"plaintively" poems
If we were the kind of friends who unironically
raised our glasses in toasts,
I would give one to the generation too comforted by the ease
of a honeybee in the plaintively nonexistent mind
of a tulip
To the generation, or at least its subset
that wrongly feels representative, who stumble drunkenly
or maybe just tiredly out of tents
to **** in the view of their friends, who are still at the fire
because the tent was too cold
To those who did raise their glasses in a toast
on New Year’s Eve at what felt, with the ball drop
not screening in luddite protest, enough like midnight.
Beginning with “dear friends” and a couple laughs;
concluding with “now let’s get ****** up” and
a couple more
To those who proceeded
as directed, clinking their shot-glasses
and swigging them back. If only because
they were not tulips.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
You hold echoes of a shift
so plaintively
against the swell
of midnight summer rain—
within the roar of the planes
on cold faded glass
the stuffy air at the airport
There was no way around it
that I could see—
the world still kept its spinning
You lock your stare here
and how I wish
I was packed up too,
snug heartbeats in your leather briefcase.
© BT
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
Gently you patted my cheek,
with a tenderness piquant,
not known hitherto to us both.
Those quivering long fingers
exude motherliness,I miss ever after,
my mom has gone to her last pilgrimage,
And I crave for at moments of pain intense.
From the layers of memory darkened
by distance,I recover that feeling,
to place you instantly at a level higher,
than that of a sultry lover to whom
desire than anything higher binds together.
In to my lackluster eyes, you peer,
see the ineptly hidden drop of tear,
in the corner shivering plaintively
before rolling down to lose forever,
it's in the memory of my mother,
who rhythmically tapped my back,
led me to the cozy cloud of sleep,
when outside raged the rain storm,
I now gather, to a women I owe
when, time after time she takes
another avatar, of my mother,
momentarily, at times,when earth slips,
from under the feet
unexpectedly.
You did see the storm raging
inside and the child looking for solace.
You hold me close to your *****
and I travel to a world gone by again
even when wolves howl refusing to sleep.
and let me doze off to wake up in another world!
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 12:50 PM UTC
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing
a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards
The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”
on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet
Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone
I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement
“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask
“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.
“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five. The ******
******** took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”
She went back to
tilling the sand.
Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf
standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche
the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
sounding
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting
seaside symphony
the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes
grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary
Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo
Grand Isle
2/20/17
jbm
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
O Hair, o Hair, wherefore art thou dear Hair?
You stuck with me since I can remember
How come you’re leaving? Why do you not care?
Why haven’t you grown since last November?
What did I do to make you love me less?
I’ve always given you the best shampoos,
Conditioners, hair cream- why are you distressed?
I wish you could talk- for I have no clue.
‘Stress’- the doctor says that you can’t bear it
It hurts you, it makes you sad, angry, weak
How I miss your happy, active spirit
You lit up my days when the world was bleak
You were obedient, made me look good
Introduced styles of your own I didn’t know
Growing fast into a shiny mane you would
Falling tantalisingly to my brow.
You used to cooperate with the stylist
So I tried new things, innovatively
Fashionable styles I never could resist
But you danced brightly, never plaintively!
Alas! I can’t possibly understand
Why you fall away to the cold hard ground
As I brush you, in the shower, strand by strand
The sight just shocks me as you make no sound.
You don’t respond to new-fangled oils
Bought online for you in desperate attempts
To make you grow again, healthy, unspoiled
But you stare up at me with harsh contempt!
Do not desert me yet, my darling friend!
I will change myself for you, make it right
Ensuring your precious life doesn’t end
I will put up a victorious, mighty fight.
I’ll meditate to reduce stress on you
I’ll stop shampoos to use homemade products
I’ll take the required medicines, oils too
Baby, for me, increase your good conduct!
I’m so sorry for all that I did wrong
All the things that then made you want to die
I’ll take care of you now, you will be strong
Work with me now, sweetheart, don’t ever cry!
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 7:52 AM UTC
The kettle whistles plaintively as if it knows it's time for tea
but the time is only five past three,
far too early
and she's the one who put the kettle on
but
she, went back to sleep
leaving me to keep my ears awake until I rise,get up and make a
brew.
I don't know what to do,
should I make the tea?
would she thank me If I woke her with some toast and tea upon a silver coaster?
I think not.
She's got me wrapped around her little finger,slinging me a crumb or two and leaving me to make the brew.
Sod the kettle
let it whistle on,
she chose the tune,she knows the song,meanwhile
this hungry boy is gone
to get some coffee and a scone, in a diner down the street.
Let her wake and wonder why
the kettle's dry,there is no tea
let her wonder
what became of me
but
she,
will take it in her stride
she's got her pride and that won't slip.
I think this as I sip my drink and wonder if she'd ever think
just how much'brew a man can take
how many tea's a man can make
before he cracks.
I keep my back against the wall
lest she should fall from a great height and beat me senseless,
it would serve me right
but this I do not let her know
I go
to work
whistling.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
Her two golden lamps made me pause,
As she spread her liquid gaze upon my flesh,
And slowly blinked
When she discovered that I stared back.
The dry valleys of age ran crazily over her face,
Deepening as she squinted in the sun,
A sun whose weakening hold on life
Put forth its meager attempt at warming her.
Her tattered, faded scarf was wrapped demurely
About her head; I am sure they had lived together long
And seen and watched many like me pass
On the graying pavement.
When she approached, she was like an old cart
With as many creaks, the difference being that
There was no one to pull her, help her along;
Certainly not I, who was mesmerized by her limping stride.
She cast her golden lamps into mine, lifting the shade;
I could see where her pride had been interred,
Left for dead, yet a shred of dignity still tried to dance,
As she plaintively asked,
“Could I, perhaps, have but a cent?”
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
In the vaulted way, where the passage turned
To the shadowy corner that none could see,
You paused for our parting,—plaintively:
Though overnight had come words that burned
My fond frail happiness out of me.
And then I kissed you,—despite my thought
That our spell must end when reflection came
On what you had deemed me, whose one long aim
Had been to serve you; that what I sought
Lay not in a heart that could breathe such blame.
But yet I kissed you: whereon you again
As of old kissed me. Why, why was it so?
Do you cleave to me after that light-tongued blow?
If you scorned me at eventide, how love then?
The thing is dark, Dear. I do not know.
1.4k
with each kiss you planted on my ribs
i felt a sprout take root,
and at once my chest was filled with blossoms
that made me cough like soot.
they were darling bells that made me hack
whenever your shadow appeared,
so I plucked each petal plaintively,
though he loves me not, I feared,
its been a spell since we have wilted, and
i’ve pressed you deep inside,
hoping still to preserve your youthful bloom
after all your leaves have dried
-r.s
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
You well know
You left once before
Returning with a
Tapping knock
Upon heart's door
Plaintively pleading
Can I enter once more
To press into your soul
Promising a true
Forevermore
Of only us as one
And none other
A one to forever remember
One of the blissful sublime
Not a love to wither and die
Shunning wise counsel
Reluctantly I granted
An entry through
Love's window to my soul
Yet all again a lie
In my agony of sorrow
Of a love lost forever
Having found my Athena
I sip deeply from my glass
Nepenthe warm and sweet
From behind heart's door
Whilst barely breathing
Teeth clenching
Rage seething
Quietly whispering
Nevermore, Nevermore
© 2017 Jim Davis
Could not resist a steal from Poe! For anyone concerned, this comes from an old personal thing.
From Wikipedia on Edgar Allen Poe's poem, "The Raven":
... "Christopher F. S. Maligec suggests the poem is a type of elegiacparaclausithyron, an ancient Greek and Roman poetic form consisting of the lament of an excluded, locked-out lover at the sealed door of his beloved.[14]"
Paraclausithyron (Ancient Greek: παρακλαυσίθυρον) is a motif in Greekand especially Augustan love elegy, as well as in troubadour poetry.
The details of the Greek etymology are uncertain, but it is generally accepted to mean "lament beside a door", from παρακλαίω, "lament beside", and θύρα, "door".[1] A paraklausithyron typically places a lover outside his mistress's door, desiring entry. In Greek poetry, the situation is connected to the komos, the revels of young people outdoors following intoxication at a symposium. Callimachus uses the situation to reflect on self-control, passion, and free will when the obstacle of the door is removed.[2]
From greekgodsandgoddesses website
Athena
* Athena was the Goddess of War, the female counterpart of ARES.
* She was the daughter of Zeus; no mother bore her. She sprang from Zeus’s head, full-grown and clothed in armor.
.......
* In later poetry, Athena embodied wisdom and rational thought.
From Dictionary website
Nepenthe
* a drug or drink, or the plant yielding it, mentioned by ancient writers as having the power to bring forgetfulness of sorrow or trouble.
* anything inducing a pleasurable sensation of forgetfulness, esp. of sorrow or trouble.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
A fire, they said, blazing red
Had eaten whole a house
And there, there was a husband, dead
Who cried over his spouse
“Twas on a cold, dead winter’s night,”
He sang, o plaintively:
“A red, tall fire, had blazed bright
Eating twas all to see
I heard my wife’s most pleading cry
Drowned out by outer noise
She screamed, ‘neath metal she did lie
“Go save, just save our boys!”
Her frightened eyes ablaze with fear
She tried to writhe out free
But she was trapped, the fires neared
In her captivity
And red sparks flew, she screamed, “John, John!
Help me, help me, o please”
Through the flames, quick I did run
From where sprang her shrill pleas
And as I dodged through searing flame
A beast tearing apart
Something in a cold twist of pain
Gripped all my frightened heart
Her scream as her the flames did eat
Raw, black and savaged flesh
“O, help me John!” my tears did meet
The flames,
“O, where are you, where are you Jane
O, I managed to yell
But all that answered was the pain
These crimson tides of hell
And then all fell silent except
The crackling flame’s fury
And that shrill voice inside my head
“Go save the boys,” her plea
I searched around the debris bare
Aflame with savage blaze
And to my dark, my cold despair
And all I heard again, again
Her plead, her cry, her voice
You’re their father, you’re that man
“Go save, go save our boys!”
But then somewhere, I heard the cries
Of the twins, tis too late
I ran, I ran, the flames did rise
And nothing did abate
And I ran into my sons’ room
And there I found to dread
Befallen on them blackest doom
For they were burned, were dead
I flooded up in sad tears, white
And with grief, fall did I
For all to this fire at night
My memories did die
And now I stand, I sing forlorn
O’er my family, dead
In plaintive elegies, I mourn
I kiss each of their head
And though that fire changed my life
Live I shall continue
In death with my twins and my wife
In a life, anew…
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
The heady scents of night recede,
Unfamiliar birds call, plaintively, into the lightening sky,
Morning-flowers unfurl, rich and lush and greedy for the heat.
Stars retreat, but the moon lingers, proud and unrepentant,
Fading, but resolute; a promise to return.
In this garden of delights I sit and think of you, so far away, oh,
You are so far, you are too far.
I close my eyes and dream that you are here with me,
Sharing the newborn sun.
Coy pink petals unfurl, to a sudden brazen blaze,
The day is here, and you are gone with the night,
Back into my dreams, I know you will emerge
When the thai moon rises, I know that you are with me
And I know that you are thinking of me,
Unfurling, opening up, reaching out,
Drinking in your love.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Had I been wondering?
When I was sitting on a park bench,
lighting a cigar,
I got swept away with the spirit of the flashing ember,
Brought me to another dimension
of recurring nightmare .
Had I been wondering?
When storms on its duty,
Banging my frail eardrums,
All I could hear was just my soul screaming plaintively,
My hands were shivering,
Remembering the sins I made.
Had I been wondering?
Asking for forgiveness,
Asking for sentenced.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
Stronger than words dripping with passion
Like immortal memories lodged in your mind
Fiercely lunging from the depths of your soul
Burning so strongly it almost leaves you blind
You hear it whispering into the darkness
Plaintively declaring a heartfelt need
As if succumbing to its weaker side
Being overcome by such selfish greed
And it's climbing higher with each second
Growing more insistent than ever before
Constantly appearing so small and helpless
Falling to its knees and begging you for more
But you will never trust something like this
You have seen it lie to you in every way
Its earnest eyes have peered into your heart
And left you with absolutely nothing to say
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 31, 2010 at 3:56 PM UTC
Top notch legal scholar Erin Go Braw
(less concerned about being fair versus
abominable, irrevocable, and execrable
unforgivable oversight most holy "M" & *****
cabinet of high priests,
sans spelling chieftains ready to claw
your person to bits,
and they presage remote clemency
which decision told, when Jeff Sessions
decides final punishment to draw
now, (see excerpted lines
visited with glaring flaw
"Benediction For Lord Apple Macintosh"
where ...bot sized wetbacks, setbacks,
and drawbacks, required a secret char),...
intimates a "hee haw"
and rock'm n sock'm pull no punches
square at yar triangular jaw
YES, on account misspelling,
whence Grammarian Jude Law
at the least aims (to topple a prospective
title of eminence grise), banning access
to such undeserved
catbird seat, sans Rhetorical perch
laughing while ja plaintively call for maw
**** Oxford English Dictionary - but naw
can do, and hence paw
mister trumpeting
"FAKE" wordsmith raw
flesh will turn into....
unreadable print until closing text
that elaborates how holiness felt vexed.
To ye (a freshly minted scalawag),
these 20/20 eyes bulged agog
while steaming with invective
at what attempted
to pass as sacred poetic blog
when thee (Matthew Scott Harris),
now pronounced, an illiterate,
immoderate, and inveterate å!@#$%∑
with a severe cerebral clog
(meaning prefrontal lobotomy
not out of the question),
you m~r mangy whelp of a she dog
(my humble apologies to canines),
less deserving than being
whipped near death's doorstep flog
after henchmen (strongly
resembling Alaskan BullWorms
guarding this royal hutch,
herein Cupertino, California.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
And one more day will cut away to fade into the bubble wrap
where I can trap the memory to
film and file and in the circuitry where I can find the me
I picture history among the jewellry that sparkles lustre-ly.
One more night to fight the demons that arise to
whistle plaintively
as one more daylight dies
and who is there?
and who is there to battle fallen dreams that fell off sunken bridges to drown in flowing streams and who is there to lend a moment of their time and if in a moment would I resign myself to the night time mockery?
where Satan doles out misery and charges me to join in miserably.
Oh bring me the day with all its history as yet untouched by hands that want to hurt and much good would it do to see
someone waiting especially for me
it cannot be
that all I have is bubble wrap to tap into and clap my eyes upon
where has this life of mine disappeared to and where has it gone?
It is just another trap to think like that and waiting as I do for some full on attack
I reset and play again the pack of tarot cards
and life is dealt to me as if I was a wind up toy whose mainspring went
oh boy
it couldn't could it not that I have drawn the hanged man
the final dot
black spot
a truly Pirate's lot.
I got no hope to make it till the morning comes
the sand runs and my life guns itself into the fast lane
another all the same
and if it's just a game
why do I always lose?
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
The wind chill in March
was at its *** end,
the sun in the east
half lit the murkier sky
of that morning
the cloudy patterns
seen through brittle and brown
branches
of the maple trees,
surrounded
a weird silence of forlorn.
the birds left
their broken nests,
flew away to the far end,
paralleling man's flying machine.
It was a scenic beauty,
blended with
technology and ecology.
Yet, the nature's creation
competed with man’s,
a bird from the flock,
plunged down
ablaze, ripped apart
plaintively,
with a sound.
Narinder
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
fast as a blitzen comet,
this dashing prancer
contra dancer
(i.e. Rudolph nary hoof) didst zip
with cupid ditty toward his ***** wife,
who loosed a suppressed yip
asper one discovering remains of the day
from the donner
(newt the majority) party whip
ping her olive drab camouflage attire,
as if she hapt to be a vip
endlessly congratulating herself
(and bow wowing her ego) bing awarded
the housekeeping seal of approval,
and expected me to tip
her gore gee us Martha Stewart déclassé
snoop doggy dog rendition
as she did slip
agilely (with broom and dustpan in hand) rip
peat head lee uttering
an apropos Mary Poppins quip
booting muck can clear across to Compton
(wherever that might be) pip
pin like a cat on a hot tin roof,
where no cure existed to nip
in the bud at this stage,
and rid thine beloved Narberth bride,
who caught a bout clean destine
feverish frenzy to make house beautiful,
oblivious to beseeching despair,
sans this husband who cried
plaintively imploring divine intervention,
lest extreme heroic measures
need be taken, thus guide
me asap before her blistered hands
rubbed red as tender (vittles) raw hide,
which could find her catatonic, doggone
ill eagle lee flying a boot
like a bat out of hell, and stupefied
hence, this urgent message typed out in a huff
for less severe invasive
experimental treatment truly tried
on this, that, or some other missus so and so
.....please pardon this abrupt end,
plus initial idea wide
lee differing from my initial intent won
during how to write an elegy to mister son
describing, how aye felt enervated with run
hills of beaming solar rays, oh how none
synthetic drug to bathe,
enhance, suffuse away mon
day moody blues,
and now...gotta tend tummy ***
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
Soupy darkness enfolds
the wilted thornbush of your hands,
steepled plaintively in your ruined lap.
Your moist chin sags in defeat;
the mask of your tired smile
peels crookedly off your face
into the abyss of your leathery cleavage.
Ah, the void of thoughtless grief...
The burning house of your mind
lists limply to the side –
- a stranger’s hands smolder darkly
in the airless cave of your dreams.
The scar remembers the wound;
the wound remembers the pain –
- my flesh forgets your touch too soon,
Is is a sin to yearn for a nail?
Is is a crime to remember
the fleeting caress of your ice pick
on my hairless *****
Is it a shame to laugh
when you’re hurting me beyond screams?
I remember your tender fists,
as my dog laps the essence of you
off the floor.
The dusk descends
through the flutter of curtains in the breeze.
The bath bath beckons steamily:
My wrist opens invitingly
under the gleaming caress
of my razor.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
i refrain from picking people up
i drop them on the ground
and allow them to weaken
in the eyes of my existence
my careless mind that ceases to find
the good in life
but strives to make the
fittest of the fittest thrive
as i abandon those that
plaintively cry
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 2:14 PM UTC
Sing
I plead with you not to speak except to break the air and sing
Bring forth the heart that is listening
Dutiful to your passion, fulfilled, holding aloft that which can never be still;
The jagged heartbreak, the quavering schill calling plaintively, "Are you coming for me?"
...
"Are you coming back for me?"
And you reject the old bylines, criticisms, cataclysms of popular opinion
Noise buzzing within you turns to vibration
And you know
I have always been here
X
X
X
X
X
Grasp that which they say cannot be held
And continue as if no one is watching
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
I have never feared death
though it lurks round every bend
nor do I fear spiders
or snakes
or things that go
bump
in the night.
I do not fear investments
without returns,
for the investing is worthwhile
in itself.
I do not fear rejection,
nor heartache,
nor pain.
For all three I have experienced
and never have they won.
but you must fear something,
the fates proclaim. for a life without fear
is unbalanced,
and they do not permit their loom
to stretch without give,
nor give without take.
So what is it I fear?
What, or whom, lies in my shadowy nightmares
when I lie awake and dreamless
tossing in the sheets
and plaintively crying out
with nobody to hear?
simple:
inadequacy.
For when the day comes
with a hand to collect,
I may not have anything to give.
my heart, my flesh, my soul
may be too frail
to pass between us.
That is what I fear.
Not the darkness of the night,
but the soul left wandering
waiting for something
I could never give.
Sep 16, 2023
Sep 16, 2023 at 1:33 AM UTC
Some days hang in the sky like gems
Or encase me inside, quite still.
Above, the light is crystalline
And on the horizon, filtered soft
I sit, like Scheherazade and gaze
At the oscillating leaves
And wandering clouds,
Letting them create a hum inside me.
Senses turn to water and slide down
Beneath my skull, draining tension
And even careful thought,
Until all that’s left is the mind,
The vibrating Paradis,
The enclosed garden of antiquity,
Yet boundless tending of awareness
That is unaware,
And the long, slow drift of Life.
…
I could stop there
But near-erotic sensations
Through all my nerves and skin
Lead me on,
As if sinking down into a pool,
Inside a liquid chalice of energy.
Eyelids half-closed,
Viscera descending
As the being relaxes.
Limbs flex and let energy flow
Until there is no barrier
Between myself and the earth.
Like Prufrock, I come to rest,
Not ragged claws but a thoughtless droplet
Or ancient sea lily that waves
And, we have seen, walks daintily
On tip-toes across the sea floor!
In the currents I send out tendrils
Of light and vague curiosity,
The only human thing left,
As it once was, before consciousness
Trespassed, before anything was named,
Before judgment was passed.
It is mind without thought:
The brilliant void that changes not
From sunrise to sunset.
I could remain like this forever,
Simply being;
All is a luxury of torpor,
Serenity and certainty.
And if one psyche plaintively asked,
If this is all,
I should reply that for these
Several moments,
“This is just what I mean,
this is all.”
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC
If someone else wants to touch you I can't tolerate
But when you bloom in my arms I really celebrate
My sweetheart you are my good fortune and not fate
My eyes carry your image which is wonderful ,great
My eyes kiss your beauty and my heart starts dance
Love and beauty are intoxicated in just real romance
My beloved hails from Italy and I hail from France
Let be real lovers and try to take chance after chance
My beloved I carry you in my eyes to my sweet dreams
In dream you and me together play with all light beams
You have taken my heart as a play game to me it seems
My soul plaintively cries and my heart in dejection screams
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 golden Glow
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 11:23 PM UTC
Nothing moves in the valley today
the sea is a flat silver platter
one sheep calls out plaintively
lost and alone easy prey to imagination.
All the winds of the compass silent
blown themselves out of breath.
This is a time of waiting thankfulness
a day few and far in between all mayhem.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC