"callowness" poems
dust has collected in this once filled room of my mine
it's floated and settled on the last few things left behind
spellbind
windchime
now i can say this empty space is all mine
8 years of pacing this room
8 years of shouting at the moon
8 years of sleeping til noon
just to ignore the fact I meant nothing to you
so much anger has made home in my bones
the way you used to speak about me felt like being casted with stones
I used to try and drown out your tasteless, colorless tone
you type "she's dramatic" in a text on your phone
I expected this feeling of indifference to feel free with no stop lights
yet this empty space
and this empty mind
coincide
with what I've known this whole time
that all too familiar feeling of restlessness has come to an end
and even though there are still memories burned into my head
I don't believe I have anything else left unsaid
I envied your callousness
I despised your self-righteousness
and i ached at your lack of consequence
what caught your eye was never my elegance
but rather my callowness
as the ice in your drink swirls and melts
and you're blaming me besides everyone else
as your anger starts to swell
just remember it was me who wasn't treated well
we can keep our heads down while our eyes meet on the street
while you pretend I don't resemble meadowsweet
and that we never danced in my kitchen with me on your feet
but
to be honest
in the end
we were always offbeat
when you chose to secede
I found you to not be an aesthete
if you could agree
to be without me
this story is begging to no longer be told
so maybe I'll revisit this time of my life when I've seen how my life will unfold
til then my king is fallen on this chess board
my feelings are buried far past the sea's shore
and I've finally
stopped keeping score
Feb 25, 2022
Feb 25, 2022 at 2:02 PM UTC
Okay guys, this is going to be a romantic poem as I was in a fresh mood after I woke up. I dreamed about my ideal girl and in this poem I'm going to describe her.
The Kohl In Her Eyes
The Bangles In Her Wrists
The Anklets In Her Legs
Are All Golden
The Sweetness Of Her Choice
The Mellowness Of Her Voice
The Callowness Of Her Rejoice
Are All Elven
The Divinity In Her Face
The Uniformity In Her Grace
The Words In Her Praise
Are All Woven
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 6:10 AM UTC
Okay guys, this is going to be a romantic poem as I was in a fresh mood after I woke up. I dreamed about my ideal girl and in this poem I'm going to describe her.
The Kohl In Her Eyes
The Bangles In Her Wrists
The Anklets In Her Legs
Are All Golden
The Sweetness Of Her Choice
The Mellowness Of Her Voice
The Callowness Of Her Rejoice
Are All Elven
The Divinity In Her Face
The Uniformity In Her Grace
The Words In Her Praise
Are All Woven
But in no way does this poem means to indicate otherwise about my stand about the institution of marriage. I still remain of the opinion that marriage is not for me. This is just a poem. Peace. :-)
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 2:26 AM UTC
Inward smiling as the thought just returned
Remembering the shame as advances were spurned
Still going red at the thought's recollect
No romance that time, another chance wrecked.
Ah adolescence and all the things new
The callowness is borne like a fedora askew
The so spotty face that we tried hard to hide
By growing our side-burns enormously wide.
And now decades later and still happy in love
With the woman who always fits me like a glove
Those teenage angst years are now way in the past
But we have to go through them for the now things to last.
To be loved for decades is a wondrous thing
My heart wakes each morning and just starts to sing
For my love lies beside me as we welcome the day
In my heart I now realise it was always this way.
©Joe Wilson - My love lies beside me 2014
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
We were so submerged in each other's minds that we'd forget about the world around us.
We'd burn the days away until every fragment of you knew every fragment of me
and I could locate your freckles, as if they were my own.
Darling, it's only been a month,
and yet we were so young.
But it appears that we've outgrown our callowness,
and can never cross paths in the way that we used to.
We became lukewarm too fast.
You're telling me you don't understand,
but darling, you don't make sense,
You make messes.
We were so disoriented by each other's lips that we'd get drunk off of each other's presence.
We'd dream the days away until every ounce of me felt the need to regain its equilibrium because you'd send me spinning.
Darling, it's only been a month,
and yet we've grown so old.
But it appears that we left our alignment in your sheets,
for we felt too much too fast until we overflowed with tepidness.
You're telling me you don't understand
but I don't make sense,
I make mistakes.
We'd so frequently be in each other's heads that we suffocated whatever we could have been.
We'd forget that fire needs oxygen to thrive until the light in my eyes dimmed to minuscule sparks.
Darling, it's only been a month,
and yet we are so cold.
And it feels like winter all the time in the midst of spring,
For we were a flame that blew itself out.
You get it.
We don't make fire,
We make wind.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
Oh, migrant solemnity
Take away this moment of horror
From us who wear wool socks
Who present expansive expositions
Within seven seconds
Who replicate Roman gluttony
VIPs of the vomitorium
And **** room
Remove this curse
From which we suffer
A morning of obligation
Expel our fright
Of the morning
Clear away the white light
Millions of beams
Of metamerism
Us
Them
We and our igneous
Lapardian bed
Our feet, callowness
And our shed
Composed murmurs
Delicate sternness
Will reject them
We were once facetious
Had condescending ways
They'd believe us
And remained stranded on unmapped cays
We have yet to gain
The downpour
The desert desires
But have been cast and thrown
Unforgiven and disowned
Enslavement resides in hungry empty pockets
With politics and corporation cracking the whip
In this oligarchy, capitalist catastrophe
Backed by a national
Dry spell
We're laying face up
On the floor of the ocean
Floating to the top
Of a wine glass
We've done what we could
What have you done to us
Here we go
Cold
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
Neither Ghost
nor Father
nor a Sun
But still a 3-in-1,
with a flash of lightning
laying
scarred between
them eyes
All together
yet always alone
Standing behind a dais
on Zoom
invoking with the one good 20/20 between them,
broadcasting words into being,
manifesting Hitlerian spells
to bewitch and
to squander
the True Tales
of a Plummeting Icarus Struck Down
wingless
(but not forgotten)
by some transcendental debasement.
Admire as 'They yet She' reel a bit,
employing a well-worn
tactical maneuver,
now, getting steady,
holding on ever tighter
to the wood.
These my w.c.fieldsian barkers
who share a predestined
and enflambed
yet glorious
lavender-tinged
third eye,
with little specks of gold,
surrounding...
Inspired,
Transported,
'They yet She' look to be pinning it down
This very specific Message
from the Heavens,
straight.
'They yet She' are converging
and this should be
your takeaway
So kind of pay attention,
Please.
"'The Lord sayeth unto me
that all Men are Fools,
given to wanton callowness'
To which i reply:
'If only they would look
into the cavity,
and reach deeply and far-flung
to grasp, or rather,
to treasure
just one of a myriad of
interchangeable
divine possibilities
For within the obscurity
rests
The Glory
of All
or Nothing
and back again
for Eternity;
the Eight laying down
to rest,
tired.
And so ends The Lesson.'
To which the Lord replied
'Well done U!'
and better still,
'They yet She' intoned,
satisfied
with a sly, flyaway wink
'I know!'"
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC
There have been times that have been trying;
been times I’ve felt like dying,
and, sure as hell, there has been crying
but isn’t that what teenage life is all about?
about the pain,
about the tears;
the callowness of younger years,
half broken hearts,
& half free souls,
& feeling like we’re never whole.
'Cause enough is never quite enough,
when you’re faced by the obscene;
the mean, green, in-between.
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 4:28 PM UTC
anomalous, employing confidence despite artlessness,
effortlessly emending residual callowness.
seldom forgetting to find the time and peace of mind
to wield my puerilism as a social chisel,
avoiding parergies, attempting to carve out a balance
in between conscious frivolity and daily drivel.
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 9:08 AM UTC
Pre somnabulation
I would taste the breeze
tease
the dew-lit louche
revealing airborne revelations
tingle,
soft of foot, divining
cool uncomplication
drinking deeply of
the hill-born wood
contented
in
passive eccentricity,
I celebrated unison
a humbling becoming
only dignity condones
When transitory laxity
forgave my foreign callowness
I took the private brook
to where the quiet rooks row home..
Oct 14, 2023
Oct 14, 2023 at 5:38 PM UTC