Best Ombre Poems
This Aphrodite rose
slowly unfurls
pink ombre balms
of sun-kissed
springfalls,
as the luminous
lake of tears
cascade in
exotic wreaths
of honey-soaked
velvety sepals,
there succulent seeds
of zestful dawns adorned
our silken sheets
across luscious meadows
sprinkled with
glistening cosmic dust.
Yet neon streaks
of longing unveiled;
romanticized rainbows
engrossed within
fire opal clouds,
awaiting to drizzle
pleasing odes,
amalgamated with
drops of opium
meant to reveal
skeletons and secrets,
sculptured as
sultry souvenirs
of seasonal streams.
But ripples of reminiscences
reflect how
you and I
weathered howling winds
through unseelie storms
of oppressed lovers,
gliding in sync
to the echoes
of midnight screams,
rising from
sumptuous seas.
So, tonight, as curtains
fall in
hues of dusky dews,
cover me in sunrise
when the bleeding heart,
of blue-laced estuaries,
rhymes with
sangria vesper time,
where tomorrow’s
ocean ferries
purge prose
that never denies.
Let fervent
pearls pulverize
my colossal tarp
as the morning glows;
I ponder,
do mourning petals show,
the folly of
moonlit melancholy?
For you’ve devoured
the alluring depths
of campfire stories,
burning
untouched edges
within our twin souls,
whilst
cosmos
trembled
and sighed
in poetic ecstasy ~
we seized our
unsung melody…
For this
remains
as an
untold version
of our
dangerous glory~
etched on cupid’s
amethyst arrow.
Serging through life, I whipstitch, weft, and welt,
But always, my thoughts are pick-threading.
As stippled patches of emotion rise and fall in me,
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
Just too many scars.
The mindless mind stresses itself through mental snares,
I waste away beneath it all, piecing and pondering.
Where the struggling soul and pleating body meet,
I seek significance in life’s lucid-lined layers.
Confronting my inner fears as an owneress,
Time leaves its cursed mark in starched stitches that cut.
Each moment experienced is like a closing zipper,
My calm exterior ridges are often rough, ready, and ruffled.
A life full of scars.
While unique experiences blend like transient ombre shades
My essence feels like a needled complex knit.
Memories form patterns from life’s four-patches
Challenges scissors cut are like shredded sharp diamonds.
Yet more paths diverge along life’s shifting chevrons
I strive to fit somehow; this square is what I do.
Yet my world stands out like tri-recs blocks
Creating stars and pineapples to fight fifty-four forty.
Scars that are hidden and visible, surface and deep.
Like trapezoids, I sense those oblong obstacles loom
Worth or less by my own limited gauge, I measure.
I pray each day new chapters begin casting on
While others exhaust, reaching their bind-offs.
I do seek a pattern master, and I need to pray for one.
I contemplate constantly along selvages of thoughts.
They hang like dangling tails…
I start to visualize my purpose slowly seaming.
Look as I whipstitch, weft, and welt through life, serging.
As I graciously and sagaciously test life’s many swatches,
I devote my life to the Master Seamster the…
Healer of scars.
I gaze beyond the phasing face
of the nebulous horizon,
searching in clamorous silence
for a hypnotic glimpse
of your poetic sparks ~ lost,
placed within the kohl-dust
of dreariness dressed
in deceitful dancing diamonds,
like layered silver and gold,
seared by Zeus’s thunderous wrath,
leaving memories engraved
in satanic sapphires
across the tempestuous teal
soaked in surging tears
unshed and unseen...
I’ve long been fighting
demons masked as the raven visage
of my bleeding silhouette,
preaching kindness whilst feeding
my soul with venomous verses ~
the poisoned truths of past turbulence.
But I refuse to drown in despair.
I will dance through the
dimmed spheres ~ eclipsed and torn ~
to reach the amorous arms
of compassion,
awaiting amidst splitting sorrow.
And when it rains,
my heart quivers,
haunted by inner thoughts;
my mind paints lines of love
in darkness and disarray,
for I fear never seeing
the saffron light on
the moon’s tender lips.
And in the midst of
p u s h i n g and p u l l i n g,
trapped in aching coldness,
afraid of losing the warm,
golden strands of roseate dusk,
I hide and fade like
love’s heat at twilight,
burying the poetic longing
within storms of melancholy,
waiting for another
cup of coffee at sunset ~
where your name ricochets
like reveries of romance
and your voice reverberates
like musical mists of monsoon,
carving an ambience
of delicate desires
tying me to the ombre amber
s i n g i n g songs
of solace, forevermore....
So quickly gone our perfect day,
softly fading in ombre gray;
we loved, lying in grasses sweet,
mist mountain shrouded and discreet.
Pink pearled the clouds like china clay--
so quickly gone our perfect day--
dangled above the mountain rim;
pearled the wine kisses I offered him.
We strolled hay scented meadows, fair;
he laced white daisies through my hair;
so quickly gone our perfect day
for night swooped down, dark bird of prey.
Sometimes a day almost like that
makes me wistful, heart acrobat
contriving to return that way,
so quickly gone our perfect day.
Copyright, January 23, 2016
Sweet subtle ombre bob
framing her delicate face
Sleek shoulder-skimming hazel
sashaying with her every grace
French braids
or just a pony and a baseball cap
hiding behind mirrored sunglasses
with coach purse and a dangling strap
A woman of a thousand looks
each and every one better than the next
She has the look
that special look
cheeks aglow
eyes dazzling in the moonlight
she's the one
I just know
All dressed up in pearls and heels
or
faded jeans with a white t-shirt fitting right
whatever the look, whatever the style
I am always amazed and I always do wonder
Who is the woman I'm going to fall in love with tonight
Translation of " Bury Me in a Free Land " by Frances E. W. Harper
(Homage to Frances Ellen Watkins HARPER, the First Black Lady of America, 1825 - 1911, Orphan, Poet, Novelist, Civil Rights Activist, Public Speaker, Suffragette, whose memorable lines of subdued indignation arise from controlled passions of the never-daunted Soul.)
Enterrez-moi dans un pays libre
Enterrez-moi où que soit vous voulez
Dans une plaine basse ou sur une colline élevée
Faites en sorte que le tombeau soit parmi les plus simples
Mais pas dans un pays où il y a d'esclaves
Je ne pourrais pas m'endormir si autour de ma tombe
J'entendais les pas d'un esclave tremblant
Son ombre couvrant ma tombe silencieuse
La fera un endroit où règnera une ambiance désastreuse
Je ne pourrais pas me calmer si j'entendais les pas
D'un coffle en train d'être conduit vers les corvées sans repas
Et la crie d'une mère désespéramment sans espoir
Montant comme une malédiction tremblant dans l'aire
Je ne pourrais pas m'endormir si j'apercevais le fouet
Buvant son sang dans chaque entaille qu'il faisait
Et je voyais ses bébés arrachés de sa poitrine
Comme des frémissantes colombes de leur nid d'origine
Je me réveillerai secouée tout d'un coup si j'entendais le hurlement
Des limiers en train de capturer leur proie humaine
Et si j'entendais ensuite leurs cris de supplice en vaine
Tandis qu'on rattachait de nouveau leurs pénibles chaines
Si je voyais des jeunes filles arrachées des bras de leurs mères
Et marchandaient et vendues pour leur jeunesse et beauté rare
Mes yeux seront illuminés d'une flamme de tristesse
Mes joues d'une pâleur de mort deviendront rouge sang de la détresse honteuse
Je dormirais, chers amis, où le pouvoir arrogant
Ne pouvait pas dérober aucun homme de son plus précieux droit existant
Mon séjour dans n'importe quelle tombe serai en paix
Là où personne peut dénommer ses frères des esclaves inégaux
Je n'ai aucune envie pour qu'on se souvient de moi par un monument, fier et imposant,
Pour attirer l'attention admirative des passants
Tout ce que mon âme réclame avec soif
Est qu'on ne m'enterre dans un pays d'esclaves
© T. Wignesan - Paris, November 22, 2018
Lost in a vertical field
Stretched over a wire,
Cut into a shape,
Hanging on wet folds ...
The sun moves and dazzled me,
... I'll be drunk by the white
Cleared to everyone eyes,
Already waving, and pushed by the wind,
Until going out of the canvas,
And thus losing my shadow.
-
RC
-
translated from french...
see below...
-
Egaré dans un champ vertical,
Tendu sur un fil,
Découpé en une forme,
Accrochée aux plis humides …
Le soleil se déplace et m’éblouit,
… Je serai bientôt bu par le blanc ,
Effacé aux yeux de tous,
Déjà ondulant, et poussé par le vent,
Jusqu’à sortir de la toile,
Et perdant ainsi mon ombre.
-
Ombre
I miss you in the most strangest of ways…like a faraway song…
like lyrics of a folklore….
….an Indian tale around a fire ring
like a dark deep forest which I have always passed by, never lingering
I miss you like the sound of a waterfall
Like a dream that flitted through
Like a tear drop which got caught in my lashes
Like a smile that caught me unawares
I miss you like I never knew you
Like you are a stranger passing through my life.
And….
as the rain drops trickle down the windshield and become one,
as the snow flakes pass by the windowpanes and melt as they touch the earth,
as the wind untangles my tresses and veil my face….
as my mind holds back the heart and then…. lets it go….
as your thoughts dance around in my mind and become a dream as my eyes close
I miss you even more…..
like I never knew you,
like you are a stranger passing through my life
fresh and aromatic were her newest flowers
miniature daisy stamens within daisies
in ombre' too, fascinatingly innocent
no wonder you are the favorite flower of girl scouts
and Juliette Low
Wait.. till this wicked night passes away,
sleep off the dreads, just try..
Wait..Till the moon draws away from sky,
let tears rain till clouds dry..
Wait... till this ombre grass disappears,
may amber soothe your burning eyes.
Wait...till birds stop your sniffs and weeps
And kiss your ears with lullabies
Wait..till the storm falls upon it's knees,
And winds befriend your glorious fly
Wait..till the shadows vanish between walls,
and light becomes your best ally..
Wait..
The streams of chameleon
cultures are wrapped in an
unending charade of peace,
love and warmth. How I wish
we were truly free indeed, not just
from the invaders. Free from ourselves,
our bonds, our lies and truth.
Even we, do not fully embrace our
strength. In ignorance we let our armour
and sword of unity divide us like the
devil's kettle. Our music brings light,
yet we agree to confine in darkness.
Our laughter serenades the universe in
green cords tied to the sky still, we bask
in the solitude of sadness drawn from
petals of mud and rotten clay.
How do I sing this tale in voicelessness?
How do I serve these crystal dishes in volcanic flames?
How do I tell my mother down the earth
that her saplings no longer hear her words?
They race to chaos like their umbilicals are buried in its dissolution.
Where's the yearning for nature?
Where's the kiss for art?
The displays for rhythm are now left
in pieces of tunes shredded by the
anger of the sun.
Imaginations have sailed mercury.
Common sense painted in drowned ombre.
How do I tell my children that empathy got buried in the lost city of Kalahari?
That karma had a glitch and mercy
hears no plea.
How do I tell them that sacrifice is not a term used in the world we've created?
That compromise forgot its last name
in the Atlantic Ocean.
What piece of air is left for their children
to come?
Somber slate clouds blanket the longing skies,
whilst wisps of snow paint the frozen ground below.
Ombre leaves barrenly speckle slumbering trees,
glistening sheets of ice coat their fading existence.
Another bitter winter blows in,
like thistle tangling around forsaken irises.
Threads of changing seasons cling to my coat.
Taking a deep breath, I exhale, watching it hang in the evening air.
“Anywhere but here” rings in my head.
Empty coldness soaks into my soul,
as an icy blue-white depression takes hold.
Loneliness rests upon abandoned courtyards;
decaying rose petals become fossils
between layers of winter’s aquamarine verglas,
bathed by the snowglow of another illuminated midnight.
Death’s cold fingers trace my spine,
submerging me further into the gelid grip of despair,
massacring any hope of escape from this torment.
Like a rippling lake, her azure silk dress flows,
splashing gentle waves with her delicate spin
into his awestruck arms as the music slows.
As he holds her closely, whiffing flowery skin,
she whisks him away to a sapphire sky
where ombre blues blend and collecting stars grin.
Her lake dress reflects, to his wonderment eye,
heron wings flapping within, in playful drifts,
as her mirroring heart begins to fly.
Her sash bow embraces a lifetime of gifts
as it wraps his treasure so beautifully
in the dazzling pleasantries of wordless wisps.
Azure radiance croons as her hips taunts me
in that dancing blue dress under their marquee.
I’ve dreamed of you so much,
I’ve walked so much, talked so much,
Loved your shadow so much,
That I have nothing left of you.
All I can do is be a shadow among the shadows,
To be one hundred times more shadow than a shadow,
To be the shadow that will come and go
In your sun-spangled life.
--Robert Desnos
Translated by Christopher Johnston
LE DERNIER POÈME
J’ai rêvé tellement fort de toi,
J’ai tellement marché, tellement parlé,
Tellement aimé ton ombre,
Qu’il ne me reste plus rien de toi.
Il me reste d’être l’ombre parmi les ombres,
D’être cent fois plus ombre que l’ombre,
D’être l’ombre qui viendra et reviendra
Dans ta vie ensoleillée.
--Robert Desnos
Numb to sun's torture, scathed terrain
Syphons cynic's air, ribs poised
Statuesque breath stoic barren refrain
Skeletal inertia, rhythm devoid
Famine implores an acapella anthem
Ombre eddy erects florid flare
Defeat lifts dervish dust gust tantrum
Flora dispose organs in despair
Epic inhaling opens ochre heart agra
Graveyard stone crack, wizened
Stagnation signposts an outback saga
Wilderness lawless Lord's a miser
Nascent cloud keloid, corregated iron
Smudge underlining lead pencil
Silver wing budgie blue dome imbibing
Sketch of refreshment torrential
Fills floor chasms with wetting orgasms
Overflow bubbles gradual absorb
Drenches trenches in splattered spasms
Feast ragged roots grab, gorged
Euphoria fondles fragility fresh fortified
Grateful graziers finally exhale
Saturate surges billabong snake revived
Wily eolian egg protect prevail
11th January
Written to recall our end of year
sprint to interesting mineral rich
Mt. Isa