Comus Poems

For Lord’s exultant installation thou Singest for the performance at Ludlow, Of greatest Virtue that high Heav’n bestows On mansions virgin demoiselles doth house, That no temptation could utterly soil, No evil spirit ever durst to foil, Nor Circe’s son

I dreamt last night that you were with me and we walked along that path leading to the river and the ferry across. (do you remember the ferry?) It was summer, or so it seemed, and the air was heavy

I urge you, pry the quiet crimson open under the dying embers of the blood orange sky. Ragged words expelled in a breathless arrhythmic pause, coating the ridges of our raw and urgent tongues. We must intertwine, lip upon lip,

Where is my feeling of anticipation Where is my gentle voice of persuasion Where is my rock and my foundation Where is the ease of my frustration Where are your thoughts and your reflection Where is your support and your

Paradise is greed and Hell is a fear, Oh God! I love just because you are dear, You are hidden in beauty you are hidden in love, You are branch of olive in the nib of a dove I know

A frequency traveling, when parallel a vibration, oneness that awakens, Such a Miraculous sensation. As Colors of light we shun, a karma left undone. Waves rolling ashore, the hand at which is born. Crustacean of the night, one day take

You were my best friend, But all you did was pretend. You said that you’d always be there- But when I needed you the most, you were nowhere! Just know that if you ever come running back to me, You

Stop! — don’t! — I need not your help. Don’t look down I do care for myself. Just go! — Left me alone If you will have no care Just let myself be prone. I will have no wonder If

Well and maybe This Season a dream or two may come true and peace of mind will follow… this heart of mine that’s been broken for so long may finally forget you and be as new, as good as new

My fellow Americans, The hour is dark. Hence I stand before you With a heavy heart. Something is coming, Something man has never seen – An attack lacking precedent Within the pages of history. As you all well know, We

My every utterance is a lie, forged in silence, it is I who steals and plunders gold and silver. My pact is with the darkness. Wounds and blows, I have dealt, yet no remorse have I felt for sons mangled

Through all the pain and my sorrow I sometimes don’t want tomorrow Through pride and arrogance Brings my life a new dance. Through tears and agony Comes finding within, a different me Through loss of the times I did know

Respect her She is a woman , Respect her is must . She isn’t less than a man. Respect her or else your heart should rust. What would they do without her who greed only for “brothers”? Bring out that

He is an old man now, no longer tall, Shoulders hang, stoop low, as does his head. Hair is sparse, hardly covers his scalp, Teeth are worn, loose, and faintly yellow. Legs once firm and straight, now bowed and shaky.

When roses bleed thorns- it’s time to prune them. Waiting for seasons to change- is like waiting for silence to resolve- conflicts- a game of pride and rank. When roses bleed thorns- thistles outgrow the rosebuds; until color is lost

Since long I have been yearning to get lost on your sensuous lips my voluptuous desires are burning to feel them with scrumptious kiss With adolescence gesture you mesmerized and allured me to float into your sexy eyes with your

Down from Helsinki Late night walks on The beach of the Gulf Of Bothnia Sea, Me And My Baby, although the Sky is starless and there Is a strong breeze from Out of the south coming Quickly, we are lost

If you see a change in me It’s not because I want it you see It’s hard to be who I want to be When I’m pushed to the limits you see I’ve had the soul ripped out of me

Yes…I know …I know my steps are to end. Darkness awaits ’round yonder bend. Wrinkled and worn have I become, scarred and tempered beneath loyal sun. Neither gospel nor gun, a lantern to be, for the cosmic thicket now welcoming

Your love has my heart hopping like a kangaroo. Lost in love what’s a girl to do? Not much to offer but the broken pieces of my heart, perhaps it’s enough to make a new start. A fire can be

I imagine a heaving expanse no shore in sight and an ice-making wind blowing the tops off the waves. The ocean is dark as steel except for the blowing foam with just a little relent near the surface, a lighter

The man of her life treats her like gold, So she cries Because she knows Her secrets would break him inside And would crush his soul, So to protect him she lies As her secrets are something that she holds

I heard the shepherdess sing The song of dawn upon the hill Merry go the twinkling stars In shelter of their dream The sunbeams come Dancing upon the lake When the yellow traveler Makes his sway Flowers open up their

Heart of the earth- heart of the star, fire raging through me can I handle one more moment of this awesome ecstasy? energy flowing up in me- lightning pulsing down on me singing eternal memories… melodies arcing up- cascading down-

She melted seeing your love Adjusted because she fell in love It was then you changed your tone Repeatedly asking for time All she heard was,’I have no time.’ You said,’Be casual.’How could she be? For casual did not exist

Coffee// By: Fareed Ghanem **** Here I am, just a handful of water taken from the last raining season. Since the last Bedouin had poured me into his pot, which had been dyed by sand and smoke, and laid over

Spotlights give presence, Showing the dark, When they illuminate, A scattered forgotten part, They glisten and shine being over watched, To deliver a message, The essence to become an echo of thought. Madness can linger, Even in the light, Sometimes

Graveyard of stillbirths. I am walking on severed legs. She was pushed off a moving train. Could not be raped. No I don’t see any sickly aberration. It was ossification of stunted intellect. Who was desperate to exit the hazy

Sometimes late at night simply i can’t sleep Thinking about my innocence is no longer to mine to keep Somwhat like the worst nightmare one can’t imagine Dreary days are steadily approaching, bad memories trailing behind Its not only me,

Yes this is what all it was. we both are left with flaws and flaws. distance time and ego inside made us hollow just like mites Neither you were wrong neither am i its just that i just don’t know

Her words spit out as I feign interest with a nod. Then silence, A forceful pause, Her stern gaze pries. Though I’ve learned to hate her way, My words come out wrong. “I will not go!” “I will not be

From the twinkle in her eyes Oh the way they sparkle even when she cries The way her smile rises from each cheek Feelings she gives me that make me weak. They way her hair is somehow perfect done up

Since I have seen you, I have been infected With tormented love to you, and I have been Tortured by mysterious executioner. He is invisible, only felt. At every evening, Before sleep, he whips a dagger into my heart, And

When shoulders are in dearth whereby to cry, And frozen tears would stab with loneliness, A smile I dare that unto heaven try, For wish, my prayer speaks with holiness; The dirge that grieving lips would sadly sing, On hollow

Mother, they said I would find you if I looked deep in my heart – an image of love I shall see there that glows in its ramparts. So I looked behind all the walls upon which the drums did

Gone are the days when faces were buried into books We are now phasing out the books for FaceBook Those were times when kids jumped, played hide-n-seek and bruised knees Now it’s all about swiping, wiping and fidgeting with keys…

These lines are written by dipping My pen of sorrow in an invaluable ink pot This hot, red ink-you may know -is the Blood of my HEART ! You can decide the caption of this poem By reading it fully-if

(1) If I were a lover, I would say: Darkness is the drops of kohl On my arid world, Raining from your black eyes. But I forgot my passion in a remote year; Blindness comes out of the pores of

People are like apples picked from a tree, The beautiful ones with no imperfections are picked first, but that makes them bitter and unripe. The bruised and dented are picked last, but that makes them sweet and delicious. But beauty

In pinnate physicals, the thing, moves like a stark terror savagely. A primal fear takes over, because dead don’t speak. The bullet had passed through chest. Mutiny of dumb dandelions, lipless voices in the sea of madness. Search for a