"soonest" poems
1. Fallow brown, like he's poured his whole soul out through the gold sieve and lies in wait to be replenished.
2. The color of the ocean. Blue, I guess, but that’s not even the half of it. All the ruggedness of the waves—forming up, breaking, and forming again like life is only the motions. Her eyes are blue, but you could hardly tell.
3. A hand-painted bowl of fresh chocolate frosting from which the most immature hands soonest get a mouthful.
4. Beautiful. Like, drop dead gorgeous. I’d dig my own grave and stick to rolling in it if she ever looked at me some type of way. Their color? I don’t know. But most of all, I dare to wonder about the bludgeoned scar between them.
5. Sturdy cobalt. Far more indicative of her steady heart than gold could ever hope to be. Still susceptible to tear, but not so easily warped by heat or stress.
6. Simply brown. No, red? It’s always been hard to tell through the fog. Truthful like the rawest earth, I’ll call her mahogany.
7. Faded blue spray paint over a slate gray wall. Forcibly muted after her years of blasting music, but there’s still that rogue twinkle to them that I pray slips through the cracks.
8. Coffee, with all the vim and vigor to make you click your heels and fall in love.
9. Unripe lime seen lazing in the shade. Not fit for a margarita just yet, but straining at the bit nonetheless.
10. Hazel, although I still don’t know what the **** that actually is. Whatever. It looks nice on her resume.
11. Green. Or were they blue? The memories of her were too wonderful, too important, that I had to let the littlest details fade away first.
12. The crystallized seafoam that made me realize I deserved to feel alive, too.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 3:09 AM UTC
1165
Contained in this short Life
Are magical extents
The soul returning soft at night
To steal securer thence
As Children strictest kept
Turn soonest to the sea
Whose nameless Fathoms slink away
Beside infinity
5.8k
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou **** me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
3.5k
Well then; I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne’er agree.
The very honey of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the soonest cloy;
And they (methinks) deserve my pity
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings
Of this great hive, the city.
Ah, yet, ere I descend to th’ grave
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!
And since love ne’er will from me flee,
A mistress moderately fair,
And good as guardian angels are,
Only belov’d, and loving me.
O fountains! when in you shall I
Myself eas’d of unpeaceful thoughts espy?
O fields! O woods! when shall I be made
The happy tenant of your shade?
Here’s the spring-head of Pleasure’s flood:
Here’s wealthy Nature’s treasury,
Where all the riches lie that she
Has coin’d and stamp’d for good.
Pride and ambition here
Only in far-fetch’d metaphors appear;
Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter,
And nought but Echo flatter.
The gods, when they descended, hither
From heaven did always choose their way:
And therefore we may boldly say
That ’tis the way too thither.
How happy here should I
And one dear she live, and embracing die!
She who is all the world, and can exclude
In deserts solitude.
I should have then this only fear:
Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Should hither throng to live like me,
And so make a city here.
2.8k
She’s dead; and all which die
To their first elements resolve;
And we were mutual elements to us,
And made of one another.
My body then doth hers involve,
And those things whereof I consist hereby
In me abundant grow, and burdenous,
And nourish not, but smother.
My fire of passion, sighs of air,
Water of tears, and earthly sad despair,
Which my materials be,
But near worn out by love’s security,
She, to my loss, doth by her death repair,
And I might live long wretched so
But that my fire doth with my fuel grow.
Now as those Active Kings
Whose foreign conquest treasure brings,
Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break:
This (which I am amazed that I can speak)
This death hath with my store
My use increased.
And so my soul more earnestly released
Will outstrip hers; as bullets flown before
A latter bullet may o’ertake, the powder being more.
2.5k
The soonest mended, nothing said;
And help may rise from east or west;
But my two hands are lumps of lead,
My heart sits leaden in my breast.
O north wind swoop not from the north,
O south wind linger in the south,
Oh come not raving raging forth,
To bring my heart into my mouth;
For I've a husband out at sea,
Afloat on feeble planks of wood;
He does not know what fear may be;
I would have told him if I could.
I would have locked him in my arms,
I would have hid him in my heart;
For oh! the waves are fraught with harms,
And he and I so far apart.
2.3k
1237
My Heart ran so to thee
It would not wait for me
And I affronted grew
And drew away
For whatsoe’er my pace
He first achieve they Face
How general a Grace
Allotted two—
Not in malignity
Mentioned I this to thee—
Had he obliquity
Soonest to share
But for the Greed of him—
Boasting my Premium—
Basking in Bethleem
Ere I be there—
2.1k
Trees are sighing
Cascading spent leaves
Dead or dying
Gentle on the breeze
The sun's warm rays
Will soonest disappear
But, do not worry
It happens, but
Once a year
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou **** me.
From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more, must flow
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
1.8k
179
If I could bribe them by a Rose
I’d bring them every flower that grows
From Amherst to Cashmere!
I would not stop for night, or storm—
Or frost, or death, or anyone—
My business were so dear!
If they would linger for a Bird
My Tambourin were soonest heard
Among the April Woods!
Unwearied, all the summer long,
Only to break in wilder song
When Winter shook the boughs!
What if they hear me!
Who shall say
That such an importunity
May not at last avail?
That, weary of this Beggar’s face—
They may not finally say, Yes—
To drive her from the Hall?
1.7k
All silent in the months of grace
When frosty blankets fall across the hills
And fields where birds once sang their verse,
But melody of wind is all we know.
These lands to die are not yet dead
Though bee does mourn for blooms and for himself
When beetle joints go stiff with cold --
When funerary twilight season comes
To ***** the days. The final wren
Now senses slipping of the year, and so
Of tenant hill and glen deprived
Set in for sleep. If never to awake --
To never feel a verdant joy
Or exultation of the orb that breathes
Bright life into our skies -- at least
Released from hardships and her sorrows be.
But she has faith, she loves the sun!
The twinkling of his eye will come in May
Or else with April's gown he'll march:
Believing in her lover's rising light
The dream that takes her through the night.
Not far, a sickly naiad's wood
In seasons past so fair of face and leaf,
Yet creeping forest's yellowing
Like fingernails of corpse when skin recedes.
But then blush orange sanguinate:
The lover's sigh ignites when dies the vine,
Their bubbling veins in praise of life
When soonest to be severed by cruel scythe.
This phantom of their fate is grim,
More grim be sure than fate that falls in death:
The slings and arrows of the mind
Are those most potent poisoned, fear them not --
Illusory as winter's chill
That peels off maiden's wedding veil in spring:
A peaceful rest does come to all
Though private troubles drown the trees through fall.
Unthinking sleep does bliss the boughs,
In hibernation lose to learn anew
The sights proved true by waking world
That are the growing season's cause to feel.
When browns the brush and flies the thrush
Unanchored Daphne nods and starts to drift
In sea where beings dream as one.
Soft blizzard quilt on woods in slumber laid,
Demeter's daughter vanished into shade,
With knowledge that she'll never fade.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 2:56 PM UTC
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou **** me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure: then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
1.5k
Cool shades and dews are round my way,
And silence of the early day;
Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed,
Glitters the mighty Hudson spread,
Unrippled, save by drops that fall
From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall;
And o'er the clear still water swells
The music of the Sabbath bells.
All, save this little nook of land
Circled with trees, on which I stand;
All, save that line of hills which lie
Suspended in the mimic sky--
Seems a blue void, above, below,
Through which the white clouds come and go,
And from the green world's farthest steep
I gaze into the airy deep.
Loveliest of lovely things are they,
On earth, that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its little hour
Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
Even love, long tried and cherished long,
Becomes more tender and more strong,
At thought of that insatiate grave
From which its yearnings cannot save.
River! in this still hour thou hast
Too much of heaven on earth to last;
Nor long may thy still waters lie,
An image of the glorious sky.
Thy fate and mine are not repose,
And ere another evening close,
Thou to thy tides shalt turn again,
And I to seek the crowd of men.
1.6k
**** nation
Conversing with ammunitions.
Hearts that are barely loyal
Being served by humbled soldiers.
No wonder peace has been conquered
And war the man on the altar.
Her habitants live like their souls are on trial
And their god a liar.
**** nation
Her masses are speechless creatures
Ruled in cluelessness
Jubilating in bitterness.
**** Nation
Driven by greedy intentions
Stomach fed with promises
Sleeping and waking in calamities.
**** nation
The fat ones are the vultures
Termites and cankerworms haven
The thinning path between hell and heaven.
**** nation
Where the safest place is the grave
Saints nation rebirth to a **** nation
Where unity and faith are slaves.
Hmm! My **** nation of tears
Unfortunately, I'm fortunate to be born here
blessed with everything, cursed with leadership,
Born into miseries, dying in hardship.
A **** nation in a tunnel
Crowded with diverse starlets
Being forced to drain down the funnel
Crying blood for a spark soonest.
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 10:40 AM UTC
I always forget that those
That burn brightest now
Burn soonest too
I'll stoke these embers
And carry them to westerly winds
Into flame
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
They can feel you falling away,
Never longer the same, Never longer,
Unable to break,
And may someone who feels for you,
Help you out of the rays of the sun,
May they help you glide by its shadows,
For the most obvious reasons,
Though that very few
Can purely
See
And so with those thoughts I swiftly walk by the dark street,
With a light in the distance but so far away its,
Dimmed to me.
And so I think for someone else,
Not myself
For once,
As I hear the baby cry its cry and sob its sob,
While I walk,
As I hear some other mom tell her daughter,
That next year it won't be a school night,
Next year she can sleep over,
Next year she can do this
And do that,
Just be prepared.
And so with those thoughts I swiftly walk by the dark street,
With a light in the distance but so far away its,
Dimmed to me.
Sometime afterwards,
I'm hit by the intoxication of imagination,
The visuals that form spontaneous speech,
And words that form anything but sentences,
Though they form expression,
Nothing like this, though.
And so with those thoughts I swiftly walk by the dark street,
With a light in the distance but so far away its,
Dimmed to me.
And So I'll walk again,
Maybe in this night or,
Maybe in the upcoming day,
Well really,
In the upcoming true episode of life that hits me soonest,
Nothing of the sort regarding the past,
Nothing of the sort regarding now,
And nothing of the sort regarding the future,
Whatever hits me that is a timeless presence.
The whole problem is that the timeless presence is one of a kind,
One of a kind that barely anyone is willing to find,
And I dare someone to slash me blind,
The timeless peace that is yet with my life aligned,
Will find me when I find it
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
Karma was child from a humble family whose dream had a spoonful of wishes. She never thought of a hen sitting on her plate for lunch until her body shaped to capture the focus of the community.
Her and hard work were inseparable, and motivation sparked from her deeds. This was short lived by blindfolds of moments. She then landed in a ditch of blessings which surpassed her baring as paper made solutions to all her faults and soonest laziness took her for a companion.
Yes, she had completely forgotten her path neither could she trace her background, for looks bought her a ticket to a lifestyle and rather failed to resist becoming stingy.
She learnt not the meaning of love for it carried no sense, and the she needed not to learn of true love, oh how could she for to her it was a monster that stole opportunities.
The caterpillar she was grew into a butterfly one seen by many and so touched by those whose hands could afford the beautiful colours of its petals. Souls fell apart over the turned beauty of the wings that went toxic. The meal that went bad before the harvest of a promised yield.
The love to taste of the night shinning sun evolved many to empty pockets and others to bundles of regret to disease and misfortune. It wasn’t her making nor desire, it was the glory of Gods carvings that alerted those near and far to come eco and share of visibility of a living being stationed as nature.
This beauty scorched mens eyes day in and day out as she melted souls and flowers faded in the sun. she glowed on gentle pockets, never invested any seeds for a tomorrow. Time wasn’t her ally, it brought a change in season as the clouds ushered in rain sprouted new and better yields that out competed the market of the former.
Clouds shrinked and a dark tomorrow was born, the wine tasted more bitter than old wine in a new bottle. Then the veterans got and adopted new medals at the cost of the old fades of the butterfly contests.
What was left was a story tale with a bunch of little and innocent ferries whose direction was unfolded but hope set from a single ray through the thickest forest.
Thomas Bron Mukama
#herdsmanofprogress
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 2:33 AM UTC
my favorite part of the day could never be the morning
when we're new people and hesitant strangers
but it's when your smile is the brightest and your kisses are the softest
my favorite part of the day could never be the afternoon
when there's minimal talking and maximal noise
but it's when silence gets blissful and comfortable
my favorite part of the day is the night
when you're vulnerable and tired, yet smiling
when your arms touch my skin like satin
when i can see stars in your eyes
but alas, the brightest stars are the ones yet to fade the soonest
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou **** me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
1.2k
Can i please see you?
The soonest?
I don't need to see you but I want to see you.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou **** me.
From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must flow
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men
And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
1.1k
During the days I spend slaving away
For some measly tips and minimum pay,
I often listen to unheard music,
And hope for the soonest chance I can play
These songs I still practice repeatedly
And usually perform quite easily--
Their sequences of notes strung together
Weren't ever difficult to remember.
What I've always enjoyed doing the most
Is getting the right to happily boast
About crushing what they said I can't do--
Hopefully, I've shown them a trick or two!
This music still swirls inside of my head,
And I spend so much time in "rehearsal",
I make all the motions asleep in bed--
More time spent "playing" is always helpful!
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 4:19 AM UTC
Original
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou **** me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou’art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy’or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Translation by Liza Ann Marie
Death, do not be proud. Though some may call you
Mighty and dreadful, you are not that way.
For, those you think you overthrow,
Do not die; Poor Death, you cannot even **** me.
You are like rest and sleep and bring
Much pleasure; and then to you many more flow.
And soon our best men will go with you,
Rest of their bones and soul’s delivery.
You are a slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men;
In poison, war, and sickness you dwell.
Poppies or charms could make us sleep just as well,
And even better than you could; why pride yourself then?
After one short sleep, we awake again eternally
And you will be no more. Death, you will die.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
Fast beat
Heavy base
That’s how it starts
Next thing you know
You’ve slapped a *****
Burned some bridges
Await some much needed fun
Give up on your fears
Take your life by the horns
Decide your going to do it
That thing you’ve been skirting around for the past month
You know the one
Well you’re going to do it
Whether it’s a good idea or not
Just waiting for the soonest possible moment
You don’t care of the outcomes anymore
The person who cared
They left
That version of yourself is dead and gone
Now its time to become
A reckless hurricane
A swarm of emotions
Impulses
Desires
Actions
No over thinking
Just what you want
When you want it
Let the music take over
No more control over yourself
Just reckless fun
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC