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Àŧùl Nov 2012
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
My HP Poem #9
© Atul Kaushal
Broadsky Feb 2022
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
Àŧùl Nov 2012
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. :-)
A poem composed at a time when I had my trust taken away from the institution of marriage.
My HP Poem #8
© Atul Kaushal
Terry O'Leary Jan 2019
.             <Well, ShallowMan’s ne’er at a loss>
              <for voicing shallow thoughts that gloss.>
              <With trenchant wit he reaps the dross>
              <when seeking sense in applesauce.>

              <But to his aid flies FactoidMan>
              <who always has a Fact at hand;>
              <with him, who needs a whether-man>
              <to answer “if?” or “but?” or “and?”?>

“Oh ShallowMan, let me explain
the Facts of life to you, so plain,
yet flush with truthful thoughts arcane.
When understood, you won’t maintain
that callowness you think urbane.”

                              “Oh FactoidMan, give benedictions,
                              save me from all contradictions
                              with your knowledge, no restrictions
                              finding Facts, avoiding fictions.”

“Well, when in doubt, you always may
request my help to find your way
through shades of black and white and gray,
and from the Facts you’ll never stray.
Yes, ShallowMan, I’ll make your day.”

                              “Since yesteryear I’ve wondered why
                              I’m served a piece of humble pie
                              whene’er attempting to descry
                              just what’s a Fact, and what’s a lie,
                              and which be Facts one can’t deny.
                              With candor, can you edify
                              me with some recondite reply?”

“Well, as you know, my Facts are Facts
which naught nor nothing counteracts
and things that do, mere artifacts
in dim myopic cataracts.”

“A lie’s a thing which disagrees
with Facts I utter, if you please,
and hides the forest from the trees
ignoring all my verities.”

“And this reminds me of my youth,
with axioms defined as truth
which I selected as a sleuth
(abetted by a sweet vermouth);
I being now so long of tooth,
to contradict me’s hardly couth.”

                              “That certainly helps me clarify
                              whom I can trust: yeah, you’re the guy!  
                              Now, furthermore I’ve wondered why
                              the moon can’t fall and clouds can fly.  
                              What’s called that law those facts defy?
                              And mightn’t I just give a try
                              to make a guess to verify?”

“If you link your facts to law
(ah, please excuse a gruff guffaw)
you’ll certainly flaunt a flimsy flaw
that strains belief and breaks the straw
of what you’ve heard and thought you saw.
(I‘ll leave you with some bones to gnaw
that leave you holding me in awe
when once you’ve grasped and gasped ‘aha’).
So tell me now your ideas, raw,
but keep it short, your blah, blah, blah.”

                              “Umm, could it be just gravity
                              (well, something like a theory
                              that some call Relativity)
                              which pulls the apple from the tree
                              and puts a strain upon my knee;
                              or is that fact absurdity?”

“Ahem, a theory’s just a theory,
not a Fact, it’s all so eerie,
something which should make you leery
as explained until I’m weary.”

                              “If Relativity’s a theory,
                              and a theory’s not a Fact,
                              is it a fiction I can query
                              when I’m falling, ere I’m whacked?”

“Though theories might be based on Fact,
a theory is, in fact, not backed
by any cause, effect or act
which might be salvaged when attacked.
For you, this Fact may seem abstract,
plumb depths where shallow thoughts distract.”

“Yes, what goes up must soon come down
is quite a Fact of world renown.
But theory’s just a heathen gown
to deck the naked King in town,
and when he falls, he breaks his crown
which leaves him wearing but a frown.”

“It surely should be obvious,
the property of Heaviness
(like Godliness and Heaven-ness)
defines the cosmic edifice,
refuting Newton’s flakiness
and Einstein’s spooky emphasis  
on space-time’s 4-D flimsiness.
Yes, Facts like these are copious
(I count them with my abacus);
to argue would be blasphemous
displaying mental barrenness
about the push and pulling stress
when bouncing ***** rebound, unless
one views elastic laziness
as evil Satan’s stubbornness.”

                              “Well now I think I understand,
                              that gravity seems somewhat grand,
                              but’s just, in fact, a rubber band
                              that stretches through our earth-bound-land
                              constricting us when we expand.”

“Yes, ShallowMan, you finally got it,
just as I’ve long preached and taught it.
I’m so happy that you’ve bought it.
(Not a question nor an audit -
you’re so shallow, who’d have thought it?)”

              <Once ShallowMan dipped into science>
              <seeking FactoidMan’s alliance>
              <gaining, hence, a strong reliance>
              <on the Facts and their appliance,>
              <justifying strong compliance,>
              <turning down those in defiance.>

                              “Hey, FactoidMan, another topic
                              leaves me reeling, gyroscopic,
                              dealing with the microscopic
                              in a world kaleidoscopic.”

                              “Within the realm of vacuum loops
                              Dark Energy in quantum soups
                              of anti-matter sometimes swoops
                              across inflation’s Big Bang stoops
                              where space-time ends and matter droops.
                              Do you believe, or just the dupes?

“It’s nothing but a passing phase,
(a theory that in fact betrays
obscure occult communiqués
that fevered fantasy conveys)
of those who thump creation days.
Just check! The vacuum state portrays
perfection in your shallow ways
reflected in that vacant gaze
you cast upon the dossiers
of all my Facts that so amaze.”

                              “And what about the quantum theory?
                              Particles not hard but smeary,
                              just like waves? It’s kinda eerie!
                              Facts could not be quite so bleary
                              leaving Bohr, well, sad and teary.
                              FactoidMan, just tell me, dearie,
                              what the Facts are, bright or dreary.”

                              “And then again what are those holes
                              (as black as ravens bathed in coals)
                              wherein the past and future strolls
                              exploiting fields that Higgs controls
                              beneath the shady shallow shoals
                              between magnetic monopoles.”

“The science lab’s a ‘fact’ory
concocting stuff that cannot be
(like unknown realms and notably
those tiny things NoMan can see
with naked eye on bended knee
neath microscopic scrutiny)
and claim they’ve found reality;
they call their god a ‘Theo’ry
(a fig-ment of the Yum-Yum tree)
that leads them to hyperbole
about the singularity
that’s dipped in dazed duplicity
denying all eternity.”

“Here’s my advice that seems to work:
ignore the ones with ‘facts’ that lurk
behind their ‘proofs’ (which always irk),
and being challenged have the quirk
of stepping back within the murk
(indulged, I chuckle, smile or smirk).”

              <Now ShallowMan is quite content>
              <receiving FactoidMan’s consent>
              <to quibble and express dissent>
              <as long as keeping covenant>
              <with fingers crossed and belfry bent>
              <when viewing Facts in sealed cement:>

                               “The Facts you give me circumvent
                               those ‘truths’ your chuckles supplement;
                               although they might disorient
                               they can’t be wrong, I won’t dissent,
                               just using ones which you invent.“
“(No need of source in that event).”

                               “Your wise advice is simply sound
                               in cases where a game is bound
                               to parcel points out round by round
                               or else on verbal battleground
                              where know-it-alls are duly crowned.”

              <Though ShallowMan is kinda slow>
              <he still takes time to learn and throw>
              <his facts and theories to and fro,>
              <amazing facts which seem to show>
              <that theories sometimes come and go,>
              <returning strengthened with the glow>
              <of new found facts (for which to crow)>
              <that fill the gaps of long ago.>

                               “Oh FactoidMan, just tip your cap!
                               I’ve found a piece to fill the gap
                               that simplifies a mouse’s trap:
                               if triggerless, it still will clap
                               to give the mouse a mighty zap
                               that makes its tiny back bone snap.”

                               “With mousetrap type simplexity,
                               reducible complexity
                               helps arguments’ duplexity
                               with twists of crude convexity.”

“Ha-ha! That serves to prove my case:
for each gap filled, two in its place,
each growing at the doubled pace;
for unfilled gaps, I’m saying grace
(they help, indeed, for saving face)
Trying to get out of neutral....
don't know whether I'm in first or reverse...
Joe Wilson Jun 2014
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
amt Mar 2015
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.
Tommy Johnson May 2014
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
Colleen Drennan Oct 2010
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.
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!'"
david mitchell Oct 2019
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.
A W Bullen Oct 2023
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..
once  upon-a -time

louche/ absinthe
Kate Borlasa Feb 2020
Why must you worry of my callowness?
Fearing that I may lose control and take the road of the fallen.
Why must you deem me feeble just because I am young?
Telling me that I must worry of the future and sacrifice the moment.
Why must you frown upon my footsteps?
And I wonder why you should when you have never walked on my shoes?
Elders, haven't we all been there?
Judged and warned by those who are older to only take the path the winners have taken.
We were stubborn indeed but I have learned
To live my life without their watchful eyes and sharpened tongues
You may call me a fool for taking no heed of your warnings
But this is my life
And I have to suffer it
Understand that I will never trade my experience
For your unpleasant augury.
You have been there.
You have loved, taken risks, done foolish things and taken the road of the fallen
For such is life
And no one is normal
That is why I refuse to be controlled by the seers
For life is an ache that only hurts for a moment
Pain and failure is a gift
And we must endure suffering
For such is the only way to hoard strength
We must fail and let loose
For such is the right way to experience life
Let me suffer it.

— The End —