"quiescent" poems
Extravagantly exorbitant mentality panacea
Pretentious eidetic’s ubiquity mnemonics
Extraversion embezzlement extortion mens rea
Endergonic laconic cacophony phonics
Preterite rendition enclitic equilibrist motion
Mystic symbiosis dharma spiritual sky
Brusque macabre abjections the gist of the potion
Straight up forever ontology on high
Obdurately abstruse vituperatively vociferous
Juxtaposition apparition myriad avarice
Orotund sonorous diction obliquitous
Multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis
Mirador bartizan phantasmagoria aesthetics
Guidon gyration excursion integration
Sorcerous alchemizing interstitial endemics
Chaos charisma objectified tribulation
Conjurous apothegms clitoral apomixis
Exude emote surrogate extrapolation
Astral projection littoral hypotaxis
Kinetic supremacy homogeneity gravitation
Coercible coalescent cohesion dexterities
Adjunct conjunction conjecture acuity
Platonic pragmatic prosaic austerities
Extemporaneous impromptu innuendo fortuity
Propinquity habitation harbinger spectra
Perplexing paradox tenacity rostra
Intensely cogitational abstract mantra
Penumbral exigency , umbrage per contra
Theoretical incursion grandiloquent ne plus ultra
Exogamy of homoplasy sic itur ad astra
Quiescent serendipity surreal anestra
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:16 AM UTC
Crescent orb radiates its crystalline sight,
languid lips coalesce like a tessellation,
the vexing vines wilder the incandescent-
glimmer but the burning impression remains.
Celestial bodies affixes a soliloquy amongst-
a halcyon tongue that revelate a rhapsodic-
episode.
Quiescent ambience rings a plethora of-
sentiments stinging on the mellifluous
lullaby. The lithe wildflower murmurs-
the euphonious recital of a sonnet that-
is unacquainted to the mind.
Luminous assemblies of fireflies retire-
behind the myriad of evergreen forest
as the insouciance wildflower approach.
Precocious primrose locked from the
scorching sensation of a wildflower
exhibited a lassitude facade like a -
waning lantern fiery on its final residues.
In the distant a wildflower and in
the presence, an idyllic primrose:
so scarce and so strange.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 7:37 AM UTC
He was the walking catastrophe
I was the quiescent calamity
People said we were each other's worst nightmare
I said we are each other's sweetest daydream
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 4:51 AM UTC
my Mumbai woman
~~~
to my Indian poets & friends
all be advised,
my piety, my muse,
has decamped me for weeks on end
to your
yon far and fair lands
the red dot beside her
electronic signature
a sign of her absence,
seemingly to have been
magically transferred
to her forehead
so perhaps my love poetry
will become absent, reticent,
quiescent
or perhaps
it will build brighter, effervescing
in my very own Taj Mahal,
an edifice built by great love past
and yet ever still present,
for I testify,
I have many times it,
seen imbued,
lovingly observed
between a certain
men and women here writ large,
who there permanent reside,
and in my heart as well
spend a minute many,
all my fingers and
toes employed
how many, so many,
Indian fellow travelers
on poetry lanes and yellow dust encrusted roads,
in cities unpronounceable
that this illiterate literary fool
has come to know and multi-arm entwine
to you,
I commend and command to you
her safety,
asking immodestly for
an imposition, an interference
pray to the local gods,
your heads of state and highest nature's,
that they be her
beside,
her unobserved
safe-keepers,
as she treks your country's
Northern pastures
let her skin glow from
your brighter rays,
eyes even wider~wiser opened
by the newness of your antiquity,
your glorious,
poetic place
in our world
of words
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
an ark
of Noah
would disembody
a silvery
horse with
seraphim whether
res publica
rained on
earth with
quiescent nomads
and to
cloud their
creation in
planet of
thieves with
periods of
sporadic sea
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 9:09 AM UTC
A quaint little bazaar
In the heart of the town
Tells a story
Of a thousand moments
Dal Bazaar as they call it
Or "Curry Market" for others who don't know.
I have fragments of memorable memories
Deep within my mind
The smell
The intoxicating smell of spices
Blended with the quiescent yet cacophonous lives
Of Merchants and Beggars
Of Buyers and Sellers
Of Bullions and a single calloused rupia
In the hands of the old *****
The sunlight baking
Bags of turmeric.
Suspending the scent
In the minds of men.
Capering clouds of black and grey
And the sudden squall
Stirring the monotony
Of the customary.
The pirouette of rain
The one that excites the plainest of the plain
Painting the whitewash with shades of grey
The chalky walls
Dust
Moist corriander
And the relief of earth
Conciliating
So rewarding
For the ruins of the bare sun.
This flashback into my soul
Where all my senses seem to be so awake.
The feel of the wooden veranda
Scent so inexpressible
My eyes devouring the sunset
Tasting the heavens
Hearing it all.
Feeling it all.
Oh the plight of poets
The ritual to end a poem.
Painful.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Stranger,
Why won't you look at me?
With those piercing blue eyes
parting that pale, beautiful skin.
Like a sea-
parting the sand.
Stranger,
Why won't you turn my way?
With a brush of that platinum hair
on that harsh jawline.
Like a field of wheat-
tickling the striking sky.
Stranger,
Why won't you smile at me?
With that quiescent smirk
surfacing on those pale pink lips.
Like a sunset-
just starting to sink behind the trees.
Stranger,
Why won't you gaze at me?
Like the way-
I gaze at you.
Stranger,
Make me feel beautiful.
Make me feel noticed.
Make me feel-
Worth It.
Stranger,
Your walking away.
As if you haven't just crushed a heart.
A soul.
Stranger,
Look at me.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
Graceful quiescent
bronze ballerina
frozen liquid pirouette
rooted from toe-tip
flowing calf to thigh stem
stretch sublime.
Off-shoot extends
then bends
at knee
runs the shin to
soft ankle twist.
Toe to knee again.
Budding groin
torso flowering divine
unfolding to
delicate swan neck leaning
face in ecstasy
tilting up.
Petal arms reaching
slightly bowing
to tulip cup.
Finger tips
elegantly caress
the sky.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Pine treed mountains
mid winters grip
Frigid blast
blankets all
Victuals scarcity,
wildlife hungers
Wolves scavenge
aimlessly
Eerie silence settles,
storm passed
Quiescent solitude
seemingly abandoned
Vicious temps split
frozen tree bark
Sounds, sudden
percussion
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
Watch how the white birds float
On fjords, eternally reposed—
The rustles will whisper
how they keep pristine composure:
"Follow the glassy estuary streams,
where swans sleep quiescent darlings
of their ivory shrouds."
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
Sitting alone with the stars
I wait
For the last minutes of today
to fade into tomorrow
Turning what felt so precious
to memories
I remember the nights spent on the rooftop
caterwauling to the stars
and ache a little more
Everything reminds me of when we
had sock races across the slippery floor
Danced in the sky
fought battles with swords of leaves
Lay underneath a ceiling of blankets
and got tipsy on caffeine
That which cannot be tangible
feels like a knife to the heart
And as I wave goodbye
to the retreating light
tears start to pour from unblinking eyes
I stare motionless as it disappears
into the night
Quiescent as my body shakes from the cold
I cannot feel
Life is full of goodbyes it seems
and nothing lasts forever
But just this once I wish it would
just this once I would turn back time
To have a few more minutes of oblivion
even a few seconds
But time waits for no man
and no man waits for time
That is what you would say, isn't it?
They say that time has no beginning
and no end
But this feels final
this feels like the end to something
I will never have again.
-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
Soothing that we aren't at war
Soothing that the thunderous skies
Show bright quiescent lightening flash
In battle field where no man dies.
Soothing that we sued for peace
Soothing that the tempers calmed
In altercations' quarrel lake
Where differences are drowned or charmed.
Soothing that your grey eyes sleep
Soothing that I walk away,
Walked to seek another life
Where conflicts' brat is held at bay.
Soothing now the day is still
Soothing that the air is calm,
Tho now I long for happenstance
In cut and ****** of battles' harm.
Marshalg
Becalmed.
4 November 2012
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 6:58 PM UTC
do you reminisce,
as you spread your wings?
of a quiescent chrysalis,
that sits and swings?
or is it all bliss
your freedom brings?
beautiful butterfly,
when did you know?
did y'know why?
or did you just let it flow?
was it a solemn goodbye?
or a happy hello?
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
To love
you must find
where light convenes at daybreak
brooding
You must search
beyond impending greenery
assertive lace and pirate flower
Below the clouds of spring
that can’t—
be seriously taken
Behind time’s betrayal
where vined lattice
cages fragments of a smile
Why sophisticate such sense?
Far more to the extent
of will and heart extended
taste is answered
unaware
of when the sweet was gone
For presence is!
when savored sources—linger
...in their endings
known—and not resigned
Melted...quiescent...priestly moment
It’s not Zenith!
but Twilight
who drops her eyes!
To love
you must—
must love
beyond...below...behind
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
Your soul; all its liberation.
Amorphous,
I see it in my dreams in the form of its purity.
Crystalline.
I can never catch it
But it captures me.
My only caprice is to love and chase after it.
The feeling I feel from all your presence;
Your dulcet soul
Encompassing me,
I am enraptured, and can not let go,
You're the light
You are ethereal.
The energy you bring to me is exuberant.
Finally
I've found my felicity.
And I am free.
The way you just exist in your form ,
On your own
Incorporeal in your world.
Thanks for letting me in.
You fly and so naturally just exist,
Contentedly pleasing,
So beautifully incandescent.
In all my dreams where you are my vision,
I see you absolutely quiescent.
All your raidiance giving me what I needed.
I can't find on earth
What I find in you.
You in your power defying gravity,
In a sapphire mist, in your own portion of the world, where darkness never lives
Nor visits.
A place so serene,
That is why I only see you in my dreams.
When I am somnolent, and bound to fall down and lay silent,
Witnessing your spherical tranquility with no vestige when I awake,
You take me to my highest point when I am destined to break.
You are transcendent and truly amazing.
I love you in all your lilt sussuration.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
Lexical littorals illiterate foal
Talus and cirque shore and shoal
Iconoclast anarchy vortex knoll
****** matrix vertex peak
Semantic regalia flux and seek
Torrid allusions own and keep
Dichotomy paradox surge and swell
Primordial integumence purge and fell
Contiguity confluence dirge and knell
Reliquiae requiem show and tell
Accession assertion deliberative need
Transcendent ascension expiate seed
Subordinate ancillary exigency deed
Subliminal subjunctive sensorium seethe
Uxorious usury detinue blithe
Contiguous currency decimate tithe
Tractive proximity critical lithe
Delusory phantasm futurity kithe
Alacritous tactile acuity interstice
Accidence ambience resonance quipy pith
Scenario synopsis resilience gist
Endergonic protensive progressiveness rift
Prestissimo preterite retroactive gift
Poignant puissance piquant myth
Fable fantasticate legend list
Preternatural gesticulate proclivity pith
Propensity assimilate diabolical mist
********** fornicate zooidal mist
Parenthetical erudite erumpence fist
Quiescent gossamer lecherous wrist
Militant mercenary actuator aorist
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
Words
words to say
words to say for those who possess a quiescent soul
vibrations forming into susurrus breathes,
spun by Love.
Love is an oxymoronic, overly celebrated,
seemingly sempiternal happening that is eternally ephemeral,
lasting
a
very
short
t
i
m
e.
Love speaks with words that no matter how
dis-joint-ed
sound wonderfully euphonious -
a sonic euphoria
a billet-doux made from absolutely nothing
but
the very
rawness
of being absolute.
Love is a little more than
chimerical.
Love is a clinquant aubade that requires redamancy.
redamancy.
Love requires love to exist in it's eternal shortness,
to exist
in the mere seconds that are allowed
to exist in the ephemeral time frame of a blip in space
of decades and decades that no one will rememeber and that will not matter to the masses
and
will mean
absolutely nothing to everyone else except
for the one that is awake enough to look directly at
Love.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
Sa pamamagitan ng kabutihan ng Kanyang Kabutihan
~~~
*the message arrive by private telegraph line,
"write,"
she behests,
more than a mortal's requests,
an authoritative pleading,
an urgent prompting
with an element of divinity attached,
almost a command
by virtue of
her virtue,
who am I to refuse,
though the writing gene/genie,
somnolent, suppressed, quiescent,
melatonined by the pills the
life force feeds us
from a bottle lonely labeled,
"whether you like it or not"
reckless explore the venues
you would prefer to never venture,
so,
this poem becomes her,
this poem be comes her,
this poem be comely
for and because of her
unbare chambers that have rusted shut,
be unafraid,
she seances me telepathically,
in the poet's way,
a crying smile accentuated with
"write of the titles you have confessed
to the body's mind inquisitor
that be stored
in the warehouses
of thy heart"
this irrecusable, willing bidding,
sneaks in the back door,
so easy oiled opened
by virtue
of her virtue
seven years of grain Pharaoh stored
in preparatory for the lean ones that
inevitable
come
yes, have so many would be's
gestated, but not fully formed,
none adequate to honor sufficient
her comely
behest
thus commissioned,
my purposeful mission,
to honor her once more,
with a simple honorific,
her wish, no matter how couched,
t'is my duty to fulfill
so here, full and filled
I grant her wishes,
with impoverished verses inadequate,
for you know her too,
as she full and fills us all*
***by virtue
of her
virtue***
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
I was breathing in the beauty of Scala dei Turchi,
as I sat atop pure white marlstone crescendo,
etched by the winds and the rains of time;
the view emphatically embracing the coast of Agrigento.
‘Twas along those balbutient banks of the Mediterranean sea
I saw him silently standing there,
his hands resting in white linen pockets,
the salt wind blowing through his peppery hair.
Serenely somber in quiescent stillness,
he was dashingly debonair,
his form earnestly beseeching, a wish
delicately wrapped in the guise of a prayer.
He peeled his stare away from crystal waters clear,
I was transfixed by eyes that gallantly gazed at me;
eyes that emerged from pools of a deep sorrow,
eyes as transparent as the turquoise blue sea.
Deftly ascending those limestone cliffs,
he was reminiscent of Saracen pirates penetrating;
with such determination of gait and surety of purpose,
he approached me with palpable power emanating.
His drawing near sent my heart swiftly a-pounding,
a halo of light behind his sun-kissed face –
I imagined I saw a shadowed smile emerge
as he nonchalantly quickened his pace.
He took his place beside me
atop the pure white marlstone crescendo;
and we waited for the sun to descend,
against the skies of beautiful Agrigento.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
Don't let your words cloud your mind
For each word spoken
Lays doubt in line
Troubles with liberties,
With words you use to speak
May be arrogant that play
To match for defeat
With the whole world watching
Trafficing of spoken words
Leads to compound interest
Into the cause for wars, racism,
Political mouth piece
On solid soil
Spreading words around in this world
Could get you on a list
Jeapordizing relations of all man kind
So step back for a moment
Before you speak
Become quiescent
Don't let your words
Cloud your mind
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 12:15 AM UTC
There's alot of things that i think about now
that sends signals of pain to my head
When they pop up in random moments
fleeting moments of significant memories
I once held so dear.
But i can't think about them anymore
I'm not allowed to remember.
Remember how much i miss the color of your walls
deep red
And how long i spent looking up at them when we layed in your room
The way the sunlight came in and bounced off the walls
Giving your room an eery red glow
even though you never let me part the curtains.
Remember how much i miss your bed spread
how much comfier it was then mine
The amount of time we spent entangled in them watching movies and playing games
Kissing
touching
I feel you most when i'm alone
I feel your ghost still around.
Remember how much i miss having my fingers tangled in your hair
Or the way you were scared of being alone when it rained hard
When we went to the theme park for my birthday and we got on the ride i was terrified of
But you were so excited about it and so brave
so in some way
I enjoyed it more with you.
Definitely not allowed to remember when you took me on our first date
you made me try your salad and i almost puked
You got overexcited and tipped the waiter too much
Or the first time we ever met
on that really awkward double date and the awful
Photobooth picture with them
we were in the background of 2/4 of it
And i'm pretty sure that was my favorite worst picture of us ever
I wish i still had it.
That's right; I miss your euphonious voice in my ears
I miss the time we spent together
even if it was ephemeral
It was the best year of my life
I miss the corny photo we had that so many people thought was oh so charming
Every photo of us was really
we looked so clinquant next to each other,
Even though that was all just chimerical.
I miss it all
I have dredged up that word about you so many times it's almost sickening
How i've wanted only one person for so long the mere idea of someone else touching me makes me
Want to throw up
I miss your smile most of all
so much
It lit up the once so quiescent soul of mine
I feel like this longing for you will be sempiternal.
Can you miss someone so much it starts too circulate in your veins?
I guess sometimes someone gets under your skin and as much as you feel you must tear apart that part of yourself
No matter how many years have past
you feel if you ever did that you'd lose a part of yourself.
Well that part of me died a long time ago.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
My sweet evanescent orange
although it has been a quiescent season, our time seems to be running short
As you happen to be a seasonal delight
and although our dalliance has been lovely
it has not been one of moiety
I will miss your
rough skin
dulcet taste
and your slender intricate eyes like that of a flickering leaf
Your bittersweet words had a redulcent undertone,
puzzling,
in the most delightful way
but as examine said parcel of citrus before me
I find a scintilla droplet of lament
for I do not wish for this season to end
I am mindful that it would be quite stingy of me to ask you to obtain till next season
for I do not hold possession of your bucolic tree
nor do I know if there will be a following season
So for the time being I will refrain from harboring jealousy of others who admire you
for although I nurtured and paid homage to this Sinensis tree
I am aware
that I am but a visitor
sitting under a grand opulent tree
enjoying your sweet taste
while we are still in season
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 3:54 PM UTC
I followed a writer
up a prodigious tree
Every leaf I brushed,
his poem.
From the crown
I scanned the pastoral
a poetic landscape in repose,
A resplendent chorus of
Glistening verdant wisdom.
O’ vast vibrato of sibilance
slipping the breaths of
Thalia and Melpomene!
Alight by dusk, I lingered.
Comes the long wind of winter
to undress each tree!
So from my aerie,
through gaunt branches,
I could see…
The low-slung place
where each poem fell
I thought, “here so many,
clothed in so much comedy
and tragedy…
recite their odes
of heaven and hell.”
And down I climbed
and away I walked
Over quiescent leaves
while red and russet
ran from their dendritic veins
Moldering into the palette
of dormant memories.
O’ even now
The sweet scent of decay
Reminds me of Spring
when I will climb again.
From the rot of the roost
to the dust below boots,
by the pen of the winter writer
Spring will come again.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC