"beest" poems
If 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth graciously on silence's table,
and studyeth mine own evolved, yet un-evolv'd self,
undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated,
by w'rld's brightest gulf
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth comf'rtably on peace's table,
and gaze mine own wounded, yet un-wound'd self,
un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved,
by w'rld's s'rry self
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth calmly on agony's table,
and obs'rve mine own painful, yet not painful self,
unmoved, undaunted, unleashed,
by w'rld's weirdest self,
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth fain on glee's table,
with mine own eyes smiling, and smiling at myself,
unaffected, unguarded, unremitted,
by w'rld's unrequit'd self
. and grineth backeth, at myself.
if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
twill forsooth beest a did bless, contending miracle,
as yond's at which hour i couldst pateth & greeteth myself,
in real, in real, in real!
and maketh this fact p'rceivable,
yond our w'rld may sure oft hest struggles,
and our m're existence in t,
may just beest negligible,
but we nev'r gotta f'rget
to stayeth hopeful, smileth and giggle,
nay matt'r how hard the struggles,
as yond's the most wondrous fuel,
yond can oft causeth miracles,
in a w'rld,
so obsess'd with struggles!
And then with a sigheth,
a blooming grineth,
yet a sparkling desire within,
i'll did bid myself,
a farewell
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove,
Of golden sand, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.
There will the river whispering run,
Warmed by thy eyes more than the sun.
And there the enamoured fish will stay.
Begging themselves they may betray.
When wilt thou swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
If thou, to be so seen, beest loath,
By sun or moon, thou dark’nest both;
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.
Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset
With strangling snare, or windowy net.
Let course bold hand from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest,
Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes’ wandering eyes.
For thee, thou need’st no such deceit,
For thou thyself are thine own bait;
That fish that is not catched thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.
1.8k
time it is
she beckoned
time and I ate of it
the dread
the matter of her
no kiss of her
from her
honestly
no doubt, I knew...
it was dinner time
"eat me"
she labored
as dog in heat
spread her legs
as on stirrups
I be, the muzzle be her divorce from me
yank my collar, chain wrapped
about her hand
beckon me
"eat"
chain be her love I desire
collar be my patience given
but appetite?
mine be love
her beest pleasure
I have no appetite for
merely
pleasure
neither hers nor mine
sans love?
no appetite at all have I
eyes so weary of wanting
that I melt
as Salvador Dali prophesied
mine eyes droop
her thighs
wet my fantasies
as ice cream, on the hottest Sunday,
I am weak
weary of denying myself her
she, a mere rainforest of beauty
abundant in plural, though singular
her flower
droop me 'tween mine legs
raise me, as the dawn rises zenithly,
she pies me,
my piper, my charmed being
I'm pied
she has me
dancing, midriffly, with ****** fervor
mine eyes cast down
as shadow in sunset
lone tree in the wilderness
redfern shadow
a mile long
mine eyes cast down between her legs
seeing all my heart's desires
"eat"
and all my hopes dieth there
"eat"
despair, I mourn
I pine
"love me"
I opine, my lover love me
be not pleasure the measure of our stay, in bed, this Sunday
love me, as the Father hath given us this day
be not Eve of the forbidden love
be Dawn of the day we won eternal life from the devil's death
that my fruit be of your nectar drunk, that I be your pleasure,
and you be mine
that I succor thine fruit
hour by hour that you writhe
not as snake but as mountain shook
as mountain moved
faithfully, you love me,
let that fantasy be mine drink
and thine offering due my thirst
that love sate me,
nay?!
"eat!"
and all the world looketh empty of light
"eat! **** you"
and all the world be afright with wonder that I be man, yet, eat not my ****** that
she be heathen of love, still, my ****** she be,
simply,
that mine eyes drink her in
beauty beyond compare
but that mine ears deceive me not
for deceive me, her flesh does
but her forked tongue
as lightning streak
she shat the bed
that streak be her ****** blessing
dashed across her whorish ways
be that time
I linger in wait
wanting, but that I eat
she trappeth me
that all I be good for
is her pleasure
but be not fit
for her love
"eat! what are you good for?!"
nay, irony be that
time told
clock struck truth
"eat!"
nay
"what my flesh be, here, then?"
a trap,
and I say nay
for I be a lover
of such supple,
gorgeous,
womanly flesh, not, merely,
a ******
"eat"
I be not hungry,
for a *****
my flesh be purchased
but nay that my heart he purchased
neither my soul,
by merely, lust
I, too dearly, pine for you
dream of you
romance you deeper than form
and fit
time
and merciless pleasure
to be,
of you,
lustfully...
so, I say,
nay...
but,
that ye should, learn love me
perhaps,
that day
perhaps
then, yay
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 1:45 PM UTC
Oh! that you were born on Wednesday
then thou can doth as wednesday does
tis not thy fate to ply that road
Look away now child, fight not the cards
tis not your fate, tis not your fate
for only maidens wend to war and horses ride
for ye are the offspring of Wednesday
tis not your station to question wherefore
think not of it my child, let fate decide
It is tabooed to search for the eagle's nest
only they were borne to doth these things
thy worth, tis ransomed by thy skin
resplendent as a future past, that never beest
and lo that road was never walked
By him
Or her
Or we
Or they
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 6:01 AM UTC
Held in place by an insatiable jolt, he heeds.
A feminine landscape, gracious in its bearing
and fiducial in character and grace,
commands the screen by way of a privileged audience.
Words of a genuine spirit are uttered,
producing a flavor of static serenity
potent enough to lead the meek away from sorrow
and into her pacifying warmth.
Majestic, both in name and persona,
normalized greys are cast aside
in favor of Kore’s illuminating, celestial sky.
Wrath disintegrates at her muted embrace and euphony.
William himself would reanimate
had life given him the gift of time
in servitude of the Priestess and her
tender and captivating adjudication:
“Et’rnity beest damn’d f’r having did produce an embodiment of majestic grace.”
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
The Day a Healer Did Weep,
The day did start with desire in the power of prayer,
Yond day would end in horrible, lingering, despair.
The moniters sounded a wretched shrill of doom,
In a blink, an instant, I wast whisked from the cubiculo,
The time did do cometh with swift, and desperate, finality,
While I did pray, and did beg God's holp, did do cometh lethality.
The leadeth leech would not giveth in until did pull away,
With the hurlyburly's end, We did weep together yond day,
This healer with emotion withdrawn, did do break down as a tyke,
The lady did has't this loving effect on all, in the very same like.
Ay, a life ended one warm, sunny, day in K.C,
Nay one erned, but doctors, nurses, and me,
Thither wast nay flowers, nay mourners, nay half staff,
Mine heart ripped ope as with a warrior's gaff.
I cherished, and did protect the lady all our time together,
I did fix all, did maketh things right, cometh high water, or nether,
I couldst nae fix this, nay matter how hard I would tryeth,
Thou can not imagine such teen as I did watch that lady vade, and die,
Nary one knave, nay matter whom they may ever beest,
Can beest did replace, Each life is precious, I wouldst decree,
I wilt declare this to thou, All those yond would listen,
Taketh nothing for did grant, leaveth not a thing missing.
Liveth each moment with thy love as t'would beest thy last,
Leaveth nay regrets in thy future, or eyeless in thy past,
Still cogitate thy love as thou did has't from the first,
Tf 't be true thou pause too long, thou can nea quench such a thirst.
Thither is nary joy in living with regret, teen, and grief,
Liveth each day did share as a gift, and treasure this life brief.
(Translation)
"The Day a Healer Wept,,
The day started with hope in the power of prayer,,
That day would end in horrible, lingering, despair,,
The moniters sounded a wretched shrill of doom,,
In a blink, an instant, I was whisked from the room,,
The time came with swift, and desperate, finality,,
While I prayed, and begged God's help, came lethality,,
The lead Doctor would not give up until pulled away,,
With the battle's end, We wept together that day,,
This doctor with emotion withdrawn, broke down as a tyke,,
She had this loving effect on all, in the very same like,,
Yes, a life ended one warm, sunny, day in K.C.,,
No one grieved, but doctors, nurses, and me,,
There were no flowers, no mourners, no half staff,,
My heart ripped open as with a warrior's gaff,,
I cherished, and protected her all our time together,,
I fixed all, Made things right, Come high water, or nether,,
I couldn't fix this, no matter how hard I would try,,
You can not imagine such pain as I watched her fade, and die,,
No one person, no matter whom they may ever be,,
Can be replaced, Each life is precious, I would decree,,
I will say this to you, All those that would listen,,
Take nothing for granted, Leave not a thing missing,,
Live each moment with your love as it would be the last,,
Leave no regrets in your future, or hidden in your past,,
Forever cogitate your love as you had from the first,,
If you pause too long, you can never quench such a thirst,,
There is no joy in living with regret, pain, and grief,,
Live each day shared as a gift, and treasure this life brief,,
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 10:53 PM UTC
Thump, thump, thump
Thy heart hath been cast in the dunnest depths of hell
Where all is horrid, and none doth fair well
Thump, thump, thump
Cause teen doth thee, nay!
For teen done unto me, is not as such unto they
Thump, thump, thump
And louder and louder grows the melody of thy temperament
And not four, three, two, but one doth descend from the firmament
Thump, thump, thump
To bringeth peace to the wretched, woeful pentameter
And wish dismemberment upon thy casted phenyl ether
Thump, thump, thump
The hurtling, the hurtling, it grow’st, ever so behooved!
Make it stop, my dearly beloved!
Thump, thump, thump
O, that cursed noise! Let it be dispelled!
Wish I not to feel! To hear! To hell, be it! To hell!
Thump, thump, thump
O, I beg of thee, let thy ***** heave one last time!
Let thy heart love once more, bittersweet as thyme!
Thump, thump, thump
I can go on no longer, I’m sure of it now! Tear my mind from its host!
O, please, my love, my one and only, let it be death’s turn to boast!
Thump, thump, thump
O yes, yes, I wish such upon thyself, for glee I hath not!
In thought, in feeling, I am most distraught
Thump, thump, thump
Can not the same be said for thee?
Mine own love, mine own lady! End thy teen and let it beest seen!
Thump, thump, thump
I wish this odious hurtling beest heard nay more!
O! Mercifully, shalt death’s hands cradle thee, and bring peace? Nevermore!
Thump, thump, thump
M’lady, my everything, say what you will
But pain any less seems rather fittingly ill!
Thump, thump, thump
To leave behind what ye hath built,
Arm in arm did we, as one; it would hurt more than a sword through that drum, deep to the hilt
Thump, thump, thump
O, let still it be heard! For cease, it shall not!
And lest not, we bethink our final bethought
Thump, thump, thump
For forever in my heart lives thee
And forever will thou be cherished, my fair lady
Thump, thump, thump
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 1:19 AM UTC
In those hard times
I did love thee not.
But now I doth
At which hour I see thee rot.
Oh, Guildford, I realize
The thought yond we were meant to beest
Didst not crosseth mine own mind.
Nine days queen
Didst weaken our bond
I had not the timeth
To knoweth we hath grown fond
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
Oh How I loveth thee
A quite quaint angel in my own eyes.
With dark and white broken wings.
Und'r ****** falls.
I shall waiteth, and comf'rt thee.
Liekth thee loveth thy beareth.
Until the endeth of p'riod.
A hoarse voice with angelic tone.
Haer like the colours of my chameleon.
The tend tender lips of loveth.
A smileth and mind of ambivalence.
I shall loveth with nay judgment.
A halo as bright as the mistress
Possesseth in humans death's-head.
The lukewarm blue chopt lips.
The sleep chamber the lady did lie upon.
H'r ilness, but I accepteth death.
I can kisseth with green valor breath.
The strength of a giant.
The nimbleness of a lilliputian fairy.
Thee can doth aught.
Yon can crustheth and slipeth.
Through the cracks of timeth.
Thee can beest fell'r joyous.
Liketh the visage of a monst'r
I loveth thee f'r who is't thou art.
Thee can beest the wild animal with scars.
mine own canine ears ope to hark.
Thee can has't warts liketh a toad.
A belly as big as the univ'rse.
I shalt beest a fath'r.
thee can has't barb'd wire on thy corse.
My chivalrous armour does not mind thy pain.
Thee believeth chivalry is gone.
Somewh're on the planet, 'r in the heavens above.
Sickl'd by the grim reap'rs ploy.
The apparition 'r man you love.
I'm the pap'r thee loveth at which hour thy depress'd
The smileth thee misseth.
I am thy sir'r knave at heart.
I'm the knight thee wanteth me to best.
The lasteth sir standing at the edge of the w'rld with thee.
Thy the only ***** I protecteth, and loveth f'rev'r.
I give you can seeth how I loveth thee.
This poem was written by Shane Michael Cleary at 12:42 2017 on June 30th.
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC
I doth love thou with most every an ounce of mine own being
So much so yond mine own heart, nor mine own soul hath not the capacity to deny
O, I doth so hold dearly to mine own consciousness
The knowledge yond I truly beest enamored by thee, mine own dearly beloved
Is the reason I shalt subsist; ‘tis for the envy I hold for the world
And for the love of thee; I doth so deeply cherish
Our time together
And as such is true for dram to nay extant being
For thou art mine own muse, wonder of human creation to behold
With a mind full of thoughts and with a heart full of envy, love, and sorrow
We shalt over wroght
And beest ever so true to thee, I shalt beest
Nay want of yare
Nor an abundance of need
Shalt dispell the love I doth hath for thee
For it hath been writ in stone
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
modern English
I want to promise to love you, my lover,
I’ll never hurt you for the rest of my days
At this moment I will be your friend forever
I could tell you my love in many ways
But none of them are good enough for you
I will spend my days with the one I love
Because we are the perfect two
I will always be your elegant white dove.
I hope that we can grow old together
Our families may be enemies
But we could be like garlic and butter
When I am weak you are my remedy
With every beat of my heart,
I will love you till death due us part
Shakespearean
I wanteth to gage to loveth thee, mine own lov'r,
I’ll nev'r did hurt thee f'r the rest of mine own days
At this moment I shall beest thy cousin f'rev'r
I couldst bid thee mine own loveth in many ways
But none of those folk art valorous enow f'r thee
I shall spendeth mine own days with the one i loveth
Because we art the p'rfect two
I shall at each moment beest thy elegant white dove.
I desire yond we can groweth fusty togeth'r
Our families may beest enemies
But we couldst beest liketh garlic and buttocks'r
At which hour I am weak thou art mine own remedy
With ev'ry did beat of mine own heart,
I shall loveth thee till death due us parteth
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
Mine own joybringer moon ambler
Mine own figure is thy company per purr
Thee madeth me a humour addeth loveth abler
Saveth thy ardor banter to me thy emotion banker
Beest mine own forever pricketh spur
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 11:28 AM UTC
Reeds de derde achter de rug
nog een vierde, doe maar vlug.
Alsof de tijd is opgeschoven,
teruggeschoven
en wederkeerde naar dezelfde momenten.
Waarom blijft een dier zich inprenten
als een beest, zuiders wild,
zelfs al heeft het nooit gemogen,
zelfs al is het nooit gewild,
radeloos maar opgetogen.
Doelen worden pas plezier
als ze bereikt worden.
Nadat we enkele maanden
heen en weer porden
en ons verliefd of verlangend waanden
keerden we terug naar de eigenlijke staat.
Elk van ons is en blijft niets meer,
keert weder, elke keer,
naar een staat in de natuur,
met meerdere deuren op een kier,
noem het zielig, noem het zuur,
we blijven niets meer dan een dier.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 6:31 PM UTC
Thy recesses of heart bestowed upon thee
Art the work of a Master, a prodigy forsooth
Thou hast the complexion of that which is pure
Harbingers of hell doth cower ere
Thine beauty of thee; shalt prosper evermore
Allow me to apologize,
For a queen art thou to me,
Whom ‘gainst one could not make delations
Long after yon, at which hour thou art gone
But if 't be true come the day, forced; thy queen walk hence
Shalt thee leave me, nay!
Still wilt ye reside ‘longside me
Beest t in flesh, or beest t in heart
The love I hath for thee, wilt nev'r fall apart
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 3:26 PM UTC
No worst hast thou done,
yet no worse than I...
Forsaken for mine sin, for which thither art many...
Cast off from thy valorous grace, for I am owed nothing but mine penance unto thee...
Thine smileth and favour I am yet to winneth again...
For thy divine light to breath life into thy soul...
For all that I has't done and the sins I am yet to commit...
Mercy beest upon me...
For I still carryeth the glimmer of thy fire in mine heart.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
Aforetime at which hour we were born
In this hustling world of disharmony.
Rich for what those gents has't nev'r adorn,
Poor for what those gents has't nev'r adorn.
Conflicting for the limited, forgetting the still.
Knoweth not that the still is peace.
One day ere we receiveth inner peace.
T'will beest late for t, but not yet.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC