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james nordlund Nov 2018
Whilst installed in the Blackhouse,
RumputiN's and vlad the impaler's latest
craven political attack on the military,
Against Admiral McRaven, who headed up
the capture of Osama, is just more raving.
This is clear to everyone since they,

the bi-headed underworld crown of
the bipolar axi of global supposed power,
RumputiN, republican capitalist materialists,
vlad the impaler, totalitarian socialist
materialists, put our military on TX's SE
border with Mexico, even though the "caravan"
which was 40 days away, was projected
to be arriving at the SW part instead,

A political stunt to get republican politicians
between 1/2 and 1 % more votes in the Midterms,
While it worked for the criminal gaining of votes,
The military is doing next to nothing there,
And should be allowed home by Thanksgiving.
Meanwhile, Trumpler said, the "Admiral didn't
do so well, since it took so long to capture
Bin Laden", when it was king george and his ****,
cheney, who ordered Osama to be allowed to escape
from Bora, Bora to Pakistan for safe keeping in

Abbottabad, "5 miles S. of Pakistan's Westpoint".  
You see, Bushs and Bin Ladens had been in business
for decades, and in the M.E. business is thicker
than blood, Bush could no more **** Bin Laden than
he could his own flesh and blood.  It's well known
that he received wedding invitations to Osama's kids
weddings, etc., for years, so, Trumpler blaming
McRaven and O'bama, when they caught him in the 2nd year
of his Presidency, is just more precious examples of our
king kong sized terrible two's use of 1st conclusion,
superficial, linear thought stragedy to attack everybody,
in attempts to silence, cower most if not All, in vain.

These attacks by Trumpler are also misdirections, to take
the news cycles off: his party's extreme losses and evident
voter crime they did, like in GA, where Abrams "couldn't
concede in her Governor's race for that would mean it was
proper...", it wasn't because Gov. Elect Kemp determined that
"...it wasn't a free, fair election, ...democracy failed in GA".
Also, his illegally installing Whitaker, a criminal the FBI is
investigating, to acting Attorney General, to preside over the
Mueller investigation (cover-up for: it doesn't use the RICO act
and asked for him to answer a take home test months ago, he
hasn't even handed in yet, while "...We(e),...", got our last
take home tests in 1st grade).  As well as his wasting a 1/2 a
billion of your tax $ on further militarization of our S. border.
His false, lame attacks against democratic leaders are unending.

On the letter by 16 democrat politicians who signed onto "the
leadership fight against Pelosi (for the republicans), Ocasio-
Cortez, Elect, says, "what's the point of changing just to...,
we might get a more conservative leader, for signers aren't diverse,
14 are male, very few people of color, progressives aren't signing."
I agree, why would the non-repubs get rid of their strongest
political leader going into impeachment time and 2020?  The supposed
left said "Hillary wasn't perfect", and helped to install him, when,
if you didn't vote Hillary you voted for the bi-headed, RumputiN/vlad
the impaler, head of the global oligarchy and bi-polar global axi of
supposed power to dictate the extermination to extinction of humanity,
large mammals, for the corp structure's convolution's devolutionary
direction + 'la machine''s, sociological programming (machining) human
(into not) being, individually, which is the social challenge of our
day, as the convolution's dictating cult of personality is almost all
and the socialist's extemist lie that "there's no reality without
their agreement", is the political one.  Don't be undone, be one well.
Thanx for the great worx, I look forward....  "...We(e),..." are advancing the Evolution in it's struggle against the corporate structure's (la machine) convolution and it's devolutionary direction.  You, indivisible life and illimitable potential, and your worx go along way in that evolutionary direction, for, we can walk in nature's balance, giving back to Earth's abundance.  If you didn't vote Hillary you voted for the bi-headed, RumputiN/vlad the impaler, head of the global oligarchy to dictate the extermination to extinction of humanity, large mammals, for the corp structure's convolution's devolutionary direction + 'la machine''s, sociological programming (machining) human (into not) being, individually, which is the social challenge of our day, as the convolution's dictating cult of personality is almost all and the socialist's extemist lie that "there's no reality without their agreement", is the political one.  All life are necessary threads in life's fabric, we can't allow to be torn asunder, as we followed none, we leave no footprints that will echo on, in all ways, always.   reality
L B May 2018
Yellow is
a high-minded mood
the extravagance of sunlight
to be touched--
before long
by colors of play
___

It is of hair
tendering golden sun
brown pennies for lemonade
__

Yellow is
bumping into the screaming end
of a lit
cigarette
___

Yellow is
dripping from the eaves
onto an empty soup can
___

It is
spindling sparrow song
from highest perch on roof
his pitch can aspire
___

Yellow is
in rattled doorknob
an infant's sweet
voice wanting – in
Reciting menu
above mattress
edges into sleep
two dark eyes
plead
for yellow
waking
Mother into morning--
“juice.... eggs”

Yellow  _
__
is
opening a car door
at the shore's
unmistakable!
Smells of life  
warmth and breeze
touching strings
those kites  
of sense
harmonics
above the tone
octaves of excitement
to see to hear to touch to taste
to know
again –

the ocean of my mother
as she calms the waves,
ignores the pouts of us
with stuff to lug out to the beach
the towels, pails and shovels
Picnic basket, cooler
lotion, comic books, her magazines

Mom looks out
She is a good swimmer
Her glasses, dark
Preside  
reflecting beauty –

“Take your sister's hand.”

Yellow are the squeals
Feet thrashing sand
of cannot wait
For my daughter, Phoebe and my mother.
HER even lines her steady temper show ;
Neat as her dress, and polish'd as her brow ;
Strong as her judgment, easy as her air ;
Correct though free, and regular though fair :
And the same graces o'er her pen preside
That form her manners and her footsteps guide.
MESSENGER

Now at the Seventh Gate the seventh chief,
Thy proper mother's son, I will announce,
What fortune for this city, for himself,
With curses he invoketh:--on the walls
Ascending, heralded as king, to stand,
With paeans for their capture; then with thee
To fight, and either slaying near thee die,
Or thee, who wronged him, chasing forth alive,
Requite in kind his proper banishment.
Such words he shouts, and calls upon the gods
Who o'er his race preside and Fatherland,
With gracious eye to look upon his prayers.
A well-wrought buckler, newly forged, he bears,
With twofold blazon riveted thereon,
For there a woman leads, with sober mien,
A mailed warrior, enchased in gold;
Justice her style, and thus the legend speaks:--
'This man I will restore, and he shall hold
The city and his father's palace homes.'
Such the devices of the hostile chiefs.
'Tis for thyself to choose whom thou wilt send;
But never shalt thou blame my herald-words.
To guide the rudder of the State be thine!


ETEOCLES

O heaven-demented race of Oedipus,
My race, tear-fraught, detested of the gods!
Alas, our father's curses now bear fruit.
But it beseems not to lament or weep,
Lest lamentations sadder still be born.
For him, too truly Polyneikes named,--
What his device will work we soon shall know;
Whether his braggart words, with madness fraught,
Gold-blazoned on his shield, shall lead him back.
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Guided his deeds and thoughts, this might have been;
But neither when he fled the darksome womb,
Or in his childhood, or in youth's fair prime,
Or when the hair thick gathered on his chin,
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Nor in this outrage on his Fatherland
Deem I she now beside him deigns to stand.
For Justice would in sooth belie her name,
Did she with this all-daring man consort.
In these regards confiding will I go,
Myself will meet him. Who with better right?
Brother to brother, chieftain against chief,
Foeman to foe, I'll stand. Quick, bring my spear,
My greaves, and armor, bulwark against stones.
Piramidal, funesta de la tierra
nacida sombra, al cielo encaminaba
de vanos obeliscos ***** altiva,
escalar pretendiendo las estrellas;
si bien sus luces bellas
esemptas siempre, siempre rutilantes,
la tenebrosa guerra
que con negros vapores le intimaba
la vaporosa sombra fugitiva
burlaban tan distantes,
que su atezado ceño
al superior convexo aún no llegaba
del orbe de la diosa
que tres veces hermosa
con tres hermosos rostros ser ostenta;
quedando sólo dueño
del aire que empañaba
con el aliento denso que exhalaba.
Y en la quietud contenta
de impero silencioso,
sumisas sólo voces consentía
de las nocturnas aves
tan oscuras tan graves,
que aún el silencio no se interrumpía.
Con tardo vuelo, y canto, de él oído
mal, y aún peor del ánimo admitido,
la avergonzada Nictímene acecha
de las sagradas puertas los resquicios
o de las claraboyas eminentes
los huecos más propicios,
que capaz a su intento le abren la brecha,
y sacrílega llega a los lucientes
faroles sacros de perenne llama,
que extingue, sino inflama
en licor claro la materia crasa
consumiendo; que el árbol de Minerva
de su fruto, de prensas agravado,
congojoso sudó y rindió forzado.
Y aquellas que su casa
campo vieron volver, sus telas yerba,
a la deidad de Baco inobedientes
ya no historias contando diferentes,
en forma si afrentosa transformadas
segunda forman niebla,
ser vistas, aun temiendo en la tiniebla,
aves sin pluma aladas:
aquellas tres oficiosas, digo,
atrevidas hermanas,
que el tremendo castigo
de desnudas les dio pardas membranas
alas, tan mal dispuestas
que escarnio son aun de las más funestas:
éstas con el parlero
ministro de Plutón un tiempo, ahora
supersticioso indicio agorero,
solos la no canora
componían capilla pavorosa,
máximas negras, longas entonando
y pausas, más que voces, esperando
a la torpe mensura perezosa
de mayor proporción tal vez que el viento
con flemático echaba movimiento
de tan tardo compás, tan detenido,
que en medio se quedó tal vez dormido.
Este. pues, triste son intercadente
de la asombrosa turba temerosa,
menos a la atención solicitaba
que al suelo persuadía;
antes si, lentamente,
si su obtusa consonancia espaciosa
al sosiego inducía
y al reposo los miembros convidaba,
el silencio intimando a los vivientes,
uno y otro sellando labio obscuro
con indicante dedo, Harpócrates la noche silenciosa;
a cuyo, aunque no duro, si bien imperioso
precepto, todos fueron obedientes.
El viento sosegado, el can dormido:
éste yace, aquél quedo,
los átomos no mueve
con el susurro hacer temiendo leve,
aunque poco sacrílego ruido,
violador del silencio sosegado.
El mar, no ya alterado,
ni aún la instable mecía
cerúlea cuna donde el sol dormía;
y los dormidos siempre mudos peces,
en los lechos 1amosos
de sus obscuros senos cavernosos,
mudos eran dos veces.
Y entre ellos la engañosa encantadora
Almone, a los que antes
en peces transformó simples amantes,
transformada también vengaba ahora.
En los del monte senos escondidos
cóncavos de peñascos mal formados,
de su esperanza menos defendidos
que de su obscuridad asegurados,
cuya mansión sombría
ser puede noche en la mitad del día,
incógnita aún al cierto
montaraz pie del cazador experto,
depuesta la fiereza
de unos, y de otros el temor depuesto,
yacía el vulgo bruto,
a la naturaleza
el de su potestad vagando impuesto,
universal tributo.
Y el rey -que vigilancias afectaba-
aun con abiertos ojos no velaba.
El de sus mismos perros acosado,
monarca en otro tiempo esclarecido,
tímido ya venado,
con vigilante oído,
del sosegado ambiente,
al menor perceptible movimiento
que los átomos muda,
la oreja alterna aguda
y el leve rumor siente
que aun le altera dormido.
Y en 1a quietud del nido,
que de brozas y lodo instable hamaca
formó en la más opaca
parte del árbol, duerme recogida
la leve turba, descansando el viento
del que le corta alado movimiento.
De Júpiter el ave generosa
(como el fin reina) por no darse entera
al descanso, que vicio considera
si de preciso pasa, cuidadosa
de no incurrir de omisa en el exceso,
a un sólo pie librada fía el peso
y en otro guarda el cálculo pequeño,
despertador reloj del leve sueño,
porque si necesario fue admitido
no pueda dilatarse continuado,
antes interrumpido
del regio sea pastoral cuidado.
¡Oh de la majestad pensión gravosa,
que aun el menor descuido no perdona!
Causa quizá que ha hecho misteriosa,
circular denotando la corona
en círculo dorado,
que el afán es no menos continuado.
El sueño todo, en fin, lo poseía:
todo. en fin, el silencio lo ocupaba.
Aun el ladrón dormía:
aun el amante no se desvelaba:
el conticinio casi ya pasando
iba y la sombra dimidiaba, cuando
de las diurnas tareas fatigados
y no sólo oprimidos
del afán ponderosos
del corporal trabajo, más cansados
del deleite también; que también cansa
objeto continuado a 1os sentidos
aún siendo deleitoso;
que la naturaleza siempre alterna
ya una, ya otra balanza,
distribuyendo varios ejercicios,
ya al ocio, ya al trabajo destinados,
en el fiel infiel con que gobierna
la aparatosa máquina del mundo.
Así pues, del profundo
sueño dulce los miembros ocupados,
quedaron los sentidos
del que ejercicio tiene ordinario
trabajo, en fin, pero trabajo amado
-si hay amable trabajo-
si privados no, al menos suspendidos.
Y cediendo al retrato del contrario
de la vida que lentamente armado
cobarde embiste y vence perezoso
con armas soñolientas,
desde el cayado humilde al cetro altivo
sin que haya distintivo
que el sayal de la púrpura discierna;
pues su nivel, en todo poderoso,
gradúa por esemptas
a ningunas personas,
desde la de a quien tres forman coronas
soberana tiara
hasta la que pajiza vive choza;
desde la que el Danubio undoso dora,
a la que junco humilde, humilde mora;
y con siempre igual vara
(como, en efecto, imagen poderosa
de la muerte) Morfeo
el sayal mide igual con el brocado.
El alma, pues, suspensa
del exterior gobierno en que ocupada
en material empleo,
o bien o mal da el día por gastado,
solamente dispensa,
remota, si del todo separada
no, a los de muerte temporal opresos,
lánguidos miembros, sosegados huesos,
los gajes del calor vegetativo,
el cuerpo siendo, en sosegada calma,
un cadáver con alma,
muerto a la vida y a la muerte vivo,
de lo segundo dando tardas señas
el de reloj humano
vital volante que, sino con mano,
con arterial concierto, unas pequeñas
muestras, pulsando, manifiesta lento
de su bien regulado movimiento.
Este, pues, miembro rey y centro vivo
de espíritus vitales,
con su asociado respirante fuelle
pulmón, que imán del viento es atractivo,
que en movimientos nunca desiguales
o comprimiendo yo o ya dilatando
el musculoso, claro, arcaduz blando,
hace que en él resuelle
el que le circunscribe fresco ambiente
que impele ya caliente
y él venga su expulsión haciendo activo
pequeños robos al calor nativo,
algún tiempo llorados,
nunca recuperados,
si ahora no sentidos de su dueño,
que repetido no hay robo pequeño.
Estos, pues, de mayor, como ya digo,
excepción, uno y otro fiel testigo,
la vida aseguraban,
mientras con mudas voces impugnaban
la información, callados los sentidos
con no replicar sólo defendidos;
y la lengua, torpe, enmudecía,
con no poder hablar los desmentía;
y aquella del calor más competente
científica oficina
próvida de los miembros despensera,
que avara nunca v siempre diligente,
ni a la parte prefiere más vecina
ni olvida a la remota,
y, en ajustado natural cuadrante,
las cuantidades nota
que a cada cual tocarle considera,
del que alambicó quilo el incesante
calor en el manjar que medianero
piadoso entre él y el húmedo interpuso
su inocente substancia,
pagando por entero
la que ya piedad sea o ya arrogancia,
al contrario voraz necio la expuso
merecido castigo, aunque se excuse
al que en pendencia ajena se introduce.
Esta, pues, si no fragua de Vulcano,
templada hoguera del calor humano,
al cerebro enviaba
húmedos, mas tan claros los vapores
de los atemperados cuatro humores,
que con ellos no sólo empañaba
los simulacros que la estimativa
dio a la imaginativa,
y aquesta por custodia más segura
en forma ya más pura
entregó a la memoria que, oficiosa,
gravó tenaz y guarda cuidadosa
sino que daban a la fantasía
lugar de que formase
imágenes diversas y del modo
que en tersa superficie, que de faro
cristalino portento, asilo raro
fue en distancia longísima se veían,
(sin que ésta le estorbase)
del reino casi de Neptuno todo,
las que distantes le surcaban naves.
Viéndose claramente,
en su azogada luna,
el número, el tamaño y la fortuna
que en la instable campaña transparente
arriesgadas tenían,
mientras aguas y vientos dividían
sus velas leves y sus quillas graves,
así ella, sosegada, iba copiando
las imágenes todas de las cosas
y el pincel invisible iba formando
de mentales, sin luz, siempre vistosas
colores. las figuras,
no sólo ya de todas las criaturas
sublunares, mas aun también de aquellas
que intelectuales claras son estrellas
y en el modo posible
que concebirse puede lo invisible,
en sí mañosa las representaba
y al alma las mostraba.
La cual, en tanto, toda convertida
a su inmaterial ser y esencia bella,
aquella contemplaba,
participada de alto ser centella,
que con similitud en sí gozaba.
I juzgándose casi dividida
de aquella que impedida
siempre la tiene, corporal cadena
que grosera embaraza y torpe impide
el vuelo intelectual con que ya mide
la cuantidad inmensa de la esfera,
ya el curso considera
regular con que giran desiguales
los cuerpos celestiales;
culpa si grave, merecida pena,
torcedor del sosiego riguroso
de estudio vanamente juicioso;
puesta a su parecer, en la eminente
cumbre de un monte a quien el mismo Atlante
que preside gigante
a los demás, enano obedecía,
y Olimpo, cuya sosegada frente,
nunca de aura agitada
consintió ser violada,
aun falda suya ser no merecía,
pues las nubes que opaca son corona
de la más elevada corpulencia
del volcán más soberbio que en la tierra
gigante erguido intima al cielo guerra,
apenas densa zona
de su altiva eminencia
o a su vasta cintura
cíngulo tosco son, que mal ceñido
o el viento lo desata sacudido
o vecino el calor del sol, lo apura
a la región primera de su altura,
ínfima parte, digo, dividiendo
en tres su continuado cuerpo horrendo,
el rápido no pudo, el veloz vuelo
del águila -que puntas hace al cielo
y el sol bebe los rayos pretendiendo
entre sus luces colocar su nido-
llegar; bien que esforzando
mas que nunca el impulso, ya batiendo
las dos plumadas velas, ya peinando
con las garras el aire, ha pretendido
tejiendo de los átomos escalas
que su inmunidad rompan sus dos alas.
Las pirámides dos -ostentaciones
de Menfis vano y de la arquitectura
último esmero- si ya no pendones
fijos, no tremolantes, cuya altura
coronada de bárbaros trofeos,
tumba y bandera fue a los Ptolomeos,
que al viento, que a las nubes publicaba,
si ya también el cielo no decía
de su grande su siempre vencedora
ciudad -ya Cairo ahora-
las que, porque a su copia enmudecía
la fama no contaba
gitanas glorias, menéficas proezas,
aun en el viento, aun en el cielo impresas.
Estas que en nivelada simetría
su estatura crecía
con tal disminución, con arte tanto,
que cuánto más al cielo caminaba
a la vista que lince la miraba,
entre los vientos se desaparecía
sin permitir mirar la sutil *****
que al primer orbe finge que se junta
hasta que fatigada del espanto,
no descendida sino despeñada
se hallaba al pie de la espaciosa basa.
Tarde o mal recobrada
del desvanecimiento,
que pena fue no escasa
del visual alado atrevimiento,
cuyos cuerpos opacos
no al sol opuestos, antes avenidos
con sus luces, si no confederados
con él, como en efecto confiantes,
tan del todo bañados
de un resplandor eran, que lucidos,
nunca de calurosos caminantes
al fatigado aliento, a los pies flacos
ofrecieron alfombra,
aun de pequeña, aun de señal de sombra.
Estas que glorias ya sean de gitanas
o elaciones profanas,
bárbaros hieroglíficos de ciego
error, según el griego,
ciego también dulcísimo poeta,
si ya por las que escribe
aquileyas proezas
o marciales, de Ulises, sutilezas,
la unión no le recibe
de los historiadores o le acepta
cuando entre su catálogo le cuente,
que gloría más que número le aumente,
de cuya dulce serie numerosa
fuera más fácil cosa
al temido Jonante
el rayo fulminante
quitar o la pescada
a Alcídes clava herrada,
que un hemistiquio solo
-de los que le: dictó propicio Apolo-
según de Homero digo, la sentencia.
Las pirámides fueron materiales
tipos solos, señales exteriores
de las que dimensiones interiores
especies son del alma intencionales
que como sube en piramidal *****
al cielo la ambiciosa llama ardiente,
así la humana mente
su figura trasunta
y a la causa primera siempre aspira,
céntrico punto donde recta tira
la línea, si ya no circunferencia
que contiene infinita toda esencia.
Estos pues, montes dos artificiales,
bien maravillas, bien milagros sean,
y aun aquella blasfema altiva torre,
de quien hoy dolorosas son señales
no en piedras, sino en lenguas desiguales
porque voraz el tiempo no ]as borre,
los idiomas diversos que escasean
el sociable trato de las gentes
haciendo que parezcan diferentes
los que unos hizo la naturaleza,
de la lengua por solo la extrañeza; .
si fueran comparados
a la mental pirámide elevada,
donde, sin saber como colocada
el alma se miró, tan atrasados
se hallaran que cualquiera
graduara su cima por esfera,
pues su ambicioso anhelo,
haciendo cumbre de su propio vuelo,
en lo más eminente
la encumbró parte de su propia mente,
de sí tan remontada que creía
que a otra nueva región de sí salía.
En cuya casi elevación inmensa,
gozosa, mas suspensa,
suspensa, pero ufana
y atónita, aunque ufana la suprema
de lo sublunar reina soberana,
la vista perspicaz libre de antojos
de sus intelectuales y bellos ojos,
sin que distancia tema
ni de obstáculo opaco se recele,
de que interpuesto algún objeto cele,
libre tendió por todo lo criado,
cuyo inmenso agregado
cúmulo incomprehensible
aunque a la vista quiso manifiesto
dar señas de posible,
a la comprehensión no, que entorpecida
con la sobra de objetos y excedida
de la grandeza de ellos su potencia,
retrocedió cobarde,
tanto no del osado presupuesto
revocó la intención arrepentida,
la vista que intentó descomedida
en vano hacer alarde
contra objeto que excede en excelencia
las líneas visuales,
contra el sol, digo, cuerpo luminoso,
cuyos rayos castigo son fogoso,
de fuerzas desiguales
despreciando, castigan rayo a rayo
el confiado antes atrevido
y ya llorado ensayo,
necia experiencia que costosa tanto
fue que Icaro ya su propio llanto
lo anegó enternecido
como el entendimiento aquí vencido,
no menos de la inmensa muchedumbre
de tanta maquinosa pesadumbre
de diversas especies conglobado
esférico compuesto,
que de las cualidades
de cada cual cedió tan asombrado
que, entre la copia puesto,
pobre con ella en las neutralidades
de un mar de asombros, la elección confusa
equívoco las ondas zozobraba.
Y por mirarlo todo; nada veía,
ni discernir podía,
bota la facultad intelectiva
en tanta, tan difusa
incomprensible especie que miraba
desde el un eje en que librada estriba
la máquina voluble de la esfera,
el contrapuesto polo,
las partes ya no sólo,
que al universo todo considera
serle perfeccionantes
a su ornato no más pertenecientes;
mas ni aun las que ignorantes;
miembros son de su cuerpo dilatado,
proporcionadamente competentes.
Mas como al que ha usurpado
diuturna obscuridad de los objetos
visibles los colores
si súbitos le asaltan resplandores,
con la sombra de luz queda más ciego:
que el exceso contrarios hace efectos
en la torpe potencia, que la lumbre
del sol admitir luego
no puede por la falta de costumbre;
y a la tiniebla misma que antes era
tenebroso a la vista impedimento,
de los agravios de la luz apela
y una vez y otra con la mano cela
de los débiles ojos deslumbrados
los rayos vacilantes,
sirviendo va piadosa medianera
la sombra de instrumento
para que recobrados
por grados se habiliten,
porque después constantes
su operación más firme ejerciten.
Recurso natural, innata ciencia
que confirmada ya de la experiencia,
maestro quizá mudo,
retórico ejemplar inducir pudo
a uno y otro galeno
para que del mortífero veneno,
en bien proporcionadas cantidades,
escrupulosamente regulando
las ocultas nocivas cualidades,
ya por sobrado exceso
de cálidas o frías,
o ya por ignoradas simpatías
o antipatías con que van obrando
las causas naturales su progreso,
a la admiración dando, suspendida,
efecto cierto en causa no sabida,
con prolijo desvelo y remirada,
empírica
My ornaments are fruits; my garments leaves,
Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed;
I do no boast the harvesting of sheaves,
O’er orchards and o’er vineyards I preside.
Though on the frigid Scorpion I ride,
The dreamy air is full, and overflows
With tender memories of the summer-tide,
And mingled voices of the doves and crows.
INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ.

        Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
        Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
        Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
        The short and simple annals of the poor.
                  (Gray, “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”)

  My lov’d, my honour’d, much respected friend!
      No mercenary bard his homage pays;
    With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end:
      My dearest meed a friend’s esteem and praise.
      To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,
    The lowly train in life’s sequester’d scene;
      The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;
    What Aiken in a cottage would have been;
Ah! tho’ his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween!

  November chill blaws loud wi’ angry sugh,
      The short’ning winter day is near a close;
    The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh,
      The black’ning trains o’ craws to their repose;
    The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,—
    This night his weekly moil is at an end,—
      Collects his spades, his mattocks and his hoes,
    Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,
And weary, o’er the moor, his course does hameward bend.

  At length his lonely cot appears in view,
      Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
    Th’ expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through
      To meet their dad, wi’ flichterin noise an’ glee.
      His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie,
    His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie’s smile,
      The lisping infant prattling on his knee,
    Does a’ his weary kiaugh and care beguile,
An’ makes him quite forget his labour an’ his toil.

  Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,
      At service out, amang the farmers roun’;
    Some ca’ the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin
      A cannie errand to a neibor toun:
      Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown,
    In youthfu’ bloom, love sparkling in her e’e,
      Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown,
    Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee,
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

  With joy unfeign’d, brothers and sisters meet,
      An’ each for other’s weelfare kindly spiers:
    The social hours, swift-wing’d, unnotic’d fleet;
      Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears.
      The parents partial eye their hopeful years;
    Anticipation forward points the view;
      The mother, wi’ her needle an’ her sheers,
    Gars auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new;
The father mixes a’ wi’ admonition due.

  Their master’s an’ their mistress’s command
      The younkers a’ are warned to obey;
    An’ mind their labours wi’ an eydent hand,
      An’ ne’er tho’ out o’ sight, to jauk or play:
      “An’ O! be sure to fear the Lord alway,
    An’ mind your duty, duly, morn an’ night!
      Lest in temptation’s path ye gang astray,
    Implore his counsel and assisting might:
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!”

  But hark! a rap comes gently to the door.
      Jenny, wha kens the meaning o’ the same,
    Tells how a neebor lad cam o’er the moor,
      To do some errands, and convoy her hame.
      The wily mother sees the conscious flame
    Sparkle in Jenny’s e’e, and flush her cheek;
      Wi’ heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name,
      While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;
Weel-pleas’d the mother hears, it’s nae wild, worthless rake.

  Wi’ kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben,
      A strappin youth; he takes the mother’s eye;
    Blythe Jenny sees the visit’s no ill taen;
      The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye.
      The youngster’s artless heart o’erflows wi’ joy,
    But, blate and laithfu’, scarce can weel behave;
      The mother wi’ a woman’s wiles can spy
    What maks the youth sae bashfu’ an’ sae grave,
Weel pleas’d to think her bairn’s respected like the lave.

  O happy love! where love like this is found!
      O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
    I’ve paced much this weary, mortal round,
      And sage experience bids me this declare—
    “If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
      One cordial in this melancholy vale,
      ’Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,
    In other’s arms breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev’ning gale.”

  Is there, in human form, that bears a heart,
      A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth!
    That can with studied, sly, ensnaring art
      Betray sweet Jenny’s unsuspecting youth?
      Curse on his perjur’d arts! dissembling smooth!
    Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil’d?
      Is there no pity, no relenting truth,
    Points to the parents fondling o’er their child,
Then paints the ruin’d maid, and their distraction wild?

  But now the supper crowns their simple board,
      The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia’s food;
    The soupe their only hawkie does afford,
      That yont the hallan snugly chows her cud.
      The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,
    To grace the lad, her weel-hain’d kebbuck fell,
      An’ aft he’s prest, an’ aft he ca’s it guid;
    The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,
How ’twas a towmond auld, sin’ lint was i’ the bell.

  The cheerfu’ supper done, wi’ serious face,
      They round the ingle form a circle wide;
    The sire turns o’er, with patriarchal grace,
      The big ha’-Bible, ance his father’s pride;
      His bonnet rev’rently is laid aside,
    His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare;
      Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
    He wales a portion with judicious care;
And, “Let us worship God,” he says with solemn air.

  They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
      They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
    Perhaps Dundee’s wild-warbling measures rise,
      Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name,
      Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame,
    The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays.
      Compar’d with these, Italian trills are tame;
      The tickl’d ear no heart-felt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they, with our Creator’s praise.

  The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
      How Abram was the friend of God on high;
    Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage
      With Amalek’s ungracious progeny;
      Or how the royal bard did groaning lie
    Beneath the stroke of Heaven’s avenging ire;
      Or Job’s pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;
    Or rapt Isaiah’s wild, seraphic fire;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

  Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,
      How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
    How He, who bore in Heaven the second name
      Had not on earth whereon to lay His head:
      How His first followers and servants sped;
    The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:
      How he, who lone in Patmos banished,
    Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,
And heard great Bab’lon’s doom pronounc’d by Heaven’s command.

  Then kneeling down to Heaven’s Eternal King,
      The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
    Hope “springs exulting on triumphant wing,”
      That thus they all shall meet in future days:
      There ever bask in uncreated rays,
    No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear,
      Together hymning their Creator’s praise,
    In such society, yet still more dear,
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere.

  Compar’d with this, how poor Religion’s pride
      In all the pomp of method and of art,
    When men display to congregations wide
      Devotion’s ev’ry grace except the heart!
      The Pow’r, incens’d, the pageant will desert,
    The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
      But haply in some cottage far apart
    May hear, well pleas’d, the language of the soul,
And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enrol.

  Then homeward all take off their sev’ral way;
      The youngling cottagers retire to rest;
    The parent-pair their secret homage pay,
      And proffer up to Heav’n the warm request,
      That He who stills the raven’s clam’rous nest,
    And decks the lily fair in flow’ry pride,
      Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,
    For them and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.

  From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs,
      That makes her lov’d at home, rever’d abroad:
    Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
      “An honest man’s the noblest work of God”:
      And certes, in fair Virtue’s heavenly road,
    The cottage leaves the palace far behind:
      What is a lordling’s pomp? a cumbrous load,
    Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin’d!

  O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
      For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent!
    Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
      Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
      And, oh! may Heaven their simple lives prevent
    From luxury’s contagion, weak and vile!
      Then, howe’er crowns and coronets be rent,
    A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov’d isle.

  O Thou! who pour’d the patriotic tide
      That stream’d thro’ Wallace’s undaunted heart,
    Who dar’d to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
      Or nobly die, the second glorious part,—
      (The patriot’s God peculiarly thou art,
    His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)
      O never, never Scotia’s realm desert,
    But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard,
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!
1496

All that I do
Is in review
To his enamored mind
I know his eye
Where e’er I ply
Is pushing close behind
Not any Port
Nor any flight
But he doth there preside
What omnipresence lies in wait
For her to be a Bride
Sara L Russell Feb 2014
14th Feb 2014

They are all around us, 
within, without, above, behind and before us;
Fanning the flames of the famous, the wealthy and fortunate
with secret agendas and infamous fame of their own.

I throw a stone
send it crashing through houses of glass; I see their
comings and goings in the Grove of Bohemia;
drinkers and liars; role-playing fraternity fools.

There are rules.
It takes more than just peeing at trees to be properly manly;
secrecy more than life is at stake when the fodder is human,
throw off your cares to the punitive furnace of hate.

Such ill-fate
that begets our world leaders, hatched out of a tangible darkness;
parasitic, calamitous, venomous world-gobbling evil
Mammon, devourer of souls, will preside at the feast.

And the Beast,
Fourth Beast of Daniel, squats at the head of the table,
fabled for pitiless torture of souls in transgression,
slavers and gloats over innocence lost and despoiled.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
To those who are not worried by what our world leaders get up to at Bohemian Grove: perhaps you should be.
Andrea Cullen Dec 2012
Melancholic misadventures and misanthropic moments make meeting men more and more meaningless,
Meaning less and less to those who undress to convene in the act of adulterated ***.


Flex:
Point!

Sit down,
Smoke a joint,
Go to sleep,
Work,
Eat,
Wash

(sometimes, not too often)
Feign attraction
and smile with your eyes as you die on the inside

Darkness outside


Whilst wintery winds whistle,
the worldly-wise whittle on and on in their wordy way of the other-worldly wonders they have witnessed.

We can but wish that their wily whispers will soon diminish with the melting snow
Or else go,
Turn your back on all that you lack before you step on a crack, break that back and see it refract through the prism of the microcosm of your mind

Colour-blind

Lost

Trying to find


Be found

My heart beats yet I hear no sound
As plasma pumps passionately through my pallid passages and I ponder partially perceptible pursuits that preside in my past

Digging deep down into the depths of my ***** deeds discloses a discerning dichotomous divulgence of doctrine and dogma

Two mothers
Three brothers
One sister
And a whole load of Misters!
John MacAyeal Oct 2012
Standing on the 10th floor
Staring through a freshly cleaned spotless picture window
At a layer of snow
Over what I remember as
A sidewalk marred with no cracks or graffiti
A lawn going crisp and brown
A street with no potholes
Invaded by a striding
Vertical pile
Of winterwear
Heavy coat scarf ski mask toboggan cap jeans hiking boots
Leather gloves
Sacks of groceries dangling
Like earrings
To preside over a night on the town
Shadows thrive upon complexity
Vague and nonsensical
The untrained, without resolve
Welcome all to cast their shades
Deeper inside they oft reside
Wilting, transfiguring
Til the field they presume to preside
Flourishes with roses black
as obsidian

Yet the seed may still be planted
Yielding a flower tall, light and bright
Consuming those beneath until vacancy remains

High is the Sun, white is the Orchid
Tempered radiance, gradual growth
More shall fill the newfound garden
While Day brings its gifts
Crescendoing by the simplest
of cool Spring breezes
Coming and going through
The end of another season
Promising its constant return.
From ten thousand valleys the trees touch heaven;
On a thousand peaks cuckoos are calling;
And, after a night of mountain rain,
From each summit come hundreds of silken cascades.
...If girls are asked in tribute the fibre they weave,
Or farmers quarrel over taro fields,
Preside as wisely as Wenweng did....
Is fame to be only for the ancients?
John F McCullagh Jun 2012
The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he came to escort me inside.
"Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we must hide."
"Herr Goebbels was our school's inspiration.
Joe McCarthy taught here till he died.
Charlie Rangel is among our directors.
Our Grads over nations preside."
"We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth."
"We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths."
"By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind."
"They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind."
"With our Grad course in prevarication
They misdirect and deflect with the great."
"Obama was born in Hawaii,
his foes say he was birthed out of state."
"When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind."
"If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some coed's behind."

We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
told whoppers in an endless loop.
There were quotes from
the World's Great Religions
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.

" The sheeple must never be told
that a place like this even exists."

" You can count on me not to inform them."
I said, without moving my lips.
In Dublin during the 1916 insurrection, the Medecity Institute was destroyed by British shells.  It didn't take too much imagination to change one letter- then it was off to the races with my imagination.
SB-JC Apr 2015
Have you ever had a pocket full of change?
so much change you need a belt just to keep your pants up?
so much change you could pay the mortgage in pennies, bury the twenties and pay them in coins.
because you dont need fat stacks to cover the cracks in your imperfections let them show,
like coins in your wallet.
if i had a penny for every petty penny thrown to the curb for its worth i'd melt them down and show the world that everyone can be part of something bigger.
So next time you see a procumbent penny lying face down on the ground remember.
every penny needs a pocket in which to preside,
every nickle has a name if only you'd ask remove the ask of class and realize that
no matter whether you're a penny, a nickle, if something more.
we are all just change.
So next time you find yourself in the club, don't make it rain, Make it hail!
Valsa George Jun 2017
When Death resolutely comes
Abrupt with his deadly summons

Tarry not like a galley slave
But like a courteous warrior behave

Do not waver and do not droop
As if you are to be hung on a loop

Never dread lying under the dust
With the body in a narrow vault ******

Know, it is only when seeds rot
That fresh and florid lives sprout

So when it is time to go
Strut like an indomitable foe,

With swinging hands and head held high
To be welcomed by angels of the sky

With the music of clanging cymbals
And the rising rhythm of sounding bells

Into a kingdom, bright and cheerful
And a state far radiant and blissful

Where the sun shall never set
Where blessed souls will joyously meet

Where Truth and Beauty preside
Where peace and bliss abide

Ousted out of terrestrial space
You’re enfolded in God’s sweet embrace
This is only a whimsical thought! I wonder if ever I would be able to embrace death in a nonchalant way as described here!
the curly haired boy had a darker side
well ingrained and perversely it did preside
in hindsight the family's collective eyes got to see
what an odious person he turned out to be

at a gathering of our clan on Christmas day
Lionel did have his despicable way
into Nan's lounge room he took my sister
on the pretext that they'd listen to his transistor

thence he proceeded to violate
the innocence of a thirteen year old girl
he touched her in an inappropriate manner
which was for my sister unpleasant of whirl

strange how past incidents come to light
the family have seen cousin Lionel in a new light
for several years he'd been acting well out of line
touching the females in the family as a filthy swine

the other side of his door
had a contemptible slur
we've gained privy to a person
little better than a cur
Jake Conner Oct 2013
#2
She has a tattoo on her left forearm. She gave it to herself when she was fifteen, with a pen and a needle in the back of her room…

                And I’d always thought that was pretty cool. It was just a little line, like a “z” or the trail of a honey bee, something from deep within a mind flowing with twisted fantasy, but I could never see that it was a “two”. Because we, the children of Ignorance and Bliss, are number two. And you, my dear friend, are number one, in both our minds and yours. So we lock ourselves behind closed doors and waste away doing chores that were yours, and lore of cut wrists or an air-tight noose for the gender I kiss is so cliché that you, in all your self-love and knowing when and how to turn push into shove, somehow missed that my wrists are scar free, and I love my sexuality, and my sole insecurity is that I am number two. To both me and you. And it doesn’t matter if you lead with your left or your right, if you flee or you fight, if you’re gay, straight, or bi, you’re a butterfly in my eyes, the thousand-mirrored eyes of a simple housefly that can’t even see the sky in which you preside through this opaquely glass ceiling…

                And that window of opportunity looks rather appealing, but I have this feeling it’s only reserved for those with pretty, powerful, or popular wings… and I am none of those things.

                And for once, I see that my story may never be quite as uplifting as I’d like to make it seem, because I’m quite keen to the fact that Act III will always end in tragedy. And those aren’t things I like to say, but to this day I pray that this grotesque display of shimmering wings and beautiful things would simply go away so I could say that a tattoo of the number two is something I will never do, but until that happens the concept rings true. Yet I’m told my wrists aren’t fit for a single number or slit.

                I have a long fuse, but it’s already been lit, so the next time you see fit to shoot ***** of spit or permit your self-love to turn push into shove, it may be my blood and ink that pools in the sink, mixing with my salty tears I’ve held through literally years of no self-love and knowing that the dove is you.

                And I am number two.
The LOVE
That flostered the sentimental ties
of good hearted people
Like You and ME

When those enligtened soul
Kneeled down
To surrender
in front of their BELOVED

Where heart-beats
The lover filched
To hold their romance
In one piece

Where, while probing
For emotions in intelligence
The snake from the garden of Eden
Entangled on the arms of
Adam and EVE

And frantically offered
The apple of LOVE to eat

None of us scuttled away
And we ate the apple
Longing for the pride
of LOVE to preside on us.

Yes this is the same LOVE
That was born out of Adam & Eve
In the garden of Eden
Between YOU and ME...
dj Dec 2012
what on earth is this feeling
(yellowing formaldehyde)
kind of like old heartbreak reeling

a vivisection, never healing
coat & spray on the insecticide
what on earth is this feeling

criminal butterflies stealing
the cogs & screws in my arthropod insides
kind of like old heartbreak reeling

heartthrobs come frenzied then unfeeling
my vague worries preside
what on earth is this feeling

whateverphobia; a personal ceramic ceiling
to myself, is how I've always lied
kind of like old heartbreak reeling

carcass littered webs are usually unappealing
my own web has much to elide
kind of like old heartbreak reeling
what on earth is this feeling
the villanelle has been often used (for the element of repetition in the form) to express feelings of dislocation and disassociation. I've always found it ironic that such a rigidly structured poem could be used for such a feeling. (I completely said '**** it' with the meter, though)
MST May 2014
Let it go,
let it go,
just drop it out,
in the snow.
Let it cool,
don't be a fool,
it does not matter,
to look cool.
For if you live,
with hidden hate,
you will realize,
when it is too late.
If you hold,
that anger inside,
letting it grow,
letting it preside.
You will only hurt,
the ones that you love,
so let it all go,
and rise up above.
You're dangerously honest
Silently filled with screams
Your body lies in the waking world,
Yet your mind still wanders in dream

Walking alongside mannequin masses
How much of this is real?
Staring back at what I assume to be myself
Emptiness pervading all that I feel

I drown in the sin of impassioned sweat
These stained sheets that mark my grave
These years are poison; these tears are deadly
The lies of living have made me a slave

Lost, wandering in a vicious world
Of constant contradictions and deadly afflictions
Dying by the hand of my own vices
And misguided, misinterpreted convictions

My favorite song is being sung by a dead man
Stolen are his hopes and dreams
A resurgence of his soul enlivens me
Though his revelations remain unseen

For I know why the caged animal cries
Through iron bars, he is fed lies

The truth is but a lie undiscovered
Who controls the thoughts in your head?
Discreet indiscretion and silent objection
Our minds spoon fed the brilliant flesh of the dead

I long only to feel the warmth of your love
Before I grow tired and cold
I long to be blessed with your passion
Realize such worldly wonders without being told

A shallow grave sunken in marshy swamp
No one to watch over or preside
This empty box houses my world for eternity
In the darkness of the infinite is where I will hide
They call me the deaf reaper,
The not-so-slim teacher,
You want a lesson?
Here ya go, let me beat ya,
I'm the best, I'm the worst dressed,
Ill fight you over your address,
I got arguments, I've got lies,
I ain't hearing your *******,
I'm making my own, and I Direct,
I do not listen.
I scream, to others but not to myself,
I'm half as great to me, twice as awesome to you,
I pity no fool,
I look at ignorance with a mixture of disgust,
And admirance.
I wanted to be a leader,
not a professor,
But profess this, my dearest,
queer hater, oh not gay,
Just weird and unneeded.,
Who will follow, A modern day ******,
Living for greatness, for evil for death,
no matter what else has been heeded.
Who can scream with the anger and the authority,
Oh, that is me, the deaf reaper.
Grim, grim!
Oh, but what a grin,
Smiling oh so devilishly,
Too deviously,
that even in his now once brightly lit din,
now on the road to recovery, through the death,
of his dearest emotions, friends,
family and hearing,
Only now can he see the vision,
But the vision was sent a year too late,
How cruel then, is fate?
Now, left with one penniless gift,
Lovely, quite irate.
Poetry, boys and girls,
Like what you feed to the dogs,
regurgitated meat,
infused with vitamins and
milk straight from the teats,
of an unwanted *****,
come here, a little closer,
if you dare meet fear,
Ill eat you, oh i'll eat you,
and lick up all your tears,
until only one fluid is leaking,
and your lips then smear,
for me all for me,
For I am not myself,
Only the images and lies,
Of beings far incompare,
what does it mean,
what does it mean,
oh Ill tell you little bean,
bean bounce bounce for jean,
look at her eyes, lustily,
She is a hand, the hand on the face,
watch it as it shivers, just out of place,
still in control, if only she could see,
Her hearing clouding her vision,
Of the demons in me.
No, no, for ever devoid,
take away the rest,
of these worthless toys,
You call feelings, given to me,
To ruin my intellect,
And degrade my being.
I will not let the good win out,
Oh I hate the light.
I will change the definition of good,
I will give death real meaning,
My own.
Listen, listen closely,
Listen to my tone.
It is the whispers, the whispers,
of the subconcious untold,
That part of you, deep inside,
that when seeing the hero win,
Says "well it woulda been cool to see,
the villain preside."
So give me the world, mind control,
and more. Oh look into these,
deep blue eyes, these,
fragile snowflakes,
these *****, *****, charms.
Feel my pain and agony,
As I disregard them,
Legion, consuming evertly,
Yum, Yum, I say with a sway,
But it is not food that I eat,
Nay, Nay, for the Deaf Reaper,
It is on another soul, another mind,
Another worthless human body,
That I PREY.
If you read it all the way through, please leave a comment. I want to hear what you have to say.
topaz oreilly Oct 2013
The mirror of the  soul
a spectre of sepia
besides an unassuming smile.
How could we ever save ourselves
when the gold turns to silver
on parched lips we were led
to where dahlias  preside
in buckets of sand,
albeit temporal
How can we ever be said to boast?
De los hombres lanzado al desprecio,
de su crimen la víctima fui,
y se evitan de odiarse a sí mismos,
fulminando sus odios en mí.
          Y su rencor
al poner en mi mano, me hicieron
          su vengador;
          y se dijeron
«Que nuestra vergüenza común caiga en él;
se marque en su frente nuestra maldición;
su pan amasado con sangre y con hiel,
su escudo con armas de eterno baldón
          sean la herencia
          que legue al hijo,
          el que maldijo
          la sociedad.»
          ¡Y de mí huyeron,
de sus culpas el manto me echaron,
y mi llanto y mi voz escucharon
          sin piedad!
Al que a muerte condena le ensalzan...
¿Quién al hombre del hombre hizo juez?
¿Que no es hombre ni siente el verdugo
imaginan los hombres tal vez?
          ¡Y ellos no ven
Que yo soy de la imagen divina
          copia también!
          Y cual dañina
fiera a que arrojan un triste animal
que ya entre sus dientes se siente crujir,
así a mí, instrumento del genio del mal,
me arrojan el hombre que traen a morir.
          Y ellos son justos,
          yo soy maldito;
          yo sin delito
          soy criminal:
          mirad al hombre
que me paga una muerte; el dinero
me echa al suelo con rostro altanero,
          ¡a mí, su igual!
El tormento que quiebra los huesos
y del reo el histérico ¡ay!,
y el crujir de los nervios rompidos
bajo el golpe del hacha que cae,
          son mi placer.
Y al rumor que en las piedras rodando
          hace, al caer,
          del triste saltando
la hirviente cabeza de sangre en un mar,
allí entre el bullicio del pueblo feroz
mi frente serena contemplan brillar,
tremenda, radiante con júbilo atroz
          que de los hombres
          en mí respira
          toda la ira,
          todo el rencor:
          que a mí pasaron
la crueldad de sus almas impía,
y al cumplir su venganza y la mía
          gozo en mi horror.
Ya más alto que el grande que altivo
con sus plantas hollara la ley
al verdugo los pueblos miraron,
y mecido en los hombros de un rey:
          y en él se hartó,
embriagado de gozo aquel día
          cuando espiró;
          y su alegría
su esposa y sus hijos pudieron notar,
que en vez de la densa tiniebla de horror,
miraron la risa su labio amargar,
lanzando sus ojos fatal resplandor.
          Que el verdugo
          con su encono
          sobre el trono
          se asentó:
          y aquel pueblo
          que tan alto le alzara bramando,
          otro rey de venganzas, temblando,
          en él miró.
En mí vive la historia del mundo
que el destino con sangre escribió,
y en sus páginas rojas Dios mismo
mi figura imponente grabó.
          La eternidad
ha tragado cien siglos y ciento,
          y la maldad
          su monumento
en mí todavía contempla existir;
y en vano es que el hombre do brota la luz
con viento de orgullo pretenda subir:
¡preside el verdugo los siglos aún!
          Y cada gota
          que me ensangrienta,
          del hombre ostenta
          un crimen más.
          Y yo aún existo,
fiel recuerdo de edades pasadas,
a quien siguen cien sombras airadas
          siempre detrás.
¡Oh! ¿por qué te ha engendrado el verdugo,
tú, hijo mío, tan puro y gentil?
En tu boca la gracia de un ángel
presta gracia a tu risa infantil.
          ¡Ay!, tu candor,
tu inocencia, tu dulce hermosura
          me inspira horror.
          ¡Oh!, ¿tu ternura,
mujer, a qué gastas con ese infeliz?
¡Oh!, muéstrate madre piadosa con él;
ahógale y piensa será así feliz.
¿Qué importa que el mundo te llame cruel?
          ¿mi vil oficio
          querrás que siga,
          que te maldiga
          tal vez querrás?
          ¡Piensa que un día
al que hoy miras jugar inocente,
maldecido cual yo y delincuente
          también verás!
801 Apr 2015
Trapped;
by the desperate logic of your own mind
and the fear of circumstances you find
yourself trapped in.

It is a circular state.
Painful as it cuts its way
like a razor-edged hoola hoop at play,
alone.

Isn't it always alone?
Despite the support of all
or lonely lacking pall
of being alone.

Life cannot be lived for you.
The pain and gut wrenching fear
preside ever strong and clear.
I am afraid.

Perhaps, love is not brightest.
Fear seems to shroud its beams;
striking from the in between
to **** hope, peace

Help! please!
but the cry cannot be answered
for it is my turn to be stalwart.
I'm crumbling.

Time, please wrap
your shriveled shroud
about the wounds
that keep care out.

Find it in you-
however deep-
to end this torment
plaguing me.

My heart may burst
(blessed relief?)
if no relief come
succor me.

Trapped...
I was awakened early in the morning to a nightmarish situation. All things pass away, I'm aware. Though I see no end in sight, it does exist. For now, I'm fighting the powerful unruly emotions that are based on little more than no sleep and a truly unpleasant situation.
Del Maximo May 2010
God loves a river
a gentle flowing current
or raging rapids
Flora and Faunus preside
breathing life to the waters

she wades in hip boots
while checking in on her friends
to tree frog greetings
blessing all with her vision
seeing to it all is well

the sun smiles on her
this river nymph from the shore
ecology's eyes
she keeps the rivers healthy
as she walks through the waters
© August 23, 2010
Pauper of Prose Jul 2018
Eros walked into the chamber, garnering all eyes
Lust and Limerence walked by her side
They stopped before a panel where Venus did preside
And Cupid next to Venus, gripped his arrows like a prize
And the Muses made up the rest
And all muscles in the chamber braced for unrest
Glances and gazes did continuously dart
As all sported lockets of fire by their hearts
Venus declared mankind must suffer in pain
For all efforts to show the world love have been in vain
And to continue gifting love would be insanity, a chore
Cause they’d take their piece of it and still declare war,
On themselves and on one another
Slaughtering their self-esteems, siblings, fathers, mothers
Yet Eros objected, keeping her eyes peeled
Declaring love has always been a battlefield
And Cupid fired an arrow at Ero’s way
And Lust led the limp arrow astray
Then those enlightened ones lit fuses that day
And the shrapnel from that fight still makes it way
Through hearts of men and women with feelings at play
When feelings fight nothing makes sense...and collateral damage collects like cents
Tree branches glisten like diamond chains.

Frozen lips want to sing old refrains.

Home, and hearth, Thanksgiving too...

friends, and relatives, the house is a zoo.

Frozen outdoors as the fresh turkey arrives.

Mother in apron is sure to preside.

Pumpkin pie, spiced cider, cranberries glisten,

father tells his jokes and nobody listens.

Sister arrives with rose hips and blooms;

a dazzling display in the living room.

We all gather together to feast at the table.

Say a quick prayer and eat as much as we're able.
I wrote hallmark cards KMCOLBY@2010
AnnaMarie Jenema May 2014
To the teddy that always guards my dreams:
You quietly sit there,
not a word to be said,
In my room you preside,
your ears always listening,
you never whine, or complain,
judgements don't fall very easily,
from your stitched mouth,
I cry and complain a lot,
most of what you hear is sad,
I'm sorry for giving you,
only frightening memories,
My tears sometimes,
drain down my red face,
to be absorbed into your fur,
Only you know my heart,
and understand my every motion,
whether I tell you my hopes and dreams,
or not,
you already know them,
I hug you often,
you being my closest friend,
none understand me,
but you were the first.
You keep all my secrets locked up,
inside your round self,
my protector and guardian,
Even though it's hard for you to give me advice,
I still treasure every moment you give to me,
my precious little bedside knight.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Lincoln’s House


This notable landmark stands now silent and reserved. From its shelter one would be called forth to fulfill

a unique destiny in American history. He would have to be course and strong as the logs that formed his frontier home. The nation was on a collision course, there were the greater differences than one being

industrialized and the other still in an agrit economy. The difference could only be resolved after the scale was balanced with the lives of six hundred thousand men and the ****** of the nation’s greatest

protector since Washington and Jefferson.
Into this chaos an individual of peace would step fourth to make war on the other half of the nation it

would test his last measure of his convictions. In the person of one individual the whole country and its
fundamental beliefs would be tried once and for all the dross would be skimmed off and the purest part

of the national soul would remain.
Before the sunlight of freedom would again be allowed to burst forth into its former glory, a train draped

in black would make its way west caring its precious cargo his job was finished it would be left to a
distant home coming to give him the thanks of a grateful nation. We would enshrine him as a national

hero; for ever more we will pay him homage as the great emancipator and lover of the constitution and
the principles it avows.

His words over shadow us still freedom needed a renewed language he spilled the contents of his mind
and it formed the truest representation in the annals of human thought on the subject of freedom. He

was at home in each circumstance that he faced, he spoke with elegance his words found the center of his subjects there was no need for further discussion.

Subjected to poverty in youth but he grew rich in adult thinking and living and one who wept at the death of his son’s pony now was caused to preside over the death of many boys and men for a cause that was
greater

Than them all through dark war clouds a pristine sun shine would emerge across the breadth of the land
and in its rays a new lease on freedom would continue so great an experiment that was first forged in

Valley Forge
York Town and other places that small roots took tenuous hold to enable a colony to throw off the power

of a Monarch through the hard and seemingly impossible circumstance a common tongue would become the greatest voice for freedom the world would ever know


He pulled off these feats while at the same time he was a husband and father. He lovingly doted on his sons and never paid attention to their childish mischief. Was a loving husband to a wife that needed

a kind gentle hand. Through it all he was a successful lawyer.
He lived in an era different than our own but people are the same from generation to generation. The

lights were coal oil and they made your eyes burn no nostalgia or romantic thoughts leaped to your mind
Remembering these instruments of by gone days their home was fashionably decorated with silver and green wall paper fine furniture throughout the house. A favorite place had to be the back porch that was

sizeable enough to walk up and down on where you could gather your thoughts or just sit and muse about the problems of the day.

He kept his divine appointment fulfilled his duty to the fullest degree. When war and trouble raises its head we always find comfort in the familiar sad face of Abraham Lincoln he is our enduring treasure born out of the turbulence that consumed our nation for a tragic period. We shall always be grateful
Daniel Regan Mar 2013
I have read my last cliché line, and spoke my last ambiguous truth.  I’ve found the lack of principle in mankind, comes in both old age and in youth. One born from lack of days, passing beyond so few a night. The other hardened from too many wrongs, being passed along as ubiquitous rights. Truth finding no firm a ground, to grow without contempt. From those whole look to yield its might, and twist it with malicious intent. Those footed in ill-fated hypocrisy, both by practice and in speech. Principle scorn from lips once pure, forged by what life’s path can teach. And though the values of an honorable man preside, at the conclusion of every poetic line. The truth that’s found between each word, can make a man think he is divine. Spoken with word as sweat as red wine, he believes the world drink with thirst. Or so thinks the man who speaks frivolously, without hearing his own words first. So he drinks in his own narcissism, as his words ring forever true. In his nostalgic mind that never changes, or lets in sound anew. And that once juvenile and prospective boy, whose suns were few to shine. Has become a toughened old man, whose life has yet to be defined. By a principle worth shouting, to the heavens and beyond. Beyond his many nights and far more days, who hold to him a bond. Of servitude to his truth, regardless of its legitimacy. That which forges what will be his legacy, for everyone to see.
Look me in the eyes,
Listen to what I say.
I look past the looks,
Ignore the way you dress.
I see you for you,
Not just a waste of space.

A confident mentality shines
Brighter than any light you can find.
Hurt from your past lingers at your heart
And it amplifies your ambition.
I see that, it shows a sign of strength.
Rather than letting your past preside,
You walk past with a positive mind.
No more looking back, you won’t rewind.
Belief in who watches over you
Gives you a determined attitude.
Take a leap of faith, let me catch you
I swear to you I won’t let you fall.

Being alone, you’ll settle for that
Independency is what you know.
Emptiness still lurks in the shadow
Eating at your need for someone else.
But, you still search in moderation
Patiently waiting for the right one.
You don’t indulge in all that you see,
You catch the tiger by its tip toe.
Reluctant, but ready for a change,
An opportunity has risen.
Rather than expanding your bubble
You pop it and take a step outside.

Not yet set in stone,
But you’re on the right track.
One step at a time,
There’s not a need to rush.
Let things develop,
It will all fall in place.
A story that has been started/ prologue. The plot and development is left for open interpretation.
What can subsequent generations inherit
Besides our curse?  
Our ravaged, ruined, barren land.  
We bestow upon our heirs
Unfinished wars
Over infertile land.
The grave pestilence of love
And lover’s disease.
We continue to deface
Monuments to our creator.
We have ravaged the innocence
Of our children.
The human race accursed
To preside over sterile soil
And walk amongst masochists
Calling for mass genocide,
For we are truly the beasts
Of this (impure) world.
Insatiable lust
Of blood and breast.
Traded a moment of pleasure
For the beating in my chest.
Instant gratification
Has left us naked and depraved.
Underworked and overcomplicated.
Morals absconded
With the men we enslave.
In the brevity of our existence
For ages, the world, we have slain.
In time, we shall eradicate
Ourselves
And only the pure will remain.
agalwithwords Apr 2012
I don’t know what is this?
I know it is a bit selfish
All I want is to care for you
Without you everything is blue

I am trying to show how I feel
Putting them here as an appeal
Like a sea in the high tide
You ignite the poet inside

You keep on saying I get better for sure
But my heart wants only to be your
Can’t you see in the depth of my eyes?
They are true and it never denies

So many things that I want to say
In front of you my words shy away
That is why this rhyme is to preside
You ignite the poet inside

I don’t know what the future holds
I want to be with you as it unfolds
All I want is to be there for you
Thick or thin we will get through

No matter wherever you go
These lines will let you know
For you my heart has cried
You ignite the poet inside….

— The End —