"gentleness" poems
He is the tumultuous ocean,
The twisting, rolling sea
That feigns a certain gentleness
Until its rage breaks free
So vast and so unending
And limitless in worth
I took him once for granted
As I wandered through the surf.
Without the tumulus ocean
Without its rolling seas
Without the tide that tosses me
And never sets me free
The arid, fallow earth would crack
Beneath my burning feet
Reminding me of which I lost
And dried up with the heat
But salt leaves me to languish
No sweetness he can quench
Time will only tell from here
If love can fill this trench.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
Sat on a sedan
Spiderman took her hand.
Went down on one knee
And said
Will you marry me?
I cannot face
The rest of eternity
With each generation's
Take on modernity.
It's old fashioned values
I look for and see -
Your confidence,
Common sense,
Your honesty,
Sincerity,
Your quirkiness
And peacableness.
But most of all
Your peerless take on life
Is what does it for me.
Will you be my wife?
Spiderman, Spiderman,
How you do woo!
And you have such qualities
That draw me to you -
Your patience,
Respect,
Your considerable intellect,
Your gentleness,
Strength of mind -
I could go on at length and find
You could be my cobweb?
I could be your fly?
Could you be the man for me
Until the day I die?
What more can I say than
You may have concurred
That I do things my own way.
So can you guess?
Little Miss Muffet Said Yes!
And do you know what?
As they lay there
On that Le Corbusier chair
Without a care in the world -
And you know it's not novel
To be graphic -
They were not afraid at all.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
I am a stranger to myself.
I do not know how to be gentle, compassionate, or loving, to any part of myself.
I have always been able to present myself well in most public situations,
be it work, school, parental obligations, parties.
I can be calm and level-headed.
I am able to problem solve in logical and intelligent ways.
I can be humorous and glamorous when need be.
But it seems as though that power and confidence,
that grace and strength, is only a mask.
I now have more days when that mask feels heavy.
And when I lack the strength to put it on, I have to hide myself.
And I’ve been hiding a lot lately.
I hid yesterday.
I am hiding today.
I hear the words of care that others speak,
but they don’t feel real to me.
Sometimes I can accept their words while knowing
that they do not realize that I am a disgusting person who deserves to be treated badly.
They see what I want them to see.
I watch them interact with the humorous Nita, the intelligent Nita,
and I watch it all from the outside.
I want so much more for myself.
Who is this Nita that is respected by so many?
I want to be loved and to feel love.
I want to be free from the father and the host body.
I desperately wish to be free from them, and not just in a surface way.
I want them out of me forever.
My soul cries out for kindness and gentleness
and yet when it is offered I cannot accept it.
I want to be respected and loved
and yet I do not know how to love or respect myself.
I know how to pretend.
I wrote the book on how to hide your feelings.
I know how to smile, I know how to laugh.
I know that I have been given gifts but I don’t know how to use them.
And the ones who were abused, ***** assaulted, degraded…
they are afraid to dream that there is more to life than this.
They cannot fathom that there exists a world
where they can be loved in a gentle way, touched in a way that does not hurt.
They stopped dreaming a long time ago.
I want to stop fighting so hard,
so much of the time...fighting myself, the therapist
the fighting stubborn one just comes out in full-force at any perceived threat
and I want her to stop fighting when there is no reason to fight.
I want to learn to trust in myself and others.
I want the chaos and confusion inside my mind to clear
and I want some sense of cohesiveness and togetherness inside of me.
I want to believe that there is more to life
than pretending behind an illusion of imaginary togetherness...
more than just feeling ashamed and degraded.
I want to trust that I am allowed to heal.
I want to believe that I am worth the time and the effort it is taking,
and the pain I endure every day.
I want to believe that I am not what they said I am,
that real love actually exists,
and that I am worthy of receiving it.
And even as I write this, there is that voice inside speaking to me,
"But what if you're not worthy, Nita? What if you are what they said?"
She is a big part of me~ she has a loud voice.
And if I don't believe in myself...
how can I convince that part of me that I am good and I am worthy?
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 5:29 AM UTC
I come from sunlight,
The sweeping of leaves,
South London streets,
Lurburnum seeds;
Hot semolina,
A spoonful of jam,
Hands full of gooseberries,
That's who I am.
I come from rose petals,
The sound of the fairs,
The smell of candyfloss
Mist in the air;
I come from warmth,
My parents hands,
Outings to parks,
Both small and grand.
I come from knowledge,
True and false,
From nursery rhymes,
And stories and pictures of God;
I come from gentleness,
A quiet afternoon,
From visions of loveliness,
Sewn on a spool.
I come from two worlds,
With different ways,
A threaded pearl necklace,
And sensible soles
A mother and father,
I think I knew,
I came and I wandered,
I looked at the view.
By Mary **
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
In the darkness of constricting depression
I begged the Lord to give me joy even if it killed me,
and He promised me it most assuredly would,
for this is joy’s mantra:
“Death to self!”
It is simply not possible to know the deepest kind of joy
until we have experienced the anguish of death to self
with a cruel stake of affliction though our hearts.
For it is there on the altar of sacrifice
when we have finally surrendered what is most dear to us,
when we have willingly brought our costliest gifts
to lay humbly at the feet of the King,
that we are raised up to know firsthand His resurrection joy
through the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings.
No one who has ever truly learned that
“to live is Christ and to die is gain”
has ever escaped this path.
Find me even one.
There is nothing quite like rejection to teach us about God’s love,
nothing quite like loss to teach us of His joy,
nothing like storms to teach peace,
nothing like ruined plans to teach patience,
nothing like loneliness to teach kindness,
nothing like failure to teach us of His goodness,
nothing like betrayal to teach faithfulness,
nothing like being completely misunderstood to teach gentleness
and nothing like humiliation to teach us self-control.
Why is this?
Because there is nothing like pain to chase us to Jesus
and to teach us to rely so helplessly on His Spirit’s filling.
And when we have His filling, we will know His fruit.
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
This world is so used to cruelty
that every act of kindness is seen as flirt.
I won't change who I am.
I won't give up my niceness
just because other hearts have forgotten
how gentleness feels like.
Instead I will teach them.
I will make them remember how to be kind.
It's sad that you have to be rude
in order to set a limit.
You can say no
and still be the nicest person in the world.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
to establish an initiative
for protection of gentleness?
follow the patterns of what does call joy in buddhism?
joy is always innocent
I follow your footsteps
through the dark tunnel
in the shimmering light
and wonder what a courage
you bring towards any jeopardy
which hunts you, my queer peer, behind any conner
in this fallocentric world
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
she is strong like no other
demanding to be heard when necessary
while at times listening with gentleness
oh how I admire her
she is brave like no other
standing up for herself
while defending those she loves
oh how I admire her
she is funny like no other
laughing at her own jokes
always keeping me entertained
oh how I admire her
she is smart like no other
learning about life constantly
always teaching with a passion
oh how I admire her
she is following like no other
listening for God’s call
then taking action with courage
oh how I admire her
she is a sister to none other
loving me unconditionally
then guiding me with care
oh how I admire her
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
"YOUR eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning."
And then She:
"Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!"
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
"Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had ****** dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In ***** and hair.
"Ah, do not mourn," he said,
"That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell."
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at their best, there is gentleness in Humanity.
some understanding and, at times, acts of
courage
but all in all it is a mass, a glob that doesn't
have too much.
it is like a large animal deep in sleep and
almost nothing can awaken it.
when activated it's best at brutality,
selfishness, unjust judgments, ******
what can we do with it, this Humanity?
nothing.
avoid the thing as much as possible.
treat it as you would anything poisonous, vicious
and mindless.
but be careful. it has enacted laws to protect
itself from you.
it can **** you without cause.
and to escape it you must be subtle.
few escape.
it's up to you to figure a plan.
I have met nobody who has escaped.
I have met some of the great and
famous but they have not escaped
for they are only great and famous within
Humanity.
I have not escaped
but I have not failed in trying again and
again.
before my death I hope to obtain my
life.
from blank gun silencer - 1994
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Funny the things we recall.
Images that flash through our brain.
Some most vivid for me were of an old man.
Skin like creased parchment paper,
Lined and yellowed with age.
The veins visible just below the surface,
of a thin nearly transparent veneer.
Liver spotted flecks of red,
Charted paths from the toil of many years,
Palms callused forever from a life time of labor.
Big fingers knotted and misshapen,
The two inch tip of one gone missing,
Saw taken, at age sixteen.
Looking at those old hands, one could hardly guess
That still there remained gentleness in their caress.
For an old dog, or a little grandson in need of some
Companionable affection or parental love.
Those aged hands could also make things,
Toy sailboats, and wooden trains,
complete with caboose,
And guard cow catcher.
A cool flute whistle that actually worked,
He said it was like the Indian’s made,
Out Oklahoma way.
And he would know,
He cowboyed there.
His hands taught me to tie my shoes,
Open and close my first pocketknife.
Those same hands could become birds,
rabbits, butterfly's, all sorts of things.
When projected up on the wall,
Silhouetted by a naked back light.
His hands knew magic too,
Pluck silver coins right out of my ears.
His tired face matched his hands,
visual weathered, creased and
wrinkled road maps,
Of 89 years of rugged roads traveled.
Yet, his lively pale green eyes remained
forever fraudulently youthful prisms,
Eyes and spirit of a much younger man within.
But it is his hands most of all I shall remember,
Their imposing look and their reassuring
touches of tenderness.
I shall never forget my grandfather’s hands.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
I visited the place where we last met.
Nothing was changed, the gardens were well-tended,
The fountains sprayed their usual steady jet;
There was no sign that anything had ended
And nothing to instruct me to forget.
The thoughtless birds that shook out of the trees,
Singing an ecstasy I could not share,
Played cunning in my thoughts. Surely in these
Pleasures there could not be a pain to bear
Or any discord shake the level breeze.
It was because the place was just the same
That made your absence seem a savage force,
For under all the gentleness there came
An earthquake tremor: Fountain, birds and grass
Were shaken by my thinking of your name.
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You are not poor if you
love something, someone,
humanity maybe, and have faith
that you will somewhere,
sometime be satisfied, though you
know not how.
You may even feel that your
sorrow is but a school to teach
you the virtues of sympathy and
gentleness, that will avail
you hereafter, though you know
not where.
I am not always on the highway
that leads to this hilltop,
but I have seen the lighted road
stretching on and on;
sometimes I have even fancied
that I saw the windows of
the castle all aglow.
And I have hastened my steps
to be in time for the feast,
and taken counsel of my courage
lest I falter and fall on the way.
May I keep this vision of
the castle ever before my eyes,
and a belief in my heart
that the journey is worthwhile,
and the castle and the glow
in the windows not all illusion.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
__Body__
Let me love and care for the art piece
of your body- every pulsating touch of your
spasms. Jumping wildly; while washing
me in your spring water on top a mountain
of passions. I’ll spurt within you, from its tip.
And in kind; let the wetness of your lips
sooth my skin. Kissed by your sensual soul, as
it echoes every word of thirst, running down your
throat; chasing after every breath we lose in
a moment.
_Still, let us not love in haste._
__Amazon Queen__
I gaze at you, as my sprouting rose in
bloom. But not something so delicate; she is
tall, shapely, and sturdy— my Amazon Queen
that keeps me in the centre of her rainforest.
As she lets my words water her floret by
their tip- its warmth and gentleness spoke of
a love so deep and fulfilling.
__Foot fetish__
Oh, how she stimulates my eyes,
as I make out with her eye’s persuasion;
my mind often rehearses how I’ll love her
in it’s imaginations- my mind’s perfect
simulation;
For our desires are much sweeter,
by every bite of her smooth chocolate skin
I adore her more than I would have
yesterday- to quietly bless each step
she’ll take tomorrow. And a reason for me
to kiss her feet.
__Moist__
Surely as the night is washed by the gentle rains-
I have these saturated thoughts, pondering how
she’ll drown me over another night’
As she could never
have the most without I in the middle;
her underwear feels so moist.
__Climactic Prelude & Conclusion__
Would you love to experience a climactic
prelude; a middle so sweet in its time;
While my eyes ripen at the sight of your
ripening fruit,
Oh, so sweet in its time, let me capture
and savour that juicy fruit,
For yes indeed we had fallen in love-
but let not that fruit eventually fall;
From its tree, to rot off its vine; let me bite
you as mine- to taste your heaven’s ecstasy;
In this climactic prelude; I promise the middle
is filling, and its conclusion won’t be short lived.
Jul 1, 2024
Jul 1, 2024 at 8:22 AM UTC
Oh how I love the gentleness
Of your sharp and tender touch
Your hand moving along my skin
Making its way around my mouth
Gently touching my lips
And along my neck and chin.
You could never make me bleed
You are the only one
You are truly the only one I need.
And I let you down in search of others
They could never treat me like you do.
Now they have gone so I am asking please
Your the only one please hear my plea to you
Let us stay together we have got it made.
And now I have to let you know
You are my one and only blade
Your hand so steady your razer sharp
You give to me that perfect shave
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
1 THE KIDS
it’s a simple toy
that’s all they want
these gypsy kids
Plastic discards
cups and basins
consumers-people throw away
change into toys and inventions
in the hands of the gypsy kids
Simple inventions
unique in the change
a life of the imagination
free, unencumbered
just a place on the earth
the space they play in today
That’s all the kids want this moment
not confined walls of classrooms
2 THE PARENTS
Just like the kids
Just these dads and moms
who still revel in the infancy of the earth
And their women
who cook a meal
with what the wild might offer
who are content with what’s in the basket
And who can see into the sky
and see what‘s the weather coming
this season
And so when it is time to move, and where
3 GYPSY BEAUTY
Gypsy beauty
dance your body for me
swirl it like water
spin it like a top
fly it like a kite
O gypsy beauty
with your knowing smile
and your distant eyes
O you beauty
who wears the colors of the earth
twirl the elements for me
like the winds show what’s
behind the clouds
4 GYPSY SINGER
O gypsy singer
your voice in the air
like the voices that filled
the first days of the earth
that still echo down
the crags and valleys of the mind
O gypsy singer, sing the earth to peace
Sing hard hearts to gentleness
Raise that voice of yours
that voice pure
always so unencumbered
and bring back vision
to these tired spirits
that possess and ravage the world
sing these city-organized minds to calm,
sing all living beings into clarity
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 5:58 AM UTC
Once upon a time I met Mr. Dream Guy,
When our gazes met, I saw the twinkle in his eye;
In an instant we have been so close,
He's always there to sweep out all my woes.
Being with him is like living a story in fairytale,
He makes me happy each day without fail;
He has this remarkable kindness
He had stolen my heart with his gentleness.
Then one day I met another
His name is Mr. Lover,
With all the courage he had, he told me he likes me,
By that time I felt my heart skipped a beat 'coz it really shocked me.
He makes a lot of effort to show his sincerity to me
Done this and that to make me so happy,
As time goes by our closeness was build
With his sweetness my heart has been filled.
Now, a dilemma is what I'm facing;
Between those two, to whom do I have a stronger feeling?
Who should I love?
Whose presence does my heart wanted to have?
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
red torii gates separate the sacred
engraved with kana names
I step on the stone tiles
reinvent myself by praying
to every god I have never believed in
donating all the coins I have to shrines
the omamori will protect me
with pretty ribbons, silk, and wood
their birds guide to understanding
converting lies into truths before me
their paper songs a tender kindness
and there is courage within me
even as my voice turns to melody
my words spill out a tune
the temple walls hum
a chorus of veracity, louder
I have come to realize the importance
of moral authenticity within me
your gracious decency, divine
delicate gentleness with my fragility
from shattered pieces I rebuild
recollect myself and rise stronger
the sakura blossoms melt
the tide rises up the torii
compelled by a cold moon
wooden birds take flight away
and I return solid and true
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
Your smell particles,
the
air
I breathe
The drug I need,
the endorphin I need...
Simply missing your presence,...
--how you said you loved me,
your warmth,
your gentleness,...
-- and the consciousness that you're there, ...
... Even though not in person ...
As I spread my arms for your voice...
Silence answered me, ...
Nothingness whispered he's here...
--a sole hero walking against the desert scorching sun...
Now the roses you gave me had withered and died...--
As how you felt towards me...
Nurtured, then cut off to whiter and dry ...
Unspoken words behind your tightly clasped lips,
the embers in your eyes betrayed you, dear ...
Cold
As
snow,
Not as pure
Murky as ridden by dirt...
You are another trinket,...
I close the chest of your shadow...
I'd never cut your wings,
so there, off you go,... --off with the stream,...
... cascading into nothingness ...
***
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 2:01 PM UTC
.
The Sea and you are Sisters,
your eyes Green as she.
Her waves skip like your kisses.
Soft, rhythmic, with gentleness,
soothing my tempest.
You are daughters of the Moon.
© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 10:01 AM UTC
For certain he hath seen all perfectness
Who among other ladies hath seen mine:
They that go with her humbly should combine
To thank their God for such peculiar grace.
So perfect is the beauty of her face
That is begets in no wise any sigh
Of envy, but draws round her a clear line
Of love, and blessed faith, and gentleness.
Merely the sight of her makes all things bow:
Not she herself alone is holier
Than all; but hers, through her, are raised above.
From all her acts such lovely graces flow
That truly one may never think of her
Without a passion of exceeding love.
5.5k
She comes to me with
seductive expectation
in her alluring grey eyes,
Bewitchingly she crawls
onto my lap, my chest.
Our mutual desire for closeness
quickening the mood
She puts her arms around my neck,
Our eyes locked in an intimate dance.
I take her beautiful face in my hands
stroking it's soft contours, as she
closes her eyes pleasurably succumbing
to the gentleness of my touch.
She begins to softly purr.
We both understand these brief
loving moments can never last,
owing to my damnable allergy to cats,
Thus, soon back outside she must ****
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
So many colorful shards,
so many scattered books,
my Father left behind.
He connected the dots
with me, in space and time,
listening to the wind
when it was raining.
Absent and so close,
he used to say:
“Listen to what’s on the ground.
See what lifts us at night
when the birds go silent.”
He gave me more unrest,
he was the left hand
forced to write
with the right.
He believed in me
when the system
sent me away,
dismissed me.
He had hope
without medals,
standing steadfast
in the last row.
Now the body crumbles.
There is a memory
full of holes.
A counting echo—
he remembers,
he doesn’t,
it’s fine,
still hard
but his voice lives…
Time is blending
into a rusted chain
of events.
Tenderness,
resistance
to the falling apart
of departure.
He won’t come back.
He won’t recover.
The body is warm,
life doesn’t want to escape
the shrinking shell.
Sharp words cut helplessness.
Many nights still come
until the final return
to the embryonic state,
to point zero.
I am here,
into this deep night
being the witness to breath,
awake in the dark gentleness.
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 8:05 PM UTC
"Do not worry I will be gentle," said the wolf.
"You mean to tell me, a beast as monstrous as you, is capable of mercy," said the traveler.
"No, not mercy," said the wolf. “Gentleness, there is a difference. I will devour you tenderly.”
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 1:35 PM UTC
My dearest Frank, I wish you joy
Of Mary's safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little pain
Compared with that of Mary Jane —
May he a growing Blessing prove,
And well deserve his Parents' Love! —
Endow'd with Art's and Nature's Good,
Thy Name possessing with thy Blood,
In him, in all his ways, may we
Another Francis WIlliam see! —
Thy infant days may he inherit,
They warmth, nay insolence of spirit; —
We would not with one foult dispense
To weaken the resemblance.
May he revive thy Nursery sin,
Peeping as daringly within,
His curley Locks but just descried,
With 'Bet, my be not come to bide.' —
Fearless of danger, braving pain,
And threaten'd very oft in vain,
Still may one Terror daunt his Soul,
One needful engine of Controul
Be found in this sublime array,
A neigbouring Donkey's aweful Bray.
So may his equal faults as Child,
Produce Maturity as mild!
His saucy words and fiery ways
In early Childhood's pettish days,
In Manhood, shew his Father's mind
Like him, considerate and Kind;
All Gentleness to those around,
And anger only not to wound.
Then like his Father too, he must,
To his own former struggles just,
Feel his Deserts with honest Glow,
And all his self-improvement know.
A native fault may thus give birth
To the best blessing, conscious Worth.
As for ourselves we're very well;
As unaffected prose will tell.
Cassandra's pen will paint our state,
The many comforts that await
Our Chawton home, how much we find
Already in it, to our mind;
And how convinced, that when complete
It will all other Houses beat
The ever have been made or mended,
With rooms concise, or rooms distended.
You'll find us very snug next year,
Perhaps with Charles and ***** near,
For now it often does delight us
To fancy them just over-right us.
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