"illusive" poems
Sometimes I thirst
So intensely for something
Which I cannot identify
That I
Drink glasses
Of ice water
Until the feeling of nausea
Takes over
And I
Forget my illusive thirst.
And though
It isn't for water that I thirst,
I am unable to name that
For which
I do thirst
And am therefore
Forced to quench
The only thirst I know.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 5:26 PM UTC
I've seen love in a million faces,
almost caught her in a million places,
but she's so illusive,
can't be subdued,
before you know it,
she'll have you fooled.
She'll feed your heart, and lift it up,
then seemingly she's had enough.
From heights you'll fall,
a downward spiral,
she'll pierce your soul,
and hold you liable.
she'll tear you open, inside out,
make you wish you had a doubt.
Force you to beg,
and plead for mercy,
and wish this quench was never thirsty.
When fairy tales are all but over,
and these dragons can't be slayed,
it's then you wake to face the nightmare,
of being loves hopeless slave.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 3:06 AM UTC
Potential
I was told I had potential
That I could do great things
But nothing has transpired
Into the glory that it brings
And so the bar gets lowered
As far as it can go
Until, it can get no lower
No more room for me to grow
Perspective is welcomed greatly
Opinions come and go
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
I've been stagnant without direction
As the years pass and I grow old
The consensus is its never too late
Or at least that's what I've been told
It's far, so far beyond my vision
Down that long and winding road
I once thought I held it in my grasp
But it slipped right through the fold
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
Greatness isn't given
Or earned through years alone
It's what we say and how we say it
It's with our words and tone
It's possible you've reached your peak
Up the mountain through the snow
It's still no cause to lower the curtain
After each and every show
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
Nothing is more conducive
Than letting shine your inner glow
If there's a chance then you should take it
Show us all how much you've grown
From the prince who lost his kingdom
To a crowned king on his throne
Not everyone can make it
The choice is yours and yours alone
Just don't become complacent
When the world is yours to own
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
Nothing changes without change
When you still have room to grow
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
Shadows I am, trailing behind you,
Heaving and reversing, for your slightest attention,
Intimate you are not, forgetful you are,
Never do you, have this much conviction.
Noises inside, my head and yours,
Illusive we are, to what matters most,
Perhaps nothing we do, could really save us,
Hating and aching, to that we toast.
Untouched, crippled; and heavily misunderstood,
Arching our ego, that's all we ever could.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
Meet me at the place where the sunrise and sunset are joined by the prettiest clouds.
A tranquil place where times stood still for more than one eternity.
Stretch out your limbs with Lotus hands and play the spoons for me.
Breath out your life, then breath it in expanding endlessly.
The mother of creation, the atomic act, the divine self, a metaphor for hunger.
A life filled with space gaps, dust, prophecies and jars.
A universal love that's born of dreams and fallen stars!
The proprio-ceptive tools that launched the ships to voyage within ourselves.
To seek out that illusive and wilful spark within our hearts and souls.
Stretch out your limbs with Lotus hands and play the spoons for me.
In that tranquil place where times stood still for more than one eternity.
Meet me at the place where the sunrise and sunset are joined by the prettiest clouds.
Stretch out your limbs with Lotus hands and play the spoons for me.
Don G
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
Bless love and hope. Full many a withered year
Whirled past us, eddying to its chill doomsday;
And clasped together where the blown leaves lay,
We long have knelt and wept full many a tear.
Yet lo! one hour at last, the Spring’s compeer,
Flutes softly to us from some green byeway:
Those years, those tears are dead, but only they:—
Bless love and hope, true soul; for we are here.
Cling heart to heart; nor of this hour demand
Whether in very truth, when we are dead,
Our hearts shall wake to know Love’s golden head
Sole sunshine of the imperishable land;
Or but discern, through night’s unfeatured scope,
Scorn-fired at length the illusive eyes of Hope.
7.1k
Time collapses between the lips of strangers
my days collapse into a hollow tube
soon implodes against now
like an iron wall
my eyes are blocked with rubble
a smear of perspectives
blurring each horizon
in the breathless precision of silence
one word is made.
Once the renegade flesh was gone
fall air lay against my face
sharp and blue as a needle
but the rain fell through October
and death lay a condemnation
within my blood.
The smell of your neck in August
a fine gold wire bejeweling war
all the rest lies
illusive as a farmhouse
on the other side of a valley
vanishing in the afternoon.
Day three day four day ten
the seventh step
a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary
flameproofed free-paper shredded
in the teeth of a pillaging dog
never to dream of spiders
and when they turned the hoses upon me
a burst of light.
7k
We're all two faced ,
One left to be never found
The other just an illusive smile.
So which do we choose to show?
I'm glad mine is still within the shadows,
I never hope to bring it out... Don't force me to.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
If I were to be a day of the week,
I would be a Tuesday
Not a Monday, bright and yellow
Understanding that today “there be dragons here”
and we must be Ready to conquer, ready to claim,
ready to fight
Not Wednesday, Orange and steady
Containing a consistency that reminds us
we can make it, we will make it
And not the vibrant green Thursday
Full of promise, anticipation
And the hope of what’s to come
But nor am I the explosive Friday
Dark, and passionate, dedicated
To the thrill and fervor of life
Or a Silver Saturday
Slick and slippery with the idea
Of adventure but that holds no guarantees
Yet still I cannot be Sunday
Muted Gold with warm mornings
and laid back afternoons but always
With the lingering remembrance of tomorrow
No, I am Tuesday
I am faded red
I am the waiting day
The looked over bridge of
What’s now, what’s next
Stuck forever in some delicate limbo
I am the stepping stone
The illusive day floating in and out
Behind the scenes, behind the week
I am tuesday
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
Graceful sweet scent, upon the evergreen
The solitary life it must endure
Illusive, two seasons hidden between
A weathered, wounded heart it can not cure
For it is secret love that it desires
Passion brewing from a single, sole bud
Inside embers, burning, stoking the fires
Restless, the absence of peace, boiled blood
Under the dim light it will not be fazed
Lone in serenity, tranquil, it thrives
An alluring site one has ever gazed
Be still, in refuge and strength, it survives
It’s time, let go of the gem so comely,
Single, white harmony for my lovely
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC
The pierced ego sees
through an opaque lens;
a vestige of hope,
humor and
intellectual solidarity.
Effigies of forgotten ethos,
the culmination of a
fated dream;
unrequited ardor, abandons
identity to an irreducible
fervor,
subtext of tension,
enduring ****** privation;
etude of a paramour
ending torture,
tasting mystical polarity.
The wounded heart
once intruded,
bleeds effusive;
the ornament of humility.
Flattened collateral
damage,
primal search,
proves illusive;
portals of hurt, slivers
of pride,
assembled fragments of
thereness
absorb the loss
of my English muse.
Poetry and devotion
punctuated murmurs
of piety,
depth perception
virtue unfound;
expectation - access
to suffering;
disinterested love
present,
desultory carnage
of rescission,
absurdity personified;
euphemism
of adieu,
the sound of no sound.
The discarded image
finds no favor,
the salt lost it's savor
unquenched thirst;
desire of
diminished purview,
the saporus stream
deferred;
vision eclipsed;
saturated self
hidden in the text.
Poverty asks the
question,
absence summons
ethereal substance
merged into
the immanent frame;
integrating,
in solitude signifying,
mediating - logos
contested
the humiliation of
the word.
Lyrical enigma,
where did I go?
provisional
personality
scorned,
renouncing nostrums
of the prosaic,
surrenders to the
the realm interior
sovereignty
assumed in
provenience,
native
horizon of the next.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
Orange
is a fruit we all
know this well. We peal
it's skin off and eat the fruit within.
Some times bitter, some times sweet.
Smells well of orange. Coats our
fingers and skin then drifts
into the air, illusive
but we know
it is there.
But i have a
question about
the orange.
What *** is it?
Answers please in poem form!
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 3:27 PM UTC
Coarse and rough,pure and true
You are my angel of a nascent hue
Far away the rain clouds lay
Begging to meet my angel each day!
You are shy,veiled in a shroud,you are
Cozy,warm and safe with your lover,the Star
You say,you forgot me,so soon,I hear?
Is it because behind your back I disappeared?
I thought without me,you'd be in gloom
Remember,how,in your soundless cacophony,I swooned?
You ignited my heart,gave life to me
In your sandy storms,you entwined me,to set me free
I roamed,in love with you,in old directions,anew
Now,the storms are raging,the knights banter and look for you
Stay back,my angel,shy,behind the rocks where you grew
Let the thunder clouds darken around you
Protect your lovers,like and me and some others,few
Illusive and Elusive,you play games with me
Cajoling my feelings,and bringing me down to my knees
****** and lascivious,you don't disappoint
My savior,my sins and sorrows,you anoint
Winds of insanity rove around you,my eyes they enter
I cry,it's sand,worthless to all but me,soft and tender
I can't go on quenched of thirst and thought
I fall broken,crushed,will I be besought?
Care for the others,with you,I left,please
My guardian,my desert,hide forever with me in the shadow of bliss.
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 5:11 AM UTC
I sink, my feet slowly becoming part of the earth softened under the heat of my body and a shy sun rolling evenly on horizon. Lazy sun slowly extends his arms stiff from winter reluctance and expanding them into a hug. I see green meadows, still poor with colors, pale spring messengers and Harlequin's face in the glass reflection. Eyes full of ice slowly melting, just as piles of snow hidden in the spring shadows. I sink deeper into the trap of needs. My hands have become bare spring branches and wait for your smile to bloom touches. Delicate greenish flowers and young leaves will slowly wake up your eyes from the winter gloom, gentle kisses will tickle your throat and nostrils. My hands are empowered, illusive fingers gliding over your breast. I feel the beauty of the Snowdrop and already lured with memories of Violets. You open slowly like a red Tulip. Tulips are too simple for you. I see beauty of Cyclamen bathed in dew of hidden alley and I think only of sweet kisses you give. As I dive in you the Earth is not just a lump of mud in the universe and the water is not just a matter which makes it blue. While tears running down your cheeks you say they have decided themselves to come and not knowing why. Then, I stand little before you. The boy filled with dreams. Then I stand bigger than the Earth before you as you are more than water.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
OUR POVERTY HAS COLOUR
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Most illusive and elusive
Like the devils of Congo forest
Is the impish poverty
Permeating all seals with vicious wily
Into the midst of callous humanity
Biting country men and country women
With carnivorous dentalities so ruthless
Putting man to a forlorn shame
As the wife looks in desperate flaggerbastation
Putting matriarchal womenfolk to humiliation
As the expectant sire wallow in the askance of looks
Condemning communities to status ad absurdum initio
Thinning man from man, culling woman from woman
Eating flesh by flesh social koprpers of man
Eating the native flesh in the farms of Brazil
Tearing the ***** steak into ghetto lacerations of Chicago
Whizzling sombre morning tunes to the Zulus in the black tundra
Cementing pale casted clusters for the Patels of India
Commanding suave drills to poor (wo) menfolk; left! Left! Left! –abouuuuturn!
With its accomplice Mr. Hunger son of starvation, they both command drills
For black factory workers, Maids and gravediggers to dance
Watchmen, thieves and prostitutes to match
In the hinterland of Africa all the riff-raff in deep despair
Dance in a tandem to the irritating drills of the duo;
You come on! Left! Right! Left! Right!—fowaaard match!
Backward match! Left! Right! Left! Right! Sharpp uuuuuuuturn!
The duo communiqué; Go home and wait for your pay announcement.
Surely; what colour is our poverty?
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
an illusive fox,
that knows no bounds.
its presence keeps me around.
upon a hill, he watched me drown,
and taught a meaning,
i have not yet caught.
but also made me laugh alot.
no better a friend,
i could have asked,
the words could bring shyness,
he's surely abashed.
maybe meaning exists,
beneath both of our masks.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC
How beautiful is the life
With all its vibrant colours
The colours which define its creativity
Life is colour,colour is life
Shades of translucent rainbow
Casting his grace on embellished life
The allured tints of the moring sun
Captivating the vivacity in people's life
How abhorent the nature be
Enchained,restricted without the colours
Blemishing the ornamentation garnished from heaven
But suddenly the grandness breathed for its life
As colours started to play an illusive vibe
Awakening the sluggishness in one's life
Unfolding the colours honesty with ecstasy.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:07 AM UTC
~~
behind the shadow a distinct lost dream
standing opposite of a long bridge
crossing through the middle cutoff
see the river flowing beneath
illusive calling but can't go
on the edge a dark sharp sign
known voices floating over
echoing an ego which cover the shadow
how many days offset!
and try to touch the last sunset
still silhouette stands on the shore
what is mystic that always opens the door
the river bumping with waves
between the broken parts of the bridge
passing a phase of life on the ridge
yet subconscious grew a cohesion of dream
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Am I among those they write
deep in the threads of contempt?
For no one truly can be
a hero to all.
We all imagine the songs
powerful and triumphant
will someday be our own.
But what is desire?
What is the facade we wear
day in and day out
to power the most illusive masquerade?
What if the turn from my childhood
was never a turn at all?
Is it so strange, is it too far
of a line to draw
that I may be the villain?
Perhaps we're all simply searching
in desire for an adversary.
The call to arise, the call to spur us forth
from the pit too many have found as solace.
Now what if I am
not even a pawn
and barely a sheep
in life's great puzzle,
or is it a mystery
never to be solved?
I long for the moment
I'm desperate for change
I've bit the blind eye
And now I wish my own would remain shut.
So who or what is to say
that I won't snap like the thinning rope
caught in a chokehold?
My dear is the victim
and the fall is too far
to survive.
Where shall I be when
my final spin has spun?
Will I drag to a halt or
careen face-forward?
A gradual decay
or a shot to crack the wall,
either way I may merely be
the villain.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
Lights and colors, Lights and colors dwindle in numbers
Set a step in coordination
Fully exasperated
nonsense passes by, through images
Lenses smudged by illusive thumbprints
Who are you
Are you speaking cordially
heart trusted intuition and guts mustered
Seeping into the depths of darkness
see a surprise unseen by eyes of seekers and juveniles
Founded a resolve
Sturdy foundation like a trunk of a tree
Feed me turds quench my thirst with poison
Wrap a child sleeping soundly in a blanket of lava
Let's follow the righteous side even when full of lies
Stray from a darker path were the light of truth is easier to find
Follow the good where everything a light
and turn so you won't have to face the knife
Inject a form of lies and cast the mirage of truth over your eyes
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
imagine a calloused doubt.
cracked, chipped, clicking
like warped wooden floorboards.
soft from overuse
but still overrides willpower
in one palpitating breath.
grimy yet illusive
like your teeth after a day’s work,
collecting gunk that sidles up
to calcium companions,
crunching down on things
that become
so bland in the end.
doubt is offbeat,
monstrous footsteps hidden deep
off beaten paths,
its thudding is clammy and hurried,
aligned to the discordant jazz of
your alarmed body.
it tastes like
coppery heartbeats,
rising bile,
salt and mucus in the back of your throat.
it is a truly uncomfortable thing.
it stacks sweetly like buttercream pancakes
but crumbles you
with such a sour taste on your tongue.
imagine an agony that loves you.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
The long bleak halls that bear surprise,
of mirrored shadows' invisible eyes;
Cast visions that will soon repent,
from illusive dreams' opaque fragments.
The drafty corridors in frigid cold,
where icy shards loom large and bold;
A mansion where no one knows his place,
exuding its echoes from time and space.
Perhaps the wayward hours will appear,
holding to account these walls of fear;
While they search for evil's antidote,
the complexity of answers remain remote.
Yet hopeful images still seem at play,
as smiles overshadow those paths of gray;
Conquered souls are willed to start anew,
when destiny's light shines into view.
As witness to evolving notions here,
once the winding road becomes so clear;
Are glorified by heaven's pearly gate,
from captivated souls consumed with faith.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 3:06 PM UTC
Maybe these voices I am hearing are what I should be listening
They may be telling me
not to be hypnotized by possibilities
blinded by these ashes
Deafened by explosions of passions
Does it even matter
who?
What?
When?
Where?
Why?
How it is what ever I look for
That is happening all around
"I" is only the first letter of this Illusion.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
...
..
Much before the door closed
Can be seen regularly when walking on the road
Though dark, see the mass of trash
But did not hear any noise ever
On the side of the sky touch wall
My constant movement
Though shadow yet trademark cynicism
I can go away even closed eyes
Closed eyes within the dark
Yet unbelievable, but brings a dream
A dream within the dark,
See a diamond crystal
Where only light and light dispersion
From each dimension
Suddenly, in dream
I am in front of the closed door,
See a footprint,
Known voice with tune,
Can hear the illusive song
Now neither there exists any tall wall
Nor any closed door in the mind
...
..
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC