"cachet" poems
Muse Reine
Tu veux et tu exiges que je me retienne
Que je ne m'exhibe pas au tout venant
Et que je ne bande que sur ordre exprès de toi
Le cachet de la poste faisant foi
A la minute heure seconde que tu t'es choisie
Pour me déguster à distance.
Tu dis que c'est la présence et non l'absence qui te stimule
Et tu me dis que je te manque
et que ma présence volcanique
Te couvre de toutes parts
en dépit de la distance.
Moi je m'interroge
Et je pense que c'est cette absence qui te met en transe
Et je veux t'aimer profondément dans cette distance
Comme tu n'as jamais été aimée. désirée, choyée, goûtée, savourée
Léchée, embrassée, pénétrée, visitée, hantée, caressée, avalée, touchée
Consommée, étreinte, engrossée, jouie, priée, chantée, dénudée
Comblée, tétée, mordillée, mouillées, aspergé, respectée
Mais pour cela il faut que ton âme et chair soient à nu
Et la nudité dans la distance passe par la photographie ou la vidéo
Et si tu veux que l'oiseau te respecte
Il faut que tu le fasses voler et siffler d'aise à ta vue
Car il n'aspire qu'à cela soir et matin :
Voler au-dessus de tes collines et tes plaines
Plonger dans tes lacs et rivières
Nager dans tes eaux poissonneuses
Plonger son bec dans ta chair ouverte et complice
Et en tirer des petits poissons multicolores et chanteurs
Chuchoter à ton oreille
Les mots qui te font fondre de rires et de désir
Ma muse précieuse et généreuse...
Alors pour t'être agréable ma bien-aimée
C 'est promis juré craché
Désormais je ne banderai plus que des yeux
Je ne banderai plus que des lèvres
Tu pourras me bander les yeux et me bâillonner les lèvres
Tant que tu voudras
Je banderai encore
Et si cela ne suffit pas
Pour te prouver mon amour
Je banderai aussi des oreilles et du nez
Je banderai des mains et des doigts de pieds
Je banderai de ma langue
Mi pangolin mi orphie
Je banderai de mon ombre
Une fois deux fois trois fois
Autant de fois qu'il le faudra
Ce ne sera jamais dans le vide
Car je banderai en toi
Et même l'air qui t'environne
Le soleil et la lune banderont de concert
Jusqu'à ce que nous soyons orphies nues, chair et arêtes en rut,
Sublimement réunis pour notre danse farandole et tantrique
Enfin retrouvée.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:27 AM UTC
Paris is so beautiful, that it’s emotional,
like the red tile roofs of Rome,
or the Kenroku-en gardens of Japan.
It’s a relatively large world.
Whenever you can fly over an ocean
you feel limitless, and godly,
like the world is there for you, on demand.
Speaking of God-like views, I’m headed
to Lisa’s (parents) Manhattan highrise again
this year for Thanksgiving—six, very-long days
from today—and I have to wait—but I can’t wait.
I’m starting to stuff things into my bag, like a turkey.
There are so many holiday things to do in Manhattan.
Things that invariably whip you up for a sparkly Christmas.
But these are only commercial attractions—planned distractions.
One frosty November-break morning, two years ago,
a tide of clouds had rolled in, like a trillion tons of cotton
candy had been dumped on New York city, overnight,
filling it up to the 42nd floor. It glistened there, below us,
in the klieg-bright sun, like Tiffany diamonds on cotton.
So, imagine that, then add a flock of geese, in military-like
v-formation flying just at the crest of the glitter, like dolphins
hopping in and out of the waves, as they passed above the
insignificant works of man. It took my breath away.
So, naturally I grabbed for my fancy phone with its super-duper,
high-res camera. The snaps did the glorious scene poor justice—
the majestic, wild geese came out as dots on glare.
I’m watching things carefully this year, not just the multicolor, cachet, window displays on Fifth Avenue and the decorations at the Chelsea Market (where Oreos were invented). I’m going to capture this year
—every intense, emotional second—with that most unreliable, 3D
gadget of all—Memory.
.
.
A song for this:
Holiday Road by Lindsey Buckingham
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 11:45 AM UTC
She does not lose well
will not forget
It will haunt Her
avorite Pencil
Tip Softened
Just So...
A Paw pushed it
Somewhere to a Secret Spot
Out of Vision
Her Reach
A Peice of Paper
Elusive, Yet there...
Lodged Deep Amidst
A Stack
of Most Important Things
She does not Lose Well...
Not in terms of Games or Competition..
But the things in Her Life
That Envelop Her World.
Tough, Scrappy,
Beautiful
Oh-So Tender
Holding all things Dear
Close to Her Heart
Loss is a Place of
Deepest Contemplation
Her Memories
Are Alive
Vibrant..
Stay with Her
Immense Joy
Her Deep Well of Sadness
A Cachet of Stories
Reverberate
Expanding Outward
like Ripples in a Pond.
She does not Lose Well
The Creatures and People
That are Immersed
In Her Life
Even One Pulled Out
Leaves
Like a Building Block
A Tear
A Gap
A Hole in Her life
She does Not Forget
Or Minimize the
Pertinance of
Freindship
Love
A Moment that has
Touched Her Heart
When it is Time for
The Loss
The Breaking of Her Heart
Can be Felt through
Time
Space
Filled with Divine Wisdom
She is Able to See
All Aspects at Once.
The Purpose
The Moment
Becomes Filled
With Rainbows of Light
She will Bathe in that Beam...
Helps Guide Them Home
Knows Intuitively
She Trusts in the Divine
Finding There Solice
Amidst the Flutterings
of
Her Tender, Broken Heart.
Grief Shrouds Her
A Mystical Shawl
A Veil that Holds her Dearly
till the Pain
Becomes at Least Bearable..
Then She will
Begin
To Tell Her Stories
Once Again.
Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
I, a hyphenated Italian,
will claim Shakespeare
descended the long
Romanesque
staircase, to write
our empiric wrongs.
It's all there in the plays,
if you've a keen enough eye
to catch these things,
and his name has cachet,
while mine needs
a laureled bling.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 8:36 PM UTC
Love's letters clattered in currents
Winds curled to stillness,
in a talus of potpourri,
Season totem, a cluster of hope,
waiting
For one match pulled and struck,
To scare the ghosts from the pyre.
In a choke of smoke
from sweet attar,
Loves heat fans
the embers within
the hearts own fire.
So many words
wrenched from mouth
and wrought from hand
Contortions,
twisted spoken grip,
we strip the evergreen needles
from the bough
and let them fall from the fist,
Sprinkling fir
To the earth as grist.
Had not a sentence stretched from
pulsing ink well
by plume to parchment, or
from warm breath of lip’s beseech
What then of our night would say,
And of our day to listen.
If we do not dare with deeds to fly
Then the falling never ends,
And poem, eternal, ne'er to begin
Loves expression, not its desire,
Is the cachet
to which both life and death aspire.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
I'm sick of bringing welcoming baskets to my brain-dead neighbors;
They reek of reoccurring favors and fading candle labor;
I mean...
It's to a point I fell asleep by the wishing well;
And woke up counting sheep frolicking piggies playing kiss and tell;
Debunking trumpets of cachet telekinesis;
I'm a hidden sinning villain with chewable junk as his personal Jesus;
Evade gratuitously from all kinds of communication;
Never wanted the attention, but I caught it's contamination;
And my face melted;
But kept a defunct smile just in case;
I need to worm through the dross and cut myself into the chase;
I'm a motley of misinterpreted mayhem;
A clothing shop for a wandering vagrant's cloudy stray phlegm;
Trying to comfort the uncomforted;
My life is just a Death Row inmate's last words with unwanted conjunctions;
But somehow through misery
I pride myself imageless and infinite;
Reeling in the years to blow that last smoke before the finish;
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
*Love birds were they
Tamed in different cages
She, in the cage of caste
He, in the cage of cachet
Never did the owners knew
Holding hands together
Can bring them both
The caste and cachet
Adding the pith of love
Lack of courage in facing it
Love birds surrender
Themselves to death*
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
Fable XIV, Livre V.
Sur la cire brûlante imprimons une image ;
Elle s'y fixera d'autant plus fortement
Que le cachet si mou dans le premier moment
En se refroidissant se durcit davantage.
Leçon pour nous : par un outrage
Avons-nous blessé notre ami,
Et du mal dont il a gémi
Voulons-nous effacer jusqu'à la cicatrice ;
Qu'au plus tôt il soit réparé,
Avant qu'en son cœur ulcéré
L'amitié se refroidisse.
854
She does not lose well...
She will not forget.
It will haunt her,
the favorite pencil..
tip softened perfectly,
A paw, pushed it
somewhere to a secret spot.
Out of her vision...her reach.
A peice of paper elusive, yet there...
lodged deep amidst
A stack
of most important things.
She does not lose well...
Not in terms of Games or Competition..
but the things in
her life
that Envelop
her world.
Tough, Scrappy,
Beautiful
and Oh-So Tender.
Holding all
things dear and
close to her heart
Loss is a place of
deepest contemplation
for her.
The memories she has stored
through her life
stay alive,
stay vibrant,
stay with her
The immense
joy shared.
Her deepests sadness;
A cachet of stories
reverberate within her heart,
expanding outward
like ripples in a pond.
She does not lose well.
The Creatures
and People
that live within the wholeness of her being...
Even One pulled
out leaves,
like a building block,
a gap, a tear,
a hole in her life.
She does not forget,
Or minimize the Pertinance of Love,
Friendship
A moment that has touched her heart.
Forever an imprint upon her consciousness.
She is permeated with knowledge... the essence of all things.
When it is time for The Loss,
The breakng of her heart can be felt through all time
and space
Being filled with divine wisdom and insight, She is able
to see all aspects
at once.
The Purpose.
The moment becomes filled with rainbows of light.
She will bathe in that Beam...help guide Them Home
.
She knows how.
Knows intuitively what course will
be taken.
She trusts in the Divine. Her piece of solice, amidst the flutterings of her most tender,
broken heart.
The history, the moments. Living memories, are paramount in the connection she has with All.
She does not lose well.
Her grief shrouds her, a mystical shawl.
A veil that will hold her dearly
till the pain is at least bearable..
Then she will
Begin
To tell her stories
once again.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 3:13 AM UTC
Que me veux-tu, chère fleurette,
Aimable et charmant souvenir ?
Demi-morte et demi-coquette,
Jusqu'à moi qui te fait venir ?
Sous ce cachet enveloppée,
Tu viens de faire un long chemin.
Qu'as-tu vu ? que t'a dit la main
Qui sur le buisson t'a coupée ?
N'es-tu qu'une herbe desséchée
Qui vient achever de mourir ?
Ou ton sein, prêt à refleurir,
Renferme-t-il une pensée ?
Ta fleur, hélas ! a la blancheur
De la désolante innocence ;
Mais de la craintive espérance
Ta feuille porte la couleur.
As-tu pour moi quelque message ?
Tu peux parler, je suis discret.
Ta verdure est-elle un secret ?
Ton parfum est-il un langage ?
S'il en est ainsi, parle bas,
Mystérieuse messagère ;
S'il n'en est rien, ne réponds pas ;
Dors sur mon coeur, fraîche et légère.
Je connais trop bien cette main,
Pleine de grâce et de caprice,
Qui d'un brin de fil souple et fin
A noué ton pâle calice.
Cette main-là, petite fleur,
Ni Phidias ni Praxitèle
N'en auraient pu trouver la soeur
Qu'en prenant Vénus pour modèle.
Elle est blanche, elle est douce et belle,
Franche, dit-on, et plus encor ;
A qui saurait s'emparer d'elle
Elle peut ouvrir un trésor.
Mais elle est sage, elle est sévère ;
Quelque mal pourrait m'arriver.
Fleurette, craignons sa colère.
Ne dis rien, laisse-moi rêver.
915
My technoscribbles haven't all cachet;
A mother hen on Friday farts an egg.
Even a swill of parlance has a say
When maple roadmaps varicose a leg.
A skinnydipping nakedest remote
Viewer that loons a dreaming skims a pond
Fractals a nascent green and gleimous note
Hanging athwart with someone's else's blonde.
Take heart. The fish have lungs and breathe the air
Of a new day when everyfish can ***
With or without a whiff of underwear,
Though salty tears are sweetest 'neath the sea.
Milfs are a pack of pickleballing hots
Playing to win a plate of tater tots.
*
Aug 3, 2024
Aug 3, 2024 at 7:18 PM UTC
now there are echoes now hear silence fall
along with sunset all across the hill
for one short moment shadows on the wall
seem like the symbols of gigantic will
writing in darkest inks the coming night
not as despair but as remaking right
there is so much to do so much to say
our choices not so clear at end of day
but this is duty we are bound to cope
with all the tasks and burdens on our way
for we have nothing if we have not hope
we're told the journey's never for the small
and we don't doubt it there's a monstrous bill
that must be paid and horrors will befall
those who can't argue with sufficient skill
against their masters those with honest sight
have some good chance of seeing the new light
while those whose strategy is to delay
may find there are some other costs to pay
and twists and turns on the trip up the slope
but no great monsters that we'll need to slay
for we have nothing if we have not hope
on crest of mountain there's a merry hall
and those who get there do not come to ill
yet there's no triumph that would be so small
a payment for the effort and goodwill
that we put in nor are we folk of might
to carouse and rejoice on the warm height
just actors in one scene of a long play
torn between tragedy and cabaret
happy enough to have some towels and soap
to clean up at the end of a long day
for we have nothing if we have not hope
prince you may think that we have gone astray
stepped out of line and lost all our cachet
but there's a lot of play left to our rope
we will be watching for the sun's first ray
for we have nothing if we have not hope
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 4:57 PM UTC
Ma muse est une mère poulpe italienne
Ascendant méduse kabyle
Ses tentacules sont des bras de mer interminables
Pour prétendre être l'objet du désir
De cette dame au coeur en éternelle couvaison
Pour prétendre dérober le coeur
De cette diva enrobée de charmes
Il faut être juste un homme vrai et honnête
Une personne simple et honnête
Un maxim'homme de collection
Localisé à vingt kilomètres grand maximum.
Un énergumène simple et honnête
Spécimen rare du règne mâle,
Un bibelot de chair, d'os et de sang,
Un prototype de papier bien mâché
Qui pratique la randonnée,
La cuisine et partage sa passion
Foetale pour le règne animal.
Bref un phénomène tout simple,
Tendre et goûteux et iodé dans l'idéal
Qu'elle cuisinerait à feux doux avec ses airelles,
Un vrai de vrai,
Un authentique,
Un certifié, cachet de la poste faisant foi,
Un preux sanglier caméléon de pré salé
Sans peur et sans reproche,
Telle est la recherche de ma muse
Kabytalienne.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 2:17 AM UTC
I van a try to describe while sitting on me ****
how he oh bomb in lee rages with gnashing teeth
while back a slump
blasting Democratic nomination as a sham – man
from special interest pump
he, the epitomy of crass bloviation,
a malignant lump
whose rants sans presidential outcome a sham bull
with his millions beds this, that
and another woman to ******** jump
disseminating gene pool –
birthing more quackers and additionally doth ****
the mass media as some foolhardy charade
and caricature of a frazzled grump
this arboreal clothed ape erecting
Taj Mahal ******* symbols where players dump
and gamble away hard earn cash for his kitty,
as if that cachet to grind and bump
lambasting with that maniacal leering pout
while hair *** of red bulls
atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed
heady measly shaped Muppet
dis eased cranial hologram of a cretaceous,
facetious and insidious mump!
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC
God shows us love
God shows us kindness
God shows us righteousness
••••True he deliver's us from sin
Use words of recherché
Which has God's cachet
That is how God would like us to be
••••True he delivers us from sin
We have all lied, insulted, and planned animus malice
Felt angered, bitter, and resentful emotions
••••Oh what a God-awful feeling
Praise the venture Jesus died for our sins
Thank God for every word in the scriptures
••••True he delivers us from sin
____Amen_____
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
God shows us love
God shows us kindness
God shows us righteousness
****True the almighty God deliver's us from sin
Use words of recherché
Which has God's cachet
That is how God would like us to be
****True the almighty God delivers us from sin
We have all lied, insulted, and planned animus malice
Felt angered, bitter, and resentful emotions
****Oh what a God-awful feeling
Praise the venture Jesus died for because Jesus died for our sins
Thank God for every word in the scriptures
****True the almighty God delivers us from sin
*Amen*
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
(*In answer to Mister Truth's poem:
"https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5117352/my-poetic-slice-for-anais-is-she-really-a-true-lover-of-the-tasty-italian-triangle/" because he mused me.*)
I'm not just going to analyze pizza,
Or simply strategize about pizza.
I'll romanticize, evangelize and tantalize with pizza.
Because, honestly, I actually fantasize about pizza.
Papa Johns, Pizza Hut, Dominoes
Euuw, please, none of those
Garlic Crust? That’s a must.
Parmesan? Bring it on.
Anchovies? None for me.
What about cheese in the crust?
The whole idea leaves me nonplussed.
Ham and pineapple - that's just satire.
I say, “spare garlic and spoil the vampire.”
If that makes me hard to kiss - tight juju - I embrace my bliss.
Sausage or pepperoni, That's your question?
Put 'em together! That's my suggestion.
A simple cheese pizza has a timeless cachet,
but sometimes I take my pizza all the way.
And yes, I’ll still respect them the next day.
What? You put it in the microwave?
“Ok, you - be on your way!”
ring ring What, you’ve got pizza leftovers?
Ooo, baby, unlock the door, I’ll be right over!
.
.
matters of the heart by lovlaine
Overthinking IT by WILLOW
Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 2:23 PM UTC
launched Meghan Markle into royalty
American divorcee
catapulted from “AA” to “Zed”
at break neck speed, and with cachet wed
Prince Harry, and soon
twill begetting, bestowing,
and bewitching her
chromo somal thread
(complementing, furthering, and
weaving together "Quod Erat
Demonstrandum", or QED
for short) within United Kingdom
coat of arms, perhaps
naming the first heir Ned,
and according one online
dictionary definition and ken
translates as French
(Old English) name Eadmund,
meaning rich or happy,
and protective akin
to a mother hen,
not just mollycoddling
hatchlings, but even
shelling out care
on a wing and a prayer
long after offspring
fly the coop and been
fending for themselves,
perhaps merely earning
chicken scratch wage,
assigning doomed fate,
sans cooked usage
if perchance "chick(s)"
go thru a foul stage
within their duff
fenceless hierarchy,
where pecking order doth rage
worse case scenario, would presage
finding errant peep(s)
sent to gaol,
not much bigger than a bird cage,
unless they comprise
noble henny age,
ideally taken in as a pet
by newly bridled
Duchess of Sussex
treated like totally
tubularly true blue blood
with opulent accommodations
(cheaply) tricked out
with life size Tyrannosaurus Rex
(spoiler alert: actually done
with special effe Hex
with latest computer graphics
showing rippling reptiles flex
sing and holo
graphic smoky mirrors)
intending "FAKE"
balances and checks
to boondoggle aggressive paparazzi,
one of whom includes
Meghan Markle's ex.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC
Dans mes jours de malheur, Alfred, seul entre mille,
Tu m'es resté fidèle où tant d'autres m'ont fui.
Le bonheur m'a prêté plus d'un lien fragile ;
Mais c'est l'adversité qui m'a fait un ami.
C'est ainsi que les fleurs sur les coteaux fertiles
Etalent au soleil leur vulgaire trésor ;
Mais c'est au sein des nuits, sous des rochers stériles,
Que fouille le mineur qui cherche un rayon d'or.
C'est ainsi que les mers calmes et sans orages
Peuvent d'un flot d'azur bercer le voyageur ;
Mais c'est le vent du nord, c'est le vent des naufrages
Qui jette sur la rive une perle au pêcheur.
Maintenant Dieu me garde ! Où vais-je ? Eh ! que m'importe ?
Quels que soient mes destins, je dis comme Byron :
"L'Océan peut gronder, il faudra qu'il me porte."
Si mon coursier s'abat, j'y mettrai l'éperon.
Mais du moins j'aurai pu, frère, quoi qu'il m'arrive,
De mon cachet de deuil sceller notre amitié,
Et, que demain je meure ou que demain je vive,
Pendant que mon coeur bat, t'en donner la moitié.
323