Best Embalm Poems
Six steeple towers, cold as steel, drab daggers in the sky!
Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by –
for, filled with dread to wake the dead, they've ceased to sough or sigh.
Coiled candle sticks! Their twisted wicks no longer 'lume the cracks
with dying flame, subdued and tame, mid pendant pearls of wax,
since deference to innocence dissolved in molten tracks.
Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter’s wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.
Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, across the cruel moraine
reflecting white a wisp of light in ebon beads of bane
which casts a crooked smile across a faceless window pane.
Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in lurid swinging gait),
haunt ballrooms, bars and bare bazaars, though no one's there to fete.
The souls who come with jagged tongue won't sing a silent psalm,
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor pray for mercy, grace deferred, nor beg lethean balm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm –
they've seen, you see, life’s brevity, and face it with aplomb.
An alchemical raven's gray rhapsody awakens those cynical roses who
Breathe-in the ebony beams of blood-bathed sun, exhaling
Cacophonies that ricochet across these truthful horizons where,
Depressive roars embalm Lilith's lawns. Awash with smoked prairies and
Equinoctial secrecy, my neon lips swathe in life's witchy lies, for -
Flames of fury, lace every lead feather of the pewter crow, that feasts on beliefs.
Grieving charcoal stars swing like souvenirs of deceit when,
Heartbeats of hibiscus moon, shiver and shatter upon my schizophrenic
Ink, carving betrayals in asphalt ashes. "Am I a
Jewel of jinx, floating like a jet-black jasmine across
Kohl orchards?" - whispers time's wistful rebirth in the
Lachrymose lake of death, as conspiracies entwine in cyan cobwebs within
Medusa's redstone heart, tumbling at my tulip-tombstone.
Now, nebulous blackbirds, rise from corbeau cinders, as
Onyx wings of resilience have torn apart and
Pierced every sheath of shimmering faith - surrendering to the
'Queen of darkling serendipity', as her clemency clenches me onto the cusp of
Rhetoric valleys and winds pirouette with a pirate's porcelain wave,
Silencing the saffron of my soulful sculpture, in eternal streams of fall.
Thornless fate has forevermore, been an insomniac illusion and maybe,
Ultraviolet elegies of saturn's rings will become a noose for my dreams and
Viola orbs will encase every dove-dawn in a woeful chrysalis,
When anxiety's darkling dungeon, spreads across rustic realms and
Xanthic Satan dethrones my poinsettia-crown, as survival holds onto the
Yarns of last crystal light within Cleopatra's claustrophobic hope. But in the
Zillionth moment - my heart shall wail in rhymeless refrain - am I the one, lost?
Dark chocolate eyes bore into me,
Beseeching, brimming, tunneling for truth.
A single tear trails silently
Cascading o’er lifted cheekbones so
Perfectly angled they’re matchless
Throughout nature’s beauty scheme.
Exquisite, ethereal amber skin is
Glistened by a single path tracking south
Till brushed tentatively aside and away
With a deliciously delicate crook’d index finger.
Adjusting focus with a bow, her upturned glance
Begs understanding, explanation.
Crimson lips, lavish in their trembling,
Part in silent query, “Why”?
Two years ten days no joy could compete.
Renowned in circles select, discreet,
Our couple bid the daily world depart.
Sealing curtains leaked primal sun bright-strewn
‘cross comely sheets, fantasy games oft fulfilled.
No doubt the future shined, out there.
Sparkling horizons, her urgent beckoning.
Glacial azure eyes avert at this sight
Of flawless beauty marred by an unrequited
Inky threshold placed anew across
The spectrum of her charted dream.
Cooling cooing stills her tears momentarily,
Hypocrite rising fresh, predicted.
Hope extended but a moment more,
Remembered embraces reenacted
Pacifying heart-ripping avalanches
Sure to embalm, feigning calm,
Endless love promised, bestowed,
Bloomed, embezzled,
Freshly bamboozled...still,
By her guileful paramour.
~~~~~~~~~ (the goodbye lie)
A hand of fine art
carving impressions of heart
beauty to embalm.
A creation glorified
inspiring while life denied.
When Neptune's
nostalgic sighs,
weave ruffled rosaries
of brocade ink,
bleeding from
blackberry wrinkles
in torrential time,
I wonder if
herculean eyes
of my earthen heart,
are afraid of being
abandoned by the
electric rhapsody
of life's alienated
aroma.
Swinging on the
translucent
parabola of a
frozen rainbow,
my fate is
skewed as a
cantaloupe
silhouette, of
helix-shaped
maple pamphlets,
where, bluebirds
feast on decaying
seeds of love
and sing
hemlock-croons
in those magnolia
gardens.
But,
what if stars
were edible and
I devoured their
ivory scintilla,
submerging
cosmic potions
in my arteries,
iridescent with
clusters of
quasar's quivering
rays and pulsar's
pistachio glitter?
So now,
I collect
volcanic ash
from rust-orange
ruins of dahlia's
dreamscape
and embalm
them with
paradise-pink hues
of distilled empathy,
for my swan-white
halo of faithful
silence, is still
glowing with
sombre yet
glossy shine
of the linen sun
and I inhale
the fragrance of
my marshmallow moon.
Four walls
Sat destitute
within four walls
of her citadel,
Embellished in gold
and pricey diamonds,
Adorable silky cher
in vast ambit,
Waiting and waiting,
days after days
till the war will end,
For her prince to return
victorious, in jubilance.
Longing soft heart,
Abandoned in walls
of riches, dignity
kindness and valiance,
With no privilege
of freedom,
A tearful soul
eating her heart.
Not a mere breath,
She is an esprit
with subtle thrust,
She is an essence
beyond four walls,
That else embalm
and macadamize.
Written Feb 24th, 2016
For contest by Chase
Now entered for "Any poem #38" poetry contest by PD A
Movement frames insight fond treasures reveal;
Yield to thoughts cheery that feed good feelings;
Seek then that sure light which fields fond appeal;
Till hours with easy verse craft addressing.
Image fond beauty in colours that tint;
Court then a lifestyle that fits your sweet wit;
Moot your own story with flavours that mint;
Ideas now fund smiles in pieces and bits.
Reach for sure passion in timely verse rhymes;
Allow your sure soul to confess the truth;
Choice supports action as magic words chimes;
Live your finesse whole in light waves of proof.
Embalm your posture with grace and fine light;
Succeed your treasures with pleasures of sight.
Leon Enriquez
28 Apr 2014
Singapore
At the last supper He declared,
"One of you is my betrayer".
They questioned Him and each denied
Then all joined in song and prayer.
Mount Olive was the next stop
They could see He was distressed,
But they fell asleep while He prayed,
Even those who loved Him best.
When the mobs came with their clubs and swords,
Disciples turned from men to mice.
Even stalwart Peter faltered
And in fact denied him thrice.
Then Judas boldly kissed Him.
It was the cruel betrayer's sign
And they took him off to Pilate.
All was part of God's design.
Jesus had to die to save us.
Calmly He accepted fate.
"Crucify Him. Crucify Him."
Love for their Christ had turned to hate.
They nailed Him to the cross and mocked Him
As He hung between two thieves.
Jesus said to His companions,
"I can save he who believes."
Darkness fell across the whole land
And at three o'clock He died.
Then the women who had followed
And His mother loudly cried.
Joseph from Arimathea took His body
Which Pilate graciously allowed.
Joseph wrapping Him in linen
Carried Him past sobered crowd.
The two Marys who had followed
And another named Salome
Watched as He was quickly buried
Then each went sadly to her home.
On the evening of the Sabbath
They brought spices to embalm Him,
These two Marys and Salome
Who had worshiped and adored Him.
Early on that Sunday morning,
The women again came to the tomb.
Unsure if they could roll the stone
To unseal His burial room.
But they found the room wide open
With an angel sitting there.
"Your Lord's not here, He has arisen."
They could only stand and stare.
Mary Magdalene, cured from demons,
Was first to see Him now alive.
She told disciples, but they answered
"That's a bad tale to contrive"
The grieving disciples locked themselves
Into safety in a room.
They felt as isolated
As was Jesus in His tomb.
To their amazement, Jesus entered
Showed His dreadful wounds and scars.
He told them He would rise to Heaven.
(Is Heaven found among the stars?)
He bade them to tell His story
And to spread it through all lands.
The faithful disciples did so
And the world now understands
That we sinners killed our Savior,
But we know we'll be forgiven.
If we believe in Him and trust Him,
He will gather us to Heaven.
Written: March 31, 2015
We've LANDed a PROBE on a COMet
and FOUND it was MADE of green VOMit.
Well, CREAtures withIN it,
deCIded to THIN it,
serve PROBE a pea SOUP, then emBALM it.
posted: 15 Nov, 2014
Ill-fated crowds neath unchained clouds: the Silent City braved
against a sudden flashing flood, unleashing lashing waves,
which stripped its stony structures, blown with neutron bursts that laved.
Its barren streets, although effete, resound of yesterday
with chit-chat words no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life (at one time, rife), surceased and slipped away.
Within its walls? Whist buildings, tall... Outside the City? Dunes,
which limn its frail forgotten tales, in weird unworldly runes
with symbols strung like halos hung in lifeless, limp festoons.
Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter’s wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.
Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, throughout the doomed domain
reflecting white, wee wisps of light in ebon beads of bane
which cast a crooked smile across a faceless windowpane.
Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in silent swinging gait),
whelm ballrooms, bars, bereft bazaars, though no one’s left to fete.
Death's silhouettes show no regrets, 'twixt twilight’s ashen shrouds,
oblivious she always was to cries in dying crowds –
in foggy neap the spirits creep beyond the mushroom clouds.
No ghosts of ones with jagged tongues will sing a silent psalm
nor haunt pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm.
Continued in part 2
Let me play you violin
I hope you will dance
Don't mind how to begin
Till you loose all steps into trance
And wonder if you've been therein
I don't mind if it hurts
My fingers and my back
What if I got some concerts
Won't I keep oiling to avoid setback
And complimenting the overall efforts
Zero stress, keep calm
Let down the foes watching
To laugh steps long embalm
Tagged "SU dance" somehow gauche
Explode surprise into their mind bomb
Be at the top
Supply the tap
Fresh water behind
Running ever nonstop
Till standing ovation clap
And your fountain is enshrined
Rinse the pot
Set in each potato
At the reach of intense fire
Burning down chemical's dot
For all invited guests in-out Soweto
Before all to their dear houses retire
Happy birthday dear
Thrill the amusing thriller
And watch the wonder with cheer
For all cool teases to become chiller
As you await nice experiences of coming year
CHEERS! ?? ??
Cryptic contours charade,
Rousing riverfront raid;
Young yonder years yielding,
Prosperous peace prancing;
Taunting tale telling trite,
Icon imprints invite,
Clever casting charm cites...
Minds merge mingling motives,
Embalm emergent edge;
Rising riches restive,
Lofty lion-maned ledge;
Instruct inbound inklings,
Outline obvious oozing,
Niche nice new nurturing...
Fancy fish-tail flings flair,
Age aligns apt affairs;
Sense survival seeking,
Hope's hasty hurts hurling;
Intent invents impasse,
Observe optimum ooze;
Now nimble nascent noose,
Salty sea spray surpass...
Sculpt seaward sea-bubble:
Taut tensile tendency,
Obscure odd odyssey,
Raise roomy revelry;
Years yield yarns you yodel...
See sensuous story stay,
Charm cleverly cheers clay;
Raise rousing ripe refrains,
Indulge instincts ingrained;
Prime plot puzzling playground,
Trailblazer touching town...
Move myopic mindset,
Yesterday yielding yet;
Tease trouble's trying threats,
Hoist happy hustling hat...
Leon Enriquez
01 November 2014
Singapore
A pendulum is but a slave of time:
What its trapped spirit wants is hidden where
The folding waves can find a friendly clime,
Far from the bloody dagger of despair.
Inveigled by amorphous accolades
Of lust, the lure to scry and linger thin
In search of faithful memories soon fades
If hungry eyes ensorcel beauty’s twin.
Æolian caresses cannot calm
The mind of Argus on his callous charge,
Though knavish gods have chosen to embalm
His eyes within a noble avian barge.
How brazen! I still crave the fleeting thrill
To break the sundial as Saint Elmo strikes the mast
Of ships, and make gray time stand still.
O, might it die so that I breathe at last!
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Mad moments mesh mind mystery;
Yesterdays yield yonder yeses;
Sight sensuous stash sync sensibly;
Thrust tensile thrill to touch tresses;
Empty emote ends each earthing;
Ready ripe rock rustling rich roast;
Yesterdays yoke yield young yawning.
Mind mulling mock moves motive most;
Aplomb appease asking appliqué;
Seize subtle space singing sweetly;
Troubles trace tease trembling technique;
Endow encase embalm empty;
Rich rides revoke reel remaking;
Yesterdays yoke yonder yielding.
Leon Enriquez
14 June 2014
Singapore
(Note: This poem is a Sonnet with Alliteration.)
An Overview
When Villonia Beebe was a baby of three
She got it in her head to trim the Christmas tree.
She lit all the pretty candles,
Tossed the matchstick away,
Sister, brother, dad, and mother
Never saw Christmas Day.
Nine years went by, she bloomed, and when Villonia was twelve,
She got a yen for French and Greek and so decided to delve.
When her language teachers asked her
What she wanted to do,
Villonia taught those profs some things
The French and Greeks never knew.
She played the field with lots of guys but at age thirty-two
She thought to get herself a steady man was what she should do.
She tried out Toms, and Dicks, and Harrys,
And then settled, in due course,
For a handsome hunk named Homer
Whose nickname was "Horse".
They lived as wife and husband then for sixty-four years,
A life of trials and tribulations, lots of laughter, lots of tears.
Homer made and sold corn "likker"
From a still up in the hills,
And Vee would sometimes turn a trick or two
To help pay the bills.
The lovebirds made their minds up when they turned ninety-five
That they would live to be the oldest couple alive,
But time and sex and "likker"
Tend to play funny tricks,
Hunky Homer kicked the bucket
At a neat ninety-six.
Villonia is alone again like when she was three.
She's outlived most of her friends and family.
As she sits, and sips, and waits her turn,
One reflection seems to calm her,
When she's found she'll be so full of 'shine,
They won't bother to embalm her.