"ozymandias" poems
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert… Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
5.1k
*Feelin’ like a new model keepin’ thoughts in a safe
Nothin’ but new beginnings while maintainin’ the faith
Of better days ahead, walkin’ away instead
The world on my shoulders while walkin’ on eggshells
Difficult steps lead to redemption, no need for attention
Dowsin’ my sorrows in drinks with a fear of reinvention
Weakened souls lackin’ ambition – ones that we attend to
Distracted by the means to makin’ profit
Pharaohs and kings reach Ozymandias
Castle of the manliest reduced to rubble
Inspiration's a privilege, the uninitiated struggle
Lookin’ to the stars closer to Mercury
Celebrating longer than a single anniversary
Build the padlocked building blocks of the brain, preventin’ burglary
Intellect protection needs remedial advancement
Followin' the lessons and morals of real testaments
Crimson waters divided by Moses, halving the sea
Aidin’ people across, the shepherd leadin’ the sheep
Heated cycle of violence by disciples
De-escalated by the sacred teachings of the bible
Able to color-code their understandin’ with a cipher
Gifted in nature, minus robotics turnin’ sentient*
WE MARCH!
*Hand-in-hand in unison! A unit full of sin
But we protect the world from Judases,
Our doubts are in the wind
A state of peace we feel the crew is in
The rest will follow soon,
Our inner voice of hate is ludicrous
It sings a hollow tune.
Leavin' this place without askin' just where the exit is,
Keep a steady pace as we're headin' right into exodus.
Lessons are taught to help you rise from the fall,
Nirvana awaitin' – you better answer the call.*
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
1.
If black humour is a sign of intelligence then who is the most intelligent of all?
The hurricane that swept the weatherman away while reporting on a supposedly tranquil day?
The ravages of nature which left Ozymandias all alone in the midst of the desert?
Cruel cruel uncertainty,
2.
Cupid sneezed, and let his finger go,
A fiat lust led my way,
A golden love gone,
So,
Why, o, why
Do you plague me so?
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 7:06 AM UTC
"Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
-Ozymandias
I.
O wait for us, Colossus
as we wait - and throw you
to earth: from heaven’s gates judge you
unworthy - to hades’ lands assign,
where your iron limbs make mincemeat out
of anguished homes - by tyrants
you were thrown but floated aimless past
the drifting realms where once lay hell,
and fired you your rocket boosters - apollo’s gift
blinding still your eyes -
II.
next, awake: the visage of the Child
in your face - languishing, affronted:
two vast and trunkless legs of iron glare, only to grow
rigid still - slumping at His feet: with heart-engine smoking,
eyes hollowed-black,
lying in slumber with giant's knees bent,
in grasslands rest and where hearkens the plain - He cries out:
’tis you!
though dwarf, He is - he kneads your iron
by grass, and your wounded legs the earth
now christens, snd blesses still your sleep.
III.
He moves forth with grass blades and twigs,
crown you a nest; and bear stones unrolled to where
your feet first kisses ground.
-2.17.16
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
It’s the Eye of the Sun,
-staring down at me…
At night the mind of the Moon,
-so bright it’s all you see…
Seven Glorious Ones, Horus-Follower’s sons,
-and the cycle’s complete; time for a repeat!
Magic year, magic mind, Ozymandias seat,
a magic moment in time, 'ten found-on-the-line,' -mark a place where you'll be.
At the steps are the ones, ancient Kings of the Sun.
Torn apart by the people, when the harvest was done,
And solar barque crosses Styx, to the gates of Ammon…
Riders come from the steppe to see the death of the one,
Ancient King of the Sun redeem the land and the seed…
-Rises up as Orion, again, and now he’s freed!
It’s the Eye of the Sun and the Lion is free, roaming over the lands, now the cycle’s complete…
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
I call you Giulietta, amore dolorosa,
I plead guilty of wringing and clawing my own heart
and I love you, I love you, I love you, dulcet!
with my red paint like some Muscovy ivory ****** of an expatriate
but you, you're the *****
I plead guilty to gross desertion
in the face of your tears in the hollow of the night
--oh, I love you, I love you, I love you, I can't not--
toss my hair, fix my earrings, gold against sable,
but it looks too much like the gold of your hair
and I crumble like the sandswept stone
of Ozymandias, of the relics of some ancient love
some ancient had for the contours of the Sphinx
and I just think up more sweet nothings for you,
because every word is a nothing compared to you,
and how I love and love and love you,
but you, you're a *****
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC
It’s Springtime.
The hours, the days pass quicker,
especially to folks already in their
late seventies, or eighties…
a cool breeze blowing easily brings
back good times, bringing smiles
to their wrinkled faces...to some,
rage and sorrow are resurrected,
recalling, how they lost loved ones,
all that they've had, through ways
unlawful, how they pined for truth,
justice, and freedom...time is too
slow for for them...some choose
to forget, but couldn't...
malfeasance is a habit, a way of life.
The privileged ones bask in the
brightest of comforts…impregnable
walls of their fortresses have made
them blind and deaf to the woes
and the doldrums outside.
The "unsolved" remain unsolved,
the "miserable" are now despondent,
the needy, the hungry, in greater
need...are even hungrier...drifting,
wherever their needs take them,
some minds have gotten used to
distorted versions of democracy,
existing on uncertain airs and waters.
Being bereft.......takes its toll.
Past awakenings were wasted.
eyes...minds opened, and closed.
those outside the walls, patiently
await...nothing is ever permanent.
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 18, 2023
-<O>-
OZYMANDIAS
(Percy Bysshe Shelley)
I met a traveller from an antique land,
2Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
3Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
4Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
5And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
6Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
7Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
8The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
9And on the pedestal, these words appear:
10My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
11Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
12Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
13Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
14The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Mar 14, 2023
Mar 14, 2023 at 8:41 PM UTC
King of Kings, I am to man!
Set apart, in stone; a gentry,
With a tomb that sits but nearly empty?
A grave with few artifacts to witness bear,
Inscription of him, who was the great king,
Who was once and future, a beginning to everything,
Whose great father descended into those lands…
Where epitaph graces a lonely stone,
And Ozymandias rests, at peace, alone.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
I dream with my hands
While my tongue fails
And my pillow only gives me sleepdust.
I make dreams without labels or names,
Whose fences have already pervaded reality
And whose power dies again each generation.
I construct bridges between words
With stones that will weather
Even the fickle storms of men.
When mouths change the shape of “pyramid”
My vast triangles will still blot out the sun.
And when new peoples forget my name
The ancient eyes of my statue will still open
So that maybe in a distant moment a scholar will say
“He was once called Ozymandias, King of Kings”
All because I will have dreamt with my hands
Yo sueño con mis manos
Cuando mi lengua falla
Y la almohada me da sólo legañas.
Hago sueños sin etiquetas o nombres,
Cuyas vallas ya han impregnado realidad
Y cuya potencia muere otra vez con cada generación.
Construyo puentes entre palabras
Con piedras que aguantarán
Aun las tormentas volubles del hombre.
Cuando bocas cambian la forma de “pirámide”
Mis vastos triángulos borrarán el sol.
Y cuando pueblos nuevos olvidan mi nombre
Los ojos antiguos de mi estatua se abrirán
Para que quizás en un momento distante un erudito diría
“Una vez, se llamaba Ozymandias, rey de reyes”
Todo porque habré soñado con mis manos.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC
I am a man amongst but men.
dearth of viles that tread the hubris of but my foil.
trials and tribulations of mine, are but ubiquitous to My realm.
within I the Virtues effervescent, ever present, etched beyond this mortal coil.
Eyes see shuffles of fools shuffling, huddling, meddling, hitering and withering!
quivering in insipid hoards, fatigue lay waste to their bereft souls!
I gaze upon above, there is -- cannot be -- no hope
; but below they implore -- to no doubt escape my scorn?
-- YES! -- for I AM Ozymandias! king of kings!
look upon my works ye and despair! Nothing beside remains.
for besides was, yet can nevermore be great -- laid for waste by the sands, escapes of which not men, but a haze!
...yet i shall stand ***** -- above -- above all the rest?
declared have i this mortal coil shall not wither -- n'er shuffle, nor huddle -- like men thither?
for my virtues are... ineffaced through numerous toils?
or is my perseverance akin to, YE, oh foil?
surely Y'er vile and decrepit fate, cannot subject upon me its gaze?
perchance? oh how that would -- not -- be deranged!
for I AM Ozymandias...
...yet I am -- but -- a man amongst men -- who escaped Ozymandias, within the sand
Jul 20, 2022
Jul 20, 2022 at 7:42 PM UTC
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings"
Here stands a city,
stretching as far as
the east is from the west.
Dark and deep is the night
on the streets lined
with desolate lamp posts
which once ago held
light
to those who walked
to a place they called
home.
The moon beams
pierce apathetic clouds
and cast a milky
gleam
onto a decaying brick wall
overspread with faded Krylon.
Situated next to a broken
window
upon the crumbling clay and mortar
is scrawled a message:
"Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
A shattered visage lies
cold and numb.
A man once dominant and
inspiring
now is decomposing
in the ratways of his once
gleaming
empire.
The spray paint can rolls
from upon his fingertips
and his faint whisper
is as fleeting as a
morning breeze.
"That's not what
I meant at all. That's
not what I meant
at all. that's not
what i meant at all
thats not
what i meant at
all what i meant
not at all..."
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Her mind
was a Möbius strip
which every now & then
she offered a sip
like a too rich wine
which offended the palette.
She acted like a
fictional character
in an outrageous
historical novel
her bosoms
almost hypnotising one
into ripping her bodice.
She acted out
her life
as if she was a Colossus
like an Ozymandias
before it all went wrong
& some guy called Shelly
happened to come along.
She was an aria
in the opera of her life
but right now
she was just sipping from the daintiest of cups
& laughing hysterically at something I said
(which I hadn’t considered funny)
spraying in my astonished face
a soft mist of hot
Earl Grey tea.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
No grecian urn nor sculpted monument
can live beyond the realms of space and time
But in these lines of skilled form and content
you will live on, the centre of my rhyme.
Ozymandias, mighty king of kings,
colossal statue turned to desert sand
Yet, Shelley’s verse awoke these lifeless things
immortalised this man from antique land.
Both clock and scythe circle with the seasons
We cannot escape Fortune’s deadly wheel
None are free from Nature’s laws and reasons
Yet. in this verse you are divine and real
Your beauty and worth forgotten never
You will live in this poem forever.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC
The arrival of senselessness
Is a great shadow over the earth,
a cooling cloud in the summer
causation of looking up--
Gift-givers wander the slopes and with packets of thought,
They run their fingers along the stones and the trees and the fields
Grassy,
Following the trails of clouds wandering just as inconsequent
Leaving tears as rain on the steppes and letting them drain into the deathly floors
asking them to give the ability for new things to drink
This is the true Holy Water
And a patchwork soul seeks, fixated,
answers to the crackled nature of their vessel
Running into the same stone of them, cancerous
soon left to sands and dust
Ozymandias
The blades of leaves rattle a sad salute
Their ragged branches sheathed xylem, a perfect skyscraper design
Preventing edema of the like kind
Show to me that this place in not but the momentary awareness of light, a stopping point in the infinite variation
To locate oneself in the rapid raveling of everything into one great big
Sorrowful tear, running from the eternal blackness of the night
that holds noting but the absence of itself.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 2:49 PM UTC
Ozymandias was a conqueror, a man that lay low kingdoms,
and yet is now a pillar of dust.
This, dust beneath us, is all that shall remain.
Love is all that we have of ourselves,
the only thing worth giving,
or taking,
which stands the test of time.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
August is a Yellow Flame
“That August was like a yellow flame”
Anna Ahkmatova, 1917 / Anno Domini MCMXXI /
III. The Voice of Memory
This August is indeed like a yellow flame
Death writhes among brown-burnt withering leaves
The grass is as sere as Macbeth’s acrid soul
And garden hoses drip in futility
The sun-bleached visage of Ozymandias
Might frown upon this blighted desert wrack
For not unlike the Ancient Mariner’s ghostly crew
The usages of summer drop and decay
But look!
But look above the last barren clouds in the west -
A tiny sliver of the promising moon
Aug 19, 2023
Aug 19, 2023 at 10:50 PM UTC
Sing to me, o southern hill
where my mother lies,
she near the river
where other children
only her eyes could spy,
her fingers feel.
Willow trees, arcing oaks,
pillows made of amethyst and
amaryllis, beechnut spread,
linen spread by old Mill Creek,
cattle grazing, hazy August
afternoons, all alone was she
except in fantasy.
No love from Mother,
her Father farther
away than Ozymandias.
Tears she used
in her high tea;
no spoon had she.
She wept beneath a yellow sun,
a sister to the gentle sea,
the golden waves of wheat.
Tod Howard Hawks
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 10:08 PM UTC
What have you sold?
Was it worth its weight in gold?
A votive lit for fifty cents,
A flame announcing you repent;
To beg your saint to intercede
To provide your worldly needs.
Was that your body up for sale;
What would you trade for the Holy Grail?
Sell a kidney or a lung,
Sell your lap top and your phone.
Sell the home, enslave the kids,
Offer all to the highest bid.
Simonize your sale tonight,
In the sun it shines bright;
Let the buyer drive the fraud,
After all, you're a demigod.
Have you sold your secret soul,
Your joie de vivre,
The living truth
For make-believe?
Sell it all in a sidewalk sale,
Sell your house, sell every nail;
Every brick and piece of wood,
The price you get is understood,
To get as much as one could.
We make the deal for personal gain,
Trangress against the light;
Stand in the shadow of the shadow
Of the master of the mill.
Add to coffers, sell off principles,
Buy a judge, sell a nation,
It's a photo-op donation.
Betray an ally, sell a friend,
Exploit the lonely til their end.
Abuse your office, hire a niece,
Family fortunes will increase.
Pander to hypocrisy - here it's called democracy.
These are not our personal sins,
But crimes against society,
Crimes against life.
Look upon our deadly works,
Ozymandias warned we should.
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC
There you are!
Decrepit remains of Ozymandias,
I’ve traveled through many arid lands and dunes
to find you here:
eroding, half-buried,
and alone.
Your sneer of cold command
gets my blood to boil still.
I press my hand to your stone visage,
and weep:
Listen, I am no villain, except
in every word you twisted.
You placed a crown upon your broken heart,
and destroyed my history.
You reduced me
to a cruel and callous girl
who left you to wither in the dessert.
Once, my small arms clung
to the hem of your royal cloth,
and I followed you on foot
through the world’s most unforgiving terrain.
The sun boiled my flesh.
Thirst shriveled my lungs,
and you, some King of Kings,
failed to protect even his own child.
I begged you for water.
Do you remember my little knees wobbling,
after you kicked me in the stomach?
I fell on my face and tasted the sand.
Your figure disappeared in the horizon,
and you went on to unfold lies,
while the winds of a desert storm
whipped my skin raw.
It’s been years.
Scars embellish my body,
and the grit of sand still catches in my mouth,
but I found a new home,
with soft grass and fresh water
beneath my bare feet
and a gentle breeze on my cheek.
I did not die here,
in this desert with you
and that is enough for me.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
Made of stone
With a heart of gold
A touch so cool
It sent shivers down my spine
Gentle to the sands of time
Holding an hourglass with endless beads
Greatest love of all
Speaking in tongues
A figure lost to you
A mystery to be solved and closed
Never to open again
Hands placing a lock
Keeping it a secret
Eyes closed to prevent the truth seeping out
Slave to no one
Ozymandias, you are free
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 1:59 AM UTC
Dónall O'Diomsiagh is anim dom!
( Dónall Dempsey is my name! )
I was born
the weight of a bag of sugar.
2 lbs to be
precise.
That was all there was
to me!
( My belly alas weighs more than that now )!
De Da could
hold me in his fist and
I'd disappear
'cept for the little dangly dancing leggy bits.
I had Elvis sideburns
( I was all shock up )
and entered this
world of ours
feet first
putting my best foot forward
ready to rock
'n" roll...mannn!
Doris Day was singing
CE SERA SERA!
And what, what...do ya think
they called the tiniest baby
. . .ever ever seen?
Why, Dónall!
Dónall...of course!
Dónall meaning WORLD
MIGHTY SPEAR POWER.
And Dempsey itself meaning
THE PROUD ONE!
Ahhh the majesty of the Celtic tongue!
A wrestler's name if ever...
"And in the green corner..."
Or an Ozymandias name. . .
"Look on my works, ye mighty ,and despair!"
De Ma would always spoil it for me:
"WORLDMIGHTYSPEARPOWERTHEPROUDONE! You
get yer *** in here this minute and finish yer homework!"
An awful big name
( to be sure to be sure )
for a little fella to
live up to. . .
Ahhh, but sure I do my best
putting words to the test
wrestling with a rhyme
stealing through your mind.
For I am
( am I not?)
the poet with
the hyperbolic name!
WORLD MIGHTY
SPEAR POWER
THE PROUD ONE!
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
I breathe deeply, moonshine sweetly dripping from my tongue,
the time has come to move away and
so I move my still into today,
This still and I go back some time,to when the wine we drank was blood red,good red,full,
the time of Tull and martyrs,Khan and Tartars,when men were men but then came industrialisation,the undoing of a once great Nation and you may mock but I say,'put a sock in it' we hit upon what we thought good which turned our forests into firewood,burnt in factories belching smoke,smoking's bad,is that a joke?
We built the century into a city with no thought and certainly not an ounce of pity for those whose clothes hung like rags on a nail,set sail for war to steal some more,oh we were good but now we lack the firewood to build a fire in the grate,
this state ruled over by the Queen has seen much better days,so it's better I remain, bound in the mill beside the still with moonshine sweetly dripping off my tongue.
I see what's done and is being done and when we go to Kingdom come we'll go with cap in hand,
a beggars band,a beggars land
an 'Ozymandias'
in the sand.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
A Spirit of Terror stalks the land
Ruination now is near at hand
All eyes fix upon the man
Whose face doth sneer with cold command
Like unto Ozymandias of old
His claim to greatness takes no hold
The people cower, make no stand
The Empire itself reduced to sand
Surely Shelley would understand.
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 10:31 AM UTC
Graffiti artist
sprays to say that “I was here” —
Ozymandias
Oct 18, 2024
Oct 18, 2024 at 6:05 PM UTC