"pettish" poems
My dearest Frank, I wish you joy
Of Mary's safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little pain
Compared with that of Mary Jane —
May he a growing Blessing prove,
And well deserve his Parents' Love! —
Endow'd with Art's and Nature's Good,
Thy Name possessing with thy Blood,
In him, in all his ways, may we
Another Francis WIlliam see! —
Thy infant days may he inherit,
They warmth, nay insolence of spirit; —
We would not with one foult dispense
To weaken the resemblance.
May he revive thy Nursery sin,
Peeping as daringly within,
His curley Locks but just descried,
With 'Bet, my be not come to bide.' —
Fearless of danger, braving pain,
And threaten'd very oft in vain,
Still may one Terror daunt his Soul,
One needful engine of Controul
Be found in this sublime array,
A neigbouring Donkey's aweful Bray.
So may his equal faults as Child,
Produce Maturity as mild!
His saucy words and fiery ways
In early Childhood's pettish days,
In Manhood, shew his Father's mind
Like him, considerate and Kind;
All Gentleness to those around,
And anger only not to wound.
Then like his Father too, he must,
To his own former struggles just,
Feel his Deserts with honest Glow,
And all his self-improvement know.
A native fault may thus give birth
To the best blessing, conscious Worth.
As for ourselves we're very well;
As unaffected prose will tell.
Cassandra's pen will paint our state,
The many comforts that await
Our Chawton home, how much we find
Already in it, to our mind;
And how convinced, that when complete
It will all other Houses beat
The ever have been made or mended,
With rooms concise, or rooms distended.
You'll find us very snug next year,
Perhaps with Charles and ***** near,
For now it often does delight us
To fancy them just over-right us.
5.3k
My dear,
I've lost everything I hold near;
you've turned my heart into a constant pit of fear
where I flinch at the sight of possible pain
and lose sight of the flame
I ever saw in us.
It's such a shame
that I have to put up such a fuss
because I never really did much
to stop what was bothering me the most,
just let it drift away like a coast;
might as well take a toast
to all the few good times we had
and be glad
that you could've been the biggest part of my life.
I really don’t want to do this,
but you've turned my infatuated bliss
into something that could be dismissed;
I was ready to put all my cards on the table,
expose my all like a fable,
but everything got blown away
when you decided to stop giving me the time of day
and shut down everything I had to say.
*You're a ****
You make me go berserk
even when you give me just the smallest smirk.
I cant take this.
You never have anything nice to say;
think that makes me want to stay?
I'm over this whole act.
Have you ever learned manners?
No? Do you expect me to adapt
to this pettish play
where 'men' are mean to the ones they like?
That doesn’t even make sense.
Why would you act in anger
or give any thought of danger
to someone you want to give your heart to?
Does that somehow make sense to you?
But, when I look into your eyes
I can see past all these tries,
that I truly despise,
and I see the real you.
The one that wants to hold my hand;
someone who wants to understand
everything I demand
and commit to who I really am.
Playing this tug-of-war
will be the end of me.
But, the game continues because of this stupid life I wished for.
I should just shut the door
since this has just become a chore
I have to bear
because it only seems fair
since your eyes tell me more than the rest of you.
I think we're through
unless you change your ways that have somehow became apart of you.
Sincerely,
Your almost Love
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
I had to let go of your memories
As I did with San Fransisco
With its innocent corners and places
The quaint stores and my shadow
"Does it snow in San Fransisco?"
My little nephew asked
"Not always, but it did long ago"
And my eyes filled with remnants of the past
It hasn't gotten easier, years have gone by
I still remember the golden gate
The sunsets and the pleasant sky
I need you still and in vain I wait
For you to stop by
And steady my pettish state
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
Two girls,
With curls,
In ALL their hair,
I bet only them know where.
One has a fetish,
The other one is pettish.
They are perfect,
Only for each other,
All though they might **** each others mothers,
And or Eesha's brothers,
They are quite the lovers.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Greate is thy Sin, since Sin is never Small:
And Monstrous Moles of Sin Call home thy Soule.
About their Mountainous Molehills they do Crawle.
Play thou (and win) a Game of Whacke-a-Mole.
Unto the Moles be Deadly as an asp.
Beware, take Care, nor Swat the pettish wasp.
The Harebrain'd Sinners Sins to him are toyes;
Theyre Entertainments, Gambols, Games with Dice.
The Madbrain'd Sinners Sins to him are joyes
Untill he's made to paye in full their price.
The Crackbrain'd Sin-addicted Scarab bug
That liveth but for Sin to Hell is Drug.
May 6, 2024
May 6, 2024 at 9:13 PM UTC
My soul…
Listen to the pettish sound of the sky
He will cry soon by rumbling, prepare your goblet
The sky falls in love with the sea and cry without stop in order to touch her
The sea fills herself in his love
My soul…
you missed that his ocean-like eyes?
Which you can't touch…
if i caress pearls will pour from his hair
Which you never have could felt…
Cry o soul with the sky behalf of holy love
without stop flows poems from my lips
clock inside my heart stopped
my knees tremble by craving
I am burning in flames
i get cold that have been trapped in ice-heart
listen that voice which you never could heard
a night will come open unlike bright
That night is mine…
my left side is silent as much as death this night
at the same time the most severe war
a soul passed by here with one hand goblet
at the same time by digging passed
By hurting…
Oh my little child soul!!
Listen the silent of night
Nobody hears its screaming
Night loves morning by trying to endure this pain
this soul wanders in verses from word to word
that soul sews scars that have been ripped from his heart line by line
the pocket of a coat hid his combative spirit
i'm drinking behalf of that soul
on behalf of every wounded soul…
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 11:45 AM UTC