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Lorraine Colon Jun 2017
Pondering the gnarled vineyards of twilight,
It is for these grapes that I hunger,
For they have survived the drought and the blight,
Bearing scars of days when they were younger

The fruits of old love are tender and sweet,
For they've learned to endure sun and shade;
Keeping strong through gale force winds, snow and sleet,
Their true value has been measured and weighed

Old love seeks beauty deep within the heart,
The wrinkled face and the graying hair
Matter not, yet what a sting they impart
To the lonely tangled in Time's cruel snare

Observe the pearl fishers - they're not concerned
With the oyster's shell, but with the prize
That's dwelling deep inside, for they have learned
They might find a gem in cunning disguise

Satisfying are the fruits of old love,
So patiently they wait to be claimed
By soft, wizened hands, gentle as a dove,
Yet displaying passion's touch, unashamed

Love that has withstood the test of the years
Is a love that's worth its weight in gold;
In spite of all the sorrows and the tears,
Old love can still bear fruit a hundredfold

How blessed are we who can see love's sweet truth
Unfolding before our very eyes;
We don't need the exuberance of youth
To yield to love's call  under star-filled skies!

Old love has had its feet held to the fire,
And it emerged, still able to stand;
It survived the bogs of life's muck and mire,
What more can be said ..... for sure, old love's grand!
Mostly seen at night
it's a beetle not a fly
with no fire inside

............................

Climbing to rim steep
all faces feeling the heat
to greet the fire king

.................................

At the Cave's entrance
it is our protecting light
safe from night creatures

.....................................

Smoke does raise warning
all that fly or run fast do
for destruction comes

....................................

The fire in my heart
would only be quenched by you
come my love cool me

.......................................

Pudding lane it came
vast damage it's fury claimed
yet London withstood

........................................

Swoops from mountaintop
this mythic creature of old
for it's lust of gold

........................................

Valiant and brave
so many lives do they save
heroic fighters

........................................

Watch those peppers red
looking so plump and tempting
vicious is their bite

......................................

Cannons roar commands
making battlefields of hell
the order repeats

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

By NeonSolaris

© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Onoma Oct 2014
...Portend for the life of you--cast your
eyes as far from you, as what you could
not see coming otherwise.
A living through and through...of what
came first--word or sound, sound or word?
These spaces...spendthrift pages that are
but doorways to their impending figure,
wind coiling at its corners...coiling at its
corners.
As a thing grows into itself invisibly...
as so you fall the falling curtain--with no
audience at one side, nor actors upon the
other.
Irrevocably you are, that you are--sun
halved, golden bowls burning--of good and
evil--a miscellany saint's evocation...that
you are, irrevocably you are...amaranthine.
Gesticulating beyond time, times, and half
time...a procession of one whose sojourn
repeats upon itself.
A heaven ago...hell now...a hell ago--
heaven now, change knows all your names--
and because you withstood all it can ever
be, it holds them steadfastly.
Amaranthine...irrevocably you are...that
you are.
You, the faces of disambiguation--whose
seal you smile to open...with full marks
for bravery.


I am talking of fearlessness

"Fearlessness..."

The same fearlessness
Shown by Christ on the cross

The same fearlessness
Shown by Gandhi
For his non-violence

The same fearlessness
When Mansoor said "I am YOU"
Was lynched & cut piece by piece

The same fearlessness
Of Meera who sang for Krishna on the streets
When she was humiliated, ******, made fun off

The same fearlessness
When Radha danced for Krishna
Even after Krishna left Vrindawan for Dwarka

The same fearlessness
With which Hussaiyn Ali
Martryed his life at Karbala
While trusting someone

The same fearlessness
Of Sita when she withstood
The tests of Rama's accusations

The same fearlessness
When Bahi Taru Singh
suffered governor's brutal torture

The same fearlessness
When Mirziyaan gave his bow & arrow
To Sahibaan knowing that
The tip of his arrow may be blunted
Leading to his death

The same fearlessness
When Romeo drank the poison
And Zuliet stabbed herself with a dagger

The same fearlessness
That made Layla fall sick & died on hearing that
Her Majnun is roaming mad in wilderness;
Later on hearing about Layla's death
Majnun died near Layla's grave

The same fearlessness
When Rabia wanted to
Cease the fire of hell and
Set alight hopes of paradise

The same fearlessness
Of Rumi who guards
The divine light of LOVE

The same fearlessness
When one is compelled by
soul energy to LOVE BELOVEDz

That is the fearlessness
I am talking about

"The fearlessness of LOVE"



Thomas Steyer Jul 2021
There is a house in Newport Green
They call it the sturdy one
It withstood all kinds of stormy weather
Ever since time had begun

If you're wondering why it's still there
Even though it moans and groans
Never mind smart wood construction
It lasted thanks to good bones
SE Reimer Jan 2015
~

verse 1
in the town of Chateau Thierry,
along the banks of the Marne,
just up the road from Paris,
a’ fore it meets the Seine;
’twas here our soldiers fought
in nineteen-seventeen;
'twas here they took the Kaiser,
in the trenches, rain and mud.
the Great War, then they called it,
here the river ran with blood;
with bayonet and shovel,
here an Allied victory made;
to halt the enemy’s advancement,
here too many made their grave.

instrument of bow and strings,
in composition history sings.
if, one-day strings could talk like men,
if, we could sing like violin!
stories told will ne’er grow old,
tales of courage that build the soul,
of standing tall and shouldering on,
to play an orchestrated song.
all you archers raise your strings,
draw your bows despite the dark,
soldiers of a genteel king,
wield your power to strike the heart.

verse 2
near the town of Chateau Thierry
in a convent, St Joseph by name
a violin by Francois Barzoni,
a resident luthier by trade.
prized possession of the Sisters,
they tuned well it's strings.
their convent walls withstood the bombs,
though leaving here their mark;
defaced but not destroyed,
and so with grateful hearts,
the Sisters of St Joseph,
for brick and mortar trade,
gathered up their treasures
their convent to remake.

instrument of bow and strings,
with composure history sings.
if, only strings could talk like men,
if, we could sing like violin;
stories told will ne’er grow old,
tales of hope that build the soul,
of standing tall and shouldering on,
to play an orchestrated song.
all you archers raise your strings,
draw your bows to light the dark,
soldiers of a genteel king,
wield your power; rebuild the heart.

verse 3
from the town of Chateau Thierry,
they advertised their local gem,
“wanted: no strings attached;
no saint expected, no requiem.
just two hands to cherish,
and a patron of our instrument.”

this their prayer, “oh Lord, one wish,
may our search meet no resistance.
may we find a young apprentice,
please reward our long persistence.”

and so they found their debutant;
prayer answered in Saint Louis.
a boy who understood its voice,
with their strings again make music.

instrument of bow and strings,
of your journey history sings.
if, only strings could talk like men,
if, we could sing like violin;
stories told will ne’er grow old,
tales of old they build the soul,
of standing tall and shouldering on,
to play an orchestrated song.
all you archers raise your strings,
draw your bows and find your mark,
soldiers of a genteel king,
wield your power to soothe the heart.

verse 4
near the town of Chateau Thierry,
along the banks of the Marne;
ply this channel of the masters,
play us a river, Lowell Meyer;
once a boy, become grand-father,
then a treasure to receive;
heirloom placed within your trust,
your prize possession to bequeath
to yet another debutant,
its strings to pluck and bow to draw.
he a master of persistence,
who with practice met resistance;
yesterday’s grandson, beloved progeny;
tomorrow’s hope, an admired prodigy.

instrument of bow and strings,
with clarity your voice still sings.
if, only strings could talk like men,
if, we could sing like violin;
stories told will ne’er grow old,
for these are tales that build the soul,
of standing tall and shouldering on,
to play an orchestrated song.
all you archers raise your strings,
draw your bows and make your mark,
soldiers of a genteel king,
wield your power to touch the heart.

~

post script.

A violin…  an instrument of hollowed wooded frame, strung with five strings made of gut, played by the drawing of a bow of hair crosswise over strings tuned in perfect fifths; an instrument of song with uniquely, beautiful voice.  Whether played as a violin with symphonic overture in a seventy-piece orchestra in Carnegie Hall, or as a fiddle in a four-piece southern country band at a barn dance down in a Kentucky hollow, in the hands of a violinist… a master… a virtuoso… a fiddler, it becomes an hallowed instrument… of diplomacy… of peace.

When I heard the faint whisperings of story about a nephew’s instrument I pledged to learn the details of its journey.  Charlie obliged, allowing me to interview him one evening early this month.

The instrument came complete with an old typed letter from Lowell Meyer, Charlie’s maternal grandfather, whose family purchased the instrument on his behalf, from the Sisters of St. Joseph when he was yet in middle school in 1923.  An instrument in its own rite, the letter also acts as a legal document, sharing not only the violin’s European heritage and how it came to arrive in these United States, but also dictating its future journey, naming only three possibilities of conveyance.  First, while in the possession of his family, the violin is to be owned by all of Mr. Meyer’s children and their heirs rather than by any one single heir.  Second, it allows a method for its sale should an urgent financial need arise.  And third, it dictates the intent of Mr. Meyers for the violin’s return to its original owner into perpetuity, the Sisters of St. Joseph near Chateau Thierry.  Charlie scanned the letter and emailed it to me, giving me a greater sense of its history and helping to establish its authenticity.   Its making by well known French luthier Francois Barzoni, who unlike the Stradivari family made his hand-crafted instruments for the masses, its survival within the convent walls during the bombardment of the Battle of the Marne and its subsequent journey from Chateau Thierry, to Saint Louis, each detail carrying great significance. As an example of one detail among many, it did not escape the attention of this story lover, the significance of a journey from its setting on one river to a similar setting on another, from along  the banks of the Marne before it spills into the Seine, winding through the fertile rolling hills north of Paris, to the fertile banks of the Missouri at its confluence with the Mississippi in St Louis, two famous rivers, a half a world apart, each with their own folklore of simple people living a simple life, of battles fought by simple people with uncommon valor.

*This simple story of “the violin” is a story worth telling; just one facet of Charlie’s interesting heritage; one which has its own voice, and is a tale that begged to be written.
Brynn Louise Apr 2014
They say that you should never
Push a loyal person
Past the point where they don't care.

Clearly you never heard that.
Or maybe you just don't care.
Either way, you've made a large mistake.

Because now all the anger
That I've been saving all these years,
All the fury I've been hiding-
Finally has release.

Every single person
That's ever done me wrong,
Every last wrong doing
That I have withstood,

Now falls upon your shoulders
Along with what you've done,
As if your own actions
Weren't bad enough alone.

They say that you should never
Push a loyal person
Past the point where they don't care.

But maybe now you've guessed
That it's far too late for you.
Because I'll smile and I'll laugh
I'll be pleasant around you.

You'll think that all is fine,
You'll fall into false comfort,
And when you try your games again
You'll fall flat upon your face.
Inspired by a quote I saw on the internet: "Never push a loyal person to the point where they no longer care." -Unknown
Arcassin B Jun 2016
By Arcassin , Chloe , Wolf, SE , soul , zeal , Brando , icy , irie , soulful , strange , and wendy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AB

Not Even I,
a mere human being with limitations and
Wants and needs to stay away from the business
suits that only want the greed and the finer things
Distributing cigarettes to these young kids is what
Nobody else needs,
To live in this wickedness , you'll see,
Where does the tax payers money go?
Learning all of the secrets that rely on history to
Keep us up and about with drugs that we use on
Our day to day schedules for whatever contingency
planned for,
No sign of a Grail to be explored,

Remembering those who have lost their lives in
The wars that gave us the hope and chance we
Needed to make America great proceeding to give
The freedom of speech a new motive behind it,
That's why I write everyday to keep the demons inside,
Senseless killing in America makes my stomach turn in
Ways that I could not fathom dreaming that I could believe
What lies ahead won't be pretty for us,
I guess that I'm delirious,
Pray for Orlando
When judgment day comes , I hope he cares for us.


CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light

WS

i'm appalled with the world the way it is
our politicians carry on with the same old biz
protecting the rich, taking from the poor
usurping the world , like our cheap little *****

our city streets are in disrepair
the infrastructure is in a terrible tear
no education, no social equality
and the bill is payed by you and me.......

we're gonna need a bigger boat
to keep this broken thing afloat
don't preach me your democracy
your lies, you vain hypocrisy

give the people back their right
we're mad and ready for a fight
to take away all of your riches
and shitcan all you sons of *******.


SE R

we need an epiphany
a salvation re-orientation,
for will our judgement be
only what we thought?
or is hell what we perpetuate
on soil, on man, in greed, in hate?
we live as if to win is gain,
while poor lay dying,
shows our shame;
we live as if ‘tis loss to weep,
yet this the joy we each should seek…
in loving well the least of these,
to show in smallest ways,
a lighted path to those who’ve strayed
offer hope to any castaway;
might we in doing bring
heaven to this earthly scene?
for is not earth our heaven’s womb,
a battlefield, a testing place?
is not our call to light the dark,
and take our place among the stars?


CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light


SS

Who is there minding the store?
We can't keep up anymore
All the news that we now see
Internet and our TV
Tell tales off horror
Tales of woe
How much farther will it go?
Let's be real! Can we talk?
'Bout a thing called
FUTURE SHOCK
Cause this is true... and it is hairy
What's down the pike
Is downright SCARY!
Politicians deal & flirt
Don't matter if they wear a skirt!
Go to Georgia and you'll see
What is set up for you and me
There's some stones
upon that land
Telling all that they have planned

THEY SMILE AS THEY TELL A LIE
THE ELITE WANT US TO DIE.

While they put on a great show
Underground is where they'll go
Let 'em go and live like trolls
Jesus Christ is in CONTROL.

Please consider this my friends
Everything will have to END.
Forget your prejudice and pride
You don't want to be on
THE WRONG SIDE!
Make a turn. Make a start.
Ask the Savior in your HEART!
Then I'll tell you what's in store

YOU'LL HAVE LIFE FOREVERMORE!


MZ

Something fishy in the air what happen to the black one?
I didn't see the fall until I saw Washington..
Women starting to vote and monkeys are still in the zoo?
In the 1950s they called black people apes but now I'm seeing that it's you..
Sense when did money made you feel like going for president?
"We the People" naa more like the congress are voting for you.
I think it's scam so I turn it to the kardashians,
There I find a better democratic presidential view ...why...cause she looks better lying about Mexicans,


BM

There is no one at the other end of your string and paper cup telephone prayers There is no monumental, unconditional love awaiting you between or beyond the stars There is no concern for you in the imagined patterns of the stars, Nor do they carry a plan or reason for the crashing of waves, torrent funnel winds or the malice of men There is no promised land, no reward, no heaven when you take that final step.

But you do have the power of whispers in your fellow mankind’s ear It IS YOU that carry the ability for immeasurable, inconceivable love It is us who write the plan, who give our lives reason and meaning through it all THIS life, this gift of witness IS your reward, your heaven as you wish.

The tragedies have NEVER stopped. The killing, the senseless violence, the hunger of insatiable wrath………. But nor has birth of life in many forms. In dawn, in spring, in hope. We aware, true to ourselves in dismissing of ego stand strong and confident as the Ying, the light, the counter balance........


IS

Sorrow fills this world to it's rim,
Fathers abusing mothers,
abandoning children,
Mother's cry out in pain,
little ones run in fear....
why is this world in such despair?
Born to love, born to hate, to judge, to accept...
though this concept is hard for some,
we live in this world, just hoping to survive,
Coming to the point where you never know
where love and hate draw the line.

Why do parents fight, and the kids are the ones who suffer?
Why do we make war, to find peace?
Innocent people cut down in their prime,
by those who find happiness in other's misery.
From mothers and fathers whose sons and daughter were
wrongly taken from them,
To those who are punished for being human...
Life as we know it, is going to hell.

Trust, hope, security, love, and respect for humanity
is quickly dying... The future, no longer ours to control.
From bullying to ****, to ****** and suicide, Society is no more.... We pray for things to change... for it's now out of our hands,


IRIE

Movement of time collides
with tear drop melody
darkened angel
to final day symphony:

gun blasts in homeland
enter familiar flesh-
different tongues conceal
common threads that makes us

wounded souls call for God
in bomb dimpled lands-
far from American eyed reach
and inside

amidst spiritual sands

Treading with foot print patterns
around rock’s pure holiness
meditating in temples
laden in gold tributes

seeking truth’s distant comfort

guns blast in homelands
families wonder why-

pain embraces consciousness
dripping hints of salvation
into thick Iron pools
of Christ’s calling

red horse not so distant
seven seals awakening
run back to one
it’s time to find love
...

CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light


Soulful

How old is the world?
Old enough to ruin the existance of 1000 suns
Old enough to show you what society is made of
Old enough to had withstood the apocalypse and blood shed of the technology, oil , and war on terrorism...
The world is now ruin
Perhaps I should start fron the beginning
When it was human, animalistic, with plants that existed
To understand this..
We use all the resources and save none for the next generation
We contemplate the singularity of humanism
Only using electricity to say we are wealthy
**** animals so harshly
Murdering outselves to show the superiority of the race of humans
Killing the world in which we live...
Getting deeper in to our stupidity
We solidify a type of money
Paper...
Useless, smelly, germy, filled with hate
The money most people need and yet only few gave
The mentality is simple honestly
Don't give but take
No empathy just fake
Because thats how you make it
The tragedy in "third world country"
The ignorance in those who dont update their ios 7
The forgiveness in African mutiny
And the showing of ******* economy
The people had rights they told you
The people had freedom they told you
The people had justice they told you
Until the the world went to shambles when they actually figured out they had a right to seek and destroy a government....they had the right to seek and destroy a crippled foundation for it was seeking to destroy them,


Strange

They came in guns blazing
With no warning
Just the sound of hell raging in ones ears
So many screams then there was nothing
As the first soul was vanquished from its flesh and bones
Painting a blood mural upon the once white walls
Bodies floated down the crimson river as they cried their final tears
One girl prayed to her gods hoping to deliver one final message to her son
He was two and was soon to be motherless
Another young lad was seventeen
So prideful yet so scared as he curled in a ball screaming for his mommy
"I don't want to die" was their last comment,


WR

Tragedy in life arises at birth Does not cease until Life comes to an end We cannot teach peace With one another Mostly because we do not Agree on religion It seems a bit simple And quite concise All we need to do for peace Is love one another And treat each other right
Tragedy always starts out In a human mind beautifully Equivalent to Eve's Desire for the fruit of Truth upon the tree.


CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
©ABPoetry2016

http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/06/live-die-repeat-ft-chloe-zafonte-wolf.html
Glenn Currier Oct 2018
I hoist the old scarred oaken chair
onto the workbench.
I think about how this nick
and that scratch
and that unglued cross bar
happened
and how many years it has withstood
the heavy weight of the humanity
who have found it and laid their burdens upon it.

And I give thanks that it is still repairable
still of use and available
for the brief respites
of those it serves.  

I give thanks that I too
am still on the workbench.
Richard Grahn Apr 2017
This somewhat epic poem translates in defiance based on real life and my struggle against illicit authority.

“Ever since I was a small child, I've had this feeling - it's in my nature, and so it's not even pretentious - that if everyone's going one way, I will go the other, just by some kind of spirit of defiance.” – Charlotte Rampling

Moody lips scratch at the pain
Can’t resist the chance for a wholesale change
Settling down, I wait for the train
There’s nothing to miss like this time again

I seek the battle they say I can’t win
I fight for the right to begin anew
Twisted around in the tale that I wrote
Entranced in the time it took to write

We forge a fantasy and try to rise
My side is the best of a half-chanced world
Let me resist, holding fast in the night
Got to get back where I left the light

My sight grows dim in the pale moon glow
I rise to the edge of the walls that you raised
Over the top, I fly away
Beyond your moat’s where I like to play

Dragons sail through a cloudy sky
Nothing can get in my way right now
My cheeks are frozen in a rosy hue
It’s only the rest that I want to do

Blithering idiot, get out of my way
Don’t set your soul to such passing fate
Rattle the cage and set yourself free
Toss off the chain you’re taught to believe

Complete this phrase with your ****** words
Trace your shadow and set it aside
Grieve for the moment you let slip by
You’re caught in a whirlwind, caught on the fly

Collect bygone moments and try to
Tear down that wall and set it to rest
The best we have is a spoonful of time
Take your regret and salt it away

Spin the yarn that you spin so fine
Deliver the blow that blows me away
You can’t stop me now and you never could
I won’t sit down and let it get by

You pass my time in an abstinent way
I test you with answers you can never know
You’re caught in the pang of your own little show
Your dream can’t contain me from passing on by

Your heart is a stone and your head is like bread
Your magic got sold for a stitch in the quilt
I’ll never believe the tale that you told
I’ll rewrite the scene and scatter your dreams

Build up a house the only way that you know
Leave me alone, I’ll build my own house
Don’t bring me down with your rancid dream
I am the man you can’t understand it seems

Break your own rules or set them aside
Leave me to try on my own if you dare
Don’t get caught in your miserable state
Forgive yourself and don’t you be late

The pain on my lips cannot resolve
The fear in my mind you happen to cause
Your wall it too high and your mote too deep
You can’t see the plain for the mud on your feet

You trample the facts with your own stupid dream
I am left all alone, do you know what I mean?
We’re lost in the maelstrom that you cannot see
My point is a line that you cannot read

Putting words to pen is how I contend
The lasting phrase I chose to arrange
Time cries short for the longing we have
There is no room to play it again

Lost in the moment, riding the wave
Treasured thoughts give way to tireless dreams
I’ll measure my time and measure it well
No one can see the me that I am

You think that you know what is best for me
You haven’t the eyes to know my state
I cast you away for the freedom I need
My heart bleeds thoughts that are measured in glass

You are a broken man with a broken mind
Still you try to define my world
I won’t step back and I won’t stand by
Settle your debt with some other guy

Caught in the dream, I can only wait
Severing the bonds for a great escape
The clatter of hooves on the hard stone floor
Leave me with haunts of the evermore

Building a mansion is not easy here
To cast a shadow one must have light
There is no glow in your gloomy depths
I leave you right now with your own regrets

The timekeeper riddles the path of this line
Taking away one day at a time
I can’t get them back, there is no reason
Your actions, to me, feel a lot like treason

You cannot stop me now from being who I am
Your can of worms is not my can
The worms are long and slither around
The berms of your mote are all but sound

I never recalled such a troublesome mote
I will dig you a ditch and settle the debt
You can’t stop my mind from deliberate rhyme
You can’t give back the time that you took

I will not give up, will not step back
You can’t have me, I am not your pawn
Protect your king if you think you can
But don’t attend me with your bruising mind

There are no thoughts like the thoughts that I have
There is no peace like the peace that I know
Biding my time on the castle walls
I push you away just to watch you fall

There is no room for a second chance
The light of the stars leaves me glowing for more
I take my path with a grain of salt,
And pepper the measured insightful dream

I will fly while you sit there watching the breeze
Unsure of yourself, you’re weak in the knees
I cannot regret the place where I stand
Your shoes are too small to see where I am

You’ve broken the pact with your eyes so blind
Can’t see the facts that you’ve locked inside
The truth rings true and you stand much to lose
I will walk gaily by, singing a translucent tune

Born in the wind of a course moon light
Saddled the horse just to get it in stride
Tempted the fates with a bottle of truth
Caught myself falling and withstood the test

Trying to see all the things that you bring
I’m left wanting for more, I’m dressed in rags
For heaven’s sake don’t get in my way
You’ll regret yourself even more in a day, or two

Pretend to know when you act it all out
Savor this moment you live in your dream
Imagine your thoughts are a river of steel
Just don’t let them cost more than what is real

There’s truth in the matter you choose not to see
Believing your delusion is all that you have
I’d help if I could but why be rude
You’re lost in yourself and that could last

Obsession is just the face of the facts
Memories are bound to the fading rain
Splitting a hair with a duller knife
You’re lost on the wave of a deadly game

Built on the foundation of sand and clay
The earth it trembles, your house will sway
I cannot be mute, I tell it this way
Nothing can take this true feeling away
Yasmine May 2014
You stood tall and proud
Your voice clear and loud
Withstood the hands of time
With all your winds of Rhyme
And with your winding streets
At which no ends meet
I'm lost in your memory
Found in your discovery
City that's bona fide
Beautiful Alicante
With soaring towers made of glass
Protect the city from those who trespass
But wards were broken
The Unspeakable was spoken
Demons ran rampant through the streets
While fear like rain fell in sheets
After a thousand years
You finally shed your tears
And though you lie crumbled and defeated on the hill
You remain, the Shadowhunter's home still
And I still see your towers that burn
Violet clouds that roil and churn
Fragile, and guards no longer from those who trespass
You remain, my broken
City of glass
I wrote this for English class for the City of Glass book from the Mortal Instruments series. :) hope u like it!
EdnaLim Dec 2012
Keeping a distance

I could not deal with your existence



You were as I remembered;

Strong and abled.



You were the flower that withstood storms,

The nightingale that sung the loveliest songs.



But you no longer could bend without breaking,

or sing without choking



What is left is a life of struggling,

a body that is slowly crumbling.



Refusing to accept reality,

I tried denying life's cruelty.



Then I touched you,

and felt the emotions I tried to seal



Gushing out in waves,

tears rolling down my face.



Finally, it dawned on me

that it is time to accept life as it is



To stop living in denial,

And accept life's trial.



And trust that God will give you comfort,

while I keep you happy with all my effort.



When the day comes and you have to go

Deep down, I will know



That we have walked through this together,

and that is all that matters.
Monika Sep 2015
the gleaming moon shined its light
the shadow of doubt intercepted
an omen of a stormy night
the stars took shelter among the clouds
the lantern of faith stood steady
so with it my soul withstood
the turbulence of tragedy
confused but never scared
i held onto the lantern of faith
days passed with no respite
i pondered suicide
as the only way out
then the mountains echoed
standing tall and brave in their glory
coming to rescue my gloomy spirit
the lantern of faith stood steady
the storm eventually passed by...
have faith oh restless spirit
the lantern is your own soul
and you are your own light.....
aar505n Apr 2015
memory comes knocking on wood
mocking my childhood wild neighbourhood
withstood flinching nostalgia after all this time
lynching at the alpha crime in my mind
for not wanting
to clinch, to cling,to cringe on the past, old cast.
Watch as it passed with a blast at last.
I wonder if it was some test but I detest test they stress me out.
No doubt I rather go questing for my destiny be the best me I can.
But I can't cause I am discontent, all spent no cents,
feels like I'm bent and dent without my consent
I'm sorry to vent, but does represents me in the best light?
Slight blight on society ignore my anxiety Mr Bigotry
tried to be bigger tree towering over me,
think you're some oak but it's hoax
soon you'll choke on your smoke as you take that last croak
while I leave you burning with my words
afterwards nothing but ashes and burnt branches.

Then what? I lashed out with an aged rage
But methinks this does not change anything.
and that's the sting.
The Calm Apr 2018
With all your wisdom you guide me
Strong as oak, you stand beside me
Roots deep in the ancestral plain
Battle tested bark sworn to take the pain
You great oak, you my mother
You've withstood the test of time
To make sure that I could have mine
Marlo Cabrera Nov 2018
Look how far we’ve come.
from an idea, a desire we came from
materialized from conception and now have take form.

Life is fascinating
No matter how much I want to die
existence always amazes me.

Life is treads exactly on the boundary of reality and illusion.
What so real can seem so unreal.
Like the mist in the cold morning.
It exists for us to see but slowly disappears with no trace.

The past seems so distant and the future oh so near.

Sometimes I catch myself asking the questions of whether or not
the things in the past happened or if it was just a figment of my imagination.
Memories that I have crafted for myself.

Makes you wonder
what wisdom trees hold
as they withstood the test of time.
living and dying through the seasons

Memories they have kept as time did not stop.
I wonder if the trees ever miss the people who always pass by them
Their voices, their faces.

How every day must be a nostalgia trip as they live the present and the past at the same time.

Death still boggles me.
How one thing that used to be alive is no longer around.

Only records of them stay.
Pictures, videos, voice recordings
and their words immortalized in things like letters and poems.

How dead beings still walk the living present by nothing but records

Maybe I’m just thinking too much.
Maybe all of this doesn’t make sense.

Maybe this pale form of a poem is just a way to convey a feeling
that we have not come up a name for.

A feeling stronger than Nostalgia
but weaker than being sentimental.

I don’t know.

I maybe be gone tomorrow.
Maybe in a few minutes.

I too will become something that is and will turn into what was.

Who knows.
I guess life really is a mystery.
baz Mar 2015
He is the Colosseum,
With high walls built up that have withstood centuries of harsh winds and violent storms.
He is looked upon with such admiration, this looming citadel of aestheticism, and is unmatched in any respect.
All who pass pay reverence to this fortress of great strength.

At first, navigating the Colosseum is a daunting task,
But as I started to wander down his narrow hallways and stroll past his looming arches,
I began to learn my way around and figure out just what it was that made him so magnificent.

And then, Thank the Deities,
I wandered upon the brilliant stadium of his heart.

But sadly I came to realize that behind his stable facade was a decaying sight, for his walls were crumbling on the inside.
The stones that were built to protect his fragile insides served a different purpose, to mock him of the storms that have hurt him in the past.
He was hidden behind this fortification and writhed in the cold darkness, alone and scared.
He was afraid to go out and fight, convinced that the violent storms outside that have battered him so, will surely come again.

I pity his soul, for having to take the time to put up each monstrous pillar, put down every concrete block, and fill every crack with cement.
He felt that this was necessary in order to be sure that no evil forces could hurt him ever again;
He was filled with hatred for the world because of what it had done to him.

But as a dedicated warrior, I musn't let him be scared any longer.
He has been gracious enough to let me into his life, into his amphitheater of a soul.
He is my Apollo, and I want to show him how beautiful the cosmos can be.
So I will be his gladiator, and fight for his name.
i am hopelessly infatuated with this boy.
My dearest friend, my heart's own mate,
To whom I freely bare my soul,
In whom I find a loyal mate,
To whom my every secret's told.

Together we have faced the dark,
And tasted both the sweet and sour,
Our friendship born from friendship's spark,
Has grown into a mighty tower.

Our bond has withstood the test of time,
And strengthened with each passing year,
With you, my friend, I'm in my prime,
And all the world seems bright and clear.

I cannot fathom life without
Your kind and caring presence near,
For with you, every shadow's doubt
Is chased away, and all is clear.

So let us raise a glass to us,
And toast to friendship, pure and true,
For in each other we can trust,
Our bond, a treasure ever new.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2015
Shock firstly
followed by awe

a crow's mocking
caw

as the blouse comes off &
then the bra

tossed now
nonchalantly aside

the flighty flirty skirt
yanked down

and of course the knickers
...follows.

Blouse and skir
leaping over the wall

bra being worn
by an apple tree

the knickers being led up
the garden path.

"Ok..!" I say "...oK!"
"Enough is ENOUGH!"

The wind is in a silly mood.
I chase it chasing me

I trying to catch
the scattered clothes.

The line looking
almost naked.

"** **!" shouts the wind
enjoying itself immensely.

All that remains toeing the line
are a blue boxers and yellow socks

who have manfully withstood
the wind's assaults.

The wind chanting:
"Get them off..get them off!"

like a drunk punter
at a striptease show.

The wind drops and

drops the stolen items.

The line smiling
with all of its skewed pegs

looking shameful and
gormless

at the wind's
misdemeanour.

"I was only trying it on!"
sulks the wind.

"Trying to get in touch with
my feminine side!"

Knickers in hand
I slam the door

in its protesting
face.

"A cross dressing wind...
....that's all I need!"
i have to catch up on all you sent. but yes very intense, and been my life for years now. to tell the truth, longer. but good news we saved the world , we all did, turns out there is this guy in the boonies of the ozarks who they say seems to be tied to all existance or at least powerful people with pwerful toys tie events to his moods , and he like suddenly fixed it all in the blink of an eye, with the help of everyone and of course our good Lord, and Grace and Love. wow, who would have thought , some hillbilly with flaws and a tourtured life , intensified in the last ten or so years, turns out to be that guy, yep that guy with the job no man would ever wish to have, the job of intitiating the saving of all existence by making it so, simple as that. jack. here check it out and be sure to read all the other peoples posts in the maion area thatr are rather interesting in the effects the world has when a man feels it as much as he sure does. wow the guy feels a lot and i mean wow, so much so the world reflects what ever people do to him, glad all the world love and not hate, and are caring to ensure he is hapopy as he ensures he is happy, cause arent we all tied to the existance just the same, . well most i would suspect, but if it is  hypothetically just him that is, then i cant think of a better guy to have turned down the parts that were offered, and just did the job that was needed for all to benifit and not just be greedy like so many have been to him, he really did us all a service by just being that rather wonderful and kind man he realy is. i thank the guy. truly. here is a link.
http://hellopoetry.com/ricci-moon-scott-crow-moon/
hellopoetry.com
hellopoetry.com
Oh p.s., amazing how well balanced the guy is, no massive ego, no power tripping, just forgivness and kindness with a tantrum here and there as well, a real person should have. but, yeah, amazing and he is not too bad looking , well, if you are into that  sort of look, but i can forgive the odd things he does, i mean, could you imagine the stress a guy must have doing that job and never asking for it, in fact refused it time and time again so people would not worship or mistake him for some other guy. i mean wow, freaking thoughtful and careing guy, he even humiliated himself several times just to cause the argument to be realevent that he could in no way be the main power guy, cause chossen one or not, he sure a heck held the good things in the right and justly chose to give and also recieve the possitive and teach all that pain is real, and emotions are more, and well a bunch of stuff that said, hey open your mind and consider the odd things, whether true or not, cause we can not have a future of amazing and joyous if we limit our thinking and feeling, and he did it all under the eyes of the world, even editted to look like a bad guy, not unlike bane joker or some weird o who uses crayons to paint the scenes, yeah, some folks thought that would be fun, glad the world saw through the lie of those trying to harm him, his family and the world, cause he really withstood and seems many great people really sacrificed a lot to keep them safe, and i am grateful, turns out hes not a bad guy. even if he endulges in things we all turn a blind eye to it, i mean, come on, you seen that level of preassure in a job with no time off ever? 24/7 365  all day everyday. wow the guy is , okay. i guess. just hope i can do half what he tried to do, cause i am sure it took one heck of a toll and he is just ready to heal and enjoy saving it all, with the help of everyone and well all only by the grace of God, God's will not his nor anyone elses, God sure did save the day when this guy decided to say, hey, enough. and asked the lord for help. smile. you saved the world matthew. thank you. really, i mean it.
Yep . so. smile all. in the blink of an eye. or as one can hope it to be. so long as the world and powers that be, allow for such good things, I mean didnt we all just choose to save the whole thing, and seems it can only be done by the will of God< gods will not mine, not yours not theirs, so, hum, yeah, thanks all for helping save the world in the blink of an eye here caught up in this wifi cloud of internet .
vircapio gale Aug 2012
spelling backwards through time,
      stroke by blurry stroke
      a maiden's coal-black hair regales
      the flattery from her lips...  and so the doom
-- and boon of a crimson warrior's arm --
      was drawn from speech a flame,
      and kindled mind to burn away for lust,
one speaker fed and doubly fraught
by goddess's
      invention brought
to give away his name and trust,
for doppelgangers' games
                                 and beauty
                                         to consent~

that trollish abysm our aching selfhood
deems unworthy, war can celebrate:
iconic genius symbol may encourage,
it may remembrance windows of our history~
      but only breath, and inner sight so keen
      on solid strength of living fact
      can triumph in the plain!
some semblance of an older wisdom
strains to orate still, and lust itself afar,
      but brawn and tested fibrous body build
      must turn the page of time;
and this, to know the truth withstood
that vision
        of a perfect youth
                            forever,
one start and line without an end,
      a floating dance of pulling under waves
      that never waves as being surely does
like no ancient-honest country-prophet ever saw--
thus, remnants of the wisdom from a fallen mind;
and so he fell to her and had not her for long...
she had a wider window, immortal panes,
this temptress
       suppleness of limb to shock
and shake the bones of foolish learning,
that thinks itself imbued with everlasting fame.

it was a mossy light
                         of eyelash shine
                                           and sheen
                                                   to woo
                                                        the wisdom out,
electric sense to lure the hapless sap
into a brutish trap: to learn alone the
atheletes pathos, relearn the heart-race
from a chest of seemless vigour,
from lungs of endless winds
and legs of trunkish growth the
channels and the prism of an empty skull
instead of learned ships and foolish mimes of finer times--
                   he does the bidding of her will.











.
a mythumockery or mockumythery, if you will, of some of the classically embellished dogmas of mind-body/***-power causality, nothing serious :P  hope it entertains to some degree
Penelope Winter Jan 2018
A rocking chair sits
On the porch
Of a house
On the corner of ol’ Honey Lane.
It looks over fields of lavender stems
And rocks with the wind and the rain.
I grew up walking past it,
On ol’ Honey Lane,
And would sometimes drop by for a swing.
I brought books and some snacks,
Played with dollies and jacks,
This poor rocker withstood everything.
I grew a bit older but kept coming back
To my rocker on ol’ Honey Lane.
I’d bring it my sorrows and rock til the morrow,
Forgetting my worries and pain.
The gentle caressing of lavender lullabies
Scattered the clouds of grey.
And whene’er I was lonely, I knew that only
My rocker could brighten my day.
Still older I grew and soon began dreaming
Of cities more couth and refined.
So I hopped on a plane, fled my ol' Honey Lane
And left my poor rocker behind.
I traded my jeans for a dazzling dress,
And dollies for wine and pearls.
But nothing within could dare to trade in

The mem’ry of that young, little girl.
The girl who spent hours watching lavender fields,
On the corner of ol’ Honey Lane.
I knew without haste, there was no time to waste,
I had to go find her again.
So back home I flew, to see family and friends,
To smell lavender waft through the air.
I ran to the porch of the old corner house,
And saw my dear old rocking chair.
I hopped on it’s seat, kicked my feet off the ground,
And remembered the wind and the rain.
As the sun went to sleep in the lavender fields,
So I slept on my rocker
On ol’ Honey Lane.

- p. winter
The night was passing, and the Grecian host
By no means sought to issue forth unseen.
But when indeed the day with her white steeds
Held all the earth, resplendent to behold,
First from the Greeks the loud-resounding din
Of song triumphant came; and shrill at once
Echo responded from the island rock.
Then upon all barbarians terror fell,
Thus disappointed; for not as for flight
The Hellenes sang the holy pæan then,
But setting forth to battle valiantly.
The bugle with its note inflamed them all;
And straightway with the dip of plashing oars
They smote the deep sea water at command,
And quickly all were plainly to be seen.
Their right wing first in orderly array
Led on, and second all the armament
Followed them forth; and meanwhile there was heard
A mighty shout: "Come, O ye sons of Greeks,
Make free your country, make your children free,
Your wives, and fanes of your ancestral gods,
And your sires' tombs! For all we now contend!"
And from our side the rush of Persian speech
Replied. No longer might the crisis wait.
At once ship smote on ship with brazen beak;
A vessel of the Greeks began the attack,
Crushing the stem of a Phoenician ship.
Each on a different vessel turned its prow.
At first the current of the Persian host
Withstood; but when within the strait the throng
Of ships was gathered, and they could not aid
Each other, but by their own brazen bows
Were struck, they shattered all our naval host.
The Grecian vessels not unskillfully
Were smiting round about; the hulls of ships
Were overset; the sea was hid from sight,
Covered with wreckage and the death of men;
The reefs and headlands were with corpses filled,
And in disordered flight each ship was rowed,
As many as were of the Persian host.
But they, like tunnies or some shoal of fish,
With broken oars and fragments of the wrecks
Struck us and clove us; and at once a cry
Of lamentation filled the briny sea,
Till the black darkness' eye did rescue us.
The number of our griefs, not though ten days
I talked together, could I fully tell;
But this know well, that never in one day
Perished so great a multitude of men.
Em MacKenzie Feb 2018
We built a strong, solid foundation
but our words were an abbreviation,
it held us up but it was bound to fall.
We went through the blueprints twice,
our materials were dirt and ice,
but for years warmth radiated from the wall.

The hole that we made our home,
reflected back to us gold and chrome,
but with rain everything can turn to rust.
It withstood every test and trial,
it didn't tire with every mile,
the strongest support beam that stood was trust.

You know Rome wasn't built in a day,
but Troy did fall in a single night.
And when we kneel to finally pray,
I hope we have our priorities right.

We invested hope into this dwelling,
even though better ones were selling,
we wished just to have a comfortable fit.
We brightened it up with a coat of paint,
even though the shade of it was faint,
I didn't even mind it one single bit.

You know Rome wasn't built in a day,
but Troy did fall in a single night.
I could've fought but I'd rather lay
beside you asleep, holding you tight.

We built a strong, solid foundation
we were the envy of every person and nation,
because we turned Hell into a nest.
We went through the blueprints twice,
and didn't even bother asking the price,
as money holds no weight compared to the rest.

You know Rome wasn't built in a day,
but Troy did fall in a single night.
And when we fear the darkness will stay,
is the moment when the sun will shine most bright.
Everything will be alright.
Nightingale74 Jan 2016
"I love you."
I love you like a sister,
I love you like a brother,
I love you like a friend,
I love you like a lover.

Love—
One word with countless meanings.
In my life I have loved many.
And in return,
I have been loved by many.
And yet, there is still so much I have to learn
About the art of loving.

Love—
A word defined in many different ways.
Is it possible for love to bloom,
Even in the absence of physical touch?
Can it grow and flourish,
Despite the forces
Trying to destroy it?

Love—
A timeless idea that has withstood the ages.
Can young hearts understand what it means
To share your love with another?
They say you're too young to know what love is.
But I beg to differ.
After all, it is MY heart we're talking about.

Is love really so complicated?
When my heart said "I love you,"
Why wouldn't my lips form the words?
(Jeremiah, xxxi. 18-20)

My God, till I received Thy stroke,
How like a beast was I!
So unaccustom'd to the yoke,
So backward to comply.

With grief my just reproach I hear;
Shame fills me at the thought,
How frequent my rebellions were,
What wickedness I wrought.

Thy merciful restraint I scorn'd,
And left the pleasant road;
Yet turn me, and I shall be turn'd;
Thou art the Lord my God.

"Is Ephraim banish'd from my thoughts,
Or vile in my esteem?
No," saith the Lord, "with all his faults,
I still remember him.

"Is he a dear and pleasant child?
Yes, dear and pleasant still;
Though sin his foolish heart beguiled,
And he withstood my will.

"My sharp rebuke has laid him low,
He seeks my face again;
My pity kindles at his woe,
He shall not seek in vain."
The prolonged wailing filled me with the night
Naught but death,then,seemed bright

What remained of the soul were bits and pieces
I, ready to be carried away by the breezes

A utopia awaited in my dreams
But not was the wailing allowing me to sleep

A dawn so pure and warm
And a world where only life was born

Where dreams fluttered and leaped to freedom
And one was a king of his kingdom

Where one could shatter life's shell
And be tranquilled by hell

As I pondered on my dreams
I noticed that the crying had ceased

A realization dawned me, a fear gripped me
And I cared naught about the agony

With the last breath left I opened my eyes
Trying to look beyond the darkness beside

I spotted her and watched her lying by
Still she was with no tears to cry

But I knew she had a breath left
And tormented by that sight my soul wept

I dragged my tattered body to the ethereal being
And I withstood the pain that had been

I looked at the calmness now at her face
Her divinity I could only embrace

The vibrance she radiated
And the peace that in me she created

I clasped my hands around her
And in my eyes reflected her's

And staring into the stillness that had drawn
The night devouring us, we waited for a new life, a new dawn.
Marcelo Jun 2016
everytimes he looks at me i see the reflection in his eyes and i recognize that look.
it is one of disappointment.
a look far too familiar on my parents faces when faced with their offspring.
i know i was never the first option just the ***** cell that won.
but who honestly expects a cheetah to win a swimming competition when there is a little fish in the race.
a disgrace that one is forced to convince that their existence is not futile.
As first i could not fathom what it was you wanted for me.
but Father i honestly just changed for you.
to be the son you have always wanted, i even withstood the torture and all of their tormenting words as they called me a 'Man'.
my mother failed to understand why i could not be a lady but it was all for you.
Father, forgive me.
Unlike Pinocchio, I CAN'T BE A REAL BOY!
open letter to my father, hoping he can love me as i tried so hard to just be a real boy.
Michael R Burch Feb 2024
POEMS ABOUT EROS AND CUPID

These are translations of ancient Greek poems about Eros. Eros was the Greek counterpart of the Roman god Cupid. While today we tend to think of Cupid as an angelic cherub shooting arrows and making people fall in love, the ancient Greek and Roman poets often portrayed Cupid/Eros as a troublemaker who was driving them mad with uncontrollable desires.


Sappho, fragment 42
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Eros harrows my heart:
wilds winds whipping desolate mountains,
uprooting oaks.



Sappho, fragment 130
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Eros, the limb-shatterer,
rattles me,
an irresistible
constrictor.



Sappho, fragment 54
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Eros
descends from heaven,
discarding his imperial purple mantle.



Preposterous Eros
by Michael R. Burch

“Preposterous Eros” – Patricia Falanga

Preposterous Eros shot me in
the buttocks, with a Devilish grin,
spent all my money in a rush
then left my heart effete pink mush.



Sappho, fragment 22
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

That enticing girl's clinging dresses
leave me trembling, overcome by happiness,
as once, when I saw the Goddess in my prayers
eclipsing Cyprus.



Sappho, fragment 102
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Mother, how can I weave,
so overwhelmed by love?



Sappho, fragment 10
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I lust!
I crave!
Take me!


Around the same time Sappho was writing in ******, in nearby Greece, circa 564 B.C., we have another poem about the power of Eros:

Ibykos Fragment 286
translation by Michael R. Burch

Come spring, the grand
apple trees stand
watered by a gushing river
where the maidens’ uncut flowers shiver
and the blossoming grape vine swells
in the gathering shadows.

Unfortunately
for me
Eros never rests
but like a Thracian tempest
ablaze with lightning
emanates from Aphrodite;
the results are frightening―
black,
bleak,
astonishing,
violently jolting me from my soles
to my soul.



I hate Eros! Why does that gargantuan God dart my heart, rather than wild beasts? What can a God think to gain by inflaming a man? What trophies can he hope to win with my head?
―Alcaeus of Messene, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Have mercy, dear Phoebus, drawer of the bow, for were you not also wounded by love’s streaking arrows?
―Claudianus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In Greek mythology, Cupid shoots Phoebus Apollo to make him fall in love with Daphne, then shoots Daphne with an arrow that prevents her from falling in love with her suitor.



Matchmaker Love, if you can’t set a couple equally aflame, why not ***** out your torch?
―Rufinus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



I have armed myself with wisdom against Love;
he cannot defeat me in single combat.
I, a mere mortal, have withstood a God!
But if he enlists the aid of Bacchus,
what odds do I have against the two of them?
―Rufinus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Love, if you aim your arrows at both of us impartially, you’re a God, but if you favor one over the other, you’re the Devil!
―Rufinus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Either put an end to lust, Eros, or else insist on reciprocity: abolish desire or heighten it.
―Lucilius or Polemo of Pontus, loose translation by Michael R. Burch



Steady your bow, Cypris, and at your leisure select a likelier target ... for I am too full of arrows to take another wound.
―Archias, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Cypris was another name for Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. Here the poet may be suggesting, “Like mother, like son.”



Little Love, lay my heart waste;
empty your quiver into me;
leave not an arrow unshot!
Slay me with your cruel shafts,
but when you’d shoot someone else,
you’ll find yourself out of ammo!
―Archias, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



You say I should flee from Love, but it’s hopeless!
How can a man on foot escape from a winged creature with unerring accuracy?
―Archias, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Many centuries later, poets would still be complaining about the overpoweringness of ****** desire, and/or the unfairness of unrequited love, by which they often meant not getting laid!



Spring
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Young lovers,
greeting the spring
fling themselves downhill,
making cobblestones ring
with their wild leaps and arcs,
like ecstatic sparks
drawn from coal.

What is their brazen goal?

They grab at whatever passes,
so we can only hazard guesses.
But they rear like prancing steeds
raked by brilliant spurs of need,
Young lovers.


Fast-forwarding again, we find the great Scottish poet William Dunbar, who was born around 1460:

Sweet Rose of Virtue
by William Dunbar
translation by Michael R. Burch

Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness,
delightful lily of youthful wantonness,
richest in bounty and in beauty clear
and in every virtue that is held most dear,
except only that you are merciless.

Into your garden, today, I followed you;
there I saw flowers of freshest hue,
both white and red, delightful to see,
and wholesome herbs, waving resplendently,
yet everywhere, no odor but rue.

I fear that March with his last arctic blast
has slain my fair rose of pallid and gentle cast,
whose piteous death does my heart such pain
that, if I could, I would compose her roots again,
so comforting her bowering leaves have been.

Keywords/Tags: Eros, Cupid, Phoebus Apollo, Cypris, Aphrodite, love, blind love, cute love, love god, love goddess, bow, arrow, arrows, desire, passion, lust, heart
Moomin May 2020
A delicate crimson rose endures
The snow and winds of winter's grasp
And closes up and wilts a while
Until Summer sun it finds at last

In this world of unrighteousness
Where brutes and ogres' egos roam
And selfishness abounds like weeds
She exists in shattered form

With silent seething disilusion
And saddened, unrequited love
Maddened by the unjust acts
of those who advertized their “love”

A vain and self-indulgent god
Did sieze himself her mind and oath
Presiding as the demons do
In hidden acts pronounced as gross  

Enduring the madness of matriarchs
And the hostility of tribal gang
Where smiles of familial welcoming
Turned into savage, jealous fangs  

Yet though the bitterness seeps through
And anger permeates her skin
Sweet dignity she still retains
And devotion stll resides within

Her adornment incorruptible
Her spirit mild and resolute
Did not return evil for evil
But stood and conquered it with good

Happy is she who has endured
And in mild subjection did remain
Showing honour to a painful degree
To bring honour to Jehovah's name

And though she stumbled in despair
Yet withstood for righteous sake
Her loyalty, the beast could not sever
Nor divine concsience could he break

For like the rose at winter's end
That bears a striking sharpened thorn
Her petals still are soft and pure
And her soul with beauty still adorned

For the righteous one who sees all things
And whose love she yet retains
Will never for eternity forget
The love she showed for his great name

And should she reach out and beseech
And trust his salvation once again
She would know with certainty
He has never let go her hand


(For my precious daughter, Cheryl, who has been to hell and back)
JadedSoul Aug 2014
Before the storm came
The buildings swayed
In the wind,
To and fro
In the town
Of Tokyo

Before the quake came
There was little song
Few bells
that rang ding-****
Just sullen struggle
In Hong Kong

Fix the buildings,
Make the people happy,
They all were pleading
But city planners deemed
The costs too high,
Time too scarce

Live on in buildings
With uncertain foundations!
Live on in cities
with no song!
For time and money
To fix these things
Are in low supply

But then the quake and storm arrived
And levelled all
few survived
But for prudent planning
They might have withstood the trouble!

Now the cost of cleaning up
The cost of building up
Of finding song
And bringing Joy
Is far greater
Than if first prepared

The buildings sway in the wind no more
smiles and song
But the fight to bring it back
Is proving great

So evermore they'll be sullen
Living in ruins
And smouldering ashes
solfang Mar 2019
I killed my cactus,
distressed and helpless;
it'll never survive regardless.

I watered it more than I should,
for some reason it withstood;
as more affection is never no-good,
but intentions are often misunderstood.

one time I changed its ***
and had a second afterthought.
I then changed its soil,
yet I'm stuck in a turmoil.
these weren't the changes I seek,
for I loathe its spines -
so cluttered and bleak.

maybe I should have gotten
a tiny potted succulent,
or plants with stinger;
perhaps I never even had
the green fingers.
I have friends who were stuck in an unconventional relationship - abusive.
they believe they were changing each other for the better but couldn't differentiate their wrongs and rights.
----
side note: was asking opinions on what hobbies I should take up, some friends suggested caring for succulents - told them I couldn't even keep a cactus alive.
Stacy Del Gallo Jul 2010
We were so ecstatic waiting for the wind
to wind its way through the trees--
there was an electricity in the air,
a charged warning.

We sat on the porch guarded by
oversized hoodies
and a wooden awning--
smoked bowls and snickered
at the squirrels dashing
lightning speed from unsteady
branches into hidden havens.

For hours we waited and watched
lawn chairs, trashcans, and
fields of leaves swirl up into the sky,
finally earning a retreat
into chaos. The newly
boarded windows withstood
the huffing and puffing of
nature’s big bad wolf-

he was not so ravenous this time.
Not like Katrina or Andrew.
Not enough to warrant
a week of cancelled classes
and hours of uninterrupted
news coverage- how quickly we
overreact to even the slightest
threat of rain or snow.

This was nothing more
than a PG rated epic but parents
sheltered their children,
covered their eyes and ears,
rocked them to sleep as even
picnic tables stood their ground.

— The End —