"willowed" poems
beacons of thunder,
glow of a kindled lantern
small embers that whisper,
but clap like god shot a gun
shimmering in that darkness
of disconsolation and remorse
a diamond of its own
a soul looking for a love to call their home
and my heart still glows
bright like the lights that leads me off cliffs
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
To me you cut like
Maple leaves no shorter than a song.
This willowed turf may never be as bashful
once you've gone
perhaps
this is so beacause my heart regretfully
declared to you my adoration
marked with a hyperbole.
Forgive me what these lips will wrought
though now's no time for regret
my darling once this verse is over
you'll rue the day we met.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
Oats, stay dry for fecunditys harvest, as Eostres' hares
bring pittu; Falling earthbound, in abundance.
Spring madness dawns;
Love, persists.
Once willowed, under Winter skies, **shed all
we've done before.**
Bringing warmth (sown a lifetime ago) to embrace
this thaw.
Watching our steps, across moss green floors; We dance
lingering in the sweetest meadows.Together,
under budding branches;
It's time...
Blossom, reflected upon dappled millpond;
Still.
- Dark glassed surface, gently rippling with undertone -
Can you hear the water paddles roar?
Will Springs' spirit guide you; With carnal lust abound,
trusting Her to save your oats from being;
Taken...turned out...
ground?
We,
with spare oats, heap
to powdered dust; Sifted, then refined...
Molded something beautiful, wholesome, yet devine!
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 9:40 AM UTC
I want each step to land my foot
tangled heather
ash and soot.
And lead to where the wicked go...
where the darling schoolgirls know
when to turn with redden hue
gasping their intact virtue.
Yet I long my footfall down-
mossy sinfully buoyant ground.
Run to meet him by the stone
kiss him on it's granite bones.
And he'll swing me wide with wonder
pirate, he'll be, ravage. plunder.
I go where all the good girls shant.
all my christian vows recant.
Yes I will meet him by the river
and onward I keep
through the creeping myrtle, creep-
and the sinners sandbox
and painted ladies swings
(where I rest my chastity case)
that's covered in leather and tied up with lace.
Delight
as I watch good girls gasp-
as I swing wide hips, wide.
Thier ****** ******* clasps.
And that night will give birth
to a wretched new way
I am wanton
and crafty
and
unwelcome at tables-where ladies
demure
and insist on "no more!"
and
need polite conversations
to endless relations.
I'll roar down that path
like a thundering herd,
like an air stream that carries the weariest bird.
I'm curved, I'm pillowed.
I'm chest out.
I'm willowed...
I'll have holes in my souls
all four of them dotted.
Or six of them spotted?
Like a cat's lives they'll feed
so that reaper, recedes.
It's this path, though, you see them?
The Glories
majestic.
Twined up the tree trunk
and my heart is arrested.
I'm put in the mind of those
sinewy women
and sin
comes in scent
where that glory blooms nightly
and clasp hold of
these moments
of recklessness tightly.
Sahn 1/12/2015
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
Wordless my inferior stance yells to be heard
Wheeling the throe of malice to infuriate
The thwarted truth to expose itself, as deterred
Blows, cower the truth in drier misstate
Justifying tears that cascade the willowed floor
Dwelling my eyes to Illusions in a bid to recall blissful memories,
Thus allowing my heart’s pleas to implore
The day after tomorrow to pacify my tearful cries
Wandering the pits of my darkened incarceration
My voice threatened to silence, by my bleeding furrows,
As my life thwarts forward, perplexed by the sanguine
Moat that had been conceived by those endless blows
Dealing my words, to the fatalities dwelling in fear,
Fear no more for as long as you have a voice there will be an ear to hear
Jun 16, 2010
Jun 16, 2010 at 3:33 AM UTC
The exterior is thick with humidity,
damp with rain,
and I’ll never experience fever like this again.
My body is being taken
(through the wind of a thousand hurricanes)
to a building with no climate;
I will be my own meteorologist,
forecasting eroded rocks and failures,
and seldom I might discover a window to peer out of.
Squinting,
I could catch the stories –
those of capability, disability, and susceptibility –
my willowed reflection screams.
And, though I will always have my wrinkled palms,
they will never hold the weather.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 7:02 PM UTC
Beneath me I can see
Floating mid-air am I not
Here is something in that
you have not?
in this box we live
a universe of pandora,
an unpredictable list
to slam a hope
and to **** a dream
give me a moment
i need to scream
how many nails
do i have to have
to build this house
only with sand?
can the pressure of time
break the glass
or etch like a sketch
with a diamond in hand?
a willowed moment
an arched place and a dip in length
flexible and durable
not always its strength?
silence has done nothing
then why condemn it with a screech
can you help me
clean the air with an inaudible bleach?
can the moments in which we crave
those delightful memories ignite
those flames inside give away
the feelings i have repressed today?
here is where it all inplodes,
unfolds,
creating and taking shape
to amuse,
to entertain...
on a flat plane,
a blueprint of sorts,
like a vacation that's overplanned
the moment is overthrown
with a missed element
and a simple grain of sand.
A billowed breeze
Bending imaginations in ways
With water soothing jagged edges
Its only time that can have a clue
Of what this wound will do
Heal—forgive and forget?
Or live a life of regret?
so can the air carry the messages
you send with smoke?
can i have those memories...
that make you choke?
how can i send the emotions
in a static connection
and make sure
im over you, around and under
when the communication
has been a blunder?
where is hope?
when the light dims?
how can one be so happy
without the end?
with friends and family
within reason and sanity
how can the emotional tug of war
be won when life really hasnt begun?
to say one inch
has been a mile
to say the feet have walked
when the ground before and after is
undisturbed
is it perplexed when i say the statement
is absurd?
so tell me what and if
can you do something with this?
how often can the laugh and plain jane
can make the mundane
seem oh so insane?
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
I hear bones twitch in the flower bed
turning over their trembling groan to the
deep soil with bitter solitude in some strange way.
Autumn swirled her cracked wind that shook the
willowed branches as I clung desperately to my
rhythm in the wilderness blindly following the
flicker of an empyreal garden that glowed
along the path in a mysterious way.
And me happiest, when the earth offers
a place to sleep amongst the billows of the sky.
Most beautiful as sunlight pours itself across
my body, a reminder of simply being alive.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
Your pale skinned girl
whose roses thorns
pierce, red tainted
cheeks
You take the blood
from her finger tips
pricked, smearing
circles
Bright blue eyes sparkle
akin to, the chandelier
above her willowed out
self
Her eyes always glistened
more when, they were
heavy from always
weeping
Sadness had a taste
salt water falls on open
grazes, where cuffs clasped
her
Today was liberation
sold on from one buyer
to another, man of
taste
Her beauty had a price
she was, the first price sale
this bidding meant a new
dress
Today she was virginal
pure white, floral, leaving
an opened button for the
imagination
He lied about her age
a teenager, he said as
her face smiled, so
innocent
In all truth this girl had been
captured since, her teens
for at least a decade has now
passed
*Roll up
Roll up
Next sale
Next girl*
How they flock to this
blonde haired girl
not woman, they prefer little
girls.
© Sia Jane
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
I reach across the blue to you,
surging my tendons, fingertips to glance a few more
inches, feet, miles
my strength emanating from
the small simple sips
I take from the draught of your eloquence.
I wisp across the seconds to you,
minutes, hours, days,
tendrils of curling hope
straining like willowed boughs
in a mouthful of destiny.
It exhausts my veins to venture so,
and I would feign and let you go
with courage flat and valor slow
if I did not whole heartedly know
that you were reaching too.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly,
Held back by a willowed, sandy bank:
The river, green and clear as an eye.
Its silent depths enticed us to pry.
Into the liquid dungeon we slank,
Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly.
There we discovered we could scry,
And so greedily we drank
The river, green and clear as an eye.
Our brains ceased to electrify,
Souls fusing with those dank
Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly.
Now bloated, white, we putrefy,
For we could not outflank
The river, green and clear as an eye.
Deliverer of fate we can’t defy,
But for our new life we thank
Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly:
The river, green and clear as an eye.
Sep 3, 2024
Sep 3, 2024 at 6:21 PM UTC
ten wings on five
black birds
sitting together
on the mulberry tree
set flight
all at once
startled
just one set of wings
the ones
on the woodpecker
his *******
stayed
pecking
as
the stealthy yellow
and white striped cat
clawed her way up the bark
closing distance
he just kept at it
some insect
peckpeckpeck
or the wood itself
and the cat her claws
driven into the bark almost
at the same intensity
rose almost to the limb
that held the peckerheaded
intenseness
of the stalked in
his one-sighted business,
as the cat,
on the limb below ,
close close as breath quickened
back arched
hunched
woody flew off.
***** willowed, scented the
limb the ****
crack of the **********
and
licked her paw.
No loss.
There is always
tomorrow.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 3:36 AM UTC
On one evening grey,
A cold spring sunset
Stood one,
By the roadside
Off the bright shadows
Of the dimming half-light
Oblivious
Of what was to come.
He glanced forth
And there she was
Strutting in stout mellow
As she willowed
Towards the crude darkness.
‘Hello’, he shouted
In a mawkish tone
And to many a surprise
She paused.
He hesitantly approached her heels
Trying to keep it cool
And for about a minute half
Of obscure reticence
They sauntered, tongue-tied
Side by side
Into the drear blues.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 2:22 AM UTC
grab me and wrap me up
in hope and
possibility
paint my walls white
to erase these
bruises
softly hold my face as my eyes
pour out the worlds
pain
but please
whisper in the night
of your love
as i drift
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 7:09 AM UTC
His air is snow
blanketed white willowed
over his heart; lo,
I slush. My jacket billowed.
Cheap wine, plump grapefruit,
sun dresses, and kisses--
a pirate's loot
from Jack Frost's cavern. He misses
his coin turned to color on my cheeks.
No different than missus
from under red light streaks.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
Prepare for Me
prepare for me
dreams of willowed wood
where the fairies of hallowed ground
sprinkle their dust
about the villages stood
without nary the making of sound
prepare for me
the kisses meant for queens
the brave knights standing their charge
showing the trust
beyond the courtyard greens
seeking out the fiery dragons at large
prepare for me
a bed of feathered dreams
so I can be your prince in disguise
your veil of lust
your sultry crying screams
saving you one final delicious surprise
Gomer LePoet....
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
The white widow climbs
towards the crisp summit
Where the purple haze
Seeps off from the
Northern lights which
Shine bright up above
The many blue dreams
Of unhappy people.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
Pieces of the shadows
Of the dying sun
Lie on the face of
The ever-moving sea
Tinting water with
Its orange hue
Rippling figures in
Shades of green and blue
Darkness hides
With unknown fear
But living legends
Live on a spear
Bravely facing enemies
Unseen and unheard
A deafening blast
Took its toll
And found its mark
But she lives….
Spilling blood
On turbulent soil…
Temperatures rise with
Fists, to a boil…
I only see
The light in her eyes
Feel her passions
Like the fragrant breath
Of the willowed wind
Know her courage shall sustain
Her country on the run
In ruins, underneath the sun…
She is Pakistan’s muse
And she lives…
Her legend cries to be told
From far and near
It shall be heard….
Echoes of her voice
Casting shadows by the sea
She will persist
And none can resist
For then, we will know
That she will not go
Deep in our hearts
She will thrive
And survive
For legends like her
Shall always be alive….
She is Pakistan’s muse
Her name is like a prayer
Say it softly and it soothes
Whisper loudly
And it moves
Like the pieces of the shadows
Of the sun
On the face of the ever-moving sea…
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 3:03 AM UTC
Of every dream my mind has danced
along a path of nature’s grace
within a weeping willowed trance
beneath this canopy of space
Your hand in mine, my heart does beat
Of moon beam glow and eyes a’ shine
To hold you close in summer’s heat
And breathe a sigh in precious time
Amidst the charm of evergreen
To sit a while in fragrant dew
Your smile comes an evening dream
In quiet whispers sent so true
For as this moon and wondrous night
Caress our hearts to sing as one
of melodies that feel so right
in love, our journey has begun
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
The path is willowed,
yet it is not a willowed path,
for what it is,
it is surely not.
What we see,
is not what is,
for what is,
we do not see.
Life is all great trickery.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
I can hide in the night
because I can reside
in my deepest fears
locked away in the
weeping-willowed forest
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 11:52 PM UTC
dark as dark — held secret
in TV's hoarse static. lining up and
scuttling across the thoroughfares,
vineyards wrung out of blood,
stomped, crevasse pithless.
willowed and scrunched up, a camouflage
of sorts to masquerade proper terrors.
ripe for Decembertime. magnanimous
assault of buses athwart carts jaded
somewhere between the bend and the fang, shadow upon *** of shadow and
the jiggling of loose change in mired pockets igniting a cadence of dithered flame. later, the lights will cross-fade
into criss-cross. x marks the spot
of burials. content with locks secured
by keys and vice versa. hermetic word
sealed shut in the eyes of the sleepless
children. naiveties suckling our mothers.
songs stifling our fathers. bamboozle
of radio intensifies to raw warfare.
our dangers go to work,
unfurling age. septuagenarian is rare,
and in any common rate, death teems
full in the disappearance of mornings
promising river-flown stories of
how everything was once in our hands.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
I feel as though without you
I am no longer anyone
At least that's how I used to feel
I woke up one day realizing that I need to live
I need to move past what happened
You will always be with me
Everywhere I go
Every place I step foot into
The love you gave me was something so unique yet so difficult at the same time
You made me change from one person to a totally different person at the end of a year
I honestly didn't know who I was
You made me change into someone i've never encountered
Someone so angry yet so fragile
Not knowing how to express my emotions
I fled to ****
It was a gateway drug
To forget everything you had put through
The constant lies
All the stress you put on my willowed shoulders everyday
Was finally catching up to me
I felt like I couldn't be me anymore
I was taken away and brought back to the universe as someone i never wanted to be
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
I am made of wilted spinach,
soaking in my grandmothers cast iron.
I am craving the hot and heavy words
they feed me.
I am not your songbird,
floating high among the daisy beds.
I am jersey sheets, thick Croatian prayers,
the sharp steady edelweiss
lasting.
I am my Dante Mary’s willowed secrets.
Soft and pillowed – my voice cranked,
trying to reach further than they told me.
I am my grandmother’s angel,
but I am down on earth
crusted.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 1:12 AM UTC