En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Demon In Her Vanity

In the night's harried soliloquy
You tousle your hair and wipe
The miasma of the panthoms'
Breath flushing your pallid face
With such arrogance and grace
A complacence that synergize
With the stellar distractions
That your pristine poise behold,
You smudge the rouge and stains
Of the derided warfare in the world
Of alleys and myriad of empty stations
A fastidious ballet in front
Of the mirror's godly fingers

You grinned, oscillated your lips
Red as the devil swaying its legs
In the inveigling undulations
You whetted your piercing eyes
And fooled yourself again
In the pristine reflection.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The French Maid

She is cleaning again
feather duster in hand
Uniform tuxedo
fanning flourish feminine

She wears fishnets black
lacing satin spic 'n span
Skirting sleek stilettos
with delicate depurate diadem

She dusts lust for fuchsian
florid fine and flourishin’
Disinfecting drains unclogging
impeccable spotless sanitary she

We clean the floors doors walls
with window crevices uncovering
Reach revealing mirror ceiling
pristine sheen for floor board squeaking

She has me knees and hand solution
wash white knuckle squirting
Sweat succumb from such scrubbing
recovers numb of our rage reaching

Spot scrub smudge fastidious sponging
mine meticulous love
Immaculate spectaculate
cleaning lady consummate cathartic

Rigorous grinding intent for finishing
swipe smudge smear clear her
Surface sheen pristine polish shining
glimmer glisten glittering gleam

We are Mister and Misses Clean!

Lover's sanitation fresh
supernatural sparkling breath
I wipe her back neck perfect precious
mine lips her hips' lips
throat heart stomach

Mon chambermaid cheri she
magnificent as such mess undress
Arriving mirth meticulous Frenching
made of our own making

randy resh 2007

poem by Randy Resh
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Pristine Sea

A constant grace I feel to move through boundaries

Through this pristine sea’s maze

The horizon may find me wander

A journey on my own pace

As I pass this sea the world may show

I passed through the territory of the same world I know

Vibrant life underneath, tamed by place

Where humans bring disgrace

If art could tell the world immortally

There is no other pristine sea

If God had made the world eternally

I am thankful for this pristine sea

poem by Kristoffer Randolf Ramos
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Fantasies Of A Mirror Part-1

The mirror gasped as she stood in front of it with her tresses flowing longingly

The mirror looked in her dark brown eyes

The mirror admired her almost perfect lips

The mirror gazed longingly at her perfect hips

The mirror took her in its arms

The mirror embraced her reflection in itself

The mirror ran its fingers through her soft hair

The mirror kissed her lips a thousand times

The mirror bit her slender neck

The mirror whispered a thousand nothings in her ears

The mirror …..The mirror ……The mirror

The mirror left its love bites all over her soft warm body

poem by Leonard Rebello
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Sleeping In Flames

Even the mirror
Sleeps in flames
When you’re awake.

Tousle your hair
Asymmetrically purporting
On each of your
Frail shoulders.

I wonder
In a height that howls
What do you see in the mirror?

I watched you,
As you marvel at yourself
Spraying perfume
All over your vicinity.

I saw
A figure
Inside the mirror as
You were standing in front of it.

A snake
Eating her own tail.

Or

A picture of
Winter as you
View it
From the porch.

Or

A classic warfare
Of imprudent
Soldiers.

Sometimes I see
The Sun breaking
Into one of your
Eyes.

But your vision
As the mirror
Copies you
Fraternizes you
Into the mirror’s world

I see moments
Of a woman
Setting a man
On fire

And then laughs
Shrills and heaves a little
And then goes back
To the rifles.

It’s like seeing death,
Frigidity
Remorselessness
Heartlessness
Trapped
Inside
A mirror
That sleeps,
Cradled
By the flames.

poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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Voiceless Soliloquy

Teetering and tottering
In a voiceless soliloquy
Keeping both seats on the keel
To shun the dwindling of faith,
Confabulating with the clock
And its fastidious serenading,
Coagulating the meltdown
In the sinewy blood tunnels,
Cajoling with the quintessence
Of a voiceless soliloquy,
While teetering and tottering
In retracting or protracting
Into the oblivious chance
Of a rowdy dance.

Downtrodden and lost
The voice that escaped
Never ricocheted back
Until it was vanished
Leaving a soliloquist aloof
With the portrait in the mirror;

This is the system,
The hashish dithers with complacence
And an exultant air sweeps on their heels,
Your voice loitering in the impassable
Robe of their malignance.

poem by Norman Santos
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The canvas

The canvas
~
This blank canvas before me
Laid out in pristine white
Where only the illusion of lines
Break the unparalleled possibility
Dare I take my pen to it
To scare forever its page
To pen the impossible thought
In verse and breath captivated
That only the mention of a word
Touches the heart and soul of man
Painted into eternity
Upon the canvas stained
No longer innocent, pristine
But touched by the mind
Whose eyes looked upon
A world as they chose to see it

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Mirror To Mirror

Written by gerry beckley, 1994
Found on hourglass.
I havent seen forever
Dont even know her name
I call on dreams and other schemes
To try and win that game
Now that its over, darling
Look into my eyes
Seein your own reflection
Much to your surprise
Were seein mirror to mirror
Face to face
We look but we cannot see
Mirror to mirror
Seems to trace
What happened to you and me
And though we tried in earnest
The distant silence yells
We call on wings and other things
To try and break that spell
Now that its over, darling
Truth in the common cause
We stare at our own indifference
By seeing the others flaws
Were seein mirror to mirror
Face to face
We look but we cannot see
Mirror to mirror
Seems to trace
What happened to you and me
Oh, mirror to mirror, mirror to mirror
Mirror to mirror, whats come over me
As we look inside, theres nowhere to turn
Theres nowhere to hide
Now that its over, darling
Look into my eyes
Seein your own reflection
Much to your surprise
Were seein mirror to mirror
Face to face
We look but we cannot see
Mirror to mirror
Seems to trace
What happened to you and me
Oh, mirror to mirror, mirror to mirror
Mirror to mirror, whats come over me
Mirror to mirror, mirror to mirror
Mirror to mirror, whats come over me

song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trapped Within My Reflection

Standing here stairing into this mirror
My reflection stairing back at me
A tear dropp falls down its cheek
Wiping my face but nothing there

The mirror begins to cloud
My reflection starts to shiver
Placing my hand on this now cold surface
My reflection slowly places his hand against mine

My reflection breathes onto the mirror
As writting appears 'HELP ME'
My mind telling me its not real
But my eyes never fail

My heart beats faster
My soul trapped within this mirror
All along, here in front of me
Stairing me in the face

My reflection banging for freedom
Seems so real as the mirror shakes
Suddenly overcome with this strange feeling
I throw my fist to the mirror

Cracks begin to form
As my reflection stands still and smiles
Shattering into a million pieces
A sensation feeling travels through my body

Looking down i see my reflection
Tainted red as blood falls
A shard of mirror stuck in my hand
A message appears

'You Freed Me - You Freed Your Soul'

poem by Kir James
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Once Young, Now Old

I face myself in the mirror
Trying to escape the horror
That caused my hair to be grey
Was it the sorrows of every night and every day?
Or the burden of things I couldn’t say

I face myself in the mirror
Trying to escape the horror
That caused, in my eyes, that hidden tear
Was it the unachieved goals hunted by fear
Or the secrets I was left to seal

I face myself in the mirror
Trying to escape the horror
That left me with ruins of a smile
And prevented me from climbing any higher

I face myself in the mirror
Trying to escape the horror
Of the ghost I see
Empty
Not willing to breath anymore
There’s nothing to live for

poem by Whispering Rose
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Reflections In The Mirror

When you look in the mirror
Do you see only yourself?
Could the reflection be your soul,
Staring yoack in the face?
If there is a crack in the mirror,
Is that not a reflection of you?
The mirror reveals merely what your eyes
Want us to see
But could not a clearer reflection
Mirror infinity?

poem by Lee Linc Stallings
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The Kiss

She turns her head gently
From left to right
And from right to left,
Avoiding my blazing lips.

Her shiny ebon hair
Gracefully frames her charming face.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The blue waves of the sea,
The flight of birds very high,
The azure serenity of the sky.

I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The green tranquility of the forest
Happiness and sadness,
Her beautiful soul, suffering and love,
The pristine spirit of an ivory dove.

I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The pure white blossoms of Lily
And the sun rising over the mountain,
The bliss and joy of life, the sorrow and the pain.

She turns her head gently
From right to left
And from left to right
Until my lips meet with hers
And I kiss her enchanted, throbbing and trembling.

Time stands still, only the hour grows thin,
Her delicate fingers plough my bare skin.

poem by Paul Hartal
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The Ruse of the Pink Flamingo

My eyes swan through the sunward sand
Falling with the summer rain and the mist
That shrouds the haled halcyon raiment
Like a gray nostalgia unfenced but tamed
By an inclement drizzle, and here I am
Breathing with the moiré banana leaves

There was a stillness - a vertical line
Erected in the lugubrious susurrations
A silver thread fixed with the marionette
Wistfully frolicking in the aqueous mirror
And sending undulations without a sound

The enthralling artistry was my muse
In this void ulcer of the land, a pink blotch
In the postmortem dirge of savagery
My eyes swan through her wayward dance

The weathervane utterance of the wind
Spoke of the silence's response
To the dipping of her svelte legs
Into the unwavering poise of the pond
And its ageless skin rippled with subtlety
That the sun casted a shower of yellow light
Borne into the dawn of shriveling moths
Upon the mirroring of your charming grace

The tilting legs raised and lunged like a danseuse
With an undertone of vengeance but swathed
With the tired hoping for vindication
And with every mellifluous lift and sway
Was a hint of hope for another day

She careened her head into the dusk
And pivoted her salutary statuesque
Dancing for the reflection and the song
Of the trespassing swallows and storks
Titivating the chasing of the crimson dome
And becoming the ebullient light of the void

But the song will sojourn with the season
Of your gossamer inflection of carnation
It withers like the petals on your waist
And the amusement of your own reflection
Until then, who do you dance for?

The machinations of the elegiac song
Strummed by the plethora of leaves
And ornamented by the astray petals
Played with the willowy dancing feet
And this ruse held her in the oscillating waist
And manipulated her pensive ballet

But when the fix is pilfered
Who will you dance for?

poem by Norman Santos
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Tabula Rasa.

Rondel Prime.

A pristine page of purest white.
A challenge that I can't resist.
Although I try my muse insists.
I take my pen and start to write.
I quickly find to my delight
My muse is ready to assist.
A pristine page of purest white.
A challenge that I can't resist.
An empty page a welcome sight
To a poetic formalist
Or even to a modernist.
To anyone compelled to write.
A pristine page of purest white.
A challenge that I can't resist.

Sunday,14 October 2012.

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Mirror

Standing in front of the mirror,
The reflection tells me to look behind.
The focus of the mirror is myself,
And also what lies behind.
I can move to the left,
I can move to the right,
But to the mirror I am always within it's sight.
As are things past.
I look out a window,
It tells me to see what lies ahead.
In the window, I do not see myself.
I see others.
I see nature's beauty unfolding.
I know I am there,
But I am just merely a part of the surroundings.
To the mirror, it is all about me.
The mirror tells me to worry about how I look.
The window tells me to worry about how the world looks.
The eyes are the window to the soul.
Not the mirror.
The mirror deceives.
To the mirror, everything is backwards.
As I look into my own eyes.
My soul becomes filled with self.
As I look into the eyes of another.
My soul becomes filled with life.
While the mirror holds my reflection.
It is the window that holds the truth.

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Mirror, Mirror On The Wall

Mirror mirror on the wall
You reflect the image of how far we fall
from grace as we consider the face
we believe ourselves to be.
Is that all that most of us see?

We are fooled by that looking glass.
And yet we glimpse at it as we pass
all of our imperfections we carry around.
But inside our eyes what is found
is the soul that accepts all of our flaws.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
I must always try to recall
who I am and always shall be.
It's certainly not just what I see.
For I am more than my image shows,
more than my figure, my height, my pose.

I am who I've always been,
not this body that I find I'm in.
I am the earth, the sun, the moon.
I am the morn, the night, the noon.
And so I say to my mirrored wall.
'You can't ever reflect me.
For you don't know me at all.'

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Hairbrush

how i wish my fingers were the bristles
or my breath were the wind when it whistles
thru your hair, thru your hair

i wish you'd hold me in your hands
and let me skate thru all the strands
of your hair, of your hair

i could style it anyway you like it
i could brush it straight or even spike it
au contraire! au contraire!

or i would wait patiently in my box
until next i would comb the locks
of your hair, of your hair

i would braid it tight, tousle, and tease!
or pull it back in a ponytail, if you please;
if you dare, if you dare

how often is it a man confesses
that he wish to run barefoot thru the tresses
of your hair, of your hair?

you may think me a little touch'd
but can i tell you just how much
i hate your hairbrush?

this obsession may be zealous
but can i tell you just how jealous
i am of your hairbrush? !

poem by Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler
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Art Will Show To Eternity Your Soul

I am a woman, using a mirror everyday,
Like all of you, i'm seeing my reflection into it,
Even i am sad, happy, tired or bored,
What i'm seeing in my mirror it's my physical reality, my own truth.

I combed my hair and looked into my mirror,
I felt so delicate, unique and simple,
Having a smile on my face today,
My mirror will smile me back as feedback in same way.

I am a painter, i adore art,
In everything i'm painting it's life,
In each painting and spot of paint my brush does,
It's a history of great ideas my minds holds.

A painting is a gate to our inner side,
Through it vibrates the universe to our hearts,
A mirror will always show your face reflection to the world,
But art will show to eternity your soul.

poem by Cristina Teodor
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A Face With No Future

I look in the mirror,
and what do I see?
A face with no future,
stares out at me.
On the table, a glass and a bottle,
of my favourite poison.
When I was young,
I drank to be alive.
Now all I do,
is drink to survive.
My eyes bloodshot,
filled with vacant stare.
My face goes unshaven,
but what do I care?
My bottle is now empty,
quickly replace with one full.
Soon it will be empty,
just like this fool.
Family and friends fled.
My eyes were blind.
All they could see,
was another drink,
in front of me.
My legs get unsteady.
I stagger instead of walk.
A bottle wrapped in paper,
gripped tightly by my hand.
My clothes grow dirty,
as days and nights combine.
A smile is frozen,
on this face of mine.
My arm flex out,
when I stumble to the ground.
Faces look down at me,
expressions display my waste.
I just hold my smile,
as I lay there in their midst.
At least my bottle,
didn’t break,
on my fall from grace.
Time for another drink,
raise bottle to my lips.
Liquid trickles down my throat,
and still my smile remains,
as silly as it can be.
The faces disappear.
Everyone has gone now.
Like family and friends,
they all desert.
I lay there on my own.
For no one wants to take,
a drunk home.

25 Jan 2007

poem by David Harris
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Constantinople Line

Hey waiter
Im first class
Hey waiter
Where are we now?
Am I last
Am I last
Hey waiter
Dont talk back
These tenants speak
A travellers language
Caucasian talk
Theyre saying nothing
I see a land
As we crawl by night
I see a face
In the window in front
These stations are useful
These stations we love them
Newspaper
Encounter
Confusion
Hey waiter
Im first class
Hey waiter
What state is this?
These reptiles scream
A violent party
All art and jazz
And league of nations
I see a land
As we crawl by night
I see a face
In the window in front
The east is calling
Im feeling nervous
I love the western
Style and change
These stations are useful
These stations we love them
These stations are useful
These stations we love them
Newspaper
Encounter
Confusion
Constantinople
Red
Red star
Red
Constantinople
Red
Red star
Red
Lyrics : j kerr music : simple minds (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission

song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mirror Struggled

The mirror struggled; reflecting beauty such as hers
Prescribed a glory in the challenge – a fairytale
Or such as like! To shimmer back hypnotic hues
From auras of her skin – how do mirrors cope?
Hoary tales of pretty adolescent buds
Could never hope to match the tomes of dreamy
Pulchritude apprising us of such a belle as she.

The mirror shone; and as it worked itself, a moment –
Did it overlook the hidden melancholy?
Were melting eyes bedewed–? Florid lips imbued
With mournfulness? The hindrance of the silver glass!
Oh! to seek – to know the meaning of the sorrow!
She (with tearful hair, an image out of heaven)
Never opened up her heart. The mirror struggled.

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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