"slenderness" poems
The slenderness of the delicate letters
The softness of the deep-meaning words
Painted on a snow white paper.
The Silver Poet sits under the dim light
Of the mystic star-knitted universe.
Closing the eyes he feels a crystal tear
Rolling down like a raindrop on the glass
Falling into eternity, dropping on the snowy paper.
The Silver Poet is shivering but has no fear.
The words he limns flow like a pure river
Down the mountain slopes leaving its path
An everlasting mark which will never vanish
The poem comes alive when the Silver Poet breathes.
He takes out his Golden Heart to accomplish the poem
And gives his wondrous soul for the sake of the rhythm.
The poem is ready to become another bright star
Knitted carefully around the Silver Poet's Golden Heart.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:52 AM UTC
deep sepulcher and shallow pavement.
a sharp exchange of glances,
and then like snow-bed,
gone at first feverish light — all!
in me, the world is still,
(you are my
world)
growing roots, a throb of petals.
you bequeath me, a necklace of hands.
railway of stars, like the white
of your silence and mine,
inaudible stone of our
ever growing distance.
scraps of metal archipelagic
in Manila and the immaterial
language of billboards:
my mind, the crepuscular garden,
your memory,
the overgrowth,
never plucked — stilled, unfazed,
your slenderness a sign of
eternity: lignified.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
She grows where only the wild roses dare.
Showing slenderness and beauty where only true beauty can.
The wild winds bear down to away and uproot her.
But never swaying, standing tall and strong.
She grows out of the wilderness with pure grace.
Moving through the meadows as willed by heaven and earth.
Those few are shown beauty in the darkest of monents.
She is beauty and truth where nothing else dares.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
I see you not, but completely
Your eyes twinkle
You and my thoughts smother me in goose pimples
Pores, blemishes, weathered wrinkles
Delicious Pigment, salt and pepper sprinkles
Your imperfections are my weak spot
Aesthetic flaws a turn on
Dark lashes
Dreamy brown eyes
How your eyelids crinkle when you squint in the light
An impulse to run my hands through your ebony hair
behind your ear, let me linger here
And down to the sides
Of your neck
Your skin reacts with my breath
To touch with mine, that bottom lip
That thought's enough to make my tummy flip
The desire to explore your face
Is impossible to articulate
I don’t possess the vocabulary
To do you justice poetically
But can we get back to your neck
For just a sec
You know, that part just below your ear
Has me longing to place my mouth there
And I’ve not yet mentioned your hands
How I yearn for them to explore my lands
Entwine them in mine, till the thickness of your fingers and the Slenderness of mine, in time, demand change
I’ll open my palms inviting your embrace
Aroused by the pressure and the weight and pace
Your fingers trace my face
And brush my lips, I turn my head, closing my eyes
Savouring the skin on skin collide
In encouragement and moorish praise
Wondering if our thoughts are the same
Speaking words I would never have usually found
Or said out loud
But how can I rephrase
I'm high on dopamine pathways
My mind a maze, my body ablaze
You are a drug
I can't overdose enough
My brain rewards with desire and lust
An addictive thrill, a heightened rush
Daydreams end and drugs wear off
Realities crush
Until the next time I get high on you and us
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC
*I asked Life to dance with me
And He brought me to the hardest steps
The turns and twists I never expected
The severest discipline and arduous regime.
Life told me to be careful and precise
To not step on others feet and to keep
My own pace and rhythm to decide.
I was astounded how difficult it is
To really dance with Life and not to weep.
There were so many techniques to study
And sure I was, it will take the whole of my life
To learn to dance with the best slenderness
Flying along with Life, as it is Him who always
Takes the lead and steers you along your path.
But Life was so eager to take me to dance
So I went along and learned the lessons
The wondrous steps I will always remember
And yet I have so many to learn.*
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
Rain)you enter me by the concise brutal slenderness
of your waist
you wet are thousands and mutely cringing on
my neck some
and scalp some
reeling into sleepier darkness
lark perched suddenly between
emits the frailest wings
and treads you into(nothing
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
among the tall slenderness
of poplars framing my view
the poised spire on the home
of the Sisters of the Holy Cross
looks tiny
in its striving heavenward
I do not know
that poplars think of God
when they grow towards the sun
and every year bring forth new leaves
brave storm and droughts
survive
I do not know if the nuns are much concerned
about their spire’s minor reach
their rules are as clear
as their evening songs
floating across the garden
on moonlit winter evenings
their dedication is to care
and heal some of the human suffering
with love and prayer
or with magnetic resonance
in more contemporary ways
the poplars grow
and annually sprout new life
the nuns preserve
the frailty of human bodies
for after life
* * *
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
There is no doubt that his hands have traveled before,
They're experienced explores.
Over her gentle skin he cruised slowly back and forth,
To the nook of her neck,
Down,
To the warm welcoming crevasse between her thighs.
His hands gradually walked over to her backside where his hands simply rested,
Taking in the view.
Her body was the map,
And his hands were those of a skilled cartographers who desperately needed to know every inch,
Every mile between her poorly painted pink toes,
To her sun streaked gold hair.
And so the experienced explorers wandered,
Roamed,
Strolled over the many dips and curves and bends and twists that she held.
When his hands came to her wrist,
He stopped momentarily to admire the slenderness.
When his hands ventured to her shoulders,
He felt the muscles that lay under the polished skin.
When his hands finally made their way to her legs,
He was aware of how sturdy and stocky they were built.
With every brush,
Graze,
And glide of his hands,
She couldn't help but think,
There is no doubt that his hands have traveled before,
They're experienced explores.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Heartbreak is
that feeling when your heart sends copious amounts of blood rushing through your body. It floods you, and leaves you feeling warm. Your heart is racing, your brain is pounding, your extremities go numb, your mouth becomes slightly dry, and your eyes grow wide. And, almost instantaneously, your body grows still, quiet, and then, cold.
It's
that stiffness in your limbs. They were once reliable, but now useless. As your brain circles out of the daze, you're left facing this unfathomably distressing situation and you can't even take command of your body.
It's
the yearning for the stillness of your reality to speed-up. You would **** to have the sand in the dial glide fluidly through the passage of concavity, at a faster rate. But the grains become too big and too thick for the slenderness of the glass; they stick together, dam the passage, and clog time.
It's
all of that, and much more.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
She took me by the hand,
guided my fingers,
& my wanton-mouth
along the smooth contours
of her beautiful landscape.
I touched butterfly wings,
nipped high rosy cheeks,
tasted her full parted lips,
felt the cool rush of
her fragrant breath
& gently-bit
the slenderness
of her delicate neck.
She beckoned me
to move slowly onward,
toward her
twin heaving peaks,
where I learned
of more sensual-things.
She taught me about
the gentle twisting of granite,
slow-swirling-kissing,
& of the nibbling
of puffed sensitive-flesh.
It was exquisite.
Then she begged me
to quickly move southward,
over her rolling meadow,
upward & onto
her delicious-mound,
to use my yearning mouth
in fiery sensuous-ways.
There,
I fervently frolicked,
relished in
the tender petals
her pretty lady-flower,
gently spreading
her cascading beads
over magnificent
swollenness.
And when I caressed
her unfolding petals,
the most sensitive part,
she reached nirvana,
shuddered & spasmed,
released her rawness,
the tastiest of flow.
It was genuine intimacy.
Once,
only the Lord knew
how much I loved
my personal body guide
& know you too,
know the reasons why,
she is so lovely
& divine.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC
Distances
by Michael R. Burch
There is a small cleanness about her,
as if she has always just been washed,
and there is a dull obedience to convention
in her accommodating slenderness
as she feints at her salad.
She has never heard of Faust, or Frost,
and she is unlikely to have been seen
rummaging through bookstores
for mementos of others
more difficult to name.
She might imagine “poetry”
to be something in common between us,
as we write, bridging the expanse
between convention and something . . .
something the world calls “art”
for want of a better word.
At night I scream
at the conventions of both our worlds,
at the distances between words
and their objects: distances
come lately between us,
like a clean break.
Published by Verse Libre, Triplopia, Lone Stars. Keywords/Tags: distance, distances, convention, books, bookstores, art, literature, poetry, chasm, abyss, divide, Faust, Frost, clean break
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 3:40 AM UTC
*Vibrant colors of a feather sync perfectly together flying in a pinkish red sky
The sun is slowing falling into the edge of the earth, rising darkness upon mother earth
The moon slowly peeks its slenderness into the high sky, giving companionship to the stars
Offering great views of territories unsearched
A dragons breathe breathes fire into Halley's comet traveling rings around earths edge
Showering majestic lights with-in a dark pinkish red sky*
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
it was raining that morning – so much the effloresce of colors
making their way back into the sky; there were the strangest forms of
clouds, their bodies assuming shapes and geometries, obscured angles
like that of two coiled lovers on a bed, whose bones ache the septuagenarian
but still at ease when it comes to building fire; no birds were out that day
and the busy binatog vendor blared into the streets like an unwanted nuisance,
it was already afternoon when you had your eyes wake up to mine,
your simian jaw curved to a hook of the C in crescendo, your voice the twilight
and the familiar passing of birds, the gush of blood inside of you;
there are such speeds that ultimate a crash, or a fragment – the semantics
of motion do not appeal to both of us, but we ceaselessly exist in those
moments when all of your movements summon, say, the sea, but that is a metaphor
used overtime, overwrought and taken out of its blue – say, your grandfather’s pendulum
watch impaled to the wall on a heady standstill, face to face with a linoleumed wall
that shouted its age – its superficial maquillage falling out of its slenderness
fashioned to secretive ****** something both you and I know, something that does not
come well with age, something that only some shadows choose to eschew in light.
in a faraway place, there might be parakeets but this time, underneath the cusped sky
and the parasol that was drenched by drizzle that we let dry by the doorstep,
there is something about the gnash of rusting metal-work that tells me time has its own
way of claiming things, renaming them, and bringing them back in awry stances nestled
in tight, wrestling nooks of space, dark and dust on ground – keeping us leaping in place,
swift with dreams of wings and aviaries, be it elocutionary with farce
or just keeping it real by the unreal of our imaginations – like birds swell in the sheen
of the sky’s flayed bone, sliding in and out of the fringes of the aureole until such gardens
are flustered with monochrome: this perfect dagguerotype of day.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
*From the gentle curve of her subtle wrist
To the slenderness of her hand
Placed within
My own already hers in mind
It is there within the frozen moment
Which I am reminded of the absence
The lack of time
To communicate this distant feeling
And the stillness within this state of mind
For a centimeter is not even a half of an inch
But an eternity
Which is no small distance
To be separated from such a mind*
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 11:26 AM UTC
i brace
the impact of this death-collision,
my eyes search the
emptiness of sleep
yet there is a hanging invitation.
a counterplot to my figure's
incessant clamor.
to dance upon the
slenderness of this road altogether,
lighting our cigarettes,
mapping out our deaths
painstakingly.
we know not its macabre,
we pain not over
its toxicities,
takes it closer
to lips and then purses
a blow of haze curling over
our brows,
we cannot contain its ballistic call,
its ruthless honesty knows
no stoppage.
we call death like
a finite answer to a fold of
questions!
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC