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"upbraid" poems
Dear heart, why will you use me so? Dear eyes that gently me upbraid, Still are you beautiful -- - but O, How is your beauty raimented! Through the clear mirror of your eyes, Through the soft sigh of kiss to kiss, Desolate winds assail with cries The shadowy garden where love is. And soon shall love dissolved be When over us the wild winds blow -- - But you, dear love, too dear to me, Alas! why will you use me so?
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Dear Heart, Why Will You Use Me So?
When darkness long has veil'd my mind, And smiling day once more appears, Then, my Redeemer, then I find The folly of my doubts and fears. Straight I upbraid my wandering heart, And blush that I should ever be Thus prone to act so base a part, Or harbour one hard thought of Thee! Oh! let me then at length be taught What I am still so slow to learn, That God is love, and changes not, Nor knows the shadow of a turn. Sweet truth, and easy to repeat! But when my faith is sharply tried, I find myself a learner yet, Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide. But, O my Lord, one look from Thee Subdues the disobedient will, Drives doubt and discontent away, And Thy rebellious worm is still. Thou art as ready to forgive As I am ready to repine; Thou, therefore, all the praise receive; Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.
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Peace after a Storm
The sleet is drawing boxes 'round our mud-and-snow sashed towns. We'll check 'em off with crunching footsteps, slash our gallows grins through static weather. Nervous laughter fights off winter while somnambulist nights hold the anthill days at bay. And each repeated conversation coats a thrumming undercurrent echoed by the groaning rivers in their arthritic fatigue. where the ice piles up like car wrecks. And, out of those disastrous angles, jumps up and trips back down. Blinking eyelids, right then left. Sunrises. Sunsets. Dusks and dawns in places familiar wading through liminal space. Circles darkened. Footprints filled in. The heat just circles lazily. Our flushed and clammy brows will **** askance and sweat while footsteps melt our swaying way through boiling sidewalks. Nervous laughter dulls the impact of seared, rapid fire nights. "Ha." "Ha." Shrug off another. And all repeated reminiscence does is hamstring overthinking of the closing jaws of traps in these rusting western towns. where winds breathe dust by mouthfuls So, into our familiar mishaps, ***** up and falls back down melting into neighborhoods dress down, upbraid us. 'Til our feet do not walk circles 'round these wilting Western towns.
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Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
Standardized Footsteps
Despite impending loneliness threatening to suffocate me, one optimistic thought came my way as I strolled wearily homeward today from my work at the library. Some compensations for isolation might prove as written in the following list. 1) I am not required to retire to bed or awaken at any given hour. 2) I possess the rare ability of being allowed the choice of my own meals and also the given time at which I prefer to eat, whether it be meager or hearty portion of vittles. Perhaps I may fast from breakfast altogether, and then again may feast upon indigestible dainties such as doughnuts or fruitcake upon retiring, accompanied by a novel of my given choice. 3) I am free to write poetry or from such to refrain according to my mood. 4) If I spill my tea or bread and butter falls onto the floor, who cares? 5) Nobody can demand me to clean the house even if it looks quite untidy. 6) If I sing or hum out of tune, there is no risk of anyone laughing at me. 7) If I fall into a trance of reverie and am out of touch with reality, who can upbraid me? The list could go on and on interminably, but to sum the matter up, in short, I can most thoroughly indulge in all my whims be they ever so eccentric in tranquil solitude with no threat of a wife to nag or henpeck me. I am free to cry, laugh, sing, daydream, talk to myself, and every other foolish or wise thing a healthy man might crave to accomplish. Thus musing upon these blessings, I strolled homeward with a lighter heart despite life's insurmountable obstacles.
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Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
Blessings of Bachelorhood
Despite impending loneliness threatening to suffocate me, one optimistic thought came my way as I strolled wearily homeward today from my work at the library. Some compensations for isolation might prove as written in the following list. 1) I am not required to retire to bed or awaken at any given hour. 2) I possess the rare ability of being allowed the choice of my own meals and also the given time at which I prefer to eat, whether it be meager or hearty portion of vittles. Perhaps I may fast from breakfast altogether, and then again may feast upon indigestible dainties such as doughnuts or fruitcake upon retiring, accompanied by a novel of my given choice. 3) I am free to write poetry or from such to refrain according to my mood. 4) If I spill my tea or bread and butter falls onto the floor, who cares? 5) Nobody can demand me to clean the house even if it looks quite untidy. 6) If I sing or hum out of tune, there is no risk of anyone laughing at me. 7) If I fall into a trance of reverie and am out of touch with reality, who can upbraid me? The list could go on and on interminably, but to sum the matter up, in short, I can most thoroughly indulge in all my whims be they ever so eccentric in tranquil solitude with no threat of a wife to nag or henpeck me. I am free to cry, laugh, sing, daydream, talk to myself, and every other foolish or wise thing a healthy man might crave to accomplish. Thus musing upon these blessings, I strolled homeward with a lighter heart despite life's insurmountable obstacles.
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Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other; The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are true; The love which you felt was the love of a brother, Nor less the affection I cherish’d for you. But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion; The attachment of years, in a moment expires: Like Love, too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion, But glows not, like Love, with unquenchable fires. Full oft have we wander’d through Ida together, And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow: In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather! But Winter’s rude tempests are gathering now. No more with Affection shall Memory blending, The wonted delights of our childhood retrace: When Pride steels the ***** the heart is unbending, And what would be Justice appears a disgrace. However, dear George, for I still must esteem you— The few, whom I love, I can never upbraid; The chance, which has lost, may in future redeem you, Repentance will cancel the vow you have made. I will not complain, and though chill’d is affection, With me no corroding resentment shall live: My ***** is calm’d by the simple reflection, That both may be wrong, and that both should forgive. You knew, that my soul, that my heart, my existence, If danger demanded, were wholly your own; You knew me unalter’d, by years or by distance, Devoted to love and to friendship alone. You knew,—but away with the vain retrospection! The bond of affection no longer endures; Too late you may droop o’er the fond recollection, And sigh for the friend, who was formerly yours. For the present, we part,—I will hope not for ever; For time and regret will restore you at last: To forget our dissension we both should endeavour, I ask no atonement, but days like the past.
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To George, Earl Delawarr
Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other; The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are true; The love which you felt was the love of a brother, Nor less the affection I cherish’d for you. But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion; The attachment of years, in a moment expires: Like Love, too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion, But glows not, like Love, with unquenchable fires. Full oft have we wander’d through Ida together, And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow: In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather! But Winter’s rude tempests are gathering now. No more with Affection shall Memory blending, The wonted delights of our childhood retrace: When Pride steels the ***** the heart is unbending, And what would be Justice appears a disgrace. However, dear George, for I still must esteem you— The few, whom I love, I can never upbraid; The chance, which has lost, may in future redeem you, Repentance will cancel the vow you have made. I will not complain, and though chill’d is affection, With me no corroding resentment shall live: My ***** is calm’d by the simple reflection, That both may be wrong, and that both should forgive. You knew, that my soul, that my heart, my existence, If danger demanded, were wholly your own; You knew me unalter’d, by years or by distance, Devoted to love and to friendship alone. You knew,—but away with the vain retrospection! The bond of affection no longer endures; Too late you may droop o’er the fond recollection, And sigh for the friend, who was formerly yours. For the present, we part,—I will hope not for ever; For time and regret will restore you at last: To forget our dissension we both should endeavour, I ask no atonement, but days like the past.
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36
The Flying Squadron of Church Ladies At First Communion the Flying Squadron of Church Ladies surround the children to: Reprove, reproach, command, censor, chastise, Berate, exhort, implore, upbraid, adjust Chastise, upbraid, embarrass, harangue, rebuke, Enjoin, dictate, direct, require, apprise, Advise, inform, beseech, explain, uphold, Impart, compel, remind, forewarn, correct: Because since Peter’s time, all this is what The Flying Squadrons of Church Ladies do
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May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 5:19 PM UTC
The Flying Squadron of Church Ladies
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited, Ill-eased in that a Powerfuller than I Has willed and meted me the tears I've shed, I clench my fist and shake it at the sky And at the cruel God who hammers me, Delivering the blows that break my brain; The God who finds his greatest ecstasy In violencing my life with blinding pain And, laughing, says, "Thou suffering thing, declare If thou hast understanding: Who hath laid The measures of the earth's foundations?  Where Wast thou, disgraceful man, whenas I made The cloud the garment of the sea?  Beware, Thou foolish man, thy maker to upbraid!"
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Jul 22, 2024
Jul 22, 2024 at 10:05 PM UTC
God
The traditional pattern of a set to for Nomark is this: against the backdrop of the giant grift perpetrated by the grand smug ***** he firmly grasps the wrong end of the stick which, to be fair, is waved at him enough A poster child for impotent rage he’ll berate the checkout staff about a voucher that’s either expired or, mired in labyrinthine small print, doesn’t amount to a free diddly squat Without the words, the means, the agency to upbraid the bosses he huffs home on an overcrowded bus where not a single other ****** wears a mask
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Jan 9, 2022
Jan 9, 2022 at 9:47 AM UTC
No Mark Pt. 2
The Vortex has bolted; The Express left; The sun, moon and stars Conspire in the sky In imitation of Spring, Before the final plunge. Then, the Red-winged, Red-breasted and Yellow-footed featheries Will nest and roost Where I don't want them. The droppings of winter Are exposed; Last Fall's leafy refuge Upbraid me; Winter's cover Is pulled back, The slumber ends. I am compelled To join the festival, Buy gasoline For Spring's toys. I will, Perhaps, Be calm By November.
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Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
I'll Be Calm By November