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"fairer" poems
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence, Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands; Soft in defiant laughter, when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception; Boast, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land— A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring Devours the crescent Moon in big pink petals of bloom; A garden so fertile it could look pretty in wartime— with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence; (Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,        patient building of Spring Reign sure as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is (Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,       the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned for the greenness of hope. )May it never come, Be All The Same; ( be gentle, though whispering wind) Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile, carried by the Wasps and the Clouds To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage, illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign       fears,       as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—       Consume the years between Here and Now;       Watching from blank perch, among       the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.       Sing the branches of experience, to wake       in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms       of waking, ugly sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline— Those Who Are Will Be again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;                           Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence, on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers optimists and pessimists, toast to them         and their rarer player’s hands, Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air and land; Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine from disemboweled gourds         of their own divine— Warped, in jowls of hungry fix, no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
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Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
Sid_Lollan
Gentleman of Courage and Ladies of Excellence
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence, Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands; Soft in defiant laughter, when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception; Boast, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land— A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring Devours the crescent Moon in big pink petals of bloom; A garden so fertile it could look pretty in wartime— with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence; (Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,        patient building of Spring Reign sure as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is (Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,       the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned for the greenness of hope. )May it never come, Be All The Same; ( be gentle, though whispering wind) Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile, carried by the Wasps and the Clouds To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage, illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign       fears,       as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—       Consume the years between Here and Now;       Watching from blank perch, among       the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.       Sing the branches of experience, to wake       in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms       of waking, ugly sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline— Those Who Are Will Be again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;                           Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence, on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers optimists and pessimists, toast to them         and their rarer player’s hands, Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air and land; Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine from disemboweled gourds         of their own divine— Warped, in jowls of hungry fix, no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
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49
In the Midnight heaven's burning Through the ethereal deeps afar Once I watch'd with restless yearning An alluring aureate star; Ev'ry eve aloft returning Gleaming nigh the Arctic Car. Mystic waves of beauty blended With the gorgeous golden rays Phantasies of bliss descended In a myrrh'd Elysian haze. In the lyre-born chords extended Harmonies of Lydian lays. And (thought I) lies scenes of pleasure, Where the free and blessed dwell, And each moment bears a treasure, Freighted with the lotos-spell, And there floats a liquid measure From the lute of Israfel. There (I told myself) were shining Worlds of happiness unknown, Peace and Innocence entwining By the Crowned Virtue's throne; Men of light, their thoughts refining Purer, fairer, than my own. Thus I mus'd when o'er the vision Crept a red delirious change; Hope dissolving to derision, Beauty to distortion strange; Hymnic chords in weird collision, Spectral sights in endless range…. Crimson burn'd the star of madness As behind the beams I peer'd; All was woe that seem'd but gladness Ere my gaze with Truth was sear'd; Cacodaemons, mir'd with madness, Through the fever'd flick'ring leer'd…. Now I know the fiendish fable The the golden glitter bore; Now I shun the spangled sable That I watch'd and lov'd before; But the horror, set and stable, Haunts my soul forevermore!
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13.2k
H.P. Lovecraft
Astrophobos
In the Midnight heaven's burning Through the ethereal deeps afar Once I watch'd with restless yearning An alluring aureate star; Ev'ry eve aloft returning Gleaming nigh the Arctic Car. Mystic waves of beauty blended With the gorgeous golden rays Phantasies of bliss descended In a myrrh'd Elysian haze. In the lyre-born chords extended Harmonies of Lydian lays. And (thought I) lies scenes of pleasure, Where the free and blessed dwell, And each moment bears a treasure, Freighted with the lotos-spell, And there floats a liquid measure From the lute of Israfel. There (I told myself) were shining Worlds of happiness unknown, Peace and Innocence entwining By the Crowned Virtue's throne; Men of light, their thoughts refining Purer, fairer, than my own. Thus I mus'd when o'er the vision Crept a red delirious change; Hope dissolving to derision, Beauty to distortion strange; Hymnic chords in weird collision, Spectral sights in endless range…. Crimson burn'd the star of madness As behind the beams I peer'd; All was woe that seem'd but gladness Ere my gaze with Truth was sear'd; Cacodaemons, mir'd with madness, Through the fever'd flick'ring leer'd…. Now I know the fiendish fable The the golden glitter bore; Now I shun the spangled sable That I watch'd and lov'd before; But the horror, set and stable, Haunts my soul forevermore!
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46
Do you want a slice of cake, might keep you going just for now. But as you are not used to eating, you have the hooves we'll keep the cow. The modern world is dying younger, unlike those in the poorer east. Who die through lack of food and water, we're dying because we're obese. In this modern city arena, it seems our portion is the more free health and overwhelming safety but we save that small slice for the poor. The waste is massive, over burdened, tons of food are chucked away. As we stick to our sell by clearance just think for what so many pray. Do we need such a massive slice, even half would fill our needs. The west gets fat the east is wanting scrubbing around for scraps and seeds. So next time when feasting in McDonalds, and washing down with large milkshake. Try and see your own reflexion and you'll see whom eats all the cake. Before you leave that busy food-hall, just have a quick look in the bin and you will see the unholy waste, perhaps you'll also see the sin. The slicing of this planets cake   seems to be divided wrong. So cut it into a fairer slices and send it to where it belongs.
0
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
christopher-k-bayliss
Slice that Cake
Do you want a slice of cake, might keep you going just for now. But as you are not used to eating, you have the hooves we'll keep the cow. The modern world is dying younger, unlike those in the poorer east. Who die through lack of food and water, we're dying because we're obese. In this modern city arena, it seems our portion is the more free health and overwhelming safety but we save that small slice for the poor. The waste is massive, over burdened, tons of food are chucked away. As we stick to our sell by clearance just think for what so many pray. Do we need such a massive slice, even half would fill our needs. The west gets fat the east is wanting scrubbing around for scraps and seeds. So next time when feasting in McDonalds, and washing down with large milkshake. Try and see your own reflexion and you'll see whom eats all the cake. Before you leave that busy food-hall, just have a quick look in the bin and you will see the unholy waste, perhaps you'll also see the sin. The slicing of this planets cake   seems to be divided wrong. So cut it into a fairer slices and send it to where it belongs.
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32
From the French of François Villon Tell me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman? Where’s Hipparchia, and where is Thais, Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man, Only heard on river and mere— She whose beauty was more than human?— But where are the snows of yester-year? Where’s Heloise, the learned nun, For whose sake Abeillard, I ween, Lost manhood and put priesthood on? (From Love he won such dule and teen!) And where, I pray you, is the Queen Who willed that Buridan should steer Sewed in a sack’s mouth down the Seine?— But where are the snows of yester-year? White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies, With a voice like any mermaiden— Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice, And Ermengarde the lady of Maine— And that good Joan whom Englishmen At Rouen doomed and burned her there— Mother of God, where are they then?— But where are the snows of yester-year? Nay, never ask this week, fair lord, Where they are gone, nor yet this year, Except with this for an overword— But where are the snows of yester-year?
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9.1k
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
The Ballad Of Dead Ladies
From the French of François Villon Tell me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman? Where’s Hipparchia, and where is Thais, Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man, Only heard on river and mere— She whose beauty was more than human?— But where are the snows of yester-year? Where’s Heloise, the learned nun, For whose sake Abeillard, I ween, Lost manhood and put priesthood on? (From Love he won such dule and teen!) And where, I pray you, is the Queen Who willed that Buridan should steer Sewed in a sack’s mouth down the Seine?— But where are the snows of yester-year? White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies, With a voice like any mermaiden— Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice, And Ermengarde the lady of Maine— And that good Joan whom Englishmen At Rouen doomed and burned her there— Mother of God, where are they then?— But where are the snows of yester-year? Nay, never ask this week, fair lord, Where they are gone, nor yet this year, Except with this for an overword— But where are the snows of yester-year?
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29
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to me— Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn, A mighty look runs round the World And settles in the Hills— An Awe if it should be like that Upon the Ignorance steals— The Orchard, when the Sun is on— The Triumph of the Birds When they together Victory make— Some Carnivals of Clouds— The Rapture of a finished Day— Returning to the West— All these—remind us of the place That Men call “paradise”— Itself be fairer—we suppose— But how Ourself, shall be Adorned, for a Superior Grace— Not yet, our eyes can see—
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7.5k
Emily Dickinson
Heaven has different Signs—to me
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to me— Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn, A mighty look runs round the World And settles in the Hills— An Awe if it should be like that Upon the Ignorance steals— The Orchard, when the Sun is on— The Triumph of the Birds When they together Victory make— Some Carnivals of Clouds— The Rapture of a finished Day— Returning to the West— All these—remind us of the place That Men call “paradise”— Itself be fairer—we suppose— But how Ourself, shall be Adorned, for a Superior Grace— Not yet, our eyes can see—
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21
When the dust swirls in the March wind the forlorn noon is thick with flames of the forest and the meadow sighs in gold yellow sun my eyes seek Krishna in that aching void. She grazed the cows from morn till twilight and though eldest among the siblings she was schooled only in the blazing days learning to pull her herd to greener pasture venturing into marshes none would dare tread. Not one groom could be found for her bypassed she was for her fairer sisters that went to school grew up were married and ushered new inmates to the world. Then a few summers past when I had almost forgotten her I saw her forehead smeared with vermilion. But why she had to come back playing once again the shepherd girl gathering them for home at dusk crooning aaaaaa….oooooo….. I don’t know if Krishna went back to her husband for after a few days she wasn’t seen again. Only the winds howled in the forlorn noon and the little shepherd girls who came after her whispered she had at the in-laws hung herself from a tree.
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Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
pradip-chattopadhyay
Krishna
When the dust swirls in the March wind the forlorn noon is thick with flames of the forest and the meadow sighs in gold yellow sun my eyes seek Krishna in that aching void. She grazed the cows from morn till twilight and though eldest among the siblings she was schooled only in the blazing days learning to pull her herd to greener pasture venturing into marshes none would dare tread. Not one groom could be found for her bypassed she was for her fairer sisters that went to school grew up were married and ushered new inmates to the world. Then a few summers past when I had almost forgotten her I saw her forehead smeared with vermilion. But why she had to come back playing once again the shepherd girl gathering them for home at dusk crooning aaaaaa….oooooo….. I don’t know if Krishna went back to her husband for after a few days she wasn’t seen again. Only the winds howled in the forlorn noon and the little shepherd girls who came after her whispered she had at the in-laws hung herself from a tree.
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26
The wildflower… bred by no one, uncultivated; raised hard, raised rough. No glass pane to shield you, nor tender hand revealed you, standing all the sweeter ‘gainst the grass. There may be some the fairer, though none so brave to dare her, wild, wild flower in the wind.
0
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
clinton-arneson
Wildflower
The wildflower… bred by no one, uncultivated; raised hard, raised rough. No glass pane to shield you, nor tender hand revealed you, standing all the sweeter ‘gainst the grass. There may be some the fairer, though none so brave to dare her, wild, wild flower in the wind.
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7
my face-wash is a whitening cream but what if i don't want to be white? what if i just want my skin to be clean since when did white and clean begin to come in the same package? are white people the poster-children of cleanliness because they've washed their hands with the blood of my ancestors? *am i ***** because i have not?* it bothers me when my grandmother tells me that i am lucky because i was born the fairer one of the two sisters she says she fears for what i would have looked like had my colored mother not fallen in love with a white man mixing her ***** genes with his pure ones to create a mix-bred child, who, in any case was better than being born brown. **it would have been a sin for me to have colored skin** i am still dealing with the remnants of my colonial past because i am still afraid of telling my mother that i am in love with a colored man she will accept him because he is loving and kind but in the back of her mind there will be a little voice that whispers wouldn't it have been better if he was white instead? and i've heard a lot of people tell me *"thank God your hair is the right kind of curly not the frizzy, afro-like hair wild and free thank God your hair is tame thank God your hair falls in neat little curls (you got your dad’s genes!) thank God we can hold it and mold it into what we like thank God your hair is the right kind of curly."* you see my mom escaped by marrying a man with white skin but with me the cycle begins again because he's two shades darker and my children will be too the white genes of their grandfather lost among the dark genes of their father- with chocolate eyes and hazel skin i am still struggling to see at my father as one of "us" and not one of "them"
0
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 2:50 AM UTC
blindsight
-of a colonial past
my face-wash is a whitening cream but what if i don't want to be white? what if i just want my skin to be clean since when did white and clean begin to come in the same package? are white people the poster-children of cleanliness because they've washed their hands with the blood of my ancestors? *am i ***** because i have not?* it bothers me when my grandmother tells me that i am lucky because i was born the fairer one of the two sisters she says she fears for what i would have looked like had my colored mother not fallen in love with a white man mixing her ***** genes with his pure ones to create a mix-bred child, who, in any case was better than being born brown. **it would have been a sin for me to have colored skin** i am still dealing with the remnants of my colonial past because i am still afraid of telling my mother that i am in love with a colored man she will accept him because he is loving and kind but in the back of her mind there will be a little voice that whispers wouldn't it have been better if he was white instead? and i've heard a lot of people tell me *"thank God your hair is the right kind of curly not the frizzy, afro-like hair wild and free thank God your hair is tame thank God your hair falls in neat little curls (you got your dad’s genes!) thank God we can hold it and mold it into what we like thank God your hair is the right kind of curly."* you see my mom escaped by marrying a man with white skin but with me the cycle begins again because he's two shades darker and my children will be too the white genes of their grandfather lost among the dark genes of their father- with chocolate eyes and hazel skin i am still struggling to see at my father as one of "us" and not one of "them"
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49
I love you for no reason So it's not going to change with change of season. I love you for no reason I know it's hard to trust a guy like me But i want to become a guy you want me to be Pick out the good from me and leave the rest Alter me into what suits you best I will be proud to fulfill your every condition I love you for no reason It's you my princess that's all i need What's in your mind i wish i could read So that i can do everything before you say I want to make you smile everyday You are my desire my zing my ambition I love you for no reason You hair are like brown strands of silk You are fairer than milk Chubby chicks and baby soft skin Pointed nose suits best with nose pin Those plumy lips i can die to kiss It kills me when you smile with a bliss Your waist curves are like of a snake Mole on your face is cherry over cake Mind and body both you have got I swear you are god's perfect shot Beauty with mind is a perfect fusion I love you for no reason I will love you forever same as now With you i am ready to take the vow I wanted to be with you anyhow After that my life would be wow But i know you don't have the same vision I love you for no reason You for me is my sweetest dream Your beauty is something i can not redeem Best you have a golden heart Your words hit my head like a dart I can listen to your chit chat for my whole life I pray to god to make you my wife I will pamper you praise you serve you please you I will hug you poke you curdle you tease you It's going to b real or it's just an illusion I love you for no reason I know we are east and west I m not good even and you are the best We can't be together it will not work How can an angel love a devil rebellious **** One day may be you will say yes Might be this poem works full to impress If it's a no not a big deal Hug me enough for my wounds to heal I don't want to force your decision I love you for no reason I love you for no reason
0
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC
bj-1
I love you for no reason
I love you for no reason So it's not going to change with change of season. I love you for no reason I know it's hard to trust a guy like me But i want to become a guy you want me to be Pick out the good from me and leave the rest Alter me into what suits you best I will be proud to fulfill your every condition I love you for no reason It's you my princess that's all i need What's in your mind i wish i could read So that i can do everything before you say I want to make you smile everyday You are my desire my zing my ambition I love you for no reason You hair are like brown strands of silk You are fairer than milk Chubby chicks and baby soft skin Pointed nose suits best with nose pin Those plumy lips i can die to kiss It kills me when you smile with a bliss Your waist curves are like of a snake Mole on your face is cherry over cake Mind and body both you have got I swear you are god's perfect shot Beauty with mind is a perfect fusion I love you for no reason I will love you forever same as now With you i am ready to take the vow I wanted to be with you anyhow After that my life would be wow But i know you don't have the same vision I love you for no reason You for me is my sweetest dream Your beauty is something i can not redeem Best you have a golden heart Your words hit my head like a dart I can listen to your chit chat for my whole life I pray to god to make you my wife I will pamper you praise you serve you please you I will hug you poke you curdle you tease you It's going to b real or it's just an illusion I love you for no reason I know we are east and west I m not good even and you are the best We can't be together it will not work How can an angel love a devil rebellious **** One day may be you will say yes Might be this poem works full to impress If it's a no not a big deal Hug me enough for my wounds to heal I don't want to force your decision I love you for no reason I love you for no reason
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54
THE BEAUTIFUL FACE MATLOOB BOKHARI I saw a moving full moon over the sea Then I saw the face of a maiden I stopped and said, “Moon is fair But the sweet magic of her face is Fairer far, which attracted my eyes Captured my heart and won my soul. Moon tries to imitate hr face and Rose tries to copy her lips in vain! She is beautiful,she is most beautiful!" Niamh Dada Land Lovely friend. Many Blessings Michele Vizzotti-White I totally like the first one, it was vivid and I saw how the rose must have felt, they r both awesome and fanciful, a maiden more fair than the moon wow that is a powerful statement, the 1st one reminds me of a painting the second one a song of love, both lovely though Demelia Denton Lovely written words Matloob Bokhari Barbara Shoetaker And is this fair woman still the one who stole you heart? Semeniuk Carole you know how much I love your poetry . your stories .. the way in which only you can tell it ~~ thank you my long time friend, Matloob Bokhari .. wishing you well .. alwayS ! ina Farnworth What a beautiful verse Matloob, thank you so much for Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Thank you, for sharing this lovely poem, Matloob.
0
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
matloob-bokhariz9
THE BEAUTIFUL FACE
THE BEAUTIFUL FACE MATLOOB BOKHARI I saw a moving full moon over the sea Then I saw the face of a maiden I stopped and said, “Moon is fair But the sweet magic of her face is Fairer far, which attracted my eyes Captured my heart and won my soul. Moon tries to imitate hr face and Rose tries to copy her lips in vain! She is beautiful,she is most beautiful!" Niamh Dada Land Lovely friend. Many Blessings Michele Vizzotti-White I totally like the first one, it was vivid and I saw how the rose must have felt, they r both awesome and fanciful, a maiden more fair than the moon wow that is a powerful statement, the 1st one reminds me of a painting the second one a song of love, both lovely though Demelia Denton Lovely written words Matloob Bokhari Barbara Shoetaker And is this fair woman still the one who stole you heart? Semeniuk Carole you know how much I love your poetry . your stories .. the way in which only you can tell it ~~ thank you my long time friend, Matloob Bokhari .. wishing you well .. alwayS ! ina Farnworth What a beautiful verse Matloob, thank you so much for Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Thank you, for sharing this lovely poem, Matloob.
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18
FULL MOON MATLOOB BOKHARI I saw a moving full moon over the sea Then I saw the face of a maiden I stopped and said, “Moon is fair But the sweet magic of her face is Fairer far, which attracted my eyes Captured my heart and won my soul."
0
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
matloob-bokhariz9
FULL MOON
FULL MOON MATLOOB BOKHARI I saw a moving full moon over the sea Then I saw the face of a maiden I stopped and said, “Moon is fair But the sweet magic of her face is Fairer far, which attracted my eyes Captured my heart and won my soul."
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8
Blessed is the man who does not take offense I'm speaking in the present tense There is no sitting on the fence This poem will now take me hence... An offense will make us stumble Forget the bluster and the bumble Our defense will surely crumble In all things we must be humble When we see another's error Are we really all the fairer? Look Within it will be clearer Are we looking in a mirror? When we see reflection's bust Do we see lines? Perhaps some crust? Being honest is a must! What have we done **that WE can't trust?** True of the bird as well the bee We are all one cloth you see! Self-assessment makes you free! This is true humility. SoulSurvivor (C) 7/23/2016
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Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 12:51 AM UTC
SoulSurvivor
Upon Taking Offense
Blessed is the man who does not take offense I'm speaking in the present tense There is no sitting on the fence This poem will now take me hence... An offense will make us stumble Forget the bluster and the bumble Our defense will surely crumble In all things we must be humble When we see another's error Are we really all the fairer? Look Within it will be clearer Are we looking in a mirror? When we see reflection's bust Do we see lines? Perhaps some crust? Being honest is a must! What have we done **that WE can't trust?** True of the bird as well the bee We are all one cloth you see! Self-assessment makes you free! This is true humility. SoulSurvivor (C) 7/23/2016
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24
(To Ellen Terry) I marvel not Bassanio was so bold To peril all he had upon the lead, Or that proud Aragon bent low his head Or that Morocco’s fiery heart grew cold: For in that gorgeous dress of beaten gold Which is more golden than the golden sun No woman Veronese looked upon Was half so fair as thou whom I behold. Yet fairer when with wisdom as your shield The sober-suited lawyer’s gown you donned, And would not let the laws of Venice yield Antonio’s heart to that accursed Jew— O Portia! take my heart: it is thy due: I think I will not quarrel with the Bond.
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3.4k
Oscar Wilde
Portia
(To Ellen Terry) I marvel not Bassanio was so bold To peril all he had upon the lead, Or that proud Aragon bent low his head Or that Morocco’s fiery heart grew cold: For in that gorgeous dress of beaten gold Which is more golden than the golden sun No woman Veronese looked upon Was half so fair as thou whom I behold. Yet fairer when with wisdom as your shield The sober-suited lawyer’s gown you donned, And would not let the laws of Venice yield Antonio’s heart to that accursed Jew— O Portia! take my heart: it is thy due: I think I will not quarrel with the Bond.
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15
I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way, Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, And gentle odours led my steps astray, Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its green arms round the ***** of the stream, But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream. There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets; Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets— Like a child, half in tenderness and mirth— Its mother’s face with Heaven’s collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate’s voice, it hears. And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, Green cowbind and the moonlight-coloured may, And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew, yet drained not by the day; And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray; And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. And nearer to the river’s trembling edge There grew broad flag-flowers, purple pranked with white, And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours Within my hand,—and then, elate and gay, I hastened to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it!—Oh! to whom?
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3.4k
Percy Bysshe Shelley
The Question
I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way, Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, And gentle odours led my steps astray, Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its green arms round the ***** of the stream, But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream. There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets; Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets— Like a child, half in tenderness and mirth— Its mother’s face with Heaven’s collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate’s voice, it hears. And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, Green cowbind and the moonlight-coloured may, And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew, yet drained not by the day; And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray; And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. And nearer to the river’s trembling edge There grew broad flag-flowers, purple pranked with white, And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours Within my hand,—and then, elate and gay, I hastened to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it!—Oh! to whom?
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40
a dear friend asked just yesterday how does your marriage last thirty years and counting, friend  would have to challenge even the best two words said i that's all it takes “making love” a marriage makes but please consider my definition before you reach the wrong conclusion they call it making love but when synonymous with one night stand a party grand… really? inflicts only a world of hurt a soul bruised and burnt call it what you want but for certainty love making it is not you may disagree with me but you’ll not disagree with this the objectification of our dear and fairer gender never built a civilization a community or a family only a heartache love making then is work love making begins by dating those we love not just for the win but for life more parts are we than only one love making it cannot be until all three a body undressed a soul vulnerable a spirit transparent are undone completely love making the complete package the whole enchilada it’s a full meal deal and inseparable from talking walking working calling sending cards touching cuddling holding hands tender whispers kissing softly hugging gently need i go on? because when done right amazing are the nights but oh, even so much more are the days, the months and the years! now... go make love!
0
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
se-reimer
making love
a dear friend asked just yesterday how does your marriage last thirty years and counting, friend  would have to challenge even the best two words said i that's all it takes “making love” a marriage makes but please consider my definition before you reach the wrong conclusion they call it making love but when synonymous with one night stand a party grand… really? inflicts only a world of hurt a soul bruised and burnt call it what you want but for certainty love making it is not you may disagree with me but you’ll not disagree with this the objectification of our dear and fairer gender never built a civilization a community or a family only a heartache love making then is work love making begins by dating those we love not just for the win but for life more parts are we than only one love making it cannot be until all three a body undressed a soul vulnerable a spirit transparent are undone completely love making the complete package the whole enchilada it’s a full meal deal and inseparable from talking walking working calling sending cards touching cuddling holding hands tender whispers kissing softly hugging gently need i go on? because when done right amazing are the nights but oh, even so much more are the days, the months and the years! now... go make love!
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65
• because I was questioned for calling Beyoncé a god • because I was told Beyoncé is overrated • because some white lady I don’t know touched my hair before she learned my name at my place of work • because one of my white friends made a joke about crack houses when we were watching fake anime and eating fried dough…in addition to making that joke, he made me uncomfortable • because a white friend of mine agreed with someone who said cis white men are the most oppressed group on my campus • because people still tell me “ALL Lives Matter” and ask me “why isn’t there a WHITE History Month” • because “I don’t see color” is a “less racist” way of saying “that isn’t my problem, so I don’t have to get involved” • because girls “like me” are fetishized • because girls “like me” are seen as the **** of jokes or just the **** • because I’m the only non-white passing person of color in my dominant friend group • because #Lightskinned is still a way to humiliate someone for being fairer skinned and having feelings • because #Darkskinned is still a way to demean someone who is darker than you and painting them as ***** • because colorism exists in every racial group, but no one wants to talk about it • because someone argued why a white person should be able to wear dreads and black people are kicked out of institutions for wearing the exact same hairstyle • because black on black crime is still used as some sort of crevice you try to shimmy yourself through • because somewhere, a white girl is teaching tutorials on how anyone can have an afro, and no one is stopping her • because Facebook exploded when I expressed that I want to be respected • because everybody wanna be a ***** but no one wanna be a ***** • because I didn’t know what to say until I couldn’t stop speaking • because we are twenty days into February and Black History Month hasn’t been mentioned by ONE of my professors • because of ******* course I’m the angry black woman • because I’m essentially the backbone, which means that it’s easy for me to break, right? • because this **** happens to me every **** day of my life and it will continue to happen to me every **** day of my life • because you made it that way • this poem does not have an ending • this poem is the abyss • why do I make it about race? • because this poem can go on and on and on forever • and I’ll still be talking about the same thing ~~a.s.f.
0
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
treeveins
"WHY DO I ALWAYS MAKE EVERYTHING ABOUT RACE?"
• because I was questioned for calling Beyoncé a god • because I was told Beyoncé is overrated • because some white lady I don’t know touched my hair before she learned my name at my place of work • because one of my white friends made a joke about crack houses when we were watching fake anime and eating fried dough…in addition to making that joke, he made me uncomfortable • because a white friend of mine agreed with someone who said cis white men are the most oppressed group on my campus • because people still tell me “ALL Lives Matter” and ask me “why isn’t there a WHITE History Month” • because “I don’t see color” is a “less racist” way of saying “that isn’t my problem, so I don’t have to get involved” • because girls “like me” are fetishized • because girls “like me” are seen as the **** of jokes or just the **** • because I’m the only non-white passing person of color in my dominant friend group • because #Lightskinned is still a way to humiliate someone for being fairer skinned and having feelings • because #Darkskinned is still a way to demean someone who is darker than you and painting them as ***** • because colorism exists in every racial group, but no one wants to talk about it • because someone argued why a white person should be able to wear dreads and black people are kicked out of institutions for wearing the exact same hairstyle • because black on black crime is still used as some sort of crevice you try to shimmy yourself through • because somewhere, a white girl is teaching tutorials on how anyone can have an afro, and no one is stopping her • because Facebook exploded when I expressed that I want to be respected • because everybody wanna be a ***** but no one wanna be a ***** • because I didn’t know what to say until I couldn’t stop speaking • because we are twenty days into February and Black History Month hasn’t been mentioned by ONE of my professors • because of ******* course I’m the angry black woman • because I’m essentially the backbone, which means that it’s easy for me to break, right? • because this **** happens to me every **** day of my life and it will continue to happen to me every **** day of my life • because you made it that way • this poem does not have an ending • this poem is the abyss • why do I make it about race? • because this poem can go on and on and on forever • and I’ll still be talking about the same thing ~~a.s.f.
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30
After the rain, came the heavy snow. Falling with silent thuds through the trees, the bush and below. Muffled crunches of boot ensconced children zipping up parkas against flakes by the million. Stillness in my heart slipping through the broken parts, dripping to the snow in colors of blue and vermillion. The quiet flakes gently holding my confusion and loneliness. Caressing my cheeks as a mother would to her child crying in whispered tearfulness A painful summer ambled slowly away leaving a far fairer autumn but as winter and her snows knocked at my door, the mountain beckoned, and I lost him.
0
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
Cymru
The Mountain
After the rain, came the heavy snow. Falling with silent thuds through the trees, the bush and below. Muffled crunches of boot ensconced children zipping up parkas against flakes by the million. Stillness in my heart slipping through the broken parts, dripping to the snow in colors of blue and vermillion. The quiet flakes gently holding my confusion and loneliness. Caressing my cheeks as a mother would to her child crying in whispered tearfulness A painful summer ambled slowly away leaving a far fairer autumn but as winter and her snows knocked at my door, the mountain beckoned, and I lost him.
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12
All work, no play and neon screens menial tasks even coat my dreams. Overboard in bored and a silent phone, oh no, I think I’ve evolved to drone. Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route. Punch in, punch out, a life of drought. This technological terror has caused life to flash in error. For lady dollar; I can’t bear her, as the riches are even rarer. I’ve become a machine, to crush numbers with no log off for needed slumbers. Now my brain’s racing, a million miles per hour, oh no, I think I’ve gained A.I’s power. Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route. Punch in, punch out, now what life is about. This technological terror has caused life to flash in error. No sudden movements; don’t want to scare her, she’s updating with no carer. Learning binary, a breathing library, processing slowly but still a finery. I forgot what my hands were for they used to write all that I adore. Now fingertips type, each key a shot, oh no, I think I’ve grown into a robot. Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route. Punch in, punch out, no one hears me shout. This technological terror has caused life to flash in error. Pure absorption; a simple stare, life’s equation could be fairer. Learning binary, a breathing library, walking geometry complete machinery.
0
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
emmackenzie
Technological Terror
All work, no play and neon screens menial tasks even coat my dreams. Overboard in bored and a silent phone, oh no, I think I’ve evolved to drone. Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route. Punch in, punch out, a life of drought. This technological terror has caused life to flash in error. For lady dollar; I can’t bear her, as the riches are even rarer. I’ve become a machine, to crush numbers with no log off for needed slumbers. Now my brain’s racing, a million miles per hour, oh no, I think I’ve gained A.I’s power. Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route. Punch in, punch out, now what life is about. This technological terror has caused life to flash in error. No sudden movements; don’t want to scare her, she’s updating with no carer. Learning binary, a breathing library, processing slowly but still a finery. I forgot what my hands were for they used to write all that I adore. Now fingertips type, each key a shot, oh no, I think I’ve grown into a robot. Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route. Punch in, punch out, no one hears me shout. This technological terror has caused life to flash in error. Pure absorption; a simple stare, life’s equation could be fairer. Learning binary, a breathing library, walking geometry complete machinery.
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38
My limbs are wasted with a flame, My feet are sore with travelling, For, calling on my Lady’s name, My lips have now forgot to sing. O Linnet in the wild-rose brake Strain for my Love thy melody, O Lark sing louder for love’s sake, My gentle Lady passeth by. She is too fair for any man To see or hold his heart’s delight, Fairer than Queen or courtesan Or moonlit water in the night. Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves, (Green leaves upon her golden hair!) Green grasses through the yellow sheaves Of autumn corn are not more fair. Her little lips, more made to kiss Than to cry bitterly for pain, Are tremulous as brook-water is, Or roses after evening rain. Her neck is like white melilote Flushing for pleasure of the sun, The throbbing of the linnet’s throat Is not so sweet to look upon. As a pomegranate, cut in twain, White-seeded, is her crimson mouth, Her cheeks are as the fading stain Where the peach reddens to the south. O twining hands! O delicate White body made for love and pain! O House of love! O desolate Pale flower beaten by the rain!
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3k
Oscar Wilde
La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente
My limbs are wasted with a flame, My feet are sore with travelling, For, calling on my Lady’s name, My lips have now forgot to sing. O Linnet in the wild-rose brake Strain for my Love thy melody, O Lark sing louder for love’s sake, My gentle Lady passeth by. She is too fair for any man To see or hold his heart’s delight, Fairer than Queen or courtesan Or moonlit water in the night. Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves, (Green leaves upon her golden hair!) Green grasses through the yellow sheaves Of autumn corn are not more fair. Her little lips, more made to kiss Than to cry bitterly for pain, Are tremulous as brook-water is, Or roses after evening rain. Her neck is like white melilote Flushing for pleasure of the sun, The throbbing of the linnet’s throat Is not so sweet to look upon. As a pomegranate, cut in twain, White-seeded, is her crimson mouth, Her cheeks are as the fading stain Where the peach reddens to the south. O twining hands! O delicate White body made for love and pain! O House of love! O desolate Pale flower beaten by the rain!
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32
I would be wandering in distant fields Where man, and bird, and beast, lives leisurely, And the old earth is kind, and ever yields Her goodly gifts to all her children free; Where life is fairer, lighter, less demanding, And boys and girls have time and space for play Before they come to years of understanding-- Somewhere I would be singing, far away. For life is greater than the thousand wars Men wage for it in their insatiate lust, And will remain like the eternal stars, When all that shines to-day is drift and dust But I am bound with you in your mean graves, O black men, simple slaves of ruthless slaves.
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2.9k
Claude McKay
In *******
I would be wandering in distant fields Where man, and bird, and beast, lives leisurely, And the old earth is kind, and ever yields Her goodly gifts to all her children free; Where life is fairer, lighter, less demanding, And boys and girls have time and space for play Before they come to years of understanding-- Somewhere I would be singing, far away. For life is greater than the thousand wars Men wage for it in their insatiate lust, And will remain like the eternal stars, When all that shines to-day is drift and dust But I am bound with you in your mean graves, O black men, simple slaves of ruthless slaves.
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14
Slow progress, No revolution, But steady success, Eventually, Got us to where we are, Things getting better, Easier, Fairer, Acceptance gaining, Ignorance failing. But. In one signature, A thousand steps taken, The wrong way, Back to before, When no one, Understood, And blindly, Blamed, Accused, Hated, Divided. But. The world screams, It cries out: "They are human too!"
0
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
parsavagely-kompenere
Human
Slow progress, No revolution, But steady success, Eventually, Got us to where we are, Things getting better, Easier, Fairer, Acceptance gaining, Ignorance failing. But. In one signature, A thousand steps taken, The wrong way, Back to before, When no one, Understood, And blindly, Blamed, Accused, Hated, Divided. But. The world screams, It cries out: "They are human too!"
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26
It doesn’t need Nth number of words Just to say Umpteen men Stoop low To violate Invade Coerce Enslave Trample Oppress Women Over and over again Mindlessly Estranging Nature’s fairer ***
0
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
pradip-chattopadhyay
Injustice to Women
It doesn’t need Nth number of words Just to say Umpteen men Stoop low To violate Invade Coerce Enslave Trample Oppress Women Over and over again Mindlessly Estranging Nature’s fairer ***
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16
The world’s great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn; Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam Like wrecks of a dissolving dream. A brighter Hellas rears its mountains From waves serener far; A new Peneus rolls his fountains Against the morning star; Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep. A loftier Argo cleaves the main, Fraught with a later prize; Another Orpheus sings again, And loves, and weeps, and dies; A new Ulysses leaves once more Calypso for his native shore. O write no more the tale of Troy, If earth Death’s scroll must be— Nor mix with Laian rage the joy Which dawns upon the free, Although a subtler Sphinx renew Riddles of death Thebes never knew. Another Athens shall arise, And to remoter time Bequeath, like sunset to the skies, The splendour of its prime; And leave, if naught so bright may live, All earth can take or Heaven can give. Saturn and Love their long repose Shall burst, more bright and good Than all who fell, than One who rose, Than many unsubdued: Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers, But votive tears and symbol flowers. O cease! must hate and death return? Cease! must men **** and die? Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn Of bitter prophecy! The world is weary of the past— O might it die or rest at last!
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2.6k
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Hellas
The world’s great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn; Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam Like wrecks of a dissolving dream. A brighter Hellas rears its mountains From waves serener far; A new Peneus rolls his fountains Against the morning star; Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep. A loftier Argo cleaves the main, Fraught with a later prize; Another Orpheus sings again, And loves, and weeps, and dies; A new Ulysses leaves once more Calypso for his native shore. O write no more the tale of Troy, If earth Death’s scroll must be— Nor mix with Laian rage the joy Which dawns upon the free, Although a subtler Sphinx renew Riddles of death Thebes never knew. Another Athens shall arise, And to remoter time Bequeath, like sunset to the skies, The splendour of its prime; And leave, if naught so bright may live, All earth can take or Heaven can give. Saturn and Love their long repose Shall burst, more bright and good Than all who fell, than One who rose, Than many unsubdued: Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers, But votive tears and symbol flowers. O cease! must hate and death return? Cease! must men **** and die? Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn Of bitter prophecy! The world is weary of the past— O might it die or rest at last!
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42
Let's write so many poems we could stack them to the sky let's roll them up and smoke them or just recite them til we die my head is full of poems my shed is full of ***** my bed is full of springs and wool it's where I go to snooze you got another poem? well submit it to the site right now I'm fixing steak'umms but I'll read them all tonite so let's share another poem let's dare another rhyme let's declare that there's none fairer but beware of one of mine! ©2011 Lyn
0
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:36 AM UTC
LynSenz
Another poem
Let's write so many poems we could stack them to the sky let's roll them up and smoke them or just recite them til we die my head is full of poems my shed is full of ***** my bed is full of springs and wool it's where I go to snooze you got another poem? well submit it to the site right now I'm fixing steak'umms but I'll read them all tonite so let's share another poem let's dare another rhyme let's declare that there's none fairer but beware of one of mine! ©2011 Lyn
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23
I am the first to admit I’m not God’s gift to women It’s more like a penance when I’m involved really And I am certainly a little rough around the edges But there are certain things you can do To make yourself more respectable to the fairer *** Like: be wary of your weight and what suits Don’t loaf onto a bus with your gut Hanging out, wearing a stained Hawaiian t-shirt Sweating like a hog in the midday sun. I know ladies make allowances: Ineptitude Dickishness Bravado Rudeness Even arrogance. But even our fair compadres draw the line At sheer disregard for personal hygiene. I wonder what people think When they go out dressed like that? They’re either one of three things: Very ignorant to what women want, Femo-phobes, Or they think they got something ******* special No woman can resist.
0
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 11:08 AM UTC
dan-hinton
Diamond In The Rough
I am the first to admit I’m not God’s gift to women It’s more like a penance when I’m involved really And I am certainly a little rough around the edges But there are certain things you can do To make yourself more respectable to the fairer *** Like: be wary of your weight and what suits Don’t loaf onto a bus with your gut Hanging out, wearing a stained Hawaiian t-shirt Sweating like a hog in the midday sun. I know ladies make allowances: Ineptitude Dickishness Bravado Rudeness Even arrogance. But even our fair compadres draw the line At sheer disregard for personal hygiene. I wonder what people think When they go out dressed like that? They’re either one of three things: Very ignorant to what women want, Femo-phobes, Or they think they got something ******* special No woman can resist.
Continue reading...
25