#gatsby
I need to do better;
My day more cleanly cut,
My blue lawn kept wetter-
Lest the window is shut.
Woe be if it dries out-
If the dream's a facade,
Or- worse yet- came about,
But now is lost abroad.
O' woe, how harrowing!
To be borne back, to past-
Field of view narrowing;
Too blind to see it's passed.
O', how dispiriting,
To see dreams turn to dust-
Once; highly riveting,
Now; naught but pale red rust.
The green light is fading;
(It was never quite there)
For all that crusading,
I've been grasping at air.
Daisys grew over the grave
Of the dream that I once knew,
Their rich scent I tried to save-
And now poppies grow there too.
For those who still chase a dream that has died;
We must beat on, 'til we bob with the tide.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 2:24 PM UTC
I observe from a calculated distance,
as if I was Gatsby, concealed amongst leaves and shadow,
watching a light he cannot touch,
his hope held still by branches and restraint.
I too remain elevated and unseen,
rooted in silence peering into a life vicariously.
A life that does not yet know it will be marked.
She moves through corridors of sanctioned noise
with a precision fought too early.
Finding resilience as a survival reflex
her laughter is a functional disguise,
carefully calibrated to deflect inquiry.
While language was weaponized and casual,
lands repeatedly with surgical indifference.
No bruises bloom where people are trained to look.
Only damage that knows how not to tell.
Isolation becomes her elective course.
And at lunch, the floor is where you'll find her.
A bathroom stall converted into a confessional
breath subdivided, pulse monitored.
Fluorescent hymns hum without remorse
as screens confess what mouths would mock;
words they multiply, they return
long after their authors cease to talk.
Home offers corners but no release,
she sits where walls protect and where doors close,
where time feels eternal, where seconds are everlasting,
she holds herself like a fragile peace,
careful not to wake her brutal reality.
Pain evolves into articulation.
Skin becomes a negotiable line
a place where her pain seeks translation,
where inner fractures externalize.
This is not a rehearsal for transformation
but reconfiguration, redesign.
A fervent wish to be rendered differently,
perhaps quieter, sharper, less in rotation,
anything other than this self of mine.
I am nearer now, near enough to know
the breath that breaks before it bends,
then buries it where it never ends;
yet I remain incorporeal,
a presence without means to mend;
she does not see me, she cannot.
For she believes this is how it ends.
For she is convinced methodically,
that abandonment is complete.
What she does not yet comprehend
is that I am her future tense,
assembled from endurance and the aftermath;
I am the consequence of her survival,
the proof despair did not destroy her.
I attempt retroactive guardianship,
but time admits no revision.
I am permitted only observation and inference,
only with my education of regret.
All I inherit is the understanding
of what neglect can make one feel.
So I return to the present
bearing lessons learned too late:
that distance masquerades as innocence,
that silence is often mistaken for strength,
that shuddering does not escalate politely,
when it is expected of you to be brave.
Someone right now is already disappearing
into bathrooms, into bedrooms, into themselves.
Perfecting the illusion of being unaffected
becoming smaller to survive, in a way.
And if we persist in watching from trees,
from the hallways, from moral safety,
we will grow into ghosts somehow.
So let this serve as a vow by me,
to intervene before pain requires proof,
to approach before hope becomes precarious,
to offer presence while it can still be received.
So let this be my final pledge,
to step closer while closeness counts,
to break the silence when mutual feeling is clear,
to offer care before it amounts;
becomes a memory, an aftermath of self-doubt.
Because no one should have to survive
just to finally be seen.
And no one should grow up into proof
that care arrived too late to cure.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 3:05 PM UTC
Smog billows down the valley—
the eyes watch it gather.
Tears run from them—
not of remorse, from the smoke.
It was born from them—
they let it choke out the light.
Heads of the broken trampled—
rats poisoned in the race.
Divine seeing—
human indifference.
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 6:06 PM UTC
Daisy’s voice
Rising and swelling
Among soggy whitewashed alleys
Cups and lemons and flowers
Twinkle-bells of sunshine
Plum blossoms
Pale gold odor
Daisy’s voice
A clear artificial note
It was the hour of profound human change
Outside the wind was loud
Daisy’s voice
Amid the welcome confusion
A faint flow of thunder along the Sound
Her throat
Full of aching
Grieving beauty
Gatsby
Of a nebulous hue
Dripping bare
The mantlepiece
In his ghostly heart
That voice held him most
With its fluctuating feverish warmth
Was a deathless song
-
But to I there wasn’t a sound
But the bird voices in the trees
Without a word or gesture
I went out of the room
Down the marble steps
Into the rain
Leaving them there together
They had forgotten me
I thought with humiliation
Gatsby didn't know me now at all
Nov 24, 2025
Nov 24, 2025 at 6:39 PM UTC
Here we are again standing on the precipice of war
Paralysed by the past and the greed of our forefathers
While the inside battle has raged since birth
Good enough? I think not.
History only repeats its worst parts
They saw a green orb signalling GO GO GO
Faith in illusion the yellow-blue glow
Look but don’t touch! You’ll break it child!
But, they silly foolish daisies flitter flutter in the breeze
What nature? What love? What future? Roars the uncanny double
As it reappears, so much better now at creating disposable monstrous insects
Death? Very well, I guess we accept. We’re ***** for pain
But why walk into the river with rocks in your coat?
You’ve never been to war they gloat
As the wax drips steadily sealing our fate
And so those monstrous insects march by one by one
Hurrah! hurrah! here we go again old sport!
Jul 8, 2024
Jul 8, 2024 at 1:33 AM UTC
I had my cake and I ate it too,
like all the time in the world that you took.
Adorned with cherries
and decorated with cream,
like the taste of my lips
that is only a thing of your dreams.
I thought I have once
tasted a slice of heaven,
only for it to rot away to
a thing from hottest hell.
I had my time and you took it too,
like my faith and my core that you shook.
Laced with grace
and the promise of salvation,
thoughts of your touch once felt
like a dream vacation.
I thought I have once
been granted patience,
only for it to burn down a hole
in my purest conscience.
But then I was sure I had it all,
the diamonds, the universe,
I had you, but then I also have a curse.
The parties, the best jazz age whiskeys,
these shall be enough to distract me.
The waiting, the wondering
are opulence I could no longer afford.
Like my favorite vice I had to abandon,
you are a glimmering borrowed gown
I shall never again don.
But then I'm sure I could do more,
the Philippine pearls, the world,
wrapped around my finger in a red cord.
The weddings, the finest wines I could buy,
these shall do good to get me by.
The patience, the pitying
are charities I could no longer give.
Like a prayer I utter in front of a new lover,
I am the luxury, the gold, all the fortune
you would never wager.
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 1:11 PM UTC
tell me, gatsby—I know thee well—
what fate of ours do the stars foretell?
fantasy and reality—wherein do we lie,
thus deceived by passion’s sigh?
oh—but you’ve told me before,
what the world has in store
for those like us who live content
with fancied ideals set in cement
that cursed or blessèd day
when you faded far away
falling further in a pool
while i sat here on a stool
alone and by myself
sequestered on a shelf
stored for someone else to see
my wretched tale of misery
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 10:09 AM UTC
Looks like this cursed title falls to me
I’m Gatsby
At least, now I am
Beer money inheritance
Tighter than the rope round his neck
It all falls to me, no glee
Just a ****** musical rolling in my head
I was a kid once
Little more than a dunce
Friends out of my league
Hiding in leaves
Beyond fields of bricks hidden by empty heads
Falling asleep on desks
It’s lazy education
Low preparation
The works of leaving kids stranded
In a world they’ll never get
Falling far of flat
In terms of getting their hands on it
Giving us all a pit
Just weak little gnats
Blood rain leaves us wet
Once again, branded
Who’d have guess high school never ends
In this bad sandbox
Sister never knew about him
He was potential personified
I always new, never said a word
Terribly waiting for him to take the world
Finish each loose end
Understand depths beyond comprehension
Could never really get how he worked
Killed in the end, a waste more than gold
Could have done so much
Underestimated, self-made, the works
Never really got how it worked
Tell me now, how he died
Never mind, I don't wanna know
Throwing me inheritance
Like the father figure I never had
And certainly never deserved
A few years older
Always sticking out his neck
Now a check?
Miss me with that
If I wasn't strapped
It’d go to wreck
Just like his house
At the end of this mess
Robbed beyond repair
Silk robes in the furnace
How did he earn this
A man so earnest
Now he’s in the sternest prison around
In the grave, like a pound for a stray
Waiting for the day
One shot leads to release
In such a permanent way
This won’t lead into peace
It will lead to more delete
Lives hanging in the balance
Bankrupt to the finest
Capacity they could have imagined
But now it’s all me
Suits, colors, and all
Just a puppet for the crew of the ******
Whispering to me through wrinkled polos
Rolling through the power vacuum
And I don’t know
How quickly I’ll be booted
Or how long I’ll hear his voice
Bouncing around in the black water in the back of my mind
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
Gatsby, Gatsby, oh you protagonist young man;
To work for a millionaire and be a soldier.
To do criminal activity just for a single girl
Who once did love you but never will again.
With all your fabulous wealth and fame;
In that mansion you live in filled with Goth
Having lavishing parties on late Saturday nights;
Not to mingle but to look, to look for her.
Living in the West Egg with a distant view
Of a lake in front to separate you and your love.
Only a light of green to comfort your loneliness;
With a friend as your only connection to them.
You are the mysterious type of man that you are.
A person whom no one knows where he is from,
What he does in life or how he makes his fortune.
But in reality you are from a farm in North Dakota.
You are also a flawed, dishonest, and ****** man;
Lie about your past and the name that people know.
Left your farm life at age 17 to change who you were;
Forgot your name as Jimmy Gatz to become Jay Gatsby.
Jay Gatsby, Jimmy Gatz, you did this for your love;
For the love you had for Miss Daisy Buchanan, for her.
As a man, you were known to be extraordinary optimism;
For you were determine to take your dream and make it a reality.
The dream that you had of only you and her.
A dream that was too far from reality;
So far that it blinded you from true reality.
This dream is what brought death upon you.
For Jay Gatsby and Jimmy Gatz are one and the same.
Both blinded by love for Miss Daisy Buchanan.
Both determine to change their social status
Both dreamt a dream that would not come true.
But yet both denied the truth of themselves.
For this brought the death and the heartache
Of a father who knew so little of his only son.
For a friend who truly knew nothing of him at all.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
He was pale as death,
running down like an over-wound clock
Beneath his eyes,
dark signs of sleeplessness tumbled short of his dreams.
The pale gold odor of his lips,
Parted with a series of beginnings.
He was confounded with wonder at her presence
That voice held him most
Swathed in rose and lavender silk
The darker, well-kept expanse of his suppressed eagerness blazed with light.
His eyes,
a deep tropical burn,
on fire like the World’s Fair
remotely possessed by intense life
like a trembling match
stained with creative passion
He searched for her night and day
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic rain
a deathless song
a faint flow of thunder
he followed the sound of it into the thick folds of the sky.
her well-loved eyes,
smeared with tears,
glistening drops smashed into pieces on the floor
Standing in a puddle of mid-summer flowers
Bright ecstatic smile on the edge of pouring rain
Its fluctuating, feverish warmth,
full of aching grieving beauty,
told of unexpected joy
Are you in love with me?
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
The green light has frozen over.
See that haunted house,
how its windows
flicker desperately
in their attempt at survival,
how every lampshade droops
under the sublime gravity
of its glassy tears,
how each blackened bulb
crystallizes then shatters
like the constellation-mottled
pupils of the starry-eyed--
of any
optimist
dreamer
lover
bright-young-thing.
Nomadic phantoms float along
the pin-prick stalagmites
of the ceiling in ringlets of
emerald shadow.
Surely,
dawn will break,
(unconventionally.
tragically.)
The sun itself shall bow to ruin;
and, in a remarkably quiet gesture,
it will fizzle out
like a can of cherry cola
that's gone stale,
like humanity's own taste
for the light
(and its growing appetite
for the darkness).
Still,
we drink on--
in wait of the rush,
indulging in the hope
that somewhere
in this dying
expanse of universe,
there is someone
who will love us
for the tipsy,
poetic souls we are.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 8:50 PM UTC
Daisy he desired, and of Daisy he thought
His eyes only for her, and to hold her he sought
Riches and Daisy, perfection, together
He wanted it all, flawlessly, forever
Longtime dreamer, believer, hopeful and true
Desperate for an illusion, with absolutely no clue
That his flowering dreams were wilting away
To become nothing but memories that hold little sway
Over what his life has become from before
And the dream he had once envisioned, they tore
To pieces that lay, shattered and broken
Shards of a past come future, only tokens
Of Nick Carraway's memoir writ after two years
No mourners at the funeral, goodbye without tears.
His lasting imprint, whether worst or best
Tells us that hopeless dreamers can never rest
For the elusive green light that stretches far
We go faster, faster, towards that fixed star
Boats against the current, waves beating high
Despite it all we trudge forward, and always we try.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.
but the only one you wanted to see was her
“Can’t repeat the past? Why...of course you can!”
and so you did.
or at least attempted too.
but it didn’t work for you
now did it,
old sport?
because the harder you tried to
keep up this game
the more they rewrote the rules
“they’re a rotten crowd” I shouted across the lawn. “you’re worth the whole **** bunch put together!”
you fell in love with the girl
whose voice was full of money
in the valley of ashes.
looked at her the way every young girl wants to be looked at
a beautiful little fool, she was
perfect for you
afternoon tea
silk shirts stained by her tears
your resurrection
was born.
or so you thought.
you were endlessly
attempting to recreate
a sequel to that summer night in 1945
the kiss
the sky
that night.
your death was almost heroic
only you and I know
you were doomed from the start
“gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther...and one fine morning- so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
No matter how much you come to mind, you are not mine
and when I leave the feeling of muscle memory coats me in your toxins, your sweet toxins, an odor I'm already fond of
coaxed I am by you, for you and no matter how much I want or crave to be even near you and have you around, to laugh and cry with
you won't be there
Here we go again and I will not give into my own dreams and wishes, we were so close today, I felt your breath from a mile away and your lips on mine for that brief second before your head peered away and looked towards a sea of distraction
Who can touch me tonight and make my skin feel bare?
I feel the hands of the sun roaming my skin as my lower back is held in a warming embrace, but I will not loose my mind as my breathing and heart beats.
A sorry letter is what I meet when I return home and I view the handwriting, recognizing it's yours a little clarification point you recite to me every now and then, I've got it mate.
People have plans and I wanna help others, as they try an encourage me to get through, oh if only they truly knew, I still smell you you're here, Ha!
Honestly I'm not gonna leave you behind, no matter what heat you might have had for me, you think you're better on your own, caress my thighs and grip my *** like it's completely fine, it doesn't mean anything to me.
Maybe I should leave, and react the normal way, but I can't because I just don't care, this is a Daisy Buchanan and Jay Gatsby thing? Minus the money and on off love.
No this is a different version, filled with lust and lack of concern, it's like you have no emotions that reside in you, only hands and a **** that control you
others might say I should escape and hate you, cause I'll be better on my own without the venom of someone who's not even there.
You're not a Tom Buchanan, but you're certainly a Jay Gatsby my lord
Why should I escape though, I'm okay, I'm not dead and I haven't been stripped of everything even if I know not where his hands have been, its just an illusion
Not Real At All
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
Roses are red, violets are blue
But only when they have just blossomed anew
For you see roses wilt and the violets do too
If they lose all their petals, stick more on with glue
I had traipsed through the garden and wandered the halls
Hung all the flowers from hooks on the walls
And then I put roses in gaps in the stairs
Where in low light at night my foot slips and then falls
At this point the crowds came with lilac bouquets
The lit all the lamps and set candles ablaze
My house shone from tower to cellar, the better
And the lights didn’t go out for days
Then a man made of wax came wandering through
He offered me wine, and I asked about you
He told me you’d fled and were due to be wed
To a kind gentleman who wore only one shoe
The daisies are white and the tulips are red
But to you they were pink, or at least so you said
For these days you wear pearls and are always well fed
A rose pricked your finger, from then on you bled
Honey is sweet, but syrup is sweeter
Buying white silk which is sold by the meter
Adorned all in diamonds, you were quite a sight
When an angel appears all the doves rush to greet her
So nevermind what your car crashes into
Your hair is still gold and your eyes are still blue
Daisies still white, and lilies are too
Can’t turn back the clock, but I get déjà vu
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 11:40 AM UTC
don't be my green light.
don't be the daisy to my gatsby.
don't be my dream,
my unattainable dream.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 7:35 PM UTC
Emeralds in your eyes
Are now a dying Gatsby light
My heart knew no boundaries
Until you left
Now I’m staring at
Your white picket fence
Outside looking in
Unwelcome to the family
You created on a whim.
There’s nothing different
I could have done
To make you mine
Your words change
Like a ticking clock
And your muted actions
Feel like falling
Face first on rocks
This is not
The end for me
I’ll find love greater than
Your guilted misery
And I will try
To let these feelings die
Without playing I spy
A liar in disguise.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 12:31 PM UTC
summertime is here and flowers bloom
but inside my ghostly heart there is only gloom
because you're in love with my dreams
when the doors are shut and the curtains are closed
yet late at night i still yearn for you across the bay
in this much too-large bed i lay
desperately wishing you were *****
wait, no-
that's not it
i just wish that my side was the one on which you'd sit
i want you to sleep in my bed
i want to put him out of your head
i want it to be my baby in your crib
i want your third finger to wear my ring
i want you to be able to give me your everything
do you know what i want more than that?
i want to erase him from existence
i want to rub out the last five years
like chalk from a chalkboard
and start anew with you
i want to pick up where we left off
with you waiting patiently for me
hanging on my every word
as though they were the sweetest sounds you've heard
like honeysuckle or roses or poppies
or daisies
but no
you loved me too
well guess what? i love you
no past tense
no "too"
i love you
everything i do
every breath i take
every time my hands shake
every smile i wear
oh, that's my cross to bear
the ***** the banter, the banquets, the bands
my darling dear, it's all for you
don't you see?
why can't you understand
the part of my plan
where five years just disappear
this house is too big for only me (lonely me)
i should be laying next to you
but all i have is this green light
i close my eyes but it's tattooed inside
i wish i could put that thing out of my sight
but when you're laying in his bed
at least i still have my green light
to give me solace at night
lovely lady, i'll follow your lead
i learned to do that in the war
no matter how far
you have my heart
just promise to hold it dear
and for the rest of my days
i know i will have no fear
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 7:01 PM UTC
How do I stop
The little green dot and your name
From appearing at the top of my chat bar
Every time I go to stay connected with the world?
Daring me to click it
Ask how you are
Ask you not to forget me.
There it is –
Staring directly at me.
Raised off the screen -
But I’m didn’t ******* pay for 3D.
Hovering green dot -
Appearing then disappearing and reappearing.
The symbolism ripped from the pages of Gatsby doesn’t escape me.
At least if all we had was a narrow channel between us I could simply swim across.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
Are you happy, Daisy
with your voice all full of money
and your golden locks blowing?
Do you hide your face
embarrassed by Tom's racist harangues
while seeking comfort in the embrace
of your careless, noble friends?
Have you ever seen shirts
as nice as these or suits so pink
and glimmering of tea cakes
and novelty on sweltering Manhattan
gilded ash-worn evenings?
Are you happy now sauntering
through inconsequence adrift in moonlight
and forgetful of your maiden promises
as the air sweeps over that fragile
crown and you swerve drunkenly
about lane to lane letting me
face the consequences worrying
only about you?
The inebriation is mine alone to bear.
That's all I want for you,
the dignified Mrs. Buchanan—
as a moth I fly toward green flame,
enamored—remembering your smile
& eyes as they were!
My heart's last beats are for you,
and I just want to know you're happy
as the transparent water that drowns me
warms and grows turbid like America
and my selfish love.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
Leave
the past;
your green lights
on far docks fade
blue.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
And I hope she’ll be a fool, that’s the best thing a girl can be, is a beautiful little fool.
To see no fault and see no cause, a demeanor that elicits the ceasing of qualms
She will drink mint tea while sitting with glee on top of a cloud above a raging storm
Her focus is precise and what she sees will be calm
I wish for my daughter to be one
She will live in a bubble, plated with the toughest material and doubled, and coated with rose-colored glass.
It will be her veil, disguising injustices too well, but her aura will always be electric
Her tears will be daisies growing amongst the lilies near a pond where there’s coy and fairies casting spells.
She will sleep and dream neutral, as the sandman began his sutures, to maintain her outlook that life is swell.
I wish for my daughter to be one
With her sway and her gallop and her nod and her twirl, she will please the sensibilities of the world.
I pray to the heavens, her angels and gods, that there will not be a crack in her armor.
For if she is to see how the world truly be, then her face will forever be furled
She is my joy and my love, a pearl necklace with a hug, a jewel that can never be matched
And I hope she’ll be a fool, that’s the best thing a girl can be. Is a
Beautiful
Little
Fool
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
Her nervous laugh
is the ***** of a champagne glass
he does not care she has no brains
he worries about his tie
asks her to confess
she never loved Tom
showing off his wealth
built on the sand grains
of dodgy business & deceit
& brick of bravado
a siren, she has called his heart
to sail to her across the years
all to end in a gunshot
by a pool
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC