#descriptive

39 posts
  • joey_lee 8w

    My Love

    You are more beautiful
    Than a solitary rose;
    As a single drop of dew
    Gently rolls, caressing
    The soft folds and
    voluptuous curves,
    Lustfully kissing
    Each and every valley
    of its delicate flesh.
    Until alas it parts from
    Its seductive entanglement,
    Floating through the air
    rebelling against
    Both time and gravity.
    Shimmering and reflecting
    The rays of the sun
    Like the sparkle of a
    Flawlessly finished diamond.
    Finally completing its journey
    With a passionate splash
    Evaporating into the air
    And out of existence.
    ©joey_lee

  • anonymousquill 83w

    Blinded by the light—
    We lie, sleeping underneath
    A kind of blinding bright
    "We see the world for what it is
    Not what we want it to be";
    Is that what it is?'
    Do you believe that, honestly?

    Do you not see the mirage shimmer
    Where it distorts reality?
    The reality that is—
    The free-for-all cruelty,
    The incessant brutality,
    The fruitless movements
    For free will and equality,
    The masks of death, festering nests,
    Each and every one of them,
    Of demons and nightmares,
    Intrusive thoughts,
    A broken hall of mirrors;
    Glass everywhere ,
    Each a bloody shard
    Of disappointed hopes and fancies?

    Hopeless romantics,
    You're gripping the thorns tight,
    Wake up and smell the roses;
    Sleep no more under the blinding light.

    How many bells must toll
    Before you wake?
    How many more warnings
    Before you sit up straight?
    The light is false,
    It was never true,
    It is an eternal night
    With only the North star
    Left shining bright.



    #mirakee #mirakeeworld #pod #alarm #wakeup #rose #depression #blue_title #spilledinkpoetry #writersnetwork #readwriteunite #mirakeens #followforfollow #descriptive #poem #poetry
    @mirakeeworld @mirakee @writersnetwork @tomorrow_is_amazing @bluepuppy01

    Read More

    Blinded by the Light

    Blinded by the light—
    We lie, sleeping underneath
    A kind of blinding bright
    "We see the world for what it is
    Not what we want it to be";
    Is that what it is?'
    Do you believe that, honestly?

    ©anonymousquill

  • anonymousquill 90w

    Ramblings in a Storm

    Today rain sings on the pavements,
    And storm clouds lay seige on the towers
    Of a proud cityscape.
    The grey sky lined with silver lightning
    Does shatter to thunder every so often;
    So does my soul find solace
    In the chill breath of the storm
    Winding in through the windows.
    Break my words out from their prison
    And breathe life into them,
    Find magic in the half-shade light
    Of the dim twilight,
    Under the pall of sable clouds.
    Oh we might spy a few old gods
    Silhouetted against the black
    Lit up as ghostly shapes
    From a distant past.
    Rain oh rain
    Trace your rainbow
    With the purest rays of the setting sun;
    That effused into the imagination;
    Carves everything of gold,
    That we may again find
    The rose tinted glasses
    Of bygone childhoods,
    And find wonder in the mundane
    Once more.

    ©anonymousquill

  • callingcrows 94w

    The Eternal Dancer.

    They called her the eternal dancer, you see
    For her moves were as beautiful as art could be
    Her face always focused and determined to the task
    No one had ever seen her elsewhere, without this mask
    Like a spinning gear, she was part of something bigger
    It was like she was the flying bullet after the trigger
    She tossed out her leg and jolted her wrist
    She would dance on and on, come clarity or mist
    Energized with a bounce here and a trot there
    With every step, she was magnificent from toe to hair
    Whirling around and about, to and fro
    It was as if she was merely told, "go"
    So onward she danced, forever within her spree
    For she was the eternal dancer, you see.

    April 1, 2020.

    ©callingcrows

  • callingcrows 96w

    Into The Wilderwood II.

    The trees rose around us like ancient spires,
    but even larger were the mountains.
    They loomed over us like watchful gaurdians,
    waiting to deal out justice with crooked smiles.
    When I looked upon them and their white caps,
    I could've sworn that they danced in glee
    as we entered their grand lair.

    March 12, 2020.

    ©callingcrows

  • grotesque 97w

    Night

    Yet another night has come to visit me in my perennial state of convalescence.
    I often burn my soul from within; for exuberated emotions to flow.
    Yet I feel it's nothing compared to the vast gloomy sky beholding so much pain of others.
    It is nothing compared to my numbness either!
    The night comprehends my untold emotions gracefully.
    I too fathom it's emptiness to such an extent that at times I feel I lose myself to an unknown periphery.
    But I bounce back to my realm as soon as I decipher I am an entity who's tied down to her responsibilities.
    Daylight hurts my eyes; responsibilities hurts my soul.
    But this night; it comforts me like watering a blooming plant.
    I am still tender to my voluptuous thoughts.
    I am cautious to even speak my mind.
    These nights predominantly wins over me; inheriting a certain amount of serenity catering my devastated needs; enhancing my mind to prodigious circumstances!
    It is in this muddle that I often forget to forget my dismal situation.
    But dear diary, this night passes through me like a tumultuous pattern.
    This night embodiments my inner self to me nurturing my pain.
    As I transfigure my feeling into words, I become more aware of the profundity the night holds.
    It repetitively lures me to a pit of ambiguity.
    This night is bereft of any reason.
    This night is dearer than any dawn my eyes can witness.
    This night exquisitely extinguish me gently.
    .
    .
    .
    ©grotesque

  • aelixir 97w

    The Rainy Efflux

    At my home,
    the sky getting garbed with clouds,
    I want to go to a home which is mine.
    Alienated in this familiar terrain,
    all known yet ignorant to perception.
    Rain pouring, sinking into the ground,
    each thought pours and sinks deep into the heart.
    Turmoil and disdain.
    Rain intensifies, piercing into each pore,
    cutting through, causing sheer pain with sharpness,
    soothing it with mildness,
    it's cold, it's wet, it's beyond any help.
    The dogs howl, getting drenched in the havoc,
    beside a beggar lies whom none but the storm is to confide,
    a company at last, which the lonely soul was deprived.
    No one, but the storm.
    But, the storm?
    A deep embrace though not a dear one.
    The trees drinking drop by drop, quenching the thrist within.
    Rats drowning, their burrows getting clogged.
    Life happening, life being stopped,
    the rain pours equally on all,
    but the walls around me keep me untouched.
    Away from suffering,
    so void of deadly liveliness,
    it smells of sweet earth and of decay.
    The fruits all blown, the flowers shed,
    quenching, storing within.
    A man with a raincoat on,
    wizened whilst wetness engulfs his existence.
    Cold winds, bringing eerie sounds as they hit the face.
    The oblivion disappeared, the path though beautiful, drowned.
    'chap' 'chap' 'chap' 'ouup',
    the sound continues fading into eternity,
    my home's all wet, and I'm all dry.
    ©aelixir

  • aelixir 98w

    Drawl of Trees

    Last night I dreamt of trees.
    Wide-spread branches, rough and crooked.
    Leaves with lush greenery.
    a speech unheard of,
    a silent murmur alien to my ears.
    I'll learn the tongue and forget my own,
    keep my secret, I'll confine yours.
    Whether a deal or just a dream.
    Roots slithering into the vast depths,
    every inch of it with lively exuberance.
    Standing tall and rigid,
    the wind blows,
    flowers wither, the leaves fall,
    bareness engulfing it's visible entirety.
    Dormant yet confides life,
    deep-seated roots, untouched by wind,
    waiting, thriving for the upsurge.
    Oh I hear you,
    the language of belonging.
    ©aelixir

  • aelixir 98w

    The Emerging Night

    Waiting with tranquility,
    no assurance there.
    Sitting looking at the dusk,
    biding for the stars, the moon, the galaxies to appear.
    The calming twilight,
    melting away into the ocean.
    But what's the sky even waiting for?
    For the stars to come or the sun to go?
    The stars are already there,
    covered, denied appearance,
    lighted yet overpowered by light.
    The bright dazzling sun goes away,
    the inconspicuous stars stay throughout,
    silently or overwhelmed.
    They don't give bright light,
    but beautify the baren darkness.
    The nightingale waits too, though for eternity,
    it can see it's beloved, the moon,
    but cannot have it.
    Nocturnals thought of as blind till now,
    dance with tremendous sight.
    Sea water gushes up towards the shore,
    the beach becomes the sea,
    embracing the life which comes along.
    Realists wandering in their dreams,
    lovers eloping and confining into deep embrace,
    a reckless child, looking at the screen,
    searching for themself in it.
    On a distant hill,
    moonflowers bloom,
    intoxicating the solitary hiker,
    as he sleeps on rough grass.
    A dark and serene hour,
    of a exquisite mystery unruffled.
    The silence speaking volumes,
    singing melodies of delight.
    They say the day ended,
    but it seems a new started itself.
    Here in the land of no sight,
    only trust guides,
    carrying the soothing light.
    ©aelixir

  • someone_quiet 98w

    #pod #readwriteunite #writersnetwork #description #descriptive #scenery

    The roofs were slick with rainwater.
    I clung to the crevasses and prayed that the torrential rain would cease soon.
    It didn't.
    If anything, it got harder, spitting in the face of my hopes.
    I was perched on the edge of a tiny windowsill, barely big enough for my toes to cling to. I tightened my grip on the drain pipe, and got ready for the falling sensation. Without giving myself time to think about backing out (like a sane human being would) I jumped off the sill and threw myself forwards, using my hand on the pipe as leverage until I knew I could make it.
    I let go.
    I fell.
    But only a little.
    I caught the rope I'd left out here - tied around a chimney pot - so I could come back. After all these years, the rope still held.
    I smiled to myself, even though I was freezing cold and soaked to the skin. I hauled myself up the rope, only stopping when I reached the highest rooftop. I climbed over the lip of the roof, and only then did I let go of the rope.
    I sat there for a moment and just breathed. I'd made it.
    I looked up at the sky and smiled. The stars were barely visible for all the clouds, but I was sure I could see a few peeking out at me. I always felt small when looking at the stars. Was always reminded how tiny I was compared to the rest of the universe. And it comforted me, somewhat.
    That no matter what happened, the world wouldn't fall appart. Not truly.
    It was far too big for that to happen.
    The rain started to calm a little, and I sighed with relief. Thank the Gods.
    I heard the flap of wings behind me, and I turned to face the disturbance. I grinned. It was my disturbance.
    A crow, quite small, quite grey in the wings, was perching on an uneven patch on the roof. It looked at me, head cocked to one side, as if questioning why I was here. Why I was taking up too much of his roof.
    I looked at him for a long moment, while he made sure it was me. His eyesight was going slightly. He was much more cautious than he used to be. Soot used to be much more adventurous.
    I'd never touched him. That's a common mistake people make while in the presence of wild animals. They instantly reach out to touch them. The best thing to do - as I found out with Soot - is to become invisible. Just sit quietly, so that you're nothing more than a piece of scenery.
    Sometimes a piece of moving scenery.
    I stood up slowly, making sure my legs could take my weight and balance at the same time. I looked towards my favourite steeple; towering above the other rooftops of the university buildings.
    I looked down at Soot, and, somehow, even as a crow, he gave me a knowing look.
    I ran towards my steeple; leaping over gaps between the roofs like they weren't even there; dodging past chimney pots; avoiding slippy tiles.
    I slipped into a trance. I didn't care anymore. I stopped fearing falling. I just flew across the rooftops, throwing my fear into the sky, and just running. Running. Running. Running. Running.
    With Soot flying above me and the traffic roaring below me, I ceased to care. I just flew. And flew. And flew. And flew. And flew.

    Read More

    Rooftops

    ©someone_quiet

  • callingcrows 119w

    A Hawk With No Wings.

    When I rest my eyes upon him,
    the sorrow comes first.
    His sense of self-worth is so dim,
    he acts as though cursed.
    Cursed with helping others,
    he puts them above himself.
    Doesn't he know of his sisters and brothers?
    We, who put him high on our shelf.

    The next thing to come when I continue to stare,
    is a rush of utter heartfelt pride.
    Pride, for his unending, genuine care.
    For his hard work, every step, every stride.
    He rarely wavers in his continuous battle,
     when he does, he won't show his stumble in the fray.
    He never lets his feathers ruffle or rattle,
    and here by his side, his friends will stay.

    October 5 2019.

    ©callingcrows

  • callingcrows 119w

    Tetrehn, A Haiku.

    The people are rough
    Hard edges like their mountains
    Working day and night.

    October 5 2019.

    ©callingcrows

  • callingcrows 119w

    A Singer With No Voice.

    What a strange person
    His tunes would surprise you
    While his tears worsen
    His words paint red, and black and blue

    To his own tastes, I don't think he listens
    Wanting to look one way, but to not stand out
    If only he knew the way that he glistens
    The way that his dreams could shout

    And the way that he apologizes for everything
    I want him to be happy, so much so I'd fall to my knees
    Because the way he sees others worth so much worshiping
    Reminds me of my own despairing disease

    If anything, I think I'd just want him to know
    That, after everything and everyone that wrongs him
    He's still allowed to move on, to grow
    And that not everything is so dark, so grim.

    September 24, 2019.

    ©callingcrows

  • callingcrows 119w

    Golden Glade.

    Sunlight through the gaps illuminating our clearing
    The way their golden trunks grow
    With countless arms reaching toward the sky
    As if they could upturn it, twisting in agony
    The sheer number of them making a prison
    Out of something so serene.

    May 19, 2019.

    ©callingcrows

  • grotesque 123w

    Times with her.....

    She wore white. She looked lost.
    We met, we met for a long time.
    She wore white but her white kind
    Off faded. I was noticing secretly!
    Why do I find myself so attached to
    Her when she is lost, disturbed and
    Debilitated. I must admit I adore her
    In ways; in ways that is artistic!

    She wore white, the embroidery work
    Around her neck was in blue. I
    Noticed very closely. She has been
    Upset for weeks now. I do not try
    To even understand her anymore.
    She has world which is best left unknown.
    The sunlight fell upon her morbid face
    Making her depression evident!

    She wore white. She came hastily; as if
    She didn't want to be late. She hates making
    People wait. I was taking U-turn when I
    First saw her waiting for me. She shook
    Her eyes when she saw me. She was smiling
    Inside; yet she could not express. I understand!
    We were silent. The white cotton she wore
    Was loud enough. It was screaming!

    She wore white and we met. I am amazed by
    Her careless attitude. She has always been
    Cautious. Yesterday, she was breathing.
    In despair or in suffocation; she was breathing.
    She held a fallen leaf close to her bosom
    And started praying to the nature. I made sure
    I stare at her with awe while she is busy
    Getting lost in her own world. She was!

    She wore white and I wore mustard yellow.
    As the evening approached, we sat silently
    Watching the sun set upon us. We waited.
    The sun brought us together; intentionally!
    By the time I dropped her home, her disturbing
    Thoughts went on vacation and she craved
    Internally to embrace me with all her passion.
    I was calm. We hugged. She left a sweet
    Breath on my shoulder. Transcendental!


    She wore white!


    ©grotesque

  • anonymousquill 125w

    Once upon a dream;
    I realised the stars on my window pane
    Are nothing but
    The tear-stained trails of rain.

    The rain stopped; let's see,
    It's late now; so quite some time ago ;
    And the leaves outside–
    Drip as a heartbeat calm and slow,
    And sleep frightened thus by thunder
    Has kept it's distance;
    Hiding in the folds of shadow,
    In the booming silence.

    So I drag myself onto my feet,
    And meet with an old friend–
    Myself and a cup of coffee soon emptied,
    A blank phone screen open
    In front of me,
    And a journal, nightly kept,
    Filled with much insomniac poetry.

    The night outside shimmers
    Under the drenched moonlight,
    The wind quietly watches over
    The quiet dreamers through the night.
    The lamp posts remind the roads
    To not lose their way
    And mistakenly lead
    To the kingdoms of the fae.
    I stay awake
    With the friendly shadows on the wall
    Trembling akin to the trees outside,
    Some shrinking others growing tall.

    Don't worry, its merely an excuse
    Of a storm today
    But sleep finds me awake
    Quite often at the break of day.

    –Shalini Biswas

    #pod #insomniac #mirakee #mirakeeworld #writersnetwork #descriptive #night #awake #follow4follow #abstract #longpoetry #spilledinkpoetry @bluepuppy01 @silent_thinker_farha @tomorrow_is_amazing @odysseus @kosachaya

    Read More

    So I drag myself onto my feet,
    And meet with an old friend–
    Myself and a cup of coffee soon emptied,
    A blank phone screen open
    In front of me,
    And a journal, nightly kept,
    Filled with much insomniac poetry.

    ©anonymousquill

  • anonymousquill 127w

    Sandman

    Sandman by my bedside stand,
    Lining my lids with your dreaming sand,
    Fell me into repose of a sweet soothing sleep;
    As gently as the last dead leaf, when winter creeps deep.

    Oh sweet Morpheus with vast store of imagination,
    Weave me a little dream of your wildest invention,
    Of sights and sounds that are so beyond my comprehension,
    All that remains are ashes and a faint recollection;
    As though they were but the last roses of a dusky sky;
    But alas, by the starry blooms of night they must die;
    But sweet is their memory to all witness;
    Long gone and yet quite impossible to efface.

    Spread your crafty blanket all over the velvet night,
    And bring the heavens still closer by starlight,
    And now these fingers have given out their prayers,
    And I shall have, in a moment, forgotten my cares,
    Like a secret dried rose pressed into a book;
    Forgotten love now skeletal to look;
    Forgotten but only till the next mistaken glance;
    Mistaken too many times to no longer blame chance;

    While here you Sandman by my bedside stand,
    And line my lids with your dreaming sand;
    And I sink into futile sleep at long last,
    And let the cares of the day finally slip past.

    ©anonymousquill

  • shapewrites 133w

    Do you like me?

    Like for like,
    Follow for follow.
    Do you really like me?
    Don't those numbers feel hollow?

    Browse prefunctionarily,
    Arbitrarily, drearily.
    Don't bother, clearly,
    Only your fingers are moving,
    But your heart's unmoved.

    I don't blame you.

    I'm the same.
    Set out to pull at people's heartstrings.
    It's a shame.
    Caught myself trying to pull their strings, period.
    Like, follow, share, subscribe,
    Pay me, my art is material.

    Another old college try, will it be an honest go?
    Or is even my truth-provoking, soul-searching, for show?
    Will I ever know?
    Should I tap into that uncertainty, post on the go?
    Don't answer, I already did, so.
    See you around.


    ©shapewrites

  • shapewrites 133w

    ज़िद

    स्नेह स्वार्थी है, पर अभ्यस्त सारथी है।
    संकोच और त्रास जनित ईर्ष्या और हठ,
    से पीड़ित पथ है प्रेम का।
    पीड परायी अपनी हो जाएगी,
    और अपनी पीड पारायी।
    तड़प के आधीन हो जाएगी,
    नस नस दौड़ती, रक्त स्थायी।


    ©shapewrites

  • shapewrites 133w

    Dream

    I want to dream about a colourful city,
    In cool, undemanding spring.
    Vibrant, golden,
    Strepitous, loud, latibule.

    I want to fly through its streets,
    Without the hawkers gawking,
    The people balking,
    At my speed and state.

    I want someone's hand in mine,
    Along for the ride,
    To take my dream in stride.
    Sometimes going my way,
    Sometimes taking me away.

    I want to dream about my halcyon and promised land,
    How do I live in one when the other's around the bend?

    Unless a promised heart beats with mine,
    It's sound reinforced.
    The echo of life a living creature,
    In both then and when.

    My best stories dreamt out of the silent shrine,
    No more shamed,
    The seductive golden calf of past and future,
    Is what I wish to dream about today, with my pen.


    ©shapewrites