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I Alphonso live and learn,
Seeing nature go astern.
Things deteriorate in kind,
Lemons run to leaves and rind,
Meagre crop of figs and limes,
Shorter days and harder times.
Flowering April cools and dies
In the insufficient skies;
Imps at high Midsummer blot
Half the sun's disk with a spot;
'Twill not now avail to tan
Orange cheek, or skin of man:
Roses bleach, the goats are dry,
Lisbon quakes, the people cry.
Yon pale scrawny fisher fools,
Gaunt as bitterns in the pools,
Are no brothers of my blood,—
They discredit Adamhood.

Eyes of gods! ye must have seen,
O'er your ramparts as ye lean,
The general debility,
Of genius the sterility,
Mighty projects countermanded,
Rash ambition broken-handed,
Puny man and scentless rose
Tormenting Pan to double the dose.
Rebuild or ruin: either fill
Of vital force the wasted rill,
Or, tumble all again in heap
To weltering chaos, and to sleep.

Say, Seigneurs, are the old Niles dry,
Which fed the veins of earth and sky,
That mortals miss the loyal heats
Which drove them erst to social feats,
Now to a savage selfness grown,
Think nature barely serves for one;
With. science poorly mask their hurt,
And vex the gods with question pert,
Immensely curious whether you
Still are rulers, or Mildew.
Masters, I'm in pain with you;
Masters, I'll be plain with you.
In my palace of Castile,
I, a king, for kings can feel;
There my thoughts the matter roll,
And solve and oft resolve the whole,
And, for I'm styled Alphonse the Wise,
Ye shall not fail for sound advice,
Before ye want a drop of rain,
Hear the sentiment of Spain.

You have tried famine: no more try it;
Ply us now with a full diet;
Teach your pupils now with plenty,
For one sun supply us twenty:
I have thought it thoroughly over,
State of hermit, state of lover;
We must have society,
We cannot spare variety.
Hear you, then, celestial fellows!
Fits not to be over zealous;
Steads not to work on the clean jump,
Nor wine nor brains perpetual pump;

Men and gods are too extense,—
Could you slacken and condense?
Your rank overgrowths reduce,
Till your kinds abound with juice;
Earth crowded cries, "Too many men,"—
My counsel is, **** nine in ten,
And bestow the shares of all
On the remnant decimal.
Add their nine lives to this cat;
Stuff their nine brains in his hat;
Make his frame and forces square
With the labors he must dare;
Thatch his flesh, and even his years
With the marble which he rears;
There growing slowly old at ease,
No faster than his planted trees,
He may, by warrant of his age,
In schemes of broader scope engage:
So shall ye have a man of the sphere,
Fit to grace the solar year.
Softly Spoken Mar 2017
To the joy
We dance, we jest and joust
The complex interplay of two
Souls recognising selfness
Seeing the edges fit

To the sorrow
This memory fades, surely, swiftly
A conversation half remembered
The realisation that ..
I can't recall your voice

To the sweetness
A softly remembered moment
The curve of a finger
Tracing line across memory

To the senses
That I can't feel those arms
Lightly, a tear traces a path
I feel it slide down my cheek
Then unseen weight grips

To the Anger
Against moments expectation unmet
When the collision occurs
And unwanted words come forth
The rage unchecked

To the self
The clash of the ego and id
tripartite vying for casual dominion
Eros and Thanatos war
Action dictated by thought

To the internal
The experience of
A lucid world of love
of longing, of joy
And it's counterpart; sadness

As I remember that I will
Never see you again
We will never speak
You will not know
How much you are missed

To friendship
To the joy of finding each other
To the gift of you, selflessly given
To the kindness
To both sides of a being


To the present
To Finding ways to exist Sans those who've faded
Always to persevere
The interlocking of past and now
Always seeing and remembering the essence of their being
Just breathe

To the heart
No words exist for this journey
From innocence to sorrow
And back
But when led with..


Nothing is insurmountable
Written after the death of my Friend Simon, a supreme badass who, like all supreme badasses, found the normal unexciting.
Stella Cleere Nov 2015
How could you do it?
How could you
bathe in the red of others
watch their selfness drain from them
and say
that it is all in the name of religion?

You disgust me
that you could display such hate
and say it is all for love
and you do the word a gross disservice.

I hope you are safe in the knowledge
that this cruel deity who revels in lack of breath
has provided a future for you;
there is no place for you here.
R.I.P. to all of those who lost their lives in France tonight. There are not enough words to do their memory justice.
phil roberts Jun 2016
With your heart buttoned up tight
And your soul scrubbed to transluscence
You tip-toed around mountains
And visited the sand and sea
Contained in your selfness
And at ease in your skin
You glided without leaving footsteps
With the grace of angels
Perhaps a church ***** and choir
Vibrated in the air
But the world moved on
At a less sedate rate of orbit
And sadly
It would not
And could not
Wait

                                 By Phil Roberts
Terry Collett Apr 2014
See my bridegroom comes,
said Sister Clare, He comes
swift as birds of Spring, His
voice echoes within, His

touch wakes me from deep
slumber, unfetters me from
my sad sins; His eyes watch
me, they run over me like

flowing water, look into my
soul like dawn's light; He is
my keeper, my protector, His
hand caresses me in my deepest

darkness, His fingers raise
my chin, lift my head, His
fingers touch my heart, wake
me from my selfness, my

obsession with my me; He
comes into my heart, He is
the kisser of life, the waker
of sleepers in the grave; I

wait for Him in the night
when the darkness embraces,
seek His company when
demons touch and ******;

He is my bridegroom, my
love, I seek Him out like
one for water as I thirst,
I listen for his footsteps in

the break of dawn, I kiss
Him as one kisses one's
deepest love, I am only
happy when He is near,

when His voice awakes
me. He is my safe ship
out in the dark deep sea.
A YOUNG NUN AND HER LOVE OF CHRIST.
David J Sep 2023
That blue flower gleams in mind
Its luster stark against the golden sands
Standing boldly amongst the famished land.

The flower’s allure snatches me again
With a rush of unyielding visions
My minds eye replete with bewilderment

Recalling the truth of my selfness,
That blue runs in my veins.
A blue flower (German: Blaue Blume) was a central symbol of inspiration for the Romanticism movement. My favorite period. The freedom of fantasy, and the Self in Nature.
'Melia Jun 2021
i dread stepping out of my succumbed selfness
where water puts pressure to thought
and to do anything productive
im not ought

i dont want to leave
but im told to go on to face
a faceless world

no one touches me here
and the walls are mine
the tile is overlooked and i resonate
time here isn't
and im never late

theres simply
the dull sound of monotonous water tones
to keep me company
and i want for not
Caroline Shank May 2022
You are lost to the waking world, a
denizen of the darkness.  I pry my
fingers from off the steel lock.  You
risk the deeping years, the early

yellow springing world laid for you
from my body.  I talked to you in the
corridor of my youth. You only tried
me for.a moment. You took the
pages of my determination and
threw them over the brick lined
walls of your selfness.

You made me witness your dance.
The song you sang, your lyrics
beneath my pillow, the
voice of ancestors not heard until
your music escaped the fences.

My mother did not live to dance
with you.  The songcoated signal
escaped between  your
incomprehensible affinity.

The dance of genetics in full
display.  I am still the Baffled.
The one footed dance  of
the broken, the chondral song
played every evening.

Go behind the schoolyard where
you and the lions of your
collective urges vye to be
the fitest ****** on the block.

My life is short now with my own
kicked addictions. I drowned in
the lake of desire. I have swum
the frigid surf and walked away.

You are not unique. Many sear
the letter of desire across their
bare forhead and cannot traverse
the concourse of the day.  

I will not declare myself aroung
your wheel. I walk through Grace.
If you choose me kneel for the
Benediction of God.

Caroline Shank
5.28.22
Caroline Shank Nov 2023
I Prayed that I would love
someone
again in this lifetime.

That he would
recognize
me in my selfness
and be glad.

Glad as primitively as a
single
glimpse
regales the saddest

crying echo of my
name morphing into
Song.

Have I found that
ecstatic moment?
Have you in the
moment's recognition
sung with me

tonight?

No The End is not my
Beginning. It is the

World

Which breathed our
names

Together



Caroline Shank
11.19.23
tina kimi Feb 2020
cycle of selfness
never stops
others are things
self first serve
loving thyself
more significant
till self burst
others are there
to pick up the rot
self consumed
RobbieG Nov 2021
My purpose 
isnt to service 
unwanted ears 
from sharing 
childhood fears 
from past years 
Its not my destiny 
to become someone 
that must share 
all the darkness 
for hopes it might 
help someone 
besides myself 
CALL ME SELFISH 
for this selfness 
i surround myself in 
i wish i could be 
more selfless 
but to imagine 
what that means 
when i was 
an acquitance of 
everyone elses needs 
but mine 
when i was a kid 
Emancipated at age 17 
runaway with 
a pregnant girlfriend 
just the icing 
on top of the cake 
of mistakes 
I wish were fake 
but are far to real 
the scars exposed 
host the bitterness 
exposed in me 
from years of 
bad habbits 
being the 
natural habitat for me 
poetry saved me 
poetry gave me 
a fighting chance 
the last dance 
before death 
was interrupted 
by words wrote 
on a bar napkin
before the rage 
took over the daze 
before the haze 
ended the self-slavery 
to mental health catastrophe 
as I gave 
my last words
meant to be written  
a second chance 
glanced at my last 
vision as I published 
a mind releasing poem 
and recieved comments 
of uplifting support 
yet another soul saved 
rEaLiTy 
kindness saves 
more than hate
COULD EVER STEAL 
Thank you greatly 
POETRY 
Im not worthy 
of your poise
Violet Cat Sep 2019
I don't want to be cold anymore

You know how explosions
make up the Sun.
Bam, bam. Constant movement.

My heart is the Sun.
With explosions from your eyes and laugh, your voice. Your softness and warmth. My fuel.

And you go,
There's darkness.
It's cold,
No warmth or light.
Nothing to be worth moving forward for.

You're suddenly stuck in the mud of your own lonely selfness.
And everything joyful loses the meaning.
And you swim in the seek of finding your joyful nature again. Nothing works without the fuel anymore.

I just want to go back to the stars. I need my warm Sun back.

— The End —