"procures" poems
"Here Made of Gone" for Isabella Stewart Gardner
Lyrics By Randy Vera
Music By: Randy Vera and Anthony J. Resta
http://bopnique.com/anthony-j-resta-and-randall-vera-finalists-john-lennon
LYRICS :
Vermeer, Rembrandt, Manet, Degas, from my three thousand year old Chinese KU, I toast you.
Mrs. Jack, I am your Bronze Eagle. I cut the painting at the frame – thieves by any other name.
Mrs. Jack with handcuffs and ***** I overcame your walls. Your collection’s complete.
Titian's Europa still hangs. The mirror to my:
Piece de la resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert.
Here, made of gone.
Mrs Jack, I’m your new William James. Through your kindness, you support me, in Dutch Room empty frames.
Like John Singer Sargent, I toil between your walls. I am Vermeer’s "corn flower blue," indescribable.
The metaphysical: Known unknown!
St Patrick’s Day 1990, I’m in Boston in the Fenway. For my penance, I’ll go to Saint John’s, drop to my knees, and like you, scrub the tiles clean.
Titian's Europa still hangs, the mirror to my: piece de La resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert. Here made of gone.
Where language fails that where art triumphs. The interloper between camps of reason and dreams. I’m an event not cognition. Like any event stored in canvas, paper, pen ,or ink.
Oh Mrs Jack I so love your "Head Band." I’m also a Redsox fan. I loved the Champagne and donuts, and thank you for the paintings.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 6:22 AM UTC
963
A nearness to Tremendousness—
An Agony procures—
Affliction ranges Boundlessness—
Vicinity to Laws
Contentment’s quiet Suburb—
Affliction cannot stay
In Acres—Its Location
Is Illocality—
3.2k
907
Till Death—is narrow Loving—
The scantest Heart extant
Will hold you till your privilege
Of Finiteness—be spent—
But He whose loss procures you
Such Destitution that
Your Life too abject for itself
Thenceforward imitate—
Until—Resemblance perfect—
Yourself, for His pursuit
Delight of Nature—abdicate—
Exhibit Love—somewhat—
1.9k
“She who has infused every minute of my day,
Hastens through titillating my endorphins.
Absconded hiding within myself,
As blue crystals glaring teeter in the sea,
As we sanction the reticence of ardor,
While the sea eradicates its perennial effigy,
As infinite cascades eradicate beneath us,
As the water stride procures to the sandy shore,
Where the waves shatter on unsettled rocks,
As once again the clear light bursts as sun sets,
Enmeshed in a fabric of palpable vibrant colors,
Portrayed as that of a burlesque plumeria of infinites,
The plumeria burst of aureoles immortal love,
Unyielding its pedals as the devouring sea rotates,
Will ephemeral demise procure in the deep blue sea?
Over its blue pedaled face an astringent frown,
We have embarked on a promenade of love my dear,
I now stand before you no longer with emptiness,
Only perennial affection that you are mine and I yours,
In our Aureoles of Plumeria”
By AG 03/10/2018 ©
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
As I lay dying from across the room, bleeding from across my heart.
I said I swear, I hope to die.
Didn't know you'd consummate my request.
With strained, staring eyes and with my last will I reach to you.
Back demolished, lungs collapsed, brow furrowed, hand imbrue with my A positive evolutionary force.
Drip.
And drip.
Hand, now algid, now violaceous.
Can't. Engage. Muscle memory. Rigidity.
My limbs are limp, my last sacrifice for you.
I never told you that I can see your soul, your aura.
In this very second, as I lay fixated on your glaring portals, your broken windows, I am the one who procures this victory.
Because even though my mortal being is becoming nullified at the expense of your hand...
It was me who broke your heart.
It was my touch that pirated your soul and you will die.
Your energy will never be able to speak another's name again.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
The totality of a stare, their for changing life's bitter holds
My theory that we all are seekers is an ex-stressor of unwitting changes
voiceless changing clanging colds
Now a life this life has execrated all of your dreams
You and I cure the ice to satisfy the demons the night but it grows warmer I warn thee
Devious power and burning nights.. who is of the dead?
Devious powers all is quite right.. I am inside your head
Uncalled for searing this justice holy tower you're turret nare an arrow sent
And when the future holds against our bonds untold a world with forms reached out only to allow an ever changing destiny..
Then I shall cry out a theory for them a theory untold
Devious fires powers of the night Don't question the order do as your told
Fleece of the stripeless tiger nears telling all of us of the powers of doom
and your life is speaking slashing shshsh turn to dust soon you'll be through
If again you make this plea don't try to be the same as the one who turned to me
For within you are gone and in your mind we are all keepers but this is not wrong
I am turned putrid and this procures the storm
unworthy yet with this answer land will fall soon and shed this life for demons and right hurt eyes skin lips and all
Devious powers burning in the nights of the undead
You called out the scarring the twist of the unsent
Then I shall cry out a theory for them a theory untold
Devious fires powers of the night Don't question the order do as your told
Played by the fame then went a force of Satans wings ornate of diamonds and led
When the theory of theories is finally told the solving and the puzzle is an ultimate theory untold
Drafting and waning your demeanor a field of wrought with a killing and blight
Into a dark horizon one hand awakens as certainty puts up a fight
Then I shall cry out doubting you'd ever listen to me
Then I'd cry for us as the devout for the theories untold is ever our destiny
Then I shall cry out for a theory for them a theory untold
Devious fires powers of the night Don't question the order do as your told
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 12:03 AM UTC
Time sits slouched,
Whisky supped from a shoe.
Space takes his place,
Beard smothered in brew.
Hope sprawls eternal,
Smiles, on the face of the few.
The night is masked,
Casked honey dew.
Amber obscures,
Procures,
Distorts the view.
Glazed by a hazy
Feint green plume.
Time takes a sip from
Weathered worn out shoe.
As space wipes his face
Hope yawns on que.
The night is released,
At least for now, until
The fall of the morning dew.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 7:44 PM UTC
Cant shake the vicious thoughts my mind procures.
Death, misery, vengeance.
The stench of blood fills the air.
Loss of control, my mind murders for me,
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 11:27 PM UTC
Of course this poem procures no great wonderment
nor does it produce any invoice that would bring heat,
to the mind of the reader, nor from the placement
of ink from the printer.
Of course it does produce itself from form
from form-ness of itself in itself
but brings no cure and no ills, it just is ‘being ‘
That course is never truer or less of a test
when there is no phenomena of its appearance,
Of Course it has none
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
Fumbling through his pockets
Sore fingers grasping wildly
He procures his kerchief
Dabs the edges, pats them dry
And the wind blows softly
Ruffles her strong hair
Tossed waves of auburn
Gentle to see
Sun-lit skin, gilded bold
Broken never, smoothness
Fashioned hands, slender fingers
Burgundy eyes, deep and deeper
And the old form sat ragged
Tears spilling onto yellowed photos
"I'll see you soon, I'll see you soon,
My young, young love."
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
There's a house where the world
has stopped dialing...
But a rotary phone, that
has my number.
and plunders my unavailable
daily.
We blink like opening a mystery.
But we never brush the canvas
of any inspiration.
we gather in the fields of our golden jokes
and each the other are about
how nothing is the same that now
we see what eyes deny
jellyfish
and cotton
swabs.
but there's trees and eggs.
it's nothing how we remember
love and hate.
slow things are voices to recall.
but the matter of their wisdom
is bleach and peaches.
and perhaps a flightless
squab.
II
to endure is to be a living thing.
and to love is to die more
willingly.
but nothing procures the reality
like a dream.... and we cluster
precisely where we diffuse
Unkindly.
III
Let us walk where the treasures march
in impoverished enmity. but know
the different things that sanity
conspires to reveal.
we can be madcap and foreign
to our native selves -
but never once be alien
to what it means
in hell.
IV
heaven is a kind of grace that forgets you.
and trees and eggs
are something else
entirely
despite you.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
“May I rest again with her in my chimera of the night?
My pain of such love will subside with my reverie,
Fervor and despair seem to endeavor pertinent restlessness,
Night procures a mystical quintessence to the heart and soul,
Exotic to me are all the rationale as to why you belong,
Comatose of you beside me whether in body or soul,
May music once again make my eviscerated soul dance?
Only you will live in my dreams as they drift me away,
All that is reticent in life and in our annals of time as one,
We shall go over the water of time in the shadows of travel,
As we travel through the shadows with neither sun or moon,
An unholy anointing of our least desirable possessions,
At night the world the wind will spin out their destiny,
The seclusion of mountain peaks veers ever so slightly,
Mountain peaks where alleviation is all that is heard,
Empty trees conveyed acclivous and less oceans of brine,
My soul seeks solitude and the mystical perplexity of aspiration,
Space stars poetry in this place the moon and ebony vapors,
These are the copious words of a poet has lost love of soul,
I can only caress the thought of her in my acclivious dreams”
By Andrew Guzaldo 1/09/2019 ©
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 2:51 PM UTC
For fire's spirit lurking in the church,
and by the ash beneath you, once alive,
Awakening the warmth within the birch,
chaos herself is driven to survive.
The winds of change bring blues and golds about,
setting sun breaks day and shifts to pink.
The ocean drowning, and I, a drought,
The blackened paper, breathing in the ink.
The mirror warps, and with it time is slowed,
A moment's lifetime screams, deflates, and dies.
Aquatic **** procures the sword, bestowed,
and with it clicks the clockwork toward demise.
I rise, I fall, I move from foot to foot,
The bells will beat the flames, and I, to soot.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 10:42 PM UTC
" I aggregate to you of all that is relevant in my life,
I gild to love you as if you were sweet roses or gemstones,
Effulgence love of mine was she as sure as the moon above,
I love you as certain somber things are in need of love,
As ships of all sizes sail away to their distant shores enclave
Earthly we live up to life is sometimes encumbered by love,
No matter how hard winds brandish my perplexed soul,
Every breath I take will be a memory of my effulgence of her,
I love her without knowing how or where she might be,
I love her virtuously without elaboration or peace of mind,
There always will remain a secret adumbration in our souls
That secret window that will aggregate effulgence of love,
Cataclysm of passion a defense procures to my sensibilities,
I love you as the flowers we await for the spring to blossom,
Solid fragrance within ferries in itself the light of hidden flowers,
I must not give way to despondency of hydrophobia of your love,
But only to the effulgence of mine love thereof towards thee”
By Andrew Guzaldo 05/05/2019 ©
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 2:24 PM UTC
There was a time that I was unfilled
searched and dropped in an ocean
in the deep water the last hope lost
bombs exploded and shells bursted
the whole of me was decanted
a remnant that seems muted
but one that's alive and lasting
There was a time that I was waiting
to be seen, loved, deserved and adored
like the lentil sat in the water to sprout
and the state withered, lowly swallowed
the brokenness of it ached, stakes gone
the bets were a loss drained on the grounds
as the escalator crept it's way up
There is moment in the present day
where the awoken me is a desire
a goal to believe within my depths
touching the instincts and procures
not hurt and not wanting to believe
neither relying on the adoration to sate
as the state of lone licked all the tears
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC
In the highest conflagration my of solitude,
She entered the room apprehended by such beauty,
I felt a gravitational force of our souls,
Force I had not heard from science or lairs of books read,
Of course I began to signal her with my eyes,
Moving like radar locked on,
So distant yet so close her eyes imply in pain,
That procures the inner sanctum of her heart,
As that of butterfly she sits not afar off from me,
Ah I notice a glance procure every so often,
Oh the body of excellence the skin of papal host,
Does she know that I feel alive again or,
Will I be the one to say and to make her solitude?
Deep dark eyes of romp sadness befall upon my heart,
Your slender body bares tenderness in its silence,
The gracefulness of her movement she lives in my mind,
As I close my eyes in daze as a product of,
Another dimension,
As her sadness alludes to my soul and heart,
Everything I envisioned spoke of love,
A conflagration of solitude we call Love,
The unexplained antipathy of all is LOVE”
By A.G. 03/2018
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 5:46 PM UTC