"importune" poems
Elephant seals
gross and flabby
ignorant of protocol
ponderously scratch.
Uniformed unicorns
importune
tame peacocks
wearing pink petticoats.
Fluted columns fade
at twilight
into the secrecy
of a passing thought.
Toy soldiers
on parade
fragile, glittering
lost.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
the Hebrews call the Greek myth of Icarus
by name: Lucifer - i know man is prone to plagiarism,
esp. in the religious realm, the easier the plagiarism
the easier the governing of men -
for indeed the Hebrews claimed
Icarus prior to the Greeks, the former with Lucifer
and the latter with Icarus -
but how i loathe peasants claiming
medicinal endeavours
of knowing only the spotlight cursors
to curate and environmental care of origin
of such negated ease,
they have no knowledge and no power,
their interests in the subject matter
would never encourage them
to run a marathon for accumulating funds
for a cancer charity -
one word answer? ***** they're basically
***** should have engaged in a family
life before you blamed me m.d.!
take your regressive anger and shove it
up your little bee magnet **** to take
a **** like extracting honey - now i'm ******
but look where i'm writing it: on a colour
of defeat - militant heaven of the archangel Michael
sword in hand and Satan defeated waggling a
tongue - isn't that importune to speak of
the current times with the defence of a freedom
of speech subdued by a fear of insult
demanding? monotheism did as much good
as it shouldn't have - and did as much evil
as it should have - and did, crafting the strict
labouring of judaism's orthodoxy -
so for each niqab there came the madness of
a jewish girl's care for wig - translated into
christianity as the donning of wigs in the 18th century,
and the 17th - bypass the concerns of
monotheists and you came across cuisine
freedoms of mandarin, and the colour backlash
sprinkling to a billionth birth, a land
where the homeless have a mother kamadhenu -
and celebrate Holi for chance of extracted mundane
hue of man polarised with fluorescent ivy
and x-rayed orange... or that's how the thing was said.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
“O lonely workman, standing there
In a dream, why do you stare and stare
At her grave, as no other grave where there?”
“If your great gaunt eyes so importune
Her soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon,
Maybe you’ll raise her phantom soon!”
“Why, fool, it is what I would rather see
Than all the living folk there be;
But alas, there is no such joy for me!”
“Ah—she was one you loved, no doubt,
Through good and evil, through rain and drought,
And when she passed, all your sun went out?”
“Nay: she was the woman I did not love,
Whom all the other were ranked above,
Whom during her life I thought nothing of.”
2.1k
I
Room after room,
I hunt the house through
We inhabit together.
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her,
Next time, herself!—not the trouble behind her
Left in the curtain, the couch’s perfume!
As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew,—
Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather.
II
Yet the day wears,
And door succeeds door;
I try the fresh fortune—
Range the wide house from the wing to the centre.
Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter.
Spend my whole day in the quest,—who cares?
But ’tis twilight, you see,—with such suites to explore,
Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune!
2.1k
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving,
O, but with mine, compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving,
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robbed others’ beds’ revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov’st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee.
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!
1.4k
I walk down to the stream,
a ghost among the tendrils of mist
wakening from the moist air.
The half-moon gives a weak light to my feet,
but grows stronger
as the night rises
and shakes off the sleepiness of twilight.
Sitting on a rough stone,
I look into the shadows
and begin to think.
I pull out my flashlight, try to write,
then turn it off and stare at the stars.
Branches of the tree above me grasp at the wind.
I wrestle with much more,
but cannot grasp my thoughts
or the inconceivable movement
within my soul
any better than I can subjugate the bodiless air.
A melancholy that is not sorrow
settled on me a year ago
this night, in the dark of October's waning moon.
I stand up and leave the stone to wander.
I meet the banks of the shallow stream
and stand there for a while, empty.
There is nothing,
there has been nothing,
for twelve months
since I renounced my pain and bitterness.
Everyone tells you that somehow
love will find you
when you let go of hate.
Everyone is wrong.
The stars spin
in their slow, silent dance;
the highway sighs in the distance;
the moon rises slowly as it had done
for thousands of years.
"Speak!" I importune the stars.
They do not answer.
"Show me your light!" I implore the moon.
The moon hangs there,
still,
among the darkness of the stained sky.
"Answer!" I demand of the sky,
and the sky says nothing.
Twelve months of solitude,
of emptiness and silence,
hovering over the abyss.
I have looked into the abyss.
The abyss has looked into me.
And slowly, like the setting moon,
like the way a fever ends in peaceful sleep,
I begin to fall.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
Can you settle for more or less if today was your last day
And what would be your retort if you were denied another chance?
How life introduces sobriety and the impending inevitability
The interstice and it’s ingress that encloses before your eyes
The demanding pouring of importune time
That soothing allaying sighs that evoke incalculable alleviation
If someone were to impart as they closed their eyes
As they died with a commital of happenings with not enough time
As to burden you with the impression of only one chance
It would seem and with the impending inevitability
Of your death which would subito compromise the day
A bearding contrivance plight of obligations engagement and commital no alleviation
An abecedarian dossier concealed for a long time
All this time the inevitable coinciding incident only for your eyes
The emotional habituation was of quotidian rendition each day
Of how trivial things take us on a dance with only one life one chance
With your attention and awareness on the answer the inevitability
Of what you are becoming with each passing second for each
Thought which transpires and no alleviation
Is there an epoch a replicating limn a depiction of our linear time
As we perpetrate and pursue progressively for our alleviation
Engaged to staying the course the day
Stirring closing in on our deliberate objective determined chance
Which remained for a terse duration from the inevitability
In which at the atrium of this erstwhile portage of a duvet to belabor
To stifle firsthand with your eyes
The variant from this domicile from this residence on a day
Is the vagabond to perish in yonder with no alleviation
Once man was a brute dullard or a curmudgeon spinster at a time
Which offers a mute disconnection ragged miscreant the inevi
Naivety or absent mindedness to somnambulist and its silhouette
Notwithstanding change
The quagmire and it’s nightmare the ingrate delighted with coined
Shunned eyes
Reputation with a flagrant obscene defilement galvanizing
The alleviation
At the heart of this lies another chance
A precocious inevitability
A man who lies to die another day
The annihilation in desperate want for from those argent eyes
To the starving newfangled optimism which in its sheen
Shines sunshine dulling the ocular orbs of time
Forwithal in befuddlement remain here
The time if infringement to comprehend the volatile vertigo
And the inevitability
The harrowing of hell
Glance at the shinning suns in her eyes intention considers change
After you heal and left are the cicatrix
Will you plunge further for alleviation
Or on the intent of regression once again
From long ago to another distant day.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
I chanced to meet a ghostwriter at my door,
her transportation failed just down the road
A sojourning doppelgänger of sorts
…an elusive reflection in need of a tow
Transmuting words to wine,
We both sip time to time,
‘Til they foment catharsis
And melt to sublime.
Breathless in afterglow,
From insouciance and hubris,
Words weather to sediment
That we’ll climb to the precipice
And once at the summit
We’ll cast words adrift,
Toast our glasses to flying
And then leap from the cliff.
I read your words by day,
to skirt the wiles of your will
but I know your heart by night.
Leave me, charlatan, to my waking hours,
I know whose ghost you are
why haunt my spirit in its sanctum by the light.
I contravene with tears
in the corners of your eyes,
Guide them back, and kiss their lids
And send them off to hide.
In dark whispers,
calling you and calling you
To join them by their side.
Why must you take me with you,
is this protest not enough?
My importune to tender ears,
“I’ve things to do, I must!”
Still you wrap yourself around my world,
My overflowing chalice
And turn the wine to liquid gold,
oh, ever clever alchemist.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Underneath a small lee in the park,
she tapered down so small; sapling pine tree.
Furled a wool blanket like a tootsie roll
used as a pillow and rolled into sleep.
Scene-by-scene dreamed of bedroom encounters
enacted on beds of flowers.
Remembered the words of harmonica blowing boys verbatim
as the dream shifted scene for half an hour.
And a small, four-leafed local sage man came at an importune time
and to write her a note.
Succinctly and politely bargaining with her;
"Would you give up lust for pure reason?"
Turning away briskly, she glanced toward a stump
sat down for a ponderous sixty seconds.
Slowly standing, eyes regal and demanding
she wrote back "no, I won't"
Shiver and shake and she's suddenly awake
power walking to a house near the river.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
The telephone is constantly ringing;
I’m on the verge of insanity.
It’s all I can do when answering calls
Not to break out in profanity.
It doesn’t help to block a number,
For callers will use another.
How many do they have access to?
Twenty? Forty? Brother!
The scammers are the worst, of course--
Each a conniving crook!
But telephone solicitors?
Also bad in my book!
If they would only take NO for an answer,
It wouldn’t be so bad.
But when they importune me for money,
That’s when I get mad.
Sometimes solicitors overstep
The bounds of familiarity;
If they do, I’ll flatly refuse
To donate to their charity.
I hate to be rude, but it’s hard not to
Say something mean.
As I said, I'm at the point
Of saying something obscene!
It MUST be self-defeating for them,
For I know I'm not alone
When I say they’re forcing me
To never answer my phone.
The “Do Not Call List”? What a joke!
Robocalls? A pain.
All of us in phone-call hell
Have the right to complain.
This phone-call madness will have its place
In the annals of demonology,
For we know one thing: it is one
Of the curses of modern technology.
-by Bob B (9-13-18)
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 8:29 AM UTC
Broken flight
They went down somewhere
in the trees
The sky is sad
and full of remorse
But never Calliope
Broadway and 52
God knows
they got to you
She sings songs
of their misfortune
Decidely the muse and
mother of importune
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 7:22 AM UTC
To presume to write to someone about courage
and not complaining, don't importune or make dying people cry.
I've always said Leave me alone with autumn.
Don't stand around my bed, I won't be in it.
Over 7 years after he died, I finally looked
through my father's papers. Couple of unclaimed insurance policies,
savings bonds, our genealogy and on graph paper in an engineer's
block lettering quotations from The Seat of the Soul.
Reincarnation and karma are the chicken soup of the soul,
the after life is the reward for our colossal imperfections.
Along with banking instructions, he'd underlined
this: Your soul is immortal. It exists
outside of time. It has no beginning and no end.
Every time you ask for guidance you receive it.
If we are not at home in the world, contributing purpose,
we lose our desire to stay here -- and we die.
The physical world is an unaccountable given in which we
unaccountably
find ourselves and which we strive to dominate to survive
or it is a learning environment created jointly by the souls that share it
and everything that occurs within it serves our learning.
Sin is activity directed toward self rather than toward service
to others. Sickness is sin. Almost any condition can be corrected.
You are part of God, therefore, think in a godly manner.
If you cannot accept this, forget it all. Do not even begin.
The first act of free will: How do I wish to learn?
If we participate in the cause, it is impossible not to participate in the
effect.
We shall come to honor all of life sooner or later.
Until you become aware of the effects of your anger, you will
continue to be an angry person.
Walking is the most commonly suggested exercise. Also, breathing.
"Thy will be done." Concentrate on that!
These expressions of certainty, conjectures and guesses
were inscribed by him in block letters on graph paper.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
Quelle soirée ! ô dieu ! que j'ai souffert !
Dans un trouble charmant je suivais l'Espérance ;
Elle enchantait pour moi les apprêts du concert,
Et je devais y pleurer ton absence.
Dans la foule cent fois j'ai cru t'apercevoir ;
Mes vœux toujours trahis n'embrassaient que ton ombre ;
L'amour me la laissait tout à coup entrevoir,
Pour l'entraîner bientôt vers le coin le plus sombre.
Séduite par mon cœur toujours plus agité,
Je voyais dans le vague errer ta douce image,
Comme un astre chéri, qu'enveloppe un nuage,
Par des rayons douteux perce l'obscurité.
Pour la première fois insensible à les charmes,
Art d'Orphée, art du cœur, j'ai méconnu ta loi :
J'étais toute à l'Amour, lui seul régnait sur moi,
Et le cruel faisait couler mes larmes !
D'un chant divin goûte-t-on la douceur
Lorsqu'on attend la voix de celui que l'on aime ?
Je craignais ton charme suprême,
II nourrissait trop ma langueur.
Les sons d'une harpe plaintive
En frappant sur mon sein le faisaient tressaillir ;
Ils fatiguaient mon oreille attentive,
Et je me sentais défaillir.
Et toi ! que faisais-tu, mon idole chérie,
Quand ton absence éternisait le jour ?
Quand je donnais tout mon être à l'amour,
M'as-tu donné ta rêverie ?
As-tu gémi de la longueur du temps ?
D'un soir... d'un siècle écoulé pour attendre ?
Non ! son poids douloureux accable le plus tendre ;
Seule, j'en ai compté les heures, les instants :
J'ai langui sans bonheur, de moi-même arrachée ;
Et toi, tu ne m'as point cherchée !
Mais quoi ! L'impatience a soulevé mon sein,
Et, lasse de rougir de ma tendre infortune,
Je me dérobe à ce bruyant essaim
Des papillons du soir, dont l'hommage importune.
L'heure, aujourd'hui si lente à s'écouler pour moi,
Ne marche pas encore avec plus de vitesse ;
Mais je suis seule au moins, seule avec ma tristesse,
Et je trace, en rêvant, cette lettre pour toi,
Pour toi, que j'espérais, que j'accuse, que j'aime !
Pour toi, mon seul désir, mon tourment, mon bonheur !
Mais je ne veux la livrer qu'à toi-même,
Et tu la liras sur mon cœur.
911
Room after room, I hunt the house through We inhabit together. Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her, Next time, herself!—not the trouble behind her Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume! As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew,— Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather. Yet the day wears, And door succeeds door; I try the fresh fortune— Range the wide house from the wing to the centre. Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter. Spend my whole day in the quest,—who cares? But 'tis twilight, you see,—with such suites to explore, Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune! -
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 3:40 AM UTC
Injecte des mots dans mes veines
Emplis mon coeur de passion
Je suis ton jardin d'Eden
Un esprit d'illusion
Observe les étoiles dans mon regard
Et la promesse des mots sérieux
Ne te moque pas de mon ******
Je n'ai pas le temps de me perdre dans tes yeux
Donne moi le temps de souffrir
Pour comprendre la valeur d'un sourire
Je ne suis pas une guerrière
Bien qu'en contestent mes blessures dernières
Invente-moi un poème
Sous la lumière de la lune
Je t'en prie reste toi-même
Ton ombre est une importune
Elle n'a jamais sur parler le language de ton âme
Ou de ton corps en flamme
Elle ne connaît pas la lumière qui émane de toi
Ni la sureté que tu me procure en me prenant dans tes bras
Je n'ai pas besoin de ta protection
Si seulement tu me proposais l'option
Des mensonges sur tes lèvres lorsque tu ne comprends pas
Que la seule chose dont j'ai besoin chaque nuit, c'est toi
Tu m'accuses de prendre trop de place
Dans ton cœur protégé d'une cuirasse
Je ne sais pas comment briser le bouclier autour de ta peur
Et chaque jour un peu plus je me meurs
De toi
Du son de ta voix
De ta présence tout près de moi
Je me rétracte doucement
Vers l'ombre que j'ai rejetée
Ton cœur n'a rien de flamboyant
J'ai compris que tu l'avais brûlé
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Even if from a distance confined
Realisation of the greatest respect
By life’s volatility remaining aside
Still craving to protect
Understand for a fact
That even if a worst fortune
Prevented me to act
And accede to no more importune
Despite lying on the ground
No longer dwelling in the trails
Words unable be found
Prevented to share tales
Veiled in the dark of night
My gaze no longer hunts yours
Eyes not reacting to light
My affection still endures
Wind forever forsaking my lungs
Heart that have no more hours
The words shorten in our tongues
When I alone await in the tomb
For the cycle to be complete
Returning to the womb
Making this life obsolete
Still aspiring to be your knight
When life no longer allow
Quiet and resolute I will fight
To fulfil my silent vow
Hear my lonely plight
Angel in all your shine
Help me with my regard
Complete my vision
Always in her guard
Replace me in my mission
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 7:26 AM UTC
Souvent Bounaberdi, sultan des francs d'Europe,
Que comme un noir manteau le semoun enveloppe,
Monte, géant lui-même, au front d'un mont géant,
D'où son regard, errant sur le sable et sur l'onde,
Embrasse d'un coup d'œil les deux moitiés du monde
Gisantes à ses pieds dans l'abîme béant.
Il est seul et debout sur ce sublime faîte.
À sa droite couché, le désert qui le fête
D'un nuage de poudre importune ses yeux ;
À sa gauche la mer, dont jadis il fut l'hôte,
Elève jusqu'à lui sa voix profonde et haute,
Comme aux pieds de son maître aboie un chien joyeux.
Et le vieil empereur, que tout à tour réveille
Ce nuage à ses yeux, ce bruit à son oreille,
Rêve, et, comme à l'amante on voit songer l'amant,
Croit que c'est une armée, invisible et sans nombre,
Qui fait cette poussière et ce bruit pour son ombre,
Et sous l'horizon gris passe éternellement !
Prière.
Oh ! quand tu reviendras rêver sur la montagne,
Bounaberdi ! regarde un peu dans la campagne
Ma tente qui blanchit dans les sables grondants ;
Car je suis libre et pauvre, un arabe du Caire,
Et quand j'ai dit : Allah ! mon bon cheval de guerre
Vole, et sous sa paupière a deux charbons ardents !
Novembre 1828.
779
Certain roi qui régnait sur les rives du Tage,
Et que l'on surnomma le sage,
Non parce qu'il était prudent,
Mais parce qu'il était savant,
Alphonse, fut surtout un habile astronome.
Il connaissait le ciel bien mieux que son royaume,
Et quittait souvent son conseil
Pour la lune ou pour le soleil.
Un soir qu'il retournait à son observatoire,
Entouré de ses courtisans,
Mes amis, disait-il, enfin j'ai lieu de croire
Qu'avec mes nouveaux instruments
Je verrai cette nuit des hommes dans la lune.
Votre majesté les verra,
Répondait-on ; la chose est même trop commune,
Elle doit voir mieux que cela.
Pendant tous ces discours, un pauvre, dans la rue,
S'approche, en demandant humblement, chapeau bas,
Quelques maravédis : le roi ne l'entend pas,
Et, sans le regarder, son chemin continue.
Le pauvre suit le roi, toujours tendant la main,
Toujours renouvelant sa prière importune ;
Mais, les yeux vers le ciel, le roi, pour tout refrain,
Répétait : je verrai des hommes dans la lune.
Enfin le pauvre le saisit
Par son manteau royal, et gravement lui dit :
Ce n'est pas de là haut, c'est des lieux où nous sommes
Que Dieu vous a fait souverain.
Regardez à vos pieds ; là vous verrez des hommes,
Et des hommes manquant de pain.
742
Focus your head and heart on future be sensible
These trials and tribulations will over very soon
In waiting are goddess of fortune and sweet angel
You will be given your share with out importune
God is lord and master of universe and others all
Whatever is for you will come to you just as bounty
All is rewarded for honest struggle not for sprawl
In our struggle and honest intentions we are but free
Oh God, save me from all embarrassments in my life
Give shelter to my humble servitude under your pride
Give me real sense of sacrifice even on edge of a knife
Save me from assaults of Satan be my savior and guide
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
Sit me next to her beneath
the same dark cloud
that hovers and fulminates,
grey and gloom.
Let me feel the pain and aches
of weary bones in a putrid soul,
drench me in echoes of groans
and moans
of a body that writhes and twists in
violent jerks
rejecting the very life pined over
and prayed for.
The windows to her being
a misty-haze, downcast,
extirpating what zeal is left
forever longing for that one day
when feeling will be extrinsic.
They huddle beside her,craving
her touch,
once warm and soothing
now flaccid and frosty,
as if they too, sense their mother's
demise creeping nearer to thee,
savoring each moment as if it were
last.
The hushed whispers of a voice broken,
tormented by watchful eyes of thy fruit
of the womb,
pleading and begging for her
perpetual breath lest they be mother-less.
Let me wail with her
when she weeps for her children
when she curses the past and admonishes
the future depriving her,her heart's
importune,
allow me to impale her clattered mind,
pick through her thoughts to understand
and not judge.
On her death bed,discouraged
she waits,
only fate can take away...
By Catherine Magodo Mutukwaa
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 12:00 AM UTC
Si je perds bien des maîtresses,
J'en fais encor plus souvent,
Et mes vœux et mes promesses
Ne sont que feintes caresses,
Et mes vœux et mes promesses
Ne sont jamais que du vent.
Quand je vois un beau visage,
Soudain je me fais de feu ;
Mais longtemps lui faire hommage,
Ce n'est pas bien mon usage ;
Mais longtemps lui faire hommage,
Ce n'est pas bien là mon jeu.
J'entre bien en complaisance
Tant que dure une heure ou deux ;
Mais en perdant sa présence
Adieu toute souvenance ;
Mais en perdant sa présence
Adieu soudain tous mes feux.
Plus inconstant que la lune,
Je ne veux jamais d'arrêt ;
La blonde comme la brune
En moins de rien m'importune ;
La blonde comme la brune
En moins de rien me déplaît.
Si je feins un peu de braise,
Alors que l'humeur m'en prend,
Qu'on me chasse, ou qu'on me baise,
Qu'on soit facile ou mauvaise,
Qu'on me chasse, ou qu'on me baise,
Tout m'est fort indifférent.
Mon usage est si commode,
On le trouve si charmant,
Que qui ne suit ma méthode
N'est pas bien homme à la mode,
Que qui ne suit ma méthode
Passe pour un Allemand.
611
dear thoughts,
let me sleep
give me reprieve from your queries
about tomorrow and of the present
of what I have done
and on what I have planned
grant me rest from such importune
please plague me not
rather sway me with a soothing tune
let me rest
even for a minute or two
Jan 25, 2023
Jan 25, 2023 at 4:59 PM UTC
My love I write poems for your beauty to praise
Let me declare my love comes from same origin
From edge of eternity to the edge of eternity chase
Remains in vogue sagacity of this honorable action
Love beauty and truth come from eternal resource
Lover and beloved are well aware of this real fact
Whatever is beyond this is but dejected remorse
Eternal promise with eternity takes love real pact
Lover and beloved are images of same in mirror
They celebrate in chain the odds of time and tide
Either they are taken to the prison or to the altar
It is force of love which keeps them side by side
My love pain is a test in love for pleasure to come
It is up to the lovers how they plead it or concede
Life is not a bed of roses but strangely troublesome
It is a deed indeed without color caste and creed
Let me love you like partridge loves the full moon
Let me throw my eye brows in your path to tread
Let me seek light from your beauty in importune
Let me embrace you before life breaks its thread
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC