Paleness Poems

Moje Laska

You sit beside me with a pen in hand,  
Taking notes.  
Our arms brush gently,  
A fleeting touch  
And a spark ignites.  

Late at night,  
My thoughts wander to you.  
Memories of what happened  
And what could be.  

I speak with my voice,  
You speak with your eyes.  
When I have nothing to say,  
We communicate through silence.  

You make me laugh  
When no one else can.  
You bring light to my darkness,  
Color to my paleness,  
Hope to my life.  

My mind drifts, and suddenly  
You are there,  
Your arms around me,  
Whispering softly,  
Telling me,  
“Relax.”  

And then, I awake.  
You are gone;  
I am alone.  
It was just a dream.

Sanitation

I consider goods and services as rewards perse
    and life as a thing of purity  that cannot be otherwise
  however.
 And I consider humanity as a unique whole however 
   something otherwise may shatter.
 I consider nature as a beautiful and darling mermaid, 
  very glee nowadays - she is tender and fresh.
 What  then is peace?
   what then is war or grudge or paleness?
 what then is laughter and joke and riddle?
 charity begins at home and fire slept at a match stick.
  The human nature even though prone or vulnerable
   is pure or serene?,
  The human nature is a moon and sun shining to mankind
   and humanity- which itself is well known to be pure?.
   What is then is hampering  streets and houses and packs
  to impurity- ear or eye or nose or head of course?.
 The human soul is a pretence- but to what extend and
   sometimes how- how should we let say differ on a
    scene of how  taboo for instance was tabooing?.
 I consider the society sacred so we must clean and
   cleanse off the impurities and nags and bugs?.

on a Sunday

On a Sunday?

it had been a hot night
when morning broke
the sun was multi-colored 
the day was born
and incomprehensively 
naïve
thinking it was powerful
and not a mirror 
of human activity 
It hoped to stay till evening
no such luck
and slowly fade
admired by its paleness
the fog of night
takes no prisoner of days
abort, was hollered
so ignorant 
think it could kill the unborn

Rainbow Within Our Bones

My heart grew fond of you quickly

your brown golden skin sparkled in the sunlight as we lay side by side

an entrancing and sharp contrast to my melancholy paleness,

sprawled in the grassy field with our fingers entwined

we sang love ballads to the sky.

your eyes were like dark amber jewels 

the brightness of your smile

filled my heart with a kind of desperation for sooth

from the storms of this world and

years later I still imagine us together,

I fancy us running into one another and laughing,

holding on to each other once more,

collecting the different shades of our experience together

and frowning at our ease with which

we allowed the ignorance of society to separate us

simply due to a difference in skin tone,

All the while we each held a rainbow within our bones.

Must You Torment Me

Must you torment me, you sultry vixen,
Beguile me with the ling’ring lust of more
Hold me quiv’ring within your heated grasp
Entrap me with the distance of your shore

Please touch gently the paleness of my need
Infuse your torrid breeze with flowered balm
Awakening a fullness, bursting forth
To join you in your solemn summer Psalm

Thus, sing sweet nature’s ever-welcome song
Dark ravens ‘mid the timpani of corn
Watch as the buzzing bees complete their chores 
Fear not the roses beauty, nor it’s thorn

So come you sultry sunrise, make my day
Your rolling fields will soon be winter’s hay

©7/13/2023

I Can Write About Spring Tonight

Strikingly: individual ethic odes: the bereft
Tangible anger: mood most sharp: the heft
Some adorn: leaf buds; flowers: the bloom
From fortress: Lilies induce some: spare room

Golden loom: hang like crimson: the hillside
Seed furrow: drives elation pride: drill guide
But Nature: requisite course time: her beauty
Her paleness: bustle apathy; joy: inner sooty

Whence arose: plain fanning faint: her perfume
Unrifled bloom: rich vials scent: wings plume
Genial earth: envy; prized cheeks: hour of birth
Spring arose: hues views splendor: clean mirth

Written: March 31, 2023

A Brian Strand Premiere No 1205 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand


Kuhlmann is a poem of two phrases interspersed with three related monosyllabic stem- words(nouns, adjectives, etc)with an integral title. The label and form are derived from the baroque poet Qiorinus Kuhlmann's special sonnet form Love-kiss XLI/ Inspired by the poem KUHLMANN the form written by Poet: Brian Strand

- Oblivion -

~ oblivion - an assault against the memories ~ 
                                                                quote by poet

           the tears dried before the sun rose
           return the grief on paper wings
           let everything fly lost in the blue sky
           ~ no time to hesitate
           though in terrible wonder
                              ~ oblivion as distracts
           a place completely without a facade
           passion never touches her string
           ~ an evanescent illusion
                "if you need me, call and I'll come"
           in the paleness of the moonlight she waits



           24.03.2023
           Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
           Copyright © All Rights Reserved


           - 'O' Words Poetry Contest -
           Sponsored by: Constance La France
          1st place in the contest

General Convocation

I convoke you,
I summon you
in the midst of deafness
and paleness of humanity
aimlessly...
Let's walk following the light
that's up there...
Light that you extrude all evil,
all our fears...
So let's walk toward the meeting
 PF the unknown paradise
that we were promised...
Let's walk without looking back,
so that we don't become stones
loose on the journey... !

Exotic Bloom

In fragrance night, she hula dances slowly,
After the spectral sun has gone down lowly.
She sways to the motions of the palm trees,
And so appears to be dancing with the breeze!

Like a mermaid swimming in the endless sea,
She carelessly rides sparkling waves easily.
A wild exotic bloom, the island is her home,
And sun rises in tinged glory, above sea foam.

She knows the language of wild carefree days,
Covered in the rich beauty of sunshine haze,
And of the inky nights, encrusted with stars,
And paleness of moonlight, with red, red Mars.

Never Mind

white hair came with wrinkles
leanness, paleness and a bend-
time…. don't touch my mind.



Honorable Mention in STRAND SELECT N,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand

Diogenes

"Blushing is the color of virtue."



You're done.
You melt like a sigh
 on the lips of angels.
You've drained
  the paleness of injustice,
your own hands tangled up,
aw, the square stare of the truth,
 impassable duel of the pupils.

Your hands are filled with the face of our tragedy,
witherering among the sidereal flowers,
 a cursed sunset,
a lamp lit in the wee hours,
no truce is better than advancing to the edge of yourself,
  throwing yourself into the fire of the stars,
 crossing the hard core time;
with flimsy memories 
 descending into a blessed hell.

You want to die with the lamp lit,
not talk about anything that gives you away
when you smoke compulsively,
 tramontane and bold,
you know how pliable is the scroll of fear.

You are bad, Diogenes,
with your airs of moldy poet,
twitching the neurons of those who feel
that Truth is even more pliable,
Come here, my ox, my friend.

Beware of Colours

Beware of Colours

It was about these flowers, you see,
blue a favourite colour for many they don`t
realise this colour can bring on melancholy 
The flowers have long stems were in a vase
day- fresh with dewdrops sprinkled on 
their leaf, how beautiful isn’t a goat would not hesitate.
Tomorrow the flowers will still be blue after
seven people committed suicide and a blind
the man could feel their suffering paleness.
Tired of funerals she paints sprayed the bloom
deep red and a war broke out in Sudan.
On the third day the flowers, now ashen grey 
in the vase were dumped in a heap at 
the bottom of the garden, hunger erupted
in Africa and Yemen skeletal children make
a good copy in black& white.

My Recurrent Dream, Translation of Paul Verlaine's Sonnet: Mon Reve Familier

My Recurrent Dream, Translation of Paul Verlaine's Sonnet : Mon Rêve Familier

I'm often subject to a strange and invasive dream
Of an elusive woman whom I love, and who loves me  
And who at every encounter might not the same be
Nor altogether another be, yet forbearing in her love seem.
 
For knowing how my open heart laid bare will confirm 
How for her alone it beats, helas ! I can breathe free
Yes, for her alone, the paleness of my brow dewy  
She alone knows how to relieve, her tears stream.

Is she a brunette, blond or russet ? - I ignore.
Her name ? I recall it sounds sweet, echoes in the ear
Like those of lovers Life puts apart.
 
Likewise her looks, the gaze of statues,
And, as for her voice, distant and calm, and the art
Of the gravity of cherished voices long since mutes.

© T. Wignesan - Paris, December 1, 2018

Transformation

I’m letting the alcohol transform me
To bore who I can become
It becomes harder and easier to see
At the same time did I stay, did I run?

It is so hard to explain with words
Even harder to know my unknown
My thoughts… unable… simply flirts
With every disappearing truth I own

Transformed without desire
Reformed to only have lived lesser
It’s a passion without the fire
A thought perhaps drown within water

In light of all…I have found my lost
Living with an open heart in darkness
In darken state… to hide all cause
Living with an open wound in paleness

Have I drank a drop too much?
To become a poet I never wanted to be
The sort of inspiration I touch
Need I fear what is transforming me?

Tears of Darkness

A nest of sorrows built in ages past
Clings tight to branches in the tree of life
Atop the snowy mountain, where the last
Warm breath of summer died by winter’s knife.

The voice of starlight whispers in the night
A fairy tale unknown to living men,
Who turn to blocks of granite at the sight
Of slothful Silence in his wordless den. 

All life is dead, the earth is cold and still
And tears of darkness wet the bloody moon,
Whose lonely crescent stays unseen until
Its cup of paleness shatters all too soon.

With this, another century is born,
Though not a single soul is left to count
The empty ages, lightless and forlorn,
As Time drinks deep from Envy’s poisoned fount.

Find Langford's poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com

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