"massif" poems - Hello Poetry

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa, Above the ancient pillars of Heracles Where rain and ocean are weaving, Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves And noble strands, my beaten hearts Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands Of Galicia. Where Incomparable, dark Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian Fairness, side the valleys and moors Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings Of the ram and moans of ewe, where Way bountiful seas are over spilling, In octopus and pearly gemmed shells, The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding, Where incense burns with under stars Encased, the lost Atlantean temples Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels, The clad forests of wandering Titans, Where snow white beaches end forever Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway, As was the magi gift of treasured yards, Enlightenments, of old and golden isles Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal, Galicia.

I was born for Nebraska I was born for the Massif Central I was born for the mountain top shrine with nothing but the music of nature to distract me I was born for the weekly news on some sleepy island in the Pacific I was born for Covent Garden The Pangea of Culture New Orleans trumpets; the flamenco player twisting lime into his drink I was born for the cotton fields I was born for the salt marsh for the tug-boat all out of fresh water I was born for the Ganges I was born in the shadow of the Hajj I was born for the G-dless land of Death Valley the streets of Harlem I was born into the spirit of old Afghanistan I was born on the false strings of liberated women- I was born on a stage of puppets a backdrop of Glaswegian tenements or of fjords unvisited beside Scandinavian seas I was born for Rugby Cement I was born to be fixed in place This wandering mind These restless legs I was born with a travelling soul in a town where I can barely walk

I was born for Nebraska I was born for the Massif Central I was born for the mountain top shrine with nothing but the music of nature to distract me I was born for the weekly news on some sleepy island in the Pacific I was born for Covent Garden The Pangea of Culture New Orleans trumpets; the flamenco player twisting lime into his drink I was born for the cotton fields I was born for the salt marsh for the tug-boat all out of fresh water I was born for the Ganges I was born in the shadow of the Hajj I was born for the G-dless land of Death Valley the streets of Harlem I was born into the spirit of old Afghanistan I was born on the false strings of liberated women- I was born on a stage of puppets a backdrop of Glaswegian tenements or of fjords unvisited beside Scandinavian seas I was born for Rugby Cement I was born to be fixed in place This wandering mind These restless legs I was born with a travelling soul in a town where I can barely walk

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Aug 19, 2015

Aug 19, 2015 at 8:52 PM UTC

Edward-Coles

Born.

34

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa, Above the ancient pillars of Heracles Where rain and ocean are weaving, Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves And noble strands, my beaten hearts Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands Of Galicia. Where Incomparable, dark Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian Fairness, side the valleys and moors Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings Of the ram and moans of ewe, where Way bountiful seas are over spilling, In octopus and pearly gemmed shells, The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding, Where incense burns with under stars Encased, the lost Atlantean temples Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels, The clad forests of wandering Titans, Where snow white beaches end forever Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway, As was the magi gift of treasured yards, Enlightenments, of old and golden isles Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal, Galicia.

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May 23, 2013

May 23, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa, Above the ancient pillars of Heracles Where rain and ocean are weaving, Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves And noble strands, my beaten hearts Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands Of Galicia. Where Incomparable, dark Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian Fairness, side the valleys and moors Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings Of the ram and moans of ewe, where Way bountiful seas are over spilling, In octopus and pearly gemmed shells, The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding, Where incense burns with under stars Encased, the lost Atlantean temples Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels, The clad forests of wandering Titans, Where snow white beaches end forever Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway, As was the magi gift of treasured yards, Enlightenments, of old and golden isles Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal, Galicia.

the land of the crying sun.

The level of betrayal Hit me on multiple levels Beyond the shadows, Was it the Devils kiss Those moonlit craters, in the gallows, That created those layers In the mountains of the Himalayas, Will they ever tell us, The secrets lost within those meadows Flourishing down at base camp. Flying those false flags in eminence, whilst were sentenced in the highlands. Hidden haters, Camouflaged in winter colours, the mesa range a inhabited massif, A hint of frostbite, That in hindsight could cost lives, of those trapped beneath the icy nights. The snowfall is just drop of ice, Stinging the eyes of those blinded by the shards of glass icicles in the avalanche. A ridge away from the mountain range safety nets. Disrespected tor of mother natures indignation. Only the indigenous survive. Yet in the flames of exasperation, In the footsteps of evanesce, A liquesce renders the snow storm useless, as the sun melts the inundation of the snow slide. An aubade ray takes over the landscape, oxidating snowflakes one by one like a machine guns wake. The temperate rise coincides with the rise of hope within the atmosphere. The patterns clear and the same mistakes will be made over and over again until the atmosphere is damaged so severe; The sun itself will cry a tear.

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Jan 10, 2016

Jan 10, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC

gotguanxi

The level of betrayal Hit me on multiple levels Beyond the shadows, Was it the Devils kiss Those moonlit craters, in the gallows, That created those layers In the mountains of the Himalayas, Will they ever tell us, The secrets lost within those meadows Flourishing down at base camp. Flying those false flags in eminence, whilst were sentenced in the highlands. Hidden haters, Camouflaged in winter colours, the mesa range a inhabited massif, A hint of frostbite, That in hindsight could cost lives, of those trapped beneath the icy nights. The snowfall is just drop of ice, Stinging the eyes of those blinded by the shards of glass icicles in the avalanche. A ridge away from the mountain range safety nets. Disrespected tor of mother natures indignation. Only the indigenous survive. Yet in the flames of exasperation, In the footsteps of evanesce, A liquesce renders the snow storm useless, as the sun melts the inundation of the snow slide. An aubade ray takes over the landscape, oxidating snowflakes one by one like a machine guns wake. The temperate rise coincides with the rise of hope within the atmosphere. The patterns clear and the same mistakes will be made over and over again until the atmosphere is damaged so severe; The sun itself will cry a tear.

36

I watched her write Love on her arms it flowed like lava as the meaning was felt ripples of hardened flesh with hot plasma and her cooling kiss scratch that one off the bucket list (codetta) To tattoo love on my lids finding you between the highs and mids when the lights go off you are there then you reappear in the strobe and LED atmosphere All I can do is wish... you were here too unravel the shutters of my soul (segno) to embrace you in a place more real animate my memories to simulate surreal stimulate thoughts my body can not feel till my lids reopen to reveal a deck used to project a black massif sunset platters pressed with disco tech soluvum's spun to some rung of heaven I's reflect; eyes ***** to mirror mystery celadon mandela murals and memory a nebula of history (fine) When eyes see you come (:l) Below the surface afraid you'll run yet steady marching to a heart shaped drum echoing the song of the lord god capon we've gone deaf to the celebration Eyes close when kissing to lock in what's missing maybe to hear the rush of blood hissing maybe to capture the sound of oceans shifting maybe to feel the steady rise of hills below our feat maybe that's why we hum synchronizing our meditation Maybe to become one symbols like wedding bell vibration (dc al fine)

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Apr 5, 2016

Apr 5, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC

TheSethnicity

Wedding Bell Vibration

I watched her write Love on her arms it flowed like lava as the meaning was felt ripples of hardened flesh with hot plasma and her cooling kiss scratch that one off the bucket list (codetta) To tattoo love on my lids finding you between the highs and mids when the lights go off you are there then you reappear in the strobe and LED atmosphere All I can do is wish... you were here too unravel the shutters of my soul (segno) to embrace you in a place more real animate my memories to simulate surreal stimulate thoughts my body can not feel till my lids reopen to reveal a deck used to project a black massif sunset platters pressed with disco tech soluvum's spun to some rung of heaven I's reflect; eyes ***** to mirror mystery celadon mandela murals and memory a nebula of history (fine) When eyes see you come (:l) Below the surface afraid you'll run yet steady marching to a heart shaped drum echoing the song of the lord god capon we've gone deaf to the celebration Eyes close when kissing to lock in what's missing maybe to hear the rush of blood hissing maybe to capture the sound of oceans shifting maybe to feel the steady rise of hills below our feat maybe that's why we hum synchronizing our meditation Maybe to become one symbols like wedding bell vibration (dc al fine)

35

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa, Above the ancient pillars of Heracles Where rain and ocean are weaving, Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves And noble strands, my beaten hearts Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands Of Galicia. Where Incomparable, dark Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian Fairness, side the valleys and moors Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings Of the ram and moans of ewe, where Way bountiful seas are over spilling, In octopus and pearly gemmed shells, The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding, Where incense burns with under stars Encased, the lost Atlantean temples Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels, The clad forests of wandering Titans, Where snow white beaches end forever Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway, As was the magi gift of treasured yards, Enlightenments, of old and golden isles Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal, Galicia.

0

Nov 23, 2012

Nov 23, 2012 at 1:29 PM UTC

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa, Above the ancient pillars of Heracles Where rain and ocean are weaving, Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves And noble strands, my beaten hearts Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands Of Galicia. Where Incomparable, dark Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian Fairness, side the valleys and moors Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings Of the ram and moans of ewe, where Way bountiful seas are over spilling, In octopus and pearly gemmed shells, The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding, Where incense burns with under stars Encased, the lost Atlantean temples Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels, The clad forests of wandering Titans, Where snow white beaches end forever Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway, As was the magi gift of treasured yards, Enlightenments, of old and golden isles Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal, Galicia.

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa, Above the ancient pillars of Heracles Where rain and ocean are weaving, Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves And noble strands, my beaten hearts Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands Of Galicia. Where Incomparable, dark Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian Fairness, side the valleys and moors Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings Of the ram and moans of ewe, where Way bountiful seas are over spilling, In octopus and pearly gemmed shells, The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding, Where incense burns with under stars Encased, the lost Atlantean temples Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels, The clad forests of wandering Titans, Where snow white beaches end forever Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway, As was the magi gift of treasured yards, Enlightenments, of old and golden isles Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal, Galicia.

0

Aug 4, 2012

Aug 4, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa, Above the ancient pillars of Heracles Where rain and ocean are weaving, Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves And noble strands, my beaten hearts Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands Of Galicia. Where Incomparable, dark Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian Fairness, side the valleys and moors Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings Of the ram and moans of ewe, where Way bountiful seas are over spilling, In octopus and pearly gemmed shells, The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding, Where incense burns with under stars Encased, the lost Atlantean temples Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels, The clad forests of wandering Titans, Where snow white beaches end forever Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway, As was the magi gift of treasured yards, Enlightenments, of old and golden isles Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal, Galicia.

Ma tigresse quatre en une

Tu te dis enrobée, ma tigresse J 'ai beau purger les yeux Pour tenter de voir à travers ton sari de soie blanc céladon Je ne décèle dans tes dessous Que ton parfum de tigresse furtive et changeante Chevauchant ton dragon de jade Dans une jungle inhabitée. Sauvage Volontaire Désinhibée C'est ainsi qu'on te décrit à chaque illumination C 'est ainsi qu'évidemment tu te sens Avec Tigresse Parfum Extraordinaire ... by Fabergé Autour de ta taille j 'ai cru voir Une chaîne d'argent massif où pend une fiole de jade En forme de dent de tigre . A l 'intérieur que sais je ? J 'imagine de l 'eau bénite Une capsule de cyanide ? Ou des résidus de jus de jade Au cas où En cas de besoin Sur la route ? Sur ton ***** J'ai entr'aperçu Un tatouage : Un porc-épic qui feule Hérissant et jetant ses épines Avec comme devise Qui s'y frotte s'y pique ! Je meurs d'envie Que tu m'intronises dans ton ordre secret Je meurs d'envie D'être adoubé chevalier de l'ordre du porc-épic Je meurs d'envie Que, nue, tu te présentes, Ma tigresse quatre en une , Dans l'un ou l 'autre De tes plus simples appareils : Tigresse en nourrice, Tigresse errante, Tigresse dans sa tanière, Tigresse en laisse

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Aug 29, 2019

Aug 29, 2019 at 2:26 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

Tu te dis enrobée, ma tigresse J 'ai beau purger les yeux Pour tenter de voir à travers ton sari de soie blanc céladon Je ne décèle dans tes dessous Que ton parfum de tigresse furtive et changeante Chevauchant ton dragon de jade Dans une jungle inhabitée. Sauvage Volontaire Désinhibée C'est ainsi qu'on te décrit à chaque illumination C 'est ainsi qu'évidemment tu te sens Avec Tigresse Parfum Extraordinaire ... by Fabergé Autour de ta taille j 'ai cru voir Une chaîne d'argent massif où pend une fiole de jade En forme de dent de tigre . A l 'intérieur que sais je ? J 'imagine de l 'eau bénite Une capsule de cyanide ? Ou des résidus de jus de jade Au cas où En cas de besoin Sur la route ? Sur ton ***** J'ai entr'aperçu Un tatouage : Un porc-épic qui feule Hérissant et jetant ses épines Avec comme devise Qui s'y frotte s'y pique ! Je meurs d'envie Que tu m'intronises dans ton ordre secret Je meurs d'envie D'être adoubé chevalier de l'ordre du porc-épic Je meurs d'envie Que, nue, tu te présentes, Ma tigresse quatre en une , Dans l'un ou l 'autre De tes plus simples appareils : Tigresse en nourrice, Tigresse errante, Tigresse dans sa tanière, Tigresse en laisse

44

. Beyond the massif peaks of Europa, Above the ancient pillars of Heracles Where rain and ocean are weaving, Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves And noble strands, my beaten hearts Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands Of Galicia. Where Incomparable, dark Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian Fairness, side the valleys and moors Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings Of the ram and moans of ewe, where Way bountiful seas are over spilling, In octopus and pearly gemmed shells, The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding, Where incense burns with under stars Encased, the lost Atlantean temples Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels, The clad forests of wandering Titans, Where snow white beaches end forever Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway, As was the magi gift of treasured yards, Enlightenments, of old and golden isles Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal, Galicia.

0

Mar 6, 2015

Mar 6, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC