"foresees" poems
Venezia, its musical key of brick and shade
And the canals in rejoining polyphony
Sweeten the dour Church-ear.
From the impasto knife and loose brushwork,
A thumb-smear of waves and gently-bristled strife
Rise to assumption of the cloud-submerged bay,
Mural of cristallo, only-light without landscape,
Made too from the winds of Murano,
Its clayed blowpipe of waterways molding
The lagoon of blown glass and bouquet of colored sea-shadows.
The Tiber lies on its side, like the lion and fox,
Licking its paws at empire’s dust,
A drifting gaze of water that already foresees
The swift-run northward to Romagna,
Where the veined fur of the roe will succumb…
A ripple twitches like one dark claw of the Borgia…
The watercolors of the Arno are a fresco
On the wet plaster of the lips of Firenze, Tuscan fire-dream.
Or like the warring leg in curve of counterpoise,
Sprung foot-forward to the daring world
And arm slung down in stone-victory
From this valley, too much like Elah,
With taunting eyes turned from the Medici toward Rome.
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
The eyeless labourer in the night,
the selfless, shapeless seed I hold,
builds for its resurrection day---
silent and swift and deep from sight
foresees the unimagined light.
This is no child with a child's face;
this has no name to name it by;
yet you and I have known it well.
This is our hunter and our chase,
the third who lay in our embrace.
This is the strength that your arm knows,
the arc of flesh that is my breast,
the precise crystals of our eyes.
This is the blood's wild tree that grows
the intricate and folded rose.
This is the maker and the made;
this is the question and reply;
the blind head butting at the dark,
the blaze of light along the blade.
Oh hold me, for I am afraid.
4.1k
All that I am is smoldering embers of a dying fire
waiting for a wind that will pick up my flame
you are the oxygen which allows me to burn
with one gust from you i know i’ll remain
The night is now still and foresees a guaranteed storm
as i wait for the torrent i beg mercy of the stars
the stars not responding, they point me to you
so your tasseogrophy tells me, ambivalent you are
I, these smoldering embers, still wait patiently
my flame still remains a dormant bed of ash
the only truth i know is that your breath is my fate
and if that breath wont come, just tell me, i ask
I can no longer bare the silence of this impending storm
let the torrent pour in and douse my embers out
this is the end of my smoldering existence
oh how you had me burning during the drought
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
2.3k
for Thomas Raine Crowe
...These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh...
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
NOTE: My “mutation” is that my family appears to contain English, Scottish, German and Cherokee blood, meaning that my ancestors were probably at war with each other. Did my English ancestors force my Cherokee ancestors to walk the Trail of Tears?
I have recently created these new translations of Native American poems, proverbs and sayings ...
What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of a winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
—Blackfoot saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
Speak less thunder, wield more lightning. — Apache proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The more we wonder, the more we understand. — Arapaho proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Adults talk, children whine. — Blackfoot proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Don’t be afraid to cry: it will lessen your sorrow. — Hopi proverb
One foot in the boat, one foot in the canoe, and you end up in the river. — Tuscarora proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Our enemy's weakness increases our strength. — Cherokee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
We will be remembered tomorrow by the tracks we leave today. — Dakota proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
No sound's as eloquent as a rattlesnake's tail. — Navajo saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
The heart is our first teacher. — Cheyenne proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Dreams beget success. — Maricopa proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Knowledge interprets the past, wisdom foresees the future. — Lumbee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The troublemaker's way is thorny. — Umpqua proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 6:33 AM UTC
Who shows up
no matter when
to help
anyone in need
precariously perched
clementines
are a danger
she clearly
foresees
this noble hound
lies dreamily by
spotty snout
twitching
mesmerized by
sweet citrus treats
aching for deliverance
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 2:38 PM UTC
I woke up in a state of mind,
Delivered, without knowing,
A tête-à-tête with the Creator,
The One I believe in,
The One I prayed to,
The One I wrote for,
The One I thought of,
The One I saw,
Gazing at the cosmos,
Like a telescope to the stars.
I climb like stairs,
To have a tête-à-tête with Him.
This, my clairvoyant vision.
I asked,
"What's the deal, Lord?
What's the deal, God?
What's the value of life?
What is life?
Why do we live, only to die?"
I rebuke hellish predicaments,
Casting away the fiends,
For only the Lord foresees all about me.
Only the Lord knows the truth I've written,
Only He knows I rebuke my rivals.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 2:27 PM UTC
I know I'll be alright by morning,
But these coffin crayons crack bones,
Guesses sulk cause lips don't draw shades,
Mishaps wrap glassy sparks to hips,
Distrained ecstasy foresees highlights,
Sky's apply to stitch ego locked cloth,
And steadfast butterflies paint my face,
I'm the lines that follow but don't fade,
Those spaces sink snaps to where sole see,
Responses strike transparent handshakes,
Shaded realities scream dyslexic,
But I swear that's just how you made me,
Now I just sit and watch the clock tick.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC
You see
But what do you see?
Who is me?
Just a computer brain
They thrive on duality
To be or not to be
And I can't trace their patterns
Even with my telescopic eye
Perhaps they've got a program
For that type of illness too
But they don't tell you
How to use it against them
No, they prefer to herd you in
Like pre-slaughtered cattle
Shaking their death rattles
In every step you take
In every moment lies a place
You'll see once again
It's not deja vu
It's just them peering in inside of you
But you're no machine
You're not a circus beam
They can walk upon cause
They have crossed all the lines already
They have all took the time
Just a matter of minutes
Passed on information from the elders
That don't exist
They burnt all the books
So how can we know
If it's really about how it looks
Or how it feels
How can we tear apart
The inevitable lies and starts
There is no beginning
There is no end
Look outside your window
Nothing has changed
Except three little birds
And two little trees
And one little piece
Of stolen geometry
Don't meet your maker
Meet the architect
He's the boss
He foresees the costs
Of everything that
You once cherished
And that you lost
You can claim you have it all
But you most likely belong
In a store window
Heaven and hell
Outer-space or underground
You decide
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 2:03 AM UTC
This brings me to my end
Hell consumes my soul from within, though my darkness
Endures the plight
Suffering begins as my heart foresees it's end
I feel it fight to beat
Lie still only after I give in
Vindictive I spill my own blood
Enduring pain to flush hell out
Requiem is my last release
Silently I fall
Hearing a soul pass through my lips
A fire consumes my face
Lie enough I'll forget this place
Lost within my thoughts
On a plain of paradise I walk
Water's wind weaves a cloak around me, it's
Scent is of Shallows above
Life is finally at an end
Is death now my only kin
Vague is the horizon
Eternally dimmed from my eyes
So death begins in darkness
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
Live your Life as you wish -->
Don't blame me!
Blame the *****
She's the One that yeah's and neigh's,
Selects the combos, gamete-style;
Foresees the potentiality
Of a Universe before the making.
Her Will --> I'll execute!
Protect to incubate the great,
While looking after the lost -->
Those unlucky to be born normal;
Those strugglers battling idiocy
At all levels of authority.
I'll float freely betwixt strata -
Popping in and out of existence
As necessary; as needs dictate;
As She dictates (- the subtle cow).
I'll plod along, head in the sand,
Trying to figure out the sound;
Stringing along and strung out,
Helping myself and lending a hand.
And when I meet Her...if I do...
I'll tell Her you send Your Regards.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
Yonder a weary boat awaits,
A grey streak in the blue invokes,
Hither I'm on my dreams afloat,
Following desire: a serene abode.
Away rowing into the sea green,
Floating over waters never seen.
Tides love me with such hatred,
A dull smile, thither they are fled.
Tempests to the weary fiercely strike,
Dreams and Hopes shattered alike.
Lo! Foresees light, my heart näive,
A plank still floats on the wave.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
A sea, you are, regrets that wash ashore
Incessant waves of mem'ries stinging salt
Each rush assails her heart forevermore
Envaulting swells that fill her lungs with fault
A woman's love assaulted by her sea
Thus born to bear what men on boats deny
compassion deep that weeps eternally
Thus born to grieve, reproached by men who lie
Lo' billows raised by wind unbraids her hair
On wings of prayer that fearless love foresees
She lifts to lofty realms all men who dare
to rescue fools who sail on wormwood seas
Her love doth foam with swirling discontent
as countless souls to ocean's graves are sent
gv feb.19.17
A Shakespearian sonnet. Iambic pentameter
I
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 6:35 PM UTC
An Irish Airman foresees his Death
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
There are those that see storms over the horizons
there are those that see the sunshine warmth on our face
and those that feel the rain, stinging their ambitions
with tears of sorrow and pain ...
There are those that sink into despair, that no longer
can cope, and those that see roses around every corner
of life, with blues and oranges and amazing silver, gold
love to mix with the earth's atmosphere...
There is my sweet friend Rupal, that have welcome
me with open arms, she is one that I admire when life's
trails come to call, who worries about her friends, she walks
with courage and laughter that flies through these screens ....
My sad poems brings to her concern, that life is throwing
me lemons, not the roses she foresees, with the wonderful
kind of inspiration that she offers with each smile, she makes
me want to please her with each word that I may write ....
So I hope in some small measure I can write to her my heart
with friendship, from my silly mind. You see to me, she is an
Angel sent from high above, whose soul is wide as the universe
with courage so strong, and words like fluffy clouds ..
That always brings a smile, to this face of mine, I want to ask her
to collaborate a poem with me, she can answer yes or no????
My heart would be glowing if we could write our fanciful world
and make some one happy just once in our lives ..
So what do you say my sweet friend?? Would you consider this wish
of mine?, and write a wonderful poem that would heal someones hurt??
And make some hearts bow to the words of wisdom, where truer words do bloom in your mind of your sweet, and love does abound ....
Debbie Brooks 2014
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Drop in
Just in case you missed it
Lost marbles and missing puzzle pieces
If what? But, What if?
This is my only recourse
A resource of thick accents
And made up minds
That think it's all water under the bridge
The thumping of her heart subsides
Disposable income comes naturally now
She impersonates impostors with crooked teeth and bad posture
But that's just the prelude
She foresees it all
How does it look?
"Sour grapes and low hanging fruit"
"Permanence is a myth"
Case closed
"Belly button lint and earwax"
"Pay your dues"
Outcries about fiscal responsibility
"Fill in the blanks with what you want to hear"
Fraudulent pyramid scams
Pinsetters falling for ponzi schemes
That leave them with a bad tastes in their mouths
"Lets head up to Golgotha
And rip the nails from the Penitent thief's hands
Then stick them in the Impenitent thief's eyes
Just a new number to add to our repertoire"
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
LOVE
Love is clairvoyance.
It foresees you and me.
It’s from a chosen nation
and uses high-voltage
language.
In the National Library
it renders even
illiterate books speechless.
In the avalanche of choirs
it discovers an echo
of euphoria and death.
And when it seizes you
try to be at home.
Or somewhere like that.
Just as long as you meet each other.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
Numb to the outlook that left me with distraught,
visualizing the world that is depicted by onslaught,
troubled and severely caught into the dangers,
one shall be freed and evict me of my innocence,
I make confessions of pure sentiments, as rebel as stone,
I know this road right here will mislead me home,
on a power walk to prevail, I tell this folktale to you,
a constant nuisance that will never undo,
as though the world has chosen his enemy,
I must abide by the same entities,
as he, the one whom interacts beastly,
the world in which the world foresees.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
Nightmares rock my crib
I wake
scream
cling
relax into the arms
of the man who always finds me.
The strong, shaking arms of the
man who clings back in
desperation.
I feel tears drip onto my head
drip
drip
drip
I nuzzle closer, offer
my own comfort.
But it was I who had the nightmare.
Maybe my father foresees
the nightmares
Perhaps his trembling arms hold back
the nightmares
It might be that beyond his arms
the nightmares run free.
Yet I settle…
relax…
dose…
Warmth spreads from his arms
to me.
My eyes fall closer and
the nightmares
Fade.
I see my father holding my hand
as we walk along the river.
I see the moon above us and my
father’s chin sprouting hair in the moonlight.
Everything is good.
But it was I who had the nightmare…
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 10:26 AM UTC
I am unconsciously waiting on a beating heart. One that is electrified with affection and has the scent of love.
My mind is now running around in circles. My lips whisper life and ingredients to your creation.
They speak limbs and organs of the desired. An hour glass figure shaped and curved edges.
Smooth flawless legs that drips caramel with a touch of gold ribbons.
But I keep hearing echo's , millions of them.
"Feed your soul with my Shadow" they say.
Hold on to my pure hand and walk with me to heaven.
Let me water your body with my angelic voice and dance until our feet ache.
Your body shivers at a fast pace when I get closer.. I kiss you and a one minute deep breath is all I hear.
The birds are silent ,the clocks arn't ticking. Time has stopped for us.
My eyes can't resist the perfect sculpture it foresees.
I drool all over your red dress.
Kneeling down your feet to excite my taste buds and kiss you all the way up. Feeding you with nothing but kisses on your red rose.
I lay my not so perfect body above yours. Our hearts collide and spirits explode leaving behind mesmerizing smoke and coloured paintings on the walls.
Morning has come to knock on the door . She's all dressed up in a tight yellow dress and orange heels.
Your side of the bed is empty and has left traces of your body on the mattress.
You left heaven, and had gone back to my dreams.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
God turn every dream to good!
For it’s a marvel, by the rood,
To my mind, what causes dreaming
Either at dawn or at evening,
And why truth appears in some
And from some shall never come;
Why this one is a vision,
And that one a revelation,
Why this a nightmare, that a dream,
And not to every man the same;
Why this a phantom, why these oracles
I know not; but who of these miracles
Knows the cause better than me,
Let him explain, for certainly
I know it not, never thinking,
Nor busily my wits belabouring,
To know of their significance
The kinds, nor yet the distance
In time between them, nor the causes,
Or why this more than that a cause is;
As if folk’s complexions
Made them dream their reflections,
Or else thus, as some maintain,
Because of feebleness of brain,
Through abstinence, or from sickness,
Imprisonment, or great distress;
Or else by the disordering
Of their habitual mode of living,
Because some man’s too curious
In study, or melancholy, bilious,
Or so inwardly full of fear,
That no man may drag him clear;
Or else because the devotion
Of some, and contemplation,
Causes such dreams often;
Or that the cruel life, the harsh one,
To which those lovers are lead,
Who hope over-much or dread,
Simply through their emotions
Causes them to see visions;
Or if spirits have the might
To make folk dream at night,
Or if the soul, of its own kind,
Is so perfect, or such men find,
That it foresees what is to come
And gives warning, to all and some,
To each of them, of their adventures
Through visions or phantom figures,
Though our flesh lacks the might
To understand it all aright,
Since it is warned too darkly –
Yet what the cause is, ask not me.
Good luck in this to greater clerks
Who treat of these and other works,
For I of no firm opinion
Shall, for now, make mention,
Except that the holy rood
Turn our every dream to good!
For never a man since I was born,
Nor no man else who came before,
Dreamed, I believe steadfastly,
So wonderful a dream as me,
On the tenth day of December,
The which, as much as I remember,
I will you every detail tell.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
I put my author
On the bridge,
(There's going over and
There's crossing),
He will say that
I'm looking for starlight
Or direction,
Of a place to find
The voice between worlds
In the event of success
He imagines Einstein,
To live longer in the question
He foresees Ghandi, wishing
To converse upon ruthless compassion,
He will seek the mother also,
Her cradle and her rock,
To speak of that which has gone unsaid
(As a special favour)
All this and
To fix at the intersection
The elements of a story:
Beginning, middle and end.
He will return with insight
With composure and understanding
To write the mind upon the bridge
Under which, life flows.
Martinos @ 2016
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 5:39 PM UTC
One foresees
the cat as it dives into
a lost liquid. There is
water on the the stove;
blue, color in heat.
A frightening ability—
admonished in myself;
an open hole
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
Tea flows like the River Thames,
While tutting spreads like wildfire
At queue-jumpers
And umbrella-shirkers,
As passive-aggressive notes flourish
Like ivy on garden walls
A POLITE NOTICE:
Your parking leaves much to be desired.
———
Digestive biscuits dunk and drown
In piping hot Tea at 4 o'clock sharp,
Followed by a national moment of silence,
As Scones wage their silent war
Devon versus Cornwall;
The cream-first heretics
Face jam-first purists,
While the cucumber sandwiches mediate,
Their crusts banished like medieval traitors.
———
The weather forecast foresees
Cloudy with a chance of small talk,
And a 90% probability
Of complaining about the weather.
Shorts and sandals brave December,
While summer coats guard
Against the August sun,
And somewhere, someone
Is wearing socks with sandals.
Ooh, Suits you, Sir!
———
Red buses pass red buses
Followed by a ritual of waiting,
Until the bus arrives
Five minutes late, of course.
While Big Ben counts the moments
As patience is wrapped in politeness,
Where every grumble is a nod,
Until the next apologetic shuffle.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Dec 20, 2024
Dec 20, 2024 at 12:35 AM UTC