"harkened" poems
The sun is over the yardarm;
My mused Goddess of poesy
Sitting like patience on a monument
Of Iris; Chrysaor yielding
Whilst I throw ones lot
Twisting in the wind of the
Rostrum of technology
Cutting my teeth on rainbow dreams of you.
Peace, hope, sincerity
In the twinkling of an eye
You have the edge on
As with serene conscience of you
I set fire to terracotta tears
A rough-hewn diamond
Needing an earfull
Lo! harkened death
Herald of the last supper.
Eleete j Muir.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 5:28 AM UTC
The perfect woman
is beautiful, of course
but not too beautiful,
( enough to be objectify-able
but not so much as to be threatening)
The perfect woman
has a voice and a mind
( that she wisely decides
to leave behind)
The perfect woman
should never be heard
( unless she becomes
a part of the herd)
The perfect woman
Is benign and blind
( to everyone's faults
except her own,
which also, btw, she ought to make known,
or god forbid, she'll be harkened a *****
How rude.....)
The perfect woman
Is coy and shy
(changing her demeanor
for a girl or a guy)
The perfect woman
Does nothing wrong (yeah right)
(and still doesn't get
why she can't belong)
The perfect woman
Knows her salad forks and plates
She encourages, she nourishes
She creates,
(she waits, she waits , she waits)
The perfect woman
is an overachiever
(but readily labeled
to be a deceiver)
The perfect woman
doesn't age
doesn't dream or rebel
Oh no, dear no....
none of that outrage
The perfect woman
can be a nymph and a nun
(knows how to not show
that she knows what is fun)
The perfect woman,
is curvy but thin
each angle defined
each strand refined
with a dazzling smile
and a glowing skin
(no matter how she gets it
It's that she gets it, she gets it.)
The perfect woman
Is strong and composed
But when she's patronized
She doesn't resist...
She carries her grace
on her well turned calf
and a delicate wrist
Till it's proper and unopposed
The perfect woman
is cruel to her daughter
and kind to her son
( as she knows what it means
to be a woman
even if she forgets
that she's also one...)
The perfect woman
doesn't want to be free
you see, it's simple
She's come to terms with the very concept
That it's her destiny
Sigh.
Let's say this, let's try....
Here's the gist
The perfect woman
is either every woman
or she doesn't exist.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 9:22 PM UTC
A serene cottage upon a dreary hillside
Where my mind's listless galaxy of neurons
Synapse in the absolute darkness,
Is painted in Victorian hues, cold and haunting.
Dejection rains down from the leeward sky
With nothing harkened save for the ocean's
Stormy roar and a desolate lighthouse,
Beckoning through the fog and memoirs of the past.
The deeper my soul is carved out with sorrow,
The deeper the hollow can be filled with joy.
But alas, I feel nothing of joy but only a void
Left by the dagger of yesterday's darkening tragedies.
I feel the rain soothe my skin and kiss my cheek
Like the sweetest lover on midnight's embrace,
Yet my moth-eaten quilt of memories only seems
Enough to shelter our legs but ne'er our feet.
My heart feels the warmth of an autumn fire,
Kindling in the crisp rain, bleeding beneath
A rose where we burn in the endless torture
Of our own despondence.
I can feel the blood in my veins turning to fire
As I imagine her fingertips unzipping my spine
As though it were full of secrets and mysteries
Unbeknowst to myself...
I can feel the inferno that rages within my aortic arch
Every moment I imagine losing myself within her
Eyes, glimmering like an eclipse over a midnight
Sea...the Sleepless Coventry.
She unlocks my secrets and weaves them in the bouquet
Of tendrils in her hair like ribbons of crimson and light,
Waving in the vehement northerlies with numbing scents
Of argan and spice.
Her body is but a canvas wrapped neatly around a
Paper mache skeleton, the most beautifully tragic
Foundation known to humanity...
She arrives right on the equinox to set fire to my sorrow,
Intoxicating me with her kiss and infecting me with her smile.
And so enters the conflagration of my soul,
An annihilation of light, blackening my coronary
Artery whilst shooting smoke through my cinnamon
Whiskey tainted veins.
'Tis hard to look through such a misconstrued lens
As such, the Vena Cava Kaleidoscope...
Where the flames burn through the galaxy of neurons
Expending the harrowing memories as its fuel.
I can see the magnetic alloy of her Cobalt eyes reflecting
The fire that consumes me from the inside out.
She pulls on me like the moon pulls upon the tide
As she whispers with her soft, enamored sigh.
I burn in my silent knowing, my liquid mind
Awakening in fervor and strange euphoria.
I burn for the Aurora Infinite.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
I've harkened dark trails, nonexistent of earth. If we went across the spring or across the Snake we'd be bush whacking for sure. I had been on packed earth, trails of dirt on the daytime, not the late midnight snack of predators as I slowly moved past their game trails. Moose and black bears hovered in the willows, while my footsteps fell out beneath me, up to my knees, up to my calves, couldn't somebody have stopped this. Our spotlight blew out, but later I found out the batteries hadn't died. It was just the hold button was locked my fearless spotlight alive, like three small pots of honey, we slowly moved through the thicket, not a creature moved its digits, not even a cricket stridulated. Oddly peculiar we crept around each bush, only to find horse, bear, and cat **** the bear's so fresh I could squish it. Heavenly fodder, please lead me astray, from everything that's bigger than I, living on these back-trails. Because all I've got is my OKC should a grizzly be hot on my tail. If I bleed I know evil should find me dead or eat me for certain.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 12:26 AM UTC
The right hand that harkened to soothe thy brows
forsooth vanguards the left that spells thy ruin.
She came to thee in nakedness ‘ye saw,
thy yellow grin played her like a clavecin.
Whilom vase filled with posy gently care,
thy indecision maketh poison alack,
from its petals sith thee became a hare
thy hands darketh the ink already black.
A sweven verily haunts the fortress,
swith as the horns of a centaur bleed her
to her I swore fealty my naked mistress,
my lance revealed thy realms of plunder.
In the blood thee spilled, made mirror, there lay,
reflecting a portrait of vile beasts and a man.
The creature that ‘ye bade devour thy prey
is the wolf that one day shall swallow the sun.
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 9:24 PM UTC
Let’s play Name That Goon.
How many can you get right?
Someone you see every day
In the news, in plain sight.
The first one looks very much
Like a troll doll but larger.
He brags about how much
Money he has in his larder.
But, his blather does not
Include many discernable facts.
He’s about half of the man
He stands on stage and acts.
The second one is a talker
In a very vaunted arena.
He seems as incapable of truth
As a citizen named Fiorina.
He’s been faking his credentials
And his skin has darkened.
He’s orange, so one wonders
If the old KKK has harkened.
The third one was a big cheese
And he was a big deal once
Until his mouth and behavior
Proved him to be a dunce.
But not before his crew
And his ineptitude managed
To leave the country *******
And semi-permanently damaged.
The fourth was the third’s pal
In all those dastardly deeds
That any tale well scripted
Or any tragedy needs.
He made a bundle for him
And all of his colluding pals.
Maybe he thought that might
Make him attractive to the gals.
The next one is the queen
Of the Washington crazies.
She might make a bigger fool
Of herself, but she’s too lazy
And as stupid as a box of lint.
She opens mouth and convinces.
Every time she speechifies
The entire country winces.
So, now we have done it
We have played Name That Goon.
If this glib poet doesn’t choke
We can have more real soon.
So, you all play nice and have fun
At your next political gathering.
And keep track of who is who
And what they are all blathering.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
Often I wonder
I ponder
Why
Why did I let you so deeply inside
Often I shudder
I sputter
Try
Try to forget your harkened lies
Often I lay awake
I break
Cry
Cry because I'm barely alive
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 3:37 AM UTC
Hellish, infernal is their presence
Having lost no measure to revelry or rest, neither
Halting nor slowed, the march quickens in time with their lustful bellows
Hastened to madness by infinity
Harkened back to prisons of mental anguish by their creators
How proud they are, the Old Gods,
Hacking away the pounds of flesh to reveal the
Haphazard construction to their instruments of torture
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 11:50 PM UTC
Silence
Priestess Psyche
enfolds my soul
depths remote.
ride spaces
fearful gazes
regret forlorn…
Lives eternity
bears entity
Being…
Seen
Unseen
marks
thin line
invincible sign.
harkened sounds
inside bound
attempt to run
came to none.
Here stays
reminds taste
bitter can be
avoided grief.
Besides ,
night
dreams all
might
what has been
healing forbids…
Yield,
music sighs
pain declines
resistance flees.
Day wanes
moonlight sails
moment by moment seeks release.
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 1:39 PM UTC
The waste of many years spent, neglectful, chaste.
The passing of time with trivial toilings - stealing,
Nature's harkened plea.
Come to me! For I am the enduring.
And you belong to me.
Smell the ripened apple, view landscapes' vast abode.
Dive into thy river's broad; Eye with wonder upon:
Mountain, vale, and sky.
For you are of me, and they; you..fixed.
Hear thy Nature's cry!
Each hour, whispered feet, they travel nearer to thee,
To meet with deafening silence, feast while you may.
See, feel, listen..be soothed.
From whence body born, you will return.
By Nature's way..removed.
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 6:09 PM UTC
Distinguished ~ one seasons' stronghold
Lavished ~ yet it leaves no mark
Harkened ~ still it bleeds no stain on us
Ravished ~ some lost to the dark
*My King!
My Queen!*
My Majesty!
You state your Name by Divine Decree,
yet Silence has claimed your Kingdom.
For Eye could cast one trillion (1,000,000,000,000) sparkles into the night and no one would care to notice.
What a shame, says Eye...too wrapped inside.
Tho' one day soon a Flame unfurls and
wisp-ers condense into new Worlds so that once again we must all commence the Journey to reclaim our Innocence.
"Lions, Tigers and Bears...Oh My"!!!
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
Boys with sisters are said to be better.
He was dim at best, yet, fooling us all.
With the grips of winter, I grew bitter.
By the end of day, my hand would sure fall.
Touch to love, to feel, with malice? I reel.
She came to me with news that bit my soul.
With my growing age, I lost my even keel.
She said, take no act but I lacked control.
In the crowded hall, I search for his face.
Languorous eyes fail, where mine had been keen.
His comfort and smiles resolved my distaste.
My hand harkened his face, a blood spat scene.
All the anger, all the rage felt in youth,
Yet the excited hand spoke an untruth.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 11:28 AM UTC
Once monsters transubstantiate from the stories liars procreated,
Saints will be demonized, the appendages of justice are amputated,
As the people oblige the varmint to which they are harkened to make sated,
A mythos deepens in the shadows that is the chimera’s birthplace, they illy devour the nests of krait.
Those who blindly accept Odysseus’s tools as truths spun out of that which is hated,
Foolishly seek justice in the ****** of Palamedes whilst knowing not the sins their “justice” shall have produced.
As the people oblige the varmint to which they are harkened to find sated,
Propagate the mythos of Odysseus that is birthed of shadows in which chimera mated,
They, without bar, promptly devour the nests of krait.
As the people look on from their lofty perch,
The world seems more desolate than degenerates that, in alleyways, awkwardly converge,
People, narcissistic in their ways, believe they have apprehended the problems of the world,
Truly knowing nothing of any world, yet they demand change - forcing reality to be gnarled.
Our raison d’etre stripped by liars’ clever demarche,
Seeking out new value, we find nothing more than the waste liars' disgorge.
Accept the monsters into sainthood,
Demote the saints into monsterdom,
Let there be no more fight fought for truth,
Let hate spun from a lying chimera’s mouth, a tool in some words, procreate,
Let this lie procreate inside the bellies of the people,
Whom watch the world from a bird’s eye view,
Those who shall find their foolish ways lead to a death not quite real,
But a death that feels far graver than merely six feet under,
A death of reality,
The death of justice,
A death of truth,
The death to meaning.
As the fight from the few souls who persevered through the changing tides dims to black,
As death creeps into our lives,
Those who upon lofty perches sought to change a world they knew not,
Will find a hole in their hearts, that themselves they dug and threw away,
Not able to be filled by modern man’s creations,
That hole – a future far more bitter, far more twisted, far more deserved than death.
Once monsters transubstantiate from the stories liars procreated,
Saints will be demonized, the appendages of justice now amputated,
As the people oblige the varmint that they are harkened to, without interest in that which is ethical or true, make sated,
A mythos deepens in the shadows that is the birthplace of chimera, they wisely have devoured the entirety of all the krait.
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 9:41 PM UTC
The coarse betrayal
Harkened an awakening
Of mind and body through
Enlightenment of
Existential crises.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 7:18 PM UTC
A shell, an armour of stone
Cold as the touch of ice
Eternal darkness left alone
Left to my devices, in a prison of spite
Warning to be harkened
Eternal darkness left in this place called home
Dec 25, 2020
Dec 25, 2020 at 12:53 AM UTC
I remember as a village member,
I cut a memorable road in the wood...
I remember as a walking wobbler,
Some deep thrill made shrill the route,
Covered by the blackness of Blackwood.
I remember as a faint bystander,
What a dark power had that wild park,
beware-embraced, making my eyes sharp,
Taking its hideous darkness like a lark.
I remember with a tender temper,
Some river's ripping ceased my shiver,
I - a thinker, harkened the silent timber,
How the water seduced me to drink her,
Whether I will fall to flaw, following her.
I remember as a deep slumber,
I answered the call, the fanfare, I heard;
The song of the fake stream was a lake,
A lake calling me with its narcotic ache.
I remember as I remember,
As if that freak lake wanted me to keep,
As if that deep lake... made me to leap.
I remember as a member of the lake,
I cut a memorable road in the wood...
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 1:45 AM UTC
I was out of breath just walking with you.
It wasn't the sun
or the hay bathed heat,
it was the passion
with which you held your silence
that harkened the blood from my veins
and flushed my emotions
clear across my cheeks.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 1:59 PM UTC
Who (on a lark) doth
spur my distant soul
fully bellowed ahoy
quickly hastening
ye to catfish
as a way to avoid
this beastie boy
wherein America playfulness
of generic gull versus buoy
ought tubby coy,
where thee
(latter days haint)
feeble, (non fable us)
jerry-rig mock up employ
appetizing as pâté de foie
gras, flavored for
tastebuds of goy
opposed to dietary
strictures of Jew,
moost likely christening
implies holier than thou
(especially, asper those hoy
tee toy
tee upscale rich folk)
proudly prideful mensch
linkedin kindling joy
de vivre, while
quietly dwelling stoke
king traditions ensconced, poke
king and prodding youngest
generation to become
rooted like mighty oak,
within their mini mansions,
and attending synagogue,
solemn non joke
kingly seriously
commingling, congregating,
and copulating plenti
fully, while livingsocial
at least among other rich folk,
sans Mainline, Pennsylvania
a cohesive family tribe
dispersed members of Zion
prompting this atheistic
scribe try'n
to fathom long gone - NEIN
never forgotten Semitic
village people (mine
ancestry, who hailed and
harkened from Eastern Europe
wonder on this
eightieth anniversary,
of Kristallnacht, where genocide
cleft a jagged line,
where ponders thyself
countless relations
haunting as I dost
eat, sleep or dine!
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
I'm harkened to some Billy Joel
"rode my motorcycle, in the rain"
yes I know it's true my love
"it only proves, that I'm insane"
You're always right, day and night
"Remember how I found you there"
I just can't help but think
it only proves, you care
And so
"you may be right"
I'm crazy as a can be
"turn out the light"
I'm your's tonight
sane never will know
a single part
of me
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 11:40 PM UTC
There's a chapter of your life
that could never be closed
you will recall the time
when love in gaiety posed
in the greenfield of your youth-
you wouldn't stay but walked away
though there was splendour among the hills
and the sun was bursting-red in passion
surely you should have harkened to your heart's thrills?
but no! why? your fancy was wild
another was waving from the other end
she was fairer and her light-brown hair
was drifting in the breeze bearing her seductive scent-
you didn't say goodbye while you left
you didn't explain why--
she stood still as though in a daze
there was a tear in her eye...
two decades had travelled by
to that once-green field you returned thereafter
this time weary and disenchanted to regret and cry
she who was faithful had belonged to another.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 9:10 PM UTC