"susurrations" poems
The night becomes you -
hair coiffed in fashion
illuminated eyes reveal attraction,
the scent of body oil
pervasive,
ambient music evolves
persuasive
savory rhetoric,
cabernet erodes my inhibition
no contrition, turn the ignition.
The night becomes you -
you wear it well
an amalgam,
ardor and insouciance -
redefining glamour,
ephemeral moments
dial down the sunlight,
I am slain - voice and accent
weave their spell;
black dust coat, white hat,
a pair of posh boots
they live to tell.
The night becomes you
rhyme scheme - lyrical poetry
sophisticated venue, table for two
ensconced, the
leather lounge,
similitude within difference;
undulation - cadences of
counterpoint -
poise and peril of duality
we inhabit the floor.
Postprandial, conversation extempore;
machinations of intoxicating discourse,
I could drink your words -
artistic milieu- beguiling imagery,
sonant susurrations
penetrate my being.
The night becomes you -
theoretical locutions
phrasing depth and humor,
undiluted amour, tensions resolve
frame by frame,
solidify the affair
and validate the rumor
subsumed in sequence, pulsating,
igniting the sapid interior flame
silver screen ending,
effusive reviews
two hearts collide and form one;
the cherub's arrow finds its aim.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
A thousand god-eating plates in a summer wind
Listen, china-white, to the audible inaudible that flanks
The paint-chip, earth-red bridges. Susurrations weave
Through grass with spider fingers; following curves in seashells
As a voluble electric screen who Speaks as dew and taste.
Water is depth beyond what can be acquainted with memory
Or fancy. Watches turn delicate, May-lace and wedding night
Music: Vertical, Veiled, Very. Dust in the stream lisps
Headily to shore, rests by a forgotten child’s shoe,
Bronzes it like mother’s finger and burns like daybreak.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 2:46 PM UTC
The intricacies
Of my mind percolated
When you said my name.
I turned and embraced
But your eyes did not return.
A tad sensitive.
I spoke as I wished.
You produced dopamine,
For another.
Revolution reigns.
Only my mind's susurrations
Sees the love you suggest.
I hope not foolish
Ideas of contemplation
Prevent your heart idea.
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 4:11 PM UTC
Cryptic dreams awaken the mind
Telling more than I want to know
Hinting at emotions undefined
The glint of rough gems to be mined
Possible rapture threatens contentment
Disturbing the balance and the flow
Turbulence enters the calm of the present
Subconscious susurrations could prove prescient
The painstakingly built façade stays intact
But the lingering dream won’t go
No use denying its deep impact
As it cajoles me to think and act
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC
Ever had a daydream that is so very lovely?
It softly and unexpectedly
ribbons and edges
your vision,
a smile dances & flits on your lips.
The starry universe's susurrations and whispers come to a silent ebb;
only daintily replaced by those
slightly creased and crinkled moments
&
future tick-tocking wishes.
It takes a full moment for it to wisp away.
Sadly, I do not know how long that moment ticks for.
Backwards or forwards?
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
I am not quite sure what to say.
My lips cannot move into the right ways to speak even the wrong words.
The edges, the pockets of my mind is terribly creased.
The dizzying criss-cross of lines and crumples
paint hopelessness
into
tears.
I miss the very susurrations your being makes,
when you were next to me.
Even on sun-dappled days,
I still feel the ghost of your shoulders & elbows nudging mine.
My collarbones still feel the lines of your lips right
t here.
My soul miss and misses yours.
But I do know,
this is
a
void
that
will only
become
space and time
itself.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:46 AM UTC
still swollen:
moon in eye
lips murdered red
with the crimson of
maddeningly furious bites
the crunch of bone
turning in bed - air and moment
stopped and in between
the hounds spread
darkening rumors,
dropping once again are
eyelids from too much
heaviness of unuttered
words, unperformed verbs
seething in between teeth,
cheek pressed onto crumpled
******* from groping in
the dark knowing only its
frail rescue
these tiny fingers still
ache from touching anthropomorphic fires,
the ears still swollen
from distinct susurrations like
o's and h's and their
sweet campaigns
my heart's well engorged
with a whelm of promises
in the morning there
will be i and you,
our love still throbbing
in the loom of it,
as we go on leaving -
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
The dews of heaven
She downs like the morning
A mellifluous creature, surfed ashore
Myrtle amid thorns; Quiescent
Heart of a royal; highness
Resplendent in garment of sapphire; radiant
The lady gouldian finch
Melodies inspires ataraxia
Beautific as wysteria
It’s her loving heart beaming smiles
Stretches as thousand miles
Incandescent as candle on a hill
Beacon of hope
Oh hear
The susurrations of a Gold-Mantled Rosella .
Tj. kwame
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 9:25 AM UTC
You think you’re a thunder clap,
But I know
You’re a solar storm
Trapped inside a marble.
I want you
To want me
As much as I want you.
Your body is made of Earth.
Rainwater eyes,
Caraway hair,
Birch skin.
I’d listen to you speak
For hours
Just so we could spend hours
Together.
You speak to stars in susurrations
That roll of your tongue -
I hold them in my palms
And aid their ascension.
Your heart is a hearth
Trying to warm a forest
Covered in snow -
I would help you spread.
People laugh at you
Because you’re a tad askew;
I laugh with you
Because you’re aligned perfectly.
I think I love you sometimes
And I’m scared
Because the sun has no need
To love the moon.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:28 AM UTC
lost fragrances of easy summer mornings
when all she knew was the dirt
between her toes
and scattered throughout her
golden hair.
lost melodies of lazy summer days
when all she knew was the water
of river susurrations
and warmest shortlived rains
caressingly falling.
lost bites of ripe summer evenings
when all she knew was the sweetness
of rose-red lips
and shared apricots with she
of auburn hair.
lost glances of torrid summer nights
when all she knew was the lust
of her youth
and the wine shared between
first loves.
lost times of summer's end
when all she knew was gone.
Apr 17, 2024
Apr 17, 2024 at 7:26 AM UTC
_Whispering
t r a i l s
of light-glazed ephemera
w a f t
from plain to hills;
G i l d e d
grams of silken
f+r+a+g+m+e+n+t+s
warm with pine
and noon.
Sunlight
p i t t e r - p a t t e r s ,
D a N c E S t E p P i N g
the length
of a polo field._
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 3:02 AM UTC
you
you dared tell a lie at
the very end
of each and every verse
that snapped out
of that flaming mouth
of yours.
I felt the guilt
of not quenching
your eternal thirst.
spinner of magmatic threads,
supine in your cocoon of lies.
weaver,
deceiver,
you told yourself the same lies
that entangle me in the susurrations
of your feminine death rattle.
I felt the weight
of not quenching
your ever burning thirst.
weaver,
deceiver.
remembered silken fingers
crisscrossing the empty
spaces between my heavy
heartbeats.
I felt the vibration
of failing to spot
that beautiful web you've spun.
believer,
deceiver,
weaver of all the lies
I needed to hear.
tell me,
are you content with being
all alone in your widow's web?
Jan 19, 2024
Jan 19, 2024 at 1:32 AM UTC
I shut my eyes to see the universe
In Technicolor,
Only to desaturate it all with open lids –
Blinking is such a tease.
My head turns,
My face trailing behind,
As time ticks slowly past my still silhouette,
Which blends into the dripping, grey sky
As another shade of charcoal –
Blurry and smudged around the edges
Until I am limitless.
My skull refracts a rainbow,
Tipped topside down
By my pale, dark eyes
All anyone else sees are the shadows
Leftover by heavy wind.
I don’t live where I should.
My hyacinth heart grows in bone dust,
Having my skin shift between violet and blue,
A mottled peach –
How silly everyone is
With their dull minds
Forcing their bright eyes
To see in only lines.
I don’t mind being lost
In fields of sprouting susurrations –
An eyelash falling,
A star dying,
An egg hatching, multiplying,
A spider crawling in an open mouth –
I belong somewhere,
Even if it’s never heard.
I tried inviting someone once,
To borrow my sight.
They threw up
And told me I was blind.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
is it too much of an onomatopoeic dissonance that this is synonymous to
regret dubbed as slouched nirvana. Across the bonfire, there’s volition
as glare, light as judgment. Why they call her
Luningning, I know not.
Take excess for jaunts and flesh, and pay no heed to illusions. The mirage
on the wall is but fire-dance on the bitten lip of true company.
heady static pierces pinecone. Soon the moon will sink like **** to **** Or felled star as tripled glaze of salted lip. Or the ****** of the butterfly.
Are we here to metamorphose these tiny susurrations into a commune?
Dank and stale as piss-laced pavement, the whole world now
spires in uneven strobes. The last song on the karaoke as memory. The knead
of temperamental air on the scalp. Take pork rind for bread, intemperance
as tribute. The night dons its silken robe and shows her pair: two moony eyes
piercing the noise.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 12:54 AM UTC
Who but afternoon
Susurrations of heat speak?
Where but earth
Stars feed
(As electrons sway
And pour through walls;
Spin gold to sugar,
Greenly tasted
By the lips of mammalian tongues
Eating fat
With gardens and stolen glucose) ?
Incapable of creation -
Who, but we,
Devour?
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
I see clouds in the sky, made of rope, knotted Stark...
No light through this boundless horizon, only glowing Dark...
Reached the point with no more milestones to Postpone...
In the end, I'll be the forgotten bones under dusty Tombstone...
I carry the knapsack of my empty actions thru this way of Perdition...
As I look Behind All in my Sight is My failed Ambition...
Footprints tells wrong steps, breaks and failures I made...
There won't be another chance, and no catharsis can make Change...
soundless Screams through day, void susurrations in the Dark...
and this Grotesque expression is my last standing Mark...
each wrinkles on my face tells a story of Pain...
I'm still standing here and slowly going to Fade...
The everlasting taste of dirt, from hitting the ground...
In this cataclysm of Misery I will be Drowned...
Complicated with contradictions, cant be fit into any Ism...
Let my soul through crystal, outcome will be reverse working Prism...
Traveled in this labyrinthine road and every moment I have Waste...
Farewell to You Ephemera World, I farewell with Distaste...
Soon or late I will be forgotten, there's no further pass in this Impasse...
and when they recall memories of me, with only a Sigh, they'll Pass...
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 7:27 AM UTC
Those moments where you feel like time and whatever makes up that infinite momentum is suspended.
The whispers and loud susurrations of the world fall into silence and that the only sounds that permeate your soul and ears are the breaths between you and I.
Yes, this is no exception.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
"when you cannot sleep at night,
you are in someone else's dream"
how many hours shall descend
bringing in a cavalcade
of dim twilight's press
on the soft, aqueous levitation of body?
is this liminality's gradual
hand nailing me
into flesh and stirring
me out of this oceanic crawl
when all you have ever
done was sleep me away
and tell me
of these
susurrations of soul?
i have no answer to
this solitary condition -
say, taking you by the hand
and somnambule in cosmic field
of no thought's ethereal working,
or as in playthings are freely
laughing behind whose hair
flails without a face, i wonder
which beauty holds true,
my wide wakefulness,
like the only key pursuant
to its inimitable hole.
i am infinite in someone's
thinking, who dare not
say something,
who daunts back to breathless
consoles, and springs back
dizzy with a gyro of questions,
i am all hunted answers but
where
is the votive voice
that searches me?
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
Bells chime.
The world is a pale imposter of itself,
gray in the moonlight,
but not indifferent.
Coy perhaps, complicit.
In league with me, perhaps.
The paper birch trees shuffle aside,
in line like ghostly sentinels,
and the briars curl back in black swarthy masses
to clear a path,
mumbling a song in their old forgotten language,
each leaning toward me, toward my house,
pointing the way.
A faint glimmer, light ahead,
yes, the warm glow of firelight
beneath the moss and stone of the highland hills.
Distant laughter, the ***** of glasses and
bell chimes.
The susurrations of the nighttime grasses
whisper in time with the tunes of my fiddlers;
they know the songs of my blood, my bones.
Come to my house in the hills – yes, you must come!
We will dance as the swallows do,
as the daisies do when the winds blow,
and watch the walls and faces
blur into one another as we spin round and round,
swapping faces, swapping bodies.
The other guests wear garments of wanderlust and daring,
and their dance is one of flame and dust.
Come!
Dance within my house,
between walls of polished ivory
and a ceiling studded with pearls and diamonds
and the teeth of extinct animals.
Come!
We are free here:
free to forget,
free to deny.
Free, at last, to revel in the revelry
and be as unwise as it pleases us to be.
Here is a place where wisdom
is useless and none
will accuse you of sensible conduct.
And after,
when the sunlight tosses me back into the ocean
and hauls you out
dream of me.
Nov 26, 2019
Nov 26, 2019 at 8:32 PM UTC
your immensely spread parasol:
it is your downpour consoling
these tumultuous iterations.
the mordant edge of your
susurrations:
it is your word painting my silence.
i have watched your slow fires
raze the inundation.
you have done it well
without trouble
without peril.
i have witnessed your
somnambular sun
mutilate with its precise dagger,
the stubborn bud of
contained splendor.
you have done it well
without blunder
without complication.
i have seen the conception
of your darknesses
and i took them as my own;
its sovereign over my
fragilities,
its tyranny over my
small territories,
its amplitude over the
softness of my voice.
i have done it well.
even with dire postulations.
even if i am
cast into a lulled out perdition.
it is like
there exists between us,
a tryst,
and the lions there lay,
roaring.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
whenever the silences
fall on our supple bodies,
it is as if we are strangers.
now that i am coming home to you,
the memories make the evenings
longer, stretching them to their
capacities.
when we are lulled out
in the surge of the next moment,
our eyes pull us back to
each other's arms as we struggle
to make collision. whenever a bendable luminary lifts to light your face in utter calmness, many stories ache to be told and now, once more,
i hurry home to the warmth
of your hearth,
tender with the conflagrations
of my heart's tillage
and all the aggregations and their accompanying pains,
i have voluminous stories to
still in your ears. these intimate susurrations.
will you listen?
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
Choose your own adventure
Make your own imprint
To some I am a warning
To others I’m a hint
I am an innuendo
An oblique shaded tint
I’m exactly the kind of thing
That makes you bite your lip
I am constant happening
Susurrations in the breeze
Prodding notions raw emotions
To see what you believe
I am chance. Care to take one?
Do you like the odds?
I’m a clue. Care to buy one?
To pull back my facade
I’m a coin. Care to flip me?
Is it heads or is it tails?
I am choice. Care to make one?
Which of these two trails?
A wink, a tinge, felt on the fringe
Like cobwebs in the woods
I’m an omen still unchosen
Am I bad or am I good?
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
Intent is always blotted
by leaking speech:
words stray from their purpose
like star-bellied clouds
that stumble and fall
into a coffee cup,
burning with morning:
a wet mirror face.
The gutters murmur
with yellow leaf heads,
a branch escapes
from the wood (unwillingly?)
& the morning vaults
over the white creek.
I'm here, I'm here,
the rain is saying -
it stalks me home
after the concert.
Nov 15, 2022
Nov 15, 2022 at 9:18 AM UTC