Best Rhinestones Poems
I gaze beyond
the silver winged
heart of
twinkling twilight,
lost within metaphors
in warm cashmere
bows of midnight.
Whilst lava lamps
for lost souls
f l i c k e r across
a maze of melancholy,
ghosts of past whispered
surreal sagas through
subtle mists~
silky snow that
d r i z z l e s
in the shape of crescent,
slowly trails
my moon-kissed skin.
If only the stars
of scarred silence
spoke the voiceless
truth raised from
the arms of trauma~
not every glowing
ray is destined
to be your wish
come true,
I was sculptured
in hailstones
of burnt ice,
and my ivory nails
drowned in the color
of your fire blood.
I am the throned
mistress of massacres,
a walking black storm,
that strikes onyx lightning
upon pearlescent
roads to hyacinth healing.
For everything
I touched
became frost,
when heavy clouds bled
to paint the skyscape
in citrine powder.
Perhaps, there is
no need of stretching
your fingers in gratitude,
as it shall
soon abandon
every lucky charm,
like the death of poetry
within inked
pages of
an accidental poet.
Yet, I still see
the unwritten
verses in your dewy eyes~
unsung
poetic confessions,
written in
diamond and rust;
“you’re the poison
I’m willing to take”
Like how romeo
died in the name of
a forsaken tale
told by the infatuated
soul of his Juliet~
Cupid’s bow still
is adorned with her
love-struck tears
that emanate
unshed truth.
So let, the alchemy
of dreams concoct,
a perfumed potion
from black
quartz rain,
to ease this caricature
lifetime of memories~
chasing sonnets
contrived in sorcery,
to seize the stories
of
misplaced prophecies.
whilst hope is flying
on paper wings
of a dark
horse carousel,
where my past self
was crystal-gazing,
to see the crown
carved from rhinestones
of shattered glasses,
piercing through
my honey mane.
But, this immortal
heart will remain
in a museum of
Monet’s garden,
where sorrowful
serenades linger
above thornless roses.
For I am heaven
and hell for you,
in everlasting awakenings
transcribed in turquoise
topaz till tomorrow…
cascading crystals fall......... like
rhinestones from the sky
a shower of ,
your endless love
on me before I die.
her untamable sakura spirit
glows like sweet scents
of petrichor peace,
perfumed in jasmine water,
whilst there’s no path
to golden rays of sunlight,
she shines for the elite vines
trailing through silver
gates of heaven.
and when the sky is a sea
of lilac lanterns,
and mauve mists,
shifting amidst
raining rhinestones
etched with mood-swings,
she remembers~
God as the choreographer
the mindful maestro,
tranquilizing trees tangled
with roots of torment.
but chocolate cosmos
remain blindfolded
by pearly lilies,
as the salmon-hued
bird of paradise
blossoms from
neglected lines
of caramelized skin,
she still sprouts in solitude,
delicate but
powerfully growing
from sepia roots
of grief and regrets,
lessons learned
through wisteria wisdom
earned from
turmeric truth,
and holistic hymns of the
almighty that echo
in captivating cadence~
as spiritual songs
of sepals flourish
amidst withering petals,
there her frost-bitten
soul found a healing field
in a poetic reverie,
where lyrical lines
float above mulberry meadows,
sowing hyacinth herbs of kindness~
painting petunias in patience,
silently sprinkling
enticing anemones
as an inevitable sign
of eternal hope to freedom.
A poetic earth that shall remain
untouched amidst the cruel wind
that blow it’s way through,
while lakes of longing
emanate soulful sagas,
synchronized from strings
of moon-kissed stars,
unfurling light when darkness
dwell upon dreary hearts.
Mother-nature, compassionate
spirit,
I hear her plea for
empathetic emeralds,
engrossed with
righteous rubies,
from topaz tenderness.
here, in singing silence,
I stretch my heart to
seraphic spheres,
for she lies in solitary stillness.
Let the beating hearts
of walking silhouettes
manifest silken fate for her
divine aura.
Rivers may no longer flow,
and flowers may
no longer be fragrant,
but faith shall
never be perished,
and the wildest forests
of her heart shall forever
flare evergreen
dreams of tomorrow.
When onyx skies bleed
rhinestones etched in regrets,
follow the silence;
Unsung sonatas
cradling watercolor spells
woven with magic—
from violet blaze,
beneath mulberry gloaming,
where dark poets rhyme.
But when summer rain
falls upon metal steel hearts
in cashmere cadence,
Listen to the breeze
swirling sunflower secrets
of forlorn fervor.
Amidst lavender
longings for pearlescent bliss
on glistening vines.
For even chained doves
think in dulcet runes that glow,
drawing moonlit dusks
Whilst saffron sunsets
with electric quills of faith
release healing ink.
But can scribbles veil
fog of doubt, when astral signs
mislead the naive?
Is "trust" a lost star
waning in a labyrinth
of mourning roses?
and "hope" a myth of dreamers?
We are extremely jealous of her sandals, the ones with the glitzy silver rhinestones.
She has worn them twice this week. But who is counting?
We scoff at her apple decorated tennis shoes, who would wear them in public?
I hate those damned ugly fur-lined boots she drags out for snow, my mate says.
I snicker.
We hear footsteps, and get quiet.
Humans get weird when the shoes are talking.
The closet door opens a crack.
Someone yells “Are you ready yet?” The husband, we think.
He never comes in here.
The door opens wide, making me blink due to the bright light.
I feel like I am in a police interrogation room.
Pick me! Pick me! Pick me! My mate begins to chant. I shush him.
I can hear him still thinking it from his corner of the closet where he was thrown
Upside down and backwards last summer.
I am sitting under a garbage bag of clothes, so why am I laughing?
Our woman reaches for my mate. I can feel him smiling. I try to scoot closer, so she can see me.
She pokes around a bit in this hovel from hell, then she drops him. OUCH!
She picks up the glitzy rhinestone sandals, and the door shuts.
“I hate YOU!” my mate yells at me.
We are in the dark again, in the furiously maddening darkness.
I want to kill him, but I cannot move, squashed under this damned garbage bag.
" 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...
Alive aglow you seem to drip
cascading from the shades and hues of purpleblack
rhinestones sparks among the fluid pulse
of spilt ink we call night
paperpunched pin pricks
so as not to blind weak seeing souls
such as we –
peircings to the Universal right
the cyclonic spin the sandpapersparks fly ignited
by the sons of light
throng, and pulse, sear and burn
endless and eternal is the night
Contest: The Night Sky
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Date: 3/23/14
*St. Catherine's wheel is a firework in the form of a flat coil
that spins when fixed to something solid and lit.
**See about the poem
*** The origin of the device is horrific
Catherine was spun burned and killed on a larger version
potpourri of wreaths
splatter night rhinestones with aisles
of gold cashmere talc,
stairways of herons ascend
* sky flooding autumn light bulbs
heaven drips of earth's
elegance, drops of fern boughs
collect hands calmly
chiming psalms of fall's remains *
a mantle bathed by wet stars
(c)Contest of Brian Strand
Within the velvet smoothness of eventide ,
Stardust explodes like glittering rhinestones
Lustrous as tinsels from a mystic world above
Expansive at will through its natural pulse.
How this celestial realm—from my mind’s lens--
Allows me to imagine Little and Big Dipper await
Their flight across a zigzag of infinite suns, unnamed
By life's harbinger: That in the flint of moonlight--
All I could offer is my promise
of soul- journey ‘s lasting exploration.
-
Contest of Brian Strand, A Favoured Theme
bedazzled by jewels
beguiled by the gem of you~
diamond eternal
as fake gold duals
alloys mix unbanding two~
with flames infernal
tears drowning in pools
blinders tunnel, love eschews~
so notes my journal
Love is
Surrounded by Monarch butterflies,
on migration
A tingling in your gut
does not defy
A warmness flutters inside
When flowers perfume
When you are near
You feel the same, I shall assume
Love hurts
When rubies now rhinestones,
dullen, sullen
Diamonds now glass,
cutting deep
Pollen smothers,
I swallow my sorrows
My bleeding heart
Let’s stay together
Dowse the drought
Better a diamond with a flaw
than a pebble without
Outside my windowpane
Daylight dwindles
Sunshines sparsely
Further from the new dome skies
Ninety-three million miles away
Imbued in ripened colors
Nature’s mahogany, oak, and cherrywood trees
and Jogger’s grassy paths once lime greens,
Chanting to changing tones of richer reds
Clustered blue-jays adorn
Like shimmering rhinestones
Gayly sing above our heads
Shadows stretch out deep
Swaying weeping willows sweep
Smoke smells flow through the crisp air
Musky scent from stonefire oven pits
Spiced up dishes mouthwatering lit
Lavish and lustrous ambers crackle
Flaming orange leaves swirl around and prance
Seducing all to voyeur their performance
Golden crinkled copper leaves splayed
Reaching, rustling to the ground
Making shuffling sounds
Minty blues peak through scarlet rays
Fall cashmere shawls display!
Autumn gardens
Nights that linger lasting moments
Granting lover’s time
For making romance
Congratulations!
2019 is the expectant year.
You will get a baby, if you are expecting one.
If you are expecting to say "no" to a puppy, but you have an
eight-year-old who wants one, and you are not firm, you might
get one, so expect this to possibly happen.
You will get a vibrancy and fun-filled life, if you think you will.
You will lose all of your money at a casino, if you believe in losing.
If you do not expect to lose, you have a shot at maybe enough money
to buy a pair of hot pink jogging pants with the words Treasure Island running up the leg in fancy schmancy rhinestones..
If you expect them to fall apart in the washer, they will though.
If you expect to get run over by a truck, well, that can also happen.
2019 is the expectant year, after all.
Like a velvet skirt with glimmering rhinestones,
The night sky beckons us to lift our eyes
And gaze upon the heavens, so glorious,
So filled with wonder, splendorous mystery --
Where myriads of constellations, light years away,
Continue to remind us of One greater than ourselves.
Like the mysteries in my lover’s sparkling brown eyes
The night sky holds the secrets I so yearn to know.
And I, ... I have stared longingly into the Milky Way,
Realizing how small I am in relation to its charms,
Insignificant in the unfathomable realms of vastness,
I can sparkle, twinkle, and shine while I’m here!
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written February 25, 2022
Especially for “The Night Sky” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anna Marie Kaianah
snow is exquisitely beautiful
when it is fresh, it dazzles like rhinestones
rivaling water droplets on a spider’s web
snow is pristine before we make steps in it
she brings a magic
replicated by nothing else
refreshing, enlightening, revitalizing
she changes the ambiance of air and field
nothing changes a day as fast as pristine white snow
Yesterday, I went to an exhibit which showcased the native products of the place where I grew up. It was held at the entire fifth floor of one of the premier malls of the city where I now live. The place hummed with the welcoming sound of the region's familiar lilt, as I edged my way toward the kiosk to meet old friends.
leather and rhinestones
on abaca wallets and bags -
women at their prime
As I recognized each smiling face of former classmates from the all-girls school, the impersonal place turned into a warm, familiar one. Everybody knew everyone, at least in our group of twelve excited, chattering women eager to catch up on each other’s news. A late lunch after the show stretched into an even longer coffee at a nearby restaurant. We laughed as we recounted comedic classroom situations, times of mischief, and romantic trysts with old flames from the all-boys school across the street. The food was not particularly memorable. The moment was.
your face lights up
upon recognizing mine -
friendship survives time
We eventually broke into groups of threes or fours. My group, which included the batch Valedictorian, decided to continue our chat at another coffeeshop along the way. Each one shared personal angst, the latest in her career, and the familiar topic of loved ones. We parted around midnight, promising to keep in touch, a fitting end to a day which I will treasure for a long time. It was one of those breaks in my routine which I did not have to take, but I was happy I did.
in my journey
I saw a sign to stop -
time to smell the flowers
* abaca - hemp, material for bags, shoes, ropes, etc.
05 August 2015
For Scott37's HAIBUN
This haibun is adapted from my journal of a not so recent real event in my life.