Long Peacock Poems
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I would like to pull him out of heaven for a day.
Let him know how much he has done for each and every gay.
I would tell him how much we still admire him so.
I would hold on to him tightly, trying to never let him go.
I would ask him if Queen was to make fun of THE Queen?
I would ask him how he grew confidence of a lion clearly seen.
He would get himself loose and preen around like a peacock.
I would be proud that I knew him, the new star of my block.
I would admire his white short shorts, and his pretty white wings.
I would tell him about Adam Lambert, and the songs that he sings.
I would assure him that he changed the world, made it better.
If he could not come down to see me, I would write him a letter.
f o r g i v e n e s s
is the window
to unknot the twigs of tainted trees,
where cuffed anklets
around the star-struck skin of
seraphic silhouettes
feel the suppressed sighs
of the ice-moon,
while
cocooned in a nest
of clamorous clouds,
blanketing rivers of love
flowing within
the esoteric orb,
like the raining snowdrops,
designing a bed of purity and humility,
to rinse the remnants of
stinging sorrow,
pricking thin feathers of phoenix wings
in compassionate clemency,
sealed in envelopes
carrying inked veins of a
weeping violin...
and as the city lights
adorn the panoramic view
of this bleeding boulevard,
I search for a verb
that hides between verses,
woven from heartbeats
of you and I
from pools of poems
poignantly painted
within closed pores
of persimmon pages,
locked with glimpses and polaroids
of
unscripted
t o m o r r o w
that only the soul of swirling
comets
can decipher~
for this is a tale
of peacock butterflies,
mirroring blue-ringed topaz,
like hibernating eyes
that seek not
ephemeral effervescence
jinxed by the touch of
two-faced artists,
performing hypocrisy
in perfect tenor,
like alchemists
dressed
in neon fairy lights.
So take these words
as memoirs of m e r c y
this soul is the soil~
where chamomiles bloom
in the glass garden
of forget-me-nots,
as my mind is
a beloved heritage,
awaiting drizzling rays
condensed with contentment;
a tempest
sedated and subdued
in
ultraviolet grace…
In the half-light's gentle hue,
I find solace in the sighs of you,
as winking stars gossip of length of purpose,
and width of possibilities that
challenge us-
as one of love's melodies beginning
to surface- as renewal remedy,
a phoenix returned, tuned in to propose
recognition of self's selfless ashes burned;
cognition to the ways
you have- Saintly urn about you,
an auric aurora world
unique to you, turns
each glance heavenward,
a brow arched like a curious child,
each heartbeat a soft echo -
smile sympathetic sonar
to porpoise the ocean wild.
Your countenance is remembrance
of promises whispered long ago,
where we embraced
in the moon's soft afterglow gaze,
our souls intertwined in the flow,
grazing satellites to synthesis a gardens growth.
Like petals of a delicate pansy in peacock mode,
our love in full bloom grows and grows,
done waiting for the other shoe to drop,
the fertility of hope and faith
has redeemed our tandem crop-
with every touch and every kiss,
every broken bone,
we find eternal chance to be one,
not a broken bone, but never broken,
never alone, a harvest of
Love's green thumb.
In the business of the day
and the silence of the night,
we find comfort in each other-
in each other's light,
a love so pure and love that I hope
contagiently imbues
an eternal flame
that will forever spread like wildflowers
with true colors burning bright
and pigment turning true.
From peacock and spruce,
to Vandyke red and orange,
raw and sepia umber's meld
in an autumn palette collage.
Scent of burning fires
rests upon nostrils,
clasped in chill air,
as dew builds to frost
upon the ground.
Sunny hues in autumn
bring puddings pies and
cookies baking in the stove;
their crusty golden tops
give way to the bite
and the gentle soft interiors
melt across the tongue.
I look out on the yellows
reds, greens and oranges
as they jigsaw together
and am unable to stifle
the smile.
10-8-2020
progress COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(23) any theme any form
Brian Strand
.
ooooh
how
ta tell yuh
Yahweh
Blessed yuh
with
curve
"If i were
samson
and you
delilah
in mine left arm
you'd sure glow
you naked
i your
cover
peacock
blue"
He was a bold color artist, painting bright
pigments of rose blossom pink,
tangerine treats and peacock waves, just right;
occasionally working in pen and ink.
He was a brave thinker and his artwork palette
bore whispers of daring thoughts.
Had he sculpted; no doubt, his mallet
would’ve recorded ladies exposed ladies...double knots!
His work reflecting sensual curves,
suggestive of bright ribbon curls,
truly exposed his inner verve;
filled with spirals, swirls and whorls.
Upon the sight of his flamboyant works;
the eyes elation would display.
Exhilaration causing their swift perk;
at the elaborately illustrated brocade.
Disclaimer: This poem is intended to be humorous...no ill intent or pointing fingers at anyone's poetic style
I am ink~
itchy ideas, insisting
every phrase feels plush,
stuffed with swirling, shimmering syllables.
My poem puffs up like a preening peacock of consonants,
a silly, spiraling storm of sounds
stampeding across the page in showy shoes,
tripping over their own tangled tresses
turning simple thoughts into sonic fireworks,
I still scribble on,
a stubborn servant of sumptuous speech,
savoring each soft, spiraled sparkle
even though the poem pleads for peace
from my persistent, passionate, perilously plentiful alliteration.
The mystery of life oft demanding
Well beyond our Earthly understanding
Camera flash like a blink of an eye
From our birth until the day that we die
Time to grieve those that leave, inadequate
Unplanned plans demand that we have to wait
Sleep, shelter, bodies cry for sustenance
Life will not wait long for death’s remembrance
Memories like a breeze gently blow by
What or when, now or then, we don’t know why
So, forgive us oh dearly departed
Your memorial so short since started
We shall soon see the rest of your story
Reunited in white lighted glory
Perrin Peacock
June 16, 2018
TWO FACED HEAVEN
I walk slow in a globe of puffy clouds
Dancing midair, a concerto, harp plucks
From right to left are angels in white shrouds
their velvet pulling psalms, my heart they struck
Amazed! I stopped. Behold. Entwine and stuck!
Has my one weary soul found its best home?
Roads I pass below, wobble and some foam,
all sprays a peacock of sadness and cheers.
I thank our God for all my harvest homes
as they remind me too: heaven is here! :)
_____________________________________________________________
Sponsor Dr.Ram Mehta
Contest Name Dizain Me
Placed 1st
©O.E. Guillermo
07:55 pm, January 28, 2015
Will always keep my heirlooms
Great grandmother's church shawl,
for the pew in a prayer
A pretty peacock hairpin,
my grandmother loved
Antique china tea set,
with hand painted cherry blossoms
A jewelry box with a silk bottom,
my mother's pearls
they smell of anemones and lavender
Inspired by the story,
the last woman has died
Remembering theirs sense of humor,
and gift for puns
Nothing but warm anticipation
of my heart and my fingertips
a cocoon that envelops me
Keep the meaning of a simple memory
echoing through time