"knave" poems
Hello weary star farer,
You have come a long way,
bumping through every asterism,
wondering if you would one day be
part of an art in the starry night sky.
I am but an old star with a dying heart,
plummeting to knave abyss.
As hope crashes down with me,
I come across you, oh weary star farer.
You took me to dance on the moons of Jupiter.
We sang our lungs out through the milky way.
Suddenly, all the other stars faded,
and giving up was overrated.
Your tired soul ignited mine,
giving birth to love so divine.
Rest now, oh weary star farer.
We are now home in each other's radiance.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
ALTHOUGH I can see him still.
The freckled man who goes
To a grey place on a hill
In grey Connemara clothes
At dawn to cast his flies,
It's long since I began
To call up to the eyes
This wise and simple man.
All day I'd looked in the face
What I had hoped 'twould be
To write for my own race
And the reality;
The living men that I hate,
The dead man that I loved,
The craven man in his seat,
The insolent unreproved,
And no knave brought to book
Who has won a drunken cheer,
The witty man and his joke
Aimed at the commonest ear,
The clever man who cries
The catch-cries of the clown,
The beating down of the wise
And great Art beaten down.
Maybe a twelvemonth since
Suddenly I began,
In scorn of this audience,
Imagining a man,
And his sun-freckled face,
And grey Connemara cloth,
Climbing up to a place
Where stone is dark under froth,
And the down-turn of his wrist
When the flies drop in the stream;
A man who does not exist,
A man who is but a dream;
And cried, "Before I am old
I shall have written him one
poem maybe as cold
And passionate as the dawn.'
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On his mighty mountain
Jove reigned with his queen
Never questioned
Never held in check
Such riches never seen!
With mount Olympus as his home
Far above the throng
He could do just as he pleased
No, he was never wrong!
Then a fair nymph maiden
Caught Jove's roving eye
Hera was out shopping
He saw the maid go by...
Making his advances
He found that he was spurned!
No matter how he postured
Her head was never turned!
"Oh Jupiter!" She laughed aloud
"You bloated moon, you knave!
I'd rather love a he-goat
For all the gifts you gave!
You have no tact. No honor.
You plurocratic fool!
You pick your teeth with
Poor men's bones
Using wealth as tool!
Go on then! Arrest me!
Force me... if you dare...
But I know Hera's servants
The one's who do her hair!"
Jupiter was stymied
He knew just what this meant.
Hera'd throw a fit for sure!
So he had to relent.
But he cursed the nymph-maid
With great poverty.
But dissing him was such a joy
She'd do the same for FREE!
(C) SoulSurvivor
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
which man has saved us from a dystopian future;
where each one of us must decide between good
and evil without fear of punishment from the camera
lens or laws that have become as onerous upon our
lives as a world without any law at all; which man
would be genius enough to survive his own evil
no matter the height of our intellectual achievements,
it is the emotional strain of one life in one world that
cannot care no matter how much we pray beyond
gravity’s last remaining outposts that lays waste to
souls that beg to be equal among beings made in an
image that has not been defined but merely assumed
when tears are no longer welcome as before and
when anger serves the strong well, then will the
light know to assume it’s place in the darkness which
hides from the absence of the knowing, undefined
by Gods or beasts that live in the depths choking
on sinks of man’s glorious quest for immortality
if one man knows of the legend if not each jot of
the law then would the spirit hover above his heart;
must he decide between living as a depraved knave
or martyred by unrecorded history, unfathomed
by meaning or the depths that have no end except
his will to suffer for what he once knew to be true?
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
---
Once upon a time
In a land so far away
There was a wretched kingdom
Were a vampire held sway
He was very ancient
Handsome as a knave
Dressed in black and silken garb
Was said to be quite brave
But such a cruel creature
He devoured the towns
The soldiers were all petrified
Would not defend the crown
So the King of the castle
Searched both far and wide
For mighty men of valor
To defend the countryside
Finally up north
He found a daring band
Of golden headed Vikings
To defend his failing land
The company of Norsemen
Could not be laidback
They rallied their army
And decided to attack!
They put no garlic round their necks
No ash stakes did they carry
They knew not the vampire ways
And so they were not wary
But oh! What valiant men!
They made quite a sight!
Scaling the vampiric castle walls -
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT!
The vampire, Vlad the terrible,
Made a crimson flood
Destroyed every one of them
And feasted on their blood!
It was before morning
The darkest witching hour
Vlad finished dispatching them
His countenance was dour
Then a light came streaking
From the pitch black sky -
It was a Valkyrie!
She made a fearsome cry!
"You! Vlad the terrible!"
The ghoul looked up, aghast!
"You feasted on my Norsemen -
But I am here at LAST!!!"
The mighty female warrior
Shook back her golden mane
"You've killed many villagers
But won't do it AGAIN!!!"
The brilliant armored woman
Faced off the evil lord
He laughed, "You cannot slay me!
No! Not with that sword!"
"And for all your armor
What do you suppose?
Your sweet delicious throat
Is slender... and EXPOSED!!!
The Valkyrie laughed
She threw back her hair
She let fly her sword
It scissored through the air!!!
The dreaded Vlad was impaled
But NOT through his chest
Through his very garments
The great sword came to rest
To a TREE the monster stuck
Like a fly caught with a pin
He could not free himself!
And he saw the rising SUN!!!
He struggled against his cape
He'd have none of THAT!
But Vlad could not break the sword
So he became a bat!
Up he flew to escape his fate
But a ray of sun broke through
With an arc he burnt to spark
IT DESTROYED VLAD AS HE FLEW!!!
The Valkyrie, triumphant,
Cried out, "it is I!!!
For when there is a battle,
I decide who lives and dies!!!
I decide the outcome!
Tis not by happenstance...
Won't see you in Valhalla
*You never had a chance!!!*
So ended the battle
The Valkyrie WON.
The outcome was decided...
...Before it was begun!!!
SoulSurvivor
5/6/2015
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
I ASKED if I should pray.
But the Brahmin said,
"pray for nothing, say
Every night in bed,
""I have been a king,
I have been a slave,
Nor is there anything.
Fool, rascal, knave,
That I have not been,
And yet upon my breast
A myriad heads have lain.'''
That he might Set at rest
A boy's turbulent days
Mohini Chatterjee
Spoke these, or words like these,
I add in commentary,
"Old lovers yet may have
All that time denied --
Grave is heaped on grave
That they be satisfied --
Over the blackened earth
The old troops parade,
Birth is heaped on Birth
That such cannonade
May thunder time away,
Birth-hour and death-hour meet,
Or, as great sages say,
Men dance on deathless feet.' 0084
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I don't write lyrics, but I do have flow
I don't write music, but I do have soul
I'm not an artist, but a picture I'll paint
Sistine Chapel leaves you thinking I'm a saint
I don't play sports, but I do play minds
I'm not a catcher, but I still show signs
I'm not a racer, but I still cross lines
I'm not a witch, but I'll still cast doom
Not the undertaker, but I'll set up your tomb
Not a fortune teller, but I can spell your demise
I'm not a magician, but I can see your surprise
I'm not a gardener, but I can plant you in the ground
I'm not a devil, but hellish is my sound
Demons in the room have come to stomp you down
I flow freely, 'cuz I'm a bad-ass poet
But I'm not all bad. Here, let me show it
I can make your heart beat to the sound of my melody
Make you love-sick; I'm sorry, there is no remedy
I'm like soldiers in the dirt, always brave
I'm strong, and I'm bold, and I'm a slight knave
Always protecting innocence with the tip of a glaive
* Now this time I must remember to hit save*
Jun 22, 2011
Jun 22, 2011 at 8:14 PM UTC
I RANTED to the knave and fool,
But outgrew that school,
Would transform the part,
Fit audience found, but cannot rule
My fanatic heart.
I sought my betters: though in each
Fine manners, liberal speech,
Turn hatred into sport,
Nothing said or done can reach
My fanatic heart,
Out of Ireland have we come.
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother's womb
A fanatic heart.
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Come, let me sing into your ear;
Those dancing days are gone,
All that silk and satin gear;
Crouch upon a stone,
Wrapping that foul body up
In as foul a rag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.
Curse as you may I sing it through;
What matter if the knave
That the most could pleasure you,
The children that he gave,
Are somewhere sleeping like a top
Under a marble flag?
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.
I thought it out this very day.
Noon upon the clock,
A man may put pretence away
Who leans upon a stick,
May sing, and sing until he drop,
Whether to maid or hag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup,
The moon in a silver bag.
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"CALL down the hawk from the air;
Let him be hooded or caged
Till the yellow eye has grown mild,
For larder and spit are bare,
The old cook enraged,
The scullion gone wild.'
"I will not be clapped in a hood,
Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist,
Now I have learnt to be proud
Hovering over the wood
In the broken mist
Or tumbling cloud.'
"What tumbling cloud did you cleave,
Yellow-eyed hawk of the mind,
Last evening? that I, who had sat
Dumbfounded before a knave,
Should give to my friend
A pretence of wit.'
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The fascination of what's difficult
Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent
Spontaneous joy and natural content
Out of my heart. There's something ails our colt
That must, as if it had not holy blood
Nor on Olympus leaped from cloud to cloud,
Shiver under the lash, strain, sweat and jolt
As though it dragged road metal. My curse on plays
That have to be set up in fifty ways,
On the day's war with every knave and dolt,
I swear before the dawn comes round again
I'll find the stable and pull out the bolt.
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Across this Height from the Land of Swell Tea
The Second Great Angel offers her Palm
Waving, for Frustration to leave me be
And guide the Wildman to induce his Calm
No affront passed for Virtue to behave
When some cry the Vandal for no reason
He comes to charge; But out defends the Knave,
Jousting him off for another Good Season
In you the Friendly Pearl forms; And no doubt,
This lingering Fever affects most Girls
But like your Seven stood still on a Cloud,
Yet keeps the Spell for Good Passion to burn.
Lucky Dear Dame, such Title you will bear
Enjoy your Earnings; Your Man is now there.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
Hello, this is wonderland
Everyone has gone mad
If you're normal,
This place will change that.
Welcome to wonderland
You'll wonder what's the matter,
When you meet the mad hatter.
You'll wander to that little drink,
That seems to have made you shrink.
But be warned of the cake most of all,
For it will make you grow so tall.
Hello, this is wonderland,
Everyone has gone mad.
If you're normal,
We'll change that.
Welcome to wonderland.
You'll meet the White Rabbit,
And be curious about his habbits.
The Cheshire Cat will be a scare,
Once you see, he's not all there.
Now the Knave of Hearts,
Never stole the Red Queen's tarts.
Hello, this is Wonderland.
Everyone has gone mad.
If you're normal,
We'll change that.
Welcome to Wonderland.
It's a wonderful place,
Here in Wonderland.
There's monsters to face,
Here in Wonderland.
They'll drive you mad,
We can't change that.
If you have any fears,
You'll meet them here,
In Wonderland.
We're all mad here in Wonderland.
Hello, this is wonderland.
Everyone has gone mad.
If you're normal,
We'll change that.
Welcome to Wonderland.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
~~<>~~
Kings and queens
and progeny
all work out their Destiny
Subtle courtier
ruthless knave
demon spawn
ambitious slave
Battles fought
and sometimes lost
sometimes won
at dearest cost
Summer lion
springtime lamb
are slaughtered
in the winter's calm
The company of
enemies and friends
all are one in the end
The marriage vow
the ties that bind
the power of the concubine
Those wheels of power
grind men's bones
when they play
the Game of Thrones
SoulSurvivor
(C) 3/15/2014
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
*I folded my cards
after I laid the last hand bare
And got ******* by a queen
and the sharpness of your aces
looking at jacks
a knave of hearts
and prince of diamonds
the choice is not easy
which to throw,
Which to keep
I dont fit in this deck
i'm in the wrong game
because the card closest to my chest is a joker
and it just doesnt figure Here.*
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
Empowered Manager, your Rules beknown
I'd rather you Teach how we must Behave
Or, filter these Concepts to his Reknown
And coat this Script for his role as a Knave
So what's new? Long does this Method wear
For the Centred Market your Profits invest
Though, we Illusioned, squeeze each dareful tear
Close his Next-Door Gates for an Open Contest
To be Fair, dear Sir, if we can afford
To pay for that trite, unsubstantial fee
I suppose his Skill to waters accord
Reward by Harvest; A Hero as he.
So yes I'm aware for such tweets I send
Were not his eyes for your mouth he'll depend.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 3:29 AM UTC
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory!
Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour,
See approach proud Edward’s power—
Chains and slavery!
Wha will be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland’s king and law
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand or freeman fa’,
Let him follow me!
By oppression’s woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in ev’ry foe!
Liberty’s in ev’ry blow!
Let us do or die!
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I am a coward,
But you wouldn't know that,
Because I am a coward.
Through my thoughts and words.
I am a coward,
Silent when I should've been loud;
I am a coward,
Doubtful when I should've been proud.
I shall bring shame to my family,
As some of them have brought mine;
I shall bring shame to those who surround me,
Those who said I shouldn't give up on the line.
I will be selfish,
I will be foolish,
I will be fiendish,
I will try to end it.
I have seen the ugly,
I have felt how ugly.
I have seen your sorrows;
Yet I have not faced mine.
Now I am a coward,
Keeping the things I should've said,
Nothing more than a coward,
A lost cause better dead.
Don't blame yourself,
When you come see my grave,
Put your fake face on the shelf,
For once don't be a knave.
For those I will leave grieving,
I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough;
Maybe you did start caring,
Started caring but not enough.
I am a coward.
Put none on faith,
All alone, a *******
Alone and lost and frail.
I am a coward,
To let myself be conquered,
By sickness and my thoughts,
By circumstance and words.
I am a coward,
Without saying why;
I am a coward,
To leave without saying goodbye.
I am a coward,
To end abruptly my own strife,
I wish you would forgive me,
For giving up my life.
To those who see these words,
May my omen bring you a sign;
Don't be alone, or at least try;
Don't repeat what mistake have I.
I am a coward.
It took me so long to let you know.
I am a coward.
Hopefully this goodbye isn't just for show.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 11:11 AM UTC
No tribal scarring marks your face
no cinder walk or thorn-pierced tongue
to prove you are no longer young
but fit to take your rightful place
Your generation never fought
And you have wished that you could see
the selfless, brave camaraderie
of which you were so often taught
Alas for you to fetch ashore
when we had lost our appetite
for making children go and fight
and briefly grieved, and said "No more!"
Condemning you, unreconciled,
to shed no blood, as real men should;
to feel that life is mostly good
Oh foolish knave! Oh hopeless child!
And saddled with this gross mistake
your quiet kindness gently spread
and harmless fascinations fed
and left no corpses in their wake
To think we looked to one unmanned
as children, hungry for a clue
of what it's right for men to do,
led, blind, by your unbloodied hand
Sought thoughts from one who could not brag
of marching forth to suicide
for waxed moustaches' sense of pride
Nor bleeding dry beneath a flag
But you had naught to tell us, save
that life is hopeful and sublime
and we should use this precious time
And I'll be grateful to the grave.
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 4:20 PM UTC
O HEART, be at peace, because
Nor knave nor dolt can break
What's not for their applause,
Being for a woman's sake.
Enough if the work has seemed,
So did she your strength renew,
A dream that a lion had dreamed
Till the wilderness cried aloud,
A secret between you two,
Between the proud and the proud.
What, still you would have their praise!
But here's a haughtier text,
The labyrinth of her days
That her own strangeness perplexed;
And how what her dreaming gave
Earned slander, ingratitude,
From self-same dolt and knave;
Aye, and worse wrong than these.
Yet she, singing upon her road,
Half lion, half child, is at peace.
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you and i are split skin. split skin in a cave.
shadow craven sparks in the nonplus of our one up
you and i are this djinn, white marble lathe of sparrows ,
ravenous larks upon our dumb lust, such
universal slit wind. It's bent in a wave.
hallowed pavilions, susurrus the rhombus
of love's knave
who cuts up.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC
HERE at right of the entrance this bronze head,
Human, superhuman, a bird's round eye,
Everything else withered and mummy-dead.
What great tomb-haunter sweeps the distant sky
(Something may linger there though all else die;)
And finds there nothing to make its tetror less
Hysterica passio of its own emptiness?
No dark tomb-haunter once; her form all full
As though with magnanimity of light,
Yet a most gentle woman; who can tell
Which of her forms has shown her substance right?
Or maybe substance can be composite,
profound McTaggart thought so, and in a breath
A mouthful held the extreme of life and death.
But even at the starting-post, all sleek and new,
I saw the wildness in her and I thought
A vision of terror that it must live through
Had shattered her soul. Propinquity had brought
Imagiation to that pitch where it casts out
All that is not itself: I had grown wild
And wandered murmuring everywhere, "My child, my
child! '
Or else I thought her supernatural;
As though a sterner eye looked through her eye
On this foul world in its decline and fall;
On gangling stocks grown great, great stocks run dry,
Ancestral pearls all pitched into a sty,
Heroic reverie mocked by clown and knave,
And wondered what was left for massacre to save.
2k
Adolf ****** was really quite a chap
He made those Froggies eat a lot of crap;
And he made all those Norwegians
Look like a load of paraplegians.
He marched into Poland with his troops
Into their pants those Poles did poops.
He made short work of the poor old Greeks:
And in their pants they did big keeks.
Killing the Jews was oh so bad and cruel:
Burning them up for harsh winter fuel.
But invading Russia was a bad place to go
And the Nazis froze in the cold and snow.
The Yanks were frightened to join in the war:
They were **** scared of what they saw;
(they only got involved when the Japanese
brought the Pearl Harbour fleet to its knees).
Only the Brits stood resolute and brave
For Churchill was an inspiring knave;
He fought Adolf on the shores and beaches
And the Germans crapped their leder-britches.
So what is the lesson of these facts from history?
Not ****** much - what a ******* mystery.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
Daily I listen to wonder and woe,
Nightly I hearken to knave or to ace,
Telling me stories of lava and snow,
Delicate fables of ribbon and lace,
Tales of the quarry, the **** the chase,
Longer than heaven and duller than hell--
Never you blame me, who cry my case:
"Poets alone should kiss and tell!"
Dumbly I hear what I never should know,
Gently I counsel of pride and of grace;
Into minutiae gayly they go,
Telling the name and the time and the place.
Cede them your silence and grant them space--
Who tenders an inch shall be ***** of an ell!
Sympathy's ever the boaster's brace;
Poets alone should kiss and tell.
Why am I tithed what I never did owe?
Choked with vicarious saffron and mace?
Weary my lids, and my fingers are slow--
Gentlemen, **** you, you've halted my pace.
Only the lads of the cursed race,
Only the knights of the desolate spell,
May point me the lines the blood-drops trace--
Poets alone should kiss and tell.
L'ENVOI
Prince or commoner, tenor or bass,
Painter or plumber or never-do-well,
Do me a favor and shut your face
Poets alone should kiss and tell.
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