"besot" poems
Do women want romantic or authentic.
What do I know, I'm simply an imperfect guy.
Do I know what is more romantic and why
Do I know what is authentic and can I cry
Romantic or Authentic
Is it being at your favorite cafe
Or walking on your favorite trail
Is it listening to the Fray
Or is it feeling alone and abit frail
Romantic or Authentic
Is it cuddling on my couch
Or huddling in a rainstorm
Is it mending your recent Ouch!
Or dancing with awkward form
Romantic or Authentic
Is it holding each other's glance in a crowded bar
Or holding your hair lightly after too many shots
Is it allowing chance to connect from afar
Or revealing our weak side as we become besot
Romantic or Authentic
What will be adored
What will be remembered
Will it be our public shine that is scored
Will it be where we stumbled and clamored
Breathe slow . . . . . .
Breathe deep . . . . . .
Breathe as though . . . . . .
You can't keep . . . . . .
Romantic and Authentic.
I would hope we see each other's shining moments until we fade.
I would hope our memories linger even when frayed.
I would hope we bring our best selves with full abandon.
I would hope we both learn to dance in tandem.
Authentic and Romantic.
I feel it is not just about me
Or just about you.
I feel it's about moments shared free
And feeling what's deeply true.
Authentically Romantic.
It starts as a bubble
Not immune to trouble.
It contains a droplet
Not created by a bracelet.
It's a belief that feels thin
But it needs both feet in.
Romantically Authentic.
Our space becomes a quiet hue.
So white it's blue.
Our true selves expand
Centered and contained.
So fragile and clear
Let's hold it dear.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
Get me on my stomach and rub your stubble-like brambles against my cheek
breathe your humid heated desires on the backs of my ears
and into my coal
entangle your feet in mine
verbalize but don’t make much more than senseless noise, drag it out
sloooow
Grind that ribcage into me
As you make sweet, sweet silent passion into me
Dont get too comfortable so long as you're entwined just as me
Reel me a little further
Pull me back
don’t play too hard
you should know well
it's who we are
I'm more useful when I'm not besot by the torment
of not getting to feel the things that make me fall
Tangibles of your love, the winnings
of our games
I want to be enslaved by your grip
touched by your eyes
With tenderness to my viability
and my liability
I want to be the object of your affection
never the only one
That makes your sensible mind up and slip
Legs and bones tousled
Our heat displaced in-between
warm flesh slipping in and out
we move like one majestic animal
I'll make you move like a victim in my web
of endless sensualities
yowl like a hidden cat
in the dark
if you pounce my softness with your depths and integrity
to the moment
to what we besot
with our foolish tendencies
I'll be like talons
in your shoulders as I kiss your collar, gingerly
open me up, open me up wide
much like you, cringing by your side
let your inhibitions fall,
and your heart, next to me
your vulnerability is my sentimental call
let your head spiral
down my silhouette, hungrily
lay bare your tenderness
so I can sip, you can maul
untilll we fall
to primitive tendency
lap my primordial waters with your lulled tongue
lolling up in the cosmos
like our heroic sun
we know that we’re one
braid your fingers up into me
as we
as we
as we
loose ourselves in faceless time
loose ourselves, lovingly
I won’t own you, I don’t dare possess you outside of this bed
just give me this,
this one meaningful thing
to me in it’s stead
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC
"I think ***** may be a tragic hero,"
A student said,
"Linda tells her boys he is an average man,
And it's time for average men to be attended.
That he gets up and goes to work each day
Is enough to make him a hero."
We listen in the darkened room,
Breaking to think our thoughts aloud
Before we dive back into the pool
Of Loman miseries:
The braggart wearing down,
The cringing rage against
The darning of socks,
Silken stocking memories,
Naughtiness recapitulated.
And sons spinning round
The vortex edge,
Wondering whether
To bail or pledge....
The stage is growing dark,
The audience darker,
Receding from bright memories,
Nobility's idyllic days denied,
Nothing left but the emptiness of pride.
Accepting brassiness and braggadocio,
We lean, breathless beneath skyscrapers,
Accepting commission-only pay,
The emptiness of false news,
And mediocre heroes.
"Boys! The woods are burning!
Can't you understand?
There's a big blaze going all around!"
But no one understands.
We are all dreamers,
Hoping America makes us great again,
Wishing to live the Salesman's life,
Willing to leave Plan B hidden
Behind the fusebox for now...
If only hope remains,
If only champagne wishes,
Caviar dreams besot us in our schemes.
"Nobody dast blame this man!"
Says Charlie, and he is right.
It's tough being out there
Living on a wing and a prayer,
Promising the moon,
Promised the moon,
Age coming on,
No seeds planted,
No sun to shine
On what's left
Of the garden....
A little salary,
A smile,
A shoeshine,
Cannot suffice.
Believing dreams that lie
Is no reason to live;
Seeing the blue sky alone
Is no reason,
If there's nothing to own,
And no place to call home.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 4:20 PM UTC
It is only I that hear your voice
oh heavenly father, so divine
and to my end I have no choice
for through my death you shall refine.
Such weight I carry on my mind
will lift when I do breathe no more
for I am weak from such unkind,
my body scourged so red and raw.
Forgive them father for they know not
of what they do to your sweet son,
they shall reap what they besot
remember then, this day is done.
The gift I leave them in my wake,
a better world as thee bequest
you pass your son for their own sake
for all too know and all too zest.
For follow me, they will and must
when life does end their mortal toil.
For if in God they place all trust
then they shall walk that final mile.
To paradise you will commit,
untainted by the scourge of sin
and at your feet then they shall sit
inside thy glory they will win.
But should they turn away from thee,
take wrong direction as they choose,
for if the blind could only see,
then they would know of what they lose.
Eternity they will then embroil
in Satan's caverns down beneath,
where one encounters with the vile.
That place, where no-one gains relief.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
Topping a rise comes a knight,
armour soiled and stained;
weary yet elated
riding his black steed.
The Princess in her tower sees
and gives a delighted cry.
She leans out her window
and hails the knight:
"Ho!Brave knight!
Whence comest thou?
Tell me thou seeketh me
for I wait for thee."
"Truly",answered the knight
"It is for thee I am come
my fair lady
and to take thine hand."
"I've sailed the seven seas,
toiled through forests and mires,
traversed deserts and dunes
looking for thee".
"Oh the joy!"whispered the lady
and cried,"My brave knight,
glad am I to hear thee but
Didst thou slay the dragon?"
Answered the knight,
"My dearest lady,
I have fought the giants,
conquered the orcs
and tamed the lions."
"Oh brave art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the mighty dragon?"
"I have escaped from dungeons,
caverns with unnamed fears.
Scorpions and serpents
I have crushed to the earth."
"Wonderful art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the fearsome dragon?"
"I have ridden the behemoth,
subdued the depths,
searched the clouds and
fiddled with thunderbolts"
"Magnificent art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the red dragon?"
"Lady,you are besot
with the dumb worm!",he said.
"I wonder if she",he thought
"has been crazed in that tower"
Sighing forlornly,
said the princess
"I canst not leave here
till the dragon is dead."
As the knight turned away
to ride back,she asked
"Whither goest thou?
To slay the beast?"
"Nay lady,nay
I go to slay the dunce
who wrote you
into that tower."
"What meanest thou
my dear knight?!
There is another knight
who dabbles in magic?!"
"Nay lady,nay.
He is not a knight.
He uses his quill
to weave his musings."
Cried the princess
"Oh mighty sir,
Oh Weaver with the quill!
Canst thou hear me?"
"Yes dear lady,"said I,
"What do you desire?
What can I do
that will please you?"
"My dearest Sir!
Oh my bravest hope.
Slay the dragon
and make me thine."
"But my lady
as much as I desire to,
you should know there is
No dragon in the story"
(Silence pervades)
"Oh my dear knight!!"
cried the lady to the rider,
"Slay this goon
and we shall be one."
Uh-oh...Time to put down the pen and run.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Running Blind Madness
Eyes Wide Heart Pounding
Spirit Lifts Senses Live
Theres Thunder IN THE Atmosphere
This IS A Free Arena
A Gateless Auditorium
Open Fields
Open Wide
Forking Lightning ON THE Horizon
This Natural Inebriation
IN Dynamic Resonation
Anticipation OF THE
Consternataion
Hells Beasts Abound
Snarling Snouts Sounding
Heavy Hoofs Pounding
Crazed Dashing Hounding
IN THE Chaos That'S Surrounding
Hells Beasts Abound
Torso'S Writhing Flailing
Grit Bucking Flailing
Crimson Flow Tailing
THE Gore OF THE Impailing
I'M Knee Deep
IN A River OF Blood
Fleshen Heap
IN THE Reddening Flood
Sodden WET Flesh
Whip AND Turn
Trace THE SKY
With THE Carnal Rain
WET THE Earth
With A Reddened
Stain
Sodden WET Flesh
Whip AND Turn
Trace THE SKY
With THE Carnal Rain
WET THE Earth
With A Reddened
Stain
Sodden WET Earth
Besot With Death Mirth
Drown THE Earth
IN THE Afterbirth
Every Beast THE ****** Herse
DON'T RID ME OF THE ******* Curse
IN AN Ever Rising River OF Blood
Causing Chaos With NO Remorse
I AM Power IN Full Course
Wreaking Havoc
Sump
WET
Dripppin'
Torn
This Bloods LET BY MY Horn
I'M Sopping WET
MY ****** Horn
I Feel Like I'M NEW Born
Drumming Quakes Pounding
Shaking THE Foundation
Lifting Spirits IN THE AIR
I AM GOD Everywhere
Helter Skelter IN THE Chaos
This IS Pandemonium
Freedom Forms
IN THE Void
Electric Flux Obliteration
Pure Intoxication
AS Evil Incarnation
This Revelation
IS Anihilation
Apr 10, 2021
Apr 10, 2021 at 7:55 AM UTC
From a normal man you made me robot
I lost all my fragrance and became a slot
From bosom's knot I became just a rot
After taking wine of love I am like besot
You bruised my heart, you injured soul
For a fish like me, you became just troll
Beauty with her charm can easily control
You can only harm then who can console
But please do appreciate robots use mind
They are heartless hence emotionally blind
Just to grind many stupids you can just find
Henceforth my love we are no more aligned
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
the sky is on fire;
the rest is a series of grays.
wrought iron, rot of ages.
earth besot by metal, metal besot by rust.
an oxidized baptism.
clouds are made in factories now.
the silver lining is a carcinogen
toxic as the underside of peeling paint.
spring is devoid of sound.
persephone speaks in whispers
with a copper taste in her mouth
and lungs filled with blood and dust.
an old nosebleed has dried in rivulets down her face.
cross-legged and bony on a rusted y-beam
she counts down to doomsday
in dried flower petals.
a lone figure amidst a sea of flags of surrender
rendered in miniature
and shivering, flapping in the gale
she ties ribbons to the slender limbs of the condemned.
the falcon is long gone.
there is no-one home in the cobwebs.
at night, the smog blots out the stars.
she wraps her arms around her wasted frame
stands in opposition of progress
and waits for the sirens
and a new clear winter.
she remembers a time when there were still blank spaces on the maps.
but this is topside, and there is no undiscovered country.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 7:42 PM UTC
contumacious imagery,
amorous intensity,
prostitution of the heart,
beating off the chart.
a brush of fingertips,
aching for the whisper of lips,
quicksand stare,
vulnerable and bare.
delicate pusillanimity,
accenting my pulmonary timidity
,hemorrhage of thought,
words of devotion wrought.
closure to desperation,
surrendering upon inclination,
innocence tainted by pain,
tears cleverly disguised as rain.
intoxicating appetite for sensation,
hesitation forcing isolation,
my attatchment never satiated,
my soul emaciated.
jilted girl am i,
you are the apple of my eye,
with you i am besot,
,my adoration not forgot.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:32 AM UTC
How my hubristic heart grows heavy
With the blithering brevity
That is love -
Love how I scorn the very
Mention of the word, the worst word;
One made of tacky two buck cards
And cheap chocolate samplers.
Why love is nothing but absurd!
Tis on the mind of every man,
Burning Life's color til she grows wan
And waxen, my dear lady do not
Let the soft, sweet poppy besot
You - I know it's true face,
A sickly, febricula I fail to efface.
Love, how I abhor the name,
The act duplicitous for all involved,
There are no winners, merely fools
Left to drown in the din of falderal.
**** it to hell, that venomous visage!
I refuse to accept such a curse as love,
How I spit the letters one by one,
With you, fair monster, I am done.
Yet, I cannot seem to help
How much I yearn to stretch taunt
My heart til my love is gaunt,
Fraught with fear and thin with time;
It will be my undoing
All because I can't start shooing
That nuance of a feeling on its way
To ruin some other simpleton's day.
How I love to hate ye,
Are the thoughts that reside
Like a warm body curled beside me.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
I urge you to put in
An abundance of thought,
Is there resemblance of the rational in what you've wrote?
The ropes are taut, caught in a knot
Of the mind besot. Break out the raincoat,
Over skin lepidote does cashmere run like the water. Its moves are rote, yet nature is mute
To those who have no want to listen.
You crave the fire but hate the smoke,
If not for the purpose it served
You'd ***** out every spark
And never let it burn.
That candle on the mantle,
Over the roaring hearth;
Fair knowledge & justice blaze the wick
Of which is human.
And even in deluge, the flame billows-
For there is nothing to put it out.
Your thinking otherwise is simply hubris.
Aug 4, 2024
Aug 4, 2024 at 3:55 PM UTC
Hidden behind this mask that I wear
I play a part that is filled with despair.
Lovely Juliet is the part that I play
And dear Romeo is for whom that I pray.
Endlessly my Romeo follows and courts me
Yet when I grow close he turns 'round to flee.
I fall on the ground and bow my head to weep
My strength is taken, and so I turn again to sleep.
Yet my Romeo is not an ordinary man,
And yet I chase after him again and again.
My Romeo is more of an idea or thought.
Perfection is him, and that's what I've besot.
I chase after perfection day after day
Yet I lose it when I try to be my own way.
Is death the only route that will achieve me perfection?
And not have the ongoing need for correction?
My death is inevitable now that I know
How to get to my goal on the road I will go.
I try to fall, and yet I don't succeed.
I try to cut my lifeline, but mistakes are what I bleed.
So I try to again in my quest to fall
An attempt again to end it all.
Eventually, perfection is what I achieve
Finally are my Romeo and I to be grieved.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
No claim for phantasm deemed in in the ***** extreme.
the realness of the glory through the alluring dream.
here and there the sickness of naked eyes .
long failed on the dread of mind of many lies
the bountiful through the remaining puddle so *****
that brings forth the sentimental parade of thirsty.
nowhere, lonesome shuddering cause the mind is deep.
no more acquiesced freely very soon, more flips.
when the blow so cold on emptied road, the harvest is so gold.
dear dainty claim of the delighted face of scold.
men in move forwarding the muses so full of illusion.
compensated so far with blinded torrid seclusion .
how many nights of dread, and how we but see not ?
if" the thought is the true" the reason is so besot!
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 4:51 AM UTC
Have you seen the girl
down by the beach?
The one in pristine colours;
the one too far to reach?
"If only she knew,"
he mused, "if only she sees me."
Perhaps he's just too far to view
he laughs, "...or maybe it's because I'm 'me'."
He gazed upon her silently,
hoping she wouldn't notice.
Alas his heart yearned constantly
for her eyes to turn and meet his.
And as he sat and yearned and pined,
he heard a whisper in the wind.
A passing thought came up to his mind-
her heart was taken, his fair Fraulein.
Discomposed, his thoughts danced a gavotte
amid mournful, clumsy rhetoric.
His mind got tangled and besot
to read her thoughts in manic heartsick:
In his mind he saw upon her brow lay stolid furrows;
with thoughts unsaid she sings, content, her lullabies.
Streaked with wounding sorrows, hushed, her voice in alto-
she sings despite the callous alibis.
"If only she knew,
but maybe that's just unlikely."
Or perhaps he's just too far to view,
he laughs, in painful soliloquy.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 7:57 AM UTC
I've thought and thought
How my heart got caught
In a matter of days
I became besot
I've asked and asked
If it was in the past
Would I be able
To fall this fast?
I've dreamt a dream
I saw a gleam
That shined on you
In a room so dim
I fell and fell
But I couldn't tell
Because I know
It won't go well
I cried and cried
Even if I tried
You can't possibly
Know what's inside
And now after all,
After my hard fall
I just became...
A broken doll.
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 9:22 AM UTC
After birth we’re pure emotion.
Before words are learned,
We’re like an ocean,
Before islands are turned.
Words punctuate our feelings.
They disrupt the current.
They stem innate healings,
Cut short a potential deterrent.
Perhaps it’s best to let loose our rages
Fill our souls with unnamed delights
Try not put them to pages
In bookage minds that demand insights.
Does language enhance our senses,
Or merely subdue instinctual forces?
Do we no longer see natural fences
That block various courses?
Can I actually sing my song
When its’ lyrics are faulty words?
Does it really matter to define right from wrong?
Can I ever fly as free as birds?
Does language separate me from exhilaration?
Does it besot purity of desire?
Does it promote exasperation?
Does it extinguish internal fire?
Alas, it doesn’t matter.
A brain once programmed demands an answer.
It can’t accept a sensual scatter.
It’s a kind of intellectual cancer.
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 2:49 AM UTC