"lours" poems
The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers
Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away,
The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers.
Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May.
There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot,
One season ruined of your little store.
May will be fine next year as like as not:
But ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.
We for a certainty are not the first
Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled
Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed
Whatever brute and blackguard made the world.
It is in truth iniquity on high
To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave,
And mar the merriment as you and I
Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave.
Iniquity it is; but pass the can.
My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore;
Our only portion is the estate of man:
We want the moon, but we shall get no more.
If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours
To-morrow it will hie on far behests;
The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours
Soon, and the soul will mourn in other *******
The troubles of our proud and angry dust
Are from eternity, and shall not fail.
Bear them we can, and if we can we must.
Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
8.8k
‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like this,
In a basin of water, I never miss
The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day
Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray.
Hence the only prime
And real love-rhyme
That I know by heart,
And that leaves no smart,
Is the purl of a little valley fall
About three spans wide and two spans tall
Over a table of solid rock,
And into a scoop of the self-same block;
The purl of a runlet that never ceases
In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces;
With a hollow boiling voice it speaks
And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.’
‘And why gives this the only prime
Idea to you of a real love-rhyme?
And why does plunging your arm in a bowl
Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul?’
‘Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone,
Though precisely where none ever has known,
Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized,
And by now with its smoothness opalized,
Is a grinking glass:
For, down that pass
My lover and I
Walked under a sky
Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green,
In the burn of August, to paint the scene,
And we placed our basket of fruit and wine
By the runlet’s rim, where we sat to dine;
And when we had drunk from the glass together,
Arched by the oak-copse from the weather,
I held the vessel to rinse in the fall,
Where it slipped, and it sank, and was past recall,
Though we stooped and plumbed the little abyss
With long bared arms. There the glass still is.
And, as said, if I ****** my arm below
Cold water in a basin or bowl, a throe
From the past awakens a sense of that time,
And the glass we used, and the cascade’s rhyme.
The basin seems the pool, and its edge
The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge,
And the leafy pattern of china-ware
The hanging plants that were bathing there.
‘By night, by day, when it shines or lours,
There lies intact that chalice of ours,
And its presence adds to the rhyme of love
Persistently sung by the fall above.
No lip has touched it since his and mine
In turns therefrom sipped lovers’ wine.’
2.7k
Singing songs of glory
bringing joy within souls
of understanding, wisdom
heart, mind.
Completeness unfolding
softly before the light
of admiration brightens
with hues of irresistible
co lours conquering
spaces of wonderment
astounding, untouched
tranquility.
Long-lasting capabilities
controlling laughter unset
desires destroyed from
denial.
Glory is my song of loyalty
upon arrival of innocent
realities of known abilities
and surreal surroundings.
Song of glorious knowing
words untouched, acknowledge
accepted, enveloped in
anatomical discipline
and reliability.
Copyright ⓒ DerenaBree( All Rights Reserved)
May 27, 2023
May 27, 2023 at 1:06 AM UTC
The sun timidly shines before hiding below the clouds
The sky lours down at me
I am no longer afraid
The panicked sway past me like ghosts
The only thing I hear is the whisper of the earth telling me its time to let go
The breeze of the end of the world
The trees sway as if waving goodbye
One last cosmic breath
This is how it ends
The last day was such a beautiful one
Now
I’m free
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 3:23 AM UTC
I never asked for this, never wanted it either.
I feel worse now than with any old fever.
I never wanted to fall for you.
except I never fell.
You pushed me
With the intention I'd fall through the floorboards and straight into hell.
But I fell in love instead.
and I'm not sure there's a difference.
I think Hell is something you carry on your shoulders and not a place you go to if that makes any sense.
And I'm tired of building my house on boulders because they move.
calling you my rock just gave you too much to prove.
.
.
.
And now I'm just sitting here at a traffic light.
They were made for our safety right?
Because I've had Red lights all the way and I think that's a sign, a message clearly saying S T O P.
But I tell myself it's fine
That it's a coincidence
You handed me a heart I said I'd try not to drop
but each time the light turns green I wince.
Because maybe, just maybe
theirs a meaning to these dead ends and detours
even hooks are hidden in lours.
I think that's what you are.
And I just can't get reeled in.
they say feelin' this is a sin.
I'm beginning to believe them but I refuse to let them win.
and maybe that's what this is all about now.
Maybe I'm confused or just forgot how to love.
but that red light's glowing above.
and I feel my heart drop in my chest.
I think I ought to return yours
we did our best
I did my best
But I think I need to S T O P.
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
It was as if she would always be by his side,
with quiet beauty
and lipstick
she would.
And her eyes
oh her eyes!
Such magnificent lours,
they caught him last while
by knee.
Now her old lipstick fades and those banges
swiped away,
her skin is as soft
as it will-
For her lour was her lour
as a hook is a hook
and her fish will forever be
DEAD.
They're called writers and artists
they match with the world!
and her label, her label,
"what is it?"
Well my label is this:
I have sun in my eyes
and I swear
that its eyes I will be.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 6:39 AM UTC
You see her as she walks right by you
she notices you but you have no clue
feelings start stirring and you lose control
sick to the heart when you see her soul
she sits next to you on the bench and wonders off
you sit and wonder if you should confess your love
her fragrance a lours so much power you cant handle
you feel her warm smile light up like a candle
you try not to stare but you just cant help it
you keep an image to last so you wont forget
she stands right up and she walks away
your chance is gone just like yesterday
you sit and look at your feet and wonder what if
your chance is dead its gone off the cliff
oh well.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
Singing songs of glory
bringing joy within souls
of understanding, wisdom
heart, mind.
Completeness unfolding
softly before the light
of admiration brightens
with hues of irresistible
co lours conquering
spaces of wonderment
astounding, untouched
tranquility.
Long-lasting capabilities
controlling laughter unset
desires destroyed from
denial.
Glory is my song of loyalty
upon arrival of innocent
realities of known abilities
and surreal surroundings.
Song of glorious knowing
words untouched, acknowledge
accepted, enveloped in
anatomical discipline
and reliability.
Copyright ⓒ DerenaBree( All Rights Reserved)
Aug 31, 2021
Aug 31, 2021 at 3:44 AM UTC