"durst" poems
How do I hate thee? I cannot count the ways.
That you are a clueless, narcissistic proto-fascist
Are words so true
They make me rue
That I’d not the durst
To use them first.
But here are a few
That well may be new
To vilipend you.
You move limacine-like
Into the nasty netherworld
Of our national nuttiness
Spinning whigmaleeries
That you prompt gailliardese
Among those not yet dead of brain.
You are a ********* a blatherskite,
And a fanforan.
So How do I hate thee?
With the breath,
Smiles, tears,
Of all my life,
And if Fate choose,
I shall but hate thee greater
After death.
- Dan Wick
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
I wanted
someone
that wouldn't
be afraid
of me.
I spent
twenty-one
years
doubting
that person
could ever
exist.
For humans
are far too shallow
and our
complications
are
way too deep
but I honestly believe
we should not have to
be alone.
I believe in independence.
I believe in self-reliance
and I believe in self-respect.
But I also believe that
humans can connect
on a far deeper level
than just what we see.
I believe there is a time
and place
for everything
and that includes
the moments
we fall in love.
You see,
there will be days
that you fill
empty
and lonely
but you have
to be there for yourself.
No one is going to give you
a handout
unless you show them
you are going to
make it count.
No one is going to
rely on someone
that cannot
rely on them self.
Co dependence can be
beautiful
but nevertheless-
it is filled with
even more grief.
You cannot fix somebody else
when you are still
practicing
the craft
of self-love.
Allow your lows
to be reminders
that you
can lose
and smile
knowing
that you can
bounce back,
too.
There is nothing
graceful
in struggling
but there is
something
glorious
in the
overcoming
and believe me-
you will find a way
to live through it all.
And then
some day
somebody,
somewhere
is going to
admire
the way
you refuse
to fall.
And you will wonder
how you ever
let the world
make you feel
so small.
-Andrew Durst.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
We are all
just lifetimes
searching for
infinities.
And the broken
parts or who
we were
should never
be excluded
from the beauty
of what we
are.
-Andrew Durst
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
A constant habit; that when I would not
I change in vows, and in devotion.
As humorous is my contrition
As my profane love, and as soon forgot:
As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,
As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today
In prayers and flattering speeches I court God:
Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod.
So my devout fits come and go away
Like a fantastic ague; save that here
Those are my best days, when I shake with feare.
5k
When I set out for Lyonnesse,
A hundred miles away,
The rime was on the spray,
And starlight lit my lonesomeness
When I set out for Lyonnesse
A hundred miles away.
What would bechance at Lyonnesse
While I should sojourn there
No prophet durst declare,
Nor did the wisest wizard guess
What would bechance at Lyonnesse
While I should sojourn there.
When I came back from Lyonnesse
With magic in my eyes,
All marked with mute surmise
My radiance rare and fathomless,
When I came back from Lyonnesse
With magic in my eyes!
2.9k
When battles were fought
With a chivalrous sense of should and ought,
In spirit men said,
“End we quick or dead,
Honour is some reward!
Let us fight fair—for our own best or worst;
So, Gentlemen of the Guard,
Fire first!”
In the open they stood,
Man to man in his knightlihood:
They would not deign
To profit by a stain
On the honourable rules,
Knowing that practise perfidy no man durst
Who in the heroic schools
Was nurst.
But now, behold, what
Is war with those where honour is not!
Rama laments
Its dead innocents;
Herod howls: “Sly slaughter
Rules now! Let us, by modes once called accurst,
Overhead, under water,
Stab first.”
2.7k
Others, I am not the first,
Have willed more mischief than they durst:
If in the breathless night I too
Shiver now, 'tis nothing new.
More than I, if truth were told,
Have stood and sweated hot and cold,
And through their reins in ice and fire
Fear contended with desire.
Agued once like me were they,
But I like them shall win my way
Lastly to the bed of mould
Where there's neither heat nor cold.
But from my grave across my brow
Plays no wind of healing now,
And fire and ice within me fight
Beneath the suffocating night.
2.7k
And when you
love someone;
their name
begins
to sound like
a song that
never leaves
your
head.
-Andrew Durst.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
Oh my black soul! now art thou summoned
By sickness, death’s herald, and champion;
Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled;
Or like a thief, which till death’s doom be read,
Wisheth himself delivered from prison,
But ****** and haled to execution,
Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned.
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack;
But who shall give thee that grace to begin?
Oh make thy self with holy mourning black,
And red with blushing, as thou art with sin;
Or wash thee in Christ’s blood, which hath this might
That being red, it dyes red souls to white.
2.2k
Floodlights.
They’re ghosts right?
From our memories,
Have been seized, we
From the perfect dream?
Drip drop drip drop
Turning tricks, dropped the jack
***** when you coming back?
It’s off it’s off
Seldom silence serves as sight’s severance.
**** chop **** chop OW!
******* pistol clock
Whip glock whipping ****
How many names can you think of for a knockoff
Of soda pop?
I’m sorry sir you’ve got the wrong Ryan,
I haven’t starred in any movies that cryin’
Old seniles, and sensitive females, so honestly claim
Was the way life should have been for them.
Oh in that case I’ll show you the brain,
Then kick you in the *** for being so gay.
Hold on there, wrong Ryan.
I ain’t waiting tables, or banefully fryin’
Up **** that I spit in for women with tips worth less
Than my two cents.
Oh I apologize, celebrity lookalike.
Must be the weather or the windshield is cracked
Or the antennae are bent or the cables are jacked
But I can’t seem to figure out just who you are
When I’m watching the TV pimped into my car,
Let’s try a few shall we
Not a cook…Not a lover boi…Silence of the…Birds, if you’re a bird I’m a…Bat…Batman! Batman and Robin! Red Robin! No not a waiter…
Red hearse, Fred Durst, Paris Hilton, Ryan Milton
Wrong Ryan, Wrong Ryan!
Oh my god, silly me
I seem to have gone on a tangent you see.
Tandem bicycles, all of them for free.
If you would only come visit. Agreed?
Of course I know that you’re THE Ryan B.
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 9:04 PM UTC
There’s a bear in there!
“ A bear? Where? Where?”
“In church. See there?”
“Can you see the bear?”
“It’s a fashion trend
With a flirty look.
It’s a magazine
With a gossip hook.
It’s a leading man
With an undead past.
It’s a promise made
That doesn’t last.
It’s a lazy trend
That wastes the time,
And doesn’t relate
To the heart sublime.”
“I always said that
We musn’t judge.”
“But we must discern,
Maybe give a nudge.”
“But the Scripture says
Take the beam out first.”
“That’s exactly right,
And so we must -
But then we durst
Turn a sinner back,
Save a soul from death
For His great love’s sake.
Our lampstand must
Remain in place.
Sexuality
May not ******
Toleration and
Compromise
Bring death. Not there the
White stone lies.
Comfort Gospel
(Jezebel’s whim
And society’s ease )
Is a preacher’s sin.
Earthly treasure will
Close the eye so
The Light is dim
Where many go.”
“But Jesus promised
His healing hand,
Great plans for our future
We understand.”
“You’re right, He did
But the problem is
It’s not in the carnal
His purpose lies.
It’s in character building
Through struggle ,pain
And sacrifice
Again and again,
Until His children
Can submit
To his greater plan
In a perfect fit.
Until they can get
A handle on
His vision for Life
And eternity strong.
Will you go there?
With determined tread
And a single mind
His purpose read?
Will you open your page
In His blueprint plan
And download a copy
To your hard drive, (wo) Man?
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
I've followed you for such a long time,
your play with words are what bring me back to Hello Poetry every once in a while,
And today, when I sat scrolling through your work,
I just couldn't stop.
Oh no. Couldn't stop but I tried,
And I felt like a creep so I stopped halfway or so,
and I just wanted to let you know that when I read
what you wrote, it made me smile.
Your work is beautiful and I truly believe you have magical powers
for when your fingertips touch the keyboard, I am sure golden sparks fly
and work their magic,
for what you write is simple, yet incredible,
touching and relate-able
and most importantly, I feel,
so very powerful.
***I've been so stressed about tomorrow,
that I forgot to live today.***
I repeat, so very powerful.
And your words inspire me,
And make me feel such strong emotions,
and although I don’t know you,
you make me wish I had someone willing to write for me,
and I hope you no longer have to feel the heartache and sadness you sometimes write about
and that you are able to smile.
But if you find yourself stuck someday and find no reason to smile,
remember that your words have moved me, and made me smile,
which in itself is a reason for you to smile,
for being able to move a stranger through your words is quite a great reason for happiness.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 10:07 AM UTC
Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this,
The intelligence that moves, devotion is,
And as the other Spheares, by being growne
Subject to forraigne motion, lose their owne,
And being by others hurried every day,
Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey:
Pleasure or businesse, so, our Soules admit
For their first mover, and are whirld by it.
Hence is't, that I am carryed towards the West
This day, when my Soules forme bends toward the East.
There I should see a Sunne, by rising set,
And by that setting endlesse day beget;
But that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall,
Sinne had eternally benighted all.
Yet dare I'almost be glad, I do not see
That spectacle of too much weight for mee.
What a death were it then to see God dye?
It made his owne Lieutenant Nature shrinke,
It made his footstoole crack, and the Sunne winke.
Could I behold those hands which span the Poles,
And tune all spheares at once peirc'd with those holes?
Could I behold that endlesse height which is
Zenith to us, and our Antipodes,
Humbled below us? or that blood which is
The seat of all our Soules, if not of his,
Made durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne
By God, for his apparell, rag'd, and torne?
If on these things I durst not looke, durst I
Upon his miserable mother cast mine eye,
Who was Gods partner here, and furnish'd thus
Halfe of that Sacrifice, which ransom'd us?
Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye,
They'are present yet unto my memory,
For that looks towards them; and thou look'st towards mee,
O Saviour, as thou hang'st upon the tree;
I turne my backe to thee, but to receive
Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave.
O thinke mee worth thine anger, punish mee,
Burne off my rusts, and my deformity,
Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace,
That thou may'st know mee, and I'll turne my face.
1.8k
Others, I am not the first,
Have willed more mischief than they durst:
If in the breathless night I too
Shiver now, 'tis nothing new.
More than I, if truth were told,
Have stood and sweated hot and cold,
And through their reins in ice and fire
Fear contended with desire.
Agued once like me were they,
But I like them shall win my way
Lastly to the bed of mould
Where there's neither heat nor cold.
But from my grave across my brow
Plays no wind of healing now,
And fire and ice within me fight
Beneath the suffocating night.
1.6k
I'm another
textbook
definition
of what
the kids
shouldn't
be.
(10w)
-Andrew Durst.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
I couldn’t
always be there.
It was as
simple as that.
And in a world
where everyone
needs everything
to be at their
beckoning call,
I just wasn’t
good enough.
-Andrew Durst.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
Daily mine jane, I seest thy steps,
As thy feet traipse the jungle grounds; shh, deep breath mine
Love, God walks beside thee,
Where loneliness is not found.
Durst the day, durst the ground;
Show the world what light is,
Where light does not abound.
Let none take thy crown,
Wherein it hast many jewels;
Thou art a saint, so dont be late
For the wedding plates set up,
Unused.
O' jane mine muse, the clock hast struck twelve, the trumpet shalt soon blow, I hear all the saints yell.
He's coming, he's coming,
O' verily tis true; look up
To the cloud's, yeshua's
Calling is soon.
In the moment, in the twinkling of an
Eye, the bride of christ (the church)
Oh dear jane wilt we fly.
Wilt we fly, O' Wilt we fly,
Be ready mine dear, smile
Jane, do smile; hush
None fears.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©earl jane nagley
©prophetic poetry
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before these ******* signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away
To live a second life on second head;
Ere beauty’s dead fleece made another gay.
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament, itself and true,
Making no summer of another’s green,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;
And him as for a map doth Nature store,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore.
1.3k
On Death's midnight hour I had not dream
The days hath gone away -- I couldn't deem
That the elder of these angels left the throne
And flown so sorrowfully by thee alone --
But thy lonesome soul shall limn to see
Not one hovering spirit free --
And where -- shall the asperity scythe cast
Over visions of the shadowed Past --
Of torrent of tormenting trauma
Filled with Manichaean mount and karma
Restlessly rolling down necropolis
Past foot-hills of the dread that drop polis --
Or of the sound of a susurrus winged-sylph whom soar
Yet thunder her voice in a stricken Lion's roar
And uphold herself on heavens vault
And dare to curse that its all my fault --
So what now -- what now when the worst
Is the Devil's tempest durst
To ever define me to what I am today
To ever price my soul to what I have to pay
When the final price was paid when the Lord bled fast away.
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
The wrinkled man who shrugged off my laments
Disregarded despondence
Left me lonesome on a freezing night
Waiting for the next northbound
But he's no friend of mine
The lady in blue who
Always knew better
Knew the truths and
She didn't need any **** suggestions
But she's no friend of mine
God watched from his stone steeple
Admired the downward spiral
Like rock 'em sock 'em robots
Eagerly trying to decapitate themselves
But he's no friend of mine
How could I be fooled by poorly constructed word
Let me taste empathy
And to think that I almost durst to think
That I wasn't alone
But they're no friends of mine
The bedsheets ensnare me in a morning haze
gives me a newfound appreciation for my Blank walls and ceiling
I admire them
Illuminated by the slightest amount of light to make them visible
Peering through my blinds like a peeping Tom
Yes, quite a good friend of mine.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 5:27 AM UTC
Life does not always work out as planned.
There are certain situations and
certain circumstances that
are simply out of our control
and we have to do our best to
accept the fact that
we are powerless.
This is something in my life that I have
always struggled to admit
let alone
try to understand.
There is a dwelling desire
to always want to know
and there is nothing in this world
that has burdened me more.
I have been through relationships
both casual and
significant
and most of them have
one thing in common;
they came to an end
at the extent of my
over-pushing hands.
And even though both sides
were to blame-
I oftentimes found the
scale of suffering
to be tipped
in my favor.
You see,
I am tired of countless nights
of questiong my self worth.
I am exhausted and
depleted of all my
"excess positivity"
there comes a point in every humans life
where you realize
no one is worth
making you feel
insignificant.
Still-
it is hard to say goodbye.
And it is even harder to
begin again
knowing you will have
to do some of it
alone
but
there will be a day
where your own company
is not so bad.
And I hope it comes for you
just as much as I hope it
comes for me;
where every morning
feels
like a victory.
-Andrew Durst.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 1:30 AM UTC