"ensconcing" poems - Hello Poetry

We're bored like monks in the margins of ancient scripture. We want to leave behind lazy hieroglyphs and accidental red herrings feigning illumination rendered by the deviousness of time in its enclave, running a brush of flaky gold paint over delicate decadence and sprinkling dust like a fairy-- we are to believe it is all some ancient treasure. We prance in the ether of the material world in junkyards where we sift through the wreckage coddling memories like drying uteruses, realizing our generation will not leave behind artifacts worthy of nostalgia's ensconcing embrace. With that realization we weep and We continue to dig.

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Oct 25, 2016

Oct 25, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC

jarjarrhine

Marginal

We're bored like monks in the margins of ancient scripture. We want to leave behind lazy hieroglyphs and accidental red herrings feigning illumination rendered by the deviousness of time in its enclave, running a brush of flaky gold paint over delicate decadence and sprinkling dust like a fairy-- we are to believe it is all some ancient treasure. We prance in the ether of the material world in junkyards where we sift through the wreckage coddling memories like drying uteruses, realizing our generation will not leave behind artifacts worthy of nostalgia's ensconcing embrace. With that realization we weep and We continue to dig.

20

Warm brown curtains The lovely sunlight bathing The House ensconcing it it was beautiful, breathtaking even. But, the people inside were up to no good. And so, there was a father. who gave everybody else the cold shoulder, eyes fixated on some steel devices and only thing he said was hi. And then, came the mother. A lovely soul, but hypocritical words created much misery. And then, were 2 sisters, who hung on to each other for dear life. They loved their parents. They loved the happy memories. Oh, where did all that go? What was wrong? Oh, what was wrong? The House all bleak and broken walls dimmed lights china pieces scattered, hearts shattered everything was broken. everything was bleak. And rain, came everyday When will the rainbow come now?

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Nov 19, 2013

Nov 19, 2013 at 7:59 AM UTC

cassis-myrtille

The House

Warm brown curtains The lovely sunlight bathing The House ensconcing it it was beautiful, breathtaking even. But, the people inside were up to no good. And so, there was a father. who gave everybody else the cold shoulder, eyes fixated on some steel devices and only thing he said was hi. And then, came the mother. A lovely soul, but hypocritical words created much misery. And then, were 2 sisters, who hung on to each other for dear life. They loved their parents. They loved the happy memories. Oh, where did all that go? What was wrong? Oh, what was wrong? The House all bleak and broken walls dimmed lights china pieces scattered, hearts shattered everything was broken. everything was bleak. And rain, came everyday When will the rainbow come now?

31

Why won't you touch me. Please. coiffed paragon from across the jeep Introspection prehends Imagining my hand as the shift Your palm ensconcing my own Dactyls distributed Fitting between winged-knuckle Wind-diffused curls Beckon solemn contact Grazing my temple with instinctive tendril tuck Saccharine lips Memory of their meeting mine Gone Your visage bores into my periphery Vicinity defies expectation I hold my own hand, and let my hair yell.

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Jan 26, 2014

Jan 26, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC

meagan-moore

Holding My Own Hand

Why won't you touch me. Please. coiffed paragon from across the jeep Introspection prehends Imagining my hand as the shift Your palm ensconcing my own Dactyls distributed Fitting between winged-knuckle Wind-diffused curls Beckon solemn contact Grazing my temple with instinctive tendril tuck Saccharine lips Memory of their meeting mine Gone Your visage bores into my periphery Vicinity defies expectation I hold my own hand, and let my hair yell.

18

A director general Ensconcing on WHO’s chair As a hoodwinking trick You cry foul “The case in Ethiopia Is horrific !” You must be mentally sick! Have you forgotten It is high time You be thrown In to prison? For involving In embezzlement Terrorism, genocide And treason. So a wolf In a sheep’s skin To give a statement You have no reason. WHO must be weak For being tardy From office Out you to kick. It is really A mockery of justice A parliament- wanted terrorist Like you Gives lecture On humanitarian issue Accountability to resist, Or are you acting so Rest assured Self-seeking hypocrites The likes of you Are ready to assist!///

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May 19, 2021

May 19, 2021 at 8:58 AM UTC

alem-hailu-gkristos

A mockery of justice

A director general Ensconcing on WHO’s chair As a hoodwinking trick You cry foul “The case in Ethiopia Is horrific !” You must be mentally sick! Have you forgotten It is high time You be thrown In to prison? For involving In embezzlement Terrorism, genocide And treason. So a wolf In a sheep’s skin To give a statement You have no reason. WHO must be weak For being tardy From office Out you to kick. It is really A mockery of justice A parliament- wanted terrorist Like you Gives lecture On humanitarian issue Accountability to resist, Or are you acting so Rest assured Self-seeking hypocrites The likes of you Are ready to assist!///

36

When silver plunges into flesh, it is crossing the Rubicon to await the last breath. For, the mantra They say holds true, across this river waiting for you: jails, institutions, death. The Lady's of the flowers, they still speak to me. Walking through fields filled,Tulips and Poppies and Lillys, urging me to be free. Their voices ensconcing, a melody most soothing. Turmoil will never rip the light inside of us. War cannot destroy beauty. My brothers and sisters in this fight, unite! Let us trample over this devastating blight, becoming Saviors, each of us enveloped in light. Let us gather the dust of death in our trembling palms, blow it furiously into the wind, sowing hope, against all odds, our fields will bloom and blossom every color of the rainbow. Let our gardens grow in honor of our fallen and faint, in memorial of our patron saints. Fight gravity with everything inside and we will fly. War cannot destroy beauty.

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Dec 15, 2015

Dec 15, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC

caligulas-exit

Gina

When silver plunges into flesh, it is crossing the Rubicon to await the last breath. For, the mantra They say holds true, across this river waiting for you: jails, institutions, death. The Lady's of the flowers, they still speak to me. Walking through fields filled,Tulips and Poppies and Lillys, urging me to be free. Their voices ensconcing, a melody most soothing. Turmoil will never rip the light inside of us. War cannot destroy beauty. My brothers and sisters in this fight, unite! Let us trample over this devastating blight, becoming Saviors, each of us enveloped in light. Let us gather the dust of death in our trembling palms, blow it furiously into the wind, sowing hope, against all odds, our fields will bloom and blossom every color of the rainbow. Let our gardens grow in honor of our fallen and faint, in memorial of our patron saints. Fight gravity with everything inside and we will fly. War cannot destroy beauty.

21

With quiescence parroting and an achromic sheet ensconcing your frame the padre chants only to ausculate your loved ones sniffle. I watched you being buried. deeper and deeper. a friend, a brother, a lover and a son. now, Resting in an array of stars waiting for the sun to rise in the high northern sky. -Khushi :’)

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Jun 25, 2018

Jun 25, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC

khushibatra

ow :(

With quiescence parroting and an achromic sheet ensconcing your frame the padre chants only to ausculate your loved ones sniffle. I watched you being buried. deeper and deeper. a friend, a brother, a lover and a son. now, Resting in an array of stars waiting for the sun to rise in the high northern sky. -Khushi :’)

14

my hands tremble. if you were to attach zils to their sides, you’d hear a tambourine shaking away, though you wouldn’t find any discernible beat. my heart and my breath compete to see which runs faster-- the tortoise and the hare, except there is no tortoise; only two extremely motivated hares. all moisture has evaporated from my mouth, leaving a vacuum. a vacuum my voice can’t travel through because sound needs a medium, and fear-- palpable, ensconcing me, coiling around me like a constrictor does its prey; its tendrils poking and prodding and pushing, trying to find chinks, holes, so like an octopus it can squeeze through no matter how small the defect, how small the weakness, and wrap itself around my heart, entomb it, and squeeze, bleeding me out from the inside-- doesn’t count, unfortunately. my lips are a vice, the first line of defense against the fear; my teeth, clamped together, my second, each tooth a dutiful soldier standing behind a wall, watching and waiting for the enemy to come over. gravity tugs, pulling me down, and my legs fold, weariness a pin poking holes and letting out all the air, forcing me down faster. my eyes blur, the fragmented, washed-out world i see--objects smushed together until they aren’t anything anymore; colors bleeding into one another until everything is the same-- reflecting what’s in my head. i close them and the world is gone--except i can still hear it, taste it, smell it, and i sit there, head between my knees, as i wait for it to be over.

0

Aug 13, 2017

Aug 13, 2017 at 3:20 AM UTC

ayesha_roleyes

overwhelmed

my hands tremble. if you were to attach zils to their sides, you’d hear a tambourine shaking away, though you wouldn’t find any discernible beat. my heart and my breath compete to see which runs faster-- the tortoise and the hare, except there is no tortoise; only two extremely motivated hares. all moisture has evaporated from my mouth, leaving a vacuum. a vacuum my voice can’t travel through because sound needs a medium, and fear-- palpable, ensconcing me, coiling around me like a constrictor does its prey; its tendrils poking and prodding and pushing, trying to find chinks, holes, so like an octopus it can squeeze through no matter how small the defect, how small the weakness, and wrap itself around my heart, entomb it, and squeeze, bleeding me out from the inside-- doesn’t count, unfortunately. my lips are a vice, the first line of defense against the fear; my teeth, clamped together, my second, each tooth a dutiful soldier standing behind a wall, watching and waiting for the enemy to come over. gravity tugs, pulling me down, and my legs fold, weariness a pin poking holes and letting out all the air, forcing me down faster. my eyes blur, the fragmented, washed-out world i see--objects smushed together until they aren’t anything anymore; colors bleeding into one another until everything is the same-- reflecting what’s in my head. i close them and the world is gone--except i can still hear it, taste it, smell it, and i sit there, head between my knees, as i wait for it to be over.

65

it is raining in my side of the earth and where light slips away, ensconcing with its lackadaisical imprint, is the morning: pinnacles and then topples into acontinualeveningwherewordsrunandbreathscometoa sudden halt: in the same intimation, your lip's crepuscule or your commune's crescent, in my side of the earth from yours, hurled out the many sinuous fingers of water and the lamp's palpebral flutter.

0

Sep 14, 2015

Sep 14, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

My Side Of Yearning

it is raining in my side of the earth and where light slips away, ensconcing with its lackadaisical imprint, is the morning: pinnacles and then topples into acontinualeveningwherewordsrunandbreathscometoa sudden halt: in the same intimation, your lip's crepuscule or your commune's crescent, in my side of the earth from yours, hurled out the many sinuous fingers of water and the lamp's palpebral flutter.

15