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Nonesuch is the beauty of my love . Ref 025
A poem written By Philip.
10th October 2018.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nonesuch is the beauty of my love.
On a scale of one to ten. I say a ten.
Nonesuch is the depth of my love.
Everlasting and eternal friend of mine
Such it was in life , now it is in death.
Universally when a man loves a woman
Critically it’s understood, she can do no wrong.
Having a nonesuch depth of love she was true

It is no secret , what our Universal God can do.
So what he’s done for others he’ll do for you.

Though one gets tired of worn out phrases
Happiness between two lovers ? Essential.
Essential that’s what makes our love nonesuch

Because our love was without any equal.
Essential that’s what made our love nonesuch.
And for six years we made vows to love eternal
Understanding our tenure was time sensitive
Touring the world knowing our time was limited
You never put off until tomorrow.Do it today.

Oh many young lovers don’t appreciate time.
For procrastination is ever the thief of time

My love for Barbara ,well there was None such
Years of unconditional love graced a later life

Later life when we’d served for seventy winters
Ongoing life ,following dramas , following life.
Very happy was our constant daily relationship
Earth Angel listen to my constant prayers to thee.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In remembrance of my Darling Barbara.
Written by Philip. October 10th 2018.
Written during the first 30 days of mourning.
Oliver Philip Nov 2018
Nonesuch is the beauty of my love . Ref 025
A poem written By Philip.
10th October 2018.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nonesuch is the beauty of my love.
On a scale of one to ten. I say a ten.
Nonesuch is the depth of my love.
Everlasting and eternal friend of mine
Such it was in life , now it is in death.
Universally when a man loves a woman
Critically it’s understood, she can do no wrong.
Having a nonesuch depth of love she was true

It is no secret , what our Universal God can do.
So what he’s done for others he’ll do for you.

Though one gets tired of worn out phrases
Happiness between two lovers ? Essential.
Essential that’s what makes our love nonesuch

Because our love was without any equal.
Essential that’s what made our love nonesuch.
And for six years we made vows to love eternal
Understanding our tenure was time sensitive
Touring the world knowing our time was limited
You never put off until tomorrow.Do it today.

Oh many young lovers don’t appreciate time.
For procrastination is ever the thief of time

My love for Barbara ,well there was None such
Years of unconditional love graced a later life

Later life when we’d served for seventy winters
Ongoing life ,following dramas , following life.
Very happy was our constant daily relationship
Earth Angel listen to my loving  prayers thee.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In remembrance of my Darling Barbara.
Written by Philip. October 10th 2018.
In memorial
trf Jan 2019
the darkest nights blame the sun kissed moon,
and we're paralyzed by the weather.

above stormy skies we lie fragile and wait,
as the time flies by like our pleasure.

blankets of bourbon, wine & cheese plates,
shooting stars wish us to forget them.

my thigh rubs gently along your soft suede,
answers beg question's forgiveness.
PS Mar 2020
It's half past midnight
And you're warm to touch

My hands, cold on your chest
And my lips wet on your neck like nonesuch.
Titanic-Lover Aug 2013
If you didn't know my story,but saw me in a book,
You'd read my name and wonder,then take a second look.
A shadow of my former beauty,I've been ruined by many years,
The things that have happened to me always bring on many tears.
I do not hide my sadness,for it is fresh and always there,
As I wait here so very lonely in my sunless Atlantic lair.
My poor,proud body is rotting away,there is nothing I can do,
Except hope maybe one day,equality will be given me too.
I recall a sadness filled day within my lonely dark,
When a plastic cup came floating down,and on my tomb left a mark.
That was one of many times I would give up and cry,
For human cruelness hurt me so,I got this rather than 'good-bye'.
I do not hardly recognize myself anymore,I say it not to be vain,
I say it with truth and exactness,to my heart welled up with pain.
Some people truly love me,for them I'm truly greatful,
Others regard me as a rusty ship with eyes that bespeak hateful.
I cannot help what happened to me,they just don't understand,
I once had a heart adventurous that would lead a career grand.
My hopeful life was ended in the year of 1912,
And my dreams,visions and pride-filled youth to the bottom delved.
I was told that youth and beauty would get me far in life,
And with these assets I proudly boasted,I knew nonesuch called 'strife'.
Throughout the tumble and crash of waves rode my lean body's length,
I reveled many times over in my satisfying,thrilling strength!
****
On the evening tide of the 14th,I saw the iceberg  true,
A handsome,glittering,ethreal prince,what was a lonely girl to do?
I rushed as fast as could be allowed to greet this glacier born one,
Eager to introduce myself and rid forlornness akin to a ton.
But when I came up closer,my heart he did stab,
With that glittering,icy spellbinding look,'twas my start of being sad.
He tore into my body,bringing unsurmountable pain,
What was the purpose of such cruelty,what could he possibly gain?
And on the night my life ended,I travelled my beloved sea no longer,
Death so young,in such a way,could life be any wronger?
I hoped so much I would not perish in a life that did just start,
Yet hopes were banished by the truths of a rapidly weakening heart.
I tried to wait as long as I could to save my passengers dear,
But the ending for so many of us was soon becoming near.
I didn't want to say farewell to the things I did love so,
And yet time was running short,and I wanted them to know:

Olympic,my lovely sister,I hope your life is a promise true,
Of many voyeurs across oceans wide,a charmer you are too.
Treasure the sun's bounty that warms the evening's chill,
And know throughout your entire life,my love is with you still.
Enjoy the satisfaction of your beauty and strength even when in dock you sit,
For a day may come anytime,and a single moment end it.
Show the Captain you are bold-bold,lovely and free,
But do not toss caution in the spray thrown off the sea.
I trust you not to be lonely in travels near and far,
For my ghost is always with you,just look up at a star.
When days come to you and a disconsolate thought you may think,
Remember the unconditioning love of a sister who'd "Never Sink".
Remember my love at morning,remember it at night,
Remember it these coming days I will no longer be in your sight.
I love you,Fair Olympic,in wordless,heartfelt ways,
Your memory I shall treasure in my saddened,sunless days.

I rest on a sandy sea bottom,amongst accoutrements of life,
From an unforgettable day when I learned the meaning of strife.
The earth has covered the stab the iceberg in my side did maim,
But despite that all,the hurt in my heart did stain.
I relive in over and over,wishing it were just a dream,
Yet awaken to the truths to know,my broken funnels have no more steam.
The way I landed in this grave,I look like I shall sail ahead,
But,that is all a fantasy,my once-strong body is dead.
It will not go anywhere,today or ever again,
I am helpless to the trash that falls upon me from heartless men.
The ship that sail above me hold people bright and gay,
Who do not know the sorrows that were on a 15th of April day.
They sail on to their destination,thinking nothing of me,
Who haunts the very waves they ride on my beloved Atlantic sea.
They dream of their days ahead,cheerful and free of plight,
Disregarding any notion of a nightmarish Hadean night.
They dance,they revel and throw trash over the side,
Where it floats down eventually onto the Ocean's Queen who has died.
They do not know of an iceberg with a sinister,laughing gaze,
And who pleasured in so knowing he ended my happy days.
They do not know of terror,of the ocean flooding ones' heart,
They do not know suffering for a ship breaking apart.
They do not know the agony of bading goodbye,
To the sunshine and a beloved sister who would never,ever lie.
They stand aboard a breezy bow,above the white waves foam,
Knowing soon,within a few days,they will be going home.
They seem to forget I belonged somewhere once too,
My home wasn't supposed to be an ocean floor,far from the sky's blue.
They do not know I've loved,they do not know I've cared,
They do not know the pain in my heart,that in scrapping,my sister wasn't spared.
They are the people who have this phrase float off their lips:
"Olympic and Titanic ,they are little more than ships!"
You humans claim you hold a bond to those you love so dear,
How different is it for me,I ask,with my sister built so near?
There is so much out there for those to remember me,
But my poor,sweet sister is forgotten,plunged into ocean history.
When you recall me,try to think of her too,
Bring her alive within your heart,I leave it up to you.
Years have passed,times have changed,though down here it's the same,
I am still the great Titanic,though my bow no longer says my name.
Some people who have discovered me have been respecting and kind,
I shall never give up my secrets,but their visits I don't mind.
Then,there are others,who ravage me to know,
They steal my finery,what is rightly mine;how can they hurt me so?
Although I do not mind some visits,I am now accustomed to the dark,
For the lights they shine upon me are so horribly bold and stark.
I am now part of this sea for one-hundred and one years strong,
All stemming from an April night when the most horrible went wrong.
The rust that drapes off me,some people say are like tears,
And,partially they are,my dearest friend,of the sorrows of many years.
The ocean floor is somber,the ocean floor is cold,
All the more unpleasant for a girl who's growing old.
My song it is of truth,to show that life is not a game,
But,treasure it every minute you can,all the very same.
It may be pleasant,it may be sorrow,
But,hold close the day you live in,think not heavily of a 'morrow.
I thought I'd have a tomorrow too,as I sit here in my grave,
I had a tomorrow,yes indeed,but not in a life-filled way.
I rest under these bitter waves,a melancholy heart is mine,
A shadow of my former beauty,a ghost of the White Star Line.
In the Aprils of today,on the dancing surf above,
My soul rises up to haunt the sea I love.
My soul is not marred by tears,fright and rust,
Whole and in perfection,before my death it's just.
At the latitude and longitude of that long ago day,
I have stopped many a vessel,so,remember me that may.
The scrapping of my sister,the sinking of me,
Life ended none too kind for both Queens of the Sea.
Remember us,gay vacationers,as you gaze up at a cloud,
For Titanic and Olympic,death 'twas not proud.....

I rest under these bitter waves,
A melancholy heart is mine,
We are remnants of our former beauty,
We are the ghosts of the
WHITE STAR LINE...
This poem is dedicated to my beloved Royal Mail Steamship 'Titanic',and her more forgotten,yet beautiful sister,Olympic. Never shall the sea be host to two finer ocean liners.
Medusa Aug 2018
once we were one, so close
now turncoat in lakes of
oleander, creeks run poison
we two betrayed

what stolen ideal cast
in stone against her?
my anima still wants love
from me, yet twists on proverbial

dime

coats were rejected
colors negated, unflown
prisoner of tumble town
chained like a queen

a shanty wish disregard
so no wings, air of nonesuch
grace barrio color to fly

in my mind, sleeping
mariachis playing loud,
my anima rescued me

real,  such desert here
just my shivering id
skinned seal, bad memory

still hopeful still here
surely mi anima mi alma
will grant my dying

wish

I am the traitor of my anima
I am a traitor to my anima.
trai·tor
ˈtrādər/
noun
noun: traitor; plural noun: traitors

    a person who betrays a friend, country, principle, etc.
    "they see me as a traitor, a sellout to the enemy"
    synonyms: betrayer, backstabber, double-crosser, renegade, fifth columnist;
Will is a wish that your birth charges you with. There is a quartet of letters given to each generation, a formless trinket tossed around the human flame like some universal kumbaya that always had a face. We could learn a lot from where were aren’t if we let ourselves imagine it. Dreams of what it looks like when I poke out the eyes of my love. Nothing begging something, the body of a bonfire song. Is it not each flick of the tongue? Is it not a federation of sounds finally reaching accord? Hurt like hell to learn when I should stop asking questions.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2018
how this came and come to be,
from gone to come to gone rediscovered but unreleased,
a passage thematic that birthed
fully formed, formal in its inception,
contented in its first appearance and
its primary coincident deception

who wrote this? not me? could not be!

yet a scented hint of
eau d’familiarité
suggests that I may have
inadvertently
plagiarized
myself

this old poem mine,
we certifiably have never met,
but nonesuch a hail fellow met,
that upon our (re?) acquaintance,
the heavens marked the occasion with
hail and neither of us deemed it strange

so we well recall our ancestor’s words

”there is nothing new under the sun”

adding our brand new imprimatur
”not even June or the Moon or other iconic loons”

we may have borrowed from the insights,
recollecting what happened to us when separated at birth,
envisioning like the prophets of yore what was implanted
long before  we remembered it well
upon its birthday

our intertwined twinning
fate befallen*

   postscript

quaking heart, trembling pointer
dawning and dying
simultaneous

neither tissue, cell, molecule,
i am but a composite of
letters, alpha bits and bets,
recirculated songs and tunes born
like me,
compromised, bridged,
newly un and recovered,
lengthy and unabridged,
my appearance faulty,
my eyes ****** ruddy and red,
my fingered tips blend and bleed
words acquired, words invented,
marching before me,
old lands recaptured,
new ones set free

take and give -
there’s no difference -
intimation, initiation,
all
bring me home
to where my boundaries begin


<•>

this one, for the ladies who loved its
predecessor

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2367267/the-temple-of-you/
pcbzzzt Sep 2010
Accepting the truth might cost your physical life

and if it doesn't, you might soon wish it had

by the time it's done with your wife

my daughters don't talk to me

they think I'm bad

now I'm free

*

that hurts a lot

but not nearly as much

as would the pain of their lot

when the dead in Y'shua are raised

for I live not the lie that ignores nonesuch

just to gain mammon and eyes that are glazed
MV Blake Feb 2015
Eye
There’s a guy I know
Who’s into spirits,
And not the liquid kind.
He stares sidelong at the world,
Twists his head from side to side.
Imagine what he might find.

Vampires drink wine in Soho,
Sipping from fluted necks
In late night **** stores.
Werewolves run Hyde park ragged,
Robed in riches turned to rags,
If only in the lunar mind.

Police pigs snuffling
Through street trash,
Hunting for him shaped treats.
Televisions watching
His living room and recording
Names and faces of all his kind.

The media he scorns,
Puppet masters pulling strings
For their puppet masters.
The government and the media
Are in it together he opines,
Waving a rag with that in mind.

Aliens control the government,
Sinking sinuous senses
Through simian skulls;
Prodding, poking, pulling
Political factions to provoke
A return of the fleet they left behind.

Codes in hoods hide in churches,
Linking mathematical shapes
To chain centuries of history;
Statues wink and leer at
Myopic armchair men and women
Hunting for the doom of mankind.

Millions of rubes bought over
Shop counters using nonesuch
To sell their souls for trinkets;
Illuminati design adverts,
Flashing commercials;
****** for the public in mind.

Big name pharmaceutical
Selling death at a point
For the sake of profit over parent;
Buying stats to lie to the mass,
Doctors demanding dummies
Despite the way the stars aligned.

Taken for a ride,
We queue with tickets in hand
Waiting for our turn on the rails.

Lie on lie on lie.

He sleeps with one eye on the sky.

Tracking cameras on a road sign.

This guy I know,
He thinks too much.
I don’t mind.
SB Stokes Jun 2015
to the tune of guitars, mandolins,
bagpipes, cheap coke & hairspray
Freighters crest the punk-washed waves
the sun shines out
unaware and uncaring
Our tiny animal foibles
behemoth sub-audible
military choppers
chop the air
The air, no offense, much better
on it's own
sans commentary or guitar-fueled breaks
the promise of returning surf
silent acceptance by rock and sand
Again and again, we return
and it returns to greet anew the day
again the sun and
more importantly, the moon

And here, right here I am
phone calls and photographs be ******
to live, to breathe, and be free
this is the gift we share
the covenant we acquiesce to
life's contract:
Be here now
and then be gone
Good work done
and done again

to acknowledge human order
to rever and accept
to create, not destroy
despite what might have come before
or will come again after
Be ****** or choose not to
This is our secret
our secret treasure
kept right here
within earshot of the bored gods
spread out like bleached wood
our foibles, our suspicions,
our struggles
our gallant moments
in sunlight or in shade
we persevere and
look **** good doing it

Oh, the momentary glory
The ecstasy of our
reciting invincibility to one another
like religion or science
we accept it and trust it
and, therefore, it is true
if only for a moment

the laughter subsides
and what does it leave us?
the exhalation of waves
on shores unnamed

Things we hold so close, so near
clenched with inescapable fear
that this might suddenly end
lights out, curtain down
a dejected sigh, a knowing frown

This great place, this great land
Oh, the metal in my days
and in my hands
There was a time when
I would worry, I would fret
and wonder at what
each gesture meant
But now so much more I know
of the secret songs of our beloved coast

to think that somehow
we can digest all this
parse everything that befalls
such a joke, it is to laugh
in the shade of the cove
far from the mast
It is no joke, but more
to laugh, not to cry,
nor cower back

OOF! WHOO!
sunning & living & loving
just so
It is our way and all that we know
amid handclaps & footfalls
among cliff faces & sheer falls
we shine so solitary
& bright among the world
and its fashions

The thrill of standing so tall
against inhuman scale
its momentary humor
our highlights & travails

So much meat to manipulate
against surf & sail
from the privilege of the cove
friendship against the rocks
winds and darkness
Huddle, you beloved masses, huddle

The schooners schooning
the bay accepting
lucky our lives absorbing
the glory, yes
the glory, I said it
THE GLORY
of living today
like a grown-up
with a robot with its
hand up

Oh, the exertion
of simply being human!
Constructs of strobe lights
& nonesuch!
We claw, we dance,
we construct the armature
of the ridiculous!
We strive, we fall, we climb
imagined walls
What excellent detritus!

And now the chill descends
the shade the cove knows
only as a friend

I sit alone
construct these lines
wishing for lost loves
amid shade, sand & brine
sunken mermaids in my mind

I love the threat
they present
For me, ironically,
it's all in words
I share the secrets
that the tide keeps
in surf & loam

I look at technology
& I look away
that's how I know
I'm human
how I know
I'm not completely lost
not completely
without animal

All we can hope for
a pumpkin at sunset
& not being pathetic
with people that love us

Yes, it's a lot
good weather and foul
beacon of human remembrance
It's all we can ask for & should

(Oh, Dan Langton
how much you've simply
taught me
thru words, sure
but just as much through
sly looks & laughs

Portland you're all
houses and woods
and there's always ****
to do: so tender
to women "Beat me!
Oh Bob, beat me!")

& Motorhead prevails
on the Golden Gate coast
away from the campground
our shared & secret cove
From the book *A History of Broken Love Things*, Punk Hostage Press (2014).
mark john junor Sep 2014
summer had slipped away
but the days still had sunshine clinging to the fading trees
and 'neath one such white picket fence copper colored oak
she lay in the cool cool shade
with the magic of her momentary grace
with the delicate beauty of her face
and gave me back all my summer days
wrapped up in one of her smiles

we ran hand in hand in winter fishing town
we had been laughing sweetly over some nonesuch thing
and our joy was a beauty to behold
could have warmed the world with the love laughter shared
with the heat of the hearts beating
with the magic of her momentary grace
all the delicate and lovely beauty of her face

winters eve
found her in my arms
never could have known just what
wonderful things the world can hold
till you find yourself in the gift of loves tender kiss
could have warmed the world
with all i found in her tender eyes
we made our way back to our white picket fence oak
now bare with winters hand
stood neath her spread branches
kissing in the moonlight
her momentary grace
and all her sweet beautiful face
could warm the world with her heart
even on winters eve
(for my friend Kara, whom could warm the world)
zaineb nabi Mar 2016
And after a daily cry
She gets her tears to dry
Looks upon the sky
There's no body near buy
But somehow she ain't depressed
Forgotten all that got her stressed
All the good she've ever messed
All the cruels she never blessed
You can call her ******.. Somehow she is
Mystirious wierd, sounds more like a taugh quiz
But she's healing now
Isn't that all that matters?
Don't look at her with eyes of a scared cow
She's fine as long as her heart still batters
When somebody's been through much
And has been seeking for a soft touch
When his scars were nonesuch
And he felt chained in a rabbit hutch
She ain't Alice in wonderland
Her problems never seemed to end
And no she ain't snow-white
Her problems were bigger than an apple bite
Bulshit, apple don't cause any late blight
Give me an apple and i'll be all right
This ain't a disney movie
Cause life ain't that groovy
She was slowly distroying herself
And none could stop her
She felt like falling off an ice shelf
No objection, no demur
In her mind she had a voice, it always speak
It repeats to her the same line, How does it feel to be such a freak?
Which remains her of few attacks
Of pervs who looked more like lumberjacks
She throws memories away
It's a word she often say
Now it's time for her to obey
The journey of feeling better starts from today
Then she turns to a side of her room
As she cleans her cigarette fume
She turns back grabbing a bone
Saying to it: here's your throat back, thanks for the loan
She leaves her bed to lay on the ground
Wishing if there was a law against pain coming back around
Than there's a laughter coming out of her smothered throat
She left her demons sleepping In the long black coat
She's free
With no trustee
In her bed she nestle
Whoever said she cannot be queen bee.
May 27th 2014
Nova Scorman Oct 2014
I weep, I  burn, I desire, I perish,
much to liars' betrayers' and deceivers' cherish.
Oh I ask, with what face shall you face the purity?
with what heart will you feel the love?
your ersatz eyes cannot see the truth,
see how they failed you? See how you have failed you.
My kindness, affection bear fruits nonesuch,
which neither Adam nor Eve can touch
let alone the abomination in the name of men.
but they won't chortle or smirk, for
Like the phoenix, I shall fall only to rise...
against lows and highs into the sky.
Though some has been lost, much abides
life is a gift, and I tell no lies.
And when I die I pray this be told,
here beneath lies a beautiful kind soul.
juniper jones Oct 2017
They never had and I don't think they could ever again. It's not just the parts of my body that I use to tread on, to continue on foot when the rest of me can't catch up. Everything has outgrown such commodities; my legs, my hands, my neck and head. I got taller with a straighter back and a chin raised high to show that no fear runs through these thriving veins - a fear that is nonesuch to the person that rises with the waves of orange and pink, that pour onto the wide unknown above but is restless when the night spills black ink with specks of white. The clothes on my back have ripped at the seams with a tear so loud and big, the hands that once cared couldn't sew it back together. The silver needle with the sharp tip, pricked at their hungry, outstretched hands saying, "Don't touch because the wounds you left are deep enough". This head so full yet so empty. These old shoes don't fit like they used to because they have been tugged on, the heels crushed by another, and their once tied laces frayed with the tip split open like a mouth with no tongue.

I cannot give you more when I have nothing of my worth that I want to lose.
you're a lot stronger than you believe.
zaineb nabi Jul 2014
I think i am in love seriously this time

But this kind of love feels more like a crime

The guy i'm falling for is ages older than me

But he made me discover a part of me i could never see

He saw good in me when i hated myself

He could warm back my heart after it became colder than an iceshelf

He could make me laugh after cyring and sinking in tears

He could make me feel secure and errases all my fears

I keep wondering if this is ok

I'm falling in love for the sweet he always say

I'm anxious of what we're going to be

Is this a lasting treasure or would it become a history

The time i see his face i feel like falling on my knee

Like if i'm locked in emptiness and he has my heart key

I've never thought i'd fall this way

I have no idea if it's even ok

Calling him a guy is even more weird

He's a full man with strong arms and **** beard

His arms ... Oh when he holds me tie

I swear, my whole world freezes and all my tears go dry

Nothing but spending time with him ever makes me feel this well

No matter where we go, we'd be just fine even in hell

Over the sins me've made so far

In the middle of darkness, he's my shining star

And i keep wondering weither i go for it or not

In both sides it'd feel like if my heart got shot

Either be happy for being with him but worried of the finish line

Or be crying for leaving him and healing emptiness with a glass of whine

The strong emotions filling my heart are nonesuch

And i've never hated my self for my age that much.
zainebnabi.over-blog.com
zaineb nabi Mar 2016
I think i am in love seriously this time

But this kind of love feels more like a crime

The guy i'm falling for is ages older than me

But he made me discover a part of me i could never see

He saw good in me when i hated myself

He could warm back my heart after it became colder than an iceshelf

He could make me laugh after cyring and sinking in tears

He could make me feel secure and errases all my fears

I keep wondering if this is ok

I'm falling in love for the sweet he always say

I'm anxious of what we're going to be

Is this a lasting treasure or would it become a history

The time i see his face i feel like falling on my knee

Like if i'm locked in emptiness and he has my heart key

I've never thought i'd fall this way

I have no idea if it's even ok

Calling him a guy is even more weird

He's a full man with strong arms and **** beard

His arms ... Oh when he holds me tie

I swear, my whole world freezes and all my tears go dry

Nothing but spending time with him ever makes me feel this well

No matter where we go, we'd be just fine even in hell

Over the sins e've made so far

In the middle of darkness, he's my shining star

And i keep wondering weither i go for it or not

In both sides it'd feel like if my heart got shot

Either be happy for being with him but worried of the finish line

Or be crying for leaving him and healing emptiness with a glass of wine

The strong emotions filling my heart are nonesuch

And i've never hated my self for my age that much.
July 29th 2014
Colm Feb 2019
A Tolstory was never for me
Nor an ounce of Frost on my fingertips found
In the complexities of Estlin’s dreams, I am
Not a man without my own Wit
Or Dunbarred from uncaging this, my own sound
Only to be let loose in a Field of youthful green
No I am nonesuch of these or be Twain
I am a storm to be you see
And here I've just been Dickinson around
Think less man, lessman

And Jane Austen won't write me back
Daniel Mar 2018
Each day in cotton gloves, the artist works
Perfecting gorgeous flowers made of silk
Harmoniously hued and ever perked
Eternal, unlike fresh ones of their ilk
Meandering back home 'midst evening gloom
Encounters in a sad neglected park
Retiring, non-attention seeking bloom
And feels a stirring of compassion spark
Let's drop her wooly mitt and stoops to touch

Beneath the leaves, dropped petals slowly fade
Lamenting tarnished loveliness nonesuch
Obliquely for a moment two lives braid
Offhand there is no purpose for a glove
Mortality is tantamount to love.
Trying Acrostic Sonnet for awhile. Enjoy!
Ryan Joseph Aug 2018
After how many years I've been trying,
I'm still here standing and fighting,
And when I'm seeing you clearly,
It makes my heart thump vividly.

Also, my ambition and inspiration in life,
Is to love and adore you but not in strife,
But in a serious and thorough way,
Like there's no tomorrow and yesterday.


Even though you don't love and care me much,
I will still attempt to be the one and be a nonesuch,
The one who will calm you and cherish,
And will never ever relinquish.
Stíofáinín Jan 2018
Gentle tidings cross the trail and sail and weep for human touch
celestial signals, nonesuch
Rings in ivory and black and cold
It's sound contained the lies we were told
Staid mediums that move within
Majestic undercurrents will begin
contrived requeium, your truths are vast
Returning loss in a committal mass
James Nov 2018
Born, I wasn't made for the riches,
They've forgotten my mother's stitches.
Borne to a home built by exiguity,
Hope to stay in for a brevity.
At a loss of hope I pondered:
What much is there to live for, I wondered.
But vengeance gathers in a bunch,
So I opened every door of ****** nonesuch.
Crawled in and sat in their hole,
Only to be withered away like a crooked soul.
Into the air I streamed,
Up into the atmosphere it seemed.
Farther from home,
I drift into a black roam.
Spacious enough to be alone,
I have found my tone.
I've finally known myself,
To fit perfectly in this akward shelf.
I was a misfit,
Too ignorant too quit it.
Played like a puppet,
By the wealthy culprit.
Justice is my unruly mission,
And they'll take watch of my disturbed exhibition.
I stumbled upon this bit, written by me years ago when I first started writing poetry. It's filled with a a bunch of nonsense that I wrote when feeling whatever emotion I felt at the time. Despite the middling quality, I thought it would be amusing to share whatever teenage, emotional frustration I had undergone.
Third Eye Candy Mar 2020
that ad on my porch is like smoke preaching fire to an ice cube.
got me hot, ironically; all of me purging a T.V. Dinner.
some of my best jokes are Friends.
but nothing sells *** like a useless needful thing
on a loop.
I Can’t Believe It’s Not Marginal!
we’re all in,
barking mad at the cathedrals
of our perpetual sieves…
sifting through giants as granular
as a perpetual
Scheme.
the bees keep dying,
but we’re selling Biaural speech.-
to a hivemind. squandering the verity of a reason
buy shilling the dream of a better Whatnot
to not have a Nonesuch
in the bargain
of our
Stupidity
versus
the entire peach
of our wanting.
stone pit gleaming
like a Disco Ball
At the heart of a Lie
for a Human.
as gullible as
Alive.
SassyJ Jul 2020
The dragon is gone
swayed by the winds of destiny
to an abyss of dead misery
where tears are crowned

The saints became liars
innocently victimized in lies
adorned, crowned, adored
where the line stay drawn

The moon wades in wonder
sat in it's shaped crescent
lent with wings that fly
gliding, sliding, finding a way

The sun rays radiates a smile
a warmth to the dead nonesuch
through the tunnels of the untaught
a slithering sheltered sacrifice
Elsie Greek Feb 2020
My mind is stolen
and hours are seconds,
I dream the dreams
My loose taste never been kept in..

The places you come into,
The doors open so wide,
When your mind is littlest
You can possibly hide.

I cherish you,
You come along,
I tame the beast,
It becomes my own.

And never gone,
We forever be gone.
Who knows, this time
My mind is not stolen.

To my mind that is stolen,
I'm writing these letters.
I seek forgiving
And hope for the better.

Listen to the silence,
It pleads we be all still,
But how desperate time is
To bare its negligence.

At least we all know it,
For we take in too much
Of time all us owing,
To us is nonesuch.

Well, my mind is taken,
Were it ever complete,
I would give it a row,
I would pin its wild limbs.

Though I cherish you,
I know you are not mine.
I dive into your waters
And stroll over for miles.

— The End —