"gild" poems
What an odd ingredient sadness is.
It salts a tear, bittersweets a kiss,
Hungers us for the things we miss,
Ever abundant, such a convenient thing,
I can find it in everything.
A death, a birth, I cry for both,
Gild a sorrow, a wistful hope,
Ripe melancholy I savour most,
Yet a pinch too much is a lethal dose.
I was often told it shouldn’t be,
But the clown that frowns was the perfect me,
Thin taunt and cackle, ghosts everywhere,
Sometimes I hide, but it’s still right there.
Perhaps I’ll woo this lifelong friend,
Embrace this thing I cannot mend.
Odd comfort in a peculiar way,
To know this thing is here to stay.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
Bright as the light that cleaves through the night
In the evening's fading firey field,
You come to me, with a hawks grace.
Glimmering, august angel.
For you, I gild my tongue,
so my words may shine, though I fear,
not nearly as bright, as the glow,
of your unfettered majesty.
Were I not already unclothed
I would tear through each article,
so as to expose to you,
that which you may claim, and partake.
With a pulsing pleasure, for each dazzling deed
In the most sprightly shower of starlight,
I wait for you to make your claim.
Uncloak here before me
remove that golden robe,
and reveal your glory, before these eyes
Neither slave or mistress should you be,
As the lions who have fought to a standstill,
concede, let us proceed in blessed equality.
And bed in the short cut grass, beneath the linden.
You, whose mouth is a temple,
With seven seals of satisfaction, concealed inside.
Stay with me, while I am floating in this hope.
Like a songbird released from captivity,
I wish that I could pour your praises from my lips,
Till my tongue is worn and weary...
and the light no longer lingers,
in the lantern of my eyes.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
XXXVI
When we met first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onward path, and feared to overlean
A finger even. And, though I have grown serene
And strong since then, I think that God has willed
A still renewable fear . . . O love, O troth . . .
Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
This mutual kiss drop down between us both
As an unowned thing, once the lips being cold.
And Love, be false! if he, to keep one oath,
Must lose one joy, by his life’s star foretold.
2.2k
I stared at her face, it bloomed like a flower,
as she talked to him, her eyes sparkled.
I sense that it was a love so vast,
Yes, this thing might definetly last.
What is this love can truly build?
Why does it like being gild?
What is in this thing that brings insanity?
How did this made beings overtly?
I keep on discerning this kind of thing.
While I am waiting for someone to cling.
Perhaps I will find all the answers,
when God reveal my long-waited lover.
In my state, the choices I have,
is to wait willingly and pray to Father above.
And, no, my heart is not in a hurry;
it won't show any sign of fury.
A day will approach when waiting will be over,
God will grant me love so tender,
Aesthetic pleasure for the lovers I am seeing,
which makes me inspired and not get tired of waiting.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
Now I have tempered haste,
The joyous traveller said,
The steed has passed me now
Whose hurrying hooves I fled.
My spectre rides thereon,
I learned what mount he has,
Upon what summers fed;
And wept to know again,
Beneath the saddle swung,
Treasure for whose great theft
This breast was wrung.
His bridle bells sang out,
I could not tell their chime,
So brilliantly he rings,
But called his name as Time.
His bin was morning light,
Those straws which gild his bed
Are of the fallen West.
Although green lands consume
Beneath their burning tread,
In everlasting bright
His hooves have rest.
2.1k
An hour passed beneath the willow
Before we saw the sallow light,
It slipped and slid between the depths
Of dusk and clouds that own the night.
Still we sat, watching streams
That danced above the atmosphere
Where gravity begins to fade
Along with most of future’s fears
And still we sit and wonder why
We gild the lilies on the shore,
And still we sit and wonder why
We can’t say what we’re waiting for.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
Once, I was gifted the brightest jewel of all the wide worlds wonder
It shone for me with a brilliance, as it had for no other
But in my foolishness I cast this priceless jewel away
And as it fell t’was broken, the light scattered asunder
Now, it will not shine for me
And so, I stand in darkness
The bitter pain of watching its warmth shining upon others
As my own space dimmed, to dark and ugly colours
But it was I who cast the jewel that broke, and made itself anew
Stronger, fairer, brighter than the untouched jewel that I once knew
Still, I cannot bear to see
And so, I stand in darkness
A jewel so bright, many have sought to bask in its fey light
This is no earthen gemstone, nor star that graces the night
Most, too foolish to keep it shining upon them alone
A jewel set in the breast of artwork fairer and brighter beyond sight
Woe, it shines the least on me
And so, I stand in darkness
A darkness I would have flee from unforgiving fire
To burn the earth and all the heavens until I’m alone
To end this world with fell flames is to what I aspire
And watch the gods despair, at the crumbling of their thrones
Yet, I must not turn ugly
And so, I stand in darkness
Anguish will never wear such a resplendent face, as the one that I shall paint it
Despair will be sung truly, in a sweet melodic guise
I shall mould regret into a bolt of ruthless doom, enamored with a purpose
And pen loss in lustrous tales, to gild a readers eyes
All, done with some subtlety
And so, I stand the darkness
To sound a scream which rends the land, leaving a scar behind
To cry deltas flowing back through past deeds, flooding that frame of mind
For it to nourish life, of a beautiful, and evolved kind
Thus emptied, to float up and admire it from above, weightless, and refined
Though, I must tread silently
And so, I walk from darkness
Finally I saw the truth, after I was told a lie
Delivered into the blinding light, I was left wondering why
Why I was cursed with the folly to commit the greatest of life's crimes
Why I must now see sense, and what has passed me by
Still, t’was a choice made by me
And thus, I’ve burned with darkness
Never, never, ever again, to break such fragile, precious things
Nor walk with tactlessness, or tragedy in my stride
I'll shine with luminescence of thoughts and deeds most high
When some facets of that young boy, have finally, truly died
My own jewel shattered, with minds eye open wide
Now I understand, this allegory of dark and light
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 6:53 AM UTC
“let sleeping dogs lie,”
i said
as the ground turned sideways
topsy turvy
we made gravity our enemy
in our witless haste
drug driven day crusades
we became empty giants
standing on man’s shoulders
hoping to hold the sun
“dream your waking daylight,”
you said
as the sky shook itself
upside down
we made time our enemy
in your desperate rush
forgotten frail figureheads
i became fickle Midas
falling with the rising
daring to gild the moon
“our pretty eyes are lies”
we said
as the world fell apart
fault lines
we made entropy our enemy
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
Thou spinster of the silken night
Why slide beneath that sylphen cloud,
Why hide the blush of pallid cheek
To mask your secret smile in shroud ?
Pale crescent love of velvet void
A vivid splash of pinprick gems,
Suspended in black solitude
Such beauty midst celestial friends.
Lovers kiss beneath your spell
Hand in hand they stroll the lane
Garlanded in silver light,
Ensnared within your crescent’s reign.
Thou siren voice doth wax and wane
These very oceans sing your song,
As seabirds ply your ebbing tides
And global winds blow clear and strong.
Lunar light threads through tree boughs
Casting lurid shadows bare,
Causing wolves to crouch and howl
At living, moonbeam shards in air.
Oh sister of the silent night
Feel the haunting call of owl,
Scan the forest’s shadowed light,
Gild the snow clad mountain’s cowl.
Thou spinster of the silken night
Rest thy secrets in thy soul,
Fade as shadows blend to day,
Relenquish all to sun's control..
Marshal Gebbie
Victoria Park Tunnel
14 January 2011
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 6:40 PM UTC
Gild the marble as divine as ice,
Day's eye sinking below the horizon line,
Red dust drift among torrential specks,
Echoes boom from the valley pine.
Lay upon the crisp sunny hay,
Clean the grime from the sapphire quay,
Immerse 'tween the twilight breeze,
Asps should **** off, leave me in peace.
As synchrony reach cacophony,
Our destinies uncross, tis uncanny.
If true, a key unlocks powers of lore,
Against, the key forfeits my very soul.
Capture my seat of soft emotions,
Crush it against your decrepit merits weigh,
Scheme within your empty jeweled mansions,
Burn to ashes my undead void lest it decay.
All such entities loving their tragedies,
Ridiculous melodramatic melodies.
Slouch and wallow as monuments,
Imaginary quagmire of queer torments.
Swing the fury of Krato's strike,
Kneel in dust of ancient plights,
Hold thy loved ones above the light,
Spy the ragged truth outside insight.
Flood the starry gates: drown my pain,
From colossi reduced to ******** straits,
My mask cares less lest I am unpaid,
Friendship once did the beloved slay.
Tears trembles upon my eye.
Good-bye time, friend of mine.
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy,—I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumbered sounds that evening store;
The songs of birds—the whispering of the leaves—
The voice of waters—the great bell that heaves
With solemn sound,—and thousand others more,
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
Makes pleasing music, and not wild uproar.
1.4k
The secret of your smile glows like gold on the dreams I dream
In the darkest places, your voice is a silver-lighted sound
Millions of others can see your smile agleam
Yet not know, this happiness I’ve found
Embroidered moments of pleasure entwine around my heart
While the brightest moon shines silently above
Ever wide is the subtlest ray you impart
When you smile, I can feel your love
Your voice is a shining echo that claims my constant heart
I will always treasure each word as a precious pearl
From the moment, first light of dawn imparts
Still, when all light leaves this world
Might I ever go searching for your smile to gild my day
Your voice to light the darkness in my heart
Embroidered in the riches, only you can send my way
With the widest subtle ray, your smile imparts
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 1:39 AM UTC
God fire
Melting
Gleam pink milky pall
Across the lake.
Cool hot arc
Sink anchor for my eyes;
Some otherwhere around the globe
Burn blinding bright
And further on
Or back
Orange ember rising
Gild morning star-filled sky.
Source and center –
Orbit of our baking sphere
Gravity suspended spin
Night round
Touch every edge of Earth.
July 21, 2011
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 9:33 PM UTC
There is a sunset on expansive lake.
Its lip of waves soft with ripples, trembles,
eyes shed tears of falling stars and still ache,
for something other than what assembles.
Such crowds. Acnes of campfires erupt,
on the blank faces of bald dunes, still preserve.
Beach's eternity makes the moment abrupt.
sand through summer fingers cannot conserve.
Oh sun, ease our smallness before the night,
gild inevitability with light.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
The simple pleasure of purchasing shoes
that fit like a crown made for your toes,
reminds me of the Philippine First Lady,
Emelda Marcos and her closet of clogs
Some folks are unhappy with their cornucopia filled
and other are content if they get one gild.
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 7:49 PM UTC
How can I then return in happy plight
That am debarred the benefit of rest?
When day’s oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night, and night by day oppressed?
And each, though enemies to either’s reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;
So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild’st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger.
1.3k
Find perfect patience now
What more is their to seek
To gild the lily or not? What
Is it worth to praise humble
Virtue-The placid lake is all
That needs be.. Peace is its
Own reward but then all the
Quieted wishes answered.the
Promised Child is born but as
All Knows there is trouble in the
Beginning and so once again
Patience, the sea of calm is the
Answer that can wait forever
But never needs to. War, pain
Plague and famine will be forgot.
For they teach that Patience-
Perfect Patience is all that's ever
Needed and the lesson learned is worth
The pain. The brides maid is satisfied
With her role needs nothing more
Seeks not the groom for herself
But to such a one Love will come.
Patience is always with us and there
Is in all of us a place for her to come
We need only ask that she be with us
Patience is the happiness equal to any
Reward Overcomes any sorrow
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 3:39 PM UTC
Golden apples, crisp sandwiches, and smiling milk
Golden boy, growing hands, and smiling eyes
Easy to learn those lessons woven by a voice of silk
Easy to yearn with countless ways to fly on free skies
Silver tongue to gild her hope in their enticing game
Silver lost on nickel and dime since the value change
Tough to beat that cowboy has wound up all the true dames
Tough to see success outside that boy's jubilant range
Copperhead and improperly read, now he is out on the town
Copper tools to trade between fools for a means through today
Hard to make it now that his future is a thought that brings him down
Hard landing and hard to stand knowing soldiers get to fly away
Muscle-cut, silent disciple by uniform and drill
On a new path where the steps are already named
Earning inertia and purpose as his hands fill
By the rifle, by his life, now he can cut through the future
Winning trust and won his chance at enemies to ****
Now they are dead.
Oh glory, oh honor, our hero returns home with tempered will
The war is over, he held his weight, yet from that rigid world he must depart
He cannot remember how the old rhyme went
He cannot tell if his time was well spent
Weary from angels shattered and morals hell bent
Wary for how neighbors treat what is different
Witness to blindness for what is done, and what is meant
Advertised pride for racist media and murderous government
Now his last hope is a child with lustrous intent
To ask,
"Sir, where do all the old soldiers come from,
and where have they been since?"
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
What worth is a flow’r to a bunch; and its hidden message?
Or if ev’n a cherry; to a box of chocolates indulged in, and gild’d?
As ev’n what worth is a drop to a summer’ rain in fall.
Or the autumn zephyr to a winter wind unceasing?
Its essence, finesse untold; undervalued.
Quantity; is it not what our hearts seeks, unabashed, unrelenting.
When it must, it should instead quality.
So as the sole dewdrops, from the ***** of the heavens descend
And, that seeks refuge in a flow’r bud silent, and tacit
So too does a tear drop, from the jewel of the eye
In a hearts element, succour.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
Blood is thicker than water
That's what they taught her
But the blood of the covenant is thicker
Her thoughts on life flicker
She couldn't care less what they whisper
It won't change her mind, it won't effect her
But here's the kicker
Thoughts of suicide are always with her
Curiosity killed the cat
She thinks too much of that
But here's a matter of fact
Satisfaction brought her back
Blind as a bat she feels
With a hope she never reveals
But lets not forget
All the things she hides with deep regret
Gild the lily
So, she tells herself to do this truly
But her thoughts they rig
For how can she justify putting lipstick on a pig?
No rest for the wicked
This is not the life she picked
But even with the promise of grace
She knows no peace
She's hidden from view
Even from you
But well behaved women rarely make history
So she'll remain a mystery
One must consider the final result
So, when she leaves it's not your fault
But on brighter thoughts she leans
Because the end justifies the means
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
We rarely go drunk, or perhaps that is I, when I told Marc that all people are nearly up on exits
and barely exists now is feeling – he started swinging a running joke between the two of us
facing the planetesimal – lights their strobes of secret I am on my 7th beer and still nothing
when being listened to by frantic fret of fear because indulgence is key to demise
when it is said to pull apart but didn’t, I halved the 7th beer and felt my gut cloy itself with
the muck of fat from pork rind and stale chicken
I deem myself incompetent in the slug, gild of attendance: freckled wall with dotted red,
linoleum plastered, defaced somewhat, Marc moves to Hannah and I further
the dark with my groping hands – I do not smoke inside my car.
Ortigas is unusually dull, minutes trickle slow like *** or un-sex,
whichever it may, I quickly said as I stole the mic from his hand the words I imagine
to become filled with the purpose of frayed upon exactitudes.
He always brings his knife with him and I always ask him even if I knew
that it’s somewhere in his acid-washed jeans – I have always been fascinated
by the lives made better or worse by knives. I remember Gabriel and I talking
about Holden Caufield when all we ever wanted was to fall
immensely in love with girls we chase around in sophomore year, Gabriel
I do not know where you are and listening to Radiohead now reminds me of
something strange with unwilling potential; perennial silence permeates
Ortigas and somewhere a couple is hot and *******
whereas I, asleep on my 9th beer, probably my last,
willing to give up for a laugh or some sense of place
while I hear them all
laughing in front of my parked car, poking fun at something
I can barely identify.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
There is a magic in the midnight sky;
In tinted arctic dawns that gild the snow;
In golden, sunlit jungles of Khitai;
The glory of a Persian sunset’s afterglow;
In the aurora’s weird, unearthly light,
Where stars are eyes obscured behind a veil
Of dancing amethyst and malachite;
The vivid transience of the meteor’s trail;
The silence of a ruined city of the waste;
Moonrise that dapples the deserted plain;
A solitary island by wild seas embraced;
By blind, perpetual tides that surge and race
To thunder on the skyward-reaching shore in vain;
In trackless forest; in high peaks cloaked in a shroud
Of evening mist; in galleon-sails of summer cloud;
In all the endless beauty that this world contains...
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
A string of diamonds-
it's not mine,
for I am a thief
plucking the jewels of Time
they rest on webs of cob
and grass
and trickle upon
the winter glass
but I need no gold,
nor silver spun
because I gild that which I touch
with the kiss of the sun.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
Skyscraper.
Such a violent name.
Sheets of metal and glass placing their fingernails on a chalkboard of sky.
Scratch. Tear. Rip. Slice. Howl.
They stand unaffected by the frosty winds that gild each strand of my hair
And make me long for fireplaces and Christmas.
The gale has wrenched the clouds from above me
And the night opens itself coldly to my pleading eyes
Revealing stars, real stars
Even though they are smothered under the pillowcase of city lights.
But the moon dangles in the sky, opulent as ever
Almost full
A dented ping-pong ball suspended halfway back to its earthly table.
I think suddenly, inexplicably
Of dawn.
I think of how the sun rises in Africa
Hauling itself over the cliff-edge of Ugandan earth
A blue dawn.
Night seeping into the birth of day
Soaking everything in saturated indigo
Blue hands
Blue skirts
Blue road receding into the damp air that will soon bow to the sun.
I want to breathe that blue again
To roll it between my palms
But it is a city night
And I must wait a very long time
For the rescue of a pale winter dawn.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Artificial, yet an artisan,
Pontifically partisan,
She raised her eyes to heaven high
And chiseled my heart with steady hands
She carved her own intricate façade,
And painted her mask to earn applaud,
Beneath her father’s right-wing feathers
Brought up to pray to his decreed god
He crowned her with his finest gems
To show her off to all his friends;
Helped her gild herself with gold
An aristocratic wright in the truest sense
“But I specialize in counterfeit,”
She said, as I saw under the definite
And skillful strokes, the expert notches,
A messy sketch yearning to freely acquit
“Then be free,” I said, as she let me in
Her atelier. So I scraped from her skin
The china-doll gloss and regal glitter,
And drained her blue blood of cyan tint
She smiled—the laughter lines made cracks
Through lips of plaster and cheeks of wax
I took the gleaming jewels from her eyes,
And saw new life glimmer in rolling tear tracks
She was a tempest of color, splattered and spilled
A muse incarnate that could not be stilled,
Chaos unveiled, but beautifully alive
With soul redeemed and freedom fulfilled
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC