Vitreous Poems | Examples

Monochromatic Tears

monochromatic clouds
stagnated within space 
rush hour traffic abounds 
vitreous tears coat cheeks
time halts to screeching stops
as you took your last breath

The Lingering

follow the poolside shadows
Venus of Delphi
daughter of bitter waves
peek through the peephole
of my glaucous thorax
open your byzantine eyes and
spurn your locomotor ataxia

one glance at our vitreous hands
– a sight for blind sore eyes 
one brush of our riveted lips
– gone astray in malformations
one ponderous confession later
– immaterial as a shadow of the lash

let the weeping corpuscles lie
swarm and jostle in the grotto
rattle and blather away our days
I’ll wait for your recriminations
fall asunder under your touch
fastidious in my entomology

let the bouquet glide downstream
the scytheman is still in his kingdom
then we rejoice in endless daze
the lingering beaten with bravura

MINIATURISTA Hilliard Holbein

often 
   called limning
 vitreous enamel
 painted on copper
or ivory
opaque,
 & gold
  to heighten effect 
of
ingenious illusion
 in
soft focus
images-

society's
face
in
detail-
stubble
  warts an'all

Limerence

I am vitreous
like a candle-flame in the gale-wind of
your gaze, trembling
Your perfect gaze
that captures all realities in the oceans of
your eyes, surreal
Life falls away
when I catch a glimpse of heaven in
your form, untouchable
You were created 
to confound what science found, only religion can
contain you, explaining
You are beauty
the definition of everything good and sinful in
one breath, breathless
They say "infatuation" 
but they do not understand the soul-deep longing 
to be with you, always

Moldavite Tablet

Indonesian folklore and Brazilian god An Puch are in agreement
moldavite, a vitreous silica projectile glass is the remnant of an invasion.
sky people from the Tyraxious Galaxy
left it as a clue when they took the Mayans
dispelling beliefs that Mayans were killed out by disease or an earthquake.

emerald tablet which is here today has mystical powers understood by….
a seventh daughter of the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter
this crucial tablet fell from alien space ship as it left with the Mayans
if we are to transform into the kindest, purest humans we can be.

until we unlock the secrets and memories of the moldavite tablet
the earth will continue to have a struggle with strife, disease and war.
spiritual beings are unlocking our minds all the time, to elicit change.
knowing when we understand, we will all become one.
because one equals won.

Deviation

 
Deviation
When I saw it, my eyes popped
Something so clean, so shiny
Not a gentle ray, but a stinging beam
Something with the energy to ignite my brain
And blind it into a vitreous aura
Disconnect it from its elder
Unravel it's capsule
Stray from safety
Indulge in the friction
It's not a puppet, it's a death wish
Something to anger our maxims
But it takes space
It takes money
It takes time
It takes labour
It takes life
It may act with nature, but it isn't alive

An Empty Vase

No one seems to see me  
as if I’m a vitreous vase
standing empty 
upon a table 
before a picture window
of transpicuous glass
bright sunlight 
shining through the white 
diaphanous curtain
like the sheer gossamer 
shroud of a silent ghost
passing through the crystal 
of which I am constructed
rendering me nearly 
invisible as if I don't exist
as if I have no substance
my presence overlooked
waiting patiently 
for someone to bring me 
a bountiful bouquet 
so I may fulfill my purpose
casting no shadow 
on the solid oak floor 
as I would if I 
were full of flowers

Silent Night

Through  the  vitreous  glazing of my  window, 
Strange eerie  darkness  torches  out, 
Milky speckles  twirl and  dance  along  the  sky, 
The  once  purple  sky has  been gracefully  transformed, 
Into  a  vast  expanse  of  jet  black curtain, 
Another  night  has  been born, 
Giving a  sermon by a  canopy of luminous  stars. 

The  cars  no  longer  clutter  the  roads, 
Restaurants have  shut  down, 
People  are  presumably  quietly  sleeping, 
A conspicuous  warming  orange  glow  of  street  lamps,
Rewards  the  smudgy illuminations  of a  lamp  post, 
The  cylindrical crickets  aren’t  rubbing  their legs, 

These  nights  hide our flaws, 
Our  imperfections  find  refuge in the  darkness, 
It  sends  two  souls  together  to  bed, 
Yet  still brings  out  residing  demons  to  play, 
Those  with  itchy  fingers  forage the  darkness  to  rob, 
Tick tock,
The  long  arm  of  the  clock dances  around  confidently,
Enchanting  the  demons  of the  loud  silent  night.

Stained Perfection

vitreous  essence  
forever  entrapped,  frozen  
stained   glass   perfection 

~25 May 2016~

Date of First Poem Posted 29 Sep 2005

Syllable count via www.howmanysyllables.com

Seasons

Seasons

With a chill still in the wind, spring arrives
Clutching her white coat that slowly melts
In Sun's warmth, coaxing blossom's birth.

Humidity heavy with the scent of Jasmine
Announces summer's steamy footsteps
As ripe strawberries share sweet savors.

A harvest moon greets lovely autumn, smiling,
When her frosty breath changes verdant leaves
To glorious hues, drifting down, dancing to death.

When winter white fleeces her snowy shawl,
Maple trees share syrup from their vitreous veins.
Hearth's smoke rises above naked trees at rest.

4-4-16

~Third Place~
Contest: Seasons
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton

The Blues

Listening to the Blues on this cerulean night,
my mood dark with visions of ecchymotic dreams 
leaving chalybeous bruises in my crazed mind.

I waited for the turquoise twinkle in your smiling azure eyes
to soothe the despondent indigo thoughts I'm feeling.
Like a vitreous vapor I could feel you, but you did not appear.

I guess your cold cyaneous attitude shouldn't surprise me,
it's what I deserve, after leaving your beautiful mind filled
with empty, brooding, questioning, mazarine emotions.

Now I sit here alone watching the aqua liquid of your cocktail
throwing slowly fading teal reflections on a crinkled napkin
as the argon Curacao sign blinks lonely above the empty bar.

Liquid slowly pools in the corner of my cesious eyes.
You used to call them your sapphire visions into my soul,
now they're just old and faded  like our cyanotic love affair.

It seems you have finally had enough of my broody blue moods.
I don't blame you, they've cost me more than just you in my life,
as for now I'll just wait in my livid sorrow and listen to the lonely Blues.


02/28/16

Sarcasm Bites

Lunging forward a stab to the heart,
vitriol hurled at an unsuspecting soul.
A sarcastic word or comment, thrown in jest,
tearing flesh, leaving a gaping hole.
I was only joking, ha ha, wasn't that fun?
he says to no one.
Why are you hurt?
They're only words you know,
letters put together as one.
Intentional or not, caustic words will burn,
stinging speech cannot be unstung.
Hurtful songs, once sang, cannot be unsung.
Playing the dangerous game of sarcasm,
is like shooting words in derision.
Vitreous feelings are shattered,
only causing hurtful division.
Sarcasm is not innocent child's play,
it bites, it leaves marks, that forever may remain.

Think before you speak there are always consequences to hurtful speech!

John Derek Hamilton November 18,2015

It Was Not a Windmill

That was not a windmill, it was

a beautiful wings-cutting mechanism

with a vitreous red peacock inside

who puts a solar edged Venice afternoon in motion

in a gentle blue square

into which we stuck our wings

so that our heavier-than-air bodies could happily flutter

with one thousand and one flexibilities

on the ethereal geometry above the roofs

where pharaonic flags pompously glorify us

as large cosmic objects pushing comets towards the others

in a fireworks game of our honeymoon…

and, suddenly we found ourselves down:

no, it was definitely not a windmill!

www.simonadancila.com

Floater

My eye produced a floater
And although it felt quite weird,
It wasn’t quite as dangerous
As I, at first, had feared.

The vitreous inside the eye
(A jelly-seeming goop)
Becomes, as we grow older,
Less like Jello, more like soup.

Then little teeny fibers
Clump together in your eye,
Casting shadows on the retina
As they go drifting by.

A floater’s shape can vary
So it’s no surprise that mine
Resembled, like a pencil stroke,
A skinny curvy line.

It danced across my vision
From the left side to the right,
Interfering with my reading
And imbuing me with fright.

Though the doctor called it normal,
For it happens as we age,
I don’t need a new reminder
That I’m at that later stage.

Why

Drowning in  the depths of despair
Their waves of guilt and impotence
Thundering through  his brain
The roar drowning out
The anguished pleas
Of family and friends.

Trapped within the unscalable heights
Of  torment
Walls rendered impenetrable 
By his tortured deafness
His mind thrashed 
For a way of escape.

Born of the gilded generation
This doomed Icarian youth
Lured by the amber flame of a vitreous sun
And beaten down by mental  strain
Listened for the approaching whistle
And stepped lightly into the void.

The windscreen thump
The driver's startled and pallid face
The screech of brakes
The acrid stench of scorching flesh
And the line at a standstill.

Once the wreckage was cleared
Left behind were the wounds
Lightly to crust over
But beneath, the ever gaping wound
That will never heal.

Just graze the surface
And the pain and questions
Come flooding back.

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