"vitreous" poems
Permanently fixed to the rest room wall,
waiting for the golden rain to fall,
oh you've many a tale to tell,
The stains on your sides, the distinctive smell,
That gum in the drain hole, spat out in haste,
The crown and glory ‘mongst the human waste.
All those members, large and small,
have hung over your orifice, you've seen them all,
Your starting to choke on the ***** hair,
While drunk men with whiskey breath, look down and stare,
no one seems to notice your vitreous gleam,
under the constant haze of the ***** stream,
you just suffer in silence and long for the day,
When you’re no longer needed and they take you away.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
how easy it is to write a poem
of unrequited love
an ode to that insatiable hunger
that lives unwelcome in the pit of
my stomach
and slowly eats away at me
gnawing a black hole into that space
an emptiness i couldn't look at
its darkness burned brighter than
the eclipsed sun
who always called with the most
beautiful voice and promised that
if i simply stopped averting my eyes
i would most certainly become one with you
and i forsake my sight
to have your heat
your radiation from all parts of the spectrum
to burn my traitorous eyes right out of their sockets.
how different it is to write
of contentment and perhaps even
a love that i can reach out and touch
without having it sublimate each atom of my being
and reduce me to a radioactive ash
scattered to the wind.
it's a love that i can submerge myself in
it presses in all around and the
mega-Pascals of pressure simply reach
a placid equilibrium with my porous skin
i breathe it in and my lungs
somehow learn to pull the oxygen from
the molecules of liquid desire and vitreous joy
and it fuels my body
infiltrating and inhabiting every cell
feeding my muscles as i
sensuously move my body
fluid as the frigid water around me.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
With mighty aplomb
You drop your vitreous 'view bomb'
With unorthodox precision
You squander my decision
You have one filter
And that is to kilter
The views that don't come from a stranger
The views that echo in your echo chamber
Fair pity to those who reach out with an olive branch
To give you another chance
A chance to move away from grief
A chance to turn over another leaf
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 7:21 AM UTC
His body lost temperature as he pressed himself against the chest of hers, seducing her with his love.
With his sleepy **** voice, he hums her romantic morning lullabies.
The gray walls of the room soon embosomed with gleaming hearts of their beauteous lust and speedy soft breaths, leaving nothing more but powder blushes of crimson on her flowery cheeks in the springtime dawn.
The honeyed lust in the veins lit the bodies of two lovers like candles into eternal flames of romance.
Under the chocolate brown duvets,
Milky fragrances of the tea dances along the bare hands of two lovers,
while he serves breakfast on bed to her in an old-fashioned way.
Bleak morning mist tango around the vitreous skins of scratched windows,
as fat hummingbirds' tinkling giggles paint beyond the nature's smiley meadows,
sending a major abundance of lovable freedom and glee to the people.
In the bathtub,
Velvety calyx of dreamlover rose flows smoothly through the silk water.
They shower each other and let warmth grasp their naked body.
He kissed her dancing soul of chasms out
and tie uncountable amount of butterfly knots to her pancake stomach.
His abilities of heart possessions had captured the universe's breath.
*Nothing has changed since day number one, everything is iridescent.
Everything is swimming in a magical pool of scarred perfections.*
As the sun sets to the west,
The undarkened nightfall sings lulling melodies and let its harmonic fire burn the skies.
The shadows of their love whirl out unstoppable romance that vanished away void hopes and pain.
The lover's spirits echo and echo into spring gorges and dashing rivers,
Feeding darkness with lucent fragments of light.
Oh they were only two humans in love...
Or only a size of two negligible lovedust in the mystical galaxies...
But their endless love never fails to deluge the world with drizzling tears.
A facile spark of romance can be an amazing set of fireworks that creates indiscernible fruitful happiness.
Who in the world could resist this unpredictable power of their spingtime love?
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
choo choo
next stop.....perdition
(no, not really...no-one believes this Stygian opacity)
1.
look how Time doth ravage thee
look what it did to thy visage
in smithereens, lies youth
it so artfully takes away
what is held so dear
rivers and streams
valleys and hills
arching to ecstatic heights
plunging to abysmal lows
into the ravine of chance
stirred by the spoon of Time
slowly around the cauldron
brews the self-same mixture
then poured into chasms of forgetfulness
using the eternal sledgehammer
it
smashes the foundation of thought
grinds the nutmeg of speed
pulps the fruit of mentality
slows the pulse of sensation
and pardons none.
2.
what was once sensuous and voluptuous lips
now are merely two dry slits on your face
once stared-into eyeballs, now glass over
vitreous cataracts steadily grow, weed-like
toned into lithe elastic bands now stretch
away into forever, a pale platform to walk on
life's morn is encompassed by years' slanting
clouded and bedimmed by mists of age
butterfly's existence outweighs a man's
by mere night-veiled windowpane of true sight
draw the curtains; close the shutters; screen the eyes
the time has come to shed all blinkers and face the sun.
3.
crimp
sag
limp
drag
mud cracks down a dipping dale
scalding pain sears sore half-foot
yes, time is but a disease
ravaging all
without fear or favour
sunken eyes
slower reflexes
tardier mind
scraggly body
hides not
condescends not
forgets not
the glimmer of ....
a time of ...
4.
cathedral invites the walker in
cool and calm recesses
sit silent
wait....
then they walk in, carrying
one who had but a lucky half-score lot
clear soprano note becomes a rudderless bleat
announcing the folly of stifling ego
now shorn of burning frost of circuitous fervour
beams of mercy cast a final look-see
jump the barriers of
time
to
carry thee off.
pipe organ-stops are pulled out
(art thee ready? platform number 5)
S T, 9 May 2013
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
~~
Those might have been told in any other way
but you could not understand
No, No this is not a spring song
Not even a fairytale
An exclusive secret,
a pain which originates within a love,
reverberates with the rebel song,
within your known sky, wind
Naturally has seen in dreams
Rarely meets with the real
Crops of thousand wishes,
As the Vinci's Mona Lisa
Truly forms in nature
which has a vitreous luster
As the Crystal of Sapphire blue
where the beauty beyond
Of the words mystery unveiled,
yet the fascination of the Poe's uncovered poetry,
As the fathomless depth of Mid Atlantic ridge,
which goes a long way
Tastes like the first kisses of love
which is full of longing
where whole life is covered with dissatisfaction,
within the prospect of ever known
Like an old wine
where levels of alcohol is too high
After spreeing over the night,
Still hanging in,
Even after taking the morning black coffee
~~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
There is nothing in the intricate design of the eye that tells us how we are able not only to see the world, but to look back upon it.
Is there a magical element yet unknown, somewhere deep in the vitreous humor, or hidden within the optic nerve that burns with the purpose to seek out beauty in the world?
To capture it in our gaze, to own it for a rich moment or two.
Is there some electrical impulse within this blinking vessel
that projects our delight upon the object of our affection?
We know we love, and yet how can this be so? It does not exist anywhere in our anatomy.
We know that we would risk everything for that enduring answer, seen radiating from another's eyes,
and yet, how can we grasp it and hold it tight, this invisible thread?
Where, in the gray matter and electrical streams and storms of our mind, lies our imagination?
A game of telephone from neuron to neuron sends the fleeting thought
that behind our closet door there may be another world,
where a nautilus is king, and great whales swim the cosmos, feeding on the tails of comets.
But only for a moment do we think, perhaps it is so.
Until we open the solid door, and what we believe,
because we must,
shows us the simple fact of a tidy linen closet.
We believe it, because we must.
For there is nothing in our marvelous jellyfish of a brain that tells us that the world can be
anything
and everything
we want it to be.
And with that, the World, and all the other worlds
here, there, and in between,
smile at us,
the fleeting shimmer of light in an endless sea.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 2:02 AM UTC
Sometimes, you meet people who float
like iridescent bubbles in the suburbs,
like puffy purity-colored clouds,
like the aroma of miles of confidence-colored tulips,
like grains of sand over an unclouded oasis,
and they smile,
and they smile until they are no longer people, but
the bubble, the cloud, the scent, the smile for those around them.
Until they become the oasis.
And the oasis is full of life.
But the oasis is full of life,
and life is full of danger, and fear, and darkness,
despite the beauty of the phenomenon.
Jump in anyway.
If you open your eyes underwater,
they might burn for a second,
but if you keep them closed,
there's a possibility you might get eaten, right?
Jump in anyway.
You see, you only thought the oasis was vitreous,
until you delved deeper,
and unearthed a new world.
A world that held itself in such a way
that it became a little less of a mirage,
a little less of an illusion,
a little more like a person
a little more human.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 8:33 PM UTC
to pluck out his eyes and
stain the earth with vitreous humor.
to separate the lonely wind from its
counterpart in my soul and its
thickness choking my lungs—
to escape the death grip of
the twisting jaws and
****** talons of the
sharks that rip us raw
hawks that
streak from the sky
harpies
harbingers of
to eat the flesh that
drips like candlewax from our
febrile skin
to hold morality in one hand and
maps in the other
to learn the general principles of cartography
one must commit genocide.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
##
*Vitreous shinning of moon,
as springtime mothers pique
A train carried me from dark to light,
a rose bud bloomed -
I grasp roses and devotion songs together,
hands with my dreamed darling boon,
A dream decided real, never forgotten,
meaning of love as moonlit, learned from thy
Now onward -
Narrow uneven path,
Aye passionate pain stressed,
Thee roses faded and wither,
As a missing melancholy song -
On a full moon I bide on a boat for thy
Until ache twilight horizon -
Behind apart from time -
A mature pensive ripened,
An abstract passion craved for romance
Oh! It's beyond the wording,
Oh! My darling-
Oh! I forever behold thy
Oh! ** ! An untold love I feel!!
##
@Musfiq us shaleheen*
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
If I was to gaze into those eyes what would I see,
diamonds and jewels glistening in the morning dew,
blazing fire as they gaze into a crimson sky,
the blood red reflections mirroring your burning soul,
in such vitreous pools lay anchored ships of fools,
casting off their chains , setting sail to faraway lands,
ghosts that wander through the shadows,
moonbeams reflecting on a porcelain skin,
beacons through the darkness shining forth on rainbow shores,
there shall I seek my sanctuary until mornings new light.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
Trails of light impair sight
Pulsating snake-like kites
Shine stronger collectively
More from than the left or right
I, cannot see properly
What is in front of me
Peak lightning streaks
Been here before
Status is temporary
Symptoms of brain fatigue
Or excessive use of screens
Warning signs align
Step away from this stationary place
Researching this state
No pain or migraine
Time to vacate by taking a break
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 12:19 PM UTC
His eyes blue green
His body Roddy
His hands distinctive
Arms strongest than pillars of marble
His hair reddish blonde
His manners unforgettable
His smile stunning
His private vessel redish too
His feet huge
His Adam leaf just right
His ancestry Irish
His heart pure gold
His soul my own
His twin soul twin flame
my very own
His voice strong masculine deep.
Soprano.
His passion wet a stallion perfectly shaped all rapture is
My voice his soprano pride
My thighs his madness
His anger his silence I fall in love.
His true loving heart my own.
His physic athletic muscular HE- MAN type body
His hight 5'8
His wealth my own
His jewels my children
His diamonds my tears my tears his diamonds his Rubies his poems.
His sonnet 75 his treasures buried for me to know his love is true
His heartbreak my own
His goals my own
His first love is me
His love making supernovae
My smile his 20 million hurried loot worth fame and great fortune.
My Knight my all
My sheikh my king of hearts
My body his pleasure his desire
My hair dark ashy moon glow over cedar- brown
My eyes vitreous reflecting colors of nature, starry looking eyes
My voice his soprano pride
My thighs his madness
My DNA his own
My height 5'4
My feet 8-1/2-9
My heart of gold his own.
My talent his own
My joy and happiness
my own
My song his delight his lyric rights
My first love him patpat
My love.
Our marriage license sleeps.
Our book; We are the authors
of our own lives and destiny..
What Dreams may come
Gone with the wind
Message in a bottle.
E. T. Phone home.
Scarlett letter A
Countless written memories.
.
Favorite places stargazing under the stars.
Boat rides waves rocking our love away.
Lover is PatRk imaginary ancient
True love.My E T.
Knight yes one King of hearts RD-present here soon.
~~~
By: Karijinbba, all rights.
Dec 25, 2023
Dec 25, 2023 at 7:09 AM UTC
When did love become so violent?
When did people start to hold hands in fists?
When did amorous letters turn into 140 character snips?
Reactions were real; we stumbled through hoops together head over heels
And now we stumble through scrolls with eyes-
Irises as white as the background that bleeds into bloodshot sclera-
There is no vitreous humor here...we're melting.
When did Cupid start carrying a gun?
When did value turn face towards deprecation?
When did the olive branch come from a broken tree?
When did words become weapons of divinity?
The storm we hold is long and wide-
And the power of letting it go extends the hand of life;
Vulnerable, we most definitely are as the thunder rolls
And the lightning strikes - no place to hide...
When did you swing towards my lip to make it rain even more-
When that same lip could have been a cloud on your forehead
To clear the sky?
When did love become so violent?
30 Mar 18
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC
Skin as pale as lilies,
now livid with interrupted bloom.
Bruises as dark as that Irish lake,
five of them, of a brutish nightshade hue.
Body as limp as the towel they used to rub you warm to no avail,
dotted over with dirt, your shirt torn through.
Eyes as vacant as the echo in a tomb,
once blue before, now glazed over with vitreous dew.
Oh Clerval, how I have forsaken you.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
I am running through the Milky Way,
with love and hope perches into the soul,
dancing cloud flash the glee,
the peacock biding, rain could be
me for love
love for mine
Souls are jocund company while triumph of birds
twilight on face antecedents shine of love,
vitreous luster of a crystal as diamond,
the dark of the darkness beget the diamond,
dark defuses and alchemize,
the black grinned -
caliginous to illumine as a small table lamp
glimmer glee with the end of darkness.
I can hear babies are cackling in the next room.
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
THE DEEDS WE DO FOR LOVE
I gave up my father, for love.
I gave up my dreams, for love.
I gave up my heart, for love.
I gave up money, for love.
The things we do for love.
We test ourselves as we walk amongst the vitreous path
of which we created.
We canvass ourselves daily.
Can I do this?
Will I avail?
Love hath seized many a possession of mine.
I do not care.
The deeds we do for love.
We eschew many an asset for the honorarium of love.
The deeds we do for love.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 8:02 AM UTC
Listen to the
sparkling
of the firmament
above,
Hush'ed creatures
cradled
'twixt vast concave
hollow.
Stilled bay holds
wax moon,
vitreous in her
gaze,
Teeth held tight our
tongues-
gut seized words
swallowed.
Heavens mirror
that inherent
to
Our lot-
reflects a brighter
truth.
Souls alight,
plunged deep to
take
Steadfast vows
'neath Sky's
wake.
This era's
sojourn
Leaves naught to
yearn.
Our fate's
law-
To live
Love.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
There was once a boy
A boy that resembled a toy.
A boy who wore oversized shoes,
Baggy pants and unusual spectacles.
A short stub,
That lazed clumsily around the room,
A boy whose appearance was hardly noticeable,
And presence engulfed.
The poor boy was constantly annoyed,
Teased and bothered.
Thrown around the room
Like the rag he seemed to be.
There seemed no escape,
From terrifying bullies,
That roamed around the school,
Waiting patiently to crush him.
The helpless boy waited,
For the Bully to take him,
Grab him by the shoulders,
And smother his dreams in pain.
One day, however, the boy waited.
He waited patiently
For the bullies to take command,
But they never did, they just walked past.
The lonely boy discovered,
That he pertained an unknown power,
One that left him nameless,
And devoid of appearance.
He knew he was not vitreous,
See-through or transparent.
But he could roam through a room,
Unnoticed, overlooked.
He could run through a clear field,
And go unperceived.
He was able to devour a thousand meals,
And never be blamed.
Such abilities brought wonderful joys,
And grand pleasures,
However such leisure brought
Terrible solitude in return.
The assurance of his safety warmed him,
Knowing he’d be free of harm.
But the gawky boy was lonely,
Devoid of company or charm.
He roamed the halls alone,
He sat absently in his desk.
And slowly his loneliness
Began to consume him.
He was overcome
by the colorlessness of his pale skin,
The crookedness of his misshapen brow.
He slowly fainted, into a mirrored glass.
The boy had become,
That he had always been;
Another shadow,
Another gust of wind.
His pale skin disintegrated.
The oversized shoes sank.
His spectacles shattered.
The smirk evanesced.
The boy became,
That which cannot be named.
A light breeze,
A faint whisper.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
1
i carry with me at all times a single fond memory of you ******* out venom from under my skin, right where you forgot you put it a very long time ago, —and beneath my eyes, as the vitreous shrinks and contracts, every sweep of your tongue becomes another dilution of the pigment of my iris, and every stem or stalk taken from the roof of your mouth, here is where hell begins—and i carry in me at all times your own discarded cells, and the stalactites of your bones beneath. here is where
2
you let me drown, which i will not blame you for, but i will blame you for the tears of my lovers all shed over not having a body to bury, or to dig back up, or to hold, simply because you couldn’t swim—but i couldn’t either and did i let that stop me? at least we know now which one of us is more so the coward, or i guess was
3
(…which was my worst fear if i am being honest, if i had ever told you: they say there are two deaths but i know there are three. the first is when you are buried; the second is when your name is said for the last time; and the third is when the worms give up because there is not enough left of you to bother their mouths with)
4
nothing i say makes any sense today
you took my tongue; give it back, give it back
5
it all comes back to an oral fixation, i know that, just wish i could tell you why
6
—no, i remember why now, it’s because
you kissed the soil of my grave when you thought i wasn’t looking but the joke is finally on you because decomposition had begun early—sickness is the only bedfellow we’ll ever have—and after that comes
7
return to start?
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
Connect me to my childhood
when bliss was oblivion.
Connect the dots that made me.
From my cornea to retina
through the vitreous humour
what was it before,
before I imprinted into my cerebrum.
Bring it back to me
what I saw
and what it was.
What I know and what I feel.
Connect it,
and lead me to.
Let me and help me
rebuild my reality.
What I am is
what I saw,
but what I saw
wasn’t and maybe was.
From my cornea to retina,
or maybe even before
or on the backside of my eyelids.
What I want and need
is of what I am.
What I am may be
or may not be
because what I saw,
I saw or not.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
when angels get deadly bored in angelland
they decide to matchmake yin and yang
a breathtaking game of -love and hate- kicks off
their watch broadcasts meditative brittle glitters
as expected from the dutiful glitter brittles
finally they also have fun
oh the glorious common hearted one
but for a while it remains
and ubiquitousness escapes
within that while infinite loop
while with
condition always returns
true
assured they are
to have hoarded a concept of none
because only none can break the program
it runs
through
curls and whirls
attracts and repels
hums and vector sums
bubbly groans
made of sour cherry wood drums
asymptotic shapes of ascension moans
'Oh yes this surely is miraculous!'
one for fun
one for ‘oh please be my hon’
Stay at the jolly night of proms with us
we are so heartily amused!
They travel beyond ignorance
to a pointless point of their own absence
‘for the land’
they repeatedly say
from far far away
lost words as such
slowly produces by-products
made of tingly-wiggly bugs
capable of delaying holiness
of now
capable of creating time
for no one
with a halt sign
until game of supremeness bears a ...
break!
made of HUM
a Sound
like none
heard once
along the aileron of a vitreous dome
while
the unheard stays
with the one
and which is of one
wipes off that angelland
for the better I guess
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC