"bodes" poems
Hidden by old age awhile
In masker's cloak and hood,
Each hating what the other loved,
Face to face we stood:
'That I have met with such,' said he,
'Bodes me little good.'
'Let others boast their fill,' said I,
'But never dare to boast
That such as I had such a man
For lover in the past;
Say that of living men I hate
Such a man the most.'
'A loony'd boast of such a love,'
He in his rage declared:
But such as he for such as me--
Could we both discard
This beggarly habiliment--
Had found a sweeter word.
10.7k
The gloom that breathes upon me with these airs
Is like the drops which strike the traveller’s brow
Who knows not, darkling, if they bring him now
Fresh storm, or be old rain the covert bears.
Ah! bodes this hour some harvest of new tares,
Or hath but memory of the day whose plough
Sowed hunger once,— the night at length when thou,
O prayer found vain, didst fall from out my prayers?
How prickly were the growths which yet how smooth,
Along the hedgerows of this journey shed,
Lie by Time’s grace till night and sleep may soothe!
Even as the thistledown from pathsides dead
Gleaned by a girl in autumns of her youth,
Which one new year makes soft her marriage-bed.
1.9k
In the mornings I stayed in the blue, carpeted room.
My Cello played the best friend, while I played upon its bare back.
The halls sat silent there.
The walls, bear aside from the occasional music note half sticky-tacked to the white cement, only emphasized my isolation.
They hung yellowed from UV light, and their own forgotten presence.
After the day slipped by,
Through Stephen King book pages
And colored comics,
Through love notes scraped into wooden tables,
And the ring of my own repose draped upon me by scrambled, and passing conversation
I would make my way to the baseball field.
5’4” and nearing 200 pounds
My ardor was never withheld even in the face of exclusion.
I tried for the team
But when the roster ruffled in the fading sun behind the bleachers
I made myself a part of where I was not welcome.
I loved the team
Even as snide comments slithered
Through the teeth of passing players,
Even as the coach spat not a centimeter above the toe of my white, worn tennis shoes
I came day in and day out
If not to catch the practice ***** then the occasional smile of young girl—a pitying young girl, but a smile nonetheless.
The life bodes loneliness,
But to me it presents possibility.
Never doubt the adequacy of introversion.
The quiet mouth begets the much more boisterous mind.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
Fugit Fumus dived into a basket
of oysters just to make the ***
the underbelly of transformation
bodes unwise for this colloquial soul
Cloistered Lisa lost her circumspection
when she settled for dystopic Dan
from such a wretched family
with pneumatic drills
they'd rather shutter than amend
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
Electrodes to nodes
and nothing bodes well
electrickery and it trickles into me
revolting and jolting
and Frankensteinlike bolting me
to the bed.
The head
this head will no longer be as free
as the thought imagining in me
while hot electrotomoty
burns me to
anonymity
and it's a pity I can't be
a less condusive entity
but the powers that be seem to have it in for me
and I am strapped to non lucidity
in the name of all humanity
don't put a shilling in the meter
Later I meet myself
in a shell of who I used to be in a picture
painted hastily
on a background
which I cannot see
and what was once no longer is or was it ever and did I once was clever too or were the words electricked through the nodes that boded ill?
Will it stay or will it go
somewhere out there
do you know
or are you waiting for the leads that lead you to electric feeds?
Can someone bring me bread and water
call my Mother
call my daughter
or like the lamb led to the slaughter
will I bleed to death?
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
SHAKESPEARE'S MARRIAGE
November 1582
William Shagspere,18
of Stratford
marries
Anne Hathwey,26
Of Shottery
and six months later
the timer bell
at the oven rings
and out pops a fine young baby -
lovely Susanna
OK, time for village gossips
to exercise their tongues
SHAKESPEARE'S WILL
William Shackspeare dies 23 April 1616
and as a reasonable father and gent.,
makes his will and his wishes known
bequeaths items and money
and property to those he has known
(as he pleases)
and to Anne Hathaway,
says William Shackspeare in his will:
*"I gyve unto my wife
my second best bed with the furniture…"*
ANNE HATHAWAY DIES
Anne Hathwey dies 1623, aged 67
O bodes it well, Will
to marry one older?
*Many pleasures there be in such a match;
many are the plays born thereof…*
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 1:29 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
If we burn it down tonight
Leave nothing standing within sight
Will the ashes make things right
Or just make us contrite
After we realize our worst fears
And Judgment Day suddenly nears
Could it be worst than it appears
After the smoke finally clears
After the smoke finally clears
And we’re left with just the ashes
How do we shift gears
When our anger eventually passes
When civility erodes
It’s hard to say what that bodes
Should we start speaking in codes
Until the powder keg explodes
It’s a brand new frontier
But now we find ourselves here
And to rebuild will take years
After the smoke finally clears
After the smoke finally clears
And we’re left with just the ashes
How do we shift gears
When our anger eventually passes
Burn baby burn
A battle cry from long ago
But what have we learned
That before we didn’t know
Tempers need to cool
Or eventually they’ll blow
And if they do
What will we have to show
After the smoke finally clears
And we’re left with just the ashes
How do we shift gears
When our anger eventually passes
Will we ever learn
The places that we choose to burn
Aren’t the places that we yearn
But that doesn’t cause concern
Are you listening to me
We’re not thinking rationally
The end result’s no mystery
For those who study history
After the smoke finally clears
And we’re left with just the ashes
How do we shift gears
When our anger eventually passes
If we burn it down tonight
Leave nothing standing within sight
Will the ashes make things right
Or just make us contrite
After we realize our worst fears
And Judgment Day suddenly nears
Could it be worst than it appears
After the smoke finally clears
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
For whom do I wait for and for whom do I long,
Through ages and times long past?
Whose touch is it that shakes my soul,
With joy and pleasure full?
Across my back a gentle touch,
That tickles as much as thrills.
Along me sides, I rise to meet,
And kisses my naked neck.
Astride my waste, my shoulders rub,
A weight that comforts and warms.
Along my arms, a gentle stroke,
That raises bumps across my skin.
Moving down on my feet to sit,
And rubs my upraised rear.
And down my thighs and my calves,
And my feet never knew such joy.
You role me over, my front exposed,
Your smile that makes me blush.
Up my legs your hands to roam,
And outward up my hips.
Once more you sit across my waist,
And now our eyes do meet.
Leaning down, you kiss my lips,
And from them come a sign.
You kiss my cheeks and then my nose,
And then my waiting neck.
My eyes are closed as your hands them roam,
And move across my *******
I purr, I stretch, I love your touch,
The play of fingers deft.
How is your touch so well known,
Why do I know it so?
For whom do I wait for and for whom do I long,
Through ages and times long past?
Whose touch is it that shakes my soul,
With joy and pleasure full?
Your kisses come, first on my neck,
And then you kiss my chest.
Down between my lovely breast,
Your kisses pull my heart.
Round the bottom up the sides,
Your lips upon my breast.
Soft as snow and warm as fire,
And wet like springtime dew.
My flesh it moves, alive and free,
Delighting in your kiss.
Flesh to flesh, lip to breast,
Ecstatic joyous me.
First one breast and then the other,
Consuming all of me.
I quiver there beneath your hips,
And beneath your steamy breath.
I'm drowning here in ecstatic joy,
Beneath your loving kiss.
A way to die I'd be glad to have,
An ocean of your love.
Then you stop and give me breath,
And let me settle down.
You look at me with loving eyes,
In in them I am lost.
A smile you give, a crooked smile,
That bodes I know not what.
You hands them move, they touch my *******
Then settle at my waist.
You moved down, I know not when,
For I was lost in bliss.
My waist held firm, your hips descend,
Now I'm like a bed.
Your searching kiss my belly finds,
It tickles and delights.
In circles slow with movements fair,
I giggle on my back.
And down you go, you kiss my hips,
One kiss on either side.
You kiss my mound, you move on down,
Your lips that do delight.
Once more I think and wonder why,
I swear I know your touch.
For whom do I wait for and for whom do I long,
Through ages and times long past?
Whose touch is it that shakes my soul,
With joy and pleasure full?
Your lips are soft, your gentle kiss,
Wet and fully there.
Kiss of delights that finds me there,
Kiss at my most hidden place.
A moving tongue, a searching kiss,
A building wave within.
Forever lost in sweet embrace,
A flower in the spring.
Petals part and nectar flows,
Consumed with daring care.
A flower opened for your joy,
And pleasure for myself.
~For Whom Do I Wait by Bethany Davis, June 1, 2014
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
Left homeport to find a new life
Adrift, a stranded sailor without a sail,
What water is this, I travel alone?
I search the horizon, to no avail.
Searching the seas for a new port to call mine
A storm came up, tore my ship ragged
Left with low provisions, and a mighty thirst
My mind is frayed, all jumbled and jagged.
Davy Jones is barking my name, from his list
Breeze comes up, makeshift I use my shirt
Feeble attempt to make my way to safe harbor
Please Poseidon send my journey to solid dirt.
A promising future is my one request
A life with honor, a partner, a friend
A new day dawns with red in the morning
The warning is ominous, I refuse to bend.
I defy the fates and make it through
Red sunset tonight bodes a better day tomorrow
Persevere and push on, change on the horizon
The gull is welcome, I reach a calm bay, end of sorrow.
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
I had her heart in my hand
but she held my breath in her wonderland
attractivated she motormated me
and magnet-ied my eyes
laser beamed with just one goal
that
touch me,please me,feely feely
Really it was very nice
an understatement
even if said twice.
I saw some distant planetary system
when she kissed me and I wished then on a star
which fell
and far from being here
she had taken me out there
to share with me
her luminosity.
How could it last
the fires that burn so bright
still cast shadows on the wall of my desire
but she took me high above
all thoughts of love had taken leave
I believe she was angel or a demon
but she led this man into
her Queendom
and when done with me
she loosed me like a cannon ball
which is an entirely different kind of wall
like an illusion
a colliding of materials
in colour sorted serial codes.
If it bodes well
I'll find she came from heaven and not from hell
but at the moment I can't tell
and to tell the truth
It doesn't worry me.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
bodes well..so well
in shadows we are crawling
in secret we make vows
in total silence we learn of all things
bodes well...so well
wars shall end the earth soon
wars of madmen's greed
wars allowed by our lazy carelessness
our cowardliness
our own greed
bodes well.so well
knowing what matters
again
knowing eachother
and bidding
to do eachother
well
again
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 12:47 PM UTC
Twisted and bent over
By just the thought of it;
Why rapture must come
With such intolerable cruelty
The Gods only know.
They wield us like toys in
A careless game of wits
for some bemusement
If I Were to dare and venture forth
to find the golden chord
and climb up to the stairway of heaven;
I would pluck the very eyes of Athena
and Themis and swap them in kind
So they may see eachothers minds
And cast upon it a blessing
cured of this sickly and ravaged
Regretted remorse that bodes
In the hearts and souls of weak men.
The shame travels in cycles
the pain is constant
broken only by fleeting moments
Of hope and regretful longings.
I Sailed with this ship of fools
To find the golden fleece
Knew full well that
The ends of the world
Will still fail to appease.
there is no god or immortal
That I serve except this tainted love;
And yet, the unrighteous lover
Renews my faith in love?
**** the gods
for making a device of heart so voracious
And easily spaced for the fitting of loves and pain,
duty and honor and every other
cruel twisted trick tied by a harp string
That tugged at will could test the thresholds
That torment always breaks.
Keep your gods and
Masters of cruel fates
I will follow none
And will wait for death
till I row the strokes to bring
that of the netherworld and beyond,
Just to find and ****** in zeuses
Wretched heart
the one he gave me by his stake
And watch him melt and burn and suffer
Twisted over and bent
finally to understand his cruel mistake
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
When mine eyes near to close - for truest sleep
then best her gentled hand beside me hold
as I'd take with, her sketch into the deep
to let her fairest portrait, beacon gold.
Then into bodes of seraphs I'd have flown
and bid the high archangel grant me this;
that in his flock have one alike my own,
as only then has one bestowed true bliss.
Before the gilded counsel, I will gift
her glow that carried from the nether sphere
and blaze a shrine that'd bring an answer swift!
To match this beauty's flair, there are none here.
Then blast me into limbo! There I'd wait
for her eternal grace to be my fate.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC
blue skies overhead,
sunsets red,
bodes well,
for my -----day,
I don't look my age,
I don't feel my age,
She says I don't act my age,
but she isn't smiling
when she knows
"tomorrow is only a day away"
and it is my -----day,
age is giving in
as I catch up,
years blend memories,
and they are not soothing
or smoothies
either,
but
but,
the best is yet to be,
where my dreams be-
come reality, that is
not on TV, and words
and stories and poetry
will flow,
and hopefully not
smell like it is from
the toxic waste from
years of unrequited
dreams,
tainted with the
paint of only black and white,
and the sun sets are red
with fair weather ahead,
hoist the mains'll
and let the seas and the
wind,
be entrusted with safe
journey of this slightly
rusted hull,
and don't mind the barnacles,
they are small ones after all.
Yea, but the dream, ... "thar she blows"
©DWE102013
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
Night solitude bodes converging pressures , arising to burr and flying flame
The 'Keepers of Wrath' momentarily call the Homeric -
Oaks to attention
A fleeting , midnight memory come to pass
The train bound for Montgomery resumes it's-
journey south , over dale .. Then gone ..
Timekeepers will ring to the morning at
five bells
Scrambled , exhaustive drollery to the sound
of distant thunder
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:49 AM UTC
Screams were heard out in the pastures
and came a horizon much like ash on the hearth
Shadows moved infinitely
The sounds grew diminutively
The prelude to the rapture of the earth.
The Dead caught quickly to the masses of souls
Hailing words and weapons of demonic origin
Carrying the faces of no strangers
Those once loved threaten dangers
Of what was human, but now suffused in sin.
Lives flooded the pathways ‘tween houses
Terror coated their faces like a blinding veneer
The feeble fell sprawled
Crushed in panic by all
Those they had once cherished and trusted so dear
*“The most primitive of emotions begets the bonds once made
when one would gladly **** their child to live another day.”*
The hooded figure had spoken this truth to the King
In a voice so trustful, endearing, yet cold
“A miracle, for you, can be given
To save men, women, and children
But I will take the most precious of treasures you hold.”
The King gave no reply in the earnest of propositions
Yet rendered this a miracle none could pass.
“Only in exchange for a treasure,
One of your choosing- my pleasure,
But of my most precious, what could you possibly ask?”
From under the hood came an un-ethereal voice
“Your soul shall be all that I’ll need...”
With fiery sparks and a turn
The fabric had burned
Exposed his dark presence- Mephistopheles.
A deal with the darkest of Princes bodes endless misery
“Your God has forsaken you; your destiny now lies with me.”
The King fell down to his knees in despair
For his life, his Kingdom could be spared
“You’d take my life and not my kingdom
My people must have their freedom.
For such, no misery in your hell could ever compare.”
Mephistopheles erupted with such contentment
The Kings folly- pure, innocent and bare
Without sound or sight
The King’s soul, crushed pure light
Mephistopheles disappeared in a dark wisp of air...
-End of Part III-
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
Bright grey clouds
On hanging trees
Whose branches bob
on a song-lit breeze
The threat of rain
Hangs cold in the air
like the rumors of snow...
I wish I could care.
Enough to hope for the real winter's chill
But to hope, for me anyway, bodes ill
The opposite happens when I dare to dream
When I get what I wish for
They're not what they seem
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 10:43 PM UTC
CORTÉS
Trailblazing pioneers, God’s harbingers:
The shining daylight of the Renaissance
Now swiftly dissipates the blindfold gloom
Of this benighted, dark, and iron age.
And as this dawn of culture greets the globe,
Our own Castile, of all the hosts of Europe,
Emerges as its greatest modern power.
If we receive the bounty of these lands,
So must we bear our duty to convert,
And shall redeem these hell-bound debutantes.
Coincidence?- That as the graceless Moors
Were drubbed and shunted from our Christian sands,
And in the very year our spiring cross
Eclipsed that toenail paring of a moon-
That new horizons opened in the west?
Do you not feel, my fresh adventurers,
That you are precious to the Lord, and chosen?
Strike sail! Exit.
ALVARADO You heard the captain. Up and at ‘em.
You porters, lash the tents to tame these winds.
The horsemen will untwine the provender. Exit Garrido.
SANDOVAL
The women must find tinder, turf, and fuel.
The sun is down. We race against the dusk. Exit María.
ESCUDERO
These heavy, gathering clouds have opened up,
And threaten to bestow unwanted gifts.
DÍAZ
It is the cyclone season out at sea.
SANDOVAL
Such scuddy weather bodes a sudden turn.
ALVARADO
Let’s hustle then to fumble up a camp,
And save our “oo-” and “ahh”ing for the dawn.
Exit all but Olmedo.
OLMEDO
Thus shall the ardent lights of Europe come,
And pour upon these newfound neophytes.
But will they be enlightening Catholic lamps,
Or a consuming fire to destroy them? Exit.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
more burdensome than you can imagine,
no matter the posh or plain neighborhoods
where they chatter~conclude this confused year,
or by
the analytics that are offered up to explain
it all away,
that explain nothing
other than human capability
for self-delusion,
self-aggrandizement
is limitless and should be
studied as a future power source
for energy to run your EV’s
everything labeled, and placed
correctly
in their own star chamber
who is the greater fool?
Why me, for suffering
the pomposity and inanity
of human verbal drivel…
as noted,
more burdensome than you can imagine,
bodes poorly for the new timeline…
my name remains brandychanning
no matter what year you label life
Jan 1, 2024
Jan 1, 2024 at 6:57 AM UTC
President Kennedy. The symbol of hope and of change was forever silenced by the bullets that ended his life and presidential rain. A ****** so entangled by a web of cover ups and lies. But few that see the truth all know that justice has long since died. But we labour on, Though so long ago for even after 50 years the truth allude's us so. The lone assassin bodes well for those who's eyes remain blinded by a lie. But why are we reluctant? To see justice for John Kennedy? Why are we so reluctant to want justice for this man who's life has long since faded?! Ask not want your country can do for you but what you can do for your country. Ask not what your fallen king can do for you... For it's only to clear to see. We've asked the questions since his life was ended in the fall of 63. What can you do for your fallen king? Who's ****** remains the most terrifying moment in American history is to demand the truth!! and don't settle for weak lies and official theories. The conspiracy is all to real. Justice for John Fitzgerald Kennedy.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
Whisper
In the dusk; the fading light
my consciousness floats
free to sleep, to roam, to dream.
Daytime’s resonance, artificial and brash, drifts away.
In its weakening wake,
within the soft quiet of evening, Nature speaks again.
Gently, she hums; she whispers;
shushes the leaves in the trees,
buzzes; at first a quiet drone -
cicada in the night - swelling,
a cacophony builds to crescendo,
to diminish as cools the night.
Nocturnal creatures rouse.
Night flowers with each new awakening.
Every one with their own instrument,
play their part in her Evensong;
deliver unseen complexity to the music.
Night deepens, and the Mother
puts down her baton, purses her lips
and breathes out her scent -
to float for the zephyr to take –
a bearer of her gentled nature
to those who dream within her tune.
The sparkle of the stars
bear cold and quiet witness
to the wonder of Her pristine night,
and the bearer of the keys of life:
This Earth - for which She is guardian.
Mother drifts into my dreams,
leaving me with bittersweet.
She touches my heart in whispers with her message,
and harkens me to carry it forward.
Dawn brings magenta skies.
Before the tinny, manmade sounds
carry me to daytime, I hear Her once more.
Reminding me of the song in my heart.
She bodes me remember where I will find it,
and to listen.
For it can only be found in her Whisper.
-Lin Cava
CC 25-October-2014
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
Screams were heard out in the pastures
and came a horizon much like ash on the hearth
Shadows moved infinitely
The sounds grew diminutively
The prelude to the rapture of the earth.
The Dead caught quickly to the masses of souls
Hailing words and weapons of demonic origin
Carrying the faces of no strangers
Those once loved threaten dangers
Of what was human, but now suffused in sin.
Lives flooded the pathways ‘tween houses
Terror coated their faces like a blinding veneer
The feeble fell sprawled
Crushed in panic by all
Those they had once cherished and trusted so dear
“The most primitive of emotions begets the bonds once made
when one would gladly **** their child to live another day.”
The hooded figure had spoken this truth to the King
In a voice so trustful, endearing, yet cold
“A miracle, for you, can be given
To save men, women, and children
But I will take the most precious of treasures you hold.”
The King gave no reply in the earnest of propositions
Yet rendered this a miracle none could pass.
“Only in exchange for a treasure,
One of your choosing- my pleasure,
But of my most precious, what could you possibly ask?”
From under the hood came an un-ethereal voice
“Your soul shall be all that I’ll need…”
With fiery sparks and a turn
The fabric had burned
Exposed his dark presence- Mephistopheles.
A deal with the darkest of Princes bodes endless misery
“Your God has forsaken you; your destiny now lies with me.”
The King fell down to his knees in despair
For his life, his Kingdom could be spared
“You’d take my life and not my kingdom
My people must have their freedom.
For such, no misery in your hell could ever compare.”
Mephistopheles erupted with such contentment
The Kings folly- pure, innocent and bare
Without sound or sight
The King’s soul, crushed pure light
Mephistopheles disappeared in a dark wisp of air…
© 2013
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
Sitting there looking at that window,
I wonder.
What do you see?
The trees of a jungle, vines hanging down.
A peaceful green sanctuary.
Exotic birds, chirping and flying through the air
in a whirlwind of panic.
The roar of an airplane passing overhead.
Screams cutting through the air like a knife.
The warm metal held tightly on your hands, fingers on
the trigger.
Looking down, at the jungle floor, you don't
even flinch.
The jungle floor, drenched in blood and the
bodes of the fallen.
Death, its stench wafted in your nose.
The image fades away,
to a bright sunny morning.
The tree branches swaying with
the soft breeze.
Your gaze shifts to the two backpacks.
Long black hair swinging back and forth.
Muted laughter ringing into
your silence.
Your grandchildren,
walking off to school.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
belt loops need an occupant,
pants two sizes too big,
like a shot up mig
cuffs wearing thin, see, red heels?,
bags and bags of leg space,
oh how thin, now is your face,
years younger than you looked
before, mind your limp and crooked back,
your broken down body,
has lightened the load,
here have another hot toddy,
the weather she bodes,
ill, sit close out of the wind,
had supper?, wait till we fend,
after the restaurants close,
the best chow?, well our noses
will know, no it wasn't supposed
to be like this, promised you Camelot
too bad I drank alot
then and now,
promised you cars and vacations,
now begging outside gas stations,
promise you a place, a palace,
now we get broke down malice,
my skin is not thick as the smoke
we smoke, yet they yell and swear,
give a kick or a poke, when they
find me out cold
in the cold
we need each other, for no one else
wants us, anywhere near them,
no family to take care, not that they would
we are broke
we are down
so much malice,
in a world that has everything
we need a warm place,
we need good food,
please don't treat me like a fool,
we need people to know
we weren't
this way...always
©DWE022014
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC