"glees" poems
Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing
Under my eye;
Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing
Over the sky.
One after another the white clouds are fleeting;
Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating
Full merrily;
Yet all things must die.
The stream will cease to flow;
The wind will cease to blow;
The clouds will cease to fleet;
The heart will cease to beat;
For all things must die.
All things must die.
Spring will come never more.
O, vanity!
Death waits at the door.
See! our friends are all forsaking
The wine and the merrymaking.
We are call'd--we must go.
Laid low, very low,
In the dark we must lie.
The merry glees are still;
The voice of the bird
Shall no more be heard,
Nor the wind on the hill.
O, misery!
Hark! death is calling
While I speak to ye,
The jaw is falling,
The red cheek paling,
The strong limbs failing;
Ice with the warm blood mixing;
The eyeballs fixing.
Nine times goes the passing bell:
Ye merry souls, farewell.
The old earth
Had a birth,
As all men know,
Long ago.
And the old earth must die.
So let the warm winds range,
And the blue wave beat the shore;
For even and morn
Ye will never see
Thro' eternity.
All things were born.
Ye will come never more,
For all things must die.
2.8k
from the plains drawings of smudging hands
and the palms of warriors
whose caves glittered in symbolic otherlands
flowing into yesteryears with shifting tones
abstracting melodies awry
in the songs of language growing,
from the blood of worldly pains
and passionscapes of grounded glees
which surge in transtemporal veins,
to the gifting of a poem;
cosmic movements
ever novel
in the constant flux of fleshy presence
follow us in meaning—
every dot and cursive plane,
carries more than caligraphic feeling
beneath the graphing of our patient, formal, brainy gestures
(often blind to fools in Spring and better fates
of wholly kissing lovers over flower-oaths)
whose blindness in such sightly feeling,
graph so many moments black:
syntax, manner, unformed poems of wisdom’s grandeur;
stifled in the academic dust.
9:30 pm
above: praise gone awry. 12:52 pm
still, this universe expresses its possibility
through this minute verbia;
prolix trivia swinging by
the inquiries of existential mania
and the hope of solid, open value.
1:29 am
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 2:52 PM UTC
Oh Sadie my lady, how the white forest glees when you appear.
As if given direct orders,
the instinctive spectators flee from their nests and quarters to partake in the forest’s evening chorus.
So disembodied from fear you eloquently skate on an icy, cold mirror.
You ignite the darkened skies, soften the hardest eyes, quiet the baby's cries, awake what lies beneath the surface.
Oh Sadie my lady, I feel your warmth coming near.
Oh Sadie my lady, would you skate for me, my dear?
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
A little firefly would always be free
Flashing its bulb happily
But once a curious person sees,
Trapped and shall never see the glees.
This said firefly must have a choice
To help itself, or join the noise
Of its new "owner", in a tiny world of moist
Where everything is not its choice.
Who is this firefly and what had it done?
To the world that might claim it already gone
Once a liberal insect, buzzing from afar
Now just a mere speck in the dark.
But it had a decision to make,
Be free or be fake,
And if I were that bug what should I choose,
A life of quietness or a life without clues?
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 7:35 AM UTC
*oh, and advertisement, καπριτσιολογια's natural ******* offspring works well with the perfectly pitched representation of the dynamism on the scales of cross-parallel social strata (i.e. "psychology" / social standardising en masse): a new york grid system: square square square, rectangle, square square square: shoeshine popsicle goldfish pig's trough.*
i found the investments of psychology
all too unfathomably capricious,
where the ratio of theory
to full-extent concrete proofs is a solution:
in that when one theory fails
another two emerge, and so on and so forth,
in that great existential ******
of dream interpretation, the golden cockerel
of freud glees with anticipation
to sprout a gigantic volcano gush of microscopic
life to enter the great **** eye that
cannot peer into itself and consider
both being and nothingness, as the great
ego eye of man does from the fully formed foetus
nimble footed and thumbs on the ready
in the grand coliseum of life - just a great
fishing net where once the mighty fisherman
st. peter caught fish, now herr anti-sanctus freud
catches foetuses of frogs - the womb the water
of these paradoxical amphibian representations;
psychology, the study of dreams, the extinction
of soul - apparently even asthma is unaccounted
for, the way in which thinking becomes
what thinking always was: a malignant capricious
medium pulverised by five vectors, and
the sixth a form of two selves: the selfless and the
selfish... dragged down to the molecular
degeneracy of explanation using genes,
but not protons neutrons or electrons - that's
reserved for the sun, the planets and the cosmos.
indeed, if psychology is the study of breathing
and not the study of thinking: imagine
what a hot snarling and wet breath raising
a voice in anger does to a cosy psychologist sitting
in his office, surrounded by ******* figurines
and african voodoo masks... sends him running...
the inverse form of asthma, asthma with words,
the angry asthma, of uninhibited thinking,
pure vocalisation of emotion...
no, i think less and less of psychology...
i think i'll just call it καπριτσιολογια:
the study of caprices, the study of whims -
e.g. a guy walks into a McDonald's, orders
a big mac in the following way:
- yes, but no lettuce, no mayo, no cheese, no
onions... just the bun the meat and ketchup.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
The marvelous thing
is how I hear this bird
sing,
from morning to night
and from winter to spring.
It happily glees,
never sad, never in fright.
It glides with purpose
from darkness to light.
Aggression it welcomes
from predators (weak)
for its mind is superior
and respect it will seek.
Underestimate, only a fool
will dare.
With intellect,
vibrancy,
and vigilance
there
will be a surprise
-- most minds will be blown --
with glory it ravages,
but dignity shown.
Above all else,
I prefer to mention,
something vital
to bring to your attention;
you must look beyond
my observation
for all things beautiful,
in adoration
this bird holds dear
to heart and mind
a one true love
its meant to find.
The heavens,
the sea,
the corporeal plains
it tours the earth,
again and again
but never alone,
but with another;
one’s promised,
confidante,
Jay’s one true lover.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
The suffering
What had led? This childish act
the pushing, the struggling
we had fought for turns bad
the suffering, that we have been sacrificing
As my faith for a better life is dying
Soon it'll fade away; with dust
Turns into shimmering gray
there will be no life, no soul whatsoever
As some would just sit, and could not help it but to see,
This is life of us all, living with you threatening us all
It has fall upon us with heat
the heat in us would deny our blistering feet
As the suffering, that happened in our life
Has brought us to a great defeat
I shall live this curse
and turn my life in reverse
I am finally through
when my heart stays true, I would do
Whatever it takes, for me to fight,
And reclaim what is mine, without any regret
this suffering, I once had
It will soon be over, there will be no crying
There will be nothing left for you to let us suffer
nor when this world, was left dying
only happiness that shines with glees
living free, without the selfish of you
That you have caused
Most life to disappear in the thin air
And we will no longer scare
Of you or your fools
And nobody but them
To share this new age of day with me
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 5:12 AM UTC
You woo me deep
into the ecstasy of your pristine chasteness...
where dry leaves of Aspen and Beech and Birch
sussurate to the music of a lazy breeze,
where Hummingbirds
**** in frenzy
nectar from the orange glees
of the flame-of-the-forest trees,
where Hawthorns
lure the breeze
to weave its vibrance
in their domes of green glory,
where shrunken streams
bask in their white pebbly flourish.
Like an enchantress,
you lure me to the depth of your
rapturous bliss!
To say farewell, my heart pains.
I leave a beat of my heart
to ramble with the roving breeze
perennially in your alluring meadows!
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 5:58 AM UTC
On that warm pavement lang syne sings, on that silky water the present I breath in, on that cloth of heaven I weaved hereafter. A shelter for my glees, woes and reveries. I paused and found myself, I ground my sole to rest. On that path, in that bouldered, airy nest.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
Are my hearts reaching roots and trees?
I feel it quiver deep down inside
A continuous ****** I can't abide.
You whispered you would stay by my side
But you're gone, you've withdrawn, like the tide.
And my mind feels that gap, when it cries
Left to the emptiness of the void.
Beware, I may get paranoid
Have you ever believed in your lies?
I feel it giggling getting higher
And it shows you I was tougher
Than this little sweet teen you cuddled
Than this hugged high school girl you hurdled
And my mind rejoices, when you say
That I was nought but a heap of hay.
Whilst you've made sure to keep me at bay
Are you a little more noble than clay?
The more one sees from men you're the lees
The more I will feel free from your fees.
While you are standing up on your glees
Are my laughters reaching roots and trees…
Father?
July 14, 2013
Onboard a train from Lyon to Montpellier.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 11:28 AM UTC