"pavonine" poems
He was pavonine.
In the darkest room,
The light entered and aggrandized.
The rhythmic applause and glittering lights.
His eyes were wet, maybe of nervousness.
Stressed he was, too restless.
Heard his name, followed by loud screaming.
This was all he needed.. that was his childhood dream.
As he walked onto the stage,
Feeling like a bird, about to fly from the cage.
His exiguous steps, turned into hallux
Slowly, somewhere he was being treacherous,
From within. Going and remembering the past,
Silence was guiding his mind to the last.
He heard the song,
Began to perform.
Leaving the memories behind, danced deiform.
Inside him was a great Storm.
Every movement, every step was crystal clear.
Audience stood and of astonishment stared.
He rejoiced the seconds.
And lived the moments.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
Pavonine I.
Masquerade flawless, pride a squire,
Pavonine I, as I gleam in fear,
As light truer revealed; 'twas hubris,
A charade clichéd from one, unwise;
As it plays, as it rings,
When it stops, a tasteful clings,
Again.
Pavonine I, twice the beauty,
Once is inconstant, compare me;
To gold, or maybe jester's fee?
A pouch for ye, two more for me;
Another.
As I would weave you a piece;
One entwining, two forgotten creeds,
Pavonine I; a serenade for you,
Though coarse; like a rug putrid,
A blight.
Pavonine I; as it would sound as rotten,
As always if only I would-
Let it never end, remind me.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
coffeehouses and bookshops are obsolete and underrated
i always seem to feel the most comfortable and loved
while the wooden brown furniture and smells of roasting beans
envelop me in transparent steaming tendrils of intimacy
reaching inside to find my inner poetic self
coming up with all sorts of ostentatious phrases
to make my prose sound extremely extravagant
and therefore myself a satisfied troubadour
chronicling my ****** escapades through life and love
agromania
heliotrope
pavonine
quinnat
vorpal
zydeco
don’t i sound special?
It’s the coffee fumes that are finally getting to me
Caressing the recesses of my brain, drawing out streams
Of words that which i do not know the meaning of
Can i be sure they’re even real?
Can i be sure of anything anymore?
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC