"ethereality" poems
Even he was envious of her solitude. She was never not cloaked in the warmth of her own bubble. She was consoled in a demure susurrus, and never missed a kiss with the mist of air, alluring every inch of her body to coalesce with ethereality. Her skin shivered. So did his. How did the stillness linger amidst the commotion, the row, the function? It was inevitable. He almost believed she was only a feast for the sightseers, a prey for those who despised idleness at night. But good God, did she move! Did she swing her fingertips in a melodious number! Did she blink her emeralds to blind those with unfortunate, degraded gems! And did she turn to look and lift the corners of her lips, into a form that could be misconstrued, both if it were and were not responded! And did his body defy his mind, when he could only see her go, and witness his failure to speak and his success to listen. And did his mind defy his heart, when the path to his love was obstructed by the thoughts of no one but his own.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 7:15 AM UTC
Just when we thought
this place couldn't get
any
more
depressing,
a detriment of inadequacy ensues,
and the following hour is spent
beneath a paled,
frosted-blue canvas,
atop a frigid construct
of tether, and steel.
BUT!
As quickly as the dystrophy settled
within minds scarcely caressed
by hallowed slumber,
a frail,
yet,
intensifying light
erupts from the faded line
that separates reality
from ethereality.
As this newly self-empowered
hero of the day
ceases the boundless tundra overhead
with a golden fluorescence
of warmth,
and rapture,
still,
ever-trifling is the southern counterpart.
HARK!
From out of the myriad sheets
of thundercloud gray,
laced with veins of majestic purple,
and glazed with the ensemble
of over-ripened peaches
that blanket the northern skies
of this dawning day
spawns a duet of our mothers'
most
sacred
creation.
HOW MAGNIFICENT!
This spectrum couplet
that champions the veil,
extruding their way out
from the darkest,
most steadfast regions
of our Terran celestial.
Betwixt these valours,
who stand
as beacons of glory
in these most
disparaging of times,
dance a flock
of little
black and white birds,
unveiling to our starving eyes,
ever so eager to feast-
their autumn courtship that,
in its own wonderment,
was that of a
silent
symphony.
LO!
For many a fort night,
we have gazed upon naught
but soot-black sand,
sun-bleached dirt,
and endless foliage,
who's lives have been bled dry
long before even our first wave achieved
boots on ground.
And even as the sun rose higher,
relieving the quietus night
to nothing
but a faded memoir,
so, too,
these masters of vibrancy
shall fade.
BUT!
Even in their last moments of glory,
they triumphed as heralds,
mutely evoking a message
that said:
*'Even at our final breaths,
we shall stand as strong as we did
when She first employed us
into Her heavens.
And until we are completely vanquished,
never; never shall we falter.'*
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
Tufted ethereality, angelism of stock and store
pedestrian...alas, circusy.
Helm of streets bob...our supplicant pulls out
a mile or two of scripture from an enormous
pocket.
Fingers ink-blotted with grime, bent forth striding--
a heedless Beethoven tuned in immaculately.
Array's arrival stunned with scurry...planets of
conveyance pull at their elliptical wiring.
Some rare gigantism to the tenth of powers has
touched everything...all he could do from
going where he's arrived is futile.
From time immemorial, he...at present, its full
possessor!
What convoluted theorem of probability will
forcibly eject him from eureka...from where he's
vaporized his wears...naught...naught!
Some precipice's nudge knew best the wind for
his thought to take to, a majestic soar pealing the
spheres to show them their shape.
Life has exemplified its frugal capacity to him--
simmering creation tucked away for one fine day.
He, to outlive the closing energy that dances him,
an immortal...to be handled with care...with
universal intelligence--be, has let him...loosed.
He's broken the code of things in and of themselves...
he's a thing in and of himself--the Unitative factor erupts.
As the credits of glory pull upward...so he as them.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
with the clock ticking restlessly
as my heart fondly wishes
to rest my palms against your dips
the valleys your waist had created
full of mountainous curves
the arch of your back carving hills
there's no denying that your rivers
so onyx, bringing Styx to shame
cascading down your mid-back
each strand flowing so elegantly
my hands desiring to feel its silky texture
and to finally let our fingers intertwine
the twigs growing on our trees
now blooming iridescent florae
the mundane in you never existed
for the emerald in your irises
flusters butterflies as they flutter
their wings carrying them curiously
to view your angelic ethereality
which was, not so ethereal;
but more grounded, rather earthly
it is unfair to profess you as my angel
as you represented mother nature
you are my Paradise Lost
for Gaea trembles at your divinity
my Earthly Venus, you have captured me
under your trace of beauty
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 5:22 PM UTC
This lonely container; used to interact and circumnavigate
the complexities of this earth, of this land, and of this temporary place.
To meet, mesh, mold, and communicate mentally and physically with other
fleshly canisters on this ride, this trip, this journey.
Then emotion is what our essence does, the spirit of us that resides within,
Yearning to unite with the ethereality of another, to bind with their intangible magnitude.
Loneliness connotes desolation, void, and emptiness; the heart weeps longing to fuse,
There is unconscionable comfort in reaching an island in twain, not in singularity.
Though these receptacles oft give us fleeting tastes of satisfaction,
It is yet impermanent and fulfills the hasty need of our lust in the interim.
Yet when we make exquisite LOVE to one another,
Our vessels dance whilst our souls provide the music, the dance floor, and the ambience.
We were made to be together,
And I love our fit.
ChawzzyScript
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
The Eidolon
She awaits the dawn of love in an ambiguous form; a crystal eye for the mind’s eye.
The apparition of untold beauty has transported her soul to the vanishing realm without her Mother’s knowledge.
She is the daughter of the Earth who has been lain to sleep; somnolent for eternity and ethereal in luminosity.
The wings of phoenix have revived a hollow corpse; she no longer lies down but had broken free of binding soil.
The Universe greets her eyes as she lie on the pavement to eternity…
Where are you?
I see now…
The world is swirling around my fingertips; iridescent cosmic glitter has been laid on my fingertips; ethereality and incorporeality run amuck in this realm.
Where have I gone?
Have I not awakened to the light of Mother Nature’s womb?
Is this not the cascading waterfall cavern with luxuriant blossoms along a baptismal and pristine lake?
The rainbow surge had arisen from the horizon, a cosmic crescent of spectral means.
My body; a vessel unseen; fiery silhouettes of a revitalizing eagle.
Scorching heat blazes across the bare soil and she knows then and there that her soul hath been lain, slain, desolated, discombobulated.
A lurid vision of a gory demise; my annihilation that now has passed.
I see now evermore…
My crystal eye, a prognosticator has revealed to me the ghastly truth.
I am merely an elimination, a casualty from an unknown world known as…
cannot remember
“Is it home?”
By Sanders M. Foulke III
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 9:29 PM UTC
The animal spirit she possesses,
An agile anima stalking a dark spark within,
Looms as predator and protector.
This hunter-rogue guide
Glides through her Soulscape,
Revealed as moon illumined mountain forest,
A place of winter-refracted
Ethereality and lurking danger.
In this dusky, deceptive ambiance,
She has access to a primordial instinct –
Archetypal symbols, ancient signs –
At once savage and wise.
Finding herself in this
Wilderness of vulnerability,
She girds for battle.
Staring squarely into the dark,
Duplicitous and cruel face
Of her adversary, she prepares.
She finds the strength to see
What are lies and
What are the truths --
Both are found there
In that pitched, lacerated visage.
Like all warriors across
Time immemorial,
She embraces her pain,
Exercising control over it.
Absorbing the jagged,
Razor’d contours,
She sees
In its elements
The space where the
“Other” ends
And where she begins;
How she was made
A flint against which
He sharpened his cutlass
And where she
Has made of herself
The door through which he entered.
From this core radiance
Comes a rapier will to survive,
The strength to guard her kin,
The keen intelligence
To unleash her primal howl,
And the blood-fire to rule her demons.
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
The essence of love
From a beautiful precious birth
Spouts the purest form of innocence; love
To exalt those who shelter our sole being
Conscious love brings fear and mental torment
To taint and eradicate our ethereality
Infected with bleak reality
Lunar sorrows of solitude and seclusion
Demonic presences reap at the heart
Bringer of dread, separation with no solution
Loss of my heroine, Queen of beauty
Desolate and afraid, naked and cold
By chance, arbitrary love and yearning
The insatiable appetite for such a person
Unescapable feelings of bliss and elation
Consumed by exultation
Solace and soothing serenity
How I cannot picture a life without thee
A tomb of anguish and sorrow
Eternal lamentation
We must stay intertwined and inseparable
Clasped together until bleak nothingness
Engulfed by your presence, my Queen of the
night
Dressed in satin black
Princess of darkness, priestess of mars
I call out to Eros
To extol the highest power
Two souls cast by a single flame
A shared rhythm of beating hearts
Entangled til death swallows our existence
The essence of love
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 4:43 PM UTC
It should be dark.
Ethereality is brought upon by shadows
Comforting shades that beautifully waylay prancing lights
permeating mysticism to arouse the blandest of hearts.
Clustered crowns of effervescent greens scraped the sky
Their lithe fingers clasped, uneasy to divulge light
yet they do so for their trunkless kin at their feet
There should be music.
At dusk the chiming of army throats moan
the deep humming legato of elastic croak to their content
rich baritones with an orchestral blend of alluring notes.
Exoskeletal feet, an angels' choir too quick to play
Their voices, violins in concerto with hissing air
that slither in between the crevices of trees for beauty to play
I should be afraid.
A tiny mouse that shifts beneath dry leaves should scare
Rustling grass dimmed by jet skies fill you with dread
The tapping of leafless hands on rusted roof puts you under duress
Flash lightning mimics the morning in negative filter
The heavy blows of drizzling rain harmoniously mix with discordant wind
Then when it all settles, the beating of your own cardinal is unnerving.
Then I realize, all of which I stated are now in memory
That the stone road that always greeted me is now but dry and dirt
That the music I once heard met a sharp end that made everything else flat
That the movement in the brush no longer shivered my spine
That the birds and beasts will never again come to cheer
That the storms that ravaged my midsummer's night dream
is the same storm that ravaged my youth
And without these childhood memories
I am left unsophisticated, rural
Bare.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
there are too many disgusting things
about human beings, i know,
and i am
still young.
crushed lips and bruised hips
have faltered me;
i once thought soft flesh was beautiful
until your skin grew rough
around
the edges.
so maybe now
i am just used to you.
like how i always reach
to the right of the sink,
except
there is nothing
poetic about
the orientation of your bathroom.
after all, we spend so much time in there;
me kneeling over porcelain judgement,
you sitting
and watching
me, too familiar now to hold back my hair.
too familiar now,
you know me so well,
i can no longer be
that ethereality
that floats in your dreams
and keeps you happy.
there is something disturbing
about being around someone who
can see all your human flaws:
skin too fair and unbrushed hair,
lying to say it's better this way.
it's better this way, they like to convince you
that it's true or maybe they just want to prompt
acceptance but
why should i settle for
less than perfection
of something i've dreamt of
my entire life?
this isn't poetic.
this isn't beautiful.
stop kidding yourself,
you are
only human.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 12:25 PM UTC
Pale, bloodless forms, untouchable forms
On beams of whiteness, snow capped
Forms, vague translucent forms,
A sacrificed vision....
Forms of a prophetic body, virginal
Bright innocence in the fire of Saints,
Wandering the silences drenched
In illusion of slow agonizing temptation,
Incandescent harmonies like fallen angels,
The color of blood moons and patron gods,
Suspension of memories in the hesitant
Afterglows of the soothing sight, silent....
Crying the psalms of ecstatic angels
In sensual malices fertilizing the innocence
In a subtle cascade of last moments,
The light just over the darkness, dawn's mystery
Infinite forms, ethereality of sobbing sounds,
The ideal form of death and birth,
The dream is an exalted stanza,
Sterilization of the mind, exotic forms....
Requiem of the private sufferings,
Form of the lonely charade,
Magnifying the essential need of the other,
Form of chastity for the *****
The the golden pollen fall upon the dance,
The dancing form of a black swan,
Luminosities under the lunar glistening,
Deeply, subtlety....
Primal forms, animalistic in the body
When the aura is sensually appealing
Gilded upon her ******* and curvature
Like rolling hills under a storm,
Forms like crystalline glory under
Said light with a court of stars,
Vibration of light currents flawed by
Peculiar prints of the flesh
Forms of courage, gusts of love,
Crimson depths of the soul,
Forms like vanity into the black dress,
Conquest of lustrous desires.....
Forms like yours, forms like mine
Bleeding into foreign rivers,
The Dream is a fantastical whirlpool,
The form is confusing and terrifying and
Wonderful....
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 9:55 AM UTC
At night I close my eyes to see beauty,
and then in the morning I open them.
This is the essence of being awake—
to open your eyes to live your dreams, or
live without them because you don’t need them.
All the world’s beauty to appreciate
includes the beauty worth dreaming about,
and beauty about which I dared not dream.
There is beauty in darkness and in light—
who am I not to fall in love with it?
I’ve dreamt of beauty I could not describe,
but nor can I describe beauty I’ve seen.
To encounter beauty is irony—
it stops my heart and makes me feel alive,
touched and moved by ethereality.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 10:37 AM UTC
The almost whispering scratch
Of your pen upon a paper
As you feel creativity's beckoning
Calls and calms the muse.
There have been others
So volatile, so crass
And everything made with them in mind
Resembled.
But you who calms my Muse,
The phrases flow like water
And the letters dance like whispers of wind.
Through your spark
Does my own creativity wonder
And take flight.
Ever-present beauty lives in what you create
And every word is a melody
The silent sound of the breath in your lungs
Begets a kind of sanity.
There have been others
And all that was made for them
Is ravaged by the hands of madness
But you who calms my muse
Contents my soul's cry
And allows my creative heart to fly.
In the purest sense of inspiration,
In the most surreal, ethereality of existence
Words respond and gravitate to the paper
Liberating themselves in sentences.
There have been others
And then there is you
And there will be others
But then, there is you
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
Once, when forever was merchantmen
And time sold in bottles,
Once, when the nocturnal Almighty
Opened the skies to eyes of stars,
I had wings that existed wholely
Like two sides of an ethereality
With the miracle of an illusionistic existence.
Wings which sang unto open blue
Skies with all the light of a star,
Wings flashing like a storm lightning
And the caress of the moist rain at my
Feathers, the calm of the night.
I was an angel right?
Once with glory and rhythm
And all the harmony of ineffably
Clear minded hope, did you not pray
Upon the dazzlingly Divine,
Like mercy in flight over the
Sprawling desolation?
Yes, yes I have taken the fall,
The ravenously singular fall
For the lust of a woman and twisting
The Heavens, but I have awaoken suns,
Flown with meteors and shedding
The brilliance of light in the dark,
Even the fullness of the Cosmos
I have known since before when
I danced with constellations and evoked
The deeper lyrical prayers
Of madmen!
One day,
I will lay upon the exhausted earth,
Fall asleep upon the deep soil,
I will dream infinite things once
Again, and I am still in love with you.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 5:19 PM UTC
For I have restrained from the light above
Thou, in the ogling reflection, stood, awaiting
Amorphous reiteration of the rue singes the flesh
For I ,ere sewing the sin on my flesh, was inebriated from passion and from those I regret.
The eons of dust arched the back of the wind,
Integrating through, never did they collide, only swiveling.
For I missed the light flickering,
Beyond the hues of tears clear on my skin..
Only in this meandering path do I bedeck my complexion,
With sins ,adjoining skin over skin
I have never admired
The way they nestle over sin.
Thee; The patchy and rough branches,
Sew beyond the bones under,
Inexorably calling to terminate
This pain over and under
For i have sinned, please tune me out
Discerned from the peaks of higher mountains; Apart.
Though the stars shine upon solely a dust,
For a jiff, merely descends the armour, down
Caved in, clemency seems away in clouds,
Billowing up towards the luminary.
Did I crave it or did I not?
Does flesh ache a lot.
I stood in front of a mirror,
Abhoring the adversarial and metaphoric matter
Ethereality strikes over my flesh,
When I commemorate the sins I have flecked
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 11:51 AM UTC
Your pulse is the rhythm
by which I pace the melody of my life.
And in your silence,
A symphony arises.
The coalescence of our souls
Is an overture of timeless ethereality.
We are a composition so pure
That our every note is a hymn to celestial realms.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
a single drop
escapes and shapes
the one reforms into the many
forces merge and maintain the center
as an ocean to a clear running stream
effortless delicate movements
the beautiful semblance of creation
only free when infinity extends an open hand
we gracefully bend submitting to the wind
ever escalating the highest life and limb
gales roll in and away
drifting wide and floating astray
iridescence is indescribable yet defines
the sky as she decides a color
her choice always a brilliant contrasting horizon
grandiloquent patterns push to lavish design
extending to no less than the highest point
contours of jewels and soft silky edges
expand in the flourishing demand
moving on in an elaborate showdown
illumination has changed direction
mist is abundantly clear
looting and diverting a moon’s glow
enhancing the sky’s light with spectrum’s of sight
diamonds in the sky
these silhouettes fall into a slow embrace
obscurity celebrates movement
with this final chance in a dance
abstract is an overachiever here
endlessly molding a new shape
a familiar sight replaces the mirage
swarming the moonlight to be still
to see the secret inside a shimmer
the very heart of all things
where a reminiscent choral sound
rhapsodies pure aesthetic
calls you to a sublime slumber
magnificent claims this place of illusion
a majestic showing of dreams and nightmares
more is all we need
patiently we await the kiss from bliss
her touch behind the eyes
opens up the skies
for an Ethereality
Terry D’Arcy-Ryan
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
There's a thirst
To sicken, to be full
To never feel the need to be understood.
A thirst unquenced to be human undamaged.
To be needed but indestructible
To be present only when summoned.
This thirst sometimes aching
To be fulfilled to be terminated
All failing ethereality.
My wrists crack as I'm lifting
Myself off of the floor for the seventh time.
I become part of the decor...yeah I'm fine.
There's 9 days left until I've fulfilled my sentence.
What glory bestowed on my head!
A thirst to be undead, a thirst to remain stuck and never dare to step ahead.
A thirst untouched by water.
I'm left parched so merciless.
Nov 5, 2021
Nov 5, 2021 at 7:45 AM UTC