"sportive" poems
With that, my Parapets should find Content
Knowing you and all Involved will migrate
But only sever out those Post-Chains sent
Will I be Enlightened from this Debate
I should go first, seeing this Program, I,
The Valleyed Entrepreneur once invest
For special - Hearts which ferrimost go by
And boost this Capital for all your Best
Only a matter when my eyes Break Lens
Which, for once, these Songs never did Exist
Since configured to Sportive Water's sense
Those Borrowed Drums whose Beat will now resist.
With my lips pursed, to the top of my mane
I Thank you once again, Beauty's Maiden Name.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 3:29 AM UTC
Yet, my pretty sportive friend,
Little is’t to such an end
That I praise thy rareness!
Other dogs may be thy peers
Haply in these drooping ears,
And this glossy fairness.
But of thee it shall be said,
This dog watched beside a bed
Day and night unweary—
Watched within a curtained room,
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom
Round the sick and dreary.
Roses, gathered for a vase,
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning.
This dog only, waited on,
Knowing that when light is gone
Love remains for shining.
Other dogs in thymy dew
Tracked the hares, and followed through
Sunny moor or meadow.
This dog only, crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.
Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing.
This dog only, watched in reach
Of a faintly uttered speech,
Or a louder sighing.
And if one or two quick tears
Dropped upon his glossy ears,
Or a sigh came double—
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
In a tender trouble.
And this dog was satisfied
If a pale thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping—
Which he pushed his nose within,
After—platforming his chin
On the palm left open.
4.3k
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
Hi Quaden,
When your cries were loud,
The world heard of your cries.
The world couldn't hold back their tears
As your emotions are ours.
Your emotions reminisce our past.
'They' say our past is meant to be present This confuses us with our 'dim memories'.
How could the world acts so mean??
Seal thy mouth!
Every teardrop was flashing in front of my eyes.
But today I'm shining more than the pearl in the ocean.
Quaden, still your sweet voice reaches my ears.
I understand that your pain is so emotional and heartbreaking.
Remember, my dear little pal you became an example for the whole globe.
You have inspired the world.
A true tale that will last long.
You are born unique
And that isn't a matter to anyone.
No one can disturb you and believe that it's you!
Thou art special, charming and sportive!
Be strong and be great.
Believe that 'it's you' .
I call myself 'I' and that's you!
Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 2:50 AM UTC
Mingle with the genial bowl
The Rose, the ‘flow’ret’ of the Soul,
The Rose and Grape together quaff’d,
How doubly sweet will be the draught!
With Roses crown our jovial brows,
While every cheek with Laughter glows;
While Smiles and Songs, with Wine incite,
To wing our moments with Delight.
Rose by far the fairest birth,
Which Spring and Nature cull from Earth—
Rose whose sweetest perfume given,
Breathes our thoughts from Earth to Heaven.
Rose whom the Deities above,
From Jove to **** dearly love,
When Cytherea’s blooming Boy,
Flies lightly through the dance of Joy,
With him the Graces then combine,
And rosy wreaths their locks entwine.
Then will I sing divinely crown’d,
With dusky leaves my temples bound—
Lyæus! in thy bowers of pleasure,
I’ll wake a wildly thrilling measure.
There will my gentle Girl and I,
Along the mazes sportive fly,
Will bend before thy potent throne—
Rose, Wine, and Beauty, all my own.
2.6k
"O where are you going with your love-locks flowing,
On the west wind blowing along this valley track?"
"The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye,
We shall escape the uphill by never turning back."
So they two went together in glowing August weather,
The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right;
And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on
The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight.
"Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven,
Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?"
"Oh, that's a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous,
An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt."
"Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly,
Their scent comes rich and sickly?"--"A scaled and hooded worm."
"Oh, what's that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?"
"Oh, that's a thin dead body which waits the eternal term."
"Turn again, O my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest:
This beaten way thou beatest I fear is hell's own track."
"Nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting:
This downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back."
2.1k
I am done being measured by being without a man. I am so done with dating. I am getting to a point where - remembering their information?
Darling, show me you're here to stay first.
I am done remembering facts and whole pageturner conversations.
Effort?
I might put it in when I feel like it.
Dating is horrid. Spend weeks apping and talking and sharing and caring only to part after what, date two? Three?
No, I am done.
But yes, that is the paradox. I want love.
I want THAT adventure too.
But I am done begging god for love or for fate to find me a person.
I AM DONE BEING BUILT UP, WRECKED AND HAVING TO REBUILD AFTER SOME OX DECIDES TO TRY WITH ME. I am DONE with indecision. With coldness, with superiority, with children, with babies on the side, with leftovers.
Because that is what these men have tasted like to me. Leftovers.
And I am a ******* snack, a meal at a Michellin restaurant. A ************* well-rounded, thought through, social, creative and sportive prize.
So who the **** are you to bring me down.
Jun 6, 2022
Jun 6, 2022 at 11:16 PM UTC
I want him to have a beard.
I want him to read.
I want him to feel the weight of words on his chest.
I want him to always feel his heart skip a beat when I tell him I love him.
I want him to know the value of ‘I love you’.
I want him to be educated.
I want him to look through things.
I want him to overlook superficials.
I want him to be tall.
I want him to be sportive.
I want him to be well built.
I want him to take care of himself,
I want him to take care of me too.
I want him to worthy his family.
I want him to put God first.
I want him to have ambitions.
I want him to feel comfortable with me through silences.
I want him to be home, my home.
I want him to have black hair.
I want him to be social.
I want him to be proud of me.
I want him to have brown eyes.
I want him to make me believe in forever.
I want him to appreciate the little stuff.
I want him to make me feel safe.
I want him to give up his soul to singers singing their sorrow.
I want him to value the little things.
I want him to wear tuxedos.
I want him to wear dress shirts and ties.
I want him to find comfort in pain.
I want him to despise smoking.
I want him to see that enjoying your life is beyond partying and getting drunk.
I want him to keep his promises.
I want him to see women as equal to men as 1 is equal to 1.
I want him to like kids.
I want him to be committed.
I want him to understand the emptiness I feel inside,
I want him to fill it.
I want him to be brave.
I want him to be protective.
I want him to not be ashamed to cry.
I want him to support me.
I want him to get along with the people I love.
I want him to be the missing piece that completes my puzzle.
I want him to be my source of peace.
I want him to hug me tight, and never let go.
I want him to want me.
Or maybe I don’t want any of those things, maybe I just want him to fall for me and catch me as I fall for him too.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
Three years she grew in sun and shower;
Then Nature said, ‘A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.
“Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
The girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.
‘She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.
‘The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motions of the storm
Grace that shall mould the maiden’s form
By silent sympathy.
‘The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.
‘And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her ****** ***** swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell.’
Thus Nature spake—The work was done—
How soon my Lucy’s race was run!
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm, and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.
1.6k
’Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed
When not to be receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed
Not by our feeling, but by others’ seeing.
For why should others’ false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own.
I may be straight though they themselves be bevel.
By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown,
Unless this general evil they maintain:
All men are bad, and in their badness reign.
1.6k
Three years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said, “A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This Child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A Lady of my own.
“Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
The Girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.
“She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.
“The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motions of the Storm
Grace that shall mould the Maiden’s form
By silent sympathy.
“The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.
“And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her ****** ***** swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell.”
Thus Nature spake—The work was done—
How soon my Lucy’s race was run!
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.
1.5k
O, the fun, the fun and frolic
That The Wind that Shakes the Barley
Scatters through a penny-whistle
Tickled with artistic fingers!
Kate the scrubber (forty summers,
Stout but sportive) treads a measure,
Grinning, in herself a ballet,
Fixed as fate upon her audience.
Stumps are shaking, crutch-supported;
Splinted fingers tap the rhythm;
And a head all helmed with plasters
Wags a measured approbation.
Of their mattress-life oblivious,
All the patients, brisk and cheerful,
Are encouraging the dancer,
And applauding the musician.
Dim the gas-lights in the output
Of so many ardent smokers,
Full of shadow lurch the corners,
And the doctor peeps and passes.
There are, maybe, some suspicions
Of an alcoholic presence . . .
'Tak' a sup of this, my wumman!' . . .
New Year comes but once a twelvemonth.
1.3k
Flippant, frivolous, funny.
Witty, droll, comic.
Jokey, playful, sportive.
Mischievous—a whole 'nother
can of worms.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
The neighborhood sleeps robustly…charmingly.
✽
I sit quietly
utterly breathlessly.
Listening sadly to the inveterate, rasping wheeze
and pensively perceiving the impelling, piercing eagerness
of my dismal, labored breath.
Constrained to stay put, there is little I can do
but to repeatedly browse through
a raft of 'get-well' messages
which have consistently traversed
across your sedulous time-tables
surmounting the bustling maze
of the capricious world-wide-web.
I think of you and your caressing ways -
Your determined thriving to bolster me
through my trance-like medicated days;
planting a flimsy little flicker
to my dead-pan face.
✽
This bantam lightweight note intends to modestly denote:
♔ my incalculable gratefulness for your unqualified wishes
and
♔ sportive acquiescence to my maiden experience
of loving your love
quixotic and so cogently beyond
the most adept shot of the Cupid's arrow.
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 11:30 PM UTC
Deep in the crevice of cozy cosmos,
Swirling around the big ***** enmasse,
A glowing globe of fire amidst aloft,
An earthly sphere spinning time its best.
The starry crowd watching and winking,
The crazy clouds clashing and flashing,
Moonlit fare is lovely, cool and strong,
Oh, the cosmic game is splendid far and long.
Tell-tale telecast frequents ultra-high,
Beaming across the ethereal sky,
The sportive spirit sponsored it all unknown,
Here we clamour to bring out well known.
The ever-invincible powers that be,
All out in space know not where to be.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
Stay with me for a short time,
Just for a couple of words,
Just for a couple of smilings,
For a couple of easy nods.
Stay with me for a couple of strophes.
I’ll pour two glasses of wine.
The one that, remember, used to prepossess
You and me both for a while.
Stay with me for a short time
For a couple of sportive jests,
For a couple of bootless guitar accords,
For a couple of stupid shy footsteps.
For a couple of silver-tongued tender breathings,
For a couple of sweet and tremulous words.
Stay with me, please, for a short time,
At least for a couple of epochs.
Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 4:11 PM UTC
Deep in the crevice of cozy cosmos,
Swirling around the big ***** enmasse,
A glowing globe of fire amidst aloft,
An earthly sphere spinning time its best.
The starry crowd watching and winking,
The crazy clouds clashing and flashing,
Moonlit fare is lovely, cool and strong,
Oh, the cosmic game is splendid far and long.
Tell-tale telecast frequents ultra-high,
Beaming across the ethereal sky,
The sportive spirit sponsored it all unknown,
Here we clamour to bring out well known.
The ever-invincible powers that be,
All out in space know not where to be.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
Some people are born blessed
yet always stressed
Others have less
but are happy nevertheless.
Some people are bystanders
having nothing to do with things
And some are mere followers
Getting on every bandwagon's wings.
Some people are born leaders
Persuasive, charismatic and zealous
And some are just whistleblowers
Loud, insensitive and callous.
Some people are so weak
Unable to do a thing
Some are just meek
Able to bear anything.
Some are bright
Some love to fight
because they love to be right
Some are strong
and never want to be wrong.
Some people are slow
and love to lay low
Some are lucky
and have everything okay...
Some are frisky
Some are *****
Some are risky
Some are very cold
Some are old
And some are bold
Some are very casual
And others are ******
Some people are wise
And others are very nice
Some are real
Some are cruel
Some are sad
Some are bad
Some are lazy
Some are crazy
Some are intelligent
Some are insolent
Some are consistent
Some are insistent
Some are resilient
Some are proud
Some are loud
Some are useful
Some are wasteful
Some are playful
Some are careful
Some are powerful
Some are thoughtful
Some are hateful
Some are prayerful
Some are beautiful
Some are sinful
Some are creative
Some are sportive
Some are positive
Some are supportive
Some are destructive
Some are selective
Some are talkative
Some are argumentative
Some are competitive
Some are combative
Some are abusive
Some are active
Some are loquacious
Some are disastrous
Some are malicious
Some are boisterous
Some are industrious
Some are adventurous
Some are religious
Some curious
Some gracious
Some are serious
Some are moderate
Some are considerate
Some are blessed
Some are cursed
Some are alcoholic
Some are workaholic
Some are visionaries
Some are missionaries
Some are radicals
Some are rascals
Some people are sweet
Some love the streets
Some are hustlers
Some are smugglers
Some are wealthy
Some are healthy
Some love the pills
Some love to chill.
Some are black
Some are white
Some people are ugly
some are pretty
But it's ok
Some were born that way
Some people are well traveled
Some are just locals
Some people are gays
Others are straight
Some are short
Some are tall
Some are social
and some aren't
Some are educated
Some are illiterate
Some are from the north
Some are from the south
Some are born writers
Some are avid readers
Many will like this
and many will hate it.
We are all children of a God
Who prefers peace as His byword.
God, the grandmaster of creation,
Who specializes in perfection,
Designed this beautiful universal community
Using the blueprint of diversity.
One thing is certain
Even though we are different people
from different places
and different races,
we will all die someday
Such is life
One world!
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC