Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

Through every nook and every cranny
The wind blew in on poor old Granny
Around her knees, into each ear
(And up nose as well, I fear)

All through the night the wind grew worse
It nearly made the vicar curse
The top had fallen off the steeple
Just missing him (and other people)

It blew on man, it blew on beast
It blew on nun, it blew on priest
It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-
But most of all, it blew on Granny!
...

I have brought the sacrificial goat
To the heap of grass, leaves and bark

He has forgotten his last beheading
But round his neck garland-like
hangs a mark
...

Looking out the window; clouds floating in the sky
Feeling jealous of the birds; not because they can fly.
Am alone in my room; soft cushion held tight against my chest
Wishing to be free one day; can only hope for the best.

Vision getting blurry; tears dripping down my cheeks
That sandwich on my desk; months old it reeks.
Why am I like this? I question myself in woe
Knowing deep inside, I am both my biggest friend and foe.


...

I.

THE FATHER.

FATHER of Heaven, and Him, by whom
It, and us for it, and all else for us,
Thou madest, and govern'st ever, come
And re-create me, now grown ruinous:
My heart is by dejection, clay,
And by self-murder, red.
From this red earth, O Father, purge away
All vicious tinctures, that new-fashioned
I may rise up from death, before I'm dead.


II.
THE SON.

O Son of God, who, seeing two things,
Sin and Death, crept in, which were never made,
By bearing one, tried'st with what stings
The other could Thine heritage invade ;
O be Thou nail'd unto my heart,
And crucified again ;
Part not from it, though it from Thee would part,
But let it be by applying so Thy pain,
Drown'd in Thy blood, and in Thy passion slain.


III.

...

Already six years past your age!
The steps in Rome,
the house near Hampstead Heath,
& all your fears
that you might cease to be
before your pen had glean'd. . . .

My dear dead friend,
you were the first to teach me
how the dust could sing.

...

I remember the way I sat on that bed.
Those words combined my head
You said it wasn't me
You said there was no other girl
But I just almost wanted to hurl
The feet i bruised from falling so hard
You‘ve forever bruised my heart
The last words you said to me play like a melody

Maybe I'm overreacting, but how could I feel it then?

...

O, what is that whimpering there in the darkness?

'Let him lie in my arms. He is breathing, I know.
Look. I'll wrap all my hair round his neck' - 'The sea's rising,
The boat must be lightened. He's dead. He must go.'


See - quick - by that flash, where the bitter foam tosses,
The cloud of white faces, in the black open boat,
And the wild pleading woman that clasps her dead lover
And wraps her loose hair round his breast and his throat.


'Come, lady, he's dead.' - 'No, I feel his heart beating,
He's living, I know. But he's numbed with the cold.
See, I'm wrapping my hair all around him to warm him.' -
- 'No. We can't keep the dead, dear. Come, loosen your hold.

'Come. Loosen your fingers.' - ' O God, let me keep him!' -

O, hide it, black night! Let the winds have their way!
And there are no voices or ghosts from that darkness,
To fret the bare seas at the breaking of day.
...

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.


...

The feeling of love is something magical
No, not true
Magic is made up, it is a lie
Love isn't a lie, it's a feeling of freedom inside a person
The love I feel is so strong
Strong like your gaze
The love I feel is hidden in myself
You have the key
I gave myself away to someone who used it as scraps
Another photo in the gallery of art

...