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Arianna Feb 23
I.

The rainbow erupts,
Spilling the decadence of Seasons
In colors and curves
Over crystalline cloth

Banquet hall turns to vineyard
Grapevines spiraling up the pillars

In the finest brush strokes
Of fingers teasing the air

Touching

Crushing

Sun-ripened flesh

Of rose-petal nails
Peeling through layers
Digging fossilized sediment
From beneath amber-painted faces:

Brushing the leaves from your brow,
I gaze into the Earth,
Feeling down the vines
To the roots of your tree.

Gently, peeling away the dead bark,
Biting your sunset-colored heart

Rising, filling, falling

Lapping at the nectar welling up
From your veins.



II.

Salt turns to sweetness
Where les fruits de la mer merge
Avec ceux de la terre:

Mango skins and dolphin fins,
Mermaid tails and lion shins
Tangle with emerald vines,

Somersaulting in the tides

Our forms brush
Between Land and Sea,

Our lines cross
'Twixt shadow-dappled waves
Where the murmuring forest°
Harbors cherry blossom glades
Behind nettle screens and nectarine trees.


My heart quickens,
Listening
As the breath swells into a roar
Reverberating from your core:

"How does the forest whisper?"

Wine runs red
From the pomegranates at my breast...


III.

Inhaling pear blossoms from your chest,
Fingers caper down your spine
Caressing sunflowers and blueberries,

Knees nestled
Among the lavender in your thighs.

Exploring the crevices of your roots,
Plucking wild grapes and olives
And avocados
From your hollows,
You ripple with Life
Flowing from below
The surface,
Feasting on your Essence
Butterflies kiss you with your sweetness:

"Do you not taste the Sunshine
coursing through you,

shivering in the warmth
of Turquoise?

I'm surprised
you never noticed
the flecks of Springtime
in your eyes...
"


IV.

Tearing figs from hips, I

C  R  U  S  H

Roses in my fists

Dripping perfume
Over your neck

My teeth become fangs

Ripping
every          
last  
            thorn


Out

Where they've pricked your skin,
Scattering ravished

P
                 E
                               T    
                   A
                           L
                              S

In the dark spaces
Between your ribs

Listening, listening...

Licking clovers and honey
Over your raspberry-scarred wrists.


V.

Seafoam champagne
Glistens in the trail of my tongue
Tracing rivers over the desert
Spilling its golden embrace
From the mystery of your smile

Wreathed in laurel, hazelnut, acorn, and ivy

Winding vines
Tighter and
Tighter

Borders vanish behind starry mists,
they slip...


Elemental perfection
Of Earth and Sea
Made gentle by moonlight:

"Enough, enough,
I am enough!
"

We drift
On the edge of two worlds;
No sound pierces
The rush of water and schism of land.

We tumble,
We drown,

Our colors bleed together...


VI.

... gushing brilliant bordeaux
Over the tattered tablecloth.

"Drink deeply, for the cup
Runneth over!
"

Starving muscles
Revive at the sensation
Of violet plums
Bursting with the sound of a kiss
Between blackberry-stained lips

Planting almonds and strawberries
On pollinating tongue-tips —

Quoth the Bee to the Hummingbird:

"Open your heart!"


Quoth She to He:

"I will unfold my wings
That you may kiss every inch of me...
"
A collaboration with Crown Shyness. :-) You can read Part I here:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3014184/banquet-i-sushi/

Haha, my segment trailed away into space, following no cohesive thread whatsoever, but perhaps you can imagine the words trickling down your chin like the juice of your favorite fruit.

° = ;-)
ConnectHook Sep 2015
☪   ☭   ☮

Oh beautiful for specious lies
where Christless values reign;
for superficial battle cries
above the muted strain:
Diversity, diversity
God hides His face from thee –
and frown he should, while planethood
distracts humanity.

How sad it is when victim groups
monopolize the floor;
enabling the marginals
to agitate for more.
Diversity, diversity,
Your queer agenda rules –
with Balkanizing tendencies
imposed on witless tools.

Degenerate in decadence
the ailing eagle flies;
in spirals of irrelevance
through clouded toxic skies…
Diversity, diversity
the Left defines your terms –
the weakened body politic
grows sicker as it squirms.

Oh Lord we need a miracle
before the patient fails;
celestial intervention please
to purge us of what ails.
Diversity, diversity
We shall not overcome –
Unless the Lord reveal His word
twixt here and Kingdom Come…
♫♪ Sung to the tune of...PROGRESS !! ♪

I don't believe you even read this.

              ☪☭ ☮
Arianna Mar 12
Sinner of sinners, he gorges on Beauty, grows fat on the senses.
Gluttonous, slothful, and lustful — a perished feast for one.
An experiment with the elegiac couplet. May contain metrical errors.
Marla 6d
Deep down within my ancient soul
I yearn for a beauty I now hardly know.
Rooms appear out of paradise in my dreams
Calling me away to a past I don't remember.

Walls of yellow matching floors of white,
Decadent decor that lay shining bright with color.
Palm trees scatter round the halls of this hotel,
The roof glitters gold as it reaches out into the stars.
My dress is always one of emerald or rouge,
That of my date a darkened hue of blue.

People are abound in the great ballroom,
The greatest in all the land,
Many coming from around the island
Just to shake my beautiful hand.
Music fills the air with a sort of beautiful feeling,
The mix of Spanish poetry with American jazz
Making us all dance ourselves into a reverie.

Besame suave, Besame dulce
Abraza mis estrellas
Y acaricia mis flores.

Tonight, we shall sway until we've forgotten ourselves.
Tomorrow, we shall awaken only to do it all again.

Life has left us, there is only Heaven.
AD Mullin Sep 2014
An old man from behind the pew genuflect's to a strained audience

“Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?”

The boys stand and return:

“Patience, honour, discipline, excellence."

An emergence in civil (dis)obedience, i mean ...

In unity ... this time read it with flourish

"Patience, honour, discipline, excellence."

The old man at the pew smiles inwardly

“Excellent!” says the proto-Mr. Burns

Lets fill some big shoes Mr. Anderson

Now one more time but mean it!

“Travesty, horror, decadence, excrement’

Time, time, time … we’re late for a very important date

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may

Orson Welles or was it HG?

Why does the writer use these words?

Because he’s in a hurry.

No. Ding! Thank you for playing anyway.

And the phone rings…

Mr. Anderson, it’s for you.

It’s god!

Cause we are food for worms, lads.
Written while watching Dead Poets Society
Bison Jun 2016
Splash through the puddle underneath that golden expanse
Our tea cup synchronicity belies our swimming decadence

Ride waves taught by the playful mantaray
Cruise through the ocean sky to the city of the Bay
Like a babe I crawl on the edge of the plane

We're all refugees on this backwater bathwater ocean
We look around and to our elders to make sense of the scaled schools motion
The gray herd moves as the vacuum looms over green Picasso notions

As travellers across great highways we can reach those distant cosmic creations
A speedboat horse race were confident we can win

Ski down pillowcases  of fresh powdered imagination
Great green looming through the dark starlight illumination
Barrel rolled into the canvas ink of knowledge on the mountain

We pay attention to the cashier of time
So we can swing life away as the world floats by
Bison Apr 2016
O' Miss Fortune, mother of joy
Daughter of Ol' Sorrow
Won't you be my savior?
Won't you call me your boy?

O' Miss Fortune, lover of happenstance
Murderer of Good Father Time
Would you come out to play?
Would you join with Decadence?

O' Mr. Misery, keeper of delights
Warrior of Love's Lost Heart
What could be your destiny?
What could you know of fair fights?

O' Mr. Misery, follower of my shadow
Burden of my shoulders
Won't you let me go home alone?
Won't you let me go?

O' Mother, O' Father
Please can't you see?
Fortune and Misery
Have made a mess of me.
patty m May 2014
I remembered it well

the rich mix of smoke, perfume, and garlic

one could almost taste the absinthe in the air.

Toulouse-Lautrec, was deemed acceptable

as we embraced his artistic vision

singing our Chason Realiste songs;

we are the people, the poor gaudy freaks
traipsing about with drink in hand
sliding stockings down
from thighs, spreading
our provocative
dreams while delving headlong into
decadence and garish night life,
trying to escape banality .

Ah Henri, the prostitutes, and there
were many, Marie Charlet
your first. Even with your genetics
and anguished tirades burgeoning,
she loved you well.

Tremblement de terre, your creation

we too contrive when mocked

to become carefree and

obsessively delusional.


Thin brushstrokes
touched dispassionately
and yet there is sympathy suffused,
a continuum of unarticulated
and variegated respite;
the allure of mouth watering treats
and trollops that take the woe-begotten
to stellar heights.

While we the hangers-on
raise glasses in salute
tonguing the inner sanctum of the Moulin Rouge
our astute imaginings savored while
craving even more of those
***** nights with ******* and bodies
exposed, ******* whetted blown upon.

Then too, our burrowed deep sensations might grind
out torch songs, even as the flames leap higher
to singe us all, we laugh and cry.

Curled flame we toast the unexplainable
creating an **** of molten light,
bodiesof heat brighter than stars.  

Thus we become the false dawn,

stripping darkness from the midnight sky,

an explosion of all we are and have to give

in our life long pursuit of Celebration.
Bison Feb 2016
My veins are pumping gushing gold
Round and round this blushing girl
My heart: the broken center of this hollow world
All is silent against my rib cage: love creates turbulence
Whisper to your willows as they weep for yesterday's and succumb to impermanence

This sickness is spreading, I won't let it in
Decadence and heartache, they won't let you live
No
They won't let you live

Abandon your chastity
Abandon your morality
Embody vanity and chase the morale out of me
Purge your glittering eyes
So clouded with blistering lies
Diamond, diamond, fall out of the sky
All that glitters is poison to my mind

This sickness is spreading, I won't let it in
Decadence and heartache, they won't let you live
Anthony Perry Jul 2018
There is something violent about how I see the skin on your body
Its so rich and smooth, almost decadent and unlike you

This observation turns into a premeditation when you touch my cheek
Its almost like i can feel the heat melting off your bones

As I laid you down and slipped a knife underneath your sternum
You whispered something hidden in painful tones like a sharp breath piercing the guttural moans

But I dont need to hear words to know the searing desire steaming from your guts as I replaced them with hot stones

The blood on your finger tips remind me of fresh water on leaves after a storm and your severed head looks like its been through famine, disease, and a damaged city plagued and war torn

Yet there is still beauty in the decayed decadence that is your mutilated corpse

The moonlight drowns in the canal of blood begging for remorse while the insects march and sing a song of things that can only get worse
©anthonyasylum
This is a poem about the need for closeness between two people
Mohamed Nasir Feb 2018
There's a flower in between the rocks
Undesireable unless one seek the flower
In cravices in the shadows of ***** towers
Procure trade on whims of nameless men
Openly or in disguise she thrives due to
Demands, in decadence of her world
The underworld enslave her soul
Like the geisha in *******
Decries a social stigma
Imposing upon her
Remove her off
The streets if
you will
But
She
Will
Come
Back sprouting
Amongst people and rocks
Enticing yet perceived as weeds still.
Kieran Apr 30
Pandemonium I've become
broken wares and no answers slips
my tongue tentacular and made of onion.
On second thought look up lost and find in decadence
the second our eye-
Thinking for a few
Marla Apr 12
Dear Indigo Night,

The stars enchant me
While a band recants
An old tune that swings
On their porch of wood.

Tonight's cool grass
Contrasts the meteor shower up above
As we sit in a circle laughing
And having a grand time.

We pass around candles,
Singing along and praising each other,
While our woes turn to mists
That flutter away
Up into the night sky.

Moon of moons
And stars of decadence,
Take us away so that we may dance together,
Forever,
As space and time fade to dust.
Tanisha Jackland Dec 2018
We lived sullen in
awkward decadence.
Hoarding strange
little monuments. and
Odes to us.
Enough to choke on it.
The black soot of
sacrificial trees.
I saw them
burning mid-suicide.
Martyrs with wooden hearts.
at least they used them.
Unlike us
we had accidental brains
and drooled over them.
the cold blooded arrogance
Not really noble yet
we stay
sleeping like the
greed in prodigied monks
Wake me up when the
bees grow heavy
with honey again.
pinch me when we
collectively awake.
Woe for the plight of the honey bee and oui little us...
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
If I can't stand and say something
About injustice, hunger and poverty,
I can at least do one special thing,
I can write a very beautiful poetry.

If I can't fight modern-day slavery,
I can write and bring awareness.
My pen is like a mighty artillery
That can help stop this wickedness.

If my frame is short for me to be seen,
My mind is loud enough to be heard.
It can take me places I've never been
And give me a shelter and my bread.

If I don't have fine clothes and jewelry,
I have deep wisdom and intelligence.
That enables me to write good poetry
Capable of taking me out of decadence.

If I don't have fine cars and houses,
I have from Jah a blessed assurance.
And peace inaccessible by noises,
So I say thanks for life and Providence.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
22/8/2018
This is one of those special pieces I can't really say much about..All i say is a big thanks to the universe for the inspiration.
Daisy Chain May 2016
I can't stand this nonsense, this indifference  
this moat around the edge of my sight. My life.
I can't stand this overindulgence,
this unfettered decadence,
while the rest of the world isn't even given the privilege of weeping.
Of sleeping.
Of light.  
Insistingly,
I can't sleep - my dreams too a world without dreams.
An unfiltered montage of my insecurities playing out the reality I feel behind the forced optimism. The fanaticism,
for the smoothly ironed pressed.
Life.
I call out my own name -
behind the darkened and forgotten windowpane,
is the version of myself, angry, lonely and free.
Free of the freedoms that suffocate me.
Apparently I'm free to choose my fate,
my desk, my jacket, my dinner plate.
Yet where is the queue for self-expression?
For social justice? For unadulterated streams?
I am waiting, and getting rather impatient
with this facade
that we call 'the way it is.'
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance.
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique.
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion.
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression.
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms.
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all.
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural.
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate.
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success.
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race.
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’.
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for.
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism.
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism.
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights.
This is mandate.
The republic for which we stand.
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
The notorious they-ness in them

Indentured servant sails, serendipity servant serenades.

Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue, estranged ensemble orchestrations and all.  Some of us are even into the various assorted forms of related stranger weirdness and all the rest of those similar states of analogous configuration and ancillary subordinateness.   Vicarious recalcitrance for all!!!  Eclectic synectics, avant-garde illuminism.
Michael Sep 2018
In a crowded room filled with high society, and
In the facade of decadence, plays the Back Street Symphony
Winos falling asleep covered in yesterdays news
A lone saxaphone player, playing the blues
Neon signs and desinger lines are giving him his cues
He says "I've paid my dues"
I've got front row tickets to mainstreet
Walkin' by, don't know who you'll meet
A freak show on every corner
A broken heart walks on as a mourner
In a darkened alley you can hear him pray
Searching for a Savior with some words and a brown bag
Can anyone spare some change for me?
There goes the prom queen, is it a dream?
Hell is open twenty-four hours a day
I have front row tickets to main street
Watching the devils' choir earn their keep
There tearing down the walls in LA
There's a ****** on display, on main street
This poem in an excerpt from my book "One of the Guise" Written back in the 90's. I remember sitting on a window ledge watching this person sitting on a bench watching the activities going on on mainstreet. That was the inspiration. Copyright 1998
Marla Apr 16
Every night,
I lie in bed and travel.
The many sights I've had unravel
Before my very eyes have made me marvel
At the power of this beautiful lie,
One that is moving as decadence is in life.
America in the Kali Yuga
     decadence will abuse ya
            bad karma confuse ya
                   so lost as to lose ya

           Dharma now to do, yeah?
Logan Robertson Jun 2018
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.

Logan Robertson

6/6/2018
Marla 3d
A life of pleasure and pain
Showering us in her decadence
As we recoil from the mundane
And bask in her eloquence
Everyone's favorite comedy.
Michael Marchese Nov 2018
Dread the free time
But still can't wait to have it
To seize peace and quiet
By my force of habit
And flee far away
From a central locale
Of a jobless, impoverished
Human garbage pail
Full of wasted potential
Unutilized power
Another kid lost to disease
By the hour
Devoured from inside out,
Parasitic
A malnourished mortality
Fated statistic
Accounting for little more than
A UN
Detrimental development
Index embellishment
IMF, World Bankers swooping in
Heaven-sent
Millions lent
Never spent
Back on the people
Just keep them like sheep
Marching on to the steeple
And reap what they sow
How so little they yield
Until cityscapes swallow up
Forest and field
And behind their most opulent
Optic facades
In their decadence festers
The graces of Gods
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