"avaunt" poems
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river.
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?—weep now or never more!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!—
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young—
A dirge for her, the doubly dead in that she died so young.
“Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her—that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how be sung
By you—by yours, the evil eye,—by yours, the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?”
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!
The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride—
For her, the fair and debonnaire, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes—
The life still there, upon her hair—the death upon her eyes.
“Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a paean of old days!
Let no bell toll!—lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the ****** Earth.
To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven—
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven—
From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven.”
3.1k
Avaunt, avaunt, I want to be,
Betwixt thy kiss, where
Ocean's roar; as
Studded door's
Open to the
Love I need.
An aye from thou
An aye from me;
I needeth mine
Filipino queen.
Thro the sorrow Jane
I'll be waiting, thro
The morrow; this
Heart will be racing.
Pumping each second,
Awaiting thy touch;
Craving thy face,
O' the yearning
Is much.
Time is so slow
When we art
Many sea's
Away;
But I'll get
To thee
Somehow,
The morrow----------if not the morrow;
I'll try again another day.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley ( agapi mou) dedicated
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 9:47 PM UTC
Bells, bells, bells,
I hear mellow bells
Merrier than sea bellows,
Bells, bells, bells,
So, sang a cloud grandly dressed in white.
Bells, bells, bells,
Who canst tell the mellow bells
Merrier than birds of the Vales?
Bells, bells, bells,
Upon my back novelty shores he'll sight.
Bells, bells, bells,
I think I know the bells,
I think I know the bells,
Bells, bells, bells,
So, cheerfully didst reply many a Kite.
For Christmas is here,
For Christmas is near,
Just around the corner
Heralding so fresh a year,
For as fades the sun this year's to avaunt.
Bells, bells, bells,
I think I know the bells,
I think I know the bells,
Bells, bells, bells,
They're but jingo bells—bells of delight.
O, dear Kites hold on tight
Whilst we set for our flight.
So, upon the back of the cloud,
There proudly didst shroud
Many a kite, I say, many a Kite,
And away from human sight
They didst glide and glide,
Yonder a dewy rainbow-like glade,
Yonder silvery whispering rills,
Yonder verdant charming hills,
Yonder so halcyon a limpid indigo sea,
Yonder a realm of many a golden tree,
Yonder a realm of lofty towers,
Where there are opalescent flowers
Well watered by eternal nectar streams
Serpentining by in the land of dreams,
Yonder a rose-scented ineffable clime,
Yonder beyond restrictions of time
Whilst whispering, bells, bells, bells,
To the mellifluous whispers of the bells.
#Onomatopoeic #Diacopic
*Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
21st.Dec.2017. Jumeirah, Dubai.*
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 3:44 PM UTC
Afore agone times,
avaunt from material
Civilization's, was a place;
Of unbiased race. We were
unadulterated, ere the statues
Of bronze, and kaolin faces.
The heaven's were ourn graces.
Though we got separated; at the fall
Of man, we bacameth as flesh, ourn
Finger's unlocked, we took the form
Of shoes and sock's, wearing human
Skin. Though ourn soul's of old knewest
None end. We cameth together once again-
As ourn light's blended highly, we blocked
Out the dark-cut the dim. As through this
New-age technological era-we foundeth one
Another. Ourn kind hadst been separated through
The warlike times, though queen O' mine queen.
Again, O' tis again; we foundeth each-other.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose)
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
Here’s a locked box of anagram shazam
(Don’t open it
The crazies might come out)
There’s a sealed sack of angsty crank-clanks
Take it, go away
I’m simply not myself today
** Yes, it’s true
I am sinking sads for you
Letting drinkies drown
My Anger Banger frown
Cryptic? Klik-kwik, and no, no
I was never there
Avaunt, begone, beware
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 4:47 AM UTC
Over hill on a golden afternoon,
Down thro’ the wooden dales, where lights succumb,
Wondered when Stars wink at the Moon,
To shame the Sun and hearts benumb.
At last, the night! Alas
The peep of owls, so flash,
The squeal of ghosts, so brash,
And shadows gather mass.
Old whispers stir, unkind,
Through mist and hollow wind...
Avaunt! Wild beast deform’d…
In silence loud, the former praises sound.
Nola, lone, she forbore beneath the Stars,
With timeless strength on cold playground,
Glanced swiftly at their Wiles, and roars
Reverberate… While the storm
Came dancing in the frame of Flurry East,
When deep into her pools so brilliant, prowl
A chilling sight of restless beast,
Screaming, each on hill, sad jovial howl
At Moon, aboon the norm.
Premeditatio Malorum
Feb 11, 2025
Feb 11, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
Sitting staring at the swirls gently engraved upon the ceiling,
feeling faintly pessimistic that my hateful heart is healing.
Take apart the grace and art,
reveal my dated darkened past,
to harken back on wasted hours casting plaster for this mask.
It's cloudy colors cover up my crowded stream of conscience,
these teeming constants split between omitted and accomplished,
Scenes of trips and speeding fits
replaced by cleaner blips in truth
gleaning pictures of achievement, disconstruing youth uncouth.
Tall tales tinker with the crawling skin wherein my twin is toweled,
howling, hinting with appalling twitches, calling crying foul!
Small disguise in sprawling lies,
ensheathed, forestalling prying guests,
deflects the scrutinizing eyes of stressing restless wrecks.
My cranium co-ordinates claims stripped of contradiction,
wont to stitch the hidden patch on flaunted fabric fiction.
A daunting task, avaunt, at last,
concealed from haunting static force,
hiding flaws in paths of virtue drawn in divorced source and course.
Holding heaving out a haze, a cloud of extravented high,
sighs surrendered to the evening see my gracious ember die.
Praise condemns these sacred friends
with whom I stray from rendered paths,
preventing brash impatience from detaching this black mask.
Apr 13, 2011
Apr 13, 2011 at 3:00 AM UTC
Wasted hours, passing daze
All because I see her face
My thoughts can freeze
As we walk beneath these towering trees.
Her hair holds up even in the rain
To touch her lips I can't refrain
To graze her hips with my fingertips
I know would heal my pains.
I am a coward to her beauty
Afraid of her denial
But was my last attempt not futile?
Her lips I did meet
Oh yes, her gorgeous, gracious, succulent, mesmerizing lips
Of which mine briefly became acquainted
Makes me cannibalistic for more.
I seek not lust, but i must
For my daydreams and my night dreams
and my left dreams and my right dreams
Strip her from her avaunt garde clothing
Revealing her olive skin in a florescent room
Free from the abysmal gloom
For my unworthy hands to gently caress.
I press to impress this empress of my thoughts
For she supersedes my wants.
I don't just want but I need to feel her hair
Brush against my bare chest as she lays down
To close her eyes next to mine
Awaiting the moment they open and see
I am still there.
What I would do to be with you
For even one night
(I'd believe in God if I got two.)
You certainly are nothing less than bliss
But my uncertainty aches me
Will I ever get another kiss?
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 1:59 AM UTC
In form and figure, in sweep and scope,
This is a masterpiece of art.
Its maker, long since returned to dust,
died of a broken heart.
In life his work was “Avaunt- garde”
and never won acclaim.
He passed away at forty three-
Not a penny to his name.
His eyes conceived light differently
than an ordinary man’s.
Street strumpets were rendered beautiful
by his knowing, loving hands.
This piece just sold for millions
and has garnered much acclaim.
(He sold it for a loaf of bread
To one who bought it for the frame,)
It might have made its maker smile
At the irony, in passing,
That what his age deemed worthless
Has brought him fame everlasting
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
My sunshine my moon light,
Je suis désolé, I walked away.
Thou art fair, O my beloved!
Thou didst gift me the art of living,
but not without thee.❤️
Thou didst teach me to give but, without exhausting self .
Thou thought me to Bestir after jeers.
Thee wast my addition,
yet good for my fettle.
Flaunting thee, I got lauded.
Feeling thee, I got better like a buss.
Was reflecting my mind's saga in thee!
Methinks why didst I avaunt ?Natheless, It's been months.. I know!
Can I forlorn thee?
Naa .. Thou art my amour.
I can't forsake, thee can I?
"je suis de retour bébé"
("I'm back baby")
Melancholy ain't making me poetical,
Instead, more panglossian!
The merman sobbing in rain,
Remember! Best lessons are the ones that comes from pain.
For, POETRY be my life.
Yes she's my amour!*
- Rose
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 2:22 AM UTC