"tors" poems
The lone hungry coyote
Sends up a wraith's refrain
Sun melts in a crucible
Of purgatory pain.
The badlands. No man's land.
The sun bleeds crimson, rust.
Rattlesnakes and scorpions
Scuttle in the dust.
While the sky is falling
Making russet snow
The hills and rock are singing
The agony they know.
Unforgiving desert
Makes the bobcat scream
The moon face is crying
It's tears moan and gleam.
In a dream you take me
O'r the Martian scape
Your hand locked round my mind
Preventing my escape
Turquoise/silver stars
Fall onto my path
Just like Armageddon
Or its aftermath.
Black opals flame the hills
The brutal badland's tors
To hush my ragged breathing
Now... forevermore.
Soul Survivor
C. Jarvis (c) 2014
March 16
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
My window has no seat, why would it? I wish it did.
There is just a glossy magnolia ledge, barely wide enough to
cater a slender bottom. Upon the ledge books and candles
rest, illuminating the murk outside. Directly opposite orchard
trees recede as I welcome autumn with a zealous smirk.
For now faintly visible between their visceral arms are the
all-seeing hillocks that in winter will dominate my view.
An impartial observer once stated they were mere freckles
on the landscapes recumbent spine, but to me their sight alone
is vertiginous. On balmy April days I would surmount them,
a personal expedition, up there where I’m the valleys curator, wearing
pristine white gloves I meticulously unravel the terrain: an ancient
manuscript, the vellum inked with meandering streams, occasional farms,
cursive hamlets and little else - a land of sobriety and dearth.
In November though there is a permanent mist and its source
inexplicable. Does it simply effervesce from the precipitous tors about?
Is it the villager’s enshrined collective sigh? No it is something
more. Sitting atop the villages head it’s the beloved satin bonnet you
wore religiously as a child. Wholly impractical for this season
its gossamer fabric offers little solace or insulation to those below
as its pleated extremities elope with the moss-brown hinterland.
Fervently stoking their hearths the villagers broaden the
ethereal cloth with a smoke not acrid but satisfying and nourishing:
with a terrifically edible, hardwood flavour. From my hillock
vantage, the sanguine stone of the manorial chimneys is all that
penetrates the film; casually they release torrents of smoke like
ivory doves that weft patterns instinctively into the sky’s pallid damask.
©Thomas Gabriel
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 6:00 PM UTC
Noirs de loupes, grêlés, les yeux cerclés de bagues
Vertes, leurs doigts boulus crispés à leurs fémurs,
Le sinciput plaqué de hargnosités vagues
Comme les floraisons lépreuses des vieux murs ;
Ils ont greffé dans des amours épileptiques
Leur fantasque ossature aux grands squelettes noirs
De leurs chaises ; leurs pieds aux barreaux rachitiques
S'entrelacent pour les matins et pour les soirs !
Ces vieillards ont toujours fait tresse avec leurs sièges,
Sentant les soleils vifs percaliser leur peau,
Ou, les yeux à la vitre où se fanent les neiges,
Tremblant du tremblement douloureux du crapaud.
Et les Sièges leur ont des bontés : culottée
De brun, la paille cède aux angles de leurs reins ;
L'âme des vieux soleils s'allume, emmaillotée
Dans ces tresses d'épis où fermentaient les grains.
Et les Assis, genoux aux dents, verts pianistes,
Les dix doigts sous leur siège aux rumeurs de tambour,
S'écoutent clapoter des barcarolles tristes,
Et leurs caboches vont dans des roulis d'amour.
- Oh ! ne les faites pas lever ! C'est le naufrage...
Ils surgissent, grondant comme des chats giflés,
Ouvrant lentement leurs omoplates, ô rage !
Tout leur pantalon bouffe à leurs reins boursouflés.
Et vous les écoutez, cognant leurs têtes chauves,
Aux murs sombres, plaquant et plaquant leurs pieds tors,
Et leurs boutons d'habit sont des prunelles fauves
Qui vous accrochent l'oeil du fond des corridors !
Puis ils ont une main invisible qui tue :
Au retour, leur regard filtre ce venin noir
Qui charge l'oeil souffrant de la chienne battue,
Et vous suez, pris dans un atroce entonnoir.
Rassis, les poings noyés dans des manchettes sales,
Ils songent à ceux-là qui les ont fait lever
Et, de l'aurore au soir, des grappes d'amygdales
Sous leurs mentons chétifs s'agitent à crever.
Quand l'austère sommeil a baissé leurs visières,
Ils rêvent sur leur bras de sièges fécondés,
De vrais petits amours de chaises en lisière
Par lesquelles de fiers bureaux seront bordés ;
Des fleurs d'encre crachant des pollens en virgule
Les bercent, le long des calices accroupis
Tels qu'au fil des glaïeuls le vol des libellules
- Et leur membre s'agace à des barbes d'épis.
1.4k
Cats stuck to window sills as languid as the rolling hills and craggy like the rocky tors
sheep sleeping underneath a portcullis of a sky
as steel grey clouds disguised as prison bars soothe
them gently with the Lakeland lullaby
I saw no Viking
but I did see hikers by the score
up the scree
scrambling up the tor
being me,
I wondered
what you doing that for?
Boats across the lake
too much
Kendal mint cake
and your jaws ache
take the Lilliputian train
we're toddlers
toddling off again
Such fun.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 5:21 AM UTC
https://youtu.be/fZSiBj4vCiY
My Carona,
Don't u know we've come a long long way
I've been fearin' that you'd come
When u're around u take our breath away
Bad Carona,
The symptoms surely hurts bud-gets
I'm a part-time worker at a ho-tel here in town
Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Oh bad Ca-ro-na!
Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Ca-ro-na go a-way!
Bad Ca-ro-na
u've caused some sad
& scary times
Just the thoughts about u brings back an-xi-e-ty
Gyp-sy vi-rus
You're a my-ster-y for doc-tors
U got har-bors locked down so ships can't sail out to sea
U cover sun-light when the times r good!
U treat us so bad-ly we want u gone now!
Bad Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Oh bad Ca-ro-na
Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Ca-ro-na go a-way!
Bad Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Oh bad Ca-ro-na
Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Ca-ro-na go a-way!
Bad Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Oh bad Ca-ro-na
Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Ca-ro-na go a-way!
Bad Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Oh bad Ca-ro-na
Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Ca-ro-na go a-way!
Bad Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Oh bad Ca-ro-na
Ca-ro-na!
Oh Ca-ro-na go a-way,
Ca-ro-na go a-way!
© From A Poet's ♥️
3/17/20
Viruses r
Minuses
Bacteria causes
Dilerium
Even a cold
Can wipe out the old
U came down w/ the flu?!
We should quarantine u!
© From A Poet's ♥️
3/17/20
Pray more
Stress less
And my life won't
B such a mess
© From A Poet's ♥️
3/18/20
Homeschooling?!
Who r u fooling?!
I know u!
And that won't do!
That's y u work!
And and chose public school!
So they deal w/
Kids who act like fools!
I'm not stupid!
And you're not Cupid!
An arrow to their heart
Won't make things restart!
© From A Quarantined Poet's ♥️
4/29/20
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 9:02 PM UTC
*You ask me where I met her…
In a dream world, I guess
It was during night’s astral stroll
That I first saw that beautiful soul...
I saw her deep in thought
Realized the truth that I forgot
The ethereal presence was a savant spirit
In body whom I had never met...
Looking at me…a look of askance
‘Would you guide my ship, be my navigator’
I waved at the nothingness…at a mirage
Said ‘sure if you were to be by my side
Murmuring your sweet guidance in my ear’.
As we lifted off on the zephyr
Saw the tors and vales far below
The moon looking…peering at us
The stars with a benevolent glow
She pointed towards the dark horizon
That’s where she wanted us to go
The kiss of an arrow shot from a bow
But then, did souls need worry
About distance and time's flurry?
Oblivious to the world’s reality,
We flew into a dreamy eternity…*
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
i can see the secrets in your eyes
as you probe for mine
what you claim to despise
you say will come out in good time
why do you get to hold back
is there something wrong with me
that justifies your lack
just tell me who you want me to be
because ultimately
if you were to share
the doubt of your intentions
will no longer be there
tors
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 3:44 AM UTC
Bright torn horizon
Silver and dark clouds converging
Some stretched, some piled high
Racing hard across the straits
To snow deep the waiting tors
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
our actions reflect our feelings
i dont hide it anymore
and it seems that
neither do you
why then are we in this limbo
when you can change everything
while i 'know'
the flicker of uncertainty
is bound to grow
please catch it before it becomes a fire
tors
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
Late - ly
I can feel the i - tch, I know:
It's preposterous.
Wh - y is it, that I
never can de - cide
who it is I am, with
con - fi - dence?
Modern tools aside,
I still take the r - ide
taken near distantly by
my an - ces - tors.
Late - ly
I can feel the i - tch, I know!
It's preposterous.
Now, kids, please listen
as you read my voice
how you like. How you like.
I thought I would die by
the time I was twenty five
at fifteen -- but look at me.
Now, kids, I'm touching
twenty nine with a cer -
tain newfound confidence.
I survived the prescription pills,
the gender redefinition, as well
as the hormone therapy, and I
want to tell you that I,
believe in you. I believe in you.
Cel - ebrate all of your pain
at your whim and as you live,
well, the pain will become
your friend and your impetus.
Lately, I can feel the itch.
I know it's preposterous,
but I must continue to
explore and change
unless I aspire to
placidity, and I
don't-- in fact
I never will.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
Gently, feathers floating high
From wings of
White doves as they fly
Solemn, silent as a sigh
Floes & snow banks by & by...
Six sided crystals, different all
None are perfect as they fall
Frozen, they heed nature's call
In human hands can be a ball
To throw as children, we'll recall...
The built up forts & furious fights!
It's a time to bundle tight!
We're all artists at the sight
Of flakes falling, defused light
On parts of earth it's endless night.
During storms it'll cut & slice
On the roads can become ice
Please, just listen to advice
Stay inside where it is nice!
Snow. The Queen of legend... lore!
There's SO much she has in store
The winter's scepter in the tors
It in the valley, desert floors
When heaven opens up it's doors
When the wind rips & roars
When it sprinkles then it pours...
It fascinates forevermore!
Catherine Jarvis
(C) 12/19/2019
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 6:48 AM UTC
i look around and i see
heartbreak
the honeymoon phase is just that
a phase
and divorce is more common than ever
til death do us part be ******
i don't want to become a statistic of another failed marriage
i don't ever want to lose that spark
i may be naive,
ignorant
of the 'inevitable'
but i never want to love you with any less passion than i do now
yet you pushed me to
and i don't know if i can be with someone who's okay with that
tors
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
how i envy those closest to me
the bitterness grows and despite feeling disgusted
in myself
in my character
i cant help it
how it gnaws at the calcium keeping my bones together
tors
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
when people focus on the world there is pain
You tell us that worldly things do not matter
that they are meaningless
yet we find excuses to make them priorities
why?
for short term gain?
pleasure?
satisfaction?
in reality this lust for more, for better, for best
only causes pain
why is it hard to listen to you God when you are only looking out for us
why, even in knowing this, can i justify that what i want will help me glorify You
because if it were true
i wouldn't need convincing
tors
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
if i remember who You are
and all You can do
i need not worry because my life is in Your hands
and You have written my story
and whatever happens will be for Your glory
nothing i can do will change that
and i trust that You love all You see
and the plan You have will prosper and not harm me
therefore God, help me never forget
as all i do has already been set
tors
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 8:23 PM UTC
are my inferences logical
or am i stitching innocent gestures together
you're getting in my head
and i don't know whether you put yourself there on purpose
tors
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC
i want to write
i want to write so i can empty my brain from all the unnecessary thoughts
so i can look back tomorrow or next week or in a decade
(with you next to me)
and remember how i felt
feel
now
but i cant
there are too many words
too many thoughts
too many events
too many emotions
that nothing is coherent
and im so spoilt for choice that i dont know what to say
tors
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 12:00 AM UTC
Sonnet.
Ce ne seront jamais ces beautés de vignettes,
Produits avariés, nés d'un siècle vaurien,
Ces pieds à brodequins, ces doigts à castagnettes,
Qui sauront satisfaire un coeur comme le mien.
Je laisse à Gavarni, poète des chloroses,
Son troupeau gazouillant de beautés d'hôpital,
Car je ne puis trouver parmi ces pâles roses
Une fleur qui ressemble à mon rouge idéal.
Ce qu'il faut à ce coeur profond comme un abîme,
C'est vous, Lady Macbeth, âme puissante au crime,
Rêve d'Eschyle éclos au climat des autans,
Ou bien toi, grande Nuit, fille de Michel-Ange,
Qui tors paisiblement dans une pose étrange
Tes appas façonnés aux bouches des Titans.
388
Fais rafraîchir mon vin, de sorte
Qu'il passe en froideur un glaçon ;
Fais venir Jeanne, qu'elle apporte
Son Luth pour dire une chanson ;
Nous ballerons tous trois au son ;
Et dis à Barbe qu'elle vienne,
Les cheveux tors à la façon
D'une folâtre Italienne.
Ne vois-tu que le jour se passe ?
Je ne vis point au lendemain :
Page, reverse dans ma tasse,
Que ce grand verre soit tout plein :
Maudit soit qui languit en vain !
Ces vieux Médecins je n'approuve ;
Mon cerveau n'est jamais bien sain
Si beaucoup de vin ne l'abreuve.
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