"doubtless" poems
1478
Look back on Time, with kindly eyes—
He doubtless did his best—
How softly sinks that trembling sun
In Human Nature’s West—
9.4k
I've never seen a shooting star.
The city lights are way too bright,
But should they dim somehow,
I'll wish for words to never fail.
He said he'd take me out to see
A shooting star this summer,
And when he doubtless keeps his word,
I'll wish him peace of mind.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 7:35 AM UTC
Husband and Wife! yes, that term sounds nice.
When they tie that knot with gold.
Two will live as one, this path has just begun.
Together until they both grow old.
In this lifetime dance, sharing their romance.
Will things always go their way.
Errors can slip in, create a family sin.
That makes this connection sway.
He might go astray, and his wife betray.
And the odds are this won't go.
Far to making them want to try again
But many others may not know.
From an outside eye love will never die.
They were made to live as one.
Rather a theatrical play, than give the game away.
The deception has begun.
For a child's grace they create a face.
That is happy and sublime.
But they drift apart, both have lost the heart.
And just seek to bide their time.
For it will doubtless be when it's not us but me.
And for freedom they will aim.
No more having to distract with this farcical act.
Finally ending loves spun game.
Should it go on so late, when love does turn to hate.
Is it not better to just leave
For trying to be discreet can be so bitter sweet.
Like a web that spiders weave.
Better to live a truth than to try and prove.
To those who are outside.
Of this marriage bed where these hearts have bled.
Just for the sake of pride.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
(For Harry Clifton)
I HAVE heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow.
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out.
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie bearen flat.
All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop-scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.
On their own feet they came, or On shipboard,'
Camel-back; horse-back, ass-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus,
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp-chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again,
And those that build them again are gay.
Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in lapis lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird,
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instmment.
Every discoloration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent,
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.
3.4k
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.
It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me—
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.
They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.
3.3k
In honesty ,
I don't see a reason not to,
I apologise for being crude or being rude or being blunt,
I can feel this urge,
this craving,
this want.
I know you've wanted it,
And I refuse to dennie it,
To be clear an honest, I don't plan to disrespect or disregard,
Your words or agreements.
But I don't disregard your wants, and I don't see why I would,
You make me feel like I shouldn't, but you do like you should.
Your eyes scream at me,
As your thoughts twisting into my frequencies, calling me, but keeping me at bay.
Your body reserved but your fingers twitch,
Watching you closely,
I can feel your nervous, it's not about me, I can feel you wanting me, but nervous.
As I said it's not me, your not nervous about me, you may not know me, but you know me, well enough to or understand or know my intentions, but you know your not nervous because of me, I know you aren't.
But I do know why you are.
You gave me a reason, but I don't feel you can agree with it, I can feel your regret already building as you say no.
But I know why,
your afraid, of the problem, of the situation, of the conversation, of the lingering regret of regrets yet felt.
But what regrets are more fearsome then the ones we create in our selves?
Give your desire to me, rest your eyes from fears, let me take what you want me to have, and I'll give everything I know you want.
To me this submission is one long coming, and now it's silent and waiting,
Every glance, every bitten lip, every idea of desire, every moment in my presence, I've felt you.
Your wants flowing to me like a current from the oceans pull, doubtless as they are, unquestionable,
And unrelenting.
So to be honest what reason not to, when it seems the scales have set, and balance is in my favor, and yours.
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 4:01 AM UTC
597
It always felt to me—a wrong
To that Old Moses—done—
To let him see—the Canaan—
Without the entering—
And tho’ in soberer moments—
No Moses there can be
I’m satisfied—the Romance
In point of injury—
Surpasses sharper stated—
Of Stephen—or of Paul—
For these—were only put to death—
While God’s adroiter will
On Moses—seemed to fasten
With tantalizing Play
As Boy—should deal with lesser Boy—
To prove ability.
The fault—was doubtless Israel’s—
Myself—had banned the Tribes—
And ushered Grand Old Moses
In Pentateuchal Robes
Upon the Broad Possession
’Twas little—But titled Him—to see—
Old Man on Nebo! Late as this—
My justice bleeds—for Thee!
2.9k
1385
“Secrets” is a daily word
Yet does not exist—
Muffled—it remits surmise—
Murmured—it has ceased—
Dungeoned in the Human Breast
Doubtless secrets lie—
But that Grate inviolate—
Goes nor comes away
Nothing with a Tongue or Ear—
Secrets stapled there
Will emerge but once—and dumb—
To the Sepulchre—
2.8k
In your mother's apple-orchard,
Just a year ago, last spring:
Do you remember, Yvonne!
The dear trees lavishing
Rain of their starry blossoms
To make you a coronet?
Do you ever remember, Yvonne,
As I remember yet?
In your mother's apple-orchard,
When the world was left behind:
You were shy, so shy, Yvonne!
But your eyes were calm and kind.
We spoke of the apple harvest,
When the cider press is set,
And such-like trifles, Yvonne,
That doubtless you forget.
In the still, soft Breton twilight,
We were silent; words were few,
Till your mother came out chiding,
For the grass was bright with dew:
But I know your heart was beating,
Like a fluttered, frightened dove.
Do you ever remember, Yvonne,
That first faint flush of love?
In the fulness of midsummer,
When the apple-bloom was shed,
Oh, brave was your surrender,
Though shy the words you said.
I was glad, so glad, Yvonne!
To have led you home at last;
Do you ever remember, Yvonne,
How swiftly the days passed?
In your mother's apple-orchard
It is grown too dark to stray,
There is none to chide you, Yvonne!
You are over far away.
There is dew on your grave grass, Yvonne!
But your feet it shall not wet:
No, you never remember, Yvonne!
And I shall soon forget.
2.7k
I
Do not
Doubt you any
Longer.
I
Am sorry
That I doubted
You..
I
Will not
Doubt you ever
Again...
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
**My life is foretold in every crevice of this universe,
in serene seas, and swaying sands,
in scorching degrees and holding hands,
with a lover in my longing arms,
fires raging, and yet i am sheltered from harm.
and throughout my journeys,
it is my deepest desire,
to ignite and set my ambitions on fire,
in the midst of euphoric dreaming,
with my lover on this late summer's evening.
and i shall be at one with the stars,
and my doors in life shall forever remain ajar.**
*Walk into this space it is endless
sublime congruence with the heavens
open is the third eye looking directly at abyss
i feel a divine hint on my skin
as if it were a celestial kiss
there is no need to travel in doubt
it is written across the evening canvas
open the gates of exotic awareness*
**It is writhing, it is gifting, entrusting me, and quaking,
yet I, within mine, remain still.
Fore be it told, and beneath footless form, it's subversive,
yet, I dance a sure tango, uphill.
I must be sure, so sure not to mind lone notches and disparity,
as crevices, you see, they arch to transverse.
Fearing but forging the depths of what is migration, we say,
from this hallowed tangle be my rise, my verse.
I’m floundering, I grant, when I think I hold discovery,
so, I tug at the rein of imprint and plan.
It is here my beloved reliance, my precious doubtless tread
is afforded the fair crossing of Pan.
So, although it contests and chides and outreaches,
I am in love and as love, an apprentice.
A conquest won, no never, but here, a concession, a regard-
I am, with no poet’s journey, amiss.**
Lilting ebulliently in ineffable fields of ecstasy.
Mellifluous waves, in life's voyage,
inure us to pulchritude paths, refined by old age.
Multifarious, nascent jubilant days, swaying in paint,
array the way as we sail away.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
welcome to the world
milk larder
atlas killer
welcome to the universal mind
your presence has not been anticipated
no bells rung at your birth
but the cosmos shook about a
nanometer
from the force of your creation
spectacular birth even if your arm
is weak
doubtless your good looks will make up the rest
...
no luck there?
you're the down-trodden,
the eclipsed lantern,
the face in odd angles,
wearing the weight of someone's unconditional
..
Lust
but deep in your caved chest
your heart is beating the tribal song
of a jet launching for the sky
the way you felt when you switched wheat
for rye
the turn in your cerebrum going from gluten
to sigh.
but even as the birds coast beside
your jet-stream heart strings
I see your hesitation glistening
shivering at the start line from your magnum opus
and you are shattered
growling lioness courage running from the cannon
exhaust that running lion
until she's panting on her back
sweating vapor into the atmosphere
and you remember that all along
you have been the soulmate of the intangible
you just forgot
and you forgot again.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC
The mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel,
And the former called the latter, "little ****
Bun replied,
You are doubtless very big,
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together
To make up a year,
And a sphere.
And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry:
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track;
Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut.
2.3k
Heathens -
in heaven's lobby
flock
to barter
for Magic 'Shrooms
with pop rocks... and pancakes
and leaf-green brownies.
new to the scene;
the Son of Man
holds a motley court,
then wanders off
to fetch Picasso - Lassoed
from his cups, his Love that must Love
his genius... doubtless,
cloud-scrawling
huge pendulous *******
in Elysium; for no one at all.
better Pablo
should tend bars that set mobs free
than one god's toddler, with long odds
against Bacchus - should ever
small-talk-speak
to the godless
or worse...
preach.
" Better Sins to love.. " The Spaniard once taught...
A Lover's Urge is born in forms of weakness.... adorned in all Might -
bathed in blessed contradiction,
a Lingam for a Yoni's dream of stiff drinks
and pliable men, with strong arms.
a blue fiction on Calvary -
nailed to the softest
cross.
Between thieves,
an honor, double
parked
with bucket seats brimming with moonlight,
and her knickers
tossed.
Picasso asks for absinthe
to be sent
post haste
and polished off -
by all
his better angels he had guillotined
with dull snails,
and fallen
harps
ones - he stole, to de-tune
a flat fifth of Cuttysark
for a deaf
**** [but no mute ]
a portrait, ****
and is soon
bought...
lust
sleeps then -
with both Eyes;
Locked on
One of
God's.
like a deer
in a Head-light's
Gospel...
now, a Minotaur on the
Autobahn -
stalking
it.
II
Heathens
in heaven's lobby
recite ' Howl '
as Ginsberg, walks over hot coals
and spicy psalms; glowing wanton
in white grass; with a very
cherry ****
And a wise throng, cobbles...
****** -
they rob
Peter of his toga,
leaving nothing wrong.
but no less ' On '
they laugh hard; and wake the dead
asking them for new songs
to set their false alarms
in lofty Tic' Tocks
of Eternity's
clock.
Bible on a snooze bar
for at least that long
or someone
knocks.
As if "Hello."
Spoke the Whole World into Being -
And " Goodbye."
misspoke, and
trailed
off...
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
Former goals long before gone,
broken dreams,
hidden in secret behind friends views,
a life in vain.
Doubtless efforts fruitless taken,
countless beatings endured,
still seeking path to milk and honey,
wondering if it hasn´t already resigned.
Value meaningless,
reduced to sheer nothingness,
clouded vision,
not able to recognize it´s worth.
Neither happiness nor sadness,
behind it´s emotionless face,
killing time with dusty distractions
and waiting for something to happen,
that relightens a fire
well known in former days.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
91
So bashful when I spied her!
So pretty—so ashamed!
So hidden in her leaflets
Lest anybody find—
So breathless till I passed here—
So helpless when I turned
And bore her struggling, blushing,
Her simple haunts beyond!
For whom I robbed the ******
For whom I betrayed the Dell—
Many, will doubtless ask me,
But I shall never tell!
2.1k
1231
Somewhere upon the general Earth
Itself exist Today—
The Magic passive but extant
That consecrated me—
Indifferent Seasons doubtless play
Where I for right to be—
Would pay each Atom that I am
But Immortality—
Reserving that but just to prove
Another Date of Thee—
Oh God of Width, do not for us
Curtail Eternity!
1.9k
Have you seen my granny?
She shoots like Johnny Wayne,
Smokes cigarettes like Garbo,
Sings like Kelly in the rain.
She's doubtless at the movies
Watching Audrey zip 'round Rome,
And wishing she were young enough
To run away from home.
My nana laughs like Rita,
Plays chess like Steve McQueen,
She smoulders like her heroes do
Up on that silver screen.
Have you seen my granny?
She loves Bogart and Bacall,
And in her dreams forever
She is blonde and six-foot tall.
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
I claim to know the wolf,
tracking scents in the high country
though half truth requires I confess
one has never been in my sight
though in silent night,
in snow weighted pines
and fir, doubtless one
has eyed me in my folly
I have seen the coyote
scratching in the caliche
on the stingy prairies,
crouching in the mesquite
ready for the ****
whilst the hare hops by
when chase ensues
and mammal hearts race
I have yet to see
the canine succeed
the hare hides in Alice’s hole
while the mangy hunter
settles for field mice
or makes bargains with buzzards
while the flies yet crawl
on the ****
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
The admiral of the U.S. fleet
was staring towards the shore.
A mob of people jammed the wharf.
He thought we were at war.
The good Mayor Paulo, of Monterrey
was waving with the rest.
He saw our large Pacific fleet
And, doubtless, was impressed.
The commodore made cannons roar
The impact shook the ground
By miracle no townsfolk died
And not one sailor drowned.
“Perhaps they are saluting us!”
The puzzled mayor said.
But when we put marines ashore
Such thoughts soon left his head.
That day we captured Monterrey
It was quite the feat of arms
We lost just one or two marines
to some Senorita’s charms.
The State Department soon put an end
To the splendid little war
And erstwhile foes departed friends
from the Mexicali shore.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
1105
Like Men and Women Shadows walk
Upon the Hills Today—
With here and there a mighty Bow
Or trailing Courtesy
To Neighbors doubtless of their own
Not quickened to perceive
Minuter landscape as Ourselves
And Boroughs where we live—
1.8k
As the author was discharging his Pistols in a Garden, Two
Ladies passing near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a
Bullet hissing near them, to one of whom the following
stanzas were addressed the next morning.
Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction o’er thy charms
And hurtling o’er thy lovely head,
Has fill’d that breast with fond alarms.
Surely some envious Demon’s force,
Vex’d to behold such beauty here,
Impell’d the bullet’s viewless course,
Diverted from its first career.
Yes! in that nearly fatal hour,
The ball obey’d some hell-born guide;
But Heaven, with interposing power,
In pity turn’d the death aside.
Yet, as perchance one trembling tear
Upon that thrilling ***** fell;
Which I, th’ unconscious cause of fear,
Extracted from its glistening cell;—
Say, what dire penance can atone
For such an outrage, done to thee?
Arraign’d before thy beauty’s throne,
What punishment wilt thou decree?
Might I perform the Judge’s part,
The sentence I should scarce deplore;
It only would restore a heart,
Which but belong’d to thee before.
The least atonement I can make
Is to become no longer free;
Henceforth, I breathe but for thy sake,
Thou shalt be all in all to me.
But thou, perhaps, may’st now reject
Such expiation of my guilt;
Come then—some other mode elect?
Let it be death—or what thou wilt.
Choose, then, relentless! and I swear
Nought shall thy dread decree prevent;
Yet hold—one little word forbear!
Let it be aught but banishment.
1.6k
Don’t get arrested if you’re poor!
There’s no way they’ll let you go!
Privilege just means private law
To those ***** in the know
And if you ever wondered why it seems
The system disregards your self
It’s because you are on separate teams
"The law"’s an anagram of "wealth"
But do not worry, not all’s lost,
You poor demented yob
You can have freedom at a cost
-The freedom of the mob
Oh sure, The mob won’t listen
And doubtless will not care,
But it’s guaranteed admission
To most likely anywhere
But where will the people rally to?
Well, you may think this is funny –
It’s the same place that they always do-
The mob follows the money.
And the people rule the country
The same way as did the few,
But now you cannot blame them
Because "the people" includes you.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
I’m filled with love, but nothing to do with it.
So much energy but nowhere to go.
You, a prisoner that I must acquit.
I love you more than you could ever know.
Hateful love, kindly fighting, furious peace.
I feel more loved when I am filled with hate.
All these describe how I feel; Bitter Sweet.
I can’t stand this; I’ve got a lot on my plate.
Little did I know, you are always there.
I can be myself when I’m around you.
You’ve come to rescue me from my nightmare.
I hope you see that my love is pure and true.
And no longer do I feel bittersweet.
Doubtless you’re the girl I have longed to meet.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC