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In that November off Tehuantepec,
The slopping of the sea grew still one night
And in the morning summer hued the deck

And made one think of rosy chocolate
And gilt umbrellas. Paradisal green
Gave suavity to the perplexed machine

Of ocean, which like limpid water lay.
Who, then, in that ambrosial latitude
Out of the light evolved the morning blooms,

Who, then, evolved the sea-blooms from the clouds
Diffusing balm in that Pacific calm?
C'etait mon enfant, mon bijou, mon ame.

The sea-clouds whitened far below the calm
And moved, as blooms move, in the swimming green
And in its watery radiance, while the hue

Of heaven in an antique reflection rolled
Round those flotillas. And sometimes the sea
Poured brilliant iris on the glistening blue.


In that November off Tehuantepec
The slopping of the sea grew still one night.
At breakfast jelly yellow streaked the deck

And made one think of chop-house chocolate
And sham umbrellas. And a sham-like green
Capped summer-seeming on the tense machine

Of ocean, which in sinister flatness lay.
Who, then, beheld the rising of the clouds
That strode submerged in that malevolent sheen,

Who saw the mortal massives of the blooms
Of water moving on the water-floor?
C'etait mon frere du ciel, ma vie, mon or.

The gongs rang loudly as the windy booms
Hoo-hooed it in the darkened ocean-blooms.
The gongs grew still. And then blue heaven spread

Its crystalline pendentives on the sea
And the macabre of the water-glooms
In an enormous undulation fled.


In that November off Tehuantepec,
The slopping of the sea grew still one night
And a pale silver patterned on the deck

And made one think of porcelain chocolate
And pied umbrellas. An uncertain green,
Piano-polished, held the tranced machine

Of ocean, as a prelude holds and holds,
Who, seeing silver petals of white blooms
Unfolding in the water, feeling sure

Of the milk within the saltiest spurge, heard, then,
The sea unfolding in the sunken clouds?
Oh! C'etait mon extase et mon amour.

So deeply sunken were they that the shrouds,
The shrouding shadows, made the petals black
Until the rolling heaven made them blue,

A blue beyond the rainy hyacinth,
And smiting the crevasses of the leaves
Deluged the ocean with a sapphire blue.


In that November off Tehuantepec
The night-long slopping of the sea grew still.
A mallow morning dozed upon the deck

And made one think of musky chocolate
And frail umbrellas. A too-fluent green
Suggested malice in the dry machine

Of ocean, pondering dank stratagem.
Who then beheld the figures of the clouds
Like blooms secluded in the thick marine?

Like blooms? Like damasks that were shaken off
From the loosed girdles in the spangling must.
C'etait ma foi, la nonchalance divine.

The nakedness would rise and suddenly turn
Salt masks of beard and mouths of bellowing,
Would--But more suddenly the heaven rolled

Its bluest sea-clouds in the thinking green,
And the nakedness became the broadest blooms,
Mile-mallows that a mallow sun cajoled.


In that November off Tehuantepec
Night stilled the slopping of the sea.
The day came, bowing and voluble, upon the deck,

Good clown... One thought of Chinese chocolate
And large umbrellas. And a motley green
Followed the drift of the obese machine

Of ocean, perfected in indolence.
What pistache one, ingenious and droll,
Beheld the sovereign clouds as jugglery

And the sea as turquoise-turbaned *****, neat
At tossing saucers--cloudy-conjuring sea?
C'etait mon esprit batard, l'ignominie.

The sovereign clouds came clustering. The conch
Of loyal conjuration *******. The wind
Of green blooms turning crisped the motley hue

To clearing opalescence. Then the sea
And heaven rolled as one and from the two
Came fresh transfigurings of freshest blue.
joyce knee Dec 2014
I inhale and hold my breath until I see black-
blank spots in my vision.
I exhale and release
beautiful, long-limbed clouds of smoke.
Shrouding my face, covering my eyes
blinding me to everything
but these pale tendrils
fluid and simple

curling wisps of smoke
scar the air
scar the silence

all secrets lie in smoke
if i could read it, i would know
the world.
Hark! Now everything is still,
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill,
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud!

Much you had of land and rent;
Your length in clay ’s now competent:
A long war disturb’d your mind;
Here your perfect peace is sign’d.

Of what is ‘t fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,

And—the foul fiend more to check—
A crucifix let bless your neck:
’Tis now full tide ‘tween night and day;
End your groan and come away.
zebra Feb 2018
she likes to dance in cemeteries naked
warring little but jeweled ***** bells,
ankle bracelets
toe rings
bingles, bangles, piercings,
through ******* and nose

her tongue split
each side wiggling independently

she gives head on a head stone
her blow jobs
like two undulating mouths
her skin inked with
black and blood tattoos that say
Satan's little ***** *****
double penetrations preferred porfavor
the more buttery big ***** and pastry puffy ******* the better

all purple hair tinged red
and antler horned hat
with silver toe and finger nails
a crazy saint sane
adored by the popes of the lascivious
eyes wide open over a crimson mouth sneer
cherry pout lips
gods gift to ***** and vaginas
a temple of relief exalting
a **** it bucket list of lust
her heart
cotton candy in flames
****** like a river of smashed potatoes
in cream

she like
phases of a corpse moon
begs to be used after death
like pigment on canvas
smeared red globes and chiaroscuro
she playing dead
living it up

do you know her
she keeps her secret hidden
on her sleeve
while you keep yours
from yourself

bless me father for I have sinned
and loved every minute of it
yet dare not be happy
for fear of Gods rage

my soul saved
turned fertile earth to sand
and shrouding vistas of light
till the bed is the bed
of the living dead
so there's nothin left but work and sleep
and dreams of drunken **** madness are buried
under the weight
marked forbidden

black sun curse
hips sway in ashes
a forbidden dance
Poetic T Nov 2014
Twins of opposites, cradled upon
Each brought up in the beauty
That beholds each,
Darkness looked upon all of it
Surrounded, it had beauties not
Seen, elegance beheld
The sky at night, the opposite twin
Gentle pin drops in the heavens,
Bringing a mergence of both
"A beauty to behold"
Down to earth all sleep
Embraced in the  silence
Entwined in night,
The gift given away from  light
And so
Did end the time of  darkness
And so one twin left for the others
Time so shine on and all was seen
In all it glory, but even in light there is
But not of the twin, but of mankind's heart
It was a contrast of the twins,
Of both at once, But light was good
For beauty shined through, every inch
It gave light, nurturing growth
That all reached for above
As if to touch the giver of life,
Darkness could have fun with light
Taking the sky up before the light
Taking the limelight away from its twin,
But the mixture of both, excites
Those below, the spectacle of each
If only for a short time in the skies above,
So the twins are of Darkness and Light
Play with each ones given talent,
They were mischievous but each held
Their own beauty and dangers,
But they are twins of opposites,
From the beginning till the end of time.
phocks Apr 2014
grey skies roll
clouded tropical
of future falls
shrouding skies
and shifting seas
from sad-eyed lowlands
to mountain highs
and we as trees
shiver branches
ever extending
shootings in the breeze
at arm’s reach
we never touch
too far apart
and as such
falling droplets
slip through fingers
and shatter the ground
an endless coming down
our roots soaked through
and craving more
all around
aroused from slumber
the petrichor grows
slowly floating up
and filling the air
composed at sunrise as the first storm rolled overhead
Janette Aug 2012
Born to the night in the cry of wolves,
We are….inked lovers spilling secrets, under velvet skies,
Shrouding the night in silver spools;
The season of silver silence, hangs upon shades of silken soul,
This midnight offering, a white entice;
My hair shimmers brightly, a wet fleece of gold, of shadow and starlight,
And shimmering hues, emerald and sapphire breathe kindred embers into the bellows of passion;
Challenging the flame that burns; entwined....

Whispered intrigue lays in the crescent of moon,
In an eminent blaze of sweetest surrender
Unborn whispers lie entwined with heated petals, silken;
We shiver....I shiver,
I am warm arms embraced;
Your lips hard yet soft against my side,
The feel of flesh warmed to a rising flame...

The long moon steps into midnight;
My *******, full of your hands as candles, pour hard against the ebon fall,

Luscious to the hush of soft smiles
Steeled eloquence flows in ribbon ripples;
Winter sown, blood quilled, in midnights cast;
Cloaked in beautiful, shadow's bed a bouquet of lacy foxglove...

Eyes closed and deep of breath,
Moistness seeps the sugared flower,  and longing surges deep;
Shudder me wicked, drench me quick;
The wildness swirls inside as he moves like a shadow over my heart
His tongue eager to swim the gushing urge;
Touching, slick-slide, the soothe of smooth fingers slip past softness;
Lips cross, moist to moan me quick, sliding to quivers.
Thigh's whispering and heart pounding ,
Soft, the wind blows, tapping walls, fingers dancing
And shadow sways to moonlight...

Velvet-soft, the  sweet of tongue's mesh,
Fire burning,
The tips of breast's aroused by the touch of a slow hand lover;
Your tongue gently rolls, wet and burning hot,
Hungrily, it feeds diving deep, and sandalwood spires upon the malachite air,
And burning murmurs the silent song, pleasures
Your flame to touch me hot, softly hard,
Against the darting quivering rose, stokes sweet, the flame of conjure....

I weep as you strain to slay this huntress of indolent submission;
Descending into darkness, I squirm upon your touch, lifting my altar upon your hunger,
Eyes lost to ecstasy, the flow quickens from abyssal moans;
Overflowing with need, release bound by gold shattered stars
Suckling whispered thoughts;
With us, for us, in us, in dreams, in thoughts, in love
....And in....time my love..................
His rain, has become my decadent addiction.........where my thoughts manifest into tangible words, written slowly over his flesh........laced with twilights absolute surrender drowning, in the renewal of his liquid seduction....grasping, frantic starless wishes in hand....chasing shadows...I curl to myself, longing for your darkness...falling into a cradle of need finding myself ...rocked alone..... J
I prayed with light voices, but a burdened heart;
You are not here--that I am supposed to know of.
But still, my mind cannot accept that we are now apart.
I am despaired by my own hands, by my own love;
Your images keep shrouding me--you keep haunting me.
Your portraits shout your name, but none of ‘em is truthful;
They reject my bliss, though they told me I was beautiful.
I keep looking for you in the shades: but all I find is blueness,
And as daylight grows mature, I feel but scarce and clueless;
I am entrapped by my own wishes, and I can no longer write.
Ah, ‘tis over now--I should declare;
I walk home and sleep, and decide I should no more be in love--
Some sheer charms I might better not be.

I was running across the moors, and secretly hoped I would find thee there;
Thee with thy own giggles and mockery and childish wishes;
Thee with a resemblance of moonlit skies on thy face.
Thee with a thousand arches in thy brown eyes;
Eyes that were genuine, hopeful; with spirits that would not die.
And those lithe hands; and thy handful of full lips;
Thou always startled me within thy black jacket,
Yes, that black jacket with gruesome naughty little pockets,
Thou always asked me to chase around the bogs;
While peering naively into the hidden summer spider webs.
Thou woke me up with thy morn noises;
Thou wanted to tell me a tale of castles, friendship, and promises.
Thee with a thousand smiles, hopes, and legitimate fears;
Thee with the sweetness of a moonbeam, thee with one hundred kisses.
Thou wert like a lonesome butterfly at first;
And on a shiny day I but caught thee;
and weaved my colourful love onto thy plain nest.
Thou shined again, and I felt but merited;
As time passed, I grew hungrier for thee--and always delighted;
Thou wert a summer to a pleasant summer itself;
Thou made my heart warm, and my seasons magnified.
Even my lavenders were stupefied by thy cleverness;
They were warm always, to welcome and greet thee at night.
Ah, my darling, my half spirit, my sweet;
Thou owned the second spare of my green light;
Thou wert my frost at conned summers, and mild winters;
Thou wert the white snow I played with--and its evening rainbow!
Ah, and at times--thou wert like a nature among yon shrieking green grass;
I smiled always, as I entrapped thee within my clear glass.

I should twist this story away, and welcome him;
Welcome whoever shines through my love--in reality, and in dreams.
I know I hath to celebrate him behind the furnace;
I shall smile sweetly and charm him by my maiden’s face.
He hath a lovely aura as the unheeded stars;
And his steps are awkward, but stately as the moon’s.
He hath smooth and virile advantages about him;
He hath a weather, but still he hath not thy playful air.
He is serious, thou art more festive and thoughtful;
He is cordial, but I findeth him at times uninnate and insoluble.
Ah, Immortal, he liveth but in a cold bubble away from me;
And so you know, the love of him is but a love of pain;
Sometimes I want to find thy face in his poetry;
Sometimes I want to see again, but your fairness.
Thy heart is, as thou hath figured, widespread within me;
It ambushes me and glides me around like a cheeky star;
But as thou gazed into me,
I found that thy charms were absolute;
I pampered this notion of thee--as I still do;
Thou wert my nymphic and immortal dream;
Thou art my sane and insane ambition;
Thou art my sand, my boats, my sails!
Thou art the sea worth a thousand miles;
And I care not what foul and fuzziness thy soul might carry;
I shall purify thee, I shall endorse thee, I shall welcome thee into my lonely heart!
Ah, Immortal, I am but a spoiled of ruins and wreckage now;
As I woke up t'is very morn, I knew I wouldst not see you tomorrow.
And guess now--how shall I define our once glossy, faint Sofia?
I do not want to pronounce to Sofia, ah, our very dwellings, a goodbye;
I shall never pronounce such; and on t’is I shall care for thy sayings not--
As telling such wouldst indeed be a remarkable lie.
Instead, I should dream again, of being by your side;
I shall be the terrified mermaid--but thee--my gentle merman;
We shall swim across the sea and startle the aquatics by our depth;
And thereon I shall dream of myself cherishing you--and holding you in my arms;
As I pray and bow and submit the rhapsodies of my heart, all day and night.

Ah, but where is Immortal, Immortal, Immortal;
Without whom my heart is bleak; and winters are hard.
Ah, Immortal; by whom rains are pretty, and colours are magnificently saturated;
By whom storms are no more storms, and no more downpours are petty;
By whom lakeside houses are not cold, and slippery rocks are not frightful;
By whom birch trees shall sing, and honey bees shall farm away for hours.
Ah, Immortal, by whom my poetry stays alive, and fed tranquilly by yon earth;
Immortal, by whose lullabies I fall asleep among the midnight’s icy hearth.
Immortal, whom my heart values, and urges me to love;
Immortal, by whose side debris are whole, and ruins picture unity;
Ah, Immortal, by whose singing melodies are songs, and rhythms are but poetry.
Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose words--the entire worlds are but Sofia;
And all merit and grace but belong to the romantic Bulgaria.
Immortal my entire darling; who taught me to see how the moon teases the sun;
And how the latter becomes fainted but mirthful, at t’is very realisation.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose absence I feel but frightened.
Ah, Immortal, do you think I should hurry--shall I fleet and run?
I shall meet thee again tonight, around the corner by the lake;
Before such an eve grows genuine--causing the day to turn fake.
I should meet thee before everything is but feasted and pierced;
And I shall bringeth thee my midnight poems and soliloquy;
I shall embrace thee by my myths, and relish thee within my solitude.
I shall make thee remain by my side, and keep shady thy burly night;
I shall, perhaps, make thee my mirth itself--I shall keep thee warm, and safe, and bright.
Ah, Immortal, one who was always aired by my fresh recitations;
One who was entrenched in my tales of craze, atrocity, and vanity;
One who cried by me like a selfish child--but at times, became the radiance itself.
Ah, Immortal, one within whose palms the moon is transparent;
And the harmony of night becomes more possible;
Ah, my darling Immortal, who was once infatuated with my nights--and 'twas apparent;
Oh, my darling, my own darling, my very darling--how I hath only words to play with!

Where is but Immortal, Immortal, Immortal,
My jokes cannot sleep, and even my eyes choose to stay awake.
My heart feels absurd, as it is not calmed and soothed by him;
Even as I can sleep no more, I am but unable to edify him in my dreams.
Ah, where is my Immortal--for as I scurry outside, I cannot locate him;
While he is but the golden lock I need to deliberate my heart.
Ah, my husband, who owns but the charms heartbeat cannot describe;
Ah, Immortal, by thy words--thou knoweth, vanished worlds are real to me today.
The rush of your blood still, knowingly, flows within my breath;
You look like that little lad proudly standing by yon bridge faraway.
Immortal, my little sound, my eager song, my profound lilac;
How shall you ever know what you mean to my heart?
To me, you are more than any gold, brown silver, nor white bronze;
You are my tears, my growth, and the height of my winter;
You own the youth and throne my heart hath always longed for.
Ah, Immortal, no matter how hard thou hath defeated--and perhaps, betrayed me;
Thou art still more immortal than a thousand suns outside;
And more mature than t’is benighted winter as it already is.
Ah, Immortal, 'tis hath grown silent again, and I need to greet my lavish worlds;
But for you know--your scent shall remain better than the sun's on its own, and more lively.
Ah, Immortal, and while those winds shriek, and hop, and wail;
‘Tis your voice still, that I but imagine in my *****;
And while their spread and take rule of their wings;
Thou shalt remain by prince, my ruler--the one I choose to be my king.

My heart hath borne thee since I was in her womb;
My mother's chaste womb--and there, just there--
I had but been formed by her sheepish threads.
Ah, and thus I heart her like t’is-but not as much as I heart thee, perhaps;
If I doth dream of her; it meaneth I'd but dream of thee;
And thou knoweth--my dreams of winter shall be but one about thee;
About thee--my vigour, my shadow in my traces, my vengeful spirit.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal; my century of blessings, my time
and poetry of such an endless eternity.
Ah, Immortal, in whose heart there was purity;
And in whose love I felt reified, and no such tyranny,
Ah, and t’is loss of thee perhaps means a life of illness;
A time of neglect, but a loss of my valid youth.
I want not to age, for thou art, thyself, young and ageless and immortal;
I want to dwell but only in yon Paradise of thee;
And be fueled solely but thy desire, and not anyone else's.
Ah, Immortal, I want to feel but the flavour of thy skin;
And be engrossed but against thy stomach.
I want to be thy lily, and thy novel rose that shall never wither;
Ah, Immortal, I want to be little again; and thy most awesome lavender.

And thy blame--such as t'is one, shall mean a brawl to my destiny;
And its glam is but my fiery--while insuperable--destruction.
As I promised thee--I shall not be weary, I shall not be sad;
But never shall I love, never shall I be satisfied.
Ah, Immortal, I shall never agree to love again;
I want to keep my love for thee; for whom I shall advocate my youth,
I want never to share my trembling love with anyone else.
As I hath loved thee just now, perhaps I shall love thee forever;
Ah, Immortal, as how it usually is, thou shall be the sailor-
And ever the painter, in our very own colloquial poetry!

Immortal, my grace, my perambulations, my ecstasy;
Immortal, my good, my one, my irrepressible;
I hath fulfilled thy wishes, at least at present, to bear t'is alone;
But for you know, that life without thee is no Paradise;
And even when I am dead, perhaps my soul shall never lie;
I shall wander the earth still--to look for thee, my tears and my lost love;
And insofar as thou remaineth away, I shall too stay on earth; and never ascend above.
Red Starr Jul 2011
i dream of a soft release
a gentle letting go
of responsibility, duty, life, love
the vintage film flicks and flickers through my mind
knotty, spotty, black and white frames
me, hiding behind long strands
hair, shrouding like a confessional booth
a pale, slight hand
a glinting of metal
an intake of breath
a waterfall
a lifetime of pain
slowly fading
gently falling
pain, fear, finally ending
i'd finally end
MC Hammered Dec 2013
I am the
fleeting darkness
after the lights flicker off.
Shrouding shadows.

I am the
ever present
feeling of hidden eyes.
Secretly staring.

I am the
ominous, cold jolt
branching up shaking spines.
Striking silently.
summer lays across the valley
as silk lays across her body
shrouding subtle contours as she sleeps
beneath the morning mist her dream keeps

to wait for her eyes to open
is to wait for time to be unfrozen
i whisper to her as she sleeps
so into her dreams my heart seeps

in a hint of azure eyes
from the mist my heart will rise
and go with you from your pillow
into your life my dreams will follow
This is the time lean woods shall spend
A steeped-up twilight, and the pale evening drink,
And the perilous roe, the leaper to the west brink,
Trembling and bright to the caverned cloud descend.

Now shall you see pent oak gone gusty and frantic,
Stooped with dry weeping, ruinously unloosing
The sparse disheveled leaf, or reared and tossing
A dreary scarecrow bough in funeral antic.

Then, tatter you and rend,
Oak heart, to your profession mourning; not obscure
The outcome, not crepuscular; on the deep floor
Sable and gold match lustres and contend.

And rags of shrouding will not muffle the slain.
This is the immortal extinction, the priceless wound
Not to be staunched. The live gold leaks beyond,
And matter’s sanctified, dipped in a gold stain.
Natalie V Nov 2012
I hear the waves crashing against the sand, the smell of your hair shrouding me; maybe I’ll let my feelings take over…but no.

I want to believe; sometimes I think I do, I still don’t know, bad thoughts.
Into a vicious circle between oblivion and memories, what I want and what I do are different things, as I want to have you & as I never will. Just like that rubbing time for it to freeze, to stay in eternity…so it would last forever.

You lying on my shoulder, me fighting against my inner demons creating illusions I destroy as fast as they’re born, what do I do? What am I doing? I’d like to go with it but if I kiss you, it wouldn’t be unique; it wouldn’t be a perfect moment anymore.
You confuse me and make me clear, If I say I love you too, would you take me back? I hate you sometimes, you tempt me. Finally you have made it hard to resist.

Eyes closed, heart beating faster, you’re in front of me breathing so close I can feel it ,making my body shudder yours is shuddering too. slightly, lips touching , heavy breathing , you held my hand tighter I like how it feels, you try to kiss me you ruin it, we play a little longer…snap back to reality . You smile ,I kissed you on the cheek , you’re in love and  I don’t know what I feel sure it is strong and good almost divine , we said goodbye hiding hope behind  words.
Jagush Nov 2014
Foreboding in the Green

Wet cobbled cobwebs
Circumference hemmed in
All-out hampering threads
And stones that missed Mary Magdalene

Oh, and so luscious and lush is the green
Dewy petals weeping they can’t caress my skin
Wrapped up in rushing hopes, buoyant buds exploding
Fluffy breezes prance, ignorant of the foreboding

Sticky sharp spiders’ snare
Circumference hemmed in
A cut-out smile shrouding the glare
Icicles that missed Mary Magdalene
womanity surpressed
slowly the night fog creeps through
our village's quiet sleeping streets
by morn its thick cover shall
be a shrouding mass
Sahil Suri Aug 2013
yet innately harmonious
a cacophony of noise
shrouding my body
the harsh
empowering light
battering from above

the oppressive
heat and humidity
caressing my body as I walk

Barefoot on the open gravel

Shouts are heard
from countless merchants
from the shops and bazaars
the honking of horns
the ringing of bells
from bikes
and motor rickshas

people bustle around
performing a dizzying range of tasks
yet all working
to a common goal
to survive

Yet amidst the chaos
Children run through the streets
weaving between countless giants
to sate their desire for fun
and exercise their fragile innocence

unmarred by the horrors of the world.

A beautiful mess
of livelihood and dreams of success
a true cultural experience for the senses
While it may not seem the most appealing at first
I don't know how else to stress
an amazing experience for all who enter nonetheless
Gazing into her crystal eyes
not a glimpse of light
in her pale illustrious orbs
her couture matched
the threads of a goddess woven by silk
never has the world heard such a harmonious voice
her hair as black and glossy
like raven feathers
a frame so divine
complexities came to mind
that god himself was almost unable to
carve a radiant smile as glimmering
her soft skin made her known
as the temptress of the night
her sweet mouth sang of hymns children slept too
the curvature of her chin wickedly attractive
following the course of her smile to her rosy cheeks
the ring on her finger is one of saturns
the hue from her lips are as red as foxes
burning with infinite intensity.

Her pale forehead knew every answer in the universe
the glow between her eyebrows majestic
her third eye spoke of exquisite beauty
holy light was her aura
angels danced around her
shrouding her body with stardust from the heavens
butterflies applied her makeup
whenever she arose from her chrysalis
revolving the world on her throne
without a bead of pressure to perspire
her vocals an instrument to my heart
listened to with wild passion
luster from her skin expensive as gold from India
her existence was solace
for rational reasoning alone
unflawed her lips reached mine
under the eclipse
the shadow of my phantom
caressing her hips
my wild craving tasting
what it it truly means to be in love.

The orchestra of her movement
can save a man from death
her words whispered to me like rhinestones
the touch from her waxy hand
trembling across my stature
cracking, shaking
with electricity at every fiber
pulsating from my heart to hers
capsizing from secrets dripping in my ear
she treats me to more wine kisses
traces of her ruby red lipstick
on my chest
her lofty thoughts completed mine.
the golden trim of life
seen throughout the land.
me gs Jun 2014
The fog,
It hangs low over the forest,
Shrouding all in mystery and whiteness
I keep expecting to see:
A panther, stalking prey
Slenderman, tentacles whipping

Who knows what mysteries abound in these shrouded woods?
All I know is that I am glad
That I am on my bus,
And sound
Erenn Oct 2014
Spouting nonsense about hardship nonchalantly
Reaching for the sun that never came
Dimmed light poles were the only ones glinting like stars
Laughing at how silly that was but doing it on repeat
Feeling content with living that life

Knowing all this will be gone one day
Seizing every second while it lasts
Demurring all thoughts of deleterious inputs
It will only damage what matters inside

Let laughter be brought in
Tears of joy on lame anecdotes
Let the inner child in you come out from that chest
Let all wars be resolved by-
Shrouding papers, Cutting air & Throwing stones
Catching every raindrop in that heavy downpour
Hilarity at every moment when you’re with your friends

Despite its wonders enclosed by fatuous walls
'Boxes' are the entities of our translucent merriment
Creating that canopy out of our prodigious stronghold
We feel unscathed by the demon’s vice
We’re just the same
As we are inside

We converse as we may
Not thinking yet preached ingenuity
Of benevolence & truth
We somehow knew stained past
Couldn't be bleached out easily
Because some stains couldn't be  removed

And we are all  Mavericks

We don’t know perfection
We don’t strive for attention
They called us insane
We call it intuition
We belong to one body
With infinite traits of emotion

It’s alright to be different
Pay no attention to what they say
Because we are unique

*We enact the happiness that we create.
Sometimes we just forget to just be ourselves.
Pretense is just running weary in your mind.
It's not real. Be the Reality.
Be who you really are:)
Erenn Nov 2014
Mama warned me countless of times
Never walk alone along the alley at night, "Call me or papa to pick you up"
I took it lightly, thinking it was just another preach-teach
If only I'd listened to her
If only I was stronger

I still walked lightly drunken down that alley that
horrible night,
a pure, broken white lamb limping down the street
just waiting for a black fox of the night to
come enrapture me,
take me away from everything,
as I stood, cold and uncomforted from the night's drunken stupor,
and crying.

As I keep on walking
His voice was still there
In my head screaming,
"You deserved this, shut up!
Wearing like a desperate ****!
Just let me taste you stupid ****!!!"
No matter how i screamed, his immense hands shrouding my mouth tightly.
The more i screamed, the more pain he puts me in.

A couple shoves,
a few bruises,
a yank,
and my silenced whimpers
as he ferociously goes in,
once, twice, too many times.
I'm trapped, heaving...
I should have listened to Mama...

Flashbacks ran through my head
How defiant I am towards my parents
How I always skipped anything physical, always judging girls on how they look.
It's happening to me now
I can do nothing but cry and give in
When he was done, he told me he'll **** my whole family if I tell the police.
I continue walking as my worth fading slowly.

And my fire burned out,
as I stopped struggling,
stopped making any noises,
and just lay still,
as he licked me and caressed me,
he's new found toy,
only to be tossed away later.

As I finally reached my nest,
I couldn't find the words to tell mama.
Not one person, not my boyfriend, not a soul. His face still haunts me every now and then.
He became this demon in my head
That will never go away.
It's been months now,
But this demon got my soul caged
And my lips zipped.
Not a single soul will ever know
The Creep Who Loved You in Italic
And I'm in Bold.
Another collab with the brilliant The Creep Who Loved you
This time we bring in the topic of ****.
How they suffered, how they try their best not to tell anyone. It's because of one animal.
You can say, "She deserved that for dressing up like that."
"She asked for it."
"Things happen."
You never really know till it happens to you. It's really simple. If you use force, It's ****.
**** is ****.
There's no other way to it.
Saint Jimmy Oct 2017
It's dark
It's cold
It's damp
It's empty


It's gloomy, no light of any kind
Heat extinguished, just like hope
Dense, choking air, a sense of dread
Nought but the sound of breath and a beating heart.


Fog shrouding the area, blurring lamps flickering, wavering
Rustling leaves and fear, like ice pouring through veins
Rotting, decaying wood stench filters through the air
Blurred shapes, thunderous drumbeats and hasty exhalations

Once again I've fallen asleep in the shed
Haha and I bet one of you thought it was about a crime scene or something like that
MC Hammered Feb 2014
Lying in an
                                                                ­                                                unfamiliar
bed I
each fold in
dated posters,

My eyes
                                                                ­                                                            dart

on one
                                                                ­                                                     obscure

Strange clothes
                                                                ­                                                  awkward
purple carpet
begin to

                                                            ­                                                       Different

                                                     ­                                                                 ­     New
vinyls in the

Packed bags,
from a
                                                            ­                                                              loo­m
corners of the floor in

I try to
myself farther
                                                                ­                                                         away.
Like a turtle
to find
solace in a

my eyes from an
                                                                ­                                                  unknown

I sink
to sound
same, old?
                                                            ­                                                               you.
Dyan Santiago Jan 2016
There’s maybe a million of unspoken words I’ve already put into poetry,
When clouds were shrouding the skies above me and all I see is darkness,
When I felt dejected, and when I felt like I’m being surrounded by an air of melancholy,
No poem was ever written because of gratitude and happiness

Writing is what I do when on the verge of breaking down,
But you came and changed the game, the gloomy days are gone
I used to write sad poems before, all that’s found in my face is a frown,
Now I cannot contain my joy, like beautiful sunflowers dancing in the lawn

You are the sun that shone on me after dusky days,
The happy song that finally played on the cassette
You are the guy every actor on romantic movies portrays,
I chose you, that, I won’t regret

I love the warmth of your fingers, entwined around mine
I long for your embrace, craving your lips pressed against my cheek
But just by knowing you feel the same way, I’ll be just fine
Hoping you’ll stay for good because I may not admit it, but without you sweetheart, I’ll be weak

You made me believe in the impossible once more,
You told me distance is never a hindrance, yes I believe you,
Because even when we're miles away, you’re the one this heart beats for
I won’t be writing sad poems ever again, there’s no reason to

In your arms, it feels a lot like home,
In this mad world, you're my happy place, that’s true
After a long wait, finally here’s a happy poem,
This is an ode to my source of happiness, for you my love, I love you
untrue Jun 2015
a hand giving flowers                                    
                   ­                          barbed wire holds it back

another, offers daisies                                    
                                            which the uniforms reject

smiles can be seen                              
                                brighter than flares

behind a gas mask, tears                                          
               ­                a silent one stares

a circle of people for foreign prayers                                                          ­    
                                                            bo­ot stomping, flashes and clang

demands waving                              
                          ­            against wind and roar

a lowly stole, shredded                                        
              ­                              scars, voices and screams

a hijab for a fortress                                  
                                              it's holding back machines

a white veil of hatred                                    
                                     shrouding little kids

balloons spread by the winds                                                    
     ­                               flags burning in rage

in the smoke, a guitar                                        
                ­                                  water bottles as gifts to khaki
a Jan 2015
slick, sturdy, undeniably burgundy
whippy, supple, but no need for more than
a couple

a needle, sharper than the sharpness of the ice cream snow, shrouding my metallic skin like but an extension of my ice fingers, so perfect, so wonderfully clear and clean

*the bow is my mind and the strings my queen
if i go
민혁 Aug 2014
We’re pretty and we’re sick.
We’re young and we’re bored.

”I think everyone can benefit from being an *******.” I say as I tap the end of my cigarette stick with the tips of my fingers. I proceed to take another inhale of bliss and exhale toxin, a veil of white shrouding the spaces in between us.

Leon takes the cigarette from my lips and takes a puff instead, which brings a scowl to my face. I let him keep the last one anyway, because he probably needs it more than I do. Not to mention he can’t just walk into a liquor store and buy a pack for himself, because corpses can’t dawdle back and forth in this city. Or anywhere, for that matter. Mental note: retrieve another pack tomorrow. I’m gonna need it.

"An *******? You’re funny as hell, Derek." Leon scoffs in disbelief and hurls the cigarette stub at my face, immediately causing me to retract. “I see the guilt in your face when you **** the trail of ants at your kitchen counter. *******.”

I make a face and protest instead. “Uh, no **** — those are insects. They didn’t hurt me. I just gotta **** them, because… wait a minute, why the **** am I justifying my actions to you? *******, *******.”

Leon’s laugh is surprisingly rich and full of splendor at that moment, and I can’t help but to laugh along. We’ve always been like this. We met in kindergarten and we both liked Pokemon a whole lot. We used to bring our cards to school, then that switched up to becoming fanboys of Digimon, then Beyblade, all the way to Transformers — so on, so forth. The point is, we were best friends mainly because of these kiddish cartoons (which I still watch, by the way), and we were happy. I mean, yeah, we would occasionally flock over to the girls during lunch break and compete, but it was mostly just about us. You and I, Leon and ‘Rek, Sam and Bumblebee — we were two peas in a pod.

We fought, too. We often got into fist fights by the lake after school when we liked the same girl, and at other times it was based on masculinity and a game of 'who is the real man' — which made absolutely no ******* sense, but it worked. After we duked it out, we bought some ice cream at seven-eleven and everything was okay. I guess you could say he was my best friend. He didn’t get me at all, but at the same time… he did. He understood me better than anyone else, even though we never really talked about sentimental *******. You don’t really need any of that with someone like Leon. He gets it without an explanation. He just knows.

Then he moved to Seoul during sophomore year.

I was a little upset, yeah. Just because I didn’t have anyone else to pick on and argue with over the last burger on the table. We had Kakao and Facebook though, so I wasn’t too sad about it. Said he would come back anyway, and he promised to come back strong. He was taking wrestling over there, so I took boxing. "I’ll beat you one day!" And yeah, that sounds like a threat, but to me, it was just another way of saying, "I’ll see you soon, and you better be strong by the time I come back!" I knew this was good for him.

At least, I thought it was.

When you get a phone call at four in the morning about blahblahblah — he died — blahblahblah, you don’t really know how to react at that moment. I thought it was just a prank call at first, but I kept listening. I didn’t cry that night. I didn’t really cry after it, either. I never did. I was a little angry at him, actually. Wanted to sock the dude in the face and duke it out by the lake again. But I knew that wouldn’t happen, so I just let it go. The thing is though, I can’t let it go. When someone tells you that your own best friend commits suicide, you begin to question a lot of **** going on in this world.

He was the strongest guy I knew, the one person I could fight one-on-one without feeling bad about it. He knew how to take my punches and I sure as hell took his. He was the only one who could eat ten burgers per seating with me, instead of criticizing me. And best of all, we danced. Together.

That same guy was the one who struggled with depression, the one who got bullied every ******* day at his new school in Korea, and the only things he could tell me through messages were ******* along the lines of, "It’s great over here," and “I’m having fun,” which also led to, “I wish you were here with me.”

Maybe he didn’t consider me as much of a best friend, because he did a great job at hiding it from me. Out of everyone I know, I didn’t expect him to take his own life. The fact he did do it… meant something. It meant he really wanted to die. Who am I to determine that for him, though? I don’t know.

I just kind of miss the guy.

I don’t smoke because I want to. I smoke because I think of him with every rainfall that comes. I think of him at the depths of the night when I gaze out at the city lights, because we used to take photos of them all the time. Thinking we were fancy hipsters and ****. Life was fun, and I felt alive — now I feel as if I’ve grown a tad dull.

I thought I would have forgotten by now, but apparently not. I don’t know, bro. I miss you. More than I… ever expected myself to. You’re the older brother I never had.

I step onto the cancer stick on the concrete ground, reducing it to ash and dust. I look out one more time before walking back inside.

"I’ll see you soon, Leon."
Graff1980 Mar 2015
Queen to Osiris
Gleaming Iris
Goddess’s’ power
Took all the pieces
To put her lover
Back together
Under the cover
Of Ra’s radiance
Feminine power
Birthing history
So how is her story
Stolen and forgotten
Name subverted
By sons she never gave birth to
Nations under another religion
Silencing the feminine mystique
Shrouding beauty and wisdom
Beyond black veils
Of bullets and ****** bodies
Instead of concealing their sickness
Behind the Muslim Religion
They should take another name
Like crazy murdering *******
Emilie L Feb 2010
Contemplating the dark
With a life neither bright nor stark
Shrivelled and fragile inside
Aiming for wonders of the glorious mind
With the sun peeping out from ominous clouds
Undisguised, yet elusive, towards an onset of doubts
Shrouding any fallacy
Cultivating mere fantasy
And the phantom of a far-fetched imagination
To bring out an electric, yet marvellous sensation
Shut inside a mysterious cage
Grasping poetry like some sage
Aiming for aloofness
While mourning over the senseless
Forever the beauty of words is a myth
Forever superficiality is a filth
The sublime scenery of sunset swish
Warms the heart, treasuring one’s deepest wish
Via the shimmering dawn
The azure sky I so adorn
To sniff the sweet odour of nature
All alone, as solitary as ever, with a hazy future
Nobody can gauge the depth of the imaginary
And taste the splendour of the ordinary
All this simplicity unravels a cosy palace
Where art is sacred; where the aesthetic is a solace
To end up in sensuous poetry
In which there’s no calculated geometry
Where the comfort of spontaneity is soothing
And readiness is but a blessing
For in poetry, a loner like me finds her grace
For via poetry, the solitary is free to embrace
And through the line of a verse, the loner dwells a florid universe…

© eMs' silent poetry. All Rights Reserved.
bkmackenzie Dec 2010
a year secures its legacy
as the moon veils her phase
with light facing inward, reflecting
the passing of life's days,
and an aura
surrounding morning
its all to fated hand
that I often think about, but can seldom
understand  -   the love  

you imparted with the waxing
of a tear -  faithfully
a promise, the gift of but one year..
of days and nights as
an all to fatal vow... now
ending as you take your leave
along with goddess
and her throne, shrouding me
in memory - and standing
all alone....
*copyrighted  12/21/2010 by bkmackenzie*
Kally Jan 2013
What if this is me, losing my love?
What if this is my love being taken from me, kidnapped and ransomed and I don't have enough energy in my body to pay up?

Saturdays were her favorite.  She'd watch cartoons in the morning and play with paper dolls in the afternoon.  She made sure all the paper dolls had another doll to love them, a perfect match of brown eyes, cute smiles, light hair.

Where have you gone? I barely recognize you anymore.  How can I make you look new if all you ever do is sit in the corner like an old doll?  You're fragile, you're breakable.  I don't like what you've become and quite frankly, you're scaring me.  Stay over there, don't come close.  Tell me why your eyes are glazed over like that, tell me why your hair is coming out in patches and why your full pink smile has turned into a thin white line.  You were my best friend, you were my sister, you were my little Kelly.*

Sometimes she would watch the people that walked by.  She would choose names for each person and pick one individual out, imagining what their reaction would be to her saying, "I love you, will you run away with me?"

Come back, please.  When you started fading I thought it was because you had been in the sun too long, I thought it was because you hadn't had any food in some time.  Our tea parties became rare occurrences and you were always sleeping.  Come back, little Kelly.

One day she woke up with an energy made of something she couldn't measure.  Not joules, not electron volts, not anything she could quantize.  It wasn't the caffeine and it wasn't the 7 hours of sleep the night prior.  She woke up in love.

I've been trying to sell our house for two and a half years and it just won't sell.  You're poisoning this house, my old friend.  You need to leave, you need to be buried in the backyard, with the puppy we adopted and the bunny I hit with the truck when I was 17.  You need to get out of my house now.  We're both much too old to play together, and you never seemed to understand that I had to move on.

Her trouble was that she woke up in love with one stranger too many.  She's lied so many times that she doesn't trust herself anymore.  Make her decisions for her, she's not a fit mother to these poisonous ideas she is fostering in her head.  Don't allow her to choose her future.

Kelly, don't you see, I don't love you the way I used to.  Kelly, you need to go.  A family is stopping by this afternoon to take a tour of the house and you need to be swept out of the attic by then.  Pack your things.  Take your cracked glasses and your grey shoes.  I'm too old to be a part of your family now.


She sees a hint of what she fell in love with.  His eyes are downcast, his fingers strumming and thrumming her love songs without words, his mouth twitching with thoughts he can't seem to string into sentences.  He is a beautiful child again.

Sing me songs even chickadees don't know, strum me the most beautiful lullaby.  Take a picture of this moment- bottle it.
She loves the hint of a smile when he catches her staring at his lips instead of the neck of his guitar, when he realizes she is in maddening, chaotic love.

And some days you're just a friend.  I see you leaking from your life, straight out of your backyard.  And sometimes you mean nothing.  I see you standing alone on your deck, sitting on your cement paradise like it's your imaginary god.  Keep yourself in check.  You won't be getting any more kisses tonight, I can't – I can't let you be the one to make up my mind.
She can barely remember the days of being alone, of being unable to tell anyone about her scars shrouding her hips and her head that hung heavy.

Today was a fever, a fog of anger.  I want to make you hate me, I want you to leave.  Save your lies and excuses for someone else, I don't want to hear them. I hope the fog can creep in my ears and into my brain.  I want it to make me forget everything about you.  I'm sure I'd be happier.  Maybe if the fog can erase my memories, I can finally stop crying.  Maybe I can stop trying to prove I want to die.  Let me **** myself, let me go.  You're smoke in the wind and you're fading with every breath I take.

Sophomore year of high school was the most difficult time of her life.  Fortunately for her, she met you that winter.  You made her smile, you made her laugh. She found a boy whose blue eyes and long brown hair complimented her own. Her paper doll dream come true, you loved her as she was.

You are smog.  Your face is no longer a child of summer, your hair has gotten long and tangled.  Your eyes are clouded, and you are fading, slipping from my fingers.  As your soul dies in my arms, as I try to save you, you steal my breath, grab at my lungs, take what is keeping me alive.  What is there to fix, and can it be put back together again? L-o-v-e is only four letters long, but then again, so is your name, and god knows that doesn't mean anything to me anymore.


His back was straight and his stomach was soft.  The hollow of his collar bone and hip bone spelled her name in 12 point font kisses.  Her breath came out in gasps and he shivered from the thought of being able to coax such unfamiliar passion from her lips.

You are the night.  You are the wind in my dreams and the birds in my hair.  Lift me higher, I want no control.  I want to see the tops of buildings above the low level clouds; the spires piercing the sky like needles piercing my flesh.

The feeling doesn't wear away.  Days have passed and they still long for each other.  Their bodies feel the urge to be near, to be touching.

*Let us set sail on the tunes of summer, of air conditioners and scratchy radios.  Let us sail away from this life.
Tyler Houck May 2016
Suddenly fog shows,
shrouding everything in sight.
Concealing secrets.
It is scary to go out
and see what may lurk within.
Hooray for a fear of the unknown.  Relate it to darkness.  Are people really afraid of the dark, or do they fear what lurks within the shadows?  I'm not afraid of the dark nor any sort of fog.  I actually think both things are really cool and I prefer them.  It's the sense of not knowing what's in either of them that's interesting.
Scarlet Keiller Oct 2017
My father's obsession became increasingly apparent
with every visit I made to him.
The clocks, their hands,
their beautiful, twisted fingers
dancing to the co-ordinated sound of
ticking - he couldn't take his eyes from them.
Over the years I began to see
his irises shifting like clockwork,
miniature minute hands
beating at the doors,
They are knitting,
knitting a fabric so tight it's a shroud,
pulling it over his head and waiting
for him to sink into the waters of embalmment.
Epitaphs, mad men entitled to nothing.
He formed the millions into gears,
expectation of a smooth, working machine
which he could grasp in his fingers
and hold up to the ***** sky,
moving, scurrying,
ticking. A better place, or so it seemed
to him, where men didn't speak in tongues
and life answered
to something beyond chance.
It was different when he first came here
but then so was he,
it was a version that made more sense.
A version where black birds with missing
feathers patrolled the skies,
where he ran his hands through his hair
to leave straggled clumps between his fingers -
balding velvet. He forgot
so much more than he had remembered,
even me. Eyes still glazed white
looking right at me, he was cold-limbed
and vacant and filled me with a filthy,
cruel hollowness that takes
and takes, relentlessly, for no gear,
or system, or rhyme, will pull
the books from the shelves. I won't find
a ransacked home with shattered furniture
and broken glass littering the floor,
only a clean, aching, vague room
that is blue and sterile and so empty
it leaves trails of goosebumps
along my arms and burns its way
into my dreams in the depths of the night.
I won't find you crying over empty photographs,
only a shell,
staring, dead, at the whitewashed walls.
~~ Exhume me from the burden of memory. ~~
How shall my animal
Whose wizard shape I trace in the cavernous skull,
Vessel of abscesses and exultation's shell,
Endure burial under the spelling wall,
The invoked, shrouding veil at the cap of the face,
Who should be furious,
Drunk as a vineyard snail, flailed like an octopus,
Roaring, crawling, quarrel
With the outside weathers,
The natural circle of the discovered skies
Draw down to its weird eyes?

How shall it magnetize,
Towards the studded male in a bent, midnight blaze
That melts the lionhead's heel and horseshoe of the heart
A brute land in the cool top of the country days
To trot with a loud mate the haybeds of a mile,
Love and labour and ****
In quick, sweet, cruel light till the locked ground sprout
The black, burst sea rejoice,
The bowels turn turtle,
Claw of the crabbed veins squeeze from each red particle
The parched and raging voice?

Fishermen of mermen
Creep and harp on the tide, sinking their charmed, bent pin
With bridebait of gold bread, I with a living skein,
Tongue and ear in the thread, angle the temple-bound
Curl-locked and animal cavepools of spells and bone,
Trace out a tentacle,
Nailed with an open eye, in the bowl of wounds and ****
To clasp my fury on ground
And clap its great blood down;
Never shall beast be born to atlas the few seas
Or poise the day on a horn.

Sigh long, clay cold, lie shorn,
Cast high, stunned on gilled stone; sly scissors ground in frost
Clack through the thicket of strength, love hewn in pillars drops
With carved bird, saint, and suns the wrackspiked maiden mouth
Lops, as a bush plumed with flames, the rant of the fierce eye,
Clips short the gesture of breath.
Die in red feathers when the flying heaven's cut,
And roll with the knocked earth:
Lie dry, rest robbed, my beast.
You have kicked from a dark den, leaped up the whinnying light,
And dug your grave in my breast.
.Filling my life with emptiness
...I used to be productive
But now productivity
Is like a jar of chutney
sitting in the cupboard
for years.

All I want to do,
is just sit in my room
and observe
observe it
shrouding my room
see the dust floating in the air
Like a cold, moldy coffin
And find a hole to jump  inside
and hide
my mind
col ours
call ours
call hours
c all hours
see all hours
see the things I could not find in a minute
See a purpose in small things takes hours
I don't need a purpose.
Emily Jones Nov 2012
How I miss it
The taste of tequila
Slithering down the back of my throat
Blooming hot in my limbs,

Reaching each fingertip
Bubbly sprinkle font
Shrouding my brain
In happy thought
Carefree wistful abandon

The burning choke
Of refer flower
Swaying my body to the
   Of life
   His taste
The beat of his drum

So caught up in him
I no longer am

With his cosmic love

Submerged in subs trance
Lost to the essecence of the right now
Def to the whispers of tomorrow
In this moment I

As I have longed to
To just be
Floating on Cloud 12
Because Cloud 9 is full of want to be's
Ignoring the rancid truth of reality

Lost to it
Within it
Attention held by one and many
The shuttering, shake of atmosphere

His breathe the back of neck chill
Goose flesh intensity
Tangled in sensation
Ariel Taverner Feb 2014
There sits a man
With a wooden leg and a thousand wrinkles
Smoke around his blue sailors cap
Smoke shrouding all but his eyes in a mysterious sense of pain
The smoke fades from a gentle grey to a dark midnight black
Now there are only the eyes
The purple eyes sticking out of a shroud of black smoke as if they were the beacon to heaven
The eyes stare into the distance
Suddenly a part of the black smoke curls into itself and explodes in a rush of air and stale old smoke
Now there are two dots of lucios purple smoke
They float towards me and stay there
With a strange glint in them they look towards the black smoke
I say look for that is what they were doing
The blavk smoke starts moving inwards
As if there were a great source of power summoning theme
The speed increases and I feel extreme fear and power
I blink
And right there sits the man
With a wooden leg and a thousand wrinkles
With a blue sailors cap
But now his wrinkles are different
They are black
Like the smoke that moments ago was around him
That smoke was now in him
His skin was normal
Soft as a baby but his wrinkles were black
The two purples eyes that float before me seem to beckon towards the wrinkle in the mans brow
I walk forward and I look into the wrinkle
The eyes float behind my head now
Suddenly a force pushes me into the wrinkle
I fall in the vast abyss that is this wrinkle
And I feel it all
But above all guilt
The horrible darkness pushes the guilt into my soul and crushes me
What did this man do that is hidden by his wrinkle did he....
There sits a man
With a wooden leg and a thousand wrinkles
And a blue sailors cap
Andre Baez Apr 2014
Is it the physical attraction
Which lures you into
Her love, or her trap
The lust wrapped in
A shrouding shade
Of displaced love
Not meant for her
But given not knowing
How true she is
To him and his whims
For she's innocent
And he is adolescent
Foolish... Child.
Hilda Jan 2014
Vibrant hues of Autumn
Fades now into the
Winter water color hues
And bleak barren trees.

Days of frozen landscape
And dreams have to defrost.
All the ice and snows now
Cover the twigs once filled with roses.

Trembling in each gust
Barren trees moan, stretching
Gaunt arms towards bleak grey skies
Pleading for rebirth.

Sunset fades to blackness
Shrouding the silent earth,
Devoid of tranquil benediction
No ray of light or hope.

Awakening the resurrection
Of Spring's triumphant song,
Return of Thrush and Robin
Blending with all nature in jubilant symphony.

Until then the minor strains
Of the winter Hermit Thrush
Spiraling hope of the warmer days
And softens up the Arctic blast.

Then finally with the last
White-throated Sparrows gone
And the daylight hours increase
Spring arrives and Winter retreats!

~Timothy and Hilda~


Медленный Рассвет весны

Яркие оттенки осени
Теперь исчезает в
Зимой воды цветовых оттенков
И мрачно бесплодных деревьев.

Дни замороженных ландшафтов
И мечты нужно разморозить.
Лед и снег сейчас
Покрывают ветками, когда заполнены с розами.

Дрожал от каждого порыва
Бесплодной деревья стонут, растяжения
Гонта оружия к мрачное серое небо
Пледирование для возрождения.

Закат бледнеет до черноты
Зачехление немого земли,
Лишенный тихой благословение
Не луч света и надежды.

Пробуждение в воскресение
Торжествующий песни весны,
Возвращение молочница и Робин
Смешивание с всю природу в ликующая симфония.

До сих пор незначительные штаммов
Зимы отшельник молочница
Растущие надежды на теплые дни
И размягчает Арктический взрыв.

Наконец, с последним
Белый – Рубиновогорлый Воробьев ушел
И увеличение светового дня
Весна приходит и зима отступает!

~Тимоти и Хильда~
A Husband and Wife collaboration.
(Still working on an entire family collaboration.)
Hope you enjoy this writing!
© Timothy 26 January, 2014.
© Hilda 26 January, 2014.

— The End —