"evermore" poems
A Robin said: The Spring will never come,
And I shall never care to build again.
A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,
My sap will never stir for sun or rain.
The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,
I neither care to wax nor care to wane.
The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,
Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main.--
When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest,
And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight.
Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might
Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core.
The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest,
Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.
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I am she
Who compliments & completes
The dream-lover and wishes
Made when he is asleep.
I am she
Who suffers the most,
Giving birth, cradling ghosts,
As the crone or maid,
(Once and always)
Sister, mother, daughter, wife.
I am she
Who waits through the night.
I am she
Who equals the strength
Of his light.
"See me with your loving eyes,
See me more than the tears I've cried!"
I am she
Who is willing
To go with him to war,
Not a man but as an equal,
(I'm both soft yet hard)
I am she
To whom he'll give his heart
I am the tunnel's bright end
I am where
The family starts,
The breast which nurse small men.
I am she
The twin,
The Juliet,
The Goddess divine!
I am she
Who deserves the same
in life, and for all time.
(Peace be…)
I am she
I am you
I am her
I am the one besides
And inside
She is I…
The romance in the dress,
Patient Partner to the ends,
Tiny dancer on the floor
I am
The one that loves you
Forever &
Evermore.
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 10:20 AM UTC
Every blue patch on the sky keeps an eye,
cherishing clouds dancing, hovering over.
The songs of deep blue ride the heady air,
only to be stunned, all of a sudden,
at the first sight—
sung down on a perfectly placed mural.
The Queen of Sheba tiptoes this way;
King Solomon leans to the ground,
only to find seas of silent blooms
musing, dipping in sun-kissed dews—
on gently tilted roses that will not fall,
not from this picture-perfect, navel-high!
Velvety, the rose rises from the ground;
the forever-green Earth hangs low,
in the dew on the rose that will not fall.
Blossoming, eyeing an acute high,
evermore hopeful to scale upward,
toward the faraway, awaiting heaven's pool.
There, the spotlight does not move—
neither north nor south, nor up nor down—
until Queen Fathima, the Queen of Heaven,
steps on the "as above, so below" slope.
There, the newly resurrected Earth will be primed,
its minted atoms vibrating beyond bounds,
rising, for the first time, atop the navel-high.
Perfectly wrapped, the atom's circle finally turns on—
the stepping stone that holds no pi-decimal hole.
Pure Scientia hangs on the door of Paradise,
awaiting the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step.
God willing, she will work in beauty:
the most sought-after, perfect works of art—
the lost masterpiece, not in translation,
but hidden within the pi-decimal abyss of Earth's depth.
Lo, the gleaning Sleeping Beauty peeps,
trailing the role model Queen.
Fathima—the first woman to enter Paradise—
walks the walk: perfect, straight, numerically precise.
As if she always knew, back from the Earth,
of the murals ahead, hanging on Paradise’s wall,
mathematically exact!
Mirrors of imagination, new wonders on Heaven’s way,
etched in the murals at the golden section, navel-high.
She zooms past the ever-spinning atom’s perfect span,
cemented at the entrance of Paradise.
Yet leaves no footprint—
for she never did, even on the sublunary Earth.
A new wonder blooms in the classic old eyes:
oh, Pi, still irrational, still pondering,
at the measured, eternal navel-high!
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
I was relaxed, and deep in thought
The type of talk that silence brought
When just in earshot it rocked,
tick tock
tick tock
"Must be a clock"
I told myself and resumed my thought
Though as the seconds passed I could not,
Despite the will with which I fought
Do to its incessant knock
Tick tock
Tick tock
I searched for the clock
Unable to find the train I sought
I grew more and more distraught
With each and every tick and tock
That find the clock, I could not
As the silence grew more fraught
With the knock,
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
I knew the pain of Lancelot
On and on it ticked and tocked
I cursed at the unseen dreadnought
It no longer merely mocked
But each and every tick and tock
Became an unseen onslaught
TICK TOCK
TICK TOCK
T'was 11 o'clock,
When my heart felt the gunshot
Though the shots I could not block
And on and on the bullets poured
Further into the fray I bored
Each foot a cinderblock
Weighed by war
I slowly walked
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
How I'd make it answer for
Alas
With little blood left to speak for Desperately I implored
"Restrain your hands that caused such gore;
We need not fight evermore!"
But when I heard the ceaseless knock
Tick tock
Tick tock
I new my words had been ignored
And slowly collapsed to the floor
****** and bludgeoned when I hit bed rock, I had still found no clock
But tick and tock it had forgot
The church bell rang t'was 12 o'clock,
Though mortal wounds the seconds wrought
I no longer was distraught
And as I lay in the hemlock
It occurred in my last thoughts
I would miss the beating knock
tick..., tock...
tick..., tock...
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
My Flutter
because a flutter is a group of butterflies
like you give me all the time
I really love your flutter smiles
your flutter eyes, your flutter ears
I've loved you flutter for a couple years
with a fluttery heart and a secret glance
and then we gave our love a chance
to fly, to flutter, and to soar
I want to flutter evermore
yes i know these words are cheesy
but i hope they flutter freely
In your heart and in your mind
as i sneak between your smiles
as i steal my path past grins
i hope that you'll remember them
a simple gift to you from me
I always want to make you happy
The smiles on your face
sweetly fluttering into place
evidence that i make
That butterfly in your chest
flutter quick and race
to your fluttery happy place
I LOVE YOU FLUTTER!
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 6:18 PM UTC
It was deep April, and the morn
Shakespeare was born;
The world was on us, pressing sore;
My love and I took hands and swore,
Against the world, to be
Poets and lovers evermore,
To laugh and dream on Lethe's shore,
To sing to Charon in his boat,
Heartening the timid souls afloat;
Of judgement never to take heed,
But to those fast-locked souls to speed,
Who never from Apollo fled,
Who spent no hour among the dead;
Continually
With them to dwell,
Indifferent to heaven and hell.
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*I am blue
I am black and white altogether
I can tell today is not my day
Not my day
Not even with you
Not my day
I feel trapped like an insect
Under and inside a glass cup
I am the insect and cup altogether
Transparent but unseen
From the inside
No one can hear me
I'd rather that so
I'd rather them not hear me
All the white noise
Clicked off from the world
I shut down
I'm under and inside the cup
Squirming yet staying still
Never moving evermore
I am blue
I am black and **white altogether
I can tell you this
Today is not my day
Even as I write these words
Not my day
The world's noise was clicked off
As I was put under and inside this cup
Not my day
I hate being in and under
Bug in a cup
Not my day....*
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
Oh Helena, how I doth know thy pain
Mocked is thine love when at love's feet thrown
Love hath looked upon thee with disdain
And yet still for him thy love hath grown
Do not despair Cupid's arrow at thine door does knock!
Upon thee, loves eyes an awakening will be placed
No longer can love's spiteful eyes see thee and mock!
And to thine love will he quickly rush in haste
But first know before one is to have thy way
A comedy must first be struck upon
Alas Puck! Disaster hath struck and a game we must all play
Before order is once more restored and the past foregone
Oh no! Now a love thrown upon thee unwanted
Mockery suspected, no more of this dost thou deserve
Evermore another feeling given to thee daunted
But now sit back, let the story unfurl and observe!
Finally soft words to thee spoken so craved
At once entranced but then felt thee a fool!
From nowhere sweet words so spoken must be depraved!
And in thine heart feeling loves sting ever so cruel
Now thy dearest friend! Intertwined within such a conspiracy
Such betrayal! Dear girl know it is a mistake
Albeit twisted and buried in the cruelest irony
Thy dearest friend, thine love she does not wish to shake
Through troubles and trials thou maketh thy way to a beautiful field
Fast asleep next to the love thy value ever so
Puck, fix thy mistake, give Helena her love to finally wield
And at last house a mutual love to forever grow
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
If you could feel
Certain thing I've done
The rush in my desires...
I assure you most
Would cut and run
From the lake
That burns like fire
Dancing to a primal beat
Where life is trampled
Under feet
To feed the furnace
Of evermore
No time for love
Or even war
If you could see
Through shell shocked eyes
You'd know just why
I live a lie
...
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 9:56 PM UTC
They’ll be rockin’ in Heaven
Down St. Peter’s Gate Way.
Chuck Berry passed over,
But he still can play.
True King of Rock,
He’ll live for evermore.
And he’ll keep duck walking,
Along that golden shore.
His guitar keeps twanging,
Wah wah tlang tang tang.
Ya want a Showman?
Chuck’s still yer man.
He died at ninety.
It was very sad.
But now he’s up there,
I’m sure that God is glad.
He’ll love that Rock N Roll Music,
Chuck’s sense of humour too.
A touch of Devil also,
When he sings the blues.
So all you Saints and Angels,
You better move and hurry,
For they all want to dance with
That amazing Chuck Berry.
Paul Butters
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 6:10 AM UTC
O Thou who at Love’s hour ecstatically
Unto my lips dost evermore present
The body and blood of Love in sacrament;
Whom I have neared and felt thy breath to be
The inmost incense of his sanctuary;
Who without speech hast owned him, and intent
Upon his will, thy life with mine hast blent,
And murmured o’er the cup, Remember me!—
0 what from thee the grace, for me the prize,
And what to Love the glory,—when the whole
Of the deep stair thou tread’st to the dim shoal
And weary water of the place of sighs,
And there dost work deliverance, as thine eyes
Draw up my prisoned spirit to thy soul!
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be direct
direct me
*have I not,
but cannot more
be been strong for you,
so I teach you to teach the power
of strength by daring to ask*
ask me
i will create anything it is
in my power
to create for you
i will break anything for you
that needs to be broken
*old poet old brok-en asking that you keep on
asking, I need nothing broke, busted but still needing you,
needing you whole for me to be whole,
from that hole of dark, we share different sides,
I need you creating
you anew*
al green said
no one told us about the sorrow
no one told me about today
no one told me about tomorrow
if asking were my strength
this deadly blind balance
would not be my act
*but it is that you arrived here to survive here,
the balance is blind, but you are not,
you knew sorrow was a possible.
you want easy, I'll give you easy,
ask yourself above all,
what's next that
I want*
answering
l o v e...
i can answer
i can answer
***the old poet asks,
why is it this poem world always comes around to that
old tirade, that four letter word...the one you ask,
when is it
my turn, and I answer you twice,
for you asked and answered twice,
I do love you,
I do love you,
exactly as you are,
invisible but oh so visible to us all,
and that is why you must ask for
more, evermore,
never ceasing, believing this more
is due, due to you***
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Mortal earth is a shadow
nothing lasts here evermore.
The inside is a complete hollow.
Everyone takes a turn sway not
360-degree it’s a flute!
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
Cinnamon peppers
the rooftops in December
and the shattered
whispers over the hills.
It makes you sneeze
and your fingers
freeze
which causes
evermore solace
with the warming fumes
of myrrh.
The bubbles
which circle the edge
of your tea, darling,
pop on your nose
as the steam rises
we sit in rose,
while outside
the horizon is smudged
with ash, and coal
and dirt.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
Cutting through the darkness with a blade burning in an ominous yet in scarlet reddish tone, roaring as if it had the strengh of thunder.
The wielder in pure fury, swinging, swaying it around to pierce through the sinning gaze of the inhabitants of that place.
It is a true blade of banishment, viscious, without mercy or kindness,
raging evermore in an unending, continous rampage, gaining stengh.
Of course, one wouldn't expect any mercy but purgatory on this cruel and also blood drenched battlefield in which only sorrow is reaped.
But whereabouts of the heart already have been burnt away,
As the warped moon embraces the shadows of the fools,
The end had been brought near on that day which mortals fear,
Heat being spread with each slash, likely to set the soil ablaze,
Thus is the strengh of a sword which holds in a world of nightmares, likely to never desired to be ever seen before
~ Umi
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 7:15 PM UTC
And so the green balloons did grow
Inflated, nurtured over time,
This tree of air
Nitrogen,
Oxygen,
Carbon
Dioxide,
Argon,
Traces of other gases too,
Out side was warm
Internal temp minus triple degrees,
What had been barren branches
Now sustained as these
Strings matured forth
Buds of latex and rubber grew,
Liquid air exhaled as the buds nurtured
Air expanded with warm the green balloons
Grew
&
Grew
Sprung forth in to life what once was
Small, now expanded fuelled by the
Cold fuel of the tree of white,
In the winds they did gesture
As if dancing putting on a show
Tree,
Branch,
String,
Green balloons flourished there veins
Feeding air anew,
Blustery winds picked up
Strings did snap, green balloons did
Float away, drifting upon high
Into a sea of blue,
But as seasons change,
Green balloons became loose
Many floated away to places new
Those that did not,
Deflated,
Depleted,
Exhausted,
Nourishment of air, no longer green ballons
Phenomenon's of gases changed
And green faded now this tree of air
Brought forth new shades of
Yellows,
Purples,
Black,
Oranges,
So these colours did fall from the tree,
Floating not as before,
They did descend, slowly to the floor,
Biodegradable. they did fade
From view, not what they were before,
The life cycle of these green balloons
The tree of white grows evermore cold,
For seasons change and green balloons will
Grow again next spring floating in the air once more.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
I wonder if the color green releases calm and renewal energies because it is the earth's carpet, magnetizing us down to earth.
I wonder if the color red wraps around passion and chaos because the blood in our veins rush evermore when we see something we love, and it rushes to our brain when our world turmoils.
I wonder if the color blue spreads hope for the sky as a crutch for those who have nowhere else to look but up to their god or to the formation of clouds that one cannot make sense of their cotton candy essence.
I wonder what color we are. What color does the earth reflect on us? Are we chameleons, morphing into different shades by the hour or are we permanent markers, bleeding deep? Maybe we are gray and receive color by what we surround ourselves with. That's how science works, right? A reflection of light in our retinas.
I am purple. There is a cloud of mystery and romanticism that shields me like a cloak, but my emotions run like rich velvet. Maybe one day I'll find a yellow who bursts rays of warmth. I think I would like to be with a yellow one day, the golden hour of colors.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
The full sea rolls and thunders
In glory and in glee.
O, bury me not in the senseless earth
But in the living sea!
Ay, bury me where it surges
A thousand miles from shore,
And in its brotherly unrest
I'll range for evermore.
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Forget me not my love
on those cold lonely nights
when quiet is our home
empty are your arms.
Forget me not
when you awaken
with suns morning light
shining upon an empty bed
where normally I lay upon
Forget me not my dear
when winter's breath
has touched the once
warm country side
where hand in hand
we strolled along
bayous slowly flowing
where moss crowned oaks
line our paths.
Forget me not my darling
for never far am I
no matter the miles
or days apart
I'm always in your heart.
Forget me not my dear
you'er always in my thoughts
remembering how I love you
how I long for your embrace.
Forget me not oh love of mine
for soon our time will be.
Where once again we unite
to bathe in love evermore.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
I admire your each step,
I admire the mystery around you,
I admire each syllable of every poignant word you press to paper
and the words you do not.
I admire the love you proclaim to have for her,
and if I knew her,
I should think I'd admire her too.
I don't know you
nor shall I ever,
but I can still watch you walk the school halls
and wonder what makes you tick,
what your family does and doesn't do,
what you were like as a child
how you became like this
and how you are able to enchant the world with your writing-
making me eternally frustrated with my own-
ranking my words by whether or not you
like or comment or repost them-
which you don't,
thus I feel a failure.
You have a purpose with your words,
something to say
and you say it so strong
and with such beauty
and heartache
I crave the next time you post-
and I'll evermore continue to wonder
how you became so mighty.
Do you work on your poetry or is it natural?
is it because you read so much?
is it because you don't waste countless hours on the computer
or watch TV?
How did you become you
which is so admirable
and mysterious
and deep
and talented
and unique?
I know I don't have a right to ask these questions
and with what little I know about you
I certainly don't have the right to admire you
and I don't deserve to know your life story,
but I'd like to know anyways.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
Sailing through sheer jagged thoughts
and cool running dreams
The merciless curse of emotion
overflowing the exhilarating streams
Witnessing the chaotic times
of the dark and ancient old
when the mystifying warriors heart
was branded honorable and bold
ever drifting ever more
in this sea without a shore
through this land of legends and lore
ever drifting evermore
Floating ever aimlessly
through translucent waters
seeing the weak of mind from this plane
exiling their sons and daughters
While beasts of burden trudge from within
the midsts of juxtaposing viking ships
ships of war and plague and death
that obliviously vanish within a breath
ever drifting evermore
in this sea without a shore
through this land of legends and lore
ever drifting evermore
Sailing after those laden beasts
that which so arrogantly stray
you see those morbid souls of life
so ominisqueskly carried away
To the ***** delight and warmth
of the strong and merciful earth
Away from this unknown land
Of legends miraculous birth
ever drifting evermore
in this sea without a shore
Through this land of legends and lore
ever drifting evermore
© Crystal Erickson 1999
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
A blue-eyed phantom far before
Is laughing, leaping toward the sun;
Like lead I chase it evermore,
I pant and run.
It breaks the sunlight bound on bound;
Goes singing as it leaps along
To sheep-bells with a dreamy sound
A dreamy song.
I laugh, it is so brisk and gay;
It is so far before, I weep:
I hope I shall lie down some day,
Lie down and sleep.
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PROMETHEUS (alone)
O holy Aether, and swift-winged Winds,
And River-wells, and laughter innumerous
Of yon Sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all,
And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you,--
Behold me a god, what I endure from gods!
Behold, with throe on throe,
How, wasted by this woe,
I wrestle down the myriad years of Time!
Behold, how fast around me
The new King of the happy ones sublime
Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me!
Woe, woe! to-day's woe and the coming morrow's
I cover with one groan. And where is found me
A limit to these sorrows?
And yet what word do I say? I have foreknown
Clearly all things that should be; nothing done
Comes sudden to my soul--and I must bear
What is ordained with patience, being aware
Necessity doth front the universe
With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse
Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave
In silence or in speech. Because I gave
Honor to mortals, I have yoked my soul
To this compelling fate. Because I stole
The secret fount of fire, whose bubbles went
Over the ferrule's brim, and manward sent
Art's mighty means and perfect rudiment,
That sin I expiate in this agony,
Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky.
Ah, ah me! what a sound,
What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseen
Of a god, or a mortal, or nature between,
Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her bound,
To have sight of my pangs, or some guerdon obtain--
Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain!
The god Zeus hateth sore,
And his gods hate again,
As many as tread on his glorified floor,
Because I loved mortals too much evermore.
Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear,
As of birds flying near!
And the air undersings
The light stroke of their wings--
And all life that approaches I wait for in fear.
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I fell asleep on ocean shore,
Sharp rocks as my bed,
I don't feel them anymore,
I don't feel cold I must be dead.
The sky split clouds of eden's door,
The stars shine as my eyes,
I lay low strecthed on the floor,
With the silence deep inside.
As the heavens keep on burning,
The machines of men are turning.
Valhalla, how I waited to arrive!
Your ravens and your anger,
Were always in my mind!
Valhalla, realm beyond the world of known,
I am among the dead, I am among my own!
I fell asleep on dragon's tail,
With arrows in my side,
The last of them already sailed,
Leave my lying with a smile.
The rain washes the salty air,
And through tears wind blows,
My fingers ran through golden hair,
Valkyrie please fly me home.
As the world just keeps on turning,
And the human hate is burning.
Valhalla, how I waited for your light!
Your splendor and salvation,
Father Odin in his right!
Valhalla, land of gods, for evermore,
I found my peace in your everlasting war!
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 11:38 AM UTC
In these rapid, restless shadows,
Once I walked at eventide,
When a gentle, silent maiden,
Walked in beauty at my side.
She alone there walked beside me
All in beauty, like a bride.
Pallidly the moon was shining
On the dewy meadows nigh;
On the silvery, silent rivers,
On the mountains far and high,—
On the ocean’s star-lit waters,
Where the winds a-weary die.
Slowly, silently we wandered
From the open cottage door,
Underneath the elm’s long branches
To the pavement bending o’er;
Underneath the mossy willow
And the dying sycamore.
With the myriad stars in beauty
All bedight, the heavens were seen,
Radiant hopes were bright around me,
Like the light of stars serene;
Like the mellow midnight splendor
Of the Night’s irradiate queen.
Audibly the elm-leaves whispered
Peaceful, pleasant melodies,
Like the distant murmured music
Of unquiet, lovely seas;
While the winds were hushed in slumber
In the fragrant flowers and trees.
Wondrous and unwonted beauty
Still adorning all did seem,
While I told my love in fables
’Neath the willows by the stream;
Would the heart have kept unspoken
Love that was its rarest dream!
Instantly away we wandered
In the shadowy twilight tide,
She, the silent, scornful maiden,
Walking calmly at my side,
With a step serene and stately,
All in beauty, all in pride.
Vacantly I walked beside her.
On the earth mine eyes were cast;
Swift and keen there came unto me
Bitter memories of the past—
On me, like the rain in Autumn
On the dead leaves, cold and fast.
Underneath the elms we parted,
By the lowly cottage door;
One brief word alone was uttered—
Never on our lips before;
And away I walked forlornly,
Broken-hearted evermore.
Slowly, silently I loitered,
Homeward, in the night, alone;
Sudden anguish bound my spirit,
That my youth had never known;
Wild unrest, like that which cometh
When the Night’s first dream hath flown.
Now, to me the elm-leaves whisper
Mad, discordant melodies,
And keen melodies like shadows
Haunt the moaning willow trees,
And the sycamores with laughter
Mock me in the nightly breeze.
Sad and pale the Autumn moonlight
Through the sighing foliage streams;
And each morning, midnight shadow,
Shadow of my sorrow seems;
Strive, O heart, forget thine idol!
And, O soul, forget thy dreams!
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