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"velvets" poems
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ But I am relieved. Not being confined in bright velvets of the West, or shimmering silks of the East. Each hand-stitched with animals and flowers, crystals and furs, with gold and silver to parade around in Court. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ I find far more splendour in a simple iris-purple kimono-robe, lightweight, silk-satin and printed with lilies with a pink silk trim. It strokes my ankles, and the sleeves, they billow; the sash firmly fastened around my waist. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ My handmaid, Ilazi, presents a gilded bowl with the purest form of fruits - the ones that were rain-washed. I have a variety to choose from - strawberries, blueberries, peaches, green, red and black grapes which I pick and nibble on. Hmm, a succulent balance of sweetness and **** ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ And then my senior handmaid, Anihana, arrives with a tray in hand, clearly made from stainless steel with rose-gold accents. 'Sweet Queen,' says she. At the wave of my hand, the music stops. 'Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I know how particular you are with your pearls so I narrowed them to your favourite three choices.' ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ 'Thank you,' I say and as I lean up, she presents three cream-hued scrolls. 'Lists,' says she, 'of all the ship's inventory. Would you like to inspect them, my lady?' 'I will after some tea, Ainhana, thank you.' ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ Anihana nods and moves by my side as my eyes fall on the tray's contents. A small silver five-minute sand-timer, a glass teapot with bamboo handle, an infuser and steel lid half filled with hot water; steam dancing out of the spout. Then, a lovely glass teacup, one of the most beautiful I've seen yet. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
0
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
~ ⚘⚪ Jasmine Pearls III ⚪⚘ ~
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ But I am relieved. Not being confined in bright velvets of the West, or shimmering silks of the East. Each hand-stitched with animals and flowers, crystals and furs, with gold and silver to parade around in Court. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ I find far more splendour in a simple iris-purple kimono-robe, lightweight, silk-satin and printed with lilies with a pink silk trim. It strokes my ankles, and the sleeves, they billow; the sash firmly fastened around my waist. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ My handmaid, Ilazi, presents a gilded bowl with the purest form of fruits - the ones that were rain-washed. I have a variety to choose from - strawberries, blueberries, peaches, green, red and black grapes which I pick and nibble on. Hmm, a succulent balance of sweetness and **** ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ And then my senior handmaid, Anihana, arrives with a tray in hand, clearly made from stainless steel with rose-gold accents. 'Sweet Queen,' says she. At the wave of my hand, the music stops. 'Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I know how particular you are with your pearls so I narrowed them to your favourite three choices.' ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ 'Thank you,' I say and as I lean up, she presents three cream-hued scrolls. 'Lists,' says she, 'of all the ship's inventory. Would you like to inspect them, my lady?' 'I will after some tea, Ainhana, thank you.' ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ Anihana nods and moves by my side as my eyes fall on the tray's contents. A small silver five-minute sand-timer, a glass teapot with bamboo handle, an infuser and steel lid half filled with hot water; steam dancing out of the spout. Then, a lovely glass teacup, one of the most beautiful I've seen yet. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
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52
Faded gilding, rubbed through to cracking, flaking wood. A glamour of ages, sliding, flies to the breeze. The little bird perches on a once-fine moulding; Head tilted, one bright eye turned towards the mantle where a half-blind mercurised mirror barely reflects an army of creeping vines, consuming naked angels and the God of this house. Our hero’s velvets are ruined, dripping and eaten through. Where riches have lived, decay succeeds. Nature’s velvets; opulent mosses and emerald lichens are devouring damask and smoothing over marbled hardness. The bird listens for footsteps. The lady would scatter crumbs on the windowsill and he would flutter, unafraid, to peck at her sweet feast. Once, she drew him. Fine-lining passerine delicacy, her pencils fetched him, and bestowed him an artist’s nobility. He turned, this way and that, flashing gold-touched wings, miming a duchess snapping open a fan. She’s gone now, and so have the crumbs. The bird senses no sugar on the sill, nor the faintest reminiscence of lavender perfume, glittering as star bursts at the hollow of her throat. He sings regardless, a mournful beauty longing to return to a glorious, lustful age, where light refracted in cut crystal, danced upon frescoes and illuminated the ugly – - to render them enchanting. He swoops to dance on the mantle, answered by the mirror and sits a while, preening. The gentlemen and ladies are gone forever. Ejected from history to echo as ghosts of fancy and excess, undeserving of remembrance or pity. The bird will never forget. And knots up secrets kept tightly in his breast, committed to his tiny, fierce heart.
0
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Cardellino al palazzo
Faded gilding, rubbed through to cracking, flaking wood. A glamour of ages, sliding, flies to the breeze. The little bird perches on a once-fine moulding; Head tilted, one bright eye turned towards the mantle where a half-blind mercurised mirror barely reflects an army of creeping vines, consuming naked angels and the God of this house. Our hero’s velvets are ruined, dripping and eaten through. Where riches have lived, decay succeeds. Nature’s velvets; opulent mosses and emerald lichens are devouring damask and smoothing over marbled hardness. The bird listens for footsteps. The lady would scatter crumbs on the windowsill and he would flutter, unafraid, to peck at her sweet feast. Once, she drew him. Fine-lining passerine delicacy, her pencils fetched him, and bestowed him an artist’s nobility. He turned, this way and that, flashing gold-touched wings, miming a duchess snapping open a fan. She’s gone now, and so have the crumbs. The bird senses no sugar on the sill, nor the faintest reminiscence of lavender perfume, glittering as star bursts at the hollow of her throat. He sings regardless, a mournful beauty longing to return to a glorious, lustful age, where light refracted in cut crystal, danced upon frescoes and illuminated the ugly – - to render them enchanting. He swoops to dance on the mantle, answered by the mirror and sits a while, preening. The gentlemen and ladies are gone forever. Ejected from history to echo as ghosts of fancy and excess, undeserving of remembrance or pity. The bird will never forget. And knots up secrets kept tightly in his breast, committed to his tiny, fierce heart.
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46
Your love was orange And I never really liked orange Before I could see the bright floating fire On the sea of your iris’ Orange was the color of forced smiles Days of sun when the world needs a little rain But when the sprinkle Turns to storms I see you And you don’t run for cover You run for me And I can see my orange My sunset heart For the first time And I could cry All the velvets and rivers and fields But all I want is orange
0
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC
Orange
Aquamarines Hues unseen Velvets and Mercury retrograde Projecting lines Of constant course Meanders and oxbows Hinting at future and past Dancing to songs Unheard An effigy for love Unseen A garden of tears Unwrapping the present Pistil and stamen Awaiting Pollinating Ones and zeros Bifurcating from binary to analog Or amalgamating the two Becoming one Reprogramming matrices With personal Trinities Everything looks neo Through this lens My purple iris contends U2? *Something in her eyes Took 1000 years to get here* Something in her heart Something in her heart
0
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
Garden of Saint Germain
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ Yet, I admit, feel a tad uninspired. So I gently wave my hand towards two handmaids. Essha, a musician uses her nimble fingers to play the Harp with other, Semui who plays the flute, together creating a true aurelian tune. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ There is so much ahead that my eyes can see. Rings of still, clear waters around the green hills of near and far. Guards patrolling the high walls of my borders, Knights riding horses into my people's town. How it warms me to see them all smiling and laughing, going about their daily business. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ A brethren of sweet lilies in the vase shyly bob their heads, pouting their rosy lips which I gently stroke. Violets coiled around the bare feet of the caryatids, and pots of bluebells and dahlias by my own slippered feet. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ My star-kissed diadem, though resting on my curls, is caressed by the light as I turn my face towards the horizon. Deer dance in the shade of pure green, leaping over the silver streams, that murmur tales and secrets they hold within. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ And by the docks of my Aurelinaea, are many argosies with wooden bellies and creamy sails with many imports; of silks and velvets, satins and eiderdown; apricots and apples, plums and peaches, honeys, jams, syrups and jellies from fruits and flowers to heaps of sugars and spices, make-up, jewels, flower-bulbs and perfumes. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ And my personal favourites - a great assemblage of teas; herbal and cream, drinks and oils as well as an assortment of old tomes, Analects and books. I have a dream that mine own library would rival the fabled one of the once great Alexandria. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
0
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
~ ⚘⚪ Jasmine Pearls II ⚪⚘ ~
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ Yet, I admit, feel a tad uninspired. So I gently wave my hand towards two handmaids. Essha, a musician uses her nimble fingers to play the Harp with other, Semui who plays the flute, together creating a true aurelian tune. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ There is so much ahead that my eyes can see. Rings of still, clear waters around the green hills of near and far. Guards patrolling the high walls of my borders, Knights riding horses into my people's town. How it warms me to see them all smiling and laughing, going about their daily business. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ A brethren of sweet lilies in the vase shyly bob their heads, pouting their rosy lips which I gently stroke. Violets coiled around the bare feet of the caryatids, and pots of bluebells and dahlias by my own slippered feet. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ My star-kissed diadem, though resting on my curls, is caressed by the light as I turn my face towards the horizon. Deer dance in the shade of pure green, leaping over the silver streams, that murmur tales and secrets they hold within. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ And by the docks of my Aurelinaea, are many argosies with wooden bellies and creamy sails with many imports; of silks and velvets, satins and eiderdown; apricots and apples, plums and peaches, honeys, jams, syrups and jellies from fruits and flowers to heaps of sugars and spices, make-up, jewels, flower-bulbs and perfumes. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ And my personal favourites - a great assemblage of teas; herbal and cream, drinks and oils as well as an assortment of old tomes, Analects and books. I have a dream that mine own library would rival the fabled one of the once great Alexandria. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
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53
. Published by Trash to Treasure Lit, April 1, 2025 Barbies wear muselet helmets Sherlock journals clues Cricket-stump bin clinks dismissal Bread is hard with mouldy middle Cheese is soft with tinted velvets All in greens and blues Newspapers a carpet curtain Other signs of note Sinks drain-weary, veiled by dishes Door blocked from unseen militias Ashtrays strain with liquid burden Mangled ends afloat Late-night fry exudes lard landslide Interesting leads Window signs of blunt force impact Latches show no signs of contact Perpetrated from the inside Casual misdeeds Bottles strewn with empty glasses Evidence galore Christmas tree is snapped, now supine Couch chair at confusing incline Wasting roast potato passes Solo on the floor Shrouded dark in grown-up questions Case remains unsolved Pre-teen sherlocks are defeated Unaware that help is needed Claiming all adult transgressions Guilelessly involved Knowledge comes with maturation Young gumshoe, take heart Heavy is the comprehension Adulthood in wise dimension Toughest form of education Living will impart Trauma is by drink upstaged Of subterfuge beware Brace yourself for understanding Bottle is a sly red herring Denouement is disengaged You won’t find it there Life perspective is revealing Sooner follow pain Core of more investigation Drink was only compensation Obfuscating tricky healing Alloyed with the leaden feeling Undiscovered chain You were just a fledgling hawkshaw Grant yourself some grace Rest the blame that you digested Drop the anger you invested Hopping off the guilt-rage seesaw ‘Case closed’ in its place
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Aug 12, 2024
Aug 12, 2024 at 10:52 PM UTC
Tough case for a young detective
. Published by Trash to Treasure Lit, April 1, 2025 Barbies wear muselet helmets Sherlock journals clues Cricket-stump bin clinks dismissal Bread is hard with mouldy middle Cheese is soft with tinted velvets All in greens and blues Newspapers a carpet curtain Other signs of note Sinks drain-weary, veiled by dishes Door blocked from unseen militias Ashtrays strain with liquid burden Mangled ends afloat Late-night fry exudes lard landslide Interesting leads Window signs of blunt force impact Latches show no signs of contact Perpetrated from the inside Casual misdeeds Bottles strewn with empty glasses Evidence galore Christmas tree is snapped, now supine Couch chair at confusing incline Wasting roast potato passes Solo on the floor Shrouded dark in grown-up questions Case remains unsolved Pre-teen sherlocks are defeated Unaware that help is needed Claiming all adult transgressions Guilelessly involved Knowledge comes with maturation Young gumshoe, take heart Heavy is the comprehension Adulthood in wise dimension Toughest form of education Living will impart Trauma is by drink upstaged Of subterfuge beware Brace yourself for understanding Bottle is a sly red herring Denouement is disengaged You won’t find it there Life perspective is revealing Sooner follow pain Core of more investigation Drink was only compensation Obfuscating tricky healing Alloyed with the leaden feeling Undiscovered chain You were just a fledgling hawkshaw Grant yourself some grace Rest the blame that you digested Drop the anger you invested Hopping off the guilt-rage seesaw ‘Case closed’ in its place
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57
A night united together For the very first time Around the amish time Inside this French Bistro Surrounded by the glamorous duo Gainsbourg & Birkin Wrapping up the ambiant air French musical undertones Deep green velvets hues Ilona, the Host of the Soirée Walking as if she is dancing With her irrepressible bubbliness Serving us drinks & oysters ... Zee oysters ... Taking their last breaths In the fading ice Indulging the no-teeth treatment Is it a tragedy? I dunno...I guess we will never know Two Hirondelles lost in time The time flying by We are now the last guests of the Soirée The clock ticking by Its time to leave this place And those two Rock Stars We are leaving behind I knew you were trouble from the very first time But ahhhhh, so refreshing, so alike... A night united together For the very first time
0
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
Anut.
I can see the Velvet garden, with it's swaying flowers. I can smell the beautiful scent. The wind is a cool breeze, like a loving puppy breathing in your face. The grass is soft on my feet. And I know it's going to be a good, country day.
0
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
Velvets
Instead of brooding over The blackness of a light That tenderly brightens As the sheer warmth thickens When you hug each other I should think this is right: I should delve in the kiss Of the winter season Rebel against my skin We humans, all akin I should seal my reason In this holiday bliss… But without a shelter Without a clean cover Not just a mere lover How could I then not wish For my ordeal to be over? My pleas rush like a swish! You plead about people You’ve lost to wars and crimes You could still when injured Hurry to your white hall Me, I just have my rhymes But you call me perjured! I will walk wild and weak To the summits of time With nothing but a dime To see on top of all this love You have deemed bleak. The velvets of the glove This lady in her shawl Touches to her forearms If I knock do you believe She would hand me a bowl Of this Christmas cold eve My home her humble arms? Lonely lunatic child In the gleam of the moon Oh! I hope she will soon In her lenient linens Open to the pure wild Ness of my night silence For a piece of this bread I would tell her my world… But she leaves satisfied In the laughs of her thread: To me demystified Her dreams I can’t afford. December 25, 2015 1:06 am Libourne, France
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Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
Christmas Rhymes
Its 3 am and Im sticking to my phone There's no one really to call me But Im still hanging on like a stone So I ****** thinking and promo And later Got my MOJO back Its like I can do it all night with my slow-mo knack Said she love pearls and 2XL Nexus ****** up, trynna find next exit Thats too much for love, just some fake velvets So everyone's got f-ed up, delusionally Stop the watch and look out at this foolery Cuz now everyone likes to be fly, prudery Plus these tipsys don't love me anymore Ran out as my pants fell down on the floor So I'll rewind my song like Nazis on the roll So just **** up and let me get back it Too much on the line Mr.Pragmatic What's up, ignore if you are mad at it Pokerface, no ace but no ripper Almost passed out as she showed the zipper Am I overthinking or is it cuz of the liquor You killed my vibe like you some kendrick I'll probably do her again even it takes medic It's like a kamikaze **** without any credit
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Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
My Life Is A Metaphor
*I have seen the sun and moon Shining brightly in full grace. I have seen the starlit nights But never have I seen your face. I have heard orchestras Playing sweet music of rejoice. Heard angel choirs of perfect sound But never once heard your voice. I have touched the finest silks And velvets soft textures too. The finest objects in the land But never once touched you. I have kissed the magenta dawn And  twilights indigo rise My lips have tasted the  dew of morn But never have I kissed your eyes. In dreams I have done wanton things. Drank potions from a witches brew. Awoken in a fiery glow. But never once with you.*
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Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC
A poem to my lover not yet met.
My dear prince, In the cloak of velvets and gold Not only you have swept me away You have me swooned all over Onto the oceans and in so deep Over the mountains and skies blue seep Now that I have travelled far to your land Give me the permission for your heart I am asking for your hand, risking it all Melting, in your arms I fall You're the only one who can do it, Lay a sword to my heart; you've slain Oh my blood rose, can I get close? Veins of blue, your sharp luring thorns Every piece of you, I'm ready for it all
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Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 9:55 PM UTC
rose ivix
*I have seen the sun and moon Shining with majesty in full grace I have seen the starlit night But never seen your face I have heard sweet orchestras Playing sweet music to rejoice The purest choirs of perfect sound But never heard your voice My fingertips have touched finest silks And velvets soft textures too The finest objects in the land But never once touched you I have kissed the breaking of the dawn And twilights magic rise The crystal shining dew of morn But never kissed your eyes In my dreams I have done wanton things Drank aphrodisiacs from a witches brew Awoken in a fiery glow But never once with you.*
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Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
To my lover not yet met