"begot" poems
I sit here and I begin to ponder
Upon the past and grow with wonder
How quickly, how the tides doth turn
And green take over that once was burned
To see the change so quick, and stark
And so again, will I soon embark
Upon a path that leads me where
I do not know, though take this dare
I’ve learned so far that life is not
What I have hoped, my thoughts begot
Anticipation is what I feel
Embrace the future with honest zeal
There is so much that I must learn
To know this I have hoped to earn
So much, I know, I do not know
Tis arrogance, ego that is my foe
Open my mind, I ask from Thee
So that I may learn to be finally free
Of past transgressions and hurt and pain
I hope and pray, shall I never again
To feel lost in spirit with none to hold
In reverence, in awe, in all truth be told
Much more I see, this life for me
Let go of the chains I may be free
To see with eyes not dark with cloud
And ears to hear the cries aloud
I turn my head and I look behind
One glimpse, just one, and I know I’ll find
That I have let go to what is past
And find the future, my heart at last
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:15 PM UTC
Begot Intentions can impurify
Unsolicited Charity does attempt
Even much as a Pickled Song can try
Bites back at you; And bills you for Contempt
What now the Rage of Imperial Process
Punishes the Dreader to stock and refill?
Nowadays you stick to perform your Best
Later on you sit by the Window-Sill
Still, check this Stubborn Loyalty in me
Then decide if Ignorance you forgot
My Words mean Truth; Even if Force-Believe
Just to show your Radio, the Model-Lot.
Still Deaf, eh? Even when the Snake has cast,
Flashing films on such scales you know will pass.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
All that you perceive is impermanence
No thing is begot by Nothing
All that can ever be known is but
a cap
upon a crest
upon a wave
upon an ocean
upon a sphere
upon nothing
within a sphere
within an ocean
within a wave
within a crest
within a cap
All that recedes is increasing
Nothing transmutes to No thing
All is externally breathing
w
a
v
e
s
into your perception
You are but a w
a
v
e
But you already knew that
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
A constant habit; that when I would not
I change in vows, and in devotion.
As humorous is my contrition
As my profane love, and as soon forgot:
As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,
As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today
In prayers and flattering speeches I court God:
Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod.
So my devout fits come and go away
Like a fantastic ague; save that here
Those are my best days, when I shake with feare.
5k
I have left, pig-mudding drunk,
having sipped from stock to stock on fraying cheer, stages.
I have stood in foreign basements; sweaty cellars of youth;
begot by attitude breeding spaces of the hip;
drawn circles searching for love in recreating nonsense:
a silly pupil, moon-eyed, out of breathe.
I have heard them quack, reveal their cords;
heard them whisper a thousand and one secrets,
heard them deconstruct their circumstances as pilgrims, penniless and sick.
I have their memories now, an image of a depressed,
ass-imprinted pillow soaked in liquor and a feeling of nausea
where ribs sleep on this couch tonight, every night.
I have heard one refute the weight of living, ******
on the banks of his best friends hospitality, and thought
How much is it worth?
And I have envied every **** greasy pored hipster,
the ones fixing on makingitnew now kind of clan; stared blankly at fashion,
a culture back door where pink fish scales sparkle high from runway halters
to the tops of grown men, bearded and chesty.
And your mothers pearls sit, not your mother’s pearls but your mother’s, mother’s pearls,
that old world clout ornamented around those hairy *******
Oh yes, I have seen men become peacocks, charmed animals of **********
seen them teeth at discourse in the noise they create, wide-mouthed and pointed;
I have seen them masked like frantic felines: wooly bully cats trying-to-roll their own meter,
their tobacco stained black charcoal over soft bricked lips quiver to their beats:
those painted lemmingings, without a parachute: kamikaze felons.
I have desired absolute sterility: white china,
in the egg of a toilet bowl I spewed out, shut-up my exuberance for the night;
sorry-pleaded my resolutions to gag out the naughty nouns in my life.
I have quit; turned in my lust for performing the lioness, paw-licking,
snarly creature: the predator of my youth, and now,
I am pretty-headed, tamed in bath oils and schedules;
a spotted fox, in plain view, one medium-sized mammal getting by.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
Riches begot with credit stock
Power bestowed with golden crown
Glory bequeathed with laurel wreath
Marriage beseeched with diamond ring
All things beheld 'til evening red
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC
don't understand me. this is not for you. It's for you.
my Gemini shin splints are pirates. hopeless Romans, romantically dismantling
the things you Undo. the things you You.
I Doctor in your Seuss canal.
with a frontal lobe, more Job
than a postage stamp -
in this Day and Age.
It's grey and rage -
with the tooth torn
out !
Out
through the probable snout
of the next mummified god-king
of our interlocking rot...
our chamber pots
spotting the oft begot good
of our evil
Mummenschanz
we are crepes' rue; yet we roulette best
in Typhoons
from murk
placid.
with 2.8 kids
and damp
matches.
we are
struck in a gale
of flaccid
dumb as a Belle of the Ball
that Squares
a Rube
with an Ism.... from Ix.
sometimes.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
When in Bohemia, she screams about
Her pastures green, but not too loud
So never have I known, that the world listens too
As a comedian, I see she belongs
But never conforms, to the song of
This nomad world, I'm glad she found it too
So run! She wants to run again
You vagabond, you're well-spent
Bohemian tendencies says, “you can't stay long”
“These kinds of commons, you won't ever get along”
Armenian, it’s such a release
Materialistic animosity
The speed of life has no value, like dollar signs
I loved an alien, who dabbled in art
Of all visage, enema of the heart
Wanderer, she's spent so much but there's that bliss in the air
So smile! It's all sorts of worthwhile
To see a world and not fret so much
Bohemian tendencies says, “be spectacular
Before the nebula men steal your fur”
In the Caribbean, you dream a kite
As your taxi, you can't walk all the time
Travel hills of puce-mauve sands, the world in trance
A true deviant, the thinking of
All dreaming thoughts, and loves begot
Tinkerer, what will we do when our brains run dry?
Oh, no! Don't think about the end
To love a life in due pretence
Bohemian tendencies says, “think fair, live now”
“The world is watching with distaste of time in doubt”
As a chameleon, should she go alone?
The world is cold, except for times in colour
Her world in dance, she'll do without me
When in Bohemian, the first I've seen
Of pastel stencils through her happi-
Ness-tled in her loft home of the wind
There she goes! Ain’t she a lovely wing?
I hope she finds a world that sings
Bohemian tendencies says, “to love and to hold
But to let go, for treasures can mold”
There she goes
There she goes
There she goes
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
There’s a world that’s ours
And a world that is not
How I wish to live only
In what my heart has begot
But wherever you are, or where you exist
I see clearly now, is where I have missed
I cannot see, nor feel your pain
But I can stand by you this point and again
There is no one that I wish to know
But the man that you are, the you I love so
All I can do is to stand strong beside you
In silence, with love, wherever it leads to
No words I have, it may never come
But know this, my love, you will not come undone
Your strength is your glory, and forever you shine
Integrity, before you, forbearance in mind
My eyes glazed with true adoration abundance
Long for your embrace even only for once
And so I remain, standing still, just beside
Not asking for more, though your love may subside
But forever, I say, I know with my heart
I stand with you no matter, how far we will part.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 1:29 PM UTC
Crow was watching ......
......with his toothless grin .
Biding his time ......
...... he then stoops in .
He knows more than you may think ,
it all reeks of a ghastly stink .
No matter ! With your false truths ,
your lies betray you , So Uncouth !
So now ... When you are alone ,
be safe and wise ! Know the Unknown .
For crow is silent and cares not ,
Has his revenge already been Begot ?
Victims ! Aren't we all ?
Those Who rise sublimely ,
Only to find their fall .........
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
the narrative does not cling to classicalism of stating whether the pronoun usage is either singular or plural or both to allow an armchair of expression; after all... there's enough for us to bypass the classical philosophical debate about subject and object, simply investigating pronoun usage in relation to singularity or pluralism.
there’s a theory where poetry came from,
one read: cleopatra wanted to hear sweet-nothings
calibrating a razor with a viper’s kiss...
another read: she báthory?
she báthory? she the one that turned milk into blood?
she can burn in hell.
i thought we were un-dialectical in the realms of concern?
no... you see... poetry came from punctuated-impressionism...
or a fear of it... punctuation of course, not from the impressionism...
poets fear punctuation...
give them a semi-colon
and
they
treat
it
like a sidelined line of verse.
this is poetry in mathematical equations:
i had a pear(,)
it was a spare(.)
i had a care for traffic(-)
so i missed( )
the expressions and started using an obelisk to quarter up the mammoth
into chop suey...
poets simple say: next line! when prose says next paragraph
and the prized execution of the 100m sprint . . . (.)
that’s universal alpha romeo with alfa bravo charlie delta (echo)...
come on in the u-turn... give us a smile......... :),
poets says... i need breathing space
without sentenced timing of silence, for the toad to feed inspiration
and envy!
no wonder you came with the alpha - zulu
alphabet given that you used ɪɡ and zoʊ...
so tell me... where’s this copernican west upside down
(this heliocentric west with east being the big bang)?!
i'd swear the thing stopped orbiting in circles
and a thing that's on it's thought started to become
orbital... a fashion sense of the 60s 70s 80s 90s repeated -
that's right, the whole thing became heliocentric
and we became narcissists instead of solipsists
in the geocentric system of worked-up plagiarism
with adequate excuses.)
it's here it the poets apprehensive of punctuation symbology
and instead writing "sparingly,"
to write, e.g.:
i
hate
this
love
affair
claimed
to
be
the
world...
i
rather
chisel
chequers
into
geometry
of
x4
90º.
makes sense poets begot fear of
punctuation and not grammar, they
serviced to explore nothing else,
leaving grammar open long enough to *****
mathematics in... remember...
poets are firstly concerned with punctuation...
secondly with grammar...
philosophy for poets is grammar;
**** i'm um um so drunk i'll need to revise.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 9:27 PM UTC
What dawn-pulse at the heart of heaven, or last
Incarnate flower of culminating day,—
What marshalled marvels on the skirts of May,
Or song full-quired, sweet June’s encomiast;
What glory of change by nature’s hand amass’d
Can vie with all those moods of varying grace
Which o’er one loveliest woman’s form and face
Within this hour, within this room, have pass’d?
Love’s very vesture and elect disguise
Was each fine movement,—wonder new-begot
Of lily or swan or swan-stemmed galiot;
Joy to his sight who now the sadlier sighs,
Parted again; and sorrow yet for eyes
Unborn that read these words and saw her not.
3.3k
Tell me where is Fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourishèd?
Reply, reply.
It is engender’d in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and Fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Let us all ring Fancy’s knell:
I’ll begin it,—Ding, **** bell.
All. Ding, **** bell.
2.8k
Poetry is often made impossible
and forgotten it dribbles away
Experiences begot are dried
in dusty memoriam of thoughts
Locked in chipped ornaments
pictured emotions die framed
in an old letter's sentenced pain
Decorative wordy entrapments
cannot fool or command love
however many silvered words
try to stir or grab at thine heart
Whereas times every moment in
your observed, captured thought
does cradle this beating heart
"*We shall gift thought it's
touch and bites of freedom
then love it's sustenance*"
Fun's giggling thrashing bushes
of living sweating poetry
David x
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 3:55 AM UTC
Oh,
how you have begot routine
An occupation entered most
unexpectedly
Consuming a once
vivid and polymathic soul
Seeped into your bones
Left you forgot,
a flickering and
dying star
Yes,
you're here every day,
but you're heart feels vacant;
gone away, or really still at
home, wherever that is
Your body's traveling the
world, but your mind's spinning in
circles,
too fast to see past the
fugue
Will you reminisce of these days to your future
children?
Or will you skip this period,
for this is
not really you to begin with?
Hope
your intermission will come to an end
May you someday return, spirited and
renewed
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 11:14 AM UTC
A father who has conquered all
that is in space,
here and among the stars
and the higher worlds,
begot Her as his child,
She of an essence beyond time:
aeons of vaster joys,
sundered now from the world
so sorely imperfect,
must yet come down here
to lead us back to the wonder
beauty of the blank spirit
the basis of all;
We can bottle up fragrance
in choicest the vials of our whim:
but released, it must fill all space, no less.
So was She the freedom
shining in the stars
flowing in the rivers that raft through the hills
in the winds that beat down the vales;
Protected, She grew in his home
among others lustred lesser
shining forth as his darling
who would keep aflame
the glory of his name;
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC
Riches begot with credit stock
Power bestowed with golden crown
Glory bequeathed with laurel wreath
Marriage beseeched with diamond ring
I hold you 'til the morning dew
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
Darkness
as black as your eyelid,
poketricks of stars,
the yellow mouth,
the smell of a stranger,
dawn coming up,
dark blue,
no stars,
the smell of a love,
warmer now
as authenic as soap,
wave after wave
of lightness
and the birds in their chains
going mad with throat noises,
the birds in their tracks
yelling into their cheeks like clowns,
lighter, lighter,
the stars gone,
the trees appearing in their green hoods,
the house appearing across the way,
the road and its sad macadam,
the rock walls losing their cotton,
lighter, lighter,
letting the dog out and seeing
fog lift by her legs,
a gauze dance,
lighter, lighter,
yellow, blue at the tops of trees,
more God, more God everywhere,
lighter, lighter,
more world everywhere,
sheets bent back for people,
the strange heads of love
and breakfast,
that sacrament,
lighter, yellower,
like the yolk of eggs,
the flies gathering at the windowpane,
the dog inside whining for good
and the day commencing,
not to die, not to die,
as in the last day breaking,
a final day digesting itself,
lighter, lighter,
the endless colors,
the same old trees stepping toward me,
the rock unpacking its crevices,
breakfast like a dream
and the whole day to live through,
steadfast, deep, interior.
After the death,
after the black of black,
the lightness,-
not to die, not to die-
that God begot.
2.3k
Calm was the air did its breath of slow utter
Slight given was the pressure against the trees' clutter
The tide gave toward the shore a bathing of fond
A raindrop tapping the ripple in the water's pond
Nature was it mothered to be the earth of pure
Land, air, and water were the children of cure
Howbeit born was the arrival of human error
For Nature a victim she became of this polluting terror
All content of luxury became poison when left forgot
Expense became the drain of Nature when industry was begot
Slave did she become with the negligent torture by all synthetic
Water was it forced to swallow hard all fluids of hectic
Land was it diagnosed with a cancer of slow plague in the cell
Air did bleeding of all fresh had it become from the settled hell
Human destined were they to rule yet abuse emerged their ego
Dying may be Nature but reaction will not treat with regal
Beware be the responsible for their prisoner has power of destructive
No longer shall Nature absorb mankind's terror with constructive
Balance of all earthly condition does support root from the wind
Tool of value has it forever been used to course the planet's skin
But in addition can poison fuel the wind's vehicle to maximum
Point of breaking can wind unleash Nature with the pendulum
Quiet will no longer be Nature idle in standing by
Foresight will come with the storms to punish those with might
A tower of gales shall it tear apart all houses of mankind
Tides will erupt with anger to wash all those to the bind
Burn shall explosion cooperate with volcanoes for the share
Extrapolated be all ends of the heat spectrum beyond repair
Survival can longer not it be for the humans to this breeze
Nature wages the unmatched war till gone be the disease
Launching from her fissure shall come the monsters' end
For her ally of wind will one make the closing amend
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;
The world's whole sap is sunk;
The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed's feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compar'd with me, who am their epitaph.
Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring;
For I am every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness;
He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death: things which are not.
All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;
I, by Love's limbec, am the grave
Of all that's nothing. Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drown'd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.
But I am by her death (which word wrongs her)
Of the first nothing the elixir grown;
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know; I should prefer,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love; all, all some properties invest;
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light and body must be here.
But I am none; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
At this time to the Goat is run
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all;
Since she enjoys her long night's festival,
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year's, and the day's deep midnight is.
2.1k
Violent roses
give me woozes everyday
I'm hammered on my own
something
is always slipping through
a filter of justifications
language misrepresents me
I don't think words that
spread ideas like intrinsic responsibility
are relavent outside of cults of personality
So I'd prefer to say
through a filter of new ideas
of what safe thoughts are in a fear house
reinterpreted
Soft violet soup
gifting a brainhorse with a two by four
or convictions falling
out of atrophy
or perhaps
a lack of neccessity
I don't know
maybe
a letting go of an abusive tack
that pressed you to let go of joy
Oh I don't knoowoh
To find yourself a damaged adult
with a mind aimed at forgetfulness and
forgivefulness
A new rage forms in tandem
with a promise
to a menacing question asked
by those who unfetttered their wallets
but that was ages ago
and now it's time for a letting go
at least that's
what the last night alone begot
but who is past that inside lie
that furthers time
well I can't see anyway
So **** it I'll lose it or die.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
O noble muse, where perched thou singing?
And in what ear, upon what summer's day?
When our bard begot this, his least good play?
Your graces to some other were bringing,
To prose and verse with beauty adorned;
For, on sitting down to read this once again,
I see well why this one is scarce performed:
For to read it causes me less joy than pain.
My worthy bard, it is as I did fear:
Of all your plays of ******** and kings equal,
There have been none as good or fine as Lear!
What madness prompted you to try a sequel?
An orchard of fine works you have begotten,
But of your tragic fruit this one is rotten.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
I meditate upon a swallow's flight,
Upon a aged woman and her house,
A sycamore and lime-tree lost in night
Although that western cloud is luminous,
Great works constructed there in nature's spite
For scholars and for poets after us,
Thoughts long knitted into a single thought,
A dance-like glory that those walls begot.
There Hyde before he had beaten into prose
That noble blade the Muses buckled on,
There one that ruffled in a manly pose
For all his timid heart, there that slow man,
That meditative man, John Synge, and those
Impetuous men, Shawe-Taylor and Hugh Lane,
Found pride established in humility,
A scene well Set and excellent company.
They came like swallows and like swallows went,
And yet a woman's powerful character
Could keep a Swallow to its first intent;
And half a dozen in formation there,
That seemed to whirl upon a compass-point,
Found certainty upon the dreaming air,
The intellectual sweetness of those lines
That cut through time or cross it withershins.
Here, traveller, scholar, poet, take your stand
When all those rooms and passages are gone,
When nettles wave upon a shapeless mound
And saplings root among the broken stone,
And dedicate - eyes bent upon the ground,
Back turned upon the brightness of the sun
And all the sensuality of the shade -
A moment's memory to that laurelled head.
1.8k
the nation's pride in graceful wave
delivered 'fore the thousands
the millions as they roared 'n raved
in worship smiles that roused them
from those ever graceful lips
kissed by Jove 'n Venus
that spoke the majesty of queenship
of love above sweet Eros
the smile that shone out from her eyes
with sincerity none could hide
of interest and intelligence wise
up welled from deep inside
no mawkish sentimentality
nor false, nor common rot,
her smile bespoke reality
a truth that G-d begot
Fare thee well, O gracious Queen,
never from nation forgot,
Farewell in flight to Heaven's Sheen,
To bind Celestial Knot
Sep 13, 2022
Sep 13, 2022 at 10:16 AM UTC
There will be no service and no luncheon
when you “now” becomes a “Then”
Just a dignified cremation
awaits at your Journey’s end.
There will be no spoken eulogy
By a priest who knew you not.
No crying yapping relatives-
For none had you begot.
There are those of us
who’ll shed a tear,
to think the old Girl’s passed.
but there’ s no need to wear a suit
Or get the Limos gassed.
You’ll have passed on in your sleep
Having felt the needles pinch.
A far more humane fate I think
than dying by the inch.
Brownie was a good dog
And often gave me her paw.
She always got excited
when she saw me at the door.
A better pet you couldn’t get,
Nor meet a gentler soul.
I’ll shed a quiet private tear
when I put away her bowl.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 7:49 PM UTC