"athirst" poems
Static, memories
Emanating, separating
The postcard- perfect
Still life speaks
From its storied past.
Invisible, to drift
Among
The florid aphorisms,
Ending in
Deleterious debris,
Aftermath of
The inevitable.
Empty room, echo hollow
Tabula rasa -
Carpet clean, quite candid in it's
Return to callow.
Consciousness athirst,
Absorbing phenomena
Effervesce, inquisitive
Ideas foment,
Sealed inside a question.
The what -
Against the narrow
Scarcity,
And fatigue of should.
A tender malleable
Youth,
Betrayed, under
An assumed decorum -
Residue of truth,
Flattened emotion
Privations of a self
Unheard;
Misplaced affirmation,
Buried pathologies
In architecture
Fear manifests symbolic.
Harboring apathy
The lunacy of pious
Pedigree,
Import contagion,
Fetters of benignity
Doubt and indecision
Into ******
Cognizance,
Fallow spirits
Seep fumes of decay,
Credulity bleeds a human stain.
Social edifice, inoculated
Heirs of neurosis;
Palpable, sensual pain
And transience, though
Tacit - remain,
Our haunted history,
The blind hyperbole,
Maudlin
Forbearance, this haven,
A portrait
Of immaculate condition,
Nurtured with precision
Under sterling pretense.
Provincial domicile -
House beautiful,
Savage irony -
Unseen treasure
Innocence unabridged,
Faces, tiny creations;
Compliant vessels
Wounded,
While modernism murmurs
Its promise.
Brave New World,
In a late model sedan,
Domestic ranch on a
Corner lot,
Suburban natives,
Silence means security.
The misunderstood
Speak louder -
Consumerism beneath
Unvarnished ambition,
Never could
Repair the brokenness within...
© 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 5:38 PM UTC
While we slumber and sleep,
The sun leaps up from the deep,--
Daylight born at the leap,--
Rapid, dominant, free,
Athirst to bathe in the uttermost sea.
While we linger at play--
If the year would stand at May!--
Winds are up and away,
Over land, over sea,
To their goal, wherever their goal may be.
It is time to arise,
To race for the promised prize;
The sun flies, the wind flies,
We are strong, we are free,
And home lies beyond the stars and the sea.
8.1k
White with daisies and red with sorrel
And empty, empty under the sky!—
Life is a quest and love a quarrel—
Here is a place for me to lie.
Daisies spring from ****** seeds,
And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
Cursed by farmers thriftily.
But here, unhated for an hour,
The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
The daisy stands, a ******* flower,
Like flowers that bear an honest name.
And here a while, where no wind brings
The baying of a pack athirst,
May sleep the sleep of blessed things,
The blood too bright, the brow accurst.
3.6k
This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
The honied lines so freshly interlace,
To keep the reader in so sweet a place,
So that he here and there full-hearted stops;
And oftentimes he feels the dewy drops
Come cool and suddenly against his face,
And, by the wandering melody, may trace
Which way the tender-legged linnet hops.
Oh! what a power has white Simplicity!
What mighty power has this gentle story!
I, that do ever feel athirst for glory,
Could at this moment be content to lie
Meekly upon the grass, as those whose sobbings
Were heard of none beside the mournful robins.
2.9k
She stands as pale as Parian statues stand;
Like Cleopatra when she turned at bay,
And felt her strength above the Roman sway,
And felt the aspic writhing in her hand.
Her face is steadfast toward the shadowy land,
For dim beyond it looms the light of day;
Her feet are steadfast; all the arduous way
That foot-track hath not wavered on the sand.
She stands there like a beacon thro' the night,
A pale clear beacon where the storm-drift is;
She stands alone, a wonder deathly white;
She stands there patient, nerved with inner might,
Indomitable in her feebleness,
Her face and will athirst against the light.
2.8k
The upland flocks grew starved and thinned:
Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs
Whose milkless mothers butted them,
Or who were orphaned of their dams.
The lambs athirst for mother's milk
Filled all the place with piteous sounds:
Their mothers' bones made white for miles
The pastureless wet pasture grounds.
Day after day, night after night,
From lamb to lamb the shepherds went,
With teapots for the bleating mouths
Instead of nature's nourishment.
The little shivering gaping things
Soon knew the step that brought them aid,
And fondled the protecting hand,
And rubbed it with a woolly head.
Then, as the days waxed on to weeks,
It was a pretty sight to see
These lambs with frisky heads and tails
Skipping and leaping on the lea,
Bleating in tender, trustful tones,
Resting on rocky crag or mound,
And following the beloved feet
That once had sought for them and found.
These very shepherds of their flocks,
These loving lambs so meek to please,
Are worthy of recording words
And honor in their due degrees:
So I might live a hundred years,
And roam from strand to foreign strand,
Yet not forget this flooded spring
And scarce-saved lambs of Westmoreland.
1.8k
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
Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not:
I am no summer friend, but wintry cold,
A silly sheep benighted from the fold,
A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot.
Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot,
Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold;
Lest you with me should shiver on the wold,
Athirst and hungering on a barren spot.
For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge,
I live alone, I look to die alone:
Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge,
Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back,
My heart goes sighing after swallows flown
On sometime summer's unreturning track.
1.6k
I bore with thee long weary days and nights,
Through many pangs of heart, through many tears;
I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights,
For three and thirty years.
Who else had dared for thee what I have dared?
I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above;
I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared:
Give thou Me love for love.
For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth,
For thee I trembled in the nightly frost:
Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth:
Why wilt thou still be lost?
I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced:
Men only marked upon My shoulders borne
The branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced,
Or wagged their heads in scorn.
Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy name
Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes:
I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame;
I, God, Priest, Sacrifice.
A thief upon My right hand and My left;
Six hours alone, athirst, in misery:
At length in death one smote My heart and cleft
A hiding-place for thee.
Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down
More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep:
So did I win a kingdom,--share My crown;
A harvest,--come and reap.
1.4k
If we are taken by the sun
We won't remember anyone
A fire hotter than our bones
Will eat us up 'til we're alone
And that is where the water stops
It cannot flow where it is hot
Remain athirst the rest of time
There's nothing left to ease your mind
Another home does not exist
For those who never looked for it
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
*He kept pounding
On the door of her heart
Athirst for the scent of
The bloom of the plant
To absorb the decadence
Of whimsical charm
That which seeped from her being
Irises that bled a rivulet
Of scarlet roses
Conquered a man
Dictated by a savage desire
To bathe in
The impalpable shimmer
Of her pearl white hydrangea
Adorned sun halo.*
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
i.
Yonside the celestial, whereinto ourn
Ability to seest shalt abraid as past day's fade.
ii.
Over with ourn life-time of a wait;
iii.
Accolent being's, praise in song-
We sit as children on living grass,
Tables made for dinner's to last,
As no time wilt pass, noone shalt be
Late, predestined plates; to never be
Athirst nor hungered.
iv.
Warrior's, King's, Seraphim's, cherub's, angelic shine, O' a place
To wonder.
v.
Thou to be mine yellow rose, me to be thine chaperone on the streets of gold; feet being led by the spirit of old, with God on his throne; in the
Holy city wherein love is the
Greatest command.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated ( agapi mou)
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
There was an Old Person of Hurst,
Who drank when he was not athirst;
When they said, 'You'll grw fatter,'
He answered, 'What matter?'
That globular Person of Hurst.
1.2k
I was never interested, I realized.
I ran, chased every tick of the clock afraid of not getting there on time, smiled at the person I just met, and answered the grammar exam like it was my quiz in Mathematics. I was even shaking during the typing exam. I was nervous during interview.
But I was never interested.
It feels weird though. The moment I heard about the company, all I thought was to get a resume and send it there. I never did a background check about the company, nor checking the possible salary I will be getting, and even the nationality of the students never came into my mind not until today.
After the HR congratulated me, I realized I don't want to have job nor the idea of getting this job or not.
And it hit me.
All the days I kept coming back in that building, running, smiling, hoping to give a shot, were all meant to be that way. I made those efforts because I should. But not because I wanted to work there.
It was because of the eagerness of emptying one's mind-- my mind. I was athirst of vacating all the thoughts inside my head, but the only way to null it is to fill it with thoughts I am not interested with.
Hopeless, as you see, unconsciously doing the things I never wanted to do just to forget the whole existence of this misery.
What do I expect? Sadness comes when you think you have almost escaped it. But fleeing is ephemeral. When sadness knocks your brain, you will always let it in, let it **** the hopes inside your head until there is only an ounce left for tomorrow. That is how it always goes.
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
Butterfly's searching
On the wings of an enraged wind
Within the shivering leaves of a willow tree
For her footprint
Lurking on the desert hillocks
Athirst
Around midnight, promenading lame
“Have you seen my footprint?”
Asked of every being: The butterfly
“I've seen it!”
Uttered: The scorpion
Inside the intestinal curves
In the belly of a horned viper
Was looking for you!
09/19/2014
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
One of the purest source of joy,
I athirst more and more.
Comforts the broken hearted
And instills unseen relief to their broken hearts.
Of every being, young and old,
You enchant and render merry.
Your worth is spoken from every mouth,
The sweetness and meaning you add to life.
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 9:01 AM UTC
There is a place I think of last
Before each night and day,
Where night is green and never black
When all else turns to grey.
Here the river flows as if
Each gurgle were its first
And bamble sleepy insects might
Adance, alight, athirst.
The moss-hugged giants curl their toes
And lead them down to shore.
Ta-woo, Ta-woo, the tawny goes
Before he hunts for more.
The fullest moon, or thinnest yet,
Contented with its fill,
Grows fat on sight of river night
And lets its bounty spill.
And, lo! Take care! Don't scare it so...
The pearl of heaven falls
And leaps about the laps and waves
While the 'hopper calls.
Sparkling droplets take their rests
By friends lost in the day.
Chatter, chuckle, laugh they will;
Happy, oh so gay!
They wind around my feet, aflare,
Carrying their gifts.
Given all to waterfall
As my mind becomes the drifts
As my breath becomes the wind,
As my eyes become the deep.
As shadows o'er the shallows skip
I shall live and never sleep.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
Terror steed.
He drinks from the well
where Mimir’s head
hoards the runes.
His avatars stand in forgotten corners.
I found one in a fragment of green
saved from the sprawl of the Great Wen;
his grey trunk was lightning-scarred,
yet bravely he held up his broken arms,
and under his root, bees were nesting.
Beset by serpents, nibbled by stags,
still he bears up the weight of the world.
Without his breath, the air we breathe
would choke, not nourish. Our lives hang
on his outspread arms, athirst for the sweet
inspiring ale which Bragi brews.
Wisdom’s words
lie in the well;
you must ride the terror-steed to read them,
but the price is high, and few will pay it,
though one eye sees more clearly than two
how when the ash shakes the earth trembles,
and terror-steed bears off the quick and the dead.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
*"And He said unto me, It is done.
I am Alpha and Omega,
the beginning and the end.
I will give unto him that is athirst of
the fountain of the water of life freely."*
Weeping again in loneliness
by the water fountain I sit.
A beautiful garden isn't beautiful
if you are not here with me.
Along came a soft wind embrace
light on my face to say all's okay.
Comfort me, ever so my True Love!
Give the Water of Life to my thirsty soul!
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC
Athirst for stillness
Is my turbulent heart
Swathed in ice.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
At noon I left the vineyard
With a wineskin newly full
But soon a half libation lost
While running down the hill.
But though I longed to share a taste
With some fair passerby,
I stumbled, and the last drops dyed
The ground beneath a tree.
Athirst and lonely, all my dreams
Of feasts and love resigned,
When suddenly the ground broke forth
And upward rose a vine.
At last I raised my trembling hands
And plucked its yield in haste,
And found the fruit that I expressed
Surpassed the last in taste.
And so I left my garden tomb
And—drunken with delight—
I sang that Love would be my portion
'Ere I reached the night!
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
i have longed to meet
one person who loved reading
one who lived more lives; still living
a wight athirst to read and relive each setting
tingling and searching a story for him to walk with his feet
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 12:23 PM UTC
Patient promise
Live and learn
Preach and teach
Jealous and zealous
Soul and spirit
Body and mind
Plain and simple
Safe and sound
Solid fluid gaseous plasma we
Phase shifted at the time.
For thus saith the LORD
unto the eunuchs that keep my sabbaths,
and choose [the things] that please me,
and take hold of my covenant;
{whose to judge, weightless we}
Even unto them will I give
in mine house and within my walls
a place and a name better than
of sons and of daughters:
I will give them an everlasting name,
that shall not be cut off.
--- thus said the celibate tyranny to the misfits.
The lure of the priesthood? Bribes, or declaration,
by the Authority of the faithful confirming secret acts,
and all minds mingle in pools of times tales told hold,
solid state, firm foundationally times tale told holy.
True, mano y mano, no God can go, being in truth spirit,
not flesh, until the laws of the covenant are filled full,
according to the plan as the prophet called IsAIaH has affirmed
true, when presented
in the finished salvation anointing outpouring.
** all ye athirst, come drink
think a timely thought, retrace your steps
from first moment, dig for the oldest experience,
when you now
think from that instance in reality to now, I am me, the idea
in my head that I can form words from. with adaptive exposure
to spoken words lifted into we all know realm for our good pleasure.
Settle down, calm the water's, leave go the miracles perceived,
and seek ye first the highest mind's true abode, step out,
great were the numbers publishing freedom now.
Peace works, easily entreated, wisdom woes..;
look back at what we thought we were, users of words, using mind
in general, co-knowing-uses, sensing food smell flower smell, must
Nov 30, 2023
Nov 30, 2023 at 5:15 PM UTC
Like where you are off to you see
Just the right place for one to be
If there had only been ample notice
You would have with you a novice
For now tis a simple wait it be
Ever patiently under nearby tree
Upon return many blank pages
Will soak in ink from many ages
So athirst for a new awareness
Simply turn please don't digress
Even gone you have been with me
Whole time both sitting under tree
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC