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The apple trees are hung with gold,
And birds are loud in Arcady,
The sheep lie bleating in the fold,
The wild goat runs across the wold,
But yesterday his love he told,
I know he will come back to me.
O rising moon!  O Lady moon!
Be you my lover’s sentinel,
You cannot choose but know him well,
For he is shod with purple shoon,
You cannot choose but know my love,
For he a shepherd’s crook doth bear,
And he is soft as any dove,
And brown and curly is his hair.

The turtle now has ceased to call
Upon her crimson-footed groom,
The grey wolf prowls about the stall,
The lily’s singing seneschal
Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all
The violet hills are lost in gloom.
O risen moon!  O holy moon!
Stand on the top of Helice,
And if my own true love you see,
Ah! if you see the purple shoon,
The hazel crook, the lad’s brown hair,
The goat-skin wrapped about his arm,
Tell him that I am waiting where
The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.

The falling dew is cold and chill,
And no bird sings in Arcady,
The little fauns have left the hill,
Even the tired daffodil
Has closed its gilded doors, and still
My lover comes not back to me.
False moon!  False moon!  O waning moon!
Where is my own true lover gone,
Where are the lips vermilion,
The shepherd’s crook, the purple shoon?
Why spread that silver pavilion,
Why wear that veil of drifting mist?
Ah! thou hast young Endymion,
Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!
Once in the wind of morning
  I ranged the thymy wold;
The world-wide air was azure
  And all the brooks ran gold.

There through the dews beside me
  Behold a youth that trod,
With feathered cap on forehead,
  And poised a golden rod.

With mien to match the morning
  And gay delightful guise
And friendly brows and laughter
  He looked me in the eyes.

Oh whence, I asked, and whither?
  He smiled and would not say,
And looked at me and beckoned
  And laughed and led the way.

And with kind looks and laughter
  And nought to say beside
We two went on together,
  I and my happy guide.

Across the glittering pastures
  And empty upland still
And solitude of shepherds
  High in the folded hill,

By hanging woods and hamlets
  That gaze through orchards down
On many a windmill turning
  And far-discovered town,

With gay regards of promise
  And sure unslackened stride
And smiles and nothing spoken
  Led on my merry guide.

By blowing realms of woodland
  With sunstruck vanes afield
And cloud-led shadows sailing
  About the windy weald,

By valley-guarded granges
  And silver waters wide,
Content at heart I followed
  With my delightful guide.

And like the cloudy shadows
  Across the country blown
We two fare on for ever,
  But not we two alone.

With the great gale we journey
  That breathes from gardens thinned,
Borne in the drift of blossoms
  Whose petals throng the wind;

Buoyed on the heaven-heard whisper
  Of dancing leaflets whirled
>From all the woods that autumn
  Bereaves in all the world.

And midst the fluttering legion
  Of all that ever died
I follow, and before us
  Goes the delightful guide,

With lips that brim with laughter
  But never once respond,
And feet that fly on feathers,
  And serpent-circled wand.
Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not:
I am no summer friend, but wintry cold,
A silly sheep benighted from the fold,
A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot.
Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot,
Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold;
Lest you with me should shiver on the wold,
Athirst and hungering on a barren spot.
For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge,
I live alone, I look to die alone:
Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge,
Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back,
My heart goes sighing after swallows flown
On sometime summer's unreturning track.
Chubbie Bunny Jan 2014
Sometimes the pressures of the world are too much to handle
the weight just crushes down on you
and you don't know if you can get back up
With every push upward you gain an ounce of hope
but your foot slips and you lose your grip
you want to scream in pain
curse the Lord's name in vain
but nothing but empty air leaves your lips

You want to disappear inside your soul
cut out the wold and attempt to fix your gaping hole
but don't let them see you without a smile on our face
Trick them into thinking you believe you are more than a disgrace
or that you don't feel small
build up that wall

Standing at the corner of lost and lonely
I wish I could leave my own mind
pack my bags and throw an "out of order" sign on the door
you meet someone who gives you hope
but deep down you know hope is as far as you'll get
"she's out of your league" you're right
so lay down and act like it doesn't bother you tonight

Punch out a few crunches
hope the sweat will wash away the insecurities
because they told you it would make you feel better
both on the inside and out
so why not use the chemicals to scrub your brain

You feel dark and twisted
and that the poems you write should have a happy ending
as if it will make you feel better
but not every story has a sunrise
you can only hope yours does
Calm is the morn without a sound,
  Calm as to suit a calmer grief,
  And only thro' the faded leaf
The chestnut pattering to the ground:

Calm and deep peace on this high wold,
  And on these dews that drench the furze,
  And all the silvery gossamers
That twinkle into green and gold:

Calm and still light on yon great plain
  That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,
  And crowded farms and lessening towers,
To mingle with the bounding main:

Calm and deep peace in this wide air,
  These leaves that redden to the fall;
  And in my heart, if calm at all,
If any calm, a calm despair:

Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,
  And waves that sway themselves in rest,
  And dead calm in that noble breast
Which heaves but with the heaving deep.
Like labour-laden moonclouds faint to flee
From winds that sweep the winter-bitten wold,—
Like multiform circumfluence manifold
Of night’s flood-tide,—like terrors that agree
Of hoarse-tongued fire and inarticulate sea,—
Even such, within some glass dimmed by our breath,
Our hearts discern wild images of Death,
Shadows and shoals that edge eternity.

Howbeit athwart Death’s imminent shade doth soar
One Power, than flow of stream or flight of dove
Sweeter to glide around, to brood above.
Tell me, my heart;—what angel-greeted door
Or threshold of wing-winnowed threshing-floor
Hath guest fire-fledged as thine, whose lord is Love?
I climb the hill: from end to end
  Of all the landscape underneath,
  I find no place that does not breathe
Some gracious memory of my friend;

No gray old grange, or lonely fold,
  Or low morass and whispering reed,
  Or simple stile from mead to mead,
Or sheepwalk up the windy wold;

Nor hoary knoll of ash and haw
  That hears the latest linnet trill,
  Nor quarry trench'd along the hill
And haunted by the wrangling daw;

Nor runlet tinkling from the rock;
  Nor pastoral rivulet that swerves
  To left and right thro' meadowy curves,
That feed the mothers of the flock;

But each has pleased a kindred eye,
  And each reflects a kindlier day;
  And, leaving these, to pass away,
I think once more he seems to die.
Ben Jun 2012
Bleeding In my own wold
 I am serene
I am ******* buddah
An exemplary  exhibit of how
To be calm in a storm 
How to stand on my own in the waves
That crush my shoulders
That smash my chest 
That bring me to my knees
**** the rules
And I defy the gods of this world
I raise my voice
In a defiant hymn 
I rebel
I exist through my will
And I will not be brought low
I am flesh blood and bone
I am because I am
And my thoughts roam these 
Unsavory waters
I will fight these demons
I will become what I may
And relentless I will purge
My soul
I scream till my eyes bleed
And I know what it means
To eat the heart of my enemies
Tyler Jan 2018
It's weird. You go on living. The world around you moves. It's like every day. Every breath. Maybe that's what it is, what you breath. There is this feeling. It's almost like a flutter. Like the wold just tells you- "stop. Look at what I made for  y o u  I did this. Now do what you will with what I made". And you do. You take this, this feeling the world around you gave, and make art. The feeling, the
r u s h, it's indescribable. Yet here I am, trying to describe it. This art you make, this feeling that courses throughout your veins, it feels so real and yet it is so much more than this world. So much more that the sky above your mind, more than the ground beneath your feet, more than the blood running through you. How can something,this feeling,  be so much more than everything yet be nothing? Art. It is so beautifully composed, isn't it?
The stars,
The city,
The sunshine,
Golden hair,
Everything is so beautiful
Yet people can make it so ugly.
The sky is laced with fitful red,
The circling mists and shadows flee,
The dawn is rising from the sea,
Like a white lady from her bed.

And jagged brazen arrows fall
Athwart the feathers of the night,
And a long wave of yellow light
Breaks silently on tower and hall,

And spreading wide across the wold
Wakes into flight some fluttering bird,
And all the chestnut tops are stirred,
And all the branches streaked with gold.
Jude kyrie Jan 2017
Neither one of them knew when the rivalry began. It was certainly in their infancy.
Rachel Huntington was twenty  a star scholar at Oxford university.
Matthew fotheringham was the same age also a star scholar  
They excelled in the study of English literature having read all of the aincent and modern classics in high school.
It was known that saint Hilda's college at Oxford regarded Rachel as  the most  gifted student they had seen for years.
In his group the same was said for Matthew.
They shared the same advanced literature class and the tension between then was palatable.
She would put forward a proposition on Shakespeare repeated usage of
Iambic pentameter.
And Matthew would destroy her concept with a detailed analysis of his works
Have you been  cribbing with Cole's notes he would add in disdain.
Rebecca hated him calling him insufferably conceited and a total buffoon.
He once went to her dorm to pick up an ancient script she had borrowed from the library the only copy.
He phoned from the hall shall I come up to your room
And pick it up.
Rachel shouted No!
I will bring it down to you.
You are never to come up to my dorm.
It's not that I wouldn't allow a man up here
But if anyone were to see you leaving and got the wrong idea.
I don't want them to think I have no taste and low standards in boyfriends.
And that's how it went on.

Then the literature guilds competition had been announced
Schoolers from all over Europe were to present their essays of no less than 25 thousand words and the winner would receive 25 thousand guineas but more importantly that opened the door to the chairs of literature all through the continent.

The rivalry escalation was at fever pitch.
Matthew worked  75. Hour weeks on his essay
Rachelle kept up with him never wasting a single moment.
The class bookmaker has had narrow odds on the winner it one of these two.

They went to the presentation hall and entered the book sized essays sealed in manilla envelopes
Rachel quipped you don't have a chance you couldn't copy mine.
Matthew said I hope they don't use the new plagiarism software you have probably stole yours from the internet.
I already have made plans for my winnings he bragged.
What a good plated pocket protector and  a girl friend you just add air too.
Matthew was hurt
Particularly at the insult that he had a blow up plastic girlfriend.
He remembered humor was the best defence it showed they could not hurt you.
I only bought her for driving on the diamond lanes on the highway.
Anyhoo nothing happened between us until that last night of term
When we drank too much wine.
Rachel walked off in disgust
As he yelled so all could here
She's better in bed than you will ever be .

It was two weeks to the announcement of the contest winners.
No use worrying about it Matthew said
He went for a long evening stroll by the river.
As he turned on the river bend he saw Rachel
She was crying say beneath a huge willow tree.

For once he did not have a smart quip or an insult.
He walked to her and sat down next to her.
Why are you weeping Rachel he asked gently.
She had never ever heard his voice so soft.
My father died last night. She sobbed.
It occurred to Matthew he knew nothing of her life.
I am so sorry what happened
He was the clergyman at Saint Monica's Anglican Church
He had cancer and never let me know.
It had taken all his savings to get me through Oxford.
And he did not want me to lose focus.
Then she wept freely
Mathew held her close to him she wept on his his shoulder
His fingers gentle touched her reddish suborn hair.
It was soft she smelt of lavender soap it was nice.
I ...I have to go to Stowe  on the wold tomorrow for the funeral.
I shall take you there
Do you have a car she asked.
Yes I have a twenty year old MG convertible. My dad bought me when I got into Oxford.
It was arranged he picked her up and off to the funeral they went .
He never felt as comfortable or comforting in all his life.
He was seeing her in a new light after all the stupid years.
They arrived at the old vicarage
Mrs Evans the housekeeper hugged them both
It's about time you got your pretty nose out of those old dusty books
And got yourself a boyfriend.
The weird part was neither one of them corrected Mrs Evans.

The funeral took place
And they set back along the old country roads to the university.
They talked about literature art posts and writers.
Then the old engine conked out.
Miles from anywhere
You need to go get petrol she said.
But there's no station between her and Oxford
The phone signal was not reaching them.
We have to sleep in the car for the night.
Rachel said as long as you don't get any ideas.
You are not my type.
He was going to tell her she was his type but said nothing.
It was freezing in the night Rachel was shivering
He took off his coat and jacket and put them over her in the back seat
As he shivered frozen in the front seat.
In the early morning they woke up
She stepped out of the car and stretched
Matthew was on one knee in front of her
What are doing she asked?
What does it look like I am doing ?
I am proposing that you become my wife.
Never! never! never !
After all the insults you have laid upon me.
Well I'm I'm sorry
Not good enough she shouted.

Do you have the guts to make a get with me Matthew asked.?
Her reddish hair answered the challenge
Just try me.
OK if I  win the award you will become my wife.he said.
If I  win you get lost and marry the blow up lady.she countered.
Well the challenge was a tough one
If she did not accept it it was saying he was smarter than her and she knew it.
If she accepted it was the opposite.
OK you have a deal.

A week later Matthew was working in the library
The prize winners are being posted on the notice board.
He felt a gasp in his chest
As he reached the crowd of students he saw Rachel
She even had a trace of make-up on she was now
Getting to look beautiful to him.
Good luck rachel he whispered I hope you win.
She knew he meant it but she remembered the wager.
She said softly I hope it's you that wins Mathew.
A young woman rushed out of the crowd
Rachelle you won you won.
Mathews heart sank
Congratulations Rachel I am so happy for you.
She felt a tear selling in her eye
Mathew where are you going
You told me to go And marry my send away lady that you just add air too
If I lost the bet you won Rachel.
And her heart sank in her chest.
Then the young woman saw him
Matthew congratulations you won.
She showed him a copy of the winners notice.
It had a note
In all the years of the competition we have never had two such magnificent essays
The adjudicator's were unable to mark one better than the other
We have shared the prize to two winners for the very first time.
Rachel held Mathew code and kissed him fully and hard. Not caring who was watching. He kissed her back
The crowd were astonished their tied was legendary at Oxford.


Two years later.
Matthew strolled in the park with the twins and his beloved wife Rachel.
She had married him a week after the award ceremony at Oxford.
It was said in the coffee room that the university had never had two professors as much in love as them they were now teaching in the English department and we're already in competition for their tenure.
But they never spent a moment appart.

He picked up the twins and shouted his love for Rachel on the top of his voice.
The evening breeze picks up the perfume of the fallen leaves.
Rachel smiled at him and whispered softly I love you too dearest.
She felt him slip into that private room in her heart that she always saved for her soulmate
As he entered the room holding their two babies.
She locked the door behind him with the only key that existed.
And then she threw  it into the dense woodlands of Oxfordshire
Never to found again.
All's well that ends well
Nice play
Shakespeare
The wind, that beats the mountain, blows
More softly round the open wold,
And gently comes the world to those
That are cast in gentle mould.

And me this knowledge bolder made,
Or else I had not dare to flow
In these words toward you, and invade
Even with a verse your holy woe.
'Tis strange that those we lean on most,
Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed,
Fall into shadow, soonest lost:
Those we love first are taken first.

God gives us love. Something to love
He lends us; but, when love is grown
To ripeness, that on which it throve
Falls off, and love is left alone.

This is the curse of time. Alas!
In grief I am not all unlearn'd;
Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass;
One went, who never hath return'd.

He will not smile--not speak to me
Once more. Two years his chair is seen
Empty before us. That was he
Without whose life I had not been.

Your loss is rarer; for this star
Rose with you thro' a little arc
Of heaven, nor having wander'd far
Shot on the sudden into dark.

I knew your brother: his mute dust
I honour and his living worth:
A man more pure and bold and just
Was never born into the earth.

I have not look'd upon you nigh,
Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep.
Great nature is more wise than I:
I will not tell you not to weep.

And tho' mine own eyes fill with dew,
Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain,
I will not even preach to you,
"Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain."

Let Grief be her own mistress still.
She loveth her own anguish deep
More than much pleasure. Let her will
Be done--to weep or not to weep.

I will not say "God's ordinance
Of death is blown in every wind;"
For that is not a common chance
That takes away a noble mind.

His memory long will live alone
In all our hearts, as mournful light
That broods above the fallen sun,
And dwells in heaven half the night.

Vain solace! Memory standing near
Cast down her eyes, and in her throat
Her voice seem'd distant, and a tear
Dropt on the letters as I wrote.

I wrote I know not what. In truth,
How should I soothe you anyway,
Who miss the brother of your youth?
Yet something I did wish to say:

For he too was a friend to me:
Both are my friends, and my true breast
Bleedeth for both: yet it may be
That only silence suiteth best.

Words weaker than your grief would make
Grief more. 'Twere better I should cease;
Although myself could almost take
The place of him that sleeps in peace.

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;
Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,
While the stars burn, the moons increase,
And the great ages onward roll.

Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet.
Nothing comes to thee new or strange,
Sleep full of rest from head to feet:
Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
K Balachandran Oct 2011
Distant thunders of  wars threaten
my peaceful
landscape of sleep,
in bed I twist and turn
shocked by the cries of
people getting killed for
reasons hidden or unknown;
when lives get complex
like tangled knotted  strings,
for death to snap it
hardly needs  any reason.

Bombs explode and light
a wild fire of destructions,
creating an illusion, that
it's just a happy fire works.
Misery has it's reign everywhere;
women  are unconsolable in grief,
men are  in moral turmoil.

Waking up I realize,
nightmares come in waves
soaking up waking hours with remorse
in our sad sordid times.
Bad dreams at night are merciful
as one is insulated from
being a nervous wreck.
how could one look away
when one is  bleeding from
the  eyes like a martyr?

Mothers are wailing,
fathers go missing, all of a sudden
children are made orphans
with no place to call their own.
Nobody seems to be concerned;
no one  any more is
the keeper of one's own
brothers and sisters.

The world collects statistics
and explanations dutifully,
reports are written
and stalked in shelves;
all hyperbole, lies and nonsense
signifying nothing,
in a wold broiled as
love had gone missing.

In this silent  night, smelling blood
of sacrificial lambs,
a  pale moon hangs low
like  human conscience;
  silent witness or accomplice?
We stand here in the shadows confused;
"Aren't we trudging back to darkness?"
Leal Knowone Mar 2015
So beautiful in this ugliness, **** a bit of this wretchedness
in my mind I unwind, and uncover the lies you hide
because of it i kiss the bliss with chapped lips and clenched fist
I thought all I wanted was a night like this
looking back I know i dont want it
in this world full of lies and ****
we cant see truth through our own arrogance
you thought we wold live in a world of bliss
just a clenched fist gripping pestilence
drinking the glass half full from the optimist
we wont live a life of opulence
Jack Turner Jun 2010
How do you tell a 19 year old boy that he is in Love?
More importantly, how does he tell himself?
At this point in life, that admonition is more life self-incrimination,
Than the natural steps for a smitten heart.

For so long the lone wold has roamed the range,
And now that one has been found that feels the same,
The instinct to go run and hide away
Must be corralled and eliminated from the brain,
With proper manners, class, and tact instilled in its place.

Though he feels so strongly, and always sees her face,
And with thoughts of her never far from reach
- Hovering on the edge of consciousness for easy access -
The ripping sound is his being being torn apart, heart and mind at odds with each other.
This self-perpetuating war in those maturing from boys into men,
These internal struggles time and again testing their carriers' mental fortitude.

Eventually will he just give up?
Or does he tend to fold and give in to the strain?
Could he possibly soldier on, keeping shredded thoughts to himself?
I sure would like to get a hint if you know,
T'would save me a lot of trouble, time, pain, and sorrow.
Lindsey Grace Jul 2016
I saw you on the bus yesterday.
The first thing I saw was your leather jacket
The one with the orange patch
Your hair was golden brown
And its waves fell down to your shoulder
You pulled out a book
And I see the small scribble of a tattoo on your right hand
As hard as I tried I couldn't see exactly what you were reading
I imagine it was something done by Faulkner, Twain, or Hemingway
I imagine you listen to jazz and drink black coffee
You play the banjo and guitar
You order scotch on the rocks
Every ******* time
You write poetry for your friends sometimes
And You claim its terrible
And your friends claim it brilliant
You would write me some,
and I would recite it when we fight
You would take pictures of me when I wake up in the morning
with nothing but your shirt on
You would take them to the dark room
and hide them in your drawer
You would laugh at me when I put on your ******* glasses
and I at you when you would tell me bad jokes
You would drag me with you
to see all of your favorite shows
And I would joke like you actually had to drag me
I would drag you shopping
but you never minded as long as it was a thrift store
Our apartment would be small
Because neither of us cared too much about being wealthy
We would follow our dreams
I would paint
and tell people how they are feeling
And you would play music
and sing
and write
and tell me how I am feeling
We would be rich
with love
The love girls pray for every night
before they go to sleep
See, we would wake up every day with that feeling
like the one you get when your crush in high school says hello in the hall
We wold be mad for each other
But I don't even know you
There on the bus
I watched you, a stranger, walk on
and walk off
In this amount of time
I have constructed
a whole new path of life
A path I might have taken
if I would have picked up my bag
sit two seats closer
If I wasn't so nervous of what you may think of me
and asked you about your book
Do you like it?
What is your name?
If I were to have asked you out for coffee
Life today would be different
I would be saying your name over and over in my head
I would have started the book you are reading
Maybe I would be texting you
right now
Instead of writing a poem
Maybe I would be writing about the man I met on the bus
not the man I never met
Maybe you would break my heart one day
But we may never know now
Maybe I will see you again
Maybe then I will ask for your name
or the book you were reading in February
But this city is a big City
And there might not be such a thing called fate
And so I will miss you
And your scribble tattoo
And the path I was too scared to take.
Ashleigh Kelco Feb 2013
I stand alone,
wind blowing around me
at the end of my time.
A shattered being
that at some point had resembled a human.

The sky is black and
scattered stars light up the wold around me.
How could such a beautiful world
bring so much agony?

I am so completely alone.
Water rushes across my feet;
a sign that the tide is rising.
How peaceful it would be
to become one with the waves.
How lovely it would be
to never hurt again.

I'm standing here screaming
'Please, God, take my life.'
But he isn't listening.
So I rip at my flesh and
beckon sweet death.
But it does not arrive.

I sit back and watch my life
become destroyed and devastated.
One simple mistake,
and now I have to pay for it.
My job and my future career,
even school and friends.
Gone-they're never coming back.

How am I meant to survive
with nothing left to fight for?
I can smile and make believe,
but my eyes are dead.

As I watch the stars twinkle above me,
I close my eyes and breathe, whispering
"Death, come to me.'
I just don't know anymore.
Aaron LaLux Oct 2016
Lost in the zone,
found my home,
here where the heart is,
all of us are artist,
we are what is,
flashy as club lights,
do some good tonight,
responsible for,
the betterment of,
everything love,
Love,
I love you,
Love,
love our world,
love this club,
love this love,
love Will’s pearls,
sure
we are,
whatever you want to call us,
sure,
I am,
the poet for this generation,

illuminating our dark hearts,
with infinite interpretations,

destination,
here,
where everything is an offering,
need a new language,
because this one’s too frustrating,
a rush crazy,
can’t believe we made it,
to the top of the top,
got,
everything I ever envisioned,
World War 3,
or Wold Wide Peace,
what it’s going to be is your decision,

in this,
Matrix we made it,
saying,
we are energy that’s infinite,

we are,
all of,
everything,
in this club of love,

let’s get together,
up to get down,
or down to get up,
either way around,

it doesn’t matter,
lights like stereotypes shatter,
all preconceived notions,
of what really matters,

life is,
what we write with,
a life that’s,
a trip like,
the lights that flash,
past,
back,
in this club,
where we light everything,
and get high off the love.

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Club love
William Jan 2014
It is deafening silence
Beneath the lanky pine shrouded of darkness
And the bed of needles soft under hand,
Snow sits shallow and dulled behind a curtain,
The hushed breath of a boy out of hand,

And the bark rough against back,
And the stick of sap against the palm, and the screech
Of tires far afield, and the breakneck cold
Cries with hidden desires of dark shadows breach
In the low mountains of housed hills where silence holds.

Once when warmth was in the heart
Among the walls solid evergreen held,
As the food hot and the flames low, a boy unfolded
The truth of heart that smoldered in anguished meld,
Rushed and tumbled forced out upon the wold

Of snow. And alone then
In the darkening cold, run by the streets light
And the pavements white with turned ash and the men
Roosting asleep while the barking dog grew trite
Whom echoed among the covered grounds and then

Stumbled on with anxious limb,
Thus feet sting, the glacial frost bitterly bites,
The hooped ring luminescent and hung, the lanky pine
Comforting in its shelter bare of lights,
And there to rest and rebuild new spine.

“He knelt, he wept, he prayed,”
By the hurt of his heart feeble in the dense dark night
And huddled bellow the knotting pine though in the homes,
In the past warmth, in the slow light,
At the loves gracious hold, he wished to roam.

“He knelt” in spindled branches,
“He wept” being cast out, “he prayed” to the hidden gods
That he be found rescued restored to right
Darkness pushed aside by the cars beam and the boy at odds
And the shimmering diamond studded earth and the black white

Into that light of promise
He wished to go but he sits eyes closed to darkness
With out the car which passed and broken he stands.
His heart wrenched breaking him choked by the collar
And up the way whence came to the shattered lands

It is deafening silence,
Reentering in the house torn, in the whirl-
Wind of heated battle, into his room
He crawls, in the slow light of the dreams world.
And he rises with new light arching through the sky.
billy phang Oct 2014
Oh  what is it inside russsian, thy tendenes  i  love u .
An exqusite taste better than chicken sausages you are best cooked
by a motswana rib
i love the taste we give to all  humans in  sync,we can go  all over the wold todae


Ooooo u drive me crazy and turn me on ,u make me so high tht i could even tAlk to the rain


oh  eish  i will contiune nxt time
#i dnt  kwn wht to sai
Gleb Zavlanov Oct 2013
She stands by me, she stands by all of us
Shielding with bright the flame of purest truth
Like Thetis gainst the banes, she’s beauteous
Allowing me to grow within my youth
A roaming free through her prairies untamed
Hued with vibrant roses as her stripes red
With lakes most deep and mountains, high most famed
And stars that watch over us when dawn’s dead
America, the guard of all the rest
Brother to the young, mother to her son
An eagle soaring o’er the sky’s blue breast
Daring to claim the fiery, hot sun
Aglimmer with a brazen, nascent zest
    And bring it back and lay it in hard pride
    America the beauteous and bright

Across the mountains folding ‘gainst the wold
Across the lakes reflecting the deep sky
Across the cities rimmed at night in gold
Is the place where harmony shan’t e’er die
America, the place where sorrows flee
The land of the brave, those who charge to fight
Who fight for what makes America, free
Who fight for what makes America, bright
Who fight against the scourge of dawning hate
We are the folks who lead the world before
Tomorrow, we make America great
America, tis to freedom, the door
America, tis to pure hope, the gate
    America, to the future, the tide
    America, the beauteous and bright

In times of need, in times of woe and drear
We welcomed all hapless people who fell
Cringing within their dark, wholesome despair
By the black feet of dark the king of hell
This land is land that always share must we
This land is land with laws and judges, just
This land the land of opportunity
This land the land forged together with trust
America, the home of everyone
Who dare to achieve ‘yond the mortal eye
Warden of all, rebuilder of the gone
The eagle who dares to the bright stars, fly
Beyond where rims all space the light of sun
    And venture deep into galaxies, wide
    America, the beauteous and bright
Copyright Gleb Zavlanov 2013
Reyna Nov 2014
Even though you’d search six feet under the ground
It’s never deeper than this hole in my heart
You can’t patch this up with stumbling apologies
And misguided avalanche of cracked voice

Where in the forests
You can read the words I etched in every trees you’d walk in
And you’d wonder if ever it’s meant for you
But then I know you’d figure it out, I know you’ll know
It’s meant for you and you alone

You can’t drown yourself on the ocean by falling in
Just because I jump through it like a winged mermaid
They said I could finally breathe after having to swim
But when you told me, “Stay”
Everything went high tide again

So, would you wait for me by the shore?
While I’m away in the vast depth of the ocean
Cascading in the midst of storm every time you try to be my achor
Sailing across the unbeknownst ?

Would you tell me how you loved the whispers and hushes
Of the wind that runs a distant rhythm and the leaves that stutter together?
Wold you go to the north and west where dense forest lie in a valley with mountains
Full of birds mimicking the way you sound when you said my name?
i **** at making titles, really.
Vladimir s Krebs Nov 2015
night falls
but i dont
all night awak
with nothing to do
with nothing dut thoughts
sun rises up
i look out
my mind is crazy
so am i said
my own counsious
breaking
sleep
going slowly insaine
scared ashamed of what a perfect mistake
being what you were made
finding out what you are
seeing the freak in your own eyes
society screws and kills
my eyes are blood shot
more less sleep makes me want to scream but i need to know my store
scares fill my face making you look like a train wreck that cause the scares

who are u do i know you
are you the threat of me
shouldi just keep going crazy
no answeres have been made
your all alon in the big wide world
normal people scare me when i freak out when they come near me

no sleep turning me in to a scary monster at 3:00 am just like when u see ascary monster i am the scary monster

poepl look at me i might be kinda paranoid since every ones silence
i dont know who i am expent my every mistake.
i splacsh water in my face
but that dosnt change a thing
this wold has no boundryies
i see the reflection of my self in ther meior
i puch the mior shattering glass in my fist
anger grows deep
when society is just a mistake you make

i go insaine do i follow or decay
tired
Mark Aug 2018
Forgone into the nether realms of grief
with piths embalming loves' corrosive drear.
Bemused; for worldly plush negates relief,
If woes be - known; how differed earths veneer?

Verdure would tinge a molten shade of lime
the oaks will mourn their leaves, and cease the Spring's
with wilting plumes adrift the songbirds prime
and dimmed the sun as dark as lovelorn brings.

For pebbled hues of grey will shroud the skies
and cursive lacquer; etch this sickly mold,
the winds will howl forebodes of vows and lies,
no more shall grace nurture upon this wold.

This suffered love cascades and dwells as deep
if even touched by Gods - would thunder weep.
Tayler Crawford Dec 2017
Well, there was this girl,
She lives her life as a lie,
She continues to explore the world of sin,
While feeling dead in side

As she took the blade,
And her body swayed
She's thinkin'
"Worthless
Pathetic
Useless
Psychotic
I was born in the wrong time,
And in the wrong place."

As she sat in the bathroom,
And popped some pills,
She said "I'm sorry mom and dad, I'm breaking the rules."

She messaged a boy who she is, not supposed to talk to,
He told her,
Begged her not to,
But when she tells the boy its  too late
He went to the principle with a sad look on his face

The principle rushes to the girl
As she whirled around and takes one last look at the wold
She stops and faces him,
He throws her a looks so grim

She breaks down crying
Saying she's sorry
Explaining everything
He was so worried

As she was rushed to the hospital
She starts to feel a little uneasy,
And tired.
She thought " At least now my mom knows I'm not a liar"
The doctor asks what is happening
And that is when she began explaining

"I'm sixteen and I'm feeling so nervous,
Tell me why is it that everyone is so perfect,
While I feel so worthless
And everyone's so happy
But recently for me
My mood has been so ******

I've been attempting to get better at life,
But my arms are still scared
From using my own knife
And doctor,
Tell my family that I'm sorry,
I'm regretful for not being a good daughter, sister, cousin, friend, family member,
I'm sorry I'm a failure at life."
She stops explaining as tears roll down her face,
She shows her scared and cut wrist to the doctors worried face

It was January 12th that day
January 12th of 2017
This girl is 17 today
Going to turn 18 in a month,

This girl is me
I'm being seen
Now lets see here,
I no longer have that fear
I still have my scars
But at least I can still view the stars

I've been used by guys,
I've been hurt by girls,
I've fought with my mom
And been cursed by the world
I'm calm now
Speaking out being heard
Talking to my family about my issues
Winning the battle that still continues

I only want to share my story
To assist those who worry
Worry about not making it
Worry about giving in

I want to tell them "Your not alone,
You don't have to fight this battle on your own,
We will get through it together
I promise you
Things will only get better"

I'm raising suicide awareness,
To help those who really need it
Tell them " i lived through this,
So put that blade down,
Stand your ground,
You so much smarter than you think
So put down that drink
Come out of the shade
Put down the blade
Get a hug
Drop the drugs
Be a sweetie
Not a meanie
Get up out of bed
And get help instead
Put the cigarette down,
Relax and take a good look around.
You're not alone,
So make yourself known."
Before people start judging, this really is my story and like it says in my poem, i am trying to raise suicide awareness so if you can, please spread the word about suicide and all the causes and affects that go with it.
Kivanc May 2019
I am a shepherd,
My land is endless wold;
There is a thought in my mind,
Which feeds sheeps with fine grass,
My hometown is as silent as a stork,
Which emigrates to lost worlds,
To sense hotness again,
I see their belief.
I hope I didn't change the meaning for the poetical type.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
some people forget that writing into excess is never a modern sign of wavering... it sometimes means that there's enough for it to be exhumed... call it instant-archaeology... it's not about other people's conversation, it's about their company, and that far from being reached let alone being riddled...*

a letter to a lovely Ms. ***.:

hey! stop exposing your Nancy like a nun and poke back with a conversation - i'll sooner be dead than a monologue.... Florence Nightingale hear my plea - i love how the following "strings attached" gets attached... 3 thousand miles away, living in a cultural ferment of only youth included / exposed content... but no otherwise: curb the chances of oath and here plops a plumb punch... never heard of 5 o'clock shadow with such an explanatory shortening expressed with the least bereft: or right twitching buttock for a enamoured heart-attack heart: a clamouring clown said: if someone painted a Mona Lisa on my face... if someone... i'd ditch the circus and the claustrophobia antidote trick... so ** and no Santa... and ha and still no Santa... it.... it? it?! hey! hey presto al fresco! god, and i wrote this and i wasn't even fifteen readied for a cougar and: she's his p.r. / publicist... whatever the **** that means... they can and can like the wold and the three guinea pigs;
p.s. the wolf's advances are heaving packed, sure, but asthmatic: or three nights in Paris. you'll never write a book in London: everyone is being prescribed eternity with a timescale of 100 years max... and i do mean that retaliation to the question in Icelandic terms: test your d.n.a. sequence, stop frolicking over forced saints taking care of retards... or ditch the whole Darwinism; how many down syndrome kids does it take it take to chop a tree into firewood? one **** and a whip. see how far the joke goes? me Chimpanzee, me Panda, me me! forks and up yours! build that building of royal surgeons and public opinion -
autumn always auburn, chequers auburn with oak -

kingly European - that coming of winter -
                    Czech and the Carpathian mountains -
oh sure... now the Romance...
the Romance... now gone... fish 'n' chips...
                       i lived in England 20 odd years
the most romance i ever received was an A
at A-level history.
                                             i'm still asking you about
the sort-**** resolve though...
                                             i'll start laughing
when you get off the *** of rocking that
bellybutton girdle or curbbing.
                **** me, Hindu cows of ethnicity in
former Empire bound villages entrapped
by nostalgia;
                 sounds like the perfect breeding ground;
and it is, given the ultra glass like people
who feel the stamping of a mosquito dead
like they might feel a Serbian insurrection
into tonguing Ottoman:
but of course the English man engages:
because he "knows"...
                              just as long as he learned
the cabbies ref. i'd be
fine                            in championing
him on every turn...
                                   chappy ain't no
chappy to be a happy lad... so what
does that matter? i'm quasi 21st century
but actually trapped in 20th century.

                                                 i do love that
it's all happening in H'america...
                                                         makes the trivia
questionnaires a lot shorter...
                                           every time i think of
eating i think of a H'amburger rather
than              a H'entucky -
                                            because the inflatable
Juan with draw-on stubble
                 married a Chasing the Dolly wife -
                    and never mentioned Mozart once...
FAME = P + CANON
                        Pachelbel's Canon -
or... the nuance of the millionth plumber:
   y'er toilet made e burp?
                           hence the maiden at the aisle
and the ******* in the cot...
                    and the serenade of the Cotswold runny...
flapping flapping furore -
                         or the chicken grease off my cheek
in fully glaring applause: rather than i tattoo
a knuckle on some ponce Netherlander
spitting onto a Polish girl's cheek and some pseudo
Irish tells me that i need psychiatric help.
ENGLAND!
                         *******!
Handel grew fat and you grew slim...
                       Shakespeare wrote and you demanded
Emoticons!
                          Emoticons rather than emotions!

you can try to escape Europe, you really can,
but trying to submerge Poland as a colonial
country akin to the Africans will only demand a greater
rift in your little delusion,
                                   by god my heart is a kindred Scot,
nationalist...
                          and i will rip that bloodied cheek off yer
******* cheekbone the minute you say yer-nay-own...
                          play chequers an' tartans wit ye!
i'll make Jack into a stripper and the union into
haemorrhage George and jolly Andrew...
                           you make me into your little
Ethiopian herder i'll make sure that little
emblem of tourist insignia dies with it...
                        Spain is cheap... given the English standard...
Greece is too...
                                  the Alps are a cheap middle-class
**** and the Carpathians are Dracula...
                                          whoever gave these wankers
the Greenwich compass thought twice about the same
wankers... contemplating a trip to Mars..
                oi!
                              glaciers!
                 oi!
                                        the Mariana Trench!
oi!
                             ah, **** it...
oi oi... toe foe un luv 2 twin bananas!
*** yer bananas!
                                             yes, we employed a few
of those specimens to straighten the problem out:
none returned, all remaining became classified as:
with cannibalistic tendencies:
                                          stimulants increasing
deviating behaviour? synonymous rhyming:
                        crime
                                         slime
2 + 2 = bonkers...
                                  cannibalism
     altruism
                                   hedonism...
               soothsayer's saying:
                                if not a limb, at least a thought;
yum yum yummy.
Addendum to title:
Boyhood Digs in Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426

Oft times forced exposure therapy spelled rustling quiet
Pyrrhic punitive onslaughts noisome moody linkedin kicks
jarring inxs harbored grievances foo fighting essence
denoting cannibalized august boy aghast to confront reality
returning home meant compromising autonomy
acceptable collateral casting leftist strides rite
constituting timid steps circumscribing childhoods’ end,
comprising reluctant trudge treading toward adolescence
where wold wide webbed magic ride
rode ruff shod o’er carped hooked
synthetic threads re: fibrous veld
whence extolled impressive footprints
measured triangular wedges rung duff feet
expediently dragged churlish badinage afoot
stretching across Scottish tartan
Harris Tweed unwelcome matt despite frustrated parents
whose vitriol unleashed tough-love,
smacked regularly quasi planned
threatened ultimatums venomous viz witches
yawping against my brand
falling out of good graces,
though hatching escape merely fanned
actions hightail me to bedroom, a secure space,
not exceptionally grand
yet despite rapacious and relentless rage
against the sole son, who hand
did lee managed inciting wrath
of me papa and late mama,
this parcel of land, now entombs nostalgia
namely 324 level road, Collegeville,
Penna, 19426 make believe pal Joey and this creator
passively succumbed to withstand
invisible jetblue lobbing onslaught of slingshot barbs,
wharf fear to rely on self way past primetime,
which solo endeavor didst demand
absent belief, confidence and faith in innate survival skills,
hence countless admonitions recurred
razed quest qua pursed lips
those who begat their only male heir,
provoking predictable panned
da moan he hum in tandem
with concomitant wickedness akin to eland
caught in cross hairs getting pistol-whipped
with many barking explicit derogatory gerund formed
expletives, that did not dislodge this immobile body electric
defying logic, now in retrospect clueless why I suffered to withstand
incessant verbal, venal, and n’er vampire weakened blows
inexplicable, how this soulful, ruminating,
and tortured walking wounded blithely weathered turpitude  
though devoid of sense and sensibility, how no man iz an island
though at times incontinent, where jocund this bard for’er opened
Pandora’s box, but hindsight softened cleft pride and prejudice
whereat bulldozed site of once grand “Glen Elm” tears me up inside
fading memories refreshed, via priceless gift
from beloved younger sister
unwittingly mitigated hammer blows of pain to confront the void,
whence away from obliterated complex edifice grief felt ******!
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
119
.a six day span, which included five fatal stabbings... even around here, some black kid came from south London... was stabbed on the street which i walk at night, just outside of the Collier Row roundabout... as i walked past the spot one night... i said out-loud: sweet dreams, little *******.

but there was this other incident,
a man decided to walk with a knife...
so?
   he could buy a lemon, peel it,
and place sushi on it...
   how else wold you eat sushi,
if not placed on a slice of raw lemon,
sitting at the roundabout,
on a bench, during the night?!

so the man sees this chubby white
girl running...
  then some skinny black guy running
after her...
the man is sitting there,
in perfect public scrutiny peeling
the lemon and cutting a slice
before putting a sushi piece on it,
with soy sauce, pickled ginger
and a decent smear of wasabi...
    the man looks up at the unfolding
confrontation...
he sees that the girl is pointing
at him and shouting at the guy chasing
her to look at me...
  with headphones in his ears...
he notices a change of dynamic...
the guy chasing the girl starts to run
in the opposite direction...
the girl ends up getting the bus home...

   yeah... weird **** like that happens
to me...
             it's not like carry a knife
on my every day...
   just the days when i feel like eating
sushi on a slice of raw lemon,
in public;

how else? raw salmon works well
with cucumbers, dill and some mayo...
but in sushi form,
   you need the lemon bite.
Sloane McManemy May 2014
I wanted to say i'm sorry
for the way my hands shake
you see
i can not control it
...
they say my little brother can not either
but he is different
hes autistic and he
shakes
but his words will shake
this wold someday
and i can not wait
to see who shakes then
this is to the kid
who pushed him down today
and to the girl
who laughed when he said
she was pretty
we all have our quirks
but us
we just shake
Jesika Nov 2010
Their are many thing that I don't know.
I'm not so nieve as to not acknowledge this.
But it would apear as if the wold has forgotten what it's like to be in love.
How sad to think of all that they will sadly miss.

Parents scorn and scold for holding hands, and punish more for even a kiss.
Forgotten are the days of pasion and lust that bring about the only blis.

Jelous friends look upon with disgust and hatered.
their envy glowing green.
When others have what all want most
it's easy to be mean.

I won't let my friends and family tear us apart
and ruin the happiness we have earned.
All i can do is love you with all I have
and hope that my love is equally returned.
Standing on a lily pad
In a very unfamiliar pond
I determined not to get my feet wet-
But the splashes felt so good
I reached out instead of drawing back.

Who wold have known I was parched-
I didn't even know I was thirsty.
                      
An affair that almost happened
Geno Cattouse Jun 2013
Cause and effect made him shambling wreck

Cause too many late lights and too many in fights was the cause.

Just be. Cause it is doable don't mean you should do it

And a just cause is not always your cause.

Consequencies will cause you to blink
Double think when the right cause
Comes.along. cause
You paused. Double think.

Will take you to the brink

When instinct gets paused cause too many
Effects have caused you to balk.

Cause sometimes discretion is the better part.cause
Livve to fight another day caused neville chamberlaan
To dither while Poland burned. Why ?

Causes and pauses are like
Opaque obstructions.


But. That's what makes the wold go round
The world go round the world go round.

Causes make the world go round
It makes the world go round.

Seize the moment.
Ellyn k Thaiden Dec 2013
Slipping deeper into
The hole, where I told
Myself I would never go again

Chasing the rabbit
To this Wonderland
Trying to find my way back

While Wonderland is scary
And Wonderland can be unkind
It's more gentle than the reality up top

In my Wonderland
I can do what I wish
I can show my scars without fear

Because up top, in their
Reality, my scars are taboo
I cannot show the skin

I don't think I'd want to
Because people stare and point
And then you're left all alone

But in Wonderland you're
Never alone but surrounded
By people just like you

There its okay to talk to yourself
Slit up and slip up
Mistakes are welcomed

Wonderland is a place I long for
But instead I'm stuck here in reality
Down in my wold basement

I told myself I wouldn't go back
Down the rabbit hole
But I might have to break that promise
His name meant worker of roof tiles
Putting together the new roof work on  my house that was once destroyed by everyone that has ever stepped foot near it
You glued it sealed it and made sure it could never be damaged again
Your work was very expensive and cost me happiness at times.
I remember when you first told me you loved me and that was the day that I knew my house would never be ruined by any natural disaster again.
I knew that if you saw something in me that I couldn't even see in my self you were it.
I knew that eventually the slow sweet kisses would go and that storm wold strike again
But the battles were fought
The kisses got sweeter and my tile is still secure by the greatest man I've ever known
xx Jul 2016
"In this wold,
we are just words.
And we need space
to be understood."

— The End —