"gibe" poems
Freres humains qui apres nous vivez,
N'ayez les coeurs contre nous endurcis ...
Men, brother men, that after us yet live,
Let not your hearts too hard against us be;
For if some pity of us poor men ye give,
The sooner God shall take of you pity.
Here are we five or six strung up, you see,
And here the flesh that all too well we fed
Bit by bit eaten and rotten, rent and shred,
And we the bones grow dust and ash withal;
Let no man laugh at us discomforted,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.
If we call on you, brothers, to forgive,
Ye should not hold our prayer in scorn, though we
Were slain by law; ye know that all alive
Have not wit always to walk righteously;
Make therefore intercession heartily
With him that of a virgin's womb was bred,
That his grace be not as a dr-y well-head
For us, nor let hell's thunder on us fall;
We are dead, let no man harry or vex us dead,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.
The rain has washed and laundered us all five,
And the sun dried and blackened; yea, perdie,
Ravens and pies with beaks that rend and rive
Have dug our eyes out, and plucked off for fee
Our beards and eyebrows; never we are free,
Not once, to rest; but here and there still sped,
Driven at its wild will by the wind's change led,
More pecked of birds than fruits on garden-wall;
Men, for God's love, let no gibe here be said,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.
Prince Jesus, that of all art lord and head,
Keep us, that hell be not our bitter bed;
We have nought to do in such a master's hall.
Be not ye therefore of our fellowhead,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.
Algernon Charles Swinburne, trans.
3.1k
All oceans would this navigator discover
seven seas in seven years did he roam
whist sparkling stars in the heavens tried so hard
yet this broken navigator could not get back home
So he bites on solar winds and sails
to a place of many days of doldrums
this place so stagnant and most morose
he had to his sins, has to wait with his kin within
His crew are that hard of salty seafaring kind
with maps written on their faces cracked by sun and salt
they his, had only ****** smells and shells
call them hero's as seven seas they did horridly sea's fought
This was his last voided slipstream event
these mariners by the cut of their gibe
prayed to an Egyptian Hero some call Alligator
for he is the first and last of Navigator
So whist this captain of mapped minds falls
his company will care for his last orders
for they have witnessed in ancient tears
and the breaking of the navigator
Oh fly the flag and be proud
live poetry with passion long and loud
let your heart embrace this creature proud
whist you watch the breaking of the Navigator
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse.
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vain-glorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it
Where long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call.
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead.
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse --
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
1.8k
Fools may pine, and sots may swill,
Cynics gibe, and prophets rail,
Moralists may scourge and drill,
Preachers prose, and fainthearts quail.
Let them whine, or threat, or wail!
Till the touch of Circumstance
Down to darkness sink the scale,
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
What if skies be wan and chill?
What if winds be harsh and stale?
Presently the east will thrill,
And the sad and shrunken sail,
Bellying with a kindly gale,
Bear you sunwards, while your chance
Sends you back the hopeful hail:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Idle shot or coming bill,
Hapless love or broken bail,
Gulp it (never chew your pill!),
And, if Burgundy should fail,
Try the humbler *** of ale!
Over all is heaven's expanse.
Gold's to find among the shale.
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
Dull Sir Joskin sleeps his fill,
Good Sir Galahad seeks the Grail,
Proud Sir Pertinax flaunts his frill,
Hard Sir AEger dints his mail;
And the while by hill and dale
Tristram's braveries gleam and glance,
And his blithe horn tells its tale:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Araminta's grand and shrill,
Delia's passionate and frail,
Doris drives an earnest quill,
Athanasia takes the veil:
Wiser Phyllis o'er her pail,
At the heart of all romance
Reading, sings to Strephon's flail:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Every Jack must have his Jill
(Even Johnson had his Thrale!):
Forward, couples--with a will!
This, the world, is not a jail.
Hear the music, sprat and whale!
Hands across, retire, advance!
Though the doomsman's on your trail,
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
Envoy
Boys and girls, at slug and snail
And their kindred look askance.
Pay your footing on the nail:
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
1.6k
wind in the willows and the hollow tree's maw
the howl and the moan, chattered whippoorwill song
golden leaves crumble into golden leaf dust
withered willow creaks and sways however it may,
dancing to demented beat from perverse piper's pipe.
The moon is gone hiding not present on stage
of this eerie queer setting in this most uncanny scene
hark, come in the calling owls
sing harsh the shadow come by bleating of night's drum
a hit come dark, a hit pitch shadow cast on the land.
Owls call who, call who to none there
crickets screech a symphony with wicked leg's sliding
horned incessant toads boom tenor through the night.
Come twilight, come dawn
the moon is chased from clouds to the horizon it returns.
come 'gain the whippoorwills with strange and deviant song
come now the shady crows to join and gibe along.
When light comes now through purple veil of dark and mal' cast
cascades the sun through horrid mask; the sky a great cloud
a swirling pool, a terrific mass, a great storm of poison,
can't run for fear for end is near
solace in light is naught,there is no savior from the tempest.
The night was prologue enough, now day will be pure no longer
the nymph of sun ***** in taint of wicked shadow's hand
now alone evil and mal' shall stand.
So come the crows, come the raven
sing a devil's tune with the chitter of the chattering birds
sway now the willow, howl the wind and moan along
laugh the maws gaped of the trees
whirl the wind, wither and crumble the plants; now gone.
dance and sing and cry as one, symphony
symphony fade to whisper... whisper fade to dust...
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 12:25 AM UTC
Bones decayed
Muscle & skin flayed
Near decade long agony endured
Endless wait for no remedy procured
Persons laugh and gibe
Hellions unable to repent or apologize
Lovers leave or never give a chance
"Meeting you was an unfortunate circumstance"
21 years of life lived
Nothing but difficult and destructive
Dec 27, 2021
Dec 27, 2021 at 5:02 AM UTC
The guise of a false hope warily cloaks
an unkempt soul bereft of fortitude -
stolid in the belligerent face of unnamed evil,
an aura of past opulence adulterates naive purity,
the stigma augmented by an insidious breach
of internal asylum. The vulnerability of
a soldier against oneself takes precedence
in the chasmal crusade yet to come; omniscient
intimation gives way to dour prophecies,
ambidextrous in their intricate verbosity.
Molten in the inferno of cross-interrogation,
pliable in the hands of a mortared veteran,
reiteration serves only as a gibe, a grievance
only the most foolish jester would make
before a corroding monarch. The demons
have rallied for annihilation; the starling
warbles an aria of capitulation, its notes
reverberating through the tentative sunset,
a sky of gray and orange mingling with the song
to convey an unequivocal defeat. But after every
dusk comes a period of resurrection, and from the haze
emerges a heroine unrecognizable if not for eyes
ablaze with scarred determination. She strides
with the strength of ten thousand legions, a leviathan's
courage uncovered in her still-beating heart.
The devil flees, uncomfortable in the blinding presence
of mortal accompanied by heavenly body. This -
this is redemption for armor lost, the answer
to her yearning prayers that had been barely audible over the
convulsing sobs that had swallowed her for so long.
Finally vanquished of the toxic beast that had claimed her,
she rises victorious, proclaiming amidst glory a single word -
“Checkmate.”
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
Gluttonous gapes and jibes jape and gibe
at a fine summer drinking wine
in solemn derisive disposition.
For 'tis summer!
and no wine tastes sweeter
than a glass of mockery, fear and dread
helped with honey-sweet spices and lead
'til the bitter wait
past the flooding litres and the sodding litter
into a halting cringing demeanour:
hatred incarnate, deathly pale and slaver wet:
the season's ending hangover get!
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
it was said of me . . .
across the eternal city
god made me to be :
the one who
trysts eternity
perhaps if this was,
the end of the age,
and we were
the
last
ones
. left . here .
on
our
own
if i was abandoned
for what i believed,
so dearly
would you
still love me?
would you adore
my writhing gibe ?
just as alchemists alloy azyme
compounding salvation to baptize
remplissage of cold Versailles
if they debunked
everything i pride ?
could you honestly
pull the hatchet loose
and sacrifice, for me,
i
am
a - m - b - r - o - s - i - a
on the god's platter
why don't you come to?
free me
loosening
free me
for free ? (yes, it's hard, but am i
worth your fear ? )
understand
for me
please
so
simply
nothing can help me
it's your choice now
how will you choose?
>>>>>>>>>>>>
take the road which fits your palm
and in it lies the cusp of dawn
to where we stagnate after all
liberation is our realm
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
flowy, fancy and frolicky vibe
I'm on top of the world!
confidence furled
full support, no hint of a gibe
a certain move through your thick brain, imbibe
my cocoon I've uncurled
heritage whorled
natural elation, no Prozac prescribed
Yet, twirls come to a halt
my smile fades as you drone on
It's all my fault
learning forgone
emotional assault
I'm done, you won
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
My face looks muddy today.
Patchy.
Dryness and oil coincide to create the ***** complexion I regretfully view in a spotted mirror.
My ears hurt.
I listened to a poet today who soothed them
but they are still aching.
The screaming notes coming from your actions are ripping them to shreds.
Absurdly fast, syncopated fingers gibe on a guitar, making it cry out painfully.
You ran from her.
Crashing symbols crunch my tiny, helpless inner ear bones.
You took the cat, the mahogany bedroom dresser, the silver candle sticks that you will probably pawn
and sped off in your car.
We are neither in control nor completely naive of our actions, said the poet.
Yes, yes,
Put socks in my ears with your pretty words! and achieve the serenity in myself that I cannot accomplish myself.
Oh Soft cotton ***** Fill me to the brim and let me lay comfortable beside myself where I am usually so twitchy and restless.
I sigh audibly and return to a sunny day where
I am stopped, staring at a red light preparing to
to…
to what?
I realize I do not know what song the radio is singing,
What street I am.
I whip around to see if the dog is riding shotgun.
He is not.
Why am I in the car?
How did I get here?
Was I going to the store, was I leaving town? Going to mother’s house to sob crocodile tears into lace covered throw pillows and a rough, flour-dappled apron?
I just don’t know.
I cannothearmyselfthinkanymore.My ears hurt.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 5:07 PM UTC
It's not about your weight
It's not about if you have a zit on your face
It's not about anything you think its about
It's not about anything you think it's about
It's about what's on the inside
It's about if you treat people with respect
It's about if you have a good attitude towards people
It's about if you gibe people a chance on the inside to know if they are a good person or not, just because they look good...
.k.t.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
Your love is so opulent and rare
I can't help but gape at the thought
The thought of that love being mine
When other girls must gibe at the thought
The thought of that love belonging to another
I must say
Before you my emotions were unkempt
They weren't properly maintained
And to be honest I'm not even sure what my emotions even were
I even think I was too tentative to want to know
And even though I was unkempt and tentative
I often found myself being stolid at times
I was being stolid and unresponsive to my emotions
But stolid was something I used
Yes that's right I used it
I used it to guise my emotions
I used it as a cover a mask to keep my emotions hidden
Not now
Not anymore
Now I have fortitude towards my emotions and it's all because of you
You took your opulent and rare love and used it as a grenade to break my four walls I worked so hard to build
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
They mourned, they
cried, they yelled
others wen't to the
Extend of howling.
Do the Dead hear?
Young & Old, Poor
& Rich, Thin & Fat,
Beast & Beauty
all came to pay there
last Respect.
Was the Dead this
Famous...
In multitude they
flocked the Compound,
but many came with
different Agendas,
some coz of there
Growling intestines,
others to display there
Ghoulish behaviour,
women came to Gibe
at each others Gimcrack
clothes,
others gave others
Amorous looks.
I was Bemoaned &
Crestfallen by their
Cretinity.
I couldn't help but wonder,
Do the Dead have
Eyes?.....
@miamizoliver
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
i know that you wanna take me some place special in you
But why does this walk feel so lonely?
Why does it feel as though everyone is my opposition?
Feels like in every situation im losing
I know i must aline myself with your plans being that i dont have one but just gibe me signs to let me know im not alone in this fight
God i pray that you surround me with people who have a common goal in mind
People that will give me godly advice and propel me to my destiny
God i ask that you aid me in being a difference maker, because i realize that i can make a difference in so many people's lives.
It feels as though when im at my lowest point thats when i can hear him the most
But what about when im on a high
Do i still hear his voice?
Do i choose to listen or do i tune him out?
Because in order to affective i cannot have selective hearing
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
Writing poetry whist listening to Tom Waits
maybe that was a ****** bad Idea
all I see is blackness and dark words
whilst I write to I love his cut of his gibe
he has views as dark as my own
and man if I need an idea
I would call him on my phone
It's not cool writing to Tom Waits
for he just puts me in a dark state
better I change the sounds
before I get myself into dark poetic ways
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
© 2012 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC