"consecrate" poems
dedicated to all the better poets here...
don't know much about a quatrain
don't know how to write a refrain,
surely could not compose a
courtyard elegy
maybe after
and still untilled,
I been buried,
'n checked out
the neighborhood competition...
as for limerick,
that is Dr. Seuss
and Ogden Nash's shtick
with whom, eye,
a believed descendant,
cannot compete...
Oh dear me,
no ode node-ed within,
as for a pastoral,
kinda hard to feat,
where I live,
a pastoral is grass cracks
surviving under,
breaking through to the other side
of concrete and blacktop rulers
Maybe one of you
will haiku,
send us a senryu,
send off, see ya!
the doc once diagnosed
a severe case of inflamed iambic pentametery,
with antibiotics and a diet of Hamletery,
was cured most satisfactorily
this silly pen-man-sinking-ship
ain't capable of dat,
boy how 'bout
an epitaph
for a graveyard stone,
should be plenty of room...
as it will be plenty short...
all eye see and all eye know
is vignettes that birth in me
walking down the street,
that's my bread and butter,
my soul's delicacies...
and moments that recorded
here, for a posteriored posterity,
as noted in my all my living
testaments,
drinking and spilling the vin,
from the uninvented igniting vignettes
that consecrate and connect our
knowing each other though odds are
we will never meet...we can yet
drink together
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Don't know much about the French I took.
But I do know that I love you,
And I know that if you love me, too,
What a wonderful world this would be."
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
At least with Solemn Differences sing
Honouring Friends of Great Cheer celebrate
Your arm on her lap; The other on him
And with a Flash these Blue Knights consecrate
Jolly, so Potent turn Tan into Red
That pleasant alarm Blue Oracles see
And guess which Debate your Incarnate fed
Whether you are or whether not to be
Ready for Cause to the Next Big Event
Telling yourself to Inspiration run
Foresaw this Scope: Friendship and Teamwork's meant
But all of this time it was just for Fun.
Seriousness Adore, Someone licks the Tip
In your Patron; Which was really your lip.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.
I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everyday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.
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Consecrate us
to grow more!
Bless us
to climb high!
Craft us
to become helpful and useful to all!
Furnish us vigour
to stand sturdily !
Radiance us
to swell your splendour and simplicity every where!
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
If I should labor through daylight and dark,
Consecrate, valorous, serious, true,
Then on the world I may blazon my mark;
And what if I don't, and what if I do?
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I have no idea
What brought me here
To this place,
This mystical temple
Of a sacred space
But here I stand
And my arms
My heart
are wide open
Raised to the heavens
As I pray
Open to receiving miracles
Open to the wonders
Of this love
And I wonder
What an alternate universe
May have brought
But it is pointless
For I am thankful
And happy with what I have
I am happy
To have been created as me
To have created and still
To create
And I am elated
To a heavenly sort of place
As my heart I do consecrate
Raise my eyes to the stellar fires
Bless each and one of my earthly
And unearthly desires
I pour the sacred water
Upon my head
Feel its coolness
In the sparkling night
I feel the divine essence
from above
Bless my spirit, Bless my soul
I thank the Universe
For keeping me whole
For making me a woman,
A mother
A friend devoted
For staying real,
not sugar-coated
For being blessed
A sensual creature
****** delight
a powerful feature)
I am thankful for my strength
And intellectual liberty
And for my constant fight
To keep myself
Free
And, most of all --
I am ever grateful
For this divine opportunity…
Ever humbled, as it is
Bestowed upon me:
To experience
the profound inner light
of my own emotions
to give myself a gift
of utter devotion
to allow myself
without inhibition
the freedom of expression
I was meant for
To come into
Fruition.
Yes, in joy
Yes, in wonder
I raise my head to the heavens
And take in the thunder
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
I
Some day I will go to Aarhus
To see his peat-brown head,
The mild pods of his eye-lids,
His pointed skin cap.
In the flat country near by
Where they dug him out,
His last gruel of winter seeds
Caked in his stomach,
Naked except for
The cap, noose and girdle,
I will stand a long time.
Bridegroom to the goddess,
She tightened her torc on him
And opened her fen,
Those dark juices working
Him to a saint's kept body,
Trove of the turfcutters'
Honeycombed workings.
Now his stained face
Reposes at Aarhus.
II
I could risk blasphemy,
Consecrate the cauldron bog
Our holy ground and pray
Him to make germinate
The scattered, ambushed
Flesh of labourers,
Stockinged corpses
Laid out in the farmyards,
Tell-tale skin and teeth
Flecking the sleepers
Of four young brothers, trailed
For miles along the lines.
III
Something of his sad freedom
As he rode the tumbril
Should come to me, driving,
Saying the names
Tollund, Grauballe, Nebelgard,
Watching the pointing hands
Of country people,
Not knowing their tongue.
Out here in Jutland
In the old man-killing parishes
I will feel lost,
Unhappy and at home.
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They reached behind my sternum,
wrapped their hands around my heart,
and attempted to strangle it.
I pried their aching hands away,
and I tore my bleeding heart in half.
One half shaped itself into bread,
and the other half fermented into wine.
My eyelids slowly came together
as I let the holy water wash over me.
My words consecrate the communion,
and I bless it for people to consume
so we remember that we're not alone.
Apr 9, 2022
Apr 9, 2022 at 9:32 PM UTC
1187
Oh Shadow on the Grass,
Art thou a Step or not?
Go make thee fair my Candidate
My nominated Heart—
Oh Shadow on the Grass
While I delay to guess
Some other thou wilt consecrate—
Oh Unelected Face—
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Ah what avails the sceptred race,
Ah what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.
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*You deluge my eyes
In aqueous bombs
Because you love me
In ways that defy existentiality,
That hallow my spirit,
That quake terraqueous Gaia,
Exhale me as a Cosmos
―Of the Cosmo-Plexus of the Wildest Love.
Consecrate me O Niveous Dove,
With thine pearlescent eyes
For love
(Ineffably tender)
Is your Gender.
Pain is my golden raiment,
Dirge and piety
For you
Stir in my soul
By the thew of your
Beauteous, Tempestuous Affections.
Create in me
An intemerate heart;
Impregnable,
For then I will know
That the Silver Wings of Dreams
Are impregnable.
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 7:55 AM UTC
Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know
That things depart which never may return:
Childhood and youth, friendship and love’s first glow,
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn.
These common woes I feel. One loss is mine
Which thou too feel’st, yet I alone deplore.
Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine
On some frail bark in winter’s midnight roar:
Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood
Above the blind and battling multitude:
In honored poverty thy voice did weave
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty,—
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,
Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.
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A Korean Princess came into my life this day,
She declared her love for me.
An amazing, beautiful, intelligent young woman,
A half a world away.
A Korean Princess, who reminds me of you, my long departed wife.
Born generations apart,
You! my Princess, are beautiful; you are my Korean Princess, my Queen.
You are kind! You have a beautiful Soul!
I wish I could be with you always too!
I love my Angel in Heaven more than anyone knows,
She is waiting for me,
I love my wife!
I love you too, my Korean Princess,
But In death,
My beloved wife and I; We did not part!
My lovely wife is always wrapping her wings around me.
Guarding me with her, Angel love and memories.
I pray you understand, my Korean Princess,
My wife, my only love is patient!
My wife Is patiently waiting for me in Heaven!!!!
This life is not lonely, My Korean Princess; I know!
My wife is always standing beside me.
She is always waiting for me!
To consecrate our love before God in Heaven one day.
Copyright © 2017 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
puffing out smoke like the entangling of long hair
with my portable hookah of acid apple palette experienced;
then eyelid the softest skin the warm puff puff experienced
when unable to see the gaseous
entangle of thus compared:
cut off the eyelids and become
serpents, rather than circumcising
exchanging loss of masculine
additives with excess of feminine
pin points of skin like the bloating
of the throat: larynx region with a thyroid
cancer bubbling and blubbering:
circumcise and make men eagerly warring...
and women prone to consecrate approval
as if dreaming... a naked sword without a sheath...
but instead of circumcision, the cutting off ********
cut the eyelids! what then? i'd begin revision
of man by cutting off the eyelids rather than the ********
**** me, why not both?! cut the eyelids
and cut the ******** then narrate what excesses of
womankind are worth disregarding:
feminine ******** and perverted religion,
hey, excess skin of man was the culprit once,
now the woman's chance to equate kippah with
a monk's hairstyle, with her own slit of
niqab and postbox of forcing through a hole
as narrow / as tight so that an object capably sat on
can be delivered.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
I read the Bible, totally
To consecrate me.
I read Castaneda avidly
To elevate me.
To teach myself to speak
I wrote poetry.
To calm my neuroses
I performed musically.
The sky above me
The earth below
So much about this world
That I do not know.
I am definitely an animal
But not so very wild.
Yet not so very different
Than I was as a child.
I learned all the verses
They taught me in school.
I tried to heed the warnings
Not grow up as a fool.
I memorized the advice
From those who seemed to care.
I counted all my blessings
And did not forget to share.
It’s not always easy
The lessons from school.
It takes a lot of courage
To live by the Golden Rule.
When life doesn't go right
As it will to all good men,
I remember all the good I did
And then do it all again.
The sky above me
The earth below
So much about this world
That I do not know.
I am definitely an animal
But not so very wild.
Yet not so very different
Than I was as a child.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
weathered fingertips in sensual crescendo
arouse blitzing keystrokes to commove
wild Js and Zeds, Ks and Is too.
harmony of the king's three-thousand acre jungle
swallowing the stormy orange cyclical stew
and tantamount to its feral cavities
thrushes whet jagged spinal bones to split
news of the no-rhythm, sambas of new religious canter
infiltrates the **** cavernous walls
This inner ear and greater sound
knew to find sanctuary here.
Lends its awesome craft to the next
And next, and next, and next;
beautiful unboxed melodies
new unused sweet single-reeds
threading that 20s centrifuge.
Saxophone. Incantations unfolding
Aloof in its ***** it unwraps
The veil of green, a costume of black coffees
Cigarette stained curtains exhumed to greet
Thick plumes of albicant sinewy smoke
At the heap of its glorious song
Uniting the funnel of eardom to consecrate
Bliss. Intrinsic and purple
An irrational knot of Portuguese drum
Met over by African toms and rattles
A glue imbued into those unmistakable
Chakras of this spell of mourning and reversed
Names of starlight girls and their other'd selves
These are the weapons of our new key strokes.
And upon the cortex it reveals this lift anew
Where death greeted me to intervene a place
Where sound and silence meet, and new strikes
Put my hands in halves. Pear-shaped birds pecking
At the joints, and where bowl-shaped tones bring
Their impeccable limbs to atone with auburn and cerise soils
Beneath the high ridges of doom- the empowering backspace
Does not exist, only new nothingnesses and their hooves
Splashing into each step into the next, and the next, and the next,
And the next.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
Four score and seventy one years ago,
fifty thousand men, in blue and gray
divided, became one, in red united
to consecrate the ground where we
now stand. From the Shenandoah
Valley, and the Potomac banks they
marched, and fell at Cemetery Hill,
Little Round Top, and Devil's Den.
But on this day, they rise to give
meaning to their sacrifice; they leave
behind their sabers and their musket
rifles, their cannon silent, their battle
done; they rise in peace at Gettysburg,
they rise at dawn with the morning sun.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 7:05 AM UTC
Vicissitude may pollute
Thy consecrate frame
Yet never be out
Little from propagate aim
With sound endeavor
Healthy optimism
And energetic fruitful labor
Drink joy of resolved whim.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 6:40 AM UTC
Beyond the lurid hills of wonder and the mirror lake,
A land of livelihood and mirthful wake.
Where seraphim touch the facade of nature's beauty,
Where nephilim perform their sacred duty.
The vast expanse of ethereal asunder,
The demons quake in its peaceful slumber.
A paradise for few where the holy once held,
Now the desires to consecrate purposes will meld.
The fruitful trees of an innocuous test,
Which hold the desires of men in its breadth.
The wary traveler dare not stay,
For in the garden will you shy away.
Breathe the breath of a thousand days,
Yearn for the fruit from an eternal wage.
The garden of life, the garden of sages.
The angels will call, and to the cull shall sin fall.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:07 PM UTC
I gaze into the cloudy exclamation point
That once radiated pure love
Only to find the mask of Ironman
Rusting from the tears wept
In ignorance of time displayed
I curse your hollow shell felled
Before the half moon rose
To consecrate your memories denied
Oh , The indignation watching
Love ******* crumbs into heartflake
I close your eyes forbearable the pain
Stained by pain's piercing sight
I conclude in contusion's might
Now night can never be as black
As the vacancy of my heart
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
River, with blue, black, red or clear, water, speaks force,
by a wordless word, uttered, throughout the course of flow,
and the fierce, swirling currents hidden below,
I am that, which shows its urgent need
to commune with limitlessness.
Winds, carry with them, a meaning concealed,
of elation, an avarice for every whiff of smell,
wind I am, with full of speed, demonstrated as
a wish to embrace, pollinate and proceed.
Earth, my nurturing mother, remains in me, mud red,
life giving sprout, the deep thirst of blood;
its nourishing salts, has secret memories from long distances,
from the very beginning, we as salt of the earth share.
Earth is where I have planted ancestral memories for ever,
the desire, to touch, kiss, explore, spread roots, propagate.
Sky is my mind beyond myself, 'sky mind' of cosmos,
when, the clouds that constantly in move, blocking the sun of knowledge,
are finally removed and all become clear, I am ready to see the whole,
I stand in awe, like a wondering kid, stand naked below, throwing away all my toys,
seeking the answer to the conundrum of my existence.
Fire, the soul of the rock, in the core, the undying spark, that has seen all,
igneous father, the intellect beyond form, that consecrate all my offerings
of body, mind and spirit, flames in my ***** my love for life eternal as a seed I plant in her,
**Accept every thing I renounce, with a smile
in this sacrificial flames, Oh! holy fire
make them subtle, formless, transcendental, immortal.
"Idam na mama"(This is not for me)**
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
The Pyramid is the Messenger
of the Spirit world after we pass on.
We all must resolve to consecrate
our actions to the Pyramid there.
The Orb is the handmaid that
every soul is given for its care.
Dec 22, 2020
Dec 22, 2020 at 4:03 PM UTC
i
I shalt consecrate one as mine empress
As she sitteth high up upon her throne;
She shalt be the ruler of mine dominion
An abode aloft the Earthling's decor below.
ii
I shalt put upon her eminence gracefully
A castle tiera upon her frowning head;
Wherein when one's shalt tryeth to hurt her
I'll giveth mine life, to protecteth mine wife's bed.
iii
And we shalt wander on the streamside
Whilst ourn harp-player's strum for us in ourn court;
Sipping on wine, of amare divine
Ourn spirit's and finger's, locked with none remorse.
iv
Though tis this is all just an illusion
Hoping for one day, mine empress to awaketh from her sleep;
Wherein wherever she shalt be, I cant findeth her
I thinkest I am dead, Maby asleep?
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Could you contain my sighs of solitude
by harboring the anxiety in this fragile sea?
On your streets lies the tenderness, aging,
incandescent wind shelters and recalls
them in the distance
the flame anchored in your colors.
Habana,
Lucid, shadowed reminiscent garden
in an infinite insomnia
harnessing the dawn.
Throbbing uniquely,
uniquely understanding,
following the beat, freshness,
watercolor eyes of the city.
Giraldilla, proclamation, mystery,
chaste voice in a calm urge.
I consecrate your vitreaux,
sensing your baroque capitals,
Dusty, unraveled.
I'd like to talk:
Game, rainbow, love,
People, noise, cars;
Essays on flavors.
A captivated rumor,
your arbor dances a naked certainty:
A park, a cloud, summer, God.
The boundary hurts the clef,
the litany resorts to music,
when the stars nurse your elusive chant.
Far… blood calls for your passion,
Languishing, nobody edifies it,
in the absent dwelling of your sun, your moon.
The corner dwellers come to my mind,
the adjacent towns, trembling bedrooms.
I seek within you, dear city,
that home, The Cathedral,
that childhood, concrete flesh,
mother's kiss fading goodbye:
upholds my venerated memories.
Translated by Vanessa Cresevich
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
But be contented when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away;
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee,
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine the better part of me.
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead,
The coward conquest of a wretch’s knife,
Too base of thee to be rememberèd,
The worth of that is that which it contains,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.
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