"pallors" poems - Hello Poetry

Jade -- Stone of the side, The antagonized Side of green Adam, I Smile, cross-legged, Enigmatical, Shifting my clarities. So valuable! How the sun polishes this shoulder! And should The moon, my Indefatigable cousin Rise, with her cancerous pallors, Dragging trees -- Little bushy polyps, Little nets, My visibilities hide. I gleam like a mirror. At this facet the bridegroom arrives Lord of the mirrors! It is himself he guides In among these silk Screens, these rustling appurtenances. I breathe, and the mouth Veil stirs its curtain My eye Veil is A concatenation of rainbows. I am his. Even in his Absence, I Revolve in my Sheath of impossibles, Priceless and quiet Among these parrakeets, macaws! O chatterers Attendants of the eyelash! I shall unloose One feather, like the peacock. Attendants of the lip! I shall unloose One note Shattering The chandelier Of air that all day flies Its crystals A million ignorants. Attendants! Attendants! And at his next step I shall unloose I shall unloose -- From the small jeweled Doll he guards like a heart -- The lioness, The shriek in the bath, The cloak of holes.

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5.1k

Sylvia Plath

Purdah

Jade -- Stone of the side, The antagonized Side of green Adam, I Smile, cross-legged, Enigmatical, Shifting my clarities. So valuable! How the sun polishes this shoulder! And should The moon, my Indefatigable cousin Rise, with her cancerous pallors, Dragging trees -- Little bushy polyps, Little nets, My visibilities hide. I gleam like a mirror. At this facet the bridegroom arrives Lord of the mirrors! It is himself he guides In among these silk Screens, these rustling appurtenances. I breathe, and the mouth Veil stirs its curtain My eye Veil is A concatenation of rainbows. I am his. Even in his Absence, I Revolve in my Sheath of impossibles, Priceless and quiet Among these parrakeets, macaws! O chatterers Attendants of the eyelash! I shall unloose One feather, like the peacock. Attendants of the lip! I shall unloose One note Shattering The chandelier Of air that all day flies Its crystals A million ignorants. Attendants! Attendants! And at his next step I shall unloose I shall unloose -- From the small jeweled Doll he guards like a heart -- The lioness, The shriek in the bath, The cloak of holes.

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We tend to not appreciate it, To ignore the calls of our winged friends, To scorn the helpful and forgiving earth that holds the seeds of time, To frown at the kind and sometimes harsh tears of the land, To taint the once pristine surface with deception and broken promises. As I sit, I feel the mournful wind as it carries the dry dead leaves to forbidden places. I see the clouds frown and growl, their pallors darkening with bottled up anger , fuming , waiting, for an unforgiving outburst. I feel a slight chill in the air , foreseeing a cold and ruthless near future. Finally ,our winged companions flee, leaving us stranded in our selfishness. Now I sit , and wait Waiting for the sky to open with a smile of vengeance , to release upon us our well deserved undoing. I raise my arms prepared for the blow , my last stand, but it doesn't come. All that anger , all that sadness went as swiftly as it came, gone with the wind. And out comes the sun , with its redeeming and forgiving light, Illuminating each surface , filling each recipient with a sense of regret , guilt But that too becomes unimportant as we gather our tools of pain, prepared for another sunny day of betraying the forgiving nature as we swing , chop , throw away, deceive and manipulate like the cruel beings we've now become

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Nov 16, 2014

Nov 16, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC

chenelle

Humans

We tend to not appreciate it, To ignore the calls of our winged friends, To scorn the helpful and forgiving earth that holds the seeds of time, To frown at the kind and sometimes harsh tears of the land, To taint the once pristine surface with deception and broken promises. As I sit, I feel the mournful wind as it carries the dry dead leaves to forbidden places. I see the clouds frown and growl, their pallors darkening with bottled up anger , fuming , waiting, for an unforgiving outburst. I feel a slight chill in the air , foreseeing a cold and ruthless near future. Finally ,our winged companions flee, leaving us stranded in our selfishness. Now I sit , and wait Waiting for the sky to open with a smile of vengeance , to release upon us our well deserved undoing. I raise my arms prepared for the blow , my last stand, but it doesn't come. All that anger , all that sadness went as swiftly as it came, gone with the wind. And out comes the sun , with its redeeming and forgiving light, Illuminating each surface , filling each recipient with a sense of regret , guilt But that too becomes unimportant as we gather our tools of pain, prepared for another sunny day of betraying the forgiving nature as we swing , chop , throw away, deceive and manipulate like the cruel beings we've now become

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air pours alive in stringencies, fall of tor and expanse. mazy-eyed, casts a syncopated hook amongst tulips beheaded by the toppling of a leaf bracing for departures, something else holds back, furrow— the thatched morning's serious mien, the arrow, whirling in trajectories one with the dive into red cauldron of infinite scar of water, Śiva, sighted footfall of the condor's verdigris, this simple rustle of your scourge-gowns insists cadence of flutings; i am one with beginnings. swarming poultice of the inflamed grass, obscene lines of shore in twilight unfazed virulence spreads like an epidemic of kisses against the pulsing loam, cries like breakwater lorn the fault of men, death at one's trembling hand — sound the tribulation of slender bells to a gather of pallors. it is a stopping in-placeness like crests of ******* a beautiful woman, shiftless weight of light on glazed collarbone, Śiva, the enigmatical paradox beleaguers a concatenation of unloose chandeliers of appurtenances, the unblinking aperture, widening in sky.

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Nov 30, 2015

Nov 30, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Śiva

air pours alive in stringencies, fall of tor and expanse. mazy-eyed, casts a syncopated hook amongst tulips beheaded by the toppling of a leaf bracing for departures, something else holds back, furrow— the thatched morning's serious mien, the arrow, whirling in trajectories one with the dive into red cauldron of infinite scar of water, Śiva, sighted footfall of the condor's verdigris, this simple rustle of your scourge-gowns insists cadence of flutings; i am one with beginnings. swarming poultice of the inflamed grass, obscene lines of shore in twilight unfazed virulence spreads like an epidemic of kisses against the pulsing loam, cries like breakwater lorn the fault of men, death at one's trembling hand — sound the tribulation of slender bells to a gather of pallors. it is a stopping in-placeness like crests of ******* a beautiful woman, shiftless weight of light on glazed collarbone, Śiva, the enigmatical paradox beleaguers a concatenation of unloose chandeliers of appurtenances, the unblinking aperture, widening in sky.

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