"yclept" poems
173
A fuzzy fellow, without feet,
Yet doth exceeding run!
Of velvet, is his Countenance,
And his Complexion, dun!
Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass!
Sometime, upon a bough,
From which he doth descend in plush
Upon the Passer-by!
All this in summer.
But when winds alarm the Forest Folk,
He taketh Damask Residence—
And struts in sewing silk!
Then, finer than a Lady,
Emerges in the spring!
A Feather on each shoulder!
You’d scarce recognize him!
By Men, yclept Caterpillar!
By me! But who am I,
To tell the pretty secret
Of the Butterfly!
3.7k
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With agony, thou cry, thou scream and thou sleep
Staggering over time, the extensions of gore
A morph possessed over the flags: cloistered around throat
An uttering of serene eons, of atrophy and of thaw;
A morass of hegemony, of identity and war
Withered from bullets,drained over the ground
A knock on the coffin of tommorrow and the past
A chronology misplaced and outdone
And a synapse of presence smothered with the breath of dust
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With hope, thou bawl, thou shout, thou sleep
Chaotic commemoration ruptures over the streets
Splatters around an arcane, segregated country
Under the mud of enigma lies the rotten leaves of history
Away the tomorrow leans, restless and unknowingly
For it lies awake with the screams of a rifle, the screeching audibilty of ghostly mutterings, the camaraderie caught on flesh, between the teeth of craved monarchy
For the tomorrow lies awake near the history.
For the past suffocates the vivacity
Yclept the peace, yclept the tranquility!
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With anger, thou yelp, thou break, thou sleep
A hymn of sigh deafens the petrifying serenity
A sigh outraged with the murmur of life
Seismic ephemerality tears the ground apart
Barges in, the present, whispers a cry
The tomorrow lies still over the chunks of calamity
Lulled to sleep with the kiss of presence,
With the screams of a distant enmity:
The burial of time that has been cloistered around the anonymity
The burial of the ceased, the past, as a euphemism
The burial of the existence, the present, as a mayhem
The burial of the undone, the tomorrow, with a malediction
All three in the same grave, punching the timeless, imminent reality they delineated
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With silence, thou shatter, thou question, thou sleep
Down the ground quaffs the time
Of a city that no longer breathes
Out inundates the prayers of a dilemma
For a country is to cleave
Fidelity over a continuum, with faded prayers, shares a discourse
Befuddled with an antinomy, it asks itself, how an epitaph shall be wrought?
Down the ground swallows the confusion
Of a city that no longer cries
Now, which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
To be overwhelmed by a plenitude of halves
In the name of peace, in the name of life!
Which ground shall I die beneath?
To lie awake with an eternal sleep
I no longer whisper over the divided streets
Not to awaken the past, not to revive the wounds and faded hymns
I breathe in the dust, devouring the ceased
For a divided city is to be kissed
Down I no longer hold an impulse to scream:
A gush of presence that arises a breeze
That of which billowing up the grave
Releasing a future for a road ahead
With hope, I bawl, I defy, I beg
Yclept the peace, in the name of solidarity!
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 5:28 AM UTC
The elegy is sighed in a yearnful of moan,
Tis' a discourse , 'tis a toll.
For the knell is foundered with
A mouthful of thorns,
'Tis a dispatch, 'tis a call.
Howl hither the malicious dawn;
Dawn it is, the two faceted flow:
A presence of those masquerade *****
Until a haul, 'tis a faux.
"'Tis a fault, 'tis a fault."
In their deed, the cloisters are redeemed yclept the hiss and yclept the haul,
'Tis a discourse, 'tis a fall
"'Tis a fault and 'tis a fault."
For I sin above all (too),
And in a remorse I heave,
Then, out an elegy I sighed;
There,I merely nod:
"Yes, indeed(!)"
'Tis a fault of mine now, 'tis a fault.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 2:45 AM UTC
My feet burn hot
On the smoldering coals and ashes of
Other's sinful words and hopes.
We were made to walk this world of
Pain
With hopeful hearts and
Choice.
Will we succumb to this pain?
Will we give in?
We are not alone,
But tonight we sit by ourselves.
We are given a glass of failure.
Drinking,
Sipping and slipping to the point of no return.
Tonight I will pour the glass given me
Down the drain,
Where I hope my heart won't be.
I want to choose something more
Than bitter intoxication.
Give me trust,
Give me love,
Call me trust,
Call me love.
I will be trust,
I will be love.
I am what I need to be,
I will become who I am.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
Love’s soother, sweeter than all lyre’s thrall,
Hark the lullaby held it captive, lest all sirens fall…
O sweeting!
Sang the wind unto me,
Lacking stature, crimsoned complexion,
My wishful gaze upon one…
Shades of affection, a dye hight red,
Sparked living as I gasped, “O yonder boon !”
Harbouring lust, yet gallantly shining;
Enchanting I, my soul deeply ensnared,
Yonder eyes, colourful or maybe of a shade?
One upon worlds, fair gleaming masquerade,
Myriad in colours, the fountain of all shades,
All but one it gleams, ‘tis yonder shade yclept fade…
Like Mab granting night’s pseudo-heaven,
Thou art to me my fairy, verily Mab; O amabilis!
Mine velvet noon, whose night’s fair and fancy,
O fair muse! La pucelle d’Alfheim, I flatter thee!
Flattering personas, all of the fairest,
Though one was lost, of all which I know not,
Wilt thou? Indulge me in those, thy full façade?
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC