"engraving" poems
Growth prevaded by a soil of emotions, rain of memories engraving the seed for a flower awaiting to bloom, the gift of life in a moving motion of time, forming and structuring the inner beauty of one,
Over years the spring of this beauty blossoms depending on the deeds, deepest wishes such as kindness and intuitions majestically,
A righteous soul will truly stand proud in the sun, alike a helianthus,
A trecious persons flower will be dead, as if it was drought, burnt in the heat of summer, the sweet aroma of life will still fill the air,
Caught in endless change of a devils distorted, desperate working,
The servants have the chance to either change for the better or to be ruined in their transient existence, fading into the dust they came of,
Beauty cast in the heart remains forever with enough care and work,
So this flower shall never rot, as long as it is protected with a desire and will to do good, to be gentle and truthful, thoughtful and wise,
Compassion, greatness and deep loving concern are a fertilizer,
Spread this kindness and you may have planted the seed for another beautiful child of the earth; A precious flower
~ Umi
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
To its mistresses wish, the blade dances through till she has been pleased, leaving a mess by engraving the scars of death as a mark, Alike a shadow she does not crack, cavorting a masacre of cruelty,
Berserking she follows the orders, shedding blood in fountains of death and misery without chance for this rage to stop without order,
Emotionless, cold, time is for her to stop moving when her ****** devotion consumes her entirely, swaying in the dark, destroying,
Tortured with true or false everyone disappears, time flows again,
A phantom glides over the sea of blood, in a mist, scarlet red,
Observing this would cause a riot of emotions to rage in pure fury,
Her name already burnt away, as a new one was given to her after this rumpus had found its peak, leaving the mistress in bliss, joy,
Watching their attemps to flee as they reach their dying moments,
Until those who get to close have perished, nobody and nothing left,
Cricling karma surely will catch them, after this sacrifice is done,
Warm blood melts the left over snow, laughter echos and reverbrates through the unending seeming night, bells ring, it is only midnight.
In the end her loyalty and efforts, her energy and love for her mistress
Are but a ****** devotion
~ Umi
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
I know...
I am not one of the pages of your book
or the words in your poem
But...
I will tirelessly watch over you from every nook.
I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...
I know...
I am not the potrait you are painting
or the inspiration behind your masterpieces
But...
in my heart , it is your name I am engraving.
I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...
I know...
I am not the reason for your smiles
or the tickles of your laughter
But...
for you, I would walk a thousand miles.
I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...
I know...
I am not your shining star
or the light in your life
But...
till forever is through, I'll admire you from afar.
I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...
I know...
I am not the one your heart beats for
or the one you desire
But...
my hearts says as long as it brings you happiness,
it wants nothing more.
I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Toting the mysterious bundle and sporting a sore back
I drag my feet up the last few steps, expended of vigour
I almost couldn't resist prematurely looking through the sack
Remembering the words from the wise old seer
Grimacing I walk a slow gait to get to the table
Set the bundle down and relieve my weight onto a chair
Parched throat but wait longer I am unable
Curiosity takes charge and into the gift I will tear
Blood is pumping along with an increasing heart rate
Fingers scrambling clumsily over the strings that bind
Nails digging frantically into this package bearing my fate
Gnawing thoughts of uncertainty flooding my mind
At last my fingers win the battle that lasted
The final string has fallen... Obstinate knots all undone
I pick the cloth by the edges to have it unfolded
The contents inside reach out like rays of the sun
Corners of the cloth open up like a fully bloomed blossom
Exposing the treasure that lay solemn and quiet inside
Common objects we'd normally perceive as random
Petty things now important as they attempt to guide
I pick up the first and notice an engraving on it's stem
Between my fingers - an unassuming feathered quill
Barely legible, such little space the words do cram
"Here is your sword... Draw blood and let spill"
More riddles, I sought to examine the next
A flat bottomed vial filled with jet black ink
On it is a label with scrawling of time worn text
"Here is your blood; let flow what you think"
Lastly, lay bound up sheets of yellow stained parchment
They reek of age-old herbs; intoxicating slightly
At the top of the first, a note scribbled not so recent
"Within these pages, you must bleed to find Sanctuary"
Staring down at the objects laid in front of me
In hopes of discovering something I should miss
Then finally it struck me, so plain to see
I'm using the instruments now, writing to find release...
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
And the day sends bursts of gold and brilliance to the coming night.
Beautifully engraving divine colors through the horizon.
The rambling of magics, mysteries, and charm has commenced.
The whispering of the leaves,
the spirit of spring.
The lighting beacon of my love
and resilience.
Nurturing my dreams,
unfurling my new-found wings.
An amorous night to soar,
an idyllic moment to fly,
While I await for the moon
to join the sun
in the same pastel sky.
May 19, 2022
May 19, 2022 at 7:34 AM UTC
This is a song to celebrate banks,
Because they are full of money and you go into them and all
you hear is clinks and clanks,
Or maybe a sound like the wind in the trees on the hills,
Which is the rustling of the thousand dollar bills.
Most bankers dwell in marble halls,
Which they get to dwell in because they encourage deposits
and discourage withdrawals,
And particularly because they all observe one rule which woe
betides the banker who fails to heed it,
Which is you must never lend any money to anybody unless
they don't need it.
I know you, you cautious conservative banks!
If people are worried about their rent it is your duty to deny
them the loan of one nickel, yes, even one copper engraving
of the martyred son of the late Nancy Hanks;
Yes, if they request fifty dollars to pay for a baby you must
look at them like Tarzan looking at an uppity ape in the
jungle,
And tell them what do they think a bank is, anyhow, they had
better go get the money from their wife's aunt or ungle.
But suppose people come in and they have a million and they
want another million to pile on top of it,
Why, you brim with the milk of human kindness and you
urge them to accept every drop of it,
And you lend them the million so then they have two million
and this gives them the idea that they would be better off
with four,
So they already have two million as security so you have no
hesitation in lending them two more,
And all the vice-presidents nod their heads in rhythm,
And the only question asked is do the borrowers want the
money sent or do they want to take it withm.
Because I think they deserve our appreciation and thanks,
the ********* who go around saying that health and happi-
ness are everything and money isn't essential,
Because as soon as they have to borrow some unimportant
money to maintain their health and happiness they starve
to death so they can't go around any more sneering at good
old money, which is nothing short of providential.
4.5k
You see this building? I built this building. But nobody knows that I built this building.
I can only assert that I did build this building, and refresh my own memory of building said building.
But at the end of the day, it's just an old building. And ironically enough, I've never stopped building.
There are a few other people who helped build this building. Like myself they can say that they did build this building.
And even if all of our name were there on an engraving, it would never truly be anyone's personal building.
Because we built it for those, so that they could start building. So that they could get going and build their buildings.
Because the framework we built was a structure of learning. And we each taught ourselves through the process of learning.
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 11:57 AM UTC
the latest theories on the Neanderthal
is they died out due to homosexuality
& the earliest evidence of actual civil
order depicts women as priestesses &
queens & men, even kings as animals;
monsters & giants coexisting w/ teenagers
& old people in complex structures ruled
over by older priests, poets & a professional
warrior class; the king could be murdered
w/ impunity & the queen taken as consort
by the next king or murdered if she proves
too ambitious; & throughout all this, scribes
record the passage of time, the declaring of
laws, engagements in wars, rituals, persona,
comic tales & history; notable women have
a roster of their own, some written by ******
scribes party to their secret names & habits;
all known things; bathhouse elect, her scribe
observing her in the dressing mirror invents
the adventures of her reflection; a princess
never to grow old yet her father-husband is a
bearded elder; her older brother a warrior-prince
& future king; her younger brother/son is the
poet who must reveal what he knows, if only
b/c he'll burst if he has to **** his baby sister
in ritual Hieros gamos w/out telling everyone
exactly how he feels about it; but daring to speak
means being ****** burned at the stake, beheaded
& drawn & quartered, so he writes in secret
[chisels actually, so it's resemblance is mostly
related to relief sculpture
& engraving, but writing], passing
the linear tablets to the young priestess who buries
them beneath the temple floor for some future age
of mankind to discover anew & perhaps heed the
warnings of the coming chaos (the poet, a prophet
before there was such a thing); the ****** priestess
worships him w/ unrequited longing; her heart in
chaos, sharing the poet's vision; nature calls her
to her big brother like a woman loves a man & on
that day when they are to publicly mate the young
siblings are gone & are presumed eaten by the
unseen unseen like so many others before them
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
When Death comes knocking at the door
And as the curtain finally falls
My voice will be stilled
My heart, now ticking off like a clock
Will ever be silent
My foot falls shall no more be heard
All my songs will be stifled in the throat
All my crazy thoughts will be frozen
And I shall take leave of all
And the whole lot of petty things I hold dear
But what difference does it make?
The earth will continue to spin as before
The stars will illumine the night sky
Days will follow days in endless succession
Time, chanting the refrains of joy and sorrow,
On wings, shall fly to destinations unknown.
Will there be anyone to grieve my absence?
Will my sons ever miss their Mama?
Will my loved one still hold me close to his heart?
May be for a while
A short little while
But as years glide,
And my tomb lies over grown with weeds
And the engraving on my head stone
Fades out in morbid grime and moss,
When I merge with the dust as dust,
When I lie inert, a rattling heap of bones under the sod
When my spirit still hovers around in vain
With insatiable longing for all your love,
Then give me, my Lord! A ride in your chariot!
Remove from my spirit the languor of endless waiting!
Carry me to Thy *****
Embalm me with Thy love,
That I shall no more crave for earthly love
And with you in bliss, ever united
Look down evermore content
As the wheels roll down to Eternity!
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
Phenomenal woman indeed
Your poems discovered me
While I was just a teenager
Not sure of my place
But there you were inked in many books
Speaking fearless deep within
A master of the ink
Engraving emotions
Tears, pain, joy and strength of a Black Woman
Resonated a power so deep and devine
Your creative, Angelic style
Inspired me to write poetry
That can break down pain
And wipe baby’s tears
And elderly wrinkled cheeks
Your poems hug me like a mothers arm
Your poem is like armor facing a war
Standing up for my beliefs
And expressing it freely
Your style and the woman you are is emulated
I say Thank you Maya Angelou
For you is an inspiration
And for that
Here's my poem as a dedication.
All Rights Reserved.
Christena Antonia valaire Williams
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC
Tears fall both day and night falling, falling
a heartbreaking cry of mother earth
Doesn't anyone hear the sound of sadness
in the song of every songbird?
There's an echoing cry deep in every valley
a tremble in every tree
And with each piercing cry upon the wind
And every howl of pain
Never ending tears flow and flow like rivers
mixing in with the rain
And with every animal scurrying for cover
searching for a place to hide
Rivers of poison keep on flowing and flowing,
down every mountainside
Alas, boulders and stones have awakened
from their slumber long, so long
And they've begun engraving epic poetry,
brilliant pieces like a sad song
A gift for you and me
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
the big easy
is hard lives,
what gives
this rainy city
so sublime,
it's almost a pity
that streets are lined with ****
pests and rats in the alleyways
how did things get so ******
or have they always been?
overpasses with people
lying underneath
so many homeless
it staggers the mind to think
bread bags and coffees
floating in the wake of the ferries
outnumbering 10 to 1
the loads that they carry
all the old growth
coming down
all the gold of their headpieces
tinfoil hats fashioned from crowns
no jazz or blues can save them
from the fate that waits
an engraving reading,
here lies what once was a haven
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 10:07 AM UTC
Thunder and lightning and glass on the beach
I covered my ears with lace, put shoes on my feet
I walked out into the ocean with my heart in my hand
And cried for a tornado to scoop up the sand
I buried my locket in an old leather case
Hoping that time and water could erase
All of the engraving you chiseled through my veins
And that you can feel the lightening each time it rains
But no one would fear me, no hermit or fish
Came out of hiding to hear my soft wish
So I drowned my sorrows in a green bottle of sin
And cursed out the devil as he laughed at his win.
Almost vividly, could I see your face
Almost surely, did you begin to escape.
With salt and seashells, I lathered my veil
That I found in the tummy of a large ocean whale
Who ate out my innards and spit me back on the ground
So I could be rescued, if I ever was found.
But no help came the night that I died
So I finally threw out the pain and from here, I flied.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
It was a quiet afternoon of reminiscing
Nostalgia lingered in the sunlit air
intermingling with the sweet aroma of coffee
as I sipped and leaned back in my chair
˜
He walked up to me as I sat by the window
I waited to see what he wanted to say
“Your skin is the color of my mocha’, he smiled.
‘Just a notch deeper than your café au lait.’
°
With his jet black hair and Mediterranean eyes
And a physique worthy of a prize winning stallion
His confident air and his subtle smirk
He had to be greek, or maybe a charming Italian
˜
Long hair in a messy bun that didn’t care
jeans ripped in strategic places
His gaze never left my quizzical eyes
obscuring everyone else’s faces
°
He waited for me to respond
mere seconds since his saunter
Forever engraving in my mind,
This coffee shop encounter…
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
Yes, hello, doctor, it's been five days
But I've found that my symptoms haven't gone away.
Lately I've been distracted, and my heart's been racing
Sometimes I think of rings with a heart engraving.
When did this start? When I saw him walk by.
I was heading to my bus, and he waved goodbye.
Such a simple gesture shouldn't cause butterflies---
Please, please, doctor, can you give me advice?
What do you mean, I've fallen in love?
That's a disease I've never heard of.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
Blank canvass,
Then colour brings it to life
Shades and tones scratch in to picture
It bleeds creativity,
Moments become minutes
Which consume the hours of the day,
A picture is formed by
Impressions,
Outlines ,
Engraving.
Life upon the page,
One last brush stoke, shading put there
Complete,
But what did my brush strokes create
A hand, as if reaching out the page
Ominous,
Distressing,
Sinister,
Is what covered this canvas of white
To look upon it,
"Did my eyes deserve me"
Moving forward as if to clench
I move, but to slow
As what was inanimate,
Now paint drips off as it has hold
Upon my hand,
The paint seeps up as I am consumed
By the canvas
Holding on to the frame,
My finger scratch upon the wood
As I scream,
The terror frozen within the paint,
I am but brush stokes
My face painted on canvas
The hand upon my shoulder
I am cold now,
I am for eternity now the paints prisoner,
The hand is my guard
Such vivid brushstrokes
As if she painted fear upon the canvass
A master piece of cloth and paint
Not knowing I am trapped now for eternity
Terror painted within this frame.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
Engraving each memory on a grain of sand
I captured time, for infinity, in a bottle
With tired eyes I sit there and mull
turning it around, over and over.
Will the sand ever pave the way forward?
Or will it cut deeper and deeper?
The grains may beckon over their own kind
wading through time, eroding like a river.
Perhaps there was a start to this all
A cold, unmelting person, thawing
as the lands shaped them, the scenery changed
but the river of memories just kept flowing.
It never makes it to the sea, oh no
never to float away, or to discover paradise
reaching the end only to turn back
oh, I've captured the sands of time.
The memories now all fade into one
of reliving each moment, the joy and the agony
the cascading grains all sing the same song
of the life I've lived, quite a symphony.
The glass is full, there's no more space
the fields passing by were never meant to last
a new course to be charted, to discover, to seek
to fill and measure with a new hourglass.
Feb 27, 2023
Feb 27, 2023 at 12:25 PM UTC
I'm not a princess, I don't need saving
It's only your love on my heart that needs engraving
I'm not a damsel in distress
Only your love can impress
There's no golden locks for you to climb
Only my heart that you must find
There's no dragon that needs slaying
Just your love is all I'm craving
There's no castle walls to scale
Only true love will prevail
I don't need your money or gold
I can't be bought or sold
I can stand on my own two feet
I'm not like most women that you meet
I'm one of a kind, I am unique
It's only your sweet love that I seek
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 8:52 AM UTC
He
Sat by the riverbank
He
Laughed like cold water
He
Brought to me, the ocean
He...
Where the current runs
behind, beneath
The undertow
Of his eyes
drowning Me
He
Left the scent of good-
Bye Before he’d
leave
As the scent of autumn
Promises winter
And barren, silent trees
My oars
set to the waves
To the phantom of
My sea
The wreck was me
Picking up every shell
Listening
for the sound
Of your feet
the waves
in your eyes
Returning for me
I wait with the moon
For your tides
Green is the color
Of the setting
Of my dreams
As they drifted away
In your
castaway-eyes
And I
Knew better
And you
Spoke plainly
And I
Heard nothing
Of the truth
That you
Gave me
But your voice-
It’s remaining
And your eyes
Are engraving
Their colors
on my canvas heart
like your initials
in my ****** bark
That leaves a wound
to die or scar
beneath its message
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
On some mornings
mom would ask
if Kyle and I wanted waffles
these were no ordinary syrup catchers
marbled by deep purple
stuffed with blueberries
When I was born
I was born a blueberry
due to the blue pigmentation
resulting from lack of oxygen
because of my mother’s smaller stature
that day a screaming smurf was brought into the world
and I’ve been getting redder ever since
Above the sink in my dad’s home
is a small purple bowl
handmade with a ceramic stem that broke off years ago
on the inside bottom is an engraving
that simply reads
‘Blue Berries’
but no longer carries fruit
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Syllables mixed,
Meaning dispersed between the two conscious minds,
Connecting them,
One.
But yet no sound was made.
The Brightest Star
Just smiled and waved,
The wind
Blowing though the rays that embrace Karim
Like a strait jacket of light, blinding bias.
Karim could hear the ants in the mycelium;
Manufacturing temples.
Tears flowed to the present light.
His tears then created the Nile River,
Where the stream keeps their society alive,
Engraving their history into ours.
Since that day,
Karim could only smile and wave.
Jun 16, 2022
Jun 16, 2022 at 4:26 PM UTC
his voice beguiles me, weakening me
in whispered warmth of breath, fingers
trace trembled want of hungry lips
tasting me...
Closing my eyes; I arch into need of
his touch, his voice of seduction breathes
against skin, teasing me
licking my tremors...
I moan in ache, my ripple upon his tongue,
my essence rises lingering within his mouth;
roughly kissing me and I kneel before him,
taking him in slowly suckling; tasting him tip
to pearls licking his veined pendulum swirling
in warmth, vigorously in out
loving his shudder...
he whispers as his fingers tenderly tweak ******
softly, inebriating my senses; aroused horniness,
entering my paradise, firmness weaves flesh in
breathless swells, igniting our twine; like tongue
licking heat of mouth
pulsing in wetness...
searing between open thighs, I ache for his plunge
engraving me, knotted within his arch; deluged in
fluidities flush as lips brush, tongue trails taut nips,
I blush beneath his fiery breath, still teasing
rocked to my foundation...
unraveling me in utter passion, our bodies aching;
assuaging yearn, calming quivers in wet want;
shuddering each abraded ****** loving its aftertaste
in trembled release enlivening; our lust still entwined
within wet ecstasy...
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
We have a checkered past
I call it a story,
Inevitability,
Or something beautiful
I don’t see it with your cold hazel eyes
I don’t dissect it into painful little bits
Trying to discern cause of death
As we’re lying entwined on a cold autopsy table
Before our heart beats have even had the chance to stop racing
I don’t believe it’s avoiding failure if we never try
I never have
You read our history like a eulogy
Citing each fight as a mortal wound
Recounting the tales
Over a mahogany coffin
Holding onto your love
Was like listening to a coroner’s report
Each “I love you” was a doctor, calling it
Was a DNR order
You are ready to dress in black
And call in a headstone engraving
With past tense dates
To bury everything
And just call it a mistake you had to make
But I am not an obituary
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
Misinterpretation,
Mislead,
Missing all of you.
The knife blue your eyes,
sawing hacking engraving
your initials in my chest like bark.
Embark.
Rough hands.
I remember the canyons of your lips,
I plummet down with every word you mouth,
~falling falling arms open face first~
The kisses and kisses and kisses and more kisses.
Smother me.
Booming laughter.
The marks and scars of your face,
from other boys and girls and parents and growing older.
I remember their order and presence.
The beauty marks and freckles
Which shape constellations my zodiac has applause.
Resume.
Lazy eye.
All of this hope,
And every passing water gets my change
And every first day gets two rabbits
And every other boy gets my denial
And every suspicion is overlooked.
And I have learned sometimes that is what love becomes.
Me in a waiting room.
Staring at the suckerfish hide in plastic castles.
Reading Women's Health.
I have learned to trust time.
And to never, ever accept what I cannot change.
DEVOUR WHOLLY
And I will disturb these waters until
I am banished or beloved.
Tunnel vision on a Wednesday night.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 2:26 AM UTC