"rosiness" poems
What effort!
What effort the horse makes
To be a dog!
What effort the dog to become a swallow!
What effort the swallow to be a bee!
What effort the bee to become a horse!
And the horse,
what a sharp shaft it steals from the rose!
what grey rosiness lifts from its lips!
And the rose,
what a flock of lights and cries
caught in the living sap of its stem!
And the sap,
what thorns it dreams in its vigil!
And the tiny daggers
what moon, and no stable, what nakedness,
skin eternal and reddened, they go seeking!
And I, in the eaves,
what a burning seraph I seek and am!
But the arch of plaster,
how vast, invisible, how minute,
without effort!
3.7k
Ripened by night
the profound sea,
as a huge archaic mirror
embracing a pasture for reflected star
Beneath the stage of luminous enthusiasm,
wavelessly rising your meditation,
which unrequitedly falling in love
with the moonbeam
Withering somber luna,
as the faint Cupid
shooting an arrow of ice
into an auroral mirage
with shining rosiness
Ought to feel out eternity
the lily wings, finally
turned out to be the feeble oar
knocking the ebb rootlessly
Affection
inexhaustible braveness and endless scrupulousness
But what are these amongst us? -
The tacit contract
between sunrise and seaside;
also the blurry distance
between darkness and dreamland
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
My eyes were beaming out,
onto the gloomy streets.
Fog was lurking in.
It adhered to my skin.
As the dew latched on,
after only seconds,
I slowly became damp.
Contributing to my silky skin.
Dusting my cheeks,
generating rosiness on my surface.
Glazing over my hair,
gluing each strand to another.
Coating my hands,
nipping at my fingertips
The haze in the back of my head,
It kept getting heavier.
Digging my fingernails into my head.
Tugging on each strand,
between my scalp and jagged fingernail.
Clawing as my nails trailed down my skull.
Blood dripping,
Streaming,
Creating tidal waves.
Fog was sprouting in my essence
The fog began to maneuver on me.
Blanketing over my body,
weighing down my soul,
overloading my carcass.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
Crashing waves against the crunch of sand
Touches my feet
Sinking into the softness beneath me
As the water stains my toes blue
And paints goosebumps
Paints chills
Across my legs
Up to my stomach
Full of the same crashing waves
Those which curl
And spin in whirlpools
Up to my chest
Into my lungs full of seasalt
And the bitterness of the morning sun
Down every branching vein
That reminds me of mangrove roots
Yet pale and blue
So small and delicate
It reaches my own shaking fingers
And to the rosiness of my cheeks
All I hear is the soft ringing of windchimes in my ears
And the splash that dissipates into nothing but tiny droplets
Maybe that’s what keeps me awake at night.
May 24, 2021
May 24, 2021 at 8:22 AM UTC
(i see) two scions dance in traffic: sun and moon,
sky and stars; God’s two heirs
dancing in traffic as if they weren’t demigods but
small maya birds - transfixed
mortals, fighting to keep away from the blinding
might their status affords them.
as His children their world and its light is for their taking,
of which they can feed - or not:
they go on instead like hungry wolves, next to I, rising
(sidelined, falling) flagging down jeeps
in the thick of the Vinzons Hall jeepney stop. They bark loud
and cheerily to keep idle; from unravelling
their wax-worn strings. They are birds guided by concrete routes,
those yearning to feel its bleakness
in each syllable creeping up their gold-and-marble throats:
the soft choke of exhaust smoke
and the rosiness of their gaunt in the face of all-knowing fate:
that of snatching from death
a world not theirs. They declare: “Perseus we are not, and
Janus we choose.” They shuttlling
commuters obscure and without fuss and without end
to and fro, where they come
they spit on the universe in baggy basketball shorts
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
Early mornings
Not the mornings where noises and beeps
Stir you from your sleep
And
Not the mornings
Tossing and turning awakens you
From the nightmares replaying in your head
That just won’t let you rest any longer
But more of the mornings
When for no apparent reason at all
You wake up just in time to see the sun start to crawl
Up your walls
Leaving a golden glow
Gingerly you stir in your bed
Because every movement at this hour
Seems a thousand times louder
And you toss and wiggle out of your sheets
Out of the cocoon you made the night before
Your comfort
Your safety
Out of the sheets that now crumpled somewhere in your bed
Below your feet
That hold the warmth that you have left
When dreamy eyes filled with sleep
Barely open
Wanting to take a peek
Outside the window just above your bed
Knowing you woke up just in time to see the sky blushing as it wakes with the world
The rosiness of its’ cheeks
The golden glow in its’ eye
As it peers over the mountain top
Kind of like how you’re kneeling to peer just over your window now
Mornings are bittersweet
A story that only some get to see
A story that comes and goes so quickly
You can almost miss it in a blink of an eye
From amber to rose to yellow and back to blue
Only dreamy eyes can catch the moment
Weary bodies wrapped in tangled sheets
Peering over the window sill
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
you know
when i first beheld the icy greyness
of this giant sepulchral building
a giantness of Empty
a giantness of unrecognised surreal faces
a giantness of being sorta kinda lost
a giant lostness of slamming into glass doors
hurriedly breaking out
to a place i wanted to know
when i first beheld that giantness
i had never thought
imagined felt conceived
hell i had it all figured out
in what i thought was a deep deep experience
i had never thought
it would be that crisp
that quick
the creepiness of mounting heartbeat
pounding like a drumbeat
rising out into the rosiness of dawn
full of a wisdom of it's own experience
that it would be that supple
lifting me with effortlessness
like a wave of adrenaline
rush; gushing into my
guts; breaking out like
a furious river bent on
flowing with the vastness of the ocean
and the innocence of the sky
i had never thought
that is how you have a Crush.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
A certain rosiness has returned
the Sea some sky blue
Hues borrowed from summer
long gone and forgotten
Memories coloured with light
bright with long promise
etched into the faces of winter
a reminder the Sun is coming.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 5:37 AM UTC
rose petals..
colorful butterfly...
lemon grass..
rainbow in sky...
+++++
**mystical music..
of flowing streams...
growing shrubs..
fruits and trees...**
+++++
*fragrance of wet soil..
blooming flowers...
humming birds..
bite of honey bees...*
+++++
**clump of old age trees..
uproar of wild animals...
ebullience of untamed waterfall..
erosion of river strands...**
+++++
*blushing of squirrel ..
whistling of cold breeze...
dew on lotus leaf ..
rosiness of sunrise...*
+++++
**snow bound peaks..
tweeting birds...
always makes me realize..
that I am alive...**
+++++
deovrat - 21.02.2018 (c)
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
Travelers of unknown time
Walked several steps with rhyme
Build the bridges with droplets of ink
Traces of which remained lastingly in their hearts.
Perhaps the morning rays flows from her thoughts
Mingles with the fragrance of fresh page slots
She sighed on seeing the setting rays of fall
Verses knitted in twilight spilled from her heart.
She gathered words that slipped from her palms
With stream of petals she weaves garland
When the ink leaves its imprint
Feathers drizzles on someone's heart!
Ink that drizzled from her pen beautified themselves
Passion never dies as they enlighten the bookshelves!
© 2016 Geetha Jayakumar. All rights reserved.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 9:53 AM UTC
Knowledge is now very simple
Single word questions
And answers in a breath.
Knowledge is now aplenty
Evenly cut pieces of bread
Within easy reach of the laziest
Then why do you
Lift your eyebrows
When forty line answers are spit out
For question that won’t hold in four lines.
The Thaj Mahal is not a wonder, its snobbery
The vain argument goes on.
From the other lone
This lone doesn’t look greener
but only a funeral patch
You are argue with yourself
And throwing a set of fruitfulness question:
Why the evening’s rosiness nestles in the snake bird’s eyes?
Where does the garden lizard leave its memory for a while?
When did the owl start cleaning the day’s dirt to end the night?
Who feeds the pair of rabbits on the moon without fail?
In what soft tones does the ant whisper secrets to its mate?
In which impoverished month did the white ants burp and wipe their lips
Who wrenched the cricket’s courage that they make such noise?
Why can’t the **** wake up the neighborhood without loosing its sleep?
Why can’ t the peacock break its contract with the rain clouds?
From where did the fox gain its cunning?
Which river entered the forest, fighting the sea?
Why war, floods, poverty, quakes?
In word : God’s fury.
Look how simple knowledge is,
Beautiful in its commonness.
Still you argue
You swear
What met isn’t knowledge
Nor the way to knowledge
Then of what
Does it symbolise?
Tell me in a word.
======
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
There was sun dead
Behind the hurricane of sorrow
Which was
For sun,a disaster
For hurricane,a played track for swallow
There was sun dead
In the dust of your rebellious manner;
Though
For sun,a mysterious chapter
For dust,an endless struggle
There was sun dead
In a frustrated gaze of you
Where passion was running through
That was
For sun,a praise
For your eyes,a rosiness!
Jun 13, 2022
Jun 13, 2022 at 12:02 PM UTC
If it's all just the play of colours,
let me,
Be the artist of your life.
Handle me the pallet, and let me fill the grey depletion in your heart with all the merry hues.
Paint the years-long paleness on your cheeks with the rosiness of hope and love.
Shade in the long left bleak corners of your angstful eyes with stellar colours of nonchalance.
If it's the shape that matters,
Let me,
Collect the broken pieces of your dreams that fell past the grounds you've settled to, bits by bits, although unartistically, but aesthetically.
The twisted and tormented insight of yours dangling under the burden of responsibilities stretch into the light of mirth and gratification.
Lend me your hand for a while, and
Discover all the uncovered path.
Walk against the stormy wind with eyes wide open.
Breathe in the energy that the universe is radiating for you.
Walk past the spiny nightmares to get wind that how beautiful your reveries are!
Whilst you bother about the lost star's shine,
Let me explore the whole new multiverse in you. Let me, just let me help you.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
Her pale lips
So perfect in there stillness
Painted over with a thin coat
Of shimming scarlet red
Her once flushed cheeks
Now dusted over
With the harshness of artificial
Rosiness and splendor
For she now lives
In a world of eternal
Slumber
At peace in the hellish
Chaos of this world
In her cocoon of
Velveteen cushions
Nobody must look at her
To know the beauty
That she holds
In the innocents
Of her features
She was the only
Person in this
Excuse for paradise
That knew you
For the imperfections
That made you who you are
You loved her
With your entire being
You loved her
And now…
…she is gone.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 3:45 PM UTC
it happens in the spaces
between your hands,
the rosiness of your cheeks.
when you're laughing, and she cannot take her eyes off of you
you might not see it,
but it's there
growing in the midst of all the stillness.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 6:02 PM UTC
Her cheeks, lost their rosiness
Eyes, their inquisitive shine
Arms colder than ice itself
Lips, a frigid blue.
Then came a knock, and he
enters, in his royal garb
Painting pink on her cheeks
And the sinful red on her lips
Dressing her in her best, for
The journey that will be remembered
By many. Forever
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
pink lights possibly work
like the rose tinted spectacles.
everything looks warm and safe,
needing large curtains in sombre fabrics
to hide us. is this the first step, two red
bulbs from poundland, at two for a pound.
fold the empy box flat,
and made keep it for future
ideas on rosiness.
sbm.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
The child burst out in belly laughter, details of the world coming at him,
the echo of water flowing through
river reeds, the nettle of the plain, thorns of plants, a little girl's ****
nestled in the grass, a pinch
from the foreign schoolmistress, the drawing of a dream in a
class notebook, the shape of sin
alluded to in sketches, the incandescence of afternoons,
for you who judge the value of the birth of new life
only by the rosiness of cheeks,
the balance scale pan clatters just once
from the lightness of being in one of the pans
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 6:57 PM UTC
Whenever you come to me in white,
Your grandeur walks away with my heart.
It takes my heart away and carries it with you.
Whenever you come to me,
Notice me; you are in white, while I happily watch you in adorable yellow light.
Your white and grand light,
Do look into my heart,
A heart that has left the possession of rosiness
To feel the mighty volume of its light within itself.
Do look at me in my heart,
And for the sake of this peace,
Do dip your hands in its grandeur yellow light.
Whenever you come to me,
In white along with your grandeur walk.
I will be at the corner praying for you
With my yellow heart.
©shivpoetesspriya
Apr 9, 2025
Apr 9, 2025 at 7:00 AM UTC
I’m in my forties now
and if I knock my knee it aches for days
even if I can’t say
precisely when and how I did it
Vexed I am left to neck ibuprofen
and recall what I took for granted
in the fat rosiness of my twenties
But I have my own front door
and a car
and keys for both
and when things go wrong I can fix them
or at least pay a guy called Steve
to pop round and do that for me
while I watch the news and tut
I have my own front door
behind which I can hide safe
with only the news to scare me,
I put a tire iron under my bed
to feel better
Late at night I look out the window
from time to time
to see the reassuring flash
of my car’s alarm indicator
and I wonder in the dark who else can see it
The news and my social media
say things are bad and getting worse
so I’m glad of my front door
I don’t go out too much anymore
anyway
not like the past
when knocks and bumps were shrugged off
and my guts could take a hit
and I was one of the people
making drunken noises in the night
but it was just a laugh, right?
Not like now.
These folk have no respect.
I lock the door as soon as I am in,
car or house
and check the news again.
I might call Steve and see if he can set me up
some CCTV.
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 10:25 AM UTC