Scarlette - Hello Poetry

I take my coffee black and my sweaters long sleeved, and I walk on weekends down the market lane, with tender hope of seeing her. Today I did. Now I'm a man of 45, but don't think for one second that I don't remember the way her tiny vein-lined hand grasped my 18 year old shoulder, the way she laughed at how I tensed up, from too much love, or harder memories. I loved the way she laughed, and I shuddered when I heard it as she stood over by the craft stall with a crochet blue scarf wrapped around those same hands. She had grown 42 from years apart, birthday last week, and I'd sat alone and thought of her all day. I never quite recovered from our three year adolescent romance. It felt more like an Earthquake. I walked through bustling noon-washed streets and traced her soft blonde hair and lithe frame, and I swear I almost felt it on my fingertips again. I should probably have forgotten about her by now, but nobody forgets Earthquakes. The pavements were lined with people desperately trying to drown her out but she's burnt into my eyes now, and I felt like kicking myself for remembering when I burnt every picture of her in stolen ***** I hated her for about ten minutes. Now I'm 45 and seeing her again has latched a youthful taste in my mouth, and the vivid memory of stained pink cigarette papers from her red lips rolled over me like a tide. I gave up smoking five years ago, I wonder if she ever did. For a moment I lost her in the haze but she was sat in a café alone, looking like she needed someone. I thought briefly about sitting beside her and waiting for her eyes to meet mine and glaze over with tears at being reunited with me. And I thought about how she'd tell me how she's been so lonely, and she missed my lips pressed against her neck as if there was a part missing when they weren't. I watched her, and she looked alone. But oh God, she's beautiful. The way she sat there lit a bliss inside of me. I watched her, and melted into her mulling gaze, her lips fell open lazily as she observed what was left of the early afternoon rush hour crowds. I decided to sit across the room, just close enough to see the colour in her eyes. I thought some more about how happy she'd be to see me again, leaping out of her seat to greet me, her paper-thin frame clutching to my fleshy torso, and we'd breathe in our scents like we always did. My mind even wandered briefly to her nakedness, protected by bed sheets, as we writhed around beneath them. Her girlish ******* hovering above me, black pupils swelling with unadulterated want. That's what we were like back then. She had no intention of settling down with me, we only squeezed every last bit of adventure out of each other. I found myself continuing to envision her smile entwined with my smile, swallowing down the memory of our bitter, painful departure. I pretended that the last time I saw her wasn't when she slammed her front door in my face, tears blistering her cheeks. I've been pretending for so long, it's like it didn't happen after all. I observed her all the while, high cheekboned face softly highlighted by the pastel sky of spring outside. This was a quiet café, and I could hear the light tapping of her high heeled foot against the chair leg. She bent down to pick up her handbag and retrieved a pack of blue Mayfair cigarettes and placed them on the table- I suppose that answered my previous question. She sighed heavily, and it then occurred to me that she might be waiting for someone. A friend perhaps, or her sister who always hated me. I'd been watching her for a full ten minutes when her eyes finally met mine. My heart shuddered in its cage and my blood was flowing at such a speed that I didn't notice at first that she wasn't staring at me at all. No, she simply skimmed over me, pupils flickering rapidly, her brain registering me as just another face in the crowd. When I finally noticed this, it was like something inside me had shrivelled up and died. All the hopeful lust, all those years of being consumed by her, I'd been waiting all along for a dull glance. I looked down, and watched my beating heart slide pathetically to the floor and wilt there. When I looked up again, I was greeted by the image of her standing to greet a family of two. A man, around my age, tall and skinny with greying hair and thick-rimmed glasses. I watched her slender arms wrap around him, then their lips lock in a disgusting embrace. I couldn't stop the God **** tears from flowing. I looked down again and my heart was having a seizure on the floor, blood oozing from each exhausted vein. I paused when I heard the dulcet laughter of the second person. A young girl stood, skinny and blonde and heavenly, pale blue eyes gleaming like springtides. With each giggle my mind ached with the image of her mother, spinning in endless circles, her blonde hair wrapping around her neck, and that same laughter in the air. I almost choked when I saw that girl. My eyes exchanged desperate looks between mother and the daughter, the embodiment of whom I loved. With each arduous second my throbbing heartbeat became louder and louder, overshadowing the noise of the customers asking me if I was okay. And she had noticed me too. This time, her eyes met mine with recognition, and her perfect face twisted into an expression of sorrow. She began walking towards me, my whole face turned numb. ''Sir, are you alright?'' The soft delicacy in her voice rattled my skull and erupted in my brain. I rolled my head back and forth on my folded arms, and my resounding breath caught up in my woollen sleeves drowned out any other sound that wasn't her voice. ''What's your name?'' She asked me. I lifted my head in a daze, and let the wave of blistering unhappiness wash over, and finally crash behind me. The only thing I saw was her daughter. Terrifyingly beautiful, as if the woman stood by my side was sixteen again, and peering at me with total, innocent obliviousness. She was her double. A cut-out photograph gazing at me. And we stared at each other for a while. She was everything to me, and I was nobody. ''I'm nobody.'' I responded weakly. ''Absolutely nobody.''I'm still trying to decide whether I'm satisfied with this, but I thought I'd post it anyway. I spent an excruciating amount of time trying to decide whether to write this in the format of a letter to the ''woman'' or addressed to some kind of external person(s). Anyway.

0

Jan 28, 2015

Jan 28, 2015 at 4:10 AM UTC

Untitled

I take my coffee black and my sweaters long sleeved, and I walk on weekends down the market lane, with tender hope of seeing her. Today I did. Now I'm a man of 45, but don't think for one second that I don't remember the way her tiny vein-lined hand grasped my 18 year old shoulder, the way she laughed at how I tensed up, from too much love, or harder memories. I loved the way she laughed, and I shuddered when I heard it as she stood over by the craft stall with a crochet blue scarf wrapped around those same hands. She had grown 42 from years apart, birthday last week, and I'd sat alone and thought of her all day. I never quite recovered from our three year adolescent romance. It felt more like an Earthquake. I walked through bustling noon-washed streets and traced her soft blonde hair and lithe frame, and I swear I almost felt it on my fingertips again. I should probably have forgotten about her by now, but nobody forgets Earthquakes. The pavements were lined with people desperately trying to drown her out but she's burnt into my eyes now, and I felt like kicking myself for remembering when I burnt every picture of her in stolen ***** I hated her for about ten minutes. Now I'm 45 and seeing her again has latched a youthful taste in my mouth, and the vivid memory of stained pink cigarette papers from her red lips rolled over me like a tide. I gave up smoking five years ago, I wonder if she ever did. For a moment I lost her in the haze but she was sat in a café alone, looking like she needed someone. I thought briefly about sitting beside her and waiting for her eyes to meet mine and glaze over with tears at being reunited with me. And I thought about how she'd tell me how she's been so lonely, and she missed my lips pressed against her neck as if there was a part missing when they weren't. I watched her, and she looked alone. But oh God, she's beautiful. The way she sat there lit a bliss inside of me. I watched her, and melted into her mulling gaze, her lips fell open lazily as she observed what was left of the early afternoon rush hour crowds. I decided to sit across the room, just close enough to see the colour in her eyes. I thought some more about how happy she'd be to see me again, leaping out of her seat to greet me, her paper-thin frame clutching to my fleshy torso, and we'd breathe in our scents like we always did. My mind even wandered briefly to her nakedness, protected by bed sheets, as we writhed around beneath them. Her girlish ******* hovering above me, black pupils swelling with unadulterated want. That's what we were like back then. She had no intention of settling down with me, we only squeezed every last bit of adventure out of each other. I found myself continuing to envision her smile entwined with my smile, swallowing down the memory of our bitter, painful departure. I pretended that the last time I saw her wasn't when she slammed her front door in my face, tears blistering her cheeks. I've been pretending for so long, it's like it didn't happen after all. I observed her all the while, high cheekboned face softly highlighted by the pastel sky of spring outside. This was a quiet café, and I could hear the light tapping of her high heeled foot against the chair leg. She bent down to pick up her handbag and retrieved a pack of blue Mayfair cigarettes and placed them on the table- I suppose that answered my previous question. She sighed heavily, and it then occurred to me that she might be waiting for someone. A friend perhaps, or her sister who always hated me. I'd been watching her for a full ten minutes when her eyes finally met mine. My heart shuddered in its cage and my blood was flowing at such a speed that I didn't notice at first that she wasn't staring at me at all. No, she simply skimmed over me, pupils flickering rapidly, her brain registering me as just another face in the crowd. When I finally noticed this, it was like something inside me had shrivelled up and died. All the hopeful lust, all those years of being consumed by her, I'd been waiting all along for a dull glance. I looked down, and watched my beating heart slide pathetically to the floor and wilt there. When I looked up again, I was greeted by the image of her standing to greet a family of two. A man, around my age, tall and skinny with greying hair and thick-rimmed glasses. I watched her slender arms wrap around him, then their lips lock in a disgusting embrace. I couldn't stop the God **** tears from flowing. I looked down again and my heart was having a seizure on the floor, blood oozing from each exhausted vein. I paused when I heard the dulcet laughter of the second person. A young girl stood, skinny and blonde and heavenly, pale blue eyes gleaming like springtides. With each giggle my mind ached with the image of her mother, spinning in endless circles, her blonde hair wrapping around her neck, and that same laughter in the air. I almost choked when I saw that girl. My eyes exchanged desperate looks between mother and the daughter, the embodiment of whom I loved. With each arduous second my throbbing heartbeat became louder and louder, overshadowing the noise of the customers asking me if I was okay. And she had noticed me too. This time, her eyes met mine with recognition, and her perfect face twisted into an expression of sorrow. She began walking towards me, my whole face turned numb. ''Sir, are you alright?'' The soft delicacy in her voice rattled my skull and erupted in my brain. I rolled my head back and forth on my folded arms, and my resounding breath caught up in my woollen sleeves drowned out any other sound that wasn't her voice. ''What's your name?'' She asked me. I lifted my head in a daze, and let the wave of blistering unhappiness wash over, and finally crash behind me. The only thing I saw was her daughter. Terrifyingly beautiful, as if the woman stood by my side was sixteen again, and peering at me with total, innocent obliviousness. She was her double. A cut-out photograph gazing at me. And we stared at each other for a while. She was everything to me, and I was nobody. ''I'm nobody.'' I responded weakly. ''Absolutely nobody.''I'm still trying to decide whether I'm satisfied with this, but I thought I'd post it anyway. I spent an excruciating amount of time trying to decide whether to write this in the format of a letter to the ''woman'' or addressed to some kind of external person(s). Anyway.

12

He will rip your skin from your bones like his favorite ripped jeans, and leave until you faded And stuck you up on his cabinet, like you were just an old cloth-- used when needed so.

0

Jan 17, 2015

Jan 17, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC

Ripped

He will rip your skin from your bones like his favorite ripped jeans, and leave until you faded And stuck you up on his cabinet, like you were just an old cloth-- used when needed so.

2

Into my fathers’ arms safe from harm In a place far away no moonshine in his hand Running along a beach somewhere on white-golden sand No shouting, swearing or blowing to the head At a table where I will be fed No more hunger no more pain all is well Sitting at a warm fire stories we tell Well away from my living hell Ironed clothes and shoes on my feet Into a bed with fluky white sheets uncluttered and cosy not afraid to sleep Nobody kicked out to walk the streets Dry bed in the morning what a delight Going to school with a smile on my face Parents watching you in sports and plays Shouting encouragement making you proud Not to be outside the fashionable crowd but things are not what they always seem What do you expect in a strange land hounded with reality? This is not reality; it is only a childhood dream

0

Oct 23, 2014

Oct 23, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC

Puerile's Phantasm

Into my fathers’ arms safe from harm In a place far away no moonshine in his hand Running along a beach somewhere on white-golden sand No shouting, swearing or blowing to the head At a table where I will be fed No more hunger no more pain all is well Sitting at a warm fire stories we tell Well away from my living hell Ironed clothes and shoes on my feet Into a bed with fluky white sheets uncluttered and cosy not afraid to sleep Nobody kicked out to walk the streets Dry bed in the morning what a delight Going to school with a smile on my face Parents watching you in sports and plays Shouting encouragement making you proud Not to be outside the fashionable crowd but things are not what they always seem What do you expect in a strange land hounded with reality? This is not reality; it is only a childhood dream

38

This is me merging from one to another, my body is stuck in the life that I wondered. My legs running fast so my heart wants to follow, searching for the volume to fill an empty hollow. This me merging, intentions unclear, unable to distinguish my excitement from fear. Long live the dreamer, abide with me forever. Don't let simple pleasures pull away my endeavors. Expectations seems flawless, like a taste of untouched meringue, but I'll try not to forget the old books I once read. And even if my legs do beat out my body, and run straight towards something folly, I always take heart to the things I once knew, and every once in a while I'll come back straight to it. For one day I look back and realize, failures were my fate.

0

Oct 22, 2014

Oct 22, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC

Hounded with reality

This is me merging from one to another, my body is stuck in the life that I wondered. My legs running fast so my heart wants to follow, searching for the volume to fill an empty hollow. This me merging, intentions unclear, unable to distinguish my excitement from fear. Long live the dreamer, abide with me forever. Don't let simple pleasures pull away my endeavors. Expectations seems flawless, like a taste of untouched meringue, but I'll try not to forget the old books I once read. And even if my legs do beat out my body, and run straight towards something folly, I always take heart to the things I once knew, and every once in a while I'll come back straight to it. For one day I look back and realize, failures were my fate.

26

the tick of the clock makes me wonder staring at the ceiling, wondering what u r doing As I cuddle with my pillow, thick blankets on my feet, wearing the same face you left me I wonder, why did u fade? All those memories are hunting me But I got no choice but to close my eyes and sleep again with no idea.

0

Sep 19, 2014

Sep 19, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC

1:00 am feels

the tick of the clock makes me wonder staring at the ceiling, wondering what u r doing As I cuddle with my pillow, thick blankets on my feet, wearing the same face you left me I wonder, why did u fade? All those memories are hunting me But I got no choice but to close my eyes and sleep again with no idea.

7

Everything is blurred: Beclouded and befogged. I need an illumination, as his smile captures my eyes. Dim and dusky, I ask myself, 'What's going on?' I need to be closer. But as I go closer, the harder for me to see... As the sound of his voice diminished as our distance from it increased. And it hits me-- a tear fell from my eye as his shadows gone for a while, like the chances we have-- blurred and fantasied.

0

Aug 30, 2014

Aug 30, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC

Salinity

Everything is blurred: Beclouded and befogged. I need an illumination, as his smile captures my eyes. Dim and dusky, I ask myself, 'What's going on?' I need to be closer. But as I go closer, the harder for me to see... As the sound of his voice diminished as our distance from it increased. And it hits me-- a tear fell from my eye as his shadows gone for a while, like the chances we have-- blurred and fantasied.

9