"evading" poems
.
*Curious minds,
splashing under
moonlight
With
outstretched kisses
pulsating yellow,
Over the awestruck
magical
rainbow,
Feverishly tracking each
supernova
on sight.*
***Resting the moment
on a
cresting knoll,
With
an audience of several
time-worn
rocks.
Whilst the
whistling sirens
in the winds do call...
Wasting away
the ticks of
worldly
clocks.***
*Evading with class,
all
heart's turbulence,
Craters of sadness
congeal
in thin air,
Glamorous amnesia
falls
with cadence,
Eyes wide shut,
susurrating
a
lost prayer.*
***Lifeless gazes
yield
only
abrasive tears.
As erratum
catches up
with its
gaping maw.
Hurling
its anguish
in
rips and shears,
Bleeding out
of
singing wounds
so raw.
But...
time carries confident,
its stock of
soothing balm.
Latent doses
hidden
within
invisible vials.
Welcoming vision
with its
sunlit palms,
Staving the longing
for the
fear of trials.***
*Now hushed
remain the remorseful
battle trenches,
Deprived of their own
victims
save gaping wounds,
Only
faint faith
commanding
corroded limp
forces,
Stirring
light away
from
all
agony
and
doom.*
Moonskittles
ryn
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 6:40 AM UTC
*Blue is the boulder overlooking the bay
Loosely pocked by weather-worn stains
Unwavering guardian of all that lay
Enigmatic yet silently screaming its pains
Blue is the reflection dancing playfully
Laid generously by the twilight moon
Upon the vast canvas of the darkened sea
Elated ripples readily accepting such a boon
Blue is the halo encircling the moon
Lavish circlet gifted by the sun
Unnoticed by eyes that slumbered too soon
Evading the sands of time that run
Blue is the silhouette of a lone sailboat
Lurching and bobbing by will of the waves
Unknowingly catching the zephyrs that float
Eluding the fingers from watery graves
Blue is the man; perched upon the boulder
Lapping up the stars mirrored upon the sea
Usurped heart of his had never sung drearier
Ensnared by woeful wonderment...*
that man is me...
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Man, proud man.
Dressed in a little brief authority over someone else's tasks,
Most ignorant of what he is most assured,
His brief evanescence, ever evading the desperate futile grasps,
In life the things we buy won't keep,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As to make the angels weep.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
As the violet of day
draws to a close...
Witnessed the dwindling
vermillion sun,
being swallowed
by the horizon.
Ever so slowly,
seconds stretched...
This moment here...
Captured...
and
froze.
Brushing off
the indigos
and
blues.
of the past,
Whilst I shed these
scarlet tears.
Burdened with
unfounded speculation
and fears.
Gifted the
lease of bravery
but I know...
it wouldn't last.
A final skirmish
between
night and light.
My crimson wings
spread to greet the.
green evening air.
Feather and wind.
spoke to each other;
quivered as if
the same story
they shared.
A conversation
that ended quickly before
both took
flight.
To the
highest heavens,
leaving a
trail of leaves
from days of
yellow...
Flying past the
blushing orange cheeks
of
sleeping clouds.
Evading the beckoning
of
night's curtains
and
shrouds.
Into the sun,
I would go.
Beyond world's end,
I would follow...
To find you
where the universe
would run its course.
I'd gladly soar through
spectrum's grain,
Through
unfamiliar realms
and
warped new planes.
Why?
Because
blood red
rubies
pump
through mine
and
garnets
flow
through yours...
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
Salacious thought
Brought on by persuasion
A part of the equation
That equals the occasion
Addicted to the rush
The high is amazing
Subside; never does the craving
The need I’m evading
But the flesh is weak
And the need is strong
My resistance is fading
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 9:51 PM UTC
i can make one bottle of beer last hours
From cold to lukewarm
My *** settling into a state of what I call
Perma buzzed
Wussy sip after wussy sip
Perplexed looks and slights from friends
It serves me right to drink so slow,
Evading the glass bottle bottom but
I guess I want to be able to hold onto something so much,
It warms up to me and serves me well.
~
Right now, I want to be buried in a house of lavenders.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
What happened on Weehawken Heights,
that warm midsummer’s day?
There are several versions of the “truth”
but none for sure can say.
The Principals were both well known:
Hamilton and Burr.
Aaron Burr had made the challenge,
Hamilton would not demur.
Hamilton choose pistols as the weapons
Then Burr proposed the site.
Per the Irish Code Duello
It was all proper and right.
Dueling was illegal,
so the Seconds looked away
so they could plausibly deny
that they had seen the fray.
Each man walked off ten paces,
and Mister Pendleton yelled “Pre-sent”!
Most think that Hamilton fired first;
wide and right, his shot was spent.
Aaron Burr was deadly accurate:
His shot, its target found:
Alexander Hamilton, wounded,
swooned upon the ground.
“this wound is mortal, Doctor.”
was all Hamilton could say.
They bore him to the City where
he passed on the following day.
Aaron Burr also fled the scene,
evading prosecution.
He had “Full Satisfaction”,
this hero of the Revolution.
What is full satisfaction
when Burr’s Star was past its season?
He never more held public trust,
indeed, stood trial for treason.
A person can be haunted
by a ghost that none can see.
Burr’s brilliance had been blighted
by a sort of infamy.
Towards the end of his own life
Burr said of his enemy:
“{Had I known}The world was wide
enough for Hamilton and me.”
On July 11, 1804, Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr fought the most famous duel in American history. These two heroes of the Revolution were political enemies and Hamilton had done much to exclude Burr from the Presidency and from the New York governorship. Burr,feeling he had been defamed by Hamilton's published remarks demanded the "Full Satisfaction" of a duel. My account generally follows the account of the historian, Joesph Ellis. Any errors are my fault. Any items in quotes are words ascribed to these two famous individuals. Aaron Burr never after held public office and eventually stood trial for treason for his alleged attempt to set up an independent country in the territory Jefferson purchased from France. After several years living in France, Burr returned to New york where he faded into obscurity. Alexander Hamilton is buried in the churchyard of Trinity Church in downtown New york.
Towards the end of his life, Burr remarked: "Had I read Sterne more and Voltaire less, I should have known the world was wide enough for Hamilton and me."[35]
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 7:04 AM UTC
Single cells no organelles
with membranes permeable
respond with will to live
Prokaryote so simple
no nucleus no lack
nearing food evading harm
Membrane assures survival
expanding one to two
Membranes of the human
process mystery
When shall we admit
our brains do not direct
our intricate survival
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
The Mockery of Fairyland
In silence watching, as fellow, fallow fairies dance,
Sylphs float above while gnomes furrow,
Donating water brothers.
Undine.
Spiritual creatures, unseen.
Creation of nature from nature.
Mankind evading.
Those fairies will still catch your eye,
In form of genus butterfly.
God forbid you meet them.
Stumble on their fairy rings.
You should never ever tell a fairy your name.
For in fairyland you may remain.
For safety's sake.
While you're out walking in the woods.
Inside out, you must wear your shirt,
Wear a ring of of iron!
So you can breach the fairies curse.
For in seven year cycles.
Fairies must donate to hell.
A good soul,Tam Hin.
Because he tricked the fairy queen.
She had to set him free.
Ti's said.
As man folk mate.
Fairies do true procreate.
In a way akin to ours!
Hybrid fairies once existed.
They were such melancholy souls.
Far too sad to live in fairyland.
Too fairy like to live on earth!
Titania she still sits waiting patiently.
For her Oberon to arrive.
King and queen of fairyland, in literacy.
Supreme?
No Fallacy!
By ladylivvi1
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
I am stuck up
Late again
Sleep evading me
And my thoughts
Surrounding you
I feel you drifting
Farther from me
The distance pulling
Your fibers of Love
From me
But I, like the fool,
Am still stuck up
On a wish
On you
Every moment
Every thought
All on you
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 8:23 PM UTC
I’ve been told by a friend to wait here.
As long as I stay here, you’ll be back past five o'clock.
I’ve waited—you came and opened the door.
It’s true; now I will dedicate my nine lives to you.
"She drinks her tea by midnight and lulls herself to sleep. You should waggle your tail and lie beside her. Every day except for Saturday." My friend laughed rigorously when she finished that statement.
“Why can’t I play with her every Saturday?” I asked her, trying to grasp her evading eyes.
"Just because," she shrugged and tried to climb the tree.
"Wait!" I hissed, but she’s nowhere to be found now.
I did everything she told me to do. Eat my food past lunch, play with my worn-out toy, and wait for her to be home.
At the exact moment the cruel sun rose and the light hit my body, I waggled my tail and lied beside her. Unfortunately, I forgot it was Saturday today.
I called her name, distinctively meowing in a weird manner. I cackled slightly; she wouldn’t understand. Biting slowly with her calloused hands and licking the side of her face, she still won’t wake up.
And I meowed until there was no sound left of me. My dear Celia, wake up, for you have to give me food now.
You still need to bathe me and play with me at the park. We’ll still wait for the night to come and watch TV.
Oh, Celia, I’d still spend my nine lives with you. Where have you been since I slept last night?
I’d still wait for you here at the table, near the window. Where the trees dance the delicacy of their sickening leaves. Oh, how we both hated the crispness of those brown leaves.
Oh, how you knew how much I hate autumn and how much I undoubtedly love the breeze of winter. The screeching of the winds and the snow falling onto the ground, where we both scrutinize its unique aspect. We were the same.
How you were covered in snowdrops, and you’d throw me inside the snowpack. I’ll hiss, and you’ll laugh.
"I told you not to play with her every Saturday," my friend whispered, almost with a faint cry. There was a hint of longing in her voice.
"You haven’t told me the answer, Ong."
"She grieves in her dreams, my friend. He visits every Saturday, spends a day with her, and goes home at exactly midnight. She’ll wake up tomorrow, bud," she answered in agony.
Who's he? " I turned to her, but she vanished once again.
Celia, I will love you for the rest of my nine lives. I’ll wait for you tomorrow. It’s okay to grieve for now.
I’d still wait for you here at the table, even though it’s autumn. We both got to accept that winter is already over.
It’s my first life with you in autumn.
Sep 9, 2023
Sep 9, 2023 at 3:10 AM UTC
there is little substance in
affinity marked by proximity.
it is no true measure of
commitment or loyalty but
merely a constant exchange
of fabricated facades. such
is the folly of friendship.
whether nature ever
actually achieved compassion,
it has surely since been corrupted.
emotionally encapsulated,
acting as if not to
affect those in the
evading environment.
selfish must have proven
more efficient than selfless.
the superiority of self priority
and depraved self devotion.
still it doesn't seem sufficient,
at least not to me.
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC
as i am nearing the edge of our fading sun,
as our world is one big aquarium,
- full of life...
me, surviving the best i can, alone...
i thought i never long for that new life
born between my seeds,
all i knew is that i am okay, alone...
no plan to plant,
just a fading list of the evading daydream...
it's okay - everythings alright,
there's time, still,
even if it never arrive,
it's still alright
for all the right
reasons...
Jan 11, 2024
Jan 11, 2024 at 3:13 AM UTC
A cosmic ray dispersed into creation
Tail wagging upstream with elation
So many victims fallen to ************
Anxious seed sprouting with incubation
Privileged To exist
we have no choice
Growing like a cyst
No time to rejoice
Cognitive effort to grasp us being alive
Ponder the place from where we derive
Reasons for life and why we must strive
Are we honeybees with earth as our hive
Pray to the heavens for when we"ll arrive
Greeted with a smile and god"s high five
Effortlessly we all continue to live and be
Subconsciously evolving the human tree
Temporarily renting this vessel of a body
Surreptitiously evading death to be free
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
The mask of vengeance is not to be confused
with the seepage of hurt and confusion.
Something to blame, to get in the way
of a blazing fire providing.
Kindle it with substance and truth,
but instead with damp lies and gritty sand.
An effort of competence in place
of the evading truth that sometimes
the idea of affinity diminishes
in the hole of bewitching fruits.
A spell to take hold of the clean,
turning ***** in morality. Excuses
to remain pure at heart, blame to never
feel the pain of rejection.
Darkness.
Pain.
Loneliness.
Desperation.
Anointing the headless children without
a thought of the purpose. Watering a rootless
tree, attempting to make it grow.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 7:39 AM UTC
Where are you
Amidst the trees?
Hiding?
No, not you
You noble valiant thing
I thought you were a king
Not a refugee
Leaping from page to page
From thought to age
Evading the tinkerer's jail
Of memory
Paid ransom by some other script
Take a rest
You've been running for infinity
But you've finally run right into the wrong time:
Yours
Pass into potential's clearing
long enough
For my swift stab
Aha!
"Penned" to paper
Shall we begin
The inked interrogation
To see what lies within, o suspect
Accused of rhyme?
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
Hushed tones , the birds chirped
The Mind stood handcuffed
Waiting for Judgements
The courtroom voices/noises
Filled the Arena
Waiting for judgment ..
Were the pleas heard...
What was the verdict ...
Around Came a plaintiff asking for directions to a courtroom
Surprised
Standing handcuffed
the Mind thought
'Why walk in the entrapment
Where the judgements
Have no room for 'fair trials '
Nevertheless
The Mind as usual stood a mute spectator,
Handcuffed
Drifting .....
The view beyond the courtroom
Was that of a playground
The children played without a care
The Mind , so pleased and at peace
All charged now
Reminded of the two legs and feet
which were free of cuffs and could escape
Now , set free ,
The Mind flew into Mindscape
Evading all
Trials
Judgements
Leaving ...
The courtroom empty ..
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
The last orange leaf on a tree in autumn
Stares down at a little girl, playing.
Gold, orange, brown, the leaf shivers, cold
In the half-hearted, cold-hearted breeze.
"Hold on, little leaf!", the girl calls up -
The leaf trembles light in answer.
"I like you up there, don't go, don't go,
"There are too many leaves fallen here."
Battered by wind, and gusts of fall
The leaf holds tight to her branch;
The shivering colour glistens in mist
Weighing down, but she does not fall.
The girl came back daily, as October got colder,
For all she could do was watch -
This leaf was beautiful, but frail and tired;
The only leaf left on that tree.
It held on for long, and that girl was so proud!
But after all, it was not long enough:
One aching morning, the leaf pulled her stem
From the branch she clung to, so dear.
She fluttered and flew, was tossed about so
Missing branches, evading the ground -
The wind blew her forth, lift'd her in flow
Till the wind saw the little girl below.
The orange caught her eye, and she laughed with delight
And ran after that gold leaf in flight -
Up did she jump, and on ground she'd alight
In her small hands: the sunny little leaf.
She knew, as did the leaf, that in days she'd crumple
And grey and darken and brown,
But for now and the next few beautiful moments
The leaf was safe; the little girl, happy.
Did the girl save the leaf? No, not at all;
It was chance that the wind saw her there -
Such are the seasons, for too many reasons,
The orange leaf just happened to matter.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
Three drunken kites,
swim up competing with each other,
evading the algae of cityscape,
to drink the wine setting sun spills.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
soft silly syllables sauntering slowly at sunset
after all ambiguous adjectives adversely affect our amicability
feigning fickleness funding fearfulness finding finality in foolishness
egress endlessly ever evading the
end
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
Through the fields of stars and through the black forest,
And always West, trailing behind them a glowing disk,
With their frizzy coats and gnarling smiles; the heroes try to **** them with meteors.
Scattered shards of stone-fire bits, and the ashen paw prints evading it,
…and the horse shines upon Lykaon’s grave.
Howling are the wolves of Phanes, their number growling with the rains.
And matching windy howling screams, with hoots and hollers inbetween…
The great horns point at the wolven den, from which Fenrir’s gaze sees all man’s sin.
And the flames of Cerberus lick the hori-zon;
…as he descends into Hell’s cave,
And the Drakon hungry for lycanthropes, he hunts the plains of Hades;
But the cunning beasts avoid him while calling out to the moon, over their master’s grave.
Calling out over Lykaon’s grave,
Cyclopean-cotton collects, a smoking pillar covering guide. Obscuring the light and now they are vexed, as the Lykos struck down, they have died.
And their flesh is what the Drakon does crave, as they are devoured on the stones of Lykaon’s grave,
…at that place known as Lykaon’s grave,
Struck down with asters
and gobbled-up,
over Lykaon’s grave.
Wyrd-wolven stars at night
…over Lykaon’s grave,
A werewolf at,
The entrance,
To the cave,
And that King,
…who stands before Lykaon’s grave.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
The Story of Gypsy of Wind
dust has dissipated
When it rained
Gypsy sang
With his guitar, which he inherited from his father ..
The last farewell song ...
As he crosses the Earth
Without thinking of a terminal to reach
...
A fugitive from modernity.
From every paved road ..
Of all the twinkling constellations ..
From the noise of cities ..
From the gloom of government buildings.
The gypsy diverges,
Evading sandy roads.
He meets the boys of the villages ..
He sings and they dance..
He passes near the peasant women with red hair covers.
He plays love tunes for them.
Until their cheeks flush ...
He meets the shepherds ... and avoids them ...
he receives the wide plains
With bright eyes
And on his back
He hung up his guitar, which he inherited from his father.
.....
The gypsy meets the girl of his dreams.
But he leaves her to continue trekking.
Gypsy knows no boundaries ..
He does not know what warm rooms mean.
He does not know what daily work means.
He does not know what school means ..
Because he does not want to learn ..
Rather, he should live on the road.
....
The gypsy has no identity papers.
But he does not know what the meaning of stained papers and seals.
The gypsy does not know power ..
when he meets the mayor of the village
he Whoops:
Why do they obey you when they are free ..
The gypsy knows no hunger ..
Because he eats anything in nature.
Flowers and butterflies ..
Rivers mud ...
Then he pulls his guitar from his back.
And he goes on trekking
He plays a song that tells about a dream
With the warmth of a beautiful woman's chest.
Gypsy travels after the spring.
as if he tied with a rope..
He does not like winter ..
He does not like summer ..
He does not like autumn ..
Like birds in the sky ..
Gipsy follows the scent of silt and nectar.
He points with his finger to the distant horizon:
- It rained there..
He plays a rain song ...
.....
What do you have, gypsy?
The bar girl asks him
In transit hours standing
He says: What do you mean by the word "you have"?
The gypsy has nothing ..
Because he has everything.
He has his freedom ..
A girl spends a night with him
Then she expels him from her arms in the morning
So he takes up his guitar
And he sings in tears over his broken heart.
Passing through plains and mountains ..
To where he does not know
....
Truck drivers meet him
They offer to get him to where he wants..
But he refuses ..
He doesn't want to miss a moment without being in the heart of nature ...
Sings
Consuming time with his guitar
His guitar, which he inherited from his father ..
His father who does not know him ...
But what his mother told him before her death
when they were traveling on the way ..
He buries her ..
And he prays for her soul..
Without knowing which god he is praying to..
He smiles ..
And he goes on its eternal journey
.....
When crossing forests..
He is surrounded by hyenas.
He pulls his guitar and sings.
The hyenas watched him in amazement.
they remain amazed as they snaps his flesh..
And he is still singing
Playing his guitar
His guitar, which he inherited from his father ..
His father who never knew him ..
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC
Exhausted, each letter drops
from my head to my feet
a blank screen behind these eyes
why?
understanding is futile
and wondering is growing weak
wanting, waiting
empty wishes
fall like ash
clouding my judgement.
just a fox and a hound
evading my pursuits
i'm left without your hand
warmth, smile, touch, breath
ingredients to your heart.
Mystified, my haze injects into my mind.
uncontrollable
my blood squirms
with a single thought
her...
polished, porcelain doll
of mocha caramel flavor
painted happiness, internal despair
all i ever think about.
waking moments reflect daydream hopes
dreaming scenes
of tomorrow
a ghost, a whisper on her neck
she'll never know.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:34 AM UTC
Figures standing in my peripheral
With eyes like the void, paralyzing me
Illusions fade to reality now
Drift into the nightmarish miasma
I thrash to no avail
Fighting to escape their dead gaze
Evading my vision
Silhouettes flicker in the dark
Dancing in the pitch black dead of night
Hallucinations of aberrations
Whispering in the back of my mind
Manifestations of apparitions
Phantoms fabricating
Horror permeating my core
Nocturnal terror
Haunting my soul
Manic visions plaguing
Every fiber of my being
Panicked and screaming
Please God save me
Perchance a dream
Facade of reality
Stuck on repeat
I can't tell the difference
Falling into darkness
Hopeless to escape
Painting a bleak
foreboding dreamscape
Minds eye collapsing to oblivion
This existence consumed by shadows
Trapped in this enigmatic consciousness
My perception fleeting through the night
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
I remember a story, it starts at fourteen.
I had a crooked back and low self esteem.
I was afraid I was gonna end up in a ditch somewhere.
I had to devise myself a plan
of which direction to go if **** hit the fan
and I knew my mother wanted a prodigy child
So I figured I could sing or get really smart,
but my voice would crack and my mind was dark,
so I decided, in this crazy world,
that I could rob graves.
So I left home when I was sixteen
my boredom peaked and my senses keened
I grew with a morbid fascination with the dead
It started out
me figuring that
they wouldn’t miss their dimes, their shoes or their hats
I tramped on the dusty trail with an evil eye
As I ended up along the borderline
I met another young man who had gone insane.
He just got back from the war.
Like he said: “I’ve seen some things.”
So we rode together for quite a while
in the dust on the trail for a thousand miles
until one night, we came upon an unmarked grave.
My partner fumbled around in his pockets
evading worms and maggots from his sockets.
He turned around and looked at me with his crazy smile
It turned out what he found was a letter
and with this smile he said: “The dead have it better.”
So i reached out to grab it while the stench arose.
He handed it to me and on front and back
I read about this lonely, old, sad sack
who, being sick of life, ended up hanging himself.
This really put things into perspective for me
for the attention me and my partner was giving, you see,
was often more than these people received in life.
But one windy day the law caught on our path
and with a holstered gun me and my partner had
we stopped by a local tavern to wet our throats.
The law had converged in the front door
my partner flinched before I could do more.
And before I knew it he had bolted down for the gun.
Before I could say another word
he dropped to the floor and his fingers curled.
He rattled and faded away while I was restrained.
As I was lying on my stomach on the ground
I looked over and I heard a sound
It was my partner whispering his final words.
“The dead have it better.”
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC