"parlous" poems - Hello Poetry

I see my countryman still holding on to the pest we look to blame of the jar full of gold which fell out of our hand on the pest, on the men how came from the horizon the men how opened our eyes but not without the down hills, deep valleys and the dark part of them We hold on to the things which drive us into the ground' for we do not peck the from the shining ground but we still look to blame whiles the wind of time blows which is more parlous than gold whiles the wind blows and carry’s away the gold A hunter enticing his whit bat have our country men enticed us whit sweet words and then stave us in the back 7x7x7 and besieged us in poverty Putting us in sinking sand whit noting to hold on to. To the further we must look and loss the burden which we hold on to. Moving from the past is inevitable if we went to be on the other side where the sun is reaching for the thing which are in front and living the thing which are in behind .

0

Sep 11, 2012

Sep 11, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC

kendall-sencherey

My country men

I see my countryman still holding on to the pest we look to blame of the jar full of gold which fell out of our hand on the pest, on the men how came from the horizon the men how opened our eyes but not without the down hills, deep valleys and the dark part of them We hold on to the things which drive us into the ground' for we do not peck the from the shining ground but we still look to blame whiles the wind of time blows which is more parlous than gold whiles the wind blows and carry’s away the gold A hunter enticing his whit bat have our country men enticed us whit sweet words and then stave us in the back 7x7x7 and besieged us in poverty Putting us in sinking sand whit noting to hold on to. To the further we must look and loss the burden which we hold on to. Moving from the past is inevitable if we went to be on the other side where the sun is reaching for the thing which are in front and living the thing which are in behind .

16

premier you've smacked me in the face my train ran late yet again what's your minister and his departmental head doing about this? not much I wager all my other commuter friends are at wits end not happy nor will they be anytime soon get the trains running on time or you'll end up like an old rail line piled high on a scrap heap and forgotten what's your vision? what's your scheme for rail? rail years ago ran reasonably well now there's me getting sentimental so much for innovation and technology for the rail system not much improvement yet or on the distant horizon I deserve and demand much better none of this second rate stuff I've had enough make good my lot what have I got so far? dollars unwisely spent on a parlous rail system I used to enjoy my daily train trip so too my fellow train travelers we say this in numbers numbers count premier know one know this better than you numbers stack up... stop griping me send a train to me departures and returns on time be prompt never late... is the old adages now this verse is written especially for you you are my mate at least for now in the future that may well change I've been know to change trains if circumstances dictate I could well be writing this verse for the alternative premier I'm sure you know what I'm driving at... You know...good rail policy get cracking get smart allay this persistent pain in my neck late trains, late trains, late trains I vote for a well run rail network yes every time not for a premier dragging the line that's not a good story in the media

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Oct 20, 2013

Oct 20, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC

ElizabethSquires

Late Trains (Political Poem)

premier you've smacked me in the face my train ran late yet again what's your minister and his departmental head doing about this? not much I wager all my other commuter friends are at wits end not happy nor will they be anytime soon get the trains running on time or you'll end up like an old rail line piled high on a scrap heap and forgotten what's your vision? what's your scheme for rail? rail years ago ran reasonably well now there's me getting sentimental so much for innovation and technology for the rail system not much improvement yet or on the distant horizon I deserve and demand much better none of this second rate stuff I've had enough make good my lot what have I got so far? dollars unwisely spent on a parlous rail system I used to enjoy my daily train trip so too my fellow train travelers we say this in numbers numbers count premier know one know this better than you numbers stack up... stop griping me send a train to me departures and returns on time be prompt never late... is the old adages now this verse is written especially for you you are my mate at least for now in the future that may well change I've been know to change trains if circumstances dictate I could well be writing this verse for the alternative premier I'm sure you know what I'm driving at... You know...good rail policy get cracking get smart allay this persistent pain in my neck late trains, late trains, late trains I vote for a well run rail network yes every time not for a premier dragging the line that's not a good story in the media

61

You are there to put a smile on my face and chase Away so many of life’s little anxiety’s And I’m gratefully lost in your distraction I’m finally settled at least With these things surrounding our attraction It’s true and I’m preoccupied with what You hid and the things you said You bridged the gap between What I thought I couldn't do and what I did. A foot hold on the parlous rock face To where the sun sinks below the rocks, And time makes the past a still frame in space And stars reflections of our hearts And the ocean knocks against the distance. You are the foundation for my self healing Self-image and in maintaining my resilience You impact me simply in your existence.

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Apr 20, 2013

Apr 20, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC

best-to-remain-unnamed

Because you are my friend

You are there to put a smile on my face and chase Away so many of life’s little anxiety’s And I’m gratefully lost in your distraction I’m finally settled at least With these things surrounding our attraction It’s true and I’m preoccupied with what You hid and the things you said You bridged the gap between What I thought I couldn't do and what I did. A foot hold on the parlous rock face To where the sun sinks below the rocks, And time makes the past a still frame in space And stars reflections of our hearts And the ocean knocks against the distance. You are the foundation for my self healing Self-image and in maintaining my resilience You impact me simply in your existence.

17

Timeless bliss parlous Stained swollen limbs Journey to the brain ................................... Sweaty flushes, paroxysmal Shuddering the dawn Dying eyes quint, bursts of sun ................................... Iron wings sink. Insatiable to regain skyward winds; Desire to glide insists change

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Jul 1, 2015

Jul 1, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC

Laniatus

haikus of H

Timeless bliss parlous Stained swollen limbs Journey to the brain ................................... Sweaty flushes, paroxysmal Shuddering the dawn Dying eyes quint, bursts of sun ................................... Iron wings sink. Insatiable to regain skyward winds; Desire to glide insists change

11

Like the ashes on cigarette, I fall. It left traces of its remnants on your mouth. The horrible, horrible taste of tobacco, tasting as they smell. And yet I still craved the flavor of the cigarette, as well as your mouth. Two parlous vices which I wanted to have until I couldn't breathe. Like the ashes on cigarette, I burn The fire would ignite from within me, fueled by your clout presence and burn the old, stalwart bridges of decade-old friendships. It burns fields of daisies and carnations that I have tried to bloom. I am self-destructing in your consent, you do not seem to mind. Like the ashes on cigarette, I am thrown away Forgotten on a pale ashtray, a ruined, ugly reminder You pay no mind to the now apathetic, rolled up paper as you reach for another stick in your pack, I had failed to notice that I was merely the first one you have consumed.

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Dec 3, 2016

Dec 3, 2016 at 3:18 PM UTC

manifesto

SMOKE.

Like the ashes on cigarette, I fall. It left traces of its remnants on your mouth. The horrible, horrible taste of tobacco, tasting as they smell. And yet I still craved the flavor of the cigarette, as well as your mouth. Two parlous vices which I wanted to have until I couldn't breathe. Like the ashes on cigarette, I burn The fire would ignite from within me, fueled by your clout presence and burn the old, stalwart bridges of decade-old friendships. It burns fields of daisies and carnations that I have tried to bloom. I am self-destructing in your consent, you do not seem to mind. Like the ashes on cigarette, I am thrown away Forgotten on a pale ashtray, a ruined, ugly reminder You pay no mind to the now apathetic, rolled up paper as you reach for another stick in your pack, I had failed to notice that I was merely the first one you have consumed.

25

The heart beats; The blood circulates; The cells receive their required oxygen; The breathing is sharp and rushed; The shaking hands and fingers fumble with the packaging, Nearly spilling the invaluable contents; The arm is wrapped with a belt to cause the veins to rise, and await the needle; The parlous thoughts and feelings of discomfort begin to dissipate as the lighter heats the spoon. The skin pulsates and the muscles ripple under the point of the needle; The natural reflexes of the body try to pull away from the pain; The prefrontal cortex allows the will to keep the arm steady and the determination to continue pressing; The skin breaks and the needle slides into the vein As the thumb plunges the plunger. A warm, rushing sensation travels up the arm; The mouth curls into a smile, the eyes crinkling at the edges; With a sigh of relief the needle is pulled from the vein; The syringe drops to the stained carpet below; A hot trickle of blood runs from the crook of the arm; All the muscles relax, sofa and body now one. A wave of euphoria sweeps the body and the mind; The voice of God reverberates around the room, revealing the secret to eternal life and the meaning of everything. The heart stops beating.

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Jul 13, 2016

Jul 13, 2016 at 5:10 PM UTC

john-hawkins

The Final Epiphany

The heart beats; The blood circulates; The cells receive their required oxygen; The breathing is sharp and rushed; The shaking hands and fingers fumble with the packaging, Nearly spilling the invaluable contents; The arm is wrapped with a belt to cause the veins to rise, and await the needle; The parlous thoughts and feelings of discomfort begin to dissipate as the lighter heats the spoon. The skin pulsates and the muscles ripple under the point of the needle; The natural reflexes of the body try to pull away from the pain; The prefrontal cortex allows the will to keep the arm steady and the determination to continue pressing; The skin breaks and the needle slides into the vein As the thumb plunges the plunger. A warm, rushing sensation travels up the arm; The mouth curls into a smile, the eyes crinkling at the edges; With a sigh of relief the needle is pulled from the vein; The syringe drops to the stained carpet below; A hot trickle of blood runs from the crook of the arm; All the muscles relax, sofa and body now one. A wave of euphoria sweeps the body and the mind; The voice of God reverberates around the room, revealing the secret to eternal life and the meaning of everything. The heart stops beating.

30

There have been days of darkness, Talking to you. There have been days of light. In the end you will always be my friend, And I hope to see you again. A journey so is parlous, Discovered true. We’re birds ready for flight. I pray Heaven your soul reaches the high, Seeing you in happy tears shy. For our days are never done, No one to shun. Coming so far to strive; Journey of days alive.

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Jan 19, 2022

Jan 19, 2022 at 3:35 PM UTC

NickolasJMcKee

Our Journey of Days

There have been days of darkness, Talking to you. There have been days of light. In the end you will always be my friend, And I hope to see you again. A journey so is parlous, Discovered true. We’re birds ready for flight. I pray Heaven your soul reaches the high, Seeing you in happy tears shy. For our days are never done, No one to shun. Coming so far to strive; Journey of days alive.

14

i’m that isolato-type. alright, i get jagged sometimes but, i don’t much. instead, i’d rather be, sinews sub sinews bold and parlous: oh what a multifaceted physique you bought for me! i used to be fire and forget victual and fleshy as you crafted me ^tears^. i’m not that thewy, draft, and unconscious, blind in your mask! but, in your plasma i am warm— security fails me. ^yeah!^ cop-out post cop-out i’m passive like that. but here’s the catch: like a sensitive plant—i’ll curl up by just one touch. and here’s the fix: my self-consciousness is lost in lull and that’s my fall. !i can’t take it anymore! !!!

0

Jul 12, 2013

Jul 12, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC

palladia

your plasma

i’m that isolato-type. alright, i get jagged sometimes but, i don’t much. instead, i’d rather be, sinews sub sinews bold and parlous: oh what a multifaceted physique you bought for me! i used to be fire and forget victual and fleshy as you crafted me ^tears^. i’m not that thewy, draft, and unconscious, blind in your mask! but, in your plasma i am warm— security fails me. ^yeah!^ cop-out post cop-out i’m passive like that. but here’s the catch: like a sensitive plant—i’ll curl up by just one touch. and here’s the fix: my self-consciousness is lost in lull and that’s my fall. !i can’t take it anymore! !!!

27

<> “I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night” Song of Myself (1892 version) by WALT WHITMAN §§§ *Irony great, some say unto delicious, for my writing, be a fusing of surroundings of silences, admixture of inconsequential noises, atomic horn and geese honking, sun rays speaking in tongues, my skin translating, both, the sounds of the city, those of out of city, merged, both, accessible, instant recall, stored for tongue tasing upon these blank pages below, needy for wordy fulfillment, copy and place these mishmash of cacophonous, on a single page, simmer, blend and sauce, of course, salt to taste, mine, author of this recipe being born, born in the night, prepped by day, the lovely sounds, kettle or pan, broiler, fryer, slow cooked on full flame they are the melted butter sweetness crossing the span between the body of the heartbeat, the ache of the brain, shot out in rapidity, error’d and stain’d, their state natural, for this mess of beans, collection of noises, stir my soul where they contain’d, aromatic, fanatic, exotic, sticky hot, only a singular harsh invades, the shrill of the voice human this piece, this poem, a flavoring, a dish-not-to-be-repeated, once consumed, spoiled milk, molded with Jello mold green, back to hiding in place of unseen, of bravura masked as cowardice, when crackle of easy wasted word cowards, daily spewed, so precious these ingredients, these artful sounds, easy ruined, chitchats of nothingness, parlous blasé wastrels, seize! cease! take thy tongue, let it memorize all the oddities that fill your ears, ecrivez! the cooing, smacking, the alliteration of snap, crackle, and yes, pop! and if you can love the human voice, of that too, tho not me, more beloved, the exterior symphony of kettle drum, soft cry of violin, timpani tingling, guitar plucking, the voice of men, too oft abusing and abused by untruths, emboldened lies, they are the sounds I love least, love to hate. a shrill disease, the TV liars...* §§§§§ May Manhattan Island

0

May 15, 2020

May 15, 2020 at 3:44 PM UTC

shepard-david-king

Whitman: “all sounds running together, combined, fused or following”

<> “I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night” Song of Myself (1892 version) by WALT WHITMAN §§§ *Irony great, some say unto delicious, for my writing, be a fusing of surroundings of silences, admixture of inconsequential noises, atomic horn and geese honking, sun rays speaking in tongues, my skin translating, both, the sounds of the city, those of out of city, merged, both, accessible, instant recall, stored for tongue tasing upon these blank pages below, needy for wordy fulfillment, copy and place these mishmash of cacophonous, on a single page, simmer, blend and sauce, of course, salt to taste, mine, author of this recipe being born, born in the night, prepped by day, the lovely sounds, kettle or pan, broiler, fryer, slow cooked on full flame they are the melted butter sweetness crossing the span between the body of the heartbeat, the ache of the brain, shot out in rapidity, error’d and stain’d, their state natural, for this mess of beans, collection of noises, stir my soul where they contain’d, aromatic, fanatic, exotic, sticky hot, only a singular harsh invades, the shrill of the voice human this piece, this poem, a flavoring, a dish-not-to-be-repeated, once consumed, spoiled milk, molded with Jello mold green, back to hiding in place of unseen, of bravura masked as cowardice, when crackle of easy wasted word cowards, daily spewed, so precious these ingredients, these artful sounds, easy ruined, chitchats of nothingness, parlous blasé wastrels, seize! cease! take thy tongue, let it memorize all the oddities that fill your ears, ecrivez! the cooing, smacking, the alliteration of snap, crackle, and yes, pop! and if you can love the human voice, of that too, tho not me, more beloved, the exterior symphony of kettle drum, soft cry of violin, timpani tingling, guitar plucking, the voice of men, too oft abusing and abused by untruths, emboldened lies, they are the sounds I love least, love to hate. a shrill disease, the TV liars...* §§§§§ May Manhattan Island

42

A strange feeling cages me Clasping my heart and draining ichor I claw at my throat, To only find His presence, close. Close to my black soul, close to my twisted mind of rogue Carved and painted an ensemble of white lie That I don't feel guilty to deny Therefore, I spread my wings--I plunge in For a parlous dive with a restrained cry Egad! My wings are rotting and, Death hath found me No less of a thousand sins

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Aug 26, 2024

Aug 26, 2024 at 10:13 AM UTC

Ashlyn_Ray

Death, You've found me

A strange feeling cages me Clasping my heart and draining ichor I claw at my throat, To only find His presence, close. Close to my black soul, close to my twisted mind of rogue Carved and painted an ensemble of white lie That I don't feel guilty to deny Therefore, I spread my wings--I plunge in For a parlous dive with a restrained cry Egad! My wings are rotting and, Death hath found me No less of a thousand sins

12

i woke to darkness, alarmed by a starlet. charmed by her starkness, we embarked on our parlous journey. but have you learned we marked our awakening by taking the chance to dance with a groundbreaking circumstance? © Matthew Harlovic

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Jan 16, 2017

Jan 16, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC

matthew-harlovic

we woke

i woke to darkness, alarmed by a starlet. charmed by her starkness, we embarked on our parlous journey. but have you learned we marked our awakening by taking the chance to dance with a groundbreaking circumstance? © Matthew Harlovic

11

I stand on the edge of an abyss A spectator amongst a world of explorers What could possibly be out there for me If I enter they’ll know I’m amiss I see the beautiful colors shining through their lives My hues just aren’t quite the same It’s a traveling circus of lights and sounds You must know the rules to play the game And that’s just it now isn’t it The rules were never in any book Or perhaps I am illiterate My hues have always contrived my look Do what you will to define me Paint up a picture as big as the sky Hire professionals: detectives and lawyers I’ll invite them in, I’ll let them pry But I stand on the edge of an abyss I know somethings out there for me Melding my colors may be parlous But I crave the solidarity

0

Sep 15, 2017

Sep 15, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC

claudia-tallon

Friends

I stand on the edge of an abyss A spectator amongst a world of explorers What could possibly be out there for me If I enter they’ll know I’m amiss I see the beautiful colors shining through their lives My hues just aren’t quite the same It’s a traveling circus of lights and sounds You must know the rules to play the game And that’s just it now isn’t it The rules were never in any book Or perhaps I am illiterate My hues have always contrived my look Do what you will to define me Paint up a picture as big as the sky Hire professionals: detectives and lawyers I’ll invite them in, I’ll let them pry But I stand on the edge of an abyss I know somethings out there for me Melding my colors may be parlous But I crave the solidarity

20

Is it a curse? Or is it for the worst? Bursting out of the seams of which the demons derive from me..... Thee of which I cannot name forever shames me that I have pained plain as day, did I pray for all of my demons to simply go away.... gluttony and guilt filled my chalice pilfering me to take the golden malice and though my parlous led me to life my demons stick true to my fiendish delight Might you say I was one in the few who overthrew a king yet still, I was out-ruled How cruel of me, Im sorry to say did my actions beseech thine overlay Ah of course, mellow I was as I rode your stolen horse into the fight of a thousand years war did you hollow out a mighty boor more cannon fodder to cover your floor but of course you shielded your eyes from the ****** fires lit through the night sky because of your wrath that you have placed your demons shall follow all throughout your place.

0

Jan 27, 2017

Jan 27, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC

tyler-james-roberts

Demons

Is it a curse? Or is it for the worst? Bursting out of the seams of which the demons derive from me..... Thee of which I cannot name forever shames me that I have pained plain as day, did I pray for all of my demons to simply go away.... gluttony and guilt filled my chalice pilfering me to take the golden malice and though my parlous led me to life my demons stick true to my fiendish delight Might you say I was one in the few who overthrew a king yet still, I was out-ruled How cruel of me, Im sorry to say did my actions beseech thine overlay Ah of course, mellow I was as I rode your stolen horse into the fight of a thousand years war did you hollow out a mighty boor more cannon fodder to cover your floor but of course you shielded your eyes from the ****** fires lit through the night sky because of your wrath that you have placed your demons shall follow all throughout your place.

25