"sworded" poems - Hello Poetry

There goes a noble man. Stepping down from glorious crests To rejoin thousands in name. But only in name. A man of many words And softly spoken treasures Of piercing eyes, and deep perceptions. Though not without his humble admirations. There stands a secret hero. No one fully knows the good he's done The power of the words he's said Or the strength he's lent to one. The courage that was never mine to use. Given, nonetheless. There speaks a patient knight With sworded words He kneels behind his shielded faith And prays beside the armored horse. He's always safe from coldest fear, Safe in his suit of armor, Armor made of softest black and white.

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Nov 12, 2013

Nov 12, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC

tracie-bulkley

The Noble Man

There goes a noble man. Stepping down from glorious crests To rejoin thousands in name. But only in name. A man of many words And softly spoken treasures Of piercing eyes, and deep perceptions. Though not without his humble admirations. There stands a secret hero. No one fully knows the good he's done The power of the words he's said Or the strength he's lent to one. The courage that was never mine to use. Given, nonetheless. There speaks a patient knight With sworded words He kneels behind his shielded faith And prays beside the armored horse. He's always safe from coldest fear, Safe in his suit of armor, Armor made of softest black and white.

21

--To W. A. Was I a Samurai renowned, Two-sworded, fierce, immense of bow? A histrion angular and profound? A priest? a porter?--Child, although I have forgotten clean, I know That in the shade of Fujisan, What time the cherry-orchards blow, I loved you once in old Japan. As here you loiter, flowing-gowned And hugely sashed, with pins a-row Your quaint head as with flamelets crowned, Demure, inviting--even so, When merry maids in Miyako To feel the sweet o' the year began, And green gardens to overflow, I loved you once in old Japan. Clear shine the hills; the rice-fields round Two cranes are circling; sleepy and slow, A blue canal the lake's blue bound Breaks at the bamboo bridge; and lo! Touched with the sundown's spirit and glow, I see you turn, with flirted fan, Against the plum-tree's bloomy snow . . . I loved you once in old Japan! Envoy Dear, 'twas a dozen lives ago; But that I was a lucky man The Toyokuni here will show: I loved you--once--in old Japan.

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2.5k

William Ernest Henley

Ballade Of A Toyokuni Colour-Print

--To W. A. Was I a Samurai renowned, Two-sworded, fierce, immense of bow? A histrion angular and profound? A priest? a porter?--Child, although I have forgotten clean, I know That in the shade of Fujisan, What time the cherry-orchards blow, I loved you once in old Japan. As here you loiter, flowing-gowned And hugely sashed, with pins a-row Your quaint head as with flamelets crowned, Demure, inviting--even so, When merry maids in Miyako To feel the sweet o' the year began, And green gardens to overflow, I loved you once in old Japan. Clear shine the hills; the rice-fields round Two cranes are circling; sleepy and slow, A blue canal the lake's blue bound Breaks at the bamboo bridge; and lo! Touched with the sundown's spirit and glow, I see you turn, with flirted fan, Against the plum-tree's bloomy snow . . . I loved you once in old Japan! Envoy Dear, 'twas a dozen lives ago; But that I was a lucky man The Toyokuni here will show: I loved you--once--in old Japan.

30

To Kathleen- Nor I can give, nor you can take; endures The simple truth of me that is yours. Is not the music mingled with the form When all the heavens break in blind black storm? Are we not veiled as Gods, and cruel as they, Smiting our brilliance on the shuddering clay? Silence and darkness cover us, confirm Our splendour to its unappointed term: For all the men homunculi that dance Around us shudder at our brilliance. These puppets perish in the good grand glare, Our sworded sunlight in the boundless air ! These bats need cloisters; these tame birds a cage; How should they know the Masters of the Age? Or understand when the archangels cry Adoring us Ellên kat' asterh ei?

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2k

Aleister Crowley

Prologue to Rodin in Rime

To Kathleen- Nor I can give, nor you can take; endures The simple truth of me that is yours. Is not the music mingled with the form When all the heavens break in blind black storm? Are we not veiled as Gods, and cruel as they, Smiting our brilliance on the shuddering clay? Silence and darkness cover us, confirm Our splendour to its unappointed term: For all the men homunculi that dance Around us shudder at our brilliance. These puppets perish in the good grand glare, Our sworded sunlight in the boundless air ! These bats need cloisters; these tame birds a cage; How should they know the Masters of the Age? Or understand when the archangels cry Adoring us Ellên kat' asterh ei?

17

Go now! Spiteful conveyer For your close counsel is false and needless Don't call to discuss your woes and infidelity Or use others to shield your sworded encounters No affirmation of friendship is ever trustworthy As swathed thy black soul is with treachery Chased away, no drove away happiness between others With bitter contempt and yet brazen still thy protest, yet they called you friend. Friend! How that was mocked For they had nothing, save one thing you could not buy, only love Yet you clouded a heart that needed help Drove it to darkness and despair Was it a fantasy of what was never yours that procured a lie Or was it simply jealousy? The man who did not desire you? Why not he simply must! The man who asked nothing only friendship Desired nothing of you nor wanted of you. Yet you destroyed what warmth he found with another Thou shalt not covet! Yet you did. Oh but he kissed her so tenderly He kissed her ! Not you He spoke of her Held her Loved her Not you It was all about you But Was never you

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Jan 31, 2013

Jan 31, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC

MichealWolf

It was never you

Go now! Spiteful conveyer For your close counsel is false and needless Don't call to discuss your woes and infidelity Or use others to shield your sworded encounters No affirmation of friendship is ever trustworthy As swathed thy black soul is with treachery Chased away, no drove away happiness between others With bitter contempt and yet brazen still thy protest, yet they called you friend. Friend! How that was mocked For they had nothing, save one thing you could not buy, only love Yet you clouded a heart that needed help Drove it to darkness and despair Was it a fantasy of what was never yours that procured a lie Or was it simply jealousy? The man who did not desire you? Why not he simply must! The man who asked nothing only friendship Desired nothing of you nor wanted of you. Yet you destroyed what warmth he found with another Thou shalt not covet! Yet you did. Oh but he kissed her so tenderly He kissed her ! Not you He spoke of her Held her Loved her Not you It was all about you But Was never you

32

It's over now, It's so hard to think of You, Must be good for you cuz now you're able to do what ever you want, be with them other women. I'd stab you if I'd never get caught, Like how I caught you. I'd run a sworded tip right through your lying self, Poke you right where ya heart should be but I doubt it you have one, I think you have psychopathic behavior and if you don't understand let me clarify it NOW; " A person with an antisocial personality disorder, manifested in aggressive, perverted, criminal, or amoral behavior without empathy or remorse." That's what you didn't have for me- remorse or empathy, you must have some kind of personality disorder to treat me so negatively, I'd get over it easily if it was so simple, Knowing that soon I'll breed your children makes me even more mad, makes me afraid to be with out you even knowing what I already do. But I gotta shake you off, get you outta my head,my house & bed, See you know your a good lover but it's just not enough and if it was just your *** well I can get that from the next, Like you said can't no one do me like you, And your right I don't think anyone else can lie & mistreat me or ever cheat on me Hell naw not like you did, Right under my radar, You where so slick with your deception's, So cool while be confronted and held your ground until you heard she too was carry your child. haa haa haa Your gonna Pay Now! one way or another You'll pay and I ain't got to do a **** thang! well I do have to finally find the courage to Leave Yo *** ! Always Me Ayeshah

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Feb 8, 2010

Feb 8, 2010 at 9:08 PM UTC

Ayeshah

Leave Yo Az$!

It's over now, It's so hard to think of You, Must be good for you cuz now you're able to do what ever you want, be with them other women. I'd stab you if I'd never get caught, Like how I caught you. I'd run a sworded tip right through your lying self, Poke you right where ya heart should be but I doubt it you have one, I think you have psychopathic behavior and if you don't understand let me clarify it NOW; " A person with an antisocial personality disorder, manifested in aggressive, perverted, criminal, or amoral behavior without empathy or remorse." That's what you didn't have for me- remorse or empathy, you must have some kind of personality disorder to treat me so negatively, I'd get over it easily if it was so simple, Knowing that soon I'll breed your children makes me even more mad, makes me afraid to be with out you even knowing what I already do. But I gotta shake you off, get you outta my head,my house & bed, See you know your a good lover but it's just not enough and if it was just your *** well I can get that from the next, Like you said can't no one do me like you, And your right I don't think anyone else can lie & mistreat me or ever cheat on me Hell naw not like you did, Right under my radar, You where so slick with your deception's, So cool while be confronted and held your ground until you heard she too was carry your child. haa haa haa Your gonna Pay Now! one way or another You'll pay and I ain't got to do a **** thang! well I do have to finally find the courage to Leave Yo *** ! Always Me Ayeshah

30

"The pity of war, the pity war distilled" - Wilfred Owen Somewhere in the after-haze, Jesus sought Mohammed who was on his way to see him. Moses met them on the ridge and without a mike or gavel, the meeting was convened. They fell to their knees in sorrow hands cupped to catch their tears - shed for the smoldering chaos below - so far from what was meant to be: Sworded and chain-mailed crusaders, suicide synagogue bombers, machine guns stuttering in Palestine, fire raining from the skies bombs igniting at the speed of death, slaughter at a Parisian concert. Fathers of the light rise up from your lofty provenance. Unite your tear-drenched hands and come dwell within us. Breathe healing truth into the ears of every foe of love and life. So much more was meant to be! Come to us now before the setting of the sun! November, 2015

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Nov 11, 2015

Nov 11, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC

robert-c-howard

Summit Meeting

"The pity of war, the pity war distilled" - Wilfred Owen Somewhere in the after-haze, Jesus sought Mohammed who was on his way to see him. Moses met them on the ridge and without a mike or gavel, the meeting was convened. They fell to their knees in sorrow hands cupped to catch their tears - shed for the smoldering chaos below - so far from what was meant to be: Sworded and chain-mailed crusaders, suicide synagogue bombers, machine guns stuttering in Palestine, fire raining from the skies bombs igniting at the speed of death, slaughter at a Parisian concert. Fathers of the light rise up from your lofty provenance. Unite your tear-drenched hands and come dwell within us. Breathe healing truth into the ears of every foe of love and life. So much more was meant to be! Come to us now before the setting of the sun! November, 2015

27

Sad sun, where are you? fallen beneath the hill shine tangled in the air. Breathe in my mind sun shine, on your sworded hill top. I’ll be there dancing soon over the ridge in shaded grass, dreaming. Let your flicker lap and lick at the light an existent fragile form and let it be. Gold gather, mine the heart. Shine like love in the cherry blossoms, like home in the wintertime.

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Jan 28, 2013

Jan 28, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC

shoki

Sad Sun

Sad sun, where are you? fallen beneath the hill shine tangled in the air. Breathe in my mind sun shine, on your sworded hill top. I’ll be there dancing soon over the ridge in shaded grass, dreaming. Let your flicker lap and lick at the light an existent fragile form and let it be. Gold gather, mine the heart. Shine like love in the cherry blossoms, like home in the wintertime.

16

~another love poem~ In the thousands of years of Earth’s foregoing, marking the reign of humans, all seek sapience, knowing full well, neither first or last am I to mark this day’s commencement with a need, a desiring, to notate this not unusual but definitively unique calendar notation with a tribute, neither requested but freely given to the person who lies beside me. *Did I wake commanded or so compelled to scrabble a collection of words, sequences, initially disordered, into a shape, to chisel these sendings of a chest into a living disbursement, a statute, a marbleized creature, that empties and releases a sensory disposition rumbling into a messy, mediocre utterance of sentience while they sleep quiet, pockmarked by dreamed mumblings, dreaming?* No, I did not. News headlines come demanding see me, insistent that I am urgency, but one displaced by the next, making them instantly stale by pealing replacements. This poem, a self- appointed task is now eased, spent and spurted into an lifespan of a length unknown and untold. Here I end, ceased and resisting, demurring, desisting another stanza, The hour approaches the seventh hour before noon, rising time. Go now. *The choring chords of fibrous tasks that stitch existence into a sustaining impertinent permanence, list-crossing-off, a-nagging. The itches of living, ask for scratching, 1st cup of coffee making, but smile bemusedly that this first and freshest to do, newly added, is done, dispatched with a line-sworded satisfying crossing off. She sleeps on, while I soon to rise and quiet paddle to the kitchen where kept the utensils for sustenance,* I am contented, miraculously, simultaneous, emptied and fulfilled. 4-14-2021 NYC 7:18am

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Apr 14, 2022

Apr 14, 2022 at 7:30 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

One in a Thousand (Am I Compelled?)

~another love poem~ In the thousands of years of Earth’s foregoing, marking the reign of humans, all seek sapience, knowing full well, neither first or last am I to mark this day’s commencement with a need, a desiring, to notate this not unusual but definitively unique calendar notation with a tribute, neither requested but freely given to the person who lies beside me. *Did I wake commanded or so compelled to scrabble a collection of words, sequences, initially disordered, into a shape, to chisel these sendings of a chest into a living disbursement, a statute, a marbleized creature, that empties and releases a sensory disposition rumbling into a messy, mediocre utterance of sentience while they sleep quiet, pockmarked by dreamed mumblings, dreaming?* No, I did not. News headlines come demanding see me, insistent that I am urgency, but one displaced by the next, making them instantly stale by pealing replacements. This poem, a self- appointed task is now eased, spent and spurted into an lifespan of a length unknown and untold. Here I end, ceased and resisting, demurring, desisting another stanza, The hour approaches the seventh hour before noon, rising time. Go now. *The choring chords of fibrous tasks that stitch existence into a sustaining impertinent permanence, list-crossing-off, a-nagging. The itches of living, ask for scratching, 1st cup of coffee making, but smile bemusedly that this first and freshest to do, newly added, is done, dispatched with a line-sworded satisfying crossing off. She sleeps on, while I soon to rise and quiet paddle to the kitchen where kept the utensils for sustenance,* I am contented, miraculously, simultaneous, emptied and fulfilled. 4-14-2021 NYC 7:18am

35

~but, yet, another love poem~ In the thousands of years of Earth’s foregoing, marking the reign of humans, all seeking sapience, full well knowing, neither first or last am I to mark this day’s commencement with a need, a desiring, to notate this not unusual but definitively unique calendar entrance with a tribute, neither requested, but freely given to the person who lies beside me. *Did I wake commanded or so compelled to scrabble a collection of words, sequences, initially disordered, into a shape, to chisel these sendings of a chest into a living disbursement, a marbleized breathing creature, that empties and releases a sensory disposition rambling, rumbling into a messy, utterance of sentience while they sleep quiet, pockmarked by dreamed mumblings, dreaming?* No, I did not. News headlines come demanding see me, insistent that I am urgency, but one displaced by the next, making them instantly stale by pealing replacements. This poem, a self- appointed task is now eased, story spent and spurted into a lifespan of a length unknown and untold. But, and yet, here I end, ceased and not resisting, demurring, desisting another stanza, The hour approaches the seventh hour after midnight, rising time. Go now. *The choring chords of fibrous tasks that stitch existence into a sustaining impertinent permanence, list-crossing-off, a-nagging. The itches of living, ask for scratching, 1st cup of coffee making, but smile bemusedly that this first and freshest to do, newly added, is done, dispatched with a line-sworded satisfying crossing off. She sleeps on, while I soon to rise and quiet paddle to the kitchen where kept the utensils for sustenance,* But, and yet, I am contented, miraculously, simultaneous, emptied and fulfilled. 4-14-2021 NYC 7:18am

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Jun 26, 2022

Jun 26, 2022 at 6:15 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

But, Yet, One in Thousands (Am I Compelled?)

~but, yet, another love poem~ In the thousands of years of Earth’s foregoing, marking the reign of humans, all seeking sapience, full well knowing, neither first or last am I to mark this day’s commencement with a need, a desiring, to notate this not unusual but definitively unique calendar entrance with a tribute, neither requested, but freely given to the person who lies beside me. *Did I wake commanded or so compelled to scrabble a collection of words, sequences, initially disordered, into a shape, to chisel these sendings of a chest into a living disbursement, a marbleized breathing creature, that empties and releases a sensory disposition rambling, rumbling into a messy, utterance of sentience while they sleep quiet, pockmarked by dreamed mumblings, dreaming?* No, I did not. News headlines come demanding see me, insistent that I am urgency, but one displaced by the next, making them instantly stale by pealing replacements. This poem, a self- appointed task is now eased, story spent and spurted into a lifespan of a length unknown and untold. But, and yet, here I end, ceased and not resisting, demurring, desisting another stanza, The hour approaches the seventh hour after midnight, rising time. Go now. *The choring chords of fibrous tasks that stitch existence into a sustaining impertinent permanence, list-crossing-off, a-nagging. The itches of living, ask for scratching, 1st cup of coffee making, but smile bemusedly that this first and freshest to do, newly added, is done, dispatched with a line-sworded satisfying crossing off. She sleeps on, while I soon to rise and quiet paddle to the kitchen where kept the utensils for sustenance,* But, and yet, I am contented, miraculously, simultaneous, emptied and fulfilled. 4-14-2021 NYC 7:18am

33

my illusions create gods... which beget gods. they keep steeling one another's thunder. never was there such bold-faced entitlement. silvery sworded severances charge the air...hand to hand clashes trying to advance on cloudy territory. it's too electric, and appetites too whet...illusion's gonna go. i/they can taste it.

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Oct 21, 2018

Oct 21, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC

Onoma

Create Gods

my illusions create gods... which beget gods. they keep steeling one another's thunder. never was there such bold-faced entitlement. silvery sworded severances charge the air...hand to hand clashes trying to advance on cloudy territory. it's too electric, and appetites too whet...illusion's gonna go. i/they can taste it.

15

Sliced sworded soulmate - shadows of stormy loneliness; heart full of hope still.

0

Feb 8, 2025

Feb 8, 2025 at 2:43 PM UTC

malinkee

(1)

Sliced sworded soulmate - shadows of stormy loneliness; heart full of hope still.

3