"flamboyant" poems
Goodnight green eyes,
Your dreams await you in Silver-Lined skies,
Dreams of dragons, and fairies, and me,
and hopefully just a touch of mystery.
The sliding colors slipping silently through silky seas,
gliding gracefully over gallant gull wings,
whisking you away with a gentle breeze.
You see dragons and pirates,
fairies and gypsies,
tricksy little gnomes,
and flamboyant pixies,
you see them all tucking away,
hiding in there homes as their thoughts start to stray.
and as you glide gracefully over the sea,
your thoughts start to wonder what tomorrow will be,
will there be adventures or heart ache and loss,
or maybe even a romp through the moss,
you might not know now,
but theres something you do,
that someone you love,
is waiting for you.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
...
While
Warm water as the geyser
Gives the skin a new taste
After the sudden rain
The sun peeped behind the clouds
As if a fire peaks in the red flamboyant forest
Then purple flowers of Jarul's
Silently washing the suffering of long pain
Worship to God with drunk
Late afternoon in front of the house of crow
Cuckoo calls repeatedly,
Wings fluttering,
Not unnecessarily
She searches her left offspring
Alongside a small river (Kumar) flows
Small dazzling waves,
With a Cold gentle breeze
Flows over my sweet sweat
Ah! Another form of Heaven
Seduced far away from the darkness
Furious within a dream,
I bathe
...
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 2:13 PM UTC
If love does not exist in this world,
We will make a new world
Furnish it with
Surprisingly vibrant red walls
and flamboyant interiors.
If love will exist in the other world
Love me back
So we can hear
Our voices to resonate
In unity
In clarity
If love will never exist
Let me still love you
Because love exists
Within me.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
After the rain, I see the daisies,
In their clean, white dresses,
Fresh and perfect.
Washed and bright,
Their faces lifted to the skies,
And open to the sun.
Is it their youth that makes them so fearless,
Despite their diminutive size?
A naivety of spirit or
Lack of worldly knowledge?
Or do their fleeting, precarious lives
Lead them to so embrace the now?
No, their beauty springs from a truth far older,
For they are neither flashy nor flamboyant.
A daisy knows no subterfuge,
Has no jealousies, no conceit.
Its wisdom lies deeper,
And it bends with the wind.
To value the time that we have,
To see beauty in the smallest places,
And to love without fear,
Is a talent easily lost,
And the line between happy and sad is drawn
With a thin pencil and a light touch.
In miniature perfection,
A daisy lives fully,
Its face in the sunlight.
It lives, and that is enough.
Vicki Watson © 2014
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
****** affliction of a lack of affection companion
Hand and hand strolling greater than syrupy plunging
and even sometimes buddy shrugging over wooden noisemakers
We whistle with their metal strings
and through the pasta soft ones in our throats
but no nest colored mares seem to hear
our flamboyant feather calls for future fondling
So I scribe slight implied short letters
invites to drink joints and nature jaunts
All too well thought out
hoping your advanced technology cannot trace
the time I spent to type
The overanalysis of our psych: her and I’s
wondering why she doesn’t have an inkling
for a cute fall date where we attempt to bake apple pies
It’s all too contrived, I know
I’ll strive for delusion
Accept a useful interpretation for our chemical inflammation
and let sparks pass it by
Like itsy bitsy flies laying eggs in a wound
for stagnant water maggots
They’ll eat away the thought well
where all my cranial zaps seem to dwell.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
Beneath the gulmohar tree
In flamboyant love
A tale of our desires
Coloring each other
A bright vermillion
Under his crimson spread
Shaded in blissful haven.
Reaching for his branches
Clasping, holding
Climbing, swinging
Chasing, laughing
Under a bright shower of scarlet petals
Of hearts and heat, of love and life
Blooms of a scorching Indian summer.
In flames, his vibrant burning crown
His canopy, flaunting festive tangerine blossoms
Crinkled teasing petals
One upright
Of quaint innocence in white
Splashed with feisty passion's red
Celebrating and anticipating
In celebration of us, our love
Anticipating rain..
As his branches reach high for promising dark clouds.
Serenading with the music of the monsoons
Moist leaves of the gulmohar glisten
With wind and water, in gentle rhythm
Raindrops nestle for a moment
Before sliding, slipping
On damp, satiated earth
Strewn bright with scattered orange petals
Of the gulmohar
Drenched and soaked like us.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
As dark clouds thunder on a grey day,
Resounding across the arid plains,
I hear the loud cries of a bird,
It cuts across the rhythmic drumming of the clouds,
He's quiet for a moment, then I hear him again.
Through the trees I see him,
Royal, an electrifying metallic blue,
A peacock, stunning, strutting,
Fanning his train of feathers,
Eyespots of majesty, stroked with mossy hues.
He dances in a flamboyant display,
In spot light, as lightening flames the sky above,
Nonchalant, a blue crested head turns with pride,
His ornate train, shimmering, beckoning, to and fro,
His moves, a courtship ritual of love.
His iridescent trail woos in style,
A life of its own in its opaline shades
Golden, blue, brown and green,
Colors of the earth, gloriously resplendent,
A gathered spectacle in his plumage.
As drops of rain touch the earth,
He is still high on the wings of romance,
His feet in motion,
His feathers spread for his mate,
Quivering, glimmering a love dance.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
Fear too is an epidemic, it stretches out like
An incubation period for a kind of doom
Population control, whispered a silent elite
Who engineer our wallets, our GMO food, our futures
Ebola was a convenient way, of making us fear
Who we once were again, black as a Nigerian
We died alone in deathbeds, isolated plastic containers
For who we once were, our organs giving out
Infection was a spider hand, MSM gave us
False positives, but could the main-stream-media
Be trusted any longer? Wasn’t this just a matter
Of time, an algorithm set loose upon the billions?
Fear is that place, where people go in adversity
It’s hypnotic like an audience at a concert
It’s contagious how the will for self-preservation can spread
Fight of flee, but where to run, out of the cities?
The new normal is a kind of paranoia
While we watch the situation very closely
Every hour there is underground news about
Another case in another country, Ebola isn’t
Your grandmother that only likes good climates
She’s an engineered hypothesis of how mobility
Causes any true pandemic to become a flamboyant outbreak
The comet that signals black plagues has been seen
Fear too is a weapon, when you can’t stop the world
Because it’s too costly to do so, and you can’t
Tell the world not to fly because we’re too free
We left Africa a long time ago, but who among us
Would stand 20 meters from their open graves?
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
~~
Then, if ever, is the red color grows fade
The petals of red roses drop
If the birds don't sing any songs
And even a butterfly doesn't
Play on a purple flower
If the mistake happens in the rain
You 'll not cry
You can't be afraid of thunder
They will cleanse you
And when I am gone
Forgive me, but the melody in the air
You will come, playing in the garden,
Dance with the lost grasshoppers
Any yellow day when red flamboyant will be bloomed
Will have to take off your colorful sunglasses
At the very noon will be floated on the Cuckoo's love song
Again and Again it will prove your arrival,
O' Spring
You'll be the very white sky after rain
Will bloom red hibiscus
On that gilded day
Red flamboyant 'll be loved with yellow flamboyant
Patched up with melody and words
Will be made new Songs,
New Poetry,
With the yellow flowers tune
Then again,
You 'll not sing a song of despair,
Not even a song of hiatus,
Will sing the Songs of Joy,
Stir in the way of dreams,
Mating
Back to again and again
I 'll come back to you
Both 'll make a love
For the creation of a new life
~~
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Liking her a sunflower crown becomes new religion
She introduced the sun to me
In the flamboyant light of her style and being
Myself, already a worshipper
As I’m sure she’s princess of the wild tribes
Now they’re passions for the sunlight shades
Slow spinning with blonde desire towards the
casual dance of new attraction
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
She moves those hips hypnotically
As she smiles through her slender long fingers
Speaking with her big beautiful onyx-black eyes
Ah, Will you just look at her grace?
Her saree painted rich brass
With amber brown motif on the edges
Heavy indian anklets adorn her ankles
Her skin so golden on which sunshine sketches.
Glorious, every little move she makes
Flamboyant, her mehendi feet, the way they part and meet
All the energy any strong man can have,
Reflected in her elegant femine beauty, sincere and discreet.
Like a goddess, she holds her head high
And showers you with her immortal blessings
When she gets down the stage with a humble smile
You'd exclaim "paradise on earth" with a sigh.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
all things are useful, bulbs
bring light , denote ideas,
good intentions, spent,
collected.
cotton hankies, frayed hold the books,
yet those with nylon, stretch the skin
resulting in red and soreness.
shy away from dangerous commodities,
use the best, those tradtional artefacts
which are gentle on your soul, bring light.
wipe your nose clean.
sbm.
today we have added notes for your interest.
A HANDKERCHIEF (also called handkercher or hanky) is a form of a kerchief, typically a hemmed square of thin fabric that can be carried in the pocket or purse, and which is intended for personal hygiene purposes such as wiping one’s hands or face, or blowing one’s nose. A handkerchief is also sometimes used as a purely decorative accessory in a suit pocket. When used as an accessory to a suit, a handkerchief is known as a POCKET SQUARE. There are a wide variety of ways to fold a pocket square, ranging from the austere to the flamboyant.
The material of a handkerchief can be symbolic of the social-economic class of the user, not only because some materials are more expensive, but because some materials are more absorbent and practical for those who use a handkerchief for more than style. Handkerchiefs can be made of cotton, cotton-synthetic blend, synthetic fabric, silk, or linen.
Historically, white handkerchiefs have been used in place of a white flag to indicate surrender or a flag of truce; in addition to waving away sailors from port. King Richard II of England, who reigned from 1377 to 1399, is widely believed to have invented the cloth handkerchief, as surviving documents written by his courtiers describe his use of square pieces of cloth to wipe his nose.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Draped in boundless pride
she strolled along the streets,
the town's flamboyant prima ballerina.
Still little did the debaucher know her.
Defenceless she laid
as he spanked and clouted her,
Her vehement howling and wailing couldn't stop
the yanking of clothes.
Motionless, emotionless she laid
while he plundered and mutilated her body.
Vandalised by an uninvited visitor,
Incapable of moving her body
the ravishing ballerina reclined.
The scars he made was not on her body but deep in her soul.
That gloomy night whistled away
for the sun to flare its first ray.
'18 year old violently molested and deceased'.
Hence the prima ballerina became a mere newspaper headline.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
what others see as treasure
i wish not to obtain
if you point out an asset
i don't see any gain
i won't go to any measures
my goal is to sustain
i don't have many belongings
but i don't have any chains
where others find pleasure
material mundane
in a world so flamboyant
all i need is plain
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 11:24 AM UTC
1.I love my scars, they tell stories of survival, give life to my soul, remind me I am here for a reason, they tell me everything other people let me forget
2.I love my curves, each mountain and valley residing on my sides take pains to protrude and remind me I am soft, delicate, I deserve to be handled with care, I am a woman.
3.I love my taste buds. So what if a steak has 3 million more calories than skinny girl’s bite of lettuce. I am going to eat it anyways and I will be proud, and yes, I will moan, because why, my self worth is not contingent on my jean size
4.I love my laugh. There’s something liberating about your belly shaking until it hurts, your body exploding with joy, giving another human being pleasure with just the touch of your voice.
5.I love that I’m beautiful, something you can’t touch, my glamour goes beyond my blemished skin. I am more than the curves surrounding my center, I am **** I am brave; I am smart. I am fearless wrapped up into 5 feet of glee. You. Cannot. Touch. Me,
6.I love that I’m honest. There’s something refreshing in saying, **** off, you weren’t good for me anyways
7.I love that I’m faithful. Faithful to myself, my dreams, my ambitions. I am more than a man’s lover, I will live my life worthy to the calling I have received, regardless of what price you have placed on me
8.I love that I believe, trust in first loves, don’t doubt passion; it was sincere in the moment, but as that moment collapsed, outstayed its welcome, I believed I was more, and I will be ok, and one day, 10 years down the line, that same moment will come tapping on my door, requesting to visit an old friend
9.I guess in all I love myself, each and every blemish and bruise, every scar I’ve been given. I was not created for your pleasure, but for His glory, I only require myself to wear that badge proudly
10.I love that I am who I am. loud, flamboyant, I am not afraid to speak my mind, which is why, I’m standing here, calling you to action. Take a chance: love yourself.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
a penny is a penny
and i am a monk hawking birth control pills
without any shame or pride
disguised in flamboyant tinfoil.
i am an extra sensitive *** on my daily street corner
turning into a crumb of hunger
staring down a long alleyway and eating the flowers
that grew up in concrete.
there are shadows of jugglers on the wall
jumping into the sun, and i am a burning lampshade.
henry miller is in a wheelchair now
and i am a walrus with a backache
being forced among the proverb writers,
but i'm no prophet because i've seen the bubbling fire
and the swords on the doorway.
i am a lover with a guilty conscience
and i have too much on my mind.
i stole the bread from the riot squad and
i blow out these words from a keyhole,
pounding my fist on a book
while the mystics get drunk with skinny ******
i don't go to birthday parties or funerals
instead i'd like to do something worthwhile
but i am your typical flunky, writing eccentric jokes about rich pimps
while my father lies dead on the hill.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
She stood tall,
Slender,
Flamboyant as she swirls,
Encapsulating dreams while dancing,
In a come-die ballet, from times evaporation,
Playing hysterics in magical fire dance of ritual celebrations,
Playing games of passion creations,
Such beauty in an aura of pleasure and pain,
In rigaudon she pastes her grace,
For she is not a dancer,
For she is my quill,
The dancing pen removes my ills.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
Wandering through a field of flowers,
Petals sway with each gentle breeze,
Only to stumble and embrace the rich soil,
A purple rose to my face, respectfully bowing to it.
Its vibrant purple hue set it apart from the rest,
I was entranced by the way it stood out,
So I knelt down and offered it to dance,
Carefully plucking it from the ground.
The purple rose swayed like a graceful dancer,
As if it were the one controlling the wind's rhythm,
I met an extraordinary partner in this floral waltz,
I lift it above my head, and it twinkled with delight.
What if I let the wind carry you to the sky?
I released the rose, and it vanished from sight,
As darkness enveloped the deep blue sky above,
Only to reveal the moon, with a twinkling star beside it.
Front row seats to admire its beauty,
A hidden gem, beneath all this earthly rubble,
Who knew you'd ascend so high,
Flamboyant and shining ever so bright.
The soil is not where you truly belong,
For it has hindered your growth for so
long,
To stand out, high above, with that radiant glow,
Is what you've always deserved to know.
Oct 13, 2023
Oct 13, 2023 at 1:49 AM UTC
Zinc is needed to help support the body's immune system, as well as encourage human growth, meaning that without it, defenses and growth are stunted
I met a boy named Zinc
correction
I met a man named Zinc
correction
I met a man who called himself 'Z' even though his parents still called him 'boy' and named him Zinc, because Neon
was too flamboyant and Iron was too tasteless, and who on earth names their kid 'Oxygen', right?
ANYWAY:
It's worth noting that Z liked everyone, meaning A-X, and I was left wondering why he seemed to like girls who waved with the backs of their hands and not the palms, and why the only time he spoke to me was if I wouldn't leave him alone, and why it's obvious to those around him that lights are flashing in the eyes of 'why'-
correction
-'Y'-
correction
-ME when he noticed the stars I stole from the night in an attempt to spell his name out for the Gods but he was too busy hoping to catch the attention of the Devil and I hope she breaks his heart so he knows what it's like to wake up feeling empty because you gave your all to a person with a gambling problem, and I...
...don't make sense anymore.
ALRIGHT
I met a man who called himself 'Z' even though his parents still called him 'boy' and named him Zinc, and he didn't like the chain around my neck, but he let me wear it because it reminded him of hope, which he had lost when he was young, but had vicariously experienced through me. Just kidding.
Her.
Capital 'H', lowercase '-er', silent 'she's not going to love you like I will'...
I LIED
he doesn't know I wear a cross (or used to) because he's too busy falling in love with the fact that she's got daggers in her eyes and she knows how to dance to all his favorite songs, while I only know the lyrics to them all, and maybe she won't break his heart but she sure as hell won't be gentle with it either because girls like me write about girls like her and girls like her burn books about boys like him.
I'm not sure what this poem is about. Or why it is the way it is. That's a lie.
I know, but I can't say I want to anymore...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
You’re a jester,
Trading nasty jokes for belly laughs,
For the ****** King and his insane court.
At first, they laugh
At your tired old antics
And desperate attempts to get attention,
You’re slipping on spilled blood
And juggling hearts
For lack of anything really humorous with which to entertain.
You draw the eye
With your flamboyant clothes and sloppy painted face,
But once drawn, interest wanes with shocking speed.
You can’t keep any of them,
But you don’t really care,
As long as you’re laughing.
You’re a jester.
You’re a fool.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:58 AM UTC
~~
Then it became a blue afternoon
while came to evening
They were the realities of her farewell
Glowed in the dark blue,
what an abstract shadow cast!
Floating Autumn Clouds,
away the red hibiscus grew gray
heard a vague weird tune
Then one morning
Along with a purple flower
red hibiscus saw inset
and the dark chorus of a clay oven
covered her face
away in the loft several gourd hanging
walking,
walking down the way
at the end,
stood beneath a banyan tree
Doors opened in the silence
southern wind followed
to move in the room
randomized the bed cover,
poetry books,
morning news paper
while closed the door
opened the northern windows
The tireless long night
while I left the room,
wandering as the lonely clouds
went through the garden
where the sky came down
wanted to say life
walked on foot
A long sleepless night
saw the stars fairs
heard a vague weird tune
At that April's night,
Caught the sight of
dry dropping leaves
The smell of gardenia
to bring me the new ideas
of poetry
touched the sky
wandering on a raft of clouds
filled with
see you decided to
Then it all went down together
in the dark with blue
anyhow a golden sun bought
a yellow day
and all the red flamboyant trees
singing
while standing beside
the two sides of the road
with the wind in breath,
my dying
And instead of go with them
mingled the ways of life is changed
when the ways rolled along a curve
One January morning's mist
coming off the sun on the dew
I liked to walk barefoot
in the soft sun
with a woolen blanket covering
At noon,
the river flowing
with streaming sound
took flock a small Sampan
toward upstream
uprising mind grew cool
with stream
Today is just going to get lost
beyond the horizon
Feel to see back,
Slowly known nature
grew small with time,
after some times
shadows mingled
with a dark space
While came the night
Footprints remain in the dust
of shadows
after millions of years
to become fossils
In the mind and
In the deep heart of
the Milky Way
Her fade face is still
to come and go
Over time,
in terms of conservation
of energy
Again when I opened the window
At a long sleepless night
Saw the stars fairs
Heard a vague weird tune
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 12:34 PM UTC
I am staring at the red hand demanding stop
in a mostly silent rushing manner with any
urgent notice for the blind lost in the crushing banter.
And there is white hot anger in me
at the flamboyant capsules borne along to be seen
it is Soylent in essence proudly proclaiming to be green
I am flaring at the steady hand pandering
hot in a most heady hushing stammer.
Myths nay jerkingly, quoting for us
the signed history and sing lush slander.
And there is white hot anger in me
at the clairvoyant ape who is now born
chain-smoking and mean;
it is annoyance in adolescence rowdily
claiming to be clean.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 9:58 PM UTC
The planes in the sky look dwarf size, compare to the large skies.
Swallowing the blue atheist clouds
all spotless
as the ocean sparkles, flirting with the blazing sun, flirting with sailing ships as they smoothly take their leave.
Hypnotizing the captains onto their long journey on this massive 70% part of water they are on.
they are seen somewhere along the lines of the horizon
in the Atlantic ocean leaving with the sun at 7:52 PM with 17 seconds.
The black haired beauty is seen, with a beige round hat wearing a long black dress, fleeing into the black hole sun.
***********************************************
Les avions dans le ciel ressemblent à la taille des nains, comparés aux grands cieux.
Avaler les nuages athées bleus
tout impeccable
alors que l'océan scintille, flirtant avec le soleil flamboyant, flirtant avec des voiliers alors qu'ils partent tranquillement.
Hypnotiser les capitaines sur leur long voyage sur cette énorme partie de soixante dix pour cent d'eau qu'ils sont.
ils sont vus quelque part le long des lignes de l'horizon
dans l'océan Atlantique laissant au soleil à 19h52 avec 17 secondes.
On voit la beauté aux cheveux noirs, avec un chapeau rond beige portant une longue robe noire, fuyant dans le soleil du trou noir.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
she plays soccer
it’s
ok?
her coach is flamboyant
and loud
and nice
and she feels
so so very small
even though she is goalie
and has big feet
and spidery hands
she faces a lot of doubt
in goal
at home
on the court where she practices
is she valued?
is she liked?
do people think she’s ok?
does it matter?
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC