"hewed" poems
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.
High on the shore sat the great god Pan,
While turbidly flowed the river;
And hacked and hewed as a great god can,
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notched the poor dry empty thing
In holes, as he sat by the river.
“This is the way,” laughed the great god Pan,
(Laughed while he sat by the river)
“The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed.”
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
He blew in power by the river.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.
Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain—
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river.
4.1k
The one who loves the depressive mind
Commits to smites; the wary waltz he gaits
Arresting all pride he denies he's blind
Yet the poison nectar; cures and claims his fate
A fate that by his hands has hewed
A fate where he is the exclude
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 4:15 PM UTC
The wind howled in the night,
Below the moon was a wondrous sight.
We were marching,my friends and I,
to the battle drawing nigh.
I was the lord,I was the king.
On my finger was the royal ring.
After me,went my captain,the hare,
My knights,the cat,the bat and the bear.
Our host was great.
Before us,our enemy would abate.
With spear,shield,bow and sword,
went the sloth,moth,leopard and bird.
Under the silver glow,
we beheld our dark and cunning foe.
His fortress filled with gloom and dread,
could not hinder our brave tread.
Our eagle archers sought their prey,
and the war began when the sky was grey.
Our soldiers were fierce and bold.
But the enemy was fearless and cold.
I entered the fray alongside my captain and friend.
Together,we fought till the end.
The air was rent with the clash and the clamour.
And the enemy fled before the hare's giant hammer.
I found my rival and challenged his might,
to deliver my princess from her evil plight.
I hewed his sword and hacked his shield.
Before my valour,he had to yield.
We returned with the princess,victorious.
The greeting in our kingdom was glorious.
The princess turned to me to kiss
and to take me into that moment of bliss...
SLAP!!!sounded my teacher's hand.
On my cheek was left a brand.
Gone with the reverie was my ecstasy.
As the reality shattered my Fantasy.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
i.
Gramercy, it hast been one year now, one year of smiles, laugh's, cry's; growing together, growing
Wing's in ourn flight.
ii.
Fain I am, to seest thee at night, slumbering as a newborn, queen
Of orbiting light's, woman of mine
Insight; sagittiferous to mine
Burden's of life.
iii.
Let me clear away that vultuous countenance mine girl.
iv.
We art namelings, with ourn letter's hewed into the highest realm, noscible to the Angel's; we
We're recorded on God's
Film.
v.
Perantique we art, as we battle the being's that fell, they've broken their iron locked doorway's; to make their way out of hell.
vi.
Stand close to mine side, I canst heareth those wedding Bell's, I canst feeleth the earth to swell, as the labor pain's art now.
vii.
This place shalt sway and moan, like a drunkard without a home, the living in Christ shalt rise; with the dead already rose, silver an treasures shalt come to naught,
Home good's and store bought,
For men won't grasp their own
Thought's; as the misfortune
Cometh upon them. Lover's wilt
Love themselves, they'll seeketh life
In the devil's Lip's; for the lies he speaks art quick, powerful,
Deceiving, cunning.
viii.
Look on high mine Jane, ourn lord is coming, the globe is spinning to the drum of celestial prophecy;
None stopping wilt be, yet we art free, a king and queen with a heavenly home, with mansion's
To roam, streets followed with
Gold, with like-minded souls;
Awaiting ourn entrance.
This one year wilt lead
To an eternal precipice,
In which we shan't miss,
As all wilt take focus;
For we hath life, mine Jane
Ourn hope is this;
One son of God
Who goes by the name
Jesus; ourn hope and ourn
Reason even more to be one,
To showeth another and all
The Savior's dying love, and in him
Salvation alone, fret not mine lass, soon we shalt go home, soon all ourn waiting wilt be gone, and ourn hand's shalt hold.
Two spirit's to be;
One love,
One soul.
look up
Look up
The time is now close......
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane sardua Nagley dedication ( agapi mou)
© Lonesome poets poetry
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC
Sweet, harmless lives! (on whose holy leisure
Waits innocence and pleasure),
Whose leaders to those pastures, and clear springs,
Were patriarchs, saints, and kings,
How happened it that in the dead of night
You only saw true light,
While Palestine was fast asleep, and lay
Without one thought of day?
Was it because those first and blessed swains
Were pilgrims on those plains
When they received the promise, for which now
’Twas there first shown to you?
’Tis true, He loves that dust whereon they go
That serve Him here below,
And therefore might for memory of those
His love there first disclose;
But wretched Salem, once His love, must now
No voice, nor vision know,
Her stately piles with all their height and pride
Now languished and died,
And Bethlem’s humble cotes above them stepped
While all her seers slept;
Her cedar, fir, hewed stones and gold were all
Polluted through their fall,
And those once sacred mansions were now
Mere emptiness and show;
This made the angel call at reeds and thatch,
Yet where the shepherds watch,
And God’s own lodging (though He could not lack)
To be a common rack;
No costly pride, no soft-clothed luxury
In those thin cells could lie,
Each stirring wind and storm blew through their cots
Which never harbored plots,
Only content, and love, and humble joys
Lived there without all noise,
Perhaps some harmless cares for the next day
Did in their bosoms play,
As where to lead their sheep, what silent nook,
What springs or shades to look,
But that was all; and now with gladsome care
They for the town prepare,
They leave their flock, and in a busy talk
All towards Bethlem walk
To see their souls’ Great Shepherd, Who was come
To bring all stragglers home,
Where now they find Him out, and taught before
That Lamb of God adore,
That Lamb whose days great kings and prophets wished
And longed to see, but missed.
The first light they beheld was bright and gay
And turned their night to day,
But to this later light they saw in Him,
Their day was dark, and dim.
2.3k
Headland and Flounders
drift alongside the edge
and what is excluded
bitter vetch, its famine vouch.
Life was then hewed
on a cusps of Moon,
their points return as
Libertines and Rakes.
Born from the same ideal
with choice to inform
and saddle the consequences.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
Not a wanderer stuck on the crest of lonely waves.
Nor running ragged on the sands of time.
Traipsing wearily through the wracks of sodden salty ****
As cold water laps over their feet abandoned on craggy rocks.
Not always at sea.
Vagrant migrants.
From rock to rock.
Hark,
Ungodly whistling, clicking and howling.
Wailing and bemoaning.
Poseidon knows that they're around.
They strut around the rocks, all knowing.
Their lives they live as one of two.
Choose their one for life.
Should you see one in your salty path.
Foreboding spirit, a warning of turbulence to come.
A past sailor boy seen in totem of bird.
Not so swell, an evil omen.
Moons long past, the only witnesses to a killing crime.
Saw Albatross have his feet cruelly hewed.
Tobacco pouch for jack tar and his pals.
Ancient mariners in a doctrine of distortion.
Sky sailors slept on the wing over night.
Such misdemeanour,
Their perceptions were not right.
The birds perished in the dead of night.
As they did not ever rest in flight.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 8:46 AM UTC
If you cracked open my skull,
(and discerned past the alarming indirect realism
Featuring a ****** cerebrospinal fluid-y cranium,
Hewed and fractured crudely
And gushing like a cascade),
You'd unearth a disturbing array of mechanisms,
Filed, packaged, and manufactured,
Well intentioned lies and repulsive judgement,
Distressing reality and optimism open to ridicule
Self-interested altruism and desperate defenses,
An assortment of fallible hope and fallacious despair,
All nearing a point
Of sudden, piercing tragedy.
For I, too,
Am devoid of worth and life,
I, too, have done nothing
Worth life's light
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
Gone are the glorious Greeks of old,
Glorious in mien and mind;
Their bones are mingled with the mould,
Their dust is on the wind;
The forms they hewed from living stone
Survive the waste of years, alone,
And, scattered with their ashes, show
What greatness perished long ago.
Yet fresh the myrtles there--the springs
Gush brightly as of yore;
Flowers blossom from the dust of kings,
As many an age before.
There nature moulds as nobly now,
As e'er of old, the human brow;
And copies still the martial form
That braved Plataea's battle storm.
Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek
Their heaven in Hellas' skies:
Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek,
Her sunshine lit thine eyes;
Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains
Heard by old poets, and thy veins
Swell with the blood of demigods,
That slumber in thy country's sods.
Now is thy nation free--though late--
Thy elder brethren broke--
Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight,
The intolerable yoke.
And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see
Her youth renewed in such as thee:
A shoot of that old vine that made
The nations silent in its shade.
1.8k
walked along the beach
barefoot, blinded
by a sun that
refused to rise
and a past
that refused to set
the ethereal glow
of the twilight
burned violet
reflections off
of the ocean
and the sand
raised a hand
to cover the
glare of the
sun exploding
sprawling out
against the horizon
sun rays over the water
laid out toward
me like avenues
of heat and radiation
stretched out
in endless highway
or perhaps fingers
caressing
tendrils of light
that lover
you knew but
never touched
the violet sunrise
stretches over the ocean
lapping your feet
tearing at them
the beggar grasping
at the ankle, pulling
soon knee deep
the violet seeping
through
the shore recedes
as station to train
and the journey continues
waist deep
violets bleed to orange
and ****** red
the sun is up
yet the past still haunts
with failing eyesight
hindsight is still twenty twenty
and the water is cool
there is a
breeze from the sea
chest deep
the avenues open up
divide and collide
all roads
lead toward one destination
the tendrils on that golden hand
beckon me closer
who was that lover?
she once had a name
neck deep
and the sun is up so high
up so high
where are the clouds?
there was supposed
to be rain today
water is up to
the eyes and rising
failing eyesight
and hindsight remains
twenty twenty
unfortunately
but for the first time
it appears that
I can see
where I am going
as well as what
is behind
As I submerge
I feel the past close up
behind me
it bottles up as hot air
as the demon forever
clawing at my neck
exhale and exorcise
the sun sets violet
hewed with crimson
growing colder
the water gets deeper
reflections
through the waves
spears of violet
jab at seaweed
with failing eyesight
there is no past to see
there is no future
there is only the sea
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 11:03 AM UTC
A stampede of oxen
stumping the head
Cacophonous Canaries
Crucifying the mind
Needles avalanche
Down the cerebrum.
Tranquility a scarcity.
The skull longing to be hewed
In half so it can breathe again.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
Cast back the curtains
let me gaze upon your beauty
soaped up and slippery...
your smooth skin
gleaming as water droplets
roll beneath my rough hewed touch
as I rub gently
in circles
along your bottom
breathing heavy
with the slap of wet leather
and torn shirt
I make you wet once more
my *****
*****
windows.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 7:06 PM UTC
Dismissed.
Like a bug on the wall...
Blown off.
No matter of your heart, at all.
Done with.
Over and final
You got what you wanted, and that's all
Neglected.
And the fault is my own
Took your words for truth
When I really needed to stand by my sleuth.
I want to persist
For my feelings were true
But, you sliced right thou me
Hewed me in half.
I'm left to pay
For the severance given,
Unsure of the source of which it was driven
Twice the pain!
Number 2 in the line.
Thought this was different
But it was just another time.
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
He raised the scissors high, I felt them pierce my brain
I shouted out in agony," I came for a short back and sides so man what is your game"
Don't worry son the man replied I'm an expert at my trade
If I'm to truly cut your hair I must expose your brain
And so I surrendered to his skill and the scissors went in deep
Don't worry son the expert said, the incision will be neat
So he slashed and and cut and hewed threw pieces in the bin
I thought that he had finished but still the blades cut in
At last the expert stood aside covered in blood and gore
He said my name is Sweeny Todd as he showed me to the door
As we walked across the room he said that will cost a five pound note
It would have been much cheaper if I'd just cut your throat
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
Tonight my thoughts lie in clarity
In a tranquility of melancholy
As my heart is hewed
By the blade of emotion
And I realize it is only you
In this clear vision
The rest of my mind
Is crashing
In the perpendicular of my eye
But I can’t seem to look away
From your graceful sway
As you dance and twirl
And create the only clarity
In my world
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 8:25 PM UTC
~
That barren branch
high above this desolate space
Crooked shade designs on a dying earth
Bent and twisted of past sunlight reach
Naked to the green-less world
Rough hewed collections
Of ant trail pathways
And rot of all that was good
Once filled with life, happy on the breeze
Summer fashions of leaf pattern wishes
Colors of blissful post card greetings
Bearing fruit of friendlier times
Now rests in solitude’s wicked grip
Knotted and splintered bark winding
to a tapered end of winter’s calling
Cold fingers on gray-cast skylines
Dying of desperate missings
Fading into a bleak sunset
Disappearing somewhere beyond the dark
That barren branch…is me
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
.
That barren branch
high above this desolate space
Crooked shade designs on a dying earth,
bent and twisted of past sunlight’s reach
Naked to the green-less world
Rough hewed collections
of ant trail pathways
and rot of all that was good
*Once filled with life, happy on the breeze
Summer fashions of leaf pattern wishes
Vistas of blissful post card greetings
Bearing fruit of friendlier times*
Now rests in solitude’s wicked grip
Knotted and splintered bark winding
to a fool's ending in winter’s calling
Cold fingers on gray-cast skylines
dying of desperate missing,
fading into a bleak sunset
Disappearing somewhere beyond the dark,
that barren branch – me
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
And then She goes by this way
silken past the dew-tipped grass
in the company of the morning winds
still blushing in the caresses
of blooming buds of the mountains
hewed in the distant silence
Nobody knows where to
but she walks knowing;
sometimes smiling, looking back,
hair flitting past her poem eyes:
and the valley gasps;
and when She's gone with the sky
and smoke, I gather myself,
life chugging away.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 8:37 PM UTC
“Immediately a decisive alluring connection from the onset,
As our ****** accoutrement deceptive lay’s softly on ground,
As the captivation of our present euphoria lays beneath our skin,
Complacency and beatitude with the enticing joy betwixt us,
I had fallen in love with her as the flowers cling to the earth,
Hearts hewed as one beating with powerful acquiescence,
Convivial contentment to us both as eve slowly turns to daybreak,
Reflex of love there is enigmatic elation never before perceived,
Etiology of twinging with euphoria trail of kisses lingering afore,
As in the charisma of a cold chill of that as glacial trails,
Sensed make our blood run cold now as souls entwined,
May she never leave and forestall a broken nature of being,
I know that deep in the intensity of my heart you triumph,
There is invariably space for altruism to reside always,
For all the delectation that once were unified of ours,
I not endeavor to conquer my contemplative devotion,
Your flowering existence sheds invisible petals as I,
Claim them as something I could own should I keep them?
Or scatter them or are they even yours"
By Andrew Guzaldo © 09/01/2019 #165
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC
I lay my face against thine own
here captured within the moment
within the gentle indentation...
soft cotton kisses taken
freely and frequently
from pillow puffed lips
as traces of your unique scent remain
to ease your absence
my fingers playfully tease your hair
left as if a love token
amongst the yet warm creases
of your immaterial form
I smile with eyes now wet
yet shed no tears
for sadness alludes me in these moments
of solitary joy
for you are not gone from me
as long as I can hold you close
as I have done so many nights
with hewed hands
that caress with such tendeness
your features
here captured forever in my heart.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
do even reams of woods ? black as steeply whispering trees
(in dreams they do)
they speak creeping boughs
over laughter 'neath them
the dirt between their toes
The
Very earth
Is their laughing
The
Birthed vegetation
Swayed slightly
by the hand of wind
and night so hewed
by pins from out her
they sparkle savagely
i walk
, the earth upholds,
i am contained by nothing
;
.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 3:25 AM UTC
Sometimes I am in the center of all things intentional and accidental.
My conquest lies somewhere in between its execution. When this happens,
I am ready: I will wear a white shirt. Keep mum like a leaden chapel.
My eyes will be red like surgery. My precision of stasis,
impeccable – like mother gutting fish in the kitchen,
or a door unhinged by my father. Each exploit
drawn out of the mundane. Hearing the sinking dreaded music of shovel excavating
the Earth,
taking the image blurred. Clarified like clearing of a throat is my reckoning
of a dull Wednesday. Rain descending like a flower. Bathes the world like soiled
linen where we are cut from uniformly. Sometimes I am two abysses in one place:
the gap of the ground and the horizon, sometimes cut-rate like pothole.
I know a day exists and can neither be decent nor loutish. In this frame,
I can be sepia. Whitewashed like wall, hewed like linoleum on floors.
In this center I can be the forever grass
when all things expire by morning
washing me with dew.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC
(R)ECORD: WE A(R)E THE PEOPLE
F(R)OGMEN: of the EMPI(R)E OF THE no-SUN
Johnny Five's and Suzy's: it's the season
to make good use of mutantility.
and there’s a troick to it.
frseeing stings differently, that is.
THE TRoICK
is to let the mind know that it is
you who will be doing the pondering.
-- Thrusher Swainson, Bear Self = Mind hewed Body
Muorftantipheus, Frogmen: this is your last chance.
after this, there is no swimming tack.
you make the blue tail concrete-
the adventure's ends are chaste up in your head
and you relive
whatever you want
to relieve.
you make the read deadhead abstract-
weplay in ninetbeen and i show you
how slow
the rabbid-
wHole
flows.
REFORM: WRITE FOR BODY
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
Verse that sounds so bold,
Is penned by poets 'ere old
A more Stylish Tome.....
Becomes a Sage Poem
The Presence of the Verse
Is not enhanced by your age
But the age of your Poetry
Old or Young the poet may Be
And be a true sage poet
Ten Thousand words all
Polished and Hewed to
Seer your poets soul
Opens up your soul to all
To show the world you made,
Infinite within your Heart
A Sage Poet you'll be called
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC