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Zack Ripley Aug 19
It's just another day in the life of me.
Just another day; nothing new to see.
It's just another day in the life of me.
Just another day I wish I didn't feel this way.
It's just another day in an endless war.
Just another day my heart feels sore.
It's just another day, but it's almost done.
Just another day I pray that tomorrow
will be more than just another day.
The sound of an oceans breeze upon the shore,
the subline of every hearts broken sore.
Tears drip down my eyes,
and I see the way you move your lies.

the lick of sweet sweat slips down every curve of your collar bone,
tasting every inch and it fills my mouth,
with a salty embrace.
-Ocean Tears-
Not al poems are about me, but these are short forms of my little stories.
Thank you.
-Ocean Tears-
Mrs Timetable Feb 10
As I sit here
Tears cry
I wonder why
My eyes burn so much
It’s because of the thought
It’s because of the why
I put Capsaicin on my sore back
And then touched my eye
Tip: DON’T do that

Use caution and gloves while using Capsaicin🥵 yes it works !!😅
moon man Feb 5
I heard the jingle of her keys being pulled out of her purse
the lock started to move and i go to open the door for her
as I opened the door, she collapsed in my arms and smiled
I dragged her back into our bedroom and put her in bed with me
I asked her how her day was and she only had three words for me through a quiet voice and sleepy eyes
"tired and sore"
I held her in my arms as she slowly drifted off to sleep and i kissed her goodnight
This is a poem for a friend of mine who wanted to do a community event and wanted to have a poem be her entry, obviously she's going to give me credit for the work
Kaitlin Evers Jan 31
Wishing on a star
See my falling heart
Love seems very far
Wisdom, do impart

Cupid must have a sense of humor
Or perhaps he is very evil
We're moments away from a rumour
About to witness an upheaval

My heart is exhausted
And ladened with guilt
I should be accosted
I just want to wilt

I'm falling in what I should fall out of
And wondering what has happened to love

This is unfamiliar terrain
Everything inside is sore
I don't want to be the villain
Is all fair in love and war?

I have analyzed all our transactions
You're the one puzzle piece I'm missing
I don't want to misinterpret actions
The truth is hopeful or heart wrenching
Aphasia Nov 2020
Mudslide muscles
Coax me into the couch
The cloud of distant ache
Coursing rivers in my legs below.

I welcome the pain with warm embrace.

Yesterday
I felt well enough to run.
For some, sore muscles are a minor distraction post-exercise. For me, the sore muscles increased an already significant fatigue. But I'm grateful for it, because yesterday I felt healthy.
Michael R Burch Nov 2020
I Have Labored Sore
anonymous medieval lyric (circa the fifteenth century)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I have labored sore / and suffered death,
so now I rest / and catch my breath.
But I shall come / and call right soon
heaven and earth / and hell to doom.
Then all shall know / both devil and man
just who I was / and what I am.

NOTE: This poem has a pronounced caesura (pause) in the middle of each line: a hallmark of Old English poetry. While this poem is closer to Middle English, it preserves the older tradition. I have represented the caesura with a slash.



A Lyke-Wake Dirge
anonymous medieval lyric (circa the sixteenth century)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The Lie-Awake Dirge is "the night watch kept over a corpse."

This one night, this one night,
every night and all;
fire and sleet and candlelight,
and Christ receive thy soul.

When from this earthly life you pass
every night and all,
to confront your past you must come at last,
and Christ receive thy soul.

If you ever donated socks and shoes,
every night and all,
sit right down and pull yours on,
and Christ receive thy soul.

But if you never helped your brother,
every night and all,
walk barefoot through the flames of hell,
and Christ receive thy soul.

If ever you shared your food and drink,
every night and all,
the fire will never make you shrink,
and Christ receive thy soul.

But if you never helped your brother,
every night and all,
walk starving through the black abyss,
and Christ receive thy soul.

This one night, this one night,
every night and all;
fire and sleet and candlelight,
and Christ receive thy soul.



This World's Joy
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa early 14th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Winter awakens all my care
as leafless trees grow bare.
For now my sighs are fraught
whenever it enters my thought:
regarding this world's joy,
how everything comes to naught.



How Long the Night
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa early 13th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts
with the mild pheasants' song...
but now I feel the northern wind's blast:
its severe weather strong.
Alas! Alas! This night seems so long!
And I, because of my momentous wrong
now grieve, mourn and fast.



Adam Lay Ybounden
(anonymous Medieval English lyric, circa early 15th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Adam lay bound, bound in a bond;
Four thousand winters, he thought, were not too long.
And all was for an apple, an apple that he took,
As clerics now find written in their book.
But had the apple not been taken, or had it never been,
We'd never have had our Lady, heaven's queen and matron.
So blesséd be the time the apple was taken thus;
Therefore we sing, "God is gracious! "

The poem has also been rendered as "Adam lay i-bounden" and "Adam lay i-bowndyn."



Excerpt from "Ubi Sunt Qui Ante Nos Fuerunt?"
anonymous Middle English poem, circa 1275
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Where are the men who came before us,
who led hounds and hawks to the hunt,
who commanded fields and woods?
Where are the elegant ladies in their boudoirs
who braided gold through their hair
and had such fair complexions?

Once eating and drinking gladdened their hearts;
they enjoyed their games;
men bowed before them;
they bore themselves loftily...
But then, in an eye's twinkling,
they were gone.

Where now are their laughter and their songs,
the trains of their dresses,
the arrogance of their entrances and exits,
their hawks and their hounds?
All their joy has vanished;
their "well" has come to "oh, well"
and to many dark days...



Westron Wynde
(anonymous Middle English lyric, found in a partbook circa 1530 AD, but perhaps written much earlier)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Western wind, when will you blow,
bringing the drizzling rain?
Christ, that my love were in my arms,
and I in my bed again!

NOTE: The original poem has "the smalle rayne down can rayne" which suggests a drizzle or mist, either of which would suggest a dismal day.



Pity Mary
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa early 13th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Now the sun passes under the wood:
I rue, Mary, thy face: fair, good.
Now the sun passes under the tree:
I rue, Mary, thy son and thee.

In the poem above, note how "wood" and "tree" invoke the cross while "sun" and "son" seem to invoke each other. Sun-day is also Son-day, to Christians. The anonymous poet who wrote the poem above may have been been punning the words "sun" and "son." The poem is also known as "Now Goeth Sun Under Wood" and "Now Go'th Sun Under Wood." Here's another poem from the same era:



Fowles in the Frith
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa 13th-14th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The fowls in the forest,
the fishes in the flood
and I must go mad:
such sorrow I've had
for beasts of bone and blood!

Sounds like an early animal rights activist! The use of "and" is intriguing... is the poet saying that his walks in the wood drive him mad because he is also a "beast of bone and blood, " facing a similar fate?



I am of Ireland
(anonymous Medieval Irish lyric, circa 13th-14th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I am of Ireland,
and of the holy realm of Ireland.
Gentlefolk, I pray thee:
for the sake of saintly charity,
come dance with me
in Ireland!

Original Text:

Ich am of Irlaunde,
Ant of the holy londe
Of Irlande.
Gode sire, pray ich the,
For of saynte charité,
Come ant daunce wyth me
In Irlaunde.



Keywords/Tags: labor, labored, sore, sorrow, sorry, death, rest, breath, heaven, earth, hell, doom, devil, man, lyke, wake, dirge, Christ, Christian, soul, soulmate, world, joy, ubi, sunt
Zack Ripley Aug 2020
Close your eyes. Take a breath.
The pain you feel, the grief,
Won't be the death of you.
Because you've had this pain before.
And even though you're still sore,
There are still people
You need to be there for.
Who will be there for you.
alexis Aug 2020
the days seem colder without you,
i guess you’re a memory
that will never fade,
your touch hollows me out
and leaves me cold and sore
19 août 2020
6:48 pm
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