"golder" poems
En l’an trentiesme do mon aage
Que toutes mes hontes j’ay beues…
Pipit sate upright in her chair
Some distance from where I was sitting;
Views of the Oxford Colleges
Lay on the table, with the knitting.
Daguerreotypes and silhouettes,
Her grandfather and great great aunts,
Supported on the mantelpiece
An Invitation to the Dance.
. . . . .
I shall not want Honour in Heaven
For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney
And have talk with Coriolanus
And other heroes of that kidney.
I shall not want Capital in Heaven
For I shall meet Sir Alfred Mond.
We two shall lie together, lapt
In a five per cent. Exchequer Bond.
I shall not want Society in Heaven,
Lucretia Borgia shall be my Bride;
Her anecdotes will be more amusing
Than Pipit’s experience could provide.
I shall not want Pipit in Heaven:
Madame Blavatsky will instruct me
In the Seven Sacred Trances;
Piccarda de Donati will conduct me.
. . . . .
But where is the penny world I bought
To eat with Pipit behind the screen?
The red-eyed scavengers are creeping
From Kentish Town and Golder’s Green;
Where are the eagles and the trumpets?
Buried beneath some snow-deep Alps.
Over buttered scones and crumpets
Weeping, weeping multitudes
Droop in a hundred A.B.C.’s
10.6k
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Money in the pocket of the biggest shareholder
Day by day, we grow older
Love is lost, hearts grow colder
So while you still can, you should hold her
Say what you feel, before you wish you'd told her
Don't stash your dreams away, in that folder
As you care less what they think, you'll get bolder
Listen to those, who need a shoulder
Let her live, don't try to mold her
Don't sell your soul, for something golder
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
What the hell is wrong?
What do you think I'm on?
I'd prefer a downer,
And that you forget about her
My hair is longer and golder
I look like a mermaid when it falls over your shoulder
My waist is small, I could give it all
A bad baby with an always broken heart
When you tell your stories I listen to every word
And I love your shampoo and your sadness
And you know how to read the method to my madness
And how to talk me down when I'm freakin out above this
And all the weird things you do, I do too
Since I was a little girl I didn't think I'd find it
A shooting star that knows how to rocket
Rock it, rock it, dance with me
Smarter than Miranda, prettier than Maddy
Darker than Zoe, sweeter than Bella
And I know it's true cause you always want more
I never get old, you never get bored
Make the smart decision boy, you're a genius
Here's a quarter and a scratch off ticket
Ill be under the first layer
You'll know when you see it
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
And as I lie here I think of you, to bring me back to my dream of yesterday. Sleeping sound on my island listening to that Leonard Cohen play, hoping that dream will become reality by day, being with you is golder than the dragons treasure and gem named Kai turns my mind to clay.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
Born of Gaia's womb
an Olympus beholder
Forsaken by Zeus
fatherless, growing older
Promethean flame
of mortality colder
Like Atlas I've carried
the world on each shoulder
Condemned to the weight
of my Sisyphus boulder
A Minotaur slaying
Medusa's gaze holder
Lion amongst men
an Achilles heel soldier
For argonaut strive
makes my fleece all the golder
As Icarus pride
razes my wings to smolder
Beneath Helios
I will shine all the bolder
Releasing my mind
from Pandora's enclosure
And Tartarus pits
of my Hades exposure
No shears of Fates sever
my heartstrings' disclosure
Andromeda bound
by the promise I told her
In fields of Elysian
once more I shall hold her
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
A parakeet sits, with colorful wings
and sweet dreams of grandeur
now shattered in vain.
It's dreams are of blue skies and of billowing clouds
which it sees everyday
through the bars that surround.
And only to someone, who's been there before
do the eyes tell the story of someone forlorn.
The lion does walk with bright golder mane
and a remembrance of a kingdom
he lost one dark day.
He remembers of tall grass and plentiful game,
and a roar that sent shivers
now no longer the same.
And those eyes tell a story, as he walks to and throw
of a kingdom once had and a freedom once known.
And me? I'll just sit here for I truly know.
The story the eyes tell and the hearts mournful woe.
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 1:23 PM UTC
good morning from the north coast
where i ran a hurricane through the wash
and hung it up to dry
before i chased a fever down a battered thermostat
to sneak a swap between its truth to my lie
welcome to the north coast
where all the older all the golder
even if it was once nightmare black
we here do have a habit of missing what we lack
where i stretched to touch the morning, to find it so closely out of reach
and did the laundry once more
drowned the daytime dark with bleach
with another voice, seasoned, worn, hurricane-ripped but not tornado-torn
fidget still in my fingers, sore still in my head, still
beginning upon a realization, only further away
drift, so it drifts, the push is a blessing
till sore turns to burn and fidget becomes seizure shake
till all good things worn out with season-anticipated break
and no break is a good break, no efficiency is deficiency, deficiency is lack
lack is no good and no good is evil
and evil is darkness and darkness was meant to be bleached
if all good-really-but-bad-really things could be survived
as lessons but to teach
and how many more? till my voice loses hold again?
till all hope comes loose? cog in the machine and the machine hates itself too?
till chapter begins with over till book reads end
till i found myself another war to tend. till the summer thins and the fall rains begin to pour
once more, it's flooding out my door
and door keeps evil but not from coming in
keeps my own mercilessness trapped deep within
and within leaves room for thought but fall leaves fall
and drown in my admission, or don't bother trying to make it out at all
and delusion is my saviour and delusion is her crown
till all my good promises became people to let down
and i love you my baby, i love you with good will
and good intention. and all the seams i tried to sew
but there was so much more you did not know
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 5:02 PM UTC