"minatory" poems - Hello Poetry

I walk down the street whisked by the fragrant aroma of a ***** floating above the clouds Encased in venom but dismantled plumes of disembodied hair gave her a shroud I saw in her minced reflection the swindled lust of a happy conclusion To years of isolated rebarbative delusion To serenade with penultimate swaggers as though I have been fully swooned Too soon to aim my praise at an adoring moon Tugging on mutual hearts entwined with the summer breeze Trying to garner the summer heir and the summer flair A panache to clothe every armed bear, disarmed by a propitiated care A crisp lament crashes the party as a heckler gouging for blindness I clinch a ****** anger as a riotous engine crafted from wineskins Belonging to an ageless agelast scurried in dismay I warp the warbled marble sleet a craven disarray Then I clamber, risqué in fleeting moments a criminal repartee I wallop the emerging consensus as the 16th hands me over dumped tea And a ****** tree laughs as the whitewashed sanity of sanitarium ****** I swerve away from the indecency of a pepper enclosed in chosen wax A gibbous shackle crumpled on a concrete semaphore An erratic blithe minatory metaphor Saturnine clout sweeps the dusty apron from the desuetude of homespun lethargy Rampant clovers distilled from a dreamscape a raspy sea Trespassing whisper surmounts the lambent alpenglow of a newborn sun A sleek potter’s spell encumbered by a lapsed pun Doors ajar and vats wed with an aimless spar I finally see the fullness of majesty adorned as a breathing star.

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Jun 30, 2016

Jun 30, 2016 at 7:42 AM UTC

iamslegend233

Moonshine Tide

I walk down the street whisked by the fragrant aroma of a ***** floating above the clouds Encased in venom but dismantled plumes of disembodied hair gave her a shroud I saw in her minced reflection the swindled lust of a happy conclusion To years of isolated rebarbative delusion To serenade with penultimate swaggers as though I have been fully swooned Too soon to aim my praise at an adoring moon Tugging on mutual hearts entwined with the summer breeze Trying to garner the summer heir and the summer flair A panache to clothe every armed bear, disarmed by a propitiated care A crisp lament crashes the party as a heckler gouging for blindness I clinch a ****** anger as a riotous engine crafted from wineskins Belonging to an ageless agelast scurried in dismay I warp the warbled marble sleet a craven disarray Then I clamber, risqué in fleeting moments a criminal repartee I wallop the emerging consensus as the 16th hands me over dumped tea And a ****** tree laughs as the whitewashed sanity of sanitarium ****** I swerve away from the indecency of a pepper enclosed in chosen wax A gibbous shackle crumpled on a concrete semaphore An erratic blithe minatory metaphor Saturnine clout sweeps the dusty apron from the desuetude of homespun lethargy Rampant clovers distilled from a dreamscape a raspy sea Trespassing whisper surmounts the lambent alpenglow of a newborn sun A sleek potter’s spell encumbered by a lapsed pun Doors ajar and vats wed with an aimless spar I finally see the fullness of majesty adorned as a breathing star.

25

She’s a flower of burned dirt with pale and bony legs - her emaciated thighs etched with scars. She’s been cutting to the music of an inner, minatory choir - a song of spite-filled sorrow and perpetual farewell. Christmas in the shadows the hopeless hollow-days in the kind of barren places where our savior made his way. The angels mark your passing and they understand your pain - when the roll is called in heaven seraphim will speak her name.

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Dec 11, 2021

Dec 11, 2021 at 8:26 AM UTC

anaisvionet

the minatory choirs

She’s a flower of burned dirt with pale and bony legs - her emaciated thighs etched with scars. She’s been cutting to the music of an inner, minatory choir - a song of spite-filled sorrow and perpetual farewell. Christmas in the shadows the hopeless hollow-days in the kind of barren places where our savior made his way. The angels mark your passing and they understand your pain - when the roll is called in heaven seraphim will speak her name.

16

Entombed on the outskirts of hero township sits a once Arcadian jewel turned relic its vast wings spread as an eagle but the days of flight long exhausted sullen close-down signs and banners hang minatory from a fractured glass ceiling -- a terminal remainder spots of rain fall thru strewn wreckage along the counters of a fossilized department store inchworms journey down the massive teeth of a frozen escalator descended from the empty heavens creepy crawlers move about remnants of a food court in search of morsels like the droves of holiday shoppers that once haunted this place before betraying it for the shiny new toy across the highway

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Feb 25, 2020

Feb 25, 2020 at 9:14 AM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

Abandoned Shopping Mall

Entombed on the outskirts of hero township sits a once Arcadian jewel turned relic its vast wings spread as an eagle but the days of flight long exhausted sullen close-down signs and banners hang minatory from a fractured glass ceiling -- a terminal remainder spots of rain fall thru strewn wreckage along the counters of a fossilized department store inchworms journey down the massive teeth of a frozen escalator descended from the empty heavens creepy crawlers move about remnants of a food court in search of morsels like the droves of holiday shoppers that once haunted this place before betraying it for the shiny new toy across the highway

27

Nobody knows the the minatory storms that dwell within; or why I remain altruistic continuously reaching for the horizon The quandaries I've shouldered will never define me; my soul too serene for melancholy to blind me These eyes still see the stars even through all these tears; my journey has yielded scars but I no longer wallow in fears Inside me an intrinsic luminous core stowed deep within; never to be darkened never becoming grim Benevolent I will remain my spirit never to be razed; absolved of all my blunders no allegiance to the pain Nostalgia crept in like potent medicine unwittingly fickle heart remembers where my roots begin listening to the voice inside me resurgence of who I am

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Apr 25, 2017

Apr 25, 2017 at 7:07 PM UTC

Phoenix32

Lunar

Nobody knows the the minatory storms that dwell within; or why I remain altruistic continuously reaching for the horizon The quandaries I've shouldered will never define me; my soul too serene for melancholy to blind me These eyes still see the stars even through all these tears; my journey has yielded scars but I no longer wallow in fears Inside me an intrinsic luminous core stowed deep within; never to be darkened never becoming grim Benevolent I will remain my spirit never to be razed; absolved of all my blunders no allegiance to the pain Nostalgia crept in like potent medicine unwittingly fickle heart remembers where my roots begin listening to the voice inside me resurgence of who I am

6

My depression had become hypostatized. What had once been an apathetic disquiet That trapped me in a chasm of my own despondent mind Like a listless anesthetic Was now a minatory wraith. Haunting my every heartbeat and permeating my sanity, Feasting on my solicitude and Lusting for any coruscant yet scarce threads of faith That held my hope together. Like an avarice. This assault on my being enervated me. Paralysis. Coupled with sporadic bursts of frenzied nerves. When I felt that insidious gnawing on my humanity, Sending spasms along sinew. Brutally awakening this cadaver from the endless malaise. I used to dance in the wind, but never like the others. Branches heavy, Floriferous with empathy, Roots delving deep to drink in the truth, Trunk dense to defy the gale of calamity. Lost inside the thicket of deciduous oak, I danced against the others, Against my brothers. Accursed willow. I wept as the winds tore at my blossoms And the worms nibbled at my feet. My river went dry. My knees went weak. Infernal rampike. I mused bitterly that if a tree should ever fall in the forest, Not even his brothers would give audience to his demise.

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May 24, 2017

May 24, 2017 at 3:38 PM UTC

Jopal

Ramblings of a Bleeding Willow

My depression had become hypostatized. What had once been an apathetic disquiet That trapped me in a chasm of my own despondent mind Like a listless anesthetic Was now a minatory wraith. Haunting my every heartbeat and permeating my sanity, Feasting on my solicitude and Lusting for any coruscant yet scarce threads of faith That held my hope together. Like an avarice. This assault on my being enervated me. Paralysis. Coupled with sporadic bursts of frenzied nerves. When I felt that insidious gnawing on my humanity, Sending spasms along sinew. Brutally awakening this cadaver from the endless malaise. I used to dance in the wind, but never like the others. Branches heavy, Floriferous with empathy, Roots delving deep to drink in the truth, Trunk dense to defy the gale of calamity. Lost inside the thicket of deciduous oak, I danced against the others, Against my brothers. Accursed willow. I wept as the winds tore at my blossoms And the worms nibbled at my feet. My river went dry. My knees went weak. Infernal rampike. I mused bitterly that if a tree should ever fall in the forest, Not even his brothers would give audience to his demise.

32