"waked" poems
I heard a cry in the night,
A thousand miles it came,
Sharp as a flash of light,
My name, my name!
It was your voice I heard,
You waked and loved me so—
I send you back this word,
I know, I know!
19.7k
87
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear—
A waking on a morn
To find that what one waked for,
Inhales the different dawn.
3.7k
I
Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,
Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna;
Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt
The basses of their beings throb
In witching chords, and their thin blood
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.
II
In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.
Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.
She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.
A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned--
A cymbal crashed,
Amid roaring horns.
III
Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.
They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side;
And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.
Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.
And then, the simpering Byzantines
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.
IV
Beauty is momentary in the mind--
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.
The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.
Susanna's music touched the ***** strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.
3.5k
I’ve been drowning in the ocean of your eyes
It’s turning into the only thing I know
And it may be the thing that breaks me
But I can’t forget it’s the thing that waked me
Treading water when I long to fly
The way you smile when I want to cry
This just might be the roses thorn
I’m torn
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC
Now the rich cherry, whose sleek wood,
And top with silver petals traced
Like a strict box its gems encased,
Has spilt from out that cunning lid,
All in an innocent green round,
Those melting rubies which it hid;
With moss ripe-strawberry-encrusted,
So birds get half, and minds lapse merry
To taste that deep-red, lark’s-bite berry,
And blackcap bloom is yellow-dusted.
The wren that thieved it in the eaves
A trailer of the rose could catch
To her poor droopy sloven thatch,
And side by side with the wren’s brood—
O lovely time of beggar’s luck—
Opens the quaint and hairy bud;
And full and golden is the yield
Of cows that never have to house,
But all night nibble under boughs,
Or cool their sides in the moist field.
Into the rooms flow meadow airs,
The warm farm baking smell’s blown round.
Inside and out, and sky and ground
Are much the same; the wishing star,
Hesperus, kind and early born,
Is risen only finger-far;
All stars stand close in summer air,
And tremble, and look mild as amber;
When wicks are lighted in the chamber,
They are like stars which settled there.
Now straightening from the flowery hay,
Down the still light the mowers look,
Or turn, because their dreaming shook,
And they waked half to other days,
When left alone in the yellow stubble
The rusty-coated mare would graze.
Yet thick the lazy dreams are born,
Another thought can come to mind,
But like the shivering of the wind,
Morning and evening in the corn.
3.1k
(Inspired by This Is the House That Jack Built)
Crack House
This is the house that police raided.
This is the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the homeless man that begged at morn,
That waked the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the panhandler all forlorn,
That supported the homeless man that begged at morn,
That waked the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the cardboard sign and clothes all torn,
That belonged to the panhandler all forlorn,
That supported the man that begged at morn,
That waked the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC
Gone is the long, long winter night;
Look, my beloved one!
How glorious, through his depths of light,
Rolls the majestic sun!
The willows, waked from winter's death,
Give out a fragrance like thy breath--
The summer is begun!
Ay, 'tis the long bright summer day:
Hark, to that mighty crash!
The loosened ice-ridge breaks away--
The smitten waters flash.
Seaward the glittering mountain rides,
While, down its green translucent sides,
The foamy torrents dash.
See, love, my boat is moored for thee,
By ocean's weedy floor--
The petrel does not skim the sea
More swiftly than my oar.
We'll go, where, on the rocky isles,
Her eggs the screaming sea-fowl piles
Beside the pebbly shore.
Or, bide thou where the poppy blows,
With wind-flowers frail and fair,
While I, upon his isle of snows,
Seek and defy the bear.
Fierce though he be, and huge of frame,
This arm his savage strength shall tame,
And drag him from his lair.
When crimson sky and flamy cloud
Bespeak the summer o'er,
And the dead valleys wear a shroud
Of snows that melt no more,
I'll build of ice thy winter home,
With glistening walls and glassy dome,
And spread with skins the floor.
The white fox by thy couch shall play;
And, from the frozen skies,
The meteors of a mimic day
Shall flash upon thine eyes.
And I--for such thy vow--meanwhile
Shall hear thy voice and see thy smile,
Till that long midnight flies.
2.6k
Two sisters walked by the tropical shore
And gazed at the sunset the west
On an island with the silhouettes of palm trees
They sat, and watched the pretty sunset
As it faded
Like a painting being erased from canvas
After that came Night and we danced
With the Sea Fairies
We sang the prettiest Tropical songs
And hushed the world to sleep
And we played on the Enchanted ukulele
And on the prettiest harp you ever heard
We sung and danced
And played on our ukulele and harp
All Night long
The next morning the dew
Like sparkling shining jewels
Kissed the hibiscus blooms
And waked them up from sleep
And the breeze stirred
The lacy green leaves
Of the majestic palm trees
Sunrays felt lovely and warm
On our cheeks
And the ocean never
Felt cooler
When we waded through
The singing waves that morning
~Marian~
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC
Howe's Final version
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fatal lightning of his terrible swift sword:
His Truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
His Day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:
'As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on.'
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment-seat:
Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his ***** that transfigures you and me:
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
2. Howe's First Manuscript Version
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.
He is trampling out the wine press, where the grapes of wrath are stored,
He hath loosed the fateful lightnings of his terrible swift sword,
His truth is marching on.
I have seen him in the watchfires of an hundred circling camps
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps,
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps,
His day is marching on.
I have read a burning Gospel writ in fiery rows of steel,
As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal
Let the hero born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Our God is marching on.
He has sounded out the trumpet that shall never call retreat,
He has waked the earth's dull sorrow with a high ecstatic beat,
Oh! be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet
Our God is marching on.
In the whiteness of the lilies he was born across the sea
With a glory in his ***** that shines out on you and me,
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
Our God is marching on.
He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave
He is wisdom to the mighty, he is sucour to the brave
So the world shall be his footstool, and the soul of Time his slave
Our God is marching on.
2.6k
(From a Persian Carpet)
Ash and strewments, the first moth-wings, pale
Ardour of brief evenings, on the fecund wind;
Or all a wing, less than wind,
Breath of low herbs upfloats, petal or wing,
Haunting the musk precincts of burial.
For the season of newer riches moves triumphing,
Of the evanescence of deaths. These potpourris
Earth-tinctured, jet insect-bead, cinder of bloom—
How weigh while a great summer knows increase,
Ceaselessly risen, what there entombs?—
Of candour fallen from the slight stems of Mays,
Corrupt of the rim a blue shades, pensively:
So a fatigue of wishes will young eyes.
And brightened, unpurged eyes of revery, now
Not to glance to fabulous groves again!
For now deep presence is, and binds its close,
And closes down the wreathed alleys escape of sighs.
And now rich time is weaving, hidden tree,
The fable of orient threads from bough to bough.
Old rinded wood, whose lissomeness within
Has reached from nothing to its covering
These many corymbs’ flourish!—And the green
Shells which wait amber, breathing, wrought
Towards the still trance of summer’s centering,
Motives by ravished humble fingers set,
Each in a noon of its own infinite.
And here is leant the branch and its repose
of the deep leaf to the pilgrim plume. Repose,
Inflections brilliant and mute of the voyager, light!
And here the nests, and freshet throats resume
Notes over and over found, names
For the silvery ascensions of joy. Nothing is here
But moss and its bells now of the root’s night;
But the beetle’s bower, and arc from grass to grass
For the flight in gauze. Now its fresh lair,
Grass-deep, nestles the cool eft to stir
Vague newborn limbs, and the bud’s dark winding has
Access of day. Now on the subtle noon
Time’s image, at pause with being, labours free
Of all its charge, for each in coverts laid,
Of clement kind; and everlastingly,
In some elision of bright moments is known,
Changed wide as Eden, the branch whose silence sways
Dazzle of the murmurous leaves to continual tone;
Its separations, sighing to own again
Being of the ignorant wish; and sways to sight,
Waked from it nighted, the marvelous foundlings of light;
Risen and weaving from the ceaseless root
A divine ease whispers toward fruitfulness,
While all a summer’s conscience tempts the fruit.
2.6k
I wake in a rusted copper red stained bed,
and focus my gaze though the window ahead,
to see the sun rise in a crimson, flame, flush, shade of glow,
the view reflected in my eyes seem burnt, but cold and slow,
I see rose red flowers in the meadow,
and the shine of a rainbow,
the sea of dark pastels in a strawberry sky,
the cardinals fly,
and as I change my sight to the inside,
the fluttering spotted ladybug try to hide,
I get up and walk across the maroon hard wood floor,
until my feet finally reach the bathroom door,
and I reach a sad sight inside the white room,
the seen is diluted and blank to the view,
I raise my body in fists of hateful recklessness,
and crash my ****** fists into the mirror in elegance,
and helplessly the glass reflections fall to the floor,
and cuts me until my blood flows to the door,
the spotted ladybug hiding on the ground,
couldn't escape the fateful death as it drowned,
and I collapsed next to the bug,
and soaked my skin into the ****** rug.
and I waked to find a sea of vermilion,
acting like a chameleon,
as it laid in pools across my pale bare floors,
as something to large like a corps to ignore.
Vermilion red in my eyes,
Vermilion red stuck in my mind,
Vermilion red lives until I leave for the sky.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
Viola and Shakespeare...
Love you till craziness...
Love you..carved it on the moon's cheek...
love you..and need you in spite of the difficulties and the dangers...
love you..and i confess in front of all humans...
love you..and adore you ,o my fate and my luck...
love you..hug it and play with it at the string...
love you..you are my Viola and i am your Shakespeare...
Viola mine...
your Shakespeare came again...
came to you from the heaven...
because he got bored from the heaven...
the heaven its not a heaven when you are not there...
came Shakespeare to you,Viola...
to give you a life's kisses...
to wake up you to his world...
to play with him the same story love at a same theater...
and to share the new love world with you...
come Viola...
come to me from among all humans...
come and don't hide again...
come and be the lover...
come and don't be afraid...
even don't afraid from the queen...
don't afraid from all others...
i came to you from the heaven...
to make a new heaven here with you...
come Viola, come to me...
your soul waked up me...
Viola...
we will not hide our love anymore...
our love which started there...
from a first kiss on a theater's wood...
come Viola...
i will create a new theater to our love...
only for you and me...
to learn all lovers,how should a love be...
Viola..sweetheart...
your Shakespeare came to you...
came because of and for you...
you are Viola...
and i am your Shakespeare...
love you Viola mine...
here and there and in our lovely heaven...
yours now and forever....
Shakespeare...
by hazem al jaber ...
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 2:40 AM UTC
172
’Tis so much joy! ’Tis so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I,
Have ventured all upon a throw!
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so—
This side the Victory!
Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!
Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
And if indeed I fail,
At least, to know the worst, is sweet!
Defeat means nothing but Defeat,
No drearier, can befall!
And if I gain! Oh Gun at Sea!
Oh Bells, that in the Steeples be!
At first, repeat it slow!
For Heaven is a different thing,
Conjectured, and waked sudden in—
And might extinguish me!
2.3k
XXIII
Methought I saw my late espousèd saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Whom Jove’s great son to her glad husband gave,
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint
Purification in the Old Law did save,
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heav’n without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
But O, as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
2.1k
I have remembered beauty in the night,
Against black silences I waked to see
A shower of sunlight over Italy
And green Ravello dreaming on her height;
I have remembered music in the dark,
The clean swift brightness of a fugue of Bach’s,
And running water singing on the rocks
When once in English woods I heard a lark.
But all remembered beauty is no more
Than a vague pelude to the thought of you—
You are the rarest soul I ever knew,
Lover of beauty, knightliest and best,
My thoughts seek you as waves that seek the shore,
And when I think of you I am at rest.
2.1k
2 days
Of internal despair,
My lungs seemed to
Have forgotten what it is
To breathe.
My body isn't mine anymore,
I'm stuck in it,
My mind racing with thoughts
Of the night you tried
To make me yours.
Never have I been able to
Truly overwhelm
Over songs that narrate
Stories I never thought
I'd have to tell.
My bed never felt so empty,
I've never felt so hopeless
Over humanity.
So when I sit and see
The horizon,
It's as if the waves
Wash away the lies within.
When the below temperature water
Washes over my feet,
It's in those few seconds
That I begin to feel like me.
Me.
The one who kept hope
Despite her father's constant "no."
The one with veins profound in color
And in the words that seep out of them.
My second day of
Internal despair,
And as I waked upon pink sea **** so rare,
I inhaled salt water...
And for the first time in days,
My lungs remember air.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
Vientecico murmurador,
Que lo gozas y andas todo, &c.;
Airs, that wander and murmur round,
Bearing delight where'er ye blow!
Make in the elms a lulling sound,
While my lady sleeps in the shade below.
Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest,
Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er.
Sweet be her slumbers! though in my breast
The pain she has waked may slumber no more.
Breathing soft from the blue profound,
Bearing delight where'er ye blow,
Make in the elms a lulling sound,
While my lady sleeps in the shade below.
Airs! that over the bending boughs,
And under the shade of pendent leaves,
Murmur soft, like my timid vows
Or the secret sighs my ***** heaves,--
Gently sweeping the grassy ground,
Bearing delight where'er ye blow,
Make in the elms a lulling sound,
While my lady sleeps in the shade below.
2.1k
All trembling in my arms Aminta lay,
Defending of the bliss I strove to take;
Raising my rapture by her kind delay,
Her force so charming was and weak.
The soft resistance did betray the grant,
While I pressed on the heaven of my desires;
Her rising ******* with nimbler motions pant;
Her dying eyes assume new fires.
Now to the height of languishment she grows,
And still her looks new charms put on;
– Now the last mystery of Love she knows,
We sigh, and kiss: I waked, and all was done.
'Twas but a dream, yet by my heart I knew,
Which still was panting, part of it was true:
Oh how I strove the rest to have believed;
Ashamed and angry to be undeceived!
2k
A diamond of a morning
Waked me an hour too soon;
Dawn had taken in the stars
And left the faint white moon.
O white moon, you are lonely,
It is the same with me,
But we have the world to roam over,
Only the lonely are free.
2.1k
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eyelids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought expressed,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o’er all my soul impressed
That I am weak, yet not unblessed,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal strength and wisdom are.
But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.
So two nights passed: the night’s dismay
Saddened and stunned the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
Distemper’s worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O’ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child;
And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stained with sin,—
For aye entempesting anew
The unfathomable hell within
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.
1.9k
Best and brightest, come away,
Fairer far than this fair day,
Which, like thee, to those in sorrow
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Spring
Through the Winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon morn
To **** February born;
Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kissed the forehead of the earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams be free,
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May
Strewed flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.
Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs -
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music, lest it should not find
An echo in another’s mind,
While the touch of Nature’s art
Harmonizes heart to heart.
Radiant Sister of the Day
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains,
To the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green, and ivy dun,
Round stems that never kiss the sun,
Where the lawns and pastures be
And the sandhills of the sea,
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers and violets
Which yet join not scent to hue
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dim and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal Sun.
1.9k
Fair is thy site, Sorrento, green thy shore,
Black crags behind thee pierce the clear blue skies;
The sea, whose borderers ruled the world of yore,
As clear and bluer still before thee lies.
Vesuvius smokes in sight, whose fount of fire,
Outgushing, drowned the cities on his steeps;
And murmuring Naples, spire o'ertopping spire,
Sits on the slope beyond where Virgil sleeps.
Here doth the earth, with flowers of every hue,
Heap her green breast when April suns are bright,
Flowers of the morning-red, or ocean-blue,
Or like the mountain frost of silvery white.
Currents of fragrance, from the orange tree,
And sward of violets, breathing to and fro,
Mingle, and wandering out upon the sea,
Refresh the idle boatsman where they blow.
Yet even here, as under harsher climes,
Tears for the loved and early lost are shed;
That soft air saddens with the funeral chimes,
Those shining flowers are gathered for the dead.
Here once a child, a smiling playful one,
All the day long caressing and caressed,
Died when its little tongue had just begun
To lisp the names of those it loved the best.
The father strove his struggling grief to quell,
The mother wept as mothers use to weep,
Two little sisters wearied them to tell
When their dear Carlo would awake from sleep.
Within an inner room his couch they spread,
His funeral couch; with mingled grief and love,
They laid a crown of roses on his head,
And murmured, "Brighter is his crown above."
They scattered round him, on the snowy sheet,
Laburnum's strings of sunny-coloured gems,
Sad hyacinths, and violets dim and sweet,
And orange blossoms on their dark green stems.
And now the hour is come, the priest is there;
Torches are lit and bells are tolled; they go,
With solemn rites of blessing and of prayer,
To lay the little corpse in earth below.
The door is opened; hark! that quick glad cry;
Carlo has waked, has waked, and is at play;
The little sisters laugh and leap, and try
To climb the bed on which the infant lay.
And there he sits alone, and gayly shakes
In his full hands, the blossoms red and white,
And smiles with winking eyes, like one who wakes
From long deep slumbers at the morning light.
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784
Bereaved of all, I went abroad—
No less bereaved was I
Upon a New Peninsula—
The Grave preceded me—
Obtained my Lodgings, ere myself—
And when I sought my Bed—
The Grave it was reposed upon
The Pillow for my Head—
I waked to find it first awake—
I rose—It followed me—
I tried to drop it in the Crowd—
To lose it in the Sea—
In Cups of artificial Drowse
To steep its shape away—
The Grave—was finished—but the *****
Remained in Memory—
1.8k
9th month
September2013:
blue skys
warm air
at night it would go cold
the autumn leaves slowly started to fall
still rained from the summer
and the cold wind
started to chill us to the bone
On the first week
i walked to my friends house
with Zoe and her french exchange student Elise on my side,
we waked into Zoes house and sat in the kitchen
Elise had an apple with peanut butter
Me and Zoe Had Soup
We walked after to a little River bank,
Elise sat on the rocks
i skipped flat rocks like Amelie Poulain
Zoe took picutres of the river.
We found a ripped dollar bill with a phone number written on it
Zoe texted it, no answer
it rained later that evening
i reasted on my bed and thought about the day
with a smile
i Biked to my favorite field
one evening...
recited a poem i made up in my head
the one line that i repeted was
" Will the love of Fall and Winter choose me this year?"
a week later a girl named Kirsten walked into my life
with a smile and wave, i wanted to meet her
we talked one day and planned to go to my favorite field
on a Friday..Friday the 13th..not so unlucky
though i cut myself shaving
i went to go meet her that friday
i walked down the stairs
there she was at the bottom of the stair case
"What will become of us?"i thought
She facing the other way,
i wondered if we would become friends
I tapped her on the shoulder
turned around with a surpised look
then she gave me a warm smile
We went to the field
sat in a childrens park
Then sat in the grass that melted in the sun
i showed her a leaf that looked like a heart
..i kept it under my hat...
i walked her home, she lived close by
i gave her a hug and left with a smile on my face
Got home and put the heart leaf on my wall
We became friends
Talked everyday
i would walk her home
and meet her in the field
as i came in riding my bike
She kissed me before i left...
I started to fancy her
she to started fancy me
I asked if she would be mine
she told me wait
i said " i will!"
Nights came
when we walked around looking the stars and looking at the city lights
laying the grass and runnning around
we were happy
The night was ours
She kissed me goodnight
i went home
fell upon my flower my bed
and dreamed of her...
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:51 PM UTC
Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs
No school of long experience, that the world
Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen
Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,
To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood
And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade
Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze
That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm
To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here
Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men
And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse
Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,
But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt
Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shades
Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof
Of green and stirring branches is alive
And musical with birds, that sing and sport
In wantonness of spirit; while below
The squirrel, with raised paws and form *****
Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade
Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam
That waked them into life. Even the green trees
Partake the deep contentment; as they bend
To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky
Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.
Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy
Existence, than the winged plunderer
That ***** its sweets. The massy rocks themselves,
And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees
That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,
With all their earth upon them, twisting high,
Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet
Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed
Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,
Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
In its own being. Softly tread the marge,
Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren
That dips her bill in water. The cool wind,
That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee,
Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass
Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.
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