"damps" poems
Howe's Final version
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fatal lightning of his terrible swift sword:
His Truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
His Day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:
'As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on.'
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment-seat:
Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his ***** that transfigures you and me:
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
2. Howe's First Manuscript Version
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.
He is trampling out the wine press, where the grapes of wrath are stored,
He hath loosed the fateful lightnings of his terrible swift sword,
His truth is marching on.
I have seen him in the watchfires of an hundred circling camps
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps,
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps,
His day is marching on.
I have read a burning Gospel writ in fiery rows of steel,
As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal
Let the hero born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Our God is marching on.
He has sounded out the trumpet that shall never call retreat,
He has waked the earth's dull sorrow with a high ecstatic beat,
Oh! be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet
Our God is marching on.
In the whiteness of the lilies he was born across the sea
With a glory in his ***** that shines out on you and me,
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
Our God is marching on.
He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave
He is wisdom to the mighty, he is sucour to the brave
So the world shall be his footstool, and the soul of Time his slave
Our God is marching on.
2.6k
You have dreams, don’t you?
Every night before you sleep,
I’m sure there is something you long for to have, do or keep.
I know, everyone has plans;
but not everybody is ready to dance.
You see, there are these little things I call cramps.
I don’t know if you got me or not;
I’m talking about those little things behind every evil plot.
You know that time,
when disappointed of the day you go to bed,
and the only thing that can put you to sleep,
are the lies to your soul you have fed?
Them are those cramps,
Them are those damps.
In the morning you get up, I guess all sore;
but nothing looks like the thoughts you had the night before.
All those things you said you’d do,
now seem foolish, pointless, untrue…
The past and future seem within reach,
and the present looks like one hell of a glitch.
That is just the thing we tell ourselves,
looking for excuses, shuffling between shelves.
But we all deeply know,
that firstly before us, that is low.
Motivation is bad, it won’t get you what you seek.
The mind changes all the time, it is terribly weak.
Persistence is what you need;
Your own discipline is what you need to feed.
Push it to the edge,
until it’s hanging from the ledge.
Do it, even if it hurts,
if that is what your soul lurks.
Then you’ll know what you want, what you need.
Opinions and perspective change all the time;
Your own hill, only you can climb.
It’s not important what you think is stupid or smart.
Get your aim at the stuff that fill your heart.
Aim and shoot,
shoot and in your target the bullet beroot.
Rub and scratch those little cramps,
those nasty damps;
Give it all, yell and shout,
until the cramps get burned out.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
Whither? say, whither shall I fly,
To slack these flames wherein I fry?
To the treasures, shall I go,
Of the rain, frost, hail, and snow?
Shall I search the underground,
Where all damps and mists are found?
Shall I seek (for speedy ease)
All the floods and frozen seas?
Or descend into the deep,
Where eternal cold does keep?
These may cool; but there’s a zone
Colder yet than anyone:
That’s my Julia’s breast, where dwells
Such destructive icicles,
As that the congelation will
Me sooner starve than those can ****
2.1k
XXIII
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine—
But . . . so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble ? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes life’s lower range.
Then, love me, Love! look on me—breathe on me!
As brighter ladies do not count it strange,
For love, to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange
My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!
2k
As I lay here
Encapsulated in softness
I close my eyes tenderly
For my dreams are placid
Gossamer, floating wild yet gently
My dreams are the sparkles
My dreams are the ambers
But my dreams are not dreams
My dreams are honeyed streams
Manifestation
Of bliss, of love so pure
I am witness of a miracle
I was born once as mortal clay
Buried deep within, seeds of my dark fate
They said,
“You can change not,
Your fate is forged,
On iron pages it is wrought”
Exclaimed I;
“Does not moisture crack the seeds?
Does not I carry that grows to reed?”
So I marched on barren lands
Wildly searching that could damp
Scared, a step with each heartbeat
Thorns piercing and bleeding my feet
To heavens I prayed in desperate I cried,
Tears of agony in my eyes
That moment bestowed upon me
Our blood is the water that damps the seeds
The more we bleed, the more we reap
Hence I was reborn amongst sunniest rays
To taste the sweetness in bitterness
To experience the noise in silence
To listen the music in smiles
To see the laughter in eyes
As I drift to sleep now
I will not dream, I can never dream
My reality is too beautiful,
My reality is all I dream
Until that day when,
My reality becomes only a dream,
When my lids would turn stones
And the blood in me runs dry
Till that last day,
I will use my blood
To moist my seeds of fate
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
betweenwe
there,s a stiff flower
bloomING
she plays slightly, it like
a lute likea minstrellike a goddess a.she,s
twining curdled moans, my arms about. softly;
i
climb clamor clamor into the moist
into the damps
into the wet architecture of her lips and the cusp
of endless pleasure erupting a basin of pale shoulders
and glittering eternal emeralds bust from the kind sockets
the habitual tumors of her ******* the strong scent of her
health, and the
tongue of flavor of her melody strangling. night the night air the soft
heat of her flesh. the morsels of her fingers dimple fastidiously chaotic
rumbling stupid majesty exploding
oblong jousts of sallow skin. my neck. onmyneck. her nails. onmyneck.
i'm this:i'myours
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 12:24 PM UTC
1
the bird hums
to the pattern of the
pitter patter
2
the blue in grandma's eyes fades just a little as a mixture of sound and blood escape her dry lips
3
Grandma's hands shake
as her warm hand touch the cold
leather gun in this
ever so shifting darkness
we have captured ourselves in
4
Grandma's eyes stare into
mine
one
last
*******
time
as the the pool of blood that damps her back
swallows her in an embrace that was
so much bigger then my own
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
Then you check if they're asleep,
Sneak at the wash room,
Check if you made it right,
Damps some towel and looks for some holes,
Then you light it up.
As it gets to you, you hear them,
You know they're not there.
You just hear them.
And you realize when you go to bed,
Hearing the noise of the air-conditioner,
Your eyes adjusting to the darkness,
You see your pillow just the way you want it.
But no one can deny,
Your home is nowhere.
Not here, definitely not there.
You just grew apart.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
*with passion
i pressed my wet lips
on yours
so i could taste
your tongue
soft and sweet
in a mouth full of drops
or somewhere between
two subtle tongues
when the sky fell down
on us
we
dancing in the storm
and heavy rain
jumping with the thunder
all we needed
we
between all
damps from the day
wishing to be naked
and free
like our bodies
during an evening storm*
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC