"scenic" poems
Filter the perfect shade of the forenoon sun,
Not too bright, not too dull.
For with ease and carefree thoughts,
You let the sunbeam-drizzling fairies play
As the beauty reflected in your retinas.
Capture this scenic view:
Where the burnt chestnut colored oaks
And mudstained sweetheart sundress of yours
Dance in three-four beats of waltz.
The Crayola strokes of the skies
And the watercolor streaks of daydreams and nightmares
Paint the canvas of your disquited thoughts.
This is the peripheral view from your suncrashed irises and corners,
This is your world.
Let your knees down to your sore feet
Be engulfed by the chasms of the bewildered grass,
As the smile makes it way to your plump spring lips;
Callused fingers from guitar strings
Twirl and twist the blades,
Cutting through flesh
And green and red and blue and yellow,
All sorts of color came spilling from your playful bruise.
From this panoramic view of yours
Of a wonder wonderland,
Where the ticks of clock
Follow the sunflower throughout time and forever,
This is the beauty of that stem:
A key to escapism
To a well-dreamt lovely world.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
Mr. handsome stranger
He’s coming after
Desperate like a last request
Frantic delusional lunatic
Unhinged fragile losing what’s left
Self serving sadomasochistic
Easy on the eyes but doesn’t quite fit in
Playing it cool in social situations
His intelligent banter he claims as his own
With somewhat smart comebacks he practiced at home
Trying so hard that the sweat beads down
Onto his stressed wrinkled furrowed brow
the stories he skillfully misdirected
Carefully darting unwanted questions
Mr. Indiscreet can’t blow his cover
Disarm the girl of his unrealistic dreams
How quite average and normal he can be
Mr. Stalker walks over to the Girl
works up the courage and talks to her
Strikes up a witty conversation
With his movie star smile and education
Using the words that he pre rehearsed
Says all the right things and compliments her
Looking past his rather peculiar behavior
And when politely asked gives up her number
He rings her up the very next day
With a romantic scenic picnic date
Under the shade of a lush green tree
Upon a blanket with wine and cheese
Playing the part of the handsome boyfriend
Gains her full trust and faith in him
Joking in a effort to make her laugh
To put her at ease and follow his plan
Jealous of her ex boyfriends
Knowing their names and full address
And when he drops her off at home
Tracks and follows her every move
Knows all her weekly kept routines
Threatens and blackmails all her friends
Studies everyday mundane errands
Unaware of his decent into madness
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 8:28 AM UTC
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight
Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants
Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due
Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind
Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry
What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?
Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth
Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels
Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by
Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
truth be told,
I am not that bold.
It is a jab into my eye,
a reality full of lies that my mom blames this distress.
Hold on, I can't tell black from white. Might as well be blind, I can predict even the scenic route that people doubt. My whereabouts are no longer in a crowd, standing with witnesses is unhealthy for me.
I want privacy, isn't being alone key anyways? Who is to care
if I write "Beware" or just stare. In the end, there is this sentence left to bare. Always interpreting the language I so rarely speak. Energy may flow for others, but I am not a plug one can spark by lousy remarks.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
words fail to describe
the beauty and peace
found in the mountains sublime
the scenic panorama of the place
is captured so well
by those who live in
the mountain's veld
of trees towering to skies of indigo blue
of squirrels owls and fireflies
of streams pristine and pure
within the province
of mountain kin's hearts
there is an intrinsic
soulful yoke
inborn
of the mountain's
heritage
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
it confuses me how someone can think they are not beautiful,
I mean think about that beautiful spot in the woods or on the mountains or your favorite scenic place that is so breathtaking and beautiful,
the same person that made that place and this earth made you
and if that doesn't make you feel beautiful then I don't know
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
#***Cool monsoon breeze sway the trees
Cascading rills , meadows
The Valley and Scenic hills
Colour green rich in hue
Breathtaking the view
The rain pours and rushes down
On the windscreen and sunroof
A sweet melodic sound it makes
Like an Artist, paints in gentle slopes
Dark clouds in daytime , stark
Makes the Sun shiver in cold
The bridge ahead ,century old
Winding road and steep slopes
Passing through the illuminated tunnels
Old melodies played on the radio
The journey ahead ,we steer
The ebullient nature brings cheer***#
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 6:45 AM UTC
*Babe I hate to even think soon I'll be long gone
that destiny's a painter and the art is bold drawn
it hurts we have to part now that we're all grown
it's a sting we waited for this moment only for I to leave town
hurts that I can't change it, cuts I needs a bandage
***** harder than ******* cause I know that you won't manage
our happy song's now a dirge, unreal like a mirage
who'll get me to my feet when am parting with my clutch
me frowned at the news but none could listen to my views
guess I'll always end up trapped in a wrong place
always emerge a victor in a wrong race
I tried to appeal but karma won the case
what else will be scenic like dawn clutching to your dress
I hate to lose that smile cause it's a milli not a mile
and*
**I'm aware....
when life takes me away...
Tears may come your way...
Babe hope you know I pray...
That you don't cry for me...
Please don't cry for me...**
*I pray you find warmth in some other way
Can't promise we'll still feel us from a million miles away
but I think I'll think about you every other day
never doubting your love, that I totally swear
I'll be present in every moment albeit I won't be there
when your skies are clear and when the skies are grey
I'll be the silhouette somewhere twixt your heart and soul melting
the snow of your confusion and fears to keep your existence at bay
Please don't cry, please try...
try to think about us without a tear
try to plough your way through the fear
don't be lost in the Sea of loneliness
Hope are the sails, life's a boat to steer
Am not saying you should bottle up the melancholy
it's alright to breakdown at such doldrums, it's okay
I just wish sadness was food that you'd ship for me
or an ***** I'd mute the speakers, or stop to play
I wish life was a symphony, so that we choose harmony
I hate that the sad song of our looming reality is in production
and that it will soon be ready for karma to play, with such affection
I loathe that you're bound to listen when we're missing
I hate that I carry this worry to the hay role right from kissing
and this affection's starting to feel more of a curse than a blessing*
**Cause I'm aware...
when life takes me away...
Tears may come your way...
Babe hope you know I pray...
That you don't cry for me...
Please don't cry for me...**
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
I'm the morning whisper that punches you in the gut
the winning lottery ticket that you didn't buy
an inconvenience with impeccable timing
the drinks you spill on nameless lovers
i'm the giggle when a dog sniffs your hand
i'm a naked water fight in January for no reason
i'm cold pillows shaped like a former lover
your favorite t-shirt when it's lost
and found
the drip drip in the sink when you wanna sleep
the creepy crawlers you can't shake
the colorful wrapper with nothing inside
a no vacancy sign at the end of the road
your vulnerability when you're most tender
i'll call you names when you're not looking
look at you funny when you're not listening
i'm the sense that doesn't make,
the only sense there is
i'm your senses when you want to shut me out
the wrong L-word at just the right time
i'm your second chance when you need a third
the maybe, when you really wanted a yes
i'm what feels your pain
the broken promise that brings you more-
pain
what turns the tide when you're not looking
i'm a moonlit midnight swim
i'm sometimes butt-naked
your favorite shade of lipstick
i am your guardian angel
the absence you hold
i'm the scenic route after a bump in the road
the sunset drive that saves your soul
i'm the texture of wet sand between your toes
the burn in every tear you've cried
i'm the vintage dresser you found on a rainy day
the song you hate, stuck on repeat
i count the palm trees when you're not looking
i forget lovers lost and found
i am the one who messes up your hair,
just to dry your tears
i am the vault of all your deepest darkest secrets
always inconvenient and never around
i'm laughter when you least expect it
the 4 am call you don't wanna take
i'm the mirror that sells you lies
the denim shorts that makes your **** look really cute
i'm the cherry (on your wedding dress)
a joyride and a swing-set all in one
i'm what turns you on
what turns you away
i'm your throne
your downfall
your ecstatic,
uplifting
wonderful
life.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
Lo! ’tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
4.3k
Saturday night, offered to read your palm
When I don't even know how to read palms,
It was just an excuse to get to touch you.
And oh, touch you I did,
All over.
Sunday morning, nursing hangovers with scenic strolls,
Holding hands
Until our palms get sweaty and we let go.
And next weekend we'll do this again,
All over.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 9:05 AM UTC
Scrapers will no longer scrape.
Fighters soon to lose the short fight.
Pilots are forced to surrender control.
Snakes on a plane will bank into a roll,
a scene that really no longer is scenic.
Leaders still read while getting a scare.
Huge landmarks that I swear were once there,
bridges in shortage are counting the tolls.
Dust that eventually will never be settled,
liquid support that used to be metal,
big bad crude that never was good—
things impossible suddenly could.
Answers quickly try to be drummed.
Future conflicts guaranteed to be won,
particles blocking our UV death sun,
days become decades and turkey is done.
Brave individuals are no longer bold.
Families’ histories are quite often told,
a baby’s bottle empty with no one to hold.
Government figures tilted but somehow sold
parades in protest with a circus in town.
A tiger got out, but why can’t he growl?
Seems that the cat’s got somebody’s tongue.
Another channel covers son after son,
numbers mounting, but not the right ones.
Cabbies still nose their thumb after thumb,
training centers destroyed one after one.
We should’ve just played “Drop the **** bomb!”
Fear is good, and of course good is feared;
it’s the only thing that drives us way over here.
Just like the Bible, it’s mostly made up.
The supersonic jet has just hit a rut.
The dirtiest of bombs versus our Smith and Wesson.
“Come on gang, why would you even question?”
Like death and taxes—there’s none that’s more sure,
but then there’s the free upcoming history lesson.
“Ain’t gonna do it” acting just like his pop.
This rancher really means it when tossing the slop.
“Still can’t find him—he’s with boys in Brazil.”
What’ve they done lately to lighten the till?
It’s time for the Allies to storm up this hill.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
The night is young & sweet
The highway stretches to heaven
Rain kissed & just dry enough
To cruise around my motorbike
Cold wind blowing through my hair
We climb into the hills of Deccan
And we find a scenic spot to camp
To welcome the songbirds & sunrise.
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 3:05 AM UTC
Nostalgia and memories
Hope and reveries
Love and peace
Tears and craving-for-remedies
All bonded together like quarks.
The undying dream of mine
To be flawlessly contented
Is overflowing from my spines
Ah I want contentment to be mine!
Today,
I find my happiness in nature
In the serenity of seashore
In the scenic stature
In the golden green of pasture
In the classic scent of roses
The nature with its appealing scenery
Tickles a sense to smile at the thrill
A vibe of peace; nature contentment
Really becomes a fulfilling feast to end my lament
All hail to Lord who creates this nature remedy
And makes my soul breathe sturdy!
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
Soft sweet meadow
radiating its breath of life;
sounding its serenity
in echoes of the mind's eye
Living in this flat land
lay plush
in wild, multicolored-flowery-pockets in greenery
blankets "Sweet Meadow" with fresh quickened
fragrance
And by our bedroom window
with a summer night's soft evening breeze
mellow cheeeping can be heard from way way down below
seemingly luring us to...
.. "OPEN WIDER THE WINDOW...
...AND LISTEN!!
Chant dear chorus
as violinist in "Cricket Suits"
join this cantor
that swings with rhythm
with wheezing sounding bugs, AH HUMMING!!
and an intermission of
Cha Cheep, Cha Cheep
that breaks the nocturnal entomological singing
with ephemeral intermissions
Be bewitched by brillance as
tunes fly and z i n g
their little
whistle
songs so sweet a talent
unseen
little bugs sweetly sing
their little
tale of talent
in "Soft Sweet Meadow"
Comforted by vibrating frequencies
the air is electrical clasping
our good-inner child
as this meadow
unfolds its truth
being beneficial
to us all
We journey not too far
for this field draws us
to its delightful *****
We irresistibly suckle on its daytime scenic eye-filling foliage
later eliciting dreams made of peaceful slumber
Cha Cheep, Cha Cheep and good night...
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
a real estate agent
is the person to talk to
if you want a house
with a nice ocean view
listings of these kind
of properties are rare
there's not many on the market
which isn't very fair
residing on the scenic
North Carolina coastline
would most definitely
be ever so divine
as the sun rises
I'd look out over the bay
to catch a glimpse
of the yachts sailing away
upon my two storey deck
I'd read a book
whilst partaking of a serving
of salad and roasted chook
I'll be on the phone
to the realtor this afternoon
so he can line up a sale
for me pretty soon
near the seaside
is where I want to nest
living in a bush locale
isn't all the best
to smell the sea breeze
wafting o'er my yard
that would be a fabulous
tip top draw card
where the brine rushes
into the sandy shore
I'd so love to be situated
there forevermore
my pots and pans are packed
and ready to go
I'm just waiting to hear
from the realtor Mr Row
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
Your touch gentle as a petal in the wind
Kisses soft as the morning sun rise
Slowly rising from the dust undisciplined
Bringing a comforting warmth to my thighs
Your smell familiar as a dream once dreamt
A sweet taste on lips kissing
Hands on my body gracefully you tempt
Long lasting moments of caressing
A love so kind, as a flowers tender touch
Leaves tumble outside tap tap tap as one
Tightly to you I clutch
Skin now hot like the risen sun
Burning the day in sweet harmony
Hips playing a perfect symphony
A scenic view of warmth and motion
A breeze swaying wild and free
Like a curling wave in the ocean
Holding on as an unripe fruit to a tree
A sunset slowly falling down
Releasing the day with a wink of light
Night settles on the ground
Your beauty is all I have in sight
Together we breathe in coexistence
Your touch more tender than anyone
Resting now with peace and silence
Calm night, for the day is done
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:00 PM UTC
Beautiful Bangladesh naturally is pretty cute
on second thought is a masterstroke.
You gotta see it to believe how stunning it looks
as if the sunrise rendered a beauty spot
gladly put it on the morning rose!
Pop into a country of mass people
you could be walking down the singing birds
hanging low nearby our princely open doors.
Every one of us knows in the heart
we are sitting on a land of pure gold!
Should you bask in at the crack of dawn
as the crackling light of heaven stumbles upon
follow the first light that gives you your cue!
Besides the world's ********* Aladdin's
three wishes came true: the longest beach
the biggest tea gardens and mangrove forest,
in Cox's Bazar, Sylhet and Sundarbans.
Take your peep eye on in every direction
ah, moments await you on both sides of the pool!
Vividly mesmerising the Bengal of Gold,
a narrative in words can't always be told.
Sometimes it's said with whispers of old
in the shade of bamboo when that flute is heard
expect it to be carried to you by the frost-kissed air!
Hang onto your cameras even though
you walked passed the twilight in scenic Bandarban
seen the sunset in Kuakata is de ja vu ambling down this nook
you might feel walking one step down beneath the Moon!
Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 5:07 PM UTC
Tracks trembled, catering for my destination westward, field
alongside industry courted, dancing the miles ahead, celebrating
scenic mystery, roaving in splendour, hills pumping spellbinding
grassy greatness, devouring, readying for mountainous masterpieces
I am sun drenched in strobed springtime, relishing the thaw
of rivers running forever, snowy peaks holding onto winters
shivering tale, huddling cold coats like pashminas trailing....
unfinished,their needlework on pinpoint exercise
Inside I sit next to myself, folding minutes into moments of memory,
tracks decreasing inner city air, and I regard
evermore with special splendour, the developing rocks and craggy cliffs
arriving neatly at the foot of the sea waving white flags, receding, chasing....
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
The Ride Of Your Life
*It begins as you are just a child
As you wait each year to grow
You watch as others go there first
Then you reach your stepping stone
They say there's rules to this ride
And try to lock you in your place
You begin your uphill journey
With a smile upon your face
You go slowly up a long steep hill
As you enjoy the scenic view
Then you rest a moment at the top
As time stands still for you
You crest the hill and begin to fall
Heart beating in your chest
The bottom comes so very fast
But your rides not over yet
You hit that curve you dont expect
And you hang on for your life
It throws you through a loopty loop
Then it rights you just in time
A few more hills and one last turn
Then a slow unwanted stop
You're happy that you took life's ride
But Lifes ride's not long enough*
Carl Joseph Roberts
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 5:20 AM UTC
On Friday mornings
You can find me
At my local coffee shop
Reading, writing, understanding
Myself.
It is how I unpack
All the baggage from
This week's long journey
Along the Camino of life.
It is the dusty old bunk bed
I rest my body upon.
It is where I am free
To dream and dream again.
Here I understand my limits
And regain my strength.
Although I love the scenic overlooks
And the one I travel with,
I need this time.
I don't quite understand why,
But without this
Momentary solitude,
Everything I've ever wanted
Does not feel
Quite like
Everything I've ever wanted.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
From a pavement bistro, enjoying an alcove espresso and jam scone
After fresh rains, scenic smiles yet the road is of red sand
Young children play ball in park adjacent, some teen skaters pass by
Skirt-tugger hangs on for dear life, while she perambulates the baby.
The little, old man places with care, two stones behind his back wheels
His car stuck on the muddy, wet road
A small, slow push by stranger passing; it rolls easily from soft, red ruts
A wave of thanks, a friendly smile and off he goes.
Anna steps in ruddy hope, septuagenarian in jaunty hat and Sunday best
Ready to meet the one of a lifetime, widow of a decade
Correspondence long-time with namaste-man, final reward
Ribcage busy, beat in mouth, eyes flit eagerly, hearty salutes.
But nobody knows that someone is being watched,
From across the distance of the park, a clutch of strangers
Their beady eyes, hooded expressions, they wait
Fate is sealed when car drives by; irrevocably red.
S T, 11 May 2013
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
What if I left?
Hit the road like the
Weary Traveler that I am?
Would anyone know I was gone, or would they only notice the
Work that has one less body to attend to it?
Like an addiction, I crave the
Back roads
New adventures
Memories created
Scenic views
Wonderous splendor
Strong breeze
Fresh air
If I swallow this drug one more time
(Just one more, I promise, this time I swear will be the last), then maybe I can find myself enough to
Stay.
So let's go, I need to feel alive.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC