"embellishments" poems
I don't think tunnels can go this deep:
The way the oceans part--
Starfish foam, bubbling for air.
I saw the moon bleeding,
So many hidden cries.
She shouted:
"No fair, no fair...No fair..."
And now the polished skeleton
Bones glisten in the sun.
Taken from the dusty closet,
One by one by one.
Alongside a black journal,
No embellishments,
No lock to conceal shame.
Pages of her history,
Like collected pages of
The suffrage, and at the
Very last page, her dream's name.
Italicized like lies fresh oyster pearls shine.
Glistening in the frost of the night,
The soothing heat of her mind's height.
Tunnels can touch Earth's spine.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
An absence reversed
Beheld
Belonging
Fuming lush greenery seemingly
Between the frothing
Soup and lather twinkling
Speaking
"Tradition may act dishonestly"
All and sundry
Trails along merrily
For traditionally
All is how it should be
Belonging to one and only.
Binding
A trade between the thin lines
A baking sheet made sprayed messy
Artists in threes
Shakers of mountains for invisible ease
The truth is simply
Things done traditionally
All-in consuming historically.
Flesh
Released
Is fresh
Relief
Hidden in the fabric's sleeve
A gaping passage of air and breeze
Racing electricity
Breathtaking silk from worms
And worms eaten by birds
Tradition
Sewing the dresses of Empress the third.
Halt
Her plea worth salt and sugar
Still
Like the skater's
Minted odour
Hope
Distances the valleys low dipped to the everlasted rivers
Where a time arrives for eternal celebration.
The embellishments of
Unwavered tradition.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
Such passion flows from fingers
that scale the controlled embellishments
of Chopin.
The melodies swirl in your brain
as you try to imagine caressing
the ivories with every female voice
that Chopin encountered.
Expressing profoundly the experience
of Chopin's work cannot be described
on paper.
It must be felt.
Only then will you find passion in its raw form.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
The walk along the streets of fame
Streetlights illuminating the night
Dazzles are but fleeting moments
Adulation of the crowds will wane
Looking through the dark glasses
To fend off the bright camera flashes
Offered the spotlight by bright lights
They will switch off during the day
Temporary embellishments will disappear
With ease walk the streets
Where fame is just not a stereotype
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
i love to write poetry with food
the clickety-clack of the knife on the dining board is my metre
the veggies going choppity-chop are the words
the masalas are the embellishments
that lift them to another level altogether
the pressure cooker whistles,
something in the frying pan sizzles
the flavours rise and fill my home
with the smell of cooking
the gravy thickens
the pulse quickens
in anticipation of the tasting
the aromas tease as i’m tempering
a little coriander for the topping
and I’m done!
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
09.09.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 12:27 PM UTC
***Fell heal over heads
in love with a poet,
he's mostly a rhyme schemer
likes Poe and his dark Raven,
in actuality, I'd fancy him more if
he were like Pablo Neruda, but I digress
I'm much accurately fashioned after Emily Dickinson
chasing heaven's June bugs toing and froing,
we'd meet at a perfectly superfluous coffee shop
he'll be murmuring elegiac pentameter
I'm simply looking to devour precious words,
we'd argue about abstract destinations,
straight forward persuasions and
premonitions of wayward ink allusions,
some days I want to claw mine own eyes out
amid all that nonsensical alliteration
others, I want to rip out embellishments
of his black heart's magnification,
he mutters tumult under his breath,
states he's abundantly sickly tired of all my
fanatical froufroutant flourished fantasies,
albeit, we're mild mannered artistes
of overstatement and simplification
thus, we continue laying it on thickly
I, with my hyperbolic cuppa tea and honey,
he's all brass tacks, no nonsense black coffee
ultimately, we reservedly seek gratification,
envisioning who functionally makes it first
to a finished line of manifestations's publication,
in eternity's poetic intentions and beyond***
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
Far away from the bustling town
There was a dilapidated cottage
Where the evenings were lit up with lamps
Lonely in the valley it stood, touching the horizon
Two lovely souls inhabited the home
Lamps shone brighter than electric lights
There was abundance of love to light up the world
The cottage was a shrine where love resided
There was less embellishments
But the grandeur of the souls there shone through
It was a humbling experience for any traveler from town
Amazed by the rich simplicity
With which it welcomed the weary traveler
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
Went for a cruise on the maiden ship Titanic,
A wonderful ship everyone said would be epic
I was not scared because it was unsinkable
To be in fear would for me be unthinkable
Wanted to sail far away to another land
Where my life, I think could be quite grand
Unpacking my suitcase in a luxurious liner
This is the one yacht that could not be finer.
Passengers enjoyed dinner, dancing, and other entertainments.
All the days of the trip they would enjoy the embellishments
I heard that people like Astor, Guggenheim Straus, Thayer and Gordon
Would be on this ship including Stead, Fulrelle, Gibson and Morgan
On April 14, 1912 I was that evening returning to my room
Walking down the corridor I heard a deafening boom
Went to find an RMS crew member
When I was told on deck to assemble
He handed me a life jacket just in case
And to get in the lifeboat because there was space
Passengers were lowered down by the crew
The first little boat had just a few
A man started quickly paddling our tiny boat
Once far away he stopped and we would just float
Everyone watched as we heard screaming, crying and yelling
Amongst the chaos we heard music and saw the flares flying
In the early hours of April 15, the ship’s lights flickered out and then went straight up vertical
We all heard the moans of the iron and watched it break in half and it sank uncontrollable
From quite a distance I saw an ocean of people
Out in the middle of the sea, no one felt hopeful
Soon there was no sound
As we all looked around
Shivering crying and wondering
If we are going to live or die pondering
published in the Crawfordsville, Indiana newspaper
Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
the robin came down as he cleared the ground,
all red chest, pretty eyes.
we discussed the earth, rich now, without
the stones. we could grow potatoes as they
did here in the war. i have the photograph.
these are fortunate times, while have disliked
the tuber since the flu struck.
there has been a lot of it this year here.
we plan a pretty little greenhouse, all white
with embellishments, red geraniums.
the robin watched, i am told he will like mealworms.
sbm.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
Sky is a taut, grey net spread,
at its best in creating panic,
relentless day a brutish marauder,
drained of color of every kind, bleak,
even thought of you distant, my nectar
plays hide and seek, I am plunging
in a hallucinatory spin, down, down.
From inside a furnace closed
with a tight lid under which heat
in it's fiery glory permeates
like never before, a full- throated roar,
without any sound it travels around,
in waves after waves after waves,
to scorch every single thing under
the blood thirsty sun, on a hurried
march for revenge,green turbaned
trees and scarf adorned branches
changed all those embellishments
gone bone dry,now stand apologetic
like kids that made bed wet and caught
red handed, shrunk in shame and pain.
Narcolepsy reigns, drowsiness
day and night, like marijuana haze
follows.
This summer makes its name stick
in bad books,making T.S.Eliot look
shame faced for calling one past tame April,
uncharitably the cruelest of it all.
But this, this is an unbridled wild horse
none can in no way do anything to stop.
When even the last drop of water from
the pond evaporates,sunburn peels the skin,
sun stroke down people, who are unaware,
cruelty of April, becomes monumental.
Perhaps in few days time May could barter
that bad name from April,I'd easily guess.
Buildings , in rows and rows lie, til horizon,
like blood drained corpses all though the day,
the appetite for life, they evidently has lost.
Song birds on flowered trees, have gone mute,
doves scamper, dart in to the air, with hope
to get few drops of water from somewhere
Kindhearted few fill water and feed on containers
for stray birds,taking cue from the practices of forefathers.
Change in climate is an ogre, that could with bare hands
smash pompous attitudes and other human constructs!
Will there ever be a limit, to the red eyed monster,
avarice, we all pamper, within our inner courtyards,
that forces human beings to to do "Harakiri"
like a proud Samurai does with his own sword.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
I’m sick of the lies
I’m sick of the guise
Be an ******* to my face you piece of ****
Cut me out like a man
Don’t ****** walk away like I did you wrong
I’ve given you nothing but love from the beginning
and you snap it back in my face
***** I can your disgrace
and this race of ungrateful haste should rethink their approach in the presence of a kind heart and unwavering loyalty
boy,
you pushed me to the edge
and so I pledge
to never trust a soul
cuz this tossing and turning in yearning cuts deep
and I don’t get enough sleep
so count your sheep and be gone without a peep you ******* creep
I’m too real to pretend
In a world of fake embellishments to conceal god’s embroidery
I really thought you’d mean more to me
but you blend n bend just like the rest and to me
you’re just a guest so save me
the best
As I attest to never rest my pen for a pimpled partridge laced to dance to the tune we all know is rehearsed
I’m different
I see your past
I see your essence
I know your actions before you make them and lemme tell you
I could sell you here and now but you wouldn’t be worth it.
Don’t name me n game me like your dame to-be cuz I hear your hesitation and bruises
look like ******* on wanna be bad boys
**** all that noise
I’ve done that ****
I’ve lived that life
And I can play ***** less flirty and more wordy than a whole gurney of gays with no praise for your plug’s percocet purse you’re tryna nurse cuz no curse will salvage a sick man’s mind
Next time, don’t even bother
hittin me up for a quick ****
cuz you blew that chance a long time ago and I’d have to be on twice the amount of **** I was on then to **** you now
Ha! Like you’d even know how!
I’ve seen your hickeys of conquests Do you think I’m blind?
And that shows you’ve still gotta brag
boy, I’ve ****** your whole family with out a scratch so catch a disease cuz you’ll never please between my knees
You were beneath me from the beginning
But I gave you the doubt
And still
you’d rather smash for the clout cuz your way out of this drought are delusions of grandeur
not credible candor
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 2:09 AM UTC
My dearest Katlyn,
I love the way that sounds. I love the way your name just flows off my tongue like it’s the most natural thing in the world. To me, we are the most natural thing in the world. I believe it was fate that brought us together all those years ago, when we were nothing more than innocent children. Now our innocence has been stripped from our bones and our bodies have developed along with lines of laughter and worry across our faces. Yet you are the one, who after all this time, I still cling to. Back then, you were my rock and my safety net in a new and confusing environment, not much has changed.
Our history is a rocky one, to say the least. It’s full of drama and heartbreak; but as well as love and passion. I swear we could add a little embellishments and have our own soap opera. Despite all the troubles from our past, I hold those memories dear. Because when I recall those times, I don’t just recall arguments and words thrown, I recall the way you stumble over words when you’re flustered and how red your face gets when your choking words down. As for our better times, I worship those memories as if they are held upon a mental shrine; protected, never to be tampered with or tainted. There are things I have come to regret. I regret not swallowing my fear and being proud to tell everyone, “This is the girl I love!”, but during those times, I wasn’t ready. Although, our hidden love did make sneaking around so much more exciting. Sometimes I wish we could go back in time about three years and just show ourselves then that it was okay and it turns out for the best.
Things are more than okay. You are the love of my life and the one to spend forever with, however long forever may be.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
My words and my poems
Are no more than explanations
And embellishments
My means of expression
For my life is my "art"
It's what I am and what I write
It's why I need to write
To make sense of the things
I've seen and done
And there are times when
I think I've done far too much
Then, in deep contemplation
I realise I could have done more
And that kind of inner debate
And discussion with myself
Are a large part of my life
Which becomes my version
Of something like "art"
By Phil Roberts
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 4:07 PM UTC
oh how the coward counts his cards
blackjack entrapment habits
at least there's free drinks!
what a time saver:
enabling 2 addictions at once,
maybe i'll save some money this way...
hit hit hit stay, embrace
hug my hands around the chips
my multicolor relatives
i'm betting on embellishments,
time to double up or split
my hand's as steady as my faith in god
so i'm shaking like an epileptic
seizing with the scenery
blinking with the burning lights
knee-deep in unending debt
i'll go all in on my hesitance
& sleep on this abandoned bench
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 5:46 PM UTC
good equestrians you know like
young things who giggle all pretty
major embellishments of lipstickglaze and
sourpuss pouts skin smooth as
vanilla in summertime:
nymphs if you only
champ at the bit to have your
hair brushed to be
carrotfed and bootkicked into
stockholm races (sing this song
wear your
habit on your sleeve or
break it fast
come now sister let’s
put on some tea and
watch the jasmine bloom I hear it’s
particularly fragrant this
time of year.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 5:14 AM UTC
Andrew Gn
Probably the most prolific Singaporean designer, Gn graduated from the renowned Saint Martins School of Art and Design in London and the Domus Academy in Milan before joining Emanuel Ungaro in 1992. He launched his namesake label in 1996, establishing a fan base among the Parisian high society and A-list celebrities such as Jessica de Rothschild and Sarah Jessica Parker for his luxurious fabrics and exquisite embellishments. Gn was awarded the President’s Design Award in 2007 and is stocked in all the major continents, with his atelier based in the Le Marais district in Paris.
Ashley Isham
The other Singaporean high fashion designer to hit big time in the international circuit, Isham established his namesake label in London in 2000, and is a show fixture at London Fashion Week. The label is known for its sharp, contemporary tailoring and high-octane glamour, and is a hit among film, TV and music stars as well as British royalty.
Aijek
Self-taught designer Danelle Woo creates easy-breezy, ultra-feminine pieces in sustainable fabrics. Aijek is stocked at multi-label boutiques in China, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Indonesia, Latin America, the Middle East and the United States.
Depression
The neo-Gothic ready-to-wear label’s stark, minimalist designs are stocked in Hong Kong, Belgium, Japan and the U.S., and counts celebrities like Adam Lambert and The Black-Eyed Peas as fans.
Sabrina Goh
The feted Singaporean designer stocks her easy-to-wear pieces from her namesake label at multi-label boutiques in the United States, the Fred Segal store in Japan and a London-based online store Not Just A Label.
Max Tan
The avant-garde label features experimental silhouettes and a contemporary artistic flair, and is stocked in Europe, the Middle East, San Francisco and Taiwan.
Benjamin Barker
This stylish menswear brand founded by designer Nelson Yap in 2009 now has two stores in Melbourne and offers custom tailoring as well. It also offers shipping to Australia and New Zealand via its website BenjaminBarker.co. .
In Good Company
The well-loved minimalist label with unusual silhouettes fronted by designers Sven Tan and Kane Tan is stocked in Hong Kong at Kapok, at various departmental stores in Jakarta, Indonesia, including Sogo, Seibu and Galleries Lafayette Jakarta and in New York’s Saks Fifth Avenue.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
Thine hours shed themselves,
Moment upon minutes upon hour
curtsy to thy shining name,
leaden with embellishments
of snow and americas of golden
tears.
Stained time, spilt;
to denounce thine image.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
Tucked away in the crevices of my mind,
Are shades of sorrow you left behind.
Memories of joy and sweet contentment,
Innocent of hate and bitter resentment.
Initiating as friends who desired affection,
Enthralled by lust and blind to speculation
From those whom regarded it all "too soon",
To prove them right and close in June.
Six months of sweet, indolent days,
Precious as the next due to the simple way
Your presence alone kept me elated,
Your revered wit held me captivated.
The moments we shared basking in the sun,
Or curling with the kittens - equally as fun.
The hushed inertia of our days spent together
Was not irksome and dull but treasured forever.
I can adopt adjectives, embellishments and rhyme,
In the child-like hope they may turn back time.
I can exhaust poetry as a means to say
That I miss you more each day.
But should you read this, I pray you must know
That the colourless wave of self-pity and woe
Brightens and shallows with every passing day,
And that our precious moments are pocketed away
In the warm embrace of my broken heart,
Slowly mending now that we are apart.
Like a phoenix rising from ash-glistened coal,
I will grow from the embers and rejuvenate my soul.
I will rise again and start anew,
And cherish the days I shared with you.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 7:54 AM UTC
Litigation of repressed distraught,
Ambiguous embellishments of euphoria,
Cast asunder infatuation in hopes her eyes capture,
Perchance hell revoke my admission and allow an old soul
A craved desire coveted keenly upon the heaving *****
Lest I cling tight with passion adieu,
And ****** not skin but a heeded heart,
summation of abysmal damnation.
Capture my love hold dearly my heart in your claimed hand...
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
It is the ink propelled with mold and feces,
And the grandeur of dogma littered with arrogance.
The persistent deconstruction of ideals covered with dust,
and yet it screams openly to the audience of deaf.
Forbidding irk come with forbidden shadows beyond it's own screech,
And the scatching of the chalkboard has friendlier tone than unoriginal scribes of embellishments.
The act of taken lives from people who do not deverse your pardon need not be your tropies,
For those actions of hate deserve no love or pity.
For this is the land of united people of places and hope,
For you can not divide us with words,
Or sword upon freedom.
The vigilant light shall warm us,
Your hate will only fuel us,
You shall never silence us.
For we shall live for the dead,
And their memories will not be forgotten.
We will defeat your hate with our compassion,
And we will prevail where you so sought to undo,
For love will defeat your prideful destruction.
Say good bye to your yesterday,
For no song of your will be heard but in the mist of ocean,
And our choir will muddle your preformance.
For your last act stood as an epilogue,
And ours has become the prologue.
Have you truly succeeded?
I think our cheers shall resonate the true answer.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC
The furnished souls
Adorned with mahogany
Luxurious pieces in every corner
Eau de parfum, the finest from France
Does not allure the senses
The settees, chaise lounges and recliners
Standing there, forlorn, awaiting guests
The ornate crystal chandeliers adorn the ceilings
Trying to illuminate the gloominess
The flooring of Makrana marble on the floors
As if there is a puzzle to be solved
It looks quizzically at the incoherent footsteps
Of the infrequent visitors, not even interested
Mansion filled with embellishments
Yet there are no worthy inhabitants
The Swarovski crystal curtains, veils the outside world
That waits, without any expectations or superfluities
To furnish the soul with love
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
Get beneath your peers
Crawl while in tears.
Drown inundated by consequential shame. Cause you’re the only one to blame.
Your avarice for ****** release isn’t natural.
You’ve conditioned yourself to be this abysmal.
Let your cries resonate, impregnate, and eradicate within you. A morning sickness derived from truth you will succumb to. While this truth grows and evolves within you, it will evacuate your lies behind your truth.
Sullen loneliness withers you, it’s created a monster.
One that pines for intimacy without foster.
Through this eagerness, a dull misunderstanding festers.
One where intimacy is strictly ******
And it’s enjoyed alone on a phone, ha. How intellectual!
But the primordial need, sets you in greed.
Clear thinking leaves you, and desire is left only true.
However this brief inhuman act of disgusting **** leaves you in a tut.
With rational thinking back after release. You’re trapped without peace.
Loneliness floods back, and on the attack, charges self reflection, without affection.
You don’t deserve affection. Just affliction.
So you grow ill from your actions.
Don’t stop this introspection. Self disgust is appropriate. So don’t take an ******
Tenacious pithy feelings will raise your ceilings.
Embrace this self loathing. The shame will strip you of clothing. Now true to yourself and the world, unpolished and furled.
You can act on embellishments, and ignore wants and irrelevance.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 7:05 PM UTC
Thank you for embellishments, and why the earth in round, and why old men snore during sleep, why the fox betrayed the hound, thank you for musicals, they prance around my soul, dough rises in an oven, humans don’t drink from bowls, thank you for analogies, and why my cats tongue scratches, why do A students love ****** why the pig never hatches, thank you for your torment, thank you for your sins, thank you for your joy, thanks for all the gin. Human kind speaks its mind even if there’s a risk. Human kind is so blind, but it’s how we get our bliss.
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 1:08 PM UTC
A life spent spinning.
That is the common trait
shared by spiders,
And me.
I’m sure every spider would say,
If only we would listen,
“there is no greater achievement,
Than a well spun web.”
The first giddy rush
As you hang on a fragile thread
That may
Or may not hold
To the scrutiny of nature.
You create a delicate structure
Of twisted phrases
Hung with dewy embellishments
To distract and awe your audience.
But over time it falls apart
Foundations break
And loose ends show
To disrupt the believable symmetry.
And then you must patiently wait
Until a clumsy foot or hand or arm
Sweeps through and tears it down
Freeing you from the façade.
Just make sure dear spider
That when your web,
Is broken and blamed.
You were not sitting in its centre
Letting it crash down upon you.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
'Eternal Return'? Why?
If things will keep recurring
why are we exerting so much?
Would I share a gleeful laugh and cry a passionate cry
Knowing the same happiness and sorrows will recur
again?
It took years to reach a summit, toiling and crawling,
A slight imbalance, and again we are hurled to the beginning.
Is, Sisyphus, only a mythical figure? If yes,
then, why I see him in me?
Take a handful of men of bygone days, and contrast with
Our time, drop the embellishments of each century,
And see the emerging pattern, ask them, what are the ways
That helps In curbing the pain, answer;
"Slowly the pain is eased but increased the suffering."
Are pain and suffering different?
When was the last time you loved someone?
Do you remember the days after they were gone? Yes?
Then, why are you in love again?
And most importantly, whom are you in love with?
The person or the suffering they bring?
If Everything recurs 'ad Infinitum',
Then can we avert the things already occurred
In past, from occurring again?
Or we have lost the aptitude for resemblances?
Invention demands an offering of natural ability,
Have we gained half of we lost?
What is the tipping point for this offering, this trade?
It's good I do not have to worry much,
For me, the world ends the day I die.
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 11:53 AM UTC