"nobly" poems
The diamonds shone like broken glass
Upon the midnight street
And all atop the walls were wet
Their white eyes glint & sleek
Then from afar a gnome appeared
An angel flashed on furry feet
The boulevard became a river
While waiting crowds began to quiver
I was in a motel watching
Whiskey in my hand
Her breath was soft, the wind was warm
Someone in a room was born
~~~
Accomplishments:
To make works in the face
of the void
To gain form, identity
To rise from the herd-crowd
Public favor
Public fervor
even the bitter Poet-Madman is
a clown
Treading the boards
~~~
Cold electric music
Damage me
Rend my mind
w/your dark slumber
Cold temple of steel
Cold minds alive
on the strangled shore
Veterans of foreign wars
We are the soldiers of
Rock & Roll Wars
~~~
Whether to be a
great cagey perfumed
beast
dying under the
sweet patronage
of Kings
& exist like luxuriant
flowers beneath the
emblems of their
Strange empire
or by mere insouciant
faith
slap them, call their cards
spit on fate & cast hell
to flames in usury
by dying, nobly
we could exist like
innocent trolls
propogate our revels
& give the finger to the
gods in our private
bedrooms
let’s rather, maybe,
perhaps,
get ******* out in
the open, & by
swelling, jubilantly
Magnificently, end them.
12k
Only on me, the lonely one,
The unending stars of the night shine,
The stone fountain whispers its magic song,
To me alone, to me the lonely one
The colorful shadows of the wandering clouds
Move like dreams over the open countryside.
Neither house nor farmland,
Neither forest nor hunting privilege is given to me,
What is mine belongs to no one,
The plunging brook behind the veil of the woods,
The frightening sea,
The bird whir of children at play,
The weeping and singing, lonely in the evening, of a man secretly in love.
The temples of the gods are mine also, and mine
the aristocratic groves of the past.
And no less, the luminous
Vault of heaven in the future is my home:
Often in full flight of longing my soul storms upward,
To gaze on the future of blessed men,
Love, overcoming the law, love from people to people.
I find them all again, nobly transformed:
Farmer, king, tradesman, busy sailors,
Shepherd and gardener, all of them
Gratefully celebrate the festival of the future world.
Only the poet is missing,
The lonely one who looks on,
The bearer of human longing, the pale image
Of whom the future, the fulfillment of the world
Has no further need. Many garlands
Wilt on his grave,
But no one remembers him.
9.5k
A shark
afebrile acceded
deep in
shallows there
his teeth
lasted with
anticipation of
her bay
was akin
to high
jinks as
his floridity
was aghast
with achievement
that caught
her so
nobly again.
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 4:40 PM UTC
Shoulder to shoulder you bands of brothers landed.
Code name Operation Neptune was underway.
You noble breed, not knowing what lay ahead
Just knowing that your duty was called upon.
The bugle sounded, you all answered the call
nobly you waded those waters for all.
06/06/1944 was the day.
The largest seaborne invasion in history.
Yet, you brothers in arms were not caring of history making
Just making it to the beach, alive.
I can but humbly thank you for what you all did that day,
you that lived and those that died.
What thoughts must have played in your mind.
A lone piper played throughout, what courage you all displayed.
No wonder we that came after you, leave you feeling dismayed.
Many wars have been fought since, their courage is also undenied,
but, you, you thousands on those beaches showed the world the meaning
of pride, respect and warrior.
On the beaches of Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno and Sword,
you carved a way in. To end the war.
Nobler people I doubt exist, and soon this 70th anniversary
will fade in time, but not that date of June the sixth (1944)
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
There came an image in Life’s retinue
That had Love’s wings and bore his gonfalon:
Fair was the web, and nobly wrought thereon,
O soul-sequestered face, thy form and hue!
Bewildering sounds, such as Spring wakens to,
Shook in its folds; and through my heart its power
Sped trackless as the immemorable hour
When birth’s dark portal groaned and all was new.
But a veiled woman followed, and she caught
The banner round its staff, to furl and cling,—
Then plucked a feather from the bearer’s wing,
And held it to his lips that stirred it not,
And said to me, ‘Behold, there is no breath:
I and this Love are one, and I am Death.’
5.1k
I live a life collecting pieces.
Pieces of fantasies forever the
realm of
childhood;
Pieces of imaginations turned wild and wonderful.
Pieces of laughter, confusion, delight and tears.
Pieces of melancholy, shards of sorrow;
fragments of regret, portions of jealousy.
Sections of desire, passion, leading us on
blindly to others of
heartache and yearning.
The rough edges of frustration, yet the
smooth curves of contentment, peace.
I live a life collecting pieces;
this is what I’m told makes a life worthy.
Worthy of remembrance, joy; fulfilment.
But only I can see the struggles,
feel my bones bearing more weight;
the aching tiredness I fall into,
when I’m not at work,
collecting the pieces I speak of.
The fright I hastily pick up off the ground,
when I compare my clumsy, ***** array of
pieces to your perfect and bound ones;
when you aren’t looking.
The dread I reach for, because you leave it crushed
beneath your feet.
The nervous tension pulling strings beneath my skin;
leaving me a reckless, vulnerable puppet
collecting the pieces left in your wake.
Torn to scattered, dusty pieces;
Reborn a puzzle of simplicities,
bright and shining pieces woven into form.
No matter where we have been, where we
were taken,
where we were loved,
where we were betrayed,
where we fought bravely,
where we surrendered nobly,
where we were embittered,
where we learnt of strengths and weaknesses;
we are all made of pieces.
We are collections of pieces.
You and I.
Our collection is known as life;
each piece is our experience of something.
Someone.
Somewhere.
And the more we know each other, the more
often our hands can reach for two of the same,
available pieces left before us.
I pen them down, keep them special and fragrant.
I live a life collecting pieces
and often they are of you.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun;
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk;
At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse;
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust;
And loved so well a high behavior
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay?—
O be my friend, and teach me to be thine!
3.4k
Who should desire
A clear mirror
Of perfect likeness
Lies hideous fear
Look, see what we see
Sad doppelganger
Ethereal clone
Leaning, wall hanger
All flaws magnified
Every evil, too
Simplify ev’ry line
Ever mistake – rue
A mirror well smudged
Truly desired
The traits that are so
Nobly admired
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
A valiant woodsman of God’s green earth,
An ever gentle soul,
Treads nobly through the forest’s edge,
To conquer hill and knoll.
Morning chill, punctuates warm breathe,
Condensing on cold steel,
A rising sun greets a friend of old,
With beckoning appeal.
The singing birds, call quick to arms,
Warning to those that hear,
The woodsman’s made his presence known,
To this they must adhere.
The ageless warrior nestles down,
A clearing by a brook,
From iron sights, he takes a bead,
A short but lasting look.
Ten points in all, the target grunts,
And directs a gazing eye,
A trigger’s squeezed a slight indent,
The woodsman breathes a sigh.
A crack of thunder, a flash of light,
The beast is crashing down,
The woodsman offers praise to God,
The forest makes no sound.
A resounding victory born this day,
Upon much hallowed earth,
And from majestic creature lost,
Does spawn a sacred birth.
The woodsman leaves, more quiet than came,
In humbleness and awe,
To tell a tale of conquest sought,
To share of what he saw.
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC
She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin-liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature’s daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.
2.4k
My beautiful Oak stood nobly on its own
It embraced my troubled mind and all my deeds condone
And when its sickly leaves lay crushed upon the soil
They would cushion me in comfort
as Id dream there for awhile
A chainsaw massacre!!! How can this be?
Some dammed blind fool your beauty couldn't see
No passion or affection, this man knows
His love a plastic piece or chalk repose
Things without a life , like this mans heart
He looks upon and calls a work of art
At his uncultured hands, your acquittance bell did tone
To see your life all drained has chilled me to the bone
All my innocence and youth has been severed
with your mighty root
My embittered heart or so it seems
has cursed the man that killed my Oak
And all my dreams
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away;
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
Bluish ’mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;
“Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?”—say,
Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,
While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.
2.3k
I will not toy with it nor bend an inch.
Deep in the secret chambers of my heart
I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch
I bear it nobly as I live my part.
My being would be a skeleton, a shell,
If this dark Passion that fills my every mood,
And makes my heaven in the white world's hell,
Did not forever feed me vital blood.
I see the mighty city through a mist--
The strident trains that speed the goaded mass,
The poles and spires and towers vapor-kissed,
The fortressed port through which the great ships pass,
The tides, the wharves, the dens I contemplate,
Are sweet like wanton loves because I hate.
1.9k
Gone are the glorious Greeks of old,
Glorious in mien and mind;
Their bones are mingled with the mould,
Their dust is on the wind;
The forms they hewed from living stone
Survive the waste of years, alone,
And, scattered with their ashes, show
What greatness perished long ago.
Yet fresh the myrtles there--the springs
Gush brightly as of yore;
Flowers blossom from the dust of kings,
As many an age before.
There nature moulds as nobly now,
As e'er of old, the human brow;
And copies still the martial form
That braved Plataea's battle storm.
Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek
Their heaven in Hellas' skies:
Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek,
Her sunshine lit thine eyes;
Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains
Heard by old poets, and thy veins
Swell with the blood of demigods,
That slumber in thy country's sods.
Now is thy nation free--though late--
Thy elder brethren broke--
Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight,
The intolerable yoke.
And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see
Her youth renewed in such as thee:
A shoot of that old vine that made
The nations silent in its shade.
1.8k
Choir don't need no Gath Brooks
Lordie lord, spam that yawns across earth's lawn,
set your glory upon holy sky!
Baby talk, HA! That's processed Kraft
cheese or strength, babbling to silence avengers.
Do you see or does your finger point
to Moon, Stars and Kautempathkan.
What is a man that you can't remember,
Or a son who can't care of man?
You've made a name of nameless less.
Memhkotainya, name it with dignity.
Show some respect for the handywork,
they stare beneath our feet.
Bleating and mooing,
and Yes, beasts in field,
chicken **** and fish,
sea lane routes
to Us, our way
Nobly in your ***** named.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
Ebony raven
Against clear sapphire cotton sky
Soars so high
Above mother’s lush green mountainous curves
He soars
Like a black dove
In peace beyond the tire’d metallic beasts
That scurry
Between asphalt forests and concrete caves
He soars
Like the midnight eagle
Nobly gazing down at plump savages
That hunt
Proudly donning polyester furs and vinyl skins
Admiring their ignorance
He soars
Like a charcoal seagull
On crystal breezes
Over thick brown seas littered with stucco *****
That course
Through the veins of mother herself
He soars
Like a sable sparrow
Carrying the last untainted bite
From the impacted cement earth
That seals
The life within mother
Inescapable
He soars
Away from it all
To beauty beyond
So high
He soars
Copyright © Lara B. a.k.a. Lalachan
June 1999
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
THE true faith discovered was
When painted panel, statuary.
Glass-mosaic, window-glass,
Amended what was told awry
By some peasant gospeller;
Swept the Sawdust from the floor
Of that working-carpenter.
Miracle had its playtime where
In damask clothed and on a seat
Chryselephantine, cedar-boarded,
His majestic Mother sat
Stitching at a purple hoarded
That He might be nobly breeched
In starry towers of Babylon
Noah's freshet never reached.
King Abundance got Him on
Innocence; and Wisdom He.
That cognomen sounded best
Considering what wild infancy
Drove horror from His Mother's breast.
1.6k
a fleet of hue ensnares my eyes
majestic colours nobly don
the suede-like feel of butterflies
with thin soft wings akin chiffon
I am this queen of laissez faire
my soul is free to show it's flair
to guide my flight of inner growth
expressing soul's impassioned oath
Mar 31, 2011
Mar 31, 2011 at 1:28 PM UTC
Do you ever feel tied to a string drifting aimlessly through the world?
Forcibly being pulled in random directions and never the way you want?
Then why do you shy away from the one who holds you tight,
The one who tells you to ignore the habitual ways of the world and go where you want?
When they hold onto the string which sways you, dont you feel as if you have been stabilized?
As if the world is no longer just a blur, but a vision of clarity around those gentle hands which hold you in their grasp?
As if they are all of the answers to the questions life relentlessly asks you?
When they stop you from swaying out of control the dizziness doesn't stop
It leaves from your head and rushes to your heart sending butterflies to your stomach
Leaving you in a foreign position with thoughts you can't believe you hold behind your fragile mind
Before you have time to hold your hands out to catch yourself you begin to fall heart first for the one nobly clutching onto your wavering string
All the doubt and panic of the world seems irrelevant
As time passes the worries of yesterday fade away as you gaze into the eyes of the one gallantly at your side
As the distance between you fade your heart lightens as the strings connecting you disappear to be replaced by warmth of those stabilizing hands
No longer separated by the strings of fate your thoughts are clear
The one who's been there through all of the calamity
The one who held you when you were lost and insecure
Who brought you out of the veils of darkness and into the light
A friend, a lover, a soulmate
The person just for you who built their home inside your heart
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 12:29 AM UTC
From the framed picture hung on the wall
Two faces look nobly down
The faces of my grandma and grandpa
Taking me to the times gone by
Smiling at their wavering progeny,
They retell the saga of their blissful life
A life of selfless share and care
Inspiring generations in their travail
Curling back to times and climes primeval
I hear the sound of their footfalls aloud
In a humble dwelling, joyfully they lived
As children of the soil with hands full of toil
They worked together from dawn to dusk
Greeting every new dawn with fresher zeal
Their hearts were securely fastened in love
And had needs minimum and complaints nil
Two fountains that sprang from sources different
Had merged together before their early teens
Through wedlock they had been customarily bound
At a time when they hardly knew what it meant
Had played together as buddies for long
Until instinct made them man and wife
When fledglings were hatched in their little nest
They worked together never knowing rest
Hit by adversities hard, at times they sank very low
But with resilience, bounced back
And frugally saved every nickel and dime
To meet the needs of their growing household
They tottered together in the evening of their life
Serving as prop to each other when about to fall
In their twilight years, ambling the corridors of memory
They reminisced sweetly the joyful events of life
Now they lie together in the same churchyard
Two streams that evenly and tranquilly ran side by side
Never once been shattered on the rocks and shoals of life
Making one wonder if their life is History or Fable
In the swelling magnitude of our life
Though trivial was their share
Yet they stay as beacons of light
Leaving a trail of light to blaze our paths
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
If we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die, O let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
1.4k
The chalice golden Am I for a wine ancient
Containing ever the sacred intoxication high
Of life,existence, a procreator genius of genesis.
Wearing bikinis sexily scant,or clad fully,
I am a mother, a sister, a friend and a lover.
An enigma am I,of possession incapable,
By minds, bodies, louts or even men noble,
Being oppressed, I live free in that place divine
Unknown to power, pelf and brains crazed.
I laugh O men and smile sardonic inward
At your strengths so mightily Herculean
Desiring my feet and secrets of the Heart
Beyond you am I,your gazes greedy and
Temporary prowesses all assumed false,
My world a paradox,life a walk that talks,
Of little sensitive things full of wisdom old.
Nobly loving yet abused, worshipped reverent,
Yet beaten, ***** exploited,I shall ever be proud,
Rising as the phoenix, as a mother earth kind,
Toned lithe,creased ancient,ever more powerful.
And flowing like a river I become the ocean.
Hold me still without a desire, unpossessive,
Then my love may touch you ever so briefly.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
Tell me how love killed grandpa
when nothing else could.
How he was blasted into the after-life
by a grenade while trying to save another.
How they were sure he'd died,
and even issued his death certificate.
How they sent a folded flag and stoic soldier
to tell my great-grandma her son had died nobly.
Tell me how the morgue attendant
saw him cough and twitch.
How the shrapnel ripped him to shreds,
severing the blood supply to his brain.
How doctors told him he'd never walk,
or talk, or even sit up again.
How they gave him a Purple Heart
to make up for his broken body.
How he was too willful to be beaten by WWII, Korea,
or a doctor's grim diagnosis.
Tell me how I'm the daughter
of a dead man's son.
How grandpa refused to be crippled
by the forgotten war.
How he taught himself to sit up and walk,
at first with crutches and then unassisted.
How he learned to tie his shoes using only one hand,
and talk through damaged vocal cords.
How he conceived you 6 years later,
and the newspapers called him a 'True American Hero.'
Tell me how he finally died
of a broken heart.
How young and full of life grandma was
when Alzheimer's disease took her.
How quickly she forgot everything,
even how to swallow and breathe.
How you were orphaned so early in life,
no older than I am now.
How grandpa's big courageous heart could lose anything
but her.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 9:04 PM UTC
A black maid enters.
Cowed, inarticulate,
she makes obeisance to her mistress,
our erstwhile heroine.
She is given a menial task
in a perfunctory fashion,
and you thrill at this splash
of historical colour.
But her mistress's command
is irrelevant. She is fully engaged
with two vital functions
with which I have entrusted her.
The first: she has bathed our heroes
in moral ambiguity -
she is a shortcut to complexity,
rendering the important characters
doubly fascinating,
bathing them in pathos.
The second: she has pleased you
as you recognise your own outrage:
"Why must she be black?
Why can't they treat her better?
Don't we live in finer times, you and I?"
And a happy reader
is a reader who will proceed,
enlivened, vindicated, affirmed.
And thus freshly enslaved,
she returns
to the sculleries of my imagination
as we press nobly on.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
An evening spent washing dishes
makes my hands thin and wrinkling
like tissue paper.
It’s ten o’clock.
Tonight each streetlight will
pop on one by one and
me and the guys who smoke out back
will watch owls drop from the trees
and sweep mice out of their holes.
Inside the pizza boils in the oven,
blistering up like pimples on elbows.
They can smell it from the doorstep
peeling the paint from the asphalt and
the huger gnaws and claws deep into the belly.
Onward the light crawls
trying to outshine the stars
and our Pizza Hut sign,
blazes a banner of glory to the highway.
I feel sick on gasoline and the cigarette breath
that clings to your apron.
No one can clean out the gutters
like you.
After the doors close
everyone hitchhikes
to the Greyhound bus stop
nobly trying to stay awake
over the thousand miles home.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC