"concordant" poems
Let the bird of loudest lay
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul precurrer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever’s end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing
Save the eagle, feather’d king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak’st
With the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,
‘Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence:—
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they loved, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none;
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
‘Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix’ sight;
Either was the other’s mine.
Property was thus appall’d,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was call’d.
Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either neither;
Simple were so well compounded,
That it cried, ‘How true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none
If what parts can so remain.’
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.
THRENOS
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclosed in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix’ nest;
And the turtle’s loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity:
’Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be;
Beauty brag, but ’tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
7.1k
Amassed an inventory of words, marvelous and concordant, reserved for the late at night, tremulous and tremor shaking, purposed to soothe with honey, milk and cookies, and coax them, the odd ones out, to emerge slowly, oh so slowly, with a magnetic resonance, yank them from their granite tombs, and employ the force of Od to convert them over to their own side, and will not pause, be placated until they are my spring waters, my co-religionists, in grace and kindness, and I will levitate them above us, espousing our collectivity, each a designer, an artist of our gemeinschaft, free to come, free to stay, free to endeavor to clarify and excavate the roots so deep of the thin reeds of their solitary society, to stand up and count yourself linked but incapable of breaking the chain (see my photo) and even though there is nothing new under the sun, let us all remind them, a Seussian refrain, the sun nonetheless will come and clang, invitation engraved, naming you with calligraphic flourishes, a fine poem planted firm in our rooted hands saying:
Welcome child
>~~~~~~~~~<
*God Blesss the Child Whose Got His Own
Billie Holiday / Arthur Herzog Jr.
Them that's got shall get
Them that's not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets don't ever make the grade
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When you're gone, spending ends
They don't come no more
Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself
But don't take too much
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
He just worry 'bout nothin'
Cause he's got his own*
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
Unkissed, these lips keep speaking soft your name
In whispers, falling faintly from my tongue.
So soft I thought unheard, I calling came
Concordant to my kiss, your heart unsprung.
Weary from the wanting and the wooing
And seeking out a seat to sit as guests,
They sat around the source of my undoing
And suckled on the love beneath your breast.
Yet ‘twere that love to offer up its heart,
Surrender to the kiss and not desist,
No longer would I need impart this Art,
No reason for this Sonnet to exist.
Stay the pen: reward me for my patience-
All my hopes and breathless aspirations.
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 7:37 AM UTC
AGENT OF CHANGE
Only my skin
yet sa'em.
Everythang of
His has changed,
His heart,
Her mind, and
Their life is
changed, hurray
We were finally on Cl😊Udine, this is
a new world.
I craved a
want f'r
change in
the world
around me.
I felt a need
of Love, peace,
Solidarity. Agent of change, Concordant, to embrace cuddled
liberty. Infrastructure, there's
need creating
a world we
desired to encounter
around us. Worldly wane, vale of tears. Nev'r cry hold your tears. For it's full of rain. Mind open Watch bane !
#c9_fm
#c9_fm
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 4:17 AM UTC
#**My Mind a boardroom
Many 'mini me' hold a meet
On a repeat
Day in ~ day out
They are quite a clout
The many 'mini me'
Ardent
Arduously Debate
Strategise and Plan
Follow Time Span
Concordant
Decisions to be made
For the very Me
The chatter inside
Silenced .....
Not a word spoken outside
Acoustics fixed...
Now it's only me :))**#
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
Optimism
The dogma that is oh so self-assured of the contingency
proclaiming the prevalence of good over infamy
as though it is incontrovertibly concordant with factual certainty
'tis merely a fallacy or an element of a fantasy in which people live in harmony
Life
But really, in this cruel realm, the mistakes of our forefathers
manifest themselves as demons hollering at us to notify us of the need to be better in this endeavour
or we'd get slaughtered with the blade of a knife comprised of their defeats altogether
forged into a skin piercing crystal reminiscent of their congealed sweat that perspired from the extreme pressure
stimulated from bottling up anger and restraining themselves from speaking up against transgressors
nevertheless, we make the same mistakes to pass it on to the next generation deeming them the successors of displeasure tolerators
Death
What are the benefits of labouring through a 9 to 5 job if its eventuality
is the same as that of lying on the ground all day? It will all come to a finality
the universe is indifferent towards our actuality. It will continue expanding until it reaches the point of totality
emotions are nothing but particular sequences of electric pulses in wads of matter, faulty physicality
any memory held by any entity will eventually be lost at the end of this simulation played out chronologically
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC
--> if the primary purpose of art is to reflect beauty and moral truth
--> and if beauty and truth are associated with one another
--> but violence, as ugliness, implying its antithesis, and the consumption of violent art as therefore a yearning towards beauty and righteousness via its opposite
--> then violence, in art, can only be meaningful precisely because we think it is wrong to hurt
--> therefore it is perfectly concordant with moral aspiration to consume violent art
--> we should consume violent art
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 4:07 PM UTC
altered decency positive as provisions dedicated
tautologies in stated properties, indicators of philosophic
indecency, a plenitude of coins and even sources, a trick
of curiosity, means of kinesipathy celebrated
homogeneous deemed interests of objects, resources cultivated
anew, solid beginnings related to certainty mimic
kyriolexy, come puppets, committed to odd logic
and erroneous ideas, a spacial cases of opponents' rage unabated
and unrestricted, never matched never occasioned, external
perfection, pleasure, frustrated
hopes, a lack of evidence contributes
to predicaments, positive chances of infernal
balance, concordant with sardonic desires, kaleidoscopes
rarefying ****** opportunistic disputes
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 6:28 AM UTC
Looking into the *** of literature
Eratosthenes, and getting some midnight wrong
Broken poems, killjoy, I'm in a mellow dram with my bearhugs
In the chugging lurid frescoes of the mind of a gregarious soul with lion's eyes and a wolf's soul, the warmth lit the Savannah
Seems like cold ice, thawed in the nasty weather, left with positivity
Emerson's rude bridge, on the point, on the road, *** or a livid ultimate cunning guy being the ****** kicking the dirt with the incomplete poetic lines, where souls find lost dreams on the end of passion steps, lost Conrad
Do they murmur as a poem which is one, unbeing and being
The poem reminds of a haiku
She once told you
Tea was taken black
Sweet and right, is white on the top
A soul in the heart of darkness find an accident in the heart of weakness of others, my lungs are paper trite on the road around this town
Bless the soul, it knows peace after we're long gone on the dry dirt, kicking up the darkness in dreaming of you
Fear in a handful of stardust in an ashen raging madman
If you could those poets in that lost poem
If you could read between the lines and keep the metaphors alive
Dying and slipping, sliding away away
Concordant lives of the passion of the Christmas, he lives with his Hagrid-like father
Strolling the empty nights, with the Christ in the amazing hodger, roger in the soul love, and they share the same books
That's why they share different characters, and lines
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 6:49 PM UTC
Why is it that people can’t see
How simple life can be
If they would only recognize
How closely come the ties
Of what we expect of others
And what others expect of us
If we could only be ourselves
Without making such a fuss
If truth be told the only thing
Important for us now
Is just to feel we’re recognized
Sacred space for I and thou
If you could just allow me
To be me and not the you
If we could just be sensitive
And take the final cue
For you works well for you to be
It does not work for others
We all are here to do our part
As sisters and as brothers
So please accept me as I am
I’m perfect in all I do
And understand that who you are
Does certainly work for you
Please do not place me in a box
Formatted from your creation
We all came here as separate selves
Stopping this will cause stagnation
When you can accept that I am me
And you are who you are
When I can feel like all of me
Is really not bizarre
When you can say you love me
Just as I am right now
I will then stop my proving
And may simply just allow
For being me is why I’m here
And being you is important
Can we just hold each other in love
And be more in concordant
Apr 11, 2023
Apr 11, 2023 at 12:11 AM UTC
When I see streets of life
In the streetlights of strife
It cuts me like a knife
To see I've much more to go
Than to grow
Realizing life works in the opposite way
At end
I find myself
Growing more
Than the work done behind
In many ways
The modern lanterns
Amidst motel lintels
Seem rather mellow
At first glance
My lady seems ravishing
But the smell of her...
I'll put my life's work
Into a concordant
The frets raise the pitch
Somehow I'm fretting
With my doubts
In life's pitch
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
love loves to be
left alone--
to pair marks indelibly.
concordant flow,
as to say my love.
materialized water.
named by.
this,
Now.
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 1:46 AM UTC
Soothing inhalation of love's pink air
stokes red the furnace of my drumkit heart
beating. Beating concordant thoughts that snare
rhythmic hums that crescendo to kick start
the exalted exhalation of love.
Passing melody escapes parted lips,
a caged-bird free, singing of hope above
insecurity's storm: writhing tempest
that returns solemn to mindful eddies,
where tired souls find compassionate solace
in that rest between breaths, for once at ease
with realities of life's great promise.
Love's warm caress thaws shadowed doubts of mine;
with broken earthly bonds, praise my Divine!
Jun 5, 2022
Jun 5, 2022 at 11:17 PM UTC