"withdraws" poems
The snows are fled away, leaves on the shaws
And grasses in the mead renew their birth,
The river to the river-bed withdraws,
And altered is the fashion of the earth.
The Nymphs and Graces three put off their fear
And unapparelled in the woodland play.
The swift hour and the brief prime of the year
Say to the soul, Thou wast not born for aye.
Thaw follows frost; hard on the heel of spring
Treads summer sure to die, for hard on hers
Comes autumn with his apples scattering;
Then back to wintertide, when nothing stirs.
But oh, whate'er the sky-led seasons mar,
Moon upon moon rebuilds it with her beams;
Come we where Tullus and where Ancus are
And good Aeneas, we are dust and dreams.
Torquatus, if the gods in heaven shall add
The morrow to the day, what tongue has told?
Feast then thy heart, for what thy heart has had
The fingers of no heir will ever hold.
When thou descendest once the shades among,
The stern assize and equal judgment o'er,
Not thy long lineage nor thy golden tongue,
No, nor thy righteousness, shall friend thee more.
Night holds Hippolytus the pure of stain,
Diana steads him nothing, he must stay;
And Theseus leaves Pirithous in the chain
The love of comrades cannot take away.
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I
Not once in all our days of poignant love,
Did I a single instant give to thee
My undivided being wholly free.
Not all thy potent passion could remove
The barrier that loomed between to prove
The full supreme surrendering of me.
Oh, I was beaten, helpless utterly
Against the shadow-fact with which I strove.
For when a cruel power forced me to face
The truth which poisoned our illicit wine,
That even I was faithless to my race
Bleeding beneath the iron hand of thine,
Our union seemed a monstrous thing and base!
I was an outcast from thy world and mine.
II
Adventure-seasoned and storm-buffeted,
I shun all signs of anchorage, because
The zest of life exceeds the bound of laws.
New gales of tropic fury round my head
Break lashing me through hours of soulful dread;
But when the terror thins and, spent, withdraws,
Leaving me wondering awhile, I pause--
But soon again the risky ways I tread!
No rigid road for me, no peace, no rest,
While molten elements run through my blood;
And beauty-burning bodies manifest
Their warm, heart-melting motions to be wooed;
And passion boldly rising in my breast,
Like rivers of the Spring, lets loose its flood.
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To outer senses there is peace,
A dreamy peace on either hand
Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.
Save for a cry that echoes shrill
From some lone bird disconsolate;
A corncrake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.
And suddenly the moon withdraws
Her sickle from the lightening skies,
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.
4.6k
1197
I should not dare to be so sad
So many Years again—
A Load is first impossible
When we have put it down—
The Superhuman then withdraws
And we who never saw
The Giant at the other side
Begin to perish now.
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she sat on a driftwood throne
at her feet lay the ruins of a stone man
her hair a wild world of winds draws you into her hurricane eyes
her lip a forest of meanings tender and soft
a single loose tear like a wild horse run free
she sat on a driftwood throne in all her glory
sun and salt water cadence to the living breathing dream
song of existence untainted
and now another song intrudes
one of loves lionhearted and bold
seafarer's son come of age
come seeking courtship of her soft hand
to be bound in the silken desire's both hot and sweet
and the dark ones such shy girl dare not speak
he brushes away the sand from her soft thigh
and within his mind romances such sweet
tender spot with a reign of kisses
but just then she arose graceful like the soft beatings of dove's wing
and emerging from the veil of his minds fanciful dreams
she laid before him her sandpaper eyes
so intense that summer sounds
like children at play and such soothing tones
could not hide her behind
he withdraws still no more than a child in her eyes
she desires a stronger, a true love
one that is not a fleeting fancy dream
one of a man who can speak his heart
the sand had invaded her driftwood throne
so into the dusk she sauntered slowly
with graceful flow
trailing his eyes behind her like glories of wishes
like worshiping doves
for such beauties perfection
he will return some day a man
once he has learned
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
I'm addicted to you
And everything you do.
All the pain you put me through.
It's like a drug you put inside me.
Trying to keep me same
But instead your driving me insane.
I stayed up late last night
All because you started a fight.
I'm addicted to you
And everything you do.
All the paid you put me through.
It's all because I stay with you.
I hang on by every word you say.
As I inject you straight to my veins.
The way you kiss me.
The way you move your hands around me.
It's so seducing.
I can not help but wanting more.
Without you I can feel my withdraws.
Breaking all of the laws.
I'm addicted to you
And everything you do.
Even with all the pain you put me through.
I just cannot be without you.
The words of your mouth.
Hatred and anger.
The touch of your hand
Sends me a tingling sensation.
I keep going back to you.
Even though I say I am through with you.
As I inject you.
Withdrawls without you.
Is too much pain to handle.
I'd rather be with you.
Just hold my hand.
Please understand.
I'm addicted to you
And everything you do.
All the pain you put me through
I still come running back to you.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
Nothing familiar is the answer
It is always someone you don’t understand
Finding meaning
Outside our own means
As if they have nothing to lose
And they don’t
They do not think of their parents
Or what they were taught
Except for facts
Warding off
Things that are unexplained
Strange
Scary
Secret societies
Dystopian
Cold
Every institution of man
Rejected
As man withdraws from convention
Stirring the drink
With a hint of every influence
Without burden of form
Changing course on a whim
Fully versed in possibility
Stopping along the way
Every corner
To explore
For days and days
Forgetting the mission
Except to learn
A being of discovery
Courageous failures
Skeptical of every word
Unless it is their own questions
Enduring shock
Smiles instead of fears
No sense of consciousness
The natural act of a man unafraid
Except his own existence
Because then he has to acknowledge yours
And though he loves you
He cannot just sit next to you
And watch flowers return to their rightful place
So you can grimly smile that what you always wanted
May only be counted in moments instead of days
That become years
Though each moment is what he wanted all along
Because time is nothing to consider
Except how much remains
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
And after, there is only a gaping emptiness
the familiar ache
The desire to drown myself in soft things
Fill my pockets with pebbles and all the poems my muses will never read
And wade into the Lethe
To the place of the first breath after momentary pain
The liminal gasp between sighs
The first touch after a long absence
Body awakening to memory.
*Welcome weary traveller, you are safe here. Dwell. Abide.
The scrounging scratching crawl you call a life withdraws.
Here,
Float in the fingers of sunlight through glass
The murmur of breath against hair
The glimpse of ripples from a water-strider’s gait.
Here,
You are small and safe
You suffer no harm nor cause it
Your existence has curled in on itself
And blooms with the sunrise.
Here,
Your presence is a fleck on a robin’s egg
The bruise of teeth on a petal
An eyelash in sand
Lost, lingering, and longing.*
The Lethe plucks the pebbles and poems into the current
Your likeness billows with ink in the wake
Adrift, I clutch at your fading hand
But rising, find I do not know this face
Left only with a flicker
Of a stranger’s arms
around my waist.
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 9:05 PM UTC
A flourish of red,
a bold stroke of yellow,
and thin, black dots
Form the image on the canvas.
The artist washes his brush
in a bowl filled with water,
now murky, brown, and indiscriminate.
He lifts the veil over his mind
and paints what he sees:
A girl twirls
among the towering red petals
of the flowers.
She laughs,
throwing her medium-length,
black hair behind her.
Her pale, tan skin
reflects the brilliance of the Sun
as she dances with her partner,
a fair boy born deep within the wood.
Mirth. Cheer. Joy.
These emotions swarm the picture,
like bees buzzing amid the daisies.
The painter withdraws again from his masterpiece;
a vibrant Harmony.
He smiles.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:04 PM UTC
Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees
Letting his arms hang down to laugh,
The zebra stripes along his jaw
Swelling to maculate giraffe.
The circles of the stormy moon
Slide westward toward the River Plate,
Death and the Raven drift above
And Sweeney guards the hornèd gate.
Gloomy Orion and the Dog
Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas;
The person in the Spanish cape
Tries to sit on Sweeney’s knees
Slips and pulls the table cloth
Overturns a coffee-cup,
Reorganised upon the floor
She yawns and draws a stocking up;
The silent man in mocha brown
Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes;
The waiter brings in oranges
Bananas figs and hothouse grapes;
The silent vertebrate in brown
Contracts and concentrates, withdraws;
Rachel née Rabinovitch
Tears at the grapes with murderous paws;
She and the lady in the cape
Are suspect, thought to be in league;
Therefore the man with heavy eyes
Declines the gambit, shows fatigue,
Leaves the room and reappears
Outside the window, leaning in,
Branches of wistaria
Circumscribe a golden grin;
The host with someone indistinct
Converses at the door apart,
The nightingales are singing near
The Convent of the Sacred Heart,
And sang within the ****** wood
When Agamemnon cried aloud,
And let their liquid siftings fall
To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud.
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1357
“Faithful to the end” Amended
From the Heavenly Clause—
Constancy with a Proviso
Constancy abhors—
“Crowns of Life” are servile Prizes
To the stately Heart,
Given for the Giving, solely,
No Emolument.
—
“Faithful to the end” Amended
From the Heavenly clause—
Lucrative indeed the offer
But the Heart withdraws—
“I will give” the base Proviso—
Spare Your “Crown of Life”—
Those it fits, too fair to wear it—
Try it on Yourself—
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.
The menace emerges from the shadows,
a barked order, but unintelligible.
Then the soft steel kiss
slicing through flesh into entrails.
A fist connects with a crunching face,
legs buckle with pain and blood-loss.
And the Darkness of Death takes me,
like a comfort blanket of soft wool.
My Temple violated and de-sanctified,
the blade withdraws with a whisper.
Darkness cuddles
and welcomes me with a smile.
The morphine haze
keeps me inert and motionless,
but makes my mind giggle.
It wanders aimless
through psychedelic chapters …
This place is sterile, white, drab.
My eyes move slowly left.
There is something in a doorway.
The door.
… my head flies to a Poets Banquet,
where I am the bones thrown to the dogs.
And the wood grain in the door moves,
a cascading chocolate fountain,
over and over again,
flowing, melting like molten lava.
They taught me to write,
then cut off my hands.
Obscurity is purity;
fame is pain.
So I penned a letter to the dead.
My eyeballs are all that move,
floating in mid-air,
but still connected and transmitting
drug induced images.
I remember the assassin, the blade,
the darkness, the sirens, but no pain.
Images but no feeling.
They move right to a cold bedside table,
and then I think I cried.
Somebody Knows me.
No chocolates, no flowers.
Somebody Knows me.
No fruit. No magazines.
Just …
a pen and a pad.
Somebody Knows me.
I did cry, someone remembers me.
And each teardrop contained a thousand images,
a thousand stories, a thousand poems.
Inspiration. Illusion. Insight.
And the Darkness of Sleep takes me
like a comfort blanket of soft wool.
The morphine haze retreats
further into my mind and I dream …
of ambulances and white walls
of green gowns and bright lights
of scalpels and scissors and surgery
of needles and nurses and nightmares
… I dream of Poetry
in colour.
I see worlds in the sky
and words painted on clouds.
A kaleidoscope of teardrops
dripping images into my mind.
A fountain of mist cascading,
seeping into a memory sponge.
And I feel; somebody who Knows me
gently wipe away the tears.
© Pagan Paul (04/06/17)
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
There’s plenty of flesh on her finger,
sagging, loose, folded ,
crumpled at the knuckle.
The nail is peach, white at the tip
manicured, manufactured; plastic.
She reaches out towards a musty key.
The greyish, flesh-coloured cube
awaits her touch.
She withdraws from her ******
her finger folds away with the rest.
Reassured, she begins again.
Her fat stub hovering
over the scrabble of letters
With a satisfied click
the key flattens into the board.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
Ocean wave
curls and calls
gives its all
then
withdraws.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
1209
To disappear enhances—
The Man that runs away
Is tinctured for an instant
With Immortality
But yesterday a Vagrant—
Today in Memory lain
With superstitious value
We tamper with “Again”
But “Never” far as Honor
Withdraws the Worthless thing
And impotent to cherish
We hasten to adorn—
Of Death the sternest function
That just as we discern
The Excellence defies us—
Securest gathered then
The Fruit perverse to plucking,
But leaning to the Sight
With the ecstatic limit
Of unobtained Delight—
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To find the love
Of the one I loved
Those many times before
To acknowledge my child
That I lost to the thoughts
Perceived there in my mind
To see the needs
As the numbness withdraws
For the power that they bring
To make new days of past
To see those gone
But know they do not control
To the one I loved
That I shall once more
The light now bright and sparking
To find the love
Of the one I loved
Those many times once more.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
So fresh and free
Joy is spread
Calm is instilled
Heat withdraws
With drops of life
All is cleansed
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 10:57 AM UTC
thus do learn how to tolerate
the blow of wings
of the most inflammable flesh
after the successful sacrifice of the student-hostel
jumping into the peacock-foams
how dangerously is changing the total travel-route of the nail-polish
in the high tide of the coconut-kernel
that conquers the world
today the water-pigeon gets pain
only by the flute made of palm-leaf
can’t be written the pleasure-trip in boat
of the injured-knee night-queen that is deposited heavily
on the collar of the village-moonlight
even-then the gramophone would be playing on
even-then the courageous pheasant would proceed further
to throw towards the squirrel a dinner-sleep
then all the daughters in disguise of birds certainly
may come out from within the salted mosquito-net
burning open-ground in their eyes
even after
the small boats of the fig leaves
would slip from the chorus song
of the roses
then they are to be pulled forward to the river-bed
of the late afternoon
to make them understand again
that such Xerox-centre which can ignore its metallic-birth
does not grow even now on either side of this muddy road
so look at to see how the epenthesis
of the screwpine-leaf withdraws her beak from the old dome
and pours
all new mathematics
into the compact-disc stitched with the back of the sea-tortoise
if that’s not real
how in the left and right
such evil-company of the oxygen would creep
if the next part of this commentary
resumes from the umbilicus cavity of the x-mass
would the blood-sugar of the water-plankton be rising continuously
look there again
the feather of colour that is in her adolescence
touches the cold magnet of her gamut
to disperse the cherry orchards
now if the doors of this brown triangle be got open
you can see on the screen one by one
the projection of the apex-points of the red-palash
and in the night-texture of the kathakali-kathak
they are supplying continuously
small sun-shines in poly-packs
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 5:34 PM UTC
Aah, I love the cold
Almost harsh, or really harsh
Winter months
I love walking then
Walking alone
For miles and miles
Minutes and hours
I could keep walking
If there weren't parents
To reassure, a family,
A warm home to go back to
A dragging commitment
That is binding in every
Single link I've ever made
I could keep walking otherwise
Just a light jacket, hardly appropriate
For the weather, the temperature
Numbed by the chill
The soles of my feet sting
My feet wrinkled, grated against
My sandals, hardly sufficient
Completely dry skin, also cold
Almost too numb, maybe too corpse-like
No socks, no scarves, no gloves
No caps, no protection
*Because protection is only needed
When there is an enemy*
I could stay like this forever
A thought strikes me while I walk
That maybe this hopeless love
Exists solely because I am the closest
The closest I can be to being me
As I walk, and hide, and revel
Maybe even reveal Me
I silently lose myself in contemplation
Because the days are shorter
There is more space, more time to hide myself
Under warm blankets, comfortable clothes,
A cup of hot chocolate, in the cold starry nights
The sting on my cheek
That I lightly touch, can be disguised
Explained away as the caress of the cold wind
This loneliness that grows inside me
It is already so tired
Of seeing people walk away
That it is too tired, too weary
To talk to anyone, so it hides
Underneath the surface,
Appearing so much more closer
Than it ever has in these few months
I am raw, almost bleeding,
Waiting for the stars to come out
Just so they can shine on me
Over my head, down on me
With me, maybe even communicate with me
I'll pick up my drink
Acknowledge their presence
And drink to them and their beauty
Their unimaginable beauty that Always,
Without Fail, takes my breath away
My self rubs against my facade
So raw but it doesn't even matter
It is the closest to the surface
As I raise my drink and almost imagine
Myself in this lonely cold urbanscape
With all the scars, every **** thing
Not a thing out of place,
I almost imagine myself beautiful
Revitalised but then this self withdraws
Back insideinsideinside
My facade still rubbed raw
Ah, but what a beautiful time
The cold times on the terrace
The chilling walks down nostalgia lane
No more brown leaves
Just a mere peak here and there
Like a little troublemaker
Waiting for me to go away again
Winter is... truly one of my favourite seasons
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
Love sick
Withdraws come on quick
I’m a fiend
I’m an addict
It’s just another bad habit
Aug 27, 2023
Aug 27, 2023 at 1:18 AM UTC
O leave your hand where it lies cool
Upon the eyes whose lids are hot:
Its rosy shade is bountiful
Of silence, and assuages thought.
O lay your lips against your hand
And let me feel your breath through it,
While through the sense your song shall fit
The soul to understand.
The music lives upon my brain
Between your hands within mine eyes;
It stirs your lifted throat like pain,
An aching pulse of melodies.
Lean nearer, let the music pause:
The soul may better understand
Your music, shadowed in your hand
Now while the song withdraws.
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there was a girl who cried wolf;
it echoes from the hollows of crevices
until it inevitably comes back to her --
it only welcomes her with silence.
and i stand there and watch
as she continues to cry wolf.
the river -
gushing, flowing, full of life -
it stops to listen to her wishes.
the wind -
withdraws from crafting a tempest
and stills.
planted in my own roots,
i sit and hear her howls of desperation.
now, sans woe bellows
from her sunken cheeks,
frail body clad in loneliness.
a ghost of a smile
marrs her rose-colored face.
"liberated," she said, "i wish to be liberated."
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:33 PM UTC
Her hands are rusty as she grasps the sheet;
A forbidden silk engulfed in deepened red.
Too weak to scream but strong enough to
Prevail in her own demise.
She lifts and waves it across a luring eye,
Calling the beast to the feast that is her,
Offered up on a platter of cheap,
Used and battered silver.
His tide withdraws out for miles,
Revealing the secret caves and
The truths behind the closed shades
Of her twelve year old bedroom.
Polluted sands reign beneath the pure
Blue hue of her ocean eyes.
Collections of every small droplet of water
In the air of her past combine together
Into a perfidious blurred cloud of blackened oil,
Consuming her into a sick dishonest truth.
She only knows how to be charged by bulls,
In a ring where there is no audience,
But rather a sea of people with their backs turned.
Thumping, trotting, galloping feet on the ground,
The sound of horns penetrating into skin,
A small whisper of soft, unwarranted apologies,
Like a tree’s remorse for the man with the axe,
As he stabs the wise oak in the middle of the forest.
If every set of selfish eyes ignores her cries for help,
Is the horned villain even hurting her at all?
Her feet dig into the earth like a cemented foundation,
As she swears to rise with every fatal blow,
Until the day a head slowly turns,
And ends the torcherous show.
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 7:44 AM UTC
One turns to the other
Speaks in a triangled tongue
The other turns its back
And says what should be sung
One withdraws its claws
The other is likely to pause
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
Food
Holy **** its awesome
McDonald's Chicken nuggets
I can get 20 for five dollars
Or a delicious Fish Fillet
Mmm Holla holla
I don't mind calories
They give me my curves
Have you tasted McDonald's Big Mac?
Holy ****
Or how about their sweet Tea?
Its sweetened with Crack
And that's what it is
Fast food
Its crack
I'm addicted
It gets me high on another level
Withdraws
**** that
I know I should eat better
But ****
Fried Chicken and Mashed potatoes
Hell yes
Starving yourself?
Are you ******* nuts?
you *****
Try chocolate cream pie
Vanilla Cream or whipped cream
So delicious I cream
Oh lord
I bet I sound crazy
I'm not a ******
I swear I'm not lazy
Ill continue this affair
For this food
This delicious ******* food
Will never break my heart
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC