"vexed" poems
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
34.9k
Purple is often misunderstood
People confuse it with pink or blue
They cannot comprehend change
The synthesis of something new
Purple has been picked to pieces
Analyzed with Pantone paint chip cards
The public is vexed, this defiance of ***
Twirled around by color guards
They say that violet delights have violent ends
That from this “choice,” there’s no return
But they’re the ones who set us aflame
And we, in their triumph, burn
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
Through the country paths, I lazily loitered,
watching Nature in its changing hue
straying farther into the interiors,
sundry and sublime vistas came into view.
in response to zephyr’s warm embrace,
the silvery leaves joyously fluttered.
the bees busied themselves collecting pollen
and birds on tree tops merrily chattered
it was the *** end of verdant spring.
summer’s sun stood behind my head.
bleat of sheep was heard from far.
‘Good day to you’….. Someone said.
There stood on the hill, a boy around fifteen
obviously he was of tribal breed.
with a beaming smile, he greeted me
but on walking to him, he ran like a steed
I saw him disappear behind the trees
and enter into a hut tiny as a nest
he lived in the lap of Mother Nature,
far from the city and its sooty dust
being coaxed, he hesitantly came out.
my tone of assurance and pleasing smile,
seemed to have won his confidence
as to a friend, he shared his eventful tale.
pointing to the sheep grazing in the slope,
he said, he earned a living caring the flock.
he stayed in the woods all day long,
feeding and tending his master’s sheep.
from dawn to dusk, through woods and meads,
he leads his sheep, calling them by their name.
un vexed, with simple pleasures he is content
and with a nomad’s life, he seems to be tame
he said, at home he has his invalid mother.
bringing her back to health is his mission in life
on referring to his mother, I watched his eyes glitter
nothing other than her illness posed to him a strife
from every utterance, I could sense his filial love.
even in abundance, while shadows line many faces,
on his visage, hope lingered as a dancing flame
to me he seemed above many, rich in other graces!
While parting, I handed him a little money
pausing unbelievably, with moist eyes
he accepted it, when a breeze passed caressing us
as if over a kind gesture, Nature seemed to rejoice!
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
29/3/13
Bring me celestial music of the spheres
Such notes as dance in colours in the mind
The shimmering of distant hemispheres
Where streams of rainbow nebulae unwind
Bright notes cascade in sparkling waterfalls
Light motes resound in echoes through the breeze
From secret gardens hid behind stone walls
Paradise plays enticing symphonies
Our earthly plane is rife with vexing noise
Cacophanies of thundering machines;
Barkings of dogs, vexed babies in full voice
keep us earthbound, locked into dull routines.
Reach for the headphones, cover up your ears,
Take in celestial music of the spheres.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Excuses,excuses,excuses,
I am tired of you lazies,
For once why don't you handover your homework on time,
Thus, make my life devine.
Don't tell me your little sibling tore your homework,
Or you were absent, such bad luck,
Your grandmother spilled tea on your maths sheet,
Here, to give you is not fit.
I am tired of your lame pretexts,
Finish at break,I will be less vexed
What!You finished your homework and you left it at home,
Well, call your mum to bring it when she comes,
I didn't understand the topic, can you please explain,
What were you doing when I went over it again and again?
I started to do my homework when the lights went off,Sir,
Most homes now have inverters
or generators.
I know you find the tasks I give you a bore,
Do you think marking them at home I adore?
So, please help me not to spoil your break or give you detention.
Do your homework on time and with great attention.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
The question has to be asked, “How hard can it be,
for a man to get a decent cup of tea”?
How can people get something so simple so wrong?
A question that has vexed me for ever so long.
Let me be clear, lest there be any confusion
I’m not into tea leaves or these fancy new infusions
Nor herbal or green, earl grey or the rest
A good plain cup of tea is simply the best!
I wonder why it is that people bother to ask
When they will not put any real effort into the task
Yes they are careful to ask how you take your tea
But what you get is something different, entirely
If there is one thing that really gets to me
It is being made a half cup of tea
I always opt for a mug because there’s never enough in a cup
But for some reason they seem incapable of filling it up!
After just two mouthfuls, Surprise! It is all gone!
I hate always having to ask for another one
All the effort they made has gone to waste
The whole experience leaving a very bad taste.
Making tea is a formula, very hard to get wrong
why so often served weak when I always ask for strong?
A small drop of milk please, how hard can it be?
But I often get tea in my milk, not milk in my tea
I do like my sugar and to tell the truth
I do possess an awfully sweet tooth
“three and a bit” I say when they ask
But is stirring it such an impossible task?
How easy can it be? Just move the ****** spoon
You were just standing there, what else were you doing?
And to see all that sugar sitting there at the end
Would drive the most sane person round the bend
Another thing I get really mad about
Is when people do not take the teabag out
And though the cup appears to be full to the top
You take the bag out and watch the level drop
You might think it’s funny but it’s certainly not
What to do with a teabag that is dripping hot?
A cup of tea is supposed to help you relax
Not be the cause of minor heart attacks
And the biggest evil, by far the worst
Is those who serve tea, knowing the teabag has burst
At the end you get a mouthful of leaves and grit
I do love my tea but wonder if it is worth it.
It got to the stage where I considered drinking coffee
But I was bamboozled by the variety available to me
Mocha or latte, perhaps a frappuccino,
Or maybe an espresso or a cappuccino
No, the idea of drinking coffee just left me cold
all I really wanted was a cup of tea truth be told,
Though I have been accused of taking this issue too seriously
There is nothing in the world quite like…. a decent cup of Tea!
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
My neck noosed
My legs loosed
I witness the tragic
It seems so emphatic
I feel entropy
Enter me
Centering
Around love and pain
I wear gloves of shame
Toxicity taints touch
My reaction is to cautiously recoil
For I feel a great punch
When I expect them to be loyal
A tear rolls down my cheek
Navigating scars
Like a man who is meek
Navigating bars
It starts and stops
Then keeps going
The tears drop
From what I'm knowing
That my time is evaporating
Dealing with the exasperating
I feel I can be caring
I just need the chance
We'll see how I'm fairing
On the end of your lance
Penetrating deeply
The pain is unceasing
Like a thousand bee stings
While you stand there feasting
Making me feel alive
From the pain inside
I guess things could always be worse
Sometimes that feels like a curse
Because I have problems all the same
But it's true
The sum of our troubles equal this game
That we lose
Even though I'd rather deal with *** and silence
Than to be vexed by violence
They're all just ways of imposing our will
Whether it's through who we birth or ****
Conflict is how we get our fill
Every day a different fire drill
We hate each other
We date each other
We underrate each other
To deflate each other
Pain is used as a tool
Until blood lays in a pool
These things that annoy us
Are met by avoidance
These things compound
Until I can't be unwound
I live in a world of contending intentions
It's a world of our own selfish invention
A world that burns bright
So I can't sleep
When day turns to night
I hear death creep
Seeking to take me from a life I never asked for
But I'm grateful to have
Life is about experimenting with opening doors
And I'm stuck in the lab
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 9:22 PM UTC
It keeps eternal whisperings around
Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell
Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.
Often 'tis in such gentle temper found,
That scarcely will the very smallest shell
Be moved for days from whence it sometime fell,
When last the winds of heaven were unbound.
Oh ye! who have your eye-balls vexed and tired,
Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea;
Oh ye! whose ears are dinned with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying melody,—
Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood
Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs choired!
4.7k
You, the secret code
of a ship wreckage
inscribed with my name.
On a chariot of wind
Wearing a T-shirt saying
‘Sorry, I have vexed you’,
I’m sending you
a floweret form the sea,
Whose petals in-sync
with the waves in the seas.
When the chariot returns
Please do send back with it,
An acceptance footnote
for my apologies to you.
Like a bulb illuminating
on the speech bubble
of a cartoon character
I will find the map
en route to the land form it.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
Every day
I'd see them headin aff
in that clapped oot old banger.
He'd nivver get it looked at -
thocht it'd run
on positive energy and a kind word.
If that were true
my fower year apprenticeship
and six year in the garage
wouldny be worth ocht, would it?
But would he come tae me?
He would not.
There they'd go -
the exhaust gruntin lik a vexed rhinoceros
an the fan-belt scraichin lik a banshee.
Ah couldae sorted that in unner an hour.
Ah seen him workin on it wance, mind -
thocht he wis fin'ly gonny change thae bald tyres
But naw,
he wis paintin' ****** flooers on the bonnet!
Ah kin see them yet.
Headin up the hill,
weans in the back,
cloods ae black smoke pechin oot the pipe.
Ah couldae fixed it.
Ah couldae telt them.
But ah didnae.
An they nivver made it hame.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 5:06 AM UTC
vexed by the solidity of the granular surface
of this rough and tumble dream
i awaken to a forest of sunlight's in a dark world
to my sleep numbed mind
it resembles
the artwork of french revolt era
royal court damsel in distress figurines
dancing with dark-ages statues of plagues death
the starving meet the fed
and they struggle for who leads this dancehall of the marcarbe
burning the ashes of the old worlds dead flames
i look away to find her face
near mine
cut into shadowy sections
i hear within her spoken thoughts
the contortions her life has suffered
at the hands of grey faced strangers known intimately by her
i wish with heart and soul to reach out
and comfort
to remove the burden
the shadows of her face
are reflections of the world as she sees it
she is mesmerized by its ugliness
and she cannot close the door to her past
it lay like her childhoods bedroom
filled with broken teddy bears
and soiled sheets
if i could heal you
if i could even ease your moment
i would trade my living soul to have your smile
you are loved
you are so loved
a lame beggar in the rags of a monk
limps slowly from the effigy of a old world
as it burns with unspoken rages
white smoke from the roof
another chapter of history closed
with too many secrets
too many
but the beggar takes consolation
that she was given a second chance
a dove birthed from flames
here in the dust of the old world
you are loved
you are so loved
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Mayday: two came to field in such wise :
'A daisied mead', each said to each,
So were they one; so sought they couch,
Across barbed stile, through flocked brown cows.
'No pitchforked farmer, please,' she said;
'May cockcrow guard us safe,' said he;
By blackthorn thicket, flower spray
They pitched their coats, come to green bed.
Below: a fen where water stood;
Aslant: their hill of stinging nettle;
Then, honor-bound, mute grazing cattle;
Above: leaf-wraithed white air, white cloud.
All afternoon these lovers lay
Until the sun turned pale from warm,
Until sweet wind changed tune, blew harm :
Cruel nettles stung her angles raw.
Rueful, most vexed, that tender skin
Should accept so fell a wound,
He stamped and cracked stalks to the ground
Which had caused his dear girl pain.
Now he goes from his rightful road
And, under honor, will depart;
While she stands burning, venom-girt,
In wait for sharper smart to fade.
4k
"O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?
Me whom thou settest in a barren land,
Hungry and thirsty on the burning sand,
Hungry and thirsty where no waters be
Nor shadows of date-bearing tree:--
O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?"
"I came from Edom by as parched a track,
As rough a track beneath My bleeding feet.
I came from Edom seeking thee, and sweet
I counted bitterness; I turned not back
But counted life as death, and trod
The winepress all alone: and I am God."
"Yet, Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?
For Thou art strong to comfort: and could I
But comfort one I love, who, like to die,
Lifts feeble hands and eyes that fail to see
In one last prayer for comfort--nay,
I could not stand aside or turn away."
"Alas! thou knowest that for thee I died
For thee I thirsted with the dying thirst;
I, Blessed, for thy sake was counted cursed,
In sight of men and angels crucified:
All this and more I bore to prove
My love, and wilt thou yet mistrust My love?"
"Lord, I am fain to think Thou lovest me,
For Thou art all in all and I am Thine;
And lo! Thy love is better than new wine,
And I am sick of love in loving Thee.
But dost Thou love me? speak and save,
For jealousy is cruel as the grave."
"Nay, if thy love is not an empty breath
My love is as thine own--deep answers deep.
Peace, peace: I give to my beloved sleep,
Not death but sleep, for love is strong as death:
Take patience; sweet thy sleep shall be,
Yea, thou shalt wake in Paradise with Me."
3.4k
As the sun sets upon the horizon,
Without poetic justice,
I do not prevail.
My mind troubled,
Obfuscated by the irony,
Of everyday situations.
Purity,
Tarnished.
Joy,
Vexed.
As the sun sets.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 1:39 PM UTC
Twist ye not the tendrils of time
frame dragging by any other name
black holes ergosphere sublimes
pulls spacetime to its slow down game
Those clocks and our clocks not the same
Time's vector smeared along its timeline
speeds along its X axis game
Remains longer on its own line rhyme
Then around and around she goes
For this clock so smitten runs so slow
And where the hands stop nobody knows
Spacetime's drill bit twisted so
This black silken dress of spacetime
Wrapped around this gravity vortex
Twisted infinity sublimes
on the singularities’ cortex
Redshifts starlight to infinity
Photons below values of C
Their orange trails of light I see
These curved, stretched, these twisted banshees
Frozen in space these tendrils of time
My heart beats on ever so slow
This time signature of space aligns
reality to its queer clocks of woe
In front of me coasting along
a singular photon it’s brilliance
flitting like a firefly’s lonely song
wave-like in its own resilience
This photonic duplicity
particle now and a wave the next
surrenders its reciprocity
to this block of spacetime so vexed
Such are the tendrils of time here
to the black holes seductive embrace
These time signatures skewed so queer
From the Dark Mother’s fingers trace
As she smiles at me saying:
“Oh my beautiful child of wonder”
“Blessed be your love and curiosity”
“Of all my spells that you fall under”
“To you all of my precocity”
“So I bless thee and thy lady “Star”
“Your undaunting love of Michele
“Shines on in O Class from thee so far”
“I release thee from this spacetime spell”
These tendrils of time wound round
These whirlpools in space
These wonders of space found
In Michele’s beautiful face.
Dave Proffitt
9/10/2016
3:01 PM
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 6:28 AM UTC
She makes herself present when you need her most,
not to boast, but this tasty delight will treat you well as she continues to host.
She doesn’t give herself away too much,
**** if it was up to me I’d cop more than a touch;
A squeeze, a whole late night session, to indulge in her taste of imperfections,
Eat her up til I obtain a dental infection.
Not my intention, but her silhouette alone breeds thoughts of sin,
what I would give, to have her all to myself, wouldn’t know where to begin.
Undress her slowly as she teases me,
And repeatedly, she teaches me to treat her with care and show some decency.
But I can’t concentrate, she has my mind in a figure-four,
I'm a carnivore, but she exposes her flesh and I want more and more.
Its all been done before, but in this moment I’m in bliss,
I reminisce, as I write this, and continue to lick her residue off my lips.
She brings so much variety, all of them eyeing me,
Which will I give into as I inspect each of them quietly.
Sometimes she comes bittersweet, sometimes she’s a freak,
But most of the time she’s in a bad mood cuz I just wana beat, or rather eat.
Our relationship is never bland, she always keeps it fresh and new,
If it gets monotonous she won’t even hesitate to bring a friend or two.
She keeps my hands full, and that’s no easy achievement,
But she brings so much to the table its hard to not fiend it.
My favorite color on her, has to be green, not to be obscene,
But I’d tear her up as if though she was in a different team, knowwhatimean?
And after that delight there wouldn’t be much of her left,
Not to be greedy but Im not sharing until I know there’s more to come next.
If not, I’m vexed, I mean, I’m not addicted but I wouldn’t mind another round,
That’s not being spoiled I just want to know what other delights could be found.
Don’t be selfish and sadden me,
give me a taste so I can eat you up casually.
Oh miss candy, you’re just too fancy,
let me get a grip and I’ll put you on the walls like Bansky.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
3.1k
Life lays before me in dark broken paths
All the roads look so good but are so wrong
Evils entangled hands reach out in wrath
Days on these paths have been weary and long
So which path is the right one to go down
Maybe it's the path showered in roses
I see the many thorns reaching around
The path fades, I see that option closes
I swing around to find what path is next
I am then greeted by angry darkness
This path is a chasm, I become vexed
Wearily, I jump into the abyss
No more paths to choose I am just falling
I look up, none can hear my voice calling
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
never in my life,
Or in the span of the last few weeks
have I ever,
and yes I could go even further
felt so starved,
really I mean starved, vexed hunger
for some sort of notion,
reminder of a working heart and lungs
a feeling of substance,
something I search for fruitlessly
in a world that works,
in its subtle enigmatic ways
to alienate,
or provide an artificial basis for it
but that is so very beautiful,
and I think I really mean that
I want it and I want it now
I want the world at my throat
I want women and all
Other embodiments
Of all things beautiful
at either side of me
Adoring eyes, widened and excited
scanning in disbelief
waiting for the dream to end
because a dream so pure and good
will never last
and it doesn't and it won't
because it doesn't exist
to begin with
but a thought so pretty
forever forcing itself into existence
I want my dream to begin
I want these things to be my end
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
A con artist scurries
In white shadows
Fickle grooves she casts
In sequences
Imprinted by vainglory
Swift she fleets
Veiled with scars that
Were sequin rich
She spoke of ideologies
Subdued by violet myths
Exuding colorful flavors
Of classic deception
Her tattoos spelled
the wistful vowels of sin
Vexed by the onslaught
Of egregious inceptions
© 2011 (All rights reserved)
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
Oh how I earnestly await for thee to awaken from thy slumber.
The time that passes is far from squandered. It bestows upon me, favored opportunity to admire thy beauty.
Desiring not to be selfish. Alas, I cannot help this. Somehow, some way, I need to emerge from it.
Just a glance not even a stare and I am vexed beyond repair.
Do I even seek such hellish things?
To be repaired, would be an unjust, merciless act. Knowing what I did not have, now I possess.
Who in their proper mind would relinquish such a gift?
You would be mad!
Without this Monarch, I would be unhinged, unbalanced, lifeless.
These are the things I ponder, while I wait patiently your end of slumber.
Call me mad, call me insane. For if she is mine and I hers.
Devotedly I Remain.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
Ardor
Beauty
Cascading
Debris,
Envy
Frantically
Glorifying
Her
Idiotic
Jealousy,
Killing
Love
Messing
Negativity,
Oozing
Pride
Quaking
Restlessly,
Slither
Tricking
Unanimity,
Vexed
Wretched
Xenophobic
Yearning
Zombie.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
by my distracted count
there are more pictures
of naked women on the
internet, than there are
atoms in all the oceans
of the Earth.
note to self: buy stock
in tube socks and
Kleenex. Flaunt wealth.
but don't you ever
change.
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 2:13 PM UTC
1.
I know now why the world was sad,
With so much good to make it glad;
Why all things loveliest and best
Have stirred vague sorrows in my breast,
And sweetest days that life has had
Have vexed me with such vast unrest.
2.
I know why I have pined and toiled,
And found all aspirations foiled;
I know why I have gained and spent,
And never learned what riches meant;
I know what lack and loss have spoiled
The treasure of my soul's content.
3.
Like day- dawn on the darkened earth,
Like sun and rain in drought and dearth,
Like spring, that wakens flowers so fast
When barren winter- time is past,
Love, long- deferred, has come to birth —
And I am satisfied at last.
4.
My heart is singing; tears are shed;
I, that was starved, am warmed, and fed —
For love is fire and food and wine,
All comfort earthly and divine.
Now I am living that was dead,
And all that life can give is mine.
2.3k
block me if
you will
for I will never be satisfied
trite me cut with a boredom knife,
hackney me to death with kitsch,
migraine me with banal,
bromide me with the pedestrian,
if you can only sing the exhausted, old familiar,
drain me not with your jejune
write me to soar,
pleasure me with convincing adjectives
of the posterous,
never before heard, untill my lips parse your words
write me to vex
so my sides, clutching
in the most desirable agony
you want to boast of how you cut?
then cut me if you can,
bravo
carve your initials into my brain,
so when I read your words,
I scream I weep I confess
you have vexed me,
in the places where
the very few dare tread,
in the places
where good poetry goes...
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC