Lambaste Unto Your Shattered Reflection
Softly, the mist came with its trifle attention
lackadaisically promenading in the silver stillness
but nothing in this quiescence is intimate enough
to quell the raving flames of your furnace
shorn openly to desecrate the lacings of faith
I picked up the debris of your blaring tirade,
I cupped the ashes of your sterile lambaste,
I reckoned the vicarious pirouettes with death -
our hands are both tarnished but my soul stifles
under the condemns of your querulous parasol
The godly hands eloquently wove webs with you
until your fulminating repose was a perfect ensnare -
a wreck gnawing on your seams, sifting your dreams
shifting the crooked hands of your maladroit petals
Not now, but little by little, you'll know what I mean
When you catch a glimpse of horror by accident
and your mirrors unveil its light to the effluence
of masquerading faces and words you never knew
The mirrors are muted before your new form
and the light is siphoned by your lamentations
Whilst the phantoms deferred their dissipation
I sing these lamented auguries out of sympathy
and no one is listening but the early dews:
Your destruction cradles a raging tyranny
If I can only convince you to trust me on this
Unmake me a memory, pensive flower
Wither not as you strangle the crumbles of me
with your brambly veins and esoteric maladies
For I have grown abiding to your lingering graze -
A fastidious palette in my lackluster wallflower
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Smoke & Mirrors
When I was a boy, all the books I read
I followed like a blind man
To heed the words my father said
Those golden summers faded into night, words become a dream
The echoes of my childhood and where the path is winding
May God bless you, keep you safe from harm
I stand by you always
Time and motion
Hands touch, lips find a way to heaven on high
Watch the children play, the child becomes a man
And all the tangled webs we weave
You swear it as you live and breathe
We stay together, death until you part
Winner takes the prize
The futures at your fingertips, right before your eyes
(chorus)
No more sorrows
(smoke and mirrors)
No more nights with no end
(I really learned a lot, smoke and mirrors)
I see my tomorrows
And nothing from nothing
And ashes to ashes they say
All the more that you reach out
The more that it runs away
(smoke and mirrors)
(chorus)
No more goodbyes
(thats all I ever got, smoke and mirrors)
No lies, you find your way there
(show me what shes got, smoke and mirrors)
Heaven on high
May God bless you, keep you from all harm
I stand my you always
Time and motion
(smoke and mirrors)
Hands touch, lips find a way to
(thats all I ever got, smoke and mirrors)
Heaven on high
No more sorrows
(I really learned a lot, smoke and mirrors)
No more nights with no end
(show me what shes got, smoke and mirrors)
I rise or I fall
No more goodbyes
(she really makes me hot, smoke and mirrors)
No lies, you find a way there
Heaven on high
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smoke And Mirrors
When I was a boy all the books I read
I followed like a blind man
To heed the words my father said
Those golden summers fade into night, words become a dream
The echoes of my childhood and where the path is winding
May God bless you, keep you safe from all harm
I stand by you always
Time and motion hands touch
Lips find a way to heaven on high
Watch the children play, the child becomes a man
And all the tangled webs we weave
You swear it as we live and breath
We stay together death until you part
Winner takes the prize
The futures at your finger tips, right before your eyes
No more sorrow (smoke and mirrors)
No more nights with no end
(I really learned a lot, smoke and mirrors)
I see my tomorrows
And nothing from nothing
And ashes to ashes they say
All the more that you reach out
The more that it runs away
(Smoke and mirrors)
No more goodbyes
(Thats all I ever got, smoke and mirrors)
No lies, you find your way there
(She show me what shes got, smoke and mirrors)
Heaven on high
May god bless you keep you safe from all harm
I stand by you always
Time and motion
(smoke and mirrors)
Hands touch, lips find a way to
(Thats all I ever got, smoke and mirrors)
Heaven on high
No more sorrow
(I really learned a lot, smoke and mirrors)
No more nights with no end
(She show me what shes got, smoke and mirrors)
I rise or I fall
no more goodbyes
(She really makes me hot, smoke and mirrors)
No lies, you find a way there
Heaven on high
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Hands
Given by God -are these hands!
One can do many things -with these hands
With love one can help a strangers' hands-
Allay and comfort the elders' gnarled hands
Clean sweep and mop with these hands
Decorate and embellish with these hands
Cook and serve food to all with these hands
Clasp a loved one with these hands
Applaud one with pleasure with these hands
Dig the soil and form a garden with these hands
Hold a book to read with these hands
Write and post a card with these hands
Type a poem to cheer someone with these hands
Draw a picture and sew clothes with these hands
Paint a beautiful scene to amuse with these hands
Play a game of volley ball or cricket with these hands
Swim the waters and row a boat with these hands
Pick the harvests and fruits with these hands
Feed the animals and birds with these hands
Seek the warmth of dear ones with these hands
Feel the soft petals of a flower with these hands
Fold the palms to pray with these hands
Given by God - are these hands!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Wall Engulfed By Shy Flowers
There is a rendezvous with flamboyance -
a stillness gilded by the peace of detachment
as tacit as the uncurling of moonflowers
when the night sprawls on her divan
and raises her goblet to the distant stars -
and he alone, in his howling dungeons, can
usurp the esoteric grandiosity in malcontent
Everything is intimate and close
in the sterile skin of your vulnerability -
the drifting autumn wind, the lifted eyelids,
the dancing lips, the glaring waltzing feet
But in your soliloquy - unraveling threads
that strangulates your recuperating breaths,
your swallowed words raving in the dark
fanning the embers of your glassy heart
the spurious tides of the oceans crash
into a lull amidst your redundant tremors
and everything sink into the unfathomable
There is an agog pleasure basking in
the immensity of monastic pendulums, whilst
the world gyrated in blurs and drifting lights
where the perfume of bliss passes above
the stagnant wind sculling our little breaths
the montage reels in the infinitesimal gilts
elsewhere held from the malingerers
There is an effulgent hymn immersed deep
in the cacophony of the world's manifold rhythms
like cathedral bells trembling from the hollows
that echoed through the gold insularity,
like a siren scintillating in the furnace of the sea
a charade, a riddle, born by loquacious maladies
When the pastels are pillaged to a halt,
when the only judge is the frost and fog,
when solace is the thief of the endless night,
he indulges into a dance and a song -
A fire burns underneath his sole and
a lilt titillates from his lifted susurrations
and reticence was eroding with the embers
whilst loneliness burns like red roses
and the web of bridges suspended above
The clockwork salutes fell unbeknownst
into a bottomless ocean of rigmaroles unto
the fusillade of your silence - a salient armada,
a sentry amidst the collapsing of confusion,
a terse bridge that burns with inner caliginosity,
a bulwark adamant wall that makes no echoes,
a flower awakening in the oppression of sleep;
Because your bland insinuation is more colossal
than the petulant beauty of many garden larcenies
The reticence you wore like paper petals are frail
vanguards that hones your puissant indifference -
Play along the farce, come soundless like a thief,
lean on your citadels, dance with the shadows
riveted on your walls and cringe only to intensify
the grandiosity of your gray shabby heavens;
Wallflower, sing. Wallflower, dance,
Wallflower, cringe. Wallflower writhe.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Art
From my wrinkling hands
the effulgence surges
into the blue veins
and to the tips of my fingers
it sublimates esoterically
Sometimes, it drew lines
and the latticework
becomes the ensnare
of the mad tarantula
that is my hands
Sometimes, like a butterfly
blooming from its chrysalis
it spread its wings for the wind
and its colours glide in search
for its own cradle of petals
Sometimes, its brown molt
folds like an origami and
becomes a moth inveigled
by sputtering tongues of flames
soon shall it burn and fade
Sometimes, it deflects
the words that cannot be said
or the poems that remain unread
into dithering silhouettes
that will remain unsculpted
And these shadows
born by fluid motions
and metamorphosing palettes
are the sprouts - veins crawling
from the unfathomable pit
of suppressed inkblots.
poem by Norman Santos
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When You Resigned To Sleep
The canopies of your eyes fluttered
like curtains from your windows
as you watched the stars dripped
into a paler rhythm of fandango
with sweet waves of riddance
to the gentle mirth of your goodnight
They tarried on their way
like tears refusing to fall
but they cannot suspend the transience
riveted in your jet black eyes
and the ephemeral caprice it beholds
You watched them as they are -
inexorably felled scintillating stars
and the pain belying their crowns
charred their endeavors, marred their hopes
from your unrequited remorse
Do you repulse the black holes
that siphoned their gravity?
Do you wonder where they roam
when they wander from your galaxies?
These danseuse chandelier tinkering
their insides to inveigle a trifle
of your attention and attraction
ponder for you vaporous musing
that absently asphyxiates the air
Whilst I watched you from your window,
your bony penetralium and your
bereaved lambent smile masquerading
like the tersely open moon tonight
The maps in the palm of your hands
and your labyrinthine gaze,
I wonder if they remember,
I wonder if they feel the same
I wonder at your pensive shudders;
if you are still skeptic and afraid
or had your gargoyle flesh grew excited
for the patina of hope and verve
Perhaps you have meander too far,
in false-exactitudes of altitudes
with the strong wind under your wings,
that I needed to watch you from here
Obviously and regardless,
I still wonder and malinger
to the night when you resigned
into your forgetful sleep
My pensive friend, if you shall dream again
I shall be watching you from here
until the waters lambaste to restore
the frail bridges of our incarcerations
poem by Norman Santos
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The Drab Splendor Of A Gargoyle
The dark came generously
with storm-troubled wings
The stars are all quelled
and the wind hangs purposelessly
There is a streak of verdigris
on the cicatrizing vault
A corolla of change dangles,
a shifting moon unfolds
and my imposition remained
a lackluster glacial metal
The weather was still as gold
and voracious as greedy kings
the crooked hands of the day
basked in luxurious rendezvous
Whilst I dreamed in hues of gray
weaving poems to the blasé moon
stitching the tatterdemalion tapestry
that mantled the ailing wounds
I found myself waiting
in front of a riddling mirror
with words unspoken off
If you knock, it will echo
If you burst, it will find tempo
My penetralium convalesced
nauseated from a peremptory vertigo
and my wallflower's petals
are paper-thin no more
thorns spangled its sleep
because it will never uncurl
under the searchlight's whim
I picked the felled letters
harried by the erratic gyration
of the ponderous atmosphere
I watched it turn to ash
as lips burned from their harangue
but the lions remain asleep
with the phantoms of their dens
and everything passed by
with deaf-mute miscalculations
To slur in the banquet
of manifold palettes
is a one-way ticket
for a subtle gargoyle
watching cold fountains
rise and fall, dance and topple
and on the gray clouds
lambently walk without
leaving scars and without
knotting prostate ties
Tonight, I rivet back
into the walls of my cathedral -
A pivoting turret that hisses
for the giant's intimidations.
poem by Norman Santos
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Money Changes Hands
Now the deal is done
I cover my eyes
Step into the sun
Now I
Think I've finally learned
Trust was the one last thing
I was living on
My life fell apart
When that trust was gone
'Cos everybody has to change in time
Faith can change your heart
And words can change your mind
Nothing changes faster than a man
When money changes hands
In my mind I see
The eyes of a fool
looking at me
Now I
Think I've finally learned
One day the world starts making
Perfect sense
We all say goodbye to our innosence
'Cos everybody has to change in time
Faith can change your heart
And words can change your mind
Nothing changes faster than a man
When money changes hands
It's a perfect day
In this imperfect world
'Cos we all know the angel who fell
And we all want somebody
To save our soul
But you can't save yourself
From yourself
When money changes hands
(chant)
When money changes hands
Everybody has to change in time
Faith can change your heart
And words can change your mind
Nothing changes faster than a man
When money changes hands
(face the facts, face the facts)
When money changes hands
(can't turn back, can't turn back)
When money changes ....
song performed by by Johnny Hates Jazz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Obstinacy and Malcontent
Livid and delusional,
Haplessly obdurate,
Like these smoke and mirrors
Distorting the visage of hope
And faith in prayers sent forth
Whilst the coruscations of the past
Inveigles the doom in these eyes
And I exhumed myself alone
In declining my liberation
This obstinacy and malcontent
Deluges with the brine of blood
From angry vessels rooted
And gnarled in the dark corners
Of the cobwebbed heart
Because in this pawned life
Where satisfaction is a drug
To forget the querulous vertex
(To be complete not only in the dark)
The coup-de-grace was a dejection
An unspoken unfaithfulness
That devoured the flame
And the verdigris of the soul
Disemboguing everything
Until the only resolve for pain
Is the sedation in a greater pain;
A wrath that defends
This obstinacy and malcontent
That was once acknowledged
And fortified with sympathy
The resentment of the light
Dislimned the mirror in these eyes
And exhausted the smoky screen
To unfurl that the dark
Had always been underneath
These placidly asleep canopies
Now how do I rectify my truth?
Like these smoke and mirrors
I hid inside myself, unscathed
Groveling for a final clout
So I can shatter into dusts
And finally disappear
In my absolution.
poem by Norman Santos
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Crystal Castle
In a moribund day reigned by an empathetic sun
Serendipity lingered amongst ghosts withholding scant
Fluid hands pale as the toppling films of the sun's corona
Flimsy hands shackled in a culvert; a deceitful supernova
Fate sew its golden threads in an erratic lambaste fashion
Treason shrieks in an arachnid's ensnare, an alluring bastion
All the same, like double-edged sabers, a compromised sedation
A subtle rapine of the gray valley and the caterwauling connotations
Such peremptory heart evoking extinct and perfidious sensations
Gnawing on velvet bones, gnashing a forlorn redemption
Sheathed a myth riveted at the breast with stern fluency
An allegory scorching like a thick beard of scathing ivy
Reeking profoundly with virulent sedition
A soul's infinite death at the estoque of perdition
A barricade of refuge loomed corrupting the innocence
The myth forebode oblivion; vicissitude's riddance
Glacial crystals, emerging in gracious acquiescence
Pristine imposing castle, fragile majesty in luminescence
Diaphanous blood, a citadel fabricated to unveil
How much your eyes crumble with unspoken pains.
poem by Norman Santos
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How far I can trust you? Dear!
Trust, the vital hunt in life
Relevant and prevalent syllable
A triggering catalyst which stimulate
And Axle life and yank towards
I am behind that great quest
From the tide of my own dawn
It seems mysterious within
The fading shades which intrigue
I hear that words which ripple round
And fear those sights that crippled me
And spar with me and munch me to
A hollow of mere nothingness
I fear, I have lost the trust
And mistrust my existence too
And I murmur it self at heart
The ardent quest that spill my way
How far I can trust you? Dear!
I know it is tough and hard
To reply that rough harsh query
But one finds it clear as light
If he asked it to his own
Dear,
Trust the light you see in sun and
Trust the smile, the flowering blossom
Trust the dews filled with glee
But never, ever trust those hands
Those fetching hands which hug you to
poem by Sandhya S.N
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Nameless, Formless, Shapeless
Nameless, formless, shapeless
A fog in the brain
A mist in the eyes
Yet in the heart what vulcan flames
From the interior magma rise and leap!
So poetry is born, my poetry
So my lines arise
The genealogy of my lines lies in the fog and mist
And in the leap-flames in the heart!
By spurts, and then after the spurt
An interval of dejection
Fog and mist and blank
And then of sudden
The light shines at the end of a tunnel
The heart-pump leaps
Fanned by the bellows of the interior magma
That rises and leaps, that pumps and leaps!
So the flower unwinds itself
From its night-cover:
When the dews and the cold drops
Of the oncoming night its veins will freeze
And fast its leaves and petals curl.
So the flower arises from the seed
So the flower arises on its stem
So the stem arises through the soil
Fog and mist and blank
And a heart that bellows
And fans its pump
When numbed and frozen seems
The blue petal of day at touch of dusk.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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And This Night
And this night that is ending,
bruising into the blue of an impossible rose,
and the windows opening their eyes to the light
that pales the stars from the sky like dreams;
and a man trying to keep the starving candle in his skull
from going out, the emptiness of the dark from demanding
oblivion from the day, the mouth of the morning
no beginning, but the start of a busy grave;
how can he tell his heart what his eyes already see
in the mirrors that mourn like hired grief,
some distant galaxy expanding into space,
some island of light in the forsaken depths of time,
that he's already the ghost of a future memory,
that a silo of ashes isn't enough to feed the flame
of the fire he's cherished in the boat of his hands
like a wounded bird he taught to sing for years,
and how to fly higher than the world is kind
like a hawk with broken wings, or an injured mind?
I see eyes in the dark soaked up like rain,
wildflowers in a field, the keys of unbound clocks,
and they're staring at me on a rocky precipice alone,
the lip of a vast abyss where even the winds don't go,
and they seem to know who I am, and why I must suffer
more deeply than the words of an eloquent man
who no longer answers his pain in silver tongues
but stands voiceless in the gulf of the silence before him,
mute, broken, baffled, a ladder stripped of rungs.
poem by Patrick White
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Sleep Pensively
Esoteric eyes
Of withering vines
Stifle to vie
Pardon from lies
That shatters a heart
In a slanderous art
To regress and thwart
These worlds apart.
Fold daintily,
Black orchid of serenity
Relinquish the drudgery
As you sleep pensively.
Arms of towers,
Catch all that saunters;
Vagabonds and chauffeurs
And the volition to smother
That seals the spaces
With fiendish laces
On the jagged creases
Of blighted faces.
Guard like a sentry
And loom over me
Lissome malady,
Come, sleep pensively.
Ebony crust,
Blearing a mirage of lust
From the bosom of the vast
Ocean of the past
Eviscerate the films
Of these synthetic whims
Wear it on the seams
Of your oppressed dreams.
Dream boldly
Of gnawing lilies
And in a faith too scrawny
Graze to sleep pensively.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Needle Lies
[ spoken ] nikki: Ive had enough and I want out!
Dr. x: you cant walk away now.
I looked back once
And all I saw was his face
Smiling, the needle crying
Walking out of his room
With mirrors, afraid I heard him scream
Youll never get away
Cold and shaking
I crawled down alleys to try
And scrape away the tracks that marked me
Slammed my face into walls of concrete
I stared, amazed at the words written on the wall
Dont ever trust
Dont ever trust the needle, it lies
Dont ever trust
Dont ever trust the needle when it cries...
Cries your name
Wet and raving
The needle keeps calling me back
To bloody my hands forever
Carved my cure with the blade
That left me in scars
Now every time Im weak
Words scream from my arm
Dont ever trust
Dont ever trust the needle, it lies
Dont ever trust
Dont ever trust the needle when it cries...
Cries your name
Dont ever trust
Dont ever trust the needle, it lies
Dont ever trust
Dont ever trust the needle when it cries...
Cries your name
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To emma abbott
There--let thy hands be folded
Awhile in sleep's repose;
The patient hands that wearied not,
But earnestly and nobly wrought
In charity and faith;
And let thy dear eyes close--
The eyes that looked alway to God,
Nor quailed beneath the chastening rod
Of sorrow;
Fold thou thy hands and eyes
For just a little while,
And with a smile
Dream of the morrow.
And, O white voiceless flower,
The dream which thou shalt dream
Should be a glimpse of heavenly things,
For yonder like a seraph sings
The sweetness of a life
With faith alway its theme;
While speedeth from those realms above
The messenger of that dear love
That healeth sorrow.
So sleep a little while,
For thou shalt wake and sing
Before thy King
When cometh the morrow.
poem by Eugene Field
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Heavenly Hades
Jaded eyes grown tired of seeing
Battered body weary with being
Bleeding ears sick of the screams
Tortured mind, nothing’s what it seems
Searching hands, black with ashes
Nothing left, I grab the matches
Destroy everything to see the light
Pretend it’s normal, but nothing’s right
Convince myself destruction’s the key,
A beginning in ending all I see
Watch as the dust flies away
I’m left alone, it’s best that way
Nothing to ruin, nothing to lose
No need to read their cryptic clues
Sick of a constant struggle to do right
I give up on this impossible fight
Watch the paint blister, blacken, peel
A shimmering fantasy, nothing’s real
Ever changing, never the same
I’ve found a home, in the flames
poem by Joyce Rugg
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My Hands Thine Girdle
My hands thine girdle I clasp thee tight
And embrace you with my soul's might
Swaying in my hands, dallying in thy mist
In starry night with calm air admist
Dancing to our moving stillness
We move the earth, O my goodness!
My hands, thine girdle
I feel thine fertile
Soul spring in
My soul's skin
As the earth moves
To our own grooves
Our souls touch
Our hearts clutch.
With my hands, thine girdle
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Where The Roots Sank
The incarcerated echoes
Inside your robust cage
Of ivories and porcelains
Resonated your name
Coiling into the navel
Where a brambly foliage lay,
Where one fates to fumble
Rummaging for an enigma
Ensconced in a solitary rose
With soldering petals of flame
Enervating the void dark
And the austere ravine stark
To pounce yonder your eaves,
Swell mellifluously condescending
Malignantly ascending
Like a staircase pummeling
The heaven in you tresses
And it reached my low canopies
In an eloquent fashion
Resembling the sun's expedition
Skipping through sodden trellises
Ineffable and esoteric
As how tomorrow's gloaming
Can set before today's dawn
Your infernal flower possessed
An enthralling redolence
A mystery more puissant as
It entangles its thorny vines
Into the slicing vesper's face
A labyrinthine for a rat race;
A phantom damsel for a dying knight,
An adversary for a chivalrous crusade,
An ensnare for the despondent beau
Of aphorism and ideals, all the same
A vermillion spit of life
Licking the brittle bones
No grander than the comported semicide
Ablaze my graze as I submit
To your inveigling light
Usurp my entity and bury me
In your fastidious color
And I shall thaw in your amber
Like a wax molding to morph
Brand new visions and inflections
I shall swim through your blood
And reside in your pulsations
Let me sink yonder your lips
Ajar and trifling a perplexing limbo
Of Eden's horrifying grandeurs
Until I become one with the flames
Its prancing and its stings
And the plummeting of the cinders
Spewed and ousted from the core
The warm hearth where everything
Is enticed to thaw, to sink.
poem by Norman Santos
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