"viridescent" poems
A shaft from the golden sun,
reclined peacefully in my lap.
The amber gleam reflected back,
and gently baked the solemn land.
An ardent whisper furnished the woods
with a viridescent scent that woke up the woods.
Silver songs of sleek streams,
chased the lullabies away;
gently.
Ancient tress cuddled the wind,
their leaves clapped in sheer bliss
The broken winged white eyed bulbul,
warbled hymns to lift the curse.
Scarlet tainted vintage letters resting in the rustic mailbox,
await your tender touch; while they chant for a past long gone.
But lily livered clouds,
they have turned your courage into a yellow illusion.
So now defy the toxic words and the errors you made,
A different person inside your skin, long ago, burned our hearts on the hateful flames.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
I remember
Vividly those serene eyes,
Shining bright,
Emotion in them
Sparks my blood to rise
Thy teary eyes divine,
Speak with love and tenderness,
Eyes, a million stars in them
The picture of innocence.
Eyes seeking me -
Glowing,
Like that first dew,
On the new viridescent blade of grass.
Your eyes my matinal star
Your eyes my middays sunshines,
Your eyes my vespers twilight,
Your eyes an oceanic depth,
Your eyes my autumnal hues,
Your eyes wild jasmines
Fragrant at nights,
Like that sunflower
Gazing the afternoon sun.
Let the peacocks vauntingly dance,
Let the nightingales melodiously sing,
Let the flora and fauna flourish,
Like spring in prosperity,
In felicitation,
Let me always
See
Through Your Eyes
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 3:28 PM UTC
your eyes don't glisten like they used to
just saying it's not something usual for you
*so I guess you're heavily imbued
with this crestfallen attitude?*
yea I know,
I've changed in the same way
my own little reverse-breakthrough
Risque foreplay with ultramarine Bombay
before stepping in to emcee the Devil's soiree
And no, you really don't --and honestly never did-- know me;
you only knew one of many façades I brazed
on my face
in the midst of a cliche
New Year's day typa haze
During the phase of
my infamously tempestuous craze
I was precipitously *(ignited
quite possibly by my own
flaring sparks)*
set ablaze with praise
but my mores seem to be misplaced
probably somewhere in the frenzy and hysteria
So I guess I'm left to embrace my untraced boundaries
*And get my viridian eyes back to glistening
on their own viridescent terms
Not codependent on the hollowed adulation
and sweet-talk from bamboccioni*
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
Tokyo adorned with a jewel named spring
Beauty and Fragrance is what thou bring
Sakura blossoms covering the trees
Falling on me with the soft breeze
Wearing a kimono under the Sakura rains
Peace and love flowing through my veins
A pink carpet created under my feet
Sakura lovers are approaching to meet
Opened palm waiting for a gift
Holding a blossom which fell on so swift
Lying on the carpet watching the radiant sun
It’s thy happiness, the Hanami fun
Viridescent leaves are nowhere to be seen
Rosie colors are being so keen
Chasing the Sakura aroma I love
Is now falling on me from above
Sakura, Thou made my crestfallen heart gone
I wish to live in your scent spreading zone
Spring, I fecund you through the whole year
To be in the Sakura woods without a fear
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 8:51 AM UTC
*Below the emerald mountaintops,
Guardians of the ocean breeze,
One finds a valley of fair crops,
Delicate soil, & buzzing bees.
Convivial whips of sunlight
Stroke lavish groves of hardy trees.
On every branch, hidden from sight,
Fruit slumber underneath the leaves.
It is no wonder that Steinbeck
Cherished his California roots;
The land of viridescent trek,
Unyielding sunshine, & fresh fruits.
Here placid air unbinds the chains
Which hinder a poetic mind.
Away from life’s rigorous strains,
Deep thoughts are vividly defined.
In the midst of the Salinas Valley,
Ideas amass wings with which to soar...*
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
A cardinal traversed within himself
Retrograding, an opposition to time's progressions
Letting its wings cut through memory streams
It notices–
A cold sea breeze
Journeying from dock into the Walled City
Mixing with arid wind and fumes from Manila streets
Twisting and turning sky-high greens
Causing umber to fall, separating themselves from virescent leaves
Familiarity drove it to circle this scene
As the curtains of relativity are pulled back to show it–
A street lamp dims,
Refusing to team with others' gleam
That give the black iron above Charles' skin an auburn sheen
As it keeps on flickering like hints
From an undecided heart, calling out to the man with every whim
Familiarity drove it to land on a tree
Perched on its viridescent sepia shoulders, playing guardian to–
A couple sits
On the rim of the fountain at the king's feet
A hand touches a cheek, a warm caress as their eyes meet
Fitting into each other's gaze
On the dried cascade, dessicated, as the street lamps stay lit
It notices–
As it traversed within himself
Retrograding all of its current progress
Letting his memories cut himself six-deep
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 6:38 AM UTC
On the muted music of the zephyr, the viridescent folks' dance and the fluffs veiled in white, sallow, and orange tinges glide in the mid-air. In this pristine swathe shield by a mysterious guard against intruders, there's no gravity to land from jovial vibrations.
© Spriha Kant
Apr 10, 2021
Apr 10, 2021 at 1:04 PM UTC
the absentminded
water slides
into the empty
spaces of my skin
i can feel your
mossy fingertips
playing with
the forces of nature
(the way you do)
there's a past inside me
that i cannot reach
and i do not run
from it
the mist from the water
seeps into my pores
and i am filled to the
brink with viridescent
potential
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 9:02 PM UTC
Tuesday was when the sun failed
my shin bones were ripped from my legs and made it heavy to walk,
feathers fell through the air and suffocated each one of us,
7 billion curious eyes looked up to the viridescent sky,
then came a flash of emptiness,
the sky went out and so did our minds.
The world was left unable,
we could only feel
only taste
only hear
only smell.
Then they came,
and took everything from us
they took you away from me.
I felt a chilled hand gently touch my neck
and reach to my ear
a distant screech echoed throughout the deserted air
then a numbing pain that reminded me of death spread over my skin
my eyelids began to close
and as they did I saw more light than when they were open
I saw more things than I could envisage.
A never ending white universe filled with unfamiliar faces flew around me
and once my eyes focused I searched for you,
every single person
hung in the empty air
with thin tubes filled with sapphire gel coming from their ears.
All of their faces were stripped of life and their eyes sunk into their heads,
but the one face I could not find was yours.
I remember day after day hoping I would wake up,
and eventually I did; but if only I hadn’t
I would not be trapped in the silence of not hearing your laugh,
not seeing you grow older
and I would not be stuck in the mind of a hopeless mad man
waiting for “them” to bring your bright green eyes
your soft smile
your small hands
back to me.
So I can only hope that you know
I search through midnight
every
single day
for you
and I will find you
in this blackened world;
my son.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
They tease only because they like what is true.
That is why you call them friends.
So when, in avocado skies,
With the fragrance of fuchsias,
And perhaps even focaccia,
And other salty, honest facts of life,
Droning like blue hummingbirds
And Manuka bees,
You seep through my weak and ailing
Ego, out onto the blotting paper of my conscious mind,
I shall consider what it is they cherish,
And come, perhaps, to feel the same.
And do not berate me when I do,
I tease you only because I like what's true!
But here's a precursory thought or two,
Already noted on bibulous blue...
While I write a bottle’s worth
Of evasive attempts at articulation,
The following transpires:
That I have more in common with Van Gogh
Than most care to know, or notice.
That some called him Vincent.
That all I’ve ever written does not sum me up now,
And that the whereabouts of Brighton really doesn’t matter.
That you are the closest I will ever come
To understanding the stars,
And candidness is more attractive
And captivating
Than anyone cares to admit.
That lousy house parties
Are sometimes better than expected.
And you are braver than me,
And I thank you for it.
That speech is, more often than not,
Inadequate, and
Words seldom do justice
(However hard I battle with them.)
And that self-confessing,
Asymmetrical smiles
Are secretly my favorite kind.
That some songs have a hold on me,
That I could never explain much,
And photographs are not my favorite medium.
That poems are often incredibly hard to write,
And it’s all your fault.
(That you’re forgiven.)
And that even the spectrum
Of browns, golden and dusty,
Azul, virescent and viridescent,
Warm and hazy, igneous-red,
Flushed in sunset,
Curled in blazing amber;
The hue of gloriously tawny,
Shaggy apertures
Of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers
Are no match
For the honeyed morning's
Beams of light
Dancing on your head.
'But how can words express the feel of sunlight in the morning...'
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
His topper reflected prisms,
And hair burned under his moon glance,
How ephemeral was midnight,
Darkness dressing my hair in stars,
His smile the light spill from a broken moon,
A claret glass bursting with blood skies,
His plumage exodus stealth netherworld ,
Trithing shards in flamed heat,
Black salt pastes orinein wounds,
Kirk yard elementals despoil spirits of all hell,
Strix cackle, taunt on nightly transvections,
A viridescent sadness wakes alone.
Saudade no seasons doth befall,
Trapped in concupiscence darkest tale void of intemperance
── Clad in loves spectural crown
Arnay Rumens © 12/ 2014
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
My grandpa who eats steamed sweet potatoes on foothills textured in green rice patties
dreamt up a tall brick house with a black iron gate
barbwires sprung around the tips of the entrance to keep out thieves
right now he wonders how long he can keep fibbing to my mother—
their rotten hut at the end of the massive foothill, not fleeting
monsoons come early, swells the ground till it gave
a landslide takes four people and a child
that day, red stars hung above Tiananmen square gates
grounded bones came in sacks, white cement hauled by green skin trucks
My grandpa who loves sweet potatoes constructs an ivory wall.
after the revolution, the sun peeks out in montages
peering through the smoke
gunpowder stuck to the tank tire roads
black heads roll off yellow tar dirt into a pit
My grandpa gives his best friend one thousand yuan—
visas for my mother and grandma,
His best friend disappears,
writes my grandpa
an apology and, leaves him a large white sack of uncooked sweet potatoes
light tan, severs in half and plops down on the lumpy cutting board,
dusty orange inners, grandpa tosses them in the boiling water
and later, while gnawing down,
he pretends they are oranges for once
Grandpa, who’s kneeling on our dried front yard with a worn out copper pail
waters the salty earth slowly until it sprouts sugar canes
chops one down, breaks it in half, the sun beats
peering through palm leaves
a viridescent river of silk and pale honey
my small three year arms grab a hand full
sliced by grandpa into pieces neatly placed
in a blue flowered ceramic bowl
years later, I chop a stalk down and chew until
English becomes a second language again
and in my twenties, I grab a hand full
sliced my mom into pieces, places them in a weaved basket
made of reinforced bamboo
I put it in front of my grandpa’s grave
in Fujian on the foggy mountainside of a small retirement town.
The edge of the South China coast covered in a thick plastic smog,
I sit on a stone eating sweet cold potatoes with my grandpa facing outland,
a red kneeing sun, barely visible past the trees
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
I SAT ON THE EDGE OF CREEK
The moss on the boulder sleek..
The viridescent carpet all grey
Beneath sapling an old man lay ..
Wrinkled face, ripped hands,
Wearing pheran, shabby lands,
Scuffing eyes
Where pain lies !
Beyond tree line
Is the Alpine
Where
The sun always shines...
The Autumn exploring the bottom,
Chinars burning,
Children mourning...
Beyond Chinars is my House,
And that is the place
Where is my Spouse
That is the place
Where is my spouse....
Rayees Ali Najar
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
engulfed in viridescent
i suffocate,
there’s no way my existence only live in one color!
at this rate, i will only absorb monochromatic colors-
boring, black and white colors-
my life isn’t an empty chess board!
my life is supposed to be a prism after sunlight, reflecting the colors of the rainbow rays after heavy rainstorm.
my life is supposed to be a clear cheerful lights that invite happy beams from every eyes that saw me!
where are those beams now?
there are,
but all of them are
impish
smiles.
it can’t be.
it can’t be.
now it’s only one solid color,
a color that allows me to be invisible.
perhaps
it’s better this way.
i would die rather than letting my morose colors transparent.
until when?
will i hide my colors forever?
but then, i will never witness the rays of the sun.
how will i refract rainbows, if i only let myself hide in the color of the night?
the sun.
the sun won’t come out.
but the clouds are here.
gray, heavy clouds leaking of water.
ah.
maybe i should wash my colors.
wash, wash, until i’m cleanse.
wash, wash,
the loud sounds of thunderstorm.
wash, wash, rain,
volatile sky projecting a vicious achromatic light.
let my colors melt in rain.
until my vicinity is filled with fluorescent bulbs,
‘til the sky is pastel,
'til holographic air diminish,
'til then,
i can see others beams,
and my own cheerful color
is the best one i could display so far.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
Could you love me at once?
The way you do in my dreams,
Lying on the viridescent growing tendrils of grass
The beat of your heart being my lullaby
Your fingers strumming my side
as I took a deep breath from the nook of your neck
The redolence of earth dimmed as your cologne
marked me as yours.
Your fingers slide to my cheek,
caressing the skin dotted with freckles,
connecting the pattern they made.
My content sigh
tickled your ear, making you laugh.
A gust of wind blows my hair all over your face,
the fingers leave my cheek and settle in my hair.
Playing with the ebony strands
shuffling them, I stare into your umber eyes
and your lips descend to mine
claiming me gently.
Could you love me like that in reality?
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
Sockets laying low, like a swing with to much rusted chain.
Corneas harshened with florescent grass viridescent and sky aquamarine.
Snout pointy as the tip of a lustrous knife silver blade, and facing diagonal like a canon before fire.
Two ample, pale, cushions, keeping guard about my mentum.
Little brown chocolate chips, melting upon every inch and centimeter on my countenance.
A mane full of lingering threads colored chestnuts.
Physique of Irish, pure skin filled with angel kisses.
Two stubby branches hanging in action, waiting to be reactivated.
And two vertically challenged limbs, pudgy and not operational.
My presence, positioned vertical, gazing into a transparent sea of glass.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
Moon Shine
Blooming viridescent vine
Milky caps horizon’s roll
Love notes on kindling flow
Dance by the light
Outshine warm fire sight
Moonlight water glow
Drifting light show
Gentle satellite ray
On gratitude day
~
Shine on moon
Slice of lemon meringue pie
Exits the sky
White candlelight lead the way
~
Shine on moon
Beam on green Earth today
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 7:30 PM UTC
“He had hazel eyes and street smarts” She said, smiling ruefully.
“She had viridescent eyes and a guarded heart” He murmured, his eyes shining
“I was leaving in 6 months and he had a troubled soul” She touched her lips as if remembering a kiss
“She smelled like fantasy and tasted like melon lip gloss” He couldn't take his eyes off his hands
“I think he tried to love me,” She said
“I loved her more than anything in the world,” He said
And it's that word: ‘tried’, that gets caught in her throat. She takes a breath and continues.
As if the memory of her was too much to bear, he got up and walked away.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
if i became an expanse of sea
would you find my coast a cool place to dip your sorrows, as you would your toes in insufferable heat
would you thirstily jump to my refreshing depth, looking to soothe and attend some unbeknownst desire
would you wade to the shallow depth
and fill your cup with my summery libation
would you cast nearby tropical flowers in my tide
watching them swirl with contempt and longing as my waves carry them aimlessly but gleefully
would you flood me with boundless questions,
submerging your mind with my saturating sapience
would you compose timeless billets-doux,
forming the cursive lines from the foam atop my waves
or would you extinguish your cigarette in my lurking , subfuscous waves,
as you shrunk rapidly from my sandy shoreside
would you toss fragments in my whitecaps, getting rid of the things you no longer cared for
or would the swirl of my water dizzy your mind, murkily shrouding your ability to think lucidly
if the wind leads you towards land
or where the deep color of the sky harmonize’s with my iridescence,
try to find slumber in the vespertide
allow the viridescent vapor to ease you in my
thalassic cavern
if you sought other sea’s to soak your searching soul in,
know my desire would not diminish,
but wade in its wishful want
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
A sickly entrance, barely breathing,
I'm tiptoeing through viridescent dreams
as silent as envy
like her heart's song for me.
I hummed the lyrics in his ear
but she wouldn't dare whistle the melody.
I was greedy for her glory
a dull emerald in my cheeks,
its beginnings as an ember,
doubling in size: a forest fire,
deciding to swallow her whole.
Slimy tears gather in algae pools
drowning in a lime seaside.
Not the slice in your icy margarita,
but the twist in your taste buds
spitting the seeds into her hands.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
The air was crisp and faintly green
The wind was light, the scene serene.
I gazed upon a sprawling field,
As viridescent waves revealed
A lone black cat, soldiering on.
His eyes as verdant as the lawn.
He strode with purpose, without pause.
He writes his tale with the path he draws.
Black dagger, shimmering bright,
Piercing the grass, a shard of night.
Where was he going with such haste?
What delights of life would he taste?
It did not matter to him nor I,
But he knew a freedom that could not die.
I daydream often of that field,
And of the life that it might yield.
To trot assuredly through lush domain,
The burden of choice all that remains.
To feel the wind upon one’s face,
The grass and sun, a warm embrace.
The black cat’s life proffers this wisdom,
The path is forward that leads to freedom.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 6:30 PM UTC
Vacant Streets
Barren homes
Concrete rubble scratching beneath my feet
Am I all alone?
Towering viridescent leaved Giants
On the other side of the road
Wind swiftly whispering hollow secrets
Into the grove.
I intently observe the grooved bark of a tree
What species is it?
I don't know, but I would like to know
My eyes scrupulously make their way up to the reaching branches at the very top
Next to this tree I observe is a tree stump
It doesn't look like it was cut with precision, it looked like a flash of unpredictable lightning chopped it right in half
Incapacitating it to no longer grow, ragged shards of raw inner wood
Now blackened with death.
The difference between the stump and the outreaching tree was one proliferated while the other did not due to death.
I felt my heart in my chest and arteries transporting blood to a part of my mind neglected and depressed
As the realization swooshed and then swelled into my heart,
that these conditions of my mind and circumstances were not forever
But temporary lessons
Yes, that's all these bad things are,
Temporary lessons
A tree can be cut but if not cut through all the way to cause death, it will grow around that cut, and everything else about it will eventually become bigger than those few times it experiences pain
The key to all of this was to move forward, grow
With limbs outstretched to the sky.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
Abstract shapes of various colours
Congregate against the viridescent canvas,
Ready to worship the thing that was hidden away for so long; arcane.
Prodigious circles of many talents,
A constant rotation of life and death.
A long road with no end.
Or a deep ocean with no beginning?
While the verdency of eau de Nil possess such entities,
The black and yellow striped obscurities peculate life and confer to the triangles.
Obnubilate.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
They dazzle
and dance among
the branches
bright rubies
lively viridescent
frosted blues
and sparkling white
mixed with a golden yellow
that makes the fuzz around
my vision grow
I sit there with you
we can see our breath
dragons amidst the forest
curled to each other,
arms wrapped in one other,
close and warm, hearts beating quick
you look into me again
and I look back.
There it was, my heart
stopping once again
as you gave me that warm look
in those deep, copper eyes.
How could someone look at me
like you do?
I've never felt someone probe so deeply
into my very soul.
"I don't know and I'm afraid to say"
en español, you speak
I huff, waiting for you
but you still say you're afraid
This is the moment
THAT moment
where I look around me
at the sparkling trees
and wonder
how this could even be happening...
and the words
roll off my tongue
like honey off my spoon
and I feel our bodies
sing together, truly,
for the first time.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
you, special one, so enthralling indeed
casting fits of need with viridescent pits of greed
take me between your fists in the lifeless heat of night
break a willful bird from the fantasy of flight
what kind of crippling love do we breed
when all is good only when I bleed?
I bleed.
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC