Best Ornamented Poems
I am the
cascading radiance,
between apricot
glows of gloaming,
when mauve mists shift,
mirroring sage seas of love,
I look beyond silvery skies
whilst selfless stars sprinkle,
sizzling streaks
of sunflower sparkles~
upon wrinkled
waves of weariness.
it is in sangria silence, I see
seraphic silhouette of
the mauve moon~
incarnate elysian empires,
where rosemary rivers
flow in righteous rhythm,
awakening stainless
lotus rituals,
soaring amidst the
ardent ambience
of butterfly bliss.
now my heart twirls
to riveting themes,
captivated by the
charismatic credence
of your charming finesse~
swirling beneath
purple paper balloons,
ornamented with
pristine pansies,
to weave fuchsia faith
with
dahlia dreams.
yet, sometimes
I question
the eclectic light,
lulling my aching soul,
would life be a
pensive pilgrim
without your
angelic wings?
what if I had never found
the sanctified sanctuary,
shielded with
golden gates
adorned in
citrine-pearl calligraphies..
would I then
still be drowning,
alone, engulfed in fears?
for I’ve found
silent scriptures of serenity
through carmine carvings
on the mystical walls
in your poetic palace,
there love is the
astral language
of crooning constellations,
guiding poignant peonies
to a holistic sphere
of artistic healing.
so tonight, I’ll unlock
cosmic windows to
the root chakra,
where you are the
enlightened king,
and your
altruistic anthem,
rings musically
like soothing
singing bowls,
echoing forgiving heartbeats,
and I, will remain faithfully
engrossed eternally,
like petals blossoming
within your gardenia grace.
With a voice ornamented in ogled tension
you ask me,
like vulnerable flesh queries warm obsession,
Do you mean to love me this way...
on your mouth, a hold of hope I see
to you I say...
Does the sun choose to flare into sapphire atmosphere,
Does the moon decide who's eyes to enchant,
Does a rose ponder its tempt,
Does a man dare his heart relent,
Does a woman wonder whence came her allure and dare,
A heatwave of heartache's swelter swells over your soul
as the outcry of orgulous omens try to defy our survival,
blood drops fall lonesomely from the old body of a lark
a steeple bell broken by the thunder of sorrow in the dark,
gold found burning into rivulets reaching into graveyard rock,
you begin to weep
because the weight of worry waylays your wishes for our eternity,
I surround you with a love shield that shames the arrows of agony
kissing you softly deep,
then I tell you that fate is not our enemy,
don't you understand my Lady...
Sultans cannot buy or sell the feelings we share,
Emperors unable to enforce the silence of our hearts,
rivals are but ridiculous in attempt to dowse our flame,
Time be trite in march against the magic in our care,
the poetry of our purpose will not be censored by cynical marks,
emotions erratic in wrath will not wrest the roots from which our passion came -
J.A.B.
" Tortured metaphors
spilling from tequila lips,
t i p t o e on my pulse ~
breaking in an arced smile
of the featherless eclipse,
where I waltz as a secluded steel-shine,
sobered s o f t l y
by the taste of satanic stars..."
I'm the loss of a leaf
from gold-dew aspens,
rippling upon
turquoise typewriters,
where drunk fingertips dance.
Turning to ashes,
my heart m e l t s
as a metallic grenade,
and no philosopher's stone
ever reverberating
in its silver-winged silence.
Seeking shelter from smoldering seas,
I curl up in the womb of a guardian willow ~
she's a weeping angel of n e v e r l a n d,
with an ornamented garland
of guns and roses,
enveloping me in the corpse of sunset.
Plunging from diamond cobwebs
into isles of champagne,
like a dynamite dove bloodthirsty for sun,
I l u r k along reefs
studded with rhinestones, unfurling –
lotus manuscripts
as poetic pearls s l i p and t w i r l,
snorkeling in an obsidian oasis.
I miss being
a purple-whisper prophecy,
threaded in fractured letters,
for now, my ink b l e e d s
in the marrow of moon,
where an alchemy is lost and found...
In the chronicles of carnelian clemency
and supernova sorcery,
I've seen arctic assonances
hibernating
in the throats of those,
holding lethal jewels
as a nightingale's neon noose.
So, if my soul is an opal widow
of your thistle-light affection,
a verse romanticised
will be my crystal coffin,
and in the caricatures
of kohl and karma,
our silent soliloquy
shall delicately be shifted.
Surfing in the splitting s i n s
of a salty saviour,
this whiskey damsel
shall evermore remain
a scentless phrase,
scrapped by pencilled brush-strokes,
i n v i s i b l e
in our paper-cut destiny...
It's not fair to talk to you without knowing you....
It's not fair to have your voice screaming in my head without seeing you...
It's not fair to feel your words but never to feel you...
It's not fair to dream in black and white...Can't reach for any color to draw you ...
Do you feel Pleasure torturing me ...do you enjoy it ?
Do you enjoy being so damn selfish and cruel ?
You know what I mean but you keep hiding behind your ornamented words..
Skipping away with your tricks and your wisdom....
It's not fair.....
Well life is not fair so how can I expect you to be fair ?
How can expect you to be something that only God can be , when your not a human nor God ?
The words I can describe you with , is selfish....cruel...hopeless....
waiting for you is like waiting rain in jun or July to fall.....It's like waiting for the eternity.....For the end of time....
I'm waiting but don't know who I'm waiting for....
I'm simply waiting for an anonymous....
You were and you will always be an anonymous....
I'm silk-fire, curled in emblazoned quartz horizons,
Of aurous equator, rising in smoke as a secular bird,
From own fossil-ashes, flying to distant honey-shores, scarlet spun,
Stretching across merlot crusts of earth, like a coal-storm, sobered
Yet, my heart is not a silent sandstone, flaming with rage,
It whispers to my Mon Cherie, my arctic air,
In dialects of redolent romance, midst ethers of space,
And he, who fuels my glory by igniting spirit, emerges in graphite flares
Our skies are not sketched with rose-gold glitters,
Rushing in a black-horse's symphony,
crashing porcelain herbs,
We paint universe in ruins of lead and metallic cinders,
Me and arctic air, breathe as one in thunderous heartbeats of reverb;
Orbiting in jade bonfires of ornamented redwood,
While cradling wrath in crimson vineyards,
Has any nurtured offspring of starburst hope withstood,
If our eclipsed union is a toxic twinkle upon sacred lotus' haven-yarns?
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown, but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom-
Maya Angelou
Reality may be a poetic cocktail of pistachio and pecan,
yet it tastes the same as bittersweet betrayals,
saturated in plum flavors of pain.
There’s no antidote without a verse woven in vain,
feeding fire of life with red threads of fate,
hanging on fiery jewels ornamented across a phoenix gate.
Ostracized from a cautionary tale that lacks the essence of an empath,
oblivious to wicked winds of flames burning every truth written in temporary stillness.
But, the world that I love hates me in sheer shades of shame,
shoving my needs to a chained chamber-
of the saint and the sinner lost in an already designed game.
And I question in prose of mutilated rhymes,
will I ever heal in hell that shattered my will to flee from senseless spells?
for the devil bought and sold me to the malignant valleys.
Now I’m throned in trickeries painted with multicolored masquerades and toxic trinkets.
When battles fought are of emperors leading unseen wars,
I am caught in a moment where melancholic musings engulf my midnight sun,
I ponder, does the silent bird feel the weight of its wings?
Or are we confined eagles lured with rose diamond dreams,
still surviving through stolen songs of the damned woodland crickets?
unable to let go and attain an eden with no history of scandalous sagas.
We are in search of starry nights that will never dim their rays upon our souls,
as only in darkness can you see the light that consoles:
aching hearts in search of clustering comets cloaked in implicit desires and love beyond gold spun galaxies.
Strands of satiny pineapple fibers
From the superbly prickly pieces of leaves
Refined by the nifty naked hands
Of the great sophisticated artisans
Beyond this unequaled plant
Is a peculiar product exist
Only native Filipinos - Tagalogs can procreate
An art of aesthetic craftsmen
The fabric of my historical breed
Versatile apparel suits for formal affairs - weddings
From 20 meters of silk processed and produced - four months
Nation known as PEARL OF THE ORIENT
Exaltedly introduces this "BARONG TAGALOG"
Through cordial hardworks and artistic thinkings
A lifetime masterpiece dominates the Philippine Art
A cloth woven by faith and ornamented by passion
A cloth designed by heart and given birth through life
A cloth perfected by artistry and embroidered by fidelity
For native Batanguenos, this is their breath
Respiring together as they brocade their future
Future that depends on THE PHILIPPINE NATIONAL CLOTH - BARONG TAGALOG.
*BATANGUENOS - people of Batangas,Philippines
*BARONG TAGALOG - Philippine National Cloth
------------Jun-jun Villanueva
----ANYTHING HANDMADE CONTEST by nette onclaud
THE RED/BLACK ROSE
-------------------------------
If I a placid pond sit
Still my shallow grounds
Engulfed within the woods
Submerged and bound
Arrayed with ruby rings
Robed in brunette pearls
What jewel would justly paint
With brush my clearest tint
Wouldst any drown the drink
The tongue calls a quench
Cool and clear as white
Atop the moonlit sky
Or wouldst the treasuries' trees
Reveal arising clips depicting
Darkened depths entrenched
In deep demise
Doth God's glory glide
The ornamented floor
Moving mortal millions
To probe, dip, and dive
Beneath the brittle creek
In buried ocean mines
To touch and taste, then tell
Of seas the sands confine
If raids of floral floods
Could frame the fluid's face
As angels frame the figure
Of heaven's sovereign God
Then pluck the petaled stem
The prototyped rendition
Of red/darkened rose
Which colors my condition
~Poetra Jah~
I passed in a garden
with the gaits of the wind.
I saw the owner of garden
with the art of love
in the look of a rose.
The branches of all the
trees were ornamented with
the blossom of the apple.
Bravo, the art of the charm
of the spring. The green
velvet of the grass has
spread its skirt for seeing
the munificence in the
hearts of my companions.
Flowing with the joy, a pond
in the garden took the fishes
that song the love melodies to
the abode of dream. Bravo, the
art of the charm of the spring.
I heard the joy of love in
the clamour of hundred
swallows. Then I saw the
feast of the trees that had
the branches ornamented
with the blossoms of love.
They song together the
melody of unity: bravo
the art of the charm of
the spring.
PAINTER OF THE SKY
Before the beginning of all creations you were
You wove the very foundations to be seemingly fair
Everything stood firm and still
You did this by the words your mouths fill.
Seven centuries you took to paint
Man and birds and bears breathing your air without any faint
You called the Milky Way into being
Separating day from night since it was not so mean.
You called the waters to expanse from the land
All because you had in mind an eternal life planned
Yet the shadows of the Near East called you a myth
Walking in so great darkness and filth.
Darwin and those who make your words ineffective by their traditions
Hiding in their so called specimen and sample conditions
So I asked them to look at the sky and tell me
If it came by chance or free.
Let science say your colors were just cosmic conditions
Or there is a Painter of the sky who chose his colors without any fixations
From Kuwornu to Da Vinci no art can compare
To the void less nature of the earth you tear.
The blossom blooming blue skies
Where the flying creature flies
Tell me, if you know who ornamented the clouds with such garment adorning
And opened the storehouses of the snow to stop you from too much warming.
In your darkening council you speak words with no knowledge
You should have known it is all His privilege
That man will know and understand
And give account on the day all will stand.
In the presence of the great Painter of the skies
Judging generations whom with Him never made any ties
But will see face to face the Turner of years
Whom all will witness with such great horror and fears.
I can see your face
Ornamented with shadows
Inside the tree light.
"And Today's Special is Wine and Cheese"
Some wine and cheese
If you would please
Depressed, I cannot express myself for I’m being oppressed and repressed
Yet, I reside in the west, my lines are treated as an unwelcome guest
I’ve ornamented ideas that will go unheard
Reading them will be seen as a vulture transcribed word
“A Stale Birthday Cake,” could be submitted
But a lot of terms are not permitted
If I leave those texts out to describe my rage
It might as well be written in the stone age
Here’s an example, “ , ” substantial white noise is found on this page
“The Penetralia Ruby Queen,” hint, the anatomy
But, is there no shame, outcry, how dare I, the audacity
It conveys about some person with a dancing nymph’s fantasy
But it altercates against the morals of Christianity
Here’s an example, “ , ” undeniably excommunicated for blasphemy
The villainous bark, scream, “Cultures Dark Theme”
It’s something written from a nightmare’s dream
If submitted, it would drive the masses into insanity
Yet, this piece of work prohibits the usage of profanity
Here’s an example, “ , ” silenced because others must be spared of its inhumanity
“The World’s Playground” still waiting to see if it gets banned
Negligent in comprehending the rules beforehand
The lyrics uses a word to describe a person who gets paid
In an ideal world, I could just switch the rhyme to being laid
Here’s an example, “ ,” my apologies for the cross realm alabaster masquerade
Finally, “Unzipped Apple Core,” was written as a rant indeed
Bitten by the fire ant, I was hoping it would supplant a seed
But apparently the flying monkey festival has everyone strapped to a ticking time bomb
Another useless firework display to a bromide poem, so turn the page to end this sitcom
The doctor said, "Take this. It will cure the social disease”
So, for my last supper please, I would like some wine and cheese
Updated 5/14/2019
Feeling the surge of my achievements,
Counting the stars of my wealth,
Oh the fruit of my labor
I am now embracing an entire Pacific.
I've climbed every mountain,
I've been on Everest,
Beyond the horizon are my property,
But I'm in melancholy and in solitary.
My table resembles the Nile,
My ten fingers aren't enough for the trillions of rings,
My crystal house only reflects people of my face,
I’m ornamented with gold, but the color of sapphire drapes my heart.
No one to share these things with; nor one to laugh with.
What’s everything I have when shadow is my only company.
I’d rather lose it all and have only one:
A friend who’ll stay through the scourging heat of the sun.
Spring
The season of green
As hypnotizing as painted optimism.
The mother of all other seasons with delightful sheen.
You bloom as symphonious as teacherly mannerism.
The season of charming foliage
Invites hummingbirds that might cut the petals or weave nests on you with diligence
Or bees might dance musically at such an elevation of footage.
You stand to me elegantly with my teacher’s patience.
The season of hope and flies
Ornamented by the evanescent rays of an orange sun.
And who that socks in the confetti of rain like Pluviophiles
You open my mind and take to that cradle of a learning barn.
The season of shape and symbol.
I can visualise divine curves-
The epitome of the sagacity of renewal
You help me picture of my teachers’ drives.
Accompanied by a heavenly choir chant I dance.
Shortly divided from the world of silence.
I dance and dance, along with other lonely souls.
An absolute veneration for the creator of joy and sorrows.
Despite the sole of my feet bleeding, I stay careless.
And the exquisiteness of the red ornamented flesh.
I can feel the insistence of happiness to gain.
As for being hypnotized, I ignore the pain.
Oh there is life more life in this fantasy.
Life that a poet could only manifest in his reverie.
Fortunate, grieved, splendid, dreadful.
A life that's full.