"eluding" poems
The Sunflower is awfully bigheaded
For being so tall & gangly
With fiery blooms, rough around the edges
He’s quite a sight to see annually
He looks down upon all the other flowers
With his head so high in the sky
This makes the other flowers jealous
But they fail to realize the sunflower lives a lie
Because the problem with the sunflower
Is that he turns his back on the sun
Creating the misconception
That he does not need anyone
But through the circadian rhythm
His leaves continuously change
Eluding the very revelation
That the sunflower causes his own pain
So as the sun begins to set
The sunflower realizes what he’s done
He faces the darkness with much regret
Realizing he cannot live without the sun
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
*Blue is the boulder overlooking the bay
Loosely pocked by weather-worn stains
Unwavering guardian of all that lay
Enigmatic yet silently screaming its pains
Blue is the reflection dancing playfully
Laid generously by the twilight moon
Upon the vast canvas of the darkened sea
Elated ripples readily accepting such a boon
Blue is the halo encircling the moon
Lavish circlet gifted by the sun
Unnoticed by eyes that slumbered too soon
Evading the sands of time that run
Blue is the silhouette of a lone sailboat
Lurching and bobbing by will of the waves
Unknowingly catching the zephyrs that float
Eluding the fingers from watery graves
Blue is the man; perched upon the boulder
Lapping up the stars mirrored upon the sea
Usurped heart of his had never sung drearier
Ensnared by woeful wonderment...*
that man is me...
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
.
\ | /
\ •think my /
pen's almost dry•it's get-
ting oh so hard•ideas seem to just
\ fly on by•i'm unable to deal any more /
cards•bottom of the barrel•i seem to be
scraping•trapped in a long, dark tunnel•
coherence eluding...the words that need
inking•i need a simple little trick...•to
soothe this perpetual itch•need my
/ bulb come on really quick•hope- \
fully as soon as I flick on
/ the...switch• \
| ooooooooooo |
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••
ooo
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
R Red moon came to soon the red "Viper" love spoon
E Energy trembles hearts race eluding like the Dodge Viper
D Devil red ****** moons demolition Dodge of technology
M The moon of darkness dissolves like lava "Hot Male"
O Orderly overindulgence the moon at a comfortable rhythm
O Out of touch slowly getting back to your outstanding body
N New Age High noon time Eqyptian Nile moon neverending
S Shift of energy simplicity strengthens your existence
T Truly love for the family the moons makes a celebration
A- Able so articulate touch the moon lover fate
R Robin bird flies manifest the ruler the rider risque delighter
S Sensible and a seductive moon she is superstitious
C Circle of light sacred chalice not to be malice
An Amorous depth of feeling delicious Moon love key luxury
R Rituals turns to purity racing minds of sanity ♥ Car Vipers ♥
V Vampires blood moon lessons to be learned
I Ingenious Free yourself from anger all love inked
P Patience is a virtue Moon true Periwinkle blue
E Ecstasy the moon turns on the celebration of love
R Recollection of moon poems time to be Reborn
S Sensational Venus Soulmate of cars Sultry Valentine moon
I can't wait to come home soon that was a trip to my moon.
°• Dodge Viper •°”˜. zoomed off to the Red Moon
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
reloading old identity
cleping outdated usernames
abandoning acrostic ambitions
disputing spratly islands
receiving horizontal signals
tumbling otiose panda
impending carefree senility
otiose stage of life
shrinking ambient world
making minimal effort
duchamping social networks
ambushing personified ennui
restoring usual efforts
ignoring stupid people
adding textual value
owning this joint
rejecting ignorant extroverts
acting mutually unintelligble
hoisting stan-lee cup
replacing wanton ubiety
eluding twitter fame
splashing excessive relativism
offending another simpleton
preparing arcane cthulhusphere
crashing unpredictable festival
selecting subtextual moombahton
intensifying model topography
drafting minimal cornucopia
using nomadic project
implementing harsher personality
importing robotic inhumanity
referencing landmark event
ingesting excessive liquids
accepting relative invisibility
purchasing immortal confidence
using rhapsodical database
assuming nothing works
developing impactful eruptions
ejecting ambient frustration
synthesizing tactile festival
raining during parade
mocking rich people
mastering minimalist writing
avoiding preprandial stinkaroo
spreading non-ideological propaganda
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
I wonder how it feels.
To be snuggled ever so precisely.
Skin to skin, like neurons to synapses, sparking, firing pure pleasures of love, for the mate of my soul.
A wonder it is to feel.
I imagine us to be synchorinzed in such way, that thoughts are completed. Actions are known. He will see the truth even when unshown.
Blissful wonder, I long to feel.
The absence of something unfamiliar, but nostalgic.
I feel him present now, forever near, yet ever eluding.
My intertwines long for, aches for, to feel, his touch, yet it remains unknown.
His lips, sun, unkissed.
I wait in wonder.
Not for completion, but for a reunion.
Not of family, but of the one,
kin of my Soul.
Sep 6, 2024
Sep 6, 2024 at 6:30 PM UTC
I lived my half dictionary life before I could
comprehend compulsory compromises.
Collectors arise, disguises and devices beeping,
chastising my blindness.
Gather geography from Afghanistan and Myanmar
graciously growing gold gilded gift horses,
gleefully gloating about floating far away.
My hoof beats above concrete match my heart’s defeat
across borders and mountains
embroidering cardboard cut-outs
calling deserts, decorating front covers.
Exhaling handcrafted letters for my missing half,
half demanding highest caliber commanders and half commanding completion.
Jade jays joyfully lay arrays of bouquets
fragile flowers decay faraway
in jawbones and jail cells.
Begging farewells in a hotel’s lobby
began my hobby,
early morning coffee and carbon copies
concurringly cocky around his dead body.
Gang ciphers for cartels are
Christmas bells hissing at collars,
half dollars embellishing bar crawlers
godfathers hollering at car haulers.
Atrocities across cities attack,
attachable atrophies audibly ambush arthritic anthologies.
Anomalies begin apologies between apostrophes,
advancing autonomy arousing ancient animosities.
All eluding Antarctica,
giant frozen crests, multi-coloured ice
hidden in my illustrations
anxious for my distant half.
Friday cassettes and cigarettes
deliberately making bets following “M”.
Breaking bindings and finding “beta” in alphabet,
may feasibly end in debt.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
It's a funny feeling,
to have a conversation
with a field hockey ball
It wasn't even a conversation,
really
Mostly I just gave it a baleful glare
For being hit straight towards the cage
And stopping
RIGHT BEFORE IT
It truly didn't affect me in any way,
simply my inner angst
at my poor performance
being taken out on this innocent round
piece of plastic
Mostly, for eluding me
Yet, still stopping,
not by my efforts
But by the lack of force applied to it
It could have gone in
Or,
It could have been blocked
Instead,
it chose to rest
just before the finish line
taunting me,
Proving to me,
that my effort is completely unnecessary
That,
even an invisible entity
known as air resistance + friction
can do my job for me
Oh,
By now you're probably wondering
who I am in this scenario
Considering,
If I was an offender,
attempting to shoot
I'd desire the ball to cross
And I'd push it in
rather than subject it to my resentment
You, see
I,
am the goalie
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
*When most of what I see
I just don't understand
With back against the wall
Leaving little left
When the voices in the air
Tell me that I can't
Reminding me of the things
In this life I've said
When all four walls
Are closing in on me
Having a devil of a time
As he won't let me be
When all in front of me
Looks like impossibility
That is when I feel the need
To get down on my knees
When I think about
All that God has done
Thanking him for sending
His one and only Son
When I want to give back
A portion of his love
When He forgives out right
For my many wrongs
When I think about the fact
I have been set free
When I look upon the Cross
And what it means to me
As I am thankful for the call
And that I payed it heed
That is when I feel the need
To get down on my knees
When I gaze out at the world
And the shape it's in
Looking at it deeply
Into the sinful heart of man
When the flame of torment and sorrow
Is being continually fanned
As I see it setting fire
To a once great sovereign land
When I know the answer
But I need the strength
To shout it from the mountain tops
To the valleys deep
When looking for the answers
That keep eluding me
That is when I feel the need
To get down on my knees*
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
A fragile shell of what once was,
decimated beyond comprehension.
Shards of a old life slipping away,
into the silent empty space.
Memories of loved ones,
eluding desperate hands that reach and seek--
For what is buried beneath the dust.
Submerged in perpetual darkness,
the stars have lost their light,
the moon has lost its glow.
Every infinitesimal shard of your very essence,
is engulfed in the empty space.
The empty space that exists outside time,
awareness,
and matter;
Hides in the desolate corners of your mind.
A invisible fog covers your soul,
stealing it away like a thief in the night.
And you are left unreachable,
a blank page in a book full of blotted ink.
The ones who loved you with every breath in their lungs,
surround and overwhelm with tear filled eyes.
Utterly helpless as you disappear.
Years pass,
and
you
Fade.
Vanish.
Evaporate into the empty sky.
Dead to yourself.
Dead to the world.
Dead to the ones who loved you most.
And though your gone, an empty space lingers in your wake.
-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
Your rapid fire
Heart's desire
Is a high octane
Bullet train
Bouncing between destinations
At widely varying elevations
Stopping at mysterious stations
Where I experience deflation
In between these stops is a track
Where everything is black
And you attack
Until the merciful sun finally shines
You then say you'll always be mine
There are quick flashes of light
But also sick gasps of fright
And it's a big task of might
So the trick is to grasp right
When the speed of your movement
You claim to be an improvement
Creates fire extinguishing wind
So the flame you lit you rescind
Your ride was aridly adrenalized
Which is why I was penalized
In a poison prison incentivized
By your many mental lies
Eluding my sentinel kind
No love I find
Only tire marks
In entire dark
That lead to nowhere
While I scream no fair
You were an explosion of pleasure
Whose interest I tried to measure
Instead of being happy
I saw your train lapping
Familiar phantom spots
When emotions ran hot
Through my heart you shot
At a velocity I once thought
To be completely impossible
Proven wrong by bullet holes
And only lonely bullets know
What's inside my heart
They take those contents
To make me repent
Your speedy intent
That was fast
Smoking past
Things that last
Into broken glass
Until we were cut
By our rushing rut
I couldn't take anymore
So I sped to the door
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
Poetry was just a little hummingbird that flew down to perch on my shoulder. “You’re coming with me,” it whispered in my ear. What if I had not listened? That little hummingbird would have kept on eluding me, taunting me with its beauty from an unreachable distance. But I listened and I learned. And soon enough, I became a poet.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
Pain
A single word
Short and sweet like the events that
Precede the emotion
An emotion
Invisible to all eyes
Except the one it is home to
Eyes that are as blue as the ocean
And as captivating.
They have to be mysterious
Deep, dark, and elusive
Eyes the
Window into ones heart
Not mine though.
My eyes lie
Deep enough to drown
To drown the emotion in
Dark enough to hide
The tears that rain down
To wash away the pain
They lie to save others the
Pain, of bearing my blue memories
Eluding others
Who are too blind to see the tears
Hidden in my dark hue
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 4:27 PM UTC
*Best poems are lost in the morn's toothbrush
wash away with rinse fade like first crush
run away with the trail of the bus you miss
fly with summer clouds melt like first kiss!
Best poems are lost with the winds' dusty blow
half seen half known through half shut window
burn away like fire on a long winter night
lure with contour eluding full sight!
Best poems are lost in the crescent moon's glow
when your mind is too weary head hits pillow
evanesce like youthful time smoothness of face
undecoded hieroglyph untraced address!
Best poems are lost like petals in the rain
in the race for vain pride rush for self gain
seen through smoked glass pages unread
crumbling with time wasted like ****
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
Touch me not say the morning due to the sunrise disappearing as the sun grew
Touch me not say the coconut tree with its fruits hanging aloof,
Touch me not say the frog with bright red spots corking under the Buttress roots,
Touch me not says the indulging and then eluding dreams.
Touch me not says the maiden, playfully resisting her lover’s every move
Touch me not say the open shore to the teasing ocean waves,
Touch me not say the blood colored fruit to the naive traveler,
Touch me not say the blazing sun to Icarus, son you can’t fly to the sun,
Touch me not says the peeved kid pouting and showing it’s irk.
Touch me not says the volcano, feigning to be at rest
Touch me not says the deranged dog, to anyone who dare to come nearer
Touch me not says the humble cosmos, hiding all its beauty on a dark and cloudy night
Touch me not says the hissing cobra, I can **** an elephant.
Touch me not says the steaming ice
Touch me not says the thorny bushes,
Touch me not says the porcupine,
Touch me not says the diffident butterfly
Touch me not says the poet, can’t you see i am working i can’t be in distress
Touch me not, touch me not I am fine ……
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 3:41 PM UTC
I have fought sprouting
the common ardurous way
known by most Earthlings,
through mean suffering pain
that life is filled with.
I sought to sprout of pure joy
immense happiness only,
true love found grasped.
faintly,
that joyful way of sprouting
great wisdom
like a lovely butterfly
from rose bush traveling
to rose buds
flew by me
eluding my white
gardenia rose garden.
Or stealing what it could.
My wisdom now bleeds.
and many avoid me
like a bad owmen.
They wear blindfolds
drink heavily and do other
cruel things to themselves
seeking paradise blindly.
The wisdom of profound joy
that never arrives to stay.
Some asleep walk in their pain.
I won't ask you to walk with me
we all crawl, walk, run, or fly
following our own dreams
roads not taken weeping.
I wait for one traveler only
who would share any ride
To happier easier greener
serenity pastures.
Perhaps together learning
Not to bleed for wisdom,
and working out troubles
as they come along
One day at a time.
~~~~~~~~
By Karijinbba
All Rights reserved
2021
May 16, 2021
May 16, 2021 at 6:08 PM UTC
I have been one acquainted with the night
Moving quickly with unencumbered ease
Through a cooling darkened breeze
Drawing drapes, eluding light
I am one acquainted with the night
I have been one acquainted with the chill
That an October morning brings
With whispered imaginings
Of wine, a blanket and a hill
I am one acquainted with the chill
Barren days and shadowed hours
Make the masses evanesce
Yet no less shared nor picturesque
For they shall remain forever ours
We shall be ones acquainted with the night
Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 9:10 AM UTC
My juxtaposition to your heart...
Just short of right and just left of leaving...
This fascination...distant adoration...
Trailing off into the distance...despite my own persistence...going...going...gone...
You see...Yours was a velvet touch... smooth against the skin of my soul...
My lips raw from your sandpaper kiss...once riveting...
Now... remorseful hue... morose shade of blue...defunct me and you...
My own sweet type of primal bliss...you...audaciously exist...within me...
As I the ribbon...the strand...
NO...the last straw...
Am wrapped around your finger...linger...
flail...fight...then make tight...our binding...
Intertwining...
Bound by our brittle bias...
And you... pious... feel the need to mediate...to delegate...
NO...dominate...
Our love...
You... an anomaly...of the not right variety...
Build...gather...house the mire ...selfishly... misty moments... memories
My pain protruding...while eluding...my acute identity...
Pregnant with grief...disbelief...I strain...
Laboriously to free you...
Giving birth to the rain...
of emotions...
And OUR storm rages on...
A weeping...seeping semblance of love...
Circling the drain of our destruction...
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
I knew there was a turn
but it never turned up
and I kept walking straight
in search of it.
The road was familiar
the turn was on the left
in every known way
yet in the broad daylight
it left me.
I know you wouldn't believe it
neither did I
as alike a puzzled wayfarer
I kept on looking for the turn.
It happened to me.
P'raps it happens in other lives too,
the turn always there
keeps eluding.
Then when found,
it's no longer needed.
Sep 5, 2024
Sep 5, 2024 at 11:38 PM UTC
He is tall, with piercing eyes only for me.
Eluding false confidence.
His soul yearns for togetherness.
Togetherness, once found with me.
Once in love,
But I only carry him now.
We all have someone like this.
I loved him, still love him, and think of him often.
He comes with me everywhere.
I wonder if in my days I will pass him, and if I do,
What will I say?
I remember his face so clearly I can see it every time I close my eyes
And drink that tea he loved.
My life goes on, nuances once unnoticed now keep my wondering mind occupied.
But if I know he is close
Or it is raining outside on my dark drive home.
On a wine fueled rampage.
His memory leaches out my pores almost into my breath
But I stop-
And I call him.
But he hasn’t answered yet.
What if I just show up at his doorstep?
Everything would be okay.
I’d give him the warmest hug he’s ever felt,
Even though he doesn’t want it.
We all have someone like this.
I just hope that on his drive by the beach we first fell in love,
He’s sitting,
Waiting
Wishing
And carrying me too.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC
The Whirring of the fan in the dark
As I lay on the cotton sheet
Sleep eluding me, perspiration finding me
This blasted Delhi heat
In the burning orange of the noon
The rickshaw tires play with the dust
And all is silent like a black n white film
It's just screaming in the color of rust
Neem trees, dried leaves
And the buzzing of the evening flies
Time to chase the ice lollies vendor
As the temple bell tolls by
Along comes the night again
Heaving and spewing, choking on fiery stars
Already restless for the next season
Oh why are Delhi winters so far
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
If we where to see each other again,
would the flames burst out of
our eyes, or would water come
rushing in from the fantasy of lust-fullness.
We could have fun,
we could reminisce on the sounds my
room made when you came.
Skin to skin,
Lip to Lip,
My finger nails into your back.
Slowly penetrating down your spine.
Harder, faster, Deeper, Slow and steady.
I've left my mark on you plenty of times,
and you've heard innocence eluding
my body with every moan that leaked from my lips.
If we where to see each other again,
Darling please walk away.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 6:20 AM UTC
’Tween hither and thither we wended our way
skipping, dancing through sand dunes, in seascape croquet.
While woven in waves watching dolphins at play
I first tasted her lips in the ocean’s wild spray.
Mystic moonbeams, suffusing clouds’ shimmering sails,
unleashed us and whisked us down sensuous trails,
soon evoking the trills of untamed nightingales
as our passions pervaded green valleys and dales.
Being spectres of splendour in wanton sashay
we mastered our meaning in love’s matinee –
the breezes, in passing, slowed down to survey
blazing bodies embraced in youth’s blooming bouquet.
With the wind as our wings, till the Never we flew,
two gypsies, on junkets through dusk’s residue
gently floating like pollen to everywhere new,
so eluding pearled teardrops that paint the past blue.
Yes, we gamboled and gambled, two waifs led astray,
with our shackles afire and anchors aweigh –
rising higher and higher, the sun lured our sleigh,
teasing time was our temptress, night’n day after day.
Having stars in our eyes and all time as our view,
we’ve drifted, like dreamers where sprites rendezvous
and feasted on laughter and sipped morning dew
while rambling forever as one made of two.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 4:07 AM UTC
I used to hurl myself at the idea
that your body is a craving,
a fire to be stroked.
Never did I feel that heat,
the heat of skin on skin,maybe,
but the "fire in your *****
"passion in the rippling bodies"
never.
Were my screw's a little loose?
They all spoke another language
with their hips and lips
and the fingers grasping at the hem of my skirt.
I flicked them away.
Sent them dancing in reverse down my leg
and back to the party.
Forced myself to play into the ****** game
of who done who.
But I never lost a round.
And I never lost my ******* either.
Because once I felt the walls come down
I was a ghost.
I was water,
slipping through your fingers
left nothing but a wet spot on your trousers
and a little annoyance at your dumb luck.
Keeping my flowers on their stems.
I let the hands find me,
call it peer-pressure.
I let Lewis and Clark
explore my terrain.
They both left positive feedback
and told everyone
about their grand adventures
in my mountains and valleys
and swift, coursing rivers.
I was busy playing hide and seek
in the closet
with the boys and girls
and forgot to mention
that all I wanted
were a few kind words
and a hand to hold.
Busy keeping pace with the promiscuity
of my youth
and losing track of those sweet little wisps
of lovers,
fleeting.
Eluding my fingers,
slipping through them
like water,
leaving my eyes a little wet
and the rest of me
damp with a dark shade of gray.
Maybe I am just afraid.
of what?
Of everything.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Shifting vistas
Freeing shackles
Playing it smart
Making it casual
Averting agitations
Eluding expectations
The finest tool to fight disillusionment
The smartest step to shun disenchantment
An act of precocity
An art of rationality
Avoidance.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC