"trac" poems
All the night in woe,
Lyca’s parents go:
Over vallies deep.
While the desarts weep.
Tired and woe-begone.
Hoarse with making moan:
Arm in arm seven days.
They trac’d the desert ways.
Seven nights they sleep.
Among shadows deep:
And dream they see their child
Starvdd in desart wild.
Pale thro’ pathless ways
The fancied image strays.
Famish’d, weeping, weak
With hollow piteous shriek
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman prest,
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
In his arms he bore.
Her arm’d with sorrow sore:
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.
Turning back was vain,
Soon his heavy mane.
Bore them to the ground;
Then he stalk’d around.
Smelling to his prey,
But their fears allay,
When he licks their hands:
And silent by them stands.
They look upon his eyes
Fill’d with deep surprise:
And wondering behold.
A spirit arm’d in gold.
On his head a crown
On his shoulders down,
Flow’d his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
Follow me he said,
Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep.
Lyca lies asleep.
Then they followed,
Where the vision led;
And saw their sleeping child,
Among tygers wild.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell
Nor fear the wolvish howl,
Nor the lion’s growl.
1.6k
Here once engaged the stranger’s view
Young Friendship’s record simply trac’d;
Few were her words,—but yet, though few,
Resentment’s hand the line defac’d.
Deeply she cut—but not eras’d—
The characters were still so plain,
That Friendship once return’d, and gaz’d,—
Till Memory hail’d the words again.
Repentance plac’d them as before;
Forgiveness join’d her gentle name;
So fair the inscription seem’d once more,
That Friendship thought it still the same.
Thus might the Record now have been;
But, ah, in spite of Hope’s endeavour,
Or Friendship’s tears, Pride rush’d between,
And blotted out the line for ever.
1.4k
You say you love, and yet your eye
No symptom of that love conveys,
You say you love, yet know not why,
Your cheek no sign of love betrays.
Ah! did that breast with ardour glow,
With me alone it joy could know,
Or feel with me the listless woe,
Which racks my heart when far from thee.
Whene’er we meet my blushes rise,
And mantle through my purpled cheek,
But yet no blush to mine replies,
Nor e’en your eyes your love bespeak.
Your voice alone declares your flame,
And though so sweet it breathes my name,
Our passions still are not the same;
Alas! you cannot love like me.
For e’en your lip seems steep’d in snow,
And though so oft it meets my kiss,
It burns with no responsive glow,
Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss.
Ah! what are words to love like mine,
Though uttered by a voice like thine,
I still in murmurs must repine,
And think that love can ne’er be true,
Which meets me with no joyous sign,
Without a sigh which bids adieu;
How different is my love from thine,
How keen my grief when leaving you.
Your image fills my anxious breast,
Till day declines adown the West,
And when at night, I sink to rest,
In dreams your fancied form I view.
’Tis then your breast, no longer cold,
With equal ardour seems to burn,
While close your arms around me fold,
Your lips my kiss with warmth return.
Ah! would these joyous moments last;
Vain HOPE! the gay delusion’s past,
That voice!—ah! no, ’tis but the blast,
Which echoes through the neighbouring grove.
But when awake, your lips I seek,
And clasp enraptur’d all your charms,
So chill’s the pressure of your cheek,
I fold a statue in my arms.
If thus, when to my heart embrac’d,
No pleasure in your eyes is trac’d,
You may be prudent, fair, and chaste,
But ah! my girl, you do not love.
1.4k
Woman! experience might have told me
That all must love thee, who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought;
But, plac’d in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.
Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,
When join’d with hope, when still possessing;
But how much curst by every lover
When hope is fled, and passion’s over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse, when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope ’twill last for ay,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,’
“Woman, thy vows are trac’d in sand.”
1.3k
Nobody looks each other in the eye;
Poverty thrives so the courts don't run dry.
I see an old man with his walker in the rain alone,
can't find a ride with his ****** trac phone.
Everyone's too 'cautious' to give help or receive it honey,
but there's no limit when you have a lot of money.
America.
I see a couple cry in the rain before they're torn apart,
I guess nobody told them a dollar has no brain or heart.
Arrogance tried to **** kindness, but it's not dead only dormant.
Only because those who lack it make others their doormat.
Media.
Bleak concrete.
I stand filled with numb emotion as I see legged fish, swarming a landmade ocean.
Drown, Drown, no one will hear a sound.
So smoke your cancer and eat your heart attacks,
and don't forget to tip and pay your tax.
Deep in the gut cemetery of weeps and wallows;
Do you think the whale counts every small fish as he swallows?
Perhaps not, but I like to believe he does.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
L'être que j'adore en ce monde,
Eût-il les pieds noirs et des poux,
C'est le mendiant, il m'inonde
Le cœur d'une extase profonde ;
Je lui baiserais les genoux.
D'abord il convient de vous dire
Que si je ne l'adorais pas,
Ça ferait peut-être sourire ;
On penserait : Hé ! le bon sire !
Il a le « trac » pour ses ducats.
Il a peur de faire l'aumône,
Ou qu'on le vole, il a raison
Dans la vie, ah ! tout n'est pas jaune,
Et mon ami le plus béjaune
Ne viendrait pas à la maison.
Ou, s'il venait, il voudrait faire,
Tout comme moi, les mêmes frais,
Nous compterions, quelle misère !
Et s'il me cassait, quoi ? son verre ?
Ah ! la tête que je ferais !
Je parlerais de ma famille
Tant, que c'en serait Han-Mer-Dent :
« J'ai ma femme, mon fils, ma fille ;
Oui, la petite est très gentille,
Mais ça coûte. - C'est évident ! »
Le mendiant, qu'est-ce qu'il coûte ?
Titus disait : un heureux jour.
Quand nous verrons plus d'une goutte,
Chacun trouvera sur sa route
Qu'avec cet homme, on fait l'amour.
Je l'aime, comme une parente,
Pauvre... mais ça... c'est un détail...,
D'une façon bien différente.
Si j'avais mille francs de rente.
Je lui donnerais... du travail.
Je lui dirais : Tu vas me faire
Un bonhomme sur ce papier.
- « Monsieur, je ne dessine guère, »
Alors... de me foutre en colère,
Trouves-tu cela trop... pompier ?
Il dessinerait son bonhomme
Bien ou mal, naturellement.
Je dirais : Combien ? - « Telle somme. »
Et je paierais ; c'est presque, en somme,
Ce que fait le Gouvernement.
Le mendiant, mais c'est mon frère !
Comment, mon frère ? Mais, c'est moi.
Je commence par me la faire,
La charité, la chose est claire.
Tu te la fais aussi, va, Toi.
Moi, souvent « je me le demande »
Et demande, quand ça me plaît.
Et bien ! pour ma langue gourmande,
Plus que la vôtre n'est normande,
Si saint Pierre ouvrait son volet
Seulement pour une seconde :
Si je suis là, si je le vois,
Bien que je doute qu'il réponde,
Je lui demande la plus ronde
Des lunes qui rient dans les bois.
Et si, - surprise ! et joie extrême ! -
J'entends : « tiens ! enfant, la voici ! »
Comme avec tes baisers que j'aime,
Je me barbouille tout de crème,
Sans seulement dire : merci.
650
Con cresta
o candor niño
o envión varón habría que osar izar un yo flamante en gozo
o autoengendrar hundido en el propio ego pozo
un nimio virgo vicio
un semi tic o trauma o trac o toc novicios
un novococo inédito por poco
un mero medio huevo al menos de algo nuevo
e inmerso en el subyo intimísimo
volver a ver reverdecer la fe de ser
y creer en crear
y croar y croar
ante todo ende o duende visiblemente real o inexistente
o hacer hacer
dentro de un nido umbrío y tibio
un hijo mito
mixto de silbo ido y de hipo divo de ídolo
o en rancia última instancia del cotidiano entreasco
a escoplo y soplo mago
remodelar habría los orificios psíquicos y físicos corrientes
de tanto espectro diario que desnutre la mecha
o un lazariento anhelo que todavía se yerga
como si pudiera
y darle con la proa de la lengua
y darle con las olas de la lengua
y furias y reflujos y mareas
al todo cráter cosmos
sin cráter
de la nada
413
Untitled
You once told me.
'Not everyone thinks like you'
I Now know.
what your phrase means.
how its applied to our life.
Its 2018
You still question whether
to continue on our love..
You are right. nobody thinks like me.
so I have to accept.
that's just who you've always been.
loved me with doubt.
---
Untitled
Been living in The dark.
Trapped by these 4 Walls.
Everyday, Same Feel.
Sadness & Helpless.
6 Years.
Living In a box .
Nothings changed
Happiness has not made its Way in
I Can’t no more .
I Sit On The cold Floor.
---
Untitled
The nerve you have to make me.
Feel as if I’m truly torturing .
As if you don’t deserve to be
**** talked to.
The nerve you have
To say I don’t respect you
Making me feel so bad
----
Let it consume me.
Destroy the little left in me.
Let it Come Like a tornado .
A furious hurricane .
I don’t care , what’s there to look forward for.
I’m so unhappy and keep on finding more reasons to
----
Untitled
Why
Did you Do this to me.
Damage me badly.
I repeat over & over.
Same Vocals.
Why
Did You Hurt me.
Why did you play with me.
Why didn’t you notice how this was affecting me.
Why
Weren’t you respectful.
Take advantage
Take me for granted .
Why
Did You convince me.
To be kissing friends knowing I had feelings for you.
Did
---
Forever now
I’m doubting
More than I ever have.
Wondering about the
Little loyalty you carry.
What’s going to happen
To that speck .
You’ve never been honest.
Now I’m worried.
Since I avoided you that night
Which is something I never do but I copied you that night.
My point
My irrelevant lie
----
Untitled
I made a mistake.
So little that it’s not worth the hype
But you ,
You wait for days like these.
I Mess Up So Small
& you love to make it a big deal.
It’s your excuse to go
----
Untitled
Disgusted of Drug Abuse
When She Hurts Her mind Turns.
The tears that run down & The Trigger Is something he’d Said or done That’s led her to run .
Alone She Seeks & Returns.
She Uses Alone.
Responds to All calls & Texts.
You Were the switch
To intoxicate her body , Esch hits a risk . To breath less , For the body to not resist & Give Up .
----
Untitled
Disgusted of Drug Abuse
When She Hurts Her mind Turns.
The tears that run down & The Trigger Is something he’d Said or done That’s led her to run .
Alone She Seeks & Returns.
She Uses Alone.
Responds to All calls & Texts.
You Were the switch
To intoxicate her body , Esch hits a risk . To breath less , For the body to not resist & Give Up .
---
My depression is not progressing
I’m in such distress.
No mood to right Nomore .
I’m tired , Of not having power.
To leave & Move on From Everything That’s Overwhelming.
I’m hurting a lot.
People don’t see it.
It’s all in my head.
It’s insanity eating my brain .
I’ve been walking forever.
So many obstacles have crossed my path that’s delayed me.
Back trac
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 4:01 AM UTC