Chary Poems | Examples

A personal Sermon

Dear heart,
Please take a break
I know this feeling, I have had this feeling before 
It soothes at first, beguiling flings
Which shines, too
Sometimes brighter than goddess Theia
I know the comforts, the placidity it yields
And the euphoria!

Dear soul,
Stop the inner monologues
I know them, I have heard them before
With their potent, clean blade of satires
They chop pathos into cruelty, dubiety into actions
Listen to how it urges me into a chance, now or never!
Volition, I can hear the whispers. Volitions!

Dear mind, 
Avoid these thoughts
I remember them, they’ve run here before
Scattered into ways of no pattern
Tearing asunder the accords binding the soul and mind
Here, they boast of the utility they bequeath me
Chary, here, I must be, and slow I must tread
Forasmuch I owe the better of me to them
But hey! Avoid these ones regardless.

Dear self,
Collect these fragments and mend them back
For you’ve lost yourself, broken and scattered
Blend symphony from these discords
And  for once let you speak as you, dear self!

Give It a Try

Be wary
  be chary
Life's scary
  beware

O, faint-hearted one
  please reject this advice
Don't be afraid
  to roll the dice

Life comes around
  just once as they say
The more things you try
  the luckier your day

Morning Star

Morose morn, but sun’s a catalyst, warm

On the eave, the pigeon’s contumely coo,
rids a night’s cumbersome, cold, smother
New day, dearth of dew on concrete lawn
Its dull gray lightened by that eloquent hi
nodding chesty chary iridescence of dawn

Glamor understated or colors long-fading?

Sipping tea by the roost, the bobbing struts
tread decrepit life under roofs, like a caveat
as nearby, shining freeway cars rush, at sea...

roaring mettles endure, seeking 'the' flower

(4/22/2021)

Be Still

I've been keeping at a Detroit distance,
Maintaining that chary "Buffalo Stance",
Patient with ink-filled scalpel for instance,
Don't you dare me, I am on the off chance.
Now I've shaken that speare, I'm shaking free,
What's that you say? I'm out of my pined tree?
Like I said 'fore, of all colours praise be,
Just as time, it is all the same to me.
'Cause I'm at it again, making m'own art,
Remembering order of horse and cart,
So, are you singing that line, "Don't you start..."?
The hour's near here, I hope you've learned your part.
  I'll beam you into my Renaissance fair,
  See you be still before my blue-eyed glare.

I Am

I am not one of ten billion—I—
sunblackened Icarus, chary fly, 
staring at God with a quizzical eye.

I am not one of ten billion, I.

I am not one life has left unsquashed—
scarred as Ulysses, goddess-debauched, 
pale glowworm agleam with a tale of panache.

I am not one life has left unsquashed.

I am not one without spots of disease, 
laugh lines and tan lines and thick-callused knees
from begging and praying and girls sighing "Please! "

I am not one without spots of disease.

I am not one of ten billion—I—
scion of Daedalus, blackwinged fly
staring at God with a sedulous eye.

I am not one of ten billion, I
AM!

Nevermore

nevermore to say I'm sorry
our love embroidered in our hearts
in which I will keep so chary
everlasting aches of my soul
your the other half that makes us whole
thereof a zeal always departs


giving into sullen sorrow 
cloaked by shadows if he comes no more
fear of the silent bleak morrow
we shall get up before the dawn
long after the sun and clouds are gone
he will return 'nevermore.'


4/2/2018

Contest: Rhyme Time 1
Sponsored by: Laura Loo

Tomorrow Morning

tomorrow morning
i believe i shall
or maybe i shan’t
but if i shall 
i will share me
with my friend zoë
if i still am able to share
tomorrow morning
i would wish to write a poem to zoë
if my chary digits oblige
broken and torn
how awkward they present
they laugh at my challenge
they'll cry so when put to
“good use"
tomorrow morning
i should tend zoë’s hair
if zoë’s hair still lives
on top of her head, silly
or perhaps
tomorrow morning
i shall rise
with the smoke of souls
i would take zoë
if zoë is able
if i can find zoë
she may have already
melted
tomorrow morning

Memories

I think I finally know something
I had what seemed to last
One false move and it was in the past
I hoped for its thrill
But believed in it. But now belief burns
Off with the descent of the hill
Which is life
Starting to see some changes in everything 
At the time it was the only thing that mattered 
Then everything shattered
But I move on slowly repairing, recovering changing developing
Day in day out week after week 
With each passing year I mature
But I’m also not so sure 
If in this something is not right
If I went out of the frying pan into the fire
Or if my life is soaring higher
Was I right?
Or have I plunged myself into a terrible plight
 Those memories are corrosive and are burdening me like a sack of weights
I am chary to remember them but there is no escape
Regardless I try, futilely I attempt, to forget
But maybe that’s not the way its supposed to be
Maybe im meant to cherish those moments lost in time

Vignette of Amy Jade

What wild glee behind your tame grin lurks?
What shy sun fears to breach your heart’s horizon?
And to against your hidden teeth of 
Alabaster gleam. Bestowing upon the earth the breadth of 
Your delight. With rays of a beam that girds 
Time at the waist.
The meekest mare is bridled mirth;
She walks to joy in a slow trot, afraid
 To gallop forth with force,
Chary to express any clue of cheer or hope.
Who was it to chasten you so?
And rein you unto undue modesty.
From whose stable need you deliverance?
Are you by a loveless groom oppressed?
Breathe easy, Demure, smile assured that all 
Your bliss is licit.
Laugh aloud while crowned with life to 
Happiness permitted.

Sop of a Songbird

SOP OF A SONGBIRD
At the labyrinth of life
Fear of its complex nature griped our heart
Like a stranger at a tripartite junction.
Worries came afterward , humping us high and dry with impossible mission
Life became humdrum in a fixed gyration
And like a gyro, our earth revolves
Sonorously , we are made to sing : the songs of the slaves
How can a fire burn without fuel and hands functions without bones
Then you can tell, how the life can function without divine faith

Now! Let the  ear that hears hear
the songs of a humming birds
A song of hope , the tune of faith
The faith that fires fear
A true reflection of hope, treasures of our rich  universe
And the saviour of mankind
From the chagrined and chary of life

Sop of a Songbird

SOP OF A SONGBIRD
At the labyrinth of life
Fear of its complex nature griped our heart
Like a stranger at a tripartite junction.
Worries came afterward , humping us high and dry with impossible mission
Life became humdrum in a fixed gyration
And like a gyro, our earth revolves
Sonorously , we are made to sing : the songs of the slaves
How can a fire burn without fuel and hands functions without bones
Then you can tell, how the life can function without divine faith

Now! Let the  ear that hears hear
the songs of a humming birds
A song of hope , the tune of faith
The faith that fires fear
A true reflection of hope, treasures of our rich  universe
And the saviour of mankind
From the chagrined and chary of life

A Letter To My First Crush

A LETTER TO MY FIRST CRUSH
My Dearest Kevin
 My hands shake nervously as I write this letter
The fountain pen drips the ink in heart-shapes
Pieces of my heart as it reach out to you
    
I just want you to know that loving you isn’t easy
My dozen of Harlequins and my entire Mill @ Boon
         collection

Have'nt prepared me  
To deal with a player like you 
I heard it through the grapevine, 
That you are heartbreaker and womanizer
With only one thing on your adolescence mind

My grandmother always told me, that
Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk for free
My grandma is a wise woman
More like a heroine in my eyes
I am the heroine of my life
More like a Nancy Drew 
without a clue on how to love you
I am never satisfy, I am curious
And mysterious
However I am very chary
Kind of gal
^
I do believe that
I am in love with you today
However,
I might hate you tomorrow
Because you never know with a secret admirer
To the man I love today
They are nothing more than I can say.
I will wait for your reply my love

Winter Hawks

An advent of raptors haunts the scant gray woods
or loiters over mall roofs.
We wake to their screams as if this were high sierra,
not Ohio where parents try-out or manage children,
open party stores, hunker through the coming
and going of baby Jesus; de-ice puffer jackets,
tend to flocks.

Gloom is plowed behind snow dunes.
The red-tails roam in loose federations.
Their young, mob-handed and loutish,
the mature work in pairs
scything small birds, ripping through
the thinning, the hold-outs,
the weakened and walking.

And the first born listen with the last of us
while the hawks dance proclaiming their time.
A time of fervid litany and electric barricades,
of bobble hats and mittens,
while a black brier
raises bloody thorns in chary praise. 


~~

Stroking

.

        Thus sat I
 athwart her boarding
 as the train’s whistle 
         bellowed

         I panting
stroking mine beard in
       anticipation
   mine pen and slip
           excited 
     to cast each her
        chary glints
             when
            CRACK
     back mine head
       mine consort
      her ring baring
           jealous

Words In a Jukebox

I speak words, rawly, but 
productively, Poetry Is the 
Passion, I compose, with A 
gleaming heart, that spins the 
souls of others, vibrantly 
shinning, among the rainbows,
Colorfully booming, Tenderly In 
A jukebox, as my ego, grows 
up the beanstalk, like sun-use, 
Wisely owl, among expression to,
its knowledgeable ponder, for those 
who listen, Do you hear, what I hear? 
Do you see, what I see? Do you know, 
what I know? Please take A step-
back, and listen chary to it 
again, As I compose my lyrics, 
down on A sheet of white 
paper, for all the world to, 
see, Hear, and know, because 
We are worthy, in the eyes of
God...

Dedication to all SP "FAM"

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