"topmost" poems
I thought there would be a grave beauty, a sunset splendour
In being the last of one's kind: a topmost moment as one watched
The huge wave curving over Atlantis, the shrouded barge
Turning away with wounded Arthur, or Ilium burning.
Now I see that, all along, I was assuming a posterity
Of gentle hearts: someone, however distant in the depths of time,
Who could pick up our signal, who could understand a story. There won't be.
Between the new Hembidae and us who are dying, already
There rises a barrier across which no voice can ever carry,
For devils are unmaking language. We must let that alone forever.
Uproot your loves, one by one, with care, from the future,
And trusting to no future, receive the massive ******
And surge of the many-dimensional timeless rays converging
On this small, significant dew drop, the present that mirrors all.
7.1k
To a Louse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly?
Your impudence protects you, barely;
I can only say that you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace.
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely
In such a place.
You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner,
How dare you set your feet upon her—
So fine a lady!
Go somewhere else to seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Off! around some beggar's temple shamble:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now hold you there! You're out of sight,
Below the folderols, snug and tight;
No, faith just yet! You'll not be right,
Till you've got on it:
The very topmost, towering height
Of miss's bonnet.
My word! right bold you root, contrary,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry.
Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or dread red poison;
I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea,
It'd dress your noggin!
I wouldn't be surprised to spy
You on some housewife's flannel tie:
Or maybe on some ragged boy's
Pale undervest;
But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie!
How dare you jest?
Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And lash your lovely braids abroad!
You hardly know what cursed speed
The creature's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice-taking!
O would some Power with vision teach us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notions:
What airs in dress and carriage would leave us,
And even devotion!
One Sunday while sitting behind a young lady in church, Robert Burns noticed a louse roaming through the bows and ribbons of her bonnet. The poem "To a Louse" resulted from his observations. The poor woman had no idea that she would be the subject of one of Burns' best poems about how we see ourselves, compared to how other people see us at our worst moments. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, louse, church, bonnet, lace, Scotland, Scots, dialect, translation
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 5:26 AM UTC
Indian Legends.
The Legend of Triambakeshwar
The supreme Lords, Brahma and Vishnu
On that auspicious day were fighting for the highest milestone
For honour
Claiming Wisdom
Voicing out their mighty combat impale
At that very moment, a resplendant pillar
Emerged, took form before them
Standing tall into the skies and stooping low spearing the Earth.
Brahma and Vishnu saw the pillar
As an examiner of infinite Wisdom
They both decided to find either end of the pillar
to prove their supreme position.
Brahma took form of a swan
to find the topmost portion of the pillar
Vishnu turns into a Boar, being the land's wild driller
to discover the bottom part of this pillar.
Brahma returns and lies to Vishnu
"I Have Found My Goal, 'O Vishnu"
Lord Vishnu surrenders with a humble heart
A fruitless effortless failure.
This pillar is no ordinary pillar
The Legend holds it as the sacred Linga
The Lord of Lords, the destroyer of Evil
The three-eyed one, the blue-throated one
Neelakanta,Shiva,Mrida,Rudra
Dayakara,Hara,Maheshwara
The Lord with 1008 titles of honour
Ageless, timeless, formless,
Limitless.
Shiva cursed Brahma that day dusk
**"Your foul deceit smells above this land, Brahmadev
Punishment is a part of crime.
You shall never be worshipped under the stone-carved.
Temples shan't have place for you"**
Brahma, enraged, growled upon the Lord
**"Your greatness shall be pushed into this Earth
Into the same pillar, the Linga!
At the foot of Sahyradri, your abode lies
from now,
till forever comes."**
Dear Fearless Devotee, know this that you must
On the dark midnight of this hand-chosen day
Maha Shivratri
The Holy Linga takes form as the Lingodbhav Moorti
At the blessed land of Triambakeshwara.
From underneath the Earth,
Like a descendant from the skies
The ruler of the seven worlds
Bhu, Bhuvas, Svar, Mahas, Janas, Tapas, Satya
The invincible source of destruction
Of the Seven Hells, Paatala
*Atala, Vitala, Sutala, Rasaataala, Talatala, Mahaatala,
The Patala.*
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
From depth to height, from height to loftier height,
The climber sets his foot and sets his face,
Tracks lingering sunbeams to their halting-place,
And counts the last pulsations of the light.
Strenuous thro' day and unsurprised by night
He runs a race with Time, and wins the race,
Emptied and stripped of all save only Grace,
Will, Love,--a threefold panoply of might.
Darkness descends for light he toiled to seek;
He stumbles on the darkened mountain-head,
Left breathless in the unbreathable thin air,
Made freeman of the living and the dead,--
He wots not he has topped the topmost peak,
But the returning sun will find him there.
3.7k
Nothing is more important
than your sanity and your safety.
Achieving that is your choice and
your topmost priority.
You can say no not now,
or no not yet but don't forget you
will be burned if you don't give your
best to diligently work hard to achieve
it daily for the cosmic law fulfills.
What can be more important than
your well-being and happiness.
Do the right things for today and
tomorrow will be alright just for you.
Have you ever thought about helping
someone else in your own little way
to achieve their goals or excel in
their chosen projects.
Always remember that when you do help
with the abilities and resources available,
you are also be investing in yourself,
it's like an insurance,
a protective way that will guarantee
your place in the scheme of things.
Everyone is as unique and irreplaceable as the stars.
When your life is full of incessant activities,
you will not have time to check time.
You are filled with vim, vigour and vitality,
put it to work and be the best you can be.
And the universe will be kind to you
by giving you the right dividends to equate
the effort you put in place.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
Step by step one step at a time
One by one, one step at a time
Whether you are climbing up a flight of stairs
Even while climing down a flight of stairs
Always better to keep in mind and also follow the same
Always take one step at a time.
Decide first what needs to be done and then decide what needs to be done to get done what's decided first.
Definitely priorities come first
So always better to start with the topmost priority,
followed by the next and then so on and so forth.
Nature of things definitely matter, but what matters more is how to get the things done.
Keeping this in mind and with this as an aim,
it's always better to set priorities and follow the same.
Always better to take one step at a time, followed by the next and then move on further.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:31 AM UTC
Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack,
Ye little men of little souls!
And bid them huddle at your back -
Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!
Fill all the air with hungry wails -
"Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!"
And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean
And Babel-clamour of the sty
Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise:
We will not rob them of their due,
Nor vex the ghosts of other days
By naming them along with you.
They sought and found undying fame:
They toiled not for reward nor thanks:
Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
For you, the modern mountebanks!
Who preach of Justice - plead with tears
That Love and Mercy should abound -
While marking with complacent ears
The moaning of some tortured hound:
Who prate of Wisdom - nay, forbear,
Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
Trampling, with heel that will not spare,
The vermin that beset her path!
Go, throng each other's drawing-rooms,
Ye idols of a petty clique:
Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,
And make your penny-trumpets squeak.
Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds
Of learning from a nobler time,
And oil each other's little heads
With mutual Flattery's golden slime:
And when the topmost height ye gain,
And stand in Glory's ether clear,
And grasp the prize of all your pain -
So many hundred pounds a year -
Then let Fame's banner be unfurled!
Sing Paeans for a victory won!
Ye tapers, that would light the world,
And cast a shadow on the Sun -
Who still shall pour His rays sublime,
One crystal flood, from East to West,
When YE have burned your little time
And feebly flickered into rest!
3k
You see that sheaf of slender books
Upon the topmost shelf,
At which no browser ever looks,
Because they're by . . . myself;
They're neatly bound in navy blue,
But no one ever heeds;
Their print is clear and candid too,
Yet no one ever reads.
Poor wistful books! How much they cost
To me in time and gold!
I count them now as labour lost,
For none I ever sold;
No copy could I give away,
For all my friends would shrink,
And look at me as if to say:
"What waste of printer's ink!"
And as I gaze at them on high,
Although my eyes are sad,
I cannot help but breathe a sigh
To think what joy I had -
What ecstasy as I would seek
To make my rhyme come right,
And find at last the phrase unique
Flash fulgent in my sight.
Maybe that rapture was my gain
Far more than cheap success;
So I'll forget my striving vain,
And blot out bitterness.
Oh records of my radiant youth,
No broken heart I'll rue,
For all my best of love and truth
Is there, alive in you.
2.6k
I smell burning lights of neon and blue.
It's Christmas, they say. Inkblots have formed
their own sentences, helping me
write.
In the midst of this slow night,
I swear I am right.
And I pull Kafka from the shelf
because I want to hear him talk.
I am my own vermin, and we can be random
together.
I love you Kafka, I say.
I love you.
Kafka.
I love you.
Shall we dance despite your limbs?
Samba's playing, I am left staring at you
then back at him,
and right back at you, right where you stood
tiptoeing as you reach the topmost corner of the
cupboard.
You know I never hide any can of insecticide, Kafka,
because I get it, you'll wither.
But I love you, Kafka, I say.
I love you.
Kafka.
I'm a bit colorful with a drag of dirt.
I'm a bit Spanish when I shake my hips.
I turn French right before midnight.
I lose sight and might when the clock chimes
two in the afternoon -
I become just by looking at you.
Because I love you Kafka, I say.
I love you.
Kafka.
I.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
Lines composed while climbing the left ascent of Brockley Coomb, May 1795
With many a pause and oft reverted eye
I climb the Coomb’s ascent: sweet songsters near
Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:
Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear.
Up scour the startling stragglers of the flock
That on green plots o’er precipices browse:
From the deep fissures of the naked rock
The Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs
(’Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white)
Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats,
I rest:—and now have gained the topmost site.
Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets
My gaze! Proud towers, and Cots more dear to me,
Elm-shadowed Fields, and prospect-bounding Sea.
Deep sighs my lonely heart: I drop the tear:
Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here.
2k
Stay, season of calm love and soulful snows!
There is a subtle sweetness in the sun,
The ripples on the stream's breast gaily run,
The wind more boisterously by me blows,
And each succeeding day now longer grows.
The birds a gladder music have begun,
The squirrel, full of mischief and of fun,
From maples' topmost branch the brown twig throws.
I read these pregnant signs, know what they mean:
I know that thou art making ready to go.
Oh stay! I fled a land where fields are green
Always, and palms wave gently to and fro,
And winds are balmy, blue brooks ever sheen,
To ease my heart of its impassioned woe.
1.9k
Into the golden vessel of great song
Let us pour all our passion; breast to breast
Let other lovers lie, in love and rest;
Not we,—articulate, so, but with the tongue
Of all the world: the churning blood, the long
Shuddering quiet, the desperate hot palms pressed
Sharply together upon the escaping guest,
The common soul, unguarded, and grown strong.
Longing alone is singer to the lute;
Let still on nettles in the open sigh
The minstrel, that in slumber is as mute
As any man, and love be far and high,
That else forsakes the topmost branch, a fruit
Found on the ground by every passer-by.
1.7k
Face cards are considered at the top, we get greedy for them,
Learn to take what comes your way
Different cards pop up every time as different faces.
Joker is ignored while playing, such unwanted things in life should
be avoided for a good play
Winnings are not always at your step.
Four Colours makes us believe life is colourful and attractive
Wait for your turn to showcase your excellence.
Ace leads the face cards
Reach the topmost level, so no one can pull you down.
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 1:14 PM UTC
"They say it's the tallest in the country, you know,"
the older man smiles.
His companion's eyes follow the trunk,
smooth and sheer, to the clouds
in wonder.
The topmost branches sway
and he feels himself adrift
beneath a giant mast,
sails flapping on the wind
as feathered cirrus fly through the blue beyond.
Just then a carriage bursts through the forest
causing them to leap from the path.
A bilious face glares out from inside.
"Mind out the ****** way
"Or I'll have you clapped in irons!"
scream the spit-spattered lips,
chins a-wobble petulantly above a too-tight collar.
"Begging your pardon, your grace,"
says the older man, doffing his cap and bowing
as the carriage careers on.
The young man is speechless with fury.
******* he screams.
*******
But the old man is clutching his sides with mirth.
"How can you laugh?
"That fat pig nearly killed us!"
The boy's agitation is making him dance.
"Clapped in irons for looking at a tree?"
"No, no," chuckles the older, "for looking at his tree!
"The height that leads our eyes
"Up towards heaven
"casts a long shadow over his wallet
"And the weight which fills us with awe and joy
"presses on his shoulders every day!
"Ownership is a terrible thing, my lad!"
And they make their way home,
free,
through the forest,
their forest,
laughing.
May 17, 2011
May 17, 2011 at 1:18 AM UTC
The present moment in time belongs to you.
You have got it’s ownership, utilize it to the best of your ability.
If there is something that is much more important,
even more than the topmost priority on the list of priorities,
then that something is in the present moment of time.
If this means even if you have to take the right direction, start with the present moment of time.
Moment by moment each moment in time passes by when a search is made for one perfect moment in time.
It’s all in the present
Everything belongs to the present
Memories when they get recalled,
it’s the past that gets revealed in the present.
When time is spent in ascertaining the future,
it’s the future that belongs to the present.
It's all in the present.
All said and done,
all in all,
it’s all in the present.
Everything belongs to the present.
A conscious mind not only knows the person inside very well, but looks at the outside world in much more detail.
Hence it’s always important to keep in mind,
all you have got to deal with is the present,
much more importantly,
the present moment in time is very important.
So just stop worrying about the future,
live in the present,
definitely at some point in time in present life will smile upon you.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
I cannot love thee as I ought,
For love reflects the thing beloved;
My words are only words, and moved
Upon the topmost froth of thought.
'Yet blame not thou thy plaintive song,'
The Spirit of true love replied;
'Thou canst not move me from thy side,
Nor human frailty do me wrong.
'What keeps a spirit wholly true
To that ideal which he bears?
What record? not the sinless years
That breathed beneath the Syrian blue:
'So fret not, like an idle girl,
That life is dash'd with flecks of sin.
Abide: thy wealth is gather'd in,
When Time hath sunder'd shell from pearl.'
1.1k
1
well, there's this turkey
in the bush and it sees a tree
and there is seized with a great desire
to reach the topmost of the branches;
but no matter how it tries
it can only land on the first branch
"Try a little of my droppings, "
says the bull below the tree
*"My droppings are packed
with vitamins and lots of energy"*
2
"Thank you, Mr Bull, "
says the turkey
and eats some of the droppings
and straight feels the energy
and flies up to the first branch
and it goes to the next
and higher on to the next branch
And on and on
with so much zest and power
till at last the turkey reaches
its desired goal - right to the top
3
And from afar in the field
the farmer sees the turkey
and he shoots it down with his gun
"Will be good for dinner this day! "
he says
And the moral of the story in Aesop style:
******** might get you far and high
but someone will smell it sooner or later
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 8:01 AM UTC
her first love
a clockmaker
in a forgotten
teacup.
her second love
she abandoned
in the topmost car
of a ferris wheel.
her third love
an eyeless
thief
who once emptied
the coins
from his hat
onto the counter
of a small balloon
shop.
her fourth love
left sugar
on her back, and a hook
breathing
under the coat
of her fifth.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
I
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
Atop on the topmost twig, — which the pluckers forgot, somehow, —
Forget it not, nay; but got it not, for none could get it till now.
II
Like the wild hyacinth flower which on the hills is found,
Which the passing feet of the shepherds for ever tear and wound,
Until the purple blossom is trodden in the ground.
Sappho. Translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 10/4/2016.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 12:33 PM UTC
Eloquent words
falling
from the mouth of a man
make it hard not to notice the
beauty
o f h i s f a c e
As fibres stretch and pull to form
a smile
Or while brows knit together.
It is everything I can do to hold off the
burning
Under my skin –
The burning
impulse
To reach
for
his
hand
Or lean in closer.
The scent of his cologne simulating a false distance
Between us.
Twitching in my topmost disc urges me over,
Closer.
Just
a
few
inches.
C l o s e r.
With each minuscule
snap
Of the tissue lining the very tip of my spine
I find myself unable to maintain
The position that I have.
Giving in to the abductor that had been
y e a r n i n g
To
break
a w a y ,
My neck twists
To the right
While my conscious mind
U r g e s
The adductor to take over.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
It is the jovial, gentle gradient of your first love
Transcending from the kind of blue that swims under a blanket of flesh on the topmost part of her wrist
Into an orange so pale it could just be pink;
Reminiscent of the peach of her cheeks
Dampered by the dreariness of a stormy Sunday noon
Light shrouded in the mysticism of "what if's" and "why"
It is the turbulence of heartbreak
Escaping with the breath you held in too long
Sighing a song of failed attempts and discarded hope
Dressed in the melancholy of grey-blue, exasperatingly clouding over in surrender;
The kind of dark that makes you wonder if it is pathetic fallacy
Or maybe just a coincidence that the sky can seem so sad.
All at once placid
Milky and cold and fresh as the first glass of Bessie's byproducts
It is the clarity accompanying self assurance
The comfort in the knowledge that blue is just a shade away from blue-grey
Cotton ***** on a sheet of glassy water
Just enough to get you through midday
Until scorching it sets, and your cat nap is marked with a rigid back and stood-up hairs
It is a blaze of passionate glory
The first crimson drop from the blood orange
Only to dilute before you into a tangerine so vivid you have to question if maybe your eyes are just over-dramatizing its hue.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
Down in the forest,
Amid the creaking pines,
Are two rusty old silos.
We call them the tin cans.
A brave few will climb them
And balance on the walls
As sentries to those inside.
Encircled in old metal
There's a pow-wow going
Between the chieftan of North Can
And the princess of the South.
Bubbles drift as smoke from their mouths
And their round cheeks stretch in yawns
That betray the distant setting sun.
Our war is over, the chief declares,
But neither side has won.
That's true, the queen smirks back at him,
And neither ever can. What do we do?
He glistens with battle sweat and
His soldier's breath is heavy.
You and I will draw up a treaty,
He says, and war another day.
She acquiesces and signs her name
On a bit of leaf in invisible ink;
He does the same, and both recline
A moment against the flaking metal walls
While the topmost edge of the sun falls
Below the curve of the earth
And the dark branches of the trees
Cradle a baby night.
Up top a sentry calls dinnertime.
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 10:47 AM UTC
The night I got stuck climbing up a tree
You couldn't stop laughing from the forest floor
And seven feet below you looked like the size of a baby badger;
A baby badger who was now in charge of saving me from my stupidity.
You called the fire department
And said a human confused herself for a cat
So was stuck up in a tree and therefore
In need of a local newspaper headline rescue.
With the height advantage
I saw three firetrucks rushing down the road
Epileptic lights bouncing off the empty pavement
And yelled down to the baby badger
"You made a scene for no reason!"
Only to have the baby badger yell back up
"You ARE the ******* reason!"
And I swear I almost fell from the topmost branching
Laughing with my whole body in motion.
Three minutes later I was surrounded by an unnecessary amount of red
"What the hell is going on?" questioned the Fire Chief
Amidst all the official uniforms and bustling bodies
All you could think to say
"Sorry officer, we binge drank the moonlight."
I know I'll never have Alzheimer's
Because the look that overtook the Fire Chief's face
Cracked his professional facade
Transforming it into an all too knowing smile
Will forever be etched on the inside of my eyelids
Embarrassment and hilarity relived every blink of an eye.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
‘All that I do is eat and sleep,’
The surly monster said,
Chewing away on a piece of thigh
From the woman in his bed,
He sat in the tower of Castle Grymm
And surveyed the countryside,
And the pile of bones by the Castle walls
That he’d tossed, once they had died.
His hair was clean but his skin was green
As a tear squeezed from his eye,
Pondering what his bride might be
And who, and where, and why,
The villagers sent him virgins up
But they weren’t quite to his taste,
A single bite and they screamed in fright
So he ate the rest in haste.
His goblins scoured the countryside
For a girl with golden hair,
The myth had said she would be misled
And her steps would lead her there,
But every blonde in the neighborhood
Had fled, as if forewarned,
Leaving only the russet crop
Or the brunette’s that he scorned.
They printed a notice in the town
And pasted on every wall,
It said that Igor would never eat,
Not once, a blonde, at all.
It said that he wanted just one bride
A blonde, to stop his moans,
But everyone saw the Castle walls
And the heap of gnawed on bones.
He even offered a huge reward
For any who’d bring him in,
The golden girl to his Grymm old world
He would give them gold to spin,
So some with greed in their eyes set out
To trap a golden girl,
And drag her up to the Castle Grymm,
That girl was known as Pearl.
Somebody said they were on their way
So she painted on her skin,
What some old witch said would bewitch
Igor and the Brothers Grymm,
They dragged her up to the topmost tower
Where the monster kept his bed,
And chained her up in his inner bower
Till the monster could be fed.
His eyes had gleamed when he saw the sheen
Of her silken golden hair,
He reached on down beneath her gown
Where he felt her skin so fair,
She lay and shuddered within his bed
As he bent to take a lick,
Then screamed a note as he clutched his throat
And doubled up, was sick.
They say Igor let out a roar
Like the folks had never heard,
He’d only munched on his own before
Wouldn’t mutter a single word,
But now he jumped from the parapet
With his mouth and his throat on fire,
To land himself on the pile of bones
That would be his funeral pyre.
So here is the nub of the story,
If you’re looking for a bride,
Forget about the colour of hair
For they’re all the same inside,
And when you come to that bridal night
Just be careful who you pick,
Or give her a scrub in that wedding tub
Before you begin to lick.
David Lewis Paget
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 7:06 AM UTC
you got a girlfriend
but you say you love me
you got a girlfriend
but you say you need me
what is this behavior?
you always talk to me
whenever you are free
but you yourself
want to be
my topmost priority
now darling tell me
what is this behavior?
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 1:29 PM UTC