"untarnished" poems
precious innocent soul
skipping rocks
on cobblestone roads
vulnerable untarnished pure
no residue of earthly soil
return me to that naiveté
unburdened by layers
of fake masks
and perfect capped teeth
in narcissistic societies
but I shan’t grasp
at ethereal edges
of nebulousness
and ephemeral
innocence
i shall endure
what I abhor
a master’s soul
cannot be forged
in paradise
wisdom’s essence
‘tis not pristine white
hints of ivory
tinge the effervescence
of the sage’s breath
©2016janetaylor
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
In your vision you are the only thing with bloodshot eyes.
You always wear a robe
that speaks seven languages... and a bank of fog is at your feet
nipping at your naked heel.
In your vision you remember how your arms feel in sunshine.
It is intense.
Your can-opener is hissing an etude
that alludes to wise men...
who bathe in miracles
and roam the world,
untarnished in Poverty.
Your can-opener whispers in hush tones
about barbarians at the gate. And they say
' they've come for the Linen ! '
You are not deceived.
In your vision you are the only thing that can backward engineer
a Universe.
On your way back to the homeland of your algebra
you hesitate. “ you may have left your keys in your Other Robe...”
The Robe that hallucinates constantly~ Carrying on about
' The dire consequences of leaving terrycloth alone with the keys '
and, afflicted with Prophesy Tourettes
the piteous tide of doom ' sayeth the robe '
you must suffer.
In your vision, you are the only one
looking for the keys.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 5:09 PM UTC
Captivated...
My thoughts,
you take hold of them.
I replay every moment we spend in my head.
In my mind you become that film from childhood,
filled with nostalgia and comfort.
Captivated...
My words,
if only I could find them,
I would save the sweetest for you.
Liberated...
My soul,
flowing like a brook in the summer,
you dip your toes in the stream.
I feel your presence,
and it fills me with vigor.
Liberated...
My feelings
They are now free,
free to run,
free to fly away,
to find new pastures,
Yet instead they lie next to you,
slumbering, entranced in your peace.
Forgotten...
My past,
a torn apart ship drowned in the ocean,
suddenly becomes forgotten.
Ancient hurts and ancient pains,
the wounds become fresh again,
and they become healed.
My doubts,
tearing, fighting, screaming at me.
They demand my attention.
Now their voice is lost.
Yours I hear instead,
and it calls me,
reminding me of a future,
cemented in trust.
Loved
It's a feeling,
a thought,
an emotion,
untanglible,
untarnished and true.
And now, at last,
I've found it in you.
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:50 PM UTC
i had a dream
i was flying
in the arms
of this grande old kite
and we drifted through canyons
and across flowered fields
over endless pastures
and restless seas
i looked down
somewhere near
the haldimand half-point
and saw friends
and patrons
smiling
while the busy keepers
of oasis
were singing
and loosening their vowels
familiar faces
were everywhere
and it was warm
and serene
they were charting courses
and building dreams
laying praise
untarnished by imposing views
and as much as i tried
i couldn’t express my gratitude
when i woke
i was lying
with an angel
at my back
whose eyes
were wide
and blue
and her words came crystal clear;
kindness will not be sold
and as i turned
to reach her hand
the rain had gathered
and washed away
a stain
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
Are you misunderstod?
You are misunderstood!
Are you misunderstood?
You are spiritually touched, in tune with oneself,
yours roots are solid for which you still call.
Are you misunderstood by others, by many, not all?
Why then hide behind a persona as she walks before you?
Hurry up, catch up...
becoming closer to within, almost connected, an old friend, soon to be whole, a reunited soul.
Are you misunderstood?
You are very powerful, more powerful perhaps than even you may realise,
restrained slightly by anquish, may civil unrest be put to sleep, may the cracks reside.
You are misunderstood?
Though as you have seen, tainted through life your heart is pure,
untarnished as it always has been but there,
like an invisible curse,
for it is just your mind ie, other peoples minds in which your aura walks first.
Are you misunderstood?
You are only now becoming who you are, who you already are,
who you have always been, who you were always meant to be,
dont you see, free, free of tense,
free from any external force bearing influence.
For right now, you are not misunderstood!
For right now, you are the most important woman in the world,
yet in the same breath you are irrelevant and not the most important woman in the world
Your desires and aspirations now second, instinctively, to your child and your world.
They are now your universe, the flower in your palm,
May you blossom together, forever, as one.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and loneliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees, those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough falls to where the electric line banishes, connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 9:02 AM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and lonliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees,those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough delving where the electric line banishes,connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
Across
mountain
peaks
like
the
spikes
of your
hair
my fingers
brush,
careening off
glaciers
and sliding
down hidden
slopes.
Curved and
crossed
as the bones
in your spine,
smooth
and
strong
like
the
gliding
wings
of
a hawk.
The tawny-colored
feathers
echoed
in each
iris.
A look,
haunting.
Chills
and
weightlessness
invade
my body
curled
next
to yours
in perfect
sync
to your
heartbeat.
Where
waterfalls
overflow
our emotions
capsizing
our lonely
individual
vessels
amid galaxies
colliding
each
other
on a
spiraling
journey
of
passion.
The heat.
Bronzer
than the
sun in
Summer.
My love.
My moon
and
my stars.
My one
and
only.
Just
two
out-there
planets
together
forever.
Undiscovered,
untarnished,
undefiled
by humanity.
A secret whisper
from
the
nebulas…
*I
love
you….*
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
Untarnished snowflake
resting gently upon my knee
Symmetrical, unique
Floated gently there, as if
Aware of its transience.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
She was a child once.
Eyes wide and sparkling with hopes and dreams untarnished.
An entire future stretching out before her.
She saw the world through a kaleidoscope,
A beautiful mess of endless neon colors,
Untouched by darkness and disappointment.
Pain was temporary; A scraped knee, a paper-cut.
Band-aids could heal every injury.
Her smile was a permanent fixture of sincerity,
Radiating happiness. A gaze full of inquisitive wonder.
When she lay her head down at night,
Her chest was not heavy with worries and cares.
Her mind was not filled with the ghosts of her past.
Sleep came easily, a quilt of comforting warmth enveloping her,
Sweeping her away to the land of dreams.
Blissful in her ignorance she lived, unaware that one day,
The monsters under her bed would make a home inside her head.
That her heart would fracture and die.
That the world she had known was a lie.
She wasted all her wishes wanting to be older,
Age was overrated, but nobody told her.
At 8 she was so innocent, at 10 she was just fine,
13 was disillusionment, the start of her decline.
At 15 she was in High School, they told her, "be mature".
Society screamed conformity, now she was insecure.
At 16 she was lonely, desperation took its hold.
Love slipped through her fingers like drops of liquid gold.
Now, at 17, she's stuck in a recession.
She thought the therapy had dispelled her depression.
She looks in the mirror and despises her reflection,
She is bent, bruised and broken, a mess of imperfection.
Past mistakes, her tormenters, they tear her apart.
Her body, a cage, imprisons her heart.
Each breath is a burden as she lay in bed.
She can't sleep at night, theres a war inside her head.
No one ever told her the price of growing older.
They never said she'd have
A crushing weight put on her shoulders.
Suffocating in this life, poisoned at her core,
Once she was a child,
A child she is no more.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
*If I seem distant it's
because I am.
I abandon this city
like rain down gutters
trying to get back
to a home, a field, a shore,
no traffic, no smoke
where air is pure
& lungs breathe deep,
in a rhythm
untarnished by
tarmac & brick;
modernity's grip
that looks for life
& buries it, forgets
Earth has a pulse
a heart that beats
beneath us.*
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Passing through thick and thin, only
To be brought back to a far-off cry.
Don’t worry, this shall pass with time.
It flies fast with life’s distractions nearby.
Taking flight on tattered wings—
How sweet, the angels sing in harmony.
Their songs we will never know, so pure.
Untarnished in their world untouched.
Disconnected, wires and airwaves on fire.
A teardrop now unknown to cold souls,
It is easy to succumb to the robotic routine,
Life’s expectations drill us to our cores, unseen.
The touch of a hand is becoming
A cumbersome and time-consuming task,
A soft kiss no longer holds much meaning
In this plastic, pornographic societal wet dream,
We live in.
One day, will true love be a myth as
Onlookers sit and view a big screen
Unable to comprehend what it means?
To hold someone close, hearts beating deep.
Curtains close, black-sky-lined entertainment,
As they drive home to all the world’s last diamonds,
Embedded stones and gold of the earth,
Resources completely depleted.
Synthetic. Material. Superficial. Pasted. Plastered.
Artificial. Numb. Cold. Materialistic. Empty.
Words whisper throughout the day,
As if a shield and armor bringing about
A spiritual message through a voyage
Speaking to a place that feels so real,
Untouched like a firefly let go from
A glass jar meant to climb high to heaven.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:36 AM UTC
~~
**Dialogue and Oratory Between
SPT and Nat:**
~
***At the Intersection of
Perfection & Beauty,
By Blue Candlight***
~~~
come let us by and by,
soon meet,
under blue moon candle lit sky,
at this worthy intersection of
beauty and perfection,
be together,
contained,
yet unconstrained
let us speak of what
we see and sense,
come to come
to know,
of what does not appear
in this world easy readily,
what lies between
two points,
sharing,
needy of,
crossing destination revelations
*It's said of beauty,
once uncovered and
gazed upon whole,
be visible only at the
bottom of the bin of the
picked-threw,
it was here, where, perfection
once was lost
and may yet now be found,
where souls,
singled and singed,
seek to find of,
the perfection lost,
the untarnished beauty
within ones self
from the meadow can be seen
The Field Where Wonderment Grows,
wild is the bounty of colored beauty
then
and only there,
can oan one,
locate, judge and
accept
what never departs
a self*
at the road'meeting point,
at our time and place
appointed,
arrived but come
disappointed,
crossed and creased
by the journeys
travels and travails,
burnt blind,
eyes by life's headwinds,
singled and singed,
and the mind disbelieves, doubts,
the existence verily,
of the locale,
beauty & perfection
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
It is true that
The hyacinth flowers on the hill
Will be trampled and muddied
By the calloused, bare feet of all who tread there
Until they are dead and rotted
But I ask you to find a place
Where the streams flow rapidly,
Harsh and unforgiving,
Dangerous enough so that no man will dare cross,
No hand may pluck you from the ground
And grow there.
Next to the water of the stream,
In the midst of all else good and holy,
Safe from the reaches of men,
You will grow,
Bright purple and untarnished,
Stunning in your own right
And I will walk the dead hill,
I will try and brave the harsh waters,
If only to see you with my own eyes.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
She hides in pockets of flesh in my gums
I can taste her in the morning when I spit
at night I can feel her swimming in an ocean of mouthwash
In sleep she oozes onto my pillow
moistening the dusty fabric under my cheek
When shes really playful
she will wiggle herself into my cerebellum
and dance furiously with my dreams
or gently sing lullabies when my heart wont let me sleep
when the world and its filth have commandeered my hope
she is there to brush away the dirt with untarnished hands
she is my religion she is my ******
without her I am sick
a smoldering heat of black matter and fungi
she is antibacterial soap on my soul
Lysol wipes to my tarred lungs
with one whiff I am cleansed of debris
she saturates the oxygen in my blood
she resides in my abdomen
I can feel her in my kidneys.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 5:08 PM UTC
*He is
My Azure Dreambird,
(The Sovereign of Songbirds)
That soars upon
Skies of Resonance.
His sapphire wings
Weightless by valor,
Hallowed every doubt
That
Cursed my shadow
Until credence reigned.
He is
The Musicality of my Soul,
That I climbed as
A stairway
Into
Gates of Aether
Upon
Porcelain keys
Of an impearled
Grand Piano.
His sound emittance
Ascended in frequency until
Pitch became subliminal
For height
ceased to be
Height,
And depth,
Ceased to be
Depth,
It was
Ineffable harmony
And resolution became effortless
With
The touch of his hand.
He is
The Wings of the Dawn,
A Sweeping Rapture
That raised
Me
Beyond the stratosphere
Until graced by
Untarnished embrace
Of the Baptistery of the Sun.
I burst
From Light’s Intemerate Womb,
Renewed and
Gazed upon Terraqueous Gaia
Then for once,
(Yes, for all eternity)
Succumbed to
Faith in the Transcendence
Of his tender affections.
Woe was existence
Before His lightwaves radiated
Within my heart,
For when I purged my pulse
Of that quaking rhythm
And
Hollow cries
Upon his ears,
He stood moved
And remained
Doughty in his devotion
To me.
In that moment
I fathomed his soul
Glistened
O, for he had not forsook me.
I bear a pilgrimage.
One sought to be
Heard,
Seen,
Felt,
Breathed,
And
Divined
By my
Once
Somnolent spirit
Been
Roused
By the incendiary thew of
His ardor.
My revenant soul
Hath emerged from
The Chrysalis of Time as
The Apotheosis of Astral Flame
(A Reverberation of the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
That since
The Days of Time Immemorial
Guided by the
Whisper of the stars,
I now cleave
To that celestial susurrus:
To the solace buried beneath
The Soil of Afflicition
(For anguish was all I knew)
In repose
Yet yearning to be
Resurrected
In The Dream of Acquisition,
To for eternity behold
The timeless fervor
That doth layeth
In His heart*
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
607
Of nearness to her sundered Things
The Soul has special times—
When Dimness—looks the Oddity—
Distinctness—easy—seems—
The Shapes we buried, dwell about,
Familiar, in the Rooms—
Untarnished by the Sepulchre,
The Mouldering Playmate comes—
In just the Jacket that he wore—
Long buttoned in the Mold
Since we—old mornings, Children—played—
Divided—by a world—
The Grave yields back her Robberies—
The Years, our pilfered Things—
Bright Knots of Apparitions
Salute us, with their wings—
As we—it were—that perished—
Themself—had just remained till we rejoin them—
And ’twas they, and not ourself
That mourned.
2.1k
As I gazed at the celestial sky, I came across a star.
It was bright and brilliant yet unattainable.
My power was limited,
my hunger insatiable.
I thought if I stared long enough,
my limits would be surpassed.
But I was wrong.
Desire demanded action. And without it, forever it would last.
I searched within myself to find the answer.
It remained hidden from detection,
so I searched you instead.
Your eyes were flawless gems and untarnished was your complexion.
Those gems reflected the heavens.
And had captured what I desired.
I was complete.
Nothing more was required.
I had managed to attain the unattainable.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:32 PM UTC
The cherry tree outside
thatches its delicate fingers
into a mesh of pink petal sea,
fathomless to the eye.
The window frames it,
a perfect picture untarnished by
brushstroke, pencil or pastel.
Each line crisp, each colour full
The wind tosses the branches
into waves that break pink spray
into the breeze. The blossom snows
down like a springtime blizzard.
Soon the branches will be bare,
like bones stripped of flesh.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
my eyes are drawn
to two seagulls
perched contentedly on
a shit-caked lamp post
nothing decorative
lacking flourish or accent
a simple narrowing pole
coloured inexplicably green
with gently domed cowls
that gulls and pigeons
seemingly frequent
marred by a combination
of cream brown white
for all i know
it could be
their own faeces
in which they stand
or it could be
weathered and aged
built up and dried in place
for days
for months
for years
perhaps even decades
never to return
to untarnished days
perhaps if the bulb blew
or the lamp failed completely
it might be restored
while it is repaired
but there is no
guarantee of that
and yet the birds
could not care less
they'll pay no heed
to that which is less
than perfection
treating this evidently
well-favoured resting place
the same as they would
an unmarred branch
protected amongst tree tops
or a dainty bird-bath
amidst the flowers
of someone's quaint garden
Jun 26, 2023
Jun 26, 2023 at 11:47 AM UTC
My skin remained untarnished for 81 days.
But last night, it became too much.
5 cuts on my wrist;
One for every year I let you abuse me
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 8:54 PM UTC
Static of definite extinction, to whom are We allied?
If it is to Your noise, Your scatter and clean-up-later attitude,
then We are separatists.
If to Whatever, We are assuredly conspiring cohorts.
Do You claim to provide what We've needed all along,
but have simply been too short-sighted to know We've needed?
Or do You delineate? Do You define Us by unpacking Us,
thereby reconstructing Us into sections of a whole untarnished tool?
Machinery, if you will?
Take, for instance, television.
Do We need, or even want to watch?
Needlessly We need it. We want it for lack of choice,
or so We think. It is, simply, there.
Easily - and how easily We may never know - one may turn
to the body's offerings, or the plummets and peaks of the mind.
Sport, science, language, art, human, essential, vivid, now -
they are nearer than no one knows; practically graspable.
But Static, You move Us to wish.
You **** Us to think we must consummate Ourselves.
As We said, We are separatists.
Declare some vapid civil war.
Who, then, will provide your nothings?
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
A daydreamer with eyes of blue
Untarnished by the world that kept you
Bathed in days of gold
Never knowing the cold
With his head in the clouds
Never once had to look down
Spinning all around
Reaching for the stars
Although you’re miles apart
Happiness floods your heart
A daydreamer
Floating so high
Flying with birds in the sky
One day realized
The world is not as it seems
Monsters lurk in the seams
And call to those whose hearts are dark
They ravage worlds and tear them apart
The daydreamer comes crashing down
Now reality is the only sound
And evil is abound
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
looked at you for too long
and then i realized
you are human, too
fallible
uncertain
flawed
piously pined for
palatial splendor i
placed in my dreams of you,
imperfect you
and it's no ones fault
a figure headed facade
fabricated by figments
of my frivolous imagination
put you on a pedestal
made you divine
made you holy
you, the ceiling
high above my head
and i, looking up
in the sistine chapel
untouchable
untarnished
couldn't see the cracks
beneath the varnish
then, close enough to study
a faint fresco with critical eyes
fantasy faded in the fault lines
of your frowning face
looked for too long
until i realized
you were just as broken as me
a collection of shattered pieces
shrouded and shy
once a shrine
now a shriek
wide eyes on you
a sinner, still
i called you sacred
ignoring the nature of
the irreverent, the profane
liked the luster
of longing lingering
on my lips
when i breathed your name
the veil torn
the truth beheld
and you are not god
gambling grief and
gleaming gloom
thought i could be
the sun to your moon
majesty to malignancy
momentarily merciful
moreover cruel
monstrous mr monsoon
after all, human, too
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 8:43 PM UTC
Gold's untarnished yellow feigns
dawn's igniting of soft edges behind a mountain cloud,
or sunset's beacon flashing reflected from home's far window.
A diamond's clear flash imitates
bright glints of blinding sun across the afternoon shore,
or a star's brilliantly precise ray through eternal night.
A sapphire's velvet marine resembles
the limitless horizon between azure sky and tropic sea,
or the vertigo of fathomless water below suspended feet.
An emerald's tantalizing green mimics
the vividly penetrating beam warming a rainforest's singular tree,
or the disarmingly beautiful captivation of a strangers eyes.
A rainbow necklace of delicate gems pales
on a summer afternoon porch shaded by stately trees
and a butterfly sanctuary of whimsical flowers,
calm breezes stirring blue shadow leaves
brushing intimately on white shiny paint.
By accident these jewels mirror life's ephemeral essence
Grasping for this illusion to hold fast the spirit
distracts one from living.
One can cling to stones for one's life,
Or
One can live moments for infinity.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 10:42 PM UTC