"weathers" poems
Addiction *****
It's such a killer
Addictions fun
A raging thriller
Weathers its a bag of twack
Or a fat green sack
It doesn't really matter
You could shoot pancake batter
**** or ****
*** with Beth
Just remember its not fiction
That disease you have is called addiction
See it works in such a horrid way
It controls you'r thoughts and what you say
And when it comes down to the end of the day
You probably going to do what it takes to pay
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC
What can win against time, someone asked me
reminiscing the journey which started eighteen months ago
with me and him philosophizing intricacies of life
and human emotion
relishing the daily luxuries of satisfying debates
when little did I know that we would walk all along
fighting demons in our own being
surviving closed ends of fate
and loneliness
The man I got to learn of
his real, gentle and calm soul
comforted with the truth of a warm heart
eventually knocking out the dread
of long distances between us
relinquishing the storms in our minds
embracing sparkles of different weathers
Shall it really last forever
self-contained
or burst out with emotion
believing
it really is us
together
and our love fueled by faith in search of its way
which outlasts time
a shining beacon
in midst of an ocean of crowded wilderness.
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
She builds a nest, builds a home
Out of twine and twigs and love
Day and night, dawn and gloam,
She works in trees above.
All to prepare for her offspring
To give them the chance to fly
Only the best for her children
These are the words to her cry
A fortnight her eyes are skinned
She is sentinel over her eggs
Come storm, gale, blustering wind
Her treasures safe under her legs
At last she meets her brood
Hungry and unrefined
She tirelessly gathers food
Their lives now intertwined
She kisses the food into their beaks
She cares for their every need
She answers their every screak
To love, to tend, to feed.
She watches them grow new feathers,
And reach out to the beckoning sky
They want to see other weathers
So she teaches them how to fly
They soar higher and higher
She watches from below
It makes her smile and smile
To see her babies go
As they climb and tumble
She makes sure to let them know
They are always welcome to return
To the home built long ago
The love she gave her young ones
Gave them the strength to fly
The strength to build their own nests
High up in the sky.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
You said you don't even know me anymore
my moods, my personality, my characters
keep on changing like the weather
Morning when it rains
I am sweet , gentle and romantic
afternoon, when its hot and humid
I am mean, I am harsh and I snap at you
...a little grouchy
Well, I really dont know...
but here is the story...
On one sunny sky bright day
Our love story started to bloom
and the whole world cheered and clapped
to celebrate this greatest love story
When all of a sudden a dark cloud appeared
and stole the sunshine smile away
love went into coma... for a year or two
The monsoon rains and again we missed
the gentle love on wet cold nights
Inseparable in the love nest we built
Glued together the whole rainy days
It was midnight when we had a storm
Ugly weather
We were forced to build this wall
and kept our distance again
A whole year in complete vacuum
missed the love nest
but preferred the cocoon better
Today is a warmer day
The sun is coming out lazily
a little bit of warmth in the atmosphere
I tried to smile a little
and I said Hello
You grabbed my hand and told me
Never to change the weather again
I smile with tears in my eyes
reminiscing all the weathers
when we used to love and hate
How much time have we wasted?
This is me... This is you...
We are so much in love
Why must we change with the weather?
I might be Tornado in some days
or hurricane in another
but my heart beats still the same
despite the weather changes
Trust me
My love I never changed
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
seasons come seasons go
some bring rain some bring snow
autumn leaves fall to the ground
and are scattered all around .
mountains covered with the snow
winters here they let us know.
flowers bud birds they sing
in the season off the spring.
summer sun gives a shine
to let us see the weathers fine.
the seasons come to our front door
when we count them there are four.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC
LOVELY Semiramis
Closes her slanting eyes:
Dead is she long ago.
From her fan, sliding slow,
Parrot-bright fire's feathers,
Gilded as June weathers,
Plumes bright and shrill as grass
Twinkle down; as they pass
Through the green glooms in Hell
Fruits with a tuneful smell,
Grapes like an emerald rain,
Where the full moon has lain,
Greengages bright as grass,
Melons as cold as glass,
Piled on each gilded booth,
Feel their cheeks growing smooth.
Apes in plumed head-dresses
Whence the bright heat hisses,--
Nubian faces, sly
Pursing mouth, slanting eye,
Feel the Arabian
Winds floating from the fan.
4.9k
It ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.
The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows a life
lived undaunted and unsoured with accepted lies
they would ripen like apples, and be scented like pippins
in their old age.
Soothing, old people should be, like apples
when one is tired of love.
Fragrant like yellowing leaves, and dim with the soft
stillness and satisfaction of autumn.
And a girl should say:
It must be wonderful to live and grow old.
Look at my mother, how rich and still she is! -
And a young man should think: By Jove
my father has faced all weathers, but it's been a life!
4.4k
I
I see the boys of summer in their ruin
Lay the gold tithings barren,
Setting no store by harvest, freeze the soils;
There in their heat the winter floods
Of frozen loves they fetch their girls,
And drown the cargoed apples in their tides.
These boys of light are curdlers in their folly,
Sour the boiling honey;
The jacks of frost they finger in the hives;
There in the sun the frigid threads
Of doubt and dark they feed their nerves;
The signal moon is zero in their voids.
I see the summer children in their mothers
Split up the brawned womb's weathers,
Divide the night and day with fairy thumbs;
There in the deep with quartered shades
Of sun and moon they paint their dams
As sunlight paints the shelling of their heads.
I see that from these boys shall men of nothing
Stature by seedy shifting,
Or lame the air with leaping from its hearts;
There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse
Of love and light bursts in their throats.
O see the pulse of summer in the ice.
II
But seasons must be challenged or they totter
Into a chiming quarter
Where, punctual as death, we ring the stars;
There, in his night, the black-tongued bells
The sleepy man of winter pulls,
Nor blows back moon-and-midnight as she blows.
We are the dark derniers let us summon
Death from a summer woman,
A muscling life from lovers in their cramp
From the fair dead who flush the sea
The bright-eyed worm on Davy's lamp
And from the planted womb the man of straw.
We summer boys in this four-winded spinning,
Green of the seaweeds' iron
Hold up the noisy sea and drop her birds,
Pick the world's ball of wave and froth
To choke the deserts with her tides,
And comb the county gardens for a wreath.
In spring we cross our foreheads with the holly,
Heigh ** the blood and berry,
And nail the merry squires to the trees;
Here love's damp muscle dries and dies
Here break a kiss in no love's quarry,
O see the poles of promise in the boys.
III
I see you boys of summer in your ruin.
Man in his maggots barren.
And boys are full and foreign to the pouch.
I am the man your father was.
We are the sons of flint and pitch.
O see the poles are kissing as they cross.
3.4k
Racing thoughts
road blocks, Brain farts
Words that just wont come out
Feelings that makes me want to scream and shout
Fuss and Pout
Endless thoughts of ...
Endless feelings of...
We stay strong for shelter
Though love leaves no love, in cold weathers
smile well..O well
You 'll be just fine
You'll love what yours
But even more of whats mine
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
Your light is beautiful,
and mine is glum.
In your eyes, I find
sensations my estranged blood
has never felt—
to touch, to love…
a soul unselfishly,
for no other reason than to love.
I want to place my frostbit hands
upon your beating chest
and ****** you away,
or might I chain your hands
and take you with me.
I could pull you into my gale,
a hostage of my lonely curiosity,
but I’m afraid—so afraid that your light
will fill the empty, gaping blackness,
and your gentle breaths
will calm my feral winds.
You alone will effortlessly transpose
the thunder of my bones,
and I will assent that only your nearness
can bring the calm to the eye of my storm.
But what follows when you
tire of breaking my weathers?
When your chains rust into reddish ash
and I can no longer keep you, my love?
I can’t imagine this place will ever be
as fair as it was with you,
and I can only foresee that
which will become of me.
For when the day does break,
and I find myself alone,
when the silence of your absent lungs
deafens my troubled mind,
my storm will surge again.
And as the black clouds surround,
I will bring my withered hands
before me and remove the foolish eyes
that once lost themselves in you.
So there are two sunken holes
inside my skull.
I will cut through my sternum
and rip my dour heart from my chest.
I will undress from my flesh
and pull the nerves you once caressed.
And my naked soul will dig a grave
and settle into the dark.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, new poem:)
not the best lens emitted such light
delicate weathers upon previous sights
in a dived listening exile
the carry of the Earth in a swift's mile
in the blink
the week's blur and the paint's sink
raging on red sunsets
raging on yellow's pale sulfur the dreams let
the twirl of winds
on the worlds of the flipped
like in every sky
the one of the days that the one of the nights
fogs in a hurry
what's grey is the face of worry
never know if you don't see for yourself
that the clouds above this roof are the same above that shelf
not always a purple fairytale
August slipped away a coat in the cruelest detail
haven't even begun them storms
the already seen is a scare out of the norm
peace to heart
yet my mind awoke in fear from each start
these bugging times
are the times of memory loss in a hellish crime
the one sun the one full moon
how stars shine mystically reaching future's soon
and me in here as shown
tracing a map of the intuition's unknown
delusion
maybe a disguised mood before the ultimate confusion
the one month of picking up pieces
the dark is long so sleepless to the hope decreases
yet I do know that the same will return in ease and flow
been recalling that for the last two years in a row
the outer skies
now a reason to fly
-------ravenfeels
Aug 22, 2021
Aug 22, 2021 at 6:35 PM UTC
I want to protect you from the storms of life
I want to be your umbrella in the torrential downpour we call tough times
Though my fabrics may be porous and the water I shield you from may cause splash back
I want to be there
At times it may seem that no one loves you
I’m **** sure that’s not true
But I am not always sure that anyone else has a good enough grasp on the word to know
That it by definition means you have to be there for the ones you claim to love
Otherwise it doesn’t mean a thing
Otherwise you’re just the dope standing in line at the store trying to get a return without a receipt
But why would anyone want to return you?
You may have come straight out of the package only to be a busted toy that fell into bad hands
But as a porous old umbrella I can assure you
In my life you are the best that I have got
I’d rather shield you from the rain than any naïve, gleaming package
Whom has no comprehension of how ****** life is beyond the store walls
And you are far more beautiful anyways, with those missing bits and nicks in your plastic
In fact I thought you were so beautiful I wrenched myself from my owner’s hands
So I could protect you from the pain within the rain instead
You were just a toy that had been trashed but I was willing to lose myself for you
Willing to lose my time inside my cocoon of ignorance in someone else’s hands
Just so that I could be blessed enough to call you my best friend
I wanted to bear the weathers over our heads so that yours wouldn’t feel a drop
And the only weather I can’t protect you from is the flood of your tears
But when they surge upon us in times of trouble I prefer to invert myself and collect
Allowing them to pool in the basin of my memories so that one day when you’re stronger than that
We can take the time to look back and laugh
At the broken toy that couldn’t see that her worst problems
Could be fixed by a leaky old umbrella
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
I sit here on this lonely windswept ridge
Overlooking a wild place
Of peathag and bog and wild heather
Of outcrops of gritstone rock
Standing like rotting teeth
In ravished gums
Bleak and dreary in the rain
But still a place to be loved
Hardy sheep graze the barren slopes
Watched over by equal hardy men and dogs
Out in all weathers
I'm lucky
Because I know the tracks and trails
Crossing this wild land
I know the streams of fresh water
And the sanctuary for my nights rest
In my small lightweight tent
This is wild Yorkshire
As yet an unspoilt place
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
let me structure you first:
there, now, ready, fly my owl
granting vision logic,
guiding thoughtform fair.
what softness in the earth gives way
to waterway, what forceful gust of air
to final quench of earthy thirst...
such unseen pyschomancy dusts
the wing-stroke of your flight,
and weathers well my musing trust;
you see with ancient zero eye,
and die to my dull interpret edge;
like a certain volcano jumper's
ox of oats and honey you
coat the stone of time to
symbolize my rhyme. hold,
softer, still, i do not need to cut
or pluck or forge with harshness --
your shrill screeching from the cage
of lines here summons more
than Athene's gavel ever forced.
otherwise than writing, you wait...
cradled darkly, unknown priorlife
of avadhuta colors mixing in,
of whalesong faintly felt
like stegosaurus moans,
like city-ships to overreach and then to rot,
forgotten tattva vidya shastra
forgotten sukha,
Megbe, Tirawa, Awen, Asha, Ichor...
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC
Over the garden you droop,
crooked fingers
point in every direction.
When summer's gone
you shake, a wet dog,
the grass strewn with shrivelled waste.
"Not so young anymore",
a weaker wrinkled body
battered by almost all weathers.
A faded jade jacket
covers your naked figure
as the cold days come closer.
From my window I look,
and your strands of hair
nearly scrape the sky.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC
Hold hard, these ancient minutes in the cuckoo's month,
Under the lank, fourth folly on Glamorgan's hill,
As the green blooms ride upward, to the drive of time;
Time, in a folly's rider, like a county man
Over the vault of ridings with his hound at heel,
Drives forth my men, my children, from the hanging south.
Country, your sport is summer, and December's pools
By crane and water-tower by the seedy trees
Lie this fifth month unskated, and the birds have flown;
Holy hard, my country children in the world if tales,
The greenwood dying as the deer fall in their tracks,
The first and steepled season, to the summer's game.
And now the horns of England, in the sound of shape,
Summon your snowy horsemen, and the four-stringed hill,
Over the sea-gut loudening, sets a rock alive;
Hurdles and guns and railings, as the boulders heave,
Crack like a spring in vice, bone breaking April,
Spill the lank folly's hunter and the hard-held hope.
Down fall four padding weathers on the scarlet lands,
Stalking my children's faces with a tail of blood,
Time, in a rider rising, from the harnessed valley;
Hold hard, my country darlings, for a hawk descends,
Golden Glamorgan straightens, to the falling birds.
Your sport is summer as the spring runs angrily.
2.5k
I wear the vale
and it weathers me
in silty slopes
in harsh-cut lines
it lopes off pieces
of my face.
it floods out my marshes
it clears me clean out
and sterile
I wear the vale
and it's worrisome folk
who take up issue.
"You're wearing the vale!
Wearying th' fields
with dead leaves, and dead things.
Don't you tell us
how to live."
Funny, it's not even sublime
how easy it is
to tell me.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
The skies are cloudy with a chance of love:
With you, I'd paint all the stars above;
My hearts on fire, and there's a chance of rain-
Unless I'm wrapped by your arms again.
The skies are cloudy; but the sun peeks out,
While in my heart there can be no doubt
The weather there has been just the same,
Since I first heard you speak my name.
The skies are cloudy, but underneath
Love has taken my heart; the thief,
So now all weathers that we see as two
Will show us skies that are always blue.
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 9:04 AM UTC
So many, many moons ago
The gang from St. Brigid's would go
Every single chance we could
Off to local farms to sow spuds.
Each one covered in burning lime
(No health and safety at the time)
Each sown under a foot apart;
If not, you went back to the start.
All for only ten pence a line
(Though 'twas a fortune at the time)
Working mostly long ten hour days;
Kids would not do it nowadays!
Picnic lunches in all weathers,
Sitting in the fields together,
Lemonade bottles for the tea,
Eating with hands filthy *****
It was work that would break your back
But sure we all had mighty craic,
Laughing and joking all day through,
Slagging each other as kids do!
St. Brigid's gang were number one,
Farmers knew the work would be done.
At harvest time back we would drag
To pick spuds for ten pence a bag!
It did none of us any harm
Working such long hours on the farm.
Although the work was onerous
'Twas the making of all of us!
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 4:35 AM UTC
now it boxing day and the bargains they are on
got to get there early before the bargains gone
standing in a cue waiting in a line
hope that its not raining and the weathers fine
waiting there for hours standing patiently
hoping that theres someting thats there left for me
until then i will wait for what i am looking for
take home with me until boxing day once more
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly;
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at ‘The Traveller’s Rest,’
And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.
This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
And thresh and ply;
And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,
And meadow rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate bars hang in a row,
And rooks in families homeward go,
And so do I.
2.3k
Soft, knit sweaters
And piping-hot tea
Make for very toasty weathers
And cozy times for me.
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to show thee the estates and isles
Of the heavens
For
Thy name shall I crochets in their capitals
And let the
Unheeded and hidden secrets
Of each one of them in thy palms
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to buy thee the charms of castles
Lying cuddly on the cosmics
For
Thee shall be my god and thy servant shall I become
And perform all thy whims to the very last syllable
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to clad thy soul with garments of the rainbows
For
Thee shall gloss and *****
The sights of crafts
Running on golden asphalt
And make them collide with the pillars of the rays
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to get thee the finest jewelleries
That sparkle better than the figurine of the stars
And on thy finger
Shall I sit the most piety of all diamonds as my theme of love
And make the angels glower with chagrin
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to teach thee how I brew the storms and weathers
For
Your care shall I leave the whips
Of the recalcitrant thunders
And make thee assimilate them with thy counsel
Let's
Go for a walk
Down the higher spheres
And I word to lay thee on the hallowed beds I nursed
There
Shall I leak the ***** of my prowess
Into thine ears
And lick thy feet,showing thee the heavens
A Word For A Walk
To You Getrude
So much love❤
©Historian E.Lexano
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC