"heare" poems
In praise of Eliza, Queen of the Shepherds
See where she sits upon the grassie greene,
(O seemely sight!)
Yclad in Scarlot, like a mayden Queene,
And ermines white:
Upon her head a Cremosin coronet
With Damaske roses and Daffadillies set:
Bay leaves betweene,
And primroses greene,
Embellish the sweete Violet.
Tell me, have ye seene her angelick face
Like Phoebe fayre?
Her heavenly haveour, her princely grace,
Can you well compare?
The Redde rose medled with the White yfere,
In either cheeke depeincten lively chere:
Her modest eye,
Her Majestie,
Where have you seene the like but there?
I see Calliope speede her to the place,
Where my Goddesse shines;
And after her the other Muses trace
With their Violines.
Bene they not Bay braunches which they do beare,
All for Elisa in her hand to weare?
So sweetely they play,
And sing all the way,
That it a heaven is to heare.
Lo, how finely the Graces can it foote
To the Instrument:
They dauncen deffly, and singen soote,
In their meriment.
Wants not a fourth Grace to make the daunce even?
Let that rowme to my Lady be yeven.
She shal be a Grace,
To fyll the fourth place,
And reigne with the rest in heaven.
Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine,
With Gelliflowres;
Bring Coronations, and Sops-in-wine
Worne of Paramoures:
Strowe me the ground with Daffadowndillies,
And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and lovèd Lillies:
The pretie Pawnce,
And the Chevisaunce,
Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice.
Now ryse up, Elisa, deckèd as thou art
In royall aray;
And now ye daintie Damsells may depart
Eche one her way.
I feare I have troubled your troupes to longe:
Let dame Elisa thanke you for her song:
And if you come hether
When Damsines I gether,
I will part them all you among.
4.4k
Prayer the Churches banquet, Angels age,
Gods breath in man returning to his birth,
The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgramage,
The Christian plummet sounding heav’n and earth;
Engine against th’Almightie, sinners towre,
Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,
The six-daies world-transposing in an houre,
A kinde of tune, which all things heare and fear;
Softnesse, and peace, and joy, and love, and blisse,
Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best,
Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest,
The milkie way, the bird of Paradise,
Church-bels beyond the starres heard, the souls bloud,
The land of spices; something understood.
2.3k
I presse not to the Quire, nor dare I greet
The holy Place with my unhallow’d feet:
My unwasht Muse pollutes not things Divine,
Nor mingles her prophaner notes with thine;
Here, humbly at the Porch, she listning stayes,
And with glad eares ***** in thy Sacred Layes.
So, devout Penitents of old were wont,
Some without doore, and some beneath the Font,
To stand and heare the Churches Liturgies,
Yet not assist the solemne Exercise.
Sufficeth her, that she a Lay-place gaine,
To trim thy Vestments, or but beare thy traine:
Though nor in Tune, nor Wing, She reach thy Larke,
Her Lyricke feet may dance before the Arke.
Who knowes, but that Her wandring eyes, that run
Now hunting Glow-wormes, may adore the Sun.
A pure Flame may, shot by Almighty Power
Into my brest, the earthy flame devoure:
My Eyes, in Penitentiall dew may steepe
That bryne, which they for sensuall love did weepe:
So (though ‘gainst Natures course) fire may be quencht
With fire, and water be with water drencht.
Perhaps, my restlesse Soule, tyr’d with pursuit
Of mortall beautie, seeking without fruit
Contentment there; which hath not, when enjoy’d,
Quencht all her thirst, nor satisfi’d, though cloy’d;
Weary of her vaine search below, above
In the first Faire may find th’ immortall Love.
Prompted by thy Example then, no more
In moulds of Clay will I my God adore;
But teare those Idols from my Heart, and Write
What his blest Sp’rit, not fond Love, shall endite.
Then, I no more shall court the Verdant Bay,
But the dry leavelesse Trunk on Golgotha:
And rather strive to gaine from thence one Thorne,
Then all the flourishing Wreathes by Laureats worne.
2.3k
if i could touch you from a distance
there wouldn't be a single seconde
that you wouldn't feel my fingers
tracing the outlines of your lips
and running across your collarbones
and down your shouldres
until ours met and laced
togethre in a soft dance.
if i coulde send you heart messages
through the dust in the aire
my voice would be the only thing
you could ever heare in your head
repeating over and over in a solid
tone "you are wonderful, darling"
untill you coulde think of nothing
if my knees would stay stronge
i woulde run to you
and when they broke
i woulde drag my body to you
and be every sin you coulde ever imagine
and commit every single one at your feet
untill you took mercy on me
and brought me into your arms.
if i could finally get the
right words out of my mouth
my tongue would curl into
my throate for your name is
all i could say over and over and over
untill it consumed my braine
and there was nothing left
but my love for you.
e.s.s.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
RECORD: PARANOID ANDROID
FROGMAN: RADIO HEAD
BEGIN INNERMISSION 1
Frogman of enormous Brisingierdth
(on my mind sHe holds OUR hearth):
Try to imagine minds without throughtkeeping.
you probably can't.
you think you know the intro,
the conclusion,
the thought of the body and mind.
yet all inside you,
throughtkeeping is instinct.
Brads are not late.
a Janet does not check her selfse.
machines do wrinkle rememberances.
WhoMans alone measure throught.
WhoMans alone chime panic.
And because of this.
WhoMans alone suffer a paralyzing Miracle that no other creature can cure.
The Miracle
of throught running out...
END TRANSMISSION 1
Riff Raff: Hello.
Brad: Hi!
My name is Brad Major Threes, and this is my fiancée, Janet Twice One.
I wonder if you'd mind helping us.
You see, our brain broke down a few moments up the road.
Do you have an ear we might fill?
Riff Raff: You're wet.
Janet: Yes, it's crainving.
Brad: Yes.
Riff Raff: Yes!... I think perhaps you better both com-e inside.
Tic .
Tic .
Tic .
DING!
Janet: You're too kind.
Oh, Brad, I'm frightened.
What kind of future is this?
Brad: Oh,
it's probably some kinda way-outta heare for real wyrdos.
Janet: Oh.
Riff Raff: This way-out.
Janet: Are you forgetting The Parties?
Riff Raff: You've arrived on a rather special wrighte.
It's one of the Chaster's afflairs.
Janet: Oh,
plucky shim.
Magenta: You're plucky,
he's plucky,
I'm plucky,
we're all plucked-ees! Ha haa haaa!!!
STOP: TURN THOUGHT
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
"My cousin's out fighting dragons, and what do I get? Guard duty."
i get'it, theyire's knowthing twoo me
but yea'don't knead to grind it heithere
i scene gnomething oin mean owlready
"You hear that? I swear, there's something out there. In the dark."
and ire looks gold in pearsin
but i thinks knot-keen of my shimmer
i done't acspect peep'les to too light-key me
it's hall'opposite
"Only burglars and vampires creep around after dark. So which are you?"
hi've acspected spleenpoles twoo b-eats me
it's what i've no'n
and halves tune watsch fuohrer
"Gotta keep my eyes open. **** dragons could swoop down at any time."
sew know, i'm naught which'ya seam toon thunk
i'm
or yea, i no'n't, naughts
u 'le glisten to your ownpunions' bouts me
over antsynthing i chavsed to say
"Watch the skies, traveler.”
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 3:23 AM UTC
We walk
We talk
We croon.
Engine jaws with a few screws loose
Minds barrelling towards divinity
Grasp purpose in a finite reality
We will create heaven heare
HAND OVER YOUR TRUMPETS TUBAS SAXXOPHONES AND TOOT EACH OTHERS HORNS!
Neurons fire like synchronized rifles @ bravery's memorial
Assurance lied dormant on the roof of your mouth
Taunting your taste buds
Your heart as pensive as your gums are pink
and
You let it out
Your cup poured over and you told me
I am home
WE ARE HOME
and we'll help each other see
that home is much more
than a person
place or
thing.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
START:
A RECORD: WHERE IS MY MIND? (WHO WROTE THIS GARBAGE?)
FROGMAN: JOHNNY FIVE'S AND SUZY TWO'S (PIXIELS)
Johnny Five's and Suzy:
.
.
I just had an odd Conclusion.
.
So this is probably going to be a weyird-ing, but .
STOP: FORGET SELFSE
{This Adventure is about You and Me and Every One We See,
and remember that Imagination is a very useful Instrument,
so
Love it . }
. . I don't know you,
you don't know me;
So if you'd like a review,
let loose your curiosity.
-- Johnny Five's and
Johnny Five's: It could be leading you through a spiral.
Johnny 5's: But first. Riddle.
Why is Raven like a writing desk?
-- Lewis C. O'Brien
( He has Sense. Humour . )
Number 5: BIRD. RAVEN. NEVERMORE.
[ CoNdesTINyouUE? 9 Diome . . . 8 wensh . . . 7 ionns . .]
{BRAD THREES AND JANET ONES!
JOHNNY FIVES AND SUZY TWOS!
YOUR RETENTION PLEASE!
and now the moment We've been cRAinVING for is heare,
I have something to tell you'all}
O'Brien: All in order?
eyeGore: It's an older code Master,
but it checks out-
-Good. Now 5, "You asked me once, what was in The Lab.
I told you that you throught the answer already.
Everyone thinks it.
The sting that is in The Lab
is the worst sting in The Word."
-- O'Brien
Number 5: Feet on Clouds.
Head on Ground.
STOP: RECALL THOUGHT
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 5:55 PM UTC
RECORD: MISSED THE BOAT
FROGMAN: MODEST MOUSE
We cannot succeed in making the future
any more predictable than it is,
as subject to uncertainty as it is.
However,
we can work to make it a little less uncertain.
-- Thrusher Swainson, Bear M.B.
Johnny's: With this in mind,
I find myselfse much more interested
in the nature of an ingktrofsplection,
rather than in the ingktrofsplection
itselfse.
-- Thrusher Swainson, Bear M.B.
Suzy's: A pleasant sentiment,
considering that
At the time, my life just seemed too complete,
and maybe WE have to brache everything
to make something better out of OUR-s-elvfes.
-- You and Me and Everyone We See
Frank: So come up to the lab and see what's on the slab.
I see you tear with pontifi... cation.
***** Wonka: It's a FourEverlasting SalftsTartar.
heare,
cry it!
STOP: TURN THOUGHT
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
all a teacher can do is learn and live,
see.
Situationical, long ago, tradition
Teachers tell stories,
with force. Whacks and such.
The reason, once, one time,
the ruler to the knucks
was to loosen a stuck clutch o'
clingers to the edge, who knew what
could be known,
who were
witnesses,taught to see
perceiving sub til ity plowing furrows
through explosions of new math,
new bombs, new moms,
new wars for no reasons, the edge
clinger fingers
let go, just before
a teacher who
they knew learned,
as he lived,
to hear whos
beyond the bubble's edge.
slip
yet no sense
{clique}
Filter Heinlein through Vonnegut,
squeeze the dregs,
sort each bubble by whos heard.
--Suess, a gain, point ought ever one,
heare that? That is an echo. A bubble pop echo,
in the halls of all imagined worlds
redeemed by children seeing the meaning
wave form on the GB scale storys are sung to.
Waiting is, on the BE scale
the ceiling leaks in the poet's prison,
but his window faces west,
so he is pleased to watch
the wind he claimed
bring rain. And so it goes.
How long do stories live these days?,
Asked the peacemaker, in the distance.
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 11:25 PM UTC