"scapes" poems
.
**•i've depleted my font,
my creative well•for each
day passed, with a story to tell
•staining white and barren land-
scapes•by sculpting my words into
myriad shapes•from factory fumes to
a wedding ring•an ominous tombstone
to a flash of lightning•an hourglass to track
elapsing time•the untold story behind a loved**
nursery rhyme• |
with this i conc- |
lude my 30 day run o
•it's been quite a stretch but
all in good fun•rest assured that
more will come when the time is
right•for now i'll turn off my
bedside lamp and bid
you all a goodnight•
.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
We fall,
and hard,
and in the shadows,
***** ourselves on snags,
that tear our clothes;
grazed and cut,
we stagger on -
Impressions, ideas, fancies!
Of these have we been disabused.
But is this spring,
come again?
Lovely,
yesterday,
in the bright sunlight,
to see you,
felt green hat in among the photo clouds,
apple suedes on the gallery's dank floor.
Melvyn,
and I,
merrily circling with you the light cloud images,
my nostrils full of pollen spikes.
The pictures:
wisps of trailing dreams churning in ‘scapes of infinite blue;
dark clouds,
in amongst them,
too.
Photographs in two time places
caught;
at once, all:
the other and t'other.
So excitement swells,
and everything besides us quells,
because the knowing of itself,
knows,
and dares beyond the frames;
to skirt knowingly the unsaid;
to want beyond the wounded past,
to pull things,
once again,
inside out.
In whimsy’s currents flow these thoughts,
these feelings,
these drives;
swirling in eddies,
so that as you sit,
on a summer’s day,
it moves,
a mirror to everything above.
The wavelets on the surface,
hammered into shape,
burn, bite and dazzle;
the sun’s flames leaping and dancing on ripples.
In the basement,
on the concrete,
your Y proneness shifts,
releasing knees on black-clad thighs;
two pendulums swinging,
brushing;
yawing metronomes in the cool,
coolness of my desultory thoughts.
Oh, what am I saying?
Feelings like reveries walk along these silver lips straying languorously.
These myths are too soon made,
carried one to the next,
one-on-one,
until contained no longer,
become new truths.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
The last judgement shall not hold mercy on the servants, but it shall not wrong them in their deeds either, it is the final decision to make,
The end of a long journey which births the desire to see you again,
Your reflection cast on a mirror in a sea of pure lunacy shall clear it all
It will open your heart and reveal all of your sinning impurities cast away by words of falsities, triggered by a simple yet small lie,
Heartfelt dream scapes shape the mirror; In a world so dark that the stars will blind ones sensitive, mortal eyes within seconds to come,
Experience of past events suspend memories from the future's dawn.
I will not show you any sad dreams, I'd like to heal your wounds if you have striven for righteousness and purity such as patience,
If you however have striven for corruption then you should know,
There's unending punishment and darkness awaiting your arrival,
Here we do have unlimitted time after all, unlimited cruelty and fear,
Love comes in misery, ends unexpectedly yet you won't see, will you?
Time ticks on, goes by and follows it's clear path in this devil's world which I am lurking over, ruling, which you have intruded tonight,
Take my hand oh all you pure souls, the love of light is for all to bear!
~ Umi
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
I will rise,
Rise to paradise again
Spread my wings, free from any chain,
With only one goal in my eyes I look to the sky
Then I rise, yes I will rise
From the hellfire, no matter the price
May I burn
Take my turn
But then it will surely be my time to shine
The beauty of the heavens will surely be mine
I will not stand these flames,
Embrace my devilish distorted wings
See what good that may brings
One last judgement
On this long lasting journey
I will rise, rise, no matter the price
A future dawns dream, draws near
Make it clear
In this realm of art and devilry
Heartfelt dream scapes shape the mirror
In a world so dark that the stars will blind-
Refuse to fall!
Forgotten by both Heaven and Hell
A craft of hearts forms my kingdom!
Take my hand, all ye pariah souls-
The love of light is for all to bear!
~ Umi
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
I had forgotten what home felt like.
The things most important to me were lost.
The smells, tastes, soundscapes only I know.
I had forgotten the touch of home.
How it hugs me,
Safe
I remember all the laughter brought,
and never have I forgotten my mistakes.
I carry my home with me,
But I had forgotten a key component.
Home feels like home.
No matter where I am,
Or the choices I take,
when I hug you it's home.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
I love to hear how Ocean breathes
waves crash as Sea exhales
from afar, where you are, perhaps you can hear
salty breeze come kiss my face
wrap my feet in warm beige sand
a sight to my eyes, to see this face:
as the sun blushes, a sunset so grand
she'll soon hide her face
under the mighty blue table that is the sea
palm leaves wave goodbye to Sun
as she tells the seagulls to guard her Ocean
as I look at layered salty scapes ...
my figure hides in three storied bricked cliff
the Ocean, so solemly tranquil
a blue face, beige chin and forest green beard
... as the Ocean has gifted me this romantic sight
as the salt waves corrode at the clock
I see a path form over this blue face
high tides give way to a silver line path
yielding in luminant reflection to Moon
Moon cried this tear path across Ocean's face
hoping to meet me, but stops in the forest beard -
until Sun gifts me another day in grace
Ocean, grant me this sight again
to witness the romance of Sun and Ocean
as I wait for Moon to once again
cross a chrome path across the waters
to meet with me again.
Nelize © 2016
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
Wild winds pushed my hair back
I had no compass to keep me on track
The winter's cold has swallowed my legs
Through the wastes of snow;
World, may I be your scuffled window.
Dry air feeds my lungs.
Ice has taken over where I left my guns
Traveling night and day;
Through the dreams and throughout my soul
The road's path began with a hole.
There's no way to look back
Any distraction will throw you off track
Through the icy scapes of the heart;
I made this path on my own,
To turn it into frozen stone.
Fire.
Eyes.
Feeling. gone.
Freezing, but warm to the touch.
I thought I had pulled my heart through too much.
Now frozen in my own path.
Icicle beard man I am.
Frozen in place, my legs will not budge.
I went too far from the fire didn't I?
And now I know, I'll never make it back alive.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 10:29 PM UTC
Now thou hast loved me one whole day,
Tomorrow when thou leav’st, what wilt thou say?
Wilt thou then antedate some new made vow?
Or say that now
We are not just those persons, which we were?
Or, that oaths made in reverential fear
Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear?
Or, as true deaths, true marriages untie,
So lovers’ contracts, images of those,
Bind but till sleep, death’s image, them unloose?
Or, your own end to justify,
For having purposed change, and falsehood, you
Can have no way but falsehood to be true?
Vain lunatic, against these ’scapes I could
Dispute, and conquer, if I would,
Which I abstain to do,
For by tomorrow, I may think so too.
2k
Your are a flavour of mystic flow and justice
Resounding effortlessly in vapoured divinity
A channel spinning within your furling crux
Cheers to our cups of leisure and pleasure
I turn around and your warmth embraces
I'll wait holding the gaze of your bright eyes
I'll wait touching this revolving total eclipse
I'll wait as I sense our forbidden mind-scapes
I have sensed your whole when we are apart
A near leap to meet,cuddle and feel the vibration
Uncovering the glistening gem that penetrates heat
Fondling the electric ******** oscillations under the bridge
Here is my cup, holding a rapture of your breath
Here is my cup, melodically swirling in fine entertainment
Here is my cup,exhuming and exhaling our magical essences
Our cup it is! Cheers! As we sprout and bloom pleasantly
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 4:59 AM UTC
*Blow, winds, blow
He wanders in and out of dream scapes,
Seeking refuge from the nameless ache,
The burn of a thousand cloudless days.
The tumbleweed of his joy blows in the dunes of neglect,
Vaguely rooted in the sands of discontent.
Blow, winds, blow!
Shift the sand beneath his feet,
Tumble him to the river of rejoice,
Where his seeds can bury deep
In the fertile soil of complete.*
Walk on, Lonely Pilgrim
Would that you would go a spell further,
Fight a round harder, walk a mile longer,
Perhaps you will see the clear waters,
The soaring vistas, the spring flowers.
Sandstorms blind your eyes and sting your throat,
Your music lost into the wind.
Walk on, lonely pilgrim,
Walk on, and meet me
In the green valley,
It's just 'round the bend.
I've a song to play for you!
Welcome Song for the Weary Traveler
With unsure steps, tread the ground,
Gaze out with open eyes.
Cast away all fear and doubt.
Let the music sing your soul!
This river will wash your bedrock,
Polish the rough stones of your longing,
Flow away your worried mind.
When this love-seed settles in the soil of your heart,
Your rose will bloom, in fertile field,
Where nightingale warbles its melodious tune.
Lay down your head upon alfalfa pillow,
Let the music take you high,
Where daffodil dreams and mystic streams
Sing you sweetest lullaby.
Now close your eyes and feel the pull
This song, the lodestone to your heart,
Drawing out your own sweet tune.
Hear gentle clouds that roll on by,
Smell sweet the scented breeze in sky,
Feel the love,
Let go,
Now fly
Lonely Pilgrim Dreams
The lonely pilgrim fell asleep on his pillow of dreams,
As minstrel sung songs that floated on air.
He struggled to wake from his trance like state,
As he found himself deep in the quagmire of regret,
Wondering how he had found himself
Wandering in green valleys,
How he had been so easily lulled to sleep.
He wondered, too, if dreams are ever real,
And what he would see at morning's light.
Minstrel sang on, into the night,
Singing all good things into his heart,
Breathing love into his pillow,
Playing for light,
Playing the tune of her heart strings that night.
She was not sure what song she sang anymore,
But wanted to sing,
And sing some more.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
"I don't know her.
I've seen her;
A strong spectre of absolute femininity and a lingering presence so strong, that all things thereon.. revolved unto the centrepiece of her clear, imperfect, overwhelming and sinking magnitude.
The fortitude..
She's the most beautiful women I've ever seen.. and no, not that kind of beauty. Well, It could've been..
She has a darkness to her, so captivating; so dense that all article in her cense is stalled in mesmerising silence and anticipation for the next fleeting beat of her beautiful heart.. for the next pacing glaze that would tear me apart, along the horizon of mere "things" in her shade, as she looks around and so passionately drowns the world in awe.
The charm that she'd bestow..
When I first saw her, my heart stopped, literally, only to -and out of grave deafness, explode as if it has been beating 'cross an infinite expanse of scapes compressed in the swiftness of a second.. boom!
'cross the room..
Suddenly, the void that consumed out of me the very sorry existence that I am, failingly so distant to her proximity, exploded like a rose bursting into bloom.. exploding no less, from pale tasteless petals to mindblowing extravagance.
I don't love her, I admit. I don't even know how to begin to fathom such an implosion of utopian lust for the hazel green distance in her eyes, let alone love her. She might be a man-eater, in disguise, for all the possibilities of things likely.. She is, however unattainable, perhaps my greatest unembarked adventure; my Odyssey. Not so, perhaps, my greatest... the one other dream she, still that I of another kiss.. a bliss.. an even greater adventure, nonetheless.. but a rhythm for another rhyme; another prose for another time.
This.. She's ancient unconscionable forbidden bliss for the morbid spirit that I am, enchanted with sweetness and love. Volatile like wildfire, she has the world entwined in the gypsy black waves of unconstrained dreams.
But that wasn't her, who lingered back in my head... The residence was of another.. I saw her once, in my seems.. my truest endeavours for a place that screams for relentless torture behind sweet jagged beams of black light on black.
I don't love her, I reassure, nor am I in love with another. I'm taken by her like a leaf is in a storm. I am home. She's death in a green hazed gaze, for those of you who didn't figure it out by now."
A.r. Bazian
Nov 8th, 2015
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
It's the age range that strikes me, sitting here in the semi darkness, in Norfolk, in the Show Ground.
It's the age of the sky - the view consistent with years past, but fresh each day, each minute, ever changing and ever moving through star-scapes which shift as we speed through created space, spinning and moving on on voyages into the unknown, through brave new skys created for us to stretch our legs: us little space people, tumbling with nothing holding us up or down.
It's the age range - the trees standing for centuries, the insects breathing their last before tea time, and human kind, kidding ourselves that we're in control of all we survey, when the truth is quite different.
It's the age range - the kids in their first year fascinated by all they see; school age children, waiting to be amused and vocal when parents fall short; teens fascinated by themselves and curious about boundaries; young adults finding what lies beyond is just as amazing and just as laborious as they imagined;
and then the middle (and not so middle) aged, sporting practical footwear, factor 50, and voicing their conviction that they've moved the facilities further apart this year.
It's the age range of the new day generation - stretching from nought to mid eighties, all under canvas or luxuriating in caravans that, like their occupants, have arguably seen better days.
It's the age range and God's infinite patience with all of us, as he guides our paths, through space, through fields and through our years seeking him and through what he has prepared along the paths yet trodden - whether in practical boots, flip flops or crocks.
It's the age range that reminds me that we're all one generation as far as Father is concerned, cos we're all his children with no room for grandchildren in this family of God, in this field, under this sky that he created for weeks like this.
Aug 3, 2022
Aug 3, 2022 at 2:20 AM UTC
~For Pradip~
*who reminded me:
We are all God’s Trial & Errors*
tender is the tendency,
so finitely human,
infinitely foolish,
to overlook the
obvious,
let us not delve into our
particular peculiar idiosyncratic knots
in our hair and personalities,
all natural,
inherited or ill begotten
in voyages to far away,
like our childhood
***Thus,
we are all mistakes of a sort***
with natural fault lines,
accumulated dings, scapes, bruises,
furrowed crinkles that took us
years to perfect
We are flawed like diamonds,
valued by these natural flaws
by graders with loups who uncover
our flaunts, our clear air bubbles,
the more flaws the better,
because these attributes make us
most interesting!
you may be blonde,
you may be exotic
perhaps a lovely shade of
iridescence,
but lucky you whose scars speak
out and others wonder why,
they are so interesting
let us design a large animal,
seemingly ungainly, yet keystone to
their environment, so others may
profit thereby,
yet insanely quick on lumbering feet,
no hands, fingers, but a long snakey thinge
that multiple functions for
breathing, drinking, feeding grabbing, smelling and
trumpeting their presence
to foolish beings in their neighborhood
let’s us not debate
whose design is
an efficacy par excellence
so we be
ungainly, too tall, too
this or that,
even too flawless,
a specialized curse of sorts,
we are the product of
a sophisticated design laboratory
that makes many models,
each variegated, always different
so get down on your knees *********
and praise the design engineers
who created you to be
full of
& by elephantine trials and elephantine errors,
thereby making
us each,
a special pronoun,
an I
blessed
by definition:
though not in any dictionary:
unique,
flawless!
**
**^you are the most
flawless poem
you have ever written
and will ever ever
write***
Dec 7, 2024
Dec 7, 2024 at 3:59 PM UTC
Flandres, the flag of agony in thee I raise
The bravest scapes thy land survails
In me seek the darkest and the mad man
The sad crab cracks its nest
Against a backdoor saloon chest
My avenue stew mind philanthropy
Resolutions crust signs in my sight
And by my side Rosemary glinks and blides
Preparing my bedroom earing for
The day of the land lord sore
And than again the boots are crooked
The spirit is fulled and dream ain’t no avenue
Scooped you will feel and your brain got to be in a grill
While your smile resents some breakfast lamb
When the door doesn´t call you hence
Your feet ain’t gonna lick the garden fence
Standing there the man and his black cloak
A shield spelling what spells seen to sell
Glasses clink telling whatever you ain’t bring
To the ceremony that makes you feel lonely
Chain your pony slowly for it’s holy
Now hear the voice in a big bang noise
Shooting swords like darts of joke
Seeking and begging thrilling candies
Whispering the grace, listen Sam, the grey taste
It’s your blamed race and it's you the same.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 4:42 PM UTC
The grit under a shoe on a tile
floor, is heard, an ugly sound,
under duress, of a hardened sole,
Or is it the soul that has no give,
No mercy, with which to live,
Scapes of wrath, scratches on the superficial,
Eke and etch an existence, where None, stood a chance,
For None was luckier than most, and a Host of Others it
appears, in relief. None, Other can I trust, None Other do
I have.
©DWE022014
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Another day, riding on emotion
Seldom ever breaks down
but I don't have the potion,
To fuel my being.
Lucky to be alive
but there's something I'm not seeing.
Lapped around similar 'scapes
Falling all the time,
with all the scrapes to prove it.
My body itself is a high-powered vehicle,
just hope I don't lose it,
Prematurely with the things I've been doing.
Sometimes I see surroundings pass by but
it doesn't feel like I'm moving.
Reach out to those that could use it
Lead them away from the mentally abusive.
I'm still there though,
the expression on my face even looks weak.
Guess I just hit bleak patch,
but again I'll maintain a satisfying streak
Innocence never left,
But the breaths are slowing.
Used a bit of what I had left to fill up an inner tube,
My body's too weak to maintain how I'm flowing.
So I drift off, into another realm.
A place where people are underwhelmed
And stay to help each other grow.
This place exists at a point in time, but when,
I may never know.
So I'm taking a vacation from my mind
that constructs an absurd blur,
Keep living for the kids and kisses,
and moments that creates blisses
Love and writing are my life preservers~
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
Forest paths and along rocky shelves
a mountainous terrain, underfoot but simple steps
peered crevices, lofty scapes, downtrodden things
the messages of space and time not yet forlorn
though stark sublimity; more nimble avenues
than sheep dare, a windborn precipice of seeming
whence daunted by the sight, thence humbly still.
Some tracks, in pace of venture, seeing or finding
cry out themselves, as if the rocks would speak
and the wind whisper; there's something here
more than meets the eye, as shadows dance
trees bend and raise, waving branches
the leaves clapping their hands-
one last breath before the plunge
while very Earth is heaving.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
Walking at the
A wall is keeping me
I don't see it
It's there,
This is my life
Pixel trees & beautifully rendered
Land-Scapes
Around me
Like I'm on a treadmill
Walking in place
The Country-Side on a screen
Behind me as I fake walk
I want to go further
It’s only a scripting illusion
I’m not really moving
Everything else is
There's blinking arrows
A savepoint to my right
But
I want to go that way
It won't let me
low poly text box reminds
my avatar
you can see it but you can’t have it
turn around to continue gameplay
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
Safe
As houses
That used to
Mean... something
Stability, security, reliability
Safe as houses. Then there was
Katrina, Haiyan
The Christ-
Church earth-
quake, the
Japan tidal- wave
Land- scapes flattened
For mi l es. Safe
Secure houses now
Nothing.......b....u...t..........rubble
Sticks
and
tiles
laying
f l a t
across
the ground.
Yes relationships,
i n v e s t m e n t s,
g o v e r n m e n t s,
p l a c e s, can be
Safe as Houses.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
There are certain things you hear in the peak of night moments
the creak of a swing set as snow falls in pools of still around you
her eyes crinkling from the in to the outside when she smiles
crisp as the wind biting your lips
so you step towards her
tucking strands of hair behind her ears and under her cap
leaning towards those fragile wanting eyes
and tilting her head back
kissing more than a smile
but a someone who personifies the meaning of art
creating scenes of meaning in the city scapes where we rest our hearts
in the pockets of a secret places where forest splits the sky
I've repeatedly fell in love with this girl
this girl with art in her glittering eyes.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
.
Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC