"beryl" poems
392
Through the Dark Sod—as Education—
The Lily passes sure—
Feels her white foot—no trepidation—
Her faith—no fear—
Afterward—in the Meadow—
Swinging her Beryl Bell—
The Mold-life—all forgotten—now—
In Ecstasy—and Dell—
6.1k
I thank Beryl Lew
HP's numero uno
for being among the few
to appreciate my sombrero.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head
The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall.
Of mighty kings of Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away;
The world was fair in Durin's Day.
A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.
There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote,
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built,
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in hoard.
Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang
And at the gates the trumpets rang.
The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls,
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.
4.6k
Spewing hate as usual
Desperate for attention!
Creepy Duchebag rabbi
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
the fountain of poetry
e'er threatens to dry up
yet the inspirational words of Beryl Dov Lew
re-supplied my dwindling cup
with his advice duly given
my expression's reservoir fills to capacity
in a most generous
flow of endless verbosity
had he of not encouraged me
to keep the pen's ink spilling
my Hello Poetry pages
would be empty of shilling
with a mentor of Beryl's calibre
positively re-invigorating my oft dry fountain
I am ever assured of a verse
brimming unto the highest mountain
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
776
The Color of a Queen, is this—
The Color of a Sun
At setting—this and Amber—
Beryl—and this, at Noon—
And when at night—Auroran widths
Fling suddenly on men—
’Tis this—and Witchcraft—nature keeps
A Rank—for Iodine—
3.8k
737
The Moon was but a Chin of Gold
A Night or two ago—
And now she turns Her perfect Face
Upon the World below—
Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde—
Her Cheek—a Beryl hewn—
Her Eye unto the Summer Dew
The likest I have known—
Her Lips of Amber never part—
But what must be the smile
Upon Her Friend she could confer
Were such Her Silver Will—
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest Star—
For Certainty She take Her Way
Beside Your Palace Door—
Her Bonnet is the Firmament—
The Universe—Her Shoe—
The Stars—the Trinkets at Her Belt—
Her Dimities—of Blue—
3.7k
161
A feather from the Whippoorwill
That everlasting—sings!
Whose galleries—are Sunrise—
Whose Opera—the Springs—
Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
Of mellow—murmuring thread—
Whose Beryl Egg, what Schoolboys hunt
In “Recess”—Overhead!
3.6k
as i sit here,
eating yet another
bowl of trifle,
that is rabbit-like,
in it's ability,
to seem neverending.
my thoughts lollop,
with leperorine grace to,
fibonacci
and his box of bunnies
multipying and multiplying....
....ad infinitum...
another spoon,
to my mouth.
stop....
the sun's gentle rays,
sparkle through,
jellies translucency.
as tastebuds swoon
at sweet sugar's mango rush.
synapses hop and pop within
my head....
and in my mind's eye,
i see flopsy, mopsy,
cottontail..boy and paul.
(not peter..copyright laws)
cavorting with fibonacci's
numbers,
1,1,3,5,8,13,21....and so on.
playing leap frog, in a hedge
maze.
they play and add and hop and
grow,
in an unending trail,
spiraling off.... into the west,
in a sweet smelling lavender haze.
at this point, i'm now thinking...
just, how much sherry did
aunty beryl put in this magic
trifle....
if i am honest with myself
and with you as well.
i will open my heart to confess.
to three new,
believed abstractions:
one;
after all these years(47)
i am still enamoured of beatrix's
cute little rabbits
(but i must still claim
miss jemima puddleduck
as my all time favourite)
two;
fibonacci's numbers still rule
(what an extraordinary mind
this man owned and used
to the betterment of man kind)
and three;
....much more prosaically..
you see...
i fear i am having a moment of
metenoia ....
with regard to the trifle...
and the amount of it's delctable
connsumption.
i can now clearly
and a tiny bit queasily,
see....
what it is to be a glutton!!!
and i find repentant thoughts
of never again will i eat so much...
(in one sitting)....
are stomping on the rabbits.
(fortunately the rabbits are
getting out of the way....
...quick little fellas aren't they..
...no rabbits were hurt in the filming
of this imaginary sequence...)
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
You asked the color of my dreams.
In sleep, my eyes have sought
The inky black of raven lashes.
Starry nights and sooty ashes.
Prussian blue of fading violets
Indigo of clouds and silence
Beryl skies and turquoise seas
Blue-green waters of the deep
Peacock feathers of emerald green
Mossy dells of faery queens
Fields of wheat and brilliant suns
Amber gold in mid-autumns
Coral reefs and salmon streams
Marmalade and tangerines
Auburn sunsets, titian lips
Hennaed hands and fingertips
Blushing brides and rosy cheeks
Pink hued walls and white topped peaks
Silver moons and crystal nights
Downy geese in graceful flight
Ask not the color of my dreams
The question is not whole;
Deep within my rainbow’d sleep
Lies the color of my soul.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
*( Loki )
1
All ills you have wrought
Mischief maker in the dirt
No shower will cleanse
2
Poor Woolfy Spirit
******* in actuality
You ARE Beryl Dov
3
Thor is your new name
Psychopath reinventing
Same old *** trickster
4
Who is following
The fortune cookie writers
Such lame phony names
5
Fragile ego here
Pages of Wolf and Beryl
Drama queens reeking
6
Even as he leaves
Tireless self promoter
Lowers the banal*
Note:
Wolf Spirit IS Dire Wolf IS Toreanus Pinwinkle III IS Thor IS Beryl Dov IS ******** ( aka ******* ) Rabbi IS soooooo many others - a many-faced pest and pariah, previously banned on other sites for being stalkers and sociopaths !!
See:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1530102/wolves/
&
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1516652/breach/
&
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/832663/beryl-dov/
&
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1527822/not-a-poem-an-open-response-to-wolf-spirit-and-wolf-spirit-dire/
Basically anyone who follows these massive-ego predators is probably them !!
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
-A lament by the preteen Queen of Mesopotamia.
Late September,
During summer,
My great kingdom was obliterated by raiders.
My poor people,
Young and feeble,
Were all mercilessly butchered by those strangers.
Every temple,
Made of beryl,
Was then looted and set on fire by their archers!
And as for me,
A preteen Queen,
Slavery is now my role for their vile leaders!
Sep 27, 2020
Sep 27, 2020 at 9:53 PM UTC
As the apple
bursting bellies
beryl tides and
as the apple
lucid blue, a
wasted gut and
as the apple
a stitch of skin
of rude thoughts and
obscene gestures of
****** fingers of smiley
lies of cats in graveyards
and bleary eyes
of ***** misers
of the foolish ***** of
the four-legged wanton
silver tongued and
as the apple
a boy sits
and worries after
my ugly twin.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
"I fear once the time for friends ends, my desire
would leave me exposed to the ill kept as well
from enemies, leave me forgotten, misfit for both."
-- Beryl to Sky-Rend
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
When sleep eludes me at night
And my mind floats aimless
Like a sail boat idle on the sea
When on my bed I lie staring vacant
At the pale moon that gleams,
A medley of sounds falls in my ears
I hear the chirp of cicadas, the screech of bats
The hooting of owls, the flutter of moths
The staccato notes of the crickets
And the shrill sonorous music of grass hoppers
Among these and the silent music of the stars
The one sound that delights me most
Is the sound of the whistling Thrush
Her loud song cuts through the air
And mingles with the soft hush of leaves
Hidden in the blanket of darkness
I am not privileged to see this beryl bird
To me, a Goddess of enchantment n’ magic
Sometimes like a sweet secret
She emerges from the depth of a ravine
Sometimes she hides in the leafy coverage
Of a nearby poplar tree
Always she starts with a hesitant whistle
As though rehearsing her own art
However gaining confidence
And happy over her trial attempt
She soon bursts forth into 'full throated' song
Creating such sweet vibes of warm feeling
And producing in me an instant healing
Nay, she sets my soul on fire
And swallows me whole
Creating in me an eternal longing
To hear her pour out that celestial melody
Sitting in some far fringe of Heaven
To make me lose myself within myself
And slosh my soul in mad ecstasy!
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 7:17 AM UTC
i.
At the fore of the gateway
Precious stone's exhibited;
Her beauty and grace.
ii.
A crystal shined gold
Floweth from her soul;
Mine soulmate of heaven's place.
iii.
From her feet
To her waist;
A wine of jasper grape's.
iv.
Inside her ambience rested
Sapphire, chalcedony
Emerald, sardonyx
Sardius, chrysolite
Beryl, topaz,
Chrysoprasus,
Jacinth,
Amethyst.
v.
I was awestruck
God gaveth me unadulterated holiness;
I am verily hooked
To mine queen, mine Jane, mine happiness.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication-Filipino rose
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
It is a pleasant place to lie,
amidst a copse of Olive trees.
The tears of muses, never dried,
have effaced the writing from your stone.
These hills about once knew your step,
your strong and confident poet’s stride.
Robert, the Royal Fusilier,
Once thought dead, but you’d survived.
Your home is a museum now,
Your Black Cordoban hangs on the wall.
I step into the little den
where you finally said farewell to all.
Looking out your window I
Espy a naked maiden flee.
Skin starkly white with Golden hair-
The White goddess? Could it be?
At any rate, a comely lass,
Beauty to whet a poet’s pen
I’ve heard you were inspired thus
by lovely muses, now and then.
Your domestic arrangements
Were quite strange;
celibate infidelity.
I’ll admit that’s one I haven’t tried.
Nor would I like to, honestly.
But your genius can’t be ignored.
by honest literary men.
I’ve spend hours in Ancient Rome
transported by your fertile pen.
Farewell Robert, Beryl too
You knew he’d be yours at the end.
Muses fuel a poet’s pen
But cannot love as wives may do.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
~
(written in response to one by Beryl Dov)
constellationally speaking
a trophied man is one
whose weaknesses
he has overcome,
those the stars
foretold, ordained;
flaws and blemishes
the gods disdained,
who flies
with herculean
brawn and breadth;
who plies
the star ways
to their dizzying heights
and stairways
to their dismal depths.
he is…
like no other,
he is…
the lonesome
overcomer!
~
*post script.
for Beryl Dov, poet laureate, extraordinaire;
in response to his “The Lonely Astronomer”.
how anyone sees his as anything
negative is beyond me…
i see nothing but
an overcomer’s metaphor.
well done, friend!!
(and yes, by "man"
i do mean mankind)
The Lonely Astronomer:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1182761/the-lonely-astronomer/*
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 8:32 PM UTC
like some jealous future self,
my writer's clock balks at this moment with you,
i can't explain, so i give up listening. (i have an app for that)
the writing only stops as degustation ends ~
thank you, though ~ i'd like you to hear
regardless of the meanings lent ~
the gymnolexical fear
appearing ornamental far and near.
google files us away, omniscient
acumen of o's and ones ~
words sing to me their luring promise of a lasting hold,
but less and less
as plastic griming fingers sync
with what it seems to be,
a new world search-
-engine culling info freely
do i still believe in order?
striving for the fitted words,
a love imprinted input thus on crystal pixel page,
your effect on me distilled--
refracted throng associational
fantastic server metacomfort
for an audience
swimming past into this,
now always
ever-new you appear, bursting
at the seams my vision churning
...effluent sourcing, blurry self of others ~
heart-charming river-nymphs!
bolt-hurling sky-satyrs! reeling nations are subtended by your words
that walk, trod, swim across what poetry,
dance with this ever-blooming techne-earth
as i mark your plasmic eyes
we flow and let flow,
we dance our farmer's mud
into the beryl-winding paths
of othernets and cyberplay,
the restful ends reborn bright white
lacing lattice-scopic fibrous
scatters of another wi-fi interlife ~
we stream and let stream,
river-tress girl, your eyes summon
a great coalescence in me,
we dance into the channeled
delta of spring beauty here across the keyboard;
it cascades a slow attentive phosphene
striking pointed notes of color,
ring beneath and through the
green, sylvan silicon throw of mossy html
so that even rocks and sprawling
tree-trunks sing within the disembodied
vortexes of arrowed imagery to browse
my virtual belongings to you,
alone in your sorrow-joy fighting
free love in an all-world-breath
before the screen
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
The poem formerly known as 'First taste of bitter' has been rewritten to reflect the lovely people who inhabit this etheral poetic wonderland that is home to many and a refuge to many - inspired by HP's own Elsa
- thank you Elsa :))
My first taste of HP
I was welcomed right away
Day one I had three friends
Peter Hamilton, Cecil and Ana
Is where my HP journey began
From another site I'd arrived
Not seeking fortunes or fame
Just a place to share poems
With people who feel the same
I've always been so welcome here
~ always made to feel at home
Thats down to the friendly poets
Who you all are, you know.
So many, many friendly souls
My, how that list has grown
Thank you HP - I glad I came...
I no longer feel alone
Special thank also to - Poetessa Diabolica, Niamh, Coleen, Shanna, Wolf, Brandon, Evie, ridicule, Beryl Dov, Donna and Sleeping Bag. Much love to everyone who knows me. X
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
not often do you meet
true gentlemen
perchance two of this kind
I met on Hello Poetry
it has dumfounded me
to see them no longer here
for they were genuinely
courteous and well mannered
indeed
Beryl Dov The ******** Rabbi
a noble guy
his satirical verses
I did heartily enjoy reading
no finer writer
of this ply
WolfSpirit
ever polite and friendly
he supported
his fellow poets
and wrote
from the heart
I'll always have a good word for both of them
kosher
these
gentlemen
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
My tired eyes,
my fatigued mind
falls slow and time becomes obscured by
the drowsy raven sailing sunset sky boulevard.
My phone is ringing orders and misdirection calls,
that funny little radiation box hollering voices
of somewhere, telemarketers in India, automated messages,
spurious connections anywhere but here.
The rain-shine of approaching April Wednesday
trails golden hues among the treeline being viciously
torn like a gradual atomic bomb flattening the hoary hills
and spectacular firs beryl in frequent times of showers.
Each day I hope for that fabled resurgence,
nearly a year my fingers have been crossed
while wars are still wars, politicians still politicians,
gods still gods. Everything is so still, silence among fury.
Carpet bombings, protests, genocides, reforms, riots, the drowsy
raven circles in view of the window and my thoughts cycle around
my washing machine consciousness wiping off the grit of untruths
of everywhere else but within myself. That seems to be the problem
with most people.
As the clouds roll in, as the sun subsides into darkness,
as my mind is clouded by that ever-expanding raven encompassing
night sky and nightmares, I realize I hadn't even gone out at any point
that day and probably wouldn't the next.
We've become so dull some of us.
Vacuums inside of vacuums.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
Brandon Bless you brother for your Holy Spirit filled poems.
Bless you Elsa , for your heart and God is using your poems.
Bless you Just Melz, Marion,Nicole,Dark and beautiful too.
Wolf Spirit,DC Raw,Ignatinus, David, Timothy, Joshua..
Joe Kevin, Gary L, Traveler, Mike Hauser, Anto MacRuaridh.
Soulsurvivoe, weeping willow,Hilda.Emma, MargotDylan.
I want to name each and everyone of you that I follow/
Beth St Claire, Nicole, Elizabeth Squire,Mark Cleavenger.
Forgotten Heart, Haley Madison, Eudora, Ann M Johnson.n
Vanessa Gatley, Beryl Dov, Mercie B, Paul Butters, Emma.
Nateive Son,Dopperganger, Cecil Miller,My cup overrunth.
Sweetpea, Frank Ruland, olestory teller, Ridicule, Tivonna.
Carolin, Anu, Nicole Dawn. plus so many more inspires me.
Please forgive me if you are not on here I love you all.
Everyone of you inspires me , I see your courage and your love.
May Christ always bless you all abundantly with his blessings.
I see the courage in all of you whom have my life here on HP.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
In kisses showered,
through cupped hands,
you cross
from beryl eyes,
and rest in me!
Your tender face,
in mine
embodied!
An impression forms,
of no other,
none,
no boundary,
where neither I
begins,
nor ends!
I gasp,
as both the outer,
and the inner
a single eye
betwixt
engenders.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 5:00 AM UTC