"reckoned" poems
Right. Listen to this:
Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown,
and things seem hard or tough,
and people are stupid, obnoxious or daft
and you feel that you've had quite enough!
Just remember that you're standing
on a planet that's evolving
and revolving at nine hundred miles an hour!
It's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned,
a Sun that it the source of all our power.
The Sun, and you and me,
and all the stars that we can see
are moving at a Million miles a day
in an outer spiral arm at forty thousand miles an hour
of the Galaxy we call the Milky Way.
Our Galaxy, itself,
contains a hundred Billion stars.
It's a hundred thousand light-years side to side.
It bulges in the middle sixteen thousand light-years thick,
but out by us it's just three thousand light-years wide.
We're thirty thousand light-years
from Galactic Central Point,
we go round every two hundred Million years!
And our Galaxy is only one of Millions of Billions
in this amazing and expanding Universe!
The Universe, itself,
keeps on expanding and expanding
in all of the directions it can ****
As fast as it can go,
the speed of Light, you know
twelve Million miles a minute,
and that's the fastest speed there is!
So, remember when you're feeling
very small and insecure,
how amazingly unlikely is your birth!
And prey that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space
because there's ****** all down here on Earth!
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
XXVI. TO DIONYSUS (13 lines)
(ll. 1-9) I begin to sing of ivy-crowned Dionysus, the loud-
crying god, splendid son of Zeus and glorious Semele. The rich-
haired Nymphs received him in their bosoms from the lord his
father and fostered and nurtured him carefully in the dells of
Nysa, where by the will of his father he grew up in a sweet-
smelling cave, being reckoned among the immortals. But when the
goddesses had brought him up, a god oft hymned, then began he to
wander continually through the woody coombes, thickly wreathed
with ivy and laurel. And the Nymphs followed in his train with
him for their leader; and the boundless forest was filled with
their outcry.
(ll. 10-13) And so hail to you, Dionysus, god of abundant
clusters! Grant that we may come again rejoicing to this season,
and from that season onwards for many a year.
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Do not call me by your nicknames
I can see the poison dripping off your tongue
Do not touch me without consent
This body is mine and mine alone
Do not tell me to stay quiet
My words could spark a revolution
Do not try to control me
My power is unbridled and vicious
Do not mistake me for weak
I am a force to be reckoned with
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:06 PM UTC
Please, do not touch me.
I am fire, and darling I burn.
Do not stand too close or you will be consumed by my flames.
Because I have grown tired of being restricted to just this pit of self-doubt.
I am tired of failing at being adequate in a mold that I was never designed to fit in.
I have let my self-worth be defined by those whose only aim is to put me out.
My flame has been kept for years locked inside of myself
Losing the oxygen it takes to keep it growing
Fighting, surviving, growing dimmer so that I would not shine.
Because the brighter the glow, the more attention it attracts.
And it is was easier to just be invisible.
But this light of mine has taught me that no matter the circumstance,
It will keep glowing.
For years I told myself that if I could only put the flame out I would be safe;
Never having to worry about what they had to say.
Eventually, fire would become ash, fading into the background.
But I realized that no matter how dim the flame, as long as there is chance for a spark, they won’t be satisfied.
In the heat of the moment I rose up from the ashes.
The pressure finally broke and I let myself become who I had always been too afraid to be.
More brilliant than ever before.
A force to be reckoned with.
I broke through the pit and burned down every insecurity.
Growing only stronger
Forever.
My friends,
Do not let them smolder you.
Every word said out of hate,
Out of envy,
Out of lack of humanity
Do not let it run like ice through your veins.
Consuming the fire within.
And if you believe you are too far gone,
Don’t worry.
Fate has taught me that even ashes can rise up again.
It only takes a spark.
To ignite the flame that has been burning your whole life.
It is there, everyone sees it but you.
If they didn’t why would you be such a target?
Use the words they sling at you and use them as kindling,
Relighting the fire inside of you.
Because you are capable of being brilliant.
As passionate, strong, and self-willed as a forest fire.
Escape the pit.
Let your light shine like the sun.
And burn like nothing will ever put you out.
Because unless you let it
Nothing ever will.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
Pull my strings
my puppet master
Lift my feet
and walk faster
Set the stage
make the scene
Raise the curtain
going to please
Music plays
Hit the spot
White light flash
Devious plot
Applause is heard
Silence beckons
Disbelief
All is reckoned
Made you smile
or made you cry
Drop my strings
The puppet died
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
the tectonic plates
in me
are shifting
as our continents
approach collide
my ocean is
getting closer
to the mountains
on your landscape
tallest grasses blowing
in wild demon dance,
shaking their
heads as heated
storm approaches
oven-baked air crackling
with its own
electric currents
Nothing can stop it
it's a magnetic force
one to be
reckoned with
surrendered to
as dust foams
like ocean froth
around our heads
clinging to us in tiny
starlit fragments
and soon will come
the slick dive into
wordless waters,
just skin on skin
slippery mouth muscles
like entwined snakes
flick-flicking, shiny
in eye-lit cherry moons
Take my hand.
Just pull me in.
Enfold me,
without talking
watch as my aura
rushes into you,
first a delicate whisk
of cool light
to slake the thirst
of coal-licked caverns
then sparks
and bubbling oxidation
turning into liquid brushfire
Hold your palm
to my chest,
as if to keep
my heart steady,
my glowing flare of halo
pressed into your
clavicle, taking in
the embryonic beats
soothing my torrid ache,
infusing minerals
in vitamin-laced libation
It is time to simply bask
in the new
crispness of radical
shake off
the silt and salt
and rise up
into the spheres
of memory
of soulspeak
of collapsed time zones
budded breath
spiraling up
in curls,
diaphanous
dark mist
ascending
into
light
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
His fist scarred, beat-red fistful of intention
Rugged, crass unchiseled wonder wrapped in a gentle smile
A bear of a man, broad shouldered hulking bent
Stuffed-fluff heart tattooed with the echo of love
The times he grappled in sweaty- slick tangle of arms and drew blood blooming bright-crisp-apple-red upon white mat.
Beat, Beat, Beat, down
Tap, Tap, Tap, out
White knuckle-grasp uppercut
Full mount, disengage
Joint locked, feet hooked, Triangle hold
Submission.
The times he brought grown men to their knees, and humbled himself on his own
The times he never gave up and the times he gave in
To the fight
To the system
To the sweet draw of relief
The times he fought not for the thrill but to make it by
Rage hot-red facing the injustice of poverty
His steel spine riddled with the rust of life, the rust of reality
The corrosive sludge of hate, and words left unspoken.
Busted well-worn hands held soft smooth skin
Grooved fingers and velvet mouth
The scratch of bearded stubble, red-lined skin prickled with goose flesh, slick coated in sweat
A new fight, wrapped knuckles cushioned with the promise of forgiveness
Of acceptance a force to be reckoned with in her own right.
Broken hand, dreams stunted, depressed-mind-numbing
Lost in his own thought, out of the fight
Desperate to be back in the game mind and body
Envy-red, drawn to the fight of others
Soft smooth hands, short-small-painted nails calm bristled hair
Growling bear, baring teeth in silent-wounded pride
The time she bandaged pride, and encouraged humility
The times she scalded his senses the raw-red liquid fire of love
His shade in the heat of a red-blistered sun
Cooling, and igniting inspiration
The time she became a fight worth winning.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
That time of night, that lovely orange glow.
A Streetlight can warm the soul, don't you know?
Who reckoned that cold wires, metal, glass
Could comfort one with a sight like hot brass?
The ***** yearn of the flame mimicked there,
This soft, sweet, and supple light comes to bear.
The sun does not compare, it only blinds.
As for headlights, to me similar finds.
The daunting nature of the traffic lights,
Wishes only to control the good nights.
On top of my cliff these radiant stars,
Do uplift and burn these sullen hearts ours.
For white and blue lights do nothing but be,
These orange Streetlights do so elate me.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
Seeing you hurts
It always has
At first it was more of a ...
heart melting, eyes fluttering, body shaking
type of thing
One that you and I understood as
something to be reckoned with
Seeing you now my body becomes
gnarled in shapes that you've never seen
before
Simply so that you don't recognize the
condition I am in
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Torrential rain forms an interference pattern deep within the puddles of the soul, whilst vegetation gains sustenance. Electricity may be a force to be reckoned with because it is a commodity which has monetary significance. Multicultural delicacies are a work of art in La Cucina Toscana, and I wholeheartedly acknowledge your internal drives.
We truly are a deep river which is never the same when it is stepped into more than once. But we can balance it all out, because relativism tells us that there are no rules. How absolutely ineffective is such a position. I am amazed. Just think about how we determine the consistency of seemingly genuine interpersonal transactions. If you want to find healing, then we must look to the howling winds of Siberia, where solitary journeys are sealed with a definite song of permission.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
It is over. What is over?
Nay, how much is over truly!--
Harvest days we toiled to sow for;
Now the sheaves are gathered newly,
Now the wheat is garnered duly.
It is finished. What is finished?
Much is finished known or unknown:
Lives are finished; time diminished;
Was the fallow field left unsown?
Will these buds be always unblown?
It suffices. What suffices?
All suffices reckoned rightly:
Spring shall bloom where now the ice is,
Roses make the bramble sightly,
And the quickening sun shine brightly,
And the latter wind blow lightly,
And my garden teem with spices.
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Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Pristine sands aglow under a deep blue sky,
Crabbing and kite flying, every day a perpetual cream tea,
Never mind the bites and stings, the sunburn and occasional tears, the hours flew deliciously by,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Endless games and innocent playful frolics,
Hide and seek in the dunes, eyes barely covered and a speedy count to twenty,
Mum and Dad fussing and fretting, always late for the midday picnics,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Rainy days didn’t stop the fun, funfairs and arcades beckoned,
Never managed to hook those ****** cuddly toys, made Dad so angry!
Waste of time and money Mum always reckoned,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Harmless nostalgia or dangerous reverie?
Perhaps things were never as I imagined them to be,
But I ache for those happier days, and ease this endlessly painful adult misery,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
© Robert Porteus
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 8:39 AM UTC
the little boy- who speaks in silences and babbles,
and language is still foreign,
please do not underestimate him for he
is a force
to be
reckoned
with.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
When I was young,
I chased only fun,
My head all filled,
with stupid.
I wrecked some cars,
Got into fights,
Broke some bones,
never learned my lesson.
There was back then,
A guiding Light,
That tried to shine
From within my Father.
He knew the ropes,
Had run the course,
He'd even been in prison,
But me, well, I was too
**** dumb" to listen.
We butted heads,
The Old Man and me,
I remained too
stubborn, to heed
His hard won
Sage wisdom.
To me back then,
his words, sounded
silly, at my age then,
I reckoned I knew
everything.
When he died,
We all cried,
After all he was
my Father.
But gone is gone,
And I wanted fun,
Off I went to find it.
In a bar, the "Memphis
Star", A guy pulled a
knife to stab me.
In a full blind rage,
I triggered my hate
And stole that man's
Life forever.
All hell commenced, and
My Everything changed forever.
Now as I sit here thinking
Within this rank prison,
I dearly wish that to
My old Daddy's wisdom,
I would have devoted,
more attention.
Tomorrow mornin',
A Hangman's comin',
and at the end of my
own rope, I will be
surely hangin'.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
Although the experience of trauma is a certain force with which to be reckoned, one can frame its power within the realms of a problem or a possibility.
Consider the bond of brickwork in Massachusetts, as it resembles structures of olde, where the witch trials were an extension of ******* Catholicism.
Please acknowledge that there is lead in the windows of rickety black-and-white buildings of Tudor establishment, which must remain if its integrity is to be preserved.
It truly is a long way to the top of Australasian rebellion.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
To me,
you are Athena.
Beautiful and strong and smart.
In every way.
And every way in between.
To me,
you are irreplaceable.
One of a kind.
A force to be reckoned with.
You hold a place in my heart,
that no one else can even remotely possibly imagine to fill.
You are my anchor in a wildly restless world.
In the best of times,
we make the worst team.
Yet in the worst of times,
we are the best of any.
Don't let this world weigh you down.
Remember that I am forever at your side,
whether you need me or not.
Through every dark hour.
And even the whitest lights.
Remember that I am here.
Right here.
For you.
Always and forever.
To infinity and beyond.
You are my sister.
Remember that I love you.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
It was always natural for him
To smell like cigarettes
Even though I was pretty sure
That he had never touched one directly
In all his years of living and lusting.
But who am I to judge,
The local Laura Palmer
Who thinks with ambition
That she has the world by the entrails?
Sweat dripping, anger sipping
Wine out of her clavicle cavity,
She and I are a beast,
A torrential force to be reckoned with
Though I cower.
So bravely, so tenderly,
I cower so as not to ruin
The pleading ferocity
Of cigarette boy,
His hand pressed
Firmly against the curve of my hip.
Cigarette boy pulled me from my cowering the other night,
Took his own hand off my hip
And whispered to me
That I was as big as I wanted to be
And I could over power the earth
With my love and care.
These are the things I love him to say
Between the drags I take off him.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
Marilyn Monroe (who
lived next door, and swore more
than anyone I know)
reckoned blondes had all the fun.
It didn’t seem so to me,
when her old man was home.
She was as glamorous as
our Mum was dowdy.
Her lot lived on freezer-food
and fizzy, while our Mum
slogged over a ****** gas-stove,
and washed-up without gloves on.
Marilyn Monroe told
our Mum that she should fight.
Our Mum gave, to Marilyn Monroe,
secret recipes for dog-food stew
and koi carp pie.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
Pa ran inside,
All out of breath
Ma said "slow down"
"you look you've seen your own death"
He shut all the windows
Closed the shutters, the doors
He went to the cellar
And locked the trap doors
"Out on the hill there",
"You can see by the tree"
"It's a horse from the Devil"
"And it's waiting for me"
Ma said "you're crazy"
"There's nothing outside"
"Least all a horse"
"That the devil would ride"
I went to the window
To check for the steed
Pa said "Don't open that up"
"That's all the room that he'll need"
"He's come from below"
"To take my soul down to hell"
"And his horse is the warning"
"I know...I can tell"
The mustang stood waiting
On the hill, all aflame
Was it devil or horse
Were they one and the same?
Pa was still shaking
He had sure had a fright
There was no way that we
Would get to sleep on this night
Pa then told Mother
Of the deal he had made
With the Devil himself
In the cool of the shade
A prosperous ranch
The envy of all around
With all of his problems
Put six feet underground
Dad said he'd reckoned
That the deal was all done
When the crops out the back
All burned up in the sun
He knew that the Devil
Was calling in for his share
When he saw the horse burning
While no one else gave a care
"I have to get through now"
"To the morning past dawn"
"Then the horse will return"
"And the deal will be gone"
We listened intently
We were sure Pa wasn't sane
But, we knew from his tale
He had nothing to gain
We'd take shifts in the night
Keeping the devil at bay
Only twelve hours to go
Until the next day
It would be an adventure
We would trust in our faith
Of dad's tale of the mustang
The flaming horse wraith
The night was a battle
The devil tried to get in
He worked on our hearts
By making deals sweet with sin
Do we turn in our father
Or do we fight till the morn?
Could it just be a ruse
Burning one field of corn?
To see how it ended
You must come out here and see
The scorch marks in the grass
On the hill by the tree
You can believe what I've written
Or hear what Pa has to say
But, it was the Devil's Mustang
Came that night for to play
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
Underneath the growing grass,
Underneath the living flowers,
Deeper than the sound of showers:
There we shall not count the hours
By the shadows as they pass.
Youth and health will be but vain,
Beauty reckoned of no worth:
There a very little girth
Can hold round what once the earth
Seemed too narrow to contain.
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THEY have taken the ball of earth
and made it a little thing.
They were held to the land and horses;
they were held to the little seas.
They have changed and shaped and welded;
they have broken the old tools and made
new ones; they are ranging the white
scarves of cloudland; they are bumping
the sunken bells of the Carthaginians
and Phœnicians:
they are handling
the strongest sea
as a thing to be handled.
The earth was a call that mocked;
it is belted with wires and meshed with
steel; from Pittsburg to Vladivostok is
an iron ride on a moving house; from
Jerusalem to Tokyo is a reckoned span;
and they talk at night in the storm and
salt, the wind and the war.
They have counted the miles to the Sun
and Canopus; they have weighed a small
blue star that comes in the southeast
corner of the sky on a foretold errand.
We shall search the sea again.
We shall search the stars again.
There are no bars across the way.
There is no end to the plan and the clue,
the hunt and the thirst.
The motors are drumming, the leather leggings
and the leather coats wait:
Under the sea
and out to the stars
we go.
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Free falling; gone in an instant-- blink of an eyelash faster than lightning, flashing like brilliance
Drilling holes into the psyche
Astronomical; impeccable aim
Breathtaking colors with patterns like kaleidoscopes the creativity blows the mind
It's the morphine you can take without overdosing in pain and numbness
It's the chase you can't escape if you wanted to but you won't even try
It's the height of ecstasy and the awe of gratification
Its pure and magnetizing invigoration
When you prove what you set out to prove
When you give it all, you have everything to lose
The negative chatter fills the gaps of endurance and credence
The silence of the aftermath, leaves a clear distinctive taste
All the critics and the villains siphon air so you lose the ability to breathe
There is a glimmer, a tiny microorganism still standing on two feet pushing forward
Moving slow
Falling sideways
All, all alone
Glowing, fueling, bursting...flooding roadblocks, causing traffic
All the commotion is seeding havoc
Like an artist left unknown...you will grow
Flow and flower into a masterpiece
And the free fall secures you high amongst the nebula
There is no more spiraling downwards there is only a tiger lurking, always ready to pounce
On their victims, on the goals you've set ahead
Like a real winner always does, you finish first
because you did your very best
You're a tiger and you just earned you your stripes
So leave the amateurs on their soap box discombobulated
You're resilient, even savvy
You're a vision to be reckoned with
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 3:07 AM UTC
63
If pain for peace prepares
Lo, what “Augustan” years
Our feet await!
If springs from winter rise,
Can the Anemones
Be reckoned up?
If night stands fast—then noon
To gird us for the sun,
What gaze!
When from a thousand skies
On our developed eyes
Noons blaze!
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