"darkly" poems
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
827.3k
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
49k
Out of my flesh that hungers
and my mouth that knows
comes the shape I am seeking
for reason.
The curve of your waiting body
fits my waiting hand
your ******* warm as sunlight
your lips quick as young birds
between your thighs the sweet
sharp taste of limes.
Thus I hold you
frank in my heart's eye
in my skin's knowing
as my fingers conceive your flesh
I feel your stomach
moving against me.
Before the moon wanes again
we shall come together.
And I would be the moon
spoken over your beckoning flesh
breaking against reservations
beaching thought
my hands at your high tide
over and under inside you
and the passing of hungers
attended, forgotten.
Darkly risen
the moon speaks
my eyes
judging your roundness
delightful.
29.8k
Alone, cold, and mislead
is what it feels like to be unwanted.
After a while the feelings are accepted,well actually any feeling.
Maybe this was planned maybe if I keep going I will see a light.
Through this darkness I will come.
Feelings of acceptance creep in, slowly, but they still come.
Laughter seems so far away, like it is foreign where I am.
Where is that I ask? Why does it even matter because I know what darkness feels like.
I know what being unwanted feels like.
Because no one can help me now. Now that I know what it feels like and what it means.
Now I know what it means to be
Darkly Unwanted.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
Up, O ye lovers, and away! 'Tis time to leave the world for aye.
Hark, loud and clear from heaven the from of parting calls-let none delay!
The cameleer hat risen amain, made ready all the camel-train,
And quittance now desires to gain: why sleep ye, travellers, I pray?
Behind us and before there swells the din of parting and of bells;
To shoreless space each moment sails a disembodied spirit away.
From yonder starry lights, and through those curtain-awnings darkly blue,
Mysterious figures float in view, all strange and secret things display.
From this orb, wheeling round its pole, a wondrous slumber o'er thee stole:
O weary life that weighest naught, O sleep that on my soul dost weigh!
O heart, toward they heart's love wend, and O friend, fly toward the Friend,
Be wakeful, watchman, to the end: drowse seemingly no watchman may.
10.8k
forgive me my darling
hollow beauty
but seeing you so gaunt
with
sunken dark eyes
and skin like gray soap
makes me feel
your easily breakable
already so close to death
my **** could crack your pelvis
and bird delicate ribs
inspired skeleton dancing
your body exclaims to all
a sensual exhibition
of slow suicide
my bloodless blossom
brave breatharian
your favorite math
subtraction
by multiplied
delicious starvations
you may need a strong man
deaths final instrument
who will love you
with tender crushes
darkly ******
come naked
spread wide my lovely grotesque
nestle in my arms
coffins embrace
to be bruised
while tremulously kissed
i will turn you to crumbles and powder
to finish sweetly
what you have started so long ago
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
I do not ask for youth, nor for delay
in the rising of time's irreversible river
that takes the jewelled arc of the waterfall
in which I glimpse, minute by glinting minute,
all that I have and all I am always losing
as sunlight lights each drop fast, fast falling.
I do not dream that you, young again,
might come to me darkly in love's green darkness
where the dust of the bracken spices the air
moss, crushed, gives out an astringent sweetness
and water holds our reflections
motionless, as if for ever.
It is enough now to come into a room
and find the kindness we have for each other
— calling it love — in eyes that are shrewd
but trustful still, face chastened by years
of careful judgement; to sit in the afternoons
in mild conversation, without nostalgia.
But when you leave me, with your jauntiness
sinewed by resolution more than strength
— suddenly then I love you with a quick
intensity, remembering that water,
however luminous and grand, falls fast
and only once to the dark pool below.
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a national
dilemma
fears abound
losses loom darkly
i lose mine
if we are covered..
i versus we..
awakening
from this dream
a new lucid vision..
there is no i
nor a we..
a bewildering surprise
the linkage
our real constitution..
the real
patient...
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
"Wait a year, they said, wait a year and things will get better. They think one single lapse of a human’s concept of collected time can change anything. A year she waited, she listened; she had to. But the year came, and the year then went, and nothing had changed. The girl was left with nothing. There was a hole, a chasm, never to be filled and never to be touched. There was nothing left and soon she could not find words, syllables, even sound."
A year ago, this is what I expected. Funny how a character I created much darker than I, actually reflected the shadows of my soul. I never realized she was me, the darker me, the hidden me, the me I was after I lost Him.
The depression is real. Its is apart of me. The swirling vortex I'm so afraid of I have to accept. But it doesn't mean I cannot smile. The turbulent tremors of my aching heart will forever be apart of me, but they do not control me. I control me.
Control. That is something I thought I lacked, but I realize it is my strength. Without my strength, the dark wonderlands of my heart would have taken me already, to a place that would be darker than imagined.
I didn't want the world to see me, because I didn't think they'd understand. And when it came to him, I was right. He didn't understand why I couldn't just **** it up and smile, why my outlook wasn't so positive, why I was looking at the world so darkly.
Its a dark world, darling, if he knew me, he'd know its actually optimism most days. But no, all he saw was the darkness and how I could not overcome it and it broke me from him, like a rock from a shore.
I felt like a rock with him, not a season, that is until I met more people who could understand, who could see my face behind these broken eyes. It murdered my never-ending love for him, because I could finally see I could do better, I could be happier.
Bipolar 2.
That's me, but it doesn't control me.
Not anymore.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
*Wildflower 'neath a
giant weeping willow,
comforted by the shade
her fragrance wafting darkly
whispered into the wind ~
she'd been 'betrayed by the sun',
frail tendrils blistered
of indiscretion below
burning discrimination,
fallen neath the cracks
suffocating a delicate essence,
she could no longer bear the
deep-rooted superficiality
of seeds buried within *****
little implanted secrets*
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
She looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world
she leans out of the window
and this is what she sees
a wet rose singing to the sun
with a chorus of red bees
she leans out of the window
and laughs for the window is high
she is in it like a bird on a perch
and they scoop the blue sky
she and the window scooping
the morning as if it were air
scooping a green wave of leaves
above a stone stair
and an urn hung with leaden garlands
and girls holding hands in a ring
and raindrops on an iron railing
shining like a harp string
an old man draws with his ferrule
in wet sand a map of Spain
the marble soldier on his pedestal
draws a stiff diagram of pain
but the walls around her tremble
with the speed of the earth the floor
curves to the terrestrial center
and behind her the door
opens darkly down to the beginning
far down to the first simple cry
and the animal waking in water
and the opening of the eye
she looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world.
6.5k
Among orange-tile rooftops
and chimney pots
the fen fog slips,
gray as rats,
while on spotted branch
of the sycamore
two black rooks hunch
and darkly glare,
watching for night,
with absinthe eye
cocked on the lone, late,
passer-by.
5.7k
Today ****** came calling
It screamed in the still air
Awoke a community
Startled and scared children
****** came fast
****** came darkly
****** passed over as the crows moved on up ahead.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
*she just shakes her head
she meets me on the street-corner, me from work, she from dance,
in the grayling dusk of a thank god it’s a freedom Friday night,
I greet her with words semi-adventurous -
“come with me, few errands to run, keep me in good company”
to the candy store we go for to purchase my weekend eve
lottery tickets and blow-pop lollipops, just in case some
kids appear, a surprise omen as they come
trick-or-treating just before Thanksgiving
the Bangladeshi candyman calls out a long prayer
in his native Bangla
she asks “what’s that he’s saying?”
“Oh, just wishing us a pleasant Sabbath and
may his gods smile upon our good lottery fortune”
she just shakes her head, from side to side
emerging from the store, walking home in the
now doubly ***** darkly dusk,
a set of white teeth from a passing shadow-man says to me
“you’re home late and have a great weekend,”
she asks, “who is that?”
“why,” I reply, “that is our very own personal postal carrier’
she says:
“he delivers mail to ten thousand people all in buildings tall,
yet knows your name, your face,
where you buy your lottery tickets,
your coming and going hours,
how came that to be”
but waits not for an answer
she just shakes her head, from side to side
I show her my secret entrance to our apartment house,
the fast route to collect our mail, dry cleaning in one fell swoop
a secret door, secret elevator taking us directly to our apartment
a secret elevator which is under the direction of
Bimal from Nepal,
who I greet in Nepalese, (my tutor)
I, asking after Brian and Bryce, his 100% American boys
now she says nothing, but before our door, as I go key digging,
she just shakes her head, from side to side
later she says:
“let’s order in, apprise me of your expertise,
some exotic fare from Manhattans First Avenue,
known for its aphrodisiacal powers
afterwards,
you must tell me each dishes name,
in its tongue’s nativity,
but much, much later,”
and as she speaks, grinning,
she sticks out her tongue,
while she just shakes her head,
but this time,
up
and
down
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
Should I long that dark were fair? Say, O song.
Lacks my love aught that I should long?
Dark the night with breath all flow'rs
And tender broken voice that fills
With ravishment the list'ning hours.
Whis'prings, wooings,
Liquid ripples, and soft ring-dove cooings,
in low-toned rhythm that love's aching stills.
Dark the night, yet is she bright,
For in her dark she brings the mystic star,
Trembling yet strong as is the voice of love
From some unknown afar.
O radiant dark, O darkly foster'd ray,
Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow day.
4.8k
we have been blessed with womanhood.
not in a biological sense, nor a societal one,
but a blessing, due to our values.
no man could ever make my blood so darkly crimson
make my heart race, beat
in places within me for which
i should be so condemned.
i live for the subtle pain
of lying down once
you've torn my back to shreds–
it's the ghost of you keeping me on my toes.
i want the wine to hit you like it hits me
like it makes me want you
what it makes me want
to do to you
the way the black and grey lines
make your face in my mind
and the screaming color which
you actually are
and on occasion–i am taken to
that place
where my clinical proudness
(and therefore, reserve)
is gone
and it doesn't matter except
that you are mine and
i simply want to make that
very ******* clear
every time i look at you
i want you to know
that i am thinking about
the most carnal viciousness
and how it might
feel to be wanted
by you
how it might feel to
have you screaming
my name into my neck
how it might feel
sweet god among women
in my bed
let me tear apart the stitches in
your skirt
my dream
is to not have to sacrifice
one for the other–
as in,
you wanting me
for me taking you.
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 9:26 PM UTC
*Hungered for a taste
of your elixir's essence,
drunken inhalations
of your poetry
a splendiferous whirl
of time & space 'tween
darkly scented moons
and sun's adoration,
blithe starry nights
amidst meditative new
dawn's effervesce,
spirited of the heart,
gleaned in the soul,
yearnings of another
chapter's paradise
universal experiences
etched of hourglass sand,
written upon endlessly
chimerical verses
wildflower gardens drenched
of dandelion's plum wine
swooning under a
hypnotic scripted spell,
intoxicating power
of unchained symphonies
dancing amongst skies'
released euphoria
resonating in a song's
reprised melodies,
breathlessness of delirium's
celestial pauses
in vaporous breezes'
unfurling undulation,
captivated by rhythmic
destiny reverberating in
loins' pleasurable calling
quenched of sacred
offering's quell
transcending earthly
persuasions' rhyme,
let me lick the nectar from
your poesy's insatiable lips,
sweet mercy's healing
captured in rapturous
surrender's reawakening ~*
*Je veux que vous tous,
tu me manques*
Ce que vous manquez de moi?
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
We're all human here, right?
Why, then, is my side, most human,
Something bidden I hide?
---
Mockings chant their mocking things,
Swinging from the hinges of reality.
While, sneers and jeers born from,
Overgrown fears,
Leave small ****** in my ripe heart -
Unceasingly.
At the door, my mind assured me, go,
And my feet, those dumb things, did listen.
Went right into havoc,
Wreaked solely by tragic,
Souls, so pathetic, I can't even stand it.
Who's ripping up my soul so darkly,
Save, me and the audience I've made?
Surely, the swift-sounding people,
With valiant battles to battle -
Are too busy to waste time at the gallows.
You dug the hole,
And jumped right on in,
I merely picked up the shovel,
And finished it.
Though, now, my heart aches,
So red and opaque,
Curse you,
For doing you in.
07.2011
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 11:18 PM UTC
I pursued my disease
With a virulent persistence
Like the plague
Or your pestilence
I fed upon your opulence
Walking red death
I marked your flesh
The whooping cough
The symptoms most forgot
Dreaming darkly
Poets cry sadly
Artists die crying
As the fever kept eating
All of their sanity
Inch by inch I crept
Awake while you slept
Burning holes in your brain
Until nothing of you remained
Just a cold cart to carry
The carrion left behind
But I still miss
That delicious mind
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
she rides her mountain bike
in the sun
dreadlocks fluttering behind like streamers
shes all smiles
as we come to our spot by the river
this beautiful place called fiveashes
and unpack the picnic basket
the world itself is beautiful when i'm with her
time itself loves her essence
even the graffiti looks like love letters the world
has written for her alone
theres something darkly romantic
about the nights down by fiveashes
something about thouse long miles
flying by on nightbreeze
with her hand in mine
with her lips on mine
its like a valley safe from the worlds seein
a place where naked and free we can be just we
down by fiveashes
the backseat of our buick is on fire
with her passions
and the lust in my soul
and theres something darkly romantic
about the humid warm air and how her shirt clings to her **** skin
about the songbirds opening up the mysterious day
like a gift for the dreadlock girls that shine
she lay with me tangled in her afterwards
as we watch the stars and catch our breath
i taste her on my lips
i can taste her on my soul
like shes a sunrise
rapidly banishing my life's shadows
and breathing life itself into my heart
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
A Poem in 3 Parts by Sara L Russell, 4/6/15; 00:51am
I
There is a grey area between
this world and the next.
People can be foolish; they dabble in ouija, in
dowsing, in automatic writing;
and - wittingly or unwittingly,
they may open a portal
to the other side.
That is how they enter.
Beware of inviting them in.
Shadow people are there
where needle pierces skin; where the ******
sits, glassy-eyed, on the precipice of oblivion;
they lurk in unholy places where godless
politicians declare themselves to be
speaking for God;
they haunt the dreams of drunkards,
schizophrenics, junkies
and the paranoid.
But they are not spun out of dreams,
they are real.
Shadow people were there
when the ancient pharaohs of Egypt
were interred, with all their gold;
they took them to Hades
for also burying their wives
and servants, alive.
They were there
in **** concentration camps,
sitting on the left shoulders
of those who blindly carried out
orders of death and torture.
They subsist in underworlds of catacombs,
they lurk in the spaces between
our conscious and unconscious minds;
In blackened mirrors they seek out a vortex,
My friends, be the light that
keeps out the darkness,
Do not seek to question the dear and foregone,
No matter how much they are missed;
for there are others lurking in the shadows.
Be not the portal inviting them in.
II
Did I see you in Bohemian Grove,
smiling at the Cremation of the Care?
Were you there,
and did you have more than one shadow?
Did I see you in that Great Hall
with chequered floors,
where the Eye of Horus
watched over a pyramid of gold?
Did you lift a cup of
the good red wine,
did blood brothers drink each other's health,
gazing through a glass darkly?
Did we toast the Cremation of the Care,
and how many others were there?
III
Sometimes we visit Hell in our dreams,
though we may fervently pray before sleep.
There is no shame in sleeping with the light on.
Wear a cross, if you think that it will help.
Sometimes the citizens of Hell visit us,
in that stasis between sleep and wakefulnes;
they are only ever seen at the outer periphery of our vision.
It's never a good idea to look at them directly.
Sometimes they venture a little closer than the rules allow.
Sometimes the line between their domain and ours is blurred.
Occasionally, the breeze seems to whisper your name -
only, it's not the breeze.
Be vigilant.
Always try to see them first.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth and home and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime.
Those joyous hours are passed away;
And many a heart that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells.
And so 'twill be when I am gone;
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!
~Thomas Moore: 1779--1852~
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 10:46 PM UTC
behold
mine guilt be carved
'pon this furrowed brow
plainly writ
for all to see
i pray thee now
speak softly
fair an' sweet
an' brook no lie
to pass thine ruby lips
those serpent fangs
venom filled
'twould pierce an'
wi' their poison still
this wounded heart
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
far beneath...
where mid-night forest
darkly flows
this raging torrent
swiftly feeds
black rivers
writhing coldly
thru my soul
as faceless voices
darkly speak
urging chaos
mindless screams
nightshades tearing
rending eat
the broken pieces
of this wounded heart
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
far beneath...
where the sun
is but a myth
deep within this
dark abyss
an' the moon
faithless
fades
from memory
alas
speak softly
fair an' sweet
release me from
this dark abyss
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
at thy feet
.
.
Pic Poem
http://oi60.tinypic.com/29kvqs8.jpg
.
.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
Light spreads darkly downwards from the high
Clusters of lights over empty chairs
That face each other, coloured differently.
Through open doors, the dining-room declares
A larger loneliness of knives and glass
And silence laid like carpet. A porter reads
An unsold evening paper. Hours pass,
And all the salesmen have gone back to Leeds,
Leaving full ashtrays in the Conference Room.
In shoeless corridors, the lights burn. How
Isolated, like a fort, it is -
The headed paper, made for writing home
(If home existed) letters of exile: Now
Night comes on. Waves fold behind villages.
3.8k
.
*Lead me not into temptation of thee,
taunt me not with memory of thy desire,
tease me not with thy seduction of lust,
for thou hast cast a *** spell I admire.
Come hither, bring the grail of thy body,
take me as thy man and mark me,
cast thy symbol 'cross my naked skin,
submit to thy urge and smile at me darkly.
Cut deep, wield thy passion with honour,
thy tongue my ardour to bring alive,
thou employ wicked witchy womens ways
and I see Need deep within thine eyes.
Come hither, bring the paragon of thy want,
give nymph chance to thy beating soul,
shatter me softly with thy perfumes,
take thy fill of love and sagely lose control.*
© Pagan Paul (11/11/17)
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 10:08 AM UTC