"xxix" poems
XXIX
I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there ’s nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,—burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee—I am too near thee.
3.5k
XXIX. TO HESTIA (13 lines)
(ll. 1-6) Hestia, in the high dwellings of all, both deathless
gods and men who walk on earth, you have gained an everlasting
abode and highest honour: glorious is your portion and your
right. For without you mortals hold no banquet, -- where one
does not duly pour sweet wine in offering to Hestia both first
and last.
(ll. 7-10) (33) And you, slayer of Argus, Son of Zeus and Maia,
messenger of the blessed gods, bearer of the golden rod, giver of
good, be favourable and help us, you and Hestia, the worshipful
and dear. Come and dwell in this glorious house in friendship
together; for you two, well knowing the noble actions of men, aid
on their wisdom and their strength.
(ll. 12-13) Hail, Daughter of Cronos, and you also, Hermes,
bearer of the golden rod! Now I will remember you and another
song also.
3.4k
pontificating elegiac
stalwartly asymptomatic
positing logical phalluses
into fleshy vices
seeing virtues in viewpoints
seeing in the eyes of beauty the beholder
the calculating and crafting of a sapiosexual
positing calculations
into social craft
slightly autistic
whatever that means
a breed of abnormals
set against the world and themselves
bound to lose
doomed to win
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
"There is an appointed time for everything, /
A time for every activity /
under the heavens;" /
—Ecclesiastes 3: 1 (NWTSE) /
A season has departed, /
A season has begun, /
The Circle of Life continues, /
A legacy remains undone. /
The gauntlets I have transcended, /
Have diamonded my soul; /
Therefore, I offer this solemn petition /
Knowing the fight remains to be won. /
In time, there will be tribulations /
But this heart stands adamantine, /
These eyes remain dauntless, /
My spirit is forevermore unphased. /
A time of self- (re) discovery /
Has burgeoned anew, /
We will all metamorphose /
If we look to the future bemused. /
Your potentialities are enormous; /
Together, we are a fulgurant storm. /
Rise, rise, young stalwarts /
You are a Spark of The Divine. /
The experiential cascade is perpetual, /
Incessantly persevere, /
May wisdom inhabit each one of us, /
May we each forsake not to love. /
A chrysalis has unraveled /
Diaphanous wings have been borne, /
Doubt not inviolable beauty /
Always, abides in the light. /
(—Se' lah)
07-18-2021
Jul 18, 2021
Jul 18, 2021 at 4:47 PM UTC
Sí, yo amaba lo azul con ardimiento:
las montañas excelsas, los sutiles
crespones de zafir del firmamento,
el piélago sin fin, cuyo lamento
arrulló mis ensueños juveniles.
Callaba mi laúd cuando despliega
cada estrella purísima su broche,
el universo en la quietud navega,
y la luna, hoz de plata, surge y siega
el haz d'espesas sombras de la noche.
Cantaba, si l'aurora descorría
en el Oriente sus rosados velos,
si el aljófar al campo descendía,
y el sol, urna de oro que se abría,
inundaba de luz todos los cielos.
Mas hoy amo la noche, la galana,
de dulce majestad, horas tranquilas
y solemnes, la nubia soberana,
la d'espléndida pompa americana:
¡la noche tropical de tus pupilas!
Hoy esquivo del alba los sonrojos,
su saeta de oro me maltrata,
y el corazón, sin pena y sin enojos,
tan sólo ante lo ***** de tus ojos
como el iris del búho se dilata.
¿Qu'encanto hubiera semejante al tuyo,
oh, noche mía? ¡Tu beldad me asombra!
Yo, qu'esplendores matutinos huyo,
¡dejo el alma que agite, cual cocuyo,
sus alas coruscantes en tu sombra!
Si siempre he de sentir esa mirada
fija en mi rostro, poderosa y tierna,
¡adiós, por siempre adiós, rubia alborada!;
doncella de la veste sonrosada:
¡que reine en mi redor la noche eterna!
¡Oh, noche! Ven a mí llena d'encanto;
mientras con vuelo misterioso avanzas,
nada más para ti será mi canto,
y en los brunos repliegues de tu manto,
su cáliz abrirán mis esperanzas...
1k
This is not about you anymore
Not about your heavens, paradise and hell
This is not about your late night thoughts stuck at the back of my ear where you left them
This is not about your cravings, no
Not about the things you crave when it's 3 in the morning
This is not about your eyes getting caught stealing glances my way
This is not about the way your lips curl when you say my last name
This is not about how you carved promises of hope on my skin,
leaving me exposed for the rest to devour
This is not about holding me too tight I felt you slipping away
This is not about you leaving me alone and crushed to my bones
This is about my paradise, my better place
This is about my thoughts too clouded I cannot even see them,
let alone decipher
This is about my confusion, my dusty corners
and shadows at 3 in the morning
This is about how I gave myself time to heal
from all the words you left me with
This is about the baby steps, each one I took led me far from you
This is about being okay with that
This is about me
*(Realizing now that this was never about you
Accepting that this was always just about me)*
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.
Part Three: Love
XXIX
THE ROSE did caper on her cheek,
Her bodice rose and fell,
Her pretty speech, like drunken men,
Did stagger pitiful.
Her fingers fumbled at her work,—
Her needle would not go;
What ailed so smart a little maid
It puzzled me to know,
Till opposite I spied a cheek
That bore another rose;
Just opposite, another speech
That like the drunkard goes;
A vest that, like the bodice, danced
To the immortal tune,—
Till those two troubled little clocks
Ticked softly into one.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
Waves crashing beneath me
The sound of people's laughter everywhere
Sitting alone
Hearing a seagull's cry
Night slowly creeps in
The sun unwilling to go down
Fights for its lost rays
Your footsteps echo as you come to sit by me
Your arm around me
I lean on your chest
Listening to your heartbeats
Watching the sunset
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 5:38 PM UTC
XXIX
She has haunted my sleep for long enough, I fear-
My nightmares of ghost ships break the still night air
Too swiftly, too fiercely- the wound still stings.
In the night my heels and toes wander listlessly to the graves
Of those others have perhaps forgotten. I have not forgotten.
Fairview cemetery, Halifax, Nova Scotia.
The blank faced child, whom no one claims,
I fear has entered the end of life without the warmth
Of a mother’s embrace. I would hold them. I would love them.
The graves climb the hill like cinderblocks, one pushing the other
Up towards some heaven
Some beautiful blue sky where their souls must lay
And though the trees are bare and the sky feels cold
The silence calms me; here, they feel no water. No collapsing
Floor.
One hundred and twenty one ladies and men and children
Will rest here forever.
Among the graves I lay down my funeral bouquet,
Along with my ghost ship nightmares-
The world’s pain, and mistakes, and visions of a darker day
May perhaps one day rest here too
And float up towards some heaven,
Some paradise.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC
"Sonnets From a Conversation With a Friend XXIX"
This emptiness swallowed a universe
Piece by piece perceived processed projected
Perceived mirror flawed through a glass darkly
My own self incarnate vibrates the all
God small g nothing else but illusion
Rising to heights magnificent people
Everywhere me me lost frightened in pain
Separate only in our dreams the stuff
Reality is made of again and
Again we fabricate the burning house
Source mortal frame coiled karmic energies
Physics bound push act be see the conscious
Realm space time continuous now the we
Travels the sea breathing one mind together
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 12:28 PM UTC
Vienes de la pobreza de las casas del Sur,
de las regiones duras con frío y terremoto
que cuando hasta sus dioses rodaron a la muerte
nos dieron la lección de la vida en la greda.
Eres un caballito de greda negra, un beso
de barro oscuro, amor, amapola de greda,
paloma del crepúsculo que voló en los caminos,
alcancía con lágrimas de nuestra pobre infancia.
Muchacha, has conservado tu corazón de pobre,
tus pies de pobre acostumbrados a las piedras,
tu boca que no siempre tuvo pan o delicia.
Eres del pobre Sur, de donde viene mi alma:
en su cielo tu madre sigue lavando ropa
con mi madre. Por eso te escogí, compañera.
488
XXVIII.
because your wrist is cramped up and everything's so temporary but you just want permanent change you want change so bad
XXIX.
because you want to ruin yourself but how can you do that and also help everyone else
***
because it's always so tempting to say you can stop caring and it's always so tempting to say you can take care of them while ruining yourself
XXXI.
because you really don't know how anyone gets better or if they do
XXXII.
because you know to be okay you'll have to be there for yourself, too and nothing has ever seemed so impossible as this
XXXIII.
because really you know they'll be okay without you because you're not entirely necessary
XXXIV.
because you don't want to be necessary not really because you don't trust yourself but also you do because then you'd have a reason to stay but you really don't know if you want that either
XXXV.
because you can see the future coming but you can't see yourself and you've always struggled with faith
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
romantics would
refer to your
freckled face as
a star filled sky,
but they were
just mud specks
of lies.
(mer)
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
There will always be some that won't like what you do. They're usually called "employees".
copyright: richard riddle-April 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
I.
Your blood family
is not the only family you will ever have
and don't you dare tell me so.
II.
You are under no obligation
to love
anyone.
III.
**** off.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
Here comes my little chick-a-dee.
Here to sing of sin and sympathy.
Come to spill the truth to me.
Don't tell me brother.
Don't tell me brother.
These hills hold riddles in the lime.
The stars keep on telling me I'm fine.
I just can't seem to find the time.
Please save me sister.
Please save me sister.
Can't help but live within my past.
The sun sheds light on what I lack.
Everything I breathe turns into ash.
Forgive me father.
Forgive me father.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
Sobre la falda tenía
el libro abierto;
en mi mejilla tocaban
sus rizos negros;
no veíamos letras
ninguno creo;
mas guardábamos ambos
hondo silencio.
¿Cuánto duró? Ni aun entonces
pude saberlo.
Sólo sé que no se oía
más que el aliento,
que apresurado escapaba
del labio seco.
Sólo sé que nos volvimos
los dos a un tiempo,
y nuestros ojos se hallaron
¡y sonó un beso!Creación de Dante era el libro;
era su Infierno.
Cuando a él bajamos los ojos,
yo dije trémulo:
-¿Comprendes ya que un poema
cabe en un verso?
Y ella respondió encendida:
-¡Ya lo comprendo!
371
Qué distancia en metros redondos
hay entre el sol y las naranjas?
Quién despierta al sol cuando duerme
sobre su cama abrasadora?
Canta la tierra como un grillo
entre la música celeste?
Verdad que es ancha la tristeza,
delgada la melancolía?
348
Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace el camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar.
337
Aquella frente de virgen,
aquella cándida tez,
aquellos rizos oscuros,
aquellos labios de miel,
aquellos ojos purísimos
que vían con timidez,
aquel seno que tenía
de la niña y la mujer,
y aquella risa inocente,
eran... ¡la número 10!
330