"enrobed" poems
Mutted sounds
The city sleeps... traditional
Rest...closed shutters
Against the heat....skies white
Blinding, implacable
Brurnt, liquid: coupolas baking
Through centuries of glazed splendor
My lover's breath on old fashioned
Sheets: starched, crip...ironed flat
Our bodies recouping
In the cool inner wall... welcomed presence
Nary a sound...inanimate objects
Enrobed in silence
Languid , heavy, waiting for the shadows
Announcing night's fresh enconter.
Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2005
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 3:34 AM UTC
Spots of blinding light glance off the river
Reflecting apollo's fiery descent
From the west enrobed in smoky silver
Luna begins to carefully ascend
She whistles violet purple black and blue
To chase her brother's chariot away
Painting the world a sparkling darker hue
She unfolds glist'ning night as if to say:
It is I the giver of the earth's rest
That you with little faith have letted fear
And spurred yourselves with stories un-celeste:
Lies from my brothers mouth and to your ear.
This hour go out and put the truth to test!
In dark alone the soul will find repose
A tune of cosmic peace does black compose.
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 2:01 AM UTC
Remains of the summer
sunlight drip out,
entomb'd in raindrops
from the prevailing
gray beclouded skies
Memories of joy
bathed in sunlight
unravel like a wind
frayed kite dancing
above a day at the beach
Soaring seagulls ponder
all thousand feet of kite string
tied to a hidden bliss below —
hurtling through
the shapeless heavens
tethered to refreshed
dreams still lingering
within an untamed
child of the wind
Morning falls
from the trees
in whispers
of golden sorrow
The damp chilled air
smells fresh as the traces
of heaven's cleansing rain —
befallen drop by drop,
each plash counted
from an angel weeping,
splattering the broken silence
all through the night.
An inflamed montage
of leaves surrender
all this unholdable lifeline
we ever know;
blanketing the fields
of autumn's tawny grass —
Sowing a mosaic colored
reclamation reposed
atop a nascent green,
soon enrobed by impending
winter’s pallid slumbering hues
The darkening hush
imbues a shadowing
fugitive peacefulness
bathed in wind river eddies
of autumn’s blessing rains
harlon rivers
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
Unfinished
Emptiness a question enrobed in nothingness stillness cries across the void in its intolerable
State you stand the will wilts the eyes portray defeat and sorrow a searching longing is plainly evident
This powerful demanding current must be appeased chaos screams the idle continues his dreams
Faltering movements are all that is known a stationary seizure pervades the deadliest image an old
Amusement park dead and deserted a mocking sign proclaims thrills inside the torment rushes like
A stampeded herd it threatens sure death your own plaintive dead voice is heard in this arena of
Dispirited dashed hopes a mauling traumatized and once energetic hope filled spirit that trouble
Assailed Then fell back and then with the genius touch as you reeled it simply fell away your steps to
Recover Also ceased with the careless and deadliest words of all what is the point this has become your
Standard if titled in great black letters it would read lackluster lying in the dirt whipped defeated
Disgusted exiled in oblivions nowhere hope has had the first letter changed to D yes Dope in capital
Letters little do you Realize this is the very act of reconstruction the best military force in the world
Engages in this kind of training someone who has potential is the tried and true diamond in the rough a
Superior force is needed take the outward restraints off by reducing the individual to his base when you
Have destroyed the unfavorable elements then begin the renewing process that is clean and absent of
Impurities build with tried and true methods that produce heroes from fired kilns the blaze flared and a
New form emerges pure as refined brass but the man or woman is steeled into purity and honor and is
Made ready to pass into combats immortal glory whether it be military, business, or sacred duty of the
Church know this before just a nameless conflicted person little thought of will do exploits he will put
New building Blocks in societies ever increasing wall and maybe ultimately he will fulfill the words of
Jefferson and by blood sacrifice his patriotism will cause the tree of liberty to flourish because the call to
Fight for peace is never finished
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
There's a frenzy around ID cards
when you're fifteen
an excitement like trapping bees in an airtight jar
which cannot be replicated as an adult
although the behavior is the same:
Criticize the picture
Berate oneself for being
A human with height and width and coloration
Then there's the barber shop mirror replication of self
the meta-selfie of taking a picture of one's ID
and posting to
everything . . . ever
so you have a sounding board for your self-aggrandizement
enrobed in self-deprecation like
a chocolate-dipped madeleine
which will inherently lead to a
knitted afghan of praise and adoration
which was entirely the point
Then there's the dismissal
the abandonment into a wallet
from which it will never escape
living out lifetimes ad infinitum in vain
never recognizing the worth of
Your student ID
113809
which identifies you
but is not you because
You could never be so two-dimensional
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
Of the hospital
I sat clenching a leopard
filled with beads.
Father beside me
Tapping his chestnut wingtips against
the bloodless linoleum floors.
It was September. The heat oppressive,
Like the Moors toward foes
in the Iberian Peninsula.
Rays illuminated the woes of those ‘round me.
A barrier existed
emanating from within
Fleshed out by a zeal, to not be on one’s own
At the dinner table, as Father responded
to a **** addict’s violent implosion on Nile Street.
At Carmel-by-the-Sea building sand castles to be
--washed away by the tides
on the bay enrobed with fire
Fleshed out by a desire to be
dethroned.
Fulfillment flooded the lobby,
Father ceased his tapping,
A Florence Nightingale lead the way
past bland white doors,
past elderly covered in black crusted sores
past a priest who pours a libation.
In to the room of your entrance,
Nearest and dearest gathered ‘round
the blemished linoleum floor
Warm cries hollowed down
the halls, signifying your existence
Clenching a leopard
filled with beads. (Now in the attic)
Mother Rose freckled and content
Embraced you, as the world still spun
My eyes a maelstrom of red yellow and black,
seeped streams of grey streams of grey
for the loneliness fleeted that Autumn day.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
I sat next to Death
In a ***** and dark barn.
"Take a swig of ***
And taste the smoke, brother.
I'm cooking humans,
Like pine-nuts, in the cauldron. "
She said, smoking a pipe.
"In the dry and gray wilderness
Called 'life' I got them;
They are, like oysters, food:
The shells of flesh houses
Tasteless and slimy mucus,
The watery rheum of the soul,
That some God in there sneezed. "
"But such oysters have no pearls?"
My ambition asked.
"Nearly all, not" Death,
Chewing, belched:
“But the heart of some
Rots and inflammates in strange islands:
The dreams, the fantasies,
The most durable daughters of the soul;
But even such diamonds I break
And eat like peas porridge."
And at that I rose disturbed
By Death, who I could not trust
And went about my way.
"Come back soon, dear oyster."
Called the woman enrobed,
"For Death finds all, eventually."
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
with just one glance
one perchance glance
she met me in my stance
I was enrobed inside a trance
in this trance my heart did dance
at once I understood romance
staring across the expanse
with that lone glance
a perchance glance
Jun 24, 2011
Jun 24, 2011 at 5:39 AM UTC
This is my poem without words
my poem of images enrobed in
oppressive silence like the
pressing of a Salem witch
who is really just a girl in tears
and a bonnet:
You asked what I would do
if you died and I said
"I would have you cremated and
I would have your ashes,
at least a bit of them, mixed
into a bit of red glass
fashioned into a heart-shaped
kiss and
I would wear it around my neck
on a silver silk chord . . .
a silver silk chord . . .
except when I venture out on
a date with a familiar stranger
because you will not
have been introduced and
the rest of you
I would sprinkle here and
there to haunt the old brick
buildings I love and the sharp angry
mountains you love and
here and
there to feed the verdant
grasses our toes haven't ever moved."
You raised an eyebrow
askance, saying,
"You've thought about this quite
a bit,"
but this is a lie I let you hold
a pork bun of a brown bird with a
backward-bent wing
which you rest in a wooden puzzle box
wrapped in a velvet pouch
sewn into a heart-shaped pillow
locked in a three-sided room
and on the ceiling
a hand-painted truth:
I never thought the choice would
be mine.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Between the departing day and the descending night
If it suddenly rains as a bolt from the blue
With no umbrella to shield our heads
How I wish to walk with you
My hands twined around your waist
And no one around but only you and me
As the sun hides behind the Western gats
Bleeding red and waxing pale
How I wish to ramble hand in hand
Along the sea shore under the canopy of the sky
Sharing silent thoughts and counting the waves
Lost in our private world, just you and me
On a bright clear day when the Southern Bay
Like a voluptuous maid lies draped in blue
And its placid surface dotted with sailing boats
How I wish to get into one
And drift afar to some unknown destination
With no one else but you and me
On a silent morn, standing on a rocky precipice
How I wish to proclaim aloud to a waking world,
Slowly emerging from the haze of mist
That you are mine and mine only
And to its rebounding echo, a spectral form from far
Responding- ‘We are one, you and me’
Somewhere in a sheltered nook,
Screened from the buzzing crowd with a river winding by
And the clear waters snoozing on the white sand
In a small sequestered cottage,
Where nightly winds flute on the window panes
How I wish to build a life with only you and me
As we stand in a tight warm embrace
When my hot breath falls on the nape of your neck
And as you pant with passion like a frightened deer
How I wish to get enrobed in your mystery
And sail down to the abyss of an unknown experience
When nobody else matters, but only you and me!
…………………………………………………………
When life takes an obliterating course,
When suddenly the night closes over
And dangers prowl around us like carnivores beasts,
How I wish we could still remain one in spirit and soul
And the vagrant fate or the wanton death
Could never separate us, you and me!
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
If I could be anything, I would be the cavernous moon that hangs above your head as you sleep. From dusk until dawn I would keep you safe, enrobed in the glow of my cold milky light.
If I could be anything, I would be yours.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
She gazed, staring into her own pupils..
fixing her brows
smoothing those lines beside her widening closed grin
Fixating heavily on skin disregarding what lie beneath
A facade of certainty in worth or power
False knowledge of what the importance weighed
A mirror showing to her an image
Familiarity in shapes & shades
A contentment enrobed her shoulders
As she twitched and straightened her posture
The women glared
..The men looked on
Watching her pull hair behind one ear and then free it again
Discomforted Ticks unraveling
A soft glimmer in her eye pinning back all tell
This is what I see, and this is what I'll show..
In a moment she perceived to be alone
She was safe with her own reflection
In her own head space but still seen
Onlookers peering, counting the moments of doubt
Clocking the paces and plotting the course in directions
A two sided mirror ..with many reflections
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 6:20 AM UTC
I can't imagine the trees
Looking any other way
Than the way they do right now
In the winter
I can't imagine the naked skeletons
Clothed in springs blossoms
In the spring
I can only wonder how they'll look
Once the tiny, baby-fresh greens uncurl
In the summer
I cannot see the lush foliage
Enrobed in the reds and browns and golds
And in the fall
I try not to imagine how the trees will look
Stripped bare and cold and bleak
I often can't imagine
Feeling any other way
Than the way I feel right now
Some days I feel cavernous
Like the world around me is caving in
And I can't imagine where laughter comes from
Some days nothing could stop me smiling
Joy fills me up
And I fear the next time when it feels like
The emptiness will go on forever
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 12:30 PM UTC
The frosted cloak of winter’s chill
Is now retreating over hill,
And through the valley and the town
Enrobed in springtime’s golden gown.
The rolling pasture once unseen
By snow is now a verdant green
With yellow flecks to make you smile
Of primrose blooms and chamomile.
And cottage gardens too delight
With sprightly sparrows taking flight
From overhanging, untrimmed thatch
And nests where eggs await to hatch.
And all around the air’s alive
With scents and insects from their hive
That perch on flowers not their best,
Still drowsy from a well earned rest.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
The chessboard is patterned in onyx and white.
Yellowed ivory are the pieces she plays.
The King is in Jeopardy; her options are few;
Death’s Jet pieces are against her arrayed.
Her opponent is fearsome; a skeletal Knight,
enrobed in a caftan as dark as midnight.
Each move she makes falls before the plan
of the specter’s outstretched bony hand.
As she pauses to ponder if her next move is wise
Her spectral opponent assumes a new guise;
“it’s your move, Dolores.” Her opponent now said
in the guise of her husband, some twenty years dead.
By now almost all ivory pieces are gone,
leaving her only her King and one pawn.
She moves to defend but no chance can be seen
in sending a pawn out to battle a Queen.
Once more her opponent assumes a new face;
Her beloved lost Daughter assumes her Dads place.
She has fought long and hard; long past hope of gain.
Now draining fatigue saps the strength from her frame.
“Mom, it is time to resign without shame;
None can deny you gave Death a good game.”
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 9:21 AM UTC
Dressed in effervescence,
All drunk through of colour,
Woven loose with counterpoint,
Singing in swelling crescendo!
Oh, how did you ever taste of constellations?
Set adrift on your oceans of moonkiss liquid velvet and
Dancing to the beat of lapping water and frigate birds.
You return to me sometimes,
All odd hours and confusion with your compass,
Somnolence and promises and
Twists of intermingled breath.
A cup half-drained my heart beats the same in
Dash and rhythmic countenance.
The perch of my lips, the curve of my jaw...
You're woven in the knit of my brow
But your map's all mayhap, crumple and
Softly spoken whimsy, folded twice and
Sealed with sighs and dreams of distant islands.
Farewell, farewell... ah, fare thee well with your gifted currents
And boat you've wrought of nothing more than your own
Cupped hands, enrobed in light and riven through
With loosely jointed daydream.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 6:45 AM UTC
The branches are enrobed in ice and hang down to the ground.
The air is sharp, clear and fresh, no other soul around.
The winter wind chills to the bone despite your coat of down.
It whispers to the branches with a low and mournful sound.
I’ve loved the park on days like this, since when I was a youth
This photograph in black and white, betrays a simple truth.
Each color needs the other; there is no other way
to capture, in this image a timeless winter’s day.
Each hue defines the other, in stark relief they play.
I am one accustomed to see in shades of grey.
As I was born color blind, I know no other way.
Earth’s greens and blues are beautiful; I’ve heard but never seen.
The doctor says that I was born with a defective gene.
Somehow I have adapted, I deal with it you’d say
To see the world in sunlight like you see at break of day.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
night fell,
clouds
crowding
a tumultuous sky.
in the darkening far,
houses alight into homes.
near, top of the hill,
bells await
enrobed
in the lit silence
of the tower,
lighthouse
in a darkening dark.
time
will pass by,
hurrying,
carried by the
echoed ringing
into a dissipated horizon.
far, far,
the stroke,
the echo,
reverberations
cradling
some melody
on loneliness.
Oct 27, 2020
Oct 27, 2020 at 4:57 PM UTC
The sun has disappeared again
Enrobed in folds of wispy gray
Shadows wrap around my heart
and squeeze.
The demons are dancing again
Twirling each other 'round and 'round
Stomping footprints into my head
so I never forget.
My blood is starting to boil again
Bubble and fizz and search for escape
Screaming at me to find a sharp edge
so I can weep tears of red.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
I may have never been the light of your life but you were mine. Recently when people voice the word ‘therapy’, it elicits in me a feral sort of anger. It's a routine: rage, panic, and exhaustion.
My mother’s quaint china dishes have found a steady home on my sienna wooden floors. Please understand why I taste acid and rancid flesh when I think of your hazel eyes and strong arms. My Tracy Chapman record echoes monotonously out to me, but the blood simmering in the grooves of my brain fills my ears with a sound that displeases my auditory senses. It sounds like static from a broken radio. The wind howls through the cracks of my windows and sometimes it cajoles the door open. Somehow, my penchant for you never fails to disappoint me as my eyes flit up for the briefest second to see if you've arrived. I use my teacups as wine flutes and my heart as a pincushion, but maybe your broad shoulders and firm chest could shelter me from myself. My desk stands proudly in the corner of the room. Enrobed in dust and half-eaten pizza slices, it stands proof of what you've done to me. Mr. Teddy is taking a nap. His cottony, soft, white insides poke out in tufts from under the patchwork.
Another one bites the dust.
The poison seeps through the gaps in between my teeth and panic swallows me like an ocean. If you want, I would clad your feet in my shoes but I have never been one to chase after something so I cannot fathom how to explain to you why they have holes on their soles, much like my soul. The towel pools at my feet as I feel the heat behind my eyelids start to cool. Exhaustion sweeps over me like a summer breeze. I can hear fast cars as the put me to sleep.
It smells like petrichor; wet earth after the storm.
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 10:50 PM UTC