"sundering" poems
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water-bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came,
Tinuviel! Tinuviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell,
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinuviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinuviel the elven-fair
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore
O'er stony mountains cold and grey
Through halls of iron and darkling door
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And log ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
7.1k
we are bound by the electric
tape of music, poetry, dance,
a binding that only the rough cut
of a blade can sever.
rings, each of us have worn,
gold bands, for me three,
which I wore about my neck,
reminder, rings are easy removed,
but bind us in love,
of the pleasure of,
all things beautiful,
and
our boundaries become
one and the same,
there is no sundering
as long as we can
read, listen and dance
to the art of us.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
Two separate divided silences,
Which, brought together, would find loving voice;
Two glances which together would rejoice
In love, now lost like stars beyond dark trees;
Two hands apart whose touch alone gives ease;
Two bosoms which, heart-shrined with mutual flame,
Would, meeting in one clasp, be made the same;
Two souls, the shores wave-mocked of sundering seas:—
Such are we now. Ah! may our hope forecast
Indeed one hour again, when on this stream
Of darkened love once more the light shall gleam?
An hour how slow to come, how quickly past,
Which blooms and fades, and only leaves at last,
Faint as shed flowers, the attenuated dream.
3.6k
An irrefutable dream,
fulfilled tenfold in the illusion
made imperfect by dreamers' oblivion,
sought by the delver of selves.
Rejection of messengers,
the hive of deluded apathy
that saturates the air thick with the droning of silent hesitation
hexagonal compartmentalization,
sundering your cedar carapace,
which cancerous excess shatters,
and only cracks remain;
the afterthoughts of paradise
and undiscovered paths of depression,
an anxious exodus of life-force.
Part thine red sea,
lest plate tectonics make waves,
that cause molecules of hemoglobin to disperse in light,
the crimson tears of a soul,
sweeter than the lips coveted.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:10 AM UTC
Even a scrooge,
In his castle keep,
A lone fire burning
While he drifts out to sleep,
Once wondered
In fright,
Amid the sundering night,
If he was worthy
Of either judgement or bribe.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:58 AM UTC
he told too many lies
that man of mine
he lied and lied
all the time
he said he loved me
and that he'd be true
but he was out last night
fraternizing with Sue
he told too many lies
that man of mine
he lied and lied
all the time
he thought he wouldn't get caught
out with his latest escort
but he didn't figure
that I'd have him tailed
he told too many lies
that man of mine
he lied and lied
all the time
they were making
a secret meeting
he was kissing her
with a passionate greeting
he told too many lies
that man of mine
he lied and lied
all the time
I gave him the mail
I told him to vacate
I wasn't going to tolerate
a sundering mate
he told too many lies
that man of mine
he lied and lied
all the time
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
Flummoxed,
In labyrinths of
Baleful forests with
eyes of gibbet makers
and buried undertakers
through gloaming sights,
hobbling towards the light.
The silver teeth of
obeisance sundering will,
plundering peace,
blazoning smiles of
malicious beings.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
we stroll the orchard
where grapes prune
and apples dutch
the burgeoning ****
of our memories...
we remain shimmering in true dusk. there
on the cusp of inscrutable lust and the chaste rabies
of a sliver of first bone
with tornado lips
and cotton
random.
we cajole our misfortune,
and rise at noon; without laughing -
we ****** our hags from the raven
that feathered our cap.
we elapse with the dead
in the basement of our rendering.
a little ahead of ourselves
or dead, no matter what.
the orchard glooms a demise
in the calm tourettes
of our syndrome...
both alone in the teeming all-spark
of our glorious sundering...
our Mondays say less than
our Present Day -
and a yarn of plight and sunstroke
gropes at the barb
of our bee stung
innocence
we chide the withering
for all the Withering -
and all the good
it does....
besides.
we wrath glide the plum
then have at Life.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 11:28 AM UTC
stealing other poet's poems
is so rampant and rife
looters will attest to the works
being of their original life
with a swag of online poetry sites
used by plagiarists plundering
no poet's heart and soul efforts
are dismissed from the sundering
pilfers of verse ever busy themselves
they're such industrious thieving elves
should they take a fond liking
for what you've written
they'll stow your wonderful lines
in a crook's mitten
copyright and true possession
of materials you've produced
get no attention from they who've
a penchant for something re-produced
under our radar they
do the wicked deed
could be said they are
so unethical of creed
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 7:05 PM UTC
A lone gray bird,
Dim-dipping, far-flying,
Alone in the shadows and grandeurs and tumults
Of night and the sea
And the stars and storms.
Out over the darkness it wavers and hovers,
Out into the gloom it swings and batters,
Out into the wind and the rain and the vast,
Out into the pit of a great black world,
Where fogs are at battle, sky-driven, sea-blown,
Love of mist and rapture of flight,
Glories of chance and hazards of death
On its eager and palpitant wings.
Out into the deep of the great dark world,
Beyond the long borders where foam and drift
Of the sundering waves are lost and gone
On the tides that plunge and rear and crumble.
1.4k
he told too many lies
that man of mine
he lied and lied
all the time
he said he'd love me
and that he'd be true
but he was out last night
fraternizing with Sue
he told too many lies
that man of mine
he lied and lied
all the time
he thought he'd not get caught
out with his latest escort
but he didn't figure
that I was onto his fraudulent rort
he told too many lies
that man of mine
he lied and lied
all the time
there they were making
an undercover meeting
he was kissing her
with a passionate greeting
he told too many lies
that man of mine
he lied and lied
all the time
I gave him the mail
I told him to vacate
I wasn't going to tolerate
no sundering mate
he told too many lies
that man of mine
he lied and lied
all the time
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
Unimposing to the objects around.
Visualizing each item with vivid detail.
Haunting the forgotten sleeping synapse.
Hidden deep within the fiber.
Feeling lungs cascading violently.
Sundering pops of adrenaline punctuate.
Shadows cast doubt over courage.
Crossed eyes seeing double vision.
Tranquility forbid the beating heart.
Shaken steadily upon each migraine.
Broken toe acting subtle.
Windows eviscerating the light.
Dimming color and pigments alike.
Dancing brave the wildly fire.
Black and blue, mildly haze.
Images of demon and ghoul take the hour.
Sickened sunken skeletal room.
White tiles caress coldly as ice.
Air circulates with grim agenda.
Hands riddled with obnoxious arthritis.
Brooming the dust, sweeping the fear.
The beautiful black steed champions it away.
Red are the hoofs painting the scene.
Vaporizing the light by any means.
Delegating everything entirely serene.
Shootingstar, throttling deemed.
Brilliant cloud looming so high.
Setting the Sun into the sky.
Benevolent brother opposing shy.
Sorcering wisdom allowing to fly.
Devilish the Moon, waking my eye.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
Temporal Fugue
(Skull with clock eyes)
The darkness is a metaphor, for all we cannot see or know
like a foreboding open door, causing fear to grow
Traveler
(Suited up stick figure)
When the Poet becomes one with both mind and heart
Such fear shall be reflective within Ones art
Temporal Fugue
Gazing deep into the night, dark abyss, or devil's crack
knowing when to fight, and when to turn your back
Traveler
It is cold here and my words are merely steam
Turning in to droplets of less than they mean
Temporal Fugue
Ice gathers where it will, it denies all define
a sundering of stone, or vertebrae in spine
Traveler
Reluctantly we push that stone up an eternal hill of misplaced wells, only to tumble
Temporal Fugue
Picking up all the pieces, assembling it, like new
casting many pennies in, withdrawing, but a few
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 7:29 AM UTC
Traces you left on my skin
I can measure them inch by inch
Words or it was a spill of ink
Time and again, I hear them ringing
So sweet was your voice
Just made me dreaming
I look at you and a memory haunts me
You are not the same person that once used to love me
Was our love so fragile???
That anything can break it
Or was I to fool?
What was my fault?
I couldn’t make it
Melancholy keeps me drowning
Broken promises, dreams sundering
What you had really made out of me, i keep wondering
:( :(
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 7:57 AM UTC
hollow pointed flowers
litter,
the war torn fields,
watered,
by the blood from human
carcass's
left,
after the battle.
now,
become mulch and food
to toxic soil's greed
the children
play
among the dry, white
bones
building clacking, castles
high
and scavenging the metal petals and kahki cloth
for with which,
they haggle, for food to buy.
their world of
decrepit decay,
exsists.....
under a cloud of grey
and with only the
memory of parents,
they make their own way...
what once was green
is now brown
and what was was steel
is now rust, upon
the ground.
but not the hollow flowers,
somehow,
they retain their gleam
and they glitter,
like diamonds,
in the harsh daylight.
they, the children,
the keepers of this world,
know not how
to smile or cry.
they live to survive
to them simple things,
like joy and laughter
are myths.
they have no time
to ask why...
but they love,
the little flowers,
that sit upon the sands.
the hollow pointed flowers
that feel right, within small hands.
and the songs
they sing, are murky
as to the prayers
they say,
before bedtime....
just, undefined mantras.
taken from the before.
when the gods,
were advertisements
and everybody suceeded.
everybody was needed,
everybody was blind,
to creed and colour
and the world was
fine and dandy.
and mothers loved
their children,
fathers walked beside.
this, before the sundering
before the parents,
fought and fought
and died.
leaving just dusty bones
in toxic fields
and bullet blossomed
flowers
to mark the loss
of life...
to mark the loss
of living...
to mark the end of
fighting....
to mark the end of
destruction...
after the dying was done
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
Secret spells of the gutter weeds
The crash of echoes in the cavern of your ratifications
Shapeless memories plucked from the rotting lace
Melting the crash of your hollow ways
Your reflection is full of blameless confessions
Sundering your vision with deathless years
The sharpness of your syringe of hate
****** flaws that dictate you
Wincing for a delicate escape
Pursuing the creek of graceless yearning
Immersed and nonexisting into the marrow of your passage
As the mourners disaffirm the farewell fortitude of your youth
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
what abounds like love in it's infancy ?
a revival of Spring from an infinite well.
as such; love is the Sun. sundering ordinary doubt
as blind-spots boggle from the lightning fell...
what rainbows do when they shout. and all -
the music
that sustains you, blessed; from a realm
as cloudless as a newborn babe. there are stars.
and all the splendor of an ****** life
thrumming the lost chord, to the last song !
a host of ecstasies, tumbling in a waterfall of loose shackles
and open doors. love then, is the mark of a genius design
embedded in the viscera of Eternity. bristling with Time -
and all the majesty of the Flesh. it barks at the moon
and enthralls the latent flames that lay dormant in your soul.
how the world is new, but not innocent
concerns you not in the least.
and Love is
You.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 5:16 PM UTC
Bursting,
bounding,
blazing;
boldly blasting, breaking branches, birch
beneath boughs, boots bruising blackberry brambles,
bashing buried boulders,
she shot;
sprinting,
spittle-spitting,
screaming,
singing,
sundering scarlet sumac screens,
seeking secret solitude,
scrying,
simple,
silent safety,
solace.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
Can't keep my eyes from melting
Those tears that they've been smelting
Because loneliness is pelting
Poor young, forsaken me
Can't keep my eyes from wondering
Why silence is now thundering
Between us and its sundering
Poor young forsaken me
Can't keep my eyes from missing
Those lips that I've been kissing
But now they keep on enlisting
Poor young forsaken me
Enlisting me to cry and
Enlisting me to try
Because if he's not here beside me
Then I might as well have
Died.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
August now has dipped its head,
Blazing sun's cries now ahead.
September has tore reality,
An Asura sundering dun eternity.
The tide of Season's change again;
It undulates in trepidation.
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:11 PM UTC
Dyslexia, mixed messages
Everything so confusing
Susceptible to misusing;
A 'B' becomes a 'D' instantaneously
And screws things up simultaneously.
A short trip from insanity to inanity.
Fiscal confuses with physical
Turning laudable into laughable
So quickly eyes can't disguise
Whether one means the skies
Or perhaps one means this guy's.
If read, confusion and contusion
Seem like quibbling over siblings
But things like read and read
Only different when they're said
Take un-signalled turns in the head
And instead come out backward,
Which should be spelled backword.
Muddling and confuddling resides
Issuing thundering broadsides,
Rendering and sundering any
Blundering inadept ineptitudes
Like some kind of garbled beatitudes.
Some take hostile attitudes.
Wheedling and wheeling away
Beetling and saying it wrong;
Maybe a song can be written
And some tongues can be bitten,
Taken aback by words taken back,
As the Raven said "Never more!"
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 4:18 AM UTC
My stiffening fingers found the flowers
hiding beneath the snow,
the edges of their petals sharp with ice.
My broken fingertips turned the delicate flower flesh
every imaginable variation on pink,
and I held a bouquet against my greying skin,
lost in dreams of the spring,
wandering in and out of time and space,
to walk the streets of the city
I had never learned to call home.
I recalled all the terrible dark seasons of youth,
the great evils of the world,
and when I arrived again, at the walls of the city,
I saw it with new eyes, a great harbor
afloat on the sundering sea.
It was in this city that hope had come to live.
Forcing myself from my reverie,
I steeled myself for the trek back to the new world,
a holdfast standing strong against the old.
I left the flowers behind, thinking that when spring came,
my blood would melt from the petals
and return to the welcoming earth.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 5:22 AM UTC
A tempest is brewing
Beneath our soles.
Coerced many massive mountains
but sundering them not; consuming them.
With eons unequaled,
With few fathoms measurable
yet measuring the unfathomable.
Unrealistic fables,
As a dragon in a cavern,
Perhaps infernal heathens... ludicrous claims, yet
No soothsayer's transmutations,
No reviser's adaptations,
Nor squabbling between politicians
could surmount to the tensions amassing beneath us.
Are we at pinnacle of the world?
Only if one's ego is at True North,
Merely the surface, unfurled forth.
But as molten iron dwindles slowly outward into hardened crust
As does man's manifested quest for greed and lust
So if a monolithic magma pool ever decides to ******
Hopefully it will gather a rather miraculous gust (it must!)
Distrusting the wicked, while sparing the just
As quickly as water turns ephemeral steel to rust.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
I am adrift in shadow when parted from you
existing in a non-life and a non-death
caught between dominions of light and dark
my soul, disincarnate, hangs suspended
impaled upon the sundering hook of an obscene
numinous dismembering of the essence that is Us
twisting and battered in an enervating wind which
moans and wails like the wretched, suffering ******
filling a haunted and dissonant land with anguish
at the midpoint between rivened you and I
all aspects of me are halved, dissipated
I must survive with half a feebly beating heart
inhale for but one struggling lung, choked with ash
seeing only half the sky, half the world
My scattered thoughts incomplete and disordered
I drag myself, mauled and maimed, towards
the next transcendent moment of palpability in Us
Khronos, laughing, mocks all my efforts
drags the hours just beyond my numb fingers
I can only touch you if I reach inside of me
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:18 PM UTC
Broken, alone I am left,
Tears I shed,
The pure transforms into blood red.
I can't say that I made it,
I deserted it,
In a desert of memories I am left with.
My sight blurred,
My love unsure,
A sickness without a cure.
Left with the vision of your unspeakable beauty,
I ache for the piece that you took from me,
In a world of darkness you are the only light I see.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC