"pantomine" poems
"Under the flag
Of each his faction, they to battle bring
Their embryon atoms." - Milton
WELCOME joy, and welcome sorrow,
Lethe's **** and Hermes' feather;
Come to-day, and come to-morrow,
I do love you both together!
I love to mark sad faces in fair weather;
And hear a merry laugh amid the thunder;
Fair and foul I love together.
Meadows sweet where flames are under,
And a giggle at a wonder;
Visage sage at pantomine;
Funeral, and steeple-chime;
Infant playing with a skull;
Morning fair, and shipwreck'd hull;
Nightshade with the woodbine kissing;
Serpents in red roses hissing;
Cleopatra regal-dress'd
With the aspic at her breast;
Dancing music, music sad,
Both together, sane and mad;
Muses bright and muses pale;
Sombre Saturn, Momus hale; -
Laugh and sigh, and laugh again;
Oh the sweetness of the pain!
Muses bright, and muses pale,
Bare your faces of the veil;
Let me see; and let me write
Of the day, and of the night -
Both together: - let me slake
All my thirst for sweet heart-ache!
Let my bower be of yew,
Interwreath'd with myrtles new;
Pines and lime-trees full in bloom,
And my couch a low grass-tomb.
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I breathed enough to take the Trick—
And now, removed from Air—
I simulate the Breath, so well—
That One, to be quite sure—
The Lungs are stirless—must descend
Among the Cunning Cells—
And touch the Pantomine—Himself,
How numb, the Bellows feels!
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The P inside lifts to shallow pools of thirst and moving pictures.
P is purpose, personality car crashes to park the private Idaho.
A sign of the cross, will not stop P.
Prove it to the pin drop puncture of ****** on heat,
insecure to many tongues dripped in keroscene pantomine.
P is pretty. P is pop. P is pandamonium. P is plucky. P is pink.
Patter, panky, pips, puddle, paraquet, puncuation.
Property is theft Parker, pity, purity, punt, plunder, *****
Past, paint, pander, pringle, puppy, pesky, pest,
petrol, patrol, pamper, pastel, plunder, pongo, plip plop.
P.................
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 3:25 PM UTC

Raincoats and Welly Boots.
Go together like
A pantomine tale and mother goose.
Raincoats and Welly Boots
Little girls and little boys;
playing in natures endless supply of toys.
Walking through puddles, almost knee deep.
Splashing in mud pools, mud covering their feet.
Raincoats and Welly Boots
Wearing Raincoat and Welly Boots
Splashing, laughing not a care in their world
Should be the entitlement of every boy and girl.
Raincoats and Welly Boots
For just 5 minutes
Discard your black shiny shoes and Italian suit
Put on your Raincoat and Welly Boots
Remember when once you were young
Splish, splash, splosh oh what fun
Raincoat and Welly Boots
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 4:26 PM UTC
The streets, the lights and all that passes by
The smiles, the grimace and everything nice
The countenace everytime you say "hi!"
And pantomine the words, the least you could try
You figured to start the day knowing lots to bear
Sorrounded by these, are you satisfied with your care?
When the sun's rays warmth you sorely
And the breeze of the wind is way-out indifferent
The day is halfway to its surcease
And the battleground is becoming at peace
Amidst all these, is the clearing of the sky and it's becoming fair
Wind up all the details through breathing pristine air
The rush hour pass as you revert to your haven
And there it is your great comfort
Lethargic you contemplate and wander
Before the window to your soul closes and rest
You bethink notions and all the things that matter
Endgame is, are you satisfied with your care?
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
Graceful lines and symmetry
but beneath it all you cannot see
the chaos held together with spit and prayers
and a cocktail of modern medicine's
latest poison.
My dance is a side effect
that just happens to be graceful
my song
a disembodied pantomine
that passes for social interaction.
I don't pretend to be like you
but I'm trying
and on my best days I stretch and preen
and the sun hits my feathers in just the right way
and almost
in the right light I resemble who I really am without
bipolar.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
He plays himself
With a mask like soaked clay
And faux tears on-command,
All you can do to cope with the hindsight
Is to say you were brave for sticking with it
When you weren't brave enough for the alternative,
Voice like a whisky-croak and words that
Ring of sweet nothings but really mean nothing at all.
Blood on the carpet. Never coming off
And never failing to remind you of what you did and didn't
do wrong.
You figured you'd make boredom into something
Less important but the meaning of any philosophy
Is dependant on the day and the weight of the past it carries--
**** it
Bassline stranded on the boderline, that is to say
Stuck and unfixable. That's part of growing, right?
Dealing with it and moving on, forming a character
From a tortuous pantomine; doing the impossible in
Ameliorating light strictly with the tools given to you
by the dark room you were raised in. Rise or sink.
It was out of your hands, your actions moving forward
Is all that has to matter now.
Just hold on until tomorrow.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 11:24 AM UTC