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Tom Orr Nov 2012
One step forward, three steps back.
The queue shuffles,
visible breath in the winter blue.
The vendor vends,
fingerless gloves clamp the steaming mug.
Grunts and groans alike,
the warmth fills the withered corpses pale.

A gaze is cast,
into the misty nothing that inhabits the park.
A twitter is heard amongst the frosty masts.

Eyes meet with a rufescent-chested bird.

These same eyes are then met with salt,
a sorrow, a pang of jealousy.
A sheer longing for that same freedom.
Dark soul Nov 2014
The cold winds come as we fear
The silence echoes as it nears
As you sow ; shall come dear  
None can Change the prophecy
As the rufescent clouds appear !
Patrice A Mar 2021
Unravel me.
Plunge your fingers into the depths
of my anatomy-
wade into my rufescent flesh,
strum my fibers,
find me in the fissures
of my ivory bones---
then come back to the surface,
cling to the brims of my clavicles,
and tell me how
beautiful I am.
hetty Sep 2023
my lover is the pinnacle of my pride
my lover hails the oceans and
directs the breeze
my lover does not hesitate to conjure seasons
one after the other
my lover does not discourage my uncontrollable awe
instead, my lover rips open my carefully contained cages
and sets free my inner workings
my lover makes the sun blush a bright rufescent hue
every morning
and the moon glow with joy
at the sight of my lover's resting eyes
my lover tips my earth over on each side
my lover makes my world turn so much so that i make sure everyone else can feel it too
[in which my love exceeds all measurement]
Pride Ed Nov 2014
Childlike glow
of thy radiant
skin, pale like
snow kissed
by sunlight.

Rufescent lips;
like flowing blood on
thy porcelain face.
The same of
your cheeks,
and
the ribbons of thy
veins…

Dost thou know ye
art not real?
Written for a prompt at allpoetry.
Adam Jones Jan 2015
Her
Skin crafted porcelain
Fitts an alabaster face
Diamond stars of rufescent glow
Floating weightlessly in space
She's the sweetest honey swirl
The youngest cusp of a beautiful girl
Hold the weight of my empty world
My blood is heavy as an ocean
Pride Ed Nov 2014
Prophetic as a
lake-effect tempest,
an unnerving
November howls like
a dying animal.
The sound rattles
the houses,
and shake
the skeletal trees;
they hunger for
warmth
through emaciated
limbs as they
brush against my
rufescent face.

I survey the
frost of the broken
valley.
In death
the surroundings
seethe in
white as my
blood pools and
congeals with the
waste of the rivers.
Yet another poem for a prompt contest on allpoetry. ^_^
Khushi Batra Mar 2018
The king of darkness called me a year ago,
Making me drink rufescent blood from
The wine chalice every night.
Forcing me to breathe
a life overflowing with ****.
Asking me to breathe
The silence in chateau lobbies.
Making me listen the wails and the cries
of the innocent.

Not letting it engulf me further,
I darted away from it.
But it caught me again.
Leaving my nights slumberless.
The ghosts haunted me every night,
with their shadows dancing on the walls.

They called me again today,
But this time the king wanted me to
taste
the garden of death.
-Khushi :)
Olivia Greene Nov 2014
we sat in a waterless pool,
the shattered leaves gathered in disorder at its peeling concrete bottom.
the white walls laced with chaotic lines led us to believe that our feet had created those spidery veins reaching the length of the pool
a rufescent glow graced our cheeks and the chill was welcome so long as we sat side by side
it was comforting
sitting in a place that wasn't exactly what it was supposed to be.
lounging in a place usually inhabited in warmer months by children with far less worries than we
we heard calls coming from up the road and knew it was time to scale the fence again
Adam Jones Jan 2015
As it was, it was only a thin paper wall
Culminating a firey froth
Warm pulp leaks past the surface
Pooling in my hand
Rufescent embers crackling
Powder soft like sunny wind
Soon I will be the bitter breeze
In dawn embers lucid eye
I have dreamed high on perfumed sands
A blaze in passions rufescent dress
Bleeding ******* life and violent death

Winged a goddess straining higher
Drawn to taste sweet waters, dulcet songs
On the blue I floated a cast away
A lonely spirit shining

What thought of leave, promise and wines
Hath found me broken-hearted, soul on the knoll
Enigmatic carnelian creatures, thro’ fearing my rays
Doth call weeping amber and honey

Violent violets bloom these crystal swept eyes
Lazuli, sliver and gold clad skies possessed in my breast,
Sacred mysteries threading impatient words
Whetted curious velvet, immortal ******

──Evermore

©ASPAR (A Sol Poet, Arnay Rumens) 170418
the sun sings its swan song at ev’en,
falls low like a fortress of fire,

destroyed by a kingdom believed in,
by an army whose feet never tire;


and the sea calls out loud like an egyptian,
her pyramids built out of sand,

her headdress the skies sweet inscription
the cloud’s dark dreamland.


and love is the song that the wave sings,
as the ghosts of the sea start to rest,

and they crash with the chill that the night brings
like a book where a  flower was pressed,


and the waves bloom and die like spring blossom,
sing a song as eternal as cloud,

sing of life, sing of death at her *****,
the sea foam her shroud.

the meadows are filled with wild flowers,
the sky holds the warrior bird,

the rain with her solitary showers,
the moon’s with her pathway all curved,


delight of the sky and the highway,
as dissonant as a dark minor key,

oh, sea, of desire walks her causeway,
from you unto me.  


the moon glitters like an old sovereign,
conjures magics as sweet as the sea,

a song ne’er remembered but forgotten,
in the vaults of our lost memories,


the stars shine like miniature lanterns,
more of lamplight than this pretty night,    

shining clear in their old archaic patterns,
both cheerful and bright.


and the dark speaks out loud to her brother
sings of cloud bursts and moonlight and rain,

and the ghosts of her once ancient mother,
tells us life flows like blood in the vein,


the frosty dark sky with her night ****,
sings of freedom and knows not of slaves,

while the sea as it brims to the far shore,
all filmy, white waves.


oh, darkness, oh, sister, remember,
the fight for the shore is ne’er won,

from  january through to december,
while the wilderness sings to the sun,


the dark has known only of winter,
her battlements rise to the sky,

wait forever for the first songs of summer,
that blossom then die.


for daylight arrives with its flurry,
of bird song and sunlight at dawn,

while the ceaseless, relentless waves scurry,
draw in close with their breath of the morn,


no death could e’er be imagined,
of a sea as eternal as air,

that the scampering wind swiftly maddened,
where the wild rafters swear.


the grasses blow flat on the wetlands,
where the puddles lie hoary and grey,

and the heron sweeps up to the headland
with its wings full of the glory of day,


the wildflowers bud in the meadows,
thick purples and bronzes and golds,

poppies red as the rust of a wild rose,
rufescent and bold.

— The End —