"subtler" poems
When I was young
I found amusement
In my ability to sleep through storms
And other calamitous events
It seemed so silly to me
That something so obvious
Could go by unnoticed
But as I've gotten older
The nights have gotten subtler
The nightmares have
Become vivid reflections
A gruesome parody of life
I startle awake most nights and
I don't sleep so well anymore
-
I wonder when I stopped being
A deep sleeper
And began fearing
Waking up a second too late
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
Chloe's hair, no doubt, was brighter;
Lydia's mouth more sweetly sad;
Hebe's arms were rather whiter;
Languorous-lidded Helen had
Eyes more blue than e'er the sky was;
Lalage's was subtler stuff;
Still, you used to think that I was
Fair enough.
Now you're casting yearning glances
At the pale Penelope;
Cutting in on Claudia's dances;
Taking Iris out to tea.
Iole you find warm-hearted;
Zoe's cheek is far from rough--
Don't you think it's time we parted? . . .
Fair enough!
3.2k
What on Earth deserves our trust ?
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
What one moment calls again.
Seven years childless, marriage past,
A Son, a son is born at last :
So exactly lim'd and fair.
Full of good Spirits, Meen, and Air,
As a long life promised,
Yet, in less than six weeks dead.
Too promising, too great a mind
In so small room to be confin'd :
Therefore, as fit in Heav'n to dwell,
He quickly broke the Prison shell.
So the subtle Alchimist,
Can't with Hermes Seal resist
The powerful spirit's subtler flight,
But t'will bid him long good night.
And so the Sun if it arise
Half so glorious as his Eyes,
Like this Infant, takes a shrowd,
Buried in a morning Cloud.
3k
The world’s great age begins anew,
The golden years return,
The earth doth like a snake renew
Her winter weeds outworn;
Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam
Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.
A brighter Hellas rears its mountains
From waves serener far;
A new Peneus rolls his fountains
Against the morning star;
Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep
Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.
A loftier Argo cleaves the main,
Fraught with a later prize;
Another Orpheus sings again,
And loves, and weeps, and dies;
A new Ulysses leaves once more
Calypso for his native shore.
O write no more the tale of Troy,
If earth Death’s scroll must be—
Nor mix with Laian rage the joy
Which dawns upon the free,
Although a subtler Sphinx renew
Riddles of death Thebes never knew.
Another Athens shall arise,
And to remoter time
Bequeath, like sunset to the skies,
The splendour of its prime;
And leave, if naught so bright may live,
All earth can take or Heaven can give.
Saturn and Love their long repose
Shall burst, more bright and good
Than all who fell, than One who rose,
Than many unsubdued:
Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers,
But votive tears and symbol flowers.
O cease! must hate and death return?
Cease! must men **** and die?
Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn
Of bitter prophecy!
The world is weary of the past—
O might it die or rest at last!
2.6k
*Weathervanes with harmonically
tuned brains, took up the call to Step Lively.
Each one ecking, drop by drop,
To feed you silliness, to lighten your soul.
Wakey, wakey
Eat well
It's your Daddy, I mean attorney
You're really been being very bad.*
If you insist, I will.
Learn obedience
or patience or something
in between,
a kernal of obedience?
I'll never promise that,
in order to give it to freely.
I was afraid to let you in.
They were menacing,
stamping us into tiny little molds.
Insistent that we are,
what they think we are.
*Did they convince you
that I'd gone off and left you?*
No, changing that would require
quantum amounts of convincing.
Was not mistaken that it was you,
just attacked by encroaching apiculture
*That is how it felt,
How it feels, but subtler now.*
First course correction will be
the sliver of a melody,
Spreading like a depth charge.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 9:03 AM UTC
Some of my friends swear they are, but I'm not.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXL)
Rain. Just a whisper as how twilight thence
Steals thinly 'cross the ist more fragile scale
Of wet? I caught that note in sweet all hail
To say "it can't be--!" puddles' ghostly sense
Now winking lightly from the blacktop, whence
That subtler voice of traffic hissing, pale
In deeper shadows' lonely wake, t'avail
Was't true, and phone recharging, what from hence?
I'm sleepy. Blackened silhouettes hulk fer
Good measure in the darkness, like a crew
Upon some ghastly mission as it were,
But I'm too tired for aught now, lying down to
Effect right in this stuffed chair. Call it poor,
And one espresso long gone, kiss me too?
02Apr17c
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
In the freshly seared hours of the morning
there's a hot, bothered growling
coming from beyond
the rose-studded chipping fence posts,
sick with the stench of stained mattresses
and mounds of cage-less garbage-
tossed willy-nilly
into a smoldering, contorted
**** of stacks.
Here,
in this spot of dawn
-in today's un-showered
moist enclave-
I find, syncopated
by the vrooooming scooters
and gassy buses,
a fresh hope diffusing faster
than the steam from drains,
-subtler than the soft soju snores
of last night's curb cuddlers-
slinking up, down, around convenient stores' corners
past every security camera,
bouncing off rib cages,
tickling the barbules of the songbird
perched in my utility wires
in a nest neater than my bed.
This is summer, Korea.
This is Korea in the summer.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
whatever. i'm so clever. yeah. whatever. i can break the lame guys in when they give last rites. the deader the better the girls sigh. open up to new norms. electric rules the old worms. fortune anorexic wonder. blonder, longer, simpler, subtler. partial to the flower you think and forever after ....
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
April...my early sonnets...leaning on the windowsill as the streets were mad rivers, Mum in bed just behind me--ya, I've long been the nightowl, though how many times I'd hang out with her when I did.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLXVIII)
Ah, silver gloaming whose soft light is thence
More yellow than wee baby leaves' detail
Of green chartreuse as rain now waltzes, pale
Yet with that subtler voice in tow, lawns hence
Thick carpets laid out 'gainst grey racks a sense
Of pink like fragile mists haunts to avail,
These naked boughs in lingerie black's scale
Just tinges, April clothed ere nightfall, whence?
O me! The blacktop sports thin puddles fer
A touch of wet, and Friday's hallowed to
Some, good cuz dunno why, as we talk. Were
It taxes or the missiles elsewhere, who
Shall--what? I listen, laugh, want Andrew, poor
As saying is, and recall Mum: all we knew.
14Apr17c
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 1:20 AM UTC
I used to get very annoyed with my mask
each day I’d implore, “Is it too much to ask -
that my glasses don’t steam up when I walk in a shop
or to not have to swallow down buckets of snot?”
But lately my viewpoint has started to waiver
as I discover new uses for this multi-lifesaver
like wiping the grit from my spectacle lenses
or warming my beard when I’m out mending fences.
Then there are subtler means of employ
(I’m not talking about some ***** *** toy)
where this sliver of material,
though appearing unmanly,
has proven itself surprisingly handy.
Only last week, on a long evening walk
I crept into a church round the back of Earls Court
and sat down to the tones of an ***** concerto
that whirled within me like Dante’s Inferno.
Out of the blue I began to cry
emotions stuffed deep inside reached for the sky,
streams gushed forth from each quivering eye lid
I’d not wept so fiercely since being a kid
yet though it did not cover the whole of my face
with my mask pulled high I was
at least,
saved some disgrace.
When this is all over (I promise it will)
hold a thought for how
your mask did fulfill
so many functions,
besides helping you survive
and perhaps carry one in your pocket
to keep the memory alive.
Jan 3, 2021
Jan 3, 2021 at 3:06 AM UTC
I hope you fall in love with someone who always texts back, and never lets you fall asleep upset. I hope she holds your hand and isn't afraid to reach for it first. I hope she doesn't get as frightened and angry in scary movies as I did, but I hope that she has a subtler and sweeter way of being scared. I hope she loves chocolate as much as you, so you don't have to sacrifice anything you love for her. I hope she is never afraid to ask you to dance with her. I hope she tickles you when you're sad. I hope she makes you smile on bad days, and appreciates you on the good days, too. I hope she isn't indecisive or stubborn, but rather that she is confident and gentle. I hope you fall for someone who kisses you under waterfalls, plays with you in the rain, wrestles with you in the snow, and cuddles with you by the fireplace when it is cold.
But beyond that, I hope you fall for a girl who will never take you for granted or allow for you to stay angry. I hope she is someone who will stand by you when you are right, and still listen and care when you are absolutely wrong. I hope she is able to see you at your worst and love you still. I hope she can see the beautiful oceans in your blue eyes, and the galaxies in each of your heart beats. I hope she hears music in the way you speak.
I hope she means everything to you, because you mean everything to me.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
as one famous founder of a site
citing its demographic as:
poor girl seeks a sugar daddy
to get a university education:
'love is a concept invented by
poor people,'
i agree, and also invented by
the one who was crucified,
but i might add: insanity is a
concept invented by rich people...
esp. those people who's
children are ready to embark
on a career in intellectualising
stiff psychiatric nouns without
clear verb examples of behaviour,
and the public en masse dilute
"serious" psychiatric investigations
of mood swings et al. with
poetic elasticity of metaphor -
it's no longer: oh i'm so sad...
it's oh i feel so depressed... that would
make perfect sense in aviation
history - given the 80th anniversary
of the spitfire (spuckenfeuer) over
the skies in Southampton -
subtler and more positive expression
of alcoholism? just a different type
of metabolism, water (adam's tonic)
doesn't exist because it's all contaminated...
aviation depression compression,
high in the altitudes of 16,000 feet,
then looking down at ants on the pavement
with their labyrinth rivers of blindness
and then buckle **** it hits you,
the sea of humanity.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
When I admit neglect of Gissing,
They say I don't know what I'm missing.
Until their arguments are subtler,
I think I'll stick to Samuel Butler.
1.4k
Jokers and knaves are wild cards
As ever they were
What fateful houses these make
Breath-held balancing
Precarious shelters
Gamblers and wanderers
With tumbleweed roots
Clinging air instead of earth
The stuff of fools and stars
And someone's days and years
Are made only of this
This thrilling despair
Jokers and knaves and kings and queens
And some of subtler meaning
Mean nothing but paper
Numbers and trembles
Dry-mouthed mumbles
Prayers to a ruthless god
With no reason to pity fools
And a dark love of sacrifice
Yet still desperate belief
Huddled behind swollen eyes
Contradicts every probable outcome
And falls and spins
By Phil Roberts
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
well acting is a metaphysical assertion of the physical act of theft, in Cartesian terms: a part of the extension is stolen, for example an object passed down via generations, your grandmother's wedding ring... acting is in a sense a theft that defines creating a civilisation and eradicating tribalism: galoshes, guttering, sewers and irritable bowel movements.
some said acting
was a subtler form of
defining theft,
given the term
doppelgänger;
i.e. i stole your shadow,
all you have is a hand
to mimic a shape of a hare's head
to please children,
deal with it.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
After Aishwarya Rai Bachchan gave us some impressive red carpet outings, all eyes were on Sonam Kapoor as she made her sixth Cannes appearance in a row. And boy, she lived up to our expectations in a whimsical Ralph and Russo sari-inspired gown with half cape. Her styling was bang on with pink lips, dewy makeup and middle-parted neat tresses.
Designers give thumbs up to the actor, without a second thought. “Sonam looks spectacular. I love the dramatic outfit. I loved the fact that Sonam wore no jewellery (except for a ring) and kept her hair straight with some interesting eye makeup,” says designer Manish Malhotra.
“I love this look. It is a great example of something experimentally grand and classic at the same time. I also like the jersey in the top portion, which adds a very modern and sporty vibe to a traditional embroidered half cape sari inspired gown. There is a duality I can sense here and it has surprising familiarity in terms of a classic Balenciaga vibe,” says designer Rahul Mishra.
Designer Rina Dhaka also loves her look, but believes that subtler looks can also work the same magic . “Sonam looks gorgeous. The outfit has a lot of volume, and yet it is controlled and figure hugging. I would call her a drape crusader,” she says, adding, “However, unlike Indian actors, international actors are going for understated, simpler looks. We guys tend to take on too much embroidery, making it look theatrical. These looks are bridal by western standards. But our audiences like this.”Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:36 AM UTC
From the conscious silence to the nomenclatural sound....
From the existential time to the reverberating silence...
Existential sound from the evolving time....
Evolved time from the sustained silence...
Time drenched into the time breeding timeless life....
Life is creator and creation,
It is the play of both of them,
We are their children and everyone of us,
Not just only human beings,every creature on the planet...
Existence is not human-centric,
We are living in the creation,creator is beyond physical....
Life is the voice of the creation,
and the source of our life cannot be seen through our eyes as it is more subtler and beyond physical,
Life is ubiquitous,there is nothing which does not have memory....
Even nothing which is everything and which is life also does have memory.....
Their memory is to act according to the intentions of other lives,
They carry our intentions and consequences,
Intentions and consequences are not apart,they are in the same moment
but one may descry the consequences after a certain period,
but they happen at the same moment as intentions does happen,
Silence bred sound,
and the sound bred me,
And then I am going to dissolve in to the silence......
Life is uncreated,In other words it created itself....
Let me dissolve in to the source....
You cannot breed consciousness nor silence nor the source of life,
one can only dissolve in to the larger entity....
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
The wet lichen
and I
sit upon the dew-slicked
outcrop of boulder bits -
both preternaturally verdure
Each seeking solace in the
space
each seeking what we need from
air
Inclined to commune here, both
'til
the sunrays fade-
my companion soaking sun from
without
and I, I seek a subtler, silent
inner light
We two ourselves
had thought perhaps
to sitstill alone
here
And having found (of course,
of course) a fellow
sit-seeker here
changed course (of course)
and sat astride this
same (but not for long,
only for long) stone
What'd've been an I
(grumble,sigh)
was now a we you see
and I, as well was never
only I but, rather I
as I'd not yet known
and my body and its songs
The lichen too
composed
of two
sat as seeming One
but was as much
a fibrous mesh of fungal
strands sit-seeking
along with its
(not hosted but self-same self)
algal (not plant, not animal; not
either, not both) or cyanobacterial
bits of cells and life material
So together, apart and as much
as One
we looked down
in late-October dawn
into the pond
(to see the sun's rise and blush)
and each and both of us
hoped then to find and feel our Light
Then, through the rising
warm mists,
I sought the Sky -
cloud-filled with cattails’ tufts
and there at last
(of course)
through the irreal fog
(annihilated obnubilation)
I saw the fog
and clouds as One
We two, too
were One.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
There and here and back again
They say this too shall pass
But April showers bring May rain
Subtler fainter shades of pain
I know that you prefer a lie
Prefer to think its peachy keen
But I see through rose-specs that
Illuminate a shade of green-
An ugly insurrection
That mirrors your reflection
And I feel the need to flee
Like a far-gone beaten wife
But escape is never final till
You **** what keeps you up at night
And what I'm up against
Demands a massacre
And what I need the most is sleep
But no matter how appealing
And no matter how befitting
Requiting you won't make ends meet
Your face has disappeared
Into the blackened void
Just another two-timer
Who's tongue I can't avoid
You've no idea the damage you've done
And it's clear to the whole world who's won
But divided are the ones who judge
Split right down the middle-
With support from a grudge
I could care less about what I've lost
And who you've gained
And frankly I prefer
The dark and the rain
I've always been a different level
Of insane
But I rather burn in hell
Then breathe in this underhanded,
Wretched spell
Made up of all my flaws
And warning bells
And hisses from your cold death knell
That rings of all the ones who fell
And all the souls you chose to sell
And all those tainted wish-you-wells
You thought that I could never tell-
But doers rarely dream
And breakers rarely bend
You're exactly as you seem
To he, she and them
But I see through a glass, lightly
Every single night
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 7:13 PM UTC
autumn comes with drooping arms
promises of stripped branches
shapes confetti & a quilt
rests on a carpet of dewdrops
bubbles melt with the dawn
drifting on currents
air carries leaves
another renewal
rains decompose browns, yellows, reds
winter greens sprout
soil fed & energised
vegetable flowers form
subtler seasons
easier sleeping, slower awakenings
leaves raked & piled
hot gone days disposed.
frost arrives in certain geographies
red replaces white
the tank is full & burners cleaned
warming gas is very close
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
Every woman has one in her closet,
Although some are loathe to confess.
It’s perfect for many occasions.
It is known as the little black dress..
For Women who seek to entice,
or have men they want to impress.,
There is nothing terribly virginal
concerning that little black dress.
Its of Spidery inspiration and,
oh, what a web they can weave.
They use it, some say, ensnaring their prey.
It comes out again when they grieve.
In Wedding, our Ladies wear white.,
A Little black dress when they keen.
They dress in subtler shades of gray
on all the days in between.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 8:42 PM UTC
Being a winner to me
Is not so much about
Winning the Battle of Waterloo
Neither is it about
Defeating the Axis Powers in WW2
Nor the heroism of Odysseus
After the fall of Troy
It is to me something simpler
But subtler
Like the equanimity of Horatio
In the Hamlet
And the fortitude of those who
Win unheard wars
Winners are those i'd say
Who in spite of losing believe
In the strength of their RESOLVE.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 6:43 AM UTC
We’re (my roommates and I) at a specific time of youth - a time I’ll call “close.” We aren’t fully adults but we’re close, we’re not completely out and independent, but we’re close. And once again, we’ve got choices to make.
I read this paragraph to the room.
Lisa gasped and exclaimed “Not choices?!”
“More choices?” Anna groaned.
“I’ll have a bacon-cheeseburger with large-fries,” Sophy said, adding, “and a blueberry-triple-malt shake.”
“Freedom is choices,” Leong, our favorite communist, ungrammatically observed.
We’re in the second half of our junior year - which is still hard to believe. We’ll be seniors soon, and seniors have one foot out the door - they’re ‘over the **** academically - nothing will be thrown at them that they can’t casually handle, so they sleep-in or trek off to job interviews half the time or in my case, go med-school hunting.
I’ve written about our lives - the stresses, healthy doses of narrative-suffused teen drama, the ascetic beauties and the enchantments of freedom - trying to capture a few real-life moments at irregular intervals, in small ellipses, to tack them, like butterflies on cork.
What’s been hard to capture are the subtler shifts in taste and mood as we’ve aged. I’ve had to purposefully slow down, doppler shift from frantic student to observant writer, to even try and grasp the constantly evolving, small variations. Like Anna’s cainogenetic expressiveness, Leong's imponderable politics, Sophy’s evolving, coquettish bar-side poses and the growing assertiveness of Lisa’s gaze.
As we mentally prepare for our real lives, there are diffuse metamorphic changes afoot. What will we leave behind and what will we keep in order to “grow up?” I don’t mean changes in haircuts, clothes and make-up - although I’m sure I’ll MCU-those-out - I mean the psychological changes.
Throughout our college careers, the objects we’ve surrounded ourselves with, the settings we’ve chosen to inhabit, the faces we’ve shown the world, and even our intimate notions of ourselves have changed.
And It’s still only junior year, I can’t wait to see what comes next.
Feb 8, 2024
Feb 8, 2024 at 10:55 PM UTC
he fiddles with lobe
the wiggle subtler than door-stop's
where middle is at rest
for both
the rest of she lies still as pond
where ripples from lips will stretch
a smile
for both
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 9:46 PM UTC
The breeze whisked gentle against the curtains.
Getting subtler, subtler, and subtler.
The sun yawned.
Her window stayed open.
Then the breeze had all together hushed.
So the sun,
spilled into the bedroom.
The floor met the sun,
dancing there,
on the carpet.
Then on the dresser,
the walls,
the bed.
It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold,
then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist,
living on her islands. Here the sun became barley.
The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly,
her islands then became a continent.
Ramona lay her arm in a curve.
It was the undressed river of her mattress.
She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun,
peering through the window,
shined in all day.
Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun.
She lay there watching the last of its exhale.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC