"excrescence" poems
*The chill in the frigid night air
casts tremors of lingering shadows
upon an ancient windowsill
where a liquescent candle’s glow dims.
Peering into shattered mirrors’
silver hued jagged edges
that no longer reflect counterfeit images
a nascent paradigm unfurls in the wind.
Terrifying diminutive steps are taken
in directions au courant
enabled by years of refinement
in torrid near incessant fires.
An excrescence of wisdom
has broken the weathered mold
allowing a senescent wisdom
to shimmer a phosphorescent glow.
The venerable map leading
to this transcendent destination
is not read but perceived
through intuition’s faint whisperings.
©2015 janetaylor
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
Quiescence:
The world yet to be;
change is imminent.
Excrescence:
The world as holistic;
change is traumatic.
Juvenescence:
The world as wondrous;
change is fascinating.
Adolescence:
The world as oppressive;
change is institutional.
Tumescence:
The world as idealized;
change is self-discovery.
Hyalescence:
The world as conceived;
change is forgotten.
Obsolescence:
The world as impossible;
change is unimaginable.
Senescence:
The world as finite;
change is death.
Obmutescence:
The world beyond conception;
change is māyā.
Latescence:
The world as a memory;
change is time.
Putrescence:
The world as continuous;
change is nature.
Rejuvenescence:
The world in utero;
change is birth.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
She is worth more than the sight of a galaxy, worth more than the definition of beauty and imperfection. She is unnatural; her essence of beauty is a mental defectiveness, a deformity, for none of her lineaments exhibit any of those touching imperfections that reconcile us to the imperfection of the world. His gaze was fixed upon her as she felt un-ease. She could feel every piece of clothing on her fade as he undressed her with his look. Having no regard for her being, keeping a lustful look upon her physique. A prey for his pleasure he sees her. He made the impression of an animal yawping for harmony.
Yet he knows better than to pounce on her, searching within himself he finds a means imprinted deep upon his limbic stem. He studies patiently for her weakness, her innocence his first victim.
He tells her what she wants to hear, being careful with his selective half-truths. Guiding her gently to his already devised plan. Secluding her further from those close to her. His contagious condemnation made her emotions hunger for His lovable excrescence. He was desperate and without a word he infected her with an anxious sickness.
He couldn't help himself with mesmerizing thoughts, breeding words of his ***** desire; such words were made known to her through his eyes. For He desired to plunge his spear into her most precious sheath and play a game that fulfills a fierce urge that she can't deny. Her realization is too late. With none around to keep her from him. Knowing she is all at his mercy, he defile's her. Feasting upon her virtue, degrading her till she finds no esteem for her being; while she stands within the inconspicuous pentagram of her own virginity. She is a never seen mirror, an unbroken egg, a sealed vas, a desired emotion, that made her magical; her magic made him, a slave. His touch both destroys and comforts her; she could feel his naked eyes roaring flashes through her thoughts with the urge of a beast, to strip her skin away and clothe her with his, and to drown her in the capacity of mirrored lust.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
"Jewel"
Watched it all through the lenses
of a boy without defenses.
That’s when the world was ugly,
and I hadn’t developed senses.
Crippled imagination,
built up wisdom with cunctation,
my peers all mocking smugly.
Assent, their single fixation.
I survived adolescence.
Thoughts, a cultural excrescence.
Could everything be broken?
Just a jest of convalescence.
I knew I’d end up finding
how to loosen up the binding.
And when the words were spoken,
swift, the future went unwinding.
“I do.” She said. And I too.
We wed and were reborn anew.
But where would we set our sights
but a happiness overdue?
The life we’d made extended,
though after some life had ended.
She swims through days, sleeps through nights.
Loved as I’d always intended.
A mystery, pain, torment.
And virtue, we misrepresent.
Fire is hot, and ice is cold.
And naught I can do to prevent.
But love is warm. Courage, cool.
So allow these to be your fuel.
I’ll teach her then, to be bold,
shine in the sun like a jewel.
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
no shortage of familiar metier real
(material) aye attest
welling up within thy breast
merely a predicament how to winnow
junk bonded barnacled
accretion encrusted
amidst gems buried
within treasure chest,
yet vigilant to sift,
viz figurative fine tooth comb
uprooting excrescence laired plethora
incognito, sans faux
couture doggerel habiliment dressed
necessitating painstaking
poetic rock climbing
ala scaling Mount Everest
imbedding, hooking, grappling
fingered duple crampons
aye con fessed
to myself, the futility
to wrest Shakespearean nuggets,
which analogy hyperbole you guessed
nor does modesty allow me feeble effort
(trite) on par with August bard,
who would rank him,
the highest allotted value
upon assigned (absolute)
value of playing card,
hence tis the gold standard thee
verse a tile scribe based
at Stratford on Avon
this here wordsmith wields
his own literary might always on guard
to stave reprehensible tar tarred plaque
like encrustation glued hard
akin to a geode methodical
mother lode extraction jarred
by the slightest distraction,
thus with bold
ness sigh hermetically
seal off every cerebral fold
vectors against superfluous mind chatter
can upend fragile tenuous hold
when merest wisp of nearly
elusive mental thread escapes,
i feign scold
ding this paperback
bestseller wannabe with told
cha so Harris, thus
keep dreaming envisioning
an green acred Edenic demesne
sprawling across wide webbed wold.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
no shortage of familiar metier real
(material) aye attest
welling up within thy breast
merely a predicament how to winnow
junk bonded barnacled
accretion encrusted
amidst gems buried
within treasure chest,
yet vigilant to sift,
viz figurative fine tooth comb
uprooting excrescence laired plethora
incognito, sans faux
couture doggerel habiliment dressed
necessitating painstaking
poetic rock climbing
ala scaling Mount Everest
imbedding, hooking, grappling
fingered duple crampons
aye con fessed
to myself, the futility
to wrest Shakespearean nuggets,
which analogy hyperbole you guessed
nor does modesty allow me feeble effort
(trite) on par with August bard,
who would rank him,
the highest allotted value
upon assigned (absolute)
value of playing card,
hence tis the gold standard thee
verse a tile scribe based
at Stratford on Avon
this here wordsmith wields
his own literary might always on guard
to stave reprehensible tar tarred plaque
like encrustation glued hard
akin to a geode methodical
mother lode extraction jarred
by the slightest distraction,
thus with bold
ness sigh hermetically
seal off every cerebral fold
vectors against superfluous mind chatter
can upend fragile tenuous hold
when merest wisp of nearly
elusive mental thread escapes,
i feign scold
ding this paperback
bestseller wannabe with told
cha so Harris, thus
keep dreaming envisioning
an green acred Edenic demesne
sprawling across wide webbed wold.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
According to the dictionary,
Excrescences are superfluous.
In my opinion that’s rude,
And frankly quite cantankerous.
http://tansyroake.weebly.com/
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 5:09 AM UTC