"betroth" poems
In the last months of March 2014,
Soldier Othello the Moroccan moor
Was in Stratford-upon-Avon at the graveside
Of William Shakespeare the English bard,
He was observing the anniversary
Of Shakespeare and his European brother Cervantes,
He had in his pocket another charm and amulet
Given to him by his paternal grandfather,
This time round not a charm for love portion,
But a mystique totem to raise the dead from dusts,
As Othello himself has hitherto over-matured
Above the painful torture of *** with aristocrats,
He has left it for the Jewish aristotrash; Frantz Kafka,
Whose torturous appetite for *** with German women,
Was the sorriest eyesore of his thespic efforts.
Like Jesus at the grave of Lazarus
Othello groaned by shouting; William the son of John!
No response, he shouted again; Shakespeare the bard!
Then the mystique powers of Othello’s amulet
Electrified Shakespeare back to life,
What is your problem you black moor,
The ***** of Morocco, the soldier
Who beguiled Desdemona into betrothal,
Not because of glory of your work,
But due to charms of your love portion
Bequeathed to you by your witch mother,
What brings you to my sepulchre,
For only to perturbed my purgatorial peace,
What brings you!?
Questioned Shakespeare the bard.
Am no longer the moor, blackness is class
But not the race, as race is bankrupt,
I come here to salute you with good news,
That your European brother, Alfred Nobel,
Currently rewards thespic bards like you,
Whether black or white, blue or green,
The ***** bards from the natural forest,
He also rewards, so wake up and pick the prize!
Retorted Othello in virtue of truth,
And also tell me the native bricks
Of your beautiful architecture;
Where and how did you mold thy bricks?
Your brown English bricks that walled your culture;
***** clown, leapfrog, mercurial, oxymoron,
Falsitafity, Shyllocking, colleaguery and window,
Cauldron, graymalkin, woo, betroth, infatuation and so on.
From underneath his sepulcher Shakespeare broke
A violent gaggle of laughter as if he was ten English skeletons,
You Othello you are still a beautiful moor
Whose foolishness time has not condemned to oblivion,
You are as a fool as I created you ; I will only teach you
One brick, the window , that you go and put on
Your wind disturbed African huts,
Put the wind door on your hut,
And be flexible in your tongue
To give it English elegance
Combine and shorten wind and door
To get your cultural brick of; window !
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, for you are mine
Never let me go, grip me tight like a vineyard vine.
I love that pretty rose that your garden did grow
Betwixt those long beautiful thighs of strength
Exposing that sea shell pink jewel, I do know.
Your garden is so unique, it’s a one of a kind
Such parts are so delicate, that the slightest touch
Produces tropical showers that fill my mind.
Flowing from your meadow, and dripping from
Those soft sensitive pink rose petals,
Golden rain drops that taste O’ so sweet.
Thy lips O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb:
Honey and milk are under my tongue:
Causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak,
Every time that they meet.
I love all of your natural beauty,
And I love every lock of your hair
Swaying from a beautiful face, worthy of my stare.
How fair and how pleasant art thou. O love, for delights!
Your calm green eyes in my trance suddenly gave me visions,
Of hypnotic pupil shamrock sights!
I love your seductive soft lips,
One kiss upon them, takes me on so many trips.
My precious 1, your body is a wonderland I cannot resist,
I need for this dream to come true
And if so, I will forever do, everything for you.
You are the Garden of Eden, brought back to life
My only thought now is, I must betroth to have you,
As my wife!
Behold, thou art fair, my love:
Behold, thou art fair; thou hast,
Shamrock Eyes!
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
I don't hate you
Nor love you
I just want to feel loved
Would you be my rebound?
Let's make out
Roll around in our sweat,
Passionately examine each other's body,
Sharing no emotions.
Would you be my rebound?
Get me gifts,
Shower me love,
Make me your numero uno,
So, I asked would you be mine?
My rebound replied " we are just friends"
My rebound cheated me
I am my rebound's rebound,
I fell in love with my rebound,
My rebound is betroth,
He left me like my love did.
Now, I need a rebound for my rebound.
Would you be my new rebound?
#Nalliwrites
#thinkinginwords
©Nalli
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 12:51 PM UTC
Cyan
has such a brackish mark
upon your passive visage-
it transfigures boldly, tempestuously
any average glance flung facetiously in my direction.
Dearest Rogue Element,
You invigorate all other
salient features.
Like the slip of a blunt knife,
you surge open your soul, compelling
any audacious personality to bleed through the wound of your
gaping irises.
You betroth yourself to
the Fascinating, the Creative,
and like the cascade of clearest french horn lamentation-
you stir my
emotions with a mournful compassionate caress.
And that’s the difference.
The mellow mahogany of my eyes
provides the most loving background for Light to
reflect her dancing valiance with reverent adoration.
But-
your Blue
will
forever
stride as the
arrogant foreground.
Commanding and eternally vexing, (captivating) me
with your gaudy juxtaposition
of angry intensity
and poignant serenity.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to'another due,
Labor to'admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly'I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me,'untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you'enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
1.8k
Lovely lady of the night
Stars and you shining so bright
Do dearly show yourself to me
I cannot bear your mystery
Pale and crisp, of subdued hue
Your majesty in me, doth thoughts imbue
And nowhere on the blessed chain
Round earth will you too long remain
Deepest dankest darkness of the day
With your dark magic, never can it play
Your force too great, your pull stronger than seas
My fear at night, your brightness doth appease
And show me please your brilliance and your ore
As I to you, reveal my truest core
Of gold we both are made and one to test
Will we together be among the best
I know that to the sun you are betrothed
Unearthly marriage, yours here is ne’er exposed
The sparkle of the summer sun doth always fade
'fore you, bright one, come tumbling from its shade
All alone, you two do light my paths
One on one, in glory or in wrath
But query, I do have for one or both
If always separate why are thee betroth’d
In light in love in independence great
Each on its own doth true beauty create
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to'another due,
Labor to'admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly'I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me,'untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you'enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
1.4k
He was climbing a mountain.
There was, but a moment ago, the soft sound of summer thunder,
And the tender drift of curling winds.
A voice, that knew no constraint of time or place.
It spoke as if it had always done so, as if it were all at once memory and potential.
Its sentence had no end, its syllables outlasting empires.
It made him pang for the world he once new.
But it was far away, for now,
He was climbing a mountain.
Upon the way, one traveler found another
One took refuge from the climb, his hands bloodied, his will broken
The other sat perched on a cliff edge, never facing his cohort, never truly meeting
The climb is far from easy, called the ****** man.
Come, let us eat together and tend our wounds.
The man of the cliff did not answer, not immediately.
His gaze was fixed upon the implacable horizon,
Its forms were grains of reality, blowing across the plains of perception
To look at one was to see no other, for this is how it is.
"We do not wound," he answered at the last.
Will you not face me, called the man with bandaged hands
That shifting sky is nothing but the wastes of life
The knowledge it holds is not for us to know
For we are the ones who climb.
The cliff's man remained silent, for he grew weary of climbers
You are not the first he thought, and you surely will not be the last
For the climbers had minds for not but the mountain
They are born to seek its peak.
Before him were the storms of life
Where beings of light roared across the world
Their lives ended within a blink
Each one, shimmering like unclouded stars against the silky black of night
Each a triumph of failure, for even in death no fall awaited them
They knew only ascent
Perhaps that was what the climbers sought?
Perhaps they wished to be as they?
But the cliff, he knew, was the end of all things
Its precipice, the boundary of the divine
It was the only true ascent, it was all that he could crave.
The climber had lingered here long enough
And it was time to send him on his way
"We do not hear the Nightingale."
The man with the mended will had no time for puzzles
To the sands with you, may the winds take you to your beloved rifts of chance
There's a mountain that needs climbing, for why else is it here?
Whilst you are betroth to destiny's stir, to the sky's delight,
I have known the beauty of her touch, the loving warmth of her breath
She is not to be watched, she is to be held, to be kissed, to be yours.
He turned his back to the cliff and its watchman
He had been sated by his stay, but it would be folly to remain
He was climbing a mountain
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 6:23 AM UTC
I will lay by thee sire,
Dark tall, frozen-eyed sentinel,
What deep harness,
You ****** upon me,
What sorrows I nae see beyond thee,
Black sire in stables, punish me
I will give in to you,
Limp and strafed about yon body,
Without any purse,
I will succumb to you,
What joys you may make me suffer.
Sweet stallion please, break me
I will let you neck me,
Hard and true as the red deer rutting,
Shameless in pride,
I shall betroth my love,
What promise shall gait in surrenders.
I shall be your mare, unbridle me
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
Two stations’ negation
Clasped by ands, the
Parentheses betroth
Like wedding bands.
But faithful constants,
Anything but,
My mistress, she’s thine
And from permutations
Is thusly cut.
But embrace, do I
This incestuous reality
And all for the love of my
***** Logicality.
And that, in one sense,
Flagrant ambivalence,
And yet, in another,
I blush with kisses from
Tautological Equivalence.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
But why, apt this centred Sidhe decide
In her own Verbs your Best Herbiage enchant
And mix the addled *** O' Mandrake hide
Then by Best Pour that Mantra she'll incant:
"Impart this Softling! Nee' Life concentrate!
Rose-Round vye Princey-Noose to Shape betroth!
Reform Adonis! To Makeroose State!
Swell this Fruit from the Garden of Naboth!"
By Fruit she meant Grape. Which tempted the Fig
To feign its **** for your barrows be sweet
Which, even a wee, expand your Heart big
Praising one day your Late Romance repeat.
Even she of her Onerous Chants aware
Hugged dear Naboth his Murdered Earth laid bare.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 8:51 AM UTC
Amorous one, bedight me in snug linen
Canopy me in thy oriental pinion's;
A ditty for thee, I writeth in this amour
For thou hath let me in, and opened thine door.
Forsooth, we shalt be lover's in cinema Booth's
Letting go of ourn past, cutting ropes, untying the noose;
Thither the jungle's we shalt be missionarie's, exemplary
No thwarting to enter in the tropical orient gate's
Openness cherished, withy exotic plant's to fit ourn date;
Don't be late amare, thou canst put up, or keep down thy hair
For thou shalt blend the forest's, as no makeup for thee is needed.
Thou shalt quench me by thy tan colored painted skin
Betrothing another, fused bodie's together, preparing perfume;
Locked behind ourn own wall, leaving the world in back room
Other's think we're dead, because ourn spirit's from tombs, alive.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry/
あある じぇえん
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
Sorry old man, I think you thought that I would stay
Look after your girl like no other man, like only you can
I thought I would, but in the end
i couldnt stay, couldnt sway her that i cared
could say that i was scared
could split my infinitives
curl in a ball i feel so small
that i have failed you so
i could see in your eyes
I was so high to be approved
so close to you so accepted
you dont know how good that was
that you would trust me, and now ive bust me
dont look me the in the eye again
dont trust me with her care
she dont need me, got love to spare
i got other fish to fry, but i cant lie
i need her all the more
why did you have to trust me
betroth her with your eyes
make me see her need
where she lies
where you now lie, in your shelterd tree
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
Schaüdenfreude pock less Pimples to his Face
And employ your Pass for his Love allow
From Onerous Programs dissolve such Disgrace
To break his Thoughts free from Shades disembow
But why these Flesh-Templed Bases compose
To wrinkle his Crumpets and fill our Sate
Then - through weeks - wound our Eyebrows be morose
And make his Misery become our Fate
Such Attitude - Un-Canny - Monstrous thereof
Fuelled by our Greedy Investments bid
Of Maps direct - Alien to his Betroth
Will Trample more of his Condiments hid.
That his Purpose - in Full Pie's Respect
Consumed he sees Fit - in all Circumspect.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
soft bells, all my soft bells
there, small bird, there
come to me
how nightingale in memory of aloneness does sing
in all its elinesses does ring
here small bird, come into me
how sun crossed by the purple lipstems
goblin flowers sway clasp
brightest horse sun
your glissando moonfilled eyes'
soft bells
there, small bird
there come to me
how nightingale in song does betroth air
and when the Winter's children spring
chorals all death's lies
giggle goblin flowers' hearts
small birds, gather me
come to me I gather your songing furies'
tender quietude's
soft bells, all my
soft bells
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:13 AM UTC
Loosen your pattern,
Locked in cloth.
The shaded memories dampen.
Blurred be the images of your emotionally betroth,
By the beloved froth
Your horrendous sloth hereby hearken.
The age of light...
What a frivolous delight!
Insofar as to say that all things float.
That's it's just one big game -
Of hide and seek.
“Oh no, what a shame!” Such is presumably remote.
And disgustingly meek.
See that star?
You've come to adore?
Will you spare yourself what you know isn't healthy?
Knowing that all things are.
Dying and nothing more.
You see the tranquil secrets very deftly.
Oh what's this? Face forward!
Feet a' stepping!
Hearts a' ticking!
The truth's all backwards...
But who cares?...
“A human with any insight would say that they don't need a purpose. -
Surplus filled the brightest emotions; Will to commit heinous actions.
A malicious goal reduced to a fraction of importance.
Time to think of yourself in this instance.
The emotions of others the next,
For this most surely directs,
Superfluous answers at last.
This life just moves too fast...”
Says the man who thoughtfully stares.
But oh great joyous occasion!
Oh this glorious revelation!
The presents of the past deny the presence of the present.
Your eyes deceive you; These thoughts control you.
Free the mind within it's own boundaries -
You see all things have a subconscious foundry.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 5:23 PM UTC
NEEDLE! Through the middle of a razor-edge! Face in face out face sin face spout! I cannot see through the masochism of honesty, corrupt the faucet and leak and drain into a towel of wet PAIN! Holes rid themselves of fantastic-type dust! (And on the cusp of agony's grateful constitution hereby is a sitar scimitar). Unwilling to grow old into throats of bold and I am here today so what does it matter? Cough n' clap n' clasp n' rappin' sapping my soul's voidy tounguester. Have I become throats? Or abomination ropes? Tungsten blow-hole deep neath the depths of water-disgust! Rapture came along with whipping writhing throngs of toothpaste convolution tongs pulling out the wrongs and wrong doings of King Kong's rightful songs. Randomize architecture so that a building can grow from blue dirt into the sky and spread at the top and cover the entire planet of the human-beings where there'll be forever-shade shading shaded, faded, blue. Tuesday is a monkey banana bonanza bizarre bizarre scarring n' scaring little toothpick carrying caring creatures faring their merry way past curds and whey fields. Acclimate to constipate and betroth-berate irritate-type tube tape. Youthful castor plaster made from youngster disaster number: one.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
Jakuta, the son of Aganju
The fiery son of Obatala
Violent ruler, grandson of Oduduwa
Sàngó, the one who screams with thunderbolt
A betroth to Osun, Oba and Oya
The husband of Oya
Sàngó, the third Alaafin of Oyo
Sàngó, god of thunder and lightning
Sàngó, the clappings of thunder,
His making.
Sàngó, maker of lightning
Sàngó, the dragon that consumes other dragons with fire
Sàngó, killer of Gbonga with his ferocious fire
Sàngó, Arabambi Oko Oya
Sàngó, Eleyinju Ogunna
Sàngó, Olukoso Lalu
Sàngó, the breathe of fire
Sàngó, Olukoso
Sàngó, Oloju Orogbo
Sàngó, the rescuer of Alaafin Ajaka
A favourite to the bata drums
Sàngó, Akara yeri yeri
Sàngó, the killer who was never killed
Sàngó, he who waves his double-headed axe
Sàngó, Oba koso
Sàngó, god of justice
Sàngó, god of dance
Sàngó, god of virility
Sàngó,
Xangó
Changó
Sàngó, Agodo
Sàngó, Afonja
Sàngó, Lubé
Sàngó, Obomin
Sàngó, the caster of thunderstones
Sàngó, god of iron
Sàngó, god of fire
Sàngó, the archetypical god
Sàngó, god of power
Sàngó, god dominance
Sàngó, king of Alujá
Sàngó, a great deity
Sàngó, a notable Magician
Sàngó oo
Sàngó oo
Sàngó oo
Olukoso oo
Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
Jul 6, 2020
Jul 6, 2020 at 8:59 AM UTC
Our odd tale is set in the Old Wild West
Where stories like this are imparted the best
It tells of the feud of two bitter old men
Who argued quite often and fought now and then.
The fact of the matter is that each had a ranch
And running between was a large river branch
Each claimed the river to be just his alone
They argued the point right down to the bone.
Family members were brought into the fight
Over the years shots were fired left and right
Amazingly no one on either side died
Goodness knows some of the best shooters tried.
Then one day against the family wishes of both
A man and woman from each side did betroth
As they loved despite anger that they had both known
Into each other's loving arms they had each flown.
They married in secret and needed a home
A small ranch was for sale where cattle could roam
So the new couple bought it and opened their ranch
It was just at the head of the large river branch.
And then dammed up the river and halted its flow
The ranches below had nowhere else to go
But they said to his parents and also to hers
"Unwatered cattle - or fighting! What's worse?"
At long last after dozens of years in a fight
Someone had seen sense and had some insight
And had forced the old rivals to both compromise
Grandchildren, not fighting each other - the prize!
©Joe Wilson - Bashing heads...2014
A fun story about the value of compromise, and the value of water.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
The stage is set as prying eyes look on. All things leading up to the act are in motion. The romance between two young lovers culminates in the wedding scene. Then the stage changes, the fair maiden goes to her betroth. As the two come together and the ****** nears, the lights go down on cue and curtain call. What happened, alas the censors are prudes, end scene.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
The rain slides down the canvas, mixing sweet
And pungent on the hems of silken cloth
As we forsake our innocence; betroth
Yourself to jasmine, only darkness sees
Your nakedness. Oh Layla, born of Nyx,
I fall before you, servant of your eyes,
Your lips, your honeyed tongue, your supple thighs.
I wrap you in the brightening sky, affix
The moon as it fades, and comb your tresses
With mountain peaks. Forgive the sun its light,
For while night-oaths are purest, there is deep
Authority in day-made promises.
I’ll lie, bask in your grace, your acolyte
Until the stars depart for endless sleep.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC
How I urge to be consistently by your side
Lying awake feeling you breath in breath out
Your kisser glancing mine
And you wink your stunning eyes and I do too
Gently engaged my tounque into yours and feel all of you as the saliva sparks,
then hold you tight and penetrate through
And I vow I could always do this,
If I was to possess the world,
I could make life way favourable
So you could edge your wallowing
" I'm perpetually overloaded" that's your plea regularly,
Yet I affirm each tick a new day sun rises
And I cast further to that day,
When baggage would be at stake
When time is only our obstacle
We'll be able to anticipate
When the target is to be together
Time is nothing when we dwell,
not one in paradise and on earth the other
Time is always there when love takes place
Sort yourself and be loved the way you deserve
I betroth I'll be your bunker for security.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
if the world were ever fair
they'd let me build a tree house
to lose my mind in.
and my pretend children
might build a counterweight
to pull the sun down.
betroth it in front of me
to keep the wolves away
at the gates, far from the crops
they tell me ive harvested.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
She only wanted to walk freely,
or gallop through a valley
and feel the wind in her hair.
To camp by a stream and eat lembas
and wild roots. Wander here and there
with Feanor’s sons, hunt wild boar, and drink
and laugh.
She would cast away the distaff.
But freedom for a woman can be a fragile thing,
beautiful and brief as a moth’s wing.
Eol, the Dark Elf, dwelt in shadow, in Nan Elmoth.
He saw Aredhel, alone and lost, and desired her, to betroth.
She had no choice
but to seek help at a stranger’s door.
And then she had choice no more.
Captivity breaks weaker hearts.
But Aredhel was Elven, and of Finwe’s line.
She bided time. She worked her womanly arts.
She raised a son, and loved him,
and told him stories of fair Gondolin.
When chance arrived, they broke free
and fled West, to the fair city.
Eol, enraged, pursued them,
and the words of Curufin stung him.
He would have killed his only son
for his defiance, but fate denied him
this pyrrhic victory.
Maeglin lived, and watched his father
die, as he stood by, free.
Maeglin—his father’s son—desired one
who loved him not. In reckless despair, he traveled too far,
and Morgoth preyed on his shame and desire.
It was not hard to turn Maeglin traitor and liar.
But no reward had Maeglin in this life--
never did he take fair Idril to wife.
Aredhel died to save her son, not knowing
he would be the one
to bring ruin on the Elven city.
Maeglin (his father’s son) had no kindness nor pity.
He revealed the secret path
to Morgoth (his likeness in envy and in wrath).
And in the end, all fell: Gondolin, Nargothrond
and Doriath.
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 2:01 PM UTC
'Twas the day of the flowers,
When I had it dawned upon;
A boon dulcet; as it captivates,
The heedless I, to remain un-fond,
Of what was presented in felicity,
Gracefully in its poise, as it flickers,
Not under, but in the presence of
The night's soothing confidant,
As it would witness the myriad,
In its ever vigilance; as I would too,
Betroth myself to this very word:
Remember.
Much to my dismay, yours truly;
One concluding apology; if you will,
To the endearing you, much verily,
To the one in which I would confide;
My fiery petal,
One to have me stark,
And one to ignite my spark.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 9:43 PM UTC