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Mean while the heinous and despiteful act
Of Satan, done in Paradise; and how
He, in the serpent, had perverted Eve,
Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit,
Was known in Heaven; for what can ’scape the eye
Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart
Omniscient? who, in all things wise and just,
Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind
Of Man, with strength entire and free will armed,
Complete to have discovered and repulsed
Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend.
For still they knew, and ought to have still remembered,
The high injunction, not to taste that fruit,
Whoever tempted; which they not obeying,
(Incurred what could they less?) the penalty;
And, manifold in sin, deserved to fall.
Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste
The angelick guards ascended, mute, and sad,
For Man; for of his state by this they knew,
Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stolen
Entrance unseen.  Soon as the unwelcome news
From Earth arrived at Heaven-gate, displeased
All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare
That time celestial visages, yet, mixed
With pity, violated not their bliss.
About the new-arrived, in multitudes
The ethereal people ran, to hear and know
How all befel:  They towards the throne supreme,
Accountable, made haste, to make appear,
With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance
And easily approved; when the Most High
Eternal Father, from his secret cloud,
Amidst in thunder uttered thus his voice.
Assembled Angels, and ye Powers returned
From unsuccessful charge; be not dismayed,
Nor troubled at these tidings from the earth,
Which your sincerest care could not prevent;
Foretold so lately what would come to pass,
When first this tempter crossed the gulf from Hell.
I told ye then he should prevail, and speed
On his bad errand; Man should be seduced,
And flattered out of all, believing lies
Against his Maker; no decree of mine
Concurring to necessitate his fall,
Or touch with lightest moment of impulse
His free will, to her own inclining left
In even scale.  But fallen he is; and now
What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass
On his transgression,—death denounced that day?
Which he presumes already vain and void,
Because not yet inflicted, as he feared,
By some immediate stroke; but soon shall find
Forbearance no acquittance, ere day end.
Justice shall not return as bounty scorned.
But whom send I to judge them? whom but thee,
Vicegerent Son?  To thee I have transferred
All judgement, whether in Heaven, or Earth, or Hell.
Easy it may be seen that I intend
Mercy colleague with justice, sending thee
Man’s friend, his Mediator, his designed
Both ransom and Redeemer voluntary,
And destined Man himself to judge Man fallen.
So spake the Father; and, unfolding bright
Toward the right hand his glory, on the Son
Blazed forth unclouded Deity: He full
Resplendent all his Father manifest
Expressed, and thus divinely answered mild.
Father Eternal, thine is to decree;
Mine, both in Heaven and Earth, to do thy will
Supreme; that thou in me, thy Son beloved,
Mayest ever rest well pleased.  I go to judge
On earth these thy transgressours; but thou knowest,
Whoever judged, the worst on me must light,
When time shall be; for so I undertook
Before thee; and, not repenting, this obtain
Of right, that I may mitigate their doom
On me derived; yet I shall temper so
Justice with mercy, as may illustrate most
Them fully satisfied, and thee appease.
Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none
Are to behold the judgement, but the judged,
Those two; the third best absent is condemned,
Convict by flight, and rebel to all law:
Conviction to the serpent none belongs.
Thus saying, from his radiant seat he rose
Of high collateral glory: Him Thrones, and Powers,
Princedoms, and Dominations ministrant,
Accompanied to Heaven-gate; from whence
Eden, and all the coast, in prospect lay.
Down he descended straight; the speed of Gods
Time counts not, though with swiftest minutes winged.
Now was the sun in western cadence low
From noon, and gentle airs, due at their hour,
To fan the earth now waked, and usher in
The evening cool; when he, from wrath more cool,
Came the mild Judge, and Intercessour both,
To sentence Man:  The voice of God they heard
Now walking in the garden, by soft winds
Brought to their ears, while day declined; they heard,
And from his presence hid themselves among
The thickest trees, both man and wife; till God,
Approaching, thus to Adam called aloud.
Where art thou, Adam, wont with joy to meet
My coming seen far off?  I miss thee here,
Not pleased, thus entertained with solitude,
Where obvious duty ere while appeared unsought:
Or come I less conspicuous, or what change
Absents thee, or what chance detains?—Come forth!
He came; and with him Eve, more loth, though first
To offend; discountenanced both, and discomposed;
Love was not in their looks, either to God,
Or to each other; but apparent guilt,
And shame, and perturbation, and despair,
Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile.
Whence Adam, faltering long, thus answered brief.
I heard thee in the garden, and of thy voice
Afraid, being naked, hid myself.  To whom
The gracious Judge without revile replied.
My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not feared,
But still rejoiced; how is it now become
So dreadful to thee?  That thou art naked, who
Hath told thee?  Hast thou eaten of the tree,
Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat?
To whom thus Adam sore beset replied.
O Heaven! in evil strait this day I stand
Before my Judge; either to undergo
Myself the total crime, or to accuse
My other self, the partner of my life;
Whose failing, while her faith to me remains,
I should conceal, and not expose to blame
By my complaint: but strict necessity
Subdues me, and calamitous constraint;
Lest on my head both sin and punishment,
However insupportable, be all
Devolved; though should I hold my peace, yet thou
Wouldst easily detect what I conceal.—
This Woman, whom thou madest to be my help,
And gavest me as thy perfect gift, so good,
So fit, so acceptable, so divine,
That from her hand I could suspect no ill,
And what she did, whatever in itself,
Her doing seemed to justify the deed;
She gave me of the tree, and I did eat.
To whom the Sovran Presence thus replied.
Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey
Before his voice? or was she made thy guide,
Superiour, or but equal, that to her
Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place
Wherein God set thee above her made of thee,
And for thee, whose perfection far excelled
Hers in all real dignity?  Adorned
She was indeed, and lovely, to attract
Thy love, not thy subjection; and her gifts
Were such, as under government well seemed;
Unseemly to bear rule; which was thy part
And person, hadst thou known thyself aright.
So having said, he thus to Eve in few.
Say, Woman, what is this which thou hast done?
To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh overwhelmed,
Confessing soon, yet not before her Judge
Bold or loquacious, thus abashed replied.
The Serpent me beguiled, and I did eat.
Which when the Lord God heard, without delay
To judgement he proceeded on the accused
Serpent, though brute; unable to transfer
The guilt on him, who made him instrument
Of mischief, and polluted from the end
Of his creation; justly then accursed,
As vitiated in nature:  More to know
Concerned not Man, (since he no further knew)
Nor altered his offence; yet God at last
To Satan first in sin his doom applied,
Though in mysterious terms, judged as then best:
And on the Serpent thus his curse let fall.
Because thou hast done this, thou art accursed
Above all cattle, each beast of the field;
Upon thy belly groveling thou shalt go,
And dust shalt eat all the days of thy life.
Between thee and the woman I will put
Enmity, and between thine and her seed;
Her seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his heel.
So spake this oracle, then verified
When Jesus, Son of Mary, second Eve,
Saw Satan fall, like lightning, down from Heaven,
Prince of the air; then, rising from his grave
Spoiled Principalities and Powers, triumphed
In open show; and, with ascension bright,
Captivity led captive through the air,
The realm itself of Satan, long usurped;
Whom he shall tread at last under our feet;
Even he, who now foretold his fatal bruise;
And to the Woman thus his sentence turned.
Thy sorrow I will greatly multiply
By thy conception; children thou shalt bring
In sorrow forth; and to thy husband’s will
Thine shall submit; he over thee shall rule.
On Adam last thus judgement he pronounced.
Because thou hast hearkened to the voice of thy wife,
And eaten of the tree, concerning which
I charged thee, saying, Thou shalt not eat thereof:
Cursed is the ground for thy sake; thou in sorrow
Shalt eat thereof, all the days of thy life;
Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forth
Unbid; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field;
In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,
Till thou return unto the ground; for thou
Out of the ground wast taken, know thy birth,
For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return.
So judged he Man, both Judge and Saviour sent;
And the instant stroke of death, denounced that day,
Removed far off; then, pitying how they stood
Before him naked to the air, that now
Must suffer change, disdained not to begin
Thenceforth the form of servant to assume;
As when he washed his servants feet; so now,
As father of his family, he clad
Their nakedness with skins of beasts, or slain,
Or as the snake with youthful coat repaid;
And thought not much to clothe his enemies;
Nor he their outward only with the skins
Of beasts, but inward nakedness, much more.
Opprobrious, with his robe of righteousness,
Arraying, covered from his Father’s sight.
To him with swift ascent he up returned,
Into his blissful ***** reassumed
In glory, as of old; to him appeased
All, though all-knowing, what had passed with Man
Recounted, mixing intercession sweet.
Mean while, ere thus was sinned and judged on Earth,
Within the gates of Hell sat Sin and Death,
In counterview within the gates, that now
Stood open wide, belching outrageous flame
Far into Chaos, since the Fiend passed through,
Sin opening; who thus now to Death began.
O Son, why sit we here each other viewing
Idly, while Satan, our great author, thrives
In other worlds, and happier seat provides
For us, his offspring dear?  It cannot be
But that success attends him; if mishap,
Ere this he had returned, with fury driven
By his avengers; since no place like this
Can fit his punishment, or their revenge.
Methinks I feel new strength within me rise,
Wings growing, and dominion given me large
Beyond this deep; whatever draws me on,
Or sympathy, or some connatural force,
Powerful at greatest distance to unite,
With secret amity, things of like kind,
By secretest conveyance.  Thou, my shade
Inseparable, must with me along;
For Death from Sin no power can separate.
But, lest the difficulty of passing back
Stay his return perhaps over this gulf
Impassable, impervious; let us try
Adventurous work, yet to thy power and mine
Not unagreeable, to found a path
Over this main from Hell to that new world,
Where Satan now prevails; a monument
Of merit high to all the infernal host,
Easing their passage hence, for *******,
Or transmigration, as their lot shall lead.
Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawn
By this new-felt attraction and instinct.
Whom thus the meager Shadow answered soon.
Go, whither Fate, and inclination strong,
Leads thee; I shall not lag behind, nor err
The way, thou leading; such a scent I draw
Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste
The savour of death from all things there that live:
Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest
Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid.
So saying, with delight he snuffed the smell
Of mortal change on earth.  As when a flock
Of ravenous fowl, though many a league remote,
Against the day of battle, to a field,
Where armies lie encamped, come flying, lured
With scent of living carcasses designed
For death, the following day, in ****** fight:
So scented the grim Feature, and upturned
His nostril wide into the murky air;
Sagacious of his quarry from so far.
Then both from out Hell-gates, into the waste
Wide anarchy of Chaos, damp and dark,
Flew diverse; and with power (their power was great)
Hovering upon the waters, what they met
Solid or slimy, as in raging sea
Tost up and down, together crouded drove,
From each side shoaling towards the mouth of Hell;
As when two polar winds, blowing adverse
Upon the Cronian sea, together drive
Mountains of ice, that stop the imagined way
Beyond Petsora eastward, to the rich
Cathaian coast.  The aggregated soil
Death with his mace petrifick, cold and dry,
As with a trident, smote; and fixed as firm
As Delos, floating once; the rest his look
Bound with Gorgonian rigour not to move;
And with Asphaltick slime, broad as the gate,
Deep to the roots of Hell the gathered beach
They fastened, and the mole immense wrought on
Over the foaming deep high-arched, a bridge
Of length prodigious, joining to the wall
Immoveable of this now fenceless world,
Forfeit to Death; from hence a passage broad,
Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to Hell.
So, if great things to small may be compared,
Xerxes, the liberty of Greece to yoke,
From Susa, his Memnonian palace high,
Came to the sea: and, over Hellespont
Bridging his way, Europe with Asia joined,
And scourged with many a stroke the indignant waves.
Now had they brought the work by wonderous art
Pontifical, a ridge of pendant rock,
Over the vexed abyss, following the track
Of Satan to the self-same place where he
First lighted from his wing, and landed safe
From out of Chaos, to the outside bare
Of this round world:  With pins of adamant
And chains they made all fast, too fast they made
And durable!  And now in little space
The confines met of empyrean Heaven,
And of this World; and, on the left hand, Hell
With long reach interposed; three several ways
In sight, to each of these three places led.
And now their way to Earth they had descried,
To Paradise first tending; when, behold!
Satan, in likeness of an Angel bright,
Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion steering
His zenith, while the sun in Aries rose:
Disguised he came; but those his children dear
Their parent soon discerned, though in disguise.
He, after Eve seduced, unminded slunk
Into the wood fast by; and, changing shape,
To observe the sequel, saw his guileful act
By Eve, though all unweeting, seconded
Upon her husband; saw their shame that sought
Vain covertures; but when he saw descend
The Son of God to judge them, terrified
He fled; not hoping to escape, but shun
The present; fearing, guilty, what his wrath
Might suddenly inflict; that past, returned
By night, and listening where the hapless pair
Sat in their sad discourse, and various plaint,
Thence gathered his own doom; which understood
Not instant, but of future time, with joy
And tidings fraught, to Hell he now returned;
And at the brink of Chaos, near the foot
Of this new wonderous pontifice, unhoped
Met, who to meet him came, his offspring dear.
Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight
Of that stupendious bridge his joy encreased.
Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair
Enchanting daughter, thus the silence broke.
O Parent, these are thy magnifick deeds,
Thy trophies! which thou viewest as not thine own;
Thou art their author, and prime architect:
For I no sooner in my heart divined,
My heart, which by a secret harmony
Still moves with thine, joined in connexion sweet,
That thou on earth hadst prospered, which thy looks
Now also evidence, but straight I felt,
Though distant from thee worlds between, yet felt,
That I must after thee, with this thy son;
Such fatal consequence unites us three!
Hell could no longer hold us in our bounds,
Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscure
Detain from following thy illustrious track.
Thou hast achieved our liberty, confined
Withi
Donall Dempsey Jan 2017
THE INCLINING TEST

The Honeymooners
have locked themselves in

C135.

The cabin proving
a better draw

than either deck quoits
or adult shuffleboard.

We oblivious to
one and all

making our own sport
to our own great amusement.

Taking no notice what so
ever to

the ship's "Inclining Test"

to confirm its weight
and centre of gravity.

We only aware of
our own inclinations

to do
what we gotta do

being good
honeymooners

in accordance with the rules set by
The International Honeymooners Organisation

The IHO

an important part of
our compliance programme.

Our kisses and what nots
all seem to be in perfect

working order

only 3,000 miles of
wedded bliss to go

before we hit shore.

"Steady as she goes Miss Janice!"
"Steady as she goes Cap'n Donall.

We advance at
a steady rate of knots

into the rest of our
married life.
Fizza Abbas Apr 2015
I want to learn everything; everything comprises of everything,
be it the knowledge of the nature or the horizons of the cosmos
I want to canvas over the universe, multiverses;
to paint my reality with a brush of joy.
But, it's tough for me, because I'm dementic
If I decline it while inclining towards a book
Dyslexia obliterates my desires and hurt me badly
If I ignore all this, ADHD comes forward to poke me
with a stick of astounds and pains of eventide
If I cut down the roots of ADHD, S.A.D greets me
and enter to my dark world and enhance its darkness
I'm confused, shattered; directionless in a myopic way
Highly myopic, no direction, but I do have vision
I want to crisscross my myopia to an extent
where it diminishes.
Meningitis, shut up, you *******,
Please have mercy on me, I don't deserve U at least,
But do I really need someone to have mercy on me?
I guess no, I can build my own world where
Dementia strengthens my spirits by saying,
Why just Embryology, what secrets do you want to find
Ova is not dependent on a ****** *****,
it is a complete YOU.
Dylan McFadden Jun 2018
Alice, through the looking glass
I saw her fair, I saw her fast
Her smile like the distant past –
A mem’ry safe and sure to last…
---
But suddenly her smile turned
Her stomach ached, and quaked, and churned
And sweat rolled off her brows that burned
When, in that moment, this she learned:

That deep within that pretty face,
A haunting, hideous, out of place –
Dark and dreadful, dreary trace
Of ash and gnashing was innate

Innate in her! She saw it so!
A pushing – pulling – undertow!
Inclining toward the hollow glow
Of outer show, the inner woe
---
Alice, through the looking glass
I saw her fair, I saw her fast
Her smile like the distant past –
A mem’ry fading when she passed…
---
When she did pass from death to life
Beholding pure and perfect Light
Without a sight, but in the night
When sun arose, and shone so bright

So bright that every Darkness did
Fly and flee – it scattered, hid
From deep within her heart that bid
Her to remain in shadowed sin

Yes, He – the Good, the Faithful, True!
Made her new – through and through!
And Alice, she’s the hopeful view
In the looking glass: me and you.
---
Alice, through the looking glass
I saw her fair, I saw her fast
Her smile like the distant past –
A mem’ry safe and sure to last…

.
Jes Apr 2016
i.** picture this, just for a second. instead of waving from a mile away, we walk up the gently sloping hill together, side by side. the sky sheds its bruises above us. we could hold hands, if you wanted. what do you see in the morning clouds? tell me what it felt like, to swallow a star.

ii. i think of you all the time. i’m getting used to the weird volcanic eruptions in my chest when i see you leaning against the front gates at school or lacing up your shoes or when you tell me how much you hate durian, or whatever. you’ve got a habit of inclining your head slightly when you say “all right” or “okay.” i’ve noticed all kinds of things. i wish i didn’t.

iii. but tell me more about yourself. what’s your favorite color? do you get along with your sister? are you content here, with me, lying on a vast expanse of green on a dying planet, or do you still dream of colonizing a different soil? where do you go, when you get tired of running?

iv. here. give me your palms. look—your lifeline, strong and sturdy and sure. i’d like to trace your veins with sharpie someday (or perhaps even with my own hands, if you would let me). when you cross the finish line next week, maybe you’ll throw your arms up, the universal victory gesture, and maybe you’ll think of me the same way i think of you. maybe. just maybe.

v. so let’s ditch the world tomorrow and get coffee together after school. let’s tell jokes and forget everything else exists, and no, you don’t have to worry about the bill.
A certain kind of love. Maybe.
Faleeha Hassan Apr 2016
During moments I yearned for forests grown for me alone,
Caressing them in a dream,
I could sense the throbbing of the heart
Hidden beneath my ribs to bless my journey.
Summoning me with a pulse that he recognizes in me.
I heard the noise of abandoned smoke from a moment of care
Join with me,
Forcefully traversing desires to the hidden-most one.
My spirit swung toward him,
Creating a tingling
On lips that devour breaths alive.
I felt ashamed,
But the eye,
In moments—I scarcely know what to call them—that took me on another route
Toward the television, saw warplanes . . . spray death on them.
At that moment,
The fire of machine guns raked all the bodies,
And another fire raked my body when I trained my eye on him
Hesitantly inclining his head
Toward a shoulder unaccustomed to the secret of the stars of war
Or to insomnia.
Oh . . . . I leaned on it!
And when he caressed a dumbfounded person
I felt his fingers like coiling embers inside me.
Bashfulness seized the excuse this caress gave . . . and vanished,
Eliminating distance till the two of us were one.
And the eye—he moaned: May love not forgive her the eye—repeated another evasion
Toward a drizzle of men flung about in the air by just the rustling of a pilot penetrating a building
To fall on screens as the debris of breaking news.
But his breaths . . . shattering the still down of the cheek,
And turning their picture into mist as
Eddies of the screen’s corpses . . . varieties of death that they brought them.
The spirit that became a body,
The body that was sold for the sake of a touch,
The eye that was concealed in his image
And that approached the firebrand of conflagrations.
Everyone drawing close to everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone.
But the thunder of their machine guns splintered them:
Corpses piled on corpses,
I mean on me,
The eyes of those in it were extinguished.
They slept in a trench of silence.
My eyes’ lids parted in a wakefulness obsessed with them.
I rose … and embraced the chill
That the screens brought me in commemoration of Stalingrad.
………………………………
Translated by William Hutchins
this poem published in (http://intranslation.brooklynrail.org/arabic/poetry-by-faleeha-hassan)
Alienpoet Aug 2016
Once in a land far away.
Was a woman
she knelt to pray
She prayed for a child who could be
The key to a new dawn of ages

The baby was conceived
Naturally of course
By union of bodies
By lustful souls
The scrolls foretold the child would grow to be
A pawn in the game of prophecy

A peacemaker
A son of the goddess
Most high
Her diamond, glowing bright in the sky
But there would be a price to be paid
Not all the cards could be played
The son could never know
How it should play out
Or his mind would be full of doubt

When the child was in his teens
Daydreaming in front of computer screens
His father asked him what he knew
Of the woman dressed in blue

The boy replied and sighed
Everyone knows the story
Of the man the white rabbit prince
The peacemaker between heaven and hades
The lover who rescues his love from the flames
But who's heart can never be tamed
Or be told because he would go mad
End up sad and old
Not being able to forefill the will of the goddess

Then the father began to stress
The sons importance nevertheless,
The son had an inclining his dad wasn't letting on
the full story
So he had to find one
He looked and looked
And searched and searched
Down dale and over birch
Became a scientist
Overworked

He didn't believe in any more stories
Of space and time
Myths and legends were not on his mind
Til he met a woman
Beautiful and free
A spirit of life's mystery

She would tell him stories
Read him verse
He fell in love with her
So much worse
Than ever a man has fallen before

But what he didnt realise is she had depression
It was her curse
Even with his love it seemed
To get worse
The stories she told
Grew ever more dark and bold
Until she took her life
But not before he had taken her for a wife

Meanwhile the world had become full of strife
Wars and famine sapped Gaia's life
The earth was failing
It's life support System grew weak

But the man was too aggrieved to notice
He wouldn't go outside
His love lost he could never hide
as the world was falling apart
so was his heart

He saw a child crying outside his window
Though
And went to comfort
The boy
Orphaned by war
Then the man realised something needed to done
As he surveyed
The desolate landscape he prayed
To the goddess of blue

She granted him of vision
Where he'd have to choose the life of the world
Or the lover he knew
He cried out you *****
You goddess of the insane
I will not make the choice I will not be to blame
For my lover is my heart but this world has born many souls
Including mine
What right have I to choose
Which side to win which side to lose
I want to be happy

Frought with pain
He made his decision he overcame

He chose to solve the problems of mankind
Preaching to them and showing them sciences
Mysteries in one
Stories of his humanity being different but ultimately the same
Being one
That on top of the people being tired of war
Made peace the law
He sometimes wished he'd chose
The other choice
But then he realised
He hoped he supposed he'd be able with all his knowledge
And wisdom
That he'd be able to help her if they'd ever meet again in hades
Or wherever he'd be able to save the woman he loved from the same fate

As he died of old age
He prayed that hed be reborn
With the wisdom of a sage
So when he was reborn into
Hades shades

He grew to be a wise man still
But he always felt something was missing
Until he saw a woman
Clothed in azure
She was mysterious
but he sensed her heart was pure
He was struck by her allure
So went over to meet her
She told him she was the queen
Of this land that stretched out to the sea
the citadel of tears was her residence
The sage asked why was it called the citadel of tears
She replied because I have been a queen for the longest time
But I have never found a husband to be mine
And there is ghost in my dreams that cries
Because she is lost
In a sea of sadness
Madness her veil of midnight
Hiding her face
She cries for the husband she lost
Her touch is cold like the frost
In my dreams

The sage held her hand
Kissed on the forehead
it was more than he could stand
To see a woman
Clothed in pain
He imagined her tears
Falling like rain
He said I will pray
For a vision today
To save you from your dismay

When he slept
A dream crept
Into his mind
Of a man and a woman very much in love
But the woman was stung with a curse
her mirth was strangled
With tears
With overblown fears
That took her life
And left him lonely
With only the wisdom
To help those around the land
But now he had planned to save her
Then the dream ended
The sage was resolved to save the queen
To speak to the ghost
In her dreams

So the next night
He held the queens hand tight
As she fell asleep
Hours passed she began to moan and weep as if in pain
He prayed he asked the goddess of blue to go into her dreams
And he began to lose consciousness
And fall asleep
In the dream the ghost was weeping
The sage approached her
gently he asked her why she was crying
Fearing her reproach
she replied I am lost and I have lost the one I loved
That is why I had you come and find me
now you must set me free
I am the queens subconscious we are the same person
And we have been waiting for you husband of mine
How do I know this to be true asked the sage
The ghost clasped his hand and lifted her veil
And he knew her face
It was his wife from the previous life
He didn't notice the frost the cold of the dream was thawing melting around them
Smoke was forming then licks of flame began to burn
But he wasn't afraid
He embraced her and kissed her wildly
Flames surrounded them
Touching their bodies but not hurting them
flames of passion
Igniting their souls

The queen and the sage woke from the dream together
Knowing they were meant to be with each other for forever.
Our empty syncopation's are patiently ambushed
By restless margins of undeclared territory;
Shivering cymbals, entraining cloistered memories,
A nimbus inclining toward unredeemable quarries:
Refrains unimagined, of star-tipped dawns
Upon certain days of ritual, unbelievably worn.

Breathing dragons of fire-squandering meridians
Pour round water upon semblance's drowned emotion;
Cleave then to me, who cleaves to the last vestige
Of rarefied air, breathed by bellows-smothered centuries
When your foot trod the newly opened ****** earth,
And your hand hinged loves diagonal, even unto death.
Pisceanesque Jul 2015
It slips,
this new surrender,
past the rusted locks
and caution signs
and crumbling roads
of cul-de-sacs
and vacant lots
and open tracks
to freedom;
where conundrums play
and secrets huddle
and bodies lie
and youth decays,
retired past expired days

Engraved in time,
cocoons and shells
and nests are hung
and quartered for a chance at love;
the way ahead,
receding,
half behind
and part enslaved
(a mask of promise worn from birth to lucid grave)

And,
like an avalanche,
it falls in quick pursuit,
this multiverse of
filthy guise
– of liquid paths and dangerous eyes –
and ruby coloured blushing cheeks;
where every lover’s
heart of sponge or stone
descends to meet . . .
heating,
for another touch
beneath the fraying sheets

And all the while
in rush and glory,
time,
******* moments
as it passes, flies away –
manifest instead as flesh,
(again)
with wings that only beat
to re-transcend
and scar
and mend in
pounding,
swollen,
rhythms,
c
l
a
w
i
n
g
for the warmth of smothered distance:
roaring
for a welcome end

So,

spaced between
the tics
and tocs
of darting pain
and thrusting *****,
of ***** aroused, abused, and shamed,
a silence, near, deploys again
the ever caged
and emptied song
and lusting shame
of mouths and tongues,
inclining, fast at last
to go
from whence it came
to soak the mind
and strip the soul
and blur the lines
of time and toll,
buried,
in surrender, whole
© Tamara Natividad
www.pisceanesque.com
Written 21 July, 2015
-
Carlo C Gomez Aug 2021
~
abruptly waking to discover
the sempiternal daylight of herself
in a small silent village in Brussels

the sky's a cloudless blue
and she needs the sun
like children need two parents

sunglasses conceal bedroom eyes
smiles hide like inverted *******
clothed in peekaboo milieu

a highly individual creature
in an era of the exaggerated curve
she's an amnesiac

doodle-dawdling in the altogether
wrapping herself around
mise-en-scène

it's breakfast with Mr. Svengali
then unacquainted foothills
and undergrowth
in the flaring of conjugal
light and shadow

hum
thrum
'n strum
she's got the whole wide world
in her hands

her simple slantwise silhouette
declivitous neck
inclining embonpoint
summoning him

no clock, no watch
the keeping of time
is served by rapping
her crown upon the headboard
at regular intervals

her open-tempered sighs
closing with the heaviness
of a sleepy hush

until the echoing of church bells
announce the footfalls
of tomorrow-come-looking

~
midnight prague Oct 2010
Oh that your hips lock to the crevice of my interchanging mute fragility
that I may become a part of your absoloute screaming
inclining infidelity
that I may wrap my cotton black sleeves around your wrists
and have you hum some old lullaby that your mother
use to sing to you when you were a child

mourning down at the pastel lake
where the waters scream its wonders and secrets
that hold something in the deeper side of you

I'm casting the debut of our lives on a pictionary mind
where thoughts interlude and transgress
every now and then and I am eluded by your watchful glare
into the raindrops that fall into my naturally black hair
I am subtle and hollow in your speech
calm and protective
on defending my own means
of living

oh there you are and I am blinded
all along
invisible with the cloack that I saw
hanging on the sides of your face

imaginary- beautiful , envision no pain
nor disgrace
wrapped in sheets of warm weather
and cool breeze
needless and the most needed
uneeded needs

my cheeks are red sunkissed by the shine
of everything surrounding me
completely bewildered knowing this is mine

bare I hold out all my caged animals
to seek your truth
hidden under gardens of possibility and crime
my mind
I see
is on the edge of extingtion
when drowning in all the different skin

I wake up early on sundays
from the sleep of dead
and open my chest to take and impignorate to all the precious
flowers that I will keep my eye on them

while I master the language
and you master the art of gaze
What dreams I have had of you tonight, my dear
to keep you alive and well in my head,
and are you alive and well in the world?
Out west somewhere, here and there,
on a farm, working for food,
and is the food working for you?

Gotta get out to Colorado one of these days,
climb a tree on the top of some mountain
and gaze out at the features and structures,
all far arden-like.
Are you tied down tonight?
By the perfectly designed sidewalks, and efficient chimney pipes,
tied down by:
cute suburban life, and duplicate blueprints,
tied down by:
pancake shacks, and sporting goods stores
tied down by:
someones misused, overly abused, grimy ****** string?
O’ Colorado where are you tonight,
and what dreams I have had of you in her absence.

Colorado,
where the rivers run far and wide
and the mountains are all on your side.
Colorado,
where I lay my land to dry,
and hold out my hands and cautiously cry.
Colorado,
where all humanity comes to drink.
Colorado,
where we gathered in the hills
not to find wealth, purpose, or the answer.
Colorado,
where riches take a different form,
and souls are free to mourn.
Colorado,
a quite, peace-driven, place… where I long to be.



In the calmness of the current,
in the atmosphere of river life,
in the drowning of the soul and mind,
in cool mountain breath,
in the welcoming brook - not fearing death
in the mouths of fish and under soft mossy stones
in the presence of inclining slopes, and the breaking of bones,
in soft pale earth with the dirt and the clay,
in the tall *** woods where the deer like to play,
and all the rest I forgot to say.

Gotta buy me a boat and get out west one of these days.
Get out on the river,
and just drown my soul for awhile,
live raw for awhile,
beans and rice it for awhile,
get down and see her for awhile.

River as my friend,
a cold and calculated trend.
Every turn: precise
Every depth: nice
I’m on the river now,
and the river is her.
Serge Belinsky Apr 2015
You are still keeping heavy arms,
You did not stop explosive devastations,
The earth is clamings trials – not once,
Have troubled vital forces for whole nature,

United Nations orders been ignored,
Intrudes feeling free for invasions,
Increasing wars revising what agreed,
Incoming time inclining independence,

Indifference for all asleep,
Discourage poll possessions intentions,
Remaining backwards countrys in need,
Would left among nations in faceless,

Despite foggy announcements on stand,
Among the stars would shine the planet,
Don’t leave your children on the sand,
And face cold judgments for a wild,

Pretending for the future bright,
Its hard to watch hearts children crying,
Forgiveness doesn’t have a chance,
Missed way to all the human kind
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
look at me, i was about to write something about my absentee patriotism, how i feel no affiliation to anything sold on the market stall of the flag and st. george’s mascot, i was given the shortest anthem to sing to ease the pressure, but i didn’t sing it, because i felt myself inclining via aesthetics towards the japanese one: ** chi ha chihuahua.*

that’s what happens to former nations that aspire to empire building,
the lingua franca dubius is english for good reason,
we’re looking at uniting europe, rebuilding it,
giving it stability for the japan v. south africa odds of 1000 - 1,
thousand years that is. we need a non-vehicular language,
we need a language of stoppages, clogged up toilets
with polish foot soldiers aiming their bayonet plungers at ****...
we need frequent stoppages for the accessible 24h news reel
telling us something new... like: sun just chuckled in clucks.
now the randomisation... it’s going to be horrid...
i walk the streets for a whiskey after a rugby match that ended
in violins and piano dirges,
by a chain shop i spot a group of children no older than 15,
girls in underwear and boys in hoods - started pimping early
for the muslim boys... or... a football fan thought rugby
was worth the telly and beer to get angry while loosing his national pride,
started making chandelier sparkles with his wife’s face
so his sons and daughters ran out, within the motto:
boys to the alleys girls to the perverts’ bedroom! go!
that was my first impression... secondly i like to forward the following
assumption - interaction of the northern men with the biblical
nations will not end well when the interaction happens
with one of the northern nations being crusaded on by the teutons...
but islamists terrorists i.s.i.l..... for god’s sake call bin laden by
his first name... well that interaction, it will never fair well...
as i tell you i tell you: three tiers of a brain haemorrhage...
the inherited type, the chemically forced type... of ****.... that’s two...
*** and ****** too...
the chemically induced one doesn't affect
one as much as a chemically forced one (it's not the entire d.n.a.
of anticipation when the amazonian one comes disguised
as a hallucinatory hope)  -
continue the plough, continue the harvester!
well the other side is said like this:
what’s the difference between a just man and a self-righteous man?
the self-righteous man takes the money after the damage was done,
the self-righteous man takes the money and limps,
no matter what money could have been given me i liked my brain just fine...
so now the just man, and justice serves a hollowed bell with the just man’s
arm as the bell’s uvula, ding ****!
coming from a man who’s culprit invited him to the mosque in regent’s park
and he gladly accepted aladdin’s challenge on the magic carpet of learning,
the same hurt party that played daddy-long-legs happy birthday
on the guitar with “gravel” at a house party for the unloved,
taking his mother like a lisp in whisper to the likeable respect -
yes, the just man will never become self-righteous...
and guess who gave him money? or the duracell battery for the brain
for compensation? god.
the man took it and now his actions look abiding with fake nostalgia
or like the drunkard with memory gaps, him with gaps of imagination
and fake nostalgia.
but more about nation rebuilding after empire building -
make sure the police force takes the oath of diogenes like
in maxim - ‘find me an honest man who knows his address and phonenumber
and we’ll have no trouble!’ that’s not really hipocrates, but it helps.
secondly or thirdly utmost? i forgot but with the next few words will
remember, ah yes, the p.s.:
socrates asked too many question and with that was the mechanic behind
ambiguity of meaning, words lost their original meaning
because they became so corrupted with application,
so he came in and was like - huh?
the remnants of the socratic method became archeologically resurrected to the fore
with the existentialists tetravoxancon notation, e.g. “virtue,” “ego,” “hope.”
socrates became too difficult, and for written philosophy without conversation
the narrative had to acquire a quasi-fluidity, or, like
on the german motorway, ausfahrt. hitchhiker inclusion moving forward some would say, freelance forward your own ambiguous narrative with the words provide as “ambiguous.”
Nik Bland Apr 2013
I am not alone here, these words accompany
Always close at hand, sitting right next to me
Ringing in the silence of the room behind closed doors
Bouncing off the walls and off of the hardwood floor

Tenderly caressing what is left of my heart
Nudging my hand to the pencil, telling me to start
Wiping tears from my eyes and connecting the drops
Presenting the painter poet with a vision of art

Not today, oh not today, the sore is much too deep
The artist in me cries that the fall is much too steep
But inspiration beckons me this grim and lonely night
Inclining me, between the tears, are the words which I must write

Goodnight, Goodnight

Each and every etching is a tearing truth to me
Falling again and again into a tragedy
But on I go as pain does grow and ease at the same time
Escaping my mind and etching on my heart with every line

This is not depression, this is a cleansing thing
See how the words choose to echo love to me
A losing game, a crying shame, a message wrapped in tears
A courageous allegation surrounded by constant fear

I will be done wih my sitting with my words soon
As they float in the midnight sky up to the moon
I will never see you again inside the tears I cry
Only in the words on paper that you left behind

Goodnight, Goodnight
Victoria Maretti Oct 2012
The keys and strings and knobs and bows taunt
Horse string, shining metal, ivory, silver, and gold—-
Glimmering,
Beckoning
Inclining me to use them
To take them, stroke them, slam them
Abuse them
Worship them
And in my mind
Their chords with flats and sharps and crescendoes and pianissimos blend
Dissonance and perfect harmony battle ferociously
Or perhaps they are dancing?
Jenna Feb 2019
Blades scrape across calves
Itching, irritating,
Children shout and laugh
Imitating, inviting,

Warmth burns and bakes
Igniting, inflicting,
Rippling shadow cast South
Imprinting, imposing,

Yellow dandelions stand tall
Intermixing, inclining,
Brief, cool wind tickles
Invading, inducing
I miss the warm weather. Hate the cold.
Derick Van Dusen Nov 2010
She slipped away, right through my fingers
I watched her and was powerless to stop it.

  She poured through my hands as if water to the sands
I couldnt retrieve a single grain  from where she left her vibrant stain

   She was, or so I thought, a way out of this dismal place
Now here I sit longing to run my fingers lovingly down her face

   She sits there now, far away, across the room deepening my gloom
I reach for her from afar to feel her arms save me from terrible doom

   I watched her slip away and vainly wished her stay, in fact I even begged.
Nothing, not a grin or glance or stair or inclining of a care.

   I sit here more confused and feeling somewhat used, knowing that I cant have whats being sought by the bleeding ***** on the floor under the boards creaking and groaning. Its all I hear, the constant fear, that she will leave. My heart on sleeve is waring out its welcome kept so I dont pout.

   I watched her slip away, the sand simply moved to swiftly for me to keep pace. I could not see past the feeling in me to simply watch her walk away and always in my heart stay. So I reach for her hand In hopes that she will take my heart instead, but I must have hit my head, cause Im fuzzy inside but heavy and insecure.

   I want her for my own but her I can not have for her affections are not just to me but to another whom I see as a brother to the likes of me. Now I find myself in the same boat I was in as a knee high to a grasshopper, loosing what I want too a longer time from start and Im trying not to fall apart.
Zombee Aug 2014
i
finely found the courtesy
to
read a word of Poetry;
even though it only left me
questioning the Meaning
of the
feeling that it Founded,
endowingly inClining me
to
climb the highest Mountain:
loudly it inSpired me.








writing is my Dowry,
reading is the Marriage
that i
cherish at the merit of
disparaging Diaries.


"i am just a Parrot;  
a
parently we share the very
arrogance n carelessness
of
barreling Pirates."


i am just a Sparrow;
rowing over galleries
of
shallow hailing Peril..
..Paralyzed.


"i am just a Shadowing,
Shattering glass."










gallantly we Gather;
"glaringly Gradual."
happily we Harrow.
"inherently Hollow."










powers of eXistence:
symbolisms Tower over
flowers of Ivory.
"i am a Shower".


hours of Shadow;
over-cast horizons
like the
rising of Talos.
"Talos was a GIANT."


i am a just a Cane;
able to be Slain;
david and goLiath.
"i am leViathan."


i am just an Angel.
"April"......May.






Copyright Jesse James Adams
"i can assure you i
mean you no Harm."


who Are you?


"Who?..
..Who is but the form
following the function of What..
..and What i am is a
man in a Mask."


i can See that.


"ofCourse you can.
im not questioning your
powers of obserVation;  im
merely remarking upon the
paradox of asking a Masked man:
who..he Is."


- V
Frank Holliday Jan 2013
I hate you
I wish to tear you away from me
This tumor that clings to my chest
The thing that makes me ache
That haunts my dreams
And tears at my desires
You have brought me only pain
My untamed heart
That beast that gnaws at my soul
That pitifully whines
Bringing my mind into unwanted pain
Yet how can I blame you
How can I chastise you when I listen intently to your pleads
Why should I punish you for what my eyes feed upon
How can I blame my eyes for falling upon her
She who brings light to the eternal darkness of my soul
She whose eyes bring me to subjection
Whose smile leaves me in awe
How can I blame you when my ears are met with her laughter
How they submerge into her song
How they quiver at her voice
Why should I punish you for inclining my soul
Tempting it with the one sense that has been forsaken by her
How could I look over the thought of the brushing of lips
The touching of hands
The binding of the soul, mind, and body
You wretched heart
What am I to do with this constant companion
How could I tear you away
When she is the cause of my agony
Or is it the lack of her which brings me sorrow
Is it the need for her that leaves my heart in pain
Yet she is not mine
She was never mine
She will never be mine
My poor heart
How can I make you see reason
When all you do is show me the truth
INSPIRATION DERIVED FROM A FELLOW FRIEND AND POET WHOS DARKNESS EXCEEDS HIS OWN MIND.
DC raw love Aug 2016
It's a showdown,
in a no girl's land...

Come on devil,
I got a gun,
let's have some fun...

There's never a plan,
in no girl's land....

Also I am the drifting
Shifting astonishing

Sound clerafying
Inside dull dying

Drive is inclining
Street corner climbing

I am rythym still smiling
Front row front porch reclining

Future promising
Rose and candles piling

Harsh pile in
Pack the club stylin

I'm Royal and wildin
WiLDing out now and theN

Now and later and stay again
Raphael Cheong Jan 2015
Growing up
They tell us two
Things at the same time
To enjoy our childhood but
Also to become adults as fast
As we possibly can and we ache
From the failures that shouldn't be
And the lines that slowly weave through
Our foreheads give away our inclining age
Life is a sordid battle of sorts and an awkward
Amalgamation of feelings without names and people
Who come and leave when they fancy and trust is all it takes
To make and break a person standing on the edge of the sea line
Waiting to dive headfirst into the unknown because ignorance is bliss
And nights contemplating death are few and far between but they do exist
But feelings exist for no raeson and reason is an unwarranted current
For we strive too strongly to incite logic into everything we know
And strip ourselves of reckless decisions for solemn strictures
What if we left our feelings alone and accept that they
Unlike us will never be gone and wrecked or ever torn
Life is the awkward waiting game for the end
And that will come soon enough
But till then we must live
Fully and greatly
Rush not and
Hold on
Tight
The subtle act of meeting
old friends with lines on my
face, pock and blemish
dominating the right side of
my face, left to them. Swing
left if you've an inclining.

How many times have you
reached out to a friend, tiny
gestures or grand statements
that state the grandeur of
relationships, twos and threes
and dates and early mornings.

Left to myself in bed I sleep
and toss and dream of friends
I remember and forgot about,
not but a text message away
from a rekindling, idling in
neutral and there's a hill ahead.
Annie Oct 2019
There is a place
In my mind
Where time
Melting - into an endless moment
Stretches out
A gently inclining road
That rolls over
The flat bands of grass
To a point
Where it meets
The overhanging sky.

There is no end.
Only this journey.

And it does not need
To bromate through the cold spells
Or wait for the perfect moment.

It does not cling
To things
The way we do
Bending our lives
Into the shapes
Of our hurts.

It only flows.
Myri May 2015
One step
And I fall
So easy
So simple
So that's what I do
I fall
Down towards the thrashing rocks
Dipping in to the freezing depths
Inclining  my head
And thinking of all that has come
And will come
Come to an end
But I don't want it to end
I've decided it's too soon too late
I want to drag it out longer
I want to savour the salt on my lips
The thrill in my blood
But it's too late
It's always too late
But at least it was easy, simple
Never mind I can't stop now
Nothing can't prevent the incessant tumbling
So I will just be enveloped
By the sandy crests
Goodbye
A Jung Lim Apr 2020
When the sky changes its colors
Red, rose, orange, yellow inclining light to dark blue
It covers all our busy life and sends a sign
Introducing a slide to another world

Reserved only
Once a day

So at every time
Until the last day of my life
I will just let myself plunge
When encountering this sight
Fheyra May 2020
Outstretch the air—
Carved by colours
Sprinkle the wide— Singing Vikings!
Cargo Ships,— Route Inclining!

The ignited Flags of Statutes,
Hailing and burying,— Bonkers in buckets;
Hoops and loops,— with Claps of Needles—
To strike the Base— To No Vent
Whilst the other Mesh— huddle its tent.

What brings the Majors to this Event?—
‘Tis the dignified— that lined Straight Heads
Appointed the triggers— with earnest tests
“All of thee must mark thy honor—
Shield each and other’s posts,— And smash the Alien’s Bowl!”

The oath—which we left— the Dolphins behind
The Tails that rekindle— lullabies from baggages;
Tailors saluting the servants' urges,
That caused the immunity to separate.

Incoming visitors—
Driving the lenses to enlarge—
With Crossed Arms,— Convey the welcome— of Slashed orders
Recipes to pull— the Colon’s Stools;— Both to be ambitious
As Tenures of Patron’s Troops.

A leg for a leg!— A tank for a tank!
Let me sniff the organs in thy chambers—
To perform the drills— of thy cranes,
And later,— block thy Meteorites,—
For our Projectiles to flee!
Show the Main Lands— Thy Powers!

The faith of Hawk Chess—
Whence the heroes— throw their protests
Disseating Kings and Queens—
That envied the Scores of Ages,—
And snapped the systems,—
Celebrating the Disorders of Victories
Whether mine or thine— We cut the strings
Whence the Prerogatives— Laugh at the Quakes..
Fallen lives for territorial power is no victory, but greed..
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
you're the shittest actors imaginable! where's your raw appreciation for modern music?! your berserker mode of inclining to drum along with the recorded beat, where the heart?! where the fathomable fraction of your: if there be a soul?!

poets learn too many words
they haven't mastered
into a paragraph...
you can see this pain
like you can spot a moon at
night...
poets? they require to learn
only three words:
stop, lying* &?
             stop... pretending!
that appreciation of mozart,
to be believed?
died, when the 20th century ended.
Starting with pointed toe
Taking time, going slow
Over supple calves all flexed
Coyly bending, waist reflexed
Keep on going, rising high
Inclining next to the thigh
Now it’s time to clip them in
Gently rubbing upon the skin
Seam all straight, let’s begin
At the hint of your touch my eyes begin to slide closed in slow motion as my body inhales inclining anticipation. My flesh poised for ignition. Exposed. Your glide creates electric waves of sensation, rippling through me dimensionally. Expanding oxygenless rapture where every cell comes to full attentioned life and every single atom drinks in boundless pleasure. Delighted by the tendrils of your touch my entire being dances in the earthy ***** thrum that makes me want to dig my toes into dirt and root down deep to enjoy the fullness of you.
Carpe Stellas May 2020
Darkness tried to break her, to fill her world with grief
Her height of faith and depth of love were stronger than this thief

Her wounds were cleansed by the tears she cried
There was more to her than met the eye

In a relentless quest for justice, she would swiftly rise
The pain that was her prison, would meet its demise

Her heart flourished with hope. She made her choice
She gave her hidden feelings a purpose and a voice

She stained the pure white paper with ink until it bled
until every wrong was made right, until every tear was shed

A new day was born as a glimpse of light
A new craving to live. A new will to fight

free from the garments of trepidation she wore
Not bound by chains of despair anymore

Upon her knees with her heart in a humble place
A new destiny greeted her as a tender embrace

never again to be broken upon the floor
She was free to fly, free to soar

From fallen ruins, infinite it seemed
was born a vivid enlightened dream

The sun arose within her, a new light upon her path
She departed from darkness, turned her back to wrath

surrendered to the gentleness, the calm of a fresh start
ascended uncharted skies of kindness upon wings of a softened heart

She climbed above the shadows, God to be her only guide
The clouds far beneath her, the luminous sunlight at her side

no longer wrapped in shame, fighting to survive
full of peace and tranquility, fully awake, fully alive

new goals, new visions, new mountains to climb
her deepest scars erased forever in time

The odds stacked against her were overturned
A fresh urgency for freedom burned

Her eyes widely opened, she dreamed the sweetest dream
She reached forth to boundless heights, her life had been redeemed

A beacon on the horizon, understanding captured her sight
inspiring her heart to open, inclining her fingers to freely write

her soul to fully share, her spirit to liberally fly
Her hands to grasp a second chance, giving life another try

Kindling a flame from an inner spark, she ignited a fire to live
sprouting from the ashes with a tireless passion to give

The world left marks on her cocoon. She never asked why
She simply spread her wings and emerged a butterfly

Formerly hidden in darkness, she had a future clear and bright
She paved a road to hungry hearts like a ray of hope and light

no looking back to troubles of her past
too busy caring for the downhearted and loving the downcast

Her future unknown, uncertain where this trail would lead
she measured every thought, every motive, every deed

every word which fell upon her lips, every expression upon her face
sifted through eyes of compassion and benevolence of grace

Her speech delivered truth to anyone longing to feel
unraveling statues of stone with love, unique and real

She met the need of those who hungered for a heartfelt word
Through tenderness and compassion, refined purpose was seen and heard

Gentle words breathed into them new life delicate and sweet
penetrating unreachable hearts, from stone she paved a street

Affection and forgiveness softly fell upon their ears
hidden strengths coaxed with lyrics of a balladeer

They basked in her sunshine to warm their troubled hearts
The world, an empty palette. Her life, a work of art

no need to be common when one was meant to be rare
Fulfilling her purpose became her strength. her life. her air

She breathed in the sunshine, warmth, light and rays
reflected upon lonely souls to brighten their darkest days

Her glow simply an inner light, resounding in echoes of hope
filling a void in empty hearts, lending a hand to help them cope

Her heart beat to the consoling rhythm of a generous melody
serenading prisoners of grief, setting their fragile hearts free

She reached forth with generous hands to a world full of need
an advocate for the weary, she’d speak and intercede

anchored by sincerity to calm their troubled minds
She shared the treasure of a heart, virtuous and kind

She heard the slightest whisper of need escaping a broken soul
She saw the diamond, the person’s worth, beyond a life of coal

Drops of tenderness fell steady as a gentle spring rain
enveloping the world in solace, a refuge from pain

They defeated darkness and radiated with newfound light
With strength renewed, they emerged, eagles taken flight

Former lives passed away with freedom to begin again
The sky’s the limit of a hopeful dream that began as paper and pen
TUBULAR AND JOLLY HE SAT IN THE SNOW
HIS EYES MADE OF BLACK BUTTONS AND GLOW
ENERGETICALLY MADE, BY THE HANDS OF A CHILD

"What a wonderful morning to build me a chum "
said the child as he picked, packed and put with his might
He poked in a carrot then packed it real tight  
but spoke not a word as he stood there, chalk white
He showed him two tonsils, one tongue and some teeth
all he got was a grin and a stare, " call me Pete "
Crunch, crunch went the boots, they were all in cahoot
if you hear me Chum please give a hoot !
It was an owl by far who heeded his call
white as pure snow but not quite so tall;

Rollaway days made for children at play
It was Christmas and oh, it had to be done  
inclining an ear he said, ''be a good chum ''
then he turned up grin and sang with a hum.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
i never mind the aristocratic brow-beating...
sir laurence olivier interviewed
on the **** cavett show...
and how one can exfoliate within an armchair
of language...
with such ease... and this admiration
is never a shallow: to be bound to a shallow hue...
of what is *real" colour...
you almost agree to what's being said
with hush-hush overtones...
because that's... the old aristrocratic...
and i am of the lot of:
the never to be bound to such gentleness...
one can admire both the iron...
and the silk... and one and the two as
synonymous!
a hammer wrapped in a silk cloth...
which implies:
what one attempts when one has
transcended the otherwise:
bothersome bog dynamics of...
being the oil and **** that floats
like jesus... to walk...
on the water... which is not a literal event...
it's hardly a metaphor...
perhaps the people became well read..
literate... but then...
there came the metaphor and its translation...
the artistocrat...
better known as...
someone peacocking with anecdotes!
not in this murmur of perchance...
the character: silent / sober as a grave...
i can drag you onto the plateau
of how, otherwise this will require it being
appeased...
- and because why would younger
readers flock to: catcher in the rye
and not to charles dicknes?
it's a real shame that so few flock to charles
dicknes... esp. having read
the first chapter of the pickwick papers...
perhaps the problem being:
to be easily overlooked... to be allowed
to shut-up...
if i had read any of the Dickens i wouldn't
have made myself worthwhile
with a hidden ambition...
to write with finding the sort of simultaneous
ease to compare and compensate
with breathing...
for no better juxtaposition of when...
language becomes alive...
and it forgives itself the cue of a waiting
demand... prior to the king...
and this ghostly pyramid of class...
tier 1: impromptu...
tier 2: prompt and souffler en anglais...
tier 3, 4, 5, 6... and the better part
of having read some samuel beckett...

laurence olivier or what's called...
speaking with a fondness to have to sigh...
the measured breath...
i can't imagine having such an audacity
of freedom...
to speak at one's own leisure...
likened to walking...
to speak at one's own leisure...
without having to justify it like some pleb:
in a foreign country, akin to england...
reciting the h'american declarence of independence...
showing the 1st amendement into everyone's
porky-pie...

imagine... defending my freedom of speech...
one can really talk about anything...
but... one isn't allowed
to have the same freedom when:
one can, think of anything...
and extend this freedom into writing...
which is an extension of a freedom
of thought... and not... an invitation
to speak!

"freedom of speech"...
worse the freedom when...
people can be given the crab-bucket intellectualism
of... inclining themselves to treat
writing as speech!
that writing is not an extension
of thought... and it's not, speech!
this is not ditto-head news-reel material
readied for dough-dough-talk-talk-head!

leave this writing alone...
for your eyes only...
but no!
will it have to be become: "spoken"?!
a figment of anyone's dementia riddled
imagination...
funny how dementia doesn't attack
imagination but disgruntles memory...
yet... memory...
and pedagogy's memory is left intact...
that grammar lessons overshadow
personal memories...
how memory is never a leftover tract
of a self-intact...

but i do not own the position
to such freely spoken...
whatever language i might acquire...
whatever vocabulary...
however crude or perfected...
it doesn't matter...
it was never supposed to matter...

the irish do not, will not,
eat raw herrings in a cream, apple and gherkin
sauce... but to have that sort
of an irish ambition...
to have to be... left without one's own
tongue? i can also seek the haven
of: mój natywny język (my native tongue)...

but... that's hardly a consolation...
it would have been better,
perhaps... to have to succumb to
the "locals" of the "elsewhere"...
20+ years apart...
and... i'm a nowhere to be "found";
in that i am bound:
to a trench of teasing east...
but also teasing west...
at least closest to the north...
i could only find an antonym extreme
in some bogus new zealand version
of a south.

such profanity in the republic's eye...
my own, least quoted:
better judged...
and for no better of anything,
this, just might be...
for me to entertain the "pleb among the pleb"...
someone call a man named: jack!
and perhaps there's no...
other little place we were born into...
and... we all could have hoped
to have never left...
because... the fascination comes...
when one is almost allowed
to walk with a leash:
but one is never allowed
to hang on...
suicide dangling on a borrowed
noose from someone's
intestine's worth of rope...

the death of a monster... the critique
of a human being...
and all those better parts of what's
to be made into...
what's: the better part of this better
"part" to not be included
in anything that could be...
sentenced to: roughage...
grit and pebble and sand...

in order to have children...
and also to have a son...
is for the son to gimmick you...
and the daughter
and the daughter...
and no daughter...
and... the better prison that could
never become off of
citizen kane by orson welles.

— The End —