"apologetically" poems
Broccoli in a white lamp shade
cast shadowy face tattoos
to mark the unjoustly.
The festival in background
is throbbing in directly contrasting sound, to the art nouveau it's sleeping with.
Each vegan burger stand vomits exquisite neon. However
the collage itself
is apologetically brown.
Theatre masks and DJs, VR and a Just Dance floor set,
a sprint before midnight, a sprint after discount ethanol;
so I gaze and perhaps ponder for a friend.
And yet when counting the heads,
I find I needn’t more than my own to hands
for the few middle-aged supermarket clerks
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
Today is the anniversary of another trip around the sun for the woman I love more than any other.
Happy Birthday to my mother, Elise
who drew me a picture of the female reproductive system
and labeled the parts
and explained the process
of ************
before my body ever had a chance to frighten me
who taught me the word
******
and taught me that there was nothing silly, or shameful, or icky
about the word
or having one.
who taught me
that people are inherently the same
and humans are valuable
and the meaning of the word
humanity
and the value of justice
and the meaning of the word
"injustice"
and consistently confronted it
often uncomfortably
but un-apologetically
whenever we found ourselves in its presence
Who responded to compliments
about my appearance as a child
with humble disinterested grace
and taught me with intention
in everything she said and did
that what is valuable about me
is my mind
and my heart
kindness
spirit
ethics
righteousness
some may say too much of the latter
who taught me about Janis, and Sylvia, and Frida
and Roe v Wade
and punctuation and articulation and diction
and the Serenity Prayer, and that Galway Kinnel poem about what is still possible...
I love you Mom. I could go on forever. My love and my gratitude for you - and what you have gifted and instilled in me - is bigger than the universe and eternity and possibility.
So glad you are with the sweetest child in the whole wide world this evening.
Loving and sending you love and bright light so hard.
Micah Haverly 2015
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
he started counting cigarettes
the way he did every other night
he counted them like flower petals
with "she loves me"
and "she loves me not"
throwing them afterwards
to the street below.
he started counting cigarettes
the way he did every other night
he counted them like flower petals
but he inhaled the smoke
of the burning petals
and she filled his lungs
and lingered there
for what felt like years.
he started counting cigarettes
the way he did every other night
keeping in mind the seconds
he lost with each stick
he banged his head
against his fist
and cried apologetically.
he started counting cigarettes
the way he did every other night
but, today,
he thought he should stop
but he couldn't help it
it was the only thing left
that reminded him of her -
her nicotine lips
and her warm glow.
he started counting cigarettes
the way he did every other night
he tried to count the times
he said he'd forget
or he said he'd move on
he took another drag,
flicked it to the air,
and said,
"that's it for today."
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
a man sits
at the bottom
of the steps
not blocking the path
but he cannot be missed
begging alms
from the myriad
who climb and descend
in droves
the cup he holds
is barely weighted
by the meagre amount
he has received
he patiently wishes goodwill
to all who pass
despite their lack of offerings
even though
the majority will ignore
purposefully averting their eyes
or apologetically decline
to part with
any lose change
instead saving their coins
to pay their entry
to marvel at
the gilded interior
of the church
whose teachings include
"love thy neighbour"
Apr 7, 2023
Apr 7, 2023 at 2:42 PM UTC
You ask me to enter to the tilt of your head towards the computer screen
and see, in two words my definition -
bipolar disorder.
You do not look at me, just talk at me
medication? last relapse? severity of episodes?
You count failings, the moments in which I have lost my mind
and you reproach me for them.
You, as you two-finger-type a cold clinical echo of me,
I, on command, recite the past transgressions of my sanity
and you have me – three inches tall on my knees,
in a disease that thrice almost cost me my life
and in your Jobsworth view you tell me I will get ill,
as if this weren't a fact I fight and fear daily.
You with your tunic, blue, cold as your indifference,
announce this, as if calling time -
self-important, unfeeling, with one eye on your watch.
And I smile at you apologetically,
honestly offering up my faith, prayer, medication compliance,
self awareness, begrudged reliance on those I love to wave the red flag
if the waters I get into are too deep.
You are curt with your nod - as if all this is folly between now and the inevitable.
My recovery, my striding, my passion and profession -
All folly.
You are doing the last offices on quick time
because your time is precious and short
and not to be wasted on crazy dreamers with barely a shot in hell
But even with every mental regression, psychotic expression
manic obsession and abyss of depression -
still, still, the world needs more of mes and much less of yous.
So make your disclaimer and write your reports
I'll chant, share the truth in the streets and courts
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
Welcome,
Ladies and Gentlemen,
I'm preaching a lesson,
And the merest mention,
Might cause social tension.
We live in an age of,
New things, super computing,
Mood rings, school shootings,
Fast Commuting, Mass Polluting
If you've got a question,
You should try and ask it,
Try and draw attention to,
Oceans full of grime and plastic.
Drastic measures are needed,
Why can't they see it?
We poison the earth,
And then try to seed it.
You might choke from the smoke,
Everyday Beijing breathing,
Our enemy is cloaked,
But free eyes see him.
Squeezing the last drops,
From the planet won't work because
Before the last's tree's chopped,
We have to plant with love.
Now who are these men,
With the Greatest greed?
Depriving people with a pen,
Of their basic needs.
The proceeds of their misdeeds,
Flow back to the system,
The corporate creed,
Profits off human divisions.
Listen by this time,
We've all had enough of it,
The mind control message,
Still tells me, "I'm loving it!'
Our generation is facing
Annihilation in our age
But the politicians on stage
Fight about the minimum wage.
Debate over free-speech,
Is finished we won it,
We won't get arrested and beat,
This isn't a G-8 summit.
Don't sell your life to the Company,
For a car and a home,
Claim your right to be a somebody,
Your life is your own.
I find it sad and pathetic,
People are attracted magnetically,
Or genetically to create,
Something we can't see.
A father in threes,
Behaving apologetically
and ethically correctly,
Directly see the universe's apathy.
People always have faith,
Governments will save us,
But at a suitable date,
won't hesitate to invade us.
Everybody's cynical,
About the media.
Remaining uncritical,
Of internet encyclopedias.
Obedience Blind,
Is worth less than nothing.
Read, think, search, find,
Catch the fake world bluffing.
There is a solution,
You can break their control,
You heart starts the revolution,
Save your soul.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 5:01 PM UTC
One of these days, the glimmer in your eye that knocks me out will actually break me,
And then my words and reservoir of tears will shatter into shards of truth
That stick into and stain your hands when you apologetically try to sweep them up.
It’s not a ******* secret that I live for the hours that I can pretend that maybe,
One of these nights, I’ll be with you in more than just my mind and yours
As you grip the banister to ascend to silken sheets and wine-fed dreams.
I bite my tongue so words don’t leak, and lick my lips so as to keep them here,
Rather than the curving place behind your ear… the stalwart jaw… the capable lips that draw me near…
The things I’d do were waters clear…
The answer’s written in an inky, contractual ultimatum that squashes the fruit of imagination.
And yet, a fierce, poisonous force rises from the depths of a desirous ***** within,
And whispers to me that with contracts, there are ways to blot, smear, and tear. It scares me.
I lock it in a closet of infectious notions that I’ll slowly dematerialize with clean blood,
But rivers of the stuff won’t run clear when they’re magnetized so close to the sin
That doesn’t feel like sin, and that beckons as a beacon of bright and beautiful things.
It’s a difficult conclusion to arrive at: I must be the bad guy.
I am the mind’s mistress, the secret-almost-lover, the temptation, the promise, the snake…
Yet also the forgotten, the disappointed, the frustrated, the one who MUST keep control, the Saint.
We both know that I’ll keep floating back; my curiosity, passion, fascination, and need to learn and share
Will always countervail the weight of my exasperation and guilt-laden vexation,
Until one of these days when the glimmer in your eye that knocks me out actually breaks me.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 7:10 AM UTC
I've always called love
b u l l s h i t.
a thing for moronic gigglers
and naive dreamers
because no one can ever stay
t o g e t h e r.
there is no one person
matched perfectly for each
other person,
there is no destiny or soul mate
or love at first
s i g h t.
we can pretend but
there is no such thing as
f o r e v e r.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
1.This wheelchair never was a River,
even when powered, it did splutter
yes, it's equivalent in movements,
listening silently it always sits out,
away from the flow to the ecstatic sea.
A wheel chair is a caricature of loneliness.
2.Ever tried to see it for what it really is?
"We don't remember, doesn't catches the eye"
Not like a chair of any other kind easily does,
A chair regal looks up, straight at the face
in the manner it demands what it wants,
"Let me tell you this, listen or leave"
3.A wheel chair keeps on looking at it's
arrested feet apologetically and sighs,
if you have an inner ear sensitive, hear this,
I am not even a chair, an apology
for movement,spoken in a voice stiffed.
It speaks incessantly, in a voice within itself,
wordless to a world, that has closed it's doors.
4.A wheelchair easily forgets things as
it can't keep bitterness alive always.
who cares to speak a few words to a wheelchair?
all it is to be done is push it in silence through aisles .
from a destination of pain to any other, slightly higher.
Stairs of every kind, for a wheelchair is a foreign land.
5.Yet in impeded wheelchairs moves many a dream,
broken before their time or crusted with force.
Or remains of a day, too long and busily spent.
On every wheelchair a heart adamantly beats,
"I would, I would" it beats with a rare grit.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 9:44 AM UTC
in my obliviousness
inadvertent and unintentional
some may say as usual
i disturbed a wasp nest
the heightened bombilation
an anger-pitched droning
unheard somehow
therefore unheeded
until that impolite *****
a warning sting
through t-shirt to torso
followed by a few more
in quick succession
set my legs moving
apologetically away
with hands raised
chastened and contrite
both in supplication
and in order to remove
the offending article
of clothing
the oversensitive wasp
having become trapped within
defensively stinging
as nature directs
to be honest
its overzealous instincts
began to feel
more like spite
than mere survival
Aug 24, 2023
Aug 24, 2023 at 11:52 AM UTC
Today
I Dreamed
That I was sitting with her by a small, rectangle pond
And I was talking to her.
And as she cooled, and sweetly, expectantly, almost apologetically, changed the subject,
I loosened my hair, and began to pull from the pond as it began to cloy and foamed
Handfuls, upon handfuls
Of knotted, used hair bands.
From all the times I had sat there before
And talked to her
About you.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 4:46 AM UTC
Babe called me Film Noir
Said my head was darker than onyx, ashes and ebony,
And I was soaking in a solace that was felt with my presence,
Like hot candle wax dripped down the spine.
Film Noir with more than fifty shades of grey,
And messages I liked to leave in his pants pocket
"God is Dead" to deepen his uncertainty of faith.
Merlot on my tongue like a mouthful of blood while I watch him unravel.
Babe called me Film Noir
Said I always felt like home,
Like home was hell and made you anxious and suicidal,
Like a door with nothing behind it.
Film Noir that was art and lovely and terrifying.
And appreciated for it's talent of deepening wounds that were thought to be already healed.
Then kissed them apologetically, stitching them closed,
But so insincere.
Maybe now he's my Film Noir,
So tragically ending our love.
Like broken china on the floor of the parlor,
So precious to look at, but unusable and a waste.
Till the day he took his life
Babe called me Film Noir.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
thankful that
the promised storm
did not arrive
umbrellas were collapsed
used as walking sticks
or were discarded
as unwelcome rain
and clouds of grey
drifted apologetically
stood in expectant awe
we were rapturous
as blue skies stretched
from hillock to tor
to witness a cowboy
dressed in white
the hero-in-waiting
with a sunset
to ride towards
his happily-ever-after
a pastoral beauty
in flowering green
inseparable thus far
tradition be ******
now adorned with
a bonded eternity
on their fingers
to match that
which is long-rooted
in their hearts
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 8:50 AM UTC
I knew how I've felt
and its not your fault...
You did love me best,
but I thought all wrong.
I didn't have faith enough to believe-
you'd really do
all you've promised me.
I didn't know the magnitude
of your feeling for me,
nor could Imagine
someone like you
can really want to be with me.
Forever you'd say & I never understood,
couldn't fathom it,
not after all the bitterness in my life.
Someone like you
whose always looking at the positives,
where
I've only focused on the negatives.
I didn't know
that you'd show me
all the possibilities
there was to being loved
so completely!
My hurt consumed me,
I never saw you,
not in the way you've
needed me to.
Too consumed in
my own bitter resentments
to reflect on the agony
being inflected upon you
so much so,
that I've dissipated whatever it were
we could of be and had!
All I could do was
hoard the love you've given,
selfishly cling to it and store it away.
Never did I allow myself
to return the favors of your endearments,
I wasn't able to,
my blindness and hurtful neglect
wouldn't allow me to cave in.
You knew,
I came broken,
confused,
lonely & so used
knew too,
I'd been dealt poorly & left beaten,
bruised
inside,
well as out,
I couldn't risk another let down or set back.
My mind,
nor my heart
wouldn't be persuaded,
I allowed my body to feed off your energy,
allowed you to manifest
within my flowery walls
a safe heaven of ****** bliss.
While I was retaining
the very best parts
of
ME
- away .....
Away from your longing soul
and your
beautiful wondrous heart.
I didn't know
how to let go of my past,
I didn't understand
the beauty of all that you possessed,
someone like you
wanted me for
everything that I am,
good, bad & the very worst
parts of me.
You didn't worry,
long as you had me
all the fibers of my being--
"He"
ie (YOU)
only wished to see me happy,
in love and by your side.
I can't blame you
for letting go,
I can't forget
all the good times and memories
we've shared.
It may just be too late,
yet I'd like to think one day,
maybe next lifetime
perhaps.....
For now
I'll say,
how very
sorry I am
because even
as the words left your lips,
I failed to agree or really understand.
Truth be told
it couldn't be help.
So I hope you'll forgive me,
for I truly,
wholeheartedly,
honestly,
mournfully
- apologetically
Didn't Know!
Always Me Ayeshah ™ ®
K.A.C.L.N ©
All right reserved ®
Copyright 1977 - Present
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
I am unapologetic.
In the way I allow the universe to swallow me whole
In the way love's possession leaves me helpless
In the way my words are lost among yours
In the way I dream in poetics
In the way my raw emotions are truthfully expressed
I am apologetically unapologetic.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 11:12 PM UTC
It’s days like these that I feel the worst about everything I do.
Cheerful cherry blossoms spiral around my black cloud,
landing apologetically on my slouching shoulders.
The birds seem to quiet as I pass by,
refusing to meet my frigid eyes.
It’s the same routine,
addicted like nicotine.
Days pass by and my spiteful poetry grows,
prisoners screaming behind muffled reminders.
All they yearn for is to be as free as the tide
slowly teasing,
yet one day we will become those crashing waves,
luring other dreamers to awake from the haze.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
We had come across this grotto in
The cliff near Cater’s Pride,
And were swimming in the shallows
When we took a look inside,
There was just a tiny entrance that
Had broadened to a hall,
And the strange effect of lighting seemed
Reflected off each wall.
There were seashells, there were gemstones
Shining, in the rocky face,
And a narrow path around a pool
With depths we could not trace,
But the water was so clear and blue,
And warm, it must be said,
That Cathy cried, ‘Can this be true?’
While I just shook my head.
We sat back on the ledge and dangled
Feet down in the blue,
We didn’t know that danger loomed
And nor, I think, would you,
But then some minor turbulence
Disturbed the perfect pool,
And suddenly three heads appeared
To laugh, and play the fool.
Three nymphs with sparkling eyes and teeth
Who splashed, their laughter pealed
And echoed round the grotto, as
Their presence was revealed,
They saw us and they beckoned us
As if to swim and play,
If only caution reckoned in
The thoughts I had that day!
But Cathy laughed and waved at them
From just beyond my reach,
And two of them came swimming and
They seized an ankle each,
They pulled her off the ledge and laughing
In that pool so blue,
Then swam around her teasing so
I knew not what to do.
Now Cathy was a swimmer, she
Could more than hold her own,
But when they swam around her
What I saw would make me groan,
For as they broke the surface I
Could see her face was pale,
And each of these fair maidens, well,
They had a fish’s tail.
They whirled around and tumbled her
And pulled her by the hair,
And soon I saw her fighting them
As if in need of air,
I dived in then to free her but
They saw me coming down,
And took her to the depths with them
Until poor Cathy drowned.
I totally lost sight of them
And had to clamber out,
Sat weeping by the pool until
Just like a waterspout
Her body shot up from the depths
And then the mermaids three,
Swam clinging to each other, looked
Apologetically.
They didn’t know we had to breathe
They had no need of air,
They made me signs of penance but
My Cathy simply stared,
And in her eyes a look of awe
As if in death she’d seen
A world that was worth dying for,
A dream within a dream.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
he sings about a family photograph
in a language i understand no better
than a mathematical equation
and i grasp the strength and weakness in his voice
and the vibrations they send through my wooden table and all its contents
my eyelids flutter open and shut like a dying moth,
trying to be in sync with the music but unable to
i stretch and fold my legs as i hit the replay button,
crack some knuckles and glance around in double vision
as i'm being slowly oxidized to death
i have pictures of a smiling childhood idol
pasted on the wardrobes,
a series of little pale yellow lights
taped apologetically to the textured, pastel blue wall.
i have writings on my wall in colours i cant find within myself,
and i suddenly pray this poem won't disappear
with the glitches of technology.
i pray to nobody, no god, no spirit.
being the atheist i am, i feel strange closing my eyes,
“please let it be okay” echoing in my head every time.
but these are not my thoughts.
these are not your thoughts.
they simply are.
he continues belting out notes
and i breathe without rhythm.
my lungs are tone deaf.
i get goosebumps on my hairless limbs for a second.
applause resounds, it's a live recording of the song.
short pause, next.
piano picks up pace
and the mellow voice of a different man
of the same tongue fills the room.
a little more lively.
i realize it's not the words you need
to understand what he means.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
Those remembered doubts
which night trysts dissolve.
Those careful steps ascending
towards bodied joy
Come abide with me.
Silhouette Maple tree
hither my Wile.
Those nagging doubts
dissolves night's gown.
More careful than misplaced steps,
cajoles
the pressing concern
Come hither with me.
For your silhouetted laughter
flights from loves concourse
Those raging doubts
Have left me
I had to choose
Between you
and the clear blue light.
That night gown you apologetically wore
is abject in happen-stance.
Shrouding the matter further
Loves discourse blighted
Where hearts resolved to meet.
Metaphysical garden,
overwrought thoughts revealingly
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
Roaming this earth with eyes wide open
Each step leading to an inevitable conclusion
Praying, wishing, hoping
To be vanquished from delusion
Apologetically inclined to greet the masses
With whom there could be no substitution
Allowing me my penance
For a most obscure intrusion
Announcing my presence the only solution
No witchcraft involved or magical potion
Just plain and simple
A raise and promotion
Bewildering faces at the thought or the notion
No dry eye in sight
Nay a gentle touch
Nor equivalent motion
An overlooked confession
An unwanted devotion
That inevitably always leads
To a misguided explosion
Thunderstruck and moved by emotion
Brisk and alive we set aside our aggression
And conduct without hesitation
The mathematical quotient
A perfect infusion of time and of space
Taught only at the most expensive institutions
Or figured out in Layman's terms
By just listening to our intuition
Praying, waiting, wishing, hoping.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
the monday was, as any mondays are, unexpected and unenthused with the weekend past
i had begun talking to a girl whom i met through mutual friends who frequent our neighborhood coffee shop
we decided to meet at a hookah place notoriously named after our cities zip code; it seemed our small but mighty home was trying to make a name for itself
i had not given her much thought for doing so would cause my knees to weaken and my stomach to churn
but we sat down, ordered our concoction of tobacco and talked about the things we always talked about
amidst a mixture of light conversation laced with slight boredom and tobacco poisoning, she arrived, nonchalantly
towards the end of our visit to hookah 402 I grew weary of another night spent in a mediocre way
it never made sense to me how such interesting people could find so little to do
maybe it was laziness, i don't know
she asked us where we want our night to go and how we wanted it to go
two questions i have asked my friends but have never been able to reach a conclusion or a satisfying end result
furthermore, we got into kaylas car, our first destination was a coffee shop, as it usually is
we got our coffee and decided to use my fake id and get alcohol from a liquor store in north omaha
while i may not have been nervous on the way there, our conversations distracting me from the possibility of receiving a felony, my heart picked up speed when i handed the cashier my fake
we got the alcohol and drove to the nearest gas station for a chaser
while she was in the gas station an elderly man approached our car, immediately putting his shoulders to his jawline in defense
he told us his name, even showed us where it was tatted on his arm, and asked us to drive him to his sister, whose car had just broke down
i guarantee that if she had not been with us, we would have said no, apologetically but fearful of saying yes
however, she was with us,
and with her attitude of all-encompassing love, we said yes and he got in the car
almost automatically the stranger and her began singing a beautiful duet
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
It’s Saturday morning, and even though it’s Thanksgiving break, Lisa and I are in her bedroom, in NYC, studying.
“Ok,” Lisa stops, looks up and says, “give me a *** symbol.”
“I.. I don’t have one on me.” I say, apologetically.
“NAME one.” she clarifies.
“Are there *** symbols” anymore?” I say, with air-quotes, “Who’s “Marilyn Monroe” today - Kim Kardashian - oooo - or Kendall Jenner?”
“I read Emily Ratajkowski refer to herself as a *** symbol the other day.” Lisa says.
“Is that the model that said she was groped at a naked photo-shoot?” I ask, as I google her.
“Yeah,” Lesa nods, “but it was a naked music video shoot.”
“Do you think I could model?” I ask, as I pose vampingly. “Be unflinchingly honest.” I request.
“Hhmmmm,” she considers, framing me in a finger rectangle pretend camera. “You’re like Marilyn Monroe,” she says, “in a training bra.” We burst out laughing
“Back to the subject,” Lisa says, “name a guy you think of as a *** symbol.”
“Humphrey Bogart!“ I say.
“Humphrey Bogart?? No!” she rejects him, wrinkling her nose, “too old-timey and dead, besides, he was a MOVIE star - come ON, a real one - SAY!”
Michael Gandolfini!” I offer.
“Michael Gandolfini??” she says, sounding stumped as her fingers google him.
*I make a dreamy “mmmm,” yummy sound.
“Oh, my GOD,” she says, and looks up for confirmation. “Humphrey Bogart and Michael Gandolfini - HONESTLY, you have the WEIRDEST taste!”
I was shocked, “No, seriously, don’t you think Michael looks kind of soft, cute and.. LUVable?”
She groans, “You’re going to marry an ugly man someday - aren’t you?” She pronounces, shaking her head.
“AM NOT!” I responded, throwing a pillow at her head (a pillow fight ensues).
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 9:02 PM UTC
I want to drink all the juices of it’s light
we can be bigger than this, older than this
the ocean is only here for a while for us
underneath your fingers I can already see
the shaping of the amethyst
we won’t tell the wind
that this one day you will cross the street waiting for me
on the opposite side our umbrellas will touch
a glimpse of a smile and your hand waving apologetically
flying like a bird away from my sight
there you will be, my invisible wife
we won’t tell the winds, we won’t tell the seas
they are only here for a while
that night when I fall asleep
I will see the rivers on your palms leading me through
that night we will leave life, my invisible wife
and we will finally be
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 10:35 AM UTC
A subtle wind gently eased wild hair from his smiling eyes; the faintest hint of her essence hugged his comfy winter coat.
Not a mile to the East, the same breeze drifted wearily towards a lonely house near a sparkling frozen river.
There, kneeling at the edge of the water, a beautiful girl felt a subtle breeze gently caress her shiny blonde hair.
The young maiden breathed in as the wind continued to brush past her shoulders. She exhaled with a giggle and a blush.
This extravagant December morning, the sun rose in lavish style over the snow-bleached horizon.
The lad had worked as a paper boy in this cozy town for a little over a year, and the morning before, he had spotted the most gorgeous girl kneeling by a riverbed.
The young boy nearly broke his bicycle, he kicked the brakes with such force. He sat with open mouth and marveled at such a sight.
The girl saw the boy out of the corner of her right eye, and shifted a little in a knowing manner.
The smitten lad turned a shade of red that would make the Devil jealous, and tried to call out to this beauty. His voice failed him.
Feeling the attraction radiating from the boy, the lass arose gracefully and walked towards him.
The shocked boy seemed to forget how to walk for an instant. He fell flat on his face. He heard a hearty giggle, and though he thought himself a total klutz, he began to laugh at himself, with each breath ingesting cold, wet snow.
“Saylor”, said the girl, offering a hand up for the boy.
“Titan”, the boy replied, taking her hand. Laughing seemed to restore his confidence.
“Sorry for staring” Titan said apologetically. “I’m sure you get that a lot”.
Little did young Titan know, Saylor had been watching him every morning for weeks. Through the dining room window, she would watch as he would throw the paper towards her house, and pedal over the bridge leading into town.
“Don’t apologize” Saylor remarked. “You should come back tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve laughed like that.”
Not knowing exactly what she meant by that, and also not wanting to make himself look like a complete invalid by asking, Titan got back on his bike with a smile as grand as his elaborate fantasies of the night to come.
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 11:37 PM UTC
judgment pales when order is broken
engulfed and corrupt in all that gets spoken
and links to a lost lamenting sorrow
we must turn to beg, steal and borrow
a touch of adore and affectionate surprise
reminiscence and memories deep in your eyes
turns heads then hearts and snaps to attention
faltering apologetically at the mere mention
adrift adeptly to order the cure
so plainly and succinctly she can act demure
eliminate sadness complacency or shame
abruptly parting and now placing the blame
recalcitrant and diminished... hang on and hold tight
amused and bemused now in distant flight
like unwelcomed thoughts cutting and cold
all will be judged when this story gets told
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC