"twighlight" poems
The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of the twighlight
that revolves around you.
Speechless, my friend,
alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead
and filled with the lives of fire,
pure heir of the ruined day.
A bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment.
The great roots of night
grow suddenly from your soul,
and the things that hide in you come out again
so that a blue and palled people
your newly born, takes nourishment.
Oh magnificent and fecund and magnetic slave
of the circle that moves in turn through black and gold:
rise, lead and possess a creation
so rich in life that its flowers perish
and it is full of sadness.
35.2k
Leaves crackle as she slowly steps
She enters the glade, her magic she preps
She listens for the sound, first soft then strong,
This music is the Faerie Song
A smile creeps onto her face
As she observes the spider weaving her lace
This creature trims the gowns of Dryads
The velvity green of summer they add
The wind blows and they bow their respect
Their rustling applause goes unchecked
She pauses by one revered, acient tree's heath
And pats the small fawn resting beneath
On she glides, though the mists of twighlight
For ahead she sees a scene so bright
Dancing 'round an enchanted flame
Are the Faerie people, frolicking without shame
She steps into the light and all goes still
She throws back her hood that kept out the chill
The Fair Folk all bow as their clothes they brush clean,
"Welcome home, Fair Lady, our own gentle Queen!"
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
11:11
Praying you’re okay
Wishing I was there next to you
Wishing I could tuck u in bed and tell you everything is alright
Wishing I could kiss you
Wishing I could see ur beautiful smiles come to live
Wishing u all the happiness in life
Wishing you would stay with me forever
Wishing to see ur beautiful face
Wishing to taste ur smile
And state into ur eyes
Wishing I could wipe ur tears
When u don’t feel alright
Wishing my days
Where with u
And the nights
Wishing us a tomorrow
Filled with lights
Wishing all the tears away all the time
Wishing us a house
With both of us inside
Me hugging u tight
And us watching the sun at twighlight
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 3:22 PM UTC
In youth I danced for druids
I twirled in twighlight haze
tinkling bells adorned my feet
and magic filled my days.
My skirts flowed softly outwards,
as I spun between the stones
the wisdom of all women,
as the drumming shook my bones.
I danced my steps with passion
my joyful limbs took flight
as the flames rose ever higher
sending sparks into the night.
Then when the dance was over
and my offering was done,
we sat and praised the solstice
with the coming of the sun.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
Poems are born and given
names like people are don't they?
vested with special brainy wings right? then ejected!
as if birthing slides
help push them through
a cyber time machine
computerized world
poems seem to travel
as in rockets to space
yes that fast!!
Others ballooned by air
in baskets moved slowlier
or in simple rainbow sorted
balloon batches and
then gone with the wind!
inflated by helium air
initials inscribed on each
from the parent poet or poetess
"A lot more happens
to poems"
Lucky few reposted by the
holy sages of H.P
a few more seem air lifted in
an eye blink secluded in mysterious arenas
Jack in the box boxes!
private uncirculated rooms
there reveared?
All poems in my world
seem firstly inspected by
the same compassionate
doctor, few masked Knights
powerful mystery kings
birds of song, purring cats
even angry dogs all sorts
same crafty nurses seem
to eagerly revise
their parchment scrolls
and from there nothing
is heard of these
baby boomer poems
or if ever are read by others again who can tell? It's unclear unless a fee is paid
its like having children
really isnt't it?
that must be sent away as in
time machine missions once named treasured revised
adored then freedoms grant'd
some poems will make it explored reapearing loved reposted moving priceless!
other poems perish
by green with envy
other muses hubbering
curiously around
lizards wizards snakes
all sorts.
Poems seem to travel
dead silent through
a cyber mirror
Twilight Zone
~~~~~~~~
By:Karijinbba.
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 11:28 AM UTC
One Man Woman I am!
who can my will bend?
My ancient Rickpt is married
He froze ON me, in shame I weep!
I exist only as buried loot in his
memory chip a known fool.
An awakening in my mine.
My true North king he was.
I remember him well.
A new identical lover
Is cradled in the fabric
of Indian space for me,
between yearning voids.
and virtual true love in poem,
our grace reads true. our enemy
snare titens
Distance norrows.
Single flower pollinator
Virtual jaanam prēmī
My shame is iced blue.
Let thine ink flow
to paint my loner gates light
and end my bitter mourning.
at zone, Twighlight.
Spill thine heart my friend
to mary golds own woods.
Write thy verse clear
sōja prēmī soojan premee
~~~~
Rich-Rdd fair well beloved.
I so wish you well.
~~~~~
By Karijinbba.
7595/7-21
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 11:03 PM UTC
So we met in middle school
Feeling oh so awkward
Both of us alone and not "cool"
Not knowing the future we walked toward
Each time we meet
It's like I'm playing a guessing game
The sound of your voice is so sweet
Each time I'm hoping nothing's the same
So we burn in the sun
And talk together at night
Reading the clouds never seemed so fun
Falling asleep until twighlight
Shared whispers
Cracking jokes
Walking along the beach shores
I feel like my love is a hoax
Each time we meet
It's like I'm playing a guessing game
The sound of your voice is so sweet
Each time I'm hoping nothing will change
Then one night, after you get home
I tell you my feelings
For me it's a guessing game,
But you say, "I'm with another guy."
I'm always playing a guessing game
A guessing game, guessing game,
A guessing game!
Guessing the feelings of the world...
Each new day brings a new guessing game.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
Boundaries
Everyone knocks
Most times with confusion
Elusive goats
Standby
Radio in, and call your thermometer
True forgiveness is a place unstitched
Endearment is a soulless palace
Like a white painted cornea
A phrase sometimes catches fire in the twighlight
Sparking madness
Spinning circles
What a drunk.
Slipping on his bathroom floor
Babbling nursery rhymes
Crying, crying, crying.
why don't tall dark trees read to us anymore?
Oh that's right, we won't stop skinning them.
We like it
when they scream.
When they bleed
When they nudge themselves over from exhaust-full pain.
What a sore
What a ******* fairy tale
What a joke.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
placed on the counter a letter of acceptance, for my brother, who I suspect my mother favors
a letter which I've already had, which is now in the past, and now it is his turn to take a chance
and I sit and ponder, with my wine, after showing...spite, in spite of myself
hating myself for not speaking highly of him, confused about how it is I can emerge, knowing that there is something inside of me burning, but the energy does not run on love alone, no, I rely on their support
bothered, hopeless, a prince, nothing is my own, the son of PHD's, working everyday, heavily, work as a way of life, climbing fossilized into the very spirit, the bone, the bone, the bone, to pursue or to desire something other than the hardest of work is frightening, is unknown,
an artist supported by business, working in tandem for years, perhaps the two couldn't work without each other, art in its arrogance and business in its modesty, or perhaps the other way around,
even a site called hello poetry, what of its business? I am not sure, what of its profits? not a clue, they could be benefitting off of every word I write, but I depend on their site to project my bits, my uselasssfullglossful sentiments, with notes at the end that gives one an opportunity to be fabulous
fabulous, fabulousness, entry, entress, prince, looking up at the twighlight, rescued by nothing, a rebel with something to lose, a bourgeois without room for entitlement, entitlement being the reward of bourgeois, or perhaps education alone, I can be grateful for
which brings me back to that acceptance letter, and my feelings of spite, then I spat, and I want to confess tonight, that I regret that
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 2:41 AM UTC
We all know the sting of grief
the burden of strife
The caress of relief
We all have felt the coldness of winters;
breathed in the blossoms of springs
Some, the lucky, linger till they've had their fill of moonlight
Others take their leave, bowing out long before twighlight
This is life, there is no sorrow or glee
It's not beautiful it's not ugly, c'est justement la vie
So stay with me for as long as you have the chance
We'll stay drunken on Joy and dance,
Some good wine and romance!
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 5:07 AM UTC
THE TWIGHLIGHT SERENADE
BRINGS A DAY FULL
OF THE SOUNDS OF LIFE
WAITING TO BEGIN ANOTHER DAY
THE BIRDS IN THE TREES
SINGING SWEET MELODIES
GIVING RISE TO A DAY
WHERE LIFE WILL GIVE US
JOYS ABOUNDING
THE DAWN IN ALL IT'S SPLENDOR
BREAKS WITH IT AWE AND WONDER
A NEW DAY BEGINS
AND ALL IT'S CHOICES
WE BEGIN TO FACE TOGETHER
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 2:43 PM UTC