"beguiled" poems
He wrote of the light of the world,
a testament, a lamp to illuminate
the place from which he came —
I saw his lighthouse coalesce
out of the cloaking mist, its blade
shearing the sheath of darkness.
I inhaled the dusk bloom scent
- Four O’Clock Flower, Poinsettia, Frangipani -
beguiled by a road, undeterred
by calls in the night, the rain, the unknown way.
I sang with one thousand night-drunk tree frogs
proclaiming an equatorial cycle to the stars,
choristers intoning a chant of existence.
I rode balanced between
the cycling engine's torque and the
reflective cast of my foreign skin.
I felt the grip of ignominy constrict the stir
of my drink, amongst hands toasting
the crush of entitlement’s bearing.
I walked where people dwell, and stop
to greet and tell news of the market
or of their nets, bearing the sea’s returns.
I savored the song in his speech,
a seasoned stew, unshackling the tongue
to ring like the steel of a drum —
a tapestry unfurled: a world
paced by sirens of wind and wave,
embroidered on the earthbound side
of heaven's abiding blanket.
Copyright © 2017 Gary Brocks
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:46 AM UTC
In the last months of March 2014,
Soldier Othello the Moroccan moor
Was in Stratford-upon-Avon at the graveside
Of William Shakespeare the English bard,
He was observing the anniversary
Of Shakespeare and his European brother Cervantes,
He had in his pocket another charm and amulet
Given to him by his paternal grandfather,
This time round not a charm for love portion,
But a mystique totem to raise the dead from dusts,
As Othello himself has hitherto over-matured
Above the painful torture of *** with aristocrats,
He has left it for the Jewish aristotrash; Frantz Kafka,
Whose torturous appetite for *** with German women,
Was the sorriest eyesore of his thespic efforts.
Like Jesus at the grave of Lazarus
Othello groaned by shouting; William the son of John!
No response, he shouted again; Shakespeare the bard!
Then the mystique powers of Othello’s amulet
Electrified Shakespeare back to life,
What is your problem you black moor,
The ***** of Morocco, the soldier
Who beguiled Desdemona into betrothal,
Not because of glory of your work,
But due to charms of your love portion
Bequeathed to you by your witch mother,
What brings you to my sepulchre,
For only to perturbed my purgatorial peace,
What brings you!?
Questioned Shakespeare the bard.
Am no longer the moor, blackness is class
But not the race, as race is bankrupt,
I come here to salute you with good news,
That your European brother, Alfred Nobel,
Currently rewards thespic bards like you,
Whether black or white, blue or green,
The ***** bards from the natural forest,
He also rewards, so wake up and pick the prize!
Retorted Othello in virtue of truth,
And also tell me the native bricks
Of your beautiful architecture;
Where and how did you mold thy bricks?
Your brown English bricks that walled your culture;
***** clown, leapfrog, mercurial, oxymoron,
Falsitafity, Shyllocking, colleaguery and window,
Cauldron, graymalkin, woo, betroth, infatuation and so on.
From underneath his sepulcher Shakespeare broke
A violent gaggle of laughter as if he was ten English skeletons,
You Othello you are still a beautiful moor
Whose foolishness time has not condemned to oblivion,
You are as a fool as I created you ; I will only teach you
One brick, the window , that you go and put on
Your wind disturbed African huts,
Put the wind door on your hut,
And be flexible in your tongue
To give it English elegance
Combine and shorten wind and door
To get your cultural brick of; window !
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
There's something
in your smile
that leaves me lingering
for a long while
and as I start that
tiresome home bound mile
I can't help but remember
standing on your kitchen tile
And gazing upon
that smirk full of guile
all those familiar
feelings compiled.
Darling you left me
quite beguiled.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
My amazed ghost, you inspire me to write.
How I hate the way you skip, walk and hide,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the light yuletide.
Let me compare you to a crazed cherry?
You are more unfazed, banal and active.
Ice bites the debris of February,
And wintertime has the beguiled practive.
How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate your brilliant lip, smile and eyes.
Thinking of your reviled smile fills my days.
My hate for you is the attractive flies.
Now I must away with an open heart,
Remember my wild words whilst we're apart.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC
Melting down, crossing barriers, breaking out, stepping round.
Pieces fragmenting, character isolating. Green-acid, hair follicles, white is the blank slate, painting blues with reds.
Freaks from a sideshow, muscles in the sea, six-packs in a grog-shop, dancing improperly.
Beguiled by your bounce, sleep-walking this town. Fine is the white wine, poisoning the liver, spining on a sixpence, ********** follows dinner.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
Mad
Angry and disturbed
Perturbed by your absurd words
Their rhythm ring sing songs on & on
Wrongly depicting me as the beast who depletes we
Condemned and prosecuted for convoluted convictions
Incarcerated despite fair trial meanwhile
Defendant roams free, though guilty
So I suffer when her rough mood cannot bebuffered
And somehow the blame is on me, what a shame it would be
If I had a fair trial, and you were beguiled by my vengeance
But Corinthians bestowed on me that love hold no grudge
So I won't budge,
This time.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
‘LOVE’ – What mystique power it wields
In what myriad guise it wraps!
At times a sweet ache so coy to reveal
Or a sudden urge, hard to unveil
Sometimes a deep sensation
A strong surge of emotion
Permeating every atom
Pervading from top to bottom
It heightens the pulse
And makes every nerve convulse
It has left kingdoms fall asunder
And many a mighty man - surrender
Often, like dew drops falling from above
Or the warbling notes flowing out from the grove
It leaves the heart go upbeat in prosody
Changing every sensation into rhapsody
As beams of silver cast by the moon
Or the cold touch of spray in the horrid heat of noon
It soothes, embalms and thrills the heart
Filling the void and leaving no dearth
Love sublime, sure like a candle lit
Consumes itself, and never dwindles a bit
It dispels the gloom and dissipates the fright
Invigorating the soul and healing every hurt
As brilliance to stars, fragrance to flowers
Music to flute or shade to bowers
Love is to Man, freeing him from all sores
Bestowing him the strength to meet all throes
Love can neither be beguiled nor disguised
Nor be stifled or be construed
Love puts all other things into place
And hems life with a lovely lace
Love is all we seek and too scarce to find
A magic thread by which hearts are bound
Hark! It is love that makes the world spin around
And cures all the ills that surround
Oh! Love thou virtues I will defend
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
1724
How dare the robins sing,
When men and women hear
Who since they went to their account
Have settled with the year!—
Paid all that life had earned
In one consummate bill,
And now, what life or death can do
Is immaterial.
Insulting is the sun
To him whose mortal light
Beguiled of immortality
Bequeaths him to the night.
Extinct be every hum
In deference to him
Whose garden wrestles with the dew,
At daybreak overcome!
5.9k
A monster came out from under my bed,
all hairy and ugly and oh so red.
He ran to my closet and ate all my clothes
then back to my bed he was tickling my toes.
I was so afraid he might suddenly eat me,
There was nowhere to go where he couldn’t see.
He threw all my toys in a great big sack
And told me meanly they’d never be back.
Then he looked at my desk and suddenly smiled
And seemed to be happy or maybe beguiled.
He looked in my eyes and pointed at me,
“give me your laptop and I will let you be”
I loved my laptop a gift from my mom
I stared in his eyes feeling so dumb.
I was no longer scared now I was mad,
Monsters aren’t fun when they behave so bad.
So I took out my bat and put on my new shoes
and said to the monster, “guess what you lose”.
One swat on the noggin and he was out cold
I keep my toys because I was bold.
It pays to be brave and never have fear
But be careful at night when a monster is near.
HAPPY LATE HALLOWEEN
to my Grandaughters
Copyright Jan/2014
WHC
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
Of distressing note
Is never finding out
How to keep
An audience beguiled
They consume mockery
With more than a voracious appetite
They judge an act
With mouths open and eyes closed
What a pity
What a shame
What an ordeal
For the somber actor
b.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 5:04 AM UTC
my mother warned in advance,
not to smell cactus flowers,
when, scent of this cactus beguiled,
i lost mom's words.
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 10:21 PM UTC
Mean but resisting
Love stronger possessing
His charm I was Divinely
touched by his spirit
I want it so easy to flaunt it
"Both Suited" Black tie affair
Smoking out the joint
What a dangerous pair
Darker than any smoke
What's the point??
Going to blow devil words
Angelic Paradise birds
Do we have this planned out,
what do we see? He's not suited
Cruel 2-B ****** life is dark
but **** good easily taken
Fruit of the soul mistaken sliced
and parted
Paint's it Graffiti hood
Careless ****** up to him
Reckless my lips played
him hard
Smoked killed me off-guard
He sneaked around the fruit
Strawberry strange pursuit
My soul this is the last straw
Deadly strawberries beguiled
by the??
Strawberry smells of the
black rose
All covered seductively posed
The song plays out strawberry
With solitude voiced by
Soprano wine by the bucket
of deep red "Gallo"
Intense smoking love incense
Smoking jacket cuddled me
cello
Strawberry sounds smothered
Good night dark strawberry moon
I grabbed him way too soon
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
In the winter you will lie
soul beguiled and rested eye
deathly dreams that dream to die
In the dead of dusk
In December you will sleep
Stowed away the dreams you keep
The sea inside you, swirling deep
In the dead of dusk
Daytime thoughts of innocence
happiness and diligence
follow you to requiem
In the dead of dusk
Lightest thoughts on surface, you
forget about what's real
what's true
until the dusk envelops you
that dead and demon dusk
Now Winter's winds are calling you
shadows cast on what is true
white cat, now black cat
sun now moon
in the dead of dusk
Everything you thought you knew
sleep will twist and mangle you
nightmares creep inside of you
in the dead of dusk
Morning follows
sun rises up
nightmares dangle on the cusp
disappear now,
Twelve hours burn up
then drag you down
back to the dead of dusk
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
I lied by the sea,
far away from the ebb-
uncared, untraceable,
a heap among the mounds.
You came to me first,
And then joined in she,
both squatted by me,
started the play with me.
Never can I forget,
the first caress-
I know not, yours or hers,
but it was like heaven.
Your juvenile dreams,
naive imaginations,
bestowed on my otiose self,
by your seasoned skills.
Grain upon grains,
both made me proud.
Not conforming to a flaw,
meticulous maven masons.
When your hands tired,
she backed you up.
While she was ******
you tended her to health.
Finally, I stood tall-
an Olympian castle.
Both were beguiled,
I would never be happier.
And, then came the storm,
Satanic vibes infested the air.
I couldn’t fathom what befell,
you were furious, she was crying.
Raised voices, clenched fists,
intimate moments castaway,
I stood a meek witness,
while a relationship was severed.
Came along the lunar surge,
I was wiped away without a trace.
Both stood distant from the other,
watching me fall, filled with remorse.
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 9:15 AM UTC
’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.
Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?
Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between:
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to ev’ry wat’ry god
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A fav’rite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand’ring eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.
3.6k
Today I feel like today is not real,
As if my reality has flipped and now spins like a wheel
Up and down, sideways and backways
How long have I been here?
A minute? An hour? perhaps a few days?
This reality ***** like the thumb of a child
Looking for comfort, forever beguiled
It makes me feel lonely like a knot in a tree
So different from others, there's no one like me
I sit here in this third dimension
Forgotten
Alone
With a desperate need for attention
unsatisfied, unknown
Nobody sees things in the light that I see
My light shines bright, opening the lock with my key
I notice that I feel this reality quite often
Like holding a thousand pounds of ambition
With no courage to soften
Like a wrecking ball of abuse is strangling me like a noose
Like a straight jacket of hope is grabbing me by the throat!
Like a blaze full of sadness so viscous and angry!
This life feels like all that and more,
Pretty much
Mainly
There's some feelings here that cannot be put into words
Ambiguous like art, quick fleeting like birds
They rush through my mind fast like a subway train
but they hurt no matter what, deep in my heart and my veins
This reality stinks, like a soldiers wet feet
full of post traumatic stress
my minds naked, undressed
I need hope, i need help, I need something to eat,
preferably a meal of woman's love,
gentle & sweet
I'll sit in my reality, waiting for something to come round'
Maybe just one smile, perhaps many! Leaping towards me in bounds!
Maybe a whole slew of "you can's" and "no need to frown"'s
Till then I still go backways and sideways, on my wheel of Up Downs
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport—O! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recall’d thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?—That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
3.4k
Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have passed,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep impressed
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes,
Gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled
Lone manhood’s cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless child!
3.3k
Today is your birthday,
How years do go by;
Though your eyes
Never change
As they heighten
Your smile.
Your hair's long
And sun-dyed,
Your cheeks blushed
And high,
Your lips as sublime
As Mona's beguiled.
Your frame hangs now
In another's hall,
But you're the last,,
My duchess,
To decorate
My wall.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
Ghost Relics
Downtown,
where Main intersects Main
you'll see the last living tissue
of a breathing bazaar.
They weighed down her chest with bricks and girders.
It's a wonder she breathes at all.
-
Wander too far in any direction
and you're sure to see the husks
of once proud and bustling businesses.
Abandoned sanctums of mortar and majesty.
Scars of the Midwest etched as constants in our mind.
Dusty and silent since the cradle.
-
The theaters are bedeviled with dolled up haunts
who just wandered over from Greenwood to catch the matinee.
Management still leaves the lights on for kicks after hours
to throw off their sleep schedules while they wait for the feature to start.
Up all night, sleep all day; they read by neon and slumber under Sol.
Here I am, left lounging in The Devil's Chair. Crickets keep quavering.
-
Underneath the Franklin Street overpass sleeps a family bound by naught.
They watch in dawn's light as the few pedestrian that traverse Cerro Gordo
advert their eyes as some sort of silent symbol of respect for their situation.
It's as if the very stare of a privileged man could drain 'til depleted.
They never ask for anything, they just wade it out and listen to
the cars overhead, the train-clock's trumpet, and the heartbeats in between.
-
Leaks are patched, potholes filled, and yet
we're still loosing blood; becoming beguiled.
So many stray cats in the civilian savanna,
aimlessly seeking names and second chances.
"This premises is under police video surveillance" -
hanging like ornaments from streetlamp poles.
-
Guarding the gates
of a dwindling dominion,
as the armies of Union and Grand
wait in their camps
for the rust to take hold
of her iron veins.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
I yearn to press my lips to hers,
then trace my tongue, slow and deep,
around her mound, where heat stirs,
taking in every flavor, rich and steep.
Her juices, warm and sweet, flood my mouth,
the only thing that can quench my thirst,
to calm the fire that rages inside,
to satisfy my deepest hunger, unrehearsed.
Each drop of her, a nectar so divine,
her taste, her scent, driving me wild,
it’s her essence I crave, time after time,
leaving me lost in passion’s beguiled.
In this moment, nothing else exists,
just her taste, her body, our bliss.
Truthfully, I need her, every part,
to settle my soul, to ignite my heart.
Aug 8, 2024
Aug 8, 2024 at 10:22 PM UTC
It's hard to hide a smile
When you should feel defiled.
Is it wrong to give my soul,
act as a ***** in the bed and
reconcile your acts as nothing but
worthwhile?
My skin and mind are afire
we're lying side by side respirating shallowly
admired, reviled and inspired I let myself wander
with thoughts of our beguiled afternoon.
Love affairs are seedy, needy and just
without my lover I'd feel nothing but bile
for the man I let slip a band on me.
I want to stay awhile, but the room will
be needed by the next coupling.
And, until next time I have to veil my
vile, yet necessary secret
And that I do with guile and style.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
What a relief to set aside
my mechanical pencil
and write with you,
O Ballpoint Pen
found at the bottom of my pen box.
On your side is engraved
“Samy’s Camera.”
Did I walk out with you by accident?
or was it on purpose,
beguiled by your sleek, cool body
as you nestled into my hand
and I clasped you tight
likw my boyfriend in a steamy nightclub
dancing slow to Moon River.
Was I writing a check for
a roll of Kodak film,
ASA 400?
Or was it more recent?
Purchasing a digital mini-camera
to carry in my purse?
Before cellphones took selfies so flawlessly
that I tucked my Sony
into the dresser drawer
behind my underwear.
It lies abandoned
soon to be joined by all my
mechanical pencils.
You, my Pen, are my reliable companion
who will record lists for me:
To Do lists
Shopping lists
Birthday lists
Laundry lists.
You will record why my lover
doesn't want me anymore, but
I will tear up that scrap of paper
as soon as the ink has dried like blood,
that heartless man,
unworthy of the ink I waste on him.
O beautiful Pen,
sleek as the fur on a cat,
smooth as a gin and tonic,
solid as his hand on my breast.
for merely.
I hereby relinquish my mechanical pencil,
whose lead keeps shattering.
But you, dear Ballpoint Pen, I can press hard.
And how much more beautiful
with you
are the curves of my words.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC