Coffee Fueled Thoughts #10 — Contemplation

In contemplation of words
Mentally popping
Bubble wrap
Encasing thoughts
Until only the poem remains

— Violet Tudor

Lilya Corneli

Lilya Corneli Photography

Do Not Reproduce In Whole Or In Part Without Permission
© @SweetViolettes — Violet Tudor 2017

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Elegant Grace

Gently blooming flowers
softly
encourage the memory
of forbidden desires —
the elegant grace
of Spring
tangled into the heated
desires of Summer
as the seasons
fold
into embers
of burning Winter love.

Return,
feel the tingle
of ecstasy
pour
through your veins —
your need
unfurls like a flower
blooming
in willing hands,
the tender touch
sparking
passion’s flame again.

— Violet

Il giardino di eLIOT

Il giardino di eLIOT Photography

Do Not Reproduce Poetry In Whole Or In Part Without Permission
© @SweetViolettes — Violet Tudor 2017

Three Poems by Arthur Rimbaud

ETERNITY

It is discovered.
What? Eternity.
In the whirling light
Of sun become sea.

O my sentinel soul,
Let us always desire
The nothing of night
And the day on fire.

From the voice of the World
And the striving of Man
You must set yourself free;
You must fly as you can.

For out of you only,
Soft silken embers,
Duty arises
Nor surfeit remembers.

Then shall all hope fail…
Nul orietur.
Science with patience,
The torment is sure.

It is discovered.
What? Eternity.
In the whirling light
Of sun become sea.

 

VOWELS

Black A, white E, red I, green U, blue O—vowels,
Some day I will open your silent pregnancies:
A, black belt, hairy with bursting flies,
Bumbling and buzzing over stinking cruelties.

Pits of night; E, candor of sand and pavilions,
High glacial spears, white kings, trembling Queen-Anne’s lace;
I, bloody spittle, laughter dribbling from a face
In wild denial or in anger, vermilions;

U,…divine movement of viridian seas,
Peace of pastures animal-strewn, peace of calm lines
Drawn on foreheads worn with heavy alchemies;

O, supreme Trumpet, harsh with strange stridencies,
Silences traced in angels and astral designs:
O…OMEGA…the violet light of His Eyes!

 

AFTER FRANCOIS COPPEE

I sat in a third-class railway car; an old priest
By the window took out his pipe—antique, at least—
And leaned against the window an old chin stained puce.
Then this christian, ignoring insulting abuse,
Turning to me, made a request, forceful, but sad,
For some tobacco—which, as it happened, I had—
He was once, it appeared, chaplain and confessor
To a proscribed nobleman and his successor—
To while away the length of a tunnel—dark vein
Laid open for travelers—by Soissons, near Aisne.

 

via http://www.nybooks.com/articles/1967/06/01/three-poems-by-arthur-rimbaud/

Perhaps

Perhaps poetry, perhaps the stars,
perhaps the moon hanging softly —
her light shines just right.
Perhaps you, perhaps I
…perhaps tonight.

— Violet Tudor

Antigone Kourakou

Antidone Kourakou Photography, 2012

Do Not Reproduce Poetry In Whole Or In Part Without Permission
© @SweetViolettes — Violet Tudor 2017

Endless Longing

My hand reaches, extended fingertips

feeling the tangle before tangible touch,

eyes feeling the gaze, locked desire,

the way unspoken words feel their

way from my heart to yours. My lips

feeling the brush of yours, my spine

arching, neck extending, a long inhale,

the feeling of my cheek against your

chest, the sound of your heart beating

notes of the ecstasy in the night, the

way we fit together, the definition

of complete,

And longing, longing, the endless longing…

 

— Violet Tudor

Flowers

Do Not Reproduce Poetry In Whole Or In Part Without Permission
© @SweetViolettes — Violet Tudor 2017

Tightrope

Bare feet against newborn grass,
the dew forming between
footsteps, the cool feeling of
green and the scent of peonies
lighting up the night like
raining stardust. The trees that bore
lilacs beginning to reminisce
of early Spring days wondering
why their blooms left them in
faded scents of aubergine and white.
Wishes caught between the
moon and cosmos still
hang against a curtain of velvet
the blackness engulfing their
plaintive cries. I step onto the
rope, scarlet painted toes
slipping downwards between
each step, pointed
at the earth below. The
tightrope between capturing
whispers and holding them close
in my palms and lost echoes
that fell against cold stars
in the emptiness.
I reach to recapture my heart,
and feel the rush as my
pulse thrums once again.

— Violet Tudor

 

Lucie Drlikova Photography

Lucie Drlikova Photography

Do Not Reproduce Poetry In Whole Or In Part Without Permission
© @SweetViolettes — Violet Tudor 2017

Reluctant Echoes

Ink stained heart
pumping out words
that feel like they
are sinking
in concrete.

Waves turbulently
reflecting my heart
like a mirror, rolling
with white crested
beats of need.

Restraint choking
letters from
echoes unformed
unwilling to admit
they fall unheard.

The sun keeps beaming
down on the flowers
and I keep waiting
for you to make me feel
like I belong to you.

— Violet Tudor

Alice Rausch

Alice Rausch Photography

Do Not Reproduce Poetry In Whole Or In Part Without Permission
© @SweetViolettes — Violet Tudor 2016