"tesserae" poems
*On canvas of sand
Their bloods were painted
Adorning the earth
With breathtaking mosaic
Of dead bodies and debris
A tesserae of destruction
Tis the devil's masterpiece
Devastating, but beautiful!*
© Raphael Uzor
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
To write a line which
Sits upon the page
Like a well set stone
Is hard.
And yet they come when
Least you think they might;
Forming in the mind
Like pearls
The smaller words which
Fit like tesserae,
Snug within their place,
Are best.
Polysyllables.
As that which sprawls above;
Bear no close study,
Tempters.
They'll not improve or
Save a clumsy line.
I've tried that trick
And failed.
The pleasure's that of
Craft - from pieces make
A new thing - to shape
And fit.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
I fall a little in love with anyone who shows me their broken soul,
I get stuck on their flaws,
The rawness of their unguarded honesty in this guarded world.
I myself am broken – the realization and admission of it has set me free.
Free to see myself in pieces, free to recraft myself, free to love myself.
I know a man that says he’s broken,
I spend my days listening to his beautifully spoken, voiceless, sad words.
But my God when I look at that man all I can do is smile.
Somehow I’ll get through to your tangled messy brain that your pieces are mesmerizing,
That every piece is full of potential and breathtaking.
We’re mosaics crafted by our 2 am talks when were tired as hell,
A paradox of purity and sin - a cracked diamond; a perfect flaw.
The truth is we are both forever alone people.
But maybe I like you more when you’re half asleep in my bed.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
Like a road around a corner
never disappearing Michigan old
glory eugenics for German laws
Thirties’ ezratics racialist
limpieza de sangre, Velazquez
awaiting ennoblement, Ezra hound
reads Italian translation, 1940
Mia Battaglia kleine mein
stumpf, o sweet Alabama
his small light
utterly
erased, obliterated, negated
Cruel hygiene unmixed
hieratic Idaho’s
small pebbles, turquoise
tesserae, Roman, Babylonian,
and them Assyrian archers
Ever unstill Ixion ever turning
Re: Canto CXIII
2017.11.12.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
I see you
In some flickering byzantine light.
You smile without pretence
And your tesserae image
Eclipses the others
Inspiring a sense of wonder.
If the light should cease
And you to please
Hold out your hand to me
For too much life have I, my love
My strength would I share with thee.
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 2:39 AM UTC