"billet" poems
The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers
That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings
In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,
That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,
With muffled music, murmured far and wide.
Ah, the Spring time, when we think of all the lays
That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,
Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,
Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,
The messages of love that mortals write
Filled with intoxication of delight,
Written in April and before the May time
Shredded and flown, playthings for the wind's playtime,
We dream that all white butterflies above,
Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,
And leave their lady mistress in despair,
To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,
Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies
Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies
12.9k
A sweet billet-doux
with the sweet words "I love you"
is waiting for you.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 1:32 PM UTC
Using my fairest hand
I wrote your name on a scrap of paper,
And slipped it into my wallet
So it would be next to my heart
All day.
So that I could carry you with me
To venerate
Like the bones of a blessed saint
In a casket.
I opened up my box of relics
A testament to loves
Unloved
To hearts broken
To lives unravelled.
An acorn that did not grow into an oak.
A fossil from some petrified forest.
Mocking my broken heart
With it's unthinkable age.
The note, scribbled,
The perfumed scarf.
The poem.
The coaster.
Things.
To remind me
As if I could ever
Forget.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
Love’s game
vivid romance
lover’s
slow dance
Amusing billet-doux*
Amusing game
playful kisses
missing
the Mrs.
Love’s billet-doux
Amusing game
lips meet
it is
almost sweet
Love’s billet-doux
Love’s game
sneaky meeting
just a
moment fleeting
Amusing billet-doux
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
Softly, she ventured into the violent night of May,
Where pitch-black winter soaked her bones.
The sea, full of teeth, bit and insisted as she stood there, unmoving.
It was full of music and empty promises; she let the vastness of the agonizing waves drown her rotting body.
The sharp smell of air reeked of bitter billet-doux.
It had been her three hundred sixty-five attempts to be silent; barefoot, she waited and waited and waited.
Under the moonlight, she appeared as a ghastly ghost.
For a moment, she wondered, “Only the wicked remember the sea’s harshness and stay”—a woman personified as storm, mirroring her rage.
She is a twisted soul; death sighs at the sight of her.
The moon exhausted its entire being. “She is full of herself,” he whispered into the dark, corrupted sea.
She imprinted the sands with her unnerving gravity—she walked, and walked, and walked,
Haunted by her visions and dreams, terrorizing the melancholic earth.
Months passed—it was now September.
She’s restless; all she could do was remember.
She kept bathing in the black sea, passionately driving herself to madness.
She kept being pulled and pulled and pulled,
Until survival was no longer an option—her hair slowly being grappled into the lake of fire.
Her last remaining thoughts were of long-forgotten, enchanting, sweet eyes of his.
She dreamed of him—those big, witchery eyes of his.
She remembered, and so the sea deciphered her yearning and pulled her in.
Sep 8, 2024
Sep 8, 2024 at 5:10 PM UTC
He’s dreaming again. His tongue is running off with him, and he’s pulling at his sleeves like an awkward schoolboy. When I see him I know him. Better than I have in years. His voice is rougher than the palms of his hands or the blue of his eyes. His lips are still moving but they’re out of sync with his words. I’m on his couch again and I don’t know how I got there, there’s a bloom in my body and every time he looks at me they contract and pulse like an out of time heartbeat. I’m in his basement and it’s dark, there’s a window behind me and if we were to sneak out of it there would be gin in our hands. It would taste like pine. I’m on his hammock and looking at the stars like he promised, like I wrote. On the bench in the park his arms fold me like a paper crane, or maybe a fortune teller, his sandpaper voice whispering me a billet-doux in six different languages, three made up, one in sign. He’s dreaming and it’s about me and I know it, but I can’t say it, so I just dream back. Over and over. My hands folding him like paper, ebbing like an ocean.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 10:11 AM UTC
You are
a brass framed
feather bed
in the middle of
a dilapidated forest
white
waxen
cadaverous
arms and metacarpals
outstretched
screeching praise to
Father Fumigated Sky
a tie dyed atmosphere
embodying the ambiance
of some apocalyptic rose garden
bled gold, wine,
& liquid ecstasy
and leaked through chemical clouds
or the coagulated tears of
God...
my strange,
creaky comfort.
may we
watch it all
crash down
in peace.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 2:23 AM UTC
Words
words to say
words to say for those who possess a quiescent soul
vibrations forming into susurrus breathes,
spun by Love.
Love is an oxymoronic, overly celebrated,
seemingly sempiternal happening that is eternally ephemeral,
lasting
a
very
short
t
i
m
e.
Love speaks with words that no matter how
dis-joint-ed
sound wonderfully euphonious -
a sonic euphoria
a billet-doux made from absolutely nothing
but
the very
rawness
of being absolute.
Love is a little more than
chimerical.
Love is a clinquant aubade that requires redamancy.
redamancy.
Love requires love to exist in it's eternal shortness,
to exist
in the mere seconds that are allowed
to exist in the ephemeral time frame of a blip in space
of decades and decades that no one will rememeber and that will not matter to the masses
and
will mean
absolutely nothing to everyone else except
for the one that is awake enough to look directly at
Love.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
There are none so blind as those who will not see
A prophet is not without honour, save in his own country,
Let the cobbler stick to his last; the nearer the church
The further from God; speak the truth and shame the devil
Every bullet has a billet, curses like chickens come home to roost
Comparisons are odious we are light years of discretion away
A little tin god enough to make angels weep
Sitting on thorns telling **** and bull stories,
I'll sieze the nettle and foul my own nest
Straight from the shoulder the sinews of war
To smite hip and thigh cut to the bone playing
Merry with lotus-eaters an elephant never forgets
Pull devil, pull baker man proposes but God disposes
Theres nothing new under the sun
Pitchers have big ears and pride goes before the fall
Even a worm will turn as fine words
Butter no parsnips, still waters run deep
Physician, Heal thyself.
ELEETE J MUIR
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 6:30 AM UTC
(a billet-doux to HP)
4 minutes til (virtual) class
“Dang”, I think. I need to post today's poem!
I paste the poem, the title, the tags.
I have the sense that once the page says “saving draft” I’m *******
So I quickly press save.. and..
502 bad gateway
“Argh,” I say under my breath, glancing at my clock.
I press refresh.
Do you want to submit the form?
Of **** course I want to resubmit - I press submit.. and..
502 bad gateway
“Oh my f-king GOD!” I yell at my iPad
I press refresh.
Do you want to resubmit?
Yes, yes, YES- I resubmit, I submit, I supplicate, I grovel.. and..
502 bad gateway
2 minutes
I scream a line of obscenity that would **** the Pope if he were here.
I refresh
One of my roommates inquired, “Are you ok?” from her room.
I resubmit and.. and.. and..
“Yes!” I yell, to reassure my roommate, “Website issues,”
it finally, finally posts.
A “Whoom” sound announces the start of my virtual class.
Feb 14, 2022
Feb 14, 2022 at 4:13 PM UTC
De gik ind sammen. Han betalte hendes billet - selvfølgelig. Han sagde ikke noget, for det gjorde *** heller ikke. Han viste vej, og gik ned i den bagerste del af bussen. Han satte sig inderst i håb om, at *** ville sætte sig ved hans side. Det gjorde *** ikke. *** satte sig i den anden side af bussen...
Få minutters stilhed fik hende til, at skifte mening, så *** satte sig hos ham. De sagde ikke noget, men alle i bussen kunne høre deres skænderi. Klokken havde lige slået 23.23, og de kørte to forskellige veje, i en og samme bus.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
383 small block, double-hump heads,
fuel injection, supercharger
a midnight cruise
flaming hot licks on black lacquer paint
street lights blowing past
That’s chrome, baby.
That’s chrome.
Road signs, blue eyes, blonde hair,
cherry red lips framed in a billet mirror
long legs hang under
a plaid mini-skirt straddling
a 4-speed.
That’s chrome, baby.
That’s chrome.
Exhaust fumes, tire smoke,
high octane fuel, perfume
waters both mouth and eyes
Detroit steel never smelled this good
Red fingernails dig denim at 5500 rpm.
That’s chrome, baby.
That’s chrome.
Chrome bumpers, chrome grills,
chrome smiles, chrome thrills.
That’s chrome, baby.
That’s chrome.
© 2010 C.T. Bailey
Apr 9, 2011
Apr 9, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
*So you **** me
It is off, the sun,
Since you are gone
I try not to think about you
But everything talks to me about you*
Vorrei stringerti forte
*This night, the city seems very beautiful to me
who knows if you are sleeping*
So you **** me
The moon has begun a new cycle
Since I have left
I cannot help but think of you
As everything here cries out for your touch
Non avrei lasciato
This night, it seems so very cold to me
how could I possibly be sleeping
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
Fight, fight against the night
Race to the dawn
Far from home are we in this our billet damp and dark
Band of brothers, All for one, One for all
This will not be my end, you'll see.
Nor theirs, brave friends, strong and true
We rage once more against the enemy
Fight, fight against the night
The skies above scream with such thunderous voice
For us to go to fate unknown
No! No!
I will not fall, for once again dawns light I'll see
A flicker of the suns golden rays
Will save me from this hell, this purgatory
Fight, fight against the night
My ears crave a kind whisper
My lips long for the gentle kiss of home
My hands to once again touch the door
And enter to warm embraces
And love
Ah love, I miss this most of all
Desperately clinging to memories of brighter days
Hoping, endlessly for peace to fall
Fight, fight against the night
My comrades with me,
Now my kin, together to the end
Spirits high we smile through adversity
We have no want to show our sorrow
For we are feeling, aching, longing as one
Duplicated in our grief and its severity
Fight, fight against the night
My hands they shake through cold and fear
Both bite through every layer I have
Tonight again we fight
For freedom, Fight for what we left behind
For loved ones waiting, praying, wishing
To see us back on England's shore
For we are men no more than that
But in our strength we will defeat
What lies beyond the barbs we see
Through mist and smoke
On, on to meet our destiny.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 8:26 AM UTC
Because you're my dear,
Because you're my love,
Because you're my life.
I used to look for a comparison,
Someone to compare you with,
But not now-not now-not now.
Because you're the happiest,
Because you're the sweetest,
Because you're the loveliest.
I used to remain so sore with life,
And I resented it for being so cruel,
But now you're here, yes you're here.
Because you're destiny's sun shining,
Because you're my garnishing beam,
Because you're my true-true-true love.
I feel so optimistic with future now,
And I know that I'm so vulnerable,
But now nothing can go wrong.
Because you're completing me,
Because you're wanting me,
Because you're loving me!
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
A late night meditation
Do you remember that soft, red, velvet chamber?
It was dark and warm and whispered sighs in your ears.
Do you remember that soft, red, velvet chamber?
Your finger lazily outlining where the key should be.
Do you remember that soft, red, velvet chamber?
It was a secret place, a sacred place.
Slow beating.
Do you remember?
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
We talk in emojis
21st century style you know
Our conversation wraps
A few moments past dawn
He reports every second on the gram
Almost as if that’s his beau
Before exchanging good morning texts
He says Insta Fam hello
And when we do get intimate
It just doesn’t feel right
He goes on to publish
She’s my Aphrodite
Oh I want to be teleported
To the age of billet doux
Just two love birds
On a hilltop with a great view
So on a fine Monday morning
I told him what I really want
He said it much like a warning
That the Stone Age is long gone.
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 2:19 PM UTC
Vous et nuis autre
Dans mon couer
Pour toujours et a jamais
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
If a stupendous thought
more often than not
let me mix her caldron
atop her stove there
my tomorrows work upon
a lover and a poetess
with genuine prognosis
only tailor-made suffice
another lovely evening immanent
she quenches my desire mag.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 6:20 AM UTC
Oh how strange you are
little joker card, pinned against the wall.
I'm glad to see you there, my friend
you havent moved at all!
you're in good company, you see
with two others just like you.
one standing upon his head and grinning
the other one riding a wheel thats spinning
and you, my friend are at the beginning
of the strangest tale of all.
I've gathered you here because I feared
that something was amiss.
I could not find my friends, you see
they've taken to the mist.
so take heed, little joker cards,
be quick and run away
and when I leave the room, I know
you will sing and dance and play.
Stay mute for me so i can imagine
all that you have left to say
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 12:16 PM UTC
My strange lover came to me last night
Late December murmurings,
Bruised lips
and Hooded Eyes
*[And in the morning when he is gone,
She finds ink scrawlings staining her sheets]*
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC
Wore down the nerves
To write down a billet dou
Magical lines she deserves
To this manicured angel
Never have I seen a match
Resembling this fairy bird
Shy and rising Sun
Let me bring you my world
Onto your arms
Place it on your soft petals
Embrace your scent
All the way I've tried was in vain
I'm so ready for you to share pain
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 1:47 AM UTC
We wrote away frenziedly,
not even stopping to read our words.
A letter per meal,
only to be eventually burnt
away, with our adolescence.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC
The desert of Rimbaud:
Billet-doux seared skin,
sand strewn dry- eyed
stuck in sister dis-ease
blind birth absent mirth
a third eye sung
strung long song
riddle whittled clean
shame and accused
deep purple hued
****** bruised blessed be
love bid farewell
hell's shining veil
white balloons soon
like mirrored beryl sky
merry birth,
so no goodbye.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
Clouds, flat-bottomed as an iron skillet
slapped down on the range-top of this broad sky,
speak bluntly of rain.
The ground cracks, mud-dry
from summer’s grinding hot whisper that yet
sows blankets of saffron dust and disquiet.
Thunder grumbles, snapping out lighting, wry-
necked and surly as an old dog, denied
his usual dark-cool-under-porch billet.
In just such weather I stand, face turned up.
Stupid as a sheep in the rain, eyes and mouth
full of water, ripped down from the fractured
black belly of the storm. Immobile and enraptured
by the grey drops’ wet weight of broken drought,
dead-end of August overflows my hands’ cup.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC