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If yet I have not all thy love,
Dear, I shall never have it all;
I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,
Nor can intreat one other tear to fall;
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee--
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters--I have spent.
Yet no more can be due to me,
Than at the bargain made was meant;
That some to me, some should to others fall,
Dear, I shall never have thee all.

Or if then thou gavest me all,
All was but all, which thou hadst then;
But if in thy heart, since, there be or shall
New love created be, by other men,
Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,
In sighs, in oaths, and letters, outbid me,
For this love was not vow'd by thee.
And yet it was, thy gift being general;
The ground, thy heart, is mine; whatever shall
Grow there, dear, I should have it all.

Yet I would not have all yet,
He that hath all can have no more;
And since my love doth every day admit
New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;
Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,
If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it;
Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,
It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it;
But we will have a way more liberal,
Than changing hearts, to join them; so we shall
Be one, and one another's all.
If yet I have not all thy love,
     Dear, I shall never have it all;
     I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,
     Nor can intreat one other tear to fall;
     And all my treasure, which should purchase thee--
     Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters--I have spent.
     Yet no more can be due to me,
     Than at the bargain made was meant;
     If then thy gift of love were partial,
   That some to me, some should to others fall,
       Dear, I shall never have thee all.

   Or if then thou gavest me all,
   All was but all, which thou hadst then;
   But if in thy heart, since, there be or shall
   New love created be, by other men,
   Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,
   In sighs, in oaths, and letters, outbid me,
   This new love may beget new fears,
   For this love was not vow'd by thee.
   And yet it was, thy gift being general;
   The ground, thy heart, is mine; whatever shall
       Grow there, dear, I should have it all.

   Yet I would not have all yet,
   He that hath all can have no more;
   And since my love doth every day admit
   New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;
   Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,
   If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it;
   Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,
   It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it;
   But we will have a way more liberal,
   Than changing hearts, to join them; so we shall
       Be one, and one another's all.
MV Blake Apr 2015
There’s this tree over there
Blowing leaves in the air
And it’s roots go far underground.
Those apples so ripe,
Hold the answer to life,
They just need to bite if they dare.

So monkey one said to monkey two
Do as I say and watch as I do,
And climbed high up the tree,
Where the sky was so bright
Before God’s endless night,
And brought down an apple or two.

With a wink and a grin
He bit down in sin,
Then sat down and thought for a bit.
Monkey two did the same
And in a moment she came
As his knowledge washed down her chin.

They danced under the tree,
Unfettered and free,
And played until day turned to night.
As the sun went down low
Monkey one went to sow
His oats in the beautiful eve.

Nine months flew on by
And the monkeys did try
To build a home under the tree.
The first was born able
And they dressed him in sable
But the other used a cane to get by.

Now night came on fast,
And the monkeys at last
Left from under the care of the tree.
They walked far and wide
With nothing to hide,
No fear of a terrible past.

But then God knew their route
And remembered His fruit
That He grew from a seed on the branch.
So He sent them a curse,
With some words in verse,
That he knew that they could not refute.

Now the monkeys grew tall
And swung from trees not at all,
As they played in the ever-tall grass.
But wherever they went
God’s curse that He sent
Would follow them all to their fall.

The knowledge they gained
Was cursed to be blamed
On the wonder of God up above.
So all that they did
Was always outbid
By God and all He proclaimed.
This is my first deliberate attempt at an anti-limerick in sextet form, which subverts the traditional structure of AABBA by inserting a third line to make AABCCA with no set meter, or at least not intentionally.  I’m still learning form so apologies to purists out there.
A L Davies Nov 2011
a few weeks back i
   opened my big
                              fat mouth
& agreed to bartend
this art auction fundraiser for
street children in
         kenya
which my parents organize
         yearly
to which a lotta local artists
big & small all
donate pieces to.

anyway my pops wouldn't
let me serve gin with tonic (this being a front so
i could drink it all of course, if y'know me at all..)

and bought bud light (horsepiss)
and for wine used several
bottles of the stuff my
mother makes
                          in town
                          at the Penetang Wine Cellar
which, though rich & darkly red
is over-dry and smacks of vinegar,
be assured.

so despite see-sawing between
indignant "No's"
&
commiserative "Yes'ses"
(i mean who else are they gonna get??)
(---and due in part to
my lack of success in
making other plans)
i end up doing it &
having an alright time
in the process ...

(hey i had a big sink fulla icy beers &
'probly drank more than anyone
else save my father's friend Ted!!)
---i even threw down
a bit o cash on a pretty neat little
abstract called "view to the bay"
but got outbid,
---as if i needed to drop $100 +
on some painting
when i should be saving ev'ry dime
for old España
in the new year.
so i crack another beer and
live vicariously thru my mother
when she picks up a oil of this island
with big storm & clouds comin' in
---and then outta nowhere it actually is me
that closes out the show by outbidding
a neighbour for a
photograph of some dingy toronto night
(buildings under construction)
and then go back to pouring more wine
& smiling & shaking (wringing) a few hands.
seven beers deep poetry
Dark n Beautiful Jan 2017
What happened last Monday morning?
I woke up in my body and it wasn’t that body anymore:
Throughout my body I felt sharp pain
Followed by an added plus of lightheadedness
So I kept asking myself some questions,
What can the matter be?

The devil can be a liar sometimes,
I took a long look at my lifeline in the palm of my hands
It reads a long life ahead of me,
but somehow the most crucial pain
Was trying to outbid me: 

 As I lay there on the gurney
I thought about some cow’s heel soup with pumpkin,
Dumplings with the carrots simmering on top
The thought of food when you are feeling sick is unreal
But only a poet would have:
he thinks, he creates an illusion for a solution

That was last week today
I am having a bowl of delicious cow’s heel soup
Loaded with carrots and corn dumplings
To ease uneasiness:
I shall follow up with the doses of ranitidine
To complete this poignant write
Wuji Seshat Oct 2014
If yet I have not all thy love
For loving is never enough
I must do more than pray
Both increased by gratitude

And the desire to love more
If yet I have not all thy love
I thought, dream it, enjoy it
I cannot deny, I share it

Fiercely and without restraint
If yet I have not all they love
I who am so little wise, so humble
So simple, deare perhaps I

Shall never have thee all
My stature was made small by
Nature, my wit outbid by
More generous fates, my time

More short and partial to trials
If yet I have not all they love
Be it said that love’s riddles were
Unpublishable to me, triumphs

As if out of reach, treasures
Undeserved, comforts unmet
If yet I have not all they love
Do not bargain but say farewell

Deare, well I know, I shall never
Have all of thee, never know thy
Full heart, love doth every day admit
The worthy choice of my lost destiny.
ConnectHook Apr 2023
Zhey is to Them as Zhee is to It...
The argument: God got it wrong.
Your singular identikit:
A plural and psychotic song
The selfish language of the young:
Confusion -- that’s your mother tongue.

The pronoun wars have lost the day.
We shall not call you what you wish,
Nor let you serve yourself this way
From your strange cracked and leaking dish.
Freshmen claim to be dysphoric,
Acting merely sophomoric.

We get it. You’re a special kid.
You came, confused, from mama’s womb
With daddy’s chromosomes outbid
By better buyers, we assume.
Have your tantrum—we won’t take it.
Girls are girls and boys can’t fake it.

Regardless how you cut and paste
Or wax autistic at your foes . . .
Reality can’t be defaced
And sin’s rebellion ever shows.
Your gender was confirmed at birth
When you arrived on God’s green earth.

Proud warrior of the gender war:
Change Romance languages, and ***.
Then count your chromosomes once more…
Till Y no longer follows X,
The Lord is God. That does not change
His truth has power to derange.
DYSPHORIC:
adjective; pertaining to dysphoria,
or of being in a state of dysphoria
Reimers Jul 2019
An auction was held at the gallery
Many from afar had come
He who loved the painting so dearly
Puts on his best suit and brought a large sum

For he dreamed this day to come
Finally, he and the painting can be one
Alas a person came that made him numb
Who commanded power and
money, outbid everyone

Stood there lifeless
Could not comprehend what happened
Nowhere to go, feeling hopeless
His once favorite spot now darkened

Missing is the painting he so loved
That  was taken from him in an instant
For once he never felt loved
And that dream is now very distant

Left the gallery soaked with tears
His heart has died and lost it spark
All alone with a couple of beers
Drunk and left dancing in the dark
Something I experimented along with the other 2 volumes
The gist of it being that I missed most of it, seeing that I wasn't there, do I care?
well
maybe I did but the bankers outbid me and now who can free me from this?

A kiss once or twice would be nice, but it wouldn't be fair, how could I let her share in what I don't care for
why should I put that in the mix?

If I could fix what was wrong and say so long to being broken, to being woken, tormented of mind,
I'd be inclined to sober more often than not,
I'd be happier with what I have got.

I may walk away, talk away to myself
I might fight with the demons inside
but it's true what they say,
you can run but can't hide
so I may as well stay
and to hell
with what
anyone thinks.
Brian McDonagh Apr 2018
“We’re gonna move?!” was the plot twist
In the remake comedy “Cheaper by the Dozen.”
Never would I have thought, though, that in 2007,
In the family room of 170 Wildflower Creek Drive,
My mother would propose the idea of moving
To us three children.

The idea of moving was exciting yet scary to me,
Being still under double digits in age.
The split-foyer house had always been my default refuge,
Where I always felt drawn to, if ever distant for however long.
The closet under the split-foyer stairwell, the red basement carpet,
The flowery wall paper tracing the walls of the second floor.
Knees bent on the off-white couch cushion in the family room
Spying on our front yard and the rows of houses,
Which columned to infinity from what I could see.
Friendly get-togethers, a Super Bowl XL bash, birthday parties,
The Japanese Juniper rooted towards the up-slanted corner of the black-tinted fence.
Our backyard’s deck with stairs, all that I would soon have to desert
For what seemed best at the time.
A room to myself sounded like a luxury,
But a lot of times, when things seem too good to be true in life,
I ponder if any strings are ever attached, invisibly at work.

All that we owned that had any contact with the McDonagh name,
Except for what kept the house together,
Either entered storage for an interim period of house-searching
Or tagged along to the Sun Crest apartments off Route 11-South.
I never thought I’d see our basement’s two-door, internally connected closet
Emptied and spacious enough to make circular paths in-and-out.
I remember the night that my family and I officially rode away
From the neighborhood property.
The glowing heart of the house, the foyer’s brown chandelier,
Discoed yellow-brown, unshapely-stretched reflections of light
Through the indented individual crystal-like brown glass
That cocooned the non-majestic lightbulbs inward.
As our van and family pulled away from the driveway,
Like the south pole of a magnet from the north pole,
All I had left to offer the house that provided me shelter and memories
Was a “this-isn’t-fair” glance as I leaned my head in the back seat of the van,
Resting my glasses on the backseat window as if some magnetism
Penetrated the glass to remind me that bonds, whether in science or love,
Don’t break easily.

In the summer of 2008, my family and I made the best
Out of the small apartment space,
Though thoughts of Wildflower Creek still lingered.
Many distractions befell me, however:
My 11th birthday party that July, jogging around our apartment building,
Video games, other visits with friends,
And, I cannot forget, the many houses I had to explore in the area
Before my parents settled on one and were not outbid by others.
Even though today I would not mind touring houses,
My mind was a million miles away from wanting to foot around stairs and rooms,
Even though it was necessary.

By the end of August 2008, we collectively agreed upon a house
And had many close neighbors help us move into a new familial abode.
The postal address claimed the area to be part of Kearneysville,
Though on the outskirts of Martinsburg.
This house, bricked-faced with touches of burgundy,
Was favored according to the equidistance
Regarding most of our out-of-house activities.

Assuredly enough, I have well-acquainted myself with this location by now,
My eyes always wanting to look out my bedroom window
To see the array of the day: the appearance of the outdoor skies,
The apex of the Veterans Affairs’ chapel building,
The gray fence of our posterior neighbor,
Two slender black-walnut trees intimately planted next to each other.
The Veterans Affairs facility’s bugle blows always annoyed me every 8 a.m.,
But, 10 years later, that’s the least of my troubles and I rarely hear it anymore myself.
At this point, I cannot tally all of the blessings that have entered this house
And that have come from establishing new roots under a new roof:
Two Pittsburgh Steelers Super Bowl appearances, the dawning growth of my outgoing spirit,
My theatre premiere, encountering new faces, learning how to drive in the Quad Graphics’ parking lot, taking advantage of new activities, visiting places I never thought I’d travel to,
The loss of our dog Jessie (2004-2013), the gaining of our present canine companion Bailey (b.2012), the election of Pope Francis, my first paid job, the arrival of the 2010’s;
My twelve-year Upward basketball legacy drew to a close in this Kearneysville residence (2004-2016); the historical election of President Barack Obama as the first president with African-American roots; even experiencing higher education in recent months.
This Kearneysville house has provided more than shelter; in its expansive vacuum and detailed
Indentations where potential dust may cling, this house has provided me
With the rest I need to continue life;
This house has helped me see
The profound blessing of the simple, ordinary mandatories.
In this house, I have been taught and disciplined
To implement my stewardship, to care with my own hands and being
In the hope that this dormant structure will continue to provide support
For my family circle and those to follow.
Sometimes I have been out the door so frequently
That this house has almost become less of “home.”

The impending decade-anniversary of family, house, and life
May never match a Rosary’s decade,
But both are met as devotions of resilience.
As a church official said,
“Home is a relationship more than a place.”
However, memories or relationships can take place
Under ceilings.
How much harder, as years progress,
Might it be to change my default houser?
Thankful for a place of shelter each day, whether I formally realize it or not.
Bob B Dec 2017
Five years now it's been since
A gunman stormed Sandy Hook
And killed twenty-six people there
In a cruel, heinous act that shook

The country--no, that shook the world--
And left everyone asking how
Such an event could occur.
But don't dare mention the sacred cow:

Guns in America and people who
Shouldn’t have them, and heaven forbid
That anyone bring up gun legislation.
We watch as gun lobbyists outbid

The rest of us, who sound the alarm,
Announcing a call to action, while
Legislators sit on their butts,
Afraid to act--refusing to rile

Donors, supporters, their base, and Second
Amendment fanatics, obdurate in
Their uncompromising approach to
An argument that's wearing thin.

Many people will never get over
Their indescribable loss and grief
From something that in America
Has become a recurring motif.

Twenty children and six adults
Were killed at the school. Don't forget.
And what's been done since then, despite
More shootings? Zilch, as of yet!

As we acknowledge the innocent victims
Of Sandy Hook, remember that prayers
Will not suffice as the only solution
For shootings for anybody who cares.

-by Bob B (12-14-17)
Dark n Beautiful Jul 2020
Thousands and thousand
Of people, will die this year
From the virus, and the
Streets they lived on is sadden
By the masks someone
Refuses to wear, stingless
And reckless those buggers left behind

Another apartment available,
In our city, waiting, the grass
Seem greener, politics outbid
The tik, tok creativities challenges

If we listen quietly at seven P.M.
We can hear the cry of essential workers
Crying for justice victims,
The virus is a terrorist, boomer!
Launching attack on foreign lands,

Overhead we raise our voices
And asked God, not again!
In the meantime the skies seem, clearer,
the ocean seem, cleaner, less pollutions

Every time the flowers are blooming,
it’s reminding us that a new chapter of the day was born.


The races are shading, the people is vanishing,
The birds will read them down with a song,
Why!
Nobody is allowed near the headstones
Nothing last forever: unlike the red states
Winners and loser, statues falls to the ground:

Lord Nelson they are coming for your pillar
In Bridgetown,
You must come down, it is really civil rights
suddenly, not so popular at the dinner tables
he must come down!


.


,
Mark Sep 2019
Take out the heart from all my ardent loves
And find you'd weigh as slim as did before
How add to hands what hands already gloves?
Whom holds is loved and loved as lover's lore.
Before you knew my love, my love you owned
As by the stars have mapped you always did,
And chants from Dharma have our love intoned
To speak for mine that others I outbid.
But with such chorus could you still refuse?
Then what you'd grasp does deem my loving self:
A gem with sweetest thief of idle use,
Yet lover hold my worth despite yourself:

That may my heart you'll choose as lover's choose
Yet what decides, what's yours you'll never loose.
Milan Nov 2020
It’s always the wrong one that catch my attention

The straight white ones with skin like the sandy beaches of the Amalfi Coast

I’ve give them space in my head and they live there rent free, because my mind is like a New York City apartment, it’s high in demand

The well off undeserving ones find a way in, while those with less but still worth more look on from the outside

They fill me with looks and aesthetics I crave, but it’s only infatuation and will wither in a few days

Because reality’s a ***** and she’ll come with her riches, she’ll outbid these boys and tell them to leave with well wishes
Milan Taylor Poetry

— The End —