"embitter" poems
How is it that all I see and believe
isn't more than what one can conceive?
Trapped inside these bound'ries of mine,
flipping and flopping down the stream of time,
my thoughts not more than the glint of sunshine.
So I laugh! I laugh! Great boisterous humor!
To laugh and to giggle at the falseness and rumors;
to snicker and snacker at the play of all forms;
to chortle and chuckle at deviations and norms;
I will laugh at the process as my soul transforms.
So I laugh! I laugh! Though pains may embitter!
To laugh and to giggle at all senseless chatter;
to snicker and snacker at what's caught within;
to chortle and chuckle at all that is sin;
I will laugh at the moment when nothing begins.
So join me, my friend, and forget of your fears!
We'll both laugh, together, at the grinding of gears;
we'll both giggle, together, at prophets and seers.
So join me, my friend, and forget of your aches!
Laugh with abandon at this game and its stakes;
laugh with abandon as this machinery breaks.
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 5:13 PM UTC
*
*
Let not the trails of life cast us into
the womb of despair
Let not the betrayals of Man embitter
us where we no longer trust
Understand that time on Earth is short.
It is our choice to fight the battles;
the weapons were provided.
Fight to live right, fight to live well.
And when your flame blows out
and you know Eternal Peace,
you would have won the war.
No man is perfect.
No man is a saint.
No man is a God.
Man is Man.
Know your value.
Know your worth.
Live your dreams.
Hone your crafts.
Face your fears.
It's okay to be selfish.
It's okay to make mistakes.
Don't let society eat and tear at you to the
point that it rips your very soul to shreds, and you feel like life is not worth living.
You are entitled to live, so live your best life
and let the haters stew.
But most of all believe...
*
*
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 5:38 PM UTC
When I rov’d a young Highlander o’er the dark heath,
And climb’d thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow!
To gaze on the torrent that thunder’d beneath,
Or the mist of the tempest that gather’d below;
Untutor’d by science, a stranger to fear,
And rude as the rocks, where my infancy grew,
No feeling, save one, to my ***** was dear;
Need I say, my sweet Mary, ’twas centred in you?
Yet it could not be Love, for I knew not the name,—
What passion can dwell in the heart of a child?
But, still, I perceive an emotion the same
As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover’d wild:
One image, alone, on my ***** impress’d,
I lov’d my bleak regions, nor panted for new;
And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless’d,
And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with you.
I arose with the dawn, with my dog as my guide,
From mountain to mountain I bounded along;
I breasted the billows of Dee’s rushing tide,
And heard at a distance the Highlander’s song:
At eve, on my heath-cover’d couch of repose.
No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view;
And warm to the skies my devotions arose,
For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you.
I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone;
The mountains are vanish’d, my youth is no more;
As the last of my race, I must wither alone,
And delight but in days, I have witness’d before:
Ah! splendour has rais’d, but embitter’d my lot;
More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew:
Though my hopes may have fail’d, yet they are not
forgot,
Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you.
When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky,
I think of the rocks that o’ershadow Colbleen;
When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye,
I think of those eyes that endear’d the rude scene;
When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold,
That faintly resemble my Mary’s in hue,
I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold,
The locks that were sacred to beauty, and you.
Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains once more
Shall rise to my sight, in their mantles of snow;
But while these soar above me, unchang’d as before,
Will Mary be there to receive me?—ah, no!
Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred!
Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu!
No home in the forest shall shelter my head,—
Ah! Mary, what home could be mine, but with you?
1.5k
The sweetest words
embitter my Lady Sea.
Nor can fire evaporate
that raging ocean.
When a man speaks
with voice of mouse,
hear her shriek-ethereal
nullify even love-potions.
I darest ask her,
mustn’t I dare?
Wouldn’t even a grimace,
tease my loving stare?
Lady Sea, storm in your soul.
Were you to splatter like glass
wouldn’t I still find nourishment?
Just an element of you.
Just a taste.
I would consume it infinitely,
leave none to waste.
Lady Sea,
lady see, I whimper, I pine.
Your wish is thine.
Lady Sea,
hair like nimbus sail,
I paddle at your door...
To no avail.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 11:12 AM UTC
"A blue and gold mistake",
Wrote Emily from inside her room,
A self-inflicted tomb,
About a path she could not take,
Into the month of June.
Let others stroll beneath its cerulean sky
And thank the sward, on which they lie,
A lunging into voluptuous play,
Yet blinded to the rushing by
Of sultry month and jovial day.
Did the poet’s being kept apart
From worldly joys well-made,
Or from crystal pools and glaucous glades,
From brilliant sun that fashions shade,
Embitter her admiring heart
To look askance at anything that fades?
Did she not care that
One month, though doomed to end,
Was also made to reappear
After the long march of winter’s year
As the sun came round again,
To loose us from our unlocked pens?
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
His thoughts concerned none other,
but of her – her irrational anger.
directed at him for no real matter,
for committing an honest mistake; like it was ******
She called,
but didn't listen.
She hung up,
without even asking
what really happened.
Now he's crying.
His being is,
no tears are flowing
from his eyes
for they were barren
An empty vessel,
he needed loving.
But what he got?
A message saying. . .
** ~**
*Goodnight, I'm sleeping.
let's talk some other time.
I'm tired from working.*
** ~**
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
Methinks he doth protest too much
About the abomination of **********
And of those unnatural ****** urges
By which some men are so sorely tempted.
Is it not an old adage such such comments
Are but a case of hidden desires
Of a similarly 'unnatural' nature
Suppressed through innate guilt and learned shame?
He who struggled against his own dark needs
For manly cameraderie and love,
Succumbing only to sordid secret acts,
Who fought against self-admission of shame
By feigning romantic love for ladies
Is now enraged by gay liberation,
Outraged by the love that now dares
To speak its name and to embrace in public.
For he knows that his time for an honest love
Has gone and only dry ashes remain
To embitter his few remaining days.
Methinks he wanketh in secret.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
#someone is listening.
someone is listening All the time someone is watching your back . Hardships are fun .
boredom is death.
Death is a pause ,and you need a full stop to stop altogether.
There is no full stop in a circle but a circle of course is a loci after all of a dot. A full stop. Nucleus is you .
You the periphery .
Death will not ease your thing but will delay and embitter the future.
To the one that is you .
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 4:09 AM UTC
Oh JD how I admired thee,
your sinister sarcasm,
your sharp screeching scream,
your pink pursed lips,
always as if you were to whistle.
You sat in your chair arms rested,
after another exhausting session with
disengaged delinquents,
I'd always feel a sense of guilt,
as your red face cooled down after every class.
I'd always appreciate the days when we pleased you,
How hard it was to please you.
The prince of of punctuation,
when will these fools stop forgetting where to place their commas,
when will they wake up and realign to the standard Oxford rule.
I wonder if you studied there,
or why you wouldn't drive one,
perhaps that's why you loved the phrase manners makyth so much.
You taught me about literature and African history,
the best possible combination of Shaka speare,
I feel that I impressed you more in the latter,
but that doesn't really matter.
We're world's apart now,
as you continue in your most precious profession,
I lay in my bed writing poems,
slightly clueless about this post adolescent world.
I forget much,
but I'll always remember the strolls to the cats and dogs,
the advice and complaints,
the doubts about saints,
the sky blue in your eyes.
How I wished you would fly,
above from the gloom that seemed to,
keep your head bowed down to the ground,
that you would once again smile at the sound of the birds at dawn...
Bygones be bygones.
Little did you know that you became a father figure,
I respected your resolute resolve to stand for your convictions,
clarity climbed off the cusp of your tongue as you cried,
you were sure of yourself and spoke your mind,
I do think you could have been a little more gentle,
kind.
So could I.
I learned so much from you,
but I may have also learned your sadness,
but it's something I had to let go,
your roots run deeper than I'll ever know,
maybe something sour happened along the way to embitter them.
Whatever the case may be,
please forgive any inaccuracy,
I'll always hold you fondly,
JD.
Kanyanta
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC