View Full Version : του Ιακώβου, elaboration on other
oohay3378
2008-12-27, 17:48
(Yes, contains lines salvaged from other)
Ipse venena bibas!
The heart's recourse itself shall score;
the Poppy's dew be liquid ash.
Ill fated drops of passion yore,
brimméd cup kin to droplet last.
The heart's vintage thus, dust filled air,
its supple fruit shall press decay.
Though of yesteryear's soil prepare,
barren seed for another day
(For the barren womb may an Isaac bear,
the laughing fruit shall have her claim).
The cup of life shall be refilled;
the cup be but another frame,
for eyes o' Glory shall rely
'pon the Soul's window drowned in brine.
The bitter ash hath a sweeter tinge
than kindling branch, yet intermix't
with Time drawn up and those still yet
to enter the eyes and mouths of men!
meh? not done yet.
oohay3378
2008-12-29, 02:17
Ipse venena bibas!
The heart's recourse itself shall score;
the Poppy's dew be liquid ash.
Ill fated drops of passion yore,
brimméd cup kin to droplet last;
Heart's vintage thus, its end declar'd,
its supple fruit shall press decay.
Though of yesteryear's soil prepare,
barren seed for another day
(For the barren womb may an Isaac bear,
the laughing fruit shall have her claim).
Thus eyes o' Nike shall rely
upon the wings of Gabriel,
whose feather'd mortar drew the line;
crafted the frame of her temple.
Her bitter ash hath a sweeter tinge
than kindling form, yet intermix't
with Time drawn up and still of those
to yet destroy her Virgin Home.
oohay3378
2009-01-03, 04:38
Ipse venena bibas!
The heart's recourse itself shall score;
the Poppy's dew be liquid ash.
Ill fated drops of passion yore,
brimméd cup kin to droplet last;
Heart's vintage thus, its end declar'd,
its supple fruit shall press decay.
Though of yesteryear's soil prepare,
barren seed for another day
(For the barren womb may an Isaac bear,
the laughing fruit shall have her claim).
Thus eyes o' Nike shall rely
upon the wings of Gabriel,
whose feather'd mortar drew the line;
crafted the frame of her temple.
Her bitter ash shall've a sweeter tinge
than kindling form, yet intermix't
with Time drawn up and still of those
to yet destroy her Virgin Home.
She shall bear an ashen garland,
thus her gold an oil of mourning.
Time's subtle edge duly sharpenin',
Progression's scar to be still forming
'like words congealed in northern air'.
Contents of such glass soaked in dreams,
e'en the vintner must pay his care.
For shall be telos sewn in seams,
atropoi prepare geneses.
- Iacobi
almost done.
oohay3378
2009-01-04, 02:45
Ipse venena bibas!
The heart's recourse itself shall score;
the Poppy's dew be liquid ash.
Ill fated drops of passion yore,
brimméd cup kin to droplet last;
Heart's vintage thus, its end declar'd,
its supple fruit shall press decay.
Though of yesteryear's soil prepare,
barren seed for another day
(For the barren womb may an Isaac bear,
the laughing fruit shall have her claim).
Thus eyes o' Nike shall rely
upon the wings of Gabriel,
whose feather'd mortar drew the line;
crafted the frame of her temple.
Her bitter ash shall've a sweeter tinge
than kindling form, yet intermix't
with Time drawn up and still of those
to yet destroy her Virgin Home.
She shall bear an ashen garland,
thus her gold an oil of mourning.
Time's subtle edge duly sharpenin',
Progression's scar to be still forming
'like words congealed in northern air'.
Contents of such glass soaked in dreams,
e'en the vintner must pay his care.
For shall be telos sewn in seams,
atropoi prepare geneses.
Thus our ichor fount run'th up nigh,
not one more twist on bronzen nail.
Thank the length set by Ananke's childe,
thy recourse could be cut in twain!
- Iakobi
(I actually think it's done!)
oohay3378
2009-01-12, 05:36
(No, not Uncle_Phil)
To Philz0r:
Shalt thou choose a fleet-foot nymph?
Or prefer you Socratic walking palms?
What of the spritely water sylph,
sing she secretly of a Siren's song?
She'll mix a soupçon of falsehood, a dash o' deceit,
simmer thy heart a season ('for my Persephone!'),
store it three seasons more:
provide 'respite' in earth's rocky bosom.
Still beating sinews changed to the core,
Kore blends the choicest καρδες οινος.
With trust the succubus will take her timely dues,
but what if thou take'st a sup o' thine sanguine juice?
Thou comest to learn of woman's iron heart.
Of this bitter cask be aptly said:
'tis better for love's labor lost.
Love be child of want, kindred of Lethe.
(No, not Uncle_Phil)
Thou comest to learn of woman's iron heart.
Would work better as come'st.