"lulls" poems
~
where clear blue sky meets water's deep
his sunbeams reach her waves to tease,
to warm her currents, foaming spray;
dawn to dusk when daylight fades,
till only afterglow remains,
an interlude of celestial stage.
he speaks to her on written sky
and in the mournful sea-bird's cry,
wraps sultry ribbons in her tresses,
his fingers linger in caresses,
and in soothing choreography
he gently stirs her ocean's breeze.
he sends her gifts of palm and dates,
wrapped on waves in salty sprays;
watches her with much delight,
he sings to her each eventide,
love songs with the calling gull,
and rocks her tween the gusts and lulls.
wedded at horizon’s edge,
devotion to her he has pledged,
to have forever and to hold,
his comfort to her storm-tossed soul;
his tender kiss on tear-stained cheek,
where clear blue sky meets water's deep.
~
*post script.
when one gazes
into the vastness
of sea and sky,
of what is from
height to depth
an endless blue,
one cannot but think
of eternal devotion,
of the relationship
between two who have
pledged their forever troth!*
*as i wonder from what recesses
this one came, i remember…
our 36th wedding anniversary
is fast approaching...
i’ve been thinking of what to gift her
that will make her cry anew.*
**thank you to Hello Poetry for
the tremendous honor bestowed
with their designation of this poem as the daily
and to all who have expressed their heartfelt
love and appreciation... your message
came through loud and clear...
there can be no denying it,
i am an incredibly blessed man
because of each of you!
thank you, truly,
from the bottom of my heart!**
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
I'm feeling pretty *****
Or maybe I'm just desperate for an intimate relationship
And I fantasize about sensuality
because I crave the passionate love between two human beings
And I fantasize about skin rubbing skin
the sweat dripping between them
The mixing of two souls and the conjunction of two bodies
The beautiful slopes and curves of her figure
slowly caressing mine
The soft whispers of love that brush against my ear
And trail kisses down my neck
Her soft gasp as I trail my fingers up her thigh
my other hand grasping the back of her head, threading my fingers through her hair
Pulling her closer, ever closer
Her nails digging into my back
Leaving stinging red marks to remind me of her
when I leave for work in the morning
touching the scratches, I'll remember her
In the afterglow
Her arm around me, our legs tangled together
Her hair curled wild around her face
"I love you"
she whispers
Giving me a tender peck on the lips
Before blissfully surrendering to exhaustion
I watch her chest rise and fall
Her soft breathing lulls me to sleep
I'll smile when I think of her
Because I'll remember her words
"I love you"
They'll ring through my mind
"I love you"
Following me wherever I go
"I love you"
Lighting the candle in my heart
The flame growing brighter and brighter with each hushed word
"I love you"
or maybe I'm just *****
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 6:33 PM UTC
Stumble forth on rubber legs
When drink perfumes your breath
Search the sky with bleary eyes
And salvage what is left:
Still breathing, speaking, seeing
Still marveling the stars
Still gagging out weak poetry
And tripping out of bars.
One foot before the other
Stagger, step and sway
The wind that croons soft music
Lulls the grief away
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
~
*A no-man's land,
ablaze in scarlet
A no-man's land,
the blood and the bones of men
The more who died,
the more they thrived
A no-man's land,
flowered along the banks
from which the dead drank,
to forget their former existence,
when they were singing
in the lulls
A no-man's land,
offering a touch
of Heaven in Hell*
~
Dec 31, 2021
Dec 31, 2021 at 12:44 PM UTC
On Sunday afternoons
Vinyl lulls me to rest
I'm reminded of those days
When life was so simple
I dream like I'm there again
On Sunday afternoons
Vinyl lulls me to sleep
I lay there, close my eyes
Or stare at the ceiling
Lost in a sea of ever changing thoughts
On Sunday evenings
The vinyl has ended
And the sun has vanished
My dreams fade away
And my thoughts swell
On Sunday evenings
I put my vinyl away
I hit my lowest points
Not even the music
Can save me now
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
“Never forget”
It’s structure set
there’s something that
I just don’t get
When people told
to take a sec
The thousands lost
Their lives just swept
And many more
forever wept
An empty hole
with families wrecked
Commemorate
the date is set
As if a giant hurdle leapt
Most people easily forget
A numb that lulls
themselves will let
They patronize
like I’m a pet
Their pettiness
to me will vex
It’s takes more than
just bowing necks
A promise
for one day is kept
Real charity
Not on the net
Read Facebook posts like
“What the heck?”
My boiling blood
want to snap necks
A danger sign
like floor is wet
Not military
or a vet
But a salute
those lost will get
Just for one day
forget the rest
On this day we will act our best
Let bias and all hatred rest
Each other love
Hearts will be blessed
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
You reasonless hate me in manner devoid of vogue,
Coz you are threatened by my skin color,
Utterly refusing to appreciate my melanin humanity
Your faith lulls you that I am a Tarzan,
Dwindling away from humanity,
My poetry to you is only bombshell
Of dangerously vulpine civilization,
You solace yourself in your miss-audience to me,
Wistful in your hearty that your detest for me
Will become a force enough to counter my being,
You are very wrong my brother,
Goofing in full measure of your idiosyncrasy
In its present grammar of dance banquet,
I only pity you as none will ever be able to heal you
To free you from your silly bug of desperate racism.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
Storms.
I like storms.
Sometimes they start slow
with ominous, cadaverous clouds,
slowly rolling, tumultuous.
A few drops of rain,
frigid and fresh,
speaking in a pattering argot on my roof.
Calm, soft rain.
Rain that lulls me to sleep.
Sometimes they are fast and sweet.
An ephemeral rush of raindrops,
mellow cannonades of thunder,
trees still verdant,
green against gray.
Sometimes they are hot and volatile
with lightning so bright
it hurts my eyes,
thunder that roars
and permeates the quiet.
The wind screams,
rain batters my windows.
These are the nights I do not sleep.
I sit, thrilled,
listening to the primitive barrage,
the aphotic chaos,
remembering that this is how it feels
to be alive.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
I’ve been told by a friend to wait here.
As long as I stay here, you’ll be back past five o'clock.
I’ve waited—you came and opened the door.
It’s true; now I will dedicate my nine lives to you.
"She drinks her tea by midnight and lulls herself to sleep. You should waggle your tail and lie beside her. Every day except for Saturday." My friend laughed rigorously when she finished that statement.
“Why can’t I play with her every Saturday?” I asked her, trying to grasp her evading eyes.
"Just because," she shrugged and tried to climb the tree.
"Wait!" I hissed, but she’s nowhere to be found now.
I did everything she told me to do. Eat my food past lunch, play with my worn-out toy, and wait for her to be home.
At the exact moment the cruel sun rose and the light hit my body, I waggled my tail and lied beside her. Unfortunately, I forgot it was Saturday today.
I called her name, distinctively meowing in a weird manner. I cackled slightly; she wouldn’t understand. Biting slowly with her calloused hands and licking the side of her face, she still won’t wake up.
And I meowed until there was no sound left of me. My dear Celia, wake up, for you have to give me food now.
You still need to bathe me and play with me at the park. We’ll still wait for the night to come and watch TV.
Oh, Celia, I’d still spend my nine lives with you. Where have you been since I slept last night?
I’d still wait for you here at the table, near the window. Where the trees dance the delicacy of their sickening leaves. Oh, how we both hated the crispness of those brown leaves.
Oh, how you knew how much I hate autumn and how much I undoubtedly love the breeze of winter. The screeching of the winds and the snow falling onto the ground, where we both scrutinize its unique aspect. We were the same.
How you were covered in snowdrops, and you’d throw me inside the snowpack. I’ll hiss, and you’ll laugh.
"I told you not to play with her every Saturday," my friend whispered, almost with a faint cry. There was a hint of longing in her voice.
"You haven’t told me the answer, Ong."
"She grieves in her dreams, my friend. He visits every Saturday, spends a day with her, and goes home at exactly midnight. She’ll wake up tomorrow, bud," she answered in agony.
Who's he? " I turned to her, but she vanished once again.
Celia, I will love you for the rest of my nine lives. I’ll wait for you tomorrow. It’s okay to grieve for now.
I’d still wait for you here at the table, even though it’s autumn. We both got to accept that winter is already over.
It’s my first life with you in autumn.
Sep 9, 2023
Sep 9, 2023 at 3:10 AM UTC
Panic,
placed on the splintered edge of a dreaming mind,
I spit and sputtered, like the dying wings of
a dragonfly on a cold cappuccino morning.
She called me in the dark moody blue hue of early morning
as if to steal the broken moon from the attic in my chest.
So early I could hear the creak of spider legs
inching for a place of warmth.
Still in dream logic, she was crying so quietly
Melted spoons for a brain, I could only hear
the groans and pains of
the pet spiders on my ceiling,
their so cute and pissy in the morning.
She muffled "I need help"
I snapped awake as if a reflex to fight a charging train wreck.
This time advice came direct from my dream landscape the truth served dark black
and without the vanilla flavor.
I focus and get in gear "Hey girlie I am here, whats going on?"
An hour goes by a like a cat sneeze on a stormy day.
Again she laughs if I could see her, her smile would be wide tired and tear stained.
I laugh with her, while aching at the corner of my eyes " well hey try that tomorrow and if it doesn't work we can brainstorm to try something else. Call me tomorrow my sleepiness is welting my consciousness, I am not much use now except maybe for some mad hatter talk." A pause she sighs as if pushing of sleep. I wanted just one more smile to be sure" Stand strong if you can survive this hit the sky will clear for you. We'll strangle the rainmaker if we have to"
parting jokes and the call the ends, my moon back in my chest
content spiders basking in rays of light I can almost hear the hum of the morning sun.
I smile fading with the ceiling tucking me in, I can see her curled up with her stuffed animals half crying half terrified she falls to sleep drooling on her long time best friend
Mr finkers.
and
Finally the purr of happy spiders lulls be back to sleep.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 6:29 PM UTC
The sight of rain,
of wet clothes, wet plants,
wet doorsteps, wet hopes and dreams,
and, that known scent of sadness and grief
all these...create soggy, sluggish minds
we just lost two dogs to the virus
the glum of monsoon rains affects the moods
the "yays" from cancelled classes
have all passed...
sun is shining, not too bright, though,
peeps like a tease, but,
enough to dry the ground...
i see vacant lots...almost naked now
motor's droning hum is a lullaby
that lulls the mind
a strong smell stirs the nostrils and
defines a welcome pleasance...
i sniff....and chase away sadness,
with this intriguing scent
.....of freshly cut grass....
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:19 AM UTC
The sky has turned a bluish grey.
I hear the voices of the city -
Words, music, traffic, train,
And shrill laughter floating in the lane.
The bells have begun to ring;
An old woman
Crouching in a corner of her terrace
Blows the conch thrice.
A white cat ambling by the road
***** its head to listen,
But deeming the prayers and noise the same
Continues in its search for game.
On a fifth floor balcony, a girl watches
The silhouettes of birds flying back home.
She has her own music,
The kind that shuts you out and sets you free.
Temporarily.
A train whistles in the distance
Carrying lives afar and beyond.
The evening grows dark, the moon rises,
The wind lulls and blows;
And life goes on…
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
Nothing lulls to sleep quite like concrete waves
of endless tarmac roads,
the car christened Frau Marienkäfer by raindrops
of a passing thundercloud.
Baby butterfly whose pigments are smeared across
the windshield –
were you chasing the ‘Big City’ dream like
all the rest?
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
Even after we part
Your scent lingers on me
And I love it.
It lulls me to sleep.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
Step 1. Delete everything. Delete her photos of her laughing, the picture of both of your shoes during a summer day you took after going to the book fair with her, the conversation you screenshotted of her saying "we are soulmates". It's too painful for you to bear now, you don't need a physical reminder of the void she left.
Step 2. Stay on routine. Wake up, get dressed, go to school, go to work, study, sleep. Be tired. Let your body ache as you lie down the cold mattress where the winter winds outside your window lulls you to sleep. Overthinking is your enemy.
Step 3. Write a letter for her. Tell her everything you wanted to say. How your heart broke a million pieces when she sent you her last text. How you thought she was going to be with you forever. Talk about the would've-been future you were going to have, the two cats you were supposed to raise, and the places you were supposed to see together. But don't ever send it.
Step 4. Don't go back to the day when it ended. December 6, 2018 at approximately 9:38 p.m. You were standing in the rain, she tells you "I don't feel good." and walks away, leaving you to stand there alone. It's the day where you finally see the cracks, but realized it's too late to fix a week later when she finally messages you.
Step 5. Stumble upon a TED Talk about getting over a heartbreak, you cry for 12 minutes straight watching it. You do what the speaker tells you because you feel lost. He said to write down a list of why this person is unfit for you, and you finally realized that love has made you look at her through cloudy filtered lens.
Step 6. Don't open her friend's snapchat stories and see her there, smiling, and having fun. Don't wonder if her heart is as broken as yours.
Step 7. Fail. Miserably. But get up anyway, because only time can tell.
Step 8. Get out of your comfort zone. Reach out to people, start conversations. Go to the places you planned to see with her, and see those places by yourself or maybe with other people.
Step 9. Find new hobbies, and go out on your own. Make new memories with other people and enjoy your own company.
Step 10. Know that 7 years is a long time to spend with someone, so it will take some time. But one day you will wake up and you won't even notice the void she has left.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
People tell me with hushed lips and pained irises,
(pain really only flickers and quietly sinks deep within the absolute oblivions of you.)
that it will get better.
"You grieve, I have done it. Every person has."
Not for this one.
Not for him or her that is.
She had the sort of wittiness that would cut right though that
buttery feeling of warmth
wisped from
one hell of
a
smile.
Guess whose?
He had one of the loveliest voices, one that lulls your tired eyelids to much needed sleep.
A voice that will inexplicably grasp your fingertips when you feel utterly lost and breathless with pain.
And, I could go
*on,
on
&
on.*
Just that my very voice will be cracked
by
the
sweet, bitter
goodbye
whispered by
the yellowing memories
of
them.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
The tangible entity of consciousness is fleeting
Scene:
A elegant party but not quite extravagant
Clinking wine glasses echo through transparent walls
Twenty-two hundred lulls over the city like that of a shadow
This isn’t an ungodly hour nor is this a typical night
It starts when She enters in a red gown that elongates her figure
A pianist smirks in the corner — a grin that’s almost sinister
The clinking of wine glasses abruptly stops when its replacement of grim notes fills the glass house
The attendants still seem cheerful
(How peculiar?)
A stranger pulls her into a waltz but his eyes look hauntingly familiar
Unbenounced to her, He too dances with a stranger
Both on separate sides of the glass room
Both dancing with the unknown
Yet each pair seems to recognize some prominent feature
Nostalgic for what has never been
(How do you preserve a memory in reality?)
Through the glass house mirrors sit in obscure angles
One could see that within each reflection He and She were projected into the other room
Each glance towards the mirrors posed no questions
For both pairs seemed identical
Now their lives may have been content in accepting this dance with a “stranger” I suppose
But that was not the plan of this party
For guests grew tired of sipping on Beaujolais and listening to solem tunes
The pianist presented a different song, more lively yet equally eerie
Their feet paced with the new rhythm which called for a spin
(An act as dramatic as such was only proper for the scene)
With a grand gesture She turns, finally seeing the glass barriers
And for the first time that night He and She were face to face
A perfect dilemma to entertain an audience
In a frenzy She tried to speak
“I love you”
“I love you”
“I love you”
But each plea for affection deemed futile
For the grin on His face became that of the pianist
Her emotions were a downward spiral of gray shaded confusion
And with a sinister laugh He (or he) smashed the glass, shredding all source of reality
He was the hallucinogen and She was angry at him for making Her feel
And each guest cheered “bravo” demanding an encore
But this tragedy, dear friends, has come to the end
She’ll never know how the stars look where he is
(Is such a loss truly a loss?)
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC
music has been my salvation
of late it seems
i go to sleep listening
and the melody
gently wafts through my dreams
and lulls me into
a deep and relaxing sleep
one that I hope and pray
I'll get to keep!
I can't begin to explain my relief
from getting a break
from the constant grief
of waking to screams
(that are my own)
and feeling like
I'm forever alone--
but whenever I drift off to her voice
and the beautiful melodies she sings
it's like nothing can harm me
or interrupt my sleep with those nightmare dreams...
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
I think I've been a little lost lately.
Maybe more than a little.
This dull ache takes shape of your voice.
It lulls and tugs repeating familiar soothings
Past words of comfort now are readily sharpened
As I close my eyes and attempt to drift
Yet, I am tethered to the waking hours
How I weep for neutral slumber
Denial burns a fire deep into the hours
As I evade past recollections of your touch
Floating in bitter melancholy
This eternal blending of the not easily forgotten
Slowly I begin to peel off the layers
My protective armor, now as brittle as parchment
Easily sloughed off leaving the inevitable truth
vulnerability seeps to the bone
Then words that acted as knives
Become my salve as I (defeated) apply
Wrapping myself in the old familiarities
Gently cursing you (me) for feeling so raw.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
now it reminds me of you
that lingering scent,
I knew it all too well
the soothing fragrance
that lulls me to sleep
Jul 11, 2023
Jul 11, 2023 at 3:30 PM UTC
I feel so tired
I can barely breathe
My chest is concave
Like the narrow dell
Soaking up the rain
And pulling in the leaves
And though I’m not hollow
I am not whole
And though I’m weary
It is not my soul
Which cries aloud
Unto the the trees
Except for your sound
The sound that is
Of when you sing
And walk beneath
This canvas of leaves
Free as your feet
But the soles of my shoes
And the lids of my eyes
Are now heavy
As my head it lulls
And wants to roll
Back to the ground
So my pillow now
Is underneath
The hooded wood
And as the world
Slowly closes round
It’s you I see
Within the leaves
Beneath the trees
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 9:42 PM UTC
four things to know he's in love with you.
1.) he looks at you as if you're the sun.
2.) he will follow you anywhere.
3.) he will love you too much to let go.
4.) he will want you to be the last thing he see's before he goes to sleep
four things to know he's in love with you.
1.) he looks at you as if you're the sun- you're the centre of his universe and oh so beautiful.
2.) he will follow you everywhere- you wished he would stay away just this once
3.) he will love you too much to let go- you don't want him to let go.
4.) he will want you to the last thing he sees- you will be, before the water lulls him to sleep
Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 5:25 PM UTC
1256
Not any higher stands the Grave
For Heroes than for Men—
Not any nearer for the Child
Than numb Three Score and Ten—
This latest Leisure equal lulls
The Beggar and his Queen
Propitiate this Democrat
A Summer’s Afternoon—
2.6k
Everything feels like nothing, and nothing starts to feel like everything.
Everyday. Everyday as I wake up,
Nothing ever beats the feeling of inadequacy.
Inadequacy to do good
Inadequacy as a daughter
Inadequacy as a student
Inadequacy as a person
Inadequacy in feeling good within my own body
Inadequacy from feeling good about myself.
Everyday feels like an endless loop, you best believe my misery hunts me.
But what is inadequacy?
Is it scarcity? Deficiency? Insufficiency? A lack thereof?
Is it this mindless blob, formless and dark or a mangled form of flesh, eating away at you and your insecurities?
Like a virus, it pins you, goes deep inside you and there is never enough antibiotic for you...
This inadequacy keeps me up at ungodly hours where the sun howls and moon chirps, the clouds look at us, feigning interest, idly looking but never interacting.
This inadequacy lulls me in irregular fever dreams where comfort lies in solitude and loneliness,
where the people that surround you, cover their ears, bites their cheek, looks forwards, smiles faintly, but never tries to understanding.
My heart wails for the smallest of things. Nothing, nothing becomes everything.
My successes make me feel less, still. Everything, everything becomes nothing.
I am this inadequate thing, floating around, never seeming to be enough.
Inadequate. Because i could not protect myself from those who touch my skin like its free real estate, those clammy hands holding me in a state
A state of frenzy that never seems to end
Inadequate. That no matter what I do, my past will forever haunt me and define the being I am now that no matter how much I change, and try and try and try to do good, it will never be
enough.
And those same voices, those same people, they say they scream they tell me,
“You should have told me.”
“You should have fought back.”
“You are a waste of time.”
“You are dumb.”
“You are nothing.”
“You waste your talents for something as this,”
And those same people, let go of words
That back then would have meant nothing
But now it seems to be everything
It becomes my identity
It becomes my oxygen
It becomes the blood that circulates in my body
It becomes the endorphins in my brain
Nothing becomes everything. And everything that I’ve tried to change, worked hard to achieve, tried to mend, was sorry for, starts to become nothing.
But I am tired of feeling like nothing. That everything I do is always inadequate. That it is some form of scarcity, deficiency, insufficiency, a lack thereof.
These mindless blobs, or mangled forms of flesh,
Like a virus, it pins me, goes deep inside me and there is never enough antibiotic for me...
Because instead of listening, to understand, to empathize, they listen so they can jeopardize...
Whatever love is left that I could give to myself,
Without a shred of doubt,
In a warm, bright embrace for myself, in a corner slouched.
So, I ask these voices, who are only here to remind how inadequate I am:
How do I fight back?
How do I be good enough?
How do I become less dumb?
How do I make nothing stay as nothing? And appreciate everything as everything?
Because day by day, this inadequacy I feel, gets really tiring.
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 1:26 PM UTC
The soft, gentle pitter patter of rain lulls
her
unspoken wishes
into
a quiet, mellow
daydream.
As, the beads of rain curve into something bigger,
the reflection those glassy orbs hold become
something
worth
seeing.
Her eyes once vague.
Now lucidly clear.
Lightning cut across the sky, dotted with stars.
A brilliant spark.
That's
all
she
needed.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC