"eloquently" poems
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance
and chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs
street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their sullen
holy blues
cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts
a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway
hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy
beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow
a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
Never be ashamed of your native language
Say those beautiful
Phrases and words
Loud and proud.
Do not let anyone stop you from speaking
Let your voice be
Heard and recognized
Don't you dare let anybody make fun of your accent
Embrace the thickness
Don't ever lose grasp of it.
For it is one of the precious treasure
You could ever hold on to
After leaving your homeland
To start a new life in a foreign country
That offers you a whole lot of new opportunities.
Hold on to your mother tongue
As tight as you can
Because this new country you now live in
Will do its very best to change your identity
And oppress your culture.
So it be French or Spanish
Korean, Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese
Tagalog, Cebuano, Ilonggo
Greek, Punjabi, Hindi, Sinhalese
Arabic, Vietnamese, Portuguese
German or Russian
And any other language there is in the world.
It has exquisite words that just cannot be simply translated into English
For it has far greater meaning behind it
It is very much well-written
Alluring to one's eye and
Spoken eloquently and gracefully
That the English language is not able to compare
To your admirably and enticing
Well-spoken mother tongue.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 9:21 PM UTC
finally this moment is here, I've been watching
and waiting, I've been hearing it all along
in between your words, in the center of the stories
you tell so eloquently, so clever, so wise
there is light in your right eye, some shadow in your left eye
the evening light is sweetly illuminating the magnitude of loneliness
some feelings need at least two people in order to be bearable
you sat and listened you looked deeper into your body
language receded, obscured itself like the moon
sometimes there is no need for words
something more important needs to be created
in between bodies and minds,
the flow of connection, of true partnership
the waves started, the waters of loneliness surfaced
you cried your tears and I cried mine
as I listened to the silence of tears I understood: this was the moment for a few simple words: I see you, I am here
there is no falling deeper than this for now
truth, this scarry creature, was there in your flesh and mine
your loneliness was like a sea without horizon but the shiver of depth like a voice without screaming, a bird without flight
perhaps this tango with tears will fill your lungs with innocence
as you imagine a new horizon, a new architecture for happiness
Jul 10, 2023
Jul 10, 2023 at 1:47 PM UTC
Run now little deer
. run, run among the leaves and vines
so eloquently tethered.
Run now timid child,
be safe,
hide yourself among them.
run now little deer , run far,
as far as your thin legs will take you.
please don't let the bow hit you,
please keep your fur soft and mind clear.
little child with those hazel eyes.
don't let your life pass you by
like it has done to I.
Run now little
deer.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
I start to answer her question,
She seems taken aback.
I rattle off my list.
“Witty comments,
An easy found laughter…
I like competitiveness
That’s wraps itself around playfulness,
Like I want to wrap myself around
His big found epiphanies.
Symphony of intellectual connecting’s and
Good intuition.
A quick reaction time, helping you step away
Before **** has had time to hit the fan.
Eagerness to help other human beings…
Taking advantages of opportunities instead of people
Charisma that is unselfish in its tendency to be noticed.
Awareness of one’s self.
a knack for insightful observing.”
These a list of things I find attractive
But yes he also has a nice jaw line
It traces lovely underneath a finger tip
But it’s a faraway line on a map
That has eloquently plotted out his most beautiful parts
It’s faded and dim in comparison to the additional obvious existing’s
It is so far from those parts of him I find to be most beautiful
That I hardly understand how out of all of it
That was the only thing you really responded to.
The only part of the map you related enough to
To point to and say I have been there.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
bandanna knotted in your hair,
you are
eloquently attired, and almost
always a little late; it ok.
you aren't
beholden
to standard notions of
punctuality or
Americanized dreams of
mechanistic triumph over the
virus of Nature.
you are more and less and equal to
the sum of your
constituent parts and
you are exquisite.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
he, hardly fit,
sleeps fitfully
he, like a baby,
up and down at 2am
the cerebrum racked,
like a street *** so needy,
for a low caloric,
non-alcoholic snack
pickles - the almost zero solution,
dill in particular,
or even the slightly bad boy cousins,
the buttered variety
so in his customized original
100% sleeping skin gear,
standing in front of the shiniest fridge
gleaming,
his unfortunate reflection somewhat
steamy,
indecisive, which, his pickle, to to choose,
which to eat, completely complete,
to celebrate his dietetic restraint
so she, the yoga ballerina lioness,
finds him upright but not uptight,
leaving him in an awkward
so to speak, poem, pickling,
naked and speechless,
as the mouth is fully engorged
and on point
she summarizes
most eloquently,
the ****** and the crudités and the et. al.,
with a succinctly pithy observation:
*"ah, I see (me wincing),
still crazy after all these years*
...and other stories*
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
I live a shallow life.
No one is willing to submerge too deep.
I see them all around me…
Dancing on the sand,
Their skin hot from the sun,
& burning with romance.
I let them come and go as they please,
Stepping in my puddle by the sea,
Taking away a little at a time,
Leaving me alone…yet free.
I hear the others coming,
Rolling in so gently,
Each just a passerby
Speaking to me eloquently.
I see in the distance the whole that I should be,
But here I wait, unattached…
Just like a puddle by the sea.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 7:29 AM UTC
You give me the letter from her
and as I read the words
only meant for your eyes,
I realize
I've willingly been giving in to your eloquently delivered lies
I realize
I'm just a victim of your intoxicating
charisma and you know
how I hate
the
role of a
Damsel in Distress
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
I cry because happiness is a harder concept to grasp than sorrow.
Because sorrow greets me as an old friend.
Fondly reminding me of my mistakes,
my flaws, and my current inner desolation.
Reminding me of how I failed
and how I cannot fix my mistakes.
While we **reminisce over a bottle of melancholia
and a plate of regret.**
Leaving me with yet another notch on my belt
of nights I cried myself to sleep
People pass you by because
pretending everything is alright is more
convenient than noticing they are broken.
They are the people that hide their silent tears
at the back of a closet and bury broken smiles
into the corner of a sock drawer.
But soon …There won’t be enough room
for the hidden emotions that you think are irrelevant
and can be dealt with another day,
soon every emotion you hid will come out of the closet
and show its face in the most unpleasant way.
Tears. You can’t escape them.
I cry because she cries,
my best friend, drowning in her own sorrow,
I cannot help but drown with her.
For what is a friend if that friend will not jump
into the murky depth we call depression, sinking ever deeper?
At least we sink together.
Treading conformity, stress, humiliation,
we tread together.
As we sink deeper, we try to grasp
at the bubbles of happiness escaping our lips,
somehow bring them back.
We can’t, because once they’re lost no amount
of pretending can give us the air we sorely need
or the fake smiles to get by without question, day by day.
But at least, we drown together.
So many times I have looked out to a warm sunset
and felt chilled to the bone.
Because if I let go of the railing, life would go on.
Because if I did not exist right now nothing
in the world would change.
It would just erase any memory of all the ***** ups
I collected like stamps and baseball cards.
Because no amount of blankets and soothing words
can warm the icy thought in the back of my head
whispering in the persuasive voice of a friend, “What’s the point?”
I cry for the people who don’t think they matter,
who think that turning to something
to relieve their pain will fix it.
I cry for the people who think
killing themselves will make them feel alive.
For the people who get lost trying to find themselves.
For the people who put on a mask
desperately waiting for someone to see through it.
And for the people who cut themselves
trying to become whole.
Breaking themselves down bit by bit,
holding all the pieces,
and waiting for someone to put them back together.
I cry because this entire explanation is just eloquently realizing that
I am sad.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
Leafy-with-love banks and the green waters of the canal
Pouring redemption for me, that I do
The will of God, wallow in the habitual, the banal,
Grow with nature again as before I grew.
The bright stick trapped, the breeze adding a third
Party to the couple kissing on an old seat,
And a bird gathering materials for the nest for the Word
Eloquently new and abandoned to its delirious beat.
O unworn world enrapture me, encapture me in a web
Of fabulous grass and eternal voices by a beech,
Feed the gaping need of my senses, give me ad lib
To pray unselfconsciously with overflowing speech
For this soul needs to be honoured with a new dress woven
From green and blue things and arguments that cannot be proven.
3.6k
she is a rendering in darker inks of lighthearted subjects
the eloquently illustrated surrealistic seduction of the heart
demure yet ravishing sexualization
the ideal of beauty offering itself up like a sacrifice
at the alter of some wanton hedonistic temple to gods of lust
she looks up at me from her practiced good girl gone naughty dream
and tells me that she wants me
wants it all to be perfect
like in the paris magazines
wants it all to be crafted in perfumed perfection
near to goddess as human can be
she is rendered in darker inks
but i am captivated by the lovely
entranced by the beautiful
enraptured by the perfection
as only darker inks can be
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
Unluckily, I am an offspring of two different genotypes,
For it, I so often face the reverse apartheid by a faction,
That faction particular is omnipresent in this nation.
Unseemingly, extremely patriotic I do feel except during cricket,
They look, at my face and deduce that I am not one of them,
That I speak their tongue more eloquently doesn't count..
Up North, they think that my nose is a bit like a Dravidian,
But down South, they often think that I am an Aryan,
That boycotts me in this land of the Indian nation...
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 6:24 AM UTC
Of ***** roasting pans and racks and island fog!
*if you love me, then you know poems wright themselves when standing, driving, bus riding, ********** and especially when
doing manly battle, ******* ***** dishwashing midst island fog
a passing remark goes noticed and summoned to a
Friday night feast, roasted fowl, wild rice with golden raisins and mushrooms, English spring peas, was it a Montrachet?
for dessert the washing up is obligation mine, a traditional desertion,
separation of church and state, her cooking a church in which I worship, she states eloquently:
“Unto Caesaria , Render Her the cleanup”
this is hand to hand combat, no dishwasher mechanical
can scrub like the human hand, and with body english,
water hot, but no gloves employed for this is ***** man’s work,
not for sissies, cleaning roasting pans and roasting racks
that are at least twenty years burnt and crusted with a blackened
finish, residue of other lovers and dinners P.N. (pre-nat)
array three kinds of sponges and some human & metallic *****
no one asking which came first,
the scrubbing away of life feasting residues,
or the poem writing that comes with pre & postscript sleepiness
when I say the dark stains and the grease buildup are
flavor enhancers, am beknighted with starry stares of
“how stupid do you think I am?” and sadly return to the
Battle of Agincourt, the one the American lost….*
but they do source poems that flavor life
2020
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 11:54 AM UTC
27 | 31 Poems for August 2017
Her eyes are the same colour as her brown skin; you should see the world through her pupils.
Often at times she had no need to say anything because through her eyes you could see a different perspective of the world.
Her eyes eloquently spoke a language that was foreign to anyone who hadn’t experienced the vibe of South African townships.
But you could always understand her because those eyes were filled with hope, love and happiness.
The wisdom she constantly utters every single day may often remain unheard.
But the beauty of God’s grandeur will never go unnoticed; you can see it in her hazel-brown eyes.
You should see the world through her pupils; her eyes are the same colour as her brown skin.
I see the sunflowers in her eyes, the love that radiates from her aura is drawn from within.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
Make me Silent, that I may eloquently converse with Thee.
I wandered through forests of incessant searchings, and arrived at the mystery door of Thy presence. On the doors of silence I knocked loudly with my persistent blows of faith, and the doors of space opened. There, on the altar of glorious visions, I beheld Thee, resting.
I stood, with restless eyes, waiting for Thee to speak. I heard not Thy creation-making voice. At last the spell of stillness stole upon me, and in whispers taught me the language of angels. With the lisping voice of new-born freedom, I tried to speak, and the lights of Thy temple assumed sudden brilliancy and wrote letters of light.
In my little chamber of quietness, I am always resting: I never speak but with the voice of my silence. Through my silence, eloquently converse with me.
From: Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
2.7k
i.
In the shower under cold water, I scrubbed and scrubbed
I wanted to rid myself of my own skin
Escape into a mine so I could live among the coal
A fuel almost as ***** as I felt.
ii.
As he pulled away from me
As he broke me into pieces
Shattered glass lay upon the seat of his car
I know what it's like to escape into a stranger's hot breath
The weight of a warm wash cloth upon my back
Pressing down again.
iii.
I prayed my wings would grow back in time
For me to fly to places I could never see
Before, my vision was black in white
Suddenly, I could see in color
His memory continues to pluck the feathers
But once again, I see the value of bone.
iv.
I tried to move on
Forget the thrashing of your memory
Like a gong, clanging symbol
Leave my mind alone
Leave me be
v.
Free me of broken pieces of the years I lost
Minutes, I lost bleeding from the inside out, razor eloquently in hand
Hours, I lost to purging myself of your uncleanliness
Days, I lost dredging my soul in therapy, hoping to dig up something that would do me some good
Years, I lost to the talons of PTSD
Depression
Anxiety.
vi.
Finally, some hope
I taste it on my tongue like raindrops after the drought
Sunlight after the storm
I find myself
And lose the taint of you, heavy laden upon my skin
You are a cavity
Filled by love and support.
And finally, there's beauty in the struggle
It's anything but brief
Because the fight goes on
Forever.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
Warm waxy drips
Waxing eloquently
Of the candle’s luminosity
Of generosity
In decreasing the ignominy
of ignorance
Let not the candle wax
Wane
For she will be in pain
If her efforts go vain
Of letting the photons flow
Creating an incandescent glow
Shaping an ambience
perfect for alliance
For lovers holding hands
Across candle stands
Stealing kisses
With rapturous bliss
She melts at the core
Letting the wick to the fore
Barely lasting the night
She lives a life giving light
A lesson in grace
Is her existence
As she burns at a pace
With death in her embrace
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
the curling smoke
from warming fires
rise into the slate
gray sky of the
Beqaa Valley
sheaves of
rising prayers
expire in twisted plumes
dissipating into the
gloom of an ever
looming winter
overcast
refugees from
the Arab Spring's
uncivil wars
gather for warmth
around waning embers,
smoldering in the underbelly
of the lowliest bottom of rusted
steel drums, tended
with scavenged debris
some thought better
suited to fortify the
faltering hovels of
last resort
the fires
join us in
communal rings
straining the
tenuous links of
brotherhood, the
politics of men
assiduously tear
asunder
we count ourselves
among the fortunate,
blessed exiles recused
from the acrimony
of desecrated cities,
welcoming the
residencies of
bewailing lullabies
of colic infants, the
searing hunger of
stunted children and the
incomprehensible babble
the elderly eloquently
speak in tongues
of a desperate
exasperation
our nagging impotence
swaddle us in ambivalent
inabilities to master circumstances
profanely denigrating our humanity
privation is
our daily bread
the bitter manna
feasting on the
animosity the banquet
of rancor generously
prepares for
peace starved
pilgrims
in these
refugee camps
the cold cuts deeper
hunger pangs
grow sharper
our blighted dignity,
vanished livelihoods,
and the presence of
recently interred
loved ones trudge
through our mean
encampment as
fully enfranchised
citizens in our
distressed
kingdom
what was lost can
never be recovered
our homeland leveled
yet doors still stand open
silently pleading all
to cross a new
threshold
the full restoration
of our hope,
the reconstitution
of our flagging
humanity, the
spark of the
holy spirit
willfully uniting us
in the salvation
of reconciliation
is nigh
we are
the divine children
stoking the embers
tending the fire
that light pathways
through the cold
darkness of a
broken world
Oh come
Emmanuel,
dwell among us
Oh come
Emmanuel
ransom once
again the
poor captives
of Israel….
Selah
Music Selection:
L'Accorche-Choeur, Ensemble vocal Fribourg
Veni Veni Emmanuel
Everywhere
Christmas
2013
jbm
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
Weightlessly
Whole-heartedly
Dripping emotions
Eloquently evoking
Subtly stating art
Gracing gifts
Beauty
And bliss
In every
Big breath bringing
Life on
The floor
Pure in
Passion of
Existence expanding
As eternity
Is lived
Out loud
When the
Music swells
And
The
Beat grows
Stronger
The world fades into
The
Movement
That
Seizes
Silently tells a story
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
*Utterly enchanted 'neath
mesmerizing constellations,
as an entranced blue moon
swoons over sparkling
celestial diamonds,
cello's were eloquently playing
serenading starry stratospheres
within an endearing melody
and milky ways of poetry,
simultaneously syncopating
strumming pizzicato heartstrings,
tuning our harmonious passages
of rhythm and rhyme 'pon
apricot mist sunset horizons &
seraphic skies rendered of
lapis lazuli sunrise grandeur*
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
I Came to Know LOVE ...
I came to know love the moment I knew you
I came to know love , the moment I came close to You
It's only when i remember you that i feel secure ,
That my heart reaches the highest degrees of faith and declare that it's pure,
I closed my heart from everyone except you ,
And I started whispering knowing that you already knew
what's there in my heart and what I've been through. ..
"Oh Allah,the ONE who sees secrets of hearts while we don't see you ,
The Most Merciful and Forgiving ,
I declare my repentance for you ...
For you are the only one who loves me more than I even do love myself ...
Oh my Lord,
With each hearty glimpse of love I do possess in my heart ,
I ardently have two types of love for you ...
The love of inclination when your remembrance keeps me away from everything but you ...
And truly the love you are WORTHY of is when you unveil the veils for me to see you ...
All praise is for you my Creator ,
You privileged me with every purchase of happiness,
The very significant of love and care ...
From creating me a human being and not other creature ,
For the fancy perfect religion of Islam ...
Oh Allah, my heart beats would speak more eloquently than my words would be able to do ,
Cause no word is worthy in front of your greatness , no meaning could be shaped ****** ...
Ya Allah , please grant me deep faith and belief in you ,
Mold my heart into a precious pearl ,
One that encompass pure love, benevolence and grace ...
Oh Lord of el3alamin;
Make me close to you the way you want me to be righteous and pious ,
Guide my steps to ensure the right path of true belief and happiness ...
And make me contribute in spreading peace and happiness ,
Through spreading the light of Islam all over the nations ...
Ya Allah don't let my heart beat for anyone except you,
For your love is the pure and all the rest is just an illusion ...
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
its romantic how we get each other through a thursday night
its sad how you’ll never see that smudge of red lipstick just below my lip
misplaced, you would have said, beautifully misplaced
and i’ll ask which film is lighting up your face
it is ladies night, it is free well-drinks
and so i start every order with ‘well,’ and a sigh
and i tip the bartender with daisies
i never was good with money, flowers are a currency
and you find some kind of eloquent word to describe me walking home alone
beautiful, endearing, and you forget to mention that its unsafe
“you should have some company”
and i forget to mention that i wish it was you
so instead i laugh and swoon on the phone with a former lover
taking a break every so often
send a text that i’m still eloquently walking,
my heels writing love letters to you
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
*My doctor offered me a cure,
For my dull ill heart so pure,
He nodded his head,
And grabbed a paper instead,
Which he left next to my bed,
"Don't open it till I am gone,"
He said.
I waited for a moment,
Till I heard the cracking of the door,
He gentley slammed it for sure,
''Why would he do that?"
I said.
I took the paper to unfold,
To read what was untold,
My hands shivered,
My heart stopped,
instead,
It was eloquently folded,
Like the coffin of the dead,
His black ink on white,
His italic messed up writing,
Not a prescript, but a funeral,
Instead.
Between those elegant lines,
He said,
**"You, my dear patient,
Are lost in despair,
You are on earth,
With a lofty heart,
Pardon me,
Pardon my knowledge,
There is no cure for that,
You are a poet, cures are futile,
Medicine is useless,
Your desires are uncontrolled,
They are not meant to be,
But they are your drug,
You are addicted to that,
Pleasures are your weakness,
Such a lofty weakness,
But alas,
Such a dreadful terminal illness,
Try a poem a day,
instead.
As there is nothing to heal you with,
in my head.
A poem a day,
Keep me at bay."***
Copyright© protected
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
Everyone wants to hear a poem that rhymes from the girl who rhymes
But I’ve got no rhythm tip toe around the precision of other writers
I get lost easily in the waves of patterns and structure
Rupture my skin in the process
Destroying words and phrases in the mess of my skin and blood
Dragging myself through the mud I am a jumble of words that don’t even fit together in sentences
My types of fetish’s aren’t feet or latex, but poetry
Supposedly everyone can rhyme but
My fingers can find the time from the space between pen and paper
Maybe if i cover my room in wallpaper made from failed poems
I’ll finally get there
Rip out all my hair
I’ve never successfully written rhyme worth sharing
I’ve been in this despairing state for a while
Ran miles on my tongue
Wrung myself dry from all my creativity
Found I have a bigotry towards everything I write
Everyone wants to hear a poem that rhymes from the girls who rhymes
I ask for an example
Sample sounds on paper
Ending up with ample amounts of couplets
But its never enough, its always going to fall short
Someone needs to take me to court I’m copying the sound of other writers
Profound thoughts never said eloquently enough
It’s rough to be a writer that doesn’t know how to write
But I’ve never been the type to give up
Cover up all my failed attempts at rhyming with free-verse
Curse me, Or even worse
Coerce me into thinking I know what I’m doing
Because whats worse than blissful ignorance
Hand my a fistful of advice and set me free
But I’ll never be the girl who rhymes rhymes
My fingers will never find the time lost between pen and paper
Everyone wants to hear a poem that rhymes from the girl who rhymes
Sometimes they nearly get their wish
But all dreams parish in jumbles of words in phrases
Blaze through whole journals trying to write two poems
Crumbling my own thoughts in my too fast thought process
Everyone wants to hear a poem that rhymes from the girls who rhymes
I still with pencil and paper
Set out on this caper
With a website that gives me words that rhyme
I’ve decided to let people get their fix
Try my hand at rhymes
Take my time
And slow down my too fast thought process
Soak up all my creativity
A rid my mind of every bigotry I ever had
Because the girl who rhymes
Will always be the girl who rhymes
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC