"resigns" poems
Heart skips
like a warped record,
trembles over scarred vinyl
until "I love you"
tastes incomplete:
(I) love you
I (love) you
I love (you).
My Swan Song mewls off key,
cascades across the
marred terrain of my soul
in a thick lacquer of tears.
Notes flatline
in unison with my
waning pulse
(waning, like the face
of the moon on the night
of my eighteenth birthday).
My breath
resigns to static,
dances in slow decrescendos--
sputters its way
towards nothingness,
slipping rapidly from
my consciousness until
I no longer hold
any recollection of the music
(or the poetry).
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 6:00 AM UTC
However this Stag Tradition breathes thus far
Which works in all cases of Merriment
That Ring is no Joke; And Youth points a Star
To where your Heart will land in Sentiment
He only Encourages, Dreams and Promotes
As no Singer sang such Octave before
Mark him Stranger; Not a Contest he connotes
To challenge what had been Promised once more
Such tell, that Woolen Strings are Postulate,
A Theory already penned into Law
That Fixed Hearts are veined in Mutual Rebate
And Cupid signs both your names into Straw.
Go to Her. She has sung Poems better Written
This Bard resigns; Knowing he was Beaten.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
Some voted for freedom from that rusty EU shackle.
Discussed immigration issues they were unable to tackle.
An establishmentarian North, South divide. When poverty strikes there's nowhere to hide.
Deep trenched anger rising from the disenfranchised vote. The pound devalued as the right wing gloat.
Uncertain times causes a global ripple. Bank of England acts to avoid economic *******
But what of our neighbours? Our brothers in arms? Democratic victors, do they know who this harms?
Young against old, divisions laid bare. Political wrangling, do they really care?
The Prime Minister resigns and a new chapter to be written.
Democracy wins in a diverse, Great Britain.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC
I crave to live as I live to die
Let me witness peace at the end of the line,
I crave to achieve what my spirit is denied
Let me feel the ember in her eyes
I crave for the smell of my age at nine
Let me relive that nostalgic high
I crave for laughter, through the ages I try
Let me be friends with those that apply
I crave for adventure, risky pleasures of mine
Let me journey through the challenges I find
I crave for justice, where karma resides
Let me have patience for the time
I crave for freedom, when the fight resigns
Let me breathe victory for sacrifices I sign
I crave for sympathy when I fall out of line
Let me invite redemption into the time
I crave for love, compassion and kind
Let me reach for the heart of the crime
I crave for wealth in riches and wines
Let me be selfish for the sake of my bride
I crave to be more than what they say in their minds
Let me change the grand design
I crave for a miracle when my faith is tied
Let me see hope through the divine
I crave for Life, with you by my side
Let's treasure the moment until the day we say goodbye.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
Spanish
La luna es pálida y triste, la luna es exangüe y yerta.
La media luna figúraseme un suave perfil de muerta…
Yo que prefiero a la insigne palidez encarecida
De todas las perlas árabes, la rosa recién abierta,
En un rincón del terruño con el color de la vida,
Adoro esa luna pálida, adoro esa faz de muerta!
Y en el altar de las noches, como una flor encendida
Y ebria de extraños perfumes, mi alma la inciensa rendida.
Yo sé de labios marchitos en la blasfemia y el vino,
Que besan tras de la orgia sus huellas en el camino;
Locos que mueren besando su imagen en lagos yertos…
Porque ella es luz de inocencia, porque a esa luz misteriosa
Alumbran las cosas blancas, se ponen blancas las cosas,
Y hasta las almas más negras toman clarores inciertos!
English
The moon is pallid and sad, the moon is bloodless and cold.
I imagine the half-moon as a profile of the dead…
And beyond the reknowned and praised pallor
Of Arab pearls, I prefer the rose in recent bud.
In a corner of this land with the colors of earth,
I adore this pale moon, I adore this death mask!
And at the altar of the night, like a flower inflamed,
Inebriated by strange perfumes, my soul resigns.
I know of lips withered with blasphemy and wine;
After an **** they kiss her trace in the lane.
Insane ones who die kissing her image in lakes…
Because she is light of innocence, because white things
Illuminate her mysterious light, things taking on white,
And even the blackest souls become uncertainly bright.
3.4k
From that world she came
(Known or unknown, no one cared)
Where those daily routines were the same
A moment to rest she was ne'er spared
Her palms bore the scars of her daily indulgence
The cracks in her heels was the other evidence
Daily at four she rose
Exhausted but always she was
Then after those morning duties away
To the classroom at midday
The journey long but what a relief
The moment sweet but only brief
Her hands and feet in a momentary freedom
From that sovereign rule of works' kingdom
She then rests by a roadside shade
Exhaustion another punctuation has made
She sighs taking in the breeze
In her mind wonders what life is
But up! To school she must run
For she remembers she has to learn
She is scolded for being late
And reminded of how punctuality to excellence is gate
In class, no place to sit
The classroom small, they all will not fit
She resigns, stands at the back
Her shoulders against that wall full of dirt
Those wide open eyes suddenly start to glitter
You can tell her heart is heavy
She then looked down to the ground with shame
And then from every eye, a tear came!
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 4:05 AM UTC
Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh,
Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky;
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod,
With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod;
With those who, scatter’d far, perchance deplore,
Like me, the happy scenes they knew before:
Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill,
Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still,
Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay,
And frequent mus’d the twilight hours away;
Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline,
But, ah! without the thoughts which then were mine:
How do thy branches, moaning to the blast,
Invite the ***** to recall the past,
And seem to whisper, as they gently swell,
“Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last farewell!”
When Fate shall chill, at length, this fever’d breast,
And calm its cares and passions into rest,
Oft have I thought, ’twould soothe my dying hour,—
If aught may soothe, when Life resigns her power,—
To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell,
Would hide my ***** where it lov’d to dwell;
With this fond dream, methinks ’twere sweet to die—
And here it linger’d, here my heart might lie;
Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose,
Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose;
For ever stretch’d beneath this mantling shade,
Press’d by the turf where once my childhood play’d;
Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I lov’d,
Mix’d with the earth o’er which my footsteps mov’d;
Blest by the tongues that charm’d my youthful ear,
Mourn’d by the few my soul acknowledged here;
Deplor’d by those in early days allied,
And unremember’d by the world beside.
2.2k
The Magical Date
Last nite was a celebration!
And before it all begun
He held me by my hand so close
We were off to leprechaun land!
The naughty elf with his impish pranks
His sinful teases and wanton ways
His playful gestures, fractious delights
He rushed me off to his wilful fays
We found ourselves in a Keatsian bower
In 'embalmed darkness', 'mong 'white hawthorns'
It was fragrant with the jasmine veils
That covered the roof of rosy thorns
we laughed and sang old happy numbers
we talked our hearts out gleefully
After aeons of blue moon we'd finally met
A magical date it had to be!
And so when i looked up to his eyes
It held mine in a purple gaze
In a trice of a second he was off with me
Speeding through the verduous maze
Help! i cried but held on tight
Our windswept hair, our amorous plight
His fervour, vigor, force and power
Was all i felt that wondrous night
Elf or gnome, genie or sprite
A naughty brownie or the nisse vampire
Bogie, goblin, fairy, nymph
He carried me through the forests dire...
So just wen I can close my eyes
Just when i feel im missing him
He's there as he says hes there with me
Off we go into the woodlands dim
We dance a waltz, a salsa true
A foxtrot, a ballet in embrace tight
In white moonshine, in purple rain
When dewdrops catch the morning light.
And then again with every dawn
The magic wanes, the elf resigns
To mossy groves and sylvan lands
And the elfin grottos of my mind.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
Misty little corner
In a blue Room
Calls out to the mourner
Immersed in doom.
Grey furniture makes
Greyer memories
Faults, taunts and insipid
Fallacies.
Blue is the colour of the eye
It's inside is filled with a neon so fly.
The pink tree of life ******
Venus flytrap dissolves in juices.
The eye looks, the eye appalls.
The eye resigns, the eye dissolves.
The pink trap reopens again.
Lust curls into the corner in vain.
The misty blue corner like a white canvas,
Fills with all its colours again.
Pink is the monster,
Blue is the perpetrator,
Green is the debilitator.
And I, the wild colourless mind,
Sits by the wall and conjures this mishap.
All dreams are flies,
And I, the Venus flytrap.
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 4:04 AM UTC
Bedsunk, hair in eyes, coughing the haunt of a 9 o'clock cigarette, she resigns to sleep.
I'm edges -- rough and looking to let the blood out.
Handful of skirt. I just want to cuddle. But her lips smell like her crotch tastes. Bubbling salt bog water. I'm doing the math. It's basic.
Under the shirt and pulling back the bra, lapping at her sunken breast, ouch.
Red. Smarting. And I never bit it.
"What did you do after work today?"
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
The sweet sound of laughter,
Crackles in my ear like the sparks and the sound of the fire
Shadows cast by the ten foot flames,
Dance in rhythm to the strumming of a ukulele,
We all sing along, our voices hoarse from inhaling the billowing smoke
My eyes reflect the dancing flames,
And I feel an arm wrap around my waist.
The smoke creeps into my nose again,
I hide my face in his chest,
Fighting off the smoke’s stinging scent
With the scent of his shirt.
Only silloettes against the fire, I watch as my friends talk,
And laugh the night away.
The sparks rise into the air, and mingle with the stars.
Weary of laughing and standing for hours,
We all migrate away, leaving our worries by the fire.
Under the stars we lay, singing yet more songs,
And weaving our stories and secrets into the constellations.
All of our hearts, bound together,
Lay on the warm asphalt driveway.
Part of my heart still lies there,
Amongst friends on warm summer nights,
By the dancing bonfire flames,
In the secrets told to the stars,
And in his arm around my waist.
This is where my heart will stay,
In the night when I fell in love.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
While we are so connected, we are so far apart
The crackle of the phone line sometimes rips at our heart
Anger, frustration, and lonliness continue
While we begin our chats though our online venue
Pictures flying back and forth, smiles sometimes forced
Joy begins and then resigns, it was just coerced
To break the connection, we cannot bear
Though the ache too much and always there
Our love for each other always comes first
And through it all, our connection overcomes the hurt
© October 2, 2009 Deanna Repose
Reposted from: blog.deannarepose.com
Oct 2, 2009
Oct 2, 2009 at 7:30 AM UTC
As you never bothered to return my Calls
I shall wait outside your door and watch
as you build the gates of wrath higher and higher,
The taller your fences, the longer your lines posts should be
The sea refuses no river;
whereas most men and women turned on each other
your actions, their words, their inner thoughts
Cyberspace is now a battle space
Keep passwords secret and strong my friends
The famous Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote
The poet also resigns himself to his moods
I shall wait outside your door and watch:
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
Trust, the rarest gift of souls-
How can I wrap it once again?
The paper taped and stretched too thin,
Full of tears and revealing holes...
You can't regift this twice, you see?
Trust once earned, abused, declines
The novelty that stood, resigns,
Distrust alone now hinders me.
But what first caused this change in me?
What once was lost to be regifted -
Privilege earned so easily lifted -
And defines the devil - what could it be?
The lastly words that Caesar spoke
(That William wrote so elegantly)
Now stabs my mind consequently-
Betrayal and distrust are now evoked.
Betrayal which started as a lie
To hide and bury a wrongful act
Broke the very soulful pact-
The rarest gift now left awry!
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
Give her a chance, give her a way
And she'll fly high
high in the sky
living all her 'dreams' out,
the 'dreams' that she gave up,
to nurture you..
She is the creator,
And the power to destroy
lies within her.
She is your strength, but
her value you don't understand.
Never does she resigns,
neither does she complaints.
She lives in this small world of hers,
doing all the work day in and day out.
And then carries the burden of
" WHAT DO YOU DO ALL DAY?"
Her capabilities you can't reach
her love you can't measure.
her strength exponentially higher than yours....
But her value you don't understand.
Stronger than a pillar, she bears
the dependence of one and all.
With due respect,
I bow down and salute
to your royalty, your loyalty
and sheer love and greatness
So, I'm proud of me
to have understood, maybe partially
the value of you,
the greatest entity
"MOTHER"
-Paridhi Sharma
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
○●○
She desperately tries to fight
against the tide
knowing she's never been
strong.
The waves are overpowering.
Ignoring her struggle
they continue, battering her
physically,
emotionally.
She is losing her fight
to get to where she needs to be.
Tempted to submit,
let go,
give in,
she relaxes her exhausted
muscles,
her exhausted self.
Holding her breath
and letting the current control her
she resigns,
just for today
and let's the tide decide
that it will take her
back to the shore.
Maybe she'll begin
to end it all again tomorrow.
○●○
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
Breathe in,
Release;
Mind settling peace.
Guided by notion,
Envisioned by light.
Soul reflections,
Healing art;
Refrain from restraint.
Cycle into the journey,
Walk the enlightened path.
Relaxation sets you at ease.
The crusader of love resigns in death.
Burying the old,
Giving birth to the new.
Pure embodiment of spirit,
The soul has been renewed.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
a house stands empty down there
basks under regal halos of the lanterns above
frigid linoleum comforts those frayed and lonely walls
so ******* hollow
a family disappeared back then
abandoning tattered threads of home
joyful days and lovely times no more
so many woes ago
a roof is caving in up there
fighting to spare the wistful floor
rotting hope resigns to death
so jaded with hatred
a house collapsed right there
without the sustenance of a home
heartless remains grab vacant stares
so many end that way
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 1:55 AM UTC
oil and water will always blame the other for being too extreme. there is a natural separation and naturally, a lot of blame.
how easy it is to feel self righteous in your rigidity, even in the presence of the one point in a glass where they meet. there, it is a softer rejection, a gossamer thin border, as if it resigns, “here, we exist as two separate we’s, stacked on top of one another, and that is as much as i will relent.”
what a shame it is to accept the shape of a container, but not the shape of one another. what a stab it is to my heart that you repel me, and i you, no matter how much i wish and struggle and vigorously shake us both hoping that this time, it will be different. what a pity it is that i’m me and you’re you and we’re not anyone else and it will remain unchanged, like you and i.
i could feel better if i knew you didn’t want it to be this way. that this life is just impossibly cruel and it’s nobody’s fault but the universe and the gods and whoever else made it my nature to resist you.
i plead silently for one more good stir, one more fair shot. it might work this time.
our shoulders brush slightly again. and i cry thinking that if you were to wipe my tears, they’d bead up and roll off of your hands.
Oct 1, 2022
Oct 1, 2022 at 7:04 PM UTC
Running trees and sun rays,
wind brushing and pressing on to my skin
Saline taste, that will be with me, always.
But a genuine smile will be a sin.
Yes, I am almost there,
where i found myself,
where i found them crystals, so rare.
Before that i was hidden in the shelf.
My sorrow and pain will wash away,
the second I touch that ground.
The power of the mask will be tamed ,
and the masked people will be astound.
Loving people and their vibes.
The epoch of my past will be revived.
The fruit of jollity, again, ripes
And the agony resigns
But something scares my heart.
The goodbyes.
Will I be able to start again after the depart?
Would I have to, again, live in lies?
No! My mind is ready to take it all.
To absorb the pain of the departure.
It will sure be a hard fall,
but it will merely be a fracture.
So, yes, I'm here, where i found myself,
where I found them, my rare crystals,
who pushed me out of the shelf.
But the departure will hurt me with a pistol.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
Oh Yea, Oh Yea! Cometh hither to the dance of festivals, around bonfires of medieval superstition.
The gates are closed firmly behind us, whilst woodland creatures seek to gain mastery over our misplaced traditions.
Look at the tracks of the cart, as they meander along the trenches of muddy lanes where loitering prostitutes display their coveted merchandise.
I know that innocence has unveiled her lusts with brazen splendour, whilst chastity resigns herself to the unspoken beauty of illegitimacy.
However, I plead with your sombre awareness. Stoke the fire, and let us reminisce over mystical horizons where infinity casts her spell across the ages of history.
What is your price?
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
We spend our entire lives running from death. We train our minds to give purpose and meaning to our pathetic existence as we gorge ourselves upon waste, trying to trick the fates as if purity would repel decay. But in the end, all attempts prove futile. You cannot run from death, he is always there, just around the corner, waiting to carry you away. In the end we are all the same; bodies left to rot, to sleep for an eternity undisturbed. The priest sleeps only feet away from the killer, their fate the same. All that waits is a silk rimmed box.
Death is the ultimate fate, silently crouching at the end of our ropes to rock us to sleep and whisper muted lullabies. He lays us down in our eternal bed and shuts our vacant eyes waiting for all to be silent, for the last tear from the funeral march to dry, for the process to begin. He grabs hold of our bodies, making them betray us as they consume us from the inside out. Our bodies swell in the absence of life, destroying our living form. Grave wax takes hold of our faces as our flesh collapses leaving the stains of death upon the finest white silk. We waste away to limp folds of skin sprouting flaxen hairs supported by hollowing bones. Decades pass and we return to the dust of which we are comprised, we dwindle down to our tainted bones clothed in the finest of linens and become no more to the world than a name on a slab of marble.
To those above we are a name, a fading face in the back of their minds. We are the ghosts that hide in their subconscious, furtively dragging them down to rest alongside us. As time passes our grave becomes no more than a strange combination of consonants and vowels, our life is forgotten, and the land that we lie in follows time and what once were flowers become weeds. The living march along in colonies like insignificant little ants caught up in the delusion of life, busying themselves with passing luxuries. The lives of those centuries dead don’t even pass their mind as they tear apart our sacred land, disturbing our sleep for a strip mall to go bankrupt in five years. And so we lie in our silk rimmed box; trapped in a perpetual nightmare unable to move, to speak, to cry. In death only does the holy man become one with the convict.
This is the world beyond life. This is where love cannot grow, where hates withers, where fear resigns. This is where the mind cannot venture, where the body is all. This is where all illusions stop, where truth reigns. This is where nature reclaims what is rightfully hers, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. This is the end, the inevitable conclusion to all our petty sufferings and attempts defy the fates. In the end we are all the same.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 4:38 PM UTC
The world is a labyrinth,
Every speckle a maze.
The mystery enthralls every sense,
Pensive and my brows tense.
Inability to find a way,
A single thought,
Drowns the greatest bay.
Troubled sleepless nights,
A confusion still guards my plights.
Bound in a skeletal structure,
Every soul suffers a rupture.
Its flight restricted by motives,
An aura guided by morals,
Inability to hear true calls.
Alas ! dizzy with dreams again.
Unwind your cruel and crafty design.
Approach my destruction,
Before your will resigns.
Animosity need not demand favorable signs,
Boulder my aura,
For your will reigns.
Submissive and blind --The fool that i have become.
On my consent you've build a dome.
It is your wish to leave and to come,
A harlots dwelling,
In comparison to your home.
Roots to my spirit,split to the core.
Entangled and lost,
Worms feeding on their host.
Gluttony for emotions,
Sought by the lifeless.
A harlots untouched heart,
Left to undress.
Invisible bruises unseen ,
Penetrate deeper in my veins.
A single touch ,
Leaves blasphemous stains.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC