"meadowy" poems
I climb the hill: from end to end
Of all the landscape underneath,
I find no place that does not breathe
Some gracious memory of my friend;
No gray old grange, or lonely fold,
Or low morass and whispering reed,
Or simple stile from mead to mead,
Or sheepwalk up the windy wold;
Nor hoary knoll of ash and haw
That hears the latest linnet trill,
Nor quarry trench'd along the hill
And haunted by the wrangling daw;
Nor runlet tinkling from the rock;
Nor pastoral rivulet that swerves
To left and right thro' meadowy curves,
That feed the mothers of the flock;
But each has pleased a kindred eye,
And each reflects a kindlier day;
And, leaving these, to pass away,
I think once more he seems to die.
1.6k
In a throbbing coccon seized by ablazen web
thou viscid meanders woven by an unabating tempest
then hoarded in a rapture... by the sylph of the sands.
Rising rider, captive of an upwind sail
meadowy sky lover, worshipper of the ephemeral
fettered Why mooring the eluding eons to a transfixed now
as if the twined dreams of a wayfarer,
nomad of the seas, the sands and the skies
trapped in an ethereal time warp.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 9:10 AM UTC
He was born of the grandiosity,
The pride of wolves,
The bravery of lions,
The wit of ravens;
He was born of a beast.
He had the might of the strongest,
He triumphed every strife.
He always had the victory,
Of the pleasures of life,
He was born of a beast, indeed;
Yet unlike the beasts akin;
He was not of ferocity,
A strange affliction, received;
Bravery of lions, he has, indeed,
Yet, he struggles with a foe.
The foe gave the toughest skirmish he had,
Sadly, he failed to vanquish it:
The sullen darkness, the specter,
The mist that did nothing but whisper;
Whisper tragedies over naught.
It filled him with guilt,
It filled him with fear;
It made the Beast weary,
To conceal the scars he sought in battle;
A battle far too explicit.
He, the beast, ventured endlessly,
Trying to hide his curse.
He tried to release himself from everyone;
His kinship, his gallantry,
His kin.
Then in his yonder, he met a wisp;
Lively, bright, pompous.
The wisp accompanied him in his bouts:
The bouts that hid his truths,
The bouts that pushed him away from his realities.
Alas, the Specter he encounters once more.
Again, it whispers his fears.
Amidst the pain he listens to, a faint voice enlightens him;
The wisp speaks his bravery;
The wisp speaks acceptance.
His eyes were unclouded,
It glowed like never before.
He had done something he thought he would've never done:
Vanquish the evil that haunts him;
Vanquish the Specter of Censures.
A day arose again.
He, the Beast awoke, listening to the hymn of the wisp;
It spoke that his battle was not of the specter's,
That his battle was within the Beast's self,
And with it, he slumbers, edified.
He awakens once again,
Realizing the truth that he is:
A flamboyant Faun,
Frolicking in the meadowy grasslands,
Basking the Sun's warmth.
Yet realizing this, he wears his mane once more,
As he is greeted again by his kin;
He fears not that hisself be lost;
He fears that his all would be lost,
When they are darted by his Truth.
He, the Beast still walks upon his feet,
He still has the grandiosity of his birth,
Yet he forcefully clouds himself in lies,
To hide the reality he only can accept;
The Faun, hiding in the beast's mane.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
*quadriplegic
polychythemic
a voice behind my ears
golden fields
winds I feel
eyes shed my tears
sunbeam lights
pale blue skies
vast meadowy hills
voice I listen
her tone glistens
vision disappears
heartfelt stories
of sights of glories
and yet excites all my fears
I open my eyes
smiles so wide
vision suddenly clears
sits on my lap
then a gentle tap
as I sit with much drear
I close my eyes
awake to familiar sights
my eyes cover with tears*
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 7:15 AM UTC
I keep on waiting till blossoming trees start snowing
In the Spring, when all I want to wear is the sun and
all I want to taste is an aerial blue
And you
A someone you
To roll around in nature’s meadowy beds with
To build moutains and swallow oceans
I keep on waiting till I can love myself and hear myself crying something other than sadness
Crying something happy
Something satisfied
I’m going to learn how to breathe again and what it means to not be terrified
every moment of pitch black days
I want you to watch me
Swallow oceans
Build mountains
Taste skies
Wear stars
Remember my tears don’t always leave scars
And I can hear birds sing behind the veil of traffic and cars
And I can exist
And breathe
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 1:01 AM UTC