"hasten" poems
I would have taken the easy path
But that would leave no room for glory
I would have picked out a comfortable life
But that isn't God’s kind of story
I would have followed a prettier road
But missed the most beautiful way
I would have clung to familiar things
But lived out my days in the grey
I would have chosen what’s stable
But grown cold, apathetic and bored
I would have sought out earth’s riches
But lost all that in heaven is stored
I would have liked more successes
But not learned so quickly of grace
I would have seen myself praised more
But given up knowing God’s face
I would have tied all my loose ends
But not known it’s He Who brings peace
I would have wanted for happier times
But traded a joy that can’t cease
I would have opted for normal
But not tasted rare delicacies
I would have preferred a man’s love
But been robbed of Divine intimacy
He’s chosen for me the high road
More jagged, more narrow and steep
So now I must travel this difficult way
Ever knowing it leads to the deep
Now I must choose to cherish His path
And trust Him to walk with me there
Now I must hasten to take up my cross
The fellowship of His sufferings to share
For one day this life will be over
And all my afflictions will end
It is then I will see what all this is for
In my Bridegroom, my Savior, my Friend
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.
That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
when, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you.
38.8k
The chemistry so intoxicating,
Lips wet your salavitating
Feeling your vibes
Your as wet
as wet gets
Lovin every second
Not a drip wasted
One finger placed-in,
Your breathing hasten
Two fingers pacin
Your waist whining like the time I'm takin
grinding towards something amazin
A huge explosion in a tiny place; your haven
You lost in ecstasy while we share the same space
Its only a matter of time before its written all over your face
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
The chemistry so intoxicating,
Lips wet your salavitating
Feeling your vibes
Your as wet
as wet gets
Lovin every second
Not a drip wasted
One finger placed-in,
Your breathing hasten
Two fingers pacin
Your waist whining like the time I'm takin
grinding towards something amazin
A huge explosion in a tiny place; your haven
You lost in ecstasy while we share the same space
Its only a matter of time before its written all over your face
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
Winter is cold-hearted,
Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weathercock
Blown every way:
Summer days for me
When every leaf is on its tree;
When Robin's not a beggar,
And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing,
Over the wheat-fields wide,
And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
Swings from side to side,
And blue-black beetles transact business,
And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.
Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
Is worth a month in town;
Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
That days drone elsewhere.
19.4k
Hands shake after intake
of brown and green.
Catch the breath
keep it till it leaves.
Pretend, through the muddle,
that this hasten heart beat
isn't bumping blood cells
filled with defeat,
that the O2 isn't poisoning
the alveoli that absorb it,
sending this brain, and all
it entails, straight to
hell.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
It was almost 10 oclock, their eyes heavy as rocks, Erik and Jamal headed home
The fork in the road that they've always known to mean they tread on all alone
They made their embrace and started their pace and Erik did not hasten much
Jamal however was quick to endeavor, because mama had told him to rush
They walked their separate ways, reflected on their days, and coveted what tomorrow would bring
At that very moment, their train of thought stolen, by the bellow of sirens they sing
A large police van rolled upon each young man, and flashed a light on each of their face
They told Erik hurry, his mom needn't worry, yet they questioned young Jamal's pace
They told him get down, he got on the ground and struggled in his discomfort
Erik heard a bang in the night, that had gave him a fright, and thought to himself where'd it come from?
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 12:59 PM UTC
The soil recognizes
the vibration of your
soft soul and soft soles
when you walk around
the garden's edge.
Grounds from every corner
of the world hasten
to be underneath your feet.
Twenty dignified, upright,
and humble footsteps
from the lilies
to carnations
and much of the earth
is covered.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
Across the leaden sky
A gull shooting a cry,
Hastens to his final task
Before the sky puts on his mask.
No one knew what his final task was
Except that his time drew to a pause
And that he had to hasten because
From the open he had to retreat.
This the bird knew, but he was wayward;
He swam in the airy waves, beak forward,
Skating-flying, but always eastward,
Heedless of the dark - like a poet.
©LazharBouazzi, 2017
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
…*in every visible character man differs less from the higher apes,
than these do from the lower members of the same order of Primates*.
Charles Darwin, 1871
The Other claims descent from apes
then acts like a violent monkey.
It pillages, it loots and rapes
performing as Satan’s flunkey.
Its actions bear the mark of Cain;
brandishing cameras, smashing things.
We feel its proto-human pain
yet dread the urban woe it brings.
It tries to justify, with words
its primal carnage, childish rage.
With anthropoid designs deferred
it struts the Darwinian stage.
The higher primate government
rewards them well in ripe bananas
for wrecking their environment
(jungle as well as savannas).
Their mate selection (naturally):
a semi-simian solution:
intercoursing sexually,
to hasten their evolution.
The wombs enlarge—they drop their young
then text their friends while getting high.
They swing from tree-tops, fling their dung,
while down below the humans sigh.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
Underneath this myrtle shade,
On flowerly beds supinely laid,
With odorous oils my head o’erflowing,
And around it roses growing,
What should I do but drink away
The heat and troubles of the day?
In this more than kingly state
Love himself on me shall wait.
Fill to me, Love! nay, fill it up!
And mingled cast into the cup
Wit and mirth and noble fires,
Vigorous health and gay desires.
The wheel of life no less will stay
In a smooth than rugged way:
Since it equally doth flee,
Let the motion pleasant be.
Why do we precious ointments shower?—
Nobler wines why do we pour?—
Beauteous flowers why do we spread
Upon the monuments of the dead?
Nothing they but dust can show,
Or bones that hasten to be so.
Crown me with roses while I live,
Now your wines and ointments give:
After death I nothing crave,
Let me alive my pleasures have:
All are Stoics in the grave.
4.6k
Indulge me for I'm sat looking at a scarf
As I transport rather splendid G and T
To its final destination
Not mine I hasten to add, my scarf that is not the gin
Purple not my colour you see
I had issue with burgundy as a child, frightful memories
I digress but it was left behind like a signature
Not intentionally just in a sweet forgetfulness
I can't pick it up, crazy as it sounds
I mean if I did it would be real not imagery
The moment lost, but no real moment as I can't feel it
Do you understand ? Perhaps not
I have admittedly been reminded of its presence
I imagine it's scent, no I imagine her scent
Her presence in the room, her smile lifts me
I mean it's just a scarf I mean it can't exist can it?
Do we leave a little of ourselves behind?
Emotion like lost property
I don't know, I honestly don't
Is there a course for metaphysical disorientation and the re repatriation of lost purple scarfs?
I guess not. I'd probably fail in any case.
It will still be here tomorrow. In plain sight, just hidden from my reality
Goodnight scarf.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
Oppression, a monarch with a crown,
Limits resources in every town.
No reason to hasten, no reason to strive,
Content with meager offerings, barely alive.
With corruption and barriers abound,
Progress is hindered, hope is drowned.
The bright minds, afraid to take flight,
Chained to the system, a slave to the night.
No greater malice than silence so deep,
Stifling progress, and secrets keep.
Perfection in negligence, light in the shade,
Obfuscation the art, truth to evade.
The God that troubles, the tyrants that bind,
Crushing brilliance, dulling the mind.
In quiet desperation, with hopeful elation,
This poem, a message, a call to liberation.
May it strike deep, may it shake the ground,
May it expose the corruption that's found.
May it pierce through the veil, and bring forth the light,
May it break the chains, and set things right.
The oppression, corruption, and silence enthralled,
May they all fall to the might of my words so bold.
May it be a catalyst, a spark that ignites,
A revolution, a change in sight.
I hope my poem strikes a mighty blow,
A wakeup call, for all to know.
The power in words, the power to call,
I hope my poem, I hope my poem kills them all.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
Such a sight to behold.
The beauty of sitting on your warm behind.
Cool, filtered air blowing, drying your sore eyes.
Staring at two glowing tail lamps, full of rage and light.
Time waves good bye, like a widow left behind.
Composed,civilized minds decline into untamed―primitive impulses.
Instincts drive them, hoping it will hasten their journey.
The flow of traffic shows otherwise.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
☺☻╬☻
Finish the crackers --- grab a smoke . . .
of Ferguson my muse will sing.
A call to arms --- God’s fires to stoke;
let Truth and Freedom ring!
Take to the streets; avenge this wrong
and hasten the end of racist rule.
Justice, though it may tarry long
will find its target in the duel.
Young Michael Brown, like all true saints
found himself craving Swisher Sweets.
He robbed a store, whose camera paints
impartial portrait. In the streets
the thief refused to be detained
and so threw off police restraint.
Though sin escaped, the Law remained
and made a martyr of this saint.
The agitators did their thing:
inflaming thugs to smash and loot,
while racists baited hooks, to string
the press. Officials followed suit.
Angels, although not always kind,
do not display this attitude –
aware of how the police mind
responds to such ingratitude.
We ought to thank the police force
for showing mercy under stress.
The culprit chose a foolish course
and made a God-awful mess.
Prince Michael met ignoble fate
(that ghetto-Christ, that righteous youth)
His sacrifice in vain --- though great,
could not impede the march of Truth.
Ferguson, our eyes turn towards you . . .
are you now able to admit
while reality rewards you
that looting and lying ain’t ****
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
Mind, like a deciduous forest
has lost all its foliage,
all leaves torn away
by the autumnal blasts
The brain where great schemes were concocted
is now an abyss where spiders sway
It is bare – dismally barren
of all memories – sweet and sour
Like a kite afloat in the boundless sky
moving nowhere, but as the wind directs,
cut out from the past, turned from the present
with the future yet to surge from the abyss
or like serpents intertwining,
hissing in turmoil within the brain,
unable to sense the gusty blast,
or hear the whispering air,
dead to sounds that disturb,
deaf to songs that soothe,
like a phantom he moves weird,
drifting far away
to a space and time impenetrable
with nothing to make the mind agog
or depress it to let out a sigh.
Loitering on roads without hurrying feet
with no bliss coming on the way
to run or hasten to embrace
or fear to be missed sore
passing through dark labyrinthine tunnels
forever barred with no exit
churned in oblivion, oblivious of all,
he remains a spectral facsimile
of his onetime self
plummeting into a black hole
The pulse of a heart beat
is all that keeps him alive,
all else is dead…… !
with dreary nights ahead
that shall not know another morrow
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
There in the field she came to me,
The last of the silver honeybees.
I could see the years worn in her face,
Lost in the dark, one foot in the grave.
She held the ache behind her eyes,
So young to have her throat closed tight.
Poor girl, an orphan, with ribs of steel
Bone cage laced too tight to feel.
Then came the lonesome cosmonaut,
Betwixt the stars, those years he lost;
A nomad’s tale, nor here nor there
Too high up to come down for air.
Celestial darlings, they go round and round,
Dysphoric we hasten the final burnout:
From birth to evanesce, the hedons expire
Would love rot my teeth for afflictions less dire?
Last came the poet, out from the gloam
******* on pennies, and ink soaked through bones.
She gathered her strength and fell from the sky
While friends in high places twinkled goodbye.
Jan 9, 2023
Jan 9, 2023 at 4:23 PM UTC
Your juices run down my finger.
The slim from your kiss linger.
My eager grows;
thirsty for your taste,
sweet embrace,
Go figure.
Your figure,
Controlling the pace
Of your waist
You whining,
Hips grinding,
You are trying
To hasten the pace,
But this ain't a race.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
“Solidity of my heart is ever repeating,
Yet yearning for things I'll never know,
The heat of the earth upon my feelings,
The zeal of the flurry gusts upon my dermis,
In the beauty of sunlight falling on water ways,
As you can feel the warmth of the sun as I have,
I’ve confronted my life’s crusades before this melody,
Oh yes yours be a simple cup of water for a diverse life,
It is the brine of the ocean that makes me crave more,
Tears that make my ever repeating heart stutter,
Tear drops warm as the flurry gusts upon my dermis,
Tears abhor the interior sole destruction of my soul,
Tears hasten down my cheeks like rivers,
Tears now smell and taste like the salt of sea brine,
As it leaves a taste of red fervor within my heart?
There will always be peace now way in my soul,
Tears sooth me like my feet upon brine sand stone
As I walk this journey I may stumble and fall,
For that infinite one that has left me now all alone,
I shall ever be fulfilled now in my melody of tears”
By Andrew Guzaldo 10/10/2018 ©
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
Never have I been the best at hiding how I feel. There is no peaceful game. My face reveals the truth. Never to be doubted. Nothing left to wonder. Still, I reign it in. I stifle my reality in an attempt to keep you close. So tender-hearted beneath that thickening shell. The shell I penetrated somehow. Once you found me in your heart, you pushed with all your might. Trying to get me out. I cannot be budged. Yet, I am not free to love you. You refuse to let me be yours in theory or practice. You love me, but not by choice. Fear of the possibility of pain keeps you at bay. Yet saving yourself from pain has deemed my own inconsequential. For running from me pulls out my heart.
**Pushing me away
What's best, or just what's easy
Burns holes in my soul**
Not one to take the easy way out. Suffering to love you. There is no expectation of love requited. There is nothing but a dream, part memory part wishful thinking. Hot needles still poke at me, slowly breaking me down. Weakening my very being with the sharp jabs of stinging words or careless action, or worse...absolute inaction. I have learned to stop expecting the "Morning Sunshine" or "'Night Darlin'" that used to brighten each day. Those thoughtless things, the tiny nothing things that let me know I was on your mind. So far from nothing those nothings were. Days and nights seem incomplete in their absence. Weaning to make your days bearable makes mine unendurable, empty, and melancholy has come to underlie all things.
**Joy of love melts ice
Heat smothered by a tear cloud
Threadbare soul survives**
Challenges faced sideways leave blind spots. Choices made by indecision. Letting mistakes be made, watching as they choose wrong. I see the truth and know what I know. Everything is aligned for my own misfortune. For as a bystander, I lay no claims. Anything I do will hasten the inevitable. So I let the weaning drip down to nothing. Reluctantly I watch as you disappear with my heart in hand. I stood firm as you ran away in place. You turned to me, you needed me, you loved me. As the clouds dissipate and the sun creeps over the horizon, With the blue sky I turn to mist. Slowly fading to the past. A ghost of could've been, used to be, and never was
**Surrender takes time
Reluctantly relinquished
I will fight no more**
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 12:36 AM UTC
Something stirs in thicket dark
where tangled reaching limbs of trees are stark
against sinking sunlight bleeding red
and hasten thee quickly off to bed.
There lays a dove with eyes that weep
and voice that sings it's mourning air
of loves and sunlight fading fair
of winter's coming cold in evening fright
and all once green turned deathly white:
"Oh these passing days of little sleep
of autumn's chills from my resting keep
unceasing tension building still
between firey limbs and the snowy hill
and my heart with ice shall surely fill."
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 6:30 PM UTC
Arduous late Winter
woes amplify in February
false hope
We’re all sick
of constrictive clothes
and cold climes conducive to staying in
Cabin fever running rampant
45° t-shirts & sunglasses
everyone driving with their windows down
Hoping Vernal rituals
performed early will
hasten Spring’s arrival
I’m done
fed up
ready to move on
Going crazy in the cold
writhing to get moving unimpeded
by frigidness and snow
I’m ready for Spring
for Summer
for Fall
I’m ready for the scent
of thawing soil in the air
biking in the Sun, verdance, and flowers in bloom
I’m ready for grass between my toes
Fireflies, crickets, peepers
and warm night stars
I’m sick of frost reddened runny raw noses
sick of numb fingers and toes
and having precious few daylight hours
I’m sick of combatting glacial winds with layers,
of treacherous icy apathy,
and dreary bleak boredom
I’m sick of not being able to sit on the ground
sick of long pants, long socks, long sleeves,
and silent stagnant long nights
So, despite the fact
that I’ll pine for January
every day over 90°
Despite the fact
that when mosquitoes swarm
I’ll wish a frost would **** the little ********
and despite the fact
I’ll get just as fed up
with temperate seasons
I still want Spring
and then Summer
and then Fall
But February brings false hope
and despite the lengthening cheery sun
months still stand
between us and t-shirt weather
mild nights, grassy hills,
and emancipation from an inclement icebox atmosphere
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
cope with all the greed injustice and brutality
we learn about day in day out
with some luck
these are not part of our own experience
but second hand from news and media
this does not make it better though
when trusted public figures fail
how to react
to priests and teachers
who abuse the young
to presidents dictators populists
leading astray their countries
to our elected politicians
unable to resist the lure
and money
of those special interest groups
to ruthless powermongers businesses
that only work for profit
not the common good
resistance is not easy
the choice of weapons in this conflict difficult
yet if we not resist
not make the global and the smaller perpetrators
accept responsibility for their misdeeds
our living years will soon grow fewer
and we shall hasten our journey
to the end of all our needs
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC