"revering" poems
Some Jamie snugly in me hand,
A cause for celebration,
Today, I found me promised land:
The home of Irish nation.
I dyed me hair shamrock green,
I made me teeth look orange,
(A spliff of Carroll's in between)
A sliver of Dutch courage.
I mingle with the leprechauns
(A shamrock on me chest)
Not in a thousand years gone,
I’m messing with the best.
Atop the jolly rainbow,
In hand – a *** of gold,
Revering, till I find me rest,
The stories I’ve been told.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 2:49 AM UTC
He’s like the tide
A surfer must enjoy his ride
Dive in and swim, revering him
Forgetting what’s outside
His waves are wondrous, warm, enchanting
Adventure filled in all their crashing
The ocean though
Has rules you know, and those it cannot break
For as I try to fight the tide
I find it’s my mistake
No Siren’s Song
No tug along
Could change his constant wake
As good as it may feel to me
To bask amidst his splendor
His salty sea breath smothers me
Unable to surrender
He’s faithful as he’s always been
Unchanging, strong, and genuine
It’s me, you see
Too wild and free
To float in him forever
Does he love me?
I think so
But oceans know their bounds
So as I go beyond his flow
The follow earthly sounds
Perhaps he’d like to follow me
To soar the mountain peaks
To leave the sea, dance blissfully
With sunlight on his cheeks
Perhaps he would create with me
a world of our design
Alas he knows that sea is sea
And he can never follow
Does he love me?
I know so
Although he can’t come with me
To sandy shore, find earth’s galore
*** he is he – part of the sea
Entrapped by gravity
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 4:21 PM UTC
151
Mute thy Coronation—
Meek my Vive le roi,
Fold a tiny courtier
In thine Ermine, Sir,
There to rest revering
Till the pageant by,
I can murmur broken,
Master, It was I—
4.2k
our bread and butter...
*the web of stars,
the scatter of moons
and orbiting planets.*
the entire universe
harvested and crammed
into the metre,
of a poetic verse.
our bread and butter...
*harnessing the regal rays of the sun.
inflating the fluff of quiet clouds.
drinking up the winds of the weather.
revering the magic in the flight of birds.*
we fill our cups to the brim...
with fantastical dreams
and let spill
over parchment
the cornucopia of idealised words.
our bread and butter...
the incessant peeling and picking
on healing wounds.
of which we have learnt to savour...
*let bleed
the willing blood...
feed the seeds
with impending flood.*
nurture to fruition
thoughts stunted in discretion.
bring to light
thoughts hidden in the nether.
our bread and butter...
we dip...
the nibs,
of our word worn feathers.
let them sink,
shallow beneath the surface
to the sanctity of a familiar place.
*casting our trials,
and tribulations...
pent up emotions,
and what we think
unto paper
with the burn of
everlasting ink.*
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
Hear ye my statute, men of Attica--
Ye who of bloodshed judge this primal cause;
Yea, and in future age shall Aegeus's host
Revere this court of jurors. This the hill
Of Ares, seat of Amazons, their tent,
What time 'gainst Theseus, breathing hate, they came,
Waging fierce battle, and their towers upreared,
A counter-fortress to Acropolis;--
To Ares they did sacrifice, and hence
This rock is titled Areopagus.
Here then shall sacred Awe, to Fear allied,
By day and night my lieges hold from wrong,
Save if themselves do innovate my laws,
If thou with mud, or influx base, bedim
The sparkling water, nought thou'lt find to drink.
Nor Anarchy, nor Tyrant's lawless rule
Commend I to my people's reverence;--
Nor let them banish from their city Fear;
For who 'mong men, uncurbed by fear, is just?
Thus holding Awe in seemly reverence,
A bulwark for your State shall ye possess,
A safeguard to protect your city walls,
Such as no mortals otherwhere can boast,
Neither in Scythia, nor in Pelops's realm.
Behold! This Court august, untouched by bribes,
Sharp to avenge, wakeful for those who sleep,
Establish I, a bulwark to this land.
This charge, extending to all future time,
I give my lieges. Meet it as ye rise,
Assume the pebbles, and decide the cause,
Your oath revering. All hath now been said.
3.6k
beautiful fair maiden
tending her mistress
revering in her muses .
long auburn tresses
come undone,
once a braid
embellished with ribbons
deep lavender color
as maiden’s eyes.
entering parlor
the comely chevalier
stunned by his presence.
voltage lightening sparkles
for time stopped.
remaining composed
casting downward
to make her leave,
empress needs tending affairs.
smitten she was
aghast a fool
she might've looked
her skin flushed
with reverence to behold.
unbeknownst to the privy
betrothal is in making
for he paid a pretty pence.
enchanted ever after
cinderella no more.~~copyrightlorilynn2011
Jun 16, 2011
Jun 16, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
Revering the sight of your curves in the sheets
Titillated are my thoughts to which has brought to exist
Letting the water fall emanate strongly
while having my fingers swim through simultaneously
Yours were tied down on the promises I’ve kept
Blind folded as it pleasurably gets
Trust is the bond that made us so sure
To let each other have this type of love so soon
Sensually it may come, oomph we may be are
The sight of you naked is a form of an art
Beautifully it truly is; ***** it may get
Love is the truth, no matter how hot it could get
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 7:09 AM UTC
We shall wipe you OUT
We will ERASE you
We are the children's of Cain and that is what we do
I come from the lands of the Baobab tree and Cocoa Tree
Steep in the tradition of revering life and nature all free
By my wits and honest endeavours toiled and earned my fee
Never harmed nor injured never stole even a penny wee
Paid my dues and gave when I could always busy as a bee
Now YOU the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
I come from a land that knows parched earth and hunger
Where great rivers flow yet clean water comes in little beaker
Proud animals run free and only the rodents are for hunter
Trees are fertile with fruits aplenty and vegetables are litter
In gleeful kin and merry we share harvest with each other
Now you the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
What is my crime pray tell me when in honest endeavour
I gave and shared my wages and food to an errant neighbour
Who repaid my kindness by robbing mine with cruel vigour
And whilst I remorsed such vileness with fervent pained ardor
They riposted, a trip back to your jungle is what we will conjure
Now YOU the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
Children's of Cain know nothing but death and destruction
You came to ours and plundered all you could with ruction
You stole, fornicated, ruined and destroyed with glib seduction
Modern times has merely refined your vainglorious disposition
Distinguished misrulers, liars and evil masters of misappropations
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
Children's of Cain OTHERS know all YOU do is ****
Like your FATHER killed his BROTHER
Like your FATHER killed his guiltless BROTHER
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
Put a price on yourself.
Tell me, what's the value of your life?
When did metal become your god,
slithering upon your wrists
and enveloped within the confines
of your lips.
You practice your idolatry,
revering the cold embrace
of stainless steel.
Put a price on yourself.
Tell me, what's the value of your life?
How did you get here,
teeth clattering on your god
of false hope?
Put under so much pressure
to leave a mark on the world,
make a difference, be different
(but not too different)
that instead you settle
for leaving scars in your wake.
The marks on your skin
and the ache left in their hearts-
is that the target you were aiming for?
Put a price on yourself.
Tell me, what's the value of your life?
Stop.
Breathe.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
I..am a collector of words;
Words that weave together
To form the clauses
that blossom into stories; people’s stories.
Words that keep secrets, spin lies,
Howl profound confessions from the rooftops of minds
Rushing out and over the ledges of lips to fall
On ears that do not listen—floating
Story after story, finally reaching the ground—forgotten.
On the sidewalk lay the slain and mangled things;
Victims of gravity—of silence that refused to break—
Of ears that refused to listen.
i… am the undertaker of the alphabet city.
I pick up the fallen, garbled, and lifeless;
Carting them away to the depths of my mind
Cataloguing, keeping, revering the reverberating vibrations.
my ears hear what is yearning to be heard
they acknowledge the wants of language.
I practice the Resuscitation of monologues
and the Defibrillation of forgotten phrases
an EMT of etymology,
I coagulate the bloodied and heartfelt confessions of lovers
suturing the spaces between breathless sentences.
prophetic Disambiguations clutch at gray matter and claw through flesh
tearing the tethered syllables from which meanings are formed.
I twist plot like a lemon twists martinis
Weaving tales that intertwine like the digits in math
or my hands when you held them in your own.
clasped shut.
tongue-tied is just another term for french kiss
and it is hard for you to find the right words to say
because I, a collector, have caught every last one from your lips.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
Revering all holy vessels
manifest and blessed
may this heart
held inside us
harbour
God's
Divine Light
May this heart
held inside us
learn to become
a chalice
for
our own
unconditional love
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
Where do you worship when you've
been exuded
from the fire escapes of every building
that you've ever been blessed inside,
when all the holy skin
you've been revering night after night
comes to a shuddering end
like a life line slipping
out of chafed fingers? Sirens wail
wantonly during the peak of the moon's
reign, and
is it an ambulance or
a body that will salvage you in
your most vulnerable
hour, after
you finish playing the part of the secret anti-hero
and have nothing left to give
but platonic ecstasy? Cheap
lighters
are littered behind your departure
like footprints, but
the useless
manifestos you preach behind every moan
won't ever be forsaken
in your trail of dust and suggestions
of abeyant arson,
because you're just living how
you were born to endure: like a star, burning,
burning, and far away.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
Petals
Under all skies you need an umbrella made from perennial flowers that can block cruel rays and in
Stormy weather they become a colorful shield arrayed as a ghost army standing on a hill the colors
Of their banners are richly flowing they reach out over the former battle field in the valley a solemnity
Is carried to lofty heights revering the fallen honoring those who stand and await the next call to
Sacrifice this is your awareness under your slight canopy of blushing colors blues at the center are deep
And rich that suggest deep springs as you retrieve this bucket and it sloshes out over the side the closer
It gets to the surface the blue lightens to sky blue at the tips wondrous calm it delivers with a pulsating
Surging that invigorates the whole being of a sojourner without map and compass you tread to the
Beyond where you will find designs and integrity that is sweeping and bold a bag of tricks left by
Mother Nature when she was the lone interior decorator of earth’s natural places she received her
Genius from the same one that gave flowers their fragrance everything holds sun light delicately some is
Lighting others is for splitting light into light and shadow creating just the right effect a soothe that is
As big as the earth’s circumference with the tiniest touches the blooming draws the burnished brown
Sand from desert stores to the sheer grey granite mountain’s alluring views across vistas to the blue
Great waters shores an earthy child an her mother has just strolled through the comforts of your mind
And soul just a slight gust of wind to stir you to wonder about the blessing that are all around even in
The mix of life’s woes you are told you are loved and have a future flowers rain clouds sunshine they
Are just part of a promise largely told so you can walk with lions bold and shake off the tremble and
strain that sometimes arise out of a fallen world
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 4:16 PM UTC
Leave it to him to go and uproot the gradually established
foundation,
with a mere declaration of inclination, (ah, these new sensations)
that was everything I thought I knew about *** and my anticipated participation in it.
I was confident and comfortable, I admit it,
to settling warm and boring in the list of 'never been horny'.
Never adorning to the glory of the morning
after
where pillows and sheets are shared
with spoonings and sweet nothings and laughter, and oh, how I
care
to finally share with him places inside myself I've never dared
let come to light before—this sensation entirely new and rare
and candidly honest.
To be fair, it isn't easy for me to express, and oh how I would
attest
to the best way to attain truth and satisfaction, for it's a rickety bridge to cross when I've claimed
I can't experience ****** attraction.
But my darling whatever it is you've awakened demands I take action
because I am listening to the hum of desire
and with it feel the roasting of my ***** in that brand new fire
like the Renaissance and a brightening sky at dawn.
It's withdrawn, but symbolic and poised, like the flight of a dove.
After all, isn't there a reason they call it
Making Love?
All other romantic pursuits forgone,
You’ve thus far managed to do the unthinkable; you turn me on
and I can feel the lust searing from the inside,
out,
while I'm hearing your revering and circumstance prevents me to
doubt
that this hedonistic dream I'm fearing has been nearing me
in an ambush that began with September thirteen—
an exciting, hazardous route
down a path of love and a cornucopia of potential yet to be seen.
I love you not as a passing season or a fleeting
whim;
I love you terribly and without practical reason;
your name glued to my heart with toxic adhesion; a world without you now proves pretty
dim
And the *** part—
Life is intimate and if I'm going to be, too, it'll be with him.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
The winds of time whisper but one tune and it enthuses-
The gloomy senses of a dreamy person with a shining mind.
Says to him; your life resides in travelling the world, dear son:
The waves call you unto them, with sun o'erhead and deep within.
In silent dreams cruises the aspiration of an enigmatic soul-
On the calm waves of youth, driven by a carefree fuel.
For the ocean is vast and glorious; and there are numerous isles
On which hopes could be docked and a life could be harboured.
Every person desires at least once, to live like a vagabond-
To move about places relentlessly and to flow like the wind.
Bearing the scent of people and the sound of life they go,
From place to place, revering everything from a corner of their souls.
-The Silent Poet
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
When people kneel before the Roman cross
as before something sacred, I'm at a loss:
they're revering an ancient torture device.
Still, they claim "it's about his sacrifice."
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
no money is needed to be brave.
not a dime is needed to show respect,
nor to grant privacy to another being, no matter how small.
nothing is required of you to be kind;
to care about the smallest things
that most people overlook:
feeling the moth on your leg
or paying attention to where
the wind is gusting from.
[just looking at a tree
and revering it for standing
tall and strong, daily.]
there's no charge to be aware.
and in that awareness comes
a certain knowing that
in due time all things will come to you-
nothing that is forced is
ever happening at the right time.
wait and it shall find you.
move and it shall seek.
nature has it's own economy:
it is an economy that accepts
love as currency and
the exchange rate changes
moment by moment.
in this world, i think,
the value is ever increasing.
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
a wake
sprung light from death
and streamed the heat to my face.
A column, and a call
“leave your mask in bed!”
And it’s light
(though it won’t seem like it.)
Here:
below our crests; over our troughs —
I’m climbing a wire: an altar!
All is white and I am The Starkest Black
Now prostrating and revering myself.
He speaks: “tame a wild animal”.
I am.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 10:29 AM UTC
sometimes my thoughts speak louder
than the vision reality gives me.
pulling me into a reverie
out in this place
called
reality
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 6:56 AM UTC
Way back, way back
Rewind time like a VHS
Way back, way back
Yesterday was feeling stressed
Today I am feeling changed
Things don't have to be the same
Way back, way back
I feel just like a kid again
Walk around the world with wonder in my eyes
From the darkness I emerged, you would love it if you tried
You've got to accentuate the positive
We're all gods and goddesses
Never falling off, 'cause we're on top of it
Watched the topic shift quick from an obelisk
To talkin' shhh, I don't really get why people follow it
'cause last night - I had an epiphany
The ambrosia full of life we can grab, no hostility
Way back, way back, see I was really free
But as the days past, gained masks like I was shielding me
Now there is no fear in me, I'm way back revering Lee
I don't **** a beat - I pick it up, it's healing me
Now I only deal in peace, surrendered to my dying wish
To just be climbing higher, Mike - remember how you livened it
Likened to the older you, both in the past and what's to pass
And what's to pass? It wasn't bad, I know this 'cause I'm coming back
Hard to be the chosen when you're lost in awfully deep emotion
Prophecies unspoken, walking tokens, ought to see awoken
Qualities unfrozen, brought to motion harmonies and woven
All this in a piece, no apologies for being open
Calling pleas, you know him as a quiet kid, who tried to spit
Might have tripped a couple times, but that's alright, I write to live
Mic is gripped tight in my fist, I've got my own back
Own path, own goals, no wrath, all soul
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
The colors of your memory, you can no longer contrast as they swirl into one another.At times they are vibrant as though you are vividly living them experiencing them,and at times they are dull as though they have faded and been acid washed.
Your past slips into the present and present slips into the past. Some days you love me;as though it was the first time you are holding me in the palms of promises. But there are days when my name never slips your tongue and I am a mere stranger to you.
The memories are no longer stored in your mind, but on gigabytes that I have to play – that has become your storage and retrieval. Your memory has become pixelated, but you can no longer remember them as though it was your own.
Some days you’re on a carousel of memories in your mind; revering and your tongue has forgotten its language. At times you speak eloquently, but at times they are stars that are unlinked and lost. You used to weave constellations but now it’s difficult to put in a thread into the needle.
Thread of your memories begins to wear and the tales woven through ancestry fray with details as the world slips away and the thread unwinds. You try revising the tales, but the thinning at ends of your recollection slowly fades.
The scent infused with ambiance sends echoes of familiar places, resulting in you having spasms of remembrance while the flutters of moth wings beat at the edge of your mind.
There are days when you become a shell of yourself, as your pupils remain fragments detached from reality. I watch you as you wind yourself back in front of my eyes. Ebbing and flowing, freezing and releasing; trying to make sense of the confusion and panic that riles in your mind.
Though you feel, your stars are growing cold and feel like an ethereal that has collapsed, your smile is still the brightest star in the furthest galaxy. It is made of combustion of crimson blue yonder and candy hues.
Though your palms are dreams wrinkled dry, and your memories are falling like baby tooth, as the color of your speech is bleached and you frantically scavenge for memories to ground and make sense - I’ll be there to hold your scattered mind with patience and love you the days you won’t remember me as your own
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 8:32 AM UTC
A moment of reprised sentience retrospectively retrograding on its own
Deeds done ago
Revering its alter right
lead as stones and alive
Substract whats unchanneled revivified its denials
Polarize whats neccessary and in ;undeniably benéfact
If that was riddling you away
And but dont only be able to dictate
Learn to appreciate each imprint
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
all is now auburn colored
from the flush leaves on the trees
to those that keep the ground covered
and those flying on autumn’s breeze
O fall! paint us rugged oaks
or the softest red maples
O autumn! use brilliant strokes
for every hue you are able
lay waste to the summer heat
and hold off the winter frost
a buffer built by those winds fleet
gentleness of this form is lost
O but Autumn comes with grace!
never a hint of cruelty
even less than a lovely face
alas you will fade brutally!
O how we’ll mourn when you’re gone!
and drink to empty our cups!
the tavern ablaze until dawn!
honoring yours’ and winter’s crux
glasses in the air we cheer
revering bountiful gifts
full plates and full glasses of beer
the cornucopia we lift
owes nothing to your cold death
but instead to supple life
that gave to the land its last breath
until we had a harvest rife
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 5:06 AM UTC
Three times, your grimy nails click across this table, miming funerary chimes,
Three times, you began, according to plan, clicking the number of man and a second,
A second more and you might have reached this poor core of this sore heart of mine,
But a second less meant one yes less than a first caress.
And here, we're putting shells to our ears, revering hidden purpose in our own austere inventions
The Beasts' beauty increased with every delicious warning from the now deceased sacrilegious priests.
A gross of Gods toast to the ghosts of their creations, morose men and mavericks that left their posts
And a hundred bones creak from the sound of their moans, because they've reached their completion of the known.
That's how many times the heart beats in a minute, we admit, playing hard to get,
And that means something, we insist in our in-betweens behind the scenes.
Yes,
That means something.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 12:20 PM UTC
Minds Golden, Minds Open,
Heart's fulfilled, yet hurt and swollen,
I try,
others deny,
"failure viewed as our only progress"
Making sensible souls cry,
"Mind's are allergic, soul's anemic...
To any source of Wisdom, souls not in agreement,
Self: not viewed as source of achievement,
Ourselves of course, a source of Truth: never convenient.
Actors: our politicians, revering, of only folly,
Stalling our hopes, for a future of love & glory
Unwritten stories, none making the attempt,
Of Liking self, of loving self, all have sins to repent,
Histories shallow, written by dark lords of shadows,
Books for/by crooks, truth send to the gallows,
all deceptive in action and looks, all heart hallowed,
Down to flesh and bone marrow, even beauty, ugly and sallow.
All fighting, what for? what are these rivalries?
Tragedies, parodies, None perceiving our true enemies,
Salute, debuts, soldier fighting with honor,
Notes taken, yet truth forsaken, orders issued by monsters & robbers.
Sure let's us all slander, to any, if any, speaks of truth,
Markets, targets, to spread poison, sickness to our youth.
Send soldiers abroad, let's watch them fight as we rob,
Soldiers die, leaders never cry. They're Problem Solved!
Yet, among a few: fortunate Mind's Golden,
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 4:40 PM UTC