"conflagrates" poems - Hello Poetry

Cooling air, the senses assault Done is the day, I’ve earned my salt. Daytime light has turned on me On moonlit streets such trickery The pleasant splash, those leaves on foot Make drunk these nostrils, nectarous soot Pensive mood floods the mind And of their beauty I’m truly blind I do not think of Autumn whole Only alms within my bowl As you’ll see I’m leaf inspired Though their rudiments I have mired Autumn ring, the chilling tenors Rejoiced and played in earthly manors That icy rush makes cold the spirits Yet conflagrates ye adherents That festive smell, incense the air! No motive o’yours ever err And though the day leaves more hastily These changing leaves get the best o’me Transient seconds plump and inspir’d Of your natural portraits I’ll never tire The mountainside, my most treasur’d mosaic Whatever great works, it’s more archaic Falling to the ground, like listless colorful rain Whether as the nemophilist, or seated behind a pane These little souls returning to earth Fill me with the greatest mirth Though they exemplify an age ended Verbiage they have transcended I’d fill my days with gallery mileage Gladly glut with their splendid sillage As they flit, the stuff of dreams In their midst, pure sophrosyne. Day or night I’m overcome Eyes wide open and stricken dumb Overcome with words and tune Bursting forth, this ideal plume And like a flower, complex in bloom Can’t be captured, hemmed and hewn Vapor these words, though fall inspire’d No due medium, pen or lyre Untouchable this golden essence Wealth of ideas, gone in seconds Appropriate, it seems to me My head, my thoughts a leafy tree Arrives the autumn, gold and dun Thousands escape when I reach for one So I’ll just watch in quiet awe The beauty whole, no hem nor haw Not try to make that art my own Won’t reduce it to rhyme and tone I’ll simply revel their naïve lull Ephemeral, yes, but never dull Shout out happily in leafy halls Marry to words what return my calls Leave thou ****** in pulchritude pall And question not what comes of fall.

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Oct 11, 2013

Oct 11, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC

jp-goss

Leaves (inspire me); or, I can't make Autumn in my head, you know.

Cooling air, the senses assault Done is the day, I’ve earned my salt. Daytime light has turned on me On moonlit streets such trickery The pleasant splash, those leaves on foot Make drunk these nostrils, nectarous soot Pensive mood floods the mind And of their beauty I’m truly blind I do not think of Autumn whole Only alms within my bowl As you’ll see I’m leaf inspired Though their rudiments I have mired Autumn ring, the chilling tenors Rejoiced and played in earthly manors That icy rush makes cold the spirits Yet conflagrates ye adherents That festive smell, incense the air! No motive o’yours ever err And though the day leaves more hastily These changing leaves get the best o’me Transient seconds plump and inspir’d Of your natural portraits I’ll never tire The mountainside, my most treasur’d mosaic Whatever great works, it’s more archaic Falling to the ground, like listless colorful rain Whether as the nemophilist, or seated behind a pane These little souls returning to earth Fill me with the greatest mirth Though they exemplify an age ended Verbiage they have transcended I’d fill my days with gallery mileage Gladly glut with their splendid sillage As they flit, the stuff of dreams In their midst, pure sophrosyne. Day or night I’m overcome Eyes wide open and stricken dumb Overcome with words and tune Bursting forth, this ideal plume And like a flower, complex in bloom Can’t be captured, hemmed and hewn Vapor these words, though fall inspire’d No due medium, pen or lyre Untouchable this golden essence Wealth of ideas, gone in seconds Appropriate, it seems to me My head, my thoughts a leafy tree Arrives the autumn, gold and dun Thousands escape when I reach for one So I’ll just watch in quiet awe The beauty whole, no hem nor haw Not try to make that art my own Won’t reduce it to rhyme and tone I’ll simply revel their naïve lull Ephemeral, yes, but never dull Shout out happily in leafy halls Marry to words what return my calls Leave thou ****** in pulchritude pall And question not what comes of fall.

58

I can not cry; but try to alter the faulty System unjust; exploitative, crafty. Not by guns or bombs; but by words Sharper to pierce the heart of lords.. Oh! In oil India boils, by brothers‘ plan, As chicken- in the political, luxury-pan While the fans of selfish Capitalism fan The gas ,Cylinders gasp violently, man! Inflation by salary hike conflagrates As corruption fumes out choking rates At the wading helpless, hopeless voters By fiscal magic masquerades of looters. In surging words as mirage in deserts They drag us through the slums -concerts To vote, to enthrone them with whips of laws Supported by the ambitious callous fellows But, I hear the giggling behind the curtain As silhouettes briskly move for certain. No more sobbing ,dear ,in our tribulation But opt ,no more sale of votes in election. .

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Sep 18, 2012

Sep 18, 2012 at 12:02 AM UTC

pnasarudheen

I cannot cry

I can not cry; but try to alter the faulty System unjust; exploitative, crafty. Not by guns or bombs; but by words Sharper to pierce the heart of lords.. Oh! In oil India boils, by brothers‘ plan, As chicken- in the political, luxury-pan While the fans of selfish Capitalism fan The gas ,Cylinders gasp violently, man! Inflation by salary hike conflagrates As corruption fumes out choking rates At the wading helpless, hopeless voters By fiscal magic masquerades of looters. In surging words as mirage in deserts They drag us through the slums -concerts To vote, to enthrone them with whips of laws Supported by the ambitious callous fellows But, I hear the giggling behind the curtain As silhouettes briskly move for certain. No more sobbing ,dear ,in our tribulation But opt ,no more sale of votes in election. .

21

I can not cry; but try to alter the faulty System unjust; exploitative, crafty. Not by guns or bombs; but by words Sharper to pierce the heart of lords.. Oh! In oil India boils, by brothers‘ plan, As chicken- in the political, luxury-pan While the fans of selfish Capitalism fan The gas ,Cylinders gasp violently, man! Inflation by salary hike conflagrates As corruption fumes out choking rates At the wading helpless, hopeless voters By fiscal magic masquerades of looters. In surging words as mirage in deserts They drag us through the slums -concerts To vote, to enthrone them with whips of laws Supported by the ambitious callous fellows But, I hear the giggling behind the curtain As silhouettes briskly move for certain. No more sobbing ,dear ,in our tribulation But opt ,no more sale of votes in election. .

0

Sep 18, 2012

Sep 18, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC

pnasarudheen

I cannot cry

I can not cry; but try to alter the faulty System unjust; exploitative, crafty. Not by guns or bombs; but by words Sharper to pierce the heart of lords.. Oh! In oil India boils, by brothers‘ plan, As chicken- in the political, luxury-pan While the fans of selfish Capitalism fan The gas ,Cylinders gasp violently, man! Inflation by salary hike conflagrates As corruption fumes out choking rates At the wading helpless, hopeless voters By fiscal magic masquerades of looters. In surging words as mirage in deserts They drag us through the slums -concerts To vote, to enthrone them with whips of laws Supported by the ambitious callous fellows But, I hear the giggling behind the curtain As silhouettes briskly move for certain. No more sobbing ,dear ,in our tribulation But opt ,no more sale of votes in election. .

21

When the poet loves, the poet gives birth The poet reigns over the vast lands of the earth As the love grows, the poet conquers all the seas With ink-stained hands, the poet shapes galaxies A poet in love crowns a special muse His ocean of inspirations, the poet's mind on a cruise Hands grow exhausted, crumpled papers accumulate Verbal perfection, the poet seeks to create The poet sings, lyrics morph into his beloved's name Eyes descry a lovely face, metaphors embody a frame With mellifluous words, the poet builds a pedestal Through his poetic verses, his beloved turns immortal The air the poet breathes, the radiant sun in the sky The joy at Christmas Eve, fireworks during 4th of July Furious storms, calming breeze, devastating earthquakes The beloved adapts any form, whatever the poet makes Resplendent rainbows insipid compared to corporal curves Art erupting from pens, embellishing what eyes observe From vivacious mornings to sleepless nights The beloved is everything - everything, the poet writes But on a daily basis, the poet wages into an inconspicuous war A pen as his reliable sword, stacks of papers hide every scar A war of incarcerated words, of subdued emotions Even the most trivial move can shatter the crystal elation The poet writes when in bliss, all the more when morose Describing through flowery words, the beauty in an overdose The beloved's candle-like fingers transmogrify to perilous daggers Affectionate lips emulate a whirlpool at the heart of ocean waters The poet seeks the tranquil blue in a bed of scarlet flames Ears hearing strident chains of profanities as endearing names And the poet still loves, never ceases to write Exacerbation of the rational mind and melodramatic heart's fight The sun conflagrates the flesh, moon freezes the core Billows that used to dance vehemently washes the poet ashore A hand grips a pen tighter and writes some more Words of today vociferously emerging from yesterday's door When the poet loves, the poet gives birth His love reigns over the vast lands of his earth Then it blinds the poet's sight, defiles the poet's ink His own words are the music as he dances on the brink

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May 1, 2015

May 1, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC

versutiloquent

The Poet Loves, The Poet Dies

When the poet loves, the poet gives birth The poet reigns over the vast lands of the earth As the love grows, the poet conquers all the seas With ink-stained hands, the poet shapes galaxies A poet in love crowns a special muse His ocean of inspirations, the poet's mind on a cruise Hands grow exhausted, crumpled papers accumulate Verbal perfection, the poet seeks to create The poet sings, lyrics morph into his beloved's name Eyes descry a lovely face, metaphors embody a frame With mellifluous words, the poet builds a pedestal Through his poetic verses, his beloved turns immortal The air the poet breathes, the radiant sun in the sky The joy at Christmas Eve, fireworks during 4th of July Furious storms, calming breeze, devastating earthquakes The beloved adapts any form, whatever the poet makes Resplendent rainbows insipid compared to corporal curves Art erupting from pens, embellishing what eyes observe From vivacious mornings to sleepless nights The beloved is everything - everything, the poet writes But on a daily basis, the poet wages into an inconspicuous war A pen as his reliable sword, stacks of papers hide every scar A war of incarcerated words, of subdued emotions Even the most trivial move can shatter the crystal elation The poet writes when in bliss, all the more when morose Describing through flowery words, the beauty in an overdose The beloved's candle-like fingers transmogrify to perilous daggers Affectionate lips emulate a whirlpool at the heart of ocean waters The poet seeks the tranquil blue in a bed of scarlet flames Ears hearing strident chains of profanities as endearing names And the poet still loves, never ceases to write Exacerbation of the rational mind and melodramatic heart's fight The sun conflagrates the flesh, moon freezes the core Billows that used to dance vehemently washes the poet ashore A hand grips a pen tighter and writes some more Words of today vociferously emerging from yesterday's door When the poet loves, the poet gives birth His love reigns over the vast lands of his earth Then it blinds the poet's sight, defiles the poet's ink His own words are the music as he dances on the brink

40

When you gaze upon me, Tell me what you see? Squinted eyes and crooked smile, Or buried misery? I hide these wounds, I hide them well, They seeth beneath, And burn like hell, Don't pry that door, Nor turn that handle, Peak not in windows, My life in shambles, My hate is boiling, The kettles black, I'm ****** again, and can't hold back! Alas, I'm free of your ****** cage, And now you too shall share my rage, You can't control me, little boy, The spread of misery does bring me joy, I take the things you claim to cherish, And twist them til they seem nightmarish, You asked me once, what do I feel? It's , Taste that coldness you're turning numb, No wait, the suffering has just begun! You shall not quit, you spineless wretch, I throw out anguish for you to fetch, You chase it down and pounce upon, Now bring back what I have thrown, Your teeth sunk deep into this bone, This bone of hate, filth, and decay, Now it is your turn to slay. And breathe... breathe... I smell it on you, like perfume, This scent of hatred that you exhume, It's curled and wicked, it permeates, This rage, it smolders and conflagrates, Flesh curled from bone, seared away, Lash with tongue, til hearts are flayed, Wound and strike and desiccate, Released from chest is all my hate! Eyes roll back, this ecstasy, My soul, now cleansed, is now set free, My words and hate I must now sheath, Beware, my friends, what lurks beneath.

0

Jan 9, 2019

Jan 9, 2019 at 5:29 PM UTC

Cjulies

It lurks beneath

When you gaze upon me, Tell me what you see? Squinted eyes and crooked smile, Or buried misery? I hide these wounds, I hide them well, They seeth beneath, And burn like hell, Don't pry that door, Nor turn that handle, Peak not in windows, My life in shambles, My hate is boiling, The kettles black, I'm ****** again, and can't hold back! Alas, I'm free of your ****** cage, And now you too shall share my rage, You can't control me, little boy, The spread of misery does bring me joy, I take the things you claim to cherish, And twist them til they seem nightmarish, You asked me once, what do I feel? It's , Taste that coldness you're turning numb, No wait, the suffering has just begun! You shall not quit, you spineless wretch, I throw out anguish for you to fetch, You chase it down and pounce upon, Now bring back what I have thrown, Your teeth sunk deep into this bone, This bone of hate, filth, and decay, Now it is your turn to slay. And breathe... breathe... I smell it on you, like perfume, This scent of hatred that you exhume, It's curled and wicked, it permeates, This rage, it smolders and conflagrates, Flesh curled from bone, seared away, Lash with tongue, til hearts are flayed, Wound and strike and desiccate, Released from chest is all my hate! Eyes roll back, this ecstasy, My soul, now cleansed, is now set free, My words and hate I must now sheath, Beware, my friends, what lurks beneath.

46