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Maxim Keyfman Jul 2018
eludes time slips away
as if a snake were like a piano
like stars outside the window
like lonely oak
time slips away from me

and what is time and what is a day
what does it mean to slip away
what does it mean a snake and piano
what does such a star mean
and what is true solitude

eludes time eludes
disappears disappears like a spider's thread
as its core as its web
As his house is abandoned and new
built in february onward

28.07.18
Fate will make our paths cross
But is it what I want? My future is someone else's, and soon it will be yours.

People say we are for each other, but is it truly so? A companionable silence will follow but nothing will grow. They say time will bring us love
I think not. Acceptance will grow but not of love

Love eludes me in this destiny, this cage I'm trapped in
My choices are yours, your choices are others
We are what they define us to be.
Love for us - It's nothing but an illusion
The only love we will ever have is to forever be
In love
With the idea of love.
g clair Sep 2013
the one thing that I've wanted
eludes me to this day
I drive around just looking
with nothing much to say
the ones that have it, earned it
while the others, we just pray
for the one thing that we wanted
but eludes us to this day~

Aye, the one thing that we wanted, but eludes us to this day!

well you take the road to riches
and ****** well you may
find the path that intersects it
when your greed gets in the way
and blindly turn aside
when all the beggars plead, "Oi Vey'!
you've got the one thing that they've wanted
but eludes them to this day~

Aye,the one thing that they've wanted but eludes them to this day!

while I wait around just hoping
that my wages serve me well
and try to keep the heat down
while the gas bill goes to hell
not the thing I really needed
but the one that keeps me warm
it's my thermal underwear~
and all that's clinging to my form~

Aye, her thermal underwear is all that's clingin' to her form!

I pull myself together
in the early morning light
and layer on and layer up
'cause this has been my plight
the news guy says it's snowing and
Long Island's in a freeze, Geez
the last thing that I needed
and it's right up to my knees~

Aye, the LAST thing that she needed and it's right up to her knees!

So I'll boil a *** of water
and I'll fill me up a tub
and I'll soak my father's daughter
till there's nothin' left to scrub
and when I'm toasty warm and ready
then I'll climb back in the bed
close my eyes and dream of summer
and the one thing in my head~

Close her eyes and dream of summer and the one thing in her head!
It's the one thing that I've wanted, but forever left unsaid.
g clair Sep 2014
the one thing that I've wanted
eludes me to this day
I drive around just looking
with nothing much to say
the ones that have it, earned it
while the others, we just pray
for the one thing that we wanted
but eludes us to this day~

Aye, the one thing that we wanted, but eludes us to this day!

well you take the road to riches
and ****** well you may
find the path that intersects it
when your greed gets in the way
and blindly turn aside
when all the beggars plead, "Oi Vey'!
you've got the one thing that they've wanted
but eludes them to this day~

Aye,the one thing that they've wanted but eludes them to this day!

while I wait around just hoping
that my wages serve me well
and try to keep the heat down
while the gas bill goes to hell
not the thing I really needed
but the one that keeps me warm
it's my thermal underwear~
and all that's clinging to my form~

Aye, her thermal underwear is all that's clingin' to her form!

I pull myself together
in the early morning light
and layer on and layer up
'cause this has been my plight
the news guy says it's snowing and
Long Island's in a freeze, Geez
the last thing that I needed
and it's right up to my knees~

Aye, the LAST thing that she needed and it's right up to her knees!

So I'll boil a *** of water
and I'll fill me up a tub
and I'll soak my father's daughter
till there's nothin' left to scrub
and when I'm toasty warm and ready
then I'll climb back in the bed
close my eyes and dream of summer
and the one thing in my head~

Close her eyes and dream of summer and the one thing in her head!
It's the one thing that I've wanted, but forever left unsaid.
Jason Nov 2014
Sleep eludes;
Insomnia.
Hands tick on;
the night sleeps.

Somewhere, someone is waking
Here, I am writing.
Sleep eludes;
yet the night sleeps.
Idonotexist Jun 2014
eye lids move slowly
over the eyeballs
in an effort to garner
sleep to a worn out
body to restore the
metabolism to normality
yet sleep eludes

the slight movement
of the eyelids never felt before
is sensed as the brine tear
a lubricant between the interface
where surface tension dominates
all other forces of physics
what force dominates my heart?
I know not
and sleep eludes me

Unconstrained emotions flow
around like unsettled dust
particles glowing in the sunlight
that escapes in through a ventilator hole
sedatives themselves are sedated
and sleep eludes me

I still have five more days I foresee
before hallucinations and delusions
take over me
before that oh sleep like gandalf
arriving at helms deep
please come back to me
but not at the breaking of the dawn
not when light is bright
but in silence of the mysterious night
ryn Mar 2015
Night came and conquered my ceiling
Head tilted back to inherit it's familiar splendour.
But she isn't there... Left my heart slightly gaping.
O twinkly one, have you seen her?

She's mysteriously veiled tonight,
Playfully on her halo, dances gentle light.
Don't give up on her, listless moongazer,
She wants to be conquered, put up a good fight.

Persistent skirmish that sets dreams and reality apart,
Eyes don't see what the heart knows so clear,
Clarity eludes when forgotten scars start to smart,
Do you know if she even realises I'm here?

She knows, and dreams of your happy eyes,
That only her will hold on their feverish gaze.
Unbroken threads of hope, your yearning to baptize
And her ice cold craters to be set ablaze.

Fire in my vessel still burns bright and strong,
Never extinguished behind the facade of my weary husk,
My flame would endure just as the wick is long,
Tell me dear star, will I see her next dusk?

When the sun's swords will seize,
slashing the sky in dazzling blue,
When the air will bring a comforting ease,
Her glistening "yes" will welcome you.

Your comforting words ring only of truth,
Winking in codes, you might be right .
Darkness had claimed and engulfed all proof,
Will you accompany me through tonight?

This piercing question you don't have to ask me,
For even though my light's billion of years away,
Twinkling in your dreams I'll always be,
The night companion, under your moon's ray.


ryn*
*Dajena M
My third collaboration with Dajena M.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
What is appropriate to say about the changes
in your life. That at 23 I was confused
about a girl, under the sculpted pines.

Quietly, my friends and I contemplate death.
A subject, until recently, unknown
to us in such a variety of forms. Nuclear flash
to exploding blood vessel in the brain, control
eludes us. Heirs to a society adept with numbers,
we run in the park and eat whole grains,
increasing survival odds.

The city and the mountain are two hard anvils
against which our hot lives are shaped. Love
is the fire, and the need for love. To be shaped
by the lover's warm hands, like clay.
Alive, almost sure of it.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Jack Oct 2013
I am helpless, tied to my daily routine
Knowing that distance stands in my way
Concrete and asphalt paths may lead to you
but the detour called life keeps me from moving

        You lie in pain, it is endless it seems
        Draining of smiles and stamina, encroaching on freedoms
        Bringing your heart to the curb, wallowing in confusion
        Deep within the grip of fever’s melting shadows

Invoices pile up and calculator batteries run down
A swift arm across this desk reveals my frustration
As folders and tape dispensers collect in a pile on the floor
staring up, wondering, “What did we do?”

        You cry of dreams shattered and an eclipsing sun
        swaying in darkness on couch cushions
        deformed and buckling under the pressure
        as illness makes itself at home

If only I could be there, by your side
Doing what…I don’t know, something, anything
Holding your hand, brushing your hair
Silent whispers of affection, whether they do any good or not

        You sleep, short periods of painless still
        Beneath sweat drenched sheets, locked away in nightmare cages
        Seething and fuming on horrors door step
        Pleading for help that you know wont come

And here I am, shackled to a wooden structure with sticking drawers
Smirking employees and annoying customers
doing their best to distract me, as I write…poetry
Yeah, poetry…love verses because…well…because

it is the only way I can touch you
and
        still your skin eludes me
Julian Oct 2016
Afflatus screams in mellifluous moonlight by a placid pond
Disturbed slightly by a miracle on ice deloused at a heavy price
Pantechnicons swarm as ghosts maraud around the outskirts of the forest
Suddenly the resurrected memories of renegades become conscientious
Angels swarm with fluttered wings invisible to the albatross of opprobrium
They concert themselves with chirpy dreams, itinerant crumples of amnesia creams
Marigolds are miracles at the most opportune time to be called a hysteria
Asserting the divinity of trinkets applauded that litter history with euphoria
Flinch my core, drunk on the travesty of stodgy moralism unfurled zero kelvin cold
But Salt Lake City towers above my contemplations and UFOs make themselves known
Every city this big is well in eternity and maternity very well known
Shelter not from husbandry, for Babylon is no longer idolatry
Stemwinders and poltroons with prisons crooned
Tyrannosaurus Rex still terrorizes aliens and humans alike on a stranded dark side of the moon
Pink is the ****** of Mayweather and Mayflower, so rigid in rock-a-by-baby tunes
Now is "Never" but TV time "When The Music’s Over" is Bang Bane rather than Boom
Hostage tickets of English hecklers proclaiming my royalty serenade the forest green
I hear their laments of the rumors ballyhoo obscene
Imagine a forest bright, trepidation of unlikely marauders of Viking spite
Spates of jinx own the tanks, sharks (jaws of these aliens in time "Thriller") evanesce as fluttered cameras blink
Marigolds are really miracles as euphoria that plangent has never been so bold
It owned the night and owed nothing of fright to hear aliens chirp ******* penetrated so tight
To hear the orchestra of God’s minions applaud my albatross receding in plight
The swiftest musketeer aims his gun at an AIMed pun
The renegade blackmail is the rut of a guttural wedding of a none and a nun
How sad that she waits, as a ragamuffin of eternal wraiths
That speak to her dreams specifically as a barnacle waif
Genius eludes the moment of sinking eternity and Van Gogh alpenglow
Cracked screens reap grime and grim preachers that reap what they sow
Accentuated stature of imposture clutters legends urbane with glowing silt
Rigmarole of laughingstock circus with the strangest 25-year old days of a dead man Wilt
It was the steward of a day too strange to forget
It was the Newark of a Jersey of Gretzky #99, a hard-won bet
Histrionic of history, an underappreciated music is a well-worn divinity
The best music ever is the best music of time-traveled complicity
Sadly lost on inferior ears is the plangent flow of sonorous pantheons
Lost on an island of good taste in a world that prizes prosaic mellow eons
Rather than delicate paeans with hummingbird simplicity
I resent how rare my taste is in an olfactory of waste
How rare a smell is that yegg harder to lambaste
Don’t gibber the jibe of jive-talking stalk
The scarecrow in Back to the Future is a ******* heckler hawk
Rarefied abduction of stolen keys of NYPD sprees
To drivel the wharf of piedmont rifts in Heaven’s eternal leaves
Time to step back from the sidewinder missive
Time to crack the gravy epistle so dismissive
Non-linear experiments in time and memory crave recognition
Finally I learn that house arrest is a Home Alone good enough for a virtual reality prison
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Love is a blind *****
And a wicked witch.
She's like a bill collector
And a heartbreaker.

Love is a light
Sometimes she's bright,
Sometimes she's dangerous
And very mysterious.

Love is contentious
Like a strange virus,
She kills at times
At times, she saves.

What's this phenomenon
That moves like the moon?
Love eludes some people
And for her, some will struggle.

To some, she's a white dove
Sent for them from above.
To those not lucky like us,
Love is just like a bad curse.

Love is the bedrock of life
Yet she hurts like a knife.
To few, she works like a lawn mower
And too few she's a lawn blower.

Love to some is like a quick shower
In no time it's all over.
The mystery of love
Is the tale of the black dove.

Love's seed was planted in Heaven
And blossomed in the garden of Eden
A long time ago on this earth,
It was the caveat for Romeo's death.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018
Love is a long story.
Been caught spying on your "Friends" again; Land of the Free.
Been caught lying through your teeth, again and yet again.
There really should be a huge fuss about this.

This is the latest in a long series
of unrepentant Crimes against Humanity

This is perverse and unacceptable

But then again,
what's new?


How many allies will we leave alienated?
How many allies will we have in the Future?
How many human rights will we leave undefiled?

With the United States,
who needs enemies?
http://news.sky.com/story/1159002/angela-merkel-hits-back-in-us-phone-tap-row

http://freethoughtblogs.com/singham/2013/10/21/nsa-caught-spying-on-mexico-and-france/

"No one is innocent"
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Are we all here
Or elsewhere
Treetops Robin birds
What!! Is it only words?
The sky she wore the
blue velvet cry
Whats still here what
will life bring
Afterlife sing before I die?

       *
Why

Headless horseman goodbye
Breadwinner Sportsman
Your worst enemy
The closer he gets knowing
your drama/ Cowboy-comedy

"Whats Here"

The Emmy meeting
another writer
      "Dude"
The Dude Ranch
Meet the "Ghostwriter"
The computer
early bird
Specially rude

The Medieval time of the
"Fable" sword fight
In a fork road, he was
born *English Sterling
The Silver anniversary
Dude piece boring
    
Whats here setting Ms.Dahla
Sweet Magnolia flowers
He's aiming for Azelia
What dudes grow
in her family
table
I'm here and he said
I'm the Dude

We are here Paul Revere rides
Breaks our glassware
Mr. Bigfoot needs to decide

Those Philly steaks "Heinz Ketchup"
Pittsburg tip of the iceberg here-up
Feeling sorry for the "Dude"

I'm right beside you here
Racers mouth racetrack win
More supernatural forces of sin
Rayban Mr. Sun-Ray glare
This was all I could take
in one day
It's important so let's stay
in one place
Where we can see one another
All dudes what eludes in character's

The false eyelashes her
prediction Alice madly
Tea party detention

Dancing in the
spiritual rain
She is the biggest pain

What cheeks swear
with her pinky
The blow dryer the
Big Lebowski stayer
Russian Roulette
Crystal fighter Swarovski
Homewrecker traveler
The dude investigation
*Risky business Dudes in the mansions

Rome cannot be built in one day
What's here your *Mom
is
baking noodle pudding today
You are laughing and both got
Brooklyn fever
Divine hour telling her how
much you love her
Familiar eyes hot dudes
delivery
The best flight activity
Getting you up
Your NativityI'm the dude cup

Always wondering you drift
Whose coming to dinner
*Mystery is it really here
        The Dude of a gift
Happy tears New Years

Darling
White Polar Bears

Days of daydreams dude stamps
All tolls and Polls
Twitter and Trumps
Or coming closer to
your darkest night
*
Forever wherever you are
It's the dark velvet satin

Night in White Satin
The other side of midnight
Humans animals always
the mating watcher's delight

Paper cuts of a paperweight
Feeling like a deadweight dude
The lightheaded most amazing night sky
The bright future warm you up
passionate guy

Whats here names
Don't use me usernames
Such con names, married names
Where each other's equal
Whats here love the sequel
The proud mother
My Bald Eagle

Hairy fluffy so cute beagle
*
He's the Quarter she backs up his note
The pushover Politician we deserve the vote

Writers believers lovers
and givers
Strangers are friends whats here
all depends
Getting mugged in Central Park
Grainy sugar you spark
Enjoying what I have today

The softer Rainy Lover
Whats here we are all here
Not elsewhere or over there
My Godly switch I'm here
Whats here you or me or who we believe to see let it be let it be
There are so many answers and those questions are here so reach don't start to preach show your love its whats here
Haydn Swan Sep 2014
No moon tonight,  only the depths of a fathomless darkness, pitched black,
and in such bleak emptiness, the sound of the swirling wind becomes my focus,
whistling through the trees, rattling gates and fences, skimming rooftops,
strange noises as if the nights very teeth were chattering with fright.
Now, the warmth of bed becomes my sanctuary, sheets pulled over a weary head,
yet within such secure confines, the nights rampant breath punctuates my slumber,
sounds of ghostly whispers carried on ethereal waves, names of ones long since departed.  
Sleep eludes the hypnotic lure of the ticking clock, yearning for the distant glow of morns new light.
Emanuel Martinez Mar 2015
What is it about this chase that eludes me
That runs away from me
That seeks to experience and then flee me
Until I get hijacked by another
Consenting to my own free fall into ignorance and bliss

Conditioning myself to transmit
Abundance without reservation
Until shot at the knee
But dragged along for a while longer
By the chains I so genuinely let bind me

And even before the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets me
I do so unconditionally

But you can't hijack my senses
I am not an experience or experiment worth having
I am not a temporary treat to be improperly digested and defecated
I am not an amber that ignites upon initial contact
To then be mediated or extinguished if the temperate is not right
I am not the holy water that you colonize
And shower with to cleanse you
To then invalidate that sanctity
When it falls down the drain
I am not a barometer that reliefs the labor
Needed to challenge the aberrations
Of your colonized and colonizing tendencies

I exist
Physically insignificant
As the earth that birthed me and will bury me
But eternal in essence
I am a permanent presence
I am an unforgettable imprint
I am your equal, no less, no more

The moment that we mutually acknowledge
Each other's existence
I have bound myself to you
From that moment...loved you unconditionally and eternally
And expect no lesser commitment
From you to me, or any other person you meet

And even after the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets us
We must unleash our abundance unconditionally

And when we leave
We will have given
Absolutely everything
That we had to give
During that time of our existence
March 6, 2015
THE HOUSE OF DUST
A Symphony

BY
CONRAD AIKEN

To Jessie

NOTE

. . . Parts of this poem have been printed in "The North American
Review, Others, Poetry, Youth, Coterie, The Yale Review". . . . I am
indebted to Lafcadio Hearn for the episode called "The Screen Maiden"
in Part II.


     This text comes from the source available at
     Project Gutenberg, originally prepared by Judy Boss
     of Omaha, NE.
    
THE HOUSE OF DUST


PART I.


I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night!  Good-night!  Good-night!  We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride.  We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for?  Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.


II.

One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.

One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.

Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,-we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.

The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.


III.

One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand,
With wave upon slowly shattering wave,
Turned to the city of towers as evening fell;
And slowly walked by the darkening road toward it;
And saw how the towers darkened against the sky;
And across the distance heard the toll of a bell.

Along the darkening road he hurried alone,
With his eyes cast down,
And thought how the streets were hoarse with a tide of people,
With clamor of voices, and numberless faces . . .
And it seemed to him, of a sudden, that he would drown
Here in the quiet of evening air,
These empty and voiceless places . . .
And he hurried towards the city, to enter there.

Along the darkening road, between tall trees
That made a sinister whisper, loudly he walked.
Behind him, sea-gulls dipped over long grey seas.
Before him, numberless lovers smiled and talked.
And death was observed with sudden cries,
And birth with laughter and pain.
And the trees grew taller and blacker against the skies
And night came down again.


IV.

Up high black walls, up sombre terraces,
Clinging like luminous birds to the sides of cliffs,
The yellow lights went climbing towards the sky.
From high black walls, gleaming vaguely with rain,
Each yellow light looked down like a golden eye.

They trembled from coign to coign, and tower to tower,
Along high terraces quicker than dream they flew.
And some of them steadily glowed, and some soon vanished,
And some strange shadows threw.

And behind them all the ghosts of thoughts went moving,
Restlessly moving in each lamplit room,
From chair to mirror, from mirror to fire;
From some, the light was scarcely more than a gloom:
From some, a dazzling desire.

And there was one, beneath black eaves, who thought,
Combing with lifted arms her golden hair,
Of the lover who hurried towards her through the night;
And there was one who dreamed of a sudden death
As she blew out her light.

And there was one who turned from clamoring streets,
And walked in lamplit gardens among black trees,
And looked at the windy sky,
And thought with terror how stones and roots would freeze
And birds in the dead boughs cry . . .

And she hurried back, as snow fell, mixed with rain,
To mingle among the crowds again,
To jostle beneath blue lamps along the street;
And lost herself in the warm bright coiling dream,
With a sound of murmuring voices and shuffling feet.

And one, from his high bright window looking down
On luminous chasms that cleft the basalt town,
Hearing a sea-like murmur rise,
Desired to leave his dream, descend from the tower,
And drown in waves of shouts and laughter and cries.


V.

The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain . . .
It eddies around pale lilac lamps, and falls
Down golden-windowed walls.
We were all born of flesh, in a flare of pain,
We do not remember the red roots whence we rose,
But we know that we rose and walked, that after a while
We shall lie down again.

The snow floats down upon us, we turn, we turn,
Through gorges filled with light we sound and flow . . .
One is struck down and hurt, we crowd about him,
We bear him away, gaze after his listless body;
But whether he lives or dies we do not know.

One of us sings in the street, and we listen to him;
The words ring over us like vague bells of sorrow.
He sings of a house he lived in long ago.
It is strange; this house of dust was the house I lived in;
The house you lived in, the house that all of us know.
And coiling slowly about him, and laughing at him,
And throwing him pennies, we bear away
A mournful echo of other times and places,
And follow a dream . . . a dream that will not stay.

Down long broad flights of lamplit stairs we flow;
Noisy, in scattered waves, crowding and shouting;
In broken slow cascades.
The gardens extend before us . . .  We spread out swiftly;
Trees are above us, and darkness.  The canyon fades . . .

And we recall, with a gleaming stab of sadness,
Vaguely and incoherently, some dream
Of a world we came from, a world of sun-blue hills . . .
A black wood whispers around us, green eyes gleam;
Someone cries in the forest, and someone kills.

We flow to the east, to the white-lined shivering sea;
We reach to the west, where the whirling sun went down;
We close our eyes to music in bright cafees.
We diverge from clamorous streets to streets that are silent.
We loaf where the wind-spilled fountain plays.

And, growing tired, we turn aside at last,
Remember our secret selves, seek out our towers,
Lay weary hands on the banisters, and climb;
Climbing, each, to his little four-square dream
Of love or lust or beauty or death or crime.


VI.

Over the darkened city, the city of towers,
The city of a thousand gates,
Over the gleaming terraced roofs, the huddled towers,
Over a somnolent whisper of loves and hates,
The slow wind flows, drearily streams and falls,
With a mournful sound down rain-dark walls.
On one side purples the lustrous dusk of the sea,
And dreams in white at the city's feet;
On one side sleep the plains, with heaped-up hills.
Oaks and beeches whisper in rings about it.
Above the trees are towers where dread bells beat.

The fisherman draws his streaming net from the sea
And sails toward the far-off city, that seems
Like one vague tower.
The dark bow plunges to foam on blue-black waves,
And shrill rain seethes like a ghostly music about him
In a quiet shower.

Rain with a shrill sings on the lapsing waves;
Rain thrills over the roofs again;
Like a shadow of shifting silver it crosses the city;
The lamps in the streets are streamed with rain;
And sparrows complain beneath deep eaves,
And among whirled leaves
The sea-gulls, blowing from tower to lower tower,
From wall to remoter wall,
Skim with the driven rain to the rising sea-sound
And close grey wings and fall . . .

. . . Hearing great rain above me, I now remember
A girl who stood by the door and shut her eyes:
Her pale cheeks glistened with rain, she stood and shivered.
Into a forest of silver she vanished slowly . . .
Voices about me rise . . .

Voices clear and silvery, voices of raindrops,-
'We struck with silver claws, we struck her down.
We are the ghosts of the singing furies . . . '
A chorus of elfin voices blowing about me
Weaves to a babel of sound.  Each cries a secret.
I run among them, reach out vain hands, and drown.

'I am the one who stood beside you and smiled,
Thinking your face so strangely young . . . '
'I am the one who loved you but did not dare.'
'I am the one you followed through crowded streets,
The one who escaped you, the one with red-gleamed hair.'

'I am the one you saw to-day, who fell
Senseless before you, hearing a certain bell:
A bell that broke great memories in my brain.'
'I am the one who passed unnoticed before you,
Invisible, in a cloud of secret pain.'

'I am the one who suddenly cried, beholding
The face of a certain man on the dazzling screen.
They wrote me that he was dead.  It was long ago.
I walked in the streets for a long while, hearing nothing,
And returned to see it again.  And it was so.'


Weave, weave, weave, you streaks of rain!
I am dissolved and woven again . . .
Thousands of faces rise and vanish before me.
Thousands of voices weave in the rain.

'I am the one who rode beside you, blinking
At a dazzle of golden lights.
Tempests of music swept me: I was thinking
Of the gorgeous promise of certain nights:
Of the woman who suddenly smiled at me this day,
Smiled in a certain delicious sidelong way,
And turned, as she reached the door,
To smile once more . . .
Her hands are whiter than snow on midnight water.
Her throat is golden and full of golden laughter,
Her eyes are strange as the stealth of the moon
On a night in June . . .
She runs among whistling leaves; I hurry after;
She dances in dreams over white-waved water;
Her body is white and fragrant and cool,
Magnolia petals that float on a white-starred pool . . .
I have dreamed of her, dreaming for many nights
Of a broken music and golden lights,
Of broken webs of silver, heavily falling
Between my hands and their white desire:
And dark-leaved boughs, edged with a golden radiance,
Dipping to screen a fire . . .
I dream that I walk with her beneath high trees,
But as I lean to kiss her face,
She is blown aloft on wind, I catch at leaves,
And run in a moonless place;
And I hear a crashing of terrible rocks flung down,
And shattering trees and cracking walls,
And a net of intense white flame roars over the town,
And someone cries; and darkness falls . . .
But now she has leaned and smiled at me,
My veins are afire with music,
Her eyes have kissed me, my body is turned to light;
I shall dream to her secret heart tonight . . . '

He rises and moves away, he says no word,
He folds his evening paper and turns away;
I rush through the dark with rows of lamplit faces;
Fire bells peal, and some of us turn to listen,
And some sit motionless in their accustomed places.

Cold rain lashes the car-roof, scurries in gusts,
Streams down the windows in waves and ripples of lustre;
The lamps in the streets are distorted and strange.
Someone takes his watch from his pocket and yawns.
One peers out in the night for the place to change.

Rain . . . rain . . . rain . . . we are buried in rain,
It will rain forever, the swift wheels hiss through water,
Pale sheets of water gleam in the windy street.
The pealing of bells is lost in a drive of rain-drops.
Remote and hurried the great bells beat.

'I am the one whom life so shrewdly betrayed,
Misfortune dogs me, it always hunted me down.
And to-day the woman I love lies dead.
I gave her roses, a ring with opals;
These hands have touched her head.

'I bound her to me in all soft ways,
I bound her to me in a net of days,
Yet now she has gone in silence and said no word.
How can we face these dazzling things, I ask you?
There is no use: we cry: and are not heard.

'They cover a body with roses . . . I shall not see it . . .
Must one return to the lifeless walls of a city
Whose soul is charred by fire? . . . '
His eyes are closed, his lips press tightly together.
Wheels hiss beneath us.  He yields us our desire.

'No, do not stare so-he is weak with grief,
He cannot face you, he turns his eyes aside;
He is confused with pain.
I suffered this.  I know.  It was long ago . . .
He closes his eyes and drowns in death again.'

The wind hurls blows at the rain-starred glistening windows,
The wind shrills down from the half-seen walls.
We flow on the mournful wind in a dream of dying;
And at last a silence falls.


VII.

Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers
The golden lights go out . . .
The yellow windows darken, the shades are drawn,
In thousands of rooms we sleep, we await the dawn,
We lie face down, we dream,
We cry aloud with terror, half rise, or seem
To stare at the ceiling or walls . . .
Midnight . . . the last of shattering bell-notes falls.
A rush of silence whirls over the cloud-high towers,
A vortex of soundless hours.

'The bells have just struck twelve: I should be sleeping.
But I cannot delay any longer to write and tell you.
The woman is dead.
She died-you know the way.  Just as we planned.
Smiling, with open sunlit eyes.
Smiling upon the outstretched fatal hand . . .'

He folds his letter, steps softly down the stairs.
The doors are closed and silent.  A gas-jet flares.
His shadow disturbs a shadow of balustrades.
The door swings shut behind.  Night roars above him.
Into the night he fades.

Wind; wind; wind; carving the walls;
Blowing the water that gleams in the street;
Blowing the rain, the sleet.
In the dark alley, an old tree cracks and falls,
Oak-boughs moan in the haunted air;
Lamps blow down with a crash and ****** of glass . . .
Darkness whistles . . . Wild hours pass . . .

And those whom sleep eludes lie wide-eyed, hearing
Above their heads a goblin night go by;
Children are waked, and cry,
The young girl hears the roar in her sleep, and dreams
That her lover is caught in a burning tower,
She clutches the pillow, she gasps for breath, she screams . . .
And then by degrees her breath grows quiet and slow,
She dreams of an evening, long ago:
Of colored lanterns balancing under trees,
Some of them softly catching afire;
And beneath the lanterns a motionless face she sees,
Golden with lamplight, smiling, serene . . .
The leaves are a pale and glittering green,
The sound of horns blows over the trampled grass,
Shadows of dancers pass . . .
The face smiles closer to hers, she tries to lean
Backward, away, the eyes burn close and strange,
The face is beginning to change,-
It is her lover, she no longer desires to resist,
She is held and kissed.
She closes her eyes, and melts in a seethe of
Beauty eludes me
Dabbling in the darkness
I awaken to the abyss
I fall to my knees
And pray for grace
But I feel it's too late
For a soul like me
I can only see the shade
The night terrors that are made
I cry myself to sleep
Waiting impatiently
The busyness of life takes hold
And I've been down a lonely road
I've been in dire
Cast into the fire
Walking along with shame
Dwarfed between a fine line
Wondering if I'm insane
Can't seem to find a way out
I have gone blind
Missing out on what is beautiful
All because of the darkness
Gripping my soul
Raj Arumugam Jan 2012
Do not look like that, Cora
I have done my best, and I do
I paint and that is what I do...
you know, you know, Cora;
we have known each other
since our childhood:
O for the days of Vermont
the summers of joy and fun
when we were but children
and our hopes were high -
and my mind breaks and my heart weakens
when I see you and the children now
and that I cannot put food on the table
give you the things you need
I can paint, Cora - oh for the life of me, I can -
but I do not know how to haggle,
how to beat the mind of those who undervalue my work
how do you make money
when but art is in the heart?
There is nothing else within me...
I walk in the world an innocent;
‘strange’ they call me, Cora
I try, I try - O I try
I paint plaques and decorations if necessary -
but the money, the money eludes me
it is only paint that sticks;
and I can paint
and that is all I know and that I can do
when the agony blows like cruel storms in my mind
You know, I try, O you know
my spirit nearly breaks
Cora, Cora, Cora
I have done my best, I do
to put bread and meat on the table
for the children and you
but money eludes me, it eludes me
I paint and that is what I do -
you know, you know, Cora
Do not look like that, Cora
poem based on painting “Portrait of Artist's Wife” by Ralph Albert Blakelock (American,1847-1919)
K Balachandran Jan 2012
together
a man and woman
can do
things any one wouldn't imagine.
they could pretend as lovers,
and secretly in their dark minds
plan to rob,
all that are
fascinating in each other,
so that their mutual jealousy
will subdue for the time being.

life gets complex
in each passing day
we are aware.
we had been bitter rivals,
now every other hour
you call me in between.
you research on weather
which i also know,  alarmingly changes.
the Psunami relief work
they undertook in 2005
in Kerala coast
is still incomplete!
people suffer
who cares?
human lives are more at risk
than ever;
that's my current work
commissioned by the government.
(would any one listen to the findings?
i doubt)

cynicism is rampant
but no one complains;
as if it is a luxury
of the privileged!

we meet here
in the middle ground
many mistook us as man and wife
families have become
imagined places where
things would  happen like clock work;
but fail to keep up with the expectations.
individuals get exasperated as families begin to stifle.

i love your new dress
all i propose to do is
slowly undress you
like in that  absurd  play we acted,  disjointed  scenes
but the audience was in raptures.

free from physical ******* of clothes,
let's take a dip in this hot springs,
i will wash you with my hands, lovingly.
the water treatment,
the caresses of elements
our burning hearts will
get tranquilized.

we can put on our dresses
and go back
as rivals as
we were.
Jen Snow Sep 2018
Staring

With
Lustful
Gaze

Seductive
Darkness

Eludes

Light
To
Dark

Black
To
White

Gradients
Of
Trouble

Capture

This
Weary
Mind

Lie
Still
You
Hopeful
Hostage­

Thirsting
For
Sleep’s

Tranquil
Sanctuary

Assuredly

Salvation
Is
Just
Moments

Away
svdgrl Apr 2014
I like to take hot showers.
I spend hours standing in place,
with the heavy strings of wet heat beating down my face to my feet.
Soothing. Sometimes I’m brooding,
but this eludes once I meet quietude.
A hot shower is a forgiving mother’s embrace,
liquid form of sweetest praise,
and the warmest lover’s lace.
A hot shower will wash me clean of your ways.
Your eyes drink of me,
Love makes them shine,
Your eyes that lean
So close to mine.

We have long been lovers,
We know the range
Of each other’s moods
And how they change;

But when we look
At each other so
Then we feel
How little we know;

The spirit eludes us,
Timid and free —
Can I ever know you
Or you know me?
Josh Dec 2012
Perhaps love is as elusive as monetary wealth is to the masses.  
Perhaps love is no more a reality than the endless days we have spent melding our minds to a piece of virtual property that trades us our health for a few moments of excitement and a few hours absent of boredom.

My friend, love eludes me more and more with each setting of the sun.
I am not so sure that I believe it even exists any longer.
Perhaps love eludes me because I chase a fictional object.  
Perhaps I am living analogous to the ***** addict.  
One pursues the dragon; the other pursues romance.  
I seek a woman who I connect with on such a level that I am unable to articulate the degree to which I love her.  
Yet, she knows in her heart of hearts where I stand and she stands there with me.

Society dictates that our masculinity is dependent on abstaining from thoughts and words that might be construed to lack a rugged demeanor.  
Yet I say to you, every man thinks of what I write of today.  
The vast majority of them are too restrained by society’s trivial notion of a man to even engage their own minds in the thought of the subject.  
They act as if the rest of the world can hear their thoughts and relay what they have heard to others.

The world is a jury, a harsher judge than the most heartless, spectators in a gladiatorial match, watching one's every move, criticizing one's every flinch.  
Yet, they can only maintain a level of hypocrisy for so long before the bounds of their walls cave upon them.

There are those who would state that they are content with the presence of a physical relationship and the absence of an emotional connection.  
They are but fools.  
They are pursuers of immediate gratification and will be recipients of nothing more.  
Their lives will be shadowed by the emptiness that they caused unto so many others and their equation in life will not result in equity.

The love I speak of friend is an emotion that is triggered merely by the most subtle of references to the beloved.  
It is a flooding of the capillaries,  a fluttering of the heart, a sweating of the brow, an inward heave of the stomach, and the settling of an utter bliss.  
These are the physical symptoms of the emotion and the emotion is a cranial symptom of the connection.  Love, my friend, I do believe is a balance of two individuals that is caused by a pairing that can only be so perfectly designed by one who is omnipotent.

So far I must admit to you that I have not felt paired with an individual.  
There were physical connections with many, and emotional connections with few.  
Yet, even in the most intense emotional connection there was something lacking.  
There was a piece of the puzzle missing.  
When her and my eyes met, there was not a parallel connection.  

True love, my friend, is but a connection that shall be made but once.  I have not made that connection yet and perhaps it would be inappropriate for me to theorize further.  
Yet, it is those who dared to theorize that have revolutionized this planet ten fold because their thoughts became an idea.
The idea became a design.
The design grew to be tangible.
The tangible became a reality.

Therefore, my friend, I theorize that I will one day find this obscure love that so many on this Earth do not have in their possession.  
And when I find this obscure connection, my friend, I shall speak of it more.  
I shall articulate it to the best of my ability so that others may know better what they pursue and may find it in due time.
I wrote this piece a few years ago.  Since then, I have found my true love.  This somewhat recent discovery now necessitates a second part to the poem which is yet unwritten.
JR Morse Sep 2013
.                                                                ­                                                 .
.                                                            ­                                                     .
this swifter's grift -
lifting loosely
fitted accoutrement

lourden fruit
carelessly held
silkened, gimlet lit
shamelessly rivened
to a paler shade
of need.

solitude's
enchanting seed
may confer
a grander banquet’s call
but, this tug of
grandiloquent oblige
and politesse . . .

master and slave consort
black and scarlet
swift of tongue and fingertip
unbound so neatly
and leather blind



tell me muse of the anger flesh on fire
is there really dignity in defeat
that eludes the victor

tell me muse of the truth in nature
ill-graced tail-lamp broken
is destiny all ways ordained in contradiction

tell me muse do hearts all times submit
to the beacon call
shyness long forgotten
narrative so harshly written

as ne'er before
with an insistence
ageless yearnings bellow  
as glazened shadow


if reason sleeps
there will be no learning
no refuge
only to each
for their crimes
a four-chambered riddle



All Rights Reserved
James R. Morse, NYC  2013.
"The higher we fly, the smaller we appear to those who cannot."
Melody Nov 2012
It is with child’s eyes that I peer at
this unfolding world before me -
these hidden revelations
trace concrete patterns
into the abstract

In the cool of the day, we resort
to formal names;
brevity in jest eludes us

(How quiet this amorphous state
between the awakening
and the deadened!)

January winds conjure up a cloud
of rare, lenticular nature -
while your eyes remain closed,
my eyes become accustomed
to unforgiving truths.
©MW
Vidya Oct 2012
jeweltoned and silent figeating fidgeting
mayqueens of vienna:
morituri te
salutant.

cupidfresh bruises on your thighs brought to you by
johnson &
johnson a family company amen they will do right by
you.

honeyed dew sticks to
morning eyelids (sugarwater my eyelashes
hummingbird tongues)—
vague rifle form at constant alert

attn. california capricorns:
your winterspeak eludes me yet.
lighteyed candle-holders and
coffeeringed eyes tell me
all I have ever needed to know about
yelling fire in an ice
skating rink
Melody Nov 2012
This sweetest past-time
eludes you now, yet still
echoes your name,
your legacy carved
on the face of these
corrosive stones

Tiny pseudo crystals
held at arm's length
to catch the countenance
of a fractured sun
secretly mourn
albeit exuding brilliance

These loveless trails
hold such heavy hearts
withdrawn in their
imperfections, yet
reaching their slender
tendrils outward

to faintly touch
mere passersby
still on this journey  
that has surpassed you
©MW
1484

We shall find the Cube of the Rainbow.
Of that, there is no doubt.
But the Arc of a Lover’s conjecture
Eludes the finding out.
Haydn Swan Oct 2014
Change is the prime motivator,
we always desire it,
we always seek it,
yet it constantly eludes us.
Scar tissue is
ageless
but my skin
has seen a
thousand
sunsets
when sleep
eludes me
and the monsters
that fester
underneath
the silver slithers
of time
burst free
Oita Robisi Oct 2014
I murmur in my heart complaints of the world’s state,
But shrivel at opportunities to effect change,
I drag my chains across the street,
My back branded by expectations whip,
My prison follows me,

Courage is coin that eludes me,
My mind dreams have made turgid,
Constructing a mirage of solace,
Thirsting through this urban place,

I yearn for a place afar from this globe,
Where human’s greed has not grown,
The desert of all deserts, red but has known no blood,
With teary eyes I squint at stars,
How to begin I have not understood,
The journey’s price is too steep,
Strawberry diesel is all I have to fuel this trip
Ocho the Owl Oct 2013
35
I’m starting to lose
What little patience I have
How much longer?

15
It often eludes
These old eyes have grown weary
I need forgiveness

54
Life beyond breakup
Is desolate and hostile
No love can grow there

55
With such ease you leave
Like a withering violet
I transform, I die

56
I breathe this pale air
Gasping my lungs clamor
For you, for you. You,

47
I can feel nothing
My taste buds are like dead leaves
No light do I see

45
Is she serious?
When will I finally learn?
Oh my trust fades

33
An empty bed waits
An empty room clamors
An empty heart sighs

64
I doubt if I could
Or that I’d really want to
I now know better

70
I am afraid
Of trusting like I once did
Am I ready?

65
I starve for embrace
I’m very low on love
God ****** to hell

34
Is it tomorrow?
Can it be the day after?
Or maybe never.

72
Tearful agony
Replaces where once love was
Thoughts of her are thorns

73
My belly fills up
With resentment and anger
See it in my eyes

31
She thus eludes me
Almost by divine design
I keep searching

69
As usual
The choices that I make
***** in my face

74
Do not judge this book
For the pages have been torn
Just as my heart has

75
Faint now is
The reason to smile and laugh
I pray you, help

76
Scolding water
Is what I feel when couples
Hold hands before me

77
How I hate
That I didn’t hold
And kiss you more

78
I’m tired
This burden pulls
Can’t hold on

79
A blank
Look, is my only
Souvenir, why?

80
It was my fault
I admit it, so
Much guilt

81
Distant
That place; now
Appears

32
Burned in my eyelids
Are the stinging images
That torments my dreams

66
I want to know if
This drought can be over
Its killing me

67
Dare I reason
With this smoldering fire
That will not go out?

16
Brilliantly hurt
My honor dangles, swaying
She swings, for the ****

13*
Let the seas dry out
And the birds lose their songs
True love, come, be mine
JadedSoul Aug 2014
Like a frightened animal,
sleep eludes me.
Like a lithe, scared kitten,
sleep dashes away as I get closer.

Yet,
while I chase the frightened kitten around my head,
I'm blessed with an exquisite 5 am sunrise.

But fear not little kitten -
a magic cocktail of pills will soon encroach on you
like a fisher's net!

Already, I can feel their effect,
pulsing through my veins.
Soon, little kitten, we'll catch you,
soon, we'll finally get some sleep!!
It's sorta depressing,
though in a rather funny kind of way,
being single and studying the Kama Sutra
as I have been
that I may adequately worship
the Temple of One I may encounter
who proves to be worthy
of such tactful exaltation
nivek Jun 2017
metaphor eludes me

I need to see the love heart pinned to your chest

the one you are looking to give away

the invitation to taste your love

and in so doing lose myself.

— The End —