"bents" poems
’Tis evening; the black snail has got on his track,
And gone to its nest is the wren,
And the packman snail, too, with his home on his back,
Clings to the bowed bents like a wen.
The shepherd has made a rude mark with his foot
Where his shadow reached when he first came,
And it just touched the tree where his secret love cut
Two letters that stand for love’s name.
The evening comes in with the wishes of love,
And the shepherd he looks on the flowers,
And thinks who would praise the soft song of the dove,
And meet joy in these dew-falling hours.
For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love,
Where nothing can hear or intrude;
It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove,
In beautiful green solitude.
3.4k
Observe the dents and the bents
This barbell is sitting alone in the alley
How long has it been there you ask?
It has been years, but it is a forgotten story
The barbell was rusted and old
But doing its day, trainers knew how to take hold
The barbell was outside a once very active Gym
The owner’s first name happened to be Jim
The Gym’s name was called “Fitness Theory Gym”
The members were all Fitness Buffs and Bodybuilder’s that were massive and muscular
The gym was strictly ********
All about fitness being the core
Yet all the trained was centered around barbells with an uptown grade being called weights
Walking pass on any given day, you could hear the sounds of moans in lift
Catch my drift?
But a Financial Crisis at the gym slowed business down
Little by Little, the members could no longer be found
In fact, it was next to none
So the gym had no choice but to close down
But then again, gym after gym was no longer bound
The end of fitness and ******** not being the sound
So one loss barbell that was left in a forbidden alley
Rusted and no place to go to be lifted
The barbell stayed in the alley until sanitation arrived
A barbell being old and no longer in use
Also a barbell no one could see
A ******** past with what used to be
Aug 7, 2020
Aug 7, 2020 at 3:48 PM UTC
This, no song of an ingenue,
This, no ballad of innocence;
This, the rhyme of a lady who
Followed ever her natural bents.
This, a solo of sapience,
This, a chantey of sophistry,
This, the sum of experiments,--
I loved them until they loved me.
Decked in garments of sable hue,
Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents,
Wearing shower bouquets of rue,
Walk I ever in penitence.
Oft I roam, as my heart repents,
Through God's acre of memory,
Marking stones, in my reverence,
"I loved them until they loved me."
Pictures pass me in long review,--
Marching columns of dead events.
I was tender, and, often, true;
Ever a prey to coincidence.
Always knew I the consequence;
Always saw what the end would be.
We're as Nature has made us----hence
I loved them until they loved me.
2.3k
The thistledown’s flying, though the winds are all still,
On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill,
The spring from the fountain now boils like a ***
Through stones past the counting it bubbles red-hot.
The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread,
The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead.
The fallow fields glitter like water indeed,
And gossamers twitter, flung from **** unto ****
Hill-tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun,
And the rivers we’re eying burn to gold as they run;
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.
2.1k
A busy, coffee-smelling Sunday morning
With noisy banters while cooking and dining
Natural gatherings with our parents
A time to fix the little cracks and bents
But alas, my father is under the soil
While mother uses her time to toil
And I am left in my own devices
Do try to imagine how everyday is
And oh, please try to remember albeit
I am not a sad child at all, at least not yet
For I always reason, not in deceit,
That my family isn't broken, just incomplete
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
the road looks like two aisles of Christmas lights
all turning their sides into the dim night
asleep in the comfort of sheets
bought by people who love them
the dogs homed to the fences of my neighbors are all asleep
the mice and the raccoons are walking back home
the birds have whispered their prayers
the stray cats are done for the day
all in the tug of night
ready to sleep
but the ants
and the cockroaches
the flies
and spiders
are all out
restless
passing by sleeping children
and drunk men
lining up the instruments
setting up the dance
free and safe
words on a soldier's tongue before
residue and ripped cloth are hung by their guns and boots
I am awake in perfect harmony
a balance of night and day
of an agreement the moon and sun had in the beginning of time
I am a pest
reincarnated from a man who's days and nights
were whiskey and the smell of a hooker's breath
luck and karma spelled on the bents of my body
I was not a good man
and now
I am nothing more than a spec of darkness in your vast blue sky
nothing more than stains on pearl walls
in the mornings I wake
dreaming of my body being shaped back into a pulse of a mans
promising to be better
I wake to a toddler staring down at me
step on me
hit me with your storybook or
hide me
release me to the corners I belong
I am nothing more but the ripped spine of a leaf
I am nothing more than the roughest patch of a child's palm
I have always been nothing more
I am nothing more
I am nothing
and yet I have
been given
time to
be
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
The Daily Prayer The Daily Prayer
AUG 2010 OCT 2017
Be forever young 'n humble; seven yearlings of plenty famine;
Feel ancient and royal; youthful graybeard commoner now,
Ride tall in the saddle; old hoary, crooked headed ancien
Do something nifty; content to just, just walk crookedly
Take someone's hand if they permit, for hands gnarled,
Unexpectedly: roughened and time toughened,
Drive home in the slow lane; only the city bus, now bows, kneels,
Do the de minims; how has the minimalist become
Do the de maximis; the max, the best old-dog-in-show?
Leave a book on a park bench; forgetfulness, unintended bonuses,
Use pen n paper, write a letter; the fingers shaky press cell button,
Take a chance, make people laugh; your appearance quite the joke,
Barrel into contention; a barrel casket, half your wardrobe
Show mercy to the confused, no arrogance, have mercy upon poets,
Show anger to the abusers. for they fear voices calling out, account!
Bless a child with both hands; now take their blessings returned
Grasp your soul; throw it down, others sidle, it's our time, now,
Then raise a child to the sky. to raise you up father of fathers
Straight up, straighten your time bents, curves,
Build a continuum, honor thy work ever continuing
You and they, *we, and you, we are all your steps,
on a ladder of each poem, to guide us heavenward*
***each poem a prayer, each prayer a poem, passing back, coming forth in the crests upon the beach and bay you so loved, the moon and sun both shine simultaneously while it rains straight,
all come, each to recite,
even the One with whom you vociferous argued, unrepentantly,
all here, together placing that weighty last period at the end of
your daily prayer.***
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
when I was ten, I scraped the surface of my skin
soothing the nerves that might be achin’
and I dreamed of being a shape-shifter
instead of wearing my own skin, wanted to be a transformer
like Mystique covered her scales with brown-leather jacket
as if she was hiding in her friend’s pocket
I wanted to be a shape-shifter so bad
that I carry different names in different events
introducing another personality into another styles and bents,
desperate in escaping reality
that my first name is Nobody
with a last name of loser in a morena body
when I was thirteen, I wanted to be a telepathic
because middle school was boring and pathetic,
your freckles and scars was not considered as aesthetic
because they are distractive, not attractive
then most people was stereotypic
and put so much weight of stigma
that was heavier in my own persona
I hope I could read someone’s mind
to attend their standards and be acceptable, not behind
I hope I could seep in the openings of their cracks
to see if I could join in their popular groups and ranks
I wanted so bad to be telephatic
that my sanity was almost equal to chaotic and psychotic
when I was sixteen, I wished I had x-men gene of invisibility
because school was tiresome and heavy
and bullies was way powerful than your mental ability
that you would rather disappear and stay in eternal tranquility
then suffer from discrimination
because your skin was not society’s accepted complexion
they said, I didn’t belong anywhere
because I am nobody from nowhere
mom even said I’ll be fine and should work for it
I said that I am over it and I am so done with it
but mom didn’t understand that suiting yourself in was like
walking in fired coal with trigger in my feet of armalite the wall
now, I just turned 19, I finally understand
how world kept condemning, exploiting and oppressing people who are weak
who are in minority, not hearing their silent screech
I finally understand that if you have no power
people will trample and trample you to lower
I finally understand that I don’t need an approval stamp
from anybody that crushes my soul in *****
and you, yes you
you don’t need anybody to be whole
because, certainly, surely, you can fill your own hole
I finally understand that I am enough
that life is rough so you have to be tough
And I finally understand what made me stay,
you foolish prodigy, do not be easily swayed
I have the right to be here, you have to.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 9:14 PM UTC
She is a girl
She is lily of the valley
She is delicacy of the fields
Come close to her
She is moving gradually in the wind
There is slight noise around her ........
Hey !!! move slowly
Reduce your speed she will be scared
. she will be fade .
Come closer to her
Listen she is reducing her voice
Hidding something
She is scary of us
The wind is blowing faster
She is fighting
And she is trying so harder
Listen ...
She is not leting us to know her
The noise arises
Again wind blows
There she bents
Come closer
She will be scared
The air blows again
Its hard to bear
She stopes
Feel....
Its so fragile
Her fragrance is going so far
There every secret opens
All has been revealed
Her fumes goes in everyone breaths
She died there
......
Shhhh
She was a girl
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 1:33 PM UTC
(Land that doth marry mother lode
of sublime earthen land and sea).
Age of exploration
ushered cruel fate
against “red” men living
in bliss by agents
patch of eden north
o Mason Dixon line
latitude: 39.64839
longitude: -75.95591 alee
perchance designed
by divine providence
with dyslexic humorous bents
Cecil county Maryland
lies like plump backward letter “e”
witnessed topographic erosion
pocked imprimatur marked
meteorological dents
thru inundation of
oceanographic propensities
melding coastline like Galilee
in particular by Chesapeake Bay,
that body of water
abutting like natural fence
first witnessed by captain
John Smith in 1608
mistaking himself tong tied
in sole of Italy
learned faux pas, when crossing paths
with Susquehannas hence,
offered tobacco sticks to natives
while recovering
from injured wounded knee
said other sundry tribes curiously eyed
then (I utilized poetic license)
took smoke from packet of Kents
which twist on actual
historical facts manipulated by me
but more truthful account awash
and replete with more
than interspersed nonsense
and incorporates tract situated
in so called Fertile Crescent – see
settled by Europeans of English stock,
who emigrated with nary a pence
“taming” shrew like “noble savages”
plied Leviathan sized ukuleles
whose might exploited for felling forests,
which timber built cabins with vents.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
Sanmati, my source, is completely mine
As she never missed going to shrine.
Nor does she move slowly like a bovine.
Much was done to munch through byline
Against me or her to bypass or to confine.
Thanks to expedition that made her whine
Inner talents, flairs, bents and gifts fine.
Jain are we: active is she; before deadline
All her work is complete – quality divine.
Illegitimacy! Come thou and pour wine
Near those who still soar for heavenly design.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
A
place for spilled
ideas to be caught
maybe even taught
A
wrinkled brown spotted document
rolled with tender bents
for this matrix sent
A
place for the noblest aspirations
to hold most secret motivations
it is really a sensation
A
venerated dusty brown parchment with words
words as powerful as sharp swords
bold words that points mankind towards
all
the
others
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Your eyes meet mine;
Your lips kiss mine;
Your breath breathes mine;
Your hand holds mine;
Your love loves mine;
Your words rhyme mine;
Your shadow mimics mine;
It feels like everything that is yours is mine
Mine,
This is a crazy thing, a crazy ups and downs
An emotional roller coaster, bents and breaks
There is an urge inside my chest—screaming
Because it carves your name for the very first time
It feels like everything that is mine is no longer mine—but yours.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 12:19 AM UTC
He tiptoes through the dark forest
in the smell of damp earth
combined with old fallen leaves
in this bitter summer eve.
Dull cloudless sky hovers over him
along with the bare limbs
of tall trees while he hears
cooing of birds returning to their nests.
He makes his way slowly,
but his heartbeat is on the run,
rises, falls as if imitating the sun.
A battle of words is taking place inside him,
but he does not dare to whisper.
Stars slip out of existence
and moon is about to set.
Comfort disappears, regrets pose a threat.
Last thread of light casts shadows
on the ground where he treads barefooted.
Waves of nervousness wash over him
whereas folks lumber in peace-
a complete detachment from the scene!
Reaching the far end, he bents
holding his knees, sweating all over
as if his one last hope ends.
to be free of all his burdens.
His eyes catch a glimpse of drowning dawn
making him wonder if the universe
abandoned it too between
transition of day and night
just as he is left out unseen
somewhere between dreams and memories.
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 9:19 AM UTC
The Daily Prayer The Daily Prayer
AUG 2010 OCT 2017
Be forever young 'n humble; seven yearlings of plenty famine;
Feel ancient and royal; youthful graybeard commoner now,
Ride tall in the saddle; old hoary, crooked headed ancien
Do something nifty; content to just, just walk crookedly
Take someone's hand if they permit, for hands gnarled,
Unexpectedly: roughened and time toughened,
Drive home in the slow lane; only the city bus, now bows, kneels,
Do the de minims; how has the minimalist become
Do the de maximis; the max, the best old-dog-in-show?
Leave a book on a park bench; forgetfulness, unintended bonuses,
Use pen n paper, write a letter; the fingers shaky press cell button,
Take a chance, make people laugh; your appearance quite the joke,
Barrel into contention; a barrel casket, half your wardrobe
Show mercy to the confused, no arrogance, have mercy upon poets,
Show anger to the abusers. for they fear voices calling out, account!
Bless a child with both hands; now take their blessings returned
Grasp your soul; throw it down, others sidle, it's our time, now,
Then raise a child to the sky. to raise you up father of fathers
Straight up, straighten your time bents, curves,
Build a continuum, honor thy work ever continuing
You and they, *we, and you, we are all your steps,
on a ladder of each poem, to guide us heavenward*
**each poem a prayer, each prayer a poem, passing back, coming forth in the crests upon the beach and bay you so loved, the moon and sun both shine simultaneously while it rains straight,
all come, each to recite,
even the One with whom you vociferous argued, unrepentantly,
all here, together placing that weighty last period at the end of
your daily prayer.**
Nov 11, 2024
Nov 11, 2024 at 8:33 PM UTC