"harking" poems
Pleasantries aside, did you feel that tremble?
Not earthquake, it was heaven's shake
when you took me
by hand
led away
deep in wood
STOP...
and stood
Pierced constellation's reflection
Eyes sent soul's orbit
Forbidding further speak of
Harking horror
for it is tomorrow
and I still don't know your name
Or...
why your grizzly ways
Turned me into bait
Ursa Major I hear Ursa Minor
He pines for your return
...because you weakened him
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
if you won't learn a second tongue, that's foreign to you, like, let's say french, or spanish... don't expect me to "integrate" into your society, and leave my mothertongue in a ditch, in the gutter, in a forgetfullness... i'm keeping mine, and you'll have to cut my tongue off, to make me forget it!
why? what's the main reason? the r! the R!
the trill!
well... i have another name for the so-called trill...
great oral ***
for one...
but in my gob... that letter equates to
a rattlesnake... the english took the ketamine-numbing
approach to the R... the french? they, they...
they just ******* hark it out... ha ha... as if they were clearing
their throats from too many cigarettes the previous day...
my R is a rattlesnake...
so, once more... oh, i learn your language, i'll even
beat you at it... given my current expression...
but forget my mothertongue, and not have the odd sing-along to a song
in my native (tongue)? forget it...
you numbed the R... you're almost swallowing your tongue
when expressing it...
where's your serpent regarding
the letter? oh... an anaconda... quasi-bear-like hibernation
after eating some animal in one gulp...
where is the snake's **** by the way?
do they have one?
i'd love to see a snake take a ****
but that's like: a month's, if not half a year's worth of "indigestion".
n'ah... i'll integrate, for sure, i'll use the tongue,
but not using the native? forget it!
you learn a second tongue! we have to meet halfway, after all.
i feel sorry for R in the hands of the french, or the english...
the former are harking it... the latter are numbing it...
me? thankfully using it like a rattlesnake.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
My thought is empty,
I'm in search of something to let in,
I am gazing at nothing,
In search of something,
I'm harking back to my past,
Trying to find out what I left out,
The only thing I remember is the future,
But its just an illusion,
You may call it vision ,
Since I'm on a mission,
that's the reason why am confused,
Because I'm been used,
Now I remember what I must put together,
I most achieve my aim,
Through the meaning of my name.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
With its life in the palms of person(s) unprecedented,
And its soul orbiting other oppressor,
And its eyes glaring at glistening gloaters,
It slithers and slides and twists and turns,
Ruthlessly reaching for a rapid revival.
Its heart lays limp on the long, lonely lawn
And its spirit sinks silently
And its mouth cries carelessly
It pulses and pushes and wriggles and writhes
Hopelessly harking for a hint of help.
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
The heavy smoke of war lay across the world it was laced with carnage and had the sounds of screaming
Shells and the screams of the dying men but as it continued its drift at the far edges a cloud and mist
Began to diminish the former and distil a brighter future there was the timid glory sounding the
Harking tribute of childlike memories the power of innocence to diffuse the base and inhumane
To spill across these scathing pages an ethereal presence that was empowering of good that
Could and did straddle time and space with magnificence drawing from exploration and history
That beheld the worst but mined the hidden gold to enrich the world it knew secrets that
Exposed the damnable lies that bankrupted former empires we were created to be conquers
Our mettle is an amalgamation of weak flesh but inherit in the confused and reciprocating
Action ultimately a flash of inspiration leaps from the spirit the dead end near sighted flesh was
At the wall of limitation now we stand at the zenith of the universe at its ever increasing of it
Self this inestimable spring of well being floods the low plains we ford these rich waters
Immediately our impoverished cares taste and smell the high and great call of hope we
Instinctively open our heart and mind as a great sail we find our self in the envious position as a
Seafarer our very sinew is awakened to promise and opportunity we have left far behind the
Naysayers we see gifts of beauty spread everywhere where all before was drear now victory is
Courting us to rise to even higher heights boldness infuses our demeanor we now throw off
Yesterdays doubting with eyes that are no longer dim we see with clearest vision and with
Steeled determination former days of being wistful vagabonds is forever forfeited we have the
Right and the might that Lincoln addressed his generation we align ourselves with the high
Ideals of past warriors and martyrs know this our enemies whatever your culture or ideals you
Have come among a stalwart people and the foundations of our forefathers will defeat you the
Same as others who came with inferior and demonized religions know this truth will and has
Made us free look well to yourselves continue and your destruction is guaranteed check the
Harbinger winds and save your selves from the only outcome that will befall you which is
Destruction
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
What does Eunice bring
on these blustered, raging winds?
Busted fences put up in haste,
a forlorn balloon cut loose,
with a smiley face harking back to those
asymmetric aceeeed days
when polarity was frowned upon:
what’s your name where you from what you done?
A man cut from rich serge
can be employed to gaslight
blackened eyes to white,
but the **** in Kent’s hedges
don’t lie
Feb 18, 2022
Feb 18, 2022 at 6:50 AM UTC
When life hands you so much sorrow and pain,
And takes so much with little to gain,
You're like a train that somehow left the track,
Can we ever get the good times back?
Do you recall when the world was so new?
And there seemed no limit to what we could do,
Harking back to those simpler times,
Of children's books and nursery rhymes.
Can you remember those simple joys?
Childhood dreams and children's toys,
How did we ever lose our way?
Can we ever get back to that day?
Yet somehow those dreams all have faded,
Have we really become that jaded?
The only cure for lost love is a love that's new,
The only love that matters is a love that's true.
And here we are, two souls destined to meet,
Why should we ever accept defeat?
For us our lives have just begun,
We can do this together, let me be the one.
11-24-10.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
Upon her return from desert Vegas,
Like lizards kissing in the heat,
The rain drops poured so hard, how lovely again to hear each other’s heart’s beat
Upon our meet, and washed away the agony of the everlasting wait.
Upon her voyage from earthly east,
Within the beast between Pacific and Atlantic feast.
Flowers crying, in a vase soaking on the table,
For they did not meet,
The sunshine hidden behind clouds of darkness.
So vague the feeling from one’s love departure,
on voyage resumed by time ahead 3 hours.
The dreams came quickly, and time more distant,
if to the moment of her departure,
Yet I still could not touch her.
The carcass harking for a crow to feast,
of my safety I’m concerned the least.
For by her voyage I am not,
My mind does rigorous of thinking and succumbs to plot,
What is there, and what is not.
Through I grieve to think me lonely,
Even as much her look gazes in my heart, stonily,
The sudden energy passing through the wireless speaker,
Her voice traveling over to mine much meeker.
My mind compels me to the image,
Of what other’s gave to me by words,
That this time I have to fight with swords,
This sad place they never speak of ruled by lords.
How relentlessly I tried.
My heart for her safety cried,
Until my mind gave in to show,
a point in back of my head I fried.
The eagerness of her time next to mine.
My selfish understanding sublime.
Like tea was seasoned with thyme.
Instead of lemon,
Who’s there to blame on?
Then action of mind of mine.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 12:31 AM UTC
strange to be surrounded by the heroism of the careful edit of Thespians, who can wage win or lose wars with a careful edit and the use of steroids to show the hardship of our former life now made easier - being surrounded by the staged heroism of careful edit, Thespian expression breeds in all a dissatisfaction with menial labours we could be better off to encourage as a non-victimising share of labour, and yet among such numbers of fellows we find our labours too menial, robbing us of the comfort of being as one among so many, only because we're being fed fake courage of Thespians and the subsequent fake adventures of the same profession, to only turn askance into the world and instead of adventure only seeing prospects of tourism, and former hardships of our forefathers as only menial banality.
recitation of religous mantras
seem all the more important
with the blocked toilet
of darwin's **** keeping
the foremost populist adhesive
among people reciting no other
scientific theories -
like that one about a pea-sized
dollop of toothpaste
and any more actually causing
nicotine colouring on your teeth -
dentists & money
& each other
trade (tried and tested, agreeable paradox).
well currently darwin and einstein
are instructing societies in terms
of respectable talk, talk so respectable
that no counter opinion can enter,
because too few scientific facts
are given mantra status...
cite me a theory from chemistry,
cite me at least one thing
about thermodynamics...
exactly, you can't!
we might as well endear a harking laugh
of a fox and the howling bark of dog -
because the western dogma mantra is so
limited - maxims replace poems
and poems are hid whether under the
debasing blanket of lyrics that are simple
due to excess instrumentation
and no hope of singing in duo presence
of both singer and the one expecting song -
or under blankets of fictive corpses
of bored readers - as once noted and spotted:
a funeral service corporate "shop"
and in it too st. francis' hospice selling charity books.
should shiva's attainment of vishnu's peace of mind be attained and subsequently lost, shiva's third eye opens and turns the mind toward the only subsequent definition of former attainment of peace, the third eye opens and turns to warring and destruction; toward the east, Asia's Thespians are known as Avatars - if not thieving from men, then at least enriching gods.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
*"Once...
In my hands I cradled the dream of a candle,
A candle made from the weeping wax of peace,
The frozen peace of winter did kiss the flame to life at the dawn of time,
A time when life glowing was first born,
He was born on a night where even wolves hushed in solitude,
The solitude of a winter’s sparkling moon,
In the moon's ink a book was spun rich and old,
Old it was,
As old as the child of a dying nightingale,
A nightingale born from the symphonic blood of a Saviour,
A Saviour pure as softly sprinkled snow,
The snow in glory harking,
Harking the flute made from the ice of sublime love,
A love eternal,
Life eternal for all humankind,
This same humankind is now distracted and blind,
We are blind to the silent solace of winter and no longer seek the divine,
Our divine King of Kings it is His song that we forget to sing,
Please sing once more and hark the angels of heaven.
In heaven there was once upon a time...
There was a time,
A time of hope,
Of hope and of mercy.
Mercy and love too,
Love,
Love,
Love..."*
©Rangzeb Hussain
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 17, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
November is a month
i dread, all the marking...
all the words ..... ideas
clutter up in my head....
all the hopes and ambitions
weigh heavily on my back.
the first day, my birthday
hip hip hooray!!!
then a rushing, pell mell
downward track
of red pens and meetings
going on and on and on
planning, prepping, late night stressing
then, when not at work,
not shirking, just not working
hoping to give the brain a rest
am bombarded...
like i am ******** in cheer
...continual messages of
christmas is near....
coffee and carols,
shopping and angels
harking, harking,
joy to the world, fa al lalala...
Santa queues
truly not an Ebeneezer
but Christmas teasers
in November make me grey
around the gills
fish out of water
lamb to the slaughter
and running on empty,
always empty,
just want one day...
when the world
would stop hassling
and just go away
no end of year parties...
prentending to be hale and hearty
with all sorts of colleagues
and academic smarties
no presentations of budgets..
thinner than last
no we could not fast
this area, to be on line
no it's alright, it will be just fine
while sculling copious amounts
of cheap, cheap, nasty red wine.
no hangover from said feast...
no, you be the one to corner the beast.
no more standing with mothers and others
watching children in a god awful christmas play
and clapping and chatting while little bettsy
recieves an award for knitting a sleeve
and george gets one for adding fourhundred and forty
please, please show me the door.....
not to mention hayfever,
daylight savings and more
but all this seems trivial...
when I consider
the blight of my life...
in the stakes of annuity.
the month of November has a great heart
Movember...a charity of moustache art
has an fanatic in my big, bluff,bloke
for a month he curries and cares for the
caterpillar that grows on his lip...
a fuzzy flecked monstrosity
with the mange and a weird flip.
November a month of avoiding
the succour of contact....
with that thing,
my toes curl now
thinking of it....
tho I try not to react
(after all charity begins at home)
november november
truly you are the ***
last year he bought
the ****** thing a comb
yet in the end
you are but a month
and it seems I survive you
year after year
thank god for take away meals
and long cold beers....
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
To a passer-by
Whose eyes are as blue as the sky
whose grief is maddened, whose cries are silenced
but whose joys are quenching;
The hiding sun is on your lips
As beguiling as the sky-lark's song:
thy movement left me fainting and murmuring all along!
That roaring sea of blueness - glistening in the wintry throng;
endless and limitless in its own fieriness, which thy gracefully bestowed upon me!
And the bronze of thy hair, thy smooth, cloudless hair!
How unsorted this gleefulness is, upon harking to thy voices!
Yet shadowed by the fitful trees,
Murky is their grin, greedy is their rind
Oh then how I had to leave thee; for the slim but fleeting rain!
No, how I longed for thee, thee with me!
Oh the dear, dear love of my life! How sought is thy presence, how cherished it is in my fair chest!
Had I then to relent,
I sprang from my lavished comfort, I retreated to my creaking den
And wanly blent myself into the scenes, again.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
FIRST: the poem which inspired...oh, yes, laugh--it's reminiscent of, of, would that be the old "the house that jack built"? ie, Joshua Amos Graff/aka Graff1980's poem--
Graff1980
4h@18:04, 29Oct17
Untitled
The phone store
is closed,
but I can still see
the sharp blue glow
of those
bright screens
blinking out at me
from the window
to the streets
where I am walking slowly.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2187429/untitled/
SECOND: the comment his poem inspired and which he too generously told me I "should post."--
[He said Jenny Williams]--Like a ghost none sees, catching the lurid eye of those eyeless windows to the black hole of an eerie yonder, the speaker treads as if slippered through the darkness which itself is alive and aware, the scene commonplace, yet rendered thus with a poignant ghastliness, a delicacy. Thank you for sharing.
THIRD: the sonnet which I told him I'd endeavour to compose from that same comment, yet which is a frustrating reminder why as Stella Armour was it? told me years ago she did NOT want to force thoughts into sonnets, and I heartily concur: I'd far rather pour the unformed thought into that "most exquisite form of poetry" than try to squeeze a complete thought into that "gilded cage"--
...for Joshua Amos Graff's poem--
(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCXXII)
Likeas a ghost none sees where streetlamps fence
The blacker shroud of night, how in betrayl
'Non catching lo, the lurid eye's detail
Of those more eyeless windows harking thence
Unto the black hole of an eerie sense
Of yonder, how you tread as if t'avail
Now slippered through the darkness which in pale
'Scuse ah, itself's alive and 'ware. What hence?
You only put down for the page as twere
That lonely walk through naked streets left to
None else. Yet where dead cellphones look in poor
Excuse out, la, you render thus anew
What's common, but whose ghastliness in tour
Is poignant, delcacies I cherish. You?
29Oct17a
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 7:16 PM UTC
It was a gin house in Limehouse
a fine house
to dine in.
But long before then it was an ***** den
where the 'Gents' from the city
came to look at girls
who once,
were quite pretty
that was a long time ago.
Now it's an inn
and the in place to be.
Once where dragons roamed free in the heart of the East End
People now spend a drink or two
allowing the theatre queue
to go down.
The town's not the same
all the music halls have closed
and the dreams that were posed on the pages of magazines
are just scenes I remember from childhood.
Maybe that's a good thing and perhaps it is not
Perhaps it's a sign of the times that we've got,
when we had ****** all
it was the music halls that enthralled us
that mixture of melody and comedy,
tragedy and look at me
harking back to those
'good old days'
It pays to recall the gin house down Limehouse
and the Ladies who knew nothing else
but the dragons who perched on the end of a pipe
or else I'd think it okay
to think in the old way.
Which is not the in place
to be.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 10:51 AM UTC
...want M&M's right now!
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXIX)
Out where a fragile silence listens, pale
Sweet minutes on their honour as suspense
Hangs like the rick'ty signboard of what hence
Shall cough ere giving voice, yes, in that frail
Calm rain does not quite tiptoe through t'avail,
The voiceless naught is keenly for intents
Half harking to what we don't hear from thence
In all our haste to be, I search for bail.
Old pools of water, silver-faced, don't stir,
And crickets gently fiddle; cars pass through,
Truck sans a care, weeds look too yellow to
Be ransomed, and the eaves drip. Oh, what were
We thinking, really? Death knocks 'gain in tour
Yet we feign not to notice. Ah, what's new?
30Sep18a
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 6:12 PM UTC
A harking shadow from past times
came back to bomb blast my last rhymes.
It came back so suddenly, with a fit of rage.
Now all I do is write cute page after page
of feelings that do nothing but bloat my mind.
Now all I feel like doing is trying to find a new grind.
A distraction for whats behind my memory's rind.
Simple mental satisfaction is what I long for.
What I remember now is what I abhor.
Take me back to a time before the days I deplore,
take me back to what I adore.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
I am physically ******* and
mentally chewing on this factual statement
I release the pent up anger
that I've lingered over and
blood starts to boil, yet
I'm imbued with a sense of well-being which
is like seeing yourself with a knife in your brain
and thinking it's fine so you see it again.
Of necessity and because of my age
any rage is a carefully controlled emotion.
A lifetime,
a pastime?
but now it's time to get real.
I deal from the bottom of the pack,
got to have an edge
but that's harking back to
the bad old days and the
old ways have gone.
Game on.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 7:02 AM UTC
From Beyonce's blood that flows
to Brandy's flush face that glows
to J. Lo's fresh flesh
to Joy Bryant's, for example, self-dignity
that talk about the pulse
that refreshes
that same fountain
of Reality's Child
and a "cool chick"
reeks of a blood type
dealing in chocolate code
of the mind
and cherry coke of the ***
such that
Lana Turner
would turn over in her grave
if she knew of
a new breed of female *** symbols
harking back to her, Gable,
Heyworth, Bacall, and Hepburn.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 2:20 PM UTC
it was announced, rolling stones and the beatles,
michael jackson verus prince,
while a classic song by prince was in an ****
of famishing spreading with direct contact with
google, i dare say english requires phonetic
pointers... like ħ... in exampled when,
ah and hatch... it's in need of deciphering
particularity.... it's a surd symbol...
it's not a clear methodological approach to
tonguing it... it's whimsical, very daring...
i too could hate phil collins...
but the 80s were defined by bankers
trading property values with no straitjacket required...
and that's the pop *** we all wanted:
loss of violins and cellos, gain of drum machines...
i'd pick prince any day, for the gems that can't be heard
on the major channels...
or like lao che's gusła or róże europy / roses of europe's
1989 blood of marilyn monroe song:
kości czerwone, kości czarne
(red bones, black bones), what remained of the
band was just a song: jedwab (silk):
she told him high society drank cognac with a slice
of lemon like the slavic way of drinking tea...
he preferred the beer and dried out russian sushi
that gave way to gurgling thirst...
no, i mean it... ħ should be introduced,
a strike of usage erased, like when, like
the excess trill of the r in slavic, and the excess
mitigating harking of the h in germanic.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 8:17 PM UTC
a stop is called
a cold drop to death
and clothe my eyes squint tight
then clear the screen beam into another variant
a ********** (with a new approach)
broaching language
( the previous dud
would never have dared ! )
caring less with vicious rapping
reinvent the day from the perspective
of a new gimmy villain
**** to the experience and bite barking
take two you intolerable people
you intolerable world
the intolerable harking
of the intolerable day
Apr 14, 2025
Apr 14, 2025 at 8:40 PM UTC
Power the dark twinkle stars
barking corners suspending time
twice kinks come harking cutting
the fabric weaving wearing magic
bending the burning distance
past echoes from the future wand
collecting in the pestles wrung
shrunk reeded in the rock crests
green, the glory that flowers thorns
crucified to the firmament after
the rains departed never to return
in the heart what flames red above
in the depths what fills the sky
pressed to the earth in the desert
song of rivers coursing among stars
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
yep,
and went all the way to st. petersburg...
met her "family",
what i mean by that ambiguity is that:
her mother was her "sister",
her grandmother was her "mother",
a photograph of her grandfather
was her "father".
dittoing out of words too much?
i cradled her little sister on a fairground ride...
i still believed the lie...
so yoru grandmother is your mother...
and your mother is your sister...
what the ****
and i was the one that my aunt gave
birth to me!
lemon curd ice-creams anyone?
how the **** do you live with something that?
apparently 7 years later it was corrected
as:
the mother you called your sister,
was actually your mother;
the grandmother you called your mother,
was actually your grandmother;
so why would you marry some pathological liar
of a woman?
fair *** my aß... ᚨᛋᛋ... say it as ich without
saying ś... when you say isch:
when actually harking out an ich.
cholera, holera, chować sto, chować pięcet!
sure, you can go on a date with such an e.g.
to the ****** opera... eat oysters in a restaurant....
do all the things you'd like to do as a couple...
but then the all too obvious lies...
i also had great sympathy for my grandparents,
but i wouldn't call my grandfather my father,
or my mother, a twice-removed sister of an aunt
that was dying from alzheimer's!
being around the block, giving a ********** an ******
(which i find to be a lifetime's achievement) -
i ****** well know that prostitutes have
better etiquette standards, than what woman i dated;
and the other one, the south african blonde...
who ****** me with a dry ****
prostitutes? at least they cream up
if they find you unappealing;
at least that much courtesy, as is required.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:05 AM UTC
Design it.
but refine it.
From drafting class
in junior high with the protractor
I have always
longed for progress
in architecture.
A harking back to medieval styles
(along with an old fashioned look in big cars)
in the seventies depressed me
but how I know
that Frank Lloyd Wright Sr. is
still respected
and the STate Farm Center
is a marvel.
There has been progress
just as much as individual success
so that the Parthenon
and the Colosseum
and the Agricole
and Agraharam
deposit on us
a new found lust
for the glory that was Greece
and that grandeur that was Rome.
Charles Sturies
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC