"fane" poems
The flames branching upwards in a spire
It's cruel twists never seem to tire
A dark soul comes from the fire
It's Sam, a kid they all admire
Fables try to claim thee
Through stories of a tree
Branching upwards in a plea
A widow stares at a stain, left by the rain
Constructs a local fane, all in her saviours name
Caught between the fear and guilt
Of living off someone's fame
Knowing the day it all stops, she'll be engulfed by a flame
Abaddon is calling, Ezekiel is balling
Babylon returns
Mathias saw the world, while Belial just watched it burn
With immense follow through
The path becomes true
As he watches triple 7's disciple scamming for a buck or two
Out on a past due lease
The Man Of Peace
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
Hail, happy day, when, smiling like the morn,
Fair Freedom rose New-England to adorn:
The northern clime beneath her genial ray,
Dartmouth, congratulates thy blissful sway:
Elate with hope her race no longer mourns,
Each soul expands, each grateful ***** burns,
While in thine hand with pleasure we behold
The silken reins, and Freedom’s charms unfold.
Long lost to realms beneath the northern skies
She shines supreme, while hated faction dies:
Soon as appear’d the Goddess long desir’d,
Sick at the view, she languish’d and expir’d;
Thus from the splendors of the morning light
The owl in sadness seeks the caves of night.
No more, America, in mournful strain
Of wrongs, and grievance unredress’d complain,
No longer shalt thou dread the iron chain,
Which wanton Tyranny with lawless hand
Had made, and with it meant t’ enslave the land.
Should you, my lord, while you peruse my song,
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,
Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone best understood,
I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate
Was snatch’d from Afric’s fancy’d happy seat:
What pangs excruciating must ******
What sorrows labour in my parent’s breast?
Steel’d was that soul and by no misery mov’d
That from a father seiz’d his babe belov’d:
Such, such my case. And can I then but pray
Others may never feel tyrannic sway?
For favours past, great Sir, our thanks are due,
And thee we ask thy favours to renew,
Since in thy pow’r, as in thy will before,
To sooth the griefs, which thou did’st once deplore.
May heav’nly grace the sacred sanction give
To all thy works, and thou for ever live
Not only on the wings of fleeting Fame,
Though praise immortal crowns the patriot’s name,
But to conduct to heav’ns refulgent fane,
May fiery coursers sweep th’ ethereal plain,
And bear thee upwards to that blest abode,
Where, like the prophet, thou shalt find thy God.
4.6k
Though life should come
With all its marshalled honours, trump and drum,
To proffer you the captaincy of some
Resounding exploit, that shall fill
Man’s pulses with commemorative thrill,
And be a banner to far battle days
For truths unrisen upon untrod ways,
What would your answer be,
O heart once brave?
Seek otherwhere; for me,
I watch beside a grave.
Though to some shining festival of thought
The sages call you from steep citadel
Of bastioned argument, whose rampart gained
Yields the pure vision passionately sought,
In dreams known well,
But never yet in wakefulness attained,
How should you answer to their summons, save:
I watch beside a grave?
Though Beauty, from her fane within the soul
Of fire-tongued seers descending,
Or from the dream-lit temples of the past
With feet immortal wending,
Illuminate grief’s antre swart and vast
With half-veiled face that promises the whole
To him who holds her fast,
What answer could you give?
Sight of one face I crave,
One only while I live;
Woo elsewhere; for I watch beside a grave.
Though love of the one heart that loves you best,
A storm-tossed messenger,
Should beat its wings for shelter in your breast,
Where clung its last year’s nest,
The nest you built together and made fast
Lest envious winds should stir,
And winged each delicate thought to minister
With sweetness far-amassed
To the young dreams within—
What answer could it win?
The nest was whelmed in sorrow’s rising wave,
Nor could I reach one drowning dream to save;
I watch beside a grave.
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I tatawid sa kanya fane
bilang ako pamasahe sa kanyang utak;
Ang aking Paraluman.
( Filipino tongue)
(English tongue)
I shalt go to her fane
As I fare into her brain;
Mine muse.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©あある じぇえん
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
Montgomery! true, the common lot
Of mortals lies in Lethe’s wave;
Yet some shall never be forgot,
Some shall exist beyond the grave.
“Unknown the region of his birth,”
The hero rolls the tide of war;
Yet not unknown his martial worth,
Which glares a meteor from afar.
His joy or grief, his weal or woe,
Perchance may ’scape the page of fame;
Yet nations, now unborn, will know
The record of his deathless name.
The Patriot’s and the Poet’s frame
Must share the common tomb of all:
Their glory will not sleep the same;
‘That’ will arise, though Empires fall.
The lustre of a Beauty’s eye
Assumes the ghastly stare of death;
The fair, the brave, the good must die,
And sink the yawning grave beneath.
Once more, the speaking eye revives,
Still beaming through the lover’s strain;
For Petrarch’s Laura still survives:
She died, but ne’er will die again.
The rolling seasons pass away,
And Time, untiring, waves his wing;
Whilst honour’s laurels ne’er decay,
But bloom in fresh, unfading spring.
All, all must sleep in grim repose,
Collected in the silent tomb;
The old, the young, with friends and foes,
Fest’ring alike in shrouds, consume.
The mouldering marble lasts its day,
Yet falls at length an useless fane;
To Ruin’s ruthless fangs a prey,
The wrecks of pillar’d Pride remain.
What, though the sculpture be destroy’d,
From dark Oblivion meant to guard;
A bright renown shall be enjoy’d,
By those, whose virtues claim reward.
Then do not say the common lot
Of all lies deep in Lethe’s wave;
Some few who ne’er will be forgot
Shall burst the ******* of the grave.
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On the heap,
Thou dangle and screech
And bedeck, for I seemingly espouse.
The anecdotes and myths:
Engaged in a mutual pose.
There comes the hymn,
And the sway and the hum;
The abnormality and the deform
Halted on a single stance.
To dozen of the tokens
Whom I prejudged;
The prevalence of the chaos
That sleeps merely on my tongue.
To all the estrangements
From which I refrain,
Within the bawl of the tantrum, upon the hook of the day.
Farewell to all, farewell the haze
Farewell the cluster,
To the resolution found within a fane;
Where rituals confuse,
Where the practice becomes a fame.
There thou taketh solely,
A hymn and an interminable haze.
Whats the sense of the ovation
When no screen displays
A mourning motion
For which no motion craves?
I sigh, and mumble
To which mere consciences giveth
To me only, mine solely.
His to hear and his, keenly.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:50 AM UTC
Sous la canicule du Sahel
Et sur les terres arides
Les deux chevaliers
Forts comme Charlemagne
Et patients comme le Christ
Avançaient à cheval
Lequel caracolaient infatigablement
Pour couvrir le monde
De la saine tunique « nouvelle »
Mais l’ange noir voulu
Que leur besogne s’éteigne
Et que les yeux des leurs
Se couvrent de brouillard
Mais la fin d’une vie
Ne met point un terme
A l’action du défunt
Un arbre qui se fane
Laisse les grains qui poussent
Et le perpétuent
Ghislaine et Claude
Et leur action pour le bien du monde
Qu’AQMI voulut qu’elle soit fade
N’est que tatouage à la Radio du monde
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 7:53 AM UTC
Fluttering to the ground
An autumn leaf
Floating like a feather,
The embodiment of heavens heart
Ascending towards that quondam.
An aeon contemplating creation
Zoariums; moulded from dust infused.
Immortality desecrated
Their fane, desolate
Gods will mans dying nature.
The rivers rose above
The highest mountains quaked
As tears reign below
Upon the blood soaked amber earth;
To the cross his body nailed,
Hours fervently passed
Cloud vapour appearing to evaporate,
Bearing the weight of mortal sin
The saviour hanged; azoic.
The anatomisation of finitude!
Crowned man infinite,
Enlighting the darkest souls,
The lighest souls descent.
Bleating like a lamb
Twilights slaughtered salvation
Riding the thoughts of heavens dream;
Two empereal doves
Homeward flying.
1997 ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
So far in nowhere; in the cliffs of The Universe
where destiny has *** with my dark thoughts
I see the hour where I hide my carnivorous light
I see the shadows rearing their plan to attack
Where the black rejections look like an angel in disguise
my melancholy waters, my existence blowing truth away
So far from the lips of God; the ones I want to kiss.
Resignedly I walk on a lurid path away my fane
but the History sings lonely tunes, never memorized
In each shade I see a lonely whisper of Love.
By a route that I take, future holds in our light thoughts
no stopping noise can tame the fierce that I got.
A purple chasm lights nights where my heart gets stunned
like zero gravity all feathers get chained.
By a hidden road where the sounds of my mind reign
haunt in a war where soldiers are an extension me
On a red soil that gives birth to a New Sapphire Moon
I have flown, now with the power of being blood and light.
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 2:43 PM UTC
J’ai la couleur du café mal grillé
Et celle du chocolat précocement
Sevré, par les rayons du soleil du midi.
Mes cheveux évaporés, depuis des décennies,
Me suscitent à être reconnaissant,
Parce que je suis chanceux et fortuné,
De voir tourner la terre pour tant d’années.
J’ai les lèvres d’un politicien giflé,
Par les poêles d’un chef maltraité,
Et les dents tachées par le sang coagulé.
Ma langue coupée, hachée et fracassée
Sera avalée comme le rôti volé au marché
Des esclaves morts pendus et torturés
En plein air, sous les verrous des voitures.
J’ai la peau des vers de terre assassinés.
Mon nom tachera la langue des oppresseurs
Et anesthésiera la colère des fieffés menteurs.
Je porte avec fierté la couleur du café mal grillé
Et celle du chocolat oublié dans les cafetières;
Aucun humain ne mérite d’être classé parmi les ordures,
Même si demain tout retournera en poussière.
Le marron inconnu est mon frère aîné;
Les rayons solaires nous ont parfaitement flambés,
Comme le café et cacao venus d’un pays émancipé.
Copyright© Décembre,2011, Hébert Logerie, Tous Droits Réservés
Hébert Logerie est l’auteur de plusieurs recueils de poèmes.
Dec 27, 2024
Dec 27, 2024 at 10:01 PM UTC
give not a sound
trembler
the knees knocking crane
'oer a lathered thing rising
by mute unsound
fumbler
the crook pierced open vane
by jeweled petal (a poppy smiling)
creeply warmth unbound
tumbler
a flower blooms in sullied fane
inch by eater -- becomes silver stung
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
As an ancient temple's
Flambeau;
Tis in the night
Tis in the night,
We shalt be entwined
Soul's divine,
Spirit's glow.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley( Filipino rose) dedicated
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
La rose
s'assieds sur la table
et avec les temps
fane.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 5:06 PM UTC
Pictures on the Cave Wall
I look for the humility and pride I want in doubt
When I can only look there.
I close my eyes. Help me pray like a man. Not like a fool.
Accept my doubt and my self-conscious blessings and
My rote mumbled grace. Give me a chance.
I know I can be good.
Plato saw shadows on the cave wall. They said something somewhere else is pure.
I saw bright painted animals. I will go with the hunters and their dogs.
I want a fire and food and love and
I want to hear the love story again,
Or the friend story:
I’m 17, back in the boys’ bathroom at high school, punching and kicking
Andrew Fane, who hit Colleen so hard and often. I didn’t know.
She was my friend.
For months I didn’t know. How stupid. He humiliated Colleen, she crawled,
She was my friend and that is more than a saint for me.
She was my friend and this is more than a saint for me and for many like me.
Save me from the coarse things all men are offered.
I will do the right thing.
Help me guess the right thing.
Paul Anthony Hutchinson
[email protected]
www.pahutchinson.com
Copyright Paul Anthony Hutchinson
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
A frigid night outside the friary
Where only hears the sound of hearse
Insensible heart but with sadness
Liniment by loneliness and sadness.
Forever drown in this solitude fane
Clad with great shame
Mincing to wait yet groaning under pain
Her laconic eyes seems in chain.
A nightmare echoed as knell
An old cascade now pouring down tears
Can't find a way to be elated.
Destituted and chilled by many faces.
How lonesome you are!
You're dismal and with devious pride
You elude but always caught
A mariontte that always drift.
They repress you to fly
And a peevish child in you makes you cry.
Someone's flayed you but you denied
You only have one hop but they owed you a thousand strides.
They inflict you to 'kiss the rod'
Now you're a 'damsel in distress'
Your flimsy wings turns into embers
Reason why they taunt you and makes your dreams shutter.
But I know this knell will turn into a serenade
Though I have an embered wings, someday
I will reincarnate
I will bring back my glittering cascade.
I will leave this frigid friary and devastate their masquerade.
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
I met him standing
In the middle of the lane, awaiting
For some silhouettes, apparently,
For he
Was gazing through the haze
Enveloping the ground of this intricate maze,
Amidst eternities of both
The one behind us and the one of forth
Acquaintance; peevishly there hotching
On his place, like pole earthshaking
Though with not a-lack of grace
This little figure strangèly reminded
Of my own wraiths I thought was far behind me; but never did they leave my soul’s abode,
No matter whether home I or abroad
I always carry them like plummet on a chain
With which all a-way down and down upcoming drowner fane,
Just like pale moon is setting to its further sleep
The same way future drowner does complete
The full life circle of eternal plan,
The one which you could not outran
In vacuous attempt to fool the time
In game that has been riggéd before thine
Name and surname were inscribed in list
Of papyrus and lost in spaceless mist
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 12:11 AM UTC
I am one who sought Greenleaf where
now asleep in pumpkin spice lore
that strength in mettle sheep won
as despair in attire aflame
a nobility in crosshairs ware
allure tote freedom today
if love grips sensuality bare
as the sun shades too
I aspire to humanity acquire
that peace in the valley restore
when is love quickly abet
that barter alone my soul
and far shall wonder with obsession
a sojourn apostrophe for another tomorrow
my ginger butte fane
and paradise forever.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
How come you
dance so___ good
Don't do a Tina Turner
Table dance on me
Whats love got to do
with fads
Never know what you
had_____
Fads Like P-op-Sugar
Lads Like Laptop- sister
Austrian lads
Alice-y Mads
A spoon full
of sugar
helps her
meds go
down
Jewels 4 Julie in the
most delightful
way
Dogs named
Andrews those
honey cashews
She pops
crackle Rice
crispies
For her Nephews
Over-sugared curfew
Julia Roberts her
business flew
Perk up (Pretty Women)
Not!! first class?
Money VIP Pass
Cafe hot and
boiling
His temper bad
habits spoiling
You cannot buy
a girl
off with
((Pricetags))
The ending
with no
friends so sad
Beginning
Sugar is your
poison that depends
No, I love you
Valentine cards
No hello and regards
Go Cincinnati
Rock and Roll
Hall of Fane_____*
Fads **** and Jane
spots her men
Her engraved
hands classical
Vivaldi opera
Pops with Pavarotti
To the love wall
Sweet Sardi
Please no
Godfather Gotti
The Godmother
tutti fruity
Or Sardinia
Miami Beach
Pop bikini's
Come together
words Beatles
I want to hold your
____?
Talking heads
Caramelly popcorn
Christmas ghost past
Talking to herself
Will this love
ever last
Like a hard toffee
She could soften
any hallway
Harvard Men
Freshman
Chewing fad
of spearmint
Gum
No etiquette
Men of bourbon
Spicy sweets
Ladies festive
turbans
Hotel tons of sweets
At the Marriott
Sweet Brandy doll
Marionette
Raw or
Angel equal
brown sugar
The finest of crepe
Suzette like a sequel
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
wake me
shake me
out of this febrile trance
furtively pilfering my
heart's ancient treasure
once guarded
by comforting spirits
of warm hopes and
beliefs held beyond reason
never questioned
by the minds tribunal
the jurors seated
in the cranial court
knowing eyes silenced
by misguided faith's rhetoric
never minding
the persuasive muzzle
often ignoring serpent's
retractable tongue
always turning from
the dark corridors
light banished
by modern-day pharisees
cloaked in mantles of treason
patronizingly diluting
what can only remain pure
painted with pious platitudes
away
far away
i must sail from this folly
an orphan of mystical doubt
the frost and cold tempest I feel
cautious sensibilities
a tenuous guide
through these gray
realms I traverse
trembling hands
grasp transient hopes
striving to shape
deeper meaning
disciplining lazy
traditional beliefs
that hang on like
phosphorescent
spiders in the dusty
lofty
rafters of memory
deceptive iconic silhouettes
faded de-spiritualized
superimposed on a
human-made landscape
a beautiful picture
gold frame and all!
absence of religious
pop-culture faith
eclipses peace
i shudder at the prospect
of this purge
preparing for burial
what must die
the end of an age
burned in effigy
a raging wilderness
I now pass through
I stumble by many
a familiar and
unfamiliar fane
longing to be clothed
with a mantle of peace
a vulnerable yet
strong spirit I guard
let not trivialised faith be
my misleading guide
and if it is all meaningless
alas! it may be
still I must forge
ahead to the sea
ever mindful that rivers
return to where
they have been
separated at birth
i often hear roaring waves
crashing and gentler waves
lapping on shore
but a body of water
is not always the Sea.
Aug 27, 2024
Aug 27, 2024 at 12:08 PM UTC
Elle est fragile à caresser,
L'épousée au front diaphane,
Lis pur qu'un rien ternit et fane,
Lis tendre qu'un rien peut froisser,
Que nul homme ne peut presser,
Sans remords sur son cœur profane.
La main digne de l'approcher
N'est pas la main rude qui brise
L'innocence qu'elle a surprise
Et se fait jeu d'effaroucher,
Mais la main qui semble toucher
Au blanc voile comme une brise ;
La lèvre qui la doit baiser
N'est pas la lèvre véhémente,
Effroi d'une novice amante
Qui veut le respect pour oser,
Mais celle qui se vient poser
Comme une ombre d'abeille errante ;
Et les bras faits pour l'embrasser
Ne sont pas les bras dont l'étreinte
Laisse une impérieuse empreinte
Au corps qu'ils aiment à lasser,
Mais ceux qui savent l'enlacer
Comme une onde où l'on dort sans crainte.
L'hymen doit la discipliner
Sans lire sur son front un blâme,
Et les prémices qu'il réclame
Les faire à son cœur deviner :
Elle est fleur, il doit l'incliner,
La chérir sans lui troubler l'âme.
576
La plus délicate des roses
Est, à coup sûr, la rose-thé.
Son bouton aux feuilles mi-closes
De carmin à peine est teinté.
On dirait une rose blanche
Qu'aurait fait rougir de pudeur,
En la lutinant sur la branche,
Un papillon trop plein d'ardeur.
Son tissu rose et diaphane
De la chair a le velouté ;
Auprès, tout incarnat se fane
Ou prend de la vulgarité.
Comme un teint aristocratique
Noircit les fronts bruns de soleil,
De ses soeurs elle rend rustique
Le coloris chaud et vermeil.
Mais, si votre main qui s'en joue,
A quelque bal, pour son parfum,
La rapproche de votre joue,
Son frais éclat devient commun.
Il n'est pas de rose assez tendre
Sur la palette du printemps,
Madame, pour oser prétendre
Lutter contre vos dix-sept ans.
La peau vaut mieux que le pétale,
Et le sang pur d'un noble coeur
Qui sur la jeunesse s'étale,
De tous les roses est vainqueur !
485
Madrigal panthéiste.
Dans le fronton d'un temple antique,
Deux blocs de marbre ont, trois mille ans,
Sur le fond bleu du ciel attique
Juxtaposé leurs rêves blancs ;
Dans la même nacre figées,
Larmes des flots pleurant Vénus,
Deux perles au gouffre plongées
Se sont dit des mots inconnus ;
Au frais Généralife écloses,
Sous le jet d'eau toujours en pleurs,
Du temps de Boabdil, deux roses
Ensemble ont fait jaser leurs fleurs ;
Sur les coupoles de Venise
Deux ramiers blancs aux pieds rosés,
Au nid où l'amour s'éternise
Un soir de mai se sont posés.
Marbre, perle, rose, colombe,
Tout se dissout, tout se détruit ;
La perle fond, le marbre tombe,
La fleur se fane et l'oiseau fuit.
En se quittant, chaque parcelle
S'en va dans le creuset profond
Grossir la pâte universelle
Faite des formes que Dieu fond.
Par de lentes métamorphoses,
Les marbres blancs en blanches chairs,
Les fleurs roses en lèvres roses
Se refont dans des corps divers.
Les ramiers de nouveau roucoulent
Au coeur de deux jeunes amants,
Et les perles en dents se moulent
Pour l'écrin des rires charmants.
De là naissent ces sympathies
Aux impérieuses douceurs,
Par qui les âmes averties
Partout se reconnaissent soeurs.
Docile à l'appel d'un arome,
D'un rayon ou d'une couleur,
L'atome vole vers l'atome
Comme l'abeille vers la fleur.
L'on se souvient des rêveries
Sur le fronton ou dans la mer,
Des conversations fleuries
Prés de la fontaine au flot clair,
Des baisers et des frissons d'ailes
Sur les dômes aux boules d'or,
Et les molécules fidèles
Se cherchent et s'aiment encor.
L'amour oublié se réveille,
Le passé vaguement renaît,
La fleur sur la bouche vermeille
Dans la nacre où le rire brille,
La perle revoit sa blancheur ;
Sur une peau de jeune fille,
Le marbre ému sent sa fraîcheur.
Le ramier trouve une voix douce,
Echo de son gémissement,
Toute résistance s'émousse,
Et l'inconnu devient l'amant.
Vous devant qui je brûle et tremble,
Quel flot, quel fronton, quel rosier,
Quel dôme nous connut ensemble,
Perle ou marbre, fleur ou ramier ?
530
À travers les soupirs, les plaintes et le râle
Poursuivons jusqu'au bout la funèbre spirale
De ses détours maudits.
Notre guide n'est pas Virgile le poète,
La Béatrix vers nous ne penche pas la tête
Du fond du paradis.
Pour guide nous avons une vierge au teint pâle
Qui jamais ne reçut le baiser d'or du hâle
Des lèvres du soleil.
Sa joue est sans couleur et sa bouche bleuâtre,
Le bouton de sa gorge est blanc comme l'albâtre,
Au lieu d'être vermeil.
Un souffle fait plier sa taille délicate ;
Ses bras, plus transparents que le jaspe ou l'agate,
Pendent languissamment ;
Sa main laisse échapper une fleur qui se fane,
Et, ployée à son dos, son aile diaphane
Reste sans mouvement.
Plus sombres que la nuit, plus fixes que la pierre,
Sous leur sourcil d'ébène et leur longue paupière
Luisent ses deux grands yeux,
Comme l'eau du Léthé qui va muette et noire,
Ses cheveux débordés baignent sa chair d'ivoire
À flots silencieux.
Des feuilles de ciguë avec des violettes
Se mêlent sur son front aux blanches bandelettes,
Chaste et simple ornement ;
Quant au reste, elle est nue, et l'on rit et l'on tremble
En la voyant venir ; car elle a tout ensemble
L'air sinistre et charmant.
Quoiqu'elle ait mis le pied dans tous les lits du monde,
Sous sa blanche couronne elle reste inféconde
Depuis l'éternité.
L'ardent baiser s'éteint sur sa lèvre fatale,
Et personne n'a pu cueillir la rose pâle
De sa virginité.
472