"astir" poems
Soul
Alive, astir
Gliding, enshroud, obscure
Awaken my tormented soul
Nomad
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
Round about is deep black darkness,
Darker than the blackest night,
Whispering deep 'n dreadful murmurs.
Bird dropped dead in midflight.
Blind and weeping, lifeless attle,
What you see is your own soul,
Burnt and weary from the battle.
Disenchanted from its goal.
In the ash, a spark she smoulders,
Crackling, rasping, wounded warrior,
Briars squeeze her neck and shoulders,
Suffocating in smog-fill'd air.
Deep within stagnating waters,
Crystal-clear elixir tear,
Movement rippling, life astir,
Phoenix rises from the slaughter.
Still she rises, Golden Daughter,
Fears no longer yonder fright,
Strength within from those who fought Her,
Blackest night turned brightest light.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC
A message heart delivered by a musing troubadour
left footprints upon a well weathered rivers’ rocky shoal
the lazy days of the summer’s simmering
ethereal breezes lazily waft astir
Unknown distance ‘tween yonder skies azure;
thoughts of nebulous distances fearlessly ignored to be sure,
connectedness sown and deference’s soar from high above,
yet beyond vast breadth afar the great divide
His brimful heart in hand fulfills passersby thirst
needing love here, hearts on sleeves sincere,
wellspring sensibilities handed out willingly here
voids filled by word of quill …
right now is the known needed time
Glasses half empty suffused to their half full brims;
do unto others you will reap just what ye sow,
a poet beyond the bounds of his own demure,
bearing immense understanding
The quintessential essence of family love
drips from heart like heavens rain,
testifies the heart's purpose for being
A poet’s voice speaks in soul’s timeless tongues
unknown breaths from another understanding realm
too deep for words;
yet the word sayer struggles to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees.
~
The Twist
This poem was not written by me.
It was written almost four years ago,
lying fallow in some passing cloud.
Writ for me by someone effervescently more talented than I,
and one of the poets whose quality of work, and command of our shared language is something to which all of us should aspire.
I post it now as yet another homage to the true author.
For in reading it, never was a poem was far more clearly,
an unwitting self-portrait.
**It was written on August 21st, 2013
by Harlon Rivers**
by Nat Lipstadt
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
MY dear, my dear, I know
More than another
What makes your heart beat so;
Not even your own mother
Can know it as I know,
Who broke my heart for her
When the wild thought,
That she denies
And has forgot,
Set all her blood astir
And glittered in her eyes.
4.5k
My dearest tea
you greet me sir,
take my left hand
your spoon astir.
i let you stand until just so,
beloved sip of company
i've come to know.
your brim is steaming,
and from behind you
early rays of glory
streaming through
a dawn awakened
window to a world
where life is teeming.
but wait, a few more
minutes with you...
let me lose your steady
brew just slow and quietly
as the glistening dew
appears, and winks
me from my
dreaming.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
My innocence and joy, thriving and burning brightly
Beaming like the sun, then flickering like a flame
Slowly dies down to embers
Smolders, wanes.
My laughter and hope, spirited and whirling wildly
Astir like an ocean, then grows steadily tame
Becomes languid and lazy
Stills, drains.
My ambitions and dreams, alive and beating fiercely
They thrum like a heart, then turn tired and lame
Lose their pulse and fade away
Bleed, stain.
I can taste your misery, and it's killing me.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 5:27 PM 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
289
I know some lonely Houses off the Road
A Robber’d like the look of—
Wooden barred,
And Windows hanging low,
Inviting to—
A Portico,
Where two could creep—
One—hand the Tools—
The other peep—
To make sure All’s Asleep—
Old fashioned eyes—
Not easy to surprise!
How orderly the Kitchen’d look, by night,
With just a Clock—
But they could gag the Tick—
And Mice won’t bark—
And so the Walls—don’t tell—
None—will—
A pair of Spectacles ajar just stir—
An Almanac’s aware—
Was it the Mat—winked,
Or a Nervous Star?
The Moon—slides down the stair,
To see who’s there!
There’s plunder—where—
Tankard, or Spoon—
Earring—or Stone—
A Watch—Some Ancient Brooch
To match the Grandmama—
Staid sleeping—there—
Day—rattles—too
Stealth’s—slow—
The Sun has got as far
As the third Sycamore—
Screams Chanticleer
“Who’s there”?
And Echoes—Trains away,
Sneer—”Where”!
While the old Couple, just astir,
Fancy the Sunrise—left the door ajar!
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16
I would distil a cup,
And bear to all my friends,
Drinking to her no more astir,
By beck, or burn, or moor!
1.9k
Days turn pages
Sinking in the night
Abysmal aromas
Wrinkling skin so light.
Crocheting another blanket
Whimsical notes astir
Falling on the carpet
Bits and pieces of her.
A feudal interruption
White noise begins to blur
Reflections being casted
A comforting allure.
Sons decaying in the sky
Poinsettias set on tomb
Empty syringe on the grass
Dead fetus in the womb.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
A bright rush of sensation
Sets my heart astir
I wallow in fond feelings
Of Euphoria
Passion cascades through me
Electricity's commute
From the body to the brain
Its aura I salute
Euphoria is transcendent
Knocks me flying sideways
I bask in it resplendent
For one touch, my heart ablaze
She captures and enchants me
I'm bursting bright with glee
I wonder, mind asunder
How I share this mood with thee
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 4:48 AM UTC
To be a lucky strand,
Tangled, tethered to you
Cloaking such beauty,
To see the iris that glows
Behind tinted amber pools
Teeth that advise such clarity,
Wrapped in velvet creased lips
A protruding collar bone,
Embossing ethereal skin
With shoulders built
To harbor the weight of the world
Bronzed over flesh is spanning
Across fickle and cold bones
Constructing a case to hide
A sunken Aquarius heart
For as hollow as it is
To a lover's knock,
There is much to be
Uncovered and desired
Unspeakable curves will mold
To accentuate a searing lust
Justified by knowing what it means
To be held to you
Arms stretching to a locking embrace
Warm to touch
Every joint akin to the previous,
Dialing down to finger tips,
Breaking away in ten beautiful directions
And there lies a gateway to symmetry,
Almost unseen
Where the make of your mother's breath,
And the sum of your father's skill,
Entwine to beget a graceful badge
To where you constitute a conceivable home,
Should you so choose
A manger, suited to an heir
Here is where your dress flows
How many Michigan sunsets
Have broke light beneath the fabric
That adorns you
How many Chicago winds
Have flown that flag
Such comfort to be a cloth,
Draped in a silhouette
To an ornate fashion
The thousands of threads
Spun and stitched to adhere
A fixation of benevolent shape
It's astir to every notch
As you saunter past
With tenor and a managed confidence
Two feet with a steadfast passion
And misplaced direction
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
***Too tired to fall asleep,
I stared at a vivid flickering screen
And forced myself to eat.
1:15 a.m to 4:45 a.m
The hours- I didn't notice them,
But asleep I almost fell.
I dragged myself into slumber
And into a trance I clambered,
The blinding darkness I remember.
I awoke moments later
Under my demons' satire,
Stuck in a crater.
Everything was a blur
Four walls were six saboteurs,
And colours astir.
All attempts to cry for help
And get away from a faint death knell,
Just shoved me deeper into my shell.
Uselessly trying to move around,
My gasps were so profound
And I could hear the deafening sound.
I tasted my own fear
And flung it with tears,
The end must have been near.
The agitation was intense
Sweat ran down by head
And negativity within me spread.
I was trapped inside myself,
To a gust of wind against my chest
I almost succumbed to be at rest.
And then I ran as fast as I could,
Although blind, I said I would
Escape this maddening noose.
Silenced screams were now heard
And out loud I said "cursed"
I was finally free from paralysis unheard.***
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
Yes, I am prolly the only fan of old, cold, coffee. Over antique sonnets, too.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCLXXX)
Soft blue heavn's arid eye ne clouds 'non fence
Though ah, how ghostly shadows haunt and trail
Across the rippling fields of grass detail
Below! look sweetly as in years gone--sense
Of all we'd known within their cast, til hence
The soul yields to is't childhood's carefree scale
As twere of hope? vain dreams' perspective hale
If we'd but 'llow ourselves to breathe, fr'intents.
And Maples' shaggy boughs nod; leaves astir
To aerie whispers, as the voice of who?
Some distant motorcyclist passing through
Upon these emptyer country roads in tour,
Lends 'scuse for placid calm, where Sunday fer
All that's excuse, the hol'day 'pon us too.
27May18b
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
I opened my eyes to a crystal day.
Frost lay heavy on the ground.
I look at my darkened Christmas Tree.
There is silence all around.
No one else astir at all.
This is time for God and I.
So, in this quiet of time alone,
I wished this year good-bye.
I thanked God for His blessings.
So many, they were hard to count.
His Grace for mistakes I made,
Strength when troubles seem to mount.
I shed tears of happiness
With reflections of family and friends.
For the good times and laughter,
The times to make amends.
My tears continued flowing.
For my loved ones gone away.
Their memories bright as diamonds
For in my heart, they will always stay.
Yes, this year was one of trials.
But through tests, we are made strong.
With no promises of tomorrow,
I won't wait to right my wrongs.
I thank God for His Mercy,
His time He gives me, I'll use for good.
And never take for granted,
All the times I knew I could.
For now, I shed the pain of the past.
For the future, I'll grasp it tight.
Knowing God is in full control,
This next year will be brilliantly bright.
I share with you my prayers.
My loved ones, far and near.
We'll make our mark in 2011
God's blessings for this coming year!
Deb Nixon
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 2:56 PM UTC
While he held her near
He told her he loved her
He made it all clear
When it was just a blur
He erased her fear
And kept her life astir
She knew he was the one
He was something unique
When her life was undone
And her existence bleak
He gave her one reason to live
When no one was there
Though she had nothing to give
And her pockets were bare
The love they shared
Was extremely rare
But that doesn’t matter
Because life is unfair
He scrounged and fought
For days, months and years
Then went out and bought
A ring with two frozen tears
Before he asked her
He told all of his peers
He had no car
So he walked to her house
The idea was bizarre
Of her as his spouse
He would never reach that point
Unknown to him
Their lives would disjoint
His future was grim
The driver was drunk
He didn’t see her coming
His life was sunk
He just kept walking and humming
He crossed the street
The driver slams the brakes
He’s picked up off his feet
He’s alive in the air
Until he hits the concrete
Seeing what she’s done
The driver keeps going
The girl slumbes through her door
Never even knowing
After she gets the call
The tears don’t stop flowing
She wanted to be with her one
So she grabbed a gun
Whispered ‘I love you, and only you’
And ended her life too
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 7:11 PM UTC
A coercive throat siphons the sky: delineating.
Men of Normandy, your dulcet words still flow
On aching gusts around these hillock ramparts.
Autumns tapestry fell with Harold, listless it
Furnishes the margin of an otherwise bleak-boughed
Wood. An obstinate robin: the failing furnaces closing
Ember, pursues the regressive winter light among the
Limbs of a grand oak, laden with iron cloud, low
And heavy. The thicket is sparse yet astir, two narrow
Eyes, eight square, inky pupils squat below the
Russet brow of a thrice augmented cottage: histories
White-washed witness, bearing pale stone arms and a
Jaunty red-bricked cap.
©Thomas Gabriel
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
Lavendrous sky, with a pink cream hue,
atop our house, enriching the view
the stars under clouds giggle and coo,
while they play hide and seek
In The Midnight Blue.
Fireflies dance in the breezy air,
The crickets chant hymns with a soothing flair.
An owl keeps watch with stones in his stare -
None should be disturbed
In the Midnight blue.
The leaves rustlein' their own norm
lost in the melody of their divine song.
the wolves howl at the end of the shore,
with a mighty thought of more to explore.
The world is asleep, but the world is alive,
As fantasy, charm, and solemnity thrive.
Nothing else need be done save to open our eyes,
And the midnight blue would present the surprise.
The fairies smile in soberest pride
At restless souls in rest's delight.
The breeze blows, and wishes the world better luck,
While orchids embrace it, and add a bluer touch.
The flora and fauna sway freely and prance,
Partaking at will in the calico dance.
Lights stream through the sky with angelic allure
To enhance the contagious sensation astir.
The moon chuckles, strolling with admiration,
As the knight of midnight, in want of attention.
He relishes the sky, and its wondrous hue,
He prods into action, the entities who
Don't partake in the joy of the Midnight Blue.
Amidst this midnight's fascinating mirth,
Silence, a bubble in aeolian's berth,
Strives to remind dawn shall soon take its cue,
And playtime should end with a bow and adieu,
As the owl takes flight through the Midnight Blue.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 3:14 AM UTC
Someone was here,
but now has gone.
They left these remnants to carry on.
Those who knew him, they could tell
by the rot and fetid smell.
A shank of meat,
a bit of bone.
Soon, they will not be alone!
Hades winged creatures, all astir,
procreate and do enter.
Their seeds of continuity,
fecund in their gratuity.
And soon new life will arise,
mature,
take wing -
No! Not more flys!
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 6:02 AM UTC
It’s so miniscule—
this interval, this growing up
You fool yourself
into believing
it won’t ever end,
as if you could turn it back
to the beginning
like a radio dial
and let that hot-pink rapture
pour over you
again and always
but eventually it comes
to a close
and as I look back on my own
I feel like digging it a grave,
giving it a proper ceremony
Here Lies a Brief Forever
the epitaph would say
Here lies unearthly hardship
my hands gripping that first notebook
a screen door thrown open
dresses I wore and grew out of
wildflowers picked too soon
a head scribbled dark with sadness
glitter and one-sided love
bathrooms I wept in
swooping optimism
woods astir with light
heartsick
surreal courage
evolution
expansion
people who didn’t understand and
people who did
moon dancing
the carpet where I spilled English Breakfast
the road where I slashed
my knee open
and blood flew everywhere
breakdowns
the rush of space between
vocals and bass drop
snowflakes blinked away
my father gone
my mother remaining
credit-rolling darkness and a girl
hair I wanted straight until
I didn’t
stars burning and seething
ice rinks
aloneness and unity and
aching forward motion
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
'Tis a Yuletide morning: cold and bright,
There is potent magic astir in the breeze,
God's name spelled in stars over the night,
Spells and blessings doth blow through the trees,
The spirits of the interstices,
Stoke our enjoyment and revelation,
Grant all hopes and wishes fulfilment,
And leave the heart in gestation,
The transcendent music of all Earth's realm,
Goes round like a ribbon on the breeze,
The hibernating Rabbits, a warm heart beneath the hearth,
The hearth glittering with resplendent hues,
The chants of druids, round the witching stones,
Carried the praise of Earth to the skies,
Catholic prefers to atone,
But Pagan prefers to reject lies.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
As the wind
Blows sweetly to the
Crescent moon, the
Dandelions,
Entranced sway.
Forever hold the dark
Gold that is
Hailed
In the night, not day.
Just in its cause
King of peace
Lambs may sleep, but
Many other things are astir
Not to be detected. Night is
Open to the world, but we are too
Preoccupied by blinding light, we
Question the night.
Restricting trust to something
So secure is such a shame
The night is glorious
Under the moon, wolves
Vying for the moon's sweet light,
Where peace is held.
And this peace spreads across the earth like soft
Butter on dry bread,
Cooling the air, making the land smooth and soft
Delight in the night. It's
Everywhere.
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 7:12 PM UTC
There's a pounding in my head
Too sick to be alive, too astir to be dead
Everything is hazy, shifting into distant lands
A nervous shaking in my hands
Am I hot or cold?
I feel so vulnerable and young, yet so sickly and old
There's a ringing in my ears
And I can't stop my tears
As fuzzy thoughts, bated breath
Feel like impending death
My brain is melting, I'm losing my wits
The spinning never quits
Everything is muddled, whispered despair
I'm done, finished, this is too much to bear
Maybe I should just...drift away...
Maybe I should let my head gently sway....
The shaking stops
The darkness drops
I don't fight it, I don't try to flee
The liquid waves of malaise carry me
To somewhere deep within the abyss of my brain
And everything disappears, the confusion and pain
But it's transient, it doesn't last
Consciousness comes back with a blast
The waves wash me back ashore,
But I still feel wobbly to the core
My ebbing spirit did revive,
Though I'm too weak to feel alive
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
Acquainted with the minutest details
Asking the deep but obscurest questions
Walking paradox each waking moment
Conundrums within constantly astir
Then I know we walk same mysterious ways
Hidden enigmas part if seas open
Waters from dead rocks when all hope is lost
Yet we walk, the light irresistible
Apart in time and space irrelevant
For the soul's immortal and eternal
Speaks the same words in the same awe and light
In language beyond words, speech without sound
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 2:28 AM UTC