"veneered" poems
Willow herb floating
on silent certainty
ashes of sighs
not fleeting,
unvapoured on the
blossom of the rain,
I am too light to
pull or push
the swing of delight
through this land.
The rain left me for a
while
sun unshielding
-a thousand widows
more unyielding than the depths . .
Once shadowed whisperers
of delight,gossamer
sparkling , descending
their chains
of necromantic hope.
Lilith is no night owl
she is mother, eve
and my becoming:
sweet earth spun
at once ,
exhaling her .
The see saw
bumped gently
on my chin
it is a most gentle
form of awakening.
The silence bore no whispers
till sinking through the quicksand
-or was it quicksilver?
-in any case I could smell little
in my amniotic amnesia.
I made ten thousand friends,till their soap
made this place clean.
Is this a seed or a dying
hopefulness
-is my sallow sowing
beyond all shores of
reproduction;
a reflection of the child
they dared not bear?
Is my last breath like this
a forgotton yielding
will they catch me
as I fall ?
-(sweet earth)-
This moth of my ending,
a shallow recantation,
my fears-
their memories, mere
testubes of
stylish hope .
I breathe the elegant stare
you have forgotten .
Once more free
from such
rememberance
I need not ,
remained not ,
your imploded ,
wakefulness .
A thousand pardons
exhaled like silk
entwining
an unfinished race
spider of a thousand eyes .
One may say
I was
stared
to death
but surrogate air
mocks childish pity.
Taut refelexions
bear salt echoes
in silk convulsions
fresh water
a veneered hope .
Easier in death than life
is a child's sorrowed
partings ,
the illusion of
bouyancy
rippled tides
unfelt.
The oceans have not enough salt
for such shrunken sorrow.
if we could but once
have shared
unbreathed aspersion .
The room has come and gone
the pillow quite undry
unforgotten
unremembered.
A web untouched
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:46 AM UTC
.
I have one hand on the handle of the mad sane door,
the other is scraping shards on the missing floor,
my mind dissolves away into a hurricane squall,
and my face is the mirror on a stark naked wall.
My life is a fluid flowing through images weird,
dripping through the cracks, tactile and veneered,
pouring dark thoughts into a head once cleared,
the door whispers promises of nothing to be feared.
© Pagan Paul (14/12/17)
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 5:22 PM UTC
Fetch me out of my case
Handle with care my prized lacquered face
Rest gently my wooden veneered base
Cradle my neck and prepare to lace
Wipe off my fret with a towel
Gift to me your first string
Fasten one end with a dowel
More to do before I sing
Other end, goes into my head
Through one pinhole, allow some slack
Remaining strings, the same you will thread
Strung side by side, along their tracks
Now tighten, wind them taut
Work away the looseness
Stash aside all other thoughts
My voice almost heard albeit tuneless
Here I lay; quiet and strung
You'd have to give me my voice
Then I'd speak but only in your tongue
Then I'd sing only if it's your choice
Prop me up, caress my earthy spine
I'd mouth your words according to pitch
United through movement, manipulate my lines
Your script; my mouth, seamlessly we'd stitch
Your fingers, they twitch and flick
Willing the most lifelike of gestures
Rising and falling of my strings you'd pick
Whimsical dance between slaves and masters
My body over which I have no control
Helplessness overcome my entire being
In my fibres, grains and knots, bore no soul
Without you I lay limp; close to nothing
You need me to project your speech
I need you to make me feel alive
Off of each other, we'd feed and leech
As both hosts and parasites, together we'd thrive
I am one of yours but not the favourite pet
I am just an extension of your unfortunate self
I am wood, dead and lifeless; a strung up marionette
Not a guitar but your fancy puppet sitting on the shelf
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
When in the pasture
They don't offend;
We avert disaster,
When they're penned.
But that crusted crap
Is everywhere;
If not aware,
We step right in.
We'll scrape the pooh
To no avail,
The smell's
Stuck to our shoes.
We can't quell
The **** we're in.
There's one steaming
On my walk,
Leading to my door.
Leave your keys
When you leave,
That patty leads
To court.
The Internet's beset
With bullish threats;
Hard to miss
The patties here;
Our lives and much
That we hold dear,
Is shared and smeared
For all to read,
Milking us of privacy;
An abattoir,
It's piracy.
It's utterly insane.
They entice us,
Then enlist us,
Like leading
Cash cows
Down the lane;
Then tap
For one drop more.
Friends may offer
Cow pies
With an aromaticfluence;
They pressure you to choose:
Step right or left,
Then smear you with
Their cocksure ********
What enemy
Could do less?
Shopped pixelled patties
Are reprehensible,
Making one
So susceptible:
You *****
Then starve,
Then lose your hair
Until one day
You disappear.
We get caught up
In the flash,
Of all the stars
And fast cash,
But they have patties
Underfoot,
They slip and slide,
Get clean,
Then smirk.
We can smell'em
On those jerks.
There's a patty
At your boyfriend's place;
You're deep in it
If you're late.
There's a patty
At your girlfriend's place,
And you're deep in it
If she's late.
Some patties
Are so well disguised
In the colours
Of lover's eyes.
Intoned in lover's lures.
But step in it,
They call you *****
Some patties
Are good
At getting you high,
But one mis-step,
And you may die.
There's hidden patties
Lying within,
Crusted beneath
Veneered skin:
They waft with doubt,
Fear and longing;
Side-step that mass
At all costs.
Don't crack the surface.
You're better than
You think.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
T'was little fun
T'was a little town,
No virulent delirious runs
No irking sounds
As t'was a little dangling town
All t'was a feasible brew
No meanders to sought
No conundrums of anew
just wired timely things to rot
When all t'was a portent upcoming
For t'was clad and veneered
In a amicable sun-daze groaning
T'was a peaceful loop of mono-gradient seasons
and all to do was ponder
For t'was guzzled with reasons
T'was yesterdays jigsaw puzzle
T'was a nightmare in sun-light
But for now, let's retch our unknown dazzle
As t'was,
A flippant fuss
For what shan't be
A beguiling me
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 5:21 AM UTC
*A facade of confounding manner
Veneered in credulous chatter
Are words of contemporary demeanour*
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
Weird in his outfits of a late ragamuffin
Reflecting strength of character and soul toughness
Contrasted by dreadlocks on his pykitonic head
Giving him a look of an African amorous ogre,
In the tough stunt for *** with a tectonic girl,
Veneered by mastery of his pen and keyboard
Following after his *** starved ancestor
The muzhik; Vladimir Nabokov the ****** lover,
Swimming in enviable freedom to *********
Afro-English words in his road to the burning church
That barely roasts the peasants for tribal reasons,
A ****** ground for Mochama’s humour
That will hold you glued and captive to the pages
Until the he goat of Abagusii goes through
The second round of its ****** act
Basically forming education for Smitta
The smitten rock of African literature.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
Your skin was veneered in glitter and glass
That will surely shatter soon
And scatter and spangle across the evergreens
So you can’t lead me down to your garden path
Strip yourself from all your artifice
What are you?
I can see your misleading eyes
Across the dance floor
When this masquerade ball is over
Who will you be?
A fine damsel in distress
Maybe another skeleton in my closet
Or a succubus in my empty bed;
And no longer the monster underneath.
I took the risk and
Kissed your vinaceous lips
And so I got drunk
We entwined like vines on a trellis
The way we intersected unintentionally
But not impossibly
We’re like dangling strings of a violin
The way our melody remained unsung
Until now.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
They're here
They're upon us
Arrived while the world was sleeping
While in a coma
Scheming eyes behind rubbery masks
Painted smiles with veneered teeth
Keeping us still
Keeping us on mute
Dosed up on pills
Chemically induced
Stolen our minds
Stolen our thoughts
While looking in our eyes
The scent of our fear energises them
Who are they you ask
Opposition to man
In every profession
Positions of power
To practice control
To take control
Sending terror through the airwaves
Mankind their guinea pig
Experiments performed without your knowledge
While watching your favourite movie
Portholes everywhere
Who can you trust
No-one
Who can you tell
No-one
For the person next to you
Might be more than just ... Someone
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 5:38 AM UTC
A crushed Shah Jahan said:
When you behold the memorial,
a sight so masterly, yet sorrowful;
you will inevitably admit
an aching little bisecting wish
that adorns your yearning lips....
parched,
barren,
effete......
And from the world's lid,
the luminaries too
would sob and drip.
#
He could well have been talking
about my beloved's words ;
......so utterly breathtaking
that a sigh poignantly quivers
in my dithering being.
Her words meander.
It is no wonder:
for all of us saunter
in thought and speech
one time or the other.
At times her words are poised and easy.....,
wonderfully jolly, sensationally starry:
They shimmer like the four minarets (1)
on the full moon night;
....brilliant......resplendent.
Then they taper from the dome
and stop halfway between the tomb
and the solemn reflecting pool:
They are calmer, sober,
and you know,
a little factual;
...what they call discriminating
intellectual, rational......
Soon the words leave charbagh (2)
and hit the red sandstone walls (3)
crenellated with flawless wisdom;
spotlessly beautiful
like the lifeless marble
that proudly commemorates
Mr. Shah Jahan's love
in grim, cold blooded grace.
We talk about
riders and scruples,
kith and kin,
restraints and constraints,
fidelity and modesty.......
....and I can not help
but to sadly agree
to the placid logic
in our impeccable scripts.
#
Logic is a wonderful remedy
for the radical and foolhardy
but for every cure,
there is a spin-off.
Deep somewhere,
a delicate,
two-cent sentiment
collapses into atrophy
and.......silently
another part of me
becomes a
meek monument
of disposable history.
----------
(1) The four minarets of the Taj Mahal
(2) The garden that starts from the end of the main gateway and ends near the squared base of the mausoleum is an integral part of the Taj Mahal structure.
(3) The building material used is brick-in-lime mortar veneered with red sandstone and marble and inlay work of precious/semi precious stones. The mosque and the guest house in the Taj Mahal complex are built of red sandstone in contrast to the marble tomb in the center.
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 10:27 PM UTC
Penny-less.
Lick it up off Picasso's postcards.
Share this time...
What little we have.
The dance of the deprived,
worshipping the derelict.
Trash.
Call us what you want.
This trash to you is used, ***** and degraded.
A has been.
To us, you are nothing...
Will be nothing.
Until you've handled us,
you'll never know.
You stare with star-struck eyes.
Why, yes
we are those fallen few.
We chose.
No,
life chose us.
Us
to be without.
We're the entitled greats who go without.
All you can do is sneer,
with your veneered smiles smeared.
Go ahead.
You envy us.
I see your as green as the notes in your pocket,
as bitter as the coffee in your cup.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
respectability argument: to be honest, being british, i think you're being asked to be required in kenya.... unless french, and much needed in the ivory coast; unless of course bound to south america and resurrecting aztecs; but that's you, snogging Pocahontas: and there's me still thinking about L'vov in Ukraine and Vilnius in Lithuania, like some Greek torching Athens in order to reclaim the stature of being enclosed by the Koranic identification of being once named Byzantine.
i make children in my sleep. parisian monkey dogue;
i'll sell my mother for a chance to salute!
seigel... heil! is that drowned
or drunk monkeys? is that the fluffy ********
or the furry moustache?
vexen ßeß -
i'm getting the itch....
the children rebel,
they read:
azure eyed
and the keeper: those americans
aren't selling the idea of democracy,
they're selling patriotism...
we can't find patriotism
after vietnam...
i told you i sold the children
the idea...
they're hanging with me in the night...
they're engaging everyone with
drunk's antics... and 9 depths of Dante...
when no-one aims to be
intelligent, rather drunk...
high-streets of Aleppo...
only when children take to invoking
a priestly Saturday...
caste-made worth's of a ********
i charge to culprit the salutation...
for whatever coaxing
i too mind the hoax -
veneered in vex -
broadly gathered with a klux.
x x x... x x x... wind-farms of Bavaria.
tragedy in Dortmund, and navigating
the E34... i think they call it the Bermuda
spaghetti tangle...
schloss... Mathias Pfred...
y'ah, dirt-ridden with the Rhine...
neun counter eins...
luft, feuer, wasser, erde;
zahnseide nach naiv chittern, denken bürste;
ich nehmen die kontinent für schweinkratzen:
kichernd beifall - cacao Brad Pitt... suede
in foxtrot a vexing the ***** of mustard with
merging ginger and brownshirt; skunk
marching the heb toward allegiance texan,
for that pretty period of living in the 1960s
and the early 21st century...
and god said: either a german or a pole
will be my puppet joker, or i'll have
a resurrection of israel! **** why not, i'll
have both.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
if living's dying always. Then dying's always living
,or is dead and living never. Then is living even?
or was dead always?(who knows)i know.
life
is always.
Never dies. hot
with cheeks rosey, flushed
,brimming with someone else's cheeks
equally rouged and with love veneered. Vulnerable
life absurdly lived. life spontaneous. Best with a cup of tea
or in a loud drunk room with music, skin, and tattooed. Life always never dying life. Even if dead.
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
Bellowing words hollow
Believed to be amicable
Veneered in Holy ***
Spitting crosses
Dotting others I's
Oh Jesus Christ, what have we become?
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
I searched the Sun back and forth for any remnant scorch marks of our love, but all that was left were trails blazed by broken hearts and the insecure decisions made by those around us, whom spoke sub zero opinions around our flame — Choking it into the frosted conversation on the cobble stones of my past habitation.
Now, we sit.
Miles apart — noses pierced.
A daily reminder of the intimacy and mirrored beauty we shared.
Now, all that’s left of our dialogue is a screen telling me, your updates of which you veneered to the general public about how you are feeling.
The equator between us has left me naturally fading away, further and further into the arms of my pillow, where once you were held.
We clutched each others skins, pressing away the worries and troubles of which the world threw at us.
You were a high tower and refuge.
You stabled the light of which would beacon the rest of my lighthouse heart for the world to see.
Silently, scuttling across the floors of seas we would sit.
Oblivious to the popular culture and its fierce tricks to drown us in capitalism.
Our Icarus hearts made from feathers of hope, melted into wax statues of Medusa villainy.
This drought through the desert has taken me more than 40 days, which feels like 40 years, passing through to eternity, just a few seconds ago.
I am truly Thirsty.
You never wanted us to be sticky labeled and worn above the chest for the world to see ‘hi we’re called relationship, we are just like everyone else’.
No, you were not like that.
I hope you never will be.
How you used to stare at me staring at the visions of the day unfolding right before the eyes of the economical streets we used to walk upon.
I was lost in thought, as you were lost in mine, and then I gazed into yours and the lightbulb clicked and beamed my cheeks to grin, revealing whitened teeth, joyful in your spirit.
Alone, I gaze at the moon and release a lung filled sigh of cigar smoke and tilt my head back and think of what we were and where we will be.
Not collectively, but by ourselves guided by the shadow of the moonlight, taking us to the tides shore to baptise us until we wake unknown to one another, like the first time I saw your face in Early November.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:13 AM UTC
oh, to be a
delicate thing
in these feral waves;
i remember steady grounds,
veneered floors,
greek columns —
my hand pressed softly
in the small of your back;
fingers —
aching
for the slightest of touch,
i remember sunlight;
our hearts were
lighter back then.
oh how we were
the envy
of chaotic things
and lonely gods.
now,
look at this war
i'd waged for you
as termites
eat away
at those
sunlit memories;
what's the point of fighting
when the sea already
has swallowed
and spat poems
written from the
losing side
of this war:
a mess
of what used to be
a delicate love;
now,
i'll fit
all of these
heartbreaks
in a letter if i could —
leave it on your shore.
and i
loved you
so;
i remember you
loving me back, helen;
i remember
sunlight
and
happier times.
now this love
is a wreck
of a battleship,
sinking,
drowning
in the weight
of these sighs.
now this love
are embers
dressed
in all
the muted shades of blue.
now this love
is not delicate —
it's just
breakable.
it's just
broken.
and oh how we were
the envy
of chaotic things
and lonely gods.
Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 10:14 PM UTC
We stole away
(The air cool, and lively),
Strolling down a side street at a calm, and quiet pace.
The ambient noise of several a raised voice echoed
faintly through pulses of bass.
In that moment,
A world removed...
(Something came over me) With impulse, revelry;
(Grabbing her hand) -- "May I have this dance?"--and then
we swam in waves of 'Frenesi'.
Nervously laughing,
you, always self-conscious
It was one of things I so loved about you
I wanted us to breathe the air of life lived carefree,
And to bask in adventures anew.
Laughing, twirling
On a moonlit night
Time stood still, as we swayed like waves in the ocean
The world was ours, near those downtown bars as
we painted the sidewalk with motion.
But life moves on
And time moves forward..
Silence replaced laughter, joy with indifference
And with a colossal divide, a crack at a time
her face grew blurred from the distance.
And then one day
A vague silhouette.
The lover I knew was gone, though once she was close..
Those fiery chocolate eyes were now veneered with
icy guise..there was no more repose.
Old memories,
Nostalgic thoughts.
It seemed a losing battle, the battle we fought;
So, raise a toast, I say: à la fille que je connaissais,
j'espère que tu trouver de la joie.
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 1:55 PM UTC
Into the toxicity of your mind
The crafted words from your soft lips
To someone without my ears
To someone with your heart
Into the poisonous of your arms
Which are now holding someone without my body
Touching skin that is not mine
And elating feelings that for me no longer exist
Into your lethal heart
That used to beat for me
Now beats a rhythm I cannot longer dance to
And holds a song I no longer sing
Into your veneered eyes
The longing look of love
Straining to peer at eyes that are not mine
Answered by someone without my pupils
How I long for insight into your mind
A mind I no longer care for
But still yearn for validation from
A mind for which is no longer vacant for me
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC