a gentle meteor shower Monotonous nights replay the same phases That moon... A face splashing from gibbous to crescent Waning on my malady Always stirring like a steady torch

56

I was going to write you a poem stating how your sound is long, and arching like leaves to the sun. How it curls and soars like a bluejay taking wing from an autumn aspen tree or how it can flit, like a hummingbird back to the columbines that bloom violet, and sensual as May …But I felt like a ******* idiot comparing your sound to birds of all things. birds are too easy, anybody can write a ******* poem comparing a singer’s voice to birds, for godssake that’s too easy I want to compare your sound to a cigarette, but I’m afraid that comparison might offend you… what I mean is that your sound burns at the end, like leaves, if you light them, and I breathe it there’s not a better way to say I inhale when you sing, and what comes back out, to the air is an echo, but it looks nice and in response I wave and clutch at the sky piteously, but your song pats my back, with heavy hand and says that things are fine and good and your sound can rasp like flipping book pages your sound can roll down a grass hill in June your sound can rope the ****** moon down to where I lie with stars in my eyes, and nothing on my tongue And like poems about birds, your sound is impossibly easy but like birds is nigh uncatchable and, like the moon, its light is fleeting and like cigarettes, your sound is likely killing my insides.

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Mar 18, 2013

Mar 18, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC

soluna

So, uh, I have something to tell you...

I was going to write you a poem stating how your sound is long, and arching like leaves to the sun. How it curls and soars like a bluejay taking wing from an autumn aspen tree or how it can flit, like a hummingbird back to the columbines that bloom violet, and sensual as May …But I felt like a ******* idiot comparing your sound to birds of all things. birds are too easy, anybody can write a ******* poem comparing a singer’s voice to birds, for godssake that’s too easy I want to compare your sound to a cigarette, but I’m afraid that comparison might offend you… what I mean is that your sound burns at the end, like leaves, if you light them, and I breathe it there’s not a better way to say I inhale when you sing, and what comes back out, to the air is an echo, but it looks nice and in response I wave and clutch at the sky piteously, but your song pats my back, with heavy hand and says that things are fine and good and your sound can rasp like flipping book pages your sound can roll down a grass hill in June your sound can rope the ****** moon down to where I lie with stars in my eyes, and nothing on my tongue And like poems about birds, your sound is impossibly easy but like birds is nigh uncatchable and, like the moon, its light is fleeting and like cigarettes, your sound is likely killing my insides.

37

I so often yearn for the brilliant freedom children exude at the public pool-- in their Tahitian orange board shorts swinging like mudflaps against youthful legs covered in fine, blonde wisps, girls in lemon sorbet one pieces standing triumphantly akimbo at the water's edge with small protruding bellies for no other reason than to be, beauties much like wildflowers, lone columbines or other pale fauna-- evenly evertan or milky white, beet sunburns that creep down the sharp points of shoulder blades, barely held in place by sheets of taut canvas leaking water and blinking rapidly beneath oily fingers smeared with sunscreen and diluted peach creamsicle--fresh glass blades pressed and dried to little feet as if they were pages out of a wriggling book-- slapping wetly against pavement so hot you could swear the children sizzle , leaping over bathers--teenage girls that flinch and scoff--as if they can fly and we are ants, them, giants who we cannot touch. Whose droplets barely graze us, whose enveloping warm wind we ignore or reproach. If we grow dim and colder as we age then these are still boiling, still utterly reactive to any and every substance every limb a curious proboscis, mercurial temperaments and tiny hearts that flash like switchboards and wallop against caverns heavy with discovery.

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Jun 15, 2016

Jun 15, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC

broooke

Tiny Soundboards.

I so often yearn for the brilliant freedom children exude at the public pool-- in their Tahitian orange board shorts swinging like mudflaps against youthful legs covered in fine, blonde wisps, girls in lemon sorbet one pieces standing triumphantly akimbo at the water's edge with small protruding bellies for no other reason than to be, beauties much like wildflowers, lone columbines or other pale fauna-- evenly evertan or milky white, beet sunburns that creep down the sharp points of shoulder blades, barely held in place by sheets of taut canvas leaking water and blinking rapidly beneath oily fingers smeared with sunscreen and diluted peach creamsicle--fresh glass blades pressed and dried to little feet as if they were pages out of a wriggling book-- slapping wetly against pavement so hot you could swear the children sizzle , leaping over bathers--teenage girls that flinch and scoff--as if they can fly and we are ants, them, giants who we cannot touch. Whose droplets barely graze us, whose enveloping warm wind we ignore or reproach. If we grow dim and colder as we age then these are still boiling, still utterly reactive to any and every substance every limb a curious proboscis, mercurial temperaments and tiny hearts that flash like switchboards and wallop against caverns heavy with discovery.

30

After spending all winter In shoes and boots My feet were put to their Summer test With a five mile trek see yellow butterflies! see the wild columbines! In flip flops And the blisters And the pain In an illogically brilliant manner Make me deeply and happily satisfied

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Jun 14, 2016

Jun 14, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC

timspartacus

Happy Dry Feet

After spending all winter In shoes and boots My feet were put to their Summer test With a five mile trek see yellow butterflies! see the wild columbines! In flip flops And the blisters And the pain In an illogically brilliant manner Make me deeply and happily satisfied

14

A heart that learns to love Is one that doesn't fit the glove I was sure I didn't need anything Nothing I haven't seen When I whisper in your ear I know you believe what you hear Cause you're made for me And I'll pull you close and near So leave your shoes by the door, we ain't leaving anytime soon Til someone shouts for help and the Columbines bloom It's cold in this place and there's no whiskey in my cup So roll over, know that you're enough, and baby pull the covers up Your faith will be put to the test But I promise I am all that's best I've got too many skeletons to count No need to know how high the amount So leave your shoes by the door, we ain't leaving anytime soon Til someone shouts for help and the Columbines bloom It's cold in this place and there's no whiskey in my cup So roll over, know that you're enough, and pull the covers up You're stuck in my mind, I can't get you out This is something to write home about Sorry there are some things you won't know And there are too many things to let go So leave your shoes by the door, we ain't leaving anytime soon Til someone shouts for help and the Columbines bloom It's cold in this place and there's no whiskey in my cup So roll over, know that you're enough, and baby pull the covers up

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Oct 21, 2014

Oct 21, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC

SOI

Leave Your Shoes by My Bed

A heart that learns to love Is one that doesn't fit the glove I was sure I didn't need anything Nothing I haven't seen When I whisper in your ear I know you believe what you hear Cause you're made for me And I'll pull you close and near So leave your shoes by the door, we ain't leaving anytime soon Til someone shouts for help and the Columbines bloom It's cold in this place and there's no whiskey in my cup So roll over, know that you're enough, and baby pull the covers up Your faith will be put to the test But I promise I am all that's best I've got too many skeletons to count No need to know how high the amount So leave your shoes by the door, we ain't leaving anytime soon Til someone shouts for help and the Columbines bloom It's cold in this place and there's no whiskey in my cup So roll over, know that you're enough, and pull the covers up You're stuck in my mind, I can't get you out This is something to write home about Sorry there are some things you won't know And there are too many things to let go So leave your shoes by the door, we ain't leaving anytime soon Til someone shouts for help and the Columbines bloom It's cold in this place and there's no whiskey in my cup So roll over, know that you're enough, and baby pull the covers up

28

By Arcassin Burnham "Let me be the Muse and the confusion*, Riding on a stallion through the pretty green grass, Staying young if we please, Don't want to define the Lord's wishes due to the Beautiful flower crown on the top of the head of A goddess being modest in every aspect of her Life and showing everlasting kindness but me, I've been like this..... Fishing creeks and sundresses fill the ambience, Smelling fresh scents of lavender and smoked wood, "No forest fires in the place that we call home and pour* Our hearts out in to jars and burry them underneath the ground With all the other broken dreams that hasn't broke the Jars from within side for all of these problems that we Posses will be in flying Columbines, You pick and choose the destiny , God's testing your fate, We lack some empathy but what's not allowed is hate, Follow me.

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Jul 14, 2016

Jul 14, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC

arcassin-burnham

Young Wonder #1

By Arcassin Burnham "Let me be the Muse and the confusion*, Riding on a stallion through the pretty green grass, Staying young if we please, Don't want to define the Lord's wishes due to the Beautiful flower crown on the top of the head of A goddess being modest in every aspect of her Life and showing everlasting kindness but me, I've been like this..... Fishing creeks and sundresses fill the ambience, Smelling fresh scents of lavender and smoked wood, "No forest fires in the place that we call home and pour* Our hearts out in to jars and burry them underneath the ground With all the other broken dreams that hasn't broke the Jars from within side for all of these problems that we Posses will be in flying Columbines, You pick and choose the destiny , God's testing your fate, We lack some empathy but what's not allowed is hate, Follow me.

19