"domed" poems
I see a ****** of crows
parting the sky with
a ********** V
it hawks and blecks
down as if to say
good afternoon
to the child wheeling
across federal
on her
pink bicycle—
a travel
that rots and witches
the sweet, grey air
sailing into clouds
of pounding tide—
jewels
colorless
and divorced
drifting
across the
blue-domed
pearl of
missing you
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 5:58 PM UTC
Dinner is done
everyone's settled
the evening.....like the moon.....is full...
the weight of the night has itself eased into mine,
my expected moment of slumber...now distraught...
the Heavens are purpled
twilight drapes have fallen,
winds of March...bellow
.........my pillows
..............are hollowed
.......................by my elbows
......as a distant rooster crows........
i lie on my abdomen...legs swing back and forth,
catching inspiration, a word, a daydream...a thought,
i grab a pen falling, i grasp a journal, a book,
...............everything is within reach
but, not...the....long..................stretch
of hours....of a sleepless night...whence
....spiced...spiked...and sugared memories...
..........accompany me...and sail with me
.......as i cruise along this lethargic sea
'neath a silent dark, where aches are loudest
.........domed, by an unworded loneliness,
i am wearied by a flow, that is endless,
.....this minute...imagination is ceaseless
........i reach for my mug....but, it's empty
.........................i hear no liquid seething
this moment, a dark sea, should be brewing....
this hour, verses must be a river, overflowing,
...enfolding, this cool and starry, starry evening...
.......i am caffeinated....even without coffee....
Sally
Copyright March 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 1:49 AM UTC
I am a knight,
Yet, I carry no sword, nor ride a sturdy stead.
My domed armour, an architectural wonder,
Its smooth curvature, my only defence.
Fragile, I withstand great force.
Unyielding, I surrender under pressure
When struck, I succumb to my inevitable fate.
Helpless as the enemy raids my stronghold.
Fractured, blood oozes from my gouging wound.
Shattered, surrounded by the fragments of my doomed existence.
Discarded, I am left, forgotten.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
When the guests arrived we would hasten to sit in separate rooms.
Quick to cover and observe deep voices through walls,
Men with domed hats and flowing kameez would arrive and wait
for steaming chaaval,
brought in a mound topped with cloves.
Dishes placed and eyes down, they would acknowledge with
half nods,
hairy knuckles to pour the saalan over geometric bowls.
My aunts would hush in the kitchen,
pinning their scarves in a zig-zag fashion.
The colours burning from the tiles,
watching them made me dizzy and inside
I longed
that my plait would one day thread gold like theirs.
Timed silence was a key,
and a pyramid that was never fell,
unlike the tasks that could be
stitched to your hands,
structured stiff – like a testing lap.
Boiled milk in china cups,
there would be nods, gap-tooth smiles, low chatter
with ears pricked to
the humming of satisfaction within.
Sounds through division that showed that yes,
in the right hands
the colours could burn brightly,
and that yes,
in a brush of joint henna,
we would stand separate from your
Vision of us.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
O mighty-mouth'd inventor of harmonies,
O skill'd to sing of Time or Eternity,
God-gifted organ-voice of England,
Milton, a name to resound for ages;
Whose Titan angels, Gabriel, Abdiel,
Starr'd from Jehovah's gorgeous armouries,
Tower, as the deep-domed empyrean
Rings to the roar of an angel onset--
Me rather all that bowery loneliness,
The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring,
And bloom profuse and cedar arches
Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean,
Where some refulgent sunset of India
Streams o'er a rich ambrosial ocean isle,
And crimson-hued the stately palm-woods
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The sun touched the ground
and turned the world to ashes
the domed tower stands.
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 3:55 AM UTC
Capulet harlot a hamlet for hard heads
Two weeks best gone to her whims in you name
An Iliad adventure in babysitting nymphomaniacs
It was fun wile it lasted but domed at first frame
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
~Christi Michaels~
**Dark Shadows of My Soul
Memories finally revealed,
Yet always known.
Arches set deep within stone
Labored creake of hinges
Massive wooden doors
My breath, heavy just moments before,
quiets upon the entering.
Dark Shadows of My Soul
Three steps down,
Entering the majestic room.
Domed ceilings. Stucco stained
with colors from long, long ago.
I walk towards windows.
Tall, deep n' narrow overlooking My Realm below.
A knowing. A deep seated
rememberance of a life once lived.
Dark Shadows of My Soul
Secrets, locked away in gilded boxes..
Vessels holding unspoken truths
Trap doors leading to dungeons
concealed beneath intricately woven rugs.
Taste of the air. ****** breads,
roasting meat.
Acrid smoke wafting from Soddy hearths
Dark Shadows of My Soul
Raven ringlets cascading.
A waterfall down my open back.
Pearl woven braids
adorn the crown of my head.
My ******* constrained.
Rising...cresting
With each breath.
Brocade and lace lay gently
across my hands, kissing my fingers
My neck long, regal. I hold posture of a Princess.
My full skirts sweep and polish
these stone floors from time till eternity
Will begin the journey.
Delve into this sordid past.
Facing, long at last
Deamons. Lies of Old
Embracing now
Dark Shadows of One's Soul**
Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels. All Rights Reserved.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
--To M. M. M'B.
Above the Crags that fade and gloom
Starts the bare knee of Arthur's Seat;
Ridged high against the evening bloom,
The Old Town rises, street on street;
With lamps bejewelled, straight ahead,
Like rampired walls the houses lean,
All spired and domed and turreted,
Sheer to the valley's darkling green;
Ranged in mysterious disarray,
The Castle, menacing and austere,
Looms through the lingering last of day;
And in the silver dusk you hear,
Reverberated from crag and scar,
Bold bugles blowing points of war.
2k
Men with picked voices chant the names
of cities in a huge gallery: promises
that pull through descending stairways
to a deep rumbling.
The rubbing feet
of those coming to be carried quicken a
grey pavement into soft light that rocks
to and fro, under the domed ceiling,
across and across from pale
earthcolored walls of bare limestone.
Covertly the hands of a great clock
go round and round! Were they to
move quickly and at once the whole
secret would be out and the shuffling
of all ants be done forever.
A leaning pyramid of sunlight, narrowing
out at a high window, moves by the clock:
disaccordant hands straining out from
a center: inevitable postures infinitely
repeated—
two—twofour—twoeight!
Porters in red hats run on narrow platforms.
This way ma’am!
—important not to take
the wrong train!
Lights from the concrete
ceiling hang crooked but—
Poised horizontal
on glittering parallels the dingy cylinders
packed with a warm glow—inviting entry—
pull against the hour. But brakes can
hold a fixed posture till—
The whistle!
Not twoeight. Not twofour. Two!
Gliding windows. Colored cooks sweating
in a small kitchen. Taillights—
In time: twofour!
In time: twoeight!
—rivers are tunneled: trestles
cross oozy swampland: wheels repeating
the same gesture remain relatively
stationary: rails forever parallel
return on themselves infinitely.
The dance is sure.
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my eyes are drawn
to two seagulls
perched contentedly on
a shit-caked lamp post
nothing decorative
lacking flourish or accent
a simple narrowing pole
coloured inexplicably green
with gently domed cowls
that gulls and pigeons
seemingly frequent
marred by a combination
of cream brown white
for all i know
it could be
their own faeces
in which they stand
or it could be
weathered and aged
built up and dried in place
for days
for months
for years
perhaps even decades
never to return
to untarnished days
perhaps if the bulb blew
or the lamp failed completely
it might be restored
while it is repaired
but there is no
guarantee of that
and yet the birds
could not care less
they'll pay no heed
to that which is less
than perfection
treating this evidently
well-favoured resting place
the same as they would
an unmarred branch
protected amongst tree tops
or a dainty bird-bath
amidst the flowers
of someone's quaint garden
Jun 26, 2023
Jun 26, 2023 at 11:47 AM UTC
Is mauve, turquoise, burgundy, teal, lavender,
puce, umber, magenta and chartreuse.
It’s a rainbow of color that climbs after the thunderstorms
that is like a badge on a sky that is so blue
It is deserts and rains and mountains and plains
that stretch as far as the eye can comprehend
It is surrounded by ocean and blessed be
the beauty of it just never ends
It’s half a day trip and a drive up the mountain
to walk the forest trail to see the platypus in their habitat
It’s just a short trip on a hot summer day
to lay on a beach and man… In summer, you can’t beat that
At the same time it’s a winter wonderland of snow falls
upon mountains that are majestically steep
It’s a day trip away from the most magnificent site
Ayers Rock lives in mystery of ancestry so deep
Its glow worms at night alighting so bright
inside their domed cave at Natural Arch
It’s the Great Barrier Reef where the natural order of things
continue to grow, a rainbow of coral on the march
It’s sharing the ancestry of all that live on our land
St Patrick’s Day, Chinese New Year, we accept any invitation
We especially are thrilled when the rest of world joins in
with our love of a good horse race, Melbourne Cup…..
The Race That Stops a Nation
What other land has an entire country stand still
for three and a half minutes, which has never seemed so long
Fortunes are won and lost on this great day
Horses come from afar, we say ‘Bring It On’
There are no concrete jungles, just a huge urban sprawl
where everyone can claim paradise as their own
Its kids in the street playing cricket and football
amongst a community with which they have grown
Born from conviction, but raised by honor
it’s the land that just goes to show
that no matter where you may come from
if you put down roots, from our soil, you will grow
Friendships come easy, mateship is a lifetime gift
If you’re in trouble and the odds against you are stacked
Just give a holler, she’ll be right mate
We like a good fight. We’ve got ya back!
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
Men with picked voices chant the names
of cities in a huge gallery: promises
that pull through descending stairways
to a deep rumbling.
The rubbing feet
of those coming to be carried quicken a
grey pavement into soft light that rocks
to and fro, under the domed ceiling,
across and across from pale
earthcolored walls of bare limestone.
Covertly the hands of a great clock
go round and round! Were they to
move quickly and at once the whole
secret would be out and the shuffling
of all ants be done forever.
A leaning pyramid of sunlight, narrowing
out at a high window, moves by the clock:
disaccordant hands straining out from
a center: inevitable postures infinitely
repeated—
two—twofour—twoeight!
Porters in red hats run on narrow platforms.
This way ma’am!
—important not to take
the wrong train!
Lights from the concrete
ceiling hang crooked but—
Poised horizontal
on glittering parallels the dingy cylinders
packed with a warm glow—inviting entry—
pull against the hour. But brakes can
hold a fixed posture till—
The whistle!
Not twoeight. Not twofour. Two!
Gliding windows. Colored cooks sweating
in a small kitchen. Taillights—
In time: twofour!
In time: twoeight!
—rivers are tunneled: trestles
cross oozy swampland: wheels repeating
the same gesture remain relatively
stationary: rails forever parallel
return on themselves infinitely.
The dance is sure.
1.6k
Colors are gift by almighty
The precious gift given prudently
seems so pretty to me
Black presents color of night
Darkend and unique you can hide from sight.
Seems so pretty to me
Purple is the finest color from kit
As flowers wear this as its perfect fits.
Seems so pretty to me
Pink is color for baby girls
As they match there cute and lovely curls.
Seems so pretty to me
Green is color of grasslands bright
A color which strengthens the eye sight.
Seems so pretty to me
Autumn brings brown and red along.
Covering the ground with leaves long.
Seems so pretty to me
Birds are also the instance of colors lively
Carrying twice or thrice shade collectively
Seems so pretty to me
Inside the sea ,fish and creatures muatully
Swimming with hundred colors benevolently
Seems so pretty to me
Gratitude to allah for the eye
To see a domed rainbow extending in the sky
Seems so pretty to me
Thank you creator for this gift
Beauty that inspires heart to uplift
Seems so pretty to me....
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
A far off rumble, like a premonition,
Disturbs the quiet urban biosphere.
Soon, flashing, scattered thunderstorms appear,
Depositing an icy ammunition.
A domed volcano wakes from long remission,
Explodes, contaminates the atmosphere.
The sun retreats behind a ****** smear
And all the world submits to dark perdition.
For weeks the crumpled vegetation limps
Along and feeds on fallen carcasses.
The battered monuments to progress fall
And Wall Street übermensch, now useless gimps,
Assemble near their ruined businesses
And ponder why their profits tend to stall.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
Fourteen years old
and my life was a trap -
My ankle was caught
All red and ragged
In the jaws of an age-old machine
Designed to catch boys.
But there was a missing cog –
a little *****
because there was a way,
(There was a way)
There was a way
to
get away…
College Library,
Domed and dark,
The silence disturbed by a bluebottle’s
Rumble
And the sly ticking of my own gold watch.
Oh! Getting high on the smell of
Other people’s universes,
Tissue thin and
Dogeared immortal -
Gotcha!
I’ve got 'em all!
You can’t contain me in these walls,
I can go an – y -where.
I can get drunk on Holden’s Highballs
Or Sebastian’s brandy,
I can weep at the grave of Ignatius Riley’s
Sexually inappropriate wank-fantasy dog,
I can neatly eat Prufrock’s peach
Or a dismal breakfast in a seaside caff
With Dallow and Spicer
And dear Rosaried Rose
With one eye on the sea and
Some lukewarm tea.
I can spend a season with my namesake,
Far away from Heaven,
And shake hands with Satan as he
Finishes a speech,
Wiping his mouth on a swollen
rock,
Hot as heaven and black as a leech.
I can walk that sheep on B612,
I can whip around the Second Circle
Of Hell
Or lock myself in a toilet
With Franny,
I can live in a garret with a garrulous ****** -
I can be East of Eden,
Wonderland,
I can die in Venice,
I can shoot soldiers in the sand,
I can lust after Lo – lee – ta
Tip of the tongue,
I can be a girl,
I can be a nun,
Blow into a conch,
Diffuse a bomb,
Digest my lunch,
Be a sub,
Be a dom,
I can sparkle here,
I can be free here,
I can just be here
And there are no rules here,
Just one boy
And a book
And a bluebottle
And a watch.
Aw dear -
What a flawed design for a cage!
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
This morning
I woke up
and
told Melissa we wouldn’t
make it past three months.
We're at month two,
and I can feel it.
Either I’d drop her, or she’d
drop me, but either way
“we don’t have staying power,
and there’s no point
in either of us
pretending like we’re grown ups
who can just power through things
out of sheer complacency”.
I wasn’t looking at her.
Just up
at the spackle and a spinning fan.
It’s so hot in here,
that we sleep on top of the covers
sweating little puddles of skin
into the comforter.
Nightly,
we mash those deposits of dried salt
deep into the mattress
with our sloughing bodies
to get stuck
and form
tiny caves of skin and boredom in the springs.
She rolled away from me
swirling off a cloud
of stale, watermelon shampoo
And reached
With a tightly domed deltoid
towards the blue milk crate
where her purse sat.
She rummaged in there,
her back muscles working
like a landslide of flesh.
She finally dropped the purse,
after an effort of five minutes,
and I heard the successful flick
of a lighter.
She started
puffing and chugging down smoke
As she laid on her side.
My eyes watered
in the bluish smog,
and as the fan turned
raining down peices of our own skin
in a dusty, undetectable cloud of particulates
I could just see her,
out of the corner of my eye,
Shifting the weight of her body
from her deltoid
to her trapezius.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 11:39 PM UTC
Today I am grateful for the kindred spirits who walk around with
contented smiles tracing their lips for no reason
other than the blue sky above
free from blemish save for the few whispish clouds
clinging to the fringes of its domed expanse.
Together we - my kindred spirits and me -
breath the free air.
Its crispness rushing past teeth
over tongue and down throat
into lungs drying out the slippery skin it brushes on the way.
The wind in our chests is fleeting, transient;
never overstaying its visit.
But its hurried exit doesn't leave us empty or sad
for the wind always returns,
never wanting to be parted too long
from the close proximity of our beating hearts.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
The bells rang vividly through the cold misty evening as the carolers passed by,
Their serenades intoxicating the air with more and more of that red-green aura.
Busses, cars, and even an old man with a rickshaw zoom down the street,
Promising themselves they wouldn't let up the eve someplace away from home.
A silhouette emerges from the church carrying something wet and shiny.
Two cars topsy turvied and the passengers fell asleep.
Three men point exploding pipes at each other until they all fall down.
Four women braid each others' hair with clenched fists as the red mists paint the white brick wall.
Five people, all in a row, collapse onto the tracks of an oncoming train and decide to let go.
But the omniscient presence in the domed cloud sees all as a musing, for what are we but inklings?
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
Admire the stars
Look up into the galaxies
The sky goes on for miles
Thousands of solar systems
Waiting to be explored
The stars twinkle lightyears away
Domed above our existence
Watching us as we sleep
Calming and peaceful
It holds us tightly in our atmosphere
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
Art. Rooms. Community. Eyes closed, I walk through it's entrance way, trailing my hand along the smooth wood of the wall; the hallway feels like a return to earth.
Light filters in through eyelashes and I step out of a close space into the heart of the centre - a domed, organic gallery, glowing peace; staircase to heaven spiralling out of it's core; up to studios and therapy rooms, a rainbow of colour encompassed by their interiors; soft space held by life.
The gardens sway in soft sunshine; herbs and flowers that lean towards the kitchen; a small cluster of tables basking in the scents of earthy, homely food; our chef at the helm, friend and confidante to all.
A circle of the smooth outer wall brings us to rooms alight with creativity; soft sweeps of brushes in silk and the dampened buzz of ink on skin; the gentle embrace of care and understanding, time within time. A room, full of messages, enriched with thanks and awareness and focus, for all of the experience that has helped us to feel our way to this place. We are a team, though we have not yet met.
In my head, there is a centre and it serves as the foundations for a community of those who feel. The idea grows and multiplies and I try to keep up and I hope that it is a dream that will support me with its curving, caring walls. I hope and I hope and I hope to be able to meet it, to be enough for it, to have the energy it needs to be brought to life. I hope and I dream and I trust. I let it keep me from despair, when all has gone black and full of nothing. I don't know how to get there but I am drawing the map every day.
With love and thanks for giving us this space.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
I knew a boy who saw stories in the clouds.
he said,
some are painted on the domed-jar sky
and some--like those popcorn creatures up there,
lifted themselves over the mountains and flew away.
When the paint licks down the side of the jar,
the creatures are crying, he told me,
that's when people bloom their umbrellas
and look down at the sequined ground.
But they should look up.
See on this hill, you look up and
believe that the world is round,
they would have known Columbus was right
if they only loved the clouds more.
You and me are special. We look up, he said,
and even then, when I could count my age on one hand,
I knew it was true.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 11:17 PM UTC
And this is what I do
What a child am I
The moment a social gathering is mentioned
Or I meet another with similar
Creative interests
I become crippled and inferior
Shaking in my boots
My voice shrinks
My mind is domed by a hovering cloud
Dark and Endless
My eyes become dry
No ,they don't soak
With salty tears
They stare
Off into the sad abyss
That is my reflection
My eyes are paralyzed
By silent thoughts
That have no voice
But the most physical effect
A caved in chest
Heavy breathing
Every bit of my strength
Refusing to scratch out my eyes
And pull out my hair
Because that
Would just add on to the migraine
I have been dragging on and on
Much like the cigarettes
People are so confused on why I smoke
Don't you see?
I am terribly self destructive
My world opens up
And I shut down
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
On what day did the Seeker, that foul-shaped gangly
Figure, weep and belly-crawl toward me
Forward winding? In craven eaves, in parsley fields,
I wrinkled sleeves, running, running,
A bare-foot straw sock stuck fast and wide
While crows were nodding, nodding, nodding.
The mansion breaks the parsley skirting; my mouth
Is panting, low, unsightly. A butter cloud of moths
Were dancing, and caught my cheeks with tender tags
Of sickly salt-pan glister. With baked stone walls I
Pushed the tail-bone, and time was wailing fast before
Me, it scratched my back into a cup of clawing,
Chasing fingers.
He seeks me still in wooden boxing, under sweating
Hands are shaking; time atop my crush of raven
Swings a hefty, dullsome, tune. Knees were pulled far
Up and rounded, domed and white, and jade, and black,
Stuck and stinking fragrantly, the skiddish slums of slime
Betrayed me- sleeves were ***** hot, and green.
With backbone slinking down the body, the clock
Grows loud with muffled strumming. In front, the crack,
The door before me, small enough to wholesome hold
Me, blanks the mansion's putty light. Arms that longly *****
The run trail, scoop a crackle from the door frame;
Ones that pester, hound and perish
With longing, longing, longing.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 6:45 AM UTC
Adorned blue water's shores
Wonders, neath ocean's floors
Crossing cross, God's lands
Domed sky, connects all humans
Silent hush of holiday
Scan of night, with stars glaze
Illuminate hue, lit of moon
God guides, each one's way
Lest new and renew now
Thine gift, of sacred Faith
Fully infuse with holy hopes
All be still, May we Pray
For the suffering soul's sad
Each thee day and day
Humbly calling for wishful Peace
Ask please, can comfort stay
Holiday season, doth streams
Gestures kind, heart's pulsing
Love giveth, giveth Love
Of thee, Our Creator's blessing
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC