"wain" poems
Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway,
The tender blossom flutter down,
Unloved, that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away;
Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair,
Ray round with flames her disk of seed,
And many a rose-carnation feed
With summer spice the humming air;
Unloved, by many a sandy bar,
The brook shall babble down the plain,
At noon or when the lesser wain
Is twisting round the polar star;
Uncared for, gird the windy grove,
And flood the haunts of hern and crake;
Or into silver arrows break
The sailing moon in creek and cove;
Till from the garden and the wild
A fresh association blow,
And year by year the landscape grow
Familiar to the stranger's child;
As year by year the labourer tills
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades;
And year by year our memory fades
From all the circle of the hills.
3.2k
The barron earth seems barron still,
The snow is gone but green lost still,
But on the Aspens, the catkins grow,
The male, the female, each in the wind,
The grow and grow and ask to be seen,
A sign of life in a barron land,
The males they dangle, the females *****
A source of life, before the leaves,
Winter's gone and Spring has rose,
The Aspen Moon approaches full,
A few small leaves upon the ground,
A strawberry, a flower, some blades of grass,
As the Apsen Moon begins to wain,
Fast rushes Springtime just like the Bull,
The catkins promise, the leaves fulfill,
New life, new living, the Aspen Moon.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
Oh how quickly your loyalties change
Something foreign to me, I find it so strange
Today you love me, tomorrow you're gone
The way your feelings wain is nothing but wrong
You allow havoc to be wreaked by the next
It really does **** to be your ex
Those you once called your family, your reason to be
Are offered up to this pig like a buffet that's free
She has no class and lacks good breeding
As she waddles up to the trough for her feeding
You allow her to root and rut until she's had her fill
And even though you know she's wrong, you defend her still
Not quite sure if she's a bartender, a stripper or just a common *****
When I saw pictures of her puffy painted up face, my jaw hit the floor
I can hardly believe you went from someone like me, true class
To some ***** who is nothing more than a nasty piece of ***
She's attacked not just me but my children as well
And for that she's earned her special place in hell
And you, who once said you would protect these kids with your life
You sure threw them to the pig once I said I didn't want to be your wife
You'll find that the pig will eventually turn on and devour you too
She'll attack you and feed on you while I laugh for all you put me through
But after you've gotten what's coming to you, let's not forget the pig
We'll slaughter her, roast her, and slice her up for a feast so big
We'll invite all our friends and family to eat, and during the blessing
We'll tell them what to do with an *** and a pig who need to be taught the karma lesson
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 11:03 PM UTC
We fell in love, that is all that I know,
no matter what happens it will remain,
When we were young, just a while ago,
my heart made a choice that shall never wain
No matter what happens it will remain,
though our life has not been always so kind,
my heart made a choice that shall never wain
if I am with you, then I do not mind
Though our life has not been always so kind,
in better or worse it is all the same,
if I am with you then I do not mind,
I am at your side in health or in pain
In better or worse it is all the same
though some may question or say it is wrong,
I am at your side in health or in pain
I do not care about what says the throng
Though some may question or say it is wrong,
nothing has changed from what I remember,
I do not care about what says the throng,
this shall remain til life's cold December
Nothing has changed from what I remember,
When we were young, just a while ago,
this shall remain til life's cold December
We fell in love, that is all that I know.
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 6:02 PM UTC
you'll find someone
to love and hold on to
and you'll have happy times
together
forget why you went with one another
and where you went, for what
but suppose it makes no difference
to two lovebirds
it's the kind of love that makes people turn their heads
mirrored in their faces is everything we want
so we just stare, waiting for our reflection
though that might wain
love's thrill comes in rolling
on the crest of another day
as sure as a sunrise
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 12:30 PM UTC
There were two mighty warriors
whose rule upon the land
were what legends now are sewn upon
each feared by every man
Odin was like a panther
sleek and strong and lithe
nothing less than greatness
was for all that he would strive
Kester was just like a bear
his size gave him great power
over mighty oaks and castle walls
he easily would tower
The warriors began a fight
and the people stood around
peasants Lords and Nobles
threw lamenting on the ground
They fought over who had the right
to be the poet king
folk ran to preserve themselves
as the fists began to swing
Believing they both owned all words
to poetry, verse and prose
both grandiose and posturing
to each a thumb upon their nose
So the fight grew on relentless
both knew it was to death
howling obscenities from Whitman
hurling lines from out Macbeth
Yelling words of literature
pounding blows on blows
quoting Thomas Hardy
and Shakespeare's words of prose
Grabbing Kester's throat
Odin threw him to the floor
like an angry roaring lion
Odin screaming metaphor
Like madmen holding hands
grappling with each others cloak
tearing at each others skin
whose throat they'd love to choke
There had to be a victor
their words shook the city walls
Odin held tight to Kester
and kicked him in the syllables
But no one stood victorious
as poetry's life began to wain
they thrashed it till it bled
not seeing both their shame
Clothes were torn and bruises bloomed
wearing blood upon their trousers
the people cried in unison
"a plague a' both your houses"
As the warriors stood back a step
and looked upon the ground
wounded and in agony
poetry didn't make a sound
No words on lips were uttered
poetry blinked last unto the sun
for its life about was scattered
"My lords look, what have you done?"
And as they wept they looked above
Clouds gathering over head
tears blurred those fated words
on the sky the message... "He is dead"
The warriors stood on trembling knees
with death they both had kissed
the last line they both uttered
"Was sorrow... to this."
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
Ever had an inkling, yet nowhere to begin?
Ever lay awake thinking things, ponderings in your head?
Ever fiddle and fidget and wonder and wain?
Ever feel the need to abound, not to behave?
Ever see a sight so wondrous and rare?
Ever want something you just couldn't place there?
Ever know the unknown?
Ever drove just to drove?
Ever ran down a street even though it a cove?
These are some things not ever so ratchet,
There is the itch, now go forth and scratch it.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
Here lieth one who did most truly prove,
That he could never die while he could move,
So hung his destiny never to rot
While he might still jogg on, and keep his trot,
Made of sphear-metal, never to decay
Untill his revolution was at stay.
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
‘Gainst old truth) motion number’d out his time:
And like an Engin mov’d with wheel and waight,
His principles being ceast, he ended strait.
Rest that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
Nor were it contradiction to affirm
Too long vacation hastned on his term.
Meerly to drive the time away he sickn’d,
Fainted, and died, nor would with Ale be quickn’d;
Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed out-stretch’d,
If I may not carry, sure Ile ne’re be fetch’d,
But vow though the cross Doctors all stood hearers,
For one Carrier put down to make six bearers.
Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right,
He di’d for heavines that his Cart went light,
His leasure told him that his time was com,
And lack of load, made his life burdensom
That even to his last breath (ther be that say’t)
As he were prest to death, he cry’d more waight;
But had his doings lasted as they were,
He had bin an immortall Carrier.
Obedient to the Moon he spent his date
In cours reciprocal, and had his fate
Linkt to the mutual flowing of the Seas,
Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase:
His Letters are deliver’d all and gon,
Onely remains this superscription.
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There isn't a girl in the world
without an incurable,
everything but unlovable,
psychotic or neurotic,
unique, personality trait.
I prithee, Lord, my soul to take.
Maybe I shouldn't mention it here:
But supposedly you have red hair.
I dunno though, a rumor maybe only.
I do know the thought makes me crazy,
and there's other colors there.
I know a strong urge to find you out slowly,
to see you undone in some solid morning.
I bet you see as little me as I hear you talking,
but I guess you can't know an intention,
any well-rounded notion goes flat.
in the absence of presence
Have to brave it with hardon and hardhat
'cause what brings things together's tension.
In the wain of the week,
we both get to drink.
Then dreamless sleep?
Or so I would like,
to pass heedlessly the night.
Or as I now imagine yours,
Scandinavian shores,
I don't know which I like more.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
Sad Hesper o'er the buried sun
And ready, thou, to die with him,
Thou watchest all things ever dim
And dimmer, and a glory done:
The team is loosen'd from the wain,
The boat is drawn upon the shore;
Thou listenest to the closing door,
And life is darken'd in the brain.
Bright Phosphor, fresher for the night,
By thee the world's great work is heard
Beginning, and the wakeful bird;
Behind thee comes the greater light:
The market boat is on the stream,
And voices hail it from the brink;
Thou hear'st the village hammer clink,
And see'st the moving of the team.
Sweet Hesper-Phosphor, double name
For what is one, the first, the last,
Thou, like my present and my past,
Thy place is changed; thou art the same.
1.3k
Sad Hesper o'er the buried sun
And ready, thou, to die with him,
Thou watchest all things ever dim
And dimmer, and a glory done:
The team is loosen'd from the wain,
The boat is drawn upon the shore;
Thou listenest to the closing door,
And life is darken'd in the brain.
Bright Phosphor, fresher for the night,
By thee the world's great work is heard
Beginning, and the wakeful bird;
Behind thee comes the greater light:
The market boat is on the stream,
And voices hail it from the brink;
Thou hear'st the village hammer clink,
And see'st the moving of the team.
Sweet Hesper-Phosphor, double name
For what is one, the first, the last,
Thou, like my present and my past,
Thy place is changed; thou art the same.
1.3k
i leaned to smoke
from film noir
the gritty grey frames
i first saw in cloudy rooms
completely antithetical to the vibrant blockbusters
from my childhood
if i can afford it
i still buy a non-filtered soft-pack
and puff them
three puffs just before
anything is inhaled
mostly for effect
drama
but when i cant
i just think of bogart
tear the filter off
and proceed
but it was never
so much about the act
drawing in a cloud
of overly-processed plant matter
but about the etiquette
if you have ever burned down
something without cotton
you know it is certainly a messy ordeal
but what hepburn and tracy taught
what grant and cagney spoke
with their actions of course
is that there is a reason to this madness
i practice
and i try to teach
that this is an elegant process
while taking in a deep breath
of something
you arent encouraged to love
without any health benefits
simply out of a base habit
some of that **** is going to get in your mouth
it may taste bitter too,
depending on how your buds are aligned,
but grow up
you cant keep just spitting where
other people will soon walk
they never did that
my heroes
instead
they stuck out
the tip of their tongue
pursed their lips
as the face made by
a baby on a commuter rail
staring at you
and you echo back
with a tiny poke
of your front 10000 buds
mostly for spectacle
and when that teensy bit emerges
within or without the train
you have to gently pick
with the forefinger and the thumb
the infinitesimal bits
resting at the tip
pluck them away
rub those two finger together
and pretend
that youre only smoking
and
if you arent looking closely enough
ill tell you
things are turning back into grey
and you turn RIGHT back into
the misogynist you hated
but emulated
youre still smoking though
handing out smokes in fact
holding up "the walls of jericho"
laughing at those
who dont know how
to fold a sheet
oh. but i pledge to quit
and you to change
and us to bond
and my smokes to wain
this isnt about the filter-less
that i had at 3am
its about what i commit
and what you
can respond with
how this can work
and the etiquette necessary
let me
let me
pick the fleck from the tip
of the teasing tongue
just for you
and you tell me
when i have something
in the place that
used to be my mustache
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC
My dream became my other world so real or is this fake
I dreamt of many crazy things like floating in a lake
i must be mads cos I dont swim and sink just like a brick
my dreams are more reality than I could ever think
I pinched myself so I could see the difference from the two
but would I really tell apart the dreaming from the truth
time will tell when one does wain and all becomes a blurr
the dreaming and reality ..I concur
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 9:41 PM UTC
Do you love me? I long to scream.
The answer rips through my conscience
and shrapnel drops from a broken heart
into a bitter stomach.
But the effects are not as bad as they could be,
For patience is a virtue that I don’t declare as vain
I won’t let myself go, or wain,
Too far, too fast, not completely broken, conscious
Yet.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
in no great haste to change the solemn art
that deals with those who cannot render ease
in modern terms we make a florid start
presenting our regards upon our knees
as if our thoughts were villain amputees
regarding with some horror how the strain
of vision reaching through this veil of rain
has no effect on motion nor on rate
all in the end must seep into the brain
where only losers claim to lead the state
both rich and poor rub shoulders in the mart
while finding nothing that could truly please
an honest mind or else a yearning heart
since all the market has is hopping fleas
and some lost objects baking in the breeze
there's not a single value to retain
and all our hope might just go down the drain
as laughing gargoyles seem to contemplate
you cannot speak except now to complain
where only losers claim to lead the state
no one today would ever give a ****
for decent laws or honest high decrees
the vultures wait until the wolves depart
then each devours the carrion that it sees
there's no means left the monster to appease
just throw another **** upon the wain
since we have read the signal very plain
the door is shut and rescue's come too late
all that is left is one more ugly stain
where only losers claim to lead the state
prince as you look out from the morning train
you'll see the same old shadow once again
don't think of it as duty nor as fate
that's just a path that leads you to more pain
where only losers claim to lead the state
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 6:25 AM UTC
bring guns, bombs too, watch us die two by two, hands can heal ,but stocks can mold and in this another man is sold ,forgotten grass and blue filled sky, as you look into another mans eyes, to watch him wain and fall in vain, and all that was left was a blood colored stain, so the man is gone the machine is done and the world goes marching on.
Jun 22, 2011
Jun 22, 2011 at 9:13 PM UTC
Our hero in red came tumbling down
A heavy fall but no sigh or a frown
He ate and he drank and made good of the mess
Then he disappeared back up the chimney no less.
"Mum, Dad it's christmas" came the shout
Children run down the stairs to see if Santa's about
An empty glass and a two half eaten pies
Then a big sack of presents catch the children's eyes
The parents look on with a sense of joy
Each present is opened; some sweets and a toy
It's picture perfect, a moment to tresure
If only every child could experience such pleasure.
If only our hero knew of some children's tears
No letter no presents no love, only fears
He'd do all he could to bring joy to their heart
A cuddle, a smile and laughter's a start
Love doesn't cost money, a smile causes no pain
Be there for each other, never let that togtherness wain
A present is for christmas but a family's love is for ever
remember true values its the being together.
Dec 7, 2009
Dec 7, 2009 at 1:33 AM UTC
To fire and dust, ran my Father’s veins-
His sudden tempers, fast to wain,
Considered judgments, swift but sure;
Against stray pathos, well immured.
Fire and dust, through all his days-
Meanings strict as he would say;
Toward logic, reasoning flowed his mind,
With love, the tension to unwind.
How I miss the fire and dust of him,
And miss the years, now memory’s dim;
As diamonds hide their humbler sides,
Their closed channels, to abide.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 5:05 PM UTC
I have made many trips wandering far and wide. I made it home. Now that I have made my ending journey. A few words I leave you.
My body faded away. I went on to the glorious blue realm of heaven as the splendid fragrance of sage surrounded me. Those that have gone on before waved me on with laughter and celebration. An angel so beautiful that words cannot explain opened his arms and invited me to make my final trip.
"Don't be sad, be happy for me."
For today I sit at Jesus feet.
My Spirit took flight with angel's breath
Like leaves in the fall that wain as the
new season comes.
I have reached my final home.
I will see you again when your season comes.
"Don't be sad. Be Happy for me."
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,
And fiery hearts and armed hands
Encountered in the battle cloud.
Ah! I never shall the land forget
How gushed the life-blood of her brave--
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,
Upon the soil they fought to save.
Now all is calm, and fresh, and still,
Alone the chirp of flitting bird,
And talk of children on the hill,
And bell of wandering kine are heard.
No solemn host goes trailing by
The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;
Men start not at the battle-cry,
Oh, be it never heard again!
Soon rested those who fought; but thou
Who minglest in the harder strife
For truths which men receive not now
Thy warfare only ends with life.
A friendless warfare! lingering long
Through weary day and weary year.
A wild and many-weaponed throng
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.
Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,
And blench not at thy chosen lot.
The timid good may stand aloof,
The sage may frown--yet faint thou not.
Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;
For with thy side shall dwell, at last,
The victory of endurance born.
Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshippers.
Yea, though thou lie upon the dust,
When they who helped thee flee in fear,
Die full of hope and manly trust,
Like those who fell in battle here.
Another hand thy sword shall wield,
Another hand the standard wave,
Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.
937
Are you going to the Scarborough Fair?
Drowning in mists of gardens unfair,
No I'm not going to Scarborough Fair.
You may ne'er return from there,
So cross the hatch on Scarborough Fair.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
I'm turning into Louis Wain
going quite insane.
the cats complain
I do not hear.
Fear
the Devil and his deeds
for he will satisfy your needs
and then will ask for payment.
Content to be
insane that's me
my cats are all I see
and they're not real
they sit at tables playing cards
drinking alcohol.
In feet and yards they're streets ahead
purring, whirring round my bed
I cannot sleep
them dratted cats keep me awake.
I should take another leaf
become a thief
and draw the dogs
who hide behind my frosted eyes on worsted woollen sheets
made by ladies on the coast
in Brighton mostly but some do live in Shoreham by the sea
I love them and they do love me and they love my cats that's plain to see
except by me
I hate the little sods.
Making rods for my own back
I draw them toting haversacks
which they will surely fill with me.
I see it
The cats see it
the dogs are nowhere to be found
like lunatics they've burrowed under
formed the doggie parlour underground.
What glee
what medicine for me.
What time is it?
Oh half past three
I'm turning into Louis Wain
I've said that once but once again and just to let you know
I hate cats
they're so unpredictable.
Can't erase them when I've drawn them
It's almost as if I want to spawn them
I guess that's why I'm locked inside
behind the walls where madmen hide
with cats.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
Best friend who i adore,
theres this secret inside that i store.
with a love that cant be physical,
lies a love for you as divine as holy miracle.
You are that friend that i fall to in need,
but this love would destroy you if ever freed.
so upon this sky of clearest night,
to confess is a battle that i have chosen to fight.
Goddess who watches from up above,
take my heart as beautiful as your whitest Dove,
and hide it away so it cannot stain,
a friendship that in ages does not wain.
My lips cannot venture onto your lips,
for fear that confession will be drawn to my tounges tip.
so to your cheek i place this moment.
and keep it close to make memory potent.
i love you too much to love you more,
so this passion i hide behind locked doors.
my friend, my past, my present and loves truest lament.
i regret not a second that i have spent.
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 5:10 PM UTC
The sludge was thick, the rain was heavy
His laughter, maniacal, rasp with levy
Smug, the broad tree's rustle and whir
Demon's of the night wrestle and purr
He sweat's
Cry's
Fight's
With pain
Scream's frantically into the night, at the back of his wain.
This man was sickly stuck
He slumped to the floor at the back of his coach,
As death leered down, to the quivering roach.
Best this man, be the one that quickened his route, and never gave up In his head's pursuit, but Instead lay In the mud while the world pulls him In.
Devoured by the,
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
its not about the antecedent
that as it is sometimes called
i dreamed of you
you being here
and breathing on me
holding hands-full of gold
jingling around my boney sides
grasping for zebra animal crackers
holding me against the wall
turning up and down the commercials
i cherish you in these moments
making it seem like time is no longer passing
making me believe this is real
low fives
and highs
tag team the whole thing
hate
love
your choice
but
i win
wan
wain
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC