"curst" poems
The world's a bubble; and the life of man less than a span.
In his conception wretched; from the womb so to the tomb:
Curst from the cradle, and brought up to years, with cares and fears.
Who then to frail mortality shall trust,
But limns the water, or but writes in dust.
Yet, since with sorrow here we live oppress'd, what life is best?
Courts are but only superficial schools to dandle fools:
The rural parts are turn'd into a den of savage men:
And where's a city from all vice so free,
But may be term'd the worst of all the three?
Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, or pains his head:
Those that live single, take it for a curse, or do things worse:
Some would have children; those that have them none; or wish them gone.
What is it then to have no wife, but single thralldom or a double strife?
Our own affections still at home to please, is a disease:
To cross the sea to any foreign soil, perils and toil:
Wars with their noise affright us: when they cease,
We are worse in peace:
What then remains, but that we still should cry,
Not to be born, or being born, to die.
6.3k
Gabriel whispered in mine ear
His archangelic poesie.
How can I write? I only hear
The sobbing murmur of the sea.
Raphael breathed and bade me pass
His rapt evangel to mankind;
I cannot even match, alas!
The ululation of the wind.
The gross grey gods like gargoyles spit
On every poet's
holy head;
No mustard-seed of truth or wit
In those curst furrows, quick or dead!
A tithe of what I know would cleanse
The leprosy of earth; and I -
My limits are like other men's.
I must live dumb, and dumb must die!
5.3k
Now you have freely given me leave to love,
What will you doe?
Shall I your mirth, or passion move,
When I begin to wooe;
Will you torment, or scorn, or love me too?
Each petty beauty can disdain, and I,
Spight of your hate,
Without your leave can see, and dye,
Dispence a nobler Fate,
Tis easie to destroy, you may create.
Then give me leave to love, and love me too
Not with designe
To rayse, as Loves curst Rebels doe,
When puling Poets whine,
Fame to their beauty, from their blubbr’d eyn.
Grief is a puddle, and reflects not clear
Your beauties rayes;
Joyes are pure streames, your eyes appear
Sullen in sadder layes,
In cheerfull numbers they shine bright with prayse.
Which shall not mention, to express you fayr,
Wounds, flames, and darts,
Storms in your brow, nets in your hair,
Suborning all your parts,
Or to betray, or torture captive hearts.
I’le make your eyes like morning Suns appear,
As mild, and fair;
Your brow as Crystal smooth, and clear,
And your dishevell’d hayr
Shall flow like a calm Region of the Ayr.
Rich Nature’s store, (which is the Poet’s Treasure)
I’le spend, to dress
Your beauties, if your mine of Pleasure
In equall thankfulness
You but unlock, so we each other bless.
2.9k
Translation From Catullus
Ye Cupids, droop each little head,
Nor let your wings with joy be spread,
My Lesbia’s favourite bird is dead,
Whom dearer than her eyes she lov’d:
For he was gentle, and so true,
Obedient to her call he flew,
No fear, no wild alarm he knew,
But lightly o’er her ***** mov’d:
And softly fluttering here and there,
He never sought to cleave the air,
He chirrup’d oft, and, free from care,
Tun’d to her ear his grateful strain.
Now having pass’d the gloomy bourn,
From whence he never can return,
His death, and Lesbia’s grief I mourn,
Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain.
Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave!
Whose jaws eternal victims crave,
From whom no earthly power can save,
For thou hast ta’en the bird away:
From thee my Lesbia’s eyes o’erflow,
Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow;
Thou art the cause of all her woe,
Receptacle of life’s decay.
1.9k
Suckles at first were curst
To be the homes of flies,
And smell'd like open tombs
With putrefying eyes.
But Christ, who saves the worst
(If so He wills) from death,
Did mercy give the blooms
By giving them His breath.
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 4:39 PM UTC
His golden locks Time hath to silver turn'd;
O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing!
His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurn'd,
But spurn'd in vain; youth waneth by increasing:
Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.
His helmet now shall make a hive for bees;
And, lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms,
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are Age his alms:
But though from court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.
And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
He'll teach his swains this carol for a song,—
'Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well,
Curst be the souls that think her any wrong.'
Goddess, allow this agèd man his right
To be your beadsman now that was your knight.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
Woman! experience might have told me
That all must love thee, who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought;
But, plac’d in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.
Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,
When join’d with hope, when still possessing;
But how much curst by every lover
When hope is fled, and passion’s over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse, when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope ’twill last for ay,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,’
“Woman, thy vows are trac’d in sand.”
1.3k
On torrid winds from whence it came
A lurid light has taken aim
Bold and bright and dry it seeks
Cold and quiet eyes to pique
For change is that, a whipping wind
A blinding light that has no end
Curst and harsh and strong it burns
At worst it marks us with concern
When torrid light has gone or come
And horrid sights of change begun
It can admit a ranging chorus
Attending to what changes for us
And it's just that, the music notes
Of binding, tight, subduing hope
The skipping sounds of steps that pass
The winds of change that never last…
walk with me a while
Dec 26, 2023
Dec 26, 2023 at 9:17 PM UTC
purple shades
o' velvet black
strewn across
dark green grass
on rolling hills
gently laying
in sylvar shades
her face
is softly waning
an' scattered thru
the starlit nyte
her dreams
her hopes
her fears
an' i...
hear her
plaintive pleas
her
desperate cries
and so
reach out my hand
an' gently soothe
the aches an' pains
of her
precious life's
most bitter wounds
vigilant
i stand my guard
an' watch
o'er her shattered gates
thru many a long
dark treacherous nyte
aware of
every shadows fall
wary of each
an' every noise
an' i swear by all
by strength of heart
breath of life
an' death of soul
on these i swear
tha' none shall pass
from hellish realms
of fiery ash
to breach
her broken battlements
nor press 'pon
her battered gates
to cast
their wicked stones
of hate
her fate i swear
'tis my soul's life
mine only heart
my one true light
so
be off with thee
oh wretched swine
tread not near
my beloved's breast
trouble not
her slumb'ring rest
nor gaze upon
her hallowed face
remove thy stench
from this
mortal plane
for thou art curst
an' thou shouldst flee
to brimstone's hearth
to thy master's knee
purple shades
o' velvet black
strewn across
dark green grass
on rolling hills
gently laying
in sylvar shades
her face
is softly fading
an' scattered thru
the starlit nyte
her dreams
her hopes
her fears
an' i...
p j upchurch
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 6:20 PM UTC
Curst be the wretch, and sure he's curst
That taught the Trade of Rhyming first
'Tis a damn' d Trade, and who pursues it,
I'll pass my word at last he rue's it
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 5:40 AM UTC
MARROWS OF TIME
Walk with me in the valleys of green
That comes to me in darken dreams;
Watch the raven feed on the dead,
those who has lost their heads,
Look, and see what Dark Angel brings
that has darkened wings;
He likes to make bleed.
Oh, why does he have to be so mean?
Once he lived in a fair stylish place
Where love was always given,
Where sins were forgiven,
He once given his heart,
But with time love has taken him for a ride,
Now, he stands in quicksand,
While his heart sinks as he grieved,
Words of true darkness sharpened the sword
That cut him deep;
So, now he wants everyone to feel is inter pains,
Where his love is now in the golden grave,
Ancient witches have taken all his love away,
Now he walks around in scorching agony,
In ancient time, he has lost his mind,
Dark Angel will always be curst,
And every gentle rose will be dried
the roses will turn to ashes
of the unforbidden love,
In his ancient love of sweet days,
All that has passed away;
Wandered of true love has been lost,
In the ancient green valleys;
Where the graves of true love in ancient days
Will always be lost into darken dreams
until the Light shines on all who sees,
through the windows of the true believer’s eyes
will see that shining light,
the spirits will sing songs
that never has been sung before,
on the pearls of time the ruby sea will glow
where the ships will sail,
and the slaves of the wounded will be healed,
doors of visions will be open,
the deaf ears will hear,
and God will whip away all their tears,
Oh, Enoch and all the ancient slaves
Will come out of the grave,
But until the darkness will be.
Where the blind could never see,
Souls are lost into the sea,
Where the dusty dead lost their heads,
In to the marrow of time.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
I wish a was a child a again
Sunny
Rainy
Snowy
Just to play with my friends once again
I wish i was a child again
Playing around and don’t worry about one thing
cloth
money
jobs
To a child thats not relevant
I wish i was a child again
But im just i child who is lost in this world and has to act like a grown men
He didn’t choose too step on this scary and dark game he was pusht by the time he turnd 18
I wish i was i child again
Too read storys about how a girl fall in love with a curst man
I wish i was i child again
Sleep on my mothers lap and not to worry about a **** thing.
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 12:43 PM UTC
Every minute is different I don't know why
These people in my head waving good by
I cry I don't know why
but these people don't stop waving good by
Those selfish people they are
Those people souring my mind so fare
I try not to think about it I try so hard
How much longer must I hold up my guard
They die they die not thinking about me
they wave good by so happily
I cry I cry don't know what to do
They die they die they don't even think it though
leaving me by myself in a shadow
They are curst in death
I try so hard I don't see
They drop like flies will they go to heaven
No one know no one tells me.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC