"palatial" poems
Nearly home.
The bed
And the slippers grow ever closer.
A memory of things that give comfort seem palatial,
Euphoric in the mind's eye,
Though I do seem to ponder of its romanticized reality
Memories always seem so warm.
In reality,
The things that hold others close are affirming.
Love,
Shared events
Symbiotic empathy,
But given the current state...
The boring,
The mundane,
The trivial and the tedious that makes the most of a lifetime
Are omitted from the mind.
But why not have a memory full of nothing but the nothingness of life?
The train rides?
Waiting for the toaster to splay its insides
So I can feast on its wonderful toasty goodness?
Talking to the tenant who does not understand
That a bouncing leg
And constant time updates are signposts to **** off?
Empty the files of my brain
And fill it with the moments of nothing.
These moments and these alone
Are your true self.
if you are a good person
Is not determined by
How many charities earn your pay
Or how many items stored,
What you are is chosen by the lonely,
The solitary,
The Tigress.
Only when you accept that person,
You are happy
And free.
But don't hold your breath.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
The Lego men.
Sat in the toy box playing with their bricks.
Johnnie the little fella took them out to play
Daddy put a board in the garden just upon the patio.
What was just a piece of ply grew before Johnnie's eye.
He tipped them out onto the board.
Went inside to fetch a drink and get a spot of near noon brunch.
A thriving hive of industry, was hidden in his plastic box.
He came back outside and all was built.
Castles and gardens, palatial palaces.
The Lego men had built a perfect village.
Nobody knew they could.
Just a little shocked.
His little sister Jennifer, she hid behind the garden wall.
It wasn't the work of the miraculous Lego men after all.
Who would ever have believed that the toys came out to play.
(C) Livvi
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
Draped in fresh-knitted pearls
we traipsed
into saccharine peach orchard
The summer heat loped about our dew-kissed ******
****** - appropriated from dawn spent on neatly shorn plantation grass
Ambling into the knotted palatial arbor
we sat each in our own tree crux
behinds nestled upon ashen bark
Juice dripping in our grip
down our cast nets of flesh
sprawled about the branches
inset with gravity-defying liquescent orbs
dusted in translucent mink
painted with smears of
citrine, coral, amber, and ichorous
clinging to brass stem
The rondures secede to mandible
taut between palms pull and polished ivories
- torn-
Fluent in dulcet discourse
We cloak ourselves in provocative juice tatting
Until such time that our congealing garments
were found mapping the bark's topography
A saccharine map to the breath of soil
Bloodstone ants found our map
and had begun traversing - portent
to seize our treasure
We surrendered our jewelled cages
and took flight
to the sun-drunken lake to bathe
and swim
until heavy lids kissed moistly
heavily supped on the draught
sleep - beckoned transience
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
A palatial forest,
Full of verdure only to be seen under
The Lucent celestial body
Owls stay secluded beneath the
Caliginous shadows,
Tree limbs swerve and waver from the
Fluttering wind.
Pathways scatter across the canvas
Filled with greenery
Vines clamber to the ground,
Fallen leaves lie withered through the earth,
Under the nautical dusk
Thus shows the beauty of a forest at
Night.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
In the ashes of division hope ignited
Unity decided a new fate, in its wake.
My father lived in Chester Road,
Off Ladbrook Grove, eight children
In a tenament flat back to back.
The poverty of the forties are
Now palatial palaces, white pillared.
My father joined the army to escape
To marry and move to Streatham,
South London, to an Edwardian terrace.
Notting Hill, the divided community
Chelsea and Kensington let it happen.
My grandmother moved to a new town
And this year we all watched on TV
Grenfell burn as an inferno in the dark.
Love Mary
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
Laughter at the pirate ship wreck
Incarcerated alibi.
Self-doubt and enemy envy.
Post neurosis mental chariot waiting patient set to test and task the palatial steel ballast.
Starting to startle itself awake according to twilight reporting recognized first and focused lazily to be remembered later for the first half percent.
Decent decline descending darkness ascending atoms attending arson. Gallant grey nose for cold weather bubbling wound **** streak pillow.
Plain sight eyes glazing reminiscent veteran folded over beer bottle drunk at home the unknown soldier.
Spirit spear piercing glowing nexus weightless flying high shadows vacant samurai clutch in an adjacent basement.
Bleeding bone fractured paper homes manufactured homeless jeering platelet picked and cast like a rune on your first born baby blanket.
Hallow, heated, grave displayed, and looped backwards.
Happy fishing!
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
It's stories above where the butterflies rustled,
Whirring between the lights in aeolian bustle.
I'm smiling spritely at a neon halo,
While my organs writhe in jacqueminot El Niño.
Wading the nightscape with a glitched simper,
I could not change nor attempt to tinker,
Just breaching the moments passing to linger.
Fingers, then palms, then lips, then black,
Then for a few seconds the world collapsed.
A breath, a sip, some wit, I'm back.
Shed the murky vision of captive cataracts.
And now,
The sylph saunters in epitomized elegance,
And I've buckled on the inside to the resonant reverence.
I follow the fragrance in her wake as paralyzed sedatives,
And anything I might say could only lack eloquence.
Then magnanimous mantras attract exact,
It seems way down the rabbit hole I've finally met my match.
There's a mesh of flesh, a smooth caress,
Then I wake and realize these were not visions yonder death.
Particles of my brain erupt,
I can't explain away the unfading elation of touch.
Every pose palatial down to the pixels,
I'd gaze deep in the sheen of her mind gleaming as crystals.
Her eyes open like daybreak in flashes,
Sunstreaks glint over the horizon of her lashes.
There's morning songbirds behind the taste of coffee,
I think she's figured I'm just a well decorated softy.
Unveiling my most human of contentions stripped to the eclipse of logic,
My former self laughs in tones pitched sardonic.
Euphorically strumming at gossamer heartstrings,
Etched in the fabric as sakura carvings.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
looked at you for too long
and then i realized
you are human, too
fallible
uncertain
flawed
piously pined for
palatial splendor i
placed in my dreams of you,
imperfect you
and it's no ones fault
a figure headed facade
fabricated by figments
of my frivolous imagination
put you on a pedestal
made you divine
made you holy
you, the ceiling
high above my head
and i, looking up
in the sistine chapel
untouchable
untarnished
couldn't see the cracks
beneath the varnish
then, close enough to study
a faint fresco with critical eyes
fantasy faded in the fault lines
of your frowning face
looked for too long
until i realized
you were just as broken as me
a collection of shattered pieces
shrouded and shy
once a shrine
now a shriek
wide eyes on you
a sinner, still
i called you sacred
ignoring the nature of
the irreverent, the profane
liked the luster
of longing lingering
on my lips
when i breathed your name
the veil torn
the truth beheld
and you are not god
gambling grief and
gleaming gloom
thought i could be
the sun to your moon
majesty to malignancy
momentarily merciful
moreover cruel
monstrous mr monsoon
after all, human, too
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 8:43 PM UTC
.
The Ancient of the Days,
can you see what he is wearing,
Cardinal shoes made of children’s skin
wrung out from the veins
Last drop of blood that remains
overflowing tankers
Come through the secret bunkers
Descend to the underground
To the cities of gold
The gardens in diamonds adorned
Hotels palatial
Death camps infernal
Where thousands of children abducted
Cry in the clutches of the devil
They will invite you to dine
Pour adrenalin into your wine
Baby roast on the menu
Bones burning in the fireplace just for you
They will forever be returning
Rejuvenated with blood, rejoicing
to walk among men in shoes of cardinal skin
Stepping over dead bees just the same
Compassion they’ll say is their name
Whilst from those cities underground
From their laboratories
Millions of bacteria and viruses
Are killing your world mercilessly
The poles and icebergs they are melting away
Torrents will bring you to dismay
Tsunami will crumble the cities to ruins
Earthquake will shatter graves and dreams
Everything you have they will turn to dust
Drought will ablaze crops to crust
Of hunger millions will die
Poisons are raining from the sky
To the bones of children cast thy eye
to the bottom of the sea where they lie
look inside the savage eyes,
yearning for demise
gleaming with innocence
of the fallen victims’ cries
The Ancient of the Days can you see
The Heavens are yearning for equity
Without the soul void is poetry
Let the world,
That endures the humiliation silently
Frightened of camps and lethality
- be free.
Saša Milivojev
Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska
www.sasamilivojev.com
Jun 25, 2022
Jun 25, 2022 at 7:21 AM UTC
Originally posted 10-7-13 Deleted repost
Forever standing by a princess trapped in the primative land called "Killer of Dreams".
In you "she" sees that light at the end of tunnel of darkness sent from heaven above.
To you "she" is the sun, the earth and all in the galaxy that's right in your world.
To "she" you are that one of a kind and rare being who is deserving of eternal love.
You sit by shore in palatial abode atop mountain but not part of valley's kingdom,
patient like no other since the creation of man brave descendant of Adam's Eve.
Against odds, "she" finds small rays of light in desolate land filled with raw hate.
Jailer dares only visit desolate place of hate briefly but keeps "she" captive resident.
Sharing life's continuing dance of when will she re-start and if he will stop loving?
Enchanted day(music's fading), "she" will at last finally select life's destined partner.
Burning question; Will it be you handsome brave knight who sits upon his charger?
Unknown! She loves you but "she's" the searcher and seeks what feels right to her.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
Wax myrtles slip
Sideways on bodies-
Their brothers,
Buried beneath fresh soil
Of an ancient Earth,
Mixed amongst
The loblolly pines
That caper with the breeze.
* * * *
Sad nights shift
To dreary days
And ashen clouds
Soak in the light
Until they all
Ignite in flames
And lose their strength
Or will to fight.
They lie alone
In sheets of wind
On beds of air
And thoughts,
And, patiently,
They wait to end
Their lives
And be forgotten.
* * * *
Long after,
We sit and wonder
Whether palatial skies
Will fall like rain
Away from us,
Torrents of dreams
Abandoned
For to sleep.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
In the sea of dawn where all do well, the calm of his people has broken. Once-coddled infants, wrapped in shades, compose the cobble trail beneath their frantic gait. Ruination of palatial temples. Debauchery of the sage who is misshapen, misspoken. The serpentine begets dear tempest in steeplechase of sate. The incalculable herd of vermin across the earth cascade. Eyeless they stream, dripping roses, wont to asylum. Demented, as each ivory beam shatters.
They fall like infants beneath this mad promenade.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
I see you in the sky ,
Far, afar off.
I watch you from the earth,
Far, afar off.
Brightness enlightens the
vicinity from the grip of
elemental forces,
Enveloping the entire arena and
beyond like the mother hen
brooding her children out
of the reach of seducing eyes
of a roaming hawks in the
sky.
Your dome-shaped entity
distinctively standing aloof
like a magnificent rotunda
palatial in the Arabian oasis.
Thirty nights of illumination,
When we spreads our mats
to narrate tale under your
watchful eyes.
When elders recounts narrative
and ancient panorama of
yesteryears.
When we clap,
When we sing,
When we dance
In the womb of your greatness.
Thirty nights of total darkness,
When lanterns endlessly
searches for light to
extinguish darkness,
When the night-callers
terrorizes our quietness,
When the guardsmen work
like wild wolves to fish
out the sons of Belial,
When the night impels babies
to retire to their cradles,
When the wiles of darkness
inculcate an aura of fear into
our minds.
Prolong your circles and
brighten our hope.
You produces light,
You illuminates season.
Your neighbor reigns over
days,
While you control the affairs
of darkness.
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
"O my dearest,
darling, bijou,
*born the silver
worker's daughter*,
"*how so fortunate
mine eyes
to witness thine
palatial wonder*!
"Mine pleasure t'*would
to take hold and
to pick the fruits
among your vine*—
"*the shyest heart
of rose hips what
has pewter cruxes
bold t'shine*!
"*And as eyes and
I pay credit
to a distent,
nearing nimbus*..
"These gem'*nate
tongues b'twine as
oaken staves—
the Brav'ra Lingus*!"
(..she responds,)
*"Mine auburn falls
for thee*, my dove,
but thy fervence, *once
to mine*, abates?"**
"Quite, my dear..
"tho, *ginger trapped
in tantric bond
what's sweetness*, *rare
n'a boon*, belates!"
*"..well*, *then
please use a ******
she said*.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
palatial secret agent moment
lips read off-screen, character
arranged by lifestyle,
slowly fading.
avoided contact verbal ornation
ostented sense of power,
some wit to be attained.
taller than my fist raised,
shorter than conscience
kept thoughts lossless
a human fault portrayed
in flamboyant intricacy.
breathe in fatal.
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 5:41 PM UTC
Through your blue eyes I see it all.
I.
Wasted romantic fantasies.
My heart upon a dish, a knife driven through it.
I met someone with oceans for eyes once before,
But her fair, golden hair turned to vipers, venom dripping from sharpened fangs.
I watched those snakes devour my soul.
While they digested that little broken piece of my existence,
I could feel the blood flowing out of every orifice of my body.
I grew cold.
But that Gorgon only giggled cruelly.
The vipers hissed in time with her poisonous laughter.
Already, my veins were turning black.
I watched her glide away with heart in claw,
As I fell to the cold, hard, unforgiving floor.
To me, the floor whispered,
“There’s no one to catch your fall this time.”
II.
I am a clock without a craftsman.
Hands forever immobile.
Forced to feel time but never realize it flowing by.
Too late.
Always have been, always will be.
I am the Could-Have-Been King.
Being with you, Athena, is almost as bad as being without you.
With you, I see the kingdom I could have had.
I see the godhood I could have attained;
All it would take is one kiss from your divine lips.
Yet I know they do not belong to me.
And so my hands are idle,
As is the rest of my body. My heart. My soul.
You claim that my hands are made of gold,
That I leave gilded fingerprints.
If only you knew how bloodstained they are,
Soiled by a thousand envious dreams.
You would not want these hands upon your face.
They sear my own eye-balls.
III.
All the Meanwhiles, the Never-Weres, the Only-Ifs,
Have taken up residence in my dreams.
They labor to build a perfect city,
Where you and I reign supreme.
Let us sojourn to our ephemeral city, on the moon,
Where we can watch the Earth spin, grow old, and change,
All through the tubes on our television sets.
We shall name the terrestrial river outside our palatial boundaries;
It shall be called Time.
It will be harsh year round on the moon.
The water may never reach our lips,
But at least we would satisfy each other’s thirst.
IV.
Athena, send your owl unto me.
Make me wise.
Make me worthy.
Bid me come, and I shall never falter.
Never again.
Throw that Medusa’s head into the flame of our passion,
And watch with sinister glee as the snakes writhe in agony.
Raise the blessed chalice to my lips,
Let me drink of your glory.
Only send me word,
And you would have me forever.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 11:32 PM UTC
a teeny tiny
whited-out blank space,
the tenuous boundary that separates,
higher man from untamed beast,
so powerful when respected,
the crowning hallmark of human acclamation
we all do wear by right of birth and breathe
you see it right?
that invisible peaceful white
spatial, tiny yet palatial dot that separates
us from rack and ruin,
the mighty differential pause between
in civility and incivility
come not to preach or harangue,
my counsel kept within the
between beats of a mournful drum,
respectfully and slowly banged
each silent separation a prayerful plea,
the inserted peacekeepers of our spoken words,
employ well those powerful pauses that refresh
the speaker and the listener so well
leave behind your
self-righteous disbelief in others' beliefs,
that morphs into no toleration,
an arrogant surety,
that surely the anal-ytical results of
your thoughtful processes,
inevitability correct and brook no resistance
the shrill strumpets
of either side
confidently worship at no church
but to the false gods
of their own mirrored reflection,
who smiles back approvingly
at those who scream the loudest...
outlaw the outrage of your rage,
come to my white clothed table,
put aside the wrath of overbearing,
represent your disparate conclusions
with harmonious, breathable pauses
to reflect and respect
our distinctive and distinguished differences
no one ever lost a reasoned argument
that began with a considered, well tempered
good morning
*what has this to do with
only love poetry?*
***well, everything...for you must love thy neighbor
as you love yourself***
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 9:38 AM UTC
Life would
be quite
worthless and short
If this is
the only
dear life
we
have.
Great
plans just
death can abort
to be
useless
once you
met
your grave.
As for
those who
die young,
in
childhood's
tender
ages
How short
and
incomplete
life
would be
How
unfair and
unlucky if
death's
the end
for them
Besides
life to the
fullest is
eternity.
What
about
those who
born
and die
poor
or those
born deaf, blind or lame
What if
they were
so
doomed
without
any cure
How
unlucky if
resurrection never came!
But a
belief that
there's a
life
after this
could be
of great
consolation and solace
especially
to the
poor
handicapped,
the
shortlived
that they
could
make it up
under heaven's grace!
For the
good one
who is born blind,
In heaven
shall he in
brighter
vision see
And the
goodly
one yet
who
has lost his mind
will in the
afterlife
be as sane
as could be.
The deaf
man with
his balance
of pious
acts
Only the
hereafter
would
compensate
what he
lacks
And that
godly one
born poor
and who
dies poor
could be
of the
richest at
heaven's
door.
In this life
those
who've
been
saintly yet
unable to talk
could
cheer up
to believe
what
heaven
has in stock
For this
world can
be misery,
Heaven's
the place to rock
In this
world at
times
you've
to let
the hawk gawk
Knowing
your
tormentor
in
heaven
shall ye mock.
Thus for a
true happy ever after
for an
abode of mirth and laughter
Work towards thy hereafter
A divine place devoid of disaster!
O' God therefore after my death and demise
Do place me in a peaceful palatial paradise.
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 2:07 AM UTC
HOPE! You lousy vagrant, you've lead me on once more
You've tricked me into getting up from my home here, on the floor
They say when you've hit rock bottom the only way is to ascend
But I was proving moving side to side was a viable uptrend
'Til hope descended like an angel, said "take my hand sweet child"
Her promises of palatial glory leave me potent and beguiled
But hark! What's this? A serpents hiss? He's tangled round my feet
I dared to hope now I'm back on the slope to rejection and defeat
I was cosy at the bottom. In my undercroft I've lain
But by the streaks on my cheeks and the fire in my lungs
I hope I'll never hope again.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
Furnished rooms, refined cooling
An angry Sun, a helpless ozone layer
Lavish resorts, palatial homes
The Ents are silent in their prayers
Roaring turbines, whirring motors
****** waters, crying to be set free
Clicks and clacks, a touch and a swipe
Birds fall to the alien magnetic field
Travel the world, not fast enough
Dig and mine, crashing harbour wave
Fossils spent, air wears the smoke
Dinner is served on the tectonic plates
Every day the water becomes a little fuller to the brim
Every day the air becomes a little less thin
Every day the world becomes a little too big
Every day the land becomes a little less green
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 2:11 PM UTC
Cataclysmically holocaustal catastrophic cacophony. Spurious staunch succinct stymie tacit, irate tirade treatise vehement escapade tedium. Belligerent barbarian of a berserker bodacious katzenjammer. Ostensibly deterrent savage vicious violence. Ghastly gruesome grotesque gristly groaty gnarly, awfully terrible hideously horrible heinously horrendous. Inundate liable culprit, assay relay's convey, inveigh irrefragably inevitable inure. Tercel theocracy, anticipate angary amentia. Attenuating arbitration accidence ambiance acoustics. Diction's enunciation execrating eventuation evocative expletives. Reconnaissance reconnoiter rectilinear recrimination. Incessant barratry Bailiff's rake-ness rails. Détente, demarcate delirious destitute demiurge. Diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt, annex annul's edifice ******** Spiritual apercu pneuma's palatial estates!!!!
Oct 10, 2022
Oct 10, 2022 at 3:16 PM UTC
great poems and death defying
feats of magic and wonder
of the romantic knight as they laugh and play
at this obscure bus stop
'neath the shady oak
spent years in the moments
cigarettes and dancing jester jig
for the smile of her laughter
this poorboy knight and his patch of dust
regales her with grande tales and epic poems
by the verge of the boston post road
waiting for the ramshackle bus
its steam engine labours creaking along
to bear us like king and queen
to our palatial kingdom behind the gas 'n go
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
Each long lost dream
of conquest in the
ashes of history
is buried.
With it lie the
cracking bones of
sacrificial pawns
forever to oblivion
consigned.
Celebrated as nothing
more than the unknown
soldier, who for the
ambitious and self-centered
imperialist, gave his own
dear life.
A soldier unknown who
gives his own blood,
to elevate his general
to history's indelible
annals, decomposes to
oblivion with neither
a name nor an identity.
He spills his own blood
for a glorious title on
his chiefs to be conferred.
His valiance, bravery and courage
are all to his commanding
general credited,
who in unmerited triumph,
robs him of his military
ingenuity.
Dishonoured in death,
his unidentified remains
are crammed with the bones
of others like him, in
catacombs of mass graves.
Whilst his imperialist
general, to whom he
gives a name in history,
gets interred in splendour,
in a stately and Palatial
mausoleum.
Feb 29, 2024
Feb 29, 2024 at 4:22 PM UTC
There are few responses that fit when you fall away
from all the things you love most.
After so many reinventions, so many changes
I don't know who I am anymore.
I thought I knew what I was chasing, but
in the end, I was wrong.
I've changed directions and I can't get back, even
to where home is a distant memory.
I can't recognize my surroundings, the world I
built with my choices.
All doors are locked and windows closed,
walls are padded, eyes are dim.
I don't want to die trapped in my own foolish
insecurities and mistakes.
I don't want to become just a soldier, marching
this lonely road to the end.
I hate looking in the mirror and seeing my own
accusing eyes, reminding me.
Rip and tear, claw and bring to ruin this palatial
tower of misrepresentation.
Wear my fingers to the bone with insignificant
self-promises and fleeting hope.
I will be free one day.
Silence the voice of failure and my near silent
misgivings that cut the hamstrings of hope
and push me deeper into the prison of
despair and self loathing.
I will be free.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC