"falser" poems
Beauties, have ye seen this toy,
Called Love, a little boy,
Almost naked, wanton, blind;
Cruel now, and then as kind?
If he be amongst ye, say?
He is Venus' runaway.
She that will but now discover
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kiss,
How or where herself would wish:
But who brings him to his mother,
Shall have that kiss, and another.
He hath marks about him plenty:
You shall know him among twenty.
All his body is a fire,
And his breath a flame entire,
That, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.
At his sight, the sun hath turned,
Neptune in the waters burned;
Hell hath felt a greater heat;
Jove himself forsook his seat:
From the centre to the sky,
Are his trophies reared high.
Wings he hath, which though ye clip,
He will leap from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart,
But not stay in any part;
But if chance his arrow misses,
He will shoot himself in kisses.
He doth bear a golden bow,
And a quiver, hanging low,
Full of arrows, that outbrave
Dian's shafts; where, if he have
Any head more sharp than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.
Still the fairest are his fuel.
When his days are to be cruel,
Lovers' hearts are all his food,
And his baths their warmest blood:
Naught but wounds his hands doth season,
And he hates none like to Reason.
Trust him not; his words, though sweet,
Seldom with his heart do meet.
All his practice is deceit;
Every gift it is a bait;
Not a kiss but poison bears;
And most treason in his tears.
Idle minutes are his reign;
Then, the straggler makes his gain
By presenting maids with toys,
And would have ye think them joys:
'Tis the ambition of the elf
To have all childish as himself.
If by these ye please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
Though ye had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, ye'll not abide him;
Since you hear his falser play,
And that he's Venus' runaway.
3.3k
..............there’s such a clamour
so much choring
memory thread
I sit
armchair
rocking head
receiver of motion
bleaker of putty trauma
creator of mammary craving
.....best take up knitting or wood carving
the fortress of thought
(in strict connivance with a bewildered host)
compiles the 'person idea'
protects the fragile calculator
from biting at its own exposed
and useless self mating psychology
from glutting on its own tail
and merry going mad
in a tune of hoops...
..stammering to achieve valuation
for our decent management
projector
may you continue operations falser still
defeating our own polygraphs and making fools of our internal courtrooms
i sit on this chair
things go still
thoughts occur elsewhere
am i left to not be ?....................
May 11, 2021
May 11, 2021 at 10:00 PM UTC
The nightmare is always where I
least expect it to be,
haunting,
following me through the
shady streets.
I catch it at times in the eyes that meet mine
which I know are my own, or in
the tone of a voice that I hear and here is
the matter,no matter how deep I hide, that
tone of a voice follows me down inside,
you'd think I'd expect it,
but no,
which just goes to show how I fool myself into
a falser sense of security.
The nightmare always follows me.
I always expect that.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:51 AM UTC
Do your emotions party? Like days they just decide to all meet up in your mind to dance?
This might end up being One of the expressions of my puzzled soul that comes off quite hard to understand
But then again, Life' s hard to understand. Simply amazing reflecting on the things I've been able to With stand.
To repeatedly flicker off the rains I stand under without anyone to stand with & keep faith that it's all part of a plan.
On any evening without invite, my emotions show up and dance. They slide and prance, & the ruckus from their foxtrot transforms to words that escape through my hands.
Words to script & they proceed to dance, and maybe one day I'll be dancing with them if I'm ever gifted the chance.
If not, it's okay, there has to be more to life than Romance, right?
Things that are more captivating than a bewitching glance, exceeding the rush of pulling down pants, some alternate force that can also add a bounce to my stance at night.
They tell us soul mates aren't fiction, that some day we'll all say "I do" & drown out cheering applause while we grasp that mate on marble floors doing the salsa.
Laughable, there couldn't be anything falser.
I know I'll be dancing alone.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
Oh, in pains is my heart forsaken!
as chastened use has chased away
what Love's abundance canst provide;
and whichever path she may have upon
advanced or taken, I must hastened choose
to search this whole world imagined,
both far and wide.
Ah, how an eminence does make the maiden
youth where ev'ry other breath in innocence sets her
chest to fall, to rise; and now I speak just to thee in truth,
in case thou hasn't heard me hence, or believed me true.
Do cease the actions of mischievous type, as roguery isn't
worth the childish enterprise: rather to me extend thy hand, impassioned, as I to my goddess rise!
Allow me to enter, kiss thee upon that
hand as then, then when I would always
askance grin -ere I'm reduced to inanition
in your absence on this night, such as I have
often chanced to be when first astray in the
variable contrast of ineffectual obscurity.
In my thoughts a resident thou art, my fantasy
perceived as a great charmer, a beauty to beseech
-one whose constant sufferers are the broken heart,
it's action ceased within those past suitors which have
only been half-tutored in that ancient art, which to you
I did teach: but the unbelievers naked eye wilt see nothing
of your radiant form, which I defend, set truly apart!
Yet ye thru usury harm this poor man, as you hurriedly
dart out after I come in; in and out of my reality, on this
you are bent, one that the real world called strangely
marked, a world forlorn that fears that which it doesn't
understand, (or envies.)
Do you, mine maiden, not see things as they were; or in
your leave of absence comprehend that the complex of
elements that reasons hath made thee-as God did make
the universe in an ambiguous flight of fancy-where thru
convictions solely are such dimensions and reflections given
worth?
You are all that torments my fiery soul cruelly, so cruelly,
again and again,
as you do as e'er alter my Heaven, and make falser my Earth!
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
There will come a time when we will be gone,
all of us
from this place.
We will take planes and buses and trains,
We will pack up our rooms and kiss mothers goodbye,
fathers clap our shoulders
and look us in the eye, tell us to stay out of trouble.
We will never be together, all of us, again,
in the same way, for we're always changing.
You know how people are.
-
This is how I can miss you.
This is why, though you are sitting with me now,
I feel the particular ache of your loss -
the knowledge that I will go months, years,
without hearing your voice.
And in a way, it is like someone has died -
like you have died, like I have died.
I know my memories will live on hideously,
growing greater and falser with time,
filling spaces and gaps in me
that you never really got to fill.
And yes, I will live on. But there will always be something:
a scratch on my wrist
a ghost on my neck
a deep, trembling silence.
-
If you asked me about graduation, this is what I’d say:
I am a river, you are the sea, and I will keep running to you,
even though the sea is chock full of water,
even though one river won't make much of a difference, anyway.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
Reduced to a single point
Within and without I know,
I am but one single speck.
I feel it now in my mind;
My thinking soul.
Not in conventional terms but,
Let my thinking heart guide thee
In understanding me.
Nothing forms
Like air let loose.
We drift, as infinitismal nothings,
Following from within like a painter's brush into reality-
Our own canvas are we.
Superceded by phantoms of ghosts
Ethereal blurs take their geometry,
Exist within A euclidity.
We weave ourselves in the hairs of our god's
Nebulous strands dreaming outwards from the thinking hearts,
The hearts that make us but we form-
This integration of it into nothing
Of nothing... to something.
Spontaneously alive
Digital sparks that programmed their own world's
Existing within limits self imposed.
We perceive from internals to externals
But accepting truths built falsely
They hold, like all Straw houses crumbling and shrinking,
Till they fade inwards, collapsing into reality the painters brush falters.
It cannot go on, it cannot paint finer than its hairs, only grander, out, bigger, falser.
Our eternity is merely a fraction of our own
It extends infinitely we cannot go...
With it.
Within these truths I find myself
With these fundamentals I paint myself into the world
With these dreamlike strands of hair I weave myself.
Into the fabric of your mind, you are part of this now!
You always were, and never will be.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a
high price of admission, that being the innate circumstances wherein his ego germinates and grows into two things at the same time: externally pleasant and internally grotesque.
this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a
long stretch of beach lined with hospital beds, pyres alight to the God of False Flags and Falser Hope, long speeches and poor teachers getting too close to the water.
this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a
difference of opinion - the trickle-down economics of not giving a **** about anyone except one's inner sanctum, from the unrepresented in their little mud huts, to the shadow skulls with buzzing sinuses; Everything, Performing the Dance of the Hearse Driver.
this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a
whimper, courtesy of yours truly
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 9:04 AM UTC
You haven't seen how much poison is there in the world so wide,
People who have it just want to shove you aside.
They want to take the credit for all that you have done,
They'll just sit and make you leap at the Sun.
Didn't I say?
They want to take the credit for all that you have done.
Such snakes slither into your life like a caring friend,
They act perfect, like a true friend is,
They'll impress you, they'll make sure you're following the latest trend,
But it's not until you hit the rocky road, you hear a hiss.
Yes. They show their true self.
They'll bake rumors and spread them far and wide,
They'll chuck muck over you 'til you cry,
Then on your misery, they'll have jolly ride,
They'll never let the pool of your misery dry.
I've seen such a poison viper in my life. Thus, here I stand narrating my plight.
When she came, her manners pleased my sight.
I befriended her.
"What happened then?" You may ask.
Let me tell you.
When she showed her true self, it was like someone hit me with a knife.
Such an over-dramatic and dominating person I'd never seen in my life.
She spread rumors far and wide,
On herself, she takes a lot of pride.
Oh! Those rumors were falser than the word false,
They killed my reputation dead,
And cut all the friendly calls,
I was so depressed, my mind was hanging by a mere thread.
*
She hasn't changed much today,
We''ll never be true friends any day.
I warn you all.
Before you befriend someone, make sure that they are not the anacondas,
They will act friendly in the beginning but observe closely, you will see the changing hue.
Be alert, it won't take them long to forget what real friendship bond is,
Such snakes can never be friends who are true.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC