"remotest" poems
1235
Like Rain it sounded till it curved
And then I new ’twas Wind—
It walked as wet as any Wave
But swept as dry as sand—
When it had pushed itself away
To some remotest Plain
A coming as of Hosts was heard
It filled the Wells, it pleased the Pools
It warbled in the Road—
It pulled the spigot from the Hills
And let the Floods abroad—
It loosened acres, lifted seas
The sites of Centres stirred
Then like Elijah rode away
Upon a Wheel of Cloud.
16.1k
737
The Moon was but a Chin of Gold
A Night or two ago—
And now she turns Her perfect Face
Upon the World below—
Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde—
Her Cheek—a Beryl hewn—
Her Eye unto the Summer Dew
The likest I have known—
Her Lips of Amber never part—
But what must be the smile
Upon Her Friend she could confer
Were such Her Silver Will—
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest Star—
For Certainty She take Her Way
Beside Your Palace Door—
Her Bonnet is the Firmament—
The Universe—Her Shoe—
The Stars—the Trinkets at Her Belt—
Her Dimities—of Blue—
3.7k
710
The Sunrise runs for Both—
The East—Her Purple Troth
Keeps with the Hill—
The Noon unwinds Her Blue
Till One Breadth cover Two—
Remotest—still—
Nor does the Night forget
A Lamp for Each—to set—
Wicks wide away—
The North—Her blazing Sign
Erects in Iodine—
Till Both—can see—
The Midnight’s Dusky Arms
Clasp Hemispheres, and Homes
And so
Upon Her Bosom—One—
And One upon Her Hem—
Both lie—
3.4k
1514
An Antiquated Tree
Is cherished of the Crow
Because that Junior Foliage is disrespectful now
To venerable Birds
Whose Corporation Coat
Would decorate Oblivion’s
Remotest Consulate.
3.2k
[Dedicated to Allan Bennett]
I
Hail to the golden One
Seen in the midmost Sun !
Hail to the golden beard and golden lips,
His whole lige golden to the finger-tips !
Hail to the golden hair in golden showers
Hiding the eyes like blue blue lotus-flowers !
His name is Ut, for He
Hath risen above all things that be.
II
Ardent and white, the Lord
Whirls forth a strident sword.
Its blade is broader than the great World-Ash ;
Its edge is keener than the lightning flash.
Brighter than all the lights of heaven, it whirls
Out in a chaos of creative curls
And sheathes itself in Me,
Arisen above all things that be.
III
Even as the burning tongue
Og God to God that clung
Dissolved his being to a nameless naught,
Brake all the wings and waves of time and thought,
So in the quivering flame that hurled
Its founts of life to the remotest world
Supreme stood Death, and sware
Destruction to all things that were !
IV
Child, father, warrior,
I worshipped thee before ;
Friend, bridegroom, now I yield me to the rod.
My God, and very God of very God
As breath, as death, as all, as naught, unknown,
Known, is there not an end, when one alone
Stand I, and thou, and He
Arisen above all things that be?
2.4k
606
The Trees like Tassels—hit—and swung—
There seemed to rise a Tune
From Miniature Creatures
Accompanying the Sun—
Far Psalteries of Summer—
Enamoring the Ear
They never yet did satisfy—
Remotest—when most fair
The Sun shone whole at intervals—
Then Half—then utter hid—
As if Himself were optional
And had Estates of Cloud
Sufficient to enfold Him
Eternally from view—
Except it were a whim of His
To let the Orchards grow—
A Bird sat careless on the fence—
One gossipped in the Lane
On silver matters charmed a Snake
Just winding round a Stone—
Bright Flowers slit a Calyx
And soared upon a Stem
Like Hindered Flags—Sweet hoisted—
With Spices—in the Hem—
’Twas more—I cannot mention—
How mean—to those that see—
Vandyke’s Delineation
Of Nature’s—Summer Day!
2.2k
**It seemingly oscillates from
The realm of practicality to that of blatant absurdity
A fearfully bold doubting Thomas of sorts
Embroiled in self-esteem issues
In constant conflict with itself
Sitting on the fence always
A pleasant consolation
And being a daredevil a fantasy
Nurtured in the remotest miniscule part of the brain
Tell me this aint fearless cowardice**
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
Fairfax, whose Name in Arms through Europe rings,
And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise,
And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze.
And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings,
Thy firm unshaken Valour ever brings
Victory home, while new Rebellions raise
Their Hydra-heads, and the false North displays
Her broken League to Imp her Serpent Wings:
O yet! a Nobler task awaits thy Hand,
For what can War, but Acts of War still breed
Till injur’d Truth from Violence be freed;
And publick Faith be rescu’d from the Brand
Of publick Fraud; in vain doth Valour bleed,
While Avarice and Rapine shares the Land.
2k
Better than you;
always considered myself superior
--a delusion I nurtured
with vicious remarks
and cold sniggers;
within the remotest of land,
full of dust,
you learned to bloom
with your youthful flowers
growing larger
than me
and yourself.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
Fairfax, whose name in armes through Europe rings
Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze,
And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,
Thy firm unshak’n vertue ever brings
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
Their Hydra heads, & the fals North displaies
Her brok’n league, to impe their serpent wings,
O yet a nobler task awaites thy hand;
Yet what can Warr, but endless warr still breed,
Till Truth, & Right from Violence be freed,
And Public Faith cleard from the shamefull brand
Of Public Fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed
While Avarice, & Rapine share the land.
1.9k
*A soul suspended in an intricate matrix
Of unprecedented circumstance
Buoyed by a feeling of immense ecstasy
And a cocktail of other mixed emotions
Experiences the gripping embrace
Of nostalgia.
Scenes regurgitated from the remotest part of
The brain get intertwined with a beleaguered consciousness
Relish and distaste merged into one
Them memories…emotional souvenirs of a tumultuous past
Recollection of the past is indeed bittersweet
After all isn’t it
A frantic chase after the wind
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
When you look at me,
can you hear thunder when I talk
with eyes that watch you taste
a million waves of truth
whispering what I want?
Does it feel like rain
falls upon your heartbeat
like an old friend
and trusted confidant?
It has been said that nothing
can ever be
as elusive as one's thoughts
when you drink in their existence
inside your heart.
All your fears graze your memories
and you lose yourself
on the edge of not knowing
your remotest parts.
Do you treasure beautiful skies
when midnight sits
upon the bridge
that has hidden your lips
from my own
too many times?
Or know that I can see you
growing weary
of the depth of feeling
embracing your heart
inside my rhymes?
There is nothing I could change
if I carried what I want
all alone.
So please forgive me
if you hear thunder when I talk
with eyes that feel like rain
upon your heartbeat,
know day after day,
the truth you taste,
is love's own.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
Well, can't think of much - so
I'm bored
maybe I'll smoke a little more
and remember what you were(or could've I possibly forgotten)
sweet caresses like summer sun
and eyes burning with beautiful life
never to be mine - mocking, like
the comedian last nite on TV,at everything that seemed to hold
even the remotest of value
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 5:11 PM UTC
When complexities increase in number,
brashly jerking me from slumber,
When dilemma stares me in the face,
dragging me into the modern rat race,
I simply ask myself, what would Holmes do?
When there is a downpour of worries all at once,
forcing me to gaffe about and act like a dunce,
When diabolical questions pop up now and then,
making me ponder how and when,
I ask myself,what would Jeeves do?
If only Mr. Holmes were to be my guide,
and the inimitable Jeeves were by my side,
My remotest feelings to them I'd confide,
without having them rebuke or chide,
because Holmes and Jeeves would know what to do.
While Holmes would take the bull by its horns,
Jeeves would provide against obstacles and thorns,
Holmes would know what to say,
Jeeves would put in a tactful way,
because Holmes and Jeeves would know what to do.
So, when headaches and woes come in fleets,
I go in my mind to those London streets,
I consult them with a problem or two,
Because Holmes and Jeeves know exactly what to do.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:09 AM UTC
Many days go by, many nights come through, when I haven’t the faintest, slightest inkling of you. I rest my head easy, hardly do I become queasy, over the memories of what made my love for you so true. Have I ever felt blue, when pondering you? You bet your bottom dollar, though don’t expect the remotest holler, even on the nights when I’m mildly missing you.
How could you, do me the opposite as I have done to you? How could you do the things that I could never do to you? What makes you, so tamelessly shrew, and fail to miss me as I have missed you? What could I possibly do, to know that it could be true, that you have treasured me as I have treasured you?
That’s why I was through, because the moment I found you, you never made me feel as grand as I tried to make you. Complete as you’ve made my heart, you had a particular knack for tearing it apart, and that is why it is left shattered in its own aortic goo.
That’s all on you. That’s forever what will make you the best and worst of you. To be so ruthless and nonchalant with the damage that you do, and play it as though you had no idea that was all you. Now I’m left blue, pretending to be through, when all that I’ve sacrificed was due to this idea that I had of you. To slave in an asylum, to be a lawman and a wild one, a future as bright as a bullet shining out of a gun. That was all for you, my thoughts on tangoing as two, for the rest of our unhappy lives that would have been happier, if only you knew.
Who exactly are you? Who were you to this man who is now blue? Was it your pleasantries, so few, or was it a universal coup, toying with my hopes and dreams, of meeting and ending up with someone like you, someone I thought I knew?
My head is now a zoo, filled with starving animals and poo, moaning and groaning over this animalistic swine flu, that pillages my spirits and slices me in two, all from the memories that lead me to missing you. But I told you to shoo, after your silence asked me that for you, many moons of endless begging for anything to come out of you. In solitude, I’ll watch the drops of the morning dew, condense on my windowsill as I reflect on the person that came from you.
To love such a love, I have experienced so few, the dreams of this young man, who has dreamed a little of you, where I am kissing those sweet, darling kisses of you, in my head as I recall, on the nights when I’m missing you.
Jan 9, 2024
Jan 9, 2024 at 1:15 AM UTC
936
This Dust, and its Feature—
Accredited—Today—
Will in a second Future—
Cease to identify—
This Mind, and its measure—
A too minute Area
For its enlarged inspection’s
Comparison—appear—
This World, and its species
A too concluded show
For its absorbed Attention’s
Remotest scrutiny—
1k
There flows between us on the terrace
an underwater light that distorts
the profile of the hills and even your face.
Every gesture of yours, cut from you,
looms on an elusive background; enters without wake,
and vanishes, in the midst of what drowns
every furrow, and closes over your passage:
you here, with me, in this air that descends
to seal
the torpor of boulders.
And I flow
into the power that weighs around me,
into the spell of no longer recognising
anything of myself beyond myself; if I only
raise my arm, I perform the action
otherwise, a crystal is shattered there,
its memory pallid forgotten, and already
the gesture no longer belongs to me;
if I speak, I hear this voice astonished,
descend to its remotest scale,
or die in the unsupportive air.
In such moments that resist to the last
dissolution of day
bewilderment endures: then a gust
rouses the valleys in frenetic
motion, draws from the leaves a ringing
sound that disperses
through fleeting smoke, and first light
outlines the dockyards.
…words
fall weightless between us. I look at you
in the soft reverberation. I do not know
if I know you; I know I was never as divided
from you as now in this late
return. A few moments have consumed
us whole: except two faces, two
strained masks, etched
in a smile.
Eugenio Montale
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
A tiny little flame births a regal forest fire,
The remotest nooks of her mind now a grand pyre.
Her very being set ablaze with an inspiration so great,
She grabs a pencil before the sly flames can attenuate.
Each word a drop; from her hand runs a river thence,
Fills the parchment before her; a happy turbulence.
Only water can quench fire, the stanzas doth flow.
Untamed ripples dancing as her eyes begin to glow.
Before she knows it, she's the most unyielding General.
Her army of sixteen before her merciless wrath grovel.
Soldier out, soldier in; every line proportionate.
This wordy patriot did it with rhyme and reason, yet.
And now, at yet another christening she's a Father.
An air of certitude prevails, as she sprinkles holy water.
Content with her myriad roles, she smiles exhaustedly,
"Oh, you write poems?" Not at all; she lives poetry.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
drop.
the morphine finally reaches her weak body through the long tube
drop.
the morphine enters the vein and sets off for a journey in her aching body
drop.
the morphine spreads and rushes with her pale blood to the remotest parts
drop.
from the tips of her toes, the relief wipes her body and her soul
she drops my hand and she closes her eyes
she doesn't need me, she doesn't need her heart
her brain is just an ***** hiding there in the skull
what she needs now is her spirit, that is percolating through the white plastic hospital-matress
it is flowing away as a river, escaping from the pain
she turns inside-out, she sinks in herself
in colours, in pleasures, in eternity, in unexplored daffodil-fields, in heavens and hells
the dripping stops, I can see it
the morphine has evaporated, she can feel it
her spirit crawls back into her damaged body
connects the brain to the heart, gets the system ready
back to reality with open eyelids
welcome back again pain, at least you were killed for a while
but the core of the disease is still in her belly
she needs more morphine, more dreams, more of eternity
drop.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 9:17 AM UTC
You may feel, your voice gets lost
In this vast universe, amidst space
The wind, the trees, the birds, and animals
Are, all listening to you patiently
The mountains, seas, rivers and creeks
Along with the wind, takes your thoughts
To the most remotest and distant places
The sun mitigates the pain with its brightness
Rains are your companion, when your heart weeps
Winters are there when your emotions are frozen
But, the snow preserving the ‘real you’ intact
Spring is the harbinger of hope, and flower blooms
In the garden of your life, coloring your hope
The canopy of stars light up at your success and love
The moon serenades the lovers, caressing them with love
So, your voice may not be heard by us
Every word you speak, becomes a part of nature’s folklore
Testimony to all the events in your life; happiness, sorrow
And in times of neutrality, you are covered in a time wrap
The feeling of loneliness, is momentary
When you absorb nature in you, and nature absorbs you
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
He sees me from a distance and
passes a hand through his hair,
His smile changes, his voice does too,
His movements pick up a flair
Reserved for only those moments
of hopeful eye contacts,
that harbour even the remotest possibility
of culminating into the act-
The act, for which my body
Prepares me month after month,
Clouding my senses and bombarding me
With erogenous oestrogen and ferocious pheromones,
That dictate my actions every mid-cycle,
To deck me in colour and spray myself fragrant,
Like a flower opening herself and welcoming
Her visitor who's looking at her from a distance,
What more, say, is existence,
Than the dance of the elements?
The heart wraps it up in candy and fluff,
But the mind and the flesh call its bluff,
And sway to the tune of 'find and mate',
The steps known to them, though never taught,
The mind swaying along to procreate,
The flesh joining in, to recreate.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
My dearest,
you are welcome
to make a home underneath my skin
to thread yourself between my tissues
and seep your life into my cells.
My dearest,
you are welcome
to implant the embodiment of your soul
to let it trickle into my bloodstream
and infect the remotest regions of my body.
My dearest,
you are welcome
to furnish my dull insides well
to dishevel my inner organs
and to feed it with your vital fluid.
My dearest,
you are welcome
to make your home underneath my skin
to stitch yourself in permanently
and to live in me indefinitely.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC
Ocean: When you are legendary
Utopia of lost Atlantis
Sunken city asleep
Under pillars of larimars
Plato’s wisdom once bestowed
Untold magic and sacred stones
A surge of madness, whips of rain
Battling down the hull of a boat
From beneath the profound chaos
The Kraken, furious, emerges
The ship is wrecked, turned into dust!
Ocean: When you are awe-ful
A breeze flows, ***** sea gloats!
What a beautiful mess- debris floats
With a quest for vengeance
Opposing swells are relentless
Casting spells on the defenseless
The ocean is endless, it's stupendous
Guarded by deep clouds - tremendous
Dreams drown staring at these clouds
Feels proud, someone from the deep down
A half-asleep Kraken screams loud
Ocean: When you are ritualistic
Fresh and salty energetic waves
Diving the dreamer into a megalopolis
Of scaled goddesses performing a ballet
Invited to a very cruel and festive banquet
Colorful, an aquatic aurora borealis of blood
In which the mythical mermaid sings
Skimming her ******* a pendant of aquamarine
She is Pacific, lustrous and libertine
Her voice enchanting the remotest sea-temple
On the surface, the waters suddenly turned red
Ocean: When you are watery hell
On the horizon, the wide blue yonder scribbled
A storm surge, the dreamer lost urge
Hope purged and dwindled, waves got stained
Silently an atrocious maelstrom wiggled
There the sea-temple stood naked and belittled
Resonating to the sound of an unheard curse
From the inside of the mermaid's purse
An enigma, a blank verse - unfathomable
Making the deep not amicable yet diverse
The ocean is inhabitable still, unnavigable
Written between December 17, 2019 and January 17, 2020
Cc Jordan Rains and cc Appoline Romanens
Jan 23, 2020
Jan 23, 2020 at 5:57 AM UTC
Death, O’ you all consuming notion:
Idea; intractable, implacable void.
As you are I see not clearly yet
I see a life made up of the stuff of myth.
With the narrow thinking of a man—
Achaean footsoldiers marching to glory—
I ponder your immensity, think
Not too clearly for the sake of sanity,
Because in fact I can think no more clearly.
For your sake, I say, I have wandered.
I have traveled dust and roads that stretch lifetimes
And that capture moments fleeting in
From great dusty horizons beyond the brink.
The dust, I think, I speak of last,
The road I speak of first.
Yet in no particular order is life
So constrained; nor, by consequence, is death.
Yet O’, to you, I give my all,
My heart, my fear, anguish and pain, I give all to you,
If only to supplicate you at the knees, say
“I am not ready yet, do not rip up the void.”
Yet O’, do you laugh, and you do,
And a pity it is that I be at your knees,
For you are a wand’ring, indiscriminate beast,
And you take life as you may please.
Raise an auspicious eye to the venerable shape.
His head is there, but hollow eyes
Do make up the void of his sight.
And a sinister look is there.
Raise an auspicious eye to the undark’ned mirror;
The eyes show a deep glist’ning light,
From deepest and remotest corners,
Where life is not that way.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC