"madrigals" poems
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountain yields.
There we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
7.2k
Every time I open The Roominghouse Madrigals,
an estranged part of me comes back with blistered hands and a heart so heavy it's like Wile E. Coyote has it attached to a chain hanging off the edge of a cliff that's beginning to crumble
And every time I open The Roominghouse Madrigals,
a peculiar part of me leaves without warning to wander and turn over some things in its head like I've got multiple personalities and a few years from now it'll return and kick Jane out and insist I am Mary
And every time I open The Roominghouse Madrigals,
There is a deep sorrow within me that I think I mistake for love
But I'm getting ahead of myself-
The Roominghouse Madrigals is a selection of poems by the drunken poet Charles Bukowski
The Roominghouse Madrigals is a selection of poems about sadness, madness, genius and solitude
The Roominghouse Madrigals is a young girl's first broken love
I first fell in love with it on the floor
I first fell in love with it on the floor of the balcony
I first fell in love with it on the floor of the balcony of the book shop
I first fell in love with it on the floor of the balcony of the book shop where I first fell in love
Simply you see, The Roominghouse Madrigals is a selection of poems that washed like rebirth
The first time, the first poem, the Brave Bull, it was a sudden clarity with a taste of joyous drunkenness
That first time, that first poem, the Brave Bull, it was cured amnesia reminding me of all the things I forgot I ever was and a psychedelic mushroom, dressed as a fortune cookie, dressed as a book of poems, that told me what I would be, and so I became it
And if reincarnation is real maybe the world's so messed up because it's the same group of idiots being born over and over again to be raised by the idiots they raised
Because the first time I opened The Roominghouse Madrigals,
I tasted life and death simultaneously
And I keep it near to my heart but not near to my bed should anyone find it and think I'm a perverted and miserable girl who can't help but fall apart every time she mouths the words some dead drunk poet weeped into a keyboard with curses crashing into black keys like those tears, still warm & ever so salty
But I am and I do and I keep it near to my heart like a first broken love
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 4:34 AM UTC
Here we shared the slips and reels of earnest conversation,
An interweaving counterpoint of dialogue
Wherein I bled the truth of loving.
Heart’s secrets shed
And shared.
And by and by transposing the antiphonal chant
You guide towards consonance, harmony,
With gentle lilting phrasing
Encouraging sweet concord within the cantus firmus.
And yet you say you do not sing?
Surely our hearts beat out the song of love and life
And all our narratives are ballades sung in open form?
I have heard you sing your madrigals
With melodies of hope and peace and grace
And tried to catch the tune.
Here, have rich harmonies been played out
And love songs whispered on the air.
So, if God grants, a final cadenza let there be
In a lullaby that’s sung for me.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 12:25 AM UTC
Poet daubed the corporal on the wings of carney
Wanderer dilettante soul lusted au wild routes
Counted each the millimiles covered
Upside , unstrained , Unflaggingly.
Yon the valleys , epitome meadows and Hillsides
Beated around the alcoves amok
Ridges passed the marooned trails
Agape the flinged self flew spirited madrigals
Slowly rooted the tints into wilderness
True entity got superimposed to sylvan instincts
The obsolute shadow rigged the shooner
By dimension lengthier the time but shorter by grace
Grazed through and some toxic airs exhaled then pulled
Blinked all the roof to rugs
Remembrance of concrete boxes and intimate sidekicks
Cheap conflict wins to hit the ring
If body wins wanderlust looses thereby path ends
Simultaneous call by consciousness and objection by eternal shadow
Only the body grazed the maps with pointers
Though insatiably leveed
Kept retention the coursing shadow
Yet remained damp , savaged the sylvan traits
Life was near but the abstainer failed
Wilderness abysm rejected the unfortunate physique
There appeared
Scorched canopies along wilted flora
Container flogged the shadow to a stultifying death
Physique deceived self the core truth
Existence thereafter without knowing the chance with eterna
Several followed the imperishable conflict trail
Roll of honour diminished by fourth dimension
Marked victories of featherbrains over pappus chambers
Only few sticked upto xanthic flowers
Raise up , were the victories thristled down?
Many knocked and still keep on knocking incarnations
Fine array of fossilized saturnine inhibitions
Callous attritions over altruism of succinct shadows
Flip sorties pariance spurts
"The stanchion to revet my sky" voiced the shadow
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
Embroidered ivory mountains
flowing tipped waterfalls
and melodious violet fields.
A thousand madrigals
and fragrant Myrtle groves.
The rivers and streams
sing sweet rapture
symphonies.
As the celestial hidden skies
hover Venus charms
and quivering goddess sighs.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
When life
becomes a vagrant
and death
an unsung train
there you will find me
oozing notes into night's horn
moon-beams drenched
with midnight's blues
rattle, ripple, shake
distorted city light
dancing barefoot
on crescent waves
I ponder,
wander,
wait.
to reflect
upon reflections
- as the moon,
in her wistful way,
seeps sonatas
of wayward days
and in the distant dissonance
of constant consonance
She, too,
waits.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
Encounter shellac where the live oak could balk
in sways of stomata to spare shadow from earth
swaying like Eve in Persephone’s wake
should a frenzy of madrigals
cluster to feast
where her prodigal snake once faced sentience.
A tree grows in reaches long since she passed
fragrant lacking tulips within a thicket of moss.
Now my soul skirts the path of Icarus
to bathe in the cerulean beyond reflection
your eyes have consumed from the sky
like a beast coaxing the blessings of the wind.
I was placed here for you.
A voice lichened in cypress knees carries
with the caress of her woods
pressing me forward
into the dew and new ground
enriched with instinct into the roots of palmettos
shielding the glade of tomorrow
still ripe with blackberries
where she whispers with thistles.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 2:26 AM UTC
Poet daubed the corporal on the wings of carney
Wanderer dilettante soul lusted wild routes
Counted each the millimiles covered
Upside , unstrained , Unflaggingly.
Yon the valleys , epitome meadows and Hillsides
Beated around the alcoves amok
Ridges passed the marooned trails
Agape the flinged self flew spirited madrigals
Slowly rooted the tints into wilderness
True entity got superimposed to sylvan instincts
The obsolute shadow rigged the shooner
By dimension lengthier the time but shorter by grace
Grazed through and some toxic airs exhaled then pulled
Blinked all the roof to rugs
Remembrance of concrete boxes and intimate sidekicks
Cheap conflict wins to hit the ring
If body wins, wanderlust looses thereby path ends
Simultaneous call by consciousness and objection by eternal shadow
Only the body grazed the maps with pointers
Though insatiably leveed
Kept retention the coursing shadow
Yet remained damp , savaged the sylvan traits
Life was near but the abstainer failed
Wilderness abysm rejected the unfortunate physique
There appeared
Scorched canopies along wilted flora
Container flogged the shadow to a stultifying death
Physique deceived self the core truth
Existence thereafter without knowing the chance with eterna
Several followed the imperishable conflict trail
Roll of honour diminished by fourth dimension
Marked victories of featherbrains over pappus chambers
Only few sticked upto xanthic flowers
Raise up , were the victories thristled down?
Many knocked and still keep on knocking incarnations
Fine array of fossilized saturnine inhibitions
Callous attritions over altruism of succinct shadow
Flip sorties pariance spurts
"The stanchion to revet my sky" voiced the shadow
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 3:31 AM UTC
Tundralabra
My amethyst fist
in sank soil
on a rank day
where my hour clocks in
at Forever at a time
while Time
is a dream
on a perpetual
porch…
I slip
into my own
blood in the guise of a lightning bolt
murdering my
dullard.
With Open Eyes.
I come up!
when the conversation
is lapsing into a whimsy
that snarls at Death…
and when I have no pigeons
to tell Nothing too…
I have no Reason
to not
Keep a Sky for Myself.
II
Here I come from slumber’s thunderous churning
in more mornings than your handful
of Nightfall…
I watch you frame
an echo like a Fool under glass
and carry on
in your slim way
weaving Madrigals of Low tolerance
where a Pantomime Horse
had a better chance
at being an Indian
than You!
I’m
Chaucer with a softer brick.
And Balloons!
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
And you firm and buttressed gorgeous scarlet
your health,like venus i timid and glut upon,
is also a god. harder than smooth and softer
than rough. a cool like steam and hot like
summers wings. a bird, charming and immense
she's nothing compared to you noble
to you
t o you
there is nary a season more supple or lovely than the
undark shout of your plain and spectacular plume
of resolute arms
on your shoulders
on your bones
your muscles
on them
thy skin
who i dimple most commonly
on saturnday mornings
when you peak beveled luscious havoc
in my brave and capricious bed
and you tousle my senses
byTheFastStaggerOfYourMarvelous lips
bounding pink
and flush
madrigals in the infinite cavern of my
very
and very
smallest
h
e
a rt
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 9:40 AM UTC
*Cherry , huckleberry , and peach Indian summer bouquets
glide across honey- brown sugar loam
They rattle , crackle and dance at the cue of fragrant ambergris winds , gather in splendid sheltered havens , attending by cackling red-winged mavens
Sing to me airborne madrigals , Cooper angels , Pileated conductors of the oakwood , choreographed lapping lakesides , the scrub of White Pines
Land of the pumpernickel shadows , of cinnamon needle carpet
cast adrift in the very breath of artist , lover and songster* ..
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
What is forgotten
will be remembered .
What is eternal
will be found .
☆
Flying through the aether
he felt himself
partially dissolve
into a
more fluid anatomical
structure .
☆
Fibrous and
gelatinous ,
twisting arms of infinite
timelines ,
caress and soothe ,
delighting in the afterglow
of supernova .
☆
When will chariots
bearing the children of
Prometheus
tear down Mahogany and
Doom ,
then sing madrigals over
their graves .
☆
While across dimensions
and the stilling of entropy ,
pure thought streams
everlasting ,
rides majestic on crimson
waves of time .
☆
He gazed at the sacred
bright crystals of Tomorrow .
Everything was
something else
and more than that besides .
Oct 26, 2024
Oct 26, 2024 at 6:18 AM UTC
*Madrigals of March
echo throughout the Port lake backcountry
with river dancer vibrations , lapping waters ,
sashaying marsh grass along her fertile shore
Uplands of live oak , elm , birch and sycamore
Shadows of raptors and herons alight brown pasture in
evening performances , evergreen seedlings helicopter
into the unknown , bass note bullfrogs , light breezes
chaperone a gaggle of redwing blackbirds bound for
sweet home* ...
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
Lost leaves ago, before
the bark- clad savage
ruled with iron lung,
when laurels of
a one- room den, grew
sleek with wet- lid plunder
my sauntering in tousles of
a quick and crease-less happiness
percieved the gifted wish of secret birds.
birds that combed the milking beech
in lemon centred madrigals
to cove their Egypt orison
from dragon banks of slippered fern
Who threw their mooted sermons on
a shivering uncertainty that bubbled
through my vernal rut of optimistic blood
Such useless pleasure, I was told
That I was not a Father's son
yet bore his term an absolute.
As all my nimble colours ran, I
wore his pungent bitterness
Became the thing that he preferred
Before the dungeon keys had turned
basket weaving weeks of youth
I took the gifted wish
of secret birds.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 7:56 PM UTC