"watermark" poems
.
Like a watermark through crisp white vellum
a face appears through the veil of dreams,
to colour wash away a montage of image
and decorate a mosaic of sleep dust seams.
As halcyon lakes waterfall into prism nebulae
and the courtesan face evades its emotions,
inevitably slipping between the chasms of space
like golden dolphins through plasmic oceans.
© Pagan Paul (01/09/17)
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
1. Sunlight
There was a sunlit absence.
The helmeted pump in the yard
heated its iron,
water honeyed
in the slung bucket
and the sun stood
like a griddle cooling
against the wall
of each long afternoon.
So, her hands scuffled
over the bakeboard,
the reddening stove
sent its plaque of heat
against her where she stood
in a floury apron
by the window.
Now she dusts the board
with a goose's wing,
now sits, broad-lapped,
with whitened nails
and measling shins:
here is a space
again, the scone rising
to the tick of two clocks.
And here is love
like a tinsmith's scoop
sunk past its gleam
in the meal-bin.
2. The Seed Cutters
They seem hundreds of years away. Brueghel,
You'll know them if I can get them true.
They kneel under the hedge in a half-circle
Behind a windbreak wind is breaking through.
They are the seed cutters. The tuck and frill
Of leaf-sprout is on the seed potates
Buried under that straw. With time to ****
They are taking their time. Each sharp knife goes
Lazily halving each root that falls apart
In the palm of the hand: a milky gleam,
And, at the centre, a dark watermark.
Oh, calendar customs! Under the broom
Yellowing over them, compose the frieze
With all of us there, our anonymities.
4.9k
I saw the sun steep
into the seascape ―
lonely as a drowning
wave
on still-waters
the dimming of the day
rescinding evanescent daylight .
fading with the slack tide
lost at sea ―
a gloaming moment
let fall from
the remains of the day,
like some other passing
sea bird's molted feather
drifts away untamed
I sit silent as the driftwood
lingering at the watermark,
watching a random gust
erase the footprints
of another recurring day,
bearing abandoned memories
and vacant heartbeats,
atrophied in the drifting sands
and I see you walking
towards the abating
midnight sunset ―
but I know
you're just a mirage;
like the dimming afterglow
of so many waning moons
elapsed
ever-changing tides grow low
and promises made lightly
do ebb away
Scanning the distant horizon ―
a blindfold heart
mooning all at sea;
parsing a deserted shoreline,
wondering if love
is too late ,..
to stem the tide ―
harlon rivers
30 May 2018
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
~
*From the initial dawning
lithium sky met infernal waters
and it all went awry
the light of happiness
constituted halos
leaving intimate words
paperclipped, tongue-tied
and love bruises
upon inner thigh
the wellspring enveloped
char and holm
with faint kissed alkali
abating the stormy umbrage
as if a softly whispered lullaby
and suddenly along this watermark
only you, me
and the need to multiply*
~
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 9:51 AM UTC
perfectly soft, cascading hair
crest of a neck so real
stripped of all innocence laying bare
words could never heal
on her sleeves, emotions to wear
silence of the night thick to feel
never would she be the same
only loneliness -herself remain
walking through the halls
facing all her peers
no one would ever know at all
her watermark of tears
couldn't tell she'd built a wall
to keep inside her fears
would never let one break it down
comfortable inside her frown
looking now inside to face herself at last
she's battling demons now, demons all her own
rising triumph threatens to destroy her happy past
tearing ripping swallowing up what was once her home
emptiness consumes her, left in a field so vast
why me now this? all questions left unknown
never would she be the same
only loneliness -herself remain
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
This house was washed away weeks ago.
Freak storm or tidal wave or something;
One of those natural disasters.
I was sleeping, so I didn’t notice.
Look out of the window and you’ll see I’m right.
We’re mid-Atlantic now perhaps,
Not beyond help, yet too far to be seen,
The visible invisible.
I’ve gotten to love these waves,
The lap, lapping sway and the cabin headache,
The bluster of wind and spume, flung against cold glass
Like snow from a gun.
It floats, obviously, this house,
And the watermark is lower than the letterbox,
So everything’s fine, just fine,
And there’s not the slightest chance of drowning.
‘Solid construction, energy efficient, built to last’ –
Those builders knew their stuff inside out,
And I have enough supplies to last until tomorrow,
Which is all that matters, isn’t it?
Do you fancy a cuppa? I’ll put the kettle on.
I’ve thought of everything, you see.
It’s just as well I turned the house inside out
Before the weather changed.
Vicki Watson © 2014
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
God made a masterpiece,
God made a masterpiece,
God made a masterpiece when he made me.
I don't need your watermark,
Or your method of strokes.
I've got it all.
I don't need honey pastels to drip down me,
I'm already twice as sweet.
I don't need diamonds to coat my neck,
I already shine as bright as the stars.
I don't need a crown upon my head,
I already know my worth.
I am the daughter of a king.
I've got angel wings buried in my shoulder blades.
I've got halos hidden in my hair.
God made me perfect.
Don't you dare try to color me in,
Don't you dare try to rearrange my pieces,
Because God made a woman out of me.
I've got grace,
Beauty, and
A word filled tongue.
What more can I need?
I've got lavender lily hips,
I've got rose bud budding lips,
I've got a thorn-filled heart as well.
What else can I be blessed with?
Woman is beautiful,
God gave me beauty.
Woman is smart,
God gave me brains.
Woman is strong,
God gave me bravery.
He made me vivacious,
Curvy, curly,
And passionate.
God gave me everything,
Why would I need you?
He made me a Woman.
He made me a masterpiece.
So, why change that?
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 8:15 PM UTC
Coyote’s mournful howl echoed
in the new moon’s enchanting sultry ether;
breathing the living harmony of the wilderness rhythm
He seemed to sense a soul reincarnation
within a pervasive spirit light
an oft misunderstood
common thread shared
this hallowed land’s night
An uncommon Zen stirring from within,
stifling apathy ..,
. . . of rumble deep beneath
a dormant volcano reawakening ;
that which lies undiscovered
just before the ruptured moment ..,
liberation of release ―
dust and ashes taking flight
Through open window insomnia churns
fifty shades of blue ..,
cast in shadowed hues of broken silence
Coyote stirred the stillness
with a hauntingly familiar cry
reading the ridge-top echoes
like the book of my mind
" YIP YIP A ―W O O H !!! " . . . the somber plea
For it is in these final hours chosen chore
the recurring torn
these chains and things
Coyote was going there ―
to stand these watermark crossroads
this hour of need
Accepting brother has always been lonely
sometimes anything
means something - -
and so it goes ..,
Coyote communes in pulse
from ancient realms
this sacred blood ..,
Om
the lost chord
wounded healers ,
. . . one mutual spirit
runs marrow deep
where dogs run free
The moan of doves whisper to the impending dawn
. . . always known these days
too soon do come and gone
What once was a life well lived ,
s l o w l y e v a n e s c i n g
like the summer river’s flow
some say ..." you never miss the water
'til the well runs dry "
. . . regrets a waste of time - -
Rumination, a loathsome silent reverie
a taunting unsolved koan
an unplanned oxymoron ,
beget of a deafening silence
. . . dust sleeps with indifference
veiling a beautiful handmade
unstrung guitar
muted - - abandoned,
tone poems, unsung
and so "re-begins" the task ...
come what may rise up
into the dark star's light ...
Coyote was going there - -
a dawning metamorphosis
under another nebulous sky
. . . refreshed by Luna's potent alchemy bestrewn
in her spellbinding lambent moonlight elixir of life ...
harlon rivers ... 5. 21. 2015
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 11:21 AM UTC
Stupid white girl.
We are not allowed to do anything.
We're prim and proper, white girls.
We are not allowed to fight back.
Put us in our place, white girls.
We are not allowed real work.
We still want our twenty three cents back.
The child of fair skin and blue eyes.
But with all my female privilege,
Came a nasty stamp on my body.
Like a watermark.
FEMALE.
I have heard that when a woman looks in the mirror, she sees a woman.
But when a man looks in the mirror, he sees a human.
Even with that watermark, our pale skin is used as a canvas.
And everyone else has been handed the tools to color in our curves.
Covering us in blue and black and purple and red.
Redrawing our minds so they cannot process the discrimination,
Painting over our tears so our feelings can be buried,
Manufacturing open legs when you want them,
Closed when you don't.
Erasing the lips we use to speak out,
Erasing the eyes we use to see all of this.
You think just because you held the brush,
Just because you created this monstrosity of a "masterpiece"
You get to claim ownership of this piece of artwork
That you blatantly disregard
Is my BODY.
The "fe" you tack onto "male"
Does not stand for Free Entry.
The "wo" you tack onto "man"
Does not stand for Wipe Out.
Women are barely able hold a pencil.
I was lucky to hold one long enough to draw myself
A conscience, a backbone, legs to stand on, and a mind.
We were only taught how to use the back end of that pencil
To erase our mouth and keep the secrets.
But these days the secrets are keeping themselves.
I will not be put in a glass case
You will not charge admission
To have people come and analyze me.
Buy me.
Give me value.
Categorize me.
Preserve me the way you created.
You are no artists.
You are vandals.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
your cell phone vibrates like a pixie on a train.
smooth as a glass baby's
loose Blue Tooth
in Vaseline
you were miles away from my empty pail of rain
a watermark on the moon, maybe
you knew every
thing ?
maybe you do, maybe i'm drinking my lunch.
you amuse the air i breathe through my skin
like a pearl soothes an oyster
in a bed of nails
and spring.
your ******* are amazing.
you are vishnu at harrods. an airy gorgeous.
a gourd of palpable kiss.
you are the meaning of senseless joy
and the engines
of yes.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
. Seized by the moment,
the gravity of a memory
lay closed the window
to the outside world
Eyelids surrender
in the breath of a sigh,
the silent pacing footsteps
unable to walk beyond their shadow
nor their footprints left behind,
never needing to turn around
to look back to feel
the weight of every laden step
across the old Arch Bridge
spanning the river far below
The cold wet sidewalk
rumbles like the throbbing
heartbeat still echoes ,..
resoundingly,
through the muted voices
of a past buried away alive
Halted footsteps
become a blacker silence
at the precipice
of the Arch Bridge railing ties;
revisited deeply with eyes closed,
wide open so many times
before and after
that long abhorred day since past
Reliving an old noir silent movie,
tarnished time and the river
coursing through it,
remaining unable to wash away
the stains of that watermark tide
Standing frozen
as a weatherworn bridge tower,
high above raging waters far below
feeling a cold chill, empty as a pocket,
perpetual teardrops flow
filling an empty thimbleful with love
A thimble seems so small;
just a pitted silver cup
to shield from a piercing pang,
and yet a welling love
uncommonly overflows ―
tossed over the bridge railing
toward the river below
to see if hope really does float
Seized by the moment,
a random act of kindness
and a thimbleful of love,..
lay open again
a pensive soul's window
to the outside world ...
rivers ... 11/06/2017
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
The only her I know is
trapped
in glass panes
throwing back
sun spun hair
and smouldering ember eyes
pomegranate seed lips
and watermark cheeks
One is enough
she said
staring into her own grey-blue pools
hungering for words handed back
and pressure applied
to long festering cracked wounds
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
Staying in character
playing the charade
disparaging inheritor
of decisions that were made
Sticking to the act
keep up the appearance
less and less intact
searching for coherence
As a strong minded exterior
veils a war torn landscape within
all motives seem ulterior
in a game not meant to win
Trying to drown demons
clawing at the back of my mind
between dreaming and seething
middle ground is hard to find
above the watermark
where the fluid
seeps through the cracks
of this overused shell
a little bit of heaven
above a vast infinite hell
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
The tides have fallen,
but the waters keep rising,
choking out the remaining few who struggled to retain their homes.
Shotgun houses,
long abandoned when the levees broke,
and the ocean crashed through the streets,
leaving a wake of more than just sand.
X's
marks on doors,
spray-painted numbers depicting the body count,
telling you if it was safe to go inside,
if you will be poisoned by gases,
or memories.
Volunteers,
thousands of them,
rushed to the scene,
quick, for their moment in the spotlight,
while the house were still damp,
helpful only in the attraction they brought with them,
where are they now?
Now that the houses and the people have dried themselves off,
where are they?
Those who lost nothing,
those who have everything,
where are they?
Out of sight,
out of mind,
out of the way,
locked away,
a secret,
kept tight,
except for the occasional whisper of the waves.
New Orleans,
a broken city,
still fractured,
held together by hope,
and help,
from the few who still venture down
to help put the pieces back together.
The select few
who still care
about the forgotten city,
the cracked town,
a city that's been down on its knees for seven years.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 12:51 PM UTC
I love you
only in ways
I am allowed to.
I admire you
only from afar,
where I cannot touch you.
I dream of you
only in the deepest of nights,
an unconscious rendezvous.
I wish for you
only in silence,
not one desire, untrue.
I love you
only in the dark,
‘cause under the sunlight,
I’d be reminded of your
watermark—
you are not mine,
though I am yours.
I love you
alone
it is the only love
I’ve ever known.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
Silence speaks —
its say beheld in its
own truth laid bare
Its voice is deeply felt
but rarely revealed
in the tight economy
of considered words
it quietly whispers —
The reality it bares,
soundlessly eroding with a
shameless emotional deluge
that rivers through
the poet's heart
When you feel alone
in a crowded room,
you overhear the drone
a racing heartbeat ...
When you're
going down the road
feeling bad, chasing
the centerline,
reckoning some kind
a life passing by
out the rolled down
window ;
hearken in nature's
tone poems
blowin' in the wind
It was thence
i came to know
my sum of simple truth:
Organically self-wrought
Environmentally molded
from the clay of life
a survivor of many
a passing storm
Season's change,
water seeks its own level
The silt does not get to say
how far down stream
the river carries it
and we still wind up
in the same old place
parsing the watermark
stains of time
and a poet — is not a word
i'll longer use to describe
who i've become
harlon rivers ... December 7th, 2018
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
I love it when you type letters
with your fingertips
on my skin
backspacing my faults
and joining my freckles
letter by letter
until you’ve created a new word.
Sometimes,
you discover a new universe in the obscure abyss
and mark that with an asterisk.
In the morning,
you would press kisses
between the parenthesis of my smile
and bite ellipsis
on the crook of my neck
so that I would wake with your watermark.
I still remember that day
when you assured me
you are just a space bar away and
I am a story you will never finish writing.
"I promise,darling
that you will be filled with caesuras but no period.”
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
Far below the watermark, it’s really all the same…
A Youth screams in truth—Bloated tongue and footloose—for her father, underwater;
While her mother lifeless too, floats along the Grimy hue, face disguised with ****** blue, down the bank-- about a mile or two…
But these words are all in vain, because it’s really all insane, that
Far Below the watermark, it’s really all the same…
Names next to X’s, Signed by anyone of your nagging Exes, haunt your dreams like shapeless hexes--
Reminding you that to succeed, you need to feed from their luscious Platinum **** which you learn to love by, first, ******* on their feet.
So, climb that money ladder! Gadgets! Gizmos, all galore! Stab this back with small “e-chatter”, and raise your wallet up one soulless person more…
Because these words are all in vain, and it’s really not all insane, that
Levees break, Truths are fake, and X’s, Exes, Fears and Hexes on their own, do write your fate.
So worry not! All your dreams make sure you maim, for
Far Below the watermark, it’s really all the same.
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 1:08 AM UTC
today,
walked the river arcade,
by the river~side.
same,
where, & when,
a decade earlier
and a laugh ago,
we performed
a daily differential calculus
of the distance to that line,
a watermark,
where my accidental drowning
would be insurance covered
don’t recall, if back then,
poetry writin’ was a good
a daily companion, or-even
a mere passing acquaintance
but went to
all-in-all-alone-freedom,
found riches,
yet still pressed in rags
of remorse, mourning surely,
until & still a
woman, or
three, rated me a
good looking edible,
even
if only didn't always dress
in black, head to toes, like an
extra cool new yorker, or an
attendee at my own fun~ereal
since those days,
gallons millions, zillions
of brackish seawater has flowed
out to sea as far as
England, Philippines, New Zealand,
whichever be connected to the
rain water of Adirondack mountains
flowing past East 57th Street,
my salty tears replenished,
but time changed the causation,
from oy to joy in simp terms
that rhymes…with me and yours
water woman water woman water
makes the heart capable of weeping
tears of joy,
oh! happy drowning
how do
you cross from woman to water,
that, now I walk on a
water bridge of loving
hard, steel & liquidity of
concrete, smooth roughness
became the path to loving living
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 7:13 AM UTC
I find myself tormented at night
eyes bloodshot staring at the light
pupils drying out, attempting to remove your image so perfectly painted on my eyelids every evening
no matter how many tears rush out, your watermark isn't leaving
dreams destined for nightmarish turns
as the light dries and burns
the windows to my soul
that you seem to have taken hold
claimed stake
in the dreams I create
tainted every release I find in these sheets
with altered memories and distorted perceptions
I let my mind's projection
paint the perfect image of your essence
yet time and time again I fail to see my presence
I see the hands of a man
running along the skin that I once embraced so dearly
the image blurred at first, comes together so clearly
as you draw near to me
his hands defiling the trust
between us
as you utter his name in the same sacred tone
you used for mine in our home
I feel myself tormented at night, destroying the image of you all alone
only to find myself in the same struggle, when the moon comes around and the night draws silent
hoping and dreaming to remove you from my eyelids
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
Rays of light reach the high watermark,
The sun lovely bathes in the morning dew,
On a rose cradled within someone's thumb,
And in a tear streaming from someone's eyes!"
Nov 15, 2023
Nov 15, 2023 at 10:36 PM UTC
because instead of her lips, her words will send you to dream land
the infliction of her voice will cause your heart to ramble
her tone will send chills down the middle of your magenta scars
~
Fall for a poet because //
Her word choice will make you feel as if you are art
As if you have been sewn
As if your skin tone was created by the experiment of combining multiple browns and beiges
That , that scar on your forehead is simply a watermark scribbled by the great architect
~
Fall for a poet because//
when she does touch you , you will be swallowed by her embrace and washed away to a forever .
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC