"porphyria" poems - Hello Poetry

dead bodies while alive poor Porphyria strangled by her own hair which could be no Fairy tale , jabberwocky, listens as does that famous semicolon concise; By Ezra Pound. creepy innocence or infamous we all get to sooner. On to Popeye "Farm Implements......" title and poem supplied by Ashbury, hang an albatross but don't shoot it Mr. Coleridge, it will hang around your neck.

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Dec 12, 2014

Dec 12, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC

wordvango

attractive opposites

dead bodies while alive poor Porphyria strangled by her own hair which could be no Fairy tale , jabberwocky, listens as does that famous semicolon concise; By Ezra Pound. creepy innocence or infamous we all get to sooner. On to Popeye "Farm Implements......" title and poem supplied by Ashbury, hang an albatross but don't shoot it Mr. Coleridge, it will hang around your neck.

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The rain set early in tonight, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soiled gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And called me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist, And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced, And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair, Murmuring how she loved me—she Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavor, To set its struggling passion free From pride, and vainer ties dissever, And give herself to me forever. But passion sometimes would prevail, Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her, and all in vain: So, she was come through wind and rain. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshiped me: surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do. That moment she was mine, mine, fair, Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. And I untightened next the tress About her neck; her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before Only, this time my shoulder bore Her head, which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head, So glad it has its utmost will, That all it scorned at once is fled, And I, its love, am gained instead! Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now, And all night long we have not stirred, And yet God has not said a word!

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2.2k

Robert Browning

Porphyria’s Lover

The rain set early in tonight, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soiled gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And called me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist, And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced, And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair, Murmuring how she loved me—she Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavor, To set its struggling passion free From pride, and vainer ties dissever, And give herself to me forever. But passion sometimes would prevail, Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her, and all in vain: So, she was come through wind and rain. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshiped me: surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do. That moment she was mine, mine, fair, Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. And I untightened next the tress About her neck; her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before Only, this time my shoulder bore Her head, which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head, So glad it has its utmost will, That all it scorned at once is fled, And I, its love, am gained instead! Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now, And all night long we have not stirred, And yet God has not said a word!

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Sometimes I want to shake your head from your shoulders Try to dislodge the barbed twists of your perverse thinking And the ideas spearing through your tissues Like whaling harpoons that hooked their many heads deep Latching and Leaching Because you might have ****** your packet of Love Hearts a little too hard Until it crumbled and fizzed in desperate ecstasy on your tongue And the rest in the tube read MISS ME Whenever you asked But you are not Isolde, Capulet, Karenina or Earnshaw And as much as you desire the piercing pity of your broken collar bones The caress of the lost-souls melody and the razorblades of a ribcage The bitter corset of an appetite that pays for itself in crocodile tears And the romance of a noose of flaxen hair You are not Porphyria And he is not her lover

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Dec 8, 2014

Dec 8, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC

merecat

Porphyria's Lover

Sometimes I want to shake your head from your shoulders Try to dislodge the barbed twists of your perverse thinking And the ideas spearing through your tissues Like whaling harpoons that hooked their many heads deep Latching and Leaching Because you might have ****** your packet of Love Hearts a little too hard Until it crumbled and fizzed in desperate ecstasy on your tongue And the rest in the tube read MISS ME Whenever you asked But you are not Isolde, Capulet, Karenina or Earnshaw And as much as you desire the piercing pity of your broken collar bones The caress of the lost-souls melody and the razorblades of a ribcage The bitter corset of an appetite that pays for itself in crocodile tears And the romance of a noose of flaxen hair You are not Porphyria And he is not her lover

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You're ******* the marrow From my brittle bones Leaving decomposed white shells Within the wilted flower that is me But I forgive you Once Twice Three hundred times over I know you're struggling with porphyria I know you're projecting your "daddy issues" onto me But if it hurt so badly when he left you, Why do you subject me to the same pain? Why did you want her but not me? She is no princess and I am no peasant I don't want you, not one bit Life would be a breeze if you would have just left forever Though I need you You and I, we're more alike than I care to admit We're both users Searching for affection in enigmatic futures Rather than addressing the wounds of broken childhoods But in doing so, We're breaking adulthood Burning bridges we haven't yet walked Extinguishing trails unblazed Never exiting a situation unscathed

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Jan 28, 2015

Jan 28, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC

alyssa-pearson

Unscathed

You're ******* the marrow From my brittle bones Leaving decomposed white shells Within the wilted flower that is me But I forgive you Once Twice Three hundred times over I know you're struggling with porphyria I know you're projecting your "daddy issues" onto me But if it hurt so badly when he left you, Why do you subject me to the same pain? Why did you want her but not me? She is no princess and I am no peasant I don't want you, not one bit Life would be a breeze if you would have just left forever Though I need you You and I, we're more alike than I care to admit We're both users Searching for affection in enigmatic futures Rather than addressing the wounds of broken childhoods But in doing so, We're breaking adulthood Burning bridges we haven't yet walked Extinguishing trails unblazed Never exiting a situation unscathed

27

your face is still scrunched up with angst "she put my arm about her waist, and made her smooth white shoulder bare" i want you i want you i want you "give herself to me for ever, but passion sometimes would prevail" it's getting slightly awkward we've made 3 sketchy glances now oh, that makes 4 you know i know "happy and proud, at last i knew Porphyria worshipped me" you know "that moment she was mine, mine, fair, perfectly pure and good" starts to sink in "i am quite sure she felt no pain" guilt starts pumping itself through your veins, coursing through your body with such force you can't hide it "now why did he **** her?" "he must have loved her too madly." always love with that you look directly at me as i choke down some water to keep myself from throwing myself in your tempting arms that are "like home" ready to have my yellow hair wrapped 3 times around my little throat going limp forever wrapped in your disgusting guilt

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Apr 22, 2013

Apr 22, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC

indigo-chandler

porphyria

your face is still scrunched up with angst "she put my arm about her waist, and made her smooth white shoulder bare" i want you i want you i want you "give herself to me for ever, but passion sometimes would prevail" it's getting slightly awkward we've made 3 sketchy glances now oh, that makes 4 you know i know "happy and proud, at last i knew Porphyria worshipped me" you know "that moment she was mine, mine, fair, perfectly pure and good" starts to sink in "i am quite sure she felt no pain" guilt starts pumping itself through your veins, coursing through your body with such force you can't hide it "now why did he **** her?" "he must have loved her too madly." always love with that you look directly at me as i choke down some water to keep myself from throwing myself in your tempting arms that are "like home" ready to have my yellow hair wrapped 3 times around my little throat going limp forever wrapped in your disgusting guilt

33

A man comes out of the shadows, as so it goes. Held his fist to the doe, Her money, you know. “I’ve only but a rose, one of friendship despite my woes.” And with that rose she choked. Like Porphyria’s lover, coaxed. Soft mane of death, like a thorn to the chest. Only the rose of amity saw the rest.

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Mar 16, 2019

Mar 16, 2019 at 7:57 PM UTC

thenapkinpoet

SAINT VALENTINE

A man comes out of the shadows, as so it goes. Held his fist to the doe, Her money, you know. “I’ve only but a rose, one of friendship despite my woes.” And with that rose she choked. Like Porphyria’s lover, coaxed. Soft mane of death, like a thorn to the chest. Only the rose of amity saw the rest.

12

the "abstract" fun of drinking wine from a bottle on the day you find out your mother is a pain-killer ****** a: near-death experience of... flashing... memory cinema... of every single time you experienced love at first sight... and you know the cast.... by names... the "abstract" fun of drinking wine from a bottle on the day you decided: drinking is becoming boring... literally: you have drinken so much that... what the drunk you said of sober you: said of sober per se... now the sober you is saying of the drinking you that the drunk: of you... the moral hangover is a ***** i don't want to feel sorry for... something that's not akin to drink-driving... but i am... but i am... drinking some wine from a bottle... after all... that tally-game of: 100cl of whiskey... divided by 3: divided by || || || || and sometimes over-stepping the division... all wonky... ||||||||/|||... eh... drinking beer from a bottle... no head... beer... glass... afro... head... beer... glass... afro... head: albino afro... better than bleached afro... head... a totally different experience when drinking... wine from a bottle... but... it's not a red... and it's not a white... it's a rouge... a... rho-z\y... **** it's a... rosé... 4am and sitting up so late... that was... fun... when... i still had... all the love for writing in me... but the funz not there... anymore... porphyria... no syphilis... paraphernalia: chiromancer... necromancer... and that lost one... pyrotechnic... fire-reader... or no other alternative... the electrician... chequers with fuses... in the plugs... sir... before one... throws away... a perfectly good appliance... there were two variations of a sentence... but then... the sentence became too long... the original... the "abtract" fun of drinking wine from a bottle... vs. the abstract "fun" of drinking wine from a bottle... and: drinking wine... also... drinking wine... from a bottle... not smoking a cigarette for a whole day... i say... cigarettes go best with wine! drinking wine from a bottle... a welcome break from drinking that sort of knock-out bourbon... invested in purpose: wait and hour... oh the heavy "stuff" doesn't kick in... so early on... it's no fun... not enough... sugar... it's no fun... clearly none... s. beckett's watt contra... anything by dr. seuss... anyday... that sparring... i'll bet on that... too! rhyme rhyme rhyme: confined to rhyme? rhyme is best guised by an importune surrender of chance... a champagne: a discovery of champagne... not that... repeated... hammering of a horse's head against a wall because: it has a grain of sand lodged in it... a rhyme by no surrender... by chance... a rhyme by no caging... this pretty pretty pretty sore-spot of.... buttering the exit... for a thorny sort... sort of "soul"... the joy of drinking wine from a bottle... the need for a glass... when drinking beer... for the head: froth... crown... head: afro: froth... head... all the joys of drinking wine from a bottle.

0

Jun 29, 2020

Jun 29, 2020 at 7:25 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

one sentence: two variations

the "abstract" fun of drinking wine from a bottle on the day you find out your mother is a pain-killer ****** a: near-death experience of... flashing... memory cinema... of every single time you experienced love at first sight... and you know the cast.... by names... the "abstract" fun of drinking wine from a bottle on the day you decided: drinking is becoming boring... literally: you have drinken so much that... what the drunk you said of sober you: said of sober per se... now the sober you is saying of the drinking you that the drunk: of you... the moral hangover is a ***** i don't want to feel sorry for... something that's not akin to drink-driving... but i am... but i am... drinking some wine from a bottle... after all... that tally-game of: 100cl of whiskey... divided by 3: divided by || || || || and sometimes over-stepping the division... all wonky... ||||||||/|||... eh... drinking beer from a bottle... no head... beer... glass... afro... head... beer... glass... afro... head: albino afro... better than bleached afro... head... a totally different experience when drinking... wine from a bottle... but... it's not a red... and it's not a white... it's a rouge... a... rho-z\y... **** it's a... rosé... 4am and sitting up so late... that was... fun... when... i still had... all the love for writing in me... but the funz not there... anymore... porphyria... no syphilis... paraphernalia: chiromancer... necromancer... and that lost one... pyrotechnic... fire-reader... or no other alternative... the electrician... chequers with fuses... in the plugs... sir... before one... throws away... a perfectly good appliance... there were two variations of a sentence... but then... the sentence became too long... the original... the "abtract" fun of drinking wine from a bottle... vs. the abstract "fun" of drinking wine from a bottle... and: drinking wine... also... drinking wine... from a bottle... not smoking a cigarette for a whole day... i say... cigarettes go best with wine! drinking wine from a bottle... a welcome break from drinking that sort of knock-out bourbon... invested in purpose: wait and hour... oh the heavy "stuff" doesn't kick in... so early on... it's no fun... not enough... sugar... it's no fun... clearly none... s. beckett's watt contra... anything by dr. seuss... anyday... that sparring... i'll bet on that... too! rhyme rhyme rhyme: confined to rhyme? rhyme is best guised by an importune surrender of chance... a champagne: a discovery of champagne... not that... repeated... hammering of a horse's head against a wall because: it has a grain of sand lodged in it... a rhyme by no surrender... by chance... a rhyme by no caging... this pretty pretty pretty sore-spot of.... buttering the exit... for a thorny sort... sort of "soul"... the joy of drinking wine from a bottle... the need for a glass... when drinking beer... for the head: froth... crown... head: afro: froth... head... all the joys of drinking wine from a bottle.

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