"loftily" poems
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
You there – suspended loftily in air;
Your feathers so shiny and sleek -
Tell me; What do you know, Brother Crow,
Of that which I always seek?
What are you hiding, while wind-riding?
What? Something about flying alone?
I want to know; My Brother Crow,
About my oft dreamt-of home.
The ever sky filled with azure dye;
It must speak to you of freedom -
And it may be true, but only for you,
Our grounded lives are already done.
For me; Can you show those fields, of melted snow?
Those obsidian peaks beneath the so-blue Sea?
I truly need to go, Brother Crow,
But why won't you ever take me?
You there – suspended haughtily in air;
Your feathers so shiny and sleek-
Tell me; What could you know, Selfish Crow,
Of that which I always seek?
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
And with that,
Words drift away in smoke
As pages crinkle, and blacken slowly
And we mourn for the loss of information
For the loss of wisdom
As the words float loftily in smoke
And covers burn with fervor
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 1:37 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
If I was there
I'd run my fingers through his hair
Tell him how much I truly care
I'd sing to him softly
and kiss him loftily
I would talk about non-sense
and everything of importance
If I was there
I wouldn't be in such disrepair.
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 10:45 PM UTC
Because one is beauty and one is decay
Because they’re both French
And French things are beautiful
Like those wispy girls, who are skin and bones,
Dragging their paper thin legs in their louboutins
Leaving the red sole behind them
And the word “coquette”
Because it sounds beautiful and ***** at the same time
Like all vain women
As I breathe in the smoke
I feel weightless
Skinny
Until my mouth is fire
Like a phoenix
But I will soon become ash
Floating loftily above the ground
With my cigarettes in my chanel purse
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
Greens and gold of lattice work cascading down the tree,
This epiphyte, so infinitely, delicately free.
A lattice work of green finesse, a miniature Cezanne
With exquisiteness of spiky bloom embellishing it’s charm.
Cascading down the grizzled trunk of gnarled and twisted hand
The hosting ancient Kamahi looms loftily, so grand.
Looms aloft with leafy bough so softened by the show
Of ruffled, pinkish bottle brush amassing high and low.
Hordes of buzzing, bumble bees so clumsy in their way,
Tumbling from flower to flower collecting nectar’s day.
With afternoon the waning sun lies hot on sultry air
And little girls in pretty frocks skip by with not a care.
Summer grasses long and dry stand statuesque and straight
With sweet laburnum’s perfumed heads a nodding by the gate.
Young heifers graze in clover in the dell down by the brook
And the fantail dances daintily seeking insects in the nook
There’s a special, quiet majesty pervading here, so fair
With the thistledown afloat, so still with golden motes in air.
Fills my soul with gentle feeling and a rolling tear, unplanned,
For this blend of quiet ambivalence through my beauteous rural land.
Marshalg
“Foxglove” Taranaki.
NEW ZEALAND.
19 January 2014
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
There is a Softness in the Shadows,
On a breezy, Sun~filled Day.
Splashing Contrast divides the Colors,
trading within the shade,
An interlacing patchwork, Arrangement by Rotation,
Earth's Grandly Spun Bouquet.
Movement amongst the shifting Patterns,
playfulness in~All direction,
Like children chasing randomness, Laughing in the garden
that echoes through with effortless, nonchalant Expression.
Eastwardly to Westwardly,
Tracing loftily between Tree leaves, Mountains broad projectories, deepening the Shadows Shade,
Yawned in stretching reach,
Duality of Accolades,
like Coastlines of a Beach.
Lost in Lover's parting Kiss,
In Amorphous Amore,
Animates explicitly,
A shy Shadow's story.
Into the deep embrace of Night,
A lingering at Sunset's Crest,
Hallowed out in Shadow's shade,
Sewing~dreamy patchwork Seams
of Fabric feathered Sleep.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
Orange canoe leaves and castling roots
and a potpourri of rocks and twigs and mosses
hailed my pathway.
Fresh, white flowers mingled with their rusted sisters
upon the ground, like copper-splashed jasper.
The canoe leaves curled
as the white and rusted flowers tumbled through them
like toppled teacups and feathered, Victorian party hats.
Their christened sisters mirrored them among the boughs above
and talked loftily about the treetops
as the fallen ones chattered amidst *******
and the roots dividing the tables of their tea party—
unaware, and heedless, of how far they’d fallen.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
Terracotta heart baked to finesse
Terracotta heart made of all things fresh,
Terracotta heart a juvenile delinquent,
Terracotta heart born a ****** quaint,
Braised in warmth, seared in passion,
Sautéed in a cruel satiric humour,
Garnished red, to a near perfection,
Served scorching hot or a blue surrender,
Terracotta heart an agile quill,
Terracotta heart as strong as the will,
Achille's heel ageing to extinction,
Alas! Never mend this fatal habitation,
How often a day by vows endowed,
How loftily by lust ensnared,
Barmy Merchants’ failed affair,
Quit here or quietly endure,
Terracotta heart chasing fleeting dews,
Terracotta heart braving the brutal rues,
Terracotta heart, a broken souvenir,
Dare gently cater or beware,
Terracotta heart a nomad of time,
Terracotta heart an unholy shrine,
Terracotta heart baked to imperfection,
Terracotta heart never braised in affection,
Terracotta heart scattered never dead..
Terracotta heart never learned to love…
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Proud we stand, loftily in our ivory towers
Proud we stand, bawling our boasts and feats
Proud we stand, on the cold concrete we built
In shame, I hung my head, fathoming our “powers”
In grief, my quill broke his heart descrying our plight.
Humanity bleeds as his ink flows in protean woe
Love has lost its world, We estranged her away
And the world lost its Love, We chased disarray
All the colours in this world have run eerily cold
Our eyes fixated on a global monochrome gold
To bundles of printed paper, our soul… we sold.
Humanity bleeds as his ink flows in protean woe
Our vermilion blood has thinned, thinner than wine
Onto our gashes, we had to dowse the thickest brine
Blinded by rage, we parried the balsam to our souls
Yet in an unhesitant grace, traces remain in our bowls
Yet... Our calamitous claws yearn to rinse it off us
Humanity bleeds as his ink flows in protean woe
For an endless pursuit, in an unquenchable thirst,
We ****** our heels onto them who cleansed them
The hands which held us taut. we mangled them.
All for an empty crusade seeking the same black
We went rabid, scouring for an immortal fountain
The answer was a drop of Love, now unobtainium.
Yet I anticipate in the warmth of a spring someday
A few dewdrops and a little fountain emerging…
Fountain so bountiful in Love, her arrival in glory.
That day, my quill shall be healed and his ink resting
Sep 19, 2021
Sep 19, 2021 at 2:50 AM UTC
So often I inhale your cathartic cocktail;
it swoons me from my study, my brain trails.
Homogeneous with my velvet red intertwines, all else hails.
All exhales whisper, loftily, a separate tale.
Your embers are like no other;
they glow of yesteryear and retract into the present.
The warmth and the darkness, you segment.
Each draw, intoxicating, one after another.
Like a con artist you remain vague, and disappear;
any remaining inflection sails beyond the oculus;
presence constant, but hueless.
Those unacquainted always sneer.
Knowing not, your gift is of the most diverse;
but, in the end, like all else, your essence is a curse.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 5:12 AM UTC
Men are haunted by the vastness of distance and time
and so we ask ourselves,
Will our actions echo across eternity?
As I dig deep, deep within my soul
I come up empty handed
The deep abyss has taken its toll
All my strength disbanded
As I tumble into a free fall
Questions loftily rise
Will I be reminisced at all,
After death closes my eyes?
Will my footprints be cast,
in cement so they may last?
Or in the sands of the seaside
to be swept away by the tide?
Will what I say,
be quoted or become cliché?
Or will it be erased from the chronicle
like all else that is forgettable?
Will statues of precious stone be built in my likeness?
Will my endeavours become myths of greatness?
Will stars be named in my honour,
illuminating the dark forever?
Will my actions ripple for light years and millenia?
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 10:16 PM UTC
Who dares intrude my solitude?
Loftily peasant, don't be rude!
Don't make me say
"Off with his head!"
I shall always be with
clean
knees.
You were only given
me
to please.
If you shall disobey, I'll have
you
dead.
That's how it goes
in my head.
I say spit,
but you spit on me instead.
Who has the wheel now?
I'm a freak
when it comes to control.
The minute I lose it,
sometimes I follow.
No other way,
no how.
But what am I thinking?
Last week I was prowling
and now I'm scowling
at the fact that
I've been twice bitten.
Those horrible teeth of worthlessness
are as sour
as a ripe citrus.
It's not possible for me
to make it in the business
I can never make up my mind.
I always got the fence up my ***
I guess only in myself will I confide.
I do like things better
when they're not alive,
so lets just end it
and call a quits.
It's too hard to tell
if it's insincere,
but I'm the only one
allowed to be fickle here!
So "Off with his head!"
Like a bandaid.
No fuss, no fits
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:19 PM UTC
Four sockets stare loftily into the room
Surveying their surroundings
Three holes in each face
Two eyes and a mouth
Unwillingly, they look shocked.
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 8:34 PM UTC
heavy clouds hang loftily
in the somber grayed skies
as infant drops begin their proud descent
tiny kamikazes upon our bare skin
like kisses from butterflies
the moan of muffled thunder
interrupts the tremolo whispers of the rain
as our naked toes dig into the earth's
sticky-wet clay
laughter drips from your wind-burnt lips
like the droplets from your hair
scents of sweet-rain and mellow-mud
wafting through the air
your wrinkled-prune hand nests within mine
as we slosh and shiver upon rebirthed earth
baptismal puddles swallowing our steps
our sins begin to dry
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
Hark! -
mine hopes had loftily soared
at your comely visage, young
handmaiden, carrying the promise
of much chivalry and banter upon
eagles' wings of fortuity!
What goodness the Lord hath
seen fit to imbue on thy
outer trappings most surely
were indeed false, wherefore
thee proved thyself a most
unworthy jouster of conversation.
Dost thee not ken that real world in
which we live, rendering thy speech
thus? But alas...thou dost not.
Lo! -
that only i could have understood
what the **** you were saying...
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
Rain floods the sage canvas,
Saturating greenery to bring life,
And rot.
Thick, musty brown deals out death,
Next to brilliant lilac lilies and
Mazarine weeds.
Luminous sun scorches grass−now brown, and soil−
Springing seeds, gorged with life, loftily.
Human oils from fingers touch,
And pluck:
Ending life utterly,
Within stained glass and water.
Yet, this pastoral corpse produces beauty,
Love, and hope: healing hearts,
And mending stems of life through smell
And soft touch,
Until rusty leaves, unshackled, and withered aroma,
Plummet.
Thus our destruction, brings life,
And rot.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 1:39 AM UTC
*Pen'd the most refined poetry
whilst dreamily sleeping,
like fancy musings in the haze
of lustrous paradisal ponds,
it dissipated on the horizon
i cried symbolical tears
for this miscarriage
of poetic reverie's injustice,
all i could recollect
'twas written neath
the grand oak tree
as starlings sat silently gazing,
held their boisterous song
whilst i eagerly scribbled,
& paused to delight in the majesty
amidst sterling skies' misted allegory
the moon was abundantly ripe
seasoned of versed enlightenment,
as it loftily floated towards clouds' spell,
'twas something profoundly reverent
about life, death and baby's breath,
translation ascended the sweetly scented ether,
...the essence of it lingers still*
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
Dead grass moves in rhythm with the breeze,
dancing loftily, casting shadows that mock,
while wind whispers things to tempt wonder,
and ants crawl upon the rocks.
I look upon the sun and clouds,
feeling things inside me,
marching, coursing, thundering
pounding against my brain,
moving my body with the pace,
rocking left and right and sensing sensations,
a thought pierces my perception,
and I return home,
happiness? yes.
My toes curl in the dirt,
my mind cleared, alive.
Tasting life itself, moved beyond reality,
I stand tall.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 9:16 AM UTC
Moon, monstrous,
You illumine the Dark,
and through despair and woe,
you hide from our hearts,
whence we seek you.
Eons past,
that you derive from us,
yet you shall last
and yet control, as a plus.
Moon, empty!
Your shape revolves
such as a ball
that spins loftily
in display.
but as our appreciation develops,
and our knowledge broadens,
you shrink
when we may not see you.
Moon, Terrible!
Man seeks your shape for tourism!
Yet your patience remains high,
it must go thin,
and the powers invested in you,
will timely be unleashed
as though a tsunami,
that crashes upon a beach,
and surges forth liquid concrete
upon the hosts of Earth.
Yet, you remain patient,
but patient, for what?
Why do you stay yourself,
You do not come to us,
though you were born,
you be born from man,
and the theory true,
shall outlast your span
"Man made of equal, if another thing makes,
must return to the maker, lest the maker unmakes."
so why.
Why do you remain,
in starry night void?
O Moon,
you are wise,
and powerful,
I think, sometimes,
staring out my window,
into the cold black-winter
of space,
"Moon, I see you"
And feel excited,
then perversely fall asleep.
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 1:35 PM UTC
Man, whatever bleakness has named
You, I have never seen your face.
I imagine you rugged and more....
More than I had been for her.
I imagine she sees strength in you like
A stone on a mountaintop: loftily perched.
And your hands that have stolen my embraces,
I imagine them smoother than my calloused
Fingers,
My jealousies grow as you see in this poem,
It kills me, every verse that I imagine you....
Are you like this?
Is this the unimaginable lust she has for you,
Are your ears ringing now,
Do you even acknowledge me as her man?
Tell me, tell me if you held her through death,
Did she cry herself to sleep in your arms?
When you see your destiny,
Is she among the constellations you foretell?
I am sure you are quite the lover,
You who now kiss the woman I had before,
You who hold her in adoration,
Perhaps you know why I wanted to live,
Because you have stolen all good from me,
All the hope I had from this verse,
In petrification of my soul
I confess to you I am a broken man.
What divine intervention will seek you out?
Will karma let you be as happy as I was?
In a myriad of solemn thoughts,
I am at a loss for the wrath I hope vengeance has for you.
But treat her well,
Kiss her methodically and with purpose,
And maybe she will show her angelic eyes
Which promise forever, quietly whispering:
I will be here with you always,
So that when the promise has penetrated you,
The divinity you feel at the comfort of her
Lifetime of promised cherishing,
Maybe she will find something else
In another promise of another soul,
Only this thought eases the heavy bitterness
Left in my procession of days.
For now move forward,
Because I am paralysed,
And to the other man,
The burden of me writing this poem.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
quickly, sleep has taken me
under stars is where I lay
I wonder what things I'll see?
even now, what can I say?
there's nothing like a good dream
loftily, softly, I find my love
its nothing to be ashamed of
there's nothing to be afraid of
this is what stories are made of
lets see what this dream holds
even now as it still unfolds
after all this time, its been so long
never have I seen something quite
gorgeous enough to make me long
ecstatically for the bright light
let's turn on the darkness tonight
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC