"blights" poems
Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.
6.1k
I wander thro’ each charter’d street.
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow
A mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man.
In every Infants cry of fear.
In every voice; in every ban.
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear
How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackening Church appalls.
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls
But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
5.7k
Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.
5.1k
*First light in the Hudson Valley
Arbor Day of April, 1970.*
Adrenaline coursed through our young
bodies, our hearts on fire with purpose.
As we rode our bikes, walked, or jogged miles
to our rural high school, red-winged blackbirds
called out from the misty swamps.
Beautiful but invading, acres of purple loosestrife
were rapidly taking over their wetland habitats.
Harbingers of the forests, blue jays issued
warning cries from deep in the woods,
where blights were killing our trees
with increasing frequency.
Three of us rode together, cycling in relative
silence, until we came to a meadow
selected for our early breakfast picnic.
We feasted on special fruits and cheeses,
hungrily stuffing in rare treats.
One friend began to send iridescent
soap bubbles into the chilly air.
Up they rose, up over the soft, puffy cloud
of her reddish curls, and into the dawning sun.
One bubble landed, unbroken, in the cold, dewy grass.
We stared at it, somehow understanding that here
was a delicate metaphor for our own fragile planet.
Approaching our school now, we breathed deeply the fragrance
of apple blossoms from commercial orchards all around us.
The spraying of pesticides had yet to be banned.
We were sleepy in our classes that morning;
most of our teachers understanding that we stood
now for something worthwhile, that we believed in,
and they smiled with kindness, some even with approval.
Our principal agreed to an awareness-raising slide show
designed for our fellow students, teachers and parents.
An intelligent man, he was admirably tolerant of the wave
of changes that our generation brought with us.
Smoke stacks, polluted water, and dying wildlife
flashed onto a screen in the darkened auditorium,
accompanied by the vivid symphonic power of
Stravinsky's 'Rite of Spring'- a score so revolutionary
that a riot broke out at its premier, in May of 1913.
We had no idea then how much worse things would become.
All these years later, we each do our part, blessing
the efforts of our children and their children,
hoping fervently that we are not too late.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
We forget our mortality,
We forgot our morality,
We forgo our rights,
We live as blights,
We drink,
We sink,
We are missing a link,
We have no luck,
We have no buck,
We live in a digital world,
We watched our toilet as it swirled,
“Vapid and insipid has life become,”
We wait and succumb,
We long for an era past,
We know it doesn’t last,
Yet…
Forgotten mortality and morality, with our forgone rights and remembered blights, and sink in drink, there’s the link. We have luck and then we buck (we give no **** Our digital world, swirled.
We become,
and then we succumb,
to a past that…
won’t…
last.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
Ode to sincerity
Unlike a candles flame
Wrath contained,
Dissipates not
but
grows and gains
Wrath contained
A brick in a washing machine
A moth in a closet
Wrath contained,
A plant growing
As Providence's Gardener is perpetually hoeing
With a deft hand doubt's seed Wrath is sowing
Wrath contained,
Is Suffering's Yeast,
To its expansion there's no end
The closed mouth is an open space for Wrath to bend
Sprouts of hope Wrath's malice fends
Away and blights
With its bligthening might
Grinds light to dust
Creeps under the plant *** it must
Break in the foundation it may
Once cheery now morose
Day-by-day Wrath dissembled its host
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC
The demons live with me –
They have their own blankets ready,
So later we would go visit the creeks
And they will push me to the water and let me suffocate,
They will drown me in muds
They will blind me so all I could see is dark.
The demons live with me –
They invite me to our special hideout,
Decaying building and magical asbestos
And they will prepare an empty room full of irons and knives,
They will slit me with them
They will kiss me with them 'till I become numb.
The demons, the demons live with me –
They will celebrate my birthday party,
Their presents are bouquet of blights
And they also give me flaming matches for me to light up an inferno,
They will burn with me, laugh
They will burn every sadness I felt.
The demons live with me.
They are inside, they are calling me.
The demons, demons, demons,
THESE DEMONS,
Demons, d e m o n s
are me.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
Left hope behind
Abandoned fights
All vicious signs
Of savage plights
Felt like a flea
A parasite
All savage plea
To savage plight
Oh Sisyphus
Exhausted might
Lay in a hearse
Oh savage plight
Heathen in prayer
God-given right
Sign of the lair
Of savage plights
A crimson snow
And eyes of white
But don't you know
These savage plights
By Doom's own herald, God's own **** creatures all collide
Like ole rye barrelled, seasoned to withstand savage plights
Let woman cry
Let man be scorned
Let savage plights
Shut closing doors
He'll will stay frozen
Heaven forlorn
The savage chosen
***** of Babylon
Live off of plights
All but one savage
Dragged day and night
Your horseless carriage
Call it a burden
That is your right
One thing's for certain
It's savage plights
With mind so prurient
Give humans blights
From West to Orient
Come savage plights
Dorian-like picture on the wall, too mild a fighter for a knight
Was God-forsaken, after all, dealt sole with and to others each a savage plight
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
White drops on a colored wall
The mark of a distracted painter
blights or beauty marks on the celestial canvas?
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 10:15 PM UTC
The screech-owl in the wasted tree,
Who blights the branch and smites the leaves,
She wails that she was once like you and me!
Hey Lamia, hey love of mine,
Whose banshee moaning boils the night,
I won’t listen, for I know that Lilith lies!
Oh, naked beasts, oh variegated lives!
Whose ribs You cracked,
Whose love You lacked,
For whom You cast two wives!
Oh, hungry man, that bites his keeper’s hand!
You mixed his tears,
Instilled his fears,
And taught him “Lilith lies.”
I fled before you were brought forth
And spread, you race of sons of ******
Oh children, you are mine, and I am yours!
Un-furred, un-feathered, and dull-toothed,
How the Almighty forsook you!
So sick and weak, you all can barely move!
Oh, teeth and bones, Oh heaven-wide applause!
Come Oneiroi,
Support ‘tcha boi,
The ape without no claws!
Oh, sticks and stones, oh desperation’s knives!
Come Seraphim,
Sing us a hymn,
Remind us Lilith lies!
“She lies, she lies,” you cry “she lies,”
But I have wings, and claws, and eyes
That pierce the dark, and to all schemes I’m wise!
Yes, I obtained these claws of gold
That keep me safe and fed and whole!
You can’t condemn what hasn’t got a soul!
Oh, life from mud, oh mare who bucked the stud!
Who sits on beds,
Perched at the heads
To drink the dreaming’s blood!
Oh, owl’s eyes, oh man’s dread realized!
Come talk at length,
And show your strength,
And show us how you lie!
Jan 30, 2020
Jan 30, 2020 at 3:06 PM UTC
♠ ♠ ♠
Pseudo-Oriental visions
Haiku, Tanka, exotic terms
Vapid New Age vibe-transmissions
proliferating eastern germs…
Anarchistic thought collages
Existential lacerations
Nihilistic heart-massages
Incoherent lamentations,
Communism on a mission,
grievance-mongering, stewed in hate;
pounding Fascist fusion/fission
chanting harshly “ours the state”,
Hymns to Gods who choked on *****
undertaken in overdose;
rocks that never rose to comet
rolling – but ending comatose,
Hipster ironies, tongue in chic
Metro-wimps who feign the normal,
Redneck rantings up the creek
semaphoric, semi-formal,
matron’s maudlin observations,
motivational hypnosis,
(sentimental medications
offered prior to diagnosis),
coldly abstract neo-nonsense
read (by dullards) as cutting edge,
letters void of correspondence;
well-trimmed words’ linguistic hedge.
Climate whining (tried untrue)
with eco-prophecies warning doom,
Wiccans and tree-sprites trying to
undo the curse and lift the gloom,
Feministic tribal ranting,
Race-complaining, agitation,
GLBT gallivanting –
all are blights upon our nation.
Boring modernist excess,
(no longer daring – formulaic)
confounds – yet never can address
what’s wrong, and so becomes prosaic.
Lists like this are perhaps the worst;
another symptom of our times:
we who are woefully unversed
in rhythmic complaining that rhymes.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree—
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
You fight the right fight
Praying to God the world won’t bite
You in the *** and send
You running back home.
I fight the right fight
Knowing the people will sight
My weaknesses and exploit
It to their own ends.
We both fight for the rights
Of others in our minds, but the truth blights
The efforts of our actions like a cancer
Destroys our plight from within.
So you go back to your God who
Fails to answer your calls so you are through
With the lies and find power in
You, the person, and transcend.
So I go home to my dogs who
Stare at me saying we told you so
Come back down here with the rims and the hoes
But I say no, and transcend.
We both are the ones who transcend,
Hoping the violence, the hate, and the hunger will end,
Now knowing we are the souls of the popular trend,
To transcend.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 3:10 AM UTC
Sins of the father,
Wrought perfection among the world,
In ways I feel farther,
From where the rest unfurled,
Colors are more vivid,
Life is now peak experience,
The people are livid,
But men will take chances,
Among rolling hills,
And steep cliffs,
Into the nine hells,
Just to procure these gifts,
To create the song of progress,
And sing it from their peaks,
Where parasites arrest,
But with knives and leeches the hosts will leak.
The sunlight warms our skin,
And generates life,
And blights are gems we force to glint,
The straightest of diamonds are forged in strife,
Cut in sharp language,
Originating in the furnace of others,
Whether in joy or anguish,
The culmination of lovers,
The poets of life,
The artists of death,
Photographers of honor,
And authors of theft,
The illustrators of ethics,
Profanity’s architects,
Gaia’s ventriloquists,
And the firstborn’s defects.
Formulated impressions have no need to advance,
The darkness of these times,
Warrant no more than slight glance,
If mimes have nothing to say,
We’ll burn the sky as they dance.
This is the letter home from the warrior,
And the drunken hubris of a poet,
The weathered steps of the courier,
And those he had met in his journey,
Whether or not they knew it.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
It’s over, all over.
Our dreams have faded away.
Blackest January sadness blights July.
England beaten by Croatia
In The World Cup.
We reached the semi final
For the first time since 1990
Only to lose in extra-time:
Failing to see the danger
With our very youthful eyes.
So much to be proud of.
So much better than before.
We should have scored a hat-full,
But see the final score:
(One – two).
I really do hate losing
Whatever I watch or play.
It really will be ages
Before this pain fades away.
My defeats I long remember,
It’s from these things I learn.
Seeking to be a winner,
My inner passions burn.
We’re building to the Euros,
On in two year’s time.
Well ahead of schedule,
So losing’s not a crime.
The World Cup stays way out there,
Hopefully just on loan,
For in the hearts of England
Football has come home.
Paul Butters
© PB 12\7\2018.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
Ignorance is unhappiness, and life spread abroad by lies.
Belief is but vain, for truth heals no cries.
A sheltered life is hollow within the mind,
But with love outside oneself, all is kind.
Sorrow and pain does not breed in the shallow.
The truth brings both joys and sorrow.
The greatest of creations is not the universe,
the greatest of all things is the person with verse.
Essayed through this thought,
a man can become good.
The worst of creations is the silence of death,
and when the person loses god’s breath.
The world is tempered by loss of voice.
but it is the thoughts in silence that’s screaming their choice.
Can a man whose dead lead another life?
dreaded nights, wailing blights, all in strife.
Mankind is being educated to think, yet they choose dullness.
The need exists to be selfless, yet they choose fullness.
People forget about the person, all soul is lost.
Creativity is rewarded when the man is but dust,
History chooses a few as eternal,
but there is nothing no longer for the spiritual.
There’s those who heart cherish,
but others raise themselves selfish.
Praise be to those who’ve strive to eternity,
and woe to those lost in popular fidelity.
to the sister and daughter of ******
run far away from your parent, and her lord.
Ignorance is unhappiness, and life spread abroad by lies.
Belief is but vain, for truth heals no cries.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC
My love for you is like the sunset through the tree line:
It shifts, shakes, blights at times and flourishes at others.
One thing is clear every time the day ends and
Those deep red rays touch the crown of my bowed head.
The trees do not move.
They are a constant I rely on far more than I’d admit.
The only way I could get rid of the trees
Would be if I cut them down…
I don’t have the heart to do that.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
A new arrival sends him itching
To drag open the drapes his fingers are twitching
He benchmarks the day as they come and they go
From window-framed photos
Stories of his own
Relays the album, day after day
Till the thought becomes fact, he can’t shoo away
It bothers him and blights him
The ****** won’t quit
Till he retakes his throne at the curtain slit
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 12:33 PM UTC
Thoughts flow like a crow flies;
mind in flight; grasping at
life's insights, fumbling across
the sky; climbing out of urban
blights, embracing self, fore,
sanity is at stake.
Reaching for sanctity in His
light; patience a virtue giving
hope to mind's turmoiled
inner persecutions, seeking
redirection for self's own sake.
As the crow flies, His wisdom,
mind and soul willingly embrace.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 2:05 AM UTC
I'd like to walk beneath the sky
To see the world under time's cloak
Hear the free birds' wandering cry
To see in flesh the hidden folk
I'd like to walk beneath the sky
To hear Earth's song, bespoke
Feel and taste the Lover's sigh
To go wild as we wake
I'd like to fly over the trees
Dissolve the bars behind my eyes
Divide the buildings from the breeze
That conquer, jade time's skies
I'd leap bold at far horizon
Beat wings against the moon
Touch bonny rainbow, on and on
As its fierce fires bloom
I'd like to soar through stratospheres
Chasing the Angels' light
Who nourish souls with love and tears
Through baleful, evil nights
To God, we'd go, see eternal years
That no ****** devil blights
Puts pain to past, perishes fears
Reveals a universe of light
I'd like to see creation
A magic mist imbued with gold
Transcend time's trepidation
A wonderful Universe to behold
Immortal worlds, God's animation
Its Beauty never sold
A goddesses' destination
See her sweet, unfold
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 5:40 AM UTC
The sun
The rain
The ocean
The clouds
Ferocity
Passion
Love
Thought
those beautiful things
they hurt the most
they burn, dehydrate, and blind us
they flood the land, and drown our people
they carry diseases, spread blights, batter our shores
they electrify us with their crashing waves
they **** ****** and maim
they ******* mutilate, and ****
they break, batter, and wound
they incapacitate, wrong, and hurt us
our mind, our bodies, our souls
they are malicious
they are pain
they are life
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
Parents' spoilt brat,
I am their only child.
I am still not used to it,
Loneliness blights me.
I try to make them mild,
These ghosts of loneliness,
The ghosts written in my destiny.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC
"By this all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love among yourselves.” (John 13:35) This commandment is The Messianic Dictum. Sometimes I wonder upon how far aloft my flight my zenith may lie. What dost the apex of my pilgrimage bear?
We all have a future. Love is the ultimate religion. Why? Because “It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.” (1st Corinthians 13: 7, 8) When we love, we taste eternity upon our palates. Love is the elixir of the soul.
When my life is over, I hope to gaze upon the visage of those who I hold dear. I want to know that I’ve made a difference in the lives of those encompassing me. We all carry subjective burdens, subjective blights. This suffering is the commonality of all creation. Whence we ail together, The Catholicon of Ancients exalts us as one.
The Faith of Dreams is a worldwide denomination, within which we need fellowship. The Universe is our temple, our Cathedral of Dreams. Beneath the firmaments, we all have an abode.
We are all Sparks of the Divine. Fulgurant lovelight glistens in each one of us. The most bedarkened soul can house a diaphanous blaze of light. In light, there is darkness; moreover, in the night, there can reside light.
Dreams can still serve a purpose to the entity inhibited by a worldly lusting. Ultimately, desirelessness is catalyzed by cathexis to the Deifically Divine. We must cleanse ourselves of corporeal desires until we wax holy. “I dream; therefore, I am,” said the sage. If this is true, the substance, the essence, the elixir of life is in upon the Dreamscape.
In truth, any temporal expanse spent in The Chrysalis of the Astral is commensurable with augury. A dream is celestial summoning. Therefore, persevere amidst hardship, borne of tribulation is prophetic fulfillment.
(Se' lah)
May 16, 2020
May 16, 2020 at 10:57 AM UTC
A girl on the corner
In the red rain coat
Is blowing a gum bubble
With the finest bubblegum in town.
As it expands, she sees lovers meet,
Children being born,
Friends meeting for coffee across the street,
All in the blink of an eye.
The bubblegum stretches miles in seconds
Dreams expand to the beat of her heart
Rings, homes, kisses, fantasies,
Flavorful and impassioned.
Too far, too fast
The bubble pops far too soon
Fights, blights, illness, death
Returning back to the sanctity from which it had arisen.
All that's left of the bubble are memories
Of those it affected
Deflating slowly but surely
Into the eternal abyss.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 1:48 AM UTC