"mongst" poems
Are you listening to the whispers? are you feeling scandalised?
Harbouring ***** little feelings that you wanna sanitise?
Walk through the swinging doors of a catholic franchise
Ask em for that sailors knot a black-n-white man-ties
To the pairs of prying eyes his practical rebuke
Is a marital disguise and a tactical puke
Throw the garter ‘mongst the pigeons, the voluntary victims...
Whose single minds are filled with matrimonial conviction
Paired up poets pool their miseries; the price of art
Each miserable synergy - the sum of its parts
Did he swear that he’d hold you ever dear to his heart?
To love and to cherish til your knees did part?
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
There she stands on ceremony all silk and sinew
While the vow evicted from his Adam’s apple continues
To stutter as the panic builds like stifled farts
Til it splutters its devotions on her lady parts
Her eyes sentence you to sit though your neck-hairs stand
She’s the ****** ****** written in the lines on your palm
Old scores squeeze sideways through her gritted teeth
And he takes on the debt of every promise she believed
Hide the love-bites in a polo-neck, your love life in a Rolodex
When the ***** hand of happen-stance runs its evil down your keks
Cos like the indelible digits on your bathroom mirror
Love is for life until you dress it with liquor
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
We are but experiments, seven billion shades of wrong
The clever ones stay celibate, the others pass it on
That’s an easy line to settle-on in present company
Single-riders in the peloton to pick up the debris
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
Permanently fixed to the rest room wall,
waiting for the golden rain to fall,
oh you've many a tale to tell,
The stains on your sides, the distinctive smell,
That gum in the drain hole, spat out in haste,
The crown and glory ‘mongst the human waste.
All those members, large and small,
have hung over your orifice, you've seen them all,
Your starting to choke on the ***** hair,
While drunk men with whiskey breath, look down and stare,
no one seems to notice your vitreous gleam,
under the constant haze of the ***** stream,
you just suffer in silence and long for the day,
When you’re no longer needed and they take you away.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
Let the bird of loudest lay
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul precurrer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever’s end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing
Save the eagle, feather’d king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak’st
With the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,
‘Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence:—
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they loved, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none;
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
‘Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix’ sight;
Either was the other’s mine.
Property was thus appall’d,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was call’d.
Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either neither;
Simple were so well compounded,
That it cried, ‘How true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none
If what parts can so remain.’
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.
THRENOS
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclosed in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix’ nest;
And the turtle’s loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity:
’Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be;
Beauty brag, but ’tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
7.1k
Mongst the salacious ferns of
Artemis requested in the land
of the handsome labyris women
wealing and weaving Vulcans
shrewd hearts of jasper and
chalcendony, governess Hulda
cleaves Muspellsheims yew bones
fletching mandrakes philtre whetting
hie Cupids perfuse herb of grace
intercessorial unto volcanic pious
virtues haranguing loves cataract
dashing herewith demotic enditements
distempered of ludic ordination;
forging a year and a day halest
cledonomancies volley of truths
bequeathing privity of Heavens
prismatic trajectory.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,—
Nature's observatory—whence the dell,
In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
3.6k
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are
Life of the Muses' day, their morning star!
If works, not th' author's, their own grace should look,
Whose poems would not wish to be your book?
But these, desir'd by you, the maker's ends
Crown with their own. Rare poems ask rare friends.
Yet satires, since the most of mankind be
Their unavoided subject, fewest see;
For none e'er took that pleasure in sin's sense
But, when they heard it tax'd, took more offence.
They, then, that living where the matter is bred,
Dare for these poems, yet, both ask and read
And like them too, must needfully, though few,
Be of the best; and 'mongst those best are you,
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are
The Muses' evening, as their morning star.
2.5k
O solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature's observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
2.3k
There inside the chamber sits,
Awaiting patiently;
Gathering discourse and their wits,
To match with Chimpanzee.
Primate statues loom the loft,
‘Mongst whitening Baboons;
Fidget in their seats too soft,
Indifferent of this room.
For ghosts of former nobles peek,
In shame, as they observe;
The power of the abject weak,
Enable them to serve.
Parrots cackling ‘mongst themselves,
As peacocks flaunt their fan;
Gorilla preens, while tries to quell,
With gavel in his hand.
Chimp arises, intently poised,
To embellish his appointment;
Words rehearsed to fill the void,
Deliberate and pointed.
For he, and only he, shall reign,
While rendering his will
Upon the reaches, lakes and plains;
‘Pon feather, fur and gill.
Yet irony betrays this horde,
Of chosen beasts that thrive,
Who seek to witness own accord,
On who should live or die.
Baboons and the Chimpanzee,
May climb to endless heights,
Gather fruit from tops of trees,
And relish in their might;
But those who scrounge upon the ground,
Or forage in the sea,
Cannot relate to this debate,
Nor self-idolatry.
So this becomes an exercise,
In futile words exchanged;
In bartering the truth for lies,
Leaves jungle quite estranged.
Such is then, the sacrifice,
That satisfies this troop:
Lions shall compete with mice,
For homeland and for food.
This seems just, this seems right,
So pleased to then arrive,
To alter former terms of plight,
Ensure the like survive.
Commune must have order,
Compliance is then deemed;
Life must have its borders,
Confining self-esteem.
Parrots flee to bring the news,
Of brighter days ahead;
While creatures of the air and blue,
Fear the distance spread.
Content to reconvene again,
As this is their employ;
Govern those outside the pen,
Such honor they enjoy.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 6:08 AM UTC
Tempestuous sky's so cold and dark,
where no bird flies save lonely lark,
'mongst the shadows, where coldness spreads,
stand sepia shapes of wooden sheds.
Oh whispering wind, what can you tell
of a life of terror and tormented hell
or torrid groans of sleepless souls
under public signs, nailed to poles.
Breath stained glass surrounds a child's shoe
an exhibit in a holocaust zoo.
Silenced bones can speak no guile
'mongst blackened ruins of brick and tile.
These broken spirits now must yield
to unmarked graves in an open field,
''O death where is thy sting ?''
'tis in the voice of these who cannot sing
and when we remember alone in the dark,
think of this place and the lonely lark.
© H V Swan
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
Those endorphic nights,
wrapped like snakes,
Shared blood in one soul,
we made our promise, carved it in stone,
now it just cuts me down to the bone.
Played our end game, created the path,
‘mongst the spirits, grasping rain,
midnight tears so cold and alone,
It will always cut me down to the bone.
© H V Swan
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 10:07 AM UTC
Seek Not My Heart
by Kit McCallum
Oh gentle winds 'neath moonlit skies,
Do not you hear my heartfelt cries?
Below the branches, here about,
Do not you sense my fear and doubt?
Side glistening rivers, sparkling streams,
Do not you hear my woeful screams?
Upon the meadows, touched with dew,
Do not you see my hearts a'skew?
Beneath the thousand twinkling stars,
Do not you feel my jagged scars?
Seek not my mournful heart kind breeze,
For you'll not find it 'mongst these trees.
It's scattered 'cross the moonlit skies,
Accompanied by heartfelt sighs.
It's drifting o're the gentle rain,
A symbol of my silent pain.
It's buried 'neath the meadow fair,
Conjoined with all the sorrow there.
It's lost among the stars this night,
Too far to ease my quiet fright.
No gentle winds, seek not my heart,
For simply ... it has torn apart.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
Charm me asleep, and melt me so
With thy delicious numbers,
That, being ravish’d, hence I go
Away in easy slumbers.
Ease my sick head,
And make my bed,
Thou power that canst sever
From me this ill,
And quickly still,
Though thou not ****
My fever.
Thou sweetly canst convert the same
From a consuming fire
Into a gentle licking flame,
And make it thus expire.
Then make me weep
My pains asleep;
And give me such reposes
That I, poor I,
May think thereby
I live and die
‘Mongst roses.
Fall on me like the silent dew,
Or like those maiden showers
Which, by the peep of day, do strew
A baptim o’er the flowers.
Melt, melt my pains
With thy soft strains;
That, having ease me given,
With full delight
I leave this light,
And take my flight
For Heaven.
1.3k
From your old calloused hand
To the last living strand
Of hair that sprouts feebly
Like black sunbaked seaweed
With earlobes enourmous
And eyeballs a-milky
These wrinkles put dimples
all over your flesh crawling
in mongst the shadows
Of large concrete buildings
And root in the gutter
For edible matter which is
Torn in your hands by
Pain-quaking fingers
And prodded and poked
Into toothless dark places
Where bleeding black gums
Weary of smiling
pound out the mixture
Into acid bile.
I pity the monster
That crawls from your lips
When your life is no longer
And your tongue is for eating
I pity the blackbird
To peck out your eyes
That eyelids unmoving
Cant shield from the dangers
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC
Not in the solitude
Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see
Only in savage wood
And sunny vale, the present Deity;
Or only hear his voice
Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.
Even here do I behold
Thy steps, Almighty!--here, amidst the crowd,
Through the great city rolled,
With everlasting murmur deep and loud--
Choking the ways that wind
'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.
Thy golden sunshine comes
From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies,
And lights their inner homes;
For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies,
And givest them the stores
Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores.
Thy Spirit is around,
Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;
And this eternal sound--
Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng--
Like the resounding sea,
Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee.
And when the hours of rest
Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,
Hushing its billowy breast--
The quiet of that moment too is thine,
It breathes of Him who keeps
The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.
1.1k
into the MARKET PLACE, gentle little girl
comes with her wicker basket
covered by a golden cloth
into the MARKET PLACE
the sacred MARKET PLACE
walking proudly 'mongst the men
with her wicker basket
covered by a golden cloth
what is she doing there?
the gentle little girl
what is in her basket
covered by a golden cloth?
all the men-folk stop and stare
at the little girl
into the MARKET PLACE
the gentle little girl goes there
into the sacred
MARKET PLACE
the gentle little girl
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 2:30 PM UTC
O monogamy, sweet so monogamy
Have me by this rimy night so I may bear your cold’st kiss
To espy eyes blazed in scarlet hue
If not for this holding us part, touching firm this instance
Of what I feel now I could not feel ever,
Could I bask in aughts - a goodness too true as so a sight worth sights
If pulchritude, if vagary...
To innerstand this sorrow, this phase, this ending of me
So lovesick of vanity, this night owes me tears
But tonight she has me, by her brassiere, by lips
Tangl’d in manner and salaciousness - her being to be
Wonder of me, wonder me; if I ever your knight
Wonder if I am enough, manifest your ways unto me
Demand I exist, under your eyes
Impart this velleity, four ways for ways...
Have me, O monogamy
With you will I always be? Your sabbath, your blind’st bliss as too mine
Split with me another moment for much time has rot
Mongst this lour’st hour my heart is wounded by the thorns of essence
To think we are but not cause to this grieve
In sooth; this everly passion now a mortal’s pule
Stay with me on this last’d night
A midnight kiss, a midnight touch, fragrance, a gentle glare...
Monogamy, monogamy.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
A knight left on his journey,
Three days he claimed he'd take.
He packed his gear, his blade shined queer;
He'd made a huge mistake.
A knight, left on his journey,
A day he'd been alone.
The hero's trail, a silent wail.
He wanted to be home.
A night left on his journey,
The dragon lie in wait.
As our hero neared, he slew his fear
The beast he would away.
A knight left, on his journey.
And in the fight he flailed.
He could only succeed as dragon feed.
As a hero he had failed.
A knight left on his journey,
For others to partake.
The beast was slain, 'mongst his remains
They found the knight's mistake.
A knight left on his journey
With a blunted sword.
The blade shone queer, and 'twas quite clear;
Death was his reward.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
I'll dream of thee again tonight
Under the dark, and the sweet red light
I'll write you a piece of poetry
About a tender love story
I'll dream of the charm of Sofia
And sing it in my cantata
I'll dance again, again, and again
'Till this night fades, and comes morning rain
And now please come, come, come and come to me
'Mongst the bushes, and the rainbow tree
In your fair shapes, that no eyes could see
And be by me, as long as you want to be.
Now talk to me, and not to her
Who has loved you, from the very first
Feed on my love, and not on hers
I will fill your heart's sweat and thirst
Come to me again, oh you sweet
Listen to my poetry's last bit
Oh I want you, and want you alone
I'll have you wholly on my own.
You are as charming as rainfalls
Sweet as whispers behind the walls
And your love be my eternal
You are undead, you are immortal.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
“Dear Father
Didst Thou create me in Thy Image that I shall be like Thee?
Thy Word says so. My heart doth believe Thee.
But why didst Thou create me on earth?
Thou hast said in Thy Word that everything shall be in Christ.
My heart doth believe Thee that Thou hast a purpose for me.
But, why, Father, diseases and miseries exist on earth?
I read from Thy Word that the lawlessness of people bring them forth,
And Satan, the fallen angel from Heaven plays mockery on Thy creation,
The Bible says so.
Thou hast sent Thy Son into the world that He shall make the Way unto Eternity,
He was bruised; He was wounded; He was crucified; He rose;
And He’s the Mediator ‘twixt Heaven and earth, the Bible says so,
And I believe so.
My Dear Father,
What’s my stand now on earth?
Thy Word says, go into the world and preach the Gospel
That Jesus Christ is the Saviour and Lord of Heaven and earth
That no man can come unto the Father, except by Son,
And there’s no other way that man can sneak into Eternity,
And The Bible says so.
Father,
Fill me with Thy Spirit that I shall go into the world,
And Thy Word shall be preached ‘mongst those
Who are held by the devilish tentacles of the Liar
Who brings heresies ‘gainst the Way of God
Who was manifested in the Person of Jesus Christ,
The Bible says so.
Teach me how I shall walk in Thee in Christ
That Thou shall be pleased in my in faith in Thy Son.
Holy Father,
Thou hast said in Thy Word that the Lord Jesus Christ
Shall come upon the clouds on the day no one knows,
And shall judge the good and the wicked,
And He shall take those who are in Christ with Him to Eternity,
And the wicked shall be dragged into the eternal fire by Satan,
The Bible says so.
Heavenly Father,
Teach me every day that I shall be in Christ and win souls for Christ.
I know Thou wilt answer my letter,
And Thou hast answered,
And that Thy Answer is in Thy Word,
And Thy Word I shall keep in the deep of my heart.
Thank YOU, Father in Christ Jesus.
Thy son who is longing to seek Thee in Christ.
In Christ Jesus, Amen.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 9:21 AM UTC
Neath blankets 'mongst the pillows
I listen to the rain
as it lashes 'gainst the window
natures violent refrain
I smile to myself
pull up the covers, snuggle down
this storm she cannot reach me
for sanctuary I've found
The wind now joins the chorus
humming tunes across the vent
a sad and sombre melody
conveys the earths lament
Drifting tween the planes
of consciousness and sleep
i find myself pursuing
the dreams that once so deep
I close my eyes for one last time
and slowly drift away
'til this nights storm has passed me by
and I'm awakened by the day.
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 12:55 PM UTC
Little feathered beast, come settle down to sleep.
Latticing branches will take you far from here.
Learn 'til naught's left for the cerebral to reap.
Seek divinity of shadow, gain Nox's ear
Noxious curiosity, potent and deep.
Darling, elfin wolf: your song they long to hear.
Those silly creatures, they pry and they ****
Your beauty transcending your cries, to them odd.
A century 'mongst saplings -same of blood, not time.
Children of the night, curious and divine
Sought the mystique wielding both reason and rhyme.
Memories of Eden, on seraph you dine.
Romani wisdom you reverently mime.
Morn their gyve and sharpen your tine.
Lithe lycan, shadows claim, demure your sole crime
'Surely something as so must be stitched or sewn.
Such a thing mustn't be of nature's own.'
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
The scent of pinks assail me,
I'm walking down a hill,
evoking distant memories
that linger with me still.
Of secret garden places,
full of child delights,
where I played when I was happy,
'mongst Cillas, Daffs,so bright.
Cherry blossom tree drops,
pinking everywhere,
flying Dandelion Fairies
playing through my hair.
The scent of Pinks assail me,
travelling on the air,
once again,
they take me back
To a time without a care.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
Once a staple of the times
(Even in my day) ,
The woodstove was a means
By which God made a way.
A bridge between then and now,
It fed and kept us warm.
The woodstove was a way of life.
The woodstove was the norm.
And ranking ‘mongst the basics
Needed to survive,
The woodstove has served well
In keeping us alive.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
John Keats
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,—
Nature's observatory—whence the dell,
In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC