In luxuriant jade landscape
of verdant sprouts
glorious golden understory
copiously unveiled,
stemmed by swerving
emerald blades,
entwining the pairs
of petrified legs,
rooted in sensual soil of sanguinity,
the potent promise
morphed as the maze
of floral fresco.
The black upright figure
of deviant distinction,
a towering protector
in sutured closeness,
fused with the feminine flair,
camouflaged to confuse
the invidious predator.
Bare trees aligned geometric
in harmonized motif,
outline the florid boulevard
for the beguiled footsteps
walking away enticed
from the onyx horizon
to the sunburst meadow
where the dulcet dawn waits
with desire epitomized.
Inspired by Undergrowth With Two Figures by Van Gogh
Dear, sweet friend you know a fair-lit day
For that, florid
Out Earth; grass-set.
I, one lovelier! Still daisied
But picked, placed so:
"Your coronet".
.
‘Tiz ‘cauze uv hern
flash florid
hern
En mine hammock
Whilst thuh morning rush
Uv thuh creek
Chip Chip
Chip
Chipmunk’s preen
Cool spring breeze
Past mine kitchen
Vindow
Uh
flower mine
en
Hammock
dreamz
In luxuriant jade landscape
of verdant sprouts,
opulent golden understory
copiously unveiled,
stemmed by swerving
emerald blades,
entwining the pairs
of petrified legs
rooted in soil of sanguinity,
the potent promise
morphed as the maze
of floral profusion.
The black figure upright
of deviant prominence,
a towering protector
in sutured closeness,
fused with feminine flair,
camouflaged to confuse
invidious predator.
Bare trees aligned geometric
in harmonized motif,
outline the florid boulevard
for beguiled footsteps
walking away enticed
from the onyx horizon
to the sunburst meadow
where the dulcet dawn waits
with desire epitomized.
Inspired by Undergrowth With Two Figures by Van Gogh
At the tip of the reclined jade bough,
ornate with fine filigree of emerald foliage,
a floral lattice in the love-laced sapling
blossomed as a flower with a fervent flair.
On the weary wings of the arctic wind
the wilted petals of my florid longing
blew away in the winter of discontent
to the cold cauldron of nowhere.
As my yearning turned into glacial vacuity
in the freezing darkness of the arctic pathway,
I walked forsaken over the frozen flower
along the gelid trail of frigid memory.
I felt the poignant crunch of the flower,
for, then every step was an articulation
of my fragile brittle feeling congealed.
Yet, even if the bruised beauty
got treaded upon the fallen blossom
in the snowstorm raged meadow
I painted its shape-shifted insignia
on the cinnabar canvas of togetherness lost.
In the twilight zone it would glisten
with the patina of residual florid rapture
within our opalescent inner sanctum,
the garden of our real home still verdant,
where the frozen blossom would bloom again.
.
yet i am not ready
for mine
fluffy
vinter
snuggle bunnie
spoon
gone so soon
hmmm
summer sweat'n
in own
her
hammock though
libertine
Dear Olivia,
In the meadow’d yards of
Cherish’d eternity,
The pines softly wisp away
Unto the fading breeze,
Awaiting humm’d melodies
Seldom heard in grace.
In the mellow’d streets of
Tarnish’d mortality,
Your letters rest in stillness
Upon the evening’s florid dream,
Where bloodied angels sing:
‘My god has forsaken me!
My god has forsaken me.’
You must be lonely dear, –
I must be foolish too, –
Life is tender,
But death is ever sweeter
Upon a passing moon.
I will go down to Irish Town,
where the old grey tower still holds
a barren watch for the shrouded ships
in the sea wind's show'ry folds.
The florid men of the marbled heights
throw pennies at your pain:
in Irish town they'll give you wine
as sweet as summer rain.
The haughty dames of Parson's Hill
have learned their love at school;
they feed their gallants perfumed cakes
and break hearts by the rule,
but the women down in Irish town
were born with hearts that know
too desperately what wanting means
to think that love's a show.
So I will go down to Irish town
where the river meets the sea,
and look for a little lasting love
in the grim grey tower's lee.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Please note that I never have used and never will use AI to compose or revise any of my writings or music..
A random comment on poetry in general: A poem should be considered the script of a role in a play which the reader is auditioning for.
Silence lives in mind,
To remain sacred,
Yet not a secret,
But so ruthless...
Silence lies undefeated,
To redeem strength,
Yet fights not so,
Just broken blips...
Silence never go blind,
It's rather aptly florid:
A reasoning exit-
Wordy toothless...
Silence neither be cheated,
Nor conquer at length...
A lone worried soul
Wets words off lips.
“death approaches but we have no regret ~
when God questions us, we will stand erect”
When Death resolutely comes
With his deadly summons
Tarry not like a galley slave
But like a courteous host behave.
Do not waver and do not droop
As if you are to be hung on a loop
Never dread lying under the dust
Within the narrow vault thrust.
When God questions us, let us stand erect
Our life should be worthy that we won’t have any regret
Obey God’s command and place Him above all
Love your neighbour with your heart and soul.
If so, when ousted out of terrestrial space
We will be enfolded into God’s embrace
Know, it is only when seeds rot
That fresh and florid lives sprout
When death comes and it’s time to go
Strut like an indomitable foe
With swinging hands and head held high
To be welcomed by angels of the sky.
There will be the music of clanging cymbals
And the rising rhythm of sounding bells
With all claim, into a kingdom, bright and cheerful
We shall enter, that is far radiant and blissful.
They bloomed together
within the same state of mind
though separated
by zones of time.
Sultry words sprouted
sprig-like inklings flourished
as they bound each other
to a burgeoning erotica,
yo florid images.
O such efflorescence!
O how the swelling vine
can cling and clutch
at far distant hearts,
sadder yet the perfidy
of too hungry a need,
for indeed
he also tendered
to many other female offshoots,
and she herself was a veritable
Venus Fly Trap.
In such a way,
they wove their sensual spells,
a hothouse sorcery
doomed
never to be close enough
to ever take root.
She picked his poetic flowers
Her tender hope a crumbly seed
Each morn, in wait to taste his feed
She craved him till eve’s florid hours
In need to sate her stark bowers
There was a great incline of stone, weathered
amongst the sparsely green valley
whose feet lay at the door of a thatched cottage
and whose head I was treading over now.
A fair stream, no wider than a meter,
had had its pulse dried up by the sun
leaving moss strewn on florid rocky deposits,
ran down the length of the valley
transforming eventually into a river that
sent the local watermills cartwheeling
like ecstatic gymnasts.
In one stride I was over,
hopping onto a small ledge
and (rather regrettably) crushing its treasured plant
underfoot.
Springing upwards, I skirted the boundary of the valley
rising doggedly above the craggy edge
and there, waiting in all its recklessness
was the wind.
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true
Tis the vernal hour when nature's luster peaks and winter dirges no more wend.
Airy notes from feathered breasts, dutiful drones, bejeweled butterflies ascend.
Upon the indigo daze of an afternoon, my angel in lepidopteran disguise
danced along this florid patch with plush pirouettes, calling "Rose, arise!"
"Still here, a bloom to seek and hold." Groggy, dolt, my petals of discontent...
quiet cold stole my blush, then by cruel degrees, I learned snow's resentment.
But in a sun-lit-breeze ballet, God as big as the butterfly, weighing like nothing
revealed the signs of a world renewed, and ushered me thru the rite of spring.
Your face in the twilight wind
flashed with the dissolved rainbow hues,
radiating the spectrum of your love,
I saw painted on your florid face of splendor,
the petals unfurled on the contours of your smile.
Lest it withered away in the cauldron of oblivion
I kept it framed within the foliage of memory.
In the cradle of the reclined verdant bough,
opulent with the fine filigree of emerald exuberance,
a delicate design I made with love-laced twigs
for the nest of my adoring desire,
I weaved with the finesse of fervor.
On the wings of discontent winter,
wafting in the polar wind of despair
the wilted leaves of my longing
blew away rustling to the hazy realm of nowhere.
Dismal in my frosted nest on the skeletal tree,
I counted in my faint heartbeat
the footsteps of the desolate dusk.
My yearning turned into a glacial embrace,
you escaped from the congealed fold of icy love,
flew away far to the sun-soaked sky.
Forsaken in freezing darkness of the arctic nest,
I live with the petrified feather you left
in the memory lost within a frozen mist.
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