"mystery" poems
i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
Alive
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon
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Sitting in some car in a forgotten parking lot
Grey marks the skies
Lush green plants peeping in
The wildlife of concrete and paint makes the perfect background
For
Little ***** of liquid heaven falling on my windscreen
And some music to complete the scene
Each guitar line synchronises with each raindrop
Each blast of power thunder hits hard like heavy metal
But the soft clouds, the gentle ebb and flow lull me to sleep
Whispering, persuading me to dream
But I really don't want to miss this shard of time
I never want to lose little moments like these
A silver raindrop is born by landing on my car
Crash landing, rather
The bubbling pocket of mystery travels down
Swerving and slamming into other fellow pockets in crime
It's life cycle completes when it reaches the bottom
It races to it's death, unable to stop gravity's plan for it
Each drop morphs into another, making a wave
The rain weaves an intricate web of waves
All strutting their sparkly magic before me
I sense a metaphor for humanity creeping in
Millions of crescendos growing about
Too concerned with their internal politics to worry about others
But I stay focused on the beauty all around
I wonder if heaven has rainy days
If so, this must be one of them
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 12:28 PM UTC
Like the heavens and the skies
Like the deep seas so wide
When I am confident and true
When I have faith in you
Colour me blue, colour me blue
Like the royals of Great Britain
Like the noble in truth and ambition
In my wisdom, dignity and pride
In my mystery and grandeur so wise
Colour me purple, colour me purple
Like fire and blood
Like the intensity of a flood
In my strength and passion
In my desire, love and emotion
Colour me red, colour me red
Like the warmth of the tropics
Like the sun, my daily tonic
When I am determined and creative
When I am happy and attractive
Colour me orange, colour me orange
Like a smile so warm
Like joy even in a storm
When I am cheerful and happy
In my intellect, when I am savvy
Colour me yellow, colour me yellow
When I am all these and more
When I am despised or adored
With the colours of the rainbow
With the colours that make me glow
Colour me colours, colour me colours
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC
There's a peculiar kind of beauty that can only be experienced
with the innate knowledge that the moment is fleeting
and the most intense beauty can only be seen in
the presence of both light and shadows.
For it’s often in the loss of a thing
that its worth to us becomes
most precious and by
letting it go with
grace we can
best savor
its purest
delights.
Realizing
that the pain
runs so deep only
because the beauty ran
so deep and that without
it having once touched us we
wouldn't now know the emptiness
of its loss, our grief will eventually turn to
thankfulness that it ever touched us at all, and
we will be left awed by the mystery of its haunting.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
Her allure
is intoxicating.
As irresistible as
her fragrance,
asphyxiating.
Hypnotic stare,
Anticipating
her mystery
writing my history
as her body language
seduces me.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
#*It's delight which flows without measure
from the assurance that through every circumstance
and detail of my life God is ever beckoning and drawing me
into deeper intimacy with Himself, ever whispering to my heart,
“Come closer still.”
Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.
It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.
There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
He will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.
And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.
Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.*#
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
In the digital l-and
We l-ive in
Mistakenly automatic
One pointing at a chest of tools
Eyes on i
No soul can tell a part a weakling metal
Robots robbing robbers rich
T-error terrifying t-errorists
Artist gods and goddesses
Sharing platform to unleashed gifts
Mint hue bubbles squeak
Fizzy dizzy violet haze
World head to toes spins
Any day it spins coins in change
A quiet girl is sinister
Siren of mystery or future
Robot is your mirror
Peach chin with teeth filter
No innocence and glitter litter
Guilty until proven the latter
A quiet girl a terrorist
Error mouths terror twist
Terrorist from the orient
They hide in between every end
Disguises they cover in
Racist as problem solving
Smile girl watch
A fake smile and eyes
Skin of steel so is her
Heart made alloy
How it blazes to the touch when heated
Oh it bites fingertips as it's cold
Hair resting on the curve of her spine
A woman's hair only breaks if it tries to grow
What she said
Tell me if you can tell us a part
Warning tears borne from her crooked eyes
Robot and soul
Terrorists from t-errorists
No soul knows either
Tattoos or memory shall identify you
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 4:21 AM UTC
The woman makes a house the home
and fills the man's horizontal spread with dreams.
Four walls can’t hold a woman inside
she is veiled but not tied!
The arch in her back hits the mark
virtually dwarfs the pyramid dwarfs the sunup.
The light at the end of the tunnel here is love.
Her inner mystery is her paintbrush.
The colour on her canvas
is a far cry from the rainbow.
It doesn’t fade nor falls on the floor
keeping it up the time lingers on.
Every star here from far and near
feels at home with a mirror!
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.
This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.
This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision
And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
For a chance of sunshine.
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 8:21 PM UTC
Your love is algebra
I can't find the formula
If I could find the right calculator,
I could define your euphoria.
Your love is geometry
I can't find the angles
If I could prove your theories,
It wouldn't be a shambles.
Your love is trigonometry
I can't figure it out
If I spent an entire notebook, perhaps
I'd still have doubts.
Your love is a mystery
Just as the greatest math
Although worth much,
Seems irrelevant to my path.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
Sunset is a pretty thing, so bathed in mystery,
And yet it is the saddest thing, when drenched with memory,
Sodden sunset soak the tears,
That fall so endlessly,
Silent sunset take my hand, and bring me down with thee.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
Stopped at a red light,
Looking down the hill,
We wait to take flight,
We wait for the thrill.
Riding the green light wave,
Riding the small bumps and holes,
My bike and I roll down the way,
My bike and I roll as one soul.
The wheels turn quicker and quicker
While the air flies past like sweet sound.
My bike light continues to flicker,
While together we, in our music, are drowned.
There's a level of trust between us two,
We listen to each other and feel as one.
And yet there's a sense of mystery that we pursue,
That of machine and man having fun.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
Vaginas are all shapes & sizes
Not many vary from the fold
there are very few surprises
Seems nature's gone & set it's mould
But the ****** has such allure
A pull on man to lesbian alike
A calling so strong and pure
Enough to turn a straight girl ****
Is it the promise of warmth & touch
A memory of a time inside
The scent of our matriarch's crotch
Draws us to those legs held wide?
It was nature's way of ensuring
The human race continues on
So that our presence here's enduring
Never ceasing. On & on
Instinct has been subject to a ploy
To harbour this hypnotic power
Sell it back, a high class toy
Put to work this delicate flower
Control the basic urge of man
The essential need to drink & eat
Once you create the ultimate fan
Then the surplus you do deplete
Until it feels that a simple look
Purchased, from a few feet away
Is as good as one hard ****
Copulation they do delay
And so vaginas became a mystery
Sold back to all who do desire
Remember to look back in history
The vaginas are for more than hire
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
Block by block
I delve down
is it iron?
is it gold?
or only gravel and stone
toiling with pick and shovel
I dream obsidian spires
towering 190 blocks above the shore
I dream wheat fields
and cow pens
nestled amidst rolling hills
I dream discovery
mystery
exploration
but before these
there must be iron
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
yesterday’s hope is a mystery
walking a hidden line
I hold tight in my throat
with beauty raging in a torrent
below me, tell me when to release
as my faith cascades over
this roaring masquerade
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
People stare at me with confused eyes
They ask to know where my secret lies
They wonder where I found my gait
They love the way I articulate
The softness of my arms
My captivating youthful charm:
This is my woman
The woman I have become
All these and more, are my woman
I walk with a quirky poise
People whisper, and it's a delightful noise
The smile on my lips
The curve of my hips
They say I've always been this cool
But honey, do not be fooled:
This is my woman
The woman I have become
All these and more, are my woman
They see fire in my eyes
They say I'm for keeps 'cause I'm a prize
There is a grace in my vibes
Something good to imbibe
The warmth I bring
The joy I bring:
This is my woman
The woman I have become
All these and more, are my woman
There is something about me
How did I come to be?
The reason behind my womanly pride
The reason for my sedate stride
My aura, as that of a beloved emperor
My shoulders high like that of a conqueror:
This is my woman
The woman I have become
All these and more, are my woman
They say I am a mystery
There's definitely more to me
In the stillness of my mind
In the presence of my kind
I become more of the woman I am meant to be
The best of me you are yet to see:
This is my woman
The woman I have become
All these and more, are my woman
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 3:29 AM UTC
If you ask me to describe him,
where will I start?
I can’t possibly fathom my thoughts into words
and turn him into a description of art.
But I can try my best,
try to pick him apart.
Describe him in words,
perhaps in four different parts.
I’d start with volcanoes
for he’s just like one.
Where his touch feels like lava,
but surprisingly calm.
Up next are earthquakes,
since his heart is one.
It makes the world shake
causing me to run.
Third would be hurricanes,
since his mind is one.
He’s a drug I should abstain,
that makes me come undone.
Last would be forests,
since he’s full of secrets.
Hiding and waiting,
to be uncovered by none.
He’s a mystery,
yet someone I trust.
He is impossible to describe,
and rarer than pixie dust.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
She's in the kitchen
(close the door)
just mixin' up some metaphor;
a true conundrum
through and through
and through to me and thus to you.
Her humble hunger
(forest's slumber)
thunders 'neath a wilting tune;
tuned to too many
to count without
a thought within.
She must profess
(but shall confess)
to any who will listen;
closely she holds
a tragic history
mostly mystery to most.
She solves my soul
(I deny that hole)
which she still fills;
overflowing always
with such unrelenting joy
that is My Love.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
sometimes,
i like to dance
with the devil
burning eyes upon me
in hypnotic dazzle
my toes easily
sweep away inhibitions
quieting my angelic
voice's suspicions
as whispered words
brush thine ear
my entranced ego
has no fear
endangering
as it may be
our bodies entanglement
appears free
with soaring thoughts
of ecstasy
we ebb and flow
in ****** mystery
seduced in music
playing rhythmically
ecstatically,
i dance willingly
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
‘To bed! To bed!’
Said Sleepy-head;
‘Tarry awhile,’ said Slow;
‘Put on the pan,’
Said Greedy Nan;
‘We'll sup before we go.’
(from Mother Goose)
They sat at the kitchen table as
The candle flickered low,
And Greedy Nan put on the pan
To indulge her sister, Slow,
While Sleepy Weepy Annabelle
Blotted her book with tears,
And thought of her Beau from long ago
Who she hadn’t seen for years.
‘Why doesn’t Roger notice me,
Why doesn’t Alan Dell?
I’m wearing the dress cut low for me
And I’ve hitched my skirt as well.
I’ve a pretty turn to my ankle, so
You’d think it would drive them wild.’
‘But men are a mystery,’ said Slow,
‘And Alan Dell’s a child.’
While over the pan stood Greedy Nan,
Was cracking a turkey’s egg,
A lump of yeast and a slice of beast
And a single spider’s leg.
With a wing of bat and an ounce of fat
And a toe of frog for the spell,
She needed to turn her sister off
From her crush on Alan Dell.
For Greedy Nan was the eldest girl
And would have to marry first,
The other two would wait in the queue
Or their fortunes be reversed,
The omelette sizzled, and in the pan
She added before they saw,
A piece of some Devil’s Trumpet plant
For the mating game meant war.
She sliced the omelette into half
And she served them up a piece,
‘Didn’t you want?’ said Annabelle
But Slow enjoyed the feast.
‘I’m not that terribly hungry now
I’ve cooked it up in the pan,
I think I’ll just have a slice of bread,’
Said the scheming Greedy Nan.
They finished up and they sat awhile,
And they mused about their fate,
‘If Greedy Nan isn’t married soon,
For us it will be too late.’
‘I’ve set my sights on a country squire,’
Said Nan, without a blink,
Lured them away from her secret fire
To confuse what they might think.
‘The room is woozy, spinning around,
I’d better get me to bed,’
Said Annabelle, while Slow with a frown
Saw Dwarves dancing in her head.
But Greedy Nan was cleaning the pan
To clear all signs of the spell,
Her back was turned to her sisters, spurned
For the sake of Alan Dell.
And when he came in the morning
Greedy Nan was sat by the door,
While Annabelle and her sister Slow
Were lying dead on the floor,
‘I didn’t mean it to **** them, Al,
It was only a simple spell,’
But as he cuffed and led her away
He frowned, did Alan Dell.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
1400
What mystery pervades a well!
That water lives so far—
A neighbor from another world
Residing in a jar
Whose limit none have ever seen,
But just his lid of glass—
Like looking every time you please
In an abyss’s face!
The grass does not appear afraid,
I often wonder he
Can stand so close and look so bold
At what is awe to me.
Related somehow they may be,
The sedge stands next the sea—
Where he is floorless
And does no timidity betray
But nature is a stranger yet;
The ones that cite her most
Have never passed her haunted house,
Nor simplified her ghost.
To pity those that know her not
Is helped by the regret
That those who know her, know her less
The nearer her they get.
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A sound was heard at my
garden door
A feathered smudge found upon it
There she lay in frightened
trembling dismay
A giant knelt ...
yet still towering above her
He reached out and touched
her pounding heart
Then cupped her warmth
in his hand
She stayed awhile until
she could smile
At the kindly human mystery
This love they shared
is uncommonly rare
She knew she could be freed
Before she flew
she whispered a song she knew
into the gentle giant’s beard :
“I cannot make you happy
You're a wounded Bird like me ―
be Free...
you must find the strength to Fly”…
"A Bird in your hand
is worth two in the bush ―
Come fly away with me"...
March 2012 © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC
I cannot pick a color
I love more
Each is thrilling
and some seem
the breath of life to all the rest
I loved my crayons
They became my escape
from misery
the contrast to any given day at school
Any excuse to use them all
or just one
to avoid that lowest reading group
the monstrosities of math
If I couldn't sing it
there were no letters in the alphabet
I could not tell you A from Z
But you see--
That day was
purple!
That was all that mattered
I loved its richness and its depth
its mystery
its royalty
King Midas would have liked it, I was sure
almost a religion
Vestments of the priest
in the times of expectation
It is the explanation for
the last of day
As a five-year-old
I drew my love for purple
Passionate
and outside all the lines-- off onto the desk
I was so proud!
But--
Miss Platt, so horrified
asked,
What is it
I was trying to do?
I didn't know....
I was suddenly ashamed
and frightened too
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC
A halo of transfigured light.
spanned the hills and autumn gold
of scores of aspen groves
basking in the morning sun.
But what is this thing we call a rainbow?
For all our science talk of vapor,
refraction and angle of the sun
we surrender still in willing captivity
to its beauty, mystery and myth.
Rainbows beguile by their fleeting rarity
as ephemeral as life itself -
temporal blessings suspended in time
unintended and undeserved,
spectral bridges between here and there -
between what is and what should be.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 9:11 AM UTC
Goodnight green eyes,
Your dreams await you in Silver-Lined skies,
Dreams of dragons, and fairies, and me,
and hopefully just a touch of mystery.
The sliding colors slipping silently through silky seas,
gliding gracefully over gallant gull wings,
whisking you away with a gentle breeze.
You see dragons and pirates,
fairies and gypsies,
tricksy little gnomes,
and flamboyant pixies,
you see them all tucking away,
hiding in there homes as their thoughts start to stray.
and as you glide gracefully over the sea,
your thoughts start to wonder what tomorrow will be,
will there be adventures or heart ache and loss,
or maybe even a romp through the moss,
you might not know now,
but theres something you do,
that someone you love,
is waiting for you.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC