"enthrallment" poems
My mental rides
the waves of tides
driven by
a natural born beauty.
Abstract in an ethereal essence,
he holds my senses
in enthrallment
from ground
to surface
A sea
surging in spirit-
lively,
intertwining with mine
These waters
speak
in gentle exertion,
rhythmic-
beckoning
to cover every fiber of my being
His aura illumes
a heavenly glow
nurturing in warmth
whilst he glistens
I can feel..
Like that
of an ocean stirring
He drowns me
and
He awakens me,
Like that
of love
...music
Like that
of poetry
*(I adore..)*
I sink
into his property-
and I'd sink
a thousand times over
For I find
A character
captivating,
A soul
soothing,
A love
healing..
leveled in depths
far beyond
what eyes can see,
minds
could ever
envision,
Much more
than I could ever
imagine...
He moves me.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
Falling down and down,
wings melting to wax
until he's submerged
in inky blackness.
Falling from the
clear blue sky,
away from the
glowing, golden orb
hung high above in the air
that he flew too high, too close to
in admiration and enthrallment.
Is this treachery,
is this betrayal?
Of the sky?
Of the sun?
Of the freedom
he'd giddily reveled in?
Is he not supposed
to consider it as such?
Even as he tries to steal
a breath from the cruel water
of the capricious and cold ocean,
gasping and painfully alone?
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
I'm not worthy
of his
total affection adoration enthrallment
it isn't fair for him, truthfully, to have the one
who is scared of all that.
terrified to not be the girl who
belongs to everyone & no one at once
the girl who is writhing
trying to hold tight & strangle
the guilt grief regret shame
but also driven by
anxiety that all my writing
suddenly needs to tell everyone
that I am trying & anxiety
that I am so moved by him, the
affected girl who can't
function
walking into the sunset hand in hand.
I seem to fight every step
as if I'm not sure
I feel safe
being near the ocean that lets roam unchained & wild the
sharks, giant squids, leviathans & my beloved giant leatherback sea turtles
so endangered & dear.
The anxiety of the surprise contract to
dedicate every poem to him
& plan a future
without planning an end, too.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
Allure
Beauty from the sultriest with even steady glow exquisite soft lines is perfected in the creature
Dreams are resonant the eyes smolder all tender entry viewed from lips of lushness
Crowned with hair beyond mortal texture it perfectly accentuates loving doll quality’s full mixture
The promise held forth borders crossed unable to envision your dumb all filled with doubt as she pouts
The soul engages as the eyes flame and burn with passion the heart beats with hard thumps
Heavenly body formed from flesh in its force you reel emotional exhilaration extends to enthrallment
Hands touch the visible world seems altered the blood seems to halt its flowing the mind *******
Reconsider the alignment of the stars surly you have passed them in the silver moons glowing stream
The exotic has burst forth on a common stage all has juxtaposed the delirium takes free course
The dance now begun the coupled whirl started here ends among the marveling distant clouds
Enchantment has found its boundless geography it not on any maps it’s truly the heart at it’s source
Governed never the reins to this wild and free spirit has never been made that would be injustice
Has loveliness limits are the galaxies measurable how can they when their ever growing and bestowing
Featureless flawless curvy arts greatest inspiration told through a form that’s made to love and hold
If genius is ever is to be expounded bring the beloved of all men set her in the midst her essence flowing
The world speaks of desirability its fount its ever coursing real ideal is found in timeless womanhood
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC
My mental rides
the waves of tides
driven by
a natural born beauty.
Abstract in an ethereal essence,
he holds my senses
in enthrallment
from ground
to surface
A sea
surging in spirit-
lively,
intertwining with mine
These waters
speak
in gentle exertion,
rhythmic-
beckoning
to cover every fiber of my being
His aura illumes
a heavenly glow
nurturing in warmth
whilst he glistens
I can feel..
Like that
of an ocean stirring
He awakens me,
Like that
of love
...music
Like that
of poetry
(I adore..)
I sink
into his property-
and I'd sink
a thousand times over
For I find
A character
captivating,
A soul
soothing,
A love
healing..
leveled in depths
far beyond
what eyes can see,
minds
could ever
envision,
Much more
than I could ever
imagine...
He moves me.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
Whether it was the sun’s aurelian caress
Or the serene strokes of moonlight lulled
Across its keys carved with much finesse
Monochrome yet its beauty never dulled
A sonata lightly, it hummed, reverberating
Across gently, waves of sound, resonating
The tune seemed to hush the grounds
Effortlessly silencing the cry of hounds
Each tap across the tonal stairs had slashed
The breast of the wounded, whom had clashed
Echoes of nature’s enthrallment seems to linger
The music still bewitching the conducting finger
Corpses waltzing to the nightly sombre dirges
Pleading to allow their rest under the birches
How the sonata tortures all that it imprisons
How the sonata torments all those that listens
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 2:14 PM UTC
I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal.
Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies.
I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events.
These beings possess no artificiality.
Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria.
Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal.
There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust.
Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control.
Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency.
Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline.
Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision.
My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation.
Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate.
Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign.
Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time.
I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew.
The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought.
Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation.
I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence.
The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
“Love: an emotion, one that, so low as to bar
From fair desire—self-righteous and self-serving
Excuse, a pretense, lyric, will not inspire.”
I detest to hear him speak—
Adulterer, why, pray tell, do you prey upon the weak?
“Simple in answer, as simple in method. No heart
Rich needs to beat for “that” emotion obsoletes.
Adults, mature, do not even think the distinction
That is kid’s table morality, what mommy
Only says after a few drinks, winking, your father
In his eyes—just where you have come, in fact—
You needn’t think mommy and daddy stayed together
After long spats, strife, and frustration for their waves
Struck the same height or the moon hits mom just right.
It is not the eternal enthrallment of Eros that keeps them in motion
Dear, friend—it is “that” emotion. In bed, hearts
Are inverted and split down the middle
The negative just drowns away in chemicals.
But how bad we’d feel, (no?) if that, the long and short?
Machinate the “thing” justify “that” feeling
Ennobling, beatifying, kindling for sonnets and odes
Fashioning morality and aesthetics onto sweating
Thrusting beasts, one on one in their dance of love.
A harlequin of truth, my friend! When it is found
In contraception, safeguarding our natural predilection.
Ha! Oh, fools! Why trouble with the rituals
When, really, ****** collocations concern capricious
Chronologies and covetous craving for **** and ****
How ****** How crude! But, oh, but oh how true; think:
Admit the urge has primacy, the “L” emerges and
Lies emitted: of connection, intelligence, intersubjectivity.
Given its stage of farce and face, our sieves are at
Ageful capacity and then needs a bargain, more;
The office of “thing” goes unoccupied, its twin
Will gladly keep it clean and orderly, act
As it did: gentle and cordially.”
Blast it! Such ways in truth and walk, for
Repetition in faith of life
Pegs my myths with all their strife,
Strife and succor irony.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
God like beam, your radiance in my eyes
this time is fast going, it’s turned exotic
having fun, I’m the one you want adoring from
right now good as any for a holiday, a fulfilling flash is harsh but alright
save the tender for your talking, waste me like my dreams I hold tight
sullen eyes, I can take you there
past the electric tremolo strings you give my heart, golden
so proud, real dreamy, saying
hope you get what you want, word taking siren
glow of a flame sort of dreamy glow to your face
a sweet and lovely burn, so I let you take over, let you know my mind
going down as stars dull silver like already a memory you
saying never seen such exhausted delighted still eyes, barely afraid but
bravely assured, let me see your soul in the moonlight’s enthrallment
do it your way that means you give me heaven
feeling warm though this breeze is as cold as the loneliness before dawn
where I like to be and always will be, even now
keeping it brave and deliberate
felt you near though I was alone
met all sorts but they can’t shine you out of my mind’s gallery
such music even when I sleep, round my head, waking brings
a strong dose of immersed in the blazing and angel energy, that talk is faith
that walk is true like ice winds
inventive my daring, my deadly find of life, that’s the light you have
and the death you give
show me, show me what you got
I can stay up in distress like a god
for that demand
my deliberate and brave
lethal dose of living sure
for you
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 4:05 PM UTC
I pay my ticket to enter the giant
concrete staircase on the periphery
of the bay of San Francisco.
***** Mays and other boyhood
heroes would do their magic
along this shore for so many years.
Now that I no longer feel the
baseball enthrallment–
because my body cannot see
itself moving with such speed and grace–
I dream of a different crowd.
Homer pitching the ball,
as someone must start the play;
Lao Tsu striking with wood
at what moves so fast it
can barely be seen.
Such hollow sound as ball
is soul-bound into the ether
of the Psalms. Emily
Dickinson snags the high hit.
The onomatopoeiac crowd
lifts its unified heart to
the resounding cheer of
Walt Whitman on grassy
outfield of bliss.
This warm day in the concrete
hang-out, I see in the concrete
dug-out such heavy hitters
lined up for a quick swat at glory.
Maybe something soothing
in between the innings–
an oriole or an Indian foot dance,
while I dream of dancing in my sox.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
"Did you ever see my esteemed Bottom Howard?
"Far more than I honestly ever cared to Sir."
Sir W, legendary thesp turned from his mirror
with a look of thunder. "And you are the most
impudent dresser and I should have rid myself
of you years ago." His hard face soon softened
as it ever did to this old servant and confidante.
"It was a Bottom to behold and no mistake" (Sir
W. laughs). A great ass's head that my company's
darling designer did, plenty of eye space so that
acting of the enthrallment and my famous twinkle
could be seen in the gods by my public bless'em,
whose few shekels count as much to me as you
well know, as the great and the good out front."
I've seen that twinkle too much in dressing rooms
mused Howard, just put it away you effin' show-off.
"No not you Sir, not one to play to the crowds, or
to ham it up and I know it's widely said in the biz
the biggest *** and Bottom. Always a dream but
hardly ever a pain." (Howard whistles gently, trips
forward to the chair throws a cloak over those broad
shoulders for the umpteenth time) says to his boss:
"Break a leg, won't you Sir?" (meaning it).
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
And there you are
You bask in your little pool of golden glory
Dark eyes, they shimmer in that light
All you want is your little pills
And your little finger down your little throat.
The allure of those bones
They tantalize your enthrallment
And they shimmer with those eyes
In your little pool of golden glory.
And there you are
In your dark little dream
All you want is your little pills
And that visceral little finger down your little throat.
In your clairvoyant depth you reside
Extrasensory you are in your perception
And there you are.
Don't forget those little pills.
...Where are your little pills?
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 10:03 PM UTC
Tis not in commitment
To love that warrants beauty,
For fickle a girl beauty is indeed, not to be bent
By sorrow and pain filled gazers and dandies,
Eyes gleaming in fleeting hope, without sense,
That their smiles, enwrapped and dependent,
Will have recompense
By her gaze, resplendent,
And perhaps, if in good favor,
Have admiration bestowed on them amorously.
But nay, beauty is a fickle girl. Alas, we love her.
So as the breeze sings melancholy,
And the leaves reflect her lips of flame,
As milky clouds remind of her skin,
When her hair is night, dark and sleek, putting others to shame,
Filled with expectation
And apparitions of loveliness,
I think of the sweet longing,
Hoping for the moment not to pass.
The sweet longing
I loved then,
For a moment,
Lingering in the agony of emotion,
In a short eternity that I underwent.
I then found beauty.
But then the lights were no longer low,
The emotions, so resplendent in ardor, escaped me.
The façade was gone after the show.
Nay tis not in commitment to serve
Love that hold beauty.
Tis in the memory of nerve,
Tumultuous as a stormy sea.
Tis in the very slow-grown enthrallment
Of her melodious voice.
Tis in the memory of through what my heart went
When I told it to her by my choice.
When I told how it was stolen by her raven hair,
By her star-drenched skin,
By her cherry lips at which I’d stare,
And the voice so in apprehension, rife with emotion from within.
Tis not in the resolution itself
Of intricate harmonies and dissonances,
So pleasing to the ear in their discord and wealth,
But in the expectations and resonances
Of this ecstasy,
That resides beauty,
Which is why I told her my love and melancholy,
Letting her forget, and proceeding to flee.
For the wonderful nostalgic memory
Of the shortness of breath,
Would by intimacy,
Certainly be put to death.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:11 PM UTC
you move me like the pages of a book.
you don't make me
or change me
you unfold with me
one single motion
fingers and paper
one glorious
reaction
to life's
curious
enthrallment.
read with me
beautiful and real
like f. scott fitzgerald would write
stay up all night
because it's too good to miss
and i love you too much
to ever let
the words rest.
remind me never
to jump too far ahead
never read the last page first
and to enjoy the way
the syllables on every page
flicker off each other's tongue
at always the right pace
lets love even the space
between each chapter.
read with me.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
Vines on the gates in the white moonlight
His show’s in the city that lights up so well
We watch him as he sings, feel redeemed
Jesus on my right, electric all around
Enthrallment in my cup, once an empty stage
And when the stars come out from behind palm trees
There’s the sagacious highway to take
Like opiates, like a match named desperate on fire
We live as if we’ll never remember, decree heaven
To all else, no matter
Dark copper hills abound, he runs wild like lightening
Unveiling God for a flash, this street is the miracle of endless possibility
Takes faith to leave the world behind, heard him say
Freedom in the western wind, picks up faster we drive
Voyagers heightened with the joyish fever of could be
And we don’t mind, willful to see dawn
Take it now, time to decide never comes,
willful to see life as intended, real, that’s divine
And when the stars are about to go back to Eden
We leave for the blackened wilderness
Playing the music in all its casual brilliance
like a near ending taken with inward grace
We live as if we’ll never remember, decree heaven
to all else, no matter
He runs like God it’s mysterious, renown
Said it pleased, here’s the key to the nice dream like you asked
American night is brightening and nothing you can do about it
Play your famous radio song, won’t hear it’s worth till you listen up
Who will open the gates, don’t want to stop but ride smoothly through
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 6:58 PM UTC
Death does not ignore me
not even for a moment
I have his full attention
in complete enthrallment
A prisoner I am to his love
it is unlikely I will escape
Grasping tightly to my chest
I am unable to take full shape
Forever he lingers by my side
making me petrified
Only one weapon I have been granted
and on this I have relied
But still he lingers from behind
he wraps his fingers on me all the time
I am not ready to concede
for I am still in my prime
However one day, one day
I will be found undefended
Found without my weapon in cowardice
and that day while unattended
Without the object which I depended
He will take my life,
and my life will have ended
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 12:55 AM UTC
"Hesitation equals Hell. If in doubt always grab, then you have what you did not have," she muses, vanishing quickly. I never know where. Through the always open door or up into the old wooden rafters in the ceiling?
I never actually see this sagacious ghost from the nether world of books, I have christened "Marya." But one time I thought I did. A regal, shining form of human outline fleeing across my vision like some splendorous goddess. Later I realized it was a trick of the sun glancing off the metal space heater in blinding refractions.
Another time, a blowy day was scratching tree branches against the windowpanes and I thought I saw her escaping in the bowed headlong rush of those branches.
Sometimes I want to call out to her, but laugh at that because only I know her name.
Yet some days I feel her real as my own two hands that open these books with such pure enthrallment and discovery. It is then I feel strangely at one with her, accept her capricious ways.
If I turn from a shelf in sudden wonder and inner riches, but am stuck with a nagging contextual query, I feel her jostle up beside me and take me off in a spin towards the rare book section where, like the answer to some hidden Grail, my nagging quandary resolves euphorically.
Down the aisles she is like my searching shadow trailing, whispering in my ear, "Take your time. I can wait. I will always wait for your treasured selections, my embattled, stalwart book lover!"
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
I was a runner
fleeing from homespun horrors that
wrapped around my delicacy like a tourniquet
Only a child attempting to bestir
the warrior dormant within;
having no idea the enthrallment
she reveled in,
I learned to accost my demons
Nigh, even at the wide-eyed age of eight,
scarred
shattered
broken
I found, in a hand-crafted cardboard crate,
my only chance at freedom
Every Saturday I'd sneak away
to my makeshift universe
that gave life to dreams unspoken --
I would crouch and crawl
through thorn-encrusted branches
enclosed in a thicket,
sunbeams cutting into the tangles
alighting my face, piercing my eyes
The oceans breath
cascaded over the brush,
and everything, suppressed,
would fall into a hush
until I breached the winding path
Amongst the jungle of weeds/rose garlanded structures,
high above the jagged rocks
and wide open mouth of the watery abyss,
my hideaway centered --
flimsy cardboard walls,
brightly painted bold brazen symbols protecting all who entered,
tightly sealed with an invisible lock
opening only when voices of forgotten children fluttered through the air
I'd stand silent beneath the incandescent sky,
for just a moment,
breathing deep the silken salty breeze
and ****** my arms out to the sides
like the seagulls hovering over the loud, fathomless cavern of the sea
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
Dear Wild Girl,
Inviting me to dance
In the light of your fire
And emerald
And sea:
Welcome to the drop
After indulgence
And enthrallment.
Welcome to the realness
Of daylight.
Until the next twilight
And escape.
When your tide.
rolls through us
In its time
Again.
Blink your eyes
As they adjust
To earth
As it is.
Solid and stable,
Boring,
Predictable,
Painful,
And true.
Welcome to the mundane
Roots and facts.
Because I know
It open-armed
welcomes you.
Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 1:58 PM UTC
I am from the south where sun plays Tukki and palm trees chant fine melodies but in Delhi is the enchantment. There, the enthrallment steals the hearts, so I was missing it just within two days away from it. You can imagine this unrelenting nostalgia, and the deep *********** Delhi is not just a six armed God; in fact, Delhi is an endless river of amazement, shrill yearning for grandeur and an eternal poem of beauty. It is the home of charming, and simply it is the land of winsomeness and the enthralling face of life. The awesome tall trees in Delhi add to its coffee a special sweetness, the bewitching brown marble gives its words a delicious taste and the grand old buildings colors its memory with unforgettable memories.
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 11:21 PM UTC