"reclusive" poems
The beach smells of tranquillity and salty sea air
The rhythm of the waves gently caresses my skin
The horizon seems elusive, a dream always chased
Yet night foreshadows traumas waiting to be let in
Oh where do I begin?
*I love you
I don't wanna be scared of you
I'm waiting in the shoreline
Please don't run away this time*
I'm scared of silent reflections, solemn and reclusive
I float futher from myself with each passing day
I have a note addressed to myself taped to a mirror
I'm scared of reading it aloud and being lead astray
And I have to accept that it's okay
*"I love you
I don't wanna be scared of you
I'm waiting in the shoreline
Please don't run away this time"*
Seashells coated in sand tickle the edge of my ear
The fog carried on the wind sends chills deep inside
The sun will always be there to break the duskiness
Daunting across the sky and waking up the tide
And the breeze slowly sighed
Please don't run away,
don't run away from me
Please don't run away,
don't run away from help
Please don't run away,
don't run away from the sea
Please don't run away,
don't run away from yourself
Angel wings take me further than I've ever gone before
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
Hiding the complex
Through basic reflex
Seeing simple lives
Through diamond eyes
The world falls
And then crumbles
So the time flies
Through diamond eyes
And rain falls
And thunder rolls
The tiny lies
Through diamond eyes
No want to be obtrusive
Need to be reclusive
Seeing quiet sighs
Through diamond eye
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
There's a candle burning nightly
In the window, on the right
The house has long been empty
But, the candle's there each night
The house in old and ancient
I'm sure it has tales it needs to tell
Like, why the candle's burning
And why the house won't sell
The candle shows up daily
As soon as dusk begins to fall
The drapes are drawn so closely
In each room along the hall
But, in that lonely window
Burns a candle all can see
It's been burning there each evening
Since nineteen forty three
They say the house is haunted
After all, the candle is a clue
Someone lights it nightly
The question asked is who?
The house has been abandoned
No one lives there any more
They say the last survivor
Left in nineteen forty four
The story is as follows
If I get my rumours straight
The house was built around
The year eighteen eighty eight
The family that did own it
When the candle came to light
Were wealthy, and reclusive
And they all kept out of sight
The story goes, their oldest son
Signed up and went to war
He was a pilot in the air force
He shot down 15 planes or more
He was shot down on a mission
But his plane was never found
They never found the wreckage
Where it crashed into the ground
The candle started burning
The day the message came
It's always burning in the window
It's always lit, it's all the same
The candle shows when it is dusk
It goes out just past three
No one knows who lights it
There's no one there to see
Is the candle lit by spirits
Waiting for a missing son
Is it lit to help pass over
To make his journey done
No one knows the exact story
If the plane crashed and he died
But, even in the daylight
People don't pass by on this side
The house is an enigma
Is a ghost there waiting for
A son to come home to them
Marching through the old front door
All I know is that the candle
Has been lit for 60 years
And there's a ghost up there just waiting
Crying quiet , ghostly tears
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
He lives in a cold and empty house
Where lightbulbs hang from silver chains
And lonely ghosts live within
The cracking, creaking wooden walls
He leaves out his favorite books for them
And listens to footsteps beneath the floorboards
He plays piano,
a reclusive recital for empty rooms
And they keep each other's soft-spoken secrets
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
Anxious
Dull, a boy is he
names he would not plea
eyes like baby blue-
lips a crimson hue
Feelings like me and you
Reclusive
Outsiders he'd not choose
In his mansions he bore
luring himself-
with enchanting lore's
drifting away, loosing woes
A Xenos
Traveling in his hallways
unknown, ominous
a wretched life he portrays
even in his heart, he'd say-
"Loneliness, such a Cliché"
Forsaken
Befriended, unseen
though he's not a devil
-for I believe
tortured, battered on thee
delude by his mistress' skim
He Left
portals out from misery
gone himself eagerly
then comes back, with such
-A Victory
for now, a statured man is he
Knights & Kings
upon bended knees
and everything he please
from a man to a boy
-in a dream
A Castle, now he redeems
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
My heart was mechanical
Oiled always by love
Cogs moved independently
Springs always moving in rhythm
This was love in my heart
Intricate pieces moving as one
Affection,
Emotion,
Trust,
Was what fuelled this love
It beat strong
Never wearing down
Always would it beat strong
But then betrayal
Disloyalty,
Sorrow,
Neglected
Dirt had entered this heart
Oil contaminated
Springs oxidized
Cogs bent out of shape
Broken parts,
littered the floor of this heart
What once ran smooth,
Started to go cold
Cobwebs,
Vines,
Empty,
Was this damaged heart
Where once movement
Who could mend
This once loved heart,
Then the tinkerer entered her life
Full of friendship
It took Time, for her to let him in
But what once was reclusive
Friendship,
Blew the cobwebs away
Companionship
Cut the vines away
Loyalty
Filled that empty space
Love
Was the catalyst, that started
This clock work heart again,
Some piece, still lay
On the hearts floor,
For if a clock work heart is broken
It will never be as it was before,
The rust faded oiled once more
A clock work heart is a fragile Piece,
Only give it to those who will
Hold it gently in there grasp.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 7:12 AM UTC
You walked into the parking lot surrounded
By the smell of cheap perfume, gasping for air,
I'd actually climbed 2 flights of stairs,
And the man who brought us to the garage
Told me that my poor baby, my poor sweet car
Was to be left in there for more than a week,
She'd sprung a leak and the doctor was saying
So much that I wish he'd just not even speak,
Cursed old man, watch when you drink the beers!
The double trouble had turned into a smashing spiral,
My banged up car was so good through the years,
It made my boring reclusive life seem so meaningful.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
Happiness
You are so elusive
And you are
Always so reclusive
Like a ray of sun
When the day is done
Disappear
Beyond the horizon
And I look around
You're never found
Disappear
Into a darkened room
Happiness
Always somewhere else
And you can
Never offer help
Like a fleeting dream
Dissipate like steam
Disappear
Into the black night sky
Like a quick half smile
Never seen in a while
Disappear
Into the impossible
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 7:17 AM UTC
sword-shaped
wild iris leaves
pierce the meadow sod,
reaching outwards
from cold reclusive shelter
beneath native strawberry
carpeted repose
juxtaposed ― smoke rises
to the sun
like the basal verdures
of fleeting winter's escape;
crawling up an invisible
spiral staircase seeking
the azure heavens
r e n a s c e n c e
a nexus ―
stormy winter’s windfall
and,
irony of a wooden match,
gathered winter tinder
inflamed, sacrificed
to the heraldic spring skies
of the begetter;
just like
the wistful soul
beheld a simple man
that impatiently rests
on the threshold
of a dream,..
unnoticed
by the billowing silence
of evanescent
winter exile:
daydreaming
a peaceful ascendance;
dissipating puffs of smoke
drifting away
unto the ether,
weightless as light
harlon rivers ... spring 1st, 2018
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
Take a peak inside that stormy dome,
see if you can't find yourself
a semi-peaceful slice of mind that you can call your own
Tie a leash around its neck,
try to walk that creature home,
Show it to your mom and pops
“look guys, look what I found roaming around my teenage mind?
This is the friend I was telling you about
I know he’s kind of ugly, shaggy and unkempt.
His looks are mildly incestual
But I love him all the same
Do you mind if I sit him right there next to you?
Maybe the three of you could exchange some words
He knows the same ones I do
Even those nasty slurs
I don’t exactly understand him
No one else does either
Everyone knows him,
But few seem to remember
Don’t go looking for him on your own
He tends to get real shy, sometimes reclusive
He’ll dive down deep into his subconscious home,
Forged of past memories, images and emotions
The ones that I dare not touch like the middle of the ocean
I wait by the shoreline, drifting in and out of consciousness
Anxiously awaiting,
the lumber that he’s plundered
from my stormy subconscious.
Then again,
maybe this time will be just like the rest.
Maybe this time all I get,
Is that hollowed out feeling in my chest
Suddenly,
He surfaces for air
And there he is
Speaking to me of sufferings and joys
My very own melodrama and vanity
He even touches on insecurity.
Things I never knew I tried so hard to hide
How did he find it all?
In that underwater den,
Where all these things reside.
“If you don’t come home with me, all this beauty may be forever lost”
I told him.
So that’s why I brought him home
I call him creativity
Could you watch him,
I need to be alone?
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
Growing up
I was indirectly taught to hide my feelings
I was told she was doing it for attention
"It's easier to ignore the situation than stop her"
I was told not to give her the satisfaction
I was told she would stop if I ignored her long enough
I believed my mother didn't care
I was 8
I stopped showing my emotions
I stopped showing my annoyance
my displeasure
I stopped caring
I became reclusive
I hid
I caged my words
I was 12
Writing became my safe haven
Ink bleeding from my fingers
My words were all I had
My soul stayed hidden between the pages of my notebook along with my words
I was 13
My sister died and it was in a counseling session that my mother realized her mistake
One I had forgiven her for years ago
I was 15
If there was anything I learned it was that my words are mine and mine only
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 2:09 AM UTC
[Fanfare, obviously]
This poem should begin with the call of a bugle,
as is fitting for an ode of Braveheart Macdougal.
Children of Parklands, take heed and be wary,
as I relate now, in verse, a tale cautionary.
Benigna Murdie was a most virtuous lass,
blesséd with promise and a penchant for sass.
To peer pressure she was admirably immune,
and ne'er did she bow to the temptation of goon.
Nary a drop of ***** has e'er passed her lips,
save for politeness and church-mandated sips.
Yet even the mightiest fall-- what a pity!
(harder than I did that night in the city).
So I hope you all glean a moral from this,
and your interpretation does not go too amiss.
But all is self-evident, to quote Descartes,
so allow me to recount this tale from the start.
She hails from a country renown for their piety,
for their pacifist ways and universal sobriety.
The Scottish are known throughout the land
for their temperance of character and lightness of hand.
And our poor Bennigles was no rule-exception,
she subscribed quite wholly to this perception.
A more reserved and reclusive girl you've not seen,
virtually a saint at only nineteen.
Passed out on the couch, liquor was never the root,
only strain from the studying and academic pursuit.
A paradigm of virtue, a pillar of purity,
no “that's-what-she-said's” to compromise maturity.
But that all changed one day touched by fate,
when Rachel realized that hedonism's great.
She took to the streets to revel in her glee,
and legit nothing bad happened cause this isn't tv.
Alas, now I'm drunk and the screen is a-shaking,
perhaps of wine I should halt my partaking.
I cannot continue with this facetious ode,
as we all well know that this is a total load.
But I'll miss you, my Brit, and our shitshow nights,
our Australian exploits and your culinary delights.
Sorry I couldn't finish to detail your demise,
but perhaps I'll conclude after an Australia-reprise.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
she sat out my doorway
elusive, mysterious
a quaintness that I couldn't help but to admire
existing truly in a self reclusive reality
speaking rarely
and listening even less
possessed fierce gray eyes
that instilled inexplicable emotions within me
with little to no effort she touched my soul
she didn't do anything unusual
I only wanted her to.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 6:39 AM UTC
lucid
reclusive
aint a job in this world
so i do this
i choose it.
abusive
inclusive
lyrics with no music
slowly comin down
from the roof its
abysmal
noctural
medical
spewing from my heart
internal
infernal
eternal.
words to an ancient lullaby
that only i can hear (and i don't know why)
flushes upon
my cheeky cheeks
it feels so queer
when i speak my speak.
hipsters and goblins
spokes from their mouths
i wanna rob them
mob them
sob them
sounds from the ether
i wanna shock them
out.
sell my soul for a dime full of emotions
peddle my heart for a little bit of potions
twist my tongue
and dab my eyes
room full of tears
but i got no cries
land full of ears
but i got no lies
body full of flesh
but i got no tries
elephant
irrelevant
beating my head
for the hell of it
chandelier
another beer
sleep thru the night
wake to the same fear
i don't know you
and you don't know me
there is no us
so there aint no we
just let me live
i'll let you be
i'll stay clear
but there is no free
toes toes
into the sand
wish upon a star
that i conquer this land
hoes hoes
i cannot stand
to nowhere i lead
place out your hand
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
(history)
Quell the bard was silken-clad and ever young.
her flute connected earth and sky,
tamed lightning in the higher notes..
her ancient horse would winnie to her song
of endless breath she blew her story even into stone.
having borne the stigmas of a *****
her martial prowess struck,
trampled disrespect to cacophonic dust
while over hills and vales he carried her--
a love-sick equine heart at peace at last upon the road
between her thighs, commanded loyalty of beasts and men.
none claimed her for their own,
though some risked instant death to try
..stirge beaks tap on bones and rock
to seek corrupted blood of elven kings,
who having reigned and fallen
to a royal troglodyte of dragon times,
paint each eon with ambivalence...
i conjure what my heritage beholds
--reclusive double-tongue to hoard all words,
reinvent religions for a lark
what legend am i privy to the making of
that hasn't had its underwires stripped,
hung about a square in lewd display of Fact
to purge a sense of mystery awry?
i am alone within my fantasy.
its symbols still mythologize my i.
i will not bare it here, or anywhere--
concealment is its freedom, and its boon--
in which a frame of tenuous material appears
where antidote addictions cycle musically,
the timeline's summoning
a game of recompense, compensating wanderlust
won by whim and licorice for thought;
it finds familiarity untamed--
adolescent anchorage aweigh--
adventures into wildernesses lost
.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
No longer affectionate, attentive, thoughtful eyes;
instead, an expressionless, invisible, blank stare.
No longer strolling hand-in-hand, carelessly;
instead, walking moonbeams apart, drifting like clouds.
No longer drowning in passionate, lingering kisses;
instead, an obligatory, awkward, fleeting peck.
No longer two hearts bow-tied with strings;
instead, reclusive, lonely hearts, in a noose.
No longer dreaming of a lifetime together;
instead, an uncertain, somber, painful future.
No longer a confident, loving wife;
instead, a heartsick, lonely, aging woman,
Desperately afraid of losing you.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 9:19 PM UTC
take off your shell, wash off the dirt that is layered upon your skin
come out of the cave, show us what’s within
the expertly built walls that surround your lake of life
you can’t keep swimming away all your life
reclusive exclusive beach ***
elusive and ruined pretty creature
Jul 16, 2022
Jul 16, 2022 at 11:43 AM UTC
True tangled Gordian thoughts entwine
Amid labyrinthine paths that wind
Sliding sledding serpentine
To assay value and extent
Braid a mind a shoreward end
Seeking weeping thrashing send
Infused with knowledge deep and sound
A consciousness cogitabund
Within the portals self confined
Disconnected judgements breed
Diffuse journeys often made
To darkened places
Where no light
Of vision lucid sparkling bright
Will penetrate and seem so safe
Writhing heavy leaden womb
Elusive dissolute abound
Reclusive and so moribund
But in the darkened space there seems
A distant tendril sparkling white
A reaching focal point to strive
To make that leap
Great grasping bound
Wrapping arms so safe around
Clasping forgone lines abandoned
Sublimating impasse upward
Strength of purpose
Welling forward
Great eruption spewing outwards
Lava flowed eureka moment
Spreading outwards
Flowing downwards
Cogent sentient live born
Brewed in darkness
Drinks the bright
With clarity and strength unite
Dazzling brilliant shining moment
Cleft asunder glorious light ....!
Oct 14, 2009
Oct 14, 2009 at 2:13 AM UTC
Effortless dust conspires with the ephemeral wind's devious desires
Lucid time transpires, while the illusion of life prevails then expires
When I need you, you're elusive, fleeting and distant
When I have you, you're abusive, cheating and resistant
When I leave you, you're reclusive, retreating, and nonexistent
When I bereave you, you're conclusive, defeating, and insistent
I rely on you to pass, mend and heal all my wounds, and cleanse the stain
I admire you in class, am reminded on full moons, and lose you in the rain
Blatant slaps in the face, blessed with you to waste, then we ask what you're worth
Silent gaps lost in space, stressed with a virgin's chaste, been by her side since birth
Eat the scraps fall from grace, obsessed with the taste, so many hungry facing dearth
Burned maps without a trace, pressed to make haste, as you tick down upon the earth
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
Just because I’m reclusive, doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Above you stand only second-hand crossword puzzles chucked by gods, their errors in ink. The newsprint covers your head and you fill in some blank squares to make words shorter, how you want them to be. If you had your way, you’d be a philosophy major. You’d submerge yourself in knowledge like a child who spiraled from heaven via twirly slide in a pit of plastic ***** Your way would lead to fortune cookies filled with morbid maxims and hand-picked lucky numbers because computers are so impersonal. You’d call the absence of ignorance death; but until then, bathroom wall banter must do. **** what goes on in bathroom stalls. I touch myself in a public restroom thinking of you, my eagerness a shaken bottle of ginger ale. Two hours later, they start peering in the stall, asking if I’m alright in there. I feel the way I did when Jessica Serber ripped out my braid in second grade when we were playing Marco Polo. I told Coach Fish and she asked, “What am I supposed to do? Glue it back on?” I hated her ever since. And yet it’s not just hatred, but also fear, like the fear of killing spiders in case their family chooses to avenge them. I can never get over it; I can never live it down. So forgive me for never telling you this. Forgive me for never telling you much of anything. Just because I’m reclusive, doesn’t mean I don’t love you. But if one day you decide to leave me, I’ll hire a hustler who looks just like you.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 9:47 AM UTC
taken back by this inner ***** when i get high
cuz i cant work up the courage to smile
look you in the eye, and say hi
i look down and stare at my screen
pretending not to notice and focus on doing certain things
however all that's in focus is the increasing sound of you getting closer
i hold on tight and try not lose my composure
parlayed, with a stress disorder.
the root cause is probably this raging *****
that ego
that i wont let go
unnoticed.
by being so reclusive
you noticed
im sorry peaches and oranges
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
.to have gained so much through a process of loss is a meandering truth to my life. the relationships i build, manufacture..become processed. an unreal version of the way life was supposed to be. for me anyways. where has the real "grit" gone to. the granules of momentum in mind and heart. to be willing to overcome the self pity, to go the distance, to be you. i look around, peer into the eyes of others and see a smog. a stream of tar. thick with loathing and disdain. for what reason do we allow ourselves to become these wandering entities? we do not deserve this life, this body, this chance if we are going to let it become stagnant, flat, static. i much rather let reclusive acts take me away, than to be consumed in the negativity, the natural downturn. don't grasp onto the cruel aspects of life, live through them and continue by appreciating the grace that has been given to you through such turmoils. love whom you choose to love with all of your sacred heart. you have an endless pit of this emotion as long as you are strong enough to witness the miracle of forgiveness. be one with you. be you. dont leave pieces of you lying about. you are the morning the after noon, the evening and the night. the blossoming sun, and the face in the moon. you are eternity if you wish upon it. wish.
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 9:58 AM UTC
I refuse to surrender my delicate dream
that arrives with each rising moon
words come to play in a new color scheme
like a dance, the rhyme writes the tune
a connection I trust is somewhere made
when I share with the sad and reclusive awake
how the Sun is alive when observed from the shade
what a difference a thought can make
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
Amid the morning traversal
Isolated movement in peripheral optics
Flashing visions caught my attention
and passed so fast, then behind my back
This contrast casts playful blasts
Wondrous attacks upon question
But the sights ****** with me,
in a scarring way
like cutting into me
these incisions intent
Almost as if she's demanding me to prefigure
to anticipate her resolve in steps ready
Trap and trace her shadowy inhibition
An illusory female in swift glided mission
She wouldn't be paying me attention
If she didn't want me to see her
in an apparitions condition
Back and forth between ups and downs
Omission transmits imagination,
on repeat
As she comes and goes
Appears and disappears
In a childlike hide and seek
Transition to remission
My jaunting disposition was put to shame
While trying to chase and catch
This, her silhouetted composition
All the silent while
I cursed blame on my beloved,
for coming so close to smell her
but not letting me hold her
But in real time
She kept reclusive
in a remote wood...
So many days without
I would long and ache
While her abilities are endlessly innate
As determination continues to persevere
She is alive, just away
out there
This figure I imagine is only that
My need to see her presence is a desperate one
Creating her graceful body in modes of bliss
Any way shape or form these divine bits
Her transparency I am offered
Only it's the tangible I am wanting
Her actual body and hair and hillside profile
My style is my struggle
As is this continual desire
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:26 AM UTC
I drank deeply
from her dimpled cup,
focussed my mind,
that was jumping like a colt,
and made my
prophecies thus:
"you are the daughter
of a reclusive prince
(who could also be a pianist )
a dark power wanted
to liquidate him,
but his mind was luminant,
his will was so strong,
he fell head over heals
in love with a gypsy,
a wandering mendicant
who was a magician of love.
**he loved the magic in life,
no wonder he was saved.**
You will
lose your virginity
to a powerful man
whose power will not
harm this world a bit!
**(powerful not harming us
is indeed rare!)**
you will give birth to a son,
who could be a king
(though monarchy now is no option
kings by other names aren't rare!)
even if they make him king,
he would abdicate and in turn,
would lead a life loving trees, rivers,
all in the nature,
light, and darkness he considers alike.
**he is brave, with a heart
brimming with love**.
you are a blessed woman
spirit of gypsy is alive still.
give a hoot about money,
but be contended with
**abundance of beauty you create,
in ways none can imagine!**
you don't want to change
the world a bit as you like,
but let everything go
in the order it should,
and just walk past
the busy streets,
towards
a breath taking sunset"
i heard an eloquent silence.
she jumped up from her seat,
took a swig of Champaigne,
and kissed me twice.
O
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC