"scintillates" poems
In days dead and burried in time,
In a very far away enchanted clime,
In the mighty kingdom of Nineva
Where there fairly shone forever,
There once was a strange lonely wood
That ever in fairest robes of green stood
By the edge of a fair shoreline of pearl,
Whose mystery none may tell nor unfurl.
For akin to the most effulgent yonder star
That forevermore scintillates from afar
In a splendiferous novelty golden cluster,
So thrice scintillated the gem's luster.
And 'tis for this that as we all truly know,
All mortals, I say, all mortals of long ago
Gravitated from corners of distant lands
On the quest for riches by those strands.
Once, sweltering was the noontide
When upon a violent lonely rolling tide
A bunch of desperate pirates were seen
Nearing that wood of emerald sheen.
In a while, they'd gathered all they could,
Leaving not a single gem in the wood.
Alas! A wind murmured upon the skies
In faint whispers: "Woods have eyes"
So muttered all birds - all birds of the air,
All creatures in caverns desolate yet fair,
All leaves upon strange shadowy trees,
And all - all creatures of wild lonely seas.
But, despite the looming dark omen,
Swifter than plummeting drops of rain,
So hastily dashed every single pirate
Blindingly minding not about their fate.
They raised their silvery sails to take sail
But hark! All this - all this was to no avail;
For upon the skies no wind was seen
To render them across so wide a sea.
In a jiffy, louder than birds of the skies
All gems whispered, "Woods have eyes."
From that moment on, all lost their sight,
Doomed never to behold the sun's light.
And now, upon those murky restless seas
They dost weep but no plea can please,
For they were doomed to rove evermore
In search of their long forgotten shore.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros, Kampala, Uganda. 29th.July.2018.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 4:03 AM UTC
*The fundamental phenomena in nature are symmetrical
with respect to interchange of past and future.* --- Richard Feynman
Millions for Defense
In the Cabinet room of Monticello, clutching Decatur's letter,
the President removes his wire-rimmed glasses ---
Frigate Philadelphia has been burned.
Decanting a bourbon, he pours and quaffs.
Outside in the piazza the cicadas' din is unbroken.
The Pasha of Tripoli has his tribute!
In three short hours warm rays of sunlight
will greet the outstretched arms of Earth,
but for now the bourbon scintillates.
Ink splatters on the blotter,
as he pounds a clenched fist upon the desk.
Not one cent!, he pronounces to the wall-clock.
Cicadas hold sway in the Charlottsville night,
but on the Barbary Coast a fire is raging.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 9:39 AM UTC
Stars scintillates in the sky
in this somnolent night
while i muse upon my plight
with bated breath, i sigh
There's no sign of gaiety
only a flamboyant sadness
in a state of anxiety
that's difficult to suppress
My eyes becomes misty
with tears that fall like rain
Trying hard to refuse self pity
in order to cope up with this pain
I can no longer paint a smile
and my eyes fails to shine
My heart cease to throb for a while
'cos you're now no longer mine
Tears dripping from my eyes
Swelled with too much bitterness
Here, my tormented heart lies
As i wandered in gaping loneliness..
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
THINK SATIN, not silk and make it sheer black.
RUN IT slowly through sensitive finger-tip skin.
Black satin shimmers.
FEEL IT creamily smooth like alchemized liquid.
Black satin scintillates.
HOLD IT cool against lips and breathe slowly in.
Black satin stimulates.
TRY IT sensuously folded for more sinuous cling.
Black satin slithers.
WEAR IT bravely, accentuate bedtime's nakedity.
Black satin satiates.
THINK SATIN, not silk and make it sheer black.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
What is it that he celebrates today,
The oncoming of the frost or the passing of time?
Beneath his feet the water
Scintillates with a flame liquid -
Silver -
A transmutation of fire
Fuelled by the tears of his mother,
In whose waves he sailed to Sicily.
Bayreuth, Germany, looked like a frozen Sahara
With the local colors, and a pale-blue train
He had taken in Rome, at the "Stazione Termini.”
She: her body was carved in Napoli
He: his hair was planted in Carthage,
But both sought another knowledge
In Tübingen or perhaps in Konstanz.
She said, “I would sail from here to there,
Like you did from where you were,
But I would lose the rattle of your absence,
And that would be what makes all the difference”!
© LazharBouazzi, January 27, 2018
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 5:26 PM UTC
1364
How know it from a Summer’s Day?
Its Fervors are as firm—
And nothing in the Countenance
But scintillates the same—
Yet Birds examine it and flee—
And Vans without a name
Inspect the Admonition
And sunder as they came—
1k
Your mid-lip drops,
the ends slide, raise,
revealing
an off-white bridgework
only seen
when on the heels of a smile.
Your curtains fall
embracing upper cheek with
innocent, open arms,
wrapping
themselves in the wrinkles
from times before,
when on the heels of a smile.
Your hazel aroma
scintillates through
a squinted discovery
seizing
a moment of divine pleasure,
when on the heels of a smile.
When on the heels of a smile
a broken, off-balance
appearance, binds metrical
pieces with a brush stroke,
creating a single wrinkle.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
Some take cover from the rain,
But I know better.
I let it cleanse my
Grime-encrusted skin,
Layers upon layers of sin.
I’ve tried to occult my faults,
But the rain knows better,
For it penetrates my guise with
Surprising ease, disarming me.
Bare skin exposed and I quiver
As eyes examine every sliver
Of who I am.
Soaked body with nature’s balm
Glistens when a ray of sunlight
Splits the gray clouds, as if
Assuring me redemption.
Some retreat when gray clouds approach,
But I know better.
My character, tempest-tossed,
Scintillates when the sun comes out.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
It’s thunderstorm country around here.
They roam the boiling, hot, southern skies
on legs of lightning, like dark, angry trolls.
My Chinese roommate is impressed with them
because as menacing and mountainous and electrical
as they seem, through the trees whip and the rain
lashes - like special effects - no real damage is done.
Love is like that, a circus briefly coming to town,
that scintillates, palpitates, irritates or validates
- a carney-call with the urgency of a sale.
“Run away and join the show,” it whispers.
Love is both less than it seems and more than it is.
Jul 15, 2022
Jul 15, 2022 at 12:34 PM UTC
Nicotine
I cannot ignore
how loudly love knocks
whilst you and I exchange
meaningful eye locks.
You are my Lucida,
my brightest star,
though I never intended
for you
to take so much space
in my heart;
I cannot tell where
your fervency ends
and my love starts.
You are an iota of heartache,
mixed with a hint of nicotine
and sprinkled with flaws,
reminding me broken beings
should be healed with love
not bandaids or empty promises
(though they're the same).
My darling, sublimity scintillates
in your eyes and
I cannot explain in a rhyme
the many ways you make me feel sublime.
**A/N: Hey guys! An update after a long time!! I know this is not the order that the poems go, but I felt inspired to write about this person and so I thought why not? If you'd like to, comment some feedback, thoughts, and / or questions (:**
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 9:49 AM UTC
did you see her last night?
she was beautiful,
magnificent and elegant
she was surrounded by diamonds
that were overcasted by her luminescence
she was the mixture of gold and gray
and i swear you will never see
anyone else rock those hues better than her
she stood idly in a sea of dark clouds
but still, she shone brightly
with the smile like that
of the yet unbroken,
she looked at me -
her eyes concealing the screaming
but hushed words
i wanted to tell her she’s beautiful
but i didn’t
i wanted to look at her
straight in the eyes that had seen my soul,
but i didn’t
i wanted to hang on to her
and feel her breathe,
but i didn’t
i wanted to hold her in my arms
and keep her there for awhile
but i didn’t
i didn’t because
he who embraces the red and the yellow
will pull us apart somehow or another
i didn’t because
i wanted to have something
that won’t fall apart and
leave as the light scintillates the nightsky
but she knew i was struggling
to keep myself away from her
i’m still struggling
but here i stay
because i know i’ll see her again
my saving grace
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
It’s paramount the notion
That men are born to grow,
Extend their creativity,
Expand the very best they know.
Explore the realm unseen before
Beyond their very reach,
Inflate the mind’s potential
To absorb and grasp and preach.
To plunder flair unrealized
Extend skills unperceived,
To craft a very masterpiece
Of magnificence, unbelieved.
To raise the spire of excellence
To sculpt a work of art,
Compose a peice which scintillates
And moves the very heart.
To reach beyond the mortal
And let the spirit free
To pen a Michelangelo
And have God sit with me.
Marshalg
@the Coalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
30 April 2010
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
The babble of the valley Brooke
A rush- the flowing, liquid memory moving
Downstream.
Water; the stillness of
a puddle
A pond, the pooling-
scintillates & permeates.
A gentel lapping
against the creekside,
A skip-stone-scape beneath the wetness
Augments the heavy water
As nature's soundtrack.
Mar 2, 2024
Mar 2, 2024 at 10:15 PM UTC
I wish I were as powerful and beautiful and mysterious as a storm.
I want to be the biting sting and soothing saturation in every drop of rain.
I want to exist as the current of electromagnetism that surges and scintillates through every bolt of lightning.
I want to be as elusive and unpredictable as the unsettled wind.
I want there to be no doubt I AM here, no doubt I WAS here, and absolute uncertainty of my return.
Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 11:44 AM UTC
Seven Caesars
A haven in Bensalem
To come in from the storm
The Banquet Hall from Heaven
A zesty place to keep warm
Seven gilded statues wearing breastplates
All seven with spears and raised golden fingers
Its lavish atmosphere scintillates
The overall effect still lingers
Long after the garlic aftertaste
Has departed from your tongue
Sumptuous food will never waste
The ambience is always fun
Pizzaro had his City of Gold
Ponce De Leon had his Fountain of Youth
But we’ve found our treasure hold
Ride Route One North for the proof
@1995, 2006 Linda Barrett
A Time for Love
@2013 Linda Barrett
Two lovers
On Society’s opposite sides
Meet together:
One upholding its
Age Limit laws
Preventing citizens from living
Past their expiration dates
The other
seeks the Spirit world
for answers
Outside of Society’s rules
Both unite as a single unit
Run from the Eye
Which sees them both
Seer and Reaper
Two individuals divided
Against One Society
Add love to the formula
Now what is the product?
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
Snowy sentiments silted up
the soft sediment of my senses,
sifting silently my dreams
of sensitive seduction,
solely to send my thoughts to shores
with coloured sands and stunning steep sights
with sweeps of sea, that swell so high
the sun scintillates the surface spray
shimmering and shining,
spreading over the horizon,
as the soughing of the wind swings seagulls,
swooping serenely southwards,
past the slabbery seashells
and slap-happy waves that swish up the beach,
soporifically smudging seaweeds
against the sleeping surface
of the smooth glacial rocks,
spattering silky foam in spots
of saffron-tinted shapes, over their structures,
surreptitiously sinking into the saline cracks.
Margaret Ann Waddicor February 2013.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 3:51 AM UTC
The sound of Christian’s voice stirs me, awake
the vision of undulating ridges—verdant—
as my head falls, slowly, the window of the van
a glimpse of light through the rock on water
My coup de foudre. Southern France
with winding roads and biking hills
Take me to where the Ardèche flows.
Goodbye to the sweater shed from shoulder.
Lunch eaten fresh in October by the river.
Comté and baguette spread on our blanket.
We are off to Nîmes
Where butterflies are chased, beneath the bridge
the water rushes below me.
Delicate steps.
In Arles, the Rhône
where I can dream.
A quiet stream only for me
and those whose memory swims on
behind the easel—
natural and wild—so near—
masked by morning mist
that brushes, alters, clouds Vincent’s canvas
to a “foggy day over the Rhône,” we should say
and an old painting feels like home under
the stars. Am I free?
River scintillates in the dark of night
where I sit. The reflection is of me.
Dec 11, 2022
Dec 11, 2022 at 3:43 PM UTC
*The iced night kissed the closed window with frost.
There you lay fitting against me like a puzzle piece
As the tangerine fire scintillates in front of our bodies
Leaving shadows of paintings on your skin.
An ocean is flowing through your hand as you trace
The stardust freckles sprinkled upon my face.
Poems of ardent passion are being exhaled from your
Lungs. The moon is playing Al Bowlly’s tunes of 1930 love.
Can you hear? I want nothing more than for you to
Consume me whole right this moment. You quench my
Thirsty body in your red wine kisses. I am wholly yours
In a way I will never be anyone else’s. Feed my soul
Your impassioned heart and dig your teeth into mine.
For my heart is yours, Love. Our cardiac muscles are
Beating in sync with each other. We are one. Molded
Into your skin, and you in mine, our souls meet on
The border of our physical life and the realm of the next.
Euphoria and love is seeping through our bodies making
Our somatosensory system heightened to extents
Of ******** happiness. Your eyes kiss into mine words
of I love you. This is where we belong. You found me.*
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
A florist’s dream swept through before the sun
Peeked up past the horizon, burning bright:
An April shower scouring the night,
A soft cascade of blessings set to run
Down windowpanes and eaves, down ruddy dun
Of brick and craggy stone alike. The sight
Of sunrise sets the dewy world alight,
Each blossom scintillates, an all-in-one -
In gazing into crystal ***** one sees
A multitude, a myriad of hopes,
A million shrouded possibilities,
The fascination of each half-dreamed thing,
But in the dawn, my rooftop’s rain-slick slopes,
I see the blooms of May begin to spring.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 10:30 AM UTC
Suddenly it's pitching deep down
Burying beneath the callous hide
Like a virus of needles, feeble yet fast
Crawling in and out the blank eyes
Contagious, spreading and tearing
The skin that withers, bones that rust
And out dawns a disease
A lone, blooming flower amidst
Mountainous piles of rotting carnage
With it rises the grieving crimson sun
Petals and leaves in a sea of cadavers
So it grows, and roots try to reach
The far edges of the horizon
From a frivolous seedling of sickness
Now scintillates the devoid plain
It starts drawing euphoric breaths
Out of the breeze of reeking pain
The sky pulls from it a tall willow like
Standing spirited in all the awe
But it's blindness, and its blindness
Brought it ingrained to feigned soil
Bearing fruits of sordid star clusters
Bound digging for a purposeless toil
As it tries to grasp firm the fleshy dirt
It's as if a swift accretion of dust
Blown away by a quiescent zephyr
Now it see its own doubtful existence
The stench is repulsing from within
Fake are its scions of luminescence
For not the carcasses are that fester
But its own visage where putrid blood
Flows and that waters the posy earth
So it asks and draws its own surmise
From buzzing hordes of flies infesting
The dying land like butterflies
Is it healing that it truly brings
As answers wreak from the blithe lies
Maggots surge from wilted blossoms
It knows, it’s healing that it brings
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
Remember those moments of agony
Before the age of puberty
When you fumbled
confounded in surety
When you said those stupid things
that you never meant to say
And to this day it still stings
Remember the friends
you said goodbye to
before you could say hello and how are you
My how the miles separate
The horizon just titillates
Never touching earth
while the sky scintillates
I picture the high school gym at the homecoming dance you see
Sitting on the pullout bleachers . . . no one danced with me
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
There is but one...
you've never met.
completely you, without
advance.
that appointed Witness,
sworn to these bodies...
which will bring them
together.
We are the loves of all
these lives...the fount-lip of
a balcony held up to undress
us essentially.
as we pour down what no
mouth could drink, nor
heart horde.
upraising scintillates of
stillborn moons.
sunning their straying
faces.
(((clearly))).
all that mind, all that heart...
twice-ways as sun and moon
freeing ***
this
~~~Flowering Crux~~~
=
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC