"jingling" poems
the cold air
can be seen
every time
we take a breath
my tears sting
as they race
down my cheeks
to soak into my scarf
my hand has
gone numb
and no longer had
yours to hold
Christmas music plays
jingling merrily
as my heart
shatters to the beat.
the words
dancing off your lips
hanging in the air
as if they were mistletoe
”i’m sorry”
i watch as you turn your back
and walk away
for the last time.
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 11:49 PM UTC
I.
Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they ****** ****** ******
In their icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden-notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III.
Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the ***** of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV.
Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple.
All alone,
And who toiling, toiling, toiling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry ***** swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells—
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
10.5k
In the evenings
the deer would emerge
from the edge of the woods
stepping over the tumbledown stones
of walls left untended-
they'd leave tracks through the snow
in a wandering line that led to the last apple tree
in the field by Orchard Street.
I remember that now,
staring at this antler I've found
in the clearing between the cactus
and sun bleached stones.
The lines of the antler
flow into the fractures of my palm-
two thousand miles from snow,
and two thousand miles from
the blue evening glow
of a shivering world
glazed over by twilight…
And the deer-
magnificent, pawing the snow
searching for apples that had fallen below-
emboldened by the frozen sweetness of autumn.
They were graceful even in flight-
when cars with chains
jingling and crunching the ice
rounded the corner
down Orchard Street.
Today I've tracked over two thousand miles
in my own wandering line-
the lines of the antler
flow through the tangles and hollows of time.
Sometimes I stand in a clearing,
sometimes hidden by trees,
sometimes I scratch below the surface,
and I run- but, less gracefully...
There are walls I've left untended
and some I've crafted too well-
it is through forgotten tumbledown walls
that memories come-
I thank grace
it was into this clearing they fell.
Tom Spencer © 2017
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
I cannot recall you gentle
yet through your heavy love
I have become
an image of your once delicate flesh
split with deceitful longings.
When strangers come and compliment me
your aged spirit takes a bow
jingling with pride
but once you hid that secret
in the center of furies
hanging me
with deep ******* and wiry hair
with your own split flesh
and long suffering eyes
buried in myths of little worth.
But I have peeled away your anger
down to the core of love
and look mother
I Am
a dark temple where your true spirit rises
beautiful
and tough as chestnut
stanchion against your nightmare of weakness
and if eyes conceal
a squadron of conflicting rebellions
I learned from you
to define myself
through your denials
audre lorde
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
The coffee is on
It won’t stop simpering
The mugs are jingling
The sugar spoon is glistening
The creamer is singing
Hello, come make your morning Joe
Hurry on now
You’re not paying for this show
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 10:04 AM UTC
i wanna be a fairy girl
with see through wings
so thin and frail
that glitter and flutter
jingling like a bell
humming bird girl
small sweet sounds
drink the nectar
from the flowers
nymph in the woods, deer girl
tree girl, mermaid
with magic in my veins
i wanna be a goddess girl
bow down
the sea licking at my feet
i wanna be.
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 7:22 AM UTC
"Now did you mark a falcon,
Sister dear, sister dear,
Flying toward my window
In the morning cool and clear?
With jingling bells about her neck,
But what beneath her wing?
It may have been a ribbon,
Or it may have been a ring."--
"I marked a falcon swooping
At the break of day:
And for your love, my sister dove,
I 'frayed the thief away."--
"Or did you spy a ruddy hound,
Sister fair and tall,
Went snuffing round my garden bound,
Or crouched by my bower wall?
With a silken leash about his neck;
But in his mouth may be
A chain of gold and silver links,
Or a letter writ to me."--
"I heard a hound, high-born sister,
Stood baying at the moon:
I rose and drove him from your wall
Lest you should wake too soon."--
"Or did you meet a pretty page
Sat swinging on the gate;
Sat whistling, whistling like a bird,
Or may be slept too late:
With eaglets broidered on his cap,
And eaglets on his glove?
If you had turned his pockets out,
You had found some pledge of love."--
"I met him at this daybreak,
Scarce the east was red:
Lest the creaking gate should anger you,
I packed him home to bed."--
"O patience, sister. Did you see
A young man tall and strong,
Swift-footed to uphold the right
And to uproot the wrong,
Come home across the desolate sea
To woo me for his wife?
And in his heart my heart is locked,
And in his life my life."--
"I met a nameless man, sister,
Who loitered round our door:
I said: Her husband loves her much.
And yet she loves him more."--
"Fie, sister, fie, a wicked lie,
A lie, a wicked lie;
I have none other love but him,
Nor will have till I die.
And you have turned him from our door,
And stabbed him with a lie:
I will go seek him thro' the world
In sorrow till I die."--
"Go seek in sorrow, sister,
And find in sorrow too:
If thus you shame our father's name
My curse go forth with you."
3.7k
Observing these old men sitting at the stockyard cafe,
Suspendered bellies hanging above huge buckles
And button-crotched Levi's tucked tight over leather boots,
Legs grown bowed and thin, but carrying them to the sale, still,
To hear the auctioneer, talking fast to work the buying crowd,
And get their fill of cattle, shoved indoors,
Sold beneath the steady cracking whips,
A spectacle to burn its way into my minds's forever eye:
The skidding steers, the rolling eyes, the frantic scramble to find cover,
While buyers gave their quiet signs:
A tilted cap, a winking eye, a thumb or index finger up or at a side,
To purchase cow or bull or horse, in living flesh...
Then out again, through the other door,
And turn our heads to wait for more, and read the scrolling numbers:
How many head, how much per pound, perhaps a buyer's name,
And then the swinging sound of other cattle coming in to start again.
So, here these old boys sit again,
Slurping coffee through their yellowed teeth,
Remembering days of indoor cigarettes and harried waitresses,
The smell of cow manure and jingling spurs,
Though now the smokeless ring seems tame, more civilized,
I see the glory days reflecting in the old men's eyes.....
I was just a boy back in those good old days,
My memory is a little hazed, but I can recall
When smoking was allowed and sawdust covered the filthy floor,
A Coca-Cola cost a dime, and the cattle sale with Dad was the big time;
Quaking as we treaded light on the catwalks above the pens,
Looked for our calves, or cows Dad culled to bring to sale,
Then going down and in to see them sell.
Fondly now, I can recall the restaurant at the ring
Where I hoped for a slice of lemon pie from behind chill-fogged glass,
Saw cowmen wearing spurs and neckerchiefs and chaps...
Dreamed of growing up to be a cowboy.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Molten glass molded Into a perfect circle,
Tinted with the shades of twilight;
- Lustrous lilac, blushing pink and pastel purple -
Embellished with shimmering stars, stolen from
the night
I gently slide them on my fragile wrist
reminiscing what he had once promised;
Like the roundness of these graceful bangles,
His love for me shall remain endless
They've heard me pray to the
Almighty
they've been kissed by the tears I've cried
Their clinking and jingling have always soothed
me
calling out his name when my eyes had dried.
A girls best friend may be diamonds
mine are these precious bangles
They've been the voice of my silent lips
And twirled at the touch of my fingertips
Sitting in a bangle box, waiting for me patiently
They will greet me again, merrily.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
I find my refuge in poetry.
For in twisted stanzas,
that passionate-scribbling,
I can read of blue skies,
write amber waves,
dream rusty signs squeaking,
flapping in hot summer breezes,
oil rigs pumping & wavy-trees,
behind broken screened doors,
I hear phone’s ringing,
laughing children screaming.
I can eat biscuits & gravy,
savor catfish & string beans,
see the rolling plains,
feel the clapping thunder,
listen to yellow parakeets
as the morning sunlight
peeks through stained-glass,
the pitter patter of gentle rain.
Sitting on porch swings,
watching ripples on streams,
inhaling rivers of cigarette smoke,
I visualize hay rolls & barbed-wire fences
under flocked geese in flight.
Soothing wind chimes in c-minor,
jingling, meandering
through lace curtains,
I lay on lily white tiles
crying, clutching my tissue,
trying to make it through
another starless night.
Rocking with Eric’s slow hand,
wearing Tony Lama’s & driving Buicks,
this random selection of cells
I cannot keep inside me.
There are millions of things hidden
in my stronghold of words,
yet to be written.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
my teacher
called my name in class
and i almost couldn't answer
i still see your eyes
in the books i haven't been reading
your voice echoes in my brain
when i look at the trees
i hear your smile
it's a million bells jingling
in the background
you are the answer
to all of my astrological questions
you put the ******* stars in the sky
i wish for you every night
and maybe you're gone for good
but i will always love you
i don't care if the stars fall
they're reminders that you existed once
i fell for your frizzy hair and how
it sticks straight up in the mornings
i fell for your rose petal lips
they cause sparks
when they touch me
you are the reason i am alive
without you i would feel nothing,
see nothing,
be nothing
you are the fire in my lungs
and **** it burns but
i've never loved pain so much
you gave me a home
i ran away
but the tears will lead you to me again
if it's right, oh baby,
you fill my veins with poison
and this sickness is the only disease i can love
you are the white light at the end of the tunnel
you are the rain in August
you are the leaves falling from the trees
and you are the only war i'll ever take part of
i fell in love with you
from your fingertips to your toes
and **** baby girl,
you make hell feel like home
and it's never been so bright down here
i like the bumps on your arms
and i love the smell of your perfume
you make me laugh during a funeral
at the way you whisper ***** jokes
to lighten my day
you lighten my day every day
your smile alone is the
reason i came home at all
i can't get enough
you have me
forever
babydoll
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC
I stood at the top of the stairs, waiting & watching,
to see his car come winding around the bend,
up to our street and into the driveway.
Filled with anticipation & mischief, I listened quietly for his footsteps,
the jingling of his keys, as he unlocked the front door.
There I stood, hidden, trying not to breathe,
as I listened to him slowly climb the stairs, feet weary from the day.
Full of hope and excitement I jumped out,
'Boo!' I gleefully shouted, with a smile perched on my lips.
Time stood still, if but for a moment,
searching his face, I focused in on his eyes.
Expecting to see joy and amusement,
instead I was confronted only with a frown of annoyance.
My smile departed almost as quickly as it had arrived.
Filled with disappointment, as I watched him move past me, not even touching.
Down the hallway to his room, briefcase in hand, shutting the door behind him.
Leaving me at the top of the stairs,
with a hole in my heart.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
These kinds of stories are hard to find.
I posted up in a bar between
nowhere and a town named Ida
(probably named after some
sweetheart, that old southern name),
and in the characteristic openness
that I can only find during my travels,
I decided to say,
"hey stranger."
It was early in the evening,
he was a traveler too,
but of the trucking sort,
ashen eyes and
pale breathy skin,
we got talking amid
electric neon glow and
the pale blue light
that shown in through the rain.
His name didn't matter,
I won't tell you his name,
but the truckers know thumbers
(there are 5000 or so
across the country
at any given time),
and so he told me of a thumber.
This thumber was in the thunder,
clothes torn and eyes wide,
and with a mind that was,
at that point especially,
oblivious to the solidity
of the dry towel that was
set on the solid truck seat,
and, what a mess this boy was,
so by appearance, I presume,
it was easy to ask,
"what in the hell happened to you?"
It went like this:
the thumber turned those
wide open eyes
(I imagine he was shivering),
and told of how he was
walking, backpack and all,
and of how he smelled a storm
approaching, how when he
saw the treetops bending,
he expected the rain and
pulled a waterproof cover
over his pack just in time,
it started pouring.
This time the thumber,
he said he knew he had to
keep going,
he said he didn't like rolling
dice, no, he said it was a cheat
because if you knew enough
about throwing die the die
land the same, they land
the same enough.
So,
listen, have you ever
walked through heavy rain?
You get dizzy, but
in some deep part of your mind
in the spray, the insurmountable
lukewarmness stealing
a little with each blow,
you lose yourself,
and that's what I imagine
happened to this thumber.
At one point, the thumber
knew ground no more,
that's all he said. He said
he landed one county
over, that's all he said.
And by the jingling
of the die hanging
from the truck's rearview mirror,
one of the truckers laughed
and said ********
as the story of the thumber
came around,
what in all hell else could
you say?
And the thumber wiggled
his head and gave a queer
sneeze.
Against the neon glow
I peered at the trucker,
you can't tell an honest
man by his eyes but
you can tell it by his breath.
I shook my head and said,
"that's a kind of story that's
hard to find."
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
Somewhere between a bicycle
and a seat at a daydream...
I had to make money
so I mortgaged
my woods, my sea, my music
Words--
left
Regaled only with rust
my 1938 Columbia
bike
(sold for a crib)
to an antique dealer
Fat-tires, red-faded fenders
Baskets saddled on wheel
for towel and lunch
Key chain dangling
jingling against jar
of cool ginger ale
Look back at the baskets-filled
afternoons at the park
I was a poet
The road
laid itself bare
For my bike
and I
scrolling through leaves
like words that fell
like hair across shoulders
that I sang to no one
the audience--
air
I know that now
I was not really…
nor ready
I once was a poet
___
This poem was based on a black and white photo of Harry Bertschmann as a young artist,
posed proudly by his magnificent work. First two lines of my poem were my immediate reaction to his painting.
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/05/nyregion/the-struggling-artist-at-86.html
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 7:06 PM UTC
Tomb of a millionaire,
A multi-millionaire, ladies and gentlemen,
Place of the dead where they spend every year
The usury of twenty-five thousand dollars
For upkeep and flowers
To keep fresh the memory of the dead.
The merchant prince gone to dust
Commanded in his written will
Over the signed name of his last testament
Twenty-five thousand dollars be set aside
For roses, lilacs, hydrangeas, tulips,
For perfume and color, sweetness of remembrance
Around his last long home.
(A hundred cash girls want nickels to go to the movies to-night.
In the back stalls of a hundred saloons, women are at tables
Drinking with men or waiting for men jingling loose
silver dollars in their pockets.
In a hundred furnished rooms is a girl who sells silk or
dress goods or leather stuff for six dollars a week wages
And when she pulls on her stockings in the morning she
is reckless about God and the newspapers and the
police, the talk of her home town or the name
people call her.)
2.6k
#*
The breeze made an impression through the night
That of a warrior back from a fight
The place all glorious by its precious presence
The winds had no say tonight
The breeze was gentle
Tenderly it spoke to the million leaves
The street lights glimmered
The crickets sung their song
Like the jingling anklets of a danseuse
On a musical night*
🌿🌿🌿🌿
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 8:07 AM UTC
*
I flash seven colors of your LOVE
The rainbow above my sky
Crown over my heart's being
When in your LOVE - I remember
We are so limited in our senses
Forgetting that when are we going to unite
Is just a matter of fate
Because now when we are 1000 miles away
Still at nights - In darkness and loneliness
We are always with each other
Why your LOVE colors are
Jingling bells within my heart beats?
I often gossip with your colors
Intimate musical tunes to your LOVEz
Let me congregate colors of your LOVE
Within a packet of my heart
And return back to you my SOUL
Cognative multi-color spectrum of LOVE
Though I'm not there with YOU right now
My LOVE will remind you of my colors
And like me, YOU too will stay awake
Most nights my BELOVEDz
Every breathe within beats
The timbre of your LOVE
Renders me hopelessly devoted
With your seven colors of LOVE
Always chasing me like a rainbow dew
Outside, within and around me
YOU know...
Now a days I fight with everyone I meet
Many think, I have become arrogant
It is just that I seek perfection
From everyone - to be as "PERFECT" as YOU
Belovedz,
One thing YOU did good to me
Thumb printed my name on
Your blank heart's canvas
To surrender my ETERNITY
That's how...
YOU made me YOURS
Unconditionally forever
So that YOU can
Paint on / in / within me whatever
SOUL-COLORS of your LOVE
Not a single aspect of my life
Is not untouched by your colors of LOVE
We know our LOVE will remain
Existing longer than our life-time
Our glances rains better colors palette
Better than thousand emails, letters, prose & poems
So please do not ever say
I do not know what "OUR LOVE" is
This is what
Remains of YOUR Colors of LOVE in me
*
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
She sees the souls
In the flowers and trees
Hears the music
In jingling keys
She can find the light
In your black eyes
Accepts the need
Of ruthless lies
She sees the world
Yin yang
When all seems different
Nothing really changed
She sees beauty in
Everything
And everyone
All is perfection
So why do her
Rose colored eyes
Always cry
Upon her reflection
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
He dances
He juggles
He jokes
But inside
He's a very sad bloke
Dancing around
In his jingling hat
Until he falls down
How do you like that?
Juggling his hope
As he drops his shame
Watch as he struggles
Are you not entertained!?
He is the punchline
Of his every joke
Laugh with him
He is your very sad bloke
He dances
He juggles
He jokes
He is your very sad bloke
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
elotes jingling ringing by
ponies munching grass
inevitable sticky arm
pointing to the sky
watching Cooper's pass
buses exhale noxious fumes
singing greasy axle tunes
grainy walk beneath our feet
offers something more than supple street
something more than supple street
something more we can't defeat
a burning penny in blue-tile sky
a charred lily in our green water supply
a pyroclastic flow of people
i'd love to meet
i'd love to meet
i'd love to meet
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
Last night I watched in silence
At the end of the road in forest deep
I hid amongst the trees watching in awe
As gypsies dance while others sleep
Under the violet hue of evening sky
Haloed by evening's golden moon
I watched gypsies dance and sing
As flames from bonfires leaped high in the air
Dark haired women in shawls and beads
Happily dancing and twirling without care
Casting their spells of magic and enchantment
Performing their honeyed seductions
Blended with aphrodisiacs of scent and sound
Gypsy men with kerchiefs around their necks
Hoops of silver adorning their ears, singing joyful songs
Children laughing, dogs barking
As if they’re singing right along
Oh, I so wanted to join them as I stood watching in awe
Envious was I of their freedom and joy
Caravans painted in bright images and colors
Tambourines jingling as velvet shadows danced in the night
Skirts swirling, gold and silver bangles on their arms
Dancing 'round the bonfire's fiery light
Accordions singing, with happy notes from a fiddler's bow
As they sang and danced barefoot under evening moon
In the coming dawn once again...
It will be time for them to pack and move on
With a last meal served...
The caravans are readied to make another journey long
"Gather yourself up gypsy girls
Wonderful as it may seem…
A gypsies’ life is never their own
Time to move on
Time to find another home
You must have gypsy blood
In order to survive"
As their wagons move along dusty trails
They'll be looking for a place to camp
A place to call home... at least for awhile
A place to hang their colored paper lamps
Until...
Suddenly- a cry rings out
"Stop the wagons, ring the bells
We've found the perfect place
The perfect place for magic spells
Tomorrow brings a brand new day!
Let's feast, dance and make merry
Come on let's get things underway"
And so...
The journey goes on
And never ends!
"Gather yourself up gypsy girls
Wonderful as it may seem…
A gypsies’ life is never their own
Time to move on, time to leave
Time to find another home
You must have gypsy blood
In order to survive"
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
~~~~English~~~~
Everything is white
Snow is all I can see for miles and miles
Icicles hang from the shivering trees
And the flowers are resting in sweet peace
Until Spring wakes them from their sleep
Sound of jingling sleigh bells
Blow across the wind
Mingling with the sound
Of distant church chimes
Cold bitter breezes sting my face
And I can clearly see my breath
Slowly I homeward trod
To sit beside the fireplace
With a hot cup of cocoa
~Marian~
~~~~French~~~~
Tout est blanc
Neige est tout qu'i can see for miles et des miles
Glaçons pendent des arbres avec frisson
Et les fleurs sont reposent en paix doux
Jusqu'au printemps eux réveille de son sommeil
Bruit de tintement de grelots
Coup dans le vent
Se mêlant avec le son
Du lointain carillon église
Froides brises amers piquent mon visage
Et je vois clairement mon souffle
Lentement j'ai foulé chemin du retour
S'asseoir à côté de la cheminée
Avec une bonne tasse de cacao
~ Marian ~
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
he said, “you’re such a doll”
beautiful on the outside,
with nothing but hollow thoughts
and jingling parts tangoing
inside.
"i’m no doll."
more like a rag doll,
waiting for the next
throw.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
damp roads at night pushing and pulsing light
whip soiled water onto pack and *** from back bicycle wheels rotating furiously out of purgatory out of bleary eyes of incandescence and towards the same eyes lit by patriotism or in another sense incarceration
wheels spinning straight and directionless
sore legs denying illusion of purpose purported by a between eyebrows headache only achieved through a blindfolded walk down memory lane keys jingling from a carabiner and a misplaced confidence self corrected before it was too late to realize that reality is difficult to handle with all 5 senses and a distinction between right and wrong and being left handed but not leftist because the only thing worse that being dumb is being spineless invertebrate vampires killing sheep in the prairie and funding proxy wars while fighting for who?
wheels spinning round and round keep insisting on idealism
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
The doves, the doves
they fall from the heavens
for you, love
The doves, the doves
at your feet
they bow and kiss
your sores
heal your wounds
The doves, the doves
in your locks of brown and bark
they tangle
bring flowers for you
sprinkle their petals into your strands
The doves, the doves
they breathe your scent
lavender incense,
the first snow of winter,
trees and moss
The doves, the doves
lost in your eyes,
agleam, a striking color
mimicking the forests,
soft,
kind
The doves, the doves
they melt
at the chime of your voice
you laugh
you sing
like jingling bells
riding the winds
The doves, the doves
they worship your compassion,
the way you stroke their necks
and kiss their beaks
with such ginger touches,
absolutely mesmerizing,
ruffling their feathers
The doves, the doves
will follow you
until their wings
no longer sprout feathers
they will raise generations
to fill their spaces
to continue their love
for as long as you live
they will love you
your children
and your children’s children
The doves, the doves
will cry tears
of sunflowers
when you pass
and will scorn the Gods
when they take you
from them.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC