"paleness" poems
will suddenly trees leap from winter and will
the stabbing music of your white youth
wounded by my arms’ bothness
(say a twilight lifting the fragile skill
of new leaves’ voices,and sharp lips of spring
simply joining with the wonderless
city’s sublime cheap distinct mouth)
do the exact human comely thing?
(or will the fleshless moments go and go
across this dirtied pane where softly preys
the grey and perpendicular Always—
or possibly there drift a pulseless blur
of paleness;
the unswift mouths of snow
insignificantly whisper….
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Seemingly small and insignificant,
It sits atop my finger, like a bird perched on a branch.
A symbol of great power,
Yet shrunken and frail as paper.
Its hidden beauty rivals those of
Aphrodite.
My love for it swells
Like a well after a heavy rain.
Oh, this paper crown,
Its simple beauty
Is a gold as pure as any other.
Its paleness is greater than snow,
Its weight light, but heavier than
the empire it represents.
This paper crown, worthy of a Queen.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 8:04 PM UTC
While they noticed the stretch of kohl in her eyes,
I could see a pacific of emotions trapped.
While they admired her blushing cheeks,
I could read the paleness she painted red.
While they were going gaga over her smirk,
I could fathom the depth of pain that debarred a hearty gale.
While they were lured by the cascade of her hair when she unscrewed the bun,
I could feel the onus of the tantrums she wanted to turf out.
While they were hypnotized by her mesmeric curves,
I was stunned by the withstanding efficacy of such a fragile body.
While they adored her attire and scarves,
I could trace the bruises she carried with poise.
While they were hung up by the glory of her face,
I could do no help but ride out at the scars she concealed with sprightliness which was the most beautiful thing my eyes could ever have a view of and it left me dazed...
And my mouth wide opened.
-Aparajita Tripathi
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
Pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek,
this is who I am. This is my story.
It is only coincidence that I sing it
to you,
but sing, nonetheless, I do. One morning
amidst the restlessness of my top-bunk sheets
I heard a whispering and thought it might be God it was
me. My unconsciousness begging me
for nourishment, silently loudly attacking
my awareness with questions: it asked why
I neglect it. Pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek,
is this, too, why your body vibrates
when your thoughts are feelings? Because you too
have recognized feeling as thought? That that
faculty of wonder you hush about as if a
***** secret of forgotten childhood memory
is something that is as real as
the metaphysical pores of a skin you cannot touch,
but know is not some foreign, distant, effacing
thing, but is thick, is thick, thick as words
creaking like old wood in a library filled
with students who read so much ******** to get into
college but never venture forth for such skin
in the skin of those unconscious voices in the
shelves? Selves: we call them books but they breathe.
The ideas wriggle in your veins like
a worm. They block your blood yet move
your soul. The stillness of your speechlessness
is some movement in itself. So I suspect of you,
pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek.
So I suspect of myself.
I do not understand how else I could have been born
without eyes which we call eyes. I cannot see
why else.
I cannot.
You cannot.
There is light over there in that darkness.
A glimpse of it- a sliver of silver
has shocked you into your paleness. Into my
blackness. It is the same difference. A different
same.
Line break:
A mirror tells me things with my eyeless eyes.
My brownness ***** me into journeys with
tunnels so deep that we call them pupils.
In the distance that I gaze into I find
myself gazing into a distance I gaze into. Fathom
it. Do not. Will not will it will it will not
willed. Touching it will wilt it without touching:
this is the soul you said does not exist.
It is not there. It is.
In Indiana.
Where's that? asks my blood.
In Indiana.
Over there? my finger points out the window.
No. It is.
It is. Not.
Suddenly I smell something and it is myself.
It is not Indiana or freckles or pale-skin.
I ask you where it is.
Suddenly you smell something and it is yourself.
It is not Gaborone or curly-haired or black.
You ask me where I think it is.
What the **** do we know?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
Waking up with sweat
stained sheets wrapped
around me and you are
nowhere to be seen as
you believe being mean
is keeping the lads keen.
Your leather jacket is
still here hanging on the
hook by the front door
and he wonders why
she didn’t want more.
He loved her laugh last
night as they drunkenly
tried to walk right home
after finishing a few gin
and tonics between them
that made his head spin
and her think that she
would forever win at sin.
Her long blonde hair
had flown out behind her
and it reminded him of
fresh sunflowers because
that was the colour of her
beauty and he prayed the
rest of the night would not
be another careless blur.
The radiance within her
shone so bright that he
didn’t even turn on the
kitchen light as he let
them both inside as the
liquor made their shyness
want to shrivel up and hide.
But in the next morning,
there was no hungover girl
mumbling sleepily and
yawning because instead
there was only her leather
jacket and the faint smell
of sweet perfume left on
his pillow as he tried to
visualize that beautifully
bright sunny yellow that
made his throat dry and
gave him a sickening urge
to cry because he didn’t
want this feeling to die.
He wondered if she would
call because it really hadn’t
taken him long to fall for her
long limbs and the way she
had dark humour that stung
him like a cheap rumour and
so he slept on the sofa that
day with the aching bones
of a man who lives alone
but with a leather jacket
wrapped around his arm
because he wanted to see
her again and see if she
maybe felt the same but
he knew deep down it
was a Friday night love
and the weekend would
soon fade away because
she was never destined to
stay yet he hung her jacket
in the closet for years to
come and tried again to
find the perfect one but
he’d let her slip between
his fingers yet the smell
of her sweet perfume still
lingered for Friday nights
to come and he missed the
colour of the sun that shone
in her hair and the bright
eyes that that craved fear.
She’d been his Friday night
coffee and cream that would
never return no matter how
much he stroked the seams
of her faded leather jacket.
Sunflower girl was now
gone with the wind and
soon he could no longer
recall her voice and the
paleness of her soft skin.
It was like she had never
met him in the first place
but oh god how he loved
her beautiful hair and knew
she had once been there in
his arms even if it had only
been for one Friday night.
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
SO BRIGHT and soft is the sweet air of morning,
And so tenderly the light descends,
And blesses with its gentle-falling fingers
All the leaves unto the valley's ends--
It brings them all to being when it touches
With its paleness every glowing vein;
The wild and flaming hollows of the forest
Kindle all their crimson in its rain;
And every curve receives its share of morning,
Every little shadow softly grows,
And motion finds a melody more tender
That like a phantom through the branches goes--
So bright and soft and tranquil-rendering,
And quiet in its giving, as though love,
The morning dream of life, were born of longing,
And really poured its being from above.
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Somewhere in this town there is man with his feet bare.
He has spent the last hour staring at his toothbrush and trying to remember how to leave this room.
His fists hold fingers that are twisted into paleness:
Like jaws too small for adult teeth.
The bathtub gapes up at him, yawning in his peripheral vision,
He remembers that two feet are just as good as six when it comes to sinking.
He never did learn how to swim, but
Like a fish out of water knows
The sea can make short work of accidental sailors
And the gurgle of a tap can sound like the tide coming in.
The bathroom mirror is not kind to him:
His imperfections make apologies he simply won’t accept.
Ribs forming corrugations on his t-shirt, as though his bones are trying to escape from the confines of his skin.
The porcelain lip of the sink continues to pout, its expression a perfect ‘O’.
The plughole is wearing lipstick today; blood red,
As it has been every day of this week.
Thoughts are like spiders webs, he thinks, constructed by moonlight then torn down in the morning
Occasionally he’ll still catch the dew.
In the sterile light of an eco friendly bulb, he holds the mirror back with both hands, one hinge broken.
He wears his heart on his sleeve, cufflinks cutting off his circulation.
In the shadow of the cabinet, are kept row after row of soldiers he uses to fight off his demons
And below that another regiment to handle the effects of the others.
He says, “All I am now is a synonym; and alternative to what I used to be.”
As alive is in likeness to living.
As the sun is, to the infertile glow of his grandfathers TV.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
*Of the racing heart,
quickening breath,
the gentle brush of lips.
Of sweet whispers,
blushing cheeks,
musical laughter.
Of cool breeze
flirting with one's hair,
soft music
ringing in one's ears.
Of quiet exchanges
of shy looks, stealthy glances,
soft embraces.
Of searching eyes,
hands that wipe away tears.
Of the beautiful paleness
of Life, like love,
subtle, yet so strong,
inconspicuous,
despite its lingering presence.
Of the Red hue
of sacrifice, of blood
and vermilion.
Of transcending boundaries.
Of dewy mornings,
glowing sunsets,
moonlit nights.
Of Love,
that walks you hand in hand
into the infinity of the Horizon
and the eternity of Time.*
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 6:07 AM UTC
like chicken in tomato soup lain still,
one arm protruding off the bathtub's edge,
red water steaming, still at edge, none spilled,
and 'neath her chin a pill-less bottle wedged,
her forehead, raven hair, an island forest,
in a sea of calmness sought and found,
a chaos turned to peace, its calm attests,
now what has sunk beneath will meet the ground,
and as the soup's released into the drain,
her paleness, wrist cut red, and kitchen knife,
exposed to all, her face relieved of pain,
yet not enjoyed, devoid of sensing life,
that torment, plagued her soul with agony,
now transferred to her grieving family
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 3:29 PM UTC
sometimes
i turn out all the lights
and stumble
in the dark
because all i see
with the lights on
is electricity
and certainty
sometimes it's better
to almost
stumble down
the stairs
and be saved by shadows
instead
of paleness
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
Love in her Sunny Eyes does basking play;
Love walks the pleasant Mazes of her Hair;
Love does on both her Lips for ever stray;
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there.
In all her outward parts Love ’s always seen;
But, oh, He never went within.
Within Love’s foes, his greatest foes abide,
Malice, Inconstancy, and Pride.
So the Earths face, Trees, Herbs, and Flowers do dress,
With other beauties numberless:
But at the Center, Darkness is, and Hell;
There wicked Spirits, and there the ****** dwell.
With me alas, quite contrary it fares;
Darkness and Death lies in my weeping eyes,
Despair and Paleness in my face appears,
And Grief, and Fear, Love’s greatest Enemies;
But, like the Persian-Tyrant, Love within
Keeps his proud Court, and ne’re is seen.
Oh take my Heart, and by that means you’ll prove
Within too stor’d enough of Love:
Give me but Yours, I’ll by that change so thrive,
That Love in all my parts shall live.
So powerful is this change, it render can,
My outside Woman, and your inside Man.
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I want to dig out this beating heart
with my palm and dig my fingernails into it,
squeezing till its unrecognisable,
and see blood overflowing on my skin,
the contrast of the thick red liquid against paleness,
and feel the physical sensation it'd cause,
a painful kind of release,
of a different kind of ecstasy.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
Deep, aching, stabbing,wretched, pain
barely walking, limping, body strain.
Exhausted, fragile, paleness
unhealthy, aging,signs of stress.
Numbing, tingling,constant, hurt
no turning back now, cannot avert.
Pushing forward inch by inch
each step I take makes me flinch.
Pills,creams,meds and all
nothing helps I just sit and bawl.
Too young to have my body break
don't know how much more that I can take.
Doctors help that's what they do
but, doctors here think I'm a fool.
Treatment costs so very much
without insurance a cure is out of touch.
So I pick myself up and do what I must
til it's ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 8:18 PM UTC
She came upon a white horse,
through those dark melancholic shadows,
her long black hair glistening under a blood red moon,
the paleness of her skin reflecting its caustic beams,
dazzling, beguiling, she comes for my soul,
the fire from her eyes burning my core,
searching through the dark folds of night,
she finds me and takes my hand,
it sears, it burns but I must embrace this pain,
pulling me from the darkness of this rancid void,
her great black wings shielding me from the light,
I surrender it all to my angel of the night.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
Created in a storm,
The red most vivid,
The colour of love
Representing the deepest of pain,
The rapids in your mind,
None as beautiful as those of the ocean,
Getting deeper and deeper
Beyond the basic grit of the past,
Pulling times of discontent from every fabric of the memory,
Until you snap! like a simple branch
Silver the only glimmer in the dark
Colliding with the paleness of your skin,
Stained now by not only blothes of that colour of love but also those of hurt, fear and never ending pain.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 5:50 PM UTC
I fell in love with you all over again in a hospital waiting room
I fell in love with the deep purple under your eyes
like delicate bruising
I fell in love with the paleness of your lips
from lack of nutrients
I fell in love with the way you moved slowly
and achingly wrapped in a white blanket the color of your skin
I fell in love with the deep crimson of your blood
as it ran through your IV
I fell in love with you again as I laid with you in the hospital bed at 3 am
we’d been there for 10 hours
and you had a little too much morphine in your system
and a lack of sleep
when you pulled me close and said
“I could really see myself marrying you some day”
and that was right before you kissed me with your dye stained lips
so they could see your insides better on the x-ray
I fell in love with you again when you looked at me with your
big hazel eyes that turn black around the edges
You said god had sent me from heaven
An angel to watch over you
I'm not too sure about that but what I do know is:
I Do
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
For ***** sake it's early
I don't know who half these people are
okay now we're hugging have I met you before
stop looking at my *****
stop it
eyes up Neanderthals
this is stupid so many young people
are they annoying or am I just cynical
probably a happy mix of the two
am I the oldest person in here what is this
If it starts raining while i'm outside I will cry
and now it's raining
Oh more hugs
seriously who are you people
Econeconeconecon oh that girl hates me I hope she isn't in my class
She is
and so is my brothers ex who hates me
and she is staring at me like I am the **** of the earth
econeconecon wait what?
I don't like econ take me home
why have I done this to myself?
And there is the stress
ohgod song stuck in my head
go away
well it's a good song at least
I'M SINKING LIKE A STONE IN THE SEA!
I wonder if anyone in here listens to nice music
maybe I should try to make a friend
I should make more friends since most people are still angry at me
or I could sit here and hope they all go away
I like that plan
Okay now trig and there is BEST FRIEND HI BEST FRIEND SAVE ME FROM THESE PEOPLE
The **** do you mean we learned this in algebra
yup i'm skrewed might as well just die now
wait is that kid Italian
he is Italian from Italy what is happening hello
I want to listen to him talk shut up trig I just want to listen to Italy over there
he is smiling at me oh jesus take the wheel
he is probably just amuzed by my extreme level of paleness wait nope he is looking at my *****
done with you Italy go away
trigtrigrigtrig
WHYYYYYYYY GOD, SHOW YOUR HAND
and time for lit
I need sleep or coffee or death
litlitlitlitlit oh this is fun wait that girl hates me doesn't she
yup i'm **** again
I just want to go home
and I really want to play pokemon why do I want to play so bad nope no bad theme song go away no you stop it right now- POKEMON! YOU'RE MY BEST FRIEND IN A WORLD WE MUST DEFEND
Why can't I be a wizard
Is that the bell
yay school
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
He. Never until this night have I been stirred.
The elaborate starlight throws a reflection
On the dark stream,
Till all the eddies gleam;
And thereupon there comes that scream
From terrified, invisible beast or bird:
Image of poignant recollection.
She. An image of my heart that is smitten through
Out of all likelihood, or reason,
And when at last,
Youth's bitterness being past,
I had thought that all my days were cast
Amid most lovely places; smitten as though
It had not learned its lesson.
He. Why have you laid your hands upon my eyes?
What can have suddenly alarmed you
Whereon 'twere best
My eyes should never rest?
What is there but the slowly fading west,
The river imaging the flashing skies,
All that to this moment charmed you?
She. A Sweetheart from another life floats there
As though she had been forced to linger
From vague distress
Or arrogant loveliness,
Merely to loosen out a tress
Among the starry eddies of her hair
Upon the paleness of a finger.
He. But why should you grow suddenly afraid
And start - I at your shoulder -
Imagining
That any night could bring
An image up, or anything
Even to eyes that beauty had driven mad,
But images to make me fonder?
She. Now She has thrown her arms above her head;
Whether she threw them up to flout me,
Or but to find,
Now that no fingers bind,
That her hair streams upon the wind,
I do not know, that know I am afraid
Of the hovering thing night brought me.
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a million lines make a window:
each suspended,
each digressing in the paleness
of space.
this distance from
you (a blotch of dark ink,
bits of pressed lead)
can never hurt more
than your expectation.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 6:41 PM UTC
From the days I've always held your hands
To every drop from the sorrowful
waterfall
From beautiful paleness to crimson illness
Night to day
Sunlight ray
Love like rich soil
Hollowness finally at bay
Beautiful like a porcelain doll
Like a sunset from a mountain fall
Memories of a blissful past
Emotions sustained like an icefall
At long last
My truly dearest...
From the summer breeze
To the autumn fall
The winter night
An endless darkness
I wish to see the light
Pain from a raven's claw
forceful despair
As if it was divine law
Distastefulness
From a tainted pear
It's too much to bare...
As the last leaf falls from the oak tree
Only a skeletal structure remains
From its former beauty
A monolith of youthful & elderly
Like funeral roses
Dying in many poses
Red scarlet child
As the last petal falls
One last breath
At long last death
Mourning rainfall
Soft spoken lullabies from the wind
Lamenting days that ceases to
exist anymore...
Upon the ocean shore
Whispers of the waking dead
Midnight blue moonlight
Symphonies from the ocean floor
Alone at last
With my truly dearest
Ruby diamond eyes
No more frightened cries
Promise me you'll never leave again
Promise me you'll always stay
forever...
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 8:16 AM UTC
There's one day in a month
When the sky is very dark
And with it comes the shadows of humanity
But we'd be lucky to have wars last only one night
Shrouded in blackness, we are the horrors that cause nightmares
The crescent, with its sliver of paleness
It is the overpowering hand of discrimination
Destruction comes in many different forms
Curved like a scythe and sharp at the tips
Oddly shaped, we are those who judge so wrongly
The moon in its first quarter shows more than good and evil
It houses purity and serenity in white
But the other half is black with invinsibilty and unkindness
It is split in half like a heart torn between two decisions
Opposite colors, we are the creators of love and hate
Brighter and bigger the gibbous moon is ignorance
The incomplete light is a lack of awareness to global conflicts
Poverty is ignored and wars happen "some place else"
Drugs and abuse are only scenes from dramatic movies
Partially dark, we are those who don't live for the benefit of others
But when the moon is at its fullest, its brightest
We can see our world completely out of the darkness
With no black to shield our eyes we see the truth
Reality hits our senses and we long for forgiveness
Illumination, we are those who regret our mistakes
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Broken in pieces like thin branches for wood fire;
Worn out like a cloth fifty years old;
A trunk invaded by termites,
Rolling down a hill full of rocks;
A carpet walked over with ***** shoes,
Covering the floor of a once busy hallway,
Now abandoned and invaded by mold;
The paleness of a ruin one thousand years old,
Submerged in a thick sea of fog;
The rust on an old broken truck,
Mixed with dust to form an adhesive substance,
Eating the metal through to its core;
Combine this all together,
And imagine it's a feeling.
That's how I am feeling right now...
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 5:13 PM UTC
She sits across from you at the group-work table in all her flesh
a coat of giant cold chicken skin
she can't figure how to take off.
A cow chewing cud
would be less offensive than the way she grinds
that gum with mouth, a hole slapping
against itself in fleshy clicks.
She is heavy, whipping cream-
colored thighs each time she slaps a hand down in laughter.
The chest is pouring out in all of it's hypnotic paleness;
the dark colored shirt is giving its all, but failing against the strain.
Your adrenaline courses in nausea
as she moves her legs apart,
veins radiation-blue,
mashed potato inner thighs,
and suddenly
you've peaked behind the curtain
the poison fish you see
makes you *****
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 9:08 AM UTC