hints of auburn drift creating a soft cadence against the autumn wind
almost heard in lieu 'tis felt somehow awakening souls buried long ago
giving birth to falling crimson leaves tinged with maroon and gold
abandoned dusty roads transform under enchanting spells cast by fall

burnt orange pumpkins standing solitary on wooden porches threaten to reveal
hidden secrets held by dusk’s luscious cinnamon seasoned air
once fulgent sunflowers begin to slumber softly beneath the harvest moon
whilst autumn’s trance brushes all it touches with honey colored hues

i stand pensive as an amber leaf gently twirling falls to the ground
bewitched by thine supernatural powers; thine gifted artist’s hand
who with one stroke turns to butter amber all that once was forest green
and imbues my soul with thine exalted essence forever ripening

©2016janetaylor

A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,

I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!

Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,

I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!

For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,

Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!

Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,

A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!

Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,

Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,

Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!

Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;

I finagle in my filigree!

You see that sheaf of slender books
Upon the topmost shelf,
At which no browser ever looks,
Because they're by . . . myself;
They're neatly bound in navy blue,
But no one ever heeds;
Their print is clear and candid too,
Yet no one ever reads.

Poor wistful books! How much they cost
To me in time and gold!
I count them now as labour lost,
For none I ever sold;
No copy could I give away,
For all my friends would shrink,
And look at me as if to say:
"What waste of printer's ink!"

And as I gaze at them on high,
Although my eyes are sad,
I cannot help but breathe a sigh
To think what joy I had -
What ecstasy as I would seek
To make my rhyme come right,
And find at last the phrase unique
Flash fulgent in my sight.

Maybe that rapture was my gain
Far more than cheap success;
So I'll forget my striving vain,
And blot out bitterness.
Oh records of my radiant youth,
No broken heart I'll rue,
For all my best of love and truth
Is there, alive in you.

You are the supremely graceful
epiphany, the life changing
—illumination

Stay. And let me stare
at your fulgent elegance,
your lovely manifestation

till I'll become blind enough
and see the meaning
of this incarnation

The sound of your voice,
linguistic forte
digital portrait combined,
reads lyrical, like Joyce,
the use of imagery -
elevating the plebeian,
resplendent -  
the imposition sublime.

Pellucid prose, tête-à-tête
immersed in esoteric allusion
spoken with au fait.
Liberating my pedestrian
inhibition,
premise of surrender -
adrift, desultory,
delicious ambiguity.

Seduction begins in
the mind,
assets of imagination,
intellectual property;
side by side: lying supine
didactic invitation,
in assertions of diversion;
a chance to find
euphoria within our reach.

Linear alliteration;
fulgent flowing Fumé
Blanc,
fire and wine
private beach,
rhymes of elucidation
two bodies align,
I will learn if you teach.

Sensual epistemology,
curvaceous
figure of speech,
the Orphic; woeful
lover’s plight,
a porous song recite
art professor, verse confessor
tutor me tonight.

©2010 & 2011 W.S Warner

As the blur of my eyes clear
I spot the greatest of wonders
Lying next to you in our bed
I awake happily at dawn's nascency
Feeling the blessing of your touch
Is as caressive as a cloud's hug
Just your sweet fulgent smile alone
Vivifies my every forthcoming day
Each time we dance pelvis to pelvis
And you rest your head on my chest
It surely calms my jovial soul
When you listen to my heartbeat
It pleases me to make you blush
Making your scarlet cheeks show
As you look into my eyes and gaze
I gently rub my nose against yours
Then apply slow succulent kisses
Together we create perfection
We have everything in common
Even the smallest of things
I love to laugh with you
Enjoying lovey dovey humor
Springing out adorable chuckles
Being out and about with you
Painting the city with our ambiance
Comforts my very existence
I'm blessed to be within your planet
The way you make me feel is...
Unorthodox, uncannily beautiful as,
Rollerblading on Saturn's rings
It gets no better than this
Me and you connected as one being
At first sight, I was graced by you
And ever since then, I've changed
Happier than happy can become
Upon the darkest of nights
Our love will shine
Lighting the light
Since meeting you my queen
My format has been switched
It will now be you and I til the end
I'm honored you chose me
To multiply and grow old with
Now to me, that's love's essence...

© Michael P. Smith

i can see
your soft footprints
in and around
the green, the yellow woods
and that blue turquoise
offering you a ride
fluttering his wings
the white, black, green birds
holding stars in their beaks
in clouds you can walk;
it makes me envious

so ingenuous you are
as ye know not,
a Pandora box
is just an allegory
for your own
fulgent eyes
for through string of hopes
and wave of dreams,
for upon cloud floors
and blinking realms,
when you take your walk,
the earth's dear lady,
the whole universe
wants to keek and see
the sparkling wonder
that originates upon your eyes,
such is the moment of
ecstasy that, let alone us,
even all non-human forms
realize from you,
and your concomitant smile,
what true joy looks like

The flames of the furnace (well-travelled by wind
slowly glazing the rags of gray women chagrined
at the sight of a hair fleeing tresses now thinned)
sometimes billow like waves flooding naves through the night,
when the lightning peeks in where the tension hangs tight
while the lanterns, alarmed, appear fulgent with fright.

Having lost both his hands, and now dancing for dimes,
Captain Hook haunts the alleyway's rivers of rhymes,
sometimes singing or prancing to mimic the mimes
with white faces contorted to pillars of pain,
as the ringmaster murmurs “we're all the insane”
and the inmates dunk donuts in droplets of rain.

With their hammers in hand, in their plum pinafores,
Satan's soldiers of fortune wield powers of Thor's
leaving blood on bent bodies, the tombstones of wars
lining highways and byways  with manna and gold
for the mastermind movers, survivors consoled
with some pie in Valhalla (or so they've been told).

Above boulevards, battered with batches of bricks,
flys the Duchess of Dawdle on waxed candlesticks;
while she watches, debauches, her ****** tricks
as he talks (on their walks in the summer-day parks
where a parrot kneels praying, a parakeet barks)
’bout the buffed brazen beaks of the latter-day larks.

Hoary goblins glow gruesome, they leap from the loft
to the hard-hearted rues, shedding tears that they've quaffed
through the night of the dead as the clarinets coughed
and the keepers kept watch so that no one escaped
dingy dungeons where priests and their puppets hide caped
behind walls lined with tulips and justice hung draped.

In the Garden of Eaten, where apples once grew,
lie the bones, somewhat blanched, from the last barbecue
and the snakes strut like storks down a lost avenue
along tracks  like the cracks on the mask of the moon
all alight with the shadows that seep down a dune
as the firefly crawls from a crimson cocoon.

Phantom trains travel tunnels (dispatched in all haste),
voiding tickets to nowhere, it seems such a waste
to see roadblocks with red lights at dead ends misplaced
at the base of the bowels of the bottomless pit
where reflections of life seem so ****** counterfeit
from the back of the eyes of the blind hypocrite.

Lady cockroaches, camped in the Countesses' beds,
are commanding crusaders to fit arrowheads
to the ends of burnt bridges suspended by threads
from frayed thongs of diminutive bald balladeers
taunting Cerby, the three-headed dog, serving beers
to the pagan disciples of bold puppeteers.

The oceans lay barren, the garbage dumps filling
with fracking and cracking and lead water spilling,
for milling and drilling are thrilling but killing
the birds and the beasts and the tea leaves, soon falling,
yet gurus roast chestnuts but can't heed their calling
while mauling and crawling on knees while they're brawling.

Unshorn sheep in the meadow are led to the bay
to be brainwashed and fleeced, trusting donkeys that bray
of the virtues of demons that haunt yesterday,
while the vultures deflower the turtle dove lanes
where the blood trickles up and the cruel crimson stains
Easter eggshells and feathers – that’s all that remains.

One eyed bees pilot lines through electrical storms
and blind hornets hum hymns when they're swirling in swarms
while the rest are repressed as the blue marble warms
(regent Queens losing sight that the end has begun)
and for eyes of the ewes, veils of wool have been spun  
and the wasps fly their flags from the **** of a gun.

Seven trumpets (attempting to echo the horns
of the Siamese goats and the three Unicorns
giving birth to the mirth in the temple of thorns)
sound the bugles of sorrow inside of the sea
of crazed lies of the wormwood afloat like a pea
in a pod of dark dolphins that can't disagree.

Often bellowed by barkers, to crowds with no faces,
are words (in their aftermath, leaving no traces)
of picnics and parties in limbo-like places
on paths to perdition where pundits are preaching
and sirens belch bullets while pirates prowl, breaching
the shadow's barbed branches, with whistles blown, screeching.

They're dissecting dissenters that dare to annoy
and then trample with jackboots sent in to destroy,
until taming the toes of the last Gypsy boy
who gets caught in the craw of their cold catacomb
with no rescue by running nor staying at home,
and no freedom to breathe, only rough roads to roam.

Languid light fell eery through the fulgent fog bank.
Crows called, wheeling in the glare.

We swing on rubber and chain
taking turns calling back
the chattering challenge.

I do not falter as your fingers find mine
while we walk, shoulders brushing.
Framed momentarily
in crunching autumn leaves.

For a while, I am completely happy.

Doldrums stuck mind wafting lifelessly in time
Vigiling on what went wrong and was what I did right

Virulent thought’s had left me in reticence
With a wistful face I sat
Her bellowing pulchritude her mellowing soul
Her gleeful eyes her mirthful tone
A face more per fulgent then a thousand glow worms

Time slumbering though; Over turning sand clocks
Slowly perspiration leads to aspiration of love being deplumed

Affectations of love, Affectation of lovers
The infallibility of love, Inane for some profound for others

Smitten by the flaming arrows
Golden years golden times
Soon taking the color of a withered leaf

I have deciphered life, i have deciphered self
I have deciphered everything from rainbow to elf

But no wind so great to create the music in the pipes
It’s the love that comes through
So tell me how came it not come true for you too…



p.s
written on a sleepless night  ... pensive and lustfull

Blinded by your beauty,
Struck I am of the glow
From fulgent your eyes;
Deliver me to salvation
With your kiss!

Scared; must you be,
We are going to be one.
The Moon and the Sun
Will meet on the Horizon!
Take my hands and feel
The chasm - of heart's emotions...

Inspired by Marc Terenzi's love song: Love to be loved by you.

Floating
engulfed in penny light

the coppery-brine amalgamation penetrates my mouth
swallowing
viscous globe of blood-riddled ***

the shards of shell
spines split by the tide
echo my sentiments

current eschews shallow alluvial grave
cognizant cicumvolution
ambient gyre
diffuses carapace shrapnel into my calves

gulls enigmatically screech-stripped
slap briny padded patterns into the shoreline
pausing only upon my primal glottal stop

toes curl about inundated sand
clouting divets shift
dilatory run – slammed inert by invariable wave

cochineal effluvium plumes lilt
crepuscular rays refract further distortions

Neath the water I blindly ***** my body
Ridged projections jut from smoothed flesh
Puckering at my own touch

I sink beneath atmosphere
liquescent folds embrace promptly
I drop beneath chaos

Bare palm dig into viscid terrain
rung after rung demanding presence into the depths
I claw forth onto a sand bar

emerging
shard flanked form
eyes blazing
cuticles numb

pulse flit
patina of blood and grit

Fulgent tread propels
Upon shore
I walk back to my residence
A warrior - mortal
plated in copper and brine

raise high, the roof-beam
mounting the fiery stream
   burning the windows, burning
  the death-devout silence,
    burning the disquiet on the pyre
of ourselves — darkly halved,
    lightly complete; the operant
rose is ready to roam the immortal garden and no petal will perish,
    no moan of thorn will be heard,

  raise high, the roof-beam.
  your lifest breath and all that is not,
   emerging supreme against all
smallness and rotund, no bells bellow
   the bickering name, or the defunct
subterfuge of O God dancing to
    sew His name augured. raise high,
the roof-beam the monolith of your
    body's never-ending groove
waving me across all the world
    no sojourn could annul — once
mortally blessed and twice naive.

  it is our rite of spring, what the wind
wields a strange horror's sound summoning a dark-trilling raven.
  waters princely kneel in the sheer
dark's afterthought when my clothes
    fail me evermore. it is our life
singing separately: morning, and the divided evening. the knowledge of scepter is passed on to the ignorant
  now all-knowingly removing all dress
and the glint of crystal-moments.

  raise high, the roof-beam, o luminous ire
   fulgent light and our foetal coil
      an angel to whisper an arrival
from the fall, the roof-beam, raised
      high forever.

Darling, you hide sometimes like stars behind water droplets of clouds. They have no choice but sit silently and wait for clear sky to expose their fulgent art. Maybe God illuminates the dark space with their light reflected in the water surface of clouds so every star can see her devoted lover from previous lives who exists somewhere in the universe. Maybe stars need their light to drink it to stay young forever. Maybe in this glacial mirror they need to see their affectionateness and beauty. Stars also need self-love. They deserve to be happy as every small and big creation in this world. And when you need space, you need to find your inner charm, warmheartedness, fondness between lonely ghosts because you may not love yourself like I do love you and you do not trust my impeccable vision of you in my eyes. Darling, I will fill the dark space between your doubts with your own light. You need just yourself in this life to be happy. Maybe you plan a perfect love crime to take my breath away, breath lonely like you this evening. Maybe you perform farewell rituals in the temple of dead dreams to forget about fears and sorrows left by lovers who suddenly left you in the past with poisoned arrow in your heart. Maybe my promises of love are not enough to make you feel safe and you run away for a moment to make sure I am truthful with you even if your behaviour is hurtful and I see your shadow naked in the daylight. Maybe you learn antique secrets how to open your soul for love beyond your imagination because we discover unknown territory between man and woman what makes you feel shivers and fever in your bones. Maybe you need space to help me transcend all my illusions about selfless love and it is the gift from the enlightened part of you knowing better than me what love is. Maybe your silence is a gift. Maybe you run because you think you love me more than I do and pride is your guide. Darling, peace and war in my heart in pair. All clocks in my home lie in shreds. My heart doesn't know time. I am your eternity. The willpower mixes with tears when you disappear. But baby, I'll wait for you forever. I know dear, I know. Stars sometimes hide behind the water droplets of clouds.

the idle mountain of laundry
  in the corner smelt of saltine sweat
a shadow deliriously starved
   on the bedraggled linoleum

simmer of onions, the feral trample
    on iron, there is a proper pang
  in admittedly blurting out
       Never
   Again
        Are
We
      To
   Be

   falling into the well of the ear
   to surge anew, a slovenly love,
overcast of the body now gone
    and only fulgent lamp-like brightness
   unmoving in its resort
       tells me something hazed
and invisible enough to be seen
   yet painstakingly entering are these
reminders of the remainders - the only
   resolute and reachable object

  is this photograph of your
  once bright smile
  illuminating all mirrors
  dizzy with the image of myself,
   alone and bedimmed

i could write a novel in your silence
a story of sharp colors, cut clean to the bone
with a saturated happy that drenched our lone souls

maybe a story of hope, slowly pricking down my back
jagging over and over at the last pieces intact

or sadly a story of hunger, craving each fulgent pattern
until love dissipated into our indulgent clatter

your silence is my slow death
i suffocate in each thought you left

where is my body
i will lie in it
the world

from which
my flesh
trees the heart
and my breath
will come

into the stars
hanging
gossamer and
flung neatly
the pate over

and my mouth
will be the sea
issuing
verb
root
and foam

it will vibrate
from my own
valved throat

a single
straining
word

bursting

through all darkness

a fulgent
burning
FLOWER

In a corner of the dark sky of heart
The only shining star is you

While Sun is fulgent in the sky
The darkness that dulls my heart
Is also you

The only poem that electrifies
My mind, day after day is you

While I enjoy that poem
The poison that burns my heart
Is also you.

In darkness, the lamp that brings
Light is you

When that lamp lights my heart
The wind that extinguishes it
Is also you

In a ragingly burning desert
The soothing cool breeze is you

While I relish in that cool breeze
The dust storm that suffocates me
Is also you

your finite minds will calculate
the music of the spheres,
and try to map the infinite
to guide your pioneers

but though those circles heave and sway
and through the aether surge;
i tie my fulgent secret way
not to this demiurge.

that blinding, bumbling dynamo
is but another star,
and countless others shine just so,
indifferent and far.

why let that mere proximity
endear my core to this,
when graver is the gravity
twixt me and the abyss?

no law of physics governs me,
they know not how I move,
i flitter frictionless and free
though maths may not approve

predict my orbit, if you can!
jar lightning for your gears!
i trap the spite of centuries
i burn your deity's tears

remember, child of adam, and resign:
i am the matter you will never find