"vouchsafe" poems
If thou survive my well-contented day
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceasèd lover,
Compare them with the bett’ring of the time,
And though they be outstripped by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
“Had my friend’s Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought
To march in ranks of better equipage;
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I’ll read, his for his love.”
3.2k
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will,
And Will to boot, and Will in overplus;
More than enough am I that vex thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
Shall will in others seem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance shine?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,
And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou being rich in will add to thy will
One will of mine to make thy large will more.
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers ****
Think all but one, and me in that one Will.
1.3k
The moon appeared to me
like a snickering school girl.
She brushed the snot from
her nostrils, clearing her hand on
a communion dress made from
luminous, white fabric.
She proceeded cautiously,
balanced precariously on spiked heels,
Stumbling along uneven paths
like a hunchback in a Flemish wood carving
But then she posed for me
in the manner of a silent-movie star,
all smiles,
lipstick beauty and cabaret flare.
(“Your Martini?”)
Her lips drew close to my ear.
With a graceful sweep of the arm
we were hid behind the dilated eyes
of a peacock-feathered fan.
She said nothing, nor did we kiss.
And she was gone,
just as quickly as she appeared
to vouchsafe a brief vision
in the interval of a cigarette.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
Nicotine and black ink stain my fingers
confirming all I have done, do and will
in steadfast proof of spent Time that lingers
ever and anon upon new hours still,
and still this world hath nothing to compare
nor ever hath with someone such as thee
as Time doth prove the burden that I bear
thru' stainèd fingers of mine poetry,
for Time itself will vouchsafe mine labour
with honest judgement of fair-reckon'd Time,
while tongues that prate and cut like a sabre
shall be mute with thy beauty in mine rhyme —
vouchsafe me this, the sweetest sort of task
to prove thy worth is all that I do ask.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
I have secrets. Not really. The
thing about secrets: everyone has them.
It doesn't matter how close you
feel to someone. If you know
someone, you keep secrets from them.
To avoid keeping secrets from someone
is to speak your every thought
and conceal no transient stirring of
opinion. And who can boast that
they have never held their thoughts
in check for the sparing of
an unwilling or unwitting ear? Indeed
I have no secrets from others,
simply sides I have not shown
them. And no one can be
my closest confidant, for there are
questions I have never been asked.
So when you feel I am
keeping something from you do not
assume it is my malicious vouchsafe
that I guard from the daylight.
The things I tell others are
as readily apparent in me as
the steps I take, the things
I have not divulged merely the
undersides of my feet, not displayed
but ever present.
But there are things I have
not divulged within me that have
been scrutinized and been subjected to
taboo. These for want of a
better word, we can call secrets.
They are small motes of golden
truth which swim in my bones
and glitter in flames of indignation.
And they are alive for they
move throughout my entire being and
use quick teeth to try to
rend me open. They thirst, these
infinitesimal planets, for the sun which
casts light on everything and bears
nothing in more genial light than
its neighbor. I rather suspect they
would appreciate that equanimity.
However were I to free them,
to cast asunder their parasitic bonds,
I would be cast from my
comfort and tormented, guilty as a
twin shamed for his brother's faults.
So what am I to do?
These glazed traits, my inner selves,
have teeth so I feed them;
I feed them with knowledge and
the comfort that they are not
unique, for others are feasted upon
by the unknowable and un-"what"-able demons
that lie in wait in their
bodies; I feed them with promises,
so infantile yet that they cannot
be tested for emptiness, of an
eventual release and the opportunity to
cast loose the bonds of disgust
with which my peers lasso them.
And they grow larger. They are
engorged with hope. Still when the
beast grows larger, larger grows its
bite.
And when I am at a
loss to placate my secret in-dwellers
with hope, they gnaw. And the
bites which at one point might
have been an irksome scrabbling at
my heart now cave in my
resolve and threaten my breathing with
an erstwhile unspent vigor.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 1:46 PM UTC
By Ajit peter and Paula
Not a day doth pass by
my words to thee shy
love thee and with thee fly
thy love passioned sky
longing thought to hold thee
in pain tis love doth not flee
oh rainbow doth we see
take me in thee arm to feel
sinking in loves pained heel
oh let not go tis heart thou steal
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My heart doth beat for thee
in thy night to be
loves impassioned song
thy love doth no wrong
my heart doth beat free
for all the world to see
thy love ever a shrine
my heart vouchsafe to thine.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
Live under these lights tour de force--
an atomic roar had you at: I.
I of scrimmaging ghosts, the obsessive
vouchsafe of the material world.
Coasting torn landscapes, places of wedge
and sleep...with a flood of eyes open.
Upstanding I, ****** in memorabilia--
with thought's filament flickering...
what's seen is heavied as to be believed.
(((I))) has repeated on itself to populate our
marvel...we're everywhere.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
Vouchsafest Thou?
Do you enjoy the word "vouchsafe" as much
As I? It isn't as musical as the phrase
"Thence forward," or “joylich,” “leman,” and such
Or "confusticate," - who says that these days?
“Wherefore,” “abroche,” let us now celebrate
“Antic” English words: “aforetime,” “perforce”
“Slowcoach,” “freshet”, “befall” - at this late date?
And dear “daffadowndilley” (but of course!)
“Declaim,” “forsooth,” “marchwarden,” and “descry,”
And let us not forget the sweet “day’s-eye!”
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC