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"watchman" poems
This Advent moon shines cold and clear, These Advent nights are long; Our lamps have burned year after year, And still their flame is strong. "Watchman, what of the night?" we cry, Heart-sick with hope deferred: "No speaking signs are in the sky," Is still the watchman's word. The Porter watches at the gate, The servants watch within; The watch is long betimes and late, The prize is slow to win. "Watchman, what of the night?" but still His answer sounds the same: "No daybreak tops the utmost hill, Nor pale our lamps of flame." One to another hear them speak, The patient virgins wise: "Surely He is not far to seek,"-- "All night we watch and rise." "The days are evil looking back, The coming days are dim; Yet count we not His promise slack, But watch and wait for Him." One with another, soul with soul, They kindle fire from fire: "Friends watch us who have touched the goal." "They urge us, come up higher." "With them shall rest our waysore feet, With them is built our home, With Christ." "They sweet, but He most sweet, Sweeter than honeycomb." There no more parting, no more pain, The distant ones brought near, The lost so long are found again, Long lost but longer dear: Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, Nor heart conceived that rest, With them our good things long deferred, With Jesus Christ our Best. We weep because the night is long, We laugh, for day shall rise, We sing a slow contented song And knock at Paradise. Weeping we hold Him fast Who wept For us,--we hold Him fast; And will not let Him go except He bless us first or last. Weeping we hold Him fast to-night; We will not let Him go Till daybreak smite our wearied sight, And summer smite the snow: Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove Shall coo the livelong day; Then He shall say, "Arise, My love, My fair one, come away."
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Advent
This Advent moon shines cold and clear, These Advent nights are long; Our lamps have burned year after year, And still their flame is strong. "Watchman, what of the night?" we cry, Heart-sick with hope deferred: "No speaking signs are in the sky," Is still the watchman's word. The Porter watches at the gate, The servants watch within; The watch is long betimes and late, The prize is slow to win. "Watchman, what of the night?" but still His answer sounds the same: "No daybreak tops the utmost hill, Nor pale our lamps of flame." One to another hear them speak, The patient virgins wise: "Surely He is not far to seek,"-- "All night we watch and rise." "The days are evil looking back, The coming days are dim; Yet count we not His promise slack, But watch and wait for Him." One with another, soul with soul, They kindle fire from fire: "Friends watch us who have touched the goal." "They urge us, come up higher." "With them shall rest our waysore feet, With them is built our home, With Christ." "They sweet, but He most sweet, Sweeter than honeycomb." There no more parting, no more pain, The distant ones brought near, The lost so long are found again, Long lost but longer dear: Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, Nor heart conceived that rest, With them our good things long deferred, With Jesus Christ our Best. We weep because the night is long, We laugh, for day shall rise, We sing a slow contented song And knock at Paradise. Weeping we hold Him fast Who wept For us,--we hold Him fast; And will not let Him go except He bless us first or last. Weeping we hold Him fast to-night; We will not let Him go Till daybreak smite our wearied sight, And summer smite the snow: Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove Shall coo the livelong day; Then He shall say, "Arise, My love, My fair one, come away."
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Up, O ye lovers, and away! 'Tis time to leave the world for aye. Hark, loud and clear from heaven the from of parting calls-let none delay! The cameleer hat risen amain, made ready all the camel-train, And quittance now desires to gain: why sleep ye, travellers, I pray? Behind us and before there swells the din of parting and of bells; To shoreless space each moment sails a disembodied spirit away. From yonder starry lights, and through those curtain-awnings darkly blue, Mysterious figures float in view, all strange and secret things display. From this orb, wheeling round its pole, a wondrous slumber o'er thee stole: O weary life that weighest naught, O sleep that on my soul dost weigh! O heart, toward they heart's love wend, and O friend, fly toward the Friend, Be wakeful, watchman, to the end: drowse seemingly no watchman may.
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Departure
Magnolia Queen, Magnolia Queen Launch one thousand ships Oh, carry me back to the in-between Magnolia Queen, Magnolia Queen The shadows will dance, the shadows will dance The fire burns hot From the iron king cobra’s trance The shadows will dance, the shadows will dance Oh, carry me home, oh carry me home Through the absinthe seas Watching the watchman mumble and drone Oh, carry me home, oh carry me home Whittling the trees, whittling the trees Planets do align To the face of the Magnolia Queen Oh, only to the Magnolia Queen
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Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Magnolia Queen
It's that Stubborn Fever which keeps the Mood And forced your Jewels to croak a relapse Since a Year's Half-Pie you hoarded the Good And denied some Peers your Fortune, perhaps Are these the Charges we must Debate And defend the Truth of such Falsity It is a Blessing. That the Watchman was late To keep him from salting your Dignity Never again. Will this Harper reject And cut the Strings which Truth comes to rely To re-wire each String and play Respect Then tie on turtle-shells before it dies. Long-Distance Friend. The Black-Knobbed Swan's voice mute Flies away bleeding; And left out my Flute.
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Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
SONNET TRIBUTE SUNDRY - THIRTY-EIGHT - TOM DALEY
Forlorn as a destitute child, I wandered to the distant wild; Through a peculiar lonelier wood, Like a wave, roving as fast as I could. Not long, I came by a myrtle river bank Where early boughs grow wild and rank. There my eyes kissed upon wild flowers, All grandly dressed in neon colours, Rhythmically whispering lullabies, Ineffably upon velvety indigo skies, Whilst swaying in a friskier dance, That could render naked eyes in a trance. At such a mesmerizing sight, I drowned in a pool of sweet delight Hence in wonderment shook my head, And in a velvety voice whispered: "Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers What brings about thy Ineffable colors?" **And all flowers smiled and smiled, And exuberantly all thus replied:** "At dusk, when fair maidens of the night Grandly dress in flocks, of burning bright; And madly smiles about skies above, Oh! Their opalscent eyes we flowers love: So, from their pulchritudenous color; So lies the mysteries of our allure." At such a mesmerizing reply, Sweet delight oozed from mine eye Hence in wonderment shook my head, And in a velvety voice whispered: "Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers What brings about thy ineffable colors?" **And all flowers smiled and smiled, And exuberantly all thus replied:** "At dawn, when the day's watchman Doth weareth his novelty crown, And treads upon yonder skies above, Oh! His golden crown we flowers love: So, from his pulchritudenous color; So lies the mysteries of our allure." At such a mesmerizing reply, Sweet delight oozed from mine eye Hence in wonderment shook my head, And in a velvety voice whispered: "Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers What brings about thy ineffable colors?" **And all flowers smiled and smiled, And exuberantly all thus replied:** "When envious veils of dusk engulfs day, Paving the fairest Empress way; To grandly grace on yonder skies above, Oh! Her rainbow robes we flowers love: So, from her pulchritudenous colour; So lies the mysteries of our allure." At such a mesmerizing reply, Sweet delight oozed from mine eye Hence in wonderment shook my head, And in a velvety voice whispered: "Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers What brings about thy ineffable colors?" **'And all,' all flowers smiled and smiled; I mean, smiled, smiled and smiled, I say, smiled, smiled and smiled, And happiness bloomed in the wild.** #bliss of solitude ©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros Jumeira, Dubai 6th August 2017
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Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
SOLITUDE IN THE WILD
Forlorn as a destitute child, I wandered to the distant wild; Through a peculiar lonelier wood, Like a wave, roving as fast as I could. Not long, I came by a myrtle river bank Where early boughs grow wild and rank. There my eyes kissed upon wild flowers, All grandly dressed in neon colours, Rhythmically whispering lullabies, Ineffably upon velvety indigo skies, Whilst swaying in a friskier dance, That could render naked eyes in a trance. At such a mesmerizing sight, I drowned in a pool of sweet delight Hence in wonderment shook my head, And in a velvety voice whispered: "Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers What brings about thy Ineffable colors?" **And all flowers smiled and smiled, And exuberantly all thus replied:** "At dusk, when fair maidens of the night Grandly dress in flocks, of burning bright; And madly smiles about skies above, Oh! Their opalscent eyes we flowers love: So, from their pulchritudenous color; So lies the mysteries of our allure." At such a mesmerizing reply, Sweet delight oozed from mine eye Hence in wonderment shook my head, And in a velvety voice whispered: "Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers What brings about thy ineffable colors?" **And all flowers smiled and smiled, And exuberantly all thus replied:** "At dawn, when the day's watchman Doth weareth his novelty crown, And treads upon yonder skies above, Oh! His golden crown we flowers love: So, from his pulchritudenous color; So lies the mysteries of our allure." At such a mesmerizing reply, Sweet delight oozed from mine eye Hence in wonderment shook my head, And in a velvety voice whispered: "Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers What brings about thy ineffable colors?" **And all flowers smiled and smiled, And exuberantly all thus replied:** "When envious veils of dusk engulfs day, Paving the fairest Empress way; To grandly grace on yonder skies above, Oh! Her rainbow robes we flowers love: So, from her pulchritudenous colour; So lies the mysteries of our allure." At such a mesmerizing reply, Sweet delight oozed from mine eye Hence in wonderment shook my head, And in a velvety voice whispered: "Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers What brings about thy ineffable colors?" **'And all,' all flowers smiled and smiled; I mean, smiled, smiled and smiled, I say, smiled, smiled and smiled, And happiness bloomed in the wild.** #bliss of solitude ©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros Jumeira, Dubai 6th August 2017
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Once a dream did weave a shade, O’er my Angel-guarded bed. That an Emmet lost it’s way Where on grass methought I lay. Troubled wildered and forlorn Dark benighted travel-worn, Over many a tangled spray, All heart-broke I heard her say. O my children! do they cry, Do they hear their father sigh. Now they look abroad to see, Now return and weep for me. Pitying I dropp’d a tear; But I saw a glow-worm near: Who replied. What wailing wight Calls the watchman of the night. I am set to light the ground, While the beetle goes his round: Follow now the beetles hum, Little wanderer hie thee home.
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A Dream
I spy with my little eye Everyone and all The faintest smile The subtlest sign Everything strange and worrying And all that is normal Perhaps too normal And don’t feel scared It’s in your best interest That wicked smiles And dangerous signs And everything strange and worrying Is brought under attention Of people you can trust And don’t ask yourself Who is watching the watchmen With wicked ways And subtle methods It’s better to sit and relax And act normal But not too normal
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Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
The watchman
I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-by; And further still at an unearthly height One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.
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Acquainted With The Night
We stood in front of my grandmother’s Old almirah, facing each other The peacock feather and empty bags   Of the square room fell silent all over again, Like strangers we stood facing each other. Then they all came, marched in, reflections, Paraded in like martyrs of Brute’s History. I knew them all, she knew them too They came, touched us one by one, Like strangers we stood facing each other. She looked confused just like me Watching life pass by, centuries reuniting After a very long season break, nations- Travelled, explorers stood upstairs watching, Like strangers we stood facing each other. Streets strapped the coffee cans and middle- Aged hospitals swallowed wars. Married women Bend over like animals and in months, unable To breathe they gave birth to few number plates; Like strangers we stood facing each other. The city vomited battles, human heads And dreams of muted foul slaves. Men and- Their violent tradition screeched for blue number- Plates, lean number plates, handsome number plates; Like strangers we stood facing each other. Unexploded bombs bounced happy homes, My brothers, my kids, my mothers Blew their windows and ran, ran away, Ran afar without destination; Like strangers we stood facing each other. They were all dark, their land was darkness Or were we all blind? Like a watchman we preserved darkness, The vapours that filled their glasses did not speak; Like strangers we stood facing each other. We are all reflections, ripples and mirrors Of men-dead and living. They all stood outside my almirah, million faces Inside a mirror. She did recognize them; Like strangers we stood facing each other. She did nothing, an unusable empathy rolled in, The hypocrite did not even cry. In quiet hours she smelt pain, blood and History flowing from confronting corners; Like strangers we stood facing each other. An insignificant obligation drowned her nerve, They needed a home, candle flame, cotton and wool. The land, their land has become unfamiliar And they stood outside locked gates and laws; Like strangers we stood facing each other. They all smelt the same blood, the abused blood, I tried to kiss them and they kissed me back with- Their cold lips. I tried to touch them, they touched- Me back with water in their eyes; Like strangers we stood facing each other.
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Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
Like strangers
We stood in front of my grandmother’s Old almirah, facing each other The peacock feather and empty bags   Of the square room fell silent all over again, Like strangers we stood facing each other. Then they all came, marched in, reflections, Paraded in like martyrs of Brute’s History. I knew them all, she knew them too They came, touched us one by one, Like strangers we stood facing each other. She looked confused just like me Watching life pass by, centuries reuniting After a very long season break, nations- Travelled, explorers stood upstairs watching, Like strangers we stood facing each other. Streets strapped the coffee cans and middle- Aged hospitals swallowed wars. Married women Bend over like animals and in months, unable To breathe they gave birth to few number plates; Like strangers we stood facing each other. The city vomited battles, human heads And dreams of muted foul slaves. Men and- Their violent tradition screeched for blue number- Plates, lean number plates, handsome number plates; Like strangers we stood facing each other. Unexploded bombs bounced happy homes, My brothers, my kids, my mothers Blew their windows and ran, ran away, Ran afar without destination; Like strangers we stood facing each other. They were all dark, their land was darkness Or were we all blind? Like a watchman we preserved darkness, The vapours that filled their glasses did not speak; Like strangers we stood facing each other. We are all reflections, ripples and mirrors Of men-dead and living. They all stood outside my almirah, million faces Inside a mirror. She did recognize them; Like strangers we stood facing each other. She did nothing, an unusable empathy rolled in, The hypocrite did not even cry. In quiet hours she smelt pain, blood and History flowing from confronting corners; Like strangers we stood facing each other. An insignificant obligation drowned her nerve, They needed a home, candle flame, cotton and wool. The land, their land has become unfamiliar And they stood outside locked gates and laws; Like strangers we stood facing each other. They all smelt the same blood, the abused blood, I tried to kiss them and they kissed me back with- Their cold lips. I tried to touch them, they touched- Me back with water in their eyes; Like strangers we stood facing each other.
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# *Stone upon stone, the walls were raised; each block a silence, each silence a debt never spoken of aloud. Within, the child’s voice echoed, but the mortar held fast, sealing grief in chambers where no light could enter. From the outside, the fortress looked steady, even noble-- its towers reaching upward, its gates well-kept.. its banners bright. But within its walls, rot thickened and the beast.. undisturbed, found shelter. Every silence defended it. Every smile concealed it.    Every careful word    laid another stone    against the truth. And though the watchman cried, the city called the fortress beautiful. Every fortress defends but none heals.* Every wall that protects       is also a wall     that imprisons. #
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Aug 27, 2025
Aug 27, 2025 at 4:59 AM UTC
The Fortress
Is it thy will thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? Is it thy spirit that thou send’st from thee So far from home into my deeds to pry, To find out shames and idle hours in me, The scope and tenure of thy jealousy? O, no, thy love, though much, is not so great; It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, To play the watchman ever for thy sake. For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near.
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Sonnet 061: Is It Thy Will Thy Image Should Keep Open
Dear Watchman, Without thy gaze into the far Without the warning, danger, Without thought or care Lost, would we be Lambs. In a world dressed with smiles Hiding the vicissitudes The callous calls of fury This citadel would fall Without this Watchman Watching. This land, this precious soil It creeps with terror skulking in the dark Your lighthouse looks for passage And your gaze looks Protecting. Keep looking Watchman, Keep eyes firm, Stern or starboard clear We set sail knowing That your light will guide Your eyes protect Your wisdom dear.
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Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
The Watchman
.*i can think of one cool job... a nighttime DJ on a radio station... anything more cool than being a DJ between the hours 12am through to 5am? honestly... can't think of a cooler job... all the song requests are gone from the classical.fm show between 3pm and 5pm... now one is telling you what to do... **** me... as a kid... either a veterinarian, or an owner of a music shop... now? an insomniac DJ... they would never play Christopher Young's Something to Think About in the afternoon... sorry... i'm a Hellraiser cult-follower of the first two movies... and that song? why? i just can't be bothered with listening to that Braveheart over-scratched Song of / for a Princess... it's good... once in a while... but, come, on!* just one of those nights... having listened to the scoops from the alternative... worried your to hell about not having ******* enough concerning the previous day's load which would make the pleasures of **** *** look tame... perched on a windowsill - solving a sudoku -    and listening to Frank Zappa's occam's razor... and wishing:   making sure it was never hot in the city by Billy Idol, or Kiss' crazy nights to usher in the night,           and the watchman... why?    it's not your standard guitar solo... it's a medley...     big difference... guitar solos are bound to a strict return to the rhythm section...    they are caged beasts... composed of a restricted time constrain in a song... but a guitar medley? **** me...      it's what obliterates a need for vocals...    the guitar medley is the vocals substitute...              and that aspect of music? mm... gummy bears... jelly in the knees...            which is why i like the fact that jazz is the antithesis of classical music symphony... sure... i get the Schubert / Schumann piano duets...    nice...          but jazz? the breakdown of the quintet? **** let me count... piano, drums...         bass... horn... sax... yep, a quintet...           that moment in a jazz song? where each instrument player gets his solo? genius!             the same with a guitar medley... neither solo,   nor the rhythm section... what a beautiful opening to what i expect to be, a beautiful night:    as the watchman once said.
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Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
ZAPPAH!
.*i can think of one cool job... a nighttime DJ on a radio station... anything more cool than being a DJ between the hours 12am through to 5am? honestly... can't think of a cooler job... all the song requests are gone from the classical.fm show between 3pm and 5pm... now one is telling you what to do... **** me... as a kid... either a veterinarian, or an owner of a music shop... now? an insomniac DJ... they would never play Christopher Young's Something to Think About in the afternoon... sorry... i'm a Hellraiser cult-follower of the first two movies... and that song? why? i just can't be bothered with listening to that Braveheart over-scratched Song of / for a Princess... it's good... once in a while... but, come, on!* just one of those nights... having listened to the scoops from the alternative... worried your to hell about not having ******* enough concerning the previous day's load which would make the pleasures of **** *** look tame... perched on a windowsill - solving a sudoku -    and listening to Frank Zappa's occam's razor... and wishing:   making sure it was never hot in the city by Billy Idol, or Kiss' crazy nights to usher in the night,           and the watchman... why?    it's not your standard guitar solo... it's a medley...     big difference... guitar solos are bound to a strict return to the rhythm section...    they are caged beasts... composed of a restricted time constrain in a song... but a guitar medley? **** me...      it's what obliterates a need for vocals...    the guitar medley is the vocals substitute...              and that aspect of music? mm... gummy bears... jelly in the knees...            which is why i like the fact that jazz is the antithesis of classical music symphony... sure... i get the Schubert / Schumann piano duets...    nice...          but jazz? the breakdown of the quintet? **** let me count... piano, drums...         bass... horn... sax... yep, a quintet...           that moment in a jazz song? where each instrument player gets his solo? genius!             the same with a guitar medley... neither solo,   nor the rhythm section... what a beautiful opening to what i expect to be, a beautiful night:    as the watchman once said.
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my **** is like a monster not dimensionally speaking it's a monster like a wild little dingo with a huge appetite and some really mean ***** like kamikaze surfers waiting for take-off with their engines on when i see you you are blond like something i might regret you are pretty like something i always knew and loved and your voice reminds me of a girl i used to care about but never actually met your voice is perfect and always sings in tune its midnight, really and the band plays the last song and they play it like its their last ever and you say you always wanted a double-bass player in your band but i say i can play the banjo like the world is coming to an end and "baby its cold outside" yes it is colder than it ever was but its OK you got a bike i live around the corner so its goodnight from me me the out of order gentle ****** predator the ***** watchman that just switched-off the lights the good lieutenant of the debauched night shift me, with a heart as big as the Pacific and a smile that says **** me pretty please goodnight
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Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
Wild Little Dingo
In an age of persecution When Christians died For their beliefs Apostle John wrote Revelation To encourage and Bring relief First century folk Who held Jesus' tenants Were martyred in Most horrid ways But John wrote about His coming Christ described the End of Days. The early faithful Found their solace In the Gospel Sweet & pure The Bible's WORD Was ever spoken And its precepts Still endure Modern man cannot Believe it Because he has A hardened heart But when tribulation Finds him Rest assured he'll come apart! So we put our trust in Jesus? IS He simply "fairy tale"? Why did Christians Sing their hearts out When lit on fire and impaled? How could they endure Having their heads drilled Molten lead then poured within? How could could they Be so calm & joyous When lions tore them Limb from limb? Their contemporaries Could not believe it! When Christ was preached It was received! The Gospel forwarded By each man dying By their blood The folk believed! Now Christian people Won't mention Jesus! They give sin a little wink! They're afraid of persecution By caring what the Lost may think! Wake up, folks! The toast is burning! Give witnessing The college try! There are hearts Who're out there yearning! Cap'n Crunch waves us goodbye! I may get flack For this assertion I may get comments For to spare I may get called A backward person People... I don't really care! If I don't warn of God's Judgment Tribulations in this land I'm not a Watchman on The Wall here And your blood is on my hands! I'll read & preach From Revelation The ending always Helps us cope Read the outcome Of our suffering It will give ETERNAL HOPE. SøułSurvivør (C) 9/27/2017
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Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 1:41 AM UTC
Eternal Hope
In an age of persecution When Christians died For their beliefs Apostle John wrote Revelation To encourage and Bring relief First century folk Who held Jesus' tenants Were martyred in Most horrid ways But John wrote about His coming Christ described the End of Days. The early faithful Found their solace In the Gospel Sweet & pure The Bible's WORD Was ever spoken And its precepts Still endure Modern man cannot Believe it Because he has A hardened heart But when tribulation Finds him Rest assured he'll come apart! So we put our trust in Jesus? IS He simply "fairy tale"? Why did Christians Sing their hearts out When lit on fire and impaled? How could they endure Having their heads drilled Molten lead then poured within? How could could they Be so calm & joyous When lions tore them Limb from limb? Their contemporaries Could not believe it! When Christ was preached It was received! The Gospel forwarded By each man dying By their blood The folk believed! Now Christian people Won't mention Jesus! They give sin a little wink! They're afraid of persecution By caring what the Lost may think! Wake up, folks! The toast is burning! Give witnessing The college try! There are hearts Who're out there yearning! Cap'n Crunch waves us goodbye! I may get flack For this assertion I may get comments For to spare I may get called A backward person People... I don't really care! If I don't warn of God's Judgment Tribulations in this land I'm not a Watchman on The Wall here And your blood is on my hands! I'll read & preach From Revelation The ending always Helps us cope Read the outcome Of our suffering It will give ETERNAL HOPE. SøułSurvivør (C) 9/27/2017
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We are to busy looking at the grandeur                   of the nirvana above to realise that even though there is beauty exhaling  beyond our sights.                        That there is an inhiation of stunning metaphors                               swimming beneath ever wave.. Stories drowned beneath every convulsion that              swells with every passing rise of                                  nights eternal watchman. Immersed luminosity that never sees lambent ashes                                             hanging silently above. Only giving the onyx deep a light show                     of life's perfection to never fade away.. For in every darkness there is a shade of light,                and within every light there is a passing glimmer of shading. For no matter how far we ascend, what is beneath             still teaches us that we need to look into the  darkness to realise that we need go deeper                        before we ascend higher than our gaze wishes..
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Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 4:09 PM UTC
The Universe Is Waves Beneath Us
Lawrence Hall [email protected]   https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com                    Beowulf and the Danish Passport Officer                      From a recently discovered manuscript The clapped-out Boeing         wheezed to the gate The ground crew jumped                 name-tags rattling And swiftly moored the shining ocean-bird Behind his plastic shield a Danish official watched The travelers approach their passports raised He stood peeking down at the naughty selfie His girlfriend sent to his bold smart-phone Shaking his rubber stamp he spoke: “What is the purpose of your visit? Business, or pleasure? Hwaet! I’ve stood At this same gate longer than you know Keeping our gift shops free from British footer hooligans No commoner carries such fine matching luggage Unless his Rolex and his boyish good looks Are lies You! Tell me your name And your home address and your email! The quicker the better I’m off-duty in ten minutes.” Beowulf answered him Unlocking his smart-phone: “We are the Geats the mighty, mighty Geats! Men who follow Malmo FF Malmo FF the great! And we have come seeking Parken Stadium Greatest of all stadia Its shining seats polished By cheering generations of fat-full footer fans We have come to cheer Malmo FF While they whup up on Dansk Boldspil Union Instruct us, watchman Where is the stadium But first, where is the beer?” The worthy officer Answered him boldly: “A true fan knows The difference between fighting on the field And puking in the stands and keeps that knowledge clear In his beery brain I believe your babbling Go forward, credit cards and all on into Denmark Spend your money! Our exchange rate is generous! And then go home bearing our love while we bear your money.” (Stamp, stamp, stamp) “Tram stop to the left Taxis to the right” (Scholars everywhere will regret that here the burnt and torn manuscript breaks off.)
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Oct 4, 2021
Oct 4, 2021 at 9:10 AM UTC
Beowulf and the Danish Passport Officer
Lawrence Hall [email protected]   https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com                    Beowulf and the Danish Passport Officer                      From a recently discovered manuscript The clapped-out Boeing         wheezed to the gate The ground crew jumped                 name-tags rattling And swiftly moored the shining ocean-bird Behind his plastic shield a Danish official watched The travelers approach their passports raised He stood peeking down at the naughty selfie His girlfriend sent to his bold smart-phone Shaking his rubber stamp he spoke: “What is the purpose of your visit? Business, or pleasure? Hwaet! I’ve stood At this same gate longer than you know Keeping our gift shops free from British footer hooligans No commoner carries such fine matching luggage Unless his Rolex and his boyish good looks Are lies You! Tell me your name And your home address and your email! The quicker the better I’m off-duty in ten minutes.” Beowulf answered him Unlocking his smart-phone: “We are the Geats the mighty, mighty Geats! Men who follow Malmo FF Malmo FF the great! And we have come seeking Parken Stadium Greatest of all stadia Its shining seats polished By cheering generations of fat-full footer fans We have come to cheer Malmo FF While they whup up on Dansk Boldspil Union Instruct us, watchman Where is the stadium But first, where is the beer?” The worthy officer Answered him boldly: “A true fan knows The difference between fighting on the field And puking in the stands and keeps that knowledge clear In his beery brain I believe your babbling Go forward, credit cards and all on into Denmark Spend your money! Our exchange rate is generous! And then go home bearing our love while we bear your money.” (Stamp, stamp, stamp) “Tram stop to the left Taxis to the right” (Scholars everywhere will regret that here the burnt and torn manuscript breaks off.)
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They fought like crackers for the coveted prize from the green bud banter to the Sunday guise whipped in a frenzy by the Callaway score torn asunder at the elfin door The hoodwinked watchman holding council at post stung by the folly of the second floor host a wild card shuffle from numskulls and fools high on their trade and obstinate rules Trenchant voices remarkable cures Billy’s brigade and gob smacking boors wreaking havoc (in a flatulent way!) staunch and bitter and riled foul play Scissor tailed catcher and one eyed crow trolls and packers unfortunate woes Lloyd’s forgiveness and scowls at the chart ***** of fury from a shot gun start Gadfly’s and gripers are unorthodox the nineteenth hole for **** in a box tribunals and judges a cold reverie another fine year of the M.O.D.
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Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
Pony up for the Night Watchman
She left her bag back at the station she thought she’d carry on and the whistle sounded as a watchman found it he looked but she was gone “Call for a Miss. Blume, I repeat Miss. Nora Blume your bag’s at lost & found” 12 hours after a search had gathered her family standing by and the whistle sounded as the troops were rounded up to contemplate the whys “Ahh, Sherif, you may wanna have a look at this, could be blood from the girl we just may have missed” She left her bag back at the station with a letter she had drawn and the whistle sounded as a watchman found it he looked but she was gone “Dear Mother I am leaving, don’t expect me to return I’ll love you always this is not a phase but a lesson never learned” 12 hours after a search had gathered her family standing by and the whistle sounded as the troops were rounded up before the case went dry “Ah, Sherif, you may wanna share this, it’s a note from Nora Blume, her Mother needs to know that a suicide’s assumed” She left her bag back at the station where they came ‘cross a syringe just one of many in a package tangled in her wallets fringe “I saw no need for luggage as I’ve carried more in wait there’s a final wrath along my path that’s leading to my fate” 12 hours after a search had gathered a blood trail lastly explored and the whistle sounded as the troops dumbfounded covered up her corpse “Don’t cry for me, ask Daddy then you’ll know the reason why, just put us in the same plot embracing on our sides” She left her bag back at the station she thought she’d carry on and the whistle sounded as the two were grounded down six feet moving on...
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Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 6:41 PM UTC
Miss Nora Blume
She left her bag back at the station she thought she’d carry on and the whistle sounded as a watchman found it he looked but she was gone “Call for a Miss. Blume, I repeat Miss. Nora Blume your bag’s at lost & found” 12 hours after a search had gathered her family standing by and the whistle sounded as the troops were rounded up to contemplate the whys “Ahh, Sherif, you may wanna have a look at this, could be blood from the girl we just may have missed” She left her bag back at the station with a letter she had drawn and the whistle sounded as a watchman found it he looked but she was gone “Dear Mother I am leaving, don’t expect me to return I’ll love you always this is not a phase but a lesson never learned” 12 hours after a search had gathered her family standing by and the whistle sounded as the troops were rounded up before the case went dry “Ah, Sherif, you may wanna share this, it’s a note from Nora Blume, her Mother needs to know that a suicide’s assumed” She left her bag back at the station where they came ‘cross a syringe just one of many in a package tangled in her wallets fringe “I saw no need for luggage as I’ve carried more in wait there’s a final wrath along my path that’s leading to my fate” 12 hours after a search had gathered a blood trail lastly explored and the whistle sounded as the troops dumbfounded covered up her corpse “Don’t cry for me, ask Daddy then you’ll know the reason why, just put us in the same plot embracing on our sides” She left her bag back at the station she thought she’d carry on and the whistle sounded as the two were grounded down six feet moving on...
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Its a silent chilly night Sitting here alone My boredom is maximum Decided I need a night out.. Perhaps just a walk and breathe some fresh air... Walking past the old museum A glimpse of an old man sitting on a chair... His shadow on the wall can tell Just how bored he must have been Working all night long.. especially on a chilly winter night I approach the old watchman Offers him a cigarette, It may sound crazy but I really need a company This Night watchman  says, quite surprisingly, " everything is quiet" too dead in the museum... as if he understands my curiosity about being a night watchman I don't need to probe more he says its too eerie in the inside surrounded with a hundred to 800 years old artifacts and some classic works of dead artists I work for the pay... he says... I don't need to protect the antiques.. To this I am quite amazed... but he says, " at night when everything is dark and quiet" the museum comes to life... my heart beats faster to this... a real creepy story.. he is telling me.. He admits having difficulty to breathe when he sees all the musical instruments played by themselves one night... when he tried to run... all doors are locked by themselves he even peed in his pants watching all the statues dancing and partying in every floors of this very very old museum a spooky place... yes... ghostly spirits yes... name it.. he says "I have met them all" and even shake hands with them every night... I have cold sweats... I have goosebumps... I ask him whether he'd like a tuna sandwich I'd go and buy them and come back for more chats with him Its 3 am and I am listening to all these horror stories from an old night watchman... He agrees for the offer of sandwich and demands for a black coffee too... I runs to the nearest Seven Eleven and returns as soon as possible... I am standing here now in front of the old museum with sandwich and coffee in my hand... The Night watchman isn't there anymore... he just disappears... Curiosity makes me come back the very next day only to find out.. the Night watchman I talked to ... and smoked with... has passed away a year ago... what an eerie feeling... I just had an interview with  a dead Night watchman...
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Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
An Interview with a Night Watchman
Its a silent chilly night Sitting here alone My boredom is maximum Decided I need a night out.. Perhaps just a walk and breathe some fresh air... Walking past the old museum A glimpse of an old man sitting on a chair... His shadow on the wall can tell Just how bored he must have been Working all night long.. especially on a chilly winter night I approach the old watchman Offers him a cigarette, It may sound crazy but I really need a company This Night watchman  says, quite surprisingly, " everything is quiet" too dead in the museum... as if he understands my curiosity about being a night watchman I don't need to probe more he says its too eerie in the inside surrounded with a hundred to 800 years old artifacts and some classic works of dead artists I work for the pay... he says... I don't need to protect the antiques.. To this I am quite amazed... but he says, " at night when everything is dark and quiet" the museum comes to life... my heart beats faster to this... a real creepy story.. he is telling me.. He admits having difficulty to breathe when he sees all the musical instruments played by themselves one night... when he tried to run... all doors are locked by themselves he even peed in his pants watching all the statues dancing and partying in every floors of this very very old museum a spooky place... yes... ghostly spirits yes... name it.. he says "I have met them all" and even shake hands with them every night... I have cold sweats... I have goosebumps... I ask him whether he'd like a tuna sandwich I'd go and buy them and come back for more chats with him Its 3 am and I am listening to all these horror stories from an old night watchman... He agrees for the offer of sandwich and demands for a black coffee too... I runs to the nearest Seven Eleven and returns as soon as possible... I am standing here now in front of the old museum with sandwich and coffee in my hand... The Night watchman isn't there anymore... he just disappears... Curiosity makes me come back the very next day only to find out.. the Night watchman I talked to ... and smoked with... has passed away a year ago... what an eerie feeling... I just had an interview with  a dead Night watchman...
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The western wind is blowing fair Across the dark AEgean sea, And at the secret marble stair My Tyrian galley waits for thee. Come down! the purple sail is spread, The watchman sleeps within the town, O leave thy lily-flowered bed, O Lady mine come down, come down! She will not come, I know her well, Of lover’s vows she hath no care, And little good a man can tell Of one so cruel and so fair. True love is but a woman’s toy, They never know the lover’s pain, And I who loved as loves a boy Must love in vain, must love in vain. O noble pilot, tell me true, Is that the sheen of golden hair? Or is it but the tangled dew That binds the passion-flowers there? Good sailor come and tell me now Is that my Lady’s lily hand? Or is it but the gleaming prow, Or is it but the silver sand? No! no! ’tis not the tangled dew, ’Tis not the silver-fretted sand, It is my own dear Lady true With golden hair and lily hand! O noble pilot, steer for Troy, Good sailor, ply the labouring oar, This is the Queen of life and joy Whom we must bear from Grecian shore! The waning sky grows faint and blue, It wants an hour still of day, Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew, O Lady mine, away! away! O noble pilot, steer for Troy, Good sailor, ply the labouring oar, O loved as only loves a boy! O loved for ever evermore!
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1.7k
Serenade (For Music)
On the night I flushed my head Herbs offered in moonlight's grace   - Surrendered self now posed like lead - I felt you kiss my silent face And hold my eyelids fast To save your eternal child So I could be a watchman Once more.
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Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
Gratitude
We delusional from the burn of heat, Fields crowded with not-so different men, Along comes the watchman, just takes a seat, Whites uninviting make us sleep in dens, We are unwelcome; go on with no fuss, Dreaming of bright days, hope this is a phase, Watchman watching, say bad people is us, Wrong! Look for a bright future, much haze, Before you know, we shall leave this rich place, Poorly treated, frowned upon, discarded, Won’t find us because we left with no trace, Here we settle, you thought we’re not guarded, We paid your fee, tried hard to work your way, We left along with town, what can you say?
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Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
Chinaman
This poem is about a night out on the beer which almost went horribly wrong I put out my hand and touched the face of God, . . .bit of a surprise, really, I was expecting my Hod. Lying on the floor, thinking it was my bed, Coated in ***** face down, arms spread. I've ****** my trousers, shat my keks, A natural reaction, to twenty three pints of Becks. Stumbling through Cambridge, I can't find the Site, I know it's around here, first left or third right. . . Crashing through hedges, I've forgot how to walk, I can't ask for directions, I'm unable to talk. So, I'll go no further, here I'll sit tight, Sneak back to the caravan, when dawn sheds her light. I didn't feel the cold, the damp creeping through, Best shirt, Purple Chino's and I'm missing a shoe. It's my dancing outfit, for impressing and posing, Ideal for the Nightclub, not alfresco dozing. The temperature plummets, I'm giving it "Big Zeds" Dreams of warm women and petal-strewn beds, Breathing gets shorter, body starts to shut down, I'm sweating buckets, beginning to drown. Ronnie, the Night-watchman, knows I must be in trouble, In an hour and a half, I'm due back on the shovel, To keep the lads happy, with bricks and fresh Pug And barrows of concrete, poured into trenches I dug. Under an Elm Tree, thirty yards from the job, Ronnie catches sight of this prone Northern yob. He doesn't panic, just yet, he knows what to do, He's seen it before, when a body turns blue. Those First-Aid Classes, when he told us he was fishing. . . Vital signs are checked, I'm in the Recovery Position. Ron holds my nose, lifts my head off the floor, . . .then he kissed me , in a way , that I'd never been kissed before.
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Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 9:14 AM UTC
Da Doo , Ron Ron Ron, Da Doo Ron Ron
This poem is about a night out on the beer which almost went horribly wrong I put out my hand and touched the face of God, . . .bit of a surprise, really, I was expecting my Hod. Lying on the floor, thinking it was my bed, Coated in ***** face down, arms spread. I've ****** my trousers, shat my keks, A natural reaction, to twenty three pints of Becks. Stumbling through Cambridge, I can't find the Site, I know it's around here, first left or third right. . . Crashing through hedges, I've forgot how to walk, I can't ask for directions, I'm unable to talk. So, I'll go no further, here I'll sit tight, Sneak back to the caravan, when dawn sheds her light. I didn't feel the cold, the damp creeping through, Best shirt, Purple Chino's and I'm missing a shoe. It's my dancing outfit, for impressing and posing, Ideal for the Nightclub, not alfresco dozing. The temperature plummets, I'm giving it "Big Zeds" Dreams of warm women and petal-strewn beds, Breathing gets shorter, body starts to shut down, I'm sweating buckets, beginning to drown. Ronnie, the Night-watchman, knows I must be in trouble, In an hour and a half, I'm due back on the shovel, To keep the lads happy, with bricks and fresh Pug And barrows of concrete, poured into trenches I dug. Under an Elm Tree, thirty yards from the job, Ronnie catches sight of this prone Northern yob. He doesn't panic, just yet, he knows what to do, He's seen it before, when a body turns blue. Those First-Aid Classes, when he told us he was fishing. . . Vital signs are checked, I'm in the Recovery Position. Ron holds my nose, lifts my head off the floor, . . .then he kissed me , in a way , that I'd never been kissed before.
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