"starveling" poems
'The beggar boy is none of mine,'
The reverend doctor strangely said;
'I do not walk the streets to pour
Chance benedictions on his head.
'And heaven I thank who made me so.
That toying with my own dear child,
I think not on _his_ shivering limbs,
_His_ manners vagabond and wild.'
Good friend, unsay that graceless word!
I am a mother crowned with joy,
And yet I feel a ***** pang
To pass the little starveling boy.
His aching flesh, his fevered eyes
His piteous stomach, craving meat;
His features, nipt of tenderness,
And most, his little frozen feet.
Oft, by my fireside's ruddy glow,
I think, how in some noisome den,
Bred up with curses and with blows,
He lives unblest of gods or men.
I cannot ****** him from his fate,
The tribute of my doubting mind
Drops, torch-like, in the abyss of ill,
That skirts the ways of humankind.
But, as my heart's desire would leap
To help him, recognized of none,
I thank the God who left him this,
For many a precious right foregone.
My mother, whom I scarcely knew,
Bequeathed this bond of love to me;
The heart parental thrills for all
The children of humanity.
3.1k
I drink in the sweet light
Of the honey coloured moon
as it floats high at midnight
hoping it doesn't leave soon
As I stare at the full moon
The world falls away
and I lose my peripheral vision
bathing in the moon's rays
Sliver beams of light
That reflects off the ocean
And seem to be too bright
to be moonshine
I began to see now
understand how
myths and legends
of the moon began
Egyptian, Aztec, Celtic and Greek
Khonsu, Metzli, Elatha and Artemis
And even poor Starveling
with his dog and thorn bush
All trying to capture the raw beauty
that is the moon and it's light
The rarest jewel of them all
Shining bright through out the night
But all attempts of personification
contain to much complication
to represent
to simplicity of the moon
So I'll stop trying to convey
what I can see
because no matter what I say
will not match what floats above the sea
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
Rhyme, the rack of finest wits,
That expresseth but by fits
True conceit,
Spoiling senses of their treasure,
Cozening judgment with a measure,
But false weight;
Wresting words from their true calling,
Propping verse for fear of falling
To the ground;
Jointing syllabes, drowning letters,
Fast'ning vowels as with fetters
They were bound!
Soon as lazy thou wert known,
All good poetry hence was flown,
And art banish'd.
For a thousand years together
All Parnassus' green did wither,
And wit vanish'd.
Pegasus did fly away,
At the wells no Muse did stay,
But bewail'd
So to see the fountain dry,
And Apollo's music die,
All light failed!
Starveling rhymes did fill the stage;
Not a poet in an age
Worth crowning;
Not a work deserving bays,
Not a line deserving praise,
Pallas frowning;
Greek was free from rhyme's infection,
Happy Greek by this protection
Was not spoiled.
Whilst the Latin, queen of tongues,
Is not yet free from rhyme's wrongs,
But rests foiled.
Scarce the hill again doth flourish,
Scarce the world a wit doth nourish
To restore
Phœbus to his crown again,
And the Muses to their brain,
As before.
****** languages that want
Words and sweetness, and be scant
Of true measure,
Tyrant rhyme hath so abused,
That they long since have refused
Other cæsure.
He that first invented thee,
May his joints tormented be,
Cramp'd forever.
Still may syllabes jar with time,
Still may reason war with rhyme,
Resting never.
May his sense when it would meet
The cold tumor in his feet,
Grow unsounder;
And his title be long fool,
That in rearing such a school
Was the founder.
3k
I forgot of your existence.
Until now - just now -
While waiting at the train station
I had looked at all there was to look at
And so raised those lifted eyes to the Heavens
Expecting empty skies
Instead I spied you nested between overhead wires.
You took my breath away and
I could've sworn you winked at me.
Suddenly
I became flooded in the half-light of old memories.
You were always there weren't you?
Thanks to a compression of time and space
Distance isn't an issue when you share the same place.
Even now, right now,
You are here.
As I ride this shakey train home.
It dawns on me that I am drawn to you rather spectacularly.
Pull the tides of emotions inside to swell
And threaten to overwhelm
Would you take my hand if you could?
Whisper sweet nothings,
Tell me everything is OK?
(Even though we both know the truth)
Stay silent if you will
But do not ask me to go
Even you must admit the lunacy of such a request.
No, I will stay.
It is my turn to orbit you now anyway.
I'll promise to do my best
So you may get some well deserved rest.
Oh - how could I have ever forgotten your existence?
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
There is darkness,
like singed angel's wings,
shadowing the hollows of the night,
curling along the moon's lips
like the jutting cheekbones
of a starveling child, crisscrossed,
netted around blackened stars,
caught between
the lowered black lashes
of curving gutters,
slick and glassy with ***** water.
From a distance, light travels slowly.
We see the gleam of stars,
like a handful of scattered shards,
and do not know that they have gone out-
have been out-
and are cold black lumps
floating in space.
We only find out later,
years after the light has faded.
By then, it's too late.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Winter sun
kissed by the breeze
shakes the limbs
of starveling trees
wakes the bones
of each bare bough
and tells the spring
it’s not long now
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 11:14 AM UTC