"cozen" poems
When I died last, and, Dear, I die
As often as from thee I go,
Though it be but an hour ago,
And Lovers’ hours be full eternity,
I can remember yet, that I
Something did say, and something did bestow;
Though I be dead, which sent me, I should be
Mine own executor and legacy.
I heard me say, “Tell her anon,
That myself, that is you, not I,
Did **** me,” and when I felt me die,
I bid me send my heart, when I was gone,
But alas could there find none,
When I had ripp’d me, and search’d where hearts should lie;
It kill’d me again, that I who still was true,
In life, in my last will should cozen you.
Yet I found something like a heart,
But colors it, and corners had,
It was not good, it was not bad,
It was intire to none, and few had part.
As good as could be made by art
It seem’d, and therefore for our losses sad,
I meant to send this heart in stead of mine,
But oh, no man could hold it, for ’twas thine.
3.9k
MARION! why that pensive brow?
What disgust to life hast thou?
Change that discontented air;
Frowns become not one so fair.
’Tis not Love disturbs thy rest,
Love’s a stranger to thy breast:
He, in dimpling smiles, appears,
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears;
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding ‘frown’.
Then resume thy former fire,
Some will love, and all admire!
While that icy aspect chills us,
Nought but cool Indiff’rence thrills us.
Would’st thou wand’ring hearts beguile,
Smile, at least, or seem to smile;
Eyes like thine were never meant
To hide their orbs in dark restraint;
Spite of all thou fain wouldst say,
Still in truant beams they play.
Thy lips—but here my modest Muse
Her impulse chaste must needs refuse:
She blushes, curtsies, frowns,—in short She
Dreads lest the Subject should transport me;
And flying off, in search of Reason,
Brings Prudence back in proper season.
All I shall, therefore, say (whate’er
I think, is neither here nor there,)
Is, that such lips, of looks endearing,
Were form’d for better things than sneering.
Of soothing compliments divested,
Advice at least’s disinterested;
Such is my artless song to thee,
From all the flow of Flatt’ry free;
Counsel like mine is as a brother’s,
My heart is given to some others;
That is to say, unskill’d to cozen,
It shares itself among a dozen.
Marion, adieu! oh, pr’ythee slight not
This warning, though it may delight not;
And, lest my precepts be displeasing,
To those who think remonstrance teazing,
At once I’ll tell thee our opinion,
Concerning Woman’s soft Dominion:
Howe’er we gaze, with admiration,
On eyes of blue or lips carnation;
Howe’er the flowing locks attract us,
Howe’er those beauties may distract us;
Still fickle, we are prone to rove,
These cannot fix our souls to love;
It is not too severe a stricture,
To say they form a pretty picture;
But would’st thou see the secret chain,
Which binds us in your humble train,
To hail you Queens of all Creation,
Know, in a word, ’tis Animation.
1.3k
The river of ink flows dark cozened blue,
Flowing so smoothly from a source made of true.
It carves out a path with many a turn;
O! To see how those ill waters churn.
But the river drys up as the ink feels its age
And the lies begin to fill up the page;
Steeped in sepia, fading to sight
As the river of ink drys up in the light.
So we mourn for the river that told us the truth,
For the source we knew held the fountain of youth,
And we curl up our bones in the dust of our ink
And cry for the truths that taught us to think.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
The sea gulls – who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter – as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising. My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro –
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
The sea gulls— who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter— as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising. My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro—
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
Bedlam is our repletion, bellicose our rest,
For ever state which we call peace is war of constant test.
This war must share no allies - each warrior a martyr,
And it would stand that every soldier someone calls their daughter.
The instigator Terra, the perpetrator Yahweh,
Instant and perpetual - a bellum night and day.
The resource universal, from sea to ****** sea.
This war is fought o'er any man who might a bachelor be.
Civility and stupor the only neutral face they wear,
But underneath the plaster smile iniquity lies bare.
How cruelly do they cozen, how capricious they connive,
A thousand times more vicious than any man that seeks to wive.
And how they suffer sedulous, their bodies they contort
Into the most pernicious forms, a weapon of a sort:
They don the war paint, pluck the hair, admonish slightest error,
And take to wield those eyes of steel, and bless the world with terror.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
The sea gulls— who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter— as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising. My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro—
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
The sea gulls – who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter – as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising. My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro –
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 7:58 PM UTC
The sea gulls— who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
Calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter— as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising. My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro—
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
The sea gulls— who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter— as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising. My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro—
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
The sea gulls— who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter— as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising. My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro—
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
The sea gulls— who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter— as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising. My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro—
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
Once thither was an ordinary town, ordinary life & an ordinary man
Peter his name and his wifey Rosanne
I wonder those days how love survived?
His dram brick house & a few chinks in a can.
A day of labour with skin burnt to tan
Reality surfac'd when struggles of life began
No longer the lovely skin, time couldst not be bribed?
Once thither was an ordinary town, ordinary life & an ordinary man.
Cheap food, handmade robe, nay meiny to fan
No ego, nay jealousy, working together in the plan
No paint'd faces 'r artifice and yet their love thrived?
Love - a soulful existence today cozen'd and lied.
No riches nay leisure but an amicable life-span
Once thither was an ordinary town, ordinary life & an ordinary man.
© Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 26 JULY, 2015
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 6:22 AM UTC
Its been years, its been years
Almost there but not nearly out
The future is left in suspense due to fears
A glass vacuum is filled with good feelings
And happiness seems to cozen time
As the mind is caught in memory's vine
The unstable balance of it threatens to falter and topple
How well will this wonder withstand
The hard hits of reality as it strike the inside over and over again
More and more cracks over time
Deepen and seep in right into the core
Threatening to bring fears in
The glass vacuum will shatter
Intoxicating good feelings with realities
And the suspension of time will be absorbed by worries
It will simply rot the stillness that remains
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 11:48 AM UTC
Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?
I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty
Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—
Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.
Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 11:47 PM UTC
Magnolia can correct me, I guess.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCMV)
Thin snow fir's lacy shadows cozen, frail
Nor but a vestige, waits as how from hence
The eaves drip like some faucet, April's scents
In tow whileas this warmer light'd avail,
Blue heavns expansive, wind's a soft exhale
And fragile though a caller breath, suspense
Is as a child in nurs'ry school fr'intents,
My soul half wanting to skip through the vale.
O yes, the moors are frozen still in tour,
Mud wakened to **** at our feet and do
Linoleum in childish strains. None stir
Dead leaves' thick carpet to lift smiles unto
These gracious skies: no daffodils yet, fer
All I kin feel it in my bones. What'd woo?
25Jan18a
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
Hurry up come quick and gather around, before I change my mind
To unfold the path of a tale unsung that belongs to the wizard kind.
Fetch your warmest sweaters or robes, and perhaps an extra cloak
For I heard that it is chilly inside, the enchanted timber wardrobe.
Behind the rags and hung up clothes, a luminous lamp post glows,
Turning the frosty floor beneath, into shiny velvet pillows.
One can only stare in awe, at the realm that looks serene
But not for long as soon enough, your journey will truly begin.
Be cautious and be wary of the ones you tumble upon,
Could it be a ****** or is it a fox? or a cozen witch paragon?
Pace your way through frozen rains until you reach the end,
Latch on to the red lion skin, do your damnedest to defend.
Myriad wonders of a world unknown, covered by wooden doors
Do you wish to leave or would you explore? The gamble is all yours.
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 5:18 AM UTC
.
The sea gulls – who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter – as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising. My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro –
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 7:55 PM UTC
.
The sea gulls— who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter— as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising. My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro—
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:26 PM UTC
During the winter weeks
everything looks bleak
so I can hardly speak
looking to out-sleep
this subzero streak
of record lows
and checkered toes
from blizzard blows
the geese all go
but I stall froze
in this tundra tunnel
where the water breaks
must be signs of the shovel
and all it takes
to obfuscate
my massive lake's
frozen fate
and the cozen gate
for that chosen date.
I need to erase these bland hues
for leaves to sprout brand new
to brighten my ****** view
like I'm living in Cancun
chilling at Chichen Itza
chowing on chicken pizza
staring at the colorful sky
under which I never hide
but those are just colors in my mind
looking at the bleakness and the grime
I'm weakened by this time
I need to stay alive
to see the days get wide
and colors collide
releasing me from the darkness fog
so I won't be a heartless sod
after people start to dodge
my evil dark flaws.
Once the clouds split
they'll give me a gift
removing the ****
that makes me slip
on the ice all around me
covering the water in which I'm drowning
when my virulent vision starts browning
erasing positive colors and mentality.
This world will be less neutral
after my diffused old
infused soul
find renewal
in the sun's jewels
creating more vibrant colors
than the winter's covers
of black and white
with lack of light
and saddened sight
to mask what's right.
Once the sun brings back the day
I'll put down my gun and come out to play
but life isn't fun living this way.
Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 4:20 PM UTC
Disconnected wires and
Missed communications
Linger between the sheets
Like secrets cried out to
The bare walls of a home.
Standards float high
Above our heads
Like the dragonfly.
My own reflection
Slithers out of my
Skin to stare me
In the face and fib,
The most intimate
Kind of betrayal;
She is a quiet,
Cozen serpent.
Broken mirror,
I know you don’t
Want me, you
Won’t touch me.
Jagged edges too sharp
For affection, too tender
For your logic. I get
It; apathetic.
Vulnerability and
Exposed emotion;
I hide in shame,
Naked under white light.
You are too good to
Feel such things.
I get it;
Halfhearted.
Detached from you,
From body and mind,
Limb from limb.
Bare bone dare show its
Face to you, while
I cover myself with
I want. Uncertainty
Occupies my blood.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
Dear Life...
Thou the silent watcher of time.
Death call's thee "A beautiful lie".
World Changed...
So did love!
Thou cozen with oneself and the world...wherefore?
Verily...I have changed!
Thou let me... mazed by the situation.
Yea! Time with thee tantiving like stallion.
Collecting betimes as much thyself can.
Cause where there's no plight, a mighty ship can sink as well....
So does a relationship!
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC