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Mikaila Feb 2014
Was there ever a time when lovers sat outside of windows and played lyres,
Or were those only stories dreamed up by romantic minds-
Too daring by half
But still not nearly daring enough to do the things they sang about?
If I threw pebbles at your windowpane, you would tell me to go back to sleep.
Darling, what is that? How do you love someone, nowadays?
With roses and chocolate,
Or is even that too much, in modern times?
What is this casualness, a...
Casualty?
I feel.
And I would stand outside your gate all night and sing to you,
Had you a gate and had I a voice.
But this world is... different than I expected.
And I don't know how to love you, it's true.
"Make me a willow cabin at your gate
And call upon my soul within the house.
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud, even in the dead of night.
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air cry out, Olivia!"
-Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, Act I, Scene 5
Feel Jul 2014
One cold morning,
One usual Tuesday,
I awoke before the sun,
I stretched before the clouds formed,
One exact moment in the morning,
when the water met my face
and when coffee hits the nerves,
I remembered.

It was breezy and gloomy,
The wind blew calmly across,
I can feel it in between my fingers,
I can feel it on my chest
in between my shirt and my skin
as I board the seven o’clock train.

There you were walking down before me
as I wait patiently for the train tracks to roar,
I saw you in your beige jacket,
Your green blouse,
Your black laced skirt,
Your fair, fair skin,
and your black rim glasses,
that tried to hide,
but could not, the droopiness of your sleepy eyes.

I saw them all,
I feel them all,
The beauty, the casualness,
I know them all.
I see you almost every other day,
In the same train,
At the same time,
In the same barrack of steel that encapsulates
all the passion and the indifference we have about our career.

But we never spoke.

Your beauty, your casualness,
is proof that coincidences are dangerous
and fate is perhaps overrated.
I always wonder why
in the midst of all the hustle and bustle of life
we are still hiding behind a façade,
a wall,
a barricade of non-verbal stimuli.
Why are we, in the depths of our cover up,
our ego,
still not anticipating a conversation?
I assure you,
Our eyes met more than once,
But we looked away pretending that this ardor,
This obsession,
This craze and zeal,
is nothing more than a line of sight
and a blink of an eye.
But I know for sure you’ve seen me,
And I know for sure you’ve seen me
seen you,

So what lies between us is a barrage of men and women,
rushing off to their nine AM clock in.
Men carrying their brown briefcases of complexities and anxieties,
Women carrying their vibrant colored handbags of regret and rage,
All to conceal and suppress,
To obscure and to disguise
one uncomfortable conversation about the hardships of their lives.

Perhaps we could never find the courage,
Perchance we never will.
Perhaps this poem will never see its poetic justice,
Perchance it should never too.
But in case it did,
And in case we found courage,
I’d like you to know
that in my train of thoughts that are propped up of complete nonsense,
there is one clear emotional track that will not detour,
and that is to see you sitting opposite me
in that cold metal seat,
and to have you meet me in the eye
only to have the both us look away
in sheer interest
and utter ignorance.

But we both enjoy the visual flirt.
Don’t we?
judy smith Jul 2016
According to Indian designer Anita Dongre, the bridal look is not about going over the top anymore. She shared that nowadays women prefer to wear traditional outfits with a casual edge to them.

“Today, young Indian girls like to wear traditional outfits with a casual edge. We do a lot of printed lehengas with pockets,” Dongre said in an email interview. “Even if you are all decked up as a bride, your personal style should always shine through. It’s not about doing an over-the-top look anymore.”

The designer, who is not only a celebrated name in the Indian fashion industry but also a successful entrepreneur, believes that a bride must look like herself on her big day. “She should look like herself, but just more beautiful on her special day. She should feel like a princess, light on her feet, who dances at her own wedding”.

As a prelude to the Vogue Wedding Show 2016, which will be held in Delhi next month, Dongre will be showcasing her bridal collection at the event titled ‘Vogue Bridal Studio with Anita Dongre’ at the Kemp’s corner in Mumbai next week. Bollywood actor Yami Gautam will be walking the ramp as the showstopper for the event. The three-day long Vogue Wedding Show will start from August 5 at the Taj Palace Hotel.

Talking about the Vogue Wedding Show 2016, Dongre said, “The Vogue Wedding Show is on our annual calendar to start the wedding season. It is the only time that prospective brides can personally meet me. I look forward to interacting with them.” According to her, in India, couture is basically bridal couture. Dongre feels lehengas and saris are here to stay, as designers keep reinventing them. “Designers are getting more lavish with Indian craftsmanship; the traditional weaves, gota patti, zardozi and heirloom crafts,” she said.

While there is a perception that when it comes to grooms, there is not much one can experiment with, Dongre has a different opinion. She feels Indian men are a lot more open to experimenting with their looks today.

“Comfort and casualness still remain a priority though. Stitched dhotis paired with long kurtas, bandhgalas, shirts and bandis … Each silhouette can be a part of the groom’s wardrobe,” stated Dongre. “When styled well, they look modern yet very Indian.”

Having recently roped in Kareena Kapoor-Khan as a muse for her brand, the ace fashion designer believes celebrities add star power to the clothing line, but fashion does not necessarily need a Bollywood face to work.

“Celebrities are a vehicle to communicate the brand message. We are mindful of the celebrities we collaborate with, mindful of their reach, aura and the value that they will add to the brand. Having said that, I don’t think that fashion cannot work without a Bollywood face,” Dongre concluded.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses
Chris Chronister Nov 2013
Friendship requested and accepted
Avoidance seems more accurate
Constantly, I see her green dot
Excitedly, I begin to type
Benevolently, she sends a message
Openness has given way to casualness
Obsessively, I cling to words
Knowing the outcome, I profess my feelings

Nervously, I await the check mark
Ever so eager for a response
Ritualistically, I keep reading my message
Voyeuristically, I scroll through her page
Obsession has me trembling
Uncertainty controls my mind
Stop is the one word response
Namesakes who cannot talk
Excessively, I look at old pictures
Silent cries are what remain
Seeing her online breaks my heart

© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved
Acrostic poem dealing with my feelings over my separation, our literal and figurative distance, and how seeing her on-line but not being able to talk to her seemed like a metaphor for our relationship then separation.
Caroline Spooner Oct 2013
Is it your choice you're dying?
Maybe the element securing your life force is sick and tainted
Maybe the cat ***'s ammonia overwhelms you
Or maybe the gods that send you food and water have abandoned you.

Do you feel abandoned?
Left to struggle in a plastic-bounded island?
Outside you'd have natural light rain dew mist
Inside you're at the mercy of human forgetfulness
                                                 human ignorance
                                                 human casualness
a casualty of casualness.

In the end, dying isn't a choice for you.
Just do your best.
Max Hale Feb 2012
Come and keep by me
Give me the your hand of love and heart
Filled with emotion
Keep me from the days that spoil
Our marriage of minds
Here is the first of our great loves
The one and only togetherness of spirit
Clear and true and fresh like new
Make me lie down and rest
Send me the thoughts of your still mind
The casualness of your demeanour
And the demonstrations of hands
Over daily patterns showing
Push away those fears and trim your dread
Back to the endless visions and the horizons
Of a new born child
Unfettered and peaceful in the ignorance of
Daily disappointments and upheavals
Open your clear eyes and see the face of the future
Staring at you with its mask of confusion
Tear away that façade and feast your vision
On making wonderful and great strides
Ahead of our single footsteps where
Imprints in the sand calculate our pathway
We have come far in our quest as two
Into one and have become strong and justly so
Keep your face forward and don’t bend or turn
Step forward and feel the coolness of my touch
On your warm arm guiding you into
Even more love and caring
The whole world is ours and true love
Is the strength that holds us gently in its arms
Breathe deeply for the world is ours
For my Jan ***
Cody Haag Dec 2015
The casualness with which you act,
While destroying this family,
Angers and appalls
Me to a heightened degree.

Your frame of mind,
What is it, I ask?
Do you think it's okay,
Is it alright, this task?
d Aug 2013
When all the joyful casualness faded away
& the awkwardness of unfamiliarity crept back in;

that’s when I knew,
we had reached an eternal plateau.

All I could pray for was that there wasn’t going to be a backslide.
Alice Burns Jul 2013
It's like we have an understanding
But there was no agreement made
We pass each other with intentional casualness
With discreet looks and unseen gestures
And our mouths twitch for a split second
Revealing a secret smile no one else sees

My true identity is out in the open
But there was never a mask to begin with, for them to unveil
Still I stand as their captive, tied to what appears to be a tree
With their executioners aiming at an apple upon my head
A jest before whatever sentence I've been dealt
But the dumb fools' game will never end

I rest against the made up tree
Still tied, but their rope loosens with reality
And behind, hidden in shadow is the mole
Apples in hand, ready to replace the one before
The shooters eyes unable to see anything but words
And possess no brain to comprehend our fooling

It's dark here in this desolate space
Only flashes of copied light allow localization
Glimpses of ghosts drifting mindlessly
Deprived of empathy, they pass me without care
Never sharing happiness to reignite my dimming torch

But you, come to my rescue
And have countless times before
Digging into your pockets
Filled from raids of the two realities
And you pull out unseen smiles
And blow joyful breezes through my prison bars

As our bodies pass, you add flame to my torch, unseen
And the light fills what was once concealed
I look around with eyes and thought
And what i found within these shadows of daydreams is this-
Even hidden beauty can be discovered in darkness
Such as small treasures are found in life
But remember those in dream are to be forgotten
And those in life, to be kept.
PLEASE TAKE THIS LIVE YET AIM LESS, GOOGLY EYED, EARTH LINKED, HOTMAIL OF A YAHOO WANTS TO GO ON A SECRETE MSN i.e. mission. SO PLEASE HELP ME >>> JUNO WHAT I MEAN?

     scrawled about 150 years ago with me sharpest nicked n jagged finger nail while temporarily holed up in a dank damp dungeon before being rescued by scrooge.
--------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------------
      Light snowflakes danced across fuzzy lunar beams casting moon shadows of absolute delight - at least until morning the morn o Christmas broke.
     Uncle sam and partner in grime (one union jack) joined ranks to rescue me.
     This bro British gentile ben (who likes converted rice) pull went on their beat, which result equals this swift tail lord n harried style scribbling.
     As evident dis lit writ fellow enjoys bending, deploying, experimenting, gripping, illustrating karma (his) thru words.
      That then ***** (epitomized in countless burlesque chaplinesque productions, dickensian tales, oil paintings some from artistic hands of great masters and others from anonymous exquisite painters, et cetera) remembered nothing of his birth or childhood.
     My amorphous gauzy, hazy memories solely comprised fragmented collection of miserable memories, which epitomized living a hellacious hand to mouth hard scrapple existence.
     Past and now present existence seemed a worse fate than death.
     The overpowering urge to survive as one foreigner against depredations of the grim reaper found me daily fending off real and imagined threats against daily/night grind.
      Yours truly dug deep within his bony strength in an effort to mustard every last ounce of strength to avoid the skull n crossbones that tried like the dickens to ketchup with me.
     Although cursed with nefarious fate in tandem with a measly looking specimen of thee human varmint, this then grimy, grungy, rangy, et cetera looking being clung with all the might to his five foot ten inch or so tall and one hundred and forty pound body.
     I tapped into survival skills and summoned willpower to stay alive and bear this heavy cross of ***** poor poverty.
     No matter a hard-core skeptic at heart, this cynic plaintively called for divine intervention to help, this human piece of flotsam and jetsam to cope with living like a junkyard dog - name o Jim Croce.
     In essence, this ignored and shunned vagrant frequently raged against the machine and found figurative and literal lovely bones that picked at mailer demons that tormented his psyche.
     While he traipsed along the boulevard of broken dreams (before the end o September came), a torn and well-worn shoe kicked a of couple pointed items.
     One comprised colorful jagged shard that in a previous lifetime housed some cheap fermented liquor.
      Nothing but crud filled the remnant of what looked like a ***** guzzling hounds favorite drink.
     This solitary sojourner never felt drawn to drown out moi sorrows by turning to the bottle, cigarettes nor drugs (a respect for thyself existed), though an automatic reflex found ma fingers to grab this eye-catching drunkard’s lost memento and wireless device.
     This tangle of webbed, weird wired mesh constituted a dullish metallic uh object generated by ac/dc charges, which turned out to be a heavily damaged MOTORAZR phone.
     Out of some foolish embarrassed instinct, I cradled then rubbed this remnant once containing some amber liquid of the hot ***** shaped stone temple pilots of the dogs.
     In mockery against cosmic consciousness, my mouth jabbered away into the mobile phone.
     No sooner did these chafed, course and cracked fingers slide across the unbroken surface of said bottle in with my cracked, frozen and parched lips uttering some plea, a crackle, snap and pop delivered a lifelike goddess.
     The mp3 player began issuing syncopated beats indicative per some previous owner favorite play list tunes on this electronic contraption.
     This vision and auditory music definitely brought a sobered Judy e shall punch to moi cloudy sense n sensibility flush with pride without prejudice.
     I clapped mine nearly deaf ears and thence rubbed mein kempf gnarled hands across nearly blind myopic eyes.
     A maiden suddenly appeared in plain view.
    Disbelief found me as some pretender to feign acting like a beastie boy to use said cell phone and speak in a matter of fact tone of voice.
     She (in a lilting, melodic and sing song tone) responded with casualness as like a genie appears (alladin like) everyday.
     General conversation ensued (albeit fraught with a bit of apprehension and self consciousness) before the purpose of her presence became clear.
     Immediate difficulty arose to think of one wish to alleviate grievous humiliation and immersion in misery at the dog forsaken hour of 4 after midnight, yet we carried and decamped.
     Rather than blurt out the immediate favorite offering for untold riches, I surprised myself and communicated a desire for female friendship.
     A gamesome gal who would surrender herself for cries and whispers seemed more important than any pile of wealth.
     Awareness and self-actualization about my utter decrepitude appeared as immediate deterrent toward attaining a bona fide sincere relationship.
     Nonetheless, This ordinary and reasonable ambition appeared as a lofty goal.
     Self absorbed in this rambling, jangling and longing of the body, mind and heart, I quickly became oblivious to an imaged or real corporeal presence, which spurred such an outpouring toward this ostracized and unwanted vermin.
     Eyes wide shut loosened tongue in an effort to picture the escape from pernicious malady and crushing blow of an abominable lumpenproletariat existence.
     Lips shut tight prevented the woebegone loss of what appeared as some divine trickster who conjured such a muse out of thin air.
     Upon winding down this unrehearsed recitation, a painstaking effort got made to open the eyelids very slowly.
     Wanton soupy pleasure ala a side order of Lo (mein), and behold when this nattering noodle ling manifestation in the actual guise of a gorgeous gal.
     She stood still as a statue, and remained rapt with attention.
     Provenance and providence found pleasure in prattled patois.
     A promise uttered to remain as permanent lass despite many who considered this writer nothing but a wretched pestilence of earth!
     Those comedy of errors leered at this kingpin of words ceased to punctuate one anonymous life with angst-riddled tragedy.
     Pleasant great expectations found all’s well that ends well.
     My ****** innocence, naivete, and nonchalant Tommy knocking cruise across the byways, country roads, and superhighways of this awesome World Wide Web found me sequestered in seventh heaven.
     This frenzied, mad as hatter Caucasian man found himself pleasantly ensconced with a down to earth woman, who playfully grabbed, man-handled and pinned down this artfully flirtatious fellow.
     Thine force-fed (with but a feeble protest) feasts of feverish foreplay found flaccid flesh to become primed for penultimate probing in the primary female plantation in that verdant tropic of cancer.
     Merry widow and 2000th wife who dwelled in a system with Windows 98 subjected this gentle guy to pleasant uninterrupted interludes of gentle felicitous ecstasy devoid of prophylactics for greater intensity of ****** experiences.
     Each countless caress upon thy body politik sans gorgeous gal begged to be fondled ushering (from the chamber of pheromone secretes) that pined to boot for her lil hills of Rome, which miniature towering inferno of ****** exploits dwelled in my over active imagination.
Onoma Aug 2018
there's always fear on the

heels of love...who you

thought you were.

seeing the eyes of

who you'll be...just in the wait

of who you really are.

love is always more or

less love, your casualness in

finding who you think you are.

you'll lose your shoes

at the door for sure.

something wants to hold on

with the frenzied hand

of a lost child.

supremely still yet panting...

for a face that will justify

being.
Richard Riddle Jun 2016
In this era of casualness, there are four words that seem to be disappearing, going by the wayside, in our interactions with others. A shame it is, that we have started taking each other for granted. 'Four words',

Simply spoken

Heard seldom

"Thank you!"
"You're Welcome!"


richard riddle: 06-04-2016
Orchid Rose Jun 2018
dearest casual *** partner,

the surprise doesn't surprise me anymore
the short texts just don't cut it
and I'm tired of my heart feeling sore.

your habits are starting to annoy me
your body has started to change
you're pathetic and I wish you'd see

I'm over being scared to get personal
I'm over the immaturity of your brain
your presence is not good nor educational

so guess what, I'm not answering this time
you're not dragging me through depression again
take this as a warning, take this as a sign
to finally get your **** together,
refine.
Nad Simon Jul 2020
Well now this is sad and tragic
For both of us to hear
You and I at cross purposes
Ever our fate, my Dear

I just found your correspondence
Last letter that you sent
It was, I think, the final time
That you called me a friend

It was in a pile of papers
From my old mother’s house
With other cards and notes you gave
Back when we were devout

I will use these words to explain
In a way you’ll never see
That this miscommunication
Gave a wrong view of me

You sent it at a year or so
After we were finished
Within its words I sense your hope
Love not yet diminished

I think you may have mentioned it
After you came back home
When I once tried to talk but you
Walked by and wouldn't slow

A mutual friend spoke of it
Some two decades ago
And I was mystified because
I simply didn’t know

I didn’t recall the letter
Forgotten its receipt
But when I found and read its words
I recalled its described deeds

Your letter was at my mother’s
‘Cause I was injured bad
I’d had surgery and meds
With healing to be had

I received it in the doorway
Of my home at college
I tore open with alacrity
Falling from my crutches

I read part of your note that day
Then stuck it in my bag
Packed your other notes and cards
To fix the hurt I’d had

After my knee operation
Sitting up late at night
Unable to sleep sound because
Meds made my heartbeat slight

I recall being sad one eve
In Mother's modest home
Watching her little poor TV
Reviewing your slim tomes

In your letter, amazing lands!
And magical far places!
And one hundred mile per hour
Motorcycle chases!

Such experiences you had all
Through Europe’s bevelled plains!
But I in healing poverty
Felt sore lament and pain

I could not join you there, at least
Not for several years
Did you even want me to try?
You couldn’t know that fear

Your family was very wealthy
It’s hard for you to see
The lowly circumstances
That were the start of me

You never knew how bad it felt
My inadequacy
To give you that magnificence
That you deserved to be

Poor upbringing was no issue
For your generous heart
You never held it against me
Never pushed us apart

But it caused misunderstandings
From worlds so different
And my worries about it too
Increased how much it meant

I read your letter ‘til I saw
Your plans a year away
When you said with hopefulness
You’d move to Greece to stay

That is on the note's second page
I never read page three
‘Cause that's the point when I just knew
That you were lost to me

If I had read a bit further
For a lover's redress
Was hid a small request you made
In false casualness

You sought a call for your birthday
Bare affection from me
The letter asked for that action
A simple courtesy

Your year away almost over
You were soon coming back
I was thinking about restarting
And fixing what I lacked

Like truth serum the meds would have
****** away all my fight
I’d have called you...so so quickly
I’d have called you...ev’ry night

My Precious Girl, I’d have called you
There’s no way I wouldn’t
Healing slow on a pleather couch
There's no way I couldn't

I used to wish for your number
I was so ready too
I’d been pondering what we’d had
And I still wanted you

You were badly hurt thereafter
There was no getting through
Your broken heart gave a verdict
And THAT's when I lost you

It’s a tragedy in our lives
As that was your last sign
Of my lack of real love for you
And fickle boyish mind

It rankles so much in me now
Since that’s not how it was
It’s just one of those fateful things
God’s little joke on us

….

A Happy Belated Birthday
For now and all your life
I wish you joyous contentment
And love that’s free from strife

But I know something deeply in
My bones and in my soul
I know I would have called you if
I’d read your letter full

And I’d have wished you way back then
A Happy Birthday too
And I’d have told you on that call

How much I still loved you
This, unfortunately, is a true story as far as I can piece together from a quarter century later through medication-addled memory. This was a pivotal moment in my life, and I did not realize it until recwntly. Life is full of ironies and sliding doors.
Arlene Corwin Apr 2017
Going To You

I couldn’t sleep. What could I do?
I went to you.
I go as often as I can,
As often as élan emerges:
Like a spy whose operation purges,
Does not tell (well,
                 those detected and elected).
I ought to come to you more often.  
True to form you’re there to soften
In one way or t’other – like a mother.

Is it just interpretation, fancy, brain synaptic,
Watching happenings?
Often ending as I would wish they should,
Seeing failings patched, detached,
Improving slowly once they’re hatched?

If I had been born to preach,
Joined synagogue or church,
Become rabbi, Mormon, Witness, priest,
Going north, south, west and east
At least I’d feel I landed.

But I’m silent and agog,
A secret seeker through the fog of worldly turbulence
And tastes that tempt, participating in the dance
With casualness, no casualty, but taking in causality as One,
It being April one, a day of fun at fooling friends –
Supercool, I face and grace it with my presence.

Going To You 4.1.2017
God Book II; Circling Round Reality; Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin
I like to write about my universal experiences.
Sara Stasi Mar 2019
Low tide exposes
marine terraces and tidepools.
Slim brown bodies
cluster together
near the edge of the pitted mudstone.

One kneels to get a closer look
absorbed in the detail of a sea star
an anemone.

One is hesitant, afraid of the water
a wave, the slippery algae covered rocks.

One only wants to be seen, posed
hip out, knee bent, chin up
with practiced casualness.
Maahv Z Aug 2018
If i die
don't cry
or feel sorry for me
but rather
celebrate my life
my heart
my soul
it once gave away
everything; for people
people of all kinds
race, religion
color or region
it didn't stop loving..

let my life be told like a beautiful rhytm
rekindled in tears, casual smiles
lonely moments
sitting in coffee shops, just by yourself
or amidst people, in crowd..
knowing there's no one else who would hear your stories
and yet willing to take as who you are

if i die
don't feel i was miserable
because i was a life within life
a smile in laughter
a soul who doesn't trouble any
my life was a beautiful ride
and remember so is my going away
it will touch you deeply
and you will be reminded me of
in moments, in casualness
in summers, in autumn
of love, of beauty, of friendships
of relationships - of being with people
without ever asking
just don't stop feeling
because of my going away

if i die
don't cry, don't grieve
as i have moved to one place to another
so celebrate my smile in your smiles
and let my memory be like music
forever there in background
keeping you alive
and young..
Maahv Z Nov 2017
I have felt the pain
growing in my soul
like a bursting volcano
i wonder if i can hide it
in my smiles
in my casualness-- my crippled inside
why do i need people?
why do i need to reconcile
when i have my heart
that's so much more than anyone
it has capacity to take
to get broken, to sync all the sufferings
why do i care so much?
when i barely receive any?
this pain is unbearable
it took me to contact those who i didn't want to
but i did..
out of my hearts massive heartache
out of my breath's incapacity to breath
wonder, why do i feel?
i am so incapable of feeling anymore
yet,
here i am,
with my crippled soul, waiting to be heard
waiting to be wrapped in her warmth.
peter stickland Jan 2018
The Human side of Nature

John Ashbery and Janas Salk both said
There’s nothing specific for us to do;
Our wisdom arrives by necessity.
Some growing is crucial, but this we do
Inherently, just by evolution;
We can simply submit to acceptance,
Learn how to anticipate the future,
Track the rhythms of growth and submit to
Inclinations that dance fandango for
Well-being and flamenco for the cells.

We can hear through bones, as well as the ears,
And the spellbinding, multi-layered tales
Told by old shamans cultivate benign
Instincts for our future’s broadmindedness.
When frequent blunders become more acute
It is time to start swinging from the heart.  
As new loves are born, there is no need to
Immunize against the negative swoon,
The old way of judging is out, it was
Never kind to flowers or buoyancy.

Having experienced the infection,
Shun old paths and the acceptance of fear,
We’ll easily recognise the pattern
Of lethargy when connections increase.
Keep open, keep scanning, grow a thin skin,
Have a bird's eye view and a worm's eye view,
Elbow out the dominance of cash flow,
We’ve no need to carry investors.
Merge with the creative neutral misfits
Who practice positive simplicity.

Discontent expresses the driving force,  
But constant interference is the norm;
Let the next evolution process be
Upon us, in us, with us and through us.
Make affection the newfound bravery,
Multiply magnanimous attention,  
Send reasoning to the intuition’s
Department, observe the new unfolding,
Assist what’s unsupported and learn how
To breeze with time at perception HQ.

Attend wholeheartedly to unlearning,
Start giving evolution a purpose.
We’re ripe for falling steadily into
Ourselves, making each new day a life-span.
Anticipate the future; it’s fine now
To stumble upon self-consciousness.
We had wisdom, without too much knowledge,
Then we developed fear, replaced benign
Casualness with scary risk forecasts and
Stopped the good old carefree buzz from humming.

If we have no wisdom to govern the
Knowledge, let the custard pies be our guide,
They will aid the inception of slapstick.
We have the right genes for this and they will
Activate fast when people are ready;
This affirms the collective certainty
That each of us has a different purpose.
Anything is only worth the candle
If you make frisky hearts the starting point,
And celebrations of beauty the norm.
Friendship offered, warmly met
Creating such a bond
Melding a relationship
From a casualness to fond.
It all invoked a strong regard
Which built a warming grace
Incorporating responsibility
For each other to embrace
A crucible of affection,
A passion to enfold
Anticipations joy to feel
Each smiling face, as gold.
Built a nice dependence
That each other will be there
Should the slightest shadow  
intervene
To cause each other care...

But then, just only yesterday,
Where we arranged to meet
In that cutest little cafe
On that sweetest little street...
I waited for your smiling face
To happily appear
But alas, you never showed at all
Confused, I shed a tear.
Then your cellphone kept on ringing
As I tried call after call
But alas, it went unanswered
With no messages at all.
Distraught,
I caught you at your door
A distance on your face,
The coldness in your startled eyes
Cruelty
Put me in my place.
I reeled away in torment,
Sad realization sewn,
That love had flown right out the door
Leaving hurt and I,
Alone.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Thought I would delve into some ancient recollections of the tragic  superficiality of some fledgling relationships, past.
Reasons for the heartbreak range from  reluctance to commit to a realization of a differentiation of the social mix.
Reasons for a sudden and cruel abandonment rest primarily, though, on the level of personal integrity of the participants....as to whether or not they have the "chutzpah" to see it through.
Orchid Rose Jan 2018
I ponder if you ponder me
Are we both feeling this confusion?
I'd just wish you'd ask, see
Or is what I'm seeing an allusion?

I tried not to like you, I really tried
But I actually think you're the one
Who ruined the "casualness" guide
You're the one saying people **** up, ***.
Flowed, the stillness,
Flamed, the sinfulness,
Engulfed, the holiness,
Edged, the tenderness,

Lulled, the illness
Leaned, the lightness
Surged, the doubtlessness,
Sparkled, the wilderness,

Colored, the coldness,
Collided, the casualness,
Tamed, the loneliness,
Torched, the goodness,
Dumped, the steadiness,
Drifted, the faintness,
Bloomed, the apartness,
Burned, the angleness,

had I housed pieces of music
of salvation in depth
of constellation in paradise.
of darkness, of thee.
10:52 April 17, 2024. Somewhere between home and school.

— The End —