"incandescently" poems
Two people both alike in character
Of the opposite sexes
Sit across a candlelit dinner
In a lovely, fancy restaurant
The room is incandescently lit
With a dimness that balances between ever so bright and ever so dark
Allowing for a gold tinge to envelop the restaurant
But not gold enough to take away notice of the lit candle set upon the White table cloth
The waiter appears and asks the couple
What they would like for dinner
The couple order the food and drink
Much to the waiter's delight the food and drink is expensive
The waiter returns shortly
With a bottle of their finest Pinto Noir
And pours the blood-red wine slowly
Into each of the couple's glasses
And leaves the couple to sip upon their sweet sin delicately
The food is laid out
Triumphant in its debut
A vast smorgasbord of entries
Including frog legs, crab, and delicious ****** steak
The couple prepare their silverware for the battle that is eating
The man stabs his knife into the ****** steak
Cutting it open and spilling the juices all over his plate
He stabs the meat with the fork and guides it toward his mouth
And slowly but surely chomps upon it with the strength of his fine jaw
And swallows the meat into the unexposed mystery that is his stomach
The woman begins to mutilate the frog legs with her knife
Cutting into the once moveable limbs
And stabs the limbs with her fork and brings it to her mouth
And delicately bites the limbs and politely chews
And swallows it into her fine and precious insides
The couple then split the crab legs
Using their bear hands they split the shells open
And remove the meat or **** it right out of the shell
They swallow it whole and do nothing with the shell
Leaving the shell aside to be as still as a carcass
The waiter arrives and asks how the food was
The couple obliged him with their satisfaction
The bill is handed to them and the couple pay it
Leaving a hefty tip
They then leave the lovingly dimly lit restaurant
To enjoy the night that is ahead of them
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
This morning we jogged early
I was back in my flat by six-thirty
From my tenth floor view of the Charles River basin,
The morning was incandescently flushed by the peach-colored sun.
The transparent clouds seemed stylistically stained, artfully workshopped, which offered a softened, Tiffany glass effect wholly worthy of worship.
I can’t stop to admire it. I’m jamming things into suitcases.
Cramming things into boxes, giving things away.
I had a second interview Monday afternoon, for Johns Hopkins med school. They put the question to me:
“The semester starts in 18 days - can you do that?”
“Yes,” I replied, and just like that, I'm a Blue Jay.
Of course, I had to withdraw from the masters program but Harvard gave me a full (95K) refund - I think they’re more excited about my med school admission than I am.
I’m not afraid of discordant notes.
They change the landscape.
Take us to new emotional places.
Any major work is going to have them.
.
.
A song for this:
Hang on Little Tomato by Pink Martini
It's Amazing by Jem
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 12:45 AM UTC
Curls.
Lengthened, stretching
Auburn curls.
Winding around the delicacies
Of profound life.
Growing incandescently
In a newfound, unsound method.
Vibrant with innovation,
Yet in the same instance, arid.
Questionable.
Irresistible.
Undefinable.
Desirable.
Allegorical.
Many are awe-struck by this oracle --
She loathes her curls.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
5:00 am - Happy New Year!
I look like I should be a musician not a poet.
"It's so easy being a poet
so hard being a man"
- Charles Bukowski
----
5:14 am - Passing Rocklea, no sign of the dawn.
Coopers Plains station.
3 people get on.
Florescent lights cast a spell of sleep.
I wish I could sleep right now.
Eyelids droop like sad flowers from a convenience store.
I write metaphors like a drunken amateur.
Trinder park - Sounds like a bad neighbourhood.
**** ME ITS WOODRIDGE.
Where even the McDonalds sign is ******
XxXxxxxxx, Xxxxxx Xxxxxx :
She could be fun. So tight, she sometimes felt illegal.
Tight and bald. I would slide up to the *****
She loved it rough,
golden hair wrapped around my fingers
as she was pushed into the pillow.
She was loud in the mornings.
I could feel her tight ***
grinding against my thighs
as I ****** her harder and harder.
Until I came :
either inside her.
Or on her chest.
Or in her
prim
pink
suburban mouth.
Tightening my grip on her hair as the hot ***** spurted against the back of her throat.
The head of my **** throbbing as she gulped it down with silent satisfaction.
That only happened twice though.
----
5:37 am - The Dawn begins to rise over the Suburban Nation.
Final remnants of night
twinkle like stars
against the silhouette
of society.
House lights
Street lights
(and the omnipresent)
fluorescent light.
Beenleigh station - A pinch faced older woman gets on.
Business suit, lunch box.
Short hair, glasses.
Her earrings are imitation mother of pearl
(step-mother of pearl?)
She sits next to a window covered in graffiti.
Prim, tight mouth
incarnadine lipstick.
Over in the distance a smokestack cuts through the sky above the horizon.
Trees do mask the sun and sky.
"Hippies; they spend their whole life trying to get to a microphone and when they do, they don't tell anyone to **** off." - The Wolfman.
----
5:52 am - One more stop.
The clouds are the colour of smoke against the pearl blue sky.
----
6:00 am - Arrival.
Clouds are tinged with fire and blood
incandescently.
You can watch it spread and grow
with intensity.
Taxi driver was a foul mouthed Indian.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
broken apart
devolved to
bits and pieces,
mere shards of who
I once was; we are never
the same as we were
before—each day steals
from and gives to us
pieces of ourselves,
and by now I
know the day steals
more from me
than it gives,
and soon I'll have
eroded completely,
incandescently sifting
away in the starlit
scenery of old
times and fond
thoughts.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
the push of my mind
falls into lavender fields
velvet night brushes against cheek bones
exposed skin floats in time
ecstasy is exposed through the flow of cold
the day unveils things too warm
instead, fall with me into the dark
as my mind incandescently
illuminates the world
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC
Smoking American Spirits
Like that name is not sickly ironic
As I watch the moon
And blow your name
Out through my teeth.
After all of it
I still can’t decide
If I’m happy that you’re happy
Or hate you for leaving me
In the cold to gape
At a barren rock.
The moon is a visceral spirit,
Pundit of creation myths,
Vaudevillian purveyor
Of heavy handed profundity,
Reflects the sun
When nothing else can,
Means so much to so many;
The moon is an entropic
Collusion of earth-chunk
That happens to orbit us,
Objectively meaningless,
Communicating with the ocean
As ants ***** chemicals
Into each others mouths to converse.
Staring together up into
The gaping gnash of space,
Humans give the moon its meaning
Just as two people falling in love
Forever inhabit midsummer nights
'Till one leaves in a haze
Of evaporating brain chemistry.
I really am happy you’re happy,
Because I really do love you
Even after everything,
And I really do hate you
Because it hurts so much
And you were so selfish,
Go **** yourself,
Why can't I feel both?
Just this silly girl,
Just two broken people,
Look at what we made Chlo,
It's hanging in the sky
Strung up with used filaments.
I love you and hate you still
Because knowing the moon
Is a barren rock
Makes what it has become
Incandescently, infinitely beautiful.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
The Rimbaud flows incessantly
The moonlit garden shrieks and howls
The pictures glow incandescently
Sweat beads marching down their brows
A fruitful sun will bring clarity
A mistreated boy laughs at you
A new day re-born without sanity
Accepting rough beauty through and through
39 days remain
Don't eat at the dirt
Eat at the sound
The smell of a coming rain
Wash my stains up from the ground
Your lost and found
Your picket lines
We be all skinned men from our hides.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
When I die,
bury me under a tree,
large and spreading,
so that I may give again to life
and be a home for breezes
and whatever birds
may please to make their home there.
Then climb the battlements
of my old and crumbling castle
in the air
and appreciate the spectacle
of a speck against infinity.
Go to my oak desk
and burn all love letters,
pure and singing though they are.
Let others learn love for themselves,
as I did. It is best.
Then celebrate, inebriate.
Divide up my possessions
and sell a few to buy fireworks that burn
brilliantly and fast.
Raid my cellar, eat, drink, make merry and enjoy,
for tomorrow is unknown.
And when the revelers stagger home,
remember only that I loved incandescently and enjoyed.
Yes, there were futile crusades, furious fusillades and
wild charges against the windmills,
but I did love. Yes, desperately.
That's all.
So goodbye, my friends. Don't grieve.
Please believe that
the gift of love and
this scatter of words
is all I want to leave behind.
See - they flutter from that great tree
that stands against the blustering sky
out there, beyond the mist,
along the pathway to
forever.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 7:24 AM UTC
A newborn father
wears a path to heaven
in polished holy marble
'neath the pedestal
of stoney saints.
Deific overseers
cast artificial glory
incandescently.
A slice of dimly lit
hospital heaven
is framed with two candles
and the incense of Betadine.
Saint John's shadow
shares confessions
and supplications
over a once-immortal man
now unashamedly broken,
bartering trade with God -
his life for his son's.
This shoebox chapel
is starking cold.
Cold enough to preserve meat,
and doubts
which mock peace
against nun-hardened walls
echoing Satan's laugh.
Hope drowns in the ripples
of a basin filled with water
to wash our sins
but not our fear.
In the air hangs
the promise of eternity
(which is spiritual code for "death", but no one says "death" outloud. The more they don't say it, the more it sounds like "WE AREN'T GOING TO SAY "DEATH", WE CAN'T POSSIBLY SAY "DEATH", UNTIL IT IS SO UNCOMFORTABLE THAT WE MIGHT AS WELL BE SAYING "DEATH, DEAD, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DEATH AND TO TOP IT OFF...ON YOUR MOTHER'S GRAVE").
Yet piercing through
the promise of eternity
is the frail wail
of his baby's voice.
Legacy lingers in a
plastic manger down the hall.
Resurrection is more
than a prayer, it is his spirit
rising for one more miracle.
Faith is summoned
like a woozy fighter
demanding his will
to go on,
beaten,
half-concious
on the mat
refusing to lay down
for the count.
"God, I believe.
Help my unbelief."
The weeping man
stares into a statue's eyes
for salvation.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
better days
float though my memory
like an incandescently lit moon
we can pluck it from the sky
and hallucinate a sweeter tune
to hum as we walk
over granite grey roads;
and dead lines of thick chalk
a lonely sick moon
mourning the ruin
of its earth-mother love
we have taken and forsaken
like a little toxin
gulped down with water
eyes bulging.
the green tree frog asked,
how do you like you poison?
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 9:04 PM UTC
there is one truth of which i'm incandescently certain and that's that nobody can take away a truth as it darkens, a galaxy in a glass; and the truth is that i'd be the only ***** donor in a charity just for you because signals and signs have showed me your soul and you're grander than celestial poles
if i didn't know any better i'd suggest you're the sun and i'm the solar system and i orbit around you and i'm not too sure about humans having wings but imagine:
a snowy cabin some place away from civilisation, you and i and wholehearted communication, you and i and books and fictional integration, you and i and mind blowing realisations, you and i and wings outstretched souring across nations
you are the sun and i am the solar system and although i orbit you i'm never allowed to brush the surface, i'm guessing it's for a purpose so i admire from afar, a gaze stretched over constellations and the sound of your voice bouncing off stars into my hemisphere of tangled webs and ripened tears, the echoing trailing behind merely a souvenir
there is one truth of which i'm incandescently certain and that's this:
the only reason my brain hasn't stopped my heart from beating is because the thoughts of you are giving it meaning and it's hard to breathe with these overwhelming feelings but i'm coping because the broken glass holding my galaxy is healing
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
so colourful
so iridescent
so artfully
arranged
so insightful
so righteous
so incandescently
deranged
so articulate
so devoted
so incomparably
emotive
so particular
so insightful
so inevitably
disarranged
so empty
so full
so
strange
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
Straddled by a luscious peach
encased in a robust pelvic girdle embrace
the eye dances a slow sensual waltz
step by step reasoning the gossamer finery of petals
balancing in the beauty unsure
of what it really means.
Therein lies the misstery
and kisstory
of sensual persuasions drawn delicately
from an angular birds eye view
of the black iris beauty
incandescently glowing welcome.
How did the artist get her work
drawn so accurately
but from a mirror reflection
posing herself, lights shining
and aroused at the pearl like petals
opening and closing
at every stroke
of a hard brush and bristle.
Well done my beauty.
You have defied my aesthetic thinking
into visual poetic explaining.
Well done
Author Notes
"Black Iris" - by Georgina O Keefe.
The way this delicate Iris is drawn it immediately takes me into wondering how it got its lights and shadows and rich purple-black heads with such clarity. Were there lights reflecting off walls, candlelight dinners and sparkling wines beside the painting? As art it is outstanding, but as a perception it draws me into the lighter side of understanding it.
Most enjoyable trying to gauge its deeper meanings.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
I love you.
Three words no wider than four letters long
That carry the whole weight of the universe.
Words we utter to each other so often,
Bystanders would consider them disingenuous.
But, baby, I mean every syllable.
When I look into your eyes,
When I watch you watching me,
My breath catches
And my heart feels oversized.
I try so hard to personify my love for you
In kisses, hugs, tugs, and strokes,
But kisses and hugs are created by candy makers
And tugs and strokes are done by artists.
Both of which, I most certainly am not.
However, I strive to convey my feelings for you,
Because I am sure of few things but this:
I am madly,
Ferociously,
Unbelievably,
Relentlessly,
Incandescently,
Everlastingly
In love with you.
I love you with a love that has never been given
From any other woman to a man.
I love you with an immortal love
That is once-in-a-lifetime
And can never be repeated.
Our love is holy,
Unconditional.
I. LOVE. YOU.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
What marvelous beauty
To that I was so unaware
Came to front and newly
presented an Utopian swear
In the time that my moon allowed
In the time that my mind allowed
my moon to exist
I was incandescently warm
And for months I marveled
Well aware of the fabricated luminosity
That this dear moon shone
But still - I basked in the light
That was granted
And how simple it was
So adjust a pair of gloves
to shield integument from brilliant cadence that was ever so enchanted
And now that the short lived inspiration
At the sound of a syllable has vanished
All my hopeful admiration
has seemingly been banished
And to my honest surprise
A breath of relief
Instead of one of demise
Has looked to proceed
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC
I screamed to this man,
creating fists with my hands,
and my heart just ajar,
"You will never understand
The way the wind hits me harder
and the waves crash into me with more salt.
The way colors are filled with laughter
and the warmth crawls through my skin.
The mud is my mirror, I'm a child of the dirt.
Happiness is fickle friend,
coming and going as she pleases
with no notice of the way darkness
clings to my back with a claw full of poison
tempting and tipping toward my tongue.
There's been a fire in my belly
for as long as I can remember,
twitching and tingling up my spine
leaving her needles in my neck
to **** away at me like a leach.
And how love incandescently dances
in and out of my chest without care.
The way she dangles my memories
relentlessly taunting and haunting
as she sews my skull to the sky.
You could never understand." I cry.
He held my heart and I knew it was a lie
when he promised me peace and said,
"Let me try,
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
Lacklove and manless in Moloch
Vile **** sucker in Moloch
Moloch
In whom I set disinherited
Dispirited
Listing to Arvo Pärt
As civilisations wax and wane around me
As towers are raised to the sky
Left to rot
Then lived in
As the furnaces of the world whirr on incandescently
And as I try to use long words to make it all seem better
And as words finally fail
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
His soul was consumed by her. The very sun that once had shined so incandescently, had darkened. Anguish shriveled him into a freeze, what was he doing with the time he had left?
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
A sea of scratched blue marble,
torn and washed through the drought,
blanketing itself in one rushed and
tired blink, melting
into my face.
Swimming delicately through my mind and
descending … deeper deeper down my
core, into the ricocheting nothingness.
Dancing in the spacious goal.
Glowing incandescently with glee.
The scratched marble peaks out for a second at
the world,
reality isn’t what its cracked up to be.
Slide back through your eyes and
into the dark
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 5:41 PM UTC
the sun shines upon
the glass of my soul
and all I can feel
is your presence
glowing through all I perceive,
continuously projecting
outwards,
merging
into me,
reflecting
into every
experience of mine,
incandescently,
illuminating,
every thought in my mind
with your essence, I feel
like I'm flying
to new planes
of beingness,
where all
is blossoming
and blooming
to the rhythm
of our streams
eternal flow..
and all I can taste
is your lips,
with every breath
we take,
and all I can sense
is our bliss
soaking into
evey moment we make
see our love,
will forever
brighten up the sky
& with you
I am immortal
baby, tell me how could this die
and if u had an answer
I'd gently tell you
"There's no need to tell a lie"
Cause when it's all said and done,
we'll always be together ,
like stars, endlessly floating on by..
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
Six surprisingly short months were the only moments of her life that mattered to her- that ever existed in her memory, that she would never erase, or could, even if she begged herself to. They were rather the moments that defined her life and made her realise what living really meant. Oscar Wilde once said, ‘Most people exist, but they do not live’, and to admit that she understood it was an in-between thing, because she understood the concept of it, but did not walk in the concept of the phrase until Iskandar came along. And made her walk for those six defining months that changed her entire biological being.
Iskandar had the cards in his hands but he was shaken by his demons- the self indulging thoughts that crept up to him incessantly ever since his heart was broken by the one person he trusted not to, and he tried to pick himself up but never could because he had these walls built in his head to shield himself from anymore granules of pain. But she saw that those walls were in fact not the usual walls that consisted of bricks, they were mirrors that reflected images of his past and his innermost thoughts- and she saw that through him, yet did not ever tell. He admitted to her that he felt unworthy of ever being truly loved by anyone, given his completely monstrous past, and he told her to run away from him while she still could because she was not binded to him at all, but she stayed. She was deeply fascinated and intrigued by his past, and oddly enough, found them beautiful as it became the reason why she was pulled in.
And they wondered what she saw in him, because those who had seen her, thought of her as being extremely easy on the eyes, but the ones that knew her, inside and out, thought she was beautiful. They did not understand, and could never see what she saw through her eyes- where others saw a disfigured image, she thought of it as being incandescently pristine. They knew not why, and kept wondering over and over, why a girl who has spent her entire life dodging men, in spite of having many lined up fighting for her heart, would fall in love with a man who is not any bit better than the rest? He had insecurities, countless faults, made heaps of wrong turns in the past and a blurry future.
But yes, she loves him.
She is in love with him, unconditionally.
And she has finally understood why “Love is blind.”
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
An orange
sought crunch
as nightfall
waned in
northern tier
and would
annex more
than south
as it
lied encumbered
with KE
when Robert
E, Lee
incandescently drew
lion's share
of resistance
in Yorktown.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
i've never been
happier.
because last night (everything i waited for).
where do i begin?
i suppose with the way that
lying in your arms
laughing at the scary movie flashing from your tv,
i felt so incandescently perfect.
i suppose with the way that
our first kiss (if you can call it that)
was the most hilariously, adorably, endearingly awkward thing
that has probably ever happened to anyone ever
(i could taste your nervousness)
and i suppose with our smiling whispered teasing conversation
about how much better we'll get.
i suppose with the way that you told me i was beautiful.
i suppose with the way that your stubble scratched against my forehead when you would talk.
i suppose with the way you laughed at me, quietly, when i would get scared
(there were ghosts on the screen
and i don't believe in them, but **** did they look real)
and the way you laughed at me, loudly, when i would babble to your sister,
uncontrolled and verbal-vomit,
because i just want her to like me
(my quirks?
the reason you love me,
you said.)
i suppose with the way that our fingers twined together.
i suppose with the way that you stroked my hair.
i suppose with the way that you told me
how long you loved me
how long you tried
(and all of it
paying off
now.)
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 8:35 AM UTC