"dispels" poems
Bells in the town alight with spring
converse, with a concordance of new airs
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
People emerge from winter to hear them ring,
children glitter with mischief and the blind man hears
bells in the town alight with spring.
Even he on his eyes feels the caressing
finger of Persephone, and her voice escaped from tears
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
Bird feels the enchantment of his wing
and in ten fine notes dispels twenty cares.
Bells in the town alight with spring
warble the praise of Time, for he can bring
this season: chimes the merry heaven bears
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
All evil men intent on evil thing
falter, for in their cold unready ears
bells in the town alight with spring
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
19.8k
‘LOVE’ – What mystique power it wields
In what myriad guise it wraps!
At times a sweet ache so coy to reveal
Or a sudden urge, hard to unveil
Sometimes a deep sensation
A strong surge of emotion
Permeating every atom
Pervading from top to bottom
It heightens the pulse
And makes every nerve convulse
It has left kingdoms fall asunder
And many a mighty man - surrender
Often, like dew drops falling from above
Or the warbling notes flowing out from the grove
It leaves the heart go upbeat in prosody
Changing every sensation into rhapsody
As beams of silver cast by the moon
Or the cold touch of spray in the horrid heat of noon
It soothes, embalms and thrills the heart
Filling the void and leaving no dearth
Love sublime, sure like a candle lit
Consumes itself, and never dwindles a bit
It dispels the gloom and dissipates the fright
Invigorating the soul and healing every hurt
As brilliance to stars, fragrance to flowers
Music to flute or shade to bowers
Love is to Man, freeing him from all sores
Bestowing him the strength to meet all throes
Love can neither be beguiled nor disguised
Nor be stifled or be construed
Love puts all other things into place
And hems life with a lovely lace
Love is all we seek and too scarce to find
A magic thread by which hearts are bound
Hark! It is love that makes the world spin around
And cures all the ills that surround
Oh! Love thou virtues I will defend
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
Being invokes Form.
Form invokes Matter.
Matter invokes Mind.
Mind invokes Motion.
Motion evokes Hallucination.
Hallucination evokes Provocation.
Provocation evokes Dis-ease.
Dis-ease evokes Reconciliation.
Conciliation banishes Dis-ease.
Ease banishes Provocation.
Discernment banishes Hallucination.
Rest banishes Motion.
Stillness dispels Thought.
Concentration dispels Matter.
Formlessness dispels Phenomena.
Being alone Is.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
My love is like the healing rain in spring
That falls softly to nourish the earth
She refreshes my sad weary spirit
And brings my lonely soul peace and rebirth
My love is like the warm summer sunshine
That caresses the flowers into bloom
She is fire she is alive with passion
Her presence dispels dark from my room
My love is like the wild wind of autumn
A tempest that strips the leaves from the trees
Restless and haunting she walks in my dreams
Always searching I know not what she seeks
Ah but when the chill of winter abides
She will come home then to be by my side
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
By Amoy
Hiding behind the mask of shame and pain
I pick on you just so I can build my confidence and look cool
Who will help me to unmask my pain and show my true self to the world?
I hide in the hole of my mind waiting for someone to care enough to see through my game.
I hurt people because I’m hurt; I pick on you because I was picked on
I suffer in silence only to spew the nastiest thing that my ego dispels from my soul
Can’t you see that my venom masks my pain?
Help me too; I am the victim who only knows pain and anxiety
Everyone helps the victim; can’t you see that I am a victim too?
Can’t you see that my hurt takes shape and camouflages what lies beneath?
Can’t you see I hurt too?
Tell me who helps the bully?
Is it you? Do u have time to help me?
No one will
I guess u think that I’m a lost cause as well?
I’m not a lost cause I am a worthy cause
Who will help the Bully?
If you can get me to admit that I that I need love too then you have done your job
Help me see that I am worthy, that I can be confident without causing pain
Help me to love myself, that's where most of my pain lies.
Help me; forgive me so that I can forgive myself.
Who will help the bully; is it you? We are victims too
Who will help me see that my future can be bright too?
Who will help the bully is it you?
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 8:27 AM UTC
In the darkness that dispels all hope
we fumble with meaningless insight.
What we said does not relate to what we want
and yet we embrace boundaries to punish ourselves
with unnecessary hells. Languishing in the thought
that silence will answer these loud questions.
We love because we are created to love
unconditionally.We hate because we don't understand
what vast oceans of meaning lie in love.
Silence may answer the ascetics
monastic and contemplatives but
rarely an equation for relationships.
When its grey it rains tears of knowing
where we belong and to whom we belong
in the worlds whole people. Love binds us all
in this understanding fabric of contemplation.
Yet in the darkness we find solitude
and hope in the isolation of reason.
The silence between the drumbeats
announces the rhythm of the song.
We walk in silence
yet celebrate without it.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 19 days ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11566249-Grey-Skies-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.8dgLQUr8.dpuf
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
was an aperitif to an aphorism,
an apothecary of aphrodisiacs,
an apiary of my ever-buzzing thoughts.
She slipped streamline as maraschinos
into a Manhattan, that strike of sugar
staining the most bitter days a color no chemical dispels.
She was an enigmatic row of beakers
shelved in an ancient pharmacy
at the base of the Janiculum.
Her shape was incense wisps, her
touch a song sung in 1940s noir,
her locking gaze acrophobia itself.
Alliteration ran thick through her blood,
she painted like Debussy composed.
No single organism in the universe could’ve imposed
anything on her – well, maybe.
Maybe she’s just a girl, the way that I’m a boy –
no air of denigration here.
She was intricate, but altogether simple. Empathetic-yet-
tangible, her character was incredible.
It was not the beauty of her face, the body
that held her mind and laughter,
not the dazed sting in my hand as it cupped
in hers – it was her autotelic way and her hope.
And now her imaginings hang,
framed in my house; little landscapes of the heart she left;
retreats that prove I’ve loved and been loved.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:59 AM UTC
time steals up soft in autumn’s haze
through fallen leaves and frosted morn
no longer smiles through summer days
bears dreadful gaze of mercy shorn
scribes lines upon youth’s winsome face
and brings the ache of stiffened joint
gives halting stride and slower pace
age piled like leaves does thus anoint
yet in thine eye dwells springtide’s bloom
in ardor’s dance is lightened tread
warm voice dispels autumnal gloom
at gentle touch are decades fled
for love knows naught of count of days
let the years flow as they will
unclouded passion’s flames yet blaze
I shall be thy lover still
Jun 14, 2022
Jun 14, 2022 at 8:58 PM UTC
I was right. All composed of circles, but
Not a bad thing
Relations make life worth living and
Knowledge of them dispels any notion that
It is not
So deeply intertwined the little glimpses
Matter, carry
Explosive realizations in their handbags
It is hot, we are more than
Excited molecules and yet not
Really, excitement is relative
And we enjoy being excited
Heat transforms into a manifestation of
Interrelation awareness
Our world is largely cold and digital
Not to say we need to be
Neutrality is too often stifled by
Polar hands
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 4:16 AM UTC
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
- The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.
This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anasthetic from which none come round.
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.
Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.
2.4k
Calm, sad, secure; behind high convent walls,
These watch the sacred lamp, these watch and pray:
And it is one with them when evening falls,
And one with them the cold return of day.
These heed not time; their nights and days they make
Into a long returning rosary,
Whereon their lives are threaded for Christ's sake;
Meekness and vigilance and chastity.
A vowed patrol, in silent companies,
Life-long they keep before the living Christ.
In the dim church, their prayers and penances
Are fragrant incense to the Sacrificed.
Outside, the world is wild and passionate;
Man's weary laughter and his sick despair
Entreat at their impenetrable gate:
They heed no voices in their dream of prayer.
They saw the glory of the world displayed;
They saw the bitter of it, and the sweet;
They knew the roses of the world should fade,
And be trod under by the hurrying feet.
Therefore they rather put away desire,
And crossed their hands and came to sanctuary
And veiled their heads and put on coarse attire:
Because their comeliness was vanity.
And there they rest; they have serene insight
Of the illuminating dawn to be:
Mary's sweet Star dispels for them the night,
The proper darkness of humanity.
Calm, sad, secure; with faces worn and mild:
Surely their choice of vigil is the best?
Yea! for our roses fade, the world is wild;
But there, beside the altar, there is rest.
2.3k
Across the sky is a blaze of scintillating gold
When the dawn quietly begins to unfold
Each morn is a fresh wonder
As the night willfully bows down to surrender
Every minute is a novel creation
With scenes and sights of great sensation
With every passing hour, new vistas unfold
Bringing insights varied and visions manifold
The blades of grass glow in sparkling dew
As the sun makes his customary march anew
Over the expanse of the brightening sky
Feathered folks to different directions fly
Here and there is many a plant in bloom
That dispels all clouds of graying gloom
Bees hum round opening flowers
Squirrels come out from their hidden covers
The gust of breeze that blows over
Brings scents so sweet in the morning air
The mountains that tower so high
In grandeur seem to touch the sky
The cuckoo and the magpie sing in joy
Their nestlings have nothing to annoy
The cascading falls sound the stringed trumpet
Running down from the mount’s heady summit
As Nature thus pipes a thousand songs
In capturing sounds and melodious tunes
In my heart is born a heavenly melody
That I shall pour out in euphonious rhapsody
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
1410
I shall not murmur if at last
The ones I loved below
Permission have to understand
For what I shunned them so—
Divulging it would rest my Heart
But it would ravage theirs—
Why, Katie, Treason has a Voice—
But mine—dispels—in Tears.
2k
Let us converge on the greatest Garden and then turn to others of meaning and beauty we are so dutiful
To work with family but in the beginning not only clues but evidence shows our great need we need to
With draw walk the garden paths at evening time with our creator father how peace would flow into the
Deepest recesses of our being briars of discontent found today would be changed into focal points of
Clustered flowers to the eye they enthrall with softness their scent infill’s the empty vessel that was
Spilled or intentionally poured out for the help of others with the most soothing rush it flows over the
Whole of you bask in this released treasure and then lift your eyes from His gifts to His lips that are
Speaking to you never have you partaken or been to the inner and outer most part of yourself with total
Disclosure confusion pain and alienation lift as a soiled garment the refreshing sweeping breeze carries
Torment out to sea the moist outer banks flood in as a great mist you are at once bound and beaming
With the knowledge that you are a most valuable person He addresses yourself aberrations that
Demean your true worth so it lies in all men and women the tell tale accuser the discomfited not from
Friend’s family or stranger did not William say it so truly “to thine own self be true” we are most cruel to
Ourselves this trait is vanquished when we are in the very presence of all consuming love he looks inside
At every hurt you see through His eyes and there is no complaint or accusation just acceptance faraway
Longings surprisingly touch and fill attending sorrow that baffled with a consistency how it unerringly
always found the mark it never missed your heart now by the touch of His hand
On the side of your face an erasing a newness of promise was put in its place how your smile told an
Outward story of the final removal of trepidations that were corrosive and were clay like that stuck and
Clung to your soul creating a heaviness and depression now the freeing bouncy love dispels the darkest
Apparitions that are lies that fight your best and highest interest what was the word that said moving
Mountains yes the heights and lows are neutralized now joy peace is at flood stage all it took was a stroll
In the garden
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
At our core is a connection
with a deep “Inner Knowing."
It's abode resides within each of us.
At the point of deep silence.
Between our inhalation and exhalation
A point of stillness
In the quiet of our personal eternal now.
The Dove sitting quietly on her nest.
Do you call her an Angel?
Holy Spirit?
Or the Self Actualizing Higher Self?
Or something else?
What ever you call her, it does not matter
She is a quiet knowing that warms my heart.
A scream or a shout is never, her tender voice.
She leaves no doubt
Regarding deep nature, deep compassoin.
She is the Ancestor,
The Guru, The Teacher, The Guide, The Witness
The maintainer of life itself.
Lovingly, tending to the questions of your heart.
She comforts the destressed
Tames the racing fears.
Dispels the wild winds of assumptions!
Vigilant, never ceasing
Always enduring to the end.
Raising us up!
Guiding each back into a unified soul.
Layers upon layers of energies
knit kindly together with Her Love.
Such wings as these!!
Oh Yes! Take flight!!!
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 8:12 PM UTC
If misery was a gift
she had Christmas every day.
Her clouds had clouds
and she traded the silver linings
for an overstock of black mold.
She once had been happy,
but peace never challenged her
the way chaos did.
Now, the only thing she loves
is tending her garden of discontent
with **** rakes and spades
for 50 shades of defeat.
If she achieved every goal on her checklist
she kept Einstein’s,
Hawking’s,
and Jesus Christ’s in her pocket
to remind her of the insufficiencies.
She complains that she has no friends
and assures it
with a magnifying glass of faults.
The profile for her perfect man
is rigid. So rigid
that even God didn’t qualify.
If she found a glass half-full
she’d grumble that it wasn’t Cognac Champagne.
She has long since forgotten
the important thing -
the power of light.
For light heals
light brings hope
light always dispels darkness
unless YOU become an eclipse
between it and the world.
[VERSION 2.0]
SHE FORGOT
If misery was a gift
she had Christmas every day.
Paper and bows
she’d wrapped herself,
hand signed cards
To: Me, From: Me
every box opened
then rewrapped
and opened again
with tattered Scotch-tape scars
unsalvageable
like the excitement of a child
who found her hidden presents
in the closet 10 days
before Santa would come.
And clouds! How did you know!?
Gray, snowless,
pointless holidays
hopelessdays
all her days.
Her clouds had clouds
and she had traded the silver linings
for black mold.
They always fit her just right.
She once had been happy
but peace never challenged her
the way chaos did.
So she labors passionately in
a garden of discontent
nurtured year-‘round
but always growing winter
watering resentment and acrimony
with bitterness,
drawn from a barrel full
of moldy cloud rain.
Regardless of what she might achieve
she reminds herself
of others doing more
comparing checklists with Jesus Christ’s.
If she had fed the 5000,
she would still be
lacking the crucifixion.
You see, nothing grows
by accident in a well-kept
garden
including withered friends whom
she weeds, though beautiful
assuring they will never be more.
Those she doesn't pluck, she bakes
under her magnifying glass of faults.
She knows nothing of content
whether love, or God,
or a half-goblet of possibility.
If she found a glass half-full
she’d grumble that it wasn’t Cognac Champagne.
She has long since forgotten
the important thing –
the power of light.
How it heals and grows
hopeful sprouts, green
through struggling soil.
Light always dispels darkness
unless YOU become an eclipse
between it and the world.
When you cast your own
shadow
it’s easy to forget
the way flowers
grow back on their own
every spring
the way the clouds
sometimes break
unexpectedly.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 1:37 AM UTC
A pick-up case sits in the dirt, a face like muddy children, hence,
All it needs is a pick-me-up; I’m sure you’ve been around and out
Have a cup of coffee and tell me of the times, mutter out and dispense
Of those all miseries; there’s another watching clouds break about
And solitude unmake itself. But I leave it with twigs, quiet and devout
Because this old-soul dispels of clarity without youth or commonsense.
Even if I could, neither of us could say what rises Easter morning
Or to what sun gods, of praise, are most deserving. But, just this one time
Dewy sunlight parched the bold-faced shadows came without much warning,
On warm breezes at our necks was something akin a wish of mine.
We know not where we are and we do not wish to leave behind
This time to count our blessings in the contrails in the sky
For the shoring up of bleak tomorrows can’t demystify a trance
We glimpse and fall to wobbly knees might stay on the off chance.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
The weight of the wisdom we seek eludes
us as we stagger into dark dens of knowledge
suffused and selected, stored in gigantic libraries
of the mind by those
who know
yet wont divulge the details to those
who wait
arms outstretched
for the yearning.
In between lie wannabes
who seek the sun of comments
to glorify themselves as a birth right
unwilling to accept the acid pen
or pain of knowing how falsehoods
lie like wounds exposed to inspection.
Writing poetry in plain language is better
than compromised with complexity.
Just the words and visuals singing on the same note
should suffice to stir the minds magic
to ecstasy.
The crush of wisdom dispels us from climbing
over the boundaries of decency
to sizzle a comment with depressing ease.
You can hear the ego deflate and flatten
akin to a robust balloon descending
to earth like a flightless fancy
with no wingpower.
Not every poem straddles and sparks
in sheer finery
Lots and lots of them refuse to take off
and surrender to the minds star burst
of meaning.
In a days reading maybe
of a hundred, just one line would light up
a dark sky like a comet racing across the page
leaving behind its fairy dust
for us to ponder upon. One diamond
in the dust of lifeless energies
is worth mining for!
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
No not the falls but the laugh phenomenal engaging pure intoxicating the crinkle of eyes the
Aliveness the reverberation does fall and streams down like water it washes ones face nothing
Holds it back part of its softer moods is its winsomeness airy innocence that speaks tenderly as
It outwardly shouts what a find recently I spoke of the money I spent trying to find a singer to
Move and touch my soul so many was good and held promise but time after time
Disappointment it’s the same nothing is prettier than ones smile they are wonderful you
Cherish them and then you see the day change in a moment electricity crackles a heart shines
Through every pour of a face we are all blessed with a special something that makes us unique
A quiet power to touch a sweeping away of cares and frowns it spills down country lanes quaint
Sidewalks of the mind when it is observed it is telling in that it dispels the lie that life is nothing
But pain and drudgery my contrary heart argues such statements but the soul and spirit
Overrule by having just been ignited thrown into a tizzy thats alright everyone needs to get tizzy
Every once in a while the blues is cruel laughter shoots them down allows you to bounce back
And enjoy life laughter truly is like a medicine well if she isn’t hospital size she is defiantly a
Clinic no guaranties in life they say I’ll give this one look into that laugh your expression and
Outlook will change it worked for her here is her own direct quote “Previously my life was
Complex, I helped make it that way. Now, I keep it simple and fun.” Take delirious look at it
Aghast as we must we can’t have that so throw a big pinch of sober a tiny dash of dower ok fine
Now just for a minute laugh your head off good lord what fun don’t worry about the stunned
Faces they will get over it I bet a lot of country people have had similar experiences if they own
A jack *** you know how they have those signs in some neighborhoods for different reasons
Well some Need no Laughing out loud fuddy dudy lives at such in such address go up behind
Them and Scream get Crazy they will live longer and that I can guarantee I have written about a
Great lady With a Great laugh enjoy making her acquaintance
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
thoughts of hate; my head i fill,
as talons scrape my window sill,
the memories rack my bones again,
as demons make my bed their den,
each night i feel them take control,
as each one strips away my soul,
and leaves me here a broken shell,
my haven lost en route to hell,
these demons are my guilty sin,
that eats away the life within,
my sanity; the locks that hold,
my heart already growing cold,
the light of dawn dispels my fear,
as demons now retreat and clear,
my empty bed again my own,
a dream perhaps? the truth unknown.
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 7:22 AM UTC
Waking to birdsong and morning's promise,
the whispering breeze and murmuring light
dispels the fog of the evening's gloom,
the shaking terrors of the dreaming night.
Ghosts visit in the trembling darkness
and remain until they are chased away
by a soft explosion of solar hope,
by the advent of an untouched day.
To wake is to make a fresh pact with life,
to attempt to find a new way to see,
to take up the journey once again,
to struggle for another day to be.
Like the helpless moth to the fire drawn,
I cannot say no to the voice of dawn.
- mce
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
Another day, another night.
You say their debt outweighs their death.
Logic dispels the search through trash and mildewed lore.
Makeup runs and your choices stay.
Becoming much thinner now yes?
The air is unintelligible.
These things will last.
Abandoned not loved, the fate of your newest choice;
a most crystalline series of poor choices, calculated missteps and those carefree mistakes.
Like the smoke flown from your lungs over the roof of neon discotheque.
Either/or.
You smell of spoiled treasure.
Move past the decay, past perfumes and powders.
There is you, skeletal and shaking on a small bed in the middle of a dark place with a hint of light all around you, shadows form on the edge, the mythos surrounding your empty head, but never bending to enlighten you.
Stay still.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Crashing surf on roiling sands
Bouldered with volcanic might,
Westward storms howl from the sea
Battered seagulls shriek in flight.
Pale dune grasses thrash to leeward
Scattered shafts of milky light,
Wild and storm caste portraiture
Of cruel sea's eternal might.
Searching eyes across this tumult
Reaching gaze amongst the foam,
Sodden gown to clinging body
Frantic eyes in cold waves roam.
Desperately she seeks the lover
Hauntingly she calls his name,
Writhing seas consume her words
Crashing surf dispels the blame.
Sad solitude in loneliness
Outstretched slender arms so frail,
Yearning for that tender kiss
And for his cold, dead features pale.
Rain soaked girl on lonely outcrop
Railing at a raging sea,
Lost within unfeeling vastness
Unobserved by all...but me.
Marshalg
On the wild & remote, black sand beaches of Taranaki
20 November 2010
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 11:06 PM UTC