"prithee" poems
~
*O Painter
with thy own eye
would thee
paint me in mine own natural hue
prithee paint me as i am,
imperfections
and blemishes true
Load thy brush
with colors sundry
to maketh yond first pure sweep
across the ****** frieze,
fill'd with pangs of hunger.
paint me as i standeth
bethought, in deep
With mine own love and mine own desire,
blurring the edges unclean
with mine own regrets
and mine own mental gyre,
in mine own natural age,
of deep forest green
O Painter
Paint me sinister turquoise,
in lavender and maroon,
combine the amethyst and amber
blend the iceberg
and the indigo moon.
Paint me as i standeth,
prithee see with thy eye
a mistress in yond lady plight
Prithee paint me all i am
i cullionly
a mistress in all yond lady might
Paint me in the optimistic
silv'r of dawn,
but don’t miss the purple
to shade the bruise
of the bygone.
paint me in the sky blue journal
O Painter
Paint me as a unique template
smudge black white and grizzled
merging all the colors of thy palette.
col'r me a rainbow
in a rainy drizzle
Paint me tall so yond i standeth
loftier than any mountain
Paint me as a dram bird, delicate
with soft feathers silken
Paint me harmony, as a violin
so yond i can sing thy solitary tune
paint me as thy poetry
with song and melody
wrapp'd in a cocoon
O Painter
paint me as a dream yond rises
in did saturate colors
with a steady upbeat flight awry
tint, a fluttering
of a quite quaint butterfly
Portray me with endurance
imbue so bold and bright
doth not hesitate
to depict mine own mind
in profound fuchsia and white.
Useth the colors yond thee would borrow
Thy palette not yet exsufflicate
Paint mine own loss and mine own sorrow
in search of a shade so ******
Adorn mine own heart in glowing garnet
at which hour thee paint mine own love
add a true broken blue shade
of the cloud and the rain above;
Study mine own dry sorrow
in mine own soul
useth any shade thee plaited
soften the edges of control
in a tinge of xanthene.
O Painter
Prithee paint me
Mine own passion and mine own spirit
shall has't a crimson r'd hint
mine own remorse and mine own regret
shall reflect an ink stain print
Paint me in mine own eye so true
O Painter
but add a dash of courage too*
~
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 10:52 AM UTC
74
A Lady red—amid the Hill
Her annual secret keeps!
A Lady white, within the Field
In placid Lily sleeps!
The tidy Breezes, with their Brooms—
Sweep vale—and hill—and tree!
Prithee, My pretty Housewives!
Who may expected be?
The Neighbors do not yet suspect!
The Woods exchange a smile!
Orchard, and Buttercup, and Bird—
In such a little while!
And yet, how still the Landscape stands!
How nonchalant the Hedge!
As if the “Resurrection”
Were nothing very strange!
10.3k
What is life like now?
No technology, somehow,
Just imagine, here and now,
If there's no technology,
We'd all manage, you see,
As in days of yore, prithee,
But you can't reverse the clock,
Retroactive, quite a shock,
If no technology somehow,
What would life be like now?
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 9:58 PM UTC
I don't feel it, You say. And, pray tell her
name, my sir, that i may find she thee and prithee
Bear me off to southern sounds, fallow fields,
an altar ground, a garland rope of singing springtime snows.
this may be more than i can--;;
YOU
ARE
NOT
WOR
THW
HILE
and i had such an awful dream last night--
you said, Bronwen, my love;
and i could not sweep her hair from the floorboards
beneath which you hid your ***** mags from mice.
because you tell me about it.
WHOAM?
you speak of gOd like dOgs & i am worthless coinage
in the sewers. the sewers find my dress still hanging from your bones.
your bones your bones your piano finger bones
kiss me again
until my lips swell my throat bleeds i do not want you to know how much i crawl spiderlike through the trails of hair in the drain as the autumn leaves the summer leaves the spring buds freeze over hell i am not i am not listening pan-drum please let me say this one last thing:;
he is your accordion player the ***** player man who speaks fluent french and inflected english he is your accordion player on the pipes-----
and you say i do not feel and i reply,
this is too bad too late, chuckle replay as your fantasy walks through the door my team my team she is porcelain lovely see the perfume in your synesthesia colorblind goat footed grandiose Cesar with epilepsy she is your dream she is she is she is!
&meanwhile; the trumpet in soul still plays solfeggio---
1 2 le 3 4 1 2 le 3---1 2 le 3 4 1 3--le 1 le 3 le 1
she is the discord of the seventh in the tenor line
she is membranes she is rain she is towels
LEIGH **** IT
if only if only you weren't so lonely i might call you mine and bring you back homely.
IF ONLY-----Charles weren't so busy while you
stare at silver spoons and cherub smiles
and cupid calls you home again.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 1:37 AM UTC
Prithee, tell me
do your words express joy,
Or are just a lid
to the repressed sad within?
If so,
then where do you hide your demons?
Where does in your gentle, sweet mind
such horror lives?
Do you wish
that with each drop of ink that falls from your pen,
that with each word written that has its own tale,
your darkness drips away.
Tell me, tell me
that you dream, that you hope
that the Odyssey ends
and you come home
to peace.
Just tell me
You wont lost hope
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
2
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields—
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!
2.1k
What is Love?
Is it a folly,
Is it mirth, or melancholy?
Joys above,
Are there many, or not any?
What is Love?
If you please,
A most sweet folly!
Full of mirth and melancholy:
Both of these!
In its sadness worth all gladness,
If you please!
Prithee where,
Goes Love a-hiding?
Is he long in his abiding
Anywhere?
Can you bind him when you find him;
Prithee, where?
With spring days
Love comes and dallies:
Upon the mountains, through the valleys
Lie Love's ways.
Then he leaves you and deceives you
In spring days.
2k
Blue symbolizes calmness
Blue symbolizes loyalty
though I know Monday Blues
could get to you
but oh prithee just hear me.
Have you seen where the birds flew?
To the sky filled with blue
those birds soar free.
Have you seen how mad and calm
the ocean could be?
With King Neptune as the king
and his water feeders
flow free with the seven seas.
Your eyes may not be blue,
your heart may have tiny dots of green,
But hear me,
Your soul is crystal clear,
Your hands dance in a way
I could never understand
Your head may still be empty
But as a whole,you're blue
and I still love you like;
I love the colour blue
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists, that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!
Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart,—Lord, I do fear
Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year;
My soul is all but out of me,—let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
1.7k
XIV. TO THE MOTHER OF THE GODS (6 lines)
(ll. 1-5) I prithee, clear-voiced Muse, daughter of mighty Zeus,
sing of the mother of all gods and men. She is well-pleased with
the sound of rattles and of timbrels, with the voice of flutes
and the outcry of wolves and bright-eyed lions, with echoing
hills and wooded coombes.
(l. 6) And so hail to you in my song and to all goddesses as
well!
1.7k
A penny for a beauty!
I'll sing it hither thee:
I'll sing alive a beauty
And sing it ever be:
And a penny and this beauty
And my voice in mind them:
Now sing this ready evening
so prithee listen then:
Leave two pennies by the boulder
And a penny you shall earn,
Drop a penny by his shoulder
And a penny he returns.
Give a penny to your pleasure,
Let the pleasure spread like seeds:
But a penny my endeavor,
A penny ask of me!
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 7:25 PM UTC
Written for a challenge on my
former site... he wanted us to
rewrite Shakespheare...
a daunting task to say the least!
I can only hope that I
did The Bard justice!
O! Wretched Stars!
Look not down upon this maid!
Your wheels moved well upon
your merciless plans so laid!
You cross' d conspirators!
You... content in your spheres...
do you not find my eyes stricken...
... with tears!
O! Morose and meddlesome Moon!
So swollen full!
Let not this dagger pulled
from my loves gold'n sheath be dull!
You... gliding the uncaring sky
as ship with sail...
let mean, pernicious fate take me...
... your winds prevail!
Take me to where
my lover doth wait...
... take me to shroud, I prithee...
... to my mate!
O! My fairest husband!
Do not lie so still!
Can you not kiss me this last time. ..
... by force of will?
Can you not, with your
fair hand instead,
Take slender blade
and pierce my bossom
til it be bloom'd rose red?!!
Romeo... Romeo!
Wherefore art thou Romeo?
At last you're dead...
... and thus without a name...
As in the halls of graves
... all occupants the SAME!
A pox on your house!
A noisome pestilence!
And thee, o dagger?
Come and take me themce!
As for my house? Let them lie
with palsey in their beds...
... but not 'til this sweet dagger
finds me... its host... DEAD.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/26/2014
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
This is a sordid tale to read,
What does existence mean
To your toilet brush, prithee?
He is, indeed, a basic fellow.
He does not bother with mellow yellow,
Everyone's blip stinks to he,
So what does his existence mean?
Angst in scheissenhausen time,
Being there is his problem in slime,
To your toilet brush, he or she,
What does existence mean?
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 5:15 AM UTC
Your WEALTH burdens me poor,
Prithee me rich,
To sleep on thy satin decor -
Broken is my switch.
You sang your praises,
A different World -
With Wealth's crazes,
Under your wing I curled.
I know not of names,
To any of thy gems -
Colors of stricken dames,
Scarce of diadems.
May I meet the queen?
Her glory I must know;
She remains to be seen -
Under Wealth's woe.
Thy ring is on my hand -
And fear sits on my brow,
During the Wedding grand,
And who is happy now?
There are solaces to know,
When all that glitters is gold -
Along death's row,
O! - A marriage to behold!
Thy far treasure shall suffice,
With Wealth's spool -
Struck on a lady's vice,
While just a girl in school!
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
I do ponder on Aristotle,
In these groves of golden wattles,
Was Aristotle on the bottle?
"What is beautiful?" he asked,
He set us such a puzzling task,
How to define beautiful?
Maybe, things inspirational,
Or, indeed, something admirable,
A pretty verse, so lyrical,
Or scenery beautiful,
Or a woman, lovable,
Maybe it is a life of harmony,
Are these beautiful, prithee?
Excellent question, Sir Aristotle,
Maybe I should hit the bottle.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
Would you now go spitefully hating the sun
Or go viciously plundering pretty flower beds
Or go crushing underfoot, fall leaves in contempt
Or turn gently into the fresh fold of snow?
Come, come, dear child, hold out thy hands
Let me gently embrace thy spindly frame
And divest thee of thy onerous cloak
For thou art at journey's end; thy vessel awaits repose.
If I told you which season you'd die in
Would you relent with ease, when the hour falls upon you?
Should you know I'm not as fearsome as most believe
Could you surrender the lent Light I must return?
You already know the answer without knowing
For it is not how you look, but how you look!
You no longer remember, it's been so long
So, I ask it plain: Would you really want to know?
You are not just a spoke on the wheel of Life
Which needs to, as the seasons, turn resolute
Yet you pass through them all, simultaneously
Save, your linear faculties confine your esoteric bridge.
Take joy in aestival airs, the apex of fruition
Springtime soil so easily squandered, bear in mind
Access introspective glimpses with hiemal hibernation
Autumnal foliage is but a screen, time to get real!
You cannot have the sunshine without the rain
Nor expect fine blossoms without fair travail
Seek thus the true bounty bedecked in full view
If you had but the seer's eyeless sight, dear guest.
As you travelled from one season to another
Did you live fully, even in between them?
Yes, the tiny labyrinth-passages you overlooked
Time to exact the price now run overdue.
Too attached you are to world and kin
For none of these, can you take with you
But beneficial acts and and good intent
Cosmic trick of genes is cecity delivered.
The one whose life you may regard so worthless
Retains a level which allows his soul to pass through
The eye of a needle, not measured in numbers
Hoist your soul on, tilt your core... I carry you home
So, come, wayworn traveller, hold out thy hands
Let me tenderly close thy brief visit here
And divest thee of thy onerous cloak, prithee
For thou art at journey's end; thy vessel awaits repose.
Star Toucher, 24 March 2013
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
An open letter to chicks like thee,
You wait until you're nearly sixty-three,
You'll end up talking like me,
You'll sound like the Dead Grandmas Society,
Fine-thinking women, very snippy,
Got no time for nasties and rudies,
"What's this?" "What's for tea?"
"A plate of good manners from me!!"
(And the Dead Grandmas Society!)
A fact of life, real scary,
When you're nearly sixty-three,
Words appear from the clouds, prithee,
You'll sound like the Dead Grandmas Society.......
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 3:53 PM UTC
There isn't a girl in the world
without an incurable,
everything but unlovable,
psychotic or neurotic,
unique, personality trait.
I prithee, Lord, my soul to take.
Maybe I shouldn't mention it here:
But supposedly you have red hair.
I dunno though, a rumor maybe only.
I do know the thought makes me crazy,
and there's other colors there.
I know a strong urge to find you out slowly,
to see you undone in some solid morning.
I bet you see as little me as I hear you talking,
but I guess you can't know an intention,
any well-rounded notion goes flat.
in the absence of presence
Have to brave it with hardon and hardhat
'cause what brings things together's tension.
In the wain of the week,
we both get to drink.
Then dreamless sleep?
Or so I would like,
to pass heedlessly the night.
Or as I now imagine yours,
Scandinavian shores,
I don't know which I like more.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
Is there a humour therapist in the house?
Sitting here, chortling, do not grouse,
If you abuse crumpets, men,
You undermine your own best interests, do you ken?
Then you don't get crumpet, men,
Or is men a rude word,
You're reaping what you earn,
You want a cup of tea from me?
Chortle, the magic word is please!
You would not believe this ham,
Feeding the world this spam,
You want fresh vegetables?
Frozen food, not dementiable,
You can get another better than me,
So what's wrong with you, prithee?
Yes, the catering staff is on a sitdown strike,
You'd best find yourself a loving wife,
Chortle, shut up snivelling, you grouse,
Is there a humour therapist in the house?
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
I am HAPPY -
Through chaos betwixt upon me;
Rain shall fall - and;
Flowers may wilt - from;
Fields damasked in blood,
As tears of my toil.
Debt knocking upon my door,
Whispers haunting my floor;
Terrors hail from the sky,
Loneliness hung to dry;
But I am Happy,
Prithee, can't you see?
May 27, 2023
May 27, 2023 at 10:26 PM UTC
*Warmth in human form, she wore an electrifying charm,
when she passed him from behind even without a glance,
his heart felt a yearning forgotten for a long time.
Prithee, mercy on me, his heart cried in the voice of an abandoned child,
didn't feel below his dignity to plead the ray of light to kiss his brows.
Then she gently turned back and smiled, grace transmitting her fragrance,
both were blessed by that moment, the caress of angel's wings.
One look of the girl evoked, a caring feminine lushness: mother, sister or lover,
her evanescence in him brought a pleasantness that lasted for ever.*
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
Our NIGHT was wide -
With just a single star,
Above the shore's tide,
Where Angels watched from afar.
Breezy Autumn Eve,
With its Heavenly brush,
Painted our reprieve -
A Scarlet Blush.
Not a Soul went abroad -
To cease the Drums,
That gently applaud,
Under your thumbs.
Feel the fire stoke,
Beneath your grasp -
Donning Love's cloak,
Prithee me to gasp!
Now the Swans Sing,
Within Love's Gown -
The Serenity Spring,
Where I Drown.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
This is a true, but amusing tale,
Hope your laughter does not fail,
'Tis a saga of a cockatoo,
Of life, he held a jaundiced view,
At the going down of the sun,
Cocky embellished his own fun,
And at the rising of each dawn,
Cocky's catharsis our ears did adorn,
The parrot kept talking, none listened to he,
Cocky had such a vivid vocabulary,
All starting with "F...ing C...'s"!
We heard his morning matins, you see,
His vespers were hard to believe,
'Twas sociolinguistic acquisition, prithee,
His jaded look at society,
Swearing is cathartic, but so lazy......
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:00 AM UTC
(To the tune of "Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree!)
Today, I was offered a job, prithee,
Tutoring crims in literacy,
Silent reading for all the he's,
I'd be part of their conspiracy,
They'd all have a million dollars, you see,
Buried under the jail's old oak trees,
For their chicks and kids to live comfortably,
That's why they like gardening, you see,
It looks like the gophers have been,
The crims have left the scene!
They swiped the prison bus,
Forgot about "Literacy and Us!"
The governor put the blame on me!
So much for teaching prison literacy,
Now there's lots of holes under the jail's old oak trees,
Yes, the gophers have been,
The crims have left the scene,
All with a million dollars, you see,
Well, they learnt to spell 'conspiracy',
That was my job teaching literacy!
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 4:20 PM UTC
Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!
Time to get the breakfast on!
Little Johnny likes to cook,
No, he is no wussy sook,
He is cooking in his apron,
Yes, thirty pieces of bacon!
Johnny decides this is bliss,
As he gives his empty plate a kiss,
But Johnny now has cholesterol, you see,
That was yum, time for tea,
Now he's eating thirty chocolates, prithee,
All gone, Johnny has cholesterol and diabetes!!!!!!
Yes, Little Johnny is heading for obesity!!!!!!
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 7:07 PM UTC