"preside" poems
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
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
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.
6.7k
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.
4.8k
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.
4.2k
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
3.1k
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.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
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!
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
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.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
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?
2.2k
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
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
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.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 8:57 AM UTC
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!
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
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
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 9:36 AM UTC
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
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
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.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
*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...*
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
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.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
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
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
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
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
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?
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
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...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
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
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
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
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 10:16 AM UTC
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.
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 5:02 AM UTC
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.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC