"dight" poems
Within the gentle heart abideth Love,
As doth a bird within green forest glade,
Neither before the gentle heart was Love,
Nor Love ere gentle heart by Nature made.
Created was the sun,
And lo, his radiance everywhere held sway,
Nor was before the sun;
Love doth unto all gentleness aspire,
And in the self-same way
Doth clarity unto clear flame of fire.
Love’s fire is kindled in the gentle heart,
As virtue is within the precious stone;
From out the star no glory doth depart
Until made gentle by the sun alone.
When the sun hath drawn forth
By his own strength all that which is not meet,
The star doth prove its worth.
Thus to the heart, by Nature fashioned so
Gentle and pure and sweet,
The love of woman like a star doth go.
The reason Love in gentle heart doth stay
Is why the fire unto the torch-head flies,
Burning as he doth fancy, bright and gay,
And were too proud to do so otherwise.
But Nature’s cruel scheme
Contrasteth Love as water, flame; as heat,
Quelled by the cooling stream.
In gentle heart doth Love his bower divine,
Since like with like must meet,
Thus diamonds in the iron of the mine.
Upon the mire the sun sheds his bright rays,
That is still vile, nor doth the sun turn cold:
“Gentle am I by birth,” the proud man says.
33 He, mire, and the sun, gentleness, I hold.
Let no man think that he
May be possessed of gentleness, although
He boast a king’s degree,
Unless a gentle heart be found in him:
The water is aglow
With stars, and yet the heavens have not grown dim.
God the Creator in heaven’s mind of grace
Shines brighter than before our eyes the sun;
There it is given to see Him face to face,
Whence in their beauty the skies, serving one
Just God, to Him do turn
And the blest end of primal love fulfil.
Thus the truth which doth burn
In my sweet Lady’s eyes she should make clear,
Of her own gentle will,
To him who in her service tarries near.
My Lady, God will say: “Didst thou not fear,”
(When my soul standeth yonder in His sight:)
“To pass the heavens and seek Me even here,
Vain love pursuing with My image dight?
To Me doth praise belong
And to the Queen of Heaven, who from her sphere
Of glory endeth wrong.”
Then I could plead: “Thy angels up above,
O Lord, like her appear;
I did not sin in giving her my love.”
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin *** help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that *** staw a sow,
Or fricassee *** mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro ****** flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
“When I was younger my friends and I would all have bonfires every Friday night and we made up fake names for each other that related to our spirit animals and we spoke in a secret language where every word started with D. Dumb, dight? Dokay, de dan dave da decret danguage doo. Dut DI don’t dare do duch dor ‘D’. What letter do you like? V? V’s vinda vunny.”
“I have in this bag here every fingernail clipping of each of your exes. I have in this bag a 14 inch long braid of every hair you ever sleepily smoothed into submission, lying halfway underneath the moon and halfway in a pile of the aforementioned’s sweat. I have blue-tint pictures developed from a baking disposable camera that weren’t taken seriously when Instagram wasn’t cool. Film clips of them getting ready for work in front of you, where there’s no film because it’s just your eyes and no real memories because your eyes were flickering between open and shut, blinds behind you that winked at them when you were too busy reveling to. I’m not saying that your eyes are blind, I’m saying that they’re blinds. Do you understand what I have in this bag? It’s like a never-ending stream of catharsis, like a rain puddle in November with streetlights swimming drunkenly in it, that reminds you too much of coming home to the smell of gas stoves even though you didn’t live there. A feeling that reminded you of a war you didn’t fight in and shoots through your bones because you never consciously had a skeleton until the magnet in your throat attracted another. All of the things in this bag are shaped like U’s, you know? Or shaped like You.”
“Actually, I like U. I like U a lot, but it seems impossible to speak that way.”
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
Is it scary? How safer I feel with the dark?
That I always went for the kids, and never the park?
Trapped by people on the other side. Who loved the outside, and not the inside.
What is light? Its strangeness cases me to hide.
And run back to the shadows, where I usually fall back, and abde.
But, if I decide to ride the rollercoaster? Light or dark ride?
Do I need to close my eyes? Pretend my shadows are by my side?
Is it bad that I have more than one shadow? If I said I didn’t, I lied.
Sneezing, I flinch, and close my eyes. Embracing the light, the same rules are applied.
I’d run into the dark with no thought of light, but what if there is someone new that I have not met?
What if she wants me to give you my shadows? And I fall into her bright, but gloomy net?
What if I trade my soul for her dark light? What if she wants to wager? Wants to bet?
What if she makes me believe that the dark is not bad after all? So her presence I’ll let.
No rules are set… yet.
I need to forget everything that I have been told. She would want me to leave my thoughts of light to join her life.
Dark, irresistible features. Beautiful, but cold. She would want me to leave my place here, to be her wife.
But that’s no life.
Look at the dark in me. Look at what could be my light.
I know that I put the darkness there. I know that it’s a self-inflicted fight.
Will I ever turn my darkness to light? My moon to Sun?
Will every shadow, every part be gone? Every single one?
With my thoughts of light as my enemy, my ally. Strength, and weakness. Will I stand or run?
When all my light goes dark, or all my dark goes light, will the war be done?
Who will be the one who won? Am I the one? Who’ll be entirely light? Or dark? Who will choose all or none?
I guess that I am lark and dight. I guess both is right. I will be unmarried, but still be a wife.
But that’s no life.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 9:40 PM UTC
Winds became scary, clouds became haunting,
Birds clinging to nests, trees dancing as ghosts,
I was ten, when I was lost, that evening
What I had been cursing ere, is for what I was crying
Running in road I ain’t known, alone,
Torture devils methinks — are my guardian angels, realising then,
Sunken in rain, doomed life — in one pass of cloud
The fall, could I sever my tears and rain?!
running in road, drenched, yet thirsty,
My spine frore afeared, I could fall in ambuscade,
The place I dispraised, that I wished to leave
Was my heaven in truth, I realised then mooncalf I was,
The very fabric of my bane heart, torn asunder,
The darkness filling my eyes I behold, that something billowed,
Dight with doit?! — not even hope,
Hopeless, perhaps I might got end up with rags and pigs,
It went to night, when I found a light yonder,
Did I ran, or did I flied or did I jumped to,
That bedlam, there was a house across a meadow,
A woman, quoth she, waited until, my tears and rain stoped,
The woman portaged me back to my place,
Back to the arms of my guardian angel — the warmth,
The clouds cleared, no more haunting, in my eyes — my guardian angels!
Jun 12, 2020
Jun 12, 2020 at 12:17 AM UTC