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"swiftness" poems
nearer:breath of my breath:take not they tingling limbs from me:make my pain their crazy meal letting they tigers of smooth sweetness steal slowly in dumb blossoms of new mingling: deeper:blood of my blood:with upwardcringing swiftness plunge these leopards of white ream this pith of darkness:carve an evilfringing flower of madness on gritted lips and on sprawled eyes squirming with light insane chisel the killing flame that dizzily grips. Querying greys between mouthed houses curl thirstily. Dead stars stink. dawn. Inane, the poetic carcass of a girl
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Nearer:Breath Of My Breath:Take Not They Tingling
Wingless yet so high, flies deep into sky. Swiftness impossible to match even edges of time cannot catch. Within a blink can reach any nation. Such is my Imagination.
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Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
My Imagination
I am a supreme Light framed being Who leaves ferrari's In the dust I am sorry for your Jealousy as I am Totally terrific And love wearing My fabulous coat Fiercely independent I Imprint the air with My personal spots My proud individuality Nothing out of reach I wait for something to inspire As I hunt lightly Positioning intelligently And quickly Pads on fire I grab the ground As I grip the world With the sharpest claw As evolving and revolving Forces compel me with desire My vibrant cells flicker Waiting for the right trigger Spinning and twisting They collapse into air As I rush and rush chasing and chasing My focus still like stone Lands lightly like a feather As I am clear as Diamond or glass Empty of thoughts I am a tunnel The wind blows through As I run and run Soft and agile I can quickly change Direction or pace Perfect balance my Tail acts as a fulcrum It is as though a Silver thread was attached From high up in heaven Moving on an electric circuit I am lightning through the air Stretching like elastic Expanding into spaces I become a mile long Reaching and Reaching Into proud new places Slipping through the air As though someone Had oiled my hair I slide weightless Air born on ice skates As I catch my hare With her swiftness We find she lifts us With her fire we catch desire
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Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
CHEETAH
Speed The rapidity in moving or proceeding Swiftness Rate of motion or progress Full MAXIMUM Optimum rate of motion It’s all been SO fast We've made SO much progress In SO VERY little time This is our optimal rate of motion 6 months 181 days 4344 hours 15638400 seconds Our season of love thus far Countless kisses Hundreds of pricele$$ moments ENDLESS “I love you”s And it only goes on from here I can’t wait to see it  A L L to breathe in every moment to feel every luscious touch to taste every sweet kiss to hear every way you say my name, like no one else does SO stick around Let us watch this relationship Blossom, progress, grow, Speed Together, my love
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May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
Together, my love.
I heard him at first, though barely a sound, But I saw him, I saw me, on sinister ground. *I am the caution and stillness and sniffing the air, I am the fearing the danger that’s not even there, I am the ‘watch where you tread’ and the silence and hush, The always on lookout, the hardest to touch. I am the quickness and briskness and swiftness and speed, I am the flash of a tail and a warning to heed, I am the bounding and leaping and steam in the woods, The danger apparent, the fear understood.* And I felt myself crying, for as soft as the breeze, My beautiful deer melted into the trees.
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Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
The Stag
1053 It was a quiet way— He asked if I was his— I made no answer of the Tongue But answer of the Eyes— And then He bore me on Before this mortal noise With swiftness, as of Chariots And distance, as of Wheels. This World did drop away As Acres from the feet Of one that leaneth from Balloon Upon an Ether street. The Gulf behind was not, The Continents were new— Eternity it was before Eternity was due. No Seasons were to us— It was not Night nor Morn— But Sunrise stopped upon the place And fastened it in Dawn.
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It was a quiet way—
Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy! For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood Upon our side, we who were strong in love! Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven!—Oh! times, In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways Of custom, law, and statute, took at once The attraction of a country in romance! When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights, When most intent on making of herself A prime Enchantress—to assist the work Which then was going forward in her name! Not favoured spots alone, but the whole earth, The beauty wore of promise, that which sets (As at some moment might not be unfelt Among the bowers of paradise itself ) The budding rose above the rose full blown. What temper at the prospect did not wake To happiness unthought of? The inert Were roused, and lively natures rapt away! They who had fed their childhood upon dreams, The playfellows of fancy, who had made All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength Their ministers,—who in lordly wise had stirred Among the grandest objects of the sense, And dealt with whatsoever they found there As if they had within some lurking right To wield it;—they, too, who, of gentle mood, Had watched all gentle motions, and to these Had fitted their own thoughts, schemers more wild, And in the region of their peaceful selves;— Now was it that both found, the meek and lofty Did both find, helpers to their heart’s desire, And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish; Wcre called upon to exercise their skill, Not in Utopia, subterranean fields, Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where! But in the very world, which is the world Of all of us,—the place where in the end We find our happiness, or not at all!
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The French Revolution As It Appeared To Enthusiasts At Its Commencement
Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy! For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood Upon our side, we who were strong in love! Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven!—Oh! times, In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways Of custom, law, and statute, took at once The attraction of a country in romance! When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights, When most intent on making of herself A prime Enchantress—to assist the work Which then was going forward in her name! Not favoured spots alone, but the whole earth, The beauty wore of promise, that which sets (As at some moment might not be unfelt Among the bowers of paradise itself ) The budding rose above the rose full blown. What temper at the prospect did not wake To happiness unthought of? The inert Were roused, and lively natures rapt away! They who had fed their childhood upon dreams, The playfellows of fancy, who had made All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength Their ministers,—who in lordly wise had stirred Among the grandest objects of the sense, And dealt with whatsoever they found there As if they had within some lurking right To wield it;—they, too, who, of gentle mood, Had watched all gentle motions, and to these Had fitted their own thoughts, schemers more wild, And in the region of their peaceful selves;— Now was it that both found, the meek and lofty Did both find, helpers to their heart’s desire, And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish; Wcre called upon to exercise their skill, Not in Utopia, subterranean fields, Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where! But in the very world, which is the world Of all of us,—the place where in the end We find our happiness, or not at all!
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If I could show you               how it would be                     if freedom were                             in our palms                    how it would feel to                   be released,                  a caged dove        set into the cooling swiftness of air If I could dry your tears and make you understand that this will be       more than ok because happiness is right around the corner just a little faith yes just a little belief in the mysterious ,           unknown workings The Universe has my back and if it has mine, I have yours there is not one moment that you will see this back turned or face hidden my arms are meant to enfold you my calm to steady you                Now                         it feels like                                      being stuck                                    in a wheel                         round and round                 options limited but once the break is made I will be drifting up my heart that dove for I cannot let her die (if I die a part of you dies, too) and once you see me spin her off into the light the grace of heaven allowing me to keep my own ignition burning you know you will have me until the depths of sky and into the wilds of our    tender forever
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May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC
the wilds of forever
If I could show you               how it would be                     if freedom were                             in our palms                    how it would feel to                   be released,                  a caged dove        set into the cooling swiftness of air If I could dry your tears and make you understand that this will be       more than ok because happiness is right around the corner just a little faith yes just a little belief in the mysterious ,           unknown workings The Universe has my back and if it has mine, I have yours there is not one moment that you will see this back turned or face hidden my arms are meant to enfold you my calm to steady you                Now                         it feels like                                      being stuck                                    in a wheel                         round and round                 options limited but once the break is made I will be drifting up my heart that dove for I cannot let her die (if I die a part of you dies, too) and once you see me spin her off into the light the grace of heaven allowing me to keep my own ignition burning you know you will have me until the depths of sky and into the wilds of our    tender forever
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52
Dozing on a hammock Strung between two towering palms With the sky above- color washed in turquoise blue and the waters below reflecting that heavenly hue, you came to me sailing in a dream like the strains of a symphony causing endless vibrations in my solitary heart you showed up all too sudden like a rainbow on my vacant sky after a cloud burst of cloistered grief to blaze it with iridescent shades Your smile embalmed my bruised spirit with the coolness of a  summer drizzle falling, like manna over starved Israelites in their arduous odyssey through blistering sands Your passionate breath, spewed on my face bore the scent of opening buds in the mazy tangle of wild creepers growing dense in nearby woods. Your amorous whispers fell in my ears with the sweetness of the melody from Krishna’s flute with Radha near ,love sick her lips curled in an immaculate smile. Your soft footsteps like the jingle of a court dancer echoed in the silence of my soul with a hundred evocations As the jingles came nearer in synchronizing rhythm I held out my arms to clasp you in tight embrace and reel you in frenzied jig But you vanished, vanished, with the swiftness of bubbles rising and breaking in a beer glass, leaving me to my desolate zone The sky overhead had changed into another shade Still I lay in mid air, with my eyes sealed tight to re-live that dream once again!
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Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
A Fantasy Come Alive
It seemed that out of battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which titanic wars had groined. Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned, Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred. Then ,as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared With piteous recognition in fixed eyes, Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless. And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, - By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell. With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained; Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground, And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan. 'Strange friend,' I said, 'here is no cause to mourn.' 'None,' said that other, 'save the undone years, The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours, Was my life also; I went hunting wild After the wildest beauty in the world, Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair, But mocks the steady running of the hour, And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here. For by my glee might many men have laughed, And of my weeping something had been left, Which must die now. I mean the truth untold, The pity of war, the pity war distilled. Now men will go content with what we spoiled, Or, discontent, boil ****** and be spilled. They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress. None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress. Courage was mine, and I had mystery, Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery: To miss the march of this retreating world Into vain citadels that are not walled. Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels, I would go up and wash them from sweet wells, Even with truths that lie too deep for taint. I would have poured my spirit without stint But not through wounds; not on the cess of war. Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were. I am the enemy you killed, my friend. I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed. I parried; but my hands were loath and cold. Let us sleep now...'
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Strange Meeting
It seemed that out of battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which titanic wars had groined. Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned, Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred. Then ,as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared With piteous recognition in fixed eyes, Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless. And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, - By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell. With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained; Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground, And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan. 'Strange friend,' I said, 'here is no cause to mourn.' 'None,' said that other, 'save the undone years, The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours, Was my life also; I went hunting wild After the wildest beauty in the world, Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair, But mocks the steady running of the hour, And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here. For by my glee might many men have laughed, And of my weeping something had been left, Which must die now. I mean the truth untold, The pity of war, the pity war distilled. Now men will go content with what we spoiled, Or, discontent, boil ****** and be spilled. They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress. None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress. Courage was mine, and I had mystery, Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery: To miss the march of this retreating world Into vain citadels that are not walled. Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels, I would go up and wash them from sweet wells, Even with truths that lie too deep for taint. I would have poured my spirit without stint But not through wounds; not on the cess of war. Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were. I am the enemy you killed, my friend. I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed. I parried; but my hands were loath and cold. Let us sleep now...'
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she turned the questions in her eyes aside and stealing away in the quiet of the pine forest winters day the taste of wood smoke was tangible on the sharp cold air and his eyes hunted the ridge crest for sing of flames as they hurried their steps along the rough hewn track she carried the child whos silent contemplation showed his understandings of the gravity of this flight the bundle of possessions on his shoulder weighed upon his mind counselling himself not to regret casting it all aside should need arise the woman and child so fragile and dear to his heart mean so much more than mere trinkets of gold he would surrender without pause life and limb to spare them she was a smoky version of bobby dylan complete with winged snakes in each hand complete with a crown of jewels and the thousand words dance he was a seafaring man they reached the shore of the sea and found the wreckage of a sailing ship her fine line speaking clear of her swiftness and her appointments show without shyness that she was of the finest portugal shipyards they spent days making her seaworthy laying up in the harsh tropical sun neath the palm trees drinking *** from her stores they put to sea in the birth of the new year singing 'goodbye spanish ladies' the three of them on the skiff tacking up-channel trying to determine latitude by sighting but a fog rolls in off the coast of grande bahama as dawn breaks man woman and grown child the miles and the treasures cast aside each wore on open hearted face but neath the weary of sea miles was their joys in the true riches of eachothers soft hand entwined as they sailed into a golden dusk of a lesser throne a kingdom of the sea
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Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
of a lesser throne
she turned the questions in her eyes aside and stealing away in the quiet of the pine forest winters day the taste of wood smoke was tangible on the sharp cold air and his eyes hunted the ridge crest for sing of flames as they hurried their steps along the rough hewn track she carried the child whos silent contemplation showed his understandings of the gravity of this flight the bundle of possessions on his shoulder weighed upon his mind counselling himself not to regret casting it all aside should need arise the woman and child so fragile and dear to his heart mean so much more than mere trinkets of gold he would surrender without pause life and limb to spare them she was a smoky version of bobby dylan complete with winged snakes in each hand complete with a crown of jewels and the thousand words dance he was a seafaring man they reached the shore of the sea and found the wreckage of a sailing ship her fine line speaking clear of her swiftness and her appointments show without shyness that she was of the finest portugal shipyards they spent days making her seaworthy laying up in the harsh tropical sun neath the palm trees drinking *** from her stores they put to sea in the birth of the new year singing 'goodbye spanish ladies' the three of them on the skiff tacking up-channel trying to determine latitude by sighting but a fog rolls in off the coast of grande bahama as dawn breaks man woman and grown child the miles and the treasures cast aside each wore on open hearted face but neath the weary of sea miles was their joys in the true riches of eachothers soft hand entwined as they sailed into a golden dusk of a lesser throne a kingdom of the sea
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42
The men kept to themselves: they were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists. The women kept to themselves: they were expecting the death of a boy on a Japanese schooner. They all kepy to themselves- dreaming of the open beaks of dying birds, the sharp parasol that punctures a recently flattened toad, beneath silence with a thousand ears and tiny mouths of water in the canyons that resist the violent attack on the moon. The boy on the schooner was crying and hearts were breaking in anguish for the witness and vigilance of all things, and because of the sky blue ground of black footprints, obscure names, saliva, and chrome radios were still crying. It doesn't matter if the boy grows silent when stuck with the last pin, or if the breeze is defeated in cupped cotton flowers, because there is a world of death whose perpetual sailors will appear in the arches and freeze you from behind the trees. it's useless to look for the bend where night loses its way and to wait in ambush for a silence that has no torn clothes, no shells, and no tears, because even the tiny banquet of a spider is enough to upset the entire equilibrium of the sky. There is no cure for the moaning from a Japanese schooner, nor for those shadowy people who stumble on the curbs. The countryside bites its own tail in order to gather a bunch of roots and a ball of yarn looks anxiously in the grass for unrealized longitude. The Moon! The police. The foghorns of the ocean liners! Facades of ***** of smoke, anemones, rubber gloves. Everything is shattered in the night that spread its legs on the terraces. Everything is shatter in the tepid faucets of a terrible silent fountain. Oh, crowds! Loose women! Soldiers! We will have to journey through the eyes of idiots, open country where the docile cobras, coiled like wire, hiss, landscapes full of graves that yield the freshest apples, so that uncontrollable light will arrive to frighten the rich behind their magnifying glasses- the odor of a single corpse from the double source of lily and rat- and so that fire will consume those crowds still able to **** around a moan or on the crystals in which each inimitable wave is understood.
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Landscape of a ******* Multitude
The men kept to themselves: they were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists. The women kept to themselves: they were expecting the death of a boy on a Japanese schooner. They all kepy to themselves- dreaming of the open beaks of dying birds, the sharp parasol that punctures a recently flattened toad, beneath silence with a thousand ears and tiny mouths of water in the canyons that resist the violent attack on the moon. The boy on the schooner was crying and hearts were breaking in anguish for the witness and vigilance of all things, and because of the sky blue ground of black footprints, obscure names, saliva, and chrome radios were still crying. It doesn't matter if the boy grows silent when stuck with the last pin, or if the breeze is defeated in cupped cotton flowers, because there is a world of death whose perpetual sailors will appear in the arches and freeze you from behind the trees. it's useless to look for the bend where night loses its way and to wait in ambush for a silence that has no torn clothes, no shells, and no tears, because even the tiny banquet of a spider is enough to upset the entire equilibrium of the sky. There is no cure for the moaning from a Japanese schooner, nor for those shadowy people who stumble on the curbs. The countryside bites its own tail in order to gather a bunch of roots and a ball of yarn looks anxiously in the grass for unrealized longitude. The Moon! The police. The foghorns of the ocean liners! Facades of ***** of smoke, anemones, rubber gloves. Everything is shattered in the night that spread its legs on the terraces. Everything is shatter in the tepid faucets of a terrible silent fountain. Oh, crowds! Loose women! Soldiers! We will have to journey through the eyes of idiots, open country where the docile cobras, coiled like wire, hiss, landscapes full of graves that yield the freshest apples, so that uncontrollable light will arrive to frighten the rich behind their magnifying glasses- the odor of a single corpse from the double source of lily and rat- and so that fire will consume those crowds still able to **** around a moan or on the crystals in which each inimitable wave is understood.
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after the Anacreontea Liberal Nature did dispence To all things Arms for their defence; And some she arms with sin’ewy force, And some with swiftness in the course; Some with hard Hoofs, or forked claws, And some with Horns, or tusked jaws. And some with Scales, and some with Wings, And some with Teeth, and some with Stings. Wisdom to Man she did afford, Wisdom for Shield, and Wit for Sword. What to beauteous Woman-kind, What Arms, what Armour has she’assigne’d? Beauty is both; for with the Faire What Arms, what Armour can compare? What Steel, what Gold, or Diamond, More Impassible is found? And yet what Flame, what Lightning ere So great an Active force did bear? They are all weapon, and they dart Like Porcupines from every part. Who can, alas, their strength express, Arm’d when they themselves undress, Cap a pe with Nakedness?
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Beauty
Am a Templar Knight whose allegiance is to Our Lord Jesus Christ Sir Thomas de Charney is my name, Master of the fortress in Gaza Was compelled to quill an account of an assault on the town of Ludd My heart was also dazed and enamored by a young woman evermore We left Gaza late in the day; I took 40 of my best knights with me Fully clad in mail and helmets, we dashed long swords in scabbards Short swords made at the ready to perlustrate with a days provisions We headed east prepared to do battle, for God and for the cause We approached Ludd; saw billowing smoke; heard strangled screams I dispatched 35 knights throughout the municipality in groups of 5 each My orders were; execute requisite to save townspeople from slaughter An appurtenance to the initial order: no parley with these infidels Before dismissing my men, I saw smolder swell left flank of the border Saw a hovel, the thatch was burning out of control and spreading apace Around the corner were three enemy soldiers crowding over someone Until the last few years, I knew not what **** was; the worst in a man Despite noise of city under siege, these ******** were intoxicated in sin The remaining five knights accompanied me and covered the perimeter I dismounted Petra, clutched the hilt of my long sword, made approach The three heathen sensed my bearing and turned to meet their death Then I saw her face and was transfixed I would yield no prisoners Today there would be justice for this woman I pray for swiftness of divine retribution ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To be continued………… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
Overture to Justice....[Templar Knight Series]
Am a Templar Knight whose allegiance is to Our Lord Jesus Christ Sir Thomas de Charney is my name, Master of the fortress in Gaza Was compelled to quill an account of an assault on the town of Ludd My heart was also dazed and enamored by a young woman evermore We left Gaza late in the day; I took 40 of my best knights with me Fully clad in mail and helmets, we dashed long swords in scabbards Short swords made at the ready to perlustrate with a days provisions We headed east prepared to do battle, for God and for the cause We approached Ludd; saw billowing smoke; heard strangled screams I dispatched 35 knights throughout the municipality in groups of 5 each My orders were; execute requisite to save townspeople from slaughter An appurtenance to the initial order: no parley with these infidels Before dismissing my men, I saw smolder swell left flank of the border Saw a hovel, the thatch was burning out of control and spreading apace Around the corner were three enemy soldiers crowding over someone Until the last few years, I knew not what **** was; the worst in a man Despite noise of city under siege, these ******** were intoxicated in sin The remaining five knights accompanied me and covered the perimeter I dismounted Petra, clutched the hilt of my long sword, made approach The three heathen sensed my bearing and turned to meet their death Then I saw her face and was transfixed I would yield no prisoners Today there would be justice for this woman I pray for swiftness of divine retribution ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To be continued………… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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There’s beauty in June THERE IS BEUTY IN JUNE Sparkly!  its June in summer. The leaves are bright and daze The trees are ripe, and the Flowers are blooming with chaos Swiftness is Dashing in the air. the sky is **** with bronze. The Delights of sunray’s, The taste of Sage. The woods are Timeless with Venus and Splendor. The Clouds are Crunchy sizzling with navy and Dew. The scenery is refreshing, and vineyards are dripping with oats The Merry of Fowls Swaying towards the east The respiration of haze to luminous day. Surely there is Beauty in June
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Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 8:29 AM UTC
Summer June
what's left to say now that you've gone away when the sky is cold and grey and I'm lost without you we met in the fall among hues of orange and red and when your eyes met mine the sun shined on my heart for the first time fall turned to winter and the days flew by with the swiftness of the migrating flocks etched across the sky winter turned to spring oh what beauty it did bring, as we walked underneath the budding trees spring turned to summer but your feelings changed as the seasons do and it was time to say goodbye to you.
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Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
Under The Redbud Trees
We are young! We are strong! Lungs to the heavens as our hearts sing along! We run as thousands but we stand as one! Souls in the heavens with eyes on the gun, fun! Pound our feet in the ground, rumblin' rhythmic footsteps move mountains with its sound! Our words heat the air as the ice cracks loud! Their shiver is shared; Let them stare, we don't care Melt into the crowd, and we still stand out! Individual Indivisible Indescribable Indefensible Yet still feasible to stay reasonable No treason is seasonal No wall is that pliable Withstand hate with strength undeniable Vicious, and still likable Quick to bite; to heal a wound Get hurt, get chewed Get back up, Get out soon And we stand up in rythum And get back in tune Singing a song, to sing along Where we all belong, Where none is wrong Mass hysteria with a flex of a muscle Show them all just how strong Long in the tooth or still young You too can have youth melt in the crowd, stand your ground or get swallowed up by the swiftness of our sound
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Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
Born From a Boombox
Life, I stand on your bank’s edge, frightened of a slip that might bring a struggle I could not win. You flow by with no effort. I envy you. You swirl as if some magic occurs within your darkest green ― the colour of the elm’s fullness during twilight. You flow forever, past. I have little to offer but three silver coins and my hope that you will accept them with my anguished prayers. Let them sink through your swiftness to your stillness. Let them join others’ gifts to clothe your bed in a radiant coverlet you have earned.
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Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
Anu, Danu, Donau, Danube
Alas my friend, we meet again as seemingly meaningful butterfly kisses and dangerous pillow talk turn to candle lit confessions of past regrets and future sins. Words whispered in the wind float past my eardrums to beat upon my brain. Like I'm insane I strain to strain them out as scribbles, scrawled and sprawled, over pages telling stories of painful ages and chain filled cages. Once upon a time's and used to be's are not here's and now's. But if ups have downs, and smiles have frowns. Then fortunately for my dark past behind me I have blank paper in front of me and I don't so much write, as quite literally induce lucid memory with literature only your mind can see, in the deepest of its own depths. More towards the chest. Where shadows dance like jesters, dressed to impressed her with moves so fluent they flow like fluid, I can do it. Plant a seed the size of a grain of sand and watch it grow like a Beanstalk, talk about power. Watch your watch as the second hand moves like the hour. Now you're in my time. So entwined is my mind body and soul every word I let roll off my tongue is like foreplay to a ********* And when I hit the rhyme at the end of the line, its like freedom. You sit here and bare witness to my words climbing your defenses with the swiftness of the worlds most ******** parcor. So are your thoughts that pure? And are you sure you know how to endure if they never find a cure? With a view so obscured, let me make these words clear. I stand right here as all of your love as well as your fear. Beyond the dark or the light. I am the link between tranquil black and blinding white. Even having no sight my words grip you tight. And when my body is dead decaying and rotten, like our children, they will not be forgotten. Because words are the most immortal thing we've ever taught them.
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Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 10:46 PM UTC
The Right to Write
Alas my friend, we meet again as seemingly meaningful butterfly kisses and dangerous pillow talk turn to candle lit confessions of past regrets and future sins. Words whispered in the wind float past my eardrums to beat upon my brain. Like I'm insane I strain to strain them out as scribbles, scrawled and sprawled, over pages telling stories of painful ages and chain filled cages. Once upon a time's and used to be's are not here's and now's. But if ups have downs, and smiles have frowns. Then fortunately for my dark past behind me I have blank paper in front of me and I don't so much write, as quite literally induce lucid memory with literature only your mind can see, in the deepest of its own depths. More towards the chest. Where shadows dance like jesters, dressed to impressed her with moves so fluent they flow like fluid, I can do it. Plant a seed the size of a grain of sand and watch it grow like a Beanstalk, talk about power. Watch your watch as the second hand moves like the hour. Now you're in my time. So entwined is my mind body and soul every word I let roll off my tongue is like foreplay to a ********* And when I hit the rhyme at the end of the line, its like freedom. You sit here and bare witness to my words climbing your defenses with the swiftness of the worlds most ******** parcor. So are your thoughts that pure? And are you sure you know how to endure if they never find a cure? With a view so obscured, let me make these words clear. I stand right here as all of your love as well as your fear. Beyond the dark or the light. I am the link between tranquil black and blinding white. Even having no sight my words grip you tight. And when my body is dead decaying and rotten, like our children, they will not be forgotten. Because words are the most immortal thing we've ever taught them.
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52
"I don't know her. I've seen her; A strong spectre of absolute femininity and a lingering presence so strong, that all things thereon.. revolved unto the centrepiece of her clear, imperfect, overwhelming and sinking magnitude. The fortitude.. She's the most beautiful women I've ever seen.. and no, not that kind of beauty. Well, It could've been.. She has a darkness to her, so captivating; so dense that all article in her cense is stalled in mesmerising silence and anticipation for the next fleeting beat of her beautiful heart..  for the next pacing glaze that would tear me apart, along the horizon of mere "things" in her shade, as she looks around and so passionately drowns the world in awe. The charm that she'd bestow.. When I first saw her, my heart stopped, literally, only to -and out of grave deafness, explode as if it has been beating 'cross an infinite expanse of scapes compressed in the swiftness of a second.. boom! 'cross the room.. Suddenly, the void that consumed out of me the very sorry existence that I am, failingly so distant to her proximity, exploded like a rose bursting into bloom.. exploding no less, from pale tasteless petals to mindblowing extravagance. I don't love her, I admit. I don't even know how to begin to fathom such an implosion of utopian lust for the hazel green distance in her eyes, let alone love her. She might be a man-eater, in disguise, for all the possibilities of things likely.. She is, however unattainable, perhaps my greatest unembarked adventure; my Odyssey. Not so, perhaps, my greatest... the one other dream she, still that I of another kiss.. a bliss.. an even greater adventure, nonetheless.. but a rhythm for another rhyme; another prose for another time. This.. She's ancient unconscionable forbidden bliss for the morbid spirit that I am, enchanted with sweetness and love. Volatile like wildfire, she has the world entwined in the gypsy black waves of unconstrained dreams. But that wasn't her, who lingered back in my head... The residence was of another.. I saw her once, in my seems.. my truest endeavours for a place that screams for relentless torture behind sweet jagged beams of black light on black. I don't love her, I reassure, nor am I in love with another. I'm taken by her like a leaf is in a storm. I am home. She's death in a green hazed gaze, for those of you who didn't figure it out by now." A.r. Bazian Nov 8th, 2015
0
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
Presence & Residence: A Prose Of a Woman, or Two..
"I don't know her. I've seen her; A strong spectre of absolute femininity and a lingering presence so strong, that all things thereon.. revolved unto the centrepiece of her clear, imperfect, overwhelming and sinking magnitude. The fortitude.. She's the most beautiful women I've ever seen.. and no, not that kind of beauty. Well, It could've been.. She has a darkness to her, so captivating; so dense that all article in her cense is stalled in mesmerising silence and anticipation for the next fleeting beat of her beautiful heart..  for the next pacing glaze that would tear me apart, along the horizon of mere "things" in her shade, as she looks around and so passionately drowns the world in awe. The charm that she'd bestow.. When I first saw her, my heart stopped, literally, only to -and out of grave deafness, explode as if it has been beating 'cross an infinite expanse of scapes compressed in the swiftness of a second.. boom! 'cross the room.. Suddenly, the void that consumed out of me the very sorry existence that I am, failingly so distant to her proximity, exploded like a rose bursting into bloom.. exploding no less, from pale tasteless petals to mindblowing extravagance. I don't love her, I admit. I don't even know how to begin to fathom such an implosion of utopian lust for the hazel green distance in her eyes, let alone love her. She might be a man-eater, in disguise, for all the possibilities of things likely.. She is, however unattainable, perhaps my greatest unembarked adventure; my Odyssey. Not so, perhaps, my greatest... the one other dream she, still that I of another kiss.. a bliss.. an even greater adventure, nonetheless.. but a rhythm for another rhyme; another prose for another time. This.. She's ancient unconscionable forbidden bliss for the morbid spirit that I am, enchanted with sweetness and love. Volatile like wildfire, she has the world entwined in the gypsy black waves of unconstrained dreams. But that wasn't her, who lingered back in my head... The residence was of another.. I saw her once, in my seems.. my truest endeavours for a place that screams for relentless torture behind sweet jagged beams of black light on black. I don't love her, I reassure, nor am I in love with another. I'm taken by her like a leaf is in a storm. I am home. She's death in a green hazed gaze, for those of you who didn't figure it out by now." A.r. Bazian Nov 8th, 2015
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16
I've been quite busy of late, Work and life got me in that state. Poetry got put on hold for the time being, But an observation and a chance encounter got the poet bleeding. This little flower I saw standing strong and shining bright, Smiling and dancing in the bright sunlight. From a bud to blooming and bursting with energy, This little yellow flower making use of the soil and water synergy. Then came a day where a little worm came her way, Caressed her delicate little petals and made her sway, His words rang through her senses and made her petals flutter, Little did she know his dark intentions were from the gutter. He talked about the little details of her beauty, This poor little thing fell for cutie patootie. Then one day without any warning, He started nipping at her petals after adorning. She thought it was not intentional as he pleaded forgiveness, But then he started nipping, biting and eating with swiftness. She bore all the pain as he continued with filling his tummy, She thought he would soon go back to being her lovesick dummy. Down to the last leaf she was when the wind started blowing, Off the worm flew , the wind his fat overgrown body overthrowing. With time her beauty she restored to her past glory, Took care and made sure she did not fall for the same story. Along came a bee buzzing his way in, With her every move his heart over n over she would win. He tried to make conversation with this pretty little thing, Tell her how he felt about her and got him buzzing. Her scars grew red again from her past encounter, Fearing this moment she had built walls around her. Her response to this stranger was heartless and cold, Any advances he'd make she'd curl into herself and enfold. No matter how much he tried to convince her, Her walls wouldn't budge, for him to deter. All he wanted to do was be with her, But at this point everything was so blur. She had advanced in life far ahead, Achieved what she dreamt of in nature's bed. Confident and bold she had become in this time, Love was all she was left to fear of that feeling sublime. The bee continued and never gave up, Every morning to her sweet face he wanted to wake up, Seeing his stubbornness something changed within her that day, A leap of faith she took the walls breaking away. Had she not, she wouldn't really know, A fruit she would transform into with a lovely glow. Love has been given a bad name by a filthy few, But with the right person it can be sweeter than honey dew.
0
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 5:26 AM UTC
Love Transforms
I've been quite busy of late, Work and life got me in that state. Poetry got put on hold for the time being, But an observation and a chance encounter got the poet bleeding. This little flower I saw standing strong and shining bright, Smiling and dancing in the bright sunlight. From a bud to blooming and bursting with energy, This little yellow flower making use of the soil and water synergy. Then came a day where a little worm came her way, Caressed her delicate little petals and made her sway, His words rang through her senses and made her petals flutter, Little did she know his dark intentions were from the gutter. He talked about the little details of her beauty, This poor little thing fell for cutie patootie. Then one day without any warning, He started nipping at her petals after adorning. She thought it was not intentional as he pleaded forgiveness, But then he started nipping, biting and eating with swiftness. She bore all the pain as he continued with filling his tummy, She thought he would soon go back to being her lovesick dummy. Down to the last leaf she was when the wind started blowing, Off the worm flew , the wind his fat overgrown body overthrowing. With time her beauty she restored to her past glory, Took care and made sure she did not fall for the same story. Along came a bee buzzing his way in, With her every move his heart over n over she would win. He tried to make conversation with this pretty little thing, Tell her how he felt about her and got him buzzing. Her scars grew red again from her past encounter, Fearing this moment she had built walls around her. Her response to this stranger was heartless and cold, Any advances he'd make she'd curl into herself and enfold. No matter how much he tried to convince her, Her walls wouldn't budge, for him to deter. All he wanted to do was be with her, But at this point everything was so blur. She had advanced in life far ahead, Achieved what she dreamt of in nature's bed. Confident and bold she had become in this time, Love was all she was left to fear of that feeling sublime. The bee continued and never gave up, Every morning to her sweet face he wanted to wake up, Seeing his stubbornness something changed within her that day, A leap of faith she took the walls breaking away. Had she not, she wouldn't really know, A fruit she would transform into with a lovely glow. Love has been given a bad name by a filthy few, But with the right person it can be sweeter than honey dew.
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48
I am supposed to compliment your beauty, your bark brown wings and perfect form, your delicate legs and slender body I am supposed to praise your grace in flight, your swiftness and your speed I am supposed to compare you to the softness of an autumn blanket, the silent beauty of a silver moon, the rush, then stillness, of a changing wind. But when you landed on my arm, you tiny beautiful being, You scared the crap out of me.
0
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 10:07 PM UTC
Moth
Maybe it was something I did. Something I said. Something that could've been avoided, maybe not. I could've waited, stalled a little longer, but I couldn't hold back the words that changed you. They tried to tell me how crazy I was, chasing after a carnie. But I was stupid enough not to listen. They tried to tell me that I was just gonna end up crying with a broken heart, and I was rebellious enough to ignore it. So now you'll go on with your life, leaving me behind. And I'll regret the words I spoke too soon for the rest of my life. You'll continue to be the wonderful carnie you are. And I'll keep being the reckless little girl who fell in love with a carnie and never looked back. We'll part ways as strangers who were once lovers, and you'll reminisce on the times we spent together. I'll go become a chef, or a waitress, and hope you'll come into my restaurant and sweep me off my feet, just like that summer of pure happiness and freedom. Girls will crawl backwards to be with you, but you'll know in your heart that none of them will ever be me, and I'll be tripping myself up trying to get over you. You'll meet celebrities and singers and all sorts of beautiful women. I'll earn a big time gig with a chef from Miami, or some big city, and move away, forgetting about you. And you'll realize that the girl you left crying in the dirt was the girl you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, and I'll look back at the pictures, remembering the carnie that I was stupid enough to fall for. You'll come searching for me, while working your many carnivals, with your heart of steel on your sleeve. We'll run into each other somewhere down the road, an awkward run-in, but an unforgettable one. I'll remember how much I loved you and run right back into your arms, forgetting the life I had just built for myself. But that is just a daydream of a helpless girl who just had her young fragile heart broken by the restless carnie who was bad enough to steal it from her. And so for now, we forgive and forget, cherishing the summer of love, the summer of swiftness, and the summer of absolute certainty.
0
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
My lovely carnie
Maybe it was something I did. Something I said. Something that could've been avoided, maybe not. I could've waited, stalled a little longer, but I couldn't hold back the words that changed you. They tried to tell me how crazy I was, chasing after a carnie. But I was stupid enough not to listen. They tried to tell me that I was just gonna end up crying with a broken heart, and I was rebellious enough to ignore it. So now you'll go on with your life, leaving me behind. And I'll regret the words I spoke too soon for the rest of my life. You'll continue to be the wonderful carnie you are. And I'll keep being the reckless little girl who fell in love with a carnie and never looked back. We'll part ways as strangers who were once lovers, and you'll reminisce on the times we spent together. I'll go become a chef, or a waitress, and hope you'll come into my restaurant and sweep me off my feet, just like that summer of pure happiness and freedom. Girls will crawl backwards to be with you, but you'll know in your heart that none of them will ever be me, and I'll be tripping myself up trying to get over you. You'll meet celebrities and singers and all sorts of beautiful women. I'll earn a big time gig with a chef from Miami, or some big city, and move away, forgetting about you. And you'll realize that the girl you left crying in the dirt was the girl you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, and I'll look back at the pictures, remembering the carnie that I was stupid enough to fall for. You'll come searching for me, while working your many carnivals, with your heart of steel on your sleeve. We'll run into each other somewhere down the road, an awkward run-in, but an unforgettable one. I'll remember how much I loved you and run right back into your arms, forgetting the life I had just built for myself. But that is just a daydream of a helpless girl who just had her young fragile heart broken by the restless carnie who was bad enough to steal it from her. And so for now, we forgive and forget, cherishing the summer of love, the summer of swiftness, and the summer of absolute certainty.
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19
My family is pretty tragic, and I don't fare well in any still Just chasing a piece of magic for that taste of thrill The amount of times I've done wrong, plays lyrics in my head like a boring song We grew impressed by curves saved in secret vaults of our phone—it's a wonder how I can talk to girls But it doesn't mean I was good at it before A war inside of my eyes, I've been through a couple tours With no resort to recreation, I'll resort to being bored Life can feel a bourd, jesting kisses getting me hard like a board Packing the load of weighing burdens in the haul of dreams searching for a purpose Penniless thoughts we grew up snatching from life's purses And the only fear a teen had, was dying a ****** You could blame us being thirsty always wanting to drown ourselves in success Dancing swiftness in the crowd, but secretly depressed I tell you my life before was such a mess But you could never tease me enough to have that be the only thing I confess Thankfully the brokenness of my heart could be conditioned to bring forth a new piece of a work of art After every scar, the _C_ of every cut becomes the _T_ of time for all my scars to become stars My life is now the scars into stars!
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Sep 7, 2022
Sep 7, 2022 at 4:12 PM UTC
Scars into stars