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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Related quotes
Wallflower
Wallflower, wallflower
Wont you dance with me?
Im sad and lonely too.
Wallflower, wallflower
Wont you dance with me?
Im fallin in love with you.
Just like you Im wondrin what Im doin here.
Just like you Im wondrin whats goin on.
Wallflower, wallflower
Wont you dance with me?
The night will soon be gone.
I have seen you standing in the smoky haze
And I know that youre gonna be mine one of these days,
Mine alone.
Wallflower, wallflower
Take a chance on me.
Please let me ride you home.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wallflower
A cigarette in the room
a veil of smoke
dislimning a short smile
for the red stars
and blue bulbs
The wallpaper caught
the shadows suspended
in the lattices of time
and made a room
for everyone
Before the wallflower
bloomed and divulged
its redolent presence
there was an oscillating hand
who grazed its petals
and bled on its thorns
But when it had gone
to dissolve with myriad shapes
and shadows of the past
the flower withered
like a bottomless hourglass
The fragrance won't come off
even in evisceration,
even in abolition,
writhing brown and crisp
like a heart disembogued
vying for its old blood
But no one pried
underneath a wallflower
so he waited for the old hands
who held him once
poem by Norman Santos
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Wallflower
I remember when I was young,
the wallflower I used to be.
I would sit and watch
others gaze into each other’s eyes,
seeing the passion burning there.
All the time I was thinking,
will this ever happen to me?
Many times, I tried to excerpt myself,
and for my effort
received questioning stares.
Who is this weirdo?
Where did he come from?
It was a frustrating time, for this wallflower,
who on the shelf would remain.
I had no chat up lines,
only a pen and pad,
everyone who looked at me,
must have thought that I was mad.
I’d go to a party on the odd occasion I was invited,
sit in the corner on my own.
No one would talk to the odd man out.
Therefore, I would leave,
just the way I had come,
no one on my arm,
for that lonely trek home.
All the time I wondered,
is this the way my life is going to be.
A wallflower on a lonely shelf.
Shyness is an awful thing,
and it is very lonely.
For friends seem so very few.
I found out much later.
That I just had to let myself go.
Much to my surprise in doing it.
I was no longer a wallflower on a lonely shelf.
poem by David Harris
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Dancing Mad, Dancing Holy
These feet are always ablaze
agog to burn in a slow dance
but the pole dancing stars
titillates a fire break
and these feet grinded to its halt
Sterile and sedentary,
I still amass a hill of velocity
behind obduracy and secrecy
my voraciousness is whet
and my quiescence succumbed
into squalor and hysteria
but loneliness overcomes
this madhouse's tempo
The crest of the wave looms
at its frailest, highest peak
but the road narrows down
and the music slowly fades
with the lucid passing states
I danced alone and the macabre
is not an auspicious company
The lasso is gone but the fire
is still pouncing on the furnace
like ludicrous, nacreous marbles
of lustrous amber and ebony
and the shadows are still made
prancing before my escritoire
even when the lamp is out -
our ephemeral strings born
these eternal puppets of the night
I lick the burning skin
and immersed in this agony
dancing, hurting and benumbing
standing between the frontier
of mad and holy.
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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A Bard's Song To The Pensive Canaries
Hiding in the floor
of a bottomless ocean
I watched bubbles scampered
to meet the climbing dithers
of light in this abyss
And muse alone I did
while the limpid limbs continually
oust the life it possessed
and the cage of feral memories
shattered from the inner tyranny
The flustered world
caromed in a wistful ballet
while my breaking bones played
the esoteric melody and
everything under this
pirouetting parasol was just
a defunct music box
playing songs - tinkering violins
and effaced harmonicas,
inveigling the canaries
and their trepidation to fly,
carrying on with their
their genial metronome
Dance, like a wallflower
riveted amongst the shadows
of your cobwebbed chandelier,
my own tersely plea reckoned
And my lifeless body
wrecked even more
As the charade engulfs my hymns,
lecherous malcontent filled
the empty crevasses,
the saudade effulgence
descried the terrorizing desires
to kneel before the nights
that sundered our parsimony
And for all the lonely silhouettes
still enthused to break with me -
in flight or in plight -
I offer my percussive endeavors
to debilitate our forged camaraderie
in the insularity of our myriad
sundered predicaments,
this wordless song that falls
like star in a fecundated supernova
is the water that shall baptize
our rebirth from our plethora of deaths,
a candle on our tilled grave.
poem by Norman Santos
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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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Dance all night and laugh all day
I like to prance all right
As I like to play
Let dance all night and dance whilst we pray,
For these avenues run straight to the heart, so we
Dance all night and laugh all day
And on our would the stage we’ll play our part
Nothing but actors imprisoned by a magnetic cage
So we hunt a thrill and kill the time
For we have potions and magic within our brains
I dance all night I dance all day as this is the energy of peace at play
When the heavens were created god was at play,
in the 6 he moulded and on the 7 rested a day
So in celebration we dance wholly with joy,
And with divinity, share energys between all within the routine
As we dance all night and we dance all day peace be upon us and us upon peace
poem by Daniel Richards
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Dancin' In The Wind
Won't deny everything can't last
But it's closing in so fast
Thought that I'd figured it out at last
But you can't change the past
And it's closing in so fast
Feels just like we're dancing in the wind
Feeling just alright
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
Just don't walk away
When I've got you in my arms tonight
And I've got something to say
There are still rules to break
And this music is a place to hide
Isn't it just a game we play
Feels just like we're dancing in the wind
Feeling just alright
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
Feels just like we're dancing in the wind
Feeling just alright
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dancing In The Wind
Won't deny everything can't last
But it's closing in so fast
Thought that I'd figured it out at last
But you can't change the past
And it's closing in so fast
Feels just like we're dancing in the wind
Feeling just alright
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
Just don't walk away
When I've got you in my arms tonight
And I've got something to say
There are still rules to break
And this music is a place to hide
Isn't it just a game we play
Feels just like we're dancing in the wind
Feeling just alright
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
Feels just like we're dancing in the wind
Feeling just alright
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
We can dance all night
When we're dancing in the wind
We can dance all night
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For The Nameless Bard
Your silence is a shrill cry
traversing the alley of edifices
stalled within the shadows
solely painted for your furlough
The epistles that bewilders the night
and the riposte that brawled in back alleys
coiled in an inert cacophony
and the populace remained asleep
without the pall of your sagacity
Soon shall I find your silhouette
a misfit in the familiar places where
you casted a shadow that remained riveted
toppling with the monuments
of your conquered charades
unmaking you a constant unreality
You have waned underneath the moon
and the waxing horn of its harlequinade
along with the asylum of your cavernous heart,
and the tears that ran your metal pipes
no longer croons in the silence of the night
Slowly you are subdued and daubed
by the myriad moths girdled by a lamppost -
A hound barked, a vehicle revved mad,
a drunk man roared, a canary sang,
but your salient, sapient revulsion
remained silent and gone
I lit a cigarette and succumbed to its veil
plotting subterfuges incase
I hear your laconic footsteps return,
your florid lips relearn a song,
and I cajole for the accident to collide
selfishly hungry for your waned light
I starve in oblivion, swallowing daggers
that I incessantly honed whilst
the minutiae yellow quasars spoke
their scintillating whispers to me;
that the war you consigned yourself into
found the key for the adamantine doors
and your laments turned to odes,
your odes morphed into intimate privacy
until you dissipated form the dark nooks
to bask in your separate concord
But I shall remember you
in your superfluity and brazen soliloquy
like an owl behind the gloomy trees -
an indomitable sentry to reckon,
and I shall sing of you without a name
a little degree out of phase
whilst your notes gyrated elsewhere
because your shadows are still made
in these modest places I conquered.
poem by Norman Santos
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Prophet of Bliss
Don’t be afraid of requesting a kiss
From the boy whose lips you know you’ll miss.
Be he a master of tongues? A prophet of bliss?
Be he foretelling the tale of Heavens distress?
Off into the wilderness he cast a broken shadow,
Knock, you’ll discover he’s hollow. As Ivy
Creeps the grapevines weep whilst we attempt
To keep our calm in composition.
Dance for the hearth, the wings that may lift you.
Dance for the songbird, the songs he may sing for you.
Dance aflame upon the ocean, Keep on dancing,
Chance upon poetry in motion, loose yourself behind the wall of sleep.
poem by David Lacey
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White Noises
Amidst the drumming noise,
I lambasted to no avail
but there was nothing
but the lifted wind listening
My thoughts danced burning,
vertiginously suspended
upon the gilded coldness
and all these vociferous cries
are quelled by its own farce
The violins played scathingly
attempting to dub an elegy
for all the writhed nights
and all the sharp lights
that does not mean anything
But you still remained
the note, the echo -
the memory of the conscience
upon every pillaged morrow
poem by Norman Santos
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Dancing on butterfly wings
Dancing dancing,
swaying my hips.
You wish you could see
the butterfly tattoo
and kiss my lips.
I'll dance all night long,
and sing with the crowd
but when this night is done
i would don my shroud.
You see I'm that person
that can fly all day and night
never caught, cause even fragile i will fight.
I can have yellow black or even green
cause i only dance on butterfly wings.
You can reach out for me
with your in-snaring net
I will just dance away.
Cause you can surely bet,
I dance dance dance,
on butterfly wings.
Beauty sprouts from my back,
colors swirl down to my feet.
I dance and dance
all night long.
And I'll disappear in the winter
I'll come dance another night.
poem by Ashley burnam
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Fading Letters
Tonight, like many a more
I unfolded your letters
tucked beside my bed
castrated of its fragrance
in every contour flailing,
every eloquence rising,
I found you - enveloped in sunshine
skimming through
the phosphorescent sand
like a lucid lullaby
I saddled back to Levanther
of exchanged letters -
your frail façade glassy
from dancing behind your eyes,
your words like beacons:
a lighthouse in a sea
coruscating with a song
in a night where I sink
underneath its storm,
and the holiday you've sealed
for all the miles, the oceans
and plastered maladies
slithering in the crevasses
of our fondled affinity
In a deterred dream of blue
I reckon you, palms opened
like waiting windows
your moony eyes amicably evocated
the lost and sequestered beads
spread against the firmament
like gargoyles bemusing the demise
gnawing on my cold skin
untouched by the silky moon
or the arrogant sun's maw,
listening inside the cage
where the conch's susurrations
echoed like the melody
that you've taught me
then and now
in dissimilar pedagogies
The hymn that enthuses
the yarns to elope and extend
spun like a maudlin
an engineering arachnid,
indulgently succumbing
as subtle as a
fluorescent light's droning
and garish like
it's stark screaming
now spiraling and drilling
a harried clockwork
unmaking me a memory
a terse riddance
and revenge.
poem by Norman Santos
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Love Burns
See what you do
You make me act so crazy
I'm overcome, I know
Stealin' my own show
For your love
And who am I now, Clown or Casanova
I'm never sure with you
And what more can I do
For your love burns
Warmer than you know
When love burns,
Never let it go away
And where do we go
Find a road to lead us
I'm searching in your eyes
A world beyond the skies
For your love burns
Brighter than you know
When love burns,
Never let it go away
Love burns
Brighter than you know
Oh, love burns
Never let it go away
Love burns when the spirit is wounded
Cut deep by the sound of rejection
Love burns in the soul of the seeker
Blue shadows in every direction
Love burns when the heart is uncovered
In the rage of the coldly storm
Love burns
Through the night and the morning
Till the frozen heart is warm
Love burns
Love burns
Love burns
Love burns
(Tom HensleyAlan Lindgren)
Album: On They Way To The Sky
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dance
dance the river is there to rise
dance touch me and close your eyes
dance the winds will touch your feet
just dance and dance feel the beat
dance the river will find its mouth
dance east and west north and south
dance the river will find my lips
dance the poles to move my hips
dance the bees are dancing hives
dance the trees are swaying lives
dance the waves are breaking through
dance the sides for me and you
dance the birds are dancing flights
dance the stars are dancing nights
dance the currents dancing veins
dance in soils dancing grains
dance the last atom cutting a knot
just dance and dance until you cannot
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Not A Dancer
I never learned the steps
to this particular dance
I am a wallflower-
watching.
Curious how
the couples waltz
some effortlessly gliding,
graceful in the other's arms
missing a beat now and then,
but still
beautiful.
Others
are desperate in their movements,
stepping on toes
fumbling around
wearing painted smiles
as beads of sweat gather.
Such hard work
this dance can be
On the rare occasion
I am asked to dance,
it's always the same.
For a fleeting moment,
I feel as though
my heart will grow wings
and soar.
But soon, I stumble
fall
and crawl off of the dance floor shamefully,
licking my wounds.
Back to cowering in my corner
watching.
All the while wondering
if maybe I was never meant
to dance at all.
If Life is a Song
my love, i was dried
shriveled
like
the autumn leaf
blown asunder
by the wind
drifting...
to a mass of
decaying leaves
until you came along
to lift me
out of the mess
the dew that freshens up the morn
the drops that refresh the roses,
blooms and all
each droplet
so gentle on the petals
preserving their colours,
lustrious shine and all
before the wind, sun rob
them of their charm
each petal that soon gives up
its posture, support for
a bloom dance,
shrivels, so fragilely
taken by the wind
ridding to oblivion
if life is a song
you are the music
and i the singer
together we bring
the meaning of life to all
like the red roses
that make it to your door today
the rose dancing
the steps of love
let's join its dance
before the sun, wind
rob it of its agility
before wayward time
dawdles all over us
with its lines and
ireversible anomaly
that leaves us all
six feet underground
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Oh My Heart Oh How It Burns
My heart it sings oh how it sings
it sings alone for me,
my heart within, deep within, oh how it sings;
it sings alone for me
an inspiring, electrifying, arousal melody.
Oh my heart oh how it burns
oh how it burns for me,
beneath my breast, deep beneath, oh how it burns;
within fervent depths it burns for me
a white hot heat; a searing heat; maiming bodily.
There is joy within and love within
awakened wonder seen by me,
there is wonder there, and love found there, within;
such love within it startles me
thrilling wondrous; joy there known; tempestuously.
Such wonder there like thunder there
that thunder threatens me;
I wonder at howling thunder there;
that booms and howls at me.
From between comes, a howling wind, a searing wind,
a tearing wind; that comes; that blows for me;
from out actinic abyss; blows cruel creative wind;
that threatens; inter-dimensional realms; all worlds to be.
A chilling wind a howling wind
that severs my heart within me;
it is a chilling wind, an abrasive wind;
that severs my heart from me.
Though often in my inward innermost thought,
lightning striking frightening;
is rapture held within; fervently by me.
That lightning striking frightening,
is blinding thought not frightening thought;
that seres at sentient; sequential heart in me.
Such is wondrous heart knowing heart,
that booms; howls; reels; calls siren surreal to me.
Like searing wind; from out; terrifying abhorrent abyss;
such is wondrous; wild; untamable heart in me.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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