"estrange" poems
Maids, not to you my mind doth change;
Men I defy, allure, estrange,
Prostrate, make bond or free:
Soft as the stream beneath the plane
To you I sing my love's refrain;
Between us is no thought of pain,
Peril, satiety.
Soon doth a lover's patience tire,
But ye to manifold desire
Can yield response, ye know
When for long, museful days I pine,
The presage at my heart divine;
To you I never breathe a sign
Of inward want or woe.
When injuries my spirit bruise,
Allaying virtue ye infuse
With unobtrusive skill:
And if care frets ye come to me
As fresh as nymph from stream or tree,
And with your soft vitality
My weary ***** fill.
10.1k
Keep speaking up without fear
Someday someone'll beyond hear
Keep championing for change
Albeit it does you estrange
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 12:55 AM UTC
Call it a good marriage -
For no one ever questioned
Her warmth, his masculinity,
Their interlocking views;
Except one stray graphologist
Who frowned in speculation
At her h's and her s's,
His p's and w's.
Though few would still subscribe
To the monogamic axiom
That strife below the hip-bones
Need not estrange the heart,
Call it a good marriage:
More drew those two together,
Despite a lack of children,
Than pulled them apart.
Call it a good marriage:
They never fought in public,
They acted circumspectly
And faced the world with pride;
Thus the hazards of their love-bed
Were none of our ****** business -
Till as jurymen we sat on
Two deaths by suicide.
6.9k
Dear Mama, you taught me well,
but that's something I'd never tell,
cause complacency is what you preached,
so silence is what I reached.
Mama, you taught me well,
to sit and fiddle, do not wail,
but my emotions are worth much more,
when they aren't hidden behind the door.
Mama, you taught me well,
wishing for naught, I let myself dwell,
and so I idolized all the wrong people,
and followed demands like sheeple.
Mama, you taught me well,
to allow myself to mask my yell,
my tears, my frigid fears, my feelings unspoken,
when my heart lay here so broken.
Mama, you taught me well,
to lock myself into my own cell,
and now I feel I need release,
my soul deserves to be at peace.
Dear Mama, you taught me well,
but this sort of life I wish to quell,
and so I say I must change,
your lessons to me, estrange.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
EAST BOSTON, 1996
ON THE BUS
Franz Wright
It's one thing when you're twenty-one,
and I was way past twenty-one.
With unshaven face half concealed in the collar
of some deceased porcine philanthropist's
black cashmere rag of a coat,
I knew that I looked like a suicide
returning an overdue book to the library.
Almost everyone else did as well,
but I found no particular solace in this;
at best, the fact awakened some diverting speculations
on the comparative benefits
of waiting in front of a ditch to be shot
alone or in company
of others, and then whether one would prefer
these last hypothetical others
to be friends, family, enemies, total
or relative strangers. Would you hold hands?
Or would you rather like a good **** sapiens
monster employ them
to cover your genitals?
What percentage would lose bowel control?
And given time restrictions -
and assuming some still had the ability to move -
would ostracism result? Anyway,
I knew the rules on this bus.
No eye contact: the eyes of the terrified
terrify. Look
like you know where you're going,
possess ample change to get there,
and don't move your lips when you talk
to yourself: the destroyed
and sick, the poor, the hungry
and the disturbed estrange.
The badly dressed estrange, even,
and that is uncalled for. The degree
of one's power to estrange will increase
in direct proportion to the depth
of need for others. Do not cry.
This can only bring about, on the one hand,
an instant condition of banishment
from the sole available companionship, or
on the other, a near
fatal beating (one more disappointment).
Just follow the simple instruction
if you ever come here.
It's easy to remember - any idiot can do it.
Don't cry,
the world has abandoned us.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
She was crying.
So he approached
to lessen the anguish,
her life has notched
He exchanged her tears
with his cozy smile;
to calm down her nerves
at least for a while.
The language of tears
has always appealed him;
as to the insects,
the sundew's gleam.
Innate was this nature of his
to weep for the poor,
for the women, for the children
and for the downtrodden, to be sure.
But with hollow chauvinism
then, the men ruled the society.
And accounted weeping as a sin
resulting from inferiority.
They disliked the boy
and his uncommon ways
to heal the sufferer,
to their utter dismay.
They called the boy
and asked him to change
his beliefs and ideology
or to be ready to estrange.
The boy couldn't understand
how his actions have been
outrageous in their view
and thus sentenced as a sin.
He stood against them
and let the proposal decline.
He advocated his logic
to those ****** swine.
But their ears were concealed
to even the rumbling thunder.
Intoxicated by masculinity
they committed blunder.
The men enraged
and reached for their knives.
They shouted, they cursed
and skinned him alive.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
Lord God that dost me save and keep,
All day to thee I cry;
And all night long, before thee weep
Before thee prostrate lie.
Into thy presence let my praier
With sighs devout ascend
And to my cries, that ceaseless are,
Thine ear with favour bend.
For cloy’d with woes and trouble store
Surcharg’d my Soul doth lie,
My life at death’s uncherful dore
Unto the grave draws nigh.
Reck’n'd I am with them that pass
Down to the dismal pit
I am a *man, but weak alas * Heb. A man without manly
And for that name unfit. strength.
From life discharg’d and parted quite
Among the dead to sleep
And like the slain in ****** fight
That in the grave lie deep.
Whom thou rememberest no more,
Dost never more regard,
Them from thy hand deliver’d o’re
Deaths hideous house hath barr’d.
Thou in the lowest pit profound’
Hast set me all forlorn,
Where thickest darkness hovers round,
In horrid deeps to mourn.
Thy wrath from which no shelter saves
Full sore doth press on me;
*Thou break’st upon me all thy waves, *The Heb.
*And all thy waves break me bears both.
Thou dost my friends from me estrange,
And mak’st me odious,
Me to them odious, for they change,
And I here pent up thus.
Through sorrow, and affliction great
Mine eye grows dim and dead,
Lord all the day I thee entreat,
My hands to thee I spread.
Wilt thou do wonders on the dead,
Shall the deceas’d arise
And praise thee from their loathsom bed
With pale and hollow eyes ?
Shall they thy loving kindness tell
On whom the grave hath hold,
Or they who in perdition dwell
Thy faithfulness unfold?
In darkness can thy mighty hand
Or wondrous acts be known,
Thy justice in the gloomy land
Of dark oblivion?
But I to thee O Lord do cry
E’re yet my life be spent,
And up to thee my praier doth hie
Each morn, and thee prevent.
Why wilt thou Lord my soul forsake,
And hide thy face from me,
That am already bruis’d, and *shake *Heb. Prae Concussione.
With terror sent from thee;
Bruz’d, and afflicted and so low
As ready to expire,
While I thy terrors undergo
Astonish’d with thine ire.
Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow
Thy threatnings cut me through.
All day they round about me go,
Like waves they me persue.
Lover and friend thou hast remov’d
And sever’d from me far.
They fly me now whom I have lov’d,
And as in darkness are.
1.9k
Bathed in trauma, poured on you,
Blindly making excuses, I didn't have a clue,
Unintended harm was not my aim,
I swear, from my heart, that's the truth I claim.
Just give me a chance to prove I can change,
Don't turn away, let's break this estrange,
I've learned my lessons, I'm ready to grow,
I can transform, this I truly know.
Lost in the past, flipping photo albums' pages,
Seeking smiles, wondering through the ages,
But now I see the present with fresh eyes,
Fixing what's wrong, no more disguise.
A shared prison, unaware we both dwelled,
Failed to communicate, the stories we withheld,
I tried to speak of demons deep within,
Unaware they held me tight, drowning in their sin.
I plead for a chance, believe I can mend,
Break free from the covers, where the pain won't extend,
Yesterday's weight won't hold us down,
Together we'll rise, wearing courage as our crown.
Glimpsing photos, memories of distant travels,
Questioning why joy seemed to unravel,
But it's not about them, or what they comprehend,
Finding my worth, letting my true self ascend.
Losing my muse, an ache deep within,
Placing you on a pedestal, where love had once been,
Our best memories like a festival's delight,
But I clung too tightly, clouding our sight.
Hurting you, hurting myself, a tangled mess,
I thought I suffered more, but it was just a guess,
Overloaded with clichés, patched on our dark days,
Unaware I was the setup, before the closing phrase.
Keep donning your cape socks, a symbol of strength,
In the end, you shaped me, helping me find my true length
May 27, 2023
May 27, 2023 at 5:04 PM UTC
A Song
Fill the goblet again! for I never before
Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core;
Let us drink!—who would not?—since, through life’s varied round,
In the goblet alone no deception is found.
I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;
I have bask’d in the beam of a dark rolling eye;
I have lov’d!—who has not?—but what heart can declare
That Pleasure existed while Passion was there?
In the days of my youth, when the heart’s in its spring,
And dreams that Affection can never take wing,
I had friends!—who has not?—but what tongue will avow,
That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou?
The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange,
Friendship shifts with the sunbeam—thou never canst change;
Thou grow’st old—who does not?—but on earth what appears,
Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years?
Yet if blest to the utmost that Love can bestow,
Should a rival bow down to our idol below,
We are jealous!—who’s not?—thou hast no such alloy;
For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.
Then the season of youth and its vanities past,
For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;
There we find—do we not?—in the flow of the soul,
That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl.
When the box of Pandora was open’d on earth,
And Misery’s triumph commenc’d over Mirth,
Hope was left,—was she not?—but the goblet we kiss,
And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.
Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown,
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own:
We must die—who shall not?—May our sins be forgiven,
And **** shall never be idle in Heaven.
1.7k
earn me
entice me
ensure me
enlighten me
enlist me
entertain me
effectuate me
envelope me
entrap me
enthrall me
enrapture me
enslave me
edify me
elate me
evolve me
elicit me
expand me
entrust me
employ me
equalize me
envy me
excise me
exhaust me
extinguish me
erode me
erase me
evict me
estrange me
exhume me
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 6:43 AM UTC
Nobody Knows
Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring,
will there be sunshine, will birds sing.
Is today your last day,
if it is, what will they say.
Were you good, were you bad,
were you happy, were you sad.
Will people come and mourn,
or will they wish,
you were never born.
Is it dark, or is it light,
did you try with all your might.
Is there heaven, is there hell,
whom will toll your last bell.
Is there something,
you would change,
was there things,
you left estrange.
Is there life after death,
will you haunt,
who took your last breath.
For these questions,
that nobody knows,
we'll find out,
in the end,
I will suppose.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
O, Time and Change, they range and range
From sunshine round to thunder!--
They glance and go as the great winds blow,
And the best of our dreams drive under:
For Time and Change estrange, estrange--
And, now they have looked and seen us,
O, we that were dear, we are all-too near
With the thick of the world between us.
O, Death and Time, they chime and chime
Like bells at sunset falling!--
They end the song, they right the wrong,
They set the old echoes calling:
For Death and Time bring on the prime
Of God's own chosen weather,
And we lie in the peace of the Great Release
As once in the grass together.
1.2k
Rearrange, re-estrange, re-derange.
Exchange the change you
Prearranged with something
Even stranger.
Interchange your long-range
Thoughts for something
Shorter, maybe don't be
Shortchanged this time around.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
I wish we don’t have to change,
I wish we don’t have to choose,
I wish we don’t have to lose,
I wish we never have to estrange.
I hope one day we would survive,
I hope we would be free like a kite,
I hope we would get out here alive,
I hope one day we would shine as light.
I wish one day I could be as good,
I hope I would not be misunderstood,
I wish one day I would be out of the wood,
I hope I would never say if I could.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 10:46 AM UTC
A poem without a feeling
When one is estrange from them self
A desire to want a want for desire
Convoluted and not yet acquired
It's not empty,
or missing.
A combination of both ?
The heart is there but absent.
The heart is a class,
but the feelings aren't there.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
Waking in the stagnant syrup, viscous in its compound, molasses for the profound
Met Anne soiling the jar as Mouschi and Boche wage war
Diary held in the family name, passages removed for the sanctity, of a lonesome father’s sanity.
Voided bowels kept in masonry, cemented, to the back, weeping out portals of light held through a crack.
Seems prosperity can be found in imposed seclusion, though not maintained until conclusion.
Turned over for turnip change, imposing on the Frank family a need to estrange
Left off to Poland to fumigate the air, stripped of the yellow star one’s required to wear.
Thrown into death in motion, avoid eye contact, and most kinds of commotion.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The voided track clicked into a closed lane.
Hennessy held as operators quiver in alcoholic splendor.
Rolling thunder, click clacking for no gain.
Stationary tumble, fragments of ice kicked up from the blender.
Mrs. Garrett went to town on all the *****
Traded for at cost.
Pulverized **** gifted for a glimpse of ****
Snorted out with assembling frost.
Cannibals hidden amid the train car
Stored in S.S uniforms, to be smelted in coming years
Vocalizing incendiary bigotry meant to sour
Relieved transgressions…being deemed a response to fears.
Cruel, burnt ash floating from the cinders
Red-lit skyline resonant before sleep
Slave life held in mines, and retrieving timber
Sole remaining heirloom, the cloth from their feet.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
Life has changed
Turned upside down
We feel estrange
There's no one in town
People are suffering
Alone and in silence
No words are comforting
No truth no guidance
Out of control
All taken all dictated
Our dreams, it stole
This virus is hated
A thief of happiness
The devil of separation
A venom so poisonous
Man's worse creation
No touch, no kisses
No hugs, nor tickles
Its crazy and infectiouness
Its rapid, its careless
We despise this pandeminc
Its heartless , its manic
With hope and patiently
We will conquer tenaciously
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 3:35 AM UTC
Another one of his possessive tirades.
His distrust for me displayed.
Revolting words bypass the lock on the door,
Where I lay sobbing on the bathroom floor.
Murmuring that emotional offenses are a form of abuse.
Pleading with him to let me cut him loose.
Exhausted with empty promises of change.
His actions have me seeking to estrange.
He'll call me and stalk me and beg me to forgive.
It's too late, these nights I never want to relive.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
The clouds scatter askew
Into the dimness of mere moments to twilight
Water jumped on my skin
Playing run and hide
Sifting pieces of a small town
Into a phantom's mosaic
I was a spectator to the familiar
While mother has sent me
To an errand of a quarter pound of ginger
Those deformed baby toe-like things
Hideous almost supernatural
A middle aged cabby stops
With a knowing look
On to my face that only moves
To answer, not to question
I sat down on the old leather chair
A waft of fish and dried sweat
Dust and a little exhaustion
Regaining his gear, every bit
A weary man and so
The drive went silently
As a secret.
The exhausted cement path
Looked frozen, deserted
As a widow's heart.
There were faces of mixed hues like
Technicolor film in a psychedelic haze
Lined like domino pieces
In the streets of this sick town
Some leaving, some going
To some smaller street perhaps
Off to estrange their lives
From grey shanties, small lumps of
Grains on their shaky family tables.
Like the downpour they are sad
Sadder than the cabby's squeaking wheels
Between the tension of the road
And the misfortune of its master
I say hello like an egg laid by chance
In a nest made for spiders
I do not belong here
But the web ties me head first.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
Never have you ever seen a nothing?
Silly little something you are already found
Prophetic, prolific, a sea of chemical compound
The very notion confounds any attempt to explain
A reverent proclivity for life or its viral civility
Once this is said nowhere have you been
Commentator of moral, of sin
Thus a nothing could you have been
As we are so, nothing also is of being
Justly, all that he is lacking are all these frames that estrange us
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
I know them long ago,
We've played the tales moonlight,
We've chased and hide and seek
We've shared and shared mummy's meal,
We were one blood
We felt our pains.
yes I know them
I know them
I know them!
Only little time like yesterday,
I was taken away from them
But I've returned,
I've come to them again!
No more,they know me no more!
I'm to them alien!
But I know them!
Yes, i do know them.
Long ago,our mummy sung us lullaby.
The whiles after the moonlight tales
When the nights were dark and thick
Yes I know them!
I'm the seasonal stranger.
The yesterday's friend,the little brother.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
my forest is the key to a door of trees... an ambient reckless.
let us keep the forbidden as a friend
and estrange the wane moons of our desires.
to better come to terms
with our actual fires.
let us yearn less the lesser things... and be swoon
amidst the plethora of unsung joys.
let's join the incomparable affinities of our affections
and swarm the hollows of our
un-gone dreams... completely.
let us go there, and be tranquil...
for there is no other god
but the One before Me.
and i put you above it
because you
Love me .
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
Once in darkness and in gloom
I traveled down a path of doom
And in my heart there was no room
There was no light much like a tomb
I did not want to ever change
Or my life to rearrange
At that time I did exchange
Our Father's love and did estrange
All I thought of was myself
Self indulging with my pelf
His love I put upon a shelf
Separating me from Himself
Accepting this, my final state
I thought for me it was too late
Having no chance to change my fate
For my destiny willing to wait
Then one day I heard a call
From two voices, meek and small
With His power they did enthrall
And in my heart, faith did install
I knew not they'd changed my heart
Father's plan began to start
And my path He did re-chart
From whence I was I did depart
The seed they'd planted in my soul
Began my life to extol
Beginning to take for me control
As in a new life I did enroll
Though His love I did betray
He would forgive without delay
All my sins would wash away
With Him forever I could stay
I know Heavenly Father's love
The redemption He gave me from above
Through His Son whom I know of
The Holy Spirit came as a dove
Of this end there is no fear
The Lord My God is to me near
The Iron Rod my path does steer
A path I walk to me so dear
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
Hearts beating like drums. All Synchronized to each other, spurring our tongues to speak, our minds to think, our souls to be…. united. In dreams and aspirations of education, influence, and love…All we ever wanted. Simplified till it sounds like a king speech, as if that’s the only way to think. But all our ideologies are as different as our English is from hieroglyphics. Similar pictures can mean different things; like a gang sign slightly varied can mean death on ill tread streets, where people think there is no where else to go but down, trying to keep their head up but not learning to swim. we can all do the backstroke if we devote some time. And we learn faster with a teacher. A friend. A collage. Anyone who has dreams. Anyone who has a heartbeat. This drive can supersede obstacles we see .and we all have the capacity. And the truth of this is in this room. With you, who may have swallowed water but never quit, not willing to submit to whatever unfair ******** arose from the septic tank under your life. And your heart’s still beating. I know you can feel the rhythm. we all can. So don’t let your shortcomings remix it to a beat that’s not your own or an inferior version of your song. Because when we step back to listen and you step up to sing, we find that our differences don’t estrange us as much as we think. Were all on the brink of understanding, so don’t be afraid to open you ears or your mouth or propel your self with action you know will make us proud.do it despite the circumstances that cloud our judgment to inadequacy. Be more than a king speech but don’t be above us for we all have dreams. We are all our own person, but we are still our people. Stand up. And don’t be afraid to do it together. It’ll only make us stronger.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
If we live in our dreams and hopes with
A strand of faith that someday all will
Be realized, while in our day to day
Life we feel we must pretend that such
Thoughts are are not who we truly are
Because that would estrange us from the
World of normalcy and convention, with
A price to pay. Is it not reasonable, even
Yet to say desirable perhaps but always
Inevitable that one or the other of our-
Selves must needs die; and in the end it
Will not be a hard choice -to choose life
Knowing with God all things most real
That are for our salvation will be done.
Come He has said my burden is lite.
He who makes all things new knows:
In him who believes it is the old world
That is dying and a new world is being
Born and we nearer to God do rejoice
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC