"rosen" poems
When Hamlet was young,
All was good,
Elsinore was proud,
Hamlet was young,
Ophelia too.
Now he is older,
Not everything is good,
Some things still are,
His uncle is his father in law,
This is not so good.
Now he is dead,
Ophelia is dead,
Laertes is dead,
Gertrude is dead,
Cladius is dead,
Yorick... is dead,
but he was at the start,
so he doesn't count.
Rosen... Guilden... dead
Old hamlet is dead,
Plonius is dead.
Horatio is alive;
can't imagine he's very happy,
because everyone else is dead.
Laurence Olivier is handsome,
he's dead too.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
melancholy blanketed the whites
scarred voices muffled by
a ****** mind.
an avalanche stuck in my soul
severer than a bee at a forked road
how confused!
red-cheeked petals and afternoon birds glare
in confusions at the footsteps :
unbalance, shaded, muted!
the green umbrella's warm, so scorchingly cold!
all embittered, by solemn beams of the soulless sun.
their eyes widen,
for they had never seen such lone,
for such lone, rare, is forbid to the sons of nature,
never belong to happy child's arms,
that dreams in a mother's charm.
grieving droughts in the air and grass,
no dews, why!,
yawned the madden, soporific rabbit
Ah, so wild.
the windless noontime cross, my quivers stopped, mild.
lashes waxed, blacken like a coal,
mind stuck in a haze, or maybe a threatening maze.
stiffness of the air injected to my nostrils
into my white tongue they will soak, like perfumes to a clothe.
Selene will gaze angrily at this and say,
why no, it shouldn't be in there!
the midnight orchids waver and frown.
soon the frothing dreams peter,
but the bolded letters in a white board stay,
my chair stays.
creaks of an abominable burden became a din.
The smudges of grey-white dust I smelt
hover gaily in the air of pompous breath.
spellbound by the stagnant languor,
mazy, in hallucinations of the heat and homesick.
I sought the fount of hypocrisy and vile,
my hiding nonchalances rosen
(towards a flock of friends)
and loathes to an abominable sun frozen
(I wished it to die!)
Tilted to the windows,
I saw nothing, but fatal secrets of a heart rosed
like window dust to a nose.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
If i was to retake my actions
am I to expect no reaction?
If I was to live a lie
is to allow my current reality to die
Happiness may not be all of which I relies
but I need the comfort this position provides
I wouldn't want to live in some perfect life
with the ideal 2.5 children and fair wife
I may not like my choices of the past
but I know this hardship won't forever last
The results of our decisions you can see have rosen
not perfect, but it is what I have chosen.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
If I touch your rosen cheek,
if I pour your golden hair
upon my face to bury it in
brilliant glow, if I place the lips
of yours upon my own and
leave them there forevermore,
if I press my finger now to
your neck of silk to begin
an endless journey down your side
unbridling all to bare beauty
to behold, if I told you what I
see, if I told how it makes me feel,
you would think me crazed and
amazingly your thoughts be true,
so lean your head on pillow blue
and I shall make love to all of you,
then afterwards again and again.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 19, 2023
Apr 19, 2023 at 4:05 AM UTC
Samtaler i mørket mellem du, jeg og lidt af alt. Magtesløse i det magtfulde mørke med mørkerad og rad for mening. Korte sætninger efterfuldt af lange svar, og korte svar efterfulgt af længere spørgsmål.
Den vinter i den hæms med dig og det kolde gulv under os med de fugtige vægge. Ligegyldigt var det og gyldne var vi. Med dig indenunder dynen og indenunder sindet, som knoppen af rosen og rosen af buketteten.
Og nu hvor jeg fra tid til anden leger en eller andet sindsforvirret fanget mellem paradokse som; ædru og dranker, søvn og klarhed, mørke og morgen. Så mindes jeg dig og husker den cigaret du røg for at trække vejret og den ***** du drak for at tænke klart, og jeg tænker en stille tanke om din kærlighed til mig og den stjerneklarehimmel du lidt for ofte ville lidt for tæt på - og som engang imellem kom så tæt på os, at vi kunne se at det var skoldende sole forklædt som smukke stjerner.
Ligesom du og jeg.
Håber du har fundet dig til rette blandt solene
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Some times I pray for the Lord to take me away
From the pain that stays and friends went astray
Once I hit the bottom of the crab barrel
I a ghostly Pharoah living life on death row
My soul inside of a atom'd shell well
Ain't nothing but hell can't even bail
Only if my life got tooken or naturally Rosen
From a unwakened sleep my conscious speaks
Tryna break free but I gotta lotta work clearly
I know they fear me cuz knowledge
Is dangerous G see how many form up as enemies
After ya royalties ain't no more loyalty
Once they see the building of a dynasty
I resurrected as a king corruption born into a ring
Of a fire I'm king Tut risen from the grave givin'
Nothing but revisited pain that stains
Ya master plan I got a powerful clan
Who all pack at least fifty grand packing the stans
And turn haters into fans without even being mainstream man
Restrictions of land plot riots got brought
Unto the community guns and drugs separate unity
They disputing me cuz I speak truthfully
Most fools be spitting for mass publicity
But I gives a **** about the industry
It ain't what it used to be so many phonies
Acting like they ya homies when they holding pistols
Behind ya back my minds spins black
Back to the days of where realness sits at
That's a preposition **** the intermission
I know the rap game is about the commission
Since hataz sho they neck they bound for lynching
No disrespect to the deads souls that dialed connect
Down the gun line all I need is one line
Like to Nas gun line broke the laws that define
Me as a ***** I stay holding my trigger
I try to spread love but most miss the picture
A photograph of his last laugh before ye see the blood bath
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 8:59 AM UTC
that's the one
with the lonely gaze
closing in
tighten the skin
rosen dermis
pulled taut
evidence of a wound
desperate to be forgotten.
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
(With a nod to Michael Rosen's poem, Chocolate Cake)
I love money.
I loved it as a boy
and now I love it even more.
Sometimes we used to have it
all spread out on the table
and I would sort it
and stack it.
And dad would say,
"keep the coppers away from the silver"
and laugh at his private joke.
We'd count it all,
bag it
and weigh it.
And then dad would give me a little for myself:
2 shillings, 8 thrupenny bits.
I'd stack them,
and count them again.
I'd put 3 aside for my tin
and count out 5 for school.
I'd take one thrupenny bit to school each day
and at morning break I'd take my thrupenny bit
and wait in the queue at the tuck shop.
But some days,
when standing in the queue
with my thrupenny bit in my hand,
I'd think again and wrap it up in my handkerchief
and I'd push it to the bottom of my grey trouser pocket
for my secret box in my wardrobe.
-
-
Anyway,
once, when dad was sick
he asked me to do the count
- alone.
To spread it on the table,
sort it,
stack it,
keep the coppers away from the silver,
count it
and weigh it.
And then take my share,
2 shillings, 8 thrupenny bits.
I sat in the kitchen
in the silence,
looking down at the spread before me,
full of fear and pride.
I sorted
and I sorted again.
I stacked
and rearrange the stacks.
I saw with a smile
that I had kept the coppers away from the silver.
I counted
and counted again
And for the sheer pleasure of it,
I counted again.
Satisfied,
I took my share
3 shillings, 12 thrupenny bits.
4 bits for my secret box,
3 bits for my tin
and 5 put aside for the week's tuck money.
I love money.
I loved it as a boy
and now sitting in my kitchen
with my red box here in SW1,
full of fear and pride,
I love it even more.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
I'm not farther from death than you are,
Tender leaf, slender branch.
We all live very close to it.
But my heart has been salvaged.
It's nearly off the map.
The heart doesn't reason this way
In every man. It doesn't take wings
From its subterranean shell like this.
You are the stars of night,
You are the tree, a ballerina
Of grace. I'm the root.
Now you are exhausted.
You say your load was too heavy.
I forgave you, but you failed
To listen to me, drifting into your life
Of earnest foliage and birds' nests.
What were you saying to me,
To the one who always redeems
Fear has left you just skin and bones
Look: you are the one being tested
And tried. I am the root.
You close your windows feeling
Diminished, belittled.
Your tiny world is fast disappearing
Into my immense space.
I don't know you well,
But I wasn't so crowded
Just a little bit earlier.
You're a bullet in the barrel,
An irrelevant splash.
I am the root.
The dead summoned their courage
And gathered to find arbitrarily, in one another
Love never seen before,
All-encompassing love without boundaries.
Maybe something will occur in the end
Your farewell imagined its own reality.
Your mouth said:
I am taking wings,
I'm contemplating.
I am a long and narrow road,
And will be closed down sooner or later.
I am the most disloyal traitor
To face your mask. Look now:
Your specter is lost inside me,
As if it had disappeared into a mirror.
You did this. You offered
thousands of lies to me
Instead of the truth. Death smiled
as a way to humiliate. I know
The earth. I am the root.
Koray Feyiz
(Translated from Turkish by Dr.Nesrin Eruysal & Prof.Dr. Kenneth Rosen)
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 6:13 PM UTC
I am in love--
with the monophonic hum of the vibrating
strings of existence, stars and fingers
and atoms singing a Gregorian chant,
the chaos of particles, wildly dancing,
the beauty of the infinitesimal,
the belief in a theory
of limitless possibilities.
I am a poet, not a scientist.
When I close my eyes,
I exist on a quantum level.
Physicists' particles, theorists' strings,
dance in purest form:
gracefully spinning en pointe electrons,
belly-dancing quarks, lithe and writhing,
a photon, swaying, dressed in light.
For comfort, I walk at night
on Einstein-Rosen bridges
from my world to others,
searching the stars for angels;
for escape, I wrap myself
in a quilted multiverse,
knowing that a version of me exists
in a universe with a version of you.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
wrote a poem.
I can't stop listening to it.
I can't stop
imagining
that one day,
it will reflect a letter you write.
Even if you never send it.
I only wish I could have fixed it,
I bet that girl wishes it too.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
If I had a heart in my hands
One not made of flesh
If I carried it all the minutes of every day
And it was made of friable stuff
If I stumbled in a careless way
And it slipped before my eyes
If it fell to the hardened ground
And smashed into a billion atom bits
If the fractured shards were
Myriad made in a smear of salty tears
If I had no one but me blameworthy
Because it was only me around
If this was the case
Then I can’t look behind me
With accusations tumbling from my lips.
If I had the chance to glue, piece by piece
It back into a heart-shaped thing
If each tiny silver sliver was slotted into place
To once more catch the noiseless light
If I took a thousand years
And made my fingers bleed
If I once more held it up
And it had glinting form
If this repair was done in the dry dock of my hands
Would it still be a flawless gem?
If this repair is painfully gained
Does the time and care infuse the fault
With a lustre of perfection?
If all I see is the spinning binary pulse
If all I have is a sparking
Einstein-Rosen Bridge
If all around me is a sea of foaming mediocrity
If nothing else is worth my time
Then surely repairing this shattered glass is
The worthwhile work of every second
Of this remaining life
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 11:51 AM UTC
The opposite edge of an Einstein Rosen bridge
Was found in the middle of a collapsing star.
When light imploded a birth exploded underneath,
The rubble of tumbling gravity.
Shouts of gamma ray bursts screamed,
To the other side of the Universe.
--
It was midday or so the first time I saw you.
An unbuttoned white linen chest,
You showed off your heart.
Words were not not exchanged,
For on this plane we were not human,
Only replicas of something anchored by matter
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 9:37 AM UTC
Einstein-Rosen Bridge
"A wormhole can be visualized as a tunnel with two ends, each at separate points in spacetime (i.e., different locations and/or different points of time), or by a transcendental bijection of the spacetime continuum." -Wikipedia
UFO
A metallic or translucent disk with
little people, gray skin, large eyes
also translucent or ephemeral and
moving within a fixed space.
Ask yourself;
"What do people from the future look like?"
"What would someone see if they looked through the other end of your tunnel?"
Think about it;
"In the future our Sun becomes destabilized altering the physics of our local space therefore an Einstein-Rosen Bridge is possible once the star begins to collapse."
Our Sun is dying
We are studying the past...
not physically here,
craft move erratically
because they are not physical.
The other end of the bridge.
They are us.
The tunnel moves, jostles
as physics, space-time, change.
Who watches The Watchers?
Physical beings cannot
travel through time,
Can they see through it?
Can you?
You're traveling through time right now,
in your mind,
with your imagination.
What does the other end of your tunnel look like?
A
UFO
?
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 10:31 PM UTC
If I touch your rosen cheek,
if I pour your golden hair
upon my face to bury it in
brilliant glow, if I place the lips
of yours upon my own and
leave them there forevermore,
if I press my finger now to
your neck of silk, to begin an
endless journey down your side
unbridling all to bare beauty
to behold, if I told you what I
see, if I told how it made me feel,
you would think me crazed and
amazingly your thoughts be true,
so lean your head on pillow blue
and I shall make love to all of you,
then afterwards again and again.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 17, 2023
Apr 17, 2023 at 3:28 AM UTC
You're the one
With the loneliness
Pierced into the subliming anger
Rosen dermis
Time passed
Pale lavender
Like a broken dream
Unearthing itself from the exasperated soul
Within yourself
You're flowing like a river
Flooded with dead salmon
Hurt by the pressure of
Those million dreams
Of reaching the sky
Purporting to be fine
You're the imposter of the highest caliber.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 7:52 AM UTC
In a clearing two eyes meet and Spring is born,
sparks of joy rise to flame and settle on rosen lips.
Unspoken words adjoin deep into hearts,
whose daylight bring everlasting hope.
Clouds part, rain gives way to sun, night to day,
Spring to Summer.
Laughter now sings from sunny appellations,
whose tiny voices sooth and console.
Hearts grow, spirits sing,
laughter and running feet tarry, then pass by.
Flowers that were once crisp and sharp,
now dry and crumble in the days heat left.
Night pulls its shade,
blinded eyes stumble and fall, looking for that which sleeps.
Unable to behold the quiescent voice within,
upheaval of the bulwark surely comes.
Altruism's nourishment grows scarce,
as Summers door closes.
The Fall winds blow.
Times were better when, the sun was easterly high,
eyes beheld precious states, and life’s melody was sweet.
Time, now the thief paints with a different brush.
The air grows cold now.
Trees that once stood
majestically green now change to cloaks of amber gold.
Soft whispers dull the once loud chimes of time,
bringing the stillness of age.
The cloaks of amber gold fall and wither,
beginning the journey’s end.
Laughter no longer echoes in the clearing, as
the cold winds of winter proclaim their arrival.
The footprints of joyful days lie frozen in time,
to be seen, but touched never again.
The cold snows of winter descend,
to cover the melodies of adoration past.
The satin cloth of passions sweet,
etched deep in stone now crack.
A cabin stands on a hill.
A shell, A keeper of time, and visions past.
The smoke of a fire no longer flies
from its pipe tall and black.
Starvation ceased the flame, remorseless as one blowing out a candle.
Feb 22, 2023
Feb 22, 2023 at 2:46 PM UTC
... Barbara Rosen wrote music
on fish wrappings.
SøułSurvivør
(C) 7/15/2017
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
all that's alive
are my hands and lips
the rest is vinery
there's nothing to touch
the brain to tips
just a bested line in me
we're empty enough
swollen rosen-hips
lust's a slow findery
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
The hour is nigh, my brothers:
We shall come to pass!
The moment is soon, my friends,
When we shall grow weak from the fast!
Do not falter, O rosen-clad wise men of the future and the past!
My Rosicrucian brothers who brandish the Red Rose!
Those who wear thine thorns across thine breast!
Those who wear thine thorns across thine breast!
And so it was said:
“The Black Nourishment found its fruit in the fruit-laden tree which manifested inside the Line.”
And so it seems,
A guiding light shines upon the place where the exalted body of Christian Rosencrantz lies.
And we— the initiates— have not forgotten our great master!—
The venerable, most honourable, Christian Rosencrantz—
Who emerged with us, from the mud, then died.
Sep 12, 2023
Sep 12, 2023 at 8:51 PM UTC
The Viking King is dead and gone
His memory will live in song
On a frozen night and misty dawn
His body will forever burn
But time has passed as war subsides
New sun has rosen in the sky
The history became a myth
That teenagers will not beleave
Time passes fast for fragile men
And what they fear, will come again
All kingdoms fall, all leaders fail
And soon become a part of tale
As History repeats itself
We will all burn in pits of Hell
But there is no Hell and there is no Heven
Theres only Death.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
Rosen sind rot
Veilchen sind blau,
egal was ich werde dich immer lieben.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
What's up DMX, I see they got you next, I just wanna pay,
My respects, 21 gun salutes, with the techs, rough rider,
Like Theodore, for sure, I knew the pain, was plain, and pure,
What else do, we have to live for, too many greats, under the floor,
Resting peacefully, somebody put them slugs in me,
Reverse the tragedy, just to bring more tragedy, and agony,
Dodge the vanity, enemies sitting on the front, steps of mercy,
I seen many, died before, just another, unpredicted prophecy,
Thought I could shake, the cold flee, filled with lifeless memories,
First Kobe to Doom, then X, to close the everlasting, trinity
Now all I have is ya songs, rest in peace, dawg with the heavenly
Used to get amped up, to get at me dawg, rough on the hogs,
Living to die, so why even try, to muster the fry, last breed to die,
This game been ***** check the birdies, chirping slowly,
Crack the 40z, for the lost homies, too many, too name,
Lost in the fame, **** I should, have bit, the flames
Longer ago, seen death knocking at the doors, for the cure,
My best homies, all clay frozen, as isee the souls rosen,
From the watery graves, from the grief, that loves to stay,
Til the day, I lay in the ground, im a continue, to bust rounds,
Reload til my thoughts explode, I'm pain free, slipping easily,
Almost couldn't get up, never let up, this world's so corrupt,
Let the trails of tears, uplift the curse, finally in a hearse.
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 11:27 PM UTC
On that cloud, I
float, feeling that
marvellous fluff
of cotton candy tickle
my cheek like any
child would remember,
On that cloud I watch
the changing moon
shine swiftly from
night to night, two
faced as always,
staring upon thy
glistening body with
fascination.
On that cloud I
watch thy wings,
swimming in the sky
like any pegasus would
hope, alas,
to me, as I stare upon
you from the Rosen
skies, imperfections
seem nonexistent,
and I dream as any
adolescent would~~
I must, however,
release my bow
and watch your eyes
sparkle with love
towards another.
To love is my job,
to be loved, is my sin.
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 3:54 PM UTC
Even though my body responds
to happy words spoken I am BROKEN.
Even when my mind tell itself to open
I am BROKEN. Even when my problems
seems to have rosen i feel BROKEN.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC