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"unmeaning" poems
277 What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate— And pass escaped—to thee! What if I file this Mortal—off— See where it hurt me—That’s enough— And wade in Liberty! They cannot take me—any more! Dungeons can call—and Guns implore Unmeaning—now—to me— As laughter—was—an hour ago— Or Laces—or a Travelling Show— Or who died—yesterday!
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1.7k
Emily Dickinson
What if I say I shall not wait!
277 What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate— And pass escaped—to thee! What if I file this Mortal—off— See where it hurt me—That’s enough— And wade in Liberty! They cannot take me—any more! Dungeons can call—and Guns implore Unmeaning—now—to me— As laughter—was—an hour ago— Or Laces—or a Travelling Show— Or who died—yesterday!
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13
These locks, which fondly thus entwine, In firmer chains our hearts confine, Than all th’ unmeaning protestations Which swell with nonsense, love orations. Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve prov’d it; Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov’d it; Then wherefore should we sigh and whine, With groundless jealousy repine; With silly whims, and fancies frantic, Merely to make our love romantic? Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish, And fret with self-created anguish? Or doom the lover you have chosen, On winter nights to sigh half frozen; In leafless shades, to sue for pardon, Only because the scene’s a garden? For gardens seem, by one consent, (Since Shakespeare set the precedent; Since Juliet first declar’d her passion) To form the place of assignation. Oh! would some modern muse inspire, And seat her by a sea-coal fire; Or had the bard at Christmas written, And laid the scene of love in Britain; He surely, in commiseration, Had chang’d the place of declaration. In Italy, I’ve no objection, Warm nights are proper for reflection; But here our climate is so rigid, That love itself, is rather frigid: Think on our chilly situation, And curb this rage for imitation. Then let us meet, as oft we’ve done, Beneath the influence of the sun; Or, if at midnight I must meet you, Within your mansion let me greet you: ‘There’, we can love for hours together, Much better, in such snowy weather, Than plac’d in all th’ Arcadian groves, That ever witness’d rural loves; ‘Then’, if my passion fail to please, Next night I’ll be content to freeze; No more I’ll give a loose to laughter, But curse my fate, for ever after.
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Lord Byron
To A Lady Who Presented To The Author A Lock Of Hair Braided With His Own, And Appointed A Night In December To Meet Him In The Garden
These locks, which fondly thus entwine, In firmer chains our hearts confine, Than all th’ unmeaning protestations Which swell with nonsense, love orations. Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve prov’d it; Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov’d it; Then wherefore should we sigh and whine, With groundless jealousy repine; With silly whims, and fancies frantic, Merely to make our love romantic? Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish, And fret with self-created anguish? Or doom the lover you have chosen, On winter nights to sigh half frozen; In leafless shades, to sue for pardon, Only because the scene’s a garden? For gardens seem, by one consent, (Since Shakespeare set the precedent; Since Juliet first declar’d her passion) To form the place of assignation. Oh! would some modern muse inspire, And seat her by a sea-coal fire; Or had the bard at Christmas written, And laid the scene of love in Britain; He surely, in commiseration, Had chang’d the place of declaration. In Italy, I’ve no objection, Warm nights are proper for reflection; But here our climate is so rigid, That love itself, is rather frigid: Think on our chilly situation, And curb this rage for imitation. Then let us meet, as oft we’ve done, Beneath the influence of the sun; Or, if at midnight I must meet you, Within your mansion let me greet you: ‘There’, we can love for hours together, Much better, in such snowy weather, Than plac’d in all th’ Arcadian groves, That ever witness’d rural loves; ‘Then’, if my passion fail to please, Next night I’ll be content to freeze; No more I’ll give a loose to laughter, But curse my fate, for ever after.
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44
I don't feel the need to be entertained. I just enjoy your proximity. And even with your unmeaning insulting, I just feel the need to impress. No pressure. I don't feel the need to be adored. I just like when you talk to me. And even with your condescending intelligence, I just feel the need to impress. No pressure. I don't feel the need to always touch, taste, kiss, and hold you... No pressure.
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Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
zoe-westbrooke
Eventually
I don't feel the need to be entertained. I just enjoy your proximity. And even with your unmeaning insulting, I just feel the need to impress. No pressure. I don't feel the need to be adored. I just like when you talk to me. And even with your condescending intelligence, I just feel the need to impress. No pressure. I don't feel the need to always touch, taste, kiss, and hold you... No pressure.
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12
Caution? I never quite got the hang of that Never a gambler as such I have been a creature of impulse and instinct Of uncertain intent Unknowing and unmeaning I have created crackling static Out of consequence and recrimination Trying not to hurt anyone I do right by no-one But I cannot change my gypsy way I have always said and will always say I won't die wondering I hope I will die laughing But not today By Phil Roberts
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Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
phil-roberts
DON'T DIE WONDERING
Caution? I never quite got the hang of that Never a gambler as such I have been a creature of impulse and instinct Of uncertain intent Unknowing and unmeaning I have created crackling static Out of consequence and recrimination Trying not to hurt anyone I do right by no-one But I cannot change my gypsy way I have always said and will always say I won't die wondering I hope I will die laughing But not today By Phil Roberts
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16
Caution? I never quite got the hang of that Never a gambler as such I have been a creature of impulse and instinct Of uncertain intent Unknowing and unmeaning I have created crackling static Out of consequence and recrimination Trying not to hurt anyone I do right by none But I cannot change my gypsy way I have always said and will always say I won't die wondering I hope to die laughing But not today                                              By Phil Roberts
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Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
phil-roberts
DON'T DIE WONDERING
Caution? I never quite got the hang of that Never a gambler as such I have been a creature of impulse and instinct Of uncertain intent Unknowing and unmeaning I have created crackling static Out of consequence and recrimination Trying not to hurt anyone I do right by none But I cannot change my gypsy way I have always said and will always say I won't die wondering I hope to die laughing But not today                                              By Phil Roberts
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16
Being made to remember, held to signature upswells in the depths of unmeaning. How near, in truer sense--beyond madness to minister logic to an uncut event, yet cut. Pieced together in hope of netting mortality, harboring the breath of life as if a resentment. Willing what will not, being made to remember--being made to forget. As soon drawn, as erased... the fronting forefront. Whose change has its own memory, so perfect it's changeless. Beingness cut front to back, back to front...side to side, top to bottom, bottom to top. Uterine cave torch lighting isolated events bound for seas of sequence. Mind's eyefuls of the whole in a simultaneity of remembrance, and forgetfulness.
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Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 6:26 PM UTC
Onoma
Upswells
Being made to remember, held to signature upswells in the depths of unmeaning. How near, in truer sense--beyond madness to minister logic to an uncut event, yet cut. Pieced together in hope of netting mortality, harboring the breath of life as if a resentment. Willing what will not, being made to remember--being made to forget. As soon drawn, as erased... the fronting forefront. Whose change has its own memory, so perfect it's changeless. Beingness cut front to back, back to front...side to side, top to bottom, bottom to top. Uterine cave torch lighting isolated events bound for seas of sequence. Mind's eyefuls of the whole in a simultaneity of remembrance, and forgetfulness.
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27
I am an art of human A seed unto the world cast loose Holding what's unfurled Beneath, a lonesome seeker of truth It is undue to suffer Through a seemly, caustic night Unbidden, untoward, unwellitude Unbeing And unbright But in the hull solemnitude Unmeaning And unkind We find ourselves in solitude Inside a well, unlit Untied
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Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 2:05 AM UTC
sansara-justinovich
Un-typed
I am an art of human A seed unto the world cast loose Holding what's unfurled Beneath, a lonesome seeker of truth It is undue to suffer Through a seemly, caustic night Unbidden, untoward, unwellitude Unbeing And unbright But in the hull solemnitude Unmeaning And unkind We find ourselves in solitude Inside a well, unlit Untied
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15
Caution? I never quite got the hang of that Never a gambler as such I have been a creature of impulse and instinct Of uncertain intent Unknowing and unmeaning I have created crackling static Out of consequence and recrimination Trying not to hurt anyone I do right by no-one But I cannot change my gypsy way I have always said and will always say I won't die wondering I hope I will die laughing But not today By Phil Roberts
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Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
phil-roberts
DON'T DIE WONDERING
Caution? I never quite got the hang of that Never a gambler as such I have been a creature of impulse and instinct Of uncertain intent Unknowing and unmeaning I have created crackling static Out of consequence and recrimination Trying not to hurt anyone I do right by no-one But I cannot change my gypsy way I have always said and will always say I won't die wondering I hope I will die laughing But not today By Phil Roberts
Continue reading...
16
Caution? I never quite got the hang of that Never a gambler as such I have been a creature of impulse and instinct Of uncertain intent Unknowing and unmeaning I have created crackling static Out of consequence and recrimination Trying not to hurt anyone I do right by no-one But I cannot change my gypsy way I have always said and will always say I won't die wondering I hope I will die laughing But not today By Phil Roberts
0
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 5:49 AM UTC
phil-roberts
DON'T DIE WONDERING
Caution? I never quite got the hang of that Never a gambler as such I have been a creature of impulse and instinct Of uncertain intent Unknowing and unmeaning I have created crackling static Out of consequence and recrimination Trying not to hurt anyone I do right by no-one But I cannot change my gypsy way I have always said and will always say I won't die wondering I hope I will die laughing But not today By Phil Roberts
Continue reading...
16
I miss so much of my old life... old friends... old lovers... old what might have been... but I was never brave... so shy.. shy... as the sin and sign of something ****** i miss her lips that where... the best of the days of long ago... I miss the lips I never kissed... the best of what might have been... and I must apologize... for running... for running so far from friends... so far from family... because of a foolish heart... a heart that I was equally to blame for breaking... and it should not be so odd... looking back... the hindsight... yet I curse my youth... my younger self... had it all... before it knew gratitude... has it all now... but is to afraid too express itself... what are fools other than pawns of repetition... and how lucky am I... to know love again... to meet it more deeply... to recognize it once more in my lungs... to know its beauty... its perfection... what else matters... what a cruel unmeaning less thing we have made out of life... how thoughtless we have become in the seeking of intelligence... how useless is knowledge when it knows nothing of love... and here I sit... useless... trying to deny... trying to hide... what I know... is the only thing... the only thing that knows beauty... the only thing that knows perfection... the only thing that knows love... that knows love... love is the only thing... the only thing... that can keep... that can make... our foolish life’s... worth living
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Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 12:47 AM UTC
akira-chinen
worth living
I miss so much of my old life... old friends... old lovers... old what might have been... but I was never brave... so shy.. shy... as the sin and sign of something ****** i miss her lips that where... the best of the days of long ago... I miss the lips I never kissed... the best of what might have been... and I must apologize... for running... for running so far from friends... so far from family... because of a foolish heart... a heart that I was equally to blame for breaking... and it should not be so odd... looking back... the hindsight... yet I curse my youth... my younger self... had it all... before it knew gratitude... has it all now... but is to afraid too express itself... what are fools other than pawns of repetition... and how lucky am I... to know love again... to meet it more deeply... to recognize it once more in my lungs... to know its beauty... its perfection... what else matters... what a cruel unmeaning less thing we have made out of life... how thoughtless we have become in the seeking of intelligence... how useless is knowledge when it knows nothing of love... and here I sit... useless... trying to deny... trying to hide... what I know... is the only thing... the only thing that knows beauty... the only thing that knows perfection... the only thing that knows love... that knows love... love is the only thing... the only thing... that can keep... that can make... our foolish life’s... worth living
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