"furthermost" poems - Hello Poetry

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!

0

Jun 20, 2016

Jun 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC

david-john-mowers

Wauhermes in Toto

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!

13

See the Rabbi. See him tormented by choice. See his people. See them wracked by hate. See the others. See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city. On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice. And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth. Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight. More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books. See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word. As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water. See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism. See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own. See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops. See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush. See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust. See it caught, too, and see it see. It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns. It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood. It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference. See it sit in silence. See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others. And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still. It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale. They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention. So it remains. See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided. They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals. It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation. See the Rabbi draw to a close. His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead. What is left but Death. See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy. See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light. See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank. See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey. The daisy stands still.

0

Dec 15, 2011

Dec 15, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC

ari

The Golem

See the Rabbi. See him tormented by choice. See his people. See them wracked by hate. See the others. See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city. On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice. And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth. Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight. More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books. See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word. As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water. See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism. See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own. See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops. See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush. See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust. See it caught, too, and see it see. It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns. It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood. It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference. See it sit in silence. See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others. And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still. It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale. They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention. So it remains. See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided. They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals. It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation. See the Rabbi draw to a close. His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead. What is left but Death. See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy. See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light. See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank. See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey. The daisy stands still.

9

There is a cat at my window I am still ragdoll in its flooded mouth arsonist in one sulfur eye night in a silhouette shadow without philosophy syllable of jungle chill be it alms seeker spy or courier or smoke as a pirouette all icicle and satin black iris I see blood beating its binary pulsating lodestone hanging from its ley line like the lamp of an angler when the sun is furthermost and all gods are unbeknown I am still still the cat sits at my window sill

0

Dec 15, 2011

Dec 15, 2011 at 4:58 PM UTC

ari

Lucifer Sam

There is a cat at my window I am still ragdoll in its flooded mouth arsonist in one sulfur eye night in a silhouette shadow without philosophy syllable of jungle chill be it alms seeker spy or courier or smoke as a pirouette all icicle and satin black iris I see blood beating its binary pulsating lodestone hanging from its ley line like the lamp of an angler when the sun is furthermost and all gods are unbeknown I am still still the cat sits at my window sill

22

Oh, to be a sad balloon... and sail the wayward wind alone To leave this troubled world behind, embark upon the vast unknown Yet somewhere.. I can hear the soulful song that loneliness intones I realize that there are things your heart, and mine… could not condone It seems that I may so escape my darkness.. in the shining sky Perhaps to drift away in blue, where sorrow fails to underlie I hope you realize, within my dreams… I never saw you cry I rise to sad uncertainty, with cigarette and eau de vie I wait for the approaching light, and hope to witness healing dawn The sun however, fails to so provide what hearts depend upon But I suppose the wind has seen to ordination .. love foregone To leave my spirit resolute, embodiment of hope withdrawn These thoughts that crowd my mind at times, have left me strangely ill at ease Though I recall my dreams of love, do not misunderstand me please My aspirations lie above, and there are many thoughts of these Until my sorrow once again, arrives upon the savage breeze To leave me here in desolation, endeavoring to soar the skies To wonder, when will truth contend... dispatch the dread and dire lies Can I have hope of happiness?... well I don’t know...but I surmise My sorrow stands as barricade, for tears I’ve placed there in your eyes So I aspire to ride the wind, out far beyond the waning moon To leave disorder furthermost, where love and kindness then commune So I may know the many reasons, hearts were broken... much too soon I bid farewell to radiance, in a wretched ode to a sad balloon... Dean Evans 12-31-14

0

Jan 1, 2015

Jan 1, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC

dean-evans9f

SAVAGE BREEZE (ode to a sad balloon)

Oh, to be a sad balloon... and sail the wayward wind alone To leave this troubled world behind, embark upon the vast unknown Yet somewhere.. I can hear the soulful song that loneliness intones I realize that there are things your heart, and mine… could not condone It seems that I may so escape my darkness.. in the shining sky Perhaps to drift away in blue, where sorrow fails to underlie I hope you realize, within my dreams… I never saw you cry I rise to sad uncertainty, with cigarette and eau de vie I wait for the approaching light, and hope to witness healing dawn The sun however, fails to so provide what hearts depend upon But I suppose the wind has seen to ordination .. love foregone To leave my spirit resolute, embodiment of hope withdrawn These thoughts that crowd my mind at times, have left me strangely ill at ease Though I recall my dreams of love, do not misunderstand me please My aspirations lie above, and there are many thoughts of these Until my sorrow once again, arrives upon the savage breeze To leave me here in desolation, endeavoring to soar the skies To wonder, when will truth contend... dispatch the dread and dire lies Can I have hope of happiness?... well I don’t know...but I surmise My sorrow stands as barricade, for tears I’ve placed there in your eyes So I aspire to ride the wind, out far beyond the waning moon To leave disorder furthermost, where love and kindness then commune So I may know the many reasons, hearts were broken... much too soon I bid farewell to radiance, in a wretched ode to a sad balloon... Dean Evans 12-31-14

29

The fever of doctrine is waning, but the symptoms of its gathering sweats are making others dangerous to the furthermost sanity of all. For what is sanity, if not the realization that an illness will fight to survive, even if it kills the host who has been cured.

0

May 18, 2018

May 18, 2018 at 9:54 AM UTC

poetic-t

The Fever Of Doctrine

The fever of doctrine is waning, but the symptoms of its gathering sweats are making others dangerous to the furthermost sanity of all. For what is sanity, if not the realization that an illness will fight to survive, even if it kills the host who has been cured.

8

Illuminating the darkest chasms Within the labyrinth Of my mental construct In the most lustrous colors - You paint my soul; with brush strokes unspoken of heretofore & forevermore I smoldered along the inferno But you make me glow Incisive as red hot knives Cauterizing me to the hollow core My twin flame personified Guided by the Eye of Apollo The fire crescendos bright but Can we still burn tomorrow? The comfort of being vulnerable Something I’ve never known Permeating the fabric of reality From which we’re both shorn In this abstraction I am magnetized; Canvassed by your sanguine fashion You’re a force of nature so I energize Being your equal and opposite reaction Mesmerized; when we synchronize In utmost harmonious passions, It intensifies the butterflies Multiplying in my abdomen Did I mention, my thirst for you is Unquenchably vivacious? It’s like I’m Tantalus, Stuck on the cusp & you’re the pool I’ll always long to drink from I crave your vibrations; Sensations on strings which I hang on -Your every word reinforces The advances I can’t play off of It’s not happenstance; Fates wove our path Admirance enchanting our perspective You’re in my reflection and suddenly I’m projected to a different dimension The sky splits then I’m wondering If this is truly ascension Flying on the wings of Icarus; Longing to plunge your furthermost depths

0

Jul 15, 2022

Jul 15, 2022 at 6:37 AM UTC

duderocketship

Fill me with your iridescent love

Illuminating the darkest chasms Within the labyrinth Of my mental construct In the most lustrous colors - You paint my soul; with brush strokes unspoken of heretofore & forevermore I smoldered along the inferno But you make me glow Incisive as red hot knives Cauterizing me to the hollow core My twin flame personified Guided by the Eye of Apollo The fire crescendos bright but Can we still burn tomorrow? The comfort of being vulnerable Something I’ve never known Permeating the fabric of reality From which we’re both shorn In this abstraction I am magnetized; Canvassed by your sanguine fashion You’re a force of nature so I energize Being your equal and opposite reaction Mesmerized; when we synchronize In utmost harmonious passions, It intensifies the butterflies Multiplying in my abdomen Did I mention, my thirst for you is Unquenchably vivacious? It’s like I’m Tantalus, Stuck on the cusp & you’re the pool I’ll always long to drink from I crave your vibrations; Sensations on strings which I hang on -Your every word reinforces The advances I can’t play off of It’s not happenstance; Fates wove our path Admirance enchanting our perspective You’re in my reflection and suddenly I’m projected to a different dimension The sky splits then I’m wondering If this is truly ascension Flying on the wings of Icarus; Longing to plunge your furthermost depths

43

the sky turns grey and then the patters softly fall down dampen my clothe it feels so cold stand between the unvailing decisions stare at the old fool cry for the unsure stuck in this skittish i know i should run furthermost unchain my soul but should i let this cracky heart just fall onto miserable surface?

0

Apr 12, 2017

Apr 12, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC

__reverieur

perplexed

the sky turns grey and then the patters softly fall down dampen my clothe it feels so cold stand between the unvailing decisions stare at the old fool cry for the unsure stuck in this skittish i know i should run furthermost unchain my soul but should i let this cracky heart just fall onto miserable surface?

15

confusion fills every inch within me accompanied with endless questions yet all unanswered i lay in what feels like a vacant room despite her body laying in the same bed furthermost from my touch the space between appears to be miles apart i lay restless as she lays in deep sleep the silence in the bedroom seems like an eternity placing my thoughts in a continuous loop of doubt replaying our previous conversation the tone in her voice echoed a wasted breath i'm left speechless every emotion has paralyzed my body i feel my heart pounding against my chest along with amplified sounds of tears colliding against the pillow i lay there in silence as the clock continuous to tick and the small beams of sunlight begin to appear... The sun continues on its daily routine

0

Sep 9, 2017

Sep 9, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC

stephanie-escobedo

Darkest Hours

confusion fills every inch within me accompanied with endless questions yet all unanswered i lay in what feels like a vacant room despite her body laying in the same bed furthermost from my touch the space between appears to be miles apart i lay restless as she lays in deep sleep the silence in the bedroom seems like an eternity placing my thoughts in a continuous loop of doubt replaying our previous conversation the tone in her voice echoed a wasted breath i'm left speechless every emotion has paralyzed my body i feel my heart pounding against my chest along with amplified sounds of tears colliding against the pillow i lay there in silence as the clock continuous to tick and the small beams of sunlight begin to appear... The sun continues on its daily routine

19

Your song reaches furthermost the place of union Union beyond believing but not beyond your ken Poets sing and always will its a seed planted in souls a place of union the furthermost of love.

0

Nov 5, 2021

Nov 5, 2021 at 7:39 PM UTC

nivek

your song

Your song reaches furthermost the place of union Union beyond believing but not beyond your ken Poets sing and always will its a seed planted in souls a place of union the furthermost of love.

8

the flowing chiffon billows in the wind the remains of her torn-up dress have fallen off revealing the scabbing, the oozing, the ****** mess that's confusing. relinquish the souls of the ****** Wise One. the woman nods and smiles: "dutifully so". she reveals the martyr's expression of unkempt love. in her inner core, once and for all, is her furthermost and final foe.

0

Nov 22, 2018

Nov 22, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC

mcvicxr

abstract nature is dying instead

the flowing chiffon billows in the wind the remains of her torn-up dress have fallen off revealing the scabbing, the oozing, the ****** mess that's confusing. relinquish the souls of the ****** Wise One. the woman nods and smiles: "dutifully so". she reveals the martyr's expression of unkempt love. in her inner core, once and for all, is her furthermost and final foe.

10