Long Basilisk Poems
Long Basilisk Poems. Below are the most popular long Basilisk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Basilisk poems by poem length and keyword.
The people of this world are like the three butterflies in front of a candle's flame.
The first one went closer and said:I know about love.
The second one touched the flame lightly with his wings and said:
I know how love's fire can burn.
The third one threw himself into the heart of the flame and was consumed.
The alone knows what true love is.
Rumi
I sit alone in a silent field of fairness,
under saffron rays kissing sunflower serenity,
among dawn's daisies and dusk's dandelions -
watching buds floating away with whisking winds.
Fate does not favour my quest to soar freely.
In a meadow of humanity's betraying breaths,
our buttercup souls become ambushed by a suffocation of sighs.
When there is no justice in spiteful judgement,
visions of Basilisk slither with a deadly gaze.
Envious eyes poisoned by potions of venom,
abuse the selfless mistress of my garden's muse -
but without Eve there would be no Adam nor Eden.
Weeping on the grave of her past self,
her fatigued spirit struggles to fight and rise.
I watch darkness ascend in springtime,
when her mind portrays a veil in the misery of mist.
I feel like a helpless flame burning in ivory wax.
Untreated wounds with time festering
into an ebony existence of self deprecation.
I can see butterfly hunters with their narcissistic nets,
chasing my imperfectly perfect empress of empathy.
Her heart hungers for a plethora of petals,
to hover from a ruby rose to lotuses of liberty,
but predatory birds like harlots and hussies,
have lured her into a withering winter colony of thorns.
Sorrow stitched her eyes closed with merlot thread,
as her sanity sits upon the edge of heaven and hell.
The Devil wears a hat with an emblem of her sins.
The bewitching conspiracy of his crimson eyes,
tempting to massacre the magnificence
of her invisible crystal wings of bronze and gold.
In a martyrdom of self-sacrifice,
love reminds her that kindness glows softly like fireflies,
as she tries to find light in a tunnel of lost thoughts.
The universe echoes her cosmic whispers of life,
as psychedelic ink shimmers like starlight in her veins,
pouring compassion into a selfish blank canvas of hearts.
Cherry blossoms tint the air pink
and she's looking at the world through their gaze,
but knows like everything,
their fragile beauty is only momentary.
"Caim"
Caim
in time
labyrinthine
tale swallowed
serpentine
Caim
in time
heart kept
secure in the
central fortress mine
Serpentine
swallowed
labyrinthine tales
cooed her love Basilisk
night terrors and turtledoves
Turtledoves
followed trails
of diamonds dripping
through hazy windows emerald
reflecting you
precious pearls
slipping wisdom o’er
rusty halos for a golden crown
we all fall down
after rain comes sunshine
Caim
You
in time
to find my love
labyrinthine
little fugue
in G minor
Caim
You
in time
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
gvlm
“Like a Woman Should” / Hayley Mary
https://youtu.be/_hrIFu8RNdA
"The circle is open,
but never broken.
The love of Light
is forever in my heart.
I thank you Light
for lending
your energy tonight.
I call the Guardian
of the element of Light
to watch over this sacred circle.
Merry meet,
and merry part,
and merry meet again."
Caim
https://tadhgtalks.me/2016/06/30/celtic-wisdom-the-caim/
Magic
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magic_circle
Ring a Ring o' Roses
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ring_a_Ring_o%27_Roses
fugue, n.
1.
Music -
a contrapuntal composition in which a short melody or phrase (the subject) is introduced by one part and successively taken up by others and developed by interweaving the parts.
2.
Psychiatry -
a loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment, associated with certain forms of hysteria and epilepsy.
Fugue in G Minor
Why is it called Little Fugue in G minor?
Bach's Fugue in G Minor for organ (BWV 578) is known as the "Little" G minor not because it is a work of small importance or even because it is an unusually short work in its own right, but simply so that it and the much longer and later "Great" G minor Fantasia and Fugue (BWV 542) might not be mistaken for one another ...
"Maid"/Netflix
https://www.netflix.com/au/title/81166770
The maiden's nipples
swollen, her bosom
flush with excitement,
hailing her goddess as
she slighted very
eloquently, puissant.
The goodness they
shared was of sinful
reproach, a somber
obedience of lovers'
admiration.
The dusk laden sky
flickered with prose,
the sorrows of
Belial's romance of lost
mysteries and his
vengeant domineer,
his bravado, his
masculinity, cascading
like spirals of chaos
and the chimes of
instilled darkness
climaxing to the
sojourn of forbidden
pleasures.
Gently now,
Belial eased this
fair lady to her lover's
demand, her patience
swelling between her
thighs, burning. . .
eternally.
- - - -
I.
Awoken from a dream,
a fair common was she,
her beauty unsurpassed
only by her soulful
demeanor and natural
prelude. Her femininity
and subtle prowess
always the victor,
her passion a hearkening
rose upon a lonely
desolate scorn. Her
feelings a bit feverish,
there now, nothingness
and the harlots of
misery and the massacre
of saintliness. The venom
there pulsing now,
was evermore raspy,
and only to the
delight of our royal
antiquities, vespers
of envy, of anger's delight,
of beckoning glee, a
madman's exuberation to
the deafening hysterias
of mischief's vertigo.
A marriage. . .
arranged, a stiffening
King to his Prince's
triumph over darkness.
Yes, this common peasant
and her divine bounty
was as a peril of Eve
searching for her lost
Eden.
There being no more
reprise, bitter, for her
burden, she was to share.
Somber eyes and
a broom for everyone
to take hold. Yes, the
beauty of a fair maiden
this, so vast and of
such masterful drab,
splendor to all of
the shared treasures
in spirits.
Rage!
A taunting basilisk,
enslaying our vat of
christendom and devotion.
To this day, of prayerful
morn, maiden Geinere,
awoke, scarlet fever.
I round a bend in the trail ...
And gasp, literally ...
The scene before me takes my breath away
And I stop, transfixed by the sheer breadth of the panorama
The shimmering span of Crater Lake ...
Clear, crystalline ...
Pure as the tears of Heaven
Translucent fathoms of water, waiting ...
Glassy, tranquil, yet the depths shroud an inky secret
A brumal dragon, ages old, slumbers in the blackened abyss
Its fiery, flaming breath is calm, but its breast still slowly rises and falls
The wings of thunder that once battered the air to ruin
Are tucked close and quiet, but they tremble yet
The snorting nostrils that choked the sky, and earth-tearing claws
Are still and cold, but they shiver with an energy, relentless
The molten rock that is its lifeblood, ever flows deep in its bowels
Sleeping, dreaming, biding its time and virility
Above, nature attends to its own
The remnants of Mount Mazama paint the reach
Crimped in white and green, the edges of snow-dusted foliage
Creatures dance, unknowing, upon the beast's back
Life goes on-and-on, in all its guises
Struggle, tragedy, the feral judgements of existence and mortality
Predator and prey, birth and growth, changing seasons
The ceaseless spin of survival, continues on ...
This exquisite glade and the providence that surrounds me
Thrums with vitality, oblivious to the danger and heat stirring earthward
Bloating in the gut of the burning basilisk ... far, far below
Waiting for when the time is right ...
And it once again ... scorches the sky.
Written and submitted on January 15, 2019
For the "Sleeping Volcano" Poetry Contest
Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
Home, even though a cozy cove sits secretly offshore,
it takes a hope and a skip away from my lone abode.
Terms with simple truths, they supply the groove.
They mount the horse and leave the sunset guessing, too.
Last light was leaving, hemisphere on spinning axis.
That's when a mammoth's head huge comes out the hallway;
its head is perfectly in frame, flush with the height and
length of the walkway.
Its wool invisible, completely see it through, besides that
fact still it was vivid, contained both depth and shading
make me see it too.
A mad hallucination, the proportion was intimidating,
forgetting it's made by my own mind, but still don't
know, don't fully comprehend what that all really meant.
Not really looking, only waiting—
waiting for the predictable.
It was known that I knew that I'd be so foolish too;
I pulled the wool up and over
the fabric of space and time, so when it all aligned, I'd
make sure I'd get me mine.
The mammoth then goes an opens up, from it's
opened mouth, soon as there was space, two snakes
sprung out and made escape without hesitation and with
a purpose that I for certain felt.
They were small, both in size and age two—
twin basilisk adolescents and commanding presence.
One occupied the kitchen, furthest to my left;
Then the other one, It was to the right came up right to me.
Even sitting down already, quickly up I leapt.
Watched it creep and slide till it all faded from my sight.
I sat, dumbfounded, disbelieving daydreaming
and this was truthfully my experience.
Everything was gone; it really was just me left beside I.
"Before a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts; in the full-blown flower there is no more, in the leafless root there is no less" - Ralph Waldo Emerson
I'm a sunflower,
dipped in honey of
bittersweet bronze smiles,
admiring its soulmate
strolling around the sun,
in sombre shine of
eclipsed dawn, whilst
these faes lure poisoned
pollens with flaming
ruby red ocean foams,
And I see a peculiar
patchwork on knitted
canopies, which are
sprouting clayey hearts
out of crimson crooned
willow branches.
Crumbling to pixies,
falling lifeless like fragile
leaflets in autumnal carols,
I believe, twin flame
telepathy is a souvenir
of roses and thorns,
which emerges as wanton
wildfire on the brim of
ocean's moon-song
in mellifluous mystery,
outlining turmoil in
turquoise land of trolls.
For, magnetised feathers
on matte lips always get
soaked in ashey sighs
of regret, whenever
bewitching conspiracy
of his amethyst eyes,
befalls in dialects of
forest's echoes and the
brittle skin of basilisk
slithers with a deadly gaze
upon my mulberry heart.
Chasing seasonal winds,
I became the fading mist
that succumbs to the
sheath of amber rays,
infusing in my lungs,
and suffocating my love for life;
Amidst these broken skies,
you left shadows of
pencil-sketched debris,
that float like wisps
of faulty daffodils,
distorting my dreams
and twisting thy truths,
in hellfire horizon that
sets our graves apart,
beyond million miles of
satanic soliloquies.
Denying the change,
Your lipstick clutched tightly,
But beware my dear those empty promises may leave you broken and deranged,
An erratic arousal from images of the high and mighty,
Worshiping an ivory tower existence complete with hollow halls and launch pad balconies,
Remain wary of your left hand's desperate grasps to hold dear,
The haunting spectrum of a phantasmal queen demanding to be revered,
Her basilisk gaze locks you in place,
Hold your breath and keep your composer when she approaches,
Crawl under your bead utter every prayer flat on your face,
Do you feel her burning gaze,
Frenzied appendages grasp desperately at your heart,
Your eyes brimming with tears depicting a world through a satin haze,
I urge you to escape your prison,
Let your instinctive fear overcome rational convictions,
Gouge out your eyes sever your limbs,
Best to forget how to walk than serve as a slave to your body's whim,
Anything but appeasement death before betrayal,
Fight tooth and nail for every inch regained from your forced betrothal,
Never forget that the fabrics of your existence were wrought with flesh not reflective glass.
An abundance of passionate thoughts cloud my mind
Visioning my hands all over you, tonguing every crevice
Casting spells of love potion number nine
Your face is my poster board for perfection
So creative and refined
Am I high?
Falling over drunk, or plain stupefied
Administer a dose of Absinthe
Through your eyes I can see you want more
Accelerating with the power of a Basilisk
Filling your dreams on a realistic level..
No dreams
Pushing you to your core
I'll give you what you want
Opportunities galore
Wiggling uncontrollably
Your beautiful body sprawled
On my living room floor
This uncontrollable feeling I have is that of fate
If you're not the one, then you must be a prototype
It's hard to keep up with all your hype
Come with me darling
Of my passion you shall partake
Your love is never enough
Pour it over me like a faucet on on high
With our love so abundantly clear
Both you and I know there is nothing to fear..
Jared Pickett.....:JP]
Your arsenal never seemed so weak
when you showed up after countless weeks
we didn't speak
you were living in the moment
Why does this tunnel light
never seem to close?
it leads me down this shadow path
I never even asked
about that overdose.
I twist I trip to intervene
come in between
now you're laying low
You're back to slipping suits
up your sleeve
wondering if you can breathe
wandering in this undertow
a scramble of need,
of ramble and bleed
of come and go.
I watched you leave
and couldn't believe
that I said no.
I bet on never being missed
swam alone into the ocean
dissolution into mist
atonement for no one
You came home pale
silent and grey eyed
you're a basilisk stare
of violence and failure
Unprepared
for what I found inside
and didn't want to know.
You faded away
became paint became frame
now I'm swimming in your ocean
You faded away
like stains or like rain
like words best left unspoken.
The dark lake only buoys its own natatory denizens,
it allows some to swim, some to glide, dip or delve,
but those sombre waters pull down children
seeing them only as the cloud spawn of alien shores.
The waters are one unnatural creature, a sucking swirl;
a single stomach, that throttles, snags, and crushes,
it clogs the mind with the coiling swirls
of convulsive ghosts.
I am drowning, I fall upwards into a darkness
that contains no earth or sky.
The lake is a basilisk, it snakes into wide open eyes,
darkens the blood of small boys until they choke,
strangling on their own fear.
Decades later I awake, expelled once more
from the churn of its malignant maw,
still struggling inside a heartless embrace.
That cold lake remains within me to this day
It is a liquiform parasite that squirms in my dreams;
a submerged memory of my death - in waiting.