Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dustin Dean Jul 2016
O Father
What done haveth I in acordaunce
The Maiden ress between me eyes
Lyke brimstone et a pedestal
Dreams are distracted in me lyfe
In Marigold, Mahogany, Maroon
Venus Trifecta et Holy Grail
Et is et discorse ov Destiny ov myne
So I asketh of Thyne
To wash anew me acordaunce
Exceptionly et is in tyme
Tho I kno regret may form
Et is for the greatr good
Imperative deed so tru
An may I drown not
In red temptations
Fore done me fair aims
Wyth pursuits ov sound
For promises ov gold
To replnish retribution
Ov souls unheard
I am thyr messenger
From Alpha to Omega
May no fair Maiden
Put et in her pocket
mEb Nov 2010
Divest me in lowest twang possible
You're a virus ov benevolence
Clod dockets and nightly shrivels
You're Ideology's ravaged havoc

All slates ov mind embellish at one time
Scandalmonger, a repetitive meddler
I am, you are, a beast like endeavor
Two noddy's going rabid
To divulge and disclose; we're savaged
Trek of dearth and surly in combined minds
Withered, wizened, burnished, refined.
mEb Nov 2010
Imperium stochastic place,
Much relevant ruins of here
Telpher away! provoke not thee
Gravel your verminous fears
For what not pleasant implicates,
Doubles; then impales when not seen
Bombards a sternum; which there lie *****,
Telpher away with steed!
Nicholas Mar 2015
Love smoothly soothed out;
takes cold spirit beyond the dark-cloud'
The rain comes down;
desperately falls down all ov'r the ground,
Home seems to be secured, & the heart lost in the crowd
Love on the red covered with 'caramel-paint'
The paint upon heart makes the spirit more vivid
Salacious romance reaches beyond its limit
Naked bodies upon bed...
It's probably not mimic, but the night seems rigid
Complexity of its vibes, & the brutal effect of heart - Everything so frigid
Either treat it right or treasure it lustfully wrong,
Love will never make you feel lone (not even in the morn)
Feel it inside her sighs when she touches you with a tone
A tone of her anaesthetic moan - Oh, the "Night" (turns) on
Make a best room for her in your heart not in your home
It's found in your eyes,
how you admire her beauty in ov'r the night
Simplicity with love, love for simplicity
Hungry heart unleashed to her pristine spirit
Authenticity of electrified heartbeats go turned into intensity,
& She rolls down all ov'r the bed like a phosphoresce lyric
listened to your soul whenever she visits
across the gallery of your night
to make an every phase of your life “numb” within the... a minute.
Àŧùl Nov 2019
Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To make out in seclusion
Coz no water is on the peak
Penetrated deeper inside
Stuck in captivus
Ov'r the hilltop
Into the horizon after
My HP Poem #1801
©Atul Kaushal
mEb Nov 2010
Lavished; I endow many creatures

Trenchant and keen they denude as weepers

As we are harsh while we wangle

Deviser’s enriched are all riotous tamers

Crowns en-dowering among the fittest

Bounteous of all wades in telluric mist

Unscathed by deft spry

Admitting your mordant’s are never lies
mEb Nov 2010
I want to, need to constitute
Like a maestro of an orchestra
Only with my own thoughts turning the tunes
Siloing notes and notes; bars and measure too
I'm staving for the speeches of melody; of harmony
A gathering of voilent lunk's like me
I'm not mundane enough to dower just yet
Too airy
Haven't been grounded for the right set of time
A notion I crave has to be harsh
Almost as if kicking myself thoroughly will help me succeed
It's this procrastinating nature that has to leave
I'll buy you a train ticket; just flee
Get the **** away from me,
so I can achieve
THE PROLOGUE.

The Sompnour in his stirrups high he stood,
Upon this Friar his hearte was so wood,                        furious
That like an aspen leaf he quoke* for ire:             quaked, trembled
"Lordings," quoth he, "but one thing I desire;
I you beseech, that of your courtesy,
Since ye have heard this false Friar lie,
As suffer me I may my tale tell
This Friar boasteth that he knoweth hell,
And, God it wot, that is but little wonder,
Friars and fiends be but little asunder.
For, pardie, ye have often time heard tell,
How that a friar ravish'd was to hell
In spirit ones by a visioun,
And, as an angel led him up and down,
To shew him all the paines that there were,
In all the place saw he not a frere;
Of other folk he saw enough in woe.
Unto the angel spake the friar tho;
                               then
'Now, Sir,' quoth he, 'have friars such a grace,
That none of them shall come into this place?'
'Yes' quoth the angel; 'many a millioun:'
And unto Satanas he led him down.
'And now hath Satanas,' said he, 'a tail
Broader than of a carrack is the sail.
Hold up thy tail, thou Satanas,' quoth he,
'Shew forth thine erse, and let the friar see
Where is the nest of friars in this place.'
And *less than half a furlong way of space
            immediately
Right so as bees swarmen out of a hive,
Out of the devil's erse there gan to drive
A twenty thousand friars on a rout.                       in a crowd
And throughout hell they swarmed all about,
And came again, as fast as they may gon,
And in his erse they creeped every one:
He clapt his tail again, and lay full still.
This friar, when he looked had his fill
Upon the torments of that sorry place,
His spirit God restored of his grace
Into his body again, and he awoke;
But natheless for feare yet he quoke,
So was the devil's erse aye in his mind;
That is his heritage, of very kind                by his very nature
God save you alle, save this cursed Frere;
My prologue will I end in this mannere.

Notes to the Prologue to the Sompnour's Tale

1. Carrack: A great ship of burden used by the Portuguese; the
name is from the Italian, "cargare," to load

2. In less than half a furlong way of space: immediately;
literally, in less time than it takes to walk half a furlong (110
yards).

THE TALE.

Lordings, there is in Yorkshire, as I guess,
A marshy country called Holderness,
In which there went a limitour about
To preach, and eke to beg, it is no doubt.
And so befell that on a day this frere
Had preached at a church in his mannere,
And specially, above every thing,
Excited he the people in his preaching
To trentals,  and to give, for Godde's sake,
Wherewith men mighte holy houses make,
There as divine service is honour'd,
Not there as it is wasted and devour'd,
Nor where it needeth not for to be given,
As to possessioners,  that may liven,
Thanked be God, in wealth and abundance.
"Trentals," said he, "deliver from penance
Their friendes' soules, as well old as young,
Yea, when that they be hastily y-sung, --
Not for to hold a priest jolly and gay,
He singeth not but one mass in a day.
"Deliver out," quoth he, "anon the souls.
Full hard it is, with flesh-hook or with owls                     *awls
To be y-clawed, or to burn or bake:
Now speed you hastily, for Christe's sake."
And when this friar had said all his intent,
With qui *** patre forth his way he went,
When folk in church had giv'n him what them lest;
              pleased
He went his way, no longer would he rest,
With scrip and tipped staff, *y-tucked high:
      with his robe tucked
In every house he gan to pore
and pry,                   up high* peer
And begged meal and cheese, or elles corn.
His fellow had a staff tipped with horn,
A pair of tables
all of ivory,                         writing tablets
And a pointel
y-polish'd fetisly,                  pencil *daintily
And wrote alway the names, as he stood;
Of all the folk that gave them any good,
Askaunce* that he woulde for them pray.                    see note
"Give us a bushel wheat, or malt, or rey,
                          rye
A Godde's kichel,
or a trip
of cheese,        little cake scrap
Or elles what you list, we may not chese;
                       choose
A Godde's halfpenny,  or a mass penny;
Or give us of your brawn, if ye have any;
A dagon
of your blanket, leve dame,                            remnant
Our sister dear, -- lo, here I write your name,--
Bacon or beef, or such thing as ye find."
A sturdy harlot
went them aye behind,                   manservant
That was their hoste's man, and bare a sack,
And what men gave them, laid it on his back
And when that he was out at door, anon
He *planed away
the names every one,                       rubbed out
That he before had written in his tables:
He served them with nifles* and with fables. --             silly tales

"Nay, there thou liest, thou Sompnour," quoth the Frere.
"Peace," quoth our Host, "for Christe's mother dear;
Tell forth thy tale, and spare it not at all."
"So thrive I," quoth this Sompnour, "so I shall." --

So long he went from house to house, till he
Came to a house, where he was wont to be
Refreshed more than in a hundred places
Sick lay the husband man, whose that the place is,
Bed-rid upon a couche low he lay:
"Deus hic,"* quoth he; "O Thomas friend, good day,"       God be here
Said this friar, all courteously and soft.
"Thomas," quoth he, "God yield it you, full oft       reward you for
Have I upon this bench fared full well,
Here have I eaten many a merry meal."
And from the bench he drove away the cat,
And laid adown his potent* and his hat,                       staff
And eke his scrip, and sat himself adown:
His fellow was y-walked into town
Forth with his knave,
into that hostelry                       servant
Where as he shope
him that night to lie.              shaped, purposed

"O deare master," quoth this sicke man,
"How have ye fared since that March began?
I saw you not this fortenight and more."
"God wot," quoth he, "labour'd have I full sore;
And specially for thy salvation
Have I said many a precious orison,
And for mine other friendes, God them bless.
I have this day been at your church at mess,
                      mass
And said sermon after my simple wit,
Not all after the text of Holy Writ;
For it is hard to you, as I suppose,
And therefore will I teach you aye the glose.
           gloss, comment
Glosing is a full glorious thing certain,
For letter slayeth, as we clerkes
sayn.                       scholars
There have I taught them to be charitable,
And spend their good where it is reasonable.
And there I saw our dame; where is she?"
"Yonder I trow that in the yard she be,"
Saide this man; "and she will come anon."
"Hey master, welcome be ye by Saint John,"
Saide this wife; "how fare ye heartily?"

This friar riseth up full courteously,
And her embraceth *in his armes narrow,
                        closely
And kiss'th her sweet, and chirketh as a sparrow
With his lippes: "Dame," quoth he, "right well,
As he that is your servant every deal.
                            whit
Thanked be God, that gave you soul and life,
Yet saw I not this day so fair a wife
In all the churche, God so save me,"
"Yea, God amend defaultes, Sir," quoth she;
"Algates
welcome be ye, by my fay."                             always
"Grand mercy, Dame; that have I found alway.
But of your greate goodness, by your leave,
I woulde pray you that ye not you grieve,
I will with Thomas speak *a little throw:
              a little while
These curates be so negligent and slow
To ***** tenderly a conscience.
In shrift* and preaching is my diligence                     confession
And study in Peter's wordes and in Paul's;
I walk and fishe Christian menne's souls,
To yield our Lord Jesus his proper rent;
To spread his word is alle mine intent."
"Now by your faith, O deare Sir," quoth she,
"Chide him right well, for sainte charity.
He is aye angry as is a pismire,
                                   ant
Though that he have all that he can desire,
Though I him wrie
at night, and make him warm,                   cover
And ov'r him lay my leg and eke mine arm,
He groaneth as our boar that lies in sty:
Other disport of him right none have I,
I may not please him in no manner case."
"O Thomas, *je vous dis,
Thomas, Thomas,                   I tell you
This maketh the fiend, this must be amended.     is the devil's work
Ire is a thing that high God hath defended,                  forbidden
And thereof will I speak a word or two."
"Now, master," quoth the wife, "ere that I go,
What will ye dine? I will go thereabout."
"Now, Dame," quoth he, "je vous dis sans doute,
Had I not of a capon but the liver,
And of your white bread not but a shiver,                   *thin slice
And after that a roasted pigge's head,
(But I would that for me no beast were dead,)
Then had I with you homely suffisance.
I am a man of little sustenance.
My spirit hath its fost'ring in the Bible.
My body is aye so ready and penible
                        painstaking
To wake,
that my stomach is destroy'd.                           watch
I pray you, Dame, that ye be not annoy'd,
Though I so friendly you my counsel shew;
By God, I would have told it but to few."
"Now, Sir," quoth she, "but one word ere I go;
My child is dead within these weeke's two,
Soon after that ye went out of this town."

"His death saw I by revelatioun,"
Said this friar, "at home in our dortour.
               dormitory
I dare well say, that less than half an hour
Mter his death, I saw him borne to bliss
In mine vision, so God me wiss.
                                 direct
So did our sexton, and our fermerere,
                 infirmary-keeper
That have been true friars fifty year, --
They may now, God be thanked of his love,
Make their jubilee, and walk above.
And up I rose, and all our convent eke,
With many a teare trilling on my cheek,
Withoute noise or clattering of bells,
Te Deum was our song, and nothing else,
Save that to Christ I bade an orison,
Thanking him of my revelation.
For, Sir and Dame, truste me right well,
Our orisons be more effectuel,
And more we see of Christe's secret things,
Than *borel folk,
although that they be kings.             laymen
We live in povert', and in abstinence,
And borel folk in riches and dispence
Of meat and drink, and in their foul delight.
We have this worlde's lust* all in despight
      * pleasure *contempt
Lazar and Dives lived diversely,
And diverse guerdon
hadde they thereby.                         reward
Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean,
And fat his soul, and keep his body lean
We fare as saith th' apostle; cloth
and food                  clothing
Suffice us, although they be not full good.
The cleanness and the fasting of us freres
Maketh that Christ accepteth our prayeres.
Lo, Moses forty days and forty night
Fasted, ere that the high God full of might
Spake with him in the mountain of Sinai:
With empty womb
of fasting many a day                          stomach
Received he the lawe, that was writ
With Godde's finger; and Eli, well ye wit,
                    know
In Mount Horeb, ere he had any speech
With highe God, that is our live's leech,
            *physician, healer
He fasted long, and was in contemplance.
Aaron, that had the temple in governance,
And eke the other priestes every one,
Into the temple when they shoulde gon
To praye for the people, and do service,
They woulde drinken in no manner wise
No drinke, which that might them drunken make,
But t
Samuel Apr 2013
Massive hearts gently
shading our sleep, dreams of
long afternoons cooking curry in
naked freedom, rain as a tell-tale
reminder, the flowers we bloom in
this time without time
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
i can't believe i'm giving advice...
this is not what, alexander dumas
taught me via athos...

   the best advice,
         is to not give any advice
...

but seriously...
you want to peer into devices,
whether static,
or mobile,
   and you're not wearing sunglasses?
esp. at night?

   where's your western version
of the niqab?!

    you can prop up the shady
gemini, on the tip of your nose...
so your eyes, can actually peer
into the night,
and the social lighting -
of street-lamps,
  and the stars...

but then peering into the tablet,
or a laptop screen,
you're wearing sunglasses...

unless you're like me...
perched with a folded foot,
sitting on it,
with the other dangling off
the windowsill...
   and you find yourself
catching colours in the night,
with the pair of sunglasses
having, made the slide
to the tip of your nose:
so your eyes are actually visible
to the onlooker...

    templar chants:
   mozart who?
                    beethoven who?
classic.fm will not even play
any christopher young:
so why should i even "think",
but most assuredly doubt:
that they might even entertain
the "idea" of playing
  a śpiew templariuszy?
we could debate...
whether that ought to be -
  śpiew templariuszów
            i.e. - of, the: templars...
-ów is this, kind of distinction...
     -y is... a distinction
   only encompassing
of - the given content.

both are terms: invoking the plural -
not... of a templar -
          but of templars...
****! i studied chemistry and
didn't get a job in the industry...
what, do you think,
the remnants of theory,
have remained, imprinted on me,
if i do not create an Ar to mean
argon, or Na, to mean sodium?
   cheap-**** poetics?!
   champagne, ******* literati
bozos?!
                               nein!

- but honest to god,
   if you're not wearing sunglasses,
and peering into any version
of a computer screen?
      welcome to anti-Poseidon's
eye-sight underwater,
give or take 5 to 10 years...
    a bit blurry, a bit:
"all over the place" -
        myopic... you name it...

i'd probably be allowed to peer
into the sun, with a naked eye,
and experience less
damage to eyesight,
than peering into Beelzebub's
pixel phantasmagorical circus
of what, we might call:
the alternative junkies...
                      of information...

- and how many middle aged
men, or women,
will confine themselves to read
philosophy in retirement?
        1%...
   and they'll have an audience
of one, by then...
namely their shadow...

                   "speaking" the truth...
can i just be lazy and avoid
the exercise of the tongue
within the confines of the h'american
standard, and exercise my right:
to write about it?
  by writing i mean:
a delaying tactic...
    a... filter mechanißation...
    why bother speaking -
attracting bothersome flies?
   can't people employ covert methods
of establishing "knowledge"?

     i can't even explain why
people require the right to speak so much...
i go to an Essex market,
and hear the freedom of speech
plainly...

  2 f'er 'un bunch ah bananas!
   'un pund... *** yer bunch ov bananas!


so...
    the problem being...
     how can you...
actually sell... an idea?
when the original "idea" sold...
is the tornado of the monetary,
trans-valuation of all values concept,
within the tornado,
of the use of money?

what idea is actually left, to sell?
an idea is non digestible...
   it's certainly without an implementation
parameters of a spoken of: so
of spoken, translated into an implemented
guarantee...
          voluntary ingestion...
         but crafting a monetary
spin-off of an idea...
      philosophy is not exactly
the sort of originality of a physics eureka!

whoever these modern, "philosophers"
are?  
              they, clearly claim to have
read a lot,
  but forgot to realiße that they...
  "think" like the ancient greek sophists...
    rhetoricians: who would be better
off teaching rhetoric,
rather than focusing on...
  or rather stressing...
    the ontological digestion of ideas...
which are: neither bought,
nor sold...
                  
              perhaps i've entertained,
or rather: perhaps prostitutes entertained
my presence...
     but i do know: what *******
the mind, looks like!
                 i know what the new form
of begging looks like...
      some think that prostitution is bad...
but have these same people,
ever introspected an opinion,
concerning what: ******* the mind
looks like?
    
            not really, no.
The Good Pussy Jun 2017
.
                          c
                   o    ov     o
                 v      f e       v
                f        f e         f
               e         c            e
               f        o  v         f
               e       f     e        e
               c       f     e        c
                 o      c  o        o
                  v       v        v
                       f    f      f
                            e
mEb Nov 2010
Echo's of Yul; 7,000 trenches and more
Have your winded bounds broken
Demolish in all, foil through wind
Echo's of Yul barely spoken

When struck from sky; great atmosphere gates
Product elements; no more bounds
Perish your heights from foot to wing,
And capture deserved golden crowns

While mirrors reflect grounds of soil
Soaring you will above all,
Breaking seized rules; Newton is fooled
"Echos of Yul"! he will squall
About: http://www.last.fm/music/Echoes+Of+Yul
Lydeen Dec 2019
Kissing my wrist.
1. 2. 3
times. I should

be good for
a few hours.
Then repeat again.

Stumb- stumbling stumble
over ov ov
stumbling over over

over over over
stumbling ov over
my over my

words. Every time
I try to
speak to you.

Kiss, 2, 3.
Now I won't
accidentally hurt you.

Picking at my
skin, pinching, frowning.
Cutting each and

every bite into
a perfect cube.
A PERFECT cube.

Into the car.
Kiss, kiss, kiss.
Now I won't

be in another
car accident. But!
Don't forget, don't

forget. Do it
again to be
sure. You have

to or else
you'll get hurt.
Hurt your family.

Hurt someone else's
family. Break apart
a whole life.

I can count
every single calorie
I have eaten

today without even
looking at the
label. I can

taste and tell
you which artificial
sugar is in

my energy drink.
But! I only
drink the ones

with guarana extract.
It's all natural,
so at least

kinda better, right?
FREEZE! Here comes
a new thought.

What if I
suddenly ran out
into traffic, got

hit by a car,
and traumatized someone.
Or, consider, if

I went to
a theme park,
and just jumped

out in front
of a roller
coaster, horribly traumatizing

a whole train
of children. A
huge explosion of

blood and brains.
Don't do it,
don't do it,

Don't do it,
don't, don't, don't
It's a thought.

It doesn't control
you. It doesn't.
Let it go.

Kiss kiss kiss.
Kiss, 2, 3.
Kissing my wrist.
Tag Williams Apr 2011
Walkin' talking gawking
the goats, giraffes, red panda
no **** tiger
exhibit like they promised
Alyssa in the OV
for a few days with her
Mom and Dad
My oldest Chris
and Sarah.
My grandaughter at our
first meeting
of course
adorable
even if a little frightened
of burly bear Grandpa

Cant say we bonded
but we blew kisses
and met
Aidan, Journey
and Cameryn
by strange coincidence
all my children
present at once
in our undersized home
lions, yes elephants yes
no tigers like they promised
for opening day

But bubbles
lifted by the wind to
great height
above the entrance
to pop
unceremoniously
to be noticed by only me
and Alyssa
at the zoo
ruby stains Feb 2015
i like the typ<e tha?t's
dif}feren\t th=an
me in every way and
fo ^rm * (it'll h_]urt
le.ss if th-ey hu"rt me
'cause:: i know *if that
were m'e//, i neve:/r w
ould'a done it) ,


i like the type that'll
always make me la
ug
h ev%en whe^n i can't
bre##athe (even though
it'd bu
rn and const
rict,
that, right the+re, wo[u
ld be h ea v)en).

i like the type that won't ob
s
e_ss over me as i obs@ess
ov$er the m;(wouldn't wann
a put 'em throu
gh that kin*da
m is e r      ,y.)
this is getting worse.
(honestly i wanted to make this sweet, but it just never happened)
st64 Apr 2013
Stitches ov pain and ......lines to hell


1.
(Come, Yves...please, let's go....he's a megalo )
(Don't worry, it's ok...soon)

Jacques pulls us another line
Makes criss-cross stitches on Lisa's eye
While she screams atop her lungs
Yet invites us to share  ......that line.

Yves eyes it while I dress
Jacques tries to stop me, I ignore
I put on this, I put on that
While he stares, moody and Yves is ******.

(Yves, PLEASE let's go, I don't feel right)
(Relax, man....we will go soon...we got us a line...)


2.
Poor Lisa tries to sneak out, but trips and falls
Not escaping Jacques' eye
He glints and rises, while Yves apprises
We see not her fate but hear her screams.

I think I've had more than enough
What'll happen when he returns?
Jacques is demented, our moves'll be cemented
If we accept this one line...to hell!

(Yves, please....something's not right....)
(Heeeey...?? Come sssit, mannnn.....aaahhhh...)

I care not for that line.....

[slipping in and out, in and out.....so many passages here, like a maze in a   forest.....a headless run, this mare.......to seek me out, seek me out......try to hide behind the shadows in the walls and climb into the ghosts of battered souls....find little respite ......]


3.
:(After raids, Yves' body is found.....in a closet next day....and......
A gruesome ending for.....a line):

Stitches ov pain and lines...to hell.

(Pourquoi t'as pas ecoute, mon cher......)



4.
You stayed behind, while I fled on blind eye
Why couldn't you just resist that one last line?
The one that caused us all so much pain
That one, ****** line....straight to hell!



S T, 07 April 2013
Cauchemar galore!

:(

Garish nightmare, indeed!

Clear the lines, blow pain away....then see clearly
For the first time.....in a long time.
Clear that fatal line!


Pax vita

We CAN have peace in life!
Believe it.

:)
Benedetto sia'l giorno e'l mese e l'anno
e la stagione e'l tempo e l'ora e'l punto
e'l bel paese e'l loco ov'io fui giunto
da'duo begli occhi che legato m'ànno;

E benedetto il primo dolce affanno
ch'ì ebbi ad esser con Amor congiunto,
e l'arco e le saette ond'ì fui punto,
e le piaghe che'nfin al cor mi vanno.

Benedette le voci tante ch'io
chiamando il nome de mia donna ò sparte,
e i sospiri e le lagrime e'l desio;

e benedette sian tutte le carte
ov'io fama l'acquisto, e'l pensier mio,
ch'è sol di lei; si ch'altra non v'à parte.
Fegger May 2010
The lantern sways, as shadows flash,
Mists draped in night so still;
Illuminating fleshless arms,
Creep-out along this hill.
Such guardians of soul-less mounds,
Wooden markers of the poor,
Bow in hallowed reverence
As sentries evermore.

Weeping, yet un-frightened,
She trips between each aisle;
Casting light against each stone,
Acknowledge each beguiled.
Then memory finds her grasping,
And clenching cold, damp stone
Denoting ‘neath a vacant plot,
For he never did come home.

‘Pon scattered grass and gravelly dirt;
Drops to reverent knee,
While fanning simple pleats about,
Her dress, in modesty.
She twists the **** and raises wick;
And it curls with cloak of flame.
She whets her lips, inhaling deep,
Then summons ‘pon his name:

“Bartholomew,  Bartholomew,
Can you see that I ‘ave come?
Are you near, me sweetest husband?
‘Tis I, your Mary Dunn!
I had me thoughts to come t’night,
To ‘ave a word with you,
That’s pressin’ on me heart so fierce,
Ya’ ‘round Bartholomew?
Aye, that’d be just like ye some,
To wait fer me confess;
A’twisten’ in me awkward words,
No salve fer me distress!
Yet I—I need t’hear yer voice
An’ calmin’ words to heal,
The anxious quiver, here, inside,
A’longin’ to reveal.”

The widow paused, collecting will,
And questioned own intent;
To cast a net to spirit’s world,
To herald self- repent.
She wrings her fingers nervously,
While waiting ‘pon the dead;
When suddenly a breeze did rise,
Then a hand upon her head.

“Mary Dunn, me Mary Dunn,
‘Ave not better things to do;
Than wander ‘bout such crypts at night,
A’hovered by the moon?
What keeps y’here in dank an cold,
So callin’ out fer me?
Ye know fer fact I’m dead by now,
An rottin’ in the sea!”

“It’s good to see ya’ too, my love;
Better then, to hear;
That death din’t take away that tongue,
Or how ye prone t’snear.
I ‘spected that I’d smell ya’ first,
That rancid scent of whale;
Yer eyes were once quite darker,
Yer skin not quite so pale”.

The spirit corpse then spun about,
Examined high and low,
The fiery bride he’d left behind,
With heart so still aglow.
Warmed by her excited eyes,
And cheeks so pink with life;
He felt a distance aching,
Longing for this wife.

“Ye got a bit of lonely, Mary,
That why ye come tonight;
‘Spectin’ glimpse ‘ov me, like this
‘Wud turn ya’ heart to right?
Sensible is how ye was,
Yet be scurryin’ to find,
Such wisdom in yer harkin’,
To terms ye felt unkind.”

“Stop with ya’!  Stop with ya’!
Ya’ stubborn, briney goat!
T’wasn’t me who boarded ship
An’ failed to keep afloat!
Aye, the heaven hasn’t tempered,
The iron in yer will.
Judge me not Bartholomew,
One, amongst the krill!”

The bearded ghost then chuckled,
‘Til tears came to his eyes.
Proud he was to have such time,
To spend with feisty bride.
He then retreats in silence,
As he gleans from her distress,
That she torments with a secret,
To him, she must confess.

“"Bartholomew, me love,"
she embarks to make her plea,
"Ye left me young an' fruitful still,
yet no child ‘pon me knee.
I'm not as sturdy as y'think,
An' tremble at the thought;
deprived I am of husbandry,
my womb be saved fer naught."
Without ye then, I’ll ‘ave no spring,
No child to remind,
Of splendid days, brighter sun,
Me husband now divine.
I’m askin’ yer forgiveness,
And yer permit to pursue,
The kindly callers come to me,
In absence then, of you.”

“Yer speakin’ of the cooper, Tim,
Or Drew, the smithies’ hand?
Aye, better off with men who keep,
Their feet upon the land!
But Tim, I’m sadly knowin’ that,
His time is comin’ due;
An’ if a child be yer design,
There ‘ain’t no seeds in Drew.
I’ll not be one to keep ya’,
To an empty marriage bed.
Lord knows ye d’serve a finer life,
Than keepin’ with the dead.
But ev’rythin’ that’s in me,
Needs ye hurt no more.
Death ‘as grant me favored eyes,
I ‘adn’t known before.
I’ll come ‘ere, e’vry night,
An’ visit, yer desire.
Honest, I will always be,
Tendin’ yer require.
Love ‘been mine for days of flesh,
Then, for eternity.
Go then now, me Mary Dunn,
An’ make a life for thee.”

With courage she did leave that night,
With freedom then realized,
To pair with then, another mate,
Forsaking former ties.
Yet, on the night that followed,
And for thousands after, too,
She chose the comp’ny of the ghost,
Her lost Bartholomew.

Each night she braved nature’s serve,
Through rain, or cold, or sleet;
Imbibing ‘pon such moment’s time,
To feed on love so sweet.
Each minute spent, Bartholomew,
Rejoiced in hardships, laughter;
And only God and Time will know,
Such treasures in hereafter.

One night, amidst November freeze,
Mary staggered there,
Among the stones akin to home,
With her husband shared;
Lungs revolting, gurgling swell,
Mouth of staining red;
Contrasting earthly suffering,
Found solace ‘mongst the dead.
Fevered to delirium,
Wet, silver-tainted hair,
She settles ‘side familiar post
And finds him waiting there.
Struggles so to form a breath,
In hopes that she may speak,
Surrendering the day’s accounts;
But fears she is too weak.

“Aye, ‘tis time, me Mary Dunn,
A’time that ye come home.
Beyond this night, forevermore,
Y’ll nev’r be alone.
I wish that I could reach ya’ now,
An pull ya’ ‘cross the veil
That’s kept us ‘part these many years,
In spite of what’s prevailed.”

“So ‘lighten me, me whaler man,”
She coughed a pale reply.
“Why’d ya’ choose to lie to me,
To keep me as yo’r bride?
The cooper, he outlived us both,
Eight children sprung from Drew;
Ye lied to me for all these years,
What say, Bartholomew?”

“I feared me own accord, me lass,
From terms set forth above;
Ye cannot cross to waitin’ arms,
Unless ye go with love.
An’ I, but one love known to life,
This chance then rest with you
To be me escort to the Lord,
This, I say is true.
Should ye have taken ‘nother man,
I feared that ye’d be his;
An’ ye’d be taken up with him,
While I’d be left like this;
A-hoverin’ in between such space,
An’ time, by lonesome self;
While pinin’ for me heart of life,
Me Mary, ‘n no one else.”

“Aye, such flat’ry from  des’prate ghost;
It was my life ye know;
I seen ya’ for deceiver,
So many years ago.
But I choose’d to keep me vows to you,
‘Til heaven takes me in;
An’ if I granted sim’lar choice,
I’d choose the same a’gin’.

I’m dying love, I feel it now,
Me spirit needs to leave;
This body sez it’s had enough,
Me time is done, indeed.”
“Lay down, me lass, breath peace,
Lay down ‘n be there, still;
Our fate, as love, ‘pears destiny,
As both our lungs were filled.”

Mary Dunn surrendered then,
To callings of her spirit;
With forever longing arms of his,
She had no cause to fear it.
United once again, at last,
Of faith and love of few,
She crossed into Eternity,
With her love, Bartholomew!
As this represents a needed edit, I'd like to extend my gratitude to Drew for precise observation, critique/guidance and to my dear poet friend, Ron Gardner,  who donated several verses to this piece that were clearly more appropriate than what I had penned originally.  Thanks, so much, gentlemen!!!

If you are reading this, you did me a great favor of time...thanks.  

Fegger, 2010
Israel Baker Apr 2016
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.
But I'm serious, so very serious.
I wish you could hear me.
I am happy though, so lavishly gay and bright.
I wish I knew what it was like so I wouldn't....
I want people to trust me. I don't want people to fear me, to see the disgust that I am, I want them to see innocence, and girlishness and and see me as relatable. I WILL NOT JUDGE YOU! I WILL NOT! I love hearing about you and your struggles, about your sorrows, and I can understand it, because I can feel just like you can feel and I love to feel what you are feeling for that is my only feeling.

I try to justify everything. If I do something I can't explain, or say something I might not like, or think that a person might not like it, I try to justify it with some kind of reasoning. Such as, "It's poetic" or "sounds pretty" or "be worth is someday."

I just want to be understood, and I want to understand you. Can you not hear the gentle bass of the Milky Way galaxy, slowly turning, and us, a virus, an atom, a quantum, a tinny tinny thing doing silly boring things like brushing our teeth, walking, reading, writing, doing things we don't understand, doing things we can't understand, being in love, being out of it, eating candy, having ***, giving ***, doing homework, cleaning, worrying, eating more candy, drawing pictures, thinking, holding, creating, destroying, recycling, creating destroying, recycling, creating, destroying, recycling, can we do nothing else?

Turn, world, turn, sun, around in a slow beautiful bbbbbmmmmmm....
you are so beautiful!
Hands that know what to do,
feet that say things and tell you that life is precious and nothing is funny. Beautiful!
Life is so serious. We do things that are VAIN. To be vain means to do things which have no good purpose. We wash things so they are clean only to make them ***** again.

A man will, in winter, put his heavy coat on, zip up the zipper, pick up a hat and smooth it on to his head across his hair, then, take his left glove and put it on his left hand and take his right glove and put it on his right hand, put his left sock on his left foot, then put his right sock on his right foot, next he puts his left boot on his left foot and puts his right boot on his right foot, he reaches over and tightens the laces of the left boot then makes an "X" with the laces and puts the end of the right most facing lace under the left most and sticks it through the hole and pulls them tight to create a knot, next he creates a long ear-shape like that of a bunny using the right lace and wraps the left lace around counter-clockwise, next he sticks the sideways left lace through the passage that was created by looping the lace around, creating another ear, then he tightens both ears, he makes another "X" with the ears and loops the right most ear under and trough the hole, then tightens them by a process called "double knotting." He then takes this process of double knotting and applies it to his right boot. He stands up and goes to the front door, walks down the driveway and goes into his heated van so he can drive to his temperature controlled desk job. We are creatures of habit. We do the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and ov.......&...^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&...

I'm tryin' to teach a chair how to walk,
they have legs, but they just can't use 'em.
I just want to
    be m  i  s         s  e   d.
I just want to  
be    l  ov     e  d.
I just want to
        be with y               ou
w he n I fe  el a      lone.
Indonesia, 8th February 2023
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
Nicholas Oct 2014
Deep within my soul, there's allot of flattered beats
that longing to hear your sound
Look at into my eyes...
My heart won't pin you down

Even the sky wants you to be with me on the sun
We blaze the flames to get burnt
Your love a drink...
drifting throughout the body like “current”

My love craving for the warmth of your sigh
Your moan gives an honor to moon
Look ov'r the wickedness of my shimmering night
The love ‘Red’ but the heart loves the color you wear...  ‘Maroon’.
It`s been a while I didn`t post anything new.. so, here I go ;)
Her impression of love
was nothing but...
A bar less prison
Sad!
She had a hateful
Perception ov love
A dead fateful lie
Cold as a sarcophagus...

How wrong she was
To think *** was love
And love was ***...
My ex...

Her mother would die for her
But she had never
Laid her down
On a bed of pleasures of the flesH
For true love
Isn't sensually sentimental
But unconditional.

She was wrong yet so strong
With legs wide open
Weakened by desire
She gave it away...

Her perception of
love was nothing but lust
And trust which left her in the dust
And she always thought
love didn't last
Cuz she was lost
So she lost
Something he needed
on the honey moon!
Sometimes we should do *** the right way, the right time, with the right partner. Virtue is always way better than make up or the sexiest outfit.
me-mow Dec 2014
p e o p l e        d   e s t ro y t  he  thi ngst   hatyo ulove              
d e s t r o y     thi n g s         y o u
t h e                                                                     l o  ve  
t h i n g s
t h a t
y o u
l o v e
Firefly Dec 2015
Billy's hand lay on his hips,
Little honey swaying,
Twirling his string of pearls, puckering his lips,
Winking for blue jeans on James Dean,
Stomping in his neon green pumps,
Giggling, jiggling his belly lumps,
Chelsea Hotel #2 playing ov'r Old Gran's radio,
Over the rain outside.
Little honey swaying,
All drssed up,
Sweetly, innocently, wonderfully distracted,
From careful; from fear.
Billy was alone, and this is what happens,
Except for this one time, Daddy came home,
Afflicted by *****,
Saw Billy and screamed,
Squeezed his very bones,
Dragged him down the stairs,
His missing strap he mourned,
Knuckles rejoice; curses slurred.
Billy was ****** and crumpled in a corner,
Daddy passed out over the hall toilet,
*** staining his pants,
When momma came home.
She saw her boy, her little ***** baby and screamed,
Mother ran outside,
Rain adorning her skin,
As her mind facing every sin.
Billy could no longer cry,
He now wanders as another,
All but his true self, his heart is dry.
It hurts, it tears, it bleeds,
Once was enough,
Was all it took.
Masks! Liars! Liars! Fools.....
I hope the message in this is clear, as this is a poem I had to squeeze through a tiny hole of my writer's block.
So anyways,
James Dean was an american actor, who was seen as a cultural icon of teenage disillusionment and social outcast, he died at the age of 24 in 1955, the same year of his last film: Rebel Without A Cause..and yes he loved 'em blue jeans!
Chelsea Hotel No. 2 was an original song by Leonard Cohen, that was later covered by Lana Del Rey( My Queen)....check it out!!!! ;)))
Qui su l'arida schiena
Del formidabil monte
Sterminator Vesevo,
La qual null'altro allegra arbor né fiore,
Tuoi cespi solitari intorno spargi,
Odorata ginestra,
Contenta dei deserti. Anco ti vidi
Dè tuoi steli abbellir l'erme contrade
Che cingon la cittade
La qual fu donna dè mortali un tempo,
E del perduto impero
Par che col grave e taciturno aspetto
Faccian fede e ricordo al passeggero.
Or ti riveggo in questo suol, di tristi
Lochi e dal mondo abbandonati amante,
E d'afflitte fortune ognor compagna.
Questi campi cosparsi
Di ceneri infeconde, e ricoperti
Dell'impietrata lava,
Che sotto i passi al peregrin risona;
Dove s'annida e si contorce al sole
La serpe, e dove al noto
Cavernoso covil torna il coniglio;
Fur liete ville e colti,
E biondeggiàr di spiche, e risonaro
Di muggito d'armenti;
Fur giardini e palagi,
Agli ozi dè potenti
Gradito ospizio; e fur città famose
Che coi torrenti suoi l'altero monte
Dall'ignea bocca fulminando oppresse
Con gli abitanti insieme. Or tutto intorno
Una ruina involve,
Dove tu siedi, o fior gentile, e quasi
I danni altrui commiserando, al cielo
Di dolcissimo odor mandi un profumo,
Che il deserto consola. A queste piagge
Venga colui che d'esaltar con lode
Il nostro stato ha in uso, e vegga quanto
È il gener nostro in cura
All'amante natura. E la possanza
Qui con giusta misura
Anco estimar potrà dell'uman seme,
Cui la dura nutrice, ov'ei men teme,
Con lieve moto in un momento annulla
In parte, e può con moti
Poco men lievi ancor subitamente
Annichilare in tutto.
Dipinte in queste rive
Son dell'umana gente
Le magnifiche sorti e progressive .
Qui mira e qui ti specchia,
Secol superbo e sciocco,
Che il calle insino allora
Dal risorto pensier segnato innanti
Abbandonasti, e volti addietro i passi,
Del ritornar ti vanti,
E procedere il chiami.
Al tuo pargoleggiar gl'ingegni tutti,
Di cui lor sorte rea padre ti fece,
Vanno adulando, ancora
Ch'a ludibrio talora
T'abbian fra sé. Non io
Con tal vergogna scenderò sotterra;
Ma il disprezzo piuttosto che si serra
Di te nel petto mio,
Mostrato avrò quanto si possa aperto:
Ben ch'io sappia che obblio
Preme chi troppo all'età propria increbbe.
Di questo mal, che teco
Mi fia comune, assai finor mi rido.
Libertà vai sognando, e servo a un tempo
Vuoi di novo il pensiero,
Sol per cui risorgemmo
Della barbarie in parte, e per cui solo
Si cresce in civiltà, che sola in meglio
Guida i pubblici fati.
Così ti spiacque il vero
Dell'aspra sorte e del depresso loco
Che natura ci diè. Per questo il tergo
Vigliaccamente rivolgesti al lume
Che il fè palese: e, fuggitivo, appelli
Vil chi lui segue, e solo
Magnanimo colui
Che sé schernendo o gli altri, astuto o folle,
Fin sopra gli astri il mortal grado estolle.
Uom di povero stato e membra inferme
Che sia dell'alma generoso ed alto,
Non chiama sé né stima
Ricco d'or né gagliardo,
E di splendida vita o di valente
Persona infra la gente
Non fa risibil mostra;
Ma sé di forza e di tesor mendico
Lascia parer senza vergogna, e noma
Parlando, apertamente, e di sue cose
Fa stima al vero uguale.
Magnanimo animale
Non credo io già, ma stolto,
Quel che nato a perir, nutrito in pene,
Dice, a goder son fatto,
E di fetido orgoglio
Empie le carte, eccelsi fati e nove
Felicità, quali il ciel tutto ignora,
Non pur quest'orbe, promettendo in terra
A popoli che un'onda
Di mar commosso, un fiato
D'aura maligna, un sotterraneo crollo
Distrugge sì, che avanza
A gran pena di lor la rimembranza.
Nobil natura è quella
Che a sollevar s'ardisce
Gli occhi mortali incontra
Al comun fato, e che con franca lingua,
Nulla al ver detraendo,
Confessa il mal che ci fu dato in sorte,
E il basso stato e frale;
Quella che grande e forte
Mostra sé nel soffrir, né gli odii e l'ire
Fraterne, ancor più gravi
D'ogni altro danno, accresce
Alle miserie sue, l'uomo incolpando
Del suo dolor, ma dà la colpa a quella
Che veramente è rea, che dè mortali
Madre è di parto e di voler matrigna.
Costei chiama inimica; e incontro a questa
Congiunta esser pensando,
Siccome è il vero, ed ordinata in pria
L'umana compagnia,
Tutti fra sé confederati estima
Gli uomini, e tutti abbraccia
Con vero amor, porgendo
Valida e pronta ed aspettando aita
Negli alterni perigli e nelle angosce
Della guerra comune. Ed alle offese
Dell'uomo armar la destra, e laccio porre
Al vicino ed inciampo,
Stolto crede così qual fora in campo
Cinto d'oste contraria, in sul più vivo
Incalzar degli assalti,
Gl'inimici obbliando, acerbe gare
Imprender con gli amici,
E sparger fuga e fulminar col brando
Infra i propri guerrieri.
Così fatti pensieri
Quando fien, come fur, palesi al volgo,
E quell'orror che primo
Contra l'empia natura
Strinse i mortali in social catena,
Fia ricondotto in parte
Da verace saper, l'onesto e il retto
Conversar cittadino,
E giustizia e pietade, altra radice
Avranno allor che non superbe fole,
Ove fondata probità del volgo
Così star suole in piede
Quale star può quel ch'ha in error la sede.
Sovente in queste rive,
Che, desolate, a bruno
Veste il flutto indurato, e par che ondeggi,
Seggo la notte; e su la mesta landa
In purissimo azzurro
Veggo dall'alto fiammeggiar le stelle,
Cui di lontan fa specchio
Il mare, e tutto di scintille in giro
Per lo vòto seren brillare il mondo.
E poi che gli occhi a quelle luci appunto,
Ch'a lor sembrano un punto,
E sono immense, in guisa
Che un punto a petto a lor son terra e mare
Veracemente; a cui
L'uomo non pur, ma questo
Globo ove l'uomo è nulla,
Sconosciuto è del tutto; e quando miro
Quegli ancor più senz'alcun fin remoti
Nodi quasi di stelle,
Ch'a noi paion qual nebbia, a cui non l'uomo
E non la terra sol, ma tutte in uno,
Del numero infinite e della mole,
Con l'aureo sole insiem, le nostre stelle
O sono ignote, o così paion come
Essi alla terra, un punto
Di luce nebulosa; al pensier mio
Che sembri allora, o prole
Dell'uomo? E rimembrando
Il tuo stato quaggiù, di cui fa segno
Il suol ch'io premo; e poi dall'altra parte,
Che te signora e fine
Credi tu data al Tutto, e quante volte
Favoleggiar ti piacque, in questo oscuro
Granel di sabbia, il qual di terra ha nome,
Per tua cagion, dell'universe cose
Scender gli autori, e conversar sovente
Cò tuoi piacevolmente, e che i derisi
Sogni rinnovellando, ai saggi insulta
Fin la presente età, che in conoscenza
Ed in civil costume
Sembra tutte avanzar; qual moto allora,
Mortal prole infelice, o qual pensiero
Verso te finalmente il cor m'assale?
Non so se il riso o la pietà prevale.
Come d'arbor cadendo un picciol pomo,
Cui là nel tardo autunno
Maturità senz'altra forza atterra,
D'un popol di formiche i dolci alberghi,
Cavati in molle gleba
Con gran lavoro, e l'opre
E le ricchezze che adunate a prova
Con lungo affaticar l'assidua gente
Avea provvidamente al tempo estivo,
Schiaccia, diserta e copre
In un punto; così d'alto piombando,
Dall'utero tonante
Scagliata al ciel profondo,
Di ceneri e di pomici e di sassi
Notte e ruina, infusa
Di bollenti ruscelli
O pel montano fianco
Furiosa tra l'erba
Di liquefatti massi
E di metalli e d'infocata arena
Scendendo immensa piena,
Le cittadi che il mar là su l'estremo
Lido aspergea, confuse
E infranse e ricoperse
In pochi istanti: onde su quelle or pasce
La capra, e città nove
Sorgon dall'altra banda, a cui sgabello
Son le sepolte, e le prostrate mura
L'arduo monte al suo piè quasi calpesta.
Non ha natura al seme
Dell'uom più stima o cura
Che alla formica: e se più rara in quello
Che nell'altra è la strage,
Non avvien ciò d'altronde
Fuor che l'uom sue prosapie ha men feconde.
Ben mille ed ottocento
Anni varcàr poi che spariro, oppressi
Dall'ignea forza, i popolati seggi,
E il villanello intento
Ai vigneti, che a stento in questi campi
Nutre la morta zolla e incenerita,
Ancor leva lo sguardo
Sospettoso alla vetta
Fatal, che nulla mai fatta più mite
Ancor siede tremenda, ancor minaccia
A lui strage ed ai figli ed agli averi
Lor poverelli. E spesso
Il meschino in sul tetto
Dell'ostel villereccio, alla vagante
Aura giacendo tutta notte insonne,
E balzando più volte, esplora il corso
Del temuto bollor, che si riversa
Dall'inesausto grembo
Su l'arenoso dorso, a cui riluce
Di Capri la marina
E di Napoli il porto e Mergellina.
E se appressar lo vede, o se nel cupo
Del domestico pozzo ode mai l'acqua
Fervendo gorgogliar, desta i figliuoli,
Desta la moglie in fretta, e via, con quanto
Di lor cose rapir posson, fuggendo,
Vede lontan l'usato
Suo nido, e il picciol campo,
Che gli fu dalla fame unico schermo,
Preda al flutto rovente,
Che crepitando giunge, e inesorato
Durabilmente sovra quei si spiega.
Torna al celeste raggio
Dopo l'antica obblivion l'estinta
Pompei, come sepolto
Scheletro, cui di terra
Avarizia o pietà rende all'aperto;
E dal deserto foro
Diritto infra le file
Dei mozzi colonnati il peregrino
Lunge contempla il bipartito giogo
E la cresta fumante,
Che alla sparsa ruina ancor minaccia.
E nell'orror della secreta notte
Per li vacui teatri,
Per li templi deformi e per le rotte
Case, ove i parti il pipistrello asconde,
Come sinistra face
Che per vòti palagi atra s'aggiri,
Corre il baglior della funerea lava,
Che di lontan per l'ombre
Rosseggia e i lochi intorno intorno tinge.
Così, dell'uomo ignara e dell'etadi
Ch'ei chiama antiche, e del seguir che fanno
Dopo gli avi i nepoti,
Sta natura ognor verde, anzi procede
Per sì lungo cammino
Che sembra star. Caggiono i regni intanto,
Passan genti e linguaggi: ella nol vede:
E l'uom d'eternità s'arroga il vanto.
E tu, lenta ginestra,
Che di selve odorate
Queste campagne dispogliate adorni,
Anche tu presto alla crudel possanza
Soccomberai del sotterraneo foco,
Che ritornando al loco
Già noto, stenderà l'avaro lembo
Su tue molli foreste. E piegherai
Sotto il fascio mortal non renitente
Il tuo capo innocente:
Ma non piegato insino allora indarno
Codardamente supplicando innanzi
Al futuro oppressor; ma non eretto
Con forsennato orgoglio inver le stelle,
Né sul deserto, dove
E la sede e i natali
Non per voler ma per fortuna avesti;
Ma più saggia, ma tanto
Meno inferma dell'uom, quanto le frali
Tue stirpi non credesti
O dal fato o da te fatte immortali.
Chris Jan 2019
One morning, down a lonely path,
Wandered two friends, Me, and Death.
One morning while the sun did rise,
Walked the path my friend and I.

An came we across a man,
Whose life was sad, whose life was cruel,
And came we to understand,
Man was but a poor, poor fool.

And came we across a horse,
Whose riding days have long since passed,
And came we on our morning course,
To shame the first and pity the last.

To all things this might be true.
You shame me, I pity you.

And came we across a crow,
While the sun behind did shine,
And blackened it the early glow,
Yet it's darkness was divine,

And came we across a sheep,
In its curly coat ov wool,
And as is likely to repeat,
Sheep was also but a fool.

To all things this I might say,
You block the path, I fly away.

And time to choose came all too soon,
Which ov them to take with us,
On our lonely path to noon,
Whose time here did really pass?

In the end we chose the man,
Or rather HE, he makes the rules,
He told me, as only death can:
I never learned to pity fools.

After him, He chose the sheep,
Grim reaper swung his fingers forth
And as blood ran, no man did weep,
Said He: cries are but for human sort.


His mercy did end to receive,
Neither white sheep nor the fool.
Neither stupid nor naive,
Are free from His grip cold and cruel.

To all things this must be true,
We're only sheep, both me and you.

One morning, down a lonely path,
Wandered two friends, Me, and Death,
As soon as the noon light shows,
Death will walk this path alone.
Luann Jung Sep 2015
Love is not for everyone
Love manifests itself in the darkest places,
in the dingy, cracked-tile linoleum
of strangely lit rooms with
flickering bulbs and glazed
eyes staring into the glass
but seeing nothing
on the other side.

Love is not for everyone
Love escapes from the grasps of those who
are the most desperate.
Trailing from their fingers like the
thick, spider-web smoke
of smoldering cigarettes
and the lazy twirl
of a steamy breath
on a winter day.

Love is not for everyone
Love flames and burns the world,
setting alight anything anyone
once told you about life.
Love consumes
and then spits hearts out like
a machine, fine tuned for
efficiency and not meaning.

Love is not for everyone
Love smiles with gleaming white teeth
that hide a black rot deep
under the shiny pearls of illusion.
Love brushes a hand over
people who least expect it, and
love leaks from eyes in
shimmery crystal rain drops.

Love is not for everyone
Love is made OV LiEs
David lloyd Sep 2018
in the fairground ov life,
there's a clown with a knife.
& the merry go round,
lay's burned to the ground,
there are many stalls
were you can try your luck,
win a poison coconut
for shooting down a duck,
in the hall ov mirrors
nothing is as it's seems,
they send you off to sleep
and trap you in your dreams,
even a short ride
on the ghost train,
can muddle up your sences
& make you go insane,
not a stick ov rock
nor candyfloss insight,
its for the burning bodys
that the hungry people fight,
just slot machines
& broken dreams,
no rides for pleasure
or life of liesure,
IV

Diodati, e te’l diro con maraviglia,
Quel ritroso io ch’amor spreggiar solea
E de suoi lacci spesso mi ridea
Gia caddi, ov’huom dabben talhor s’impiglia.
Ne treccie d’oro, ne guancia vermiglia
M’ abbaglian si, ma sotto nova idea
Pellegrina bellezza che’l cuor bea,
Portamenti alti honesti, e nelle ciglia
Quel sereno fulgor d’ amabil nero,
Parole adorne di lingua piu d’una,
E’l cantar che di mezzo l’hemispero
Traviar ben puo la faticosa Luna,
E degil occhi suoi auventa si gran fuoco
Che l ‘incerar gli oreechi mi fia poco.
Che fai tu, luna, in ciel? Dimmi, che fai,
Silenziosa luna?
Sorgi la sera, e vai,
Contemplando i deserti; indi ti posi.
Ancor non sei tu paga
Di riandare i sempiterni calli?
Ancor non prendi a schivo, ancor sei vaga
Di mirar queste valli?
Somiglia alla tua vita
La vita del pastore.
Sorge in sul primo albore;
Move la greggia oltre pel campo, e vede
Greggi, fontane ed erbe;
Poi stanco si riposa in su la sera:
Altro mai non ispera.
Dimmi, o luna: a che vale
Al pastor la sua vita,
La vostra vita a voi? Dimmi: ove tende
Questo vagar mio breve,
Il tuo corso immortale?
Vecchierel bianco, infermo,
Mezzo vestito e scalzo,
Con gravissimo fascio in su le spalle,
Per montagna e per valle,
Per sassi acuti, ed alta rena, e fratte,
Al vento, alla tempesta, e quando avvampa
L'ora, e quando poi gela,
Corre via, corre, anela,
Varca torrenti e stagni,
Cade, risorge, e più e più s'affretta,
Senza posa o ristoro,
Lacero, sanguinoso; infin ch'arriva
Colà dove la via
E dove il tanto affaticar fu volto:
Abisso orrido, immenso,
Ov'ei precipitando, il tutto obblia.
Vergine luna, tale
È la vita mortale.
Nasce l'uomo a fatica,
Ed è rischio di morte il nascimento.
Prova pena e tormento
Per prima cosa; e in sul principio stesso
La madre e il genitore
Il prende a consolar dell'esser nato.
Poi che crescendo viene,
L'uno e l'altro il sostiene, e via pur sempre
Con atti e con parole
Studiasi fargli core,
E consolarlo dell'umano stato:
Altro ufficio più grato
Non si fa da parenti alla lor prole.
Ma perché dare al sole,
Perché reggere in vita
Chi poi di quella consolar convenga?
Se la vita è sventura
Perché da noi si dura?
Intatta luna, tale
È lo stato mortale.
Ma tu mortal non sei,
E forse del mio dir poco ti cale.
Pur tu, solinga, eterna peregrina,
Che sì pensosa sei, tu forse intendi,
Questo viver terreno,
Il patir nostro, il sospirar, che sia;
Che sia questo morir, questo supremo
Scolorar del sembiante,
E perir dalla terra, e venir meno
Ad ogni usata, amante compagnia.
E tu certo comprendi
Il perché delle cose, e vedi il frutto
Del mattin, della sera,
Del tacito, infinito andar del tempo.
Tu sai, tu certo, a qual suo dolce amore
Rida la primavera,
A chi giovi l'ardore, e che procacci
Il verno cò suoi ghiacci.
Mille cose sai tu, mille discopri,
Che son celate al semplice pastore.
Spesso quand'io ti miro
Star così muta in sul deserto piano,
Che, in suo giro lontano, al ciel confina;
Ovver con la mia greggia
Seguirmi viaggiando a mano a mano;
E quando miro in cielo arder le stelle;
Dico fra me pensando:
A che tante facelle?
Che fa l'aria infinita, e quel profondo
Infinito seren? Che vuol dir questa
Solitudine immensa? Ed io che sono?
Così meco ragiono: e della stanza
Smisurata e superba,
E dell'innumerabile famiglia;
Poi di tanto adoprar, di tanti moti
D'ogni celeste, ogni terrena cosa,
Girando senza posa,
Per tornar sempre là donde son mosse;
Uso alcuno, alcun frutto
Indovinar non so. Ma tu per certo,
Giovinetta immortal, conosci il tutto.
Questo io conosco e sento,
Che degli eterni giri,
Che dell'esser mio frale,
Qualche bene o contento
Avrà fors'altri; a me la vita è male.
O greggia mia che posi, oh te beata,
Che la miseria tua, credo, non sai!
Quanta invidia ti porto!
Non sol perché d'affanno
Quasi libera vai;
Ch'ogni stento, ogni danno,
Ogni estremo timor subito scordi;
Ma più perché giammai tedio non provi.
Quando tu siedi all'ombra, sovra l'erbe,
Tu sè queta e contenta;
E gran parte dell'anno
Senza noia consumi in quello stato.
Ed io pur seggo sovra l'erbe, all'ombra,
E un fastidio m'ingombra
La mente, ed uno spron quasi mi punge
Sì che, sedendo, più che mai son lunge
Da trovar pace o loco.
E pur nulla non bramo,
E non ** fino a qui cagion di pianto.
Quel che tu goda o quanto,
Non so già dir; ma fortunata sei.
Ed io godo ancor poco,
O greggia mia, né di ciò sol mi lagno.
Se tu parlar sapessi, io chiederei:
Dimmi: perché giacendo
A bell'agio, ozioso,
S'appaga ogni animale;
Me, s'io giaccio in riposo, il tedio assale?
Forse s'avess'io l'ale
Da volar su le nubi,
E noverar le stelle ad una ad una,
O come il tuono errar di giogo in giogo,
Più felice sarei, dolce mia greggia,
Più felice sarei, candida luna.
O forse erra dal vero,
Mirando all'altrui sorte, il mio pensiero:
Forse in qual forma, in quale
Stato che sia, dentro covile o cuna,
È funesto a chi nasce il dì natale.
mrmonst3r Nov 2016
I miss the rush
ov blood
    each orgiastic slip
Leading to
Hot Skin
Pressed. Burning against me.
enwrapped.
I want it so
This suffocation
Will drag you under
With delight
A filthy ache
Blissful
Annihilation
Between her thighs
With sweetness
Claw and tooth
wild desire
Her eyes on mine
(piercing my heart).
Urging me
With stinging
tongue
      and gasoline.     upon the flames.
mEb Oct 2010
Within white stagnant walls kinship reeps phyletics
Lavished in immoral conducts; distributing demon fits.
I envisioned hell before me when sick pricked.
My shrills were short lived; as my ambuscade died down.
Escapading not, I did muster inducement.
Decoy to fail, could I never entice this asylum town.  
Decifer the mutters I did; creating chaos while dim.
Told in realm; increased heartrate overwhelms;



"You're a sick little ***** with the dunce smoothered cap oversized."
"Have you ov procelitized, I would be seven lighted voices and notith six dark cackles"
"I spit on you in shackles, spy the roaches and the grime"
"Crawl for Roman Nero, he wanes"
"Guttering your vessels into wine, you are now his drooping mane"
  



I saw the heads of six, as roaches looked upon me taking turns to spit.
My time here arose as a feeding black hole.
I crawled for Nero and six more; I stuttered trying treason.
Here I lie pathetic; with rays of decoy,
Dreaming the nightmare most feared; most do not believe in.
Hallucinating alone within the stale walls; I felt prone to end all.


Once gathered what had struck; I knew perspectives aren't always as they seem.
Merely and only; one severe demented dream.
Shall I not turn the tables on authority once more.
To ambuscade the power; leaves needle incisions sore
Not only pain by fluid; both realities changed illucid.
I did what I must've to be discharged;
I did what I must've in best regards.
My eyes saw her
And my heart longed for her
And my lips wanted a taste
Of her seething venom
She was a cup
I didn’t want to pass
Without having a sip
That opened a flesh wound
Only she could nurse
Because it could never heal
And any one I’d ****
For her to be mine and mine alone.  

On the drags ov the black wine
Brood from African matured raw dark vines
Bitter sweet and sedating like ecstasy
She anesthetized me
Leaving me numb
To the wound she had inflicted
Upon my heart of flesh,
When I let my
Shield down
And left her sizzling arrow
Piercing my heart
Like a thorn for the holy one
Her arrow inoculated a venom
That enfeebled my trembling frame
As I bled love unafraid of bleeding to death!
I looked deeply Into Her dark eyes
My vision impaired,
High from the venom
And partial hemorrhage.
I said slowly
“What is love? Tell me please…”
She smiled and replied…

“I can’t tell you,
I can only show you
Cuz you have prayed.
Love is a tourniquet
To your heart a wound
I can nurse it for you
That’s why it hurts
If you are wounded
By someone without skill
Some wounds never heal
But fear not
For my love is not lethal
And leaving you might be fatal,
Words can never be love
Only actions can be
Thoughts are useless
If never said  or expressed
So don’t be afraid
I will nurse your wound
Because mine is deeper than yours”
Leave a comment please, follow and I will follow back and go through your poetry. Why not interact with fellow poets from foreign lands?
Thank you for your collaboration.
Nicholas Jan 2015
Every transparent drop of her love in disguise of salted rain
takes me away from my melancholy pain
I breathlessly look up at into the castle of indigo sky
Whatever it is --- Love's unspeakable - A lie
I preciously speak up the versions of truth to me,
but the words're seemed so lost behind the fog, I see
Though the love's found ov'r, the hues of, her delicate lips;
attract me toward her - her love ain't make me sick
I'm an Italic poet - Italian love's my first choice
The mist of her eyes,- so moist - Even the poetry belongs to her kiss
I need her love -  A love that takes me to nowhere, I fly
Even the warmth of her mouth makes me blessed with the ecstasy of her rejoice.
Nicholas Feb 2015
Silence - O', Even the silence has got something to say
in words of winds blown off Northern array
At first, it makes heart free from all worries,
but the next moment -
Everything seems to be burnt out into broken-furries

The diamond's costless so all spirits,
but when it comes to poor-faith,
Even the "love" goes down into shattered pieces

Echoes On Nights - O' the echoes of such restless ashes
make some noise across the tight-lipped room
And, the silence has got much to bleed,
When the castles of night go disappeared by the doom

With time, as usual, beautiful morn knocks at the door
The heart gets trapped inside the loop,
Melodious beats of its phase go bounced up ov'r the floor
& scream, O' the life's nothiing, but an empty cup of cold-soup.
Feb - 24 - 2015!
Tuesday Night. Seemed like - 'Twilight'. Sounds interesting!
Fred McCarthy Nov 2010
I will live my life for you,my love,till i see the bright  light in your eyes fading away

(And here comes a massive storm.....)

I w  i   l l  li    vem   yl  if  ef  oryo u , m yl  ov e , t il l     i  se e  t h e    b  r  i  g h t  li   ght  i n  yo u r e   y esf a d in  ga  w   ay

w  i     L     l  li    vem   yl  if  ef  O    ryo u , m yl  o     VE   t     I    l l       S    e e  t  e    B     r  i  g h t     L   i   ght  IN     y u r e   y esf a      D     in  ga  w   ay

L     lvemyl    O      mylo     VE   t     IS    eete    B   ight     L   ight  IN     yure   yesa  D     ingay

L     my    O    lo     VE        IS    te    B   it     L   t  IN   re   sa  D     iny

L         O          VE        IS        B        L     IN    D

LOVEISBLIND

— The End —