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Here is the link to hear my poem "Genevieve of the Deep" in an audio form.

xoxo

https://soundcloud.com/nayokenza/a-visceral-collection-of-thoughts-genevieve-of-the-deep
All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
Are all but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o’er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay
Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine stealing o’er the scene
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

She leant against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight;
She stood and listened to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!
She loves me best, whene’er I sing
The songs that make her grieve.

I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story—
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he wooed
The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined: and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another’s love
Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
And she forgave me, that I gazed
Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods,
Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny glade,—

There came and looked him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew it was a Fiend,
This miserable Knight!

And that, unknowing what he did,
He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death
The Lady of the Land;

And how she wept, and clasped his knees;
And how she tended him in vain;
And ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain;—

And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest-leaves
A dying man he lay;—

His dying words—but when I reached
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp
Disturbed her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve;
The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherished long!

She wept with pity and delight,
She blushed with love, and ****** shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.

Her ***** heaved—she stepped aside,
As conscious of my look she stepped—
Then suddenly, with timorous eye,
She fled to me and wept.

She half enclosed me with her arms,
She pressed me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, looked up,
And gazed upon my face.

’Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly ’twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.

I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with ****** pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride.
A Visceral Collection Of Thoughts: Genevieve of the Deep

24/2/15
10:52

"What if we could be like this forever?"
She asked, right before daylight broke through the window.
Her gaze fixated up on his lips
As they were draped in dawn.
He tried his hardest to answer her
Sincerely
In between yawns
"What if we were willing?" Came out from his mouth
As she anxiously read each word.
"We can't control the winds of time, no more than we can control the depths of the mind.
Just slow down so I can be with you.
The more time we spend the less we save."

She sat up, letting the sheets fall to her navel,
Tears welling up,
Her heart racing with every gulp.
She looked at him
With a glance of which to read he was unable.
"I wonder if you'll miss me as I already miss you."



20/2/15
9:59


On a train
Racing through the night
She feels as if her life is being  
Led in black and white
Monochrome
Distractions
From colourful
Would- bes
Could- bes
Maybes
And disillusions.
Glancing down at her lap
Upon it, the note from him
This is a plunge she's not ready to take
But his is a heart she's not ready to break.

On a train racing through the night
She's distraught
Between a decision concerning wrong and right
Which path to take
Whose heart to break
A union so encouraged
Yet, such a risk to take.
What would she become
If she were to take on his name?
Would her loss be soothed by potential gains?

On a train racing through
The night
Her mind wonders off to the shore outside
Her heart floats along the coast
Ready to set out with the tide

12:12

He longed for her
For reasons he knew not.
He longed for her
For reasons she knew not,
Yet he made her the most
Distraught
She had been in her whole life.
Time escaped her
As he called on her.
Her choices seemed to have been made for her.
Her family's blessing
Her hand to be given away
All for the sake of a name.

He longed for her
For reasons he knew not.
She longed for another
And sure of his feelings she was not.
Was this to be what her life was to become?
Was she to settle with someone else who wasn't the one?


25/2/15
20:00

A single rose
Awaits her
In a vase by the vanity.
She sits,
Staring into the mirror.
Three days prior
To a life changing ceremony
Built upon disparity.

A single rose
Awaits her
In a vase by the vanity.
Her thoughts flood with memories of them.
One she loved for sure
In spite of his heart being unsure
And the one who longed for her
Yet she didn't love him
And of this she was sure.

A single rose
Awaits her
In a vase by the vanity
Dripping in money, name, and social standing.
A rose from a good family,
However many thorns.
A thorn for each month of courtship,
Only 3 at that.
A whirl wind affair,
Her own private hell, dressed up as a grandiose affair.
A realisation that all families have thorns.
However, she was determined to pick and choose.
Thorns can be worth the pain if you let go of that which you hope to lose.
She knew this rose was solely meant to wilt before her eyes and she'd only have thorns.

A single rose
Awaits her in a vase by the vanity.
To her left,
From the balcony,
The ocean calls her name softly.

A single rose
Awaits her in a vase by the vanity.
Suddenly,
She gives into a rush of insanity.


13/3/15
10:11

She ran
Fleeing down the stairs
One after another.
She ran
As if all of her troubles
Were to vanish under the soles of her feet.
Knowing not where she was going
She descended down the spiral staircase.
No time for shoes,
No time for make up
No time for her hair.
She ran
Right out the door
Tired of wondering if there could be more.
She ran and ran
Until she reached the shore,
She could no longer deny the beckoning of the waves anymore.


18/2/15
12:13

Submerged,
Submerged,
Submerged.
She pulled up her dress and walked in
This wouldn't be the last of her
This wouldn't be how it ends
But somehow this wouldn't be the start of anything either
Bubbles of air escaped as she descended deeper and deeper
Visions of the past escaped
And she plunged further and further
Soon the world around her fell to hues black and of gray
As she let the world around her slip away

Submerged,
Submerged,
Submerged.
That's all she had ever been for an age.
Galaxies sprung to life and died around her.
All while Her white dress shimmered akin to the tears of those who knew her
And yet she was still submerged.
She watched as time went by
Forlonging the hand that Life held out to her
Disregarding the embrace Death longed to bestow upon her.
Frozen by her fear
Yet illuminated by her passion.
It was never the right time for her

11:10

"Waste away with me"
She awoke
At the bottom of the sea.
"Waste away with me"
Finally grasping the time she had eluded for an eternity.
She wondered how could anything have remained the same
For those above her on the shore,
For those who hadn't made such brash decisions
Leaving all they knew behind
In order to buy an ungodly amount of time.

"Waste away with me"
She was still submerged
In the arms of Davy Jones.
"Waste away with me"
Could she ever really return home?
Back to the love from which she fled,
Back to the dawn drenched sheets, the one mourning in bed, asking her honest love, one true,
If he were willing to spend a lifetime, no longer as one, but as two.

"Waste away with me"
The voice called to her again.
She rose to her feet,
Looking to the water above her.
Her eyes had never shown as bright
As they did in these depths, this night.
Pulling on her white dress at the sides
She ascended up and out to the tides.
The waves washed away beneath her bare feet in the night.
She breathed in the ocean air
High above the sea
Glancing upon the forgone lights of her city
Balling her hands into fists
As she took in the night air
Howling around her.
"Waste away with me"
The voice called out to her again
As she flew towards the shore.  


25/2/15
12:24

Soaring
Above the town
As the waves beckoned to her
Searching in the night
For the love that had escaped her.
Where would there be any trace?
How much time had passed?
Where had the years gone?

Soaring above the town
As the waves beckoned to her.
She flew as if it were something she easily knew how to do.
Her shimmering white dress fluttered
In the wind.
Her haunting, howling mane swirled around her head.
Her eyes, now blue as the seas, pierced brightly through the night,
Yet she was still unable to find,
The man
That she loved for all this time.

Soaring above the town
As the waves beckoned to her
She caught glimpse of a cemetery
And began her descent down.
A story comprised of poems I wrote in under five minutes or less.
He went ashore with the duty crew
The moment they got their leave,
And headed home for his two by two
And his waiting Genevieve,
He wore his official navy rig
With the medals on his chest,
Had taken pains that his suit was clean
And his blue jean collar pressed.

He followed the crazy paving that
Led up to his cottage door,
Could only see a glimmer of light
A smidgen of light, no more,
A heavy footfall came to the door
And flung it out wide, apace,
While he stood grim, and staring at him
A man with a stranger’s face.

Then Genevieve came breathlessly out
Went breathlessly up to him,
I want you to meet a cousin of mine,
He’s staying with us, meet Jim.
The sailor took a step in the door
And shouldered the man away,
‘I see,’ he said, ‘not seen him before,
I’ll see if your Jim can stay.’

They settled down in the kitchen, sat
Across the table and glared,
While Genevieve had served up a meal
A meal that had been prepared,
‘So who’s your cousin related to,
Your mother’s side, or your Da’s?’
She stopped for a moment then to think
‘It must have been Grandpa’s.’

But he’d grinned over the table then
At Genevieve, this Jim,
And that was the moment the sailor knew
That he’d been suckered in.
‘I don’t think this is your cousin, dear,
But there, I think you knew,
And hit the stranger fair in the face
With a plate of boiling stew.

I think that he scarred the guy for life
For his skin came off in strips,
While Genevieve took a paper towel
And tried to save his lips,
‘Take your mate to the Rose and Crown
And buy him a cooling beer,’
The sailor said, as he cuffed her head
‘For you’ll not be staying here.’

David Lewis Paget
Genevieve Jun 2015
Who was I to think we had something worth keeping?
Certainly not you.

But why.
We played the game.
I thought I understood the rules.
I thought you were trying to break through.

My walls oh so high
They hid the sun from you
And you saw my darkness.

In the dark you found truth.
Unable to understand it, you ran from it's grip.
Too tight around you,
the darkness is unwelcoming.

If only you knew that if you held on a little longer,
the sun was to rise and from truth love were to arise.

But you disengaged.
Saw the truth and convoluted them into lies.

Now nothing.
But a heartbroken metaphor
for I think I miss you more.

You've moved on,
naturally and genuinely.

I sat here,
stupidly.
Graff1980  Oct 2015
Genevieve
Graff1980 Oct 2015
She is who she says she is
Perhaps in another time
Her muscles rippled with a mannish gleam
And her labors where of the masculine
Herculean

But now she is feminine
Concealing her strength
Beneath soft garments
Concealing her past
Under a new name

Genevieve
Who was once Gene
Now is free to be
Who she wants to be

The rooster
Becomes a phantom limb
Split and turned in
Sleeping
How freeing
For her outsides
To match how
She feels within

Thick lips strong chin
Broad shoulder
Deep voice
I am fascinated

It never bothered me
In fact I saw it beautifully
Variety in humanity
Why should you be
Bothered
Stanley Wilkin Dec 2017
Gloria was a grump,
delightful Felicity a frump,
Sara a bit of a chore
Liz liked gore,
Azi cried alot
Jill cared not a jot
for anyone, I learned
Cecila's stomach churned,
Roberto enjoyed her food
In public, Edie was rude,
Faizi liked to laugh
Katie liked to ****,
Esmeralda loved to ski
until she broke her knee,
Toni drempt of fame
but ended on the game,
Jen constantly made love
worn out, she resides above,
Queenie liked her drink
spent her days throwing up in a sink,
Julie adored her kids,
both are on the skids,
Siham adored money
was always miserable, never funny,
Frankie cared for wealth
spent a fortune on her health,
Jasmine was dour
more nettle than flower,
Ruby liked to cook,
Cynthia preferred a book,
Fill wanted to marry,
she eventually met Barry,
Aysha had great beauty
and was shrewdly dotty,
Anna was a shrew
which everyone but me knew,
Kath used excessive perfume-
smoking me out of my bedroom,
Pauline constantly showered
while Jackie always glowered
at strangers in the street-
where Carol and I met
on New Years Eve 2011
and for a month I was in heaven,
until my short affair
with nimble Clair,
Toni ate sparingly
lean meat and leaner celery,
Jo ate five times a day,
No one got in her way
of food, while Chris ate
tons of icecream, getting stuck in a gate
one day when off to work,
I took the opportunity, like a ****,
to leave waving goodbye
from my car. Why?
Essie was beside me
and again I needed to be free,
which a month later so did she!
Mitch bought me another
borrowing it off her brother,
who much bigger than me,
once more I was impelled to flee.
Suzanne in France
lead me a dance,
having other men every day
when I was away,
while Adalene
worked on my brain
and Genevieve broke my heart,
briefly, when apart
holidaying in the Alps with Jean
until her curiosity done
she came back and apologised,
and thereafter we thrived,
and would still be together
had not Heather
seduced me one day
when Genevieve was looking the other way
and did not see
Heather kissing me
by the pool
in Dakar, Senegal,
or making love
in rainy Vaduz,
holding hands in Bern
near a milk churn
having a bit of a lover's palava
in Bratislava.
When she found me with Ruth in Moscow
Genevieve told me sharpely to go,
I went. Ruth went off with Jean
and I took the first plane home,
meeting Jess in Heathrow
we took a taxi to Wivenhoe,
living there a year,
where fattened up with calorific beer
dressed now in grandad fashion
I started making a sullen impression
on even those who loved me,
but still, good reader, I needed to be free
so here I am now with Daphne
the final woman for me.

I met Adele in my son's first school
so, reader, I guess I'm just an unstructured fool,
for along came Celeste, Diane and Frick
making me still a colossal p......k.
ghost queen Nov 2019
............ morning

I say this sincerely and from the bottom of my heart, you are incredible, fascinating, and impressive

Ahhh, thanks JC.
I’m flattered you think so because I feel quite ordinary.

You are the most extraordinary and exotic orchid in the jungle

And then you say stuff like that, that makes me wonder what you wrote before is true.

I don’t understand

That is so untrue, that it makes me wonder about your previous sincere comment

It is true in my heart and soul, please never ever doubt it, accept the compliment, deeply and fully !!!



............ next morning

I accept the first one. 

Baby Girl, what I write about you, is inspired by you, it is what i see and feel, please believe and  accept the compliments unconditionally, as I don’t say what is on my heart casually


............ next morning

Good morning Sleeping Beauty, how is the fairest flower in the forest this morning

This flower is wilted.

My flower has awaken, opening, unfolding to the glory of the sun, inspiring the birds and bees that swarm around her, vying for her nectar

Be a good Parisienne girl, and accept and bask in compliment of one of your many male admirers

That’s my fav poem yet.  Hmmm, many male admirers....


............ next morning

A little poem for you this Monday morning

Chère Reine, ouvriez votre coeur, laissez moi secher vos larmes, aimer votre ame.

Baby Girl, be kind your you inner little girl, she needs your attention and love too

Truer were words could not be written today
Reine...isn’t that queen?

Yes, as in you are my Queen

My dearest Queen, open your heart, let me dry your tears, love your soul (sound better in French)

Everything sounds better in French

Did you like the Queen poem
(remember I’m sensitive artistic type of guy )

Yes, I liked it..., sending you a loving kiss


............ next morning

Your baking is always superb, you are my heroine..., call you Chef Girl Genevieve

I don’t post the stuff that goes amok.
I am no chef. That is an earned title and I def do not qualify. I just like to play in the kitchen with sugar

you are a grand chef in my eyes

Faux chef Genevieve

here we go again, am i going to have to write another poem of how great you are

I must have blown some other kind of dust in your eyes

You are like a wickedly delicious ice cream sundae, made up of complex layers of intelligence, wit, charm, and sophistication. And the cherry on top, is your stunning elegance, femininity, and beauty
written from a series of morning text messages
Barton D Smock  Aug 2012
(three)
Barton D Smock Aug 2012
umbrae

for Genevieve

your prayers include a terrible notebook, an invalid friend, and a man believing separately that we are here to place turtles upright. when you walk into the ocean you walk into the ocean on your hands. you do this to protect your knees. many think you are magnificent and these many you are on the verge of telling about the Saturdays that bore you and about the spider you repeatedly squash. the resurrected spider that is not a gift. if you could you’d give your youngest son a woman he could either swim through or swoon inside. a woman who could put him to sleep and rock in a chair the boat of her belly so untroubled to be thinking twice about twins. you’d be sad, or sleepy, and get to choose.

before I go to war

     the dark readies in the oven.
my father washes with a wet sock a knee exposed.
my mother

wears one dry sock which she removes
and makes into a puppet. or an oven mitt.

both
silence the hand.

idolatry**

a red wheelbarrow, maybe-

but not
so much
depends

on a poem
about it

— The End —