"wimple" poems - Hello Poetry

Ca’ the yowes to the knowes, Ca’ them where the heather grows, Ca’ them where the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie. Hark! the mavis’ evening sang Sounding Clouden’s woods amang, Then a-faulding let us gang, My bonnie dearie. We’ll *** down by Clouden side, Through the hazels spreading wide, O’er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly. Yonder Clouden’s silent towers, Where at moonshine midnight hours O’er the dewy bending flowers Fairies dance sae cheery. Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; Thou’rt to Love and Heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near, My bonnie dearie. Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stown my very heart; I can die—but canna part, My bonnie dearie. While waters wimple to the sea; While day blinks in the lift sae hie; Till clay-cauld death shall blin’ my e’e, Ye shall be my dearie. Ca’ the yowes to the knowes…

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Robert Burns

Hark! The Mavis

Ca’ the yowes to the knowes, Ca’ them where the heather grows, Ca’ them where the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie. Hark! the mavis’ evening sang Sounding Clouden’s woods amang, Then a-faulding let us gang, My bonnie dearie. We’ll *** down by Clouden side, Through the hazels spreading wide, O’er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly. Yonder Clouden’s silent towers, Where at moonshine midnight hours O’er the dewy bending flowers Fairies dance sae cheery. Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; Thou’rt to Love and Heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near, My bonnie dearie. Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stown my very heart; I can die—but canna part, My bonnie dearie. While waters wimple to the sea; While day blinks in the lift sae hie; Till clay-cauld death shall blin’ my e’e, Ye shall be my dearie. Ca’ the yowes to the knowes…

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*A wimple To cover a pimple Affixed squarely on dimple.*

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Apr 1, 2015

Apr 1, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC

enigma-1

Acne affecting a people.....10w

*A wimple To cover a pimple Affixed squarely on dimple.*

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From my balcony I can smell the change of seasons wood smoke and salt and damp leaves, long-sleeve shirts stale from the bottom drawer and clouds bunched like sailors to the west promising whisky and a hornpipe. who will mourn the hot sun’s scent on plastic the pallor of long afternoons bored blind and dull as paint spattered on old shoes beside the door leading to the courtyard built to watch summers with disinterest and clay tiles, the perpetual chat of water in basins with wind in branches plump with crows. light the candle from punk left over from July Fourth, unstop the bottle of strong water then scent your neck with the old apples of it the wise apples and the flat ones and the pears of autumn red as a nun’s wimple soft as wet hay sweet as a kiss in the shade of fruit trees the sun arching into evening the insects silent and dead and your hand with its long fate and short, tight girdle its quick Mercury resting upon mine as if to say: here is the work of winter.

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Sep 15, 2016

Sep 15, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC

john-silence

In the courtyard (locus borealis dei)

From my balcony I can smell the change of seasons wood smoke and salt and damp leaves, long-sleeve shirts stale from the bottom drawer and clouds bunched like sailors to the west promising whisky and a hornpipe. who will mourn the hot sun’s scent on plastic the pallor of long afternoons bored blind and dull as paint spattered on old shoes beside the door leading to the courtyard built to watch summers with disinterest and clay tiles, the perpetual chat of water in basins with wind in branches plump with crows. light the candle from punk left over from July Fourth, unstop the bottle of strong water then scent your neck with the old apples of it the wise apples and the flat ones and the pears of autumn red as a nun’s wimple soft as wet hay sweet as a kiss in the shade of fruit trees the sun arching into evening the insects silent and dead and your hand with its long fate and short, tight girdle its quick Mercury resting upon mine as if to say: here is the work of winter.

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It drove the leaves of spring to dance tossed the tree tops hither thither made the puddles shudder dither oscillated the telegraph wires threw sporadic raindrops onto surfaces that strummed like drums knocked the gates staccato locks disturbed the willows by the brook spun the weathercock quite wildly north and south got lost turned the paper ******* over summersaulting on to thwack against the pillar box the flagpoles wimple flapping the strings against the pole repeated knocks copied the currents in the river though unseen save for the waving of the crops Margaret Ann Waddicor 29th May 2016

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May 30, 2016

May 30, 2016 at 10:14 AM UTC

margaret-ann-waddicor

The knock of the North wind

It drove the leaves of spring to dance tossed the tree tops hither thither made the puddles shudder dither oscillated the telegraph wires threw sporadic raindrops onto surfaces that strummed like drums knocked the gates staccato locks disturbed the willows by the brook spun the weathercock quite wildly north and south got lost turned the paper ******* over summersaulting on to thwack against the pillar box the flagpoles wimple flapping the strings against the pole repeated knocks copied the currents in the river though unseen save for the waving of the crops Margaret Ann Waddicor 29th May 2016

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Stagnant and thinking Confused and blinking Age draws on Yet still a pawn Standard and simple Dull and wimple Wrapped in indifference Trapped warm desire In need of deliverance If I come un-strewn May I be blessed in womb Re-birthed and open More accepting and woken New insight could dislodge this anchor Only I can treat my own lamer Once in motion Loneliness is in emaciation Finding friends in exploration Finding one for intimacy Not based on elegancy Venerate character Each must love the other entire Both exchanging devotion and tenderness Only full of equality, truth, and openness Nurture platonic love, beautiful and scarce Defend it like a dove, only vicious and fierce

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Nov 3, 2019

Nov 3, 2019 at 5:29 PM UTC

ClayFace

No Change in Sight

Stagnant and thinking Confused and blinking Age draws on Yet still a pawn Standard and simple Dull and wimple Wrapped in indifference Trapped warm desire In need of deliverance If I come un-strewn May I be blessed in womb Re-birthed and open More accepting and woken New insight could dislodge this anchor Only I can treat my own lamer Once in motion Loneliness is in emaciation Finding friends in exploration Finding one for intimacy Not based on elegancy Venerate character Each must love the other entire Both exchanging devotion and tenderness Only full of equality, truth, and openness Nurture platonic love, beautiful and scarce Defend it like a dove, only vicious and fierce

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Yellow journalism With shattered criticism Are people aware? That the truth lays bare Red card is dispensing We shouldn't be asking Men aren't the enemy But women shouldn't wait helplessly It's our job to unite Putting aside our heights It's our right to be loud and proud Standing up in the protesting crowd I wish the world were simple Pure and clean like a wimple We live under a sky with limits But we dream every minute

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Oct 17, 2018

Oct 17, 2018 at 5:34 PM UTC

Joeycoet

My view on feminism

Yellow journalism With shattered criticism Are people aware? That the truth lays bare Red card is dispensing We shouldn't be asking Men aren't the enemy But women shouldn't wait helplessly It's our job to unite Putting aside our heights It's our right to be loud and proud Standing up in the protesting crowd I wish the world were simple Pure and clean like a wimple We live under a sky with limits But we dream every minute

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lugubrious follicle turgid splink perihelion pickle fubhole scrofulous gropingly carbuncle gigglepunk puberulent squirt make america great again wimple

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May 2, 2017

May 2, 2017 at 10:04 AM UTC

jcthefluteman

Words that might sound **** but aren't

lugubrious follicle turgid splink perihelion pickle fubhole scrofulous gropingly carbuncle gigglepunk puberulent squirt make america great again wimple

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