#timothy
>by, for Timothy<
the definition below,
lief:
archaic: 1. dear, beloved
archaic 2. willing
relief:
you know the meanings shaded
lief,
a salutation heretofore that unknown to me,
my soul unencumbered with the relief of
no knowledge,
of lief
but
no longer, no more the over,
comprehension
of this archaic greening greeting so
all encompassing and yet,
almost incomprehensible
direct universality,
my lief…
after all, I am but a hare's breath^
from being demoted into those ranks of
too as in also,
archaic
toot, toot,
but for a transcendent second,
across an ocean,
come a single word,
from/to a dearly beloved
in friendship
once more, illuminated, risible rising to
new heights from old sights,
this reborning prominence,
hereby justified
and though unknown to me,
the new address honorific
will be
lief,
for the the newbie's first poem,
will such be dressed and addresed,
theirs,
*for they, all are opening,
the willing to be beings,
all dearly beloved*
every poem uncovers,
newborn birthings, Earthlings, undiscovered fresh colored stones,
who reorder the happenstance's of life,
the gain of-pain, the sad of foretold love's fin de siecle,
with discretion that tears contradict,
each tear, one the minimum deduction, of a day or a year yet remaining
but I cease not, not quite but a just, yet,
for the contrapuntal hymn the ears here hear,
trowels onto the-scales-balanced
between sunlight and night,
keeping the weights inequality unperturbed,
but never, but soon,
the last word,
for even centuries
come to their fin. <nml>
Nov 7, 2025
Nov 7, 2025 at 10:03 PM UTC
relax.
not-within me to compose 14 poems
about anyone, but do not test me,
for if there was such a person,
it would be
Timothy
now, not my place to over praise,
for this man hews his own road
among the thickets that separate
humans from each other, and let us
not forget, those thickest thickets
tween a man
and his God
he writes in a style imitative, of
some noteworthy bards, with
whom you might have some
passing Renaissance and Elizabethan
familiarity, the thought of which
attempting to do, frightens me to
my very soul, scored
but what ails me that this-dialogue,
tween an Englishman and a New Yorkah,
who have each a love of the commonality
of tongue, but with a perfume of idiom and
dictionary differentials, that just sweetens
each, my apple pie, and his, pie of,
mince
commenced in 2014, when he wrote to me with
insistence that I not throw in the proverbial
white towel of surrender, for my poetry seemed
to die on the vine, received with lemons and limes,
pleading with firm resistance to not give into
to this
impulse
so here we rest, with many details personal
exchanged, transversed over a great pond
dividing and I permit myself to reveal
but this, he is a much, far better human than
I could even dream of becoming
being
so here we are, 11~12 years on,
and he likes my poems too oft,
calling them better than the daily,
I do not receive the daily, but daily
thank our common God for his existence,
and we share in unison a single word
amen.
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 6:58 PM UTC
He's very caring about his family,
And not only that, dear readers,
To every poet, he is so fatherly.
He's your most regular reader,
His words are so encouraging,
He is The Caring Corvus here.
He's the guiding light for new poets,
His profile is not available right now,
The Raven on the tree of Hello Poetry.
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 10:13 AM UTC
A lake as still as still — a cloudless sky —
A bird-less forest — silent as the page,
That monk-like sits reflecting for an age
On pious deeds exalted upon high,
The page gilded in wisdom, lauded by
Its maker’s peers, wherein is set the stage
For Nature’s bountied beauty — I give homage
Unto its gifted craftsman, one that I
Have oft’ with envious eyes admired afar,
And matchless to his art, have grasped for skill
Far far above my grade — From him to me
Has come a gift as bright as Keats' Bright Star —
Unto thy lake, may this stone rend the still,
And loose thy songbird skywards, Timothy.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 3:14 AM UTC
could never catch mine
we see him
in
the
mirror
all the time
he knows
my style
they
are
word stalker
he tells me this
my *******
get hard
caress
my
*******
he loves my
down there
he loves
me
every where
he caught me in an corner
his grip on my neck forced me back
fans felt blood start to streak
he ripped
off
my
*******
he forces his self in me
my my my
my
my
my
mind
what clouds
of
horror
what moons
of
disbelieve
this feeling
my thumbs find his eyes
force his eyeballs
form their
socket
he
release me
his violent screams
now
i
am
he crazy
?
...
..
.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC
Names are funny.
Have you ever wondered what your name would be if your parents didn't name you?
I'm one of the lucky few
that know.
If my parents didn't name me,
my name would be
Timothy.
You see, apparently,
when two people love each other,
Mommy cheats on Donny
with daddy and all three
demonize the baby.
Unfortunately,
abortion isn't an option.
Poor Donny believes
his little Johnson
made a tiny Willie
but really
it's Mike's Rick.
The trick wasn't revealed
until
Donny signed the birth certificate.
Obviously, Karen's husband abandoned their family.
Mike ripped his love from her and gave it to Dominique.
Karen,
twice-scorned,
mid-divorce,
postpartum,
decides a shelter isn't suitable for a nameless infant.
At this point, it's a little too late for abortion.
Nowhere to go,
knowing she can't stay,
Adoption became the practical option.
The noxious auction caused a nauseous reaction to her conscious. Karen picked the option, least pompus, with the most promise. An intuitively honest Christian was brought to her room so she could sign the synopsis.
As she's reviewing the terms of this blood oath, she glances at both of the parents cradling her second baby boy. They turn and ask
"What is his name?"
"I don't know. I thought he was going to be a she so I had the name Sade."
"That's ok, we have a perfect name in mind. Timothy."
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 5:26 PM UTC
A
S
w e
.tread
....along
...the paths
of life, comes
a time when roads
t u r n to z i g z a g s
sometimes beaten, painful
to walk on...and the blue sky
darkens to gray...and the clouds
hide from us, and the sun sets, and
we need arrows and rays to guide us
t h r o u g h:::::
]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]
From nowhere
.........any hour
y o u appear
b r i g h t as
morning s u n
your BEAMS
ILLUMINATE
you are a light
that guides us
.....through the
[[[ D A R K ]]].
...For Timothy...
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC
*May ravens sing to you
May they brighten Winter's dreary walks
As fallen leaves crunch beneath your feet
And the sky grows a melancholy gray
May cheerfulness run forth to greet you
With happy, outstretched arms
May no rain or darkness sadden your day
May only beauty, wishes, and dreams
Dance inside your head
Happy Birthday, Dad!*
~Marian~
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC
Timothy,
today was supposed to be your birthday,-Dad
Timothy,
I took your place, -Maria
Timothy,
Mommy cried in the kitchen,-MaryAnne
Timothy,
Where have you been?-Mom
Timothy,
we never got to throw,-Dad
Timothy,
My life's such a waste,-Maria
Timothy,
I found your spaceship,-MaryAnne
Timothy,
Where did you go?-Mom
Timothy,
Missed your birthday,-Dad
Timothy,
Never got to use your legs,-Maria
Timothy,
Daddy says it's the farthest you've ever flown,-MaryAnne
Timothy,
I feel alone,-Mom
Timothy,
Missed your photo,-Dad
Timothy,
To walk around this whole big mess,-Maria
Timothy,
We found your spaceship,-MaryAnne
Timothy,
you're not ever going to be alone,-Mom
Timothy,
you never got to uses your head,-Dad
Timothy,
Its not what it seems,-Maria
Timothy,
Did it hurt when you hit the ground?-MaryAnne
Timothy,
I love you babe,-Mom
Timothy,
to find out what this whole world thing meant,-Dad
Timothy,
but it is,-Maria
Timothy,
Where have you been?-MaryAnne
Timothy,
Missed your photo,-Mom
Timothy,
Missed your photos,
Missed your birthday too,-Dad
Timothy,
I took your place,
Life's such a waste,-Maria
Timothy,
We found your spaceship,
Its the farthest you've ever flown,-MaryAnne
Timothy,
I cried in the kitchen to let you go,
Timothy,
Why can't you just come home?-Mom.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
Timothy,
For always being there.
For caring.
For loving me; You don't even know me.
Thanks
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
Raw and bleeding,
Weak and needing,
The arms of stronger love,
White and red,
Skin is shed,
Gnawing away again,
Transparent shards of glass,
Cut deep from other’s bursting heart,
Blood long turned brown,
Still staining the ground,
At the feet
Of One,
Who,
Hurting,
Crying,
Changing,
Running,
Towards the Source,
Beauty,
Runs down in pools of water,
From a holy heart,
Mixing with the gore,
Like watercolor,
Shows a different scene,
A banner in the war,
Over all the carnage,
It took to get there,
Strength in every skirmish,
Broadswords only given,
To the killer of giants,
Bearer of most pain and weight,
Likeliest to casualty,
A favorite of Glory,
Sun so bright,
Off boots and mail,
He will not fail,
But Save,
And win,
And Raise,
The banner of blood,
As much of his as other’s.
And make more,
Lovers of Light.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC