"indrawn" poems
If the fallacy of thought
lies within the indifference
of a heart's indrawn
breath,
would there be a second
chance to mold a circle
from the intangible
fluid epic of dream?
Could so much blinding
light encompass the
derelict and the saved,
bathing all that is seen
in the breeze
of fairy wings that just
learned how to fly?
There are no shadows here
beneath a full moon of
illumination where
everything is cast into the
shade of pearls and silver,
one tinged with the sea,
another with air
At the core of a spiral
tree, in the hollow center
of a peach's eye
we could then look into
the unveiled truth of
Nature's simplicity,
separate the ********
from the poetry,
and the muse from the song
But if we're gathered here,
does that mean we're
about to meet our maker,
that this mystery of life
should be released in a sonnet
written through a fiberglass pen?
There are no strangers here
beneath the harsh glare
of a full moon,
where everything is reduced
to pearls and silver,
varying shades of pink
and gray
And if this litany is so
much scattered stardust
on the surface of an infinity
that can't be asked to care,
does it matter either way
if what we say is set
in stone or sand,
that our words remain
here as whispers caught in
the seashell of unending time?
Because there are no
secrets here beneath the
illumination of a
full-bodied moon
We are all children playing
amongst pearls and silver,
not knowing yet that our
trinkets have worth
We are still innocent
to war and strife and grief
So let us toss up our
circles of pearls,
let us trod over these
streets of silver,
let us gather here once more
before Eden fades into
the dark side of the moon...
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 5:49 PM UTC
We mistrust everything
Now - I understand
In that time
There is no fear
No indrawn breath
Only clarity
And the result of actions
Mind is without borders
Skin is no defense against a
Breath’s space
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
I swing my gaze from side to side
my eyes alighting on the crowd
Hushed whispers floated around me
as the musicians tuned
rising discordantly but in perfect non sync
disjointed voices float on a non lyrical cloud
The wind dies and the universe holds it's breath
as the first tiny note from a violin doth sing
and the rest of the instruments gathered round
rise to join their voice to it's melody
collective indrawn breath adds a harmonious sound
for hours I bathe in a melodious rhapsody
of lilting fingers creating a sensuous massage
unraveling the knot in my soul, now free
delighting in the aural mirage
Taken by the hand, immersed in rapture
summoned by magick, I hear my name called
drifting in upon the tide of an age old dream
inhaling a portent that has held me enthralled
a broken spell from a blinding light
music is left hiding in the corners of a cavernous space
the accolades that thundered through the bones
is now just an echo, but I remain a statue, in place
I sat still but danced inside to every note
that buried beneath my skin
to lay a kernel of appreciation
inside my slightly bruised heart
underneath an iron clad chest
as the last note lay dying
it invites me to rest
sitting in the dark of resounding silence
I clapped until my hands bled
staring at the dark stain upon my palms
I've only just noticed the musicians have fled
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 5:47 AM UTC
First Date: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/first-date-17/ (best read in order)
It was so cold inside the cave
So cold!
He didn’t understand when the restaurant faded and the stone walls rose around him that he was trapped. He was suddenly the prey and he didn’t like it. Not at all, but he was happy to see where the fantasy would take him. He could only hope and prey?
He silently smirks at his own private joke before he remembers where he is and briefly contemplates where he was before he came here.
He was sitting across from the most beautiful women he has ever seen. Her bare shoulders were like silk beneath his subtly brushing fingertips and he knew instinctively by her indrawn breath as he ran his hand up her bared leg that he was the luckiest man alive. He seated himself across from her and simply stared into her eyes.
He sees in her eyes all her fantasies.
He is a demon from the dark. He is fire and brimstone. All encompassing as all the sins of the flesh, burning her, setting her on fire, a raging inferno that can not be sated with just a few drops of sweat upon her brow.
Hmmm… I like this he thinks as he sips the ice cold water that has suddenly appeared in front of him, but for now he’s thirsty it seems.
The flames from a hundred or more candles flicker in her dark eyes as the scene changes and becomes a darker conflagration of her dreams.
This is getting more interesting he ponders her stare as he lifts his hand to stroke the satin skin of her knuckles across his lips
Now he is a wolf. A creature of the night. She has seen beyond his façade and she’s running. Triggering his hunting instinct. He can only chase her. There is nothing else for him to do. He must claim the other half of himself that calls to his predatory nature. He is ready to claim his mate and he’ll take her like the wild animal that he is!
Yes!
He’s seen that all in her eyes, until the millions of candles fade to just a small torch and the walls that clutched at them with intimacy are now just coarse stone and the illusion is lost.
As she bends toward his neck, with sharp fangs, seeking her solace, he dissolves into mist. She screeches as her wickedly sharp teeth pierce her bottom lip with a sharp bite and instantly realizes she has lost her prey.
He laughs eerily.
Then, as the scent of her ancient blood rises to tease his more ancient nostrils and he subtly inhales with his soul, he sees that things are more complicated than he could ever hope they would never be...
He howls
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
The pen on my hands, as she strutted through my open door...
Her hair, black, free flowing as it filled her shoulder on one side, like a river
Flowing down to her chest.
Her dress, red, betraying the shy but passionate model she is...
As she gazed into my eyes, like she was seeking an answer...
The pen on my hand.
With one effortless pull of the strings on her dress, it slowly fell to the ground.
A master piece.
The Work of Art wondrous than the Babel Towers she was...
Slowly she lay on the couch...with a pose that froze my flow.
I couldn’t sketch a mark...
The pen on my hand.
I could feel the pull, from her seat to my aisle...
For a moment, I felt her breathe, and mine indrawn as her fingers stroked my hand...
Her left arm passed through my t shirt, goosebumps, chills...
All over my body.
Her black eyes, staring at my canvas, as if to see the sketch...
Then with a voice, softly whispered “I like it.”
I blink, then only do I realise,
She was right in front of me, as always, on the couch, with a pose
And my canvas had these words on it instead....
The pen, on my hand.
©The Unspoken
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
The hollows of cheeks
wrung with shadows,
indrawn for the honesty
of betrayal.
Moist eyes slurp their skull
to spermy glints.
Down to the gospel of flesh
and bone, they read silently
to one another:
everything is one...and you
are alone.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
Here breaks another dawn
where light's breath still indrawn
enters new morning
Rays chase away stars, dies
the dark while smouldering sky
sees Ol' Sol rising.
Here edge of night persists
with early wet smut-red mists
which warming resists.
Light rejoices in day's birth
by a boisterous outburst
of language unheard.
Here at dawn's choice moment
of molten change explosive
chaos re-forms.
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
I want to be beautiful poetry, but instead I am vapid stanzas,
An indrawn breath between the lines.
The dampened air before the rain, and the traffic light that never turns
I am the catch in a song and the dying embers of firelight,
I am an inland lighthouse.
I am an abandoned wasps' nest and a mangy alley cat,
A tarnished ring in a landfill,
But I am also pearlescent, the destination after a long journey,
Beautiful, in its own way.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC