"sterner" poems
If you've loved a cowboy
You know it can be tough
A cowboy's soul is different
They're made of sterner stuff
A cowboy loves forever
They are always moving on
But one thing bout a cowboy
That love is never gone
If you love a dreamer
You have to see in space
You know you've got a dreamer
You can see it in their face
A dreamer sees the future
They have to know what if
Thoughts always in motion
Flowing water, never stiff
Cowboys and Dreamers are one and the same
Loving one or the other can be a strange game
Cowboys look skyward to lasso the stars
Dreamers catch starlight and they put it in jars
Cowboys and Dreamers they have the same mind
Cowboys and Dreamers are the best loves you'll find
A cowboy's a loner
They believe what they see
They live by a code
Of what will be will be
A dreamer sees something
Where others ask what
They can not keep grounded
And they answer, why not?
Cowboys and Dreamers are one and the same
Loving one or the other can be a strange game
Cowboys look skyward to lasso the stars
Dreamers catch starlight and they put it in jars
Cowboys and Dreamers they have the same mind
Cowboys and Dreamers are the best loves you'll find
A cowboy who dreams
Is the one you should rope
They know that true love
Take work, not just hope
A dreamer can cowboy
They'll see the same stars as you
They'll lasso those stars
And they'll want the moon too
Cowboys and Dreamers are one and the same
Loving one or the other can be a strange game
Cowboys look skyward to lasso the stars
Dreamers catch starlight and they put it in jars
Cowboys and Dreamers they have the same mind
Cowboys and Dreamers are the best loves you'll find
You can love a cowboy
And a dreamer as well
If you're unsure of which
Ask your heart, it can tell
A cowboy has dreams
A dreamer inspires
They're one in the same
Burning two different fires
Cowboys and Dreamers are one and the same
Loving one or the other can be a strange game
Cowboys look skyward to lasso the stars
Dreamers catch starlight and they put it in jars
Cowboys and Dreamers they have the same mind
Cowboys and Dreamers are the best loves you'll find
Don't fence in a cowboy
He'll just move along
A dreamer must dream
To not would be wrong
Come along for the ride
No matter how hard it seems
Whether cowboy or dreamer
Hold on to those dreams
Cowboys and Dreamers are one and the same
Loving one or the other can be a strange game
Cowboys look skyward to lasso the stars
Dreamers catch starlight and they put it in jars
Cowboys and Dreamers they have the same mind
Cowboys and Dreamers are the best loves you'll find
Jan 16, 2021
Jan 16, 2021 at 8:20 PM UTC
I have ability to switch style
even under pressure
Focused concentration, I am
with tenacious unpredictability
And yet fail to admit mistakes
even resist as always
Laced with external distractibility, I am
What a world......Give me strength.
I have ' killer instincts' to move mountains
even driven to pinnacle with passion
Making things happen as always, I am
even I am, less anxious in decisiveness
And yet do things my own way
rushing the poor fellow to frail
Impatience won't disappear with quietness and shyness
What a world.....Give me strength.
I step forth in dignity for low anxiety
even with meticulousness
Decisiveness for reality, I am
with sterner stuff in slippery control
And yet unable to manage time
with a hog on spotlight
Drenched in my own outbursts, I am
What a world......Give me strength.
Proud of my strength of friendliness
even with positive openness
The power to carry on with persuasiveness
even I am, yes I am in assertiveness
My strength that never dies
in the face of motivation
And yet my ears are too weak to comprehend
with sound of **********
What a world......Give me strength.
Let me be weak to be strong
and strong I am in weakness
With passion for sweetness in bitterness
And this is real in steel
The contrast and the conflict
That steers in my way of long ago
And this reality in mirage
Gives me the courage to rise above pain
What a world.....Give me strength.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
All so grave and shining see they come
From the blissful ranks of the forgiven,
Though so distant wheels the nearest crystal dome,
And the spheres are seven.
Are you in such haste to come to earth,
Shining ones, the Wonder on your brow,
To the low poor places of your birth,
And the day that must be darkness now?
Does the heart still crave the spot it yearned on
In the grey and mortal years,
The pure flame the smoky hearth it burned on,
The clear eye its tears?
Was there, in the narrow range of living,
After all the wider scope?
In the old old rapture of forgiving,
In the long long flight of hope?
Come you, from free sweep across the spaces,
To the irksome bounds of mortal law,
From the all-embracing Vision, to some face’s
Look that never saw?
Never we, imprisoned here, had sought you,
Lured you with the ancient bait of pain,
Down the silver current of the light-years brought you
To the beaten round again—
Is it you, perchance, who ache to strain us
Dumbly to the dim transfigured breast,
Or with tragic gesture would detain us
From the age-long search for rest?
Is the labour then more glorious than the laurel,
The learning than the conquered thought?
Is the meed of men the righteous quarrel,
Not the justice wrought?
Long ago we guessed it, faithful ghosts,
Proudly chose the present for our scene,
And sent out indomitable hosts
Day by day to widen our demesne.
Sit you by our hearth-stone, lone immortals,
Share again the bitter wine of life!
Well we know, beyond the peaceful portals
There is nothing better than our strife,
Nought more thrilling than the cry that calls us,
Spent and stumbling, to the conflict vain,
After each disaster that befalls us
Nerves us for a sterner strain.
And, when flood or foeman shakes the sleeper
In his moment’s lapse from pain,
Bids us fold our tents, and flee our kin, and deeper
Drive into the wilderness again.
2.2k
HERE at right of the entrance this bronze head,
Human, superhuman, a bird's round eye,
Everything else withered and mummy-dead.
What great tomb-haunter sweeps the distant sky
(Something may linger there though all else die;)
And finds there nothing to make its tetror less
Hysterica passio of its own emptiness?
No dark tomb-haunter once; her form all full
As though with magnanimity of light,
Yet a most gentle woman; who can tell
Which of her forms has shown her substance right?
Or maybe substance can be composite,
profound McTaggart thought so, and in a breath
A mouthful held the extreme of life and death.
But even at the starting-post, all sleek and new,
I saw the wildness in her and I thought
A vision of terror that it must live through
Had shattered her soul. Propinquity had brought
Imagiation to that pitch where it casts out
All that is not itself: I had grown wild
And wandered murmuring everywhere, "My child, my
child! '
Or else I thought her supernatural;
As though a sterner eye looked through her eye
On this foul world in its decline and fall;
On gangling stocks grown great, great stocks run dry,
Ancestral pearls all pitched into a sty,
Heroic reverie mocked by clown and knave,
And wondered what was left for massacre to save.
2k
As by the fix’d decrees of Heaven,
’Tis vain to hope that Joy can last;
The dearest boon that Life has given,
To me is—visions of the past.
For these this toy of blushing hue
I prize with zeal before unknown,
It tells me of a Friend I knew,
Who loved me for myself alone.
It tells me what how few can say
Though all the social tie commend;
Recorded in my heart ’twill lay,
It tells me mine was once a Friend.
Through many a weary day gone by,
With time the gift is dearer grown;
And still I view in Memory’s eye
That teardrop sparkle through my own.
And heartless Age perhaps will smile,
Or wonder whence those feelings sprung;
Yet let not sterner souls revile,
For Both were open, Both were young.
And Youth is sure the only time,
When Pleasure blends no base alloy;
When Life is blest without a crime,
And Innocence resides with Joy.
Let those reprove my feeble Soul,
Who laugh to scorn Affection’s name;
While these impose a harsh controul,
All will forgive who feel the same.
Then still I wear my simple toy,
With pious care from wreck I’ll save it;
And this will form a dear employ
For dear I was to him who gave it.
2k
Another day, another beating
Into himself, he was retreating
His parents did not call a meeting
It couldn't happen to our son
Every day he came home bloodied
His clothes all torn his face all muddied
The family name was being sullied
It couldn't happen to our son
Remember Chicken Little
The Sky is Falling Down
This surely couldn't happen
Not here in our small town
Chicken Little told a tale
But, they only saw the sun
Chicken Little told his story
Now, Chicken Little's got a gun
Every afternoon they'd wait
Four of them out by the gate
They left early, best not be late
It couldn't happen to our son
Our son would not ever fight
To say he does, would not be right
But, sometimes he comes home a sight
It can't be what you're thinking
Remember Chicken Little
The Sky is Falling Down
This surely couldn't happen
Not here in our small town
Chicken Little told a tale
But, they only saw the sun
Chicken Little told his story
Now, Chicken Little's got a gun
Finally he'd had enough
Even though he was not tough
He was made of sterner stuff
And he showed it on the news
Chicken Little took a gun
He was showing everyone
Now, was time to have some fun
He took out twenty two
Remember Chicken Little
The Sky is Falling Down
This surely couldn't happen
Not here in our small town
Chicken Little told a tale
But, they only saw the sun
Chicken Little told his story
Now, Chicken Little's got a gun
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
While I, that reed-throated whisperer
Who comes at need, although not now as once
A clear articulation in the air,
But inwardly, surmise companions
Beyond the fling of the dull ass's hoof
- Ben Johnson's phrase - and find when June is come
At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof
A sterner conscience and a friendlier home,
I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs,
Those undreamt accidents that have made me
- Seeing that Fame has perished that long while,
Being but a part of ancient ceremony -
Notorious, till all my priceless things
Are but a post the passing dogs defile.
1.6k
While I, that reed-throated whisperer
Who comes at need, although not now as once
A clear articulation in the air,
But inwardly, surmise companions
Beyond the fling of the dull ass's hoof
--Ben Johnson's phrase--and find when June is come
At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof
A sterner conscience and a friendlier home,
I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs,
Those undreamt accidents that have made me
--Seeing that Fame has perished that long while,
Being but a part of ancient ceremony--
Notorious, till all my priceless things
Are but a post the passing dogs defile.
1.4k
i am not yours to pursue,
nobody's to claim, to obsess over
you do not have the right to ignore my declination
nor to see my rejection as a challenge;
i am not a game or a puzzle
if you think my "no" is a jigsaw piece fitted in the wrong place
there for you to move and arrange
again and again
until you finally hear "yes"
then you are too much a child for my liking
too much about the conquest and not enough about the person.
my "no" will not be manipulated into a "yes",
you cannot play me into your hands
i am not a gamer, i am an artist
i will sketch thicker lines, make my "no" bolder
NO
i will add more tone, make it sterner
add more shade, allow my anger to cast shadows over your reputation
and it will not be hard to outline your true colours:
you've already revealed so many.
i don't need to paint you as a villain; you have done that much yourself
you too are an artist, in your own right...
you've smudged your lines so much, you've crossed boundaries.
your so-called love is not delicate pink―it is blood red and sticky.
your so-called affections leech the grey from my palette
and leave me seeing you in black and white.
oh, there's not much white, not much innocence
you are an all-consuming black; your desire to swallow me whole is abyssal
i will not be the reference of your portraits,
you cannot draw me in
your kind of passion disgusts me; you are not a true artist.
there'll be no soft brushes between us,
only sharp edges of craft knives
as i carve into your determination and soften that hardened clay
into something i can mould and shape,
something i can twist away from me.
six years is a long time for something to be set in stone
but i have a sledgehammer will and i refuse to feel backed into the corners
of your lustful foundations.
i do not wish to be a masterpiece in your eyes any longer.
i never asked you to admire me.
i will not be hung on your wall.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
When the moment arrives, it arrives like this:
Dark, like the hour of the silent stars
the hour of the shrill crickets,
the hour of waning hopes,
when all is dark
in my soul:
Friend, at this moment,
I cease the world;
At this moment,
just you and I in the entire universe;
Silent companion, guardian
of the door to all mysteries,
the cause of all causes,
if I must reason like that,
or an unknowable vast,
unknowable, as I am, now,
but an essential knowledge
in some mystic part
of my own hidden,
concealed being,
if I am of sterner stuff than
the pyres that churn out the stars,
if I am of firmer strength than
the cutting arms of time,
reveal this now, friend,
for this is my dark hour,
the loneliest hour
before the eclipsed dawn.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
I look the last this land I leave behind —
Timeless as water, bountiful as sorrow,
Abode today, a memory tomorrow;
Her contours etched untarnished in my mind —
How sweet our first encounter; how unkind
That time which man is wont to beg and borrow
Brought forth this bitter twilight ere a morrow
When all our self-same sunsets will have shined —
Henceforth sunrise shall tarry ere it greets me;
The midday sun shall cast a sterner gaze
As paths unknown reveal their hidden troves;
Home is the sacrifice for those who journey
Without return; We venture through the groves
Of doubt and fear to set our lives ablaze.
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 7:59 AM UTC
the one who is gone
is finally at peace
beyond retribution and vengeance
it is we the living
who must carry that burden
baying for blood is not enough
building a memorial is not enough
emptier still are sorrowful words
this, now, is the time to get tough
time to show we’re made of sterner stuff
to what depth has my nation fallen
this indeed is our season of shame
but let us not dwell on what is lost
let us look at what we can raise up
let us make this change work
for you and me and for those to come
build a new nation from ground up
start now! before it is further delayed!
no more injustice must we tolerate
no more can we let ourselves stagnate
we fight in her memory
that is true
but it is a fight for all of us
from every nook and corner raise your voice
herald the revolution that must come!
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
29.12.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 11:30 AM UTC
They say in order to survive
a man made of sterner things
organs blood tissues marrow
Sadness hollow darkness sorrow
bones that break
and hands that shake
am I not meant survive?
Sterner stuff is not what comprises
I cannot take all of life's surprises
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
Be faithful until death,
and you'll gain a crown of life;
overcome the obstacles,
that unfold as pain and strife.
You are made of sterner stuff,
to praise and honor Christ;
to suffer persecution,
with each throw of the dice.
There's a better world awaiting,
after ours comes to an end;
there's a new earth in the making,
around the final bend.
Hold fast to all its promise,
the deaf will hear, the blind will see;
the sun will shine on everyone,
in the new eternity.
Every knee will bow to Him,
the sinner and the saint;
take heart to wait that day,
never worry, never faint.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 3:34 PM UTC
*The hint of mint,
on her lips, had an offer
to which my tongue,
quickly said 'yes'*
The scent
of an unknown flower
on her flowing hair,
took me from there,
to the mountain slope
in my mindscape,
beside which
I had painted,
her picture to make it,
perfect, against
gentle foaming light.
The moment was
tender, pulsating,
her hands were,
creepers coiling around
my trunk, in a flurry,
not to swoon, soon.
Isn't it the moment,
described always
by poets, all through
ages, as the feeling of
wafting above
the fluffy clouds?
But hey, I never
thought, I could be
swayed so easily,
like this: made
of sterner stuff,
could withstand
the onslaught of
such moments,
I thought of myself.
**But, eyes don't see,
ears can't hear,
nose looses its
sense of smell,
I feel a thrill beyond,
the prompting
of five senses,
to get in to the
flow of the nature's
immense will
to find the reason,
of my existence,
and vanquish,
the fear of all fears,
and be immortal,
liberate both of us,
from the mortal coil,
with the oracular,
power love fills,
in our beings
in such moments.**
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
I drizzle like rain clouds;
in a stormy weather I blow
might gusts of wind that rattle
and shatter staid glass doors.
Enough now of the molten sun;
no need for the lava that flows inside.
We are made of sterner stuff,
all we need is two plonks of ice!
Like the nauseating rumble
crawling up my throat, I glide
in the sheath of subdued sensation
all is well, all is alright.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 12:59 PM UTC
Life in a mess
Mind reflects
Bring call to order
No rest small steps
Routine reigns supreme
Breathe that little bit more
Look a little bit further
Sterner fall through the pane of pain
Prioritise, it'll be worth it
Organised chaos is lived short term
Energy hiltered keep clear use a filter
House of cards can only grow so far
and won't last just wilter
Apr 29, 2020
Apr 29, 2020 at 1:38 PM UTC
Do you remember dear Winky
that nervous twitch suited you well
each time we held the line
your sweet eyelids would flutter
I know you fear the end
liken to a jellyfish on jagged rocks
smashed into adversity
but this world is circular
Come my friend, my sister and brother
see I care not for the scares
nor the disappointment
I do not falter, and so must not you
See my blood fall to the ground
it matters not to me
not really, not to one liken to you
my heart as your's is pure, my winky woe woe
You are made of sterner stuff
like me, you like it hard and rough
find the heart, I will hold your hand
let's to the end fight it wholeheartedly tough
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
We are the forgotten, the lost, and the rejects.
The ones who give love, but love always neglects,
And we are cast aside, but not without no effects.
Our souls are dying with no one to pay respects.
We are the invisible, the laughable, the misfits.
Not without our scars caused by all our critics.
It will **** some who become just a statistic.
That won’t stop the ones wanting to crush spirits.
We are the jokes, the gossip, and the rumors.
The ones who give you fuel for all your pointless humor.
The ones that get treated like cancerous tumors.
Wishing you’d have gotten rid of us sooner.
We are the options that you place on a back burner,
There when you need us, but you’re not a quick learner,
And we don’t have it in us to be any sterner,
So we will continue to allow you to be a spurner.
We are the geeks, the freaks and the nerds.
The ones who get hurt by all your ****** words.
You question our lives and even our worth,
But the geeks are the ones who shall inherit the earth.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 5:17 AM UTC
I was born in the arms of imaginary friends, who helped me sing a tangled melody;
Never to be accepted, veiled in secret reverie
I was taught to dance at the hands of winds – yet to look past graffiti filled walls
I was Molded, and structured, like Jell-O art.
Losing a battle filled with right and wrong stepping into pools of silence and books of empathy
I taught the shadow how to hide
And the night how shine;
And you never bothered me.
To abide, tolerating frigid rules. A mainstream battle against futile ignorance, that’s how I pictured this .
Filled with hope, and love at ideas of excellence that got you no were, but pity. Yet you refuse to let go and refuse my absence with sterner conviction of long turned believes.
No longer in use, no longer mine;
And I have to abide- no longer.
I was born with diligence and rebellion is a skill. One of intelligence, at least till I grow old enough to know otherwise.
As for now, my hands are open- waiting to mold myself apart from you
Feet pointed towards the door, mouth ajar- and you don’t want to hear these words.
And you don’t have a choice , because there must be some explanations to stacks of luggage waiting to walk out of your doors, and I was never one to lie- just to hide, like I am now
I was never yours.
I was always mine.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
When the end comes
I will be by your side
I will not leave you
when the end comes
I will wait to take you
my brother to another land
don't you worry my blood
I mean to follow you soon
It annoys me my brother
annoys me I was made of sterner stuff
how many times dear brother
how many times I have been close to death
I witness you getting weaker by the day
your body thinning to the point of emaciation
I promise you our mothers son
I will be with you when the end comes
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
They know I am in human form
so they send their hunter seekers
they would love to extinguish my flame
but I am made of sterner stuff
They know I do transmogrify time
know that they are vastly inadequate to deal
or not deal with a creature like me
for I am as vast as time itself, and they know
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
To belong is the stuff of tribes
by link of blood or sterner stuff
to this mark I would aspire
knowing the odds I would quest
when I am honest in my desires
I seek the same in other souls
not to indulge, only to know
I’m not alone against the world
it’s not that the larger has to hate
though this is the outcome when they confront
the deviant they don’t understanding
(the label their words, a knife they weld)
into this breach my tribe should arrive
if they were one, not cast to the wind
a secret society is more than mold
when smiles and nods move to disclosed
know that this web is my family
a tribe dispersed to the four winds
some of us vocal, the rest in disguise
only revealed to their same kind
to belong is the stuff of tribes
even when hidden from the broad eye
embracing my kin defined by desires
fruits of my search, lifting me up.
© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170514.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC