"restive" poems
I carried life yet did not live
until, from blood and darkness came
a light that only God could give
from sacrificial flesh and pain.
For broken nights and restive days
of drifting into starry skies
hours, weeks, lifetimes I’d stay
daydreaming in your onyx eyes.
To look upon my face in prayer
with worship in your smile so pure
as if the holy land was here
in my arms forevermore.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
On an ebony bed decorated
with coral eagles, sound asleep lies
Nero --- unconscious, quiet, and blissful;
thriving in the vigor of flesh,
and in the splendid power of youth.
But in the alabaster hall that encloses
the ancient shrine of the Aenobarbi
how restive are his Lares.
The little household gods tremble,
and try to hide their insignificant bodies.
For they heard a horrible clamor,
a deathly clamor ascending the stairs,
iron footsteps rattling the stairs.
And now in a faint the miserable Lares,
burrow in the depth of the shrine,
one tumbles and stumbles upon the other,
one little god falls over the other
for they understand what sort of clamor this is,
they are already feeling the footsteps of the Furies.
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There is power over what's in front,
what's behind, cannot be vouched for.
any one, anything that accost me, are
all taken at face value....just as they are,
disregarding love, or dislike,
or, what dwells deep within.
when not shrouded, i am most useful
some say i'm cruel
others think, i'm kindest
but, i am just being honest.
with the least of light, i try my best,
i earn praises...they come back, they need me
sometimes i am bathed with hatred
i end up in the attic...or given away,
just because the truth is unacceptable.
the area across is most times regular,
a man on his table...what hungs on his wall.
occasionally, it becomes spectacular,
countenances, joyful, or sorrowful
come to and fro...all sorts of accolades
a mix of emotions...each day, an array
of lively colors and moods......a parade
of varied appearances feed my view
it's not what i want...it's what i am given
any time of any day...any season.
whatever the reason
someone or something
stands to face me.
when night is late, and in complete silence
that man by the table....ever writes on paper
and gets them all wet...with his falling tears,
he writes of volcanoes spewing fire, of rain pouring,
speaks to himself, then to me, of betrayal, promises
lost, of broken vows, and shattered expectations.
i am speechless, yet filled with his pain ....he is restive
til the wee hours of the morning....then i see light in
this visage, his face...giving an end to the dark
giving way to another day's noise,
......a facade.....
Sally
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC
Where had I heard this wind before
Change like this to a deeper roar?
What would it take my standing there for,
Holding open a restive door,
Looking down hill to a frothy shore?
Summer was past and the day was past.
Sombre clouds in the west were massed.
Out on the porch’s sagging floor,
Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,
Blindly striking at my knee and missed.
Something sinister in the tone
Told me my secret my be known:
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow must have gotten abroad,
Word I was in my life alone,
Word I had no one left but God.
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She cuckoos & swags across the heart
for stealing the breath off its beat,
I enjoy listening to her voices
whispering from somewhere outta Georgia street
*William Shakespeare did speak,
***"In delay there lies no plenty,----
Then come kiss me, sweety-n-twenty"***
So I do write,
***"Her devotional love makes the oceans restive,---
Even a breath of her ice crystals muse makes my heart festive"***
And, winds blow
Her love arrives to my way,
Waves starting to flow
in one-direction where there's no sun-ray*
With some caramel hues of her nocturnal love,
I inhale her throughout the night
Melancholy clouds burst out, though No Mistreat,
The echoes of rain start whispering around me,
&, along such a mist, she cuckoos & swags across the heart with naked feet.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Dark, this
restive hour, when
I search for a secret
peace, that lies lurking in the heart,
lost moon,
pre-dawn,
before worry
rises to shine on the furlough
when grey the twilight in furtive
retreat:
this hour,
when winds summon
birds to the distant realms
when little voices rise on beaming
star lakes.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
Resting couched and cross-legged
by the hearth at Old Faithful Inn
I read of fire-seared Montana.
My restive mind roams back
a century and a half
to when flames ruled Yellowstone -
cracking open Lodgepole cones -
spending seeds on blackened soil.
Youthful pines soared skyward:
tutored by seven score seasons
of showers, frost and sun
nourished by leaf-meal and char.
Then loggers came to notch their trunks
and sent them arcing to the forest floor.
Carpenters fixed them to the wall
where the moose head stares me down.
Montana pine cones crackle as I read.
After soaking rains have quenched the flames,
those seeds will rise to giant towers
before yielding to the whine of chainsaw teeth.
A gray haired man will enter
a rustic Montana lodge,
a coffee mug clutched in one hand,
the morning paper in the other
and sit fire-warmed by a granite hearth
set in a wall of Lodgepole Pines.
January, 2007
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Who knows what losses
this infinitely rich
and resilient heart has suffered?
The sorrowful splendor of the Earth --
its endless cycle of gestation
and bringing forth,
its eternal season of becoming
and decay --
inspires and beckons her silent musings.
And her muted passion,
burning with the
mesmerizing ardor of the innocent,
awakens a diffident adoration
in the bickering brood that surrounds her.
How beleaguering they are!
these driven ones, so eager
to possess the elusive beauty
that stirs the dark, enigmatic
depths of their harried souls.
*** unwitting they are!
those dreary ones...
Destiny has drawn them
to the shimmering, diaphanous aura
of her breathless presence.
And destiny will drain them
like a brimming chalice,
so full of their impetuous blindness.
For they will never see
how she is set apart
by the wandering, restive vision
of the chosen.
But I see her,
standing alone on the fringe
of the tumultuous herd.
She gazes at me with
that subtle, sacred smile,
and I feel the threatening,
familiar forces of the universe descend --
Jacob
wrestling with the angel of authenticity.
She gazes at me,
and in the still light
of that impenetrable look...
the silence speaks!
I tremble in anticipation.
I listen and am fed.
For Laura.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
As I lay here restive. I cannot help but conjecture what could come to pass.
Thy dimpled simper, impales my soul and elicits bliss in my *****
Oh! The butterflies, how they flutter inside me, yearning their sweet, rightful release.
Ah, it cannot be, has this young mistress vexed this dispassionate beast?
Do I dare brave ask if I am worthy of such a divine, angelic monarch?
I ask thee, do I dare reflect on my chaotic life; do I dare torture myself, knowing I will falter.
Alas, I must!
I must attempt to become the merit. I must become her love, her heart, her soul, her reason to be...her King.
For she is...My Queen.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
The wind blows in a restive frenzy,
But knows not which way to go.
Dead leaves caper ecstatically
In the hope of reanimation.
The lascivious earth wears petrichor;
Craving for his touch.
Her paramour with a tumultuous roar,
Seems invincible in his virility.
The grim atmosphere lights intermittently
As the sparks of their passionate paroxysm burst through.
The ******** tryst leaves him exhausted.
Satiating her voracity was an arduous feat.
What once seemed invincible now floats decrepit;
Oblivious to the agents of his decay.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
12 BARS
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
12 DREAMS
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
devining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding chains,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quite drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship in midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
Oh Lord, nourish me not with love but with the desire
for love. IBN ‘ARABÎ
Not only the thirsty seek the water,
the water as well seeks the thirsty. RÛMÎ
Ecstasy is a flame which springs up in the secret heart,
and appears out of longing. PAUL NWYIA
Open your hidden eyes and return to the root of the root
of your own self. RÛMÎ
The inner truth of desire is that it is a restive motion in
the heart in search of God. AL-QUSHAYRÎ
excerpts from "Travelling the Path Of Love Sayings of Sufi Masters"
Apr 5, 2023
Apr 5, 2023 at 9:47 AM UTC
madmen fools and nothing,
the mien — brazen, stupefied glance
and hungry for light, our words gutted
like our enemies in our ill-thought.
this road dredges, the aporetic line
sifting through new divisions, something
an equation forgets the dividend
and almost always a salient permutation
of men and women and the "takatak" boy
peddling cigarettes to claptrap ***
of metal envoys,
reciprocating some chances of restive
dreadnaught, diffusion of sweat in
scalding heat of 12:41 afternoon sun
and smoking with bystanders
unaware of the doldrum and the ennui
it was a fine day in Ortigas.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
Suddenly it feels numb
My body restive
My words gone dumb.
Muted grievances against the window pane
Are wiped away as insane.
Something inside, yet miles away
Resonates a perfectly eternal dismay.
Sweet are the tears that embrace,
Coursing down the contours of the loving face.
I ask myself,
“Why can I never write about important things?
About Philosophy, Politics and similar meanderings?”
Reasonable things.
Inklings of promising meanings.
Instead I struggle with my tempestuous heart,
Unimportant to the world, yet the most excruciating art.
The pain and the glory
Is the never-ending selfish story
My childish mind can recall.
Despite all this wondrous melancholy,
I always choose to repeat my folly.
Up and about to write I go,
There’s too much heart material to forego.
I lie under those dry lifeless branches,
Sit, stand or walk around in hunches.
Only the grass understands
Under the skin in innumerable strands
Pain is the only conspicuous poison
Reigning the veins, arteries,
Defining the venison.
I couldn’t look at you much
Since you drank from my cup
Travesties of my past break-up
And chose to inflict it upon me again
To see if our old life
Could be regained.
But nonchalance has a way of defeating you.
It looks odd on you,
Like an unaccustomed parvenu.
Love wrecks your heart like the shivering of an earthquake.
When my insides tear, shrivel and menacingly rake.
You realize that your nonchalance was odd indeed.
I was the friend in need
You fled the deed.
That could have saved me
From depression.
Earthquakes don’t mean any harm.
They simple do their job
And leave destruction in the wake.
Naïve.
Nonchalant.
Dilettante.
They are not exactly wrong.
No culpable intentions.
Only humming a deleterious song.
Yet
We seldom recover when the grounds from below
Shake.
I thought you were the soft breeze, drizzling rain.
But turns out,
You are an earthquake.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 1:25 AM UTC
The sky touches the face of the blue earth and whispers, ''I am so yours''. The earth wonders, ''How could that be. You are boundless. You have so starries jewels, stars, suns and moons, and I , I am little, I have no own light. And Beyond that, in the modern era, in the Barbaric greed of civilization, I feel, a thousand deaths on my body,
no more flowers left to bloom, no more harvest to reap, tears have become irony, fades daylight''. And the sky replies, ''I know, they came with iron chains claws sharper than the wolves, came hordes of hunters with perverted eyes of contempt. But, Even if your tears are restive your heart glistening in trampled darkness''.
Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 8:03 AM UTC
dusk fell upon us softly
between kisses
that probed and went
across the borders
into the other´s land
to find it strange
yet pleasant
and a little frightening
the whistle for retreat
was blown
and we went out for dinner
but soon grew restive
to resume the wanderings
on each other´s turf
your girlish coyness
made me hesitate
lest a wrong move
turn me into a frog that
thrown against the wall
would not change
into a prince
I hid within my robe
your loving body
hard up against mine
felt beautiful
your kisses and caresses
roused my blood
your loving trust
shaken, at times,
by my exploring touch
made me feel very young
and very old at once
it was not easy
to maintain control
we walked the tightrope
through the night
your innocence protected you as well
as my experience and respect
for your determination
not to lose yourself
and not to join me
at that time
our entanglement
between desire and restraint
was long and yet too short
dawn found us puzzled
words were scarce
the parting kisses
sweet and sad
left memories
unrefreshed
to this very day
* * *
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Wandering the ridge line
alone on high alert,
I kept my head on a swivel
as I moved down
into the humid-cool-mist
toward high camp.
Boulders strewn about
the size of Volkswagens
littered the landscape
as I walked
cautiously
expecting to see
Teradactyls in flight,
scavenging for their
next meal.
This place was the real deal,
barren, rugged & brutal,
the place where flying dinosaurs
could ruin your day.
It's no wonder most
people never come up here
to play. Alpinists say
they love it that way,
the fewer the better.
But I have my doubts.
I read something somewhere
about being able to outrun
your mates in the event
of an aerial carnivore-attack.
'Cause out here all alone,
I was an easy meal,
a sitting duck,
fodder for those
vicious-creatures.
I was overjoyed
when I saw the yellow speck
of my nylon tent.
I jumped with happiness,
thanked the mountain-gods
for my safe passage,
warm soup & gossamer feathers,
a restive-stronghold from
hungry reptiles!
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 4:17 PM UTC
The heart’s shadow withers restive on the soul;
it becomes an illusion of an image
that was once a lascivious,
yet taciturn, reflection
of a life worth living—
(Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote: "To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering."
If you embrace that you will assuredly always run toward the suffering,
and smile.)
—Time. Fear not for Time will eventually devour us all.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 4:42 PM UTC
restless but doin okay
uneasy, ill at ease, restive, fidgety, edgy, on edge, tense, worked up, nervous, agitated, anxious, on tenterhooks, keyed up;
jumpy ,jittery, twitchy, uptight, antsy
sleepless, wakeful
fitful, broken, disturbed, troubled, unsettled
"a restless night"
offering no physical or emotional rest; involving constant activity or motion.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 6:43 AM UTC
sitting here, with
elbows resting on each knee
chin resting on cupped palms
skull resting on clenched teeth
gaze restless on the page.
sitting here, without
interest, intent, or intensity
restive yet frozen
taking classes by the dozen.
Sep 14, 2021
Sep 14, 2021 at 1:42 PM UTC
I have sought You in bits and pieces,
because You are scattered across souls;
I have possessed the places Your heart leases,
for I have not found You as my home.
Do I seek You in those whispering trails
that silhouette my velvet skin –
as prayers and penance, when all else fails
to disrobe me of my mortal sin.
Do You kiss my fingers as strands of beads,
that I touch upon in times of need;
in hopes that You will grant me grace,
or embrace me with Your graceless greed.
Do I find refuge in Your vaulted heart,
with idols that idle in your wake;
in sermons, in summons, Your will You impart,
only Yours to give, only Yours to forsake.
And what of in temples that You have built,
in Your name, of Your fame that You have distilled —
those towering minarets that I cannot breech,
resigned only to altars at which You preach.
A covenant, I covet
with the revenants above it —
Your Altar
Alters You —
my haunting Beloved.
I have sought You in the most essential of ways;
in touch, in taste, in the most sensual displays.
Between covers,
Did I discover
You in a supine repose?
A restive being,
at rest in being –
fated only to my
depthless prose.
Find me, You say, I am yours to find.
A part, never apart, we are seamlessly entwined.
Long for me, for us, and for our Eternal Affair —
For, my Beloved, ours is not a caravan of despair.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
Night beckons
and moon, full of restive temptation
answers fruitfully—
Incline yourself
upon the seal of my soul
and bend my ear
that I may again
hear the gentle murmurings
of earth’s heart
beat in time with my own.
O tender, tender moon
you leave the imprint
of your maidenhood
as you salve
the dry earth
your moon’s blood bestowing.
Sow your seed
in the time of new moon
and yield,
again and again
to the carpet of heaven’s door.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 7:29 PM UTC
Starve fasces-brandishers who predicate
Authority from appetite to lead.
Uproot the system bred to overfeed
Flush priests of law whose acts emaciate
The restive body of we third estate,
Condemning propaganda of the deed
By terrorists like Johnny Appleseed.
We must invoke our right to eat the state.
Roast those who'd charge an honest cannibal
For planting liberal teachings to displace
The syndicate, and share economy.
Fire up the cult of the imperial
And ration insurrectionary grace
Ample for all to feast on anarchy.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
'I hear the Father say,
"Your patience indeed is shallow
- but my restive child, rest and pray,
find in me your refuge,
I am all you need today."
The Lord is harbour. He is anchor.
And once this season passes,
once the channels open
He will be our compass
and we will sail.'
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 3:36 AM UTC
Tick-tock twilight tempest
lone saunter by the beach
neath stars and moonlit embers
Home shies in restive reach
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 9:45 AM UTC