With such feminine flamboyancy
this maiden sways in sassy motion
flashing, flitting, flaming a sweet minuet
beneath a mural of moonlit madness,
her flared gown fair as gemmed feathers
this one white rose, radiantly rising ,
her flight of fancy floating on yard's floor
and like a nubile nymph of nightfall;
she parades with petals on a pageant...
How this femme fatale; a floral rune
glides gaily...such sizzling sensation,
goddess of spring's glossed grandeur!
It was in the depths of winter 2010
At minus ten degrees.
There were silver wires of spider webs
And bare hardy trees.
Through the mist of my exhalation
A feeling beyond belief -
I stop and admire with fascination
The glittering outline of this hedgerow leaf.
It was stiffened by the hoar frosts sting,
Glossed by the kiss of daylight,
Holding on tight in a breezy swing,
Its crystallised edges sparkling bright.
Is it true that if you imagine cold scenes
You'll feel cold too? Worth a go!
In this heatwave I'll think of crystallised leaves
And how frost on frost can grow.
I perceive her as fire, not too smokey
But glossed enough to burn my desire ,
This back street pleasure filling empty pathways
Isolated by moonless eve... guarded by egg shells :
Only the waves know this rapture,
Only the stars hear loud groans,moans...
Although this warmth or heat is rented,
My own misery or angst dissolves
As her skin waxes on mine ... slow
Then fast in restless grind of hours.
We take tingling drops of wine
Before sunlight gleams to rise over sheets
Now crumpled by lust, maybe an ounce of love--
She, draped in mannequin's thin wrap
Is delicate and tough with a heart unbidden :
How in this moment, her flaming eyes
Flirt with my demons... and yet her cunning mien
Restrains surrender of constant ardor--
And while I button her second-hand dress
Our next rendezvous is done, again--again
The comfort of my scourged loneliness,
Allayed by the harlot of my nights.
I sing the woes of schoolyard crows.
You are no more bird than balladeer,
Crooning sonnets you compose
From gossip of the vanished year.
The gate I crossed, and now am lost
A guest where once I bore a name;
Iron bars are now with lacquer glossed,
But I am still the same.
It grows late to be without a nest
Do we return then? Do we dare?
My guilt hammers at my breast;
You and I, we are unwelcome there.
So sing with me, you sable host,
Of lessons from the years long flown—
For I, like you, am but a ghost
That haunts the yards where I was grown.
Dates and times.
Shapes and forms static.
But I’m as grand as a shower curtain.
Things pointed out to me.
Time didn’t occur.
At some point, it just became “me, my thoughts, collapse.”
A chart to explain everything to me.
Got thwarted by the bursting tennis ball of nothing.
When I see calendars?
I could believe them but then I spoke to myself.
They just are lines of lines of numbers.
And I am a fluttering being.
Dates and times exist as I do.
As glossed over, rambling, jumbled, and ran out of pencil lead.
The grotesque nature of time is a quest to me.
Whether it is 2025 or 2011.
I do know what year it is when I’m crying.
When I’m flustered the scars unravel.
And I know what year it is- the year of mistakes.
I think I can time travel if they let me.
And they won’t.
Time exists as.
Tangy summer , breezes in heat
Through this season your sighs enthrall
And drench red moonlight so replete
Beneath your sunburnt, air - kissed stroll.
The silken air drapes blossoms scent
Releasing this wild, fragrant balm
Then rustles every tree's intent
To sway, to dance midst cycle's psalms.
Bold nights release stars’ blinking glow
Caressing burnished passion's ease,
That only your zest can bestow
The sultry romance of caprice .
Beneath the sizzle of glossed beams
Entice love's play with your charmed dreams!
While powdered flakes gently spill from heaven
Like embroidery of gold tassels kissing buds
And hawthorns ,the frost twinkles and drifts
Into winter’s beautifully formed marquee,
tangy the vapor of her skin
wafting into nightfall’s’ interlude.
Enthralled, I shudder at the rhythm
Of her dance : icicles flitting in liquid
Crystal taps on silver alleys... a movement
glossed by the spades of eve’s lanterns:
She is a mystery, a prayer, a holy angel
That lays her sparkling white gown
On pearlized brocade sewn into fabric of snow…
A winter’s luminescence casting an alchemy
That my own fingers, in a pirouette,
unfurl then coil into a solstice's hymn...
The ivory spray of moonlit beads, swaying
‘Glory be, Oh glory be.”
Slip sliding from chilled breeze
Slivers of flurries waltz
Softly mantling old trees
Silver-coated by rain:
Snaking down down glossed yard
Soon...frost will enchant you
Smile! Crystals peck your cheeks.
Memories tell lies,
“Behind enemy lines” is getting caught in my mind.
But “two twos” overslept,
Behind glossed over eyes the secrets are kept.
So memories tell lies,
That you already know.
My youth kept inside hides,
That’s something I just couldn’t let go.
That self supremacy just wouldn’t die,
Why,
Oh why shouldn’t I just forget my woes?
Over obsessively weighing cons against pros,
The case only gets closed whenever the answers are known.
Heart beats keep pace,
Decaying on the longer blood flows.
Sour and tart,
Life’s an acquired taste,
Some don’t mind waiting as the cancer just grows.
But hearts need to race,
Down roads with no clue wherever it goes.
I’m chasing being alive,
I just know that I’m close.
I’m chasing down my life,
To see the “Ro” I miss most.
Memories tell lies,
Sincerely yours,
One of the guys.
In the palm of nightforest and rain
I leave imprints on sands ,
my flesh baked by the elements --my nipples and breasts darting towards the sky in full radiance of an alchemy,
where this womb in pure sheen becomes a cradle for ancient offerings:
tangle of thistle and roots sprawl on my bodice , glossed skin rubbed, flamed then offered to gods like mute lamb...
Slipping into this inner glow, I hear again men's whisper of my divine power
hidden within these molden eyes, fierce as sea glass , an amulet designed by Spirit,
my berry lips seemingly chanting of miracles,
of treasures untold...
I lay still among sandbeds and wait,
if chieftains and men would ever know
my heritage comes only from broken refuse of littered stones.
BURNISTA j
encaustic
wax
on
lime
fused
fired
for
cohesive
glossed
effects
at the glossed rainbow
sky and grass held varied hues
bright days were foreseen
vast mood umbrella
nature's smile turned upside down
in green ecstasy
from the stained rainbow
I saw teal world was changing
and pink flowers smiled
in gold altered mists
I found my happy outlook
sizzling saffron sun
Braving storms, push and pull piercing my
Parched soul, while glazed in flaxen mists
Framing lingering dew drops
Consoling my warped core,
As I drift amidst
Sweeping mistrals
Calling me
To the
Blue
Glow
Of our
Ocean home,
Swaying to tides
Eclipsed by sundered
Coral sighs glistening
Upon glossed ripples bleeding
Devout love encompassing my
Frigid heart, seeking the warmth of you.
I, the many
a harlot's realm, betrothed
to the light, each door a seed
yet, eyes
ever glossed in overtones
of harmonic gaze
deep within her strings
and enter anew
in silence...
... raw
Beguiled risks sensitive alterations
that redesigned unknots and cutup trice
as the fresh teases through the looking glass
exposing timepiece resemblance glossed spilled.
Bemused forgives absence, mindful at hand,
tenuously gripping the rolled spent yarn
that edges fingertips loosely as threads
answer questionable finds, stitch-by-stitch.
Period accentuates the sensed thence
for the bestilled entangled narrative
plots exclamation points of those foregone
chapters ... period midst frames of escape.
Styled room for maneuvering that spirals
at a loss now hangs overhead ticking ...
mockery behold guardians of greens
that grow within disoriented poise.
Blue compliments presence expressed squarely
drafting the voiceless lucid residue
that nurtured former brush and forever
sealed a dream sweeter than a Danish roll.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.