"surfeit" poems
I would rather drink than eat,
And though I superbly sup,
Food, I feel, can never beat
Delectation of the cup.
Wine it is that crowns the feast;
Fish and fowl and fancy meat
Are of my delight the least:
I would rather drink than eat.
Though no Puritan I be,
And have doubts of Kingdom Come,
With those fellows I agree
Who deplore the Demon ***
Gin and brandy I decline,
And I shy at whisky neat;
But give me rare vintage wine,--
Gad! I'd rather drink than eat.
Food surfeit is of the beast;
Wine is from the gods a gift.
All from ********** to priest
Can attest to its uplift.
Green and garnet glows the vine;
Grapes grow plump in happy heat;
Gold and ruby winks the wine . . .
Come! Let's rather drink than eat.
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Seasons pass, tempered by insalubrious fervor; treasonous design remiss of fate
An echo of prior songs resonate somber atrophy; mourn the passing of constant defeat, stained by triumphant dissonance and disdain
Fear strides along the broken path, left alone and solemn and crass: Through sour feats of vindication, tones of plight become dismissed
Surfeit, the sound of temptation rides upon the crest of dawn, blinding darkness like calming waves caressing infinite stretches of sand: soft and warm; kind and welcoming, embracing in its gentle touch
Sentience hides behind a creeping fog, whispering secrets of life eternal, bearing gifts wrought through sensuous candor
Two threads lost, now found; slowly bonding, uniting purpose, rhythm, rhyme, and reason; born from the same cloth, garnering habit, singing in harmony what echoes from within
Beautiful, intelligent, staunch with profundity; stark, handsome, wholesome, and good
The call of a true home may finally beckon..
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 2:08 AM UTC
Into the crimson surfeit
lust enters
a burst of borrowed intimacy
until the blanching rust
of familiarity
slows the soft flow of love.
into all lust enters
dying with the first light...............
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
The solitude of when two hands meet garners thoughts of warmth and want for needs unspoken
I miss the days when simplicity was as common as the delicate exhale shared when two lips release from one a other
To gaze through sultry windows of the soul, soft yet weary with fervent witness, beckons notions of wanderlust to a place that shines brighter than any I've ever seen
I watch, bound by valor for not seeking more through presumptuous ineptitude; bewildered by the plight you've been mired by, I wince at the thought of harm coming to you
Your trust exudes a powerful purpose; wrought from the ashes of all that have claimed to impose before, I succumb to the surfeit of such a staggering meaning in that gift
I hold myself in bated breath for the day you would ever need my heart for your own, but stay guided to be here in spirit, ever more
Although my basic wishes be forlorn, in somber muse I find great purpose to be a part of this grand fate bestowed upon me
You are all I've ever sought; and through disbelief, I am remiss of all that's mired me before
If only, one day, perhaps we could be more..
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
Come, my darling, let us dance
To the moon that beckons us
To dissolve our love in trance
Heedless of the hideous
Heat & hate of Sirius-
Shun his baneful brilliance!
Let us dance beneath the palm
Moving in the moonlight, frond
Wooing frond above the calm
Of the ocean diamond
Sparkling to the sky beyond
The enchantment of our psalm.
Let us dance, my mirror of
Perfect passion won to peace,
Let us dance, my treasure trove,
On the marble terraces
Carved in pallid embroeideries
For the vestal veil of Love.
Heaven awakes to encompass us,
Hell awakes its jubilance
In our hearts mysterious
Marriage of the azure expanse,
With the scarlet brilliance
Of the Moon with Sirius.
Velvet swatches our lissome limbs
Languid lapped by sky & sea
Soul through sense & spirit swims
Through the pregnant porphyry
Dome of lapiz-lazuli:-
Heart of silence, hush our hymns.
Come my darling; let us dance
Through the golden galaxies
Rhythmic swell of circumstance
Beaming passion’s argosies:
Ecstacy entwined with ease,
Terrene joy transcending trance!
Thou my scarlet concubine
Draining heart’s blood to the lees
To empurple those divine
Lips with living luxuries
Life importunate to appease
Drought insatiable of wine!
Tunis in the tremendous trance
Rests from day’s incestuous
Traffic with the radiance
Of her sire-& over us
Gleams the intoxicating glance
Of the Moon & Sirius.
Take the ardour of my impearled
Essence that my shoulders seek
To intensify the curled
Candour of the eyes oblique,
Eyes that see the seraphic sleek
Lust bewitch the wanton world.
Come, my love, my dove, & pour
From thy cup the serpent wine
Brimmed & breathless -secret store
Of my crimson concubine
Surfeit spirit in the shrine-
Devil -Goddess ****** *****
Afric sands ensorcel us,
Afric seas & skies entrance
Velvet, lewd & luminous
Night surveys our soul askance!
Come my love, & let us dance
To the Moon and Sirius!
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729
Alter! When the Hills do—
Falter! When the Sun
Question if His Glory
Be the Perfect One—
Surfeit! When the Daffodil
Doth of the Dew—
Even as Herself—Sir—
I will—of You—
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Virgo in the ascendant,
Saturn in decline,
A retrograding antidote,
A calculated rhyme;
Overtones of melancholy,
Undertones of mirth,
A surfeit of misfortune,
Of musery a dearth
Faithless Fortune taps her foot,
While plotting my demise,
A rhythm most unruly,
A metaphor unwise;
In minutes and in seconds,
She wreaks havoc on my pen,
A glib faux pas, no coup de grâce...
And so I start again.
§
_My zodiacal tendencies,
Triumphant in their prime,
Fade to skepticism
As life spins on a dime._
Nov 11, 2021
Nov 11, 2021 at 2:22 PM UTC
You're a Street Map that has to be believed.
George Street 1975 then a jewel in everybody's Crown, Mister K too.
Croydon had it all, the weekly Safeway shopping -
Grants , North End, Greyhound and L & H Cloake,
even a Manhattan skyline -
Shop girls I was too young to know
a la W.H Smith's Whitgift Centre
with a surfeit of ready Queen albums!
even the YMCA
would have done Disco
B.T Express's "do it till your satisfied"
I believe,
and the always evergreen
Van Damme Bar.
The Tavern in the Town
fondly recalled.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 6:58 PM UTC
Libation of time, that goes unpoured
For the corpse, in death immured
While we sit and wait, to feel that weight,
That final pain- and is this it?
To think the clocks we watch, not ours
The hours we lost, were only borrowed
From accounts, surfeit no more
Once we learned life is a bore
Of bills to pay, and fools to bear,
While searching things that were not there;
Have never been but imaginings late,
Of what we never could partake.
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 7:18 PM UTC
With obsolescent clarity
Amid moribund metaphysical
Mutations
As the iridium ball rolls
From eponym to epitaph
Engeneering an epoch diarama
In surfeit metronomic hysteria
While time chases time into infinity
Episodic vagaries celebrate
The metaphoric metamorphosis rising to
Metaphysical majesty as vacuous
As any minutiae will
When abstract vagaries
Become the vagrant epitome
Of a mordant mosaic
Made entirely of the lost causes
Torn from the very core
I surmise
As being the virulent....
.....Tragic and irridescent pieces
Left along the allegorical antipathy
Where those that are left behind
By the stigmatation
Of any irascible involutions
Mired in the mesh
Of scribbles and scribes
Left
After the iridium ball rolls By
Leaving vacuous irridescent
Symbols of epigraphical
Proportions
Stymied by
The obsolescent clarity
Amid moribund metaphysical mutations.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
Sabella, come out and play!
Sabella, where are you today?
Sabella, with her whips and toys,
Sabella, who beats all the boys.
Sabella, with her costumes and wigs,
Sabella, legs long like twigs.
Sabella, with her pretty knives and chains,
Sabella, broken beauty and brains.
Sabella, with her leather corset,
Sabella, whom you’ll never surfeit.
Sabella, with her thigh-high boots,
Sabella, who knows no roots.
Sabella, with her full-lip smile,
Sabella, won’t you stay for a while?
Sabella, with no inner inhibition,
Sabella, she’s on full exhibition.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
you were
peter pan.
and i was
wendy.
you were always seeking
for the intricacies of
compunctious realities,
that you considered
the one standing before you
as a vestige of existence.
and when i finally let you go,
you still searched for
the great mishaps.
afterall,
you were
peter pan.
and i am merely
a surfeit of mirrors
that reminded you
to grow up.
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 8:44 AM UTC
My heart - delicate,
and malleable
undulates
within two poles,
seamlessly juxtaposed -
beauty and affliction
capricious container-
truth and fiction;
the sheer surfeit
of choice
reverberates with
imperious diversion,
settled invitation-
loud and shiny things.
Hard to breathe,
I'm in exile
slave to my emotions,
obsequious and servile
barren, cold and mute
existence - the brute;
tilted reminiscence,
scars of loss
contrive frames
around moments -
footprints,
interminable -
being and time.
Infinite deity,
triune polyphony
artist of sublimity
smearing shades
of loneliness,
vestiges of faith,
to retrieve
hues of meaning;
oddly convivial
prophets
of reprieve.
Orpheus lost Eurydice
palpable discordancy
suffused in time
could not resolve
without verse
decidedly sonorous,
canvas showered pain,
splashed
Jackson Pollack stain
Love - onerous,
deep beneath
the veneer,
it's mercy severe.
Fiction from the first
Eden‘s fatal gift,
lucidity cursed
altered cosmos murmur,
parlance of
disordered elegance;
effusive language,
phrasing art nouveau
tacit script;
ensconced within
the fabric;
create a Thirst
torment - visceral
and immediate.
Ardor and innocence
once quenched,
render
pathos in proportion
to the pleasure,
conveyance of beatitude
The past absorbed
into the treasure,
Inscrutable Heart -
devotion and turpitude
desire, loathing and paucity
affinity in abundance,
fear and doubt
inhabit certitude.
©2009 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 11:19 AM UTC
Flittering feathers write sonnets
in soaring frequencies;
taking in the ocean at once,
I felt ripples brought to standstill,
damped by second's refrain,
curled back into the
picturesque blue written ahead,
but
no cloud harbours the ceiling,
no late words shown, jotted down
by the
indifferent and
invariably disappearing breeze.
The latterwork of these days took it up,
and hung it out
on lines stretched across skies and time,
betraying tender surfeit, in moments
torn out,
and,
leaving only
vague traces of
woodworn prose,
spilling out my last sentiments:
*"we, once,
were alive,
if only for a moment."*
In dreams she holds small collections
of sandy flowers,
above the shoreline,
as the dichotomous cluster takes theirs,
behind a fragmentary grain
in the blacksmith's hide;
written, again, are those seasick letters,
wrung out
in the dead heat of the forge,
the demands of strangers,
in stone buildings by the fireplace,
electric heater, off,
the inbetween reeling
of slightened accomplishments,
the scent of oil,
left over, from the husk of noon.
Miss and want, over again,
missing beguilement in afternoon's repose.
"come back...",
but she ain't the one gone.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 7:12 AM UTC
Winter’s releasing us from its perpetually gray and gloomy grip.
Who can study in their room, on a beautiful spring afternoon?
Azaleas assail ya, with champagne petals of bubblegum fuchsias,
they blush in near neon reflection, with a mathematical, fractal perfection.
Courtyards that were once dark and uninviting, frosty scenes,
sport impromptu manicured carpets, of flawless, vibrant greens.
Dogwoods explode, abruptly overnight, with cherry blossom whites
they blush like brides on parade, they sachet, swaying flag-like bouquets.
Ordinary maples become emerald queens by unfurling avocado, hunter and chartreuse leaves,
accented with vibrant electric limes and honeydews, as if to say, ‘We too can please.’
New life stretches, almost yawning, in the seemingly reborn sun, insects hum as they cultivate,
birds flit excitedly, as if to say, ‘Why’re you inside? Come out and play - why do you even hesitate?’
I know there’s something in spring that’s irresistible, pheromonal, hormonal, surfeit and emotional.
Is it the solar zenith angle or the sun’s declination that produces these delightful inclinations?
.
.
Songs for this:
Funky Galileo by Sure sure
You get what you give by New Radicals
New World Coming by Cass Elliot
Apr 18, 2024
Apr 18, 2024 at 3:09 PM UTC
~~<♢>~~
i go out to meditate
what is it do i spy?
there, a ghostly gallion
rides the morning sky
floating on the crests of cloud
mare's tails sweeping high
moon, once proud, once dominant
the sun has made her shy
drunken in her swooning heart
she's surfeit with rye
now reaching the misty mountains
hidden from my eye
she, mystery incarnate
at last, goes down to die
in the arms of ocean's trenches
for a while she lies
in night's darkness resurrected
gently, she will rise
in some foreign land or other
in a different guise
but how i love these mornings
when sun and moon collide
SøułSurvivør
(C) 4/17/2017
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
-Love-
The quintessence of my being ails for the novel; the liberating; the metamorphosing elements of the terrene.
The philosophy of life has always been to search for the sacred truths with the passing of time; tempus.
The answers have been right in front of me.
The concept of finality has been an ailment of my mind; this malady had a paranoia inducing effect on me.
A surfeit of noxious thought can subdue one into nonexistence.
Never, no, rarely should one create a permanent state of tumult within their soul; one must look beyond what they first believe to be true.
-Love-
Without the absolute love, what is one?
The Divine has the Transcendental Power to heal all wounds…
-One must first ask-
The words have been lying here; stewing upon my tongue; awaiting a release for what has seemed to be an eternity.
In my mind the horizon has flashed before my eyes; a vivid vision of the world’s beauty has enraptured me.
Doves gliding off into the sunset; this must be a symbol of all the splendor that lies in store for me.
Enamorment; affinity; affection and all the virtuous elements of humanity have been consolidated in my midst.
They have been compounded before my eyes; a physical form has now been granted.
My heart now has a tangible source for the Elixir of World.
Blinded for but a moment, I departed into an alluring phantasy.
Unsure of where to search for a comrade, I looked to another plane of existence for solace.
There was an explosion of lust for what was once a forbidden dream of the kindest sort.
This dream, it was kind enough to grant me the strength to plow through all the turmoil of a scathing world.
I have given birth to a new feeling; a feeling of hope over the horizon.
How?
By allowing my deepest fears and latent intentions to be cast aside and to fade away into naught.
Earth is a constant melisma of unforeseen occurrence, pain, and heartache but it can also be a beacon for valor, gallant-heartedness, and altruism.
-Delirium is fading away from my consciousness-
My greatest fear has always been to grow and to exceed what I believed to be my true caliber.
Now the day has arrived for me to supersede all trepidation and to transcend the shackles of rigidity.
The storm clouds, they have departed.
The blossoms have begun to bud amongst the tightly packed soil of the terrene.
The sun has arisen from a nocturne of anticipation; this has effloresced into the genesis of a new dawn.
I have emerged from my cocoon and now the world seems so brand new to me.
I am prepared to soar high above the clouds.
I am a dove.
The horizon is mine for the taking.
I am a symbol of love.
From now, until the end of time,
Iridescently Efflorescent.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As ‘twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure;
Sometimes all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starvèd for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight
Save what is had, or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
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*appetizing and delicious
wholesome and nutritious
enchanting and appealing
rich, tasty and unforgettable
is the simplest of shared fare
when taken with comrades
in the lull before the storm
when surreptitious glances
could be the last for some
and memories the testimony
to life's ambivalent transience
farewell comrades in love
to you belongs the glory
of mistaken ideas and inertia
and we who fizzled out long ago
salute you the lucky beneficiaries
of our pain and sorrow that are
your surfeit and your happiness*
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
My mother dearly wanted
to be Dorothy Parker.
She yearned for a taste of the power that comes
from a truly witty response.
She craved to deliver
A statement so powerful
and sardonic that it would terminate
all argument or discussion.
My proximity made me an easy target to practice on
as each of our arguments ended with a bon mot
delivered with the all the acerbic flourish of Bette Davis.
As I listened to her footsteps receding down the hallway
I had only to take one more breath
before the footsteps reversed direction
and - standing at the doorway to my room -
She would deliver another culminating witticism
turn, leave and repeat.
In the fifties and sixties an intelligent woman –
a single mother of three
with no high school diploma,
but a surfeit of imagination –
Savoured what little power she could find
even if it was a fiction, a delusion
or just a punchline sharp enough to draw blood.
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
To be ginger in a heatwave
is to know that a surfeit of energy
that enthrals the populace
has consequence
Like any addict with an allergy
landed on a thing they love
you learn to skirt and sample
knowing sickness follows
The uninitiated will gorge and fall
swearing off the juice for good
and withdrawing a raised voice
which is bad
Pace yourselves for the longness
of an unexpected summer
so that when winter hits
we continue to burn
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 12:04 PM UTC
The house has become
Surfeit with shadows
Mom sleeps
Soundly
Can I tell you I'm afraid?
Afraid she won't wake up.
We are told that perfect
Faith casts out fear
~
It isn't my faith that fails
~
I'm afraid she won't know
How much I really love her.
And the darkness pools
Around the floors under our
Heavy antique furniture
~
I believe somewhere on a
Plane of them
There's a fingerprint of their
Craftsman, long dead.
~
There is solice in knowing that
When she finally dies
(And she will)
her
Fingerprints
Will
Be
Left
On
ME
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
Now November's uncovering
reveals slightly
embelished skin-tight holds
in pre-winter flirting
of untried ***** first kisses
from her bolder
more moisturised rosy-red
lips. November's call
nips boisterous early-morn
breath, cools
dawning, catches the depth
of petalled laggards
full with dry doze of surfeit
summering and
tho aslumber shows them
her potential,
November blows her own
wake-up call of
uncovered cold shoulder,
so essential to
lingerers, with a real zeal.
.
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
Here, there is a surfeit of Spam,
Fed to us by government man,
Democracy's harrowing tale,
Setting us up to fail,
Pollies' synchronised team,
Is all this what it seems?
Total cant and hypocrisy,
A merit myth of futility,
Spam surfeit, no caring beyond duty.......
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC