"sanguinity" poems
She is the world to me,
An infinite source of eternal glee…
She is the pinnacle of compassion,
God’s greatest creation…
Looking into her eyes gets you transfixed,
Into a world where love, joy and sanguinity is mixed…
Her voice, my rhythm divine,
Which makes me glad to know she’s mine…
Her heart, that’s the sole reason for my being,
Since she’s into the habit of heart stealing….
Her smile that inspires me into motion,
Her mind that brims me up with every positive emotion…
She doesn’t realize, she’s worth lava to a volcano,
The fish to every Eskimo…
She thinks I’m joking, but she’s my life’s repertoire,
My one and only true desire…
She’s as sweet as candy,
And as intoxicating as brandy…
She’s my sweetheart, one of very few,
Who makes every day of my like adventurous and new…
She means everything to me,
For now until all eternity…
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 10:35 AM UTC
Yesterday,
Tender pursuits
Ordered
by shortened expression
And personal amusement.
Pleasure was channeled
by uncanny imagination.
Ignorance was developed
with years
of sheltered nurture.
Endeavors were focused
Through heartened dreams
Waiting eternities to age.
Today,
Life is starved of dignity,
Lead by the breath of humanity,
And trailed by my past.
Kindness overshadowed
by needless mockery.
Confidence diminished
Through thoughtless faults.
Purity saturated
with uncertain willingness.
Competence choked
from the flairs of society.
Tomorrow,
Independence is a necessity
Steered by Today,
Speckled by yesterday.
Motivation should dictate
my verdicts,
And challenge perils.
Agonies lifted
Through sanguinity
Virtue grown
Only through praise
From the satisfaction of many.
Yesterday, today, tomorrow
Immersed in today
Is the root of my future.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
the overcast window haze casts shadows over farmlands at distance, past ferns and cottage solemnities out on plains cold and alive; meanwhile, concrete and preservative-laden once-trees cage in the zoo-horde of humanity this lovely city is built upon, through the steep divides between the walls of foreign strangers, still neighbours, calling telephone lines to the lover that makes their heart shrink in the cool sheets at a distance of eight thousand leagues under kitchen sink designs where drips escape onto a blue-grey dishtowel, strategically placed to avoid having to address the issue over farmland holidays when stormclouds gather and sleep 'til the grand show, back over the alps, as the fallabout planes drift under blue over grey with distorted fantasies sandwiched three abreast internally, whispering "you'll be here, I'll be here, seventeen minutes" as the black gown of evening bids its farewells to the long-worn ball of flame we call upon for life's little affirmations, the skin and bone we call home, the constructed caves we wish we didn't, and, letting frost's call begin, the last of the seasons hauls its bulky frame over the horizon and clusters on the fingertips of tree limbs, coercing: "let go, it's late, it's so very late" and so the sidewalks choke with debris under the wearing off of summer feet, and the declination of that peach-pit feeling of sanguinity as the blankets pile up and the distance consumes once again, long after delusion gave up the chase; we all want to be left alone and want someone to pursue us at the same time, we all dream of the grandeur of timeless monuments: the desert road, the glint of illuminated heavens, the mist's rise and fall, the electricity in her eyes.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
The spaces in between my fingers were made just for your hands
When intwined they fit together just like puzzles pieces
Your palm radiates warmth that flows into mine
The warmth that leaves me with that feeling of security
Then life continues and eventually you are forced to let go
Taking the warmth and security with you
Leaving me with a frosty feeling and loneliness
But there’s a glimmer of sanguinity because I know you will return to me
Restoring my peace of mind,
Giving back my feeling of security,
and
Completing me
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 9:23 AM UTC
To return to the essence of what I was
Before I was: a mystery.
Will knowing who or what I was
Before I was be clear to me?
To speculate on lofty dreams:
Wistful efforts to fantasize
Something that’s unheard by formless
Ears or seen by formless eyes.
Disintegration of ruins show
The odd conception of what became
A vainglorious attempt to have
A monument outlast its name.
Will the name be muffled by
The echoes of a limitless void
When all semblance to what we think
Is real is once and for all destroyed?
Even though impermanence
Governs what we think and feel,
Maybe a deep understanding
Reveals something pure and real--
As real as any bubble that bursts
Or lightning flash from sky to earth.
Must being be purely palpable,
Or does it somehow transcend our birth?
Speculation gives the seeker
Hope--a blissful sanguinity--
While past, present, and future constantly
Merge into infinity?
-by Bob B (7-28-18)
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
a quantum of soul and cherry ***** in the backseat of a ford-
we were going to eighty-six the world
the sinews of our unattainable hands
that yanked themselves free
and went to ruining our best Bellamy salutes
and went to forming ladders and tarmacs in the vapor of the night
and went to everything
it's wasn't the shaking or the vim of the stockyards on the days they hung up ornaments
it wasn't those who followed a cheekier Moira and gawked at Rita of Cascia as she passed by
it was the way escape felt with you as it's stern
it's the way escape felt with you full of sanguinity
the kind that your mother gave you in the belly of California
the kind that I ripped away for ***** and giggles
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 1:15 AM UTC
The mouse with a house on the River Louse, was walking in a field one day.
He had his head down, nose buried in a stack of hay.
He was searching for some small sticks to take back to his home; his house on the River Louse.
Now that Winter was settling in, Mr Mouse wanted to light a fire and needed some sticks to form the pyre.
Mr Mouse had his head down and therefore not looking where he was going.
Along came a lady Mouse called Hilda with a bag full of shopping.
She was happy and singing and dancing, twirling and hopping.
Hilda was unaware of the Mouse with a house on the River Louse being in the vicinity.
She was feeling hopeful, full of sanguinity.
Mr Mouse still head down looking for sticks didn’t realise Hilda was around.
He had his nose firmly pointing to the ground.
Both mice continued with their missions.
Oblivious to each other and the weather conditions .
Mr Mouse, head down turned to his left, Hilda twirling and hopping turned to her right.
Suddenly they clashed and caused each other such a fright.
Hilda clutched Mr Mouse very tight.
Mr Mouse apologised and pulled Hilda up off the floor.
He offered to show Hilda to his front door, Mr Mouse was very proud of his house on the River Louse.
The two mice had afternoon tea and sat warming themselves by the fire.
Soon it was time for Hilda to retire to her own home but they made plans to meet the very next day.
This time Mr Mouse would not have his nose in the hay.
They would walk and talk and have plenty to say.
Until the light faded from the day and the Moon came out to play.
In less than 2 months they had fallen in love and were married on the river by a dainty turtle dove.
Now they were together night and day.
Mr Mouse still searched for sticks with his nose in the hay.
Hilda still did the shopping all the while twirling, dancing and hopping
Together they had 12 children of their own.
Now they always had company, and neither ever felt alone.
Oct 30, 2019
Oct 30, 2019 at 5:53 PM UTC
*Divine heavenly sanguinity
blessed prehensile thoughts
of two souls sitting atop floating clouds
basking in sun’s glory.
Travelling as the drift takes us…sometimes
kissing mountain tops or dancing in the vale,
flowing along with the gurgling
stream, touching each pebble so gently
caressing each fern, each shore.
Sea the ultimate destination
merging into nothingness, yet
you and I granted immortality
unending mirth and laughter.
Heaven and earth our abode
Of two bodies and one soul.*
**Our divine heavenly bodies
bless us with my red rainbow
our two souls floating in the different shades,
translucent of my colors
with sweet rain on our lips
kissing the ultimate of desire,
as we try and stay within the lines
somehow we drift, into the others being,
with each stroke of your hand
you always bring me back to you
with each touch you transform
my blank canvas to blend with yours
as the red returns back in my soul…**
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
Sugar, salt -
Decadent crystals are the mistresses to the tongue,
Seducing the mouth,
all the while trapped in the slave house of the body.
They take forms of warm and soft, frozen and slick
and in their sanguinity, they partner to become fuel,
insulating, warming the body.
Creating perspiration, spawning inevitable regret.
Drawing the body, the looking glass calls,
singing its poisonous Siren song
Luring it to the whirlpool that is the surely awaiting distended figure
There stands a sickening creature,
one the tides would not accept as bait
unless it can return to the sickly prey it was moments before.
And so this prey must slink away,
Bow down before its Goddess, its Queen
who declares it a “Disgusting fool”,
commands it to “rid yourself of this delicacy you live in,
this fantasy world
And relinquish your happiness.”
Because in order to be perfect,
bliss is not deserved,
not handed out,
not accepted.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
They briefly loved who sheltered here; the beautiful Sarah and her cousin Will.
They fled the City to this place in England’s north wild rolling hills.
Her husband had neglected her, visiting stables and not her bed.
By that wild summer of Sixty- eight their estrangement had come to a head.
To this old country house she fled; to linger in her Lover’s arms.
Their close sanguinity proved no bar; she gladly yielded to his charms.
They summered here and oft were seen, together, on the Lover’s walk.
A place where blackthorn trees entwine; but you know how people love to talk.
He left her then, alone, with child, as coloured leaves began to fall.
Divorced, disgraced, abandoned thus; She sheltered in another’s home.
This famous beauty with Stuart blood there would raise her child alone.
Such is the history of this place; their romance played out in these halls.
Their scandalous adultery was consummated within these walls.
Modern beauties visit still and stroll with beaus the Lover’s walk-
A place where blackthorn trees entwine and old ghosts whisper in the dark.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC
lets just see
what the soothesayer
says he saw
in his silly but soggy sanguinity
should he have seen,
the step, so slippery
that brought him to
this soap opera scene... seventeen stitches,
sore chin, not suffering...
too much silly,syrupy
stuff pumped in.
do you think the
soothsayer will see,
a sore and sorry sunday
for himself...
or will he be sadly
oblivious to the obviously,
vaccuous summation
of the unpredictability of it...
seen here by one and all.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
It shouldn’t be something
Just to get through
But a skill to take pride in
As one of the few
With a craft to be reveled in,
Relished, enjoyed
And on rarest occasion
A weapon employed
Should a dire most need
For a war of words waged
Upon those who prefer
The more literal graves
For their victims and enemies,
Childhood reveries
I bury mine
In descriptive serenities
Remedies curing me
Of morose maladies
Banal, mundane
Every day
Gray realities
Splitting dualities
Self-contradiction
Cognitive dissonant
Lawless conviction
A chaotic orderly
Misanthrope humanist
Spiritual atheist
Radical pacifist
Gifted with empathy
And equanimity
Equally balanced
In stoic disharmony
So alive
Dead inside
Cynic sanguinity
Outspoken introvert
Mortal divinity
Half full of doubt
And half empty of faith
Powerless to bring change
But I try all the same
And when shamed by a world
Torn apart
Just like me
I am wholly at peace
As I write poetry
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 7:06 PM UTC
Basked by the hedge of sanguinity
The lead role walked on through
Trails of trivia in casualty, but elegance
As we made our way through corridors
Testing potions in accordance to patience
There was always a goal to be arrived
Even though a mind or two had quit
The morning sun shone through panes
Illuminating their collective third eye
The dream swept through like a charm
All throughout the halls in the monastery
And into the facility of knowledge
With its rosy brume, in an instant
The wheel of the colorful cycle had begun
Once again, to turn without hinderance
I swept the dust off my right cheek
And said to the fair maiden
What if we never pass this way again?
She gently smiled
And hastened to the next lesson
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
They briefly loved who sheltered here; the beautiful Sarah and her cousin Will.
They fled the City to this place in England’s north wild rolling hills.
Her husband had neglected her, visiting stables and not her bed.
By that wild summer of Sixty- eight their estrangement had come to a head.
To this old country house she fled; to linger in her Lover’s arms.
Their close sanguinity proved no bar; she gladly yielded to his charms.
They summered here and oft were seen, together, on the Lover’s walk.
A place where blackthorn trees entwine; but you know how people love to talk.
He left her then, alone, with child, as coloured leaves began to fall.
Divorced, disgraced, abandoned thus; She sheltered in another’s home.
This famous beauty with Stuart blood there would raise her child alone.
Such is the history of this place; their romance played out in these halls.
Their scandalous adultery was consummated within these walls.
Modern beauties visit still and stroll with beaus the Lover’s walk-
A place where blackthorn trees entwine and old ghosts whisper in the dark.
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 7:48 AM UTC
I want you to know
that you cannot have me.
We are third-world countries
apart.
Our views are different;
yours – passionate,
mine – practical.
You hear beautiful music
in the noisiest place; whereas
that same area
disturbs me.
Where you see opuntias,
I see prickly spines
waiting
to pierce my
shield of sensibility.
Your sanguinity spites me,
yet it resounds from within—
a dreamer’s echoes in my veins.
Nonetheless, you have taught me,
guiding me through my
self-inflicted stress.
Your persistence has
deprived me of
pessimism, so
I thank you.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
You clandestinely waltzed into my life
leavened my moribund nights
lifted me up
with your graceful arcs of gab,
full of bewitching sweet nothings
and swirling soft kisses
you held the vise for my time and
unmitigated attention.
And I liked making you laugh.
Happy little period
where we dabbled in
the daily saccharine twaddling.
The days gave way to nights
and time warped into a honey glob
on declivity, disintegrating gradually
while gravitating.
The bonhomie finally
fizzled out.
And I wallowed in disbelief
at your furtive retreat
silly me, cocooned in ingenuity
waited for you to come back
whilst you moon walked
and cachinnated with the hip chicks.
Rivulets of tears
fused with cheap dark ***
and months rolled into years
yet no cue of your return.
You moved on and I was still
stuck three years behind.
Love felt like a prison
where I was serving a life
sentence for your transgressions.
Doleful eyed, weary of waiting
and heaving dolorous sighs,
nearing nadir.
It took me a long time to
finally accept defeat
and obliterate the last
shreds of sanguinity.
It took me a long time
to realize that
I cannot chase love.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 7:34 PM UTC
The gentle monsoon breeze carrying fragrance of earth and the rustling of the plants
Blow away my my mind's dust and moist the brain with their chants
Even then the stubborn heart steals few moments to persuade and follow the music of poised waves
That just raises and falls of the river flowing behind my house and it drives
My heart desires to stamp my feet on the wet miry sands
The crimson firmament of twilight spreading its orchestral band
Just enthuse sanguinity of joy creeping like the rays of sun rise
And my imaginations gallop floating around the peninsula of mind
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 3:49 AM UTC
Spiraling down memory lane,
With little to no shame,
Muses the self-esteem quietly:
“Where’s my girl who once shined, oh so brightly?”
What made her lose the strength
That had earned her praises at length?
What made the power she once held
Break into tears that welled?
Who would you blame in this situation?
What led her pride to cessation?
Must be her own inability… you say?
But no one can control the thoughts that stray.
One can ponder that till infinity,
But now she is back to sanguinity.
“That was unexpected…” you say—
Well, these are the thoughts that stray.
Worried, ashamed, puzzled, and hurt—
“What about me?” the esteem blurts.
Crawling, stumbling, yet still standing,
How long will I be the one sacrificing?
Strength never comes only from growing;
Sometimes it stems from breaking.
Those little pieces carry heartaches
That first quake, break—then make.
Let the past be her experience
That will make all the difference.
Let the broken esteem guide her,
Make her forever oh so brighter.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 5:16 AM UTC
By Dee
Debbie Brooks
Divine heavenly sanguinity
blessed prehensile thoughts
of two souls sitting atop floating clouds
basking in sun’s glory.
Travelling as the drift takes us…sometimes
kissing mountain tops or dancing in the vale,
flowing along with the gurgling
stream, touching each pebble so gently
caressing each fern, each shore.
Sea the ultimate destination
merging into nothingness, yet
you and I granted immortality
unending mirth and laughter.
Heaven and earth our abode
Of two bodies and one soul.
Our divine heavenly bodies
bless us with my red rainbow
our two souls floating in the different shades,
translucent of my colors
with sweet rain on our lips
kissing the ultimate of desire,
as we try and stay within the lines
somehow we drift, into the others being,
with each stroke of your hand
you always bring me back to you
with each touch you transform
my blank canvas to blend with yours
as the red returns back in my soul…
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
November's Daughter
oh, say you, zithering delightfully
the leaf's breath leads me on
to the tree of your sanguinity.
the wind is much stronger,
the verdure is greener
in my side of the Earth
you cross with a single glance
etching something in the soul:
a writ of marvels or a lace of birds
stringing across the entire
November morning.
in one of the days made thoroughly
by careful hands,
it is you in the flesh of many
tangible days.
i say again,
the wind is cooler,
thwarting the summer.
surly flowers glide in the air
and the clouds twitch in sun-glaze
and temperamental pondering
November supremed you, me;
the sovereign of its bounty
opened its door and let in,
a crystalline vestige:
the wind is tender past the windows.
i watch the slow specter of night
in its vertical climb;
you,
the moon,
altogether, hand in hand,
like water falling and falling
into my mouth, receiving your shadow–
the world
moves brighter than ever.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 2:15 AM UTC
The nauseating humidity condenses into mellow rhythms of rain;
Feeling like your soft fingers on my bare skin, tingling my senses and easing their strain.
The fragrance of the night air, of the distant blooms, of the dewy earth;
Like the scent of your breath, of your breezy hair, of the soul that your body girths.
In my tiny world of short windy & sunny days, and long stormy & dark nights with sparkling rain, like stars, pouring down;
You walk in like a chromatic twilight, like sweet-scented dusk and dawn.
This gloomy room of mine is filled with the soft glow of the candle you lit;
With the flame flickering like my heart, and the melting wax dripping onto the floor like my regret and guilt.
The regret for not warning you about the fragile bridge between us;
And guilt for not stopping you when you tried to cross.
Like an utter coward, I didn’t jump to grab your hands when you fell;
Even if I kept on hurting you with words like stabbing your heart, you still spilled out a rainbow and stained me like an enchanted spell.
You’re like a beautiful melody to my deaf ears,
like tickles to my numb senses,
like a daybreak for my endless gloom.
Your sincerity dissolved my fears,
your sanguinity broke down my fences,
your ethereal affection made it a painless doom.
Thank you for not letting go even when I pushed you away;
For giving me eternal joy and taking in all my dismay.
Thank you, Sorry, and Goodbye.
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 2:11 AM UTC