"ret" poems
Ek rukha aasman ...ek pyasi jameen...esi hi kuch hamarI khaani.. Dooor h bhut..par nazro me basein.. Rutha ** ek to duja kaise hasse..!! Aankhe ** jab uski nam.. To bheege hum b hurdum.. Kosis bht ki nzre churane ki..par hum toh the Unke dil me phasse..!! Aankho se hi wo izhaar kr gye ..or hum sochte rhe ...unse khe kaise... !! Alag hme b kuch krna..tha...to kuch esa kia.. Maanga jo usne hath toh hmne <3 dil hi de dia !! Waqt b kitna bewafa h bin bole hi nikal.gya... Or wo ret ki trh meri muthhi se fisal gya..!! Wo sapna tha ya hqiqat BS m sochti rhti hu.. Uss hwa ka jhoka h wo..jiske sang m aaj b bahti hu !!!!
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow’r,
Thou’s met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow’r,
Thou bonie gem.
Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet,
The bonie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee ‘mang the dewy weet,
Wi’ spreckled breast!
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet
The purpling east.
Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Scarce reared above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.
The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield,
High shelt’ring woods and wa’s maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield
O’ clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,
Unseen, alane.
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawy ***** sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweet flow’ret of the rural shade!
By love’s simplicity betrayed,
And guileless trust,
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid
Low i’ the dust.
Such is the fate of simple Bard,
On Life’s rough ocean luckless starred!
Unskilful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o’er!
Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv’n,
By human pride or cunning driv’n
To mis’ry’s brink,
Till wrenched of ev’ry stay but Heav’n,
He, ruined, sink!
Ev’n thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate,
That fate is thine -no distant date;
Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crushed beneath the furrow’s weight,
Shall be thy doom!
4.3k
Mingle with the genial bowl
The Rose, the ‘flow’ret’ of the Soul,
The Rose and Grape together quaff’d,
How doubly sweet will be the draught!
With Roses crown our jovial brows,
While every cheek with Laughter glows;
While Smiles and Songs, with Wine incite,
To wing our moments with Delight.
Rose by far the fairest birth,
Which Spring and Nature cull from Earth—
Rose whose sweetest perfume given,
Breathes our thoughts from Earth to Heaven.
Rose whom the Deities above,
From Jove to **** dearly love,
When Cytherea’s blooming Boy,
Flies lightly through the dance of Joy,
With him the Graces then combine,
And rosy wreaths their locks entwine.
Then will I sing divinely crown’d,
With dusky leaves my temples bound—
Lyæus! in thy bowers of pleasure,
I’ll wake a wildly thrilling measure.
There will my gentle Girl and I,
Along the mazes sportive fly,
Will bend before thy potent throne—
Rose, Wine, and Beauty, all my own.
2.6k
And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run,
A mist retreating from the morning sun,
A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream.
Its length? A minute’s pause, a moment’s thought.
And Happiness? A bubble on the stream,
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.
And what is Hope? The puffing gale of morn,
That of its charms divests the dewy lawn,
And robs each flow’ret of its gem—and dies;
A cobweb, hiding disappointment’s thorn,
Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise.
And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound?
That dark mysterious name of horrid sound?
A long and lingering sleep the weary crave.
And Peace? Where can its happiness abound?
Nowhere at all, save heaven and the grave.
Then what is Life? When stripped of its disguise,
A thing to be desired it cannot be;
Since everything that meets our foolish eyes
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.
’Tis but a trial all must undergo,
To teach unthankful mortals how to prize
That happiness vain man’s denied to know,
Until he’s called to claim it in the skies.
2k
to buy a book at half-ten with
no time wasting. go back, await
instructions ‘cause ****** will
have their trinkets, with novelty
of accented voice. and i once
would talk often of a love – let’s
separate that word from *****
often of a love, but am rare to
fall to elaboration. and through
contemplation the soul may
ascend to knowledge of the
Form of the Good, penultimate
object of Knowledge but not
Knowledge. and often writ of
this love, writ of what was to be
then and never now. never to find
affirmation in fleeting memory.
oxymoronic oblate of the mind
– this soul. attempting for attainment
of Kenosis. shambling i wandered,
rambling i wandered, and humbly
wandering on to pluck till times
and times are done. and
the dogs of this life have re-
moved dearest effects. in turn, sho-
wing the vanity in materialism.
end turn, showing futility in ret-
ention and the sun's continuous gro-
wth forcing abatement of winters’
vespers. cradling a gourd filled with
oil from the skin of ages, to reflect
micorocosms of preceived death.
those silver apples of the moon. and
when vespers return in color, when
the ground aches tensing muscles.
this love, if only the conjunctions
had been denied. perhaps by abor-
tion of if, then could have been a
block for now. these times found
oblate of memory by zealous self-
truth of the wronged past, and
humbled by skewed memory of
the hermit on unseen path for
Kenosis. unseen growth of
those golden apples of the sun.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
Når du taler til mig
Lyder du fremmed
For mine tanker har forvrænget din stemme
Du er mere fantastisk i mit hoved
End du er når vi endelig ses
For din stemme er nasal
Og dine tanker ret normale
Så bliv væk hvis du vil huskes
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Jeg har altid hadet hospitaler.
Hospitaler med deres hvide vægge.
Lægerne med deres hvide kitler.
Glassene med de hvide piller.
Sengene med det hvide betræk.
Og for engangskyld hadede jeg månen. Så klam og hvid. Så pisse irriterende hvid og rund.
*** var ret hvid.
Ikke på den klamme og irriterende måde, men på en måde, der lyste i mørke. Som en gadelygte midt i nattens ingenting. En gadelygte, der lyste både dag og nat.
Pludselig slukkede den.
*** fortalte mig, at tidlige aftener bliver til morgener sent.
Mine hvide fingre strøg gennem hendes bølgede hår.
*** kiggede på mig med hendes lysende øjne. Jeg kiggede tilbage.
*** smilede.
Jeg tog fat i elefanten og gav den til hende. *** klemte den helt ind til sig, og en grå tåre faldt fra hendes hvide kind.
f.b
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
Tell me again why you are running away,
...forgotten yearning.
It seems to me like you've gone astray,
...very discerning.
I know you won't listen to what I've got to say,
...so concerning.
But it seems so selfish of you not to stay
...ever the casern king.
You always 've seen the world in a shade of gray
...endless murmuring.
I wanted, just once, to hear you pray
...useless stammering.
Just to know where your soul would lay
...'aven't started burning.
I tried to shape you, create form from clay
...too inurning
But it seems that I created a mess, a splay
...you're learning
Blinded, I just watched as you began to sway
...court's adjourning
And now your body ash as we prepare to bray
...just sojourning
My constant pushing led to this needless slay
...very secerning
Regrets of times past will be reminisced today
...un-upturning
And so, we say goodby one last time along the brae
...stop mourning
As we spread your ash to the wind on this spring day
...I'll be...ret..u..r...n.....i.......
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 1:23 PM UTC
Man sku ha været barn af en anden verden
Tænk sig aldrig at skulle tabe noget på gulvet
Eller aldrig plages af lyden af service fra køkkenet
Mit livs værste dage har været alle dage
Og de dage hvor jeg har underlagt mig systemet
Jeg kan ikke holde alle lydene ud
Jeg har ikke lyst til andet end at spise nudler
I sengen med en jeg elsker
Jeg kan ikke fungere ret længe ad gangen uden hende
*** ser mine bare fødder og mine udvoksede kønshår
*** ser mine tårer og hører mig græde 500 kilometer væk
Kun hende vil jeg se om kun hende drejer min verden
Og kun kan jeg undvære hende fordi jeg ved *** kommer tilbage
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
vi er gået fra Tindermatch
til at vi chattede på Tinder
til at vi blev enige om, at vi ville elske at se Monets have
til at vi mødtes og drak tre øl
til at vi grinte og snakkede
til at vi skiltes
du sagde, at du syntes det havde været hyggeligt
jeg gav dig ret
jeg sagde, at jeg syntes vi skulle mødes igen
stilhed og jeg tvivlede
hvis du altså havde lyst, for det havde jeg, sagde jeg igen
og det havde du også, sagde du lykkeligvis til sidst
vi krammede og jeg var teenagepinlig og kom til at træde på din fod
du skulle med bus 100 og jeg med 4a
vi er nu venner på facebook
og det kilder i min mave
og det føles rart at nogen gerne vil mig
og det kan jeg virkelig godt bruge
og det føles virkeligt, helt oprigtigt, rart
og egentlig er jeg også klar til kærlighed
og klar til romantiske pladdersamtaler
om at ”du er sød” ”nej du er sød” og ”du lægger på først” ”nej du lægger på først”
for det er nok kærlighed jeg savner
det er nok derfor jeg ikke føler mig hjemme
det er nok også derfor at jeg ingen glæde føler
det er det jeg har manglet
det er dig jeg har manglet
(Marolle)
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
gennemsigtig person, glædeligt imødekommende bud, ordrer, holdninger
hvem er du? en afspejling af andre
sømmet fast
sammenhængskraft og kraftanstrengelse
hvor mange gange er du blevet kaldt en engel? en engel i kød og blod, i al sandhed. en engel som alle andre engle der vandrer på jorden. himmelsk
du fortjener at kende dig selv, din ophøjethed, din uendelighed
find et spejl og kig hele vejen gennem universerne og over på dig selv. ikke spejlbilledet men dig
gennem al støjen og alle de råbende faktorer der skaber dit ydre jeg
find dit indre, dit kompas der tillader dig at navigere inde i det kosmos der hersker på indersiden
ellers er alt vendt på vrangen
som menneskets nethinde, den optiske illusion af omvendthed - på hovedet
en nikkedukke, en dårlig vane
ret ryggen og indse din utilpassede uendeligheds grænseløshed
luk støjen ude og fokuser på den indre stemme, kompasset
far vild i dine galakser og lyt til universet (det indre og det ydre)
tumulten er identitetsskabende, men der er grænser
(mål, man endelig indhenter)
dybt inde ved du hvem du er
himmelsk og uvurderlig og alt for tilbøjelige til at bukke under
stå fast, slå rod, vend dig indad så du først nu egentlig
kan se resten af verden
med klare øjne
spejlblanke
dig
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
It was summer, late 80's, Lubbock, Texas, age prevents me from recallng the exact date and time. It was my father on the phone, asking if me and my wife, Karen, would like to go with him out to the airport to visit with my Uncle Jack(Major, USAF ret.). Jack called him and said that he and a 'friend' were flying in private plane to Houston, and would be stopping in Lubock and would be in around noon. Jack was the youngest of three brothers, and my favorite. Shortly before eleven, dad picked us up and off we went. I asked dad if he knew who was coming with him, and he said "no, have no idea."
Sitting in the coffee shop, looking out the windows, we saw this Cessna land, and taxi over to the gate. "There they are", dad said, with some anticipation. In a few minutes Jack and his 'friend' emerged. The 'friend" was tall, slender, grayish hair, crew cut. He looked familiar, that 'friend' as they entered the room, and then came the introductions.
His name was "Deke" Slayton. One of the original seven astronauts chosen by NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration) to participate in the original Mercury program in 1959,and was later the pilot of the docking module when they docked with the Soviet Soyuz capsule in 1975. He was a bomber pilot during WWII, and later became a test pilot. Jack was a glider pilot during the war, and upon retiring from the air force went to work for the FAA(Federal Aeronautics Administration) as Supv. Flight Control Operations, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. They had known each other for a long time.
Needless to say, Karen and I nearly "slid out if our chairs", for it's not everyday when you find yourself having a casual cup of coffee and conversation with someone who considered such feats as, "just doing his job."
"You never know, who you're going to meet..... on any given day..... at any given time."
r.riddle: 10-16-2016
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
Et sted er der et lys.
Det sniger sig ind, rammer ikke.
Det lader dig beundre, hiver dig ikke ind.
Det lyver og skaber håb.
Alt imens stilheden fylder rummet.
For stille er der.
Hvis du lytter godt efter høre du et suk og to hænder foldes.
Mærk efter og føl hulken der spreder sig kilometer væk.
Kig op og vær forundret.
Alting er ikke godt og okay er ikke et rigtigt ord.
Ting misforstås ofte.
Men forstå mig ret.
Det sker og det er sket.
En tøven opstår for hvad kan du føle og hvad kan du se.
Er ikke det samme.
Nej tværtimod.
At se er solen.
Men hvem elsker ikke månen.
Om natten folder vi os ud.
Til toner langt over vores syn.
Toner der rammer hjertet.
Toner der hiver os ned op og rundt
Og pludselig er vi i et cirkus.
Der er mange mennesker og alligevel ser man kun en.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
Endu en dag hvor jeg kan mærke helt indefra min knogler at det bliver en dag med uro i kroppen
det er ubehageligt at min krop sumre og ryster
jeg kan ikke sidde stille
jeg har allermest lyst til at løbe rundt bare for at få den irriterende sumren væk eller kradse min hud op så jeg kun mærker det
det er sjovt for hver gang jeg har sådan en dag lægger jeg meget mere mærke til min vejrtræknings rytme og det ret så ubehageligt det får mig til at gå i helt panik
det føltes nemlig som at min vejrtræknings rytme er forkert hvilket giver mig endu mere uro
som så får mig til at overtænke
når jeg så overtænker går det næsten altid galt og forvirre kun mig selv meget mere end jeg er i forvejen.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
As it fell out on a long summer's day,
Two lovers they sat on a hill;
They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.
"I see no harm by you, Margarèt,
And you see none by mee;
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
A rich wedding you shall see."
Fair Margaret sat in her bower-windòw,
Combing her yellow hair;
There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
As they were a riding near.
Then down she layd her ivory combe,
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bower,
But ne'er came alive in't again.
When day was gone, and night was come,
And all men fast asleep,
Then came the spirit of Fair Marg'ret,
And stood at William's feet.
"Are you awake, sweet William?" shee said,
"Or, sweet William, are you asleep?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
And me of my winding sheet."
When day was come, and night was gone,
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady sayd,
"My dear, I have cause to weep.
"I dreamt a dream, my dear ladyè,
Such dreames are never good:
I dreamt my bower was full of red 'wine,'
And my bride-bed full of blood."
"Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir,
They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of red 'wine,'
And thy bride-bed full of blood."
He called up his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, "I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,
By the leave of my ladiè."
And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,
He knocked at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethrèn
To let sweet William in.
Then he turned up the covering-sheet;
"Pray let me see the dead;
Methinks she looks all pale and wan.
She hath lost her cherry red.
"I'll do more for thee, Margarèt,
Than any of thy kin:
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win."
With that bespake the seven brethrèn,
Making most piteous mone,
"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone."
"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse,
By day, nor yet by night.
"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
Deal on your cake and your wine:
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."
Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for sorrow.
Margaret was buryed in the lower chancèl,
And William in the higher:
Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
And out of his a briar.
They grew till they grew unto the church top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lover's knot,
Which made all the people admire.
Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 10:16 AM UTC
Nu står det klart for mig;
vi skal være nøgne sammen
På denne aften
under denne gule himmel
over denne røde vin
i dette lys, skat
Du har helt ret;
det skal jo være os
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
i heard a sound once and went into a
dream went to another place somewhere
else. the road was grey and purple and
twisted magnificently over flush green hills
covered in swaying gently waving grass. the sky
glowed orange and a sliver moon slunk
like an injured creature crawling over the
horizon and stars poured their lights onto the
street. the houses were rustic and white and their
windows glowed and flickered and blue-hued
roofs that peak out from between the dips
in the landscape glimmer softly in the light.
the air smells sweet and deep and carries the fragrance
of spice and pepper and of cedar the
breeze is warm and welcome and
it,s familiar. you are glad to be back.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 6:16 PM UTC
Luften er tom og tung
Det er køligt
Jeg har valgt at cykle en tur
En måske god vane jeg har fået
Cykler ud langs skanderborgvej
Det er ret stille kun nogen enkle biller kommer forbi
Og kun nogen enkle tåre triller ned af mine kinder
Tårerne er en blanding af hvor godt jeg har og hvor skidt jeg har det
Jeg kan ikke finde ud af hvordan jeg har det.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
They shot me in the south
Hung my brother up to die
Wet and ret swinging to death
Till he **** himself
One summer shower to clean the mess
But not enough rain
To wash away
The blood stains on the tree
In all honesty
I am grateful
That those hateful
Mother ******* shot me
For their brutality was the story
Written on the skin of my kin
Whips and chains
Spirit maimed
In the years that
That injustice remained
Trail of tears
Stolen children
Beaten
But I got off just getting shot
They burnt my brother
And his husband
Turned them
Charcoal and barbecue
Poured gasoline
To see them flailing and wailing
Didn’t even see it on the news
And all I can say
Is I am grateful
I didn’t go out that way
Ain’t that ****** up
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
Slab Of Flab Protrudes From Ab
twas an incremental subtle expansion of waist
most likely aside effects of one
or all prescription medication
to stave off severe melancholy,
social anxiety, panic attack, et cetera
whereby most everything thy tongue did taste
immediately delivered a randy paunch
to former washboard
smooth as a fresh application of gesso like paste
readying canvass
for partially naked self-portrait masterpiece
depicting naked body laced
with flat as a washboard physique
unlike present dis graced
whereat when sending a photograph
of shirtless self-try with futility
utilizing photoshop to get erased
displeasing equatorial zone of anatomy
saddled with unwanted
fatty tissue that defaced
proportionate rock hard stomach
with a slender man
about five foot and ten-inch build
evincing an aura of being chaste
gone forever analogous to temptation
gobbling house constructed
of cake and confectionery
that nearly did likewise to Hansel and Gretel
readying their not quite plump enough bodies
tubby slathered with baste
yet just in the nick of time
the two abandoned children aced
the sinister plot outwitting
cannibalistic cackling croaking old woman
inducing to break out into song singing
Sarasponda, sarasponda, sarasponda rat tat tat
Sarasponda, sarasponda, sarasponda rat tat tat
A doray-oh, A doray-boomday-oh
A doray-boomday ret set set
Ah say pah say oh.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
you took me by surprise
in the middle of the night
the slightest breeze and
there you were
by my side
you spoke to me
ever so gently
a song without its measures
no staff nor stand
oh-- you sang to me
ever so wonderflly
like a song without its
compositionality (theo-ret-i-cal-ity)
just a melody in the dark
on a lonely winter's night
you come to me
like a melody in the dark
there was not even a spark
not a fleeting glance nor tiny touch
there was not a single sign of you at all
oh-- just a melody in the dark
on a cold dark winter's night
you come to me
like a melody in the dark
not a signature of time
not a rhythm not a rhyme
you went unnoted
like a melody in the dark
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 11:37 PM UTC
Within Pantheon Of Classical Gods
stricken with affliction,
sans amyotrophic lateral sclerosis
(also known as ALS,
or Lou Gehrig's disease)
in the prime of his youth wrought
underestimation, vitiated termination,
targeted sequestration,
solidified rigidification,
rendered quandary,
per paralyzation obliterated,
nixed navigation,
morphed motivation,
marked limitation
kickstarted infatuation,
jinxed immobilization,
induced intellectual hyperfunction,
garnered fundamental fascination,
fanned fabled exploration,
devastation demonstrated
delectable declaration,
cosmological constant comet
clinched, chained certain capitulation,
brainstormed benefaction,
benediction attribution assured.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
his longevity (marked by bing permanently
linkedin, hitched, drafted
to a custom made wheelchair,
his brilliant unsullied scientific genius)
endured seventy six orbitz veer
ring round the nearest star,
though seemingly motionless, he freed their
ret tickle physiochemical insight
encompassing, revolutionizing,
and jaw-dropping, revelations
with mortals he did share
transcendent seeded plentifully
mental limitless groundswell
fed his fecund rare
if eyed cogitated, formulated, insulated
(infinitesimal nook and cranny) force queer
lee disproportionate overly endowed capacity
bracketed with mar ching madness peer
ring with laser, razor, and taser sharp mind
(or a minuscule approximate near
facsimile thereof) scrutinizing, positing,
and discerning astronomical phenomena mere
via concentrating gifted limned, and rapacious,
though processes affixed
with a visage mordantly like King Lear.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC