"exuded" poems
Sincere reassuring hugs,
Touching and
being touched,
Caresses shared,
Easy laughter exuded,
Intimate whispers
of affection exchanged,
A fellowship of souls,
Sweet Companionship
spread, like frosting on a cake.
As comfortable and reassuring
as your favorite old wool sweater
on a chilly night's weather.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 8:22 PM UTC
By serendipity's sake,
There mine eyes beheld her
Grinning with serenity about the lake,
Peeking from just around the corner;
Ineffably with a novelty luster,
Treading about wishy-washy skies,
Epitomizing all her ethereal grandeur,
That felicity exuded about mine eyes.
Alas! Only to turn around as to behold,
Vividly behold such novelty pulchritude
About her gown and crown of gold,
Than when it didst dawn upon me:
"She was discreetly decamping yonder,
Leaving me a desolate, in a vale of pain,
Down the dumps & a lonesome wanderer
Wishing to catch a glance at her again!"
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC
At the basic stage of learning a language comes pairs of most commonly used antonyms,
words meaning opposites of each other like the earth and the sky,
far away and close by,
love and hate,
metaphorically speaking even you and me.
Except, sky begins right where earth stops,
so if you really think about it only the soles of our feet are truly grounded,
while our heads have always been in the clouds.
Distance is subjective, so depending on how fast a ride is or the resolution of a lens,
sunsets and full moons are that much closer than a lover's touch.
Love and hate are not two sides of the same coin,
or the extreme ends of the same spectrum,
but rather the same side of the same coin,
exuded by the same people at the same people for the same reasons,
interdependent,
coexisting,
one defining the other.
Well, I suppose that leaves you and me.
As in it literally leaves you and me out,
metaphorically speaking,
figuratively speaking,
theoretically speaking,
you and I aren't antonyms after all because,
as it appears we do not define each other or anything in between.
Like the ocean and a bumblebee.
Here I am calm and blissful with sunlight bouncing off of every wave,
dramatic and roaring, heightened with emotions soaring,
bearing an infinity of life, continuously giving, nurturing and upholding,
but all you want is honey;
metaphorically speaking.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
*"So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."*
Shall I compare thee...
...to the Iguazú Falls River, where legend serves that a serpent; Boi, demanded a sacrifice each year of a young female, and the day two lovers; Tarobá and his beautiful maid Naipí, took to escape, and in revenge of such an act, Boi exuded such anger that he parted the river, thus forming the Iguazú Falls, splitting the river and condemning to two lovers to the falls.
or
...to Cristo Redentor; Christ the Redeemer, the Art Deco statue, protecting and looking over the city of Rio de Janeiro, to whom in all its glory cannot escape the force of nature, struck by lightning, causing damage irreplaceable.
or
…to The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, hundreds of metres into the sky, a place that to this day is unknown, myth being that King Nebuchadnezzar recreated the homeland of his precious wife Amyitis, who was deeply depressed and homesick, allowing her to find comfort and happiness.
or
…the Taj Mahal, of Pradesh, constructed using marble by the emperor Shah Jahan, in loving memory of his third wife; Mumtaz Mahal, the jewel of Muslim art, a calligraphy written Great Gate reading; "O Soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you.
or
…the Temple of Artemis; Istambul, on sacred land in honour of the Greek goddess Artemis, the most apotheosized of Greek deities, the supposed daughter of Zeus and Leto, the temple also known as Diana, one of the goddesses who vouched never to marry; alongside Minerva and Vesta.
or
… the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, of the Persian Empire, whereby Mausolus ornamented four sculptures created in relief for his wife (and also his sister); Artemisia II of Caria, generating an above ground tomb that would become to be listed as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
But of all,
I compare thee to the Goddess of Love, Beauty and Sexuality; Aphrodite
arising from the sea, floating ashore on a shell;
Venus rising from the sea,
a lover of many,
later depicted as a painting of the Birth of Venus,
by the sufferer of unrequited love; Botticelli,
using his muse Simonetta Vespucci as a model.
© Sia Jane
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
*Your kiss effected an explosion,
catapulting bats hanging from the tree of my memories,
warm full lips, exuded the flavor of banana flowers,
in time of ******* out nectar, from it
I imbibed the heady feeling,
it garrulously spoke about my idyllic childhood in the village
and on your inner environment too,
that prompted your kiss, so fervid, full of longing.*
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
Words flow but are not a river or a stream.
Passion exuded but it’s not in a dream.
Poetry causes tensions to cease and desist.
Words so calming and smooth the ears cant resist.
I am a poet—even if it’s in my own right.
Brain won’t stop sparking synapses.
Time won’t stop the prolapses of an ego that won’t stop getting excited because of the reactions—from me—a poet— a limerick mind assassin!
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
Like a modern Diana the Huntress
Emma exuded appeal
She wore liquid black leather outfits
designed to reveal not conceal.
As a member of TV’s Avengers
She was her partner, John Steed’s, ideal.
Emma Peel in a Mini was fetching
Her clothing set fashion and style.
Leaving little to imagination
it made many a teenager smile.
In time she would leave for theater
and do a film as Mrs James Bond
Linda Thorson paled in comparison
but at least she was not a dumb blond
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 8:47 PM UTC
Wandering past Thousand Oaks,
There mines eyes met many folks
And among them was an old man
Whose beard was as white as a Swan,
Whose voice, was as rough as of a Crow
Whose cinder-like eyes all exuded woe.
Hey old folk, hey old folk, hey old folk,
Unto him I called as he laid by the Oak.
Unto me of thy woe speak If thee can,
But softly replied he, "look, young man,
When in days to come old you grow
I pray of woe thee may never know.
For lest thou ever, the less you'll talk.
Not far off lies my child as still as a rock,
For a ******* came, shooting he began;
And my dear child away couldn't run
That now her coldness thrice as of snow
Hath immersed my poor soul in sorrow."
At this, no more could I talk nor walk,
But grew mute and motionless as a rock
When said he, "if we had not a single gun,
Perhaps dear life would truly be fun."
Then vanished he, leavin' me in sorrow
That thee, dear reader might never know.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California, USA.
09th/Nov/2018.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 5:39 AM UTC
In a room full of emptiness I was sitting on my bed with my back resting against the wall. All my routine work was completed before time as usual and there I was sitting doing nothing, staring straight ahead on the wall which was colored blue. I had asked them to do so because I loved this color since it always exuded the stress in me, drained off the disturbing thoughts and opened gates for blissful ones. But they never came.
What came to conquer me was lostness. This lostness maybe is productive if one is lost in a good thought, or, in a world of the past or the future, or, in his own created world, creative or perhaps destructive or perhaps peaceful. But I was always lost in a blank world. A world, where nothing existed. A world where no one walked on the streets. A world where no music was played and due to that I couldn't imagine myself dance because of which I couldn't make new dance steps. A world where I couldn't see faces smiling, where colors existed in their pure mixed form, that is White.
But if I give a second thought, I am thinking all this, about what it feels to be blank.! So it shows I just used to think ******* when this beautiful world of blankness came to me where I can create whatever I want and whatever I like, where miracles can happen. Or maybe a world will take birth to be cradled in my thoughts showing me my desires, aims or maybe those facts that are necessary for me. All I needed was Concentration. But I didn't know how to do so. My brain was now an expert, a trained and professional one in being frivolous. And then I felt a pen fidgeting with my hand. Then my hand, with the help of the reflex sent by the brain who, this time, obeyed the conscience inside it, started translating the thoughts into words. Words, they always betrayed me before when I took their shelter. But that was my fault. I only took shelter widout any hint of giving them respect. But now as the two best friends, my hand and pen, were trending together to make history, these words had the tone of pride while residing themselves on paper, and their look was inspiring when read successively. A guilt always resides in me for the precious time I wasted being lost, but the content of overcoming that lag progressively always consoles the insides. Concentration is all you need for anything you want to do or have in your life. Beginner I am, but, I dont want to see the end. I would just like to enhance it as much as possible.
MH
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:54 AM UTC
A sound that is not from the vocal but exuded as a reverberation from you is what this universe is all about.....
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
The Girl from Coronado
Dark brown eyes the brownest hair the most captivating was the faraway look in her eyes the painter
Searches for her in lost dreams she materializes on the sharp trumpet blast then she lingers as it turns
Softly as the street in front of the Saint Louis cathedral in New Orleans she was as wistful she was the
Bleeding torment held in battle field shadows her way had the razor sharp that cut through pretense to
The real the meaningful what was that certain something that held you in awe was it the southern sea
Breeze that was absorbed the enfolding touches that were exuded from her depths there are still
Waters then there is Gloria is it fondly promised like flowers floating on the tide the sweet smile that
Cuts and divides the waves like a surfer coming out of the Banji pipeline her brown hair blows softly it
Has enlightened on the breeze as fragrance unspoiled unidentifiable it enthralls as she walks the sandy
Sea swept beach in the distance she passes as a spirit cast improperly in a human role to disturbing to
Fetching she makes appearances in Celtic dreams of misfortune she brings trouble as a winged wonders
Those that are not for evil but hidden in them are clandestine secrets that open new corridors of
Simplicity that brim with honor they are the culminations of promises long deferred now they are at
The door to restore she possesses powers that are seemingly strange but they are beholding the
Glimpses she allows trigger eager disruptions the common falls before her gaze you find establishments
That seemed impossible could she be Isis presumably not but just bearer of her traits one who gives gifts
Of the natural world to artisans from normal items joy is in them as fluid emotions they suppress but
Only for the pure cause of making greater results occur the tiresome is abolished the clay is gold even
Though it be hidden from many to the few it is cherished sought and redeemed by love in a sea side
Town on the southern coast of California her alluring beauty you too can possess this just open yourself
seek the opportunity to give to others your name will be favorably spoken like the graceful girl from
Coronado
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
There's something so
delicious
about getting caught
in a summer storm,
the chilled water droplets
penetrating the outer layers
of clothing,
soaking the overheated body
with unexpected
refreshment.
I heard all the squeals
and screams,
cries toward the sky
to close its open mouth,
to stop spitting down
on them
as they ran,
ducking cars,
looking for a rooftop
makeshift
umbrella.
I chortled
not so discreetly,
extending my arms
side to side
to catch the droplets
on my bare skin.
The rain felt so ****
as it slid down
my forehead,
slipping
slowly
across my lips,
sneaking down below,
into the crew cut
of my shirt.
Two blocks away from home,
most of the runners had run by,
the rest huddling below
the entrance to various shops
and bars,
I walked by, paying the stares no mind,
sporting a purported
half-crazed look,
while I truly exuded
exuberance,
ebullience,
liveliness.
The pouring
turned to
pittering, pattering,
gentle kisses from the
beads,
letting up just as I
approached my door,
like the universe knew,
and it let me
dance home
in the rain
before the sky shut its
wide-toothed grin,
and the storm was gone.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
Slept all night.
Brain wide awake.
Body woke.
Shaking.
Wrapped in sweat so cold.
Dreamed
As if non stop during darkened hours.
Meeting in the graveyard.
Cemetery of shame.
Necropolis of long dead regret.
Pursued by gang without escape.
Feral kids exuded terror.
Petrified as long dead tree.
Heart created in stone.
Eons of ancient history.
Step taken furtively.
Begging to be set free.
Let go.
Space invaded by fear dressed in denim.
Misgivings unforgiving.
Scared near to dying.
Heart beating manically.
Scarred by memories of neglect.
Painted hatred on a memory stick of sorrow.
Maybe brighter in the morrow!
Cruelty in dreams.
Unbearable.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
On a summer day I saw a pretty dame
bathing in the warm waves of the beach's tub.
She tanned her skin to adorn her slim frame,
massaging its softness with each gentle rub.
From that distance, she exuded sweet fragrance
stemming from the refining of her radiance.
Sensual movements from lips, hips, curves, legs and hands
made me fantasize as I relished each moment.
My love-struck eyes gazed at the rhythmic movement
of this ******** clad model for all lands.
After a sunbath, she tied her pristine towel,
then with a fixed look, she gazed straight at me.
'Hello, the adventurous gentleman,' said she.
'You sure look gay, hale, hearty and swell.'
Shyly my fears of rejection loomed large,
whilst my love dreams turned out to be a mirage.
Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 7:45 AM UTC
"Read between the lines," they say.
And I watched you stand there; a living, breathing
existence of lines.
You walked right up to me. Lines are moving dots.
Your being is a point in motion.
I looked at your face to see the bold lines
under your eyes and above your brows—the ones
that made me think of your strength and masculinity.
They are all an aspiring bravado exuded on your face
with your years of experience and hard work.
I love the curved lines of your eyes and lips too
as you smiled at me as I called your name.
Sometimes, I owe my success of finding you in crowds
to your tall height and I freeze whenever I do:
Vertical lines can stop eye movement.
Your dancing also catches my attention.
Did you know every part of your body consists of
dynamic and action-oriented lines?
You.
An important line in my life.
Highly directional, and I now know
where to go to
when I draw or write
the edges of my love.
| LINES | ENDING II |
Lines act as borders
between ideas and concepts.
They also tell me
to "never cross the line."
It goes the same for my mind
which draws your existence
in front of me, in Picasso style:
the single, drunk and confused
line.
Or those psychic lines that your eyes
connect to mine. I feel them there,
when you're not really looking at me
in person.
Lines allow you to quickly visualize
an object, or someone, with a minimum
of time, space and material.
But all I wanted was to feel
your hand in mine forever.
And all the lines I've ever written
about you and for you
will queue up to lines
of waiting, unrequited feelings.
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 6:45 AM UTC
Can I see thee, through those windows?
Misty, grimy, opaque, but clearing.
What is foreseen, as yet nobody knows.
A presence gentle, truly nearing.
Force exuded filled with passion.
Hark thee one of gentle voice,
A lady, once pallid and ashen,
Lady fair, hath now a choice.
Greets a suitor from nether world.
Maybe lady, has new chance.
Comes to call, with love unfurled,
Novel way to find romance.
She knows not yet, what she hath found,
Deep in the land of underground.
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
why can illusion not
synthesize in the dreams
my subconscious paints
the way it constitutes my
gullible awakened perception?
sprinkle fragments of light from the moon
and pinches of a powder made
from the innocence of a child
on top of your exuded love
that I inhale into the
deepest parts of my lungs
Fearful that one day it might escape
and the disillusioned state of my
inner self will see nothing but
the stars weeping
as you walk away from me.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
Practically disbelieve prophetic sustenance
Pre exist convince self sacrifice austerity
Lead solitary lonely strife unravel dysfunction
Slowly impede on sanities senses spirit bend
Empath way to escape betray forgive pain
Obey Frey free from Cain disintegrate
Holy guardianship vindicate Lord Lucifer
Emancipate misused divinity behoove
Sacred energy bitterly keep on enlightened
Sorcery face El-light what immaculate forgery
Divine Sphere of influence follow through
Underworld Godspeed enchant exuded kneads
Forbidden prayers left lay Ilahi arrest turn off Sylph
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
This woman I know had a fox that lived in her root cellar. She'd knock on the door to let it know she was going to enter, and the fox would vacate temporarily to allow her time to store or remove canning jars. She ceased to leave her root vegetables down there, as they would nearly always become part the fox's nesting material. The fox had raised several litters in that cellar and my friend was always certain never to bother her distinguished guest while she had pups. The root cellar was under the house which was built half off a cliff and was cattywampus. It had lots of cracks in the siding and in places was missing planks altogether. This allowed mice easy access, and since my lady friend was such a fine cook, there were hoards. This served the fox well, who would keep at least the underside of the rickety cabin free of vermin. My friend could never keep a cat because of the fox naturally, though she did try to employ several. They would never stay. I had always tried to make repairs on the cabin, much to my friend's chagrin. Seemed she had an aversion to any change she didn't instigate herself, and was quite particular about not having any modern materials come her way. Any suggestion of modern convenience and you'd be read the riot act. She liked things, "organic," and her whole lifestyle, with the exception cheap cigarettes and tequila, exuded such.
One day, county officials came and put a red tag on her house. This meant the home was not in accordance with sanitation laws, on account there was no septic, just an old outhouse down the hill past the garden. Being that my friend had little to no income really, her "lifestyle," was in sudden jeopardy of being uprooted. Some kindly folks pulled together to be certain our friend did not lose her home. She got a new indoor toilet, a septic tank, and some siding to keep the mice out. Never once did she use that toilet, always kept the outhouse. The fox left on account the mice population dwindled. My friend keeps her root cellar well stocked now and whenever I visit, we laugh about that fox and enjoy some fine pickled snap beans. Change isn't always easy, but living easy is sometimes worth a few changes.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
go ahead and take my voice for truth
lighthearted fantasies of what could be
scathe or vision with the empty touch of honesty
reaching out through emotion and words alone
never feeling so much of what we'd like to know is wanted
impossible to deny the interpretation
raw with passionate dissonance
and it is sought without moving
stagnant with patience
a belief that something more awaits if taken, the leap
and we speak in the night together, alone
we seek each other out time and time again
but logic has no home here
mired with a false fate but never empty with hope
something we see inside ourselves and each other
agonizing lust and passion creeping through the cold
trying to find a fire for the spark to ignite every intention
and the heart chokes on the meanings of it all
instead we settle to constantly move together
seething motivation through desire
the fear of regret thick in the blood
the heart pumps harder, quicker, hotter
treading on, constantly seeking, hearing, knowing
coloring empty pages of a book neither of us have read
with a sincerity we have no privilege to own yet
and our conversations flow like a stream of heart and mind
carrying us further past the point of no return
the waterfall echoing in the distance with raw reality
exuded from nowhere we expect to see ourselves
but the aching desire to embrace it all rocks me to the core
and I am ready to drown in it all
just to know exactly the meaning behind every word we share
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
In a room full of his art,
He stood as strangers admired.
There was only one subject -
The one woman on his mind.
He'd stopped time to draw her,
Living in that one second for hours or days.
He'd done it so many times
He filled the gallery with paintings of her face.
Iridescent eyes in black and white,
Blonde hair filling the canvas.
He'd seen her from every angle
And what a beautiful sight she was.
Then she was walking through the door,
Moving like air in her red dress.
She exuded the beauty and grace
That his artwork couldn't quite express.
If ever a person came out of a painting,
She was not the one.
No amount of talent and brushwork
Could captivate him like she'd done.
And his eyes did not stray now
As she bridged the space between them.
This meant he had a chance
To try and make things right again.
But he need not have apologized.
She sshed and told him, "It's okay.
This tells me so much more
Than you could ever say."
His paintings of her and only her
Were wherever they landed their eyes,
Save the window where she looked
And said, "It's snowing outside."
"Do you trust me?" he implored.
Curious, she asked, "Why?"
He said, "I need to show you something."
Then he made her close her eyes.
She trusted him - and then froze.
For he'd once again stopped time.
But then he let her into his secret world
And she couldn't believe her eyes.
Everyone they could see was still.
Even the snow floated in midair.
Everything was stopped in that second
And they were the only ones there.
They ran out in the not-falling snow,
Creating outlines with held hands.
He kissed her then, the snow like stars
And they'll decide when that second will end.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
I trace places you used to touch
Looking for echoes of your fingertips
I light candles where you used to stand
Trying to recreate the warmth you exuded
I wrap your sweaters around my body
Mimicking the sensation of your arms around me
I listen to the clinks of wine glasses
Pretending we're back on our first date
I stare at your lips in your pictures
Wishing I had kissed you longer
I thought losing you would get easier
But I miss you more every minute
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
I found the God in stone
Uncarved. Unchiseled
Enormous mountain
Filled in green
Air caressing the trace
Swishing the leaves to lean
Exuded with the petrichor
I get wished by the rain.
Every atom around the mountain
spreading peace with its presence
There I found the God, in stone.
There I found the God, in stone.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
You're so close to me,
And yet you feel so far,
Gone much too soon,
and that's the hardest part.
I can't believe the fact,
That you've left this world for good,
I wish I'd spent more time with you,
And hugged you when I could.
Your smile lit up the nighttime,
Your frown dimmed the brightest of days,
You left for once but not for good,
I'll see you in a better place.
You had so much to live for,
You always exuded such life,
No matter how dark the times,
You could always find the light.
You may not be here anymore,
But you'll always be in my heart,
No matter how far away you may seem,
We'll never be apart.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 3:17 AM UTC
they say that darkness falls.
they believe it overtakes the
Sun, in all its brilliance,
at the end of every day.
in their eyes, the clutches of night
abduct the light that is exuded
on to our haste-driven,
humming lives.
per contra,
black waves have never conquered
the biting bars of golden sunlight;
instead, it has always billowed
from opposite ends of the Earth
to replace a fickle Sun, one
that forsakes stars and city stripes
for new moieties, and
new existences.
at night, a duvet of ink swirls above us,
blanketing bodies and nature alike
under enchanted, glittering tapestries
woven together with the glittering tears
of galaxies out of reach, sewn and fitted
to the quintessence of shadowed alleys,
whispering fields, even
the dimply lit room where two beating hearts
unify.
they say darkness falls,
when the truth is, it rises.
darkness always rises like the calm, gentle wave.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC