"fares" poems
Now since I advised you this Sentiment
Try to apply your Fares with her Mother
And if you win, which is one Compliment
That you use to connect with her Brother
This is just some Counsel from Ben Nevis' View
Hassled to ensure you did the Right Thing
For justly understand this ardent Crew
Is no excuse for Procrastinating
In private this Agent is unaware
For him to barrage out of Deep Respect
Yet keep watch for Feathers dancing in the Air
They turn to Anvils; And hit your Retrospect.
Listen you Two. This is why you will Learn
That Family's knots tied is Best you earn.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:17 AM UTC
Love has earth to which she clings
With hills and circling arms about—
Wall within wall to shut fear out.
But Thought has need of no such things,
For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.
On snow and sand and turn, I see
Where Love has left a printed trace
With straining in the world’s embrace.
And such is Love and glad to be
But Thought has shaken his ankles free.
Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom
And sits in Sirius’ disc all night,
Till day makes him retrace his flight
With smell of burning on every plume,
Back past the sun to an earthly room.
His gains in heaven are what they are.
Yet some say Love by being thrall
And simply staying possesses all
In several beauty that Thought fares far
To find fused in another star.
3.5k
The Pedicab drivers of Gotham all say
You should ignore a "Whale Hail"
because it just doesn't pay.
The city is hilly and
to pedal gets tough
when your passengers are,
shall we say, overstuffed.
Two tubby tourists out on the town
between them they weighed about
Eight Hundred Pounds.
They had wiped out the Sushi
at an all you can eat.
Much too lazy to walk
on their overstressed feet.
They hailed for a Pedicab
of which there's a multitude
Thats the sole explanation
for accepting their pulchritude.
Their ride started slowly,
but pleasant enough.
But then came a hill
and the going got rough.
He groaned and he struggled
as he trucked up the road,
but not even juiced Armstrong
could handle this load.
With two tubby tourists
ensconced in the back.
He slowed to a crawl
then stalled in his tracks.
Something had to give
with those two in the rear
The cab then turned turtle
chucking him in the air.
The two tubby tourist
were down on their backs
Their driver unconscious
and two tires flat.
An Ambulance came
and gave him first aide
The two tourists rolled off
and he never got paid.
If we banned too large colas
and sixty ounce beers
could we hope that these
land whales
might,one day, disappear?
Until then its risky
to pick such fares up
unless in a limo
or a truck thats Ram tough
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
People scatter the beaches street,
Like seagulls hunting their scrumptious prey,
Engulfing the happenings of mainstream life,
While ordinarity and friction stray.
Their blindful stares,
And mindful glares,
Induce a sense of
Frightful fares.
Children play,
While adults delay,
Their naive beliefs,
From ambiguous thieves.
Day after day,
Continuity stays,
Defending us all,
From genuine praise.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 5:34 AM UTC
Thy summer voice, Musketaquit,
Repeats the music of the rain;
But sweeter rivers pulsing flit
Through thee, as thou through the Concord Plain.
Thou in thy narrow banks art pent:
The stream I love unbounded goes
Through flood and sea and firmament;
Through light, through life, it forward flows.
I see the inundation sweet,
I hear the spending of the steam
Through years, through men, through Nature fleet,
Through love and thought, through power and dream.
Musketaquit, a goblin strong,
Of shard and flint makes jewels gay;
They lose their grief who hear his song,
And where he winds is the day of day.
So forth and brighter fares my stream,--
Who drink it shall not thirst again;
No darkness taints its equal gleam,
And ages drop in it like rain.
3k
The rattle is shaken and life becomes unfixed
Torrential rains cascades downwards on ancient bricks
These stunning moments have been rediscovered
In wonder all is flustered in awe as the state of silence honks
Love creeps out of tune in time, the unsureness of cold feet
The voice fades, the toned whispers continually erased
Stormed and soaked, stilled and stalked by a heart that stole my dream
Drenched in uncertainty, non-favouring multitudes won't let me be
These flutters flattens and deflated, I stroll and I will not run
The floating fun fares vanishes, the morning bird furnishes
The time capsule evaporated, unstripped and frozen
Ohh, how I wished to plant and harvest inspiration
Wake up with a renewed breath of air, the flowing river
Of the days when the gloom masked, I hated what life had become
How could humanity be so self centred and selfish?
I looked for silence and the banging never ceased
The masses rushed, never to let me be, they snatched my freedom
I inhaled the hope of the freeness and longed for the racing momentums
How so?
That over time the weather collapsed to coldness, the darkness marbled
A nag of the songbirds, as I escaped in the ****** ozone layer
A disconnect of the mind, body and soul; when I saw my spirit sail
A snail sailing on its own course and journey slowly but steady
Reflections and visions of the timeline of growth and fertility
A heart of one, the soul of all, the mind of many, a tongue in sums
The chandelier hanged on a ceiling, high, holding the flickering bulbs
A condense of energy, the modelled nature of a prognostic intervention
A laughter and synergy rests in the symphony of the unsung melodies
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
In haste...
Behind
Our footprints
Were the scattered emptiness
Of the memories
Of them
On the shores
She left the three parties of us
Me, Samantha
And our traveler friend
They were play things for sunset fares,
She said.
Just yesterday
They were happy to be here
The young flowers now scattered about
This beach shore
Too young to be plucked
Happy to grow up into one party of laughter!
That's how we remember they were here
That's how to plant graveside flowers
For the dead
They were play things for sunset fares
They were not soldiers
They were unprotected, unfed, afraid children and women.
They were not warriors
That's how to plant graveside flowers
That's how we have kept them forever
In our hearts..
You are not forgotten
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
Love in her Sunny Eyes does basking play;
Love walks the pleasant Mazes of her Hair;
Love does on both her Lips for ever stray;
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there.
In all her outward parts Love ’s always seen;
But, oh, He never went within.
Within Love’s foes, his greatest foes abide,
Malice, Inconstancy, and Pride.
So the Earths face, Trees, Herbs, and Flowers do dress,
With other beauties numberless:
But at the Center, Darkness is, and Hell;
There wicked Spirits, and there the ****** dwell.
With me alas, quite contrary it fares;
Darkness and Death lies in my weeping eyes,
Despair and Paleness in my face appears,
And Grief, and Fear, Love’s greatest Enemies;
But, like the Persian-Tyrant, Love within
Keeps his proud Court, and ne’re is seen.
Oh take my Heart, and by that means you’ll prove
Within too stor’d enough of Love:
Give me but Yours, I’ll by that change so thrive,
That Love in all my parts shall live.
So powerful is this change, it render can,
My outside Woman, and your inside Man.
2.3k
trolling through
midnight streets
braking to avert
inflicted pedestrians
crawling to and from
pedestrian afflictions
I hope become fares
I am the vehicle
to next destinations
the portage to
an evenings
ravenous
end
Music Selection:
Ides of March
Vehicle
10/15/14
Oakland
jbm
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
Judge a woman by her lovers
just another one after others
Wouldn't do that to a man
welcome to bed who he can
Judge a woman by her clothes
her material and fabric throws
Criticised for what she wears
doesnt matter still gets stares
Judge a woman by her hair
try it different if she dare
It shows now, nerve reveals
surely you know how she feels
I Judge a woman by if she cares
deals with life and how she fares
In what she has a sense of pride
and the feelings she has inside
Judge a woman how dare you
exam her and what she do
It does more harm can't you see
to look at her so judgementally
© One man
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 4:19 AM UTC
Cabana, cheese and mustard sauce
Do grace the tablecloth,
White puffy clouds and warm south breeze
And joy in chilled beer's froth.
Hot sun doth bake these stony walls
Sweet mandolins do play,
And the pigeons peck at breadcrumbs caste.
And all fares well today.
Young darting men on Vespa's
Ply their arrogant good looks,
And those stunning senoritas
Strut their stuff while momma cooks.
Monsignors in scarlet robes
Do scurry through the town
Dispensing Catholic action
To any soul who is around.
Madonna's guard the roadside shrines
Where hot seal winds aloft
Toward the craggy mountain pass
And pastured alpine croft.
The peasant woman bends her spine
Trudging forth with strain,
Wood ******* piled upon her back,
Up hillward bound with pain.
Old men sit and ruminate
And watch the young girls pass,
Whilst nursing dark retsina
In an opaque thimble glass.
The olive trees look stately
In their crooked ancient way,
And cast a darkened shadow
Where the roosting chicken's lay.
And out across the mounded hills
The patchwork quilt of farm
And out beyond that deep azure
Of Italian coastal charm.
Seaward to horizon
The aqua blue intense
Extends as far as eye can see
Mediterranean immense.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
23 January 2010
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 2:30 AM UTC
See her / right there
She pulling / her hair
She's stressed / and scared
She screams / they stare
But they / don't care
Her skin / she tears
This pain / she fares
Too much / to bare
She climbs / the stairs
The ledge / she dares
Suspended / in air
Escaping / the lair
Of scars / to spare
Her heart / she shared
They dipped / in despair
She's gone / but now
They say / "I cared"
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
Forbidden night, with your sheltered hours.
How I long to paint you in broad strokes, adding water to the brush,
That you may spread and extend your precious mercies beyond the borders of your designation,
up and out into the wicked day.
May the sun forgive me for bankrupting its grand offering in favor of the always-waning dark, when it’s easier to walk between worlds without touching.
Daylight brings out the conquerers and also the conquered,
creating a vacuum that devours the air between gaps in the dimensions,
the grind and squeeze of many lungs contracting at once.
And although every period of light and compression is followed by a period of darkness and grasping strangeness, I am never unsurprised by the strength of my enduring love nor less enchanted by the singularity of our shadowy and permissive embrace. I have traveled great lengths to con my own rhythms into abandoning their posts.
Oh night, I hold on to you like a new bride at a military wedding,
resolute in the knowledge that you will only return once you’ve already gone.
No sooner do you pull from my arms do I finally rest, too early and too late for a gentle landing onto the unforgiving surface of the sunrise.
the hourglass breaks and so appears Morpheus, great and ancient, to call down black night upon the wretched world.
For it was agreed that once per cycle, the world must lose itself in necessary madness, and thus rests the cosmic balance upon which fares the day
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 3:08 AM UTC
Tonight my love is sleeping cold
Where none may see and none shall pass.
The daisies quicken in the mold,
And richer fares the meadow grass.
The warding cypress pleads the skies,
The mound goes level in the rain.
My love all cold and silent lies--
Pray God it will not rise again!
1.7k
I walk across
to Hannah's flat
in Arrol House
and knock at the door
Mrs Scott opens
the door and stands there
she's a short thin woman
with a face of granite
with a slit
where her mouth is
whit is it?
she says
her Scottish accent
rough as stone
is Hannah home?
I ask
I dunnae kinn
she replies
HANNAH
she bellows
over her shoulder
Benedcit is haur fur ye
she adds
scowling at me
jist coming
Hannah replies
from back in the flat
yoo'll hae tae bide
Mrs Scott says
and walks back inside
leaving me
on the red tiled step
I look into the interior
of the flat
and smell breakfast
having been cooked
I look back
into the Square
kids are playing
near by
on the pram sheds
and over by the wall
girls are doing handstands
their feet
against the wall
dresses falling
over their heads
showing underwear
sorry about Mum
she has a mouth on her
Hannah says
where we going?
she asks
thought we'd go
to the South Bank
see the Thames and boats
and have ice cream
I say
do I need money?
she asks
just about 2/-
I say
for bus fares
and ice cream
I'll ask Mum
for a handout
but wait for the answer
Mum have you 2/-
I can have?
Hannah asks
fa dae ye hink
Ah am Rockerfeller?
nae Ah huvnae
her mother replies
no problem
I say to Hannah
I'll have enough
for us both
are you sure?
yes don't aggravate
your mother more
than you have to
so Hannah gets her coat
and we walk off
through the Square
she's like that sometimes
Hannah says
she's as tight
as a wing nut
we walk down the slope
and up Meadow Row
I ask her how her father is
she says
he's Ok but in
the doghouse more often
as not with Mum
but he's a softy
to Mum's hardness
but Mum says
he's soft in the heed
but he's lovely really
Hannah says
-I know her old man
he's English and a bit
simple after helping
to empty out Belsen camp
in 1945 where some
he told me were
more dead as alive-
we wait at the bus stop
she with her dark hair
pony tailed
with a tartan skirt
and white blouse
and me in blue jeans
and white shirt
and quiff of brown hair
and hazel eyes
she with a budding beauty
with her mother's
touch of tongue
who if roused
could give words
full lung.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
This world has a lot to take in.
It turns and turns stopping for no one
While I just sit and take it all in,
Take turns, take turns. Waiting for the next one.
No, this first-grade paradigm
That controls how I think and see what's fair
Doesn't really apply this time.
Cause first-grade knowledge isn't for just anywhere.
It's for the classroom,
The safe room.
The place where I sit and wait room.
I'm dying just to break through.
But I can't. See they hate you.
They take what they think is theirs.
Never waiting for the rule of turns.
Never thinking how the world fares.
When every bridge they cross burns.
What about the rest of us?
How are we supposed to move forward?
When none but the "very best" of us
Move on past our story's fore-word?
It's horrible and grueling.
Cause the "special ones" are ruling.
They ask, "Who you fooling?"
You'll always be a normal.
Why can't we all be special ones?
Why can't we all have that privilege?
Why must we all be the fretful ones,
Always worried about our image?
Worried that we won't look right.
Or that we won't be up to *****
Cause when we take off our makeup each night
We no longer feel like enough.
No, it's too much.
Our minds are filled with thus and such.
But thus and such are just a crutch.
When we aren't enough.
At least, that's what they tell us.
Make us think we have to be gods.
Cause honestly that's the best way to sell us.
It doesn't matter if they're frauds.
See Humanity longs to be sufficient.
Able to satisfy itself.
So we do what we can with vision.
But leave our skills up on the shelf.
It doesn't matter or make sense.
To make some sort of recompense
When we never lost our innocence
Except by failing ourselves.
See, we fail to see our potential.
That special thing that makes us us.
But in the end it's the most essential.
It's the only thing we can trust.
Whether it's our brain, or our brawn,
Our very will to survive.
It's the very thing that let's us press on
The only think that makes us alive.
We have talents, our gifts.
But our spirits they need lifts
That come through paradigm shifts
From what's fair to what's real.
It's a hard disparity to master.
But in the end it's always alright.
Cause it's only part of growing up.
Seeing the changes that came overnight.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
There is something so calming
About the spiders spinning web.
Something so comforting,
A song sung by the dead.
Hear it wallow in the distance
Like an unforgiven tune.
Sung by the rivers daughter,
The beauteous sunset muse.
Bask in the moonlit waters
Barely but blessed by shining sun.
Hold to your heavn'ly quarters,
The likes of which shall come undone.
For if you catch the spider spindle
You are likely to be safe.
In other wares, their finer fares
In absence, stay awake.
I speak not for the Titan,
Or God nor Goddess alike.
I speak not for the tongue
Of the mumbling friars might.
For Alas my hearers hear this plea,
Beware the nymph of sophistry
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 10:41 AM UTC
Needless, pose a question:
Miracles save themselves...
Long in the tooth, looking for a blessing
Worlds to weigh, with the voice of what delves?
Minus the stone
The rue of visits and cares...
To awaken in the arms of harmony
History to a dare, to lend the kindness of what fares?
Special...
And doted upon, like a dream can feed...?
The spareness of speed in the eye, of what will
To sakes aled, and meant, to be the end of all in heed...
The pout of summation, to which we will know intimation?
Praises be, cares see, the coming order to a least...
At worthy faces, in a common hope, to live the life of sin?
Like a weary lover was, the only force of decency to cease...
Of a silent offer, of season and risk...
To these calls of opportunity, the mated chance
Of cause curious, and questioning the weight of a reason's wish
Paced with the passion of deliberateness, is a wish a saving, romance?
Feb 3, 2023
Feb 3, 2023 at 4:00 PM UTC
Where is my Pharaoh,
which fares me so well?
Over that hill,
sitting on his throne?
Wanting...
As the chair
next to him
wilts...
Shall I sit?
Or shall I wait?
Well,
A Queen is never late.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Beyond the Eisenhower context
We still have to guard against
The military industrial complex
Which requires in every respect
That our government be checked
As we’re forced to question, what is this?
It’s reminiscent of Guerin’s book
Fascism and Big Business
We can clearly see a certain confluence
So we must guard against
The acquisition of unwarranted influence
When surrounded by generals and billionaires
It can directly impact how the populous fares
Because these are un-chartered waters
And didn’t the Nazis claim to be
Just following orders
In Germany, then a democratic state
Neumann said that the Nazi’s sole ambition
Was to uproot what existed there
Until they could come into position
And we need not forget
As we look at the current cabinet
History frequently repeats itself
So we are to blame and no one else
When the great leader
is surrounded by acolytes
Who defend his positions
Whether wrong or right
It gives us many sleepless nights
And the media gets, a thousand sound bites
Comprised from their various talking points
Out of the mouths of those he anoints
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable—
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.
We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.
We were very tired, we were very merry,
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed, “Good morrow, mother!” to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, “God bless you!” for the apples and pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.
1.3k
The floor is cracked and faded,
The map is nearly gone.
The stained glass roof has shattered
Now, fifty years gone down.
The fountains at the Unisphere,
spray glowing in the dark.
Remembering the Flushing fair
in Flushing meadow park.
In the Vatican Pavilion
The Pieta was on display.
In the Carousel of Progress
The automatons sang and played.
I had a plastic brontosaur
From Sinclair, I recall.
Puppets used to dance and sing
“It’s a small world after all.”
The displays and the pavilions
Now are, mostly, gone.
Just the Stainless Unisphere
recalls that hopeful dawn.
We walked Tomorrow’s though fares
Whose horrors weren’t shown.
Then I was but a little child-
Now fifty years gone down.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
How fares it with the happy dead?
For here the man is more and more;
But he forgets the days before
God shut the doorways of his head.
The days have vanish'd, tone and tint,
And yet perhaps the hoarding sense
Gives out at times (he knows not whence)
A little flash, a mystic hint;
And in the long harmonious years
(If Death so taste Lethean springs),
May some dim touch of earthly things
Surprise thee ranging with thy peers.
If such a dreamy touch should fall,
O turn thee round, resolve the doubt;
My guardian angel will speak out
In that high place, and tell thee all.
1.2k
Weight back, son, back -- now! Pivoting in air, I felt wood crack
and sent one screaming over first. My three mates whirled
around the sacks and fierce joy burst past, or through...
First inning, Father. Bags full. And all for you,
who, miles off, listened hard beneath a static sky.
The radio crowed: "Grand slam!" -- and "You'll be next to die."
Once, you showed me something about the stance,
how the weight came through, and how the dance
of foot in dirt was beautiful and clean --
I don't recall the point -- not now, I mean.
But I still can see your hands, the coiled way
they worked the wood, and how your wrists turned,
mirrored snakes, twin roots, and how the simple day
was shaken by... what was it?... by all I'd never learned?
Your fingers were stubby, grimed with grease, coarse hairs
tangled over bulge of blood. My youth still fares
its way from lost to lost. I move my dancing feet
to match the steps you traced with yours -- and life's complete.
Yet as I gape and gasp in desperate dark,
a voice returns, riding warm winds from that park.
These forty years, I've been turning into you.
I have your hands, your heart -- and these will fail me too.
Jun 16, 2011
Jun 16, 2011 at 12:57 PM UTC