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No more of talk where God or Angel guest
With Man, as with his friend, familiar us’d,
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast; permitting him the while
Venial discourse unblam’d. I now must change
Those notes to tragick; foul distrust, and breach
Disloyal on the part of Man, revolt,
And disobedience: on the part of Heaven
Now alienated, distance and distaste,
Anger and just rebuke, and judgement given,
That brought into this world a world of woe,
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery
Death’s harbinger: Sad talk!yet argument
Not less but more heroick than the wrath
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespous’d;
Or Neptune’s ire, or Juno’s, that so long
Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea’s son:                        

If answerable style I can obtain
Of my celestial patroness, who deigns
Her nightly visitation unimplor’d,
And dictates to me slumbering; or inspires
Easy my unpremeditated verse:
Since first this subject for heroick song
Pleas’d me long choosing, and beginning late;
Not sedulous by nature to indite
Wars, hitherto the only argument
Heroick deem’d chief mastery to dissect
With long and tedious havock fabled knights
In battles feign’d; the better fortitude
Of patience and heroick martyrdom
Unsung; or to describe races and games,
Or tilting furniture, imblazon’d shields,
Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,
Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights
At joust and tournament; then marshall’d feast
Serv’d up in hall with sewers and seneshals;
The skill of artifice or office mean,
Not that which justly gives heroick name
To person, or to poem.  Me, of these
Nor skill’d nor studious, higher argument
Remains; sufficient of itself to raise
That name, unless an age too late, or cold
Climate, or years, damp my intended wing
Depress’d; and much they may, if all be mine,
Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.
The sun was sunk, and after him the star
Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring
Twilight upon the earth, short arbiter
“twixt day and night, and now from end to end
Night’s hemisphere had veil’d the horizon round:
When satan, who late fled before the threats
Of Gabriel out of Eden, now improv’d
In meditated fraud and malice, bent
On Man’s destruction, maugre what might hap
Of heavier on himself, fearless returned
From compassing the earth; cautious of day,
Since Uriel, regent of the sun, descried
His entrance, and foreworned the Cherubim
That kept their watch; thence full of anguish driven,
The space of seven continued nights he rode
With darkness; thrice the equinoctial line
He circled; four times crossed the car of night
From pole to pole, traversing each colure;
On the eighth returned; and, on the coast averse
From entrance or Cherubick watch, by stealth
Found unsuspected way.  There was a place,
Now not, though sin, not time, first wrought the change,
Where Tigris, at the foot of Paradise,
Into a gulf shot under ground, till part
Rose up a fountain by the tree of life:
In with the river sunk, and with it rose
Satan, involved in rising mist; then sought
Where to lie hid; sea he had searched, and land,
From Eden over Pontus and the pool
Maeotis, up beyond the river Ob;
Downward as far antarctick; and in length,
West from Orontes to the ocean barred
At Darien ; thence to the land where flows
Ganges and Indus: Thus the orb he roamed
With narrow search; and with inspection deep
Considered every creature, which of all
Most opportune might serve his wiles; and found
The Serpent subtlest beast of all the field.
Him after long debate, irresolute
Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose
Fit vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in whom
To enter, and his dark suggestions hide
From sharpest sight: for, in the wily snake
Whatever sleights, none would suspicious mark,
As from his wit and native subtlety
Proceeding; which, in other beasts observed,
Doubt might beget of diabolick power
Active within, beyond the sense of brute.
Thus he resolved, but first from inward grief
His bursting passion into plaints thus poured.
More justly, seat worthier of Gods, as built
With second thoughts, reforming what was old!
O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferred
For what God, after better, worse would build?
Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other Heavens
That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps,
Light above light, for thee alone, as seems,
In thee concentring all their precious beams
Of sacred influence!  As God in Heaven
Is center, yet extends to all; so thou,
Centring, receivest from all those orbs: in thee,
Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears
Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth
Of creatures animate with gradual life
Of growth, sense, reason, all summed up in Man.
With what delight could I have walked thee round,
If I could joy in aught, sweet interchange
Of hill, and valley, rivers, woods, and plains,
Now land, now sea and shores with forest crowned,
Rocks, dens, and caves!  But I in none of these
Find place or refuge; and the more I see
Pleasures about me, so much more I feel
Torment within me, as from the hateful siege
Of contraries: all good to me becomes
Bane, and in Heaven much worse would be my state.
But neither here seek I, no nor in Heaven
To dwell, unless by mastering Heaven’s Supreme;
Nor hope to be myself less miserable
By what I seek, but others to make such
As I, though thereby worse to me redound:
For only in destroying I find ease
To my relentless thoughts; and, him destroyed,
Or won to what may work his utter loss,
For whom all this was made, all this will soon
Follow, as to him linked in weal or woe;
In woe then; that destruction wide may range:
To me shall be the glory sole among
The infernal Powers, in one day to have marred
What he, Almighty styled, six nights and days
Continued making; and who knows how long
Before had been contriving? though perhaps
Not longer than since I, in one night, freed
From servitude inglorious well nigh half
The angelick name, and thinner left the throng
Of his adorers: He, to be avenged,
And to repair his numbers thus impaired,
Whether such virtue spent of old now failed
More Angels to create, if they at least
Are his created, or, to spite us more,
Determined to advance into our room
A creature formed of earth, and him endow,
Exalted from so base original,
With heavenly spoils, our spoils: What he decreed,
He effected; Man he made, and for him built
Magnificent this world, and earth his seat,
Him lord pronounced; and, O indignity!
Subjected to his service angel-wings,
And flaming ministers to watch and tend
Their earthly charge: Of these the vigilance
I dread; and, to elude, thus wrapt in mist
Of midnight vapour glide obscure, and pry
In every bush and brake, where hap may find
The serpent sleeping; in whose mazy folds
To hide me, and the dark intent I bring.
O foul descent! that I, who erst contended
With Gods to sit the highest, am now constrained
Into a beast; and, mixed with ******* slime,
This essence to incarnate and imbrute,
That to the highth of Deity aspired!
But what will not ambition and revenge
Descend to?  Who aspires, must down as low
As high he soared; obnoxious, first or last,
To basest things.  Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils:
Let it; I reck not, so it light well aimed,
Since higher I fall short, on him who next
Provokes my envy, this new favourite
Of Heaven, this man of clay, son of despite,
Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker raised
From dust: Spite then with spite is best repaid.
So saying, through each thicket dank or dry,
Like a black mist low-creeping, he held on
His midnight-search, where soonest he might find
The serpent; him fast-sleeping soon he found
In labyrinth of many a round self-rolled,
His head the midst, well stored with subtile wiles:
Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den,
Nor nocent yet; but, on the grassy herb,
Fearless unfeared he slept: in at his mouth
The Devil entered; and his brutal sense,
In heart or head, possessing, soon inspired
With act intelligential; but his sleep
Disturbed not, waiting close the approach of morn.
Now, when as sacred light began to dawn
In Eden on the humid flowers, that breathed
Their morning incense, when all things, that breathe,
From the Earth’s great altar send up silent praise
To the Creator, and his nostrils fill
With grateful smell, forth came the human pair,
And joined their vocal worship to the quire
Of creatures wanting voice; that done, partake
The season prime for sweetest scents and airs:
Then commune, how that day they best may ply
Their growing work: for much their work out-grew
The hands’ dispatch of two gardening so wide,
And Eve first to her husband thus began.
Adam, well may we labour still to dress
This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower,
Our pleasant task enjoined; but, till more hands
Aid us, the work under our labour grows,
Luxurious by restraint; what we by day
Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind,
One night or two with wanton growth derides
Tending to wild.  Thou therefore now advise,
Or bear what to my mind first thoughts present:
Let us divide our labours; thou, where choice
Leads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind
The woodbine round this arbour, or direct
The clasping ivy where to climb; while I,
In yonder spring of roses intermixed
With myrtle, find what to redress till noon:
For, while so near each other thus all day
Our task we choose, what wonder if so near
Looks intervene and smiles, or object new
Casual discourse draw on; which intermits
Our day’s work, brought to little, though begun
Early, and the hour of supper comes unearned?
To whom mild answer Adam thus returned.
Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond
Compare above all living creatures dear!
Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughts employed,
How we might best fulfil the work which here
God hath assigned us; nor of me shalt pass
Unpraised: for nothing lovelier can be found
In woman, than to study houshold good,
And good works in her husband to promote.
Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposed
Labour, as to debar us when we need
Refreshment, whether food, or talk between,
Food of the mind, or this sweet *******
Of looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flow,
To brute denied, and are of love the food;
Love, not the lowest end of human life.
For not to irksome toil, but to delight,
He made us, and delight to reason joined.
These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint hands
Will keep from wilderness with ease, as wide
As we need walk, till younger hands ere long
Assist us; But, if much converse perhaps
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield:
For solitude sometimes is best society,
And short retirement urges sweet return.
But other doubt possesses me, lest harm
Befall thee severed from me; for thou knowest
What hath been warned us, what malicious foe
Envying our happiness, and of his own
Despairing, seeks to work us woe and shame
By sly assault; and somewhere nigh at hand
Watches, no doubt, with greedy hope to find
His wish and best advantage, us asunder;
Hopeless to circumvent us joined, where each
To other speedy aid might lend at need:
Whether his first design be to withdraw
Our fealty from God, or to disturb
Conjugal love, than which perhaps no bliss
Enjoyed by us excites his envy more;
Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful side
That gave thee being, still shades thee, and protects.
The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks,
Safest and seemliest by her husband stays,
Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
To whom the ****** majesty of Eve,
As one who loves, and some unkindness meets,
With sweet austere composure thus replied.
Offspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth’s Lord!
That such an enemy we have, who seeks
Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn,
And from the parting Angel over-heard,
As in a shady nook I stood behind,
Just then returned at shut of evening flowers.
But, that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubt
To God or thee, because we have a foe
May tempt it, I expected not to hear.
His violence thou fearest not, being such
As we, not capable of death or pain,
Can either not receive, or can repel.
His fraud is then thy fear; which plain infers
Thy equal fear, that my firm faith and love
Can by his fraud be shaken or seduced;
Thoughts, which how found they harbour in thy breast,
Adam, mis-thought of her to thee so dear?
To whom with healing words Adam replied.
Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve!
For such thou art; from sin and blame entire:
Not diffident of thee do I dissuade
Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid
The attempt itself, intended by our foe.
For he who tempts, though in vain, at least asperses
The tempted with dishonour foul; supposed
Not incorruptible of faith, not proof
Against temptation: Thou thyself with scorn
And anger wouldst resent the offered wrong,
Though ineffectual found: misdeem not then,
If such affront I labour to avert
From thee alone, which on us both at once
The enemy, though bold, will hardly dare;
Or daring, first on me the assault shall light.
Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn;
Subtle he needs must be, who could ******
Angels; nor think superfluous other’s aid.
I, from the influence of thy looks, receive
Access in every virtue; in thy sight
More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were
Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking on,
Shame to be overcome or over-reached,
Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite.
Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel
When I am present, and thy trial choose
With me, best witness of thy virtue tried?
So spake domestick Adam in his care
And matrimonial love; but Eve, who thought
Less attributed to her faith sincere,
Thus her reply with accent sweet renewed.
If this be our condition, thus to dwell
In narrow circuit straitened by a foe,
Subtle or violent, we not endued
Single with like defence, wherever met;
How are we happy, still in fear of harm?
But harm precedes not sin: only our foe,
Tempting, affronts us with his foul esteem
Of our integrity: his foul esteem
Sticks no dishonour on our front, but turns
Foul on himself; then wherefore shunned or feared
By us? who rather double honour gain
From his surmise proved false; find peace within,
Favour from Heaven, our witness, from the event.
And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayed
Alone, without exteriour help sustained?
Let us not then suspect our happy state
Left so imperfect by the Maker wise,
As not secure to single or combined.
Frail is our happiness, if this be so,
And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed.
To whom thus Adam fervently replied.
O Woman, best are all things as the will
Of God ordained them: His creating hand
Nothing imperfect or deficient left
Of all that he created, much less Man,
Or aught that might his happy state secure,
Secure from outward force; within himself
The danger lies, yet lies within his power:
Against his will he can receive no harm.
But God left free the will; for what obeys
Reason, is free; and Reason he made right,
But bid her well be ware, and still *****;
Lest, by some fair-appearing good surprised,
She dictate false; and mis-inform the will
To do what God expressly hath forbid.
Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins,
That I should mind thee oft; and mind thou me.
Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve;
Since Reason not impossibly may meet
Some specious object by the foe suborned,
And fall into deception unaware,
Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned.
Seek not temptation then, which to avoid
Were better, and most likely if from me
Thou sever not: Trial will come unsought.
Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve
First thy obedience; the other who can know,
Not seeing thee attempted, who attest?
But, if thou think, trial unsought may find
Us both securer than thus warned thou seemest,
Go; for thy stay, not fre
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.oh man, a spoiled mood, so rare, but so invigorating at the same, it's like you get so mad that you're only waiting for the cooling period, the cooling period is always so... armchair analogous... some people turn to a gym sauna, but nothing compares to letting off steam from, the tabernacle, i.e. your heart.

woke up at 10am, checked the time,
dived in for a snooze...
3 hours later, i thought i just lay there,
a strange sleep consumed me,
as if: half awake, half knocked out
by a Mike Tyson punch...

took the broken drill to the workshop,
walked in... immediate
claustrophilia emerged...
the scents of metal, oil
and cardboard...

    are men more prone to claustrophilia
and women more prone
to claustrophobia?

such a gentile lad behind the counter,
his father working beside me on
some other mechanical tool...
he said some wise words about
hands, and tools,
and what not...
can't exactly remember what he said,
but:

hands & tools were in it,
so... given that: hands are tools...
he wasn't far off from the truth...

such a gentile lad...
he even managed to catch up with me
in the off-lice
while i was wondering what beer
to buy (on this fine fine October
afternoon)
to get my details...
     gripped his shoulder gently
and said my thank you...

but last night was something else...
i rarely become mad while drunk,
but when i do:
pandemonium in my head...
the ego become a Minotaur
and subsequently the labyrinth expands...

phobias and philias -
fears and loves...

  while i was walking up to the workshop
with my broken drill,
i passed a Muslim family...

now... if i saw a pretty large spider crawling
unsuspected and with catching
it with a ****...
i'd have a reflex reaction,
an irrationally funny reflex reaction...
SO WHAT THE **** IS
ISLAMO"PHOBIA"?
apparently some people like to abuse
words...
   i passed the Muslim family casually...
what? they're just people,
the father was teaching his children
how to cross the road safely,
and his wife was watching
him with that motherhood glee
of contentment with regards
to how their father was engaging
her offspring...
  
   islamophobia?! what?!
come again... because i've just explained
what arachnophobia is...
a phobia is associated with
the reflexes... or rather... a reflex...
an irrational, funny (later) reflex...
      when i see a Muslim i don't react
to him / her like i would react
to a ******* spider of abnormal size
(abnormal... because it's not
a tarantula)...

but today i woke and felt i had to
concede to an apology,
yes, casual "racist" that i am,
i forgot to prefix the word ****,
i.e. ****-,
       because, just sometimes...
i can't be bothered to add the suffix
-stani...
                  simple...

   but there is a but...
my father was in a slight traffic collision...
and... i had to listen to him
ramble on and on about the details
as i filled out the police report...

when two cars collide...
you exchange insurance details...
so the insurance companies can
meddle in the matter...

but this ****- woman had some sort
of bodyguard who intimidated my father,
telling him: it was illegal to exchange
insurance details...
yes yes... accents: i call them diacritical
distinction coordinates...

              the point being:
what is she? some ******* Hindu deity,
a holy cow?!
        so she couldn't have had her sight
impaired by the Ninja outfit?!
a liberal journalist in a center right
newspaper (i think that the times
is center right, or, at least,
i like to think so)

                     wrote an article about
donning the niqab for one day...
and she herself claimed that her vision
was impaired... when, walking...
there...
           i'd ban niqabs for the purpose
of safe driving...
     no! there's no ******* compromise!

****...
        i just want to drink a beer,
and watch a cherry tree change color in
this glorious season...
         why does everything have to boil
down to the nitty-gritty,
the fiddly, the perpetuating nuance of
what is, and what isn't -
   that isn't always black & white?

- but i do remember why my parents emigrated
to England... well...
if they weren't ****** over by
some ****** lawyer... England was just
a step-over... over to Argentina and
hopefully to H'america...
    seems my mother had a fascination
with her grandfather...
a polyglot, who emigrated there...
   married some woman,
abandoned his son (my grandfather)
due to his brother's smear campaign
to inherit some land, yada yada yada...
but the Iron Curtain was lifted....
   major recession...
my hometown's steel industry collapsed,
plus the Communist Party connections
of my grandfather:
who joined the Party?
               for opportunistic reasons...
and to fulfill functions like sitting court
on a jury...
                        my hometown saw the demise
of the fall...
                    around 20,000 jobs lost,
if not more...
          
and yes, i know what illegal immigration
looks like,
   but i also know what legal immigration
looks like...
   i've seen the ping-pong...
i just hate it...
                    when some Somali with 10
kids gets a council house in west London...
and he's probably "illegal" too...
or, whatever Commonwealth ****-hole
he comes entitled with the status:
the former colonized.

but at the end of the day...
i just want to drink my beer man.
Evynne Jan 2014
Before meeting him,
There was a feeling that
Dominated my being
To the point that
At times,
It was crippling.
It was a feeling that constantly tugged at
The outer parts of my insides,
Always making its presence known
In the most abominable of ways.
It was a feeling that made me feel
As if I was missing someone,
Something,
So much
That it was like I was missing
A part of myself.
Like somewhere down the road,
I misplaced a very important,
Very special,
Part of me.
And then
There was this feeling in my gut
That told me I had to do
Whatever it took to get it back,
Whatever it was.
It was a feeling that made me believe
That the one thing I truly needed was
Somewhere out there,
Hiding behind some stunningly tragic
And beautifully flawed
Perfection of this mind-numbing
Human reality.

And it was,
I found it in him.
Marshal Gebbie Jan 2010
Seldom doth man stop and stare
At the caste iron manhole cover there,
Seldom doth he analyze
The majesty, which beneath it lies.
The pipe work systems vast and long
Dark catacombs so precise and strong,
Buried deep beneath our feet
Extending forth from street to street,
Out across the breadth of town
Those secret fluids trickle down.


Laser levels carve the pathway
Through the walls of solid stone,
Shovels scrape and dig with effort
Forging hard trajectories home.
Digging, digging metal mountains
Sweat cascades upon the brow,
We lay the pipes in straight formation
Precision's satisfaction now.


An Artisan's great work is hidden
Lost beneath the earth's grey stone,
Appreciation camouflaged in that,
The cast iron manhole stands alone.
Magnificence unrealized
For deep beneath your feet,
A subterranean Michelangelo's
Sisteen Chapel, lays discreet.


Unsuspected rivers
Flowing darkly to the sea
In caverns of unwanted waste
Quite unbeknown to thee.
Vaulting brickwork chambers
Which are ancient works of art,
Carry oceans of excretement
Far from where their journey's start.


With thunder's crash and lightning flash
And torrents of cold rain,
The road's awash and gutters flow
Through roadside grates to drain.
Gushing torrents cascade down
In waves of flowing might
To the storm water system
Which promptly swallows it from sight.


Magic, you say ?
Nay, nay I say unto you
That the drain layers artistry
Is unappreciated, that's true !
That the Herculean effort wrought
In winning his great fights
Is largely lost to all and sundry
Who avoid construction sites.
They miss the planning and the layout
And meticulousness too
And the rubber seals which stop the leaks
Which really bother you.
The massive holes and danger
Of being buried in collapse
And the wondrous satisfaction
Of achieving downhill flows... Perhaps!


Marshalg
Apprentice drain layer
MHX Beachcroft site and Eastport
19 September 2009
Once, and but once found in thy company,
All thy supposed escapes are laid on me;
And as a thief at bar is questioned there
By all the men that have been robed that year,
So am I (by this traiterous means surprized)
By thy hydroptic father catechized.
Though he had wont to search with glazed eyes,
As though he came to **** a cockatrice,
Though he hath oft sworn that he would remove
Thy beauty’s beauty, and food of our love,
Hope of his goods, if I with thee were seen,
Yet close and secret, as our souls, we’ve been.
Though thy immortal mother, which doth lie
Still-buried in her bed, yet wiil not die,
Takes this advantage to sleep out daylight,
And watch thy entries and returns all night,
And, when she takes thy hand, and would seem kind,
Doth search what rings and armlets she can find,
And kissing, notes the colour of thy face,
And fearing lest thou’rt swol’n, doth thee embrace;
To try if thou long, doth name strange meats,
And notes thy paleness, blushing, sighs, and sweats;
And politicly will to thee confess
The sins of her own youth’s rank lustiness;
Yet love these sorceries did remove, and move
Thee to gull thine own mother for my love.
Thy little brethren, which like faery sprites
Oft skipped into our chamber, those sweet nights,
And kissed, and ingled on thy father’s knee,
Were bribed next day to tell what they did see:
The grim eight-foot-high iron-bound servingman,
That oft names God in oaths, and only then,
He that to bar the first gate doth as wide
As the great Rhodian Colossus stride,
Which, if in hell no other pains there were,
Makes me fear hell, because he must be there:
Though by thy father he were hired to this,
Could never witness any touch or kiss.
But Oh, too common ill, I brought with me
That which betrayed me to my enemy:
A loud perfume, which at my entrance cried
Even at thy father’s nose, so were we spied;
When, like a tyran King, that in his bed
Smelt gunpowder, the pale wretch shivered.
Had it been some bad smell he would have thought
That his own feet, or breath, that smell had wrought.
But as we in our isle imprisoned,
Where cattle only, and diverse dogs are bred,
The precious Unicorns strange monsters call,
So thought he good, strange, that had none at all.
I taught my silks their whistling to forbear,
Even my oppressed shoes dumb and speechless were,
Only, thou bitter sweet, whom I had laid
Next me, me traiterously hast betrayed,
And unsuspected hast invisibly
At once fled unto him, and stayed with me.
Base excrement of earth, which dost confound
Sense from distinguishing the sick from sound;
By thee the seely amorous ***** his death
By drawing in a leprous harlot’s breath;
By thee the greatest stain to man’s estate
Falls on us, to be called effeminate;
Though you be much loved in the Prince’s hall,
There, things that seem, exceed substantial.
Gods, when ye fumed on altars, were pleased well,
Because you were burnt, not that they liked your smell;
You’re loathsome all, being taken simply alone,
Shall we love ill things joined, and hate each one?
If you were good, your good doth soon decay;
And you are rare, that takes the good away.
All my perfumes I give most willingly
T’ embalm thy father’s corse; What? will he die?
O Liberty, God-gifted--
Young and immortal maid--
In your high hand uplifted,
The torch declares your trade.
Its crimson menace, flaming
Upon the sea and shore,
Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming
That Law shall be no more.
Austere incendiary,
We're blinking in the light;
Where is your customary
Grenade of dynamite?

Where are your staves and switches
For men of gentle birth?
Your mask and dirk for riches?
Your chains for wit and worth?

Perhaps, you've brought the halters
You used in the old days,
When round religion's altars
You stabled Cromwell's bays?

Behind you, unsuspected,
Have you the axe, fair *****,
Wherewith you once collected
A poll-tax for the French?

America salutes you--
Preparing to "disgorge."
Take everything that suits you,
And marry Henry George.
90

Within my reach!
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!
Soft sauntered thro’ the village—
Sauntered as soft away!
So unsuspected Violets
Within the meadows go—
Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago!
And thou wert sad—yet I was not with thee!
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Methought that joy and health alone could be
Where I was not—and pain and sorrow here.
And is it thus?—it is as I foretold,
And shall be more so; for the mind recoils
Upon itself, and the wrecked heart lies cold,
While heaviness collects the shattered spoils.
It is not in the storm nor in the strife
We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more,
But in the after-silence on the shore,
When all is lost, except a little life.

I am too well avenged!—but ’twas my right;
Whate’er my sins might be, thou wert not sent
To be the Nemesis who should requite—
Nor did heaven choose so near an instrument.
Mercy is for the merciful!—if thou
Hast been of such, ’twill be accorded now.
Thy nights are banished from the realms of sleep!—
Yes! they may flatter thee, but thou shalt feel
A hollow agony which will not heal,
For thou art pillowed on a curse too deep;
Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap
The bitter harvest in a woe as real!
I have had many foes, but none like thee;
For ‘gainst the rest myself I could defend,
And be avenged, or turn them into friend;
But thou in safe implacability
Hadst nought to dread—in thy own weakness shielded,
And in my love which hath but too much yielded,
And spared, for thy sake, some I should not spare—
And thus upon the world—trust in thy truth—
And the wild fame of my ungoverned youth—
On things that were not, and on things that are—
Even upon such a basis hast thou built
A monument whose cement hath been guilt!
The moral Clytemnestra of thy lord,
And hewed down, with an unsuspected sword,
Fame, peace, and hope—and all the better life
Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart,
Might still have risen from out the grave of strife,
And found a nobler duty than to part.
But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice,
Trafficking with them in a purpose cold,
For present anger, and for future gold—
And buying other’s grief at any price.
And thus once entered into crooked ways,
The early truth, which was thy proper praise,
Did not still walk beside thee—but at times,
And with a breast unknowing its own crimes,
Deceit, averments incompatible,
Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell
In Janus-spirits—the significant eye
Which learns to lie with silence—the pretext
Of Prudence, with advantages annexed—
The acquiescence in all things which tend,
No matter how, to the desired end—
All found a place in thy philosophy.
The means were worthy, and the end is won—
I would not do by thee as thou hast done!
Noa Adler Sep 2020
I adore the crispness of an apple,
Thin, breakable skin
Encasing **** flesh,
Hiding danger in small doses.
Its dewy, red skin,
Could ****** anyone -
From Eve to Snow-White.
A bite and you're done for.
It's a dangerous fruit
To get from a stranger.
A witch in disguise,
An old lady,
Or God.

But you?
You didn't offer me apples.
You offered a single pomegranate,
Hard to crack open,
But hides dozens of nectar-filled seeds.
A single one won't do the trick,
So why not have some?
Just a little.

You?
You opened it,
Wide and inviting,
And watched me get
Addicted to the unsuspected,
To the soft and juicy insides.

You?
You watched me count the seeds,
Almost obsessing over
The delicateness of each one.
Blessing you,
Praising you,
Before biting into one seed,
Or two,
Or a dozen,
Or ten thousand.

And I?
I followed the pomegranate's many, many seeds
Feeding and feasting
Right from your hands.
Finding pleasure in the poison,
Innocently falling captive,
Taking the bait,
As you march me straight to hell.

It was too late when I realized,
Apples are for witches,
Pomegranates are for worse.
Appointed Dec 2014
I just write it
as it is spoken.
A Divine Voice
created matter,
space, and time.

God's wisdom is not speechless
because you choose not to hear.
A belief of senses, does that matter?

I see it now
Her and I
Perfect in God sight
Like male and female
On the six day of creation

Love is not known
Just perfection
Never mind
The unsuspected
Elohim said "not to eat"
Of the tree
of knowledge
of good and evil

A simple taste
would open their eyes
to a perspective that
will change their minds

What they believe now
is only a soul desires
of the gateways into
their eyes.
Is so simple not to be
But difficult just to be
1491

The Road to Paradise is plain,
And holds scarce one.
Not that it is not firm
But we presume
A Dimpled Road
Is more preferred.
The Belles of Paradise are few—
Not me—nor you—
But unsuspected things—
Mines have no Wings.
Eve Apr 2018
Your eyes changed
just like the seasons
In the springtime
Your eyes were happy
Bouncing with curiosity
tracing my face
with innocent wonder.
As warm gusts of wind
thawed our frozen hearts
Beautiful buds of premature flowers
anxious to blossom
rooted deep into our souls
as spring showers nourished the hope
that something fresh would soon sprout
The excitement of new beginnings
quickly appeared

Summer came in the blink of an eye
a comforting warmth
enveloping us in a heated passion
familiarity cascaded over us
as we grew closer
spending every moment together
hand in hand
eyes warm and peaceful
endless clear skies
softly yearning for my touch
your stare was carefree
brighter than the summer sun
nothing else mattered
As summer faded,
a chilly breeze delicately brushed
our innocent faces
an unsuspected warning
of what we would become

Fall entered our lives
an uninvited visitor
changing everything
Your eyes changed their color
as life drains from fall leaves
the beautiful love
that once danced
in those deep brown eyes
soon faded
into dull emptiness
your love fell apart like the trees
becoming barren and empty
unrecognizable
Once full and beautiful
only fragile branches remain
skeletons of past beauty
a constant reminder
of what we had lost
your branches finally broke
out from under me
I guess I was just too hard to hold
yet somehow so easy to let go
and just like that, you were gone

As fall turned to winter
a cruel frost
swallowed the earth
mercilessly destroying
everything beautiful
that desperately tried to survive
My world lost it’s color
every sky turned to grey
your silence was colder
than any winter I’ve ever known
The bitter day I saw you
on that crowded street
your unexpected return
tying knots in my stomach
I didn’t know you were back
our eyes met
for a brief moment
immediately my heart sank
unprepared for the brokenness
I suddenly faced
Your icy stare
stirred a blizzard in my heart
swallowing it whole
destroying the smallest hope
that kept it alive
your cruel winter eyes broke me
They encompassed my soul
in a bitter ice
an everlasting winter
that will never meet springtime again.
b for short Feb 2016
She’s been put together;
spattered with
handfuls of shiny warning labels that
no one ever took the time to read,
only to reside in a lonely wooden box—
sheltered, still, and safe.
Living unlit and knowing nothing but patience,
she’s unaware of all the wonderment
that resides just beneath her own surface.
When the box finally opens,
she’s handled carefully
by strong, gentle hands that recognize
all of her treacherous potential.
She doesn’t flinch,
when those trusted fingers
strike the match
to light her fuse.
She doesn’t fret
when the heat catalyzes
a chemical reaction—
one far beyond her control.
She only sings
when her own jolt sends her rocketing
a hundred feet into the night sky.
And when she can’t stand the pressure
any longer
she swallows what pride she has left
and explodes—
a million strands of glittering fire
decorating the dark, ominous unknown.
Just for a moment, she hopes
she’s the most beautiful thing
those hands have ever touched.
But as she fizzles out into a small cloud
of smoke and something that once was,
she accepts her purpose
as the short-lived,
soon forgotten,
spectacularly unsuspected
good time.
© Bitsy Sanders, February 2016
Shane Teter Dec 2011
A Beast of a man in appearance and soul,

A silhouette of her memories chilling him cold,

Sitting alone with his thoughts hating time,

Screaming inside trying to shatter his mind,

Immune to pain from his love of Roses,

The beautiful thorns struck vivd poses,

His love was a curse, She laid it herself,

A disease, a sickness, It shattered his health,

It occured at first sight of this beauty, This Belle,

Time had been spent she was treating him well,

His eyes wet with tears, His cold heart growing warm,

Foreshadowing revealed the oncoming storm,

She had to go away with a promise of return,

He gave her a ring and his voice had been stern,

He brushed her cheek gently and said very clear

"Remember my love, Im always right here"

After being home and revisitng her life,

She decided to stay, an unsuspected knife,

With the last of his soul he picked a final rose,

In the dark of his castle where the sun never rose,

Be it magic or hope the rose never dies,

Never to be witnessed by another Belles eyes,

He locked it away, Hidden without fail,

You say youve heard this? An old Fairytale?

I guess it is close. Similar at least,

Look closely my friend.. I am the Beast.
Meka Boyle May 2013
Every moment, we are wasting away-
Our poor, dejected ambitions
Float empty
Atop a sea of partially sane intentions
Kept by a god
With a pension for deceit.
Tick tock,
Crazy never comes on time-
And three sneezes mean an unsuspected
Guest. Dilapidated hours
Wear thin
As they desperately reach to cover
The long, convoluted skeleton
Of youth.
Remnants of the past prevail,
Buried deep beneath
Cedar floors and $50 graveyard slots,
In all it's half attainable glory,
Strewn out across
A marble coffin,
Like heavy dice
Waiting to tumble down
Into reality.
The old bell tower,
Cracks and screeches
Her unrequited laments
To the indifferent sky-
Every evening at 5:01.
With each hollow ring,
Age seeps through our pores,
Mixing in and diluting our dreams,
Sinking down into the deepest crevice of our
Contorted being. Tick
Tock, time can only dance if there's a rhythm:
The beating of our hearts
Sounds on, vibrating off
The hollow cavity
Which should hold something
Living. Nothing's real here,
As our insignificant lives
Race each other down the dim and slippery
Hallway that is life.
Until sooner or later,
One by one,
We all lose our footing
And fall down the rabbits hole
To meet something like
Death- the only evidence that we were ever
Alive.
Hour hands reach out from their miniature sphere:
A cyclical world full of half past ten
And white empty spaces between
Vacant numbers,
Grasping our warm
Pulsing bodies,
And pulling us closer
Towards something almost like The End-

Tick tock,
Russian Roulette is only lucky
Until it's over.
Judy Ponceby Sep 2011
Eyes of brown
Heart of gold
Sending love
I've been told.

Across the waves
between the vibes.
Written on paper
by the scribes.

Affairs of love in
history gone by.
Lover's seduced
by blink of eye.

Romeo and Juliet.
Cleopatra's Antony.
Guinevere and Lancelot.
And no less, you and me.

Loved and lusted
Sweet as wine.
Stories told
throughout time.

Love goes on
and on my dear.
Open your heart,
put away fear.

For love's soft vision
may well come.
When unsuspected,
heart strings thrum.
Valerie Shvetz Oct 2011
she was a dancer , her name never known ,
even to her lovers she was a mystery to societies curiosity
her actions were known throughout the world
her escapades publicized in the most provocative ways
her passions flowing , no one could fill her...no one could reach beyond the surface
No one knew her outrageous thoughts, no one seeked out her pain
her words failing to the comparisons of her skin
her opinions drowned out by her flowing hair and glistening eyes
her love unsuspected due to her ***
she was a woman of no woman
the way she spoke shot shivers down one's spine
her walk was one that could stop disasters
she was free , but oh so captured,
all they could see was someone they could use
her frail thoughts
her discontent life , her restrictions
restrictions no man could see
she gave herself to all
but no one
she was an angry one not knowing why she was born herself
why she was alone , and why she couldn't help it with all
the physical , skin on skin , caressing
her soul was empty
her mind was full
no one would fill her , no one would reach beyond the surface
reach through her chest...
of her blood
the pumping vessels
no one could see the little sad girl
all they could see is the carnal urge
exploit  it for their own pleasure
someone that would unimaginably cater to their every need
she was a woman , of no woman
she was a misty memory of their days
not a lasting impression ,
just undeniably beautiful
she constantly wondered if she could live through the day
if anyone would see..
if anyone could be the one to save her ,
if anyone could just reach through her chest and rip out her beating heart
just to prove it had been there in the first place.
quite often she would lie in bed ,
dreaming of her prince
he had been a dark man ,
always in her thoughts,
he had brought her more insecurities then she could ever dream of
but for one reason or another she had wanted him
she had wanted his thoughts,
his breath ,
his words ,
his tone ,
she'd dream of it all down to the freckle,
she had imagined a man so unbelievably unrealistic...the one for her,
the only one she could think that could save her
she needed to be saved ,
she'd been overpowered by her imagination and fluid thoughts her entire life,
they had never come true, and this , this man , she knew wouldn't be any different .
she'd often think of herself , her big light brown eyes , her flowing long hair, her unchanged smile , her brilliant skin tone ,
and slit her self through and through ,
she would open her flesh and think ,
there had to be something more to her than just skin and bones.
but no matter how far she'd look
she could never find
what she was looking for ,
could not be found by her painful injections
her constant smoking ,
her bathing in pure water , she couldn't seem to find anything at all ,
and that's when she decided to stop
to end it all
with one fair day
one sunny day
she knew the day and looked for it in everyday there was
but it hadn't come yet.
but she was waiting.. patience my darling she kept saying
it will be over soon .
He was a man of no man
he was the one everyone looked to for anything at all
he was spiraling out of control
in his own excuses for his ceasing life
his own tormenting thoughts
he was a lonely boy since childhood
he was surrounded by people with their doubts and angst
teaching others to live ,
but had never lived a day in his life
he had sandy brown hair that any woman sweetly touched with ease,
he had light green eyes that any woman would be bewildered by ,
dark flawless skin that any woman would be glad to touch
the only thing a woman lacked for him ,
the one thing that he had longed for his entire life was forgiveness ,
forgiveness for his actions ,
forgiveness for his thoughts ,
forgiveness for his grief
understanding of that would make any woman the one for him ,
except that this quality was lost on the world
hard to find ,
he knew
he searched for years
and one day he gave up
gave up to find forgiveness
gave up looking for one that would grant him his everlasting wish
he had given up his life in all
there were no more excuses
he had decided
a gloomy day he thought to fit the occasion
shot gun to the head seemed plausible
and defiantly permanent.
he searched for that day in everyday he lived.
both crossed paths ,
she never knew this but he had seen her from long away
she was beautiful
she had the quality he knew it
sitting in the coffee shop he approached her
she smiled just like with any man
but he saw right through that smile of hers
he sat her with her speaking , laughing , drinking and he knew ,
she was the one to forgive him and he knew she needed this too
this exact connection they had
she saw him as just any other man ,
playing the field trying to taste her sweetness
but she also saw something odd about the way her looked at her
almost as if he was actually looking inside of her
trying to get to know her insides.
this was impossible she thought..
he took her contact,
told her he would call
she thought he was just trying to be polite
he went home with a big smile on his face .
the world was singing to him
the divine was giving him another chance at life
she was a gift, a gift that would fill his emptiness
he came home and called her straight away.
she answered and they planned another gathering.
he was on cloud nine , shooting for the moon
he set off the next morning to meet her ,
he had imagined the way she spoke the whole way
the way she looked ,
although he couldn't quite remember ,
but her essence stayed with him , her smell her softness,
he felt at bliss , utter happiness
when she woke up that morning , she saw an oddly sunny day
she knew this was the day , taking her own life wasn't hard ,
she threaded the noose around the shower rod ,
fit her head perfectly through the hole
stood on her tippy toes on the edge of the bath
let loose
her neck snapped instantly
she did not shed a tear ,
one thought hung in her mind right before she let go ..
what if he had been her prince...the one she was waiting for.
he sat in the coffee shop for hours waiting for her ,
minute by minute he saw people walking in and out of the building
excitement struck at almost every sighting ,
then followed by shear disappointment .
the afternoon turned dark ,
clouds hung around the city
rain poured down
the gloomy day he's been expecting had come ,
he had felt emptier than he'd ever felt before.
he walked home in the violent rain
stepped in the door of his home for the last time soaking wet
took the gun from his bedside table ,
placed it in his mouth and pulled the trigger
within the second
his last flailing thought was ..
why hadn't she saved me. ..
two lovers that would have been
died within their emptiness and doubt that day ,
never knowing why,
one hadn't saved the other
true love.
A fairy tale.
This story(poem) is very important to me and i'd like some notes because I'm submitting it for a writing contest.
Tinesha Garcia Feb 2011
We are on the hunt,
Hunting hunters, hunting.
And desolate travellers are we
Surprised by sinking ships
Wrapped in saran-wrap, forced to stick together
All reaching a Shakespearic end to a means that
never really mattered in the first place.
Is that what you believe now?
We are the players playing.

And we are the grey, sunken in eyes of a child needing sleep,
dreams of fishing for Nessie in the local lake,
far-fetched fantasies only exhausting the youth,
we are the needy needing.
Surprise me of your fleeting lost memories of old,
we are the laughter, laughers laughing.
We mock feeling, reality. The raw human emotives.

And we are the biting bile taste that follows slaughter and unsuspected chaos,
The moment pre-regret, where innocence is forever lost in a tossed about immoral sea. Salty and familiar.

And we are the prey, prayers preying
For things we can’t even remember like unmotivated love and a taste for fate.
Elizabeth May 2015
Everyday I'm trying so hard to like my favorite things for reasons having nothing to do with you.


Today when I decided to drive on the meandering border of Walloon Lake,
Wildwood Harbor rd,
     The canopied trees
     flashing shadows of squirrels peaking through paws
reminded me of every motorcycle ride I accompanied you on.

     Holding tight to your chiseled stomach,
     hands cupping your belly button through your sweatshirt pockets,
you would maneuver your mobile machinery through every dip and dive,
garnishing curves with streamline, flawless breaking and acceleration.
       I would lean into your spine,
  imagining the path of your lower back as the map of our road ahead,
each bump and curvature a flawless representation of reality,
  the living moment.

Something sensual existed about the way you and I forged a relationship on pavement,
  riding the asphalt the same way your bending fingers rode my thighs.
     And every time I choose to drive our road with my less than aerodynamic Marquis,
each stomach flip from the unsuspected slopes
   transports me to lazy mornings-
         Naked and alone in any way imaginable.
    Purity and solitude,
truth, the end of it.

So I turned onto M-75
              trying to forget every reason that I love Wildwood Harbor for you,
                            and only remember the reasons I love it for me,
                                           but couldn't find any worthy of space.
                                           You made everything so memorable.
Alan McClure Aug 2016
See her,
skinny lassie -
so aware,
stood there
at the counter.

The eyes
lifted from papers,
hooded and guilty,
leering
under sunglasses.

She knows nothing,
thinks
she's in charge.
Bless her.
Whatever's going to break her
hasn't happened yet.

Makes me shudder,
the thought.
The painful innocence.
"Just a fruit smoothie, please!"
she sparkles
at the man.
Thinks his approval
is unloaded,
worth seeking.

No eyes on me.
Glances fall off me.
If I catch a look,
I see it turn
to embarrassment,
pity
or scorn.

Firing blanks, guys.
I'll take those
over possessiveness,
lust,
crawling promises.
Over saccharine
strychnine
strangler smiles,
over violence, veiled
as love.
Your attention is toxic.
Better show it as such.

"Chips and cheese, please,"
I wheeze,
and his sneer
is a klaxon
of cruel jokes
he'll share with colleagues later.

Those
are the tiny victories
of victimhood,
as the twirling girl inside
stays protected,
unsuspected.
Elizabeth Feb 2018
We were just friendly at first. After we created a connection, they may have even turned into something like a friendly neighbor. They may linger outside, maybe even make it to the front porch, but if they knocked on the door they were met with no response. My heart is locked from the inside. No one has a copy of the key. 

They wait on the steps before turning away and heading home.

If they even make it to this step. 

I became good at avoiding making connections and embracing “the stranger in passing.” We may quickly wave, smile, but avoid something more. Just a stranger in passing. Never making it to my door.

My walls were strong. I was assisted by my friends that shared their heartbreak stories.

My family helped place the foundation, making sure it was safe and secure.

Brick by brick I laid the more they bragged about getting laid.

It was those closest to me that made sure I only had one key. When those you are close to reflect the people you are trying to keep out, you know **** well I didn’t make copies.

I wasn’t prepared for the latest invasion. They didn’t wait for me to answer my door, but pulled apart the walls of my heart, flexing and slipping through the barrier I had worked so hard to build. They made themselves at home, despite my lack of hospitality.

Parts of my walls broken down. I was left susceptible to intrusion. I was left vulnerable. 

As much as I had tried to kick out my guests, I was starting to enjoy their company.

I liked the way I was treated as a person and not a night’s activity.

I liked the way the way his arm felt supporting my waist and his touch through my hair.

I liked the way we smiled when we kissed. 

Eventually, I unlocked the door and cracked it open. 

But my unsuspected houseguests were not there to stay. 

They politely bid adieu, and even rebuilt those walls that guarded me, making them stronger than before. 

They didn't take anything, so physics won’t explain why, but my comfortable home was emptier after they left than it had been before they arrived.
Meg B Sep 2015
When the poetry flows through you,
it waits for no perfect moment,
there is no convenience mustered
to await your finding
paper and a pen.

When the words come,
you just know,
you feel the syllables rising from
the tips of your toes,
exploding out of your fingers,
propelling you into an
unsuspected state of
delirium as your mouth
silently forms the shapes
you spit onto your notebook,
brave hands twisting and
turning purple letters
round themselves,
brain melting and oozing
out into similes and metaphors,
pictures popping from
stories told and
secrets disclosed until
in one final swoop
the moment passes,
your work is done and
the pride and fear and
vulnerability and anxiety
you just birthed
stares back at you,
its ambiguous smirk
leaving you breathless.
Judy Ponceby Oct 2011
Eyes of brown
Heart of gold
Sending love
I've been told.

Across the waves
between the vibes.
Written on paper
by the scribes.

Affairs of love in
history gone by.
Lover's seduced
by blink of eye.

Romeo and Juliet.
Cleopatra's Antony.
Guinevere and Lancelot.
And no less, you and me.

Loved and lusted
Sweet as wine.
Stories told
throughout time.

Love goes on
and on my dear.
Open your heart,
put away fear.

For love's soft vision
may well come.
When unsuspected,
your heart will thrum.
Heli Colmenares May 2012
Dinosaur
vicious and fiery
slithering, roaring and fighting
he quietly ambushes the unsuspected
Allosaurus
cinquain
Tam Robbie Dec 2010
Pulling flowers out of the grass,
Holding them in the sunlight,
Then let them fall ,
Past those deep eyes which hold me,
And that sparkling smile.
The mouth that spins that voice,
So unsuspected but enchanting.

Sitting there for hours on end,
Content to bask in optimistic sunshine.
There is no breeze,
To unsettle your hair,
Or to send a shiver
Arcing through my back.
But that needed no breeze.
You read--what is it, then that you are reading?
What music moves so silently in your mind?
Your bright hand turns the page.
I watch you from my window, unsuspected:
You move in an alien land, a silent age . . .

. . .  The poet--what was his name--?  Tokkei--Tokkei--
The poet walked alone in a cold late rain,
And thought his grief was like the crying of sea-birds;
For his lover was dead, he never would love again.

Rain in the dreams of the mind--rain forever--
Rain in the sky of the heart--rain in the willows--
But then he saw this face, this face like flame,
This quiet lady, this portrait by Hiroshigi;
And took it home with him; and with it came

What unexpected changes, subtle as weather!
The dark room, cold as rain,
Grew faintly fragrant, stirred with a stir of April,
Warmed its corners with light again,

And smoke of incense whirled about this portrait,
And the quiet lady there,
So young, so quietly smiling, with calm hands,
Seemed ready to loose her hair,

And smile, and lean from the picture, or say one word,
The word already clear,
Which seemed to rise like light between her eyelids . .
He held his breath to hear,

And smiled for shame, and drank a cup of wine,
And held a candle, and searched her face
Through all the little shadows, to see what secret
Might give so warm a grace . . .

Was it the quiet mouth, restrained a little?
The eyes, half-turned aside?
The jade ring on her wrist, still almost swinging? . . .
The secret was denied,

He chose his favorite pen and drew these verses,
And slept; and as he slept
A dream came into his heart, his lover entered,
And chided him, and wept.

And in the morning, waking, he remembered,
And thought the dream was strange.
Why did his darkened lover rise from the garden?
He turned, and felt a change,

As if a someone hidden smiled and watched him . . .
Yet there was only sunlight there.
Until he saw those young eyes, quietly smiling,
And held his breath to stare,

And could have sworn her cheek had turned--a little . . .
Had slightly turned away . . .
Sunlight dozed on the floor . . . He sat and wondered,
Nor left his room that day.

And that day, and for many days thereafter,
He sat alone, and thought
No lady had ever lived so beautiful
As Hiroshigi wrought . . .

Or if she lived, no matter in what country,
By what far river or hill or lonely sea,
He would look in every face until he found her . . .
There was no other as fair as she.

And before her quiet face he burned soft incense,
And brought her every day
Boughs of the peach, or almond, or snow-white cherry,
And somehow, she seemed to say,

That silent lady, young, and quietly smiling,
That she was happy there;
And sometimes, seeing this, he started to tremble,
And desired to touch her hair,

To lay his palm along her hand, touch faintly
With delicate finger-tips
The ghostly smile that seemed to hover and vanish
Upon her lips . . .

Until he knew he loved this quiet lady;
And night by night a dread
Leered at his dreams, for he knew that Hiroshigi
Was many centuries dead,--

And the lady, too, was dead, and all who knew her . .
Dead, and long turned to dust . . .
The thin moon waxed and waned, and left him paler,
The peach leaves flew in a gust,

And he would surely have died; but there one day
A wise man, white with age,
Stared at the portrait, and said, 'This Hiroshigi
Knew more than archimage,--

Cunningly drew the body, and called the spirit,
Till partly it entered there . . .
Sometimes, at death, it entered the portrait wholly . .
Do all I say with care,

And she you love may come to you when you call her . . . '
So then this ghost, Tokkei,
Ran in the sun, bought wine of a hundred merchants,
And alone at the end of day

Entered the darkening room, and faced the portrait,
And saw the quiet eyes
Gleaming and young in the dusk, and held the wine-cup,
And knelt, and did not rise,

And said, aloud, 'Lo-san, will you drink this wine?'
Said it three times aloud.
And at the third the faint blue smoke of incense
Rose to the walls in a cloud,

And the lips moved faintly, and the eyes, and the calm hands stirred;
And suddenly, with a sigh,
The quiet lady came slowly down from the portrait,
And stood, while worlds went by,

And lifted her young white hands and took the wine cup;
And the poet trembled, and said,
'Lo-san, will you stay forever?'--'Yes, I will stay.'--
'But what when I am dead?'

'When you are dead your spirit will find my spirit,
And then we shall die no more.'
Music came down upon them, and spring returning,
They remembered worlds before,

And years went over the earth, and over the sea,
And lovers were born and spoke and died,
But forever in sunlight went these two immortal,
Tokkei and the quiet bride . . .
Claire Lewinski Feb 2013
If you crack open the door
To another’s world
You peer into their eyes
Scavenge around their brain
You discover a fortress of darkness
A collection of horrific events
Confined only by the fear of destruction
Huddling together
To defend themselves against the ways of the good
Slowly recruiting more witnesses of unforgettable misery
Surrounding the wicked, a new substance forms
Brilliant memories
Those which sparks fly
Emotions collide
Becoming uncontrollable happiness
Happiness so vibrant it blinds all the evil that gazes upon it
Its depth created an abyss
So those who crashed to its bottom
Were overwhelmed with laughter
Venturing on,
Rolling hills of sweet dreams
Seep imagination into souls
Inspiring a few to sprout wings
And soar
But most stayed grounded
And stumbled into unsuspected pleasures
Miniature eruptions of perfect bliss
That flowed into a mellow harmony
Soon they realized the bittersweet feeling
Of an incomplete catastrophe
Of remaining inside artificial boundaries
However, they discover the interpretation of life
And how it can all be summed
In the look of an eye
For the universe,
Is only found within
Tupelo Oct 2015
17 years of bad luck and counting,
I find myself walking underneath ladders,
Black cats tend to cross my path,
Mirrors crack in my wake,
The reaper and I are close relatives,
See each other on holidays or birthdays
or unsuspected thursdays,
This has made me a corpse of myself
No longer afraid of commitment
but of myself, this fear of losing you
This pain of up all night rejecting all of my insides,
Flushing feelings like dead aquatics,
I care for you too much to see you hurt
Priya Devi Jul 2016
The morning was blue
And the world was endless,
The moon and skies watched from their fiery oblivion
And I sat on a porch drinking lemonade in the sun

The walls were blue
Claustrophobia and comfort
Tumbling into each other
Blurred and slurred
Forced serenity, forced to reminisce the sky
And fairy lights for stars in the dark


His eyes were blue
Filled with wonderlust and the heart beat of a hummingbirds wing
Ethereal sunlight hiding the smirk
Deception and beauty
Satisfied, spoiled and bored

The song was blue
A hopeful sadness too obscure for me to know
Marking the moment
Gathering the seconds among the staves

Those bluest of halcyon moments
Made up the darkest day
Whist the unsuspected turbulence
Lay offshore
As a storm at sea
b Feb 2014
Humans have strange loves
like lukewarm coffee in the middle of winter
or paper cuts on an unsuspected finger.

They sob for days about loveless affairs
while drowning the pain with champagne
and melting the sorrow in stale bath water.

Eternally in love with fields of blooming flowers
and obsessed with deranged ideas of love and power.
Careful to soak each lost battle in red wine
along with their heavy pasts.

Humans **** each other with chaos
while pretending to be lovers
but that is our nature.

To be who you wish and love strange things
To have the right to love another being
no matter what race or gender
To be mean or tender
To be human
sanch kay May 2015
the night runs beside me
her cat-like eyes occasionally lighting up
a hidden stone in my path
but mostly cocooning me, letting me
stay blind in her comforting dark
it's what she's best at, anyways
loving me blindly

the roads thrum beside me
lulling me to sleep with stories of
travelers on the highways, of
discovery and treachery that lurks unsuspected
the night and her children try so hard
to draw me over to the other side with
their gentle seduction
but me,
I need to have my ear pressed against your chest
lips making love to yours
the steady thumping of your heart
my cold body enveloped by your heat
and the sheer knowledge that
you
are
with
me
near
me

to be able to
**sleep.
Because I'm on the road  (where I truly belong) but I still can't sleep.
Winnalynn Wood Mar 2021
Ever since that dreary sliver of a day
A hell of revenge I vowed you would pay

Promises I proclaim aren’t the lightest to keep
They’ll mercilessly haunt you in restless sleep

Perhaps you’ll see your mistake
For choosing another, breeding my heartache

The rumors are dreadfully nasty and divine
An unsuspected downfall I’ll spell to your life

So that one day the trace of your silhouette
Will waste away like the face of my cigarettes
there is a darkness that bleeds
into all my life's colors
no matter how bright the day may be

it forever lingers
always quick to bring
it's dull suppressing shadow
over these brief dances in the Sun

there comes a day
in all our lives
when the light is eclipsed by this
unsuspected cloud

and we no longer bask in the glow
of youth
Prodige Dec 2013
Dear World:
The story of my life has begun.
I'm staring out at an
endless void.
Soul-searching.
Looking for an explanation for...
Clarity?
Redemption?
I don't know.
I'm not sure about what
I know anymore.
My world has taken an
unsuspected turn.
The only purity in my
life has been destroyed-
diminished.
Taken away without
the slightest warning.
Yet, all that b!+@#
could do was stare.
Stare at me as if I was
from another planet.
"Why would you do this to us?
Have us suffer because you're
worried about your looks."
They're always wanting us to cope.
"Just deal with it," they say.
But coping doesn't always
fix what has been broken.
"Wounds heal,
but scars are forever,
and you expect us to just
overlook what you have done?
You've destroyed the pride and
joy of this school and
you don't feel the least
bit of sympathy.
All things happen for
a reason, and that reason
shall be justified."
                    Sincerely,
                         Justice Undone
.45
I aim the gun
Its against my head
One right move
And I'll be dead
Because my only wish
Will never come true
It's not much
All I want is you
But you're so far away
You're not coming back
This pain is too much
Like an aerial attack
Unsuspected
Unprepared
Almost like
Noone cared
So suicide, suicide
My new best friend
Suicide, suicide
My final end
Suicide, suicide
You saved me
Suicide, suicide
I'm finally free
Moss M Jacques Jan 2021
Power of speech



I stop squeezing my mind
For what happened to me
Since I scavenged
uninterrupted
For my philosophical stone
In a deforming mirror
I had to look forward to cracking
Any astrological luck left
On my shoulders
Stretching me to the limit
Of defying gravity
while leaving behind
A convoy of scattered stars.

What if I could make gold with gold
Think like Leonardo Da Vinci
Write a  computer code
like Tim Berners-Lee?...
Altogether
I wasn't trying to square the circle
Nor invent my own immaculate conception.
All I wanted to accomplish is
To speak and be heard.

A wall between walls whispers
To the darkness
That my saddlebag of hopes
Has been lost regretfully
Last autumn
in the stream of an unsuspected wind.
Let's get this clear
Once and for all
I may not have any hope to talk about,
Don't  expect  me to shut up
until I die with my mouth full of words.
© 2021copyrighted material provided for educational purposes only
John H Maloney Apr 2010
Beware the unexpected,
waiting and unsuspected.
The hidden traps within the gaps
that cannot be detected.
The more you think you know
the less that you’re able to see.
Assumptions lie and life defies
predictability.
The sun will rise again
Like unintended consequence,
And arrive empty of expectation

Alien suns will navigate,
Like my heart searches for you
The frontier of the unsuspected

Please kiss me once more with light
You the everything, I the nothing
And distant stars will show the path;
In this world, all is connected.
Megan Dolan Feb 2014
Cut and sold, costed and old,
touch never sweetened,
touch never to bare.
Painted reactions ran fickle of significance,
painted sorrows resented to vain and blank stares.

Proceed, proceed, my dear,
the wrong is never as it seems in an affair;
never black, blue, nor purple.
But proceed to the concealed air,
but proceed to the loss of a prevailing simper.
Purely flee from such unsuspected,
where the finding of such dear had disappeared.

— The End —