"iridescent" poems
You bought me sunflowers last Saturday
because you like the yellow orchestra we can
listen to, but you do not have to direct.
It plays a private concert only for you.
I play a few notes here and there too,
but nothing can compare to sunflowers.
I compare lots of things to
flowers,
like your eyes.
You do something to my insides
I cannot explain
in a metaphor to flowers.
You planted a gilded seed.
It grew faster than any ****
more delicious than homemade irish mead.
Sun shining, birds chirping, children playing-
all of this-
sounds like life’s decaying
because you’re not next to me.
You make oxygen more than a box on the periodic table.
I’m not suggesting I’m unable
to perform tasks without you.
I’m used to ashes in my coffee cup.
Your presence seems to open up
cold sunflowers.
You set ablaze the sun’s powers.
I could go on like this for hours
about the love you built;
iridescent solid sunflowers
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
.
1
death dirges
Frogs in distance sing . . .
Foxes, herons, join in too,
. . . A round of croaking.
2
love gifts
Her gift of flowers . . .
Came at night without garden,
. . . Were picked in bedroom.
3
twins demure
Full moon and she . . .
Beauties without crescent smile,
. . . Naked in starlight.
4
light music
Before even sun . . .
Gleam opens to paint each day,
. . . Beauty in birdsong.
5
iridescent
After sun showers . . .
Sparkle of rainbow colours,
. . . Busy hummingbirds
6
chilling
Hollow sound through trees,
Naked and bare branches sway,
. . . Old winter creeping.
7
flirting
She wanted a child . . .
Rushed from one suitor to next,
. . . Clock set to maybe.
8
super villain
Truth once singular . . .
Mucked all up with politics,
. . . In cowl of falsehoods.
9
casualties
Blood spills in gardens . . .
Naïve worms torn from loose grounds,
. . . Red robins, green lawns.
10
stigmata
Each spring miracle . . .
Trees blessed by caterpillars gifts,
. . . Holey hands of leaves.
11
consecrations
Ripples lead to bows . . .
After fish breaks the water,
. . . A kingfisher dives.
12
constancy
Steadfast as always . . .
Wildflower in sun and rain,
. . . Showing true colours.
13
roommates
Chaste lovers wonder . . .
How bodies weather the cold,
. . . Never knowing touch.
14
swept away
Suddenly we kissed . . .
At beach as tides rolling in,
. . . Drowning by ocean.
15
seductress
Her red hair so long . . .
Brushing my face, hiding eyes,
. . . A kind entrapment.
.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
*we wake up every morning
to the sun
creeping in through
the gossamer curtains
the rays of the sun
traveled all the way
into your room
to brighten up your day
but all you ever search for
first thing in the morning
is the artificial light
from the screen of your cellphone
why cant you take some time
to stop and stare
at the dust falling around you
dancing in the ever iridescent sunlight*
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
I. The Mermaid
I am six years old,
and I am obsessed with Ariel
from The Little Mermaid--
she is, by far,
my favourite Disney Princess.
I want to be exactly like her--
hair billowing in red swirls
around a heart-shaped face
and eyes so blue they put the very
ocean to shame
(my sister has blue eyes too, you know,
and, to this day, I still envy her,
for her eyes are the loveliest
characteristic of her Beauty--
and believe me, there are many);
purple clam shells vibrant
against porcelain-doll skin
and fully blossomed *******
(in three years from now,
I will begin
to grow *****
elementary-school style,
over-ripe.
B Cups going on C cups
fated to become D Cups,
plum-sized
in comparison to the
budding mosquito bites of
my fellow classmates.
Barely a child,
womanhood threatens
to sexualize my girlish body
before I truly know
what sexualization is);
fins cutting through the water
gracefully in all their
green, iridescent glory
(little did I know that,
as I grew older,
"cutting" would adopt
a far more sinister meaning
in the context of my life).
But,
despite my admiration for Ariel,
I fail to understand her desire
to abandon her
under-sea rendezvous,
sunken treasures,
oceanic melodies to
"be where the people are."
This lack of approval I foster
exists due to the fact that I am
a firm believer of the magic
the aquatic realm (and Disney)
has to offer.
To this day,
I continue to maintain my stance--
that Ariel had been terribly wrong
in the choices she made--
but I have become cognizant of
different (and better) reasons
to argue my position;
after all,
and as a cartoon crab
had so wisely declared once,
"The human world--
it's a mess."
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
The warmth of the sun settles, hugging the lake.
The dragonfly flies low, hovering above the tranquil water
the light seeping through the paper thin skin,
it hums across the lake, refracting light off its wings,
An array of colors make patterns on the wings,
wearing it like a cloak, a rainbow embedded within.
The colors tilt and shift as the dragonfly gracefully cruises through life,
laying close to the water but letting the air propel it forward,
floating between two different worlds,
it is like a dream where our thoughts are separated from reality,
and are scattered like refracted light for us to assemble.
Through a screen of our dreams, a world can be seen.
A world of hopes and desires that is dormant within
The light of life just soaks us bare,
our skin turns frail,
under the scorching glare,
the glare of eyes that want you to be,
someone that is accepted by society.
the dragonfly bathes itself in the sun,
the iridescent colors shine on its skin,
flying and floating, he’s determined to win
a predator, determined to get what it wants
nothing blocking its way or paving its path
making the most out of life and never holding back
spread your wings like the dragonfly
that hums its way through life,
dipping its wings in the sun to shine,
breaking free a life of colors,
that we leave locked and forgotten,
behind a reality made of black and white,
the black ink seeping through our minds,
injecting us with ideas of the 'ideal life'
where money and fortune, and status define.
Bathe your mind in the wonders of the world,
soak your heart in life's warmth and glow,
and pave your own path,
with the dreams you sow.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
Fourteen years ago when I held you in my arms, it seemed surreal. So fragile you were and like a tiny doll. Only God knows how much I miss being able to pick you up and hug you tightly close to my heart whenever I feel depressed.
And yet I love you now all the more. You are so special to me and always shall be. Our family has shared so many joys and so much heartbreak through the swiftly passing years.
You are sunshine and daybreak and iridescent rainbow hues.
The baby has been replaced with a very special friend.
Happy Birthday Sweet Daughter!
Much Love,
From Your Mother
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
The tenderness as they described it is circumnavigating more than the ******* and the roundness of my protruding *******
Perhaps by tenderness of the breast, what they really mean is tenderness of the soul and the emotions one hurriedly tucks under the crevices of their *****
If one imagines how ******* are anything but tender, with their ferocity of nurturing life and their wholly encompassing nature to weigh and weigh and weigh
Weight carried by a mother,
Shed off by her daughter,
Caressed by the one she lies with in the crevice of her soul and the gap between twin XL bunk beds and walls full of picture of people who no longer weigh her down
It's the feeling of nostalgia and nostalgia feeling this tenderness growing from one's *******
Growth of the ***** of life as a life imagined is destroyed, nullified, kaput.
But most of all she feels nostalgia.
Nostalgia for the people whose tenderness she felt,
Nostalgia yes for her brother and grandmother cloaked in love around her neck like crystals from an iridescent silver clasp
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
Allow me to steer you from this endless road of monotony
to a luminous land
where you will be bathed in an effervescent afterglow
Created by a realm of invisible possibilities
spun into the iridescent colorwheel of hope
Ataxia
Melt into my embracing arms
as I lead you through a state of comatose
I will guide you to the kaleidescape
And you will
Understand
How encaged you have been
by the life presented
By the fearful and the small
So enraptured by the mundane
So afraid to rearrange
I understand the temptation .
Believe me
I understand
But allow me to explain how the ultimate risk you take
Is when your fear of not knowing
is why it all remains the same
mp
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
Sing songs of parsley vivacious ***** jazz.
Dance that moon hoodoo rattlesnake tango.
Play ancient games like enter the mysterious iridescent doorway.
Smoke your poetry books.
Remember to forget your cell phone in the shower drain.
Cauterize your family pictures onto magazines and newspapers.
Sail across the ghost waters of unforgiven memories.
Throw yourself into your heartstrings.
String yourself onto your nirvana sphere.
Lick the soul.
Burn square enclosures.
Paint with your mind's mouth instead of the hands.
Live and ******
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
***If I were a Rainbow
The children would run to me
Turning upside down, I would be an iridescent swing,
The children would mount my rainbow wing
Swaying high up in the starry skies ascending on the moon
The children do bunny jumps, counting stars till noon
Awestruck and desirous they pick a few
The colours pink purple orange magenta and blue
Swaying down to the flower garden
They would pick flowers from the boughs laden
Threading in a star and a flower into an ornamental garland
Adorned as neckpieces , running around ,making one happy land
If I were a Rainbow
I would dismember all the semicircles making one hula hoop
The children would gleefully twirl and sway into the enormous loop
If I were a Rainbow
I would become one big ramp
The children would joyously roller skate up and down
Lighting up the ramp
If I were a Rainbow
And all of these came true
I would turn upside down making one radiant smile across the sky
The children would happily smile back at me , waving me good bye***
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 11:49 PM UTC
It's like the movie
part of me*
It tells me where I should
go and want to be
**Please note that I will say
Not a dark place
inside my suitcase**
"Robin Red Breasted" suit
Peck and nip and tuck in place
The rainbow iridescent
Suiting her taste wet rain tents
Everyone was Green with envy
**Robin/ Rainbow event lets hear
it for our Army so many
troops**
He was sitting politely
Like a salesman of suitcases
on her stoop
She was mesmerized
Living out of a tour suitcase
She wanted daisies she was
ready for fantasies
Of him in her suitcase
Tumbling through
Another time Postman
Singing birds to ring twice
Birds all in groups
Computer laptops she wanted
to be surprised so mysterious
But ready for love ingenious
He laughed not losing sight
Robin eats like a bird
so hilarious
She packed her sunshine
yellow ribbons
she was ready to feed
Those Brooklyn pigeons
Packed suitcase ready for
the love of God
Going frenzy from her fruit loops
Robin Birdie born traveler scoop
Well nested flying South
fully invested
Rocking her flight cradle
Wherever I go or whatever I do
Traveling packs meet
Mr. Ramen noodles
Getting silly splashing puddles
The Spiritual Zen
traveling boots over a shower
He kissed them high up (Eiffel Tower)
Rome Italy wines in love cahoots
The call I'm ready "Amazon" wild
Let us go, child, another story
But the wildcard fresh air
Oh! Dear
The lightness easy does it
feathering wings the clues fit
Packing my suitcase
Love is a drug of "Europe"
Perfectly fine wine
Always hope with cantaloupe
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
I. Your touch is like bones breaking; unforgettable, and breathtaking.
I know that normally people don't associate love with broken bones
but even when you cause me pain, I am still so effortlessly in love.
II. On the day that you made me yours,
you rekindled a fire in me that I thought
had long since died.
III. And in those eyes that resemble speckled emeralds,
I see a future brighter than I could have made for myself.
The feeling is treacherous, to love someone more than yourself.
IV. The thought of you lingers in my bone marrow,
and it doesn't leave, not even in sleep,
you live within my bloodstream.
V. You ignite a fire inside me,
hotter than I knew was possible in relative existence,
and every day I burn for you, slow and consistent.
VI. Sometimes I wish you would strip me down
and love me like a limited resource,
like I'm a priceless medal, or gem of iridescent hue.
VII. You're the type of guy that gets me to put my phone down
and that's an accomplishment in itself.
you're more interesting than the internet, and that's romanticism.
VIII. Your kiss is like electricity, but instead of electrocution,
you send shivers down my spine,
and put the sparkle in my eyes.
IX. They say that home is where the heart is,
and before I met you, I'd never been home before,
you are my home.
X. I've run out of words to tell you how much I love you
so now my next mission is to transcribe a new language,
to do just that.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
He thought that he had been evicted like a raucous Irishman, late once again on the rent, his belongings and furniture strewn on the lawn
His cold, deadly stare and ruffled red, said the same, with haughty indignation written all over him
As could be expected with any eviction, belongings strewn to the street, it started to rain; large splattering drops falling from the sky with an audible impact, adding insult to the injury
But he was just a child, set free and off to learn on his own, his perch and roost along with his chair, moved to his new home
He had outgrown the large screen porch, which was such a ridiculous place for an Owl anyway
Wood and glen gone, surrounded by girder and screen, locked into the realm of old peoples coffee and cigarettes
Tucked up into the eaves ignominiously, or sitting on the lamp, grooming flesh from his over large and taloned feet
He would sit silhouetted by the dim red glow of the bulb, relaxing, until a noise would spin his head and he would become hooded and glaring death
The lamp added a glow to his eyes, which already burned with a raptors fire and he would become the personification of evil to the world of prey
Low and crouched, wings slightly spread; he would become the terrifying story that small warm animals tell their children at night to keep them in line and safe
But now he has been moved outside and all of his familiar belongings with him, or most anyways
Now he perches outside, either on the rough, twisted branches near his roost, or his favorite chair, and contemplates late into the night
But it seems that he prefers the comfort of his living room and he rests on the arm of the chair, quiet and pensive in the still and humid darkness
He stares at me while I smoke; the white plumes drifting like iridescent fog into the moonlight, while I observe him from his former home, illuminated by the dim lamp light
His saffron eyes gleam in the darkness, his dark form robed in that of the raptor, wings held down, with the tips outstretched like fingers
He stares at the lamp, standing like a pedestal against the wall and I wonder to myself
Does he want his ****** lamp moved out there too?
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Iridescent celestial being
An anarchic yet effervescent adolescent
Frolicking freely like a breeze throw the leave of an omnipresent forest.
Bare foot and star gazing, native and trail blazing.
Like a clever fearless fairy exploring the faraway night sky
She is the fantastic bit of magic on an otherwise static planet.
The captain of passion and best little hippie on the mountain
Formed by a volcanic fountain that caused a panic on our little oceanic planet.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
Wings a flitter
Iridescent feathers a glitter
Hovering briefly at a flower top
Usually not long enough to truly stop
This precious one of avian design
I see delicately perched upon a twisted vine
The sun glinting off the ruby throat
Making it easy for on this one to dote
Although this perch may be brief
It does bear out my belief
That the light of her essence
Has me blessed in her presence
Medicine, absent of strife
Filled with the nectar of life
Life that bears the scars of complexity
Yet revels in the miracle of synchronicity
Placed on my path with divine intention
I would be remiss to discount this intervention
And yet fail to mention...
A renewal of mon couer and the magic of living
For this is the medicine that hummingbird is giving
And for me it is so easy to see
She is Nenookaasi
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
i.
monet's passion written in
whispering tears.
the still lake smoulders
in ripples, all shadows and smoke.
a dragonfly presses the air
into whir, memories in my
pocket saddled to fire.
ii.
the air murmurs with death-shouts.
is this to sink, deep in a dungeon
of opulent blue
or to shimmer, iridescent
like a moon-lamp, empress
of ocean green and river blue
beyond the stilling light.
iii.
this is a bed of decadence
drowned moment of golden fire
in the sipped leaves that trumpet
to the clouds, that this is their day to
die.
iv.
water lily, white light of the pond
following the drowning dark,
flower of drifting quiet,
flower of dream.
v.
root treading past
the stillness of dusk,
utter existence,
daughter of the moon,
daughter of the silence.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
. @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @ @ @ @ @
america, americultus, americate, dubiously **********
::: our gold-flecked bodies.
blackbirdian danceparty, i'll go.
washed-up beach bottles and all our feet amongst them curling time.
teens dream in orchid; they wait for stars and dark and los hombres of good dust.
they wait on eyes, and on embers, on belly belly.
jellyfish flashlight shrine.
we eat acid and strawberries and butter in the cemetery,
and feed foxes lizards face first :::
us lost ghouls on school-nights.
flash tag jazz, and yellow bicycles.
::: that hot eternal light.
that candy colored smoke don't smoke; go south on her body.
then thoughts form thoughts form action, form twangs all tuned to air.
& we, as notes, we notes harp like light
to dust.
our glistering hormonal thrusts beneath sheath of liquid love. her eyes,
with those multi-speckled strands
infinitesimally drunk :::
seed from my ****
pearled halo: smoke above my head.
::: waves and machines and weekends. filtered by the long ****
of existence.
boys wait in rooms of hotels for more drugs, and the girls bringing them.
like caterpillars on silky thin treadways,
with nothing but the flavor of our passions to ignite the way. we
exacerbate the boundaries of our intentions. we
curl under sheets, bending sheets of light and sound. we
flakey emaciated flakes. [sequence suffered time in motion] we
dirt. it’s what we are; dirt.
we are druggernauts, tasting ourselves along the iridescent brim.
::: we crawl up cross-glowing hillsides toward portals and faraway
bleep-blorps of hot god-head calibration.
we sticky-crackle go burn. [nature puzzles]
the brain shifts back; twenty-one grams they say the soul weighs.
they say things.
cherry blossom tree tips in the dark.
tele-portal surfing with an intergalactic pizza priest, and his satchel of secret sauce.
he heaves in the corner; rebirth :::
tendrils pulled tight, everybody **** chung…
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
the moon is
so beautiful with
its glorious imperfections
its loneliness
i am jealous
of this moon
of its knowledge
of its iridescent glow
of its independence
because in reality
who
is
more
beautiful
than
the
moon
?
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Persephone runs amok, her hair caught on tendrils of wind,
eyes lucid as emeralds; aware, alive.
Hope is sketched on her face as if drawn by whoever paints the sunset,
pulsating with the reflection of neon cities, rolling countryside,
the adrenaline-pumping moment before a rollercoaster’s descent.
She is high on happiness, running across her plane of existence
with only her converse sneakers and extraordinary ambitions.
Persephone knows she owes her unbridled youthfulness to Demeter.
Demeter, who is stern but unconditionally loving,
selfless, for when she hears her daughter’s plea for food she stops
her spoon midway through a bite.
When Persephone struggles with the perpetual torture of arithmetics,
Demeter’s sheer intelligence is astonishing, the iridescent reflection of
Persephone’s aspirations, for a problem to Demeter is merely
a hidden solution, a failure only a victory in waiting.
If only Demeter knew how her words are of the highest value,
her pleased smile the only affirmation to a job well done.
Her love cradled in the nook of Persephone memories,
every moment she is infinitely grateful to co-exist,
grateful for the Universe to award her the simple pleasure
of loving her parent with purity and stripped of conditions.
As Persephone runs, she glances back for a mere second,
in her smile is the mirror of her naivety,
she still believes that her Gods will save her from being a slave to
the inevitable corruption on Earth and Olympus,
for she is sure her untarnishable love for Demeter is her protector.
Yet, you know how the story goes.
In an instant, Persephone is falling into the Underworld, on the back of a beautiful monster into inescapable darkness.
But even then, she holds on to Demeter in thought and in prayer.
After adulthood, marriage, queenship, a childhood gone in a flash,
after her hands become worn with calluses, her face a series of rivers,
her mind expansive, her goals reached, Persephone knows she owes her unbridled youthfulness to the first person she ever loved.
I love you Dad, Happy Father’s Day.
Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 10:45 AM UTC
The Rockies sing to us at sunrise
when crystal snow-capped peaks
chant iridescent matins to the dawn,
the dawn of a fresh new mountain day.
Luminous pastel clouds
hover across the horizon
painting the hills and valleys below
in mysterial shades of
lavendar, amber and rose.
The Rockies sing to us at daybreak
when every crest and vale
unites in raising anthems to the dawn,
The dawn of a bright new mountain morn.
Forests and fields awaken.
A bull elk grazes by an alpine lake.
An eagle soars through the morning mist
over rainbows of Indian paintbrush.
A hilltop lake spills over its rim
and cascades down the slope
etching serpentine streams in the valley below.
We can hear the mountains singing.
In every creature, ridge and flower
They bring to us their jublilant songs
of wilderness, wildlife and wonder
.
We can hear the Rockies singing.
The mountains sing forever!
June, 2009
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
As dark clouds thunder on a grey day,
Resounding across the arid plains,
I hear the loud cries of a bird,
It cuts across the rhythmic drumming of the clouds,
He's quiet for a moment, then I hear him again.
Through the trees I see him,
Royal, an electrifying metallic blue,
A peacock, stunning, strutting,
Fanning his train of feathers,
Eyespots of majesty, stroked with mossy hues.
He dances in a flamboyant display,
In spot light, as lightening flames the sky above,
Nonchalant, a blue crested head turns with pride,
His ornate train, shimmering, beckoning, to and fro,
His moves, a courtship ritual of love.
His iridescent trail woos in style,
A life of its own in its opaline shades
Golden, blue, brown and green,
Colors of the earth, gloriously resplendent,
A gathered spectacle in his plumage.
As drops of rain touch the earth,
He is still high on the wings of romance,
His feet in motion,
His feathers spread for his mate,
Quivering, glimmering a love dance.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
The night sky cloaks me
As the darkness invokes me
Bright stars pierce the emptiness
Filling my every thought with their iridescent presence
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 4:20 PM UTC
the tears fell
onto her feathers
in iridescent moonlight
after she broke her own
wing attempting
to fly away from
home.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
Folds of water
Layers of dirt
Bubbling foam
A vast body
wrapping itself around the Earth
Schools of life
Clumps of Color
This is where it thrives
The souls of creatures
A potpourri of lives
The might of the ocean
The strength of the Sea
No one can match
No one could hardly believe
its ability
to devour kingdoms
Engulf islands and make them its own
Drag them down
Yank them by their legs, shatter their bones
Drag them down
Til they ultimately can descend no more
I can almost hear the primordial sea deity bellow
With a voice so deep
It shocks, explores
and shakes your soul
An immense
Deep bass tone.
It strikes more than just a powerful chord
“Come back to me”
“Return to your mother’s womb, down here, down low”
“You belong to me, my right, my property!”
“Return to the world below.”
“Come back home.”
Under the Sea
What's deep beneath?
The iridescent water
The clouds of foam
Conquered by monsters?
Down there,
Do sirens roam?
We aren't aware
We do not know
Enigmatic waves
Rows of fossils
Caked in dirt
A haven for aquatic raves
A museum holding remnants
telling the story of the Mother Earth
This is the Sea
Take a swim sometime and feel its rhythm
Listen to its story
Flow with the sea’s entrancing beat
I have faith and I believe
That the sea is a world of its own
Accentuated sometimes by its powerful voice or melodious hum
No less mighty than the world above.
Let's keep this beautiful wet world untouched
to keep it as it is, the world we love
©SHREYA DRISTI
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC