"descried" poems
1227
My Triumph lasted till the Drums
Had left the Dead alone
And then I dropped my Victory
And chastened stole along
To where the finished Faces
Conclusion turned on me
And then I hated Glory
And wished myself were They.
What is to be is best descried
When it has also been—
Could Prospect taste of Retrospect
The tyrannies of Men
Were Tenderer—diviner
The Transitive toward.
A Bayonet’s contrition
Is nothing to the Dead.
26.5k
1450
The Road was lit with Moon and star—
The Trees were bright and still—
Descried I—by the distant Light
A Traveller on a Hill—
To magic Perpendiculars
Ascending, though Terrene—
Unknown his shimmering ultimate—
But he indorsed the sheen—
6.1k
there was a girl
who loved me so
named me bestie
gifted me with seashells
and sometimes,
baked brownie
to unfrown me
there was a girl
who taught me braids
loved poking my cheeks
and took photos of me
secretly
there was a girl
who got her heart
into pieces by bestie
and all she did is
to give her love
but only to get
none in return
she was a bird flying above
the sky all alone for no one
loved her anymore
she flew so far away
that i never saw her
ever again
she was gone;
no more brownie
no more grins
and the seashells
turned navy
oddly
twenty-nine-june,
i sat in the coffee shop
with my warm white coffee
and a copy of
stephen chbosky
she flew back home and
she descried me there
came up to me with
a beauteous grin
i last seen in
december '11
we talked
we laughed
we cried
we story-telled
(i remember, she once said,
back when i still
have the name bestie,
that she loved when
we used the term story-tell
for it made the sun and moon
collide together)
i was told that
this lovely girl's wrist
was named demon
and she **** it every time
he tries to drown her
in a sea of darkness
this time,
i got my heart into pieces
told her the same
and pinky promise was made
(like they always said,
promises are meant to be
b/r/o/k/e/n
and it did)
there is a girl
who i love so
named her bestie
and i will hold her
when she is
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
apart
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
My dearest Frank, I wish you joy
Of Mary's safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little pain
Compared with that of Mary Jane —
May he a growing Blessing prove,
And well deserve his Parents' Love! —
Endow'd with Art's and Nature's Good,
Thy Name possessing with thy Blood,
In him, in all his ways, may we
Another Francis WIlliam see! —
Thy infant days may he inherit,
They warmth, nay insolence of spirit; —
We would not with one foult dispense
To weaken the resemblance.
May he revive thy Nursery sin,
Peeping as daringly within,
His curley Locks but just descried,
With 'Bet, my be not come to bide.' —
Fearless of danger, braving pain,
And threaten'd very oft in vain,
Still may one Terror daunt his Soul,
One needful engine of Controul
Be found in this sublime array,
A neigbouring Donkey's aweful Bray.
So may his equal faults as Child,
Produce Maturity as mild!
His saucy words and fiery ways
In early Childhood's pettish days,
In Manhood, shew his Father's mind
Like him, considerate and Kind;
All Gentleness to those around,
And anger only not to wound.
Then like his Father too, he must,
To his own former struggles just,
Feel his Deserts with honest Glow,
And all his self-improvement know.
A native fault may thus give birth
To the best blessing, conscious Worth.
As for ourselves we're very well;
As unaffected prose will tell.
Cassandra's pen will paint our state,
The many comforts that await
Our Chawton home, how much we find
Already in it, to our mind;
And how convinced, that when complete
It will all other Houses beat
The ever have been made or mended,
With rooms concise, or rooms distended.
You'll find us very snug next year,
Perhaps with Charles and ***** near,
For now it often does delight us
To fancy them just over-right us.
5.3k
I
As I ride, as I ride,
With a full heart for my guide,
So its tide rocks my side,
As I ride, as I ride,
That, as I were double-eyed,
He, in whom our Tribes confide,
Is descried, ways untried
As I ride, as I ride.
II
As I ride, as I ride
To our Chief and his Allied,
Who dares chide my heart’s pride
As I ride, as I ride?
Or are witnesses denied—
Through the desert waste and wide
Do I glide unespied
As I ride, as I ride?
III
As I ride, as I ride,
When an inner voice has cried,
The sands slide, nor abide
(As I ride, as I ride)
O’er each visioned Homicide
That came vaunting (has he lied?)
To reside—where he died,
As I ride, as I ride.
IV
As I ride, as I ride,
Ne’er has spur my swift horse plied,
Yet his hide, streaked and pied,
As I ride, as I ride,
Shows where sweat has sprung and dried,
—Zebra-footed, ostrich-thighed—
How has vied stride with stride
As I ride, as I ride!
V
As I ride, as I ride,
Could I loose what Fate has tied,
Ere I pried, she should hide
As I ride, as I ride,
All that’s meant me: satisfied
When the Prophet and the Bride
Stop veins I’d have subside
As I ride, as I ride!
3.6k
In that night
there was a deeper night,
in sorrow a deeper sorrow,
in your sorrowful eyes more
more sorrowful eyes I descried,
the deep night of your eyes
as I lay beside you, your head,
then your head lying on night's
pillow, deeper than a hollow hole
filled with tender tears, as you told me
of the night, the deeper night of your life,
your hair wet with deeper tears
on night's side of your visage,
when you had to leave your son
to save yourself and him, a hurt
that still hurts, a deeper night hurt
you shared with me through deep night
sobs, deeper sobs, wetting your cheeks
and neck and night hair, the hurts,
the deeper night hurts that robbed
you of yourself and him, of how you
had to go in order to return, the sinuous
path, convoluted and constrained,
to leave the night, to come back in
the day. You knew day followed night,
but your hollow heart howled at the
rending end that began a deeper night.
All I could do was hold you in the deep,
the deeper night, and let you sob and
shake, only to awake to that brighter day.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 10:55 AM UTC
I rose at night and visited
The Cave of the Unborn,
And crowding shapes surrounded me
For tidings of the life to be,
Who long had prayed the silent Head
To speed their advent morn.
Their eyes were lit with artless trust;
Hope thrilled their every tone:
“A place the loveliest, is it not?
A pure delight, a beauty-spot
Where all is gentle, pure and just
And violence is unknown?”
My heart was anguished for their sake;
I could not frame a word;
But they descried my sunken face
And seemed to read therein, and trace
The news which Pity would not break
Nor Truth leave unaverred.
And as I silently retired
I turned and watched them still:
And they came helter-skelter out,
Driven forward like a rabble rout
Into the world they had so desired,
By the all-immanent Will.
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1631
Oh Future! thou secreted peace
Or subterranean woe—
Is there no wandering route of grace
That leads away from thee—
No circuit sage of all the course
Descried by cunning Men
To balk thee of thy sacred Prey—
Advancing to thy Den—
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1304
Not with a Club, the Heart is broken
Nor with a Stone—
A Whip so small you could not see it
I’ve known
To lash the Magic Creature
Till it fell,
Yet that Whip’s Name
Too noble then to tell.
Magnanimous as Bird
By Boy descried—
Singing unto the Stone
Of which it died—
Shame need not crouch
In such an Earth as Ours—
Shame—stand *****
The Universe is yours.
2.1k
Recently you descried that
The hands of mine were
Full of crimson scars,
Like the beads of a rosary.
”What are these wounds
On your palm?” you asked.
”Were they caused by
The elisabethian roses of your garden?”
I said nothing, just (but) smiled blushingly,
But then later, while you fell asleep,
I leaned closely and whispered
My secret in your ears:
„In fact, all of these are
Stigmata of our love.
But possessing them makes me happy;
I wear them proudly.”
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
~
Gumby, Wood Woodpecker and Me
~
somewhere in the mother lode
of a thousand poems scripted,
lies a pen-pained tribulation, an old ode,
to the taming of the shrew,
the shock and awe of my new born,
slept-on hair mode
Ogdiddy,
she says,
rise up quick!
thy self to the mirror dispatch,
see what god hath wrought
upon thy head this brand new morn
blessed am I,
at this late stage,
in posses of a
goodly and shocking amount
of hair au naturel
each of my body's parts has a mind of its own,
my hairs, each one a different opinion and resultantly
an amazing new creation born come dawn
sometimes straight up like Gumby
she quips,
sometimes a shocking tail to one side
in the style of one Woody Woodpecker,
she mockingly cries!
and on and on each daily
a new cartoon characterization proposition,
until one day in feigned wrath I do reply
*just you wait Mrs. Higgins, just you wait,
you will rue the day my do
will be best described and descried by you
as akin to that of one known as
SpongeBob SquarePants*
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 9:01 AM UTC
If faithful souls be alike glorified
As angels, then my fathers soul doth see,
And adds this even to full felicity,
That valiantly I hells wide mouth o’erstride:
But if our minds to these souls be descried
By circumstances, and by signs that be
Apparent in us, not immediately,
How shall my mind’s white truth by them be tried?
They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn,
And vile blasphemous conjurers to call
On Jesus name, and Pharisaical
Dissemblers feigne devotion. Then turn,
O pensive soul, to God, for he knows best
Thy true grief, for he put it in my breast.
1.6k
Socrates was a savage son of a gun
Waltzing across town with an urbane gravitas,
Trumping the pimps and priests that passed
His lazy confidence demanded the reverence oft reserved
For kings and queens and prime ministers
Without a home, the world was a playground all his own
He was always gentle, always genial,
Because he descried through his one good eye
That dregs like me had it rough enough already
He was my friend,
And then he died,
And no one cared but me.
While functional American boys were
Learning from their fathers,
I was learning from that feral cat.
Good old Socrates.
Good boy, Socrates.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 8:52 AM UTC
Verily the exordium told anent a beauty engirdled in her fedora
soliciting those whoever descried her into her mere servile admirer
eight trenchant tinctures upon her body invigorate like a cadenza
I dare not to contradict the verity that I am beguiled afore her
whilst the snain distilled faintly enwreathed her in unctuous silk
concordantly she devote herself earnestly to the impeccable rain
that emanate her fragile poetry with prestidigitation in a whisk
forsooth she is but the vernacular sobriquet to the soul of the rain
recall me otherwhile during the rainstorm champagne did coerce
and the sunset's glass of wine exude her ingratiating persona
like a myriad of aphrodisiac summarized in a single verse
when harmony and lyrics danced in the crepuscular crescendo
all of that needed to be enunciated is it is you
do not harshly let me be thy unrequited dilettante
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
Our house was a 12 year old Lancer car
Sitting in its congested patio,
Beheld the sky
That sky spilled over the sky
Stars squirmed and threatened to jump down immediately
We were like the children beneath the mango tree who do not rush to school
Even after the last bell
The wind may blow any moment
Our house was a 12 year old Lancer car
Descried the sea
Sitting inside its smoke-filled, odorous kitchen
That sea overflowed the sea
The fish swimming along in the deep asked, “coming?”
We were
Like the fisherman waiting for the snakehead murrel
Though it is noon and he is hungry
The sea fish do not know
The grooves of tears and the little waterway
Rainclouds can arrive anytime
Our house was a 12 year old Lancer car
Saw the woods sitting near its un-curtained window
Those woods got darker than woods
Trees pretending to cavil for my being late
Moonlight clear and fuzzy amongst boughs
Us, like fireflies watching ripened paddy stalks
There are wounds that are hidden
A lightning can strike any moment
Our house was a 12 year old Lancer car
Sitting in its spaces coarse otherwise
We quenched each other’s thirst and hunger
Argued
Prayed
Perused the holy book
Often, while no one watched,
We fed the dolls
Sung them lullabies
On these occasions,
I went out pretending that I wanted a smoke
Thereupon, between us
Sky sea woods.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
Not with a SWORD is a heart slain,
Not with the Angel's Tune;
Is a mirror of wonderment,
That gleams in the Dark of the Moon.
Lash at the Guardian Golem,
Until it falls -
Collar them the noble,
For the keys to the heart of the Doll.
Sagacious was the bird,
That the maiden descried;
Just above the chamber,
To the heart that died.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 3:02 AM UTC
I once descried chained feathers in the sky;
they swim from the swift breeze, so high.
Wings do falter, yet one still went by.
Ensnared on a garden; I yearn to fly.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
You, dear, my life, and my true love forever
Hold keys to bonds that none other can sever
You are: reason to wed, or even to die,
The laugh in my belly, the tear in my eye,
The one single being who knows me, all through.
And all of my love, dear, is due only you
When first I encountered your radiant charms,
I knew I must hold you, my love, in my arms
And never relinquish this perfect embrace!
‘Lest I should miss kissing your smile and your face,
And then could I give of my self nevermore.
All other loves lack, save the one I adore.
My foresight and function dulls daily, my bride,
And fails, for your beauty should oft’ be descried,
And my lips fail to offer the reverent speech
This lack, bind it up, Oh, my God, I beseech!
But there is the rub, for although I don’t say-
I still feel a thrill when we’re still; when we play…
This heart is still filled when you come home, my Love.
Each day, it’s made clear, I should praise God above
For granting me someone whose soul matches mine,
Whose embrace is holy, whose kiss is divine,
This Love we have found, all other loves seek! -
The lovers of old and the Poet’s mystique
And now that our love is begetting new souls,
I thrill at the thought! And I cherish our roles!
The glint in your eyes, it unveils motherhood,
Your tenderness shows and your love’s understood,
Our future envisioned, joy fills my whole being!
Passion for you trumps my hearing or seeing!
So then, let it be known to our progeny:
That our love is true and there never could be
Another love lasting through future or past,
That’s truer or deeper than ours, or as vast!
Let none through the ages e’er have cause to doubt
My love for my dear one ‘till breath shall run out.
And when I lay dying, if you have gone first
Pray God will have mercy and make my heart burst
Or if it is I who has gone on ahead,
I pray that eternity makes, for the dead,
The time seem an instant, so when I arrive,
I’ll turn and behold you, forever alive!
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
736
Have any like Myself
Investigating March,
New Houses on the Hill descried—
And possibly a Church—
That were not, We are sure—
As lately as the Snow—
And are Today—if We exist—
Though how may this be so?
Have any like Myself
Conjectured Who may be
The Occupants of the Adobes—
So easy to the Sky—
’Twould seem that God should be
The nearest Neighbor to—
And Heaven—a convenient Grace
For Show, or Company—
Have any like Myself
Preserved the Charm secure
By shunning carefully the Place
All Seasons of the Year,
Excepting March—’Tis then
My Villages be seen—
And possibly a Steeple—
Not afterward—by Men—
904
“The night is raven as you peer that analytical stare,
It is in this way you are blinded by your own eyes,
Sanguine of the gods that exist for all their acumen,
As that of an labyrinth mechanism turning day to night,
Beside the bonfire I think of all that I have descried,
Now no usual noises only the unusual or unexpected,
In autumns that we were with morn dew and argent sun,
That is now left of yellow not gold burnt fibrous leaves,
Of how the world will be for still there are so many things,
That I have never seen in all the forests in every season,
If I should live in a coppice and sleep underneath a sapling,
By a bonfire in different lands thoughts of my incongruous life,
No coppice of saplings that I could not make a glorious home,
I go where the old odeon gather decorous worthy and robust,
The world’s society has long foundered people throughout time,
And they would not sigh and tremble and vex me with a song,
Struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes fatigued,
Gusts upon my hair as I sit beside a crackling fire,
The times from having seen the unchanging earth afore,
So you may take of that elegant rose leave me with a thistle,
For they know not life without the dendrite to wither”
By Andrew Guzaldo 01/05/2019 ©
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:06 PM UTC
On a dull day...
With the sun hidden behind dark shrouds,
his light unable to find a way
through the rain-laden clouds,
As I lay on the bed,
staring out through my window,
Into bright alleys my memory led
my wearied gaze which that dreary picture does endow.
I was walking down the street,
on a pleasant Winter morning.
And quick did trod my feet,
For,for one special company was my heart yearning.
I came to the Fountain,
For me,a dear site.
A place I would dream of,time and again,
till my eyes can see no more the light.
As I came nearer to the place,
I descried my friend,waving at me
to come,with a smile on his face,
to where became friends we.
We talked and talked,
On and on and on,
even of the grass on which we walked.
The end of the dialogue was never anon.
The Fountain would find us there,
on a serene Summer even.
Having escaped from the sun's glare,
lying on the grass and gazing up at the heaven.
On a Rainy afternoon,
he would welcome us with an 'overflowing' joy.
He would leap and fall,gay as a goon,
And would drown us twain with this playful ploy.
We grew,
and with us grew our friendship.
The Time with his webs drew,
our hearts into brotherly companionship...
Then came a day of Spring.
And at the fountain were we yet again.
With the gurgling sound the glade did ring,
but numb were our souls with pain.
The time came for us to part,
to pursue each,his own dream.
We were afraid lest we be torn apart,
tossed by Life's fateful stream.
We vowed never to forget,one the other.
And carved our names on the heart of our weeping 'friend'.
With a heavy heart I embraced my brother
and we walked away,hoping our paths would again together blend...
A clap of thunder,
startled me into the present.
Hoping for another clap to rent the grief asunder,
got up and to the window I went.
I saw a downpour,which promised not soon to wane,
fall out of skies bleak.
Saw drops of water trickling down the window pane,
Felt the tears running down my cheek...
A beautiful Autumn day with a tranquil breeze,
found the Fountain,silent and lonesome now,
waiting for his friends without cease,
preserving the carvings in his heart with love...
Unknown to his friends,the second of the twain
is where one could never weep.
The friends do wait in vain,
for,blanketed is he,from mortal pain,by the golden flowers,warming him in his last sleep...
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
In tedious fashion, as uniformly descried,
stumble these thoughts with bumbling pride.
And though they would, in sequence, march fluidly,
each solo intent breaks tangentially.
A web will insert with some links between chains
And focus diverts into scattering trains.
Manifest indeed, your yield must unwind
in cacophony, useless to the mind.
Don't think these excuses and don't think me excused,
nor elaborately spoken, nor plainly confused.
I push full comprehension in a manner unwise
because thoughts about thoughts are a thoughtful demise
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
Eternity came before Time,
and Death before that stood;
Sin was credited with Creation;
and Life was the
Prayer of Humanity,
where Art in Heaven
Man Conjured a Rhyme, to escape
Hells Blasphemy, and Eden reside;
the Word of Angels descried,
the Day Love and Hate did collide.
ELEETE j MUIR
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 6:39 PM UTC
What was lost in your Nyctophilic heart?
What life you brazenly stole.
What you take when you depart
And tear away from my soul
Mislaid, descried in sound recondite.
Quietus forward brought,
Found in your eyeless sight.
Agony of memories forgot.
Sable veins wrapped around fragile beings
Who, in wretched love lost,
Find their hearts fleeing
And to each other dyingly accost.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
Summer days and spring mornings have gone
Every leaf has fallen from its parent tree
Homes are now blanketed with thick ivory snow
Under this pitch-black sky, I stood alone
Nothing but the wind's breeze as my company
I stood alone; I have always stood alone
Miles, I have travelled and many faces, I have descried
I walked on different lands but to no avail
Summer nights and spring mornings passed
Snowy nights and the sight of falling leaves I have seen
Under this pitch-black sky, alone, I still stood alone
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC