"finis" poems
I’m indebted to the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, 4th Edition 1996
**Ab Imo Pectore
A**b imo pectore,
Blandae mendacia linguae,
Cadit quaestio,
Desunt cetera.
E*st modus in rebus.
Faber est quisque fortunae suae,
Gigni de nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti.
Hic finis fandi,
Interdum stultus bene loquitur?
Jacta interdum est alea,
Labuntur et imputantur.
Magni nominis umbra,
Nec scire fas est omnia,
Omne crede diem tibi diluxisse supremun,
Pallida mors aequo pulsat pauperum tabernas regumque turres;
Quid rides, mutato nominee de te fibula narrator,
Res ipsa loquitur.
Solvitur ambulando…
Tempora mutantur, nos et matamur in illis.
Urbi et orbi,
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.*
From The Bottom Of The Heart
From the bottom of the heart, the falsehoods of a smooth tongue,
The question drops, the rest is wanting.
There is a balance in all things, every man is the creator of his own fate.
From nothing, nothing can come, into nothing, nothing can return.
Let there be an end to talking, for who can tell when a fool speaks the truth?
The die is sometimes already cast,
A moment comes and goes, and is laid to our account.
From the smallest shadow to the mightiest name,
No one can claim to know all things,
I believe that every day that dawns may be my last,
Pale death knocks impartially at both poor and rich men’s houses;
Don’t laugh, change the name and the story is yours,
It’s so obvious, it speaks for itself.
As the concept of motion is proven by walking…
So in time all things change, as we must, in time, all change.
And to all the world,
There’s no turning back.
Ab Imo Pectore / From The Bottom Of The Heart
Ab imo pectore,
From the bottom of the heart,
Blandae mendacia linguae,
The falsehoods of a smooth tongue,
Cadit quaestio,
The question drops,
Desunt cetera.
The rest is found wanting.
Est modus in rebus,
There is a balance in all things,
Faber est quisque fortunae suae.
Every man is the creator of his own fate.
Gigni de nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti.
From nothing, nothing can come, into nothing, nothing can return.
Hic finis fandi,
Let there be an end to talking,
Interdum stultus bene loquitur?
For who can tell when a fool speaks the truth?
Jacta interdum est alea.
The die is sometimes already cast,
Labuntur et imputantur.
A moment comes and goes, and is laid to our account.
Magni nominis umbra,
From the smallest shadow to the mightiest name,
Nec scire fas est omnia,
No one can claim to know all things,
Omne crede diem tibi diluxisse supremun,
I believe that every day that dawns may be my last,
Pallida mors aequo pulsat pauperum tabernas regumque turres;
Pale death knocks impartially at both poor man and rich men’s houses;
Quid rides, mutato nominee de te fibula narrator,
Don’t laugh, change the name and the story is yours,
Res ipsa loquitur.
It’s so obvious, that it speaks for itself.
Solvitur ambulando…
As the concept of motion is proven by walking…
Tempora mutantur, nos et matamur in illis.
So in time all things change, as we must, in time, all change.
Urbi et orbi,
And to all the world,
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.
There’s no turning back.
r10.1
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
Now it's over, and now it's done;
Why does everything look the same?
Just as bright, the unheeding sun, --
Can't it see that the parting came?
People hurry and work and swear,
Laugh and grumble and die and wed,
Ponder what they will eat and wear, --
Don't they know that our love is dead?
Just as busy, the crowded street;
Cars and wagons go rolling on,
Children chuckle, and lovers meet, --
Don't they know that our love is gone?
No one pauses to pay a tear;
None walks slow, for the love that's through, --
I might mention, my recent dear,
I've reverted to normal, too.
1.8k
I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
1.7k
*About this thief from far far away,
she never wanted, even to hear at first
but at last awaited with a wish and a prayer,
here comes the foot steps, and him as a beam of light,
this pure delight is unexpected,
the heart of darkness, she once feared
in this winter embraces as blissful warmth.
his lips are passionate, kiss ethereal
he takes away all she has, every thing she calls hers,
without a word she gives,
how strange, she feels full, overwhelmed,
this is not the finis, something beautiful now begins.*
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 7:13 AM UTC
Getting up from the crumpled bed,
resurrected from the dead, once more,
he looks the world in the face, panicked,
he is back in to being from the land of nothingness,
he was hardly aware of the non existence,
in the land of sleep, mysterious camouflage,
for war time secrets to be kept safe.
He doesn't have to pretend, to be a child again,
morning sows hopes, in vivid colours, he grows up
evening dissolves in loss, bleak darkness, finis.
What he gets in between becomes meaningless,
unless at least a smile gives wings
to the sad heart, to rejoice defying angst,
that swings between, life after life, day after day.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 9:20 AM UTC
**A book left partly read by a voracious reader,
came in his dream and revealed the secret:
"Don't you think anything left incomplete
would mean much more than a definite finis?
When each new reader tries to fill the gap
the unwritten part gets richer than the other.
Here is a book left unfinished by the author,
whose life suddenly said "NO" in just two bold letters.
Does the book's self feel incomplete? Who knows?
But think of this: Does anything we know ever get completed?
Why bother about the changing patterns of this kaleidoscope
as we are only colored specks that turn and turn with the rest.
Time, that magical construct, hates perfection, (would you believe?)
though it loves to draw circles mistaken as perfect,
when it's really another form of limitation, by deceit.**
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
“A promise to be kept was a deception or was it axiom,
Now on earth with apathetic grand valley of loneliness,
In now the wild blue or the irradiated sunshine glows,
Through the woods finis the river and away from agony,
I am elated at my conquest deeds of early crusades?
I’ve yearned to venture into realms of the fissure,
I have been blessed by angels in my conquest passed,
How to achieve great deeds in man’s demeanor's,
One never knows what eyes will see on distant shores,
Of foreign shores could only envision cathedra afore,
Quite gained by a noble woman of power representation,
Eclipse those that conquer uncharted land sea and air,
Greater than this achievement I have never envisage,
Than you came into my life with what bringing a promise,
So now I am that which is clutched to the promise,
As that of a nest in the branches clutched to sapling branches,
And so I shall vow to accept this promise for all perpetuity”
By Andrew Guzaldo © 1/29/2018
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
It’s night. Deepest darkest blackest night.
I feel the pinch and fear of one hunted,
the prey run out of options.
No help is given, though plainly demanded.
The thin veneer of civilization threatens to give way.
There is no escape from the knot in my stomach
because we’re hemmed in at all sides
and I’m panicking at the facelessness of my enemy,
as I evolve from woman to female.
What is the world where we aren’t what we thought we were?
From adults to children. From children to animals.
Stepping backwards. A warped progression.
Sterilize. Maintain. Control. Clean. Safe.
The world seems to whisper as if someone(thing?) is listening…
Big Brother(Sister?) the walls have ears(eyes?)…
KingdomPhylumClassOrderFamilyGenusSpecies.
AnamaliaChordataMammaliaPrimatesHominidaeHomoSapiens.
Two legs doesn’t mean you’re safe from
acting like you have four.
****
sapiens
Ecce, **** Fiat lux.
or else we’re doomed.
Intellect to instinct.
Man to mammal.
Walk on two legs now, can you afford to lose them?
Ad insaniam, ut illuminabit…
Vel in flammis tandem finis.
SUM EST.
Chaos is closing in. Can you cope?
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
He's only seen what once had ever happened
but the memories he has decidedly repressed
his eyes have been glued, cemented in with solemness
never again shall they open as they've been sewn shut
The stitches themselves have only ever ached
for the needles were minute and blindingly fast
the holes between each slight and delicate thread
has left aperture trails behind, a kindling to his ****** gloom
Cleaved and lacerated, his lids have splintered
**** filled blood as its only moisturizer
spasmming as it oozes along the crevices of his face
passing marred flesh like vines extending unto forest floor
"Hoc est languor meus
Ego praestolabor in aeternum nam finis"
said he with hand hovering over silver chaliced ****
soon, though he shall weep the golden tear of death upon slab
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
There is grief in every page staring at him,
now it's the eyes of a destitute, a child
starving for a whole week, totally dazed,
as her family runs for their life through
dark alley ways, to escape the guns firing non-stop
fighting somebody's nonsensical war.
There is grief written in dark letters in every single page.
his eyes stumble and bite dust, refuse to move ahead.
In protest he closed the book abruptly,
sat bitterly brooding for a while,
then an urge made him delve deep
in to his muddled red lake, troubled psyche,
after a swim he hears a voice clearly say:
"How could you avoid pain, marking it separate,
and embrace all the rest that are your favorites,
when you are the wound and the knife in karmic cycle?
Shedding tears, in no way should make you less,
isn't it the moment one becomes more humane
it sows the seeds of empathy, more than any time,
There is no doorway not darkened by the cloak of death
and not trodden by the firm foot of grief,
as the Buddha once said to a woman,
who wanted her beloved resurrected"
As he reads on, it becomes a race away from pain,
which reigns, all realms of human life;
he gets agitated, calls the author a deviant,
hankering after miseries, one would rather not set ones eyes ever.
"This dear reader, is the life we live in this planet,
a dance of black and white from start to finis,
none here has the right to dictate terms
in worlds real, imaginary and that of dreams,
accept grief as a lead player in this stage, on whom
the progression and movement of the story is pegged"
The author is beyond the pale of emotions, in total balance,
just a compassionate gazer he is, in to the crystal ball.
Yes, there is grief in every page, his painful heart couldn't delete,
even with a stubborn will, it remains, a dark pool of ink growing big,
it makes one sad and happy in turns, transforms wiser at the end.
Grief in every page, it's the truth deeply imprinted about the book of life
needs to learn to brace oneself every single step, that's how the story moves, as each act progresses, grief, poignant and cleansing, changes hearts,
with its saltiness, makes the bread of life tasty throughout.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
Someday this will end
maybe tomorrow,
a month from tomorrow,
years and years from tomorrow
When this ends
I hope it is with a stop sign
and not a slow cautious yield
I wish for last moments
like the end of a film reel
the smallest flicker after the final frame
but no grand production-
none of the grasping, reaching,
begging for more
Just an end that ends, simply.
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 7:08 PM UTC
A GIFT OF OLD AGE
If old age does a gift on me bestow
it would be just: silence
in my youngish and manhood years
I had exhausted every single sentence
erroneously borrowed from writers,
from professors, friends, the clergy,
leaders, politicians, loud-mouths,
fanatics and extremists ( I didn't know then)--an endless litany
and I discover much too late
truth is only a word thrown about
for the convenience of the speakers
the stronger their conviction, the louder they shout
as they have all the answers
' you don't know-- you out
there---it's about time you followed us
we'll rid you of every doubt'
how I detest slogans now
pontifications are the death of me
I am lost for words--silence I choose--
myself I blame for my past stupidity
soon, too soon I'll be walking
to life's terminus--near, so near-
with a tiny signboard ' finis'
I'll be quiet and calm --without a single doubt or fear.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 2:00 AM UTC
I have this cause so consuming . . .
like an overdose that's overwhelming
When salt water was as sweet as the memories that washed over my feet by the edge of high tide's completion
"Go find the door to your ambition
before it closes to the winds of desiccation"
The binding has cracked
the paper turned yellow
Touching , now brittled backed
So it has been written "finis" upon the last page of life
The words I collected like seashells
as the wrinkles of face grew to foretell
The foam and waves swept over my toes
as the sand was ****** away from beneath
They say the pain will go away .
then they wish you well ,
. . . turn . . . and walk away
I look back upon life as if it were a dream :
a scheme . . .
a scream . . .
and so naive
"I will check out the skies in Rome ,
I promise now when winter is gone"
I long for the hot sands of purification
Where the bleached bones
have reached end's destination
Somewhere next to a Coptic sea
where time falls short on eternity I will kneel to my desperation
In another year
it will be another day's difference in time ,
as another grain of sand falls it loosens its bind
"Won't you come and bring thirst's renewal of relief ?"
Don't leave me gazing . . .
searching for that distant smile . . . buried in my beliefs
If not . . . then
let me wish you well . . .
turn . . . and walk away
Jan 2, 2023
Jan 2, 2023 at 7:48 PM UTC
Everyone blind
has a sun each.
In loving sun,
eyes have limits.
Sun is merciless,
blinds any one
who tries to overreach,
that's not a lot of fun!
After a day's
relentless march,
a spectacular dusk,
announces the finis.
Night comes on tip toes
a disguised thief,
to rob everything left
none would resist.
The world is in masquerades,
if you are lucky enough
get the beams,
of moon's cool grace-
on your searing wounds,
and sleep without dreams.
And then again
breaks the dawn,
with an innocent smile,
as if it is the first time ever;
the game continues.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 12:07 AM UTC
The film plays through a cigarette haze,
spliced souls flicker on the silver screen,
noir shapes moving through the mist,
dark shadows and beating hearts,
soon the story starts to unfurl,
plots thicken through startled eyes,
rehearsed actions and missing words,
electrification through a Gothic grin,
tears fall on the words of a script
undulations of what we once were,
the movie closes to a final score
torn manifestos as the credits roll.
Finis
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
26
He gave up his ghost
26
I despised me the most
26
Finis
The end of the show!!!
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
It is perhaps inevitable that
what once shined is dimmed,
The fuse blown (slowly, though-
You didn't notice till your eyes were
filled with darkness and you
couldn't see a thing.)
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
Finis's Words
By Daniel Mapp
My limbs loose their strength,
For I traveled upon the airs,
Since She bit that fruit,
Within that internally lush grove,
Spawning me into an existence,
Where I dart about ceaselessly
In a seasoned ebony cloak,
As I uplift paling youths,
From finding their sudden bane
By each others harsh designs,
In well established fare lands,
Without that fiend Chaos's presence.-
Like a inflamed gliding sun,
I now take passage over,
The heavily ruin occupied east,
Which Mars hovers over laughing,
Gripping an keen scarlet scepter,
While overseeing their hectic tussle;
Making me highly sorrowful,
For I have suddenly figured,
Hearing one's bitter cry below;
Their wants drive these wretches,
Even for white eyed Justice,
Yet vile whip haired Wickedness;
Into my cool pale palms!
Jun 27, 2011
Jun 27, 2011 at 4:36 PM UTC
Yea,
These are mine last scriptures,
No more thoughts to come out blistered
No more cuts to snap thy pictures
Moribund to mineself!!!
No reaching hands,
No none help
No marching band to play mine kilt
A tombstone of lonesomes lost!!
No clothes to be buried,
No queen to soothe me
None to marry
The cliff I've come to now!
No sun, no clouds
No children to laugh and play
Just darkness to cover me
Smothered breathe!!
No candle to light mine way
No tommorrow
Nor the next day!!!!!
For as I always say
When thou wilt seeith these writings stop,
Than thou wilt knoweth something's wrong!!!!!!
FINUS!!!
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
My fervent love for you inspires me to sonnet,
I love the way your heart spirit and soul loves,
You have breached my mind the day and finis eve,
The words of love and pain that I dream of,
Let me compare you to a great conjuration?
You are an accolade of fervor beatified deity,
As the Great sun heats the peaches of June,
Summertime as it beautifies the flowers that bloom,
You ask how I love thee how can I not,
I love the aegis the emotion shown with words,
As they bellow like copious out over your argot,
Thinking of your prolific love fills my days.
My love for you is this relish my words,
Always ode in your mind and heart,
Remember my words love whilst we're apart,
BY AG 05/02/2018 ©
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
Pardonnez-moi, Seigneur, mon visage attristé,
Vous qui l'aviez formé de sourire et de charmes ;
Mais sous le front joyeux vous aviez mis les larmes,
Et de vos dons, Seigneur, ce don seul m'est resté.
C'est le mois envié, c'est le meilleur peut-être :
Je n'ai plus à mourir à mes liens de fleurs ;
Ils vous sont tous rendus, cher auteur de mon être,
Et je n'ai plus à moi que le sel de mes pleurs.
Les fleurs sont pour l'enfant ; le sel est pour la femme ;
Faites-en l'innocence et trempez-y mes jours.
Seigneur ! quand tout ce sel aura lavé mon âme,
Vous me rendrez un coeur pour vous aimer toujours !
Tous mes étonnements sont finis sur la terre,
Tous mes adieux sont faits, l'âme est prête à jaillir,
Pour atteindre à ses fruits protégés de mystère
Que la pudique mort a seule osé cueillir,
Ô Sauveur ! soyez tendre au moins à d'autres mères,
Par amour pour la vôtre et par pitié pour nous !
Baptisez leurs enfants de nos larmes amères,
Et relevez les miens tombés à vos genoux !
Que mon nom ne soit rien qu'une ombre douce et vaine,
Qu'il ne cause jamais ni l'effroi ni la peine !
Qu'un indigent l'emporte après m'avoir parlé
Et le garde longtemps dans son coeur consolé !
664
In the end was it worth it,
Was it worth all your trouble,
Was it worth all the pain,
In the end was it worth it.
Was it worth all the joy,
All the smiles and laughter,
Was it worth all the memories you made,
In the end was it worth it.
Was it really worth giving your life,
Was it really worth leaving us all,
Was it really worth losing it all,
In the end was it worth it.
So tell me my friend,
Was it worth it in the end,
All the joy and memories,
All the sorrow and pain.
Was it worth it?
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC
From the coldness of the skies
this bleak yearning
straddles me further.
Slippers at dawn, no patent path.
I remember no extracting lie
no brave act, trodden not.
Such echo chambers I refuse
Steadfast now gathers
the finis, answered questions.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
Chanson d'automne.
Déjà plus d'une feuille sèche
Parsème les gazons jaunis ;
Soir et matin, la brise est fraîche,
Hélas ! les beaux jours sont finis !
On voit s'ouvrir les fleurs que garde
Le jardin, pour dernier trésor :
Le dahlia met sa cocarde
Et le souci sa toque d'or.
La pluie au bassin fait des bulles ;
Les hirondelles sur le toit
Tiennent des conciliabules :
Voici l'hiver, voici le froid !
Elles s'assemblent par centaines,
Se concertant pour le départ.
L'une dit : " Oh ! que dans Athènes
Il fait bon sur le vieux rempart !
" Tous les ans j'y vais et je niche
Aux métopes du Parthénon.
Mon nid bouche dans la corniche
Le trou d'un boulet de canon. "
L'autre : " J'ai ma petite chambre
A Smyrne, au plafond d'un café.
Les Hadjis comptent leurs grains d'ambre
Sur le seuil d'un rayon chauffé.
" J'entre et je sors, accoutumée
Aux blondes vapeurs des chibouchs,
Et parmi les flots de fumée,
Je rase turbans et tarbouchs. "
Celle-ci : " J'habite un triglyphe
Au fronton d'un temple, à Balbeck.
Je m'y suspends avec ma griffe
Sur mes petits au large bec. "
Celle-là : " Voici mon adresse :
Rhodes, palais des chevaliers ;
Chaque hiver, ma tente s'y dresse
Au chapiteau des noirs piliers. "
La cinquième : " Je ferai halte,
Car l'âge m'alourdit un peu,
Aux blanches terrasses de Malte,
Entre l'eau bleue et le ciel bleu. "
La sixième : " Qu'on est à l'aise
Au Caire, en haut des minarets !
J'empâte un ornement de glaise,
Et mes quartiers d'hiver sont prêts. "
" A la seconde cataracte,
Fait la dernière, j'ai mon nid ;
J'en ai noté la place exacte,
Dans le pschent d'un roi de granit. "
Toutes : " Demain combien de lieues
Auront filé sous notre essaim,
Plaines brunes, pics blancs, mers bleues
Brodant d'écume leur bassin ! "
Avec cris et battements d'ailes,
Sur la moulure aux bords étroits,
Ainsi jasent les hirondelles,
Voyant venir la rouille aux bois.
Je comprends tout ce qu'elles disent,
Car le poète est un oiseau ;
Mais, captif ses élans se brisent
Contre un invisible réseau !
Des ailes ! des ailes ! des ailes !
Comme dans le chant de Ruckert,
Pour voler, là-bas avec elles
Au soleil d'or, au printemps vert !
650
To winding road I asked again,
“Where did your journey begin?”
It just kept quiet,as if to mean
It didn’t get the crux of my concern!
I asked Where does it all end ?
That too met with a stony silence,
Making me meditate in loneliness .
Silence has quicksilver toungue,
I walked through inner labyrinths
And the question echoed in turns,
Then in me dawned as a whisper
“Real story of the road of course
Isn’t about just begiinnings and ends”
The wish to get it limited, is the
Distorted imagination of humans!
I am having a journey eventful,
But have a problem to determine
The starting and end points!
When you are certain of a finis,
There appears yet another beginning!
A road never leaves for anywhere
All you do is pass on through it.
In a mood to go and find connections.
To immortality, the final destination!
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC