"serenading" poems
With an essence of a sultry indulgence that will entice
as often as it excites;
my words seek passage --
penetrating your psyche,
as they crawl across your thoughts.
serenading your mind with
lustful passages;
littering your innocence
with filth --
saturated in honesty
dripping with vivid insight;
conceived through insanity.
raging with passion.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
Prophesies of impending fall
creep stealthily over the Great Divide.
Gold-green Aspens shiver in the breeze
like leagues of fibrous wind chimes
serenading the mountain slopes
with aires of shimmering gold.
A few distant bugle calls echo
across the Big Thompson valley
as bull elks warm up for the autumn rut.
Sudden early gusts of frigid wind
bring waves of sleet and snow -
in tune with the turning polar axis.
The greater chill is soon to come.
The animals know it as do we.
Bears bulk up on grasses, roots and berries.
Elk and deer drift down from the heights
To show their young the ways
of the plains and river valleys.
We pull our sweaters on
and toss another log on the flames
and greet the harbingers of approaching fall
creeping stealthily over the Great Divide.
September, 2018
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
Beneath the gulmohar tree
In flamboyant love
A tale of our desires
Coloring each other
A bright vermillion
Under his crimson spread
Shaded in blissful haven.
Reaching for his branches
Clasping, holding
Climbing, swinging
Chasing, laughing
Under a bright shower of scarlet petals
Of hearts and heat, of love and life
Blooms of a scorching Indian summer.
In flames, his vibrant burning crown
His canopy, flaunting festive tangerine blossoms
Crinkled teasing petals
One upright
Of quaint innocence in white
Splashed with feisty passion's red
Celebrating and anticipating
In celebration of us, our love
Anticipating rain..
As his branches reach high for promising dark clouds.
Serenading with the music of the monsoons
Moist leaves of the gulmohar glisten
With wind and water, in gentle rhythm
Raindrops nestle for a moment
Before sliding, slipping
On damp, satiated earth
Strewn bright with scattered orange petals
Of the gulmohar
Drenched and soaked like us.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
Every girl like me dreamed to have a prince charming,
Who will treat me as his princess.
I want my prince charming to be -
Handsome,
With really cute smile;
And when I'm walking with him in the mall
Other girls couldn't stop staring at us,
Wishing they have a prince like mine.
I want someone who sings well,
He'll write songs for me
And keeps on serenading me,
Making my me blush all the time.
I'm quite a tall girl,
So he must be at least 4 inches taller than me.
So that even though I'm on my stilettos,
He would still stand tall.
But as I grew older,
I realized that my childish imagination of my prince charming has changed;
Just a decent-looking guy is enough,
I no longer care if he sings well;
I'm no longer too particular of his physical appearance
'Coz I realized
That what's inside his heart is what matters most.
Now, what I want is a sweet guy,
Who will turn ordinary days to special ones,
Keep on surprising me
Making me always happy.
I want to have someone who -
Will genuinely love me;
Is trustworthy;
Will get my family's approval and respect them;
Is a God-loving one;
Will truly care for me;
Is dependable;
Will be true to me;
Will accept me for who I am really;
Will always be there for me.
Whoever he will be,
I will love him for eternity.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC
Can I write you a love song
I’ll sing it softy in your ear all night long
Blow gently without words on my saxophone
Diamond and Pearls behind the throne
A beautiful ensemble meant for only you
As I give credence too
Take my hand
Cross this journey with me as I sing about faraway lands
Past Egypt pyramids shifting Morocco sands
Lay back my love, allow your mind to silently drift
Feel the enchantment of my piano keys as it spiritual uplifts
I’ll sing love songs of old
A cappella chorus echoed from deep within my enlighten soul
I’ll sing to you about the blues, society’s injustice, and elements of darken storms
Keep your heart warm, while playing my French Horn
Enrapture foretold from this dedicated symphonic poem
A music sheet of percussion, woodwind, brass, keyboard, and strings
Harmony carrying the mind away as the joy of coming spring
I’ll hum your favorite beats, can you feel the crescendo now
Fiddle from the heart by the sweat of one’s brow
Submerge your cerebral cortex, lose yourself in the sultry tunes
Harp sounds bathe of light kissed from the illuminating moon
Destiny overcasts in the lyrics
Fate floating stratospheric
Karma of others handled in the eyes of satiric
Opera, I give you so grand in its grace
French Creole dialect murmured among silk and lace
Sounds of my flute resonant to face
Allowing my Cello sounds to thoroughly embrace
Can I write you a love song
Body and soul serenading soprano to keep you standing strong
My guitar stringing your philosophies along
An equal equation, one plus one equals two
Emotions, feelings, sentiments, its tenor expressed only for you
No compass to my heart, my seasonal love found in hidden melodies
Trombone guiding back and forth breathless as it please
Orchestra sounds
Ascending minds, bodies, souls, pass the opening clouds, divine and profound
The last note sung by me as we gradually come down
Beautiful music embraced, needs never to make a sound
Shh, close your eyes
Meditate on the music for a little while
Hush sweet baby don’t say a word
My heart softly tweets to a mockingbird
If that mockingbird don’t sing
Can I write you a love song created only for your being
As minds are sightseeing
Hearts fleeing
Timpani drums guaranteeing
Entwined of our divine wellbeing
Emotions freeing
Crooning of bodies heard as the day is long
Can I write you a love song
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
*I'd befriend the obsidian sky...
I'd shower it with a bounty of praises.
So that it'll welcome my nightly gaze,
without threats from overbearing clouds.
I'd impress the twinkling stars
by serenading them with songs unheard by most.
So that when the time comes,
they'd cast their votes in my favour.
I'd whisper to the nighttime breeze.
I'd cavort and giggle at its slightest touch.
So that when I fly my flag,
it'll catch it in full billows for her to see.
Then finally...
I'd woo the twilight moon...
For she is the prize
my heart had sought to pursue.
I'd court her
with the fiercest blaze that burns within...
In hopes that she'd forever
remember me as the suitor that had
fallen helplessly.*
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
Of serene eyes that follow gently
the illicit pill she could not let go
it was heavy as the waters pulling her inside
serenading her with an estranged voice
coming from within —
her minimizing the desire to let it out
as the sun quiets down
and the gibbous moon exhibiting itself at night,
resisting the waves occurring —
as if it loathed her whole being
of her justness and the absence of these causes
her grieving and the sirens waltzing,
talking through an absentminded eye
eyeing her soul
finding love that seizes it
but hers were two feet and one mouth to breathe in
even in all shades of blue,
she can get a glimpse of the dark hue
illuminating the downside of the ocean
pulling her, wrecking her soul.
Redemption does not lie —
humoring her with plainly just truth
craving for the applause of the moon
only observing the depth of the ocean
eating the once alive soul
of her saving her last breath,
chiming in with the conversation, she
once had with him.
It could have been nice the resistance
he once had — to throw himself out
to the beauty of his light that shed
her whole body
he once was able to have
and he stayed there, eyed her the whole time
being eaten on the lonesome of the night
for he himself, shading all the blueness
like a requiem for the dreams
she kept on having
like a composition giving life
to new generations, he was still on
a token and a curse, and he let her be —
in all shades of blue.
Jul 11, 2022
Jul 11, 2022 at 5:21 AM UTC
I wish I were stranded on a tropical island
A tropical island with you
You could make art from coconuts and starfish
Yeah, coconuts and starfish might be a good place to start
And I could build a crude instrument
Out of a conch shell and driftwood
And tightly roll a papaya leaf to use for a string
Or two
Then I could play and you could sing
We wouldn't want for anything
Serenading each other by the light of the moon...
Every evening we could snuggle underneath the stars
You could be Venus, I could be Mars
We could lay our differences aside (except the good ones)
I'm safe in you, you're safe in me,
No need to hide
I wish I were stranded on a tropical island
A tropical island with you
And we'd bake clams in the hot, hot sand
Under the afternoon Sun
And brew a crazy chowder using sea salt and kelp (help!)
Then we'd make love on the beach as the water nips at our toes
Under the setting sun when the day is done
By a waterfall I'm calling you...
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
On nights like this
Tired eyes reminisce
Of a former life
Like French doors opening
To familiar gardens
Where prunes grow on fingers
And lavender blooms
In the iridescent luster
Of warm water droplets
Serenading shoulders
Where reason and chaos blend
Into peach white tea
Swallows carry songs
Through their wings
Stirring decadent incense
Of exhaling trees
Sunlight waltzes with
Saturated leaves
Their indelible patterns
Rhythmic marigold sleeves
Carefree meanders along
Luscious promenade, swathed
In pomegranate-stained poppies
Ripe for the picking
In them, a fragrant ecstasy
Alive inside this memory
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
Our trajectory was so like no other.
so linear within it's silhouette,
gazing upon the others
gravity.
We had a cycle of moments that
were like
s
t
a
r
s
Weaving between our paths, serenading
our motions entwined within the others
graces. There was nothing between us
but space, a gravity of affections.
But some times a distance can expand
in time,
Even though we once eclipsing each other.
Gazing at each other as our horizons descended
you were the gravity of my yearning for so long.
I could count the stars that shot upon our forms,
still I feel the effects, but our stars descend less often.
Maybe ours were answered previously but dreams
only come true once.
You'll always be within my orbit, but never as
close as what gravity lingered before.
I see you, but we are just motions no longer
adjacent in the stars of our hearts.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
Sparkling, silvery, shades of grey.
Skin, shivering, brain of dismay.
Trees, trancing, bare naked sky.
Patiently, pondering, preparing to fly.
Wind, whistling, a dancing swoon.
Sounds, serenading a sparkling moon.
Secret , system of the seasons.
The rhythm of winter needs no reasons.
Seasonal affective disorder,
Justify this infective inorder.
Jan 11, 2023
Jan 11, 2023 at 10:00 AM UTC
We lie amidst Ripe mountain herbs,
The nightingale has just begun its summer trill,
This hymn for golden vocal cords
Composed no owner of a writing quill
So sweet were melodies produced
That I mistook the front row lady’s cheap perfume
For blossoms, above which haunting hornets mused;
For an aroma of our Shakespeare love in bloom.
The serenading cardboard creatures –
Those thieve their voice from birds with no address.
Meanwhile a glass raised in a playhouse features
But colored water, as red as gipsy’s dress.
When the last spectator goes,
Having not found at least one genuine sun,
As actors, we recede into descending roles;
Electric blood in lamps’ capillaries feels numb.
A lovely ladybug, I doubt, I will ever catch,
A lifelike flower, dipped in a painting fusion:
All this, fine artists tenderly attach
To lifeless decorations, for aid they do us in a willful staged illusion.
Three burnt sienna pearls run down your spine
Yet after a big round of applause
These jewels are no longer signs of the divine,
But witches’ marks or, rather, unalluring flaws.
After the play I went to buy a notebook from my shopping list
To store the overgrowing verses, such as these;
A sheet of paper guarantees
To treat them like extinguishing bees
Cashiers ****** the change into my hand,
You purchased hothouse roses with;
And up those pretty useless beauties stand
In someone’s vase, whose name remains a myth.
They give me back those polished dimes
You traded for a pair of shoes.
I’ve seen you marshal through onstage lifetimes,
Yet to disclose personas’ traces the theater walls refuse.
Your chocolate hair has just fallen from the hairdresser’s hand,–
That’s how I know the summer’s coming to a bitter end.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 7:02 PM UTC
crickets serenading the crows to sleep
trees send out calls to one another on the wind
rustling branches
what a masterpiece the stars make
nestled in the spun navy blue of the night sky
fawns and deer scream to one another
grunt warnings and snort dry grass
baby bunnies chirp to distant moms
being chased by auburn tailed foxes
the frogs try and calm their throats of the
incessant pockets of air that erupt from their
stomachs
the moon's veil casts lacy shadows on the leaves
filling the gaps in the branches
white moonwashed asphalt sparks with diamonds
the sun trying to break the barrier of darkness
pushing and bulging over the horizon with a pop
hazy pink lemonade spills over the edges of
distance mountain ranges
orange Starbursts melt on the tips of the crows' claws
lavender wax seeps around the sleeping bunnies
still chirping in their shortening sleep
the stardust that fell during the night
sparkles like dew on the blades of grass
and floats like fairies through the
apple juice air
thick and warm cinnamon roll clouds
roll by in the liquid gold sky
the scent of cherry pie and toast every morning
in the summer
and the scent of honeydew melon
with bamboo extract right before
dusk.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
It's there and I can feel it
I want to reach it but I can't.
I hear it in my speech, I see it in my dreams,
I smell it in the air and I feel it in my veins.
I see it in the eyes of creatures,
I feel it from still and tidal waters,
I even inhale it from all the green that surround us.
I feel it through words that are spoken
And I see it within those that are written,
I hear its melodies, sweet sounds of a silent night
Serenading in a foreign dialect.
It makes me feel whole though it chills me right to the bone
My heart wants to but my mind doesn't,
My mind wants to understand but my heart is too afraid to comprehend
I know what it is yet I can't tell what it is.
Still trying to reach out to it but I seem not to reach it
Part of me wants it while the other doesn't
The me within me wants it
But the me outside of me repels it.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
Where is the inspiration that I once possessed?
Where is the love that once sprouted from my fingertips?
Where are all the flowers that once grew around my feet,
with each step I took?
It seems as though
lately I've abandoned my gardens,
and left all the flowers to wilt and turn to dust.
The lives that I once cared for,
are now all scattered around the ground.
My spring light is somewhere lost in this winter cold,
and this winter has been going on for too long.
My body is numb from the breeze the December nights send me.
I once rose with the early sun in the morning,
but now I find my self serenading the moon each night.
Hoping maybe she will understand all my pain and issues.
These nights are graceless.
These nights are long.
These nights have me lost,
walking and searching for the sun.
Always ending up in places
that are just too dark.
Where is the sun that once loved me like a child?
Will I ever end up in a perfect place?
Am I just crying them to the moon?
Will this all be over soon?
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
and when all the noises die down,
silence will come serenading,
resonating you to rest,
let it
console
your soul.
heal through the night.
and live fearlessly
again, through the day.
Dec 22, 2020
Dec 22, 2020 at 11:13 AM UTC
How can you bare a broken promise
or loiter after a broken date?
Sad Samantha lost her chance,
no Frank Sinatra vinyl nights
serenading young lovers in,
or walks down moonlit colonnades.
She's just a victim of a steely heart whose
strung himself around someone else's waist
and dyed blonde hair
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
i am the piper
cept my pipes are
a bit rusty
out of tune
melancholy
its too late for monthly checkups
but you never seem to mind
but you see the only reason they are
so worn out
is because i sing my melody
as loud and beautiful as I can
every time we do the dance of passion
no, they can't be rusty
because
i've serenaded so many other women before you
that can't be
you,
your melody is sweet, pure, harmonious
but of course, you've only just started
you make me feel like an old man
whose pipes have seen generations
i almost feel bad serenading such a pure heart
but i know what will happen
you will leave me soon
yes, I know from our passion dances that you
love me
but when you find another whose music is sweeter
more pure than my coarseness
i promise
you will love him more
its only a matter of time...
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 1:29 PM UTC
I walk around my hundred person hot tub party
and I
cannot feel anything
crawling through my veins alcohol takes over
alone in my yellow living room full of people
\\
The girls from the local apartments are here
they arrive in groups of three
five
six
sometimes in long trains of sixteen
I try not to **** my pants with laughter
as I hug and greet each one as they grace my home
I never thought I would be this person
this tongue tied host
\\
the felons are here talking about their latest stints in jail
the Olympian is talking about how he walked next to Lebron James at the opening ceremony
the musicians are serenading a girl that does not want to hear it
plastic bags have been placed over the smoke alarms
the marine is talking about killing in the desert
leaning on the northward wall I take a long drag of my blunt trying to look aloofly attractive
, but failing miserably at the act
until she walked up to me
red leather jacket
skin so soft
binding black dress
I liberated her from it and she kissed me
Kissing her back emptied my inhibitions and the morning after: when I found out he was in love with her and I had slept with her; I felt alone all over again
She ran when this was spoken
Me and him fought with our fists
nothing got resolved
all of a sudden
I feel isolation again
just like the party
leaning on the northward wall
having made thirty conversations
none of which compel me
finally leaving me to the world
that exists in my head
THE ONE I CONTROL
\\
I have this negative kick back
whenever I feel something going too nice
I just want to be in my room
alone
with a computer
books
marijuana
a chair
pen
paper
precious paradise
I want to run
tear my flesh off my chest
rip into a heavy metal howl
then have blasting music come in
come in from every corner of the room
the bass tones would bounce from the corners
the high tones would bounce of the walls and refract rapidly
and I would be gone
now wondering
what my position is to where they stand
\\
What worlds we can mentally create
and which do we want to step into
Sometimes the ability is strong on Tuesdays but not on Thursdays
Why the inconsistency?
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
life choices cast in iron skillets,
presented choices that possess no flexibility
twice, she asks me today
morning fruitage, on offer,
peaches ripe to rip real sweet perfection
from your eyes to the remembering salivating mouth,
or
sweet but just **** enough
strawberries that will wince your tongue buds
intolerant of either, but perfect together
acorn squash,
over roasted to be the violin section
to your barbecued chicken orchestra serenading,
but which shall be the sweetener,
honey or maple syrup,
similar but different
the kitchen floor explosive shakes,
pans to the floor fall, eyelet unhooked all,
spices from cabinets burst forth,
kitchen mittens slapping each other
in utter disbelief
when I reply,
let us choose both!
for there is no bifurcation,
no line of demarcation
on our taste buds
this a truthful -
our lives a perpetual blending,
both will login lead to a
the right and proper ending
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 5:34 PM UTC
Scratching pebbles.
Seeing the dog walkers.
Down by the river.
The stalkers?
Hunting for stars.
While playing guitars.
Presentation on violins.
Serenading his lady.
Using his voice.
Pure perfection.
Not his choice.
He's playing at love.
Puppies are adorable, usually.
This dog.
Well,
Only as adorable as a hound from hell.
Seconds and moments.
Mementos and chocolates.
Him, sleeping beneath the trees.
Brow dripping,
salted perspiration.
Wasting away.
Wasting time.
Love playing games.
That was the summer, that was.
When love chased her.
Chased him too.
It chased him away.
And, you rarely hear birds sing in Venice.
They've flown, off chasing love for somebody else.
Clever birds, gave up on us.
(c)Livvi
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
*Utterly enchanted 'neath
mesmerizing constellations,
as an entranced blue moon
swoons over sparkling
celestial diamonds,
cello's were eloquently playing
serenading starry stratospheres
within an endearing melody
and milky ways of poetry,
simultaneously syncopating
strumming pizzicato heartstrings,
tuning our harmonious passages
of rhythm and rhyme 'pon
apricot mist sunset horizons &
seraphic skies rendered of
lapis lazuli sunrise grandeur*
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
Like continents moving the skin off from over me , slowly..
deliberately with great force on the rest of my being ,
each aspect of myself emerges anew
from the cocoon like first layer of childhood ,
i see myself spiral from the snakeskin left on the floor
a forge is in it’s place
of molten liquid energy running along my meridians.
Serenading every judgement of another character with love shine ,
fresh from the gardens of mine
that bathe
by the sea air
in my root chakra layer... mingles ,
with the heart echo arrow
i send it with.
Known; that the judgements of others are a side product of judgement of self.
Be it , through the eyes of a hopeful parent or a tired teacher , a pig or a nit.... an angel or specter himself -
None equal as true, to the eyes i see through
on the matter my being is composed of.
Integrating stillness in my vivacious bones , conscious movements flow , stabilizing the unknown into the known , materializing the un-materialized subconscious realm.
Moving through visible reality shifts and mind rifts , exploring
the astral world around me
whilst moving through physical boundaries of borders
Developing organs in my subtle body .
Manifesting my foundations for stamina.
What a joy it is to live from the heart.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
pretty girl with pretty flowers,
do not be afraid to trace the soft curves of your body
with your round, round eyes.
your monsters hide not there—
your guardian angels do.
when your night feels longer than the day,
breathe the smidgen of youth you have left in you
into the birds swimming fluidly with the stars—
their wings swiftly cutting smooth ripples into the sky,
disturbing the grumbling twilight.
you could be one of them,
able to go nowhere and everywhere.
like air.
don’t you want to go home?
sad girl with sad flowers,
keep your leaves tucked inside your old books,
in lacy sleeves, your peeling boots—
hope He finds them all there.
sing sweetly of the poets of all ages—siken, plath, wilde, whitman—
shamelessly climb inside His chest,
gently rip His ribs apart,
the you that's serenading, softly seducing Him
with songs unsung and dreams undreamt.
let your baby blue skirt ride up,
drip, drip, drip,
let His calloused fingers brush your thighs made of syrupy milk,
as you smile, and smile, and smile.
fiery girl with stormy flowers,
the best things in life cannot be confined to a physical shape, cannot be
seen, or touched, or heard, or said—
yet in your eyes set heavy by damp eyelashes,
there is the primal, unconfined, raw thirst,
desperately hoping and searching.
is it a lost love? an unfounded love?
what is it that you are looking for?
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 11:42 AM UTC
Amerikeisha tapping out the drumbeat with her see through plastic mechanical pencil
Me sidewinding my way through highschool
Dizzy Gillespie's trumpet waking the souls that are buried in the lockers,
Chick Corea and I are returning to forever
The land where summer is the only season
And daisy dukes are greatly appreciated,
John Coltrane is helping me realize
How beautiful girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes are,
I've been dancing to Dave Brubeck since this morning
And I can't get Maria out of my head
I just picture Maria
As this girl
Feeling Pretty
Oh so pretty
I imagine if I saw her in the street
I wouldn't double take
But Take Five
Charlie Parker playing saxophone like
It's as easy as brushing his teeth,
Nat King Cole
Serenading Hispanic women with his soothing tone
Robert Glasper experimenting with his music
Burning you brain like mentholated cough drops
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC