"befit" poems
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn
Which once he wore!
The glory from his gray hairs gone
Forevermore!
Revile him not, the Tempter hath
A snare for all;
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath,
Befit his fall!
Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage,
When he who might
Have lighted up and led his age,
Falls back in night.
Scorn! would the angels laugh, to mark
A bright soul driven,
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark,
From hope and heaven!
Let not the land once proud of him
Insult him now,
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim,
Dishonored brow.
But let its humbled sons, instead,
From sea to lake,
A long lament, as for the dead,
In sadness make.
Of all we loved and honored, naught
Save power remains;
A fallen angel's pride of thought,
Still strong in chains.
All else is gone; from those great eyes
The soul has fled:
When faith is lost, when honor dies,
The man is dead!
Then, pay the reverence of old days
To his dead fame;
Walk backward, with averted gaze,
And hide the shame!
5.4k
Why should the Light return upon
Our cold and darkened land?
When, into sleep, we drift and yawn,
So thoughtless of His hand...
We never think: "Someday it may
Forever cease to shine!"
We never thank – with thanks, befit –
For Morning Mercies' rise.
Why should the Light return upon
Our cold and darkened land?
But to awaken life at dawn
As He, in Goodness, planned...
We never, then, have an excuse
To fall into a dream
We never, then, can e’re accuse;
His Glory’s, daily, seen.
.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 11:41 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
There are more and more misfortunes in the world
Known to you dear people in your diverse conditions,
But my life and experience has taught me unique lessons
Of kindred to befit me Elizabeth, a daughter of Zinjathropus
Hailing in the savannah desert, Turkana County of Kenya,
I have graduated in to a single lady without test of marriage,
As desert men look at me in their irritating impotence,
**** clothes wrapped around their slender waists passing on me
Like a dog passing on American dollars; cursed be desert men,
I thought my beauty of dark African complexions will give them a ****** tease
But to my chagrin; desert men have a fear of beautiful ladies
My conscience tells me that my beauty is an eye sore to them,
I thought my bulging hips will entice them as is a promise of fertility
Leave alone not to mention my concupiscent ****** warmth, uhmmm!
Desert men have dared not to see and appreciate my **** bossom,
They often pass on me driving their donkeys and emaciated carmels,
I thought my ***** sharp pointed ******* assign of virginity
Will call them to me into a treat of love, affiliative love,
But sadly enough; these dudes are erotically blind,
They they nonchalantly pass on my **** *****
Wielding a begging bowl in their ***** long hands
Running like drunkard chimpanzees going to Oxfam stores to beg for food,
Cursed be Oxfam an imperialist agent, it has crashed flat
The testicles of our desert brothers into ****** insensitivity,
Oxfam has made African desert men to beg like Hebrew lepers
Other than standing up on their feet to feed their women,
Normally as men would do from the sweat of their brow,
I thought my education will attract them to me,
To love me with those romantic University kisses,
But desert men have crude cultures and slavish religion
They rebuke girl child education as if it is a devil,
Oh my dear God of the forsaken desert ladies
Of the forsaken African daughters,
Take me out of this ****** desert
Take me out of the city desert of Lodwar,
Take me to the equator line and give me a husband,
My eggs are pretty ready to conceive and sire children
Sons and daughters for your own glory O almighty God,
Take me out of this ****** desert,
Where no man treats a modern woman,
Take me out of here and give me a fresh man of my dream.
Because I have known from today;
It is accurse to be a woman in Africa
It is a curse to be a beautiful lady in African deserts
It is a curse to be a woman graduate in the African desert
It is a curse to have ***** ******* in the African desert,
O! Help me God.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for sweet peas.
And whose skin could be misplaced for dogwood.
Tongue as innocent as the boy that cried wolf,
And eyes as golden as yore.
You knew of that girl, count every school day,
Where she walked through the door, head bowed and heart prayed.
'neath those bangs, whose color is as dark as our breaths, and as shiny as false tree,
Whose eyes--exotic--bluer--bluer than a thumbtack and bluebells set out by sea.
Whose eyes are mismatched by plentiful lips--small as the silver spec on my shoe,
And shimmered 'neath sterile light, as if she kissed the face of Mt. Rushmore, too.
With those high lips and V-line chin, which connected with her pencil neck to her petite body,
No ******* or bottom, with legs as thin as stilts and as blinding as our phones,
She holds the body of a cradle, and sings like a tongue-less canary.
Always kempt and proper--her hair tied back with a lovely noose.
And shoes worry not of dirt--for she never played outside.
Resting 'neath maple-wood trees like a bunny--face and knees tucked by arms, and that's where they reside.
Many boys had asked for her hand in play, but that bunny went deeper--deeper into the flesh hole she burrowed.
"Painfully shy, she was." They said.
And that pain was her devil.
For you knew not the cause of those florid, pink, cheeks.
Whose purpose means nothing but dead machines.
Whose eyes rung bright--struck the world alight,
Yet, they themselves could not see.
For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for vintage bust,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bile.
Whose eyes mistaken for lust,
And face mistaken for tile.
For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for heat,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bleach.
For again and again and again, the belt beats.
And hello to endless ******
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Blue waters and purple veins clash--wash again and again 'gainst land--and befit the word: queer.
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Innocence knows no bounds and eyes no longer see flavor,
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Exotic eyes bled--rained--pink--and pink--and pink with grand fervor...!
For sometimes it may frighten you to know,
Not all persons are truly healthy,
even those who you hold truly dear.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
Be as a kaleidoscope
and fractalize the mind.
Embrace the dichroic glass,
and break what limits bind.
Smoother than a marble egg,
yet tempered more than brass,
bemuse yourself entirely
with Millefiori glass.
For in its mystic ampule
birefringent voices dance,
and visions come together
should time befit the chance.
No turn, nor shake, nor twist
can break its hallowed grace.
Acknowledge its diversity
and revel in azoth space.
Its symmetry is blithe at times,
yet stunning through and through,
and dashing through its mirrored hall,
the light shall come to you.
There is beauty in a beam of light.
Caress its warmth and hope.
How wondrous still that beauty grows
with a simple kaleidoscope.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
Small eyes that slowly grow,
See beautiful worlds turn ******
Sense that arrogance in people,
Sensuality turning minds lonely.
But, unspared this onslaught,
I hear thoughts within the dark recesses of my mind,
That shame and shock me,
Fearing to dig further, afraid of what I’ll find.
Chasing love into barren deserts,
Mirages and illusions leave me thirsty,
In the race to fill up the hole in your heart,
I am begging for love, where could it be?
Turn slowly to the lies we’re fed,
Inside and over time, we change our sights,
Till the point that rational belief is lost,
My disbelief with blind faith would fight.
One day I stood on the precipice of truth,
And love that overwhelms, I found it,
Hopelessness wasn’t my life anymore,
Because rags do not a prince befit.
Finally when his love overpowers my every doubt,
And we surrender to the flood of heaven,
That void inside is at last, filled,
With forgiveness, seven times seventy seven.
So if you struggle to believe in a god,
Who loves, lives and sets you free,
Get down on your knees and say,
“God if you are there, Show yourself to me”
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
What does it mean to be real truly?
May be to get up elsewise each morning?
Or drink my coffee elsewise all the time?
To hush elsewise or sound for something?
To be real… What does it mean truly?
To meet rules, fashion or weather folly?
Or may be befit you? No love, no suffer, no joy,
No tenderness - all’s a waste as an ice-lolly.
Don’t think about the sea while watching the sunset?
Don’t dream about the forest while listening to birds?
Don’t walk in the rain and don’t drip with wet?
And don’t have any feelings? No afterwords.
No. I decided one day to be real truly.
But I didn’t break myself while making the same.
I continue to walk in the rain, to drink my coffee.
And I will never tell a lie to myself again.
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 6:14 AM UTC
He has done it, lived life abundant
Meyiwa has not fallen, such talent
He has done it, remember that comment
Sprung with shooting star brilliance, a comet
Snatched victory from jaws of defeat
Said a sports anchor but these words won't befit
Meyiwa has not fallen, he rose against all odds
Stood the last defense line until there was none left but the gods
He has done it
Lead a triumphant life out of skeletons of the dead
Fired up the squadron to sail turbulent currents, a true sea conqueror's head
Captain of a ship that carries hopes of sowetans and mzansi multitudes
Defended nation's dignity with his spirit and a never say die attitude
Senzo meyiwa, deeds never fall
Soul stands tall and keep heaven's gates open
So unfair yet we do not despair, we look to you to mend heart's broken
Your life will not be in vain
As we go through this pain you inspire a purpose to find healing again
Rest in peace Senzo Meyiwa (24/09/1987 - 26/10/2014)
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
The fireside crackles at Lobster Inn
then retreats as the Solar tides wanes,
Embers of truth reappear
as craggy indifference,
silhouettes blind fingers
polished for clandestine tables,
whose singed confessions are
as stricken as bleached midnights.
We befit those restless
from this augural evermore.
Elsewhere it is Raining.
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 8:56 AM UTC
To aim your place
and chase with haste
Whilst many face
the angst and grace
Informed techniques befit your crest
Smash through with force
Opposing guests
Controlling breath
Patience met
The journeys long to ascend
Focus on the foes ahead
Destructive forces with intent
Defeat dealt out inside a zone
Hate and venom will be spent
A noble art to call your own
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 6:52 PM UTC
There is no objective meaning to life
So how do you expect me to get down and deep
With limited eyes seeing blinders in the corner of my peripherals?
It's residual, I begged to shake these thoughts like snowflakes
in a crystal, they have scattered up and down til I can't
See the image plastered down the walls of my illusions
Confusion? If only that was true, I see more now than I see in you
How can I feel deep and meaningful when all of this contrived highlights
It's all just my brain bleeding, scattered my drip drops of rage
Do they flip flop? The page has hit lift off, I'm out of the realm
of what I knew to be self development hell compelling me
To scatter fragmants of wanton and wear
But see unless I point that out you'd never know it's there
Because I'm supposed to plaster on a smile and feed you lines
that you desire to add meaning to life, or add a voice down the wire
If I sit upon my laurels you'd think that I had nothing new to say or never
thought about abstractions til they bubble and boil to heady
broth overflowing staining the floors screaming "my god make this stop"
I don't wear my head upon my sleeve, I keep my helmet on
So go ahead and think I'm surface level, I also like to be wrong
Talk to your friends, I'm sure they're dark and mysterious
They have such strong perspectives, they're in touch with the furious
I need to voice at all times? Does my bark not befit you
I'm not a dog meant to bark at every meaning that drives through
I take no solace in wallowing in the depth of another
I don't expect you to read this and gain a sense of the other
I'm not writing to bring you a route down back to your soul
Because you're soulless and weary, I don't claim that I have control
We're spinning in the toilet in a chamber of meaning
Whose **** stinks more than others, why lets compare them and eat it
Consuming excretions is all you get from your dealings
Because nothing is deep, when the bottom is fleeting.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
Admonished to partake,
This world I forsake,
And chirp over their cries,
For it's befit to realise,
Everything is bound to cease,
For none is there a release,
Dogma prevails over a soil to which tomorrow has no avail,
magnanimity subdued,
For our ******* ways has us all induced,
The way of life we have confused,
Authority is misused,
Enchant Misdemeanor craze,
Endeavour to earn,
Alas,
A salvation remains unlearnt,
Sea of hypocrisy and blood left awake,
A whim has lead me askew,
To simmer no hope,
To wilt In no lies,
To not be loved to conjure in a hearty demise,
"The earth is a blemished mess",
The sun sings to the skies,
Stuck in repentance the stars nod,
Bitterness espouses,
As i unearth in my creed,
A fabulous truth,
To which man pays no heed.
Nov 27, 2024
Nov 27, 2024 at 12:31 PM UTC
This is my American Spirit
Though I am loathe, but deserved to hear it
This is my generation in a long, sour drag:
Bohemes and hipsters, the self-important type
Self-serving directness with subtle insouciance
Self-righteous without e’er scents of conviction
Qualities, to all, vogue slimming befit
This, this is my American Spirit.
I’ll be the equalizer in a furtive game of chess
And acquaintance, its partner, arbitrating
I’ll wear the habit of means and humility
An ashen cherry, flicked, waiting to be
The pyrrhic finite ember and pastiche memory
Escape is apparent in discontinuity, my
Means to ravel a courser bond in someone,
As only a blush reminder only when they all clear it
Yes, this is my, my American Spirit.
We’ll have a game of butting desires
‘Tween all those appetites and some self-respect
Only, I know, to lose out in the end.
Is there a place for dignity to prevail
Or charm in an attempt likely to fail?
Can there be eyes open, minds or thought
To gentle pride its combatant ‘gainst
Unconscious abuses: yea or not?
But I will know irony as means to an end
Turned cheek from machination
That I can do, I can pretend
When the veil may be lifted—that I fear it
This, this is my American Spirit.
Of course I enable, for the cynosure, the dissonances
Supplant for fraternity fraternal-ligature
Too obvious is resolve ‘neath shaw of fleeting smoke
My own wants impeded, kept at a distance.
For, oh, Fortune! How you have written
Some conscience to mend it to others kept calm
A charity in practice as this cigarette is long
While vice, in all aspects, is the most correct wrong
But hummed out in truth as a fascist, he ought
I’ll turn to a tonic of strength to delude
That pretense and pride the conscience denude.
In some be it strong in others enthralled
Whilst ********* our prayer beads of looking-glass selves
Quietly burning the vestigial gods
That brought us a new light or perspective on things
And though we are loathe, we despise to hear it,
This, this is our American Spirit.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
This golden fiddle sure does draw a lot of attention round here
I haven't had an empty beer glass since the day the Devil slunk outta Macon with his tail between his legs
Johnny the Devil Slayer they call me
You should hear them chant
It echos off the rafters of these hollow afternoon bars
They know my name because they know my fiddle
They don't know my face and they ain't never gonna remember it
I am the man who took their beloved golden fiddle from the hands of the Devil himself
They ask me to play the song that out played the Devil
Like God would come down from heaven and course that song back through my veins to impress four drunks on a Tuesday in Macon
They ask what the best that has ever been is doing at a bar on Tuesday morning
Like it wasn't my soul if it hadn't been this fiddle
Like it wouldn't've been their souls if it hadn't been this fiddle
They ask for Fire on the Mountain Run Boys Run like it wasn't a warning
Like I don't still have scars on my chest from the spark that jumped off the strings when he pulled his first note
I leave my winnings at home sometimes
Pay for my own beer
Listen to people tell stories about my fiddle
Say, "I'd love to see that fiddle"
Say, "If I could only touch it once"
Say, "I just want to hear it play"
Say, "I saw it once it was amazing"
I sit silently thinking to myself
How easy it is to worship the Devil's golden things
Often have I had the prideful impulse to stand and shout,
"I am Johnny you sons-of-bitches
I am the best that has ever been
Memorize my face
Tell them my name
My name is Johnny
I am the man with the golden fingers who played my warped, cracked, widdled-down wooden fiddle 'til my bow was threads
My strings snapped and my fingers bled down the neck
Dyed my fiddle crimson that day
My fiddle, my fiddle brought down the Devil
This golden idol will remind you what his face looked like"
But that line of thought does not befit God's chosen instrument
They call me Johnny the Golden Fiddle
They call me Johnny the Devil Slayer
But that Devil ain't dead
He's in this here golden violin
And he smiles every time they stare
It's my crimson fiddle that shines the brightest when the days are dark
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
[ as the knot finds the noose, the night ]
full of dead Aprils and lilac fumes, marjoram rhinestones and the ****** cinders of delight
over charmed by lightning, nocturnal passions of a dire hope suspended in hopeless plight
ornate cups as fragile as a poisonous thought made of human love
sworn enemies sipping tea from intangible ceramics, their black silk gloves
gleaming in the twilight apocalypse of surrender, at war with wisdom
in mad gardens of eden,
two dragons horde stars enough to confound astronomy
and arguments
that hold for every possible lie, sustaining the hypotheses of heaven
in orbit of a void
a lush velvet, gaping maw at the center of faith
and our kites, tethered to the follicle of our I
[ as the knot finds the noose, the night ]
surrounding the red apples of forbidden things, clinging to a fork, branching off from the center
of non local truth... a tremor in the force that sings the Universe into question,
but never into being
our magnificence, savoring sweet Life, smitten by meaningless miracles, as befit a fools indifference
to Reality... our long wings on specks of dust
amuse the blizzard of unknown laws, and yet we persist in beauty and susurrus
the rustle of angels on fishhooks
as we reel in the big
One. [ Divided ]
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
Do not raise voice in manner un befit of your standing,
Do not spit fire from forked tongue as if you could fly,
Lest your wings melt in the dying sun of tomorrow
And hurtle back to Earth in your aimless panderings
Left for dead amid the ashes of your own making and the dreams of yesterday,
Crushed by solid forms and rabid tears
Blinded by the toxic venom of years
and self centered sense of being
I see you
For what you truly are now
and bestow a promise of giving
and all that you weep for
Lost now to the muted shafted glow
of your shape shifting pleasures
and nonsensical ramblings
I shall see you in the afterlife
You best be ready
The Viking never forgets
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
He pointed a gun at me,
not to any place in particular,
He looked at me,
with a smile that would befit a greedy king.
They shot me,
in places I wouldn't die from.
Then he took me,
and tried to force himself into me.
I smiled then,
and laughed as if it were fun.
He was taken aback then,
because I had shown him,
what he had become.
I even kissed him once,
and the passion in his mouth
told that he thought he had found his one.
....
Then that girl walked in,
unaware of the folly that had begun.
The one with small hips,
and a disconnect from he base chakra,
that she insisted she had.
That is why she saw nothing amiss,
in the scene that lay before her.
Then her other side kicked in,
like a bad cut displaying the side effects
of a life of imbalance and self deceit.
And she wanted him for herself.
....my god this girl is going to get us both killed.
I demanded she leave,
with a force in my voice she would never know,
she looked at me as if I were selfish...
....maybe I should leave and let her stay -_-
....no, this has to end.
When she left,
he returned,
and I layed back down with him,
and held him like his mother never did..
He met the mother that day,
when he was pulled through the void,
he returned back home,
and was held the whole way.
Then I was left,
sitting alone and naked on the bed,
with the warm Light
of the spring day
shining through the bay windows
to the East of Enlightenment.
silently pulling the stray bullets,
out of my soft flesh.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
Shall I be your kin?
Void of choice ‘for
Thou are chosen
Love does not befit me
For I am only fifteen
And you, man of god,
Is six-hundred-and-sixty-si..
Nay Fifty
Christened and praised
Your lessons be paced
Whips when enraged
Your holy spirit I *******
Father, Does the feather features of my upper lip
Besiege you?
Does the pale hair
On my male chest
Deceive you?
I do not see you as
An equal
I see you as evil
My pubescent sense
Does not allow me to
Laugh out loudly at the irony
This is not my mouth, see
I cannot speak
I am not me
I am sodomized
Wistful I wish you
Would become ******
Wish my lips grew fanged
If my jaws could dismember
I’d pull you bare with bound wrist through
The bank
Pitiful
my knife will kiss you,
I thank you for every crystal
From your bleeding hands
This will do
This I will remember
Lord, why have you left him?
I thought a life in the lords light
Was to the betterment of man
And mankind
Not the remembrance of
The sins of bitter men
Guide them
O, Lord
When Chastity turns nasty
Do thou turn the other cheek?
Or chastise and despise the animosity?
Dozily
Lord, why do you test me?
Lord, have you left me?
He has come in again but
The doors open suddenly
As I look back in awe
A light shines in
A shock settles
A shadow in the door
Pleasant perfumes meddle
With the wretched room
A sense of hope
A sense of security embezzled
More abuse of my vessel
A second coming
Confronting
A poor response from the Lord
I turn my other cheeks
Raise my chin
I detest a morning sun
Come
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
Our car, among the classics
Our things, became antique
We, turned into relics
And our friends, befit a clique
Our cottage, now the hermitage
Our home, is a relique
Our life, will be a heritage
And when we talk, it’s a critique
What we do, has grown archaic
Our habits, turned oblique
Our thinking, esoteric
But we’ve, become unique
WIZDUMBs BY JA 418
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
You will burn in Hell, for all eternity
Burning red hot coals, grief and agony
-
Were you a ******* ***** Drug dealer of a thief?
Nooo…a lovey dovey “Christian”, “faith” was your motif
-
You were goody-goody, every Sunday went to church
Ha! Is that so? Your religion is a smirch
-
Pray tell explain, why you don’t know ****
“Goyim” is a word, that best does you befit
-
Do you have a Bible? Or diarrhea on a page
Can you discern? Will THE TRUTH assuage?
-
Unless you have the KJV, the book you have is ****
New translations are corrupt, more than a little bit
-
Hey lovey-dovey “Christian”, does this matter? Do you care?
You’re religious **** of you I will beware
-
Not only are you **** Your “gospel” is a fake
Your Jesus [1] is so too, in Hell you’ll burn and bake
-
You will get to prove [2], if you are Elect
Or a piece of **** in a condemned sect
[1] 2nd Cor 11:4
[2] Rev 16:2 & Rev 14:10
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
Movements and images seen, are a part
They take places...they take forms in the mind
Whether aloud...or done in silence
Like, the crowing of the rooster
Announcing,
The breaking of a new morning
Or, telling of an hour, or two, passing;
A smile, a frown....a falling leaf
Thunder, in the summer, with, or without lightning
After the rains, a rainbow appearing
A whisper of a refreshing breeze, getting cooler
When sun is about to set,
The humming of ACs in offices
At the start of work hours,
Dying...as day's activities, end
Lights fade...streaks slide in, through the blinds
Then, come all sorts and shapes of shadows,
Streetlamps guide, in the waning light
Heels and soles rush against paved roads
Sounds crescendo....as all hurry, to reach home
While creatures of the night
Heroes...or anti heroes
Move comfortably...in the dark.
All these...feed the muse in me
Writing unknown names that befit a person
Or a situation
My head spills out adjectives that wonderfully,
Sometimes, weirdly, describe my, and others' emotions
Verbs and adverbs, tell of solitary actions and moments,
Or, when i am with company...loved one(s), or otherwise
And while creating...building up metaphors and similes,
More questions arise:
How does it feel, to see your fellow human beings suffer,
How their human rights are being violated?
The little ones, the innocent ones, are now, the ones subjected
To hunger and torture.....To be with, or, without conveniences
Is just a drop of a worry, in a huge barrel of unsolvable problems
When will all these running, and fleeing...seeking refuge, end?
How is it, when you and your loved ones are escaping death?
For life....without freedom...is almost death itself.
There are times,
When, my river is flowing with green and blue waters
So full of varying experiences...the truths co existing with us
Here, in this universe, which, some people say, is a blend of
Paradise...and Hell
Problem is
There also come the times
When i am sailing along the River Lull...and
None of these parts and figures of speech
Exist......
Sally
Copyright May 14, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
Once again
a visitor
rises amongst
our shady
lea, a
wayfarer sprung
from a
ceaseless throng:
now accustom
him, ye
maiden with
unborn young.
One so
calm as
to hum
some rosy
melody, whose
uncorrupted harmony
secretly goes
in thru
the eclipsed
valley, which
may not
with it's
abstained motion
befit, but
meditating inertly,
he summons
your sympathy,
so adored,
to reply
kindly to
his
drunken fit.
And when
thy beam
arising
"softly lit"
in pallid
outline,
(for the dawn's coming in celerity,)
the stranger
shall sleep
upon hearing
your rhyme,
choosing a
thorny bed
to rest
his head
with aimless
temerity.
You see,
we receive
them as
our guests
for but
one hour
-no more, no less-
and only
in the
month of
May,
then tug
at their
ears and
hit them
on their
heads,
and send
them on
their way!
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
we dice
and hold the upper hand
with fortunes won hard but
life is a dog and we are curs
with fates befit a mutt
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
When I shooed the cat
It spoke out kinda human voice
So all your knowledge has come to that
Acting only on selfish choice!
Answered him without losing my grit
Pretentious cat a sly mean thief
Wise words in your mouth don’t befit
Most misplaced would be in you a belief!
Ha I laugh when you say I steal
A crumb of fish few drops of milk
Tribe of men when have belly’s fill
Gorge some more your hungry ilk!
Had been you a little kind and fair
And not just mindful of own wellness
Learned to live with caring share
The world would have been a lovely place!
In such a world never a cat would steal
Needn’t have to when kept well fed
Would discard all its furtive skill
Live cutely cuddled on human bed!
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Batteries of the skies;
booming thunders, and so are you.
You, the whirlwind the most ferocious,
befit such name ever notorious—
ever in a strife of your own
seemingly unending.
The whirlwind strikes hard
and fast, and as such; angels of death
descending, striking from the faint heavens
to accomplish its sole purpose, destructive in nature,
beseeching its everlasting glory
that’d evoke the sun’s jealousy, even.
Alas! You carry out the task
that spares none of the land,
taking away the dearest one from another, weeping,
flipping cars and engines from where they're standing,
while plucking out the road signs once robust
and even the trees once deemed so ancient—
none is spared but wrecked
before the might of the whirlwind
the total annihilation being its sole identity—
the one that destroys in the name of thy honor
and in the very name of glory in vain.
You look around—
only to see none has survived
or has been left alive; spectating
the empty earth and the water
while being dispersed, scattered amidst the air,
lifted by the hands of thy maker
disappearing—joining the void specters,
and thus befitting the word, truly,
the vainglory.
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 6:57 AM UTC