I see your face in the silken waves of a summer shower
perfumed mist
her scented warmth
her lovely breeze
as only I dream what it must be like
a kiss so tender, so pure
to love her I will never know
Her sweet skin into which I melt
cinnamon eyes into which I stare and still I will never know
Thunder! run for shelter! my footing lost and I fall
Lightning! come with us they cry
I lie face down on searing streets
her aroma of still lingers
my storm floods cities taking lives
Please they scream
do not stay
I remain behind
drowning in tears wishing that I could be loved
but alone I am washed away
I only wonder if I were ever in her dreams
stranded forever within my heart
as forever I will love her and still I dream still I wonder
what heaven must be like to stare into her eyes. . .
Archive for category poetry
Still I Wonder
Aug 3
Always In My Heart
May 5
We sat beneath a silver moon the night we kissed
the gentle ocean mist weaving through your hair
when your silken lips touched mine
was the day it seems
that I was born
Never will I forget how we held hands
both of us trembling
both of us scared
the scent of your cinnamon skin
the warmth of your voice
for me was heaven
Our hearts basking in the summer wind
as embers of an ancient fire
warming the souls of all who knew
of our love
Never will I forget your smile
both of us so vulnerable
both of us unsure
of this intoxicating place
this place called love
You are always in my heart . . .
For Adrianna
This Storm Of Mine
May 3
This storm of mine, it seems
shall never pass
my bones shiver as I hear its screaming madness
it stalks from beyond every corner
frigid winds from it’s blackened hatred
awakened by heart attack
a wet chill of sweat follows every dream
Razor edged fingers of electric fire
crackles my pain
across my darkened abyss of midnight sky
hunting me down
behind every door
within every crevasse
driving every intention
I become its strangled knot
an ember to heat its meal
I am discarded like its waste
as I am only deceived by false intention
it awaits my resurrection and smiles
Crizzackle
It is born of morbid hell pain
a city of scarlet fire inside my mind
where it’s blood splattered temples
slice the throat of my sky azure
raining glistening meat from the wound
my iniquitous fibrous plasma
my crimson blood drizzling
six times six times six
I die
Here I sit awaiting the trumpets of Hell
hearing wicked melodies of the dark angel’s heartless rage
In the distance a brewing storm
this storm of mine
this storm inside my head
the thunder of the dead. . .
My BloodRed
Apr 29
This is one of my favorite poems I created several years ago. Red, scarlet, crimson and all permutations wherein are brilliant and wondrous. It’s the most intense of all colors and is exciting. It’s shade has many meanings; physical attraction, power, radiance and intense love or desire. I am strangely intoxicated by red and attracted to it. I know not why, but I think it is in a primordial sense, completely natural. I hope you enjoy it and experience the brilliance of this most potent color.
I walk by unnoticed
an odorless fume thickly moistened
swept by crisp breeze
into endless horizons
Sun frosted was my deceptive soul face
concealing my blistered mind
beneath its gnarled husk
wisdoms eight sides
Blood tears cry my deliquescent vision
my soul flesh stained, my colour engraved
casting blood shadows
under moonlight black
engrafted in vermilion
My burning red heart
my blood red
I burn in my tinctured scarlet
razor shredded
my life pigment
my beautiful crimson
I am forever my beloved red
A stain it is not
its saturation deep
its fibers woven tightly
its truth permanent
of itself permeated
beyond blood
beyond bone
beyond death
I paint my mood of totality
just the shade of perfection
a texture of sweetened ripe
the shade of my absolute
my blood red
my lovely blood red
By Bobby Revell
Awakening
Apr 29
My mind, the empty shell of a memory long forgotten
empty traces of nothing
looking back at my self through a thousand blinded eyes
gazing through a mirror of unseen reflections
looking back from nowhere
Ashes of what never was remain but a figment
of silent whispers never heard
in unfallen snow I leave no footprints
a scentless mist cloaked in obscurity
I hide in the shadows of a future unlived
only to find a past that never was
I fall like rain from the birth of my creator
frozen in my endless always
I flow in tears from the eyes of my destroyer
dripping through the seams of my secret place
quenching thirsty mouths, parched in the desert
of unremembered nowheres
I thrive in endless memories of lives long past
each erased from an empty page
torn by virgin hands from the diary of no one
A thousand writhing witch tongues
pleasuring skins of unborn souls
all forgotten by emptiness
I sleep awake
imprisoned by boundless waves of silence
I melt from reality
born as a vapour
exhaled from secrecy
By Bobby Revell
Crypt of Suffocation
Apr 19
Thickened wedge splices my exit
plugs my ears
sucks my air
Tight slug wrenched into my opening
can’t get around it
airtight, unventilated
chamber of death
airless asphyxiation
shredding my legs into bloodstrips
when I try to walk
filling my lungs with black fire
when I try to breathe
I die in pain every time I awaken
before I utter a single word
my throat sliced deep with razor
killing me only to die
in my scarlet blood pool
my final sanctuary of dreams
where I could forget
now, filled with hellish visions of hatred
stealing the last of what was mine
left alone with myself once more
By Robert Revell
I died, forgotten by eternity forever before birth
but one is an entire lives every breath
all of same all of difference are every future, past and present
I am a death gnawing into it’s own birth
existing as a past less future of prelived eternities and unborn pasts
A constriction of anger infests me as razor blades of misery
slicing the tender skins of my secret selves. . .
Blood drizzling masterpieces of hatred
on the hand woven carpet of my filthy path
forever unwalked on
A black sun hangs sickly in my beautiful skies
locked in my shrouded tomb of memories
vapours of unfulfilled dreams graced my final breath
remembering my death at birth
A single memory clutched in the hands of he who slowly dies
a life afraid of its own dreams waiting for finality
living a purposeful failure obsessing on escape
choosing despair instead forever dreaming
a soul woven in stench rags forever unwashed
sickening its owner at every breath
Sucked into a vacuum of darkness
I fight for breath but find none
I was born the day I died. . .
by Robert Revell
Revellian Poetry: Layers
Apr 1
Grinding into it’s surface
many layers peeled
incising into it’s flesh enwrapper
plucking from it all outcroppings
planing flat all protrusions
Endlessly I erode its cortex
with knotted hands of ice
I shave close
of all hair
I shave bare
into its deepest trench
its final layer
slicing the core
only to find the ugly face
of another layer
suffocating in its sheathed linings
deeply engrafted into its membranes
its densities endless
its dimensions fantastic. . .
