"farewelled" poems
***I met my love
down the cherry lane,
Oh, down the old cherry lane
while stars were shining above***
***I kissed my darling
down the cherry lane,
Oh, down the old cherry lane
while the branches bend and swing***
***I farewelled my lover
down the cherry lane,
Oh, down the old cherry lane
while the moon made the night brighter***
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 8:53 AM UTC
A faith we fancy is that freedom is fabricated and forged for us by our forefathers who fought and forced their foes to forfeit their feud. They fended fiercely and defended fearlessly a fictionalized fact, freedom, filtered with fire and flame. A few fell to be famed fellows of the future while a fraction of the fraternity are farewelled faceless.
All those frigid flashback brought-forth what we framed and fantasized as freewill and forbade freaks to falsify our fascination.
It all falters as we fathom that freedom didn't fade ,but w/o a fons-et-ergo, a foolish fairytale foretold for us to falsely follow a formula for the foremen to fortify the fake façade of freedom while we flounder and they float.
And if we flush and fracture their folderol, we are flagged as flagitious, frauds and fellons.
For the feasibility of freedom is a mere ****** Fuckery to **** us.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 12:02 PM UTC
As I am falling into the abyss,
I try to hold on to a thing,
yet there is no way to resist
cold-blooded gravity of swing.
My head chill air begins to hit,
and with the accelerating speed
I'm wondering: "Shall this be it?"
My eyes feel heavy, I think: "Indeed."
A moment later I hear them scream,
as time slows down I face a flow,
I follow it and think: "Bad dream,"
Eyes closed farewelled by dancing snow.
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 9:58 PM UTC
I am undone -
resonating, thrumming
with feelings out of time.
Suffused with the scent
of orange, clove and cinnamon.
The house on Folgate Street
has me, whole,
powerless against an eternity
of mutating, shifting
happenings and moments.
Twice, the black cat followed me.
Dully gleaming fur
reflecting a landscape
of bunched bedclothes,
that it batted
then bunched some more.
Between the rooms,
landings captured me -
miniature palaces
hung with candied fruits
and mercurised pools
where I dove in naked longing
into both our pasts.
Huguenot shadows
writhed and climbed,
in faded effervescence.
The motes permitted not to utter
a word of breath.
With freshened eyes
I farewelled an age of deeds
in whispered thanks.
How long I stood at the corner
I cannot say.
Rising from a dream
has never taken so long.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 10:25 AM UTC
The sleep of the sword does not answer my call
Sweet Jezebel sways with the winds of the fall
While the Goosegrass loudly beckons, singing to stay
The Foxgloves, they whisper “one day, one day”.
I’m longing to be respectfully flame-farewelled
But the Lion’s Tooth sees that my dreams are dispelled
In the sweet summer madness, my Devil’s Milk pride
Shrivels and dies; looks like Ring-a-Bells lied
With a wave of my hand the swan of blood lands,
And the spear-din begins
With a noble glance the troops advance
Chieftains or kings, breakers of rings
The winter begs death and the is-ness of song
My soft sophomania playing along
A hymn on the psaltery drifts for a dime
Of seven sweet maidens missing in time
Tell me plainly, why does the spring make me ill?
Pale, shaking hands cling to the old timbrel.
A melodic pain, the kind honey can’t draw out.
And the whispering doubt, **** as sauerkraut
With a wave of my hand the swan of blood lands,
And the spear-din begins
With a noble glance the troops advance
Chieftains or kings, breakers of rings
You were never cautious with your art,
I was always careful with my heart
Unless I poured it out like a dove
Are you mourning me from heaven above
I am mourning you from hell below
I guess that freedom was not the way to go
And the old dried herbs sing from above my grave
I’ve never behaved, I’ve never been brave
With a wave of my hand I watched your blood land
On my ***** kitchen floor
Without a chance, in a frightened stance
No longer poor, I walked out the door
The final test, was it for the best?
No belt hook swings, pale, wicked things
My freedom came at the price of the flame
Farewell my lover,
Fare thee well.
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 8:40 PM UTC
She wrote poems to the butterflies, and they batted their wings to the lyricism of her words
She read stories to the trees, and they blossomed to the sunshine of her voice
She sang lullabies to the oceans, and the waters swayed to the limitless echo of the syllables which farewelled her lips
She caressed the sun, and he surrendered his power to the silken skin which embodied a soul of gold
She kissed the clouds, and the skies watered the forests with their tears of joy
She loved him,
and although the earth, the skies, and its oceans did too,
He could not love her back.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
I have drown in love and caged repeatedly.
But I’ve broken the chains of captivity.
Recovering from a tidal wave of emotions,freeing my inner fire and energies,
I now return with strength with a pen
and a scrap of paper with me.
I have run into chaos, fear, self-doubt
and uncertainty.
For I anchored my motivation and confidence
in my flaws, my scars and pain.
With glimpses of memories that just farewelled,
I’ve got my new story to write.
I’m allowing my fear and self-love to co-exist.
And with an aching soul and a bruised heart
still to heal.
I now let my horizons of certitude confidently sail into undiscovered creative seas.
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 11:09 PM UTC