"epitomised" poems
I could sentimentalise,
throw flowers on your memory
agonise the opportunity to part with any gratuity,
wish you could see every success
through meaningless desire to conjure what never was
what never will be.
As you ebbed away to degeneration,
every strip of dignity
was a drop in the temperature of your cold stare
that epitomised our tenuous connection.
Even if truth be told,
would there be anyone to understand
how you created something so arbitrarily
only to derivatively destroy it?
Aug 22, 2022
Aug 22, 2022 at 9:41 PM UTC
July's soft murmur
Gave way to
August's howling
Obscured by boisterous
Moans of the wind
Screams turned into
Subdued yawns
Shrivelled leaves
Whose life the sun absorbed
Succumbed to the devastation
In all their grandeur
Scattered on the ground
In delicious hues
All they epitomised was
Inevitable gut-wrenching ends
Blind optimism bloomed
To tend to the wounds
Reeling in drawn-out decay
Autumn pain
Demanded to be felt.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
Romeo epitomised love
as he willing
died for it
he took the life he could not offer
openly to Juliet
and cast it down
beside her
hoping in death
they would know what life
denied them
forever
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
Dreading the end before it's begun
Obsessed with the ending endless fun
Ongoing feverishly until she tires
My own selfishly determined desires
Epitomised by a crocodile
Drowning but still volatile
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder?
For I was torn between the wondrous musing
And the unfaithful, the treacherous verity.
Dad said that it lies in the wit and the wisdom,
Mom believed it to be synonymous with serenity!
I roved in reverie, pottered with presumptions;
What is beauty? From where does it emanate?
But may be, there was no oasis to my quest.
The answer breezed in and out, gusted here and there;
To catch hold of it was a big, big test!
Was it the reflection in the mirror?
The unbearable, the ill-favoured, it couldn't be.
The face that lacked glow, the face sans any sheens,
It longed for glory, for eminence.
I sighed; for was beauty the boulevard to my dreams?
There are the gifts of botany lacking blossoms,
And scads of scars blotching the moon.
But never could they blotch my view:
Splendor couldn't stop itself descending upon my eyes!
Even in murk, even in dim, I could descry hue.
'Twas in my eyes, they could life the lifeless
Like a shore serenading a cove or
The Ocean constantly kissing the shoreline.
These epitomised allure, incarnated love.
For me, it was an emotion 'divine'!
I realised: Not in the skinny legs and the fair hands
It is found in the vivacity of spirits.
Neither in the mascara nor in the mole;
Beauty has never found it's way through these,
It resides in the heart, in the soul.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 12:10 AM UTC
not really the gay science by definition nietzschean...
just... pure... narration / uninhibited narration,
narration ex “anonymousness.”
anyway, he misguided his theory,
he thought that goethe
epitomised his dyonisian qualifying
orientation... goethe was apollonian
as a judge... so much so that
he wrote all his verses sober;
oh the dross that my hangover brings
so much clarity i'm actually content
with it;
but the loss of narration, that fine art
of expressed and kept tribalism ("barbarism
by the camp fire") is neurotic in western
societies... with retort it re-emerged...
just jumbled up... thanks to tristan tzara...
exploited to full potential by william burroughs
via the polaroid / cut up method /
ransom letter of cut out letters glued onto
a piece of paper / as ****** up as quantum physics;
so the next time you meet your friend,
remember the quanta, he has a particular
expression to give you, minus the obvious mannerisms
that are self-explanatory, and kept to him knowing himself.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
write and you will see azure or aquamarine in blue, and as man is almost hue blind in order to make him a decent painter (even though his technique came from the raphaelite school, it’s undermined by childish endeavour of the cubists), so too woman is blind to forms and makes her an adequate child of virginia woolf; i concede, the delicacy of sushi and the subsequent frailty of the tongue is epitomised by complex layring of letters to avoid stressors above, below or in them (theta), and this frailty is no more apparent than now... among the english-speaking youth; why? they have an outlet... the internet... i didn’t have that in my youth... the only outlet i had was in thought.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 5:50 AM UTC
Silence, nothing else but silence now, am I really dead
No more the sound of cannon fire or smell of rotting dead
Is this the death I feared so long, is this my eternal rest
The grasp of war relinquished now, my duty dispossessed
Incessant rain, falls constantly, to torment and pain my soul
The battlefield a quagmire now, that swallows’ soldiers whole
Thousands, countless thousands of men now dead or dying
Hell, on Earth is Passchendaele, to be its witness, horrifying
I have no sense of being now, my corpse bequeathed of breath,
My soul now purged, awaits its fate to meet the sacrament of death
My dreams of home abandoned now, my weapons cast aside
Now duty paid to God and King, my epitaph epitomised
But from the very brink of death, I feel my pain again
Returning from the heavenly gates, soaked by that ****** rain
Delivered from God’s holy grace to Satan’s gates revived
From the peace of my eternal sleep, my comfort now deprived
Back to Pilckem Ridge once more, to a Flanders blood-soaked trench
Where grey faced lads with bowing heads, sit silent in the stench
Corpses laying side by side, half buried in oozing mud
All faith and hope abandoned, the price now paid in flesh and blood
I prey for the Lord to take me and release me from this hell
Remove me from perdition, reposed in perpetuity to sleep where angels dwell
Let me succumb, dispense with me, undiminished in your grace
Deliver me to eternity and redeem me from this awful place
My headstone stands on hallowed ground, near Tyne Cot, ***** Town
Eternal sleep, my answered prayer, now rest in peace where I lay down
I gave the best that I could give, till I could give no more
Then blessed the Lord that saved my soul, but cursed the ****** war
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 2:43 PM UTC