"enamelled" poems
They never bought each other diamonds,
rubies, sapphires, pearls or gold.
The only precious things they keep
are memories of days they spent:
on golden coasts with turquoise seas;
or viewing snow- enamelled peaks;
tangled up in bed;
or simply playing with their children;
or dining out with friends.
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 3:15 AM UTC
O make me a mask and a wall to shut from your spies
Of the sharp, enamelled eyes and the spectacled claws
**** and rebellion in the nurseries of my face,
Gag of dumbstruck tree to block from bare enemies
The bayonet tongue in this undefended prayerpiece,
The present mouth, and the sweetly blown trumpet of lies,
Shaped in old armour and oak the countenance of a dunce
To shield the glistening brain and blunt the examiners,
And a tear-stained widower grief drooped from the lashes
To veil belladonna and let the dry eyes perceive
Others betray the lamenting lies of their losses
By the curve of the **** mouth or the laugh up the sleeve.
4.5k
THE island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,
A parrot sways upon a tree,
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.
Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:
How we alone of mortals are
Hid under quiet boughs apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam
and dart,
The heavy boughs, the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days:
How when we die our shades will rove,
When eve has hushed the feathered ways,
With vapoury footsole by the water's drowsy blaze.
3.6k
753
My Soul—accused me—And I quailed—
As Tongue of Diamond had reviled
All else accused me—and I smiled—
My Soul—that Morning—was My friend—
Her favor—is the best Disdain
Toward Artifice of Time—or Men—
But Her Disdain—’twere lighter bear
A finger of Enamelled Fire—
3.6k
Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!
How many memories of what radiant hours
At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
How many scenes of what departed bliss!
How many thoughts of what entombed hopes!
How many visions of a maiden that is
No more—no more upon thy verdant slopes!
No more! alas, that magical sad sound
Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more—
Thy memory no more! Accursed ground
Henceforward I hold thy flower-enamelled shore,
O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!
“Isola d’oro! Fior di Levante!”
1.8k
His Dark Angel smiled;
cold lips warmed by passion.
The trance compelling.
Desire for the flesh burned
in immortal rage.
The snow fell.
His Golden Muse lay slain;
warm blood cooled by liberation.
The death an afterthought.
Indifference for life
in mortal depression.
The snow fell. The winds rose.
A spirit retreated to the
only embrace that remained.
The Angel stirred in the shadows.
A knife fell.
Taking the bloodied hand
he clasped it tightly in his.
The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze.
The pages of his life blood
lay scattered across the snow.
Like a sacrificial alter
the volumes were placed.
The temple now erected.
Each author a contributing artist.
The funeral pyre now complete.
The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze. The flames danced.
The fire scratched violently at the frosted air;
each enamelled finger reaching out in horror.
Ashes twirled, battling the soft white flakes;
angels and demons seeking one final act of sovereignty.
He glared through the flames, motioning to step forward.
He firmly gripped the stained hand, holding it ever nearer the
flame that writhed in its own tormented agony.
There was scream that emanated like a banshee, yet ended in the flames…
The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze. The flames danced. The end marked.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
Deep earthen roots, gold arrow-tips,
Sounding rush of green applause
Now, trees and bark stretch to
Higher lows of raptured skies.
Wide face of etched ranks and--
Here His marks tread and silence falls
Quite tenderly under winding timber,
Woodworks, Tree-rings, bound around
As clocks tick to celestial Grange's face.
His deeds show across baked-ancients
And those whose sun came creeping under
Horizontal terms and periods-- in lapses
when Time held his own--
On winding old branches with buds smelling
Young n' green n' poking free from yellow scars,
Time garnered his people, his children and dead,
housed them in ticks and tocks and surnames,
For Twilight's enamelled hubris to bathe them,
Wash them.
To set them in winding bark,
And brand them in Himself,
In Winding Tree-tocks.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
Show me all your sides
Let me trace your angles with my tongue
And bite your edges with my enamelled teeth.
Show me all the ways in which you curve
And I'll demonstrate my own contorted corners.
Lay your blueprints on the table
Let me wonder at the architecture of you.
Trace your plans onto thin paper
And we can tessellate;
until you're happy at last .
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
A cross I wear upon my hand
Enamelled black on silver band--
A ring which speaketh story old,
"Memento mori." writ in bold.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
enamelled armies
draw up battle lines
inside the cave of my mouth
as I sleep
they fight the war of stress
that rages in my head
shattering incisors
grinding molars
into paste
no one is going to win
no one is giving up
pretty soon I won't have anything
to smile about
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 4:48 PM UTC
A greek statue I built up.
Strong, with character.
Glorified, enamelled.
Built to last centuries.
Arms stretched out,
they could bear the weight of the world.
Legs, sturdy,
Anchor for the genius.
Chest broad,
Wide with generosity;
Head raised up,
ready to face the world.
Rains came,
soiled the marble.
Winds ate away
At the marble crumbs
The earth shook,
Fault lines on the statue,
Just the same as,
Fault lines on the earth.
Fires burned away,
tainting the skin.
The cycle repeated.
The statue betrayed its truth,
The sand that it was.
I grew up,
realized the man that I was.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 6:51 AM UTC