Green, that enraptured hue scape a blooming quilt,
goodness gracious am I gracious for being that tint,
to loiter breezily amid the luscious woodland habitat,
as this green chameleon spring spree now ubiquitous,
I am that maestro metaphor for wild adornment rife,
whilst trailing pots, urns and archways in deft design,
green hedges, lawns, verges, meadows, trees I bless,
am I that arch victim of my mint leaf fragrant fetish?
a dash of humour surely counts as nuanced shade,
so I’m “GREENING” from ear to ear - could not resist!
Guiding
Understanding
Inspiring
Devotion,
Awesome
Nuanced
Comforting
Evangelism.
I’m in Inner Voice.
My name is Craig.
I get paid 55 an hour by the Heaven Cloud Company.
We’re not angels.
We’re suggesters.
(Angels get paid way more.)
Our job is nuanced, nudging,
Exacting, and exhausting.
For instance,
With the moon hung high
I come home to my wife:
Tired, blurried-eyed and warm in bed
She asks slipping into silk covers
How my day was.
It was a disaster.
I was batting .300 in baseball terms.
“Hittin’ 30% of the time babe.”
I crawled in beside her
With the weary weakness
Of a wounded animal.
“That doesn’t seem super effective.”
She coiled into me with with her
Wonderfully contrasting perspective.
I laid on my back looking up at our Ceiling Dream Fan
Rotating rapidly on the above and let out:
“It’s like screaming through a cloud."
“No cloud here,” she whispered at the top of my neck,
Kissing me on some immaculate speck of a spot
Between my neck and ear.
The music from an award’s show for music
Shatters the peace of a moment’s respite
Words shouted in a rattled cadence
Battle the blaring of the backup screamers
The allegedly soothing refrain chokes the drummer
Freeing the flames of the screeching viola
A lone piano grits its vibrating teeth
The lead singer shivers in a nuanced
Tribute to the Kama Sutra
AH….MUSIC….
The suffering alien
He just lives in the world. Integrated life, but alien
He feels, experiences, and interprets existence
He discovers human life. In a human body
The alien
To live in this age is a fantastic privilege. Says alien
Rapid development, complex social environment
Look around. Continuous change, genesis
Said the alien
There are so many connections, causes, and effects
Nuanced meanings and invisible connections
There is no end to the existence of life here
Recognised the alien
Alien, alien,
Stranger, stranger
A suffering soul
Comes from far away in the sky
He is enjoying human life
But some parts he doesn’t like
He is a social creature now
But he feels alone. Restless solitude
He needs a better existence
He wants to stay alone
For contemplation
Holy Solitude
Solitude
Alien
He is
A stranger
An alien
Solitude
HAIKU native nippon nuanced narrative
An argumentative person,
She spins nuanced thoughts for hours,
With an underappreciated approach,
Her resentful nature keeps her afar.
Agitation becomes her greatest foe,
Disrupting cycles, not just her own.
A hyperactive mind racing without pause,
Aloof and distant, fearing the spotlight on her flaws.
Hope ages, much like a fine friendship growing more complex and nuanced over time, becoming more resilient, tempered by experience and wisdom. With each passing year, hope learns to adapt, finding strength in the face of adversity. It becomes a quiet, steady flame, rather than a blazing fire. This aged hope grows roots, deeply drawing from a well of past experiences and the knowledge of what we have overcome before, and the wondering whether we can do so again.
Hope ages with you,
Defying years with laughter,
Youthful spirit soars.
AN OPEN VERSE FORM
hardly
noticeable
creations
intended
to delight
in
depictions
&
emblems
both
innovative
&
nuanced
in
authentic
& shaded
contemplativa
Withered fingers
Cannot play anymore;
I drown in nuanced shades of blue,
Not seeing, in my plight,
My strings, wound tight,
Suspending me
Like a puppet,
Tethered to life.
I in my tattered clothes,
Blue like sorrow,
Torn like the heart that hopes,
Unable to keep out the cold
Or cover the secrets I hold—
I am the man who mopes,
Holding my guitar close
As it whispers its chords
Whilst I, cross-legged, ponder
Life in rags and cardboards.
Back to the old routine:
Awash in blue,
This song’s for you:
Echoes of a gunshot;
The click of a trigger.
The Tenth month
What is there to say about
about a perfect day, the first of October
when the sun is infused with silver
A few cumuli look like a bride's belt
a sky that has pale blueness
bathed in the mystical haziness of dreams
The limitless seeking understanding
why oak leaves fall and grass takes
on the color auburn and lemon hue
In supple silence, I hear animals getting
ready for a white landscape, the long
rest before a new spring explodes
Do not sleep this day be aware, feel
the dust free air and nuanced harmony
of a moment that will not reappear
There was a year we used
to wash our hair until tis cleared and cleaned
the world a pumpkin
and I like ant
just now is thinking, nuanced and matriced
and arrayed or chim-chim and bread?.
“Does the universe really rehearse,
emotes of heart before penning love’s verse?”
~ quote by poet
It had all makings of a masterpiece,
nuanced right down to the smallest detail
but the flow of symbols brought forth no peace,
to afterglow trailing the comet’s tail,
so fake adornments needed to decrease,
else maze of metaphors would make taste stale.
Soft sounds of silence, sparking like stardust,
bypassed mind and spoke directly to heart,
etching thereon light strobes, love ousting lust,
seeing thereby patterns of old depart,
wooing the void, in time gaining its trust,
that divine consciousness, then inks its art.
How may laboured breathing weave words of love,
when all save man know, grace flows from above?
I rise when gilded starlight still replete the skies
Never have I beckoned hours of abstruse sleeping
I hear elegiac trills as a lone nightingale cries,
evoking memories that conjure tears of weeping
In halcyon moments before the paling of dawn
I contemplate my sentiments in tranquil solitude
Before the world awakens with an unstifled yawn,
the moon, sun, and I rendezvous; tryst in interlude
When velvet darkness fades to soft aurorean glints,
there, upon the horizon is painted a nuanced murk
Colors of daybreak; a blended mural in pastel tints,
created by a grand Artisan's hand, the Master's work
Eye spy those handsome guys
Younger or older
Eternally fine
Chocolate like so nice
And sandy milky white
Nuanced energy and pride
Definitely kingly strides
You are super fly
Related Poems