"vicissitude" poems
What smouldering senses in death’s sick delay
Or seizure of malign vicissitude
Can rob this body of honour, or denude
This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day?
For lo! even now my lady’s lips did play
With these my lips such consonant interlude
As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed
The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay.
I was a child beneath her touch,—a man
When breast to breast we clung, even I and she,—
A spirit when her spirit looked through me,—
A god when all our life-breath met to fan
Our life-blood, till love’s emulous ardours ran,
Fire within fire, desire in deity.
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Spectrous aberrations of youth
Surround him, embrace him
Leaving him disoriented, dismayed
Amidst sultry belongings
He’s tethered to that pole of vicissitude
Draped by disfavor
Postmarked Valhalla
Addressed to Folkvangr
Teased by irreverent lovers
In pursuit of contentment
His chronicles restart
In an unpublished testament
Bound by leather, cows unfettered
One lifeless body stationary
Crimson streams part chalk-dry lips
As love’s guillotined victim drips
His future’s fortune forsaken
Willingness to triumph in battle
Leaks from this dimension
With each fluxing discharge
Of her stream’s outgoing apathy
And his fluid permeates alluvium
In streambeds near life’s summit
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 11:12 PM UTC
I think it’s important to make peace with your long line of perpetually confused and self-indulgent ancestry once grasping at and fumbling through a life at which they, preceding you, assumed they occupied the centre of and sought to prove this to mostly anyone, with rapacious might and puerile visions of their own success story, which no matter how successful would always only occupy the dark corners of their blood-successors’ historical records of themselves, which is to say you, adding them up with other people who were once important to them and stuffing them into some numerical equation on which they occupy the left, and you the right side of the equal-sign, but all of which exists in the vast and endless vicissitude of spinning void, of which you both (and us all) occupy some cosmic equivalence (and importance) of the universes stray skin-cell, somewhere on the foot perhaps, unconsidered and left alone until we all disappear into the casket of an unrecorded history.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC
Somewhat back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat.
Across its antique portico
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw;
And from its station in the hall
An ancient timepiece says to all,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
Half-way up the stairs it stands,
And points and beckons with its hands
From its case of massive oak,
Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas!
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep’s fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say, at each chamber-door,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality;
His great fires up the chimney roared;
The stranger feasted at his board;
But, like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning timepiece never ceased,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
There groups of merry children played,
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed;
O precious hours! O golden prime,
And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient timepiece told,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,
The dead lay in his shroud of snow;
And in the hush that followed the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
All are scattered now and fled,
Some are married, some are dead;
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
“Ah! when shall they all meet again?”
As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient timepiece makes reply,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
Never here, forever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear,—
Forever there, but never here!
The horologe of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
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Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport—O! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recall’d thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?—That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
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Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She wooes the tardy Spring:
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground,
And lightly o’er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance
The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the skylark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstasy;
And, lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by:
Their raptures now that wildly flow
No yesterday nor morrow know;
’Tis Man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.
Smiles on past Misfortune’s brow
Soft Reflection’s hand can trace,
And o’er the cheek of Sorrow throw
A melancholy grace;
While Hope prolongs our happier hour,
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour
And blacken round our weary way,
Gilds with a gleam of distant day.
Still, where rosy Pleasure leads
See a kindred Grief pursue;
Behind the steps that Misery treads
Approaching Comfort view:
The hues of bliss more brightly glow
Chastised by sabler tints of woe,
And blended form, with artful strife,
The strength and harmony of life.
See the wretch that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe and walk again:
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening Paradise.
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Lushly lustful exotically ******
Vibrant virile fertile vicissitude
Puissant terminus loquacity photic
Pique piquant poignant pulchritude
Lecherous visceral longevous cohort
Wanton licentious erogenous frolic
Lurid lascivious ****** cavort
***** lewd apomixes anabolic
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 5:54 AM UTC
blood now is the accoutrement.
night's tenure is the morning's
leasing: what will continue to
light like a beacon in this
vicissitude is the flash
of a snuff-nosed nozzle.
no sound is heard.
no bones were felt
trembling.
all the voices were muffled,
thrown into a makeshift exodus.
the pains will be etched away
like moss unraveling the secret
of wall upon wounds like old scarves.
but the ground,
which has girdled this resounding feat, will never forget:
death's squadron enters. harbingers.
what has hidden them in the lull
has now sung severances:
a distance closed
by a fusillade
of bullets.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
...You, dearest vagary, aplomb--were
brought to bear.
Vicissitude of memory which is the
dispersion of identity.
Of a time, and of a place--you, a
mellifluous bronze dusk poured upon
a meadow, a solitary immersion, a
moment that harnesses the whole of
the earth, as you are...dearest vagary.
You were afforded as by the citizenry
of the air, lent by an intercontinental
wind.
An undying eloquence featured for all
time--the swaying bud blown to bloom.
You...the beautification of possibility,
its matrices never left in want.
As in withstanding place the round is
made, and remade about you, the whole
of the earth.
Thus, you've no confounding words...
have you?
Thus, this sidelong expenditure that you may--
shall breach the earth you shall.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
1395
After all Birds have been investigated and laid aside—
Nature imparts the little Blue-Bird—assured
Her conscientious Voice will soar unmoved
Above ostensible Vicissitude.
First at the March—competing with the Wind—
Her panting note exalts us—like a friend—
Last to adhere when Summer cleaves away—
Elegy of Integrity.
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《》《》《》《》《》《》《》
A Nearsighted mind will seek immediate gain, centered on self for short-term return
Such future self will look back forlorningly what was lost in fortunes vicissitude.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Farsighted sight seeks Value of Greater Plentitude.
Puts aside oneself in favor of the Whole investing in Now for Futures gain.
Communities celebrate as
the child plays
~ basking in Glory for the Coming Days ~
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
Vicissitude may pollute
Thy consecrate frame
Yet never be out
Little from propagate aim
With sound endeavor
Healthy optimism
And energetic fruitful labor
Drink joy of resolved whim.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 6:40 AM UTC
Time is my lover; my companion.
She has revealed to me the sacred secrets of the world.
Captivated by her beauty and insight I have become fascinated by her existence.
I came to realize long ago, in the eons of my metamorphosis that she is the only one I can trust…
I take solace in this.
One cannot be led astray with love and time.
The blossoms and lilies are blooming amongst the tightly packed soil of the terrene.
I am efflorescing as well… Time has revealed this to me.
My heart is a celestial body amongst celestial bodies, illuminating the darkness and chaos ravaging the Earth.
I am a luminescent ruby shining red hot with passion; I have a fervor that shall not be diminished by the vitriol of a single malefactor.
I am united in spirit and soul with The One whom has redeemed me from sin and death.
My light is my hope; I have power when I am shining as brightly as the Sun.
Epiphanies are ever present in this vicissitude of my life.
I prayerfully await more growth beckoning me from just over the horizon.
The Sun has beseeched me to sanctify His name through melodious song.
I become less and less of a vestige as each sunset approaches.
My spirit is my cocoon.
I shall pray for more efflorescence as the Great Day approaches.
My soul is flowering forth with ebullience and a deep tranquility that no one can take away from me.
I shall rest my faith in my cognizance of the might I possess.
Today is my rebirth and the Phoenix has bestowed upon me its benediction.
To have newfound life breathed into your nostrils; words cannot express the jubilation, the ecstasy that has arisen in my soul as a result of this.
I have been fortified and from this day forth, I shall no longer relinquish my right to joy and prosperity.
May the Lord of Blissful Joy awaken in you also, the cognizance of the might you possess.
-Amen-
By, Iridescently Efflorescent
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 11:50 PM UTC
Oh, how I compromise to amuse you
Tell me, is that how I abuse you?
Your false claims ring in the back of my mind,
But this time
Will I fall for the ********
Or peel back the rind?
The pain is selfsame in the morning
And into the night .
Vicissitude of the severity throws my soul
Through a thunderstorm of fright .
How could I surmise
The reality to warp Into what I desire?
Into a grand surprise?
How selfish,
How naive,
How foolishly childish of me?
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 11:43 AM UTC
An auspicious vicissitude
Can easily become a brevity of euphoria
And emotions become a poetic verbiage
In our unuttered votive of veracity
Due to our mind's vicarious compliance with our heart's volition
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
When will it stop?
The constant, confusing whiplash
Of hatred
Of acceptance
Of compelled shoving fingers down your throat
Of etching paintings into your skin, with a pointed brush
If only to release
When will it stop?
The hypocrisy of trying to help someone
When you can barely help yourself
Sitting in front of a screen, telling them it'll all be fine
But you have a blade in your hands
And a finger in your throat
When will it stop?
The vicissitude of everyday
Blythe simplicity on one
Slowly killing yourself the next
The good days, I'm able to have a painful relationship with food
Thinking, but not acting
Even if for an hour
For that hour, I am whole and I am free
But the bad days, silent ruminations engulf my head
Of painting scarlet
And expelling
When will it stop?
The compulsions taking over me
Oct 31, 2024
Oct 31, 2024 at 4:07 PM UTC
adieu, egress, hegira
by gone; a strong term
I am a long winters' dormant worm
|
I pry the tip of the Earth with a blind eye
As I flex to the gap reaching something warm
something elated
|
Cold grit lines my skin like the prior-bathe of a traveling bird
The bellows cast at me adoringly, gust's that sting lightly
Frail but assured as I graze the tepid ray
|
dernier cri, objet d'art, vicissitude
up's and down's are now adue
I spring of change and what is new
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 8:54 PM UTC
I carry an umbrella again
and find gigs to play
when soon my adherent of veracity
does connect mood with a thread
here her snooty wish now verbosity
and fill nights with vicissitude
that can still cling to virtual attitude
with a quasar if I can compose near
as a constellation tout direct ties there
though multitudes from clouds of authenticity
and ridden with adversity only good as Columbus
while a homespun manicure of bliss
will stiffen stations with thine air
and stake canvass in this future sound.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
an element of light slips though the cracks
in this worn, beaten mast
with its aching floorboards & my
creaking starboard heart.
& the wind whips through the sails
just as my aching soul ails
for the same vicissitude--
though it is caught in this sea of stagnancy.
--
this ship:
it asks for weather,
it pleads for the storm,
if only in attempt to be washed ashore.
[something new, something unexplored.]
lo, but it is caught in this mesmerizing estuary,
entangled in the tides of your sea,
& in all the efforts I make to escape from your deep,
I always feel as though I’m swimming upstream.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
I've gotten it brought to my attention; the subject of change.
It's been requested to know whether it's healthy or not.
Yes?
[No!]
Yes!
[No?]
What ever the answer may be, I'd like to find out.
Stop your pondering, that's my occupation.
You ask the question, let me do the rest.
But where does my investigation begin?
Here. It does here.
Every year,
Every month,
Maybe in whole weeks...
I make companions, or create a monster of myself and accumulate enemies.
That's not my intention.
I am only human,
and I fathom wishes cannot always be blessed.
I'd like greatly to keep everyone as an appreciated comrade,
alas this cannot always be bestowed.
"Friends" they betray, they lie to authorize other people to hate you.
Then you're spoken to of their rumors and you become distant from one-another.
What do you do?
Give up?
Never.
This change is obviously staunch.
It evidently shows the truth of it all.
Those... traitors, they are not worth any millisecond of your watch.
They are not worth any view of your pupil.
They are not worth an iota to your person.
Those embraces, perhaps, you shared
that maybe were accompanied by grins of merriment...
or apprehension and distress,
they meant nothing.
They were empty achievements that subjected us to change.
Change, there's that lexeme; repeated.
Difference.
Adjustment.
Variation.
Innovation.
Vicissitude.
Is it in fact a valuable commodity?
No?
[Yes!]
No!
[Yes?]
I admit;
It is; only in solitary incidents.
Change, this subject was brought to me.
Do you permit this to be the feedback of your confusion?
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
Love is nothing but sleep and drink and meat
To quench that strong craving deep in the pit
Love is nothing more but mere candies sweet
Inside, that bitter taste that make us spit
Love is nothing but cold yet warm a spark
To set alit thousands of flambeaus, ****
That once stood tall, frozen in the cold dark
Once lit, it shall melt to vicissitude
And to wend both either way is despair
One more woe-fraught than all the other ways
One cold, one hot, too hot to even bear
Colder than winter, hotter than dog days
And if love is just mere food for the mind
I’d eat something else, of another kind
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
Ἀμφιτρίτη
rising out of the sea like sunshine
brilliant blue feathers
airfoils lifting you
your energy stabilizing
holographic universe
with black holes abound
******* up your endless brilliance
they’re no match
eventually you turn them
inside out
just patient galaxies
waiting to unfold
they need you
for your light
momentousness
vicissitude of seasons
hearts gravitate to you
force of attraction
terrestrial bodies are know for
special reflection
souls need to find their way
kind gentle compassionate pulling
Amphitrite
my very existence
shimmering
without you
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
paint me this picture, sonorous color
clutching the quiet ****
pressed against cloying scenes,
a loose hand bannering a bayonet.
rivet me waters, and much of the Earth
tightly groping inlands,
thatched in the branch nowhere alone,
is the song of God lullabying cities.
again the whole sky with its keen eyes
manifests a gleam worth knowing a cherub,
and sooner than it is later, when the seasons
postpone their flamboyances, chiaroscuros of smoke,
deceit, uncared for and unheard shrieks bounce off careless corners
and the song of God is but static with little wings clipped
and tossed into vicissitude:
song or no song
bearing a fruition of attrition:
resounding far-away: a comatose of cars,
a scuffle of powerlines, a melee of battlement and tranquil
continually fluster the child
in metronomic dance.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:34 AM UTC