"eld" poems
I wonder 'oo and wot 'e was,
That 'Un I got so slick.
I couldn't see 'is face because
The night was 'ideous thick.
I just made out among the black
A blinkin' wedge o' white;
Then biff! I guess I got 'im crack --
The man I killed last night.
I wonder if account o' me
Some ***** will go *****
And 'eaps o' lives will never be,
Because 'e's stark and dead?
Or if 'is missis damns the war,
And by some candle light,
Tow-headed kids are prayin' for
The Fritz I copped last night.
I wonder, 'struth, I wonder why
I 'ad that 'orful dream?
I saw up in the giddy sky
The gates o' God agleam;
I saw the gates o' 'eaven shine
Wiv everlastin' light:
And then . . . I knew that I'd got mine,
As 'e got 'is last night.
Aye, bang beyond the broodin' mists
Where spawn the mother stars,
I 'ammered wiv me ****** fists
Upon them golden bars;
I 'ammered till a devil's doubt
Fair froze me wiv affright:
To fink wot God would say about
The bloke I corpsed last night.
I 'ushed; I wilted wiv despair,
When, like a rosy flame,
I sees a angel standin' there
'Oo calls me by me name.
'E 'ad such soft, such shiny eyes;
'E 'eld 'is 'and and smiled;
And through the gates o' Paradise
'E led me like a child.
'E led me by them golden palms
Wot 'ems that jeweled street;
And seraphs was a-singin' psalms,
You've no ideer 'ow sweet;
Wiv cheroobs crowdin' closer round
Than peas is in a pod,
'E led me to a shiny mound
Where beams the throne o' God.
And then I 'ears God's werry voice:
"Bill 'agan, 'ave no fear.
Stand up and glory and rejoice
For 'im 'oo led you 'ere."
And in a nip I seemed to see:
Aye, like a flash o' light,
My angel pal I knew to be
The chap I plugged last night.
Now, I don't claim to understand --
They calls me Bonehead Bill;
They shoves a rifle in me 'and,
And show me 'ow to ****
Me job's to risk me life and limb,
But . . . be it wrong or right,
This cross I'm makin', it's for 'im,
The cove I croaked last night.
2.7k
Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary
Of lofty contemplation left to Time
By buried centuries of pomp and power!
At length—at length—after so many days
Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,
(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)
I kneel, an altered and an humble man,
Amid thy shadows, and so drink within
My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!
Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!
Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!
I feel ye now—I feel ye in your strength—
O spells more sure than e’er Judaean king
Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane!
O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee
Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!
Here, where a hero fell, a column falls!
Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,
A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!
Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair
Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle!
Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,
Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,
Lit by the wan light of the horned moon,
The swift and silent lizard of the stones!
But stay! these walls—these ivy-clad arcades—
These mouldering plinths—these sad and blackened shafts—
These vague entablatures—this crumbling frieze—
These shattered cornices—this wreck—this ruin—
These stones—alas! these gray stones—are they all—
All of the famed, and the colossal left
By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?
“Not all”—the Echoes answer me—”not all!
Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever
From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,
As melody from Memnon to the Sun.
We rule the hearts of mightiest men—we rule
With a despotic sway all giant minds.
We are not impotent—we pallid stones.
Not all our power is gone—not all our fame—
Not all the magic of our high renown—
Not all the wonder that encircles us—
Not all the mysteries that in us lie—
Not all the memories that hang upon
And cling around about us as a garment,
Clothing us in a robe of more than glory.”
2.5k
Speakin’ in general, I’ave tried ’em all
The ‘appy roads that take you o’er the world.
Speakin’ in general, I’ave found them good
For such as cannot use one bed too long,
But must get ‘ence, the same as I’ave done,
An’ go observin’ matters till they die.
What do it matter where or ‘ow we die,
So long as we’ve our ‘ealth to watch it all—
The different ways that different things are done,
An’ men an’ women lovin’ in this world;
Takin’ our chances as they come along,
An’ when they ain’t, pretendin’ they are good?
In cash or credit—no, it aren’t no good;
You’ve to ‘ave the ‘abit or you’d die,
Unless you lived your life but one day long,
Nor didn’t prophesy nor fret at all,
But drew your tucker some’ow from the world,
An’ never bothered what you might ha’ done.
But, Gawd, what things are they I’aven’t done?
I’ve turned my ‘and to most, an’ turned it good,
In various situations round the world
For ‘im that doth not work must surely die;
But that’s no reason man should labour all
‘Is life on one same shift—life’s none so long.
Therefore, from job to job I’ve moved along.
Pay couldn’t ‘old me when my time was done,
For something in my ‘ead upset it all,
Till I’ad dropped whatever ’twas for good,
An’, out at sea, be’eld the dock-lights die,
An’ met my mate—the wind that tramps the world!
It’s like a book, I think, this bloomin, world,
Which you can read and care for just so long,
But presently you feel that you will die
Unless you get the page you’re readi’n’ done,
An’ turn another—likely not so good;
But what you’re after is to turn’em all.
Gawd bless this world! Whatever she’oth done—
Excep’ When awful long—I’ve found it good.
So write, before I die, ” ‘E liked it all!”
2.4k
some days, his eyes are full with angst
his arms down his sides, with his fists as closed as his ears
and all I want to say is *I know how it is
to be so angry you don't know where to go
because the whole world lights you up like a dry stick of explosives,
how it is to have your feelings being so big they start to feel
like extensions of your limbs,
waving uncontrollably
and all you can do to avoid their friction from setting you on fire
is either to cut them off or keep your arms down your sides*
but I step aside, because he can no longer take in my words
his six year old eyes are filled with the nothingness of
an anger so big and unlabeled
but someday, I will tell him and he will understand
I will tell him that even though my blood is not in his veins,
I will cleanse it from soot and silt,
I will be his human shield from this world
I will tear kingdoms apart and slay every last creeper
just to help him level up
and I will uncontrollably, explosively and unconditionally
love him
//
vissa dagar är hans ögon fyllda med ångest
hans armar längs sidorna, med nävar lika hårt stängda som hans öron
och allt jag vill säga är att *jag vet hur det är
att vara så arg att du inte vet vars du ska ta vägen,
för hela världen får en att tända som en torr bunt sprängämnen,
hur det är att ha känslor så stora att de börjar kännas
som förlängningar av dina egna armar och ben,
okontrollerbart viftande
och allt du kan göra för att förhindra att deras friktion tänder eld på dig
är att antingen hugga av dem eller hålla armarna längs sidorna*
men jag går undan, för han kan inte ta in mina ord längre
hans sexåriga ögon fyllda med ingentinget
av en ilska så stor och oettikerad ilska
men någon dag ska jag berätta för honom och han ska förstå
jag ska berätta för honom att även fast mitt blod inte flyter genom hans artärer,
ska jag rensa det från smuts och sot,
jag ska vara hans mänskliga sköld från den här världen
jag ska slita kungariken itu och döda varenda creeper
bara för att hjälpa honom att levla upp
och jag ska okontrollerbart, explosivt och villkorslöst
älska honom
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
Beholding youth and hope in mockery caught
From life; and mocking pulses that remain
When the soul’s death of ****** death is fain;
Honour unknown, and honour known unsought;
And penury’s sedulous self-torturing thought
On gold, whose master therewith buys his bane;
And longed-for woman longing all in vain
For lonely man with love’s desire distraught;
And wealth, and strength, and power, and pleasantness,
Given unto bodies of whose souls men say,
None poor and weak, slavish and foul, as they:—
Beholding these things, I behold no less
The blushing morn and blushing eve confess
The shame that loads the intolerable day.
As some true chief of men, bowed down with stress
Of life’s disastrous eld, on blossoming youth
May gaze, and murmur with self-pity and ruth,
‘Might I thy fruitless treasure but possess,
Such blessing of mine all coming years should bless;’—
Then sends one sigh forth to the unknown goal,
And bitterly feels breathe against his soul
The hour swift-winged of nearer nothingness:—
Even so the World’s grey Soul to the green World
Perchance one hour must cry: ‘Woe’s me, for whom
Inveteracy of ill portends the doom,—
Whose heart’s old fire in shadow of shame is furl’d:
While thou even as of yore art journeying,
All soulless now, yet merry with the Spring!’
2k
From grey plaster dwellin’s they come to us
fer enough sun t’ melt their lollies but
after sun-burnt migrations, some remain
as they can choose our shacks fer their castles
and their spawn breaks the spines on each weaver
and fer their red-faced fuss ‘e is broken.
The ‘ermit crab too takes ‘is leave broken.
The ‘ome ‘e made now closed to all of us
Not passed by ta’ooed ‘ands o' net weavers.
The painted shells still litter these streets but
suited slugs paint gray on our small castles
till only mockin’ shades of age remain.
“Shave off, bastards’ll pick till none o’ yer remain”
screamed mad John as relaters “fixed ‘im” broken
into some plastic ‘ouse from ‘is castle.
‘ow ‘e used t’ tell those old tales to us
'o the deep places and the things there but
they ‘ad ‘im by the gills, poor old weaver.
Spines down, in nets made by ‘is own weavin.
we did it to ourselves, we can’t remain
Wi’ nets o’ money, o’ ***** o’ smokes, but
black flags still fly, bein’ bent never broken.
Cross-bone attractions will be left as us
‘eld by those who took away our castles
Stormin’ beaches to kick down our castles
the sandy ‘oles and ‘ides of those weavers.
Sellin’ our anger like lug, dear to us
cast from the sea of us that will remain
‘ook lipped, ring-eared, ink-stained and not broken
nothin’ t’ be fixed and no-one changed but
In come those nets, I ‘aint been caught yet but
that gray, that London gray sweeps my castle
away where the concrete can’t be broken
t’ reach lug beneath dried surface weavers
as gulls break beaks t’ peck at the remains.
yes, we’ll eat each-other if they take us.
Take enough of us, and leave shell castles
no ‘ands to ‘old jolly Rodgers and sing
‘appily swear, or dance on tables but
**** that.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 8:10 PM UTC
I guess you'll be angry,
after reading what I wrote
So I suggest you cool down,
and my feelings here I quote:
"I always thought this was a show,
A silly game teens play
Hormones flowing with the flow,
A game destined to decay.
Never heard romantic songs
because I could not relate to them.
Thought all this was nonsense,
'cause I am too young to understand.
I know you despise all this,
I once despised it too.
But when I met you I realized,
there is a different view.
Some things are better
said than been withheld.
Because they make your eyes wetter
and come back when you are eld.
Although I've told you this before
and I believe I'm self aware,
I thought I would once again
like to clear the air.
That day, I wanted to forget you,
'cause I know how it ends.
Leaving two beings dismal,
never risking themselves again.
You told me it is momentary,
that it will go away.
But it’s just the contrary,
And I think about you everyday.
Once again, I may sound like a flake,
but I want you to know.
Your parents must be very proud,
your heart is as pure as snow.
I know you don't feel the same way
though I'm your best friend,
I just wanted you to be aware
That this fool is in love with you, now comprehend.
Alas! I'm running out of words again,
and I have nothing else left to write.
And at the same time,
have a heap of feelings to recite.
This is the best I can do,
The poem is my gift to you.
But if you tell me your honest presentiments
I'd still be friends
and never talk about this again."
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 11:55 AM UTC
10W
did you feel them?
those words that are mine?
Haiku
did they kiss your lips?
or simply drift behind eyes
that missed fingertips
*Acrostic
Ten thousand emotions
Held in my heart
And yet, they depart
Never to just sit all alone
Kindness will repay
Yawning is the cavity
Of split open feelings
Under fragile skin
*Please stay..,
Freestyle
Nobody knows where they are going, they just pretend as they look forward that they have a destination in mind, only to find, they've come full circle, back to where they began and then, they just start again
They cry for what's lost on the path, it fell out of their pocket, somewhere along the way but, the wonder of the Circle is, it has no end, they can pick it up again, someday....
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
The King gales giant orders
from my epic throne
I finally found the inspiration
let the horns be blown.
Bring my ***** and my wife
so they may see it too
colored just outside the lines
and the thought is purely true.
I'm the King to lead the dom
that's post the title pre my name
so I will lead them to the doom
of the dragon to be slain.
"Wing-ed beast & fire mouth
who's surely come from Hell
it's time to meet your fate
by the mighty hand of Eld
I've brought my fabled sword
pulled from the impossible stone
to pierce your chest right between -
the scales your heart calls home."
It truly was an epic battle
beyond any kind of comprehension
I stood before the knights of round
and commanded their attention.
Because in the end I stood the victor
over the abomination of the land
with my arm & sword held high
and dragons life essence on my hands.
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 6:55 PM UTC
Dear night mother,
The youngling flew the coop.
Off for wild adventures, he cannot be tamed.
His elder kin spoke of magic,
The intellectual splendor of spells
Gifted yes, but not quite so as her
The painted daughter of darkness,
She colours the world in twilight.
This brings us to dusk, mantle I wear proud.
Eldest of eld, nutured by you mother,
To grow strong, wicked and well.
Those glowing eyes,
The prestege of feathers
Mother owl, bless our endeavours.
Grow old, grow wise
Bless you, oh mother,
And the nocturne skies.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 7:42 PM UTC
*
*
'How humid the air is,' she murmurs
with her eyes closed. With her fair back
resting her bare back on a tree of eld,
she listens to the sounds of nature
The winds blowing
The flapping wings of geese
The songs of the birds around
The sound of falling leaves
Exhaling through her nose, she opens
her wet russet eyes, soaking in the
myriad of tumbling leaves from
orange to brown. She rises to her
feet, the sunlight kisses her straight
fiery hair. With each step she takes,
the wind blows and the branches
quivers.
'Winter's howling call,' she chuckles
weakly as she walked down the cold
pathway. Acorns fall in front of her
which she picks up. Seeing the squirrels
scrabbling around, she opens her palm,
'Here,' she strokes the squirrel's tail as
it takes the nuts and scurries away.
Here, in the heart of the forest,
the leaves fall golden as she sits
next to a pumpkin patch, each ripening
with their mistress near.
'The days grow short, the nights grow long,'
she places a hand on a pumpkin, 'I hear
your call, Sister.'
The cold winds twirl around in response
Let all prepare for the harvest is fruitful,
and the wolves will howl for the Frost
comes...
*
*
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 4:54 PM UTC
Sweet Sibyls of eld
who sing of mysteries held
My envy flowers
How I yearn to see
The written future for me
Miracles and pain
Do I want to know?
What you see in crystal *****
The magic's in me...
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
By Jennifersoter Ezewi
We eld daily not knowing
Who will take care of us
Until the time comes.
If we care for one,
Another will care for us
Even when the beneficiaries
fails to reciprocate
Because we are also benefiters.
The things we do counts.
The moves we make presents
there costs.
Our decisions records our fate
in the midst of all.
Echoing the promises of our
deeds,
Before the counsels of time
Whose duty ensures that we
savour the fate we deserve.
Wherewhital our conscience
Who sends us on certain errands?
Will they be able to exonerate us?
Before the unusual timing
Who stirs at our actions.
The children we bore
may disappoint.
Our expected saviours fails
But the help we render
Stands the test of time
When nothing else counts.
They come as visitors in
different forms.
They come surprisingly
Putting smiles on our faces.
They come as rewards for
Jobs well done.
They are the now!
But we are the things we do.
We are the things we see.
We are the time and season
Yet we ask: "how?"
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 6:23 AM UTC
Fall bloom, summer falling eld.
The crisp kiss of a pleading farewell.
The first hello of a cantaloupe dream.
Fading leaves; shedding its skin.
The kids in trunks,
hands tied together, a vowed bond to last a lifetime.
Jumping into the forbidden lake;
A hurried plash from wet, parading feet.
Flaxen, cold skin,
A gaze to the wuthering sky’s of storms.
Shy smiles, first kisses.
Fall,
She lives a Dive in our dreams.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
Breathing in the fresh air near the trees of serpentine purple,
To inhume the dolour of my dejected loneliness..
In the distressing ire I am that lacustrine,,
Listening the soft lay in the beautiful lea..
People know, my wounds are plumbless,,
No tears in my orbs , seems I am mage....
People here are serpents who don't slay,,
But are giving the bad sempiternal gashes...
Now look at my stygian tenebrous visage,,
From which poesy is flowing with a plashing sound...
You,, know their life was in pitch_dark,,,
Now is lucent and niveous, orgulous!! what I did,,
Those toys of clay rend me savagely,,,
Now my vermilion ichor exhibits the beautiful limn.
People of this era are pitiless,, my dear!!!
Are deceiving ere and after, not caring for eld..
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 4:53 AM UTC