"abhors" poems
*Prologue (goddess)
When the war of the beasts
Brings about the world's end
The goddess descends from the sky
Wings of light and dark spread afar
She guides us to bliss
Her gift everlasting
Act 1 (the wanderer)
Infinite in mystery
Is the gift of the goddess
We seek it thus
And take it to the sky
Ripples form on the water's surface
The wandering soul
Knows no rest
Act 2 (the hero)
There is no hate only joy
For you are beloved
By the goddess
Hero of the dawn
Healer of worlds
Dreams of morrow
Hath the shattered soul
Pride is lost
Wings stripped away
The end is nigh
Act 3 (the abhorred)
My friend, do you fly away now
To the world that abhors you and I
All that awaits you
Is a somber morrow
No matter where the winds may blow
My friend your desire is the bringer of life
The gift of the goddess
Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
Act 4 (the avenger)
My friend, the fates are cruel
There are no dreams
No honour remains
The arrow has left
The bow of the goddess
My soul corrupted by vengeance
Hath endured torment
To find the end of the journey
In my own salvation
And your eternal slumber
Legends shall speak
Of sacrifice at world's end
The winds sail over the waters surface
Quietly but surely
Act 5 (the sacrifiser)
Even if the morrow
Is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew
That clenches the land
To spare the sands
The seas and the sky
I offer thee this silent sacrifice*
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
There are three versions of this poem. only one of them is available on the internet. This first version is from the New Yorker in a 1941 issue. It is the earliest version and the one that is quoted all over the internet.
To My Valentine
by Ogden Nash (1902-1971)
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than gin rummy is a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As the High Court loathes perjurious oaths,
That's how you're loved by me.
The next version is the lyric of a song from the Broadway musical "One Touch of Venus" (1943) by Ogden Nash, J S Perelman and Kurt Weill. Nash wrote this lyric. It is not on the internet that I could find. I got it from the sheet music.
HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
As a sailor's sweetheart hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a wife detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than a hangnail hurts.
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a grapefruit squirts.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a bride would resent a blessed event,
That's how you are loved by me.
More than a waitress hates to wait ,
Or a lioness hates the zoo,
Or a batter dislikes those called third strikes,
That's how much I love you.
As much as a lifeguard hates to swim,
Or a writer hates to read,
As Hays office frowns on low cut gowns,
That's how much you I need.
I love you more than a hive can itch,
And more than a chilblain chills.
I yearn for you in an ivy clad igloo,
As a liver yearns for pills.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a dachshund abhors revolving doors,
That's how you are loved by me.
The third is from the book "Marriage Lines: notes of a student husband" It was published in 1964 and contains a revised version of the poem with a much different ending. This too is not on the internet. I got it from the book.
TO MY VALENTINE
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or an odalisque hates the Sultan's mates,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you truer than a toper loves a brewer,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I love you more than a bronco bucks,
Or a Yale man cheers the Blue.
Ask not what is this thing called love;
It's what I'm in with you.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
Yet to be born from womb
Society doth define our tomb
Birth be not our choice
Cry of a baby a defiance voice
A child to adult we grow
Shackles of society dulls our glow
Unknown path feared to take
Lost our dreams in society's wake
Compared to others in life
A rat race causing hearts strife
Abused are the weak
Blamed by natures freak
A neighbour better envied
An innocent in vanity deceived
Shackes cast by society's die
Hearts loving tears doth dry
Live to be just live to care
Shackles of society abhors to care
Begs he for food begs he for a life
Hated he for tis be his life
None to help none to care
Shackles of society prevents to share
The need of tomorrow today sought
Society's standards pains bought
A child to adult we grow
Seeking societies conformity to glow
The failed looked below
The winners looked above
Scandals and gossip talk of the town
To the different ,society a mocking clown
Break free oh heart that rage
Let not thy passion held in cage
For long held by shackles as sage
Time to live thy dream written page
Break free with love not hate
Fear not to change thy fate
Them that laugh at thee may be
Jealous as they can't be thee
Shackles society doth hold
To the weak in vanity sold
Happiness and true heart it doth not hold
Break free thy story ever be told
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
To write of Love, of Heaven, and of God,
Hills of joy, o'er which Angel pursued
Of that Boy, a sublime hippie shepherd,
Who in Heart the wisdom of Heaven had,
My pen, it labours, I give sweat and blood,
To paint world in cerise, a sweet red flood:
Or Prussian blue, depending on the scene,
Let Poets tell true folk from chess piece Kings,
Feign benevolence, when they are mean,
Who strut and rule above, superior things,
Who on the carcass of the suffering wean,
Drunk on power, Almighty sovereigns.
To write of Love, Heaven, apart from days,
Spent in drudgery at whim of Lords,
Who sit engorged by gold, wealth as they graze,
Upon the fruits yield by the mass, that horde,
As mass toil deep 'neath sun's sweltering rays,
To give and barter time they can't afford.
But they will be the ones in Heaven crowned,
As all time vindicates the plight of souls,
Who in port, or wine, have never drowned,
Rich gluttony the faithful mind abhors,
Upon which Saints and angels incensed frown,
So to tyrant's whims take pious war.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 6:39 AM UTC
Jehovah God isn't responsible for bad things that happen, Satan is.
Satan is responsible for the cruelty and suffering, the cause of it all is entirely his.
When wicked things happen, some people say that it's God's will.
But Satan is the one responsible when people lie, steal and ****
Satan is the one to blame for the bad things that have occurred.
Songs were once clean but now some are littered with the F word.
When people hurt other people and commit other crimes, Satan is to blame.
When people say that these things are God's will, it's not true and it's a shame.
Cruelty and suffering are things that Jehovah God abhors.
The world needs God more now than it ever has before.
Obama says not to fear the future but I guarantee things will continue to get worse.
Satan will cause people to do even more evil, because of him, the world is cursed.
But when Jesus returns, suffering and cruelty will cease.
If you turn to God, you will gain eternal life and peace.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
what sound!?
god's surprise
smack to dictate
needed her words
formulate doubt
from the hillside
curious answer
feeding his curse
grab her by the arm
gently
time to go
tonight
we ride tonight
following heart
to the edge of the end
tonight
we ride tonight
if the fallen sore
seeks the golden shore
what can we offer
the muse that is fueling
our destiny back to the throne?
and if the festered rose
abhors in its death throes
then how can she bargain
with those who have wagered
she'd never abandon her own?
she'll lie
awake
haunting dreams
she'll ride
always
to the end
solely her own
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 10:51 PM UTC
i.
Pink doesn’t play into it, that delicate
petal of perfume & flower stuff.
She abhors it.
Red suits her better.
Red for Fridays & red for Aries.
Red for the blood her dagger could draw.
Her seal of wax is no
rosebud adhered to
fine paper.
Warrior, she escaped its letter.
With Roman candles & Roman sandals,
sword, wand & chariot,
defender of her Eden.
Seashells are her votive gifts, the
stars of her Atlantic.
It is within her reign of Camelot.
At the edge of the Earth,
her kingdom dreams.
ii.
Blue maid
a curious ***** in her armour.
But she wouldn’t flinch
if an army of soldiers came crashing in.
They are hunting the witch.
A woman can never have such power.
It is reserved for the patriarchy
to wield at will.
Up it goes.
They can ***** steeples with it.
They are stoking the fires & sharpening
the axe with it.
But threats of torture
don’t make her beg, plead or recant.
She is guilty of nothing.
Even broken on the Catherine Wheel,
Athena still keeps her
bow & quiver intact.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
1357
“Faithful to the end” Amended
From the Heavenly Clause—
Constancy with a Proviso
Constancy abhors—
“Crowns of Life” are servile Prizes
To the stately Heart,
Given for the Giving, solely,
No Emolument.
—
“Faithful to the end” Amended
From the Heavenly clause—
Lucrative indeed the offer
But the Heart withdraws—
“I will give” the base Proviso—
Spare Your “Crown of Life”—
Those it fits, too fair to wear it—
Try it on Yourself—
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My love doesn't love me anymore.
She says my kisses she abhors.
And living with me is a heinous chore.
To stay here... She'd rather be a street *****
Throwing her wedding ring on the floor.
If she ever had to touch me again,
It would be to **** me she swore.
As she set fire to the wedding dress she wore.
"I hope you choke to death while you snore!"
"I hate you right down to your core!"
"You're such a hideous eyesore!"
"Grrr! The wasted yore!"
"Touch me, nevermore!"
There is a fact I can't ignore.
She wishes for me to leave,
it doesn't matter which door...
My love doesn't love me anymore.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
.*who said i was orientating myself around the body? the body to body dynamic is so.... easy... excessive salivation... like a dog... i don't want the body... i wan the existence of the non-existent parody of ego, in the form of soul... i want, what secularism abhors to lay claim of... i've been to a ********** i know what selling flesh looks like... but i've also walked into a forest... and i have, managed to peer into a night... where i also managed to forget being equipped with a shadow... no... that wasn't it... true structures emerge when you've been abused... and the counter structures? the abuse... slows down... in the most realistic ordeal of anticipating near, but. never realized completion... what, a, leisure! the forest, the moon, the shadow, the crown... all that's missing is a poetic vagabond's (of an) incision into a soul... the tired yawn of a lion ingrained in a delusional concern for the depth of man... oh the leisured man... and his vantage points... prompts of a view with a missing lot, curiosity... cradle of the curiosity... cradle.. how else, if not coupled with...
a curiosity coupled to a, grave.*
deity, of fixed,
stature;
within the confines
of the prefix
omni-
what am i,
what am i, not
to think,
to encompass,
"the", all?
maybe some
clown-male-up
would-help?!
now i better hope,
that it does....
were we not oh so inquisitive,
concerning
the origins of said,
story?
sure...
sure...
such a feeble god...
bu what a more than
overtly feeble
invocation
of a real god!
what feeble reasons!
for whatever
is testified
as a, "feeble" god
to be conjured!
**** you!
and whatever comes with your
grievance of sharing heritage!
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:49 PM UTC
When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end
The goddess descends from the sky
Wings of light and dark spread afar
She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting
Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess
We seek it thus, and take to the sky
Ripples form on the water's surface
The wandering soul knows no rest.
There is no hate, only joy
For you are beloved by the goddess
Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds
Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul
Pride is lost
Wings stripped away, the end is nigh
My friend, do you fly away now?
To a world that abhors you and I?
All that awaits you is a somber morrow
No matter where the winds may blow
My friend, your desire
Is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess
Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
My friend, the fates are cruel
There are no dreams, no honor remains
The arrow has left, the bow of the goddess
My soul, corrupted by vengeance
Hath endured torment, to find the end of the journey
In my own salvation
And your eternal slumber
Legend shall speak
Of sacrifice at world's end
The wind sails over the water's surface
Quietly, but surely
To become the dew that quenches the land
To spare the sands, the seas, the skies
I offer thee this silent sacrifice
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
Stop telling me what to do, how to speak, how to feel.
I'm not listening to you anymore.
You don't control me
I am reclaiming my body, my life
I am reclaiming me
For many years you had me restrained.
I listened to every word that left your Lips
Like the wind blowing through the trees
I listened
And I felt, and I heard….
And I hurt.
You don't control me.
I am reclaiming my body, my life
I am reclaiming me
And no matter how many times you afflict pain on me,
Leaving me bruised and scarred
I will not listen.
My ears are clogged up to your voice
And I will not listen.
My feelings you cannot manipulate
And I will not listen
This mind control you once had over me is pulverized
And I will not listen
You still try to speak, demanding attention with every word that leaves your pitiful mouth
Like you are the teacher and I am the student
But is it not time for the student to become the teacher
I will annihilate you, extinguish you, nuke and shatter you
Until you are the one begging for my forgiveness
Until you are the one deal dealing with the pain I dealt with for far too long
Until you are the one that everyone abhors.
You see…
I've been dealing with you since the 5th grade.
You are the pesky mosquito in my ear that I cannot assassinate.
You are always there
And I can't eradicate you
You don't control me
I am reclaiming my body, my life
I am reclaiming me.
Depression, anxiety I am terminating your hold over me
This relationship is deceased.
Your words are mute in my ear
And I cannot listen.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
You are a benevolent visitor
Inaudible as my dreams
Everything you touch
Turns to crystal and white
Oh how my eyes delight
In your beautiful patterns
As you lay quietly upon glass
Can you stay forever?
My flesh abhors you
For the sting you administer
yet Autumn's half-stripped trees
Wear you as a morning garment
I do blame the sun
As it shortens your reign
Your brevity intensifies my desire
To see you on the morrow
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
internal damnation
i want to give you my might
exploding
lividly seething
the point beyond the humility of ---
myriad,
illusive to the pull,
nervous, fuckingggggg, nervous,
i can break you so easily
in the cacophony of vesitude,
clamp that jaw shut
this instinct, knows not.
what is it but a point?
a venomous snake,
gunned down, shake!
you won't make it beyond my shanks.
livid,
past the channel bank,
the ferocious fury of furious frankness
who else could you **** inside you?
gentle, deliquency, dashing inside gritted bars.
i can walk away at any time.
within the coils, past all the strife,
the injustice abhors your incessant denial
I am not a part of your demise.
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 10:26 AM UTC
Scrutinize my education,
Inspect my hungry brain,
Deny me my emancipation
From this callous game.
Peer into my conscience,
Judge not what it abhors,
There's nothing flesh, nor mind, nor sentiment
That can make me yours.
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 4:36 AM UTC
*My friend,
Do you fly away now
To the world
That abhors you and I
All that awaits you
Is a somber morrow
No matter where
The winds may blow
My friend your desire
Is the bringer of life
The gift of the goddess
Even if the morrow
Is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall
My return*
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
Darkness abhors the light
As its true reflection it sees
It cannot stand to see itself
Or see the light in me
The darkness comes with belief
That it can destroy the light
Yet all its plans get washed ashore
Defeated by my fight
Confrontation with the darkness
Is not an easy battle won
But I’ll shine my light upon it
And watch it as it runs
Darkness comes taking many
But backfires upon its own
As those who are left standing
See where they shouldn’t roam
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 7:01 AM UTC
There's a regret
So grinding, so immitigably sad,
Remorse thereby feels tolerant, even glad . . .
Do you not know it yet?
For deeds undone
Rankle and snarl and hunger for their due,
Till there seems naught so despicable as you
In all the grin o' the sun.
Like an old shoe
The sea spurns and the land abhors, you lie
About the beach of Time, till by and by
Death, that derides you too--
Death, as he goes
His ragman's round, espies you, where you stray,
With half-an-eye, and kicks you out of his way;
And then--and then, who knows
But the kind Grave
Turns on you, and you feel the convict Worm,
In that black bridewell working out his term,
Hanker and ***** and crave?
'Poor fool that might--
That might, yet would not, dared not, let this be,
Think of it, here and thus made over to me
In the implacable night!'
And writhing, fain
And like a triumphing lover, he shall take
His fill where no high memory lives to make
His obscene victory vain.
1.1k
I can bleed a poem,
from the compass blades i cut
through my skins for
for directions unknown
For the life lived in
an inertia is better
than to feel and react.
The hysteria of the mind
is too violent to me
and all on my part
i can do is bleed in words
Because if nature abhors a vacuum,
like science says
in between that space
must be letters and sentences that rhyme
there might have been poetry sublime
And we can scribble them down on the
paper
Or we simply can bleed
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
Who and What decides the worth of a Woman?
The clothes she wears?
The oaths she swears?
The roles she bears?
The circumstances she dares?
The lipstick she adores?
The men she abhors?
The challenges she faces?
The life goals she aces?
The things she's bid adieu?
Her untampered list of rue?
Me or You?
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 5:54 AM UTC
Tools arranged,
Laid out in splendour
A curious case
A doll made of paper
The creator stands
Cold and bare
Magnificence
Won’t be found here
Sterile fumes and frothing vats
None of which, could bring you back
He dabs with orange, and touches with blue
It’s insurmountable
He can’t create you.
He sees it all
Convex and concave
Sands it down, observes the shape
Perfection itself,
Without your face
He lay there then
Quiet and still
He heard no heartbeat
And missed your chill
His soft caress
Harbouring nothing
How did he forget
You were more than beauty
He carves your smile
And chants your name
Draws your eyes
Why do they look so plain?
He sings in defiance
Abhors the hurt
It’s just like you
Just not you yet
But there’s nothing left
It’s all been done
He’s burned the world
Just to fill your lungs
He condemns his contraption
Breaks its cheek
Revealed inside
Equally weak
He sees the emptiness
It was in you too
His desire it seems
Has been renewed
He reaches out and locks the door
Knocks sterile vats to the floor
There's nothing to say
Who’d really understand
A man who died with a memory
And held its hand
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 3:28 AM UTC
She will not speak to you of darkness,
she'll keep her sickness hidden well
a painted smile on filthy carcass,
a secret sworn to never tell.
She loves you though her heart abhors it,
she wrestles with her troubled mind
and hopes that in her broken spirit
a grain of beauty you may find.
She knows that when you see her closely
your heart will flee to others arms
for there can be no swift repairing
of wounds torn deep by lovers harm.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
And i cant rite about politics
Unless i plan on being a poetic
Political journalist.
Also, i must keep away from the inconsistencies of religion
And i have to stop b reaking words up
Because words arent to be uncoded
And i cant rite about *** because its bad.
Unless i plan on being a ****** therapist.
But its okay to talk ****
About hackers because everybody abhors them.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
What happens when the certainties
are ripped from our hands,
and we stand,
clutching remnants, mere scraps,
winding them around our fingers?
As if to make permanent
that which was fleeting,
in spite of the prayers we uttered,
the sacrifices made, in hopes of
some gods propitiated--
so we thought.
The universe tilts,
all certainties end,
and we find ourselves in space,
clutching our remnants,
unsure of what agonies even
a single step, a toe forward,
can mean
when there was all meaning and now
none?
They say that
nature abhors a vacuum,
stillness not in our nature.
Restless, angry, grieving **** sapiens,
drifting across some landscape or other--
does it matter?--
when all around are signposts
back to what we lost?
Plod, plod, plod.
One foot in front of the other,
until we reach another place,
other scraps blowing against our feet;
we pick them up;
weave something else
weave ourselves
back into the fabric of
a place, a space,
our own selves
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC
To sit back, and behold the universe, she of old
her magnificence dwarfed, by only her silence
a cold calm it is, a true death to fantasies
to her is anger unknown, and pretense a disease
she makes no claims, of a past of yore
no books, no bones, no ancient folklore
She is at once wide awake, and in a deep sleep
but she has no dreams, just stars in streams
Millions of burning giants, tumbling around in a race
thrown apart and hurtling radiantly through space
But even with vast and glorious citizens
naively do we pretend a grasp of her essence
some content to accuse a creator for her presence
she treats our illusions with no derision
she destroys with ease, what took her millenia to create
but nothing is destroyed, just reshaped, in a new fate
a picture of modesty is the Universe so immense
she abhors all show, avoids all pretense
not a word does she speak, nor a glance too intense
She feigns no knowledge of her timeless existence
Often does one wonder, what plans she foments
but she has no motive, nor desires that her torment
All one can truly say, is that she feels no bias
She wanted to see herself, so she tried us.
But here we sit in arrogance, calling her just a creation
when what she really is, is endless, an eternal congregation
of stars and novas and pulsars and a billion others
She invites us to look, to look ever further
to see the nothing, and the everything all together.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC