"rumoured" poems
My smile
Once lost her beam.
To vices , the vicious and vile.
Her crown
Fell down
At once,to drown
Deep in the ocean blue
My lips expelled
Dangers and woes.
My heart
Like my face spelt 'red'.
Words weighed void, equating emptiness.
Darkness
Darkened darkness.
Wars
Rumoured wars
Could not revive her.
Lost in the dust...
My smile
Had no chance of survival
Till I rose
To praise the beauty
Of the morning sun.
It's scattered reflection on and on.
To see
The wetness underneath my feet
An evidence
Of the rain being
Blessings from
A planet of many waters.
To hear
The sweet tweeting
Of little birds.
To see the wind swaying the heads of the trees
The beautiful petals of an emerging flower.
To behold
The fluffy royals
Floating in the skies.
The gorgeous setting
Of the morning
Into noon.
Then my crown
Resurrected
Banished, from the bottom
Of the sea.
Re-coronating my smile
No longer exiled to drown.
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 7:05 AM UTC
shuffled into the hallway
the laughing ignorance
stews in its bathrobe and cigar
at the edge of its own manicured lawn
with a pale eye it it calculates
with a thin cold lip it ponders
he makes his lazy way to his bed among the spilled leaves
makes his way to the comforts of eyes closed visions
the laughing ignorance proverbial
fool in ragged cloth dancing a jig
on a spring moon's grave
flowers in hand and wreaths of holly adorning
his head like a crown of soft thorns
his skilful laugh echoes across the barren field
littered with the passing of days
strewn with the formulations of nights bitter embrace
no mere words can delay or
mislead the way that darkness creeps into the mind
when alone with its own devices
done with his jig
he sits on the springs moons grave
and sips at the christmas wine
savoring its crisp life on his tongue
the laughing ignorance still wearing
the dancing fools leather shoe
is a hobbled prisoner of his laughing jest
no other time or place has room for his kind
for his pantomime of long lost victory's
on beachheads of distant sandy shore
his rancid eye calculates me
in all my rumoured mistakes
and he speaks to that dream not to me
so i will leave him here
standing in manicured existence
of his own sour pain
the fall will find him sleeping sweetly
on the spring moon's grave
and it will renew him
leaves swirling down as the world steals the crown
of the tree above
he will be a young man once again
renewed by the promise of maidens dancing
and the dance of winterlight on snowbound fields
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
An aged woman her sight waxing dim
Waits at the gate called patience
A stalwart near the inner court;
Whose walls are named deliverance
Bolted by a door of praise.
She watches at the gate intently
Though many hurriedly egress
& fewer enter by it.
She tells those who will listen:
I look for the one coming from Edom
The one dressed in red
The wearer of the royal turban
The giver of the eternal ring.
So old
She is rumoured to be immortal
Her name is Kheftsivah
Though some call her Beulah
But I prefer her sacred name; Wisdom
& the secret one not yet given.
She is there still, they say
Ancient yet standing
Watching & waiting
© Qwey.ku
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
A lone paddler
within rumoured holy waters,
blessed by the touch
of a vacant apathetic god,
she gaped mutely like a halibut,
lips parted comically in a silent wail,
the clockwork functions
of her jaw,
forced teeth to reacquaint as sisters,
grinding together
in discomfort,
as lukewarm fluids rippled
around her thighs.
In this silent act of cleansing,
sin's hallmark should have faded
from her skin,
still her father believed
'her to be the devil's young'
due to scientific witchcraft,
her concoctions to lure demons
to their dinner table.
'I'm doing this for you, darling.'
her father reassured
with an earnest glint in his eyes,
madness paced hungrily,
encircling pupils in a territorial manner,
delusions of God himself watching
over his daughter,
with tears streaming down golden cheeks,
repeated within his fragile mind.
Unsure, the girl remained standing,
the embodiment of Mary
with her arms spread like angel wings,
did she dare disobey
her father's wishes,
and feel the leather belt against
her rear,
or reject her own troubled heart,
for her father's sake?
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
pulse and pump and waterwheel cascade of sparks from a hot iron rivet
bound round with copper sliding down river and parachuting into the blackest of holes dug out for the ounce of gold rumoured to still be somewhere at the bottom while fish jump willingly into the net Jesus encouraged fishermen to cast and a woman gives birth in the taxi ride to the counting house of names and addresses knowing there is no room at the homeless hostel because there is a card game going on in town and every hotel is booked up to the hilt with cowboys thinking my lucky day has come spitting out a ship made of spittle and stinking chewing tobacco that sails around the world full of tourists
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
Neelam Gill showed off her figure in a very risqué gown with a split running from her shoulder down past her bottom.
How cheeky - Neelam Gill went all-out on Wednesday night as she flashed her *** in a rather risque dress.
The stunning model - who is rumoured to be dating former One Direction man Zayn Malik - stunned at a glitzy event in London this week.
Wearing a floor-length green gown, Neelam gave onlookers a bit of an eyeful with a split down the back of the outfit, revealing a hint of her bottom.
With layers and a front split showing off a lot of leg, the 20-year-old certainly made an impression during the party.
She stepped out at the London Evening Standard's Progress 1000 Most Influential People launch, and showed why she may have grabbed Zayn's attention .
The star - who has made her catwalk debut for Burberry - is reportedly planning on jetting to Los Angeles, where the singer is working on his debut solo album, so they can spend some time together .
According to Mail Online, Zayn and Neelam first met in London back in March, but nothing happened because he was still engaged to Little Mix star Perrie.
They bumped into each other again at the Asian Awards in London a month later, with Neelam later writing on Twitter: "Congratulations on your award tonight zaynmalik, catch up again soon!"
The pair reportedly stayed in touch as friends until Zayn and Perrie called it quits at the end of last month.
A source told the site: "Neelam doesn't know if she wants all of the drama that comes with dating someone in the public eye. She is going to LA to spend some time with Zayn and see how things go from there.
Last month, the model, who worked with Romeo Beckham in Burberry's Christmas advert last year , wrote on Twitter: "to live and die in LA, it's the place to be..."
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
You’re my ether medium.
For me only do you bring light through your substance,
As I walk, breathe and live you.
You are everywhere and my everything,
while much rumoured,
But they say you don’t exist.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
Far over the mumbling Mountains of Moan
Where blazing hot Firebirds are nurtured and flown,
Through silver veined canyons and mines filled with gold
By Dwarves in their halls seeking riches untold.
There lives by the side of a babbling brook,
Buried deep in the earth, in it's own special nook,
Underneath a quite small yet conspicuous knoll,
Hidden from prying eyes is the home of a Troll.
Alone in his cavern of amethyst ore,
He sleeps undisturbed with a grunt and a snore,
And makes the ground tremble with dream induced growls
That fly up with spit from his thick flapping jowls.
The floor all around is a sea of gnawed bones
Stained pink by the light from those crystalline stones,
That shimmer and sparkle like miniature storms
Left raging for aeons in mineral forms.
His slow beating heart sounds a deep thumping boom
That scythes through the half light and twinkling gloom,
By which, if you look in the cold that persists,
The Troll's heavy breath funnels up into mists.
A great iron club with its spots of rust red
Stands upright and ready close by to his bed,
The Troll's hairy fingers draped over his prize
To ****** at the hilt should the instant arise.
One beady eye open, the other shut fast,
Only the foolhardy would dare to creep past,
Wake him at your peril, no need to surmise,
You will meet a brutal and violent demise.
A wrinkled behemoth with rings through his nose,
The truth of his origin, nobody knows,
Some say Trolls were spawned at the dawn of the world
When primeval magics and such swished and swirled.
While others less fanciful look to the West
Where dark Elvish wizards in black arts invest,
The wrong incantation performed on a man
Is rumoured to be how the Troll race began.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
We all know you're a sadist with masochistic tendencies.
Pain is your ecstasy, and it makes no sense to me;
we all know I can't breathe with your hand around my neck.
The passion in the bedroom is dying with every gentle peck.
I can tell you want to **** me from the look inside your eyes,
but I never told you stories that were full of heartfelt lies.
So why am I still here curled up inside your grasp?
I'll be careful what I wish for, this breath might be my last.
You want it rough- where your life makes no sense anymore?
Well... you'd fit rather well with the title "Neighborhood *****
You won't let me go because you're a fraud from hell,
and you're scared that if you loosen your hold I'll run and tell.
You're no saint, you're a sinner
and you're mad I won't be your dinner.
But I'll do exactly what I please in my life,
and it includes never being the patient beneath your knife.
So I'll run away with half the passion you left me with,
but it's hard to step down when my heart makes me stiff.
I hear something click beside my head...
**** the gun, and pull the trigger, I'm better off dead;
better off in the grave with the rest of the bones
that you laid there because you can't help your heart of stone.
So I'll run away with a head full of holes,
and I'll keep running as the barrel rolls,
and I'll go- go straight to hell,
because I'll never know whatever dwells...
in heaven...
Because I'm a rumoured demon that everyone hates,
and even ignorance can reach the Golden Gates.
So here I am sitting outside of the Devil's home,
and even he won't take me without a dissatisfied groan.
I'm stuck outside hell,
I'm banished from heaven...
Well, Karma will get you
in a year, maybe seven.
You're the one who pulled the trigger,
and made it look the opposite.
Suicide is what it was named,
but even you know the truth of it.
I'm a run-away with half-assed passion,
because you decided I was just a burden
and I wasn't 'allowed' to live anymore.
Well **** you too, you neighborhood *****
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
ohhh Soul raptured and captured
Fractured in moments of reciprocity
An outward doubt of censorship
Widening smiles of spoken misfortune
A tear, a mend, the exposed laughter
Tributes of adventure rouse the sheep
Rumoured lines of defensive solutions
Evolution with a tenancy of dissolution
Hearts of hearts, a distanced resolution
Insulated in clenched stimulant jokes
Introverted cells taking a pick of self
The *** a sect, to solve and save the rest
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 9:50 AM UTC
My mother’s addiction is a shapeshifter—
It takes on so many forms it’s rumoured
that nobody knows its true face
It’s a master of disguise
it hides itself behind thin lipped smiles
and tired eyes—
It changes so often it’s hard to tell
if it ever recycles old forms
I frequently ask myself if I would
recognize her if I did not have her eyes
If we didn’t share a body for 7 months
would I know the sound of her heartbeat
even when she’s disguised as a dragon
—sober is the shape she fails to hold the longest
the edges between make believe and reality
blur almost as quickly as they form
It’s easier to be a flame than still water
so she burns down everything in her path
At home we don’t dare say the word addiction
we walk on eggshells like her cover will crumble
at the slightest vibration from the floorboards
—we glide through the hallways like spirits
there’s no need for a haunting here
ghosts already roam in the walls
you hear wailing more often than silence—
I’m beginning to think Halloween is my favourite holiday
because it’s the one day of the year
people can look into this haunted home
and they don’t judge me for what they see
behind closed doors
—I’ve never been one for haunted houses
but maybe it’s because I’ve been living in one
for 22 years without a break
I wish to escape from my own house of horrors
so why would I pay to enter somebody else’s
Instead I put on devil horns
and watch movies where there’s always a final girl
wondering if it would be worth my soul
to make a deal with the devil
so my mom can stop shapeshifting
so my brother can sleep at night
so I can finally breathe, even just for a moment
—my mother’s addiction is a shapeshifter
I hope someday soon I can see what she truly looks like
I have been living with a stranger for so long
I’ve forgotten what it feels like to recognize
the people you love
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 8:13 PM UTC
Your light is but a mere reflection of broken stars,
of whose nuances and rumoured brilliance you act out so well.
You are blind my love,
in all our time you never met me.
All you see are the faerie tales
tattooed on the insides of your eyelids.
When the hype is over you fly to the next
and the next
and the next.
I knew from the day we met you would leave.
Even with all the songs you write,
the writers you quote,
your elegant chatter,
your flare that melts men and women alike-
you are still as shallow as pink bunny's and baked beans.
You are the most lethal kind,
if you were at least a ***** you would be honest,
but your softness and kindness
sets men up
to be dropped like broken toys from a fat spoilt brat.
I really don't know why I'm still so tender towards you.
Dec 9, 2009
Dec 9, 2009 at 6:58 AM UTC
Once upon a time lived a little young girl,
She had bright button eyes and her hair had a curl
Of saffron, ginger and pineapple too
She looked like no other, not I and not you.
She lived in a village not far from the sea
Where nobody ventured, not even the bees
For it was far from pleasant, you must comprehend
It is rumoured that death lingers under the bed.
Gnarly and spiteful, the creature below
Listens out for those sleeping, those about to go
To the land of the dreaming, the peaceful sweet place
That brings all pure happiness upon yonder face.
Now little young girl creeps around in the dark
As she fears the creatures will bite her and bark
That’s how they get you, as you will soon know
If you rest your sweet head on the pillow below.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
Edweir knew she came
To the cafeteria for her
Lunch each day and usually
Sat in the same place if
She could and this day
She is sitting there with
That blue dress on the one
That shows the valley
Between her ******* and
Her hair frames her face
In such a way and he tries
To sit so he can see her so
And turn away his head
If he thought she might
Gaze his way but now she
Sits in pensive mood as some
Women do her hands holding
The glass her thoughts seeming
Far away and he wonders if
Maybe she has grown tired
Of her work up in Dawlish’s
Office or maybe has is often
Rumoured Dawlish had soft
Touched her where it’s known
By those in the know he is
Often want to go or maybe
She thinks of some other thing
An evening date with some sad
****** or some schmuck who
Only wants to drink and ****
Now she pauses and sips from
The glass and deeply sighs oh
How he would love to go and
Embrace her and say anything
I can do to help and run a finger
Along her face but now she stares
At him and he feels a creepy finger
Up and down his spine and her eyes
Wash over him in cold disdain while
Outside the skies are blue and the sun
Shines warmly with no sign of rain.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 3:30 AM UTC
The Trail Creek,
could not hold
the flow of
a million million
drops of rain.
The bank let loose and a Gulch became a river,
basements of homes and stores became indoor pools but
not one resident was close to foolish enough to go in and swim.
The streets became
a river of
a muddy coffee
coloured toxic feared
enemy, that had
no weakness but
time.
An apartment building fell as the Columbia River swelled,
eroded and took the ransom till it flowed down stream and
was rumoured to have crashed into a transom of the old bridge.
So many memories swept away down stream, many more, could
not resist to power of the water to remove and ruin, words and images,
by force, and in time, dirt and sediment remained everywhere, after the flood.
Tears replaced rain,
in time water,
all of it,
was drained away,
peoples lives strained.
To a ten
year old boy
this was big!
And as the
Columbia was growing
larger each day
parks disappeared as
the danger neared
I sang, "rain,
rain, go away
we have had
enough, there is
no where to play.
The flood of
nineteen sixty-nine,
was a vivid a
disaster you will,
ever find, but still
the City survives.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
you visit this disused Olde Gaol
remote, renowned
250 years old and now a musuem;
and rumoured to be haunted
you love the thrill but fear meeting
a ghost, the one said to make
unexpected appearance in this prison
"I love the excitement," you tell the guide
"but I'd die if I met one"
The guide pooh-poohs your suggestion
and says: *"In all my time here
I have yet to see a ghost"*
"And how long," you ask, *"have you
worked here?"*
And the guide answers: "245 years"
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
There was a girl,
Answers to the name calypso,
She lives since the Greek world,
And before was a goddess,
Daughter of atlas,
A God who lifts the world,
She was exiled to an island,
For all eternal time,
For her crime,
Supporting her father,
At the Titans and Olympians war,
She stood by the sea,
Her Greek gown flowing,
Her hair,
The colour of golden tee,
Her skin is white,
With a shade of pale,
Her eyes hold sorrow,
Unmatched with her face,
Upon her she holds a curse,
Many heroes were sent there,
If she fell for them,
They would be sailed away,
This was the curse of love,
Many warriors,
Came across her,
Even Odysseus,
And all of them,
Left her heart in pieces,
It is rumoured that,
This island,
Is not far from Croatia,
And its name is,
Ogyia.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
THE TALK OF THE TUDOR WORLD
It is the talk of
the Tudor World.
But - the Hello Magazine
Time Machine
has managed to gatecrash
the "Princelye Pleasures
of the Queens
Majesty
and her Sommery
Progress."
It is the July
of 1575.
Trump wanted to go
but we said: "NO!"
He's messed up our Future
don't want him to mess up this Past.
Took a hairy Irish
poet instead.
So here we be
at Killing Worth Castle
Warwick Sheer, where
"All loves meet...
...to create one soul!"
as Mr. Decker has it.
Leicester and Eliza
dance the Volta
with lewd look
in eye.
The paparazzi
wet themselves!
The Queen deports
her self "in full sight!"
The famous fountain
spurting with "such vehemency!"
as to "moysten"
we time travellers
"...from top to toe!"
Already our passions
enflamed by carved erotica.
Such "rich and hard
white Marbl."
Oh that naughty Ovid
and his wicked tales.
The great fireworks
reflected in Eliza's eye.
Her Majesty skips
and dances high.
Leicester's hand
beneath her bust
takes her and turns her
with the lifting ******
of his mighty thigh
against the Virgin's Royal backside.
Well...we never!
"Oh!" and ". . .ooooh!"
the Queen cries.
Sweet sweat trickles
through her make-up.
Three weeks of wooing
a Queen's hand
although it is rumoured he has
had much more than that!
The wondrous artificial lake
mirrors the falling sky.
Scotland and Ireland
are in uproar.
Eliza's "pirates"
attacking Spanish silver convoys.
Her procrastinating over Mary's fate
her famous "answerless answers."
Screams from the Tower.
Another turn of the rack.
Time to be gone
methinks!
Set the controls
for 2001.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 5:01 PM UTC
We chose this discrete island.
Not cast away as rumoured.
It was space to think things
through that was needed.
In time we found ourselves,
found new skills and learnt
to play with fire and with smoke.
Those first signals, reciprocated
from the far horizon did it.
Like minds entwined above
uncaring water. We wanted more.
We wanted high towers so that
we could see ourselves across
the empty oceans, but towers fall
and dust blows out the flame.
Tony Noon
Feb 16, 2025
Feb 16, 2025 at 1:39 PM UTC
I am committed to the cause
I have since...closed those opened doors
Rules are meant to be broken....and thus;
I won't hesitate to break those laws
I will strive to reach my goal
And maybe in the process try not to sell my soul
'cos it's been rumoured to be worth more than gold
Ionno man.....that is just what I've been told
In the name of the father, we curse people's sons
And joke with the holy spirit, as if it's any fun
I will rise to stand against the sun
And hope for my love's sake, I don't get burned
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
A pinhole camera lets light fall on paper
at the back of the box, in reverse a similar
pulse occurs on internet sites. And as many
bits as in a spectrum of light.
The sensitive paper lines up a
collection of dots just as the range of
sites disperses a plethera of spots.
The cameras yawning slow and stable
effect contrasts with the internets jaw
dropping speeds. A whiplash of light and
off it zips. Sites seem to breed serving all
sorts of needs.
Professional bodies, purveyors of
knowledge, business and commercial
concerns of all manner of goods are
seldom discerned from so many.
A public outcry at the sprawling mess
and secret agendas regarding fetchers,
letchers and abusers hiding in rather
dark corners rushes a plea to regulate.
If only it were those hidden from sight
who have bad intentions, but others
are rumoured to operate at a higher
dimension.
A high pitched screech results in a critical
eye calming the discontent. Ushering in
a series of constraints. Still the fallout
persists and so we go zipping along.
The sites that deal in personal things continue
on. You can spill the contents of your day and
friends keep coming fascinated by what
you say. It lightens the load to feel tense and
then spent.
.
And then there are those that let us
escape from work or domestic roles
to find others equally moved. Us souls
aim to improve, so reshape our lives.
Raise technical skills, welcome slaps on
the back for major or minor adjustments.
That piano of light keeps us tapping the
keys to find our flare that will light up the night.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 5:24 PM UTC