"rushy" poems
Shancoduff My black hills have never seen the sun rising,
Eternally they look North towards Armagh.
Lot's wife would not be salt if she had been
Incurious as my black hills that are happy
When dawn whitens Glassdrummond chapel.
My hills hoard the bright shillings of March
While the sun searches in every pocket.
They are my Alps and I have climbed the Matterhorn
With a sheaf of hay for three perishing calves
In the field under the Big Forth of Rocksavage.
The sleety winds ****** the the rushy beards of Shancoduff
While the cattle - drovers sheltering in the Featherna Bush
Look up and say: "Who owns them hungry hills
That the water - hen and snip must have forsaken?
A poet? Then by heavens he must be poor."
I hear and is my heart not badly shaken?
3.2k
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Fair Venus’ train, appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo’s note,
The untaught harmony of spring:
While, whisp’ring pleasure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro’ the clear blue sky
Their gathered fragrance fling.
Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where’er the rude and moss-grown beech
O’er-canopies the glade,
Beside some water’s rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and think
(At ease reclined in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring
And float amid the liquid noon:
Some lightly o’er the current skim,
Some show their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation’s sober eye
Such is the race of Man:
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the Busy and the Gay
But flutter thro’ life’s little day,
In Fortune’s varying colours drest:
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chilled by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone—
We frolic while ’tis May.
3.1k
My love is like a bag
a bag of candy
pick the candy you like
anything..
m&m;'s,starburst, Hershey's chocolate.
But I prefer chips
the chips you can't stop crunching
but how do you know the kind of chips they are if they are in a raggedy black bag?
so dull and boring
try to open the bag
don't be too rushy, but have a firm, steady, constant pull
see, it open, but you took too slow
It's okay, just take one piece
and another and another
and wait, you're eating too much
leave some for myself and please put some of the chips you took back
Because you are not the only one taking from the bag.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
If any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
- William Allingham
(19 March 1824 – 18 November 1889)
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
I walked amidst the rushy lane
All that I knew was getting soaked in rain.
I was stuck.
No Breath. No Pulse.
This was not supposed to happen.
I was Lonely once again.
He left me.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
I was a model of a humble mother
My father thought me humility
"My son, run away!"
My mother told me.
"Do not sit,with the proud,son,
Rough they will make you
Careless you become
'I am sorry',you forget"
Father talked to me.
My teachers were humble
"Do not be rushy,
Do not make rushy decisions!"
I Respect Mr KORIR GILBERT,
Wherever.
I came from humble Background's
Now I feel sorry
When I see you big friends,
Fighting over this expansive cite
Instead of making poetry grow
You spoil our moods
We laugh no more
We just hide anger
I hope this place isn't for such
Let's cool down
Let's not fight over here
Read my next poem!
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
"Call me" those 2 word message from you
Instantly thrills my internals
Gives me warm and slimy feels
Makes me nervous and move rushy
Upstairs to my four walled den
Lock the doors
Shot down all the entries, the light may come in
Hid myself in the dark, untie my pony
Tear out my jeans and shirt
"Dialing" and then we begin
Run your fingers and unlock the 2 cherries
at top of the 2 hills
Squeeze, then take sip on its juice
Crawl it down the cliff,
Dive in and explore its depth.
Your a haven whispering " baby"
Put me on top, " I'll do the ridin' baby"
Marking each other creatively
And gliding continuously.
Scream loudly " ohhh baby"
Spread willing widely
Entering back and forth wildly.
You're from the North
And I'm in the South
Too far from each other
But
We came together.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC