"antebellum" poems
We were serene at a coffee house in the antebellum.
Vanilla latte plain dark roast art in pastel chalks
of little sense to me you drawn to impermanent faces
on the wall. Mix match tables of twos of easy people
odd numbers we fitted in conversation and caffeine.
That's all. You said in your breathless way more than I
ebb you flow a lyric of banal and small notes
where I place listening sounds looking in your eyes
without shame. Strange calculus by which memory is sad
sides of an inscrutable equation aspiration love
quiet hours loss longing I saw coming in your eyes
did not look away but went straight in.
Your car ran fine money was still the problem.
Never touch your hair. Just for me - long, wild, ebony.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:23 AM UTC
It's not just the piano notes
It's not's its sharps or should I say it's flats
It's not the music sheet
It's obviously not my E major voice
Neither is it how well our voices blend
When the concertmaster says start to
Lady Antebellum - Need You Now
It's not just the Violins
G3, D4, A4, and E5 soothing notes
That keep us playing even when the rest stop
It's not our audiation that keeps as late
Into the night writing,meditating,singing
Laughing at each others crazy lines.
Or your masculine tattooed arms, Strumming the guitar
Neither is it your ability to manipulate your voice to both
Tenor and a Countertenor,so that when the concertmaster says start
To Michael Bolton - When a Man Loves a Woman
It feels like heaven has just opened its doors.
It's not how high I can hit the yala leyo notes
Neither is it my ability manipulate my emotions
So that when the concertmaster says to me Start To
Loren Allred - Never Enough
I give the crowd both my voice and my emotion
It's the memories the two of us make
That lead up to this moment
When the concertmaster says Start
The memories trickle in
The laughs,the anxieties,the fun,the fights
Even the shared pizzas and movie nights
That are all joined with the one thing that we share
Our passion for music,it's culture and giving it life
It's beauty and how freeing and liberating it's words can be
Things we both want to say but really can't
So we use the most basic language we both get
Music
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
I could never
write well about
the city
as if the place
completely rejects me
from the surface of
the sidewalk up
like it reaches inside
my brain and says
no you don't match
you just keep your muse out of
here. she doesn't have the right
boots.
and to them I say
I will keep the green inside
til I can fly again
in a field
grass making
my back itch
the smell of everything
that lives in
my nose, tickling my temples
and reminding me of
where is
really
Home.
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 7:40 PM UTC
I've grown tired of this
surreal, trying-to-run-underwater paralysis
My thoughts will not expire,
even though I harshly insist
It's time to redirect my energy back to the war
The one I began waging over two years ago
I'll keep struggling against this innuendo
All for the hope to destroy my incoherency
Yet somehow still possess my secrecy
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 10:02 AM UTC
Vibrant antebellum
In the city streets saturates the air
And pulls the attention of children
From the gutters everywhere
Aftermath, aftershock, after the end
Syndrome X inside a plastic cup
Bellicose cries from bleeding sores of media
Shrouded with burqa shadows as a necessary anesthesia
Where is the city and where is the state?
Invisible numbers counted with ink stained thumbs
Delicate piano sound, pale girl fingers
The scent of your fatigue still lingers
I’ve seen many beautiful things
One day, I’ll remember what they are
But for now their faces are stretched like plastic bags
Bound to tear at the bottom and eventually sag
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
What a night! – Them boys been frenzied!
Mouths all a'watterin' over
sea cows in a wattering hole!
I guess I didn't know what it was. Knew 'twas a gorgeous schism!
This is some iced-to-the-bone antebellum romanticism, and how–
Ba-loo! Sing it, fleur de lis! Remember that these things never really
happened. Them manatees happen'd upon shined-out appalachians.
And I tell you– And I wonder...
I wonder quite a lot these days.
These days gettin' longer yet, the sun's yet to rise.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
Her body moves closer to him beneath his hands
She wonders if she passes inspection
If the previous rejection has not become obsolete
And the muslces he works so hard for
Burn for something he remembers so clearly now
The memories from their antebellum period
How she had felt in these arms before
And with trespassing eyes, he lingers too long into hers
His lips trace the curve of her heart
Teeth marks on his shoulder is all that will remain
of evidence of her presence in the morning
She startles awake to find herself fused to his side
She engulfs that bridge in flames
Cuts herself out
And with sleeping limbs, sore and stiff
She leaves his quiet form
And she knows everyone has someone they want that they can’t have
We’re all desperately seeking someone to love
The one who got away
But love should never hurt the eyes
Should never stain a face with tears
She ran away from home
Ran away from the man she loved
Afraid to feel anything new
She left those things that made her feel safe
But before she turned to leave
He said to her
I know thy shape
The crook of this arm will always remember it
Your place will always remain here
And so it is.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 10:12 AM UTC
Unchained melody
will always remind me of that dance
Joan Armatrading's Heaven
will always take me to that glance.
And Lady Antebellum
will always make me think of you
There's even memories associated
with a Wham track or two
Good memories and bad
I've songs for laughter, love and tears
Such is the soundtrack to my life
at least the first forty years.
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 2:16 PM UTC
this plane will dive.
we are less alive with no stroke. with no bleed in the cerebellum.
you could laugh through the apocalypse and not tell 'em. you could leave but stay put
in vellum.
in airtight jive. we are less alive with no joke.
with no need in the antebellum
of the one good war
i loved you
with.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
‘Let’s do a Sam, Patrick and Charlie,’
(Do I even have to tell you that
I’m always in-yes with you?)
‘What’s our tunnel song?’
Click. Radio music filling the car.
You tell me over the music that
You don’t want a tunnel song
Because
Why have one song when we
Can have a playlist of it?
Our tunnel playlist starts with:
**01. young blood—the naked and the famous: you’ll keep my secrets
hope to die/promise and swear it to the sky.
02. love somebody—maroon 5: and if I fall for you/ I’ll never recover
03. lego house—ed sheeran: and I’ll surrender up my heart /
and swap it for yours
04. animal—neon trees: what are you waiting for? / take a bite of my
heart tonight
05. yellow—coldplay: do you know? / you know I love you so
06. i need you now—lady antebellum: and I wonder if I ever cross
your mind / for me it happens all the time
07. lightning—the wanted: how many times do I fly through your
headspace / now it’s speeding away from a safe place**
I don’t even like half of the songs
The radio played but it was
Perplexing how I find a
Line or two of it
To keep track of
My feelings.
‘Do you see it?’ You gesture at the road.
I recalled that bit of Charlie’s letter.
Omitted bits of it and filled it with some
As lightning—the wanted starts to fade
And another song plays,
‘I like this song,’ I tell you
‘I like it, too.’
**and if you only die once/
i wanna die with you**
‘Let’s hit the notes,’
—fingers drumming on the wheel
I finger snap occasionally.
When the song ended, we have
The same answer for the same question:
‘Do you feel infinite?’
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 9:43 AM UTC
Welcome to the guide on how to write poetry.
Poems don't always rhyme
well, some of the time.
It's in plenty of children's stuff
but adults have had enough.
They
are
layed
out
weirdly
sometimes
and some are just in a long line similar to this, like you would find in a book
or pehaps with !punc?tuat'ion a^ll* o&ver;
$t"he p(l)£ace%
in CAPITALS or lower case
or perhapps with duhliburut speling misstakes.
They may have words in them
you don't understand
like antebellum or zeugma
or with words that enni yungstur ken get innit m8? Lol!
1. They can have numbers in them.
2. yehT nac eb nettirw sdrawkcab.
3. A bit of repetition did no one no harm harm harm.
Thou canst use the language of old if one wishes,
or use language that is simple, easy to grasp.
Poems
offer
exciting,
marvellous
chances to do things like an acrostic or something fancier.
Write in français, español, deutsch, dansk, italiano, polski, gaelige, cymraeg, ελληνικά, русский, íslenskur, עברית, हिंदी, 中國的, 日本の,العربية
one of those, or English if you choose.
In bold (brackets and italics too) - a dash here; use semi-colons properly as well.....don't over do the full stops or talk about silly things like purple pumpkins playing with pigeons.
L o o k.
You have some choices now.
Stick to my rules
or make your own.
To be onist, it dunt rearly mattuh.
It's a poem. Something like that.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 1:40 PM UTC
Antebellum;
Cotton blows in the black south,
Spitting soul from black Caesar's mouth.
Wind of song and wind that moans,
Wind that howls from buried bones.
Wind of truth and wind that rains,
Wind of dying in broken chains.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
sharks in
Trafalgar Square
throw hats
of Danbury
yet antebellum
in London
is a
column yet
the public
cityscape in
her democracy
yet anarchy
in a
high sea
stake of
Latin Tribe
is now
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 12:09 PM UTC
I'm not who you think I am
I'm the demise of every noble man
I'm the tempest;
The storm that's brewing over an ocean of gasoline.
I'll burn you, yet you'll drown in the currents that I possess.
I'm not just the beautiful woman that you see.
I'm full of blunt curves and rough edges that'll cut you deep.
No sign of perfection reflects within me.
I'm not a goddess of love or peace.
I'm the antebellum that originates the war and grief
A massacre of destruction
Where the collateral damage has no restriction
A tangled mess of chaos and dreams
Nightmares that are spoon-fed to you in the disguise of peace.
I'm the darkness before the dawn.
The ominous calm that exists before the storm.
The vicious hunter that's looking for it's prey.
The calamity that'll result in a bloodbath of a raging hurricane.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
Dilemma, the cerebral antebellum
The wrist flicked rhythm of the swamps
And the candlelit manors
Perched as tethered yachts atop the rim
Between twilight and dawn, awaiting the archetypal,
Cantilevered, alabaster shadows
Reckoning hatred with nature and burning the hallowed.
Guests siphon pictures and survivors win registry
As History forgets to tell the sun and moon
Of their responsibility
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
So you think that you like “horror.”
Well, I’ve got some for you--
trying fleeing a burning building
with bombs dropping around you.
So you think that you like “kink,”
and want to be whipped and tied.
If you’d been a slave in the antebellum South
this could have been how you died.
So you like to play at “Slave” and “Master.”
What a ******* joke.
Some who were really slaves
died strung up with a rope.
You like watching blood and torture
when it’s on a movie screen.
Aren’t you the lucky one--
you won’t see it again and again, in dreams.
If you’d ever lived outside
your privileged, First World life,
you would not find “entertainment”
in scenes of death and strife.
If you’d ever been a helpless victim
of cruelty or ****
you would know it’s not entertainment,
but a hell, that some never escape.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 5:58 PM UTC
Whatever you do, dear friends,
Do not let life live you;
Do not forget to take greedy breaths each morning
and come home each night to the smell
of everything you once dreamed of.
Life is short,
and it is yours.
Spend your days in the pages of far away castles
with brave nights, fiery dragons, wicked wizards,
whatever you please,
whether it be on a ship sailing west
or the antebellum South.
Wear a scarlet letter.
Shove Juliet’s dagger into your chest.
Eat dinner in a hobbit hole.
Suffer the unspeakable grief of the long forgotten wars.
You can travel all the way around the world
and back to where you are sitting now.
But, books,
they will take you farther than your own wildest fancies.
They will expand you,
and they will land you
where you never thought you’d be.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
Sitting here silently stripping my mind of the setbacks in my life, is just what I do to set the record straight for myself -it's so simple, I smile. I travel in my seasoned mind to the streets lined with live oaks along the streetcar line on Saint Charles Avenue and stand in the shimmering sunlight between the dancing shadows on the broken sidewalk for a while.
In the classic void of reminiscences, I see the staggered walkways set askew by the carelessness of Time, meandering past the stately antebellum homes, guarded by hushed sentries, these whitewashed lions tinged with the chartreuse hues of age and forgetfulness.
Sentries sitting for centuries on static haunches, frozen in place by inertia, while azaleas bloom 'neath the Magnolia blossoms that fill the humid air with a perfume that beggars the reek of Forget-Me Not flowers.
If I must travel in my dreams, let them be daydreams of the fruitful past, when the uptown scene seemed complete, with moving pictures in technicolor themes; and they moved the wooden seats back, facing home.
The end of the line was a block from the muddy Mississippi, and my lover's house was too, (although further up the Old Spanish Trail.) Once I followed it all the way to the Pacific, and a different time zone alone.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
Along the white sugar river bend
Dew kissed fields of clover set ablaze -
in midmorning sunshine
July arbors teeming with concord grape ,
scuppernong and muscadine
Whitewashed farmsteads , aromatic ploughlands ,
red clay shoulders girdling country byways
The cackle of curious guineas , of bay hounds and
gray geese
The clap of breeze driven mirrored cattle-
ponds
The splash of shellcracker , bluegill , yellowbellies
and bull frogs
Land of a million daylight colors
Woodland groves sprinkled in piedmont -
blues , in golden stippled brushstrokes across antebellum -
oak and majestic pines ...
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 3:13 AM UTC
antebellum fell
in Rastafarian
as guns
wept three
strokes of
midnight past
pendulum of
crime in
settlements when
beyond the
pale struck
the martyr
this side
of paradox
when Zion
born of
patriot begun
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 10:12 AM UTC