"exquisiteness" poems
**Strange how the dank hand of disaster clarifies the thinking,
How all irrelevancies are scoured from the frontal lobe,
How, strangely, should you look into the morning sky, the blueness is of a brilliant, startling intensity.
How biting into a piece of fresh fruit reveals the new mouth watering, exquisiteness of clean sweet,flavour.
Strange how the dank hand of disaster allow us to consolidate our values.
Where suddenly, the drabness of yesterday becomes the brightly,beautiful now.
Where miserable mindedness adopts an abrupt re-evaluation, in that the sour faced neighbour is embraced with passion as being a fellow survivor.
Where the rich and the poor are thrown together to work willingly, cheek by jowel, for a common cause…Tomorrow!.
Strange how the dank hand of disaster brings out THE VERY BEST IN US …isn’t it ?**
Marshalg
A commonality observed In having survived many disasters over the years.
1 November 2012
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
My sweetest dreams
are created from
the remnants of your kisses
lingering on my lips
as I slip into
the land of slumber.
I catch wisps of them
in the exquisiteness
of your eyes
upon my waking
when you press your lips
to mine once again.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
Greens and gold of lattice work cascading down the tree,
This epiphyte, so infinitely, delicately free.
A lattice work of green finesse, a miniature Cezanne
With exquisiteness of spiky bloom embellishing it’s charm.
Cascading down the grizzled trunk of gnarled and twisted hand
The hosting ancient Kamahi looms loftily, so grand.
Looms aloft with leafy bough so softened by the show
Of ruffled, pinkish bottle brush amassing high and low.
Hordes of buzzing, bumble bees so clumsy in their way,
Tumbling from flower to flower collecting nectar’s day.
With afternoon the waning sun lies hot on sultry air
And little girls in pretty frocks skip by with not a care.
Summer grasses long and dry stand statuesque and straight
With sweet laburnum’s perfumed heads a nodding by the gate.
Young heifers graze in clover in the dell down by the brook
And the fantail dances daintily seeking insects in the nook
There’s a special, quiet majesty pervading here, so fair
With the thistledown afloat, so still with golden motes in air.
Fills my soul with gentle feeling and a rolling tear, unplanned,
For this blend of quiet ambivalence through my beauteous rural land.
Marshalg
“Foxglove” Taranaki.
NEW ZEALAND.
19 January 2014
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
A voguish painting
An Irish mistress
Privileged
To clover innovation
A distributing brush
Exquisiteness insight
In her scenery of allurement
Creative brilliance shadowing beyond
Artistic ability with portrait sensitivity
A non-demeanor spectable
A fondness
To erase a scrawl or smidgen
This woman of latex
Sep 8, 2009
Sep 8, 2009 at 3:46 AM UTC
*the ones warring on the flag of defeat can't be called either troll or parasite... too noble such entitlements, they are the **** genus worthy of ignorance, that they are found roaring on the flag of defeat, when such publicity is allowed of public musing deeper than soft-spoken in one's own room, as transcript of thought made public, ironically without one's geographic coordinates... and what lack of honour to be warring with such circumstances being allowed.*
i shouldn't have written my words among poets,
too many simplicities surrounded them,
with the poets came made surrogates,
a stillbirth, if nothing more
9 months of **** as the new economics
that gave us appreciative homosexuality,
a curbing of the expeditions of population
we didn't blame on Chinese or Blue Indians
due to having inherited masochistic Christianity,
the last greek mythology, THE, LAST!
and no more from the greek tongue! no more!
then the second feat of the suffragettes
that became the surrogates...
and yet, i stilled braved to sing
for the escapist tongue of
brotherhood that the misty mountain's cold
encapsulated... in which i braved
the brotherhood, every, second, counter,
to marriage to a woman...
domestication is no adventure! it's no adventure!
there is no fear and sudden death in
domestication... it breeds cattle! readied for
death not ready! *two dungeons deep and caverns old...
the pines were roaring on the hight!
the winds were mourning in the night...
the fire was red it flamed and spread,
the trees like torches, blazed with light.*
this... this is my ideal afterlife! take your Koran
and terrorism and take a **** in the desert with
the cats for worth of knowing such "exquisiteness"
as it might be worth mining in the dunes of sand!
while the thirst of metalloid and abstract horse-tow
gives your false timing...
and when you take this anger written on the flag
of defeat, and turn to warring with it on your own
flag of defeat... you will be conquered,
slain and tortured, as is my promise, always
honourable.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
Sitting in line, my dolls all still
Figurines sitting dressed up features
Frozen in that moment
Placid
Stagnant
Soundless
As all lips sealed with a sewn kiss,
"Never do they speak"
"Silence is there skill"
Death seeps from staring eyes,
"They are the perfection I killed for",
Never would I wish for such perfection
But it only lasts so long as all flowers
Wilt
My dolls I hunt for, not anyone will do
They have to be a
Height,
Weight,
Beauty
Instilled, for me to appreciate them,
But those that fall, damaged in some way
Not as pristine,
"To the dumpster they must go"
I am called the "Doll Maker"
Perfection of eternal beauty Is my goal,
Features must be symmetrical
Not any face will do,
I will search for those of
Beauty
Exquisiteness
Symmetry
Is my model of perfection, those
Unsightly
Repugnant
Proportions
Not to my qualities, have no fear
You are beneath my view
Only the beautiful I seek,
"I Love My Silent Dolls"
Dressed sitting quietly still,
I am the
"Doll Maker"
For beauty & perfection I am willing to ****
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
Grace from above
Blooms forth below exquisiteness
Swirling this human heart
Forth in symmetry
Of the clouds
Where thoughts may never go
If not driven by captivation
Of our Lords
**Exquisite **********
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
I prefer classical music
On days when I'm feeling numb
The exquisiteness of it all
Breathes fire into my soul
Slowly bringing me back
From an unending abyss
Until I feel almost human again
There are times
When I seem to be consumed
By an utter sadness
That not even I can write about
Should I explain?
I like to light cigarettes
Only to watch them burn away
Gradually turning into bits of ash
I miss their taste
And it's only then that I realize
That I don't drink enough
It's another weakness I'm not allowed
These days,
Pride seems to be my only salvation
Or perhaps it's stubbornness
A sheer force of will to get through the day
Either way,
Dreams remain pain filled
Life is a constant fight against the bleak
And I break mirrors every day
Cracking my reflection with ease
To fragment this forced smile
It's a necessary evil...
To hide everything that I feel
Because surviving is the only thing that matters
To be honest,
Happiness is something I can't touch
An emotion that I can't quite fathom
Though I can't seem to stop trying
Every jungle needs a queen
I'll be ****** if it isn't me
© 2014 Peach
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
the cascading sunlight folds
itself over the tables and chairs
making the bland beautiful
as she sits with smiles
ever-present spoken exquisiteness of words
she is the guardian at the gate
she is the handcrafted perfection
spun out from the threads of heartstring
sewn into her fiery love of rock n roll
into her gentle quiet lover's restful adoration
the cascading sunlight flows
over the chipped tile floor
like a slow flood of cool waters
inked into the deluge are the images
of days shared here
of the worlds within the music that plays
of the moments where her happy eye captured me
the cascading sunlight rushing
up the far wall as sunset inhales all the day's joy
and then exhales all our gathered loves
like purity
like beauty
like her sweet heart
the cascading sunlight renews us all
this is the birth of my new world
this is the journey that i never knew
till after i had taken its first steps
© 2018 mark john junor all rights reserved
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
*Kissing lips of the softest feathers
Remembering lightening and mosquito songs
Intensifying the moment between thunder claps
Sarcastic quips from a woman so beautiful to me
Trembling with mouthfuls of devotion
Entangled and ensnared in the ache of my heart
Never to be without my love
Epic stories of love, life, and commitment
Like fairy tales written long ago
In some far away land that we couldn’t possibly know
Zephyr winds blow like strangled tornadoes of
Adoration sweeping my words across the sky
Beckoning sweet diction in the bat of a lover’s eye
Enticing the love of late nights coiled in your embrace
Transcending all the doubt and fears of two
High school sweethearts with nothing better to do
Bards sing songs and speak poetry
Adorning exquisiteness upon the exquisite
Rhythm without the comfort of rhymes
Nightingale’s lingering song croons
Espoused on the coldest of cold winter nights
Safe in the affectionate passion of her kiss*
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
Above the welkin,
many luminous orbs coruscate with perseveration.
These disorganized celestial bodies emulate one another
but their uneven rhythm is apparent to starry eyed observers.
Eyes gazing
fascinated by the unmeasurable exquisiteness that exists
just beyond outstretched hands.
As one beholder marveled
the other closed disconsolate eyes
and gravitated towards the tangible.
It was in that moment
that the steadfast watcher found
what it was that they had been seeking.
A falling star dropped just low enough
that with desperate leaping and grasping
it was within reach.
The burning had not been accounted for.
Nor had the sudden departure
from the satellite that orbited just a little to close
and had only the desire to emulate others
with uneven rhythm.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
See me where
the palms scrape the skies,
where the exquisiteness of life
cannot be deprived of
Sense me between
the sheet s of dampness
Love & adore me in the
hot waves of
a midsummer gust
I want you around
I want you here & there
forever
meet me in an ecstasy
where we can
spend our time together
Saumya Aloysius
[email protected]
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
I am just an artist
Collecting and enduring
all your fumbled words and emotions
Your helplessness ,
The pity I feel for you
How needy you feel for me
How my single touch can calm down your senses
And how your soul rages with ecstasy
My devil eyes piercing into your angelic heart
Numbing your skin
Icing your blood
Everything going
acrid , poignant
Turning all such strands
of ineffable feelings
into deep dark engravings
scribbled
onto the
realms
of
time
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
112422
Brutal eyes,
Lament in the melody of hope.
Diverse imagery rolls on each soul
Defining the core of their music –
A genre that is one of a kind
With dustings of masculinity
Making a legacy for this generation.
Each voice has no nerves –
And they’re like a formless water
Searching for an everlasting container.
To showcase the exquisiteness of the Pearl,
The backbone of their glory.
At first, they find no one to understand them
Even branded with hostile names
But they never surrender their flags
And raised the Nations’ banner so high
Even if all their villains did belittle them.
Their chords were like no other –
Their skills, they never hype about
And yet both the moon and the stars
Collided for them
And now is their time!
Some say: maybe it was their destiny…
Maybe it’s just for a while.
But their passion and thirst for their craft are unrivaled –
Always exceeding their best
As if their competitor is their living mirror.
Today, even if the Sun has exposed their grandeur,
Their modesty becomes a plus factor.
The world is their stage,
While A’TIN is their steady sustenance.
They had sleepless nights before
But tenacity led them to so many doors.
Many clowns had backed down
And some even turned from villains
Into aficionados who call them their ‘masters.’
They were born to be a standard –
And they deserve mad respect from every Juan.
Coz they’re not just stars but kings of their kind,
World-class vanquishers that we all look up to!
And this is just the beginning
Of the unfolding to the world of their God-given stories!
Nov 24, 2022
Nov 24, 2022 at 9:38 AM UTC
The mystery of life leaves me to ponder how
something so exquisite, per chance, exists
and how it out of such exquisiteness consists.
To Mother Nature I sincerely bow,
oh, how I admire her logic and her twists.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
The wind careers across the years
Gathering leaves and dust,
Sweeping lives before it
In cartwheels of redness and rust.
Epiphanous moments of magnitude
Through special occasions employ
The will o the wisp of everyday stuff
From sadness to anger to joy.
The billowing tumble of living
Through vaulting halls of trees
In the dappled light of sunshine
And green corridors of breeze.
The exquisiteness of living
When senses soar in the air
When the colours of being are rampant
And we savour each moment with care.
For the living time goes quickly
It flares and fades with speed,
‘Tis best enjoyed boisterously
With passion, love and need;
‘Tis best when tasted piquantly
Like a claret on the tongue
When you cloak the days with good things
And you hope your dreams die young.
Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
29th January 2009
Nov 28, 2009
Nov 28, 2009 at 8:51 PM UTC
The rage I feel
At the loss of one so fine!
So young, so lovely, so calm, so together...so KIM!
I rage at the turbulent waters that stole her promise.
I rage at the annals of chance which paved the way to her end.
I rage for the agony I see on the face of her father, her lover, friends and work mates.
I rage for the tears and heartbreak of my darling wife who loved this girl as a sister, since her days of skinny
childhood.
I rage for the missed moments of tomorrow’s laughter which will now, never be...
and the vacuum of fun in her words of dry humour, which will now, never be uttered.
I share this rage with ALL OF YOU!...because the death of this beautiful young girl IS JUST NOT RIGHT!
But I DO CELEBRATE the GIFT of the PLEASURE experienced in sharing her vibrant, living years.
There is, however, a wonderment here amidst the tragedy...
Because Kim voluntarily bequeathed the gift of hope to unknown others.
She gave three unknown people her organs, her heart, her kidneys, her cornea.
SHE GAVE THEM THE PROMISE OF A TOMORROW!
Her beautiful heart lives on in the soul of another...and for this I give thanks.
THE WINDS OF LIFE
by Marshal Gebbie
The wind careers across the years
Gathering leaves and dust,
Sweeping lives before it
In cartwheels of redness and rust.
Epiphanous moments of magnitude
Through special occasions employ
The will o the wisp of everyday stuff
From sadness to anger to joy.
The billowing tumble of living
Through vaulting halls of trees
In the dappled light of sunshine
And green corridors of breeze.
The exquisiteness of living
When senses soar in the air
When the colours of being are rampant
And we savour each moment with care.
For the living time goes quickly
It flares and fades with speed,
‘Tis best enjoyed boisterously
With passion, love and need;
‘Tis best when tasted piquantly
Like a claret on the tongue
When you cloak the days with good things
And you hope your dreams die young.
Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
29th January 2009
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 10:27 PM UTC
Your face shows thee an illusion of the happiness long sought by tears
of retribution. A elusive traveller of contentment lost. That prominent
illustrator of false satisfaction and materialism. Proprietor of everything
yet possessor of nought.
Envied forever, pursued by the blindness of the ravenous follower. Yet
not for such trivialities as love or companionship. That one jewel that you
have always required, hunted for over a lifetime, yet never owned. Instead
they sprawl at your Midas touch.
You repulse now, exiled by your own commitment to fortune and
eminence. Words of greed and fortune once uttered became truth, your
own prayers answered and for this you now recoil. Ashamed at your own
self-indulgence and gluttony.
You have seen love, felt its breath. Wondered at its divine beauty, yet only
through imagination and dreams can you ever lay your hands upon it. Only
through delusion do you experience the exquisiteness of touch that lover
and love maker shall ever feel.
You have endeavored to grasp its finery, strived to gain such knowledge.
You have precious trophies, love laboured perfect sculptures of the
untouchable efforts you have made. Entire fortunes of love surround you,
mementos, untouchable memorials of your heart.
A lifetime as pursuer yet never as owner. You have everything yet nothing.
Your only certainty lurks around you, silently waiting for its payment, its
shadow almost upon you. It has followed you for millennia with hands only
now making grasp.
As you await your demise, wrapped in cloaks of golden flake and covered
in sheets of ingot, it appears to you. This long shadow calls to you, clad in
robes of blackened textile, awaiting its prize. So you breathe your last breath
as death exacts its toll.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
A salutation to the masterful pen of Cyd Guilfoyle
in her delving poem.....
**THE SOUL
After some time, there are no words spoken
only an awakening in the silence
of a blue light dawn, a moment
where stars linger on
a portal is found
where the soul
lives on
and on.**
To the Master......
A pristine coalescence from your talented pen.
Even for unbelievers there is an acknowledgement of the experience of moments of an incandescent splendour where comprehension and time stand still. Where an unprecedented clarity excludes all peripheral clutter and the complete exquisiteness of being shines brightly.
M.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
The world I seek is beyond me
My mind has strolled to a different dimension
The only light I know is as false as theories
A thousand seductive conspiracies
A million desires unfold into temptation
The depths of the secrets
Become obvious
My manhood desires to be place
Wrapped into your mind of safety
implanting pure ecstasy upon you
Without a doubt these words are as pure
As the honey that drips from your womb
If I told you of such things
I fear there would be nothing left
I am a man of conversation
Or so to speak
But I dare not leave you unbounded
Rather Blinded
By my sweet powerful tantalization
As these days go beyond
I continue to disrupt what little innocence
You have left of you
I presume by the look on your face
That I have at this moment
Delicacy is whispered upon your lips
But what I yearn and passionately desire for
Is difficult to contain
Maintaining my ability to such exposure
Has been fairly strenuous
But worry not
Your exquisiteness
Is all I indefinitely ache for
- Leon Wolf
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
I want to be tragically beautiful
I want to whisper delicate fancies
in the ear of the unknown
I want to sit in pools of serenity
while the world passes unthinkingly by
I want to breath in the flame of passion
and exhale pure intellectual thought
I want to steep myself in contemplation
articulating the terrible complexity of humanity
I want to sit in a coffee shop
allowing the distinct sent to engulf me in comforting familiarity
I want to wrap my arms around the wounded
and shed magnificent tears of sorrow
I want to soak in scenery
taking in the exquisiteness that embodies nature
I want to smile radiantly
yet mistakenly allow sadness to show in my eyes
for I am so terribly alone
and yet so interestingly picturesque
But I’ll remain in delicate transit
until that day that I succeed in capturing
the dignity of tragedy
while relinquishing
the nightmare of beauty
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
A pulse quivering
beneath translucent skin
I feel my heart waver
I claw at the steel
on the edges of my sanity
My soul is aching
My heart vacant
forever wandering the desolate waste
of a solitary existence
forever creating the fantasies of love and companionship
to fill the void I must forever tread
Then an illuminating glow
splinters this grotesque nightmare
unchained from shackles of my own fabrication
Following the aurora
My heart ablaze with passionate love
the feeling euphoric
enraptured by beauty and brilliance
Such exquisiteness is unparalleled
The light
and beauty
and I
combine in harmony.........
and I am liberated.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
Still waters of thine eyes call out to me,
Tranquility in sapphire pools of light.
As skyward angels illumine the night,
Melodic splendor emanates from thee.
Exquisiteness of oceans won’t compare,
And neither will magnificence of skies,
To taunting star of sapphire in thine eyes,
That bares the symphony thy soul doth share.
As waves that pound against a rugged cliff,
Tumultuous my life may sometimes seem.
Thee shelter me and keep me safe and whole,
Beloved, thou art blessed with such a gift.
And when I reach for thee with eyes of dreams,
Thy solace washes softly o’er my soul.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 12:39 AM UTC
Silent touch
Sensual kisses
Rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes,
A mother sees only
perfection
Exquisiteness'
And beauty in her daughters life,
Her dainty fingers
Pretty dresses
And scenty hair like floral desire,
Her smile so fragile
So bright
Only leaves a mother mesmerized,
She starts walking
On her feet she runs
A mothers eyes travels around,
When she grows old
She may seem distant
But this doesn't take away all her love,
She grows majestic
Like a princess she moves out
Happily married and calms a mothers heart,
Till the day she lives
A mother has yet to see anything so divine than her daughter
That every time she sees her happy she spills tears in delight,
Nearing death
On the death bed she forces a smile
Just so she doesn't see her daughter cry,
The relationship with her daughter
Short and hasty
Only leaves good memories behind.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC