"proudest" poems
Babylon has fallen! Aye; but Babylon endures
Wherever human wisdom shines or human folly lures;
Where lovers lingering walk beside, and happy children play,
Is Babylon! Babylon! for ever and for aye.
The plan is rudely fashioned, the dream is unfulfilled,
Yet all is in the archetype if but a builder willed;
And Babylon is calling us, the microcosm of men,
To range her walls in harmony and lift her spires again;
The sternest walls, the proudest spires, that ever sun shone on,
Halting a space his burning race to gaze on Babylon.
Babylon has fallen! Aye; but Babylon shall stand:
The mantle of her majesty is over sea and land.
Hers is the name of challenge flung, a watchword in the fight
To grapple grim eternities and gain the old delight;
And in the word the dream is hid, and in the dream the deed,
And in the deed the mastery for those who dare to lead.
Surely her day shall come again, surely her breed be born
To urge the hope of humankind and scale the peaks of morn --
To fight as they who fought till death their ****** field upon,
And kept the gate against the Fate frowning on Babylon.
11k
The proudest thing I think I've ever done,
Such artistry, such skill I have attained!
The semi-glaze reflecting of the sun,
The richness of the blue, so lightly stained;
So perfect is the pointed pouring spout
That sits upon a rim of gold emboss,
And proudly do the handles both stick out,
Exquisite is the painted Celtic cross;
I toiled and slaved for oh so many years,
My fingers ever wet and moist with clay,
But now at last I'm free of all the fears
And doubts that clouded me until this day;
I know you'll all be very pleased for me,
So thanks, my friends, on Hello Pottery!
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
The proudest of men that walk the earth
Have been doused in glory since the day of their births
They chase after those who've run away
Speak when there is not a word to say
And their greatest endeavor is to convert the innocent
Hungry for the women striking young and brilliant
Unbelieving of a lady's independence
Sure that all women crave their presence
Like rabid dogs, the proud men search
For those to quench their undying thirst
To be loved and accepted of men of the heart
But these men only search in the emptiness of dark
How can they deny the truth in their faces?
They imbalance the world and its natural paces
No one can love an arrogant, proud man
But they search and search, yet they never understand
That love is for those who are willing to fail
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
297
It’s like the Light—
A fashionless Delight—
It’s like the Bee—
A dateless—Melody—
It’s like the Woods—
Private—Like the Breeze—
Phraseless—yet it stirs
The proudest Trees—
It’s like the Morning—
Best—when it’s done—
And the Everlasting Clocks—
Chime—Noon!
5.2k
So sell your daughters
**** your sons
Go break your spoken
Vows in tongues
For from these lungs
I storm the loudest
As my furies
Muse the proudest
Wings endowed with shrouds of Nyx
Baptized within the River Styx
So wage petty crusades
And feel
Titanic wrath’s
Achilles heel
For in this heart
My lust will claim
Entire Gaea’s
Set aflame
By bolts of my creative spark
Be sure, I’ve never missed my mark
So bend your knees
And cross your hearts
And mutilate
Your private parts
For by these hands
The story spun
The sickle swung
And shed my young
And led them to the glory sung
Henceforth until the Fates are done
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
There was once a family of slugs
That lived in a cabbage patch town
They went out everynite to eat
Found a cabbage and began to munch down
All through the night they could reduce
A cabbage to a stalk in the ground
All night they would munch and munch
But you would never hear then , nary a sound
But Mrs. H was becoming fed up
Her patch was the proudest around
With malace , blood red , she schemed
She vowed to eliminate all those clowns
She purchased the best poison they had
She tried every trick she had read
But the slugs just kept on coming
Every night, long after it was bed
Then a local wino for he said
Out of the garden he could take
These inconsiderate gluttonous
Stylommatophora Pulmonates
So he began by opening a beer
Placing some into a sphere
Putting them by each cabbage head , he said
"This will make those slugs disappear"
But by morning the cabbage was gone
Worse yet so was the beer and
If you looked even more closely tiny signs saying , "Next time make it import you here !"
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
BANG; another kid, another life
another dark toned baby
taken away for no real
reason
another mother mourns
over her proudest accomplishment
gone
another brother cries when he
passes that street corner
another sister says nothing...
she is desensitized from
last week's loss
BANG; a different kid, a different life
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 8:43 PM UTC
Skilled in the art of bloodshed
A rogue of the ancient clan
a sinister viper striking silently with a deadly hand
The sound of his blade in the distance
Is your only chance of escape
Before the Ancient Assassin comes to sever your life away
Nothing to live for, nowhere is safe
Stick to the light if you wish to escape
Fear not the weapon but the hand that wields it
Beware the shadows if you value your life
Silent and deadly he strikes in the darkness
Beware the shadows and you may survive
Once the proudest warrior in the clan of the Black Sand
A master of the prehistoric art of hit man
Black he feels inside, no beauty left in life
Vengeance and destruction - his last will and command
Nothing to live for, nowhere is safe
Stick to the light if you wish to escape
Far from the shadows, stay in the light
For when darkness surrounds you, you will surely die.
Fear not the weapon but the hand that wields it
Beware the shadows if you value your life
Silent and deadly he strikes in the darkness
Beware the shadows and you may survive
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might
To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark, inferior far to his,
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or, being wrecked, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building, and of goodly pride.
Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
The worst was this: my love was my decay.
3k
I saw you on the news again, aiming lies at civilians
You work like a serf to abhor the herd, which was merged by Lords to bore and encore, like a trap door in a dungeon.
What you earth and managed has got me famished, like the dense or pretentious, the meek and the senseless
And type endings to the finest that cry less, the winos that digress, or the shyest who digest
The plate which was purchased, paid to feed liars by the loudest were poisoned by us rebels running incense to the proudest.
Violently passive when distracted, these masses wreck havoc to have their heads handed to them
Sullen sweet to deter, you lure and reserve what is versed or inferred or implied or implored
Like the goodbyed or complied or the ladies waiting with lunacy lining their luxury gowns
Your disheveled and neat demanding appearance has me locked down with pirates and principle pilots
Dulled sick, they spy less, echo with insist, enlist and exist
As terrorists and presidents
Marked with malice making misfits that were mocked and disgraced, maced or laced by daydreams and magicians to assist beggars behind blueprints constructing islands
Which make slaves in to riots that capture journalists under wide tense
To suspend or impend doom sent hell bent by your priestess
You conduct chaos with fast hints, but quit slow when engaged with your conscience
Touched by divine tricks
Decided and destined, best in business
Prince of the wise man
Captain of the compassionate
Comrades with the crack heads singing anthems in kingdoms
We are heartbreakers painting bad graffiti
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
the beauty of the deer is such a sight to see
very royal and regal a lovely chap his he
with his great big antlers standing up so tall
the king of all the forest the proudest of them all
with his lovely coat that has such a sheen
the beauty of the deer is something to be seen
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
those mistakes were never the same,
snowflake, snowflake,
i melted in the touch of your cold cold heart.
i see you frantic, romancing the stars,
show me the world again, my gentle penpal and my proudest critique,
we circled the landmarks until you made me heart start to beat.
I’m petrified of the ride, this gifted one way system,
my commitment to you is beautiful true.
i pictured destruction - i couldn’t function in ways,
years and years, days and days, it was peace at last, if only you knew.
a thousand friends and a million faces,
the snowball effect melted me snowflake mallow.
you were right all along, i was spun from the whirlwind of your world.
give me Disney love now or nothing at all.
i’m all yours now my sweet princess,
theres no contest or battle just a universe of you.
the placebo effect is so far from the truth, an uninhabited land - i belong here with you.
theres only one question that remains unanswered.
snowflake don’t ever change. x
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
*you're haunting me still
why?
vibrations from your exit still lingering in my bones
they crack and quake
grating against themselves
why aren't they healing?
these wounds that I have been so persistently nursing
why can I not mend myself of this?
the needle is too dull
the thread is fraying
alone in this room
with your ghost still sitting next to me
gently touching my hand, laying its head in my lap to play with its hair
smiling
laughing
a perception
not the reality
I keep my heart in a box under the bed
next to treasured memories of a memory
I want to burn it all
I want to give it back to you
I want to keep it
it makes me sick
when its dark I wish to travel to far away mystical places
dance among the stars on cotton candy roller skates
yet all I get is you
your face
fetal position, clenched jaws, toss and turn
tortured still
in a state meant for rest
dream catchers strategically placed
they're meant to save me from you
ward off and expel YOU
yet my soldiers of the night
my dream wardens
they're no match for the slyness of you
you slip through as if made of air and elegance
replaying all your proudest moments of my misery
ive never felt such indifference toward someone
I want you gone
out of my head
I wish I could peel you from my skin
wring you from my marrow
shed the skin of this serpent's memory
wake to a new day
finally feeling good
finally feeling anything
finally feeling*
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
Brian was the perfect teammate. We were team parents and out numbered 3-2. But he was a strong enough player to hold a level playing field. When bases were loaded, he was the catcher and tagged our children before they could score a run. His commitment to our team made us strong and we did the best that we could to hold them on base during the teenage years. But their team was stacked. Three heavy hitters ready to stand up to the championship team… Wow! What an amazing game we all played together. And I had an outstanding coach.
But one day, one of their player’s was injured and could no longer play the game. It was a sad day, the day we realized that we were one team and that one of our star players would not be there to help bring our team back to victory! We suffered a few bases, but even though we did, we still came out winners….
Krystalyn married the man of her dreams. She brought 2 new players to the game, Joel and Zoey. 3 runs there. Sean has gotten sober and is in school to be an oral assistant. Score 3 more. I have moved on to be G-Ma and the proudest parent I can be… I scored 3. Brian fell in love, remarried and shared our family victories. 4 more runs.
What an awesome team. We are sad that Brian was injured and cannot play anymore. We will miss our coach. . But, we are happy he and Jay are together now in the bleachers and keeping score. We are still winning…. 13-0.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
The end of summer rolls around,
As do their suitcases and bags
Down hallways and airport security,
Headed to the next destination.
The end of summer comes too fast,
Like the hugs you receive as someones leaves,
As they walk away and drive off,
Headed to the next best thing.
The end of summer is melancholy;
The sun fades faster than how many friends remain
Because they're all ready to run away,
Headed to the beginning of their new lives.
The end of summer hurts my heart
In the same way goodbyes sting my eyes
Because my friends are all leaving,
Headed off to grow and learn and achieve it all.
The end of summer is more than a season to me;
It's the end of the line for my friends,
It's the end of seeing them whenever,
Because they're headed off to make something of themselves.
And for that,
I'll watch my friends leave
With the heaviest and proudest heart.
The end of summer may take them away,
But it can't take away how much I love them,
With every ounce of my heart.
Distant in miles,
Distant is space,
Though my love will withstand it all;
That is something distance cannot erase.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
You don’t like to stand so close to me
You don’t want to see things the way I see
You’re afraid you’ll become just like what I’ll be
Ask yourself what it is you want to be
If you had a choice you would never be me
Your fear guides you too far away to see
You pretend you’ve got some other place to be
Do you know what hurts the most?
You don’t even know what I struggle with lately
You can’t be bothered with learning about how I feel
Are our lives so far apart?
Maybe you’ve got a broken heart
Perhaps you’ve watched it all fall apart
And when it does, where do you turn?
What if you had a friend like me?
Strong enough to conquer those fears daily
What if I could show you how to be strong
Or that surrounding me with stigma is wrong?
What if you felt it all for just one day?
Maybe you would have a lot more to say
If you could look through the eyes of mental illness
Would you really find so much of a difference?
I bet you’ve had good days and bad days
I bet you’ve felt lost and out of place
I think you’re scared of the way you feel
So you blame it on something that’s not even real
Stop for a second and take a look
Ask me a question, maybe share a look
Be nice to everyone you meet
You never know what pain they’ve beat
You don’t have to look sick to be sick
You don’t have to look ignorant to be ignorant
If you try it, you could gain something you’ve always longed for
If you carry your shield of stigma forever
What confusion you’ll endure
Maybe you don’t want to know me
What about him?
Standing there looking scared
Or her, with her nose in a book
So nobody truly sees her
There are many faces of pain and sorrow
And there are many faces of stigma
You don’t have to struggle with either
If you reach out and find the wrong person,
will you blame it on the disease? Probably.
But you’ll have learned
So that the next time you meet someone like me
Standing in a crowd, terrified of the judgement
and the stares, you’ll know to go slow.
Trust isn’t easy to give or receive
When you find an ally in a face in a crowd,
Couldn’t that be your proudest moment of all?
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
A flower held hand as the young girl
reaches up for her mothers grasp
The reddest of velvet's reflected from
her tears on eyes as her poppy
stands proud and straight
Remember their sacrifice
As you join in their stand
An honour to hold one
Red poppy to hand
She knows why she's standing
She know no return
Her father not here now
His never come home
He fought for his country
He fought for his life
He fought for his honour
His family
Our life
Remember this girl that cries every night
No father to hold her
Is gone from this earth
Yet she is the proudest
A daughter could be
Because of her father
Gave life
For you
...and for me
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
A maniacal machine of glad and fad
A thing of mystery
A man that smiles the brightest of us all
No matter the weather, even in the fall
The darker stories that he never tells
Ring the most often of all the bells
These chimes are the very loudest
and his least proudest
They are the things that lead him to the bars
And honestly he hides these scars
His laughter is among the most of any
Because he was told not to frown by the most of many
He is not mad
Only empty and sad
All alone he is
Sharp edges are his only friends
Deprived of self expression
He's been in a depression
And this is why he is a maniacal machine of glad and fad
No longer a thing of mystery
At least here he's not the smiling man
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
the beauty of the deer is such a sight to see
very royal and regal a lovely chap his he.
with his great big antlers standing up so tall
the king of all the forest the proudest of them all.
with his lovely coat that has such a sheen
the beauty of the deer is something to be seen
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
Rid of the world’s injustice, and his pain,
He rests at last beneath God’s veil of blue:
Taken from life when life and love were new
The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,
Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain.
No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew,
But gentle violets weeping with the dew
Weave on his bones an ever-blossoming chain.
O proudest heart that broke for misery!
O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene!
O poet-painter of our English Land!
Thy name was writ in water—it shall stand:
And tears like mine will keep thy memory green,
As Isabella did her Basil-tree.
1.9k
Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation's trust!
In sorrow by thy bier we stand,
Amid the awe that hushes all,
And speak the anguish of a land
That shook with horror at thy fall.
Thy task is done; the bond are free:
We bear thee to an honored grave
Whose proudest monument shall be
The broken fetters of the slave.
Pure was thy life; its ****** close
Hath placed thee with the sons of light,
Among the noble host of those
Who perished in the cause of Right.
1.9k
Tied up, words constricting
Woke up, wrong place to live in
Now I find myself hustling
But I can't keep from tossing in
My bed at night
Don't want to breathe and I've got to fight
With all my might crack the walls
And shed some light
On the wrong side of the long night persisting
Inspite of our Hollywood vinyls
And pop star idols
'cause at midnight they bite us
And drink our love.
Imagine work paid off
And you're never laid off, rough appearance
Won't make them scoff
What if tough heights didn't last long
Or burn so strong, didn't scar your tongue,
And good fun wasn't modest
Like Bollywood's hottest
We'd live the lives loudest
That we could be proudest of.
We forget it all, they've set it small
Well we're all not tall, we just bend down
Let them move your limbs in any given position
Because life's only
A luxurious possession after all.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
Oh, slow to smit and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation's trust!
In sorrow by thy bier we stand,
Amid the awe that hushes all,
And speak the anguish of a land
That shook with horror at thy fall.
Thy task is done; the bond of free;
We bear thee to an honored grave,
Whose proudest monument shall be
The broken fetters of the slave.
Pure was thy life; its bloddy close
Hath placed thee with the sons of light,
Among the noble host of those
Who perished in the cause of Right.
1.7k
The old man sat on the Stone of Knowledge,
He called the boy to him for the last time.
As the lad approached him he saw a tear drop,
flowing down the old mans cheek.
“Why do you cry?” the boy asked his master.
“I cry for you,” said the man “for you are a poet.
Your richness will be your description of poverty.
Your banquet will be the bread of the begger.
Your tears will flow with the blood of innocents.
You are like the windmill dredging words of hope
for the deaf ears of greed and the souls of despair.
This is why I cry. Sit with me before I leave.”
The old man stroked the boys hand and spoke,
“You will need to become the petal of a sun flower,
the scent of a rose and the strength of a tree.
Dream the fall of a raindrop, the drop of a snowflake,
climb mountains and slide down rainbows,
Swim with the shy platypus and the playful dolfin.
You will not see my face again, except in your dreams,
But you will always hear me whispering in the breeze,
be still and listen and you will hear me.” He finished.
“But,” cried the boy, “where are you going?”
“All these things I have asked you to do,
I have done, and more, my time is over,
I must go now to the Land of All Knowing,
There I will hammer my fist upon the gate
and a voice shall call out ‘Who begs entry?’
I shall reply in my proudest voice,
I AM THE POET!"
21/02/2010
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 4:12 AM UTC
well,
it depends.
it depends
on how you look at it.
the anger that
branches in you are meaningless.
the frustration that
rests deep in you is meaningless.
the desperation that
is trapped in you is meaningless.
all of it might poison
you, but you, you are still you.
you are still here,
out there, existing and surviving.
it does not matter
why or how you are breathing.
because you are
just a future ground zero.
and you are still around
pondering over the possibilities.
and performing
at this grandest stage ever
is the proudest achievement
of your life.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 10:03 AM UTC