"besmear" poems
Plip, plip, plop
I wonder when will it all stop
Every drop turns a darker red
As all hope are replaced with dread.
Plip, plip, plop
We need to fix this faucet
For soon we'll all drown
And sadly we are too poor for a casket.
Plip, plip, plop
Please don't pretend you don't hear
All the innocent's yawps
Pleading from the faith of your ruthless spear.
Plip, plip, plop
Alas! the streets are clean
Yet every house seems to pray
For their child to come home today.
Plip, plip, plop
I wish to live a day without fear
That the faucet won't wreck my home
Coating it with an awful besmear.
Plip, plip, plop
I just want it to stop
Pray, I do not want the past nor the present,
I just want a life that has future in it.
-a.m.
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
horn-rimmed spectacles would fit her well,
a wide-eyed owl surveying tree dell,
scanning everything from her perch,
watching the battle-field, ready to lurch
with still glance, as priest with bell,
all and sundry, she seeks to quell,
with tongue as whip to flail and scourge,
all else besmear, purge and smirch
if she berates, she'll make it clear,
her will is paramount, just quake in fear
from the rooftop she seeks applause
and will rejoice in finding flaws
bumptious 'n pushy, she rules her cell,
hers is paradise, all others, hell,
if you're lucky, you may carry her verge,
and at her bequest, sing her dirge
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 7:00 AM UTC
O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give !
The rose looks fair , but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live
A perfumed tincture of the roses hang on such thorns and play a wantonly
When spring's breath their masked buds pop open
But for their virtue , only is their show
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made
And so beauteous and lovely sister
Not marble nor the gilded monuments of Queens shall outlive this powerful rhyme
But you shall shine bright in this contents
Than unswept stone , besmear'd with sluttish time
When the wasteful tides of life shall legacies overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry
The living record of your memory
Gainst death and all oblivious emmity
Your good works shall still find room even in the eyes of strangers
So even till the judgement that yourself arise,
You live in this and dwell in thy brother's heart and eyes
Happy Birthday Sister !
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 6:51 AM UTC