"nacreous" poems
The bag exhales its emptiness.
It has run out of things to give,
only a few husks.
I prop my hand under my chin.
My darling puts her kit on the table
and strings the kernels through.
There were all shades of yellow #5.
America's #1 Finest!
She puts them round her neck,
glistening in tv-light,
that nacreous shell of a necklace.
The white noise plays on.
They start to burst, each one of them,
into a different kind of flower—
daffodils, dandelions, daisies—
it was quite a piece.
My hands are so close now, trembling,
and I am hungry.
The white noise plays on.
Quickly I ****** at them, ****** into her,
And my hand comes out empty,
only a few husks.
The petals scatter slowly around us.
The bright, yellow sun is crashing,
And so, too, does that crumpled bag
Into the trash, above which hung
My heavy heart, my sweet
And her finest around her neck.
I prop my hand under my chin again.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
a nacreous tossing around at
the sides, a dappled silver
sunlight if looked one way, an
apocalyptic gloam if another,
exhaled from a seeming
mouth, feeding on what has
already eviscerated an unfelt
***** a predator certainly its
own prey, a heat certainly
poison-breath on a cheek
falling when a meretricious
lover spouts that spurious
hypocorism, and also just a
wavering, iridescent puddle—
cornered, soft as a liquid steel
echo of a futile struggle
rolling around, bouncing off
a wine glass, and a porcelain
table edge, while a listening
head shakes, looks down
despondently, gloom glowing
out the hair, a voice jaded
since birth saying some
thing about differences, or a
helpless slender strap of hope
hanging itself on the way two
other eyes look at it across
checkered watered wings, two
swirling god whorls, two
effulgent galaxies the color of
melting pine bole circling
around in living umber striae,
pulling its gaze, raising it, as if
they, they were blazing truth
cased behind lithophane, and it,
only an aporetic puddle now
of tepid ocher, a mild earth
stone placed in a hand, asked
what is thought of it and the
response: yes, yes of course,
before foreign distance splutters
its face, and it retreats from
its meaning imparted to every
thing (with the vulnerable
precision of a swaying finger
tip) to the baby lanugo of a
delicate floating, through
human rills, of what is horizon
docked, dead, not merely
deciduous—forever jilted with
breath bulging as when beating
a flopping eyeless fish to
half-dead, head tilted up a
throat trying to pry itself
free, trying to live by
streaming snagless, airful,
without spirant sound of going
lost straight from the hands—
then a short chop of fullness
finally expunged and sputtering
like an escaped tuft of
shackled wonder soaring up
the sky in a puff and soul ring.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
I am a fly
attracted to your nacreous glow.
Just swat me already.
Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 11:19 PM UTC
You are my once in a Blue Moon;
My Pleiades in the Autumn Sky on the Northern Hemisphere.
I would bridge you closer to Chimera,
I would borrow the shine of the Sirius,
I would shelter you with the Cumulus,
I would spread your colors to Nacreous Clouds,
I would paint you the Aurora,
I would wait for the Total Eclipse for you,
And I'll steal the Neptune's power;
to show you,
I love you till the Sol dies.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
Every night from dusk until dawn
Fantasies of a promiscuous angel
Cradle my heart with great solace
Serenading me with salacious whispers
Originating from the world of the sexually elite
The delectable foundation of this woman's shape
Glided across the majestic incandescence of the moon
Her skin moon bathing in the marvelous afterglow
Her provocative body was like the tree of forbidden fruit
One could simply look but was never allowed touch
Deep inside I was desperately dying to taste
Of the nectarous heaven of her lustful treats
However I inhaled the aroma of her hypnotically ****** scent
For it was airborne and suckering me in with remarkable ease
Injecting me with an elixir of opulent passion and zealous elation
This charming woman gives me taboos of a cutting edge nature
Always leaving me upon my knees crawling back for more
Oh, foxy woman forever you may haunt my fantasies
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 4:43 AM UTC
it's not that special
what i do
because all i do
is put down
words
that sound cool:
nacreous
adulation
effervescence
narcissistic
imbroglio
divine
haphazard
there's no rhythm
in what i say
all i'm doing
is breaking
lines
and adding
s p a c e s
sometimes
(yes, sometimes)
i put my words
(in these)
in things we call parentheses
and sometimes
(yes, sometimes)
i repeat myself
and call it
emphasis
(emphasis)
on occasion
I might rhyme
but that takes thought
and that takes time
cat, hat, bat
late, hate, date
fat, gnat, mat
mate, fate, eight
sometimes syllables
can help your flow sound better
much like a haiku
if i talk about angst
death, love, and self-hate
(cliche topics)
it's deep
but my favorite
poem i ever
wrote
was about bacon
and god forbid
i capitalize
because that would mean
it didn't look artsy
THIS IS NOT OKAY
Neither is this.
no punctuation
at all
people say my poetry
is beautiful
that I follow all the rules
but I didn't know there
were rules
to follow
really all I do
is put random words
random phrases
in random patterns
and call it art
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
He closes his eyes as usual. That starts it.
Gallon blackness against thin skin but split,
Suffused with a million rushed and serene
Shades of purple and sickly, retinal green.
Squares and curves, utterly vertical rounds
Imprinted obsidian spheres, half-sounds.
A vague intimation of abyssal, milk white:
Horizontal paradigms on the coast of sight.
Yes, indeed the whiteness on the horizon
Flutters scop-musical like a lark’s blazon.
How it snatches up the blackness, losing
Clarity of its edge like madmen’s choosing.
It ceases growing yet consumes all within
The poor man’s eyes, traversing the din.
A pure, blank line that is born in the mind
Fills the soul nacreous, leaves him behind.
Goes it beyond him and stretches open.
Straight wide. Too wide. Much too wide!
The teeth he hadn’t noticed crush him dog-brightly
And pull him fast inside.
He opens his eyes as usual. That ends it.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 11:21 AM UTC
Now in
Nature,
Numb and
Naked,
No one
Notices the
Nobility or
Native
Narcissists on their
Nail-biting
Nacreous
Narcotics, but
Never
Neglect the idea of
Naïve
Nobodies with their
Nightly
Niggles,
Nameless and
Nowhere. The
Nocturnal
Nation.
Night's
Nearing.
Nearly
Nationwide,
Nimble
Nebulas form.
Neurotic.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
I feet this heavy sensation thats full of dread
I feel it all around, assuming sleep paralysis
4AM that I started planting subliminal thoughts in my head
Specks like vessels, I had consciously felt before
Struggled against the feeling, a feeling from what I did
I loathe my youth, platonic love, and morbid existence
And there's nothing more candid
Waiting for another chance of life is not right
I'm not like the feckless, like the bandits
Covers may bring sorrow from swive and dives
As long as you’ve got something to say then
It doesn’t matter too much how you say it
Lost, I highly recommend you stay alight
Your jawline against mine is was like...
A wave loudly clashing against a long shoreline
The sillage you had left behind was majestic
You're not like the limpid, like your kindred
Getting rid of your oarless secrets that'll befold
And there's nothing more candid
Glowing white lips that fade
Into silver comely light
Away in a padded close
My paracosm lies prostate
Upon the wings of mine
Upon your ditzy toes
Upon your nacreous face
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
Bright cold silver moon
Staring into the scales - your nacreous eyes
You are my ******
I touch your hair ever so delicately
Why am I filled with torrid logy?
You are my narcotic, you
Unknowingly sew
the lids of my eyes closed
Cross-stitched phosphenes of your face
under my eyelids
I am overcome with a voracious thirst
to drink you, or the glass of moonshine
balanced precariously on your lips
Everything is better when my being
splinters, fractures, and crumbles into your lap
Moonshine, take us to the cosmos tonight
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
your nacreous eyes
deep luscious blue as ever
they calm me
like the calm in a hurricane
they perforate into my soul
i cannot resist
a warble escapes my l i p s
when you look at me
with those iridescent eyes
my heart does pirouettes
i break into a form of e cs t a c y
i cannot hold no longer
i am in need of your k i s s
(b.d.s.)
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
But one of the times,
the lake
s w allo w e d us when we’d been
reckless, swore too hard, acted out, it
gobbled
us
up with its ‘YOU’s and its ‘CEDE’s
!
On cursed days,
I wake up
!!
I caught a glimpse of your face as we drowned,
nacreous skin over your willow tree bones, you,
weren’t looking at me, you
may have been dead
!!!
Still, you ossificate as you rust
and spill at me with unintentional toxins,
continue to quote Bradbury, self-comatize with rain-
tainted sunsets and suffocating darknesses
!!!!
Of course it’s unjust
That I must adhere to these chains of flesh,
marinate in my own foamed misdoings
!!!!!
*******
!!!!!!
I will be whole again
I will be whole again
I will be whole again
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC
How long
must I
remain strong
Before my
Opalescent dreams
Teem down
upon my daily scene
and memories turn
Nacreous
with the apathy for what was
and empathy for what is
I'm not asking
for a clock
Just a dinner bell
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
better that the dome of night shiver
below sinful seraphim, their nacreous orbs fuming laws inferred,
epiphany pooling like molten steel
in the tarnished bloodstream of a lone truck bed,
besainting dearth as chrism oil,
alluding that running became sacrament,
that being torn asunder was a humility,
than to lie dumb beneath haughty asterisms
seeking evasive sonants on steamy glass,
where “love” thawed like an eidolic oath,
and i, benighted author of crave, parrot
your rebirth as if invoking an evensong,
loath to forsake the vow of your dawn,
because to conceive oblivion would be the true heresy.
Jul 12, 2025
Jul 12, 2025 at 7:53 PM UTC
-1-
“Listen up,” says the dependent
Conch lying in the shallows of home.
“I am full of cold air and hot waves;
Hold me up, and we will vibrate!”
-2-
The sand palace above provides a
Beneficent confessional for bivalves.
In the distance, but not far, are the
remnants of rusty pails and shovels.
-3-
A drone flies over, dropping its cargo
Of earthworms for the hungry snails.
There is little sound at all, even the
Habitat of the birds has been silenced.
-4-
The conch is aware of its potential,
Its nacreous offspring are valued.
If its luster fails to please, it can be
Traded as Triton’s magic trumpet.
-5-
Up and down the dunes, as far as
The eye can bear, lie the moribund.
Once the mayor and prophet to
Sea creatures, the conch now dies.
-6-
Flash forward, the anthropologist digs
Up deflated volley ***** snow-cone
Wrappers, ragged beach towels and
Half-empty bottles of sunscreen.
-7-
The morning newspaper reads:
“President declares state of emergency.
“Marine life biologists meet at Harvard,
Price of fish increases 50 percent.
© Lewis Bosworth, 3, 2017
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC