"fram" poems
In Nature’s pieces still I see
Some error, that might mended be;
Something my wish could still remove,
Alter or add; but my fair love
Was fram’d by hands far more divine
For she hath ev’ry beauteous line;
Yet I had been far happier,
Had Nature, that made me, made her.
Then likeness might, that love creates,
Have made her love what now she hates;
Yet, I confess, I cannot spare
From her just shape the smallest hair;
Nor need I beg from all the store
Pf heaven for her one beauty more.
She hath too much divinity for me;
Ye gods, teach her some more humanity.
2.9k
Nature, that wahed her hands in milk,
And had forgot to dry them,
Instead of earth took snow and silk,
At Love’s request to try them,
If she a mistress could compose
To please Love’s fancy out of those.
Her eyes he would should be of light,
A violet breath, and lips of jelly;
Her hair not black, nor overbright,
And of the softest down her belly;
As for her inside he’d have it
Only of wantonness and wit.
At Love’s entreaty such a one
Nature made, but with her beauty
She hath fram’d a heart of stone;
So as Love, by ill destiny,
Must die for her whom Nature gave him
Because her darling would not save him.
But Time, which Nature doth despise
And rudely gives her love the lie,
Makes hope a fool, and sorrow wise,
His hands do neither wash nor dry;
But being made of steel and rust,
Turns snow and silk and milk to dust.
The light, the belly, lips, and breath,
He dims, discolors, and destroys;
With those he feeds but fills not death,
Which sometimes were the food of joys.
Yea, Time doth dull each lively wit,
And dries all wantonness with it.
Oh, cruel Time, which takes in trust
Our youth, or joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave
When we have wandered all our ways
Shuts up the story of our days.
2.4k
Some days yu know, mi just don't andastan
How a man can do di tings him do, an see himself a man.
Him seh dat god give im good sense a will and a soul
to know right ting fram wrang ting, to know pit from pothole.
But im covet an steal an shed blood
like a beast. Then im walk inna church
and pray god give im peace.
Is a human condition an a weakness a flesh
Is flaw in im naycha, a thorn in him breast.
But we human creecha, ought betta than best.
Ought draw a distinction from fish and from fowl.
Ought rise above avarice , greed and the rest.
But sometime I feel sure that the writing on wall.
will come to fruition and mankind will fall.
Is a small part of hu-man sunk deep in we core
what comes up and sprout wings and carry us shore.
Is that thing there, part spirit, part will, part divine.
What pull us from struction then skitter, then soar.
Then beat wings in hubris like Icarus lore.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 3:42 AM UTC
The village pump is where she was stationed
Her purpose in life, to glean information
Every morsel of 'news' she'd greedily savour
Though reluctant to empty her head, to fill up her neighbour's
That mucky young hussy's expecting you'll find
I'm certain I know who did it this time
He bought a bike, the crafty young fella
And no good came on it Doris I tell ya
He put one in Fram in the family way
And thas a good fifteen mile away
And if you ask me, he's too fond of his sister
If there's a young'un who's willing round here he'd not miss her
So lock up your daughter do she'll be the next
He'll be snouting round here before long I expect
And look at poor Bob, they say he's frustrated
They reckon his hip bone is half discolated
Same as old **** see him hick with his stick
All wore up and not sixty as yit
You don't look wholey clever yourself
Doris you really should keep an eye on your health
And Grandma Green has took to her bed
I'll drop by there today, 'cos same as I say
You're a long time dead
Well I should be going, I've said too much already
Cheerio now, and do you goo steady
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 3:43 PM UTC
Stå fram, du, som skjules i mørket.
Stå fram inn i verden.
Det kan være uhyggelig;
Det kan være urolig;
Det kan oppvekke gru innafor deg
som du ikke visste var til;
Det kan føles som om jordas lunger
puster deg inn og spytter deg ut;
Men sånt har det alltid vært.
En vismann har sagt før:
Syn uten handling er kun en drøm.
Handling uten syn fordriver tiden.
Syn med handling kan forandre verden.
Reis deg opp; ta på livet, grip tilværelse,
møt folk, snakk språk, drøm sagn,
bygg ting, slå deg ned, få barn,
les, gråt, le, rop, løp, hopp, ta feil, gå deg vill;
så blir ekte tilfredstillelse til.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 5:52 PM UTC
Se hur tiden flyger
Se hur den tar dag efter dag
Ringarna i stammen växer
Jag lär väl vänja mig om ett tag
Solstänkta dagar fann vi
Långt bort från hem och hus
Vi besteg den klippiga kusten
Ingen kommer nånsin veta hur
Du nådde fram tillslut
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
Flint and flight: Flinta och flyta:
Nature curls, open, Naturen lockas, öppnas,
The unwinding. Nystas av.
We walk, not straight lined Vi går, ej rakt fram
But in slow curves, Men i långsamma kurvor,
Towards a met horizon. Mot en mötande horisont.
To breathe, not in flumes, Att andas, inte i rännor,
But breath invisible, Men med osynlig andedräkt,
As warmth freezes winter. Såsom värmen fryser vintern.
All root and branch Alla rötter och grenar
Strive to hold up Strävar att hålla upp
A falling sky. En fallande himmel.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
Flint and flight: Flinta och flyta:
Nature curls, open: Naturen lockas, öppnas:
Unwinding. Nystas av.
We walk, not straight, lined Vi går, ej rakt, fram
In slow curves, I långsamma kurvor,
A met horizon. En mötande horisont.
Breath, in flumes, Andetag, i rännor,
Breath invisible, Osynlig andedräkt,
Warmth freezes winter. Värmen fryser vintern.
All roots and branches Alla rötter och grenar
Striving to hold up: Strävar att hålla upp:
falling sky. fallande himmel.
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 7:02 AM UTC
Her står jeg i all min nakenhet
Skriver dikt på norsk og greier
Jeg vet ikke helt hva jeg skal si
Hvordan jeg skal sette ord på det
Engelsk ville fått dette til å se fancy ut
Med kompliserte ord og uttrykk
Men her kommer det rå og nakne
Rotete formulert, uten rim og slikt
Du får fram en helt ny person i meg
En person jeg selv må bli kjent med
For dette er ikke likt noe jeg vet om
Dette er alt helt nytt og rart for meg
Følelser jeg ikke har hatt før
En tvil om hva jeg egentlig vil
Jeg vet ikke lenger faktisk
Noe jeg alltid har trodd jeg har gjort
Det er mye du ikke vet
Mye du ikke bør få vite
Jeg vil ikke ødelegge deg
Livredd for at det skal skje
Gi det tid, så vil jeg skjønne
Hva jeg selv innerst inne vil
Jeg vet hva jeg vil ville
Men det er ikke alltid rett
Dette er som en ny sang
Som jeg må lære å synge
Og spille på piano perfekt
Før den store framvisningen
Er det mulig at tiden vil si
At solo er formen for meg
Eller kanskje det er på tide
Å gjøre det til en duett?
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
Bleak and windswept, my errant ramblings
led me to some time-forgotten vale
wherein a desolate mansion stood; its mullioned windows pale
against the ebbing day, yet from within illumin’d,
as by dancing fiends at play.
Fram’d by gloomy trees, stone pinnacles leaned awry,
and, through o’ergrown gardens,
that flanked a weed-strewn pathway to its rotting door,
a sleet-cold wind keened for lost souls in torment
‘cross the desolate and cloud-wracked moor.
With dying Phoebus now a blood-red smear upon the western hills
I so resolved to shelter here out of the coming chill.
Foreboding dragged my every step and
cawing rooks mocked overhead as if to say:
"Go, stranger, for you'll find no welcome here!"
Along the gravelled path I trod and beat the door with blackthorn rod;
it opened slowly; in I walked with beating heart and ne'er a thought
for all the world I'd left behind, as rain and sleet and howling wind
blew shut the door with crack of doom,
and left me peering through the gloom!
Around a table there they sat 'midst putrid food and cobwebbed vats
of mouldering wine; their bony mouths gaped vacant
as they grinned and laughed through time.
I swayed and swooned as in a trance, my own existence thrown by chance
into that hellish company, who revelled, foul decay’d gentry!
And then a fearful thunderclap's reverberations
brought me back to sanity, I screamed and fled
to where the hillsides cried and bled;
with staring eye and hair turn’d white,
I ran into the raving night.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 5:11 AM UTC