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"dolefully" poems
I see you, love Dancing on the line of apathy Self-deprecating voices chatter away in your head The light of inspiration has dimmed in your eyes Your heart beats absent-mindedly Dolefully complacent are your days In and out- smiles to fool them Rotating doors of relationships Faces change- your role play stays the same
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Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
August 21, 2013 - Concern for the Millennials
He barks in the distance Howling at the moon from jagged cliffs Anxiously waiting for her response, Dolefully widened eyes grasp for her With a warmth withstanding gelid air Her symphonious ocean drowns his cries She illuminates her inconsolable sea Her waves absorbing his mournful song She reaches for him from high heavens How terribly she yearns to be with him, just once more
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Jan 4, 2023
Jan 4, 2023 at 12:37 AM UTC
Longing
I know I have been happiest at your side; But what is done, is done, and all's to be. And small the good, to linger dolefully-- Gayly it lived, and gallantly it died. I will not make you songs of hearts denied, And you, being man, would have no tears of me, And should I offer you fidelity, You'd be, I think, a little terrified. Yet this the need of woman, this her curse: To range her little gifts, and give, and give, Because the throb of giving's sweet to bear. To you, who never begged me vows or verse, My gift shall be my absence, while I live; But after that, my dear, I cannot swear.
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2.8k
I Know I Have Been Happiest
Sometimes you see her admiring herself In the mirror that's hanging next to the shelf. And when she does it, oh, how she shines! Is that, dear cat, how you practice your lines? She seems not to care if we pay attention, But maybe right here I ought to make mention That being an actress, she's disinclined To always reveal what's going on in her mind. And she'll never, never tell you her age-- Aphrodite, the cat of the stage. She says, "You know…I'm not one to cuss, But when I am hungry, I WILL make a fuss." Yes, she can certainly put on a scene And act as though she's an importunate queen. She says, "My dears, if I'm weak or mild, I'll never drive the audience wild." That critical scene is repeated each night-- A regular tour de force all right. Yes, it's best to try to assuage Aphrodite, the cat of the stage. Her eyes were surely her greatest feature; She THUS scoured the town for a drama teacher, "Who," she says dolefully, "told me one night he Could make me a star. ME: Aphrodite!" But as it turned out, ol' Mr. Mittens Made her instead a mom of eight kittens. "But," she says, "THAT'S between you and me. You know how I like my privacy." It's good to always be on the same page With Aphrodite, the cat of the stage. One thing you learn is for her it's the norm To act a bit slighted when asked to perform. She must be totally in the mood Or else she behaves in a manner subdued. And heaven help you if you are neglectful Of if her audience is disrespectful. She'll exit the room like a "cat" out of hell, And you may not see her for quite a long spell. You never want to see her rage-- Aphrodite, the cat of the stage. She sighs and says, "It's such a shame that Few playwrights write good roles for a cat. My friends say--when they see me upset-- 'Commercials might be a better bet.' My talents, however, as you might have guessed, Best fit the stage. But now I must rest." With that she lifted her nose in the air And strutted out of the room with great flair. It's always nice: advice from a sage Like Aphrodite, the cat of the stage. -by Bob B (1-24-20)
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Jan 25, 2020
Jan 25, 2020 at 8:44 AM UTC
Aphrodite, the Cat of the Stage
Sometimes you see her admiring herself In the mirror that's hanging next to the shelf. And when she does it, oh, how she shines! Is that, dear cat, how you practice your lines? She seems not to care if we pay attention, But maybe right here I ought to make mention That being an actress, she's disinclined To always reveal what's going on in her mind. And she'll never, never tell you her age-- Aphrodite, the cat of the stage. She says, "You know…I'm not one to cuss, But when I am hungry, I WILL make a fuss." Yes, she can certainly put on a scene And act as though she's an importunate queen. She says, "My dears, if I'm weak or mild, I'll never drive the audience wild." That critical scene is repeated each night-- A regular tour de force all right. Yes, it's best to try to assuage Aphrodite, the cat of the stage. Her eyes were surely her greatest feature; She THUS scoured the town for a drama teacher, "Who," she says dolefully, "told me one night he Could make me a star. ME: Aphrodite!" But as it turned out, ol' Mr. Mittens Made her instead a mom of eight kittens. "But," she says, "THAT'S between you and me. You know how I like my privacy." It's good to always be on the same page With Aphrodite, the cat of the stage. One thing you learn is for her it's the norm To act a bit slighted when asked to perform. She must be totally in the mood Or else she behaves in a manner subdued. And heaven help you if you are neglectful Of if her audience is disrespectful. She'll exit the room like a "cat" out of hell, And you may not see her for quite a long spell. You never want to see her rage-- Aphrodite, the cat of the stage. She sighs and says, "It's such a shame that Few playwrights write good roles for a cat. My friends say--when they see me upset-- 'Commercials might be a better bet.' My talents, however, as you might have guessed, Best fit the stage. But now I must rest." With that she lifted her nose in the air And strutted out of the room with great flair. It's always nice: advice from a sage Like Aphrodite, the cat of the stage. -by Bob B (1-24-20)
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51
While satellites come close and leave, whole moons and the swirling dust of reflective obeyers, it arrives from distance. Running a course through weight from a pencil-thin horizon brow, it might have streaked across darkness. With the dead shines behind, washed clean in a trail of wild flame and then fallen, bolide broken into cascade. Or rising to collide, only skim the surface. Ruffle the sheets of land, wrinkle fertile leas and parched sands. No, to strike full and shudder the core and extinguish light and life. With unswerving smite. From underestimated range and unmeasured haste, a peacock tail drags far behind. Each one diamond dolefully eyed. Is this eccentric orbit the only the path seen? Fastened to your celestial belt and looped in an endless trajectory.
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Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
Decline to comet
Dolefully trudge to my chamber this night. Carrying burden of this inimical plight. Scrawling as a means to drop this weight light. But alas, who will read these words that I write?
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Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC
"These Words That I Write"
A dull doll faced mug Glinted by unknown light Dried a drip of ancient drink Dripped down quite Hands clasped tight around A mug of occult confession Eyes teared as such A sorrowful expression Dappled light through glass Chair scrapped along floor Spotted plastic tablecloth Shut tight wooden door Homemade woollen tea cosy Lumps of bricked sugar Kettle whistling dolefully Clicking stained cooker Futile arms waving Closed taught eyes Sigh of calming thoughts "Please, no more lies"
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Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
Occult Confesion
“Lord have mercy,” you dolefully sigh, your song awaiting my reply. ”Have Mercy on me,” each chord explains, your baby is lost and torn heart pains. With tired feet I softly croon my dark agreement, a bluesy tune. I stir my cocoa – a condoling toast – and welcome you in as your lonely host. Suspended in your mournful zephyr, I bear the wounds you’ll always suffer, the Atlas burden that breaks your back, your scarlet letter weathered black, and offer you my own lament of how my stormy Monday went. Then, like a wing-footed Gabriel, he sings his holy madrigal. With merciful swiftness my beloved appears, and whispers, ”Darling, I am here,” Then our duet becomes one person less, As I am             undone                         with                                happiness.
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May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 9:34 PM UTC
Stormy Monday
Have you ever missed someone so greatly, till your heart grieves dolefully from dawn to dusk and dawn, your soul achingly starves of rendezvous, yet you let the innocent remain as is. Only, surreptitiously hoping, that you two would run into one another unpredictably, as if mother nature coincidentally let you two converge, or as the God unexpectedly grants your bedtime prayers. Because, you barely can stand having your very own deceptive, polished outer shell cracked down. You hardly let the scrupulous persona envisage your constant cravings for his perfunctory good mornings, eloquent wordings, and dainty giggles. And, by no least, you’re afraid he will sneak into your ice-masked, truthfully fragile personality, only to discover your non-seraphic quintessence.
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Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
A Secret Missive
“Life can have its share of tears and heartaches, Malady and demise dolefully follows us in our lives, Our souls exist with love laughter family and faith,   Life’s secret of caverns like the songs in your mind, The enclave of sand rock and lichen reflects well, Of that was formed ever so enchanting the abyss, Of the stone with its furtive outlets afore the deep brine, As it passed by your name a fiery flower than created, The arduous waves rose like a barrier in the Universe, A canticle now well beloved all things ode to love, Earth time sea island life and tide are subsequent, The sea is the mouth to the universe and tells all,     Flowers on the now spring unfold afore our eyes, Observing us as if our passions are now in the begin,   Arduous waves of the brine are now burgeoning flowers, A courtyard now surrounded with passionate flowers, We were alive together on a macrocosm heretofore, Yet not alone when the hour of our demise befalls us,   Our love was harvested as that of the fields of grain, I the knowledge of the sea and you with gold lividity,   Mine exists in the caverns of the soil and sand Fear not my blossom of life the fire of our love, Soon loving kisses will join as our mouths, Cleave perpetually” By Andrew Guzaldo ©  11/15/2018
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Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
“CLEAVE PERPETUALLY”
White daisies dolefully kiss your cheeks as the universe wraps herself around your neck like a malicious strand of pearls. Underneath that smile I can see you are drowning while your insides fervently burn like the relentless sun in an August sky. And all of this is because you insist on cradling the entire weight of an arbitrary world without my assistance
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Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
Dancing Bears
Dolefully trudge to my chamber this night. Carrying burden of this inimical plight. Scrawling as a means to drop this weight light. But alas, who will read these words that I write? .................................................................... Heaven in a dark place. Jokers with no face. Not a moment free yet not a thing to do. The theif paints his cell wall. With crushed plants and they fall. Ivory clouds speckle the sky of blue. Deep in the brain stem. A bulb burning light dim. Wallows the roots of everything once feared. Blind marchers guiding. Hunters found hiding. Messy brigade leaves the ruins cleared. Time will move on and on and on and on and on you too soon. By the time eyes adjust to the sun you'll be seeing the moon.
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Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
Blind Marchers Guiding
Troubled, bitter and dishevelled Out into the night he steps Which way to turn he cannot fathom In limbo, confused and perplexed Life’s path, no longer lucid Hidden beneath gnarled thoughts Secreting the pledge made long ago And now proffering a murky course Feelings gravely stained and worn Shed tears for love misplaced They ache for consolation And her warm, gentle embrace Promises broken and moments lost Empty darkness calls Her nothingness so strangely appealing Then, dolefully, he staggers forth
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May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 10:36 PM UTC
Into the Dark
Grandfather's house, knocked to the ground - to dust: The windows wept when the bulldozer came Timeworn and ***** and wheezing black smoke, Just like the drab mills where grandfather moiled. Children play in the intriguing debris Where, once, children played on the garden path, Where grandfather told stories of past things And the children listened wide eyed, in awe. The door remains standing, creaking, ajar, As it yawns in the twilight of the gloom And the children knock though no one answers So, they run away for, why should they stay? Abandoned now, no one, near here, comes by Except myself in the patience of night As I tap on the door, though softly now, Grandfather answers and dolefully smiles.
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Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 3:20 AM UTC
The Mill Town House
The day imploded came rushing in to remind me that the night was but an amalgamation of those minutes that pin the eyes awake. I take two moments to acclimatise unpin the pins pinned on my eyes and the fading of the fading light finally fades and dies. I look with infra dead between the lines and intro sped along the times when all was well and now it disappears into the room of absented fears French leave for the grieving and believing I am one of them the lonely buttered crusts of men I go on and into further there where the sharp words cut my feet and bleeding sorely thus I greet the men to whom that I would speak of better days who in their ways have sold a million memories to hang up on the blowing melodies that seem to crow at me and if I listened carefully would say but few words dolefully and this before the breakfast laid upon my lap the dripping sap another buttered crust any yet another dream that turns to dust but in the cream jug where the poison lies and remnants of the dying light prefer to hide and sit upon the milky way the lay of it appeals in laying down something unreal can steal this mind of mine and use it in some future time to come cryogenic hallucifrenic and I am going down the tubes before the slide that carries me into the beginning of my darkest day I say, 'if I would walk a second,fecund and mount the insurmountable' would I be accountable to myself or to those crusty men? and to the lady,she who knows where this road goes and leads me to its ending in the twist and bend will you defend me fight for and lend me strength? What is the length of illness measure what treasure does it hold and and what on being told the answer would I answer in return? The fever of the brow and how the body burns and burn in turns like you and we together would we be forever severing all ties even as the fading of the fading finally fades and dies and can you tell me can you tell can you can. A crusty buttered dusty battered and man to whom that nothing mattered would like to know before I go.
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Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
Slipping
The day imploded came rushing in to remind me that the night was but an amalgamation of those minutes that pin the eyes awake. I take two moments to acclimatise unpin the pins pinned on my eyes and the fading of the fading light finally fades and dies. I look with infra dead between the lines and intro sped along the times when all was well and now it disappears into the room of absented fears French leave for the grieving and believing I am one of them the lonely buttered crusts of men I go on and into further there where the sharp words cut my feet and bleeding sorely thus I greet the men to whom that I would speak of better days who in their ways have sold a million memories to hang up on the blowing melodies that seem to crow at me and if I listened carefully would say but few words dolefully and this before the breakfast laid upon my lap the dripping sap another buttered crust any yet another dream that turns to dust but in the cream jug where the poison lies and remnants of the dying light prefer to hide and sit upon the milky way the lay of it appeals in laying down something unreal can steal this mind of mine and use it in some future time to come cryogenic hallucifrenic and I am going down the tubes before the slide that carries me into the beginning of my darkest day I say, 'if I would walk a second,fecund and mount the insurmountable' would I be accountable to myself or to those crusty men? and to the lady,she who knows where this road goes and leads me to its ending in the twist and bend will you defend me fight for and lend me strength? What is the length of illness measure what treasure does it hold and and what on being told the answer would I answer in return? The fever of the brow and how the body burns and burn in turns like you and we together would we be forever severing all ties even as the fading of the fading finally fades and dies and can you tell me can you tell can you can. A crusty buttered dusty battered and man to whom that nothing mattered would like to know before I go.
Continue reading...
53
the lyrics of a forgotten rhapsody hummed to a tuneless melody blades of grass dance dolefully to the mezzo's melancholy hearts are dark matter buried deep into the core imprisoned in cages bleeding forevermore The mind of a broken heart rests not.
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Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
The Wallowing
She was all that, tall and filled with mathematical curves and points in languid poses aware that male eyes grew bigger at her ***** welcome. *** her legs never stopped growing and barely touched the ground poised and ready to pounce panther like grace and beauty to wrap around adventure beckoning. She wrote poems too insipid though moonbeams and roses love and languish imaginary lovers, unfulfilled dreams. That sort of stuff! I had her figured one whole summer and my numbers and curves vastly improved to the touch and taste and her eyes swelled dolefully at my cryptic poems When she went back to hubby She offered just one comment on those vast tracts of writing: Sounds good, but what do they mean? Honesty makes your heart flutter. I know that for sure. Winter arrived.
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Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
Summer of 90
Your dark eyes were to die for. Mine full of sprinkles. Sprinkles of tears. My life's focus got a little mislaid when I looked deep inside. I can say I spied your real being, from the outside looking in. I never learned, although a learned soul at heart. Still lost in your eyes. And poetic art. Your iris not a flower, but a hollow tunnel of carbon, awaiting a quiet spark. And at that the tone of the saxophone so dolefully plays. Threw a deep jazz rhythm into my mind to divert my focus a tiny bit more. In another life at another time I would be yours and you'd be mine. That's a certainty. The time the present, the Christmas gift is inappropriate. Maybe in a little while the world will work out great. (C) Livvi
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Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
DARK BROWN EYES
she doesn't wanna remember the last December there was quiet on the wind it was as cold as his soul The girl looked alive but her heart had holes she thought she could survive but it all began in September she fell in love that she couldn't handle Dolefully, the boy was a good pretender All she asked for is to hold his hands all night to make love until the sun rise she lived a lie she couldn't get out of it alive she was unsure anymore if it's love or addiction she faced a lot of years of adversity maybe she loved the devil she had became everyday she felt more vulnerable she felt normal about feeling the pain she became a psychopath with no shame she started doing her bad habits every night but who could she blame? something in her beauty ain't right is the guy who broke her heart we could blame or love is just a losing game? she kept thinking.. is this the life she wanted to live? is this the person she wanted to love? She knew inside there's still the good person she used to be she knew what happened to her was a lesson she wouldn't repeat she was like a lost girl wanted to trick and treat to get some sweet but never had it anyways she couldn't find way back home kept thinking if it's possible to **** feelings..?
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Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 1:10 AM UTC
Last December.
The sky blackens now The voices fall silent The moon hangs pale and thin The oceans exhale now The breeze speaks softly The tides become dolefully still The gods are absent now The stars remain hidden The universe pauses for you
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Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC
Untitled
The steps to my grave grow fewer, I'm told now it's just a stone's throw; But I've yet to carry the Torch of Love And stand in awe beneath its hallowed glow Too many were the lonely nights I knelt with despair so near me, Praying for love with the faith of a child, Foolishly believing God would hear me Tell me, Lord, can you hear me now? Why have my cries not reached your door? Each day fresh wreckage is strewn o'er my life, But your silence is what it was before The Book of Life's last page has turned, The present hour now holds the keys; Little time remains to learn of Love's joys -- When Death summons, I'll have no need for these Can you hear me now? Give me hope Before my heart heaves its last sigh; Will my barque ever journey on Love's sea, Or with furled sails in port forever lie? Though despair stretches its talons, The voice of hope affirms its place; As the Scroll of Life dolefully unfolds, Have lines been penned that Fate might yet erase? Foolish heart, hopeful to the end, As Death guides the gravedigger's plow: Dig deeper, deeper, stifle that ****** voice! But my heart still cries ..... can you hear me now?
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May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
Can You Hear Me Now?
Coming across you was like Walking past an abandoned dollar on the surface we stroll upon. Your atmosphere was a miracle While my own was simple dust. You were unaware of it but, illumination was your ability. Your notion was likewise, but my work was divergent. Physically. Equivalent minds but dolefully dissimilar movements.
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Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
glasses and shoes Pt.1
.................................................................­... Dolefully trudge to my chamber this night. Carrying burden of this inimical plight. Scrawling as a means to drop this weight light. But alas, who will read these words that I write? .........................................................­........... Heaven in a dark place. Jokers with no face. Not a moment free yet not a thing to do. The theif paints his cell walls. With crushed plants and it falls. Ivory clouds speckle the sky of blue. Deep in the brain stem. A bulb burning light dim. Wallows the roots of everything once feared. Blind marchers guiding. Hunters found hiding. Messy brigade leaves the ruins cleared. Time will move on and on and on and on and on you too soon. By the time your eyes adjust to the sun you'll be seeing the moon. ...........................................................­.........
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Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 5:39 PM UTC
Blind Marchers Guiding
A seed of Love that never found The hallowed path to fertile ground, The fruitless trees, the orchard bare --- Bitter pain of unanswered prayer A tired heart, trampled by Love's feet Dolefully yields in utter defeat; No eyes gaze upon its despair. Although unseen, the pain is there An outstretched hand that no one holds As night's obsidian cloak unfolds; Mournful sobs permeate the air--- O, what pain! And no one to share Hours of blissful happiness Followed by guile's fatal caress; Wretched pain of Love's sad farewell . . . O, what stories the past could tell! Though such reminiscing brings regret, Still, the heart whispers "Never forget," And so to Love's treachery we're resigned, And journey on . . . with pain close behind
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Mar 26, 2024
Mar 26, 2024 at 12:44 PM UTC
Pain
Once in a nightmare, I admit the fear that entangled me. Those apocalyptic eyes, reciting commands in a not so accustomed husky croaks. The mystifying boundless land, niched with surreal inhabitants. Perched nearby a bird of passage, forlorn, dolefully singing an inexplicable melancholy. The blustery sky was all there, bountifully bolstering up An underlying enmity of the tempestuous outlast. No clue that could dispel the gusty gloom utopianly. Even the all-curing outpour grew only cypress around, then what sustaining hope to lay trust on. And all this has left me to the indifferent solitude , blenching for response to my unresolved perplexion. I long for truth that brings such satisfaction, to the craving in my bones. What can i do but shun me! Until i carve out these words.....
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Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 5:36 AM UTC
Once in a NIGHTMARE!