"wile" poems
Hymn to Aphrodite
by Sappho
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Immortal Aphrodite, throned in splendor!
Wile-weaving daughter of Zeus, enchantress, and beguiler!
I implore you, dread mistress, discipline me no longer
with love's anguish!
But come to me once again in kindness,
heeding my prayers as you have done before;
O, come Divine One, descend once again from
heaven's golden dominions!
Your chariot yoked to love's consecrated doves,
their multitudinous pinions aflutter,
you once came gliding from the utmost heights, to
the dark-bosomed earth.
Swiftly they came and vanished, leaving you,
O my Goddess, smiling, your face eternally beautiful,
asking me what unfathomable longing compelled me
to cry out.
Asking me what I sought in my hopeless, bewildered desire.
Asking, "Who has harmed you, why are you so alarmed,
my poor Sappho? Whom should
Persuasion summon here?"
"Though today she flees love, soon she will pursue you;
spurning love's gifts, soon she shall return them;
tomorrow she will woo you,
however unwillingly!"
Come to me now, most Holy Aphrodite!
Release me from my heavy heartache and anguish;
grant me all I request, be once again
my ally and protector!
"Hymn to Aphrodite" is the only poem by Sappho of ****** to survive in its entirety. The poem survived intact because it was quoted in full by Dionysus, a Roman orator, in his "On Literary Composition," published around 30 B.C. A number of Sappho's poems mention or are addressed to Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. It is believed that Sappho may have belonged to a cult that worshiped Aphrodite with songs and poetry. If so, "Hymn to Aphrodite" may have been composed for performance within the cult. We do know that Sappho was held in very high regard. For instance, when Sappho visited Syracuse the residents were so honored they erected a statue to commemorate the occasion! During Sappho's lifetime, coins of ****** were minted with her image. Furthermore, Sappho was called "the Tenth Muse" and the other nine were goddesses. Keywords/Tags: Sapphic, Sappho, ****** translation, ancient Greek, hymn, Aphrodite, Zeus, daughter, immortal, goddess, holy, lady, heaven, enchantress, enchantment, love potion, charm, spell, persuasion, beguiler, beguilement, mistress, discipline, ********** prayer, prayers, chariot, heaven, descent, ally, protector, lust, desire, passion, longing, *** crush, girlfriend, women, grief
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 2:51 AM UTC
Hymn to Aphrodite
by Sappho (her only complete poem)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Immortal Aphrodite, throned in splendor!
Wile-weaving daughter of Zeus, enchantress, and beguiler!
I implore you, dread mistress, discipline me no longer
with love's anguish!
But come to me once again in kindness,
heeding my prayers as you have done before;
O, come Divine One, descend once again from heaven's
golden dominions!
Your chariot yoked to love's consecrated doves,
their multitudinous pinions aflutter,
you once came gliding from the utmost heights, to
this dark earth.
Swiftly they came and vanished, leaving you,
O my Goddess, smiling, your face eternally beautiful,
asking me what unfathomable longing compelled me
to cry out.
Asking me what I sought in my hopeless, bewildered desire.
Asking, "Who has harmed you, why are you so alarmed,
my poor Sappho? Whom should Persuasion
summon here?"
"Though today she flees love, soon she will pursue you;
spurning love's gifts, she soon shall return them;
tomorrow she will woo you,
however unwillingly!"
Come to me now, most Holy Aphrodite!
Release me from my heavy heartache and anguish;
grant me all I request, be once again
my ally and protector!
"Hymn to Aphrodite" is the only poem by Sappho of ****** to survive in its entirety. The poem survived intact because it was quoted in full by Dionysus, a Roman orator, in his "On Literary Composition," published around 30 B.C. A number of Sappho's poems mention or are addressed to Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. It is believed that Sappho may have belonged to a cult that worshiped Aphrodite with songs and poetry. If so, "Hymn to Aphrodite" may have been composed for performance within the cult. We do know that Sappho was held in very high regard. For instance, when Sappho visited Syracuse the residents were so honored they erected a statue to commemorate the occasion! During Sappho's lifetime, coins of ****** were minted with her image. Furthermore, Sappho was called "the Tenth Muse" and the other nine were goddesses. Keywords/Tags: Sapphic, Sappho, ****** translation, ancient Greek, hymn, Aphrodite, Zeus, daughter, immortal, goddess, holy, lady, heaven, enchantress, enchantment, love potion, charm, spell, persuasion, beguiler, beguilement, mistress, discipline, ********** prayer, prayers, chariot, heaven, descent, ally, protector, lust, desire, passion, longing, *** crush, girlfriend, women, grief
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 10:53 PM UTC
He has brutalised your beauty
And made you fragile.
Tears tremble on cobalt lashes
Bruised, bewildered
Goddess fallen,
Breaking as you fell.
You sought and brought happiness, warmth and abundance,
But lived, it seemed, a life of anything but.
Now facing a vindictive rage
You must remain stoic.
Your mythical namesake
Found no comfort or pleasure in retaliation, or revenge.
He is incapable of love
And will never back down.
You will need to find the strength to match
His angry bile with wile and guile
His iciness with fire,
Remorseful honesty shows him
A cold, and bitter liar.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
The infinity of lights made her feel infinite
Safe
Like all the light would drive out the dark in this glowing city
One
She was as vast as the vast city around her
New York
Chicago
Seattle
all
or
None of the above
Dream World
Safe
Safe enough to jump
Not really to jump
Maybe more to fly
The fear did not affect her action
In her hazy dream world city
She could fly she thought
She places her feet on the slippery unforgiving iron
Stepping Up
Looking Down
The fear was still not there
This was not a suicidal act
She wanted to jump
Not so much to jump as to fly
King of this concrete jungle
The ***** of the heart
The pulse of the hand
The breathlessness
The final step
Shes soaring now
Shes falling now
flying:soaring:floating
falling:flailing:breaking
you won't break yourself if you believe you can't
There's the confliction
The child that believes she can fly
The grown girl who lays broken to die
Her body is broken like a cartoon
Like Wile E cayote after falling off some boulder
There was a whole body
There was not
blood
guts
or reality
Hazy dreamworld city
In this flowing capital she beams with a twisted sense of perseverance
She sustains no injuries
Like tripping on those uneven breaks of pavement
They say you're never supposed to sleep through the falls in the falling dreams
The pit of the stomach
Winded
Clammy
Punched in the stomach
Falling Dreams
Yet she did
Why was the fear not there?
It was not in her sleep cycle
not on top of the skyscraper in hazy dreamworld city
She saw her broken body rise to life
Why could she sleep through the fall?
And the next sky scraper she fell from
...Not in hazy dreamworld city
...Would she walk away?
Was she jumping from the money that built that skyscraper?
Or the classic Freudian symbol, dream specialists might contend
Translation of one image onto another
So I was jumping away from men
Commitment
What's new?
Spend money and time
Loose friends and crime
Jumping away from reality
Soaring now
Falling now
Falling into the flowing light of the hazy dreamworld city
As flies will always return to fluorescent light bulbs, naive
Like if she got close enough to it
She would become it
She would consume it
The light would consume her
Illuminated
The dark expelled to the smallest corners of this earth
flying in this hazy dreamworld city.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
"Surreal skeptic, cynical cryptic! Licentious lecheries fabulist façade fantasias. Wild eyed spectral serene. Dream of catenary concoctions, ethereal salacious conjugation, bridge the gap in metaphysical mystique. Erotica erectile errantry’s exserted protuberance is a kinesiology kleptomaniac with his embark embargo extraditions and his eventuation evocative execrations, a positive amalgamated anathema android of a terminus thrall. The shadow in the shade of the silhouette sojourn. The bailiff’s rakeness rails incarnate, unicorn railway nails and all. He will paint mirador bartizan panorama tableaus all over your proximity parameter perimeter peripherals. Force the enmity to acquiesce into impunity.” “Why this is not but an ogling ogre of an oligarchy omelet” she shrieked as he continued to tickle her. “Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugueness,” he said. “Positive orchestration renditions of transpositional interlude.” “Come here,” she said “let my clambering clamorous clangor write you a wield wile treatise expose’.” “The legions of Chinga da are battling the hoards of Gunga din saying ‘kinetic supremacy temporize tractive fluent’ , it’s sheer genocide. That plasty goop nosed Gumby ****** Gunga doesn’t stand a chance. Coax cacophony clout, catatonic phonics, grizzly grotto grouches all”, She squealed. “Now you’re gumption dreaming”, he chimed. “Chutzpah panache spontaneous generation complicity, gambit alluvium aloof succor.”
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
I was once God's Picasso painting
(the Guernica era).
Chuck Jones' illustration
of the tortured artist,
laid out like Wile E. Coyote
on a bed of scalding rocks
and a white flag screaming "SURRENDER"
clenched with both palms.
If it were feasible,
I'd have dove head first
into the smoky center of the sun
if it meant my audience understood
the shrieking woes I had to bellow through
to reach their overwhelmed palates.
But Tragedy is the sitcom foil
that has long outstayed its menopausal welcome,
and I would much prefer a haunting.
To Hell with those
who repulse the flies with
the vinegar of exploitation,
gawking as their spit seeps
through seven layers of collected scars,
who ventilate the wrists
to keep the audience comfortable.
Real aesthetic power
comes from a shower
of light hail on the spine,
the moments a ghostly hand
****** you on the finger
with quietly hidden truths
always whispered from a field away.
It's far more bracing,
the lump in the throat,
not the electrical gasp of shock.
It's a far greater sign
of a forthcoming apocalypse,
the angel weeping in pain,
not the footsteps
of the wailing banshee.
The wisp
over the wallop.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:56 AM UTC
Warmed sand from the hot day slides between her slider toes,
Her soft delicate ankles flex so tenderly with each step,
Smooth calves pull taut with petite strength, yet so frailly,
The falling sun dances on her hip and thigh seductively,
(A woman of complete ****** power, yet seemingly helpless,
Only as fragile as the tip of the golden dagger she bares,
Her greatest power is in your pleasures pleasingly fulfilled,
For once she has you clasped then her bidding can begin,)
Widening hips well versed in shifting her gently pooched belly,
A belly, so sensual, adored with melted elemental perfections,
Colorful beads to draws eyes to skin like petals of a newly bloomed rose,
A belly that when shaking releases all your heart's troubles and woes,
(When she loves, her warmth is ten times the sun on a cold night,
But if you were to oppose her, you are the prey to the panther's delight,
She will give you everything your heart could ever desire,
A kindness that burns inside her for her lover like a bellowed fire,)
Fluid, water like hands tell a story of enchantment as they slice through air,
Caressing a ***** so supple in form, a tear drop design of sexiness shown,
Gentle and smooth as her beasts gyrate with motion as her body moves like waves,
Her hands the constant agonist starting a seductive chain reaction through her body,
(A passionate heart awaiting a love so true, searching for her warrior poet,
She controls her world with her feminine wile but craves a life that is true,
A man that values and respects her intellect, equally as much as the view,
And look into her eyes to see the beautiful goddess that await him,)
Long flowing black hair loved by the wind, teasing her curls as she spins,
The beauty of her face only second to Nefertiti, but her eyes that of a goddess,
Eyes reminiscent of a feline capturing the attention of the strongest man,
Emerald green, deep with passion like the ocean, and rival its beauty infinitely,
A dream that I see her in and long for her intimately......
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
a waxing crescent grows thicker
every day—a careening sickle
half-hugged and begging
—below, flying flecks
of salt. The
pang-tamed wile—gems wrapped in
foil and heated in
god’s shadow in space. I am
close to those I love. I am
made of molten jewels.
meltingly.
meltingly. bowl of
wisdom—a dish for
old mints and mammalian
eyes. These tears—
they are mine.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
Loony Tunes
Bugs Bunny is my favorite rabbit,
watching him became my habit.
He was smart, funny and two steps ahead,
his popularity was very widespread.
His best friend was Daffy Duck,
he never did have the same luck.
Rabbit season, duck season,
rabbit season, duck season,
watching them, I needed no reason.
Speedy Gonzales was so very quick,
this fast mouse was also a *****
Owned his own pizza place,
won a gold metal, at the local rat race.
Yosemite Sam was a short tempered man,
killing Bugs and Daffy was always his plan.
He's a liar, a cheat and a sore loser,
maybe he should have been a drug user.
Tasmanian Devil was a tornado of destruction,
he never needed any kind of introduction.
Foghorn Leghorn never saw a negative situation,
I say, I say boy was his favorite quotation.
Pepe Le Pew was a French skunk,
women loved his smelly *****
Marvin The Martian was from Mars,
his laser gun would leave you with scars.
Tweety was an antagonizing canary,
lived with Granny, and flew like a crafty fairy.
Sylvester was Granny's pet cat,
him and Tweety always went *** for tat.
Road Runner was so very fast,
said beep beep as Wile E Coyote he passed.
Never fell for those Acme supplies,
getting blown up was his ultimate demise.
Porky Pig was just happy to be included,
the, the that's all folks, is how this will be concluded.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
The infinity of lights made her feel infinite
Safe
Like all the light would drive out the dark in this glowing city
One
She was as vast as the vast city around her
New York
Chicago
Seattle
all
or
None of the above
Dream World
Safe
Safe enough to jump
Not really to jump
Maybe more to fly
The fear did not affect her action
In her hazy dream world city
She could fly she thought
She places her feet on the slippery unforgiving iron
Stepping Up
Looking Down
The fear was still not there
This was not a suicidal act
She wanted to jump
Not so much to jump as to fly
King of this concrete jungle
The ***** of the heart
The pulse of the hand
The breathlessness
The final step
Shes soaring now
Shes falling now
flying:soaring:floating
falling:flailing:breaking
you won't break yourself if you believe you can't
There's the confliction
The child that believes she can fly
The grown girl who lays broken to die
Her body is broken like a cartoon
Like Wile E cayote after falling off some boulder
There was a whole body
There was not
blood
guts
or reality
Hazy dreamworld city
In this flowing capital she beams with a twisted sense of perseverance
She sustains no injuries
Like tripping on those uneven breaks of pavement
They say you're never supposed to sleep through the falls in the falling dreams
The pit of the stomach
Winded
Clammy
Punched in the stomach
Falling Dreams
Yet she did
Why was the fear not there?
It was not in her sleep cycle
not on top of the skyscraper in hazy dreamworld city
She saw her broken body rise to life
Why could she sleep through the fall?
And the next sky scraper she fell from
...Not in hazy dreamworld city
...Would she walk away?
Was she jumping from the money that built that skyscraper?
Or the classic Freudian symbol, dream specialists might contend
Translation of one image onto another
So I was jumping away from men
Commitment
What's new?
Spend money and time
Loose friends and crime
Jumping away from reality
Soaring now
Falling now
Falling into the flowing light of the hazy dreamworld city
As flies will always return to fluorescent light bulbs, naive
Like if she got close enough to it
She would become it
She would consume it
The light would consume her
Illuminated
The dark expelled to the smallest corners of this earth
flying in this hazy dreamworld city.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
Babygirl
When i have sleepless nights,
and somthing doesnt feel right
I stare up at the beams,
in hopes that i can form some dreams
I think of your smile,
and all my worries disapear for a wile
Everything you do,
makes me want to be with you
Babygirl
when i need someone to hold,
whenever my heart is cold
when you kiss my neck,
i become an emotional reck
my fingers moving through your hair,
Feels like we are floating on air
Babygirl
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 1:44 AM UTC
She walks at night likes passion's grace
Through nebulous fields of dream landscapes
Wild Morpheus her footsteps guides
She’s lust’s impassioned wile incarnate
Her will like swirling ocean currents
Endows the night with wanton purpose
Sent from heaven's pearly gates
To make men ponder mortal fortune
Tempting spirits will to sate
Demanding accolades of prowess
To satisfy her primal needs
Traverse her treacherous terrain
Her visage of immortal love
Like honey dripping from the comb
Inspires reckless heart's abandon
Dawn comes like coitus interruptus
Narcotic wisps of contention fade
A thrall with no earthly recourse
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
I want you
more than Plankton
wants the Krabby Patty secret formula.
I need you
more than Wile E. Coyote
needs functional ACME products.
I love you
more than the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles love pizza,
more than Winnie the Pooh loves honey,
more than Scooby-Doo loves Scooby Snacks.
Apr 18, 2011
Apr 18, 2011 at 2:43 PM UTC
Nothing intimidates me more,
Than a woman’s inviting smile,
It pierces right down to the core;
Appealing to everything I adore;
This subtle, suggestive, wile:
Whetting the sense of anticipation,
Igniting fires of the imagination.
Nothing possesses more power,
Than a woman’s determined will;
Disguised as a delicate flower,
Sweetness smothering the sour,
Regardless of the pyrrhic thrill;
Bewitchment in everything but name,
Savouring the illicitness of the game.
No ordinary man has a prayer,
When a woman stakes her claim;
She’ll welcome you into her lair,
Reject her desires if you dare,
Her revenge has legendary fame;
Travelling incognito: deadly intentions,
From this wrath, there are no preventions.
Do not ever, ever, underestimate.
That which cannot be understood:
Avoid the temptation to speculate,
Categorize, classify or evaluate,
The secret mysteries of womanhood;
Whenever tempted by an inviting smile;
Nod politely then turn, and run a mile.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
Doc, I've been trying to deal with these issues for quite sometime to no avail;
A good friend of mine (you may know him, Elmer Fudd) recommended you.
I fear I will never be able to eat, let alone catch this turbo inspired example of flightless foul;
Stuck in this celluloid world vividly inspired by an Emmy award winning colorist.
I am a proud animal from generations of fine breeding, born in the pristine coyote valley;
I am not stupid, not a fool or buffoon, and so I thought contractually, not one to be laughed at.
And I, always the bad guy, constantly daunted in pursuit by haphazard ACME products;
Expensive, bulky, time consuming, they characteristically fail right before they almost work.
Rocket powered skates, unfortunately, only allow me to kiss the cliff-side really really hard;
Very heavy anvils serve no other purpose than to be dropped on my head repeatedly.
The incredulous manipulations of the impossible by the so clever writers of this farce;
From trains appearing out of nowhere to run me over, to fierce lightning storms in an instant.
Laying there in the release of my own bowels as the uncontrollable result of
500 Megajoules of energy traveling through my body yet again.
I am the twice electrified mass of dribbling spastic protoplasm
Personified proverbially in that lightning does indeed strike twice in the same place!
As the smoke arises from my chard hairy frame and I sweep up my ashes to reassemble later;
I realize Doc, I'm losing my grasp on the reality of ever succeeding, I need your help!
I'm still hungry;
And still I have not caught that **** Road Runner,
**** you Warner Brothers!
-----ChawzzyScript
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
Sapiosexuals^
she quoted Shakespeare most appropriately when needed,
her fevered fervor scientific was the non-fossil fueled engine that STEMed her quantum analytics of NFL football,
as an intellectual amuse bouche, that was uncannily correct,
on FIFa she passed it was just too corrupt, but Wimbledon was”fun”
we all bet her predictions for her error rate was insignificant
she claimed her knowledge of a cure for Alzheimer’s was done,
but bio-pharma suppressed, and a single pill existed taken once, could cease and desist the brain for craving ******* but the politics were too complicated and really boring to explain
instead she preferred to wile the hours hanging with
lesser poets, to see if taking them at their word
was an accurate indicative of their professed prowess in bed
but when she sampled my wares regularly,
I called her study statistically biased,
to which she replied,
“ain’t you the lucky one,
that my standards are lowly rigorous,
and you possess a mighty cute bi-assymetry“
in Croatian or Mandarin (unsure)
smart lassie indeed
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
She walks at night likes passion's grace
Through nebulous fields of dream landscapes
Wild Morpheus her footsteps guides
She’s lust’s impassioned wile incarnate
Her will like swirling ocean currents
Endows the night with wanton purpose
Sent from heaven's pearly gates
To make men ponder mortal fortune
Tempting spirits will to sate
Demanding accolades of prowess
To satisfy her primal needs
Traverse her treacherous terrain
Her visage of immortal love
Like honey dripping from the comb
Inspires reckless heart's abandon
Dawn comes like coitus interruptus
Narcotic wisps of contention fade
A thrall with no earthly recourse
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
I can’t help but mourn the frogs, flattened
like Wile E. Coyote after the inevitable boulder
plummets from a great height, leaving him
mashed on the pavement while the Roadrunner
speeds off - vroom, vroom, beep, beep.
I try to steer around them, but they blanket
the road in biblical numbers during the rain
and it’s like some impossible video game
weaving through masses of randomly hopping life
a certain amount of death is unavoidable.
When I walk the road I can’t stop
counting one, two, five, ten, twenty
cartoon-flat bodies littering the pavement
where I extinguished their glittering
copper and golden-green existence.
Last night, on the panes of every lit window
frogs of all sizes and colors gathered
outside, they covered doors, watering cans
even lined up single file on the coiled garden hose
like they were climbing the ladder to frog heaven.
Through the glass, I admired their rhythmic
throats and soft, creamy, underbellies
one, two, five, ten, twenty
fragile creatures seeking warmth
in the hastening darkness.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC
Capulet harlot a hamlet for hard heads
Two weeks best gone to her whims in you name
An Iliad adventure in babysitting nymphomaniacs
It was fun wile it lasted but domed at first frame
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
*En route to your heart,
I strayed in to,
the lush garden of your youth,
full of unsullied flowers,
kissed only by mischievous sun.
No man can even, think
of turning his back to this
veritable feast for senses;
it transmitted a vibe resonating,
perfectly with my psyche.
The heady fragrance emanating
from varieties of flowers did speak
of magical pleasures unexplored
I did eagerly heed,
was it by pure chance
or were there plans to allure me in,
I don't even want to know,
it suits well to my desires.
Amorous droning of inebriated bees
rang in my ears,
making me giddy.
Spring time it was
in your budding new garden,
being a pretender
who elicits the best effect
you smartly feigned ignorance
of my presence,
(As you expected, I suppose)
I lost my way and ended up
in the spirited night we shared between us,
harvesting wild fruits with a verve
we had never known before,
pleasures of many seasons
were there in store, I was astonished,
a consummate seductress you were.
a she wolf, under a sheep's skin.
but kind amorita, most adroit.
Could I ever blame you
an iridescent creature, exquisite
oh! the candor that marks your surrender!
Scent of flowers wafting on the wind,
created the effect of rarefied air
my lungs are full to the brim
with your feminine spices.
Does this happy transgression
to your secret scented garden
make me a fallen angel,
or am I a slave of your whims
entrapped for the rest of our lives?
Either way your wile wins
a knight in shining armor or
bereft of it, and naked, for your sake
I willingly submit before
the light that shines in you,
I'd make your garden mine.*
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
Every time I open The Roominghouse Madrigals,
an estranged part of me comes back with blistered hands and a heart so heavy it's like Wile E. Coyote has it attached to a chain hanging off the edge of a cliff that's beginning to crumble
And every time I open The Roominghouse Madrigals,
a peculiar part of me leaves without warning to wander and turn over some things in its head like I've got multiple personalities and a few years from now it'll return and kick Jane out and insist I am Mary
And every time I open The Roominghouse Madrigals,
There is a deep sorrow within me that I think I mistake for love
But I'm getting ahead of myself-
The Roominghouse Madrigals is a selection of poems by the drunken poet Charles Bukowski
The Roominghouse Madrigals is a selection of poems about sadness, madness, genius and solitude
The Roominghouse Madrigals is a young girl's first broken love
I first fell in love with it on the floor
I first fell in love with it on the floor of the balcony
I first fell in love with it on the floor of the balcony of the book shop
I first fell in love with it on the floor of the balcony of the book shop where I first fell in love
Simply you see, The Roominghouse Madrigals is a selection of poems that washed like rebirth
The first time, the first poem, the Brave Bull, it was a sudden clarity with a taste of joyous drunkenness
That first time, that first poem, the Brave Bull, it was cured amnesia reminding me of all the things I forgot I ever was and a psychedelic mushroom, dressed as a fortune cookie, dressed as a book of poems, that told me what I would be, and so I became it
And if reincarnation is real maybe the world's so messed up because it's the same group of idiots being born over and over again to be raised by the idiots they raised
Because the first time I opened The Roominghouse Madrigals,
I tasted life and death simultaneously
And I keep it near to my heart but not near to my bed should anyone find it and think I'm a perverted and miserable girl who can't help but fall apart every time she mouths the words some dead drunk poet weeped into a keyboard with curses crashing into black keys like those tears, still warm & ever so salty
But I am and I do and I keep it near to my heart like a first broken love
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 4:34 AM UTC
love I not your lips, but the words that you say
With wit and a candor we think much the same
love I not your eyes, but the way that you stare
True silence be met with the turbulent pair
love I not your cheeks, but the way which you smile
Your carefree laughing hides status the wile
love I not your hands, but the way that you touch
Warm, temperate passion fills my body with much
love I not your charms, but the spirit you contain
A beauty of all life in one woman such sustain
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
Who is this poet?
Is he faithful to his poetry
as good as pretends to be
or his heart is ever on the darkside
nowhere near of what he writes.
Who is this poet?
Is his hat real or fake
he’s weak and easily breaks
he aims only to teach
never follows all that he preach.
Who is this poet?
Is he really that sweet
joyous and good as his wit
does he expose truly his heart
or the real he hides behind his art.
Who is this poet?
Does he have in him
all his painted dream
the lover’s happiness
he does profess.
Who is this poet?
Is at heart he's that pure
what with words he conjures
or all them are just his arty wile
he's merely spinning tales in style.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
Do you accept your family?
Despite the things they say to hurt you?
Do you turn the other cheek
Each time they blame and scold you?
Are you okay with no boundaries?
Never hearing a genuine "I'm sorry."
Do you just shrug things off cause,
"Hey, they're your family"
Or do you not accept that?
I've felt so conflicted lately
Because of family with no boundaries
Family that don't accept me, but want acceptance from me.
They always told me to say sorry as a child,
If I hurt someone else, I was wile.
Even as an adult, I'm always wrong
About others, the world and my own mental health.
I have to apologize in the end.
I have to pick up the phone to check in.
I have to put on an ever changing mask to ensure I won't be hurt again-
I try to explain it and once again, I'm a child.
I say "I" too much
I should ignore everything that offends me,
Assume the best of family because they're family.
I'm family but have to change and ignore my feelings for them to accept me.
Jan 29, 2024
Jan 29, 2024 at 8:26 AM UTC
Ramble shamble gamble preamble .
Wild child dialed beguiled .
Crawl small ; fall tall ; wall all ; mall brawl doll you all .
Black sack fact track Jack smack wack maniac pack . Back hack , knack
flack , lack kayak rack tack .
Phone roan tone zone bone hone ; drone known . Own moan loan .
Talk rock ; gawk hawk ; shock lock ; **** dock ; balk , stalk walk .
Bristling gristle glimmer glisten .
Quaint paint saint feint aint .
Expressed suppressed repressed biased .
Ecstatic emphatic fanatic .
Lecherous treacherous .
Obtuse abstruse .
Whirl curl ; hurl furl .
Test west quest ; jest guessed ; blessed best crest behest . Conquest ,
invest zest ; rest nest .
Cohort cavort . Gulch mulch .
Raven haven saven braven .
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC