"heathers" poems
Saffron, delights, rubies and gold
Crushed silvers from the shores
Cornish tin, copper green as mould
Heathers from the mauve moors.
Buttercups and daisies in an English lawn
Red and white spotted fungi in the wood
Hedges laden with gems stripped and torn
Smashed diamonds embedded in the mud.
Little gems sparkle like prisms on the twig
Fat with juice, brimming with good
Good enough to eat, best to swig.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC
We have an Irish kind of love
Her and I
Myself and herself
Old and young
Young and old
But which is which
Sometimes
I know.............
We have an Irish kind of love
In how we talk
In riddle and rhyme
Singing and crying
At the same time
Sometimes
I know.....................
We have an Irish kind of love
When we walk
The hills of our county
Herself does be scolding me
For not keeping up
What can I do
So busy watching
Watching my step
And the heathers blue
We have an Irish kind of love
Forged in an ancient ring
But of stone, not gold
Ageless and timed
She sooths me
And my troubled mind
For she is as new as the dawn
But as wise as sea
We have an Irish kind of love
Herself, and me.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 7:47 AM UTC
i thought you were a painting at first,
with the way those dyed eyes matched mine,
with lips as full as a novel and as red as lower worlds,
made me think you were a painting--of something most divine.
i thought you were a painting at first,
with the way those small hands rose as mine did,
with the way those lips tasted of cookie dough and warm sugar,
with the way those eyes never seemed to leave me for naught,
and abandon me in lakes.
i thought you were a painting at first,
when i approached and eels ignited my mind--
with the thought--the picture-- the painting of you, O dear,
and set my mind within seas--clouds--of gladiolus's.
i thought you were a painting at first,
with that ever-always smile,
for do you not bleed at the mouth,
with that kryptonic sunshine?
i thought you were a painting at first, my love,
when my hand touched your sadistic smirk,
knowing i couldn't truly reach you,
and the heathers over-lapse me.
i thought you were a painting at first,
when my cheek touched your cool one,
and stained it with cherry pop blush,
for i know it's your favorite,
as you wear it to bed, all-while.
i thought you were a painting at first,
when i froze and my mind sung eulogies,
at my death at your satin feet,
for your beauty reaches past heaven.
i thought you were a painting at first,
when my smile synced with yours,
when they poked our eyes,
when they wrinkled our noses,
and when the sun shone still--even though ours were enough.
i thought you were painting at first,
until our lips met 'neath blue light,
and the shivers i bled,
fueled our world a-night.
for, dear, i thought you were a painting at first,
when i could see my heart beat--pace as yours,
and the moon and sun morphed--into entity,
and made us water lilies birthed with ravens.
i thought you were a painting at first,
when God told me,
'for you are the most beautiful person i have birthed from my lungs,
and spoke my heart to,
for you--and your painting here--are the only things that dance to my world.'
i thought you were a painting at first, my love,
when i bleed into pots and saw you doing the same,
now i know when my time is scuffed 'neath the barren sand,
your blood--our resin--stains lots.
lots.
lots.
for i know you're a stunning painting, O love,
for you lock many hearts.
i'd hope to own thrice of many,
so you could master theft over, and over, and over again.
i know you're a wondrous painting, O dear,
when people beg you to pose,
so they could see that beauty too, O love,
and kiss it a wish.
i know you're a masterpiece, love--
sweeter than melted butter,
and the finest of berries,
for you're worth--worshiped--much more than,
such mundane things.
i know you're a vintage classic, O wonder,
when my eyes turn blinding stars,
and fill up night skies.
for i knew you were a--
masterpiece...
master... piece...
master... piece...
master.
for i knew you were a human, O master,
when my eyes gloss over in drunken clarity,
and my lips spill cider;
my hand becomes water at your touch,
for the pool knows no words,
to bask in my beauty.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 6:08 PM UTC
When I'm not back home
in the city
where the bulls cry
in fumes,
**** goes awry.
The girl
that
I loved
once,
calls
twice.
And then a third time,
I pick up,
and it's war
from the first
breath.
D-Day on a tuesday night,
the troops storming the shore,
the bombs blazing
in the infrerno of night,
my ex calling me
talking about
compassion.
So what did I do?
really?
I just tried
to be
civil.
I tried to tell her that my heart
was in another place,
that it was bending
and finally
broken.
Compassion doesn't live here anymore,
because so many questions
about cheating with white girls,
the same kind that her irish-italian blood
resembled,
boiled down
to
self-hate.
I tried to tell her
that I was in love,
that I was over her,
that these arguments
were the mute points
of her politicism.
She couldn't sway me
with a thousand dollars
or a million.
I was in love
and it hurt to argue,
because I wasn't talking
to the one,
I wanted to.
I was ******* with heathers,
when I wanted to know more
about flying eagles
and the depth of feminism.
I wanted to know how deep it reached
her heart,
and how.
So now,
I'm angry
that you called,
because it wasn't the number I wanted,
not the voice
so clear
and liquid
as
truth.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 12:04 AM UTC
oh forget me nots in my shaded woodland garden,
hibiscus of rememberance,
violet of the lavendars of my faithfullness,
iris of his wisdom and valour,
daisys of my white imagination,
heathers of my heart,
roses of his desire,
sweet pea of delicasies,
ivy of my eternal fidelity,
posies I desire,
he loves me, he loves me not.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
.
When first I did see you,
My heart was a drum, beaten,
A fog horn blew out to sea.
When you looked at me,
Stark, true, across blue sky,
Sunshine piercing the clouds.
When you touched me,
Frost thawing at first light,
Misted dews on the heathers.
When you were upon me so,
Could I not but open, bloom,
Softly, wind on the petal.
When your hot eyes got me,
Set smoulder to stoked flame,
Aye, I burned for you.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 7:18 PM UTC
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
My world was once devoted to you.
Daises are yellow,
Carnations are pink,
Our souls no longer stay in sync.
Heathers are mauve,
Lilies are white,
I can no longer battle this fight.
The bruises turn purple,
The scabs turn brown,
I think it's time to put my foot down.
I begin to see black,
Your knuckles bleed red,
What goes on inside your head?
I see the white light
And you begin to realize,
"Why, oh why, was I not right?"
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
you ever been
cold in hot weather?
no holds barred ever?
grown old forever?
ever wrote a red note,
blood letter?
ever eaten crow
and feathers?
ever known old scratch
in the false heathers?
you ever been
cold in hot weather?
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
When first I did see you,
My heart was a drum, beaten,
A fog horn blew out to sea.
When you looked at me,
Stark, true, across blue sky,
Sunshine piercing the clouds.
When you touched me,
Frost thawing at first light,
Misted dews on the heathers.
When you were upon me so,
Could I not but open, bloom,
Softly, wind on the petal.
When your hot eyes got me,
Set smoulder to stoked flame,
Aye, I burned for you.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 2:30 AM UTC
It's been almost six years.
Six years,
and I can't get your face
etched out of the corners
of my night sky
It's been six years
and all I dream about is you
Six years
but all we are is nuclear,
all this is... is nuclear,
but maybe that's not such
a bad thing
because we always seem
to find eachother
in the aftermath,
because while your body is a roadmap
and my lips explore your highways
and my fingertips trace over your vacant lots
I still wonder if I can still fill them
with the most beautiful skyscrapers
you've ever seen.
I wouldn't be surprised
if the answer is no
because every time
they seem to come crashing down around us
all rubble and flames and radiation,
everything you'd expect
from a nuclear disaster,
but I'm willing to try again.
Six years,
and we've dated more times than Ross and Rachel
or maybe J.D. and Elliot is more accurate
maybe that's why my life feels like a TV show,
maybe the only difference
is that most TV shows
have a happy ending...
Us?
Forgive me for quoting Heathers,
but we're damaged, badly damaged,
but your love's too good to lose,
hold me tighter, even closer,
I'll stay if I'm what you choose...
I want you to choose me
I want you to want to hold me
everyone's told me love hurts,
but I never expected it to hurt like this,
beating hearts to the sound of drums
that aren't on the same rhythm anymore,
but I'm willing to try again.
I'll stay if I'm what you choose... because
You're the one I choose.
And I'm willing to try again.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 4:40 PM UTC
A feral flutter
Light headed, heavy winged
A slightly singed stutter to follow
Bow your head into the faeries hollow
Tiny hands of guidance, till you’re dancing in the gold and blue
That fae has a face I know as you
You chirp from birch to birch
The echoes of your ivy crown
Your laugh is etched in every sound
In tree barks and wolf howls
Drunken singing night owls
In the shimmer of the mystical
Rainbows when the sun hits crystal
Late days and lightning
And we remember you shining
So many memories to make us swoon
Your face I see in every moon
A spirit embroidered with feathers
Snoozing sweetly in the heathers
Inked with sunshine and smothered in glitter
Beyond the stars your chariot flitters
Eyes of kindness and heart filled with love
I know your smile still sings above
These pixies they steal teeth and treasures
They’ll take you on celestial endeavours
Till somewhere soft and serene you’ll have landed
Somewhere you’ll dance with the winged bandits
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 3:33 PM UTC
Her voice is sweeter than its path.
With so many berry leaves latticed
into the chain-link fence,
it sounds like millions of feathers
tinkling.
Her eyes are in Arizona,
in impacted zones of clay knuckles
punching their way outwards
into the redwood bone of the earth.
Her smell is wet limestone; baked apples; hungry petunias.
And the sound they make is a train,
a reveille
moving away.
Heather tells me about a recent trip to Los Angeles;
about forms of travel
that don't move on tracks,
where there is no discernable distance.
I tell her I have been here all along;
I know where you have been
and how you sound there.
I know the heathers of the world
by the berry in your mouth.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 5:48 PM UTC
Will There Be Starlight
by Michael R. Burch
Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
damask
and lilac
and sweet-scented heathers?
And will she find flowers,
or will she find thorns
guarding the petals
of roses unborn?
Will there be moonlight
tonight
while she gathers
seashells
and mussels
and albatross feathers?
And will she find treasure
or will she find pain
at the end of this rainbow
of moonlight on rain?
Published by The Chained Muse, Famous Poets and Poems, Grassroots Poetry, Inspirational Stories, Jenion, Poetry Webring, Starlight Archives, TALESetc, The Word (UK), Writ in Water
Keywords/Tags: Night, starlight, moonlight, mystery, flowers, roses, petals, thorns, seashells, feathers, rain, rainbow, treasure, *** of gold, romance, romantic, romanticism, love, passion, desire, longing
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 11:03 PM UTC
reverend, hold on to yours heathers
pay homage in…
cold handshakes, several different when
shades weigh the same together
pretty present in existence
since sense began…
priests dressed in electric black shells
figurine sand to ocean bell sickness
pushing gapes
pulling weight
praise and break
point and gaze
motormouth mona and water without europa
wont causeway why…
mind, body, soul and soda
your holy holes in water cry souls and cola
jade green ***** curdled in cloth
terrorise terracotta blue…
his scissor cynicism floating down deep
too far in thoughts honed in drunken sleep
rotten down faith
mustard and grapes
horses in hays
the churchbell face
sipped tears in a moody blues foot
heavens name
boredom, chair tippin’ lemon gums loose
sevens straight
one is day
horned rims and your empty plates
passing on passing on passing on shoes
passed out passion with the stuff you use
no collide no collide no sliding streams
wont bother anyone but simply confuse
kholum bala froze dog brush minds
chrome collars punching trees and diamond vines
woke up at your stomach and started to sink
doesnt it look like someones had too much to think
man/woman, father/mother, sister/brother
simply cut curtains at every corner, hastily turn
to your side and roll onto the edge of your forwardness
diagonally push a fist backward from a snowy pitch
roll ten thousand times in a smooth fabric yaw
and **** down the barrel of my jaw
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
I used to climb so high
Those trees that boughed
Unimportant limbs to
Mere twiglets that seemed
Were always budding.
How I loved the woods and how
Heaths heathers blether now.
Blether now.
When nature flowed
Next to my beck
Something sang to me
Louder than a lamphrey
And I knew fish didn't talk
Much but still kept to the bees.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
Wondering around, oblivious of my dream;
Sleeping so tight, that no one could make me scream.
Heathers everywhere;
Black rhododendrons nowhere.
I might be stuck in my dream,
For it is a sweet dream.
I might not see any gleam,
For this will be my last, it seems.
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 8:37 AM UTC
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 10/8/2019
* * * (A sad September is heading over the tops...)
A sad September is heading over the tops,
through the barren peaks suddenly turned gray.
In his heart hidden luggage of memories he carries,
and only crickets' farewell sails
quietly rustle with wind filled,
rocking to sleep dreams* unfulfilled.
Wieslaw Musialowski 10/27/2002
*moments in the original
Autumnal Hour (Shorter)
Look! - from smoke I plait this poem short:
for fogs over an autumn meadow
with heathers strewn and drowsy,
for stubbles, fields and forests - in honor - of bards!
I? - I know they're hardly rustling
the strophes of simple words... And you? - you weave sorrows!
Wieslaw Musialowski 6/19/2002
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC
A circle noon is here and we message awhile
or oft right assuage the view of Ashton Hayes
as these will meet with hardly a shiver forthwith our hindsight there harbors a polite politic without polemic.
As observations finish at sunset and measure loft during sunshine with embankment that has marked us with sheen inside.
Therefore heathers disappear as smoke clouded conditions now our gazes in the fog of the air as the ashes still in the rain only go away if we accompany legislatively hence rescue reform yet seen in glory.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
In the garden of heather a vast abundance of foliage covers forsaken grounds.
Changing from white to pink, shades of purple, and red,
to distinguish winter from spring.
Light seeps through the trees absorbing the ground below it.
Moss gathers and transudes through the cracks
of the dated archaic stone.
In the garden of heathers the silence is unheard.
The flowers are wilted and the candles have burned,
because a pretty face doesn't matter when your deceased.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/20/2018
Look! - white petals, like the first snow,
like a holiday linen tablecloths.
I? - I remember those holidays:
warm shadows of candles, you put on the table,
and the puff of breath in disarray,
entertains with the play of colors, and from feathers... sizzles.
Look! - from smoke I plait this poem short:
for fogs over an autumn meadow
with heathers strewn and drowsy,
for stubbles, fields and forests - in honor - of bards!
I? - I know they're hardly rustling
the strophes of simple words... And you? - you weave sorrows!
Wieslaw Musialowski 6/19/2002
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 4:40 AM UTC
I can feel an illuminating void growing within me.
Meaningless teardrops pierce through my eyes,
like divine daggers.
The heathers are all plucked and
the deal is far overlooked.
Life truly is, the wild nothing.
Void of all emotion, carefully humming the tune of uncertainty.
For we seek the truth of an unknown.
I am my own handcuffs.
Do not try to unfold my mind, as you see,
there is a lock that has no key.
I am a stairway that leads nowhere.
Rejection is second nature to me.
You are everything, and I am only nothing.
Where I am from, souls no longer exist, and nothing matters.
I can smell you’re scent in my room,
but I will no longer breathe for you.
The stillness in your heart,
is where our secrets fall apart.
I will no longer breathe for you..
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 1:03 PM UTC
Can you not hear
The deafening screams
Directed to your heart
Firing out from hell
Demons wrenching
Your gut in knots
Twisted
Contorted
A soul of
Supreme disaster
Reined by hells angels
Blasted out
From under
Land fracked
Disturbing lands
Unknown.
Can you not hear
The very voices
You too
Fear
Tears so sincere
Distorting
Inner shadows
Ghostly intervals
Chasing innocence at once
Lost
Broken child
An unlikely warning
Skin on skin burns
Plastic dolls eyes melting
Wailing incessantly
I’ll see you on the other side.
© Sia Jane
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
the summer
melts into corners
and doors, unsettles
its ghosts.
the flowers blush
and burgeon, wild
grasses blow in the
wind.
the sun shrinks the
land, blasts the heathers
with their purple blooms.
everything seems to
be blossoming, the clouds,
the sky, even our love.
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 3:34 PM UTC
Up the hill past the waterfall
Trippn thru bracken and gorse
Fireweed lines the path
Thru moss covered dense dark wood, no remorse
201m above see level, when shall I stop?
Nettles coarse my legs as I step up over stone n roots
Mist and dew cling to me
As I clamber up the wood with climbing boots
220m now I think I see the top?
The viewing seat beckons
But the top is not the top
And more steps needed I reckon
240 m now I see the top
Views of Calandar town appear
I can see 200 miles maybe more perhaps to England
Heathers blossoms like veneer
245m I'm there
My heart rate peaks at 170 beats per minute
Scottish history below me
Time to descend and create some more
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 11:51 AM UTC