"elisabeth" poems
Silent heart,
Broken heart,
What’s been done to you?
You let them tell you “you are broken”
& So you let it become
True
You cannot see that you are perfect
& So you let them silence
You.
Broken heart,
Silent heart,
What’s become of you?
Elisabeth Pfeffer
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
Silent heart,
Broken heart,
What’s been done to you?
You let them tell you “you are broken”
& So you let it become
True
You cannot see that you are perfect
& So you let them silence
You.
Broken heart,
Silent heart,
What’s become of you?
Elisabeth Pfeffer
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
Man
Is the tree,
That bares no fruit
Nor flower,
Leaf
Or heart.
But has those so destructive roots
That rip
This world
Apart.
Elisabeth Pfeffer
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
Oval mirror of the sea,
age-warped isle waved and cloudy,
each angle crystalline and salty.
my lens into reality.
Point of space just visible,
focus of beams ineffable,
switch of signals transmissible,
receiver of voices inaudible
At time's edge. No need have I to shout
in fear about this death of mine.
And any creature here is glad
to offer you a glass of wine.
3k
this pit in my stomach
lets me know
that i am freaking
the ****
out.
it feels good.
insanity is running through the roots of my hair
when i remembered today
that you are probably
shaving your *****
in preparation
for Elisabeth
I'm rooting for you, you disgusting weasel.
i hope it's the best **** you will ever give anyone
and i hope it means
nothing to her
Dec 16, 2011
Dec 16, 2011 at 9:29 PM UTC
For Elisabeth Eitel------Il miglior fabbro
Snow White of course, I love the sort
With sensuous repose
Was dancing on the bar not far
from where I kept the rows
Of Houses Black that snuggle back
and tingle in your toes
“To Liquid's floor” I did implore
“My Lady, come to dream
Please leave your heights and fill my nights
with thoughts of softest cream
(She jumped to me, I caught her clean
and brought her to the ground)
Somehow she knew then, right away, just what her night had found
Another smooth, deceptive fool whose heart could only pound
She bit in spite, hard down in me
A ****** path of entropy
I grabbed her, whispering low and mean
“I'll teach you of the XOR machine...”
She cocked an eye but failed to see
so on I went impatiently
“I'll teach you of the XOR machines
where one and one to nothing come
but all alone are free”
Smiling sly she arced a stream
(with new light in her eyes agleam)
of blood upon the dancing sea
into the noice of girls and boys
with mad emphatic glee
Q.E.D.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 5:38 AM UTC
How many times a day,
You look back and say:
"I was so bad to John,
I can,t be unkind."
John went to paradise,
Peace he will find.
How many times a day I cry,
Don,t say no because you lie.
It was not true what you said to Evelyn,
You are not fat, you are slim.
She is on rigorous diet,
I love you I can bet.
How many times a day can you have ***
And you have been waiting for the next.
Did you make love with Elisabeth?
No, I haven,t as much I have expected,
I don,t have enough cash.
Victor Marques
Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 12:17 PM UTC
She walks on water as the stars reflect
their shining brightness only lightening
her paradisiacal face and unclothed body
beauty may have it's layers, hers always
more than skin deep in the selfless benevolence she
gives forth in every interaction she herself
engages herself within,
In my years of wandering, I have never found
a soul I feel so compelled toward, frightening even
myself with my augmenting attachment and need
to hear her voice, feel her soul, listen to her heartbeat
to see her smile, and know her stories and tales from
the days that passed between the time we last spoke
my heart skipping beats,
An internal battle brings forth, an ever forging narrative
of realistic practicalities and the contrasting drifting
dream lands, entwined with fantasy and longing,
fears and hearts, left on the line, of a blurring demise
restore my heart, set me free, allow me to love,
let me
be
hers.
© Sia Jane
---
“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Death walked up to me one night,
Slipped me a cigarette
We sat beneath the stars beneath my dorm room window,
Death said, “I haven’t touched you yet”
The next day I heard the church bells toll,
My colleague from theater, swung free of her bonds
The whole campus chorusing, their Kyrie Eleison
Who could’ve known? Who could’ve known?
I knew, Death walked in her just as it did me,
I watched Death take her aside and haunt her as she desperately tried
To find an anchor, to find solace, well hers and mine became the theater
When I saw Death with her I envied her the company,
Our morbid fixations sought through our scripts, both of us cast
The same character,
Both of us popping pills carefully hidden in little soap boxes,
Boxed up with wine and razors in care packages from the same lover
Death sat with me the other night,
Held a bandage to my wrist and lay me to bed
He lifted his hood, wiped the tears from my eyes,
Begged me to dance again, on ankles slit,
Caressing me as Elisabeth
Now I’ve been kissed,
Kyrie Eleison,
We shared the same stage, once,
Tell me what's waiting there for me
Beyond the mist of Chapel Hill
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
her parents would have nothing to do with the z,
naming her Elisa Beth
which few got right in her 65 seasons, for their habit
molded an EliZabeth every time
we presume it mattered not to Elisa, Elisa Beth, because she was
born blind and deaf
her record of birth got it right, but her social
security card did not,
the checks were cashed by caretakers, who cared not
whether the letter snaked or zagged
her parents' obits also claimed they were survived by
an only daughter, EliZabeth
when she "met her reward," some two years past
there was no legacy in print
save a death certificate, which again blasphemed
her appellation with the alphabet's final figure
but on her gravestone, curiously, she was Elisabeth once more,
though what flat, mute slab could even such a score?
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
Brew tragedy tea
and drink without
tasting it.
Keep checking the meaning of
'forever',
in case it's been redefined
in less absolute terms.
Shiver through the heatwave and watch
the colour bleed out of the summer.
Dig a hole that won't be deep enough.
Shower off the crazy sweat and grave dirt
and pretend like maybe
you'll do the dishes.
Rupture your inner workings
as you scream at the universe
for ******* up so badly.
Lapse into the cold, sterile embrace
of catatonia, grateful
to feel nothing for a while.
Cry so long and so hard you forget
why you're crying,
then remember and cry
longer and harder.
Try brokering a deal with fate's
Appeals Department: offer
your organs, your eyesight,
however many years off your life,
to get him back.
Search for meaning and find none.
Rage against the perversity of it all.
Howl that death shouldn't feel derivative.
Remind yourself that this
isn't just a sick joke.
Hate Elisabeth Kübler-Ross for being right
and yourself for being so generically human.
Realise how little
knowing helps.
Reacquaint yourself with anhedonia.
Try not to hate the blue sky
or the birds who have returned
to sing in his back garden.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 11:02 AM UTC
Named Elisabeth my angel child
My flower that didn't bloom
The stars took you before
I had the chance to hold you
Please forgive me i didn't know
I had no choice but let you go
My morning star
My misty blue
Cant say goodbye
I miss you
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
250 squats is more than 250 steps... as i said before, with god dead the dietician is deemed respectable as topic of every conversation.
raffaello baldini
dante alighieri
umberto fiori franco buffoni
milo de angelis,
none sing
a ciao bella! not one;
bleaching is the process
of cultural invigoration residing with only
one ***** donation; oh hell, raise one
up yourself - i can't be bothered,
i just ate a pâté & meat with fat sandwich,
am i to hit the treadmill? i don't think so...
but i know you are;
i was never going to be a Japanese tourist,
i.e. a pensioner.
otherwise in England: mind the personal space,
mind the personal space... don't touch me! don't touch me!
mind the personal space... you're not the narrator,
don't enter my personal space! don't touch me!
Jane Austen neurosis... mind the personal space...
don't dare touch me!
fine... fine fine fine, the rolling hills of Yorkshire
and ************ was inspiration for
Herr Roach Hair in Ashtray -
the countryside girls became such a bore
when they entered urban environments,
all the adventures prior became one hour engagements
in terms of ******* the adventures
of homily... make a nag nag nag blah remark...
a n'ah n'ah n'ah nagging gesture...
queen's wave... whatever that means,
Elisabeth the Second
became disgruntled at having
the clock and bridge named after her
but no Shakespeare to parallel her reign,
only the dumbing down to mind, hookah hooray!
Charlie's waiting to tie the knots for his Lawrence
escapades into Arabia.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
pass that crown make me Queen
now I need an army
to keep the crown on my head
and the head of the rightful Queen Of Scots
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
I know Simon’s a court poet. To dedicate
Odes to monarchs’s survival. Raymond as
A philosopher valued life’s democratic state,
I honour monarchy as any man, at last,
In whose heart the Empire’s spirit beating,
Long live the Commonwealth for time all!
By Nika for all time became blessed Britain,
The country army scare foes all!
And the Queen is the brand for all the world,
All ministers’ll retire but not the Queen!
I have not seen a monarch nobler from of old,
Who honours just so traditions’, honour’s being.
Thank you for giving inspiration to the poet
For his poems, by your own greatness.
Thus, rule for the population’s good great,
Setting an example for other rulers.
{2019}
КОРОЛЕВЕ ЕЛИЗАВЕТЕ II
Я знаю, что сейчас поэт придворный Саймон,
И оды посвящать монархам – прошлый век!
И как демократизм ценил философ Раймон,
Монархию я чту, как каждый человек,
В чьём сердце бьётся дух Империи Великой –
Содружества Союз да здравствует в веках!
Британия всегда благословенна Никой,
И армия страны врагам вселяет страх!
И Королева есть как Бренд международный:
Министры все уйдут, но Королева есть!
Не видел в жизни я монарха благородней!
Кто точно также чтит традиции и честь!
Спасибо Вам за то, что дали вдохновенье
Поэту на стихи величием своим!
Так правьте же ещё во благо населенья,
Давая так пример правителям другим!
{11.11.2019}
Translator - I. Toporov
May 11, 2020
May 11, 2020 at 10:17 AM UTC
*take one look, on the spare eye
of "nietzcshe's" the will to power,
you'll spot something unusual...*
man's logic is linear,
woman's logic is circular,
a woman will cite you
a thousand emblems of truth
bound to a circle,
but a man will only cite a hundred
digits of truth bound to a metre,
there are hardly any negations
in woman's truth,
there are many negations
(kantian mirror, symbolic
of the zero symbol) i man's
utterance of truth...
at first glance one prickly thorn
stood out, the will to power's
author s elisabeth nietzsche, not
frederick... there's this lack of
linear authority, there's this
almost kantian in-itself enclosure,
while a man says: i'm only here
only once... a woman retorts (paradoxically):
there's plenty more these where it came from...
the most scandalous book ever written
that was ascribed to a ménage à trois thinker
was this diabolically babylonian mongrel
of nueva germania's failure...
which is why kant demanded the noumenon
to be of a given *** a woman, he never married,
he lived to a clockwork precision,
he learned that the unfathomable
was the cyclic, and within this framework
he supposedly died an idiot fathoming
the linear ontology by disregarding the cyclic
ontology of women, with a humoristic
expression concerning the french revolution,
quote: that's a revolution; so unbecoming
of a german, that it could almost pass-off as
english black humour.
a man competent with his linear activity
will only be deemed maddened when cursed
to a cycling exception of a certain inability
to pursue the linear ontology to the fullest release
of meaning, instead, the linear will prevail,
although like a trans-linear object stranded
chained to the clutch exerting force on an otherwise
speeding wheel, in revs, tattooing the cement
with rubber tattoo skids and heated convulsions,
nonetheless, leaving a mark, however
abrupt it might be, nonetheless linear.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
I am Mary
Looking upon Lydia with disdain
Oh how I'd love to look like Jane
But truly
I want to be Elisabeth
I am Mary
Waiting for someone to answer me
Oh how I wish I was the same
But really
I want to be Elisabeth
I am Mary
And I try to be the best
Oh how I try to tease and jest
But truly
I only look a fool
I am Mary
Holding myself above all else
Oh how I'm told to be myself
But really
I want to be Elisabeth
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
It's gym class
Laughter fills the space
Test Artistic Gymnastics today
The long ocean blue mat
Streched across the floor
Either you got it or you don't
Elisabeth, the clumsiest
Sweetest girl I know
Bright and kind
Easy to influence
A little shy...
Mischief is my middle name
She runs towards the middle
I wait and analyse
Her slender body arches forward
A moment before her hands
Touch the ocean blue mat
Preparing to place her weight on them...
"WATER!!!"
Distracted she loses balance
Now laying flat on the ground
She screams at me
I laugh and run off
Persued by a D-
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
Lisa knows where the poppies hide
the men in white pick them up at night
Lisa knows but she won't tell Beth
cause she'd find it hard to hold her breath
Bethy's become even more suspicious
She says that she still catches transmissions
So, Elisabeth, despite her own poor state
Watches carefully over her darling roommate
Lisa knows where the poppies hide
Oh, those charming rubies glow bright in the night
And if their beauty some girls do not see
they taste it each day as their morning tea
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 5:56 PM UTC
Elisabeth lives as more than dust
She lies in Rachel's ribs
through sharpie ink
and in the sky when it turns salmon pink
behind crosses and hills
nothing has ended
she is still strung through trees
and her soul is fused to yours clean
numb will consume us
and ill brush the knots from your hair when there is nothing else to say
death is one way to find out who will stay
and who will go cry themselves to sleep because they cant see beyond themselves
guitar strings vibrate in bars
and we search for signs of where you are
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 3:46 PM UTC
Driving 220, beltless, with Elisabeth,
Half a foot beside me: Certain Death,
Nature: an incomprehensible blur,
-- Were we rushing to live, or to die? --
That's one thing you could not infer.
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 11:21 PM UTC