"riven" poems
Funny how Someone can
Asunder a heart of thine
And thou still dost adore them
With all thy riven smithereens
My love, please come to me,
In my life thou dost linger
A love from my sweet past
That beamed than many a star
My love, long have I endured
A heart sundered by love
Though wherever I wander
Thy sweet love I still dost crave.
Oh my love, come back to me
So we may pick these riven pieces
That like sea waters scattered be
And I'll smoother thee with kisses
Together we'll never sunder
For my love will be thy love
Beaming so bright forevermore
As thy love will be my love
Blissfully we'll dwell ever after
Like twinkling stars in galaxies
With our enchanted passion
Effulgently lingering in perpetuity.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
*veins of my fingers in riots of blossomed colours
like threads made of lilac, lavender, blues and leafs.
for the blues are essences of the Elysian skies,
while lilacs, lavenders and leafs were stolen from an old man's farm
every dawn the sunlit blue wept for the docile stars' hide
I knock my knuckles red and wild, like the raspberries from the monsieur's farm
my chin against the beige, I gaze to where the magpies talk too loudly on the garden moist
swollen and offended by the loud chirps of boisterous dins, the grouchy neighbour cry.
I fill my baskets with wild things and papers,
I have cheese and juices, fruits and sweet carrots.
I have peach trees on my nails for jam
I have cherries in my toes for pie
I have snows in my lapin's soul for some ice creams
I have poppies in my worn pants for a good sight
And there's even vineyards of all Verona in my mind
the ribbons on the hat loom into the gardens' tunnel;
I have herb gardens, I have secret gardens
And I have my old books and pens in there.
when my laces are riven, the embroidered flowers are not.
the canvas shoes is painted in petrichors and soil
my dresses go tattered, sewn with patches
into the vines, thorns and russet throats I lilt and leap
against smells of rustic wood pencils and redolent flowers
There, under a green willow is where to sit and devour wisdom
and to drink some saccharine wine with mon lapin and maybe some picnic pies.
The abominable tremors will be gone,
My morn soul diving into fairy pools of sensuous europhias.*
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
Some are laughing, some are weeping;
She is sleeping, only sleeping.
Round her rest wild flowers are creeping;
There the wind is heaping, heaping
Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping,
By the cornfields ripe for reaping.
There are lilies, and there blushes
The deep rose, and there the thrushes
Sing till latest sunlight flushes
In the west; a fresh wind brushes
Through the leaves while evening hushes.
There by day the lark is singing
And the grass and weeds are springing:
There by night the bat is winging;
There forever winds are bringing
Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing.
Night and morning, noon and even,
Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven:
The long strife at length is striven:
Till her grave-bands shall be riven
Such is the good portion given
To her soul at rest and shriven.
4.4k
a bean like no other
bitter and white;
a microscopic dynamite,
peristalsis using all its might
my cave so suspenseful and hollow
ridges lined along its curves
churning to my so-called mental benefit
those gastric juices now released,
microscopic dynamite
simply had one more muscle to defeat
a match at last perceived
microvilli yearning love ,
in, it took the dynamite.
yet confused it became as
micro relations only last a short while.
"Nutrients" absorbed,
betrayal on its way
the bloodstream sent in shock
oh such bloodless atriums
oh such vaulted ventricles.
oh how my blood flow met its end.
Although deceiving it had been
no promises were riven
the dynamite exploded
and at last
no longer was I broken.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
the spanish seaside town
as the sun sets
is golden to the eye
and warm to the soul
full of life
and beauty
did not seek this place
but fate sought it for me
she came out of the west
and i was captured the moment i beheld her
spanish goddess
her smile captivates
exquisite true beauty
in the glow of her laugh
with that one small gesture
she is pure sunshine
she is tender and true love
she heals the heart
and frees the soul
spanish goddess
her dark eyes a cage
of smouldering passions
and gentle fires of deep and true loves
spanish goddess
her smile
haunts me
such beauty cannot be contained in my heart
such absolute and mesmerizing perfection
cannot be beheld in such a small place
as one mans simple soul
spanish goddess
i am riven by you and nursed back by you
i am torn apart and mended by you
i am created and destroyed
all in the single moment i am graced by the sweet embrace
of even a mere glance with the touch of a smile of yours
spanish goddess
please please do not let me awaken
from this beautiful dream
let me be forever here
in spanish seaside town
at the setting of the sun
in the perfection of your attentions and kindness
with your beauty and warmth
that is heaven
in every sense of the word
spanish goddess
you have forever changed me
from a lost soul
without hope or direction
to the captain of my future
forever to seek safe harbor
in a spanish seaside town
forever more to thirst for your smile
for your laugh
for you
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
I Felt●
How
You curled
Your hands from the heights
Did instigate●
I
Felt
I could fly and catch your smiles
I felt I could fly but to that mile
Just like the kites●
In
Endless fantasies
I clench myself like colourful crayons●
But
Someway,somehow
I felt each had a riven beak
And foil me
To print the picture of these delusions
So bright●
Now
I feel am right,and myself
Waving back to the same heights●
I Felt●
©Historian E.Lexano
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 2:10 AM UTC
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river.
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?—weep now or never more!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!—
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young—
A dirge for her, the doubly dead in that she died so young.
“Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her—that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how be sung
By you—by yours, the evil eye,—by yours, the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?”
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!
The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride—
For her, the fair and debonnaire, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes—
The life still there, upon her hair—the death upon her eyes.
“Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a paean of old days!
Let no bell toll!—lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the ****** Earth.
To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven—
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven—
From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven.”
3.1k
I
All all and all the dry worlds lever,
Stage of the ice, the solid ocean,
All from the oil, the pound of lava.
City of spring, the governed flower,
Turns in the earth that turns the ashen
Towns around on a wheel of fire.
How now my flesh, my naked fellow,
Dug of the sea, the glanded morrow,
Worm in the scalp, the staked and fallow.
All all and all, the corpse's lover,
Skinny as sin, the foaming marrow,
All of the flesh, the dry worlds lever.
II
Fear not the waking world, my mortal,
Fear not the flat, synthetic blood,
Nor the heart in the ribbing metal.
Fear not the tread, the seeded milling,
The trigger and scythe, the bridal blade,
Nor the flint in the lover's mauling.
Man of my flesh, the jawbone riven,
Know now the flesh's lock and vice,
And the cage for the scythe-eyed raver.
Know, O my bone, the jointed lever,
Fear not the screws that turn the voice,
And the face to the driven lover.
III
All all and all the dry worlds couple,
Ghost with her ghost, contagious man
With the womb of his shapeless people.
All that shapes from the caul and suckle,
Stroke of mechanical flesh on mine,
Square in these worlds the mortal circle.
Flower, flower the people's fusion,
O light in zenith, the coupled bud,
And the flame in the flesh's vision.
Out of the sea, the drive of oil,
Socket and grave, the brassy blood,
Flower, flower, all all and all.
2.7k
I am a stone.
Long ago my mother gave me birth.
From her molten womb in the cooling rain I took shape.
Wind and water gently washed me
And smoothed my hard edges.
Through riven clouds the bright sun warmed me,
And the gray mist wove me mossy coverings.
Day after day I listened to the wind in the heather
And the cry of sea birds wheeling overhead.
Men found me on the mountainside,
Stripped me of my mossy cloak
And hauled me away on a cart of wood,
To be used for the glory of God.
With sharp tools and hammer blows they fashioned me
And gave me hard edges.
They stacked me high on top of other stones,
Fitted me snug and sealed me in.
Through narrow windows the bright sun colored the floor below,
And in the darkness voices rose with scented smoke,
Singing of the glory of God.
Men warred with other men, took each other’s lives,
And threw down what they had raised up.
Scorched by angry flames, I fell
From that high place to lie broken in the ashes.
Wind and water gently washed me
And smoothed my hard edges.
Through riven clouds the bright sun warmed me,
And the gray mist wove me mossy coverings.
Day after day I listened to the wind in the ruins
And the cry of sea birds wheeling overhead.
A shepherd found me in the grass
And carried me away in his arms.
He nestled me alongside other stones
To keep wandering sheep away from deadly cliffs.
Though riven clouds the bright sun warms us,
And the gray mist weaves us mossy coverings.
Day after day we listen to the wind in the heather
And the cry of sea birds wheeling overhead.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 6:42 PM UTC
LOQUITUR: En Bertans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer up of strife.
Eccovi!
Judge ye!
Have I dug him up again?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. “Papiols” is his jongleur.
“The Leopard,” the device of Richard Coeur de Lion.
I
**** it all! all this our South stinks peace.
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let’s to music!
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
II
In hot summer I have great rejoicing
When the tempests **** the earth’s foul peace,
And the lightning from black heav’n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven skies God’s swords clash.
III
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breat opposing!
Better one hour’s stour than a year’s peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there’s no wine like the blood’s crimson!
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His long might ‘gainst all darkness opposing.
V
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth’s won and the swords clash
For the death of such ***** I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music!
There’s no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle’s rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges ‘gainst “The Leopard’s” rush clash.
May God **** for ever all who cry “Peace!”
VII
And let the music of the swords make them crimson!
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
Hell blot black for always the thought “Peace!”
2.6k
LOUD trumpets blow among the naked pines,
Fine spun as sere-cloth rent from royal dead.
Seen ghostly thro' high-lifted vagrant drifts,
Shrill blaring, but no longer loud to moons
Like a brown maid of Egypt stands the Earth,
Her empty valley palms stretched to the Sun
For largesse of his gold. Her mountain tops
Still beacon winter with white flame of snow,
Fading along his track; her rivers shake
Wild manes, and paw their banks as though to flee
Their riven fetters.
Lawless is the time,
Full of loud kingless voices that way gone:
The Polar Caesar striding to the north,
Nor yet the sapphire-gated south unfolds
For Spring's sweet progress; the winds, unkinged,
Reach gusty hands of riot round the brows
Of lordly mountains waiting for a lord,
And pluck the ragged beards of lonely pines-
Watchers on heights for that sweet, hidden king,
Bud-crowned and dreaming yet on other shores-
And mock their patient waiting. But by night
The round Moon falters up a softer sky,
Drawn by silver cords of gentler stars
Than darted chill flames on the wintry earth.
Within his azure battlements the Sun
Regilds his face with joyance, for he sees,
From those high towers, Spring, earth's fairest lord,
Soft-cradled on the wings of rising swans,
With violet eyes slow budding into smiles,
And small, bright hands with blossom largesse full,
Crowned with an orchard coronal of white,
And with a sceptre of a ruddy reed
Burnt at its top to amethystine bloom.
Come, Lord, thy kingdom stretches barren hands!
Come, King, and chain thy rebels to thy throne
With tendrils of vine and jewelled links
Of ruddy buds pulsating into flower!
2.2k
"O where are you going with your love-locks flowing,
On the west wind blowing along this valley track?"
"The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye,
We shall escape the uphill by never turning back."
So they two went together in glowing August weather,
The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right;
And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on
The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight.
"Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven,
Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?"
"Oh, that's a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous,
An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt."
"Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly,
Their scent comes rich and sickly?"--"A scaled and hooded worm."
"Oh, what's that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?"
"Oh, that's a thin dead body which waits the eternal term."
"Turn again, O my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest:
This beaten way thou beatest I fear is hell's own track."
"Nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting:
This downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back."
2.1k
Dear Gawd......I wanna be Pope..
I never ride backwards
on train or bus,
I never profane,
blaspheme or cuss,
I'm limpid,
riven of diaphanous stuff
never been given,
to a female ****
I'm penitent, contrite –
shriven of sin,
compliant, reliant,
I'm bendy n thin.
not quite castrato,
gives good vibrato
to choirboys mullato
with bellybutton fluff.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 2:19 PM UTC
A poem is a riven arrow, whistling through the banyan forest of words;
with deft flight it emerges swiftly from the confusion and with precision, strikes you deep in the heart...
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
we are windows with lapsed insurance but see fine print where there is none
and that makes us innocent pillagers. the village learns to ween the system
from an iron fist to adopt an irony. but i digress, where the last appearance
gypsied the locals with petulant integers. the riven burn ! to clean the wisdom
of our schadenfreude. the image turns to ravine
the slender
isthmus.
but
pry it
from the
vapor
you can
knot.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 3:27 PM UTC
I carry you on my lips, which can’t recover
from the wounds made by the sweet venom
of the taste of yours, when one thing or another
is trying their bond to riven.
But my conscience seem to hover,
in those moments we discover
own banned corner of heaven.
I carry you in my arms, when a pale ray of sun
teases us through the window,
from the whole world, we are remiss
and our joys merged into one.
With your hands around my waist:
a new day has just begun
and life dissolve its liquer of bliss
in my mornin coffee’s taste.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC
In retrospect,
I take a quick glance
A glance at our past
Lovebirds we once were
My wing you were
As your wing I were
To each other's *****
We drew ourselves
So as to fly
Merrily to the skies
Seeking beauteous horizons
Horizons filled with glamour
In retrospect,
As time sailed by and by
I lost my wing
A wing that meant the world
A world to me so blissful
Left in a daze I was
Aghast to my heart's core
Drifting by a violent sea
A sea of retrospections
Driven by tides
Tides of regrets
Past violent storms
Storms of doldrums
On yonder I drift
Drifting to an island
An island marred with despair
Where in a circle of confusion I wander
Wandering in an abyss
An abyss pervaded with loneliness
Wondering if at all
I could ever seek redemption.
While downcast
With relentless tears of anguish
Trickling down my cheeks
In despair I wail.
Drenched in doldrums
I reminisce of the splendor
And the novelty pulchritude
The pulchritude you bear
In retrospect,
Gone are the halcyon days
Days wistfully washed away
Away by the tides of time
In retrospect,
My heart craves thy love
A love that still lingers
In my riven heart
A heart that shall never
Ever ameliorate.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
Formless words...broadcast scribbling space, their diagram
of poetic motion washes over you...formed on impact.
Dark room's glow in broad daylight--your fully developed
picture...deepest blue of two worlds in one, betwixt vibration.
Hue of the canonized, twanging entire a cloudless sky...
enriched tenfold in mimicry of you.
If only stained glass and silk would wed, search light's
spectrum...distill the most affecting gradation of blue--
then would you see a just replica?
Visionary's shield...where earthen wend unveils the abysmal...
that eyes may remain upon you--till one is ferried, and
vision seen through.
Apogee of seventh sea...epicenter of dancing Nine Muses,
whose round keeps the Blue Flower earthbound.
Blue Flower of the poet's pilgrimage, whose synesthesia
electrifies.
Blue Flower...a nebula pinned to earth, the name of spring
born of you.
The golden section of angels fly their flawless form to you...
that High Art may pray to High Art.
...Blue Flower, commended spirit rife with grace...whose
ceaseless hour at hand holds beauty alone.
Mind, quill to tongue riven--if ever...ever is now--Blue Flower...
ever is Now!
The words of this poet have begun fasting...not to eat of what
they cannot sacrifice...their Blue Flower.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
Recollections by the window
darkness at the door,
a spent cigarette,
a dried up memory bank-
a laptop lying purposefully in the grass.
in between the moment is the event
The wood is riven by foxes
whimpering with cloven paws
the newly accommodated ******
rakes up a new home
the water vole scurries into the infested water
in between the moment is the event
reproduced in the computer
action and moment have ceased,
action and intent no longer connected
time and thought perpetually adjusted
hollow rain signifies emptiness
a blank screen eternity.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
I knew you thought of me all night,
I knew, though you were far away;
I felt your love blow over me
As if a dark wind-riven sea
Drenched me with quivering spray.
There are so many ways to love
And each way has its own delight —
Then be content to come to me
Only as spray the beating sea
Drives inland through the night.
1.4k
6 sides
Latent enabler
Counterpoint to truth, amorphic
Dada to life
Callous Birth
Islands dripped in collagen
Mystic, effortless life
Tempests laden iota in tune
Riven
Licked flat, obtuse
Crescent stench
Pagan cells
Hazard the thought
Pick the Atlantic cherry
Reach further than comfort
Pushed & consumed
Spirited paste
Jesuit told in spheres
Lament interest, matted quill
Totem, Saxon tribe
Inflections of hearsay
And Swastikas on parade
Guilt of the blacksmith, undecided
The arms of tablets
Ashtrays & tropospheric light
Another page turned
Capsules filled with perfume
Loose skin lost in relics
Temporal lobe
Cautioned indignant
Pardon the prose
Sonnets dissolved in ethanol
Caricatures of the fleeting
Of our cities last broadcast
Absorbed by times gone
Glittered pestilence
Canceling subordinates, powdered Semtex
Soup of the sewer
Lift the butcher above your head
Nazca lines
Suborbital
Silk screen with *****
Horizontal qualm toward revulsion
Incursion
Calm, cued and cubed
Lab coats coated in pharmaceuticals
Base compound, ionic bond
Covalent CNS
Sympathetic vibration
Default to nature
To theorise movement
Agitate intolerance, turbulence
Beautiful thought
Calculate causality
Passenger of licked lips
Token to latex
Croft in ear, to taste
Unlaced tips, rings of halothane
Bliss
Intrigued with obscurity
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
He opened his eyes in a night sky,
Waxed black and fed by dews darkness,
Ebon and incarnadine mists consumed the air,
One hundred ravens in coracinet played
Soft music gliding her pale feet,
Quivering a flutter she swayed dreaming,
Before his black oak door,
Long his finger enchanted the path,
Fluttering onward in rapture,
The bell rings and rings,
Come dance, dance with thee,
Enchanted ye be
Her naked withering pallid body,
Of silk and chiffon he enfolded,
Her lips tasting amber and figs ripening,
Coruscating maidens swirled an epitome of dance
Not until she was dark grown repentance,
Renouncing all others,
Only then he shall devour upon her,
A bargain be struck,
Swept away riven by her dreaming plea,
My lady crowned dance with thee,
Beholdeth spelled she be troth,
And the Raven King hungered upon her lips
Forever radiant enchanted black,
── Unto the dance of night, his eternally bound
© Arnay Rumens 2015
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
*Once upon a time
There was a little painter
With novelty paint
That she began to paint
Painting the peripherals of my heart
Magnificently with her novelty paint
But she ran out of paint
For the rest remains unpainted
Once upon a time
There was a little potter
With novelty mud
That she began to mold
Molding the peripherals of my riven heart
Beautifully with her novelty mud
But she ran out of mud
For the rest remains gaping
Once upon a time
There was a little bird
With novelty wings
That she began to fly
Flying away with me
Merrily to glorious clouds
But she drifted out of sight
For I can’t fly anymore by my self
Once upon a time
There was a little star
With novelty light
That she began to scintillate
Scintillating beautifully
Upon my wild blue yonder
But she ceased emitting her light
For dark as a grave are my nights
Once upon a time
There was a little river
With novelty waters
That she began to flow
Meandering through my world
Thus all flowers thirsted no more
But she ceased her flow
For all flowers withered
Once upon a time
There was a bee
With novelty nectar
That tasted with all sweetness there is
Nectar distilled from all flowers of heaven
Nectar no other bee could ever bear
But she drifted away with her nectar
That had me feel
I might have sipped a philter**
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
Because she could not see—
Song in flower, light in lovers abed,
Dream unfolding as we touched,
Because her great beauty was gifted
It was unfelt, undeserved, shunned,
Making her even more irresistible.
Because I could not hold on to self,
Beside such dream, lost to my hands
As prints clutched into the ruin dark
Of her indifference, I made peace
With subjugation and humilities riven
Out of soul and flesh and hollow being.
Because we were unknowing, each
A foil unto ourselves as we cried—
This then was daymare riding in sun,
Twin delusions in oft reign of blood,
O what stories we both shall die to tell,
How the itch of desire scratches bare
Whole psyche as it writhes in a shell.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
#*‘Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale*!
H. W. Longfellow
When bureaucrats, with obfuscation
monotone in data-speak
and mumble to their mutinous nation,
bloodless vessels spring a leak.
Scan in vain the rolling breakers;
leadership is out to sea.
Overscripted undertakers
claim to speak for you and me…
The Ship of State, adrift, becalmed
floats on; a most ill-fated craft.
The body politic, unembalmed
begins to ripen fore and aft.
The crew, grown callous to the rot
and numbed by such expediency
with one last desperate cannon shot
forsake all hope of mutiny.
While computers spit statistics,
crewmen spread the expectant word;
(no more trust in mere ballistics…
hope delayed is hope transferred.)
“Make ready to abandon ship !
The captain’s just a talking head.
Lower the lifeboat, let her rip –
before, like him, we end up dead…”
The Ship of State is rent with breaches
data-leakage, data driven –
the lifeboat flounders, coral-riven
seeking distant wave-washed beaches.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC