"uncomplaining" poems
O Holy Saviour, Friend unseen,
Since on Thine arm Thou bid'st us lean,
Help us throughout life's changing scene
By faith to cling to Thee.
When far from home, fatigued, oppressed,
In Thee we found our place of rest;
As exiles still, yet richly blest,
We cling, O Lord, to Thee.
What though the world deceitful prove,
And earthly friends and hopes remove!
With patient, uncomplaining love,
Still would we cling to Thee.
Though faith and hope are often tried,
We ask not, need not, ought beside;
So safe, so calm, so satisfied,
The soul that clings to Thee.
Blest is our lot, whate'er befall;
What can disturb or who appal?
Thou art our strength, our rock, our all,
Saviour, we cling to Thee.
5.3k
I am the unnoticed, the unnoticable man:
The man who sat on your right in the morning train:
The man who looked through like a windowpane:
The man who was the colour of the carriage, the colour of the mounting
Morning pipe smoke.
I am the man too busy with a living to live,
Too hurried and worried to see and smell and touch:
The man who is patient too long and obeys too much
And wishes too softly and seldom.
I am the man they call the nation's backbone,
Who am boneless - playable castgut, pliable clay:
The Man they label Little lest one day
I dare to grow.
I am the rails on which the moment passes,
The megaphone for many words and voices:
I am the graph diagram,
Composite face.
I am the led, the easily-fed,
The tool, the not-quite-fool,
The would-be-safe-and-sound,
The uncomplaining, bound,
The dust fine-ground,
Stone-for-a-statue waveworn pebble-round
4.2k
In my yard stands a tree
tall and sturdy
lone like a hermit,
regal like an empress
her roots dug deep
her branches touching the heavens
peeking behind the skies veil
She has a coy dalliance with the Wind
Sometimes he comes tickling
her tender parts, whispering
sweet nothings in her ear
Overall she is still
Still....................
like waters without ripples
She stands upright
brooding over the saga of struggle
from a sapling to a towering giant
Indeed a tryst with destiny!
Under the summer sky
braving the smarting beams
she remained uncomplaining.
Below the thundering clouds
bearing a thousand needle ******
she stayed nonchalant.
When the wind swept across
bending her branches in all directions
she stood on firm feet unwavering.
She tells a tale of struggle and survival
She had stood there before I was born
Now she displays every scar and every stripe
on her knotted bark as a proud trophy
Sometimes I feel her pain
when wet and dripping in pouring rain
or scorched in the sun’s fiery rage
Yet she holds an umbrella over all
who come to her in sun and rain
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
Almost happy now, he looked at his estate.
An exile making watches glanced up as he passed,
And went on working; where a hospital was rising fast
A joiner touched his cap; an agent came to tell
Some of the trees he'd planted were progressing well.
The white alps glittered. It was summer. He was very great.
Far off in Paris, where his enemies
Whispered that he was wicked, in an upright chair
A blind old woman longed for death and letters. He would write
"Nothing is better than life." But was it? Yes, the fight
Against the false and the unfair
Was always worth it. So was gardening. Civilise.
Cajoling, scolding, screaming, cleverest of them all,
He'd had the other children in a holy war
Against the infamous grown-ups, and, like a child, been sly
And humble, when there was occasion for
The two-faced answer or the plain protective lie,
But, patient like a peasant, waited for their fall.
And never doubted, like D'Alembert, he would win:
Only Pascal was a great enemy, the rest
Were rats already poisoned; there was much, though, to be done,
And only himself to count upon.
Dear Diderot was dull but did his best;
Rousseau, he'd always known, would blubber and give in.
So, like a sentinel, he could not sleep. The night was full of wrong,
Earthquakes and executions. Soon he would be dead,
And still all over Europe stood the horrible nurses
Itching to boil their children. Only his verses
Perhaps could stop them: He must go on working: Overhead
The uncomplaining stars composed their lucid song.
2.6k
A smile and a wink, create an incredible magic, one gets floored
that's her, but not a day passes without a complaint-
about her uncomplaining nature, that seems to rub everyone
in a way wrong; without any prompt, interpretations start to pour
she definitely lacks seriousness, frivolous or an unfeeling brute?
By nature, she can't care about anything, may be the effect of the past,
tongues waged, observers increased, each one took notes,
voluntarily held conferences, and reached a conclusion, behind her back:
"Far too removed from reality, lives in cloud cuckoo land"
Strong judgments came one after the other, every one enthusiastically joined,
in demolishing, what they thought 'The myth of equanimous mind'
(irrespective of dealing with a string of troubles and continuing bad weather)
The one, only one, who kept silence, when this buzz was going on far too long,
just smiled at the end, the playful wink that followed ruffled all feathers,
now the gang has an added burden, the power of one more to deal with.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
In the waste hour
Between to-day and yesterday
We watched, while on my arm--
Living flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone--
Dabbled in sweat the sacred head
Lay uncomplaining, still, contemptuous, strange:
Till the dear face turned dead,
And to a sound of lamentation
The good, heroic soul with all its wealth--
Its sixty years of love and sacrifice,
Suffering and passionate faith--was reabsorbed
In the inexorable Peace,
And life was changed to us for evermore.
Was nothing left of her but tears
Like blood-drops from the heart?
Nought save remorse
For duty unfulfilled, justice undone,
And charity ignored? Nothing but love,
Forgiveness, reconcilement, where in truth,
But for this passing
Into the unimaginable abyss
These things had never been?
Nay, there were we,
Her five strong sons!
To her Death came--the great Deliverer came!--
As equal comes to equal, throne to throne.
She was a mother of men.
The stars shine as of old. The unchanging River,
Bent on his errand of immortal law,
Works his appointed way
To the immemorial sea.
And the brave truth comes overwhelmingly home:--
That she in us yet works and shines,
Lives and fulfils herself,
Unending as the river and the stars.
Dearest, live on
In such an immortality
As we thy sons,
Born of thy body and nursed
At those wild, faithful *******
Can give--of generous thoughts,
And honourable words, and deeds
That make men half in love with fate!
Live on, O brave and true,
In us thy children, in ours whose life is thine--
Our best and theirs! What is that best but thee--
Thee, and thy gift to us, to pass
Like light along the infinite of space
To the immitigable end?
Between the river and the stars,
O royal and radiant soul,
Thou dost return, thine influences return
Upon thy children as in life, and death
Turns stingless! What is Death
But Life in act? How should the Unteeming Grave
Be victor over thee,
Mother, a mother of men?
1.2k
half ring
a present, a thank you compliment by way of a poem, for the zealous, tiny, poetess spark who writes exquisitely and calls herself Cynthia Henon
~~~
strange old night-stands, a stained tan blonde wood
that's going ancient grey, but still handsome in a fitting way,
the front drawer hand painted floral in what I choose
to believe are by Italian hands in Italian reds and greens,
not so fancy as I make it sound, but worn and durable and
not overly functional but two silent, uncomplaining eye witnesses to a ten year ancient, greying love affair
wood ages, human eyes squint, failing to counteract the minute, advancing daily dimming, not paying close attention to the
Richter magnitude of the accumulated changes
the morning coffee ritual as catholic as morning mass,
a straw woven coaster to protect the sun blanched top,
hardly necessary, just a good habit, one of the rituals that glue,
that couples use to keep the coupling intact
the cumulative subtle changes, the crackling sound unheard, the cracks in everything, even in the human tissue,
breaking, the papered over filler of purposeful ignorance,
cannot forever resist the erosion of the cancer of the
taking for granted
place the coffee cup half on, half off the coaster, un-noticing,
leaving half a ring that will now never disappear, never be
completed, causing her to fly into rage that rips the
complacent band-aids, worn dikes that were holding back the barricaded tears, but the sea~see
level was always rising and though visible, the revelation remained unchosen
later that day, I drive away forever with Yo-Yo Ma riding shotgun,
in charge of map reading and consolation music, thinking
half ring, half ring, half ring, half ring,
an embolism of symbolism, good for a play on words,
and a couple of poems about uncoupling
8:22am 7/1/17
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 8:51 AM UTC
The tree, standing there throughout the centuries,
Only moving to follow the idle sun and water.
Oh tree of all seasons, dost thou never get tired,
Of being the abode of many animations?
Of being the provider, without there being much provisions for thee?
Of the many generations that tread the to their own wishes?
Of being forever in one spot?
Thou tree of such soothing wisdom,
How many have cried to thee, and thou hast given them solace?
How many have wronged thee, and thou hast forgiven?
Thou uncomplaining tree, I admire thine own patience,
That neither tempest nor malice gestures canst shake.
Wilt thou please tell me of thine own secret of perseverance?
Oh tree of many seasons, I admire thine own,
Freedom from prejudices.
Oh generous tree, wilt thou please tell me of thy flowers?
That thou has wrought through a Mighty Power.
Oh how honored I am to have witnessed such majesty.
Thine grace is as permanent as time itself.
And one day I shall give a true account of thy accomplishments.
Thankful I am for thy verse,
For I, as a traveler, would be lost without it in the universe.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Ever so silent in pain
Dour in death’s anguish
Called dumb by us men
To have their strength I wish.
Dumb yes without a remedial mean
No succor for them no medicine
In my backyard under open sky
These mute little fluffs quietly die.
I feel remorse a passing penitence
To have never been able to bridge the distance
Act in time for the help of a vat
Can’t count my humaneness, it’s just a poor cat.
Poor yes but with a strength underneath
To brace death the way they do
Uncomplaining till their last breath
Leaving me a lesson or two!
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
The cold wind bites
It lets me know
I do not belong up here
I am not a tree, tall
Though I am.
I think, perhaps, I am not hardy enough,
Not uncomplaining enough
I am only a visitor,
Tem-po-rar-y
me.gs
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
A rock . . .
well really the brow of a rock . . .
its heart lay deep and hidden,
but when I lay my cheek against it
in the heat of the summer it cooled
and I could feel the great primeval thump of its heart
comforting me, when nothing else was understood.
I clutched this great rock,
my only constant in a life of changes,
while the earth itself, with me holding on tight,
flew at increasingly careless speeds
throughout my teenage years.
Beneath the arched viaduct it squatted
uncomplaining of the shafts of steel
and the weight of the stone it carried;
my teenage weight, of little importance.
It was always there when I came,
in dream, or even reality
taking the time to be calm and listen
as I told it of my hurts and young confusions.
One Summer, I foreswore all others
and promised it my heart,
if it would only turn it to stone,
and though the Rock it listened,
I knew the answer without us having to speak;
I was being selfish
and it would have given all of its
great and brooding strength
to feel, just a little, of my pain.
©Copyright Niall OConnor 2012/2014
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 5:31 AM UTC
If cold I awake from the depths of Dark Hollow,
Where Faeries dance gaily around pole-lanterns blazing,
To bathe in the gloom of a Bright-Star lain shadow
That flits through the room like an eye steadfast gazing,
I’d suffer no comfort, till the fanfare of morning,
And my shivering spine, and my blue-blazoned skin
Would abide uncomplaining, till the Dawn light swept in.
And the Morrow would find me still gripped in Night’s pale,
And the Sun fail to warm me, and the Air would not move me,
And the feast laid for breakfast would wither and stale,
And my eyes transfixed open would gaze around blindly —
And the Sunset would follow, and Twilight would find me
Awash in the gloom of a Bright-Star lain shadow,
And thence to Lone Splendour of the depths of Dark Hollow.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 9:28 AM UTC
In those days we kept a vigil
By his bed,
Holding his hand as he withered
On the vine, and we imagined his life
As something which, down the line, slithered
Inaudibly into the long grass, uncomplaining.
Outside, it was raining.
‘Just a few more days’, we said
‘Then there will be sunshine, no more rain.’
Was he in pain?
We never knew;
He lay still, quietly, there.
Perhaps we did not care?
But no, surely we did;
I’d like to think we did.
The ‘few more days’ turned to years,
Then decades, centuries,
And still he lay.
And still he lies
Today.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 12:30 PM UTC
> amid the ... uncomplaining slaves
^^
thru the bankrupted morality
Of our fornicating days
//
Eyes !
Sunken and depraved
Hearts !
( all ideals have been betrayed )
//
Lonliness
The finality of enforced isolation
//
love ??
( Broken and debased )
//
Meaningless lives
Pretending a sense of liberation
Gather for a brief moment
Then part in shame
Truly letting each other down
•
Pain
The only legitimate emotion !
The solitary confinement of the weak
//
Lonely
The free man moves on
Thru the images of humanity
But alas
No one is here
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
In a world of silence
I run on batteries
walk a mile or two
on wrinkled aging knees.
Hearing nothing as I sleep
most things won't wake me up
I sit in awesome silence
and sip my coffee cup.
Closed caption on the t. v.
informs me of the news
the world is still divided
violent, bitter, bruised.
Time for my daily walk
check the batteries, they're fine
attach the hearing aids
the sun begins to shine.
My dog waits patiently
with uncomplaining love
it's a chilly wintry day
I reach to take my gloves
The air is frosty clean
I leave the car at home
and step with Jax, off the curb
in the neighborhood, to roam.
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 10:44 PM UTC
I wish I'd saved my best for you
Uncomplaining queen of my heart
There was a time
You deserve something less
wide bent noisy broken
Adonis no not quite that
but supple
firm and fresh
You bought as is
No returns
Never asked around whose
***** I'd been girt
Still I wish
it was you'd done the wearing
off the sparkle out the elastic
That every crease
was a day of your life
Sweet lady
Bargain hunter
Thrift store baby
What you get
Is all I've got
not
What you deserved
I'm what you bought
Hope you like it
smile
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC