"flurried" poems
She watched the water slip and slop
As flurried flames climbed up to heat
And bubble boil the cooking ***
Emitting steam to rise and sweep
In splendid arcs and cloudy wisps
Of candy cotton colored plumes
That filled the cavern air with sips
Of fragrant tones and sweet perfumes
And withered bony fingers bent
To loosely grip a ladle shaft
And scooping water, swiftly went
To pour a steaming cloudy draught
Into a pretty painted cup
Upon a dais of sorcery
And gulping down a mighty sup
She gasped,
"A lovely cup of tea!"
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
and
just like that
I am falling
unfolding in your eyes
layers of shadows unraveling
in polar-laced
spirals of hunger
deep freeze melting upon tongue
an icy build-up
thawed in seconds
for my very cells burn
beneath your gaze
as you take in the fullness
of my presence
despite the smoky,
glass-paned haze
My presence-
suffused with
the darkness of silk-
I want it to graze your skin
the most gentle feather
stroking emotion
coaxing out the
delicately-wrapped
firestones in you
spinning them into
a frenzied lava-slaked ocean
and then those unexplained,
flurried lattice flakes
that somehow soothe and cool
within this inferno
of just-missed proximity
My essence
is cast like a net
over you
as we dive into
the volumes
as I pull the
heated visions out of your mind
feel your heart's closest
most tiny reverberations
little beats barely heard
yet in some unlikely way
pump blood into mine
Undo me
as my wet blue pools
dissolve into yours
my trussed-up implosions
flowing out in air-spun tempest
Unwrap my defenses
a soldered-up dam breaking
a glass tubular bell
hairline fracture quaking
Strip me bare
no need to even touch me
for the vapors of
your voice
remove the layers
of debris
like the steam of earth
irons out
the blackened quilt of sky
to reveal
the altar
of our
stars
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 4:07 AM UTC
I tried to draw,
But my sketches are raw
I am imperfect in every way
I used to be good is all I say
Because then I hadn't heard of the word flaw.
My mind was never worried
My words never hurried
To say something worth it
Because my mind at that time was fit
To say, my mouth cleverly flurried.
But when time passes,
All the green grasses
Finally lose their sheen
But they still try to feign
That they are worth to be looked at carefully with glasses.
Just like that
I have changed, it's sad
I have become annoying
But I won't stop even if I'm knowing
That you don't want to talk 'cause I'm talking bad.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
If I could speak
I would spill these lamentations
cloistered sins and secrets
whispered vespers for wretched dreams
Retching sentiment
this malignant manifesto
a macabre mantra
eats my skin from within
transient refuge for temporal treasures
inexorable moments carry life away
tick tick tick
the seconds scurry
flurried ineffectual supplications
demigods of affluence
the cacophony of the machine
I spin within
cogniscient of my myopia
the funneled tunnel vision
drips from the end of a pen
furtive verses on paper
fading ochre moments
somber drops of ash and bone
poetic exorcisms
of wicked things unknown
phrenetic
sensibilities trickle
spilling life
black and withering
is the gain worth sacrifice
crackling fat of dreams
too costly
this shallow palette
self obsessed
eyes gouged out
hands shackled
to the reality
the immortality
trust the dust
the dust becomes me
soul focused on decay
spectre death
devouring this unsparked spirit
If I could speak
truth into your heart
would you
believe.....
in anything more than what you see
I trust the dust and dust will be
the remnant me
TL Boehm
042508
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
tempting trappings glow
ghostly garments flow
hair winds bright like sunshine ropes
in my velvet dreams
sequel skin as I grin
stops only if I wait
gentle limbs with no end
churn a heart of clay
within, without
beneath, about
outside in, inside doubt
behind the breach
roundabout route
beyond my reach, right way out
seasoned strangers
inner part dark
destined dangers
apart from spark
flurried passions molt
storied bastions bolt
fire blinds light like fog eats smoke
in my velvet dreams
© Jason Cole
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
I only know to cope in a couple of ways
- slam up some walls
pretend it doesn't hurt
move on
innocence is a mockery on my face
my lips twist into grotesque resemblance
of long-gone smiles
It is difficult to remember
to relax
to be normal
'normal'
you come back in flurried recollections
blurs
and
heartaches
a pain starting from the middle
of my forehead
to the crick in my neck
right to my wrists
softly rotating trying to relax
i smile
this is normal
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
Prickly cactus pins,
flurried toward my skin.
sinking down on sheets of lies,
my epidermis falsified.
Cells of blood like moss-covered bricks,
pierced right through by cactus ******
The places where it stings,
lie deeper than I’ve ever been into my own flesh and bones,
and my heart would never condone,
but tonight I let it bleed,
to know myself a little more.
These prickly cactus pins,
dotted all over my skin,
I dare not try ever again,
to hide the contours of my brain.
Reams of envelopes lie in wait,
to say a few words to my mates.
The lies – they saw, although much of it they forgot,
and some were never for them to understand,
but now cactus ****** have serrated my heart,
only and only the truth pours out,
as the tissues of life, are ripped apart.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 4:47 AM UTC
Nightlight bright,
She has a subtly shimmering smile
In the flurried snow of winter
As she climp-clomp
Passes by: home bound.
With pockets full of peonies
And daydream diamonds
Her words wash over you
And drip-drop wearily
Onto the canvas of cement.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
The aloofness of the moon in the effervescent night
In between the clouds teasing the sight
As the lavish words of the owls permeates the air
Summoning the wolves to howl in despair
Unable to muffle the loquacious toads by the lake
While the fluid branches of the trees dance to the nocturnes of the wind
How they cradled the woods to sleep
Still there is a flurried silence
Inexplicable gloom
Emitted by the bright moon
Spreading like wild fire in the meadows
Creating eerie shadows through the glass windows
The lake glittered as if the stars have fallen in the waters
She dipped her nakedness in the aching cold
Emotionless
Her face illuminated by the reflection in the silver waters
She submerge her breath to fill her lungs
She never felt as light, numb and hollow
The moon signed as witness
To the blooming flowers that midnight
Ever hungry for the moonlight
Like her convulsing consciousness desperate for salvation
And to the corpse of the maiden afloat in the lake
The unapologetic moon stood to watch
The beautiful soul as it slowly swells
Along with melancholia
Writhing across the serene lake
-Melancholia, Margaret Austin Go
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
Breathing slow, breathing deep
Across the sea of slumber creep
Mists aglow with hidden fire
Sheets the bed with fresh desire
In the shadows of midnight's keep
The blaze is quickened, in flurried sleep
A haunting breath of flash and flame
Creeping ‘round the window pane
Scents that stain the pillow case
On the river of silence race
Swallowed up by raging need
Storms the crown, to plant the seed
Behind the shade of fevered dreams
Piercing truth, in stillness screams
Secrets locked beneath the skin
In visions ripe to trickle in
Broken whispers flutter by
Painting promise on the sky
Naked flesh begins to yearn
As passion flares, the body burns
Trapped in a subconscious mind
The light of day will never find
A fire as hot as is this bliss
Drowning in a moonlight kiss
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 8:46 AM UTC
That night we were perfectly irrational,
your mother spoke like Rhea in an ancient
Greek tongue. We straddled the mighty
Norton five-hundred and joked of Marxist revolution.
She tightened her arms on the ascent.
Danger flurried down our spines and palms
began to sweat. At breakneck speed we whipped
round snaking grey meanders along the cliff edge.
Our compass set in lunar chatoyance
the stars were squinting feline lovers
as the night light washed upon her eyelids,
lashed with jagged stalactitic silhouettes.
We coasted down a sandy path; emerging from the hills
where the shepherds’ ruby grins were the nights hue.
Hearts cast in iron and minds sat on sand,
the sky snapped pink to blue, to navy dogtooth.
The spider grass on the dunes, the mirage
of twisting dancers and sand storm pirouettes.
Full beams off, we’d blink and stand amazed,
that very trace of privacy at night
which leaves you dazed, for unlike the crowded
light of day which knows no heart nor wonderment
moonlight dances on the pier, and bounces off the waves.
My first born son who parts the fog and clouds
to carry primal thunder; I gift to you,
the joy of life, and beauty of the oceans wealth.
The sand will bed and water cleanse,
the tide will carry and coral mend.
Until you, La Pedarosa of the floating world,
may sail over those who tell of any boat
you cannot sink and any fleet you cannot fell.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC
Amongst the oyster shells,
and herring bones,
we drank our marigold wine,
well versed in starlight laughter
our future seemed twined.
I had always imagined your palour,
your etherealness wove a spell.
Your shadow cast until the dawn
forever nearing the shoreline.
Hope fell by the wayside
illumined you flurried
into the azure depths
a timeless steely rote
I recall.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 7:26 PM UTC
she cried on a day that should have been celebratory
and I did not have words
she danced an ode written to cumbia
she danced it out with grace
with verbs so fine
you knew she held the present
at every sway
she did not have words
we walked to food joint next to the bar
rolled out the English language
in exchange for sustenance
“what are words?”
I picked up our food
drunkenly shook out some lingo
and the grey-haired man on the other side of the counter
took a deep breath and stayed silent
“Are words needed ?”
the Kamikaze shots and the tequila made our tongues soft
and our upper palates dry
pouring only thirst, into our youth
and there,
eyes soaked in meaning
in a circus of incertitude,
the cold wind turned divine flurried our hair
“we do not have words.”
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 4:57 AM UTC
Incessant, nervous breeze,
Gray mornings scudding in,
Branches, stark and thin,
Rain and flurried snow
Blended now, as if they didn't know
Which way the sky must go,
Warming now, but slow.
Bleak skies and weathered land
Beaten colorless by Winter's hand
Seem silent in these days of gray,
But I know fair Spring will have her say.
A neighbor rang, reporting her first robin;
Two trumpeters flew north without stopping,
And geese stand waiting on the icy pond,
Rememb'ring open water just beyond.
This is the time when old ones sigh,
Wondering will winter ever die?
And some decide that it is best
To turn toward eternal rest.
So left my friend this early spring
Before he heard the robins sing,
And I remain to live the winter out alone,
Awaiting green and coveting bird song.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 8:41 AM UTC
It's like live how? like you make it
copy down the sad crown
ride the wheel you made it
the strong misguided hatred.
-eclipse-
Bathing naked
The flurried atom swarms and indulgent desires strip me of my latest confirmed identity.
thoughts and painted-eyes
Department earlobe tenants remorse filled by the
phantasmagoric patience and comfort of pain.
So plain and petty feels like I'm crying "lone wolf!" double knot shoe tie
finite coffer rusty nails-stick latent reparation clips of manta ray striking tail whips.
The core is stifled to trip and fall upon the wet autumn leaves, broken twigs, and an earthly wisdom. Carry us, oh misleading stranger to a different home with Velcro that sticks to platelets and crust that covers elbows.
Hatred is stronger for the long-suffering and confusion when what we need is light
The fierce reserve beckoned to fight after immobility subsides and clears clutter away from the self-loathing, shame, and spiritual fatigue.
Maybe today is the day. This spot is reserved anyway and the wolves seem hungry.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
I only know to cope in a couple of ways
- slam up some walls
Pretend it doesn't hurt
Move on
Innocence is a mockery on my face
My lips twist into grotesque resemblance
of long-gone smiles
It is difficult to remember
to relax
to be normal
'normal'
*you come back in flurried recollections
blurs
and
heartaches*
a pain starting from the middle
of my forehead
to the crick in my neck
right to my wrists
softly rotating trying to relax
i smile
this is normal
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 10:06 AM UTC
My hopes flew quickly to bright flowers
strong and sweet
they gazed for hours
But now that strength has waned
My joy in flurried work
though first relieved in stress less space
soon borderlined on Shirk
This depressed state
is common now
when we mix our ink with paper
we sit in pools of swirling grey
and lose our whirlwind shaper
our hearts have fallen
through the rainbow air
and droop on dreary sills
our eyes are sick and only stare
at mirrors showing ills
Our psyches oh so wonderful
do quite forget their power
and don't remember
the angeled bower
on which they did alight
When winged insects
leave the sky
when butterflies do land
they do not ask their maker why
but trust this rest upon his hand
They eat and drink
they sleep and wait
They wait for Gentle eye to wink
And when they fly
don't wonder why
or call their leave too late
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
Lessons that’d keep coming throw me against rocks and stars
Vacuum the space of stories I cherished
the bibliography of another misunderstood wanderer
Fresh is today, yet dusty is mind’s wraparound
Begging the soul to hold on to the noose
to paint the portrait with wounds’ blood
Dissonance thrives
Yet roots are growing
Flurried, awaiting the washaway
from someone lovingly reaching out, understanding, acknowledging
giving nothing more but a smile of compassion
The dance awaits
for dissolution of sown death
No future will come for the waiting ones
I’ll sculpt all within and without that I can
I’ll keep on refusing to stop at the mask
I’ll strengthen what needs to become stronger
and tear down all which was never meant to be
In the end there’s only one direction
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC
Hello,
nice to meet you.
Who am I? Trishanna.
I'm raw launching emotion
in a rainbow world
of flurried dreams.
I'm a manifested awareness
of the tiny details
in every individual
I come across.
So when I go to repeat my name fifteen minutes after
meeting you
I'll see your hardened eyes
your questioning buttoned brows
and your soul that's aching
for me to ask all of the questions
that I'm not supposed to ask (the real ones.)
so that you can answer
in a non-civilized
un-socially acceptable way
In hopes to experience, for five minutes
in this god-awful church room
the feeling of being alive
pulsing with originality.
What do I do for a living?
I eat up heartache
and swallow down yearning.
I soar through the clouds of my mind
a thousand miles wide
towards every fiery vice.
I write with fierce passion.
I flood with tears.
I sing to the beauty
of rarity.
I'm a student. I'm a counselor. Blah. Blah. Blah.
I'm this human, waiting for
a dialogue so much richer than this.
Your name. Your occupation. Your age.
They've robbed you of what you really want to experience with an introduction.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
Life consumes me
not like it used to
a great damask is spread
life-table and a bed
no chairs to tease you all
my special dinner served in peace every fall
so i can eat with ease royally
why damask for my table, me?
and not the satin, it be?
to dine with peace and ease at all
to have pleasure each fall
anyway what the table-cloth concerns
damask, satin, cotton or whatever it learns
i'll let me treat better than ever
like life itself is consuming me
royal or not, i do not care
anyway, life consumes me, it sounds rare
and now i'm a piece of life self
ready to consume myself
it gives me satisfaction
as life did consume me with fatal attraction
i mirror back in my menu
Life consumed me sans tenue
my consumption ablaze
my taste buried
my hunger flurried
but i never worried
just like it does now
i am grateful for every flow
what i may consume of life
or life consumes me
thankful for any strife
and gratitude in glee
to only Thee
© Sylvia Frances Chan
Friday 28th February 2014
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
To fall into old habits
Can be all-too-easy,
Magnetic brushing
With all the wrong people,
Sight averted plainly,
Dramatically to onlookers,
Stairways of winking lights
Coloring eyes transparent
Globes of passing motion,
Streaming flurried static images,
For the reason of familiarity,
Fighting the monstrous
Urge to flee from the
Hollow gust of self-assurance,
Leaving behind a sense
Of restless guilt,
Cater not to this instinct—
Burn alive in resistance,
From this, arise and blink
Through the ashes
Until a new perspective
Is revealed and
Cannot be ignored.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:06 AM UTC
A vine ridden house.
Just like my life.
The darkness has entangled me.
I swear to god I will never learn.
Because i keep making the same mistakes.
Forget it.
My biggest flaw was that I cared too much.
About everyone and everything besides myself.
F*ck these vines!
Im breaking free.
F*ck these lines!
Im letting go.
Im burning up.
Melting snow.
That flurried in my globe.
Shattered glass.
Im breaking free.
F*ck my past.
Im finding me.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC