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Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven firstborn,
Or of the Eternal coeternal beam
May I express thee unblam’d?  since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hear”st thou rather pure ethereal stream,
Whose fountain who shall tell?  before the sun,
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing,
Escap’d the Stygian pool, though long detain’d
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne,
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night;
Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to re-ascend,
Though hard and rare:  Thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou
Revisit’st not these eyes, that roll in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So  thick a drop serene hath quench’d their orbs,
Or dim suffusion veil’d.  Yet not the more
Cease I to wander, where the Muses haunt,
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath,
That wash thy hallow’d feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit:  nor sometimes forget
So were I equall’d with them in renown,
Thy sovran command, that Man should find grace;
Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides,
And Tiresias, and Phineus, prophets old:
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal note.  Thus with the year
Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer’s rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a universal blank
Of nature’s works to me expung’d and ras’d,
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
So much the rather thou, celestial Light,
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers
Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.
Now had the Almighty Father from above,
From the pure empyrean where he sits
High thron’d above all highth, bent down his eye
His own works and their works at once to view:
About him all the Sanctities of Heaven
Stood thick as stars, and from his sight receiv’d
Beatitude past utterance; on his right
The radiant image of his glory sat,
His only son; on earth he first beheld
Our two first parents, yet the only two
Of mankind in the happy garden plac’d
Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love,
Uninterrupted joy, unrivall’d love,
In blissful solitude; he then survey’d
Hell and the gulf between, and Satan there
Coasting the wall of Heaven on this side Night
In the dun air sublime, and ready now
To stoop with wearied wings, and willing feet,
On the bare outside of this world, that seem’d
Firm land imbosom’d, without firmament,
Uncertain which, in ocean or in air.
Him God beholding from his prospect high,
Wherein past, present, future, he beholds,
Thus to his only Son foreseeing spake.
Only begotten Son, seest thou what rage
Transports our Adversary?  whom no bounds
Prescrib’d no bars of Hell, nor all the chains
Heap’d on him there, nor yet the main abyss
Wide interrupt, can hold; so bent he seems
On desperate revenge, that shall redound
Upon his own rebellious head.  And now,
Through all restraint broke loose, he wings his way
Not far off Heaven, in the precincts of light,
Directly towards the new created world,
And man there plac’d, with purpose to assay
If him by force he can destroy, or, worse,
By some false guile pervert; and shall pervert;
For man will hearken to his glozing lies,
And easily transgress the sole command,
Sole pledge of his obedience:  So will fall
He and his faithless progeny:  Whose fault?
Whose but his own?  ingrate, he had of me
All he could have; I made him just and right,
Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.
Such I created all the ethereal Powers
And Spirits, both them who stood, and them who fail’d;
Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.
Not free, what proof could they have given sincere
Of true allegiance, constant faith or love,
Where only what they needs must do appear’d,
Not what they would?  what praise could they receive?
What pleasure I from such obedience paid,
When will and reason (reason also is choice)
Useless and vain, of freedom both despoil’d,
Made passive both, had serv’d necessity,
Not me?  they therefore, as to right belong$ ‘d,
So were created, nor can justly accuse
Their Maker, or their making, or their fate,
As if predestination over-rul’d
Their will dispos’d by absolute decree
Or high foreknowledge they themselves decreed
Their own revolt, not I; if I foreknew,
Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault,
Which had no less proved certain unforeknown.
So without least impulse or shadow of fate,
Or aught by me immutably foreseen,
They trespass, authors to themselves in all
Both what they judge, and what they choose; for so
I form’d them free: and free they must remain,
Till they enthrall themselves; I else must change
Their nature, and revoke the high decree
Unchangeable, eternal, which ordain’d
$THeir freedom: they themselves ordain’d their fall.
The first sort by their own suggestion fell,
Self-tempted, self-deprav’d:  Man falls, deceiv’d
By the other first:  Man therefore shall find grace,
The other none:  In mercy and justice both,
Through Heaven and Earth, so shall my glory excel;
But Mercy, first and last, shall brightest shine.
Thus while God spake, ambrosial fragrance fill’d
All Heaven, and in the blessed Spirits elect
Sense of new joy ineffable diffus’d.
Beyond compare the Son of God was seen
Most glorious; in him all his Father shone
Substantially express’d; and in his face
Divine compassion visibly appear’d,
Love without end, and without measure grace,
Which uttering, thus he to his Father spake.
O Father, gracious was that word which clos’d
Thy sovran command, that Man should find grace;
, that Man should find grace;
For which both Heaven and earth shall high extol
Thy praises, with the innumerable sound
Of hymns and sacred songs, wherewith thy throne
Encompass’d shall resound thee ever blest.
For should Man finally be lost, should Man,
Thy creature late so lov’d, thy youngest son,
Fall circumvented thus by fraud, though join’d
With his own folly?  that be from thee far,
That far be from thee, Father, who art judge
Of all things made, and judgest only right.
Or shall the Adversary thus obtain
His end, and frustrate thine?  shall he fulfill
His malice, and thy goodness bring to nought,
Or proud return, though to his heavier doom,
Yet with revenge accomplish’d, and to Hell
Draw after him the whole race of mankind,
By him corrupted?  or wilt thou thyself
Abolish thy creation, and unmake
For him, what for thy glory thou hast made?
So should thy goodness and thy greatness both
Be question’d and blasphem’d without defence.
To whom the great Creator thus replied.
O son, in whom my soul hath chief delight,
Son of my *****, Son who art alone.
My word, my wisdom, and effectual might,
All hast thou spoken as my thoughts are, all
As my eternal purpose hath decreed;
Man shall not quite be lost, but sav’d who will;
Yet not of will in him, but grace in me
Freely vouchsaf’d; once more I will renew
His lapsed powers, though forfeit; and enthrall’d
By sin to foul exorbitant desires;
Upheld by me, yet once more he shall stand
On even ground against his mortal foe;
By me upheld, that he may know how frail
His fallen condition is, and to me owe
All his deliverance, and to none but me.
Some I have chosen of peculiar grace,
Elect above the rest; so is my will:
The rest shall hear me call, and oft be warn’d
Their sinful state, and to appease betimes
The incensed Deity, while offer’d grace
Invites; for I will clear their senses dark,
What may suffice, and soften stony hearts
To pray, repent, and bring obedience due.
To prayer, repentance, and obedience due,
Though but endeavour’d with sincere intent,
Mine ear shall not be slow, mine eye not shut.
And I will place within them as a guide,
My umpire Conscience; whom if they will hear,
Light after light, well us’d, they shall attain,
And to the end, persisting, safe arrive.
This my long sufferance, and my day of grace,
They who neglect and scorn, shall never taste;
But hard be harden’d, blind be blinded more,
That they may stumble on, and deeper fall;
And none but such from mercy I exclude.
But yet all is not done; Man disobeying,
Disloyal, breaks his fealty, and sins
Against the high supremacy of Heaven,
Affecting God-head, and, so losing all,
To expiate his treason hath nought left,
But to destruction sacred and devote,
He, with his whole posterity, must die,
Die he or justice must; unless for him
Some other able, and as willing, pay
The rigid satisfaction, death for death.
Say, heavenly Powers, where shall we find such love?
Which of you will be mortal, to redeem
Man’s mortal crime, and just the unjust to save?
Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear?
And silence was in Heaven: $ on Man’s behalf
He ask’d, but all the heavenly quire stood mute,
Patron or intercessour none appear’d,
Much less that durst upon his own head draw
The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set.
And now without redemption all mankind
Must have been lost, adjudg’d to Death and Hell
By doom severe, had not the Son of God,
In whom the fulness dwells of love divine,
His dearest mediation thus renew’d.
Father, thy word is past, Man shall find grace;
And shall grace not find means, that finds her way,
The speediest of thy winged messengers,
To visit all thy creatures, and to all
Comes unprevented, unimplor’d, unsought?
Happy for Man, so coming; he her aid
Can never seek, once dead in sins, and lost;
Atonement for himself, or offering meet,
Indebted and undone, hath none to bring;
Behold me then:  me for him, life for life
I offer: on me let thine anger fall;
Account me Man; I for his sake will leave
Thy *****, and this glory next to thee
Freely put off, and for him lastly die
Well pleased; on me let Death wreak all his rage.
Under his gloomy power I shall not long
Lie vanquished. Thou hast given me to possess
Life in myself for ever; by thee I live;
Though now to Death I yield, and am his due,
All that of me can die, yet, that debt paid,
$ thou wilt not leave me in the loathsome grave
His prey, nor suffer my unspotted soul
For ever with corruption there to dwell;
But I shall rise victorious, and subdue
My vanquisher, spoiled of his vaunted spoil.
Death his death’s wound shall then receive, and stoop
Inglorious, of his mortal sting disarmed;
I through the ample air in triumph high
Shall lead Hell captive maugre Hell, and show
The powers of darkness bound. Thou, at the sight
Pleased, out of Heaven shalt look down and smile,
While, by thee raised, I ruin all my foes;
Death last, and with his carcase glut the grave;
Then, with the multitude of my redeemed,
Shall enter Heaven, long absent, and return,
Father, to see thy face, wherein no cloud
Of anger shall remain, but peace assured
And reconcilement: wrath shall be no more
Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire.
His words here ended; but his meek aspect
Silent yet spake, and breathed immortal love
To mortal men, above which only shone
Filial obedience: as a sacrifice
Glad to be offered, he attends the will
Of his great Father. Admiration seized
All Heaven, what this might mean, and whither tend,
Wondering; but soon th’ Almighty thus replied.
O thou in Heaven and Earth the only peace
Found out for mankind under wrath, O thou
My sole complacence! Well thou know’st how dear
To me are all my works; nor Man the least,
Though last created, that for him I spare
Thee from my ***** and right hand, to save,
By losing thee a while, the whole race lost.

Thou, therefore, whom thou only canst redeem,
Their nature also to thy nature join;
And be thyself Man among men on Earth,
Made flesh, when time shall be, of ****** seed,
By wondrous birth; be thou in Adam’s room
The head of all mankind, though Adam’s son.
As in him perish all men, so in thee,
As from a second root, shall be restored
As many as are restored, without thee none.
His crime makes guilty all his sons; thy merit,
Imputed, shall absolve them who renounce
Their own both righteous and unrighteous deeds,
And live in thee transplanted, and from thee
Receive new life.  So Man, as is most just,
Shall satisfy for Man, be judged and die,
And dying rise, and rising with him raise
His brethren, ransomed with his own dear life.
So heavenly love shall outdo hellish hate,
Giving to death, and dying to redeem,
So dearly to redeem what hellish hate
So easily destroyed, and still destroys
In those who, when they may, accept not grace.
Nor shalt thou, by descending to assume
Man’s nature, lessen or degrade thine own.
Because thou hast, though throned in highest bliss
Equal to God, and equally enjoying
God-like fruition, quitted all, to save
A world from utter loss, and hast been found
By merit more than birthright Son of God,
Found worthiest to be so by being good,
Far more than great or high; because in thee
Love hath abounded more than glory abounds;
Therefore thy humiliation shall exalt
With thee thy manhood also to this throne:
Here shalt thou sit incarnate, here shalt reign
Both God and Man, Son both of God and Man,
Anointed universal King; all power
I give thee; reign for ever, and assume
Thy merits; under thee, as head supreme,
Thrones, Princedoms, Powers, Dominions, I reduce:
All knees to thee shall bow, of them that bide
In Heaven, or Earth, or under Earth in Hell.
When thou, attended gloriously from Heaven,
Shalt in the sky appear, and from thee send
The summoning Arch-Angels to proclaim
Thy dread tribunal; forthwith from all winds,
The living, and forthwith the cited dead
Of all past ages, to the general doom
Shall hasten; such a peal shall rouse their sleep.
Then, all thy saints assembled, thou shalt judge
Bad Men and Angels; they, arraigned, shall sink
Beneath thy sentence; Hell, her numbers full,
Thenceforth shall be for ever shut.  Mean while
The world shall burn, and from her ashes spring
New Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell,
And, after all their tribulations long,
See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds,
With joy and peace triumphing, and fair truth.
Then thou thy regal scepter shalt lay by,
For regal scepter then no more shall need,
God shall be all in all.  But, all ye Gods,
Adore him, who to compass all this dies;
Adore the Son, and honour him as me.
No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all
The multitude of Angels, with a shout
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet
As from blest voices, uttering joy, Heaven rung
With jubilee, and loud Hosannas filled
The eternal regions:  Lowly reverent
Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground
With solemn adoration down they cast
Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold;
Immortal amarant, a flower which once
In Paradise, fast by the tree of life,
Began to bloom; but soon for man’s offence
To Heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows,
And flowers aloft shading the fount of life,
And where the river of bliss through midst of Heaven
Rolls o’er Elysian flowers her amber stream;
With these that never fade the Spirits elect
Bind their resplendent locks inwreathed with beams;
Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the bright
Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone,
Impurpled with celestial roses smiled.
Then, crowned again, their golden harps they took,
Harps ever tuned, that glittering by their side
Like quivers hung, and with preamble sweet
Of charming symphony they introduce
Their sacred song, and waken raptures high;
No voice exempt, no voice but well could join
Melodious part, such concord is in Heaven.
Thee, Father, first they sung
Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon,
With the old moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.

I

Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Aeolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light,
(With swimming phantom light o’erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh! that even now the gust were swelling,
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!

II

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear—
O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle wooed,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green:
And still I gaze—and with how blank an eye!
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
I see them all so excellently fair,
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

III

My genial spirits fail;
And what can these avail
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
It were a vain endeavour,
Though I should gaze forever
On that green light that lingers in the west:
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV

O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud!
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
Enveloping the Earth—
And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element!

V

O pure of heart! thou need’st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be!
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making power.
Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne’er was given,
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,
Life, and Life’s effluence, cloud at once and shower,
Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower,
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud—
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud—
We in ourselves rejoice!
And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colours a suffusion from that light.

VI

There was a time when, though my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress,
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;
But oh! each visitation
Suspends what Nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of Imagination.
For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient, all I can;
And haply by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man—
This was my sole resource, my only plan:
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

VII

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality’s dark dream!
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Of agony by torture lengthened out
That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav’st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree,
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches’ home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,
Mak’st Devils’ yule, with worse than wintry song,
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
Thou actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty poet, e’en to frenzy bold!
What tell’st thou now about?
’Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,
With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds—
At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!
But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,
With groans, and tremulous shudderings—all is over—
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
A tale of less affright,
And tempered with delight,
As Otway’s self had framed the tender lay—
’Tis of a little child
Upon a lonesome wild,
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way:
And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.

VIII

’Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
To her may all things live, from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of her living soul!
O simple spirit, guided from above,
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus mayst thou ever, evermore rejoice.
Vernal Equinox arrives,
a lush middle ground
fresh with turning,
on the fulcrum
of dark and light,
awakening dynamic gaian breath
and ambitious harmony.

Dancing in and out
of shadow,
darting into
waxing shine,
on the verge
of the continuous,
here at the thresholds fray,
off the precipice we go,
cliffs that drop into the burn
of the suns growing presence.

Fire moves into water
like flourish,
Water moves into fire
without extinguish.

The paradox of love
is alive,
with night and day
seen as equals.

In this colossus of rebirth,
the resurrection of winters death,
blooming out of earthen richness,
with the enormity of natures becoming.

On this brink of passions catching
in the Eastern sun rising,
with balance kept in the approach
of spring rains rolling in,
like tears of tender joy;
a drenching
and vaporous
arousal.

Mind is lost on winds of change
meandering amongst the grasses,
the feet hug the ground like roots,
the spine lifts like spontaneity,
bringing the heart to blossom
in it's ribcage branches,
pulsing aromatic swells
moving outwards
in veins of pranic rivers,
with gushing love,
turning the blood etheric
and unbound by the body,
in some natural suffusion
where earth and sky meet
in endless inter-change,
and all is complimentary here,
and everything is reaching,
to kiss the sky,
in gratitude.
Valsa George Jul 2016
Writing of a poem
Oh! How it can be likened
To having a baby!

With the copulation of fancy and thought,
Comes the moment of conception

      It can happen any day
      Unanticipated or planned erstwhile
On a star studded night
Or a rain drenched morn
It swims into you as a seed
So tiny… so inconspicuous
Once the pregnancy confirmed
Comes irritation, nausea
Lethargy and loss of appetite
Your stomach rarely growls for food
Clouds of words hang heavy and low,
Refusing to break into showers
They don’t gush or rush.
Ideas dry up leaving the nib parched
Lines crack n’ break
Depression follows
Discouraged, you feel fatigued

But all the while you begin to realize
That a new life
Independent of you
Has begun growing inside you
Then all the care taken
To foster the young life

You read…
You refer the lexicon
You withdraw from other works
Take rest, relax in solitude

Slowly the foetus moves
The first stirring of life!
With fond fingers, as you pat your belly
Your pen pats the paper
The first line…..
The first faint beating of the heart!
Then words….
Like little harness bells tingling
Fall in line, line after line!

Drawing nourishment from you,
The embryo grows limb by limb
The miniscule of insight
Grown after months of waiting
Into a mature body of illumination!
A stretch of your dreams!
A suffusion of light!

After the labor pains
Of scribbling and scrawling,
Writing and rewriting,
Deleting, adding and editing,
With time stretching and contracting,
A baby, no, a poem is born.

Whether cute or ugly
No mother can dislike it
She marvels at its birth
Wraps it in her warmth
She must have had in mind a name
Or seeks to find a name;
An apt name

Thus a poem with a title is born!
She wonders if her baby would lit a smile,
On others lips too
Or from them would flow,
Words of endearment as from a trickle!
Bisho Jul 2012
March 10, 2010 at 11:26 pm

I'm lost in translation,
For a language....does my life be,
In each & every situation,
There's much that I can't see,
The times of meditation,
The times I know what's me,
In dots lies my consolation,
In the question marks it does flee,
Every second of desperation,
Is like drowning in a sea,
In me, I feel I am a nation,
Endless thoughts from which I can't break free,

What a total illusion !!
The future seems a million mile,
& the great confusion,
The past seems a one-second while,
A dream I cherish ,the love suffusion,
That dream oppose the world & rile,
The only left mere solution,
To choose to enter the death isle,
Or here's what is a dead conclusion,
To let the world erase my smile,
But I'll always allow the fusion,
Of love & passion in my lifestyle,

I can see souls of passion & pain,
Some lovely written letters in gold,
Matters not fleshes or colours or a strain,
I see the young just like the old,
In capital or small alike on the lane,
Some are warm & others are cold,
Some sell them letters for nothing to gain,
But to the life in hell they're sold,
Some bleed pain like drops of rain,
U cannot count, u cannot hold,
But the wise ,a word, they attain,
From humble letters forming the untold,

I see some letters roving alone,
Espying the grief of the lovelorn,
Each letter lost the life they've known,
In all their doubts & their mourn,
Every heavy heart became a stone,
& them letters became forlorn,
How would it be some reason shown,
In their lives & hearts that are torn??
Think of this present not the unknown,
For the grieving we're never born,
For every night must have a dawn,
But them reason does be the scorn,

I'm Peter not Judas, I stand when I fall,
From strikes of time I learn to rise,
I'm Solomon who built every holly wall,
I can see the truth through a million lies,
I'm David who loved God above the all,
For God's the world in such poet's eyes,
I'm the lost son who lost control,
Who'd from his father the forgiving prize,
I'm the mislaid sheep, once a devil's doll,
But now my morbid sin I realize,
I am God's son the only one I call,
The one who embrace me in his skies,

Oh, poor me...so alone I stand,
I linger in some reality's dream,
So distant & lost in a faraway land,
This ardent fire of passion does seem,
Like some springs of life flowing to my hand,
Out of my soul a running stream,
Upon pillars of salt & pillars of sand,
Stood their castles of no sun can glow or gleam,
Altogether my thoughts do band,
To form a code the all esteem,
Though I am the one whom the life strand,
But also I'm whom God did redeem...**

Nat Lipstadt Jan 2023
~for Lori Jones McCaffery who wrote me of:
“Her hands lay gently joined”

So tenderly put

<>
So sweet and tenderly put this trilateral phrase, a complement,
So sweet and tenderly put this lovely, geometrical compliment,
thus birthing this missive that was delivered in a mere 9 minutes,
a simple re-tribute to a poem scraped from eyelids, leaked from
my heart  
of what
I Witnessed,
of what
I Emoted

as my woman,
rustled besides me in the early morning sheets,
stirring my heart, as she astirring slowly awake.

love this title Lori has gifted me, for so few and far
are the in-betweens of the people, places and things,
that are so tenderly inserted in this banged up humdrum,
football game of daily living, pierced by primary moments,
even secondary seconds, of heart~glows that pierce the noise,
even-in-silence put a suffusion of the chest, kissing of the brain,
colored kernels that dare not go unnoticed, this eloquent, perfect,
thank you is a whispering tremolo note that

wakes me up again, with scents of gratitude, for those
who take care, those who give care, who value tenderness
in soft spoken gestures, brash and bold, smartly wisdomed,
so to honor her, to honor this moment of grateful inspiration,
I insert the exact moment these senses imploded in my chest,
ordering me to give thanks, take care, validate the valuation of words,

so tenderly put

2:10pm Mon Jan 30 2023
Ah...herewith ma usual
     dose of pablum from this meal
lee mouthed muttering
     doggerel wordsmith,
     who now writes...
     so here's the deal,
which reiterates a former zeal
namely, the pleasant feel
ling within this humble congenial

chap - thanking quasi fans heel
ling muss card (scarred) psyche
     poetically donning kneel
ling com pose sure (Colin
     Kapernick phonetic style, him
     an implacably steel)
lee strong willed
     up standing heal

dug into grid
     iron, albeit graciously
     poised ex NFL seal
sincere kick starter, -
     who nar squelched Nike ethereal
swooshing sensation (trumping
     formalities - "FAKE" dis claim er:
     "an anti-white rant") unreal

unsolicited accolades,
     he garners plaudits,
     perhaps stern prow esse
     harbored within angular
     chiseled features duet to har
     monic converging multiracial allele
more so than this undeserved
     reasonable rhyming scrivener,

     who expresses gratitude, sans
     mine quirky poetics do appeal
(Ozzy kin see), viz
     crazy train of thoughts
     loudly clattering within
     thine fracked corporeal weal.
Every last drop of fair
blood, sweat, and duct tear

via this hair
brain scheme - exhaust ting air
supply, none the
     less doth cheer
fully, and willingly
     oblige mine moody
     blue (oyster cult)
     route expressway gear

ring cog knish shun en dear
ring non vain err
row'n nee us heart
     felt ego boosting flair
courtesy (additionally
     asper this mare
reed snoop doggy dawg) veer,
really tantamount in

     tandem, sans 'ere
glad a$$ knight,
     and the pups
(chess, non queer,
yule less lee) though rare
lee emerges, while
     holed up in Grendel's lair,
viz bone a fide attempt,

     aye didst aim, square
lee, via ma stiff
     pointer sisters wear
illy to stitch metered
     faux paw prayer
reign hounds sing golden ear
ring three dogged
(arf fathers art in heaven...)

     mutter ring loud and clear
pro noun sub
     bull dog gone
     heart worm ming aire
wharf (fore art thou
     bow wow wing) sere
bus ling three
     dog night, and tare

re: not e'en if yer
adrip as a bit chin heat
let us whip pet smart
     and bark where,
umlaut no longer able
    
     e'en with mad dame butterfly,
     (a poor cage'n
     pooch sheen nee dear)
on par as
     excalibur with difficulty
     loosed fur over, thus conclude
     this tall tail excelsior.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2015
~~~

it as if I am blinded
by the perfection
of the moment

all sensors singly loaded,
yet interacting,
in a buckshot of common cause

my eyes suffused
by sun scattering rays uncovering a day's birth placenta gleaming
amidst the glaring shadows of the refuse of nature's yesterday's
discarded leavings

my eyes reversed,
unsuffused
as it they were a gift,
waiting all this time,
forgoing-opening until
just this moment

my ears suffused
by soft sounds and
swirling ripples of calm waters,
the wind teasing, saying,
move like me, but just so, barely,
the real sounds of the quietude heard
as if for the first time

my tongue tastes you,
wrested from my mind's eye, you are given,
in the everything, skin creme of lapping waves, in the everywhere,
uncovered from within the sun's own departing shadow

my smell
is the smell of life,
nostrils flaring expanding with no limit
to take it all in,
completing, unifying,
a puzzle that never was,
that is now forever solved

my hands fuse
the tingling of life given from wet dewy grass,
shiny and reflecting,
the roughness of the bark,
a natural protective coating,
combining soft caresses and confirming
the necessity of both

perfectly still
I sit amidst
the perfect stillness,
all movement unnecessary,
all my senses reach out and return as one,
bringing me presents of knowledge,
more than suffused, I too,
am trite but true,
dearest god, can it be true,
rebirthed, renewed

this ordinary day
is now extraordinary
solitary figure staring gaze steady,
a perfection ******,
impatient for the
suffusion fix
of this day, and the morrow


~~~

**August 6, 2015
Shelter Island
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1296049/the-last-thing-on-earth/

~~~

a passerby, common exclamation,
to which no workmanlike thought
ever sufficient given...

the idea of it though burns,
throat choking noises fill the brain,
all course unexpected through hot bloodless veins,
more a questioning proclamation,
a shoutout to my unknowing,
not a declaration of certain positivity,
a positive certitude of only
which questions
bear asking...

what is the last on earth that:

*I wish to kiss,
forgive and forget,
curse, demanding it soon-to-be-follow-on demise,
what image desired to happy scar my retina's retention,
the taste that will always bud
but n'ere bloom for a thousand millenniums uncountable
which poem mine will I clutch as I am laid-me-down,
the one that will read over and over again
always in grace and with tears of only sad joy,
always satisfying...

what flower will last  burnish my declining senses,
which friend, will I two-handed grasp,
saying for you,
should have been so much more...

which sea, waters, needs be my final resting place,
will I will it salty or sweet, me to keep,
what face to savor~gaze for all eternity,
whose forehead to graze goodbye,
what future to pray for my descendants,
and all those that gather to bury me...

whose breast to hopeless last clutch,
as if they could deny, stay my sentence...
or I,
theirs...

whose heart to keep close as my last companion,
from whom to beg, remember be as I remember you,
faithful and true,
whose light will I require,
whose light will I provide,
when it is the last thing I contemplate...

whose touch, whose skin will I best remember,
will be the last one, or the first,
what question will I need answering,
what solutions will I at last,
be able to provide...*


so much more to muse upon,
as I gaze upon this poem's sad refrain,
and in desperation contemplate,
what will be my last thought embraced
when I leave this commissary,
that purveys so many answers...

indeed, answers aplenty, like shiny new pennies,
all begging to be found sufficient,
many claiming audacious necessity,
but I know better than that,
the answers will provide themselves
when marked finally
"due immediately..."
~~~

July 28 ~ August 8, 2015
Shelter Island
Travis Green Mar 2022
I wanna see you in the bright magnetic night
Taste you with my exhilarated tongue
Feel you with my sensual fingers
Clasp your supple luscious body
Kiss your enchanting pink lips
Your immersive black beard
I wanna touch your heart
Feel a suffusion of passion emerge
As you grasp me tighter
Let me adore your swagger
Rub your flesh everywhere
Feel your splash of enchantment
Suffuse my system with endless affection
allanbrunmier Mar 2020
Moonlight seeping in the darkened sky
Meekly peering through dappled cover
Invokes in me a plaintive sigh
The memory of a forlorn lover

She too was distant and obscure
Hiding feelings behind a misty drape
Still there always was that allure
Entrapping me with no escape

Wish I could’ve focused her sight
Brushed aside that cloudy veil
Amplified her inner bright
Brought color to her dismal pale

Alas, it was a losing cause
The twilight dimmed the setting sun
Perhaps there were celestial laws
That altered our orbit’s run
Tansy Roekaerts Jan 2021
Suffusion of sadness so tender,
What I yearn for lies inside.
In bed you await me,
Together we will hide

from those who think we have a choice
Or that one day you'll be gone.
Believe you to be transient
A bus I can hop off and on!

I marvel at the swell of you
So familiar yet never the same
I know you'll never leave me
Nor your power ever wane.

In bed I shiver with anticipation
For you're my only truth
All else is farce, and only in your arms
Can I cry as I did in youth.

Accepting life would mean losing you
So that line will never be crossed.
Pain, my faithful, constant lover, Pain:
All that remains from what I've lost
Travis Green Jul 2021
There was a suffusion
Of superlative sensuality
Seeping in my skin
Creamy dreams
In supreme steam
Leading me
Into desirous wildfires
Where his masculinity
Seized me instantaneously

— The End —