"whisking" poems - Hello Poetry

"whisking" poems

Goodnight green eyes, Your dreams await you in Silver-Lined skies, Dreams of dragons, and fairies, and me, and hopefully just a touch of mystery. The sliding colors slipping silently through silky seas, gliding gracefully over gallant gull wings, whisking you away with a gentle breeze. You see dragons and pirates, fairies and gypsies, tricksy little gnomes, and flamboyant pixies, you see them all tucking away, hiding in there homes as their thoughts start to stray. and as you glide gracefully over the sea, your thoughts start to wonder what tomorrow will be, will there be adventures or heart ache and loss, or maybe even a romp through the moss, you might not know now, but theres something you do, that someone you love, is waiting for you.

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May 29, 2014

May 29, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC

Goodnight green eyes, Your dreams await you in Silver-Lined skies, Dreams of dragons, and fairies, and me, and hopefully just a touch of mystery. The sliding colors slipping silently through silky seas, gliding gracefully over gallant gull wings, whisking you away with a gentle breeze. You see dragons and pirates, fairies and gypsies, tricksy little gnomes, and flamboyant pixies, you see them all tucking away, hiding in there homes as their thoughts start to stray. and as you glide gracefully over the sea, your thoughts start to wonder what tomorrow will be, will there be adventures or heart ache and loss, or maybe even a romp through the moss, you might not know now, but theres something you do, that someone you love, is waiting for you.

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I'm a MAN. A rugby-playing, Football-loving, Pie-eating MAN. A nerdy t-shirt wearing, Glasses bearing, Bad-teeth faring MAN. A sad, Lonely, Little MAN. A nice-dressing, Debonair-looking, Smooth-talking MAN. A rose-giving, Hotel-whisking, Loving and kissing MAN. A drunk, A lush, An alcy MAN. A person with Thoughts Feelings Pain Sentiment I like stuff I hide my feelings I **** up I cry.

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Jan 15, 2014

Jan 15, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC

I'm a MAN. A rugby-playing, Football-loving, Pie-eating MAN. A nerdy t-shirt wearing, Glasses bearing, Bad-teeth faring MAN. A sad, Lonely, Little MAN. A nice-dressing, Debonair-looking, Smooth-talking MAN. A rose-giving, Hotel-whisking, Loving and kissing MAN. A drunk, A lush, An alcy MAN. A person with Thoughts Feelings Pain Sentiment I like stuff I hide my feelings I **** up I cry.

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Hear the gentle summer breeze Whisking through gulmohar leaves In the music of wind chimes Tinkling songs of summer time Feel her quiet on the skin Filling hearts imaginings See her as the blossoms dance In the cusp of dawn's romance In saplings that take a bow In wind blown hair tousled now Petals touched by her stir Silken soft in gossamer Light and dark shadows play On shrubs of green bunched bouquet While butterflies and bees sup Drink nectar from sun's molten cup

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Aug 16, 2016

Aug 16, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC

Hear the gentle summer breeze Whisking through gulmohar leaves In the music of wind chimes Tinkling songs of summer time Feel her quiet on the skin Filling hearts imaginings See her as the blossoms dance In the cusp of dawn's romance In saplings that take a bow In wind blown hair tousled now Petals touched by her stir Silken soft in gossamer Light and dark shadows play On shrubs of green bunched bouquet While butterflies and bees sup Drink nectar from sun's molten cup

Continue reading...

He struts down the sidewalk With a hint of a frown His spoon swings beside him Jaunty hat as his crown. Childers peep with a gasp As they watch him strut down The musk that follows him The stains on his gown. There he goes, they whisper, As the sun settles down The Badass Chef, they say, Of this Badass Town. He pounds dough to a pulp Whisking eggs beyond shape Beets up on the salad Stomping vatfulls of grape. Skewers meat without thought Chops neat through a bone Flays sharks without care Needs no sous, works alone The Badass Chef Of this Badass Town. He hangs up his cleaver At the end of the day Dripping droplets of what None have courage to say He blows out his flambe Spoon back at his side Turns back to his war zone Fists clenched with quiet pride There he goes, they whisper, As the sun settles down The Badass Chef Of this Badass Town.

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Jan 29, 2018

Jan 29, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC

He struts down the sidewalk With a hint of a frown His spoon swings beside him Jaunty hat as his crown. Childers peep with a gasp As they watch him strut down The musk that follows him The stains on his gown. There he goes, they whisper, As the sun settles down The Badass Chef, they say, Of this Badass Town. He pounds dough to a pulp Whisking eggs beyond shape Beets up on the salad Stomping vatfulls of grape. Skewers meat without thought Chops neat through a bone Flays sharks without care Needs no sous, works alone The Badass Chef Of this Badass Town. He hangs up his cleaver At the end of the day Dripping droplets of what None have courage to say He blows out his flambe Spoon back at his side Turns back to his war zone Fists clenched with quiet pride There he goes, they whisper, As the sun settles down The Badass Chef Of this Badass Town.

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The grass flickers, as the Wind pushes it down, in A gentle but determined Motion, sweeping upwards to Swirl the blue-grey clouds Around the radio tower, before Dissipating into the milky Sky, which at this moment Is the lightest shade of Blue, an open innocent shade Of blue, like an angelic birthday Cake, the pinker clouds, whose Graceful tendrils embrace the Air, and dancing twirl across the Peaceful summer skyscape Down below them, the Emerald stalks of corn stand, Silent sentinels, awaiting the Coming of the dawn, they too Feel the pushing of the wind, but Brush it off, over their shoulders, And continue their silent watching On the sloping sides of the hill, the Growling pines, resplendent in their Glimmering needles, reflect the fading Light, off the clouds, as the sun sinks, Beneath the horizon, and I watch them Silently on my bike, the only thing I can hear, is the swish of the wind, And the hum and whirring of the Pedals, as my bike and I, we glide up The hill, and down the hill, and Around the posts that are meant To keep the cars from disturbing, this Peaceful walking path A while later, we crest a hill, now Having past the town, I see the work Of the persistent wind, the clouds Now whipped into a curling wave, Of pink and blue-black, spilling Over the horizon, behind the red-roofed Country houses, which are strangely Reminiscent of those old, red, barns Which would sit abandoned in Fields of perpetual wheat, and, Through the turning of the seasons, Would rot away into timbers, with No one left to remember, what They were, or why they remain Now we have ridden in a loop, my Bike clicks as I change gears, to Crest a hill and coast down, at high Speed, between the guard rails and The road, with the wind kicking Up behind me and whisking an Upcoming tree in to a fluttery Flurry of leaves and branches, while Below a stream cuts a field, and, Skirting a pen, passes by a pinto Pony, I think it was, that was just Standing there, as we rode past, Onto the cobblestones and around A bend, the group splits, some going A different route, but I want to come Back the way I came, and I ride Beside the highway, listening to The chirp of the crickets and the Hum of the wheels against the Cold, pavement, while up the hill The verdant pines bob their bows, Up and down, waving, waving, The crashing blue-black wave has Rolled, on past the tower now, it Is crashing down over the silent Sentinels, and I watch quietly as The wind rolls down the hill, and Whirls some leaves, making the Grass flicker in the setting sun.

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Mar 1, 2012

Mar 1, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC

elizabeth-shield

A Bike Ride Through the Countryside

The grass flickers, as the Wind pushes it down, in A gentle but determined Motion, sweeping upwards to Swirl the blue-grey clouds Around the radio tower, before Dissipating into the milky Sky, which at this moment Is the lightest shade of Blue, an open innocent shade Of blue, like an angelic birthday Cake, the pinker clouds, whose Graceful tendrils embrace the Air, and dancing twirl across the Peaceful summer skyscape Down below them, the Emerald stalks of corn stand, Silent sentinels, awaiting the Coming of the dawn, they too Feel the pushing of the wind, but Brush it off, over their shoulders, And continue their silent watching On the sloping sides of the hill, the Growling pines, resplendent in their Glimmering needles, reflect the fading Light, off the clouds, as the sun sinks, Beneath the horizon, and I watch them Silently on my bike, the only thing I can hear, is the swish of the wind, And the hum and whirring of the Pedals, as my bike and I, we glide up The hill, and down the hill, and Around the posts that are meant To keep the cars from disturbing, this Peaceful walking path A while later, we crest a hill, now Having past the town, I see the work Of the persistent wind, the clouds Now whipped into a curling wave, Of pink and blue-black, spilling Over the horizon, behind the red-roofed Country houses, which are strangely Reminiscent of those old, red, barns Which would sit abandoned in Fields of perpetual wheat, and, Through the turning of the seasons, Would rot away into timbers, with No one left to remember, what They were, or why they remain Now we have ridden in a loop, my Bike clicks as I change gears, to Crest a hill and coast down, at high Speed, between the guard rails and The road, with the wind kicking Up behind me and whisking an Upcoming tree in to a fluttery Flurry of leaves and branches, while Below a stream cuts a field, and, Skirting a pen, passes by a pinto Pony, I think it was, that was just Standing there, as we rode past, Onto the cobblestones and around A bend, the group splits, some going A different route, but I want to come Back the way I came, and I ride Beside the highway, listening to The chirp of the crickets and the Hum of the wheels against the Cold, pavement, while up the hill The verdant pines bob their bows, Up and down, waving, waving, The crashing blue-black wave has Rolled, on past the tower now, it Is crashing down over the silent Sentinels, and I watch quietly as The wind rolls down the hill, and Whirls some leaves, making the Grass flicker in the setting sun.

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Somewhere constant I count my blessings and submit to nature Sacrificing my physical self to the soul of summering Fall Mother Nature on menopause whisking out hot flashes with a cold shoulder turned on innocence The trails here wind me back in time A place for believing in a higher self without the stigma of belief Some mystical "nonsense" you'd have to see to believe Stranger than the fiction we lived before Autumn turned to ashes to embers and reignited hearts with an amalgam of inspiration Grace is the only constant The unheard rhythm We lose our minds trying to find in the chaos The thrill in the chase to drop the four-on-the-floor somewhere on the journey Hope perpetuates in rhythm Everything here is coming together for my highest good Or That's how my mantra overrides my manic imagination Subliminally stuttering steps A path to within From only out here I walk back to the graves of trees where I parked my car over Hollowed out and haunting my attachment to the Earth Grounded by ghosts The echos in the silence of Singing Hills *This is my worship. This is my tribute.*

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Oct 11, 2013

Oct 11, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC

Somewhere constant I count my blessings and submit to nature Sacrificing my physical self to the soul of summering Fall Mother Nature on menopause whisking out hot flashes with a cold shoulder turned on innocence The trails here wind me back in time A place for believing in a higher self without the stigma of belief Some mystical "nonsense" you'd have to see to believe Stranger than the fiction we lived before Autumn turned to ashes to embers and reignited hearts with an amalgam of inspiration Grace is the only constant The unheard rhythm We lose our minds trying to find in the chaos The thrill in the chase to drop the four-on-the-floor somewhere on the journey Hope perpetuates in rhythm Everything here is coming together for my highest good Or That's how my mantra overrides my manic imagination Subliminally stuttering steps A path to within From only out here I walk back to the graves of trees where I parked my car over Hollowed out and haunting my attachment to the Earth Grounded by ghosts The echos in the silence of Singing Hills *This is my worship. This is my tribute.*

Continue reading...

If you had been a musician, it would be impossible for me to tear my heart away from yours However you still managed to play my heart strings, You innocent fingers unintentionally plucking, prodding, pulling my heart in so that it could never be separated again They say that heartbreak is when a part of your heart is broken, however I think that when people are in love, the heart melds completely with that of the other person. I am him and he is me. When we lose them, our hearts are torn apart leaving them raw, gasping for the other half Pumping Pumping harder and faster Pumping Like my brain when I can't sleep pouring out the memories of you Pumping like a faucet running clear and pure then becoming ***** so no one will drink it's filthy waters Pumping Like the fiery engine on a train heaving burning embers, whistling, whisking it's passengers far away from home Pumping Like the thick blood throbbing through my thin veins, every time I think of those eyes Pumping Like the ghost of the beat in your chest next to my ear drums beating, beating as I fall asleep My blood is pumping out of my body with no second heart to hold it, my love pumping out of me, wasted and forgotten Pumping from an infinite pool of love for you that will continue rushing If only, you would care to accept it If only you could be mine and I could be yours and we would hold each other under the stars and see their lights in our eyes, the universe above, around, and in us, filling our entire beings If only you would hold me. Your lips on mine my hands in your hair your hands on my waist forever entwining like two vines Growing The longer they grow, the more entangled they become, the harder it is to tell where one starts and one begins I have forgotten where I end and you begin. But you are gone, your vines have slithered through my soul, disappearing leaving empty tunnels creating crevices until one day it will finally collapse But for now, your invisible vines remain, and I convince myself I am whole

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Jan 12, 2014

Jan 12, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC

TheTransientPoet

Invisible vines

If you had been a musician, it would be impossible for me to tear my heart away from yours However you still managed to play my heart strings, You innocent fingers unintentionally plucking, prodding, pulling my heart in so that it could never be separated again They say that heartbreak is when a part of your heart is broken, however I think that when people are in love, the heart melds completely with that of the other person. I am him and he is me. When we lose them, our hearts are torn apart leaving them raw, gasping for the other half Pumping Pumping harder and faster Pumping Like my brain when I can't sleep pouring out the memories of you Pumping like a faucet running clear and pure then becoming ***** so no one will drink it's filthy waters Pumping Like the fiery engine on a train heaving burning embers, whistling, whisking it's passengers far away from home Pumping Like the thick blood throbbing through my thin veins, every time I think of those eyes Pumping Like the ghost of the beat in your chest next to my ear drums beating, beating as I fall asleep My blood is pumping out of my body with no second heart to hold it, my love pumping out of me, wasted and forgotten Pumping from an infinite pool of love for you that will continue rushing If only, you would care to accept it If only you could be mine and I could be yours and we would hold each other under the stars and see their lights in our eyes, the universe above, around, and in us, filling our entire beings If only you would hold me. Your lips on mine my hands in your hair your hands on my waist forever entwining like two vines Growing The longer they grow, the more entangled they become, the harder it is to tell where one starts and one begins I have forgotten where I end and you begin. But you are gone, your vines have slithered through my soul, disappearing leaving empty tunnels creating crevices until one day it will finally collapse But for now, your invisible vines remain, and I convince myself I am whole

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Melodic…Mesmerizing…Symphonic words. Taking me away, whisking me off my toes, In my mind, my head tilts back, my arms transform to wings, As clouds form and the angel sings. The clouds, they move, and twirl me to the sun, It’s blinding, blazing beauty blissfully moves me, Not just physically, but emotionally. I cannot let this be, my words will not be undone. I cannot allow this vulnerability to consume me. Tears shall never fall, arms will never wrap around me. I will never be the weeping lady, That so much, they threw aside. Forever, they will try to break the clouds below your feet, to make you feel obsolete. Clouds of love, clouds of dreams, clouds that make you want to cry, Clouds blur the vision, clouds will lie… Clouds shed tears you will never catch, Clouds will never find their match, Neither shall I; matches make fire, and fire makes you cry. Melodic music, is what they speak, Like sirens, I will crash the wreck that is me, Wreck inside, I will not be transparent, But I believe, perhaps blissfully, that I can be, oh so much more, But I can’t keep closing door after door. The way that bed of clouds did make me feel, Drills around my brain in a desperate drumming beat, I yearn for that feeling, yet fear it all at once. How can you fight with ones own self? Yet hope for the best? Brooding, introvert, but that’s not me, It’s just what I know I have to be. Who’s to say that living in a bubble is wrong? Yes, it will burst, and those inside feel forlorn. You can find those inside again, all by yourself. No world-wind weapons of intrigue to entice you to lay down your soul on a table, I am not weak or feeble! No one shall lie with me for they lie about me. And sigh, I will let not it be. I am happier alone, Forlorn, lost and oh so sad, Happy, in my day, however each day may be, For who knows what tomorrow may bring, And that’s just the one thing, A kiss, A feeling, is it worth it all? Please my dear darling, never ever fall.

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Nov 30, 2013

Nov 30, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC

victoria-phillips

Melodic…Mesmerizing…Symphonic words. Taking me away, whisking me off my toes, In my mind, my head tilts back, my arms transform to wings, As clouds form and the angel sings. The clouds, they move, and twirl me to the sun, It’s blinding, blazing beauty blissfully moves me, Not just physically, but emotionally. I cannot let this be, my words will not be undone. I cannot allow this vulnerability to consume me. Tears shall never fall, arms will never wrap around me. I will never be the weeping lady, That so much, they threw aside. Forever, they will try to break the clouds below your feet, to make you feel obsolete. Clouds of love, clouds of dreams, clouds that make you want to cry, Clouds blur the vision, clouds will lie… Clouds shed tears you will never catch, Clouds will never find their match, Neither shall I; matches make fire, and fire makes you cry. Melodic music, is what they speak, Like sirens, I will crash the wreck that is me, Wreck inside, I will not be transparent, But I believe, perhaps blissfully, that I can be, oh so much more, But I can’t keep closing door after door. The way that bed of clouds did make me feel, Drills around my brain in a desperate drumming beat, I yearn for that feeling, yet fear it all at once. How can you fight with ones own self? Yet hope for the best? Brooding, introvert, but that’s not me, It’s just what I know I have to be. Who’s to say that living in a bubble is wrong? Yes, it will burst, and those inside feel forlorn. You can find those inside again, all by yourself. No world-wind weapons of intrigue to entice you to lay down your soul on a table, I am not weak or feeble! No one shall lie with me for they lie about me. And sigh, I will let not it be. I am happier alone, Forlorn, lost and oh so sad, Happy, in my day, however each day may be, For who knows what tomorrow may bring, And that’s just the one thing, A kiss, A feeling, is it worth it all? Please my dear darling, never ever fall.

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Because his eyes shone like starlight and his lips felt like the moon. His hips crashed like comets; like meteorites falling from the sky. Constellations disguised as freckles across his shoulder blades and the cosmos coated his fingertips. Our breaths were shallow as we fought to regain air while our tangled legs formed the Milky Way. His words carried me to Mercury, Neptune, and every **** planet in between while his smile pulled me towards galaxies light years away, whisking us off into the blissful unknown.

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Nov 29, 2014

Nov 29, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC

The Reason I Took Astronomy

Because his eyes shone like starlight and his lips felt like the moon. His hips crashed like comets; like meteorites falling from the sky. Constellations disguised as freckles across his shoulder blades and the cosmos coated his fingertips. Our breaths were shallow as we fought to regain air while our tangled legs formed the Milky Way. His words carried me to Mercury, Neptune, and every **** planet in between while his smile pulled me towards galaxies light years away, whisking us off into the blissful unknown.

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It is November And all the leaves face my way Overlapping tussocks of grass Like long forgotten hills Dwelling in the overhang of fall It is November Orange ribbons hand in tatters Patched up yellow cloaks are draped And whisking in the wind Then drifting to the earth And becoming winters pillow It is November And there stands a lonely tower Base adorned with red bushes Flags no longer flying Crouched and crippled by the frost It is November My feet bear down on acorns A thousand fold All left and forgotten Even to the squirrels Just a layer ‘neath my feet It is November The solitary pines stand solid Near the ivy covered wall Their boughs raise and hail the heavens And their needles fall As the autumn wind dances a mournful dance It is November Bare branches rake the cloudy skies And scratch out their heartfelt pleas Against cold glass windows Seeking what they have lost and will not find It is November An old gate stands ajar Beckoning to no one Standing solidly open Despite the cruel fall wind It is November Trees make colored circles A fading gold on fading green A fireworks display Now falling to the ground It is November Cold air fills my body Cruel wind tosses my hair I seek a shelter from autumn My door is open Now I am home

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Mar 1, 2012

Mar 1, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC

elizabeth-shield

It is November And all the leaves face my way Overlapping tussocks of grass Like long forgotten hills Dwelling in the overhang of fall It is November Orange ribbons hand in tatters Patched up yellow cloaks are draped And whisking in the wind Then drifting to the earth And becoming winters pillow It is November And there stands a lonely tower Base adorned with red bushes Flags no longer flying Crouched and crippled by the frost It is November My feet bear down on acorns A thousand fold All left and forgotten Even to the squirrels Just a layer ‘neath my feet It is November The solitary pines stand solid Near the ivy covered wall Their boughs raise and hail the heavens And their needles fall As the autumn wind dances a mournful dance It is November Bare branches rake the cloudy skies And scratch out their heartfelt pleas Against cold glass windows Seeking what they have lost and will not find It is November An old gate stands ajar Beckoning to no one Standing solidly open Despite the cruel fall wind It is November Trees make colored circles A fading gold on fading green A fireworks display Now falling to the ground It is November Cold air fills my body Cruel wind tosses my hair I seek a shelter from autumn My door is open Now I am home

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Flying in the sky, my hands by my side. Whisking your skin as I passed by. Lights made facades of what should have beens. Deformed beauties of light formed on your backs and your shoulders. You laughed and talked. You ran you mocked. You whispered, you thought. You told jokes, you were polite. quietly I whisk by. Barely marking the places I have been. There I go, the whoosh of the wind, I said something in your ear. But all it was was just a whoosh in your ear. Swiftly I fade away. Just moved the leaves and made them sway. You barely noticed me, I know. I didn't mean to be cold... I hope you forgive me, for blowing out the candles, for letting the dreams and hopes of yours fly past. Unnoticed. Quietly I flew by, as I danced in the smoke of your eyes, talking to you, by and by.

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Aug 8, 2018

Aug 8, 2018 at 8:11 AM UTC

Flying in the sky, my hands by my side. Whisking your skin as I passed by. Lights made facades of what should have beens. Deformed beauties of light formed on your backs and your shoulders. You laughed and talked. You ran you mocked. You whispered, you thought. You told jokes, you were polite. quietly I whisk by. Barely marking the places I have been. There I go, the whoosh of the wind, I said something in your ear. But all it was was just a whoosh in your ear. Swiftly I fade away. Just moved the leaves and made them sway. You barely noticed me, I know. I didn't mean to be cold... I hope you forgive me, for blowing out the candles, for letting the dreams and hopes of yours fly past. Unnoticed. Quietly I flew by, as I danced in the smoke of your eyes, talking to you, by and by.

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I would feed you crepes while the city sleeps, every night, until I die or until my whisking arm gives out. When I gasp with adrenaline as you corner the road, does it drive you crazy, as you drive me mad to buy doughnut holes at 3 A.M. ? We share an addiction to lazy behavior, but differ in our love for coke, for coffee. For what? When we broke years worth of tension I thought it would be more like snapping a dried, autumn twig, the crack of a whip or dropping a florescent tube light-bulb. Instead it was that of morphine; warm and gradual, if at all. I'm sorry I made such delusions, held you high as perfection: an irretrievable beast. I thought myself shallow in thinking I was finally better than you at something. Now I think myself shallow in thinking I could do without you because of your behavior or lack there of. I was wrong. I thought I found the disappointment enough to quench my lust. But I'm yearning just as ever, even knowing what I'm missing. So I'll sit here, knowing we crave the same basics and differ in specifics. I'll sit here writing as I watch you sleep. I'll wait as our ****** tension slowly grows back, like a forgotten perennial , once again making itself evident and waiting for the shing of the garden shears to snip its stalk like a taught thread.

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Sep 3, 2013

Sep 3, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC

3 A.M. Doughnut Runs...

I would feed you crepes while the city sleeps, every night, until I die or until my whisking arm gives out. When I gasp with adrenaline as you corner the road, does it drive you crazy, as you drive me mad to buy doughnut holes at 3 A.M. ? We share an addiction to lazy behavior, but differ in our love for coke, for coffee. For what? When we broke years worth of tension I thought it would be more like snapping a dried, autumn twig, the crack of a whip or dropping a florescent tube light-bulb. Instead it was that of morphine; warm and gradual, if at all. I'm sorry I made such delusions, held you high as perfection: an irretrievable beast. I thought myself shallow in thinking I was finally better than you at something. Now I think myself shallow in thinking I could do without you because of your behavior or lack there of. I was wrong. I thought I found the disappointment enough to quench my lust. But I'm yearning just as ever, even knowing what I'm missing. So I'll sit here, knowing we crave the same basics and differ in specifics. I'll sit here writing as I watch you sleep. I'll wait as our ****** tension slowly grows back, like a forgotten perennial , once again making itself evident and waiting for the shing of the garden shears to snip its stalk like a taught thread.

Continue reading...

Monsoon Rhapsody by Nishu Mathur I am rain on a summer day Drenching drowsy, lifeless buds Stirring them to a dancing wakefulness Washing leaves dull and dry with dust Dousing fire in a desert ringed inferno I am the drizzle on a pale moon night Easing into the heart with music The melange of water humming with the wind The splash of puddles in fields of barley Gently filling thirsty river beds craving for a flow I am showers before monsoons Impregnating the air with soothing droplets The hint of life in an oasis of colours Breathing moist on a farmer's bronzed skin Tingling the world with shimmering emerald I am sawan, the monsoons Winding my way through a chorus of clouds Thundering my presence into the sea of renewal Cascading on sandy shores that glisten with light Whisking away waves of gold with jubilant darkness I drape the land in arrays of greens Scent the soil in my fragrance Dance with the rhapsodic dance of the peacock Wreathe petals into flowers that vine And curve in the soil of growth.

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Jun 30, 2016

Jun 30, 2016 at 7:47 AM UTC

Monsoon Rhapsody

Monsoon Rhapsody by Nishu Mathur I am rain on a summer day Drenching drowsy, lifeless buds Stirring them to a dancing wakefulness Washing leaves dull and dry with dust Dousing fire in a desert ringed inferno I am the drizzle on a pale moon night Easing into the heart with music The melange of water humming with the wind The splash of puddles in fields of barley Gently filling thirsty river beds craving for a flow I am showers before monsoons Impregnating the air with soothing droplets The hint of life in an oasis of colours Breathing moist on a farmer's bronzed skin Tingling the world with shimmering emerald I am sawan, the monsoons Winding my way through a chorus of clouds Thundering my presence into the sea of renewal Cascading on sandy shores that glisten with light Whisking away waves of gold with jubilant darkness I drape the land in arrays of greens Scent the soil in my fragrance Dance with the rhapsodic dance of the peacock Wreathe petals into flowers that vine And curve in the soil of growth.

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Laying in an ice cold room, IV in my hand, I close my eyes and plead with god Trying to understand . " im sorry we cant save it , But theres a chance that you could die; I know your in a lot of pain And Its ok to cry ". I feel my husband squeeze my arm, Im trembling in fright , Im sad and im defeated And I dont have that much fight . " Your bleeding into your belly We need to operate right now , Continue to be strong for us "... .....But i just dont know how. A foggy conversation , And their whisking me away , My eyelids get real heavy And i just start to pray. Waking up to quiet , Im tired and im sore , Depressed without a baby On the maternity floor. God must have a plan for me That i just can not see ; Even through our struggles Whats meant to be ... Will be .

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Apr 15, 2014

Apr 15, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC

CinderellaWithTattoos

Laying in an ice cold room, IV in my hand, I close my eyes and plead with god Trying to understand . " im sorry we cant save it , But theres a chance that you could die; I know your in a lot of pain And Its ok to cry ". I feel my husband squeeze my arm, Im trembling in fright , Im sad and im defeated And I dont have that much fight . " Your bleeding into your belly We need to operate right now , Continue to be strong for us "... .....But i just dont know how. A foggy conversation , And their whisking me away , My eyelids get real heavy And i just start to pray. Waking up to quiet , Im tired and im sore , Depressed without a baby On the maternity floor. God must have a plan for me That i just can not see ; Even through our struggles Whats meant to be ... Will be .

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when you crack an egg you could be baking -maybe a cake, or cookies blueberry muffins. have you ever watched the egg when its cracked first hit on the big glass bowl. --a little may ooze out, the white of the egg. it gets on your hands its annoying. but it washes off. survivable. the second hit maybe harder this time. ---more comes out, the shell may break off a little. that **** shell is nesting on your beautifully mixed pile of flour, sugar, and vanilla extract. ****** this time, you fish it out with a fork disturbing what you've created. the third hit ----the egg shell, crafted so well to protect inside, is cracked. everything. comes. out. like a river the broken yolk, flows and twists around the bowl. and by whisking it under the surface of the all purpose flour, you only make it more turbulent. and you get your god **** muffins.

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Nov 26, 2012

Nov 26, 2012 at 9:55 PM UTC

when you crack an egg you could be baking -maybe a cake, or cookies blueberry muffins. have you ever watched the egg when its cracked first hit on the big glass bowl. --a little may ooze out, the white of the egg. it gets on your hands its annoying. but it washes off. survivable. the second hit maybe harder this time. ---more comes out, the shell may break off a little. that **** shell is nesting on your beautifully mixed pile of flour, sugar, and vanilla extract. ****** this time, you fish it out with a fork disturbing what you've created. the third hit ----the egg shell, crafted so well to protect inside, is cracked. everything. comes. out. like a river the broken yolk, flows and twists around the bowl. and by whisking it under the surface of the all purpose flour, you only make it more turbulent. and you get your god **** muffins.

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I staggered through the desert, dressed in brown rags, ripped. I was surrounded by flies. They picked at my sweaty forehead, spoiled my food. I had in an old wicker basket two crisp apples, which are brown now, thanks to those flies. My feet are dry, cracked and ****** not from flies— from hot scorpions. They hide under sand and pick at my feet. One day I left my house n’went for a walk; kicked open my front door walked over the old stone bridge over water bright and blue, for miles and miles, on footpaths by little rivers, through mossy forests, knee-deep in marshes, hiking over rocky, cold mountains, stammering across the plains. I saw the desert: punched me in the gut. Beautiful, I thought— immortal. A great tornado of sand came whisking from the dunes. I checked my watch: The glass was shattered. The hands were bent crooked. I unstrapped my watch and threw it on the edge of the desert and I sprinted toward the endless tan horizon, kicked off my rotten shoes to feel the hot sand between my toes and ran. I fell and fell asleep. I was bored in my old, old house. The floor was always swept to shine, my bookcase: big, glossy, oak monstrosity. And no, I did not have a wife, or children. I lived in a sunny village, paved with stone. By the fountain, birds sang, merchants sold felt and mallets. I’m too tired for explanations. And besides, there is no trick, I left to leave, to run and jump and roll and howl. I knew it would end, like this or something similar. I decided to just lie down, and the vultures came like a great black cloud to circle, and the heat, the headache, my body buzzed cooled a dizzy, breaking feeling came and body was freed like ice smashing to shards . . . on desert floor, old rags drenched in sweat-body. I open my eyes wide. I keep them open. Tears come to my eyes. I let the sun blind me. I turn over on my side and close my eyes, see red. My eyelids are hot. The vultures caw and shriek like squealing pigs. I’m dizzy and my head feels thick. The vultures will eat me, rip my skin with beaks, and the flies will buzz around me until I’m bones, but I came here just to come here, and I lied here just to lie, and I lived just to live, so then I’ll die now just to die.

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Nov 19, 2013

Nov 19, 2013 at 2:03 AM UTC

I staggered through the desert, dressed in brown rags, ripped. I was surrounded by flies. They picked at my sweaty forehead, spoiled my food. I had in an old wicker basket two crisp apples, which are brown now, thanks to those flies. My feet are dry, cracked and ****** not from flies— from hot scorpions. They hide under sand and pick at my feet. One day I left my house n’went for a walk; kicked open my front door walked over the old stone bridge over water bright and blue, for miles and miles, on footpaths by little rivers, through mossy forests, knee-deep in marshes, hiking over rocky, cold mountains, stammering across the plains. I saw the desert: punched me in the gut. Beautiful, I thought— immortal. A great tornado of sand came whisking from the dunes. I checked my watch: The glass was shattered. The hands were bent crooked. I unstrapped my watch and threw it on the edge of the desert and I sprinted toward the endless tan horizon, kicked off my rotten shoes to feel the hot sand between my toes and ran. I fell and fell asleep. I was bored in my old, old house. The floor was always swept to shine, my bookcase: big, glossy, oak monstrosity. And no, I did not have a wife, or children. I lived in a sunny village, paved with stone. By the fountain, birds sang, merchants sold felt and mallets. I’m too tired for explanations. And besides, there is no trick, I left to leave, to run and jump and roll and howl. I knew it would end, like this or something similar. I decided to just lie down, and the vultures came like a great black cloud to circle, and the heat, the headache, my body buzzed cooled a dizzy, breaking feeling came and body was freed like ice smashing to shards . . . on desert floor, old rags drenched in sweat-body. I open my eyes wide. I keep them open. Tears come to my eyes. I let the sun blind me. I turn over on my side and close my eyes, see red. My eyelids are hot. The vultures caw and shriek like squealing pigs. I’m dizzy and my head feels thick. The vultures will eat me, rip my skin with beaks, and the flies will buzz around me until I’m bones, but I came here just to come here, and I lied here just to lie, and I lived just to live, so then I’ll die now just to die.

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_________________________________________________ hover her hover her your love hovered in spurs conquer, always beaten into soiled soot my feet are whisking the desert floor my hands are a gelding this cactus' thorns lace, rosemary, time and vines cover him cover him my thin frame covered the cures the Urals moaned to their Himalayan friends through wind they spite each others mighty forms but still they're friends, both Mountains, chained the same Ergo spell; tell me have the Tibetan chants gained their grow? I'll never know him or she as long as they move East I am rot in June as deliberate as a sun on sand by noon **** you stuck you are in wet mold mildew I dried the flask peeled a mask burnt the rain sent the pain How daring of you to respond as a washed up un-sterile pond

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Jun 4, 2013

Jun 4, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC

Drought Fishing

_________________________________________________ hover her hover her your love hovered in spurs conquer, always beaten into soiled soot my feet are whisking the desert floor my hands are a gelding this cactus' thorns lace, rosemary, time and vines cover him cover him my thin frame covered the cures the Urals moaned to their Himalayan friends through wind they spite each others mighty forms but still they're friends, both Mountains, chained the same Ergo spell; tell me have the Tibetan chants gained their grow? I'll never know him or she as long as they move East I am rot in June as deliberate as a sun on sand by noon **** you stuck you are in wet mold mildew I dried the flask peeled a mask burnt the rain sent the pain How daring of you to respond as a washed up un-sterile pond

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Wake up some days like I must be dreanin Feinnin for a state a mind That gives life meaning, Submerged in reasoning, Drowned by thinking I see the white light Or am I dreaming Am I feeling this way for no reason? Subconsciously bleeding Sharing my thoughts like I’m seeding An open book who’s reading A case against life I’m pleading In the game I’m seasoned But if it’s the truth I’m speaking Tell me if I’m dreaming, Tell me if you see them The haters the fakers the tyrants Promoting convictions and violence My people on the Earth are dying Because these demons in disguise stay lying I’m trying **** right trying to cease the pain and the crying Mothers tears who fear their children’s death is near I’m clear in what saying so don’t get my words twisted Like I be having distorted visions , Never That, My dreams are vivid my lyrics descriptive I’m not saying I’m gifted But this truth will make you question religion Will make aggressive from timid God said we are all made in his image Minus mutations from Chemist Our genes don’t flex like gymnast This world’s stress is our limit Without artificial stress we can live it Live life like back in the Garden of Eden Like children at play hope hasn't gone away Conscience fleeting today, Emotions peeling away Drinking whiskey straight I guess this is the way I guess this is the place Life just whisking away Who’ll miss me anyways?

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Oct 2, 2013

Oct 2, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC

Wake up some days like I must be dreanin Feinnin for a state a mind That gives life meaning, Submerged in reasoning, Drowned by thinking I see the white light Or am I dreaming Am I feeling this way for no reason? Subconsciously bleeding Sharing my thoughts like I’m seeding An open book who’s reading A case against life I’m pleading In the game I’m seasoned But if it’s the truth I’m speaking Tell me if I’m dreaming, Tell me if you see them The haters the fakers the tyrants Promoting convictions and violence My people on the Earth are dying Because these demons in disguise stay lying I’m trying **** right trying to cease the pain and the crying Mothers tears who fear their children’s death is near I’m clear in what saying so don’t get my words twisted Like I be having distorted visions , Never That, My dreams are vivid my lyrics descriptive I’m not saying I’m gifted But this truth will make you question religion Will make aggressive from timid God said we are all made in his image Minus mutations from Chemist Our genes don’t flex like gymnast This world’s stress is our limit Without artificial stress we can live it Live life like back in the Garden of Eden Like children at play hope hasn't gone away Conscience fleeting today, Emotions peeling away Drinking whiskey straight I guess this is the way I guess this is the place Life just whisking away Who’ll miss me anyways?

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*** hot water, whisking, smoothly blended, tea bowl, spring, tea garden, thick, quiet.

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Nov 20, 2014

Nov 20, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC

Spiritual Matcha

*** hot water, whisking, smoothly blended, tea bowl, spring, tea garden, thick, quiet.

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Mother. When I look at you, I see the woman I want to be in twenty years. You worry about the wrinkles that form constellations across the freckles on your skin. A natural reaction to what society brands as aging. Mother. When I look at you, I see that those lines tell stories. They speak to all the times you laughed so hard you cried. Times you smiled so big, so bright, so proud, your cheeks began to throb to the beat of my graduation march. Mother, when I look at you, I see no age. I see a superhero flying her faithful SUV from one side of town to the next. Whisking kids from practice, and concerts, and recitals. All paid for with the money from the job that gets you up before the sun. Money that means nothing to you compared to the happiness of your children. Mother. When I look at you, I see honey golden eyes just like mine. Eyes I remembered tired and weary after a long day of making ends meet - being a mother and a father. A woman too selfless to rest until dinner was on the table. Mother. When I look at you I see an airy frame, but you’re strong -- so strong. The greatest life lessons I’ve learned from you came in your darkest times when you refused to let the world break you down. Life gave you lemons and you’d be ****** if you were going to leave the dinner table before you finished drinking all that lemonade. Mother. When I look at you, I feel so much pride. You’ve accomplished so much. You’re Wonder Woman. I feel the comfort, like your soft embrace, in knowing where I come from… and where I’m going. Mother. When I look at you, I pray someday I can be half the mother you are so my children can be as lucky as me. Mother. When I look at you, I see your mother too. The generations of mothers before you whose love and strength and wisdom were weaved together to form the beautiful woman you are today.

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May 6, 2014

May 6, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC

Mother (When I Look At You)

Mother. When I look at you, I see the woman I want to be in twenty years. You worry about the wrinkles that form constellations across the freckles on your skin. A natural reaction to what society brands as aging. Mother. When I look at you, I see that those lines tell stories. They speak to all the times you laughed so hard you cried. Times you smiled so big, so bright, so proud, your cheeks began to throb to the beat of my graduation march. Mother, when I look at you, I see no age. I see a superhero flying her faithful SUV from one side of town to the next. Whisking kids from practice, and concerts, and recitals. All paid for with the money from the job that gets you up before the sun. Money that means nothing to you compared to the happiness of your children. Mother. When I look at you, I see honey golden eyes just like mine. Eyes I remembered tired and weary after a long day of making ends meet - being a mother and a father. A woman too selfless to rest until dinner was on the table. Mother. When I look at you I see an airy frame, but you’re strong -- so strong. The greatest life lessons I’ve learned from you came in your darkest times when you refused to let the world break you down. Life gave you lemons and you’d be ****** if you were going to leave the dinner table before you finished drinking all that lemonade. Mother. When I look at you, I feel so much pride. You’ve accomplished so much. You’re Wonder Woman. I feel the comfort, like your soft embrace, in knowing where I come from… and where I’m going. Mother. When I look at you, I pray someday I can be half the mother you are so my children can be as lucky as me. Mother. When I look at you, I see your mother too. The generations of mothers before you whose love and strength and wisdom were weaved together to form the beautiful woman you are today.

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“RENDEZVOUS SONNET” “The long day wanes the slow moon climbs, My pale enclave inspires me to write, That of our midnight love rendezvous, As well as awful dreams of life’s hardships, All can be forgotten of travesty’s that followed, As I easily compare you to a light of stardust, Traipse of her breaching my mind of that day, Thinking of your prompt nobility fills my days. My love for you is the dedicated anamnesis, Our heated times of past frolics of seasons, Our summertime on the immense sleepy hollows, The sounding furrows for my purpose holds It may be that the gulfs will wash us down, The prudence labor loving procured slowly, Whisking your rugged ways and thro's endings, Subdued only to thro’s closure of laudability, Ode to my rendezvous sonnet” By Andrew Guzaldo 08/14/2018 ©

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Aug 14, 2018

Aug 14, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC

andrew-guzaldo-c

“RENDEZVOUS SONNET”

“RENDEZVOUS SONNET” “The long day wanes the slow moon climbs, My pale enclave inspires me to write, That of our midnight love rendezvous, As well as awful dreams of life’s hardships, All can be forgotten of travesty’s that followed, As I easily compare you to a light of stardust, Traipse of her breaching my mind of that day, Thinking of your prompt nobility fills my days. My love for you is the dedicated anamnesis, Our heated times of past frolics of seasons, Our summertime on the immense sleepy hollows, The sounding furrows for my purpose holds It may be that the gulfs will wash us down, The prudence labor loving procured slowly, Whisking your rugged ways and thro's endings, Subdued only to thro’s closure of laudability, Ode to my rendezvous sonnet” By Andrew Guzaldo 08/14/2018 ©

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Gangling ghosts cause trouble inside this meaty microwave-- I am on these streets and don't know how I got here. I'm carrying 2% milk, in my left hand, and a carton of extra-large eggs in my right-- I drop the jug and it bursts. I joke about how I still have 2%, but no one laughs because no one has ever really been around to hear me. So, I'm scrambling eggs and wishing I had that milk because who doesn't like voluminous eggs. I stop whisking and ask who is there. Why am I afraid of you, Why am I afraid of you the raw scrambled eggs on the floor, touched by ceramic seashells. And it's you. You are the Lord, a naked lover, that absence caused by my auto-pilot parents Forever, right here.

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Feb 12, 2018

Feb 12, 2018 at 12:05 AM UTC

Gangling ghosts cause trouble inside this meaty microwave-- I am on these streets and don't know how I got here. I'm carrying 2% milk, in my left hand, and a carton of extra-large eggs in my right-- I drop the jug and it bursts. I joke about how I still have 2%, but no one laughs because no one has ever really been around to hear me. So, I'm scrambling eggs and wishing I had that milk because who doesn't like voluminous eggs. I stop whisking and ask who is there. Why am I afraid of you, Why am I afraid of you the raw scrambled eggs on the floor, touched by ceramic seashells. And it's you. You are the Lord, a naked lover, that absence caused by my auto-pilot parents Forever, right here.

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an armageddon in a sundress a walking tsunami bent on whisking you up and slamming you down drowning you with every word that you wanted to hear shes a monsoon in the middle of july a dust storm clouding a freeway if my veins are rivers then she flooded them all my home was taken in the tornado that she was ripped from its foundation and later found wasted she decimated my mind with the hurricane she resembled and to tell the truth i guess ive always been a stormchaser ive always sought out the most dangerous situations and she was no different she left me in the street with no one around but she cant be blamed i asked for it [holyoak]

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Apr 25, 2015

Apr 25, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC

i should start carrying an umbrella

an armageddon in a sundress a walking tsunami bent on whisking you up and slamming you down drowning you with every word that you wanted to hear shes a monsoon in the middle of july a dust storm clouding a freeway if my veins are rivers then she flooded them all my home was taken in the tornado that she was ripped from its foundation and later found wasted she decimated my mind with the hurricane she resembled and to tell the truth i guess ive always been a stormchaser ive always sought out the most dangerous situations and she was no different she left me in the street with no one around but she cant be blamed i asked for it [holyoak]

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rainy days come and they go. so blissful they breeze by the seems of all we fail to know. picking up the left behinds and whisking them away to a land..far away. back in my day we would say "rain rain go away.. come back another day. But unlike any other day i feel a calming comfort when alerted by bursts of winds and when the storm settles you'll fell better. rainy days get the best of me. they get my creativity. they get that unlike the rest, i have yet to express the simplicity that's instilled in..rainy days. we nuzzled together to ward off the cold but behold this rainy day came to the rescue to hold you in my arms. This blanket was our armor. this rain was our guard. these memories will be ours. soon enough the stars will appear in the distance and then we may dance & kiss til the end is near but sit for a second while the rain does his dance. give it chance to prance for a moment. for soon we shall own the night

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Nov 2, 2013

Nov 2, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC

rainy days come and they go. so blissful they breeze by the seems of all we fail to know. picking up the left behinds and whisking them away to a land..far away. back in my day we would say "rain rain go away.. come back another day. But unlike any other day i feel a calming comfort when alerted by bursts of winds and when the storm settles you'll fell better. rainy days get the best of me. they get my creativity. they get that unlike the rest, i have yet to express the simplicity that's instilled in..rainy days. we nuzzled together to ward off the cold but behold this rainy day came to the rescue to hold you in my arms. This blanket was our armor. this rain was our guard. these memories will be ours. soon enough the stars will appear in the distance and then we may dance & kiss til the end is near but sit for a second while the rain does his dance. give it chance to prance for a moment. for soon we shall own the night

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Sweet, my sweet, you taste like enlightenment. Heightened to full-throttle maximum, Your everything hums in my bones, ***** Liquid lust, a dangerous smile, so tempting... Fading into nothingness Because you deny your feelings for me. Head my warning, my sweet and low, Forward motion will cause us to separate eternally. Might I get one more taste of you, my sweet? My heart cannot take another whack. Back to singularity, back to just me being me. Back to always relying on only my "me". Feed me with your reconciliation, Hail the absolution you seek, It's empty in my open fist. This wasn't my intention, to send you running Furiously, away from an idea of me and you and us Thus... us will never be. Thus, you and me will never see the light of day I see that now: wide-eyed, tear inducing, Bright, light, truth shoved forcefully down my throat, I see that now. Won't you come to terms with your own mortality? Contrary to what you think, time is ticking Whisking away your internal, ticking time bomb of a heart. Art is what we'd create if you'd surrender and just start To see the potential we could make, my sweet, You really do taste like heightened glory. My sweet, for me, you are purity You stir me to my core, my sweet, I wish you could be my sweetness, my reprieve. Hear me when I say, I will always crave Every last bit of affection you gave To my eager, bleeding heart. Sweet, my sweet, you taste like fire, Igniting my purpose, I worship at your altar. Faltered steps, echo from your side of the bed. As you leave me, my sweet. You always leave me, my sweet. You are so sweet, please stay with me, my sweet.

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Mar 14, 2019

Mar 14, 2019 at 6:15 PM UTC

Sweet, my sweet, you taste like enlightenment. Heightened to full-throttle maximum, Your everything hums in my bones, ***** Liquid lust, a dangerous smile, so tempting... Fading into nothingness Because you deny your feelings for me. Head my warning, my sweet and low, Forward motion will cause us to separate eternally. Might I get one more taste of you, my sweet? My heart cannot take another whack. Back to singularity, back to just me being me. Back to always relying on only my "me". Feed me with your reconciliation, Hail the absolution you seek, It's empty in my open fist. This wasn't my intention, to send you running Furiously, away from an idea of me and you and us Thus... us will never be. Thus, you and me will never see the light of day I see that now: wide-eyed, tear inducing, Bright, light, truth shoved forcefully down my throat, I see that now. Won't you come to terms with your own mortality? Contrary to what you think, time is ticking Whisking away your internal, ticking time bomb of a heart. Art is what we'd create if you'd surrender and just start To see the potential we could make, my sweet, You really do taste like heightened glory. My sweet, for me, you are purity You stir me to my core, my sweet, I wish you could be my sweetness, my reprieve. Hear me when I say, I will always crave Every last bit of affection you gave To my eager, bleeding heart. Sweet, my sweet, you taste like fire, Igniting my purpose, I worship at your altar. Faltered steps, echo from your side of the bed. As you leave me, my sweet. You always leave me, my sweet. You are so sweet, please stay with me, my sweet.

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