"languor" poems
A white porcelain coffee cup
she gently raises up to her lips
with a satiated look on her face;
this gift, a much awaited moment
attained by satisfying her yen
not for choicest, gourmet food alone.
Those dark droopy eyes, suggest
a luxurious languor, she does cherish,
as long as the after tremors would last.
Slyly she looks at his swollen red lips
with a crafted guilt, it gives her yet
another high, sending ripples over
her ******* his eyes do a recce on this
then go up to her lips,finds his ardor
last hour had made them crimson all over,
throwing his head backwards he smiles at her.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.
11.1k
*all my life i held a dream
of a woman i would love
of course
she would be alluring
supple
a charming countenance
erudite, with an angelic face
her body
a muscular stretching willow
arching her legs over head
kissing her own
curving soft feet
a graceful contortionist
in confetti colored sparkle pantyhose
stretching towards me
silken hair draping a perfect symmetry
with spun sugar kisses
wafting the scent of vanilla
and candied vaporous breath
lips like cherry lozenges
but
one never knows ones destiny
i met her
my girl destiny
and except for a faint look of languor and ruin
with a tinge of withering
she was without doubt unbearably titillating
with razor-thin blackened lips
mascara slits for eyes
hair pulled straight back
jet black
jelled like hardened licorice
with satanic blood rivulets
and pitch fork tattooed ****
a vice of lechery
a malefaction of moral turpitude
her *** scarred from orgiastic beatings
her **** became
like a large wrinkly mouth
resembling the face of a bullfrog
from pleasuring herself with
tableware cutlery
her soul
a broken creel
suffering bouts of anxiety
like a weeping moon
having been institutionalized
in Mother Marys Hell House
from a ghastly bout of parricide
her father,
a hobbling gloomish troll
while the dark veins of mother
ran through her soul
leaving little choice
but to dispatch
the parents
abandoning their corpses in the kitchen
like strewn litter
turned out
just my
kinda
girl
d
e
s
t
i
n
y
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
Translation From Catullus.
Equal to Jove that youth must be—
Greater than Jove he seems to me—
Who, free from Jealousy’s alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms;
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserv’d for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though ’tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly,
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch’d to the throat my tongue adheres,
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support;
Cold dews my pallid face o’erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And Life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil’d in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.
8.2k
She sunk slowly southward, skimming my soul with sweet sighs,
Acutely aware of my amorous... appeal, I ached for her acquiescence,
Daring- Her; I- dazed: Delicately devouring my disheveled desire,
Leisurely lingering, her lips leaving lipstick licks and languor,
Yet it ended, and I yearned for you.
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 5:56 PM UTC
I.
I would not if I could undo my past,
Tho' for its sake my future is a blank;
My past for which I have myself to thank,
For all its faults and follies first and last.
I would not cast anew the lot once cast,
Or launch a second ship for one that sank,
Or drug with sweets the bitterness I drank,
Or break by feasting my perpetual fast.
I would not if I could: for much more dear
Is one remembrance than a hundred joys,
More than a thousand hopes in jubilee;
Dearer the music of one tearful voice
That unforgotten calls and calls to me,
"Follow me here, rise up, and follow here."
II.
What seekest thou, far in the unknown land?
In hope I follow joy gone on before;
In hope and fear persistent more and more,
As the dry desert lengthens out its sand.
Whilst day and night I carry in my hand
The golden key to ope the golden door
Of golden home; yet mine eye weepeth sore,
For long the journey is that makes no stand.
And who is this that veiled doth walk with thee?
Lo, this is Love that walketh at my right;
One exile holds us both, and we are bound
To selfsame home-joys in the land of light.
Weeping thou walkest with him; weepeth he?--
Some sobbing weep, some weep and make no sound.
III.
A dimness of a glory glimmers here
Thro' veils and distance from the space remote,
A faintest far vibration of a note
Reaches to us and seems to bring us near;
Causing our face to glow with braver cheer,
Making the serried mist to stand afloat,
Subduing languor with an antidote,
And strengthening love almost to cast out fear:
Till for one moment golden city walls
Rise looming on us, golden walls of home,
Light of our eyes until the darkness falls;
Then thro' the outer darkness burdensome
I hear again the tender voice that calls,
"Follow me hither, follow, rise, and come."
3.6k
When Death comes knocking at the door
And as the curtain finally falls
My voice will be stilled
My heart, now ticking off like a clock
Will ever be silent
My foot falls shall no more be heard
All my songs will be stifled in the throat
All my crazy thoughts will be frozen
And I shall take leave of all
And the whole lot of petty things I hold dear
But what difference does it make?
The earth will continue to spin as before
The stars will illumine the night sky
Days will follow days in endless succession
Time, chanting the refrains of joy and sorrow,
On wings, shall fly to destinations unknown.
Will there be anyone to grieve my absence?
Will my sons ever miss their Mama?
Will my loved one still hold me close to his heart?
May be for a while
A short little while
But as years glide,
And my tomb lies over grown with weeds
And the engraving on my head stone
Fades out in morbid grime and moss,
When I merge with the dust as dust,
When I lie inert, a rattling heap of bones under the sod
When my spirit still hovers around in vain
With insatiable longing for all your love,
Then give me, my Lord! A ride in your chariot!
Remove from my spirit the languor of endless waiting!
Carry me to Thy *****
Embalm me with Thy love,
That I shall no more crave for earthly love
And with you in bliss, ever united
Look down evermore content
As the wheels roll down to Eternity!
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
Watch me as I unwrap... passionate,
In the drench of our rain.....
And night falls...
A silent murmur
Where the heart pauses,
A malachite shadow
Penetrates fire,
Burning
A flame's fierce lick
Beneath pulse...
Somewhere....
His smile touches
Warming the red sea of my heart
Pulsating ripples, spread
Soliloquies upon my skin
Orated in Southern sighs...
Slowly...
Desire engages,
******* hardening
Under tongue's brush;
Moist ripe, swollen folds
Tempt his lips to kiss my yielding
Where breath catches,
And I ... smolder within each touch...
Drenched..
My scent quivers languor,
Rhapsodic,
Drowning pools, orchid petaled
Finger parted... tender;
Under sweet seduction,
Stirring the supple bloom,
Tasting the restless currents
That throb through my milky sea...
Small moans...
Electric blue hangs the air..
Primal lust etching curves,
Tracing dewy flesh,
Heating
Skin on skin,
****** scent….arousing,
Tongue brushed hardness
Between dampened lips...
Hot....
The scorching sear... stigmata
Sin licks along thighs,
Essence, dripping,
S W E E T
Sensory overload,
Breaking my binds...
Feed...
My appetite,
I am.. lashes soft, licking thoughts
No words
No words...
Just....
Feed the need that overwhelms,
Grow inside me,
Fill me once again.......
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
Slough breaker
Breathed deep for twenty years
Below mortal planes
And
Corporeal fears
A thousand weights
You shook, and cracked the Earth
Knocked clouds off their perch
Rose brooding oath
A triumph
Violent languor
Still and terror
Violet stare
Perfection
As you slumbered
The atmosphere turned
And poison filled your earth
Till coveted rebirth
The tarnish
Once bitter came to bloom
Broke black dirt, severed truth
From corruption
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Il pleure dans mon coeur (“It rains in my heart”)
by Paul Verlaine
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It rains in my heart
As it rains on the town;
Heavy languor and dark
Drenches my heart.
Oh, the sweet-sounding rain
Cleansing pavements and roofs!
For my listless heart's pain
The pure song of the rain!
Still it rains without reason
In my overcast heart.
Can it be there's no treason?
That this grief's without reason?
As my heart floods with pain,
Lacking hatred, or love,
I've no way to explain
Such bewildering pain!
Published by Better Than Starbucks
Paul-Marie Verlaine (1844-1896) was a French poet and a prominent figure in the Symbolist and Decadent poetry movements. Verlaine has been called "one of the most purely lyrical of French poets." Keywords/Tags: Verlaine, French, translation, rain, languor, heart, treason, reason, pain, hatred, love, Arthur Rimbaud
Ophélie (“Ophelia”), an Excerpt
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On pitiless black waves unsinking stars abide
... while pale Ophelia, a lethargic lily, drifts by ...
Here, tangled in her veils, she floats on the tide ...
Far-off, in the woods, we hear the strident bugle’s cry.
For a thousand years, or more, sad Ophelia,
This albescent phantom, has rocked here, to and fro.
For a thousand years, or more, in her gentle folly,
Ophelia has rocked here when the night breezes blow.
For a thousand years, or more, sad Ophelia,
Has passed, an albescent phantom, down this long black river.
For a thousand years, or more, in her sweet madness
Ophelia has made this river shiver.
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 2:13 AM UTC
396
There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain—
’Tis Pain’s Successor—When the Soul
Has suffered all it can—
A Drowsiness—diffuses—
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness—
As Mists—obliterate a Crag.
The Surgeon—does not blanch—at pain
His Habit—is severe—
But tell him that it ceased to feel—
The Creature lying there—
And he will tell you—skill is late—
A Mightier than He—
Has ministered before Him—
There’s no Vitality.
2.8k
melancholy blanketed the whites
scarred voices muffled by
a ****** mind.
an avalanche stuck in my soul
severer than a bee at a forked road
how confused!
red-cheeked petals and afternoon birds glare
in confusions at the footsteps :
unbalance, shaded, muted!
the green umbrella's warm, so scorchingly cold!
all embittered, by solemn beams of the soulless sun.
their eyes widen,
for they had never seen such lone,
for such lone, rare, is forbid to the sons of nature,
never belong to happy child's arms,
that dreams in a mother's charm.
grieving droughts in the air and grass,
no dews, why!,
yawned the madden, soporific rabbit
Ah, so wild.
the windless noontime cross, my quivers stopped, mild.
lashes waxed, blacken like a coal,
mind stuck in a haze, or maybe a threatening maze.
stiffness of the air injected to my nostrils
into my white tongue they will soak, like perfumes to a clothe.
Selene will gaze angrily at this and say,
why no, it shouldn't be in there!
the midnight orchids waver and frown.
soon the frothing dreams peter,
but the bolded letters in a white board stay,
my chair stays.
creaks of an abominable burden became a din.
The smudges of grey-white dust I smelt
hover gaily in the air of pompous breath.
spellbound by the stagnant languor,
mazy, in hallucinations of the heat and homesick.
I sought the fount of hypocrisy and vile,
my hiding nonchalances rosen
(towards a flock of friends)
and loathes to an abominable sun frozen
(I wished it to die!)
Tilted to the windows,
I saw nothing, but fatal secrets of a heart rosed
like window dust to a nose.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
Let lore luster lax,
Lingered love leavens.
Let love loop lilac lei lavishly.
Listen lovelorn lilt, laconic liken
Lisping liturgy, limping litany.
Litmus-leaking longing, languor lengthened.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
I lie stretched out upon the window-seat
And doze, and read a page or two, and doze,
And feel the air like water on me close,
Great waves of sunny air that lip and beat
With a small noise, monotonous and sweet,
Against the window -- and the scent of cool,
Frail flowers by some brown and dew-drenched pool
Possesses me from drowsy head to feet.
This is the time of all-sufficing laughter
At idiotic things some one has done,
And there is neither past nor vague hereafter.
And all your body stretches in the sun
And drinks the light in like a liquid thing;
Filled with the divine languor of late spring.
2.4k
The quirky signboard said it in bold
Welcome to the house of Sweet Fragrance
*Here your hair will be shaped in the finest mould
While you relax in blissful trance!*
I stopped by this name cute and smart
A hair losing shop called Sweet Fragrance
Tempted to go in though I needed no cut
Too impressed to keep a distance!
I stepped into a house with the finest smell
With the pretext to unburden my head of some hair
It was a Garden of Eden away from hell
A dreamy languor pervaded its air!
There wasn’t in the glasses a face to look
The place seemed a haven for the peacefully mute
I was offered a chair in the dimmest lit nook
To surrender myself to the forbidden fruit!
Time stopped blurred away my sight
I felt such bliss had no second chance
Knew why Adam embraced his plight
*Succumbed to Eve’s Sweet Fragrance!*
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
When on a crisp morning, her blush in daylight
speaks to me in silence, suggestive sweep
of eyes scan notice looks, smiles, select
moments for admirer to choose chance.
~
First touch is hair, fingertips enter,
while soft languor covets skin,
just this, enough to arouse eyes,
hands feel blessed teasing love.
~
lips drawn toward a meet
of anticipation, smiles become
ready form to grace each other,
eager, anxious delight begins.
~
Your taste while I look inside
sultry eyes, saying go, go
draw my hips against yours
hands slide and shoulders …
~
While now tongues play
gasps and fever arise
my need to taste all of you
begins, soft lips, just love.
~
Our bodies now connect,
I feel your ******* as we
begin to breathe in one
another’s *** – *******
~
a blouse began my passion
that now slides along my chest
feeling your ******* draw to
my waist, I’m eager, eyes close.
~
Will you please unlatch my …
yes, as zipper falls and finger-
tips touch inside sliding sweet
lips delve into a grasp of me …
~
I lean back against today’s wall.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
deepest length, a truncated obesity, abruptly gradual: a stem pops gently to present colors damp. a pavilion of ugly columns, the streets a budding promise; akimboing in gross pleasure. and the jostling laughter of serious music says to languor apathy a locomotive steeply belching roses.
. .
?
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 11:32 AM UTC
My shy hand shades a hermitage apart, -
O large enough for thee, and thy brief hours.
Life there is sweeter held than in God's heart,
Stiller than in the heavens of hollow flowers.
The wine is gladder there than in gold bowls.
And Time shall not drain thence, nor trouble spill.
Sources between my fingers feed all souls,
Where thou mayest cool thy lips, and draw thy fill.
Five cushions hath my hand, for reveries;
And one deep pillow for thy brow's fatigues;
Languor of June all winterlong, and ease
For ever from the vain untravelled leagues.
Thither your years may gather in from storm,
And Love, that sleepeth there, will keep thee warm.
1.7k
Standing here, in 90-degree land
Where nothing is right
But the drink in my hand
Sweet saving coolness, fine eastern breeze!
I welcome thee warmly,
I welcome you, please
Stand fans may blow this languor away,
But I cannot stand
These bills I must pay
Summer is hot on my heels as I run
Through prickly white sands
– and the daydream is gone
In thick sticky air, seconds trickle and crawl
As sweat from my temples
To the sides of my jaw
The sun's got a fever and my blood could be boiling
I laze inch by inch though my insides are roiling
To be productive in this haze – this hell of a heatwave
But instead I'm in bed, just rotting and spoiling
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
We will wait there
until the stars vanish in silence and the sky is quietly unmade in front of only our eyes. When there is no one left to know our names, all winds cease and fires can no longer burn. When the sun rises in an infinite western front with a secret smile and a gift, we will observe lights first childlike laughter as it races across the slowly rocking cradle of a newborn eternity, selflessly the eaters of bad dreams and heartfelt goodbyes. The shadow death of what could have been but never was loomed over as I stood by the stair in this long broken house
and watched our sorrows murmuration into the blinking abyss
From the windows of our soul
as a new ache crossed over my heart.
Languor has its cost
And it is beautiful
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 7:08 PM UTC
as i skate my fingers over your
pale abdomen
deliberately, so as not to break you
i feel the quiet and the still that has
settled over us, like the makeshift
bedsheet picnic blanket in spring
we move slowly, as if we were a
flashback or a dream
and i think that our bodies
were made for this--
just this
for this languor and
the unending of it
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
A sallowest silence drips,
drop by drop,
into open muddy palms
The ripple in the gathering cup
of hand, undulates within soul
like poignant ocean waves
eat away at the sands of time ,
just below where
a lighthouse beacon beckons
shining from someplace I can’t find
A hidden pathway
lies untrodden
beneath a thousand
dew drop clad ferns ,
fronds bestrewn with autumn’s
befallen sleight of hand
swaddled in her fading
manifest guise
Where wild mushrooms
rise blindly from
resplendent darkness
beneath silken earthen moss ,
to teach the parables ,
how fleeting a moment passes
The moment enwrapped
in nature's solicitude ,
the only shelter
mother nature's own refugees
whom dwell in an ever fugitive
sense of belonging
Fallen Lichen scattered
like wild feathers ,
traces from a higher ground ;
sown bread crumbs
of the heavens ,
abandoned like slowly falling
snowflakes upon a labyrinth
coursing beyond
emerald dank bejewel
Leading me willingly onward
beyond belated familiarity ,
exiled void of affinity
a Trumpeter swan
in search of wapatos
The stone cold silent languor
rises up through
thickly grasping moss
Wind stirs the ennui
with a breath of kindness ,
chilling a body in a soul
as cold as lonely stone ,
sheathed beneath
its hard yet fragile disguise
A twisted pathway
leading somewhere
I yearn to follow ;
somewhere unknown
beckoning from
deeply hidden hope
and its urgent calling
Somehow the uncertainty
of the path I am drawn
makes me feel
a little less removed
Assured by the gentle touch
deeply rooted ancient earthen spirits ,
beyond doubt , I’m never alone
deep beyond wooded margin
Cocooned in creation’s sanctuary
mother nature’s own refugee ...
wild is the wind
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
A castaway in the island of failed loves, my heart
moved in jungle pathways, lived alone in caves,
I sold it to a courtesan who courted it steadfast
never had I felt such an ease in my days dark.
Love is a clandestine merchandise in market places
by lovers, men and women of charm and magic
mixing power and allure, when the price is just right.
The street of our evenings was full of laughter,
my love life there saw many sunny seasons.
We walked hand in hand and my sweetheart was eager
to please me as my heart was full of love's languor
the meaning of love was still obscure for me and her,
though we thought it was nothing but love, that
kept throbbing in our every vein, it really mattered.
To the tune of Blue Danube, we would wildly waltz,
the sad thought it brought, made me weep inside.
if the world is so wicked let's die together,
and I see her dance away totally inebriated
footsteps sounded near, we lost true interest
pain was chasing us, all the way from behind,
we were disillusioned, love slowly got drifted
gently dissipated breaking our hearts.
As I cross the corner of the street alone,
with my heart bleeding, often the girl for the day in tow,
I feel the pang of a heart, seeking my love waiting
the courtesan who kept watching me, her glassy eyes moist,
all these days of wandering, eventually our eyes met.
I sold my heart to the lonely courtesan, she wept, received it.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
As golden gleams of summer fade away
Then on the backs of falling leaves alight
Pallidity becomes the autumn day
And languor shrouds the cold and listless night
As fog benights the lonesome starless sky
I perch here on the window pane reclined
The songs of stridulating crickets pry
Into my solitary mind and find
It hard at work and trying to devise
Elaborate schemes to get out of this place
To where there're lizards, hummingbirds and mice
I feel the urge to hide, to hunt, to chase
Until dawn breaks the shackles of this blight
I'll be here mooning till the morning light
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
Sky is pitch and crystal cloud
Wild figures languor on the dusty ground.
Eight pairs of darken haloed eyes
Strike the blue to blacken.
Bring the night.
And bring the work
The work by voice and light
Work with reddened hands
And verbal glance at a
Smaller place that must
Be walked: a faster pace
To lose the mortal race.
Mellow hours decay with gracelessness
That cannot be dreamed
On April nights no one in the road
Can be exempt. Nothing is exempt
At the stroke of the hour.
A step cracks in the deep
In those woods with painted fronts
A step that eats a flower
Sending up devotions.
****** rocks the riverbed
Hums a note in the still.
White shoes in black line
Mechanical clarity, footfalls.
Frissons from foreshadowing
A judder and a burial.
A burial in white.
It reeks of adrenaline, God's own ketamine,
Is sundered somewhat by a Sunday.
Sunday suit and six strong suitors
Following suit to the spot
No one could say. Still, the air
Is too hot with electricity to suffer it.
Tomorrow we can say
That we all knew the night's dread
Export, but for tonight we pray
Our lambs are all a-bed
And not a one of them
Is dead.
No one taught Ophelia to swim.
The hateful eating orange of dawn
Mocks her slow and stymied progress.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 2:51 PM UTC