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Wintertime nighs;
But my bereavement-pain
It cannot bring again:
Twice no one dies.

Flower-petals flee;
But since it once hath been,
No more that severing scene
Can harrow me.

Birds faint in dread:
I shall not lose old strength
In the lone frost’s black length:
Strength long since fled!

Leaves freeze to dun;
But friends cannot turn cold
This season as of old
For him with none.

Tempests may scath;
But love cannot make smart
Again this year his heart
Who no heart hath.

Black is night’s cope;
But death will not appal
One, who past doubtings all,
Waits in unhope.
Nik Price Sep 2011
Sleepless nights

Filled with thought

Left to the knowledge of Earth's sorrows


Breathing in

Breathing out

The air flow is life renewing


When all that we are
reveals time's ***** plight.  
Just a vision which none
can see nor predict

why try to fix this?
why try at all?
Zach Merrill Nov 2010
well the royal's gone, and so are you. so i'll sit here and think my things thru.
It's funny how things change between good and bad, But it's how things go and i'm glad that your glad.
so goodnight, farewell, cuase i'll see you in hell.

And i don't know how to change how i feel, it's my sixth sence, one you could never steal.
It's funny how things seem to unwined, when everything seems together and seems alright.
so goodnight, farewell, cuase i'll see you in hell.

And as i'm writeing this song, It seems like revenge.
It seems sweet it seems right, but it's wrong in the end....
cuase your there for me i know that you are, but it's nighs like this you seem so far... so far away...
victor tripp Nov 2013
my thoughts travel back to city nighs when fireflys lit the dark,under streams of summer moonlight,air seemed fresher and even crisp in those young man days,with quick strides I walked past houses of peoples who knew and didn't know,who I was,and care,heading toward a future that might shut out all the dreams long dreamed,yet to meet young womenwho would guide me through the garden of sweet delight,and deliver mail to my senses than awakening
What I wish I was
And What I Have Been
A contradiction in terms
That disguised himself
In an intellectualist's cloak

A time worn wooden shelf
For all of my insidious memories
Decorating tacky shameless
Lighting for a cemetery
Making a mockery of
The designations of life's many fates
And my creed was based on the novelty
Of avoiding how to grieve

Crimson tired eyes
Postulating sleep upon restless nighs
For I expended so much time
Doing just a little less than nothing
And somethings, my brothers
They  never change

I am so unequivocally deranged
My life changed
And what promised to illuminate my life
Encapsulated my only light with shame

As I breath
Martyrs and murderers
become the same
The leaves fall like they do
When their colors change
If that's how our lives worked
I would die today
Away from my lovely tree
Be swept away by the wind
Disintegrate into this earth again
Regret that life's not as simple
As I would love to forget
Find reprieve in a new life
I never found in the one I have in front of me
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
and there was me walking past
some imaginary graffiti...
at this point: i forgot to concern
myself with the narrative...
it's there: arrived at...
on a whim...
            i am beyond apathetic...
it's not like a feminist nun
could...
spend her time listening to...
a misanthrope...
but we all know...
what the good philanthropists
get up to...

first one read the acronym...
B.L.M...

   another reads...
     A.L.M.

  which is crossed out...
and a footnote is added...
with some emphasis...

        that B. does indeed M.
                        
   hell... i'm throwing a penny
into the pocket...
and ******* against the wind...
with my own...

spin on topic...
   O.B.L.M.
       well... given: A.L.M. needs
to be... negated.

truly: i don't know whether
my tongue is sometimes tied
to expressing a presence of body...
294 havering road was confused
by the postman for 294
pettits lane north...
   so i delivered the package...
12 hours "late" and took
a walk with four ciders...
to catch... twilight in the woods...

i said: ee'mah rather than em'ah...:
it read emma... and wright...
i'm in england and i don't speak
a lot of english...
                i write enough...
    i like to call myself a grammatical
tyrant of this little space of my
own...

and to walk... is to feel one has
legs...
   to hell with owning a car...
when one could still...
love a ride of a horse...

  to walk for a good 4 mile...
up a hill into shaded wooden
nighs of twilight...

a right ol' tourist in these
parts... smoking some marijuana...
headphones tight...
on the cranium like a crown...
about to... take the 103 route
from the north eastern tip
of greater london into...

      but the demise...
as the bus sped away en route...
i didn't see the tourist
on the upper-deck of the double-decker...
on the lower-deck... at the back...

if i had the marijuana...
and the same joy for riding buses...
i'd be sitting on the top deck...
looking buddha-amused / buddha-bemused...

i really did come to the conclusion
that: i wanted to drink to feel a tilt of
a drunkard in me...
4 ciders are 8.2% a pop...
       16 units... and all that ***** whiskey
mixed with bourbon...
and i'm still... typing away like
a hyena...

i dream so rarely... but i woke up with a dream...
forbidden fruit...

    Kirmiji Orzalacht
   Orżalacht - and I saw the word
written in elaborate runes -
   with gold-flakes to dorn its labyrinth...
told I was copying it with
too much detail...
     pressured... told to keep
the phonetic essence of it...
it opened a portal...
       a garden...
   "to bring back the garden
started but not he gardener"...

i haven't heard: or seen... a word..
for that matter: two! in such details...
is it an anagram?
   Kirmiji Orzalacht
                    Orżalacht
...
                     ­    i wouldn't just wake up...
and need to write these words down...
phonetic: kir-me'yee o'j'ah-lax't...
                      it doesn't translate...
even with phonetic efforts...

    come to think of it... walking england
along...
one can confuse and pardon...
a people who have been given...
the isolation of the icelandic people...
yet all the perks of a melting ***
of the continental ******* wormhole of history...
the definite history: european...
but also... the double definited...
when some foreign entity feels inclined
to overcome the natives...
it's not... akin to cross the Danube river...
or the Oder...

          with a clarity of borders bound
to the confines of an island...
oh... this pretty land of spare souls...
readied for... retention in foreign *****
of alien fathers and surrogate mothers...
as the raj might prescribe...
with her litany of insurgent spices...
cumin, coriander, cardamom...
chilli... turmeric... star anise... etc.

          a magic hour! twilight in the woods!
the sun is... turned into a drowning man...
her last resort of a horizon of day...
is riddled with razors...
and she's cutting her hands to stay afloat
upon the "meridian" 180!

what mistanthrope?
and at what hour... could i entertain...
the company of a single crow without
a commune...
or the rabbits readily prancing...
             i couldn't abhor the plumber
for the plumbing...
              i couldn't... abhor... the god and
readily given... ghost of self:
the surgeon...
              but...
       when it comes to drinking?
       i much rather exhaust my legs...
and feel that i still have them...
having walked...
                and i much prefer drinking
alone...
  the woods are a cushion for the ears...
and... somehow...
all the eyes warrant a desire to peer at...

drinking with people has always
been my worst lot of... wasting time...
i can't remember...
the last person i drank with...
who succumbed to a hardened:
pensive mood...
always that feminime... melancholic...
diatribe sorrow...
fetish tear-****-offs...
            
                 who could ever want to know me...
i should have remained at...
        Taizé...
                         i would have have gladly
sacrificed the world... thrice over!
to live the life most mundane...
rather than have to suffer...
to live... a life... most mediocre.

tongue licking tombstone slabs...
i hope... my words...
fall like... mountains...
upon a concentrated lot of... stones.

"part and parcled" and that "oh my":
the tender hand of argument:
a left... a right... a left-right...
and right-left and some...
quasimodo (0,0) vector cull for:
that long lost forgotten: "oopsie"...

        oh! right! it's called: the culture... "war"...
it was called the cold war
when the russians were pressuring
everyone to play... their version
of the roulette!

fine... at least when: agianst the russians...
you know... siberian psychopaths...
complete animals... siberian
warlords of some grass some snow...
some siberian tundra...
culture... "war"?
more like... cultural sparring...
war against who and with that:
against who: with what?!
we're only sparring...
there was never a culture war...
there was cultural sparring...
which... evidently had to become
something ******... in terms of...
what was... hoarded...
exchanged...

there is no more a cultural war
than there ever was a cold war...
i like to call it cultural sparring...
hyped-up invigoration tactics:
war! sign me up uncle sam!
sign me up: papa bad bear: russia's
a'coming siberian neglect!

what war?! we're only sparring...
and people somehow have this
deluded presence of...
if we were at war...
there would be a...
                          Schwerer Gustav...
there would be... a Spitfire...
there would be a b-52 bomber...
  culture war...
         "war"... concerning someone
who has ingested the cultural export
of h'america for the past 30 years...
we're not at war!
we're only... merely... sparring!

grandiosity of cuck-filling ****-supreme
and... there has never been...
a Helen likely: worth of instigating...
a "genesis" of events!
*******...
    cultural war?!
                i want to... scream!
would you either eat an oyster...
or some... caviar?
can you please... provide me...
with a slow motion cinema of...
a movie: the presence of an oyster...
i'll eat anything that doesn't move...
i'll **** anything that does...

caviar wins!
concentrated fish stink and palette..
anything than...
attempting: slurping...
a metaphor... a brain...
a wriggling brain chimp: + some
gerbil... oozing out a crescendo of...
loitering... scrambled... abortion
towing: "typos"...

what cultural war?
if the chinese were conscriptd to march...
it wouldn't be an advent of the mongols
at baghdad...
if the chinese were conscripted to march...
lucky for all of us..
they designated a wall for themselves
to be: riddled by a buttocks...
and roots and... a hyphenated orchestra
of blooming...
        
india can spar with china...
2 billion their own equal...
someone goes missing...
it totals up their own concern for:
"cost"...

             there is not cultural war...
we're only culturally: sparring...
anything elevating such events as:
overtly serious is... giving toward misgiving...
it was originally orientating a:
lessening of statue and abiding to probe:
caricatures...

if there was a war... trigger-happy...
trigger-itchy...
       but there isn't a war...
if there was a war...
  israel would... concern itself
with much more than its...
proxy-encrusting-stature-of-a-levelling...

culture war is such an...
over-inflated term...
                     culture-sparring...
like cultural-sparring when the cold-war
was at its height...
cold war... poker salvaging...
two sides warring with: de facto joker
hand-outs...

              no... not this...
this is... a postcard from a heaving
sigh of a haven: that's not heaven...
something more realistically:
heaved... a ridicule with a clue: stone...
because...
that's not what... a levelling
of a mountain gives concerns for...
some rubble plateau...
some... itch... some...

                 ah! that... das boot... theme!
because... who are not...
the german... in grieving a romance...
when not being able to...
give levelling...
to... the crime of frothing waves...

that much i might mind...
the magic hour: the twilight in the woods.

Kirmiji Orżalacht:
               i might somehow wish to want:
to loiter...
             TORA TORA TORA...
it truly is... a samurai slit...
of affairs...
       one army attacks another army...
the palestinian shielf preface...
the japanese attacked a military presence...

auschwitz and nagasaki...
perfected gain of: war...
men ascribed to the expression
of the theatre of war...
warring...
but no... it was not... "fair"...
the pearl habour "unfucked" / "unloved"
had to find...
their suitor best...
when... civilians were to be minded...
a pointlessness of auschwitz...
the blink-of-an-eye hiroshima...

       it was... a fair attack:
         so... who gives a ****... the h'american
soldiers were... sleeping...
sun-bathing in the hawaiiean sun?
        it was... a... fair... attack...
i don't need to be asked permission...
for a worth of persuasian...
years since TORA TORA TORA...
years since PEARL HARBOR...
          with whoever it was that starred
in that... custard fish of fetish...

            great h'america...
auschwitz prolonged by years...
hisroshima: dead-end...
in a blink of an eye...
             because "ukraine" somehow still
matters... the... starvation project...
of the 1930s...
                
  the attack on pearl harbor was
an honest act of war!
the dropping of the atom-bomb...
on hiroshima...
the use of civilians...
to end a war...
                    what is so fair:
as to then heave a monopoly
of exporting movies to...
the last: beside "your" owned
corner of the world...

     to heave a breath against those
best providing...
that's one thing...
anyone well paid would
be best assured to simply shut... up...
but not... when one is sold
a propaganda narrative...

   pearl harbor was once...
tora tora tora...
                      i don't even want
to entertain this narrative...
and their liberty...
and their shining emblem...
whatever it is that they thought
they had...
this mongrel nation et al hybrid
loitering... yes... all that...

there was a once upon a time
invting my parents
to go over... "there"...
           to... schlomo...
and to... jarput-e...
             a ******* stance for a 7/11...
                 how about...
the magic dries up?
Now ma nada twirly (to early) twittering
condolences to the esprit de corps, qua
(just recently) late John McCain, and his
surviving family suddenly damning original
way word odd did see, whence (mere
moments ago) shore lee levee ming pondering...

     (ma river rent stream
     of consciousness weighs wise)
how to encapsulate, distill,
     or cull poetically
     evoking local or global
     political and/or
     other phenomena ayes

wanna heron, now tern
     over every stone
     (ill eagle or otherwise)
     as a stool pigeon tattler personifies
(basically thee entire
     planet) well nighs
with forthrightness do willingly,
     seriously, and eagerly advise

those unsuspecting readers popularize
the convincible credible essence fortifies
bereft Trump Taj Mahal
     tower of blatant lies
     news outlet at (of him...D.K
     Americans - ought via
     auto-da-fé) ostracize
the mischievous, merciless,

     and malodorous aggrandizer
     in chief i.e. Trump, who,
     undermines, tramples, and lowly hies
brazenly, deplorably and smugly
    hugely belittles and belies
most every liberal
     minded, Matthew Scott Harris
     colluding against blatant

     infringement on free speech,
     fostering this rhyming grievance,
     and upholding virtue
editorialist aye hypothesize
     via stealthy sequestered infomercials
     honestly (by trekking exercise
     zing straightaway obvious,
     where crew kid ness did rise

to urban jungles) advertise
(even those news gatherers
     risking life and limb storied
     public funded stations) as "FAKE"
     worthy tidbits, eye
     assess and apprise
my general tactic involves choosing,
when initially ferreting material

(invariably a nigh opening headline,
     which screams and cries
     ****** friggin ******),
     whereat my coo wing
     dove vine cognition tries
to tease out, even among
     plethora of hawkish excell lent
     power fully pointed graphic,

     morbid, or repulsive atrocity
     to frequent (ideally Hollywood
     joyous ending) human interest
     sordid themes, though
     this chap admittedly viz blindsided
     by gory infamous killings espies
topics that generate "buzzfeed,"
nonetheless salutary anonymous

good samaritan allies
all to quickly go bye byes
     virtuous deeds thrive and rise,
     to the occasion, sans
     heart warming happenings
     compete against overshadowing
     violent crime, the latter spurring
     (by Jeeves) all stops pulled

     as printing presses
     go into overdrive
     anticipating record breaking buys
moost oft times occurring
     within the outer term limits,
     at the edge of night no lies
perpetrated by gals or guys,
(thus mine pet peeve against

     mass communication),
     focusing more so
     about what premeditated
     hideous ruse ill fate plies
an oblivious innocent victim
     (such as how or why,
     some innocent promising    
young person, eco-system,
     animal unfairly dies).

— The End —