"dusks" poems
The singing of phones cut midway
The conversations that flow exactly after
The unnoticed change from night to day
The difference in context of everything that mattered
Now there was...
The silence of phones that used to ring nonstop
The ringing of phones currently unanswered
The mornings when it's impossible to get up
The middays wherein silence is heard
The nights when it's impossible to sleep
The midnights when eyes won't even blink
The day breaks that slowly creep
The dawns that felt like the sun was going to sink
The dusks wherein the rain poured
The fading daylight which was warmly gazed upon
The darkness of a nightfall which enveloped that unspoken word
The gust of air that continues changing from here on
The burning of letters that should have existed
And
The writing of letters that no longer exist
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 5:43 AM UTC
Oh, the great tree that sprouting the whole universe, I am just asking now for a little bit of shadow Many might have come meanwhile to friends with you And they might have supported you to give more power Besides they might have sung many songs in the rhythm of heartbeat And all the dusks have wept a lot No doubt they would have desired to see the garden of memories And all their deeds given inexplicable joy .BUT I saw the earthen monuments on all my ways and I thrilled in the floute- music of my life Moreover I saw the jasmine groves in the island of sorrows And my burning self have seen the depths of red-sea. EVENTHOUGH, may I sit and may think in this chilling canopy of ETERNAL LOVE.(originally written in MALAYALAM,kerala ,India.in 2008)
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 11:37 PM UTC
All colors come from the sun. And it does not have
Any particular color, for it contains them all.
And the whole Earth is like a poem
While the sun above represents the artist.
Whoever wants to paint the variegated world
Let him never look straight up at the sun
Or he will lose the memory of things he has seen.
Only burning tears will stay in his eyes.
Let him kneel down, lower his face to the grass,
And look at the light reflected by the ground.
There he will find everything we have lost:
The stars and the roses, the dusks and the dawns.
Warsaw, 1943
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 6:59 AM UTC
The sleet is drawing boxes 'round
our mud-and-snow sashed towns.
We'll check 'em off
with crunching footsteps,
slash our gallows grins through static
weather. Nervous laughter fights off winter
while somnambulist nights
hold the anthill days at bay.
And each repeated conversation
coats a thrumming undercurrent
echoed by the groaning rivers
in their arthritic fatigue.
where the ice piles up
like car wrecks.
And, out of those disastrous angles,
jumps up and trips back down.
Blinking eyelids, right then left.
Sunrises. Sunsets.
Dusks and dawns in places familiar
wading through liminal space.
Circles darkened. Footprints filled in.
The heat just circles lazily.
Our flushed and clammy brows
will **** askance
and sweat while footsteps
melt our swaying way through boiling
sidewalks. Nervous laughter dulls the impact
of seared, rapid fire nights.
"Ha." "Ha." Shrug off another.
And all repeated reminiscence
does is hamstring overthinking
of the closing jaws of traps
in these rusting western towns.
where winds breathe dust
by mouthfuls
So, into our familiar mishaps,
***** up and falls back down
melting into neighborhoods
dress down, upbraid us.
'Til our feet do not walk circles
'round these wilting Western towns.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
The dawn has this texture
Of long endured pains
With perfume of silent dusks.
For how long will the wind venture
Between long forgotten remains,
With scent of violent dusks?
The rain has this arenaceous texture
When there aren't any eyes to cry,
The silence is a mild creature,
A friend if needed, but still a lie...
And the shadow blinded my senses.
My feelings on Procust's bed
My mind destroying fences
Of the uncouncious, of the dead.
The pain within me tear apart
The innocence and my heart
Into millions of serpents
Devouring each other,
Creating Chaos -
And many other
Molecules of poison
Are released in the air,
Despite my crying and dispair...
Have you tasted?
My weakness have this texture
Of salty vapors in the sky,
Or a peace of the black eye.
...and a perfume of a departed soul -
Somewhere, far from human senses.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 6:03 PM UTC
The gypsy hymns and railway trails
which you followed into the valley of your trials
Lady Luck brought you enough street child wisdom and thief given kindness
to turn the tracks around and the train whistle to wake me.
Desert saint of your weathered ways
with your thin wrists and moon gleaming lips
Hope to you was like a blinding sunrise, painful to acknowledge, yet sorely lacking without
Never could be without your Larkspur boquets and marigold wreaths
August heat heavy with the scent of cypress trees
Apollo of the dusty sea, flooded the cliffs with light like withering flames
born from boxcar visions and a desperate hunger for that windblown hallelujah we chased down the starlit trestles like missionaries. Summoned from our streetcar medallions, vagabond nymphs, rumbling through moth-eaten states and barren dusks, lazy moon gazing upon our dolorous times and wild days and all our rough and rowdy ways.
No need to heed the judgements of the stars.
With the arid land so wild and lonesome- we weave our own muse into the railway line- followed back to when you were my home, and the streets were the laurel crown of your vagrant fortune.
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 12:12 PM UTC
When I smile at the Sun,
That shining golden medal,
I feel something stir inside,
And blissfully go mental.
Days may pass, I’d still rejoice
At this foolish mem’ry,
Gleaming right through my essence,
Generously merry…
When I twinkle at the Moon,
That pale silver pendant,
I’m beside myself: the boon,
Gracefully resplendent.
Dusks will go and dawns will come,
Timeless, formless spirit
Will tell me that we are one:
Wholeness and no limit…
When I humbly hug the Sea,
That precious sapphire platter,
There is nothing I can’t see:
All flows back, de-scattered…
Waves may crash and birds may sing,
Thunderous in their beauty,
Lastly, will I find my peace
In this senseless duty.
Movember - Beardcember '16
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 6:01 AM UTC
No life or death
Pain or pleasure
Galaxy
Or Universe
No more beautiful dawns or dusks
No world of wonders
Or anything
Once we are gone.
So it’s Now Boys!
Attention!
As Huxley said
On “Island”.
Live for Now.
For this very moment.
Stop.
Let your mind go blank.
Listen to your body
And all that surrounds you.
Breathe in the oxygen
That gives us life.
Admire the sky
And all beneath it.
Join with nature:
Sapping grass and foliage
The song of birds
As Mummy Sparrow feeds her fluffy chick
Its beak open wide
Clamouring for food.
Enjoy it all
While it lasts.
Paul Butters
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 5:53 AM UTC
Hands off at sun
Hands on in candlelight
Thoughts in the sheets as bright at cold winter nights
Seductive squeals seep from your pores
Imposing emphasis on the ykk below my buckle
Staring at each other like under worked underpaid ******
Chasing after each other like the bull and matador
Anticipating love like christmas morning
Wanting you at dusks yawning
Craving you at Noons awakening
Needing you by nights naptime
All before life calls me and i cant have you
Until lost calls on love
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 1:08 PM UTC
Immortal.
Oh, yes, he is immortal.
Immortal in his youthfulness indeed!
He shalt age and grow but never change;
he shalt wane and wither just in pain!
Just like a stubborn day rainfall-
ah! which remains a thick stifling veil
to our young sky, and its starlights-
like a loyal fence and its old window;
sitting and hoping that endings shalt never show
Yes, he shalt but still look the same tomorrow.
Ah! His eyes but a way down to my soul;
which I find lone but beguiling!
Pangs of endurance and blighting pain-
all vanish soon as I catch the sight of 'im again!
Oh! And with an indolent smile so comely;
he shalt answer up all my queries vividly!
Brilliance and height but with his tones;
but of a wit firm as an obedient stone-
he washes me of all my doubts,
fears, and worries of my small thoughts.
Amidst the decaying weary roses,
and those pallid old-time posters
he is but my friend, so jolly and bright like me.
He shalt stand there with shy feelings
next to the bustling stairs in the mornings.
And out doth I venture on errands-
so late that I need nearly run!
Greeting me there he smiles again-
and all day shalt his picture remain!
O, how I adore his cherry-like lips-
full of secrets, brave rays, and twists!
He is my immortal sun and star-
the flow that fills, and rises my heart.
He is my undying day and night-
to my thunder, he's brown starlight!
Ah! He is corrupting me again with love-
but in his eyes doth I find clarity!
Clarity, my dear, a bright tenderness and promise
that no other lover can surmise.
Oh, my whole sweetness-canst thou hear me
scream and pray for thee?
Ah, how that bunch of wordless gazes
brimming with startling eyelashes-
when thou peered into my moonless sun;
thrilled through me and proved us one.
And ah! My young sailor, be but my dawn to me-
when nights are lies and dusks are unfree.
Shield me on gray mountaintops-
hold my hand as I stroll amongst the shops.
Heap on me some flowers!
How betwixt those icy morning showers-
shalt thou retreat to my bower.
With a ring of blissful laughter-
and the joy of a new prudent lover;
shalt we entwine just together
and celebrate our glad encounter!
Meanwhile with conscience thy entreat-
that the vow of union I repeat-
and bringst thy heart which hast made me blind-
and knit thy pure love into mine.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
November days sees me pummelled,
bashed and clubbed to a pulp.
Buried then exhumed...
Skin and bones,
hair and scalp.
Dusks watch me stretch,
warp and break.
Bitten, chewed and spat out.
So that I could come together...
So I could nurse
the same old doubt.
Nights abrade,
as they span for hours.
They sap, they wear.
They mock and they jeer.
There is bittersweetness in the solitude
where coherence of mind
is scarce and rare.
Dawns greet with tiptoeing feet.
Cradle my body where it had lain.
They resuscitate me. Fill me up.
They ward off nightly deaths
so I am reborn,
again and again...
***Into
November.***
.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
Born into dawns spark
of suspicion .
Following faiths track
to eternity.
Questioning the rails
I traipse .
She knows the clouds
breath
crashes in the rocks
refrain .
Yet she fights for the
equality of senses .
We meet at the summit
of a lonely dreamscape ,
with flowers and nymphs
beautiful and armorous .
At the trees spire
we found meaning
as treasonous
blossoms return .
Dripping from loves
estotic comeback
nectar running down
her leg .
While her ballad is
written on ancient winds .
Sung as tragic owls
slip the spires
and wander the
broken fields .
While I lay dying
into dusks arresting
berth of acceptance .
She floats above
the crashing rocks
of freedom .
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
I drift... And drift
Along the ocean floor
The streets of Atlantis
In search of land masses
Or little coral reefs of hope
Waging war with the oceans currents
But when I come to light
A revolving light
That conquers the fleets of darkness
Spreading rays of life to trenches
A place where their is no reason to believe
I wonder...
A desire to ponder on shooting stars
The thin golden line
That says
maybe...
And nothing more
As if to show
That maybe
Is all I need know
So I base my mind on sunshine
And beg
Beg the light to guide my boat ashore
To at last open up my door
And bring the sun into the ocean
Boil my doubts to smoke
A gray cloak of fear
But bring me tears
Joy will remember
The gateway to dawn
And dusks swan song
The endless presence
That lingers little words
That let me drift.... And drift
Towards the lighthouse
That answered my silent call for help
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
In this hollow white space
Its been two five seven days.
The sky dusks again.
Jan 14, 2024
Jan 14, 2024 at 2:53 PM UTC
we could have the summers in italy
the peaches in paradise
the dawns and the dusks and our toes in the sand
but we're doing the vtc and ecstasy
listening to scratched disks and taking shots of drain water
dreamers only think in French you tell me
so i chant the words
je veux tout in my head
i want the nutmeg stuck on the walls in my nose
and your moans in my ear till 4 after midnight
i want the silk sheets wrapped around my neck
the tongues in my mouth
i want to get familiarized with the richness
when a balenciaga shoe hits me and the euros are in my bloodstream
i want to be used to it
the velvet carpets and red lingerie
the colosseum and vatican city
busboys with scruffy berets
expensive wine in busted hotels
chocolate fondue and burnt pasta at the cartels
michelangelo's david and authentic fur coats
tramps and 2 dollar bills down your throat
throwing ash trays at the sistine chapel
gifts of china tea cups and diamond rings to forget the scandals
fat cigars and the bonnie and clyde lifestyle
i want it all in italy baby
je veux tout
je veux tout
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC
golds sink down
the sky strange magics
miraculous the bridges
of leaves under October’s
wintry dusks calm and at rest
russet and purple the
trees yearn for the darks
of a retreating world
each leaf falling forever
each leaf a ghost
of hidden centuries
where the night’s eternal
stars wait, beautiful
in the perfections of the sky.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
The last light fading
Breaths encapsulated
Blood red eyes
The last struggle
Kicking and boxing towards the sky
Hoping to see the light
In murky dwellings of whales and sharks
Afraid, dazed and crushed
The grip on life fades like dusks while praying for the sunrise
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 1:00 PM UTC
My summer sweats bloom from a grass rag,
Scratch another hardly blasting out a calibrate,
Can I break, strap out hacker doozy bluemoors,
Caught from an out sound, an out frowned
Blackening the coffin sweet cough lubricate,
Shackle high tops on pipe dream loft shakers,
Clover feelers, four hitter on lucky seven collar,
Depth sin protector, **** I ain't wrath looter,
Nor do poppa sizes on some puke lips locker,
Key switch for gates hellish donor, back loner,
Course you see, I seek seep suckled *****
Not some subtle soul (gap in skirt) poker,
Forever reaching lines, bust knuckle lifters,
Cracked rage like Nile is flooding wealths curlers,
Jewel duplicate for ruby cuts on roofless lust,
Symbolise another and I'll grabble force an honour,
Sober up soppy crotch rummage coper,
Scan cell prison ament Scholar's "repent!"
Mace battle X axel swop blunt round passel,
Cost more on pepper rubber rock relation,
Patient prep operation, cramp dilation,
Dial engage **** sudden blocked injection.
Cast nocturnals ominous above monuments,
Men fall like weak's race for joy's division,
Attend pro's vision, pure as skies probations,
Pack pampers protection tracks premonition,
Flat lines before lap times, clenching half rhymes,
Hop hotter than blues croft in dusks knots,
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
It is evening now, as moist and damp
as monsoon dusks can be,
and the lantern, it is shining away,
hanging off the ceiling. Now,
the bells ringing the vespers toll.
Elsewhere, celebrations have begun.
Sometimes, wails emerge, accompanied
by the chime of breaking bangles: yes,
glass is what makes the manja potent.
The lantern: it is what crickets
are to sound, to light in the nights.
But, it can only reach so far: built dim.
The fan slices through her smile,
and in the corners, shadows dance.
It's a wave, yes, light, and it bends at the
corners, but it doesn't handle slits well.
But it keeps attempting this every
monsoon night; through the rain, and
through the silence after the crickets
and people are done, reflecting off
ceilings, bending at corners, and
forming fringes where life is otherwise
just colourless, like the pouring rain.
(Oh not odourless though, the smell
of earth has entered into her pores)
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
and the whisper clapped.
the whisper clapped to
dawns arrival.
the whisper clapped
to dusks departure.
the whisper clapped
to the arrival of sound
waves laughing like angry
distances in mad consort,
as if schizophrenics heard
words spoken millions of
years ago on far off planets
long since devoured by
exploding supernovas,
the sound waves only
reaching us now in the
same way we see ancient
stars, long since having
devoured the speaking
races in the inevitable
movement of cosmic
breath.
and the whisper wondered;
what was the last word
spoken by
God?
you wouldn't know.
Every Testament was
heard and written by a
solitary schizophrenic
of long past, seen as
holy mystics speaking
the language of heaven.
Now these mystics are
madmen shooting ******
in rainy, grey alleyways.
God died long ago and his
last whisper was heard
within the confines of a
mental asylum just outside
of São Paulo, Brazil. We
weren't paying attention.
We missed the Last
Testament.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 7:58 AM UTC
I'm a pendulum
Slowly swinging one way and another.
Always destined to be opposite,
Always almost touching one extreme or the another.
I long for the dull thud of metal on wood.
I remember as a child playing with the brass pendulum of my parents' clock. Interfering.
I'm a cuckoo cuckoo.
In my cuckoo clock.
Popping in and out.
Hidden inside or on full, crude display,
Chirping away,
But never will I not be the other,
In time.
I am the weather,
My own seasons,
A planet orbiting its sun,
Ever-changing, always running,
Spinning, dizzying, ever busying Myself but never getting to the sun.
Never knowing true dark or true light,
Only the insistent tick tock of day and night.
Regimented, regular dawns and dusks.
Waiting for the next change of scene
Wondering what it would mean to reach the sun,
Wanting to let the cuckoo break loose of its small, wooden case.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
*Your eyes shift like
clockwork forcing
December into
it's rightful rank.
Frostbite bursting
from jaws of
Sagittarius, iron
staining your
crow -feathered
muzzle. I
plucked Sirius
off the face of the
sinking sky while
weaving his
starlit fangs into
steal wolf teeth
for replacements.
You swallowed
an oath of loyalty
for alunakira
so I will build
and reach into
that heart of
vintage glass,
drag the dog of
war from the
sunset stomach
you own~
and do as Lupus
told me too.
I will construct
symphonies of
tiger -lily
dusks & dawns
to raise the
dead poetry in
basilisk heart.
Lycan, I'll
withdraw the
ashes of
Avalaone just
to get the
Gears working
again in your
a u b u r n
e y e s*
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
Dancin' shadow on dat wall,
white-blues-boy sing yawl song,
harmonica cry, guitar scream,
to dat beat beat so sweet song,
dat dancin' shadow is ah swayin'
in ma head.
Yawl blues echo like dat shiftin' breeze
and shiftin' bayou winds in time dat blow
so sweet, like da shiftin' silt and sounds on breezy thoughts
about red fiery dusks.
Yawl black shadow on dat wall
dances like dah vanchee* in heat.
Clamorous mixture is dat beat
frum dat white-blues-boy smooth-song
dat fills dat *** in heat of vanchee*calls
and his shiftin' black silhouette on dat wall,
dat smooth-song black man yawl becum...
RW Dennen (c) 2008
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
Softly your words cross to me
And hard they strike me down.
Defeating me; my love,
Who I dream of,
Through green and yellow mists,
Never to return.
New dusks bring new dreams,
But you, my love,
Strike me down, never softly.
Again, green and yellow mists,
And you, my love,
Never to return.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 8:42 PM UTC
The evenings cold enough to require a sweater
but still too warm for the biting winter wind,
to cut through our clothing
like hot knives through butter;
these are the not-quite nights,
the dusks of the almost-autumn
and the too-late summer,
with the drizzle dripping requiems
for sunshine longings and July dreams.
These are the nights that I am torn
between walking alone with the chill in my bones,
sedate with the cold but alive,
or begging for a body
to drift alongside,
radiating an unreciprocated warmth;
someone with hands stuffed
into night-bitten pockets,
too cool and stiff to really chatter
but hoping for the shared sympathy
of frozen, rain-speckled skin.
We are gliding across the fallen leaves--
the dying brethren of the trees--
that crackle slow beneath our feet
like summer candy wrappers, drifting.
But we’re still slowly freezing,
shrugging threadbare shoulders
under threadworn sweaters
that still reek of the past.
And we’re still gently waltzing,
disinterested fingers on uninteresting waists
trampling scarlets and golds under
careless heels in three-four beats.
As the twilight fades into ink,
a hollow, whispering breeze reminds
of the clouded distance between us
and the heavy, rain-laden sky.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC