"gaily" poems
my girl’s tall with hard long eyes
as she stands,with her long hard hands keeping
silence on her dress,good for sleeping
is her long hard body filled with surprise
like a white shocking wire, when she smiles
a hard long smile it sometimes makes
gaily go clean through me tickling aches,
and the weak noise of her eyes easily files
my impatience to an edge—my girl’s tall
and taut, with thin legs just like a vine
that’s spent all of its life on a garden-wall,
and is going to die. When we grimly go to bed
with these legs she begins to heave and twine
about me,and to kiss my face and head.
45.6k
It was early nineteen thirty four
The world was set to change
Europe was on fire
It was time to rearrange
Poland was the first stop
The German Army on the move
So we left for America
I hope you did approve
You came with me to Jersey
On a trip across the sea
You've guarded all my secrets
Known by only you and me
You used to spin quite gaily
Now you just stand there en pointe
You're my clipped wing little angel
That's the name I shall anoint
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
I sit here and remember
All the treasures you once hid
You've still some trinkets in there
Some from when I was a kid
Your tu tu is all tattered
The silk lining frayed and torn
But, you've held together nicely
But, I guess we're both quite worn
Your lipstick isn't red now
I hear your music in my head
It hasn't played for 50 years
I just remember it instead
The music gave up playing
You were slightly over wound
But, you still twirled and kept dancing
Even though there was no sound
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
I've told you more than anyone
Than I have ever known
We've been together now forever
You're the most precious thing I own
You've been with me for two husbands
And you've seen my kids pass on
There's just me and you, my dancing girl
All the rest of them are gone
Your paint is chipped and cracked
Your pony tail is broken too
If I still can recollect now
In the fall of fifty two
Your spring is rusted tightly
You need a hand to stand up right
But, then again, I do as well
And most days it's quite the fight
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
Charms and little trinkets
Plastic jewellery, real as well
Secrets of a child
Secrets you would never tell
I am now moving to December
Of my calendar of years
Soon my life will end and
There's no one left to shed me tears
I sit here and I wonder
What shall become of you
My Thumbelina Ballerina
In your dancing dress of blue
You started as a music box
You are not used as that no more
But, Thumbelina Ballerina
Will you dance for me once more?
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
Upon the cardamom hills, mountain goats,
ace acrobats, above the high rocks gaily prance,
I fell in love with the coy mountain mist, silvery dense
transforming each second, her wizardry in display,
her white cloak was spread above green tea gardens.
she sprung down in a hurry to meet me, excited
how soothing is her soft caresses, impassioned kiss
from the does she has learned a lot I can very well gather,
the fear and the flight to keep danger at arm's length,
purple sun, was curiously peeping down from the hills,
mountain mist pulling spicy cardamom scent around her
whispered to me, "Don't tell any one I am here
before cruel sun chases me out of the hills, let me
hide and play with the little ones of mountain goats
in the cardamom valley where he can never reach"
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
JOHN KEATS’ LAST POEM WRITTEN IN ROME ON 21st February 1821*
(From The Imagination Of The Writer)
I am fading, fading fast, Fanny, my love eternal
Far away from you and home
I am dying, the hours I am counting
In what I liken to my grave that is Rome.
All that I seek in this dark loneliness is solace
Moments of respite thinking
Of you and our past exchanges of affection
Dissolved by fate with our hopes descending
Unto the oblivion that had been pre-ordained
Tears are comfortless and what is to come
Is but this pain that seared love must bear unknown
Only self-felt and suffered without end that renders my heart totally numb.
I can’t understand and it defies reason
The human heart should bear so much pain
While the tranquil stars hold so steadfast and the song
Of the nightingale drifts so sublimely in every sweet refrain.
Youth once gaily clothed in such beauty but now
Grows spectre-thin and here is but fret and fever
Where the old and infirm hang their heads down
In tearful reminiscences of happy days that have fled forever.
And now, my ***** my only love, you alone in this
The saddest schemes of things should share
This my life so wretched , lost, unfulfilled and joy-bereft
I beg forgiveness, only remember my poems—sorrow let us silently bear.
John Keats one of the greatest English romantic poets died on 23rd February 1821 in Rome, aged twenty-five
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
Aura,
My lips are pressed against your ear.
Listen carefully; do not forget.
Deliver my message swiftly.
Dryads,
Sway gently, laugh gaily.
Fill the sky with red and green.
Bloom with my unspoken emotions.
Selene,
Beautiful with all the imperfections.
Darkness falls and you listen.
Know my dreams and pains.
Chiron,
Shin bright up high and counsel.
Helios,
Explode in magnificence; weave a golden cloak.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
If you go down to the woods today
You're sure of a big surprise
If you go down to the woods today
You might even meet your demise
Because today’s the day they all have their picnic.
Every last one who's been cruel to you is sure of a treat today
There's lots of innocent thoughts to ruin and many dreams crush
Anywhere possible, where nobody sees they'll taunt and slice as long as they please
That's the way they all have their picnic
Picnic time for them all
They're all having a lovely time today
Watching, waiting for the perfect time...
They see you gaily gad about
You loved to play and shout
You never had any cares
But at six o'clock your Mummy and Daddy can't take you home at all
'Cause all you are is their dead little victim.
If you go down to the woods to day,
You better not go alone.
It's alluring down in the woods today,
But safer to stay at home.
For every bully or abuser or hater or cheater ever there was will gather there for certain
Because...
Today’s the day the ones that ruined your life will have their picnic...
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers and tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
No rays from the holy Heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently—
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free—
Up domes—up spires—up kingly halls—
Up fanes—up Babylon-like walls—
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers—
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.
There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol’s diamond eye—
Not the gaily-jewelled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass—
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea—
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.
But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave—there is a movement there!
As if the towers had ****** aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide—
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow—
The hours are breathing faint and low—
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence.
4.9k
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny
Earned for his master heaps of money,
Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey,
And cheerful if the day was sunny.
Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood
He tramped, and on some common stood;
There, cottage children circling gaily,
He in their midmost footed daily.
Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle
Were quite enough his brain to puzzle:
But like a philosophic bear
He let alone extraneous care
And danced contented anywhere.
Still, year on year, and wear and tear,
Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear.
A day came when he scarce could prance,
And when his master looked askance
On dancing Bear who would not dance.
To looks succeeded blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon;
He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon,
Capered in fury fast and faster.
Ah, could he once but hug his master
And perish in one joint disaster!
But deafness, blindness, weakness growing,
Not fury's self could keep him going.
One dark day when the snow was snowing
His cup was brimmed to overflowing:
He tottered, toppled on one side,
Growled once, and shook his head, and died.
The master kicked and struck in vain,
The weary drudge had distanced pain
And never now would wince again.
The master growled; he might have howled
Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled.
So gnawed by rancor and chagrin
One thing remained: he sold the skin.
What next the man did is not worth
Your notice or my setting forth,
But hearken what befell at last.
His idle working days gone past,
And not one friend and not one penny
Stored up (if ever he had any
Friends; but his coppers had been many),
All doors stood shut against him but
The workhouse door, which cannot shut.
There he droned on,--a grim old sinner,
Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner,
Unpitied quite, uncared for much
(The rate-payers not favoring such),
Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare;
Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear
Danced back, a haunting memory.
Indeed, I hope so, for you see
If once the hard old heart relented,
The hard old man may have repented.
4.6k
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
He was never my classmate,
Neither was he my schoolmate,
As we have met on OkCupid,
Which is where we got suited.
He soon became my tablemate,
Then got promoted to bedmate,
Ranging from late-night nosh
To some naughty oh-my-gosh.
He was my almost-roommate,
Now, a hopeful housemate,
Since he would visit me daily
And keep me company gaily.
He was frequently my seatmate,
As well as invaluable playmate,
For we traveled places together
And cloyingly wrestled each other.
He has always been my helpmate,
And is presently my best teammate,
As he has cheered me up from afar,
As we chat as if there is no au revoir.
He will one day become my inmate,
Plus my hard-working workmate,
Since we will both have mini-me’s
Forcing us to slog away on our knees.
He is undoubtedly my soulmate,
One who is to become my lifemate,
For he is a romantic yet **** geek,
A keeper with charms all too unique.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
Today my long tall tulip fell
His pearl-pink bulb had dared to swell
But blushen hung now like a bell
His slim and slender stem once towering
Arced to earth with posture cowering
Burdened by his glory flowering
How quickly he had seemed to climb
To bask in sudden sunlit prime
The longest flower, the shortest time
His adolescent orb once closed
With youthful promise, then exposed
More beauty than we all supposed
And eager straight he stretched to see
The furtive squirrels’ revelry
And blue jays jostling high in tree
His handsome head became a hand
Outstretched to welcome wide and grand
We who’d pale beside him stand
But now his palm points to the ground
Where loyal subjects once were found
A fallen king with withering crown
I saw you flower – be sure of this
Your scented cheeks I bent to kiss
Nor did a day of beauty miss
Though brief your waxing and your wane
Your colours left the purest stain
That in my mind’s eye does remain
In all the world where flowers grow
We sallow souls rush to and fro
Preoccupied, we miss the show
But when we pause to smell the blooms
Held captive by arresting plumes
Forget the sundry that consumes
Thus precious harried minutes take
Our reverie to gaily break
I noticed you -- make no mistake
I studied you that rare of gift
You gave my care-worn spirit lift
Then cut its soaring hopes adrift
Today my long tall tulip fell
Surrendering to Nature’s knell
And left us where he deigned to dwell
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
Master went a-hunting,
When the leaves were falling;
We saw him on the bridle path,
We heard him gaily calling.
'Oh master, master, come you back,
For I have dreamed a dream so black!'
A glint of steel from bit and heel,
The chestnut cantered faster;
A red flash seen amid the green,
And so good-bye to master.
Master came from hunting,
Two silent comrades bore him;
His eyes were dim, his face was white,
The mare was led before him.
'Oh, master, master, is it thus
That you have come again to us?'
I held my lady's ice-cold hand,
They bore the hurdle past her;
Why should they go so soft and slow?
It matters not to master.
3.5k
There’s a sense of something really good this Christmas,
There’s a feeling in the air that it’s OK
The anticipation’s there about ….a happiness out there
And the weather outlook’s brilliant for the day.
Mother’s planning a big roast for Christmas dinner
There’ll be sparkles and bright spangles on the tree,
Underneath there’s quite a pile, gaily wrapped to bring a smile
And a kiss beneath the mistletoe for me?
Spare a thought for all poor souls who have nobody
Gift-wrap a parcel or two for the disowned,
To make some unknown person smile advances Christmas by a mile
And really brightens up the prospects for the un-homed.
It’s a day to gift good wishes to your loved ones
Share some cold beers in the sunshine on the deck,
And when we’ve eaten to excess and helped mum clean up the mess
There will be time to take a snooze…and what the heck!
So to all our friends, across this world, aplenty,
May we take this opportunity to say
We hope your Christmas be as good as we know it really should
And may Santa gift you happiness ….to stay!
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Love from Janet and Marshal.
“Foxglove”
Taranaki, New Zealand.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
The Seashore Gathering
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On the seashores of endless worlds, earth's children converge.
The infinite sky is motionless, the restless waters boisterous.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children gather to dance with joyous cries and pirouettes.
They build sand castles and play with hollow shells.
They weave boats out of withered leaves and laughingly float them out over the vast deep.
Earth's children play gaily on the seashores of endless worlds.
They do not know, yet, how to cast nets or swim.
Divers fish for pearls and merchants sail their ships, while earth's children skip, gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They are unaware of hidden treasures, nor do they know how to cast nets, yet.
The sea surges with laughter, smiling palely on the seashore.
Death-dealing waves sing the children meaningless songs, like a mother lullabying her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with the children, smiling palely on the seashore.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children meet.
Tempests roam pathless skies, ships lie wrecked in uncharted waters, death wanders abroad, and still the children play.
On the seashores of endless worlds there is a great gathering of earth's children.
Originally published by The Chained Muse. My translation is based on an untitled text in Bangla (Bengali) first published in 1912 and known as "60" due to its numerical placement. Tagore made history by becoming the first Asian to win the Nobel Prize for Literature the following year. Keywords/Tags: seashore, gathering, children, sky, sea, water, dance, sand castles, shells, boats, play, nets, swim, fish, pearls, ships, waves, songs, mother, lullaby, baby, cradle, tempests, death
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 11:03 PM UTC
I love...
The way she smiles at the ground,
Whenever shes embarrassed.
The way that she makes funny faces,
When I take pictures.
The way she laughs at my stupid jokes.
How she says "I love you.",
And means it.
How she trusts me with the most important things in her life.
How she let me kiss away her tears.
How she turned to me,
When she needed someone to be there for her.
How she lets me kiss her cuts,
To make them better.
The way she holds my hand,
And leads me down the hall,
And marches on gaily,
Ignoring the comments people make.
The way she snuggles into me when we dance.
The way shes not afraid to be honest to herself,
And be who,
And what she wants to be,
Not what society wants her to be.
The way she loves me.
Her.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
There, high aloft the flaming sky
Ablaze with the sun's intense heat
A boy, calmly, gaily did fly
The world a globe beneath his feet
The sky an eye of molten blue
The fields green blooming in gold
Of wheat and grains, the ploughman drew
Whilst calm ocean waves did unfold
And crashed against the mighty shore
Studded with rocks, and moist and cool
Where sat upon the golden floor
The fisherman near the dull pool
Trying throughout the weary day
Catch any fish, a meal to serve
His cursed stomach which growled fray
And twined in locks each of his nerve
And on that pool, a fearsome ship
With azure flags, a dreary mast
Most quietly, quickly did skip
The tremulous ocean waves, past
Stealing the food the fisherman
Yearned to catch but never did he
And Icarus flew higher than
His father had told him to be
Out of his thrill, his bliss, his joy
He tried to claim the sun, the skies
Only his tries made him the boy
To fall into his dark demise
And as he rose, he rose most high
He lost his wings, like bright the oars
Once pedaling throughout the sky
Melted away, he lost his course
And suddenly his feathers flew
Like pollen in the midst of spring
And down into the profound blue
He went on fast and tumbling
His cries for pleas were never heard
Ne'er spoken from his withered throat
And down just like an injured bird
He tumbled and drowned near the boat
What marvelous a sight as seen
A boy tumbling from out the sky
Ne'er the ploughman plowing the green
Did see him, he was left to die
Tumbling further beneath the brine
As Daedalus flew high around
“O, gods, where is the son of mine,
There is no sign, there is no sound
Of his warm breath, his lively beat
That chimed away in gaiety
Where did he go, did his end meet
O, what have you have done to me!”
And so he flew around, away
Fisher saw nix, the boat passed by
And life continued day by day
As Icarus was left to die
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
*She is essence of la bella donna,
herein lies the paradigm mid
***** pearls & nightshade's poison,
exhales echoes of dark crescent moons &
sandalwood's perfumed incense
burning sentience of duality's seasonings
'tween contradiction 'neath her own breath,
born to gypsy souls 'twixt a solar eclipse
she worried naught what society thought,
her poetry was incalculably beyond measure
neither less than or more than incurable,
rendered nuances as a badge of significant honor
gaily whirling beyond distinctive contrasts,
'neath importance of individuality's calling
amidst her own unique indulgent nature,
dazzling sensuality's intrinsic whimsy*
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
Light hearted William twirled
his November moustaches
and, half dressed, looked
from the bedroom window
upon the spring weather.
Heigh-ya! sighed he gaily
leaning out to see
up and down the street
where a heavy sunlight
lay beyond some blue shadows.
Into the room he drew
his head again and laughed
to himself quietly
twirling his green moustaches.
3.1k
{Body}I stand tall
straight-backed, head high
on high heels, bright and sharp
sophisticated
smiling gaily at passing people
meeting their eyes with sunglasses
so that they might never meet mine.
a politician's smile
{Mind}I crouch low
doubled over, head bent
on concrete, cold and hard
meekly
looking up at onlookers
that they might see that
my eyes, bared to the world,
hold tears.
a dreamer's heart
{Soul}I run wildly
arms wide, head back
on soft grass, lush and vibrant
free
laughing with the world
in my bare feet.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
Wand'ring
Lost and alone
Through a dense and murky wood
Far from familiar shores
A damp, deep weariness
Pervades my soul
As I search
For the tell-tale signs of passage
My quarry has evaded me thus far
The path weaving
Between the roots
Of ancient, gnarled oaks
I pause and wonder
At the futility of my quest
Might he have slipped from my grasp
For good and all
Ne'er to be seen again
I laugh derisively
The cynic rears its ugly head
I must keep up hope
Else why go on
Steeling myself
I begin to move once more
I turn my thoughts
To years past
And a wave of bitter nostalgia
Washes over me
I can almost hear the faint echo
Of their singing
The high pitched
Tra-la-la
As they went gaily on their way
I can hear his voice in the lead
See his blue skin
And white beard
A tear rolls down my cheek
I sink to my knees
I cry out
Papa Smurf!
Where are you?
But, alas, there is no reply
And so I journey on
In search of all I've lost
Knowing deep inside
That it can never be again.
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 11:23 AM UTC
Nobility divine fills gaps of transcendence,
Soars to and from the throne heavenly,
Exalts morals near the king of ascendance,
Patrolling the good, and sons of the seventy.
A duty forgotten, replaced with dependence,
On prayers rarely heard, and logic of a herd -
Divinity is far in absence; man in attendance,
The book is a third, and teachings are blurred.
Andeliviuan corruption supposedly erased:
The creation rotten of Sariel, wanders gaily.
The holy and fallen angel’s doing embraced,
By the clay beings caressing evil like a frailly.
By God not, who from heaven him displaced.
Yet, the legacy of the wrong stands humanly,
In Thailand, America, Palestine, and all graced -
A grace of sinfulness celestial and worldly.
Religion is the poor’s only ultimate truth,
the rich’s side hustle, and the rulers’ tool;
It is the loss of power that defiles the sooth,
The one the poor has not, but does the fool.
Robbers’ servants, bread crumbs consumers,
Toothless **** dogs, emaciated lost tramps,
Little blind pawns, vultures’ puppets, tumours,
And wrenches they are, the upper hand’s lambs.
If only Raguel’s judgements fall upon man,
Raphael’s punishment beautifies this existence,
Gabriel’s wrath makes not all humans ane,
And Michael saves us, the Sarahs, in assistance.
In the heart deepened with old repression,
That mounts with plenitude of filtered feels,
Resides a universe yearning for expression,
In a meat clay who feeds on calories of meals.
Man, in the genesis, in the light, in the dark,
In prosperity, in turmoil, triumphed with vices;
vileness, abuse, wreckage is our sole mark,
On this planet whose population is in slices.
Oct 21, 2022
Oct 21, 2022 at 5:18 AM UTC
I don’t like you
But I love you.
I can hear you asking me
How can that possibly be?
You either love me
Or you hate me.
But that really isn’t reality.
Your behavior is ******* me.
It’s true, I love you
But, things you do
Are some actions I hate
Quite obnoxious of late;
You carry on badly
And often quite madly.
I don’t want you around then.
Come back when sane again.
The you that I like
Has taken a hike
And left behind a spoiled brat
Who has no idea where it’s at.
You once were sweet
As anyone could meet
Then you fell for your own hype
And I never enjoy that type.
No, I don’t like you
But I do love you
And that makes it really tough
But loving you is not enough
To see you daily
And act all gaily
When I can’t stand what you do.
Because I really don’t like you.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old—
This knight so bold—
And o’er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow—
“Shadow,” said he,
“Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?”
“Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,”
The shade replied,
“If you seek for Eldorado!”
2.8k
Father, Son, Mechanic…
Man, I’ve wanted to talk to you – really talk to you – for some time now.
to see your face in front of me, instead of dangling from necklaces,
or hanging, melancholy, over sexless couples’ beds.
I’ve spent a lot of time reading all that stuff you wrote (supposedly),
and I’ve enjoyed it, Man, I have.
but I keep wanting it to be a letter, when in the end it’s just
a bipartisan explanation – an engineer’s guide to
building a pretty vehicle around a faulty engine.
I always see you, arms spread,
sprawled across the older bitter-america’s steering wheel.
my mama would tease me, saying you’d want me to help some day.
but you and your cronies drove me like a beat-down El Camino,
joyfully taking me through wrong turns and bumpy streets
waiting for my chassis to split.
and once I ran out of gas to offer, you refused to touch me at all,
letting me rot in your cobweb garage.
and all those ******* in turtlenecks and polos popped,
they’ve gleefully branded your logo on their chemical biceps
and gaily explain how close you were.
how they knew you like no one else did,
how you guys didn’t have a connection, but a relationship.
people should only let their mechanics touch their cars, though,
and keep their innards free of oily fingers.
to be honest, I don’t think I’ll be coming back to this establishment again.
it’s a little too clean for my taste, and your prices are way to high
especially when all you get is a little peace of mind and a sense of humbled grandeur.
don’t worry about the car, though – you can keep it.
you’ve sort of spoiled all its good intentions,
so I’ll be buying a new one sometime soon.
I guess I’ll be taking a taxi.
No, actually.
I’ll hitchhike home.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC
melancholy blanketed the whites
scarred voices muffled by
a ****** mind.
an avalanche stuck in my soul
severer than a bee at a forked road
how confused!
red-cheeked petals and afternoon birds glare
in confusions at the footsteps :
unbalance, shaded, muted!
the green umbrella's warm, so scorchingly cold!
all embittered, by solemn beams of the soulless sun.
their eyes widen,
for they had never seen such lone,
for such lone, rare, is forbid to the sons of nature,
never belong to happy child's arms,
that dreams in a mother's charm.
grieving droughts in the air and grass,
no dews, why!,
yawned the madden, soporific rabbit
Ah, so wild.
the windless noontime cross, my quivers stopped, mild.
lashes waxed, blacken like a coal,
mind stuck in a haze, or maybe a threatening maze.
stiffness of the air injected to my nostrils
into my white tongue they will soak, like perfumes to a clothe.
Selene will gaze angrily at this and say,
why no, it shouldn't be in there!
the midnight orchids waver and frown.
soon the frothing dreams peter,
but the bolded letters in a white board stay,
my chair stays.
creaks of an abominable burden became a din.
The smudges of grey-white dust I smelt
hover gaily in the air of pompous breath.
spellbound by the stagnant languor,
mazy, in hallucinations of the heat and homesick.
I sought the fount of hypocrisy and vile,
my hiding nonchalances rosen
(towards a flock of friends)
and loathes to an abominable sun frozen
(I wished it to die!)
Tilted to the windows,
I saw nothing, but fatal secrets of a heart rosed
like window dust to a nose.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC