"tempermental" poems
365Nectar #46 The High Priestess of Soul
Fri. November 8, 2013 10:38 P.M.
Deep in the distance
dancing upon the horizon
a deeply distinctive voice
defies definition
bending genres to her will
clearly breaking boundaries
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Little Girl Blue
lettin' it all out
with a wild as the wind
Sinner man
just tryin' to feel good
absolutely refusing to be misunderstood
a strong-willed priestess turns tempermental tunes
into blazing beautiful harmony
putting a revolutionary spell on you
belting emotional songs of freedom and spirit
Peace of Heart
Nectar of Truth
just in time
to do what you do...
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues.
Born to a preacher handyman
and housemaid minister
a gospel pop fusion diva
emerges from the Glory of Love
a strange volatile fruit
blossoms into young, gifted, and Black
spitting storms of spiritually smoldering Black Gold
from a silky soul
that scorches the earth
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Masterfully mesmerizing
Black rock
Blood
and Candlesmoke
a fiery flow of
tangy, tantalizing and titillating
under a fog of duality
genius bears two heads
vibrant and intricate
a saucy songstress swings with passion and honesty
an empowered diva
breaks down and let's it all out
just energetic expressive jazz
injected with well composed folklore
live at Ronnie Scotts
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
From Newport to Baltimore
an exiled priestess feeds forbidden fruit
and hypnotizes the masses
with tantalizing love me or leave me alone torch songs
a powerful
Four Women
high on Lilac Wine
blush from Broadway Blues Ballads
in Baltimore
See-line woman
goes to hell
to save Little Liza Jane
and shelters in Barbados
Cotton-eyed Joe feeds
Brown Baby controversy
behind Blue Prelude
Did it move you?
Yeah...
Hell yeah.. it moved me too!
Mr. Bojangles wave bye bye to a Blackbird
in chilly winds that don't blow
while willows weep something seemingly
symbolic of soothing
to an African mailman in Central Park
and an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
The High Priestess of Soul
caged but still singing
shivering sensations
from stubborn sweetness
under sweet strings
that sharply spill and scatter strength
to the sorrowful
that daily dine and devour
silky, soulful, and spicy
Pastel Blues.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
Smile.
I miss always being behind one,
But I'm too tempermental by the things you say to me,
There's always another happiness to **** time,
And I'm convinced you can't bite your tongue,
But you just as easily bit mine.
Lay down, think of silly things, and feel seventeen,
Stop moving and don't breathe, it's so serene,
For all we know we were built to last,
But I'm the only one to acknowledge that,
I wouldn't hurt so often if I didn't mean it,
But those words are as tender as the scars on your wrists.
Unpredictable.
You ask, "Will my car drive today?"
My reply, "I don't know. Will my heart die today?"
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 2:18 AM UTC
365Nectar #42 Don't Be Judging Me
Mon. November 4, 2013 8:26 P.M.
Volcanic velvet voices
vibrate the night
like thunder in the distance.
Booming Bassmen
blaze and burn
like ****** fire on a dark corner
in the dingiest part
of a rumbling city that never sleeps.
Sensual saxophones shudder
singing prayers of saints and sinners
while hot horns hypnotize
in perfect high compression swirls
tithing in the holy temple
of Jazzy Blues.
An alluring flutter
of silken harmonies.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
Scorching strings splinter
melancholy prison walls.
Stomping out a seismic sizzle
tempermental tones of
tickling trumpets
torch the menacing hurricanes of life
with warm rushes of excitement.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
"Take Me" Vixens tantalize
tucked up crowds
with thrilling tongue lashes
of silken harmonies.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
Full flaring flutes
gently ****** with inquisitive fingers
and stir a groan
like a religious ritual.
A playful teasing
floating enticingly
like a sly fox.
Such a succulent piercing
of moonstruck madness
pulsing mercilessly
leaving fields of fire
of a funky boogie menace
for a wild child.
An alluring flutter
of silken harmonies.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
Copyright ©2013 Don't Be Judging Me
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
At times, the silence
feels as oppressive
as tar,
and just as dark.
When the family
members are gone,
be it to school or work
or wherever,
I take the opportunity
to let her out;
the little girl with
all the scars,
who lives inside…
of the walls,
in between the halls
of my very being.
She cautiously walks along,
quietly,
and finds her spot
among the shadows.
There, she can
taste her fears,
and cry her tears…
with no one the wiser,
no witness to be found,
except the very
walls and halls,
but they can hold
a secret,
or a confession,
with the utmost
discretion.
Standing at a distance,
I allow her her space…
space for expression,
respite from depression,
safety from oppression,
room for regression.
The clock keeps ticking;
it never slows or stops.
She knows the hour
will come for her to,
once again,
return to the place
in which only she
resides,
inside.
Holding on
(for dear life),
till the next chance
she’ll come out,
once again,
for an ever needed
escape
from the tempermental
holds of our
Reality.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 29 Jan 15
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
Thin music played as we danced uneven
circles around tempermental light flickering,
a bonfire built lopsided in the metal bowl--
you handed me a glow-stick then broke yours,
shaking the torn end so the liquid spattered
your hair, head, shoulders, and the grass,
dew-wet around your mud-stained sneakers.
You reflected the constellations overhead--
mirrored as they were in your backyard pond
when we went night-swimming with silver
fish ******* on our toes. We spent the night
discussing first impressions and each other--
you admitted I was your kind of person
even though I thought you were weird,
too short a boy with too high a voice.
I soon learned you were a hurricane tied down,
and you convinced me I had not once been less
than spilled starlight--that’s why my skin
glowed beneath fluorescent lighting, untouched
by the sun’s aggression burning freckles,
cosmic dust dappling my nose and cheeks.
You said: “It’s always been the way of man,
born as living mirrors for nature to see itself.”
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
Mother Nature
that wise woman
threw a storm the other day.
It nearly took out Florida
with its raging rains and
tempestous winds.
She's been a bit tempermental of late,
what with the radiation pouring out of Japan,
the plastic clogging the Northern Gyre.
Coral reefs dying off are really
rocking her boat. The rising carbon dioxide's making her itchy,
just look at how she's growing that poison ivy now.
Monarchs are starving.
Bats are dying off with the sniffles.
She's **** near had enough.
Makes me tremble in my boots,
just thinking what she is truly capable of
if she decides enough IS enough....
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
like the clown said to the boy-i’ll show you how to float
of euphoria-we’ll wear the coat
and we will. i’ll caress your lips and cary you high
you’ll be looking down at the stars; not up; the emptiness will terrify
we will swim through the clarity
and dance in the serenity
we’ve probably got an addiction
because the highs unsafe; causing the tempermental fear of friction
i promise you one thing. we will never come down.
keep snorting untill you feel the crown
the crown of heaven, the call to angels. i pray we’ll never fall
but we will, we will, we will. never forget how it feels to withdrawl
promises broken and dead cells cover the mind
we’ve fell, we’ve fell so far. it’s hard to leave something like this behind
it lingers-destroys us-suicidal thoughts arrive
can we feel it? i don't think we're going to survive
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
When and where,
Did I start following your star?
A thousand lightyears ago?
A lighthouse, a beacon,
Through densities of dark-matter,
Shining so brilliantly through eons and epics,
Calling me to explore early explosions,
And beginnings of time,
Golden light reaches me,
Faith and speculation abound,
Dynamic and static this knowledge,
Cold steel anvils crushing hard against burning and fiery tempermental vestments,
Wearing proudly this armor and adoration of you,
Like many who've come before,
I am the King,
At least this time...
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
Searing flames ignite a volcanic
inferno of need.
Sanguine licks of fire
consume tempermental flesh.
Fierce, sizzling desire bows
to wanton pleasure.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 10:13 PM UTC
As the tempermental moods
Of March dissapear
The torrential rains
Of April reappear
May will gladly gift us
With buds and blooms to adore
While June and July showers us
With sunshine galore
August and September promises
Us with the many colors of Fall
While October tries to scare us
Asking ghosts and goblins to call
With November comes endless thanks
For all the love and smiles year long
And now finally December
Christmas cheer to all
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 1:04 AM UTC
The heart,
It pumps and flows blood throughout the body.
Like a river that flows throught the land.
However, the heart is something bigger.
It pumps emotion through the mind and soul.
It triggers the senses more than any object can.
It's tempermental, sentimental, and mainly pure.
The object is not to make it stop, but push it.
The heart was meant to love.
With love, the heart does everything a lot better.
It flutters, keeping a person healthier.
But the loss of love slows the heart.
It creates a pain that cannot be matched.
Searing, tearing, burning, clawing.
A major flaw in the emotional struggle to separate soul and body.
To separate perception and reality.
Love mirrors the line, and makes the heart it's prisoner.
When you give your heart to someone, you risk more than feeling.
You risk health.
Why would someone want to risk all of this for such a trivial concept.
Because love is the most beautiful thing in the world.
It has solved more problems than any vaccine.
It has peformed more miracles than any God or messiah.
The risk is always worth the reward.
Your heart will be in pain when it fails, but it will always heal.
Emotionally speaking of course, physically if it fails you will die.
But in death, emotion takes true form.
Love is shown where it was once hidden.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 10:42 PM UTC
Violent, relentless, murderous destroyer.
You sweep so many prisoners into your wrath.
Yet you shimmer and rock and sway us to sleep.
You destroy all that rests in your path.
But our secrets you keep.
When angered, we are swallowed by your wake.
When calm, you can lull any heartache.
How tempermental you can be--
I am left in awe of your beauty.
Divine, mysterious, majestic lover--the sea.
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
You’re as tempermental as the thermostat
in my grandfather’s farmhouse,
always bouncing between freezing and scorching,
even when it’s a steady temperature outside.
You’re working on that.
You’ve never been in love,
but you told me you would be
as soon as I let you kiss my scars,
and promise there would be no new ones.
I’m working on that, too.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
I'm not searching
For a rental,
Something less
Than tempermental.
She doesn't need
To be a model,
Yet should react
To the throttle
When I press
The pedal.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
Life is a very tempermental thing,
fragile in its being and lovely in its small moments of joy.
A game of give and take,
that stretches but never breaks.
No one is perfect, no one endures,
that does not tire once in a long while.
Forgiveness is a true friend,
sometimes difficult to find among the ***** combat fires.
But She is there. She is always there, waiting.
Every person that touches life, has theirs touched as well.
And how sad an untouched life would be.
An empty canvas, dreary and bitter in the sunshine of others.
Life is no stroll in the park, through gentle breezes and warm summer flowers.
Life travels in four seasons, not one has been skipped.
And so peace is found in the beginning and the end.
All must be endured.
Those who grab life by the hand with a smile,
are the ones who may truly experience all there is to offer.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
Funny how we speak of humanity
But consistently forget what it meant to be all human
We forget the beauty of our imperfections
We forget the real definition of individuality, far too busy pondering over competitions; a comparative analysis of class
We forget what miracle we could've made happen..
If only we could all just fothermucking ditch the dodgamned hate
Funny... hilarious...
How WE boast of humanity, hearts screaming with pride
But tis mother nature's tireless tempermental embrace..
Without fail, reminds us of our forgottens;
OUR capability to unconditional love
To create, to cultivate
Reflect and Regulate
We can cause, We ****** well can change
Test the waters
Break
Mend
Govern
To evolve
Let's not forget our vulnerability as individuals
Our distinctive attributes
The Power we'd obtain as ONE
Integration over Segregation
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 4:38 AM UTC
Her love is April,
April thunder storms,
So in May the flowers bloom,
And everyday grows a little bit warmer
Her tempermental,
Her tempestuous,
As the spring melts the snow and ice;
Her smile a sun
Her heart, her words
Are singing birds,
Greeting the end of winter,
And welcoming me back to life
Her love is april
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
There "r" no short cuts
Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness are the fruits of compassion and engagement
Respectable communities
Where ethnicity, gender, age and status are never givens
Tenebrous,tainted, toxic, ******
Tyrannical, taut, tackless, tumultutous,
Thoughtless,titulary, tempermental, trivial, troubled
No Donald,
America will not be *******
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
I wish I hadn't had it.
But I held it
It was magic.
I have and held magic
And now I hate,
and hate myself.
Felted in my own fabric
Of moldy fuzz and filth
Is a tapestry of life so tragic
built on edges of forged hilts.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 9:58 PM UTC