The mortal extraction of your consciousness.
Each word hums through my blood, the slaps of silvers coaxing the cries of my crimson.
A label of eternity, meandered into the muster of your grime, breathing my bond to life.
The bond of my cease.
The bond of my desire.
The bond of my boon.
The serenity of your essence sprouts my veins; a constant bourgeon to the yield of my being.
I am bound to the tranquillity of your solitude.
Each kiss a desperate gasp for something but the void of my arteries.
Each kiss a piteous offering for something but the eternity of my devotion.
Each kiss an awaited bequest for something other than the relict of my bloodline.
I am yours.
A previous assertion to the testimony of your love.
A current avowal to the testimony of your pledge.
A future declaration to the testimony of your tenure.
Belonging is a concept etched into the dejection of my skin; a belonging embedded within each breath, sending way to the rock of my revolve.
I love you.
Though, three syllables will never be enough to articulate the exploitation of my dread, forever marred within the lines of my shambles.
Yet, even then,
I love you, my moon.
silvers wealth whispers
feathery intimacy -
dream of harvest time
Poetry Wheel Challenge
Theme: Night
Emotion: Longing
Color: Silver
Season: Harvest
Form: Haiku
Object: Feather
Verb: Whisper
come by and have iced coffee the neighbor said
She had the table set in golds, silvers, green and red
there were frosted cookies that smelled like gingerbread
the iced coffee was presented in a flourish said Ed
We drift along the town-side promenade
on damp paving stones,
at blue hour,
past caffé windows
and the resting Héracléa port
Earlier we were sun-struck
watching gulls flicking over the marina
worn thin by the heat and glare
now we’re moonstruck
the harbor bobbing with a thousand white hulls
tide-light, the skin of the night
silvers the masts at sway
and polishes the darkened curve of the sea
the sea is never still, as if breathing
further out at bay, yachts cork and glitter like crystal
a warm breeze loosens cares
drifting honeyed with jasmine and salt
gentle waves wander in then out
returning as if by instinct
and splashing on the breakers like applause.
little bells in boat riggings chime
everyone's strolling tonight
being not just stimulated,
but biohacked - seduced by the scene
now and then a scooter mumbles past
its lights gleaming in puddles
as if for measured emphasis
.
.
A song for this:
Inesaurible Tu by St. Project
Velvety reds adorning soft beds
Golden crowns on children's sweet heads
Emerald greens of the freshly chopped pine
Dancing coloured bulbs all hung in a line
The starkness of white on a dark satin sky
Soft beige and browns of the solo mince pie
Vibrant amber flames spread warmth through the place
The presents all wrapped with cream chantilly lace
Red, pink and white candy canes hang from the tree
With orbs of bright silvers and golds; dazzlingly
Magenta poinsettia displays in the hall
The colours of Christmas welcome you all
Vivid memories of times gone by,
Still bring back a smile so bright.
Confident, bold were all my moves,
Into midnight I would groove.
Time has etched its mark on me,
Silvers and wrinkles in symphony.
Experience and realizations to share,
To inspire the youth, to make them aware.
The face may age, past its prime,
Yet my heart dances, with the times.
The darkness within us shows its face,
In numerable ways, one embrace.
In this moment, I dream.
In a valley where raven screams,
Atop a hill, amid a heath,
I went to dissolve my grief.
Hope should not die; is signal I perceive.
From the silvers through nimbus, & red roses beneath.
I am not lost in endless space- I do believe,
Time’s gentle embrace I receive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The persistent Texas heat and sunshine have given way to several cooler, partly cloudy days. I step outside, making my way to the nearby walking trails. I gaze up, the clouds lifting my spirits heavenward; I embrace this cloudy day, for it brings subtle whites and cool silvers that accent the sky above. The passing white blossoms of the sky bring a transitory shade. Upon the sidewalk I see a lone butterfly beneath a tree canopy, passing from subdued sun to mellow hues.
partly cloudy days, soft-filtered light
soul song becomes louder, more confident
in those sweet moments
self-reflection
Poets, let us always unite
in the most noble crusade...
to bring peace and beauty to life!
Scarcity is good for the economy
but very bad for the poor
who need great abundance...
To understand life well,
and to live it happily,
we need good practices and ideas...
It is very difficult for us to refuse
a good and happy life...
impossible to accept a good death...
MOON
She silvers me with pure love,
I refuse with embarrassment,
she is everyone and no one's...
Poet, a strange fellow...
he projects himself in the face of danger,
he walks on the edge of the abyss...
Poet, you are truly a stranger...
He cries a lot without feeling pain,
he smiles even when he loses a love!
Celestial whispers paint the fabric of the dark expanse,
stars the glitter on Christmas baubles
merry and festive;
the glitter that spreads far,
dusting every corner yet is minded by no-one.
In the moon's basking glow
each speck pulses brilliantly.
In the cosmic ballad
they hum their timeless glory.
In their observant rays
a stargazer beholds their own story.
Among the constellations, a painting unfolds
a battle between the silvers and the golds.
So enthralling a clash the universe sees,
the stargazer dares not to breathe
as the soul ascends to join them
in that endless expanse,
if only temporarily.
The last resort of the department store
Purchasing my bones in the flesh
Native thorns contempting robes
Reciprocities without enough city
Familiar silvers behind glass windows
Tracking of least haunted strain
Fellow of coal
Liberty absconds the brazen doors of eden
Bludgeoning heart muscle of castings lapse
Strung letting of hummingbirds pain
Calling froth of tomorrow
Beastly hauling of coppered stones
Blanks of tomb
Witched at birth
I breathe, exercise, rest, jump and eat to paint
Loud neon canvases, nothing dull or quaint
Acrylic reds, greens, blues and silvers are on my finger tips
In my hair, on my wrists, under my arms and on my lips
Globs of orange were on my thighs and legs today
How they got there artist me refuses to say
My closet is filled with beautiful clothes
Blouses in pinks, oranges, blues
Dresses in turquoises, golds, silvers
Fluffy fake fur coats in black, white and gray
I adore colors, patterns and textures.
Loving paisleys, zigzags, multi-patterned clothes
Not as fond of polka dots or stripes
Too symmetrical
I prefer clothing that looks like it was designed by
Klee, Miro and Dali
I am an artist; it is in my nature to be lop-sided.
my paint apron has so many colors
it looks like a fascinating Miro design
splotches, dabs and finger tips of paints
blues, reds, oranges, silvers, a bit of blue
they are blended beautifully
put onto this apron one at a time
smeared and swooshed by my fingers
or sometimes a thin paint brush
my apron looks like a designer’s fabric
I have had many compliments on it
people ask where they can buy one
they can’t
it was made by my sister
decorated by me one splotch at a time
while I sit contented, painting
a work in progress
I need, I need, I need black life
I want, I want, I want to stay a white
I am white, like a bright snow cristal
Snow Cristal, mine is a silver life
I am an angel, I do not want to be a gold
Silvers kill the golds, diamond is my home
I need, I need, I need another life
I want to be a white and a black guy
I don’t want to be different, but all
I am all, like kill am all, past gone
I want to be you, but my past passed you
I am not a different person, like you
Silver kills the golds, diamond is my home
Sub Categories
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