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Doubt

To doubt too often deeper doubts succeed,
upon itself it’s self perversely feeds,
sad skeins, dyed grey or black, back interbreed,
and darkly hung, strung cloud mind wrung. Foul weed
whose sole success seems self-destructive need,
whose cancers cluster, to each breast accede.
Nor church, nor sect, nor rosary, nor bead,
successfully may ever intercede
to shrug such shackles so dark doubts recede
unless the mind lets aching heart re[a]d bleed,
and heed pain’s flow, outgrowing grief, concede
that stress-free sojourn can’t be guaranteed...

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Holier Than Thou

In the land of demonic praises...
They mask deception well.
Basking in torment and daily heated hell,
They are called to worship from kilns of comfort
To speak in tongues!
To convince those wrung with guilt and anxiety...
They are holier than 'thou'!
Allowing a congregation freshly singed to cool
From a blistering message performed to remind them
Of the instigating presence of Lucifer
In their lives!
IF they do not tithe in 'spirited' devotion
In the name of the Lord and His great sacrifice...
That have kept them out of the bowels of evil!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stanzas on the Taking of Quebec and the Death of General Wolfe

AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasures start.

O WOLFE! to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear;
QUEBEC in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.

Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes:
Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead-
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise!

poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Haunted

Why will you haunt me unawares,
And walk into my sleep,
Pacing its shadowy thoroughfares,
Where long-dried perfume scents the airs,

While ghosts of sorrow creep,
Where on Hope's ruined altar-stairs,
With ineffectual beams,
The Moon of Memory coldly glares

Upon the land of dreams?
My yearning eyes were fain to look
Upon your hidden face;
Their love, alas! you could not brook,

But in your own you mutely took
My hand, and for a space
You wrung it till I throbbed and shook,
And woke with wildest moan

[...] Read more

poem by Mathilde Blind
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Dewpoint.......Final couplet is the poems' kernel

I am at the point
Where I can absorb no more.

You can only get so rain-soaked
And then rain-soaked no more.

Like a slug, sliding across the floor,
I leave a slimy trail, like fingerprints,
Wherever I go,

Bleeding my lifeblood,
I wear the hematomas like a shroud.

The body can only take so much pain
before the bones break, the marrow spills out
and the face becomes twisted, wrung...

An old, sunken in, sponge.

Stepping out of the shower, upto a fogged mirror

[...] Read more

poem by John Tansey
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Farewell! If Ever Fondest Prayer

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word--Farewell!--Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain
Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only know we loved in vain--
I only feel--Farewell!--Farewell!

poem by Byron
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I Held A Shelley Manuscript

My hands did numb to beauty
as they reached into Death and tightened!

O sovereign was my touch
upon the tan-inks's fragile page!

Quickly, my eyes moved quickly,
sought for smell for dust for lace
for dry hair!

I would have taken the page
breathing in the crime!
For no evidence have I wrung from dreams--
yet what triumph is there in private credence?

Often, in some steep ancestral book,
when I find myself entangled with leopard-apples
and torched-skin mushrooms,
my cypressean skein outreaches the recorded age
and I, as though tipping a pitcher of milk,

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Corso
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Why Will You Haunt Me

Why will you haunt me unawares,
And walk into my sleep,
Pacing its shadowy thoroughfares,
Where long-dried perfume scents the airs,
While ghosts of sorrow creep,
Where on Hope's ruined altar-stairs,
With ineffectual beams,
The Moon of Memory coldly glares
Upon the land of dreams?

My yearning eyes were fain to look
Upon your hidden face;
Their love, alas! you could not brook,
But in your own you mutely took
My hand, and for a space
You wrung it till I throbbed and shook,
And woke with wildest moan
And wet face channeled like a brook
With your tears or my own.

poem by Mathilde Blind
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Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: III

A little honey! Ay, a little sweet,
A little pleasure when the years were young,
A joyous measure trod by dancing feet,
A tale of folly told by a loved tongue.
These are the things by which our hearts are wrung
More than by tears. Oh, I would rather laugh,
So I had not to choose such tales among
Which was most laughable. Man's nobler half
Resents mere sorrow. I would rather sit
With just the common crowd that watch the play
And mock at harlequin and the clown's wit,
And call it tragedy and go my way.
I should not err, because the tragic part
Lay not in these, but sealed in my own heart.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Taking Of Quebec

STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC, AND DEATH OF
GENERAL WOLFE

AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasures start.
O WOLFE! to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear;
QUEBEC in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.
Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes:
Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead--
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise!

poem by Oliver Goldsmith
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!