"accords" poems
Though in Prime Moment the Truth we discuss
The Third Great Angel flew to Intercede,
Playing her Harp which enwrangles the Lust
And gently reveal the Beauty-in-Thee
Yes, that Truest Virtue which no Malice accords
On Serving Patience a Letter was read
No more, no more for Condensation's Words
Are just enough to leave these Germs for dead
Not much for Command of Good English proposed
Was starting to tassle the Rumours and Wine
But such as you are yet too Young to dispose
A Lady's demanding Shell you design.
Pray take, this Harper knows how to direct
The Vitruvian Boy, waving for your Affect.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
contemplate
again!
nothing
accords
with
cerebral
understanding
impressions
survive;
actualities
disappear -
***personalities
s c a t t e r
icons***
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
11.10.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
I would I were a careless child,
Still dwelling in my Highland cave,
Or roaming through the dusky wild,
Or bounding o’er the dark blue wave;
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride,
Accords not with the freeborn soul,
Which loves the mountain’s craggy side,
And seeks the rocks where billows roll.
Fortune! take back these cultur’d lands,
Take back this name of splendid sound!
I hate the touch of servile hands,
I hate the slaves that cringe around:
Place me among the rocks I love,
Which sound to Ocean’s wildest roar;
I ask but this—again to rove
Through scenes my youth hath known before.
Few are my years, and yet I feel
The World was ne’er design’d for me:
Ah! why do dark’ning shades conceal
The hour when man must cease to be?
Once I beheld a splendid dream,
A visionary scene of bliss:
Truth!—wherefore did thy hated beam
Awake me to a world like this?
I lov’d—but those I lov’d are gone;
Had friends—my early friends are fled:
How cheerless feels the heart alone,
When all its former hopes are dead!
Though gay companions, o’er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
Though Pleasure stirs the maddening soul,
The heart—the heart—is lonely still.
How dull! to hear the voice of those
Whom Rank or Chance, whom Wealth or Power,
Have made, though neither friends nor foes,
Associates of the festive hour.
Give me again a faithful few,
In years and feelings still the same,
And I will fly the midnight crew,
Where boist’rous Joy is but a name.
And Woman, lovely Woman! thou,
My hope, my comforter, my all!
How cold must be my ***** now,
When e’en thy smiles begin to pall!
Without a sigh would I resign,
This busy scene of splendid Woe,
To make that calm contentment mine,
Which Virtue knows, or seems to know.
Fain would I fly the haunts of men—
I seek to shun, not hate mankind;
My breast requires the sullen glen,
Whose gloom may suit a darken’d mind.
Oh! that to me the wings were given,
Which bear the turtle to her nest!
Then would I cleave the vault of Heaven,
To flee away, and be at rest.
2.8k
Ghost of Night
Night engulfs me with its sombre darkness
Cigarette glowing with all its fury
I try to lit my heart and search,
something I never had
and that always went missing
Questions rumble loud inside
Lots of questions, like unending drops of monsoon
hitting the roof above me
And the question always starts with 'why'
I always believed I was hopeful,
Future will welcome me with good accords.
How long will it take to find the future?
Its scary to consider if I will be always stuck in past.
I try to find among the ashes going down on tray,
the answer to every why.
night slugs down its way
The rain piter-patter continuously, undesirous to stop
I wonder about the picture of damaged organs
on the cover of cigarette packet,
Are these even real?
(I peek inside and wonder why so much of smoke in there)
At times I peek out of window
hoping to see stars above rain.
All the lights from starry sky lost among heat of monsoon.
Hope always covered me with disappointment
If only I had a mystical pet of nine coloured feathers
That could fill me with colours enthusiasm. (why)
Is that moon that's glowing meekly over there
or am I just sleep deprived?
Every night ***** little life out of me. (why)
It won't be surprise to find my breath
held inside ,
cold and undaunted by questions,
one fine morning.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
Dear BECHER, you tell me to mix with mankind;
I cannot deny such a precept is wise;
But retirement accords with the tone of my mind:
I will not descend to a world I despise.
Did the Senate or Camp my exertions require,
Ambition might prompt me, at once, to go forth;
When Infancy’s years of probation expire,
Perchance, I may strive to distinguish my birth.
The fire, in the cavern of Etna, conceal’d,
Still mantles unseen in its secret recess;
At length, in a volume terrific, reveal’d,
No torrent can quench it, no bounds can repress.
Oh! thus, the desire, in my ***** for fame
Bids me live, but to hope for Posterity’s praise.
Could I soar with the Phoenix on pinions of flame,
With him I would wish to expire in the blaze.
For the life of a Fox, of a Chatham the death,
What censure, what danger, what woe would I brave!
Their lives did not end, when they yielded their breath,
Their glory illumines the gloom of their grave.
Yet why should I mingle in Fashion’s full herd?
Why crouch to her leaders, or cringe to her rules?
Why bend to the proud, or applaud the absurd?
Why search for delight, in the friendship of fools?
I have tasted the sweets, and the bitters, of love,
In friendship I early was taught to believe;
My passion the matrons of prudence reprove,
I have found that a friend may profess, yet deceive.
To me what is wealth?—it may pass in an hour,
If Tyrants prevail, or if Fortune should frown:
To me what is title?—the phantom of power;
To me what is fashion?—I seek but renown.
Deceit is a stranger, as yet, to my soul;
I, still, am unpractised to varnish the truth:
Then, why should I live in a hateful controul?
Why waste, upon folly, the days of my youth?
2.3k
I could watch the gears turn in his head,
obsessive, you read that book twenty times
you tell me about all your sisters even though its pointless
you tell me how you think, searching for help
obsessively searching for help? a presence,
lots of friends who care, must be a leader role,
tired of being independent, wishes to be dependent
scared of dependence? childhood dependence
wants to grow into adulthood- so looking for equal partnerhood?
hates invalidation, that accords with equality,
wants equal standing but love and help.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
La nuit, quand par hasard je m'éveille, et je pense
Que dehors et dedans tout est calme et silence,
Et qu'oubliant Laurence, auprès de moi dormant,
Mon cœur mal éveillé se croit seul un moment ;
Si j'entends tout à coup son souffle qui s'exhale,
Régulier, de son sein sortir à brise égale,
Ce souffle harmonieux d'un enfant endormi !
Sur un coude appuyé je me lève à demi,
Comme au chevet d'un fils, une mère qui veille ;
Cette haleine de paix rassure mon oreille ;
Je bénis Dieu tout bas de m'avoir accordé
Cet ange que je garde et dont je suis gardé ;
Je sens, aux voluptés dont ces heures sont pleines,
Que mon âme respire et vit dans deux haleines ;
Quelle musique aurait pour moi de tels accords ?
Je l'écoute longtemps dormir, et me rendors !
De la Grotte, 16 décembre 1793.
1.5k
To pick and **** at the creation of one’s mind
To disassemble and dissect what was so carefully made
To not know what you’re looking for or hoping to find
To take a chronicle or joke and slice through with a blade
With no intention of reassembly
Analysis on every word
Chords and notes ripped from a melody
Make logic seem absurd
The bane of creativity
is our tendency to over-think
Logic contributes negatively
Cherished moments seem to blink
A picture worth 1000 words
If at all worthy would deserve none
Break down the image on our own accords
And the image’s fulfilment -gone
Avid appreciation shown only by the speechless
A real artist’s only aspire
Is for their creation to make you breathless
Too worthy for your satire
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Seven Years Have Gone
Since the search for her began
When our little girl appeared
In the Blue Dawn
When a man
In a white robe
Showed me our little girl
Who had yet to be Born
The Blue Dawn
Saved my life
And pointed me in the direction
Of an old lover
With a flame that had yet to be ignited
Though it was tempting on several accords
She was one who actually thought I was awesome
Despite knowing my imperfections
Someone whom I'd love to see as
My Wife
The stars and dancing lights of the sky
Show in her eye
We both had admiration
For one another
For taking the chance to find our dreams
And actually making it
I have learned she sees me in the same light
Making me yearn for her smile
Her Eyes
Her Spirit
To once again see
The Blue Dawn
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
Let as many Bondservants as are under the Yoke Count their own Masters Worthy of all Honor, so that the name Of GOD and His Doctrine may not be Blasphemed. And those who have believing masters, let them not Despise them because they are Brethren, but rather Serve them because those who are Benefited are Believers and Beloved. Teach and Exhort these things. If anyone Teaches otherwise and Does not Consent to Wholesome Words even the Words of our LORD Jesus Christ, and to the Doctrine which Accords with Godliness. He is Proud, knowing nothing, but is Obsessed with Disputes and Arguments over Words, from which Come Envy, Strife, Reviling, Evil-Suspicions. Useless Wranglings of Men of Corrupt Minds and Destitute of the Truth, who Suppose that Godliness is A means of Gain. From such Withdraw Thyself. Now Godliness with Contentment is Great Gain. For we Brought nothing into this World, and it is Certained We Can Carry Nothing Out. And having Food and Clothing, with these we shall be Content. But those who Desire to be Rich Fall into Temptation and Snare, and into many Foolish and Harmful Lusts which Drown Men in Destruction and Perdition. For the Love Of Money Is A Root Of All Kinds Of Evil, for which some have Strayed from the Faith in their Greediness, and Pierced Themselves through with many Sorrows. But thou, O Man Of GOD, Flee these things and Pursue Righteousness, Godliness, Faith, LOVE, Patience and Gentleness. Fight the Good Fight Of Faith, lay hold on Eternal Life, to which thou were also called and have Confessed the Good Confession in the Presence of many Witnesses. I Urge You, in the Sight of GOD who gives Life to All things, and before Christ Jesus who Witnessed the Good Confession before Pontius Pilate. That thou Keep this Commandment without Spot, Blameless until our Lord Jesus Christ's Appearing. Which He will Manifest in His Own Time, He who is the Blessed and Only Potentate, Thy King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Who alone has Immortality, Dwelling in Unapproachable Light, whom no Man has Seen or can See, to whom Be Honor and Everlasting Power. Amen... Command those who are Rich in this present Age not to be Haughty, nor to Trust in Uncertain Riches but Trust in the Living GOD, who gives Us Richly all things to Enjoy. Let them do Good, that they be Rich in Good Works, ready to Give, Willing to Share. Storing up for themselves a Good Foundation for the Time to Come, that they may lay Hold on Eternal Life... Guard what was committed to Your Trust, Avoiding the Profane and Idle Babble and Contradictions of what is Falsely called Knowledge.... By Professing it some have Strayed Concerning the Faith.. Grace Be with Ours All.. Amen.!
GOD Is Our Strength,
GOD Is Love,
GOD With Us,
GOD Bless,
Peace n Love.!!
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
You will look for me when the sun will dry your tear
and passenger lovers will accuse your pain,
when you escape from the world's horror and fear,
when the gentle breeze's music will fall down as rain.
Or not...
You'll look for me when your excuses will be drowned
and your warm, ruby glance will look for an answer,
when my laugh will have a contagious sound,
when you meet me on the street, in the arms of a dancer.
Or not...
You're going to look for me, grumpy and full of hesitation,
when the thighs of the nights will be closer than yesterday,
when I'll not look back for a long time from love's station,
when rhymes will be written on violin accords, in my holiday.
Or not...
You're going to look for me and ask me with your sight
if red rose petals of romance had fallen over my life,
but I will not let the flame burn me anymore, in the night,
even if your memory I will let it go, without a strife.
Or not...
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 3:11 PM UTC
I happened to fall down a great big hole
And the dive into darkness shook my soul
The world then turned upside down
when I saw locked doors all around
I chased after a hopping bundle of white
searching for happiness and some light
Crying a pool of tears
How in the world did I get here?
Thats when I met you and your smiling face
I thought I had finally found hope in this place
Your grin beamed like a crescent moon
So captivating I couldn't help but swoon
So cheeky, fun, and hypnotizing
I didn't know you were secretly criticizing
You told me which way to go
I can't believe I didn't know
I never thought that the nice boy,
would be made of smoke
You’re a liar, a Cheshire cat
I can't believe I ever trusted that
That devilish smile, and those big bright eyes
How could I not see through that disguise?
Should have listened to the wise words said
By a blue oracle whispering in my head
You tricked me, looks like I was used
But it doesn't matter as long as you're amused?
I feel like shrinking in my skin
at the thought of your incessant grin
I thought you were there for me
That you cared for me
But that was an act, a front, a lie
I Discovered a teaspoon of truth
and said goodbye
I'm sorry, baby, but you’re a pig
With deceitful eyes and smile that's big
You’re a red rose that's painted itself white
Later I knew something wasn't right
But I should have seen it right from the start
You're nothing but a beautiful but sour ****
Did you think I wouldn’t notice how distant you’ve become?
Well then,Dear, you're as stupid as tweedle dee and tweedle dum
I saw your game, your stack of cards
You led me to trust your delusive accords
You left me here, amongst the chaos and confusion
Sick from a potion I had to drink to believe your delusion
I'm the queen of a broken heart and all I see is red
If I had my way, it would be
“Off with your head!”
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
When I dream, I dream of you alone;
Perhaps in some far-distant, time-forgotten place
That once existed in the days of youth.
And there, some dim, faint memory of the mind
Is stirred, as waters rise before the wind.
And here, adrift from life in realms unknown,
I see the incandescent beauty of your face.
I draw you to me, and I know the truth;
The past means nothing, for in your eyes, I see
The future only, and all else is lost to me.
* * * * * * * * *
Farewell to tortured hope, to misery and doubt;
The vow I made to you, I kept throughout
The dark, disastrous years of desolation.
Mourn not for days that lie beyond recall;
For hours withheld from us, no tear should fall
To blur the joy of love’s sweet affirmation.
The time Fate stole from us was not in vain;
For, now that your heart is joined with mine again,
We find the very reason for our own existence.
At last, we see that Faith’s reward is shown;
And know, as other dreamers well have known,
Love triumphs by the reason of its own persistence.
* * * * * * * * *
Our time draws near now, and my love, we find
The paradise we made here must be left behind.
All that we take with us are memories;
The flame of life expires, the clock unwinds.
Now we unravel, and with dying eyes, we see
That to perish miserably accords with life’s decree.
The mind must falter, and the flesh must die,
And turn to dust beneath an angel carved in stone,
So that the soul may rise unfettered to the sky
To seek some wondrous Eden of its own.
And swiftly, through beckoning, bright infinity,
We soar on wings of light toward our destiny.
* * * * * * * * *
And surely, somewhere amid the vastness
Of the universe, we find our place and time.
So dear one, come to me, and let my fingers trace
With love, the sweet perfection of your face.
And know that, in this simple act of mine,
I reaffirm my vow in all its fastness.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
As the dawn comes
The new life begins
Waking up
For the new chapter
Welcoming with positivity
Sound of wind
Whispers a hymn
When sunlight touches
Good vibe injects
As time runs
Can't expect
Things may fall out
That accords to the plan
Feels agitating
Causes to ruin
A happy day
You've made
But things fall
In a certain situation
Makes you realize
And understand
Someone's worth
As the twilight comes
Moon started to show
The sparkling stars
Brights during night
Brings hope
For those in the dark.
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 3:21 AM UTC
It must be progress
when Alpha to Omega
is uttered by a child.
Can their BBM's really
create a new World vision ?
Are part time Revolutionaires
thickening the Plot
and will the threatening Sword of Damocles
ever be ploughed into something
more askance ?
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
Countries fabricated
by roaming people drawing
borders behind them,
trails of hostility
to select those who would cross
rims after them, to keep
resources to themselves,
lands of prosperity
on which to build, greed
homes to shield,
newly engendered families
xenophobes,
induced to believe
by governors they are different,
they are better, superior
and ultimately worth
much more, than any stranger
standing on the other side
of imaginary lines, they are barbarians,
unbelonging
to great civilisations, against whom
we need protection,
stealing scientists
left right and centre,
research peddled as development
promising a high from nuclear weapons,
bombs called mothers to adore
campaigning over a grand potency
participating in, an international
mallet-measuring contest
whilst signing accords,
for those who have to keep
and those who don’t
not to aspire, to acquire,
a prize for populations
who have successfully or can
destroy approaching aliens
simply by, pressing the right button
on a joystick suitable for games,
of mass destruction
ten thousand nuclear warheads
ready for use.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 6:55 AM UTC
I’m counting on you
I’m counting your sins
Every lie
Is in my black book
I wear your eyes
Around my neck
Through eyes you see into one’s soul
Dusty and wounded
Your fingernails
Are in my pocket
All your hands have done
Is in my subconscious
Green notes and blue accords
Your songs are in my bellybutton
Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 8:47 AM UTC
Le Démon, dans ma chambre haute,
Ce matin est venu me voir,
Et, tâchant à me prendre en faute,
Me dit : " Je voudrais bien savoir,
Parmi toutes les belles choses
Dont est fait son enchantement,
Parmi les objets noirs ou roses
Qui composent son corps charmant,
Quel est le plus doux. " - Ô mon âme !
Tu répondis à l'Abhorré :
" Puisqu'en Elle tout est dictame,
Rien ne peut être préféré.
Lorsque tout me ravit, j'ignore
Si quelque chose me séduit.
Elle éblouit comme l'Aurore
Et console comme la Nuit ;
Et l'harmonie est trop exquise,
Qui gouverne tout son beau corps,
Pour que l'impuissante analyse
En note les nombreux accords.
Ô métamorphose mystique
De tous mes sens fondus en un !
Son haleine fait la musique,
Comme sa voix fait le parfum ! "
832
They buried him at Calverton,
the sky provided tears.
His mourners were the Few, the Proud.
No next of kin appeared.
For years he’d wandered City Streets,
a casualty of war.
The V.A. patched his injuries,
they couldn’t bandage what he saw.
The State had little use for him,
once the Peace accords were signed
His tiny pension was just enough
to purchase anodyne.
The blessings of a dreamless sleep,
He sometimes found in wine.
Otherwise he was on night patrol
With friends he’d left behind.
It’s hard to live civilian life,
His haunted mind was too far gone.
His body slept in Central Park
while his soul patrolled Khe San.
Then one night, more cold then most,
that solider finally yields.
She found him, dead, beneath the bridge
That he’d called “home” for years.
That kindly New York City Cop,
who knew he was a Vet,
arranged a simple funeral.
-That’s more than many get.
Present, aim, ready, fire!
They fire three quick rounds.
Accompanied by a tape of “Taps”
They commit him to the ground.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 9:59 PM UTC
Naples, 1822.
Si tu pouvais jamais égaler, ô ma lyre,
Le doux frémissement des ailes du zéphyre
À travers les rameaux,
Ou l'onde qui murmure en caressant ces rives,
Ou le roucoulement des colombes plaintives,
Jouant aux bords des eaux ;
Si, comme ce roseau qu'un souffle heureux anime,
Tes cordes exhalaient ce langage sublime,
Divin secret des cieux,
Que, dans le pur séjour où l'esprit seul s'envole,
Les anges amoureux se parlent sans parole,
Comme les yeux aux yeux ;
Si de ta douce voix la flexible harmonie,
Caressant doucement une âme épanouie
Au souffle de l'amour,
La berçait mollement sur de vagues images,
Comme le vent du ciel fait flotter les nuages
Dans la pourpre du jour :
Tandis que sur les fleurs mon amante sommeille,
Ma voix murmurerait tout bas à son oreille
Des soupirs, des accords,
Aussi purs que l'extase où son regard me plonge,
Aussi doux que le son que nous apporte un songe
Des ineffables bords !
Ouvre les yeux, dirais-je, ô ma seule lumière !
Laisse-moi, laisse-moi lire dans ta paupière
Ma vie et ton amour !
Ton regard languissant est plus cher à mon âme
Que le premier rayon de la céleste flamme
Aux yeux privés du jour.
857
Allons, ange déchu, ferme ton aile rose ;
Ôte ta robe blanche et tes beaux rayons d'or ;
Il faut, du haut des cieux où tendait ton essor,
Filer comme une étoile, et tomber dans la prose.
Il faut que sur le sol ton pied d'oiseau se pose.
Marche au lieu de voler : il n'est pas temps encor ;
Renferme dans ton coeur l'harmonieux trésor ;
Que ta harpe un moment se détende et repose.
Ô pauvre enfant du ciel, tu chanterais en vain
Ils ne comprendraient pas ton langage divin ;
À tes plus doux accords leur oreille est fermée !
Mais, avant de partir, mon bel ange à l'oeil bleu,
Va trouver de ma part ma pâle bien-aimée,
Et pose sur son front un long baiser d'adieu !
780
C'est plutôt le sabbat du second Faust que l'autre.
Un rhythmique sabbat, rhythmique, extrêmement
Rhythmique. - Imaginez un jardin de Lenôtre,
Correct, ridicule et charmant.
Des ronds-points ; au milieu, des jets d'eau ; des allées
Toutes droites ; sylvains de marbre ; dieux marins
De bronze ; çà et là, des Vénus étalées ;
Des quinconces, des boulingrins ;
Des châtaigniers ; des plants de fleurs formant la dune ;
Ici, des rosiers nains qu'un goût docte effila ;
Plus **** des ifs taillés en triangles. La lune
D'un soir d'été sur tout cela.
Minuit sonne, et réveille au fond du parc aulique
Un air mélancolique, un sourd, lent et doux air
De chasse : tel, doux, lent, sourd et mélancolique,
L'air de chasse de Tannhauser.
Des chants voilés de cors lointains où la tendresse
Des sens étreint l'effroi de l'âme en des accords
Harmonieusement dissonnants dans l'ivresse ;
Et voici qu'à l'appel des cors
S'entrelacent soudain des formes toutes blanches,
Diaphanes, et que le clair de lune fait
Opalines parmi l'ombre verte des branches,
- Un Watteau rêvé par Raffet ! -
S'entrelacent parmi l'ombre verte des arbres
D'un geste alangui, plein d'un désespoir profond ;
Puis, autour des massifs, des bronzes et des marbres
Très lentement dansent en rond.
- Ces spectres agités, sont-ce donc la pensée
Du poète ivre, ou son regret, ou son remords,
Ces spectres agités en tourbe cadencée,
Ou bien tout simplement des morts ?
Sont-ce donc ton remords, ô rêvasseur qu'invite
L'horreur, ou ton regret, ou ta pensée, - hein ? - tous
Ces spectres qu'un vertige irrésistible agite,
Ou bien des morts qui seraient fous ? -
N'importe ! ils vont toujours, les fébriles fantômes,
Menant leur ronde vaste et morne et tressautant
Comme dans un rayon de soleil des atomes,
Et s'évaporent à l'instant
Humide et blême où l'aube éteint l'un après l'autre
Les cors, en sorte qu'il ne reste absolument
Plus rien - absolument - qu'un jardin de Lenôtre,
Correct, ridicule et charmant.
904
Buono Beauty, dive by your Roman Name
And turn my Doubts into Confidence will Vote
That your Honours cash to this Humble Fame
Yet Gorgeous Shoulders brace its Good Promote
Which even though these Motifs prove suspend
To miss one Valued yet Golden Event
Your Heart be blown; More would my Files amend
And Smiles gleam forward with your best Consent
Which even I, the Flap-Jacked Admirer be
Prompt which even Shredded Feathers beseech
Are your own Accords; Such promote Witness plead
How High your Five-Ringed Swan could ever Reach.
Still you came - with Toes knotted in-sense
To Label me FRIEND; By your own Expense.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC