"bequeaths" poems
1241
The Lilac is an ancient shrub
But ancienter than that
The Firmamental Lilac
Upon the Hill tonight—
The Sun subsiding on his Course
Bequeaths this final Plant
To Contemplation—not to Touch—
The Flower of Occident.
Of one Corolla is the West—
The Calyx is the Earth—
The Capsules burnished Seeds the Stars
The Scientist of Faith
His research has but just begun—
Above his synthesis
The Flora unimpeachable
To Time’s Analysis—
“Eye hath not seen” may possibly
Be current with the Blind
But let not Revelation
By theses be detained—
11.2k
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
The business man, the acquirer vast,
After assiduous years, surveying results, preparing for departure,
Devises houses and lands to his children—bequeaths stocks, goods—funds for a school or hospital,
Leaves money to certain companions to buy tokens, souvenirs of gems and gold;
Parceling out with care—And then, to prevent all cavil,
His name to his testament formally signs.
But I, my life surveying,
With nothing to show, to devise, from its idle years,
Nor houses, nor lands—nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends,
Only these Souvenirs of Democracy—In them—in all my songs—behind me leaving,
To You, who ever you are, (bathing, leavening this leaf especially with my breath—pressing on it a moment with my own hands;
—Here! feel how the pulse beats in my wrists!—how my heart’s-blood is swelling, contracting!)
I will You, in all, Myself, with promise to never desert you,
To which I sign my name.
5.4k
May the hand of our Lord always guide you
May His tender love daily anoint your heart
May the peace of His heaven fill your world
As this New Year's breath begins to start
May His grace in your mind be steadfast
May the light of His Spirit fill your face
May you never again feel any loneliness
As you live daily in His loving embrace
May your spirit be blessed very abundantly
Writing and sharing what He bequeaths to you
May you strive to inspire and touch another
In the wonderful way He also does for you
Be charitable and kind in your daily walk
Never finding hatred or prejudice within
Living your life each day in a humble way
As this new year in your life now begins
May each step you take this year resemble
The sharing life our Lord always displayed
And you will find His spirit blessing you
As His grace guides your life each new day.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
For Leonard Baskin
To his house the bodiless
Come to barter endlessly
Vision, wisdom, for bodies
Palpable as his, and weighty.
Hands moving move priestlier
Than priest's hands, invoke no vain
Images of light and air
But sure stations in bronze, wood, stone.
Obdurate, in dense-grained wood,
A bald angel blocks and shapes
The flimsy light; arms folded
Watches his cumbrous world eclipse
Inane worlds of wind and cloud.
Bronze dead dominate the floor,
Resistive, ruddy-bodied,
Dwarfing us. Our bodies flicker
Toward extinction in those eyes
Which, without him, were beggared
Of place, time, and their bodies.
Emulous spirits make discord,
Try entry, enter nightmares
Until his chisel bequeaths
Them life livelier than ours,
A solider repose than death's.
3.9k
Seven New Poems For Seven Days #3: Orphan
Orphan
The funeral will commence at 11:30 am.
Gives me one last review time before the
Final Exam.
Panicked, I discover a whole new chapter
for which I am wholly unprepared,
though its inevitable presence was
assuredly knowable long in advance.
Orphan
It doesn't fit, occur, imagery is of a young child to
soon abandoned, not a late-in-life curmudgeonly poet-boy,
who has been multi-times reincarnated.
I add this title to my list
of proper ways to address me,
titles earned by dint of hard work,
or just unlucky luck.
This new status, orphanhood,
bequeaths no special privileges,
other than, a semi-official
societal permission slip
to feel bereft, lost, and compose poetry.
Know a real orphan, from early, early on,
has never recovered and
never will for it is just impossible.
Just impossible.
So whom am I to make light of
my undesired, unrequested new degree?
I accept it and to my surprise,
It hurts.
7/21/13
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
In foreign land of towering pines
And hammocks, mangrove-torn
A dark-filled night reluctantly
Bequeaths a pale dawn
Upon one battered cypress perched,
Amidst the morning haze,
Bright eyes stare out from part-cocked head
With piscicultural gaze.
Intently focussed on the brook,
That glides beneath the tree
Alive to every shadow’s sound
Yet never truly free.
For choicelessly these eyes are drawn,
As waters break below
And like a flash a head snaps back
And rippled muscles flow.
Within the slightest moment’s breath,
Two mighty wings released,
Two claws full-stretched, two legs reach out
The sinews, strained, unleashed.
The beaten air the only sound,
As time itself stands still
And, tracer-like, on charted course
The osprey meets its ****
With consummate and practiced ease
The painless end begins
The single deadly blow is dealt
As sharpened claws sink in.
Then up away into the dawn
And time resumes its course
Two final beats – then disappeared
Is this magnetic force.
The cypress perch and well-filled brook
As silent witness stay
And as they settle – calm again
The sun declares the day.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
I, bestow this delicate heart of mine to whom
who really deserves it,
Let thee scrutinize me, before the verge of my beloved death,
Exquisite time travels fast; no one could deliver it back, then;
Let thee compromise thy mere words uttered by my tongue.
Into the horizon, my love will intertwine joy upon
thy cold eyes;
Confusions shall subdue through the brilliance of the light,
Thy Windows of Heaven, will unfold thy truth for myriad
of doubts
For each hemisphere shall listen upon my countless vows.
Into the horizon, nothing can stop every step taken
towards thee
For I, will fight even at the darkest eve on the battlefield:
Yet if I lose, I forbid not thy tears a-falling on the ground
to heave other,
Herewith, perhaps, thee haven't seen thy rose that
will never wither.
For I, offer thy hearth of my life to whom who never bequeaths,
Let thee displays clairvoyance for the adequate reason
I breathe;
Yet when the golden sun already descended below
thy wonderful horizon,
Deciphering became dreary, for soon this agony will be gone
to emancipation.
Oct 15, 2011
Oct 15, 2011 at 3:41 AM UTC
Thou leanest to the shell of night,
Dear lady, a divining ear.
In that soft choiring of delight
What sound hath made thy heart to fear?
Seemed it of rivers rushing forth
From the grey deserts of the north?
That mood of thine
Is his, if thou but scan it well,
Who a mad tale bequeaths to us
At ghosting hour conjurable -- -
And all for some strange name he read
In Purchas or in Holinshed.
2k
In experience you have learned
which tunnel to explore.
You enter this
tunnel for promises of
"gold and precious things!".
But this promise
did not enter through ear;
but thoracic permeation
Well prepared having
spelunk'ed before;
light- your pack
light- in hand.
Climbing, scrounging to escape
the tight entrance with
jagged rocks and false paths
it's many turns and falls-
although you cannot keep
your flashlight straight
experience triumphs, as in
a maze done quickly
once done before.
One strong pull
emerging through;
cave's pupil dilates.
Ground so smooth and wet
though wise to walk
we tend to slide
why?
Faster to the gold
Faster for exhilaration
Faster because faster!
and... why not?
hitting rough spots mid-slide
pain in debt to speed.
You let your feet
gain some tract
as the tunnel
narrows
Solomatic mind; without
doubt- body complies.
A slight gust tickles
but this tunnel is not through...
Alas! A shining shimmer is seen!
The earth is rough
to navigate
difficult; (but shimmers numb the sense)
pain soon saturates and stops your
smallest movement, heartbeat, fidget,
thought... The light is moving near?
As tunnels break space and time
and especially direction
feel as though you've lifted up
and the cave, the light, and all
rushes to you.
The sound of breathing relocates,
oh, yes that's you.
gun to back, hostage of Aphrodite
running, sprinting, breathless
you seek this precious shimmer
soon to realize it's coming
faster, harder, alarming to
you.
Looking ahead-
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap
the sound the light bequeaths
not from ten feet but maybe
five, you realize it's you
heavy- pack
heavy- darkness follows
sprinting, pushing through.
And the entrance could not be any farther.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
on a hillside facing north
into an infinite blue Jersey sky
Sarah was laid to rest
on a brilliant crisp
Monday morning
she was surrounded by
loved ones and friendly
Highland Peaks
gathered together this
Thanksgiving week
to praise, honor and
give thanks for the
the life of a beloved
transfigured soul
Sarah entered
the world with nothing
yet departs on wings
filled with an abundance
of riches garnered
from a well lived life
she nurtured generations
of family and fostered
a bounty of diverse friendships
all who count themselves
fortunate to have experienced
the grace of her love
Sarah was a
strong loving matron
of a vibrant clan
her home
filled with
laughter
and the chatter
of children
guests found
a hearty
welcome
and genuine
hospitality
her door, ear
hearth and heart
always open
to anyone
in need of
refuge,
understanding,
a good laugh or
a loving embrace
Sarah's legacy
bequeaths an
extended lineage
of flourishing children
blessedly assuring
her presence
remains a vital
life force in the
spirit of future
descendants
as Sarah was
committed to a
final earthly embrace
to rejoin her
beloved husband
George
white wisps
of gentle
cirrus clouds
gathered to
anoint the brow
of reverent
Highland crests
Well done
Aunt Sally
God bless you
and Godspeed
Fleetwood Mac:
Landslide
Sarah C. Lundberg
Born: August 01, 1933
Died: November 18, 2015
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
Merriment bequeaths mirth,
cheeks shed a glow
coddling the tranquil soul.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 5:21 AM UTC
Time bequeaths a tune
Folding like fading petals
Butterfly breezed by
Jun 16, 2024
Jun 16, 2024 at 5:24 PM UTC
SHAKESPEARE'S MARRIAGE
November 1582
William Shagspere,18
of Stratford
marries
Anne Hathwey,26
Of Shottery
and six months later
the timer bell
at the oven rings
and out pops a fine young baby -
lovely Susanna
OK, time for village gossips
to exercise their tongues
SHAKESPEARE'S WILL
William Shackspeare dies 23 April 1616
and as a reasonable father and gent.,
makes his will and his wishes known
bequeaths items and money
and property to those he has known
(as he pleases)
and to Anne Hathaway,
says William Shackspeare in his will:
*"I gyve unto my wife
my second best bed with the furniture…"*
ANNE HATHAWAY DIES
Anne Hathwey dies 1623, aged 67
O bodes it well, Will
to marry one older?
*Many pleasures there be in such a match;
many are the plays born thereof…*
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 1:29 AM UTC
Once this breath,
Existence gasps to grasp;
When wrath is wrought with wreath,
And fate, life bequeaths
Unyielding hasp;
Upon all, death's arms shall clasp.
Beyond bounds…
Colours, creeds and cultures,
Death's assured end shouldn’t be forgotten;
All’s bestowed ‘same measure,
Once birth is begotten.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
Time had ravished my desires,
But slowly I can feel the fires,
Burning once again,
For through the haze she came,
My angel from the train,
My body drains and freezes my soul,
As beauty stands before me,
And love bequeaths me,
Instantly!
Thoughts cavort insanely,
Dancing through my mind,
Emotions overwhelm,
Drowning sight and sound,
Only her I can see,
And feel the tingle beneath my skin,
I've let her in,
Let love begin.
………………………………………
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC
I, pod
blessed of this age
that bequeaths me the power
to give each day a soundtrack
An imp out on a digital rampage
click
the trees barely had time to be leafy
click
gotcha! random bloggable ***
curled asleep is a poem
subtitled in dusty letters
tomorrow is another playlist
the unhappy will all dance
everybody is gonna dance
when I go out the door
to face my i-world, I, pod
hit it!
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 9:09 PM UTC
The sun’s demise bequeaths my birth beneath the outward heavens.
A glitter of the heavens caught within a twinkle of my eyes.
Travels on the shore lead into the isle, converging upon the core.
Galloping through fields of grain under the starry dearth.
The voluminous trees approaching entry, darkness towers evermore.
The trail adulterated by weeds, thorns; leaves wilting, rotting logs.
A beam of singular light from the canopy given by the silvery moon,
The ray guiding out of the brush unto the yonder blue darkness.
Here at the foothills of the forever peak, a glance upwardly shot.
Moon and stars eclipsed, light extirpated; the fog lies lower than the peak.
Scaling treacherous red glared boulders, sliding rocks collapsing beneath.
Blood rasped hands grapple and cling in the storm of fog.
The zenith of the world…perched; scanning back to the fog
Of lightning and incandescent famine; a tear rolls down the rocks.
Glaring up to see the stars and moon, warmth pounds behind me…
Pivoting to see the mountain gauntlet traversing into the promising sun.
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 7:54 AM UTC
Each phrase a gift,
mine to unwrap
The Muse bequeaths,
when spirit lacks
Each word a jewel,
to cut and shine
Together placed,
—then shout divine
(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
A night is born
full of false holes
dead sounds
like the corks
of nets trailed in the water.
Your hands bring a breath
of inviolable distances
as elusive as ideas.
And the ambiguous sway
of the moon, of the gentlest,
if you rest your eyes on me,
touches the spirit.
You’re the woman who passes by
like a leaf.
And bequeaths an autumn flame to the trees.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
Jewelled with
rainbow translucence roll
rain-bead *****
slowly down outer-windows.
Golden-globe
seed pearls, clear watery
glories slide
in uniformed lines, floorward.
Diamonds in
transit they shine and fire
sparkle from
each crystaline orb's inside.
Smallest gems,
if unnoticed, might seem
irrelevant,
joining the fall into sheen.
Caught however
by eyes with keen poetic
insight rain-drop
wonder bequeaths an ode.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
For he is gone, for he is dead
For he has left and left us dead.
No! Wilt not yet young flowers,
Flourish still.
Thy lost flow hast merely chosen
For God's table vase.
Radiate they iridescence to the eyes!
Captivate still.
For he is gone, for he is dead.
For we go on, recall instead
Dreams a dreamy man conceived
Of a flower garden, watered well
Flourishing its beauty.
Every seed of soil meticulously placed
To watch the roots grow shoots
Shooting into the sky
Capturing glorious warmth from the dreamer,
Of a thousand dreams
Come true.
For he is gone, for he is dead
Think not that, conceive instead,
Were thy flowers shall come to be
The dreamer who did succeed
Bequeaths to you
To dream
Dream through walls
Befalling the best
And become thy exalted one.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
guardian of the lucid heart
bequeaths her soul to Lucifer
in exchange for life of the Sun
to remain
savage is the shadow world
where deals are made for our very lives
in darkness whilst we sleep
and should the balance tip in favor
of greed and indifference
towards the mother of all that is light
then her soul shall have been vanquished
for naught
we are the last semblance of humanity
capable of this salvation
all life, all spirit, all vestiges of our species
shall be scattered to the winds of time
our origin lost forever
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 11:32 PM UTC
The fires burn deep in the blackened night
Soft hues shifting, everlasting light
Subtle throes of twisted agony
Sweet caresses tell the tale of tragedy
She squirms and moves, hips sliding delicately
A lithe creature from a nightmare, seduces me
A voice like a siren cries into the forbidden night
A world in ecstasy sings to nature’s blight
Wet furtive movements, soft gentle moans
Escaping from the throat, of the angel of Rome
A shrieking Harlot
Bequeaths my ears with sound
Forbidden, so tainted, her breast a shivering mound
I love her, I hate her
Erratic, writhing, torment, agony, upon the ground
Love lost, pleasure found, a world in turmoil
A man drowned
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC