Vaporous Poems | Examples

Vaporous Rhymes

Vaporous Rhymes 
Nightfall unbalanced 
Dance around a ceremony fire 
Thorns cursed vaporous 
Body dieth slumber 
Death-note written 
Alacrity descends 
Consciousness unbound 
Screams below halted no sound 
Graves unsettling 
Life soon ending 
Bomb fires burning 
Sacrifices, unforgiving 
Buried with the dead 
Emptiness is limitless 
Rendered to the darkness 
Sins unhinged 
Tormented below 
Name erased from the books

Enjoy the Morning Glory

 “Each morning is an invaluable gift- To be alive is a boon, to be able to stay healthy is a bonus, to enjoy love and beauty is bliss”- By Poet

Early morn, I wake up from my sleep,
Sensing on my cheeks, dawn’s first gentle kiss.
As the shroud of gloom is lifted off from earth’s face,
In my heart rises sweet whispers of bliss.

Yesterday’s mistakes, gone like vaporous nothings.
A calming peace gently overpowers my soul. 
The air is crisp, quiet and pleasantly still.
The morn opens new scenes and vistas whole.

Flowers gently sway in the passing breeze.
Bees buzz around, not giving rest to tiny wings.
Coloured confetti fall from the Gulmohar tree.
Butterflies flit around as my soul in joy, sings.

Remember, how lucky we are to see another sunrise,
To savour what nature offers as an inestimable prize!

The Spell of Clouds

Look at the clouds in the sky above
Puffy, vaporous, fluffy stuff,
Ephemeral, illusionary, ever-changing
A moving mass, reshaping before our eyes.
Billowing blotches spreading like
ink on blotting paper, soaking in,
imbibing a recall of inward reflections
that perspective can change sides, 
change viewpoints in time and space 
near and far, old and new, 
up and down, side to side, 
rocking to and fro,
for the spell of clouds lies
in their illusions, 
on which we dwell.

La Fiamma

Her hair, radiant sun yellow,
infused with vaporous blue-violet,
tipped with the softness of orange flame.
Her warmth fills the room as she dances,
mesmerizing, alive, untamed.
La Fiamma—
a beautiful, dangerous companion,
her touch igniting plank and passion.
Now face to face,
her breath is hot, enticing, so inviting.
Not too close, she is fire.

Crisscrossing

Every doorway is well lit yet barred and locked.
This is my dream body, it is chasing its twilit shadow
down blind alleyways
pausing only to heave breathlessly
as it comes to a stop
in yet another walled-off cul-de-sac.

Daylight couples slyly with moonlight,
it forms a vaporous union that creeps under skin,
We are two hands and a mouth,
weak hands scratching upon a lid of fear.

We call such mind-hauntings: nightmares,
yet they seem so very real
as we fretfully slumber -
then they chase us remorselessly
through our daily lives.

Why record such fantasies,
these myriad variations of horror?
Why relive the frights, the needling frets
of these subconscious ghost trains - images
that fly through all our darkly hidden spaces.

Perhaps only to share an elusive puzzle-picture,
to reach into other sequestered minds
that may experience the same
other-worldly hinterlands, the same fear-threads,

and there know we are crisscrossing
the same unidentifiable landscapes
all of us have created for ourselves.

Untitled

contrails streak the sky
vaporous cotton left by
silver dots going
somewhere, my mind takes flight but
my feet are stuck to the ground

Cultural Crux

Is there anything you root for in our garden now? 
Must I cultivate it to make it grow? 
Can't seed so many plots, I know.

Is there anything you savour in our melting pot now? 
Seasons changed, and our flavours compound, 
True essence to distil.

Blinded by what familiarity steeps 
You know our brew only too well, you see. 
I taste bitterness, you drink me.

Remember, 
The days when cultures were raw, 
Just fresh and jubilantly spicy?
Where exactly did that zest go? 
Preserved, yes. 
Unspoiled, no! 

Simmered away as steam from a kettle, 
Aromas mingled over. 
Vaporous, hardly distinguishable.

Whatever happened to our cultural bouquet? 
Trying to bottle it is so hard.

Is there anything you relish in our feast now?
These days our palates just don't know. 

We're still simmering.
 Taste! Taste!

Wistful

"The pain is deep when the heart is spent"...Poet

Your face floats through my mind
in vaporous wistful dreams of illusion
   that drape over my soul
in an invisible cloak of yearning

the footprints you left on the soft ground
as you vanished in the shadows
   when the rain poured
the last cold kiss devoid of feeling
frozen by the heart's emotional collapse

these are visions of melancholy
   that dance with me
on a floor of vacuous emptiness I found
where nostalgia is a hard shattered shard of lament
that lay scattered across my mind
   in sobs of burning torment
that form a wistful smile to cover my forlorn face
   whenever you appear so present

Transcriptions a Freed Verse

TRANSCRIPTIONS
once spellbound
 glowing
  hoveringin
mistiness
limpid
  himid
    bliss
of wonder
a
  vaporous
vision
 incandescent
teeming
  transparent
fluttering
  scattering
sinuoud
   viscosity
in
exploding
shock waves

To Only Find Beauty

How precious each moment is
when I can feel each breath, without care
and imagine each footprint I left, before it fades

to have known beauty, before it vanished
when thoughts became vaporous
and memories became fragmented
clouded by desire or need

to have found innocence in my heart
when I understood how delicate and fragile life is
as I allowed my soul to rest
and travel beyond visions and dream

to realize I'm part of the design
as I watch the sea rise and fall in my mind
giving a sense of time as I ponder things

to pluck a flower, to inhale its fragrant scent
to see the Earth with an artist's sense
holding each moment
when butterflies lay in the air with fragile wings
floating over a meadow of blooming flowers
where I dream of wondrous things, as they appear
to know even if briefly I was here
and found only beauty 
that was hidden inside the sanctuary of my mind

Crossing Streets

Crisscrossing streets in a city landscape
a place where the mind panics
wanting to be found
or to find, or not be lost within.

Every doorway is well lit yet barred and locked.
This is my dream body, it is chasing its twilit shadow
down blind alleyways
pausing only to heave breathlessly
as it comes to a stop
in yet another walled-off cul-de-sac.

Daylight couples slyly with moonlight,
it forms a vaporous union that creeps under my skin,
I am two hands and a mouth (not my own yet)
scratching upon a lid of fear.

Why record such fantasies?
Why relive the minor horrors, the needling angst
of subconscious ghost trains - images
that fly through darkling places.

Perhaps only to share an illusive puzzle-picture
to reach into other sequestered minds
that just may experience the same
other-worldly hinterland
and there know we are crisscrossing
the same unidentifiable cityscape.

Asthma Plus Miasma

A student battling with Asthma
And vaporous Miasma
Wouldn't he pack up Charisma?
Soon, confront the sure dilemma
Of suspending his Diploma 
Or sniffing Hard Work's aroma...

Espy I do Anathema,
Its picture clearest cinema:
A man from a great deal barred
And a future that might be marred...

Worse than malfunctional plasma 
Bad Asthma plus Bad Miasma!

To Dream

Unconscious desires and wishes
  dwell in my mind
where sleep is the open door
  to another world, another realm
of uncontrolled content
  it's where we met
in my ethereal state of nightly travels
  where I find I am lost
in my dreams tangled web of vaporous illusions
until your face drifts through the darkness
touching the tender tendrils of my heart
that beats loudly, rhythmically, in the background
   of my dreamer's dim-lit realm
as shadows without form flicker through my mind
  leaving visual images of emotion
when I reach out to touch your face
as if to invite a smile
before I awaken with a memory
of a vivid experience...that seemed so real


8/5/22 contest - As I Dream
sponsor Mystic Rose Rose

Quicksand

Trying to find hope in a quicksand world 
is hard when hope is like the clouds above; 
looked towards but never touched; 
as much as we must want. 
And the sands of this world feel 
like tiny hungry hands feeding a patient mouth; 
fists over tiny fists they pull in what is left of us. 
While hope flies above vaporous and too high to touch. 
Tiny fingers heartlessly pulling 
with the persistence of children’s wants. 
Sewing words that drag us further into a hungry maw; 
using words that claim to be from another’s heart. 
Familiar weights tearing parts away 
from the very soul of hope and us. 
A soul still mending from almost before being lost; 
peeling away newly laid self-worth like flesh from bone. 
Scraps of meat left to be plucked by carrion birds. 
Scraped leftovers after the lions’ take; 
taken to fill a world whose hunger we could never sate.
Bones left to whiten in the harsh noon sun. 
Sightless caves watching as the next in line comes; 
to be claimed by this insatiable world, 
while others blindly wait their turn.

Raindrops Descend

Raindrops descend, puddles form,
A stream engulfed, a river is born,
A course is set, the sea to reach,
Meandering ponderously to a far off beach.

The sea reclaims its myriad young,
Kidnapped by clouds, thunder-slung;
The storm is long past with calm all around;
Albatross glide, with a whisper of sound.

Seagulls circle, dogfish sleep,
Gannets dive and dolphins leap,
But black clouds return and lightning flashes
O'er storm-tossed seas, as thunder crashes.

Once more a stealthy cloud abducts infant water,
The sea's own offspring: a son ... a daughter;
The thief sets off at a wind blown pace,
The anguished mother unable to chase.

The criminal finds refuge in a partisan crowd,
A formless body in a vaporous shroud;
The cloud has no guilt, shows no remorse,
But heads inland on a predestined course.

A hill stands guard, like a customs post;
It stabs the guilty, but allows past the host;
The rogue cloud is ruptured, severed seam and pleat,
Releasing its captives and accepting defeat.

Raindrops descend, puddles form,
A stream engulfed, a river is born,
A course is set, the sea to reach,
Meandering ponderously to a far off beach ...

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