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The Artist's PleaThe fingerprints of mankind among each hill
Does the artist's eyes with melancholy fill,
A meadow unseen, untouched by time
Lends the poor poet his timeless rhyme,
The song of a lark, the scent of a rose
Bears in its womb, the birth of sweet prose,
And though man will pillage and nature abuse
Where from will he find tomorrow's muse?
Sonnet XIIIMistress Fortune, thou art every man's queen,
Princes and paupers take thou for a bride
And upon thy smile mankind rests keen;
I pray to no God, yet bow 'neath thy pride.
Each reward of creation is thy gift;
Sweet fruits of laborious seeds unsowed,
And how fickle the man, who in thy rift
Laments lost harvests on fields unploughed.
Yet, thy nature reflects the untamed sky,
Sullen, silent, sunny; a fiend and friend,
And though weathered I, still this eye be dry,
On thou, my dearer tears, I shall not spend.
Miss Fortune! Fair Fortune! A fare thee well!
All thy winds of chance shall not toll my bell.
By the StrandI still breathe your name by the wavering shore
And cast away to the sail winds a song
And close my eyes and evermore belong
To the unfed brine and its yearning roar.
The distant lamps polish the incensed green,
A flock of fallen stars upon the bay
Alights a dream of a submerged day
And strokes in feud a mind's browbeaten scene.
And standing by the strand I pace and skew
In hope a rising crest will fell or hide
Your voice; yet each raw spate, each rippling tide
Borrows to bestow an echo of you.
In MemoriamThe guardian ghosts, ghosts of our great men gone
await above, await your advent's song,
The skylark's cry has vexed this vivid morn;
her notes denote in notes that know no wrong.
The ample ale of amber allium art
is milked by million minions of her shine,
Her radiance reigned, rained ray drops dart by dart
on fallowed fields, fields flood with floral wine.
Lie you now, now lie you near no night;
The calling candles clear collected scars,
The sun still sates the sweat of sheltered sight;
You belong, belong by better stars.
War Woundthere's a war wound in my chest
that I cradle in my heart
and nurse it with parables
never grows up.
sometimes I feed it vanities,
a glass of Scotch or two
but in the morning's residue
it reflects no summer truths.
there's a war wound in my chest
which sought shelter in my soul
now it lies as an attic masterpiece
for the years to unfold
the colours have aged with me
rubric to rust to puce
and this work of art upon my heart
for the artist's eyes.
there's a war wound in my chest
which fell our company
but I who saw the shot and shell,
know it well indeed.
for he assigned us nameless,
no rank, no class or creed,
but then the lance of simple chance
wiped out our battery.
and I who fell for our comradery
did no favours for thee
I beheld the appetite of infancy
and lived for mortality.
GoodbyesA shy hello begins the tale,
Two strangers in a play,
A quiet word, a moment's care
Brings back the mirth of May,
And then a smile, a borrowed laugh,
Perhaps a happy tear,
Life's woes are few, its gifts renew,
But they don't last, my dear.
Such weeping I have often seen;
So many fruitless tears,
And yet a question I have asked
Met silence through the years.
Alone the crave, alone the grave;
All pain is pleasure's loan,
We come with naught, and thus depart,
Tell me, what do we own?
We are wildflowers in the breeze
A breath of father time,
And in the hue, in wanton dew
Perhaps there is some rhyme,
And for a spell, we briefly brush
And love and live in vain,
But one by one we must wave on
To never meet again.
Sonnet XXIWho can bemoan these barren, bitter days
When he who loved once spoke and heard her vows
Which were but words upon which passion preys
Until the breast from a dream does arouse.
And tacit, tamed truth sends forth honest odds,
Still he uncovers that twinge trickle spring,
Still she does worship her twice fallen Gods
To find tonic herbs in winged Cupid's sting.
How trite, how vain my liege it is to keep
High pearls of eyes bereft the sheen of cheer
In dungeons deep, or thorny towers steep
On lambent clouds that rove the drifting sphere?
For rue remembers joys, charms, bonds of air
And forgets years of mirth once lay elsewhere.
Behind Closed Doorsbehind closed doors,
past padlocks old,
confined latch bolts,
and deadlocks cold;
the hooks still hold
and stick the hole
and often house
your naked soul.
The Joy of SorrowWeep gently, for perchance you weep
Cull not the season’s ample rain;
Few ills so slight in sorrows sleep-
-The wise joys in exalting pain.
Weep gently, in passionate silence weep
Bleak tears for form and symmetry,
In nature’s want of balance, weep
And welcome: what must be, must be.
Weep gently, if you have to weep:
Limn crystal woe on a bare face;
What’s lost in loss, in loss do keep
Till Hector is brought home in grace.
Weep gently, weep the mortal’s weep,
Exile old winter from your breast,
Weep gently, in rueful joy do weep,
Till tears bequeath each epoch’s best.
Valentine's Day? UGHA blood-colored box in the shape of a heart
What an ironic way to express a poisonous dart
Well perhaps that might be the best way
To also show how love doth decay
So here I stand with my little red box
Crimped firmly shut with bleeding locks
Digging a grave with a blackened spoon
I bury this trinket under the glow of the moon
No love for me, not for even one day
So to all I whisper: screw Valentine's Day.
Sanctuary of an AuthorA staircase of pages,
A banister of words,
Carpets of similes,
Chandeliers of verbs.
A door of metaphor,
A floor of phrase.
Rooms of nouns,
Walls of essays.
A window of insight,
With panes of satire
Looking out warmly
On dead trees of culture.
I'm SorryI'm sorry that I miss you and I'm sorry that I care
All I do now is hold the picture and stare
I'm sorry I have hurt you and I'm sorry I have tried
I fought the tears back I didn't want you to know I cried
I am not perfect and I'm sorry for that
In my own eyes I'm lower than a rat
I'll find my strength as I hope you find the one
I'm sorry for a lot of what I have said and done
I'm sorry I couldn't face the truth and let this all be
I'm sorry I feel as though I still needed you beside me
I'm sorry I'm hurting from my dark and broken heart
I'll overcome these things and away I will dart
I'm sorry I apologize for every little thing
But most of all I'm sorry I thought about giving you a ring
I'm sorry I bug you and keep saying all of this
I'm sorry I can't forget the feeling of your tender kiss
I'm sorry for who and what I am
I'm so sorry I truly am
Half a Dozen RosesHalf a dozen roses
sitting in a vase
every time I see them
i see your smiling face
Half a dozen roses
white and silky smooth
a very treasured gift
from a very treasured you
Half a dozen roses
never gonna fade
I may keep them forever
until the end of days
Half a dozen roses
may not mean a lot
but they are simply priceless
the most important thing I've got
Half a dozen roses
sitting in my room
the only thing I could want more
is absolutely wonderful you
WithoutWithout a breath or hint of life
Without reflection, trails behind
Trying to grasp what can't be seen
Without a heartbeat in between
When you ask yourself "could this be it?"
As you glance upon a golden cage
A candle that was never lit
A book without a single page
Battles over unknown lands
With heroes who have never lived
A poem that was never said
A story that was never read
Without closure the show is done
Without motion we are gone
There's no excuse for feeling sad
You can't miss what you've never had
My dearest angel.It seems so strange to feel again
To know these thoughts I hold wihin
All those days I wasted away
I wonder if this is here to stay
The smile alone is enough for me
When I am blind it helps me see
Her eyes though full of mischief at times
Have become the reason I write more ryhmes
Her words like wine to fill my cup
All come together and lift me up
It seems so strange to love once more
To have someone help me off the floor
Her laughter is pleasing to my ears
I even enjoy her devious snears
She's witty yet kind, and full of life
It's strange but with her I feel no strife
Her happiness is more then enough for me
With her it seems that I am free
My ryhming is off along with the flow
At least it's not about to snow
There, happy, a poem for you
I hope you kno that most is true
I am happy when you smile
I know it's true and well worth while
Go ahead, I know you well
You'll hunt down each word I misspell
And all the places the flow is wrong
Only because the thoughts are strong
So go ahead my m
Evil place.The tears stream down your face
There is no comfort in this place
Screams are filling both your ears
This place brings life to your fears
Abandon all hope ye who enter
This place is evil to its center
It seems familiar to you now
Almost like a broken vow
Blood is leaking from the walls
Up the corridors and down its halls
The blood turns black before your eyes
In this place there are no skies
Only walls now turning black
From the words you can't take back
This place was once filled with love
Now its evil to hell you'd shove
It's moving like a beating heart
One that's tearing itself apart
"You see all this inside my eyes?"
"I hear it in your lonely cries."
"Then why'd you leave me all alone?"
"I have my place and my own throne."
Walking away from me again
I let this beast out that lay within
"Then let my heart burn hell
Not quite an angel but one that fell."
Hear the beast that's born anew
With love and life I am through
A monster is born from hate so pure
Hide yourself there is no cure.
i miss you...I sit here in this rain,
Thinking of you.
But no matter how long I wait on this bench,
You will never meet me here.
I’ve got on my best dress, my cane,
Even that old bowler hat you always liked,
And I wait at the bench where we first met.
But you will never meet me here again.
I lean on my cane in front of me,
Thinking of you,
Cupid, angel of love.Little cupid who flys above
Spreading about your purest love
I'll find you soon and then I will
Have revenge till you lay still
Never again shall you bring
A false love to make my heart sing
A song of false hope and desire
I'll watch as I engulf your body in fire
Your wings I shall pluck off of your sides
And cast them out to the coming tides
Your arrows I will shove straight down your throat
While doing all this I shall gloat
Of how I have killed the angel of love
And sent him to hell with a powerful shove
Your wretched desire to spread false hope
While giving no chance for many to cope
With the breaking of will and all of their dreams
Never again shall you see the suns beams
For your crimes against man and woman alike
I'll place your head upon the dullest spike
Let your entrails be torn out by dogs
And watch as your body is cast into bogs
Across the globe where none shall find
Each peice of you that was left behind.
The Passion FruitTease the heart in little doses,
A dash of red, not all the roses,
Fan the flame that's frail and dying,
Cull the bird that's fit and flying,
Win the sight of every pleasure,
Yet forfeit the sunken treasure,
Pull one step short of simple ration,
Hoard the enshrined conversation,
Speak in words that betray ire,
Prepare the untimely pyre,
Call out the rites in gleeful voices,
Portray a faux lack of choices,
Then leap before the burning fervor,
Await the sorrowful preserver,
Raise the stakes to hold your bearing,
Stretch the tender till it's tearing,
What is broken, makes one stronger,
What doesn't end is meant for longer,
What is pined for is not what is
And longed for neither hers nor his,
A dearth, a lack, a want we savour
And THAT lends the passion fruit its flavour.
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More