"evocative" poems
*He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.
He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.
He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.
He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.
He's no poet.
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.*
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
We had come to see him, the aging Tenor sing.
He was as good as he had always been.
But half way through, a woman appeared,
Moving gracefully in bare feet upon the stage.
Entering the ring of bright spot light near him.
Long blond hair, falling loose around her neck,
Held back both sides by Turtle Shell combs,
Reflecting the light.
Adorned in but a simple, low cut black dress,
Her with a face beautiful as a new spring day.
Held in her left hand an ebony hued violin,
Touched fondly, like a well accustomed old friend.
Her right hand holding a bow, ready and waiting.
The Tenor’s and her eyes met and conveyed a message
Only they understood. Then starting slow and low,
The full Orchestra commenced. The woman in black
Brought instrument up to her chin, lovingly resting
her face upon it, as if comforted by it's touch to skin.
The fetching violinist, like a graceful reed,
In summer breeze, began to gently sway,
Laid Bow to strings and a transcended beauty,
The voice of both her Instrument and from within she,
Emerged through her fingers, completely filling the hall.
With eyes closed, the slight movements of expression
On her face registering the feelings the musical notes made,
As if those gestures too, guided the bow's musical cords.
Slender precise fingers lovingly caressing the strings.
For nearly a minute, she and her violin played alone.
Her actions of body, hands and head in concert,
To her music, unavoidably hypnotic it could be said.
The Tenor started to sing, and yet my eyes stayed
Locked on her, as if no one else in the room was there.
The blond woman in the black dress owned the stage.
I have no idea how long that piece of music lasted,
I could not attest to what contribution the Tenor made.
Fully my attention and eventually my heart belonged
To that lovely, evocative young woman in the backless,
Little black dress.
It’s true that I may never see or hear her play again,
I know not, even her name.
And yet, I’m sure that I will never forget those
Few minutes mesmerized by her magical spell.
Hopelessly caught in her enchanting web.
With me sitting, third row, isle seat left,
Worshiping as I did, at her so pretty,
Slightly ***** naked feet, the striking
Blond woman in the black dress.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
Sing me a berceuse,
Sweet melody abound,
In your astral glow of your effusive vignette,
Play with your celesta sweet
beguiling with evocative speak
Turn with your astral glow
abound with pungent, redolent snow
and gaze at the symphony
before you
Sing in sweet felicity
Joy you bring,
Serendipity,
Asylum you bring,
None shall come,
but the brave warriors who
knock and question.
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 2:11 AM UTC
Silver skies, tranquil nights
Gently gazing down from afar
Silver rooftops, twinkling lights
Buried deep among the stars
Silver memories paint silver portraits
Hung from my interior walls
Silver melodies, not unfortunate
I hear, my name, it calls
Silver teardrops stain my cheeks
Making melancholy of innocence
Silver snowstorms, heartache's peak
An evocative and celibate synthesis
Silver dreams, silver eyes
Meet silver nights, tranquil skies
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
The flood gates open when you smell the familiar scent from your past. Remembering times that were long forgotten in the back of your mind. Every person has that one scent that instantly draws them back to a simpler, happier time. That one scent that brings forth memories that were buried deep within your subconscious, dusts them off, and lays them out in the light.
The smell of your mother’s perfume - brings you back to when she held you.
The smell of play dough - brings you back to that small seat in the classroom mashing colors together.
The smell of your house - where you instantly feel safe and can be yourself.
The smell of cut grass - shows your father pushing the heavy lawn mower as you play outside in a spring evening.
The smell rain - brings you to a moment of renewed energy and excitement for what’s to come.
The smell of smoke - reminds you of late night talks around a bonfire.
The smell of your old boyfriend’s cologne - Hits you when you pull out his sweater and remember the night he gave it to you.
The smell of wood chips - where you spent many days playing and laughing with the friends you haven’t seen for a while now.
It comes when you least expect it. These smells of nostalgia enter through your nose and hit you straight in the heart. And you can’t help the evocative smile that pulls across your face.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
I am wrapped in her algid arms.
I am lost in her evocative glare.
I stand, environed by the Keres,
Those dilapidated demons.
Azrael, my craven shadow, clings
To me as a vulture stalks its prey.
Thanatos does each step possess
Forward into this acidulous air.
Fissured masks release languid screams
That fall upon pallid faces that have
Long since wilted in her Stygian womb.
Enervated laughs drone in mangy ears.
I stand on the periphery of this
Asphyxiating cistern. I ambulate
Across this sable field that shall
Become the executioner’s blade.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
My golden heart beats and beats for you
A thousand palpitations at any given moment
I can feel my chest caving in within every pulse
Filling my head with such evocative dialogue
The salacious sound of your slithering voice
Snakes into my head spreading like an aphrodisiac
You solicit lecherously illicit questions that unnerve my judgment
In our dreams we dreamt of double eclipses
Upon our lips while we slept and slumbered
Our bodies coiled like serpents tangled in tantric passion
With the waking of giants and mythical expeditions
Our hearts would burn the fieriest of red
Ensnared between these silken sheets
Springs tied around every exposed limb
As if we haven’t known the sweetness of sleep for days
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
.
I love her many faces,
they swim in my dreams eternal,
tantalising, playing, and held within,
breaking the shell to find the kernel.
The source of beauty beholden there,
brings succour to an aching heart,
chanting, singing, a pretty lullaby,
straight as an arrow, swift as a dart.
A veil of Wisdom hangs loose,
showing me the way with herbs,
aromatic, evocative, a hazy swoon,
a tranquil lake, a thrown stone disturbs.
I adore her seductive curves,
they dance in my time and space,
rhythmic, ****** and shown external,
a Wiccans kiss and a Womans grace.
© Pagan Paul (08/08/16)
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 6:24 AM UTC
"Surreal skeptic, cynical cryptic! Licentious lecheries fabulist façade fantasias. Wild eyed spectral serene. Dream of catenary concoctions, ethereal salacious conjugation, bridge the gap in metaphysical mystique. Erotica erectile errantry’s exserted protuberance is a kinesiology kleptomaniac with his embark embargo extraditions and his eventuation evocative execrations, a positive amalgamated anathema android of a terminus thrall. The shadow in the shade of the silhouette sojourn. The bailiff’s rakeness rails incarnate, unicorn railway nails and all. He will paint mirador bartizan panorama tableaus all over your proximity parameter perimeter peripherals. Force the enmity to acquiesce into impunity.” “Why this is not but an ogling ogre of an oligarchy omelet” she shrieked as he continued to tickle her. “Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugueness,” he said. “Positive orchestration renditions of transpositional interlude.” “Come here,” she said “let my clambering clamorous clangor write you a wield wile treatise expose’.” “The legions of Chinga da are battling the hoards of Gunga din saying ‘kinetic supremacy temporize tractive fluent’ , it’s sheer genocide. That plasty goop nosed Gumby ****** Gunga doesn’t stand a chance. Coax cacophony clout, catatonic phonics, grizzly grotto grouches all”, She squealed. “Now you’re gumption dreaming”, he chimed. “Chutzpah panache spontaneous generation complicity, gambit alluvium aloof succor.”
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Come walk with me a mile...
Walk on without our burden’s weighty shoes,
warily trudging over the long rocky pathway
a lifetime in my soul.
A final edifying voyage to freedom.
The winds of change are blowing briskly
as we walk charily over the long and narrowing
rock-strewn passageway.
I shed these boots and skin, no longer fitting
my scared, blistered and callused soles.
As time slowly passes,
this craggy passage has evolved
from a two-way trail,
into one-way jagged forage…
Standing barefooted and naked on rocky ground,
dark sunken sleepless eyes scan
the rolling vista as the wind blows
dust from the halo around the sun,
blurring the delicate wispy cirrus clouds.
The sun’s radiance paints frozen ice crystal azure
into a vivid aura of prisms’ brilliant corona.
Kaleidoscope rainbows adorn the closest of solar stars.
There's something in the ethereal air
that leaves my soul unsettled,
grasping for an evocative stability
trying to understand the silenced voices
crying out within…
The pain and suffering has vanished
as if the body and soul have separated,
numbness from the ache of longing,
severed nerves, callused fears
ruptured on serrated rocky edges,
deadened useless flesh cut to the bone
by misjudged obstacles encountered enduringly.
The barefooted spirit courses on,
suffused in the solar spectrum’s dust;
yearning, longing to saunter
above and beyond the bloated feathery pillows;
cumulus clouds finally resting at peace.
Dipping heart's lesions and these benumbed toes
into a healing balm
from the bowers of bliss..
An unfinished life
an open ended dream,
reluctantly waking to take the last ,
surrendering steps beyond the threshold...
A long and winding rocky journey’s destiny
draws near
The halo around the moon
illuminates an understanding firmament;
the celestial sphere’s
pending imminent soulful rain awaits
the metamorphosis at the brink of dawn.
A shower of heaven's rain
shall mourn the loss of flesh form
as the spirit of an untamed soul lives on,
barefooted,
naked and free
like the dust in the wind
absorbed eternally...
2011 © harlon rivers
all rights reserved
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
*Claw beneath your ribs
Hold down wild you
Just for a little while
Feel the anguished flutter
Begging these gruff hands . . .*
1.
Fear takes commotive hold
Makes wooden legs
Delayed dance…..so delayed
Causing silent attendance of synchrony
No use stepping out for flight just yet, if alone
Will meantime practise wing-span
iron out brittle energy
attempt to fortify links
..
2.
Careless snubs to fragile sapling
Did absolutely nothing
To the course set out
Only hypocrites squander even half-truths
and wallow in obsequious words
rendering paralysis and decay
I will continue to claw beneath your ribs
Covert trove awaits us
In the tormented form of
Crashing waves on a broken coast
Hacked to near-distraction by potent searching
3.
Loss is not wasted
unseen by its absence:
evocative presence felt …with penniless eyes
I challenge you to visualise our melting:
perched on fate’s right shoulder
re-sent to this basic arena as buoyant token
summoned by that primordial, blue light
..
*the sun may well baulk and melt
at the ruddy sight of
such intense clawing beneath your ribs
(like your customary digging into my bristling blades)
To find my foetal place
within the calling drumbeats
of imperative you . . .*
S T, sunsday . . . 21 July 2013
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC
Oh ROSE! How immeasurably I adore you!
So expressive, you are! Eloquent and evocative!
Robed in red, you say to the world, “I love you,”
And speak all about courage and respect.
In white, purity and innocence are your names;
Then you’re a bride, heavenly, and in silence;
You’re clothed in secret silence and youthfulness,
And humility that commands world’s reverence.
Your pink is happiness; dark pink says “thank you”;
In yellow, it brings joyfulness and friendship;
With red added, the world would fall in love;
And orange—it’s full of desire and enthusiasm.
Red-and- yellow is jovial; peach, modesty;
Coral is desire; and lavender, love at first sight.
But you’re never black, for you know, it is sad.
How gifted a poet you are! A great symbolist!
A bud in red is purity and loveliness coupled,
One in white, emerges elegantly as a girl in her teens;
And a bud, if thorn-less, calls for love at first sight.
Oh, your magic tricks! How great a conjurer you are!
If single, you’re devotion; twin says, Marry me;
Six, suggest need to be loved; eleven says, Truly loved;
While in thirteen, you say I’m your secret admirer.
Oh! It’s wizardry! So overwhelming! So breathtaking!
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
A subtle carol echoes of the evening
Upon bended knee I am arrested
Betwixt strange refrains
Shaking the floorboards of Teicu
The evocative moans amplify
The foolish peacemaker of astrologists
The English dream of poetry
Those I coaxed by death
Were the witnesses of the tragedy
And were familiar with its ballad
Crafted the design ‘tis conceptual ***********
Eradicated their honor for vanilla threads
As they shimmy and shimmy
They defile elongated hankering
And retreated in the greenhouse of Woodstock
Its language made iconic by efficacious character
Having often been labeled an experiment
Broadening its brilliance along death’s boulevard
‘tis she who was the stunning one
Her language made sacred by her iconic fame
A long time controversial reference
An automaton, an origin of extraterrestrial etiology
The evocative moans ensnares the tourist
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
Acquiesce here my love
Ameliorate my heart
The assemblage of circumstance provides dulcet ebullience
An efflorescent dalliance conflated into cathartic becoming
My bucolic bungalow made upon your callipygous
A young Life’s denouement
Your evocative elixir fetching
An erstwhile emollient embrocation
Your eloquent fingers find their way to frisson
My felicitous chatoyant gambols in glamor like a halcyon incipient made ineffable by the look of the ingénue
The labyrinthine inglenook lagoon leisurely lithe
The murmurous daffodils wink at the insouciance of your beauty
A panoply panacea, the half shadow complete as an epiphany
Quintessential to feminine riparian resplendence
Your mellifluous voice, an opulent offing, the sumptuous summery soliloquy of an angel
Cools my soul like the smell of earth after rain
Your propinquity ripples the scintilla of my spirit
Your surreptitious smile like a zephyr quietly whispers
Its redolent seraglio sempiternal in my thoughts
As skyward gazes like saccharine gossamer lilt with the knowledge of our raveling juxtaposition
a masterful pastiche, the cynosure of divine revelation
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
Exotic trollwood harlotry and mule kit blues
Tyrannical tyrannosaur traction padness
Cohort cavorts clastic and witch’s *** hues
Ontological ontogeny somatalogy fadness
Inductive endemic veracities and talus weather clues
Epistemological equilibrium’s homogeny badness
Timeless rhetorical ruminations and ephemeral exigency dues
Transcendent ascensional equivocal madness
Tactile acuity prescience capacity intrepid intrigues
Mystical symbiosis dharma sensorium sentiment proselyte
Torturous tractive prosthesis umbrage ultraism colleagues
Newfangled nocturnal nonchalant nether nestle neophyte
Top notch topography tortoise trauma fatigues
Faustian faux pas foist felicitous fealties socialite
Agnate nous ontological ontogeny euphenics in league
Mentalities evocative introjecting sycophant eulogizing apposite
Mystical terrestrial equestrian tellurian tableau
Panoramic imagery empiricist
Evocative exserted apomixies’ ethereal should show
Ontological somatalogy lyricist
Reflective refraction remissions opulence could know
Theosophy theophany epiphany equilibrist
Magniloquent inductive extrapolation quantum back ***
Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
Awake again…2AM, Visions spinning in my head
Of bodies writhing, tangled in a carnal embrace
Thought evocative of thoughts provocative
Can’t get these visions out of my mind…
Of bodies writhing, sweat drenched
Pounding out an ancient beat, something purely animal,
Primal, untouchable by time and civilization alike
Somewhere I hope you’re suffering too
With visions that just won’t let you rest.
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
Prepare to be entranced
by symphonic sounds
acuity and beauty
displays of pique
explosions of profanity
evocative waves
of love and adulation
restrained tones
profound as shadows
crossing a motionless road.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
Knowing makes me wonder
At evocative truths which abound
Salient sentience is a crucible
Where the enlightened meet
To sip ambrosia’s elixirs
Enrapturing mesmeric enchantments
Fecund grace ensues
Pervasions depths seem within reach
With treatises we expound
Lecherous libido’s pandemic liaisons
A chorus so unique
Each one a sentinel equation
In harmony replete
The decadent arrogant squirm
As rubato’s flair reveals
All the things that might have been
The love that they concealed
As they reach with grasping greedy hands
For things they can not steal
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
Specious speculative salacious spectral season
Transmogrify trapezium traverse torsion treason
Erotica errantry erectile endogenic emblazon
Ghastly gnashy grotesque gristly garrison
Larcenous lecherous lascivious latent lesson
Entelechy ethology exsistentialize extant epsilons
Spurious spry squabble subtle specialization
Transient transitive tour de force teleportation
Encephala enunciate endeavor executant emulation
Garish gaudy gambit glitch granulation
Lurid livid liaison limpid laceration
Extravaganza expletives expeditious equilibration emendation
Sly stodgy surreptitious spatiotemporal solicitor
Taciturn tactile transcendent tertiary torpor
Euphoria eminent equivocal exserted emancipator
Garrulous gustatory gung ** gestational gesticulator
Lyricism lilt liberation lambaste levitator
Escutcheon exergonic epaulet exodus extrapolator
Starkness staunch spectacle stolid stultification
Telepathy tantamount tractive tellurian transmutation
Exonerate euthenics exegesis entourage eradication
Groaty gnarly gruesome gristly gastrulation
Licentious lewd lacunar laconic limitation
Extemporaneous exigency embark embargo extradition
Slinky slick sultry stoical snout
Transubstantiate torturous temerarious tumultuous tout
Eucharist extortion enmity epithet eke out
Gross grit groin grove grout
Lentic leister lotic lothario levity lout
Execrating eventuation evocative evitable excerpt bout
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
Somewhere at the watercourse-
Silvery brume.
Shining through, like pulsing light-
Golden iris are in bloom.
Tongues of brazen flame-
Snap their reflection against the lukewarm mirror-
This is where order looms.
Felicity-
Serenity-
Vestigial depression.
Second guesses-
Underwhelming quests in wrong directions.
Oh elixir. Oh watercourse-
Oh inanimate eloquence.
How you tempt me with your evocative consonance.
You remind me of a woman-
Her husband and her son-
To me you are a drifter-
You remind me of the sun-
You remind me of a king-
of a man with sore eyes-
Mourning late son.
In the mornings sun rise.
Watercourse watercourse-
Lazy eyed shadow.
Left handed perfectionist-
Seething pale shallow.
Watercourse watercourse-
Your body feeds the worms.
Your souls seams have torn.
Watercourse watercourse.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Moths—they are nearly all comprised of the same tender characteristics: empty colors that've somehow been ****** away like the nectar they digest, fuzzy abdomens that crumble within the softest pinch, and powder encrusted wingspans that fray with countless beatings from the wind. I have come to recognize that there are people like Her who dwindle within themselves among all of us, unheard; enthralled by color that doesn't exist to the naked eye, but rather to an imaginative mind and a battered soul. She is The Moth Girl and she, too is the epitome of simpler things. With Her fair skin and enchanting, grey eyes that **** you in with a single glance; lips so chapped and brittle that they're nearly as drained of pigment as the rest of her. I've decided that She is the reason oblivion hasn't doomed us all and obliterated our world to dust. I've imagined Her as oblivion itself, annihilating other galaxies and collecting the discolored soot from each explosion to sift it over the wings of every moth that has ever been criticized. With this, I have concluded that every moth must be a victim.
⠀
But, if given the chance, would they transfigure?
⠀
I've undergone the thrill of witnessing these moths revolutionize into harlequin humming birds that thrive at Her will. Wings that were once littered with dust are now far too rapid and swift for manifestation. The Moth Girl — She remains a flower of a woman, though now She is sprouting with petals that burst with color; filled with nectar sweeter than She. They are all rich with vibrancy.
⠀
With it, they have concluded that it's not much different being evocative.
⠀
After everything, I have decided that they were blooming with color all along, and it was the rest of us that simply couldn't see it.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 3:48 PM UTC
Let me go in the Dark
I want to be in there
In the space of corpulent, infectious glands
Swallowing innocence with labyrinthine hands
Let me be one with the Night
My home is over there
In a place of ubiquitous fears
And a plethora of basking tears
Let me soak in the abyss
The void is so near
A comely figure,
an evocative sadist and protégé
Dripping candle wax on me
in San Lorenzo, Paraguay
Let me walk among ghosts
In the Portal Del So hotel
Tossing back Xanax;
Vicodin with a liquor chaser
Gin and vermouth, *****
anything to forget her.
Let me wait in living purgatory
With other pods of skin
When the wind shakes the barley,
back home
Where a wife and son
never left me alone.
Let me go in the dark
Past the tortured guilt and sorrow
Where a family is made of flesh
and not ash
Where a house remains
and the fires don’t last
Let me cry and weep in silence
In a room with rotting drapes
A static-channel TV,
a two blade ceiling fan
People engulfed in one another,
A demon for a man
Let me shower in cold, thickening blood
Standing atop broken medicine cabinet glass
So many packs a day of cheap cigarettes
and loose women
None ease the pain
like the morphine in the kitchen.
Let me go into the chasm
The vein snake is thirsty.
I take a little more each time it feeds
But maybe not waking up
is what the snake needs
Let me sleep in the dark
While infomercials for prayer play
Juxtaposed to a zealous vagabond
and father
The last serpentine dosage
for a broken martyr
Let me go in the dark
Let me see them again
I’ll wait and watch the room shrink
And hope my eyes
never dilatorily blink.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC