"upbraiding" poems
When the wasting embers redden the chimney-breast,
And Life’s bare pathway looms like a desert track to me,
And from hall and parlour the living have gone to their rest,
My perished people who housed them here come back to me.
They come and seat them around in their mouldy places,
Now and then bending towards me a glance of wistfulness,
A strange upbraiding smile upon all their faces,
And in the bearing of each a passive tristfulness.
‘Do you uphold me, lingering and languishing here,
A pale late plant of your once strong stock?’ I say to them;
‘A thinker of crooked thoughts upon Life in the sere,
An on That which consigns men to night after showing the day to them?’
‘—O let be the Wherefore! We fevered our years not thus:
Take of Life what it grants, without question!’ they answer me seemingly.
‘Enjoy, suffer, wait: spread the table here freely like us,
And, satisfied, placid, unfretting, watch Time away beamingly!’
1.2k
Against the grain,
Against the flow I go!
In opposition to a generation self-righteous,
that admonishes me for what I ought or not to say,
and upbraiding me for defying logic in exchange for God's existence!
Against the grain,
Against the flow,
The only way to go!
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
These atoms the earth's -
not mine -
This life force carries on
without my conscious control -
All universal law is
perfectly executed
Minus any command from me -
and yet I embellish
A focal point
with end all egotism.
- fr
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 6:50 AM UTC
She wants to tear us to pieces for the audacity of it all.
**** us to hell, but still remain a Christian.
And the rant! Each day, her rage, a lance laced in bitterness.
And I can not speak to the contempt, she holds me in,
for some imagined slight, loving her to exhaustion, as she screams, I know,
You have something to do with this!
She is brilliant in that blind way of the highly dysfunctional.
She is bright colors on beautiful days, when she smiles,
the room to dreamy notes of yellow sun.
Some days she takes down, bleary notations in her diary.
Get the hell out of here...buy cat food...eat fruit.
Some days she writes long articles, to the institutions of oil,
sharply upbraiding & filled with wisdom.
Today she is a small branch, gnarled in a rib hug.
She has misplaced something that she believes was stolen.
She claims the devil spites her mind, but she is too smart to listen.
An old acquaintance drops by with cupcakes.
She opens the door and greets them, in perfect intelligence.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC