"rubicund" poems
Obedient
Superfluous minced rubicund aqua Phoenician
Our orphanage spills blood from picnics
Menopause conniptions lipstick
Her sons learning curve
Popstar gentleman suicide
The preschoolers last taste of Apple juice
Enola gay is soaring above the vain
Potential future poets and mathematicians
Bright eyes and innocent giggles
The souls of peace
Molecules disintegrate of wondrous dreams
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
My soul whispered a secret to my heart,
It spoke of spilled blood upon a rose,
Rouged lips within the garden,
Drops of crimson liquid blush.
[CHORUS]
Nature’s beloved colour is green,
So red speaks of originality,
Blood is a passion,
Scarlet bleeding from thy own,
A claret sun dawning beyond,
Sanguine stained skies.
When the little cardinal sings sweetly,
A doorway opens I never chose,
Visions of a bloodshot key,
A lock rusted with dried blood.
A glimpse through the keyhole,
A pale forest awaits on the other side,
Showers of cherry blossoms,
Falling upon the snow.
Red berries bloom under crystal snow,
Glints of sunlight touch down,
Sparks of fire captured within,
Just beyond this rubicund door.
[CHORUS]
The dreams I am allowed,
Burn and scar my will,
When the door swings open,
Of its own accord.
Damask petals on the wind.
How warm and gentle that spray of blood,
Like a hundred tender kisses,
And the golden keys to Heaven.
I glimpsed the gules of true heraldry,
A suffused spirit at the dawn of memory,
Imprisoned by a cage of vermillion frost,
Warmed by a glass of spiced wine.
[CHORUS]
A roseate palace at the end of a long walk,
Painted titian by my tear drops,
Caress a florid complexion,
Carmine not my own.
Roan stones dusted,
By the fall of Angels light,
Make-believe incarnadine carpet of,
A mirrored auburn dusk.
I settle back into the maroon night,
The darkness flushed by concealed art,
Bay canvas touched-up with unreal imagery,
Indifferent to the passing of my former life.
[CHORUS]
Rubies fall from ruddy clouds,
These gems are not for me,
Reddened glass has come to pass,
The moment of my undoing.
[PAUSE (Epilogue)]
Red is not for me,
Red was not meant to be...
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
in the breath of the lights,
I wander through the hysterical
questions of urban mystery.
they play like a forgotten measure
of an ancient symphony, recorded
on mental parchment...
with my invisible fingers, I try
to trace those chords
back to the harmonic puzzle
from whence they came.
yet, I am swallowed by dissonant
voices, speaking from the black windows
and rubicund eyes, burnt
into memory.
so, do those questions
still exist somewhere
beneath that
which is
audible?
I do not yet hear them.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
Down Edgbaston I forgot how to feel.
Perhaps the cumulus clouds
could downsize my anger;
envy would pulsate into ebony,
under my rubicund smile
inherited from yesterday
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
And yet she moves, silently,
spinning and swirling endlessly
revolving, around a rousing star,
elegant ballet stealing radiance
indulging in warmth, in glacial
space unfathomable sphere
of incandescence, fluid rubicund
lava leisurely turning into blue
water, mystifying evolution
randomly combining hydrogen
and oxygen elements to unfold,
a liquid carpet englobing
all, to the mercy of a pale
faced moon, meticulously keeping
a distance so perfect and rare
to bear, mutating molecules
spontaneously deciding to form
cells, eager to evolve slowly
birthing life in its depths, breathing
to ensure, generous exchange
a fair give and take, a cycle where
harmonic balance is
the orchestrated oeuvre
of an omnificent composer
inventing notes of gravity,
creating abstruse species
out of fantasy, only to craft
itself a witness, capable
of understanding the amazing
wonders it ceaselessly unfurls.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
"Has an Ur-
Tablet
Ever been
Whispered
To a poet -
(Un) like an ancient
Prophet?",
Sang a rubicund
Parrot
Hanging in an apple
Tree.
LazharBouazzi, February 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC
The Sun fades.
Sun spots dimmed.
Freckles fading at the over-ripening
of the lea of cheek and breast. Rubicund.
She has drawn it, suckled and ******
drank the mad draught of sacchriferious redolence,
licked the stein with rushing tongue and now
alone stands still in space-fills,
formless in wade waters of light.
It fades.
And in the blanket blackout cacoethes,
phantoms and spectres expectorate pale puke,
lighter than air and leaden hearts beat to molten messes,
sparking rumitorium of fire, concupiscible
sputum spectacular sub-spectrum sun *****
hot spill-out wretched staccato jerks and stops,
red lightening,
angry light dancing to the difficult steps of a jittery birth.
She shines.
Eyes clenched like vengeance,
She shines.
Like a sick sun,
open mouthed and out of control.
She shines.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 4:17 PM UTC
fine Furhman's Funeral Home
used the best alchemy money could
buy, to keep her flesh fresh
and a master seamstress
sewed her wicked wounds so not
a single soul could see
she was stabbed forty times
from her rubicund cheeks to her
pedicured toes
Furhman's was the best, above
the mediocre rest, in gifting mourners
with a pleasant view
when I got their bill in the mail
it had an itemized list, which included
a charge I had to contest
not because of penury or pettiness
for I am a wealthy weeping father, but
I couldn't see spending a red dime
for crimson polish they painted
on dead toes, slid in slick hose, and
hid in patent leather shoes
my wife said write a check for the
full amount, crying this was not about
what we the living could yet see
Baton Rouge, April, 1989
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
People think it, a test to institute upon _to be out off their morals rubicund _and therefore comply it to the unyielding duty of others _on pretext dully that they should not be upset at fact , only expiate them alone _the reason of divine patience seldom for their due reverence, but their vulgarity ...
The reason of this fore stated, lays in the fact that : some individuals deliberately crudely hurt others or their surrounding, but rather apprehend in advance how conciliate solicitous the others should reaction in the case of their intentionally perpetrated aggression . facilis descensus avernis, they give no regard .
Therefore if you are lovers, dont fail your partner and make it a point of probing test upon the fondness of her or his love .
If you are parents or children dont say hard words or ill treat you parents or siblings {accordingly to each position } and expect it, better way to cast a look about submission or paid respect to adulthood nor a gabbling sports .
Love needs mutual confidence .
Any little doubt of one side is doubly resented by the other .
The practice of good is well reverenced .
And real love casts off fear and ill apprehension .
So why try to do bad, when you know that it will bring nothing but trouble ?
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
I still have hopes.
You stare at your book through your circular spectacles— carob eyes hinted with specks of caramel hidden within the fragile glass as your fingers daintily flip through the parchment-colored pages. Your pearly teeth sinks mildly onto your bottom lip, lightly chewing on the soft flesh as your eyes trace every word. With your nose crinkling, your cheeks rubicund, and your messy hair slightly falling just before your eyes; I realized that you were such a wonderful thing to observe so thoroughly, and I realized that maybe, just maybe, I was falling for you harder than I intended to.
I still have hopes that I may be able to tell you how beautiful you are; how you seem so oblivious of my admiration for you— but for now, I could only stare at you and drown in the thoughts of not being able to call you mine.
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 5:48 AM UTC
People think it, a test to institute upon _to be out off their morals rubicund _and therefore comply it to the unyielding duty of others _on pretext dully that they should not be upset at fact , only expiate them alone _the reason of divine patience seldom for their due reverence, but their vulgarity ...
The reason of this fore stated, lays in the fact that : some individuals deliberately crudely hurt others or their surrounding, but rather apprehend in advance how conciliate solicitous the others should reaction in the case of their intentionally perpetrated aggression . facilis descensus avernis, they give no regard .
Therefore if you are lovers, dont fail your partner and make it a point of probing test upon the fondness of her or his love .
If you are parents or children dont say hard words or ill treat you parents or siblings {accordingly to each position } and expect it, better way to cast a look about submission or paid respect to adulthood nor a gabbling sports .
Love needs mutual confidence .
Any little doubt of one side is doubly resented by the other .
The practice of good is well reverenced .
And real love casts off fear and ill apprehension .
So why try to do bad, when you know that it will bring nothing but trouble ?
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 10:00 AM UTC
You held my beating heart in your hands.
You felt it undulating, it was pulsing for you.
It was pulsing for me.
You kept it alive.
You kept me alive.
Having you with your stony, stormy eyes, created a life so worth living.
For such short moments in time my heart was yours and yours was mine.
Now,my face vacantly rubicund.
The winter winds lash my visage.
And you.
You lashed my heart.
You tore it into strips of scarlet.
You used your cat'o'nine tails pen.
It bled.
I bled.
Love haemorrhaged, now my love's all dead.
(C) LIVVI
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
I had a dream in the wee of the yester-night,
I was sleeping a lone on a reed wick-work of a bed
In my late grandmother’s ruffian thatched hut,
On the bed which she passed on,
On the day of her death,
She had earlier declared the bed a heirloom and memento,
To run among the grand children in her family,
Thus I was a sleep on this bed and began dreaming;
I was in a strange city, I don’t knew it
May be it was Jerusalem or Wales, am not sure,
I was walking on street, ***** and full of garbage,
Each person I met was not concerned with me,
But one woman who showed concern was mad,
She was carrying a grey cat in her arms
She asked me if I were headed to the church,
Before I responded with my awed yes;
She ululated before my eyes in her full feat of madness,
Then a huge building emerged from her red headscarf,
The building swallowed me, inside was maudlin and dull music
Like the one usually sang by christo-pagans
When attending a burial ceremony in Africa,
It was replete with irregular sounds,
Of church! Church! Church!
Riff-raff of human hordes flocked in
All of them looked different from me
Their skin was not smooth, it looked rubicund
Some were laughing, other were making nasal sounds
Not clear to me at all, at all, other made funny shouting sounds;
We are the kingdom of psychopomps, we are psychopompous,
One shot a lightening slap at my cheeks, he snarled at me;
Black discoboli! Jump and fight with our bulls.
I saw two bulls dashing at me; I was at the center of the circle
Formed by my foes, the human oats that came in,
The bulls attacked me with an aim to gore my tummy,
I kicked the bulls with one other kick of a man.
The bulls turned into cats on every kick I threw
Instead of mewing, they went melodramatic,
They began talking to me in Queen’s English,
One of the cats duped me that; I better **** before we fight further,
I followed command; I pulled out my **** from short my trouser,
I micturated till my bladder was fully empty,
Then I suddenly woke up from sleep,
Only to find out I have terribly wedded by bed.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 7:17 AM UTC
italic Sundays run with a poisonous doubt
a wronged wash in the what might have been
where we fidget like fleas on a rabbits hide
and verses drafted in the cross stitched sky
cannot disguise the well-practiced curses
with the pre-packed presumption of lilies
and static
abstract amongst the sheets
your limbs offer a confusion of choice
where context is lost
besides the arch and coil
of a tenderised neck
and that secret I shall whisper
into your ear?
two pronouns and a verb
you shall not remember
until the crystalline dew draws you clear
that it might be revealed in the heat of noon
or within the cold puddles of a rubicund swoon
as my fingers fund delight
from your long-drawn frown
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
I take it that a spray of Sun occults your face,
like watching in a squalid cinema, something a slapstick would
conjure a stylistically dumb image, or the prattle of
bunkum hubbub drowning loudspeakers in plazas.
You know there is a part of you that goes missing
every time you hear me pass carefully under the care
of toppled light, and there is a part of me that engages
the dark in this straining mutiny. This is such a troubled time
on the hardline; a martinet on the other cheapened end
of a totaled horizon hollering at gentrified space, eyes sternly
fixed on the mattress, conspicuous in urbane manner, something
shadows bade with hands, lifts up all the ragamuffin days:
to capture you in such moment, such oneness, of no complication,
like a clean Yamazaki on the house, or a metropolitan district
augured with rubicund crisscrosses, streets sidereal in measures,
an aggressive ********** at the end of the curb, the spanked curve
of the mordant asphalt, and the rise of body heat from yesterday’s swelter;
something only I could have thought of in white thighs of little ladies
and peering birds for collarbones: look at this, maddened, retaining
nothing but age.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
[Some-a-ways-on-down the line, you stole your way to my sleeping. You took only-pictures, before finally, robbing me of sleep-at-all. So, I guess I don't slip, and fall, in love. It's black, inside my pen, and I can feel it, and use it to write, and run out-of-it. All-empty after-April, and then it's time to steal-another. From work, from a friend, or, from her innocence. Am I making sense, yet?]
Are you with him, [page 12] right now? Am I paranoid, or am I creepy? Am I making you uncomfortable, just by asking? Am I thinking-the-friendship is for-simple, forever? In-the-fire, over foolishly having been buried-in-love, with you? Can I share this without regretting it? I don't regret writing it. Witholding absolutely all respect for what-may-happen-next, for the fiend, the blonde-model I've wished you would call: "Ex." And, all the air in my lungs I've got left, and a small cloud of smoke, and designs for a theft. I'll say, last-way: I love you, I don't regret that I've said it. I just hope, win, or lose, here, you'll text back when you've read it.
[Rolling Studded]
[page 13]
Wrote, in-silver-soaked-December-fourteen,
eyes-rolling, over the
studs, in your wrists.
Now, you be the gunman.
I've felt like the anti-Christ, the whole-way,
from home.
Rust-red, rather
than blood, rubicund,
just "read, anything-at-all, to me."
Shoot me with your
right-hand, sterling, and
bid the Devil, "back-down."
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
A group of fireflies,
With longing for life, very quiet
Spread the light in the darkness of the bamboo garden and say,
We wanted to enlighten the whole world like this-
A group of fireflies,
Illuminated,
The house where the unlucky mother turned off the lamp, without any compensation
Till the sky becomes rubicund, by the dawn-
A group of fireflies,
Forgetting arrogance, gathered under the bench of Dukhai's kitchen
Gathered, and brightened with the light,
Until the fire in the oven is re-ignited.
A group of fireflies,
When the gaps in the Mahogany tree vanishes, tell the full-grown moon to fall into the bushes of Phenymansa,
Said, No problem, you get some rest,
We are here to enlighten the earth.
A group of fireflies,
Woke up on the very first morning of the Ekushey,
Shine by exposing the foot of the Martyr Monument,
And they said, sleep in peace,
We are your eternal guardians.
A group of fireflies,
Stay billions of light years away
Accompanying the stars,
Glow all night long
And, became a witness of the eternity.
Jun 22, 2022
Jun 22, 2022 at 4:03 AM UTC