"rime" poems
Upon a midnight’s visage airy,
T’was a lake frozen by fairy,
…and weighing on mind’s tonnage bearing?
There for ice’ opaqueness winter’s seized,
…and arms encased in rime; trees.
“Oh my,”
At dark of sky thought the eye of something troubling upon my mind?
And the frosty cloudy glass,
Take to it upon my axe,
…and the sting of shards will pass.
And will I eat at last.
Thusly, thrusting through the skull, wettened, weakened for the cold.
…and burden carry I with me,
So encased in rime is he,
Doth make of fishing’s night a chore,
Something that I do abhor!
…and stare I did into that sea,
…my frory breathe in imagery,
Dismay it did fluster me, when my eye captured by Sea,
...and in whirling thoughts could reflection see?
…and something else came back with me.
Pool with drops, light curves, dark rings; in vapid mind now find nothing...
T’was a misty sheen seen after showers?
A damp muggy place of reflecting hours,
Typhoid strange did make snowing;
The Asteraceae of my wilted flowers,
…and that Wren philosophically sings,
…and at lake a lone be -ing,
Appearing peering my soliloquy, I am therefore I into thee.
…and fixed calm stared back at me,
“What pray tell I Enquiry?”
Did something else look back at me?
...and glaring gaze thus did see, something I had hid from me,
…and gawking in my mind did ogle; a malevolence of thought once frugal...
A gaping, oscillating, pierced Abyss, forced farther back into consciousness...
Deeper in and further still,
Climb atop Old Arthur’s hill,
…and the winged Raven’s nearer, reflected on me in my mirror?
…and time did pass turning frozen dying, icy tears of sadness from my crying,
…so did silent Hume release, all the pain that’s troubling me; whilst frozen frame thus held in peace?
I fell forward and felt submerged,
Both characters, both now have merged.
And that creature which accompanied me?
Found a solace back in wine dark sea.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
Who cares if they watch our love?
— Fact they rather'd see:
It matters not in this cove,
In this sprawl of love and sweep:
Re-lose those eyes in this rime,
Then folds will lay and swap:
Then pink and red would stain our skin,
And fight we would to stay on top:
And whites of eyes will sil'ly appear,
Too busy we are enveloped in we:
In all this thing of our love,
Of kiss, and rush, and kiss, and flee.
Sep 12, 2021
Sep 12, 2021 at 1:46 AM UTC
Advent Rosary
Dark Advent is a silent waiting time
When autumn chills into pale, year-end days
And joy seems smothered by hard-frosting rime:
Cold is the debt that spring to winter pays
The seasons link to seasons in a chain,
The chain of being that links, also, our souls,
Seasons and souls, not always without pain:
Summer’s wild lightning falls and thunder rolls.
Linked to us too, rose by mystical rose,
This holy Advent is Our Lady’s Grace
To us who wait in exile sad; she knows
Where souls and seasons sing, the Night, the Place.
Seasons and souls, linked to days dreary-dim:
Follow them with roses to Bethlehem
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
‘Tis time to bid Winter adieu.
Make way for purple hollyhocks,
while crocus are just peeking through
last summer’s row of garden rocks.
Bulbs warm, thankful for frozen days.
‘Tis time to bid Winter adieu.
Rime frost replaced with morning haze,
writing it’s own Spring song haiku.
Buds, blooms and fledglings hatching through
with colors for our hearts to swell.
‘Tis time to bid Winter adieu
at the sway of the first bluebell
No more snow's argent glitter gleam,
the Season’s bold promise rings true.
With the last broken ice downstream,
‘tis time to bid Winter adieu.
*Empat Empat
Early form of rhyming verse from Malaysia.
8 or 10 syllables per line.
A. b. a. b.
c. A. c. a.
a. d. A. d.
e. a. e. A.*
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
When I set out for Lyonnesse,
A hundred miles away,
The rime was on the spray,
And starlight lit my lonesomeness
When I set out for Lyonnesse
A hundred miles away.
What would bechance at Lyonnesse
While I should sojourn there
No prophet durst declare,
Nor did the wisest wizard guess
What would bechance at Lyonnesse
While I should sojourn there.
When I came back from Lyonnesse
With magic in my eyes,
All marked with mute surmise
My radiance rare and fathomless,
When I came back from Lyonnesse
With magic in my eyes!
2.9k
A kite—that's something I would like.
When ground is damp and lambs are born,
The kite floats up to lofty height.
When sky is fleeced and trees are crisp,
The kite is pulled up forks of light.
When brittle leaves are shed and blown,
The kite is thrown into their flight.
When dewy grass is glazed in rime,
The kite on frosty field alights.
When frost creeps over, all is white.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 6:45 AM UTC
Thrift Shop Confessional
Old carts squeak down re-sale aisles
"One of," "two of,"
Sometimes "three of" items
Tempting treasure-sifting shoppers,
Bargain-needing families,
Women seeking up-brand names at low-brand prices...
Our wives, followed by their husbands,
Acquiescent, but quiescently seeking
Seeking a thrift shop oasis.
A cast-off dining set beckons,
Sturdy enough, if a little battered,
To make us solemnly content to wait
Carted clothing trundling
Off to fitting rooms.
He shuffled up with a foolish grin.
"I think I'll join this convocation of
Waiting gentlemen.
My wife is a shopper...
She'll close the place down."
I moved a chair and gave some space;
Strangers become brothers in this place.
Five minutes on,
I knew he was a vet:
Army, Vietnam Nam...
"I don't like to think about it,"
Cleared his throat,
"Never can forget."
I turned to look at him.
"A little girl came running,
With her hand behind her back.
She only stood this high," he said,
And showed me with his palm her height,
"They carried grenades that way...
All of 'em...couldn't tell which ones...
Sergeant told us, 'Don't ever check...just shoot.'"
The voice trailed off....
I sat sweating in a thrift store,
Captive of my own politeness,
Half a century,
Half a planet,
Transported in his words
into a soldier's Hell.
"So I shot...
Nothing else to do."
Silence then.
A total stranger staggering
under the weight of having
Murdered his Albatross....
Of having carried this thing,
This memory,
Inside him all these years,
Of finding me,
The unsuspecting thrift shop guest
Who'd listen to his lonely tale,
Perhaps so he could earn some rest....
I, his unwitting Confessor,
Uncertain what to say,
Certain something must be said...
Certain nothing could be said...
Sat dumb, but understanding
The wisdom of confessional dividers,
The private comfort of two booths
Where prayerful exchanges
Intersperse uncertain silences,
Present in the overhanging need:
Demanding sorrowful returns,
Impending memories of sorrows...
And lonely trudgings home....
(Connections with Fr. Laurence's "Riddling confession finds but short shrift," in Romeo & Juliet, and Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner")
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
From low to high doth dissolution climb,
And sink from high to low, along a scale
Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;
A musical but melancholy chime,
Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,
Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.
Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear
The longest date do melt like frosty rime,
That in the morning whitened hill and plain
And is no more; drop like the tower sublime
Of yesterday, which royally did wear
His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain
Some casual shout that broke the silent air,
Or the unimaginable touch of Time.
2.6k
Pretentious
you stumble, heeding
terra cotta voices and
the sigh of broken chimes.
Disbelieving
you fall,
a sybil breathing rime-
for visions have a price
and you too must taste the salt.
Flounder
my pretty,
for time has bought your emnity
The blossom of your beauty
a weathervane of trust.
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 1:47 AM UTC
When I behold how black, immortal ink
Drips from my deathless pen—ah, well-away!
Why should we stop at all for what I think?
There is enough in what I chance to say.
It is enough that we once came together;
What is the use of setting it to rime?
When it is autumn do we get spring weather,
Or gather may of harsh northwindish time?
It is enough that we once came together;
What if the wind have turned against the rain?
It is enough that we once came together;
Time has seen this, and will not turn again;
And who are we, who know that last intent,
To plague to-morrow with a testament!
2.4k
The rejuvinate scrap hangs there,
Perched within a throne of white seashell.
It wanders, unsatisfied into the depths
Where it is plucked, pondered, and placed back again.
Easily could it be tossed,
And thrown into the rime,
Yet night after night it slumbers,
falls,
and it saved from the Eau.
Through light and dark, it remains proudly peeled and empty.
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 10:41 PM UTC
804
No Notice gave She, but a Change—
No Message, but a Sigh—
For Whom, the Time did not suffice
That She should specify.
She was not warm, though Summer shone
Nor scrupulous of cold
Though Rime by Rime, the steady Frost
Upon Her ***** piled—
Of shrinking ways—she did not fright
Though all the Village looked—
But held Her gravity aloft—
And met the gaze—direct—
And when adjusted like a Seed
In careful fitted Ground
Unto the Everlasting Spring
And hindered but a Mound
Her Warm return, if so she chose—
And We—imploring drew—
Removed our invitation by
As Some She never knew—
2.2k
To Kathleen-
Nor I can give, nor you can take; endures
The simple truth of me that is yours.
Is not the music mingled with the form
When all the heavens break in blind black storm?
Are we not veiled as Gods, and cruel as they,
Smiting our brilliance on the shuddering clay?
Silence and darkness cover us, confirm
Our splendour to its unappointed term:
For all the men homunculi that dance
Around us shudder at our brilliance.
These puppets perish in the good grand glare,
Our sworded sunlight in the boundless air !
These bats need cloisters; these tame birds a cage;
How should they know the Masters of the Age?
Or understand when the archangels cry
Adoring us Ellên kat' asterh ei?
2k
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw,
No cypress, sombre on the snow;
Snap not from the bitter yew
His leaves that live December through;
Break no rosemary, bright with rime
And sparkling to the cruel clime;
Nor plod the winter land to look
For willows in the icy brook
To cast them leafless round him: bring
No spray that ever buds in spring.
But if the Christmas field has kept
Awns the last gleaner overstept,
Or shrivelled flax, whose flower is blue
A single season, never two;
Or if one haulm whose year is o'er
Shivers on the upland frore,
--Oh, bring from hill and stream and plain
Whatever will not flower again,
To give him comfort: he and those
Shall bide eternal bedfellows
Where low upon the couch he lies
Whence he never shall arise.
1.9k
Le long du vieux faubourg, où pendent aux masures
Les persiennes, abri des secrètes luxures,
Quand le soleil cruel frappe à traits redoublés
Sur la ville et les champs, sur les toits et les blés,
Je vais m'exercer seul à ma fantasque escrime,
Flairant dans tous les coins les hasards de la rime,
Trébuchant sur les mots comme sur les pavés,
Heurtant parfois des vers depuis longtemps rêvés.
Ce père nourricier, ennemi des chloroses,
Eveille dans les champs les vers comme les roses ;
Il fait s'évaporer les soucis vers le ciel,
Et remplit les cerveaux et les ruches de miel.
C'est lui qui rajeunit les porteurs de béquilles
Et les rend gais et doux comme des jeunes filles,
Et commande aux moissons de croître et de mûrir
Dans le coeur immortel qui toujours veut fleurir !
Quand, ainsi qu'un poète, il descend dans les villes,
Il ennoblit le sort des choses les plus viles,
Et s'introduit en roi, sans bruit et sans valets,
Dans tous les hôpitaux et dans tous les palais.
2k
Tick tock
rapping of the clock.
A cold dead sham
of another mans cog.
So lay it down
on the hangman's block.
To sick to see
how it shepherds its flock.
It holds no rime
masquerades as reason.
A facade of truth
Yet I call it treason.
It puts up the walls
to the common man's prison.
A tool to be used
for a stronger man's mission.
Time
a device of unity.
Implementing science
bordering necessity.
Auctioned off
by the leaders of economy.
You always work hard
but are left no time to dream.
Dreaming costs
who ever owns your time.
They look down at you
and threaten your life.
So you numb yourself
just to make a dime.
Soon you grow cold
lost in the grind.
In youth
there is imagination.
Unhindered
not subject to discrimination.
As they grow
so to do their nations.
Furthering thoughts
yet short lived contemplation.
For as you grow old
you give your time to corporations.
The more things change
the more they stay the same.
from the dawn of man
to the information age.
More time spent
till your in your grave.
Yet time well spent
promises better days.
So dont sacrifice
your life for time.
It all stands short
in perspective eyes.
A relative thought
not a device that binds.
Spend it happily
for every day of your life.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 9:23 AM UTC
If I want my gypsy life,
My solitary dream
It does require a sacrifice,
More than I can exprime.
Car dans ma vie bohémienne,
Je dois me tenir seule
Même si mes sentiments m’amènent
À vouloir être en deux.
Je sais que dans ce jeu de rime
Je râte ; quand-même, j’essais
Car sûr mon cœur tes yeux s’impriment :
La lumière that day.
The candlelight that twirled and danced
And lit up eyes and hair
As deep inside something woke, pranced
And breathed a fresh, new air.
This was something I'd never had:
Un sentiment profond
Regretfully I leave, though sad;
Mais l'route gitane, c'est longue !
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
Come in, come in and enjoy the fun, the fun will begin when it is done.
My dream was all in rime. There were no breaks at any time.
If you couldn't think of a rime, you would sing or mime.
There was this tall colourful clown
as I entered the show he sat me down.
His name was something I couldn't pronounce
but being his friend is what counts.
He was very mad and very sad,
he reminded me of the mad hatter,
but crazier with his chatter.
I have a fear of polka dots, But Even more of forget me NOTS!
I loved my dream, I wish I could have it again
that's why I wrote it down with this book and pen.
so ill always remember my crazy friend.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
i
how like a napping innocent
the song was stolen away
when i my reason bribed
could not find where i belonged.
a patch is made of unrimed rime
and *** by *** it tore away
telling awhile
never will, you may.
i groped. you lingered
you waned. i waited.
when i would
to the solitude of
the rocks have gone
alas!
i found,
the singer of the song.
ii
bend bamboo
to the gusts and gails
that sweep, sweep.
swing back to whirl again
as the winds its fancy bend
so do – ne’er complain.
on windy ludes
so low you bow
after you kissed
the earth below
embrace you the sun.
sing now you violins
the rustles of enchantment
of dancing toes
it’s a mellow melody
… lingers on…
iii
useless are
the wings of birds
if the wide and brimless sky
to them are yet untold.
if none to care
and none to pine
how can a sign
of triumph bare
as birds and sky
as twains do share?
iv
full moon and empty arms
for every setting sun?
i fled thy silvern chatter
of vanished cries
and curling past.
suns have gone now.
and seeking never find.
no moon and empty arms
but when were you
not starbeam
and when not star
not beam.
if you could be
but how!
if you could see
but now!
v
came here, but,
did not tarry long.
a handful of sand
a greedy grip
a clutch, and,
through the fingers slip
till naught is left
but an empty grip.
she is come
know i
when gone.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
Oh, as I lay upon My bed
in the midnight hour
thoughts of You pass through My head
Oh, a phantom of you dances before Me
you are so near and yet so far
those words I'd wish I'd said
a desperate fever takes hold of Me
Oh, how to make you mine?
Oh, how to let You know
that you mean the world to Me?
I toss and turn the whole night through
time passes oh so slowly
the clock ticks at a snail's pace
tomorrow! tomorrow!
Oh, what do I do? what do I say?
I struggle with words in My head
what if the wrong words do not come?
and I lose You forever?
unbearable this timeless agony
Oh, better to just come and say My mind
then if from You I'm parted
life and rime and reason
have lost there meaning
better to die than face that lifeless life
Oh, My sweet tormenter
You have made Me lose all reason
Oh, how you have crucified My heart!
suspended between heaven and earth
in a timeless agony
I stumble over words with stammering lips
Oh, I will pursue You forever
if a fool I am
than a fool I shall ever be
Oh,how all life and limb
are as nothing to Me
for who can bear this timeless agony
and the torture of the snail's pace clock
for You are life to Me
and so Myself and heart revealing
I place all online
like the men who bled and died
upon thermopyae's sands
Oh, how You hold My life
and soul in Your hands
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
Morphine & Cola, Mrs. I can't believe I told you this is, so exacerbating I Can't sleep; even this weather riles inside me as we weep. There wasn't Anything that'd have shown you. There hasn't been a single sprout of Showmanship, or the erstwhile philanthropy that needers' raise their Eyebrows to and to. This is the degree we know it. The subtle afterglow With everything that you've known, and while the snow settles on your Window sill. While winter rime binds its ice to the wheat, and every soft Little seedling sewn, whispers its final sentences before autumn while it Drifts itself to sleep. There were the cards and the faces of Jacks among Aces, places uplifted by China dishes of porcelain overflowing, like Tencel in socks, woven into the pockets of trousers. Where does the Mischief go while it certainly isn't ours, and the dandy light across your Temple bares a gleam.
Some things are enriching, but yet too sordid to stare at. While the game Is enriching, the pain is too much to bear, and whether in vain or ********** the likes of you, make these lips of mine much softer against Your finger tips. Tips of fingers, petals of flowers, baskets of fresh bread Baked with wheat flour- follow the noon bird, fancy a sit by a brook, and Listen for the whistle-less, whistling of a rook.
Grey is quite golden too. Like the same tencel that I've used, or the silken Web treated to a loom, like lightning bugs out for an early dance on the Afternoon. Seldom as moss on sidewalk path or the pangs of laughing Heart at mass. What does the new bird bring? The bride of this coming Spring? For every sugarcube we taste, we save ourselves from second Base. Dr. Narrod with a gentle touch, the inspection you love so much. The gentle morsels smoothed upon the hand. The girl-like woman with Her ewe-like lamb. "For all of you who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. For all of those who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. I like the way you move."
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
I aimlessly drifted in teenage years,
From subtle scion to zaftig plebe.
Seen phony glory, vanquished fears,
And the stench of a wicked glebe.
From below, saw the stars up high,
Igniting horizons with callow wonder.
Beheld colossal beauty with mine inner eye,
Begged for chained thoughts asunder.
Amidst the serene flock to be slain,
Oft' a titan, seldom a vacant savant.
Known sorrow, elation, gain, vain, pain,
This mortal hour, hear joyful lament.
How quick we are to bid farewell,
How slow for friendship to pierce the cloth.
The rhythmic ache of that darkened knell,
The sobbing whimpers for a lover's warmth.
Nix for reciprocated amity, yet!
My seat of affection thrives in twilight.
Herein discipline is adamantly set,
Whence shall this ****** ire take flight?
Into the night that covers my soul,
Unleash that verdant star I see.
The divine abyss have taken its toll,
I pray the shadow is only me.
Note the ease to neglect one's clan,
Yet savored glee of reunions by blood.
Fury cease my elder ties, an infant plan,
By filial ardor, I still kneel in mud.
Star-shine ablaze onto vivid blooms,
Arise the stench of broiling debris.
Beauteous summer-tide metronomes,
The sinking scythe follow gales of peace.
Labor come sweat yield sweet fruition,
Tis annual come the bronze harvest.
Wrongful vengeance seek humble redemption,
Autumn under siege of well-fed zest.
Stormy vista rime graying meadows,
Entrench the sepsis by the ice age.
Taste weeping woe of guilty widows,
Lest their beloved hunger in cage.
Arise young lilac out of barren frosts,
Touch the vital aura to begin anew.
Altruists gladly pay auric costs,
To stalk vile leviathan into dew.
May stones bear indistinct distinction,
So my stride shall stumble and falter.
Peace paint heroes of sluggish fiction,
Chaos rouse prodigies from quiet slumber.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:12 AM UTC
A tyrant king, a
Vandal’s scream
Of moor & rock
And fair I sing;
Life’s to its
Test, guer-
don of unrest,
&strife; believed!
Milked out
like utter red; lipids
****** hard
at birth: semi-
born: made
three legion’s ****
careful; cuz fate’s,
Allectus, mean.
Made in sheaths
An aural memor-
y lock, a- nswer ur
calling; tricky to
be bad &get; a-
way w/it! Caraus-
ius’s on guard
duty; he’s in.
Fog in chan-
nel; no lights:
Bware! Usurp-
ing cou- ntry,
mauling& killing men
To ob- tain
Power; @any
risk in Britain.
gold insignias!
shine ur lite!
greed can’t
pay—poenas dat!
Ascle-
piod-
otus
hears:
He, Allectus does a-
way w/.
Besei-
ge in London—rime
the trea-
sure al-
located;
Vain he found, good.
Crack souls’ ice;
To ruin comes
conceit, comes
that rip- ped part.
Ah, to p’wer& knifes
Like wo- rds...
P’wer slashes
Carves, &impales;.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
Master, this was said to me
should I be triggered or flogged?
Think Sisyphus happy.
What year is this?
Babble, babble, all around me, no
God, not this, again.
It's all in yer head, keep rollin' the rock.
keepin time, makin rime rimey rime
frees icicles on my beard
if you could see me now,
Hell, who imagined this?
I am Sisyphus happy and Sysifus sad,
now for as long as I care to recall
I roll the rock.
It was the hell I had envisioned, since
Camus at least, probably something triggered,
seventh grade, oh
cliché, except
the details, the evil, as seen in the thirteenth
year of an unwombed man's journey, womb to tomb.
I rolled the rock.
Alone as all hell, bored as hell.
food and drink, folly to think
so I stop thinking about them
as if someone thinks I can and I think I can.
Let's doit
daydream cliché, same seventh grader asks
Diane Wescott if he can kiss her
under the water
at the deep end of the public pool
Like Tarzan and Jane and she said yes,
again and again and again
like the expert's rats that are allowed
to suicide on big pharma grade *******
Wahoo, that got the rock rollin'
like I never thought she would now
yah, Jah, know what I mean,
Billie Jean, the kid coulda been mine
But I was rockin' and rollin' all night long,
notime, noo time ah tahlllll
Some minds may imagine Sisyphus happy,
but up to not too long
ago
I fail, failed am failing to re
call member hotline
now,
Matrix Wachowskie, bact to your box,
I am haunted by that movie, in 2018
keyphrase 2018 trigger Matrix movie 1
not the movie, the idea of endless bullets.
Who imagined that,
Hell, this is easy. Right, two persona one person sort of
story, no, too, Jekyl n Heckle
I can think any thing as long
as I roll the rock. This will go on forever,
as far as I can tell.
Rock and roll will live forever, let's take that
as a given, and just ignor the steady
up and down, resistance to punching down force goes up and release,
the rock rolls as far as Luck would have it, statically, probably
pause. breathe, read
The rhythm varies, I'm in forever, not in hell.
Push.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 7:16 PM UTC
Flowing under winter
Is the warmth of a fading love
That once was on the surface
But now struggles to be shone
Cold hearts once bled red
Broken, they needed repair
Grey was too stiff for the aching heart
So blue was the color of the broken part
But Jotunheim and its giants can be melt
By the prowess of Asgard and its heroes
As the icy, depressive cover has formed
After the heart had been healed
So, many times passion becomes a fuel
To extinguish the fear of the person who never knows
And this gas perpetually ignites
And the water that once thawed the rime
Won’t remain covered, buried under ice
That is why love always resurfaces
With the heat of hope and will
Querying if the person the heart beats for
Doesn’t has her beating in sync, still
But like a snowflake, love falls in pieces
To find a place to regrow, as fear overpowers the fuel
Where memory and reluctance troubles the loving soul
While life seems dull to his aching state, as time never ceases
My appreciation for her burns wild
Maybe its youth that feeds the flames
Or the personality bonded to her beautiful name
But, which is enough to love her, the air that I inhale
Will soon be few as I drown in the water, doubting if “we” will ever be true
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 8:59 AM UTC