I once was told
In Broooklyn New York
I had a lackadaisical attitude.
It was the first time I was hearing
That whimsical adjective !
So lackadaisical I was !
Looked like an illness
The way they said it
It seemed I could contaminate.
So I stopped a few seconds to think and dissect the word
I lacked a daisy somewhere !
Sounded like I lacked a fuse in my brain !
Next thing I know I was checking the word
In my reminiscences of the Oxford English Dictionary
Or may be it was Webster's
And it said in black and white ferns I lacked purpose
I wasn't properly lazy, I just lacked directions
I lacked enthusiasm, stamina
I was devoid of zest
I was blasé
Translated into more French I was nonchalant and better said
It was during an encounter group
And they threw that lackadaisical attitude ******* to my face
And guess what i did ?!
I just kept on smiling
Jemenfoutiste to the extreme.
And they kept saying
See what I mean, you 're so ******* lackadaisical , man !
You're so pathetic ! You're so apathetic !
It was Winter in America like Gil Scott-Heron would say
And it felt so good, so warm,
As far as I could see,
To be called lackadaisical
And not laconical.
I not only lacked a daisy
I lacked a bunch of tropical flowers indeed !
Like bouganvillea, orchid or hibiscus
Anthurium, jasmine or bromeliad
I lacked sun and sea
Strange as it was
Even though I was near Atlantic Avenue, Coney Island
So I was lackaseacal and lackasuncal
But what I didn't lack was ants in my pants
And until today they make me dance
My forever lackadaisical dance.
Why do you criticize me, dear one?
I get that we don't see eye to eye almost all the time,
But you're the closest thing I have to a friend.
Written around 2014.
I've been thinking
About the moon
Her sweet scent
Of jasmine and rose
Upon the night blossoms
Her beaming light
Upon my skin
And her reflection
Is just as beautiful
As her star-children
spurted as if from fountains atop messy beds
of lilies and lilacs,
jumbled together in a rush of colour that
seemed to have more and more detail
the more you gazed at it.
the sun shone
over the garden like liquid honey
melting over the peeling paint
of the white trellis that held
and heavily scented jasmine in its grasp.
and there, glazing the morning garden,
lay an aureate, flaxen
written while listening to i'd like to walk around in your mind someday by vashti bunyan
as I sat there thinking about how love is a fairy tale
and now I ask my self is it ?
and even now the memory still here in my heart
so why dream did you come when you are leaving?
why do you bring a torrent of pain to my heart?
ooh if I was the moon to see you every night
ooh if I was the sun to light your day
only if I can go back in time
then I will stand there for hours looking in to your eyes
but why?why did I come to you?
and why do my heart fall when ever I see you or hear your voice?
will the tears and pain will ever stop
will the solicitude will stop to
but still the spirit is still a spirit
hard as a rock beautiful as the smell of jasmine
and the poem will always be the only thing
to stop me from bleeding
and to heal my wounds.
I'm not Cinderella, who came to the party and met the prince because I didn't have those glass shoes
or being Ariel, exchanging the beautiful tail with feet for a man from another world
Aurora fell asleep long enough, then love came from a prince with a kiss, could it be?
then, should I become Snow White who was poisoned by an apple then fell asleep and the prince came just to be able to see me every day. No
could I have to meet an unlovely and cursed prince like Belle, and love him sincerely?
but I can't like Elsa that freezes the human heart
because I am still need love like Jasmine from Aladdin, but I don't want to be a present
I might have to venture out across the vast ocean to find the lost, yes it's Moana
so I have to be brave and tough like Mulan about anything that will happen in reaching the dreams and love that might not be easy
Jasmine smells of Lavender to me,
except the plant of color reminds me of a time that was lonelier.
I've held a bit of the scent,
but was compelled to be rid of the dried herb that lingers,
and tickles my legs in my own bed as a reminder
to dust myself off and try again.
I sniff the freshly fallen blossoms I've laid atop
my comforters, fondly.
I try to erase the fear of the spirals,
smelling flowers and escaping sleep
and remember that I've become the company I keep.
So that when I anoint my temples with white petals
I forget the loneliness lavender reminds me of.
My sweet Jasmine Pearls
has touched the hearts of many
So now I wonder
Would you like more of
free-verse poems about teas?
Please do let me know!
My Jasmine Pearls did great! I'm so glad everyone enjoyed it!
Let me know if would you like another poem like that?