"thoughted" poems
I cry your mercy—pity—love!—aye, love!
Merciful love that tantalizes not,
One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
Unmasked, and being seen—without a blot!
O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!
That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest
Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine,
That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,—
Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all,
Withhold no atom's atom or I die,
Or living on, perhaps, your wretched thrall,
Forget, in the mist of idle misery,
Life's purposes,—the palate of my mind
Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!
2k
IF you have revisited the town, thin Shade,
Whether to look upon your monument
(I wonder if the builder has been paid)
Or happier-thoughted when the day is spent
To drink of that salt breath out of the sea
When grey gulls flit about instead of men,
And the gaunt houses put on majesty:
Let these content you and be gone again;
For they are at their old tricks yet.
A man
Of your own passionate serving kind who had brought
In his full hands what, had they only known,
Had given their children's children loftier thought,
Sweeter emotion, working in their veins
Like gentle blood, has been driven from the place,
And instilt heaped upon him for his pains,
And for his open-handedness, disgrace;
Your enemy, an old fotil mouth, had set
The pack upon him.
Go, unquiet wanderer,
And gather the Glasnevin coverlet
About your head till the dust stops your ear,
The time for you to taste of that Salt breath
And listen at the corners has not come;
You had enough of sorrow before death --
Away, away! You are safer in the tomb.
1.5k
a Saturday afternoon love song
<>
finally the breezes have sheared the humidity,
away, away, out, out sluggish, do nothing thoughted spots,
so peculiar to a Saturday August afternoon,
passing like a last exhaling breath,
quiet like, no receipt, no return, no raising of the turgid, languid lungs
one more time
alone with quiet contemplation for sole companionship,
observe a regatta of sailing board boats, silenced passerby's,
orderly and regal, the wind keeping them tidily single filed
their empowering wind makes me prone to
thoughts of singing,
Leon Russell's A Song For You,
up next on the playlist,
but the squirrels beg off,
the rabbits hide away 'neath the deck,
the craven ravens retreat to the highest branches,
alone, laughing at their impolite, unsubtle slipping away of the
dearly departed
earbud a semi-solo performance, a duet,
me backed up by
Leon and the river-baying waves,
a city boy singin$ rockily,
in a place where a city boy has no earthly business to be, ^
especially singing,
chanting to everyone, no one in particular,
listening real careful like to the words of two oaky, growly voices,
leftovers from the Sixties, sing a song to the ones they love
*"I love you in a place where there's no space or time,
I love you for my life, You're a friend of mine
And when my life is over, Remember when we were together,
We were alone and I was singing this song to you"*
sometimes it just doesn't get any better,
under the wings of the sky and its multi-shaded blue blessings,
don't need counting, enumerating, all kind of blending going on
the old alone days been on the mind,
those laser clouded future gazing hazing days,
when you listened to music non-stop, but never sung along,
strange though, I wept then, and weeping now,
can't quite make the connection...
*guess my singing is still
just that bad*
<>
August 13, 2016
05:50pm
S.I.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
Dickinson dashes, cummings crimes
Not made nor committed for a pound nor a dime
Whether telegram-minded or scramble-thoughted
Their work is theirs, regardless of fortune or heirs
-c.j.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
Hollow words **** Eat the egg by the pound
Now the garish middle trees are supporting falling off the ridge
Dare we go on with this dredge
Like a lightbulb a canon filches the purse
Byron you wrote you write
Every substantiatable corn
Harp harp on the nails digging into the digable ground
Not like the pillow filled with clouds is the
Syringe tinted
Immobile tank last windows breath sank
Lycan depose
Merry hard rot and decompose
Songs of worth and old
Diametrically opposite to the
World on its toes
Blalala let the intern take his copy of its book to the marlin fishing grounds where the floodbanks roar over the waters and the tree leaves sank into the gravel patterns brave little capitol letters
Hee hah hee hah
Tripe and tripe on the wheels of Atlantis
You’re exposed! Naw
Thought and thoughted that the world was a cup
Believe a word and your life could be ruined
Believed their words now my life is ruined
Have I now peddled the unmistakable
And I ask, “But can truth be sold?”
While a million others stole by
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
a thoughted beast,
neither poet, nor man,
let his words construct themselves.
without a care to show
on sheet or screen, (let them),
no need to be, or grow.
with arms to forget
under closing eyes,
with a prize of
only silence,
like the shushing grass,
unaware
of even its green.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
bewildered,
confused,
where did it go?
alienated,
dogday tired,
just all gone, gone, gone.
confounded,
out of place,
it was here, i left it right here.
muddled, jumbled, befuddled,
jumble thoughted,
stumble stepped,
tangle, tousled,
perturbed, perplexed,
just downright baffled,
snarled up, sixways, sideways
why is'nt it where i left it, dumbfounded, disconnected, dazed,
so discombobulated,
i am about to be,
bedlamized...
i could swear,
i left my youth right there,
on the hall table,
next to the car keys....
but now it is gone...
........and i am left bereft.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC