Long Languor Poems
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Written: August 26, 2023
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Oh world, all swollen with pain,
The opulent smell emits an almost harsh refrain.
Languor fills the air as the sun still hides.
Behind a shroud of clouds, where it softly abides.
Every surface is damp as the rain falls heavier.
Oh, world, don't welt the earth; don't be a destroyer.
Don't shush the air; let it whisper its song.
Don't dry the water; let it flow swiftly and strong
Don't engage with fire; let it dance and ignite.
It injects warmth and ardor on cold nights.
Allow me to fit in and wander toward my goal.
Let me speak; let me share with every soul.
My voice needs to rant, rave, and roar.
To echo through valleys and reach distant shores.
Let me walk and let me talk with fire in my eyes.
Whenever there's a flame, words can reach the skies
Oh world, all swollen with rain,
Let me speak my truth; let me not be in vain.
For the earth is in need of a voice that is bold,
To protect and preserve, to break free from the mold.
To remind us of all our duty and care,
To cherish this planet, this world we all share.
So, don't harm the earth; don't wield it with greed.
Let's heal, nurture, and fulfill our every need.
Don't shush the air; let it carry our dreams.
Let it whisper hope as it flows in streams.
Don't tumble the water; let it quench our thirst.
Let it sustain life, for the best and the worst.
Don't be angry with fire; let it guide your way.
Let it bestow light and warmth every single day.
Let us walk and talk with passion in my stride.
Let us spread love and wisdom distal and wide.
As long as there's a flame, my words might fight.
Someday, what I say could inspire and ignite.
Let us join, constantly rise up, and transform.
A higher world, where love and peace will swarm.
(I couldn't talk about it so I wrote a poem)
Predator
Heartbreak comes in many ways.
The first one will haunt me for all my days.
My every nightmare and dream has your face
to ignite my screams, my heart beat haste.
Time won't heal this shattered trust,
the lies you told of the future “us”.
You used your power and prominence,
used the pulpit as your lance.
You claim God's voice was your own,
“His” words from your lips like honeycomb.
Sweet to the ear, a seductive flow,
still just a child, I didn't know.
Just like a sick soap opera or Lifetime movie, you set your sights, began to groom me.
I feel so foolish and naive looking back …
at seventeen, innocent, easy to attack.
Like the lame and young ones trailing the herd, predators take the straying,easy kill first.
How patient you were, lying in wait.
You took careful steps as if I might escape. Sneaking up on me in plain sight
until your touch, familiar, I didn't fight. Spinning this elaborate fantasy, our destiny. Ordained by God, you made me believe.
Then you struck, like the viper you were,
after years of a patient petting, persistent purr. A velvet vice, an auspicious anchor,
held me captive in false love’s languor.
Then the poisonous venom began its work, you used me in ways that only hurt.
I was a willing, if deceived, participant…
so in love, no evil intent.
Then some wisdom from above,
in the form of family and out of love.
The truth so evident with blinders off,
some won't believe me, will only scoff.
Five years of his amorous attentions,
with promises of forever never failing to mention.
The patina of youth and vicious game of prey, his sick desires for me, began to fade.
You found a limping, more vulnerable gazelle, and knowing this my family tells.
Although I find it hard to trust,
my faith in God is deeper and thus,
He's used this pain to help me find
peace and truth, leaving the past behind.
For my faith is no longer in any man,
and gratefully, never will be again.
Justice on this earth is not guaranteed…
but from his wicked spell I am freed!
When Death comes knocking at the door,
And as the last petal finally falls,
My voice will be stilled.
My heart, now ticking off like a clock,
Will ever be silent.
My footfalls shall no more be heard
All my songs will be stifled in the throat
All my crazy thoughts will be frozen,
And I shall take leave of all
And the whole lot of petty things I hold dear.
But what difference does it make?
The earth will continue to spin as before.
Stars will illumine the night sky.
Days will follow days in endless succession.
Time, chanting refrains of joy and sorrow,
On wings, shall fly to destinations unknown.
Will there be anyone to grieve my absence?
Will my loved ones still hold me close to their hearts?
May be for a while
A short little while.
But as years glide,
And my tomb lies overgrown with weeds
And the engraving on my head stone
Fades out into morbid grime and moss,
When I merge with the dust as dust,
When I lie inert, a rattling heap of bones under the sod,
When my spirit still hovers around in vain
With insatiable longing for all your love,
Then give me, my Lord! A ride in your chariot!
Remove from my spirit the languor of endless waiting!
Carry me to Thy bosom!
Embalm me with Thy love,
That I shall no more crave for earthly love
And with you in bliss, ever united,
Look down evermore content-
As the wheels roll down to Eternity!
ELIOT PHRASIS 11
In the sight of sunset,general
languor,a sense of depression
with intermittent rain,dark purple
under a clouded sky.In season and
out,a lingering hesitant process
of imagination paints the
commonplace.Pleasure seems so
slight,sorrow,duty and endurance
so sombre,colouring habits of
simple ease seduced into a complex
symbolic style.Then, a far sweeter
expression of a temporal kind,
a living presence,the sublimest
picture of easy grace,this
attitude of the unconscious
runs wild with freedom.
From George Eliot Journal& Letters 1885
Listen to me read this phrasis quartet on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
Scale mosaic tail lays gracefully draped over rock
Sumptuous hip width to skin graduates
Saturated waist trailing tendrils touched by moss
Silk mermaid nautical languor eminates
Sorrow in inhibit, love's absence induces her sobs
Vanguard calmly addresses the depths with probe
Weaving seemlessly amongst seaweed
Gentle marina mistress, Clementine reserves hope
For a qualified merman, in love succeed
Tugged subtly by tides of princely promises flowed
Spell of solo exploration doesn't tarnish bright fins
Siren inspired by increasing innate talent
Sanguine supple lovely needn't gun for yang to yin
Suitor to exceed her calibre, most haven't
Shown aptitude for brave compassion, closest kin
Clam fan covered curves retain an untainted heart
Slender arms open troves old tides buried
Gracious Clementine stays patient for Cupid's dart
Pleasant peaks of top lips drip salt, selfish
Lungs unemcombered by blunder summons laugh
Tinkle bells bemused chortle across vibrant pearls
Heightened by judicious standpoint jubilee
Felicious pageant entrant in a fish tail gown swirls
Heavy gems adorn torso tight with chastity
Air orgasmed chest of benevolent treasure unfurls
16th February 2021
Entered into Charlotte Peddifoot's
Open Poetry Contest
Written: September 17, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Quote: "Forgiveness is the fragrance flowers give when they are crushed". By Rumi
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Forgiveness is not dulcet or facile—
It is a desultory pilgrimage,
a diaphanous veil over bruised truths,
a furtive lilt in the throat of time.
It begins in the inglenook of ache,
where erstwhile wounds murmur in penumbra,
And ebullience feels as betrayal.
There, the soul must dissemble its pride,
imbue its scars with emollient grace.
The heart, once a halcyon lagoon,
now languors in imbroglio and languor,
its efflorescence buried beneath elision,
It's an effervescent hope, a vestigial moiety.
Yet forgiveness arrives, such as petrichor—
redolent, evocative, ephemeral.
It gambols through the gossamer dusk,
a fetching ripple in the future.
It is not a panacea, but a palimpsest,
a pastiche of pain and propinquity,
where even nemesis may become nectar,
and sorrowful echoes find serendipity.
Forgiveness is the elixir we resist,
the embrocation that stings before it soothes.
It asks for forbearance, not forgetting,
for love, not leisure, for lissome strength.
It is the ineffable act of inure—
to hold the harm, then allow it to pass.
A mellifluous undoing of the pyrrhic,
a sumptuous surrender to the soul’s own lilt.
So let it be your talisman,
your tinkling umbrella in the storm.
Forgiveness is not weakness—it is glamour,
the quintessential grace that makes us whole.
Languor Afternoons
David J Walker
I
The odd stone was a family heirloom
And a friendly oracle
Always quietly
thinking of the future
Collecting visions of the past
I stared for hours
Before I asked
for its wisdom
It would simply smile
But only for a while
Before returning to its mineral leanings
II
The fouls flying in
Single file
Sang in scales
Alone
In solos of discord
Searching for
A flocks choir to join
Two were baritone
The rest sang in pitch
unknown
III
The man in the mirror
Whom I did not recognize
Asked me politely
If it’s time to give up
Any hope for change
Or
Had the time past
to challenge the effects
of age and gravity
Shall I be condemned
for self-fulfilling vanity
IV
How much easier it is
To live
In the past
rather than in
The future
Where I can be the oracle
Of all certain things
Inescapable
I am numb
with questions
From those in
Impending times
To come
Where I am the
Denizen stranger
V
Languor rain on an
autumn afternoon
the sun refuses to show face
disgraced
by good intentions unmet
but
I am open to an
Unannounced extended stay
I have yet to
curse September rain as
It comes
When it comes
Voices in the head, play dead.
River, rib, rill, red.
Thunderbolts within the tread.
Gold, be made to lead.
Tornado, blue widening gyre.
Belladonna, byre.
Lyrics of the liquid lyre.
Orange funeral pyre.
Mandrake, when you start to shriek.
Canine, thy bad bane.
Feline, tremulous top teak.
Wading through green rain.
Paranoid, schizophrenia.
Thought-spark, white shirt hurt?
Lachrymose the languor law.
Arrowed, O black quirt.
Severance? Gone, thine own way.
Hell and Heaven, hay.
Doubt, dread, doom, dung disarray.
Away from me stay.
Coral reef, the legal brief.
Cases, caught a cold?
Cannabis, thy pressured kif.
Brown the grizzly bold.
Nanotechnological?
That means very small.
Mother Entropy, your call.
Sword, halve. Vine, vinall.
Tyrannosaur, how you roar!
Kill floor crimson gore!
Lava volcanic null door!
Wind up war before!
Under the mystical veil of a moonless night,
I am but a leaf carried by the unseen currents of time,
A feather in the wind, anchored to nothing, bound by no direction.
Each day calls to me with its silent voice,
Each night whispers ancient promises,
And my thoughts flow like an untamed river,
A cascade of dreams, fantasies, and forgotten memories.
I possess no center, only an unquenched desire to explore,
To delve into every crevice, every hidden corner of existence.
I could step through the door this very moment,
Leaving behind all that is known,
For nothing binds me here,
Not even the pulse of my own heart.
In the palm of my hand, the lines of heart and mind intertwine,
A single path, an undetermined destination.
I find solace in the languor of a Sunday afternoon,
Sipping beer, losing myself in reverie,
There is no compulsion to embody maturity,
For all adults merely play their parts,
In an elaborate charade, a delicate farce.
As you feel, so do I,
My thoughts are but the mirror of my emotions,
I see you today, and expect no change tomorrow,
I will not fear your descent into despair,
For I do not see death as an ending,
Merely a passing shadow, a fleeting presence.
Women place themselves at the dawn of stories,
Then spread like whispers through the fabric of the world,
Enigmatic and profound.
"The great cosmetic strangeness of the deeply normal person."
Those were the people, and I, a wanderer without a homeland,
Tethered to nothing but a thin thread,
A segment of life without form or structure.
The photographer, dark-skinned, and I, the writer, pale,
Parted ways at this point,
He shunned the vision, but I sought it,
For it lay before my eyes, undeniable,
And death, neither grand nor trivial,
Just a presence, or an absence, a nuance overlooked.
God, the progenitor of fervent religious impulse,
Poetio, the hunter of bears, not trains,
For the train will crush him beneath its relentless wheels,
And I always believed there was another way,
A necessity to find that elusive path,
And we bear witness to this necessity.
The sole distinction between men and women,
Is a labyrinth of trials and failures,
An eternal dance of existence,
In which we lose and find ourselves,
Under the mystical veil of a moonless night.
Feeling that glow in the heart,
tender reflections of simplicity,
innocence,love and esteem.
In profound silence,such tranquility,
a languor of age,flowers upon this
page. Sentence by sentence the
lustre of a grateful mind, a ray
of sunshine through a dark cloud.
From this confusion, the mosaic of
ideas harmonizes,delineated and
etched as a pattern of thought, a
ribbon of inspiration settles as a verse.
Inspired from Mary Delany's correspondence 1852,Mary is famed for her decoupage of flowers
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s(not a poet) to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.