"layering" poems
The intricate swirls
collecting into
the elegant character
of love.
However,
to step back and view
each individual tendril,
is it love I see
or lust?
What is building this
firework of magnificence?
The powers of passion,
or the powers of trust?
The layering of the two
create the wedding cake of tranquility.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
Lavish lips licking
Lips of lovers kissing
laying limp over one another
Layering the layers together
Naked as the day is bright
No cloud can cover
The love that they
share for each other
Nothing last forever
But never say never
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 8:36 PM UTC
I can’t help but wonder if we have crossed paths
Over and over again, tangling each hello
Catching a hint of mischief when we first bumped into each other
And how easy it was for us to slip into
Conversations, plotting to take on the world
But first things first, we have to catch the moon
And hold the stars ransom in our back pockets
I swear we were pirates singing sea shanties
And conquering cities, but now we settle
For late night dance parties, and one shot, two shot, three
And sure, we are invincible, and I can’t help but wonder
If we have crossed paths over and over again
Our stories layering, life long friends
Or maybe arch nemeses, and each time
Tagging out a new adventure
Where we are chasing after each other
I swear we were renegades, young rebels
Questioning authority and pushing boundaries
Now, we collaborate artistically
Broadcasting in a world of social media, one shout, two shout, three
And sure, we are strong, and I can’t help but wonder
If we have crossed paths over and over again
Our history repeating, kindred spirits
Or maybe pieces of the same soul, and each time
We meet, we find a part of ourselves
We had forgotten
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 1:29 AM UTC
Artificial means and memes the fingers perusing naturally formed hide and go seek
Chic creatures wrought from nanoparticles based on modeled consciousness neural networks
A handsome hivemind of bee;s building trees from cds ...intersynth polygons attracted
to stack platonic forms emanation waves alpha beta delta gamma omega 1 , 2 ,3
this multiversal layering from micro to macro of matter animated by its intoned
hertz pulsations and the interferrence pattern of the changing relationship due to the amount, frequency, force, temperature , texture , text messages, timing , geometry , subharmonics and overtones, a jewel net . syncronistic synergetic, synaptical sparkles.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
Trusting steady for flower petals floating on moonlit beams.
Fractured cracks running into sewn seams of honey-colored threads.
Layering sunlight of emotions,
Rip-tide oceans hold your boulder heart open.
Velvety warm blankets shimmering with lavender energy,
Of a silence unspoken.
A roar within of a constant fiery flame.
A warrior armored with stars and an army of willowy trees.
Song buds upon lip, striking a symphonic flowery melody.
Eyes sparkling, you captivate with an alluring smile.
Flowers intertwined within your raven locks.
Summer night of fireflies and dancing bees,
Forgiveness never a weakling of knees.
Soft spoken heart beats.
Sun-fire but shaded with purpling blues.
Steadying hands even though your lips may frown.
Ever present is the sleepy shadow of a sugared temptation,
That only the befallen will know.
A darkness muddled into the after-hours of dawn.
Self-pity wars that your feet danced into nothing, no more.
You let the colors become vibrant yellows, even greens.
A warrior surrounded by atmospheres of light,
Tinged with the milky blue hue of night.
Oceans come and gone but forever in your heart is song.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
Day goes on and days pass by
i don't know what m doin right now
I linger here n i mingle there
i don't know what am upto
This filthy mood n layering roof
Shutting doors n ringing phones
Chucking people n ******* weather
Strange outlook n fishy monsoon
Winters heading n lethargy prevailing
Less laconic n more problematic
More on fashion less in season
Exhausted fights n dull lights
To sweep all out magic has to be loud
—A.A.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
It was 29° (f) degrees this morning with a waning gibbous (¾) moon. Still, as we started our run, it was dark enough that the world was rendered in black and white. Lisa was a sepia print of herself while Charles was a large, quiet shadow, a dark visual noise pattern.
We usually jog from our dorm, down to and along New Haven Harbor and back. Lisa and I love the ocean. The wind was in our faces this morning and there were no sparkling moon refractions in our direction, which made the water musou and colorless.
I’ve gotten my outfit down to a science, leggings under shorts, four long sleeve, dry-wicking spandex tops (layering is important), a power-wool-earflap-beanie, thermal neck gaiter and quantum, icebreaker gloves (with touch-screen compatibility) - you gotta dress warmly but be able to shed layers as needed.
I listen to audiobooks while we run. Right now I’m on book 5 of the ‘The Expanse’ series. I don’t have time to read anything fun these days, so I listen to science-fiction/fantasy while I workout. I love the new AirPod Pro feature that automatically turns the sound down if anyone talks.
I wear a fitbit charge around my right ankle and my Apple watch as well - they both track my run - the fitbit is more accurate but my watch sends my workout stats to my siblings - we’re uhh, sort of competitive.
At first, as we came up on the harbor, it was impossible to see the intersection of the two dark oceans - the great terrestrial and the greater galactic - but as we turned for home, there was an atmospheric scatter of blue at the edge of the horizon, heralding the sunrise on our retreating backs.
musou = one of the darkest shades of black
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 7:41 PM UTC
*stepping back into the west
chills reverberate up and down my spine
chiseling open obsolescent padlocks
dangling with dust
on ancient treasure chests
pallid colors in the attic release
a blossoming familiarity
faint hints of retrospections float on faded paper
granting me access to roads
where no map is needed
as i peruse the streets
my heart flows coalescing with the vicinity
caressing each detail i transform to fluid
and fuse with the past
through fresh strokes of watercolored memories
recollections flash before my eyes
revealing antiquated stories
though thought forgotten
an etched history endeavors to define me
renewing itself as i turn each corner
i shudder at some remembrances while encompassing others
through synchronicity realization hits
that I am all of it
yet none of it
at the same time
familiar faces paint meaning onto me
no longer do they know me
yet they airbrush vestiges of yesteryear
and coat me with connotations
i allow them to think i am whatever they imagine
i morph into their canvas temporarily
then break free in multi-dimensionality
they don't hear me with a new listening
no longer invested in their projections
once sharp triggers now appear in soft focus
an auspicious mist lies around the edges
of my former life
it is as if i never left
yet traces of the east lie sandpapered in me
a maturation commingles with my former self
flushing out on my skin
tethering newfound emotions
a gentle gratitude for home territory
nestles softly
inward
i listen to the clicks
of my scuffed cowboy boots
on acquainted yet somehow distant sidewalks
the echoes layering multiple impressions
glimmering with the utter beauty of this terrain
as I wander through the majestic rocky mountains
drinking in the quaking aspen's crimson edges
interfacing the evergreens
hushed whispers of autumn loftily rest
juxtaposed neatly against futures waiting to unfurl in the wind
an amalgamation of intimate sights and scents
dance in open wounds
dazzling
homesickness cured
a wholeness returned
as winter's crystal dawn blooms
i realize the depth of my growth
for in leaving here and returning
i cherish the west
my home
©2016 janetaylor
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
Violets fell
from your mouth, smoke
in purple filaments
Your laughter spills from
frozen tongues
you are
you are
you are
a thousand words
in a silent room
echoing from
my naked mouth,
the folds layering
in my mind:
red and blossomed nectar
filling the hollows
of my ears.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:46 AM UTC
The sun setting in the East
Sparkling silver lining spread
Across the edges of color
Layering the clementine sky
Creamy daisy,
Heating up to orange,
Then the red-hot center.
Cooled only by the expanse of salty spray
Allowing for the mellow shades of
Rosy pink cheeks
To flush the clouds,
Then shy away into a lavender
And sapphire night sky
The iridescent shimmering
Lunar bliss.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
i was watching batman (1989) and batman returns (1992)
today, and i couldn't stop layering over birdman (2015)
over both films, it was such a comedy, you knew
that it wasn't a serious engagement
in the role, i just kept picturing
the internal monologue -
the action scenes were already
a gimmick when in the birdman
the explosions start with the critique
of what people actually like to see -
and that critique that the joker
is no more a weird'o than batman
dressed in black leather / spandex -
i just wish heath ledger took a break
from acting, and they did the same
sort of film about the actor behind
the joker, but how would they internalise
the essence of the role: the laughter...
internalising a husky voice can be easily
done when the actor in a different role
can talk easily and speedily without that
haunting husky role of the original part...
but the laughter? it would never work,
which is why jack warned heath
about playing the role... 'son, beware
the laughter.' still, what an enjoyable re-watch,
putting over the birdman nostalgia
over the seriousness of the acting in the
originals, you can actually imagine him
going for a coffee break and taking a ****
when the original screening took place,
the whole: back to reality - it really amplified
the films in a quirky way;
and i still think the joker is the only
doppelgänger that can't be tamed: i'm guessing
because of coulrophobia -
and i could still see remnants of this mythical
doppelgänger on heath in the imaginarium
of dr. parnassus... the clowns are onto you,
you can't steal one of them from
the jammed mini or volkswagen beetle with 20 of them in it,
plus the crying clown, everyone's heard of that
one, they mime laughter, this vocalised doppelgänger
of a clown is cursed -
because unlike actual mimes they don't surd
bewilderment being stuck in a box, or touching
a brick wall obstacle... they surd laughter,
and they share it among themselves in a circus,
vocalising that surd is a curse,
since vocalising an actual mime leaves you
without the actual abstractions,
and from what i heard, brick walls are silent
like graves, unless of course you punch one
or smash a car into one.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
Amicable, the vibration,
Getting to the Eden.
Elements sanctify the hurt,
Bonded like super glue.
Educates the visualized future,
Symphonic orchestra at the concert.
Adjudicated, the sentiment,
Layering me luscious lucidity.
Evening the odds,
Fit for four hands.
Destiny decided to
Trade compassion and serenity.
Sincere, the revelation
Always and all ways.
Sorry is deeply sorry,
Even when mostly innocent.
Let me contribute to the
Symphonic orchestra at the concert.
Bond like super glue,
Cue my disclosure.
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
(Originally written 12/9/10
Revised 10/2/14)
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
Felt made from wool,
Wool comes from sheep.
Made by layering and compression,
Much like traditional education.
Acid used for bonding,
Water used for washing.
To remove the hate from felt,
The soft then beaten to make it stubborn.
The non-beaten remain soft,
like sheets and rolls.
They are unmarred by society.
Some get dyed in colours,
Some retain their purity.
The coloured cut,
Considered waste.
It’s the beaten that suffer all through,
But with each process becoming stronger.
To face the world,
when the time comes.
Finishes bring out beauty
Shedding the unwanted part of themselves.
They walk on to guide and polish others.
Stand out
Yet blending in nature.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
In the middle of all this chaos,
there is a moment of silence that captivates me.
It is the moment that I catch your eyes,
and the bliss in my cheeks are apparent to the world.
I can see the glares of desire,
they lurk past all the other bones and figures.
Even though I turn away and hide,
I have the urge for you to find me.
Just like you have found me before,
in the middle of your web.
This urge escalates to a peek out the side,
and I see your back.
You face a woman who is far better;
her curves can speak for themselves.
The chaos begins again,
but her eyes catch mine.
They say more than they mean to,
so I turn away and think to myself.
Silly little droplets of water layering in my eyes,
it overflows when there are too many.
You come and introduce me to your fiance,
and explain that I am from your past.
The disappointment makes me zone out,
past all the things I have remembered.
I am forced to forget,
and in return, regret.
There was no moment;
only memories.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 11:28 PM UTC
"Tell me a secret."
*I cannot *** with my eyes open. (Especially when it’s with someone)*
"No way."
I still believe that one day you’ll tell me you love me.
"Why not?"
When I’m driving, I imagine swerving into the other lane. I imagine what color your eyes would be when you find out.
"I can’t."
I cannot let you inside my anatomy anymore, for twice is far too much. Your touch creates asteroids, and I am struggling to place layering upon the craters.
"Tell me a secret."
Your eyes are still supernovas.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
His form a shadowy sketch, thin and gaunt
Leaning up against a wall.
At the right place, at the right time – as always,
A touch fancy, a bit dressed up
Ready to take on the world;
armed with the freedom to fail.
His occupation?
The consuming of miles of white paper,
His inspiration provided by
A lonely view off of Devil’s Highway
Where Pico blvd. meets the sea.
Seeking the inner root of expression
Through tall red wine bottles and nightly wanderings
In places beautiful yet dangerous,
Packed with life’s complex geometry
– the city breathes, the streets are alive.
Visualizing in delicate penciled lines and thick brush strokes
Vibration, sound and light manifest in brilliant colors,
Depth, shadow, color / the void – all merging together.
Pushing abstract boundaries;
Inter-dimensional windows
Through the intricate layering of transparencies.
Experience of self-discovery.
No mistakes, no traps, just childlike experiments.
Experiments and initiations;
A fusion of universal laws and ethereal dreams.
Kinetic value, composition,
Balance.
Creations – sealed in time like amber.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 5:55 PM UTC
i long to hear your voice,
to laugh and just be there for you again,
just to be with your presence,
just to see that glimpse of your soul again.
we used to be something,
everywhere i go, everywhere you go : we used to be an item,
and, now, i walk with a new crowd, you walk with yours,
yet my heart yearns for you,
there's a hole when you left,
and, i can't just fill it up,
everything seems meaningless,
there's no spark in my life without you.
i feel this emptiness.
this gaping hole,
which just keeps on growing,
the one you made when you left,
because i have chosen the wrong one,
i made the wrong choice,
i did not picked you..
when i breathe at night,
my throat constricts,
it chokes up,
memories flood in my silent night.
i remember the days,
our days,
when it is just you and me,
in our own little happy bubble,
rain, snow, fall, sunshine,
you were there for me,
in my light and in my darkness,
in my good and in my bad,
you never complained,
you held me,
you were my glue that prevents me from shattering,
from my melancholic train of thought,
when i fall, you were there to hold me up,
you embrace me in your warmth,
when I’m all melancholic, you were there to cheer me up,
you know when to buy me flowers,
you know when I’m sad,
you know whether i'm just feeling sad or when it's just me in my melancholic moments,
and you understand that its just a phase,
you know me the way no one knows me,
you’re my everything,
you’re my valentine,
you WERE my valentine.
now, that you're gone,
I’m building a fort now,
just putting up walls after walls,
layering them up in solitude,
after all the heartbreak I’ve felt this year,
all the betrayal, all the confusion,
all the dark colours of human nature I’ve experienced,
because, i cannot handle that amount of pain ever again.
despite all my defences,
the walls that guard my heart,
the scar you left me,
it's still there.
all i can do,
is to be reminded how good you were for me.
i am much more stable now,
yet i crave for those days where you were always there to support my craziness,
you embraced me for who i am,
you never call me stupid when i am being irrelevant,
you never call me dumb when i am being illogical,
my bipolarity was never an issue for you.
you were my yin to my yang.
i love you so much, val, i still do.
i have never missed someone as much as I’ve missed you.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
In between shear white and jet-black
with a strong dollop of indigo blue,
lies the pale uncertainty of grayness
the most God-awful hue.
Grayness frustrates the senses.
Grayness stipulates malaise.
A shroud of indecision
arrests the imagination;
chained in wisps of doubt.
The definition of things
routed in a solitary
palette of insincerity.
Grayness negates options.
Grayness obscures landscapes.
Objects disappear
into walls of foggy smiles,
whispering repetitive monotones
of monotonous monologues
in incomprehensible language.
The mind is muted in a pall of haze.
Endless colorlessness of the days.
Days upon days of arctic blight.
Midwinter's endless drama.
White dust
sprinkled on the brain,
layering coats
of a suffocating
ashen pallor.
Dimming the wit,
Quelling the spirit.
Thoughts of light are captured
then lost
in craggy crevasses
of a dull blackened cranium.
Light can't touch the eye
Plaque builds in a hearts ventricle
Warmth escapes the body
and evaporates through
the magic of convection.
A vision remains;
barely an apparition
of a distant
dissipating ghost.
Belgian Café
Hudson St.
NYC
1/29/99
Music Selection:
Roslavets, Three Etudes
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
requiem, black
ink, darkened pencil-
tips paint the air.
lethargy is a
green that defies
autumn.
its darkened
palms (once open,
once layering you in
cold) gently remind:
we'll all ensconce
in ground.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
Staggering around lazy like in
The four walls of my room
Trying to construct situations.
Digging up past memories
Linking them together
Layering them
Placing reason
Gathering material
Then writing
Then staggering around lazy like in the four walls of my room.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
Dancing forms – wings askew
Balancing on one foot or flying?
Pipes or lutes?
Heads bowed to the music
Or to see the love drops
Floating?
The geodesic dome
Grows from the foliage
The silver hexagons over a
Glass biome – layering,
Mating
From within the prickly pines.
The love drops – like candy liquid,
Oranges and reds and yellows
All for the girls.
They’re eaten so quickly.
Only a few blue for the boys.
The boys would rather climb
The glass surface gripping tightly
To the steel pipes
Then jump hard – diving
Into the shallow pool – hoping
To gobble up a little girl
Before she tastes Love.
Pan laughs and plays his pipe
Watching the children play.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
A crack on the ceiling.
A line; far from deep.
Its cross-section layered,
Its existence discrete.
Unassuming and simple
in a room bright and plush.
Its existence is futile,
for its fate is the brush.
A restoration of beauty;
appeasing the strain.
Layering and patching
again and again.
As long as the eye
knows not that its weakened,
The flaw will endure,
now perpetual and deepened.
Its a crack on the surface
a line; far from deep.
Take heed of its presence;
but mend whats beneath.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
Thinking about us in autumn, brings chills to my existence.
Layering up.
Observing nature at every step.
Watching the sunset part knowing what we have is eternal.
Love is everlasting, overpowering, overwhelming.
The glitter among the tides,
Create an eternal song that will forever be locked in our memories
Your head on my chest, only to listen to my natural song.
Sunsets sending us home.
Conversations brew, condensation fogs your glasses.
Your indecisiveness leads me to the choice tonight.
Films don’t last long in our presence.
The craving cannot be controlled.
Candle flames caress your curves.
I love you…
Flames into wicks.
Simply ordinary.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
I can’t sleep.
My brain, it won’t shut off.
Circles and lines
Thread together to create
Color, light -
Light, streaming like dust through my open window
In the purple air.
How foolish I am
To think dreams live with the stars.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
Most people think that sadness grows
Like a patch of dandelions floating away
Or a shadow with the setting sun.
They’re wrong,
Of course,
Because they do not understand.
It is not their fault
But that does not make them any less
Ignorant.
Sadness just is.
Settling quietly, and, when you finally notice
It’s all encompassing.
It is the sky, the sea.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
I am an asymptote.
Stretching out a hand to humanity
Almost, I can feel their acceptance
Brush by my eager fingertips
But the fallacy of hope is dangerous
And I am left untouched.
A magnet that can’t help
But repel itself.
And my fingers are ungloved
And turn blue in this cold place
As I am left to stand alone
Waiting.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
I look into a mirror made of sand
My face crumbling away with my breath –
The bits of grain become a desert,
A sea of beige
I am left to be lost in.
I do not know what I look like
Past my skin.
This not knowing, it should scare me, but
Somewhere, in a place I do not like,
I relish the confusion.
How sad you must think me
For enjoying
Not knowing
Who I am.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
Fear is something I pretend
I have never felt
With my line smiles and hollow talk –
Black, caustic acid dripping from my teeth
As I judge.
Who sits in my court?
I don’t know –
Everyone perhaps,
Or the people that remind me of myself.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
I feel the ground beneath my feet
As I walk to my future,
A dark tunnel,
Lighting my way with matches –
I don’t know if I’ll reach the end or run out first.
The ground, it is cold, and shifts
Until I am falling without the pinpricks of fire
To highlight my blind spots,
The matches scattered in the midnight air.
I check the clock
Five minutes have been lost.
I breathe in loneliness
Until my lungs ache
With stolen air.
Until my arms,
Laced with blue rivers,
Are touched by Moses.
Until my iron heart beats,
Rusting away.
Loneliness is like skin,
Layering my bones, my muscles –
A coat for thin membranes that knit together
A stomach, a womb, a liver.
Everyone needs skin
So that they do not fall apart
Their soft parts leaking onto the granulated floor
Until they become nothing more than water.
I have mine.
I shut my eyes
I do not dream.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC