"weltering" poems
you are the toska breeding in me like vicious flowers
cannas perhaps lotus or bleeding hearts
haunting the excruciating longing in my sinking chest
a calming and white haunting
I hear a thud in the middle of my body and it seems
that my heart levels itself in between my dimmed ribs
so that it may nervously burst in my core
to let that beautiful yellow childlike sun into my body
what am I without you, a weltering raindrop
on top of a dark wooden roof
falling into the rustic mud while nobody is watching
being absorbed into the earth while nobody
cares
when I spoke my voice was hallow
and now you fill my speech and the streaks of tunes from my neck
like a starving man who by the grace of God has been blessed
with the feast of kings and queens
the phantom artist of something like a never ending dream
the gentle spirit
the serene incubus
you
daydreamer of withering beauty
heartless and genuine
I rest my smile upon your spine
I suffocate into your talent
of a deep and barren like litost
your calm ocean
as mine
filled with creatures only our imaginations
can begin to decipher
a tender arena of hearts and fowl play
you have taught me more about myself
I am bathing in beauty
drowning in a glorifying deep silk
I would bring my last weeping words in a coffin
with dark and rich embroidery resembling
that of your driven eyes
for a simple brush of your hand
upon my cheek
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 2:39 PM UTC
Fresh from his fastnesses
Wholesome and spacious,
The North Wind, the mad huntsman,
Halloas on his white hounds
Over the grey, roaring
Reaches and ridges,
The forest of ocean,
The chace of the world.
Hark to the peal
Of the pack in full cry,
As he thongs them before him,
Swarming voluminous,
Weltering, wide-wallowing,
Till in a ruining
Chaos of energy,
Hurled on their quarry,
They crash into foam!
Old Indefatigable,
Time's right-hand man, the sea
Laughs as in joy
From his millions of wrinkles:
Laughs that his destiny,
Great with the greatness
Of triumphing order,
Shows as a dwarf
By the strength of his heart
And the might of his hands.
Master of masters,
O maker of heroes,
Thunder the brave,
Irresistible message:--
'Life is worth Living
Through every grain of it,
From the foundations
To the last edge
Of the cornerstone, death.'
1.3k
you are the toska breeding in me like vicious flowers
cannas perhaps lotus or bleeding hearts
haunting the excruciating longing in my sinking chest
a calming and white haunting
I hear a thud in the middle of my body and it seems
that my heart levels itself in between my dimmed ribs
so that it may nervously burst in my core
to let that beautiful yellow childlike sun into my body
what am I without you, a weltering raindrop
on top of a dark wooden roof
falling into the rustic mud while nobody is watching
being absorbed into the earth while nobody
cares
when I spoke my voice was hallow
and now you fill my speech and the streaks of tunes from my neck
like a starving man who by the grace of God has been blessed
with the feast of kings and queens
the phantom artist of something like a never ending dream
the gentle spirit
the serene incubus
you
daydreamer of withering beauty
heartless and genuine
I rest my smile upon your spine
I suffocate into your talent
of a deep and barren like litost
your calm ocean
as mine
filled with creatures only our imaginations
can begin to decipher
a tender arena of hearts and fowl play
you have taught me more about myself
I am bathing in beauty
drowning in a glorifying deep silk
I would bring my last weeping words in a coffin
with dark and rich embroidery resembling
that of your driven eyes
for a simple brush of your hand
upon my cheek
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 5:00 PM UTC
Your weltering words do not interest me
with its lack of true clarity.
Just your tongue
and all the inhuman noise it can make
Oh' schlepped out- sleeping son
you are the ever tediously coveting one
ungratefully burdened by soft sin
as if it does not alter the personality within.
Scrape gingerly the bottom of a bottle,
in despair carelessly compare disease
to your displeased humor, wash logic
along with blood from lacerated hands;
broken bottle pieces rasping like last words
empty of regret- with every sweep.
In blind acceptance with little malice
you slice ties cleanly as memories of allowance
have barely slipped and
menial wage paychecks become the sole script.
Only little things are still swingin'
but no longer with style,
limply dripping you are simply pathetic and
knowing this is the first step toward the corner mart,
wallet in pocket and to- locking all cold thoughts away
but you continuously fail to remember,
total absence is equivalent to suicide.
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 6:37 PM UTC
The two muliebrity cater-cousin chalices of
Devil in a Bush and Love in a Puzzle;
Down there and Down below,
To keep the wolf from the door of a draconian code!
The heavenly twins on the pull to
Say ditto each losing one's heart to a
Love that dare not speak its name of
Passion and Desire drinking Pheobe's philtre-
Weltering the bride cake of the Middle
Gardens connubial consanguinity.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 3:59 PM UTC
Their waspish comments pierce my soul
Like needles injecting poison of some sort.
The girl who greets me in the mirror
Has flawed features.
Maybe people were being honest after all.
Maybe I am what they say I am - fat.
Never before have I come across a situation so abstruce.
A desire to be be made of plasticine fills my mind.
Imagine!
I could mould myself with my fingertips
Remove faults, gain perfection.
I look around for a quick remedy,
Something to divert my mind.
Now that I've found it- thin, sharp and silver,
I hold it firmly and drag it
Over the soft skin of my hand over and over again.
It smarts terribly but it feels like the pain within is fading.
From fear of death and weltering, I leave my wrists untouched.
The scar remains as a constant reminder
Of the sin I committed,
Of how weak I was,
And of how I could not handle criticism.
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 5:23 AM UTC
Bitter and sweet
When winter evenings fall
Slowly darkening it veils the soul
You can feel it like a
Shadow growing in your mind.
Under the pitiless scourge
Over the weltering body's decay
The wild waves sweep in twilight.
Three roses, pale as moonlight
Lover, ****** Widow
Rise from under the earth.
What is lovely never dies
But passes into illusion.
The foolish are so blind
So drunk and so mad.
Fresh tears sliding down
The face of oblivion
Shining like crystals
Within my deepest depths
Torn into twice thrice
Plus one, scattered like ashes.
Does Thou Love Too?
Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 4:03 PM UTC
God's Heaven
Written by Adam M. Snow
A vision splendid of the Heavenly scene,
filled my mind with an image so clean:
the purity of the road from which I walk,
beyond the pearly gates so pure and white;
brighter than the sun's brightest light,
where the saints goes to flock.
Awestruck was I, with bright colors so new;
beyond everything of this earthly hue.
They glowed from the flowers in eternal bloom;
no death is seen, no weltering of a rose;
true beauty only God could compose -
with great fragrance, oh Heaven's perfume.
Oh the Heaven's perfumes, intoxicating scent;
so greatly with love, Heaven's intent.
Entwined with the sounds of the Heavenly choir;
great melodies with angelic boasts.
And out of the mouths of the highest Heavenly hosts,
singing with voices of fire.
Oh the tunes of Heavenly chorus great,
flowing with love and overflowing the gates.
The power's so great I fall to my knees,
I cannot help but join in to sing,
(O' great is Thy forever King -
great is Thy Maker of peace.)
And suddenly there, in crystal sunlight's glow,
stands all those dear ones we always loved so.
I see my father staring back at me;
my father whom I lost in mid bleak December.
Oh the treasures I will remember,
like the beauty of Heaven's seas.
As I see him, as young as I;
no tears in Heaven, still I wanted to cry.
Never thought I would see him once more.
My father, my friend is he -
a different man, cancer free;
still my father since the days of yore.
Such great gift that God has given me,
a vision of this soon coming beauty.
A land so great for a few yet so many;
the resting place at the end of my life,
to lay down in peace at the end of all my strife.
I wait for Thee, O' God, I wait for Thee.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
A boisterous sky shattered with white
Boundless dew drops of blazing stars
Streaking stealthily through
--A sprinkle of thunderclap--
The noise rolled profusely, so anew
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC