Ode to the dragon
I was inspired to express my love for dragons in old-English.
This ode which is called an irregular ode glorifies the dragon.
In Asiatic cultures, dragons are worshiped for their wisdom and longevity.
Though thy teeth be sharp, and thy claws great, waste not thy strength on me,
for thy beauty doth pierce mine heart worse than any wound.
Do not waste thy breath upon me, for I burn already a passion far greater than I can bear.
Oh dragon, hold back not thine beauty from mine eyes any longer, spread thy wings for me, let me see thy grace, thy majesty, thy glory complete!
Though thy scales turn away the sword, they can not turn away my love for thee.
Though thy wings block the sun, they can not block mine thoughts so bright of thee.
Though thy eyes stare death, I...only have eyes... for thee.
(3: 23 AM.01,23,10)
poem by Jacob Ellinger
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Related quotes
Why Must This Be
OH WHY MUST THIS BE
Mine eyes bleed
With the sorrow of yesterday
Mine heart breaks
At dawns breaking grace
Mine arms tremble
As thine leaves me with broken heart
Mine mind seeks
To calm the chaos of thoughts
I can no longer see thee
I can no longer share the dawn with thee
I can no longer hold thee in my arms
Oh why must this be?
Have I sinned to make thee depart from these arms?
Have I sinned to make thee break my heart in two?
Have I sinned to make thee tarnish our future blue?
Oh why must this be?
For I am still madly in love with thee
I say unto thee take my heart
For now it is forever yours
© Copyright Kaila George 2012
poem by Kaila George
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Sonnet 65: Love By Sure Proof
Love by sure proof I may call thee unkind,
That giv'st no better ear to my just cries:
Thou whom to me such my good turns should bind,
As I may well recount, but none can prize:
For when, nak'd boy, thou couldst no harbor find
In this old world, grown now so too too wise,
I lodg'd thee in my heart, and being blind
Bu nature born, I gave to thee mine eyes.
Mine eyes, my light, my heart, my life alas,
If so great services may scorned be,
Yet let this thought thy tigrish courage pass:
That I perhaps am somewhat kin to thee,
Since in thine arms, if learn'd fame truth hath spread,
Thou bear'st the arrow, I the arrowhead.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Mine Eyes Beg Sight Of Thee
Mine eyes beg sight of thee; mine mind begs, thought;
Mine heart begs consort with thee-for us to be what we ought;
Mine arms beg thine own body, in loving embrace-
Contrariwise, mine own body begs of same, face to face!
Mine own soul begs for thine, as its mate-
Our re-acquaintance made as was, through the powers of fate;
Mine whole life begs for thine own beauty's attestation:
As I bide still, I ruminate upon my futurity's celebration.
Until this time, when we shall meet my beloved, fair thee well:
May we both one day be the story that we lovingly tell.
All that I am begs for all that you are-
In a world with myriad resplendence, you are its brightest star!
Query not why it is that I covet thee as I do,
Ponder only: that in the morrow, more of same shall be gifted, to you!
poem by Maurice Harris
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My Life's Destiny
I anxiously await rendezvous with my life's destiny;
She hath seen mine own heart, now shall-the rest of me!
An Angel hath called for me-yet, am I prime?
I feel my heart's true exaltation, for the very first time!
I shall present for thee, my beloved: myself, true;
I shan't prevaricate, not even slight- I do so adore you:
Mine eyes have seen glorious, inspired beauty,
Yet, to secern for the world, your's-my God-given duty!
Be not afeared, I shall covet thee as I would, my own wife;
I proffer aegis-I shall protect thee and thine as I do, my own life!
Naught could be more lovely, no more pleasance may be,
Your grace-the most resplendent light, shining brightly, for me!
This magnificent mirth I feel in my soul, naught could portend!
I shall love thee ever more my beloved, as time doth wend!
Maurice Harris,12 March 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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Concord
Tremulous with love thy soul's hand pressures mine heart
So gently thy squeeze an impulse in me and I think of thee
Irresistible dost mine blood rush to mine mind smart
And in my mind, thy beauty with my intelligence I see.
Thy timid and shy engraved on mine love's ornament so faint
Impressing color on mine gray thoughts humorously and keen
With a palette of colors, thy beauty doth weave with thine perfect paint
The most magical charm one's thought hath ever seen.
As though thou read mine mind and played thy part
In harmony with thy gentle hand streaming blood to mine thought
Mine mind in concord with mine tremulous heart
Sincerely revels as thy soul designed from soul and wrought
A noble woman endowed with love's strength and mind
A gentlewoman like thee, understanding and kind..
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Her Poetic Countenance
An unfamiliar beauty, so beautiful, she dulled mine charm
A rich man I was with word, so poor I am now
For all my wit and my wit's gravity her beauty doth disarm
For her sensation animates my treasure on her dainty brow.
How beautiful doth beauty perceive thee
Painted by the stokes of spirit, spiritual rapture
So extraordinary doth passion play its delightful symphony;
Singing my poetry on thy countenance for mine hand to capture.
Blushing like a girl, for a girl my poem be
I want to pluck it charm and pen its sweet ink
Into the language of love that my heart doth see
Thine intelligence is beauty my poetry mine heart me think
I beg thee with elegance set foot into my sonnet and plant thy seed
So in my words thy countenance in my poetry one shall forever read.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Beautiful Breast
Dainty, delicate and delicious doth meet
On thine breast tender, mild and sweet
Beauty in thy heart veiled by a beauteous breast
Seizes mine sight and mine heart arrest
Thou art a manifestation of tranquil beauty
Nurturing life, possessing love's duty
Enticingly sweet thy gravitate to me
With all love's passion glistening on the breast of thee
Thou kiss mine lips with thine tender breast
And I doth taste thy flesh while thine heart caress
Mine heart too, wert love in us doth meet
On thine tender, mild breast, lovely and sweet
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Clasping of Hands
LORD, Thou art mine, and I am Thine,
If mine I am; and Thine much more
Then I or ought or can be mine.
Yet to be Thine doth me restore,
So that again I now am mine,
And with advantage mine the more,
Since this being mine brings with it Thine,
And Thou with me dost Thee restore:
If I without Thee would be mine,
I neither should be mine nor Thine.
Lord, I am Thine, and Thou art mine;
So mine Thou art, that something more
I may presume Thee mine then Thine,
For Thou didst suffer to restore
Not Thee, but me, and to be mine:
And with advantage mine the more,
Since Thou in death wast none of Thine,
Yet then as mine didst me restore:
O, be mine still; still make me Thine;
Or rather make no Thine and Mine.
poem by George Herbert
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Sonnet 22: My glass shall not persuade me I am old
My glass shall not persuade me I am old
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee Time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me.
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I not for myself, but for thee will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Transfiguration
She says she loves me but not as much as thou hate me now
Still when her words articulate, thy voice dwells in my ear
On one knee I kiss her hand, but to thee mine heart bow
Thy hate as sweet as this one's love, tis truth my love I fear.
A scoundrel I am, deceiving love with love so vogue
Her eyes in crimson pools swim in thy heart's ardent passion
To fervor her love I pretend she is thee, with the heart of a rogue
I confess with solemn grace, dressed in happiness behind beauties fashion
Devoid of truth but full of love I whisper 'my sweet I love you'
I see mine reflection in her gleaming eye and over mine shoulder aloof
Defining my heart with thy cold stare I see you mine heart true
Incredulous this woman sees in my love, thy portentous sooth
And cries out 'something is wrong this is not me but who? '
I look again and deep in her eyes I see not her but you….
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Sonnet XII
Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,--
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,--
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek !)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Xii
Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,--
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,--
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek !)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet XII: Indeed This Very Love
Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,--
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,--
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek--)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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I Encountered a Dragon
If a monster occupies the clump of eyes on our face
We hate the return of senses to the tears and face.
One monster is commotion, two creates tragedy
As well farce, fodder and feminine curiosity.
For these she-devils do not undermine the soul
As much as dragons, talons from the talent, creative sort.
We needed the strength and the spirit, the afflatus;
What is the amperage they create from the breath?
Which impulse afflicts him, the dragon?
He needs me to answer him, yet I do too,
And to aerially combat him is grand with amperage
As I do be grand, the eyes can tell and demonstrate
And commence for all the time.
My sword is my soldier, an affray has emerged forever,
Between dragon and human-beast, what is the final result?
Only a monster like me can win, can win;
Killing the scales of yellow, I discover it is not golden but bronze
And yet I want death for it, for him, for him,
Upper class dragon!
I am upper class, and fatigued by the whole battle
Inside which is death for the dragon,
I see its heart, and I see its belly
But I strike the heart, and no brain of a dragon interferes.
Instead I interfere, and this heart of its will shudder and fall
To be the death of the dragon, bronze dragon.
All of death occurred, wild dragon has been defeated
As the weapon I choose is good for poking hearts.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Remembering Your Love
Do I look meagerly for thou art to far from me
Like death took thee too far for mine eyes to see
But thy remembrance in a glance shows thee pure
My memories enhance thy beauty, and mine memory cure
The missing vessel of my love, mine depression of thought
As thou come to me embosomed with the happiness thou brought
Bringing me to an epicenter of love; erupting in joy
Bashful I blush, turn my head, and sweetly coy
To be loved once is to eternally be loved, my love said
The words rang and awoke my ghost from depravity dead
Remembering your love….
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Hymn
Rise, O my soul! with thy desires to heaven,
And with divinest contemplation use
Thy time, when time's eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse;
But down in darkness let them lie;
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die.
And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye
That holy cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die!
For in the sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life treasure.
To Thee, O Jesu! I direct mine eyes,
To Thee my hands, to Thee my humble knees;
To Thee my heart shall offer sacrifice;
To Thee my thoughts, who thoughts only see;
To Thee myself, myself and all I give;
To Thee I die, to Thee I only live.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Sonnet 12 - Indeed this very love which is my boast
XII
Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,—
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,—
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Holy Sonnet I: Thou Hast Made Me
Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste;
I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday.
I dare not move my dim eyes any way,
Despair behind, and death before doth cast
Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste
By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh.
Only thou art above, and when towards thee
By thy leave I can look, I rise again;
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me
That not one hour myself I can sustain.
Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art,
And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.
poem by John Donne
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One Day
One day, you will love me, as I do, you:
You will see the beautiful unity in us that I do!
One day, your heart's guard shall see its release:
Then you shall live in a magnificent, loving peace!
One day may come in the morrow, or perhaps in a year-
Its imminence is the only part that is not crystal clear!
It is this-the 'one day', for which I hold fast,
The day where my life shall truly begin, at long last!
The Book says: love is patient, love is kind-
These profoundly simple words do but serve to remind
Of the depths of my devotion to the same-
Love is not love, whence you need hasten its flame!
One day, you shall see all the beauty inherent in me,
Yet first, you need be wise to the beauty inherent in thee!
Look through mine own eyes, there you shall see clearly
Why you are my most beloved Angel, that I covet most dearly:
Explication defies mere word, yet through mine eyes, it doth obviate;
Once you attain privity to same, then only shall you appreciate
All that you truly mean-both, to and for me-
A truly foreign sensation-I am humbled before thee!
One day, your grace shall inherit its beatitude-
Your love in return shall be proper gratitude;
I seeketh thee, only because I simply must,
At last, I found the one, in which I may entrust
My mind, my heart and indeed, my soul-
The one whose virtues, my whole life I shall extol!
One day, your 'distance' shall surely wither and wane,
Then, and evermore, a want for love, you could ne'er feign!
Maurice Harris,28 January 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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