"staunchly" poems
this door exists,
stately and staunchly it stands,
disheartening and terrifying it remains.
the door is unlocked, yet cannot be opened,
for in it, a path in time...
one decision that can affect everything
[such as my choice to wear the necklace you adore,
which lead to you noticing me for the very first time,
or my idea to play you the song that you fell in love with,
which i can no longer listen to]
...for in this door, one path
is intimidatingly located.
every bone in my body,
every last muscle, tendon, ligament
each artery, each vein, each capillary
every single nerve,
even each microscopic cell,
implores me not to open this tempting door...
[it is almost as if my hand refuses to grasp the handle,
to unleash the unknown upon me,
the colossal chain of events that would ensue]
the immensity of the unfamiliar,
the unexplored,
tends to perturb me.
change is unnerving
and is almost as chilling
as an abandoned graveyard at midnight.
but i bring my mind back to the door,
yes! this preposterous door that i have contrived for myself.
why is the **** so easily turned?
why does it not put up somewhat of a fight,
at least jolt me suddenly,
as to frighten my curious heart?
it is a constant battle between my body
my mind
and my heart
as to which doors to open
and which ones to leave ever so steadfastly closed.
but never once has there been such a struggle
for them to reach an understanding.
somehow my heart,
[even though a fraction of me,
a fist, dripping in blood]
is prevailing for the moment.
my heart reaches for the handle,
attempts to unclose the door...
yet, with the best of its ability,
withstanding my strong-willed
and obstinate heart,
my powerful body and commanding mind
overcome this hostile takeover,
and the door remains shut.
it is my body,
my skillful mouth,
my soft, rose lips,
my elegant tongue,
and my vocal chords...
all of these pieces must
contrive the words,
conceive the change,
which will unveil the path that will forever alter us...
slowly, opening the door.
being as in love with you as i am,
i will not let you slip away from my arms right now.
but when we are not together
[*i wish you’d have been there,
i needed you there*]
i stare at this humbling door.
if i wait too long, i’ll forever lose you;
for it is you who will make this choice for me,
opening your own door, fearless and dauntless.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
To smile at the carnation,
So gallantly growing,
At peace with this world.
In silence...
I tune in a short conversation
Between minds and bodies -
Incredibly cold.
My heart has surrendered
To nightingale's song.
I dream of Rhode Island...
I'm leaving! So long!
The winds of Sonora,
My nannies and friends.
My love for Evora -
My tears know no end.
The shadows of Mordor,
With sunrise they fade.
Grace, Kindness and Splendour:
Three Buddhas in jade.
I feed roastede pidgeone
To poor ryebread crumbs.
Avoiding curmudgeons,
I'm playing professional dumb.
Caressing the grass-blades,
I live in a drop.
Arcadian arcade:
There, God has no job.
In hurting the Nature
We drain our souls.
Let’s all at once cease
Being ignorant ghouls.
...To stroke the carnation,
To gently kiss buds.
To eat simple meals
Like lentils and spuds.
To carry some water,
To chop down some trees.
To stop feeling rotten.
My soul is at peace.
The time is forever,
The purpose is now.
No “when” and no “where”,
No “why” and no “how”.
The light effervescent,
The sound circumaural,
The hearts ever-pleasant,
The dreams polynomial.
...Collapsing eternity,
Upheaving humanity,
Rock-bottom fraternity,
Defying the gravity.
Creative destruction
Is staunchly forbidding.
The wisdom of ancients
Is widely-misleading.
Depleting our anger
Is key to survival.
Harnessing the hunger,
Improptu revival.
Combustion of senses,
Precarious laughter.
Incurable sepsis,
Delirious canter.
Regrets are forgotten,
Bright days are all-cherished.
Let’s live unbegotten
Until we all perish.
13.06.2012
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
There were some roses, once, a long time ago.
They grew out of nothing, out of a tiny seed that burst and ****** its contents out into the new and terrifying air, and even then they didn't exist but for the idea that one day they might.
There were some roses, once:
the product of a process that included water and light and the removal of weeds and the implementation sharp protection from predators: deer and birds and squirrels and the like.
There were some roses once:
great surges of crimson fruit that bloomed so fiercely in their rebellion against the surrounding thorns
dedicated to the protection of the home of the finely spun veined silk that blossomed almost overnight.
There were some roses once:
Never has such beauty been guarded so staunchly;
and with good reason, for the rose in its radiance has but one short season to stretch its arms and breathe its perfume to which all lovers beg and swoon.
There were some roses once:
They faded,
green
then red
then crimson
then purple and umber.
But in their slumber we see the bloom we once beheld on that summer day.
We fondled their petals, hastened their decay.
There were some roses once, a long time ago.
They had to die, as if on cue, as living things tend to do,
and oh, they dried so elegantly!
Plainly meant for royalty.
And even in their most brittle form, they're somehow warm
Somehow still new.
So you plant some more, you cut the weeds, you draw blood on their thorny guards,
knowing that it's not for you, but for the birds in their back porch churchyard.
And the moment the first rose peers around from inside the womb, well
there's your reward,
to forward the growth of something so fragile and sweet.
So ruthless if you aren't aware of its teeth.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
Just because the rose beats our blood,
Why does the violet come second?
I’m sure the lizard loves it warmer
Cold. His heart flies in a square, blue box.
They should sacrifice blue ribbons in
Stead. Martyrdom looks clean, sans crimson,
Sans blood at all, then we’re murdering
Statues, already dead, beaten me-
Tal, standing without legs or organs.
Sheba, just part of the whole shebang,
You look so depleted, staunchly there,
Staunchly not, and somehow I wonder
Whether you’d like the b or the a
Better, or nursery rhymes at all.
-BRD
Mar 18, 2011
Mar 18, 2011 at 11:03 PM UTC
Written not to thine appraisal accord;
Words that aim to torch the infernal loom,
Seeking the world of sorcery and sword
Unconfined to thine astringent courtroom.
Methinks thy hackles must surely be raised
For hours laboured, tempering such sleight...
Yet adamant this pen, wielder unfazed
Mirrors many thou haplessly indict.
Scholars of insight construed only thee-
So feebly traced was this artistic lie;
A labyrinth from which my muse soars free.
Minoan mentor, dare not I deny:
It may be an Icarian Ascension,
But stands it staunchly, lacking pretension.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
She is gorgeously slim & her skin feels softer,
I visualize & often I dream of being with her,
Cuddling curls of her otherwise straight hair.
So refreshingly sweeter her voice feels softer,
All things begin & end around a smile of hers,
Under her calm eyes in the shade of her hair.
Whether the fruit of my Karma or otherwise,
I find it hard to ignore this gift of time to me,
The calmest sea after that tsunami in my life.
So sweetly attractive is her thought in mind,
All the time she stays staunchly on my mind,
Under the blues of mind making them violet.
She hacked all my sins & put pins to them all,
I wonder how she got baby colors in my life,
Cuddling the long grown-up baby inside me.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
The serpentine queue refused to budge.
It were the grown-ups that were stressed
the children babbled showing no unhappiness
with the pause offering so much more to do
and nothing that useful to look forward to.
Some faces looked as though made no sense
this waiting for mundane taxing patience
but were eyes that peered staunchly keen
as if the wait's end God would be seen.
Though lumps of time allowed break from the run
not one face showed up some feeling of the fun
anxious and jittery they smoked up the place
to my mind the children were only saving grace.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
I avoid writing poems about flowers
I don’t need to tell you that roses
Bright, blood red, placed perfectly atop a broccoli-green vine,
Existing solely for the purpose of atheistic pleasure
Is something that is beautiful
Put a white background behind anything and it becomes beautiful
Flowers are more than a hyped-up beauty pageant queen that those old white women grow to fill their voids with
They sometimes manage to grow in my neighborhood too
Once prominent Victorian homes now squalid and neglected
Weathered wood, dirt embedded in the sea-foam green, navy blue, eggshell white paint they were once coated with
Trash thrown in front of their faces
Like their appalling forms granted validity for those who passed by to toss their gum wrappers, soda cans, and cigarettes without hesitation
It’s an age-old tale
Ugly things deserve ugly treatment
I’ll always spot a savage grove of mutt flowers
Amongst the trash cans and recycle bins
Struggling to make their way to the surface of these rejected homes
Acknowledging them, coddling them, interweaving themselves along their battered walls
Ignorant to their repugnancy
Eager to decorate and give them an evanescent glow
Sad too,
Sad they didn’t grow in front of some rich family’s home
Where they would’ve been given weekly haircuts and fertilizer containing only the best **** on the market
They wilt a little
They have no direction,
No will to live or to die
They exist and sit there until a bike runs them over
And takes them out in one swoop
Or until those stray dogs **** and **** on them until their weak
Frames fall staunchly onto the grave sidewalk
Exquisite wild lepers,
You do more for society than I ever could
You’ll sit there with a dutiful posture
Harboring old McDonald French Fry boxes
Eating the sewer-infested dirt that you laboriously grew from
Constantly breathing air swarmed with smog
Beautiful because,
Despite it all,
You don’t hate them
You’ll peek at me through your prison of trash and give me a flash of your purple and blue skin
And
My eyes feel your love and serenity
And for a moment,
The world is nothing but a kaleidoscope of warm skin and heartbeats
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:06 AM UTC
I've been under the influence
Of a grand delusion for years:
That humanity was in need of saving,
That I could do something to change things.
But the vast, sanguineous swamp of civilization
Swallows you whole,
Indiscriminately forcing you to adapt.
Ripping your flesh from the bone,
Until you are a twisted phantom
Of who you once were.
The ants,
Though,
They work together.
Their colonies are, essentially,
A single organism:
An immune system of warriors with grotesque chelicerae,
With foragers and scavengers radiating from the colony's center,
Bringing back sustenance,
And the queen, ceaselessly pumping out generations.
They all live and work and die seamlessly:
Cogs upon cogs, organic machinery.
So what am I?
A blockage in an artery?
An aimless foreign object,
Doomed to be consumed by everything around me?
I don't know.
I wake up and I put my contacts in.
It's usually past noon,
And some days I can't get out of bed.
Don't ask me why.
But I go to class and I take care of things
I'm trying to at least be mobile,
To have options and use them.
I've got a wanderer's spirit
And a saint's moral code.
Why must so many go without? I ask.
Why do we cause so many of our own problems?
Again, I don't know.
We're naïve, hairless apes with nuclear weapons,
Cosmological Protozoa at best.
Our cities are staunchly divided:
The haves and have nots,
The grime and the detergent.
The ghetto is potholes, shattered glass, And faded, forgotten dreams.
This is not the succinct society I see in ants;
This is chaos, disorder, malignant and cancerous.
This is ecological genocide.
This is systematic exploitation and manipulation.
This is rigged elections and clandestine empires.
This is **** Sapiens circa 21st century,
And I want nothing of it.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
Her breath flutters softly across his skin,
with the light airiness of sweet innocence.
Like a butterfly’s textured wings flutter,
as it drinks the nectar of the flowers.
Touching her inexperienced lips to his lightly,
her tongue exploringly tastes of his kiss.
Burning with a flaming desire for this man,
yet terrified of the fire within herself.
She can hear his whispered words of love,
just as she can feel it in his every touch.
Longing to let him still the raging tides,
that are rushing to the surface of her mind.
Desperately she pushes him away,
while an inner voice begs him to stay.
He gazes at the tears, the agony of indecision
in her eyes, knowing she will go, his heart aches.
As she runs from him across the grassy slopes,
he staunchly watches as she tries to escape
two hearts destined amongst the stars to be joined.
He cries out “ We shall never again be free!”
She pauses, stilled by the raw pain in her lover’s voice.
Throughout eternity his touch she shall feel.
As she turns and disappears, he feels the flutter
against his lips of a butterfly’s kiss.
Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
Soft light glows,
Evoking.
Dancing.
Shadows in slate.
How I crave to delve
Those mines of emotion
That staunchly refuses my access.
Carrying Diana’s torch and bow
You walk this path.
Everyone has someone
Who gets them.
Gets them.
Always deeply yearning.
Primal acceptance.
Should I be any different?
Should I yield to temptation?
What would happen?
If I leaned over gazing deep into mines
Pregnant with incongruous riches
And laid a stake, a claim, to part of that mine.
Tearing away stone.
Unveiling the deepness of time.
Like sleepy Doc, Dopy and Grumpy
I will hide you away from the terrors
Of a mad world
Care for you
And what’s the price?
Talk.
Just talk to me.
I am just at easy.
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 5:31 AM UTC
Some folks follow all the rules;
Others like to bend 'em,
Feeling like it's only fools
Who staunchly would defend 'em.
Which way that you lean begins
When you're just out of diapers.
Followers fear that their sins
Will make them pay the pipers.
Benders, though, might get a rush
From tempting fate and winning,
Even if they have a brush
With blame at the beginning.
We each know where we belong
When rules are in our faces
And since we all hate being wrong,
We never will change places.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
Your kindness you're killing them with your kindness.
He ended up not knowing anything anyway.
This stinks.
The 50s were staunchly, real staunchly...
12:34 12:38...around that time.
There's a bathroom over there!
Ahhhhhh yeah we could do that.
Look at the one we just took. See the boat here?
There's a strange man in it.
I thought so too but...
Is it just one bathroom?
Nice ***** and schmooze. Gotta salivate.
Oh bless you!
Then he go "marriage is a waste of time."
This is just not worth it.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC
It would be inaccurate, indeed downright unfair,
To label her as a convenience,
Certainly no matter of being any port in a storm;
She fell into that category of handsome women,
Tending more to the Rubenesque than the runway,
And those occasions where an evening with the gang
Fragmented into a somewhat unmatched set
Were more in line with settling into a familiar harbor,
Bereft of the intoxicating hazards of shoals and sand bars, perhaps,
But comfortable with a certain steadfastness about it,
A pleasant haven from the riptides, undertows,
And various entanglements of the open water.
It was an aneurysm that took her, the type of thing
We’d associated with grandparents, aged aunts,
Corpulent colleagues of our fathers.
What’s more, it turned she was staunchly and stubbornly Lutheran,
Regular to the point of obsession in her attendance at services
(We’d no way of knowing such a thing, of course,
The notion of staying overnight at her place
To rise from last night’s sheets at mid-morning
And share a table for omelettes and awkward chit-chat
Being both curious and curiosity)
So we arrayed ourselves in stiff collars,
Accompanied by ties we’d hoped to be suitable,
As the whole affair had us a bit off balance,
And we were only able to restore our equilibrium at the end,
Just in time to attempt to bounce pebbles onto her coffin lid
In what he hoped was some witticism in Morse code.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 1:53 PM UTC
while you were eating
cherry pie that sunday
after i reached for your
hand and your fingers
didn't curl around mine--
i took to the trees behind the cabin
and stayed the mossy grove buried
in this golden scratch
the neighbor's conversation downwind
about the mountain lion they'd spotted
and the spiritual sort of fear I felt with
my eyes closed, the mechanical click
of my own heartbeat, how things
used to flow and now they only
swarmed,
always
swallowed.
i was singing songs to call you out,
like you did the first time, when you
came up around the hillside and
followed me a ways out--
softly at first and then no more,
replaced by the force that came
upon me, where suddenly I was
uprooting trees, picking the most
desolate, gnarled aspens--unhinging
their roots to press my heel into their
soft bases, hulking forward and watching
them stretch out and out and out--
I found old yarn and tied
it for later, to find, to untie
to hope for second chances
I left the copse and you were
eating cherry pie on the porch
rummaging through coolers
oil sloshing through your bones
dragon fire in your blood
hard-headed over puerile matters
over your time, over the weeks
staunchly grounded into your own
wild western ways,
The duck's back, the bear's pelt
You've been roaming alone in the forests
As the beasts do, the lost, the frightened,
Admiring the darkness of your own shadow
The way it draws and casts away,
Doubly conflicted of your nature that
Mostly takes and takes and takes
Bears and
Men and
You.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
There is no home in my home town.
I try not to let it get me down.
There is no train on a homeward track.
There’s nothing there to call me back.
No love ever bid me stay in town.
No block back there is hallowed ground.
Nobody really asked me to go away
But nobody has missed since that day.
Home was just an address
And not something in my heart.
Not something I longed for
When we were many miles apart.
There are few good memories or ghosts
Just a long history of mysteries at most.
It wasn’t that people threw rocks at me
But there were no going away parties.
It was more like, “You’re leaving? Goodbye.”
A zip code full of staunchly dry eyes.
I don’t know what I expected it to be
But, that was not my choice for reality.
Home was never a place
I rushed back to at night
And even as a young kid
I was sure that wasn’t right.
I run through an inventory of events
And I did not betray any friends.
I didn’t steal or tell big lies
But didn't collect pals after may tries.
Something must have happened to me
That made me standoffish naturally
For people to not recall I was there.
So I left and then nobody much cared.
Home was just an address
And not something in my heart.
Not something I longed for
When we were many miles apart.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 5:02 AM UTC
Within our deoxyribonucleotides
The science of poetry forever resides.
A structure endlessly complex
Provides for the necessary effects
That move, a creature,
One of understanding.
love.
music.
dancing.
A chain of polypeptides
Pulls us close and confides.
Secrets that must never reach a soul
Find their way through a hole
To our most defining feature
That plays for us thought.
breath.
blood.
pleasure.
And as we stand staunchly engraved
Upon the notion that our paths are paved
We find ourselves no more aware
That the next day may not be so fair.
That the next day might hold a fracture
Of the worst possible kind.
method.
ignorance.
disgrace.
So as we look upon our latest fling,
Or make the world from that which is bought,
We are the touch of chance, a fateful wisp. Keep in mind.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 2:03 PM UTC
Sharp shape
Not as dangerous
As it looks
Something silver
Nothing is
Always as it seems
Surreptitiously silent
All they want
Is to simply be
Staunchly stoic
Don't judge those
Books by their covers
Soft sentience
Your judgement could take
A light away
Surrendered self
Drown out the scoffers
Just be
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
Stand up, stand guard,
Staunchly defend all that is ours.
What is ours to defend?
Begin with what was before us,
The good earth and all inhabitants.
Defend that which is ours.
Truth and love;
Leave a legacy of righteousness -
Defend these, and thus,
Defend those whom we leave,
And leave them to.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 11:18 AM UTC
you
what art? thou who furious immutable wind
living dying , . ' is creamed a licked kneading
the bashful hammer of sleep
on your unugly vanquish of
very spherical nouns
an America of crushing luscious pink
i'm bonded staunchly
the unhard night bays stupendously drowsy
and in the morphing break
the surf is almost
almost
a
lmos
t am most
almost
and so aren't we?.,;' a
Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 2:42 AM UTC
The old woman not rues loss of yesteryears
Crumbled though her wrinkles still break in cheers
Her lips parched long dried up her eyes
But if you look close they hold residues of sunrise.
In festive times her folks light her peeling skin
Burn on her candles ornate her within
Revived she feels in the glow of a cobwebbed blush
She turns a petite feminine splendid gorgeous.
But like her past glory they soon in time fade
She grows still older more in years decayed
Staunchly holds ground with the memory of bygone
Knowing when the end comes nobody would mourn.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 7:15 AM UTC
I am an endangered species because I am the only one
what will happen when I die and I am finally done?
It will be as tragic as the day the sun finally dies
or when a lover gets caught telling foolish lies.
There is no other species quite like me or like you
we are lost in a world of circles with cages from the zoo.
I will stretch my ability to see and live as long as I can
daring the society that laughs at me to find another man.
I will watch the stars streak across the midnight sky
jealous of their movement and the way they silently fly.
I know time has a painful limit and calls each of us,
we must stand up when our name is called without a fuss.
In the meantime I will smell the flowers and sip the wine
listen to the music and read the stories line after line.
I will pretend that I can't hear when someone finally calls
I will not move but stand like an old car that stalls.
I will refuse my place in line and look staunchly away
maybe they can try again on another more dreary day.
Today is far too sunny and made for a walk in the park
and tonight will be too warm and gentle in the dark.
Just say no, there is no reason to admit or agree
keep on walking through the trees and feeling free.
Many more years are planned for me and you
many things are waiting for us to try to do.
So say goodbye to leaving and hold on tight
for the ride is not over until your out of sight.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
I wish not to want you
For fear that, when I hold you,
My touch change you golden
With greedy alchemist's fingers.
I wish not to want you
And liberty, command you
From the nobility --
Metallic -- which bars you from love.
A Queen of Phrygia
I sow sin in good nature
Chest hollow for dictums
That confine my pow'r to transform
I've no eyes to covet
Yet I birth my own idols
In chambers forbidden
To those of conscience staunchly pure
I plead you, stay iron
And I'll be happily robbed
Of my talent to turn
Wretched an organic desire
I wish not to want you
As I lay my hands on you
But I have not the gift
To breathe such wishes into life.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
Ushered from lips divine
are sweet symphonies -
potent in composition.
A flaxen breath wielded forth
to fissure the pillars of Babylon.
Her temperament quakes,
sending shivers across terrain
my frame stays staunchly rooted to.
I'm jolted conscious
by might to scar mountain stone,
a statue with the presence
to balance the weight of bearing.
Her pigment bleeds a bronzine hue,
every pore succulent with sun
from a land afar - dialect closer to home.
Our cultures synergise
in the smouldering *** of diverse urbanity;
surrendering to harmony in juxtaposition.
I wish us be, though I doubt my willing fruitful -
I'll swallow the bitterness of division,
just to manifest it true.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
Tears fell....
They say you sang Amazing Grace as you found eternity.
Goodbye.
Eyes open wide.
Rehabilitated sinners.
Sons and lovers.
Hoping you felt no pain.
Years of thinking time.
Repented at leisure.
Did the crime.
Did the time.
Staunchly viewed became abuse.
Free now.
Became legally supported ******
Indonesian people, Indonesian President.
A plea to thee for clemency.
Unheard.
Too late.
Rest begrudgingly in peace.
(c) OLIVIA KENT MMCV
I disagree with drug smuggling, but,to keep these people incarcerated for so long before execution is barbaric.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC