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There stood an imaginary, invisible houri fairy
As a bride under a maple tree
Dressed in prism-hued layers
of chiffon in ethereal shimmers
and delicate silken gossamers
She having her weeny wedding in the fall
And fairy folk bustled about all round her
as flimsy and flighty as they could be
while saffron leaves fell down upon her
in ceremonial nuptial
An autumn's ritual
and as nature's pretty confetti!

Branches denuded
Yet autumn's august
for the wilting's
ravishing!
The willowy fairy
almost drowned
in henna fallen maple leaves
Playing hide 'n'seek with a browny brownie groom
camouflaged in the heap
© Copyright
This is about Autumn with a blend of eastern and western terms to describe the autumnal season and colours and to embody the commonly heard phrase, " she was married in the Fall"
NuurSeraph Nov 2014
~ somewhere along the tendrils of time ~*

In a not too far, not too distant past
I was spinning daily my alternate reality overlapping the real world daily
just to get by.

Why? you might ask
oh, sweet friend
I like the magic of pretend
the muted grey of everyday
I could not play
I found it way too boring.

I spoke a tongue all my own
I reveled till my mind was blown
by what my eyes could see.

Goosebumps would prickle my skin
as my dance would begin
from mourning to morning
I'd spin and spin ~

I left the Earth beneath my feet
In an instance
I knew her secrets complete
I felt a touch of divinous power
I rose much taller than the tallest tower

Until the day it became too much
I couldn't sustain this unearthly rush
electrical circuits began to fry
I had no one with whom to cry

I would not make it another day
I had to choose to walk away
My ethereal realm, I could not stay
but that's okay for still I roam
on grounded Earth I call my home.
Francie Lynch Nov 2014
I have lost my youth's Saints.
They no longer march
For knees bent in supplication.
I prayed to St. Jude
To replace my loses,
Only to lose faith.

I miss ghost stories too.
Haven't heard a hair raiser
Since a generation of palliative patients
Made it to the canopy.

Ogres and Trolls are out
From the closet and
Beneath the bed.
Drains, culls and bridges
Are safe from snatches.

No. We are on our own
As we age in our tactile
Vicarious world.
We pick up the threads
Of old stories,
Collect the pages blowing
Down the road,
And believe the tales
In daily news of ****,
Carnage and be-headings.
Nothing too ethereal,
Spiritual or scary,
Just life
As we shouldn't know it.
Rylie Rose Sep 2011
This skin is just a fence,
and this skeleton a cage,
I want to escape it,
I want to break it.
I’ll rip the flesh away,
And I’ll break every bone,
Until there’s nothing..
Except something.
Broken pieces left behind.
I may have lost my mind,
But my soul is free.
My soul is free,
I’ve escaped my mortal bounds,
And collapsed my ego.
And now I see,
What really is me;
Not the flesh,
Not the bones,
Not the heart...
Beating, beating.
I am this ethereal sliver,
Invisible to their eyes,
But still as real as a breath.
And now I’m free.
K Balachandran Jun 2017
A girl dressed in a diaphanous gown,

spun  from the ethereal combination of

dollops of moon shine and star light of the past,

visited me in secret, spent together one long night.

We had memorized each other's heady scent

smeared all over us in an earlier journey together.

like two trained sniffer dogs on a robber's trail.

We were overwhelmed by the wish fulfillment

seemed like we are in a life within a dream.


No way we won't meet as the hearts beat so close

and I was having visions of her all the time day and night.

On those encounters I wrote two poems with my blood.

As I was addicted to the  recounting of those moments,

I wanted to smelt it  in my imagination's golden crucible

thought that would make the alliance immortal

but forgot the fact that human follies never end!


"You are lucky,a rare flower she is" they'd tell me

and make  me feel elated calling me a poet,

on account of just two poems for which,all  I was worth.

Should I have known it's a dream,that takes a lot to go on.

On her strong wings she flew back to green hills above.

If I weren't a love fool, I'd have seen it coming from a distance.

after abandonment and the long night after,sun still reigns.


They still call me  poet, I am hesitant to respond to it,

a melancholy poet of grief's wonder land, in non stop dance

with the experiences that illuminate transient existence?

Still do not know what to make of this two poem life!
Kirsten Claire Dec 2017
Your tears are like rain
In my skies,
But I do not shield myself from the downpour
Because I want to feel every tear shed.
To feel the depths of your sorrow
And with one breath
Relinquish it all into oblivion
Because you wear
Old scars and crooked smiles
But you are magnificent,
An ethereal creature
Worth enough to have my heart.
So take my hand-
And my heart too.
Then maybe your demons
Will learn to fear love
You are not alone.
Jess Apr 2013
When I walk through the forested halls,
and listen closely to the silence,
I can sometimes hear the calls
or songs of those who live in the dense
vines and plants that line the castle walls
built for the ancient city's defense.

And the voices are like that of those
Who sing underneath the sea
In songs of lyric sweet and prose
That tell stories of their country
Below the waves, where children doze
And men watch over their city's key.

At the bottom of the sea there is no light
Unlike the towers in the clouds that float.
Ethereal and glittering, they make their flight
In the sky, just like a mighty sailboat.
Crystal and silver and shades of white,
They shine as the bells sing the final note.
Cure for Reality Sep 2013
together, me and you
tracing dreams upon the
navy light, we circulated like
blood and veins embedded in each other’s
system, writing ethereal fantasies in treasured notebooks.



and the next.
i lay torn petals
on the folds of your skin
in the wrinkles of your memory,
i whisper a melody within silent eardrums
and brush my fingers upon your cold face and left you there to rot.
There’s an uneasy emptiness…
which has been experienced by all of us;
it’s an inner void, that hungers,
that pushes us towards a spiritual search.
Our physical eyes tend to glaze over,
from not knowing: what is really needed.
Yet, we strain to see something tangible,
but may be unable to fully articulate
the unknown yearning that nudges
our restless, agitated spirits.
Seekers of hidden, sacred signs
face troublesome frustrations
of niggling and nagging doubts
from failed, divine connections.
To emerge from an encompassing darkness,
one is still required to move…
towards the ethereal, eternal Light.
With boldness, Christ announced…
that He is the Way, Truth, Life and Light.
Today His Love continues to reach out,
in an enduring, unending summons
for all of the remaining… lost souls.


Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
John 14:6, 1:6-13, 9:1-11, 12:44-50; Prov 4:23;
Psa 23; Matt 11:28-29

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
It is a night of ethereal pain, a song of sorrow,
wolves vent their loneliness. The beautiful one
awakes.

Death shrouds her deathly form,
an everlasting desire.

Her inky black hair cascades over
fragile milk-white shoulders, and her
full scarlet lips part slightly, to taste the
life streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her.

Now a night of ecstasy,
I weep.
Tiffany Feb 2014
I gaze upon Her beauty
And am humbled by the sight
The vision of my Goddess
The embodiment of Moonlight

The Night cloaks Her body
And creates a star studded gown
Her hair cascades into the dark
Upon Her brow rests a silver crown

The Shadows meld against Her skin
Which glows with ethereal light
My Mother, born in Darkness
Keeper of the Night

But Her eyes are what captured my attention
They were so full of Love
She knew me as Her Daughter
And the woman I had Become

Her picture seared into my mind
And I know that I am blessed
She graced me with Her Image
And I know I passed the test
Chris Thomas Apr 2017
Part I

There is a trail that I've walked a time or two
Wearing heavy shoes made of crackling fire
I've left behind only a charred unrecognizable road
And a sunrise as bitter as its roots

The trail parts swiftly, cleaving me as it cleaves itself
My route is camouflaged in winter's blanket
I spin on heels that have worn their welcome
And I walk beyond the borders of this dream

There's an old woman in a cottage
Who tells me I have a mist behind my eyes
"Brown is the color of failure," I tell her as I pass
And she flashes a half-smile that chills me to my bones

Part II

Late to rest, yet early to rise
Quarrelsome images tirelessly haunt my sleep
The old lady waves from the bottom of the hill
But it's too late to turn back now

I see a saddle of good weight resting against birchwood trees
Yet no sign of steed for miles around
As calloused palms meet calloused leather
I sense the spirit of its rider wash over me

The path now winds like a time traveling clock
My breathing hastens as my feet carry on
I hear whistling but I'm unsure of the source
Is it me?  Or is it something out of sight?

Part III

I come to a clearing at long last
Blistered feet have taken me far, just not far enough
My pupils sense a brightness I haven't encountered before
Instinctively, my hands shield my cowering eyes

The old woman is there, whispering to lilies
In a language my mind has no hope of comprehending
She pays no heed to my presence at all
Yet she knows that I linger in my bewilderment

She plucks a lily from the unblemished earth
And I see a brilliant steed at the center of the shimmering field
"Brown is the color of failure," she says with a parched grin
And suddenly my path becomes very clear

Part IV

I flinch as the light overwhelms my perception
Evolving now into an ethereal embrace
Though blind, my feet move without my mind's approval
And suddenly I am mounted upon the majestic horse

Like a snare drum, its gallop is steady and gallant
My sense of direction in disarray as I'm carried through the woods
I hear the woman's hands wringing at weeds in the distance
Despite how far from the clearing I should be by now

The horse tenses and sneers as momentum careens to a halt
I feel myself being thrown through air, time, and space
My brown eyes blink as oxygen floods my rested lungs
Gasping, I realize I'm as awake as I have ever been

End.
This work is the result of two weeks of writing, which seems like a long time for a piece of this length.  But each time I sat down to work on it, something else just called to me to either write or re-write.  

This piece is focused on the substance of my dreams; how quickly they seem to unfold in my mind, and how deeply they seem to point to something in my heart that is unsatisfied with its condition.
Matthew Nichols Oct 2013
Here I sit as I've sat before
Blowing smoke rings, nothing more
Never a stir or knock at the door
Just I alone as always before

When I take a moment to watch a ring
Float away on invisible wings
Lead to the sky on the thinnest string
I tried to grasp it but felt the sting
As it disappeared between my fingers
Nothing of the beauty stays to linger

And it's that moment when I think of you
Beautiful and free floating on air
And I know if I try to capture you too
I will leave with hands lonely and bare
Beauty is not a flower to keep
Stored on a shelf in perpetual sleep

It is fluid and ethereal
Not made of any material
For life wouldn't be fair
If I could keep you all for me
I have to let you taste the air
Because beauty is only beautiful when it's free
Bruised Orange Oct 2011
i would like to speak to you in prose, not verse.
for what in verse most carefully metered
cannot with ease portray what my heart longs
to spill.  and while your words most eloquently
express the beauty of your soul filled vision,
sometimes, rough lines spell out best
the truth of who we are

ethereal music has its place in the stars,
that castle of dreams, of visions afar
but hands that dig in dirt, mold the clay
of our connection, binding moon and star

tell me more of who you are...
Soup Sep 2014
The colour scheme conjured up,
from a byzantine conduit.
The contrast between source and creation.

The intricate motions,
from neural explosions.
Come beauty, from human equation.

The songs that move people,
born somewhere cerebral.
Emotion drawn from vibration.

But the human connection,
through two minds' affection.
The most ethereal artistic sensation.
Reverberations resound,
Airwaves surround,
The Holy Ethereal
Transcribes my Soul Sound.

I yearn for freedom,
I sing for heartsease,
I beseech the firmaments,
That musicality conceive
A New Dawn; Millenial Fawn;
Material-Realm Transcendence;
Spiritual Efflorescence,
O, my Spirit is hearkening unto
The Holy Dove's cathexis.

Write from your heart,
Sing from your soul,
Unravel the Perdition
Until The Vestibule of Lightness unfolds.

Dream in stratosphere;
Achieve upon The Terraqueous Plane;
Ascend The Earthen Spire;
Know we each bleed the same.
What is music without love?
What is Heaven without Hell?
The Elemental Legacy beckons you higher,
Legion fatidic arbiters conspire
Rendering self-sovereignty a liar.

Open your eyes,
Unfurl your heart,
Sing to the Aethers
That The Spirit never depart.

This is Musicality's Manifesto,
This is Destiny's Diminuendo;
Therefore,
Know the blaze, fathom the burn
Of unquenched ardor, unyielding zeal;
With passion within, ye
Shall never fail,
So pilgrimage Life's Mecca
Bearing its sacral travail.

(Se' lah)
Excelsior Forevermore,


Sanders Maurice Foulke III
Poetic T Feb 2016
The companion of the night, she shone
Her ethereal wings would glide sewn
To each other never apart never alone
They would purr a tune, never a moan.

She was of a mortal shell where light
Was entwined in the now diming night
Her home was a tiny enclosed shell
It was entwined with many a glyph spell.

She was a wonderer of old, her cloak
Of shimmering teal, gently she spoke
There voices would whisper upon air
Features of beauty blessed with onyx hair.

Glimmering in fog snared surroundings
Her light shone and all fell in its sounding
It echoed pulsating though the clouding
All that was hidden her steps she was counting.

Where eyes were blind now sight regained
But her little friend exhausted and drained
Into here shell she did rest and slumber away
Thanks to shimmering light she found a roadway.

Sleep well my friend I will whisper a spell a word
Spoken to recharge your spirit even though unheard
Humming upon the surrounding darkness
She missed her companion in this unforgiving harshness.
Astral Jul 2015
Behind the rain curtain, I saw the place of your rest

I laid orchids on it’s ethereal grace, and saw my memories flash like thunder

There you were, becoming one with the planet

As a walked as a mammal, unknown to the angels above or below

There is no right or wrong in this life, merely living

And I’m tryin to live as much as I can

For the both of us
Triscuit Jul 2024
The weight of your love raptures me
Above a height unknown to me
The clouds caress my face
Embraced by the sunlight
Cloaked in ethereal bliss
When you kiss me I can feel my heart escape the confines of my ribs
Your touch electric and warming
Your scent envelopes me like a shroud
Swathe me in your embrace
Lead me towards the edge of oblivion
A poem meant for a lover
Jude kyrie Feb 2016
The Glass Menagerie

*She was ethereal in her beauty.
I always loved her of course.
But only from a respectful distance.
She collected glass animal's.
I always gave her one for birthdays.
She would kiss my cheek in thanks.
Not the kiss I craved but a kiss.
Her perfect French braids
Framing her lovely face.
I fantasized unfastening them
Slowly so her hair flowed
Like the soft spring rain
washing my bare skin.
She would show me the
intricate color mix
in her glass menagerie.
But I only saw the colors
of her hair her eyes her lips.
When the sickness came.
Her skin became
taught and translucent like glass.
The weight loss showing her frame
She looked more and more
Like one of her beloved
glass collection.
Then when we lost her
She left her collection to me.
But the one
I wanted and treasured
Was on a high shelf
Beyond the clouds
Far beyond my reach.
Sorry Mr Williams
Jude
The changes you bring about
On this Earth of dirt and wood
Can do a world of good
So long as your love never runs out.
Like those that came before,
You have a choice to use your voice
Or stand aside and let tyranny rejoice.
Don't delay, act without hesitation,
For one day your delightful display
Of kindness and blessed consideration
May just be the inspiration needed
To prompt some poor soul's ethereal salvation.
KC Cabauatan Jun 2015
Tonight we’ll share the heavens;
Souls knitted into one,
Fly together we, the ochre moontrails,
on gossamer wings.

The decanter overflows with nectar;
its sweetness permeates the ethereal void,
like ephemerous orbs when touched
by the hands of a child.

The secret Garden’s lit by Eos’ mirth;
polychromatic hues emanate from glassine showers;
Gait filling the place, radiating in splendor,
Warming every psyche in its solace.

Silence may, yet rule the void;
Plenary peace acquiesced e’en for a nanosecond.
Then from some aperture, a tiny tingle crescendos,
as the angelic host thunder their majestic heralds.

Come with me now my beloved;
Dry I your tears with lotus petals,
Come with me now, reach out your hand
and together we’ll share a millennium in a succinct moment
in this paradise called DREAMS.
Sunflower Girl May 2016
There are nights to feel
Impossibly small
To slip through the cracks
And be dust
And gone

There are days to be free
And fly and wish
Sprout wings on your back
And touch
The clouds

There are hours to shatter
Into a thousand pieces
And hold yourself together
With string
And glue

There are minutes to wonder
At ethereal graces
That hide in labyrinthine
Sunbeams
And leaves

There are seconds to catch
A radiant truth
Glimmering in simplicity
Silent
Yet strong

There is eternity to discover
How much a heart
Can hold and break and heal and glow
And become
Beautiful
Francie Lynch Jan 2015
The Huron waters
Don't breach their shores,
The heavenly bodies
Don't leave their spheres;
Fireworks don't
Fill my eyes;
My love is not ethereal
Not everlasting
Or transcendental.
My love is comely.
Factual not fictional.
Less passion with caution.
I love you when
I bring your morning coffee
As your day opens.
I love you when
I bring a snack
And say, Corpus Mea,
And fall forever.
Hold my hand.
I love you in comely ways.
Logan L Feb 2018
Breathe in, breathe in
Breathe out
Watch smoke billow from my mouth
Bury feeling
In hazy dreaming
Lost, in pale white cloud
I laugh and smile
And stay awhile
In this ethereal shroud
I relax until I notice
I can’t find my way back out
EJ Aghassi Jul 2014
beautiful, this lonely night
this predictable darkness
that befalls the ground
the trees
the souls
those things of substance

I look at you
you look at them
you check your phone
you count the lights on the ceiling
you readjust yourself
you curse enemies under your breath

and I look at you
ethereal, immaterial
pure essence
pure strife
pure lust

third time is the charm
three times I've been
inebriated
incapacitated
seeing, feeling, smelling,
hearing
begging to be touching
you

oh, you are beautiful
oh, you make me miserable
oh, I like it so

my what pretty webs you spin

it's absolutely terrible
when I bring myself this low
but the stimulus I savor slow

my end is wherever you begin
Luis Lezcano Nov 2012
You are the epitome and essence of beauty. Aphrodite cannot compare to your endless beauty. She envies you, the goddess of beauty and love. When I gaze into your breathtaking and discerning eyes I find comfort and warmth from life’s daily struggles. Your eyes ensnare me in an endless loop of ethereal happiness. Those eyes-eyes that can light even the darkest of times, paralyze my every thought for eyes like yours I have never come across. And that smile! A smile so bright it radiates with your brilliant and sweet personality.  Your gait...it carries with it confidence and the essence of love. You ask me, “What is the essence of love?” I reply,” It is you.”
Ye shall subvert me
For perdition
Abides in the Sylvan Shrine,
In the
Solar-Bastion that is I.

Yet Ye shall see Phantasmagoria
Arising
From the Eclipsing Despot
Of the
Archean Moon.

Dreams Are But a Figment of Life:
Tender
       And
          Rare;
                   Instinctive.


The Infinitude deluges
       The wombed embankments of mine soul,
           As sprawled, ―I lie drenched in nostalgia
     Of the abeyance of atrophy
Granted betwixt thine epicene arms.*

―Effloresce my Coruscating Pearl
      For you are Cosmic,
     Subliminal,
     Ethereal,
     Temporal.
<3 <3 <3 To a besmirched yearning that led to my efflorescence. Once untarnished yet now my heart hath been hallowed by the thew of its shadow. For in the murk, hallowed lightness can be found. In tribulation, sapience (or wisdom) can be procured like a pearl forged in a transitory war between an oyster and an intrusive parasite. You are that oyster. Your trial is that parasite. Let your soul be molded into that coruscating pearl. God bless. <3 <3 <3
Don Bouchard Oct 2020
“Haunted Houses” (1858)
All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table, than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.

We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
And hold in mortmain still their old estates.

The spirit-world around this world of sense
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.

Our little lives are kept in equipoise
By opposite attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
And the more noble instinct that aspires.

These perturbations, this perpetual jar
Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star,
An undiscovered planet in our sky.

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
Into the realm of mystery and night,–

So from the world of spirits there descends
A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.
In honor of this "spooky" season, I bring before you one of Longfellow's excellent poems. I am now thinking of writing my own "ghosts" poem about our family home in Montana. Whenever I go there, I can hear and see my long gone family members. Each place on the old farmstead carries memories. Perhaps you, too, have such recollections that haunt you in sweet or for bitter memory.
S Smoothie Nov 2016
Your ethereal essence wraps around my senses as I'm drawn to your atmosphere

buring like a Phoenix washed in a new hope
a flash across the bowels of space and time

the call reaches deep into my soul as it rises from the pits of despair and disconnect
oh how I've missed you, aching chasm of yearning hovering over our used to be

your eyes lit like a new day dawning
you have once again remembered me
Love has resurrected

And i slow suspended in your orbit
afraid to venture  any closer
the last millimeter
always spans an infinite chasm
a fiery fanned Dragon floating in limbo
poised,
i wait desperately for your signal
Hovering precariously over your frequency
Mike Adam Jul 2016
May I burrow
your subconscious?

Not as worm
but wormhole

Through dark
dense space

To ethereal worlds
Title is the fear of trusting people due to negative past experiences.
this is dedicated to all who suffer this. Love yourself. Bathe in warm light.

— The End —