"mellowing" poems
The cloudless day is richer at its close;
A golden glory settles on the lea;
Soft, stealing shadows hint of cool repose
To mellowing landscape, and to calming sea.
And in that nobler, gentler, lovelier light,
The soul to sweeter, loftier bliss inclines;
Freed form the noonday glare, the favour'd sight
Increasing grace in earth and sky divines.
But ere the purest radiance crowns the green,
Or fairest lustre fills th' expectant grove,
The twilight thickens, and the fleeting scene
Leaves but a hallow'd memory of love!
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The city spearheads the futures we sincerely sold,
As it pluckers your pennies and your coins of gold.
I felt poor amid the auras of their fearsome metals,
Cowering in the clothes of our daily struggles.
I am destitute enough
To bleach out the interests of my cards,
To shatter your savings for a disabled future,
To rummage the stock markets for apertures.
Yet within you exhales tentacles of the color Yellow.
Yellow as in,
The scattered stars that scorch the injured sky,
The mellowing voices of neon artificial lights,
The apex of fire alight in frostbitten nights,
And the yolk of hope my cheers rely.
So while you chase the sun
with your copper-clad hands,
remember but this:
all that glitters is not gold,
It’s the color Yellow in these eyes I behold.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
Sitting in a restaurant
Over a cup of coffee
And silently having our dinner
With hardly anything exciting
Either to brag or blather
My eyes got hooked
On the occupants of the table, next
Two kids, seated on small chairs
A boy and a girl, obviously a pair of twins
Adorably cute, their father, so young
Who having placed the order
Were in wait for their turn
Carrying a tray, as the waiter arrived
With something of the plainest kind,
Small cartons of French fries,
Bottles of sauce and plain ice cream
The little faces gleamed in excitement
Their beaded eyes riveted,
And their heads bobbed in happy approval
As their Dad opened the carton
And placed before them
French fries sprinkled with some sauce
The children, sprang to their feet
With an upsurge of delight,
Jumping up and down,
Clapping their hands and shouting!
At a small distance, sat we
‘Solemnly’ consuming our meal
With nothing to titillate our palette
Or excite our toned nerves
I thought;
How, in course of time,
Everything becomes a routine ritual
And what stark difference
Between our subdued composure
And the overwhelming excitement of kids!
They haven’t learned yet
That such open expression of emotions,
Is not in keeping with accepted norms
To what peaks of joy, they get catapulted
With mere trifles and silly baubles
While we remain ever at the bottom
Unable to be lifted up
Is this what we call aging?
Or is it
The death of spring
The summer’s dirge
Autumn’s mellowing
Or the chill wave of winter’s blast??
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
What the hell
When I have heaven in my arms?
I see Blake, I see Plath
I see the bike next to the block
Am I good?at your puns?
Spotting these metaphors and sensing
your lust
The Devil himself between these mellowing thighs
Oh, He looked a lot like you Sean.
Undress not your self
But your gown
For me once
Disarm these plausibilities
I know where you're from
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
homage to Wallace Stevens
I - My Focus pistoned up the rise
and all at once, the Rockies -
silhouettes against the western skies.
II - On the road to Boulder
a pleated ridge crawls north
like a blue whale bound for the open sea.
III - Appalachia's intoxicating verdure
never fails to induce in us
a certain mellowing of the spirit.
IV - You 'conquered' my North Face, did you?
Why, I should skewer your arrogant ***
like a holiday lamb culled for the sacrifice.
V - Lewis and Clark looked west
surveying the Bitterroots' frigid expanse.
Farewell Northwest Passage!
VI - Pueblos stranded on Enchanted Mesa -
their rock stairs crumbled to the valley floor.
Should they dive to their death or starve?
VII –Touristas at Big Bend Park
wonder at its pastel window -
its romantic haze a toxic gift
from stacks across the Rio Grande.
VIII – The once mighty Ozarks humbled by age,
dwarfed by the youthful Rockies.
Listen up, youngsters, your time will come!
IX – We de-bussed to seize the dolomites
with our hyper-kinetic shutters.
Pausing for a draught of Italian air,
I felt the whack of an Alpine snowball.
X - Before Oregon's crater had its lake,
the mountain scorched the village below.
Today its azure waters preach only serenity.
XI – Looking down from Shissler peak
to the golden meadow below
where the elk herd calmly grazes.
XII – Do mists veil the Blue Ridge Mountains
or are there really no mountains at all -
only clouds decked out in mountain attire?
XIII – They say that peaks more steep than Everest
soar up from the ocean floor.
Who will scale their sunken heights?
May 28, 2010 – Boulder Colorado
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
I love to rise in a summer morn,
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the sky-lark sings with me.
O! what sweet company.
But to go to school in a summer morn,
O! it drives all joy away;
Under a cruel eye outworn.
The little ones spend the day,
In sighing and dismay.
Ah! then at times I drooping sit,
And spend many an anxious hour,
Nor in my book can I take delight,
Nor sit in learnings bower,
Worn thro’ with the dreary shower.
How can the bird that is born for joy,
Sit in a cage and sing.
How can a child when fears annoy.
But droop his tender wing.
And forget his youthful spring.
O! father & mother. if buds are nip’d,
And blossoms blown away,
And if the tender plants are strip’d
Of their joy in the springing day,
By sorrow and care’s dismay.
How shall the summer arise in joy.
Or the summer fruits appear.
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy
Or bless the mellowing year.
When the blasts of winter appear.
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Gray Owl hearkens
the dappled daybreak knell
echoing through
the wildwood forest stand;
rock doves and frosty stones abide,
where a marooned heart doth dwell,
disrobed by the longest night's frigid touch
Timber stand grips tight
red clay and bedrock of ages,
postured tall and strong
as eagle's spirit throne
Pine cones hide
in the low drifting clouds,
ripe acorns tumble down alone
unto a windblown
shallow earthen grave,
hillocked beneath
the sky-high canopy
Bones of branches,
furrowed bark from burled oak,
wood-grains of pith,
natural gnarled achings
peeled by the shivering
wind's breath
Paling autumn memories
grow dim as the receding sunlight,
recollections of ebbing Jasmine's
mellowing fragrant balm
waft aloft in a favorite fading fantasy,
the edge of winter metamorphosis
bears down with a prodigious weight
of a different kind of retreating light;
brindled Queen Anne's lace
hold sway across
the tawny frostbitten meadow
imbuing the poignantly
whetting breeze
The blink of an eye winks,
to catch sight of
an intimate glimpse,
an unspoken
solitude holds forth,
the mesmerizing coo of rock doves,
reverently mirroring
the sanctity of the forest wildwood
lingering amongst the frosty
ferns and stones
The harmony of tranquil silence wanders;
only the bowing resistance of the boughs
manifest the shapeless wind’s
whispered breathe
swirling above the labyrinth threshold;
therein lies an unfractured fault line
rooted deeply beneath
the earth’s crust
like the sonorous heart
of a sanctuary hearthstone
Hence there is symmetry
felt in silence that only whispers
in the deep toned consonant
of our own harbored sighs
a holy human blood link
born of heritage wilderness heartwood
beats keenly alive
written by: harlon rivers ... December 2017
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
The painted sun on the guava leaves
Augurs another winter,
Mellowed only till next summer
The sun quietly rests in the shade of each leaf
Contemplating in melancholy
Next winter they won’t be there
And the eyes catching his breathless softness
May be gone too,
But he through seemingly endless time
Has to return each winter
To rest in the shade of guava leaves
And be planted on the coming eyes
Mellowing in the on-setting winter!
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
All perish whence they quest for immortality,
Such foolish dreams will result in fatality.
Critters struggle in nets of ersatz reality,
Hormonal clashes unbalance our morality.
Under the influence by budding, ravishing thyme,
Oft' that sunny beam leaves me doing pantomime.
Chaste clues and envy droughts left me mellowing,
Such pain ipso facto I can't kiss this porcelain.
My seat of notions drives me to calculate,
While undead, fatigued, I falsely formulate.
Floundering in viscous fluids, I am drowning...
My verdant sail is half-mast: lonely, frowning.
Within moon-lit meadows, shadows flow cursively,
Beyond the kaleidoscope lay a rustic key.
Beg you pardon the rust and blackened fissures,
Pardon those slights to open eternal treasures.
To crave two heart beats align in synchrony,
To sluice my fingers through the strands of memory.
Embracing silvery asps soaring on the breeze,
My sight spies thy adieu and I shatter apiece.
Un-writing errors, distantly, unstumbling,
The abyss: now a star, wings unfurling.
'Tween the heavens fell meteoric golds,
Sinusoidal cascades of such sublime codes.
Traversed steadily upon the gilded firmaments,
Was so small, blind to the unseen monuments.
To be offered aristocratic absolution,
From my humble plebeian resolution.
I am sublime. 'Hold my dichotomous, nay,
Such cantankerous introversion within, eh?
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 3:40 PM UTC
Daisy flower scented for days
I'll pick you this day
& adore you for days
Your countenance poises celestial
Plaining contours from troubled faces
Regard it in awe
O ye searching men
Feel its serene impression
Piercing trails through each grain
That lies glaze over every staring eye
Fondling pupils taut
In caresses overwhelming
Mellowing all rugged souls tame
Biting every heart's lip
In kissy scenes elating
Daisy flower hear me today
Your company I've longed for everyday,
Won't you be mine all my days? 🙃
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 5:09 PM UTC
I’m Oxfam clothed and head full of henna,
he’s Age Concern dressed for less than a tenner.
Does this make us rivals or more compatible?
Anything’s possible now I’m out of hospital,
picking his path oblivious to obstacles,
catching him in an unguarded interval;
he’s too hospitable to swerve my tentacles
and I too intent on the prey.
“What’s with the titfer?” I bubble up giggly,
kissing his cheek and trying his trilby,
holding his eyes – why should I feel guilty?
If he’ll play Jesus lurking in Gethsemane
then I’ll be Judas flirting with the enemy.
Don’t say betrayal and the double agent,
I’m just a female at my play station.
He used to be nurse and I the patient,
now we negotiate new relations.
Aspiring to more of an equal footing
I’ve climbed too high and abandoned hoodies,
the dreary woollies, sackcloth and ashes,
the words that stuck to my tongue like glue.
Between heavy make-up and credit crashes
I talk too naughty and hug too warmly –
he must take his turn to be poorly,
his turn to breathe in blue.
In minutes the mood will be mellowing:
I shall saxophone and cello him
and proffer the charms of poor scarred arms,
the burnt flesh of thighs and *******
this sin within my second-hand dress
to caress his heart and capture him.
Wind and string go enrapturing!
Pull him close to the edge of the abyss –
I want him to hang on my lips
as I’ve hung so long on his.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
TREES BLOWING IN THE NIGHT SKY
MELLOWING SLOWLY AS I WALK ON BY
THE GENTLE BREEZE
SUMMER ******
NIGHT LIFE EASING
SOMEWHAT PLEASING
FROM THE SUDDEN PACE
OF MORNING GRACE
THE DAWN HAS PAST
SO FAST
TAKEN FOR GRANTED
TO FIND THE ANSWER
AND THE AROMA OF AIR
STILL AND BARE
FLOWERS HAVE BLOOMED
AS THE DAY TIME LOOMED
UPON BROKEN DREAMS
AS IT SEEMS
HOPE AND FEARS
THROUGHOUT THE YEARS
LINGERING LONGINGLY
EXCEPTIONALLY
TASTE OF THE NIGHT LIFE
AND SMELL OF GLADNESS
UNTIL THE END
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
Dad
You've been good to me
But I feel like nothing
Because you made me nothing when I was your puppet, when you tried to live your life through me
Dad
You're an ex-marine
But I didn't know that they taught marines
How to call their 4 year old children "babies", when asking you curious questions, when you said to shut up
Dad
You've been a police officer for 20 years
But I didn't know they taught police officers
How to tell their 14 year old boys they had a "distorted view of reality"
Dad
I still remember when you threw mom against the closet door
She showed me the bruise on her breast that was as big as a softball
I remember the fights you guys had and how you kicked the wall and stormed off in your car
Dad
I was like 4 years old when this happened, I could barely see over the window sill in our living room
But I can still remember exactly how it looked when you backed out and sped down the street
"Where's oppa going?", I asked my korean mother... ...all she did was throw me down and beat my bottom...
Dad
I was a sensitive child and believe it or not
Even though you and mom tried your best ...you didn't prepare me
You didn't prepare me to handle things...
To handle the kids who would push me around because I was smaller
To handle the other kids who pushed me because my face and skin looked different
To handle every time kids asked me if I knew karate when I was an innocent little 5 year old
To handle being spit on by any one of those kids
To handle love and relationships because you didn't teach me what love really was
To be able to deal with problems in life without freaking out or blaming myself, like when you would throw me in the floor or spank me until I peed my pants...
To be able to love the girl I wanted to spend my life with because even though I decided that I wouldn't do the kinds of things you did...I've ever known in life is what not to do, and when I tried something new, they were only slight variations of everything you did and now she's not coming back
I've ****** up my life now and you're finally mellowing out...
I wish you'd done so 18 years ago
Or maybe not been around
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 4:54 AM UTC
Recently
it seems
every time we talk
our cacophonous
voices don't sing.
The harmony's off--
lost it's charming ring.
The tye-dye mind's eye melody
is mellowing into a gray spring.
And I'm wondering why?
But...
I think I know.
Only asked cause
I was hopin' you might hum some other musical notes,
ones that won't turn this song into a black swan dive
forced to call the huntin' dogs to track
back to a time where you and I laughed freely.
But there's this feeling
that this is how your other he must have felt
while you and me were undoing our belts--
yelling & screaming
as my parents were sleeping
upstairs above--
we played each other like saxophones
to this grand Nirvana relaxed crescendo!
But as this poem progresses
the tempo stiffens--
your voice lessens--
as the harmony's off-key
and the melody's riff softens.
It's not hitting me hard like a gong-
feels like two people singing
different lyrics into the same microphone.
Someone with synesthesia can see
our colorful speech atrophy
instead of pirouetting in turquoise dreams.
If that sounds harsh,
sorry, that's the reality I perceive--
we don't want each other to leave,
But our avoidance of labeling
what we are also established what we weren't
and now this playful...thing? we had
feels like a breaking carafe as it hits the floor.
I want to continue writing you more poems and songs
but it's hard when the harmony's off-key
and losing it's charm.
This new lentando^ tempo's like a left arm going numb.
I want to keep composing
but it feels like water
instead of kerosine pouring
on the fire that was inspiring
as this mournful melody dilates throughout my being.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush;
Or underneath the barren bush
Flits by the sea-blue bird of March;
Come, wear the form by which I know
Thy spirit in time among thy peers;
The hope of unaccomplish'd years
Be large and lucid round thy brow.
When summer's hourly-mellowing change
May breathe, with many roses sweet,
Upon the thousand waves of wheat,
That ripple round the lonely grange;
Come: not in watches of the night,
But where the sunbeam broodeth warm,
Come, beauteous in thine after form,
And like a finer light in light.
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Carefree drizzles softly sings as bliss and ease taken wing.
Gaze upon the auric blooms while sweet melodies, mellowing.
Alleviate our friend's crises, their debts, paid in purple silvers.
Eliminate those pesky mortal threats, lest blood spills in liters.
Toward our star, astride the verde, vibrant beauteous noise.
Abating virtues, without the merde, cometh Byronic poise.
A smoken distance, famished flames, fiery tongues yearning.
A fearful master, ***** dames, merry songs flowing.
Parallel meridians lovingly caress floating wisps of white.
Quarreling impulses embracing soaring orbs of light.
Bright.
See... sigh.
Lavender shades cushion our convents of misty mysteries.
Serene panacea tease me upon sapience; argent histories.
Ebullient crush casting glaring lights into the hostile wind.
Beneath dusky whirlwinds come hazel sparks of sand.
Glory guilty of detested crimes, anon trembling tears.
Inspiration follow thy limelight; guidance of young seers.
A canvas of blue, emotions ablaze through one hundred days.
Amber pillars burdened with wishful horizons... come what may.
Never believe our luxurious dreams under the rainy rainbow.
Drowning in sunshine, tis the era to escape the clutches of limbo.
Cease our anthropocentrics to soar on frozen blooms tonight.
Taste vermillion pain, lest we be gluttons, spying; useless insight.
Mirrors refracting broken perfection, for ever-clear prisms.
Commit altruist favors for all our mistaken rhythms.
Behold the mind, mightier than a sword, bitter tool of priests.
Crusading zen, grander than any reward, come join the feast. <3
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
Petals fall, wheels roll
How swift is the flight of time
Lifting the veil of my translucent memory
The past comes alive with a rare fragrance
Don’t you remember the very first time
We saw each other on a Christmas Eve
Amid gazing eyes, we stood embarrassed
As Time, like an unsteady toddler
Crawled away on hands and legs
How we simply stared at each other
Unable to commune our thoughts in lucid words,
Later in the ripe moment,
When we solemnly held our hands
How dazed we were by that electric touch
Memories so green linger my dear
As though it all happened just days ago
With all the fervor of our young hearts
We were pledged to explore life
Youth and hope then walked hand in hand
Warm blood flowed through every capillary and vein
And life glowed in gleams of golden light
We were lifted upon wings of love
From the terrestrial plain unto heaven’s heights
Days flew, months into years fled
Amid gusts of laughter and of tears
How the stairs of life we climbed
Through what labyrinthine paths we traveled
Posing undecided on turns and curves
But holding fast and never loosening our grip
In the ripe season how thoughtfully
Had we sown the seeds of love
Watering them with our saline tears
How excitedly we watched them sprout and grow
Memories so green linger my dear
As though it all happened just days ago
I feel the years have flown too fast
Now life’s fire is almost extinguished
Somber shadows darken our track
The night ahead is darker and colder
We have to accept the in eluctability of it
Doting on the past is now our pleasure
When we look back, we see the thrill of victory
And the tears of defeat and heartbreak
Life presented us with a mixed bag
We have watched the death of spring
We have bore the heat of summer,
Seen the leaves drop in the mellowing autumn
And the chilly shroud of winter is about to veil
Without revolt, let us accept the truth
But till Death do us part, Oh my Love,
Let us hold our hands together
And stoically wait for the final sunset!
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
Witch-elms that counterchange the floor
Of this flat lawn with dusk and bright;
And thou, with all thy breadth and height
Of foliage, towering sycamore;
How often, hither wandering down,
My Arthur found your shadows fair,
And shook to all the liberal air
The dust and din and steam of town:
He brought an eye for all he saw;
He mixt in all our simple sports;
They pleased him, fresh from brawling courts
And dusty purlieus of the law.
O joy to him in this retreat,
Immantled in ambrosial dark,
To drink the cooler air, and mark
The landscape winking thro' the heat:
O sound to rout the brood of cares,
The sweep of scythe in morning dew,
The gust that round the garden flew,
And tumbled half the mellowing pears!
O bliss, when all in circle drawn
About him, heart and ear were fed
To hear him, as he lay and read
The Tuscan poets on the lawn:
Or in the all-golden afternoon
A guest, or happy sister, sung,
Or here she brought the harp and flung
A ballad to the brightening moon:
Nor less it pleased in livelier moods,
Beyond the bounding hill to stray,
And break the livelong summer day
With banquet in the distant woods;
Whereat we glanced from theme to theme,
Discuss'd the books to love or hate,
Or touch'd the changes of the state,
Or threaded some Socratic dream;
But if I praised the busy town,
He loved to rail against it still,
For 'ground in yonder social mill
We rub each other's angles down,
'And merge' he said 'in form and gloss
The picturesque of man and man.'
We talk'd: the stream beneath us ran,
The wine-flask lying couch'd in moss,
Or cool'd within the glooming wave;
And last, returning from afar,
Before the crimson-circled star
Had fall'n into her father's grave,
And brushing ankle-deep in flowers,
We heard behind the woodbine veil
The milk that bubbled in the pail,
And buzzings of the honied hours.
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My teeth were never pearly. But slowly, but surely
they've been fading, yellowing. In my mind I've been
mellowing. But on the outside I'm cracking, as if I've
had a whacking. But maybe I have in my head, 'cause
now I'm wishing that I'm dead. With my teeth all
rotten, as if I've forgotten to stand up, walk to the
sink. It's just too hard to think. To with my hand,
grab the brush. But there's no need to rush. Except
now there is reason 'cause the pain's done more than
ease in. It's taking control and it seems to be on a roll.
My teeth start to chatter, crash together and shatter,
'til they're all on the floor. But the pain's begging for
more. It's not enough to deface me. It needs to erase
me. Pressure runs down my spine. No more can I
weather. Hurting me's fine, but killing me's better.
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 11:26 AM UTC
HOUR OF THE PEARL
Bluebells droop sleepily
Tired in a pine scented wood
Lemons drip casually
In the groves the best they could.
Orange leaves dance in the breeze
Jigging to the buzz of the bee.
Lapping up the early morning sun
Limes threaten to ripen
Withered branches from the olive
Twisting, turning and entwining.
Almonds spring from everywhere
Grapes glisten, turning sweet
Packed into the vine/
Mellowing, yellowing
To become famous wine.
Sun bakes the land and the bread
Has a secret promise with a sugar top.
Chickens are fed from left overs.
The hour of the pearl, the interval
Between day and night
When time stands still examines itself
And turn to dark, the moon clicks
Clouds stick.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 8:24 AM UTC
Knock knock goes the ego
as I sit floating in a calm sea of being
knock knock again; I remain in the chair
“Ignore it” says the voice of inner knowing
quiet whispers, quiet whispers.
Knock knock again insistent is this ego
wanting to come in, join the party
Louder still and the door vibrates
oh to shut it up
this banging this intrusion in my life.
A pause and silence is restored
I regain my equilibrium, feel calm again
a mellowing acceptance in this room of old age
laugh lines on the ceiling, evermore threadbare
windows to the soul misty, dust laden.
Walls less sturdy than before
the room cluttered with memories
some easier to find than others
in the boxes of the past
piled high one on top of the other.
Knock knock again the sound fills the room
stubborn, urgent ego sounds, anxious to be heard
Let me in, I want to be heard, I must be heard
Walk to the door, and reach for the handle
No says the spirit, no says the soul
Leave it, keep the door closed.
Open Up calls the Ego, knocking knocking
spirit says closed, do not answer.
I am trapped, pulled in two
voices in my head, open, close, open, close
knocking, knocking
where to go, where to go
surely there must be another door
for me here.
Knock knock, “May I come in?”
and the door of death creaks, begins to open
welcoming, welcoming.
Malcolm Davidson March 14th 2014
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
Doldrums stuck mind wafting lifelessly in time
Vigiling on what went wrong and was what I did right
Virulent thought’s had left me in reticence
With a wistful face I sat
Her bellowing pulchritude her mellowing soul
Her gleeful eyes her mirthful tone
A face more per fulgent then a thousand glow worms
Time slumbering though; Over turning sand clocks
Slowly perspiration leads to aspiration of love being deplumed
Affectations of love, Affectation of lovers
The infallibility of love, Inane for some profound for others
Smitten by the flaming arrows
Golden years golden times
Soon taking the color of a withered leaf
I have deciphered life, i have deciphered self
I have deciphered everything from rainbow to elf
But no wind so great to create the music in the pipes
It’s the love that comes through
So tell me how came it not come true for you too…
p.s
written on a sleepless night ... pensive and lustfull
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 1:59 PM UTC
I knock on the door, mellowing around the porch
Wondering when the clouds will turn over
With their distant display of arduous flight
Will they fall out of the sky? I wonder
The door opens with clicks and clanks
The seconds have passed and so the sky shatters
Not by some cataclysmic or destructive force
But by the woman operating the barrier
A spectacle of gold catches my eye
Emanating from ten earrings and a nose ring
A greeting that far exceeded my expectations
But a worthwhile one for it is my sister
She greets me warmly and leads me inside
Her Egyptian style hair flapping around her head
I look through the open gateway
And step into the ominous black
Into my old home where fear strikes me
I measure my distance continuously from the door
Each step treading against the cold, white tiles
Hoping the cold and white stays in the ground
Tiny taps welcome my sandals
As little Jeremy's wet nose sniffs my toes
A curious little ferret he's always been
And my sister's favorite furry critter
My sister examines me, reading my expression
Gifting me with peace by assuring me she is not here
I relax at being spared reliving those memories
They were always inflaming or violent
She would battle with me, screaming and fighting
Push me into a chair, claiming "the truth"
Shove a white door into me and my grandmother
Drive me to the point of sprinting away in the night
I'd battle back, fighting and screaming
Defending my will, my right to my being
Holding back against her "loving" strength
Breaking enough to throw a fist at her once
This whirlwind of a home...
"Mami turned over a new leaf, sis. She changed a lot"
My eyes grew wide as I turned to my sister
I could say nothing to the lie but close my eyes
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 2:18 PM UTC
Rain has a beautiful sound
Making its journey to the ground.
A wonderful chorus of hitting leaves,
Sliding down pedals, filling up streams.
It relaxes the soul and the mind
As if all cares are being washed away over time.
It draws you in with its melodic drone,
Easing and mellowing to the bone.
Natures symphony, an operatic song,
A harmonious blend, a child's sing-along.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 11:55 AM UTC