"chanced" poems
Could it have troubled Pandora’s mind,
On learning where Hope springs -
At the base of her box she chanced to find
The cruellest devil with angel’s wings?
To foresee it seep into our veins -
Leave us to blunder and fall,
Cause mankind monumental pains,
And make a mockery of us all.
As the drowning heretic looks to the skies -
Before a wave knocks him to his demise
Into an absurd and uncaring ocean.
Somewhere a poet quietly smarts
The excess love from her swollen heart
And on a page whispers her devotion.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
What Hope Remained?
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
When putrid plumes dulled morning into night
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent,
As mortals wept and earthborn angels went
With downcast eyes to clamber heavens height.
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
When panicked sirens wailed a lost lament
And backs were bowed beneath ungodly weight,
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent
As boots bore souls up treadmills burnt and bent
To scale a void devoid of dawning light.
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
For those in sight of angels heaven sent
Atop the world to aid their mortal plight,
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent.
When wingless brethren conquered feared ascent
To gift last hope to all who saw their might:
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent.
In The Fall
I chanced upon a stranger in the fall,
Cosmetic garb of office black and white
Portraying calm demeanor of his plight
As shadows panicked on a stricken wall,
And oft' I find my mind in numb recall
To look upon that helpless human kite
Who tumbled from the terrors of a height,
Yet graceful as an eagle in a stall
Before it plummets earthward -- 'Neath the pall
Of twisted steel rended by follied flight,
That stranger lives forever in the light
Suspended in iconic timeless sprawl.
I wonder, in the briefness of his fall,
Did he derive the meaning of it all?
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
Why do you do what you do,
For many it is said for bounty adieu,
To live as long as they can reach,
Held in love that was not preached,
So,
Why do you do what you do,
Made in choice and decisions anew,
Lined with the convictions of the soul and hue,
Written in stone or chanced by clues,
So,
Why do you do what you do,
Searching for a golden cue,
Cure for the soldered shame,
Living towards a blackless blame,
So,
Why do you do what you do,
Is it for naught or is it for thought,
Is it for the righteousness in your mind that you sought?
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
A time was when
Nothing short of my deepest ******
Once and then many times more
Would satiate me
Then quietly crept between us
The hiatus
When I learned new ways to play
Chanced on a week a golden day
Then over a month or more
I had found the key to the secret door.
Now at the most heightened end of the affair
Satiates me a strand of her hair!
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
Rose in a dew
I thought I caught
a glimpse of you.
Zooming in
I thought I can
get closer.
Only to eye on
upon a river
amid myriad
over looking stars.
A drop spans out
to be a sea
neither did it tarry.
I thought I would
give up that big
is not for me.
But yet a scene
never washed away
is intact unblurred
beneath the million
waves of the sea.
I thought the moon
will give up!
It can never touch
but always returns
over the sea
can't forget a scene.
So is me
once that
I chanced to see.
Jun 29, 2022
Jun 29, 2022 at 11:28 PM UTC
Will was a mouse of tawny hue.
And as he grew he came upon
A leaf beside a silver stream.
When slithering, then creeping on
A monster snuck from olive grass
And all but asked to have his fill.
Down stream our friend did run away,
And thus escaped the brave mouse Will.
So floating on along the stream,
And wondering where he should go.
Then at a fork in brooklet bank
He took the way to forest old
Our mouse with fur of sandy brown,
The raft he grounded on the shore
And ran into the darkened wood.
From whence he would return no more.
For in the wood there lived a rat
Who did attack the chance to prey
Upon this humble passerby
That chanced to try to find his way
And then our mouse found destiny
And resting he was unaware
Of danger there. Rat had his fill
of Mr. Will and didn't leave a hair
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 2:05 AM UTC
before existentialism, and nietzsche in mind, philosophy was written
or spoken of accepting the socratic rigidity of words,
the rigidity of words known through
the socratic method of inquiry:
the simplest of questions imposed on
the meaning of words; e.g. what is virtue?
but with existentialism this old method
of inquiry, the poised posing bewilderment
lost its quality, in that the new method of
inquiry was given to stress not a method
of questioning but that of ambiguity,
even though this new method that simply
said the reverse of what is virtue as
the preservation of a narrative: "virtue" concedes
many variations exampled true, e.g. -
this dittoing going against - previously said /
as above - became staged against
a brick wall - since this method, the existential
method of brushing aside inquiry and entering
the realm of ambiguity was already present -
the pluralism of meaning found in certain words;
it isn't a question whether red or blue can
be ambiguous, this allocation of noun
and quality is all too pervasive - so when
an ambiguity is allowed to exercise its stressor
posit - the word in question is allocated
a verb orientation in its exercise of use and example,
further diluted by the quantity and lack of example,
and ascribed contorting
adjectivity due to the dilution of meaning: with lessened
recognition of sought out qualification to sentence
an enzymic perfection of: banker and philanthropist,
priest and maximilian kolbe, poetry and lack of envy.
even though these examples are idealistic,
they provide the obvious ambiguity already apparent,
hence the double ambiguity of opposites, ideal opposites.
in shorthand - if socrates were to come
upon reading existentialism - his questions
regarding the virtues would be bound to free floating
terms in the ditto bubbles of flimsiness of non-inquiry -
bewildered by the number of prompts to question,
there would be no necessary ambiguity to many other
terms of inactivity - such as the previously mentioned
red and blue, dog and glue, but too many, it would seem,
should a strict belief in categorising virtue as a noun
but not a verb be kept - for categorisation of such nature
only provides a linear cascade without due action
or cared for imitation - ending with the only chance of virtue
chanced and seen as an unvirtuous person
doing crossword puzzles in silence - and already
virtue's opposite is engaged in defending itself
and justifying its ills by first forcing many synonyms to
cover it in ambiguity, and asserting itself as an adjective
within a noun framework blunt: virtue v. unvirtuous
will only confiscate siamese phonetic mingling to ease the definition;
i guess that's how rhyming was born, the opposite
of alphabetical ordering: a, aardvark the violet's blue
****** a doughnut with you.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
I felt a spirit of love begin to stir
Within my heart, long time unfelt till then;
And saw Love coming towards me fair and fain
(That I scarce knew him for his joyful cheer),
Saying, 'Be now indeed my worshipper!'
And in his speech he laughed and laughed again.
Then, while it was his pleasure to remain,
I chanced to look the way he had drawn near,
And saw the Ladies Joan and Beatrice
Approach me, this the other following,
One and a second marvel instantly.
And even as now my memory speaketh this,
Love spake it then: 'The first is christened Spring;
The second Love, she is so like to me.'
3.1k
Waiting for him,
Was like a,
Mindless abyss.
I thought,
This time I should give it a shot.
Add plus venture,
Into a realm full with pleasures of flesh.
Rather waiting to lie in sepulcher.
Thence came the wooers,
On horses, chariots, planes and cars,
Courted me to the foreign lands of brand new emotions.
Greasy, exotic, curious and even obscure ,
To satiate my hunger,
They poured,
And I sinfully devoured.
Ooooh!
A whip here.
Ouuch!
A tickle there.
Aahhhhh!!
The sheer unfolding of their classy work.
Every night lusciously they came,
Wrapped me in an awe of satire, skepticism and imagination,
Not to say of the bruises they gave,
Tears I shed of Anger,Pain ,Love and Hate.
Still I followed them blindly and agape,
Because a new world in me was taking shape.
Of Shakespeare, Freud, Tolstoy, Eliot, Byron, Wordsworth and my then fav,
the great Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
A medley of fantasy, fact-fiction, comedy, realism and romance.
Oh!
What not I chanced upon.
All emphasizing emotion, imagination, scientific and natural thought.
There was no stopping of these gnawing hunger pangs,
None lasted more than a one night stand.
The foolish me, unaware, cascaded in the fatal encounters,
Not knowing the pangs are of soul to reach the supreme ******
Thence came a Seer
The Prophet,
The Wanderer,
The Forerunner,
It was as if he can rip me with his thoughts,
And see my soul through that tear…..
I distinctly remember that divine night,
The moment I held him in my desirous hands,
I was no more in dual fight.
Things started falling into place,
Was no more in that abysmal space.
Still I would say,
It’s a current phase.
This soon would also evade.
New Lover ,
For every new night…
To cut a long story short,
Just so,
Because of your low attention span,
The lover, the poet , the wooer
Was the great
Khalil Gibran.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 1:05 PM UTC
I scanned two lines with some surmise
As over Keats I chanced to pore:
'And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four.'
Says I: 'Why was it only four,
Not five or six or seven?
I think I would have made it more,--
Even eleven.
'Gee! If she'd lured a guy like me
Into her gelid grot
I'd make that Belle Dame sans Merci
Sure kiss a lot.
'Them poets have their little tricks;
I think John counted kisses for,
Not two or three or five or six
To rhyme with "sore."'
2.9k
When we were young,
Before broken by age
We danced our grand pas de deux,
Upon life's stage
Our plie's were graceful
Many grand pas, we danced
And I, never knowing,
A solo I chanced
I thought I'd always,
Be your danseus
I'd hoped for no other ballerina,
You'd have a use
You did glissade
Into my heart
But I see I've danced solo,
From the start
Pas de waltz en tournant, alone
My dance now
Since your grand jete, from my side
This ballerina, will take her bow
And for the final time,
The curtain closes
But for this ballerina,
There are
No roses
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 7:29 AM UTC
I to the open road,
You to the hunchbacked street -
Which of us two
Shall the earlier rue
That day we chanced to meet?
I with a heart that's sound,
You with sick fancies of pain -
Which of us two
Would the earlier rue
If we chanced to meet again?
I jingle homely lore,
While you rhyme is with kiss -
Which of us two
Will the earlier rue
The love of the Hoylake Miss?
Not I the first to go,
Nor I the first to deceive -
Which of us two
Shall the the earliest rue
Our garden of make-believe?
You were a Chinese god,
I an offering fair,
As we entered the
Garden of Allah,
To sing our holy prayer.
Entered with hearts bowed low,
Yet I heard a voice that cried:
For he is the god of the
Sacrifice,
You are the crucified.
It was all make-believe,
A foolish game of play,
Our garden of Allah
A drawing-room,
Our Chinese god of clay.
Strings of bruises for pearls,
Tears for forget-me-nots,
And a deadly pain
Of the sickening shame
Watching the fading spots.
As quickly they faded,
The heart of me faded as well,
Until nothing is left
Of my garden,
But a soul sunk to hell.
Hail!
Poet prend ton lute -Je disparaire,
No more together we'll enter the
Enchanted garden of make-believe,
Nor my sad soul listen while thine deceive.
No more you'll be the God of Sacrifice,
Nor I the crucified.
Ah, Garden of Allah -how bitter sweet
Thy fruit. Why breakest thou the heart?
Why spoilest thou the soul with notes
From thy golden lute?
Lo! our garden a common room
Our Chinese god burnt clay, and
The singing of verses a funeral hymn
That awakes with awakening day.
'Twas all such a meaningless play,
Poet prend ton lute -Je disparaitre.
Hail!
Poet, take my hand -we'll walk
Still a little way.
I'll not desert thee at the close of day,
I, too, must pray.
A beggar asking alms of passers-by,
Does not refuse a drink to one who's dry
That once by him did lie.
Poet, come close -before I leave for aye
Take thou my hand, we'll walk still
A little way.
One garment covered both to keep us warm,
What harmed the one, was't not the other's harm?
Close clasped, one single form.
Was it not meant of aye?
Poet, take thou my hand -we'll still
Walk a little way.
2.5k
aesthetic is etiquette
is:
what is & isn't
either:
yet is both: in that they
are the same:
disparaging meanings...
nouns: the source
of ultimate meaning,
crux words...
and the source of
the thesaurus...
i wasn't looking
for a mathematical
conflation of grammar
either...
but...
aesthetic ≠ etiquette...
but...
it does! to keep up
with the formality
of norm, of power,
then
(the)
aesthetic = (the) etiquette,
but there is no "the"
to begin with...
yet...
if the aesthetic ≠ the etiquette...
why, either?!
dumb questions usually
prescribe
a continued willing
to perpetuate:
unquestioned...
hence the dumb questions...
my dumb question
lacks any elaborate ploy
to topple the status quo
for the sole reason that...
my alternative
matches
no genius of the originator
basis...
wordings are not
simply chanced to
be worth debating
a miscarriage
of implementing
the averted coin-flip...
(funny, how the articles
prop up,
miraculously)...
etiquette?
a macabre variety
of aesthetic...
nothing more...
but... etiquette is
still subordinate of
aesthetic...
isn't it?
hardly:
etiquette is still
subordinate off
aesthetic...
is it?!
a month spent
in a monastery of a novel...
cradle these words
unto a course
of nullification...
if i'd utter them in
a clutter of sparrows:
i'd be a equivalent to a mute
stone...
if i'd utter them in
a lion's harem:
i'd be a cat's meow (if not less)...
if i'd utter them in
the crow's shamanism
of all shadows...
i'd still be less
the croaking hark
of a voice that
might dictate: obey...
so...
so...
ah...
was kommen:
was ist...
und alles was:
ich, ich sterben...
ich war geboren?
ich war
nie sein: geboren....
ich war sein: sterben!
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
I found that ivory image there
Dancing with her chosen youth,
But when he wound her coal-black hair
As though to strangle her, no scream
Or ****** movement did I dare,
Eyes under eyelids did so gleam;
Love is like the lion's tooth.
When She, and though some said she played
I said that she had danced heart's truth,
Drew a knife to strike him dead,
I could but leave him to his fate;
For no matter what is said
They had all that had their hate;
Love is like the lion's tooth.
Did he die or did she die?
Seemed to die or died they both?
God be with the times when I
Cared not a thraneen for what chanced
So that I had the limbs to try
Such a dance as there was danced -
Love is like the lion's tooth.
2.3k
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
With audacious openness
Let me accept substantial lot of men folk
When it comes to efforts in love,
Most are misfortunate.
Every time they dare to built
Affiliative bonding for love
With beauties beheld
By their limited eyes
The invincible whirling spell
Of fortune’s fool
Beguile them forlornly
Down the social abyss of time,
I and my type not an exception to the club
Of the guys who swallowed misfortune
Like the dog of Theodore erotokorostos
Does to a piece of bone
In poetic obscurantism
Of the corruptible simple souls
Obtaining their pathetic lot from ***** and wine,
In the first trial I chanced on a neurotic peasant,
In the second trial I chanced on turn to be henpecked,
On the third trial I chanced on a beautiful paranoid,
My fourth trial chanced me a deadly stooge,
My fifth trial gave me the worst blow
As I forlornly chanced on the time’s public commoner,
My sixth trial makes me chicken
Had it not been poetic audacity
That makes me brave to chew in public
The lot of my misfortune as I recall
The bitter sweetness of chancing on
A beautiful epileptic kleptomaniac,
My tired trial in the waned efforts
Chanced me a lesbian with insignificant bisexuality,
O! I now tire off from misfortunes of love
With a last black chance on a neurotic money-maniac,
And this is the silent lot of men
In their usual efforts to fulfill their dreams of love.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
90
Within my reach!
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!
Soft sauntered thro’ the village—
Sauntered as soft away!
So unsuspected Violets
Within the meadows go—
Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago!
2.2k
It's been 23 years since I first saw you
The feelings never changed one bit
I try to run away from you
I'm halfway around the world now
But the memory of your sweet smile never left me
That's because I never let you go
You don't even know you still mean everything to me
When I chanced across a picture of you today
Smiling at the most beautiful child in your arms
Your smile told me you're happy,
That was all I ever wanted you to be
Of course I wish I was with you
But I always knew it was not meant to be
I know I'll never speak to you
And you'll never smile at me
But what I feel for you goes beyond that
Your happiness means everything to me
A corner of my being is always there for you.
I think of you all the time
Sometimes I even dream of you
When that happens it makes my day
For I carry the memory of the dream with me
I'm known to be very pragmatic
I know its silly to hold on to memories that never were
But I'll keep whatever memory I have of you
The few smiles I have of you will remain
That's how I will always remember you
I just wanted to say I'll always love you!
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 6:58 PM UTC
Eyes chanced upon a brown object
Nestled on a crowd of multi-colored subjects
A bunch of dried and fresh leaves,
Small, thin and soft spikes of twigs
And I wondered.....how on earth
Did fibers and strips of polyester sack
Get included in this mix?
One would think it might fall, and be slung
But it stayed put, steady, where it hang
I was trying to figure it out:
A cylnder, at first thought...but I had my doubts
I realized, it was a crooked oblong
And, from its opening on one side, came the soft songs
A small part of which, was attached
To the thorny Bougainvillea branch.
Strange.....for it was small...yet steep
A human hand could never go deep
You wouldn't think it could contain anything
And yet...inside it, were resting
Three tiny eggs...warming
And eventually, would be hatching.
Soon, the Red Palm and Sweetsop trees
Buzzed with activities
Birds of many kinds, watched, upon the bay window eave,
High on the electric cables...they perched and wouldn't leave
To and fro.......high and low, they flew
The air was filled with bird sounds i never knew
Soon, too, soft tweeting was heard
Along with the louder chirping of the older birds
Then came that morning, when, a birdling,
Eagerly, tested its wings,
Then fell off its nest
Down to the roots of the Red Palm tree
Where it almost met its final rest...
Suddenly, came to the rescue, two big palms
That put the birdling back inside its home
And reinforced the nearly displaced nest...
Both birdling and nest, were put to a test....
Today, other birds fly around this once busy space
Where life's significant phases
Inevitably took place,
Lonely and deserted now,
For the birdlings are fully grown
They're now flying on their own...
From my rocking chair, I could see
Among those entangled twigs
Hidden among a crowd of sprigs
Still ably rests
An abandoned strange nest
That once told the story
Of an Olive-backed sunbird....and its glory...
Sally
Copyright February 18, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
^^^^^^^^^^
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC
1-DESIRE: 4-UNCARE:
All of me now desires,be deep Distracted ideals,a nature human
Wholly Inside of you,Pervade Heavenly woven synergies broken
Your mind, limbs, Heart, all pores Power of pleasures mortal, killing magic
Soak in your salty sweat warm Snapping wands,bonds dearly formed
Mold dancing to a one united. Sweet temptress transient, conquering care.
2-PASSION: 5- DISILLUSION:
Bodies’ lithe now twined serpentine We betrayed, cheated US, in neglect,
Straining desperate, for a merger Holes in hearts bleeding precious Love,
Spiritual, souls both for unison striving Admitting indifference cruel, ruining stealthily
Hearts two pumping as one to fuse. Our paradise gained, won so easy, lost terribly.
Sacred is everything, this carnality too. Chanced eternity wasted, destiny unmeant made.
3-LOVE: 6- REALITY:
Ensconced tight in warmth’s mutual, Tempered in time space, 3-LOVE loyal savior sole,
All is for sacrifice on our loves altar, Enshrined indestructible, in being, memories relived.
Suspended thoughts, egos burnt ash Pleasures now cynically felt, loves truly responded,
A Love Mindless meditating deep, No dilemma human; I flow generous, as an epitaph,
In some state mystically enlightened. Thanking destiny for this reclaim, my love,faring well.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
Why do I see angels
That no one else can see?
They look like people
Just like you and like me.
They are everywhere
I have ever chanced to go.
They work their magic secretly
So nobody else can know.
I see them helping people
With subtle acts of kindness
And don’t seem to suffer from
What is a common blindness.
They don’t look for rewards
Or the sound of public applause.
They share with generosity
And quietly work at their cause.
They don’t have wings
But they are angels nonetheless.
They fit the titled perfectly.
We really don’t have to guess.
I’m beginning to think
Maybe I should not even try
To figure this one out
For me to understand why.
Why do I see angels
That no one else can see?
They look like people
Just like you and like me.
They are everywhere
I have ever chanced to go.
They work their magic secretly
So nobody else can know.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
Whilst strolling in the countryside
I had time to dwell
On deeply profound questions
Like: Do badger farts have a smell?
I pondered as I wandered
On this important thought
And then I found a badger sett
And so I thought I ought
To settle this complex question
That had bothered me all day
I stuck my silly head down there
Boy was I was made to pay
For when a badger thinks he’s trapped
He lets go a tremendous fart
The stench was green and nauseous
And **** near stopped my heart
Trying to withdraw in haste
I ran out of luck
For no matter how I wriggled
My head was firmly stuck
A passer by chanced on me
But he was not a friend
He stole my shoes and trousers
Exposing my rear end
The farmer who dug me out
Laughed until he cried
I had to walk home bare of arse
Whilst covering my pride
So now I've learned a lesson
With experiments to be frugal
I’ll wait until I get back home
And look it up on Google
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
I once chanced upon
A lonely mannequin
Discarded and abandoned
She was stripped of her clothes
Vulnerable to her surroundings
Her arm was distorted
Yet she bore no expression
Her wig plastered on a face
She was faceless
A mask she wore
Slowly I approached
Taking ginger steps
One, two, three
Tenderly, I lifted her damp hair
Curiosity killed the cat
A shrilling scream punctured the air
Her face now glowed red
Her body
Writhing in pain
Taken aback
I hastened my pace
Away from her
Away from the plastic mannequin
I once chanced upon
A lonely mannequin
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 11:42 AM UTC
*Through serendipity
This poem came to be
It might just be coincidence
I fell upon it happenstance
A valuable phenomenon
This poem that I chanced upon
With luck as pure as it can be
This poem of serendipity*
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
Total parrot care
Cried the signboard
In the narrow sleepy by-lane
I gave it a dreamy stare.
I have been too rare on this road
Coming this way was no need
But when I chanced upon that signboard
My search ended for parrot feed.
Is there anybody there?
I echoed de la mare
Found none at the counter
Not even the shopkeeper!
Dismayed I looked around
If some human semblance could be found
But fell nothing in my gaze
Other than a parrot in a cage!
Turning to leave I was stopped by a voice
*Find here sir a variety of choice
Not just parrot feed
Under one roof all that they need.*
Who is speaking I asked in awe
There wasn’t a human face I saw
But could tell it with certainty
There were eyes watching me.
*Don’t leave sir without the delicious pellet
Once you take it you’ve to come back
Serves well a parrot’s palate
The bird loves this crunchy snack.*
It now emerged who was playing the trick
I was hearing parrot speak
None other there not one human folk
The shop was run by parrot talk!
*I scampered out with one long hop
Disappeared the lane the parrot shop
I was tossing on my sweated bed
By this funny dream that rocked my head!*
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC