"threateningly" poems
Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.
No faint and hesitating trill,
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.
Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:—
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!
Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!
Yet will I temperately rejoice;
Wide is the range, and free the choice
Of undiscordant themes;
Which, haply, kindred souls may prize
Not less than vernal ecstasies,
And passion’s feverish dreams.
For deathless powers to verse belong,
And they like Demi-gods are strong
On whom the Muses smile;
But some their function have disclaimed,
Best pleased with what is aptliest framed
To enervate and defile.
Not such the initiatory strains
Committed to the silent plains
In Britain’s earliest dawn:
Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale,
While all-too-daringly the veil
Of nature was withdrawn!
Nor such the spirit-stirring note
When the live chords Alcæus smote,
Inflamed by sense of wrong;
Woe! woe to Tyrants! from the lyre
Broke threateningly, in sparkles dire
Of fierce vindictive song.
And not unhallowed was the page
By wingèd Love inscribed, to assuage
The pangs of vain pursuit;
Love listening while the Lesbian Maid
With finest touch of passion swayed
Her own æolian lute.
O ye, who patiently explore
The wreck of Herculanean lore,
What rapture! could ye seize
Some Theban fragment, or unroll
One precious, tender-hearted scroll
Of pure Simonides.
That were, indeed, a genuine birth
Of poesy; a bursting forth
Of genius from the dust:
What Horace gloried to behold,
What Maro loved, shall we enfold?
Can haughty Time be just!
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Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day,
As they go lumbering across the sky,
Squawking in joy of feeling safe on high,
Beating their heavy wings of owlish gray.
They scare the singing birds of earth away
As, greed-impelled, they circle threateningly,
Watching the toilers with malignant eye,
From their exclusive haven--birds of prey.
They swoop down for the spoil in certain might,
And fasten in our bleeding flesh their claws.
They beat us to surrender weak with fright,
And tugging and tearing without let or pause,
They flap their hideous wings in grim delight,
And stuff our gory hearts into their maws.
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I
Originations of consciousness whir into a moan of torment.
A sudden bombshell of consternation;
her eyes burst wide.
Baby?
Sleep-laden, post-finals brain gravy:
No, can't be. Could be. Shouldn't be. Want to be? No, can't be.
Lurking beyond the reach of terror, realism slithers closer.
The hysteria deteriorates as deduction brings lucidity.
******* eggs.
They are abolished, and never heard from again.
II
Suitcase tetris, smothering each layer.
She moves without direction,
or a lazy child with ADD.
At long last, the shimmering sink full of death beckons...
Dissatisfaction erupts in a symphony of fragmented drinkware.
Her assumption lingers, cresting into prediction.
Her expectations are met.
A thorn in her paw.
The dishwater weeps.
III
Her rage is tangible, hissing in her ears,
bashing her skull when it is ignored,
clawing at her spine.
She abandons the silverware.
They never did anything for her.
The loathsome bag swings threateningly.
She ignores it, giving it a silent challenge.
Fate strings before her eyes, yanked taut and thrumming
with inevitability.
Crimson satin sheets tangle lovingly from the rift of tender peel.
Cake-batter-in-a-mixing-bowl splatter,
the dissimilitude of children's laughter.
Wobbling, fawn-like under the density of rage gnawing at her lips,
she retreats, acknowledging her submission.
She begins as a tree, but rapidly degenerates
into grotesque dysmorphic spasms on the cheap veneer.
Hysteria threatens to burst forth, frothing, but no.
This is not my day.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 4:47 AM UTC
Holding you so very close two years ago,
A moment had been shared by you and me,
Pompousness of your birthday was fabulous,
Picking you up in my arms I had felt like,
Yet I restrained myself from doing that.
Because it was your home back there,
I could not risk losing you that day,
Restraining was the best option then,
Threateningly close to my eyes,
Had been your twinkling eyes,
**** – beautiful was the kiss,
Aye, we shared that moment,
Yes, it is so unforgettable.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
Several miles beyond, the dark mountain
looms threateningly - mirroring my mood
as we both brood coldly. Snow clouds hold
grip of its peaks and melt in an icy drizzle to the
umber, wind-swept valley below.
Inside this dank motel room with its peeling
walls, my addiction is both hidden and enhanced.
The room's grimy window is closed to the world
by a threadbare curtain which hangs
askew, sealing me inside my drunken cocoon.
I can now lift bottles to my mouth with abandon,
gratefully lacking the contempt of others.
A tinny television mutters a string of profanities
from a corner, and a faucet drips incessantly into
the filthy sink. It all seems to echo into what I
have evolved. I have become as this dead fly,
scraping back and forth along the window sill,
manipulated by currents of stale air.
___
Sep 14, 2011
Sep 14, 2011 at 1:25 PM UTC
It was something small. In an effort to persuade me you said:
“I barely ever ask you for anything!”
Later you revealed that you felt bad, and that you didn’t mean it threateningly.
I chose my words carefully in my reply.
“I know you didn’t mean it that way.”
Because you didn’t. You never do. But it happens anyways. You are unaware of it, I think.
You’re unaware of how much you ask of me everyday.
Just by being you. Just by being us.
In every stinging word, you ask of me to ignore the hurt, because that’s easier than changing.
In asking me to bear the weight of who you are, and what you plan to do with yourself.
By asking me to be someone I’m not, to be someone that fits you.
“I barely ever ask you for anything.”
Not intentionally, lover, but in my life I’ve never felt so obligated.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 4:27 AM UTC
Diseased again , in the middle of May,
Almost threateningly fatal.
Dormant dimmed brain of mine,apt and inviting prey,
Been demented since awful April!
Earnestly eager to get healed,
I've enacted the preposterous tribal dance to the write(right) gods and appealed.
They unmistakably ignored my pleas,
and my mind still remains stuck,stagnant ,in a frigid freeze.
Changed my workspace to the garden,
To **** in the fresh air,clear my brain and brighten.
Result: Chewed half a pencil,
******** alien patterns in the muck,and a weak wasted writers' will.
Countless imaginary "stories" with no beginnings,
Right Brain-dead till late evenings.
Waiting on this blasted writers' block to clear soon,
Hopefully,the rains should clean the slates, in Judicious June.
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 2:45 AM UTC
Terry the Troubadour,
Tip-toeing tenderly towards terrible tension,
Touches Theresa the Trobairitz's threateningly terrific thighs:
Their two timid tongues -
Those terse types that tend to tie -
Twist together traumatically,
The tricky tips tamely threading through
To tickle their tiny tangential teeth:
"Tap. Tap."
Twice...
"Tap. Tap. Tap."
Three times...
The tender-tongued timpani teases them,
Taunting their tenderfooted tryst,
Timed tantalisingly to teenage tunes too terrible to tango to.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
The sky is dark, the rain drenched park stretches away. I stand the land bleak speaks, a feeling of desolation creeps into my soul, the whole is dank and grey. Nature is all around, the muted sound of birds is heard, the sky is louring and grey.
The wind blows, trees sway, the dark park stretches threateningly away.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 8:58 AM UTC
I read the poem I wrote about you on the radio yesterday.
I wonder if the waves hit you, wherever you were.
If somewhere under your skin you felt my words
About you.
I'm sure you didn't hear them.
I'd have heard if you had.
Or maybe you did,
And you listened with disgust
Or with that feeling when your heart sinks but it's with fearful hope.
I don't know what you'd think if you heard my voice on the radio,
Saying I cried the night you kissed me.
Maybe you'd be ashamed,
Or maybe you'd call me a goon, like you do when you don't know what to say.
Amanda used to call me silly,
Or kiddo,
The same way-
To make it clear (to herself) that I was not threateningly in love with her
And that she was not perilously fascinated with me.
I really honestly have no idea what you'd do
If you heard
But I think I'd know about it, whatever it was.
I think you didn't hear.
Maybe a friend of yours did,
Maybe one that thought for a moment on the description
And was startled to think of you,
And then dismissed it as ridiculous.
Maybe nobody heard it, who knew you.
But I know people heard it.
And they heard how I loved you that moment when I first truly met you,
And they heard how it broke me to see you walk away
Even though back then you were promising to come back.
They heard what I think you want to forget happened.
And that's why
I read the poem I wrote about you on the radio yesterday.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
I won’t melt when the rain falls down
I will sing and dance around
I shall grin I shall not frown
And when it floods I will not drown
If the lightning strikes my head
It’s not something that I dread
Because it can’t make me drop dead
It ignites my mind instead
Thunder does not frighten me
It’s drums that make my dance more free
As it resounds threateningly
My feet will glow vibrantly
And as my light sees the sky
It shall sprout wings so it can fly
It will rocket up so high
And rain joy down on passersby
The sun will see and fight the clouds
Rising again to defeat rains shroud
I’ll light up again and scream so loud
And share my delight with all the crowds
One day warmth will cover you
The ones who dance are very few
We’re all bright colors with a unique hue
Some are purples, greens, reds, and blues
And if we all just could shine bright
We would overcome the night
The battle is never a fair fight
But friend, you’ll win if you’ll shine your light
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
I thought I heard you cry,
From the other side of this crowded room.
Though I could not see you through the crowd,
The sound is more clear and present
Then any other in this frowzy room,
Louder than the half-dozen doltish conversations,
Louder then the raindrops crashing on the window pane
Louder than the wind, as it howls outside threateningly ,
Louder than my own thoughts in my erratic head,
They scream "I did this", and yell " this is my fault".
Your would-be tears make me doubt myself
And question my very nature.
-Jamie F. Nugent
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 5:53 AM UTC
The wind howls around
the house like
the storm of souls
in Dante's second circle
As the rain pounds the roof
threateningly
with fists of metal
And branches scratch
the windows as if
with claws
The heater groans
and the vent whistles
because
my cat's sitting on it
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 12:55 PM UTC
I once met a girl in Paris, a local
She accidentally brushed the injury on my elbow.
When I looked threateningly, all she did was smile
She was beautiful, that girl
And not in the way that beauty is conventionally defined.
She did not have full lips or arched brows or rounded *******
She was skinny and pale and her cheeks were hollow.
She was beautiful.
Her smile was beautiful.
In the way that lovers hold hands
In the way the first rains dampen the earth
In the way the sun sets in the orange sky
She was beautiful.
Her smile was beautiful.
Its been four years that I've met her and I still find myself writing poems about the way she smiled
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
The color of death,
is conceived as red
blinking consistently,
threateningly, and
annoyingly
Time slows to seconds
for there is a timer
to mark my death
white, rectangle strips
draw me to,
My last resting place
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 10:50 PM UTC
Alice sits brushing her hair,
stroke following stroke,
her husband sitting
on the edge of the bed
watching, studying her
hand and brush going
downward and out and
downward and out, and
as he watches he suddenly
remembers his mother
doing likewise and he
standing by the doorframe
of her bedroom, sees her
hand pull the brush through
her tight black hair, and
hears her sobbing voice
over the old white radio
playing some country song,
and senses an uneasiness
fill him like a wetting of pants,
and his mother gazing at him
in the mirror before her with
her red rimmed eyes and he
knowing as she lifts the brush
threateningly, that that way
pain comes and danger lies.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 8:23 AM UTC
he wanted nothing more than her love
and she wanted nothing more than his demise
to him, she was god's dove
while for her, he was the product of the trashes' cries.
yet, she could not explain the feeling in her chest
as it constricted painfully and threateningly
when she saw him enter eternal rest
and he fell to ground, lifelessly.
maybe she didn't love him as much
or at all, even
but she would do anything to crunch
at the chance to enter heaven.
she would enter heaven to claim back trash
because no matter what she words she would say
he had more worth than any cash
as she longs for just one yesterday.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Glowers
Prowls
Footsteps claiming
Owning streets
Avoid the eyes
Gimlet glinting
Don't mess around
Deadly ground
Wordless
Anger incarnate
No reason
No reasoning
A natural fact
Magnificent horror
Threateningly ugly
Closing in
Too close
Dead eyes
Predatory grin
Steel glints lightning
Turn and run!
Run, run fast away
Never come here again
By Phil Roberts
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
I plucked a book from my closet
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
I open to a random
573
The Test of Love -- is Death
It hurts
to hold this book
to hold this poem
in my hands
because you got me this book
you showed me all the most painful things
brand new, this book, ******* you with wine in my veins
and played me out, and I was young and dumb
I should have played the game, but I flipped out
you were terribly cute, threateningly Norwegian
I HATE to admit this, but I STILL love you like
the deepest laceration, the sorest wound of this animal
though I know it to be only longing
for the semblance of a truly wild life.
It hurts so bad because I'll die and never talk to you again
I always purposefully acted crazy and burned bridges with every ex-lover
Here's what I held from myself:
I know that I am good enough
That I don't have to worry
That I will overwrite your memory
With new love, true and blazing bright
And it will all be okay. More than that,
It will mean more than you could ever mean to me.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 1:19 AM UTC
Strange apparitions
Moving kaleidoscopic
Giving me migraines
Keep me awake
The world imbued with weird hue
Augmented aura
The voice is raucous
Threateningly it tells me
What it has in store
I see death, decay
My people are perishing
At malice's hands
These wild conjectures
Billowing like forest fire
Ravage my rapt mind
I entertain them
Believing in them and thus
Imparting power
To dark delusions.
I didn't see that they'd lied
That they'd peddled frauds
That keep me locked in
To perpetual horrors
That torment the mind
I converse across
Continents. Had a whole chat
Across oceans
With a friend. It's mad.
It's as if a radio
Were lodged in my head
As time elapses
Their failure to fruition
Any truth makes me
Distrust the voices
Cynical I raise my doubts
They crow and laugh, but
My feet on the ground
I set to work destroying
Their reality
Trampling their world
By recreating my own
From the dull embers
Brash, cantankerous
The voices try forming thoughts
But I don't listen
A composition
I write my own monologue
Now, I am not theirs
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC
If I were to say goodbye
Don’t you dare shed a tear
Don’t say that you’ll miss me
Don’t pretend to care
If I were to say goodbye
Don’t bother saying it back
Just keep walking in the same direction you were going before-
Your face turned away
You promised to always be here
Always and forever
But I was a withered flower
That could no longer be made beautiful again
And it took you long enough to realise it-
Long enough to fill me with the deluded hope that maybe one day
Maybe my petals could be salvaged
Maybe the colour would return to my world of black and white no-
Not black and white but grey
A stain of grey that is neither shadowed nor radiant
Yet muting all at the same time
But it was my fault
For believing your empty promises
No you didn’t mean to shatter my faith in humanity
Not your intentions at all
Yet you did
But it was my fault
For having faith in the first place
For believing that the light at the end of the tunnel
Was the sun
Freedom
Salvation
No
It was the train that slammed into me head first as I impulsively charged towards it-
Hopeless, but hoping
I’m not dead though
Enough to feel the impact
But I am now paralyzed
Numb to any emotion
Almost as though morphine was so generously injected into every vein in my body
But it wasn’t the angels who helped to numb me
It was the demons
They cut my emotions away
“I will help you I will take it all away” they sang
They are my friends
But friends-
What are friends?
When I can’t trust anyone anymore
Surely I cannot trust them
Can I?
I feel nothing now
No love no joy no love
So when I do say goodbye
I would have broken these chains that slither so gracefully yet threateningly around my limbs and body
You cannot cry
When I do say goodbye
You may hate me
Hate every inch of my very existence
Hate me for leaving
Not “may” but please, I beg of you
“Do.”
Hate me for that would make it so much easier
Please don’t say you love me
I will not be able to say it back
I want my name to leave a bitter taste on your tongue
Like the ashes that I will become
I will fade into the dark forbidden corner of verboten memories
Where the monsters from forgotten childhoods live
Where the ghouls that had silently haunted live
Where demons hide
Where I will never be a vexation to anyone again
Goodbye
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:14 AM UTC
Our Protection Money Racketeers
was refused the extortion money demanded
OK, me and mi young daughter are game
just bring the ***** and a little gift for a good time
that's crazy said I, no thank you
ah..you think you better than us, all ladida
they subsequently burgled us
vandalized our car and stole the four radial wheels
off the poor car
then told us in broad daylight
" We will ruin your life, hound you and make your life a misery"
I laughed, imagine a known area Crook who's just robbed you
saying that to you. To me this was a joke! a big big joke eh! haha
"You're laughing!" Mama Crook says with hateful eyes
"We are going to sling mud at you, you'd wish you're dead"
I laughed even more
Hey Al Capone, I thought
I'm blameless here, my reputation is pristine, no skeleton hidden
no crime ever. Never wronged anyone, always kind, friendly
and respectful to all..all round sound guy, this crook is deluded.
Anyway people can easily see the truth here, I confidently assumed
Yeah! more fool me...
Go to hell, you you nasty crook...say I,... imagine the cheek!
Well people
sad to report, how was I to know Mama Al capone was right
They had the connections, the nefarious know-how of these things
and they know their demography. they know their people! .
Mud slinging worked a treat...People believed everything,
every slander, defamation, fabrication, lies, everything
They delivered on their promises and then some
They told a fantastic story to their Socialist and Anachist connection, even those were fooled
Arrogant, the Big I Am, hidden riches, wife beater, domineering
et pompous, thinks he's high and mighty, the very opposite of me!
wow people...the heat is on
I became radioactive in one swift move..
For the first time in my life
I discovered real evil exist, not paper stuff
Now I know why there are never any witnesses in Inner city
Estates and a code of Omerta or Ali-baba or whatever its called
exists
why some witnesses never reveal their faces or give their names,
when they talk to the media about some crimes or some faces
they recognized
and why thieves threateningly utter this infamous line
" I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE"
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 3:49 PM UTC