"solaces" poems
299
Your Riches—taught me—Poverty.
Myself—a Millionaire
In little Wealths, as Girls could boast
Till broad as Buenos Ayre—
You drifted your Dominions—
A Different Peru—
And I esteemed All Poverty
For Life’s Estate with you—
Of Mines, I little know—myself—
But just the names, of Gems—
The Colors of the Commonest—
And scarce of Diadems—
So much, that did I meet the Queen—
Her Glory I should know—
But this, must be a different Wealth—
To miss it—beggars so—
I’m sure ’tis India—all Day—
To those who look on You—
Without a stint—without a blame,
Might I—but be the Jew—
I’m sure it is Golconda—
Beyond my power to deem—
To have a smile for Mine—each Day,
How better, than a Gem!
At least, it solaces to know
That there exists—a Gold—
Altho’ I prove it, just in time
Its distance—to behold—
Its far—far Treasure to surmise—
And estimate the Pearl—
That slipped my simple fingers through—
While just a Girl at School.
5.2k
*for Joe A., who wishes me that
"may your best days be in love's sight"
your kindness in words,
over the top,
unduly undue
"my best days"
très charmant,
mais aujourd'hui
students surpass
the teachers,
cause
sad, bad and life
tag trending
and we~me,
are simply
Sunday~done
with those
nowadays,
grandpa's tools
outdated, shelved,
in their final
resting place,
blades dulled,
the technology
of his verbiage,
rusted by old age
the reads diminishing,
his touch, antiquated,
his best days, resting on top of
the ocean internet waves
his summertime buddies,
sand sun grass and sea air perfumes,
singing, awe we got ya,
cosy and comforted,
awaiting you in your chair,
overlooking our truest
sheltered applause
my best words
turned inwards,
collecting recollections,
rereading my solaces,
and content that
my body,
still stirs,
when joined by
Barry White and Lionel,
forgot like me,
yet happy, in bed
with us
so you see,
Joe,
you are half right,
the right half
*on my bare chest,
blonde tresses,
blanket, keeping me warm,
easy like a Sunday morning
so turns come and go,
no more down the slide,
running to the back of the line,
up and down again and again
time of the tool and die maker,
to cut loose,
learn by crafting daily,
and not from the books*
***Ooh, that's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning^***
write for me, write for her,
for with her,
in love's sight,
life is
easy like Sunday morning,
and
that's why I'm easy,
like Sunday morning
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
Pining to be loved
I sought asylum within these pages
Every line, every word, every rhyme
Was a reflection of the sorrow that ruminated
Beyond the looking glass.
Yes, I fathomed I was alone without a
Guiding star, without a lodestar to lead the way, O, but now I am liberated
By The Sovereign of Songbirds
Who solaces me by his mellifluous musicality.
(Yes, I am free)
Soaring beneath the stratosphere, thermosphere, mesosphere, and exosphere
I saw all the suffering underneath the sun
And remembered what it was like to slumber.
Rest is something I took for granted
Feeling it was only forged to flee lament; oh, but that is only half the freedom
Of truth: Yes, we are reborn when we slumber.
So lull me and lead the way; furthermore, I am liberated.
The Sovereign of Songbirds enspirits me
By the clairron lullaby, by His voice.
(O, I am free)
Dreaming, I lost sight of all that made me human;
Limitations forgotten, I drifted heavensward. I forsook
All I held beloved.
Why must phantasy mean sacrifice? Must the fantast
Be sundered in order to claim transcendence, ascendence?
Yes, I was burned by The Incendiary Sun but
My heart has survived. It leads the way to liberty.
I am risen by The Sovereign of Songbirds who resurrects me.
I am summoned from the ashes like a Phoenix Rising.
(O, I am free)
(Se’ lah)
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 7:49 PM UTC
Your WEALTH burdens me poor,
Prithee me rich,
To sleep on thy satin decor -
Broken is my switch.
You sang your praises,
A different World -
With Wealth's crazes,
Under your wing I curled.
I know not of names,
To any of thy gems -
Colors of stricken dames,
Scarce of diadems.
May I meet the queen?
Her glory I must know;
She remains to be seen -
Under Wealth's woe.
Thy ring is on my hand -
And fear sits on my brow,
During the Wedding grand,
And who is happy now?
There are solaces to know,
When all that glitters is gold -
Along death's row,
O! - A marriage to behold!
Thy far treasure shall suffice,
With Wealth's spool -
Struck on a lady's vice,
While just a girl in school!
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
A countdown pronounce peace
How you ever watch a butterfly sing?
Possibly the eyelid seeks redemption through a twilight
Pressure points incubate the seriousness of forgiveness
The world turns a page inside the pain of child lost in the wind
Predictions cause traditions unveil reality
The standard finally arrived, stronger manuscript of heaven
Passion between solaces came through a whisper
The host intrigues by the road,
Feathers contemplate the last breath from a princess
Seeking the life missing from childhood
Sadness embraces winds blowing a symphony of passion
Time stood with expectation of retreat to my realm
Since I was invincible, the harpoon crosses the finish line
The lighthouse watches the fire rise through thoughts of Indecency,
A collaboration of hands holds the secret of sadness
I can still hear the wind crying out to the heavens
Forcing myself to sleep from a nightmare brewing in the air
Crystal clear the night unveil my nakedness
Sitting beside the moon, where did I leave her heart?
Inside reside the yearning desire of reaching for the stars
Granted a syllabus with sharp edge pointing at the sun
Transparency holds my hand
Walk behind A shield derailing
stray bullet from piercing my shamefulness
The life of unsung heroes, the reality of dreams can be overwhelming
Right after the door is shout, slowly descent a crucial impression of truthfulness
Bring back that cat eye’s steering at my rear view mirror
Exactly at the right moment
I open my soul…
Rony Joseph all rights reserved 2010
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 2:42 PM UTC
I'm sorry,
I frightened you.
I don't hate you.
I'm disappointed in myself for all the images I see,
That I cannot alter, or comfort, or change.
Because I'm afraid of rejection, expectations, and lack of feeling free.
My emptiness cannot comfort you entirely,
Yet I can show you of solaces beyond what one visually can see.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
cannot find true rest,
all the tumult in this world,
writ both large and small,
saps my upraised arms
alternate
flexing angry fists eager to strike hard
my revived new **** enemies,
and gods inexcusable and conspicuous absence in
Barcelona, Finland and my own
Charlottesville,
and
to quiet comfort commiserating, and storing
all the pain of individual souls I've acquired willingly
and the sunset comes quiet,
trying to sooth by adding
a gentling cream of cooling breeze,
the squirrels eye me suspiciously,
sensing the amiss within,
and all perfect sailboats voyaging past,
yet none stopping at the dock
to offer condolences or solaces
my watch ticks louder
each tick,
a worrisome cursed reminder
this real life seems to be endless struggle
interrupted by small comforts of little voices and
promises that escape is inevitable
each tock,
a fresh notification
the week's approach will contain
another visit from
Hamlet's ghost,
warning of warring factions
battlefield clashing
in a chesterfield plain
between two of mine shoulder blades
constantly reminded how lucky I am,
makes me grow quiet and put pen to one side,
and try to balance accounts, using this time,
pencil and erasure
I need a break and some glue
I need reparations and a battle plan
or happily learn to surrender
and accept being a
dumb terminal,
a slave,
that doesn't ask for
peace of mind
and knock off this poet of the
no way
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 5:06 PM UTC
---
keening sound
as curious kites
catch creation
in their
claws
fallen leaves
lie fallow
o'r fulsome
fields
of futility
iccarus lost in
ivory and ecru
iconoclastic
images of
idolatry
hubris hurtling
hewn at the hands
of his heart and
humbling
humanity
celestial
celebrations
assuaged
spread
silence
seeking the
solaces
of
self destruction
soulsurvivor
6/26/2015
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
Miss the heaven of your soul
In memories far away
Will you ever evanesce?!
Will I always feel my way?!
Not having bidden adieu
Left me in purgatory
Ah, I fell in love with you
Like the Pyrrhic victory
Warriors never give in
And their values carry on
I will drive dolours away
Till your voice is clarion
As dreams are effulgent,
Living is no more bitter
Your laughter is echoing
Through the endless Ether
I have the panacea
A true poet never fails
We gain little solaces
Owing to hard travails
Mar 7, 2020
Mar 7, 2020 at 1:46 PM UTC
Please see my last post.
I am leaving HP.
NOT because I don't love you all.
But because i love one
Person TOO MUCH!!!
My friend who is below lisred
I will alwaya love you as a friend.
No follow poet is EVER PARTED...
Ocean Blue
Solaces
Chria Fracc
Maggie Grace
Sukreeti
Arlo Disarray
Nathan Colin Owens
Ol' Storyteller
Thank you for sharing part of your hearts with me! !!!
More thanks to come...
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC
solaces inverted
comfort marches cue
simple things, we say
crazy things we do
creased seasons
plead reason
silence deepens – overdue
I tie my soul into my boots and know with time they’ll lead to you
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
staring into the warm void this evening
i take my place within jarring volitions.
thought is volatile. a mason strikes
metal, revealing its malleability.
there is treason in thought of geography;
i will shatter the mooring and find myself
something the fluting wind is the muse
and echoing quiet, a ripple from stone-skip.
the next place to go is the beginning
stemming from a concatenation of ruins.
the thinning visage of masses crossing
the streets wary of collisions
is something realer than the wounded glaze
of asphalt and the mirage that goes along
tiptoeing like a danseuse through shards
of incandescent figures. fumes. sprawls.
untouched virgins. tacit stones. doves
perching on powerlines nestled like youth
suckling mothers. fathers facing telegraphs
and the sure machine of dearth.
stasis of peregrinations. peripatetic
crush of imminent homes.
this is to assuage its call, from nowhere
arrives the next train to Kamuning,
disappearing in a plethora of arms
sequined by sweat under the swelter of planets
unfurling a bent axis of tragedies. we are
fraternized to tracks, unyielding distances,
makeshift solaces serial, benign, tenured.
belonging. unbelonging.
our destination: an impending sojourn,
the verdigris taking form.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
In pace with our various disciplines
We walk over cracking tile
Pretending it is
just more ice...
Black bees angle for the sharp taste
Of esoteric flowers, their honey
Pungent...
As the smell of
midnight
Reading from borrowers
Their books bought
And paid for
I make my
Own
Analysis
And look no longer
For my forgotten
Dream.
Solaces from memory of things
Done badly, the light pierces
Down... silver light laces
The green.
The heart repairs itself
And then is fractured
Once again. ..
By looking
Too long
At the
Moon.
Towers of stone grow over living flesh
But then disolve in rot...
Never to mark
its
passing
.
.
.
Soul Survivor
2002
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
Order to chaos, at a glance?
As a wholesome venture, of what we pronounce
Is adding the white of the eyes, an all of influence?
Has come to the fore, and shown the doldrum it haunts...
Peace and a real thirst, for a clue in the wry...
Sated with the coming hours, of decency we meant, will
The provision of seldom, toured and biased in courteous, shyness
An angel with passion to earn and each, insists dread, still...?
A place in the heart of civility...
A face asking the table of conscience, to look for the irony
Oft tutelage and their solaces, a penny to spend on originality...
A faith in the unknown, we reveal is fright's epiphany?
Voices we have heard, that made the point of a lifetime
With range and devotion to verify, the elucidation of meagerness?
And its boding history, the total of enumeration in the face of trying?
And the fertile now, and subtle distance to weighing the opuses we elect
Alcohol and judgments character?
Instinct is a shrewd contender, for what was a world of significance
And alarmed firsts, to the longest visit of intuition, or its faring?
A method of uniqueness, to show a calm of whimsy that is a seasons chance...
Meted reasons with a clash of simplicity for you...
Tales of reproach or in defense of totals, the schemes of things
Looking the part and petition of suppose, the tear we reveal is, due
The hands of antipathy in vice and demeanor, the identity we saw, become a meaning...
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 9:07 PM UTC
I spoke with you this morning.
You rolled off my skin and told me things were different.
_I listened to you as you moved my hair._
You are gone now--
My solaces I surrendered to, or
Is this a sign that all things will continue to change?
I miss you, my gloomy comforter.
You were not gloomy to me.
Take away the sun that suffocates me so
Sadistically. Hydrating resuscitation.
It's silly that I still check for you outside my window.
I hear the ghosts of your afterthought.
_When will you be back again?_
I feel as if we could travel anywhere and be anything;
You veiled me in a misty blanket of intuition.
_No one can speak our language but us._
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 8:46 PM UTC
See the irony, the taste in the bible
Sweet to homage, an honor of sight seen
And believed to be, a necessary disciple
With the common root to a living whim...
Honor the dead, with the universes smile...
Saved from presences of might, that calmly collected
A hosts sedition, the showing taste of life, all the while
Has a benign portion to its find, a host is its own reflected
Spare, me the details of its decision, mutuality is a lot
Candor was for king and queen before country, which amuses children
Did is the only way to achieve a soul, as if love is an age not
Begun with solaces interest, are we a finished thought to lend?
Traitorousness aside
The voice of freedom, to collect one more kindness
If a realer simplicity is to be, the account of the times
Where has a liberty been ever so much more than a calling, to this...
Waiting for sunshine to prove?
The stoic answer to all of a day, made for sincerity
Was a willing hour, the voice we came to love?
Regaled by a sorry eye one night, that life may know a reasons charity...
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 10:36 PM UTC