"enigmatically" poems
Nope, don't do it
show me mountains I can't climb
Don't, dare a darer
and tell me, it won't rhyme
Can't be a place on earth
I can't go, examine, or explore
Holding, or finding the keys
I'll open each, and every door
Willingly not an option
dropping thoughts or words, into my mind
Questing for perplexing
if it can't be prosed, a way, is what I'll find
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 10:43 AM UTC
I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema,
she had asked specifically and eventually
(she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer
and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes)
so I knew that this was something she really wanted,
and I teased for her bad taste
when she told me that she wanted to see
"Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie
and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory".
It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house
was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder
as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka,
and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton
and I knew that town would be busy with oiks
so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual,
and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong.
She had stopped crying by the time the feature started
and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her
but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea
as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out
like a bulldog's ******* but I stand by my decision
to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning;
it was meant to add to her excitement of the day,
so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end.
I sat her on my lap in the picture house
but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price
though because of her disabilities, so it wasn't all bad,
every cloud and all that, you know what I mean?
She tends to get a little down every now and then
but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless.
I knew from past experience that the cinema staff
prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in
(I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard
proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher
had a torch and should have watched her step
or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck).
The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold
to amuse herself during the screening
(as there were no leggings to the costume).
She barely noticed when the fat little hero
got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate"
from her own little chocolate factory.
It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing
and one I might consider repeating but
probably in a different cinema next time,
mainly because we got banned for life
when the manager saw the condition of the seat.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
Stored up enough,
but the energy now takes on its
own purpose.
If only I could draw;
I'd create picture books
on exactly what the ending looks like.
Rough sketches left collecting
for many months,
before I ever once thought of putting
color to them.
The why, would be as mind trancing
as tracing catch phrases into the many
levels of dust accumulated.
I'd write something so cliché, like,
"With this oily finger I remove the collection of time."
or, "With this flesh ensconced utensil, I cut
through time."
I'll think myself so clever, that I'd forget
where I left off, and distract myself
again with writing.
A small recluse emotion of mine
objects viciously, but my attention to every
words incentive laced meaning would
leave the visual to again rest unchanged,
not colored.
So's the plight of one who likes to think
himself an artist. There's that scandalous
narcissist again just waiting to ****** you up,
reminding you just how beautiful your words
are, and how small in intellect those who
don't get it are.
Upon that shelf your pictures sit.
I can only write as a narrator,
because our "philosopher,"
"philanthropist of word volley, our
genius of word play,"
is once again too caught up in the
descriptors to finish the real
picture.
Not that this idea will stand the
test of time, but I do believe more
writers will commit suicide, selfishly
of course.
Oh, the tragedy, the malady of writing
so enigmatically that no one gets
your "deep soul."
While upon that shelf,
within a fiber of your overrun
writer's ego, there's a drawing begging
to be finished, colored, maybe even
shared.
But just where does it reside?
Did the alternate you place it
in plain sight, simply so it wouldn't be found?
If it's too early it just can't be worth it,
can it?
He'll have to learn to put down the pen,
rid himself of the whiteout, the erasers,
set up an easel, squeeze out some paint,
and realize there are other mediums
where there aren't mistakes, misinterpretations.
Only perfect imagery through wispy wrist,
sweeping arm, no words, images
are now your letter blocks to construct with.
Brushes, and all manners of paint your pen.
Stop being so foolish "Writer man,"
if your ego clings too sharply to words,
simply remind it,
"This could be another pen name."
"...I love that idea, what would it be?"
"Narcissist Ugly."
"So caught up, I forget I'm tethered to nothing, but doubt."
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
From whence this identity comes
Malts, hops, father’s approval
What he holds in his arms
Is of no surprise
‘Just missing’ each other
Not likely coincidental
Star couplings, mishap earthlings
Persons never to be known
Crossed streets to
Strange neighborhoods
Lawn games… how odd
In quiet hours on the highway
Gripping, understood, elusive and all wrong
Remembering, but more forgotten
Ring passed over luminescent waters
Love, not enigmatically magical
Autumn hues in baby fine hair
Righting the nightmares
Nothing mattered more than this.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
*I can only pledge my love
And not my heart,
For they are two different things,
They are different—
The truth and the confusion,
The smoke
And the fire,
Though they present themselves
Enigmatically
As one.
Know that you can carry my love with you,
For that's what you deserve.
And I can carry your heart with me,
For always.
So when I love you, when
I love you
Know that I empty myself.
So when you love me, I know
That it is true.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
Great news Marjorie!
I have had tasar treatment on my eyes, so I am finding my keyboard much easier to abuse.
What a week I have had! Since you sent my letter to the local paper, I have had several people contact me. I had no idea the scribbles of an old woman like me could generate such interest. A young reporter even called round, and I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance, the poor boy went red and laughing all the time. In fact I was certain he needed medical attention but he assured me he would be fine in a minute. He did not tell me what it was he found so amusing, but young people can be quite strange, don't you find? He may have needed the toilet but was too shy to ask.
Despite this we did get on well, and he even said he wished I was his Grandma, which I thought was very sweet of him, while making odd gestures with his hands.
After we had enjoyed a mice cup of tea together I showed the young man around the garden and he seemed very interested in the greenhouse, remarking on its spaciousness. I asked if he had green fingers and rather enigmatically he replied 'sometimes'. He enquired if I would be interested in renting it out to him, an idea I found rather appealing. I think he wants to grow salad plants for his family. My faith in the younger generation is restored.
His mobile telephone rang while we were in the garden, and feeling it was rude to eavesdrop I went back into the kitchen, but I did overhear him say that he hadn't had so much fun since his granny died, so I suppose they must have given her a good send-off.
I am rather enjoying my position as a minor celebrity in the village. Even the bus driver was more cheerful than usual today, so I smiled and gave him a cheeky little w*nk as I got off, and I'm sure he noticed it.
Ever your devoted fiend, Dottie **
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
Life is a seductive maiden,
extending two vials,
looking equally nice,
on her lovely hands
for you to choose from;
one contains, elixir of life,
the other poison
for slow extinction.
She enigmatically smiles,
making you irresolute;
you have to select one,
here and now, it'll decide,
what your fate will be,
in the long run.
*Don't flinch or dither a bit,
this moment is paramount;
look at her eyes intently
and extract a clue, act!*
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
i sometimes watch a cooking show and feed myself, finding old italians very funny with everything simple being a milanese delicacy, ambrosia of a doubly baked bread, sprinkled with water, a juicy tomato and some olive oil... mmm, yeah, am bro sia... where’s the salt? if this is ambrosia please give me a haggis in a bagpipe. by the way... the best sarcasm is found in a hangover.
i still don’t know how a cat managed
to knock on my bedroom door
while slayer’s seasons in the abyss
stopped me munching on violins and cellos:
i got paranoid being the only person in the house
with that eerie sound of knock knock...
but i guess greeting him in the morning
with a head-butt utilised his head for the ‘being human’
initiation... only yesterday he managed to open
the door to the kitchen using the handle -
and like any man with his middle finger outstretched
in defiance... he did the same, but with a thumb.
p.s. poetry and collage have a lot in common,
as does poetry and music, i still don't know
why philosophy started the fight, poetry has
nothing in common with philosophy to be
even remotely related for a boxing match,
it's poetry as music and collage, the classical stances
of philosophy are becoming more and more obsolete;
i guess someone had to point that out and side
with plato rather than socrates, but i have to add
one blatant innovation i'm working on,
no not the plagiarism of tristan tzara by william burroughs
of the famed 'cut up' method of writing poetry,
i'm talking Bach, yes, BACH, polyphony, multilayering,
spontaneity, and everything that tzara attempted
picking out bingo ball snippets of newspaper
articles from a bag like some ****** doing the same,
writing a abduction-ransom letter to a rich girl's family
enigmatically... also enclosing a portrait of the girl
done with crude pointillism in cartoon shock colours
with a signature that ræd: antoinette warhol -
yep, and some people will be famous for 15minutes in
a repetitive loop.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
'Why is the raven
Like a writing desk?'
I asked winter--
Crying icicles
Into palpitations.
Of wings croaking
Words and phrases
That evolve us,
Enigmatically
--Sometimes
As we sleep
With seizures
And lifeless seeds.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
Under the enigmatically colored sky, I did wait,
in the place where you were expected
days, nights, weeks and months passed by,
years added their handiwork on my body,
but my spirit, refused to fail, kept awake
I traveled through the freeways of the sky,
learning the art of flight, all by myself,
asked the birds repeatedly about you
except the time they sang how you inspire
but they remained mute to my questions
"Fly towards east
where light is" I heard a wise one say
I found light at the dawn and struggled
to keep it alive at night, only thinking
about you,I needed the heat to survive.
In the blue watery depth of the sea,
I dived, heard the music of silence.
It was your paens silence kept on singing,
Through the fertile planes i walked,
saw the corn speak of plenty.
you bestow on us, the peace it brings.
I wandered through the mountains and hills,
the grass was green and flowers on the vines,
had fragrance that reminded me your presence,
ripened fruits hanging on trees spoke
on the sweet love we shared.
Though you were away from me
and i wandered with a heart full of questions.
A song bird on the tree of wish sang,
it was all about your love for me, I was amazed,
my weary head paused and felt peace at last,
I fell in love as the hands of mountain wind caressed.
In my dream you came and sat near.
I was transformed, did I wake up from that ecstasy
or am I still asleep,I and you are no different.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 11:02 AM UTC
Your words, they are not eloquent.
No, they do not posses the lustrous flow that I so often find myself falling for.
Instead your words come enigmatically skidding from your mouth.
The slang you use travels through the air and meets my ear as nothing but ostentatious calamity.
It is incomprehensible to me.
I cannot fathom why I am falling for a boy who's vocabulary is so minuscule to mine.
Shall the answer go unbeknownst?
No, for the elucidate lies within me.
I just have to go in quest of it.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
Quixotically adorned
In a creaking suit of armour
Stumbling from set back to let down
I am learning to smile enigmatically
As though my thoughts are far away
Which is so often the truth
And my memories are bitter sweet
Because that's what they are
And so.....
Behind this slight disguise
I bumble and fumble through life
Assuming a face of serenity
A face which is not really mine
But one I wear for public view
My creaking suit of armour
Protects my vulnerability
And hides my secret heart
By Phil Roberts
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
Floating
engulfed in penny light
the coppery-brine amalgamation penetrates my mouth
swallowing
viscous globe of blood-riddled ***
the shards of shell
spines split by the tide
echo my sentiments
current eschews shallow alluvial grave
cognizant cicumvolution
ambient gyre
diffuses carapace shrapnel into my calves
gulls enigmatically screech-stripped
slap briny padded patterns into the shoreline
pausing only upon my primal glottal stop
toes curl about inundated sand
clouting divets shift
dilatory run – slammed inert by invariable wave
cochineal effluvium plumes lilt
crepuscular rays refract further distortions
Neath the water I blindly ***** my body
Ridged projections jut from smoothed flesh
Puckering at my own touch
I sink beneath atmosphere
liquescent folds embrace promptly
I drop beneath chaos
Bare palm dig into viscid terrain
rung after rung demanding presence into the depths
I claw forth onto a sand bar
emerging
shard flanked form
eyes blazing
cuticles numb
pulse flit
patina of blood and grit
Fulgent tread propels
Upon shore
I walk back to my residence
A warrior - mortal
plated in copper and brine
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
I am wide eyed;
Attentive and glittering and eager.
Consumed
By your incessant stream of enlightened expression.
Your eyes,
Enigmatically, agressively determined,
Seek constant, ruthless contact with mine.
I constrict, I turn away
From the acute awareness of my inadequacy.
Of my comparatively weak mind,
Eclipsed by your emphatic,
Evocative words which lead
Me deeper, deeper into the black, unfamiliar,
Imbalanced analysis wherein you thrive.
Elevated, blinded, confounded by your eloquence.
But you are only beauty and truth and goodness and power.
And even in my stunned state of disordered mediocrity,
This I understand with irrevocable clarity.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 10:56 PM UTC
Cancer woman is always an interesting lady for a Scorpio man. She is full of such feminine mysteries which a curious Scorpio man always wants to unfold completely but gently. She has a reserved outlook in the beginning which attracts him but soon she shows him her great sense of humor which makes even a serious person like him to smile. She brings colors & joys to his life & provides him with a companion who is always by his side to love, care & understands his feelings. She is actually one person who understands him well deep to his soul & knows what goes on under his cool & composed surface. Loyalty is the biggest trait that makes him feel comfortable with a Cancer woman. Though to his dislike, he can find her to be possessive & bossy at times & also has to tolerate her mood swings but with such love & loyalty in return, he understands her value & keeps a cool temper while dealing with her mood swings. Cancer woman is enigmatically feminine. She is a gentle & her feelings are sensitive & tender & her loyalty is spotless. Though, she may not look very strong, but she is a tower of strength for her dear ones & perfectly able to manage herself, if alone. Patience is her dearest virtue & flexibility is her biggest weapon to win in all circumstances. Being in love with a Scorpio man, stirs the deepest emotions of the Cancer female making her a perfect match for a passionate male like him.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
I am enigmatically saturated
in a silhouette
that deluded the eyes
of my innumerous bits
has it
or has it not
bewitched the demons
and turned the scale
from black to white
But I shall implant
the keen arrow
and spill the venom
of X and Y
now I see
a bow in your right hand
rage in your left
that took the arrow
with a tighter grasp
as it creep,
into the deep
into the crimson liquid of mine
how my cries
desperately thrive
how they bloom
in a gown of gloom
yet how they sleep
by those bits, unreleased
against your silhouette
saturated
un deceased
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
The air is thin
And the light is dark.
But the warmth of this moment brightens the room
Transcending beauty this is
We sit
And we allow our minds to run over all that sits in our hearts and eats away at our souls
We sit
We drink the steamy cups of coffee
We allow our taste buds to grasp the flavour of the beans
However, as delight touches our taste buds
We converse
We listen
We see
We sit
Us three
Us three
We are souls that have been lost
We have eyes that tell tales
Tales that are not told in words, but hidden in the way that we watch
And note the world
Us three
I see her heart is on her sleeve
Her mighty, unwavering heart will not be stifled
She may not allow such passion to be withheld from the world
For she is made for His Glory.
She is made to drink from the fountain of youth with no fear
She is made to conquer
And stare down at their meek faces
As they watch her
In awe
In wonder
And in adoration
Us three
We prefer not to stifle that part of ourselves
That part that will be set free
That part that is bashing at the cage, begging, pleading
to be let out
To be
let out into the night
To go into enigmatically
I am nostalgic
For my former self
The girl who never allowed herself to focus on the dark, the girl who believed in flying
The girl who now never believes she will be taken out from captivity
From this dark pit
Oblivion,
I believe I am there
She interrupts me and puts down the cold caffeine
Us three
She says that I cannot make more mistakes in my life than she has
She tells me that God has a plan, and the pain will soon end
She says that my Destiny will soon unravel from the tight coil
She says that His plan is delicately detailed and outlined in solid black
Like a work of art...
However, the dragon tends to blow his fire at the edges of the delicate page
No matter how small the burn, it makes a change
To the plan
What remains,
Is the art
No matter how much he taints it, my dear, it will still be a work of art
Your Destiny will be fulfilled.
Your heart will be set free
I weep.
I shake.
I gasp for air.
And I always believe in the moments of
Us three.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
Branching from the recess
Stretching wide arms into the ether
I enter into
The cosmic embrace
the stillness
was not empty
But
deep
and yet again
deeper still
Diving further into the fount of reality where divinity loses its transcendence
Only to become the interconnected creative potentiality
Reality expressed by itself
An event in the making in the cosmic ontology of change
Where I am more than what I am
Who I am
When I become
But rather a process
A way in the making
Enigmatically I leave stero's behind reaching down with freed hands
And an open Heart
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
How can I be happy when the one I love, loved someone else?
Is it always my destiny?
How can I even smile and act like I was too supportive and happy?
When the truth is lost, wrecked, broken and hurt will best define me
Suddenly, I became proud of myself
because I can hide my emotions behind that narrow shelf
Leaving no clues nor negative reactions like an elf
Hiding and hiding it in my unorthodox actions, holding my own breath
Girl, you are so lucky
that you are the one chosen and not me
but let us play the long game of destiny
If he'll end up with you or with me.
I am amazed by him even with all his flaws
I accepted him with all his words and jokes
I noticed him because of things he truthfully shows
I love him for who he really is, that is what I only know.
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC
Quixotically adorned
In a creaking suit of armour
Stumbling from set back to let down
I am learning to smile enigmatically
As though my thoughts are far away
Which is so often the truth
And my memories are bitter sweet
Because that's what they are
And so.....
Behind this slight disguise
I bumble and fumble through life
Assuming a face of serenity
A face which is not really mine
But one I wear for public view
My creaking suit of armour
Protects my vulnerability
And hides my secret heart
By Phil Roberts
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 2:01 PM UTC
The shiny silhouette
Of an immaculate figure
Laying next to me
Her bare back is all I could see
Caressing the smooth skin
Could feel the goosebumps sink in
Those effervescent eyes of her
Froze the epoch in eternal animation
Her erogenous smile
Killed every bit of sanity concealed
My surreptitious virility
Cajoled to serenity
The intriguing aroma
Free strands of hair
Like a pulchritudinous portrait
Covered her face enigmatically
The bliss of air
Traversing a new path today
Kissing her neck & shoulder
Curse those lucky ones
A veil over the wise
An ingenious ingredient of disaster
**** thou dark eyes
They burnt a raging fire
Bright & blue
A sweet intoxication
A heart wrenching addiction
Conjuring up & discovering
Unexplored corners of heart
Let us play this game again
Where I’m a slave
And you’re the King insane
Unable to fathom my fate
The stupendous serendipity
Which brought together ends of infinity
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
Broadly speaking on a narrow field of subjects,
it's how you put it, said the..
..oh, that joke's probably banned.
Tuesday.
not got over it yet?
you will.
there's usually an outcome going somewhere when you're looking for somewhere to get out.
The thing about Tuesdays is
there are so many of them
maybe more than Fridays,
they certainly seem to last longer.
Grammarly's still on at me
correcting me
grammatically
I look on
enigmatically
with that
Mona Lisa smile.
May 24, 2022
May 24, 2022 at 4:05 PM UTC
The world
can look very dark
and enigmatically
with few bright stars
but once you look thru your telescope
there is much more to come
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
We were once all kids
Youngn's,
Wildly childishly dumb
Some threw fits
Become a nuisance
Some prudent
Possibly a ton
Maybe you wined and kicked
Because your chores weren't done
Probably clueless
Of what the world had yet to come
Then there's the misfits
Who never fit in
Who blew scales of fish
Then threw fists
Took a few to the ribs
So now threw brew to lips
Taking double dipped Blue Cupids
Letting blotter strips melt to tounge
An endevor to numb the constant misuse
Just endlessly pursues
Never able to outrun
The pain forever maintains
Only abstains for some
We all knew one
A problematic student
During our unsystematic youth
One kick ball captins wouldn't choose adamantly
Or picked on traumatically
For reasons enigmatically obtuse
Easy to dogmatically accuse
So now he's pragmatically recluse
He walks out of school
Without any excuse
But doesn't go home
Because there's no escape free from abuse
Done it so many times
Has a bracelet above his shoes
The only safe place he can seem to think
To avoid feelings profuse and being upset
Is the old Willow tree on a swing
With a noose around his neck
16 year olds
Shouldn't contemplate death
Anyway he picks up the goose
Can't complain it's better than the latter
Sensation so placid
Lamination built couth
Decides to drop some acid
As he heads up a ladder
To the top of the mall roof
It is now 6 stories up
This is how his story shut
Crying apparently seeing stuff
Lying guaranteeing to the kid
He'd fly away if he just jumped
Without a single condemn
Not a single to hand to lend
Not one person that he could depend
This day became his end
Nobody heard his voice again
Guilty unable to make amends
As he fell to his doom, his death
To a better place he'd soon ascend
A misfortunate event
But God will assure he is now content
I guess you could say its unfortunate
At the least it's for the best
In piece may his soul rest
And forevermore be blessed
R.I.P my freind
©thrags
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 11:08 PM UTC