"exempts" poems
People diein' on the streets.
****** puddles at our feets.
But we could be a family.
We could be a whole.
We could be together.
But no one could be cold.
If we could live on an island,
no hate,
no guns,
no war.
We'd look back and wonder,
what was it all for?
People diein' on the streets.
****** puddles at our feets.
Gangs,
tempts,
nudes,
exempts.
We sit at desk,
eating or eaten.
we laughed at or laughing.
beating or bleedin'.
We know the truth, but call it cruel.
The cruel one is we, the blind fool.
People diein' on the streets
****** puddles at our feets.
Who shot the most guns?
Who then killed them all?
Who didn't mind a casualty?
Who could be responsible?
"Not me!" we cry,
"I'm a good soul."
But even if we declined,
can I be told where they go?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
XIII
To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Aires.
Harry whose tuneful and well measur’d Song
First taught our English Musick how to span
Words with just note and accent, not to scan
With Midas Ears, committing short and long;
Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,
With praise enough for Envy to look wan;
To after age thou shalt be writ the man,
That with smooth aire couldst humor best our tongue
Thou honour’st Verse, and Verse must send her wing
To honour thee, the Priest of Phoebus Quire
That tun’st their happiest lines in Hymn or Story
Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher
Then his Casella, whom he woo’d to sing
Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.
1.3k
092516
God's love for us is not a love
That exempts us from trials,
But rather a love
That always sees us through trials.
In prosperity, God tests our gratitude;
In poverty our contentment;
In despair our hope;
In darkness our light thru FAITH;
and at all times our obedience to God.
God made all things beautiful in His time!
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 6:24 AM UTC
An electric shock runs deep inside me,
as my eyes reflect into yours,
returning to me
the fiery desire you hold within.
I see you; in one glance I see all of you.
Piping chills, icicles forming, a sensation
you mean always to deliver to me,
portraying your beautiful spirit.
A portal of green, snaked with dark
forests, moving me to your heart.
A comfort that exempts me
of all strain.
Like bathing in sheets
of silk.
Truly soothing.
Warming.
Chilling.
Your eyes.
{n.j}
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
I get high off watching the sun rise, it reminds me that I'm still alive, waiting at dawn to stake my claim in today. I am the mainstay of constancy, of evolution, the leopard lurking in darkness, pawing stealthily past moonlight. My strength magnified in magnolias, my ability to break open in silence, my willing fragility exempts me from the need to fall to pieces. I cuddle up to the command of now, wrapping it around my will like I wrap my tongue around the notes of its song, like silks looping around my present, to my world, my fullest attentions, my richest intention, my ultimate salvation. My lineage sings survival of the fittest. Our rigorous love of self, of others, is the ticket, the tributaries to the endless river within us, bridged by the calls of cardinals, flitting from pine to sky, rescinding all the litter of Earth's surface to drift off into varying existences.. I am awake.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
Nous fûmes dupes, vous et moi,
De manigances mutuelles,
Madame, à cause de l'émoi
Dont l'Été férut nos cervelles.
Le Printemps avait bien un peu
Contribué, si ma mémoire
Est bonne, à brouiller notre jeu,
Mais que d'une façon moins noire !
Car au printemps l'air est si frais
Qu'en somme les roses naissantes,
Qu'Amour semble entr'ouvrir exprès,
Ont des senteurs presque innocentes ;
Et même les lilas ont beau
Pousser leur haleine poivrée,
Dans l'ardeur du soleil nouveau,
Cet excitant au plus récrée,
Tant le zéphyr souffle, moqueur,
Dispersant l'aphrodisiaque
Effluve, en sorte que le cœur
Chôme et que même l'esprit vaque,
Et qu'émoustillés, les cinq sens
Se mettent alors de la fête,
Mais seuls, tout seuls, bien seuls et sans
Que la crise monte à la tête.
Ce fut le temps, sous de clairs ciels
(Vous vous en souvenez-vous, Madame ?),
Des baisers superficiels
Et des sentiments à fleur d'âme,
Exempts de folles passions,
Pleins d'une bienveillance amène.
Comme tous deux nous jouissions
Sans enthousiasme - et sans peine !
Heureux instants ! - mais vint l'Été :
Adieu, rafraîchissantes brises ?
Un vent de lourde volupté
Investit nos âmes surprises.
Des fleurs aux calices vermeils
Nous lancèrent leurs odeurs mûres,
Et partout les mauvais conseils
Tombèrent sur nous des ramures
Nous cédâmes à tout cela,
Et ce fut un bien ridicule
Vertigo qui nous affola
Tant que dura la canicule.
Rires oiseux, pleurs sans raisons,
Mains indéfiniment pressées,
Tristesses moites, pâmoisons,
Et que vague dans les pensées !
L'automne heureusement, avec
Son jour froid et ses bises rudes,
Vint nous corriger, bref et sec,
De nos mauvaises habitudes,
Et nous induisit brusquement
En l'élégance réclamée
De tout irréprochable amant
Comme de toute digne aimée...
Or, cet Hiver, Madame, et nos
Parieurs tremblent pour leur bourse,
Et déjà les autres traîneaux
Osent nous disputer la course.
Les deux mains dans votre manchon,
Tenez-vous bien sur la banquette
Et filons ! - et bientôt Fanchon
Nous fleurira quoiqu'on caquette !
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