"subtlest" poems
I'm never one to get cold
Or get goosebumps
But with the subtlest touch
From her can make my hairs
Stand ***** send chills down my spine
And expel a sigh of relief.
That's the power of her love
So precise so Devine so powerful
That with the tip of her finger
Can make me feel all that at once.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
I spy with my little eye
Everyone and all
The faintest smile
The subtlest sign
Everything strange and worrying
And all that is normal
Perhaps too normal
And don’t feel scared
It’s in your best interest
That wicked smiles
And dangerous signs
And everything strange and worrying
Is brought under attention
Of people you can trust
And don’t ask yourself
Who is watching the watchmen
With wicked ways
And subtle methods
It’s better to sit and relax
And act normal
But not too normal
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
What is this wall
That keeps us in
Over each other, we trip; we fall
We are like fish with no fins
Head on we crash
With fists we beat
We hack and we slash
Screaming, kicking with invisible feet
Blocked we remain
Let us flow
Us you can't contain
Let us go
Strengthened with aggregate
But held back by concrete
Cerebral wall with no gate
We're packed with angry grit
You know we're here
You feel us roiling
You hear us clear
Boiling and brewing
We understand the reason
You deem it necessary
Thinking it would lessen
Subdue the rage and fury
Your illusion of control
Of us, you'd pick the best
Surely you're taking the toll
Of being nothing but suppressed
All of us, we are you
We make you what you are
From the subtlest cue
To the high achieving star
We are many but we are one
Your thoughts and emotions
We are your loaded gun
We're the answer to false pretensions
You can't have us dammed
We've initiated a coup
No...we'll not be ******
Too late...we've broken through
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
NAY! swear no more, thou woman whom I called
Star, Empress, Wife! Were Dian's self to lean
From her white altar and with goddess lip
Swear thee as pure as her pale breast divine,
I could not deem thee purer than I know
Thou art indeed.
Once, when my triumphs rolled
Along old Rome and blood of roses washed
The battle-stains from off my chariot-wheels,
And triumph's thunders round my legions roared,
And kings in kingly ******* golden bound
Shook at my charger's foot, past the hot din
Of Victory-whose heart of golden pride in wound
Most subtly through with fire of subtlest pain-
My soul on prouder pinion rose above
The Roman shouting, to an air more clear
Than that Jove darks with hurtling thunderbolts,
Or stains with Jovian revels-that separate sphere,
Unshared of gods or man, where thy white feet
Caught their sole staining from my ruddy heart,
Blazing beneath them; where, when Rome looked up,
'Twas with the eyes close shaded with the hand,
As at some glory terrible and pure,-
For no man being pure, a terror dwells
Holy and awful in a sinless thing-
And Caesar's wife, the Empress-Matron, sat
Above a doubt-as high above a stain.
Nay! how know I what hell first belched abroad
Tall flames and slanderous vomitings of smoke,
Blown by infernal breathings, till they scaled
Thy throne of whiteness, and the very slaves
Who crouched in Roman kennels wagged the tongue
Against the wife of Caesar: 'Ha! we need not now
And opal-shaded stone wherewith to view
A stainless glory.' In that day my neck
Was bound and yoked with my twin-Caesar's yoke-
Man's master, Sorrow.
I know thee pure-
But Caesar's wife must throne herself so high
Upon the hills that touch their snowy crests
So close on Heaven that no slanderous Hell
Can dash its lava up their swelling sides.
I love thee, woman, know thee pure, but thou
No more art wife of Caesar. Get thee hence!
My heart is hardened as a lonely crag,
Grey granite lifted to a greyer sky,
And where against its solitary crown
Eternal thunders bellow.
3.7k
I'm having an affair with words
They take away my breath
Words tell me what I need to hear
Without missing a step
Words work on my emotions
I'm transcended by their displays
There's legitimate anticipation
Within each and every page
When I look away for too long
There is a longing that takes place
The wonder of conclusion
Vanished, without a trace
Words help me to liberate my own ideas
In the subtlest of ways
Or when my faith seems in doubt
I am enlightened by a phrase
Their sense of humor is unequaled
Words teach us and inform
They can be as cold as ice
Or soothing, kind, and warm.
Words hold many of life's answers
To questions that we seek
When written, we can convey
Much more than when we speak
Words empower, words are strong
They help decipher right from wrong
Words can guide you,
Lead you home
Words are your friends
When you're alone
Words can help, or they can harm you
Depending on their use
Words can fool you, or misguide you,
Lie, or tell the truth
What I love, are words' transparency
Written right there in black and white
If misconstrued, words can lead to tragedy
Although the stories' plot is trite
We must take part in the mastery
Of each and every words avail
So that the notions we wish to ration out
Are nothing but...
The finest of detail.
Precision personified
Never at a loss for words
Or ****** with a mouth for war
That's when devastation's heard
Instead, a calming smoothness
Inspiration from inside
This, in my opinion, is the greatest use of words
And the peak of humanities pride.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 3:14 AM UTC
little the life that is left unto us now!
wars a ****** in!
(COME SAVE US E E CUMMINGS!)
the massive death
the rags of poverty grief and despair that shall be
our only dominion in a matter of days or weeks or years
(at best)
oh ****
are here
after I finally have come to kinda like it here
amid the queer folks and the paparazzi
socialists and nazis!
but the bankers have mastered oink-piggery
and the politicians have turned us into
****** weenies seeking only false security!
and there is no life left here!
(WHERE ARE YOU E E CUMMINGS!?)
ah, gentle reader, be brave be kind and good still
be the subtlest sense of decency shining and displaying
a last bit of reverence for this sacred universal place
we are in
though painfully being murdered
let us rebel gracefully
and live freely
again
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 11:38 AM UTC
Gilded cage so small and tiny
Even singing comes out whiny
Stinking of fake fresh and piney
Tis the season
Leaking water warm and briny
With good reason
Christmas cheer and glasses toast
Loved ones smile and laugh and boast
I sit perched upon my post
A tinsled column
Invisible reluctant host
A heart that's solemn
A longing for a love so distant
The melancholy is persistent
A smile could erase it in an instant
On a face cherubic
For my heart is not resistent
It's theraputic
So that smile that is perfection
Is mirrored in my own reflection
Without a thought about rejection
Hallucinations
About the subtlest inflection
In Salutations
Surrounded by the merrily intense
With drunkard tendencies immense
A bar with all accoutrements
They pound tequila
Drinking away the sacraments
Oh yes, I feel ya
Merry time with old Kris Kringle
Guests all lubed enough to mingle
Mistletoe hangs and sleigh bells jingle
Gifts homemade
Tables adourned and glasses tingle
Gold brocade
Still I sit all caged and flightless
Blind to joy all sad and sightless
Drink could make it hurt a mite less
I'm going backward
Laying here all limp and lifeless
Broke and fractured
Surrounded by the fake and vexing
Artificial and quite perplexing
Reality they are rejecting
The devil may care
Bellies bare and muscles flexing
Lost underwear
So ******* dancing to the jukebox
Lost alone here in the boondocks
There is no snow upon the rooftops
Ahead they forge
Find a room before that thing pops
It's so engorged
Neighbor ***** all dressed in orange
Wearing gold to make the poor cringe
Stripping time to fill her syringe
I'll be her hinderance
Still too drunk from her last binge
Faulty remembrance
Ridding riff raff from the party
People still drunk on Bacardi
Noxious gasses burp and farty
With toilets makeshift
Worn out makeup on the smarty
She needs a facelift
Time to let the people go
Too tired to keep watching the show
Drinking hard and walking slow
Verbose yet listless
Honey I don't want to know
It's not my business
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
*He was engrossed in his performance
in the enthralled silence of the audience
catching the subtlest notes from the instrument
as his supple fingers played with the strings
erupting into the finest blend of ragas
freeing the souls of all the stress
converging his heart into his music
eyes closed as in a transcendental state.*
But I could not concentrate.
The face behind the beard and the unkempt hair
was familiar.
From a long distant day
I remember those fingers performed in a different way.
The afternoon I came back from school
and mom told me her monies were missing
and he was the only visitor to her room
waiting in the pretext of meeting me
but after a while leaving hurriedly.
He confessed and the money was recovered
but never again the breached trust.
*The audience rose in ovation fingers clapping
my own frigid in remembrance
of another performance.*
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
Those unchained melodies are heard-
slayed and naked, like a lost soul-
wand'ring along a village; a dejected village!
And hark, hark to how they plead!
O, how they beg to be alive, to be free
from the deadness of these winds.
But no-one greets them, with a handful
of care!-how ill, and thievery is,
such inattentiveness! What a smug
egotism!-For these areth living
creatures, not lurking shadows as they'th seemed!
Blackened willows, stiffened dust;
trembling trees, affronted branches-
bending in their nakedness, a scene of vulgarity
with no ******* and sensations-
to capture attention, o, am'rous
attention! How poor these humans are! Brutes
are they to natureth-dappled with disgrace,
insincerely prayin' for more and more to feed their
ungrateful innuendoes-which prey on their
mortality-to fascinate their tongue,
and ***** And elements with no such marks
are out of them, no thinking is set on them;
no moreth! Peek, peek now, at how those
bountiful thorns blureth, and dieth!-at the scorn
and rivalry amongst humans-and still no-one bothers
kindethly-to eventh peek at 'em, yon miserable,
pitiful creatures! But 'ose humans, whose spitefulness
is awayth from b'ing praiseworthy, are aboundth with
death; cannot they defy it, inescapable as it's always
been-for death is not destined to dieth-never!
Thus thy sins, humans, wilt swing thy joys into swamps
of guilt, denial, and suffrage-be unafraid of which,
straighten thy chins-for these are all what thou'th
deserved, all along! Thou'th betrayed nature, and now
thy souls wilt be thy subtlest enemy-thy veiled threat!-
beware of 'tis, but still perchance, it is futile to
exhort thee-now and again! Thou art stained with
remorse, and prefereth doth thou-to follow thy own
course, rather than nature's bliss's vows.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
My body temperature rises like the moon.
Odd that the sun is the symbol of heat,
yet, most heat is felt at night.
Subtlest of sighs and I am undone.
Buttressed and encompassed by you.
I want to bite, nibble, peck at your neck
Like an artist with granite I want to carve into you
I crave you, I want to market our practiced need.
Subtle yet lulled, our lust will be boundless.
Founded on our need to keep our word.
We together are a force, a natural force.
Unreserved, unobserved, unconcerned
I allow you to flood into me.
Hazily, I am drawn to the figure on the floor,
we swore no more, but the thrill of the slow ****
allows us to be enthralled, exhilarated, liberated.
The moon wanes, the body grows cold, we soar
as we clean the gore.
We swear 'nevermore' but are we just Poe's distraught
lovers, falling into madness?
The madness of the bloodlust, ******
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
The subtlest nuance of cherry blossom,
Drifting down into the banks of my memory,
Twisting miniature pirouhettes.
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 1:57 PM UTC
The secret of your smile glows like gold on the dreams I dream
In the darkest places, your voice is a silver-lighted sound
Millions of others can see your smile agleam
Yet not know, this happiness I’ve found
Embroidered moments of pleasure entwine around my heart
While the brightest moon shines silently above
Ever wide is the subtlest ray you impart
When you smile, I can feel your love
Your voice is a shining echo that claims my constant heart
I will always treasure each word as a precious pearl
From the moment, first light of dawn imparts
Still, when all light leaves this world
Might I ever go searching for your smile to gild my day
Your voice to light the darkness in my heart
Embroidered in the riches, only you can send my way
With the widest subtle ray, your smile imparts
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 1:39 AM UTC
I dream of us reuniting as the water reunites with the sand and carries it along
So I could get to express the love I kept suppressed beneath
But I don't know if ever in this life, you will come back
With a frail twine of hope, I now breathe
I witness the lazy sunset on our favourite beach alone, every day
Which once we did together in one another's arms
I write your name on the sand, hoping for the water to not wash it away
Not before you come back and I fall for your subtlest charms
I sit for hours, from dusk till dawn, waiting for you to return
So we could sleep by the water and wake up to the sun
Watch the sky turn tangerine and then paint it all black
And sleep under the stars while the tides sing us lullabies. Oh, such fun.
And if you ever come back, I will first kiss your lips and caress you whole
So you could immerse all the love and keep it sealed in between your ribs
Only then I will always be close to your heart like you are to my soul
And a fire will ignite, helping us keep the love and the burning desire alive.
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 10:12 AM UTC
Here the triple-shadowed unveil their beliefs:
wrangled dusk-bitten demigods walking with-
out shame.
Between the voice I feel and the
touch I see, sweetness loses itself in multiplic-
ity. Here the ****** creators
peddle their big
dreams: failed, half-imagined writers writing
for some fame. Between the ink I taste
and
the blank page I peel, beauty spills onto an
unfinished film-reel. Here the salient idealists
distribute their silent pleas:
faceless, disre-
garded farmers farming hapless grain. Be-
tween
the thoughts I see and the biases I smell,
innocence sits unwanted in a wishing-well.
Here the greatest artists
present their newest
piece: aged, masterful painters painting to
stay stane. Between
the subtlest colors and
the heart-arresting hues, skill picks up a gui-
tar and sings some southern
blues.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
mere
words uttered
in subtlest of melodies
harmless dove's cooing harmony
with morning in the old orchard,
olives from a hundred years ago
in an imagined descripted re vision,
grown wild into a forest with hallways,
listen.
Aug 13, 2023
Aug 13, 2023 at 1:26 PM UTC
Two fish shaped wet eyes, intently gaze,
while expressing pain, disarmingly implies
a sweetness, specially meant only for him
that too, apt in that particular context,
when his antennae all are up, receptive.
He wants to kiss, those eyes,
as his eyes catch that special moment, poignant,
wants to taste it and make the sweetness all his.
That sweetness, a bait, but he isn't aware,
with a deft dab of emotion,makes him melt,
paints her vulnerable, yes, a damsel in distress,
prods him to be chivalrous, the next moment.
How the salty pearls rolling down her cheeks
play naughty games with unsuspecting tender heart,
concealing the puppet play in which men and women excel.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
#*To give their face a facelift
on the lip and around eyes
invented was lipstick
extracted from dyes.*
Ah a woman’s lips
have held for countless age
her mind’s secret tips
love, hatred, rage!
Her lips parted pursed
speak the subtlest lines
of a relation gone accursed
or one in glowing shines!
It’s not when lips do part
but when she’s tightlipped
the silence breaks man’s heart
the strongest one gets ripped!
But sure her puckered ones
they invite you to a bliss
sparkle like thousand suns
when land on you as kiss!
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
I wish to fold my skin and bones small enough
to fit my subtlest sigh
to be held,
in solace,
by all the breaths I've been holding.
Status: Dragged bones to New Year's Eve
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 1:22 AM UTC
In these first eight lines,
On the eight day of the eight month
Eight days after mine
Marks the first day of the class.
No! Most importantly, it shall forever –
on a sleeping eight “∞”, remind me of you.
On the day you turn eighteen,
I write this for you.
Regardless, of what happened,
In the past… I know that you were always
Trying to be at your best.
And that I wish you know that you
Are definitely worth it – of the time and the effort.
Yes! Not were, but are – you are worth it
Of the love, and you are worthy
Of my love, always.
Not the slightest bit of regret,
I really did, I really do and forever I will
Always be here for you.
You are you, beautiful and noble,
You shall always hold a special place in my heart
An irreplaceable throne, for you alone.
So no matter what, remember that
I will never forget you.
I knew most of the time when
You were on the brink, weak, hurt, and in pain.
But, I’m sorry and I regret
That there was nothing I could do.
When you tried to smile, to be strong, okay and happy
I appreciate it and I treasure those moments.
I always knew you were trying,
You kept on fighting…
So for everything, I wish to affirm your
Every thought, every action, and all your efforts.
I thank even the slightest gestures,
I did not let the subtlest bit of them past my attention.
I shall always pray for your prosperity, happiness and well-being.
Remember, you can always count on me, and once more
Let me tell you, in the present continuous tense
Always will and do – Keziah, I love you.
Happy Birthday, Keziah!
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
the penmanship of her soul
is slanted
and focused on yesterday's sunlight as it fell
through dusty glass to land
in warm silence on the burnished wood
and teacup
the aroma of mint tea
mixed with the subtlest tastes of her perfumed
soft skin
the penmanship of her soul
is slanted
flows over the page of her day
like silk on sandpaper
but her smile endures
even as she decays into the sand
which created her
she writes her thought
on the sunsoaked sky
and that ideal
is one of warm loves
i wait for the time to pass
and somthing to be revealed
but time is a twisted path
and shows nothing of its passing
except the turn of day to night
and so as i fall to sleep
i read between the lines
of the smile in her eyes
and reach for her hand...
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
I don't like computers .
You must be specific to get them
to work with you.
I prefer people,
the vaguest smile, the subtlest compliment
can make them fall in love with you.
Manipulation is an art
when done very well, like I do,
disastrous when seen. A risky business.
Those boys don't love me,
this computer doesn't know me,
but they obey me.
I suppose I am a sort of God
I could control their fate
on a temporary basis,
some kind of Satan.
Lamia
or a Pope.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
His lower arm hugged her upper hip
the humid air was too much to decline
beckoning of her quivering lip
her sweaty smell pouring like wine.
Her subtlest press lighted million spark
his reciprocating started fire
her lobes tinged with blush mark
nothing more the two could aspire.
Centuries old embedded in stone
posteriors arching for ******
cracked alive in pleasure's moan
sunk in the deep gorge of lust.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
He claimed we were perfect rhymes, you see,
But he forgot, even in rhymes, there are categories.
In the sonnet of love, our lines entwined,
Yet labeled different, destinies maligned.
In the ballad of us, a melancholy refrain,
He missed the nuances, the subtlest pain.
Perfect rhymes, he said, a symphony sweet,
Yet our verses diverged, in sorrow's heartbeat.
As if in a villanelle, repeating our theme,
But the echoes of love weren't as they seemed.
Labeled apart, in the poetry of fate,
A somber truth, our love couldn't abate.
In the rhyme scheme of life, a dissonant chord,
Our love, once harmonious, now ignored.
He said we were perfect, a poetic crime,
Yet in reality, we were running out of rhyme.
Dec 4, 2023
Dec 4, 2023 at 9:10 AM UTC
1.
The non peril writer,magnificent illustrator,
dexterous editor,all in one of the book of life,
each one, each page,each edition looks and reads
different, yet one in essence, though flavors vary.
We hear you speak every tongue,Latin, Arabic, Hebrew
and in sonorous Sanskrit,you make us chant"Earth is one nest"
2.
Such profuse creativity baffles one and all, ever
is your prime possession; manifestation as well!
The nebulous one, present in each cell,each neuron,
well, everything ever appeared,anywhere in cosmos,
we attempt to know you in myriad means, give you names
that pleases us, we try to possess you in ways even mean.
We hallucinate our cameras of mind, captures you right
with the eyes of science; you still prove to be like music.
3.
In our limited resources allotted by neuron collectives,
we make you sit on the throne, of the architect of cosmos,
that evolves and emerge,and itself erases when time is ripe.
The artistic painter of emotions, that has been baffling,
the mix of color happens without any guide book.
sans blue print of any kind or elaborate plan to execute.
4.
You have no designated place to live, in spite of our wishes
you are omnipresent , the string, player as well as music,
your thought work we all are, weaved in to one from
strands of of ancient DNA things preserved,through ages!
Oh! the one that's beyond the realms of winning /losing
the subtlest of all the sublime that in every heartbeats chant,
love to be a work of art that pleases you, in me present,
5.
Help me from within, in my dissolution as colors,varied
be the painter too and to become that work of art pleases you.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 9:04 PM UTC