"eyre" poems
You know they had to do it
I mean, you could see it from the start
You could see it wouldn't last long
They set the apple 'fore the cart
He was redneck country
Driving trucks and wearing jeans
She was old school classical
Jane Eyre type, a girl of means
Her family were descendants
His was only kin
He liked country fiddle
While she liked violin
She liked Bach and Handel
Vivaldi and Corelli
He liked Jones and Jennings
and thought Corelli was spaghetti
She spokes in terms of red and white
Meaning wine...and which to choose
To him one word was missing
And that word was the blues
Polar opposites at best
There was no other way to say
We couldn't see them ever lasting
One hour...'nor a day
She would listen to her Mozart
He...to Ronnie Dunn
They couldn't see it till it ended
We saw it from day one
Two divergent kinds of style
It was wrong right from the start
And in the end, when it was over
She had a truly, Baroque - n heart
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
Calm and cosy
Curled up in my cotton tomb,
Transported back to the womb,
Where I dreamt endlessly.
There I smelt my life
Imminent, timid,
But ****** and vivid;
Here it is different
And deadly.
My life reeks of decay
As it burns away;
I taste the ash of my lungs,
Anaesthetised, desensitized,
Stupefied and condemned.
Scorched by conflagration,
Numbed by smoke,
But I do not choke
Just sleep
And keep on dreaming.
My cotton tomb ablaze,
A-kindle and consuming,
Collapses while still fuming,
Swallows me as I slumber
Or so I thought.
My maid she came a-wandering,
A-wondering,
And saw me here a-slumbering
In my cotton tomb of fire.
I felt her drown my death,
Extinguish Hell,
Restore my breath,
And I awoke in a fit of passion,
‘Deuce take me, what has happened?’
The timid creature,
Like newborn life,
Stood trembling, as well as I,
But told the tale
From start to end.
I implored of her
To not say a word;
The events of which have occurred
Are our secret –
Instead I enclosed her in my arms
As rapture seized me in its jaws,
Dragged me back from Death’s door
And threw me at her feet.
I praised her long
My preserver, my protection,
Then let her shivering form go
In the wake of my affection.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 3:39 PM UTC
The little coffee shop at the end of the road,
The one where you can take off a load.
Where you can have a drink with a mate,
Whether it be early or late.
The little coffee shop at the end of the street,
The one where the staff are so kind and sweet.
You can drink lattes and a hot cappuccino,
And read books like Jane Eyre and Oh, Romeo.
The little coffee shop at the end of the lane,
A little escape so hard to explain.
So quiet and almost forgotten,
Slightly rustic and misbegotten.
Don't judge a book by its cover,
Because maybe you'll find a sweet place.
Where you can be free to yourself
And with that, be able to embrace.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
when teenagers "think" they can
take over the "internet"...
from us... the 20th century
teenager pioneers...
you're kidding me, right?!
**** it, let's get delusional:
i am the shadow at the birth
of dawn,
i am the shadow on the moon's
face...
i am, i am, i am...
the hunting figment
of your imagination....
teens don't own the internet...
freaks, geeks,
pioneers...
these softball parenting skills
and their *******
wait wait...
you let them snap-chat...
and at the same time censor?!
swoon-smooch-flake
these ********
you have to be kidding me...
no, you, seriously,
have to, be, kidding, me....
next time i hear,
growing a beard will be deemed
offensive...
******* snowflakes...
that's what calling us millennial(s)
your "supposed children":
how about?
**** you!
i'm tired of listening to
20th century artifacts!
tired of them giving their
tenure of insurance!
tired of them propagating
Jane Eyre rather than
Frankenstein!
begotten not made,
forthwith:
with no one uttered to be
sanctified to be made to serve!
i am: übergebieter....
i serve no belittling English
feudalism...
nein! nein nein nein!
**** my **** and call me Charlie...
you! ******* English!
ponce!
für meine vater!
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
It's a space within a space, where
all are transparent...i am myself.
On two layers of shelves on a wall,
a dictionary and a thesaurus,
share space with what seems like
an heirloom of books, old and new:
Gibran, Dylan Thomas, Dickinson,
Bronte, P. B. Shelley, Jane Eyre,
Hosseini, few Ludlum oldies, etc...
Here, a blending of the tangible and
the intangible is present, like habits
and thoughts that don't, and can't die,
stuffs that've endured the years: old
unposted poems with scribbled notes,
faded photos in sepia...faded jeans;
a bed that awaits fatigued body and
mind on toxic days, and becomes a
desk to write on...when needed.
It's not as though nothing's awry,
imperfections are seen by the eyes,
some details may not be precise
in this accepted clutter of daily goings-
on...of feelings...of some undoings
that interrupt and are mingling
with enigmas flashing up the ceiling;
lost shoe-laces wander, and go hiding
among indispensable habits and things,
kept...retained, like a hanging purse,
grabbed, when a sudden trip occurs.
It's hot and cold in this ***** place,
it's cozy, my neatly-cluttered space.
sally b
Rosalia Rosrio A. Bayan
March 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 7:27 AM UTC
Non-plagiarized
success, Catholic
is! ecumenical
unity writhe:
eternal rock
beneath, my
Love is
“LOVE”
Wuthering heights,
Jane Eyre,
Charlotte Bronte,
Connotation, religion
Connotation?
motions of humane spirit guile not, vile not. Agile is
Catholic acumen unity acumen? Salvation of human
hearts heights
and hearth.
“Love one
another” An
angel begat
the scepter
of Lords.
Heavens Love!
Love…behold
acumen! Catholics,
the Holy Lord
is our shepherd.
Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra (Inspired by Stephern Tweheyo)
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:44 AM UTC
items
title - author - (read / unread)
songs of war
and peace -
afghan women's poetry
edited by sayd bahodine majrouh
(yes)
the cantos of
ezra pound
ezra pound
(pending)
the unbearable
lightness of being
milan kundera
(yes, albeit
given to someone)
the man in the
high castle
philip k. ****
(yes, "
" " ")
do androids dream
of electric sheep
"
men without women
ernest hemingway
(yes)
a moveable feast
ernest "
(yes)
for whom the bell tolls
ernest "
(partially, university
assignment)
a passage to india
e. m. forster
(no, i prefer the actual cuisine,
dash of cinnamon, cumin
cloves, cardamon and i just
read: a short-cut to india)
the outsider
albert camus
(yes, lost the book somewhere)
frankenstein
mary shelley
(yes)
aesop's fables
aesop
(yes, good enough
for zeno to
paradox achilles
with the turtle, i.e.
aesop's fables
were primarily based
on the behaviour of animals)
dr. jeckyl & mr. hyde
r. l. stevenson
(no, a literary
version of the beatles'
yesterday, conjuring
for money anyway)
iron in the soul
jean-paul sartre
(the other two titles
of the human comedy
i don't remember;
i have all respect for
sartre the novelist -
but none as a philosopher)
treasure island
r. l. stevenson
(yes)
i'm the king of the castle
susan hill
(yes)
jane eyre
charlotte brontë
(yes)
on the road
jack kerouac
(yes)
the bell jar
sylvia plath
(yes)
fiesta: the sun also rises
ernest hemingway
(yes)
the ordeal of gilbert pinfold
evelyn waugh
(yes)
five plays
chekov
(stuck to shakespeare
and russian
existential macabre)
the existential imagination
edited by frederick
r. karl & leo hamalian
(yes, esp. the extract
about socrates)
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
A wisp of breath
The brightest of smiles
A case of theft
A set of trials
My heart to take
Garden in my mind
Flowers in the air
Formerly blind
Eyes like Eyre
My heart to break
Hair like sunset
Beauty like light
I'll never forget
Our brilliant night
My heart taken
My palms are shaken
butterflies airborne
no longer fore-lorn
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
We both felt
the crumbling
rabbits heard
the sheep bleat
the rumblings
that had no stomach
for what eagle's eyed
ahead
but neither spoke
we kept standing and looking
for quite a while
as if staring at the tumbled rocks
would cause a path to appear
as if this were Narnia
somewhere
entranced
someone had to break
the deadlock
move the mountain
over the mouse
and move on
I did
deciding the end
going from shared
friends
straying from the flock
through an open wound
and it hurt
back to what was
almost
eyre
then my sole
gently turned over
a new soft leaf
but it bothered me
even now
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
Her body was exposed.
I traced every curve with the tips of my fingers.
All over until I reached her face,
A new face,
pure and bright.
A face I'd never seen.
Twisted and tangled in the sheets,
She sang with a soft and gentle voice.
Like a boat slowly rocking in the water,
Knocking against an old wooden dock.
The wood splintered and rotted,
And then I was back.
Where had my mind gone.
It went to the beginning,
To the last place I ever saw her,
To the last place she was even seen.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 2:40 PM UTC
That severe expression on his face
Would it ever be moved?
A hidden darkness had left a trace
And there’s a heart none would dare intrude
She then walked into his life
A pure, untainted, direct creature
The attraction he felt, he couldn’t deny
She was no beauty, was plain and obscure
An invisible coldness surrounded her
A painful past kept so well inside
Yet there was something about her
Something extremely sincere he yearned to find
She had manners, all too polite
The formality was rather unsettling
And so for her heart, he decided to try
Her soul, he found charming
In his eyes, she wasn’t merely a paid subordinate
She was an equal
She wasn’t a machine without feelings
And that despite her distant disposition
He wanted to seek her
A friendship thus bloomed
Stronger feelings soon emerged
Was their love even possible?
A secret shadowed what was to be
And made their union impossible
She had to leave
Though the passion inside never died
And long enough did he live
For her to see him
And be with him finally
And their souls were linked again.
-08/08/11
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 10:35 PM UTC
A gift from above they are.
Tender lilies who sprawl in skies beyond.
Like needs , they seldom a-bound.
A cause of laughter to those that are lucky.
An Eyre of hope for the newly joined.
But, bone of tears to the unfortunates.
The sole reasons for joint couples.
Joy unspeakable they brought to homes.
Some choose to walk in twos.
Many others embrace to walk alone.
Like Golden fish, that holds no grudge,
Like birds, who have no worries of greed,
Like teddies, with utmost friendliness,
Like Arrows in the hand of a warrior,
So are Children.
they are a rare gem.
they deserve our love and care.
Happy Children's Day.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
I keep myself inside the house Simply because I can resist Winter's cold air anytime ... I put some firewood inside The fireplace just to roast those Pretty and delicious chestnuts ... I am alone reading Charlotte Bronte 's Jane Eyre happily Simply because it reminds me Of all those Winters that passed After my graduation from my college ... Winter is to sit beside that pretty fireplace Just to remember all of your college's days ... I am alone remembering all those days that Passed away from my loved ones for many reasons . ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
you're sitting alone on the subway
you look nice in those glasses
(i've always had a thing for glasses)
and the best look of intensity upon your face
like you're solving the world's mysteries
by staring at the scribbles of ink
upon that page
you're reading jane eyre
i never cared for the novel myself
but the watching you read it
makes me wish
that it were my favorite book
in the whole wide world
so i could sit by you
and note enthusiastically your
reading of it
so we could discuss for hours on in
the themes allusions metaphors similes
the underlying plots and concepts
that we've picked up from
our tenth time reading it
(but we'll read it again,
just in case we missed something)
so we could fall madly, hopelessly
in love with one another
and find new books to read
and new things to discuss
at three in the morning
when not even the insomniacs
can keep their eyes open any longer
but we're wide awake
lost in inky bliss
and the warmth of my gaze upon yours
what?
oh, hello there.
i like your glasses.
what are you reading?
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
You transfix me quite, young child.
And though I find myself drowning in the pit of fire that fabricates your gaze
there isn’t a moment I do not wish I could die in it.
..And let my demise be brought closer and closer to me;
as my skin burns ever so slowly.. until my body is completely engulfed in the fire of your passion.
I love you Jane Eyre.
**** me.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
Follow the sun,
little one.
Follow the sun
open your eyes,
rise. But
settle, too, nestle
in, rest.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 4:28 PM UTC
It’s all very elusive, by nature I believe
Such things aren’t easily avoided, like carrying guns in pockets so deep you loose track
Have you ever woken up too early? And the smell of dew seems like the most important detail thats ever been contemplated on?
You must stop overanalyzing it
There is always more coffee to be made, letters to be written, opinions to morph
Don’t read your battered copy of Jane Eyre swollen with thoughts of self-pity
It’s uncharacteristic
The heat always seems perforable in the cold
Do remember that
Do remember your bad habit of assuming the worse of yourself
Sometimes good luck is just that, not everything must be turned into homicide
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
"It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, to absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their *** ~ Charlotte Bronte (Jane Eyre)
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
*It’s a pale paler heart
There is no reason
To part, Jane Eyre
The proof is plain to see
Would you let her be?
A passionate English Orphan
So paint her white
This very day
Let her know why
We see her this way
Charlotte Bronte
Closer she walks
With Emily and Anne
Closer that
We see where your muse's faired
That magically makes
Us free
Is the paler shade of white for thee?*
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
She was everything I ever wanted,
Petite, with a shock of hair,
A dimpled cheek, and a smile so sweet
And my favourite name of Claire.
I’d watched her grow to adulthood
And thought that I’d made my mark,
Until the day that my world turned grey
When I saw her walk in the park.
For she wasn’t alone by the cedars,
She wasn’t alone by the pool,
For Edward Eyre had his arm round her,
A fellow I’d known at school,
He wasn’t exactly a heartthrob,
His eyes were too big for his nose,
His hair was like a rats nest in there
And he seemed too small for his clothes.
I couldn’t believe I was seeing
Her laughing and smiling with him,
At school we’d called him the village fool
An idiot under his skin,
But here he was with my darling,
The vision was somehow grotesque,
As I recalled how he once had crawled
Under the teacher’s desk.
It wasn’t as if he could smell too good
With the egg stains over his chest,
A shirt would have been an improvement,
But he wore a ***** old vest.
What on God’s earth could she see in him
I made up my mind to see,
To question Claire, what went on in there,
And what did she think of me?
Her words were a revelation,
To her he was handsome and tall,
But she was barely just five foot three
And he only five foot small.
She spoke of his wit and his humour,
She said he made her heart full,
Then what of me, and she said, ‘Let’s see,
I think you’re remarkably dull.’
I said she should see a psychiatrist
Perhaps an optometrist too,
‘For what you see is a travesty
That nobody sees but you.’
She said they were going to be married,
To tie them together for life,
‘But once you see what the others see,
You’ll make him a terrible wife.’
I went to their wedding reception,
And hung in the passageway hall,
Got Claire to see his reflection
In the mirror that hung on the wall,
She blanched, and gasped at his image,
She’d not seen him like that before,
She’d seen but dreams, and she grimaced,
Threw up on the passageway floor.
There are those who see what they want to see
And Claire had been one of those,
They dress their dreams in a web it seems
Made up of the Emperor’s clothes.
We’ve been together a year or so
And try to hang on to our youth,
Whenever reality strikes a pose
We look in the mirror of truth.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
I️ do not wish you to Heaven
Nor do I️ wish
The fires of Hell
upon your soul,
I️ only ask the abyss
To grant you the eternal
Nothingness
Emptiness
Longing
Pain
That you had given me.
Sincerely,
Jane.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
I start a thousand stories and never come close to finishing them
I open a page to write a poem and discard it quickly
Aye am very bored all the time
Eye have no idea what to do anymore, so eye breathe in the
Eyre all around me
I'm a little fish in a bowl
Fishy fishy fish
G.
lass
g l a s s
bubblewater.
Oct 7, 2021
Oct 7, 2021 at 9:57 AM UTC
I was fire;
Eyes burning with rage,
Gasoline in my viens,
You were cold like crystal ice,
Glistening in the heat,
Frozen enough to escape my eyre.
I was water;
Running free like a stream,
Let you see the depths of my sea,
You were the restless rock,
Letting me chip away at you,
A boat with a vicious marauder.
I was light:
Smiling like the sunshine,
A flickering candle,
You were the dark surrounding me,
Of all the things I couldn't see,
In the dark, I dreamed of things we could be.
I was soul;
Dancing in the moonlight,
To the beat of your heart,
You were soft music,
Connecting two lost parts,
In rhythmic tones and acoustics.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 8:04 PM UTC