"capriciousness" poems
The ground bubbled neath, February's awakening
stoic crocuses stood water deep,
so that capriciousness was revealed
The fill ***** over flowed.
So certain the path walked
she wove aconites into her hair
to unghost the prevailing snowdrops.
The dogwood a resplendent beacon
vies to complete the cycle .
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
I crave human affection as much as
a flower demands photosynthesis
hiding beneath a shaded tree. It has
no control over capriciousness
from the sun.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
Rodin: My love, I am on my knees facing your beautiful body. My mouth is drinking your fire. I ***** us in stone. We are indissoluble.
Camille: I am heaven and hell. I am goddess and fire. You are my chauvinistic art-boy concubine.
Rodin: My dear Camille, can you not see my love for you is rooted in passion not stone or clay or bronze? Can you not feel my tongue lapping at your feet?
Camille: Foolish man. My feet are broken. I walk over you on stumps.
Camille leaves for England. Rodin follows.
Camille: You are boring.
Rodin: My love, can you not see that I am in a depressed mood. Can you not see that your capriciousness plagues me?
Camille: I love another.
Rodin: How can you say these things to me? I give you my heart. I give you my soul. I give you my artistic genius!
Camille: You’re right. You are a genius.
Rodin: Shall I write us up a contract?
Camille: As long as you don’t touch me.
Camille and Rodin return to Paris separately.
Rodin: It has been written. I will mentor you, write you in newspapers, place you in museums, and find you buyers.
Camille: You will not love another? You will spurn all but my art?
Rodin: I will. And you will marry me in return.
Camille: …
Rodin: Is there something wrong, my love?
Camille: Can you not see I am being facetious?
Rodin: My dear, you are my flora and gaiety. You are my chisel and stone. You are my breath and lungs.
Camille: Learn how to breathe without me.
Camille exits. Rodin crumples at the feet of Eternelle Idole.
Rodin: What have I done wrong?
Camille re-enters, her hands caked in clay.
Camille: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Rodin: Shall I get the handcuffs?
Camille: No. The lion’s cage.
Strong tides and wet fuchsias. Camille enters the cage forever.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
Somewhere between eggshells and landmines
Were the creaking floors upon which I played
Carefully, for her wrath could be detonated
At a footfall, just a bit too heavy
From a word uttered under the breath
A mess left too long in the sink.
But her embrace was warm,
Wrapping around me like sheets from the dryer
And when she put on pause her own life
To tend to me at my sick-bed,
Her eyes showed only tender love.
“My baby goat,” she would say, affectionately,
And leave a kiss upon my feverish brow.
She is a living contradiction, my mother:
Churning disapproval shattering the gleam
That she put into the hopeful eyes of a child
Just a moment before.
I lived in perpetual uncertainty,
Never knowing which mother I might see next:
The raven or the hen.
And now she looks at me with disappointment,
Wondering aloud why her children fear her.
Her capriciousness eroded away any trust
And much of the fondness as well
Her hot-blooded adoration
And her ice-cold tantrums
Have mixed so long now
All that is left is
Lukewarm like the bathwater
Left over from when the
Baby was thrown out.
Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 7:16 PM UTC
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one’s going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest ******* made aware.
3k
Quite admirable , awe-inspiring , a divine piece of manufacture
It’s capriciousness is an equivalent of swooning of rapture
This carpet conveys itself as flawless , the fragrance is pleasant
The glossy finish generates a yearning to have it present
The blissful texture is mesmerizing , subject to perfect knitting
Not to mention it’s size is perfectly fitting
~
Though the alternative side seems worn and tattered
And the fabric surrounding is scattered
There are pockets and splits
There are strewed fiber bits
Along the edges are multicolored spots
And the yarn had formed knots
~
At that point the onlooker would become flustered helplessly
Were they to take it into their tenancy ?
Sure it was depleted
And maybe it was slightly untreated
Though it was equally handsome
Despite it’s opposing filthy expansion
~
Then the beholder would ponder a tad
And realize the flaws weren't so bad
They were to be contemplated abnormally
Though as well stood out morbidly
The allotment seemed now suitable
And each side was mutable
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
All the things you've said
that have struck me down the most
were said as nonchalant utterances,
or disguised as whimsy and play.
But those are the ones
that dig in the most,
drill into my core
until I'm so ****** off and hurt
I want to spit your venom
right back at you.
Your words work their way
slowly through my system,
steadily poisoning my thoughts.
And it's the worst when I'm alone,
with only my now-tainted mind
for company.
Problem is, sometimes
I feel that same loneliness
with you right beside me.
So, despite your ardent claims
to the contrary,
I'm quite unsure of your ability
to handle my capriciousness
for the long-term.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
Her heart holds Him, but her hand aborts.
Searching for confirmation of a better world,
She prays to discern it, but without worship.
A believer she is, yet still fully skeptical.
She deciphers reflections from the gnostic,
The reality from the deceptive.
And hoping to fully and optimally filter the fictive
She dances with Him, going solely with the wind,
To wherever His capriciousness takes her.
She bows upon His whim.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 11:22 PM UTC
"You won’t affect me,
I’m in control”
The words that stoked the embers
Long ago-
laziness, my wife
****** it all over
and ambition, my father
abandoned his son
the dogma rewrote itself
before my brother, conviction
was convicted of capriciousness
-my family was lost
Death is a powerful thing
it’s transcendence, one could say
and when the future dies
the present is lost in disarray
to think so lightly of the end
is foolish, arrogant, in fact
If a ******* wishes to die,
does he curse the world or the ones that fed him to it?
there is a lot of hate going around
hate that can’t be absolved simply by love
this ******* is hell spawn
It takes will to overcome fear
not courage or bravery
vanity words for a vain republic
getting plastered on screens worldwide
yeah that’s it… overcoming fear
Becoming it
What more can money buy?
A new life? A new dream?
A reset button?
Unlikely
A simple barter on the divine sale
ideals don’t come without risks
the higher the horse, the longer the fall
but that’s not the case at all
the highest one here gets to buy **** IT ALL
the ultimate get out of jail free card
But I’ve already gotten way off track
Either way,
you won’t affect me
I’m in control.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
You came in and abruptly fit,
Making the candles all lit;
Sharing your inner wits,
A bit like my first aid kit.
I'd loved you much,
Like a child of my future;
Your goods and bad and such,
Enlightening me on being mature.
But perhaps we didn't have
An actual camaraderie.
Incompatibilities,
My free wills
and your austerity;
My acerbity,
and your hesitancy.
Your capriciousness
and your harshness
is too much to take,
even for my own sake.
It's such a paradox of me
to give up on people,
but there's a wisdom I've yet to see,
surely in all of this there's a couple.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 1:44 AM UTC
There is something in her
youthful capriciousness.
An eager vitality pushing out,
but each movement steeped
in a tender pride;
forced awake in sudden
flares of anger.
To see those brushstroke fingers,
long and carved like talons
as they paint themselves white
in clenched frustration.
To see those dark eyes;
ripping towards and
through you in
sharpened rage.
There is something in that
youthful capriciousness.
Love comes quick as hate;
anger and happiness
lined shoulder to shoulder.
To see those cautious hands,
soft and stubborn,
pulling waves across
your skin.
To see those endless eyes;
telling you everything
she never could quite
find words to say.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
It’s not just the hearts
That they’re breaking
Or the MS-13s
In the making
Because of the
Family structures they’re shaking
By their Zero Tolerance
Immigration undertaking
It’s the capriciousness
Of the things that they’re doing
Not to mention the color
Of the families they’re ********
That lets us know
There’s a reckoning brewing
Because the whole world
Is in on the viewing
Men and women
Who have children
Yet their hearts are numb
Will reap the famine
That has yet to come
Who will be spared?
Not one single one
Because of the awful things that they’ve done
Is there a black market
In parentless children?
And are we complicit
In trying to fill them?
With new immigrants,
We refuse to accept
Because we’ve become
Morally bereft
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
Crafted cleverness
full of capriciousness
a song to sing
of solemn sailing ships
a smile
a laugh
at little expense
thoughts of many
thoughts of few
and more filling food
and that
which helps
me sleep
at night.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
I can feel my halo
Dimming
I can feel my tolerance
Slimming
I can feel my sanity rot in this
Forever stagnant state I'm
Sitting
I can feel the madness
Ripping
Holes of confusion in my
Heart
I can feel the courage crawl to
Fool me alone in the
Dark
But where the
**** am I?
Search for shadows in the light
So easily could I just hate
But I suppress what none dare take
Let the tears soften the break
Coping illudes as release
I pray for the real fall
I pray to end it all
They say to get it off my chest
Let my burdens find some rest
But I take comfort in the hope
One day my cares will *******
Choke
I could feel you spitting every
Insolent complaint
Hammering like nails in my
Tolerance
I swallow hard
Push down impulsiveness
Caution can be a burden
Praised as wisdom's yoke
Yet, so can capriciousness
So I sit back and choke
So where the
**** am I?
Anxiety is too **** high
So easily could I just break
But an act of risk
The fence won't take
Just sit there and
Equivocate
Coping illudes as release
I pray for the real fall
I pray to end it all
They say to get it off my chest
Let my burdens find some rest
But I take comfort in the hope
One day my cares will *******
Choke
Sitting pretty on the fence
Next to indecisiveness
And he tells me
"Here, there is no right or wrong. In the grey is where you belong."
So I look to either side and
They're all living their lives
Doing what they feel is right until they die
And here I am alone
Wasting away as I
Erode
And I realize I'll never
live at all.
So who the
**** am I?
Risk is the breath of life
So easily could I just wait
Second guess and hesitate
But there's no freedom in a place
Where coping illudes as release
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 2:09 AM UTC