"hesitatingly" poems
SWAN SONG
(–noun the last act or manifestation
of someone or something;
farewell appearance)
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Lotus pond
Waits
Silently
Lotus flowers too
Pink petals -hesitatingly
Unfurl, heron silently stare
Life unfolding,
In the morning mist
Boddhi tree floated, a message
Of life,
In the falling leaf
On the temple floor
Breeze stood still
Music of Flute stopped playing
In the bamboo grove
Swan has started singing its song
Life, lives in little steps of love
But love bleeds life
In little steps, too
Falling, leaving and dying
Swan is singing
Its swan song
Time does not know,
It has come
Deep in the temple
Buddha Smiles
Nothing is forever
Forever is nothing
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Om Namah Shivaya
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 7:55 AM UTC
she is a blatant caricature in loud technicolor
her presence shouts ****** innuendo
alluring with dark undertones
her past shadows her every word
like clouds passing over a weak sun
she is the road untold but by the few hardiest of souls
her skin tangles his mind
as she watches him in the rearview
runs her hand through her hair repeatedly
he is mesmerized by moist lips parted
around phrases dark and foreboding
the cool calculation of her casual appearance
he is sleepwalking a dangerous dream
he is a dramatic parody in shades of pastel
a sorrowful tale told hesitatingly full of doubts and fears
full of the gentlest of loves
weak and stained he stands in the fell shadows
waiting for her rusty razor blade kisses
she has him
like clouds passing over a weak sun
and he loves her for it
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
going past the quarter of no return
feeling rather timidly
hesitatingly
full of something yet unseen
liken to smelling the baking cookies
but having to leave before the bell rings
here is always where trust comes in
has to or it all falls apart
till we begin again anew
distraction's got nothing
on this bright new filling moon
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 4:40 PM UTC
i apologise for not being
becoming enough of a person
personifying a human being
besieged by the lack thereof emotions.
emotionlessness consumes me
metaphorically speaking, or it maybe
magnanimously just spares my heart -
hesitatingly, yet all-encompassingly.
altercations between the conscious and sub
supersedes any revelations whatsoever
whereby a somewhat sound mind like mine
mimics that of a child
choking on the fear of the monstrosity lurking;
lurching from under the bed.
bewildered by the bogeyman,
bogus feelings, confused mind
mischaracterising i
i am sorry
somewhat, somehow
sorry.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 12:45 AM UTC
I continued to walk
along the dusty road
with an open mouth
and a stuffy nose.
Came upon me--
all in a sudden moment--
I recall
a smiling tiger,
with a gaping jaw.
Taken a back
and very startled,
it took some time
to muster up courage,
but then I started:
"Tiger, you know me--
that I know.
Tiger, now we meet,
friends not foe.
Lets proceed,
and together
grab something to eat."
The tiger shocked at my diplomacy,
and bravery,
hesitatingly
responded,
"ok."
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
That feeling
you know
just before the roller coaster drops
just before you take the leap
just before you fall
is a constant in me
hesitatingly lingering
vague and unrelenting
somewhere in the middle of my body
a cold sinking
a heavy dullness
that I can't cure
But sometimes
you know
There's a smile because of something I said
There's a hand that traces my arm
There's a certain look
and I forget that feeling
tentatively hoping
cautious and optimistic
that something like this could be recurring
a sweet hesitation
a growing relief
and it's all your fault
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
At sixty plus
a series of scenes from a life past
started flashing back...swaying,
like soft organza curtains, giving
in to forces of the wind...blowing,
recalling...things that used to be,
places, faces i no longer see,
people i haven't met and long to meet,
words i meant to say....but didn't,
things i failed to do, but still meaning
to, given fresh starts...it's tiring,
counting "should haves," so i'm saying,
etcetera, etcetera.....the list is unending.
At past seventy,
sunrises are lovely as ever...and bolder,
sunset moments are quieter...and holier,
old days seem nearer,
with poetry-writing, the call is stronger
while still dabbling in beads-making,
designs pour over me, when stringing
moonstones, sodalite, and lapis lazuli.
I am in a different zone.
when mixing poetry and natural stones
to me, a word is a crystal, a gemstone
it's merely a word to some...a stone unknown.
I guess...at late seventies,
i'll still be in white shirts and blue jeans,
creating unique, interesting themes for poetry,
say, a big bus with travelers, seated hesitatingly,
or, finding a bright tunnel's end, serendipitously,
or, unrepenting souls sinking deeper, regretfully,
more silly love poems? i'd indulge willingly
my frame may turn fragile...i pray, not my poetry,
not my judgment, nor my decision-making,
not my courage, especially, when I reach past eighty.
sally b
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 18, 2021
Jun 17, 2021
Jun 17, 2021 at 10:19 PM UTC
He and her
an empty room
her eyes searching for direction
his hand touched her face
his thumb stroked away her
uncertainty
he leaned in
so that she could feel his heat
Strip for me
except for your heels
those stay on
he stood observing
hesitatingly she did as told
you've become shy with me
Why
She had no words
he had taken them along with her clothing
shhhhh!!! my love
settle your thoughts
do as I say
I will guide you
along this journey
filled with unconditional love
I will take you to a another universe
that you've never dreamed of
filled with unknown heights
A love unbeknown to you
take my hand
let me be the one
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC