"raved" poems
Here now by many paths convoluted,
Ever trying the thoughts new, acted on.
Heeding just,streams conscious flowing,
Changed and morphed in an instant blinking.
Hair long,then shaved, now streaked orange grey
Suits to jeans,tore them,robes spiritual,now **** pray!
Was straight,turned metro,for all open,but curious still,
Body clean,got pierced, now adorning pasts tattooed!
Gurus, philosophies many, still a fool ever journeying.
Heard Bach,reggaed to Marley,wood-stocked,now fused.
Loved intense,let go easy,Kama sutras experimented on.
Traveled afar,lived as a local,now a foreigner everywhere,
Hip-pied from smoke to grass,yoga to parties raved hard.
Against wars, sat in for peace elusive,fought all,now stoic,
Never shocked or surprised,took all as came,now strong.
The set mind,everchanging,the physical a compliment cosy,
Unrecognizable now,existing totally, being happy, normally?
Many shout, freak! I smile,walk on to my home in Bohemia!
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
*Hues and mist raved through the storm and found me.
Little did the waves know that my soul was not free.
My heart became her starry night till now,
World's chaos challenged the brave and left with a vow.
O' beloved, understand that life is not here to thrash you,
but is those chances given to the moments to build your tomb.
Your places are both in the roots and buds where you bloom.
So when love comes along and asks why, say bliss at rare times paints itself blue.
A hypnotizing halo of life breathing in the darkest grave.
Upon your grace, my trails become my slave,
As I command my footprints to bring me far.
A knight I become and my quest is to save.
Even when you turn into those stars-
My oath still remains to erase all your scars.*
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
Miss Cleves
(she dropped
the Mrs. when
her husband left)
stood by the doorframe
of the lounge,
dressed
in a flowery kimono,
which revealed more
than it concealed.
***** wants some milk,
she said.
Benedict looked around
at her from the sofa.
Percy will oblige
after his drink is drunk,
he said. Chopin’s
concerto no 2 oozed
from the hifi. He drained
his drink and followed her
into her bedroom.
Once Percy had obliged
and ***** been fed,
they lay abed.
She criticizing
his Marxism,
he her Scottish
conservatism;
she talked
of her husband’s betrayal
and ***
with air hostess
trollops,
Benedict half-listened
taking in
the ending
of the Chopin.
She talked of the poor
and the slums saying:
you can take
the poor out
of the slums,
but you can’t always take
the slums out
of the poor.
He raved
about the rich,
she scorned
the poor;
he talked revolution,
he pointed out Stalin
and Mao and the altars
of blood they brought.
Another drink? she asked.
He said yes
and she went off
to pour. He lay naked
on her bed wondering
what the priest would think
of him lying there
**** naked. He heard
the Chopin begin again;
she had thought of that.
Time to prepare, he thought,
once more to feed the cat.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
a group who has a cult following
sings about hiding for
solitude
they dedicate nothing to the poet
who did, as they know it
in hiding
but it was inspired by the same CB
I must say a big wowski to
Charles Bukowski
don't think it would happen here
no chance without distraction
little peace, much action
guessing if I became an angry man
ranted, raved and demanded
this type of peace
that would be a living conundrum
or a poet raging as an oxymoron
please leave the ***** alone
and
give
peace
and
quiet
a
chance
meeting
with words that escape
at the first sign of distress
as they undress my day
and see vicariously the
disrepair, oh you don't care...
Okay
I'll go.
To my hidey hole,
to write my pre-verse
in hyperbole ,
"how to get lost"
and what it cost me,
let the silence be
deafening,
no man may be a
poet unto himself
(forgive me I forget myself)
©DWE102013
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
I met a friend today
She was swearing blue
Traveling the same way as me
What a wonderful way to meet
I innocently said hi
She turned and gave the brightest smile
Side by side we rode
She told me of the old
About the stars and the foretold
She told me
Love is the key to grow
I met a friend today
He’d grown his hair and beard long
Seasoned with age
Though skin and bone to him was no cage
With no second to waste
He didn’t hesitate to speak his mind
He raved about love and peace
About money and tree's
About the birds and bee's
He told me
Love is the key to never grow old
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
He announced with a sneer
'Now listen here,
all you sinners that can hear
Explain to me how
you'll plead when making
pornographic movies;
plastic ******* swear words... nasty things
when the lord calls upon you
offering the forgiveness he brings? '
'He'll send you to hell! '
'He'll punish you well! '
'You don't stand a chance, what you're doing! '
The crowd raved and screamed
Faith high esteemed
until a young man in the back
laughed.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 3:20 PM UTC
the nation's pride in graceful wave
delivered 'fore the thousands
the millions as they roared 'n raved
in worship smiles that roused them
from those ever graceful lips
kissed by Jove 'n Venus
that spoke the majesty of queenship
of love above sweet Eros
the smile that shone out from her eyes
with sincerity none could hide
of interest and intelligence wise
up welled from deep inside
no mawkish sentimentality
nor false, nor common rot,
her smile bespoke reality
a truth that G-d begot
Fare thee well, O gracious Queen,
never from nation forgot,
Farewell in flight to Heaven's Sheen,
To bind Celestial Knot
Sep 13, 2022
Sep 13, 2022 at 10:16 AM UTC
I struck the board, and cried “No more!
I will abroad.
What, shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit?
Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?
All wasted?
Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.
Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands,
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law,
While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away; take heed:
I will abroad.
Call in thy death’s head there: tie up thy fears.
He that forbears
To suit and serve his need,
Deserves his load.”
But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,
Methoughts I heard one calling “Child!”
And I replied “My Lord”.
1.7k
I’d only been home for a week or two
And Jeanine was acting queer,
Each time she’d pass the mirror she’d stare
And I heard her say, ‘Oh dear!’
I’d been away for five long years
But she hadn’t changed a bit,
Each time I’d ask, she’d cover her ears:
‘I have to go to The Crypt!’
I thought that she meant the local club
Where they drank and danced all night,
‘Aren’t you a little too old for that,’
I’d say, and her face turned white.
‘You’re only as old as you feel,’ she snapped,
‘If only,’ was my reply,
‘Whether we like it or not, we age,
And then, we finally die.’
She put her hands to her ears, and shrieked,
‘Don’t ever say that to me!
You can die, but I’ll still go on,
I’ll be what I want to be.’
I stood quite shocked as she raved, she cried
And turned and ran from the room,
I didn’t know what to make of her,
So sat, half stunned in the gloom.
She’d always worried about her looks
Had made up her face for hours,
I’d said, ‘You’re really compulsive, Sis,’
She’d take innumerable showers.
I said, ‘You’re washing yourself away,
There’ll be no oil in your skin.’
‘But don’t you think that I’m beautiful,’
She’d say, with an evil grin.
She’d never married, but dated men
Who would compliment on her looks,
‘He said I’m like Cleopatra,’ or,
‘Like Helen of Troy in the books!’
‘Words are cheap,’ I would say to her
And she’d fly right into a rage,
‘You’re always trying to put me down!’
‘You’re like a bird in a cage!
Always fluffing your feathers up
To say, ‘Hey look at me!’
Don’t you care for the things in life
That are not complimentary?’
But she would shrug and ignore me then
She was vain beyond compare,
I didn’t know that she’d signed a pact
With the Devil, in her despair.
The weeks went by and her mood got worse,
She was nervous, I could see,
Her hands would tremble and she would curse
Applying her toiletry.
The wrinkles set in around her eyes
‘So much for that cream I bought!
I’ll have to go to The Crypt,’ she cried,
And burst in tears at the thought.
One day I spied her out in the street
Down by a ruined church,
She forced her way past the battened door
And disappeared with a lurch.
I waited hours, out there in the street
To see when she’d reappear,
Then realised she’d gone to the crypt
In the bowels of that church, in there.
She came out walking, as in a trance,
So beautiful, redefined,
I couldn’t believe the change in her,
I thought that I’d lost my mind.
The girl I saw was only a shell
Of the woman who once was whole,
Whoever she’d met in that evil crypt
Had walked away with her soul!
David Lewis Paget
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
Well it was Tarquin's idea, actually.
It came to him after watching 'Slumdog Millionaire.'
Have you seen it? Marvellous film.
Such resourceful people.
Anyway, we were looking at schools,
and the local comprehensive -
simply ghastly - we couldn't put Eugene through that.
But two blocks away
there's a school for the blind.
Ofsted simply raved about it.
So, we popped the old eyes out
- easy as
- and Bob's your uncle.
He starts in August.
More tea?
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
A man spoke to me, not my friend, but still
His words were gilded and I listened
And as he raved, his brutal demeanor
Surprised me, and two more voices came.
They had no wings nor halos
Their hands were free of pitchforks,
But they spoke as we have seen, and said,
This This man man is is precious insane.
My head vibrated like the drum they took it for
And my ears cleaved in two
I tried to listen to the man before me
But I was too deep in my own beliefs.
For he seemed bad and good
Fun and frightening
I could not decide where I stood
And the man leapt on me
With one hand he shook mine
With the other he teared at my eyelids
I did not know what to do
For he was acting according to my plan
He left me warm and cold
Unsure of myself
And I slept there
Until I knew what he was
He was the voices
The terrible decision to make
For neither he nor I could decide
If he was a killer or a gem,
For we were both men.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
If slumber, sweet Lisena!
Have stolen o'er thine eyes,
As night steals o'er the glory
Of spring's transparent skies;
Wake, in thy scorn and beauty,
And listen to the strain
That murmurs my devotion,
That mourns for thy disdain.
Here by thy door at midnight,
I pass the dreary hour,
With plaintive sounds profaning
The silence of thy bower;
A tale of sorrow cherished
Too fondly to depart,
Of wrong from love the flatterer,
And my own wayward heart.
Twice, o'er this vale, the seasons
Have brought and borne away
The January tempest,
The genial wind of May;
Yet still my plaint is uttered,
My tears and sighs are given
To earth's unconscious waters,
And wandering winds of heaven.
I saw from this fair region,
The smile of summer pass,
And myriad frost-stars glitter
Among the russet grass.
While winter seized the streamlets
That fled along the ground,
And fast in chains of crystal
The truant murmurers bound.
I saw that to the forest
The nightingales had flown,
And every sweet-voiced fountain
Had hushed its silver tone.
The maniac winds, divorcing
The turtle from his mate,
Raved through the leafy beeches,
And left them desolate.
Now May, with life and music,
The blooming valley fills,
And rears her flowery arches
For all the little rills.
The minstrel bird of evening
Comes back on joyous wings,
And, like the harp's soft murmur,
Is heard the gush of springs.
And deep within the forest
Are wedded turtles seen,
Their nuptial chambers seeking,
Their chambers close and green.
The rugged trees are mingling
Their flowery sprays in love;
The ivy climbs the laurel,
To clasp the boughs above.
They change--but thou, Lisena,
Art cold while I complain:
Why to thy lover only
Should spring return in vain?
1.1k
Now Smithy was as angry as poo
He said Mickey, "Oi, Listen, must you!
Come here for a meeting
It'll be only fleeting
But be there by a quarter to two."
As loud as he dared
With nostrils all flared
Smith ranted and raved
Like he was depraved
No wonder Mickey was scared
He began with a deep fierce roar
And huffed like a bear that was sore
"It's not easy to say
I can't stand things this way
I can't take it like this any more."
Smith blew his red nose on his sleeve
Then said "You must take now your leave
You've driven me crazy
No, I'm not being lazy
I need some more me-time to grieve."
"I know that our feelings were strong
I am sorry that you must now be gone
I'll always love you
You held my hand in the loo
It's not that you did anything wrong."
Now who should replace him within?
Our choices are looking too thin.
I do know a man...
This could be a plan...
A Zimbabwean that has a big chin.
Now the panel has been sacked
The whole system looks cracked
Who is next their line?
Graeme Smith would be fine..
The captain has not yet been whacked.
But what more can we say?
Madness now leads the way.
Since Onions' not out
South Africa have doubt
'bout all that's 'tween night and the day.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 10:47 PM UTC
#*Caught in the mundane
Imagination escapes my thoughts
Wilfully plant themselves someplace alive
Joyous trees in the forest thrive
Not a word
Written nor spoken
Some emotions best buried underneath
Not to be watered never to sprout
Crossing paths and boundaries too
Rain meets summer, seasons intermingle
Flowering blooms spring stays bold
Leaves of colour, turn to gold
My thoughts like silt and sand
Awash and Washed ashore
Emerge and submerge
Wavering like the waves
The mundane rose and raved
Common its place
Not a day with or without
Every day life thrives*#
Jul 18, 2023
Jul 18, 2023 at 2:38 PM UTC
between past numbing's, she
couldn't believe it was over like
the oder-neisse. 'subversive! Exhilarating!'
raved Time Magazine-- 'just what we've
been waiting for- a true summer
blockbuster!'
he didn't mean it.
Really, he didn't.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
Time stopped, and they were freed.
It began, it occurred, it ended.
We met, we danced, I left.
He did not st-st-stutter that day.
We craved, raved, craved more.
Born numb, pure; died filthy, happy.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
Would you mind Miss
If I wrote about you?
Would you get offended,
If I bragged about how you make me feel?
Would you care
If I raved on
About how how my heart leaps
When you smile?
Can I tell the world
About your laugh?
Would you mind
If I told them that it's a Symphony?
Would you sigh
If they found out
That you're perfection
In it's purest forms?
That you're a masterpiece,
And that your smile
Should hang a while
In the best of the galleries.
You're amazing girl.
You're modern art.
Not everyone gets you,
But those who do
Knows what you're worth.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
You fantasized about her
She was the lion that you could not control
She was the bright fire in the distance
That you craved to behold
You wanted nothing and nobody above her
You extended your dark hands in her direction
You charmed her and tricked her
But I'm sure you have since learned your lesson
You desired to cage natures beauty
You stripped her voice and bound her ankles
You danced & raved "You're mine. You belong to me"!
Then you placed her in shackles
Little did you know then,
As you beat her and starved her hunger
That she was the strongest of the pack
A natural born hunter
You caged a lioness
But don't you know you can't cage a soul?
She may have appeared as a weak one for a while
But you had never caged another like her before
Careless and shallow you were
You beat her until she broke
But all you did was bring out the killer in her
She broke through your chains and sliced your throat.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 2:22 AM UTC
A Paris night, with all it's sweet endeavours,
Blurred by a face with emerald eyes,
Out shadowed by the shades of her hair,
She must be the truth of beautiful lies.
With a cup of warm coffee in her hands,
With the gentle wind unfolding her hair tress,
The waiter with bewildered bones,
Greeted her 'Buenas Noches'
She grinned and with tender steps lead her way,
While a pair of eyes was at sea.
In the wild calm of her imperfect picturesque,
The shackles of his heart were set free.
Behind the looking glass, the boy stood subdued,
In the utter waves of her essence,
The euphonious ripples of the angel's visit,
The graceful gift of her presence.
The night turned into a hopeful day,
With the pair of eyes still seeking in the streets,
Searching for the beat of his heart,
The earth to his feets.
With desire clocking to despair,
Those eyes grew wet,
With the clock beating seconds,
He had a journey to get back.
The bags laid still on the room,
The food untouched at the bed,
With eyes lost in that night,
He raved the streets of Paris till a miracle shed.
And his eyes met that lovely face,
The girl you can't stop from falling in.
The blood rushed once again through the veins,
Working the muscles to bring a smile,
The smile of an answered heart,
The smile that explains the mystery we call Love.
But the face was lost again,
In the same old Paris streets.
With a hidden smile, he turned back,
Hoping their small worlds would meet again,
In a place where hearts reigned.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
Mildew, mold, cobwebs, rust, stench, trash, dead grass, window screens with holes & ****
Not things you'd find at buckingham palace.
Only in a home of bums.
Not a dream to last.
I want to move, I want to run.
Colorful Colorado....7 years Bad Luck
Snowflakes, frozen lakes, shoveling snow.
A cold for all to know.
I will never go back.
My ex boyfriend would strike & attack.
It was I he tried to choke out & ****
From 2006 to 2012.
Thinking of him makes me ILL.
Summer of elves.
Unloved & Taken for Granted. Raved & Ranted.
A haiku with thoughts of you.
I don't feel lucky with us two.
We never hold hands or embrace.
We never kiss each other's face
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 2:48 AM UTC
***** got Fawked
somebody talked
to the Feds
and what did we get?
reds under the beds
missile attacks
packs of madmen
running free
zone one could be
so nice,
but
Westminster was saved
because some daft sod
raved about
*****
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
I was no ordinary child,
if anything I was something mild.
My Friends were not always people,
but something more desirable.
For one day, as chance did have it,
I was walking through the store,
my parents just behind me, then, there it
was, that teddy bear I began to adore.
I raved and I got excited...
There was simply this wonderful bear,
and to receive it, I would have been delighted,
but...Little did I know the story of this bear.
Many weeks if not months had passed,
Christmas fell upon us, and in the passions
of removing christmas wrappings, I had
seen the white fur, I thought is was illusions.
But nay, It was my bear from the store,
wrapped in a box, with his sapphire cloak
and his lovely soft and white fur,
and it was never a cruel joke.
Now, However, Its tale is somewhat sadder,
He sits enthroned on a shelf, ne'er seeing use,
recognition or thanks. It must be a kind of abuse,
to leave this bear sitting on the shelf each day growing sadder.
I would like to make a change,
but unfortunately I had to age.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 10:33 AM UTC
Micah The Mouse was a rat;
At least that’s how he behaved.
If he didn’t get his way every time
He’d holler and he’d rant and rave.
He got to be such a big mouse
That his head swelled up too.
He became so hugely obnoxious
Other mice didn’t know what to do.
They held a spontaneous election.
They needed to elect a top mouse.
Micah bribed the weaker leaders
So, Micah got the run of the house.
He kept up his pattern of bribery
And threatening those in his way.
Without anything like scruples
He’s still on the throne to this day
Micah The Mouse takes with both hands
And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees.
Those who think he cares about complaints
Will spend a lot of time on their knees.
In Micah got horrendously fat
By overeating just a tiny smidge.
He got to be so much like a big rat
He grew too heavy to cross the bridge.
So he roared and ranted and raved.
And blamed everybody around him.
That he was the cause of his problems
Seemed to completely astound him.
The wonder in all of this sad story
Is why the other mice could not see
That Micah was only in it for himself
And not for members of the citizenry.
Micah got to eat while others starved.
He got what he wanted, moved on
Yet somehow those that elected him
Never quite seemed to catch on.
Micah The Mouse takes with both hands
And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees.
Those who think he cares about complaints
Will spend a lot of time on their knees.
(Image from www.sharktacos.com)
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
Grandma never told me a tale
Never scared me by pointing at spooky pots
Never pained me by showing the bird cage trapped in the wild fire
Never forcefed me by threatening to lay in dark corridors
Never slept near me
Nor caressed me.
Sometimes she raved
About the handsomeness,
The extravagance and intelligence
Of our alcoholic, pockfaced, stingy
Grandpa.
And all these like fable
Told long ago
By your Grandma.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC