"furbish" poems
Red alluring dress
Wearing a woman.
***** back:
Red versus black, -
Designers applauding.
I envy God
Not power, but the vision.
Quivering eyelashes will
Furbish the ***** feet
Smelling of Mother - - -
Let's get acquainted.
After all
Man's longing
Is measured by
Heels
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
What is my Purpose?
On this earth's surface.
Do I have an ultimate service,
within these verses?
What is my purpose,
In today's circus.
Is it to buy all that I can purchase?
Or be out on the street shirtless.
What is my purpose,
Among the Earth's worthless,
Is it to grow up scared and nervous?
Or walk around nerveless.
What is my purpose,
In this earth's furnace,
Is it to be full of pureness
and warm those around me like a thermos?
To the above questions,
I am wordless.
To the above questions,
I am verbless.
To the above questions,
I am termless.
So i guess my purpose,
Is full of obscureness.
And in this search for sureness,
I strive on with sterness,
Ignoring the churchless,
In doing my best to furbish
My best definition
Of Purpose.
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 9:21 AM UTC
do regular maintenance
on your soul
clean out the blemish
and the soot
soak it in solution
dust out the corners
of your mind
handle it with care
and buff the edges
caulk the cracks
polish the windows
of your heart
throw out the excess
and leave only the joy
furbish the frayed fringe
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 8:42 AM UTC
the cold melts the face
upward moving sands drip
the hammer strikes a chord
time awakens
gushing bouches de lavage
a hanging pendant light illuminates in anticipation
the trestled bust turns
light cast, cradles the shadows
an emerging voice speaks
the damp muslin curtain falls
fingers mould by the voice
clay splashes bare feet
piercing eyes meet their masters
the nose is the same
affectionate motions scrawl aged lines
the voice is his own
the curtain comes down
blanketed whitened feet now a horizon
a dawn chorus arrives
the dream starts to avalanche
buried in sleep
time stops
strong coffee to see the world
toasted stale baguette to absorb the bitters
a Gauloises to feed the soul
water to quench the thirst
lengthening shadows are a curse
an African mask looks on
one easel offers up an oil
a palette languishes in adoration
brushes sprout from a beer glass
overflowing ashtrays furbish the easel
the spatula jumps from one pile of pigmented oil to another
a new eruption pours out of the glassy mantel
pryoclastic flows seal the canvas
seams of creation ***** forth
the point moves in space
one aspect becomes two
lightness creates
darkness celebrates
three aspects evolve
an intensity pulls the hand deeper
the day is transformed
a creature of the night bites
the table transforms
skies below solidify
flowers swim for safety
sombreroed fish jaywalk
a weary smoke film stagnates in layers
the soul is transfixed
the painting is bewitched
the artist is enslaved
amusement for some
misery for the few
enlightenment for less
in fine it... a dream is laid bare
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 5:57 AM UTC