"lithe" poems - Hello Poetry

"lithe" poems

All in green went my love riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling the merry deer ran before. Fleeter be they than dappled dreams the swift sweet deer the red rare deer. Horn at hip went my love riding riding the echo down into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling the level meadows ran before. Softer be they than slippered sleep the lean lithe deer the fleet flown deer. Four fleet does at a gold valley the famished arrows sang before. Bow at belt went my love riding riding the mountain down into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling the sheer peaks ran before. Paler be they than daunting death the sleek slim deer the tall tense deer. Four tall stags at a green mountain the lucky hunter sang before. All in green went my love riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling my heart fell dead before.

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All In Green My Love Went Riding

All in green went my love riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling the merry deer ran before. Fleeter be they than dappled dreams the swift sweet deer the red rare deer. Horn at hip went my love riding riding the echo down into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling the level meadows ran before. Softer be they than slippered sleep the lean lithe deer the fleet flown deer. Four fleet does at a gold valley the famished arrows sang before. Bow at belt went my love riding riding the mountain down into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling the sheer peaks ran before. Paler be they than daunting death the sleek slim deer the tall tense deer. Four tall stags at a green mountain the lucky hunter sang before. All in green went my love riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling my heart fell dead before.

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When you plunged The light of Tuscany wavered And swung through the pool From top to bottom. I loved your wet head and smashing crawl, Your fine swimmer's back and shoulders Surfacing and surfacing again This year and every year since. I sat dry-throated on the warm stones. You were beyond me. The mellowed clarities, the grape-deep air Thinned and disappointed. Thank God for the slow loadening, When I hold you now We are close and deep As the atmosphere on water. My two hands are plumbed water. You are my palpable, lithe Otter of memory In the pool of the moment, Turning to swim on your back, Each silent, thigh-shaking kick Re-tilting the light, Heaving the cool at your neck. And suddenly you're out, Back again, intent as ever, Heavy and frisky in your freshened pelt, Printing the stones.

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When you plunged The light of Tuscany wavered And swung through the pool From top to bottom. I loved your wet head and smashing crawl, Your fine swimmer's back and shoulders Surfacing and surfacing again This year and every year since. I sat dry-throated on the warm stones. You were beyond me. The mellowed clarities, the grape-deep air Thinned and disappointed. Thank God for the slow loadening, When I hold you now We are close and deep As the atmosphere on water. My two hands are plumbed water. You are my palpable, lithe Otter of memory In the pool of the moment, Turning to swim on your back, Each silent, thigh-shaking kick Re-tilting the light, Heaving the cool at your neck. And suddenly you're out, Back again, intent as ever, Heavy and frisky in your freshened pelt, Printing the stones.

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Paris;this April sunset completely utters utters serenely silently a cathedral before whose upward lean magnificent face the streets turn young with rain, spiral acres of bloated rose coiled within cobalt miles of sky yield to and heed the mauve of twilight(who slenderly descends, daintily carrying in her eyes the dangerous first stars) people move love hurry in a gently arriving gloom and see!(the new moon fills abruptly with sudden silver these torn pockets of lame and begging colour)while there and here the lithe indolent ********** Night,argues with certain houses

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Paris;This April Sunset Completely Utters

Paris;this April sunset completely utters utters serenely silently a cathedral before whose upward lean magnificent face the streets turn young with rain, spiral acres of bloated rose coiled within cobalt miles of sky yield to and heed the mauve of twilight(who slenderly descends, daintily carrying in her eyes the dangerous first stars) people move love hurry in a gently arriving gloom and see!(the new moon fills abruptly with sudden silver these torn pockets of lame and begging colour)while there and here the lithe indolent ********** Night,argues with certain houses

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She was born of a forest And rests her heart Shallow in pooled dreams Dripping further than her tears Falling to soft earth. She eats rosed lilies And pickled cattails All while Her footsteps leave no absence known As her lithe nymph body melts into foliage. And her arms permanently reach Into the void of All unknowable things. Grasping at gossamer threads, Like thoughts that can't be spun together.

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Jul 15, 2018

Jul 15, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC

She was born of a forest And rests her heart Shallow in pooled dreams Dripping further than her tears Falling to soft earth. She eats rosed lilies And pickled cattails All while Her footsteps leave no absence known As her lithe nymph body melts into foliage. And her arms permanently reach Into the void of All unknowable things. Grasping at gossamer threads, Like thoughts that can't be spun together.

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the bus poets we are the modern day chimney sweeps, the ***** black faced coal miners of the city, digging up its grit, toasted with its spit, the gone and forgotten elevator operators, the anonymous substitutable, still yet glimpsed occasionally, grunts of urbanity provoking a surprised whaddya know! once like the bison and the buffalo, we were thousands, word workers roaming the cities, the intercity rural routes and the lithe greyhounds across the land of the brave, free in ways the founders wanted us to be us, the stubs and stuff, harder working poor and lower cases we were the bus poets, sitting always in the back of the bus, where the engines growls loudest, seated in the - the most overheated in winter time, so much so we nearly disrobed, and then come the summer, we were blasted with a joking hot reverie from the vents, but vent, no, we did not! no - we wrote and wrote of all we heard, passion overheated by currents within and without, recording and ordering the snatches and the soliloquies of the passengers, into poem swatches; the goings on passing by, the overheard histories, glimpsed in milliseconds, eternity preserved, inscribed in a cheap blue lined five & dime notebook, for all eternity what the eyes sighed and saw books ever passed onto the next generation in boxes from the supermarket, attic labeled, then forgotten beside the outgrown toys with our names writ indelible with the magic of black markers if you stumble upon a breathing scripter, let them be, just observe, as they, you, these movers and bus shakers, as they, observe you tell your children, you knew one in your youth, then take them to the attic retrieve your mother's and father's, teach your children how to read, how to see, the ways of their forefathers, the forsaken, the bus poets.

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Sep 29, 2017

Sep 29, 2017 at 7:53 AM UTC

the bus poets we are the modern day chimney sweeps, the ***** black faced coal miners of the city, digging up its grit, toasted with its spit, the gone and forgotten elevator operators, the anonymous substitutable, still yet glimpsed occasionally, grunts of urbanity provoking a surprised whaddya know! once like the bison and the buffalo, we were thousands, word workers roaming the cities, the intercity rural routes and the lithe greyhounds across the land of the brave, free in ways the founders wanted us to be us, the stubs and stuff, harder working poor and lower cases we were the bus poets, sitting always in the back of the bus, where the engines growls loudest, seated in the - the most overheated in winter time, so much so we nearly disrobed, and then come the summer, we were blasted with a joking hot reverie from the vents, but vent, no, we did not! no - we wrote and wrote of all we heard, passion overheated by currents within and without, recording and ordering the snatches and the soliloquies of the passengers, into poem swatches; the goings on passing by, the overheard histories, glimpsed in milliseconds, eternity preserved, inscribed in a cheap blue lined five & dime notebook, for all eternity what the eyes sighed and saw books ever passed onto the next generation in boxes from the supermarket, attic labeled, then forgotten beside the outgrown toys with our names writ indelible with the magic of black markers if you stumble upon a breathing scripter, let them be, just observe, as they, you, these movers and bus shakers, as they, observe you tell your children, you knew one in your youth, then take them to the attic retrieve your mother's and father's, teach your children how to read, how to see, the ways of their forefathers, the forsaken, the bus poets.

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Shake out your shining tresses, Love Undress their dark contour as the pink stars rise And drowse around the smoke-ringed moon, Like roses in a whiskey glass. Take time to dream a dream, my Love, Tresses fallen across the curve of your face -- Sleep away the late summer moon, Spooning the stars asleep in pink lace. Lay down your weary bones, my dear, Stretch out on vanilla feather-winged dreams My whisky rose petal kisses blown into the night Finding you on glittered opalescent moonbeams Grab hold of pink-starred sweet slumber As silken tendrils puddle upon your chest Tangled up in each other's lithe limbs Our blissful hearts beat together in tender rest

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Aug 28, 2015

Aug 28, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC

A Collaboration, Kalypso and Joseph Paris

Shake out your shining tresses, Love Undress their dark contour as the pink stars rise And drowse around the smoke-ringed moon, Like roses in a whiskey glass. Take time to dream a dream, my Love, Tresses fallen across the curve of your face -- Sleep away the late summer moon, Spooning the stars asleep in pink lace. Lay down your weary bones, my dear, Stretch out on vanilla feather-winged dreams My whisky rose petal kisses blown into the night Finding you on glittered opalescent moonbeams Grab hold of pink-starred sweet slumber As silken tendrils puddle upon your chest Tangled up in each other's lithe limbs Our blissful hearts beat together in tender rest

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In the morning of yesterday There were strangers talking in my garden, heads close together Intent on each other, in whispers I heard them say your name And the earth shifted a little...the season moved forward a little And I heard myself sigh like a dreamer Harvesting hearts and marigolds The thief steals in when we least expect it, masqued and lithe Wanting an exploration of Souls Oblivious, if we’re generous But still the knife cuts deeply...the blade turns without intention And I’m bleeding out like a Madrigal I loved you too much in the Mirrorfall I found you in the violin’s shadow Dust and star tears are my witnesses I love you My joy and my abyss

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Feb 9, 2019

Feb 9, 2019 at 5:28 AM UTC

The Violin’s Shadow

In the morning of yesterday There were strangers talking in my garden, heads close together Intent on each other, in whispers I heard them say your name And the earth shifted a little...the season moved forward a little And I heard myself sigh like a dreamer Harvesting hearts and marigolds The thief steals in when we least expect it, masqued and lithe Wanting an exploration of Souls Oblivious, if we’re generous But still the knife cuts deeply...the blade turns without intention And I’m bleeding out like a Madrigal I loved you too much in the Mirrorfall I found you in the violin’s shadow Dust and star tears are my witnesses I love you My joy and my abyss

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The finest singer in the sea I heard upon this morn And in that strange sonorous tone A universe was born The low melodic wailing touched And roused me from my sleep As the humpback lithe and languid Made a turn and sounded deep And as my mind awakes it turns To whales large and small To the snowy white beluga The canary of them all The clicking bursts of ***** whales And the California grey The fin whale speaks across the sea To those a world away The short and longfinned pilot whales With whistles quite complex The striking graceful orcas Speak in different dialects But it is the great blue whale That makes the loudest cry Though it is far too rare today With such an awful why But on this wondrous morning I Am filled with joyous glee That God has given life to whales And gave to them the sea Cori MacNaughton 24Oct2000

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Jun 11, 2015

Jun 11, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC

cori-macnaughton

Upon the Songs of Whales

The finest singer in the sea I heard upon this morn And in that strange sonorous tone A universe was born The low melodic wailing touched And roused me from my sleep As the humpback lithe and languid Made a turn and sounded deep And as my mind awakes it turns To whales large and small To the snowy white beluga The canary of them all The clicking bursts of ***** whales And the California grey The fin whale speaks across the sea To those a world away The short and longfinned pilot whales With whistles quite complex The striking graceful orcas Speak in different dialects But it is the great blue whale That makes the loudest cry Though it is far too rare today With such an awful why But on this wondrous morning I Am filled with joyous glee That God has given life to whales And gave to them the sea Cori MacNaughton 24Oct2000

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You and I A song that started clumsily, mid-stumble, then fell into a beautiful flurry of violins playing lithe. It’s a Shakespearean epic draped in a cheap suit of modern conjectures that caught my eye. You and I It’s climbing up a mountain-side, daring & tempestuous -cherishing every moment, not just the peak, but the hike. Even as you’re pushing so hard its hurts to breathe, the air so thin your gasps are overlapping fighting for air– you’ll die if you quit, having the time of your life. You and I Seeing sheet-music for your favorite tune, as an illiterate fool, but somehow feeling the rhythm and time. It’s enticing & startling, it’s the smell of privet-hedge and pine –familiar, refreshing, & divine. It’s you and I.

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Aug 21, 2014

Aug 21, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC

You and I A song that started clumsily, mid-stumble, then fell into a beautiful flurry of violins playing lithe. It’s a Shakespearean epic draped in a cheap suit of modern conjectures that caught my eye. You and I It’s climbing up a mountain-side, daring & tempestuous -cherishing every moment, not just the peak, but the hike. Even as you’re pushing so hard its hurts to breathe, the air so thin your gasps are overlapping fighting for air– you’ll die if you quit, having the time of your life. You and I Seeing sheet-music for your favorite tune, as an illiterate fool, but somehow feeling the rhythm and time. It’s enticing & startling, it’s the smell of privet-hedge and pine –familiar, refreshing, & divine. It’s you and I.

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Lithe, pharmaceutical muscles regulating microfiber hairs Draw from the primitive neglect and sin A clarinet changes the chemistry of champagne Inside Humanity again A stock infection of planets and galaxies and their debris Small enough to be e coli and atomic dreams Beading with the warmth of breath, persisting, Naming dragons and archers in the infinity, The cocktails brew people at the seams Their sentences clapping the breeze Into a day, or a season, or her hand leading

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Sep 5, 2018

Sep 5, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC

Circadian rhythm

Lithe, pharmaceutical muscles regulating microfiber hairs Draw from the primitive neglect and sin A clarinet changes the chemistry of champagne Inside Humanity again A stock infection of planets and galaxies and their debris Small enough to be e coli and atomic dreams Beading with the warmth of breath, persisting, Naming dragons and archers in the infinity, The cocktails brew people at the seams Their sentences clapping the breeze Into a day, or a season, or her hand leading

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… *Gentle water lord, Four seasons show in your graces: Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon, Lost loves, colours longing for white, Light jewel. Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy Sun, all her ways soothed, running, Milky days. Autumn shakes of mellow webbing Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief, Gliding lithe. Frozen winter, low, pure and pale, Never demure, as your wings aloft, Flake so fair.*

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Jun 4, 2015

Jun 4, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC

… *Gentle water lord, Four seasons show in your graces: Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon, Lost loves, colours longing for white, Light jewel. Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy Sun, all her ways soothed, running, Milky days. Autumn shakes of mellow webbing Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief, Gliding lithe. Frozen winter, low, pure and pale, Never demure, as your wings aloft, Flake so fair.*

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I tied together a few slender reeds, cut notches to breathe across and made such music you stood shock still and then followed as I wandered growing moment by moment slant-eyes and shaggy, my feet slamming over the rocks, growing hard as horn, and there you were behind me, drowning in the music, letting the silver clasps out of your hair, hurrying, taking off your clothes. I can't remember where this happened but I think it was late summer when everything is full of fire and rounding to fruition and whatever doesn't, or resists, must lie like a field of dark water under the pulling moon, tossing and tossing. In the brutal elegance of cities I have walked down the halls of hotels and heard this music behind shut doors. Do you think the heart is accountable? Do you think the body any more than a branch of the honey locust tree, hunting water, hunching toward the sun, shivering, when it feels that good, into white blossoms? Or do you think there is a kind of music, a certain strand that lights up the otherwise blunt wilderness of the body - a furious and unaccountable selectivity? Ah well, anyway, whether or not it was late summer, or even in our part of the world, it is all only a dream, I did not turn into the lithe goat god. Nor did you come running like that. Did you?

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I tied together a few slender reeds, cut notches to breathe across and made such music you stood shock still and then followed as I wandered growing moment by moment slant-eyes and shaggy, my feet slamming over the rocks, growing hard as horn, and there you were behind me, drowning in the music, letting the silver clasps out of your hair, hurrying, taking off your clothes. I can't remember where this happened but I think it was late summer when everything is full of fire and rounding to fruition and whatever doesn't, or resists, must lie like a field of dark water under the pulling moon, tossing and tossing. In the brutal elegance of cities I have walked down the halls of hotels and heard this music behind shut doors. Do you think the heart is accountable? Do you think the body any more than a branch of the honey locust tree, hunting water, hunching toward the sun, shivering, when it feels that good, into white blossoms? Or do you think there is a kind of music, a certain strand that lights up the otherwise blunt wilderness of the body - a furious and unaccountable selectivity? Ah well, anyway, whether or not it was late summer, or even in our part of the world, it is all only a dream, I did not turn into the lithe goat god. Nor did you come running like that. Did you?

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[Dedicated to Austin Osman Spare] Have pity ! show no pity ! Those eyes that send such shivers Into my brain and spine : oh let them Flame like the ancient city Swallowed up by the sulphurous rivers When men let angels fret them ! Yea ! let the south wind blow, And the Turkish banner advance, And the word go out : No quarter ! But I shall hod thee -so ! While the boys and maidens dance About the shambles of slaughter ! I know thee who thou art, The inmost fiend that curlest Thy vampire tounge about Earth's corybantic heart, Hell's warrior that whirlest The darts of horror and doubt ! Thou knowest me who I am The inmost soul and saviour Of man ; what hieroglyph Of the dragon and the lamb Shall thou and I engrave here On Time's inscandescable cliff ? Look ! in the plished granite, Black as thy cartouche is with sins, I read the searing sentence That blasts the eyes that scan it : **** and SET be TWINS." A fico for repentance ! Ay ! O Son of my mother That snarled and clawed in her womb As now we rave in our rapture, I know thee, I love thee, brother ! Incestuous males that consumes The light and the life that we capture. Starve thou the soul of the world, Brother, as I the body ! Shall we not glut our lust On these wretches whom Fate hath hurled To a hell of jesus and shoddy, Dung and ethics and dust ? Thou as I art Fate. Coe then, conquer and kiss me ! Come ! what hinders? Believe me : This is the thought we await. The mark is fair ; can you miss me ? See, how subtly I writhe ! Strange runes and unknown sigils I trace in the trance that thrills us. Death ! how lithe, how blithe Are these male incestuous vigils ! Ah ! this is the spasm that kills us ! Wherefore I solemnly affirm This twofold Oneness at the term. Asar on Asi did beget Horus twin brother unto Set. Now Set and Horus kiss, to call The Soul of the Unnatural Forth from the dusk ; then nature slain Lets the Beyond be born again. This weird is of the tongue of Khem, The Conjuration used of them. Whoso shall speak it, let him die, His bowels rotting inwardly, Save he uncover and caress The God that lighteth his liesse.

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Aleister Crowley

[Dedicated to Austin Osman Spare] Have pity ! show no pity ! Those eyes that send such shivers Into my brain and spine : oh let them Flame like the ancient city Swallowed up by the sulphurous rivers When men let angels fret them ! Yea ! let the south wind blow, And the Turkish banner advance, And the word go out : No quarter ! But I shall hod thee -so ! While the boys and maidens dance About the shambles of slaughter ! I know thee who thou art, The inmost fiend that curlest Thy vampire tounge about Earth's corybantic heart, Hell's warrior that whirlest The darts of horror and doubt ! Thou knowest me who I am The inmost soul and saviour Of man ; what hieroglyph Of the dragon and the lamb Shall thou and I engrave here On Time's inscandescable cliff ? Look ! in the plished granite, Black as thy cartouche is with sins, I read the searing sentence That blasts the eyes that scan it : **** and SET be TWINS." A fico for repentance ! Ay ! O Son of my mother That snarled and clawed in her womb As now we rave in our rapture, I know thee, I love thee, brother ! Incestuous males that consumes The light and the life that we capture. Starve thou the soul of the world, Brother, as I the body ! Shall we not glut our lust On these wretches whom Fate hath hurled To a hell of jesus and shoddy, Dung and ethics and dust ? Thou as I art Fate. Coe then, conquer and kiss me ! Come ! what hinders? Believe me : This is the thought we await. The mark is fair ; can you miss me ? See, how subtly I writhe ! Strange runes and unknown sigils I trace in the trance that thrills us. Death ! how lithe, how blithe Are these male incestuous vigils ! Ah ! this is the spasm that kills us ! Wherefore I solemnly affirm This twofold Oneness at the term. Asar on Asi did beget Horus twin brother unto Set. Now Set and Horus kiss, to call The Soul of the Unnatural Forth from the dusk ; then nature slain Lets the Beyond be born again. This weird is of the tongue of Khem, The Conjuration used of them. Whoso shall speak it, let him die, His bowels rotting inwardly, Save he uncover and caress The God that lighteth his liesse.

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Little surfer girl Framed by the sun and waves and sand Sun-kissed skin Slender muscles On display for her captive audience Pulse in sync With the steady music Of the shore's breathing Attracting the spray and roar Of almighty Poseidon Lithe body Gliding on the water Like how she has Implacably skipped and splashed Over the breaking hearts Of so many who have pined after her I need but a glance To invite me To paddle out and see If I can conquer her waves.

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Sep 14, 2014

Sep 14, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC

Little surfer girl Framed by the sun and waves and sand Sun-kissed skin Slender muscles On display for her captive audience Pulse in sync With the steady music Of the shore's breathing Attracting the spray and roar Of almighty Poseidon Lithe body Gliding on the water Like how she has Implacably skipped and splashed Over the breaking hearts Of so many who have pined after her I need but a glance To invite me To paddle out and see If I can conquer her waves.

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*with your dancing hands with your lithe fingers will you calm my thrashing heart*

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Jan 25, 2015

Jan 25, 2015 at 2:00 AM UTC

*with your dancing hands with your lithe fingers will you calm my thrashing heart*

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Crescent orb radiates its crystalline sight, languid lips coalesce like a tessellation, the vexing vines wilder the incandescent- glimmer but the burning impression remains. Celestial bodies affixes a soliloquy amongst- a halcyon tongue that revelate a rhapsodic- episode. Quiescent ambience rings a plethora of- sentiments stinging on the mellifluous lullaby. The lithe wildflower murmurs- the euphonious recital of a sonnet that- is unacquainted to the mind. Luminous assemblies of fireflies retire- behind the myriad of evergreen forest as the insouciance wildflower approach. Precocious primrose locked from the scorching sensation of a wildflower exhibited a lassitude facade like a - waning lantern fiery on its final residues. In the distant a wildflower and in the presence, an idyllic primrose: so scarce and so strange.

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Apr 27, 2017

Apr 27, 2017 at 7:37 AM UTC

Exuberance Aflamed

Crescent orb radiates its crystalline sight, languid lips coalesce like a tessellation, the vexing vines wilder the incandescent- glimmer but the burning impression remains. Celestial bodies affixes a soliloquy amongst- a halcyon tongue that revelate a rhapsodic- episode. Quiescent ambience rings a plethora of- sentiments stinging on the mellifluous lullaby. The lithe wildflower murmurs- the euphonious recital of a sonnet that- is unacquainted to the mind. Luminous assemblies of fireflies retire- behind the myriad of evergreen forest as the insouciance wildflower approach. Precocious primrose locked from the scorching sensation of a wildflower exhibited a lassitude facade like a - waning lantern fiery on its final residues. In the distant a wildflower and in the presence, an idyllic primrose: so scarce and so strange.

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Magical cauldron apomixes connoisseur Cephalic phantasmagoria entity obliquitous Mystical conjurous conjugal entrepreneur Fantasia fantastication phantasm obsequious Amorously arduous ardent raconteur Ephemeral translucent opulence ubiquitous Vanity sanctimonium temerities saboteur Intrepid verve’s intriguingly iniquitous Sorcerous sabbatical apothegms chauffeur Endemic veracities fortuitous elicitous Futurity fatidics fornication kithe Ephemeral metaphor semantics flaunts Empirical emulation scenarios blithe Subjunctive subliminal nostalgias haunts Agile articulation acuities lithe Analogizing corroborative prolificacy daunts Alacritous tactile manipulations writhe Numinous syntactical paradigm ***** Emanate imminent perdition tithe Orotund jaded seal ordinand jaunts Overt convection coercions chiaroscuro tempestuous Apex crux axis ****** matrix torrid Manifest objectified enamorous interstice lecherous Spurt binge spree ***** protuberance squalid endearingly engendering amore

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Jan 13, 2013

Jan 13, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC

toreinss-pinwinkel-iii

Magical cauldron apomixes connoisseur Cephalic phantasmagoria entity obliquitous Mystical conjurous conjugal entrepreneur Fantasia fantastication phantasm obsequious Amorously arduous ardent raconteur Ephemeral translucent opulence ubiquitous Vanity sanctimonium temerities saboteur Intrepid verve’s intriguingly iniquitous Sorcerous sabbatical apothegms chauffeur Endemic veracities fortuitous elicitous Futurity fatidics fornication kithe Ephemeral metaphor semantics flaunts Empirical emulation scenarios blithe Subjunctive subliminal nostalgias haunts Agile articulation acuities lithe Analogizing corroborative prolificacy daunts Alacritous tactile manipulations writhe Numinous syntactical paradigm ***** Emanate imminent perdition tithe Orotund jaded seal ordinand jaunts Overt convection coercions chiaroscuro tempestuous Apex crux axis ****** matrix torrid Manifest objectified enamorous interstice lecherous Spurt binge spree ***** protuberance squalid endearingly engendering amore

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From the black recesses of the earth She rose from her long slumber Icy death smile on her crimson lips Face gleaming with wicked knowledge Slanted eyes of emerald green Glazed and mad Her crown jewels of the dead Bleached human bones Encircled her head Fine glass complexion of shimmering gold She spoke the words of The Sleeping Three Hair falling in rich waves down to the floor of snakes The color of the crows breast A rich purple ebony Snake scale gown of finely woven human skins Gathered from her poor victims sin Wrapped round her lithe body A thousand souls it took to weave Awakened from its dark sleep Spells cast in hell's deep By a powerful witch Who stirred the cauldron Tainted with revenge The demon was now visible to sight The apparition appeared in smoke and orange red light To bow down and submit to the witches bidding The command never waived from intent One of chaos and death Slaughtered, cold in rows they lay Pity for the one this creature seeks Of a terrible perfume her heart reeks That of blood and brimstone Perfumed smoke and fire The devil is her line and sire So by demons touch Plotting cold hands She claims the souls of mortal man More thread for her clothing The beautiful demon This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby

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Jul 13, 2013

Jul 13, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC

The Beautiful Demon

From the black recesses of the earth She rose from her long slumber Icy death smile on her crimson lips Face gleaming with wicked knowledge Slanted eyes of emerald green Glazed and mad Her crown jewels of the dead Bleached human bones Encircled her head Fine glass complexion of shimmering gold She spoke the words of The Sleeping Three Hair falling in rich waves down to the floor of snakes The color of the crows breast A rich purple ebony Snake scale gown of finely woven human skins Gathered from her poor victims sin Wrapped round her lithe body A thousand souls it took to weave Awakened from its dark sleep Spells cast in hell's deep By a powerful witch Who stirred the cauldron Tainted with revenge The demon was now visible to sight The apparition appeared in smoke and orange red light To bow down and submit to the witches bidding The command never waived from intent One of chaos and death Slaughtered, cold in rows they lay Pity for the one this creature seeks Of a terrible perfume her heart reeks That of blood and brimstone Perfumed smoke and fire The devil is her line and sire So by demons touch Plotting cold hands She claims the souls of mortal man More thread for her clothing The beautiful demon This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby

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If there is a God, my God is a **** brunette. Doe eyes, stunning violet, dark with eyeliner. Star tattoos twinkle on her face, shooting across the skies of her cheeks. A lower lip piercing accentuates the **** curve of her pouty lips. Her lithe body, also inked, golden from the sun. She smokes Camels, sunlit smoke glowing as it pours from her lips. She’d ask me to join her every time she went outside to have one, grinning when she exhales. I believe already. My God.

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Feb 27, 2015

Feb 27, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC

If there is a God, my God is a **** brunette. Doe eyes, stunning violet, dark with eyeliner. Star tattoos twinkle on her face, shooting across the skies of her cheeks. A lower lip piercing accentuates the **** curve of her pouty lips. Her lithe body, also inked, golden from the sun. She smokes Camels, sunlit smoke glowing as it pours from her lips. She’d ask me to join her every time she went outside to have one, grinning when she exhales. I believe already. My God.

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The flickering lamp in your hand sways as if to swim in peace to me the lily scenting a warm ponder ripples from the apple of my eye and bobs across to bid approach blooming with a soft absorbing sigh which enters an essence close to reach Your touch colludes in a light lashed usher enticed to where my heart will sing of finding lithe spirit mute from flesh I slide into choral waters with longing for the wonder of a parting life wish Drumming soft as butterfly strokes swishing in the night so close and so remote she could vanish into poppy fields at any moment but will never leave my sight fluttering I swim onward.. I swim out..

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Sep 14, 2014

Sep 14, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC

anthony-williams

The Lady with the Lamp

The flickering lamp in your hand sways as if to swim in peace to me the lily scenting a warm ponder ripples from the apple of my eye and bobs across to bid approach blooming with a soft absorbing sigh which enters an essence close to reach Your touch colludes in a light lashed usher enticed to where my heart will sing of finding lithe spirit mute from flesh I slide into choral waters with longing for the wonder of a parting life wish Drumming soft as butterfly strokes swishing in the night so close and so remote she could vanish into poppy fields at any moment but will never leave my sight fluttering I swim onward.. I swim out..

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My Vellum Alluring and demure In your virginity Never yet Creased nor crumpled Your tight young corners Remain stiff and pert In their newness Your long lithe sides Tense for my careful touch Lest blood be spilt My gold nib I dip In midnight ink Piercing its surface skin And lift It drips One Two Black Secrets Back to their bottle My hand is poised Over your pristine smoothness And with calm precision I carve broad majuscules That twist and cut To hairlines of breathtaking Intimate intricacy Quick teasing serifs Long lingering descenders Strokes of tactile Joy Then stand back Empty In wonder at Your calligraphic beauty

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Mar 21, 2011

Mar 21, 2011 at 3:16 AM UTC

My Vellum Alluring and demure In your virginity Never yet Creased nor crumpled Your tight young corners Remain stiff and pert In their newness Your long lithe sides Tense for my careful touch Lest blood be spilt My gold nib I dip In midnight ink Piercing its surface skin And lift It drips One Two Black Secrets Back to their bottle My hand is poised Over your pristine smoothness And with calm precision I carve broad majuscules That twist and cut To hairlines of breathtaking Intimate intricacy Quick teasing serifs Long lingering descenders Strokes of tactile Joy Then stand back Empty In wonder at Your calligraphic beauty

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O Lord of all compassionate control, O Love! let this my lady’s picture glow Under my hand to praise her name, and show Even of her inner self the perfect whole: That he who seeks her beauty’s furthest goal, Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know The very sky and sea-line of her soul. Lo! it is done. Above the long lithe throat The mouth’s mould testifies of voice and kiss, The shadowed eyes remember and foresee. Her face is made her shrine. Let all men note That in all years (O Love, thy gift is this!) They that would look on her must come to me.

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Dante Gabriel Rossetti

O Lord of all compassionate control, O Love! let this my lady’s picture glow Under my hand to praise her name, and show Even of her inner self the perfect whole: That he who seeks her beauty’s furthest goal, Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know The very sky and sea-line of her soul. Lo! it is done. Above the long lithe throat The mouth’s mould testifies of voice and kiss, The shadowed eyes remember and foresee. Her face is made her shrine. Let all men note That in all years (O Love, thy gift is this!) They that would look on her must come to me.

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Determined petals Pierce the snow, Refusing to wait. Shades of violet, Red, then yellow; Mocking folded crepe paper, On white marble floors Advancing to overtake the scene; An insurgent force, So lithe, so pure. Conquering in swaths, With delicate bravado, As if to challenge The old mans icy grip, While placating senses Of the observant few; Such a display Of resistance, To winter's rule Now, slowly waning; As the moments nigh, But will return once again, To defy a February's Cruelty.

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Feb 28, 2013

Feb 28, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC

Determined petals Pierce the snow, Refusing to wait. Shades of violet, Red, then yellow; Mocking folded crepe paper, On white marble floors Advancing to overtake the scene; An insurgent force, So lithe, so pure. Conquering in swaths, With delicate bravado, As if to challenge The old mans icy grip, While placating senses Of the observant few; Such a display Of resistance, To winter's rule Now, slowly waning; As the moments nigh, But will return once again, To defy a February's Cruelty.

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