"expatiate" poems
Had I ador'd the multitude, and thence
Got an antipathy to wit and sence,
And hug'd that fate, in hope the world would grant
'Twas good -- affection to be ignorant;
Yet the least ray of thy bright fancy seen
I had converted, or excuseless been:
For each birth of thy muse to after-times
Shall expatiate for all this age's crimes.
First shines the Armoret, twice crown'd by thee,
Once by they Love, next by Poetry;
Where thou the best of Unions dost dispence:
Truth cloth'd in wit, and Love in innocence.
So that the muddyest Lovers may learn here,
No fountains can be sweet that are not clear.
Then Juvenall reviv'd by thee declares
How flat man's Joys are, and how mean his cares;
And generously upbraids the world that they
Should such a value for their ruine pay.
But when thy sacred muse diverts her quill,
The Lantskip to design of Zion-Hill;32
As nothing else was worthy her or thee,
So we admire almost t'Idolatry.
What savage brest would not be rapt to find
Such Jewells insuch Cabinets enshrind'?
Thou (fill'd with joys too great to see or count)
Descend'st from thence like Moses from the Mount,
And with a candid, yet unquestioned aw,
Restorlst the Golden Age when Verse was Law.
Instructing us, thou so secur'st thy fame,
That nothing can distrub it but my name;
Nay I have hoped that standing so near thine
'Twill lose its drosse, and by degrees refine ...
"Live, till the disabused world consent
All truths of use, or strength, or ornament,
Are with such harmony by thee displaid,
As the whole world was first by number made
And from the charming rigour thy Muse brings
Learn there's no pleasure but in serious things.
2k
Hide my face under those blue Sheets
Then coyly I pop my eyes out,
Crinkle my nose as I feel the light
Of the beautiful sun, up and about.
My mind always wonders
How you must have slept
Envisage your beautifully closed eyes
And in them, the dreams bedecked.
Retell my dreams to myself
Like stories in purest form, without amends
Then expatiate my fantasies to You
I weave the loose ends.
I wonder how it would be
To have you sleep by my side
Holding lovingly on to your skin
As our hearts revived.
I wouldn't want to leave your side
Through sun, hail and snow.
Melt my tender skin on yours,
Seasons may come and go.
The days slip by like grains of sand
Held loosely in an infant's hand,
I want you to know one thing though
You are the beginning, my love
You are the end.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
My love says she likes me
because I'm such a great deipnosophist,
a sanguine fellow
whose susurrus musings
crepitate with a farrago of meanings,
a protean and hortatory munificence
that brings her to her knees
in delight.
I adore her as well
for the beatific rapprochement
she accedes to
even when we expatiate
on and on about things mercurial.
Yes, I will always adore
her lissome acquiescence
to the inexorable germanity
of the simple fact
that we're simply
head over heels
for each other,
if you know
what I'm trying to say.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
i
The quiet crypt amongst the goblin's and ghoul's
I secretly wander, an isolation love tomb;
And in this mausoleum, I expatiate the catacomb
Crooning mine soft echoe's, as mine painful shadow doth moan.
ii
Mine doppelganger of heartbreak, lingers aloft the mist
I seeketh for another ghost lover, just one apple kiss;
A globules of amour, I beggeth for just one tiny pinch
I beseech for a peach, one bite inside her flowery glimpse.
iii
An ingenue of cosmos venue, a juncture of cheribum Host's
The lightning bug's, to be as ourn love, lighting up the ghost's;
Bonjour from me, none Au revoir from her, a delightful play
One of mi amour', as lightning dances, and fairies art Prancer's.
iv
The universal relic, to be ourn set, the curtain closed, sweet duet
She calleth me king, I calleth her pet, lass of day, lad of the nest;
And whilst the pest's, tryeth to cut ourn wings, well standeth tall
And whilst we standeth, we'll grabbeth all there is to bring.
v
A dwelling place, in her amulet of both of ourn beating heart's
Never away, none distance, none evil or lies to keepeth us apart;
Lineal scout's, of what life's all about, leaving fear's in the out
And walking the galaxy, leaving step's, heaven awoke, undressed.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
From my childhood, I have been the child of
the sun. Without a sin, always livelihood. I
loved literature .. I mean I always read the
Amphisbaena
This was my tranquiliser, almost like an
anxiolytic Dulcinea.
I postulated it for depress,
Effusive as needed be I had to express.
Hilarious how at first it were words I used to
juxtapose..
Or I suppose I unintentionally juxtaposed both,
words and my books.. I can't recall exactly
how it all began. But I can tell how it looks. It
is a haphazard hazel-shelf, an acervunile.
This is a saga, but I will expatiate.
To escape from gloom I locked myself in the
room, and read books.
I had hallucinations, but I kept on reading
books. Full of hegemony imaginations, I forgot
how to tidy. Idyllic, I only knew how to study.
Slept with books in my bed, some were pillows
for my head. Acervunile was a name I gave to
my bedroom. I denied my friend into the
room, we loomed all the gossip over the
window pane
Gosh I did not need any imbroglio type of
scene
In the mornings I was always late for school,
some of my books were not seen.
They were not lost no, but hiding under my
acervunile bed.
I had books which are Ushers, they'd welcome
you the instant you entered the door,
Some are domates, you stamp on them before
you get on bed,
Some are stalkers, always peeping through the
window, it had seen that uncle who dated the
widow.
On my first collection I organised them A-Z,
but to my least expectation with lassitude I
sorted them into a mephitic Aevirtenal Zenith
Zoo
Even though these books untidy my bedroom,
it is because of them that I'm Xenodochial,
literacy-wise and intelligent! I love my
acervunile bedroom!!!
Siyanda
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Savage activity has become our nation,
Raising an army of vigilante children for admiration. Rules and regulations don’t understand natural temptation, legal sanity is a myth and so is proper dictation. Arousing days of lethal sanity, to keep an uncanny fixation. i'll expatiate on paper, but, never answer any sort of explanation.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
I giveth Her mine hands
To write attested prophecy
I giveth her mine legs
To run when she has none
I giveth her mine head
To seeith as tis I seeith
I giveth her mine tongue
To expatiate the scrabble I speaketh
I giveth her mine lips
To taste mine amour' for her
I giveth her mine ways
To leadeth her up to mine door
I giveth her mine euphoria
So she shalt walk the clouds
I giveth her mine hearing
For her to hear angelic humming sound
I giveth her mine heart
To feel for her tis I do
I giveth her these words
Mine queen, how I love thee, tis I do
I giveth her mine soul
To be a allied yoke
I giveth her mine spirit
For when she's scared to hide and cloak!!!
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
Poet,
For thyself can speak great murmurings and swelling's from thine aperture,
Tis,
That's easy for anyone!!!
But canst thou expatiate prophesying philosophy???
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
Hands tied, gagged by the ball of fear you shoved into my mouth. You dragged me to the center of the room and pulled me up by my ribcage. Lips, puffy and quivering from crying.
The pain began to push through the narcotized haze I was in.
Before I started counting my regrets, before I let my mind expatiate the possibilities of my death
All I could think about, the only question I wanted to ask was,
“Were you scared when you lied to me?"
When I did, you threatened to take my tongue out.
At one point I became airborne
I flew into a thunderstorm
because it reminded me of your heartbeat
There were swords and liquids, but not you
Not the you that I held so close
Carbon dioxide fighting to escape my body but it had no where to go
Depression is a jealous God
I was writing for what felt like years with such vigor that the color bled from my eyes
Mountains of texts in every language surrounded me. An island of action, my singular goal was unknown even to myself. But oxygen was inferior, I snapped synapses and tore out parts of my nervous system. I was a writer, **** everything else.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 6:03 PM UTC
We try to sound
Profound
As we
Expatiate
Not meaning to
Pontificate
Philosophies
We contemplate
More often end up
Platitudes
Convictions we assert
Assured
Of righteousness
And rectitude
Conflating faith with certitude
In provenances
We conclude
Consensus from the misconceptions
Answers to subsume
The questions
Even if the faintest doubt
Still lingers on each word
Of mouth
And furtively betrays
Ideals
As easily
As Death reveals
Itself to all of those in time
Who claimed in life
Divine design
More absolute than its unmaking
Predicating
Their awaiting
Finitely
To resurrection
On hypotheses
Of heaven
Fallible
Incredible
Intangible
Untenable
But nonetheless
Congenital
Is man in all his arrogance’s
Gods upon a pedestal
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 1:10 PM UTC