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"billows" poems
1 It was one of those clear,sharp.mustless days That summer and man delight in. Never had Heaven seemed quite so high, Never had earth seemed quite so green, Never had the world seemed quite so clean Or sky so nigh. And I heard the Deity’s voice in The sun’s warm rays, And the white cloud’s intricate maze, And the blue sky’s beautiful sheen. 2 I looked to the heavens and saw him there,— A black speck downward drifting, Nearer and nearer he steadily sailed, Nearer and nearer he slid through space, In an unending aerial race, This sailor who hailed From the Clime of the Clouds.—Ever shifting, On billows of air And the blue sky seemed never so fair, And the rest of the world kept pace. 3 On the white of his head the sun flashed bright; And he battled the wind with wide pinions, Clearer and clearer the gale whistled loud, Clearer and clearer he came into view,— Bigger and blacker against the blue. Then a dragon of cloud Gathering all its minions Rushed to the fight, And swallowed him up in a bite; And the sky lay empty clear through. 4 Long I watched. And at last afar Caught sight of a speck in the vastness; Ever smaller,ever decreasing, Ever drifting,drifting awayInto the endless realms of day; Finally ceasing. So into Heaven’s vast fastness Vanished that bar Of black,as a fluttering star Goes out while still on its way. 5 So I lost him. But I shall always see In my mind The warm,yellow sun,and the ether free; The vista’s sky,and the white cloud trailing, Trailing behind,— And below the young earth’s summer-green arbors, And on high the eagle,—sailing,sailing Into far skies and unknown harbors
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The Eagle
1 It was one of those clear,sharp.mustless days That summer and man delight in. Never had Heaven seemed quite so high, Never had earth seemed quite so green, Never had the world seemed quite so clean Or sky so nigh. And I heard the Deity’s voice in The sun’s warm rays, And the white cloud’s intricate maze, And the blue sky’s beautiful sheen. 2 I looked to the heavens and saw him there,— A black speck downward drifting, Nearer and nearer he steadily sailed, Nearer and nearer he slid through space, In an unending aerial race, This sailor who hailed From the Clime of the Clouds.—Ever shifting, On billows of air And the blue sky seemed never so fair, And the rest of the world kept pace. 3 On the white of his head the sun flashed bright; And he battled the wind with wide pinions, Clearer and clearer the gale whistled loud, Clearer and clearer he came into view,— Bigger and blacker against the blue. Then a dragon of cloud Gathering all its minions Rushed to the fight, And swallowed him up in a bite; And the sky lay empty clear through. 4 Long I watched. And at last afar Caught sight of a speck in the vastness; Ever smaller,ever decreasing, Ever drifting,drifting awayInto the endless realms of day; Finally ceasing. So into Heaven’s vast fastness Vanished that bar Of black,as a fluttering star Goes out while still on its way. 5 So I lost him. But I shall always see In my mind The warm,yellow sun,and the ether free; The vista’s sky,and the white cloud trailing, Trailing behind,— And below the young earth’s summer-green arbors, And on high the eagle,—sailing,sailing Into far skies and unknown harbors
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52
rain mud and grass common prayer good weather good people art and umbrella bags because who wants to get wet? unless it’s with you I could I would jump into the lake for that rock sew cleanse initials made in sharpie and unclamp we run around the park the afternoon surrounds us the woman in the bikini passes and we laugh iced tea decaf coffee cake without teeth and that airstream camper you always wanted I could live in your backyard I could live somewhere not here in silver prostrated with my back to the moon like dead like a mummy like a mirror and life would make sense life would be beautiful like this run with perfect amounts of sweat and conversation that runs waves in the sand and tells the squirrels *goodnight, tractor see you tomorrow* and the land that billows is dug up and chewed like a goodnight poem this run with you takes rest on my soul and I crack my ribs to take the spring’s twilight aroma
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May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
all things beautiful
Wide open are your arms   the sun is a small paintbrush   every daybreak it draws   exposes you as new as ever!      The surges in the billows   blow out swimming clouds   across the globe.   No they don’t splash out to   the starry thrillers on the sky   they all are a dwarf bunch   draws down to you kind Moon:   Down to earth on the ground   spares the heap for all for the day for the noon.      Then you are there too far afar, where is nothing but you the lotus in bloom on uncharted water.   Who can describe it better   everyone is lost for words!
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Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 10:11 PM UTC
Unique Earth
Arise! Oh Heart, from the catacombs of the dead Shake off the dust, for Life beckons you like a buddy Peel off the weariness that wraps you like a shroud And walk to the open to perceive the light. Arise! Oh Heart, from the dungeons of gloom The dawn is at your door step, waiting to break Sing with the koel, merrily warbling in the woods Dance with the billows, wildly prancing on the deep. Arise! Oh Heart, from the ghettoes of ******* Break loose the ropes that moor you to the past Dart through the panorama of the cerulean blue And fly high into regions, uncharted and new. Arise! Oh Heart, from the citadels of hate Listen not to the shrieking and howling behind Drink from the goblet of conciliating love And rejoice at the birth of a dawn with promises galore!
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Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 8:28 AM UTC
Arise! Oh Heart
With eager eyes and tempting smile, I beckoned 'cross the wharf And they returned, a sad reply, stating he must morph into a man -in pieces then- who puts things back together Whilst I sit here, and wait and wait, and keep on till forever. Kingdom comes, piggies fly, time churns soft and slow Every hour, like the other, shuffling to and fro Mind is racing, heart is beating, must be with him soon... He is the sun, he is the stars, he is the solstice moon. But he is full of hatred, and angry, scary things That I cannot behold because my covered ears will ring. I will not hear the wretchedness that billows from his mouth I will not be the victim of intentions headed south. Now he’s an angel, under God, and all the better creatures that prize the gentlest, passionate, souls who mirror all their features. They never asked, only assumed, that I would be alright But Oh! the torture over one who turned away from light. So here I wait, on endless shores, until they come for me Or maybe not, really, who knows, what lies beyond the sea The water holds the untold words of thousands who've passed on And here I am, scribbling the script, of stories before dawn.
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Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
Poetry Beside the River Styx
Goddess of virility suckles me to ****** Her legs stiffen… to acute angles. Toes, ballerina firm make her body—                          levitate from the bed. A smile reveals…fangs the tips of which           are barely…touching                    my ear. The lizard tongue hisses in ecstasy revealing ancient—spiritual…bliss mystics could only            speculate of. Her anaconda legs wrap—         around my back as her fingernails            embed into          my            spine.    When I yank Her hair                     Her             eyes Scream                   inside                out. Our bodies— Swimming             in An ocean      of         ravenous                   Liquids pulsating from       our pores. Sopping hair clings           to our        foreheads         we suddenly realize—                  A new shape is            invented.       We make a sound         so         primal inside each other’s mouth as her jaws snap down to my neck— both bodies rigor-mortis stiffen        as the mountains collapse around us and        the   sky is ripped open      as a tsunami billows down into a wave of exhaustion. The wind cradles us, Back to the earth     We split, Admiring a new continent We created.       Our limp bodies— numb from the velocity and suggestions resign to the crater we call a bed. We smile, simultaneously, looking past our brains, realizing… in         this        moment we, are one.
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Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 7:18 AM UTC
Goddess
Goddess of virility suckles me to ****** Her legs stiffen… to acute angles. Toes, ballerina firm make her body—                          levitate from the bed. A smile reveals…fangs the tips of which           are barely…touching                    my ear. The lizard tongue hisses in ecstasy revealing ancient—spiritual…bliss mystics could only            speculate of. Her anaconda legs wrap—         around my back as her fingernails            embed into          my            spine.    When I yank Her hair                     Her             eyes Scream                   inside                out. Our bodies— Swimming             in An ocean      of         ravenous                   Liquids pulsating from       our pores. Sopping hair clings           to our        foreheads         we suddenly realize—                  A new shape is            invented.       We make a sound         so         primal inside each other’s mouth as her jaws snap down to my neck— both bodies rigor-mortis stiffen        as the mountains collapse around us and        the   sky is ripped open      as a tsunami billows down into a wave of exhaustion. The wind cradles us, Back to the earth     We split, Admiring a new continent We created.       Our limp bodies— numb from the velocity and suggestions resign to the crater we call a bed. We smile, simultaneously, looking past our brains, realizing… in         this        moment we, are one.
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Oh! a bare, brown rock Stood up in the sea, The waves at its feet Dancing merrily. A little bubble Once came sailing by, And thus to the rock Did it gayly cry,-- ** clumsy brown stone, Quick, make way for me: I'm the fairest thing That floats on the sea. "See my rainbow-robe, See my crown of light, My glittering form, So airy and bright. "O'er the waters blue, I'm floating away, To dance by the shore With the foam and spray. "Now, make way, make way; For the waves are strong, And their rippling feet Bear me fast along." But the great rock stood Straight up in the sea: It looked gravely down, And said pleasantly-- "Little friend, you must Go some other way; For I have not stirred this many a long day. "Great billows have dashed, And angry winds blown; But my sturdy form Is not overthrown. "Nothing can stir me In the air or sea; Then, how can I move, Little friend, for thee?" Then the waves all laughed In their voices sweet; And the sea-birds looked, From their rocky seat, At the bubble gay, Who angrily cried, While its round cheek glowed With a foolish pride,-- "You SHALL move for me; And you shall not mock At the words I say, You ugly, rough rock. "Be silent, wild birds! While stare you so? Stop laughing, rude waves, And help me to go! "For I am the queen Of the ocean here, And this cruel stone Cannot make me fear." Dashing fiercely up, With a scornful word, Foolish Bubble broke; But Rock never stirred. Then said the sea-birds, Sitting in their nests To the little ones Leaning on their ******* "Be not like Bubble, Headstrong, rude, and vain, Seeking by violence Your object to gain; "But be like the rock, Steadfast, true, and strong, Yet cheerful and kind, And firm against wrong. "Heed, little birdlings, And wiser you'll be For the lesson learned To-day by the sea."
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The Rock and The Bubble
Oh! a bare, brown rock Stood up in the sea, The waves at its feet Dancing merrily. A little bubble Once came sailing by, And thus to the rock Did it gayly cry,-- ** clumsy brown stone, Quick, make way for me: I'm the fairest thing That floats on the sea. "See my rainbow-robe, See my crown of light, My glittering form, So airy and bright. "O'er the waters blue, I'm floating away, To dance by the shore With the foam and spray. "Now, make way, make way; For the waves are strong, And their rippling feet Bear me fast along." But the great rock stood Straight up in the sea: It looked gravely down, And said pleasantly-- "Little friend, you must Go some other way; For I have not stirred this many a long day. "Great billows have dashed, And angry winds blown; But my sturdy form Is not overthrown. "Nothing can stir me In the air or sea; Then, how can I move, Little friend, for thee?" Then the waves all laughed In their voices sweet; And the sea-birds looked, From their rocky seat, At the bubble gay, Who angrily cried, While its round cheek glowed With a foolish pride,-- "You SHALL move for me; And you shall not mock At the words I say, You ugly, rough rock. "Be silent, wild birds! While stare you so? Stop laughing, rude waves, And help me to go! "For I am the queen Of the ocean here, And this cruel stone Cannot make me fear." Dashing fiercely up, With a scornful word, Foolish Bubble broke; But Rock never stirred. Then said the sea-birds, Sitting in their nests To the little ones Leaning on their ******* "Be not like Bubble, Headstrong, rude, and vain, Seeking by violence Your object to gain; "But be like the rock, Steadfast, true, and strong, Yet cheerful and kind, And firm against wrong. "Heed, little birdlings, And wiser you'll be For the lesson learned To-day by the sea."
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Sentient twas breeze on nights chilled whispers, In the magic of moon and darkness, A slip of silver cast her wing tips, I watched told by those, whom lay with stars, Athena billows near perching oak and tree, Harbinger of spring hungry yet not starved, Deceive thee, ah tis bane silent thoughts to hear, Into the darkness of souls inspiration dances near, Teach I shall be done by voice fire and silent air, Listening to subtleties, I carry the hidden, Many see my repose, Malevolent mine eyes I can tear, Standing near thy window I Athena ── Am owl peering near © ASPAR (Arnay Rumens) 2014
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Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
Night Watcher
There is a bench in the back of my mind, Where I like to come and sit. Where the winds of my thoughts blow gently about, but I don't have to think about it. I sit on this bench in a garden so sweet, it smells of honey and dew; the fragrance of dreams billows quietly here, And I like smelling the roses, too. I come to this bench when I am angry or sad, When I'd rather search clouds for shapes; I grow trees in abundance and let honeybees roam, mend broken ideas wrapped 'round old tapes. This bench is my place for when I must hide - Secret safe nobody shall find. I surround it with good things and breaths of fresh air, this bench at the back of my mind.
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Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 4:20 AM UTC
The Bench
Billows of blue sheets Scarlet ribbons in the sky Violet petals Gold strewn across the heavens Dazzle me. Then the sun sets.
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Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
Sunset
*I'd befriend the obsidian sky...    I'd shower it with a bounty of praises.   So that it'll welcome my nightly gaze,      without threats from overbearing clouds.      I'd impress the twinkling stars        by serenading them with songs unheard by most.      So that when the time comes,   they'd cast their votes in my favour. I'd whisper to the nighttime breeze.    I'd cavort and giggle at its slightest touch.       So that when I fly my flag,    it'll catch it in full billows for her to see. Then finally...   I'd woo the twilight moon...      For she is the prize    my heart had sought to pursue.     I'd court her       with the fiercest blaze that burns within...      In hopes that she'd forever    remember me as the suitor that had fallen helplessly.*
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Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
Courtship
The future is a sparkle a firework feeling in my hands that billows out and expands to flash multicolored wants while crackling needs I hope it blows our minds exploding blissfully before our eyes painting the sky with our names in starry white; Innocence revisited, awakened by possibility
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Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
Fireworks
I smoke cigarettes I drink ***** straight I party with the suffragettes. I have no job. I have a car. I have a brand new, spanking guitar. I'll sing a song, so sing along. I'm a born-again, ***** brunette. ******* where's a cigarette? I write some lines. I've got some fines. I snort a line, I'm doing fine. Poet, know it, ***** snitch, girl, hurl, finger, singer, love, glove, me, be, book, hooked, see? three! And now you know, my tale, insane. It's not quite told, I'll try again. **** Greed, 'strology, Blasphemy, Gay/Straight, don't hate, quitter, hitter, fool, cool, won't get me in a swimming pool. delusional, confusional, blankets, spank it, pillows, billows out the car into the night. Taurus, chorus!! Oh, won't you be my Valentine, Now you've seen into my mind?
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Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
Valentine's Sentiments
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky, washes with the suns descent, breaking into melodies of sunset. Fracturing into a blush, the richness of the spectrum makes itself known. On a tangent of change, amorphous clouds bleed amber glow and bittersweet combinations of reds and yellows. Vermillion streaks through, and a few cloud folk turn titian, like sumptuous surreal apricots rotting in the sky, that seem to augur encroaching darkness. Billows on the horizon leak crimson, like spilled wine on table cloth, and pucker out like blooms of flaming roses. Fire refracted coloured cousins of the sun are dancing all about. Here is the anthem of wild transformation. Here is cause for quiet celebration. Here at this fluent juncture. Here at the closing of day. The whole of the ocean below, is the skies tremendous mirror. It's reflection is variegated, into variations a thousandfold. Multitudinous, and ever differentiated, distortions of above ride the crests of waves. Each apex is a new story. Each new story, just as soon as it is told, comes crashing into trough. Each finale is the ****** of beginning. The dynamic roar of the oceans ever-changing topology is rife with meaning. Colossal symphonic wonders, the primordial song, releasing upon: the uni- verse continual, sending the manifest to move, with the give and strain of immaculate design. Here ensconced between the safety of light and the mystery of night. Here at the oceans edge. Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation with the outer most cosmic-black dismiss earlier brighter hues. Tinged by the infinite nature of space, the jeweled dome darkens. Overhead, the first stars appear, sky transparent to beheld blackness. Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts violet into it's unfolding theatrics. Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black, a darkening rawness allures, decaying with vivid beauty, tragedies of a rouged romance drug down into shadows play, searingly alive, extraordinarily actual. And then, the hush of dusk. Darkness is felled, like silence. Scintillating stars strengthen in the nights surrounding abyss; giving radiance definition. Dynamic Beauty Lives In Transition, Oppositions Compliment.
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Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
A Coastal Sunset: transitional beauty
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky, washes with the suns descent, breaking into melodies of sunset. Fracturing into a blush, the richness of the spectrum makes itself known. On a tangent of change, amorphous clouds bleed amber glow and bittersweet combinations of reds and yellows. Vermillion streaks through, and a few cloud folk turn titian, like sumptuous surreal apricots rotting in the sky, that seem to augur encroaching darkness. Billows on the horizon leak crimson, like spilled wine on table cloth, and pucker out like blooms of flaming roses. Fire refracted coloured cousins of the sun are dancing all about. Here is the anthem of wild transformation. Here is cause for quiet celebration. Here at this fluent juncture. Here at the closing of day. The whole of the ocean below, is the skies tremendous mirror. It's reflection is variegated, into variations a thousandfold. Multitudinous, and ever differentiated, distortions of above ride the crests of waves. Each apex is a new story. Each new story, just as soon as it is told, comes crashing into trough. Each finale is the ****** of beginning. The dynamic roar of the oceans ever-changing topology is rife with meaning. Colossal symphonic wonders, the primordial song, releasing upon: the uni- verse continual, sending the manifest to move, with the give and strain of immaculate design. Here ensconced between the safety of light and the mystery of night. Here at the oceans edge. Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation with the outer most cosmic-black dismiss earlier brighter hues. Tinged by the infinite nature of space, the jeweled dome darkens. Overhead, the first stars appear, sky transparent to beheld blackness. Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts violet into it's unfolding theatrics. Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black, a darkening rawness allures, decaying with vivid beauty, tragedies of a rouged romance drug down into shadows play, searingly alive, extraordinarily actual. And then, the hush of dusk. Darkness is felled, like silence. Scintillating stars strengthen in the nights surrounding abyss; giving radiance definition. Dynamic Beauty Lives In Transition, Oppositions Compliment.
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82
The scarceness of truth and beauty of this life has ****** me dry of breath Its ugliness has risen to try our hearts, filling us with a blackness too awful to utter. Love and goodness have been banned along with God, blown away like chaff in the wind. How many cheeks to turn? How many cheeks to turn? Into my soul their blackness creeps giving voice to the cry within.   Pack wolves wait for signs of weakness as scarlet billows cloud the waters of small town America. Have we forgotten kindness and humanity?   They’ve been flushed down the toilet of public education.
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Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
DEAD ED
The flowers that bloom in sun and shade And glitter in the dew, The flowers must fade. The birds that build their nest and sing When lovely spring is new, Must soon take wing. The sun that rises in his strength To wake and warm the world, Must set at length. The sea that overflows the shore With billows frothed and curled, Must ebb once more. All come and go, all wax and wane, O Lord, save only Thou Who dost remain The Same to all eternity. All things which fail us now We trust to Thee.
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Patience Of Hope
Orpheus with his lute made trees And the mountain tops that freeze Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
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Orpheus
291 How the old Mountains drip with Sunset How the Hemlocks burn— How the Dun Brake is draped in Cinder By the Wizard Sun— How the old Steeples hand the Scarlet Till the Ball is full— Have I the lip of the Flamingo That I dare to tell? Then, how the Fire ebbs like Billows— Touching all the Grass With a departing—Sapphire—feature— As a Duchess passed— How a small Dusk crawls on the Village Till the Houses blot And the odd Flambeau, no men carry Glimmer on the Street— How it is Night—in Nest and Kennel— And where was the Wood— Just a Dome of Abyss is Bowing Into Solitude— These are the Visions flitted ***** Titian—never told— Domenichino dropped his pencil— Paralyzed, with Gold—
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How the old Mountains drip with Sunset
(And I've been picking dandelions) The rush of wind chases a wayward cloud Over the foliage's luscious green mounds It billows on its good fortune allowed Feeding flowers leave stock's roots underground Petals bloom; centered bud's pollinations The sun burdens and caresses at once The bumble lost its edge to pollutants Overcome in the tepid meadows grace The seasons start to grow long and narrow Encompassing the changing of our times within their altering breadths; to and fro It's shown upon the rocks face's in tides She's beauty, ruffling with sents of sweet dew And in her pluck, spring has become renewed
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Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
Sonnet #64 There are many flowers in the meadow
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow’r, Thou’s met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow’r, Thou bonie gem. Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet, The bonie lark, companion meet, Bending thee ‘mang the dewy weet, Wi’ spreckled breast! When upward-springing, blithe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce reared above the parent-earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield, High shelt’ring woods and wa’s maun shield; But thou, beneath the random bield O’ clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawy ***** sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweet flow’ret of the rural shade! By love’s simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid Low i’ the dust. Such is the fate of simple Bard, On Life’s rough ocean luckless starred! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o’er! Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n, Who long with wants and woes has striv’n, By human pride or cunning driv’n To mis’ry’s brink, Till wrenched of ev’ry stay but Heav’n, He, ruined, sink! Ev’n thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate, That fate is thine -no distant date; Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crushed beneath the furrow’s weight, Shall be thy doom!
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To A Mountain Daisy
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow’r, Thou’s met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow’r, Thou bonie gem. Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet, The bonie lark, companion meet, Bending thee ‘mang the dewy weet, Wi’ spreckled breast! When upward-springing, blithe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce reared above the parent-earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield, High shelt’ring woods and wa’s maun shield; But thou, beneath the random bield O’ clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawy ***** sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweet flow’ret of the rural shade! By love’s simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid Low i’ the dust. Such is the fate of simple Bard, On Life’s rough ocean luckless starred! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o’er! Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n, Who long with wants and woes has striv’n, By human pride or cunning driv’n To mis’ry’s brink, Till wrenched of ev’ry stay but Heav’n, He, ruined, sink! Ev’n thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate, That fate is thine -no distant date; Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crushed beneath the furrow’s weight, Shall be thy doom!
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*March 2002 (inspired by William Shakespeare; and an eerie floating drowned woman in the movie Titanic)* Adrift amid the bindweed, through the reeds, Watching the sky with deep unblinking eyes, She passes where the turquoise mayfly feeds, Oblivious of all that swims or flies. Red flowered chiffon billows to her hands Open like water lilies in the sun, Her skin's the colour of tropical sands, Her russet hair shines bright as copper spun. Fabulous jewels languish on her breast, Rich spoils of love rendered useless in death, Her parted lips make unspoken behest; The rosy portal of her final breath. Now all is cold where roiling passion flamed, As jealous earth mourns what the river claimed.
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Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
Ophelia
Sleep is timed to the minute, my breaths let out lazy smoke icicles make goose bumps into paragraphs books written on my arms through yellow mist bare feet in the morning on my rooftops counting international planes in the sky. My migrant bones take to the sky, each moderate minute that passes by on my rooftops, increases the rawness of smoke like lung-fulls of lemon mist spewing a nebula of paragraphs. In the murk of paragraphs red papery ashes explode into the sky leaving a cloud of syllable mist. The last fragile minute reduces my shivers to smoke, a winter shell of shoulders on rooftops. Double exposed film across rooftops turn silhouettes into paragraphs, a congregation of vapours and smoke speaking soliloquies into the sky. I am minute, dissipating into canary mist. Billows of ocean mist make my fingers melancholy on rooftops where a tidal minute freezes salty foam paragraphs a vacation from the sky, my mossy perch and violet smoke. Heliotropic smoke spirals against dense mist; fine rain blinding the sky soaking lemonade rooftops. My bed of paragraphs curls into an illegible minute. The lilac smoke in my eyes is almost minute. A mustard mist wrinkles the paragraphs, like the purple sky dropping over the rooftops.
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Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
Sestina 2 - Mouths
Around me architectural mastery: sycamores, embankments, enduring ionic pillars. I round a walkway bordered by trees, enamel thawing, gliding off their low leaves. Beneath the late-May’s pounding sun, through the glittered trees’ reaches, a gazebo crackles into sight. Children in their prime, sunbathers, a wistful portraitist encircle it carelessly: a leisured chimney; the billows of life. The foliage escapes into the river, purplish, palpitating, cyclic creases receive the dewy notes. Kayaks licking acacia-gum-edged ripples sputter and slip through reverberations of leveled white-water terraces. Blackcurrants in clotted cream slide on the plush lips of a young passerby. The 8 above a doorway dances motionless, silent in my periphery; “Nicolas Cage just sold the spot” pops from unknown lungs inside the Circus crowd. Unacknowledged, half-proud hands built the Roman baths alone, closed-in by such grace, forgotten, then as now. I wander these ancestral lanes more or less alone, the same.
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Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:55 AM UTC
Lines Written in Bath, Somerset
The devil's speech say they: Rolling, clattering, frolicking, hungry. Billows of charred skeletons embrace the air Black soot pumped straight from the pyres of Hades Congealing to clouds of evil intent wherever it roam. That charred old shell so terse, Black as sadness and dead as a hearse, Darling to death as he brings on the rain: The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train. In the coughing desert Not a thing dares roam Neither wind nor creature And neither stick nor stone. But then the silence disturbed by a horrible shriek - The railway screams in horror and the train itself speaks, saying "Tell me, thou innocent, Why feel you special and best? For when all is done I take you And return you to my nest; Your world is bright and happy Full of high spirits and song, Though soon you too shall step aboard And join my faceless throng." Hot saliva on the heaving engines: Weeping, groaning, ghostly, parched. Rusted joints spewed onwards grinding resisting Movement spat out like a violently beaded string of curses Sloppily uttered as incantations of a malformed mouth! From that charred old shell so terse, Black as sadness and dead as a hearse, Darling to death as he brings on the rain: The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train. That dark train cries out and all around A mourning whimper rises like slumbering fog- Bleak and yellow it obscures the land Seeping out insidious in strange locales all: The old lonely fisherman Sleeping on his wharf, The frustrated hawker's Windblown barefaced booth, Silent streets crying for attention, Dark places hidden at the corner of every eye. That solemn train cries out and all around Her mourning whimper rises like harrowing fog Calling all to upright attention and fear. Looming like a spectre but a breath-span from your window Slowly closing cold dread claws- Naked numbness dumb as ice- Cold dread claws upon thy waist. And you, You poor old thing, Shivering in your pitiful shack of bones, You never had any chance! You were only human. You were only human, you poor old thing. Barreling on with brimstone slang: Clang clang! Dang dang! Beelz Bub! Sputtering an ocean of curses from turgid goat-flesh Born of sadness to cause even more, yawning great maw Jowls clanking with fresh hot oil drool steaming stark and lewd, and yet That charred old shell so terse, Blacker than sadness and slain like a hearse, Is all that gives meaning to our every gain: The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
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Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 12:10 AM UTC
The Funeral Train
The devil's speech say they: Rolling, clattering, frolicking, hungry. Billows of charred skeletons embrace the air Black soot pumped straight from the pyres of Hades Congealing to clouds of evil intent wherever it roam. That charred old shell so terse, Black as sadness and dead as a hearse, Darling to death as he brings on the rain: The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train. In the coughing desert Not a thing dares roam Neither wind nor creature And neither stick nor stone. But then the silence disturbed by a horrible shriek - The railway screams in horror and the train itself speaks, saying "Tell me, thou innocent, Why feel you special and best? For when all is done I take you And return you to my nest; Your world is bright and happy Full of high spirits and song, Though soon you too shall step aboard And join my faceless throng." Hot saliva on the heaving engines: Weeping, groaning, ghostly, parched. Rusted joints spewed onwards grinding resisting Movement spat out like a violently beaded string of curses Sloppily uttered as incantations of a malformed mouth! From that charred old shell so terse, Black as sadness and dead as a hearse, Darling to death as he brings on the rain: The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train. That dark train cries out and all around A mourning whimper rises like slumbering fog- Bleak and yellow it obscures the land Seeping out insidious in strange locales all: The old lonely fisherman Sleeping on his wharf, The frustrated hawker's Windblown barefaced booth, Silent streets crying for attention, Dark places hidden at the corner of every eye. That solemn train cries out and all around Her mourning whimper rises like harrowing fog Calling all to upright attention and fear. Looming like a spectre but a breath-span from your window Slowly closing cold dread claws- Naked numbness dumb as ice- Cold dread claws upon thy waist. And you, You poor old thing, Shivering in your pitiful shack of bones, You never had any chance! You were only human. You were only human, you poor old thing. Barreling on with brimstone slang: Clang clang! Dang dang! Beelz Bub! Sputtering an ocean of curses from turgid goat-flesh Born of sadness to cause even more, yawning great maw Jowls clanking with fresh hot oil drool steaming stark and lewd, and yet That charred old shell so terse, Blacker than sadness and slain like a hearse, Is all that gives meaning to our every gain: The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.
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