"mildest" poems
Drawing on something I cannot know,
Her breath alone stirs miles within,
And my joy surges up to overflow,
For man was not meant to keep it in.
And so here gushes forth first blood of cupids arrow,
Splashing rose on my cheeks at her mildest grin.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
And…it’s here. A future. Agile? I was not enough to be.
Black in it’s entirety. A new beginning and a new ending.
Clockwork. As though a plan hatched by some supreme being.
Dear dog, which came first? Was it the white or the black?
Either way, it effortlessly taints your profoundly glorious genes.
**** this! Atrocious. Drugs?!
Goodness me. How did we get to this?
Horrible, dehumanising, and it’s here to stay.
“Suppresses”. But really only in the mildest of ways.
As if to constantly remind you of the control you once had.
Now ceded in it’s entirety to a tad bit of fad.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 5:25 PM UTC
Some of you go so far as to disclaim any ability to find you, but I've got you.
(sonnet #MMDCCXCV)
Dare claim your writing does not breathe a strain
Of your dear essence: to be fooled. Thereby
Petrarca's soul distills its fervour aye;
And Wyatt cool good sense; while Surrey feign
With mildest touch and Spenser's pure refrain,
Sweet Shakespeare beauing hearts, dare cry
Amain. From Milton's kingly strength's reply
To Wordsworth's cold hauteur, yea come again?
Twas Samuel Taylor Coleridge roused me
To think afresh, his lively fancy through
Each line with his impress. From Shelley's plea
To Keats' indulgence, Missus Browning's blue
Yet mystic charm, don't think all cannot see.
You don't know me? But ah, I do know you.
31Aug13b
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
The Baker's Tale
They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice--
They roused him with mustard and cress--
They roused him with jam and judicious advice--
They set him conundrums to guess.
When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
His sad story he offered to tell;
And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"
And excitedly tingled his bell.
There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,
Scarcely even a howl or a groan,
As the man they called ** told his story of woe
In an antediluvian tone.
"My father and mother were honest, though poor--"
"Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.
"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark--
We have hardly a minute to waste!"
"I skip forty years," said the Baker in tears,
"And proceed without further remark
To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
To help you in hunting the Snark.
"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
Remarked, when I bade him farewell--"
"Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,
As he angrily tingled his bell.
"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
"'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:
Fetch it home by all means--you may serve it with greens
And it's handy for striking a light.
"'You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care--
You may hunt it with forks and hope;
You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
You may charm it with smiles and soap--'"
("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
In a hasty parenthesis cried,
"That's exactly the way I have always been told
That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")
"'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
If your Snark be a Boojum! For then
You will softly and suddenly vanish away,
And never be met with again!"
"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
When I think of my uncle's last words:
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
Brimming over with quivering curds!
"It is this, it is this--" "We have had that before!"
The Bellman indignantly said.
And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.
It is this, it is this that I dread!
"I engage with the Snark--every night after dark--
In a dreamy delirious fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
And I use it for striking a light:
"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
In a moment (of this I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away--
And the notion I cannot endure!"
1.5k
*Gazing,
almost lost,
into the
crystal-clear still waters,
at this tranquil spot,
she could sit,
and just be,
for hours upon hours.
Reflections
of her fragile soul
blanket this lake
with its sparse creases,
these waters border
the forest - deep
into those woods,
her heart, it reaches.
As the lightest
tender breeze
stains the satin spread,
her slightly tainted soul
smiles - through her eyes
you can clearly see this.
With the mildest
most gentle breeze
her anxiety is carried
far, far away;
her restrained breaths
are freed - her anxiety
suddenly ceases.
Her soul's reflection
in the
crystal-clear still waters,
abruptly freezes,
the lake,
a satin finish,
the gentle breeze
is now gone -
her tender soul
is at ease,
her gentle heart,
this pleases.
This precious
peaceful moment
she seizes,
capturing it as a
mind, body, spirit,
and soul pleasing experience,
before her mirrored reflection
unfreezes.
By Lady R.F ©2016*
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 8:23 PM UTC
Such Tenderness
by Michael R. Burch
for the mothers of Gaza
There was, in your touch, such tenderness—as
only the dove on her mildest day has,
when she shelters downed fledglings beneath a warm wing
and coos to them softly, unable to sing.
What songs long forgotten occur to you now—
a babe at each breast? What terrible vow
ripped from your throat like the thunder that day
can never hold severing lightnings at bay?
Time taught you tenderness—time, oh, and love.
But love in the end is seldom enough ...
and time?—insufficient to life’s brief task.
I can only admire, unable to ask—
what is the source, whence comes the desire
of a woman to love as no God may require?
Keywords/Tags: Gaza, mothers, touch, tenderness, dove, shelter, wing, coos, sings, babies, fledglings, love, god
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 2:45 AM UTC
Its nigh on nine
In the evening.
And I for the first time in too long
Feel each heart beat leave
This frail form
Never to be heard again.
And they are all different
And some have gone unnoticed
Sadly the preservation of life
Sometimes bears no witness.
The meticulous muscle un-felt
As it pounds against all
The could've been-s and maybes.
Each gasping for the air
My lungs are the warden to disperse.
Held in a prison of bone and flesh
Unseated and riled at the mildest stimuli
Beating their own rhythm
A pendulum marking its own time.
The clock is broken and never to repeat
And each beat is a second closer to its last
It is in the dim candlelight and shadow
That it screams the loudest.
Why is a heartbeat so unforgiving
And yet so unrelenting
That at moments of peace we're hardly aware its there?
And why when shadows cross a wall
In a cast of two dimensional players
Does it cheer so?
Sometimes it is as if
It will break free from my breast
And beat no longer
I can only hope
That when it leaves
Its in a rage of songs and fury
And its departure does not go unnoticed.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC
And yet it was just another daydream that I all of the sudden awoke from.
The warmest day to have ever been felt in late September.
The leaves turning colors of rich autumn, and only the mildest of breeze against our translucent skin.
After the longest stumble through darkness, it was as if I again recognized the light.
The suns power to exude and perpetuate happiness amongst even the saddest of Earths prisoners.
Family and friends gather to celebrate new love, as thy neighbors watch in dismay.
It seemed as if us fortunate few were walking on the clouds of eternity;
even if it was just for a moment.
But even from the realist of dreams, we must awake and return to chaos.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC
And...it's here. A future. Agile? I was not enough to be.
Black in it's entirety. A new beginning and a new me.
Clockwork. As though a plan hatched by some supreme being.
Dear dog, which came first? Was it the white or the black?
Either way, it effortlessly taints your profoundly glorious genes.
**** this! Atrocious. Drugs?!
Goodness me. How did we get to this?
Horrible, dehumanising, and it's here to stay.
"It suppresses". But really only in the mildest of ways.
Just to remind you of the control you once had.
Killed! And now ceded in it's entirety to a tad bit of a fad.
Let me just turn back the hands of time!
My fate I leave with you alone.
Nothing seems to relieve this pressure and irreparable pain.
Oh God! Could I be spared such a destiny?
Prayers.
Queuing from my heart to yours.
Respectfully admonishing your power and grace.
Simply, do I ask for that childlike sense of serenity.
To take me to a place of restoration and hope.
Unlock my mind. Repair my soul. For vaults of this kind are too strong.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 9:22 AM UTC
Lies, compliant lies, that spell
Our names and wish us well;
But hidden in whose blood is war –
Subpar but harsh to understand.
Lies, such lies are possible;
All within the broke world’s trouble,
What is love without loveliness,
What are tears without sadness;
Lies, such lies do exist;
But be seen through happy mist,
The mildest one felt at heart,
Tearing at us, consumes our blood;
Lies, such lies are ever born;
Unblinking amongst God’s thorns,
That He dies in its shrine;
Frayed in the morning sunshine.
That yon life of ours is scratched;
Not even when truths are fetched,
Growing into the skies of autumn,
That look like those radiant poems;
That the grass shall not be green;
And the midnight is not seen,
Though lovelier than summers,
Washed with ****** thunders.
And poems lie not, they shan’t;
They are what the heart wants,
The words of despaired justice,
The divided bliss, soaked kiss.
And the poet is right – of warmth;
Only to be found in real charms,
And their dignity that all knew—
Lies are undignified, untrue.
What is it with violent hearts;
Those that make our souls cry,
And tear our feelings apart,
But tears are true to the sky.
What is it with untouched lies;
The lies that thread us but tore,
As though there was no more,
When truth finally dies.
What is it with unheard death;
As we deepen our last breath,
Will we find love, and comfort;
Unnamed tales that were cut short.
What is it with lovely riddles;
Dwindling our minds to tears,
Ridding our eyes of fears,
Peering through rough scraggle.
And the poet shall know better;
That honesty has died alone,
Not much of Desire is known,
No truth shall last forever.
And the poem shall read longer;
That grass is blue, and green rain
Are what is to happen ever,
Pain is normal at all, again;
And the poet shall have left;
To be just but to be unjust,
Moments are never to last,
Love is not what hearts have.
And the poem shall have caved;
In to the pain ‘tis meant to be,
That no more bears meanings to see,
No more love shall be saved.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
Five senses technically
A common physicality.
Distant sight and sound
Wave never mind themselves for now,
Faintest scent and mildest taste
Remembered anyhow, until
A touch so intimate
Can make all time and space, stand, still.
So the intimate will.
Only after my teacher’s words had touched me,
Did I love, love to write.
At once the masterpieces shook me,
The piano taught my hands to play.
What tastes and fragrances seduced and nourished
Every nerve, but not
Before I learned to feel
Their intimacy deserved.
These senses know your beauty
Knows no common physicality,
I need to know that beauty now
With every sense's hands.
Here, your intricacies rival poetry or piano-
How the color of your lips will
Pair the taste of your skin,
The depth of your sighs
Should I caress your back and feet,
The tone of your laughter
Should I tickle you instead-
Vengeful and defiant, or
A sense of pure joy-
With all time and space holding still,
So the intimate will.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
Lady Spring Time replaces her sister, Lady Winter Time,
with warmer weather and helps to melt her sisters,
snow that helps make the flowers grow.
Lady Spring time is dressed in beautiful colors,
pink, blue, and yellow, and she is the most beautiful
of all the seasons of God's created season.
She is just perfect for spring time months,
because she gives out just enough warmth in the day time
and cool in the night times.
Unlike her sisters, she is the mildest of seasons,
she has the sweetest smile of all of them.
When she comes it is for such a little while
and then she tells us that her sister,
Lady Summer is on her way, and she is the hottest
month of the four seasons.
Each season makes their way for each other to come,
and all have special reasons in God's created heaven above.
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 7:12 PM UTC
"Happy Birthday dear..."
I start half way through the bent jingle which became more
Common by chanting all the words. That awkward sense
Of mutual buddies forgetting the name of the cocky boy
Blowing out the wax that burns through the mixture raw.
Faces envious of this attention seeker, while sat on a fence
Forcing that smile. The age he can be excused by his toy.
As one turns arrogant adolescent, the other takes childish
Place on the cute thrown. Not today, the world can wait,
But not for long as time shifts further down many graves.
The countdown begins when leaves grow onto the mildest
Weather that will warm the old cold hearts at such a rate.
Not all fret, soon more birthdays will join while kids crave.
The teen’s decision isn't fate or destiny, it's just how they
Live a life purely between lines of crack. To be so rotten
Is a crime in any mature life. Thank God they are care free.
How soon will they learn to care for the gift that they pray
And how it differs from the cracks that will be forgotten.
Shame for us not to embrace time. Each one pushed into
The ground swept away by the blink of old men's eyes.
Devastation rid across lands by generations over turned.
Look out your window; see the sky break, fall into hot ash,
Burning pretty skin which brought tragedy to all those fines.
In the bowls of hell the scent grew strong. Women yearned,
They felt so careful not casting felony by using other cash,
Knowing full well that it was their fault for this mad panic.
Think how the boy's maternal role must be copying with all
The accidents around her. Fingers pouring out all the blood
Of a false economy, channelling some wizards dying magic.
The virus spreading across all borders with no place to fall.
The conspiracies becoming ridiculous, dragged thru mud.
"Judgement Day draws nearer, who will blame the ******
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
In the Morning
The poet's mind has rest'd
The horse's gallup is pranciest
The miser's greed is mildest
How curious I be-stood holy morn holy morn.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
It feels like I gave you my virginity.
When I told you how I felt about you
Though I knew it wasn't time.
I knew I wasn't ready.
It feels like standing naked on national television.
When I showed you one of the many poems I'd written for you.
Though I made it clear with myself
That I would never let you see that side of me.
It feels like a yearning to hide.
When you said the words were emotional and beautiful
Though the words I'd chosen to show you
Were the mildest I had.
It feels like being lost in the wrong city.
When you're as gentle as possible in telling me you don't feel the same.
Though It's completely broken me,
You tell me you're here for me when I need you.
But i just need to go away for a while.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
I always wonder what it'd be like to belong to someone
Who would actually want to have me.
I've spent so many years of my life
Devoted
To people who weren't devoted to me.
Because
Well
I need to belong somewhere.
I need someone to wake up thinking of.
And it turns out
I need that more than I need to be valued
Or understood
Or even thought of.
I need it much more than I need to be loved.
And I try, I do, to exist as an island.
Sometimes I make it months before I fail
Spectacularly.
Sometimes I even forget how much I miss love.
But inevitably I remember.
And inevitably I fall in love
With people who don't fall in love with me.
Avoidance doesn't work,
Rushing in headlong to face my fears doesn't work,
Trying to be calm and subtle and normal...
Definitely doesn't work.
Frankly, I'm out of ideas.
Time after time I face this-
The fear, the vulnerability, the shadows of my past failures which loom around me.
I stay up nights
I make beautiful art
I cry
I laugh at nothing
I spend excruciating hours waiting and worrying for no good reason
I stop being hungry for food
But wander the streets like a starving animal all night
And for the past few months I've thought,
Isn't it nice to go to bed when I want to?
To not feel afraid all the time?
To have no one whose attention and affection I pine for?
(And believe me, pine is an understatement in even the mildest of cases for me.)
Isn't it nice to just be?
And maybe I didn't feel very alive,
Maybe my life was a little empty,
And my art untouched,
And my pages blank...
But I was hungry at every meal.
I woke up mornings feeling safe.
I felt sane.
Since I realized what it meant to love another person
It has been what I believe the purpose of my existence to be.
But what if I'm just... allergic to it?
What if it just makes me crazy?
And unstable?
And unsafe?
And exhausted?
What then?
And I still believe in love so much,
But after these past years
I have to wonder whether love
Believes in me,
Or whether I've just chosen to devote myself to
One
More
Thing
That... doesn't really care.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
A gentle hand upon my skin
To balm my sleeping soul within
A fragile brushing 'gainst my face
Adorns my soul with air and grace.
The kindest, mildest, tender touch
Subdues my soul to mind too much
The quaver of my joyful heart
As all my anguish blows apart.
And in the fluent light of morn
A freshness in my soul, reborn,
Where thoughts bygone, should I partake,
May kiss my brow as I awake.
Sep 11, 2021
Sep 11, 2021 at 12:42 PM UTC
The calico-gray quilt of clouds
is no longer backlit by a sun
we won't see all season.
The naked sky of summer
reclaimed its heavy covers from storage,
the ones it needs to keep warm
even on the mildest autumn evenings.
And of all the planes I study all night,
just one lands
The rest talk over me,
struggling to reach the ceiling of this town
to pierce it and flee through the bareness behind it
The metal bird sheds ash
and demands attention in the darkness.
A lack of color trails
as it descends
across the space between the ground and the sky.
Slowly, it settles on the town
looking so much less threatening there,
like a joke even, resting on the stone heads
of the gods and goddesses in the park.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC
She is one awesome women.
Her eyes speak to me her thoughts ^_^
Her lips,tell me her wants :p
Even her mildest touch has the biggest effect on me.
I realised how madly I was in love
when she walked away from me
and turned back to say a BYE!
Love should happen,without us knowing ^_^
It shatters us into pieces that we forget to even merge
while we admire her beauty!
like how it happened for me,
like how it happened for her..!
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
Be YE not afraid to be afraid
For that which you fear now
Is only
A weak imitation of the HORROR
Soon to come
••
Be YE proud of your fear for the reason you are afraid
Makes you human
••
If you would become strong
You must overcome
All the false security of romantic love
••
You are too young to cope with all this
But you must
••
••
In the mildest uncertainty is the seed of total disintegration
In the simplest expression of true friendship is the greatest strength
••
Nothing is WRONG with any of you
By blaming yourself you protect the truly guilty
••
FEAR
the endless frontier
GO THERE!
(Be YE not afraid to go there)
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
I love you as much as I love the light, that kisses me in the mildest morning.
I love you like the pure white clouds,that line the skyline, over the horizon as I'm looking out over an autumn sea.
I love you like mauve mountain tops, crowning through the sky.
I love you as I love the peaceful moments in your arms.
I love our one-sided conversations, the ones where I say all the words.
I love you in a letter
And that letter said goodbye.
Can't is a word that doesn't exist, they say.
It does exist, it has too.
For, I can't love anybody again.
Too much pain.
(c) Livvi
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
I haven't smiled with a glimmering passion since then.
The salt water wasn't as pure, but the heat filled my heart.
You weren't so far away, yet you were still many states.
I sigh with incomprehension, I've forgotten my lease and there's so much to do, yet nothing new to see.
I hope I make it in the blistering cold, as I miss who I was but this is who I'll be.
It's time for change, I hope we meet again some day.
When I reach a fervor with the mildest degree of sincerity, I'll be like I was back then.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
Waiting before school
A gift in the front pocket of my bag
On the mildest last day before Christmas
I've ever known.
Pacing before school
A gift in the front pocket of my bag
Rubbing my hands together
As if I was cold.
Looking before school
A gift in the front pocket of my bag
Realising too slowly
She wasn't coming.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC