"leant" poems
I met a woman
brutal in her mercy.
Her embrace was a clinch
to prevent hard blows.
She pulled me close to push me away.
Seeing my nakedness
she leant me a dream
of chainmail and shield.
Taking love from me she gave a reprieve
to a mind resigned to the slow death of feeling.
Ignoring my words she heard
my faint silent heartbeat and
understood that it was music
too quiet for the world to hear
and turned it up louder
than I could stand.
I wept in my deafness
as she danced.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
......was a freezing morning.
no rooster woke me....i opened
my eyes at first light of dawn,
sipped hot coffee....my thoughts,
recalling....traveling, with the swirling steam...
turkey wasn't done yet,
but, hours before, table was already set...
while awaiting guests,
I leant on the counter...my head, to rest,
i looked outside the small window
and was greeted by a full moon, aglow...
there was so much food on the table...weariness
was healed by laughter...conversations touched
on weather, politics, food...they refused to end,
glasses sparkled with bubbly wine....sliced meat
was arranged on a big tray...baked sweet potato
with caramel smelled, tasted good...broccoli rave
was green and spicy...i didn't know potato salad
could taste good without meat!....coffee and pies
came next.....the dogs, communicated with their
eyes and paws...socializing, too, like their masters,
i saw what was left, after slicing the plump roasted
fowl...a skeleton, still with thick strands of meat, and
the palatable stuffing made with onions and prunes.
dishes were washed, kitchen was back in order,
after showering....everyone rushed to their beds,
yet, i had to peep out the window, one last time...
the full moon, still was upon us...confirming its
presence....a long time witness to the moments
we celebrate........encouraging our moods,
our thoughts.....our hearts.......even when
it's not a thanksgiving night..
Sally
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 23, 2018
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC
the child recieves his paper
****** backward by the one in front
flip the three pages flippantly
one : intimidating . . two : boring
the third adorned unexpectedly
a longer -than seems can be usually- grown hair with a clump of green root
sprung out and slaughtered, down across the width; stuck above the questions beneath
how could he not have seen?
a pile so viscous and obscene?
does everyone else have one???
are they holding their disgust beneath?
he looked up at the teacher.
A look of vigilance his face bequeathed.
B ut now it sprung out almost pus like
a faint smile,
a teachers calm reprieve
he then leaned back on his chair in comfort
drooping his head back
his nostrils flared now toward the child
the hairs brustling from inside, all locked up in a ***** days remnants
all foul
and long
and dehydrated
like a swamp now sunned crisp; reeds on a stale bank
drawn in he felt uneasy
unable to cease to stare
incased inside the world that spawned
in the swamp that lay up there
in the cavernous orifices there
then he saw the teachers eyes, his gaze it
stuck on him, the teacher began to grin
further back his head leant
his eyes jaundiced
his teeth tanned
his face pale
his grin outstretched and thin
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
THERE all the golden codgers lay,
There the silver dew,
And the great water sighed for love,
And the wind sighed too.
Man-picker Niamh leant and sighed
By Oisin on the grass;
There sighed amid his choir of love
Tall pythagoras.
plotinus came and looked about,
The salt-flakes on his breast,
And having stretched and yawned awhile
Lay sighing like the rest.
Straddling each a dolphin's back
And steadied by a fin,
Those Innocents re-live their death,
Their wounds open again.
The ecstatic waters laugh because
Their cries are sweet and strange,
Through their ancestral patterns dance,
And the brute dolphins plunge
Until, in some cliff-sheltered bay
Where wades the choir of love
Proffering its sacred laurel crowns,
They pitch their burdens off.
4.4k
Throught the trees of Tamarit
have come the hounds of lead
waiting for the branches to fall,
waiting till they shatter themselves.
Tamarit has an apple tree
with an apple on it that sobs.
A nightingale gathers the sighs
and a pheasant leads them off through the dust.
But the branches are happiness,
the branches are like us.
They don't think of rain, they sleep,
as if they were trees, just like that.
Sitting, their knees in water,
two valleys awaited the Fall.
The twilight with elephantine step
leant against trunks and branches.
Through the trees of Tamarit
are many children with veiled faces
waiting for my branches to fall,
waiting till they shatter themselves.
3k
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
2.9k
My daughter fell in love with a potato,
"A potato.......
My mind was confused and my face was a picture...
of why would someone ever love a potato?
I asked this myself in my head then out loud.
My darling how have you a fondness for a potato?
*He is the only one for me he is so soft and never
has a chip on his shoulder..*
A chip? really, how did you meet my little lady.
He was just mulling around in a mash pit,
The music was the spud rock and he was my root.
I will have to meet you new boyfriend,
Dad, I love Barry, he even let me wear his jacket
it was so fluffy inside...
Fathers out there would have the same look on
their face as I do now!!!!!
"OK, as I was waiting impatiently to see this lad.
She walked in hand in hand, I just gave the daddy
look, hi Barry he stared in a starch looking gaze.
my daughter spoke "I'll just get my bag,
I spoke in my sternest voice,
"Barry if you don't treat my daughter right,
"Lets just say ill mash you up, understand....
And then they left not the gentlemen of before
no jacket to lend her, just walking out the door
like he had just been roasted by my words...
Hours had past worry in my thoughts then my
daughter came back, tears in her eyes.
"What ever was the matter my darling?
*"He had steamed off because I wanted to know
why he never leant me his jacket,*
"He said I was being a dumpling with him,
*"So I told him you were right and that he had
a chip on his shoulder, he replied I was fried,*
I told her that potato's can be a little mashed, and
a chip they will always have, because you cant change
a potato they will always have a little starch inside...
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
I leant over, and read her notebook.
*Treasure pleasure:
seize the azure instant!!!*
She never forgave me for laughing.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
A MAN that had six mortal wounds, a man
Violent and famous, strode among the dead;
Eyes stared out of the branches and were gone.
Then certain Shrouds that muttered head to head
Came and were gone. He leant upon a tree
As though to meditate on wounds and blood.
A Shroud that seemed to have authority
Among those bird-like things came, and let fall
A bundle of linen. Shrouds by two and thrce
Came creeping up because the man was still.
And thereupon that linen-carrier said:
"Your life can grow much sweeter if you will
"Obey our ancient rule and make a shroud;
Mainly because of what we only know
The rattle of those arms makes us afraid.
"We thread the needles' eyes, and all we do
All must together do.' That done, the man
Took up the nearest and began to sew.
"Now must we sing and sing the best we can,
But first you must be told our character:
Convicted cowards all, by kindred slain
"Or driven from home and left to dic in fear.'
They sang, but had nor human tunes nor words,
Though all was done in common as before;
They had changed their thtoats and had the throats of
birds.
2.5k
(From a Persian Carpet)
Ash and strewments, the first moth-wings, pale
Ardour of brief evenings, on the fecund wind;
Or all a wing, less than wind,
Breath of low herbs upfloats, petal or wing,
Haunting the musk precincts of burial.
For the season of newer riches moves triumphing,
Of the evanescence of deaths. These potpourris
Earth-tinctured, jet insect-bead, cinder of bloom—
How weigh while a great summer knows increase,
Ceaselessly risen, what there entombs?—
Of candour fallen from the slight stems of Mays,
Corrupt of the rim a blue shades, pensively:
So a fatigue of wishes will young eyes.
And brightened, unpurged eyes of revery, now
Not to glance to fabulous groves again!
For now deep presence is, and binds its close,
And closes down the wreathed alleys escape of sighs.
And now rich time is weaving, hidden tree,
The fable of orient threads from bough to bough.
Old rinded wood, whose lissomeness within
Has reached from nothing to its covering
These many corymbs’ flourish!—And the green
Shells which wait amber, breathing, wrought
Towards the still trance of summer’s centering,
Motives by ravished humble fingers set,
Each in a noon of its own infinite.
And here is leant the branch and its repose
of the deep leaf to the pilgrim plume. Repose,
Inflections brilliant and mute of the voyager, light!
And here the nests, and freshet throats resume
Notes over and over found, names
For the silvery ascensions of joy. Nothing is here
But moss and its bells now of the root’s night;
But the beetle’s bower, and arc from grass to grass
For the flight in gauze. Now its fresh lair,
Grass-deep, nestles the cool eft to stir
Vague newborn limbs, and the bud’s dark winding has
Access of day. Now on the subtle noon
Time’s image, at pause with being, labours free
Of all its charge, for each in coverts laid,
Of clement kind; and everlastingly,
In some elision of bright moments is known,
Changed wide as Eden, the branch whose silence sways
Dazzle of the murmurous leaves to continual tone;
Its separations, sighing to own again
Being of the ignorant wish; and sways to sight,
Waked from it nighted, the marvelous foundlings of light;
Risen and weaving from the ceaseless root
A divine ease whispers toward fruitfulness,
While all a summer’s conscience tempts the fruit.
2.6k
In pressing times truth oft' lies so oppressed
And falsehoods rouse to speak in joyed debate
That burdens brought to bear upon the breast
Might anchor nought but will of one testate
What courage leant upon a graven guest
Not thrift of fear in bearing of his fate
But silent as all untruths so expressed,
Except to cry with cursed tongue, "More weight!"
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
This is a spray the Bird clung to,
Making it blossom with pleasure,
Ere the high tree-top she sprung to,
Fit for her nest and her treasure.
Oh, what a hope beyond measure
Was the poor spray’s, which the flying feet hung to,—
So to be singled out, built in, and sung to!
This is a heart the Queen leant on,
Thrilled in a minute erratic,
Ere the true ***** she bent on,
Meet for love’s regal dalmatic.
Oh, what a fancy ecstatic
Was the poor heart’s, ere the wanderer went on—
Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on!
2.2k
"Oh whence do you come, my dear friend, to me,
With your golden hair all fallen below your knee,
And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea,
And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?"
"From the other world I come back to you,
My locks are uncurled with dripping drenching dew.
You know the old, whilst I know the new:
But tomorrow you shall know this too."
"Oh not tomorrow into the dark, I pray;
Oh not tomorrow, too soon to go away:
Here I feel warm and well-content and gay:
Give me another year, another day."
"Am I so changed in a day and a night
That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright,
Is fain to turn away to left or right
And cover up his eyes from the sight?"
"Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend,
I loved you for life, but life has an end;
Thro' sickness I was ready to tend:
But death mars all, which we cannot mend.
"Indeed I loved you; I love you yet
If you will stay where your bed is set,
Where I have planted a violet
Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet."
"Life is gone, then love too is gone,
It was a reed that I leant upon:
Never doubt I will leave you alone
And not wake you rattling bone with bone.
"I go home alone to my bed,
Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head,
Roofed in with a load of lead,
Warm enough for the forgotten dead.
"But why did your tears soak thro' the clay,
And why did your sobs wake me where I lay?
I was away, far enough away:
Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day."
2.1k
A young man was walking along when he came across monk who was sitting on the side of the path meditating.
The young man, curiously stopped. “You are not from here? For I know everyone in this kingdom, and everyone know who I am. My name is Narcissus, son of Cephissus, and I am King of this land. Where do you come from, and what are you doing in my kingdom?
The Buddhist monk sat silently, and continued to meditate. His eyes were closed and at his side was a banana and a pale of water.
“Did you hear me? I am Narcissus and I am King of this land. If you know me like my people do, you would know that; I am honest, I am kind, and I am loving and full of compassion. I am fair and just. I am an advocate of peace, I judge no-one, and my subjects love me. And you sir, what are you?”
The monk opened his eyes, took the banana and peeled it. He halved it and offered Narcissus the King the other half, then continued meditating without saying a word.
Narcissus ate his banana, musing at the monk who didn’t speak. Why do you not speak?” asked Narcissus. I am the King and I demand to be answered when I ask a question.”
It was deathly hot, so the monk offered Narcissus a drink from his pale of water.
“I am thirsty. I will accept your offer,” said Narcissus. He drank all that was in the ladle and helped himself to another. He stood and waited for the water in the pale to become still again. Then he pitched over and looked into it, admiring his reflection, and smiled. I am still beautiful he thought. Again he addressed the monk, asking him who he was.
The monk leant over and kissed Narcissus on the feet, and bowed to him without saying a word.
Narcissus peered down at monk, smiled, and said to himself, “strange man,” and moved on.
The monk resumed his position, smiled, and whispered to himself,
“I am nothing.”
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
Such was the heraldry of your being.
You stood before those who were of lower standing as you viewed them,
appointed oneself upward through controversial means, non of which were worthy of commendation. Corruption rose you to dizzy heights and watched as you violated the lives of others.
The lawful way is inconsistent and trust, honesty and goodness are words flaunted by your immoral and malicious demonstration. For ones own ends you walked the walk.
Now become by expiration, death should hold no surprises for one so foul.
The underworld is your new domicile and untold pain and torment are your future. Across the Styx, Charon will deliver you unto me. Watch with care the affliction of those minions that seek exoneration below the black wash. Purgatory however is beyond any reach that will veil itself to you.
Your appointment is of a somewhat personal nature to me and along with myself and eternity you will wish life had leant you on another path.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
Did anybody tell you 'bout them Bourbon blues,
When you're walkin' in the gutter,
Where they guess 'bout your shoes,
When you ain't got no hope,
The greasy Easy isn't fair,
The only sunny side
Is that you haven't got a prayer,
When you done ****** it all away,
When you don't have another cent,
Your too old to be pitied,
And your strut has long since leant...
Ain't no more - bright ideas - left to come?
Oh, the sultry morning due
Makes your damp clothes cling to you,
And the only thing you want
Is to find a place to lay...
You rack your mem'ry hard
To see which way to move your feet,
Cause you used up - your last -
Free mission day...
You need a hustle, boy,
Because the day is at an end,
Your feet are bleeding badly,
And you haven't got a friend
Who can get you an overnight
At the Jesus Do-Right Inn...
Got to keep a-moving,
You are one-hundred sixteen thin,
You know they're looking,
But your not quite ready
To turn your sorry *** in,
Well, you know, that really is when...
You're in a ******** - state of - mind~
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
A DOLL in the doll-maker's house
Looks at the cradle and bawls:
"That is an insult to us.'
But the oldest of all the dolls,
Who had seen, being kept for show,
Generations of his sort,
Out-screams the whole shelf: 'Although
There's not a man can report
Evil of this place,
The man and the woman bring
Hither, to our disgrace,
A noisy and filthy thing.'
Hearing him groan and stretch
The doll-maker's wife is aware
Her husband has heard the wretch,
And crouched by the arm of his chair,
She murmurs into his ear,
Head upon shoulder leant:
"My dear, my dear, O dear.
It was an accident.'
1.7k
She didn’t look awfully well that day
Though she never would make a fuss,
I said we should get to the hospital
That I’d travel with her on the bus.
The weather was terrible, snow on the road
And a seaborne yellow mist,
So I wrapped her well in a scarf and coat
And did my best to assist.
She leant on me, walked out to the stop
And we sat on the ice cold bench,
I thought for a moment she’d faint or drop
So taking the bus made sense.
The car would be hard to manage that night
For the roads were covered with ice,
I couldn’t hold her while driving the car,
But we needed a doctor’s advice.
The cough had got worse as the day went on
And her hanky was spattered with blood,
I prayed it was just a vessel that burst,
Not that I thought it should,
But consumption sat at the back of my mind
It was rare, but still around,
I was praying a lot, but still my head
Would cover the same old ground.
We watched as the lights of the bus rolled up
So dim in the mist to see,
A double-decker, we climbed aboard
It was number twenty-three.
The passengers all were grey and drab
And some of them seemed asleep,
A skeleton sat hunched up at the rear
And Kathie began to weep.
‘It’s only a medical student’s thing,’
I said, ‘there’s nothing to fear.’
But Kathie flinched as we walked on past,
‘Then why did he leave it here?’
She settled down in a window seat
While I sat next to the aisle,
And the bus rolled into the swirling mist
So we sat quite still for a while.
The lights in the bus were more than dim
And Kathie was looking grey,
While I got up at the hospital stop
Kathie was looking away.
Then suddenly I was out on the road
As the bus took off in the mist,
While Kathie stared through the window pane,
It was like she didn’t exist.
I ran and I ran, and chased the bus,
But I ran and ran in vain,
For the bus veered off, went over the cliffs
And vanished into the rain,
I found her there on the bus stop bench
Where we’d sat, all grey and still,
And I wept, and thought of the phantom bus
That had taken her over the hill.
I could swear we’d stood, and climbed on the bus,
My love, my Kathie and me,
But they said there never was such a bus
As a number twenty-three,
And I see her now in my dreams at night
As she stares through the window pane,
Of a phantom bus that takes her away,
Over the cliffs in the rain.
Over the cliffs on a freezing night
When she died, ice cold on the bench,
What was I thinking, I ask myself,
Where was my common sense?
Then I take some comfort to think that I
Had once been a part of us,
And travelled some of the way with her
Where she’d gone, on the phantom bus.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
“What do you think wisdom is,” she asked.
“The purification of life," he replied,
as leant over and kissed her.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
756
One Blessing had I than the rest
So larger to my Eyes
That I stopped gauging—satisfied—
For this enchanted size—
It was the limit of my Dream—
The focus of my Prayer—
A perfect—paralyzing Bliss—
Contented as Despair—
I knew no more of Want—or Cold—
Phantasms both become
For this new Value in the Soul—
Supremest Earthly Sum—
The Heaven below the Heaven above—
Obscured with ruddier Blue—
Life’s Latitudes leant over—full—
The Judgment perished—too—
Why Bliss so ******** disburse—
Why Paradise defer—
Why Floods be served to Us—in Bowls—
I speculate no more—
1.7k
he told me, "put down the cigarette,"
worried i'd get sick.
i looked at him with regret,
craving nicotine like a nervous tick.
we left around half past twelve,
just to clear the air,
leaving my heart on the shelves.
he asked, "is this really fair?
breaking my heart this way?"
he reiterated his worry.
and i laughed it all away
"don't fret, my honey.
i'm clean and new.
my heart has been glued
and is no longer in two.
i'm eating my food -
see look! my ribs!
they're aren't as pronounced.
maybe one day we really can have kids."
his hand held mine as he denounced
that i was still no good
i was still no better
than before emotions would flood
his heart, i still his debtor.
so on i went,
forward to the waves,
and on this pole i leant,
until i came to with sun's rays...
and i became one with the sea.
she is more than i would ever be.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
How can I not write a few words for my Rosemary;
In these times of trouble and strive;
You’ve been as of late like an angel in my life:
I’ve leant to see only the good & positive in you;
And not failed to notice the change that’s honest and true;
My saying is rather late then never in this life that’s so fray;
I’m to blame for past stubbornness in our daily lives;
Because if I see error,
things will improve as Jesus looks down from above;
I notice how you care for cat and dogs;
They show you nothing but loyalty and love;
Happy 65th birthday my turtle dove:
8th Nov 2015
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
The problem with bright futures
Is that they grow as dull as everything else.
They too collect dust,
Hold every speck of dirt they can find -
Until you wake one morning and realise you are trapped.
See the walls have crept closer
And the ceilings leant down to hug the floor.
But they're only there to support you,
Because they love you so,
And they do not see their embrace can crush.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 3:11 PM UTC
Fields of foliage green, with endless dope yields
streams of wasted life, Churchill's empire threadbare, poverty and ***** of its dignity.
I wish I could bury the soundless whispers that I seldom resite, turn off the light and with pride retire.
I see conceived walls of destitute junkies, rejected societies and abused deafness of blind philosophy, I highly rate the nostalgic plea.............
Postwar shadows of hidden government policies that call, I will, I shall, I will never.
Dust to dust, neon lights and queues to the other side, Cheque books and empty ink pens of thoughts i wish to re-sight a wasted life cannot do so............
I sentence you to a death of insanity, and still the concaved walls molded from the backs of bodies once leant, Rocking and craving I shall, I will, I know I'll return.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 8:48 AM UTC
Little things started to rile
by all odds,
not quite like the ache
head leant against your back.
Under cover a long dull hum
I thought of ghosts,
but I faced down the quake
until your aura had been caved in.
Like a god in disguise from on high
withdrawn with no words
but with human inability to break
and get the best from doing wrong.
Little tale or true story
him and her trying each other out
but got back to the ways of their own.
"The pagan and the profane on an isle."
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC