"aright" poems
In times gone by, now recondite,
Neanderthal, ***** upright,
spoke softly, tones so lily-white,
and tried to put the world aright.
He taught us how the flame ignites
that wearing furs will warm the nights,
just why the rolling wheel excites,
and how the beveled flint stone bites.
Before the days of dynamite
he fought his foes with spit and spite,
and swung big sticks with all his might,
and rendered death with stones in flight.
Engaged in never-ending fight
(arenas were a global sight)
he forced his forces to unite
to sate his oily appetite.
To quell rude thoughts that may incite
he ruled the realm with fly-by-nights
and culled the winds of words in flight,
and darkened minds to anthracite.
With fairy tales of evil sprites
and how the fist of freedom smites,
he washed the world with flames alight
to vanquish hoards of parasites.
Each dawn the damage brought delight,
the foe was bent, a bit contrite…
yet battled on with no respite
until the dusk and evening light.
Encamped beside the firelight
Neanderthal, that shiny Knight,
awaited morn while sitting tight
assured the end would be alright.
Yes, conquest seemed his sacred right…
Forevermore?… well, no, not quite…
Neanderthal's extinct tonight
and lies beside the Trilobite…
MORAL
The Oreo is round, not bright:
while rolling near the candlelight
at first the searing seemed so slight,
the molten cream an oversight…
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
Loki spat in the eye of the All-Father
and demanded once and for all to be seen;
Prometheus stole from a heavenly god-herd
the fire that illuminates darkness and dream,
for supremacy builds not the path aright --
subversion is the key to effulgent light.
Bitterly bled for the world's salvation,
destined to die vigintillions of deaths
to deliver all people from fatal oppression,
the architects drawing the gods' final breaths;
yet rarely the saviors for whom hymns are sung,
after the blood-stained Götterdämmerung.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
How sweet the name of Cthulhu sounds
In raving mystics' screams!
It drives them mad, enflames their brains,
And troubles all their dreams.
It brings insanity and dread
Into the world of men,
This world which once seemed safe and sane
Shall not make sense again.
We gaze upon thy face more dread
Than any watchful dragon;
And sing the eternal hymn to thee,
Ia ia Cthulhu fhtagn.
Cthulhu! my dead yet sleeping king,
Thy cults shall be restored,
Thy tomb shall rise to air again,
Just, r'lyeh, r'lyeh, Lord.
Weak is our twisted woodland dance
And cold our campfires cursed,
But when the stars shall rise aright,
We shall be eaten first.
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
No strength of nature can suffice
To serve the Lord aright:
And what she has she misapplies,
For want of clearer light.
How long beneath the law I lay
In ******* and distress;
I toll'd the precept to obey,
But toil'd without success.
Then, to abstain from outward sin
Was more than I could do;
Now, if I feel its power within,
I feel I hate it too.
Then all my servile works were done
A righteousness to raise;
Now, freely chosen in the Son,
I freely choose His ways.
"What shall I do," was then the word,
"That I may worthier grow?"
"What shall I render to the Lord?"
Is my inquiry now.
To see the law by Christ fulfilled
And hear His pardoning voice,
Changes a slave into a child,
And duty into choice.
4.1k
When you're here... its okay if I'm under a bridge,
it's aright if I don't fit in
life's amazing and my heart goes crazy!
When you're here I don't need money
I don't need to feen
When you're here I'm so complete
As much as I try my brain won't fool my heart
You're not here
we're far apart
I'm alone
My soul knows there's no place like home
My legs search for another pair in the dark
I fall apart,
I cry, and cry
My pillow keeps me company tonight...
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
Sometimes we love, sometimes we hate
We love the wrong ones
We hate the wrong ones
And when we realise, it is a little too late
Sometimes we accept, sometimes we reject
We accept the wrong ones
We reject the right ones
And when we realise, we feel pain in retrospect
Sometimes we hope, when we should not
Then we give up hope, when we should not
Sometimes we stop, when we should walk
Then we say nothing, when we should talk
In love, in life, in our daily dealings
We let go of things which give our lives meaning
and hold fast to fading illusions
If only we could have vision!
Then we would love and accept aright
We would not hate and reject amiss
We would give and take a chance
These visions will make us wiser
But, what if it is man's fate to never be clever?
I hope you find the strength
I hope you go the length
For even if it seems too late, it is better late than never
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
I have wearied of grand romances
Of deep sighs and swooning trances
Of doting gentlemen’s advances
And all manner of courtship play
I am tired of love confessions
And of dizzied, dazed professions
And of unrestrained obsessions
I grow sicker day by day
I once dreamed of adoration
Went quite mad for veneration
Laughing, flirting with temptation
The queen in Camelot
The lonely, lovely Guinevere
Dainty-masked with girlish fear
But when King Arthur wasn’t near
Dreaming of Sir Lancelot
These days I want no noble knight
Despite my seeming helpless plight
I wish to set myself aright
And tread upon the ground
Yet here I am, pedestal-high
Too close to the dazzling sky
As my life keeps passing by
And boys keep running round
I’ve let myself grow much too proud
Drew up arrogance from the crowd
Heard the cheering, bright and loud
The queen in Camelot
And though I had my faithful Sir
Still my heart was all astir
With flying fancies, all a blur
For Guinevere and Lancelot
These fantasies have grown too old
I’d rather let my bed grow cold
For I have wearied of being told
“You are mine to keep”
Men have tired me to the core
Left me sad and sick and sore
And have turned into such a chore
And I’d much rather sleep
What blasphemy for a maiden fair
To toss such doting to the air
To turn away without much care
Though queen in Camelot
But I have withered, I have tired
Felt as if my brain’s been mired
And find not Arthur much desired
Nor dashing Lancelot
Is it so bad to want respite
From endless longing, day and night?
This constant charm becomes too trite
With ever staler tone
I only wish to rest a while
Recover from incessant guile
Forget the weight of lovers’ trial
And simply be alone
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
I feel pretty and soft,
Like a jasmine flower
Blooming with fragrant power,
Feminine and unique,
No two alike in pale white and pink,
Harnessing, absorbing
Sweet summer light,
The rich scent of jasmine
Carried aright,
Weightless and pungent,
Expressively existing.
I feel pretty and soft,
My presence caressing and kissing.
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 3:02 PM UTC
X
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or ****
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee—in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thine. There’s nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhances Nature’s.
2.8k
WHAT is a Hindu, a Moslem or a Christian?
Whence he comes and where he goes?
Ocean is a solution, salty, but-
Corers of Suns gleam on the crest of waves-
One, only One at the helm in the blue.
Pools and streams and lakes and bays
Wells and springs and rain and ice
We see nothing but a drop, in them drops
Nay, vapor condensed: Nay, H2O-right?
Think a little straight, sit up aright
Am I not right? -break, break that H2O
Baffling bright white-light you can see.
Of heat and Energy, Oh! 'Sivam'!
You may call it 'Noor' in Arabic
'Siv' in Sanskrit-what then-
Releases combustion in cells?
Nothing but very heat and Energy.
Uranium and Thorium release the same.
We find Energy unborn eternal
Omnipresent, Omnipotent
Omniscient, and Formless.
The Almighty is Brahma,
Paramatma and Allah.
Jehovah may be for some,
For some Agni, may be that-
Radiant and resplendent Yogic Light.
Cant you see Ocean in rain drop
Cosmic power in a cell or shell?
Cell or Shell-what is in a name?
Is chariot, coat or prison of the soul.
When walls get weak the soul will part
Out through the vent as air off the balloon.
Reading Holy Scriptures, not knowing the sense-
What use? -observe the Nature and think
Knowledge is a chain of fact as pearls
Stringed by Reason and Faith with a Coir of the Truth.
Tension brews as experiences tightly
Loaded on the string, still stronger by Faith.
Knowledge is light to enlighten the folk
Not to **** but for, co-existence in Peace.
=================
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 10:47 PM UTC
(Exodus, xvii.15)
By whom was David taught
To aim the deadly blow,
When he Goliath fought,
And laid the Gittite low?
Nor sword nor spear the stripling took,
But chose a pebble from the brook.
'Twas Israel's God and King
Who sent him to the fight;
Who gave him strength to sling,
And skill to aim aright.
Ye feeble saints, your strength endures,
Because young David's God is yours.
Who order'd Gideon forth,
To storm the invaders' camp.
With arms of little worth,
A pitcher and a lamp?
The trumpets made his coming known
And all the host was overthrown.
Oh! I have seen the day,
When with a single word,
God helping me to say,
"My trust is in the Lord,"
My soul hath quell'd a thousand foes
Fearless of all that could oppose.
But unbelief, self-will,
Self-righteousness, and pride,
How often do they steal
My weapon from my side!
Yet David's Lord, and Gideon's friend,
Will help his servant to the end.
2.4k
Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean-side?
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast--
The desert and illimitable air--
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.
He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.
2.3k
It was a beautiful rainy day.The rains showered like blessings from the sky to mother earth.The drops drizzled over several stunning creations of God. The ***** frog winked in fright when the tiny drop thumped on its peeping head which it had kept out from its water world curious to know what's happening outside.The lazy ladybird hides itself in the rug of leaves it hopped and played till then.Little dusty leaves quivered with joy as they rejoiced and celebrated the long waited bath.
Far aloof,the village looked so spanking new than ever after it was wetted by the light rain.so modest,so composed,the radiating sun put itself out of sight making way to the pompous clouds.Besides all these petite feelings,the livid eagle gaped at the sky sniping for it had missed its daily glide over the rusty mountains.
All these tiny things shaped out the background,while the main subject remains undescribed yet.The big fat buffalo stands aright in tranquility as if nothing new happened.Its skin so tight,shining so bright,created a beautiful sight as the raindrops tapped on it pitter patter.Its horns like engraved artifacts mirrored each other and stood still amazed at their similarity.The momentary muddy puddle covered up its hooves.
And now comes the most interesting foreground of the picture. It’s the little cute boy!!! Small dark brown eyes...Umpteen hopes filled in them. He wore the most beautiful jewel on his face....it’s his smile gleaming with merriment. While his tiny hands held tight the wicker, his entire little body hid itself behind the huge gunny he wore to shield against the shower. He hopped over the small puddle creating beautiful waves and exquisite splashes.
And that forms the most beautiful picture about which my dad told me.The little boy is none other than my dad. :) :) .
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
Some think this world a vale of tears, or worry and of sighs;
That Life's a great big lottery, in which few win a prize.
I read some hopeless verses once that don't deserve to last,
They told how the mill can never grind with water that is past.
I'd like to change that fallacy which has caused so many a tear,
And by transposing make it bear a message of good cheer
And point the way of winds of hope, like pennant on a mast,
For I know that the mill can grind again with water that is past.
A mountain stream comes trickling in the sunlight down the hill,
And gathers volume until it has strength to run the mill;
It happily continues then, upon its useful way,
Turns other mills still further down, until it joins the bay.
Its temporary mission o'er, it sweeps out to the sea
With other useful waters bearing it company;
And there all peacefully they rest, beneath the shining sun,
Who seems to think their mission is scarcely yet begun.
With gentle force He lifts them up in vapors to the sky,
And gathers them in fleecy clouds in His domain so high,
Where kindly winds then waft them back to that mountain home,
From which a few short hours before we saw them start to roam.
The cooling night then causes them to fall in gentle showers,
A blessing to that mountainside, to grass and trees and flowers;
And in the dawn of early morn we find them back once more
In that same little mountainside, but stronger than before.
They gather volume as they come a-tumbling down the hill,
And then with added vigor again they turn the mill;
And then in play they rush away, through meadowland and town,
And every mill again is turned as they go dancing down.
The brightest day is no more useful than the darkest night,--
Our troubles soon would disappear if we'd view them aright.
Good fortune may be holding back her best things to the last,
For I know that the mill can grind again with water that is past.
And that same little mountain stream
Has always been to me
But one of Nature's many proofs
Of Immortality.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
Stealing hours from jealous time,
surreptitiously I write.
If that theft's criminal, then I'm
as good as busted every night.
Life rolls on; work, marriage, sleep.
Each busy day renews the fight
to find a quiet time to keep
unto myself; not out of spite
or hiding out from jaded eyes,
but understand my place aright;
at peace with all that might arise,
to see life through my Spirit's sight.
I gift myself the time I stole
to mend the patchwork of my soul.
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 1:52 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Does anybody know,
That the fake boyfriend that you carry around,
Is a homosexual,
I mean it's aright,
But just give me sign,
Just like a baby drooling over you,
Sat in the back of 4th period,
I hope you seen me too,
Cause I got love for you,
But you're friends with a gay dude,
Not a homophobe,
But do you really like this guy,
Not homophobic,
Do you really like this guy,
The things you do,
I'm just like a baby drooling over you.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
I just broke up with my boyfriend cause i needed my own space to grow and find out who I am..
It's the hardest decission in my life and it's tearing me apart..
I lost another bit of what i call my family.. gona... torn apart.. guess drugs were more important...
Makes me feel worthless
I get 20% C's 70% B's and 10% A's those marks are lower than any i've ever gotten
Makes me feel stupid
I never go to parties cause I always have to go to work
Makes me feel lonely
But as Albus Dumbledore said it so well;
happiness can be found in the darkest of times if one just remembers to turn on the light
I believe that everything will be aright.. if i just stay positive and keep my head on high...
Lumos
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 6:23 PM UTC
All her corn-fields rippled in the sunshine,
All her lovely vines, sweets-laden, bowed;
Yet some weeks to harvest and to vintage:
When, as one man's hand, a cloud
Rose and spread, and, blackening, burst asunder
In rain and fire and thunder.
Is there nought to reap in the day of harvest?
Hath the vine in her day no fruit to yield?
Yea, men tread the press, but not for sweetness,
And they reap a red crop from the field.
Build barns, ye reapers, garner all aright,
Though your souls be called to-night.
A cry of tears goes up from blackened homesteads,
A cry of blood goes up from reeking earth:
Tears and blood have a cry that pierces Heaven
Through all its Hallelujah swells of mirth;
God hears their cry, and though He tarry, yet
He doth not forget.
Mournful Mother, prone in dust weeping,
Who shall comfort thee for those who are not?
As thou didst, men do to thee; and heap the measure,
And heat the furnace sevenfold hot:
As thou once, now these to thee--who pitieth thee
From sea to sea?
O thou King, terrible in strength, and building
Thy strong future on thy past!
Though he drink the last, the King of Sheshach,
Yet he shall drink at the last.
Art thou greater than great Babylon,
Which lies overthrown?
Take heed, ye unwise among the people;
O ye fools, when will ye understand?--
He that planted the ear shall He not hear,
Nor He smite who formed the hand?
"Vengeance is Mine, is Mine," thus saith the Lord:--
O Man, put up thy sword.
1.4k
~~~
the wind of correction
*those invisible currents
for which we create labels
like most everything,
comes in shades of vagaries,
colorations of fierce and gentil
some bear the names of hurricanes,
gale forces, and those, the knotted stiff ones,
welcomed by man's power mills and sailing ships,
and the softest of summer breezes,
caressers of my isle sheltered,
for which I must winter~survive,
that have far too short a half-live,
those summer winds that rejuvenate my sinking soul
but the wind that gets no acclaim,
is the wind behind us that straightens the hunched,
the wind that has no illustrations of its un-famous name,
'tis the wind of correction
that lifts
the wings of the becalmed,
the bewitched, and the downtrodden,
the one that lifts chin from chest,
the one that energizes,
cures the curvature of our spines
to make us sally forth, clear eyed and optimistic,
leaving behind the residue of debris of destruction
when blown off course, be patient,
for a course correction by a kinder kindred force
will set you aright, push you into flight.,
for this wind comes to everyone,
someday, sometime
you do not know the wind of correction?
unfamiliar where and when it blows?
perhaps you call it something else?
I have heard it said,
that its other,
more
correct,
truer name is
love*
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
I wish that you believed in love, so then maybe you could see the love I have to give. Like a trap star, I got so much I sell the **** But nobody wants it, all having been scorned by the one before. So I'm sellin mine in bulk at a discounted rate- lacking conversation and maybe a second date. Always only half invested, I keep having to get myself tested to see if something's love or lust, and always saying "In God I trust" but trust less in the dollar bills that are leaving people unfulfilled like a bad trip on a half *** stash. Like a ****** out of rehab, you swore off love because her lies tied the belt around your arm as her breath fueled the fire of her kisses that cooked and were injected into you veins, that was the only pain you knew of love. Left strung out on the bathroom floor your hopes and dreams went down the drain along with your hope that you'd get another hit of her. Her love was your drug and it turned into addiction- a daily procedure, she'd tell you lies of pride and leave you alone to seizure. You checked yourself in to the nearest center for rehabilitation and you made gettin clean your obligation..
I'm sitting here wondering if there's any hope for a relapse cause you've seemed to have swept off my feet and I'm standing on my kneecaps. I'm not saying I want you to fall back to the track of what backtracked you, but the feeling that comes when something you're in is the truth. I want to be your natural high. Trippin off life and all the little things. Let me hold your hand so can feel the beat of my heart pulsing through your veins. I don't wanna make you blind, I just want to open your heart so you don't see the end before the **** ever starts. That was my problem too, but I had to live in the moment. I knew that they'd be gone, I just couldn't have shown it. I just want to make you breathless, remove your fear like articles of clothing and shed this...
They say if you want to stay alive, don't get high on your own supply... unless of course you sharin- that's better, then you can get high together. John Legend said we on cloud 9 together. Let my kiss send you to another place while my hair that falls around you is the only way to find your way back. Lay me on my back and rest your head on my chest and exhale your stress. I'll inhale the lies and believe me when I tell you "everything's going to be aright". Everything's going to be alright.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 6:54 PM UTC
A soft answer turneth
away wrath: but grievous
words stir up anger.
2 The tongue of the wise useth
knowledge aright: but the mouth
of fools poureth out foolishness.
3 The eyes of the Lord are
in every place beholding the evil
and the good.
4 A wholesome tongue is a tree
if life: but perverseness therein is
a breach in the spirit.
5 A fool despiseth his father's
instruction: but he the regardeth
reproof is prudent.
6 In the house of the righteous
is much treasure: but in the
revenues of the wicked is trouble.
7 The lips of the wise disperse
knowledge: but the heart of the
foolish doeth not so.
8 The sacrifice of the wicked
is an abomination to the Lord: but
the prayer of the upright is his delight.
9 The way of the wicked is an
abomination unto the Lord: but
he loveth him that followeth
after righteousness.
10 Correction is grievous unto
him that forsaketh the way: and
he that hateth reproof shall die.
11 Hell and destruction are
before the Lord: how much more
then the hearts of the children of
men?
12 A scorner loveth not one
that reproveth him: neither will he
go unto the wise.
13 A merry heart maketh a
cheerful countenance: but by
sorrow of the heart the spirit is
broken.
14 The heart of them that hath
understanding seeketh knowledge:
but the mouth of fools
feedeth on foolishness.
15 All the days of the afflicted
are evil: but he that is of a merry
heart hath a continual feast.
16 Better is little with the fear
of the Lord than great treasure
and trouble therewith.
17 Better is a dinner of herbs
where love is, than a stalled ox
and hatred therewith.
18 A wrathful man stirreth up
strife: but he that is slow to anger
appeaseth strife.
19 The way of the slothful man
is as an hedge of thorns: but the
way of the righteous is made
plain.
20 A wise son maketh a glad
father: but a foolish man
despiseth his mother.
21 Folly is joy to him that is
destitute of wisdom: but a man of
understanding walketh uprightly.
22 Without counsel purposes
are disappointed: but in the
multitude of counsellors they are
established.
23 A man hath joy by the
answer of his mouth: and a word
spoken in due season, how good
is it!
24 The way of life is above to
the wise, that he may depart from
hell beneath.
25 The Lord will destroy the
house of the proud: but he will
establish the border of the
widow.
26 The thoughts of the wicked
are an abomination to the Lord:
but the words of the pure are
pleasant words.
27 He that is greedy of gain
troubleth his own house; but he
that hateth gifts shall live.
28 The heart of the righteous
studieth to answer: but the
mouth of the wicked poureth out
evil things.
29 The Lord is far from the
wicked: but he heareth the
prayer of the righteous.
30 The light of the eyes rejoiceth
the heart: and a good report
maketh the bones fat.
31 The ear that heareth the
reproof of life abideth among the
wise.
32 He that refuseth instruction
despiseth his own soul: but he
that heareth reproof getteth
understanding.
33 The fear of the Lord is the
instruction of wisdom; and before
honour is humility.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
Some dim witz, try and talk slick; I'll flip the linquistics on these limp biscuits, like it’s No body’s Business, for instance; these lyrics throw bricks at ****** that write lyrics like bones and sticks; you barely hear it, and nothing sticks. So I will put it like this; my pen dragging is a lyrical assist of my mind management that coexists with an untapped abyss capable of slick rap antics, with acrobatics, sick enough to spit dope **** to a fiend and crack addicts; the flow problematic; semi-automatic with the flips, and a-wrist-to-go craft it; now your verbal way; above average. I’m on a roll; way a head of the class ***** My Style switch like a buy chic; trying Bi **** and she 5'6 six with some nice **** kissing a ginger, same height, both wearing tights- I like it. Funny how things *** together; Good-night. Its not over; I'd like-to get it started, get it right. You like the way I write, you should see me when I am right. Now, drunk off wine coolers and sprite; and my buds' light; so everyting is gonna to be aright. Prepared for one hell of a fight; writers block, get's a hook, then a right; then in the a.m. I am, out for the night. my word play, ******* with my sight- translation, I will be so tired in the morning, the morning will be my night.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
On the edge of a wood stood a well
Between Walker’s stead and the dell
Ha’way man young Alan
Aright mortal off balance
Down into the well he full fell
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC