"intricacy" poems
Paint me in any colour you want,
you wish for
Draw any outline you visualize.
This will fade,
Falling victim to the seasons.
A masterpiece
Within itself,
the intricacy of the strokes
Shall be hidden by
the next masterpiece
That will take its place.
The unsung, the
Unheard
are the ones who draw this,
day
And night.
Going unnoticed,
no one stops to
Consider the combinations,
the contrasts,
Its various interpretations,
almost like
Those of a Rubik's Cube.
Layer,
upon caked layer,
depicts violence,
Craves freedom,
breathes anonymity and
Displays inspiration.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:59 AM UTC
The Kingdom of Morocco has a rugged mountain interior which reminds me of the British meal of mince and potatoes. But hold that thought, and examine our seemingly superior Western legislation. Just like the pickle, the dynasty of death is a brazen festival percussionist who is celebratory in her bitter and gustatory inevitability. Jizyah is that taxation which is imposed upon those who fail to conform to those expected societal norms. Although we have the status quo, one cannot help but wonder what happened to the rectitudes of individuality and paradoxical equality? So, where do we go, oh navigator of the great and mighty West? Marrakech or Rabat? I have no concrete awareness of where solace is to be found. I am lost! Therefore, I can only offer the following direction: Contemplate the ever-changing intricacy of the dunes in anthropological amazement and acknowledge the sky at night. Allow the celestial pole of the North Star to speak to your deep uncertainty. Our purpose is openly displayed if we simply open our heart in the midst of our Bedouin oasis. That, my friend, is the essence of being psychosocial.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
This woman speaks in tongues
Foreign languages roll from her mouth
Like summer fog ladled over the rim
Of Candlestick Park
In the not-so-distant
Far far away of long long ago
This woman speaks in rotund sentences
Effulgent with vocabulary
That shimmers with the electrified joy
Of lights over Ghirardelli Square
In the not-so-darkness
Of the clammy and cabalistic night
This woman speaks with her hands
Impresciable, implacable, and inconsolable
As she tries to mold untranslatable words
From air that is as thin
As the promises she’d preferred
And purchased with the shards of her heart
This woman speaks in lyrics
Arpeggios of adjectives and alliteration
That tumble acrobatically with the intricacy
And grace
Of a hummingbird in spring
On the kiss of a blossom
Rich and fragrant and giving as
This woman speaking in tongues
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 4:35 PM UTC
Honey, my pretty little girl,
My Heart. My World. My Soul.
For all we have been through
I can't help but be in love with you.
I am honored to know that you value me so much,
And that just by being me
Can have such an impact on you.
As tough as it will be having to be away from you
For as long as it takes up north,
I know it will do amazing things for you
And for who you are to become.
Indeed, all it will do is make us stronger
As I feel the longing pull at me
More and more with each second
You are away.
I miss ever little facet
Of your being.
Being away from you
Only makes me value you
That much more.
You are my happiness,
And no one brings it out in me
Nearly the way you do.
You are my world and
Every intricacy in it.
In short,
You are my life.
Dearest little girl,
I love you
With every fiber of
This beautiful mind
Beautiful heart
And beautiful soul I have been blessed to possess.
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 9:30 PM UTC
*How I wish to float upon your breast
Soft and placid as a glass lake, windless
Breathless
But to delve into valleys
Unexplored, keeper of buried treasures
I trek throughout, wandering
Aimless deliverance, unspoken promises
Intricacy of intimate embrace
I weave in my fingers, passion
Spill me, leave kisses like ghosts
Translucent memories
Moist with seduction
Delicious droplets of enticement
Proposing infatuation, falling from your lips
Illustrious little allures
Swim through me
Serpentine twisting contours
Wrap me in flesh, consumption
Stares, to reiterate a longing
Convey this truthfulness
Honeyed words of desire
Think not to deny yourself this moment
Make love to white whispers
Embedded in the mouth of temptation
Take no responsibility
Let movement be freely expressed
Body caressed
Comforting red embers
Of lustful flame
Spin tales of time and tryst
Inhale the sweeter aromas
Entwine with immaculacy
Reciprocate sensuality, a pair
Two
Two with a twist
And many other turns*
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
My Vellum
Alluring and demure
In your virginity
Never yet
Creased nor crumpled
Your tight young corners
Remain stiff and pert
In their newness
Your long lithe sides
Tense for my careful touch
Lest blood be spilt
My gold nib
I dip
In midnight ink
Piercing its surface skin
And lift
It drips
One
Two
Black
Secrets
Back to their bottle
My hand is poised
Over your pristine smoothness
And with calm precision
I carve broad majuscules
That twist and cut
To hairlines of breathtaking
Intimate intricacy
Quick teasing serifs
Long lingering descenders
Strokes of tactile
Joy
Then stand back
Empty
In wonder at
Your calligraphic beauty
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 3:16 AM UTC
Our bodies are not temples,
I will not be invaded as such.
We are ecosystems.
Made of grit, blood, and change.
Packed with multitudes of intricacy,
We love like gushing streams.
Wound like thorned bush.
Hurt by humanity like hunted prey.
As we burn, as we are cut down,
As we are wounded, crippled, abused,
We still grow.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
what if
you took a step back,
saw your life as
the work of art it is,
made beautiful by
tireless perfectionism and
ultimate lack of control,
treasured creations and
unseen shadows,
internal battles and
conflicting thoughts,
all together striking
balance,
contrast,
a wilderness of
human intricacy?
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 12:38 AM UTC
many will know the beauty
of a butterfly's wing
and the delicate intricacy
of their decoration
those swathes of colour
meandering boldly in flight
a proclamation of
their presence
their providence
whose startling eyespots
can mimic the stolid gaze
of the stern and the alluring
observing in judgement
or perhaps in wonder
blinking only as they flutter
flattered disbelieving
yet there are reminders
in that Rorschach patterning
that those with ill intent
should observe
threats and
warnings overlooked
by those in admiration
of such beauty
where few will heed
that gossamer fragility
broken by any
not considerate enough
in their handling
Oct 2, 2023
Oct 2, 2023 at 9:51 AM UTC
Lo, the drunken ordinance of light through
stained glass, lest to rehash the peopled
white of infinity.
Reach...with what folding passion second
guesses the labor of its love...the warm
footfalls of the sun overlaying the intricacy
of a snowflake...as captions of bone
dissolving upon the motion picture.
Perpetually opening seasons enamored
directionless...cancellation and activation
which is The Spark upon dark...striations
of dreams upon the gyres of galaxies.
Proofs positive of palpable breath, given
and taken in gloried passage.
The cloistered ghost gifted the laughability
of its cloister.
A polish fit for heresy...listen to the
crystalline structure as it bats its eyelashes.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
Most late summer days fade into night holding a tepid dreariness in their breath, beating away with the tedium of the sun from late July through early September.
Yet ephemeral as it may be, the life of early summer is purely sanguine in the face of its oncoming age, as willowy saplings sway in the blustering breezes of June, and sprouts of vivid animation appear all around.
This is when the soul heals, and out of the mulch rises new beginnings and the ripening fruit of various works.
In this early season of summer, many taciturn inhabitants of the flourishing earth made their home, and among them, Lily: a creature of reticence and intricacy.
She burgeoned in attitude and character as days crept forward, extending her limbs upwards in an eternal paean to the heavens― as such was her sinecure and quiet delight.
In this, she stood insular to her ubiquitous family, an outsider to the sisters who flitted about carelessly on the wind, satiny gowns of pink and yellow billowing as they twirled.
Always invited into the fray, Lily was evermore stalwart in her choice to keep out of their plainly sordid affairs.
Yet in her isolation, the night whispered to her many a berceuse.
The sleepy stars implored of Lily’s indolent nature as she gazed into their eyes, trailing across eternity into peaceful slumber.
The night sky held wonders and questions that filled her paltry existence but placed her in stasis with the decorated heavens of her dying season,
Left to wither away with the insidious heat and vibrant splendor of late summer evenings.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 2:45 PM UTC
Fortunately
you are not my muse
I've worn out muses
by the dozens
cast them aside
like chaff
and cherished the sorrow
that ensued
Sadness was my calling card
my tragic handshake
a testament to a life
gone wrong
Age improved me
I survived the madness
came back to life
gasping for air
And so to your door
to spin the wheel
of language
to glory in its intricacy
Two poets alive
in the same century
two restless souls
under one uneasy roof
We will survive our families yet
raise a toast
when the day comes
to the dear
and thankfully departed
We'll leave poetry
like confetti in our wake
and touch the holy stone
once or twice yet
in our lives
I pray it will be so.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
I want to finger paint you against the sunset, encapsulating your beauty for a moment in time, enraptured by the glow of fading light
I want to catch your gaze as you laugh, your eyes alight with glee ascribed to the humor of something so seemingly mundane
I want to kiss you beneath the stars, each one singing a tale of long since forgotten lovers who have carved their paths below them
I want to hold you for endless minutes, the touch of your skin scorching into my memory the intimacy and intricacy of such fleeting embraces
You are divine essence in motion. You are ethereal.
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 9:02 PM UTC
as the oak is always the acorn,
so the poem is always the word,
no matter, how decimated the tree,
no matter, how faded
the word,
inside resides, the tree, awaiting the catalyst.
inside resides, the poem,
awaiting the esprit.
always, the essence remains,
embedded...
always, is the outcome, foreshadowed...
etched in, by a code,
known, only in it's base intricacy by one...
the creator.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
If fathers teach their sons the art of shaving,
shouldn't mothers teach their daughters the intricacy of doing and undoing bras?
Unfortunately, this world isn't a utopia for gender role demos,
so I'd appreciate it if you didn't laugh at me
while I fumble to get you *******
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
Wash
*Away the memories of how
We tangled together
Like the perfect sailor’s knot
An organized intricacy
Coalescing my jumpy nerves
With your easy laughter*
Rinse
*The weight of your fingers
Imprinted on my scalp
A heartbreaking muscle memory
Fingers that once ran through my hair
Run to another’s touch*
Repeat
*This sadistic cycle of erasure
Hoping one day forgetting
Won’t be a conscious thought
That shower shall set me free.*
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
I
Fanciful and then the first notice of
suspended mouth corners,
fleeing gravity with invisible strings,
sloppily synchronize in giggles.
II
A glance at the shore horizon,
widening into chasm,
Erebus leaking
ominously—
oh but the raft
is far too small!
oh and flimsy!
surely the shadows
will ravage
the branches
and pull this
neurotically
euphoric contraption
below.
III
glazed malfunction
blurred and hazed
for lack of clarity
billowing surges
mold as magnets inandout
and in andoutandinandout again
fades in before
melting again to
disjointed gestures
in a multicolored backdrop
IV
Skeletal architectures
return from a hysterical
awareness of ****** intricacy—
And discussion is,
of course,
forever precluded
for fear of relapse
and embarrassment.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 1:55 PM UTC
The box poses on my table,
So patient in its guise.
Allures its extent to baffle,
And prove me thus unwise.
To draw me closer it will bait
And lure by fine sweet sounds,
Perplexity my new bed mate,
Mischief that knows no bounds.
I lie in this bed and ponder,
Choice is mine, is it not?
What gifts inside I do wonder!
Temptation's guile my lot.
Gilded and exquisitely wrought,
Intricacy unparalleled,
My prolonged resistance for naught,
My hand thus adroitly compelled!
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
these cold white floors
are never enough
to mirror the purity of your heart
or to capture your hands' warmth
the intricacy weaved on your clothes
and patterns drawn by your feet
can never compare to
the dancing heart you wear on your sleeve
so don't look down
every time you fall
but hold on to their arms
and firm words and calls
to yourself, you're imperfect
to me, you're emboldened:
you don't need to win gold
when you're already golden
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
everything i've wanted to tell you
i will tell you tomorrow
and the wait of it all doesn't even give you sorrow
these dilapidated sentence structures suffocate us,
they drown out our intricacy, our noisy illustrations
and i don't even want you to resuscitate me
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
A composer
of the stars,
& astronaut
of dreams,
the unsung
swan of the
night, who
draws the
paintings
of her
thoughts,
the clouds
of dandelions
fields forever
in reverie,
her sigh settles
the seas of
lilac dreams,
as music
plays, she
enjoys the
indigo hues
of a bohemian
way of life,
and every
person
on this
earth is,
in their own
way, an
eccentric
of their
own hue,
upon the
painting of
life in the
microcosmos
to the lights
beyond, one
possesses
the traveler
in the chest,
a seeker of
the secret,
unrevealed
revelations,
a hidden
lover of
truth,
a flower
always
in perpetual
rebirth,
the secret
dancer
of the
night,
musing
upon the
wisdom
of how
every
human
holds the
aubade
within the
intricacy
of their
silver
scales,
in the
deeper
tides
of eyes
meeting
to become
one in the
balladry
of being
within each
other’s gaze,
for eyes reveal
the drifters,
who sail in
the ocean
of words
and catch
her star-dew,
where she
hears the
hidden,
secluded
symphonies,
they reveal
the lights
of their
own as
time, the
mysterious
one, flows
her fabric
and they
grow closer
to one, she
watches
upon them
unfolding,
as she
opens
her wings,
they close
their eyes,
when two
had once
seeked
to be other
than the
truth of self,
from their
chests are
opening
butterflies,
they awaken
in their
cocoon,
awaiting
the voyage
to the
moon,
the poet
sits by his
window,
and softly
sung “all of
what the
eyes see
in bloom
is poetry”
Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 9:24 AM UTC
*call me twisted,
but i’ve always admired a certain degree of controversy.
complexity is a dangerous beauty, like a hurricane -
admired from afar,
deadly up close.
my biggest fear was always photocopiers.
monotonous carbon copies, binge feeding
on Christmas music
and cold commercialized coffee.
simplicity was schematic,
intricacy was ******
with a quivering hand and downcast eyes,
i clothed myself in these layers.
gift-wrapped, with a ‘danger’ sign as a gift card,
i became an enigma to myself.
diamond rings came with dark clouds,
locks and keys gave way to gun shots and bullet wounds.
fairytales were never meant for the 3-d world.
none of us are “fated” for a happy ending.
riding off into the sunset only comes with
hard work and hard lessons.
yes, i may still be an overthinker.
i may still have more thoughts than i have time
to put them in.
mundane things are still transfigured into
tainted, disfigured imitations
of insecurity, agonising and mental mutilation.
but it does not have to be this way.
pick up a pair of 2-d glasses.
you don’t have to see the world in technicolor.
sometimes monochrome lenses
do tinge the world
in shades of nostalgia, clarity, and hope.
peel off those layers.
you may cry, but cry of catharsis.
it may sting, but salt always does.
wear simplicity as your sail,
rose-tinted with trust and a silent knowing.
you may realise that what you were always looking for
was always right beside you.*
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
Along I strolled a country path
spread with leaves of happy shade,
sunspots sprinkled on the turf,
insects humming in the glade.
Towering gumtrees soar aloft
running mauve to whitish tan,
strips of bark hang limply downward
richly capped with leafy crown.
The great bowl squats, it’s fan of
massive roots inumerable.
The leaves are wet
and silver sunlight sparks from sheen to sheen,
dazzling those who care to notice
moss so green,
and lacelike in it’s tiny brittle intricacy
Sunlight stirs the breeze to eddy
swirls of leaves in turn do bring
the brown eyed blackbird out to sing
his lilting challenge;
blue crisp air.
Delightful is the word I choose
to announce my sentiments,
nature in late summer gown,
drab winter in disgust
relents another day with thunderous frown.
Marshalg
Ferntree Gully
26th March 1969
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 12:52 PM UTC