"reproving" poems
Roses are red, violets are blue
A dinner you promised, just me and you.
Reproving winds lectured me in bites
For my barely-there skirt, and lustful eyes.
Sour cream lathered that oily exterior.
The aftertaste lingered, creating a barrier
Of which soft lips could not break through
Nor embellished flowers or chocolate fondue.
With our stomachs full, with more than just food
You brought me back home with beer-stained shoes.
My mind a fog. The Lamb now waits to be skinned
For the Wolf that set the ****** trap to finally begin.
Virginal blush, tinged with her bruises all blue
A dinner you had promised, just me and you.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 3:39 AM UTC
Ode to the shower head, so sparkly and fair
Whose warm words seep through her mouth
To encompass my heart and hair
Such unconditional love and caring leaves her lips
I cannot help extend my arm
Just to feel the drips
But if I in her chamber choose to prolong my stay
Icy reproving hits my spine casting me away
Stinging chemicals blind me as I struggle to the door
Having already decided to soon come back for more
Ode to the shower head, losing sleep but it seems
The memories of your embrace are better than my dreams
You wake me in the morning and comfort me at night
Clear my thought and always, help me see the light
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
Baffled this was a question you’d have to ask, I sat tremulous. I’m insular; I’d be enamored with even the most amorphous love, but I’m not inept, and won’t preclude that answering the question is salient. And although I’m not taciturn, I’m rarely extemporaneous, so please excuse my need for verbose prose in answering said question.
You’re attractive. Your strong jaw, small chin and cheekbones were sculpted to make your own eyes glow and an artist’s eyes expostulate dreaming of anything else. Don’t dismiss this as delirium, but rather relish this recondite fact—my first crush came in the fifth grade. It was on a diminutive, outspoken girl, and I was enormous and timid, which developed into a village girl vs. Mowgli, me Tarzan you Jane, King-Kong-Ann Darrow complex. And although I believe with zealous fervor in your strength, your size still incites the young jungle boy inside me. And I hope I can say, without being terse, I’m afflicted with a mysterious affinity for red-hair.
Although I could dwell in the obvious all day, I’ll redirect from the blasé.
Abandon
beats within us both
like hearts to the same pulse,
we don’t coax smiles, we let them slip,
we aspire to happiness like falling of a log.
I have to pry open time’s lockbox and plunder
the night just to relegate the dawn. Bliss becomes
a tangible ****** making even the most existentially
exasperated docile. Knowledge that every other thought
is dominated by one another without it attenuating the magic.
Knowing that if all I have to say is it’s raining outside, you
want to hear it. Twenty-one years of my life I thought
I’d have to hunt love with a knife but you showed me
roaming where you like to wander can wake
the irreverent gods. It’s your superlative
honesty that’s only for me; that virile
smile in your eyes that bid
doubt vacate my mind
Knowing that if I went catatonic, one reproving look from you would cause my heart to break and force my hands to put the pieces back before I stopped breathing. If I could, I’d dawn you like a blanket before every dinner, dusk and dream. And most importantly, we both like crowns.
Jun 10, 2011
Jun 10, 2011 at 8:17 AM UTC
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving,
O, but with mine, compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving,
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robbed others’ beds’ revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov’st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee.
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!
1.4k
Oh! had my Fate been join’d with thine,
As once this pledge appear’d a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
For, then, my peace had not been broken.
To thee, these early faults I owe,
To thee, the wise and old reproving:
They know my sins, but do not know
’Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.
For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
And all its rising fires could smother;
But, now, thy vows no more endure,
Bestow’d by thee upon another.
Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my Rival smile in joy,
For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.
Ah! since thy angel form is gone,
My heart no more can rest with any;
But what it sought in thee alone,
Attempts, alas! to find in many.
Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
’Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee;
Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid,
But Pride may teach me to forget thee.
Yet all this giddy waste of years,
This tiresome round of palling pleasures;
These varied loves, these matrons’ fears,
These thoughtless strains to Passion’s measures—
If thou wert mine, had all been hush’d:—
This cheek, now pale from early riot,
With Passion’s hectic ne’er had flush’d,
But bloom’d in calm domestic quiet.
Yes, once the rural Scene was sweet,
For Nature seem’d to smile before thee;
And once my Breast abhorr’d deceit,—
For then it beat but to adore thee.
But, now, I seek for other joys—
To think, would drive my soul to madness;
In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise,
I conquer half my Bosom’s sadness.
Yet, even in these, a thought will steal,
In spite of every vain endeavour;
And fiends might pity what I feel—
To know that thou art lost for ever.
1.2k
Forget what they told me.
Forget what they say.
I've just got to keep reminding myself that...well that it doesn't matter.
They don't matter. They don't even know me.
How dare they look at me like they know why I do the things I do?
Like I'm uncomplicated?
I am so diverse and different they can't even begin to comprehend me...so why do they put me in a box, stick a label on me and expect me to stay there, not to break free?
But I need to be free, I need to explode from the box and jump out yelling
HA! you can't confine me!
I'll grow wings and fly out into the sky, becoming one with the birds and mixing with the colors that the rainbow makes when it eats the rain.
Cannibalistic and beautiful, and everything in between, relishing in the fact that it just IS!
I'll float and I'll drift and I'll be everything you never thought I could be.
I'll be a mix of contradictions and a perfect personification of my own personal irony. Exactly what I am or who I am doesn't matter, what I've been or who I was it's all the past in the present, it's all meaningless.
What matters is me now, drifting...drifting slowly on a feather, holding my heart and my insides on the outside for the world to see,
no more walls!
Just exposure, the most pure kind. Just a complete annihilation of all the walls I built, all the walls I built because of their intruding gazes and reproving eyes.
Everything about them filled with hate and contempt, not willing to accept. Well I accept me...ill learn to accept me once I'm drifting, once I'm floating.
When I'm away.
Far far away, above the clouds, and my head is filled with smoke, because my world is filled with haze...
but never have I felt so clearly, seen so clearly and been so clearly.
And as I burst into the craziest tears I've ever smiled,
I rain upon the world below me!
...but I'm drifting lower...
and I'm not coming back up.
.
.
But next time, next time I'll be up again, next time ill burst out of the box and next time! yes, next time! I'll burn that wretched box and never return!
...And they'll miss me for they'll see me drifting in the sky and wish they could reach the stars like i have...
But they won't, because they can't, for up here, this is my world.
One i will not share,
don't want to share
for I have made it my own.
But for now, for now I'm back, with my feet on the ground...
I'm slowly drifting back,
back...down...again
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
caught her cleaning the fingerprints off of the mirrored door,
using the ever handy bathrobe sleeve,
fabric of a thousand utilities, this one too,
me wonder, whose prints? mine, kids, hers,
could they not have remained as a history,
highway road marker, “On this site here…”
more fingers, skin-oiled, will return, the chain
unbroken, for mirrors collect memories, faces seen,
matched to prints of hands that traversed this doorway,
on the way to where, it don’t matter, signs of humans
that come and gone…erasure troubles me…not
because cleanliness is next to godliness, cause
god is mighty messy and a few prints ain’t gonna
make a big difference…but
she espies me lazy observing, annoyed, she chastises,
her reproving noises fail to include a thank you for
prints mine, most fresh, carried two mugs of coffee minutes earlier,
part of my daily chore, and a morning*
I love you, *an essay that is perfect in its abbreviation,
like a short poem sweet, so I hid my head neath the coverlet,
lest she see, me & a well hid grinning smile
sipping coffee even more
contentedly
poetry and love is and always found in the oddest places….
Oct 21, 2023
Oct 21, 2023 at 9:28 AM UTC
bring her an ensemble,
brioche and cafe au lait
'À la manière des Français'
an unexpected surprise,
on a weekend
Sunday-in-bed-celebration
the messenger, me,
recommends le dunkin',
insertion of the bread into
the morning liqueur pre-sipping
"I don't like wet bread"
she states officially,
in tone strident and reproving,
even gravelly gravitas-aly,
and to me-self, inside thinking,
softee softee...
*what other dark secrets doth this ***** harbor?*
march 26 2017 10:11 am
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
Gaukroger’s war was over.
Gaukroger, too, was through.
A piece of him here,
a piece over there.
Not the Peace that he wanted
in his last forlorn prayer
Gaukroger was a fellow second lieutenant
and survival was not his forte.
For days after death he lay there unburied
Nor could I make my eyes turn away.
We’d been sent to this place
to be forward observers.
enemy guns found the range.
Gaukroger died quickly,
without even a goodbye.
Sometimes, after,
I wished for the same.
When I looked for Boche,
Gaukroger stared back
A steady and reproving stare
At night the rats came,
larger than cats,
by next morning
my friend wasn’t there.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC
Sudden new pressure to make sense,
you see, you know I say you make believe.
Mystic realms realized in meditations,
ancient tails of firebrands, embers glowing
{Isaiah assisting intel…ai ahmen, ok}
embers in the darkness, embers glowing
like cigarettes across the stubble field,
leading to a still dark pond tonight
- this is a way
- we pray, we listen
- for morning
pealing rooster, humming electricity
and my thoughts, my resting peace
perceived reception, acknowledging
the idea that holds truth in bits
in the perifity peripheral ambition,
at ambits
edge of civilized authority, unknown
unknowns offering and making sacred
known uses
we used to know.
On the side of knowledge not falsely so called,
science branches into all we may think
to ask if it were ever witnessed,
face to face, first hand.
Messaging face to face, suffered to be so.
Angelos means messenger, bearer of information,
holder of unknown knowns, becoming angelic.
Guardians of knowledge, root, branch and seed.
Get the message, make it plain, listening,
where would one knock
--I am the door
--I am the truth
hmmmm, so it is written, the message
to the meek, to such minds as let this mind be
earth bound
thinking what would a god with no power
not common
to mankind,
a true mortal experiencer, ask-
think what would, not could or should,
what would, the will that set the galaxies awhirl, do?
If he were such as you, taken with all the learning
available for such as you, who loved to know why,
and how, and when and where,
then and there, tell us, in the spirit realm, words live.
Yes, itself, and No, in all its proofs, still reproving,
living words redeemed and reused
for proverbial instances, reproof is the way of life,
Reproving you know that knowing was never outlawed.
Not by any representative of wisdom.
Subtler than any created thing, this shining thing,
child's eye ignores the lecture, to watch a mote in a sunbeam,
and remember
that
this long later.
------------------------------- Part two
Minding my manners, make yourself
comfortable, slow
thinking takes each letter
push the orders intention to stretch
incredulity to the snapping point,
chaos and chirality clap,
fingers snap, slow think
what possessed me to make me think
{this does not end here}
Jan 18, 2024
Jan 18, 2024 at 2:51 PM UTC
*Put on a smile,just for a while
Sadness sickens,its twisted and vile
Why persist to hide,when youre being pulled outside
Of the shell that he's using,substance abusing
Got to keep moving,a form of reproving
Watching an hourglass for grains of sand
As every thing he loves slips through his hands
Smokes another cigarette feeling hard pressed
For the tight feeling,just more smoke on the chest
Slowly slipping,loosing himself,til he's just another urn up on the shelf
Draining the bankrupted health in hopes he wins the lottery for emotional wealth*
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
Our past seems like an age ago
A distant and fond memory
An echo of laughter and sadness
That rumbles away down the years
Remember the time that I told you
Of imminent, life changing plans
We discussed the alternative options
And dissected the future at hand
We spoke on the phone for a lifetime
We chatted from dusk until dawn
We solved the world’s problems and issues
We talked about nothing at all
Embracing all my imperfections
You treasured my soul anyway
You cherished ideas and discussion
And valued what I had to say
We’d years of affection and laughter
And burying our sorrows with beers
We’d go walking and talking on days out
And spoke of our innermost fears
But life has a way of reproving
Belief that all time will stand still
Reality comes chasing, unceaseless,
Overtaking our plans and our will
And now we have spouses and babies
And houses and mortgages too
And days just seem to go faster
And time slinks away from our view
Then one day you hear distant echoes
That whisper at you from afar
You listen and **** your ear higher
And slow down, remember, and smile
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC