"statures" poems
sometimes she daydreams about life the way i do about death. it's ironic, i know: black and white aren't meant to be grey and the rumbling hum of expletives digging into mauve lips pass through like desaturated light to translucent statures. it makes everything seem sweeter than it looks. she thinks the ache feels lukewarm, just like those half-hearted smiles she gives out like presents on a holiday, and she may be right. pain is not cold, it covers your entire heart with microwaved fingers, leaving burn marks that leave chars and ashes. snaps the purple heartstrings and clumsily tries to mend it.
(i love you because you're corporeal, she murmurs, you keep me sane)
she's spider-webbed, sung gossamer and silk while her bar lines drip with ink. and she seems moonstruck—because of me she says and blooms throughout my epiphanies. fancies herself a ghost, a wisp, something ethereal that lingers on my lips like a kiss. and she lingers, oh she does. toppling from the skies and collapsing into my rib-cage, she stays, blushing rose-like and thriving. velvet and constellations of blood clots patter against her skin. it blooms like she blooms, a paint splattered canvas meant for all to see.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
perfectly poised, i paint poignant statures
alive yet devoid, an entrancing actor
diamonds and daggers i dazzled through
a circus girl's cunning, but a heart beats true
pirouette, ball change, waltz and twirl
singsong silly circus girl
my heart is heavy but i cannot weep
my eyes are closed but i never sleep.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
1176
We never know how high we are
Till we are asked to rise
And then if we are true to plan
Our statures touch the skies—
The Heroism we recite
Would be a normal thing
Did not ourselves the Cubits warp
For fear to be a King—
3.3k
Bring me wine, but wine which never grew
In the belly of the grape,
Or grew on vine whose tap-roots, reaching through
Under the Andes to the Cape,
Suffer no savor of the earth to scape.
Let its grapes the morn salute
From a nocturnal root,
Which feels the acrid juice
Of Styx and Erebus;
And turns the woe of Night,
By its own craft, to a more rich delight.
We buy ashes for bread;
We buy diluted wine;
Give me of the true,
Whose ample leaves and tendrils curled
Among the silver hills of heaven
Draw everlasting dew;
Wine of wine,
Blood of the world,
Form of forms, and mold of statures,
That I intoxicated,
And by the draught assimilated,
May float at pleasure through all natures;
The bird-language rightly spell,
And that which roses say so well.
Wine that is shed
Like the torrents of the sun
Up the horizon walls,
Or like the Atlantic streams, which run
When the South Sea calls.
Water and bread,
Food which needs no transmuting,
Rainbow-flowering, wisdom-fruiting,
Wine which is already man,
Food which teach and reason can.
Wine which Music is,
Music and wine are one,
That I, drinking this,
Shall hear far Chaos talk with me;
Kings unborn shall walk with me;
And the poor grass shall plot and plan
What it will do when it is man.
Quickened so, will I unlock
Every crypt of every rock.
I thank the joyful juice
For all I know;
Winds of remembering
Of the ancient being blow,
And seeming-solid walls of use
Open and flow.
Pour, Bacchus! the remembering wine;
Retrieve the loss of men and mine!
Vine for vine be antidote,
And the grape requite the lote!
Haste to cure the old despair,
Reason in Nature's lotus drenched,
The memory of ages quenched;
Give them again to shine;
A dazzling memory revive;
Refresh the faded tints,
Recut the aged prints,
And write my old adventures with the pen
Which on the first day drew,
Upon the tablets blue,
The dancing Pleiads and eternal men.
2.8k
A journo aware, equally at home in Palaces, Halls or the streets
Trained to vision duplicity slants and angles and know the crux
Able to see the story behind the story behind the story and more
In ethics robed proudly while mendacity and shenanigans cry shy
Show me the Dai Lama in a crack den or Bill Gates ******* in Goa
Semi demi illiterates with joined-up thinking or unthinking
Immatures lacking emotional intelligence or gainful statures
In groupthink mired settles on group delusions in vicissitudes
We're programming or flooding seeds of doubts or confusing
As if maladroit fantasies are gospels not simpletons' chicanery
Dismissives sad dolts duly outflanked and outclassed inherently
Ignoramuses crude and coarse in true form lacking introspection
Wear disgrace proudly in persistence and parade idiocy fittingly
Strength in numbers neither nullifying stupidity or indignities
Indulgent cowards and sick gate-keeps of unearned entitlements
Nonentities, rabble rousers shamed vigilantes in emotional dearth
Claiming and luxuriating in the depravities of their deficiencies
I remain what I am and no apologies necessary for august status
Your diminutive deeds merely reflects your statures and intellects
Little minds already condemn you to suicides of real aspirations
CopyrightLaurenceA6thNov2018.allrightsreserved
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
It was quiet in the park,
after lunch, the crowds are few.
Here the statures live in terror
because of what we pigeons do..
We’re adept at carpet bombing.
pets and people feel our wrath.
Our bowels are like loose cannons-
Don’t dare venture in our path.
Now, below, I see a poet
with pen in hand composing.
Intent upon the songbird’s tune
or perchance he’s merely dozing
His senses lulled by cricket’s song,
He perspires in the heat.
My calling card left on his suit.
says chose a different seat.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 8:49 PM UTC
O' the beat of the Shaman's drum
gathering the statures of Skills embrace
Whose liquid fire flows from dream's burning Kiln
upon the roaring ancient thunders of leather skin
revolutionary moments of spiritual embrace
the Shaman cooing in his antic pantomime
of symbolic gestures and ideals
Crafting always anew the Heaven's sky
pounding the Earth upon charging hoofs
the sacred land arises like a giant
all characters of the Shaman's drum
Swooping God's on feathers of Eagles
trout swarm into the tribal dance
Mountains of golden rock shake the dust
For all engulfs the visions being
Thrusting the news and glory of the Fathers
the land becomes their Eternal coats of skin
Their Souls fluffy, white, float softly above
filled with the midnight rain
In the Dance of Shaman to Shaman
The Eternals pay their honour and respects
before the mighty Shaman's call
His vocal dialect and sacred Soul
Invoking as all before had done
With a Shaman's will and a Shaman's Drum.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 8:02 AM UTC
The fervour of his lips, the ardent clasp of his hand
The shimmering, velvet, chocolate skin complements my linen-scape
Dulcet, earnest expressions of my beauty
Our statures cement as one
Happiness bewitches me
Surely I am now, finally, truly loved
Seasons pass
The invasion of psyche, the violation of flesh and bone
He is collectedly smooth and concise with his moves; I smell the menace, sense the forthcoming extremity of the moment
He is feral, I am broken
BUT, surely, I was finally, truly loved
The sun and the moon waltz
Shadows trail me; fear still a stride from being vanquished
Stillness and peace yearn me
I sink deep within, seeking fuel, consuming resilience, grasping hope and faith in repose
I am beyond
Surely I will finally be truly loved
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Life when we first arrive... With no memory of our lies...
Humans running in a constant loop.
Subjectivity, granted as the dauntless.
Circular statures of reason they're quite comedic,
these predicaments involve dancing with the seasons.
Constantly UNintrested.
Things are easily forgotten
I am the ONLY one who has witnessed the problem?
If you're amazed by THAT colorful imagery
well your life is too simple to me.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
Mysterious forces
Act upon the heart
Stoking and kindling
Mutual rapport
Gravity of attraction
Compels statures to kiss
And dwell in sweet emotion
The trajectory of bliss
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
Colorful streak pierced my heart to glow
This is what beauty on earth has to show
Let my sweetheart take you on to grow
Your tenderness bloom my heart to blow
Romantic mood with curves , curvatures
Portray charms, graces of beauty statures
Roses will touch your feet to be the halters
Let your graceful gait be seen by defaulters
My love spread your beauty to be just seen
To see you in bloom I am ready and keen
Slow wind touches your curly hair like teen
Your ocean green eyes make life ever green
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 6:22 AM UTC
from the rose under her nose
a gentle fog of smoke escaped her scarlet lips
a slow and hateful eye roll was flashed on her face
as the colors on her hair never seemed to fade
perfectly poised, she paints poignant statures
alive yet devoid, her daggers dazzle through her wrists
her heart is heavy but she cannot weep
her eyes are closed but she’d never sleep
the moon looks opaque tonight, kind of like city girl skin
she’s in the streetlight, all dressed to ****
lord should have seen how the traffic lights all stuttered from red to green
oh please
the devil himself wouldn't be so cruel to this soul
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
Effulgent with the light of love, I praise thy sight
Enrapt by deep divinity of thine features
Basked resplendent in the languid light
Of thine enchanting aura, O mesmerising creature
Betwixt our statures, Gravity pulls
Compelling us to meet faces, kiss
The liquor of the moment churns
Dwelling in trajectory of bliss
Blissful canopy of the stars, clad in glow
The wild, unchartered frontiers
Caressed by scintillating sparks, light we go
Drifting on glowing, gentle zephyrs
Now thou hast shown me thy hearts direction
I'm enveloped in your care's protection
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 6:15 PM UTC
She keeps her lawn mowed very pretty her palms
every day she rakes or
tends concrete or wood circled gardens.
Clipping, and tending, nature.
I got a problem with it.
I have six years of pine cones
grass, where it grows up to my knees,
weeds of immense statures,
I'm sorry I bring her property value down.
I like au natural , ok, I am just lazy.
I like living in a forest, naturally
debris gathers, and nature has her way with.
She, nature, has a way of dealing with.
Why can't I?
I asked her one day, just being me, dumb!
" I did not know Palms were
indigenous to Alabama"
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
Under the night—there’s a lake
beneath whose serene, silvery strands
blooms a city so filled with buzz
folks chock on it—
In the coal-coated sky, planes flutter;
billboards shine over gleaming malls
reeking of marbles and crystals and wealth
and little kings and queens prowl about—
ants dressed in facies—
and balloons breathe freedom
as children’s distracted fingers let them go;
blues and yellows—neons and pinks
and greys.
and overflowing pavements cuddle into the hysteric roads
winking cars, cursing vans—
honking and screeching and scratching
and laughing and—
Screaming? Shrieking!
Crying blood! Crunching metal!
A mother covers her toddler’s eyes
as pieces of flesh scatter around like confetti
A crowd gathers about what’s left of the—
human.
—ants before a rotten grape.
kings and queens with their buggies and guards
tiaras and lockets— arrows and darts
and the lights still smile, adds still run
and so does the blood—
and so does the dog with a missing limb
and so does the car that never stopped
Nothing remains of the flower, nothing of the bee
Statures jump out of ringing vans
men in suits— men too late.
They collect the pieces of steaks and the dog’s leg
and take them away.
and a slim lady cries, melting her smooth skin
A child, gawking, lets go his balloon,
A teen chocks on her wine—
footprints engrave in the clotting blood
Through the clouds, flies up the balloon
carrying the first scream, the first screech,
the panic of the driver who vanished,
the frenzy of city still as a corpse—
up, up into the breathing water —
another prince screams under his trembling crown
and in a wounded street far away,
whimper crawls out of a ravaged girl,
grubby boy weeps for his stollen rug
a woman curses, a girl trembles, a guy laughs,
a man sleeps, a lady paints herself, a cat dies, a trigger is pulled,
a cigarette is lit, a bottle breaks open a leg, a wolf howls,
a boy weeps in his bed
—a little whimper for each.
and little bubbles wade in her delicate waves,
the air pops those pomegranates open as
tongueless stories disperse around—
silent on her glossy lips.
and over her, the night sky yawns
as I crawl under her layers, and close my eyes,
listening to the sloshing waters, the owls far away—
begging for the bubbles to stop the screaming.
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 2:55 PM UTC
Fish bodies filter
Water of life
Nightmares come open faced
Polluted seas have no blame
Disease has no blame
However unasked for
Remains cold and real;
Answer is trees
Their wild statures lay strong in
Death bed of atmosphere
Broken-limbed and worn
Waiting for things with wings
In open womb to be born
Setting wet souls free
(But what does that mean)
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 8:29 PM UTC
Life when we first arrive... With no memory of our lies...
Humans running in a constant loop. This subjectivity has granted me another view.
Circular statures of reason. Comedic predicaments as they covorht with all the seasons.
Constantly UNintrested.
Things are easily forgotten and i am the ONLY one who has witnessed.
One whom's amazed by colorful imagery,
well their life seems too simple to me.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 9:52 PM UTC
A magic ray of heaven
Awoke me yet shroud me in daze
Enamouring me of celestial vision
It's dazzling displays
A sublime hippie beamed to me
Rapped upon my back
Gently, ever gentle, he has the knack
Sang woe for me alack
But he beamed bright fortified in flight
By my quest he said
Saw my truths as rare forsooth
Feeding thousands with meagre bread
His words had come from shiva
But through his Angels spoke
Chasing herds of words
With beauty rare, bespoke
He ferried me to archangels
Sublime statures of the sky
Chasing light that follows
Where those bonny angels fly
Devotion, poesy hand in hand
In realm of imagination, dream
On gods enchanted sand
Beatific, supreme
In enchanted sing for bright burnished wings
For John the Angel true
Blessed fires run through you
Through my heart a warm breeze blew
Guardian of my destiny now
He hisses at those who attack my flame
We art two beings of love and light
Who art the same
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC