"retaken" poems
512
The Soul has Bandaged moments—
When too appalled to stir—
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her—
Salute her—with long fingers—
Caress her freezing hair—
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover—hovered—o’er—
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme—so—fair—
The soul has moments of Escape—
When bursting all the doors—
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings upon the Hours,
As do the Bee—delirious borne—
Long Dungeoned from his Rose—
Touch Liberty—then know no more,
But Noon, and Paradise—
The Soul’s retaken moments—
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the Song,
The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue—
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The Life that tied too tight escapes
Will ever after run
With a prudential look behind
And spectres of the Rein—
The Horse that scents the living Grass
And sees the Pastures smile
Will be retaken with a shot
If he is caught at all—
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My dear love,
Don't' cry,
Everything I gave you, can never be taken away.
Hush now,
Be happy,
Our Souls touched,
An impossibility that only fate would know,
That two hearts needed to meet and lift each other up,
After falling so far.
The things I gave you will remain with you forever,
They will never be retaken,
My love will be with you forever.
I only wish I could give you more of my heart,
To carry with you after I'm gone,
Stay strong my princess.
And when we're apart,
I will hold tight,
The treasure of our last kiss goodbye.
Copyright © 2017 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 7:07 PM UTC
Icicles hang from the cannons of my love
The bridge was taken , lost , and retaken
Many times before it was blown up
Now ice lays at the bottom ,
my forkless will
Cold rock kisses freeze lips
Brushable embraces hide their warmth
The harsh abandoned illusions
Come cold chested to breathe
Sparrows come reciting Bible verses
They flutter leaving debris
Of fractured nominclatures
Destined not to be
If I fire the cannon's of love
The icicles will shatter
****** to the ground of loud booms
But no one will hear
The shattering of hearts
Nor catch the falling icicles
Still the icicles remain
On the cannons of love
For all time
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
It'll be alright by the lightening
it helps us walk like itself;
walking up through the ceiling window
of my flat
we link myth and flesh
amongst the cherub jokes and sinuous cloud,
hands shaking pulse in the concaves,
death dance and phoenix breeze,
the prayer and the wet
rolling down the slates
harmony in our butts, rolling the storm back, and watching it all
happen.
The night spills its last beer like weighted sweat.
The opera accepts our tickets and slices us down with gallous applause
Where do our limbs stop being the night?
They do not, so it seems, and spread the thunder out
from our one hand
to another;
the nails, and skull, of one, open
fist, retaken-
and driven up
from the worlds core, remedy in scent
the talent of our blood,
damming the poison, allowed to evolve
inside cell
and be another - celestial light, that not only drives the heard,
but is at home in the energy of waking
life.
The lightening passing down through gelatenous night clouds,
caring that there is only sense in the warmth of our mind, our synapse grace,
the float of our hands moving away from the globe,
un lapin mouvements de warren
farmer gathering his flock as the night moves
chain smoker watching you cook
another reason to storm the bellowing halls, one more toast to the sodden market,
brings the landscape to a halt, and strokes out its weariness as apes walk
the amazonian peaks, as the sunrise settles down
and into us; summits
made of nothing,
but the story of your day, all that makes a man
know
and remember
that yours
are always waiting
and are willed by things
that I will never know
completely, but walk like lightening;
creating,
when the storm comes.
Letting me know
it's all **** false,
if not
you.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
With pleading eyes filled with tears
All hope was fading fast
She knelt in submission to the one
Who should be the last
Immense pain inflicted deeply now
No choice was left to make
To the one she hated most she bowed
As his life she vowed to take
Taken from the one she loved against her will
Her eyes shot sparks of fire
Still holding on with heart pride filled
Great courage she acquired
With strength unknown to men of skill
She lunges for his knife
Takes back the pride that he did steal
When he took her as his wife
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 12:12 PM UTC
As a boat atop a glittering,
fragile sea, I am.
Storms frequent the waters,
and threaten me to capsize.
Ensnared in a titanic battle;
the meeting of the infinite heavens
and the untamable deep.
I shout to Thee in a full desperation, and Behold!
- my ropes become taught, the helm is retaken,
and I endure on the grand Stallion.
In the beginnings of the ceased wind I praise and laud and sing.
But aught the wind stop...
the sun, the flat, and the ease overtake
my vigilant spirit.
And how my tongue goes stale,
my muscles as a sleeping giant.
I thirst, but until the brink of Death...
I see it not.
You find me there, pondering the drink of Salt,
which becomes of a man Deliriousness and Violence.
Just as I yield to jump,
and swim that endless swim,
Your Right Hand catches me,
on all but a whim.
Fortitude regained, and rid of shame;
With a visage of stone, and straight before;
I unfurl my sail, and proceed,
back into the gail.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 11:54 AM UTC
no one spoke
we got back home and
closed the door
coaxed fire lit and
sat well back
a brew in hand we
bent, compared
the lessons as
that music played
next room, next door
the child outside
his laughter welled
decision made
and past retaken
set afoot now
walk the path
to fireplace we
took the urn and
spilled the ash
into the flame
now we're all done
playing his old game
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 9:14 PM UTC
It's been four and a half years since I took my dog, and left the rainy little state of Washington. At seventeen, you never expected me to make a life for myself. I was just your incomplete daughter, whose name you cringed saying. I shouldn't like girls and I shouldn't smoke *** Music is only a dream and poetry is no real goal. Abigail. You gave me a beautiful name, one I used to cherish. On my birthday, when you (in your drunken stupor) sat me down, over a bottle of wine, I never thought animosity would come from your heart.
I was never empty before, under the misconception of love. You called me hollow, and that word can never be retaken. So I have taken that name, and with it I will pave my own existence.
I am Hollow, nothing else, nothing more.
I am a shell, void of life, lost in the sands.
I can't settle down, because I am cursed to emptiness.
Who wants me?
After all, I am Hollow.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
At the foot of my balcony,
there was an inviting hole,
allowing my eyes' vision to enter,
luminescent colors burning in my head,
like a child's fantastic playground,
retaken from memory's debris.
Running out of time,
night's veil faintly glowing,
stars reaching out to me,
asking me witheringly,
why I would treat my soul beneath contempt,
why would they appreciate my absence,
my whiskey's glass,
cascading,
down the shade's slide.
Breathy wind skimming over my soaked lips,
disappointment prowling through trembling legs,
the joy of night,
taking one's leave,
the sighs of dawn,
crossing the threshold
into waking life,
tears steadily drying out,
curling my consciousness insentient,
ruptured hole,
denying my presence too.
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 7:41 PM UTC