#bohemian
Do you still remember the fuzzy nights
And the adventures?
The venture into the mountain town of freedom
Like free birds or experimental hermits,
The dawn of the morning was so beautiful
The night was colder yet sufferable
I know my heart is still there
Filled with alcohol and ****
Every need sustained, bills unpaid, people ignorant to all their problems
People ignorant to death's impending doom
People ignorant that their hearts will remember the small things
The small talks
The discreet gazing
The pure air
The warm breath designing abstract art in the air
Cigarettes and melodies
All the dance and the trance from the bar's lights
A true bohemian rhapsody for the soul
A resting place for my mind as I try to find
More reasons to keep trying
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 9:44 PM UTC
bohemian woman
Sipping wine
with kisses
And love caresses
of her croissant
Reynaldo Casison
Mar 10, 2025
Mar 10, 2025 at 6:46 AM UTC
Laissez-faire and free,
Nothing bothers me in
Bohemian living.
Fruit fresh plucked,
On the grass with the bees
Relaxing and eating.
Read a play, finish a novel
See what's up with sister
See what's up with father
Laissez-faire and free,
Why are you so worried
That I'm not worrying?
Aug 28, 2023
Aug 28, 2023 at 3:18 PM UTC
I ripped out of the old tavern
Into the torn indigo overcoat
And traveled under the porticoes of a billion fantastic stars
To celebrate this marvelous November night.
In the labyrinth of bricks and stones
I hum and whistle the Irish song
Like a singer before the orchestra, my multitudes.
How exquisite—Avec un plaisir de génie—is my peripatetic existence!
Lungs full of air, and I see the Muse in me.
My treasured newsboy cap from a thrift shop spins on my hand,
And my feet bubbles off the floor like soda pops.
I pray my gratitude to the one above the altar
For my indomitable freedom. Amen.
A pocket change rolling, bikes uninhabited, and lampposts perpetual.
A rolled cigarette wantonly leaned between my sticky lips.
Autumnal dews wetted my forehead like spiriting wine.
And while, scarf blowing, boots tattered,
I raised my odalisque eyes heavenward
The world pixelated above my moist eyes
Like a seabed of jewelry stars
Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 1:03 PM UTC
Growing up unguided and penniless
Torturous upbringing pushing me down
A handgun, speculating and rash
Gluttony attempts to smother my eyes
Wearing the condemnation of men
Appropriating the virtues of girls
Feasting in the winds of a fandango
Weakening under the need for support
Emblazoned under the influence of white powder nights
Ceilings lights spinning out of control
Locked up and discover the stars in strife
Sweet seclusion with a Beelzebub for company
Crawling through the gutters on all fours to get out
Black and white key arias connected
Caressing coloraturia platitudes on fire
Busting a gut on the walkway to truth
Peaceful vigilance a bismillah fraternity
Deserted, drowning in civilisation
Tanked, yanked and naked
Is this Mama Mia
Standing on two feet
Rebuked, not loved
Rebellion, unshackled
Revelations, so, not want to die
Reciting bohemian poetry before the bullet strikes high
Scaramouche....
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 1:59 PM UTC
There are those who live out their days dangerously
and walk along a knifes edge in search of electricity.
They abandon known reason within decisions
for their inner vision is addicted to ambition.
If they find their soul is far from fully grown
they’ll bravely set out upon that road alone
and mystify cemented minds with the gravity of their finds.
These are the ones who will change our ageing-ancient ways
with a saviours grace unlike those who are growing within their graves.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 3:55 PM UTC
It could easily be that you will also be like this: you will be expelled, a bohemian-cheerleader, a ***** of cafes, a bed of potato bags and tombstones listening in their hermitage! Disappointed with a frustrated being-writhing, - your faith stops as a balloon jacket crumpled in the door of small civic salons! "You couldn't be smarter than knowing they were ****** here."
The play of the great scams was certainly about you - your free verses, labeled unsaleable, were densely ground by human, forgetful, tyrannical reason. In the shadow-friendly dungeon of coffee table tables, there is hardly a friend who is really interested in who can help you.
Welded prejudices surround you, set fire to you, and smoke - You know: Almost nothing has become easier, more satisfied, and happier with a decent civic occupation! Your childish soul, who is eagerly demanding in the bloodthirsty swords of critics of sleepless wrestling: You could easily walk like a bohemian cavalier
cursed as a ghost, like a cheap conscience beheading itself on the shores of Kharon’s barge: a shivering country of the dead, a peaked-backed Tantalos-fearer will not accept! Do paper baskets calculate your quantity yields instead of competent members?
Did blind luck alone win or squander? Human morality has long since departed from you! A dubious, fair-boy, comedian-like boy who emerges among the temporary sons-in-law struggles on dubious jancsis! - Robot minutes baptized with eternity moving on a chain: Working to the point of a nail is futile,
for the wages of starvation: When can you enjoy the fallen early and rotten treasures of Being? The mountains that testify will call you: The message of eternal Immortality is only One: To stand as an unshakable rock, as a last bastion, in a season of valiant, man-trying needs.
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 2:49 AM UTC
Where's the hug I've needed in the hard moments?
Only verses embrace my mental instability.
I would wish some super escape ability,
But I've lost even the power to wish...
No hope for the Bohemian...
What meaning does this phrase hold?
My lone madness has finally driven me mad,
Every line is sad, mad, bad that ever I had had, "had".
Ambiguous doubts assure my hopeless future goals.
Every step of mine has fallen in pity pit-holes,
But a writer easily accepts what is written...
What is waiting for the Bohemian?
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 7:33 AM UTC
A boho hemmed into a perfect circle
Misunderstood and invisible
Where everyone goes right, he prefers left
The is told he is bereft
They force him to fit in
But how can he?
He is like oil in water, a hippie in suit quarters
His free spirit just won's blend in
They hammered and bent him to belong
But turns out he has been a misfit all along
For his spirit demands to be vivid and vibrant
In a rather monochrome circle, it is a tyrant
His heavy heart needs to let it all out
His thoughts, his dreams and all his doubts
His is a white noise, he seems very far out
Everyone is deaf to this boho's screams and shouts
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 2:45 PM UTC
Gypsy sits under the twinkling starlight,
of a fierce love she sings into the night,
but never a lover is in sight.
Will you be her lover?
Gypsy fades to a gentle slumber.
Will her dreams be light or thunder?
Will they dwell on life's duress
or a lover's sweet caress?
Will you be her lover?
Gypsy can freeze you, put you on ice
or she can take you to paradise.
Do not forget to hold on tight
or into the abyss you will slip at twilight.
Will you be her lover?
Gypsy stirs in the morning light,
her dreams are gone like mist in sunlight.
Did you read the message in her eyes?
She will be waiting in the night.
Will you be her lover?
ALesiach © 09/19/2014
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 8:02 PM UTC
_If you're looking for a reason not to **** yourself tonight, this can be it._
Sometimes, we feel as if nothing matters.
We all do.
So i made a list of a few of my own reasons,
13 Reasons Why
I'm still alive.
And hopefully you'll change your mind.
Those moments you feel happy, and nothing but lucky.
And you wish nothing will ever change.
I will try my best.
_Reason 3. Bohemian Rhapsody._
Again, A weird title. It's partly true though. You can see it in two ways, Music and a wave of different feelings and emotions. Music can change lives they say, but could it also destroy them? Take Bohemian Rhapsody. In a way it sounds like how our mind works. So many different parts, emotions, feelings, memories, and yet changing so fast. It's beautiful, Just like humans. So brittle and so fragile. Music can indeed change a person, but what if it happens in a bad way? In Bohemian Rhapsody they use the words we could never use to describe how we feel, like " I don't wanna die, but sometimes wish i'd never been born at all. " In any song really, but Bohemian Rhapsody does just something to me. Your song will probably be something else, something that describes how you feel so perfectly that you can drown in their words. Like a poem. Again hard to explain, but I hope you understand.
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 1:58 AM UTC
After
heartbreaking
realization.
A loss of life, a loss of another path. Destiny crumbles. As it shouldn’t.
Phosphorescent radiance in roaming ways, that twinge and flicker, distorting the sun's natural beams of rays that have sneaky ways in entering. Tilting up and gasping. Where the kids remain open and the eyes begin to scatter.
Becoming aware in not small moments of waves.
All at once.
Hitting every burrough of one’s soul, while the hands are in the pockets of a standing body. It’s horrific, yet not in disguise, spellbindingly beautiful. Filling out the tumultuous darkness in the inner-world, tempest to awakening. Be with me now. When it starts to ****** one’s secrets. I begin to sit on the nearest chair, trying to take a look of the sun through the colours that appear.
Turreted
towers that collapsed.
Heavy breathing that takes parts away, is the harsh payments of ones sin committed. Eccentric persona, developed from years of artisans works, finally taking over. Porta.
Darling state. Poetry letters open. Words of confessions.
Feet stretched out. Hands stay the pockets. Head slightly moves right. Held a moment. Looking up again. As after so many prays. The Heavens finally opening up for humanity for the first time. Rebirthed had always involved water.
Overpowering welcome. Restoring from the forgiveness of sin. And each word from every dogmatic book written, pops up at random, making sense and every flash. Atmosphere drops in heavy weight, the past is murky mist. Easy to let go and never to return as a spot to live, lessons when they appear. Like how stars are here to teach beauty.
Coherent schemes
by the
Mystics.
Patternless carpets. The inner-world is a funny things. Confusing lust for love. Believing own ideas are works of genius.
The sunlight darkens. The room cleared of any breeze. Still muteness. Standing and feeling the heart pump. Parish. Laugh now. In a post style, it enters with a meticulous way, lavish to make any prince grin with tinted jealous unable to contain. It’s good poetry. ****** outside, chanting to make my peace within and myself. Forgiving any mistake I bear hands had made, smile at any regret and remember shameful moments.
Anything till now is nothing.
Illumination happens during self-discovery or self-destruction.
There’s goats in the field. Moths circle them.
The ****** wears black in preparation. Myth and reality collide together when the rapture happens. Be conscious of it.
Life happens, whether I pay attention or listen.
Death is my final payment, after hardships that I am to endure.
Passing my soul and spirits to a another world. I continue to read ancient poetry that has been written to last eternity. Sunburnt kisses on the paper.
I leave the room, shall never return. And it still runes in me, like a violent fever. Standing out in supercilious atmosphere. Like a son to a Muse. Meanings in fumes. Turbulent soul, mixing in with neo ways. Sweeping motions. To what happened than, in earth is now gone forever. So goodbye. Strange to think of you, as someone I knew and we no-longer talk. During summer hazes and frost biting air whilst surviving winter. Now, we have nothing to say and never to witness another’s hard times and weep while it’s happening. Goodbye. You can say I’m hiding behind poems and their words, instead of thinking I’ve gone to seek comfort elsewhere, still you haven’t goodbye. For I still wish to live in poetics, my romantic nature I cannot part, I wanted love and so-far, only poetry had supplied. So goodbye for now.
For I wanted and felt, that my own revelation would be your arms, **** fleur, thinking I’d be safe there and feeling holiness while inside your open legs, being baptised by the wetting puddles you produced.
Goodbye, writing that,
feeling it’s forever.
Prophecy in poem perhaps.
Maybe in abstract ways, in obscure and teasing ways, I tasted love, the love I felt for you and it’s snatched away in quicker ways than the duration it lasted inside.
Perhaps this end of times, change of worlds, is everything wrong, my flaws, defects, regret that’s opening up to swallow me whole. And that will be the end of me.
Goodbye for now.
Maybe love knows how to moonlight.
Lust.
The freedom from the ******* of self, is an open den, full of stronger stuff than ***** **** and seducing in it’s absolute liberating methods.
Twilight.
A salt grain on my path to total enlightenment and I’ll be a single totality of illumination, even without my true love. Plucked from and placed down this world of Musings. Oh lover, I do wonder what would of happen. The only thought I dwell in, play to it’s fantasies. Perhaps it would be something we’ll laugh about together.
Good old times,
with nothing to show for. Just something shaping experiences.
I’ll go forward, not knowing how to quit love. Without any conditions or expectations of communication. Look inside, for hold intimate essence of thyself, achieving the extraordinary, because now, I have no one to prove myself to, without a yielding validation. Full of mystery and wonder. Humble with the toiling actions hands and feet. Viewed as something else to others. Thyself is normal. Humility is even harder to grasp and hold. Thy world now, full of poetry I’ve written, full of gold and silver that makes love with stopping and fail, madness never hiding behind a veil, nothing else to burden me, slowing me down, never to distract.
Knowing too much
to which will never
satisfy
my thirst, but time provide to learn more.
meditating
over
jazz ballads, smooth
surface
wondering
moods.
I’m present not with myself in comfort. Pretty words spurting out, forming sentences in hopes to evoke emotions mixed in with thoughts. Do not say hello to me now. I’ve gone elsewhere. I’ve only taken coffee and dropping off poems.
Where I’m no longer a victim of times mocking laugh with the face of a clown. No longer to decay of what I could've been. Forever exists where I live.
Without thy soulmate, I have everything but turned into nothing.
Like a monk in a monastery.
In odyssey, sleep is never, conscious always, dreamy form, full figure, waking. Tattoo drops. A saint in a province constant evolving beauty. Angels are thy neighbour. Discussing never the issues held within humanity. Passages of passionate time. Lengthy duration. Lover, if you ask me now, I got peace in my own mind and happy now. My shakes have left me, like the morning of a day beginning.
Understanding everything.
Dropped my heart, press it closer. I’ve dropped into myth, never to leave, exiled not, jailed not, prisoner not. Goodbye, I’ve left.
Perhaps I’ll be plucked again, picked again, any enlightenment given to me, will all be stripped away and wake from this wild strawberry dream.
(knowledge variable)
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
Scorching bullets
Pass us by
Like dancing faeries
Around our heads
You covered yourself
Like a bullet proof vest
Dragon's breath is unleashed
Are we living among the dead?
Or dead
Among the living?
Where wolves, griffins, and lions
Retreat!
But never surrender
Bullets fly
They want us
Dead
Or maybe
Alive
Who knows?
Nothing
Can **** us
At all
The enemy
Will die
Of certain heart attacks
Shot
With AK bullets
God's will
So is seared
We can
Do it all
And rise above
Our fears
Deep within
This blood
Coursing thru our veins
Lies the Hunter
Among the hunted
Those within
This grove
Are seeking
Bullets
To overload
Among the safety
We run, we hide, we search
So that those of us here
Will rise
And never die
Please cover
Yourself
Like a Bulletproof Vest!
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
Sophie sits quietly, soaking in the sounds.
This Jazz club suits her perfectly,
As she swallows spirituous rounds.
The music is hot, with Latin-flair, and
Pulsing, staccato, percussive drive.
The air on her shoulders is moist
In this Parisian summer jive.
Sophie tastes the twilight culture,
She lives for the buzz.
She won't accept the ordinary, she
Vibrates with bohemian blood!
She loves her music live in her
Sultry summer jive.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
Memory passes like a bus
Spirit passes like a ghost
Aura disappears like a dream
Smiles bend like a will
Bohemians cry out and about, losing
Their sanity as passions flush like
Clogged sewage or drug busts, replaced with,
Dare I say, growing up. No deals
Selling songs to parents or art to perverts,
Poems to lovers and rants about ex's
Good
Reapers thresh the rapid seeds
Right before it's not.
Maybe its time to do drugs again.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 6:40 PM UTC
And in that wild berlin winter
I twirled ghosts through the frozen, concrete streets
Out of bohemian jungles in the midnight afternoon
I returned to the States with terrible ennui
Slumped on cold buses
I flew through Hamburg in an ***** haze
Smoking joints in the lantern lit glow of Amsterdam
I didn’t eat for 3 days
I rode the train to Zoo Station
And flitted about East Berlin
Where there was no excitement to be had
Walking the night alone in the bitter, biting wind
I took the ferry over to England
Safe in the Mersey’s mystical, dreary mist
I hid my tired eyes under my fisherman’s cap
And found an expanse of quiet, precious bliss
Ailing from nights spent on streets and stranger’s floors
I was a child, traveling alone
Disenchanted by my youthful escapades,
Cured of the plaguing desire to ramble and roam.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC
Out West I found that
Dangerously glittering bohemian lifestyle.
Where Los Angeles falls down with joy
And rumbles deep from its canyon bellies
And when you need some sadness
You split to Berlin
And come back with none of your clothes.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 4:53 PM UTC
Deep in wood’s twig embrace
She lies beneath the leaf tessellation
Her hollow skull and hollow chest are friends with the burning winds
She is hallowed in her sloping waist
With child
She is mother bony
Woman with skinless face
She is grinless
For her jaw was stolen in ages past
Yet she is blessed with child
Her middle is heavy with boundless boy
A boy fated
To be *******
Emperor
Tyrant
King
To be lord of the shattered lands and even their scattered men
Destined to be crowned in fragments of skulls and silky fabric reds
He shall mate with fire
Be father of arson spawn
His face will be carved in Mammon’s silver toys
He will never be forgotten by any of history’s tedious scribes
Yet first he must be born
Now the winds are chanting
They push at her pudgy waist
They are chanting for the birth of the emperor ******* king
They desire the tyrant
They are the slaves of God
For they are catalysts that mold the shapes of futures’ lords
They will sing triumphant
When he is pushed through dusty hips
They will congratulate their oldest and most silent friend
He is birthed with great force
The spit of cadaverous womb
Crying shrieks in the forest
No one living to clean him
By spirits’ force he is taught
To eat the last of mother’s skin
To grow to be the friend of the whispering burning winds
He shall grow into great beast
With strength to wield the lance
He will enter the kingdoms of men
Appearing as a wild God
While he is shaping his role
His mother will often laugh
Ever since he left her
Her body was never again the same
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 6:52 PM UTC
I live in a desert
My Dear.
With a loopy-eyed cat who bites
and a roommate who might as well.
All of my clothes are ripped and stained
and I don't know where I'll be working tomorrow.
The other vagrants and I
We can't afford to stay,
but we can't afford the gas to leave,
either.
The summers are too hot--
the winters are too cold--
and the days and the nights are too dangerous.
But we're here
and we're young.
And someone has to feed the cat.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 2:28 AM UTC
comely, maybe
but not beautiful
my features are as round as vowels
and I carry the moon in my hips
I am an unpolished beauty
smooth pebbles resting at the bottom
of a cold clear stream
with an empty purse
imagination
my only currency
in this world
I am a shrinking violet
occasionally a rose
february-white
caught in your button-loop
long-stemmed red roses
stalk runways
hollywood bombshells
are bubbly as champagne
and full of flesh and light
but *** sans love
is still an empty bathtub
whatever happened to pin-up girls
long cigarette holders
and muted photographs?
I am distorted
in the fish-eye view
of the modern lens
in my fantasies
I am no longer sand and loam
I glow like a tall slim candle
though I am often numb and dumb
and my girls are as absent
as long lost unicorns
I am the bohemian princess
I travel through foreign lands
clothed in exotic costume
a jewelled headdress, and
indian pyjamas coloured sapphire,
turquoise and cayenne-red
my feet are near bare
and my hippie hair
is a mass of blonde curls
I take a sojourn in
southern california
warm desert air
soft against my skin
I surf in the salty sea
held buoyant by the waves
a sunset stains the sky tangerine
the palm trees
black against the orange light
click teasingly in the breeze
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
They call me bohemian,
a lost intellectual
hidden with no ambition
A happy go lucky,
who hops and hits
like a river flowing downhill
A philosophical dreamer
with subjective absolutions
unrealistic surreal expectations
They see my eccentric fashion
the chic grease of mismatch
A happenstance of my day's mood
My mind is indigenous
My soul is gender fluid
A vessel of masculinity and femininity
One day, it's a skirt and blouse
The next is a bow tie and shirt
The other is a blend of two
A maverick in a world alone
I felt it all my life, the lack of connection
No motions with the convectional
Their whispers cannot be heard
I am done with biting my nails
Let them pull their hair with their noise
Their chitter and chatter complaints
As I gaze and talk to the floor
weary of their mediocre complaints
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
Trying to breathe,
TRYING TO BREATHE
into the woods.
An old woman
in a furry hat
& I,
laughing together
still somewhat
lifelike.
Ever too proud
to play
boomerang
or go fetch
for change
FOR CHANGE
we live out
of bags.
Exactly where
we're meant to be
& 'how you say?'
...all that jazz."
--shoo.shu #doubleentendres #poetry #spilledink #inthenow #inthemoment #underdog #homeless #boho #bohemian #wanderlust #gypsy #nomad
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC