"lorn" poems
Night and Dawn,
Two lovers lorn
To languish unrequited
Their fingers strain
To touch in vain,
Yet never be united
In dreams they roam
Sunrise to gloam,
Entwined till evening wakes
On mountain halls
When first:
Night falls
And then, alone:
Dawn breaks.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
Please come and find me.
Playful whispers in the dark.
Who am I calling?
I suppose...
My baby,
Can I call you baby?
O sweet lullabyes in the night,
Hold me in mild constriction.
Squeeze a little bit tighter, love.
I don't know how much time I have left.
Delusional!
Alone on the vacuum.
Scratching at air for any oxygen my depraved lungs can find,
Suffocating on your love,
Choking on your divinity.
Oh darling,
My sweet crimson lover
Dancing on the bridge of death at the break of dawn,
You swing me in your arms,
Tight tongue behind your violent grin,
Your hair grows stars, and your arms bend time,
my fatal partner in a tango to the edge of the earth.
Heartless as you torture me,
Wrench my soul playfully,
Foolishly and ignorantly,
Pulling my strings.
Enacting
autopilot daydreams
Painting mindless patterns
On an inky black sky,
Orange slices on existential beach
Sparkling warm coast,
The cosmos like a bright sunny day above.
Bitter ashes mix and churn with the sand,
I'm sinking,
Quickly,
Help me!
But you just watch.
And I sink until I hit the bottom
And there I lie,
Falling asleep to as my grief fills the ocean.
The zodiac locked fate,
Fish and Virgins! Fish and Virgins!
Poets and failures,
Academics and frauds,
Spring and summer to autumn and madness,
My eternal indigo diary,
My blueberry lipstick,
My lavender kiss.
Leaving light stains on my love-lorn letters,
Mailed to you on Sunday,
Delivered along the Milky Way.
Waiting emptily,
In an empty white asylum,
With an empty mind,
Waiting for you,
My answer,
My meaning,
My red and blue jumper.
Not standing up to stretch,
But sitting still,
Letting my bones grow stiff,
To creak under my weight,
Like an old back porch,
Made for a pair of old lovers,
Desolate,
Withered by neglect,
Empty.
A pointless pray for solace,
In hope you will come,
My prince of waves,
My fifth science,
My escape from this never ending sporadic spiral down into the murky, dusty, purple fog of asinine and inane.
My peace of mind.
My baby.
Can I call you baby?
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
We knew limited evil.
We base-valued desirable evil.
We unharness a nice, obedient, satan-tail.
She was fresh.
A raw, vile, unwashed beast.
A love-lorn evil bear.
She ate you so loud
-Idle Wrath
——————————————————————————————————
Would you believe,
I can’t lie?
She was a runner.
I was a bleeder.
She ran fast.
She was a love I’ll never know.
She was a debutante.
she was vaudeville.
I don’t believe
I’m losing it.
-Wild Heart
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
Whem you see a obstacle you can wait for it to go or do something drastic the fact that someone like was born with a crap hand does not mean something great can happen truth is I can hide and watch and wait but I choose to live and overcome that obstacle a Prievous year I had a flaw of love lorn as I will always care for her but I may found something so I thought I was hurt I radiated disappointment in my eyes but hey I like a challenge I may have become that guy who's a loner a guy who isolates himself from others but I tell you something what I want I will get this time what's gonna stop me a another fellow a judgemental authority figure all I have to say is obstacles are meant to be smashed
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
David-sculpture Eros' wings
Lovelorn youth in search of Spring
his only hope in traveling
a peace from broken promising
poetry's earth-shattering sage
magic an optimistic stage
Loveless : puppet to self-worth,
Lovelorn still has yet to learn.
Love defends as guilt will fight
lessons of fires and appetite
Loveless is insatiable to hide
new ecstasy festooned with pride
Loveless will wail and cry
Lovelorn wakes free to fly
learning that love is self sacrifice
yin and yang so prophesied:
gifts to waking minds sublime
all seeds are sown in fields of time...
As Loveless screams his agonies
wide eyes drool over magazines
Lovelorn runs piningly
for more to always feel at rest,
for something golden as the sun
Loveless could care less,
empty having none
defeated before having won?
Love defends as guilt will fight
Both will weep when they see the light...
Tears from Less will burn regret
'Lorn lets flow to Openness
peace of mind knows happiness
both alone yet never so
and when two meet
as One will teach :
burying all the misery,
both similar with their sorrows
all must wake up now--tomorrow.
Alone or less, love will be
found in fields of dreams that sing
David-sculpture / Eros' wings.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 12:37 AM UTC
When first, descending from the moorlands,
I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide
Along a bare and open valley,
The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide.
When last along its banks I wandered,
Through groves that had begun to shed
Their golden leaves upon the pathways,
My steps the Border-minstrel led.
The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer,
’Mid mouldering ruins low he lies;
And death upon the braes of Yarrow,
Has closed the Shepherd-poet’s eyes:
Nor has the rolling year twice measured,
From sign to sign, its stedfast course,
Since every mortal power of Coleridge
Was frozen at its marvellous source;
The rapt One, of the godlike forehead,
The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth:
And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle,
Has vanished from his lonely hearth.
Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits,
Or waves that own no curbing hand,
How fast has brother followed brother,
From sunshine to the sunless land!
Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber
Were earlier raised, remain to hear
A timid voice, that asks in whispers,
“Who next will drop and disappear?”
Our haughty life is crowned with darkness,
Like London with its own black wreath,
On which with thee, O Crabbe! forth-looking,
I gazed from Hampstead’s breezy heath.
As if but yesterday departed,
Thou too art gone before; but why,
O’er ripe fruit, seasonably gathered,
Should frail survivors heave a sigh?
Mourn rather for that holy Spirit,
Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep;
For Her who, ere her summer faded,
Has sunk into a breathless sleep.
No more of old romantic sorrows,
For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid!
With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten,
And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead.
2.3k
Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.
She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.
Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.
Rest, rest, for evermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake;
Night that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.
2.2k
I spied a mighty albatross
Blue-eyed as coral stone
With heavenly wings borne like a cross
Adrift aloft alone
A speckled snow-capped mountain crown
Adorned the canopy
Upon her white quill-feathered gown
Explorer of the sea
No wonderland of wintry ice
Has thawed unto her touch
Nor sand-annointed paradise
Played harbour to her clutch
The shimmered sun and shadowed moon
Are beacons born to be
Her rooftop lights through livelong flights
Explorer of the sea
What maid foresworn to solitude
And shackled by her chains
Has tasted of a servitude
And dreamt not of the reins?
Imprisoned thus each land-lorn day
By neither lock nor key
How must your beaten heart dismay
Explorer of the sea?
As time the drifter slinks away
Upon an ebbing tide
I watch you fade from dusk-lit grey
To night’s eternal void
And left bereft and to atone
The deepest sins of me
I wonder who is more alone
Explorer of the sea?
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
Abandoned, deserted and forsaken to whine.
In privation was he left lonely to pine.
His friends like a bird fled to another tree,
Leaving him to rot away in Dundee.
His soul was parched, pained and weary,
Longing him to be refreshed speedily.
His heart was sad, bitter and lorn,
Praying him this even to morn would turn.
And the laden lad afterward to London went.
By labour and favour did he an apartment rent
And began in earnest his early dreams to pursue,
Having himself picked up, as a man ought to do--
After a certain disappointment or fall in life--
Chasing no fantasy, frivolities, but working to rule;
Neither was he as afore again playing the pool
But was saving straight, and soon he success struck,
By heaven's fortune that to him came--nay by luck:
Like it's no fluke finding a goodly and godly wife--
It was by grace that he was wherefore blessed.
So his old chummy comrades to him returned to nest:
To wine and dine with him more like before. But he,
Once bitten, twice shy, was wise enough to repeat folly.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
I have never really been into poetry,
Nor have I been into theater.
I was never interested in animated films,
Or movies in general
And music was just a hobby for me
Then I met you...
And now it seems as if,
I have found myself remembering you, by just listening to music,
And spending many nights, sleepless and lorn.
I'm patiently waiting for the next blockbuster hit
To appear in cinemas, so that I may ask you
For a single day together, once again.
Now my ambition is to create a cartoon,
Similar to that of Ghibli's, because you had me by a thread,
On that day we watched Spirited together.
I became the stage manager of a production,
Worked hard so I could make you say
That you were proud of me, but more than that was
To simply make you something beautiful.
And now all I can do
Is write poetry,
Every time,
I think of you.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
Heaven Wakes At The Break Of Dawn,
Mortals Slept Through Somber Lorn!
The Starry Stars Were Watchful Till The End,
And Left No Traces With Each Passage Drenched!
The Rising Of The Setting Sun,
On Each Passing Bells From Grace To Grace;
The Age Of Man with No Retrace,
All Bright And Dark Would Nature Hum,
With Every End A Blissful Trot.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
Balmy days
bound in Arcadia's summer; lightly whispered
secrets, drifting beside forgotten pathways
sheltered in the umbra of nooks and hedgerows,
breathlessly confide
Stolen dreams
awaken sultry mornings where love erupts
from ripened seed to bloom, eliciting
a fondness and a fawning that summer's end
is fated to consume
Timeless moments
captured for eternity within ring-
binders of the living trees, Arcadia's
old sentinels take pity on lovers
lorn of keepsake memories
Summer fades
yet ever in Arcadia, summer shields
the land from autumn gloom and lovers lorn
will ever have a place here, where summer
keeps a vigil on their tomb
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
Lore tells of a cold, brumous island,
thoroughly clad in a dead fog, and silence.
Patrolled by only a few, lonely sirens,
their purrs and songs have long since subsided.
Times of enticing pirates and beguiling pilots
have been traded for times of shyness.
Some opt for quiet nights of gentle crying,
others for anxious hiding.
Lusting creatures, once desirous,
now left forlorn, nearly lifeless.
Obscured, hidden from the horizon,
this island is their asylum.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 4:40 AM UTC
Cute girl, a dove
You grew up expectant
Of an inviolable love.
But,know there are things
You should, such as
Unfold the unexpected could.
Cute girl, ingratiatingly enjoying
A green light
To the citadel of your girlhood
At the height of your virginal beauty
Holding you close ****
Adept in creating the required mood,
A fickle womanizer may
Suddenly leave you for good!
Sister you should have
Seen through
Mr. Fickle's lack of personal
Integrity and internal beauty.
So cute girl ,please brush aside
Your self pity packed song
"My love for Mr.Fickle,who adorned
with my chastity, is
matchless and strong!"
Also cute girl , know you should
Punishing Mr.Fiddle
For Mr.Fickle's mistake
Is the worst displacement
You could make.
Thus cute girl
Better focus on the fact
You will be an efficacious cure
To a genuine lover yearning
For you with a heart pure!
The love lorn
Mr.Fidel,probably
Injured by Miss.Fickle,
Terribly clamors for your help
To nurse him and
To get him back in shape.
The past you will
Cease to rewind
Soul and body
With lovelorn Mr.Fiddle
When you get entwined!
When pricked with a thorn
Barefooted farmers
Pull out the thorn
With a thorn
So cute girl pull out
The ungrateful Mr.Fickle
With the grateful Mr.Fiddle
That way the problem
You could settle!
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC
"it is an easy day
simple choices
anger is not ugly
anymore
i have found you
you who have hurt me"
such a simple song
from the love bed bleeding
from the tears in the mirror
from the drama decieving
the star of the show
emerges victorious
arms in the air
the black stallion tramples
the peasants in the field
the dark angel slays
the love-lorn
the powerless
stuck in vanity
we survey our choices
and assault the weak
it is an easy day
slaying windmills
with shadow rage
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 3:24 PM UTC
Any time, he is the sun
resplendent, charm unlimited,
every flower go crazy when he smiles,
desire makes them even shameless
like animals in heat, they adore him
as the jewel of their heart.
But I alone was the lucky one,
his eyes gleamed in desire,
when falling first on me
I knew, I alone was his lotus,
the only flower he kissed with fervor,
all others were just shadows that chased him,
and he may have relented.
Though born in the depth of this slushy pond,
I am pure, having a single pointed mind,
It's not only my ruddy petals, that made him fall in love,
he felt my warm heart, many a love lorn beetle
tried to pry open, in vein.
But who would think this dark cloud,
pretending to be a class apart,
hovering above, haughty and proud,
would invade his intimate space,
would eclipse our love so easily
by obstructing our love exchanges.
How long, a moving cloud,
that dissolves every minute
could hold sun her prisoner,
against his wishes(I am sure)
Winds of change are gathering
with such devastating force ,
they would sweep her away, so far.
Then, lashing rain would dissolve
her pride, making the sky clearer than ever.
I would again look at his eager face
so worried not seeing me so long.
"The dark days of anguish
that kept our love in the dark is over" I would tell,
"we are together, see how your passion flares
none could separate us, till the day I wither,
what if it would happen even in a day or two?"
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 9:30 AM UTC
Dark waters ripple thought.
horse drawn carriage tread
voltaic wires, throbbing brain.
lorn elation until osculation
of lips dreamt nightly.
nectarous skin float
between fingers raptured.
everlasting sand blown
from ashes wrought with
doubt.
paroxysm of senses like electric eels
wreck ties bound by vituperation.
Breath like honeyed vapor,
encased rouged cheeks.
savored time in bottles, minutes
turned to minerals mined.
hours of golden flecks
splashed in synthesized
unison.
New always, love evermore.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
IF this importunate heart trouble your peace
With words lighter than air,
Or hopes that in mere hoping flicker and cease;
Crumple the rose in your hair;
And cover your lips with odorous twilight and say,
"O Hearts of wind-blown flame!
O Winds, older than changing of night and day,
That murmuring and longing came
From marble cities loud with tabors of old
In dove-grey faery lands;
From battle-banners, fold upon purple fold,
Queens wrought with glimmering hands;
That saw young Niamh hover with love-lorn face
Above the wandering tide;
And lingered in the hidden desolate place
Where the last Phoenix died,
And wrapped the flames above his holy head;
And still murmur and long:
O piteous Hearts, changing till change be dead
In a tumultuous song':
And cover the pale blossoms of your breast
With your dim heavy hair,
And trouble with a sigh for all things longing for rest
The odorous twilight there.
1.2k
From the thicket of garrulous bamboos,
a love lorn song, in the air makes waves,
enthralled, a rustle, from the foliage
of a mango tree laden with fruits,
A wistful tune announces,"I am here"
a hearty call heard in return,
a symphony of love, fills the air
two invisible lovers, woo each other.
a sonorous duet, above nature's sounds,
in clear high notes, celebrates love newly found,
cacophony of birds, is bridled
sudden stillness is all ears for love notes.
now the lovers, are in the air
circling each other, madly love struck.
like a breeze meets and carries fragrance,
love is sought and found, a song composed!
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
A spider in it's web,
is a mistress
of a myriad things:
for instance,
a five finger exercise,
or a full bare breast on which,
a hand is tenderly spread.
On canvas space,
spider forms evoke layers of
meanings.Imagine this:
from secret holes of
moonlit camphor trees,
come out love-lorn female spiders
wanderers of dark nooks,
enticing perfect mates.
The deceptive calm
in them is the most
dangerous precept,
if you know the spider
the way you should.
I watch her sitting on the floor
at the far end of
the poorly lit room where
a group is in it's
usual squabbling
she is bored, still aroused
no one else, and she
looks at my lips
The spider web
is a sign language she
communicates:
she playfully points her finger
down between her legs.
Curious, I strain my eyes
in the oily yellow light,
see the phantom of a spider:
dark, sinister with a gleaming eye.
OOO
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 7:54 AM UTC
Let the lady disguised
Behind the doors of mind
Emerge and never mind
Men have realized.
Tell the lady torn
Between the two presents,
Father Christmas lorn
Brought his best presents:
A New Sun and a deal
Of reverence and quality
Thus, you will deal
With men with equality.
Trust so thrice a lady
As for men it is so,
And once more, we must know,
For being simply a lady.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
ash stains and cosmopolatin zines
bathroom savoring night-rain
like lorn and lone trucker tobacco
sky forged in dark blues outside a cracked
window, like you in the closet ****
but the door opened up enough to tell.
1. flesh simpering but the voice a sullen
conversation of silence and broke dreams
television with hundred and forty channels
and half open beer cans.
2. silence still drags kissing and murdered
autumns, shadow of hands over flush skin
lurking moonlight invited.
in morning i'll wake with a human
but tonight you are a god with your hands
roaming my hipbones & sleep with
you, my mind running thoughts
like trains on spinal cord railroads
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
~~
A wreath was
made in this garden
which I was left
on your feet
I tuned up all
in the world of music
will this burn clear
after the death
when you went through
I wrote a song
in the dark
Though as much as
I drink nectar
will ever this insatiable thirst
be satisfied without you
You kept best in tune
Ah! Ever it honey
Today the pain is lorn
If any foreseeable Regret
Even the river,
Flowing beyond
I know, you do not turn
do not play that song again
But the heart
wants a little bliss
I'm wandering lonely
In the obsessed of
known tunes
Stand at the gloom night's
On the shore of the past
~~
~মুশফিক উস সালেহীন
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC