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"extempore" poems
The night becomes you - hair coiffed in fashion illuminated eyes reveal attraction, the scent of body oil pervasive, ambient music evolves persuasive savory rhetoric, cabernet erodes my inhibition no contrition, turn the ignition. The night becomes you - you wear it well   an amalgam, ardor and insouciance - redefining glamour, ephemeral moments dial down the sunlight, I am slain - voice and accent weave their spell; black dust coat, white hat, a pair of posh boots they live to tell. The night becomes you rhyme scheme -  lyrical poetry sophisticated venue, table for two ensconced, the leather lounge, similitude within difference; undulation - cadences of counterpoint - poise and peril of duality we inhabit the floor. Postprandial, conversation extempore; machinations of intoxicating discourse, I could drink your words - artistic milieu- beguiling imagery, sonant susurrations penetrate my being. The night becomes you - theoretical locutions phrasing depth and humor, undiluted amour, tensions resolve frame by frame, solidify the affair and validate the rumor subsumed in sequence, pulsating, igniting the sapid interior flame silver screen ending, effusive reviews two hearts collide and form one; the cherub's arrow finds its aim. ©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
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Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
The Night Becomes You
When first, descending from the moorlands, I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide Along a bare and open valley, The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide. When last along its banks I wandered, Through groves that had begun to shed Their golden leaves upon the pathways, My steps the Border-minstrel led. The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer, ’Mid mouldering ruins low he lies; And death upon the braes of Yarrow, Has closed the Shepherd-poet’s eyes: Nor has the rolling year twice measured, From sign to sign, its stedfast course, Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source; The rapt One, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth. Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits, Or waves that own no curbing hand, How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land! Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber Were earlier raised, remain to hear A timid voice, that asks in whispers, “Who next will drop and disappear?” Our haughty life is crowned with darkness, Like London with its own black wreath, On which with thee, O Crabbe! forth-looking, I gazed from Hampstead’s breezy heath. As if but yesterday departed, Thou too art gone before; but why, O’er ripe fruit, seasonably gathered, Should frail survivors heave a sigh? Mourn rather for that holy Spirit, Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep; For Her who, ere her summer faded, Has sunk into a breathless sleep. No more of old romantic sorrows, For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid! With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten, And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead.
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Extempore Effusion Upon The Death Of James Hogg
When first, descending from the moorlands, I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide Along a bare and open valley, The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide. When last along its banks I wandered, Through groves that had begun to shed Their golden leaves upon the pathways, My steps the Border-minstrel led. The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer, ’Mid mouldering ruins low he lies; And death upon the braes of Yarrow, Has closed the Shepherd-poet’s eyes: Nor has the rolling year twice measured, From sign to sign, its stedfast course, Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source; The rapt One, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth. Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits, Or waves that own no curbing hand, How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land! Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber Were earlier raised, remain to hear A timid voice, that asks in whispers, “Who next will drop and disappear?” Our haughty life is crowned with darkness, Like London with its own black wreath, On which with thee, O Crabbe! forth-looking, I gazed from Hampstead’s breezy heath. As if but yesterday departed, Thou too art gone before; but why, O’er ripe fruit, seasonably gathered, Should frail survivors heave a sigh? Mourn rather for that holy Spirit, Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep; For Her who, ere her summer faded, Has sunk into a breathless sleep. No more of old romantic sorrows, For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid! With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten, And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead.
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Content, with a tinge of love, I repent All I've given up. Realize what I've surmised Is a traversed trial of fire. Higher, higher; The atmosphere you admire: Lighter breathing, Muscles beating, Entreating my desire. A pyre, The phoenix feeling renaissance: The lover's having --- Once the want to be satisfied --- Which was, while shattered, reconciled --- Compiled a mile-long list To mist the ever-flowering tree Of prospect, Respecting past Opinion. Your dominion over my Ever-subjugating heart (Pulsating a Morse message) Belittles meaning in Stockholm Syndrome, For I am no Shackled drone; And, forever, This you've known. We are symbiotic. We are psychotic. Celeritous symbols Sampling this: Extended metaphor. Extempore, we entertain and Adore each other, The world we are to each. So: teach me how you look With beseeching reach Into deep territory in sleep; Incept directly And affect me Romantically. Augment what is meant and true.
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Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC
Meantality
Not for me does the sun burn, not for me does the earth turn, not for me do the waters flow, not for me does the moon glow. not for me do the birds sing, not for me do the birds not sing. We are not a family of loved ones, we are not companions in hate either, we are just here now, may be living till then may be not. It’s no beauty nor ugliness, neither chaos nor finesse. We’re in a maze, trying to figure out, what’s it all about. Some say accident, some say miracle, some say a hole, some say the pinnacle. It isn’t a story but an act extempore, some act slavish, some act free. Until we figure it out, Let us love each other all out. Let us hold our warmth in our embraces, Soothe me when my heart races. Even if I never figure it out, I’d know what love is about, You could become my universe, And I’d soothe myself knowing you, If I ever could. I be for you, You be for me, Let us love each other all out, Even if we don’t figure it out. Let us love each other So that a few more verses are born To crawl majestically on the thorn Of the fear to lose the one you love To finally get bruised and scattered Letter by letter Fetter by fetter, falling apart and joining the letters of past which fell like these long time back, waiting for some more to fall in the future. Scared you seem, I wanted you to be, So you love me and never leave, and spare my verses, my letters. Promise me you won’t be like a sun or a moon to me, I’ve told you my heart, Don’t tear it apart. But if you ever do that, Do it like an art, Be delicate, Pierce me with a barbule, The wound be like a mark, A mark of my love, And of your move so dark.
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Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
Let us love
Not for me does the sun burn, not for me does the earth turn, not for me do the waters flow, not for me does the moon glow. not for me do the birds sing, not for me do the birds not sing. We are not a family of loved ones, we are not companions in hate either, we are just here now, may be living till then may be not. It’s no beauty nor ugliness, neither chaos nor finesse. We’re in a maze, trying to figure out, what’s it all about. Some say accident, some say miracle, some say a hole, some say the pinnacle. It isn’t a story but an act extempore, some act slavish, some act free. Until we figure it out, Let us love each other all out. Let us hold our warmth in our embraces, Soothe me when my heart races. Even if I never figure it out, I’d know what love is about, You could become my universe, And I’d soothe myself knowing you, If I ever could. I be for you, You be for me, Let us love each other all out, Even if we don’t figure it out. Let us love each other So that a few more verses are born To crawl majestically on the thorn Of the fear to lose the one you love To finally get bruised and scattered Letter by letter Fetter by fetter, falling apart and joining the letters of past which fell like these long time back, waiting for some more to fall in the future. Scared you seem, I wanted you to be, So you love me and never leave, and spare my verses, my letters. Promise me you won’t be like a sun or a moon to me, I’ve told you my heart, Don’t tear it apart. But if you ever do that, Do it like an art, Be delicate, Pierce me with a barbule, The wound be like a mark, A mark of my love, And of your move so dark.
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the dream he held for such a long time and that dream finally did materialize he presently sits in the seat of power yet his memory is seriously compromised the dream job requires a sharpness of mind oft he can't string the words of a sentence together his minders prepare carefully scripted notes for him to read anything he says that's extempore is full of gaffes the dreamer's dream will be a nightmare as citizens of the country are well awake to the old man's incoherent babble
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Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 6:39 PM UTC
Dream
A Joker par excellence, a tour de force He baited his viewers who hooked on for more His words shot out with wit endowed On and on his repertoire grew - An entertainer, an actor, a humane soul Weathering the seas and storms crashing in his mind He bore it all with courage; he was of a tenacious kind Often, over the years, he felt lonely and soured Only to rise up from those dreaded chasms to face lifebiz extempore On that fateful night his blues a blackened fury hued His youth and the powers he’d borne - a distant memory to be wallowed? Every night he’d faced these demons forlorn… But tonight he lost the battle to his mind’s old foe… …And the man who once tickled the world is now no more R.I.P Robin Williams
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Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
RW
cigar smoke In my lungs, no alcohol in your System, we live on stupid caffeine headaches and doing bad things to our bodies. goodbye became all too real, all too soon. neither of us was ready To let the other one go, but you are on a journey i don’t fully understand, i just know that sometimes the flower has to grow through snow to become her blossom.
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Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
extempore
Oh yes, oh yes,  salams, hello, hi Aha, oh yeah, oh my, oh my My favorite dream places happen to be coincidentally ones that rhyme with the words aye, aye, aye and bye, bye, bye for I wish to fly to divine Dubai to showy Shanghai to beautiful Brunei and heavenly Hawaii and last but not least the land of the Thai The only odd ones out in this rhyme scheme of exotic favourite places of my dream are touristy Turkey and Singapore ah, I wrote this kinda' extempore. So if I do go gallivanting somewhat like Gulliver on his travels these are the places I'd like to explore. Ah, it's always great to travel and geo atlas mysteries unravel upon God's wide world to marvel Going places to collect and bring back memories A collection of curios and cherished souvenirs As indeed whenever you bring back some exotica you enhance your knowledge with those ephemera. So guys I'd love to fly to travel to Turkey and Thailand Sojourn in Shanghai depart for Dubai holiday in hawaii Board a flight to Brunei. One has to try to get into jetsetting style act somewhat like the jet set for frequent flyer mile. This has been a poetic travelogue for voyages are ever in vogue. But whenever I can and if I have luck now I know I could never tire of journeying to Aligarh and Lucknow For motherland India calls me like no other, a place to hug my origins, beloved dad and mother. Ah, only if there were no travel formalities I could be sightseeing many more cities. Without need of passports, ticket and visa anyone could've travelled to watch the Leaning tower of Pisa or even the egyptian pyramids of Giza. But for spiritual enlightenment and nourishment the mecca of thronging visitors flocking , I wish to frequently visit Mecca as a pilgrim, It's the favourite sanctuary for every Muslim So O' Tinkerbell, sprinkle me too with yer fairy pixie dust so I too can fly, and satisfy, my spasmodic wanderlust
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Dec 22, 2022
Dec 22, 2022 at 1:02 PM UTC
Dream holiday places
Oh yes, oh yes,  salams, hello, hi Aha, oh yeah, oh my, oh my My favorite dream places happen to be coincidentally ones that rhyme with the words aye, aye, aye and bye, bye, bye for I wish to fly to divine Dubai to showy Shanghai to beautiful Brunei and heavenly Hawaii and last but not least the land of the Thai The only odd ones out in this rhyme scheme of exotic favourite places of my dream are touristy Turkey and Singapore ah, I wrote this kinda' extempore. So if I do go gallivanting somewhat like Gulliver on his travels these are the places I'd like to explore. Ah, it's always great to travel and geo atlas mysteries unravel upon God's wide world to marvel Going places to collect and bring back memories A collection of curios and cherished souvenirs As indeed whenever you bring back some exotica you enhance your knowledge with those ephemera. So guys I'd love to fly to travel to Turkey and Thailand Sojourn in Shanghai depart for Dubai holiday in hawaii Board a flight to Brunei. One has to try to get into jetsetting style act somewhat like the jet set for frequent flyer mile. This has been a poetic travelogue for voyages are ever in vogue. But whenever I can and if I have luck now I know I could never tire of journeying to Aligarh and Lucknow For motherland India calls me like no other, a place to hug my origins, beloved dad and mother. Ah, only if there were no travel formalities I could be sightseeing many more cities. Without need of passports, ticket and visa anyone could've travelled to watch the Leaning tower of Pisa or even the egyptian pyramids of Giza. But for spiritual enlightenment and nourishment the mecca of thronging visitors flocking , I wish to frequently visit Mecca as a pilgrim, It's the favourite sanctuary for every Muslim So O' Tinkerbell, sprinkle me too with yer fairy pixie dust so I too can fly, and satisfy, my spasmodic wanderlust
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Drink to escape the need to Think Inject and one can fully Project Smoke your blues away or just to Provoke Speed through life whatever you Need Fix for your day to complete the Tricks Drug for a deal and your grave is half Dug People that try to divert the Steeple Just end up with no morals or Trust Concentrate and learn how to Annihilate Troubles that burst our destiny Bubbles No sense in trying to short cut and Go Around any mishaps that arise from the Ground Just decide and decipher with a thoughtful ****** Demand a release from this extempore Remand This lifes hard to find unified Bliss An escape route you'll find with your own Plan
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Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 7:16 AM UTC
a great escape
Unbeknownst to me if royal gilded crests comprised my rusty dust caked coat of arms hence, I take liberty successfully farms productive crop to contrive fictitious Medieval Age forebears with favorable charms strong agile hands hurling crude accouterments centuries prior to invention of firearms, which weapons (of mass sieve construction) privy to proto gendarmes, this inventiveness of mine conjures courageous knights in shining armor, perhaps monogrammed, hammered chain metal, nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore where love's labors not lost, viz hub bully accepting, condoning, and employing embellishments extempore, whereby solar rays alight, flickr, and glint glore re: us astral motifs, the stellar craftsmanship one (even a poor, indigent destitute beggar like yours truly) could not ignore exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic trappings incorporating magical lore aesthetically pleasing fascinating, and appealing to one poor uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating, and fancying deplorable basket case to restore himself, the legitimate true heir, who could double as courtly jesting troubadour, whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War constitutes dreamy gotcha your attention fabricated and facilitated to Zoar, an actual ancient city anachronistically inserted here thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference Google made me aware, which ye probably care nary a fig about, but placename linkedin mere to allow, enable and provide bare, lee tenuous appeal dare ring me to trump poetic formality near rolly returning full circle (one tough Job) manufacturing prevarication recounting "FAKE" heir essentially envisioning, imagining, and jimmying gallant high in the saddle career timeless lifeline chess piece of centuries gone by enshrouded with reverence by this air rent considerably less provocative then missives by Baudelaire.
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Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 10:07 PM UTC
My "FAKE" Genealogical Knighthood
Unbeknownst to me if royal gilded crests comprised my rusty dust caked coat of arms hence, I take liberty successfully farms productive crop to contrive fictitious Medieval Age forebears with favorable charms strong agile hands hurling crude accouterments centuries prior to invention of firearms, which weapons (of mass sieve construction) privy to proto gendarmes, this inventiveness of mine conjures courageous knights in shining armor, perhaps monogrammed, hammered chain metal, nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore where love's labors not lost, viz hub bully accepting, condoning, and employing embellishments extempore, whereby solar rays alight, flickr, and glint glore re: us astral motifs, the stellar craftsmanship one (even a poor, indigent destitute beggar like yours truly) could not ignore exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic trappings incorporating magical lore aesthetically pleasing fascinating, and appealing to one poor uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating, and fancying deplorable basket case to restore himself, the legitimate true heir, who could double as courtly jesting troubadour, whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War constitutes dreamy gotcha your attention fabricated and facilitated to Zoar, an actual ancient city anachronistically inserted here thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference Google made me aware, which ye probably care nary a fig about, but placename linkedin mere to allow, enable and provide bare, lee tenuous appeal dare ring me to trump poetic formality near rolly returning full circle (one tough Job) manufacturing prevarication recounting "FAKE" heir essentially envisioning, imagining, and jimmying gallant high in the saddle career timeless lifeline chess piece of centuries gone by enshrouded with reverence by this air rent considerably less provocative then missives by Baudelaire.
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