"fleetest" poems
Long I followed happy guides,—
I could never reach their sides.
Their step is forth, and, ere the day,
Breaks up their leaguer, and away.
Keen my sense, my heart was young,
Right goodwill my sinews strung,
But no speed of mine avails
To hunt upon their shining trails.
On and away, their hasting feet
Make the morning proud and sweet.
Flowers they strew, I catch the scent,
Or tone of silver instrument
Leaves on the wind melodious trace,
Yet I could never see their face.
On eastern hills I see their smokes
Mixed with mist by distant lochs.
I meet many travellers
Who the road had surely kept,—
They saw not my fine revellers,—
These had crossed them while they slept.
Some had heard their fair report
In the country or the court.
Fleetest couriers alive
Never yet could once arrive,
As they went or they returned,
At the house where these sojourned.
Sometimes their strong speed they slacken,
Though they are not overtaken:
In sleep, their jubilant troop is near,
I tuneful voices overhear,
It may be in wood or waste,—
At unawares 'tis come and passed.
Their near camp my spirit knows
By signs gracious as rainbows.
I thenceforward and long after
Listen for their harplike laughter,
And carry in my heart for days
Peace that hallows rudest ways.—
2.2k
My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;
It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.
Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest’s flight,
Bore thee far from me;
My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.
Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
Or the death they bear,
The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
With the wings of care;
In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,
Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
It may bring to thee.
2.1k
"O where are you going with your love-locks flowing,
On the west wind blowing along this valley track?"
"The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye,
We shall escape the uphill by never turning back."
So they two went together in glowing August weather,
The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right;
And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on
The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight.
"Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven,
Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?"
"Oh, that's a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous,
An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt."
"Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly,
Their scent comes rich and sickly?"--"A scaled and hooded worm."
"Oh, what's that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?"
"Oh, that's a thin dead body which waits the eternal term."
"Turn again, O my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest:
This beaten way thou beatest I fear is hell's own track."
"Nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting:
This downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back."
2.1k
Grat, smat, tack.
my windows are black.
and the raven (that raven)
comes insatiably back
and the windows and caskets
and smallish ash-baskets
(you'd better believe that they know what their task is)
are holding the pieces, the embers, the sound
and hollowing portions we make in the ground
are the sickly embrace;
a dismembering hug
of a small, hump-backed hobo
without heart or a lung.
and his eye-hollows burn
for to end Adam’s race
and so often I wonder
How the fleetest of foot
can’t find the footing
to escape.
have you ever wondered
"what if I died tomorrow"
the earth would still twirl
and seven billion of her people
would never stop to cry.
They didn't even know
that you were alive.
but that's fine.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
or the neat, pleasant, wind or
the meek pleasing almost like
there is outside. An ocean or
a trillion(very small mouths)
who pile into one minute
tumult the whole of every
lung. Which is the slight breeze
that presses across your shoulders
and nape
suddenly
when the lid of god's sullen eye Springs
and out
is borne
that fleetest
that fleetingest
**** innocent
lust
of
Spring
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 5:39 AM UTC
They are rushing furiously across a danger path.
Trying to escape all foes in stark contrast.
Light brightly shining their path.
Escaping giant demons of wrath.
The day of reckoning is over soon.
Precious are the lives of a chosen few.
Above and beyond the swarm cries too.
Just the fleetest will do.
As they were born above the ground.
Crawling toward an evil and also hopeful sound.
Across the ground these demons pound.
The fault of some they found.
Driving their fleeting heart even more.
Kindly they beg the evil and demons who ignore.
High in the clouds the evil soar.
While the hopeful eyes of many are ready to look toward.
As the demons pass.
Steep trouble will find the many at last.
High above the evil gathers it’s strength fast.
Diving from the sky with speed blast.
Some are plucked from the ground by the evil.
It is feast or famine not to cause an upheaval.
Soon few of the many will be safe in their home that is primeval.
What these fleeting few have been through is unbelievable.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 8:14 PM UTC
How sweet the sound of silence tastes
Like honey dripped from the gates
Of serenity.
In the still we hear the walls of reality
Echoing louder than we could imagine.
In the fathoms of solitude the roar is
Forgotten.
A human diaspora from ourselves
If but for the fleetest of moments,
Trodden upon
By the boots of a thousand souls.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
They say we're in a money mess
their figures certainly impress
but who will pay their monstrous bill
now the bankers have had their fill.
It's not my battle but I must pay
I'm volunteered to save the day
they're cutting back on those we care for
the weak the sick - not those who have more.
There's nothing left for those in need
while fat cats scrounge with consummate greed
it's survival for the elitists
supported by the market's fleetest fleece-ests.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC