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evelyn augusto Nov 2017
I wrote this to take the sharp edges off my poem: You Ruined My America...



     "What does love look like? ...It has ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men."
            St. Augustine of Hippo

I love you even tho you resist me.
I love you even tho you sometimes
       forget who I am.

I love you even tho I'm hard and you
       prefer soft .

I love you even tho I get angry.
I love you even tho you get angry.

I love you even tho you don't see what
       I see.

I love you even tho I don’t  give in
       or give up.
I love you even tho you don't either .

I love you even tho you disagree with me
        and the way I express myself
        and how I respond to the world.

I love you even tho you don't always
        understand.

I love you even tho I am tired.  
I love you even tho I am hungry.
I love you even tho I am lonely .

I love you even tho you prefer my silence.
I love you even tho tomorrow is
          our mystery.

I love you even tho I have said
          all there is to say:

I love you.
Kolby cortis Nov 2015
A burrito is like a Dorito A burrito is like a Dorito but it doesn't even Fritos but is a Frito even free tho like man I wanna be tho the one who can eat toe like that ain't me tho no ******* is in me yo like you know how I be bro like u know the beat tho therefore a burrito isn't like a Dorito unless it does the free tho frito txt me m8 248 880 2231
I love you
Prohemium.

But al to litel, weylaway the whyle,
Lasteth swich Ioye, y-thonked be Fortune!
That semeth trewest, whan she wol bygyle,
And can to foles so hir song entune,
That she hem hent and blent, traytour comune;  
And whan a wight is from hir wheel y-throwe,
Than laugheth she, and maketh him the mowe.

From Troilus she gan hir brighte face
Awey to wrythe, and took of him non hede,
But caste him clene out of his lady grace,  
And on hir wheel she sette up Diomede;
For which right now myn herte ginneth blede,
And now my penne, allas! With which I wryte,
Quaketh for drede of that I moot endyte.

For how Criseyde Troilus forsook,  
Or at the leste, how that she was unkinde,
Mot hennes-forth ben matere of my book,
As wryten folk through which it is in minde.
Allas! That they sholde ever cause finde
To speke hir harm; and if they on hir lye,  
Y-wis, hem-self sholde han the vilanye.

O ye Herines, Nightes doughtren three,
That endelees compleynen ever in pyne,
Megera, Alete, and eek Thesiphone;
Thou cruel Mars eek, fader to Quiryne,  
This ilke ferthe book me helpeth fyne,
So that the los of lyf and love y-fere
Of Troilus be fully shewed here.

Explicit prohemium.

Incipit Quartus Liber.

Ligginge in ost, as I have seyd er this,
The Grekes stronge, aboute Troye toun,  
Bifel that, whan that Phebus shyning is
Up-on the brest of Hercules Lyoun,
That Ector, with ful many a bold baroun,
Caste on a day with Grekes for to fighte,
As he was wont to greve hem what he mighte.  

Not I how longe or short it was bitwene
This purpos and that day they fighte mente;
But on a day wel armed, bright and shene,
Ector, and many a worthy wight out wente,
With spere in hond and bigge bowes bente;  
And in the herd, with-oute lenger lette,
Hir fomen in the feld anoon hem mette.

The longe day, with speres sharpe y-grounde,
With arwes, dartes, swerdes, maces felle,
They fighte and bringen hors and man to grounde,  
And with hir axes out the braynes quelle.
But in the laste shour, sooth for to telle,
The folk of Troye hem-selven so misledden,
That with the worse at night homward they fledden.

At whiche day was taken Antenor,  
Maugre Polydamas or Monesteo,
Santippe, Sarpedon, Polynestor,
Polyte, or eek the Troian daun Ripheo,
And othere lasse folk, as Phebuseo.
So that, for harm, that day the folk of Troye  
Dredden to lese a greet part of hir Ioye.

Of Pryamus was yeve, at Greek requeste,
A tyme of trewe, and tho they gonnen trete,
Hir prisoneres to chaungen, moste and leste,
And for the surplus yeven sommes grete.  
This thing anoon was couth in every strete,
Bothe in thassege, in toune, and every-where,
And with the firste it cam to Calkas ere.

Whan Calkas knew this tretis sholde holde,
In consistorie, among the Grekes, sone  
He gan in thringe forth, with lordes olde,
And sette him there-as he was wont to done;
And with a chaunged face hem bad a bone,
For love of god, to don that reverence,
To stinte noyse, and yeve him audience.  

Thanne seyde he thus, 'Lo! Lordes myne, I was
Troian, as it is knowen out of drede;
And, if that yow remembre, I am Calkas,
That alderfirst yaf comfort to your nede,
And tolde wel how that ye sholden spede.  
For dredelees, thorugh yow, shal, in a stounde,
Ben Troye y-brend, and beten doun to grounde.

'And in what forme, or in what maner wyse
This town to shende, and al your lust to acheve,
Ye han er this wel herd it me devyse;  
This knowe ye, my lordes, as I leve.
And for the Grekes weren me so leve,
I com my-self in my propre persone,
To teche in this how yow was best to done;

'Havinge un-to my tresour ne my rente  
Right no resport, to respect of your ese.
Thus al my good I loste and to yow wente,
Wening in this you, lordes, for to plese.
But al that los ne doth me no disese.
I vouche-sauf, as wisly have I Ioye,  
For you to lese al that I have in Troye,

'Save of a doughter, that I lafte, allas!
Slepinge at hoom, whanne out of Troye I sterte.
O sterne, O cruel fader that I was!
How mighte I have in that so hard an herte?  
Allas! I ne hadde y-brought hir in hir sherte!
For sorwe of which I wol not live to morwe,
But-if ye lordes rewe up-on my sorwe.

'For, by that cause I say no tyme er now
Hir to delivere, I holden have my pees;  
But now or never, if that it lyke yow,
I may hir have right sone, doutelees.
O help and grace! Amonges al this prees,
Rewe on this olde caitif in destresse,
Sin I through yow have al this hevinesse!  

'Ye have now caught and fetered in prisoun
Troians y-nowe; and if your willes be,
My child with oon may have redempcioun.
Now for the love of god and of bountee,
Oon of so fele, allas! So yeve him me.  
What nede were it this preyere for to werne,
Sin ye shul bothe han folk and toun as yerne?

'On peril of my lyf, I shal nat lye,
Appollo hath me told it feithfully;
I have eek founde it be astronomye,  
By sort, and by augurie eek trewely,
And dar wel seye, the tyme is faste by,
That fyr and flaumbe on al the toun shal sprede;
And thus shal Troye turne to asshen dede.

'For certeyn, Phebus and Neptunus bothe,  
That makeden the walles of the toun,
Ben with the folk of Troye alwey so wrothe,
That thei wol bringe it to confusioun,
Right in despyt of king Lameadoun.
By-cause he nolde payen hem hir hyre,  
The toun of Troye shal ben set on-fyre.'

Telling his tale alwey, this olde greye,
Humble in speche, and in his lokinge eke,
The salte teres from his eyen tweye
Ful faste ronnen doun by eyther cheke.  
So longe he gan of socour hem by-seke
That, for to hele him of his sorwes sore,
They yave him Antenor, with-oute more.

But who was glad y-nough but Calkas tho?
And of this thing ful sone his nedes leyde  
On hem that sholden for the tretis go,
And hem for Antenor ful ofte preyde
To bringen hoom king Toas and Criseyde;
And whan Pryam his save-garde sente,
Thembassadours to Troye streyght they wente.  

The cause y-told of hir cominge, the olde
Pryam the king ful sone in general
Let here-upon his parlement to holde,
Of which the effect rehersen yow I shal.
Thembassadours ben answered for fynal,  
Theschaunge of prisoners and al this nede
Hem lyketh wel, and forth in they procede.

This Troilus was present in the place,
Whan axed was for Antenor Criseyde,
For which ful sone chaungen gan his face,  
As he that with tho wordes wel neigh deyde.
But nathelees, he no word to it seyde,
Lest men sholde his affeccioun espye;
With mannes herte he gan his sorwes drye.

And ful of anguissh and of grisly drede  
Abood what lordes wolde un-to it seye;
And if they wolde graunte, as god forbede,
Theschaunge of hir, than thoughte he thinges tweye,
First, how to save hir honour, and what weye
He mighte best theschaunge of hir withstonde;  
Ful faste he caste how al this mighte stonde.

Love him made al prest to doon hir byde,
And rather dye than she sholde go;
But resoun seyde him, on that other syde,
'With-oute assent of hir ne do not so,  
Lest for thy werk she wolde be thy fo,
And seyn, that thorugh thy medling is y-blowe
Your bother love, there it was erst unknowe.'

For which he gan deliberen, for the beste,
That though the lordes wolde that she wente,  
He wolde lat hem graunte what hem leste,
And telle his lady first what that they mente.
And whan that she had seyd him hir entente,
Ther-after wolde he werken also blyve,
Though al the world ayein it wolde stryve.  

Ector, which that wel the Grekes herde,
For Antenor how they wolde han Criseyde,
Gan it withstonde, and sobrely answerde: --
'Sires, she nis no prisoner,' he seyde;
'I noot on yow who that this charge leyde,  
But, on my part, ye may eft-sone hem telle,
We usen here no wommen for to selle.'

The noyse of peple up-stirte thanne at ones,
As breme as blase of straw y-set on fyre;
For infortune it wolde, for the nones,  
They sholden hir confusioun desyre.
'Ector,' quod they, 'what goost may yow enspyre
This womman thus to shilde and doon us lese
Daun Antenor? -- a wrong wey now ye chese --

'That is so wys, and eek so bold baroun,  
And we han nede to folk, as men may see;
He is eek oon, the grettest of this toun;
O Ector, lat tho fantasyes be!
O king Priam,' quod they, 'thus seggen we,
That al our voys is to for-gon Criseyde;'  
And to deliveren Antenor they preyde.

O Iuvenal, lord! Trewe is thy sentence,
That litel witen folk what is to yerne
That they ne finde in hir desyr offence;
For cloud of errour let hem not descerne  
What best is; and lo, here ensample as yerne.
This folk desiren now deliveraunce
Of Antenor, that broughte hem to mischaunce!

For he was after traytour to the toun
Of Troye; allas! They quitte him out to rathe;  
O nyce world, lo, thy discrecioun!
Criseyde, which that never dide hem skathe,
Shal now no lenger in hir blisse bathe;
But Antenor, he shal com hoom to toune,
And she shal out; thus seyden here and howne.  

For which delibered was by parlement
For Antenor to yelden out Criseyde,
And it pronounced by the president,
Al-theigh that Ector 'nay' ful ofte preyde.
And fynaly, what wight that it with-seyde,  
It was for nought, it moste been, and sholde;
For substaunce of the parlement it wolde.

Departed out of parlement echone,
This Troilus, with-oute wordes mo,
Un-to his chaumbre spedde him faste allone,  
But-if it were a man of his or two,
The whiche he bad out faste for to go,
By-cause he wolde slepen, as he seyde,
And hastely up-on his bed him leyde.

And as in winter leves been biraft,  
Eche after other, til the tree be bare,
So that ther nis but bark and braunche y-laft,
Lyth Troilus, biraft of ech wel-fare,
Y-bounden in the blake bark of care,
Disposed wood out of his wit to breyde,  
So sore him sat the chaunginge of Criseyde.

He rist him up, and every dore he shette
And windowe eek, and tho this sorweful man
Up-on his beddes syde a-doun him sette,
Ful lyk a deed image pale and wan;  
And in his brest the heped wo bigan
Out-breste, and he to werken in this wyse
In his woodnesse, as I shal yow devyse.

Right as the wilde bole biginneth springe
Now here, now there, y-darted to the herte,  
And of his deeth roreth in compleyninge,
Right so gan he aboute the chaumbre sterte,
Smyting his brest ay with his festes smerte;
His heed to the wal, his body to the grounde
Ful ofte he swapte, him-selven to confounde.  

His eyen two, for pitee of his herte,
Out stremeden as swifte welles tweye;
The heighe sobbes of his sorwes smerte
His speche him refte, unnethes mighte he seye,
'O deeth, allas! Why niltow do me deye?  
A-cursed be the day which that nature
Shoop me to ben a lyves creature!'

But after, whan the furie and the rage
Which that his herte twiste and faste threste,
By lengthe of tyme somwhat gan asswage,  
Up-on his bed he leyde him doun to reste;
But tho bigonne his teres more out-breste,
That wonder is, the body may suffyse
To half this wo, which that I yow devyse.

Than seyde he thus, 'Fortune! Allas the whyle!  
What have I doon, what have I thus a-gilt?
How mightestow for reuthe me bigyle?
Is ther no grace, and shal I thus be spilt?
Shal thus Criseyde awey, for that thou wilt?
Allas! How maystow in thyn herte finde  
To been to me thus cruel and unkinde?

'Have I thee nought honoured al my lyve,
As thou wel wost, above the goddes alle?
Why wiltow me fro Ioye thus depryve?
O Troilus, what may men now thee calle  
But wrecche of wrecches, out of honour falle
In-to miserie, in which I wol biwayle
Criseyde, allas! Til that the breeth me fayle?

'Allas, Fortune! If that my lyf in Ioye
Displesed hadde un-to thy foule envye,  
Why ne haddestow my fader, king of Troye,
By-raft the lyf, or doon my bretheren dye,
Or slayn my-self, that thus compleyne and crye,
I, combre-world, that may of no-thing serve,
But ever dye, and never fully sterve?  

'If that Criseyde allone were me laft,
Nought roughte I whider thou woldest me stere;
And hir, allas! Than hastow me biraft.
But ever-more, lo! This is thy manere,
To reve a wight that most is to him dere,  
To preve in that thy gerful violence.
Thus am I lost, ther helpeth no defence!

'O verray lord of love, O god, allas!
That knowest best myn herte and al my thought,
What shal my sorwful lyf don in this cas  
If I for-go that I so dere have bought?
Sin ye Cryseyde and me han fully brought
In-to your grace, and bothe our hertes seled,
How may ye suffre, allas! It be repeled?

'What I may doon, I shal, whyl I may dure  
On lyve in torment and in cruel peyne,
This infortune or this disaventure,
Allone as I was born, y-wis, compleyne;
Ne never wil I seen it shyne or reyne;
But ende I wil, as Edippe, in derknesse  
My sorwful lyf, and dyen in distresse.

'O wery goost, that errest to and fro,
Why niltow fleen out of the wofulleste
Body, that ever mighte on grounde go?
O soule, lurkinge in this wo, unneste,  
Flee forth out of myn herte, and lat it breste,
And folwe alwey Criseyde, thy lady dere;
Thy righte place is now no lenger here!

'O wofulle eyen two, sin your disport
Was al to seen Criseydes eyen brighte,  
What shal ye doon but, for my discomfort,
Stonden for nought, and wepen out your sighte?
Sin she is queynt, that wont was yow to lighte,
In veyn fro-this-forth have I eyen tweye
Y-formed, sin your vertue is a-weye.  

'O my Criseyde, O lady sovereyne
Of thilke woful soule that thus cryeth,
Who shal now yeven comfort to the peyne?
Allas, no wight; but when myn herte dyeth,
My spirit, which that so un-to yow hyeth,  
Receyve in gree, for that shal ay yow serve;
For-thy no fors is, though the body sterve.

'O ye loveres, that heighe upon the wheel
Ben set of Fortune, in good aventure,
God leve that ye finde ay love of steel,  
And longe mot your lyf in Ioye endure!
But whan ye comen by my sepulture,
Remembreth that your felawe resteth there;
For I lovede eek, though I unworthy were.

'O olde, unholsom, and mislyved man,  
Calkas I mene, allas! What eyleth thee
To been a Greek, sin thou art born Troian?
O Calkas, which that wilt my bane be,
In cursed tyme was thou born for me!
As wolde blisful Iove, for his Ioye,  
That I thee hadde, where I wolde, in Troye!'

A thousand sykes, hottere than the glede,
Out of his brest ech after other wente,
Medled with pleyntes newe, his wo to fede,
For which his woful teres never stente;  
And shortly, so his peynes him to-rente,
And wex so mat, that Ioye nor penaunce
He feleth noon, but lyth forth in a traunce.

Pandare, which that in the parlement
Hadde herd what every lord and burgeys seyde,  
And how ful graunted was, by oon assent,
For Antenor to yelden so Criseyde,
Gan wel neigh wood out of his wit to breyde,
So that, for wo, he niste what he mente;
But in a rees to Troilus he wente.  

A certeyn knight, that for the tyme kepte
The chaumbre-dore, un-dide it him anoon;
And Pandare, that ful tendreliche wepte,
In-to the derke chaumbre, as stille as stoon,
Toward the bed gan softely to goon,  
So confus, that he niste what to seye;
For verray wo his wit was neigh aweye.

And with his chere and loking al to-torn,
For sorwe of this, and with his armes folden,
He stood this woful Troilus biforn,  
And on his pitous face he gan biholden;
But lord, so often gan his herte colden,
Seing his freend in wo, whos hevinesse
His herte slow, as thoughte him, for distresse.

This woful wight, this Troilus, that felte  
His freend Pandare y-comen him to see,
Gan as the snow ayein the sonne melte,
For which this sorwful Pandare, of pitee,
Gan for to wepe as tendreliche as he;
And specheles thus been thise ilke tweye,  
That neyther mighte o word for sorwe seye.

But at the laste this woful Troilus,
Ney deed for smert, gan bresten out to rore,
And with a sorwful noyse he seyde thus,
Among his sobbes and his sykes sore,  
'Lo! Pandare, I am deed, with-oute
softcomponent Aug 2015
You come out of the dark, and a young Japanese schoolgirl--couldn't be any older than 19--is standing in a heavy-lit archway, the blinkered 'sort-of's' of her eyes only visible in corners due to the convex glare rebounding from the heavy light and onto a parked Miyata windshield, right back into the bloodshot lower-left cleft of each eye, sleepless veins like miniature pipelines slogging her fossil fuel blood to the energy markets of her face (but it ends in death, hopeless economy! it begins in death like OPEC!)

There's concrete, and there's stone: the former a collection of synthetically compiled chunks of the latter. In either regard, it might just be the end of the World, tho just an intermission during an afternoon matinee for the world. There are a lot of things you don't understand. There is plenty more you do, and yet you believe your own humility when it whispers, "You don't," tho you are entirely unaware this is delusion and not humility, but some unconscious form of ascetic worship of WONDER!! You're going coocoo for cocopuffs WONDER! We can remember what J.B.S. Haldane once said: "I have no doubt that in reality the future will be vastly more surprising than anything I can imagine. Now my own suspicion is that the Universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose."

I was born at the edge of the Cold War. 4 years after America's Operation Just Cause deposed Nicaraguan dictator Manuel Noriega using heavy metal music and heavy metal weapons, loaded to capacity with heavy metal bullets. 4 years after the slow-dissolve tablet of the Berlin Wall finally faded upon the German palate. Brian Mulroney was my Prime Minister at birth. I was also alive (tho not 'conscious,' per se--intellectually conscious, that is) during the Prime Ministership of Canada's first female Prime Minister: Kim Campbell (she was only leader for just over 3 months and thus I cannot give her time in office the full credibility it would have deserved had she been a fully elected candidate instead of an inter-election Prime Ministerial appointment; when, for godssakes, will we have a Fist Nations' Prime Minister? I would like to believe the only reason there has been none is because the indigenous people have categorically rejected the game-fantasy we have stomped upon their land and the world and self-righteously crowned as 'realistic, sober, objective;' tho maybe I'm wrong, whispers Humility: "I don't know").

There is the endless and omnipotent consensus that the world's about to end. For those who study history, they will often notice that when 'then' was 'now,' it was often and always the end of history. 'Now' is the always-result of 'then' and it will never change unless we neglect its consideration. That's really all theory takes to disappear: stop thinking about it. (as if that were possible, ha!)
Because the impression has been one of pollution and confusion, our wide un-thought idealization as children has often led us to emulate all the bad habits we witness growing up, even if at one point we cloudlessly rejected them because the damage didn't seem clear, it was clear.

I was 8 years old when I took my mother's cigarettes from her bedroom while she slept, and proudly announced to her the next morning that I had thrown them out. She had become furious, tho I had done it out of a militant concern for her well-being. During my years of primeval arrival on this planet, mom had almost lost her life to breast cancer. I can't remember understanding much as it happened, nor do I recall fully understanding the implications of death until my grandmother died and I watched my dad fight back tears as he read aloud her eulogy, recalling a story I can pick through scattered memories stored in grey matter to resurrect only one fact about it: they were on a boat, pulling up to shore. My grandfather--the cheeky Briton-optimist he is--made some silly joke, and my grandmother pitched in. The rest is somewhere else in space.

However--regarding death-- I feel that even then we never understand the full implications of death in witnessing another's death, but only through dying ourselves. Which is fine. None of us need to understand these implications until the time comes (and even then, it may just drip away once you've reached the Light. Which is fine).

Returning to the cigarettes: I had absorbed the common knowledge they were awful for you. 'Death-sticks' indeed, just like that scene in Attack of the Clones. Tho I understood nothing of the chemistry, a box or a video or an authority explaining their potential 'results' or 'consequences' was enough for me to righteously desire to save my mother from her own acquired vice.

14 years later, I skulk through the streets of Victoria with Chris, high on ******* and chain-smoking Export-A Gold on the subconscious condition that the world will probably end soon enough for none of this to matter. Tho as I said: For those who study history, they will often notice that when 'then' was 'now,' it was often and always the end of history.

History is comprised of an endless succession of losers who sincerely believe they've figured it out. The only redeemable characters in this Human Odyssey are those who have realized nothing in particular. The people who think, believe, and conceptualize as an infinite process; something without a result. Something with abstract 'goals' that only fit for awhile, not forever.

I'm nobody special. Tho, at the same time, I am; and at the same time and in terms of my relationship to this greater Human Odyssey, whether I will matter in this giant plot is in part up to me (should I write a book? 10 books? Relentlessly pursue the arts, whether that be rapping, writing, music?) and in part up to sheer probability (if I do write a book, will many notice? Or will it be swept under the Great Rug of the Present-Into-Past and be forgotten to thought?), and regardless of all this: the rocks will forget. The trees will forget. Both space and dark matter will have already forgotten what I am doing and what I may one day do.

But life can't be approached on a basis of personal impact; honestly, who wants to pursue the writing of 10 books or the creation of albums in the same way the capitalist approaches economy, for sheer attention and accumulation? Those desperado's, those who chase-the-game-of-success, they have already lost. They lost as soon as they tried to win. There is nothing to win, no award great enough to keep, no person you love or have loved who you will one day depart with for the very last time. But to depart with a personality may be tragic, it is only a true void in concept; when one removes the individual (both themselves and the one they love) from the eternal context of the universe--the ebb and flow of tides to the movement of the moon, the soft breeze supplemented by a fan placed next to an open window, how your hand--when clapped to the surface of a wooden table--is one with the matter in that table regardless of how transiently you perceive such a touch as an interaction. In essence, it's all still here; it always was, and never won't be.

tho maybe I'm wrong, whispers Humility.


                                             *"I don't know."
Jay Bryant Jan 2013
The things Ive seen have brought about the things I aspire to be. Yes she inspires me to be all I can be. Tho, my actions are unpleasant today. I hope she understands tomorrow. I hope she comprehends my actions and statements like the lady that's long left this nation. She knew me better than me now no one can see this pain that afflicts me. The voices that drive my mental, insanity, is the answer to the question they haven't asked. Long ago in past I meditated on my sanity in hopes the facued of being normal would last. Self medication takes place when the ice hits the glass and the taste of ***** and codiene numbs me face. Tho now when I see her face feelings of love take place. I love this girl tho it hurts me. I see the anguish in her face sadly I have placed it deep inside of her heart. Though one day like alchemy I'll make love from the pain. I wish to extend my days with her, because I can't explain the extent of my happiness when I'm with her. Tho she's yet to truly know me the different personalities within me. The dreadful things I've seen, the caged beast that lives in my words, the worries of life, the twist and turns of my brain, the differences in each name. Mentally my brain is split in three, tho, physically there's only me. So she cannot see; that the poet brings peace to me, Jay is a few pieces of me the good the bad and the ugly that's what most people see, Jaykhuan is at the root of me the grimey, the dreams of people shooting at me, worse than the ***** I'm expected to be, and still smarter than the ****** trying to flex on me. So you see Jpoetry mends these words of pain sewing them on a string to stitch beauty in my brain. Jay always escapes but I hate for Jaykhuan to get out his cage. The criminal who hides the pain. Tho at night she soothes me happily. I've finally found what happiness can be her life and family bring happiness to me. So motions of devotion grow strong in my heart, but my heart hurts because I've caused pain to her. Tho willingly I'll endure to ensure that our lives will be drawn out successfully. I'll endure her pain the silent tears in her name, and hope the grand scheme of things won't turn her away. The drugs in my vains take away my pain, but can't numb the disappointment in her face. So I hope, pray, and believe that she'll learn me so she can see, can understand the actions that overtake me are not just for me but for us. It breaks me when her anger makes her cuss. Tho for us I'll remain tough so down the line this love will bring love to both of us
Incipit Prohemium Secundi Libri.

Out of these blake wawes for to sayle,
O wind, O wind, the weder ginneth clere;
For in this see the boot hath swich travayle,
Of my conning, that unnethe I it stere:
This see clepe I the tempestous matere  
Of desespeyr that Troilus was inne:
But now of hope the calendes biginne.
O lady myn, that called art Cleo,
Thou be my speed fro this forth, and my muse,
To ryme wel this book, til I have do;  
Me nedeth here noon other art to use.
For-why to every lovere I me excuse,
That of no sentement I this endyte,
But out of Latin in my tonge it wryte.

Wherfore I nil have neither thank ne blame  
Of al this werk, but prey yow mekely,
Disblameth me if any word be lame,
For as myn auctor seyde, so seye I.
Eek though I speke of love unfelingly,
No wondre is, for it no-thing of newe is;  
A blind man can nat Iuggen wel in hewis.

Ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaunge
With-inne a thousand yeer, and wordes tho
That hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straunge
Us thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so,  
And spedde as wel in love as men now do;
Eek for to winne love in sondry ages,
In sondry londes, sondry ben usages.

And for-thy if it happe in any wyse,
That here be any lovere in this place  
That herkneth, as the storie wol devyse,
How Troilus com to his lady grace,
And thenketh, so nolde I nat love purchace,
Or wondreth on his speche or his doinge,
I noot; but it is me no wonderinge;  

For every wight which that to Rome went,
Halt nat o path, or alwey o manere;
Eek in som lond were al the gamen shent,
If that they ferde in love as men don here,
As thus, in open doing or in chere,  
In visitinge, in forme, or seyde hire sawes;
For-thy men seyn, ech contree hath his lawes.

Eek scarsly been ther in this place three
That han in love seid lyk and doon in al;
For to thy purpos this may lyken thee,  
And thee right nought, yet al is seyd or shal;
Eek som men grave in tree, som in stoon wal,
As it bitit; but sin I have begonne,
Myn auctor shal I folwen, if I conne.

Exclipit prohemium Secundi Libri.

Incipit Liber Secundus.

In May, that moder is of monthes glade,  
That fresshe floures, blewe, and whyte, and rede,
Ben quike agayn, that winter dede made,
And ful of bawme is fleting every mede;
Whan Phebus doth his brighte bemes sprede
Right in the whyte Bole, it so bitidde  
As I shal singe, on Mayes day the thridde,

That Pandarus, for al his wyse speche,
Felt eek his part of loves shottes kene,
That, coude he never so wel of loving preche,
It made his hewe a-day ful ofte grene;  
So shoop it, that hym fil that day a tene
In love, for which in wo to bedde he wente,
And made, er it was day, ful many a wente.

The swalwe Proigne, with a sorwful lay,
Whan morwe com, gan make hir waymentinge,  
Why she forshapen was; and ever lay
Pandare a-bedde, half in a slomeringe,
Til she so neigh him made hir chiteringe
How Tereus gan forth hir suster take,
That with the noyse of hir he gan a-wake;  

And gan to calle, and dresse him up to ryse,
Remembringe him his erand was to done
From Troilus, and eek his greet empryse;
And caste and knew in good plyt was the mone
To doon viage, and took his wey ful sone  
Un-to his neces paleys ther bi-syde;
Now Ianus, god of entree, thou him gyde!

Whan he was come un-to his neces place,
'Wher is my lady?' to hir folk seyde he;
And they him tolde; and he forth in gan pace,  
And fond, two othere ladyes sete and she,
With-inne a paved parlour; and they three
Herden a mayden reden hem the geste
Of the Sege of Thebes, whyl hem leste.

Quod Pandarus, 'Ma dame, god yow see,  
With al your book and al the companye!'
'Ey, uncle myn, welcome y-wis,' quod she,
And up she roos, and by the hond in hye
She took him faste, and seyde, 'This night thrye,
To goode mote it turne, of yow I mette!'  
And with that word she doun on bench him sette.

'Ye, nece, ye shal fare wel the bet,
If god wole, al this yeer,' quod Pandarus;
'But I am sory that I have yow let
To herknen of your book ye preysen thus;  
For goddes love, what seith it? tel it us.
Is it of love? O, som good ye me lere!'
'Uncle,' quod she, 'your maistresse is not here!'

With that they gonnen laughe, and tho she seyde,
'This romaunce is of Thebes, that we rede;  
And we han herd how that king Laius deyde
Thurgh Edippus his sone, and al that dede;
And here we stenten at these lettres rede,
How the bisshop, as the book can telle,
Amphiorax, fil thurgh the ground to helle.'  

Quod Pandarus, 'Al this knowe I my-selve,
And al the assege of Thebes and the care;
For her-of been ther maked bokes twelve: --
But lat be this, and tel me how ye fare;
Do wey your barbe, and shew your face bare;  
Do wey your book, rys up, and lat us daunce,
And lat us don to May som observaunce.'

'A! God forbede!' quod she. 'Be ye mad?
Is that a widewes lyf, so god you save?
By god, ye maken me right sore a-drad,  
Ye ben so wilde, it semeth as ye rave!
It sete me wel bet ay in a cave
To bidde, and rede on holy seyntes lyves;
Lat maydens gon to daunce, and yonge wyves.'

'As ever thryve I,' quod this Pandarus,  
'Yet coude I telle a thing to doon you pleye.'
'Now, uncle dere,' quod she, 'tel it us
For goddes love; is than the assege aweye?
I am of Grekes so ferd that I deye.'
'Nay, nay,' quod he, 'as ever mote I thryve!  
It is a thing wel bet than swiche fyve.'

'Ye, holy god,' quod she, 'what thing is that?
What! Bet than swiche fyve? Ey, nay, y-wis!
For al this world ne can I reden what
It sholde been; som Iape, I trowe, is this;  
And but your-selven telle us what it is,
My wit is for to arede it al to lene;
As help me god, I noot nat what ye meene.'

'And I your borow, ne never shal, for me,
This thing be told to yow, as mote I thryve!'  
'And why so, uncle myn? Why so?' quod she.
'By god,' quod he, 'that wole I telle as blyve;
For prouder womman were ther noon on-lyve,
And ye it wiste, in al the toun of Troye;
I iape nought, as ever have I Ioye!'  

Tho gan she wondren more than biforn
A thousand fold, and doun hir eyen caste;
For never, sith the tyme that she was born,
To knowe thing desired she so faste;
And with a syk she seyde him at the laste,  
'Now, uncle myn, I nil yow nought displese,
Nor axen more, that may do yow disese.'

So after this, with many wordes glade,
And freendly tales, and with mery chere,
Of this and that they pleyde, and gunnen wade  
In many an unkouth glad and deep matere,
As freendes doon, whan they ben met y-fere;
Til she gan axen him how Ector ferde,
That was the tounes wal and Grekes yerde.

'Ful wel, I thanke it god,' quod Pandarus,  
'Save in his arm he hath a litel wounde;
And eek his fresshe brother Troilus,
The wyse worthy Ector the secounde,
In whom that ever vertu list abounde,
As alle trouthe and alle gentillesse,  
Wysdom, honour, fredom, and worthinesse.'

'In good feith, eem,' quod she, 'that lyketh me;
They faren wel, god save hem bothe two!
For trewely I holde it greet deyntee
A kinges sone in armes wel to do,  
And been of good condiciouns ther-to;
For greet power and moral vertu here
Is selde y-seye in o persone y-fere.'

'In good feith, that is sooth,' quod Pandarus;
'But, by my trouthe, the king hath sones tweye,  
That is to mene, Ector and Troilus,
That certainly, though that I sholde deye,
They been as voyde of vyces, dar I seye,
As any men that liveth under the sonne,
Hir might is wyde y-knowe, and what they conne.  

'Of Ector nedeth it nought for to telle:
In al this world ther nis a bettre knight
Than he, that is of worthinesse welle;
And he wel more vertu hath than might.
This knoweth many a wys and worthy wight.  
The same prys of Troilus I seye,
God help me so, I knowe not swiche tweye.'

'By god,' quod she, 'of Ector that is sooth;
Of Troilus the same thing trowe I;
For, dredelees, men tellen that he dooth  
In armes day by day so worthily,
And bereth him here at hoom so gentilly
To every wight, that al the prys hath he
Of hem that me were levest preysed be.'

'Ye sey right sooth, y-wis,' quod Pandarus;  
'For yesterday, who-so hadde with him been,
He might have wondred up-on Troilus;
For never yet so thikke a swarm of been
Ne fleigh, as Grekes fro him gonne fleen;
And thorugh the feld, in everi wightes ere,  
Ther nas no cry but "Troilus is there!"

'Now here, now there, he hunted hem so faste,
Ther nas but Grekes blood; and Troilus,
Now hem he hurte, and hem alle doun he caste;
Ay where he wente, it was arayed thus:  
He was hir deeth, and sheld and lyf for us;
That as that day ther dorste noon with-stonde,
Whyl that he held his blody swerd in honde.

'Therto he is the freendlieste man
Of grete estat, that ever I saw my lyve;  
And wher him list, best felawshipe can
To suche as him thinketh able for to thryve.'
And with that word tho Pandarus, as blyve,
He took his leve, and seyde, 'I wol go henne.'
'Nay, blame have I, myn uncle,' quod she thenne.  

'What eyleth yow to be thus wery sone,
And namelich of wommen? Wol ye so?
Nay, sitteth down; by god, I have to done
With yow, to speke of wisdom er ye go.'
And every wight that was a-boute hem tho,  
That herde that, gan fer a-wey to stonde,
Whyl they two hadde al that hem liste in honde.

Whan that hir tale al brought was to an ende,
Of hire estat and of hir governaunce,
Quod Pandarus, 'Now is it tyme I wende;  
But yet, I seye, aryseth, lat us daunce,
And cast your widwes habit to mischaunce:
What list yow thus your-self to disfigure,
Sith yow is tid thus fair an aventure?'

'A! Wel bithought! For love of god,' quod she,  
'Shal I not witen what ye mene of this?'
'No, this thing axeth layser,' tho quod he,
'And eek me wolde muche greve, y-wis,
If I it tolde, and ye it **** amis.
Yet were it bet my tonge for to stille  
Than seye a sooth that were ayeins your wille.

'For, nece, by the goddesse Minerve,
And Iuppiter, that maketh the thonder ringe,
And by the blisful Venus that I serve,
Ye been the womman in this world livinge,  
With-oute paramours, to my wittinge,
That I best love, and lothest am to greve,
And that ye witen wel your-self, I leve.'

'Y-wis, myn uncle,' quod she, 'grant mercy;
Your freendship have I founden ever yit;  
I am to no man holden trewely,
So muche as yow, and have so litel quit;
And, with the grace of god, emforth my wit,
As in my gilt I shal you never offende;
And if I have er this, I wol amende.  

'But, for the love of god, I yow beseche,
As ye ben he that I love most and triste,
Lat be to me your fremde manere speche,
And sey to me, your nece, what yow liste:'
And with that word hir uncle anoon hir kiste,  
And seyde, 'Gladly, leve nece dere,
Tak it for good that I shal seye yow here.'

With that she gan hir eiyen doun to caste,
And Pandarus to coghe gan a lyte,
And seyde, 'Nece, alwey, lo! To the laste,  
How-so it be that som men hem delyte
With subtil art hir tales for to endyte,
Yet for al that, in hir entencioun
Hir tale is al for som conclusioun.

'And sithen thende is every tales strengthe,  
And this matere is so bihovely,
What sholde I peynte or drawen it on lengthe
To yow, that been my freend so feithfully?'
And with that word he gan right inwardly
Biholden hir, and loken on hir face,  
And seyde, 'On suche a mirour goode grace!'

Than thoughte he thus: 'If I my tale endyte
Ought hard, or make a proces any whyle,
She shal no savour han ther-in but lyte,
And trowe I wolde hir in my wil bigyle.  
For tendre wittes wenen al be wyle
Ther-as they can nat pleynly understonde;
For-thy hir wit to serven wol I fonde --'

And loked on hir in a besy wyse,
And she was war that he byheld hir so,  
And seyde, 'Lord! So faste ye me avyse!
Sey ye me never er now? What sey ye, no?'
'Yes, yes,' quod he, 'and bet wole er I go;
But, by my trouthe, I thoughte now if ye
Be fortunat, for now men shal it see.  

'For to every wight som goodly aventure
Som tyme is shape, if he it can receyven;
And if that he wol take of it no cure,
Whan that it commeth, but wilfully it weyven,
Lo, neither cas nor fortune him deceyven,  
But right his verray slouthe and wrecchednesse;
And swich a wight is for to blame, I gesse.

'Good aventure, O bele nece, have ye
Ful lightly founden, and ye conne it take;
And, for the love of god, and eek of me,  
Cacche it anoon, lest aventure slake.
What sholde I lenger proces of it make?
Yif me your hond, for in this world is noon,
If that yow list, a wight so wel begoon.

'And sith I speke of good entencioun,  
As I to yow have told wel here-biforn,
And love as wel your honour and renoun
As creature in al this world y-born;
By alle the othes that I have yow sworn,
And ye be wrooth therfore, or wene I lye,  
Ne shal I never seen yow eft with ye.

'Beth nought agast, ne quaketh nat; wher-to?
Ne chaungeth nat for fere so your hewe;
For hardely the werste of this is do;
And though my tale as now be to yow newe,  
Yet trist alwey, ye shal me finde trewe;
And were it thing that me thoughte unsittinge,
To yow nolde I no swiche tales bringe.'

'Now, my good eem, for goddes love, I preye,'
Quod she, 'com of, and tel me what it is;  
For bothe I am agast what ye wol seye,
And eek me longeth it to wite, y-wis.
For whether it be wel or be amis,
Say on, lat me not in this fere dwelle:'
'So wol I doon; now herkneth, I shal telle:  

'Now, nece myn, the kinges dere sone,
The goode, wyse, worthy, fresshe, and free,
Which alwey for to do wel is his wone,
The noble Troilus, so loveth thee,
That, bot ye helpe, it wol his bane be.  
Lo, here is al, what sholde I more seye?
Doth what yow list, to make him live or deye.

'But if ye lete him deye, I wol sterve;
Have her my trouthe, nece, I nil not lyen;
Al sholde I with this knyf my throte kerve --'  
With that the teres braste out of his yen,
And seyde, 'If that ye doon us bothe dyen,
Thus giltelees, than have ye fisshed faire;
What mende ye, though that we bothe apeyre?

'Allas! He which that is my lord so dere,  
That trewe man, that noble gentil knight,
That nought desireth but your freendly chere,
I see him deye, ther he goth up-right,
And hasteth him, with al his fulle might,
For to be slayn, if fortune wol assente;  
Allas! That god yow swich a beautee sente!

'If it be so that ye so cruel be,
That of his deeth yow liste nought to recche,
That is so trewe and worthy, as ye see,
No more than of a Iapere or a wrecche,  
If ye be swich, your beautee may not strecche
To make amendes of so cruel a dede;
Avysement is good bifore the nede.

'Wo worth the faire gemme vertulees!
Wo worth that herbe also that dooth no bote!  
Wo worth that beautee that is routhelees!
Wo worth that wight that tret ech under fote!
And ye, that been of beautee crop and rote,
If therwith-al in you ther be no routhe,
Than is it harm ye liven, by my trouthe!  

'And also thenk wel that this is no gaude;
For me were lever, thou and I and he
Were hanged, than I sholde been his baude,
As heyghe, as men mighte on us alle y-see:
I am thyn eem, the shame were to me,  
As wel as thee, if that I sholde assente,
Thorugh myn abet, that he thyn honour shente.

'Now understond, for I yow nought requere,
To binde yow to him thorugh no beheste,
But only that ye make him bettre chere  
Than ye han doon er this, and more feste,
So that his lyf be saved, at the leste;
This al and som, and playnly our entente;
God help me so, I never other mente.

'Lo, this request is not but skile, y-wis,  
Ne doute of reson, pardee, is ther noon.
I sette the worste that ye dredden this,
Men wolden wondren seen him come or goon:
Ther-ayeins answere I thus a-noon,
That every wight, but he be fool of kinde,  
Wol deme it love of freendship in his minde.

'What? Who wol deme, though he see a man
To temple go, that he the images eteth?
Thenk eek how wel and wy
Ranger Jul 2015
I hate writing these. This will be the third time. This will be the last time. Summer, My dear summer. I know things got messed up bad. I know I was at the center of it all. Now people say I don't care about you. About your happiness. That all I do is try and manipulate you. That I have always just tried to use you. That I never loved you. This hurts me more then you could ever know.  I know this is going to be long. I need to say it tho and I need to say it right.

We have been together as friends for as long as I could remember. its now been 5 years I known you. You where 14 and your Dad had just died recently. You where there, in Gypsys room. She brought me there to meet this family. There was you and Lexi. And you where shy at first. I didn't really know what to say.  You where scared. Scared of most men for good reason. But after a while you came and you pounced on me and cuddled me. This is where it all began. Do you remember?

You where so sweet and so innocent and so wonderfully helpless. It didn't take long to love you. And I don't think it took long for you to love me. I would come online and I would count 1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 5.. and there you where calling me to spend time with you. You where family. You where my friend. You where so amazing. At that time I was in a dark place. And so where you. I was full of anger and I was cold. But when I saw you smiling that all melted away. The only time I was angry around you is where I was watching people be mean to this girl with a huge heart.

But years past and things changed. Things grew. Friends came friends went. I was there night after night talking to you. Picking you up when you where broken. I was there when you smiled and I was there when you cried. When you where broken and all you could do was cry and begged for death I was there. All I ever wanted was to be there for you. And tho it killed us. We survived. And I may not be proud of my self for much but if its true you survived because of me I am proud I saved an amazing soul. The world is a better place with you in it.

I have had the privilege of watching you grow. And when you became older and more matured so did our feelings. Some if not every one thinks that's a line we shouldn't have crossed. I could not help it. And neither could you. But I did fall in love with you and I know you did love me. We became more. Some thing I never knew two people really could be. I am glad I could find that in you. Thank you for loving me. For making me feel like I was worth it. You Are such a big part of my heart and I know it hurts like hell to have the person who made such a big impact and who has such a big part of it to not be there. But it is what it is.

I know I have not been perfect. I know I made a lot of mistakes over the years. You say I am human, that I need to let my self forgive my self. I know your right but when you hurt some one you care about deeply it slowly eats you alive. I remember the day Gypsy said I hurt you. That I made you hurt your self for what I did... I was in a dark place.. I was thinking of destroying my self when you came back. Now I am being told all I do is hurt you. That all I do is damage you. That I made you feel like you where not good enough. That you felt like I piece of meat, Summer I am sorry I am sorry for all the times I hurt you and made you feel like less.  I wanted you to feel like a queen, an angel like the drop of sunshine.

You are beautiful. You really are. You have the biggest blue eyes and the most wonderful smile and when you got butterfly's and how your cheeks would burn. I would count and tell you when I hit 1 you would smile and you would beg me to stop. I wanted to see you smile. I wanted to make you happy because when you where happy nothing else seemed to matter. Please be happy again babe. Like that. Like how you would get all excited I would sit up late at night and write you long winded letters to you telling you how I feel. Because you made me feel so much when all I knew before was pain. Thank you for that. Thank you for giving me some thing good. Some thing to remember.

I hope in the years to come I left you with some thing good to remember. I hope some thing I did mattered to you. I know I taught you to fight and I tried to show you how to be like ice like me and just shake it off. Maybe I finally succeeded. But I hope you have some thing better. Some thing good.  I wish I could have done more, had more time to share things with you. I wanted to take you to art classes coz I know how you loved to watch me draw and how hard you where on your self. I wish we could have gone swimming under the moon light like you wanted. And even tho there are so many things left undone I hope I pray I left you with some thing good. Some thing to hold on to and be proud of. A happy memory. A story or a song.

I know I am braking a lot of promises I made to you. I promised I would always be there. I promised to keep fighting for you. I promised I would always do my best and to never loose sight of you and to not let you be the one who got away. You made me promise these things to you. You did. I know I can't. I can't hold you back I can't try and keep you. You have things you need to do. You have your family there and tho I was going to move there to be with you I know that I could never be a part of that. I promise tho. I don't hate you. I never could. I promise that I will always keep a little bit of your love forever in my heart and I promise even tho life is not the way we planned it last year I promise I will do my best to be the best I can and try to be happy.

Summer, I took you under my wing. I cradled you and I put you back together after all the pain you had been put through. That is how I know you inside and out. That is why I know you when no one else seems to. You always said I gave you a bit of my soul to fix your own. I could not have given it to any one better. I know you will make me proud. You do make me proud baby girl. You came so far and your going to be a nurse. Your going to be making other people so much better. I am proud of you. But for you to do that I need to let you out from under my wing. I need to let you fly away. So fly baby. Fly as high as you can and never look back. Sing your heart out and be the good woman I have watched you grow in to. I will not be there to catch you tho, and you need to learn to pick your self up when you fall. I know you can. I know you don't need me to do that any more. You are strong. And I know your brave and you have teeth to fight with. I know, I have seen it. I have felt it from time to time. I know you are going to be ok.

If you ever get lonely my spirit is with you. And you always miss me remember.. what was it you said, we are under the same sky.. or was it stars. And one day when the day comes and I am dust in the wind I will look down on you and smile. Who knows maybe in the next life we will find each other again, maybe we can do it right.

I may not be able to hold you like I wanted to do with my own arms. I may not ever look at you with my own eyes. I wish it wasn't that way. I could have held you and shown every one that I truly do care for you. And tho we need to say goodbye I remember we always said forever and for always.

I will miss you. You where such an important part of me I know you will make me and every one around you proud.

Good bye my little fox you will be missed
Forever and for always
Danny
I am sorry I ever hurt you. I won't any more. What they say about me is wrong I hope this can show you that. So I am saying good bye.
Incipit prohemium tercii libri.

O blisful light of whiche the bemes clere  
Adorneth al the thridde hevene faire!
O sonnes lief, O Ioves doughter dere,
Plesaunce of love, O goodly debonaire,
In gentil hertes ay redy to repaire!  
O verray cause of hele and of gladnesse,
Y-heried be thy might and thy goodnesse!

In hevene and helle, in erthe and salte see
Is felt thy might, if that I wel descerne;
As man, brid, best, fish, herbe and grene tree  
Thee fele in tymes with vapour eterne.
God loveth, and to love wol nought werne;
And in this world no lyves creature,
With-outen love, is worth, or may endure.

Ye Ioves first to thilke effectes glade,  
Thorugh which that thinges liven alle and be,
Comeveden, and amorous him made
On mortal thing, and as yow list, ay ye
Yeve him in love ese or adversitee;
And in a thousand formes doun him sente  
For love in erthe, and whom yow liste, he hente.

Ye fierse Mars apeysen of his ire,
And, as yow list, ye maken hertes digne;
Algates, hem that ye wol sette a-fyre,
They dreden shame, and vices they resigne;  
Ye do hem corteys be, fresshe and benigne,
And hye or lowe, after a wight entendeth;
The Ioyes that he hath, your might him sendeth.

Ye holden regne and hous in unitee;
Ye soothfast cause of frendship been also;  
Ye knowe al thilke covered qualitee
Of thinges which that folk on wondren so,
Whan they can not construe how it may io,
She loveth him, or why he loveth here;
As why this fish, and nought that, comth to were.  

Ye folk a lawe han set in universe,
And this knowe I by hem that loveres be,
That who-so stryveth with yow hath the werse:
Now, lady bright, for thy benignitee,
At reverence of hem that serven thee,  
Whos clerk I am, so techeth me devyse
Som Ioye of that is felt in thy servyse.

Ye in my naked herte sentement
Inhelde, and do me shewe of thy swetnesse. --
Caliope, thy vois be now present,  
For now is nede; sestow not my destresse,
How I mot telle anon-right the gladnesse
Of Troilus, to Venus heryinge?
To which gladnes, who nede hath, god him bringe!

Explicit prohemium Tercii Libri.

Incipit Liber Tercius.

Lay al this mene whyle Troilus,  
Recordinge his lessoun in this manere,
'Ma fey!' thought he, 'Thus wole I seye and thus;
Thus wole I pleyne unto my lady dere;
That word is good, and this shal be my chere;
This nil I not foryeten in no wyse.'  
God leve him werken as he can devyse!

And, lord, so that his herte gan to quappe,
Heringe hir come, and shorte for to syke!
And Pandarus, that ledde hir by the lappe,
Com ner, and gan in at the curtin pyke,  
And seyde, 'God do bote on alle syke!
See, who is here yow comen to visyte;
Lo, here is she that is your deeth to wyte.'

Ther-with it semed as he wepte almost;
'A ha,' quod Troilus so rewfully,  
'Wher me be wo, O mighty god, thow wost!
Who is al there? I se nought trewely.'
'Sire,' quod Criseyde, 'it is Pandare and I.'
'Ye, swete herte? Allas, I may nought ryse
To knele, and do yow honour in som wyse.'  

And dressede him upward, and she right tho
Gan bothe here hondes softe upon him leye,
'O, for the love of god, do ye not so
To me,' quod she, 'Ey! What is this to seye?
Sire, come am I to yow for causes tweye;  
First, yow to thonke, and of your lordshipe eke
Continuance I wolde yow biseke.'

This Troilus, that herde his lady preye
Of lordship him, wex neither quik ne deed,
Ne mighte a word for shame to it seye,  
Al-though men sholde smyten of his heed.
But lord, so he wex sodeinliche reed,
And sire, his lesson, that he wende conne,
To preyen hir, is thurgh his wit y-ronne.

Cryseyde al this aspyede wel y-nough,  
For she was wys, and lovede him never-the-lasse,
Al nere he malapert, or made it tough,
Or was to bold, to singe a fool a masse.
But whan his shame gan somwhat to passe,
His resons, as I may my rymes holde,  
I yow wole telle, as techen bokes olde.

In chaunged vois, right for his verray drede,
Which vois eek quook, and ther-to his manere
Goodly abayst, and now his hewes rede,
Now pale, un-to Criseyde, his lady dere,  
With look doun cast and humble yolden chere,
Lo, the alderfirste word that him asterte
Was, twyes, 'Mercy, mercy, swete herte!'

And stinte a whyl, and whan he mighte out-bringe,
The nexte word was, 'God wot, for I have,  
As feyfully as I have had konninge,
Ben youres, also god so my sowle save;
And shal til that I, woful wight, be grave.
And though I dar ne can un-to yow pleyne,
Y-wis, I suffre nought the lasse peyne.  

'Thus muche as now, O wommanliche wyf,
I may out-bringe, and if this yow displese,
That shal I wreke upon myn owne lyf
Right sone, I trowe, and doon your herte an ese,
If with my deeth your herte I may apese.  
But sin that ye han herd me som-what seye,
Now recche I never how sone that I deye.'

Ther-with his manly sorwe to biholde,
It mighte han maad an herte of stoon to rewe;
And Pandare weep as he to watre wolde,  
And poked ever his nece newe and newe,
And seyde, 'Wo bigon ben hertes trewe!
For love of god, make of this thing an ende,
Or slee us bothe at ones, er that ye wende.'

'I? What?' quod she, 'By god and by my trouthe,  
I noot nought what ye wilne that I seye.'
'I? What?' quod he, 'That ye han on him routhe,
For goddes love, and doth him nought to deye.'
'Now thanne thus,' quod she, 'I wolde him preye
To telle me the fyn of his entente;  
Yet wist I never wel what that he mente.'

'What that I mene, O swete herte dere?'
Quod Troilus, 'O goodly, fresshe free!
That, with the stremes of your eyen clere,
Ye wolde som-tyme freendly on me see,  
And thanne agreen that I may ben he,
With-oute braunche of vyce on any wyse,
In trouthe alwey to doon yow my servyse,

'As to my lady right and chief resort,
With al my wit and al my diligence,  
And I to han, right as yow list, comfort,
Under your yerde, egal to myn offence,
As deeth, if that I breke your defence;
And that ye deigne me so muche honoure,
Me to comaunden ought in any houre.  

'And I to ben your verray humble trewe,
Secret, and in my paynes pacient,
And ever-mo desire freshly newe,
To serven, and been y-lyke ay diligent,
And, with good herte, al holly your talent  
Receyven wel, how sore that me smerte,
Lo, this mene I, myn owene swete herte.'

Quod Pandarus, 'Lo, here an hard request,
And resonable, a lady for to werne!
Now, nece myn, by natal Ioves fest,  
Were I a god, ye sholde sterve as yerne,
That heren wel, this man wol no-thing yerne
But your honour, and seen him almost sterve,
And been so looth to suffren him yow serve.'

With that she gan hir eyen on him caste  
Ful esily, and ful debonairly,
Avysing hir, and hyed not to faste
With never a word, but seyde him softely,
'Myn honour sauf, I wol wel trewely,
And in swich forme as he can now devyse,  
Receyven him fully to my servyse,

'Biseching him, for goddes love, that he
Wolde, in honour of trouthe and gentilesse,
As I wel mene, eek mene wel to me,
And myn honour, with wit and besinesse  
Ay kepe; and if I may don him gladnesse,
From hennes-forth, y-wis, I nil not feyne:
Now beeth al hool; no lenger ye ne pleyne.

'But nathelees, this warne I yow,' quod she,
'A kinges sone al-though ye be, y-wis,  
Ye shal na-more have soverainetee
Of me in love, than right in that cas is;
Ne I nil forbere, if that ye doon a-mis,
To wrathen yow; and whyl that ye me serve,
Cherycen yow right after ye deserve.  

'And shortly, dere herte and al my knight,
Beth glad, and draweth yow to lustinesse,
And I shal trewely, with al my might,
Your bittre tornen al in-to swetenesse.
If I be she that may yow do gladnesse,  
For every wo ye shal recovere a blisse';
And him in armes took, and gan him kisse.

Fil Pandarus on knees, and up his eyen
To hevene threw, and held his hondes hye,
'Immortal god!' quod he, 'That mayst nought dyen,  
Cupide I mene, of this mayst glorifye;
And Venus, thou mayst maken melodye;
With-outen hond, me semeth that in the towne,
For this merveyle, I here ech belle sowne.

'But **! No more as now of this matere,  
For-why this folk wol comen up anoon,
That han the lettre red; lo, I hem here.
But I coniure thee, Criseyde, and oon,
And two, thou Troilus, whan thow mayst goon,
That at myn hous ye been at my warninge,  
For I ful wel shal shape youre cominge;

'And eseth ther your hertes right y-nough;
And lat see which of yow shal bere the belle
To speke of love a-right!' ther-with he lough,
'For ther have ye a layser for to telle.'  
Quod Troilus, 'How longe shal I dwelle
Er this be doon?' Quod he, 'Whan thou mayst ryse,
This thing shal be right as I yow devyse.'

With that Eleyne and also Deiphebus
Tho comen upward, right at the steyres ende;  
And Lord, so than gan grone Troilus,
His brother and his suster for to blende.
Quod Pandarus, 'It tyme is that we wende;
Tak, nece myn, your leve at alle three,
And lat hem speke, and cometh forth with me.'  

She took hir leve at hem ful thriftily,
As she wel coude, and they hir reverence
Un-to the fulle diden hardely,
And speken wonder wel, in hir absence,
Of hir, in preysing of hir excellence,  
Hir governaunce, hir wit; and hir manere
Commendeden, it Ioye was to here.

Now lat hir wende un-to hir owne place,
And torne we to Troilus a-yein,
That gan ful lightly of the lettre passe  
That Deiphebus hadde in the gardin seyn.
And of Eleyne and him he wolde fayn
Delivered been, and seyde that him leste
To slepe, and after tales have reste.

Eleyne him kiste, and took hir leve blyve,  
Deiphebus eek, and hoom wente every wight;
And Pandarus, as faste as he may dryve,
To Troilus tho com, as lyne right;
And on a paillet, al that glade night,
By Troilus he lay, with mery chere,  
To tale; and wel was hem they were y-fere.

Whan every wight was voided but they two,
And alle the dores were faste y-shette,
To telle in short, with-oute wordes mo,
This Pandarus, with-outen any lette,  
Up roos, and on his beddes syde him sette,
And gan to speken in a sobre wyse
To Troilus, as I shal yow devyse:

'Myn alderlevest lord, and brother dere,
God woot, and thou, that it sat me so sore,  
When I thee saw so languisshing to-yere,
For love, of which thy wo wex alwey more;
That I, with al my might and al my lore,
Have ever sithen doon my bisinesse
To bringe thee to Ioye out of distresse,  

'And have it brought to swich plyt as thou wost,
So that, thorugh me, thow stondest now in weye
To fare wel, I seye it for no bost,
And wostow which? For shame it is to seye,
For thee have I bigonne a gamen pleye  
Which that I never doon shal eft for other,
Al-though he were a thousand fold my brother.

'That is to seye, for thee am I bicomen,
Bitwixen game and ernest, swich a mene
As maken wommen un-to men to comen;  
Al sey I nought, thou wost wel what I mene.
For thee have I my nece, of vyces clene,
So fully maad thy gentilesse triste,
That al shal been right as thy-selve liste.

'But god, that al wot, take I to witnesse,  
That never I this for coveityse wroughte,
But only for to abregge that distresse,
For which wel nygh thou deydest, as me thoughte.
But, gode brother, do now as thee oughte,
For goddes love, and kep hir out of blame,  
Sin thou art wys, and save alwey hir name.

'For wel thou wost, the name as yet of here
Among the peple, as who seyth, halwed is;
For that man is unbore, I dar wel swere,
That ever wiste that she dide amis.  
But wo is me, that I, that cause al this,
May thenken that she is my nece dere,
And I hir eem, and trattor eek y-fere!

'And were it wist that I, through myn engyn,
Hadde in my nece y-put this fantasye,  
To do thy lust, and hoolly to be thyn,
Why, al the world up-on it wolde crye,
And seye, that I the worste trecherye
Dide in this cas, that ever was bigonne,
And she for-lost, and thou right nought y-wonne.  

'Wher-fore, er I wol ferther goon a pas,
Yet eft I thee biseche and fully seye,
That privetee go with us in this cas;
That is to seye, that thou us never wreye;
And be nought wrooth, though I thee ofte preye  
To holden secree swich an heigh matere;
For skilful is, thow wost wel, my preyere.

'And thenk what wo ther hath bitid er this,
For makinge of avantes, as men rede;
And what mischaunce in this world yet ther is,  
Fro day to day, right for that wikked dede;
For which these wyse clerkes that ben dede
Han ever yet proverbed to us yonge,
That "Firste vertu is to kepe tonge."

'And, nere it that I wilne as now tabregge  
Diffusioun of speche, I coude almost
A thousand olde stories thee alegge
Of wommen lost, thorugh fals and foles bost;
Proverbes canst thy-self y-nowe, and wost,
Ayeins that vyce, for to been a labbe,  
Al seyde men sooth as often as they gabbe.

'O tonge, allas! So often here-biforn
Hastow made many a lady bright of hewe
Seyd, "Welawey! The day that I was born!"
And many a maydes sorwes for to newe;  
And, for the more part, al is untrewe
That men of yelpe, and it were brought to preve;
Of kinde non avauntour is to leve.

'Avauntour and a lyere, al is on;
As thus: I pose, a womman graunte me  
Hir love, and seyth that other wol she non,
And I am sworn to holden it secree,
And after I go telle it two or three;
Y-wis, I am avauntour at the leste,
And lyere, for I breke my biheste.  

'Now loke thanne, if they be nought to blame,
Swich maner folk; what shal I clepe hem, what,
That hem avaunte of wommen, and by name,
That never yet bihighte hem this ne that,
Ne knewe hem more than myn olde hat?  
No wonder is, so god me sende hele,
Though wommen drede with us men to dele.

'I sey not this for no mistrust of yow,
Ne for no wys man, but for foles nyce,
And for the harm that in the world is now,  
As wel for foly ofte as for malyce;
For wel wot I, in wyse folk, that vyce
No womman drat, if she be wel avysed;
For wyse ben by foles harm chastysed.

'But now to purpos; leve brother dere,  
Have al this thing that I have seyd in minde,
And keep thee clos, and be now of good chere,
For at thy day thou shalt me trewe finde.
I shal thy proces sette in swich a kinde,
And god to-forn, that it shall thee suffyse,  
For it shal been right as thou wolt devyse.

'For wel I woot, thou menest wel, parde;
Therfore I dar this fully undertake.
Thou wost eek what thy lady graunted thee,
And day is set, the chartres up to make.  
Have now good night, I may no lenger wake;
And bid for me, sin thou art now in blisse,
That god me sende deeth or sone lisse.'

Who mighte telle half the Ioye or feste
Which that the sowle of Troilus tho felte,  
Heringe theffect of Pandarus biheste?
His olde wo, that made his herte swelte,
Gan tho for Ioye wasten and to-melte,
And al the richesse of his sykes sore
At ones fledde, he felte of hem no more.  

But right so as these holtes and these hayes,
That han in winter dede been and dreye,
Revesten hem in grene, whan that May is,
Whan every ***** lyketh best to pleye;
Right in that selve wyse, sooth to seye,  
Wax sodeynliche his herte ful of Ioye,
That gladder was ther never man in Troye.

And gan his look on Pandarus up caste
Ful sobrely, and frendly for to see,
And seyde, 'Freend, in Aprille the laste,  
As wel thou wost, if it remembre thee,
How neigh the deeth for wo thou founde me;
And how thou didest al thy bisinesse
To knowe of me the cause of my distresse.

'Thou wost how longe I it for-bar to seye  
To thee, that art the man that I best triste;
And peril was it noon to thee by-wreye,
That wiste I wel; but tel me, if thee liste,
Sith I so looth was that thy-self it wiste,
How dorst I mo tellen of this matere,  
That quake now, and no wight may us here?

'But natheles, by that god I thee swere,
That, as him list, may al this world governe,
And, if I lye, Achilles with his spere
Myn herte cleve, al were my lyf eterne,  
As I am mortal, if I late or yerne
Wolde it b
RACHANA Dec 2016
DIL - DIL SE

DIL DIL SE ** JAYE KHFA THO KYA ** .
KHFA HOKE CHUUT JAYE THO KYA **.
SATH CAHA THA KISI APNE KA WO APNA HI SATH NAA AYE THO KYA **.
KADAM SE KADAM CLNA THA USKE SATH WO NAA CHAL PAYE THO KYA **.
HUM THO INTJAR KRTE RHE UNKA MAGER YEE INTJAR HI RHE JAYE THO KYA **.
NO
Ston Poet Jan 2016
Young Ston..Oh..
I glow,Oh, I won't stop No..Oh..I'm on go..Oh..(Ohh3)..Yeah, ** I glow..(Oh5)..I...glow..(Ohh6)..I won't stop Noo...(Ohh4)..I'm on go..(Ohh4)..I won't stop Noo..(Ohh4)..I'm on go..(Ohh4)..I glow..(Ohh4)..Uhh,..I glow...(I won't stop2)..(Noo4)..Oh.., I'm on (go7)..Yeah I'm focused, Yeah I be glowing..man I'm on go, Yeah, I glow *****..(I'm on go3)..(Oh2)..(go8)..Yeah ***** I (glow3)..(Ohh3)...I won't stop..(no7)..I'm too (close3)..I'm on (go3)..I (glow3)..Oh, I won't drop the ball,..(no4)..Im too focused..(Oh4)..I'm too close to succeding , so I'm on (go3)..(Ohh4)..(I'm on go3)..(go5)..Yeah **.., I glow..(Oh9)..
/I won't stop glowing.. (No
2)/2
I'm on..(go
6)..(Oh6)..for sure Ayo..

I gotta get my safe filled up dude, straight cake nothing but cash on me..Yeah **, **** the Federal Banks dawg, I been trappin so I got that ***** money, Imma throw some to mom dukes & let her open up her own bakery, so we can clean Dat ****,  yeah man.. My whole family know what's really real, Yeah they stick to  the g code, Yeah they already know the deal man..
My bloodline is filled  with real gangsters *****, that always kept it true & trill, Yeah..so I would never tell, death before dishonor, Yeah..so you don't wanna ever betray me man or your familia will be missing ya, I'm just letting y'all fuccers know from the beginning, Yeah..I look like I'm weak & I'm a geek but I'll have you swimming wit the fishes, Yeah mob ****, Yeah *****, I'm plug in wit the Italians, so like Loaf said ***** ****** you don't wanna..(try me Yeah
2)..then its (bye2)..homie for real, ***** *** ****** this (the statement3)..Aye Man

I usta eat ramen noodles all day everyday man Yeah even for breakfast, but now I'm renting the whole Ruth Chris out in Buckhead for my ****** Disciples, Yeah all of my OFTR Souljas..
wit me everyday & everyday now we getting paid too man, & baked too..(Yeah2)..We making statements..Aye, Yeah Fo sho..

I'm on go..(go
6)..
Yeah dawg, I gotta go..(oh6)..Imma keep rolling mo, Yeah Imma keep going..Oh..(go2)..Oh..fo sho,..(Ohh3)..Woah,..Yeah I gotta..(go3)..Yeah..I gotta (go2)..(Ohh5)..Yeah of course Imma (glow8)..that's..(Fo sho4)..Yeah dawg..Uhh,yeah I gotta go..

Ohh, whatever God wants me to go then I'm going hes my master & I must obey him or I'm just useless like a 80s era cell phone,Yeah so whatever God wants me to do then Im on it, like a good assistant..
The Heavenly Father assistes me that's why I am still living today,..He's my creator, he's an inspiration for you & me Aye..Uhh Imma **** Yeah..Imma..(****5)..,real talk..
Imma always give (my all
3)..(all2)....but not my soul that belongs to the Heavenly Father,..Yeah..(Fo sho5)..(Ohh2), Uhh..Young Ston..

(Ohh
7)..Uhh..I won't be stopped..(Noo3)..(Oh2)..I'm too..(strong3)..(Ohh6)..like the Hulk, Oh..I'm incredible & I'm untouchable, Yeah..Imma threat to the world..no Osama Bin Laden tho, but Death to America Fo sho..

(yo8)..I won't stop..(Noo6)..(Ohh10)..,I'm on (go8)..Oh..I (glow7)..Oh..(goo8)..Uhh...(Ohh7)..
Woah,Oh..Let's (go
6)..Oh..

Im on (go9), Like P.D Eastman, go dawg go..OFTR no we don't support these hos..we only support the real yo..Imma blow, Imma shine, & Imma glow like a nuclear bomb dude, Noo I can't give up now, I'm too close to the finish line, my ***** I will have my victory man,Yeah..
I'm gonna prove all of them doubters wrong,..OFTR we all Kings & Queens , yo these busters all ready tryna steal flow from me..,yo forget being  in a secret society,..Imma let my gang be know mane , Yeah Imma real ***** & I'm proud of being one mane..ayo,What happen to potten lyrics & conscience word play...Hip Hop is dead, so Imma  resurrected it my *****..
These rappers be in the studio playing house naked & dress up wit each other, then claim to be..(bout it
2)..on cameras,..Yeah man..

Yo, shoutout to Nas, Aye, I get that ether flow subconsciously when I rhyme, ayo my Flow kinda reminds ya when hip hop first had started, now these rappers sound like Prince, too much purple drank got these ****** going ******* , I can't understand a **** thang they rhyming..these ****** just don't make no sense anymore, yeah they all  so pathetic..,they ain't even making they own profits, all that revenue is going inside the white manz pockets,they **'s yeah they getting  pimped..By The Illuminati..Uhh,Yeah

I dun gott hot like KD at Rucker Park forget the hook, leave it out, I'm shooting it man, Uhh..I wrote alot of legendary **** while living with my  mama, so yeah I gotta give back to my mama, Noo I won't do what Kanye West or Jennifer Hudson did to their families, **** where yall souls at..Yall suppose to be ******, but yall on that crazy white kid ****..Tyler Hadley..Uhh, I guess the money done, made yall its puppets, Ohh well, ****, yall inspired me to not do what y'all did..so thanks,.. Aye
I have no fears, Only For my Heavenly Father & that's outta love & respect...

Aye man..I wrote this early New Years eve 2015, I had to end the year off wit something deep that'll make the people think & at the same time, let all these elementary reading level looking *** ****** see why I'm the new king in my city,..so hand the crown to me TI, no disrespect, I know you see me , real recognize real,Yeah or has being a celebrity made you blind to the facts ****, & What's good Ye,..what happen to Jesus walks..you Satans ***** now,..You ain't no God..Uhh..****..I just wanna know,Ayo  what's wrong wit asking questions man, that's what's so wrong wit people today, they so afraid of the truth, but living the pagan Satanic way..****..
What's wrong wit this world, I know its alot of information that they scared to share wit us, but we need to know, before Independence Day the movie become our reality, Yeah mane..let's change the world & make it a better place..(Ohh6)

(yo
8)..I won't stop..(Noo6)..(Ohh10)..,I'm on (go8)..Oh..I (glow7)..Oh..(goo8)..Uhh...(Ohh7)..
Woah,Oh..Let's (go6)..Oh..

Let's do it, come along wit me my brothers & my sisters & let's all make history my ***** its much room but you can't be afraid of the evil..(Noo
2).., & You gotta be willing to make sacrifices for G-o-d only..(Ohh3)..Yeah of course sometimes we may lose, but the losses only makes you stronger..(Ohh2)..I won't stop..(Noo2)..because I know when the end comes that I am doing the right thing..Yeah man, I'm glowing..

/I'm on..(go
3)..(Ohh4)/..3
(Ohh8)..(I glow2)(glow2)..(Yeah2)..(I glow3)..(Yeah5)..Uhh..Yeah (I glow2)..Yeah I glow man,..I glow..(glow3)..Yeah , (I glow3)...,Yeah..(I glow3)..man..Uhh..

I'm the mufucking man, Yeah I usta have nothing , I usta to sleep on the floor, or I usta to sleep on a sofa.., I wake up my neck & back be so sore, but I soared away from that struggle on to success dawg..Uhh, Yeah Imma skinny young dude that loves to spit my mind on a beat & smoke good kush to yo..I remember a time not so long ago, when I couldn't even barley afford to, but **** I stilled smoked tho dude..(Ohh8)
I was jobless stressing out my mama, causing problems around the house man because I wasn't trying get a job man..Yeah I had drive man, all I ever wanted to do tho is stay at the crib & write hits..Uhh,Yeah you can say that I was lost & confused but I was only 19..man I was only tryna figure out my true  purpose on this earth instead of slaving for the white manz..

So I started up my own business OFTR, Yeah..Im only tryna give the people what they need not what they want man & that's what they gonna get..yo..we can all learn & teach each other new things, cooperation, Yeah we can all be Leaders & rulers instead of being so against each other mane..real spit we need to cease with the stupidity & be a family, because we can all glow Yeah we can all glow my *****, we gotta go  make some moves, before its too late & the end times come & people don't know what to do man..I said we can all glow,Yeah we can all glow man, so Lets glow together, & grow together to my *****..(Yeah
4)..

(Ohh8)..I won't stop..(no2)..I'm on..(go9)..(Oh4)..I won't slow down at all..(no4)..(I'm on go,Yeah2)..(go7)....Ohhwoah..go..go

Like some DC **** dawg,..Uhh, I'm bringing the whole hood wit me, everybody gone eat Yeah..& if you want beef from me, I don't keep none like a vegetarian,Yeah I keep alot of proteins, knowledge & wisdom mane, you can eat them , Aye man, if you hating *****, ******* & If you ever disrespect the clique that's gonna be yo last time man..Aye, so you better repent..
Young Ston, The ****** Disciple, Yeah I love to stay fried but I ain't no dummy, Imma OFTR Soulja,...**** right mane..Aye

They always got something say..Yeah mane
Them nasty ******* & ***** ******  like to stay talking , Yeah ***** they talk alot of fucc **** concerning me man..but I don't care about their words because mines more powerful, They Bruce Wayne & I'm Clark Kent dawg..,Uhh,Yeah..Aye..
I'm one of one like a custom made breitling, I'm so confident in myself , I got alot of confidence in my team..OFTR, we gone win no matter how hard the mission seems, like we was train by the A Team..
Yeah we winners mane so they don't gotta notice me, because I already know where I'm heading mane..Its cool, I'm good, I'm gravey,Yeah Its okay mane.I'm g.Cuhz, (I'm still glowing,Yeah..Uhh
2)..I'm shinning my light bright on all the hate,..*****

(I glow3)..(Yeah2)..(I glow3)..man...(Ohh6)..,yo, I said...(I glow6)..(Oh7)..Yeah..(Oh3)..I won't stop...(no9)...(Yeah4), I'm on (go5)..(Oh5)..I won't stop..(no2)..Im on..(go5)...(Oh6)..I won't stop  no,Oh,..I'm on go **..(Ohh4)..
Woah!!
Uhh..

OFTR, this The Statement, dawg,..no I won't stop, I'm on go..Yeah..Ayo **** the rules, **** the laws, we breaking them all, we gone ball, Yeah Fo show..,so they can say whatever they wanna say man..,Yeah They can think whatever they wanna think about ya my *****..let them jeaslous busters hate..don't worry, be happy, let the doubters be your motivation,.. Uhh,...I'm the streets preacher, I'm The ****** Disciple, you don't wanna battle against me dawg,..(no you don't
3)..(Oh4)..Uhh, yo much love to all my real ****** thats still breathing Yeah..shoutouts to all yall..yo..
OFTR, we ascending, Yeah *****..we blowing up like the Al Quada goons, OFTR we thugs tho ****..
I don't got much food in my refrigerator, but I ain't even hungry my *****,..I'm getting full off of these rhymes, Yeah this is spiritual food man & it tastes so good like og..Uhh,mane,Noo I don't pop beans, but I do keep alot of bars on me & they got me in another plane..Aye

Yeah I do admit I must change some of my gangsta ways, Im so hectic, but noo I can't  change my gene's,like I'm homeless,..Ayo, Yeah I live life so recklessly,but I'm humble..I'm so misunderstood,I'm  just different man, but I love the way that God has made me...OFTR..(Yeah
2)..I told them ******  that this **** would happen way before I was even established as a certifted business..Yeah I show em, when I was posting songs on my tumblr page & talking so much **** on twitter,..Yeah I forewarn you *******, them busters didn't even get to  see me like Jesus secondcoming.., no they didn't take me serious , so now they gotta deal wit the consequences, man, they only made my job more easy when I finally made it..

Hahaha..no Davis..,what up tho my *****..Look whos laughing now,Yeah now who's richer not yall ***** made *** **** a ****  arch ya back for a deal  *** rappers.., Uhh **** yo whole squad they all just sweet ***** *** ******, yall could never make the moves I dun made anyway..Noo I ain't perfect but yall too of the world, yall too weak & afraid of the truth..Uhh
Yall **** ****** know who yall are theres no need for me to even say y'all ***** *** names..OFTR We the realest gang, we the best in the A, we the best world wide too mane, Aye..,Yeah..

I'm glowing.. When they was like "Noo you wouldn't.."..but forget em, Yeah **** em, forget em,..Aye, where all of my **** gangsters & down women at who got my back show some love, I show some back..Oh..(Yeah4)..& I ain't even rapping right now *****, this the Outro,..So I'm making my last few statements before this beat stops, ****..I know the engineer tired, I been  working him towards a billion..Uhh, my ***** they saying what I'm tryna do is thee impossible, but I'm on..(go3)..(Oh3)..I won't stop (Noo3),I'm on..(go3)..(Oh5)..Fo show..Uhh..
You can do anything you wanna do my *****, & you can be anything that you wanna be..,Yeah & that's for sure.. Real gangsta talk..

Uhh, Shoutout to all my OFTRA Souljas , Shoutout to all my ****** Disciples, I love all of yall, for real my *****, I really do mean that to..yall the only ones I'll give my heart too..Yeah..
Only For The Real *****..Only For The Righteous.., Yeah,..OFTR, Only For The Real business, Yeah.., Only For The Righteous..
(Yeah Only For The Real *****, Yeah Only For The Righteous*2)..This is for the righteous & this is for the Real..only..for real homie
stonpoet.tumblr.com
You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease,
Within this region I subsist,
Whose spirits falter in the mist,
And languish for the purple seas.

It is the land that freemen till,
That sober-suited Freedom chose,
The land, where girt with friends or foes
A man may speak the thing he will;

A land of settled government,
A land of just and old renown,
Where Freedom slowly broadens down
From precedent to precedent:

Where faction seldom gathers head,
But by degrees to fullness wrought,
The strength of some diffusive thought

Should banded unions persecute
Opinion, and induce a time
When single thought is civil crime,
And individual freedom mute;

Tho' Power should make from land to land
The name of Britain trebly great--
Tho' every channel of the State
Should fill and choke with golden sand--

Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth,
Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,
And I will see before I die
The palms and temples of the South.
Frank Ruland Oct 2014
Oh, ye, who dare to slander rhyme and meter—
I call tho’ to stand before me and lay claim
as to why tho’ carelessly dare tempt my anger?
Who amongst tho’ is not a blasphemous bleeder?
I sayeth unto you, your faces will be to blame
when the Devil appears before you as a stranger!

You, who thinks yourself 10,000 times a man,
will be reduced to a worm, writing in flames!
‘Tis my hands that keep you from burning!
Surely, tho’ do not comprehend, nor understand
what awaits the sinners for their grievous games!
The wheels of Hell are yearning—churning!

Rivers of vengeance, held back by frayed strings!
Sickly stitched across the mouths of amnestic oceans
where the souls of the ****** go to drown!
Tho’ doest not know what agony acrimony brings!
Shed thine own self of such caustic notions,
Unless ye wish to suffer a downward spiral down!

Down! Down into the furnace of pain, epitomized!
Falling! Falling and plummeting towards mouths
gaped open; awaiting those with wicked souls!
He will be rendered of euphoria and demonized
for all eternity as his soul is dragged down south!
Smoldering purgatives surely will inflict Hellish tolls!

Repent, lest you forever be consumed by ghastly fire
and lost to 10,000 times the pain you inflicted!
Insidious insects held so closely over white-hot coals!
Do not lose your soul, because you were lost to ire!
I stand before ye, preaching to all the wicked!
Sinners in the hands of an angry poet; save your souls!
This poem was inspired by Johnathon Edwards, "In the Hands of an Angry God," (in)famous sermon. Johnathan Edwards was a figure who was cited as one of the people who were responsible for the Great Awakening. His vivid imagery rendered people's faces pale, and caused significant controversy in Massachusetts, where the sermon was originally delivered. My take on this is not of literal damnation and Hell fire--if you cannot tell. I wrote this because I love the "ranty" feeling that some sermons bear. A lot of good writers are demonized for what they write, just because some people are offended or do not agree with their views. The cast them into perdition, very unfairly, and this has caused many a great writer to be driven to very dismal brinks. Don't hate on writers, people. If you don't like something, put it down and pick up something less provoking. Dr. Seuss, or Martha Stewart, is recommended.
One day I will depart the train at a station without a name,
Pull emergency cord and take the plunge thru parted doors.
I'll pack no suitcase or bindle, in my head young, free and single,
I will be a living swindle - wherefore art prat poet of before?
New job doing something I've shown no interest in before,
Change my name to 'Neville Moore'.

I'll do a Reginald Perrin, leave red herring threads at Sherring-
ham, then dice-rolled palookaville of new self I shall explore.
When Palookas call me Neville, they won't see this wasted rebel,
But numpty Neville, on the level, who misplaced his wasted days of yore.
Amnesiac clerk stoical over mist-shrouded days of yore.
Only knew my name was Neville Moore.

Neville will moonlight at night-school, pick up a trade that's practical,
In minimalist digs post-dossing on unforeseen saviour's floor.
Time's sandstorm obscures lyrics, John Doe-penned hieroglyphics
- lost soul Lysander's from Norwich. His mind shut like a shoved closed drawer
To Poesy's Pandora's box of ******* in indigo iron drawer
In Norwich. No bones to Neville Moore.

Neville will be a straight arrow, nice chap whose mind is narrow,
Tepid tryer temping at call-centre, lockjaw forevermore.
The blandest of mystery men, what was Neville's name again?
Man with no memories blends in; my dead ringer, stunky, strong-jawed.
Eye-witness testimony of 36 years will gladly be abjured
- done myself good deed poll: Neville Moore.

I'll  abscond so left Lysander might be eternal loose end, the
Inner poltergeist confined to an indigo iron drawer.
Tomorrow I'll do a John Stonehouse bog-snorkelling, a grandiose
loser who fled being infamous in his own dinnerhour, a bore
Unto myself.  I'll abandon ship,  then life will be less of a bore,
Being much more boring Neville Moore.

And I'll meet a girl called Sybil, Palookashire an idyll,
Where a man with no past can just wash up upon the shore.
For if child is father of the man, Neville'll be an upbeat orphan!
Labels torn off the clothes from Oxfam what Memory's Outlaw wore,
Newfoundhometownbound Mister X such clueless clothes wore,
Clean the pockets of Neville Moore.

Sybil won't be the type to probe, at night she'll pop her Zopiclone,
Cuddle up to normal Neville, earnest the embrace of average amour.
We will rent a little bedsit and expend a lotta effort
To make our place seem white-picket-fenced, tho'  we resided on 3rd floor.
Down updrafts of Fate, untempted to faceplant from the 3rd floor
Is plain ol' sane ol' Neville Moore. 

No temptation, but something racing, the unexplained midnight pacing,
And murmurs in Nev's sleep there's reams in an indigo iron drawer.
But in daylight we'll have daughter, from nowhere the name 'Cobania'
(Nev wouldn't dig Nirvana, fin de siecle scream's aural chore,
nihilistening not for Neville in zen of playful household chores).
Shrug-a-lugs of numb Neville Moore.

Neville wouldn't get promotion, Neville doesn't have much gumption.
Frankenstein's **** domesticus by design, Nev's a swollen snore.
Lice would have mocked, 'Call this living?' Lice is dead, would always give in
To windmills' wheeling withering, watched like a raven, set no store
In what life we have worth living, which is what life life has in store
For unquestioning Neville Moore. 

Neville, don't be snarling slave to snafus by another self made,
Be complete now the only piece is the missing piece of the jigsaw.
Radio receives no 'roger', they won't see Cobania as a toddler,
But for famalam, there's succour: lines left in indigo iron drawer.
For Lice did leave literally living will in indigo iron drawer:
Poem entitled Neville Moore.

Nev and Sybil will have ups and downs, in facades cracks gouge frowns;
Castaway's fury in his eyes curdles Florida coleslaw.
I don't need Sybil's mithering, I mean 'Nev' dint, thinking about writing
- did we do Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining', too nuts too soon in Neville Moore?
Polter-Lice rattling in indigo iron liar's den re Neville Moore's 
Writer's shock swan-song for Neville Moore.

And sweet phantom Cobania, I hope she ends up saner
than her Canoe Man old man, sent reeling by subconscious southpaw
Of split personality punch-ups,  one-man-band fight clubs,
punchdrunk on bad self burps, tho' he burped Cobania with awe.
Pneumatically patting doting dad, errant soon so overawed
By humdrum Heaven, Neville Moore's.

Witness protection program to hide me from self-hate's hitman,
But Miltonic Satan's heart held Hell, for killer within is law
Unto himself. Thus phoenix photo album of my alter ego
To ***-end before Year Zero was burnt down, act of soul at war.
Greener grass scorched earth, everyman Eden sacked by selves at war,
Lysander negging out Neville Moore.

His ship's sailed ment'lly down the toilet - can't see the dream, it's ultraviolet!
Sybil wagging her finger with ****** of a fishwives' wappenshaw.
Cobania's cantankerous tween, Nev hears fin de siecle scream
- call the toilet 'Kurt', it's flushing the dream! Behold:  tombstone beneath 
                                                        ­    a sycamore,
Man from nowhere nowhere now beneath suicide's sycamore.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Beneath me to quote Ocean Colour Scene, beneath sycamore willow-leaned,
But day I caught train derailed: no malaise of glory, Anon no more.
Cobania in black with ***** highlights will grieve Daddy on the quiet;
Sybil indignant that the senseless,  existential eyesore
Option all her lost-and-found, found-and-lost, haunted hubbie saw.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Nev won't see Cobania grow up: she doesn't exist - s' good job!   
Yet I'll miss driving lessons and wedding, even if shaggy dog's dewclaw
Scratched itself out, vestigial scythe: Neville was never alive.
But this 2.4, 2.0 narrative smelted indigo iron drawer.
Cenotaph recast as mask, new visage's vista dark as in a drawer
Now quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

After Poe's misnomer, well, misnumbered: one short, 17 stanzas  
Ironically encode birthday of old dud cub who overroars
Last-ditch striped leopard, tame un-me. Lord Lucan, he WAS lucky
-  there's freedom in fake ID! But Neville grew sick, sick of me no more
Now as one two selves expire, same sigh of relief 'low sallow sycamore:
Thank **** Lice is nevermore.
My birthday is 17/05.
LIAN LAO Jul 2015
How is it possible
To miss someone
Even tho he's just in the other room?

How is it possible
To crave for someone's presence
Even tho he's sitting next to you?

How is it possible
To love someone so deep
Even tho it is unrequited?

How is it possible
To be broken by someone
Even tho he was never yours?

How is it possible
To wish for something
Even tho we all know it is impossible to happen?

How is it possible?
How is it?
How is?
How?
WW1 WW2 Dubyadubya3

(turbosouthernfried president w/ coke)

Wheyfaced WW4torn Widows

(spittoon image son of a talkfool from a longline)

Wheyfaced WW5torn Widows Warturned ******

(of talkfools in thrall to doctor occident)

Pastweeping WW6 Widowswarturnedwhores Wankoff WW7lords

(& other arsekissingers bearing airwolfpackages)

Woldwaltzing Wommel's Wazzocky Wristwatch Won WW8

(americuntbearing dr.doom in blue jeans )

WW9 Or Was It UUUU10 The Greatest Trick The Dubya Ever Pulled

(o -cide! quanticide! qualiticide! shiacide! sunnicide! up-)

WW11 Wind In The Willows Vs. Where The Wild Things Are

(-cidedoom! heil ideolodger cop tours amereich a-)

Wu-Tang Wenceslas Did Look Out To Wot Who's At WW12 W/ Who

(pache putative peacekeepers like abyssscythe parents)

WW13 Was Just A War To Wardoff War W/ War War

(chickenshits in boeing beefy tattoo nutshell the kernel cinders outta kids)

Wappenschawhinging Wareeyores Didn't Wanna Die In WW14

(white orange agent phosphorus wadewilsoning youth thin asia)

Warmongs Watching 'Alien Vs. Primula' Awailable On Bluway Wideo & WMD

(marlborocountry obsidional smokers of nationalised foreign forests)

Winking Warcorresponsors Dent Cred, So Just Di'nt Wink ;-) ;-)

(& nationalised fruits of the forest, totemic nutritious trivia)

WW Deja Vu Tho' Not The Former U.S.O.S.N.O.V.C.R., It's US=A Ruskhour,

(of red silverbacks primalcommunists marxist gorillas)

Wider Conflagration © Money For Old Europe

(daisycutters are daisyraiseczars, whumping warmjungle socialism)

Wigga Wandwigger Wimey Wyke Wozzy Wabbo

(yezhovschina will seem but a user's shiner next to us-china)

Woon Waki Wytie Wago Wankee Winky Wap = WW²

(international tittletattle + ballistic backwatchers = WW Certificate K-PG)

Winstolf Churchhimmler Was Never Wamblecroft At Wetwork

(vietnumb flaggingpasschendaele crimeansnore agincorpse)

Japoleon Bombaport Was Never Wamblecroft At Waterbloodsports

(even peacetime's but a meta nam for emasculated rambofan)

Every Payback Waterfall Is An Elevator In The Overlook

(boer war doesn't even touch the -cides of mars)

WW15 Will Be a Pathetic War Like A Letting War

(baulklands falkans batarangofbaghdad wolf of farrow says)

WW16 Was Warpartypiece For Wemon Wonga & Whippingboyz

(her heard everyherdy's fist theory of history is **** homini lupus)

'Mandible-Mandible Is Better Than Edibleman-Edibleman' - Winnie Va Pour

(gestarpospangled gag, sicker heights pulitzers should police)

But Peace Might As Well Be A Passe Fist Whilst Atomihawkcurse

(or kowtow bone sow to god & his flags of infinite paedophagy)

Of Full Spectrum Dominance Hawk Their Heck, Raptor Values

(allah 'avin allaugh w/ muhammadman atta atta)

That Also Corrupt Chimurenga Avengers & Krishnikovs Of Kashmir

(great pair of babels going south to macadam nation)

Like Incidental Minks Of Warpelf Warped Elves

(both the infidel eagle & osama bingowing earners hereafterburners)

Of Badman Admin In Die Goldzahngrube Kanada

(amerikaput christicidal as avuncular ayatollah w/ nuke quran)

Because There Is Only 1 Character Der Wille Zur Macht

(because there is only 1 act der wille zur macht)

No Peacenik Liberators Manumit Umits Of Nen, Deliver Us Unto Valnillahalla

(tho' bestlaid treatises are but cross storks ferrying thugly ducklings)

Before World Bleeders, Shepnel Shrapherds Lead Us Into
Poppyfields Of Tommy K

(that boom into aggreswans like the kaolin coruscation)

Wotsitler GOP-zilla Tyranno Sapiens Vs. Iranosaurus Nex'

(ian botham wielding mjolnir might rhinestone, lilywhite hiroshima bobbles)

Making Tommies & Jerries Out Of Cowboys & Islums

(& the only 1s beyond the apollyon will be already bellyup cosmonauts)

Congeries Of Tom & Jerry & Tom & Jerry & Tom & Jerry

& WW Tom & Jerry & WW Tom & Jerry & WW Tom & Jerry: bellicosmos

(peace is the uneventful unfull overness post-killallwillkillall)
Locksley Hall

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn:
Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn.

'T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call,
Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall;

Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts,
And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts.

Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest,
Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West.

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade,
Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.

Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth sublime
With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time;

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed;
When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed:

When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see;
Saw the Vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.--

In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast;
In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest;

In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove;
In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young,
And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung.

And I said, "My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me,
Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee."

On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour and a light,
As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night.

And she turn'd--her ***** shaken with a sudden storm of sighs--
All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes--

Saying, "I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong";
Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?" weeping, "I have loved thee long."

Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands;
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might;
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.

Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring,
And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fulness of the Spring.

Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships,
And our spirits rush'd together at the touching of the lips.

O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, mine no more!
O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, barren shore!

Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung,
Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue!

Is it well to wish thee happy?--having known me--to decline
On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than mine!

Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his level day by day,
What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with clay.

As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown,
And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force,
Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

What is this? his eyes are heavy; think not they are glazed with wine.
Go to him, it is thy duty, kiss him, take his hand in thine.

It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is overwrought:
Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with thy lighter thought.

He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand--
Better thou wert dead before me, tho' I slew thee with my hand!

Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace,
Roll'd in one another's arms, and silent in a last embrace.

Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth!
Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth!

Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule!
Cursed be the gold that gilds the straiten'd forehead of the fool!

Well--'t is well that I should bluster!--Hadst thou less unworthy proved--
Would to God--for I had loved thee more than ever wife was loved.

Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit?
I will pluck it from my *****, tho' my heart be at the root.

Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should come
As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home.

Where is comfort? in division of the records of the mind?
Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I knew her, kind?

I remember one that perish'd; sweetly did she speak and move;
Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love.

Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore?
No--she never loved me truly; love is love for evermore.

Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.

Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof,
In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain is on the roof.

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall,
Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the shadows rise and fall.

Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his drunken sleep,
To thy widow'd marriage-pillows, to the tears that thou wilt weep.

Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whisper'd by the phantom years,
And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears;

And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy pain.
Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to thy rest again.

Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will cry.
'T is a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy trouble dry.

Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest rival brings thee rest.
Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother's breast.

O, the child too clothes the father with a dearness not his due.
Half is thine and half is his: it will be worthy of the two.

O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part,
With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.

"They were dangerous guides the feelings--she herself was not exempt--
Truly, she herself had suffer'd"--Perish in thy self-contempt!

Overlive it--lower yet--be happy! wherefore should I care?
I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair.

What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like these?
Every door is barr'd with gold, and opens but to golden keys.

Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the markets overflow.
I have but an angry fancy; what is that which I should do?

I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground,
When the ranks are roll'd in vapour, and the winds are laid with sound.

But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels,
And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's heels.

Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that earlier page.
Hide me from my deep emotion, O thou wondrous Mother-Age!

Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife,
When I heard my days before me, and the tumult of my life;

Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield,
Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field,

And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn,
Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn;

And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then,
Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men:

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new:
That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do:

For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;

Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight dropping down with costly bales;

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew
From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue;

Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm,
With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm;

Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.

There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.

So I triumph'd ere my passion sweeping thro' me left me dry,
Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye;

Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint:
Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point:

Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher,
Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire.

Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs,
And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns.

What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys,
Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy's?

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore,
And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast,
Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest.

Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding on the bugle-horn,
They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn:

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string?
I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved so slight a thing.

Weakness to be wroth with weakness! woman's pleasure, woman's pain--
Nature made them blinder motions bounded in a shallower brain:

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine,
Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine--

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah, for some retreat
Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat;

Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father evil-starr'd,--
I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward.

Or to burst all links of habit--there to wander far away,
On from island unto island at the gateways of the day.

Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies,
Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.

Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag,
Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag;

Droops the heavy-blossom'd bower, hangs the heavy-fruited tree--
Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea.

There methinks would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind,
In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind.

There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing space;
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.

Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and they shall run,
Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun;

Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks,
Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books--

Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my words are wild,
But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child.

I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains,
Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains!

Mated with a squalid savage--what to me were sun or clime?
I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time--

I that rather held it better men should perish one by one,
Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon!

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range,
Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.

Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day;
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Mother-Age (for mine I knew not) help me as when life begun:
Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the Sun.

O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set.
Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet.

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall!
Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall.

Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath and holt,
Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt.

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow;
For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.
163

Tho’ my destiny be Fustian—
Hers be damask fine—
Tho’ she wear a silver apron—
I, a less divine—

Still, my little Gypsy being
I would far prefer,
Still, my little sunburnt *****
To her Rosier,

For, when Frosts, their punctual fingers
On her forehead lay,
You and I, and Dr. Holland,
Bloom Eternally!

Roses of a steadfast summer
In a steadfast land,
Where no Autumn lifts her pencil—
And no Reapers stand!
Thy voice is on the rolling air;
  I hear thee where the waters run;
  Thou standest in the rising sun,
And in the setting thou art fair.

What art thou then? I cannot guess;
  But tho' I seem in star and flower
  To feel thee some diffusive power,
I do not therefore love thee less:

My love involves the love before;
  My love is vaster passion now;
  Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou,
I seem to love thee more and more.

Far off thou art, but ever nigh;
  I have thee still, and I rejoice;
  I prosper, circled with thy voice;
I shall not lose thee tho' I die.
Incipit Liber Quintus.

Aprochen gan the fatal destinee
That Ioves hath in disposicioun,
And to yow, angry Parcas, sustren three,
Committeth, to don execucioun;
For which Criseyde moste out of the toun,  
And Troilus shal dwelle forth in pyne
Til Lachesis his threed no lenger twyne. --

The golden-tressed Phebus heighe on-lofte
Thryes hadde alle with his bemes shene
The snowes molte, and Zephirus as ofte  
Y-brought ayein the tendre leves grene,
Sin that the sone of Ecuba the quene
Bigan to love hir first, for whom his sorwe
Was al, that she departe sholde a-morwe.

Ful redy was at pryme Dyomede,  
Criseyde un-to the Grekes ost to lede,
For sorwe of which she felt hir herte blede,
As she that niste what was best to rede.
And trewely, as men in bokes rede,
Men wiste never womman han the care,  
Ne was so looth out of a toun to fare.

This Troilus, with-outen reed or lore,
As man that hath his Ioyes eek forlore,
Was waytinge on his lady ever-more
As she that was the soothfast crop and more  
Of al his lust, or Ioyes here-tofore.
But Troilus, now farewel al thy Ioye,
For shaltow never seen hir eft in Troye!

Soth is, that whyl he bood in this manere,
He gan his wo ful manly for to hyde.  
That wel unnethe it seen was in his chere;
But at the yate ther she sholde oute ryde
With certeyn folk, he hoved hir tabyde,
So wo bigoon, al wolde he nought him pleyne,
That on his hors unnethe he sat for peyne.  

For ire he quook, so gan his herte gnawe,
Whan Diomede on horse gan him dresse,
And seyde un-to him-self this ilke sawe,
'Allas,' quod he, 'thus foul a wrecchednesse
Why suffre ich it, why nil ich it redresse?  
Were it not bet at ones for to dye
Than ever-more in langour thus to drye?

'Why nil I make at ones riche and pore
To have y-nough to done, er that she go?
Why nil I bringe al Troye upon a rore?  
Why nil I sleen this Diomede also?
Why nil I rather with a man or two
Stele hir a-way? Why wol I this endure?
Why nil I helpen to myn owene cure?'

But why he nolde doon so fel a dede,  
That shal I seyn, and why him liste it spare;
He hadde in herte alweyes a maner drede,
Lest that Criseyde, in rumour of this fare,
Sholde han ben slayn; lo, this was al his care.
And ellis, certeyn, as I seyde yore,  
He hadde it doon, with-outen wordes more.

Criseyde, whan she redy was to ryde,
Ful sorwfully she sighte, and seyde 'Allas!'
But forth she moot, for ought that may bityde,
And forth she rit ful sorwfully a pas.  
Ther nis non other remedie in this cas.
What wonder is though that hir sore smerte,
Whan she forgoth hir owene swete herte?

This Troilus, in wyse of curteisye,
With hauke on hond, and with an huge route  
Of knightes, rood and dide hir companye,
Passinge al the valey fer with-oute,
And ferther wolde han riden, out of doute,
Ful fayn, and wo was him to goon so sone;
But torne he moste, and it was eek to done.  

And right with that was Antenor y-come
Out of the Grekes ost, and every wight
Was of it glad, and seyde he was wel-come.
And Troilus, al nere his herte light,
He peyned him with al his fulle might  
Him to with-holde of wepinge at the leste,
And Antenor he kiste, and made feste.

And ther-with-al he moste his leve take,
And caste his eye upon hir pitously,
And neer he rood, his cause for to make,  
To take hir by the honde al sobrely.
And lord! So she gan wepen tendrely!
And he ful softe and sleighly gan hir seye,
'Now hold your day, and dooth me not to deye.'

With that his courser torned he a-boute  
With face pale, and un-to Diomede
No word he spak, ne noon of al his route;
Of which the sone of Tydeus took hede,
As he that coude more than the crede
In swich a craft, and by the reyne hir hente;  
And Troilus to Troye homwarde he wente.

This Diomede, that ladde hir by the brydel,
Whan that he saw the folk of Troye aweye,
Thoughte, 'Al my labour shal not been on ydel,
If that I may, for somwhat shal I seye,  
For at the worste it may yet shorte our weye.
I have herd seyd, eek tymes twyes twelve,
"He is a fool that wol for-yete him-selve."'

But natheles this thoughte he wel ynough,
'That certaynly I am aboute nought,  
If that I speke of love, or make it tough;
For douteles, if she have in hir thought
Him that I gesse, he may not been y-brought
So sone awey; but I shal finde a mene,
That she not wite as yet shal what I mene.'  

This Diomede, as he that coude his good,
Whan this was doon, gan fallen forth in speche
Of this and that, and asked why she stood
In swich disese, and gan hir eek biseche,
That if that he encrese mighte or eche  
With any thing hir ese, that she sholde
Comaunde it him, and seyde he doon it wolde.

For trewely he swoor hir, as a knight,
That ther nas thing with whiche he mighte hir plese,
That he nolde doon his peyne and al his might  
To doon it, for to doon hir herte an ese.
And preyede hir, she wolde hir sorwe apese,
And seyde, 'Y-wis, we Grekes con have Ioye
To honouren yow, as wel as folk of Troye.'

He seyde eek thus, 'I woot, yow thinketh straunge,  
No wonder is, for it is to yow newe,
Thaqueintaunce of these Troianis to chaunge,
For folk of Grece, that ye never knewe.
But wolde never god but-if as trewe
A Greek ye shulde among us alle finde  
As any Troian is, and eek as kinde.

'And by the cause I swoor yow right, lo, now,
To been your freend, and helply, to my might,
And for that more aqueintaunce eek of yow
Have ich had than another straunger wight,  
So fro this forth, I pray yow, day and night,
Comaundeth me, how sore that me smerte,
To doon al that may lyke un-to your herte;

'And that ye me wolde as your brother trete,
And taketh not my frendship in despyt;  
And though your sorwes be for thinges grete,
Noot I not why, but out of more respyt,
Myn herte hath for to amende it greet delyt.
And if I may your harmes not redresse,
I am right sory for your hevinesse,  

'And though ye Troians with us Grekes wrothe
Han many a day be, alwey yet, pardee,
O god of love in sooth we serven bothe.
And, for the love of god, my lady free,
Whom so ye hate, as beth not wroth with me.  
For trewely, ther can no wight yow serve,
That half so looth your wraththe wolde deserve.

'And nere it that we been so neigh the tente
Of Calkas, which that seen us bothe may,
I wolde of this yow telle al myn entente;  
But this enseled til another day.
Yeve me your hond, I am, and shal ben ay,
God help me so, whyl that my lyf may dure,
Your owene aboven every creature.

'Thus seyde I never er now to womman born;  
For god myn herte as wisly glade so,
I lovede never womman here-biforn
As paramours, ne never shal no mo.
And, for the love of god, beth not my fo;
Al can I not to yow, my lady dere,  
Compleyne aright, for I am yet to lere.

'And wondreth not, myn owene lady bright,
Though that I speke of love to you thus blyve;
For I have herd or this of many a wight,
Hath loved thing he never saugh his lyve.  
Eek I am not of power for to stryve
Ayens the god of love, but him obeye
I wol alwey, and mercy I yow preye.

'Ther been so worthy knightes in this place,
And ye so fair, that everich of hem alle  
Wol peynen him to stonden in your grace.
But mighte me so fair a grace falle,
That ye me for your servaunt wolde calle,
So lowly ne so trewely you serve
Nil noon of hem, as I shal, til I sterve.'  

Criseide un-to that purpos lyte answerde,
As she that was with sorwe oppressed so
That, in effect, she nought his tales herde,
But here and there, now here a word or two.
Hir thoughte hir sorwful herte brast a-two.  
For whan she gan hir fader fer aspye,
Wel neigh doun of hir hors she gan to sye.

But natheles she thonked Diomede
Of al his travaile, and his goode chere,
And that him liste his friendship hir to bede;  
And she accepteth it in good manere,
And wolde do fayn that is him leef and dere;
And trusten him she wolde, and wel she mighte,
As seyde she, and from hir hors she alighte.

Hir fader hath hir in his armes nome,  
And tweynty tyme he kiste his doughter swete,
And seyde, 'O dere doughter myn, wel-come!'
She seyde eek, she was fayn with him to mete,
And stood forth mewet, milde, and mansuete.
But here I leve hir with hir fader dwelle,  
And forth I wol of Troilus yow telle.

To Troye is come this woful Troilus,
In sorwe aboven alle sorwes smerte,
With felon look, and face dispitous.
Tho sodeinly doun from his hors he sterte,  
And thorugh his paleys, with a swollen herte,
To chambre he wente; of no-thing took he hede,
Ne noon to him dar speke a word for drede.

And there his sorwes that he spared hadde
He yaf an issue large, and 'Deeth!' he cryde;  
And in his throwes frenetyk and madde
He cursed Iove, Appollo, and eek Cupyde,
He cursed Ceres, Bacus, and Cipryde,
His burthe, him-self, his fate, and eek nature,
And, save his lady, every creature.  

To bedde he goth, and weyleth there and torneth
In furie, as dooth he, Ixion in helle;
And in this wyse he neigh til day soiorneth.
But tho bigan his herte a lyte unswelle
Thorugh teres which that gonnen up to welle;  
And pitously he cryde up-on Criseyde,
And to him-self right thus he spak, and seyde: --

'Wher is myn owene lady lief and dere,
Wher is hir whyte brest, wher is it, where?
Wher ben hir armes and hir eyen clere,  
That yesternight this tyme with me were?
Now may I wepe allone many a tere,
And graspe aboute I may, but in this place,
Save a pilowe, I finde nought tenbrace.

'How shal I do? Whan shal she com ayeyn?  
I noot, allas! Why leet ich hir to go?
As wolde god, ich hadde as tho be sleyn!
O herte myn, Criseyde, O swete fo!
O lady myn, that I love and no mo!
To whom for ever-mo myn herte I dowe;  
See how I deye, ye nil me not rescowe!

'Who seeth yow now, my righte lode-sterre?
Who sit right now or stant in your presence?
Who can conforten now your hertes werre?
Now I am gon, whom yeve ye audience?  
Who speketh for me right now in myn absence?
Allas, no wight; and that is al my care;
For wel wot I, as yvel as I ye fare.

'How sholde I thus ten dayes ful endure,
Whan I the firste night have al this tene?  
How shal she doon eek, sorwful creature?
For tendernesse, how shal she this sustene,
Swich wo for me? O pitous, pale, and grene
Shal been your fresshe wommanliche face
For langour, er ye torne un-to this place.'  

And whan he fil in any slomeringes,
Anoon biginne he sholde for to grone,
And dremen of the dredfulleste thinges
That mighte been; as, mete he were allone
In place horrible, makinge ay his mone,  
Or meten that he was amonges alle
His enemys, and in hir hondes falle.

And ther-with-al his body sholde sterte,
And with the stert al sodeinliche awake,
And swich a tremour fele aboute his herte,  
That of the feer his body sholde quake;
And there-with-al he sholde a noyse make,
And seme as though he sholde falle depe
From heighe a-lofte; and than he wolde wepe,

And rewen on him-self so pitously,  
That wonder was to here his fantasye.
Another tyme he sholde mightily
Conforte him-self, and seyn it was folye,
So causeles swich drede for to drye,
And eft biginne his aspre sorwes newe,  
That every man mighte on his sorwes rewe.

Who coude telle aright or ful discryve
His wo, his pleynt, his langour, and his pyne?
Nought al the men that han or been on-lyve.
Thou, redere, mayst thy-self ful wel devyne  
That swich a wo my wit can not defyne.
On ydel for to wryte it sholde I swinke,
Whan that my wit is wery it to thinke.

On hevene yet the sterres were sene,
Al-though ful pale y-waxen was the mone;  
And whyten gan the orisonte shene
Al estward, as it woned is for to done.
And Phebus with his rosy carte sone
Gan after that to dresse him up to fare,
Whan Troilus hath sent after Pandare.  

This Pandare, that of al the day biforn
Ne mighte han comen Troilus to see,
Al-though he on his heed it hadde y-sworn,
For with the king Pryam alday was he,
So that it lay not in his libertee  
No-wher to gon, but on the morwe he wente
To Troilus, whan that he for him sente.

For in his herte he coude wel devyne,
That Troilus al night for sorwe wook;
And that he wolde telle him of his pyne,  
This knew he wel y-nough, with-oute book.
For which to chaumbre streight the wey he took,
And Troilus tho sobreliche he grette,
And on the bed ful sone he gan him sette.

'My Pandarus,' quod Troilus, 'the sorwe  
Which that I drye, I may not longe endure.
I trowe I shal not liven til to-morwe;
For whiche I wolde alwey, on aventure,
To thee devysen of my sepulture
The forme, and of my moeble thou dispone  
Right as thee semeth best is for to done.

'But of the fyr and flaumbe funeral
In whiche my body brenne shal to glede,
And of the feste and pleyes palestral
At my vigile, I prey thee tak good hede  
That be wel; and offre Mars my stede,
My swerd, myn helm, and, leve brother dere,
My sheld to Pallas yef, that shyneth clere.

'The poudre in which myn herte y-brend shal torne,
That preye I thee thou take and it conserve  
In a vessel, that men clepeth an urne,
Of gold, and to my lady that I serve,
For love of whom thus pitously I sterve,
So yeve it hir, and do me this plesaunce,
To preye hir kepe it for a remembraunce.  

'For wel I fele, by my maladye,
And by my dremes now and yore ago,
Al certeinly, that I mot nedes dye.
The owle eek, which that hight Ascaphilo,
Hath after me shright alle thise nightes two.  
And, god Mercurie! Of me now, woful wrecche,
The soule gyde, and, whan thee list, it fecche!'

Pandare answerde, and seyde, 'Troilus,
My dere freend, as I have told thee yore,
That it is folye for to sorwen thus,  
And causeles, for whiche I can no-more.
But who-so wol not trowen reed ne lore,
I can not seen in him no remedye,
But lete him worthen with his fantasye.

'But Troilus, I pray thee tel me now,  
If that thou trowe, er this, that any wight
Hath loved paramours as wel as thou?
Ye, god wot, and fro many a worthy knight
Hath his lady goon a fourtenight,
And he not yet made halvendel the fare.  
What nede is thee to maken al this care?

'Sin day by day thou mayst thy-selven see
That from his love, or elles from his wyf,
A man mot twinnen of necessitee,
Ye, though he love hir as his owene lyf;  
Yet nil he with him-self thus maken stryf.
For wel thow wost, my leve brother dere,
That alwey freendes may nought been y-fere.

'How doon this folk that seen hir loves wedded
By freendes might, as it bi-*** ful ofte,  
And seen hem in hir spouses bed y-bedded?
God woot, they take it wysly, faire and softe.
For-why good hope halt up hir herte on-lofte,
And for they can a tyme of sorwe endure;
As tyme hem hurt, a tyme doth hem cure.  

'So sholdestow endure, and late slyde
The tyme, and fonde to ben glad and light.
Ten dayes nis so longe not tabyde.
And sin she thee to comen hath bihight,
She nil hir hestes breken for no wight.  
For dred thee not that she nil finden weye
To come ayein, my lyf that dorste I leye.

'Thy swevenes eek and al swich fantasye
Dryf out, and lat hem faren to mischaunce;
For they procede of thy malencolye,  
That doth thee fele in sleep al this penaunce.
A straw for alle swevenes signifiaunce!
God helpe me so, I counte hem not a bene,
Ther woot no man aright what dremes mene.

'For prestes of the temple tellen this,  
That dremes been the revelaciouns
Of goddes, and as wel they telle, y-wis,
That they ben infernals illusiouns;
And leches seyn, that of complexiouns
Proceden they, or fast, or glotonye.  
Who woot in sooth thus what they signifye?

'Eek othere seyn that thorugh impressiouns,
As if a wight hath faste a thing in minde,
That ther-of cometh swiche avisiouns;
And othere seyn, as they in bokes finde,  
That, after tymes of the yeer by kinde,
Men dreme, and that theffect goth by the mone;
But leve no dreem, for it is nought to done.

'Wel worth o
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
Road Trip: Thinking it's about time (find yourself within II)

This particular poem was born as a one line response to a message.  But in many other forms, half written, it exists still, un, unfinished, waiting for the next burst energy, the next holiday time, to reach a new finish line.

This is a different but similar to a poem posted on June 2nd, "Poetry Round (find your self within)"

Any error of omission is unintentional, but know that this took many hours, until fatigue won. If you never told or revealed to me your location, know that you will be called out, to and unto me, in another poem, called "your banner is my flag."


Fact about me:  You design me.
-------------------------------------------------------

th­inking it's about time for a road trip.

create an excuse
(reasons, I got a plenty)
to stop by,
to show you another side of me,
for a drink, a meal,
and some kind
of exchange, of
form and fluids,
manner to be determined.

to come to Minneapolis,
watch you create a heated sensuality,
verbally, from melted snowdrifts,
a hot time to be had
by all the poets
of the mini-apple,
I want to meet
and celebrate ann victory.

travel to Thiruvananthapuram,
tour the treasures
of gold and diamonds,
from whence come
the bejeweled poems,
that have earned visits from
thousands upon thousands,
pilgrims, devotees, followers,
to partake at that, his,
special temple.

Gomer, Gomer,  & MJJ,
I am in your Florida,
no, sorry, not in Ocala,
near to your homer,
and I feel you springer
ten times in the
November sun rays,
that have me locked
in a full Nelson,
your productivity,
endless,
a sea of orange sunburnt words,

Tennessee,
The Carolinas,
Georgia,
The South,

I rise with it,
now, again,
that I will need a slow
sunny all lazy summer long to
learn y'alls ways,
see the wolves,
in your forests,
helm the riverboats,
navigate the quaint tides
of Charleston,
the special places
where they heal, le ville,
where the ashes of
burnt children,
retuned to be whole.

learn y'alls ways,
walk in your boots,
of seeing poems
using your special
southern saber words.

missed the original
Thrilla-in-Manila,
but rest easy, assured,
that hotbed of creativity,
where I check the
PH of the mc waters
to comprehend its
wisdom and now, it's sadness,
will be an illustrious destination
on my itinerant itinerary,
stopping by Makati City,
after all,
it is writ in the good book,
this island,
the PhilippineS,
is the birthplace
of the letter S,
Samples: samson, sally,
and So many others?

in Nevada City,
which is of course in
krazy California,
wager philosophy, romance,
be available for
succinctly seeing
works in progress,
from which I
will imbibe,
so **** deeply,
may have to
stay awhile for...

while I am there,
will need to do
a search and
Hug Mission,
to find a special man,
his unkempt prose,
his mortal rhymes
disguise not his holy worth,
even to the grassy
cal-stratosphere,
to the mesosphere,
will I high fly,
to find his sweetest spot,
then and thereafter
going looking
further on to
Humboldt County.

in Leeds, in West Yorkshire,
(Hamphshirians, Northamptontonians,
patience please)
built foundries and factories
over the magical forest of Loidis,
near to the river Aire,
yet still hides a
magical sorceress of words,
casting spells over
men and beast.
no one has seen full
her half-turned away face,
but when she summons,
do I have a choix
other than obey?
even if I get lost,
my sorceress,
you know,
I am on way too.

to get there,
will fly I must,
to Heathrow hell,
will do it,
just for you,
faithful friend,
a man da gotta do, what
a man gotta do...for you,
but first a stop off at the
London School of Economics,
Hampstead as well,
for a tutorial about sonnets,
or sams in wells,
even if I come
in my bare feet.

even in New York Upstate,
a man da gotta do,
what he mulls over in his heart,
be not surprised at a knock upon
your door, to make comparative notes,
about each other's tattoos.

in the South African veld,
hid in the highland grasses,
crouches the poetesses and tigresses,
waiting to ambush you
with words that must be seen
to be heard, to be well understood.
perhaps I'll come at ester time,
under blue indigo skies over,
a golden landscape,
seizing all the gems
that can be seen
only at 3:00am

leeward,
north to Canada,
must I, transgress,
country of my momma's birth,
fly from Montreal to Toronto, Calgary
then over to Vancouver.
Canada,
a dangerous place for me,
cause there are beautiful
souls up there,
and maybe even a
warrant to
repossess mine,
they want their
poets back.

double down by ferry,
me to Seattle,
to see a man about river,
in the Pacific Northwest,
where I have happily
drowned so many times,
that The Lord is complaining,
am hogging all the baptismal waters,
but when reminded that
nothing lasts forever,
here tomorrow,
gone today, walk on,
I add my tears
to that river,
before hitting the road.

on that river,
gonna drive me a kayak,
down Daytonway,
on the Yamill River,
see a gyreene marine,
watching me do a beach landing,
in Willamette Wine Park.
he will teach me to salute,
I will teach him how to
shake hands,
and learn from him,
it's ok,
to stand down.

man o' man
there are a lots of poets,
in these here parts,
this grand
Pacific North West,
looking for one in particular,
who will be quite easy to spot,
as he is my very own
soul brother.

will be easy to find,
though we have never met,
he will be on his kayak,
I on mine,
tho when he paddles,
somehow he manages
to hold
never letting go
of, his lovely bride,
his best half's hands.

this will a problem,
for I must teach him how to
shake two handed souls,
while hugging and paddling,
even bailing,
with an old dented pail
simultaneous.
but you can teach old dogs
new tricks, even the ones,
that can't spell
rhymers.

have mercie on me Ohio,
like a mother has to her daughter,
done a three year sentence in Cleveland,
but no jail can hold an NYC boy,
but if requested, yes I will return
to set fire to the *
Cuyahoga,
again! he he he...
but do not s mock me!
(now you know why the FBI loves
my poetry, my biggest institutional fan).

souls in torment,
where you be,
where you hide,
matters not where
you physical reside,
for we have found
each other
in each other words.

You, who live in
your very own
personal hell,
I think we met there,
because
yours was
mine too,
tho not found
on any map.

maybe I will meet the
Empress Josephine Maria,
rowing on the canals of
the Netherlands,
no longer will she be
alone.

but then again, some
very special things,
like
the purest of love
are on no map,
they are everywhere.

while in India,
will seek the many musings of many lips
of aged rhyme men
and complicated charmers
so I may kiss them
with spiced humors
to pour and pour,
more and more,
upon this western soul,
mysteries of the east,
to Kashmir, Bangalore,
wherever I must,
even take a praDip in the Ganges,
I will go, find you,
un-hide you,
among the
teeming millions,
millions of
jokes and rhymes,
that make the
world spin brighter.

in Germany,
all the university students
speak English,
in Wiesbaden, they know
poetic beauty is not in the format,
some in Bamberg,
with a peculiar
Missouri accent,
which is nicht gut Englisch,
so study hard the real way,
speak the language
the new yorka way,
which will require
study abroad,
which is quite funny,
now that I think about it.

but in Mo.,
the native drums roll,
long and slow,
making words
I know
better, different,
in a way never saw before,
leaves me asking for,
mo', mo', please?

to get there, to Allemagne,
land of my forefathers,
a ship I will take,
from Southampton
across the Kiel Canal,
before I depart,
will have my hair cut,
my words reworked,
by her Ladyship,
whose keen eyes and
maternal instincts,
see the joy of life in every
Livvi little thing.

Watt am I going to do if
I need to find a Tecumseh,
taker of my naked poems,
and enlarger of them,
so truth by her,
all revealed,
we are all naked
at least,
twice a day?

In Nepal I will purr at the words
gleaned from the markets and
train stations where
voyages from Lalitpur to Katmandu,
start and end,
where there is a miracle almost
sixteen years young,
where they call their schools
future stars and little angels,
so why should poetic miracles not be
as common as its subtropical clime?

though I despise the
Dallas Cowboys,
not my  America's team,
nonetheless there is a young woman,
a true rose of Texas,
who waits and writes
so lovingly of her airman,
in Afghanistan, I have placed
their names first,
in my nighttime prayers,
hoping to be there,
schedule my visit,
to witness his safe return
and their
joyous reunification.

there are no Mayans in Maine,
but poets of similar name,
kould be, mae be,
Julia's in Jersey, new,
in Auckland,
there are poets
who don't know it,
and Down Under, too,
where getting high is easy,
getting high at
and on words
well marshaled ,
but **** sure I will be
peering and prring,
all the way.

Oregon,
don't be gone,
those wide eyes shut,
when I come by,
who knows when I
will pass this way again...
on my way to Phoenix,
where sunrayes bend to the
desires of dessert breezes.

Kentucky to Korea,
one long road to travel,
but middle son,
if you can do it,
so can I, and,
I will follow.

in a beautiful city,
unsurprisingly called
Belleville,
the leader of the band,
still leads us in belle 'noise'
and when he finishes
fall leafing us in song, he still,
rises up in the mid of dark,
prayerful haikus to write.

off to Rogers, Arkansas
to meet an Italian from Mexico
who specializes in skinny poems,
something one day I will be too.

maybe I will go to
places it snows,
there are so many,
but your photo,
and tattoo trail,
clues, will follow,
no matter how hard
you make it a mystery.

you, who live in just
the world,
don't even think,
that crazy dotted lines,
unstraight,
or huge plains,
are sufficient,
to hide your
moody dust trail
from me!

somewhere in the USA,
roses grow in ground
that needs the
watering of tears,
though this place
is hard to find,
ha, turn around,
that is me,
tapping you,
on the shoulder!

will find you,
as I am searching for
a lovely pair
of stockinged ankles,
each with a heart tattoo,
but I sure could use
a clue,
before this hobbit searches
all the shire,
derby hatted,
to find your
heart real, and the real you...

my mode of time travel?
why I am just
a dude on a rocket ship.

Wisconsin,
look for my ruby message
in the snow,
in the dust,
in the sand, the skies, the sea,
but will you answer me?

Pittsburgh,
patient, you've been,
you thought I forgot
all about you,
chimera  at the intersection
of three rivers,
all you need wonder,
upon which one
will my ship arrive
and why you still disbelieve
you are not a poetess!

ME oh my,
you too, a hidey hole got,
but, we are strange, we humans,
we would gladly bleed to please,
If we could but find
a combination of
new words that
would your heart gladden,
your eyes tear,
your lips wear,
a smile of pleasure
at our offerings poetic!
but still I know not,
the where!

Lagos,
where
I shall climb the tallest skyscraper,
calling out in Yoruba,
where is my Temitope?
where is mine,
worthy of thanksgiving
so I may carry my Popoola,
my pole of her of
written wealth?


Mombasa, Singapore,
Maryland, Rhode Island, Kentucky,
Huddersfield, Connecticut Joe, Ireland,
South Dakota,

where the merry elders
well ken somethings
about a moon and tattered clouds,
something about children and dogs,
and something about letting
tomorrow's wait.

Milwaukee, Atlanta,
chuck, in *PA.,
friend to all,
to all those scattered across these
United States of America.

can we dare not mention
"The Shaq" of Malaysia,
South Sudan, Pakistan,

of course not!

Suburbia,
beautiful, black San Diego, Detroit;

The BBB's -

British Columbia, Brazil, Breendonk, and
B'kara!
the goodness of *
Boston,
flipping out in Flipadelphia,

did you think I would forget ya?

those of you hiding among 64 stars,
the groves of L.A',
on the lanes,
the special land of I-sia-Bella,
fellow citizens of Neverland,
those of you 'at home,'
in the land of nightmares,
concrete boxes,
those who post without a doubt,
and in the box,
this who think your birth year
is an identifying mark, not,
you never fooled me,
will visit each and everyone.


even and especially,
the grays of crosstown
NYC,
the red writers of my hood,
the tylers too.

I am exhausted,
forgive me well,
if thy locale,
I did not explicate,
for the hour is very late.

yet thru subtle fissures
in the clouds,
look for a tired old man
on the wings of a
chariot drawn by angels,
bringing you a dictionary
full of new words,
a present for you,
but truly,
a present to himself
for from it,
your future poems
will come.

*but the sun has come up,
so now I sleep.
1.  What makes this poem special, if anything, is the trust and confidences we share with each other, that allowed me to perhaps catch just little bit something special of each of you, where I could.

2. Can anyone explain to me why the site labels this poem explicit?
Ashley Williams Jun 2014
Baby-faced,
Shifty-eyed;
Briefly my heart raced,
It can't be denied.

Sweet,
Sketchy,
I thought it would be neat,
But it turned out messy.

Here's a tho(ugh)t:
I hope you know you had your shot.
Ston Poet Dec 2015
Uhh..,Young Ston, OFTR..
They say I'm crazy, They say I'm lazy,..they call me crazy, they call me lazy,..Ayee,Yeah..They say I'm crazy, Yeah they say I'm lazy, Uhh, they say I'm crazy..I'm amazing, They say I'm lazy, I'm amazing, They say I'm crazy, They call me lazy, They say I'm....
Crazy..(I'm amazing7)
They say I'm crazy..they call me lazy, They call me crazy..They say I'm lazy..They say I'm crazy, ***** I might  be..Uhh..Yeah..I'm (amazing
2)..
(so amazing2)..amazing

Uhh, No Kanye West **** tho dawg, Good Morning tho, Yeah the birds is chirping so loud in the Atown, but I ain't worrying or stunning them hos, no,no..,Ayo, I'm wit my big brothers we mobbing, & we rising up to the top without selling our souls, **** all of that Occult ****, forget about being a Freemason, I'm keeping it hundred, & they only keep it 33 percent, them ******* so scared to even ever show they faces true colors & rep they gang man while they out in public,.. Not me Imma stunt Yeah,..Imma stunt for OFTR *****,..Imma scream my gang so loud to the top of my lungs, Yeah ***** Imma shout..While I'm smoking on some crazy amazing bud mane, I'm  spitting facts from my spirit & soul man, ayo them ******* *** rappers ain't who they say that is noo, not (really
2)..homie, they only betraying us mane, Yeah they so fake man, they so gay Yeah freaking faggets, stay the **** outta my face & stay the **** away from me homie, before yo body be filled with maggots..

Aye, I builded my own corporation by just having hope man & praying Yeah..I'm motivating all of my young ****** to stop, following after these **** ******, they ain't keeping it true they rapping lies, & that's not the code. Ayo even the president & his whole committee stay lying to us too, we as the people need to do something together soon, so lets overthrow these false prophets & fake leaders as soon as possible dawg, Uhh..
**** the government, **** America, man I'm going in,.. noo OFTR we won't stop, Noo we can't stop,man.. We can't be stopped either my nig..Uhh, **** Society, **** the police, **** everybody that's hating, **** all the fakes too homie, Aye man **** a friend, **** having a ol lady too homie noo I don't need all of those distractions around me Aye..
Imma always stay true to myself mane..Yeah ***** (Yeah2)..Uhh I got my family, &  I will  ride on any ***** ***** who ever disrespect one them & shoot some **** up,Yeah , that's what my Daddy taught me my *****...Uhh,Yeah..I'm riding to the end for OFTR man, OFTR we all stars..we so amazing,..Yeah we (so amazing3)..

Aye man yeah these ****** stay hating, they hate me..Why because I'm amazing, so amazing.. Aye man, yo ***** wanna come over to my place get faded & get ******..Uhh Imma beat her up..I Chris Brown dat **, call her a Uber then send her *** home packing,.. ain't no sleep overs wit me *****  Noo , you should already know that OFTR noo we don't love these **'s, noo we don't trust em too..Uhh
I be too busy to be sexting & picking up my phone but ***** **** I do give out the best quickies tho **,Yeah..I'm on my grind for the whole day, Noo I can't sleep, Yeah I'm doing whatever I gotta do to feed my family & developing my business into a multi billion dollar industry, but I ain't bending over or ******* ****, forget that sweet Starship type ****.., Yeah **** all of dat , OFTR we got our own agenda man, keeping it real & funky, everyday, Yeah Uhh..I'm getting so stronger everyday..I'm smoking on that strong Hulk smash ****, please don't interfere wit me or else you will be MIA, Aye mane..,I'm so amazing..Uhh.
I'm on my sonic Flow, I'm going so fast, I'm rolling some more grass while I drive man, I been drinking too ****, my ***** I might even crash,..Yeah I'm crazy but you can't call me lazy mufucker, you just looking in from the outside man, who the ******* think you is..Uhh


Only my Heavenly Father can judge me mane,
(Nobody else , Noo2)..*****, Yeah Young Ston a King , Yeah..Uhh Young Ston a g, Yeah Uhh.., Young Ston the man **,..I keep going in, & I ain't pulling out, let's go..Uhh..Yeah
They say I'm crazy, they call me lazy, but they don't know that there is a weapon that's been inside of me, bout to get me so paid *****..so paid Yeah..Yeah..(I'm about to get paid man
2)..(I'm about to get paid Yeah3)..
/Yeah..(so paid
2)/3..I ain't being (no slave2)..man..Uhh

They say I'm crazy,...
They say I'm lazy, they call me crazy, they call me lazy, they say I'm lazy,..They call me crazy..Uhh..***** I'm amazing, Yeah..(I'm amazing2)..Yeah ***** (I'm amazing3)..Yeah ***** (I'm amazing3)..I'm so amazing, Yeah..

I'm amazing everybody when they doubted on me my *****, They  said I couldn't do nothing but just be a problem, well **** they was right about one thing, Yeah I didn't have a job for a long time  mane..young *****, I usta just sit around the house dream about my future & write hits all day long mane,..Aye but I always had a plan to go out to get what is mines homie..Aye this world so **** evil they gott a ***** like me set up for failure already but I will achieve, & smoke a J wit Farrakhan to discuss being invole  in the Future Revolution for my people..Aye Yeah man..

These demons won't block my vision, man they underneath me Yeah dawg, Yeah I like to roll up Yeah I like to drink alot my ***** , so what, I live my life so you should live yours..Uhh my ***** live it up..Uhh,Yeah Young Ston these busters said I would never ever make it too the big leagues but now they all following after my foot steps  mane.. dawg these succers all around me, & stay tweeting me asking for a **** handout bru, hell naw get the **** up outta my zone, Im not ever associating myself or ever  doing business with ***** *** fakes,..Yeah..Aye.. ***** ***** stay on yo route, don't hop in my lane dude..

You lames copying after each other in Atl mane & I'm doing my music my own way ****, I was the greatest already without nobody even knowing about me, Imma living legend, I prosper forever Yeah, Uhh..Young Ston I'm amazing , so amazing, Yeah ***** I'm amazing, so amazing.. So amazing, so what they can call me crazy dawg, I'm so far away from the haters mane, I'm so elevated, Yeah they can call me crazy all they want ,but no they can't call me lazy, because *****..I know what I am..

I'm amazing Yeah Cuhz.. (I'm amazing
3)...Yeah (I'm amazing3)..(Yeah I'm amazing3)..I'm (so amazing2)....
Ayee..Yeah they  say I'm lazy, They call me crazy, They call me lazy, they say I'm crazy,..
/*****.., Yeah (I'm amazing
2)../4
Haaaa,(so amazing
3)..I'm (so amazing3)..
***** I'm amazing, Yeah ***** I'm crazy,but I ain't even 5 steps close to being lazy..Uhh I'm amazing.. (So amazing
4)..Young Ston
stonpoet.tumblr.com
jonni inferno Jul 2018
i met her    
in a waking dream    
as i walked beside    
the sylvar stream    
whose chattering laughter    
shifted suddenly    
into a sylvar pool    
of enchanted silence    
a mirrored glaze    
in muted    
misty
dawning rays    
    
her cascading mane    
a crimson flare    
sea-green eyes    
alluring stare    
my heart stopped    
to see her there    
reposed    
'pon a verdant garden lee 
beside    
the misting sylvar mere    
'neath    
the weeping willow trees    
    
dahlia lips    
whispering desire    
vermilion plunder splayed    
spellbound 
by her charms    
heart pounding    
thundering    
captured    
i stay    
an' wi' faire
lithesome beauty lay    
'pon a lush an' vibrant field    
beside    
the misting sylvar mere    
'neath    
the weeping willow trees    
    
we lay there    
lost in time    
locked    
in the silence 
of kindred minds    
an' i knew her name    
tho she spoke it not    
sipped i then
the misty morning dew    
from precious lips
that from me drew    
all that i    
ever thought    
or felt    
or knew
'pon the grasses lush and green    
beside    
the softly glowing mere    
'neath    
the weeping willow trees    
    
soft sings    
the whippoorwill    
the meadowlark    
an' mourning dove    
their voices weaving spells    
for lover's yearning hearts    
in the meadow    
by the way    
where my love an' i    
do lay    
entwined  
'pon the gleaming sylvan shore    
beside    
the shining crystal lake    
'neath
the weeping willow trees    
    
alas    
the dawning days    
were passing
when came malevolence    
within
a thund'ring tempest    
lightnings flashed
in ragged gashes
'cross the heaven's    
stygian passes
an' from those
gnawing caverns
spewed
a raging
howling
demon's brood
an' down flew they
by the sylvar stream
where my love
and i
entranced
did lay
beside
the mystic sylvar lake
'neath
the weeping willow trees
    
then from my arms    
vile creatures tore    
my lifesong    
my heart's blood    
my one    
and only love
her scintillating form    
they ripped    
her silent
piercing cries    
bleeding    
thru my soul
an' took her they  
far from this    
battered    
desert shore    
as her soundless    
painful    
chorus fades    
an' leaves me
here alone    
to lay    
'pon these shifting lifeless sands    
beside    
this sylvar lake of tears    
'neath    
the weeping willow trees    
    
the meadowlark    
her spellsong sings    
thru ebon winter's    
weathering    
the silver stream    
her laughter froze    
this heart    
once fire    
a soulless stone    
    
so now this raven
winged    
doth fly
to scour the bruised    
an' shadowed skies    
to find my dove    
an' bring her home    
to lay
'pon these frozen brittle stones
beside
the darkened sylvar tarn
'neath    
the weeping willow trees    
    
thru timeless age    
an' dangerous realms    
i followed    
her silent    
morbid    
ravenings    
as her grisly    
mewling pleas    
hollowed out my soul    
'til at last    
i found her    
chained an' bound    
lost    
deep within    
peculiar planes    
an' baneful realms    
far from    
the laughing sylvar stream    
far from    
the weeping willow trees    
    
her lament    
of bitter tears    
an' fear    
sliced    
thru my defenses    
a doomed    
pernicious heart    
she was    
wandering    
thru deepest depths    
where madness reigns    
all hope destroyed    
hell's minions    
reveled
unconstrained    
    
my dove    
called i    
my love    
'tis i    
once more    
thrice more  
time  
and time again    
till finally    
she hearkened    
to my voice    
    
true love    
recall us    
you and i    
dancing    
thru ageless realms    
consider us    
twirling    
under heaven's wings    
she
spinning
at my fingertips

an' i  
drew her then    
breathless    
into my arms    
ambrosia lips    
her sweet alms    
from her dark pain    
i did drink    
of her    
malignant sorrow    
i did partake  
my questing    
thirsting hunger    
willingly  
did i sate  
gathering all    
her shattered pieces    
from those altered    
blighted    
reaches
    
chains    
now broken    
i carried her
'pon wings    
of true love's    
sylvar light    
far from    
these darksworn legions    
into    
the dawning night's    
farthest regions    
    
an' there    
close by    
the laughing    
whispering    
sylvar stream    
lay her gently    
'pon the verdant flowing shore    
beside
our gleaming slyvar mere    
'neath    
our weeping willow trees    
    
under glimmering    
starlit heavens    
sing    
the whippoorwill    
the meadowlark    
an' mourning dove    
whose soulful songs    
compose    
for yearning lovers    
charms of hope    
where pools    
the laughing    
sylvar stream    
whose mirrored gaze    
draws us deep within    
celestial    
starlit    
wanderings    
  
as the wind    
whispering
sighs    
thru our hearts  
as we lay entwined    
'pon a verdant garden lee    
beside  
our misting sylvar mere    
'neath  
our silent    
weeping  
willow trees    
      
p j upchurch
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
<>
The Instigation:
Edmund  Black, commenting on “weary weighted,”

I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“

<•>

both of you shush!

there is no “better” in poetry

mine yours theirs, alive or not,

just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail

tissue, too,
baby soft, or,
purple beating majestic bruised blotches
by those weaklings whose
kindness never
fully developed;  
or old man mine whose
skin cells erodes, so poems and light
weary weighted, lightly flake off
for your “betterment”
mostly tho for worse

good humans all await,
in patientce lightly hidden,
residents of dark sunspots
in the glaring existence exposer
of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come

they get it

how we get there unimportant

get there

GET THERE

get there
that is the poetic
mission critical

no path best or style preferred-
no compare just, but,
any path that
lifts and elevates,
to the commonplace


the common place

where all costarred, universal,
where common is the temple mount
of highest praise, holy smoke rising,

a place that
that discloses and closes,
is scribed/described honestly as
a connective,
which is the simplest
successive

call my poems,
blessedly common!

that an honorable,
so gladly accepted
and
so much more meaning-full
than merely best or better



for that,
I’d gladly weep,
for no praise
ever been
bettered





8/2/18 406pm
on the jitney to my isle
the instigation: Edmund black › “weary weighted, I agree with Kim .... This is poetry at its best :)“
Budding Dirt Oct 2017
Osogo chiewa gokinyi tula ruto e wi tado,chunya penjoree nyakwar kibiere ang’o ma dwa yudowa ma awinjo duond jachein machiegni ni? Achiewo amanyo ang’uolana mane agolo ka pok adonjo e od nindo.Awuok oko agoyo ****’a koni gi koni ,aneno minwa oa turo bando e puodho ma path ot,’minwa oyaore?’ amose gi luoro apenje ni,to ma winy ochiewa gi ruto modhuroni to kare ang’o madwa timore,”Nyathina ing’eyo ni asebedo ka aleko lek moko mag tho chalo ni masira nyalo yudowa machiegni ni.”Wewuoyo kamano minwa nyoro ka koko ayiko nyabila osiepa mabuonjo mos to ong’eyo rito nyikwayo ,omwolo nyakamaye,ok adwa winjo wach tho kata matin.Ne, we keta gi wach tho gokinyi chiew owadu ma ababa mondo udhi e puodho ridho bando, wuoyi ber machiewo to yudo gi matimo ka chieng pok obedo makech,awuok achiko e od steve omera kuma ababa tinde nindoe karito ’ ,Ababa pok ichiewo,? mama wacho ni en nindo manade ma sani pod ng’ama dichwo ninde?Bro,nyoro ne anindo modeko nadhi e thum kaseda loka aduogo saa apar ga riyo asayou weya uru anind matin okatamora puodho to adhi.Ababa we tugo koda dalaka. kwani wan ema ne wakoni ni idhi e thum? Chung na malo ka pok achopo kanyo apami.Awera kode Awuok Oko Tiego Kwer ,nyundo pisore to goyo lweta malit ‘Uwi Uwi ****’,Fred en ang’o? Minwa goyo koko,Ta ang'ise gi lit ni " ok nyundoni ema dwa bamo lweta yawa',Ababa nyiera ‘Hehe mama nakoni ni jo town gi bure kata tiego kwer gikia’.Omera we losona kaka ilosonano idhi ****’o iya gokinyi.Mama to nyathini kamaye ekaka tinde onindo dalaka ? Saani dekoro wasechopo e puodho? Fred, in to ema ihero lungo wach,Nyoro donge nang’isi ni aseda mawuon Erick ne onindo e bade? D.O Misiani ne biro goyo ngolo kanyo gi joka shirati band,makoro imedo chumvi e wach dhina e thum ni? Ne ok awinjo maber ababa yawa,yani "Aseda ne osewewa ? To nyaka ne bi dalaka asebedo mana ka awuotho to shemecha gi ok kona ni wuod awino ratego osewewa,mayie we adhi sani agone gi mos puodho ok ringi pod an dala ka.Mama? Ababa ng’isa ni aseda kare ne ong’ielo orengo? We adhi agone gi mos mondi? Fred Okadwa Walo Ochuno Ni Nyaka Idhi Sani ? Dhi nenore marach ni asebet odieng' ariyo dalaka to pok adhi gonegi mos,we adhiya adhiya mama asayi?Kare dhi to kik ibudh kono,Aneno wuonu ma ngoto kono ohero minoni mang’eny gi penjo mag pimo wich,Tang' kode? Awinji minwa.Omera ? Mano fred maneno kalo e rangach kanyo no? Adwoke gi gero,'Mano ng’a magoyo koko gi nyinga E gweng’ no?An bena omera kwani ikia dwonda ? Omera kare in e gweng’ ka ? An Nabiro nyoro. Achopo ka owad gi baba u ma aseda kagoyo mos.Mano ber ,yaani freddy eldoret ka omiyo ok unenru, chakre john ma wuonu tho yawa,uweyo nyauyoma ema puro dalaka  kapunda? Ok kamano baba “nyaka wamany omera, piny oidho ma  ka ok imanyo toinyalo inindo kech kata kwelo.We an achop ago mos koka aduogi,Kapok idhi  Freddy miya gimoro kanyo adonjgo kisii ka amorgo chunya? Omera Benah, sani to atwo ok awuotho gi wallet lakini mak mia moro nikaa ikwe go wiyi, abiro neni maber godhiambo.Erokamano wuod baba, in gi chuny mana ka wuonu ma john. Sasawa Bena we an Aweyi.Hodi ka? Karibu! Karibu !  Freda,To in Dalaka? Antiye min akoth nabiro nyocha neno nyara matin gi minwa ,Mos  kuom gimoyudi ni? Nyathi john,mae e yo manyaka ji duto te nelu,nitie kinde nyuol gi kinde tho, wante wan jokalo e piny ma mwalo ka,mano adier min akoth.To ne  odhi nade ? " Kik iwach nyathi nyieka,an nachiewo gi sime koa kisumo ni wuon akoth wakoche ne oyang’o ng’ute gotieno koa tich.Gichinje matindo tindo." Mos yawa, pinyni  ne waresre nade? En mana kamano nyathi nyauyoma,to piny majan kono udhiye nade ? Siasa awinjo ni liet kono mapek piny otur ji dwaro lokruok? Nandi, dhi maber lakini nasewuok kono an eldoret tinde.'oh nisewuok kono ? Mano ber tek ni iyudo kamoro ma chumbi wuoke."Min Akoth ok awuotho machwe ahinya lakini mak rupia moro matin ni, iyudgo kata sukari moro ne nyithindo."Erokamano nyathina nyasaye ogwedhi,to pok iyudo min ot nyaka nya min nyathini wewa? Hahhahaha ! Naseyuto,Nyasaye ogwedha gi jaber kendo achano mana harus.Pod apime ka en miyo manyalo pur ma kojwach ka.Pod Antiye Dalaka Wabiro Wuoyo Kayudo Kinde. We an aweyi? Erokamano nyathi nyieka.
SøułSurvivør Jun 2015
<>¡<>

o denizen of yonder pond
you are so brave
of me so fond

your wings are crystal
beauty's grace
you're here
then gone without a trace

your body shimmers
oil's hues
mauve and purple
green and blue

tho I love you as you are
I'd rather view you
from afar

tho your love you'd like to share

please don't fly
into my hair!

<>¡<>
I actually did have that
happen once!

Scared the sh*t out of me!!!

---
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
August 20th, 2011

Pink and white hothouse lilies
parfume the atmosphere
of our summer retreat,
the shelter upon our island redoubt.

Their scent, a scentry,
posted to guard against
the oranges and reds,
the piano notes of fall,
the ivory whites of winter,
the iconic colors of the
seasons of responsibilities.

Lock the doors.

Preserves of
oranges, peach and lemon,
summer fruits,
preserve my calm!

Mingle well
with the other summer's fruited sweets,
cherries, black berries, caramel,
all, ally thyself with salt air
and do thy fragrant work!

Ferry away, banish,
the wardens of the
workweek jail, like only
summer garden colors
and sun-rays can.    

Still yourself,
be calmed, becalmed,
there is no breeze,
tis but mid-August
and the grill still awaits
your further command.

Long days and humid nights
bid you drink red rosés,
and summer lemoncellos,
chilled to accompany
the sweet summer corn
covered in salty butter.
drink the jus of the
summer sea's bounty,
saltwater berries, seasonal delights.

But you know better.

Stepping outside,
you are tree felled,
senses red alerted
by hints, whiffs
of the odor of change,
a piano refrain.

Acorns in August?

Can't be, won't allow it,
that slight chill, dispatch it,
won't let go yet of
sun tanned lotion notions,  
and legalized
summer laziness.  

Beneath my flip~flops,
acorn shells irritatingly crunch,
uninvited guests,
they are the peas I feel
under the mattress and bed,
contaminating my head,
while I lay  cloaked beneath,
my summer weight comforter.

Too late.

Back to school flyers
litter the driveway and infest
the Sunday papers.
I am defeated,
my senses tingle,
at the sight of these
changeover secretions.  

Sap of the maples is acoming,
the Paul Revere warning
of Redcoated leaves soon to
invade my bay's sandy shores.

Come my friends,
be courageous
and of good faith.

One more time, unto the breach!
One more time, unto the beach!

Tho our armor of golden tan
will of necessity rust red by cold bitters,
the summer of our poetry,
recorded, will forever live.

Even tho summer's demise
draws near, its death most glorious and not in vain,
when we lay spent and slain
after our approaching defeat,
apres the Battle of
Labor Day,
We still have our body,
Our poems, summer crafted,
The cello and the piano
Reminding those few left to listen.
<•>
mid august suicidal
August 12, 2017

to the facts:
suicidal thoughts come as regular as a
teenager pimple

weekends summer sun burns the skin,
the inner gloom,
so that I just make from the
Monday to Friday bookends
of grey cloud doom, barely opened eyes

the acorns peas under the bed's mattress,
my summer-brain pod irritants
are
freshly arrived, fully ensconced,
antibiotic resistant sob's,  
the colored newsprint of hateful
back to school flyers still haunt and clog
the sinking sunking sinking
waste disposal

the newest indignity,
the emails proclaiming
end-of-summer better hurry
drink up those three cases of pink rose wine
down in the chilling basement

not a bad idea in *** actuality

nothing kills like suicide and
nothing kills suicidal thoughts
like a three week drunk
starting now

the truth burden just got harder;
Adagio for Strings, Opus 11,
whispers stay the hand


~~~
Sharina Saad Jun 2013
Heart is connected with the universal energy
Head is logical
Heart goes with synchronous vibrations
Head will analyse everything
LOVE is Lactation of Vitall energy
When focussed it can mean "I love u"
So dil tho pagal hai
when two hearts interact in LOVE
the Spiritual Energy Xchange happen
Dil tho pagal hai
its all about crazy love
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath


Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013
your effusive and lengthy comments are each a poem in their own right.  

Tinkered with June 22, 2013
With a push from Bala,
A serial peeper, thank God!
Ston Poet Dec 2015
(Smoking on that drill2)..., Yeah (***** that ****2)..(Smoking on that drill3)..Yeah..(***** that ****2)..I stay smoking on (that ****2)..Yeah..I stay smoking on (that drill2)..Aye *****..(that ****2)..(Aye Im smoking on that drill3)..Yeah ***** (that ****3)..Uhh..

I ain't popping no pills , I ain't snorting nothing man, I ain't injecting myself, Im just rolling no mollies, I stay smoking on that drill, Yeah I stay smoking on (that ****
3)..*****.. I'm getting straight to the business my *****, what's the deal, Uhh,Yeah, what's the deal with all of these buster ***** *** made fakes that's in the rap game mane, yall giving them **** ****** praises , that ain't Gods, they Satan peasants, Uhh..
I only give praises to the Heavenly Father & Jesus Christ , you should too, homie, I'm just giving out good advice, don't Idolize  me my *****, I'm not a God, even thou I'm fly, even tho I ryhme so nice, dude you can be fly too, you gotta have confidence within you, look up to yourself my *****, you gotta encourage yourself, when nobody else isn't..

Uhh, Aye I stay smoking on that drill, Yeah I stay smoking on (that ****3)..So what man, Yeah mane,I'm smoking on that drill..(it helps me2)..be a better me, it medicates all my pain , it helps me meditate all of my depression away..So why the freak they got it illegalized for mane..Aye
The government is so evil homie, they the Occult , they so Satanic mane..The government been tryna destroy my reputation.. I know they after me,Yeah mane..They after me homie, wanna take my life away, Yeah they wanna put me 6 feet under with a closed casket service, mane, because all I rymhe about is the truth homie, Aye I ain't running ..noo..I won't stop tho, no I won't dawg, if death do comes then, Imma fight death all the way back where it camed from, They can throw me how much money they want to, but I won't take it,noo My soul is worth more than gold, All I need is Jesus, he saved you & me from ever being defeated, so he's the only Idol to me man..Aye..

(I stay smoking on that drill Yeah2)..(I stay smoking on that ****,Yeah2)..(smoking on that drill2)..***** Yeah (that ****3)..(Uhh2)..(Yeah2)..my ***** this ain't no gangster music & I ain't no gangster Imma King Imma real ***** & , Imma Rebel too mane,..Ayo, I bet I could rap some **** that every hood ***** will blast & feel tho homie..Aye..I ain't no **** either, but I'm thugging against America..**** em Uhh..
I'm so g, my *****, I'm me Yeah ***** , I'm who I always wanted to be my *****..so **** what a doubter & a hater gone think about this one...because

(***** I rise3)..(***** I strive3)..Yeah *****.. (I rise2)..(***** I strive2)..(***** I ride2)..for OFTR only & my ***** (thats Fo life3)..Yeah..(***** I rise3)..(***** I strive3)..***** I rise..(***** I fly2)..(***** I rise2)..(***** I strive2)..***** I rise ***** I fly Aye..
(Smoking on that drill
2)..Yeah (***** that ****2)..Yeah *****..I stay smoking on that ****, Yeah I stay smoking on that ****..***** I'm (smoking on that drill3)..(***** that ****2)..
Aye *****..

/(I strive *2)..(I rise
2)..(I fly2)../3
Smoking on that drill,..
(Yeah ***** that ****..that ****..Uhh*3)
stonpoet.tumblr.com
Apollo’s wrath to man the dreadful spring
Of ills innum’rous, tuneful goddess, sing!
Thou who did’st first th’ ideal pencil give,
And taught’st the painter in his works to live,
Inspire with glowing energy of thought,
What Wilson painted, and what Ovid wrote.
Muse! lend thy aid, nor let me sue in vain,
Tho’ last and meanest of the rhyming train!
O guide my pen in lofty strains to show
The Phrygian queen, all beautiful in woe.
  ’Twas where Maeonia spreads her wide domain
Niobe dwelt, and held her potent reign:
See in her hand the regal sceptre shine,
The wealthy heir of Tantalus divine,
He most distinguish’d by Dodonean Jove,
To approach the tables of the gods above:
Her grandsire Atlas, who with mighty pains
Th’ ethereal axis on his neck sustains:
Her other grandsire on the throne on high
Rolls the loud-pealing thunder thro’ the sky.
  Her spouse, Amphion, who from Jove too springs,
Divinely taught to sweep the sounding strings.
  Seven sprightly sons the royal bed adorn,
Seven daughters beauteous as the op’ning morn,
As when Aurora fills the ravish’d sight,
And decks the orient realms with rosy light
From their bright eyes the living splendors play,
Nor can beholders bear the flashing ray.
  Wherever, Niobe, thou turn’st thine eyes,
New beauties kindle, and new joys arise!
But thou had’st far the happier mother prov’d,
If this fair offspring had been less belov’d:
What if their charms exceed Aurora’s teint.
No words could tell them, and no pencil paint,
Thy love too vehement hastens to destroy
Each blooming maid, and each celestial boy.
  Now Manto comes, endu’d with mighty skill,
The past to explore, the future to reveal.
Thro’ Thebes’ wide streets Tiresia’s daughter came,
Divine Latona’s mandate to proclaim:
The Theban maids to hear the orders ran,
When thus Maeonia’s prophetess began:
  “Go, Thebans! great Latona’s will obey,
“And pious tribute at her altars pay:
“With rights divine, the goddess be implor’d,
“Nor be her sacred offspring unador’d.”
Thus Manto spoke.  The Theban maids obey,
And pious tribute to the goddess pay.
The rich perfumes ascend in waving spires,
And altars blaze with consecrated fires;
The fair assembly moves with graceful air,
And leaves of laurel bind the flowing hair.
  Niobe comes with all her royal race,
With charms unnumber’d, and superior grace:
Her Phrygian garments of delightful hue,
Inwove with gold, refulgent to the view,
Beyond description beautiful she moves
Like heav’nly Venus, ’midst her smiles and loves:
She views around the supplicating train,
And shakes her graceful head with stern disdain,
Proudly she turns around her lofty eyes,
And thus reviles celestial deities:
“What madness drives the Theban ladies fair
“To give their incense to surrounding air?
“Say why this new sprung deity preferr’d?
“Why vainly fancy your petitions heard?
“Or say why Caeus offspring is obey’d,
“While to my goddesship no tribute’s paid?
“For me no altars blaze with living fires,
“No bullock bleeds, no frankincense transpires,
“Tho’ Cadmus’ palace, not unknown to fame,
“And Phrygian nations all revere my name.
“Where’er I turn my eyes vast wealth I find,
“Lo! here an empress with a goddess join’d.
“What, shall a Titaness be deify’d,
“To whom the spacious earth a couch deny’d!
“Nor heav’n, nor earth, nor sea receiv’d your queen,
“Till pitying Delos took the wand’rer in.
“Round me what a large progeny is spread!
“No frowns of fortune has my soul to dread.
“What if indignant she decrease my train
“More than Latona’s number will remain;
“Then hence, ye Theban dames, hence haste away,
“Nor longer off’rings to Latona pay;
“Regard the orders of Amphion’s spouse,
“And take the leaves of laurel from your brows.”
Niobe spoke.  The Theban maids obey’d,
Their brows unbound, and left the rights unpaid.
  The angry goddess heard, then silence broke
On Cynthus’ summit, and indignant spoke;
“Phoebus! behold, thy mother in disgrace,
“Who to no goddess yields the prior place
“Except to Juno’s self, who reigns above,
“The spouse and sister of the thund’ring Jove.
“Niobe, sprung from Tantalus, inspires
“Each Theban ***** with rebellious fires;
“No reason her imperious temper quells,
“But all her father in her tongue rebels;
“Wrap her own sons for her blaspheming breath,
“Apollo! wrap them in the shades of death.”
Latona ceas’d, and ardent thus replies
The God, whose glory decks th’ expanded skies.
  “Cease thy complaints, mine be the task assign’d
“To punish pride, and scourge the rebel mind.”
This Phoebe join’d.—They wing their instant flight;
Thebes trembled as th’ immortal pow’rs alight.
  With clouds incompass’d glorious Phoebus stands;
The feather’d vengeance quiv’ring in his hands.
     Near Cadmus’ walls a plain extended lay,
Where Thebes’ young princes pass’d in sport the day:
There the bold coursers bounded o’er the plains,
While their great masters held the golden reins.
Ismenus first the racing pastime led,
And rul’d the fury of his flying steed.
“Ah me,” he sudden cries, with shrieking breath,
While in his breast he feels the shaft of death;
He drops the bridle on his courser’s mane,
Before his eyes in shadows swims the plain,
He, the first-born of great Amphion’s bed,
Was struck the first, first mingled with the dead.
  Then didst thou, Sipylus, the language hear
Of fate portentous whistling in the air:
As when th’ impending storm the sailor sees
He spreads his canvas to the fav’ring breeze,
So to thine horse thou gav’st the golden reins,
Gav’st him to rush impetuous o’er the plains:
But ah! a fatal shaft from Phoebus’ hand
Smites thro’ thy neck, and sinks thee on the sand.
  Two other brothers were at wrestling found,
And in their pastime claspt each other round:
A shaft that instant from Apollo’s hand
Transfixt them both, and stretcht them on the sand:
Together they their cruel fate bemoan’d,
Together languish’d, and together groan’d:
Together too th’ unbodied spirits fled,
And sought the gloomy mansions of the dead.
Alphenor saw, and trembling at the view,
Beat his torn breast, that chang’d its snowy hue.
He flies to raise them in a kind embrace;
A brother’s fondness triumphs in his face:
Alphenor fails in this fraternal deed,
A dart dispatch’d him (so the fates decreed:)
Soon as the arrow left the deadly wound,
His issuing entrails smoak’d upon the ground.
  What woes on blooming Damasichon wait!
His sighs portend his near impending fate.
Just where the well-made leg begins to be,
And the soft sinews form the supple knee,
The youth sore wounded by the Delian god
Attempts t’ extract the crime-avenging rod,
But, whilst he strives the will of fate t’ avert,
Divine Apollo sends a second dart;
Swift thro’ his throat the feather’d mischief flies,
Bereft of sense, he drops his head, and dies.
  Young Ilioneus, the last, directs his pray’r,
And cries, “My life, ye gods celestial! spare.”
Apollo heard, and pity touch’d his heart,
But ah! too late, for he had sent the dart:
Thou too, O Ilioneus, art doom’d to fall,
The fates refuse that arrow to recal.
  On the swift wings of ever flying Fame
To Cadmus’ palace soon the tidings came:
Niobe heard, and with indignant eyes
She thus express’d her anger and surprise:
“Why is such privilege to them allow’d?
“Why thus insulted by the Delian god?
“Dwells there such mischief in the pow’rs above?
“Why sleeps the vengeance of immortal Jove?”
For now Amphion too, with grief oppress’d,
Had plung’d the deadly dagger in his breast.
Niobe now, less haughty than before,
With lofty head directs her steps no more
She, who late told her pedigree divine,
And drove the Thebans from Latona’s shrine,
How strangely chang’d!—yet beautiful in woe,
She weeps, nor weeps unpity’d by the foe.
On each pale corse the wretched mother spread
Lay overwhelm’d with grief, and kiss’d her dead,
Then rais’d her arms, and thus, in accents slow,
“Be sated cruel Goddess! with my woe;
“If I’ve offended, let these streaming eyes,
“And let this sev’nfold funeral suffice:
“Ah! take this wretched life you deign’d to save,
“With them I too am carried to the grave.
“Rejoice triumphant, my victorious foe,
“But show the cause from whence your triumphs flow?
“Tho’ I unhappy mourn these children slain,
“Yet greater numbers to my lot remain.”
She ceas’d, the bow string twang’d with awful sound,
Which struck with terror all th’ assembly round,
Except the queen, who stood unmov’d alone,
By her distresses more presumptuous grown.
Near the pale corses stood their sisters fair
In sable vestures and dishevell’d hair;
One, while she draws the fatal shaft away,
Faints, falls, and sickens at the light of day.
To sooth her mother, lo! another flies,
And blames the fury of inclement skies,
And, while her words a filial pity show,
Struck dumb—indignant seeks the shades below.
Now from the fatal place another flies,
Falls in her flight, and languishes, and dies.
Another on her sister drops in death;
A fifth in trembling terrors yields her breath;
While the sixth seeks some gloomy cave in vain,
Struck with the rest, and mingled with the slain.
  One only daughter lives, and she the least;
The queen close clasp’d the daughter to her breast:
“Ye heav’nly pow’rs, ah spare me one,” she cry’d,
“Ah! spare me one,” the vocal hills reply’d:
In vain she begs, the Fates her suit deny,
In her embrace she sees her daughter die.
   “The queen of all her family bereft,
“Without or husband, son, or daughter left,
“Grew stupid at the shock.  The passing air
“Made no impression on her stiff’ning hair.
“The blood forsook her face: amidst the flood
“Pour’d from her cheeks, quite fix’d her eye-*****
  “stood.
“Her tongue, her palate both obdurate grew,
“Her curdled veins no longer motion knew;
“The use of neck, and arms, and feet was gone,
“And ev’n her bowels hard’ned into stone:
“A marble statue now the queen appears,
“But from the marble steal the silent tears.”
Christmass is come and every hearth
Makes room to give him welcome now
Een want will dry its tears in mirth
And crown him wi a holly bough
Tho tramping neath a winters sky
Oer snow track paths and ryhmey stiles
The huswife sets her spining bye
And bids him welcome wi her smiles
Each house is swept the day before
And windows stuck wi evergreens
The snow is beesomd from the door
And comfort crowns the cottage scenes
Gilt holly wi its thorny ******
And yew and box wi berrys small
These deck the unusd candlesticks
And pictures hanging by the wall

Neighbours resume their anual cheer
Wishing wi smiles and spirits high
Clad christmass and a happy year
To every morning passer bye
Milk maids their christmass journeys go
Accompanyd wi favourd swain
And childern pace the crumping snow
To taste their grannys cake again

Hung wi the ivys veining bough
The ash trees round the cottage farm
Are often stript of branches now
The cotters christmass hearth to warm
He swings and twists his hazel band
And lops them off wi sharpend hook
And oft brings ivy in his hand
To decorate the chimney nook

Old winter whipes his ides bye
And warms his fingers till he smiles
Where cottage hearths are blazing high
And labour resteth from his toils
Wi merry mirth beguiling care
Old customs keeping wi the day
Friends meet their christmass cheer to share
And pass it in a harmless way

Old customs O I love the sound
However simple they may be
What ere wi time has sanction found
Is welcome and is dear to me
Pride grows above simplicity
And spurns it from her haughty mind
And soon the poets song will be
The only refuge they can find

The shepherd now no more afraid
Since custom doth the chance bestow
Starts up to kiss the giggling maid
Beneath the branch of mizzletoe
That neath each cottage beam is seen
Wi pearl-like-berrys shining gay
The shadow still of what hath been
Which fashion yearly fades away

And singers too a merry throng
At early morn wi simple skill
Yet imitate the angels song
And chant their christmass ditty still
And mid the storm that dies and swells
By fits-in humings softly steals
The music of the village bells
Ringing round their merry peals

And when its past a merry crew
Bedeckt in masks and ribbons gay
The ‘Morrice danse’ their sports renew
And act their winter evening play
The clown-turnd-kings for penny praise
Storm wi the actors strut and swell
And harlequin a laugh to raise
Wears his **** back and tinkling bell

And oft for pence and spicy ale
Wi winter nosgays pind before
The wassail singer tells her tale
And drawls her christmass carrols oer
The prentice boy wi ruddy face
And ryhme bepowderd dancing locks
From door to door wi happy pace
Runs round to claim his ‘christmass box’

The block behind the fire is put
To sanction customs old desires
And many a ******* bands are cut
For the old farmers christmass fires
Where loud tongd gladness joins the throng
And winter meets the warmth of may
Feeling by times the heat too strong
And rubs his shins and draws away

While snows the window panes bedim
The fire curls up a sunny charm
Where creaming oer the pitchers rim
The flowering ale is set to warm
Mirth full of joy as summer bees
Sits there its pleasures to impart
While childern tween their parents knees
Sing scraps of carrols oer by heart

And some to view the winter weathers
Climb up the window seat wi glee
Likening the snow to falling feathers
In fancys infant ******
Laughing wi superstitious love
Oer visions wild that youth supplyes
Of people pulling geese above
And keeping christmass in the skyes

As tho the homstead trees were drest
In lieu of snow wi dancing leaves
As. tho the sundryd martins nest
Instead of ides hung the eaves
The childern hail the happy day
As if the snow was april grass
And pleasd as neath the warmth of may
Sport oer the water froze to glass

Thou day of happy sound and mirth
That long wi childish memory stays
How blest around the cottage hearth
I met thee in my boyish days
Harping wi raptures dreaming joys
On presents that thy coming found
The welcome sight of little toys
The christmass gifts of comers round

‘The wooden horse wi arching head
Drawn upon wheels around the room
The gilded coach of ginger bread
And many colord sugar plumb
Gilt coverd books for pictures sought
Or storys childhood loves to tell
Wi many a urgent promise bought
To get tomorrows lesson well

And many a thing a minutes sport
Left broken on the sanded floor
When we woud leave our play and court
Our parents promises for more
Tho manhood bids such raptures dye
And throws such toys away as vain
Yet memory loves to turn her eye
And talk such pleasures oer again

Around the glowing hearth at night
The harmless laugh and winter tale
Goes round-while parting friends delight
To toast each other oer their ale
The cotter oft wi quiet zeal
Will musing oer his bible lean
While in the dark the lovers steal
To kiss and toy behind the screen

The yule cake dotted thick wi plumbs
Is on each supper table found
And cats look up for falling crumbs
Which greedy childern litter round
And huswifes sage stuffd seasond chine
Long hung in chimney nook to drye
And boiling eldern berry wine
To drink the christmass eves ‘good bye’
a (the) woman’s body (pretty pleasing)

is my reciprocal

her waist is my happy place

her neck is my doorway

the rest is
best when she is mirror accessorizing,
preening, **** upon first rising,
tallying the gains and the losses

unaware of my watching,
never satisfied she, tho she is 98% unadmitting contented,
as she shifts her weight,
from knee to knee extended alternating
with slow delicacy

for the pleasure is trebled
for her imagine image reverberates
throughout the house

for ever(y) mirror is pre-positioned,
accidentally angled just so, lol,
her image transported from living room to dining alcove
all the way to the kitchen’s bleacher seats

she doesn’t know and asks why I’m grinning,
answer is
no confessionary, no telling I’m swelling and
sinning

eyes scheming-dreaming of her reciprocity

she smiles and says  
“good morning bad boy”

maybe she does know
but you won’t tell her,
we, you and me,
are pretty pleasing

she is 1/me
she is won over me
Nikhil Khandekar Sep 2015
Dry winds of monsoon rainless
Caress my little hair idly
Fire crackers acrid painless
Waft up quite widely

The elements treat me fine
Yes, they are all democratic
Often verging on divine
Tho’ folks call em lunatic

Bother not, friends
Folks are easily dumb
That’s how it ends -
Tom, **** and a thumb

Tho’ nothing might augur well
Keep being until groundswell
Jake Phillips Sep 2020
Tho I am not the perfect person
Tho you are not
Tho I have run from everything
Tho you have
Tho I refuse of seeing
Yes
The only one worth believing
Bunhead17 Nov 2013
why You Callin Me
I Ain't Got Time
Why You Callin Me (Uhh) [x2]

Now He Trynna Do Me
But I Ain't Yo Girl
How You Actin Like You Knew Me [x2]

Iunno You Boy [x4]
(But I love you tho)

Well I Don't Love No One Yeah I'm a ***** For It
Cooler Than The Coolest Kid I Don't Feel **** For It (Ha!)
Cause A ***** Tourin
Like Jeremy Lin You Know A ***** Scoring
Eating Rap ******* And It's Been Borin
Shout Outs To The Groupies Cause They Been Whorin (Well)
They Just Have Fun G Tyga Got A ***** In The Crib With A One Piece
***** We King And How You Feel Now
****** On The Coke Cause Honey Got A Deal Now
For Real Now The Queen's ****** Busy
You Can Come To The Party But You Ain't Going With Me

Why You Callin Me
I Ain't Got Time
Why You Callin Me (Uhh) [x2]

Now He Trynna Do Me
But I Ain't Yo Girl
How You Actin Like You Knew Me [x2]

Iunno You Boy [x4]
(But I love you tho)

Well I Don't Love Em But I Don't Hate Em
**** Actin Like A Care Cause I Don't Rate Em
All These Guys Suicidal Cause The Coke Made Em
Lil Honey Ain't A ***** She Let The Coke Break Em (Uhh)
Fake ****** I Ain't Bout Bout Em
But They Fun What The **** I Do Without Em Out Em (Uhh)
So **** It Let's Smoke Boo But I Ain't Gon Love You 'Member I Told You
Now I'm Chillin At Home & He Callin Me
Tell Him Wrong Number Like Excuse Me Pardon Me
**** Was All Cool When I Meet Him
But The Next Time I Act Like I Forget Em (I'm An *******)

Why You Callin Me
I Ain't Got Time
Why You Callin Me (Uhh) [x2]

Now He Trynna Do Me
But I Ain't Yo Girl
How You Actin Like You Knew Me [x2]

Iunno You Boy [x4]
(But I love you tho)

[Talking:]
Hahaha
****** Wit You
Ima Have To Change My Number
Hahaha
I'm Not Jokin Tho
This is more so a rap.
Ston Poet Dec 2015
Uhh,Yeah.. I know times getting harder, but you just gotta get stronger, & keep moving on tho dawg, no matter what a hater gotta say **** em forget em..I said no matter what a hater say (**** em,forget em2)..Uhh..no matter what a hatter gotta say fucc em, forget em, no matter what a hater say (fucc em, forget em2)..Let em talk, let em hate man, They just mad at themselves, **** a hater, forget em, **** a hater Yeah forget em, **** a hater Yeah just forget em, **** a hater Yeah forget em..
I said **** a hater, Yeah just (forget em2)..They not happy with themselves, they hating for nothing man, ****, & I ain't got nothing but love to give away man, so Imma let em hate Yeah (**** em, forget em2)..Yeah , they just mad at themselves,.. They mad at (themselves2)..Aye..(they mad at they selve2)..Yeah just let em be  mad at them selve.s. Man, **** a hater , Yeah just forget em, **** a hater man, just forget em..**** em forget em..Aye

**** a hater, let em hate dawg, we don't stunt em, we don't worry about them losers noo, we just get our cake dawg, my ***** we rolling haze up, they won't make my blood pressure go up, no more worrying & stressing over a hater, ****, Yeah problems do still come my way, dude trials & tribulations, but I'm keeping my head up to the sky man, **** the drama, Uhh,..I don't wanna hear all of dat loud mouthing, shouting Shawty, I just wanna smell that loud (Yeah2)..we stay burning, we puffing 24/7 ***** non stop, our lungs don't clock out,
Uhh, aye They like to talk behind my back how I ain't ****, **** a hater, I just (forget em
2)..I ain't nothing like the past, I'm the future man, I'm way ahead of my time like hovering whips, Aye throw me the pass, Imma catch it of course man, I win the game for the team *****, real spit, Imma young legend, I'm very legit, **** the laws man, I'm playing the industry, & I ain't quitting ever , no man, **** a hater, forget em, let em talk they ****, I do my money dance on them *******, Yeah, Aye, Yeah, Uhh..

Young Ston the man, I keep going in daily, Yeah feet don't fail me now, my ***** I'm on a mission, **** a hater, let them ****** hate man, let them be mad (by themselves2)..They not happy wit (theirselves2)..I'm traveling on this route to wealth, I'm on this route to helping my ****** out that need help aswell, my ***** if you down for the cause then travel along wit me then dawg,No Wizard of Oz type of **** tho, **** that witchcraft magic **** dawg, forget the Devil, I ain't doing nothing enchanted,I'm changing the world.. While I'm chanting in these raps homie..

I'm very passionate about this ****, no hater won't get in my way & if they do that's their last day living, Yeah mane..Don't try me, I'm so blessed Yeah..God giving me so much favor, I'm not gonna be selfish, Imma share it, This song is for the people who spirit been down & need some uplifting.. **** a hater, forget em..Aye
I'm here for you man, I gotchu , we gone be okay, Satan won't stop us, Yeah I'm stumbling through these roadblocks, but I'm still in drive tho dawg, This is inspirational music, I'm inspiring the next generation future leaders, **** a hater just forget em..Aye

When I was younger it shoulda been more rappers like me, but its okay I dun stepped up to the plate, & Imma knock the ball outta the park..home run mane..**** a hater forget em..Aye..
I was so needy, I wanted my own ****, so I started writing raps, hoping that people will need me, I'm tryna save souls homie.. Aye for real mane..**** a hater, forget em..Uhh, Yeah
A young  ***** want a lil mama I can call my own, but **** I ain't that type of ***** that beg for some ***** , I don't wait for no *****, my ***** I handle my business like a grown *** men should (Yeah2)..
I got my fam, OFTR man, they all riding to the end, no to death do us part, we live forever, eternity, **** a hater, forget em, let them hate man, let them ******* hate, go get yo cheddar,

That's my motto,(**** a hater forget em.
3)..Aye ***** thats what I been bout man, always, I'm up in the morning rolling no mollies, & I won't go to sleep till the next morning, I'm on my hustle, I hustle so heavy mane, I get it outta the mud, like Kevin Gates,**** Life my ***** I never been a nerd, but they still picked on me when I was in school..mane, my parents could never afford the expensive brands, Aye but **** a hater Yeah just forget em.., they just mad at themselves, they need to smoke more **** like me, man, Uhh, yo I was such a bad *** kid , a class clown Yeah ,cussing in class & jumping on the classroom tables man, acting a ***, ****..

I'm still that same hyper dude now, but I'm more maturer Yeah,Uhh..my ***** this is spiritual food, I won't fool ya, **** a hater forget em, let em hate man..(Uhh, Yeah3)...

/(**** a hater let em hate man
2)..go & get yo cake Yeah/2


Stay praying stay,stay baking, **** a hater, let em hate man, **** a hater, let em hate Yeah, **** a hater, ***** forget em , Uhh, Young Ston OFTR (Yeah *****
3)..Yeah
stonpoet.tumblr.com
Hayleigh May 2014
Our bodies aligned
Our legs entwined
Your hand in mine
A jigsaw puzzle,
Perfectly placed.

A haze, as I gaze into your eyes
Kisses, cuddles and laughter
We're not asking for a happily ever after
We seize the moment,
We seize the day
Holding each other, together we lay
Under your duvet
You say I'm amazing
Tho I think I'm nothing great
I appreciate your words
I say you're beautiful and
Tho you don't believe
You allow me to conceive
A compliment dressed in
Tight green ribbons
Your favourite colour.

We climb the stairs to your room
Interrupting stares between us
Exchanged glances
Our romance is, unexplainable

I fall into you,
You catch me,
We're both free falling
Others are calling,
Tho you're all I want to hear
You're all I want near.

Time always goes
too fast
when I'm with you, and
Too slow
When I'm not, in your presence.

Your heart on my sleeve,
My heart on yours,
Together we open the doors
To each others soul
Fear holds us back at times
Tho we talk, remind, reassure
That's what we're here for.

I lay my head upon your chest,
I can hear your heart racing,
My minds chasing, tho the pacing
Becomes slower.
As you pull me in tighter
I'm not usually a fighter
But this is worth fighting for.

The ground shakes,
The earth quakes
As I realise, how positively
lucky I am.
To be able to call something
So beautiful, inside and out
Mine.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
How I Observed the Day of Atonement

If you are unfamiliar with day and its observance,
See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur

In a place of perfect solitude,
No crowded synagogue within to hide,
No cantor to intercede on my behalf,
I spoke words of mine own creation
To my creator who wisely empowers me
To judge myself, for knowing, none harsher,

We two,
Old travel companions,
Upon worn grayed, adirondacke thrones,
We overlooked,
A natural prayer place,
Bay and breeze, white-clouded and sun-laced.
Only the full time inhabitants, the animals,
Grayling butterflies to match and contrast,
Eavesdropping on our Greek dialogos, in this,
Palace of Perfect Solitude.

Amiable did we chat,
I of family, this and that.

He, wearied from recent travel,
To Syria and India,
Was glad for a day off,
For he had little to do,
But wait for twilight,
To then close the books.

For us no formality, easy the going,
No prosecutor no defender in residence,
For we exchange these roles intermittently,
The incriminatory, the penance, all deeds displayed,
No adult games of winking eyes, and
Hidden heart, secret chambers,
Rabbinical or angelic intercession.

He does so love his Bach,
Adagio on strings,
My soothing gift to him,
This music more than divine.

He returned this courtesy.

Warming sun to expose my chest,
Cooling genteel breeze offsetting,
The bay emptied of wayfaring skiffs and yachts.

A cooling beverage proffered,
But sighing, he said that he had yet to find
A beverage that his kind of thirst could slake.
For his eyes, tho shining, did not effervesce,
As when we shared this day in years past.

Too much killing, this year,
It tires me so to tabulate human excess,
Spoke not a word, for my critique would
Comfort him less, if at all.

Thanks for Kol Nidre, he plainted,
So I too can disavow,
The best intended oaths I took and take,
For each year, I fail more than the year before.

If only I could sit with each,
As I do with you,
Where what needs saying,
Is said, understood, undisguised as praying.

A schooner to the dock did appear,
For him it attended, for him, it waited,
Sails, both black and white.

He stood to depart, my arms-grasped, taken, he graphing,
Measuring my fortitude, my strengths, my divinity.

I do so love this day in your company.
I shall sit with you again one year on,
Bach sweet when next we meet, please.

Soft spoke, as almost I should not hear,
Your time is nigh, no thing I create is forever.
He spoke with such sadness,
For well I knew, the intent, his meaning.

He, for-himself, saddened, for he loved
Sitting  beside me in this manner,
Since my inception, never deception,

Only He resting easy, when he atoned before me,
And I gave him his absolution conditional,
As he gave me,
mine
September  2013
ogdiddynash Jul 2018
helping the kids with homework


no one told you,
was part of the job description
paycheck earner a-ok,
gruff but tender lover,
knowing her special places,
building a tree swing,
a tree house safe and satisfactory,
one the neighbors envy

taking them to the hospital for
broken arms and chemotherapy,
part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable,
going to school to give that principal a look
that will make him think twice before suspending
one of his for defending himself

you remember your daddy doing the same for you,
forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later

the tucking in, the pretense ouch
when your end of day
scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies,
carrying tissues in a toolbox,
never heard of, nevertheless done,
tho not a memory defining the future inclusive,
definitely a learning ability, a likeability

doing homework, nuh uh,
no way jose, don’t dare let them
know how you never got a gold star,
always sat in the back row, outta sight,
all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery,
and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary
which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much

ain’t exactly his strong suit

sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him,
know where the on/off computer button hides,
the rest is up to them;
got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am,
how to address humans with respect,

i’ll promise them anything
but not doing any homework,
unless it the kind that that makes

a home work
#homework

— The End —