"wrack" poems
on poetry
A poem is only a mouthful of air
until it is read.
Imagine it. Craft it carefully
from your heart's flesh.
Seal it in a bottle
of clear, pure words.
Set it adrift on
the ocean of time,
life's restless surge,
until a few congruous spirits
pluck it from the sea-wrack
and recognize a message
that illuminates their souls.
Readers find writers;
never the opposite.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 7:44 AM UTC
A Mummers Funeral
Time slip't, a careless moment, words without thought or foment.
No smile, no glance, no touch, nor care
none of these things ever so fair,
was thought or brought to share.
I've gaps in my memory,
And holes in my shoes.
not enough time,
Too much *****
Nothing left of strength and toil.
The grapes of wrath? That wasted soil!
But for the Ghosts of Things unsaid,..
Shadows host the Deeds Undone.
Bare walls and plank't floor,
cobwebs of nothing more.
A Home empty; a house.. a shack,
a time-worn agent my soul to wrack.
Shadows flitting through
cobwebs in the corners of my mind, Have taken in my soul to bind..
I've holes in My memory,
And Gaps in my Blues.
Too much time,
And Not enough *****
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
'tis a sad sad
tale of woe
of which I sing
of gods and godesses
and their lessening
how forlorn
the goddess Ceres
once loved by all
and wooed by many
when unprovoked
and unforeseen
a war was wrought
'gainst fair queen
caught unawares
her throne assailed
her forces scattered
'twas all unfair
cast down she was
from lofty throne
no longer crowned
no more beloved
pierced thru
with many thorns
belittled
and besmirched
her reputation
and now her station
lost far beyond
re-incarnation
silently
she slips away
lost
and near forgotten
wounded
and rarely seen
her sullen thoughts
of malice reign
shamed and bleeding
plotting her revenge
till time and chance
provide the proper
circumstance
then all the thorns
that pierced her thru
she shook as many blades
and hurled
those bitter barbs as one
'gainst Hades' mighty gates
shaken he
from his dark slumber
his rallied forces
armed in numbers
their banners raised
on solar breezes
as trumpets blare
thru breathless reaches
voices shout
in protestation
slide rules locked
in astrometric
calculations
oh see how Ceres
scorned and mocked
has wrought
her rotting vengeance
on Pluto's frozen rocks
"Oh woe to thee
my Persephone
flee thee now
to thy father's house
for thy husband's hearth
hath been broken
and Hades' home
now just a token
My lofty edifice
a shattered wrack
an' all that's left
'tis a humble
wretched shack"
Pic Poem
https://www.pix-star.com/media/cache_local/download/23fc881b88e812947b061094f5694d32/JPlutoThouHastFallen-e52.jpg
.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
how do you paint water, or clouds?
I could read poetry for the brief,
of my of remaining life, however brief,
and never be satiated, of love,
and streams of water,
never stilled, always running
in patterns that exist,
but for milliseconds,
admired by clouds born in, of,
a moment of re-formation that
is perpetuity long:
unending shape shifting,
like the freedom of flowing water
currents, forming, reforming and unthinkable, nay,
inconceivable that human eyes
or their spoken words
could capture their
shiny white foamy essence
But of love,
that we can do, paint, design, recreate its
endless loops of undulations, like the radiating circularity
of a pebble dropped gently
to its burial sight in a quiet pond.
Humans know, understand and excel at clasping and grasping
at the synapsing of human cells from differing bodies:
the exogenous erogenous of human touch that like the clouds
and the water,
who
could paint that,
who capable of capturing
said sensations that wrack
and enliven the body with invisible
interior chemical reactions. I
cannot.
Thankfully better men and women have treatised their entreaties to the powers of the universe and been rewarded with the skilled delicacy of weaving human tapestries, the milliseconds of connectivity, eclectic and electrifying of different currents and differing amperage’s forming and reforming like water moving, just like the clouds changing in response to the externalities of wind and gravity and all the forces of nature that encourage us to study
and stare at these flows,
hoping to entrance them into standing still for but a moment, and instead, mesmerizing us into standing motionless for hours in awe of their freedom.
Love’s undulations too mesmerizing, and freezing us into
place, or alternatively
caucus to run endlessly arms extending,
flying though not airborne,
rocketing us upwards while feet never budging,
but finding good wards, masterful metaphors to recreate and thus to share the fabulous mystery of this thing we know as love.
2:58AM
Friday
jul 22 (jewel 22) of the 23rd year of the 21st Century.
O.L.P.
Jul 21, 2023
Jul 21, 2023 at 3:05 AM UTC
Quite a picture of a happy woman ... in love ... or falling in love perhaps - two rows across me. Her earphones are plugged to her ears, but she is listening to no song. She is busy; typing messages - perhaps whatsapp!. Someone is teasing her ... must be quite adept at it. It has to be a boy ... not yet her boyfriend. Her smile ... her blushes ... are giving away the truths hidden in their secret flirtations.
She has to wrack her wits ... she must win this war of words. She purses her lips and her cheeks cave into a lovely dimple .... that flattered glitter in her eyes has enough for a novel to begin. She is determined to reply to this message and is scanning the lounge through the corner of her eyes as if we have a cue to offer. Her head tilts and a strand of hair falls across her temple curling in a single curve from her thick eye brows to her lips, presently secured between a thoughtful bite of her teeth.
The dimples are back again ... and her smile tells me that she finally has won this conversation ... and my mind tells me that while the war of words is her to win ... she has pleasurably lost the battle of hearts.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 6:54 AM UTC
It starts out like a warming feeling like the blood is rushing too hard through veins, my thoughts become vivid and wrack through my brain.
I try to think of something, anything other than my impending doom, I feel like I'm all alone confined to a room.
I see others but I don't think they see me, I think they see the husk of myself the person I used to be.
I'm not fine I couldn't scream it any louder it feels like I'm being crushed into fine dust, powder.
No one sees me even those who walk with the same distress, I know they're trying to scratch to the surface I know they're a mess.
My heart and my brain just keep colliding and every time I feel panic starts rising.
I tried on my own everything in my power but I feel so helpless all I do is cower.
I am strong but not enough to face myself alone, it's hard breaking down these walls of mine that have become home.
You ask me to calm down or to just take a breath my insides are screaming I'm trying my best.
I never wanted to feel like this I never wanted to feel constricted but the more my body takes this thrashing the more I feel my minds being evicted.
The person you see on the street, or in the mall, they may look like me but they don't feel at all.
I'm always trembling in my own shoes, I'm afraid to free myself for whom it's me I'll lose.
If you could only see the me that's clawing beneath the skin trying to get out of this hell I'm in.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
You couldn't relate to my life if you tried
Degenerate pride, in my pride, the family all died
I took a trip, slip from the front door
Walking to the house of a man with some more
Of the poison of my mother, the mater, my pater, the father
My brothers and sisters slumped against a wall, injecting
It gets harder
I'm a martyr
But I fall farther
Brown brings ardour
In the haze of detestable days, bus journey raves
To the estates, I'm in a state, I hate fate
Try and place blame, struggle to get straight
But straight to the point, you're a mate
Pass the plate, and the joint
I'll do a line, get straight
Straight to the point...
Where was I?
Back in the house, forgot how I got here
The emptiness too much to bear
I miss my family being here
My mother the seer
My father drinking beer
I close my eyes, open, hope they appear
The loneliness of the kitchen feels so queer
I pop a few pills and realise its been a year
Since I saw them here
Fading to black and I awake in a wrack
Fiending for some smack, panic attack
Light up a pipe, smoke some pale crack
Keep me going on this lonesome track
So I pack my bag, down a glass of Jack
And get back on the beaten path
To the corner where I find her, solemn in a slump
Hard night's day, I give her cash and we arrange the jump
Pump pump, I dump my junk and feeling drunk
Walk silently in a grump, she re-adjusts her skirt
and returns to her bunk
To her lifelong funk
before being packed into another John's trunk
The streetlights are cruel in the winter night's haze
What beautiful days, in a daze, feeling amazed
Clasp my hands and I pray, am I crazed
or is this mournful delay
A year ago today,
my love took my family away
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
There's half a sandwich in my baggie,
I run with it around the playground and
I'm getting weird looks because..
I'm 23
and somehow I find it much more amusing than nerve wracking
because when I wrack my brain to find answers
all I can think about is running around
my old elementary school play ground.
Maybe just maybe that's why I laugh like santa who had just finished
his rounds for he year and
maybe I laugh like a man that just won a billion dollars,
because I know when I go back to work the next day
I know I cannot laugh this loud
so loud I shed tears of joy, no
when I go back I will shed tears of boredom if there is such a thing.
Sitting at a desk is killing me, but I guess in the end
I've been dying all along.
"Sit quietly at your desk until the bell rings"
"Ask before you use the restroom"
"Finish every thing on your recycled tray"
Well let me tell you there are none such rules on the play ground
I can run and scream, and
I can finish the other half of this sandwich
when I **** well want to.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
My love, my love these shaky Isles
Abandoned in the vast blue seas,
Born in Mesozoic times
When sedimentary oozes ease.
From far Antarctic mountainsides
To windblown dust from Austral plain
They lay in layers thick and deep
Beneath the Tasman Sea's domain.
A thousand million years of ******
Of plate tectonic shear and drift,
Mid oceanic larva seep
Determines continental shift.
Deep magmatic plumes arise
From down within the planet's core
To burst asunder from the crust
As mountain God's volcanic lore.
Ash and larva from the vent
In pyroclastic feirce display,
Obliterate the cold blue sky
Explosively in massive way.
Rooster tails of feiry ash
And bread crust bombs cascade about
Vulcan roars his rage to all
In violent, vast, volcanic route.
Ignimbrite flows from the vent
In sheets a hundred meters deep
The incandescence, from on high,
Would, watching Angels, cause to weep.
Like quicksilver, it cloaks the land
To cover all in burning flow,
To last a million years as sheets
Of sharded rock where 'ere you go.
So the land was born of fire
And bent and twisted by the force
Of upthrust from the great, beneath
And earthquakes felt throughout, of course.
Earthquakes of unearthly fear
Wrack foundation's very base,
Sudden as the artic gale
Unpredictable to face.
So the shaky Isles were born
Here to lie in ocean's vast,
Clad in forest lush and green
Snowclad mountains, rivers fast.
Well kept cities, well kept towns
Population proud and clean,
Beauty all around is felt
Perched atop creation's dream.
So the Shaky Isles exist
Perfect in their place in time,
Perched atop subducting plates
Perched in ignorance sublime.
What's around the corner now?
Who's concerned, who really cares
For Kiwis make the best of now...
The rest remains as chance declares.
Marshalg
Celebrating a love affair with my beautiful New Zealand.
31 August 2012
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 9:32 PM UTC
2am
I'm addicted to heartache
The kind that rips you apart inside
Leaves you shaking
Tears streaming down your face
3am
The moon bright in your eyes
Sparkling behind the moisture
Sobs wrack my body
The stars seem to be falling from the sky
This feeling is what I know best
4am
All is quiet
The night doesn't make a sound
Theres nothing left to come out
Tears have dried
And my mind is numb
I feel nothing
Hollow and empty
This feeling is all too hauntingly familiar
5am
The morning approaches
And I am still awake
Staring at the wall
Nothing left
6am
Time to get up
Plaster a smile on my face
Smear concealer under my eyes
And pretend like those dark circles aren't there
9am
Everyone is oblivious
But I know
That tonight
I'm going to go through it all again
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
O bid me mount and sail up there
Amid the cloudy wrack,
For peg and Meg and Paris' love
That had so straight a back,
Are gone away, and some that stay
Have changed their silk for sack.
Were I but there and none to hear
I'd have a peacock cry,
For that is natural to a man
That lives in memory,
Being all alone I'd nurse a stone
And sing it lullaby.
1.7k
It seems so strange how love can still exist in this messed up world,
And how memories can still live on.. Even after our roads devised.
We bumped into each other in the hall one day. As I blushed and apologized you smiled and told me I was classy.
Under the sweet smells of popcorn and that warm summer air.. We shared our first kiss.. And we held hands from there on in.
We would run around the streets and laugh like lunatics..
Everything would be so great, the town thought we were mad.
We took our walks on the beach, and danced under the moonlight sky, with the candles glowing below.
We would jump in the leaves and twirl with them dancing around us We called it dancing with the leaves.
We made pillow forts and had our Nerf wars on the cold winter days, to end it all off with a hot coffee as the suns rays dipped under the horizon.
We would pretend we were birds and fly with the wind atop of large hills, then run down them as if they were a large valleys.
We had our days, we both shed tears, and we both messed up. But we would always end it with a " I need you" letter.
We wrote in a bottle: "we will always be." .. And then threw it into the river. It all changed soon after I got that text..
You moved away. That day.. I fell to pieces..
It was like time itself had stopped and I couldn't breath.
I had been stabbed with bits of glass, I couldn't help but scream..
I haven't quite been the same, I've turned into a emotional wrack.
Trying to fill a void that's been empty for so long..
If you saw me now.. You'd be disappointed.. I'm not the same guy you fell in love with..
My hair isn't combed and doesn't have that brown shine, my eyes glow black and my skins gone sour, I've become more hunched, and I always have a cloud over my head.
No one seems to care,
So with this pain I must bare.
I never stopped caring, now I'm dealing with the weight of the world.
People say that there is someone out there for me. To stop dwelling on the past and move onto the here and now. There was someone out there but now she's gone.
I cry every night and then think of you, and that's when I realize,
I'm lost without you.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
you have a death grip
on dignity
More not needed.
Not now, not ever.
Let the rage course,
The tears, coarse,
Fall free,
When no ones looking.
The panic attack,
The body all a-wrack,
The fury unleashed,
The sobbing secret,
When no ones there.
I know, I know.
Small consolation.
Worse, no one to share,
Worse, the one to share,
Is the one making life unfair.
But all this pales by compare,
When the words out loud you speak,
The lodestar, the key phrase.
I hear them, though by proxy.
I read them, though far by mile,
I am comforted in the knowing,
That anyone who can write those words
Is stronger than most.
You
Have
A death grip
On dignity.
No more needed.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
1)
this part sparkles -- like your smile
which sparks a grin in me
to heat the heart and ribbed
adore
the laughter waiting in the covers
from our wink and whisper
beds of personalities
spring and comfort, stain and dust
but love, sweet love to swoon away
and lust the anchorage of speaking
as we do each tone and syllable
a light, touch, tinge to waken flames
and dancing light
familiar of my origins
a conjured shape in what you single out
each focus frame of sentence what
to what we ought to do
what sunday shall we both approve?
in sync we dialogue
in mood of dire wrack of blah
in boon of happy overflow
our musing 'tra la la'
ideas, toys to turn and pirouette
or taunt the sun to match our beaming fun
2)
this part sparkles too,
but gives itself to me
so i might quench the burning
brightly lighting sultry flesh
i gaze, and overyearn
to tumble in the sheets
that billow layers--layer-winds of time
you tug and pull i toss and tear away
to open bare the inward soft
that peach-like drips from chin
in breathless constantly
voracious tonguing whim
an asterisk for starburst flick delight
salts deeply into savor sweet
the loin-surge powers me in your embrace
to deep, deep clenching ahh
our skin undone as with a solar flare
across the earth a flood of radiating us
lips and bones
coalescent sense
no match for 'bliss'
or moan moan moan
unending veins traverse to toetip axon
ancient crown of hugs from two to one
3)
this part Is the whole
unknown we meet again
again, again from words
to trusting vasts poetic patience
chance to sound the voice of
yearning manifest from tips to core
and back again we plan on more
in hoping wonder possibles revised
the real of you too natural
to rebuke the care beyond
the searching for
to inhale sight of being there
to step from cab
and offer kindness
mystery of universe
transmuted into meeting once,
twice, every moment new
you bring an often baffling array
of sublime other than i knew
you reinvent me too
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
my naked bees are stinging knees and never dream more kind
the honey, black... they lack the knack of natural acts. they pine.
they surly fume. they bark at doom and dangle chintz and fiend,
they serve a nerve as raw as words that pinch a finch’s wings.
my wherewithal, with all your spots, are not my dots; but sod.
by all accounts, it counts for naught...but sounds a lot like god.
the absent one. the ubermensch. the lint i sent you, cracked !
a dagger’s mind. a hellish hive of worse than curse. a laugh !
la mort, petit. du jour, for sure the purest night to bleak... the white !
the eye:; it seeks to sink at least a league beneath the widening gyre !
fie ! and thunder pun my plums
of glumful dungeons, one by none.
and glory wrack my sycophants.
and ransom damage done and done
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 11:13 AM UTC
allow the Pain
to invade
provide permission for the
Violent waves
of Agony
to Wrack your body
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
Stranger than me, or too much alike
some wrangle upon toilet papers
plastic cups out of place or lost time;
peering past, another wanders on.
Tinkling wires and rainbow faces
hearing, seeing, perchance aurific speaking
the namer among ten-thousand petty things
or squinting upon the verge of time, espy a sequal.
Step by step to round the universe
or being fell-swept away in cubboards
seem or act unseemly, like or dislike
played to the order in the round, circling about.
Why so familiar these drabbed tones of ant trumpets
or wineskins grown old to leak and sputter?
Tis the wish and will, holding like ****** to the ropes
great gales n frothing nothingnes storming on.
But We, blown upon the Aether of the Soul
a great conquest of rousing dignities;
here, under nooks, behind secret doors
or bounding past, lightning speed, relay some wonder.
Shock of waking, or dulcet tones in the Alarm of life
our shadows twist, there on the lintel of private hours
our care, held through the Night kinder endearments
then danced over reeling waves for sweet inspection.
Here unalone a look, a voice and laughter ring the ears
a crying out, or trebled inward sigh, too close to trembling-
Who is this Sojourn Friend?
Perhaps our best of self combined
no more allied to faithless days nor dark an empty smiles-
strange wastes some carelessness invents to wrack the hours.
But We, no stranger to the Sojourner's faith, Are One.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
I'm innocent
everything goes opposite
LiFe has no abashment
Problems are objects
Life is aberrant
shoots hard bullets
I'm innocent
Life is full of coincidences
Hope people understand
Life ? People abases
Its a painful wound
No more absolves
I'm innocent
I'm tired of myself
Sick of being the same
I feel like a werewolf
Me , I did defame
Myself is just a calf
I'm innocent
This what life wants
No more tolerate
Live in aborts
Small sins accumulate
Chokes me with ascots
I'm innocent
I don't want this
Live in aversion
It's only my bris
Love must accretion
Or live like the ******* nazis
I'm innocent
I NEED her back
Important in my life circle
keeps me on the track
Every word is a canticle
Wrack hack her lack clack
I'm innocent
She's the one i NEED
My life is She
Sweet, tasty like the aniseed
The most important strophe
Makes it shinny and adorned
I'm innocent
I don't want drugs
I hate to scab
Its not brags
It hurts like a stab
Drugs is crags
Edit by: Melanie on this fourteenth day of September, twenty thirteen
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC
Earth may try to break you
And Life, she'll try to take you
Love may live without you
And Silence my let the pain through
But Nature will love you kindly
And restore all you've lost
You're a creature of the Earth
Of nature hard and soft
Stress may do you badly
And Anxiety may wrack your bones
Apathy may take you gladly
And Tears may drag you from home
But Wind and Water will grow you
Laughter and Love will heal you
The Sun will hold and cradle you
And let Joy come through
Don't let the Fire take you
Don't follow behind Regret
You're a spirit of Nature herself
An Earth sprite born and bred.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Slipping free from yester's time,
A Feather trapses yond the way,
On wind it floats, a step, sublime,
Dipping and ducking flakes of grey,
Those forged by winter, the sun's decay,
Plates of ivory, why must they hack?
Torn soil, a relic of why you turn away,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
O Sea, so fair, shimmering as a chime,
As the wind you switch, and you sway,
And your blues shine like a dime,
But if he drifts beyond the bay,
Will waters claim him, as they say?
Or shall he wash back, with the wrack?
To you, O Sea, he mustn't stray,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
O Mount, your peak, the rigorous climb,
At your summit, scores kneel and pray,
Your caps glow white, with a grass bed of lime,
If you were where the feather must stay,
Shall your perils bring him fray?
Must he lie in caves of black?
Nay, a feather must fly, and outward he must splay,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
O Feather, O Feather, where will you spend your days?
Here I must halt on the trail of your track,
Seize the wind, O Feather, the world is your prey,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
May 26, 2021
May 26, 2021 at 6:08 PM UTC
They have tried to conceal our love,
they've thrown up roadblocks, and smokescreens
to keep us from finding each other again,
but yet we always do. Our love has its own radar.
I can sense your heart beating, like an angelic drum
through the haze, and I know you can always hear the love
in my voice, even through the harsh foul static.
Even when you cannot respond, I know you know
my love is always glowing, like a lighthouse in the night.
Guiding you back to my harbor of eternal affection,
where my lips never tire of sounding the horn of our happiness.
I have stumbled for women before, like a blind man descending stairs.
But I never fell, until I tumbled head first into the bottomless pool
of your beauty. The only waters in which I would gladly drown,
have drowned, only to be rescued and resuscitated by your kisses.
Those who do not speak the language of our love, point their antennas our way,
they intercept our transmissions, but their code books are missing the pages
that explain how such emotion can be decoded. They only catch the grand communique,
always missing the short, but ever so loving messages, that come in daily
over the teletype of passion. Feverishly at this very moment, they wrack their brains
wondering at the deeper context of our words, but their is no hidden meaning,
behind the expression of affection. Love is its own context, and if they cannot translate it
then they are the ones at fault, not us. We have our own frequencies, and wavelengths.
Our Love shall always ring out in the darkness, even if we have to switch channels,
It will be there, to comfort us, and relieve the ache of our longing. I already have enough
in this world. Let them have the rest. All I need is our tiny daily broadcast, all I need is...
Our love.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 7:20 AM UTC
In 2008,
I lay upon the floor,
disabled,
pain hobbled,
my back
unable to properly space
the Lego discs
that keep a man
upright
king and absolute ruler,
was I
of the carpet.
in the little blue room
off the kitchen,
where solace
in loneliness,
was my little
heaven in hell.
It was my blue period,
When you decided to leave
And try to take everything
But hang around our apartment
to practice, practice
making misery your profession.
It was the same
little blue room,
years before
I ran to,
for a few hours rest
after tending to you,
nursing your cancer needs,
fetching, most fetching,
I fetched and fluffed,
shopped and tended,
and comforted,
after working all day.
Now three years on,
on the floor
of the same little blue room,
unable to move,
weakly, wounded,
brokebacked,
I was a soldier,
in a deep trench,
almost paralyzed,
caught tween desk and bed
called your name,
even though there was
nothing you could have done.
Role reversal,
years later,
roll reversal,
roll from the bed to the floor,
fallen, immobilized,
I rued
the morning light,
for men must work and
women must weep,
work and weep,
this morning,
I was responsible for both.
I called you name repeatedly,
in a peculiar voice, agreed,
the voice of wrack and ruination,
after hearing you slippers
shuffle a two step at 2 Am,
outside the little blue room,
oh for many a minute,
in the middle of the night,
calling, calling
perhaps, you would help
me to rise,
oh yes,
just to help me stand,
on my bent back,
my own legs
Somehow one finds a way,
is it not always that way?
Later, I asked.
Did you hear me call you name
in the middle of the night?
Oh yes.
But your voice sounded so weird,
I would not go in.
Years later, I asked again.
Just get over it,
you replied,
matter of factly.
Today, years later,
I ask again,
right now, right here,
I ask
but a different question.
Do you think I am over it now?
Oct 15th 2011
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 6:42 AM UTC
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time’s fickle glass his fickle hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st.
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May Time disgrace, and wretched minutes ****
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure.
Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
1.3k
To the east
To the sundered east
Of the deserted Isle
Their lies a wrack
black timbered bones
Scold clinging clams
That harbour there
In the Wrack of the Isle
As she lies down
They say
In hushed wispers
it happened
Many years ago
Men died
Or so they say
But now, no one really knows
It's all been forgotten now
Through foggy years of
Sun and Snow
And dirth the man
Who can name her
The wrack rises
To the waters
To greet the
High airs above
The darlking deep beneath
Where once there was a love
Who can say, now
When looking at the wrack
In its black longingness
That once, it was a brightened
Vessel, fine and new
Filled with laughter
And simple joys
They dive there sometimes
When the tides allow
But divers have to be wary
It's dangerous near
Wrack waters, so easy
To be pulled down and
Within, you go
And once in her shell
The air can not sustain
You, for it is
Not for breathing
Creatures
Remember the shore
They tell
The newcomers
You must remember
Where it is
To the west you
Must go, and so on....
But carefully,
The wrack will
Call at you
Softly, and slow
Breathing liquid fumes
That fill the lungs
And crush the ribs
I swam round her once
It was a heady -
Experience, all shoreline
Was forgotten
I was lured by her
Cracked spars and
Speckled beams
So beautiful
Beneath a shining sea
But I learned there
That no man may
Swim the wrack
Forever, and not forget
Deep death there awaits
And lies down
With you
In a wet grave
So be forwarned
Before you swim
The wrack of the Isle
To the East
The sundered East.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
Through toil great wisdom instilled in my box
In that case I reckoned that I am a blessed fox
But it seems to me that all in vain
Because of my succumb that I can't refrain
Alas... Death to its fangs all our knowledge will be wrack
And who knows what's beyond death, might be all totally black
Are we still sting with the same looping dilemma
In the land of dead are we still haunt by this kind of enigma
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 6:11 AM UTC