"lenity" poems
no matter the cause
of your tears
whatever the hurt
which bruises your heart
for any terror
that haunts you
it is a grief to me
that you should suffer so
Nov 8, 2024
Nov 8, 2024 at 12:22 AM UTC
If I was to read for you, My queen that glow,
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body,
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.
You posses a twin of eyes, an immaculate glitter of beauty,
From which life receives its absolute lenity.
To glow in such light of orchestration, Like a crown on the head of time,
Whence bliss takes its origin and befitting prime.
Your alluring smile, a linger of unstinted comfort,
To the stars in tender darkness of the universe, glumming in discomfort.
Each of which humbles at your engrossing presence,
And glows in congruence to the light of your radiance.
Your arms like shields,protective armoury that gets soul lifted,
Touch of your fingers, ten cradle of breath taking sweetness, heavenly gifted.
Each a perfect blend of liniment and mystic power,such,
To impel dead heart to once last beat at thy touch.
your smooth bottled neck, over your soft shoulders,
Holds a face of coherent beauty, eyed in all beholders.
A beauty indescribable by far, as only few words could tell,
How ethereally lovely it can be ; perpetually graced with the touch of angel.
Your walk of indefinable class, a lucid rawness of orchestrated elegance,
So much elegance that the angels gasp in the wake of your presence.
To dance into ecstasy,from which heaven's purity is formed,
In but of your light of all light, they all are conformed.
Those smooth long legs spread like the wings of a flyer,
Inner thighs speak a truth that would mute a liar.
And drip sweet smelling nectar that excites a man's desires,
Like an addictive drug, that makes him only want to get higher.
Beautiful seasoned lips even angels could not grace,
Like two ***** of icing sugar, leaves me breathless each time our lips come in embrace.
And the pressure they do impart,
Have the power to break the devil's heart.
Your two cupped breast,stretch the stitches of your blouse,
As if swollen with milk and honey, my flame only its water could douse.
The most tender of all cleavage,had touched my palms with finesse,
Which contact makes me frozen; a sweet emblem dancing to impress.
If I was to read for you, My queen that glow,
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body,
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
Over wine,
Life is absorbed a different way.
Passion was potent.
A taunting aura of sweet spells.
The forgiven rivers,
Showed they're lenity.
Soaking in the promises from sunlight.
& continuing, retracing it's steps.
Gifted is I,
Who reads life,
& in a single word,
Fearsome.
Yet I write as if the earth wasn't really spinning in space.
And Remembered is I,
Who had to be honest,
In fear of living a lie.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
They have me chained in this noisome cell
With its smells, its moans and shrieks,
No wonder they call it Bedlam for
I haven’t slept in weeks,
They brought me here from the Bridewell,
For they said I was raving mad,
I swapped a cell for a place in hell
And the food in here is bad.
We’re chained and beaten by loutish guards
And starved and purged as well,
Unless we ***** and take the cure
They bleed us in the cell,
I see the others who beat their heads
On posts, and the old stone wall,
Hoping to join the peaceful dead
When they have no blood at all.
The rats will nibble at hands and feet
If we sleep too deep, and soon
You’ll hear the patter as hundreds scatter
About the cell in the gloom,
There are chains and shackles around my neck
My waist and my ankles too,
The only part is my beating heart
Where they can’t chain me from you.
I live with the shrieks and moans and groans
Of the most demented souls,
The prostitutes in their open cells
Who squat on the sewer holes,
A guard says he will take care of you
And I know just what he means,
Be true my love, he’ll take hold of you
And I know the man’s unclean.
I should have minded my temper when
I was walking in the yard,
Was cursed by the devil’s tempter, then
I hit the Bridewell guard,
I hang on tight to my sanity
For I never scream or shout,
And hope for the governor’s lenity
That they come and let me out.
The visitors come and they poke their fun
At the lunatics in here,
They hold their noses and spit at us
And they make their feelings clear,
We’re only **** in the world they’re from
If the fools could only see,
That our putrid state could be their fate
In seventeen sixty-three!
David Lewis Paget
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
King David was a righteous king,
A shepherd loved by God,
And Joab did the ugly work
Without a single nod.
A principal can stroll the halls,
Grandfatherly and kind.
His number two’s the children’s bane,
Reviled in student mind.
The highest of the high can shine,
All warmth and lenity,
Their trusted second is the sting.
Cursed in synecdoche.
Every Adama needs a Tigh,
All discipline and screeds,
Since troops can sooner love a chief
Untainted by cruel deeds.
May 19, 2021
May 19, 2021 at 9:18 PM UTC
By: Brendan Cadman
A beam of royal gold breaks through,
the misty and hazy gates of grey.
Clearing to majestic blue skies,
a house basks in the warming ray.
Perched high above the quiet town,
atop a rolling hill of emerald green.
The looming structure casts a welcoming presence,
of dedicated craftsmanship so impeccably pristine.
Through lusting eyes the natives gaze,
and marvel in the homes' aesthetic glow.
Still for years a vacant slumber took,
place of the final dwelling long ago.
Myth and tale engulf the town with,
power equal to a fire captive in the wind.
None would dare to dance with fate,
or brave what presence might lurk within.
Floorboards creak under a phantom's footstep pace,
as silence fills the void of a dark and empty hall.
Cobwebs line the ceiling attractively impure,
as shadows roam the chambers quietly as pictures on the wall.
Continually as the current of a river flows,
so does the quest for a tenant our house will seek.
Toilsome the foreign inly journey can become,
how lucrative is the lenity of inner peace.
Like star-crossed voyagers lost out at sea,
with no course but to betoken of their plight.
Few are destined to a sempiternal fate,
kindred to a haunted house in the daylight.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
I walked alone at midnight
not a sound did I make
curious of nothing
unaware that it was late
Thats when I passed the man
who was curled into a ball
I looked at him with vague interest
but i did nothing at all
A few moments later
with mine ears I did hear
The wailing of a baby
But no lenity did I feel
Roaming I came unto a child
Who lay as limp as dead
Quickly did I move
Silently did I tread
No care
No Fair
No Love
No Hate
Apathy at its best
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC