"assent" poems
Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
with whistles from a factory;
such white-gold skies our eyes
first open on, such brilliant walls
that for a moment we wonder
"Where is the music coming from, the energy?
The day was meant for what ineffable creature
we must have missed?" Oh promptly he
appears and takes his earthly nature
instantly, instantly falls
victim of long intrigue,
assuming memory and mortal
mortal fatigue.
More slowly falling into sight
and showering into stippled faces,
darkening, condensing all his light;
in spite of all the dreaming
squandered upon him with that look,
suffers our uses and abuses,
sinks through the drift of bodies,
sinks through the drift of vlasses
to evening to the beggar in the park
who, weary, without lamp or book
prepares stupendous studies:
the fiery event
of every day in endless
endless assent.
11.1k
The exalt is ephemeral, sure to fade
Wistful stares dance past tainted shades
Rose colored lenses seep into red eyes
Chest filled with knots but can't form the ties
Nebulous mirror is all that is seen
Want to break through but don't want to bleed
Certainty fueled solely by liquid coal
Envy consumes and tears into the soul
Tell me I'm beautiful, loosen my chains
Assent the lies and then turn off my brain
Choked from the view by a chemical wall,
Lust for that side but don't want it at all
Desist the leers of superior ones,
Desire escape and somewhere to run
Pray that there is no re-occurrence,
Return to me addictive reassurance.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
with bark like alligator skin
the pines reach up up to the sky
eighty one hundred feet they fly their needles
as if to say
here we are O Wondrous One
take us
do with us as You will
little shake-tail squirrels chitter above me
as if to say go away! this is our pine
you don't belong here!
I reply
I do belong here the pines have told me so
I do belong here
the wildflowers have said so
and the creek has burbled its assent as well
I belong here I repeat
I will stay here among the pines with alligatorskin bark
and the winds singing through the wood
and the creek seeking the sea
yes I will stay
and I will roll in the feeling of belonging like a dog rolls in herbage
and savor that I belong I belong here/now
at last
c. Roberta Compton Rainwater
2009/2014
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
Picture a late afternoon
iridescent honey-yellow:
The glance she knows is seen
her cool hand placed in yours
your stripped shirt she rips,
her mouthing, “You’re it!”, hiding,
revealing herself stripped,
her finger tipped shh,
the brush of *******
surrender and assent.
She'll rise with a rustle
of desiccated pines,
needles will fall from her back,
she'll crumple a cigarette pack,
humming a vacant lament,
fingers caressing a fossil flea
embalmed in a dangling pendant.
Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
Your light is beautiful,
and mine is glum.
In your eyes, I find
sensations my estranged blood
has never felt—
to touch, to love…
a soul unselfishly,
for no other reason than to love.
I want to place my frostbit hands
upon your beating chest
and ****** you away,
or might I chain your hands
and take you with me.
I could pull you into my gale,
a hostage of my lonely curiosity,
but I’m afraid—so afraid that your light
will fill the empty, gaping blackness,
and your gentle breaths
will calm my feral winds.
You alone will effortlessly transpose
the thunder of my bones,
and I will assent that only your nearness
can bring the calm to the eye of my storm.
But what follows when you
tire of breaking my weathers?
When your chains rust into reddish ash
and I can no longer keep you, my love?
I can’t imagine this place will ever be
as fair as it was with you,
and I can only foresee that
which will become of me.
For when the day does break,
and I find myself alone,
when the silence of your absent lungs
deafens my troubled mind,
my storm will surge again.
And as the black clouds surround,
I will bring my withered hands
before me and remove the foolish eyes
that once lost themselves in you.
So there are two sunken holes
inside my skull.
I will cut through my sternum
and rip my dour heart from my chest.
I will undress from my flesh
and pull the nerves you once caressed.
And my naked soul will dig a grave
and settle into the dark.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
I provoke the wind
in a dialect shared with him
and him alone.
He whispers assent,
as assuaging liquid draughts
glance my submissive frame.
A desolate wanderer,
incising the burdensome night.
Accompanied by none corporeal,
I prowl satin fields,
illuminated by Luna
and Saturn, her amber consort.
©Thomas Gabriel
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 10:59 AM UTC
for Mark Richards
It was a spur of the moment thing -
One message freed us from Tuesday’s calling -
The next offered a morning's sailing.
So rather than spray water for Rocky's plants,
We skimmed over Carter Lake’s, crystal waves
With steady and ample winds at our backs.
Boaters and tubers speckled the waters
While verdant foothills smiled assent
From every shore and horizon.
Captain Richards skippered his Flying Scot
Toward the far off shore before tacking our
To and fro way back to the mooring ball.
In years past Mark had captained the Health works
For all the good folks of Pennsylvania,
But this morning he guided a much smaller tiller.
So we sailed and sailed under fairest of skies
In a swift and charmed little craft
Mark chose to call, Spur of the Moment.
Robert Charles Howard
Jul 26, 2022
Jul 26, 2022 at 6:29 PM UTC
435
Much Madness is divinest Sense—
To a discerning Eye—
Much Sense—the starkest Madness—
’Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail—
Assent—and you are sane—
Demur—you’re straightway dangerous—
And handled with a Chain—
2.5k
All-Conquering Death! by thy resistless pow’r,
Hope’s tow’ring plumage falls to rise no more!
Of scenes terrestrial how the glories fly,
Forget their splendors, and submit to die!
Who ere escap’d thee, but the saint of old
Beyond the flood in sacred annals told,
And the great sage, whom fiery coursers drew
To heav’n’s bright portals from Elisha’s view;
Wond’ring he gaz’d at the refulgent car,
Then snatch’d the mantle floating on the air.
From Death these only could exemption boast,
And without dying gain’d th’ immortal coast.
Not falling millions sate the tyrant’s mind,
Nor can the victor’s progress be confin’d.
But cease thy strife with Death, fond Nature, cease:
He leads the virtuous to the realms of peace;
His to conduct to the immortal plains,
Where heav’n’s Supreme in bliss and glory reigns.
There sits, illustrious Sir, thy beauteous spouse;
A gem-blaz’d circle beaming on her brows.
Hail’d with acclaim among the heav’nly choirs,
Her soul new-kindling with seraphic fires,
To notes divine she tunes the vocal strings,
While heav’n’s high concave with the music rings.
Virtue’s rewards can mortal pencil paint?
No—all descriptive arts, and eloquence are faint;
Nor canst thou, Oliver, assent refuse
To heav’nly tidings from the Afric muse.
As soon may change thy laws, eternal fate,
As the saint miss the glories I relate;
Or her Benevolence forgotten lie,
Which wip’d the trick’ling tear from Misry’s eye.
Whene’er the adverse winds were known to blow,
When loss to loss ensu’d, and woe to woe,
Calm and serene beneath her father’s hand
She sat resign’d to the divine command.
No longer then, great Sir, her death deplore,
And let us hear the mournful sigh no more,
Restrain the sorrow streaming from thine eye,
Be all thy future moments crown’d with joy!
Nor let thy wishes be to earth confin’d,
But soaring high pursue th’ unbodied mind.
Forgive the muse, forgive th’ advent’rous lays,
That fain thy soul to heav’nly scenes would raise.
2k
History
A simple Story
To thine own Self
Be True
The Path Leads Upward
There are many approaches
To the Summit.
But only One can
Attain it at a Time
Each must lighten
The load to
Make it
To that Final Place
Where Heaven takes Us
Up
Anti
Gravity!
Along The Way to
Supreme individuality: Collectivities
That demand Our
First Loyalties be to the
Group will Fear and distrust
The One
Who's First Loyalty is to
The True Self
So the final
Assent leads by way
of
Crucifixion
Christ is the Logo
The Icon of the
True Self of All
Everyone is on
The Way.
Honor your Mother
And Father
Raise them Up
For Salvation is of
The Blood
Your Blood
It is in the Overcoming of
Every Fear that
Prevents Man from
Being Good.
Towards Love
In Love
We are all ascending
Why? Because it is
Wonderful
The Most Wonderful
Experience of All
To Be Good
To Know That You are a Child
Of God...Inheriting
Eternal Life as
Your Birthright.
Bon Voyage -Mes Amis
Fellow Travelers
It is a Voyage
Well Worth Taking
Once...You
Must Forgive me
If I repeat Myself
I am of Old
First typed while listening to RIck Steves on PBS " Making Travel A Political Act" Thanks Rick
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
cease awhile
and hold commune
with his fabrication
and admire
every cordant note
of a symphony yet unwritten.
t’was a nymph
saw i a-Maying
her comeliness
beggared the reach of art
outreached my arms
to touch her tidy traces
alack, gone she
in the mists of morn.
the moon-kissed bed
was light and life
with verdant dewy leaves
astride the speechless
mountain tops
a journey was begun
to rain again
his darts of gold
to every waiting one.
the blanket of
the skies was azure blue
on limpid waters seen
along her hurried way
she dropped those
gaudy flowrets beam.
saw i her locks
in every nodding palm
‘neath the tropic sun.
t’was birds do counterfeit
her melody the
rustling bamboo stole.
they utter now
sweet words of love
as winds doth
beat and blow
the roar and rush
of the swollen river asks:
what is it to you?
sprightly now
the winged ones
from bud to bud alight.
athirst, searching for that
self-same delight.
the crown of earth’s
flowing seas of grass
its mighty arms apart
attentive to the
incoherent whispers of
the breeze that chances by.
what now
messengers of the skies?
what saw you beyond
the floating clouds?
what find you at the
end of the rainbow?
what secrets lie hid
in yonder hills?
pray tell this
to the hurling spar
of the ever-running brook
for down and down and down
she goes to her anxious
ocean-brother.
could she have paced
the grotesque shore
to appease the bleating sea?
now she laps up
the sand-white beach
now she beats
the rock-bound shore with
shrill indignant murmur.
the shore and plain
nod assent
nay, my search is done.
twelve knotty hours
of day are gone and still
my find is none
to tease the gloomy
brow of night
aflame is all the west
in its expiring redolence
my happy nymph adieu.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
famished lychee
bent on treason
almost unknowingly furious/
dragging feet
all the way
to gather the fairest feathers,
now lumped under dreary
epitaphs.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
laying in bed with ephemeral kate:
her hands are
brazen, fingernails clenching upon
my hips beneath the sheets,
her grip barely elucidated beneath
buttercream bedsheets.
her pale pink *******
cast aside hours ago,
and now the sun slants
westward upon her bedroom walls.
I laid waste to her skin,
ravaging her with lips and tongue and teeth,
and I am
sated, if only for the moment,
scent of her skin upon my tongue and
her ****** a badge of honor upon my mouth.
her bedsheets are ruins,
UNESCO World Heritage Site
waiting to be uncovered and reclaimed;
if it wasn't oh so lovely,
laying languorous limbs
asprawl, your stomach pulsing beneath
my thigh, her chest
rising and falling, rising and falling,
beneath my head; I always boasted I was
cutest when sleepy, and she always
murmured assent with a halfsmile;
that ******* halfsmile, playing
around the corners of her
endlessly kissable mouth,
lips glistening with a mix of
lipgloss and ***
the sun dips down towards the horizon,
a girl hurrying homeward a minute after curfew;
her nails traverse upwards,
scouring my spine; my mouth is
pressed against her neck, tentative
words and laps embossed upon
the hollow of her throat.
she laughs, she sighs,
endlessly inimitable kate.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
indifferent to unplanned pathways
destiny knows not enslaving bounds
pathways crisscross at befallen crossroads
knowing all roads lead to all roads
restlessly searching through the ache writhing within,
the voice of my soul speaks crystalline
through the hidden portal of my heart
beckoning the wounded healer within
be at home in the silent darkness of suffering
to perceive the gems of awakening light;
embrace the lessons where the wounding leads us
to bring forth a healing reincarnation,
intimately feeling the collective pulse of humanity echo
a wholeness in a deeper level our being
the only spark to rekindle a flame blown out
a soul’s assent to the labyrinth through the wound
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
*I forget what speaks louder of you;
if it is the hunger of my lips
longing to kiss you
or the kiss waiting discretely
to be born from yours
swaying on the verge of vulnerability
I forget if it is the kiss
that tender
and irresistible
becomes unbreakable;
your soul’s assent
or if it is the words in note
the morning writes and you erase
in an innocent attempt to
hesitate your truth
pausing at its tip
or the shrug
off your left shoulder blade
that briefly masks your will
before it is abandoned
at the edge of quiet moments
when you heed without refrain
It is the candidness of silence wept
to carry the ripest, sweetest kiss
onto my wanting lips
without disturbing yours
in truth
unrelentingly
and quietly insatiable*
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
Her name was Harmony, yet in accordance, she was not. So much so, some called her "Hardly." It seemed her difficulty to ever agree. Even upon issue firmly obvious, such as yellow sun, blue sky, or golden field, it was not her nature to assent with another. I'm guessing for sake of losing argument, old Auntie Nym could sing no hymn.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 12:20 AM UTC
Honestly, I don't know what you're on about.
I watch your mouth move as though in a race.
I hear the words, nod an assent or two,
Then work out how to arrange my face.
Sixteen years on, I can bet my life
It's any of issues one to five
Perhaps disguised as new and bold
But countless times we've jived this jive.
It's either mother/sister/father in law
You don't spend enough time with me
I washed up last, it's your turn now
Money just doesn't grow on trees.
That's four, oh wait and last not least
It's the cherry atop our well known list:
Are you happy in our life right now,
If I was gone of sudden would I be missed?
Interrupted of course by the offspring two
Never a chance to talk about
The things that make us fight and kiss
Talking in code that's fraught with doubt.
Your voice sinks further from my conscious realm
Where the blurry words blur and blur some more
And somehow we arrive at this day's end
As a melody stuck on a repeating score.
I crawl to bed a respectful time after you
Touch your arm, cold, betrayed by sheet
I encircle your chest as it fills and droops
The familiar curve of your back I meet.
I know not what all of this is finally about
And that 'morrow brings with it new words ablur
The only thing I know is about you, my love
Without you I would not want tomorrow to occur.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:37 AM UTC
Realizing a fresh life growing inside,
What thoughts coursed through my mother’s mind?
Did she gleefully welcome the news?
Or respond to it with a violent shock?
So sure, right away after her fourth baby
With four little kids still needing care
Like chicks in a coop, carrying once again
Might not have been in her scheme of things
Thus at a time when she expected it the least,
Could she beckon the new life growing inside,
With a pleasant nod of head in assent
Or with a suppressed moan of fright, I wonder!
When from nausea she started to suffer
And threw up each time when she ate
Did she curse her man in silence?
Or grow mad with her children and her fate?
Slogging through those weary days
With no respite from her routine chores
Did she get enough rest or care?
Or did she languish without a hand to assist?
Seeing her with an extended waist line
Did some nosy neighbors behind her back
Teasingly utter in hushed whispers
‘Oh, she has done it again!’
Once when I started kicking inside
Was she tickled or greatly annoyed?
When she heard the first ‘lub- dub’ of my heart
Did she feel as two hearts singing in harmony?
As her tummy grew bigger everyday
And sleepless in bed as she tossed
Was she haunted by nightmares bleak?
Or was she visited by dreams of delight?
Travelling closer and closer to those final days
Did she curse herself seeing her in the mirror
Woefully bloated and ripened into a bulge
Or did she wait my arrival in blissful expectation?
Then suddenly one day when the earthquake began
In mild tremors first, then gaining in force
Did she scream mad or cry aloud?
Or did she endure the pain in austere silence?
Then abruptly when I showed myself up
Did she feel any remorse over my ***
And see me as another liability
Added up to the girls already in line
No, I am sure she must have cuddled me close
And locked me in the warmth of her *****
For she was such a rare gift sent from heaven
A mother nonpareil in self effacing love
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 5:08 AM UTC
The band was loud, but in the other room and the bar was jammed.
He set his drink down a little too hard and it over-sloshed a bit.
“Run away with me,” he said, spreading his arms wide, “I’m done with school!”
“Well.. you graduated - that’s why you’re done,” she said, somewhat amused.
“We share a gravity, you and I - we’re.. we’re like aligned suns,” he romanticized.
“You should’ve majored in sales.” she said, sipping her own beer.
“Our love is so real, so raw - it's pure and yet - so street.”
“We have ‘love cred’?” She asked doubtfully.
“Wherever we go, we'll navigate that urban maze, hand in hand, we’ll OWN those concrete streets, we’ll paint our own graffiti!
“Have you snorted something?’
“No matter what life throws at us, we’ll face those challenges head-on and we'll stay united.”
“Have you been practicing this?” She asked
“We’ll swagger,” he said, “our love will be timeless..”
“And rhymeless,” she interjected hopefully.
“Together, we’ll be urban legends..” he continued.
“Like Bonnie and Clyde?” she asked, making a yuck face.
“We’ll be living art,” he said dreamily.
“Sounds dope.” She admitted.
“Then you’ll DO it?” He asked.
“Until Monday,” she said, nodding in assent, “classes start on Monday,” she shrugged.
“It was worth a shot.” he said stoically, after a moment.
“It was a good pitch,’” she said, taking his hand in hers.
“I didn’t oversell - I wasn’t too pushy?”
“No, you were right there,” she assured him.
“Maybe next time,” he said.
“Yeah, maybe next time”
They kissed.
Jul 27, 2023
Jul 27, 2023 at 1:07 PM UTC
Under the stretching of the skies where clouds surprise migrating swans and swallows swallow hard,she came to me with open eyes and arms and took me far away.
We landed in an Island sun to coconuts and Navy *** and before the day was done and the moon was on the rise,I looked again into her eyes,
she nodded her assent,
We kissed so silently her breathing deafened me and there upon the sand beside the moody sea,
I made love with her and she made love with me.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 5:45 AM UTC
Through a world of discordance, I found You.
From bane to bliss, You lifted me.
With a soul so resonate Your words.
With a spirit so lifted in jubilant assent.
In resonance of Your divine touch I praise
With peace I am saved by Your grace
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
You say "Freedom of speech" is to destroy the mold,
Yet you turn against an adolescent boy,
Immature, ignorant, only sixteen summers old.
Expressing his confusion, and burning resentment,
With words that scald, expressions that scream,
Opinions that spar with the voice of societal assent.
Instantly in seconds, the barrel of Justice and Laws,
Is directed between the eyes of the wretched,
The fury of the people, cold as the bullet only he saw.
Nary a scream we heard as the trigger,
Blasts off into oblivion, blowing out,
Chunks of creativity and blood of passion.
*"You shouldn't have said that,
It's wrong what you said,
Think twice before you pen, speak with caution."*
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
A chief
entirely good
with assent
sought when
he aspired
leadership in
parochial while
his lifestyle
supported a
ritual in
high court
though his
reason without
doubt there
is solid
with omnibus
opinionated height.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 4:34 PM UTC
With December’s breath I am whole again,
crackling with hope in the grey and rain,
Through rotting leaves I wander and wade
relish the decay of these days.
Oh my brain, it is scorned by the horror of words
and infinite texts that seem so absurd,
in the library I think, and I bite back my cries,
each bitter reminder that love lies in lone skies.
But, no! There is hope, for the ice is in bloom
and snowflakes now cluster on the window of my room,
and the waste of the winter is not quite a tundra
for I hear the bells call, the semester goes under.
All chitchats and language now swirl into view
through the fog of sorrow glints the elusively new,
and my mind will assent to only this;
this lovely thought, this season, Christmas.
And I stifle no cynicism, having no reason to moan,
I’m bound home on the train, quite simply alone,
save for the spirits that spin in my head
,
the prospect of faces, not books to be read!
Farewell to the city, if only for a while,
The lights are lavish in their pretty little smiles,
but I am not transfixed, I am barely aware
for the glow of my home is for all I do care!
Now I slip into the safety of Daisybank’s arms,
with many hot stews my stomach is calmed.
In this brief time comes embracing warmth;
no exams, no essays, no tears of scorn.
For my kin I am blessed
and with their presence no longer am I oppressed;
yes me, the starving soul of a girl
lovelorn and hungry for her home, this world.
And all that is festive, shimmering gold
is in the hands of many to hold,
and pass the gifts that press their love
and know one day is not enough
To reap the sense of seasonal joy
to forget the stress of being employed
and swallow all that one can eat,
a cure, a remedy sweet for one’s deceit.
Yet as long as the photo does not fade away -
remains a flashlight amongst the verges of decay -
then with every star may we make the wish
to prolong the soar of a spirit submerged in bliss.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 11:38 AM UTC