"welkin" poems
Ouroboros nartoomid breath
The winds ****** incense
A current washing through us,
The ethereal voice
Morosely sussurant whilst thine
Eyes mirror the cerulean truth of
The morning dews eusophobic miasma;
The rainbows spectrum of colours
Mephitically clasping the soul
Dyeing tristfully the silk of
Kundalinis utopia
Moulding archaic monuments
With the azure clay of
Lustrations evanescent cacodaemon,
Peccantly flying like a flag-
Reveries dreamcatcher idyllically
Reflecting conjured shadows
In the welkin mist.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:14 AM UTC
...
☔
"This is a big dream, it may eat you up."
I do not flinch in the face of chaos.
〰
(Forecasters)
I counted as seven gods
ascended the iodine skyline.
We all call them "misfortune in the flesh."
They waltz in pairs but the very last is a composer;
Seven deities promised the sun would catch scarlet fever.
We danced to the music to summon fate and disorder,
building a coffin in the middle of hungry waters,
The sun is our noble sacrifice in ruby robes;
So lets just hope the sea was starving for fire.
(Brew)
Metal ghosts slip among the sky
and lock like iron gates to form an army of grey.
The weight of sober clouds are intoxicated with turmoil,
Unbalanced weight, scales faltering, "no sudden moves please"
Obsidian giants collect the welkin until it boils over
the edges, the pillars, the cage
Why does the dark taste sweeter?
(Beautiful downfall)
The raindrops are ashamed
of the bitter liars we're all becoming;
We've succumbed to narcolepsy by the hand of water;
within the jaws of hurricanes we were consumed,
teeth formed by the angry fingers of the wind
thunder rejoicing as the land buckles down,
rain feasting on the earth in ecstasy
hail and rain are merciless foes
lightning still swinging,
morbidly screeching
chaotic smile,
a sword,
a single,
a cut.
Yes,
I am the one
(☔)
who fed the sky
my name.
...
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
We shall launch our shallop on waters blue from some dim primrose shore,
We shall sail with the magic of dusk behind and enchanted coasts before,
Over oceans that stretch to the sunset land where lost Atlantis lies,
And our pilot shall be the vesper star that shines in the amber skies.
The sirens will call to us again, all sweet and demon-fair,
And a pale mermaiden will beckon us, with mist on her night-black hair;
We shall see the flash of her ivory arms, her mocking and luring face,
And her guiling laughter will echo through the great, wind-winnowed space.
But we shall not linger for woven spell, or sea-nymph's sorceries,
It is ours to seek for the fount of youth, and the gold of Hesperides,
Till the harp of the waves in its rhythmic beat keeps time to our pulses' swing,
And the orient welkin is smit to flame with auroral crimsoning.
And at last, on some white and wondrous dawn, we shall reach the fairy isle
Where our hope and our dream are waiting us, and the to-morrows smile;
With song on our lips and faith in our hearts we sail on our ancient quest,
And each man shall find, at the end of the voyage, the thing he loves the best.
2.7k
Ach so! thou much-praised and lauded Milwaukee,
Thou delightful Wisconsin Stadt of boundless pulchritude,
Verily hath History endowed thy blessed name
With the noisomely beery breath of immortality!
And thank the benign Almighty in highest Heav’n
That thy delectable streets and arboreal squares
Doth remain heretofore untouched by unseemly civic strife,
Despite thy renown as veritable midwife to Sewer Socialism!
Yet, tear-inducing recollections have I of this dwelling-place
And herewith followeth heart-rending remembrances
Of what transpired when I inveigled a plump young Mädchen there
For a brief sojourn of untrammelled concupiscence.
Alas, alack, after gorging her impetuous appetites
On a gargantuan repast of mitteleuropäische delicacies,
Methinks her poor heart gave up survival’s uneven battle
And, warbling a soft piffero-reminiscent sigh, she expired.
‘Twas too tragic thus to depart this happy welkin in mid-prandials,
Emitting a final flatus, sweet adieu, from her rearmost aperture,
Leaving me, her poor forlorn swain, bereft and solitary,
Faced with mine host’s request for instant monetary rendition.
From that naughty place of my bereavement fled I,
Clutching to my ***** the contents of her silken purse,
Determined to partake in untrammelled ***** licence elsewhere,
Ere the chanticleer’s dawn croak wake the inebriated citizens.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
Staring your thoughts in my neuron canvas...
where every cell signaling love....
Every memory pixel your ethereal face .
In the destiny , internal time and space.
Where i heal u into my deepest breathe .
Now the pain I consume, is enteral journey to infinite love ..
It's now the distance that bridging gap every second...
Everyday walk in the cloud thoughts on way,
See your shadow melt into mine and say -
travel in light ,on my milky way .
Drops welkin with tears oozing , in rain ,
Felt aura, her aurum soul regained .
Craving , sbapnacari come to reality , hover , don't airy ,
I flourish love, each micron heart ,u grown adult ,my garden fairy ...
by MAHi - GALAXY
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 7:05 PM UTC
St. Margaret's bells,
Quiring their innocent, old-world canticles,
Sing in the storied air,
All rosy-and-golden, as with memories
Of woods at evensong, and sands and seas
Disconsolate for that the night is nigh.
O, the low, lingering lights! The large last gleam
(Hark! how those brazen choristers cry and call!)
Touching these solemn ancientries, and there,
The silent River ranging tide-mark high
And the callow, grey-faced Hospital,
With the strange glimmer and glamour of a dream!
The Sabbath peace is in the slumbrous trees,
And from the wistful, the fast-widowing sky
(Hark! how those plangent comforters call and cry!)
Falls as in August plots late roseleaves fall.
The sober Sabbath stir--
Leisurely voices, desultory feet!--
Comes from the dry, dust-coloured street,
Where in their summer frocks the girls go by,
And sweethearts lean and loiter and confer,
Just as they did an hundred years ago,
Just as an hundred years to come they will:--
When you and I, Dear Love, lie lost and low,
And sweet-throats none our welkin shall fulfil,
Nor any sunset fade serene and slow;
But, being dead, we shall not grieve to die.
2.2k
a comely mermaid
has
lost
her diamond
necklace
she has
decided
to let
it go
she won't
be happy
without
the briny
breeze
she won't
be happy
without
ultramarine
she won't
be happy
without
the eternal
welkin
she wants
happiness
but not
the necklace
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 3:05 PM UTC
Chordata's horns flourished for them
trekking in dirt with bah
searching hills of solid Earth
mammals' head toward A welkin world
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 5:23 PM UTC
Eftsoons, thee would fain depart and chasten thy chance
Meseems to be fond of thou beloved with fears:
Harken thy anacreontic jovial at once,
For whosoever conveys love shall drown on tears.
Thee may not ratify affections I bestowed;
Each morn may bring no reasons to behold the sun.
Yon enigmatic events has come and winnowed
Beseech, to cease the fires, afore thy love has gone.
Somehow, blossoms will wither, as rivers will dry
Mayhap, thy heart I own shall be shattered in twain,
Welkin rings, pearls cannot retrieve ev'ry goodby
Maimed and futile; whence, no one can withstand the pain.
If these velvet ropes would seize thine eyne twixt the thrill,
Utter prayers, for Heaven would burn me in hell.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 5:12 AM UTC
Bovid's cloven hooves press Earth
near end for Chordata
alas, mysterious Nubian's form line
thousands Ibexes' from the welkin world
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
cold sweat trickled down her spine,
gasping reluctantly for air penetrated
her thoughts, but it was just;
she beamed upwards to sight the welkin,
relinquished— she stopped abruptly.
Feb 12, 2021
Feb 12, 2021 at 11:08 PM UTC
Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Crook
And the rope of the Black Election,
'Tis the faith of the Fool that a race you rule
Can never achieve perfection:
So 'It's O, for the time of the new Sublime
And the better than human way,
When the Rat (poor beast) shall come to his own
And the Wolf shall have his day!'
For Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Beam
And the power of provocation,
You have cockered the Brute with your dreadful fruit
Till your fruit is mere stupration:
And 'It's how should we rise to be pure and wise,
And how can we choose but fall,
So long as the Hangman makes us dread,
And the Noose floats free for all?'
So Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Coign
And the trick there's no recalling,
They will haggle and hew till they hack you through
And at last they lay you sprawling:
When 'Hey! for the hour of the race in flower
And the long good-bye to sin!'
And for the lack the fires of Hell gone out
Of the fuel to keep them in!'
But Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Bough
And the ghastly Dreams that tend you,
Your growth began with the life of Man,
And only his death can end you.
They may tug in line at your hempen twine,
They may flourish with axe and saw;
But your taproot drinks of the Sacred Springs
In the living rock of Law.
And Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Fork,
When the spent sun reels and blunders
Down a welkin lit with the flare of the Pit
As it seethes in spate and thunders,
Stern on the glare of the tortured air
Your lines august shall gloom,
And your master-beam be the last thing whelmed
In the ruining roar of Doom.
1.5k
Welkins so melancholy, welkin so gray,
How mine isolation dost mock me; for
Only the lonesome make sharu fotay.
Bedchamber so hushed, bedchamber of many tears; how I feel thy ivory paint,
How I feel thy pain here.
Hallway so narrow, hallway that breathes, O' hallway, O' hallway, listen when I sing.
Grab mine hand, O' hallway of mine abode,
Mine feet do walk quietly, on thy carpet; thy soul.
Spirit O' spirit, how heavied thou art, soon shalt thou depart; for the world is to much.
Mine skin yearns for kisses, mine fingers for touch, O' many hath wishes, guess I ask for to much.
Mine hair screams loudly, to be caressed, ruffled. How gray art the welkins; when a poet's love is muffled.
Mine hand tis weak, from not having ones grip, mine lips chapped; no wetness
Nor mist.
Mine dance is off, with none holding of hips, mine glance is off; eyes pained
By watching worldliness.
Mine old worn out ninety-sixties Beatles boots art worn, tired they mourn; they've
Walked many miles; on trails I've turned.
They've walked through streets, where dope addicts fiend, I've been that pusher, that user in scenes.
I've dreamt, I've dreamed, hath had many emotions; with mother and dad, I've smoked and mind opened.
Mine hope in God strong, unearthly, outspoken; I'm here on thy globe,
To bring hope to the hopeless.
Mine garb is bygone, outstandish, I'm Irish, Scottish, two types of native American Indian blood; Chickasaw-Choctaw,
From mother's generational flood.
A Greek man's inside me, one of biblical times, with french royalty, even Charlemagne, is connected to
Family of mine.
As well french power, and kings and queens, emperor's, empresses in mine relations; who ruled Rome with
Maximus, and around
Constantine.
With pilgrim cruor from England, that came here on ships; on the Mayflower they traveled, to this place of new bliss.
Even tis I am Swiss, these art mine bloodlines, O' how mine souls old,
A gold refined.
This is me O' Lord, thy lonesome son,
O' this is me God, thy writer
Of love.
Welkins so melancholy, welkin so gray,
How much longer O' loneliness; til
Thou shalt go away.
Tonight, O' tonight, shalt be silence once again;
Thus the dream of being held, is just
A thought with none end.
© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poets poetry
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
Staring your thoughts in my neuron canvas...
where every cell signaling love....
Every memory pixel your ethereal face .
In the destiny , internal time and space.
Where i heal u into my deepest breathe .
Now the pain I consume, is enteral journey to infinite love ..
It's now the distance that bridging gap every second...
Everyday walk in the cloud thoughts on way,
See your shadow melt into mine and say -
travel in light ,on my milky way .
Drops welkin with tears oozing , in rain ,
Felt aura, her aurum soul regained .
Craving , sbapnacari come to reality , hover , don't airy ,
I flourish love, each micron heart ,u grown adult ,my garden fairy ...
by MAHi - GALAXY
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
*A Poeme from ye Penne of
ye right learned Professor Peter Buttocke
collected by hysse Pupille Edna*
There is an ancient Shittah in my Garden, eldritch and right dun in alle Aspect
Wherein dwelleth a loude and noisome Ouzel, ye like of which I have ne'er yet seen
Under thysse our goode Goddes fayre Welkin up in ye Skye above us alle.
This foule and unwholesome Beeste, with trespassynge shote-like ****** Effusiones
Hath performed ye veritable Antithesis of kindly horticultural Edulcoration
For whiche Sinne I shall emasculate ye Brute, so God may grant me Pow'r.
Sudating at ye Nostrilles I advance, my trustie Stang at ye ever-ready,
And I prepare to eject it from yon Pollard, having previous shattered
Alle its horryd Frangibles with one brave bolde frampold Blowe.
Thwacke! A last Piffero-reminiscent Warble escapeth loude from its fowle coronoid Appendage;
Right severe Damage and harsh fatal Ruine of Nature irreversible have I caused
To ye shaggie shamelesse little avian Runte, whereon Goddes smile hath ne'er dawned.
Thus descendeth it to the Faeces-bedecked Herdwick, and I titubate triumph'lly o'er its conticent Corpse.
And were there yet a duodenary Set of ye Frass-Depositors, I would not give a Demi-Testrel for their Survyvall
Should they e'er again infringe the sacred Privacie whych ye ancient Shittah enjoyeth in my Garden.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 6:37 AM UTC
Vicinit vicinit the gamut go round
Progenies excogitate faster
Ode to no eminent thing
We all morph into matter.
The atramentous inky and blackest dense;
sprints and weaves in and out.
Tenuring twains over head, under toe;
Absconding ways in which we've never known
A paramounted heretic defeat.
Darkness that foliole footprints sooted deep;
Seeping stenches of fowl un-scented reminiscent in attire of the welkin;
Vastly sly making a skullduggery indent.
CR2X let us pseudonym by hex.
"No nomen no nomen for I matter dark"
"Matronymic nix hold's my fine lark"
"Nongermane logics are behind you and left"
"I am not your scientific pet"
Not a test, nix preliminaries"
Matter of all is of all existing quarries"
Spoken gallant and wise
Need not ever a compromise
"Matter dark matter dark it is you we embark!"
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 2:18 PM UTC
As it is
Is as it was
Is where it should be.
Nothing arbitrary, nothing haphazard
Helter skelter
Skittered
gone.
Set
path
plan
placed
perfect
Valhalla
Zion
Nirvana’d Welkin Blue Yonder
Paradisiacal Elysian Upper Empyrean Celestial Sphere
All very fuckingineffable.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
I thought you hung the moon in night skies,
Polishing the stars on my skin,
A welkin soul a rose loves rain
In the sacred grove immortal chestnuts scattered at your base,
O rapture of hearts thirsty, lucid you proclaimed nectar redder wines,
Bitter was his blood weeping wine from branches high
Every rose word shed immortal tears, intoxicated I lay upon his soil,
Madness sweet devotion yearned in my bitter blood wine,
O dismay such tears did rain
Seared my flesh naked, stabbed stupid with thorns,
Whitherward I was to vanish once more, a parched rose,
O’er perfumed mounds his children breathe
Talent he mused, mental is the artistic bleeder,
Born in one single nights kiss,
Bitten you swallowed thy stars, his throaty laugh
Drown you clever ***** in amaranthine dreams,
He rode through my soul filled veins,
Repulsed as I sin, umbriferous from loves bright sun
Learn he played, his song be bound in mortal pain,
Live thee without thy rain,
A statue weeps rosy wine,
~ For Judas dances in bleeding rain ~
© Arnay Rumens /A Sol Poet N 2014
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 11:07 PM UTC
She came covered in satin-silk hair,
Displayed by rainbowed Ray's;
A visage of God's awe,
And wing's that flew uncaged.
I kneweth her once afore,
In the natural form of grace;
The welkin's own, a soul I've
Known, regalia clase.
O' athwart twas I,
That seized her
Breath, the
Roaring sky's o'er
Happiness. She tucked
Her head, into mine chest;
As the rest played out
As a utopian scene.
Twas not a dream,
Or drug induced
Illusion, some get
Amour confused
With the devil's
Confusion, though we
Art an infusion;
Two antediluvian
Specter shades,
Her color is yellow
For the sun, mine is blue;
From the deepest of water's,
And the river of life
Out of God's throne
I pulled Jane through.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
Some swain art twain
Though we art sole;
Some liveth on sand,
Ourn foundation's
Whole.
Some swain art lost
To temporal sight;
Though ourn birth's
Were matched, to
Meeteth in light.
Burst's that trickled,
Out from divinity,
Christ's foreordained-
Eachother to greet.
Strap's upon toes
Dirt to ourn feet;
Off the planet-
démodé; to
Those who
Hath gold
For safe
Keeps.
Remote from another,
By the blue polluted
Welkin; thus one day
We knoweth, ourn
Pinion's shalt be
As falcon's.
Splitting general edicts,
Trusting in God's rule;
Dying to the globe-
Blithe and mellow
Fool's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
Above the welkin,
many luminous orbs coruscate with perseveration.
These disorganized celestial bodies emulate one another
but their uneven rhythm is apparent to starry eyed observers.
Eyes gazing
fascinated by the unmeasurable exquisiteness that exists
just beyond outstretched hands.
As one beholder marveled
the other closed disconsolate eyes
and gravitated towards the tangible.
It was in that moment
that the steadfast watcher found
what it was that they had been seeking.
A falling star dropped just low enough
that with desperate leaping and grasping
it was within reach.
The burning had not been accounted for.
Nor had the sudden departure
from the satellite that orbited just a little to close
and had only the desire to emulate others
with uneven rhythm.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
1
Welkin flirt with moon
love making celebrations
became an item
2
Breathing together
deep feelings for each other
match made in heaven
3
Looked at each other
blushed a glamorous woman
falling in first love
4
Pink lips allured me
maiden relationship grew
a love at first sight
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
i watched the earth
consume the sun,
a rampant fire blazing within.
the sky turned orange
and pink and peach and purple
and everything in between,
it was like an explosion had gone off
and left the beauty and dust behind,
i eyed the green trees
become dark silhouettes,
painting themselves
against the backdrop of opalescence.
smoke coming from chimneys
took on a dark grey shade
and outlines of houses and rooftops
began to separate the gravel from the welkin.
i adored the sky ablaze
and watched it scorch and blacken
with rage.
it was everything and nothing,
and as angry as it was, it felt peaceful.
and at once, the sky was dead,
and small fragments
of the previous blaze dotted the dark coat above.
it was as if to say,
the world is sleeping,
but our problems are not,
for though the sky is dark
and no longer ablaze,
stars still coat the interstice
to remind us of what is unfinished.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 11:25 PM UTC
If i had a bottle of magical reagent
I'd take out a third of it
and put it in the sky
and turn the sky as blue
as it should be
if i had a bottle of magical reagent
I would take out a third
and put it in the lake
let the lake return
to its rightful clarity
If I had a bottle of magical reagent
I would take out one-third
and put it in my heart
let my heart be restored
to its original innocence
if there's such a bottle of reagent
I'd think to myself
i would sit
under the azure welkin
watching fluffy clouds
smooth flowing waters
I'd feel as light as the breeze
and my heart as wild
as a bee.
Aug 4, 2023
Aug 4, 2023 at 2:45 AM UTC