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Quotes about cavernous

Enya

It's very homely, this castle. It doesn't have huge ballrooms. I didn't want a cold, cavernous place.

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I remember when I first walked into Mayer's cavernous office. You had to walk 50 yards to get to him, and in that time he could really study everything about you.

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Robert Frost

Blueberries

Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb,
Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum
In the cavernous pail of the first one to come!
And all ripe together, not some of them green
And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!

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Pulsating

In the cavernous mind
a thought becomes
redundant.
You go straight for a snakeroot.

A flat cluster of white flowers
spurs a stigma
at the white moon
for floating rumors.

This was my native pain
of brilliant tapestry.
The threads had a weaver’s knot
of rare beliefs.

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The Hacker

The hacker sets out in deep concentration,
But golf shots soon turn to excavation.
Staring glumly at cavernous divots,
No textbook technique, but reverse pivots.
They endure this torment for eighteen holes,
Feel guilty for all the evicted moles.
Into the clubhouse to glance at the card,
Which has been strangely, by high numbers marred.

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Sky reflected from her mouth

The waves kneaded the beach like fingers
on flesh, like shadow on light.
Sands pulled at until drowned.
The clouds like tattered sailers curse and throw earings
to the swelling sea
Stars, the orange cream swirls, jocund breeze, horizon undone.
and it all reflects from your mouth: and in it I'm lost then found then lost again.
pearls of teeth, sweet jellyfish tongue, cavernous ribs of eternity.

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A Momentary Soundtrack to the Street Side

A brief snippet of a song passes
Like a whispered echo
Across the cavernous, cement crosswalk.
I'm poised between four directions:
Quadrophonic polyrhythms rumble
From the rubber drum—
Pothole clatter and pebble tones.
Obscured bass notes soak the air;
They drown in the dilution of distance.
The song seems to end so suddenly,
But it never really ends—
It's merely a piece of the sonata
That begins the cacophonous, disjunctive
Symphony of our ambiance.

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In Reverse

Just unbound, the death rate.
Red roses had no qualms. Numbers,
unapologetic, they die or commit suicide.
Death had no tombs. One by one they
cross the stream, sinking half, floating half
in a cynic system, heedless, emaciated,
eyes looking beyond, cavernous.

They kiss the doors, will not comeback,
pilgrims of grapes or hemlock, dead on the toes
of rehearsals, dried milk in breasts and pounding
of metaphors. The mankind stripped of songs
drifting from one forest to another.

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6943

(On seeing Umberto Boccioni's 1911 painting 'States of Mind-The Farewells')

Couples kiss in khaki shadows,
cascading into carriages' cavernous mouths.
A ribbon of fire is laid on the platform
as the train rolls ominously through,
a juggernaut of lamps and numbers,
panting a fog to embrace and envelop
those who thought they were spectators.
Telegraph wires, above it all,
pass the train from section to section,
oblivious to the shadows' final destination,
though the fire, fog and frenzy
hint at the hell to come.

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The Lost Generation

Sitting on the lap of a moonbeam
transcript of a gender
plays with the gun.
Manhood was at stake
I will meet you in a cauldron.

I was arrested in the house, was
moving from planet to planet. Cavernous words
seek the letters in right order. Puns
revert to mud-slinging. The heart spills
red wine.
No more beats.

What next after albinism? Dark was beautiful.
Waiting for the light, which never came.
A devout survivor brings hope. I will
discover my god in particle.
subatomic, expanding.
I want to walk in mist and snow
over the bridge, on the bald clouds.

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