"gossamer" poems
#*Your hair stills heart's rhythmic meter
For this I wish forever
Strands spun with goddess gossamer;
softer than touch of mother
Your eyes dazzle with no glitter
For this I stare o're yonder
Locking jewels with coins of others;
Leaves throbbing chests emptier
Your form flows as gentle rivers
For this I grudge past swimmers
Glory bequeathed to the winner;
drown will the losing suitors
Your voice humbles angel choirs
For this I listen eager
Songs molding seraphs from satyrs;
in harmony with nature
Your being stirs wildfire
For this I bear the pleasure
Ethereal flames dance together;
fueled by spiritual tethers
You are my love light of summer
For this I waded winter
Glowing 'bove, spring was made greener;
blooming nascent desire*#
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
✴
*in the quiet of stillness
I can hear a snowflake
gently land
upon my cheek
a flurry of gossamer
frozen lace lilts ~
peacefully
transforming
the ennui
of chilling silence
into a wilderness symphony*
✴
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 11:59 AM UTC
The belated summer sky is alive
with a D r a g o n f l y ballet
Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal
A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath
Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
just this side the
softening sunset backdrop
A synthesis of fluid motion
– darting kinesis –
swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
another summer's
imminent curtain call;
reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
of passing seasons
Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
coming to know
we cannot stop
how life unfolds
The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...
— hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch
and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
in the treetops
Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018 .
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
She was born of a forest
And rests her heart
Shallow in pooled dreams
Dripping further than her tears
Falling to soft earth.
She eats rosed lilies
And pickled cattails
All while
Her footsteps leave no absence known
As her lithe nymph body melts into foliage.
And her arms permanently reach
Into the void of
All unknowable things.
Grasping at gossamer threads,
Like thoughts that can't be spun together.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
*we wake up every morning
to the sun
creeping in through
the gossamer curtains
the rays of the sun
traveled all the way
into your room
to brighten up your day
but all you ever search for
first thing in the morning
is the artificial light
from the screen of your cellphone
why cant you take some time
to stop and stare
at the dust falling around you
dancing in the ever iridescent sunlight*
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
A rainy dreary Halloween from 2006.
Candlelit late night
bedroom phone calls.
Your dream about a train ride and mushroom farmers.
My dream about hidden cities.
"I want to feed you ****** and a muscle relaxer and **** the **** out of you"
How long has it been Now?
Too long maybe, some lines are stretched too thin, through waiting and longing, love and lust and the once closest of friendships,
Stretched like Taffy till nearly gossamer strands wound meandering miles of complex life events and other unshared memories.
A too familiar voice.
Echoes of "I want you to have the perfect blow job"
Spaces in conversations that would have been empty if not for the most contagious laugh I've ever heard.
One not matched before or since.
Can you live in the past and long for the future? Is it greedy to desire more of something that was already so sweet? I don't tell anyone about my dreams now. Candles sit on.the shelf primarily unlit.
There are no more secret cities.
No mushroom farmers or train rides
But there are still threads
Stretched like Taffy but woven like a tapestry.
Across time and distance.
Made of memories.
All you'd have to do Is tug on a thread.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Too late
to turn back from the flurry
of painted snowflakes
on a gossamer wind.
In a
whirlwind they spin
up and upwards
to the timeless lands.
Frozen
specks of crystal;
perfect and unimaginable
melt on my face.
Shadows
fall and they turn
grey and the painter leaves
his canvas unfinished.
A soft
white sea has emerged
below my feet
and immersed the world in white.
Foamy
to wade through and yet
impossible to resist
spoiling the untouched.
Then sun
arrives, and he brings warmth
and light, and so
the sky’s daughters melt in all
their sweet virginity
and the ground is rendered wet
once more.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
pompeii runs through our veins,
hot with the taste of ash & decay.
some of us are fortunate enough to
become ruins; others are ruinous,
sepulchers of epidemics, air-born, contagious.
a disease that could make London a cemetery.
we dress ourselves up like relics, clothed
in silk and gold and gossamer,
as if they could one day be armor.
as if they could bring us safety.
as if we deserve such things when everything we touch rusts.
it takes only twenty-two years for the
average person to realize they are a weapon.
that words are knives and actions are razor blades,
as if to remind the living that we
came into the world screaming—
and we have never been silent since.
we are the Morrigans, the cursed women,
those whose destiny is entwined with death.
we court death, invite her to our dinner table every night,
let her sleep in the guest room, leave the doors and
windows unlocked for her.
death, we realize as women forced to bear
the weight of the dead on our shoulders,
never comes as a thief.
she comes as a lover, smelling of lilac, a grin
too white and too large to be human.
still, we invite her in,
because even death, regardless of form,
makes for better company than the empty dark.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
*There is a place that I go
that exists within my mind.
And when I'm feeling troubled,
I can leave this world behind.
On wings of gossamer
I'll sail in airships made of mist
to sparkling shores of diamond dust
the golden sun has kissed.
There are unicorns with silver horns
and friendly dragons too.
There's griffins, fauns and centaurs
why, it's heaven's petting zoo.
The rain falls gently on my face
from tears the angels shed.
And blessings from The Father fall
like leaves on every head.
I'll swim in lakes of lavender
and also float upon my back.
to see a glittering rainbow there
with no colors does it lack.
There is no evil in this place
no envy, pride or hate.
For if I wish admission there,
I check them at the gate.
I'm kin to every heartbeat
and a soul mate to each star.
And I'm never lost or scared
for He's never very far.
And everyone is family there
the humans and the beasts.
There is no **********
There's no "greatest" and no "least".
Someday, I'll find thy solitude
and there I shall abide.
And I'll join the souls
that I have missed
upon thy mystic tide.*
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
sometimes she daydreams about life the way i do about death. it's ironic, i know: black and white aren't meant to be grey and the rumbling hum of expletives digging into mauve lips pass through like desaturated light to translucent statures. it makes everything seem sweeter than it looks. she thinks the ache feels lukewarm, just like those half-hearted smiles she gives out like presents on a holiday, and she may be right. pain is not cold, it covers your entire heart with microwaved fingers, leaving burn marks that leave chars and ashes. snaps the purple heartstrings and clumsily tries to mend it.
(i love you because you're corporeal, she murmurs, you keep me sane)
she's spider-webbed, sung gossamer and silk while her bar lines drip with ink. and she seems moonstruck—because of me she says and blooms throughout my epiphanies. fancies herself a ghost, a wisp, something ethereal that lingers on my lips like a kiss. and she lingers, oh she does. toppling from the skies and collapsing into my rib-cage, she stays, blushing rose-like and thriving. velvet and constellations of blood clots patter against her skin. it blooms like she blooms, a paint splattered canvas meant for all to see.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
my heart flutters at
the way she speaks my name.
"lover", she hums,
and i watch speechless as woebegone
drips from her lips. she
tastes like moonlight
when she kisses me. fragile.
unknown. known.
when our bodies meet
i can't imagine living life any
differently than this;
magnetism draws me closer and
i am intoxicated and sobered and
and i let my fingers
trace symphonies over her skin
love songs and love letters
and the lust of
knowing that this is belonging.
we fold into each other
and it is inevitable. i want to
learn her, learn
every part of her, as if
it's what my soul was sent to do;
her heartbeat weaves a
gossamer of beauty and
she leaves it in the crease of my
neck. "lover".
lightworker. twinflame.
architect of this home, these
two arms that sing safety
into rose quartz bones.
this is harmony.
i release a held breath and
whisper back, "always".
this is my promise.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 10:33 AM UTC
She was a wilting flower,
Delicately fading
Into the depth of her sorrow.
Her eyes-pooled gossamer stars
Falling from constellation webs.
Bouncing on the tile before losing shape
In the atmosphere.
My soul was swallowed into
Her sorrow,
And stayed there.
And when I held her,
It was like trying to hold on to refracting light.
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
Souls search for corresponding measures with gossamer vines through ether
Trapped in corporeal form often drifting between the learner and the teacher
Passing the souls mate yet missing the eyes of fate’s tomorrow
Spending years or a lifetime without a match in loss and sorrow
Souls never lost or seen in a colored perfectionist spectacle
Yet still touch the heart and mind even though vestigial
We cannot find the split soul’s half with judgmental eyes
And if all we see is material, we may never hear a soul’s cries
For the one that makes us whole often wears a disguise
We are lucky enough to peer into the same blue skies
So when you find your souls match, you will know in an instant
You will feel like the sun, or at the very least like you just kissed it!
Walking you into a warmth that is rarely ever seen
You feel as though you lay on clouds, or lost in a pleasant dream
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
#*You are my love light of summer.
For this I wade through winter.
Glowing 'bove, the trees are greener;
blooming nascent desire*
of which I never knew I'd need
let alone make a heart bleed
girl, you got me on both my knees
praying you'll also need me,
too, to finally be complete
or otherwise reach life's peak.
*Your hair stills heart's rhythmic meter.
For this I wish forever.
Strands spun with goddess gossamer;
softer than touch of mother*
of which I never knew I'd need
let alone cause ex's envy
girl, you got her so **** ******
she blames you as much as me,
too, as love for you made her weep
and revealed her love is cheap
*Your voice humbles angel choirs.
For this I listen eager.
Songs that shift the course of rivers;
in harmony with nature*
of which I never knew I'd need
let alone so romantically
girl, you got me frantically
writing you some poetry,
too, and I hope you now can see
that maybe I'm also sweet
*Your soul ignites wildfire.
For this I bear the pleasure.
Ethereal flames dance together;
fueled by spiritual tethers*
of which I never knew I'd need
let alone spark fantasies
girl, you got me crying, "please, please!"
that you never take the lead,
too, cause this would be a done deed
if you wanted it to be.#
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
This yellow saree she wore
Just once in her life had wrapped
A coy twenty-year-old bride
Tentatively setting her dainty foot
Into the hesitant bridal home .
Somewhere in the backwoods
Several industrious silkworms
Had spun miles of salivary yarn
In the foliage of the mulberry tree
To make this golden yellow saree .
The rustle of her silk drowned
The wails of the boiling cocoons
The worms died that beauty would live
In their plaintive cries lay bridal hopes .
My mother, the bride of yesteryears,
Is now as non-existent as the worms
That had ceased to exist spinning
The smooth silk for her bridal finery .
Her bridal fragrance lives on among
The delicate folds of these gossamer silks
That the worms had died weaving.
Death is so fragrant , so memorable.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 6:03 AM UTC
Hear the gentle summer breeze
Whisking through gulmohar leaves
In the music of wind chimes
Tinkling songs of summer time
Feel her quiet on the skin
Filling hearts imaginings
See her as the blossoms dance
In the cusp of dawn's romance
In saplings that take a bow
In wind blown hair tousled now
Petals touched by her stir
Silken soft in gossamer
Light and dark shadows play
On shrubs of green bunched bouquet
While butterflies and bees sup
Drink nectar from sun's molten cup
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC
From white canvass,
a blank ledger of potent
expectation,
awaiting form and function.
The artist invokes
shade and light.
The seminal swirl of
her brush signals
simple hue,
discrete structures.
Then flesh strokes imbue
sanguine blush of
satin seams
and outstretched limbs;
spring greens and rampant peaks,
reaching high into
gossamer nimbus. Calm swells,
abundant bosoms,
beckoning fields of luxuriant temptation.
From an eternal cool,
the (all too) temporary warmth
of her embrace
lies just beyond:
enticing, luring, teasing
into torrid desire.
From whence,
the dream
unfolds...
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 7:54 PM UTC
Laying on a bed of sand
Soft as feather downing
You take hold of my hand
I am floating, drowning
Feeling the blue salt fill me
Your breath kisses my eye
Taking me down to see
Where the turtles fly
Amongst rainbow coral
And fish, timid and shy
Hide amongst a skeletons hull
Gossamer clouds waft over
Driven by a sun tanned breeze
As we lay, cocooned in our ardour
Surrounded by quiet seas
I can feel the blue salt fill me
As your breath kisses my eye
And it’s taking me down to see
Where the turtles fly
Amongst the rainbow coral
And see the fish so shy
Hiding in a shipwrecked hull
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
In apple growing-warmth,
I found oceans between eyelashes and Pacific air.
Ligamented with smoke, skeleton hands crafted cigarettes of honey and curling floral sweetness.
For soft-haired royalty, I bowed my heart and washed my skin in space and rainy wishes.
I drowned myself in polish remover, to show the stripped beauty of love and life
to a sun who lives off alcohol and notions of wouldn't it be nice?
But I, the noiseless patient spider,
who has flung gossamer after thread,
am reaching for nothing but an earth flower,
One who I thought loved me,
or at least that’s what she said.
((one who sees through rose-pink eyeglasses,
and speaks in feathered song.))
Still, I sleep well under starless skies,
where urban northern lights burn the dark,
charred there by city windows and boundless passing cars.
Here, I wrap myself in a cloth galaxy,
and I paint the sun with blackberry juice,
trading gold and diamonds for the simple hope
that someone might live up to you.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC
A one thousand page hymn
singing from lotus petal pages
bound on hummingbird wings
Subtle energies
unfolding, unfurling
unwinding within
Celestial prophecies
unrooting in elements
of oceans of water of air
Gaia and Uranus
blooming from
aetheric nests
Subterranean spelunking
unweaving a gossamer cloak
from plumes of the Red-Tailed Hawk
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
*Pristine dreams of gossamer
in fantasies of white
This is what i hope will guide
my slumber on this night.
Rainbows in a sky of blue
with clouds of grey beyond,
Ripples lapping lilypads,
upon a golden pond,
Butterflies and hummingbirds
in acrobatic arcs,
Shade in grass beneath a tree
with choruses from larks,
A cool breeze on a summer's day,
my love within my arms,
Clouds that block the blazing sun,
a coyish smile that charms,
Stimulants for senses
in a countless, vast array,
Gratitude for blessings
i enjoy most every day,
All these things and more i ask
when sleep mine eyes doth close,
But most of all, a peace within,
and love that always grows.*
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
I’ve known some Wiccans in my time,
Sky clad witches!
Wicked! They
... chanted spells in words that rhyme.
I watched,
waiting,
wanting to play.
I neither sought portion nor spell—
not trusting the magic of it.
I thought them ******
all raised in Hell—
whose sinful flesh I yearned to get.
I met a witch named Sally Sue,
I took a longing for that Miss.
You won’t believe what she could do
with just a nickel and a kiss.
Her beauty rare,
she stole my heart,
that sky clad witch named Sally Sue.
She taught me secrets of her art.
She taught me things I never knew.
When moonlight’s full on Solstice eve,
their gossamer **** bodies dance.
And power men cannot conceive
is raised to give new life a chance.
Daughters from Hell? These Wiccans—
Nay!
With grace and beauty they create
more peace and love than words can say
to save a world, dying with hate.
But in despair we had to part—
I and my Wiccan, Sally Sue.
She left me with a broken heart
to do what only Wiccans do.
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 2:23 PM UTC
*coloured flames and fireflies dance mischievously around our heads
to the tiny trumpetsong of bees Joyous songs of love lulling all in revery yet silent to
mere mortals as We only hear the hush of whispered sighs stood beneath the dappled canopy of
ancient fair oak spread As sweet twilight greets us again swathing our Ianthe in milky moonlight
as she rests upon a dew jewelled knoll still dreaming of fae Unaware of the cold (or the warmth
you hold in your heart for her) She smiles as you cover her shoulders with a elven~made
blanket of gossamer wisp whilst estivating toads blink wide in the coolness of hidden
mossy beds Gently,
sweep the droplet
of Au from her eye, Deva,
as we cough etheric dust from our lungs,
sparkles floating
in the paper-
lantern light
scattering across
the midnight sky,
illuminating fates,
as those fire-flies hearts
twinkle like falling stars unseen*
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
White gauzy smoke is blown through the lily,
Floating on air,
Fondling leaves and dewdrops who're glittery,
A view so rare.
On a picture elegance is enjoyed,
A Polaroid,
Presented in a silver-gallery,
Who's gloomy ne'er.
With gauzy threads from a silky cocoon,
White as the moon,
Lily-hands craft blooming embroidery,
With flowers there.
Like gossamers this elegance's tender,
Lit and slender,
Shining at the afternoon silvery,
Which does not flare.
O Mâhî, this form is a web of rhymes,
Who slowly chimes,
With threads we're finally stitching poetry,
Crafted with care.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC
712
Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.
We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—
Or rather—He passed Us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—
Since then—’tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity—
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