"allay" poems
I chose ice-cream
Over yogurt;
Strawberry, vanilla or chocolate.
Each equally without prejudice
Attracted.
The fifteen year old server
Was kinda short;
The vanilla tub had about three scoops
Remaining,
Stacked hidden like frozen snow-balls
As in war games.
His task would have been daunting
And embarassing,
And I, a humanitarian
From higher education,
An altruist from St. Joseph's,
Could not allow it.
The chocolate tub
Was yet covered,
And the sobbing child's cries
Were hardening in my ears
As Dad tried to allay
His chocolate tears,
Applying the five second rule.
I am an empath
By nature and poetry,
So, turning from chocolate,
Left me strawberrry.
Triple scoop too.
I believe
You thought through
Your choices
Like flavors of ice-cream.
Being imaginative,
I do.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
It becomes a secure and
congenial home
When a woman is around,
bonny circle..
If you treat them well
They bless your heart with
love and arouse
your intrinsic glow
Dear women..
You are strong and comely
May this day allay the
extreme heat
and assemble serene skies
Buven Thepoet
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 4:10 AM UTC
His trim and beautiful body laid out on the floor,
Chest rising and falling,
She watches silently from the door,
The voices are calling.
Whispers in her ears,
Eyes glazed in a trance,
He could allay her fears,
with an immodest dance.
Her ***** are burning,
Pain would sooth her yearning.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
sitting here but not
my insides
in a twist
my organs blooming,
their flower landscapes
rising in my solar plexus
like poetry expanding
its cellular shapes
into
light frequencies
I need way more.
I need the pulling off
and stripping down
of souls
I need to meet in
a depth of falling
I need to be pushed off
the silent gates of madness
into endless sea
no looking back
senses piqued
from slightest brush
of oral butter pouring
on hot cream
my mouth, a searing
crimson wound
oscillates in
contraction radar pulses
ripe for intense
tongue exploration
aching to be filled up with
your distinct flavor
My essence molecular is
overflowing with fluid
giving me life
in throbbing, raw
electric vibes
whipped organic, in
rolling tides
Somewhere, out there
our volcanic impulses
meet in steamy ebbs
and send energyflow
to a new and ancient universe,
magnetic
and I am
a raging heaven's child
wrapped in
a tight little
tourniquet
blood pumping
through these veins
my longing for
dark stretches
of intimate caresses
to soothe
the spikes
of snaking pain
Give me
those airwaves that
let me breathe freedom
into the fields of our skin
Let me run like wild herds
of the animal within
and as I find myself
hanging off
my
own
edges
my many-braided loops
in zigzag split,
a-fray
my skin rips open,
parting fibers
that expose my
very
DNA
helix swivel
undulation
hips grinding into
soul
reaching in to
pull out
fresh rebirth
from between my folds
O help me to allay
this tender affliction
undo me, already
so I lose control
one little shove
and I am over the cliff
deep into ocean
**** over spliff
I am beyond ready
so grind it to the hilt
Give me your
tender-ripped heart,
spill your honeycomb milk
I am here, ravenous
in the pan
uncooked yet ripe
saliva and breath
steaming my own innards
flushing out strife
I am piquant hot pepper
ready to be broiled
my blood is already
boiling
my tender meat oiled
mull me over
in your oral cavity
like sacred wine
until I drip
through your bones
and down your spine
Just meld with me
and flow
into that light tunnel
of dark time and space
so I can stake out
my rhythms
and claim
my
new
sacred
place
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 12:20 AM UTC
in ashes hidden, smoulders god of love
from matted dancer's focus conflagration purely come
continues still perhaps in empty homage
of a sa ta na ma
personage of ((Shiva))
white bones pierce the sky
in upward curtain-seethes of heat
beyond imagined burning hells...
the triad ventures into zero-zones of anti-life,
sands of absolute defeat.
shadow trust imparts
a silent teacher's mantras;
soothing psychic words,
"Bala" and "Adi-Bala"
carry over dunes of morbid thirst--
the gape of ancient serpent-maws
choking dust of frightened, elephantine skeletons
fissured by immobile sun--
their inner sound become cool water of a summer stream
in timeless desert, traverses strain of royal line:
god-fated tutelage of seedling savior,
lightning skill with bow and virtue sinew
shining arms horizon's arid form:
despite begrudging honor kings expect
when offspring given after years
in hard-earned sacrificial grace:
yet still obeisance ends in facing demonaic rage
to which is pitted youth to slay--
despite allay by symbol feminine,
as if to question her abode would conjure her
in dire storm and quake announce gigantic step and hairy gulf--
with arrow sprays destroy Thataka's trident, curdling throat
the slitting of, rejoicing pantheon proclaims heroic,
forever railing under epic breath of tacit page theodical:
"we gave you progeny, now grant us our theocracy;
before your son our asthras lay their weaponry"
.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
I wonder what those lovers mean, who say
They have giv’n their hearts away.
Some good kind lover tell me how;
For mine is but a torment to me now.
If so it be one place both hearts contain,
For what do they complain?
What courtesy can Love do more,
Than to join hearts that parted were before?
Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come
Into the self-same room;
’Twill tear and blow up all within,
Like a granado shot into a magazine.
Then shall Love keep the ashes, and torn parts,
Of both our broken hearts:
Shall out of both one new one make,
From hers, th’ allay; from mine, the metal take.
For of her heart he from the flames will find
But little left behind:
Mine only will remain entire;
No dross was there, to perish in the fire.
3.3k
I don't know what to do
Can't run
Can't hide
Can't get my life to balance
The darkness overtaking me
I don't know what to do when there's
No one there to help
No one there to wipe my tears
No one there to allay my fears
When the demons inside overcome me
The darkness is almost to my soul
I need help
I need love
I need someone there
But nothing is working
The demons are here to stay
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
I am two fools, I know—
For loving, and for saying so
In whining poetry;
But where’s that wiseman that would not be I,
If she would not deny?
Then, as th’ earths inward narrow crooked lanes
Do purge sea waters fretful salt away,
I thought, if I could draw my pains
Through rhymes vexation, I should them allay.
Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
For he tames it that fetters it in verse.
But when I have done so,
Some man, his art and voice to show,
Doth set and sing my pain,
And, by delighting many, frees again
Grief, which verse did restrain.
To Love and Grief tribute of verse belongs,
But not of such as pleases when ’tis read;
Both are increased by such songs,
For both their triumphs so are published;
And I, which was two fooles, do so grow three;
Who are a little wise, the best fools be.
2.9k
Out on the path, I wait for her
my friend who’s just for me.
We play and sing and laugh a lot,
though no-one else can see.
You call her imaginary,
but she’s real and best of all,
she’s made a solemn promise
to be here when I call.
My mum says she’s not really there,
though the truth is mum don’t know
the fun me and my friend have had
or the places that we go.
We get lost in the forest
and fly up to the stars,
then sit upon the rooftops
throwing jelly beans at cars.
We’ve dug up buried treasure
and stared Blackbeard in the face.
And we’ve ridden Pegasus
to see the earth from space.
If you think I may be fibbing,
I’ll tell you it’s no lie -
to say we’ve seen most everything,
my secret friend and I.
But now the time is ticking,
she’s never usually late.
But here I am still waiting
sitting by the gate.
I feel the world revolving
as seasons come and go.
I never thought she wouldn’t come,
but perhaps I finally know.
That secret friends are mortal
and don’t last forever,
but I’m quite sure I won’t forget
the times we spent together.
I think I hear the clock indoors
chiming half past four.
The day has almost passed without her,
I’m not so little anymore.
But, just as I turn to go inside,
I hear the squeaking gate
“I’m so sorry,” my friend cries
“I didn’t mean to be this late”!
The world turns again to greet the moon
and my friend and I shall roam,
weaving in and out of dreams
making memories our own.
So, grown-ups if you’re finding,
modern life hard to survive,
wait a while, by the gate
you never know who may arrive.
Though you may not have seen them
for about a hundred years,
secret friends remain with us
and help allay our fears
that we all grow old and crinkly
and forget how to dance and laugh
just have a little patience
and pause there on the path.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
'mma comm'ner!
'mma comm'ner!
Whild it
Port 'rhet above,
'im down
F'rsaken.
Afore'd!
Allay'd!
De' the round,
De' the Bayck
Brent of stick
Wally a'bock
Rayne
A'doon, a'tunya, Mekker'un
A 'block, a moon.
The Rhine, 'ya dance 'ya
In the Maine
Yal 'amo
Tor'red ett'on
Fer tha'dance 'ya
Fer tha'roon
Allek 'un daree'ya
Mag'k ung Garee 'ya.
Jan 5, 2010
Jan 5, 2010 at 4:10 PM UTC
Mine lily of the valley, mine lotus of the unrestrained.
Mine Senna alata, mine allay of human angst;
Mine Kalinaw in mine Stygian juncture's,
Mine Kaulayaw aloft the extraterrestrial
Structures. Mine Paraluman that giveth me these word's to writeth, the one that bringeth me excite;
In mine core thou art invited.
Mine Kundiman by which I replay in this skull,
Mine hand of time, mine angelic mind-
That I do learn from.
Mine Makisig precious stone, undug from the clay,
Mine, all mine, I canst sayest it all day.
Mine past, present, future; woman of now, forever's our's
Mine Jane. O' how Dalisay, O' how Dalisay, doth ourn water run sparkling; Only because mine love, we sip it as queen and king. One time soon, to shareth wedded ring's, wherein the pain's of the now; art gone and unforseen.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry'
©Earl jane sardua Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedicated
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
.
*Will you say something?
Just before I go...
Will you fill the void
that had silently metastasised?
Will you convey it
like you really mean it?
Will you allay my fears
that's been cleverly disguised?*
.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
O, come a little closer - hear what I have to say,
I know that one piece of writing can be interpreted in so many different ways.
O, but do pay attention to my word-play,
To the picture I’m trying to portray.
O, I hope by the end of this you will understand the image I am trying to convey,
But do not get me wrong, the end of this is something I am attempting to delay.
O, it is saddening to know that sooner or later my rhymes will fade away
So I will replay, replay, replay.
O, how I pray that what we have will not decay.
Like all the flowers & bouquets that I watched wither/die a bit more every day.
O, but how pretty were they?
Sad to know that each & every single one was thrown out like the contents of an ashtray.
O, how you must have noticed the repetition of O’s - I think they are here to stay,
Unlike my pathetic, childish rhymes that I am struggling to hold at bay.
O, do not get me wrong - the rules to rhyme are so easy to obey,
They are so easy to slay.
O, like tray, cafe, puree,
For god sake, even JFK.
O, please tell me - do you see the problem on display?
Do you see what I am trying to say, what is coming my way?
O, it feels like a betrayal
No, no, no that’s not a rhyme.
I need to rhyme, I need us to be okay.
Ray, clay, Bombay.
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay.
Tray, fray, mae.
O, please stay
I need us to be okay.
O, I know repetition of words is not a rhyme,
Nothing more than copy & paste.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
O, please I don't want us to stray
I hate how we went from white to grey.
O, please I don’t us to end this way,
I know I am barely rhyming but I will try my best, okay?
Look - ballet, allay, hooray,
Hay, weigh, olay.
Look - ballet, allay, hooray,
Hay, weigh, olay.
O, please stay
I need us to be okay.
O, I know repetition of words is not a rhyme,
Nothing more than copy & paste.
I’ll come up with more,
Dismay, replay, is-lay.
Tray, cafe, valet,
Delray, Alleyway, Chevrolet.
It is not that I don’t know how to rhyme,
I just need something to rhyme for.
Rhyming is synchronisation, it is compatibility
I just need to know we are.
Please, stay, stay, stay,
Don't go away, don't go away, don't go away.
Please, stay, stay, stay,
Don't go away, don't go away, don't go away.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
I know I am barely rhyming, but I will do my best okay?
Please stay,
Don’t go away.
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 2:11 PM UTC
Two blind men met. Said one: "This earth
Has been a blackout from my birth.
Through darkness I have groped my way,
Forlorn, unknowing night from day.
But you - though War destroyed your sight,
Still have your memories of Light,
And to allay your present pain
Can live your golden youth again."
Then said the second: "Aye, it's true,
It must seem magical to you
To know the shape of things that are,
A women's lips, a rose, a star.
But therein lies the hell of it;
Better my eyes had never lit
to love of bluebells in a wood,
Or daffodils in dancing mood.
"You do not know what you have lost,
But I, alas! can count the cost -
Than memories that goad and gall,
Far better not to see at all.
And as for love, you know it not,
For pity is our sorry lot.
So there you see my point of view:
'Tis I, my friend, who envy you.
And which was right still puzzles me:
Perhaps one should be blind to see.
2.1k
O Ganga!
You flow
Across the mighty
Mountains
O your youthful
Playful force
Making its way
Through the
Ancient boulders
Stream after stream
Joins you
To find its destiny
Happily
In your depths
To make you
O the vast Ganga we know
The Aryans found their
Abode on your banks
You saw the rise of Jainism
And Buddhism
O civilization
Not only flourished
But flowered
On your banks!
You've seen it all!
You travel down the Tehri dam
Across Rishikesh
And Haridwar
From the cow's mouth
O the Gomukh
Where your mother
Glacier Gangotri rests!
You enter the plains
Having crisscrossed
Roads many
And lives
Of many a being
Who consider you
As mother
Worship you
You bear their brunt also
Carrying heaps of
Garbage
You flow Kanpur
You see tanneries
And many more
You nourish them
Keep them running
But they end up
Slowing your run
You reach Allahabad
What's in a name
A tryst of cultures
O you have the
Gangs Jamuni doab
And Gangs jamuni tehzeeb!
Your sisters join you
And here at Prayag
You have Yamuna with you
O a mythical sister
Saraswati does find here way to you
They say
Life goes on on your ghats
As usual
People washing clothes
Themselves
And people offering
Flowers and performing
Rituals on your banks
O all but consider you
As an earthly mother
A heavenly gift
Just like Saraswati
You have your place in the scriptures as well!
You also
Flow out of mythology
Into our minds
O the mighty Shiva
Took you
In his mighty curls
Of hair
To allay your spirit
As you descended
Onto the Earth
To purge peoples
Lives
The Bhagiratha's
Penance you saw then
He got back his wish
Thousand brothers
They say
O you but still see
The Kumbh Mela(fair)
So many souls
You see the serenity
Of Varanasi
The beautiful spirituality
Of its
Ghats
O young wrestlers
Massaging before
The day's fight
Alongside
Seers in
Deep meditation
On your banks
O you have settled
This city
You flow across
Patna
The ancient
Pataliputra
Seen many imperial
Rise and falls
History echoes in you
You enter Bengal
The fertile
Gangetic plains
Bear testimony
To your gifts
With their lush green
And swaying fields
The Farakka barrage
Sees you in one of your
Giant avatars
You irrigate
And touch people!
You flow as the Padma in
Bangladesh
O you know
Two lands separated
By political shadows
You flow
As Bhagirathi
Hooghly
In Bengal
The rice bowl!
O your Ilish(Hilda)
People do relish
You flow graciously
Through
Flat extensive plains
Past Kolkata
The city of joy
And into the sea
At Gangasagar
Taking with you
So many memories
And promising
The continuity
Of your divine
Grace
O dear river,
You are Ganga!
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:57 AM UTC
Obscurest night involv'd the sky,
Th' Atlantic billows roar'd,
When such a destin'd wretch as I,
Wash'd headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.
No braver chief could Albion boast
Than he with whom he went,
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast,
With warmer wishes sent.
He lov'd them both, but both in vain,
Nor him beheld, nor her again.
Not long beneath the whelming brine,
Expert to swim, he lay;
Nor soon he felt his strength decline,
Or courage die away;
But wag'd with death a lasting strife,
Supported by despair of life.
He shouted: nor his friends had fail'd
To check the vessel's course,
But so the furious blast prevail'd,
That, pitiless perforce,
They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.
Some succour yet they could afford;
And, such as storms allow,
The cask, the coop, the floated cord,
Delay'd not to bestow.
But he (they knew) nor ship, nor shore,
Whate'er they gave, should visit more.
Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he
Their haste himself condemn,
Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them;
Yet bitter felt it still to die
Deserted, and his friends so nigh.
He long survives, who lives an hour
In ocean, self-upheld;
And so long he, with unspent pow'r,
His destiny repell'd;
And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help, or cried--Adieu!
At length, his transient respite past,
His comrades, who before
Had heard his voice in ev'ry blast,
Could catch the sound no more.
For then, by toil subdued, he drank
The stifling wave, and then he sank.
No poet wept him: but the page
Of narrative sincere;
Is wet with Anson's tear.
And tears by bards or heroes shed
Alike immortalize the dead.
I therefore purpose not, or dream,
Descanting on his fate,
To give the melancholy theme
A more enduring date:
But misery still delights to trace
No voice divine the storm allay'd,
No light propitious shone;
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid,
We perish'd, each alone:
But I beneath a rougher sea,
And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.
2.1k
Her countenance,
had long given up the ghost
Twilight tried to allay the ravelling .
She needed resilience,
for those fiery Sunday visits
endured by her confused Son.
Trumping by prevarication,
until no more, she retorted.
Her honeysuckle dreams
turn ramshackle.
Those plumes of bonfire smoke
before and the after, differ now
on contrite compost.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 6:43 PM UTC
Did I dream
I saw a funeral
Procession leaving
St. Giles Church?
Sans caisson,
Black horses,
Boots and backward spurs;
No black feathers,
No armbands,
No Oliver's crocodile tears;
No Orleans trumpets
To allay my eternal fears.
I caught them slide
The silver casket,
Bullet-like,
Into a chamber,
To shoot into the ground.
I never heard a sound.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
one is hopeful of a message to arrive
telling of how in the Polar Vortex he did survive
twill ease one's mind to hear good news from Tennessee
which will allay my days of anxiety
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
*Where will I sit?
Will I make friends?
Do I look okay
On my first day?
Do you think
I'll do alright?
Is it like learning
To ride my bike?*
*Congrats, my child,
You're doing fine,
You've just learned
The first day's rules.
The fears, anxieties
And self-doubts,
Are life's hard lessons
We could do without.
There's no teacher
Or book of stories
To allay your ever-present worries.
The stress now filling up your head,
Is with you til the very end.*
But I want to stay home!
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 9:04 AM UTC
Thoughts that linger past my mind,
Remind me of people ,from these surroundings divine.
Thoughts of joy,thoughts of sorrow,
Thoughts from the wise past and those of hopeful tomorrow.
Thoughts that break,thoughts that bind,
Thoughts of a lover left undefined.
Thoughts that linger past my mind ,
Remind me of my existence.
Of my breakthrough in this worldly place,
Of the first magical word spoken by me,
That was called,'mother',
Words of broken -unbroken promises,
And of faithful friendships and hubris.
Of those nights that raged like a stormy sea,
And those days spent pondering over the window panes.
Thoughts that linger past my mind,
Remind me that this world is a mystic place.
Of how these thoughts influence every being,
At once they afflict,at once they allay.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
Repeating nightmares
Just to be sure—
Certain I’m this insecure
Depleting patience
Of conscious dead
From whom nature’s love has bled
The leaders of men
Have come to pray
But no gift can greed allay
Yes, no gift at all
From iron gods
Can assuage a soulless fraud
I call thee, War Horse
The time is nigh
Mars is mirrored in our eyes
And our empty hearts
Will beat anew
With blood vengeance shall accrue
Our humanity—
All our prowess
I bend unto your malice
Ego, madness, hubris, anger
Darkness, violence, loathing, doom
Fury, abhorrence, wrath, danger
Desire, frenzy, hatred, black bloom
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
with each passing day, I understand less and less, for
who could ever claim to know it all, yet, the simplicity
of our base-ic basest instincts makes evil so easily attractive,
that now, I forgive almost nothing, anyone for the cruelty
inherent in on the surfacial skin of our normalcy, so easily,
revealed, and reveled in, wrecks me, and the poetry
sparks are not doused, but wick and ember shriveled
oh the irony, that foolish me should write of the
commandment to love just as the world displays
old levels of hate historically deep… .I am hated,
to many who would know me only as Jew,
and this refresher course in my brain, reminds me,
that love thy neighbor as thyself, can morph into a
generational opposite, that my former degree of comfort,
beliefs, was only skin deep…and Tolstoy was a naïf, a romantic,
a royal, who hoped for the best in each man, and that
cannot ne achieved for hate is so easy digestible, so sweet a treat
for humans, who desire no compass other than simple baseness
to know which direction to take….
————————————————————————————-
”There can be only one permanent revolution—a moral one; the regeneration of the inner man. How is this revolution to take place? Nobody knows how it will take place in humanity, but every man feels it clearly in himself. And yet in our world everybody thinks of changing humanity, and nobody thinks of changing himself."
Tolstoy
”To perform evil deeds a person must discover “a justification for his actions,” so that he can regard stealing, humiliating and killing as good. “Macbeth’s self-justifications were feeble,” and so conscience restrained him. He had no ideology, Solzhenitsyn observes, nothing like “anti-imperialism” or “decolonization” to allay pangs of guilt. Solzhenitsyn concludes: “Ideology—that is what gives evil-doing its long-sought justification and gives the evil-doer the necessary steadfastness and determination . . . so that he won’t hear reproaches and curses but receive praise and honors.”
Solzhenitsyn
Oct 20, 2023
Oct 20, 2023 at 3:08 PM UTC
she spoke to me of dragonflies
and visits from the dead, and it made me
long to hear the voices of the lost,
those without tongue to taste the wind
or form the wistful whispers
why had I seen only a butterfly,
against an ignorantly blessed, black sky?
its colors a magnet to my eye, but silent
even with wings whipping desperately
as it was ****** into the abyss
no words issued forth
for my eager ears, to allay my fears
that there were no messengers
from the other side, or if there,
they chose not to take flight, or
find me worthy of their sad song
what if the disbelievers were right?
and once we lose sight,
and fall into deaf sleep
there is no ether where we roam,
but only the dank dark decay
the soundless feasts of bacteria
on the hopeless host
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC