"irides" poems
My eyes are sunken a dark gray aura surrounding their gaze,
My blue irides surrounded by a web of crimson veins.
My ***** blonde hair a tangled mess of greasy strains,
3 am and I realize I haven't slept in days.
3 am and student loan debt is still clawing at my mind,
3 am and over this unemployment **** I've yet to climb.
3 am and a solution I've yet to find,
Where is my family when i'm in a bind?
Where is mom, still drinking with her friend?
Where is dad, did he leave me for them?
Where is love, on money does it depend?
I'm tired but where do my problems stem?
I'm tired its been 58 hours and 51 minutes,
I'm tired I think I've reached my limits.
I'm tired I just can't win it.
My reflection in the mirror a sad beaten grimace.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 3:58 AM UTC
orbs of blue in the drizzle of rain,
a flesh-numbing cold; myriad of pain;
red-hued cheeks and traces of benzocaine.
russet irides shift with the aegean's quick moves
through the black pupil, colors to exclude
and brows are squinting; just in slight disapproval.
clumsy dance of eyes in the dim afternoon light,
café au lait für Zwei, für dich und mich allein,
as we bid our longing gazes a sorrowful good night.
© fey (25/12/21)
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 1:33 PM UTC
Disappointment & anger
Cloud my emotions.
They've been played with,
Toyed with like
A ball of
String
In a one sided war with a cat.
Feelings of contempt
Are forged in iron upon
My eyes.
No secret
Hidden from the
Irides.
Furnaces of dragon breath
Burn against my forehead
Cloud my vision
Of sense.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 7:54 AM UTC
On a rustic bench there laid
a single cat of dire age.
Between lushful green she gazed
longingly into the distance - as if
far away she would catch a glimpse
of home to reside in irides of an amber lynx.
© fey (05/06/22)
Jun 5, 2022
Jun 5, 2022 at 8:04 AM UTC
This head's a space
clouded
its brume almost reaching
the insides of my irides
This hand's a tremble
from its roots
an earthquake
venturing back to an especial gob
of cardiac muscles
helplessly siphoning life through
the fragile cracks of this cage of ribs
Around my floating body
Spins the earth
Just another ornament
In a knitted blanket of galaxies
I do not question where
I do not question why
Those eyes, jaded
by stale smiles that have been
keeping them fed
and distracted
I am not one with myself
as the wavering mind threatens
to abandon this sad case of dolor
Breathing suffocates
Silence, a pain
I need a hand
to slap and punch me out of conscience
to shake and yell
live, you are alive!
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
When the magistry has ended, /
The echoes of repose begin to resound; /
Although there is, there has been a great wanderer in me, /
The beckoning has not ceased, /
Nor has my heart been claimed in abeyance. /
A story, one with risings & fallings, /
One with an unfalteringly great divide, /
Has bestowed a parcel from on high; /
The Winds, The Earth, The Ocean, The Sun, The Moon, /
They are the pulse of this Grand Tapestry. /
When we are enraptured, /
By ensorcelled irides /
We become; /
Sometimes being enamored /
Means our journey is re-willed; /
Moreover, we see the world with Brand New Eyes. /
Allowing every experience, to re-modulate my thoughts & feelings /
I realized uncertainty was not a barrier, /
Rather, it was my nexus to transcendence. /
Having a time & space in which to reflect, retrospect, & introspect was an aegis, /
Now real & authentic happiness is no longer distant /
And faith is near. /
Jul 12, 2023
Jul 12, 2023 at 8:09 AM UTC
Glacial, the gaze of wintry viridian irides
Silken, the heavenly flesh
Lurid, the flames of a paradise awry
Mourning all the sinister angels have blessed
With their tainted perfection, their hideous lies
Hope shines so thinly in an eonian land barren of all love
Great men become emptied, the tormented cry
Amidst desolation, a beautiful dove
Becomes alive, voicing a longing call
Amongst forgotten pantheons, a saviour resides
Though, broken, gashed, beaten, and threshed
Awakened by beautiful birdsong, driven to reply
Was this an augury? He must strike out to answer this call from above
To redeem some grace, from the woe of it all
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 2:50 AM UTC
summer enormously frail fringed and golden
summer arguing with timidity
with youth and tangled
laughter gargling
low streets strung
lights mellifluously
straddle amberly the
nape of silently
and beginning
suddenly light
over asphalt
springs leaping
the mountains over
and
SpLaSh!irides
of
3 petals and 3 drooping sepals
glow gently
caressed
at
handless *********
white
,
.
,
.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 9:55 PM UTC
***Monday, November 11th, 2019
The pain in loss can be a deleterious scourge, undoing all the threads of light embedded in the heart. Who am I to contend with the ethereal tides of the cosmos? A juvenescent soul enrapt mine entity for but a moment, yet, soon thereafter, he was gone. Vanquished by the Winds of Undoing, he may never re-alight upon my soulscape; however, I must go on. Let dreams illumine the fulgent irides you are starry-eyed to see.
I must trust that all things are working out for their highest good. In me are all the answers that I seek; we are our own nexus to transcendence. Will I ever see him again? I am without certainty, but I shall arise triumphantly. Tears may yearn to cascade my countenance, but I will waxeth impregnable apropos of the deluge of sadness.
Who am I? I am the emblematization, the insignia of love. Christ truly abides within each one of us. If I am to truly attain my Apex Monumental, I must undergo tremendous sufferings; therefore, ne’er fathom that suffering is thine undoing, ―tis your making.
Press onward valiant warrior, love shall open every doorway. One day, thine Ultima Thule shall manifest itself before your eyes; moreover, the patriarch you never had shall be found in the Arbiter of Fates above. Never give up young one, for you are aeonically loved. Wisdom, Love, Justice, Power and all the virtues vested in this cosmos shall teem within thine vessel.
Sanctity is perhaps a notion, a theistic & ratiocinatively deific dogma. I fathom it an inordinately exclusive fallacy that maketh one feel holier than his brethren. Was any man or woman foreordained above any other? And if so, were they given not a privilege, but a duty? An anointing means one is set apart for a higher purpose, not a lionizing gasconade.
“He who dares to teach must never cease to learn.” It is true that the erudite has immense gift, but they likewise carry profundity of mandated travail. In each one of us, lie the answers we seek; therefore, we must introspect & retrospect in order to circumspect. We must search and seek, in order to find. Let the one who knocketh, have it revealed unto them, have it opened.
∞(Se’ Lah)∞
Excelsior Forevermore,
Sanders Maurice Foulke III**
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 6:43 PM UTC
Why have our lips been cold,
and kisses taste like stale coke?
Why has our skin not changed,
but the touch has got so rough?
Why are our eyes the same,
but the irides have turned dark?
Why do we stop playing games,
holding hands, walking in the park?
Why are our sweet letters gone,
and spoken words have become rare?
Why do you still stay with me,
when you want to be elsewhere?
Why can't we fall out of love
the way that we fell in?
The silence hanging above
put us in love's coffin.
*I wish you would tell me
about someone you met.
Things you once did for me,
now make her cheeks turn red.*
Jul 27, 2010
Jul 27, 2010 at 12:46 PM UTC
When skies cry, /
I dare not doubt /
For I know every tear has meaning, /
& not one of them is forgotten: /
Tenuous, airy, heady, divine, sublime. /
He raises me to heights empyreal, supernal /
When I have ascended triumphal arcadian skies /
I fathom the redolent reverie has not ended, /
Rather, I am one /
With all things. /
Crystalline, intemerate, pearlescent /
His glistening irides /
They gleam, they shimmer /
With a luminosity that is interstellar: /
Divo! /
Every morn he awakens me anew /
Reminding me that I still possess life, love, liberty, /
& embrace! /
With boundless freedom, /
I unfurl the wings to soar. /
The clairron voice of The Sovereign of Songbirds awakens me every morn. /
The musicality within, /
I fathom it /
Will never leave me. /
It cascades upon me incessantly. /
(—Se' lah )
Jul 11, 2024
Jul 11, 2024 at 10:12 PM UTC
Spirit descends
Taking shape
From
Nirvanic infinitude
And is carnally crystallized
In an incarnadine
Shrine of flesh,
Bone and marrow.
Let the anima of wisdom
Hear the unuttered reverberations
That ripple as a shockwave
Through this
Vast, multidimensional
Cosmos
And utter
The esoteric secrets of existence.
A verisimilitude of life
Loometh in the irides
Of the
Gasconading celestial
And we
Must wax lowly
To
Wax lofty.
Trust that something
Interstellar, intergalactic, macrocosmic, multiversal;
Fatidic, fathoms all
With
Omnibenevolence.
Ye, this
Visage of Creation keeps vigil
In the corporeal pulse of plight.
Fulgurant perdition is for
But an
Ephemeral exhalation, Elysium is for eternity;
(Therefore)
Gaze heavensward
Knowing the Holy Dove
Shall always
Rise and fall.
Promises await:
A deific covenant
Etched in the
Slabs of our hearts,
(I Hear)
The Requiem of Lovelit Life resolved
In the
Key of the Archean.
Spirit rises,
Dismantling form
And intertwines infinitely
All that is, was, and will be;
Circular & cycling
Forevermore
The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love
Sees all.
(Se' lah)
Nov 19, 2019
Nov 19, 2019 at 10:13 PM UTC
It has been dark
It has been very dark
And I thought
That maybe
It was the end
For me
How was I going to go on?
I wondered
You were the brightest light
That my eyes had ever seen
And I followed you
Until you blinded me
I walked on and on
Not knowing the path
That I was going down
So I looked up
Even if the rays
Of your intensity
Still burned my irides
The stars were out
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
and I was sinking
into the fathomless dark gyres
of his coal-black eyes
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 11:20 AM UTC
And what happens to the teacups after we've left?
Clinking, clanging at the table;
carried, catapulted, cleaned.
Do they know of our lips that tasted of each other,
or things said, unsaid?
Where do eight years go?
Just, ****
― gone.
Or still occurring
in folds between our conscious blinks, our separate times midst now and then.
Do you and I exist again?
and again, and again?
Crossing the street again;
in the grass, under the blanket,
at the park again?
Are we kissing
again?
The lights and the people,
brown irides and darker pupils of this stranger,
and I,
round and round on this merry-go-round
― it's déjà vu.
Am I in the 'Again'?
Maybe déjà vu is Again, after all.
I'm at the beach once more;
they've built new houses.
You must've changed as well;
built new houses.
But I only remember old handwriting,
legs on legs, eating at 5am, icecube dragged across my skin;
I remember you in Agains.
Clinking, clanging at the table,
our teacups.
carried, catapulted, cleaned,
brought again ―
Maybe they
have seen ghosts of us
over again.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC