"gilding" poems
In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds
Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual
My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary
Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments
I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path
The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux
As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate
Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift
Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary
Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode
And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Hunger eyes stared down at the rod,
awaiting it's own ***** alee
Laid on the satin sheets, arms entangled
milky thighs spread apart
Hunger eyes too stared down at me
laying in inescapable, trembling bondages
A heat burning through our hearts - through us:
That was desire.
I love him like this -
where stars align;
Buttons undone. Eyes lit with a burning flame
waiting to engulf me whole.
Touching me here, there - everywhere
tracing the freckles on my skin that lay like speckled stars
to the lines on my palm. Memorising.
His mouth gilding across with a wicked purpose
as urns of a thousand suns pour blazing down my throat
Not us did the saint align and embrace our pure hearts
We were in the other's self the ruin
of purity's gentle caress
where my hand rests at
in between to ease the trembling core
our bodies lay in the dead of the night
both of us searching for more
to no one but him do I come to thee!
as a cry aches through the silence of the night
our souls connect - one of each
lit for each other
lost, weighed on each others palms;
This was our desire
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 1:57 AM UTC
Skyscrapers in every nation,
Signs of mankind's aspiration,
Millions of plebs face starvation,
No dwellings for them, deprivation,
No, skyscrapers they keep building,
How many lilies are they gilding?
What else could they be doing?
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
Love blossomed in the darkest night
Morn's gilding beams to spite
Night Primrose preened by tender blight
As Sphinx Moth, soft tips caress; sugary nectar slight
Perfumed aroma doth prating, intoxicated courtier incite
Glazed petals with dewy fans stream delight
Golden cup a succouring armchair from which passions alight
Delicate, cream veil eclipses pallid, stolid moonlight
With availing breeze your dreamy parasol on Cupid's wing takes flight
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 6:23 PM UTC
ONE time he dreamed beside a sea
That laid a mane of mimic stars
In fondling quiet on the knee
Of one tall, pearlèd cliff; the bars
Of golden beaches upward swept;
Pine-scented shadows seaward crept.
The full moon swung her ripened sphere
As from a vine; and clouds, as small
As vine leaves in the opening year,
Kissed the large circle of her ball.
The stars gleamed thro' them as one sees
Thor' vine leaves drift the golden bees.
He dreamed beside this purple sea;
Low sang its trancéd voice, and he-
He knew not if the wordless strain
Made prophecy of joy or pain;
He only knew far stretched that sea,
He knew its name-Eternity.
A shallop with a rainbow sail
On the bright pulses of the tide
Throbbed airily; a fluting gale
Kissed the rich gilding of its side;
By chain of rose and myrtle fast
A light sail touched the slender mast.
'A flower-bright rainbow thing,' he said
To one beside him, 'far too frail
To brave dark storms that lurk ahead,
To dare sharp talons of the gale.
Beloved, thou wouldst not forth with me
In such a bark on such a sea?'
'First tell me of its name.' She bent
Her eyes divine and innocent
On his. He raised his hand above
Its prow and answering swore, ''Tis Love!'
'Now tell,' she asked, 'how is it build-
Of gold, or worthless timber gilt?'
'Of gold,' he said. 'Whence named?' asked she,
The roses of her lips apart;
She paused-a lily by the sea.
Came his swift answer, 'From my heart!'
She laid her light palm in his hand:
'Let loose the shallop from the strand!'
2.2k
you cannot finish need.
it fiends in wretched globes of dwarf
swelling to tremendous steam
a Bacchanal of vineyard borscht
a moonlit morsel of demolished dreams...
we serve at the pleasure of the absurd
gilding shadows with clay confetti
and the nictitating membranes of blue crocodiles.
and blank verse.
felling the Yggdrasil, by all means; you maraud the larder
in the night kitchen; nicking blackbird-pies and pinky-russet salamanders
[ the loose farthing ] and the hard liquor... all gone now
your potato sack, rakishly slung from the shoulders of an Atlas, entitled ' Promised Land; betrayed '.
a new map shrugging off old kings from dead valleys
revealing the hour of your worthless estate,
in-lieu of the boundaries of your lost holdings. unhappily -
you inherit the unripe peach
in a hound's mouth.
you slouch rough, slowly
to your beast
of a couch:
there, to remain unholy and due South.
there, to remain unknowing
by all account.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
An hour passed beneath the willow
Before we saw the sallow light,
It slipped and slid between the depths
Of dusk and clouds that own the night.
Still we sat, watching streams
That danced above the atmosphere
Where gravity begins to fade
Along with most of future’s fears
And still we sit and wonder why
We gild the lilies on the shore,
And still we sit and wonder why
We can’t say what we’re waiting for.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
Basquiat brushes
dribbles bulbous breakdance blues
gilding hip hop walls
Dolphy ****** white jazz
welling crank pipe smoked black lungs
on poppin stickmen
Lorca be mute, vexed
with syllabic conundrums
mal haiku riddles
Eric Dolphy:
God Bless the Child
Federico Garcia Lorca
The Little Mute Boy
Oakland
3/6/13
jbm
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
Faded gilding, rubbed through to cracking, flaking wood.
A glamour of ages, sliding, flies to the breeze.
The little bird perches on a once-fine moulding;
Head tilted, one bright eye turned towards the mantle
where a half-blind mercurised mirror barely reflects
an army of creeping vines, consuming naked angels
and the God of this house.
Our hero’s velvets are ruined, dripping and eaten through.
Where riches have lived, decay succeeds.
Nature’s velvets; opulent mosses and emerald lichens
are devouring damask
and smoothing over marbled hardness.
The bird listens for footsteps.
The lady would scatter crumbs on the windowsill
and he would flutter, unafraid,
to peck at her sweet feast.
Once, she drew him.
Fine-lining passerine delicacy,
her pencils fetched him,
and bestowed him an artist’s nobility.
He turned, this way and that,
flashing gold-touched wings,
miming a duchess snapping open a fan.
She’s gone now,
and so have the crumbs.
The bird senses no sugar on the sill,
nor the faintest reminiscence
of lavender perfume, glittering as star bursts
at the hollow of her throat.
He sings regardless,
a mournful beauty
longing to return to a glorious, lustful age,
where light refracted in cut crystal,
danced upon frescoes
and illuminated the ugly –
- to render them enchanting.
He swoops to dance on the mantle,
answered by the mirror
and sits a while, preening.
The gentlemen and ladies are gone forever.
Ejected from history to echo as ghosts of fancy and excess,
undeserving of remembrance or pity.
The bird will never forget.
And knots up secrets
kept tightly in his breast,
committed to his tiny, fierce heart.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
A spark takes a second
The fire lasts a little more
But a pebble is shaped over ages,
By waves beating upon their shore.
What the tide brings under the Sun,
It takes away under the Moon.
The scent of the roses in Spring
Was lost to the winds too soon.
Of what use now is watering a flower
Which already withered to nightly rains?
Of what good are the pardons you shower
Upon a slave who has died in your chains?
This bridge I was building
Collapsed before the mail van could cross
With this pebble I was gilding
That shall remain to you, an unknown loss.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
Stone faced destruction, a craft in a void
What does it matter if it can never be created or destroyed?
Event horizon guide me, living got you annoyed?
Like an atom we split, and through the dirt that we sift
Seeds of conditional omission baring down for the drift
Intentions spread on the wind, now bereft of the wit
Scattershot the lot and hold me down with the gift
If I'm breathing you'll see me believing in my condition
No bereaving is needed when I have made my decision
It's not a death of the ego; why it's a call to confirm it
Leave your name at the tone, and I will prove I deserve it
Message, misinterpreted, deterred but I'm building
I hit the chisel to my brain, I carved the marker I'm gilding
I knew that no seed would grow until the weeds had been slain
Now every moment I'm living converting power from pain
As I can offer no service, until I have made myself work
So I have left from the room, where all the chatter continues
to plant myself in the dirt, so I replenish my sinews
Confusing my silence for inaction on a whim could prove deadly
I'm stacking my arsenal, stick around for the medley.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 5:00 AM UTC
A spindling sun stream on copses' cloak spun
Melange of orange, yellow, red on foliage does glisten
Decadent Umbrella wields fluorescent shield o'er barren fields
Glinted blades colorful shades heighten
Glossed Bright-cherry, Oak leaves the fringes floss
Purple haze of Sweet Gum lobes the flanks glaze
Yellow tips of White Oak fingers waxed with gilding syringe
Orange Marmalade, Maple stars varnished with tinseling *****
Blue Beech crusted folds dusted with a brackish rust
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 11:39 AM UTC
Cigarette smoke whispers, writhing
Silently it tendrils up
From the glowing end in spirals
Pirouettes to cancers' cup.
Nicotine stained fingers tremble
Wrinkled, thin, arthritic claw,
Lips of carmine part to reveal
Yellow dentures gilding jaw.
Bacon breath of sour demeanor
Vacant eyes reflecting strain,
Hacking coughing greeting morning
Light another, **** the pain.
Silently the reaper beckons
Cavernous his grinning maw,
Welcoming the souls entrapped
In stultifying black tar gore.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
14 September 2010
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 1:54 AM UTC
Gimmicks and shenanigans
Are altogether lame.
Overt meanings of a poem
Are meant to be more tamed.
Puns and plays on ev'ry word,
Or rhymes and playground taunts,
Lack a subtle nature;
Alliteration flaunts.
For free lines feel unforced,
And poems portray with power.
But not with gaudy gilding,
Like petals on a flower.
No, poems are not much better
When written tongue-in-cheek.
In fact, for all those reasons,
This one's considered weak.
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 3:46 PM UTC
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountaintops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all-triumphant splendour on my brow.
But out, alack! He was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath masked him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven’s sun staineth.
1.4k
Daffodils honour us with their diaphanous emerging,
familiar old friends, it’s welcome yellow fellows well
met. We greet you gratefully from your submerging
floral heads mutate, from green bud to golden bell.
Nature, benefactor of all provision, gifts indulgence
plays host to these visitors for sadly too brief a stay
endows bright vistas which radiate in rare effulgence
springing in Spring this seasonal and annual display.
Daffodils grow row on row hereabout and all around
a host of them as Wordsworth’s great poem extolled;
flowers that proliferate and thrive upon waste ground
gilding the darkest spaces by their alchemy into gold.
Like gold a noble daffodil yields a treasure for the eye,
an array of optical pleasure then doffs its cap goodbye.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
A woman’s face with Nature’s own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman’s gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women’s fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created,
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she pricked thee out for women’s pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love’s use their treasure.
1.3k
Worthy and stalwart sojourner,
Bright as the sun and carried forth by devotion to the journey
Disguised as a common school bus that has been modestly adorned.
An uncommon gilding that comes from the art of love,
which you bear with equanimity
The coach to my beloved passengers
You are their protector and steadfast friend
Continuing your created purpose,
delivering precious cargo to a world of discovery
Who needs but small adoration, and motor oil
Your dignity marching joyfully down a solitary highway
drawing crowds of admirers and the curious
yet, allowing a shade tree mechanic to crawl beneath your shield and examine your private parts
Because you are dedicated to their wander lust
Indeed you stealthily stoke their zeal,
which can become muted in suburban safety and network news
Quietly, almost in secret, you stand patiently waiting
Beckoning with your bright colors that recount memories of past exploration
Teal and orange that recall the beautiful sunrise over the pacific,
Brick red and black, the unexpected festival with bright lights in the midnight sky
El toro and the sparkling castille showering down on squealing brown skinned boys and girls
Solitary beaches where paradise was yours, theirs alone
You call them to a quest renewed.
Calling my beloved parents.
Urging them out again. Reassuring them that the risk is far outweighed by the memories
And when they are but a fraction on their way,
your gentle words, disguised in the hum of the engine, whisper
"away, away, let us see what we shall see"
Stirring their youth and vigor, laying to rest their doubts.
Believing it is their own voice, they grow confident.
With eyes cast ahead in anticipation of another adventure.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
Two siblings walk, hand in hand,
Shoulder to shoulder,
their footsteps paving grass and stone
in wary gilding.
And when other footfalls trace their steps,
the feet will slip,
And the trail will have gone.
The siblings work in synchronization.
Unique independence,
Contrasting, and Dissimilar
both harmonizing in nature;
They tie knots in eyelashes,
Weave fine chain with obsidian,
and break nails with simple deeds.
I, with hands of hardened base,
and fingertips that stroke Saguaro spines-
Will reach for straw figures
with blank, witless features,
And cold tin men,
with ice coated *******
And a sharp-edged shadow will bark at my heels.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
In the dark velvet lining of a humid gilded box
is a little china doll:
a delicate charm for her grandmother's gold bracelet.
She lies languid. Her sinews are chains and her bones glass.
Light swarms through her: a mess of wispy snakes.
At noon
it bounces wildly like the pinball game
she's heard so enthusiastically described
in a wildly raucous rock and roll song.
Tentatively she reaches for the stars painted through her hair
raised a bit like brail and hot to the touch.
They're made of fire billions of miles away.
They have halos radiant at midnight.
At midnight
the humid gilded box
is damp and muggy and she twists and wakes
sullen with panic and covered in stardust.
The grime of the moon coats her gingham dress,
collected as she skidded to home plate.
Precious Darling,
Bless her heart,
for unbeknownst to her the humid gilded box
is within a teapot,
upon a shelf,
within a cupboard,
beside a grandfather clock
that chimes at each curly hour and rattles the gilding
so that as the hours pass - as the days disappear:
her darling little precious box
dims like the tapestry her grandmother hung
to mourn the grandfather clock.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
in the old grass we found lead weights and paraffin
arranged upon smoke and earth... gilding the cannibal suns
with flesh-tones and bedsores. we forged ahead
of our Heads again
in disarray.the long Joke of Birth... tilting the rhombus.
we cumbersome.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
before the world ends
begin.
that you may not love
is the haunting.
where your ghost is rain
your mind clouds.
and nothing is foreseen
like the past.
II
in the long watch of this blindness
we are surely rogue begonias
needling the impenetrable nethers
of our low coronas
we jest in the rage of our humors
gilding the uvula
of our golden throats
trilling in the infinite sublime
and gain no quarter
note.
unabridged, we straddle the span
of our chasm.
and there,
we seek to stand apart
from whatever wounds
we fathom.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
* Fashionably Unexpected*
the devil had arrived but as the sun was at it's peak
the invitation was for nine, but in the evening
of next week...
he was naked save the toga, and his flaxen locks of gold
and a massive crop of wings, slightly mussed; -
adroitly posed.
i had just been in the garden, plucking apples from a limb
with my pruning shears and sherry
and no clue it might be him....
but there i stood astounded, having thought -
" I heard the bell ? "
and again
by ' Who'd ' Come knocking
on my mallet chain
from Hell.
the devil held a mirror and a silver box, ornate
with the likeness of a lotus and an acorn
on a plate...
the gilding was perfection, and the mirror was opaque
but the fallen one was flawless
as the smile upon
his face...
and how i broke the silence in my simple garden threads
was to ramble at the Serpent
as I handed him a Jacket.
Amused by my conceit that any custom i condone
were applied with an epoxy
Only carpenters from Rome, that were spotless and
And from Nazareth
with a Father
and a Ghost -
A Mother without Blemish
and Disciples in a grove...
And blessed be
the Mercy of the Lending
of the glue
by the resurrected Handy Man
and King of
all the Jews !
The Morningstar obliged!
But held the blazer
in rebuke
He grimaced His Displeasure
And instantly
for proof
He dismembered my regalia
and assembled it anew
Into such a splendid Toga
There was nothing
I could do -
but simply step aside
as all the sting
had let the ruse.
I received the Prince of Darkness
Wearing gloves and dirt and boots
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 10:59 PM UTC
Check the twenty-twenty fission
Adam splittin' Eden vision
Bustin' caps in gas emissions
Spittin' written ammunition
For the first-world problem chillen'
Droppin' free speech bomb sedition
On the third-world problem villain
Grand old wizards' ku klux gizzards
All white **** meat chicken dinners
Suckin' Christian dictions'
Hissin' contests over spoils
House of Slyth'rins witherin'
The shale-shock sowing soil
With Satan seeds of ignorance
Still thirsting for indifference
From money hungry London royal
Global warming blizzards
As they're bleeding dry the rivers
Into liquidating oil
Treasure buried with a shovel
In oases brought to boil
Nine eleven popped the bubble
But with Jesus in the building
Turning metal into rubble
Smelting graces into gilding
From the melting *** he's spilling
Into off-shore power drilling
Making killings on the rigging
As Mohammed was displayed
As a scary, bearded, brown-skin man
Through tricks of terrorism's trade
And God's right sleights of winning hand
Pulled rabbits from Fatah's grenade
And cooked 'em in Afghanistan
For PTSD noise parades
And hot dog chugs for Uncle Sam
To waste the land, supply demand
For ol' Osama's unmarked grave
Obama hosted-masquerade
White-washing New World fear campaign
Them masks of patriotic acts
In place as they removed Hussein
Disguised the ethnic cleanse crusade
With bush league mass destruction claims
When the caliphate they made
Went Khomeini on Iran
A stand against the David camp
Shelling bibles to qurans
So the shah's Allah mirage
Put the profits in the pockets
Of the prophet's arbitrage
Camouflage the Green Zone spans
With pyramids of Reaganomics
Tricklin' into sovereign sands
Long before heathen jihadists
Flew their kamikaze plans
Into Trump towers' blacklist fists
Of modern warfare contra bans
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
I woke up in the middle of the night,
and realized that I am more free than I have ever been in my life.
Yet,
All I want to do
is show up on your doorstep--
perhaps in one of those rainstorms you love so much better than me--
and beg you to strip the gold leaf from the bars,
because this cage I’ve built of one-way fantasies
is still better than sleeping alone,
and the gilding is all I have to offer
that could possibly compare with the brilliance of her sun.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC