"doughty" poems
In ruck and quibble of courtfolk
This giant hulked, I tell you, on her scene
With hands like derricks,
Looks fierce and black as rooks;
Why, all the windows broke when he stalked in.
Her dainty acres he ramped through
And used her gentle doves with manners rude;
I do not know
What fury urged him slay
Her antelope who meant him naught but good.
She spoke most chiding in his ear
Till he some pity took upon her crying;
Of rich attire
He made her shoulders bare
And solaced her, but quit her at cock's crowing.
A hundred heralds she sent out
To summon in her slight all doughty men
Whose force might fit
Shape of her sleep, her thought-
None of that greenhorn lot matched her bright crown.
So she is come to this rare pass
Whereby she treks in blood through sun and squall
And sings you thus :
'How sad, alas, it is
To see my people shrunk so small, so small.'
7k
#*Penning down the thoughts
Am I not done with the words
Have I used them all?
**Round and round
Thoughts and words
In the loop bound**
The thoughts have been naughty
Jump off the mind cliff, doughty
Don’t want to be worded
Flight to nowhere boarded
Off the radar crash land , all spotty*#
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
VIII. TO ARES (17 lines)
(ll. 1-17) Ares, exceeding in strength, chariot-rider, golden-
helmed, doughty in heart, shield-bearer, Saviour of cities,
harnessed in bronze, strong of arm, unwearying, mighty with the
spear, O defence of Olympus, father of warlike Victory, ally of
Themis, stern governor of the rebellious, leader of righteous
men, sceptred King of manliness, who whirl your fiery sphere
among the planets in their sevenfold courses through the aether
wherein your blazing steeds ever bear you above the third
firmament of heaven; hear me, helper of men, giver of dauntless
youth! Shed down a kindly ray from above upon my life, and
strength of war, that I may be able to drive away bitter
cowardice from my head and crush down the deceitful impulses of
my soul. Restrain also the keen fury of my heart which provokes
me to tread the ways of blood-curdling strife. Rather, O blessed
one, give you me boldness to abide within the harmless laws of
peace, avoiding strife and hatred and the violent fiends of
death.
5.6k
You like my bird-sung gardens: wings and flowers;
Calm landscapes for emotion; star-lit lawns;
And Youth against the sun-rise ... ‘Not profound;
‘But such a haunting music in the sound:
‘Do it once more; it helps us to forget’.
Last night I dreamt an old recurring scene—
Some complex out of childhood; *** of course!)
I can’t remember how the trouble starts;
And then I’m running blindly in the sun
Down the old orchard, and there’s something cruel
Chasing me; someone roused to a grim pursuit
Of clumsy anger ... Crash! I’m through the fence
And thrusting wildly down the wood that’s dense
With woven green of safety; paths that wind
Moss-grown from glade to glade; and far behind,
One thwarted yell; then silence. I’ve escaped.
That’s where it used to stop. Last night I went
Onward until the trees were dark and huge,
And I was lost, cut off from all return
By swamps and birdless jungles. I’d no chance
Of getting home for tea. I woke with shivers,
And thought of crocodiles in crawling rivers.
Some day I’ll build (more ruggedly than Doughty)
A dark tremendous song you’ll never hear.
My beard will be a snow-storm, drifting whiter
On bowed, prophetic shoulders, year by year.
And some will say, ‘His work has grown so dreary.’
Others, ‘He used to be a charming writer’.
And you, my friend, will query—
‘Why can’t you cut it short, you pompous blighter?’
2.4k
*He is
My Azure Dreambird,
(The Sovereign of Songbirds)
That soars upon
Skies of Resonance.
His sapphire wings
Weightless by valor,
Hallowed every doubt
That
Cursed my shadow
Until credence reigned.
He is
The Musicality of my Soul,
That I climbed as
A stairway
Into
Gates of Aether
Upon
Porcelain keys
Of an impearled
Grand Piano.
His sound emittance
Ascended in frequency until
Pitch became subliminal
For height
ceased to be
Height,
And depth,
Ceased to be
Depth,
It was
Ineffable harmony
And resolution became effortless
With
The touch of his hand.
He is
The Wings of the Dawn,
A Sweeping Rapture
That raised
Me
Beyond the stratosphere
Until graced by
Untarnished embrace
Of the Baptistery of the Sun.
I burst
From Light’s Intemerate Womb,
Renewed and
Gazed upon Terraqueous Gaia
Then for once,
(Yes, for all eternity)
Succumbed to
Faith in the Transcendence
Of his tender affections.
Woe was existence
Before His lightwaves radiated
Within my heart,
For when I purged my pulse
Of that quaking rhythm
And
Hollow cries
Upon his ears,
He stood moved
And remained
Doughty in his devotion
To me.
In that moment
I fathomed his soul
Glistened
O, for he had not forsook me.
I bear a pilgrimage.
One sought to be
Heard,
Seen,
Felt,
Breathed,
And
Divined
By my
Once
Somnolent spirit
Been
Roused
By the incendiary thew of
His ardor.
My revenant soul
Hath emerged from
The Chrysalis of Time as
The Apotheosis of Astral Flame
(A Reverberation of the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
That since
The Days of Time Immemorial
Guided by the
Whisper of the stars,
I now cleave
To that celestial susurrus:
To the solace buried beneath
The Soil of Afflicition
(For anguish was all I knew)
In repose
Yet yearning to be
Resurrected
In The Dream of Acquisition,
To for eternity behold
The timeless fervor
That doth layeth
In His heart*
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
The poet sang of a battle-field
Where doughty deeds were done,
Where stout blows rang on helm and shield
And a kingdom's fate was spun
With the scarlet thread of victory,
And honor from death's grim revelry
Like a flame-red flower was won!
So bravely he sang that all who heard
With the sting of the fight and the triumph were stirred,
And they cried, "Let us blazon his name on high,
He has sung a song that will never die!"
Again, full throated, he sang of fame
And ambition's honeyed lure,
Of the chaplet that garlands a mighty name,
Till his listeners fired with the god-like flame
To do, to dare, to endure!
The thirsty lips of the world were fain
The cup of glamor he vaunted to drain,
And the people murmured as he went by,
"He has sung a song that will never die !"
And once more he sang, all low and apart,
A song of the love that was born in his heart:
Thinking to voice in unfettered strain
Its sweet delight and its sweeter pain;
Nothing he cared what the throngs might say
Who passed him unheeding from day to day,
For he only longed with his melodies
The soul of the one beloved to please.
The song of war that he sang is as naught,
For the field and its heroes are long forgot,
And the song he sang of fame and power
Was never remembered beyond its hour!
Only to-day his name is known
By the song he sang apart and alone,
And the great world pauses with joy to hear
The notes that were strung for a lover's ear.
1.9k
Mrs Merkel, fair and sturdy
Dour and doughty
High and mighty
Saviour of the sinking Euro
Female icon, Teuton hero
Stand up for our rights!.
Daughter of the old Republic
Proud and plumptious
Rarely bumptious
Quantum spousal and mechanics
Scourge of Grecian's and Hispanics
Onward from Berlin!
Lean upon the sturdy lectern
Softly spoken
Never broken
Deliver to the gathered masses
Words of warning and molasses
Deliver us from evil!
Target of the shocking Silvio
Chauvinistic
Almost mystic
While all things must come to pass
She's most certainly not a *******
Gott mit Uns!
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
some cast lines into swift rivers
or vast seas of uncertainty
while others throw nets toward
rich stores of earthly treasure
ships piloted by the heart,
steer in fruitless pursuit
of elusive schools of love
a doughty fool forever waits
to harpoon longshot luck
a happenstance filled fate
Godly men cast nets
among flocks of people,
for they alone produce the
bountiful yields of bursting nets
for sons of Jonah and Ahab
a fruitless watch is foretold
self love’s only triumph
is a loveless end
remain a solitary fisher
gliding by on birch bark canoe
minding a compass of faith
Taj Mahal
Fishin Blues
jbm
NYC
4/9/89
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
A biology freak, my football lover, rude how we don't meet staying in one place,
affrighted I'm I'll miss the way we were from those doughty school days to our tuition world and here we are
Shes the one who sees beauty in everything without a filter,
cause her heart doesn't need one.
Our Pooh,so silly and lovely one
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
"And he created out of one man every nation of men, to dwell upon the entire surface of the earth, and he decreed the appointed times and set limits of the dwelling of man." (Acts 17: 26) (New World Translation Study Edition)
When I look in the mirror, a doughty warrior, an oracle, an Olympian gazes back at me. The caramel-tinge of my skin tells of the colored pedigree from whence I came. Every ebony-tendril that bursts from my epidermis is as impregnable as the Sacred Lotus.
The history of my Mind's Sky has been tried by the Ancient African Sun of my ancestors. It is my hope, that I have passed the trials decreed by the ordinances of the Moon & Sun. Moreover, the Arbiter of Fates, Jah, dawns upon our fleshly vessel at each twilight, assaying our entities. (Isaiah 60: 19, 20) (New World Translation Study Edition)
So many intrepid souls have compassed me about. The Chalice of my Heart burgeons with esprit d' amour. The meaning of life is ne' er about intellect, is ne' er about achievement, is in part, about creativity; wholly, about Love. (John 13: 34, 35) (New World Translation Study Edition) For this reason, strength cascades upon me every moment as I witness the brilliance, the resilience of my beneficent matriarch, Stacy Amanda Foulke.
In life, I have learned that being a person of color in America is not only a wonderful privilege, but a responsibility. Why? The afflictions brought upon this skin only make it glisten brighter after convalescence. Our people have suffered inordinately so, but this is conducive to cultivating surpassing empathy. Therefore, I believe that history, as begotten through the colored legacy, shall be one of ultimate victory.
If and only if, we unfetter ourselves from the onerous burdens of the past, then Monarchical Wings shall burgeon from our Astral Chrysalis. "For though the tribulation is momentary and light, it works out for us a glory that is of more and more surpassing weight and is everlasting." (1st Corinthians 4: 17) (New World Translation Study Edition) Se' lah.
Feb 12, 2021
Feb 12, 2021 at 6:54 PM UTC
time dies
I sit awash in solitude
as moments fade to black
oblivion
could a thousand stars burning out
while 100 toddlers struggle to take final breaths
create a void like thisssssssssss
no.
------------ grasping at gasping groupers
------------ I goad distant relatives into diving without recycled air
bloated eyeballs remind me
of a different type of togetherness
isolation and indignation
unfettered and non-remorseful
inconsequential fallacies
facilitate fallout
and I leave this plane
regret laden
no...
she walks into walls as her strong points hide in public
incorporeal, I sit on a doughty shoulder awaiting reincarnation
doubting faith while languishing in purgatory
I realize the Catholics had it right
sexually abusing young boys
is the only ticket to heaven
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
~~~<·>~~~
O, dear Lord, please give to me
the gracious spirit of fruit trees
they share their bounty
with those in need
without regard for
race or creed
spreading dappled
shades of gray
for weary travellers
on their way
~~ · ~~
the courage of a badger
o doughty soul!
a bear is routed from his hole!
he has a faith i do not know
without a Bible to tell him so
~~ · ~~
the wonder of a growing pearl
no such beauty in the world
it gets yet larger with each day
although it has no mouth to pray
~~ · ~~
the gentle nature of deep grass
which bends to allow
Your winds to pass
then stands again
with stately grace
to look again in
Your sun's face
~~ · ~~
the honesty of a sky of blue
the color reflects the truth of You
the freedom of a flock of birds
they have surely heard Your words
the cheerful ways of laughing brooks
passing boulders without looks
the industry of a little bee
the good of others all he sees
the patience of erroding wind
carving beauty in the end
the ferocity of love in bears
mothers die to show their care
the resounding strength
of a mountain range
wind or rain they seldom change
the wisdom of an ocean deep
it's secrets it will ever keep
~~ · ~~
all these things, i do believe,
my spirit will, in time, receive
it is Your will i must accept
as i do the
*KINGDOM
You have kept*
soulsurvivor
Catherine E Jarvis
(C) 5/27/1989
rewritten
(C) 7/15/2015
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
"...How terrible the stump of the woodmen,
Their blunted shapes lumped under the sheets of snow..."
--Roy Doughty
From such a wrapping, the elegy proceeded,
the last blanket tucked below the bare
feelings extended, stripped of their green fingers like perception
following thought into deflection. Abstractly, a silent museum
held power against the hill at a slope of durable rock. This
granite pulled thinking together in its form.
{ [ _ int f ( x ) d x d t = = del _ f ( x ) d g d E ] [ // ( y ; N , Z ) ] } .
It was allowed to like the experimental results of making lumps
under the sheets of summer, to be ironed and smelted
by the industry of the particular set, upon whatever planet
survival could be accepted, floating between work and the play
of its imagined universe, the sheets folded and placed
upon a shelf like numbers.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
There is something about me:
the loud light ****** deep in my eyes,
intertwined with a little bit of darkness.
That woman roaring inside of me
like a lioness strolling down her kingdom.
There is this girl that whips her hair in your face,
and stabs you straight with her sharp mouth.
there is this doughty soul in me
ever fearless of a hurricane...
I'm like a sun
Every dawn worships my rise...
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
Where does man, where does woman, where does beast go
When slumber dawns upon their fleshly vessel?
When the twilit sky bleeds into a stygian veil?
When the musicality within begins to take psychosomatic form?
I reminisce over the eventuality that stirred my burgeoning.
It quaked my lucubrations, my excogitations, intellectualizations;
Ye, The Incendiary Phoenix Flame billows within. Rebirth awaits
every anima forged by The Apotheosis of The Astral Flame.
The doughty firebrand in me shalt nought surrender,
The Gaian Warrior within shall ne'er be forgotten,
And my reverenc'd doubts shall be undone.
O, whence all incredulities have been uttered The Leadings of Lovelight shall prevail. The Vestige that once ravaged my remembrance shall vanish into The Magisterial Tides of Oblivion,
We are all one with the Blood-Tinged Oath, The Fulgent Daystar;
He, exhaled eternity into the souls vexed by mortality.
Underneath the Sun:
There breathes an azure vista.
What lieth above our aethereal aegis has incited inquisitiveness aeons aforetime
Open your hearts to the cosmic currents, the transcendent torrent,
The Communal Oneness of The Primal Phantasmagoric;
By that One,
For all time we were summoned.
Question what lie before to be spirited away.
Listen to the arcadian zephyr whisper
Through in, through out your every breath. Trust, the Sanctity of intuition.
Coloring the Changing of The Seasons.
The aqueous dew throngs upon virescent leaflets,
A fulgurant surge fulminates
Upon The Celestial’s bedarkened sky.
Red- Shift Existence: evidence, upon which a system of belief expands, under examination
Therefore, it is our duty to ponder the Legacy of the Sages
That we might unravel the esoteric secrets
That function as a key
In gainsaying, in overturning The Lock of Fallacy.
Finally we gain understanding, we acquire wisdom
Altering our cognitive trajectory.
What is Life,
What is Love,
What is Divinity,
Without creativity?
Without imagination?
Without vision?
We must all surrender to
The Sacral Expressions of Omnibenevolence.
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 6:50 PM UTC
*The Moonlit Aethers bleed Titanium Rays
As mine Forlorn Eyes
Saunter thine Porcelain Skin:
Platinum Matriarch upon Swarthy Expanse reigns
Azure Luminaries cascade
Upon The Forested Glades of my Airy Soulwaves.
Ensorcelled is that Sylvan Shrine,
The Reliquary of the Starry Wish.
(O, that
Loveless Blight
might cease)
I Besought the Firmaments
From Dusk to Dawn
Lamenting in Dirge
Of the
Revenant Skies;
Eons transcended yet no hand to hold
The Benediction of Romance
An Ephemeral Throne.
The Pandemonium corporealizes
Wraiths in my mind;
(Perdition is Thew
The
Poltergeist's Might)
Ivory Visage of the Impearled
Hallows my Spirit
Quells the Abyss.
The Thew of Deities
Purged from my veins
Quaking my quintessence,
I fathomed
I was naught.
A mere figment,
An existential vagary:
~BUT NOW I SEE
We are
All
But a
Dream
Clinging yearningly
to the
Promise of Hope
(The Covenant of Ensouled Dust)
Groping for Eternity, Memory, and the Lightwaves
To be
Vested in our pulse;
For Corporeality;
Ascendency
To the Chrysalis of The Astral,
The Cradle of Cosmogenesis:
Our Cosmos,
Our Zephyr,
Our Magma,
Our Torrent,
Our Tremor,
Our Thunderclap,
Our Time,
Our Space,
Our Nexus to Efflorescence,
Our Incorporeal Sublimity~
I shall surrender to
Providence of the Supernal
His Empyrean Wings
(An Impregnable Aegis)
A Strewn Vestige once was I
But the Somnolent Beloved was roused
Whence I glimpsed into thine eyes.
The Vagrant Loveless is resurrected
Reawakened as a Doughty Knight
Warring against sequestration
(Until by Nirvana)
Abeyance devours this blight.
~Dream
You starry-eyed wayfarers,
Surrender sovereignty to credence
When Star-crossed
Conspire against the Fates
For when Elysium
Is your Beloved
The Ancient of Yore
Shall lead you nebulous streams
To the Holy Oracle
Prophesying the fulfillment
Of your Intemerate Hope
(For Love, myriads doven the skies)
Please Believe,
Just,
Believe in me.~*
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC
When I was young,
and bedtime loomed,
my Father used to read to me;
stories from a wondrous book.
A Book that he alone could see.
From memory he'd recite poems
or tell of heroes doughty deeds.
Those stories shaped my mind and heart
as much as any faith or creed.
They were, of course,
the tales he'd heard
when mother had
sung him to sleep.
Stories run deep in our blood
the only treasures we can keep.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
the world grows older
it's just like me
but when I was younger
I pretended to be doughty
as they saw from the outside
my queen and king let me travel this world
it was the right time
and their hance
I started my stride
left my castle and others
hey it's not easy!
it's not my place, not my home
but sometimes I realized
I'm not their little girl anymore
then I learn how to learn
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:42 PM UTC
It has much at it as outré .
like Hades at its grim , as at Mylae .
but if you no soon heave to its glare .
preordination will later hop you at its glare .
it hangs upon you , grabs you , binds you .
you may swerve to lore as wide as bayou .
but at Achilles' heel there will be the fell .
drink Ichor but you will surely behold spell .
oh ! futile of your endeavor , your intent to escape .
but it lays already moist ; the fact in safe grasp
out of the deepest of your dream does it dangle .
fame or beggar prithee , you keep the right angle .
as murmur from enchanted night it does sweep .
never retreat cause Morpheus' head at river did weep .
stop bold and let the dagger pierce you thoroughly ,
your heart ; instead of running so you deem doughty .
the destiny is low as soil , destiny as sky's high .
glory is no shuck , but my destiny i behold it nigh .
empire of lording glory , tent of cold hell .
im high up lean , but i dont hold my head to sell .
lunacy is flowing , hark up ! none dictate my route .
if i cant feel my crazy stunt my life's mark is rout .
Rodrigue as tu du ceour ?
tout autre que moi a du ceour .
oh destiny ; one for the homely chore's devotion .
other for adventuresome daring noble motion .
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
Trees, so green and reaching high,
Staples twixt the earth and sky.
The branches hold the heavens down,
Even when the winds sweep round.
The roots which we think feed the tree,
Keep the ground from falling free.
If we had not these doughty ties,
Holding down the flighty skies,
Sun and dirt would rip apart,
Each their lonely courses chart,
And we would curse the name of God,
For not attaching sky to sod.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 6:03 PM UTC
I can imagine no stillness more perfect
than a winter night
When the snow has caressed the barren landscape
to purify it in white in preparation for the approaching spring
The trees no longer teem with chattering cicadas
only the sound of descending phosphorescent flakes
Cars dare not brave the treacherous streets as they once did
when the sun shown high and mighty
Like a doughty king
Lest we forget the encroaching tides upon the shores
that he shown over
He blinds us with his vivid blazes
reflected off the frozen ground at morning
but for now it is the time of night
when everything is still
An era we like to pretend will be infinite
Could we stay a little longer?
pondering how to articulate the sound of snow falling
Let us make this a grand masquerade
of feigning to be more than what we are
In this one moment let us be
As grand as the whitewash of winter
Although we are but little things
to the biting chill of an arctic storm
let us at least be drifting snowflakes
Intricate and lustrous for a time before the thaw
Where we will once a again
be returned to the earth
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
Midterms are over
I’m coming up for air
now that they’re done
I’ll admit I was scared
- that physics three -
was nearly the death of me.
What comes next?
The Manhattan express
for November recess
some November excess
with Lisa, my BFF princess,
my doughty, NYC adventuress,
I’m blessed, she’s the best.
Ooo! and some turducken bliss,
much needed rest and time to de-stress
Nov 13, 2022
Nov 13, 2022 at 12:07 AM UTC
O Dear Lord, please give to me
The graciousness of an apple tree.
It shares its fruit
with all in need
without regard for race or creed
and spreads a dappled shade of gray
for the weary traveller on his way.
The courage of a badger!
O doughty soul!
You'll see a BEAR running from HIS hole!
He has a faith I do not know
without a Bible to tell him so.
The conscience of an oyster's pearl,
the greatest gift in all the world.
It gets yet larger with each day
although it has no mouth to pray.
The gentle acceptance of deep grass
which bends to allow Your winds to pass.
Then stands again with stately grace
to look again in Your sun's face.
The honesty of a sky of blue.
Its color reflects the Truth of You.
The freedom of a flock of birds
for they have surely heard Your words.
The cheerfulness of a laughing brook.
It will pass by boulders without a look!
The industry of a little bee
the good of his fellows is all HE sees.
The patience of eroding wind
it carves out beauty in the end.
The humility of a single flower
it knows its beauty will last but hours.
The love within a mother bear.
She'll give her life because she cares.
The resounding strength of a mountain range
to these the centuries are not strange.
The wisdom of an ocean deep.
It will, forever, its secrets keep.
All these things, Lord, I do believe
my spirit will, in time, receive.
It is Your Will I must accept
As I do the Kingdom You have kept.
AMEN
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
On Monday, Arthur, wooden sword in hand,
defeats the roses in their crimson bed.
On Tuesday, Arthur makes his bravest stand,
against the garden pond, with doughty Fred.
On Wednesday, Arthur leads his fearless band
through snow; the flashing red - a racing sled.
On Thursday, Arthur – secret agent, creeps
around the lair. On Friday, done, he sleeps.
On weekends, Arthur’s with his dad all day;
who takes his son to captain England’s team:
when dazzling Arthur makes the winning play
they celebrate with strawberries and cream.
On Sunday Arthur goes to church to pray
then polishes his sword to make it gleam.
On Sunday night the world is right and so
this King prepares to fight his Monday foe.
Jan 11, 2025
Jan 11, 2025 at 2:06 PM UTC