"thorp" poems
The Sorceress, Jacob's Most Beloved
she had eyes for me
I knew it
she knew it
man among boys
stare beguiling no accident
entrancement, entrapment,
of course, her eyes hid,
but knew it anyway, for
her warmth dripped into my body,
resting happily within my centre.
why not?
her sorcery, profound,
when she cast the words,
she cast them instantly
without human fore thought,
thus pleasing and being pleasing,
when her branded magi magic
home in other people's minds
did come to rest.
the spells cast
in and on me
own me as much
as I now am possessed,
and in possession of them,
though which is more powerful
is indeterminate,
for I am stained
either way.
in a quiet hamlet,
in an ancient thorp,
the lambs, white and happy
prance on the commons,
the El god's angel disguised,
fresh and unbroken,
I observe the only one,
spotted, stained, like me,
open hid on this earth.
bleating,
I am my beloved's,
and my beloved is mine,
mine very own sorceress.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC
Gentle cricket of yonder chirp
Rhythmic in you solitary cry
Edging my humble forgotten thorp
Where dreams peter out and die
A village slipping with the vale
Tis mine, and alone for me
Ragged breath struggling I fail
No rectitude in this misery
The huddles empty with molded thatch
Walking down valley to meet dell
The cricket summons a parting glass
Sweet regards friend, farewell
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
Her memories swallow you down a warp
Transferring to a hidden thorp
Deep and dark place in your mind
With no control of experience or time
Mysterious place in a difficult maze GPS is searching for her face
Her direction leads you to a grey place
Between black & white is it real
Feelings rip your heart so you can feel
The pain you can not tame
It fuels this place Remaining the same
Addict like a drug fiend's veins
Is this love or obsession
Timeless progression
Seems like the Great Depression
There is no constant thoughts but doubt
Wondering how did you get on this drought
A well so deep filled with tears of sorrow
Drowning you purposely so it can borrow
Your heart & empty soul
So it can add coal
To the fire burning your self control
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
Yeah, we fight a lot,
Sometimes intendedly
And sometimes seriously.
But, the moment you hang up my call,
I realize the pain of being hurt.
I cry a lot, disturbing my thoughts,
Still, everytime your love acts as the cure,
To those wounds of yours.
You are my punisher as well as my healer.
Oh! the thought itself brings me chills,
On the day you spare my wounds,
I would be nothing but a soulless corpse,
And love would sob in the deserted Thorp.
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC