Texture Poems

The Texture of Time

Pebbles in the stream
water carves their jagged skins
grinding them to smooth
time's current erodes all forms
each grain spilled feeds entropy

Age carves us rougher—
wrinkles, fissures, furrows spread,
chaos marks the skin;
it knurls the gnarled into grips
that drags daylight into night

For a rock, a tree
disorder unfolds; same way
each form cracked to dust
on path worn to final ash
as time decays,

Part two of the Other one

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She told him she really loved him
and she knew he'd be an excellent partner
she worried about the bonds she shared between friends
one's she'd lose by them not wanting to be in the way
the one's who felt comfortable with and relied on
She from her own feelings was also scared that people would simply say
that those uncertainties

Ya'll what these People said

They got off topic brainstorming for a song. They had know thing, not even a sound. The lead singing began talking and the trumpeter and French horn player began mocking her.They recorded the Muse and studied it to see if anything was there.They promised to be committed to what they had begun and got into

Texture

The texture of those black out curtains,
a whistle that ruffles your hair.
Tickling all of your senses
with a shoulder massage. 
Tossing and turning 
rolling with the
cotton ghosts 
through the
night.

Texture

Texture comes in ways
In paints, food, clouds or vocals
Seeing layer pays.

Gnarled

Age gnarls, weather beats skin to flaky dryness. 
Wrinkles and lines, furrows, knots and blotches
Twist and contort the skin of babies and youths
to a knurled, rough, compliant easy to grip surface.
The rough and worn acrimony of old age,
Despite the crabby, cantankerous snarls and grumbles,
Can be gripped, manipulated and convinced to comply and yield.
For now there

Rough Shod

A floor of dead rusted leaves rustle and crackle
Crunching their crisp skins dancing under my feet
Shuffling with sodden soil thick with grit - I grapple
With sticky dew grass and spongy peat

Alligatored tree bark grabs my hands then bites as I shamble
Holding on for balance on uneven chards of scalloped stone
Dazed by the cool dark mist

Texture Adorns

Texture is nature's and life's universal adornment.
Texture titillates and tantalises the senses,
adorning the smooth, flat and boring
with bumps, context, meaning, dimensions and grip.

See me, hear me, touch me, smell me, taste me -
all get embellished and seasoned with texture.
Texture is the crunch when you taste,
the touche roughness of shape when you touch,
the crescendo of flavors

Texture

One day in my dream garden---behold bitter wires eating twisted snakes.

Focus On the Texture

It’s a topographical nightmare. 
The terrain rises and slopes over small mountain ranges I wish everyday were freckles. 
The landforms, shifting and rising with every glance in the mirror, they’re rough from years of scrubbing and 
cleansing and 
picking and 
medication more destructive than effective. The landscape is mottled, it’s patchwork-- 
Lakes of oil next

The Texture of the Wall

Laying on the floor beneath the window,
staring up at the painted plaster,
little cracks run 
through the goosebumps in the paint.

I can read where the wall is hollow
where it is brick,
by running the tips of my nails across its gibberish braille.
In certain spots, the paint is almost smooth

and slightly darker, 
polished by years of rough feet,
the

Texture

Taste truth
Prize proof


Charm curls
Head hurls


Heart hopes
Sculpts scope


Soul sights
Fond flight


Fond feel
Heart heals


Hear hurts
Bless birth


Sift still
Wise will


Last laugh
Sweet stuff


Face fear
Heart hears




Leon Enriquez
15 September 2019
Singapore

Love Frankly

Of Scripture! 
Oh! The blind text, Sire! 
Leave it far 
Stay free in this bar,
In living treasure.

Come and love frankly
Everyone and everything
For the sake of God
This world for you and for me
God created equally.


-October 14, 2018 Chittagong

Ceiling Texture

Snow-capped peaks stretch long shadows,
cropping the corners of lamp-lit valleys,
Stage to child-like haunts
and witness to forsaken cries;
They speak, as dreams, do
to the hidden, protected soul,
uncovering horrors unsecured
and fears realized, in solitude,
Dripping omniscient truth
frozen by day, light's serf,
but, in the master's absence,
rouses the ritual witch-dance,
which tickles my guilt,
boils my stew thoughts,
allowing demons to be affectionate.
Into myself,

• Short Texture Poems
• Famous Texture Poems
• Best Texture Poems
• Read Texture Poems
• Long Texture Poems
• Texture Quotes