"neroli" poems
ˇ
Bubble, Bubble, Head and Phone
Drop it all:
~
You
Thee
Thine
self
Thor
my
self A
sovereign
ruler
Freya
Smashing
Ontogenetics
O, Odin !
Grace of Celestial
Sobriety
is
To Dive
The surface, energizing
Below
Immorttelle
T
Love
Scented
Neroli
Rose blushes ~ Rose Bushes
Flashes
Appear
All
over
Thou Faces
I
Expressions
Get away with the old Kneipp
Get along
With it
easily
Snow sleet Crystal
Degrees
Uwwaaaaaaahoooo
uuuu
"Boing"
Bubbling Boiling
Magma *******
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
Goodnight anthropocentrism—
Mitochondria swim in your stardust
But Contraverse awakens on the
Frontiers of the Valerian Kingdom
At the gnarled staff of the Oil Sage
Taking root between the Earth’s furrows
Springing forth fountains of sweetest Nard
The Jewel of Jatamansi emerges glistening green
In it the eye of the beholder finds the
Seeds of a once forbidden dream
Germinating in the juices of this Gem
Out of it the silent roar of a thousand fields pressing
Aromatic oceans through bursting buds
Of Lavender pagodas rapturously trumpeting forth
Framed by stacks of soft sweet musky Sage
Broad and leathery like elephant’s ears
Curtained with a soft cascade of Orange blossom snow
The sweet kiss of Neroli on your brow
Imbibing the senses with paralyzing pungency
Tangling tendrils to heartstrings
And pulling us beneath Rosewater pools
Floating breathlessly ensconced in a dream
Primordial songs whispering wordlessly,
“Wake whenever you’re ready . . .”
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
There was an orchard
lemon trees as far we could see
a memory of neroli flowered breeze
I was running in the scented rows of yellow
in a dream, you were always catching me
ever the days, when sunlight seemingly chased the moon away
there in a school, where we lingered in the sweetest lessons
of our lives and trees
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
open my chest if you want to see the rod of heaven's river, while it strains in its bed,
where the white roses swim…
The hunger for beauty created canyons of longing for a quantum of moment.
Again leaving is telling me thunder as melodeon, quiver of veins and bones,
while I come to Thy meeting embarrassedly hide life's broken toy, buried in human darkness; Alas you know my pains, tears in blood percolated as black pressed grapes
While I swirled in the whirlpool of “I”-s, seeking for the spark of the of Your sight
Remained deaf for the multitude of “THEM”, and the multitude of “US”
The moon is full, the moonlight feeds me while I listen lullabys of Gabriel
To sleep the thirsty souls; the starmist flirts to my appearance as it wishes to drop its mercy, at the pain caused by human poison.
These words are arguments of the Threshold of the other side where the describable forms and the audible voices disappear, and the tongue knotted in nine knots.
The eye is stopping the sight to store its image in my consciousness.
Behold oh…”I” of the “US” while we rejoice within the White Roses and while we lick the pearly dews at dawn, and we smell the distant Neroli at dusk
While we celebrate life as cosmic minute that lasts for eternity and a day more.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 7:29 AM UTC
I find bits of poetry in my bed.
Who left them there?
They smell of neroli and wax...
Are they not missed?
They are not particularly beautiful or true...
They speak of a lonliness,
the impression of my spine,
My heels lightly digging in,
Of a passion my bed once thought it knew.
They tell me how the rattling of my bedframe (like cold bones)
is only my constant readjustment,
The facing and de-facing of my world.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 8:08 PM UTC
My Lady Ophelia of the Golden Fleece.
With hair spun by the Sahara Sun
and alabaster skin. Eyes of indigo
flames and lips that have the
pop of the poppy. Her lush
body fitted in emerald
enchantments and
threaded
silver thistles.
See her sailing by the
moonlight on an ethereal sea,
upon her ship, the Tears of Joy.
The Emperor's Butterfly in her hair
with shining wings of gossamer threads.
Oh! I marvel the twilight afterglow
kiss her skin, making her a peach
rose. From her carnelian cup,
she sips the nectar -
moscato sweet.
Her first sip was of
gumdrops, then roses,
and after that, the more. Salty
tears from a mermaid's cheek, the
whispers of wisteria, the laughter of
springberries, the kisses of sweet neroli
and the tartness of plum toffee. She
passes by Aegean Ruins, her
secret retreat upon the
White Cliffs
that is west of
the moon. The beauty of
this lost history is as soft and
deep as an angel's sigh, with its
enchanting mist like graceful tendrils.
The shadows of the Black Hills bloom. She
coats herself in a cloak of midnight and
she descends down, setting foot
ashore. She walked down
the winding road of
burnt orchids
and lavender sands.
She had heard whisperings
of an unfound door and the Dream-
weavers of the Sable Heart. And so she
wanders... passed the midnight trees and their
sad serenades. The chill of sea ice and the
sharpness of pewter buds. The mist
dances. It twirls. Pirouettes.
Arabesques.
It circles and hisses.
Circles and hisses. Circles
and hisses! And there it was, the
unfound door made of crystal shadows.
Lady Ophelia of the Golden Fleece, extends her
hand and holds the **** She twists and
enters...
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC