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"maned" poems
XXXII. TO SELENE (20 lines) (ll. 1-13) And next, sweet voiced Muses, daughters of Zeus, well- skilled in song, tell of the long-winged (35) Moon. From her immortal head a radiance is shown from heaven and embraces earth; and great is the beauty that ariseth from her shining light. The air, unlit before, glows with the light of her golden crown, and her rays beam clear, whensoever bright Selene having bathed her lovely body in the waters of Ocean, and donned her far-gleaming, shining team, drives on her long-maned horses at full speed, at eventime in the mid-month: then her great orbit is full and then her beams shine brightest as she increases. So she is a sure token and a sign to mortal men. (ll. 14-16) Once the Son of Cronos was joined with her in love; and she conceived and bare a daughter Pandia, exceeding lovely amongst the deathless gods. (ll. 17-20) Hail, white-armed goddess, bright Selene, mild, bright-tressed queen! And now I will leave you and sing the glories of men half-divine, whose deeds minstrels, the servants of the Muses, celebrate with lovely lips.
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The Homeric Hymns: 32- To Selene
#prairiegrass dreams *Across the Sandhills wading into the untamed Niobrara barebacked.. brown,  and beautiful Within her Misty Mountain dreams she is heading my way. Ah, sweet lord God almighty, look at her go.. Westbound,  she is best-found     right there..  on the edge     of these dreams of my own Oh my lord.. look at that beautiful horsedream  go Will I be able to survive her..   I don't know .  .  .   You feel him..  don't you, sweet one.. my beautiful Snickers on that Gordon, Nebraska hill-- his home,  his birthplace.. Until his beautiful spirit one day..  finally found me Striated and stoic he is waiting for you.. To bring, you the rest of the way home. North now,  into Dakota as you bleed   with the Lakhóta on a trail,  split    between Pine Ridge..    and Wounded Knee. Feel your war-torn  Spirit melt  in to them (you will not fall) As you ride this black-maned  dream just a bit further North.. towards a man, named Paul Within my own,  I can feel you both Ah hell, babe.. I can feel you all* #
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Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 9:09 PM UTC
Nebraska
queer creature of white stone: the spirit of the island in the head of this lion, the soul of the natives in the body of this fish, spirit and soul, lion and fish, mingle together by mere wry humour of evolution’s word we revere this beast, (it watches over us from nine metres above), we bow down our backs, (worship it as our exemplar): for many of us, unknowingly, we emulate the spirit and soul of this queer white creation of stone. standing tall (unshaken!) even as jaundice bolts of heaven’s creep tip-toed behind its scales and strike: its cemented steadfastness of stone we emulate, for through the towering grey waves of crisis, and the threatening dark clouds that foretell our very fears, we too, have floated and transcended and appeared unscathed. mutated monster – child of bad genes, they despise such unfavourable antagonistic features (shall it rule like a lion or flail like a fish?): its unlikeliness of surviving, of thriving we emulate: for this dotted smudge of red pen ink on the globe, destined to bow down to fate – bowed down not, and flourished. beams of white water spouting out in a perfect shape of a quadrant’s circumference, endlessly, its majestic spewing action we emulate: this island of expectations, sterile smell of success, fate of our future in the setting of an exam hall, (in there do you not think we resemble the merlion, our mouths the hoses, the papers our well?) but, oh, the merlion – so many of it – the merlions, same-maned, same-scaled, fluttering and bursting with imitation across our home: such congruity, conformity we emulate: for years of yearning to swim in the mainstream waters, of being goldfish, instead of losing the waters for flight like flying fish, have made us very much, about the same. queer creature of white stone: do you see not how we resemble your very self, how we offer you praise (by lifting our human arms, arching on our mere knees, hoisting our lowly mortal heads, surveying your colossal royalty, camera in hand)?
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Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 7:02 AM UTC
the merlion spirit
queer creature of white stone: the spirit of the island in the head of this lion, the soul of the natives in the body of this fish, spirit and soul, lion and fish, mingle together by mere wry humour of evolution’s word we revere this beast, (it watches over us from nine metres above), we bow down our backs, (worship it as our exemplar): for many of us, unknowingly, we emulate the spirit and soul of this queer white creation of stone. standing tall (unshaken!) even as jaundice bolts of heaven’s creep tip-toed behind its scales and strike: its cemented steadfastness of stone we emulate, for through the towering grey waves of crisis, and the threatening dark clouds that foretell our very fears, we too, have floated and transcended and appeared unscathed. mutated monster – child of bad genes, they despise such unfavourable antagonistic features (shall it rule like a lion or flail like a fish?): its unlikeliness of surviving, of thriving we emulate: for this dotted smudge of red pen ink on the globe, destined to bow down to fate – bowed down not, and flourished. beams of white water spouting out in a perfect shape of a quadrant’s circumference, endlessly, its majestic spewing action we emulate: this island of expectations, sterile smell of success, fate of our future in the setting of an exam hall, (in there do you not think we resemble the merlion, our mouths the hoses, the papers our well?) but, oh, the merlion – so many of it – the merlions, same-maned, same-scaled, fluttering and bursting with imitation across our home: such congruity, conformity we emulate: for years of yearning to swim in the mainstream waters, of being goldfish, instead of losing the waters for flight like flying fish, have made us very much, about the same. queer creature of white stone: do you see not how we resemble your very self, how we offer you praise (by lifting our human arms, arching on our mere knees, hoisting our lowly mortal heads, surveying your colossal royalty, camera in hand)?
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I remember her then: Pale skin and rouged lips, Playful whim and pendulous hips. Oh yes, I remember this. The fairest of them all, Midnight-maned with eyes that wish, that she were born under the rule of a queen and not a witch. Who chose this? It was I who tried assist, and when the thorn of roses missed, I knew the witch could not resist. Sickened magic, poisoned apples, Made to seem a tasty dish Made their way onto the table of my true love's wedding gifts. Later, in the darkness, hiding true love's wedding bliss, I was courted with foreboding As if this, our only tryst, would be soiled by the treason that this hateful witch insists. I lay there in the dark, my lover's breath, a ghostly wisp.
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Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
The Thorn of Roses Part 1 (series)
My uncle. Who I love. Is a peculiar man. He once told me of the oddest conspiracy. He said that the reason major governments of the earth don't fight each other constantly, is because the already do. In space. Each country has a ship. Armed and maned to the teeth. And they just shoot at each other. Everyday. And that's how all of the big national disputes were settled. Star Trek style. So when I heard this, I tossed my thoughts into the atmosphere. Letting them swirl and shine among the satellites. What did they do, up there? Sitting in their spaceships. Thinking of each other. Wondering why they all were stuck in tin can time bombs. Surrounded by the icy void. Waiting for their ships to be shot out of the sky. The debris to fall through children's dreams and shooting stars. Spitting sparks like ancient dragons. And these people wait for that. Hidden from sight and mind. Only just to shoot at each other. Over a border, a mans wish, or a loaf of bread.
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Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
Conspiracies
Reality was bereft As your head, Caresses the pillow A night deft. As I hear the crickets Lagging behind, I With you on the way To dreamland with a ticket. Don the Hatter's Hat In Alice's Wonderland. As we sip tea With Rabbit and the Cheshire Cat. Be large or be small Eating chocolates And muffins Down the rabbit hole. A carpet of wings We fly over The Caspian, The Aegean To where the Siren sings. Three headed dog is yours A gargoyle, mine. Little pets we walk Down Tartarus's corridors . Europe behind, we face South West To the land of Mayans And folk of a mystical race. We play war chief, Play in our blue tepee Flying on the backs Of eagles as they screech. You dance around My fire Gyrating in that form Bringing rain down. Purple Rider On a wind maned horse Black One on a Golden strider. Barfights and shootouts Brawls and scuffles You gained a puffy eye While I broke my stout. Seeking a view We jumped from Skyscraper to skyscraper Old and new. Jumped from hills Into rivers Spoke to the wild For time to **** Wary of the time We take flight Off the Everest We just climbed. Down and down Into a sea Coloured silver Bubbly diamonds all around. No lack of gas, You put swimming to the test Tripped on a rock A jellyfish attacks! Boom and Pow Wham, slam and A big crunch Little jellyfish said ow! Get stuck in traffic Office hours We suppose As the birds swam chaotic. We're here! Portal to reality Now exposed By now the dream was dear. Maybe now you can't see But we will, The sun rise, From the bottom of the sea. So we wait As the sea turned Silver to fire A nice first date.
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Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
A Nice First Date
Reality was bereft As your head, Caresses the pillow A night deft. As I hear the crickets Lagging behind, I With you on the way To dreamland with a ticket. Don the Hatter's Hat In Alice's Wonderland. As we sip tea With Rabbit and the Cheshire Cat. Be large or be small Eating chocolates And muffins Down the rabbit hole. A carpet of wings We fly over The Caspian, The Aegean To where the Siren sings. Three headed dog is yours A gargoyle, mine. Little pets we walk Down Tartarus's corridors . Europe behind, we face South West To the land of Mayans And folk of a mystical race. We play war chief, Play in our blue tepee Flying on the backs Of eagles as they screech. You dance around My fire Gyrating in that form Bringing rain down. Purple Rider On a wind maned horse Black One on a Golden strider. Barfights and shootouts Brawls and scuffles You gained a puffy eye While I broke my stout. Seeking a view We jumped from Skyscraper to skyscraper Old and new. Jumped from hills Into rivers Spoke to the wild For time to **** Wary of the time We take flight Off the Everest We just climbed. Down and down Into a sea Coloured silver Bubbly diamonds all around. No lack of gas, You put swimming to the test Tripped on a rock A jellyfish attacks! Boom and Pow Wham, slam and A big crunch Little jellyfish said ow! Get stuck in traffic Office hours We suppose As the birds swam chaotic. We're here! Portal to reality Now exposed By now the dream was dear. Maybe now you can't see But we will, The sun rise, From the bottom of the sea. So we wait As the sea turned Silver to fire A nice first date.
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Across the Serengeti   The fierce maned lions roared Lands of the dark continent will soon be no more The tusked grey elephants roaming few in number Will exist only in legend and lore The ancient rich soil Ripped apart and torn Thick oil Poison shiny and deadly Washes up on pristine white shores Black deep tunnels Punctured and violated the ground For the shiny chunks of yellow gold desired by man The glittering priceless diamond  stones People unwillingly forced from their lands By many foreign companies insatiable greed Are growing with anger and resentment The beginning of revolutions seed Cleanse the evil infiltrating  your country If need be charge them with high crimes Allowing Africa to retain its stately beauty It has possessed since the beginning of time This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Jan.10, 2014
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Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
Africa
A burning Desire roars deep within, an existing scarlet desire that i will not feed, drip drop drip but always she exists golden-maned lion, velvet-pawed lion I know your hunger gnaws, and I hear your hunger gnaws, no- I feel your hunger gnaws dispatched to my direction I think You think that I cannot hear you I think you think that I do fear you But do you know to whom you speak? These weathered hands have gripped Tragedy by its neck and dropped it on its head You tug at my sleeve with eyes fixed potent in plea for a satisfaction begging for a satisfaction that grant it I won't Golden-maned lion I will starve you til every rib shows.
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Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
Velvet Lion
They walk—no, more likely, they saunter, Embassy functionaries, associate profs at G-Dub, A smorgasbord of polka dots and vitae, Leopard-print and Linkedin pages, Sufficent and necessary in their presents and futures. I occupy a bench in my own shambling manner, Denim-clad most days, Perhaps affecting a less humble khaki If I am feeling particularly grandiloquent, Redeployed here from more rough-and-tumble of more avenues, Among the bar-and-concrete hosteled llamas and coyotes (Probably closer kin, if one is being honest) Simply an ornamental thing, overgrown garden gnome Or bowdlerized lawn jockey, unobtrusive and unnoticed By those who would coo at the macaos and mandarin ducks Or shudder at the offal left uneaten by black bears and maned wolves. And so such days proceed, from my convenience-store coffee arrival To such time that something approximating dinner Must be conjured or cadged from somewhere, My thoughts tend to stray not to the lionesses Nor sleek Catwoman-esque jaguars, But to the unpretentious turkey vultures of the fields of my youth, Circling warily, inexorably in threes and fours above And I know there is neither ennobling nor annihilation to find here, No outcome but to simply await.
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Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 9:36 AM UTC
A Variation Upon Randall Jarrell's "The Woman At The Washington Zoo"
The waves begin to growl there's a quickening of the air temptation bubbles to the surface destruction and dominion too close to ignore. Conceived in fury and shaped by desire the birth of monsters from deepest nowhere snarling to the beat of thunder. Four thousand hooves of one thousand horses the cavalry galloping, relentless, toward the shore rear their great maned heads with a fearsome cry then fall breaking themselves against that jagged shore. Behind them Power howls and roars revelling in itself as the battle wears on. Now its might's remembered the rage begins to pass and oh so gently it enters come to collect its dead sweeping them back home to the depths. Keep your forgiveness save it for the days to come they never flinched they asked for none. If ever there was peace before, then this is what comes after:                   this is the desolate calm                   that follows a sea-storm.
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Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
A Sea-Storm
Here I am again staring at this ceiling Glance at the clock, 11:11 Make a wish right? ******** Do you have any idea how many "11:11's" I've wished on since you've been gone?? Not a one has come true Not when I'm awake anyway Why am I laying here, thinking about you? And not just that I miss you but, every little thing we ever did together Over thinking each word you ever muttered to the 10th degree Am I even a passing thought? When you sit to take a **** do I cross your mind then? Considering that's probably the only time you have alone Probably Have you ever saw a car that looked like mine and wondered what it'd be like if I was really in it? Whenever I hear that certain sound I felt your little car made, I **** in my breath and wish There it is again All this **** wishing, where exactly has it gotten me? In the same bed, staring at the same ceiling thinking about you some more **** have you ever wished you'd stayed? Do you ever wonder if you'd just maned up and stuck or rough patch out, what we'd be like? I mean, I'm not sure you wish for anything You sure don't seem to have control over anything It's like your brains made of mush and you'll just go where the wind blows, and then just follow further orders Is it so that if you fail, you can say "well it wasn't my idea to go work there" "I didn't choose her over you, she did" I mean how much absolute ******** can go through your mind until, you can even listen to it anymore Seems like your tolerance level is high You'd been lyin to me for months, tell parts of but never the full truth I sigh, this is getting me no where It's now 12am and I'm laying here wide eyed Holding back screams filled with tears Why am so stuck? You're a liar Even to your ****** self I wish you'd just been honest so I coulda just left liked I planned But, you played my weak spot to make me stay It'd be nice if you didn't know me so ****** well And you actually had half a clue who you are and what and who you want **** it That's my wish tonight Hit the light switch Let the dark hide my tears and bury my face in my pillow so neighbors can't hear my screams I wish to fall asleep and not dream of you Just grant me that one and I'll never make another wish again
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Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
Wish
Here I am again staring at this ceiling Glance at the clock, 11:11 Make a wish right? ******** Do you have any idea how many "11:11's" I've wished on since you've been gone?? Not a one has come true Not when I'm awake anyway Why am I laying here, thinking about you? And not just that I miss you but, every little thing we ever did together Over thinking each word you ever muttered to the 10th degree Am I even a passing thought? When you sit to take a **** do I cross your mind then? Considering that's probably the only time you have alone Probably Have you ever saw a car that looked like mine and wondered what it'd be like if I was really in it? Whenever I hear that certain sound I felt your little car made, I **** in my breath and wish There it is again All this **** wishing, where exactly has it gotten me? In the same bed, staring at the same ceiling thinking about you some more **** have you ever wished you'd stayed? Do you ever wonder if you'd just maned up and stuck or rough patch out, what we'd be like? I mean, I'm not sure you wish for anything You sure don't seem to have control over anything It's like your brains made of mush and you'll just go where the wind blows, and then just follow further orders Is it so that if you fail, you can say "well it wasn't my idea to go work there" "I didn't choose her over you, she did" I mean how much absolute ******** can go through your mind until, you can even listen to it anymore Seems like your tolerance level is high You'd been lyin to me for months, tell parts of but never the full truth I sigh, this is getting me no where It's now 12am and I'm laying here wide eyed Holding back screams filled with tears Why am so stuck? You're a liar Even to your ****** self I wish you'd just been honest so I coulda just left liked I planned But, you played my weak spot to make me stay It'd be nice if you didn't know me so ****** well And you actually had half a clue who you are and what and who you want **** it That's my wish tonight Hit the light switch Let the dark hide my tears and bury my face in my pillow so neighbors can't hear my screams I wish to fall asleep and not dream of you Just grant me that one and I'll never make another wish again
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You need to man up and face me, Come and say good-bye to me, If you hate me. You need to man up and face me, Come and tell me you care, If I'm a Dear Friend. You need to man up and face me, Come and hug me and kiss me, If you really feel bad because I love you so much. You need to man up and face me, Come and tell me we'll never be, If you really don't like me. You need to man up and face me, Come and tell me you like me, If that's even true. You need to man up and face me, And tell me the truth, If I mean anything at all to you. You need to man up face me, Before I cry too much over you, Before my heart is much too scared, And I won't be able to move on. You just need to man up and face me, And tell me everything that I need to hear, Whatever that is, So, maybe, I can move on, Leave you behind But that seems so hard right now; I don't think I could do it. But, If you maned up and faced me, Maybe I could.
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Mar 19, 2011
Mar 19, 2011 at 8:32 AM UTC
Man up; Face me
give me an ear to bite into, or an arm to rip of listen to my rambles the ravings of a mud-mad-madding-mad-man I've lost it kaput I'm InSAnE My mind is lost to the soup and I was Always told that too many cooks spoil the broth and legions have gone into making me If I could number the souls that have had input to me, the men and woman who maned the turnstile and warped my soul to fit flowers or knives, if I could number them all I alone could stand and take on Persia at its height my soul is ancient passed from one body to the next my eyes are tired but I'm only 17 I've sat through temperature-twisted-townlessly-teetering deserts on the roof of an old combie I've walked circles around an island with my thumb out and sung to the stars when they hide in clouds of smoke the legeion in my mind has taken losses in numbers when we lost our commander my father and we have taken our trophies of irrefutable wealth your heart but then i remember there wasn't thousands of men just me just my ambition Good morning world Im 17 years old, And all-ready ancient
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Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
You said i looked tired
I proceeded to have more darken dreams I remember that old sad night when you had made me cry but then wanted me to stand by your side while he told more Lies I just had to walk away with anger in his eyes I had been wondering all this time why did you need me to be with you we are like night and day I don't see things your way after all these years you still give me so much fears while I sleep I fall deep within darken dream I hear a very loud voice crying out to me what does this mean for me that is when it started to rain I started feeling so much pains I had always heard time will heal the mind will mend the heart but mine hasn't maned My heart is still marked my mind remembers everything Dark Angel brings I still proceed to dream dark cuts remain within my soul . Poetic  Lilly Judy Emery (c)
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Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
PROCEEDED TO DREAM