"superfine" poems
143
For every Bird a Nest—
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round—
Wherefore when boughs are free—
Households in every tree—
Pilgrim be found?
Perhaps a home too high—
Ah Aristocracy!
The little Wren desires—
Perhaps of twig so fine—
Of twine e’en superfine,
Her pride aspires—
The Lark is not ashamed
To build upon the ground
Her modest house—
Yet who of all the throng
Dancing around the sun
Does so rejoice?
5.4k
*Most of the time
He's the lord of the jungle
Everyone grins while he gripes
Usually he's found just
Lounging around in his stripes
His tiger lady's
A superfine feline
Just what his highness deserves
A sweet purring pussycat
Proud of her pussycat curves
He's a tiger in the rain
It's the thunder and lightnin'
He can't explain
A tiger in the rain
Who's frightened
Caught in the storm he came
Searching for shelter
Right up to me and my spouse
We both stroked his chin and
Invited him into the house
He's a tiger in the rain
It's the thunder and lightnin'
He can't explain
A tiger in the rain
Who's frightened
He's a tiger in the rain
It's the thunder and lightnin'
He can't explain
A tiger in the rain
Who's frightened*
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Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
in the centre of the cathedral
the square of a little town
where those in the know tell of an invisible cathedral.
a massive guest
the outside light
there is such purity in the pigeons’ feathers
superfine flour falls from the sky
on buildings on trees on people’s shoulders.
small bones rattle echoing in the coffin of a small guitar
while the world can no longer contain happiness.
there at the wall
two lovers wind into an 8.
late. in their shade
a blind horse
is crying sweat from its neck.
Ion Mircea, from My Cup of Light
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
I am in the space between air and skin
Finer than film
The closeness of it all
Cutting me up
Like good snow by a razor
Just before oblivions short ride
I am wedged between glass
Thinner than papers edge
I am membrane
Between skull and mind
With its churning
For illusory answers
In familiar, sullen, sodden, soil
Already turned over and over
I am stitching undone
On that prized dress
The one you wore last summer
In the stifling heat
When all we did was laugh and eat and swim
And fight
I am the reflection on liquid
That stabs your eyes
I am the glint on gold
Driving you
I am marbles sheen
Where the veins of colour snake along
Bursting from stone
Sweeping you from your feet
I am grain of wood
Knotting you up in warmth
Watching you while I grow skyward
I am dawns magic
Evaporating
Missed by the shutter click
Lost to the rising sun
In an instant between blinks
I am the Superfine
I am the Sung Strung One
I am operas Overture
I am The Zahir
I am Legend
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 3:42 AM UTC
as the lid is slowly pulled off the jar,
murmurs became deafening; near and far.
some claims it to be salt, but i barely believed,
for what i got was sugar; white and sweet.
with its superfine bits brushing through my fingers,
even the slightest swatch, for years it lingered.
no doubt, it was sugar indeed.
so delicate, everyone wanted a grip.
and perhaps, if salt was somehow lost and trapped,
in the wary gentle touches of white,
it neither overcomes nor overwraps,
the very sweetness that reigned all this while.
in this series of vulnerable thoughts,
brought about by the emotions made felt,
it was realized that the ones cautious of salt,
just denied seeing the sugar for themselves.
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 5:32 PM UTC
There he is with his southwester on
I so would not want to **** with him
for he is talent and I know it
He puts up with me phoning him
he is such a kind man
and yes I am talking about David
He is an author superfine
and I do so adore his writes
so I am so proud to know him
He puts up with me
and my foul profanity
and call him friend and poet
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
back in the day. when I knew better,
the hows and whys of only love poetry,
was rewarded by her tears free flowing,
sniffling and slip~sliding from ducts to lips,
perhaps it was just the newness, of a man, just,
writing to just her, love poetry, like to be thinking,
skill and insight feelings peculiar inserted, may have helped
but even poems grow worn weary from too many readings,
and emotions exposed grow protective armor, containers,
that hold back emotional response au naturel, willing
suppression of the freedom to expose the infinite
capacity to let the guard down, show the raw,
the impulsed, the unguarded emotive we
become more expert markswomen to
coverup with makeup, polite words,
find/inside the superfine letters that unlock
the immediate, contemporaneous, pure unguarded,
freely released, stored weaknesses of the heart, eyes, leaking,
the physical evidence that the boundaries breeched, the fortress
penetrated, overcome, the inescapable captured realized
emotions unvarnished, getting away, just a little
embarrassing that just once more I, poet,
touched her in a way my fingertips
know all too well, with words,
kissing the back of her neck.
weak kneed, pleased,
distressed, letting go,
one mo' time,
making her cry again, pleasured tears, released,
her will power surrenders to what she must confess,
that only love poetry is a force undeniably that must be
surrendered to freely, willingly, and confessing by her lips
why not?
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC