"sillouhette" poems
when the sunsets in arizona descending in the sky
the cactus are in sillouhette standing near by
gentle winds are blowing across a sandy plain
and tumbleweeds begin to tumble once again
a picture to behold that will never die
when you see the sunset in the arizona sky
Feb 17, 2010
Feb 17, 2010 at 11:21 AM UTC
Red Lace Is Something
I’ve only ever heard about.
Never seen.
Big Hips, Tiny Waist
Isn’t real in my world.
Just TV.
Tight Seamless Dresses
And a flattering sillouhette:
Flattery?
Danger: Curves Ahead,
Comparing me to thrilling.
Not me.
Real Women Have These:
It’s either me or my best friend.
Always neither.
Bossom Buddies, Close Knit
Shower buddies using soap.
Never clean.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
broken lips harbor a pale cigarette and untold secrets
some crafted tales, others unfortunately true
disheveled blonde curls scatter near hollow irises
empty vision, devoid of all color from smooth bourbon
as these drunken nights consolidate all of our old stories into one word,
goodbye
blowing smokey kisses into the polluted air
dangling feet, perched above a desolate rusted bridge and clouded waves
whose orange trusses have all but faded
to form a mixed color that matches the scene ahead
the deepening violet summer sky, nearly black and so sticky
tightening its humid grip on trembling fingers
which remove the cancer stick carefully out of sight
in hopes that desperate eyes can convince a lonely mind
that your sillouhette will reveal itself, dancing in swirling smoke
as your faint hand reaches out to invite me to join you
I grab hold with one thought gnawing at my heart
do I give in to your gentle touch,
and slip below the other side of the bridge?
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
Neath the pale and crescent moon
I saunter with the call of loon,
This haunting note through reeds on lake
Reflected moonlit ripples make.
I pause to ponder beauty stark
Of monochrome in Willmont Park,
In sillouhette of black and white
Through lakeside, rippled reeds at night.
Again the call of haunting loon
In silver light's reflected moon,
The chill air causing breath to cloud
My footfall crunch in sand, too loud,
Distracting me from beautious sight
Of moonlit lake on darkest night.
And yet again that haunting call
To conjour Willmont's phantom shawl,
Descending mist now brings the damp
Necessitating my decamp....
So.... with regret, I disembark
From gracious, moonlit Willmont Park.
M.
April 19 2014
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
when the sunsets in arizona descending in the sky
the cactus are in sillouhette standing near by.
gentle winds are blowing across a sandy plain
and tumbleweeds begin to roll and tumble once again
a picture to behold that will never die
when you see the sunset in the arizona sky.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC
half past midnight
your face becomes my hell.
personal or otherwise,
hell nonetheless.
the beast with two backs rears
its ugly sillouhette
from the depth of my imagination.
an encounter I never
encountered.
but played back on my brainwaves
radio request of the unappealing
monster you've become.
my overrun mind needs
a walk.
it's metaphorical legs afire.
you patronize me with
empty words
relieving me of nothing but
the notion
that good men exist.
I emasculate you
with my sharp tongued replies.
abuse on demand,
for you taught me well.
long past midnight
your lies become my hell.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 1:25 AM UTC
The lake looked luxurious,
Opalescent folds of china blue,
Twinkling stars upon water,
Gold russet rushes gently swaying,
Lime catkins freshly woven onto dangling branches.
A Moorhen wades in the riverbed,
Diamond ripples orbiting its sillouhette.
Plump new leaves bedeck the low horse chestnut trees and their fingers stream in steamy shallows.
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 1:43 PM UTC
still was the eventide.
the pallid night-eye
hovers above the moonflower
and its scent---
sickly sweet.
at the street's end
lies her
decrepit house.
it had been months
since i saw her
sillouhette.
it rests there.
still.
abandoned.
but
not forgotten.
and in this hour,
where the ungodly
is just---
i am a stalker
craving for lust.
i've stared
at that window
for years
that my eyes
are starting
to bleed.
before i
close my eyes
and end the world
i saw a feint flicker
a form.
a new sillhouette.
and it thawed
this freezing soul.
and as i stared at her,
she stared back at me.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 11:27 AM UTC