Palor poems on Hello Poetry

Aaron Kerman Jul 2010

Crimson comes to those that wait but gold
it never does

Nights in neon hazes on ***** bar stools
transient coffins on sticky floors

Snatching seraphim from pipe dream myths

Wishes come true at the worst moments,
through jaded smiles

+

Another round we lie, from our mouths,
these glossy eyes

Sacrifice nothing to the looking

The walking dead speak with conviction of their
so called lives

Lived in palor boxes and unbalenced columns
where they

Die each week, come full circle to us
fo-cherubs

In hopes of being reborn.

Curt A Rivard Sr Mar 2013

The Gift of Prophesy

A mighty power only the special chosen ever get to hold
A treasure trove of riches, I knew it was something strange
I’ve been blessed with a gift it cannot be bought or ever sold
Harnessing its awesome power I forever now will ever change
In the morgue room I hear all there cold escaping death whispers
When I am in there all alone, I hear creeks and sometimes a squeak
Seeing ghosts I can touch, they all trust me or I would never get a peek
I close my eyes before I sleep then see many faces and without their flesh
All my life I always been an avid dreamer and now I dream of living death
A reoccurring nightmare I often have is, I’m choking and losing all my breath
Every time we get a new guest in the funeral palor they always love talking to me
Reveling there secrets to me, lessons of knowledge along with all there gained wisdom
Helping me solve all the riddles, telling me constalations will slay at my instant command
From the mouths of the dead there tales they are told blessing me now with the power I behold.
(SirCARSr. 3-19-13)

Briar Rose Dec 2013

I am a Vampire

I called you today.
I called and confessed to you,
I am the vampire you thought you saw the other day.
I've been holed up in my room,
Trying to tell myself it's not true.
I am not the parasitic, paled palor monster,
The one you bit and transmitted the gene,
Passed over until me.
I want to believe vampires do not have superiority complexes.
I want to believe immortality grants time for improvement.
I am scared I will bite you one day,
And I will drive you to my vampireistic tendencies,
Or I will be forced to watch you bleed.
I don't want to be a monster,
But I fear it's too late.

Francie Lynch Jan 2016

Supremacy

So many cars lined up
Along my avenue,
Like ants carrying on
For a feast.
The queen is in state,
Her penant prounouces presense;
The flag promoting reign.
We peons, serfs and minions
Stare vaguely at the floor,
Afraid to look for more.
She rises, head above her throne,
Face on the coinage,
Proclaiming lineage
With treason and conspiracy.
Please don't glance my way.
I've given sacrifices
Of doves and relatives,
All tethered to the rituals.
There is pack position.
Vats of red wine and room for dissent.
We've drowned our children.
You can see the palor in their eyes.

Juana de Ibarbourou

Reconquista

Cerrado el horizonte hasta mi puerta
y ni menta ni cardo en el camino.
Yo me decía a solas: ¡el destino!
callé mis truenos y tendime a muerta.

En el silencio al fin hubo una incierta,
mínima melodía, casi un trino
de agua o de flauta, en el vespertino
palor como de tierna aurora alerta.

Y llegó, ah, llegó lo inesperado
y lo irreal. El ensueño no soñado,
la libertad de alondras y laureles.

En el umbral de paz reconquistada,
oteo, sin terror en la mirada
hambrientos tigres, jerifaltes crueles.

Juana de Ibarbourou

La caricia

La tarde taciturna se borraba
En medio de una calma dulce y quieta,
Y entre la sombra azul de la glorieta
El palor de la luna se filtraba.

Tu mano, toda nervios, deshojaba
Las flores de un rosal con una inquieta
Impaciencia, que a veces la secreta
Impulsión de un deseo apresuraba.

Y al cortar una rosa blanca y suave,
Que era como una palpitante ave
Que el azar en tu mano hubiera preso,

Con paso cauteloso te acercaste,
Por los ojos la rosa me pasaste,
Y yo sentí la sensación de un beso.

Rose Amberlyn Sep 2017

Doubt.

To become so self aware that you can feel everything.
I can see myself from outside my body.
Except it's all a lie.

The shape of my body,
The curve of my hips,
The palor of my skin,
The frown paste to my mouth.

This walking lie.

The way people stare at me with disgust.
The faces they make when I look away.
All the awful things they've got to say.
All imagined.
All lies.

Why do you hurt yourself?
Who told you these things happened?

When you've lost trust in every person you will find only sorrow.
There is beauty in pain.
And trust is pain.
But you are not shattered glass.
So you will not act like it.

This paranoia will eat you alive.
This unhappiness will swallow you whole.
This beautiful girl you stole.
From me.

I haven't forgotten her.
I will find her.

Juana de Ibarbourou

Fusión

Amor secreto, gracia esclarecida,
palor de luna en la apretada sombra;
dulce se hace el labio que te nombra
y albea de nuevo la agrisada vida.

Nos torna a dar la rosa ya vencida
ternura y mimo -vegetal paloma-
y anda en cielo y en mar, vuelo y aroma,
la cifra de la senda ya elegida.

Se ata en la sangre indestructible lazo
apretado en el sueño y el abrazo,
por tibio pulso y realizada suerte.

En sólo un cauce dos ardientes ríos.
En campo ya de los luceros fríos,
un solo ritmo y una sola muerte.

Francisco de Quevedo y Villegas

A un tratado impreso que un hablador espeluznado de prosa hizo en culto

Leí los rudimentos de la Aurora,
Los esplendores lánguidos del día,
La Pira y el construye y ascendía,
Y lo purpurizante de la hora,
El múrice y el Tirio y el colora,
El Sol cadáver cuya luz yacía,
Y los borrones de la sombra fría,
Corusca Luna en ascua que el sol dora,
La piel del Cielo cóncavo arrollada,
El trémulo palor de enferma Estrella,
La fuente de cristal bien razonada.
Y todo fue un entierro de doncella,
Doctrina muerta, letra no tocada,
Luces y flores, grita y zacapella.

Juan Gelman

Lamento por el furor de roy hennigan

"¿cómo serán los japoneses?" preguntaba roy hennigan
"¿dónde andarán? ¿porqué cielos? ¿cómo cavan
su marcha hacia el fulgor?" preguntaba acostándose
en las tardes feroces de Ohio

"con tanto ardor calor o fuego eterno" decía
"¿cómo resulta frío este furor?
¿cómo es pedazo nonobstante?"
preguntaba roy hennigan seco
o arrugado a medida de la noche

o encendido de duro palor
del mundo en la gran ciega de las últimas
"¿cómo es que pujan mis contrarias?
¿quién las agita o mueve?" preguntaba roy hennigan puro

"¿quién aquí sangra? ¿yo?" decía roy
hennigan
"¿quién pega o peca o perra de mi estar?
¿con qué resisten estas partes?"
ya preguntaba en bestia dado

con la mirada recorrió sus llagas
y las llagas mundiales cubrió
apenas pez en claro vivo
¡ah rey roy hennigan a poco!

de su morir estallaron las huelgas
del sertimiento de los pieses mentales
y así roy hennigan calló
y nunca nadie lo lloró

"mejor mejor" decía roy hennigan
"háganme caso niños" decía yéndose
en ala en cúmplase emplumado
pero con luz qué cosa vea

Baldomero Fernández Moreno

Canción de luna

En el aro ligero de la luna
canta para mí solo un ruiseñor.

A cada golpe de oro de su pico
brota en el aire una constelación.

Canta el pájaro pardo dulcemente
y se eriza de plumas y palor.

Cuando se pone el pecho más delgado,
dice mucho más clara su canción:

Morir, acaso, es continuar un sueño
de luna en luna, y de sol en sol.

kain Jul 2019

Promise Me This

All at once
We can breathe again
But somehow
The same old
Suffocation
Will never
Truly leave
I'm begging you
Please
Just let me be
I'm fading
Like the wallpaper
In the palor
With the water damaged
Trim
And the moldering
Carpet
While the leaves swirl
I just fall down
A decrepit house
And things live inside
That you don't want
To see
I'm not pretty
So darling
Slide a chair
Under the handle
I only last so long
The demons keep
Biting
At the windows
And scratching up my glass
I guess that means
It's time to leave

I'll never stop listening to old songs.

Jane Mar 2021

Worry Book entry 21/2/21

Some days I feel a thousand years weary. Trapped a forever-teen, frozen core and angst-riddled.

Outsider. Isolated. Incapable of translating the aches of my forearms, clawing at my sternum, or distress in my gut to make any sense beyond feral screams.

The fear, wildness, confusion clothed in apathy and tumbling forth as tears, grey palor, an appetite gone astray.

Distraction deflects for a time but the reality check becomes all the more bracing. I cannot fathom ever feeling different, even if yesterday was opposite in every way.

Evermore I am trapped, concrete resolution and in my final form - - how could I possibly be wrong when these days last a thousand years and memories, physical remembering, atrophies as my tears dry and hope evaporates with my breath, hot and laden with worry.

And in a circular fashion I question why why why - only to arrive back at my original thought: there is no alternative.

Orpheus May 2022

Re: Alive

It feels like a gift,
Maybe its true,
My life, worth something?
Surprising news.

Chilly winds seep through my paling skin,
With ghostly palor,
I faint into the downpour.
Washed into the muddy path,
It clumps in my hair.
An earthy cleansing.
I peer towards
The quivering hearts-
They've changed this spring.

Bleeding more profusely,
I pump them through my fingers.
The stems refuse to snap,
Buds infinitely thumping,
Regardless.
Wind, rain, time-
None of it changes,
Always by my side.

Is this your odd message?
Delivered through something you know I won't ignore-
The air is fresh,
Everything renewed.
In the distance,
Ripe-red apples bloom.

I'm not sure I like this year,
Time trudges along,
Indifferent.
None of it will stop,
But I can't think fast enough.
Just let my brain go blank-
Will my destination change?

— The End —