"trysted" poems
O Mary, at thy window be,
It is the wished, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser’s treasure poor:
How blythely *** I bide the stour,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.
Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro’ the lighted ha’,
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho’ this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a’ the town,
I sighed, and said amang them a’,
“Ye are na Mary Morison.”
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake *** gladly dee?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whose only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o’ Mary Morison.
2.2k
up among the violet of a Wisteria vine
among all the dogwood blooming white
sat one Yellow-breasted chat
heard but not seen
calling a mate from another nest
all day long he hid
and trysted with a variety of his
fellows mates
when he returned to his nest he
rested until
Mrs Yellow-breast chat smelled
a faint odor of slight perfume
on his beak
saw his eyes flutter
knew he was not out chasing worms
she more than laid
an egg
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
I miss the colors of your hair,
The orange light above your bed.
Tightly nestled to your breast
I sleep the years away.
The three weeks led by Sweetest Day,
Your lips, our legs, the mood,
Every inch of skin we trysted
So delectable and smooth.
We ordered in, you dined, I ate;
My teeth nibbling on your hips.
Nothing's more my favorite than
When you're throttling the head.
Three weeks we laid supine all day,
Often rearranging the load.
You watched Chicago Real World,
While I suckled on your toes.
That famous beast, they call desire,
Rippled through your veins.
You let out a little squeak
And a drop of blood when you came.
I can't forgo you for this long.
I miss my beautiful little lamb
I never would have guessed,
That a ****** would want a one night stand.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 1:46 AM UTC
Here they trysted, here they strayed,
In the leafage dewy and boon,
Many a man and many a maid,
And the morn was merry June.
'Death is fleet, Life is sweet,'
Sang the blackbird in the may;
And the hour with flying feet,
While they dreamed, was yesterday.
Many a maid and many a man
Found the leafage close and boon;
Many a destiny began--
O, the morn was merry June!
Dead and gone, dead and gone,
(Hark the blackbird in the may!),
Life and Death went hurrying on,
Cheek on cheek--and where were they?
Dust on dust engendering dust
In the leafage fresh and boon,
Man and maid fulfil their trust--
Still the morn turns merry June.
Mother Life, Father Death
(O, the blackbird in the may!),
Each the other's breath for breath,
Fleet the times of the world away.
811
little abyss, my ear, yours..
for too long, i have trysted with
that last slip
'summoned you softly
in my dark little posies:
take this wisp
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC