"chaperone" poems
I awoke into a morbid dream
A shadow realm of neither form nor scheme
A subdued mirage without shimmer or gleam
A foul abomination
In this nightmarish realm of dread
Weary souls are tapped and bled
Demons feed, Spoil and spread
Like dengue in the hearts of men
This was surely a prison for the mind
Perhaps even beyond even gods reach
A place where dark kings rule and black priests preach
And life itself has been impeached
I writhed and recoiled in primordial plasma
Managing a precise thought in my horror
“Is there not some chaperone
To guide me through this hell unknown
Some charitable entity
To which I could bond eternally”
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
In Loving Honor of Joseph Wulf
R.I.P.
Christi Michaels 8-31-2015
☆●♡●☆
Tonight my friend could not breathe
Lungs ravaged from long ago
Served our country as a young man
Shoulders, hip and leg bones
broke by the jungles below
A Harley Man through and through
JFD's became his Corps
Never wavered in his allegiance
to his country or his force
One of the smartest men
I have ever known
Could recite passages from long ago
abreast of topics from far and wide
a history buff so knowlegable
A brother to many, a father to one
Devoted to all he loved
A truer friend could not be had
So very popular he was!!
Joe was my protector
as I was a wild young thing
Was my confidant and
chaperone starting at just 17
Accompanied the first date with
my husband 30 years ago
Gave his blessings that first night~
To my children he was Uncle Joe
The older brother I never had.
Blessed to love him 40 years
My whole being trembles at the
thought of losing him
I weave Love within these tears
☆●●♡●●♡●●☆
~Christi Michaels~April 2015~
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
♡●♡●♡●♡ Ode to Joe ♡●♡●♡●♡
This poem was written upon Joe entering
Hospice. His sisters provided
Constant Vigil and Loving Care.
Joe passed on 8-15-2015
This was read at Joes Military Burial
Fort Snelling National Cemetery
Fort Snelling, Minnesota
8-31-2015
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
She longed for the sea like one longed for a former time. The salty scents intoxicated her and ravished her senses. She longed to feel the current against her body as she swam forever, into the unknown. She longed for the salty fragrance of the waves to be her constant perfume, to be free of constricting corsets and constraining doctrines that bore over her like a bothersome chaperone.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
From the backbroken fliers over oceans
From between the spiny frills along palm fronds
From Mr. Happy, the chain smoking chaperone of good times
From Mr. Happy’s half-burnt **** coiled in the ashtray
From the disciples of Theravada and the skinny Buddha’s pupilless eyes scanning jocose scansions of jungle
From the tanned holy heads of students lounging in graveled football fields
From my bowl of rice at breakfast in the shade while considering western cities, you are not here
‘You are not here,’ I’ve written in my letters
‘You are not here,’ I’ve typed into e-mails immense
You are not here, my coke head pals locked in the veins of seedy nightmares
You are not here, my penniless friends who mix music in ascetic dark rooms out in Bushwick
You are not here in no eastern Central Park running naked in the night from horseback cops after hours of merciless balling in the bushes
You are not here you fair-skinned beauties in crowded alpine funiculars bearing your aquiline noses holding your hats over the mountains
You are not here my lonely mother waiting by the phone for a call at midnight
You are not here, you are not in my poems, you are not in the distorted notes harpsichorded across my crass imagination
You are not here, you will not be here, will you read my letters home?
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 6:58 AM UTC
I live in a shoe
And before you ask me any questions
Or if this a metaphor
Or try to sell me a spot in the latest **** development
Let me assure you, I most definitely live in a shoe
It is the left shoe to be exact
Worn down and some spots extra layers of duct tape
To keep out the winter cold
And when it gets icy, I have to be careful
For if I jostle it just right, the shoe can slide a couple feet
You may ask me why, when, what and how
And this is what I will say
I used to work at a school, a crossing guard in the morning
Lunch lady in the afternoon, and chaperone seeing the children off in the afternoon
And with budget cuts, my job was the first to hit the floor
And so was my pension
My retirement was limited and with no health care
It was impossible to see a doctor for my growing aches and pain
And I was left with nothing, until I came across this shoe
Abandoned and tattered, I took to fancying it up
Scrubbing it out, making it into a home
It took me a winter or two to get the insulation right
And the city has all but forgotten this area
So for now, I am safe
Before the corporate giants clamor over the countryside
Pulling up homes like weeds so they can plant their boxed in communities
I am okay in my little spot
Not long the runaways found me
In school the children always ran to me for safety, and now
Their children have found me, these lost children
We are a little family of misfits, foraging off the land
Keeping each other safe
In a world that doesn’t even care if we are alive
Mar 11, 2021
Mar 11, 2021 at 2:28 AM UTC
Who in the Owl's Mind will text the Viper
To Strike once he swoops for his Evening Meal?
You see now, how Silly is this Encounter
Like making Soap from an already Dead Seal
Such Exaggerations warrant no Fare
To guide the Limo in price for a Hackney
Yet for her Shoulder you offered to Care
Whilst laughing at this desperate Lackey
Happy for you, a Word again-and-again
Flooding your Bell-Machine to Heart's Complaint
You must stop this as I must will do then
If Virtue your Chaperone keeps his Quaint.
So, the Song plays on and I on Paper
As you Party on and I don't Matter.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
In Loving Memory
Joseph Wulf
R.I.P.
8-31-2015
☆●♡●☆
Tonight my friend could not
breathe. Lungs ravaged from
long ago. Served our country as a
young man. Shoulders, hip n' leg
bones broke by the jungles below.
A Harley Man through
and through.
JFD's became his Corps.
Never wavered in his allegiance
to his country or his force.
One of the smartest men
I have ever known.
Could recite passages from
long ago. Abreast of topics
from far and wide
a history buff so knowlegable.
A brother to many, a father to one.
Devoted to all he loved.
A truer friend could not be had
So very popular he was!!
Joe was my protector,
as I was a wild young thing.
Was my confidant and
chaperone starting at just 17.
Accompanied first date with
my husband 30 years ago.
Gave his blessings that first night~
To my children he was Uncle Joe.
The older brother I never had.
Blessed to love him 40 years.
My whole being trembles at the
thought of losing him.
I weave Love between these tears.
☆●♡●♡●☆
~Christi Michaels~April 2015~
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
☆●♡●☆ Ode to Joe ☆●♡●☆
This poem was written upon Joe
entering Hospice in April 2015.
His sisters provided
Constant Vigil and Loving Care.
Joe passed on 8-15-2015
This was read at Joes Military Burial
Fort Snelling National Cemetery
Fort Snelling, Minnesota
8-31-2015
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
Immense responsibility is ****** into life when parenthood arrives.
Unconditional love thrives,
I’ll love you no matter what told
an infinite number of times.
No blueprint available brings worry and stress,
wanting your child to flourish and grow,
not wanting to depress their ability to progress.
Always wanting to express support and care since an embryo.
The rollercoaster of life inevitably takes control and never lets go.
Child, teen, and then adult makes the parent feel time to let go and become the background chaperone.
I’ll love you no matter what.
I’ll love you no matter what.
A phrase that will never age.
A child grows but the love they felt and feel is their most preciously held ideal.
- For my Mother -
Sep 20, 2023
Sep 20, 2023 at 12:07 PM UTC
i.
Yonside the celestial, whereinto ourn
Ability to seest shalt abraid as past day's fade.
ii.
Over with ourn life-time of a wait;
iii.
Accolent being's, praise in song-
We sit as children on living grass,
Tables made for dinner's to last,
As no time wilt pass, noone shalt be
Late, predestined plates; to never be
Athirst nor hungered.
iv.
Warrior's, King's, Seraphim's, cherub's, angelic shine, O' a place
To wonder.
v.
Thou to be mine yellow rose, me to be thine chaperone on the streets of gold; feet being led by the spirit of old, with God on his throne; in the
Holy city wherein love is the
Greatest command.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated ( agapi mou)
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
how often I wish for 91 Brunswick Ave
compressed together in a claw foot,
your flesh my home
cakes baked in too shallow pans
I forget what song was playing when
you told me you loved me.
how often I wish for the freeway between
Cocoa Beach and Orlando,
a friendly chaperone asleep in the back
hands knotted thinking:
“this is ours”
how often I think of August bonfires
the terror of an international move
“you would be a day ahead of me for ten weeks”
I felt stronger than the 100-year-old ruins we were
standing in
how often I wish for The Standards,
High Line and East Village,
bacon cocktails and antiquated photobooths and
windswept harbour panoramas
my insubstantial voice begging
“don’t turn the red light off,
I need you to see where my bones shattered
and pierced my skin”
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
I do not evade
Nor shun
Visions crude
That come to aid
My drafting pen
And chaperone
To creativities den
Cause I know
Yes I know
My darkest thoughts
Will form a poem
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
With the moon, as our chaperone,
for miles, the beach, is ours alone.
Your hands, rest, within my hair,
holding me, enraptured there.
While you feast upon my lips,
waves, about our ankles, slip.
Their caress, is smooth and soft,
while yours, leave me wanton, lost.
The ocean breeze, cool and light.
Yet, I am afire, now, this night.
Time, stand still this night, I plead.
For more of him, I do greed
This, the first time, beneath moonbeams,
of summer love, I feel the steam.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 10:56 AM UTC
within the silence of your mind
the wind breathes-
Butterflies dance-
Bees chaperone the mating of flowers.
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 11:21 AM UTC
Dearest Little Snot
While you are a dinosaur princess reigning supreme over the sandbox with your iron fist perfectly chipped glittery pink fingernails
I want to tell you a few things before you saunter off into adulthood…
the day you were born there was the most beautiful messy thunderstorm
the world cried tears of joy upon your arrival
that’s how I know
God does exist
dangling in the innocent sparkles of a child’s glance
speaking
to you
with each beat of your pumping heart
FYI
when life’s pain makes you want to retreat into the arm of the sofa with a lifetime movie and processed frozen sugar
throw that ***** arrows instead of tantrums
and never forget that you can indeed stop celestial bodies from obscuring your view of the sun
never forget that his world ultimately revolves around your shapely hips
don’t forget to taste the world with your heart open
and chew with your mouth shut
and taste everything and I mean everything
and if it tastes bad
try it again later
keep your dreams close to your heart in an ammunition belt strapped across your chest and be a warrior for your sunshine
but don’t worry about it when the sun don’t shine
because your sunshine will illuminate your dreams
and its okay
if
high school sweethearts don’t stay together forever
or
get back together after forever
to rekindle romances conceived in cafeterias or gym school dances when even a chaperone or Daddy can’t tear them apart
and sometimes the spiral notebook dreams of forever lovers and eternal BFFs never quite unfold from the tight origami wide ruled universes they were conceived at
Believe that
and fancy this you little snot
I’m always going to be bigger than you and smarter than you and win at punchbuggynopunchback
But you are greater than the power that created you
so don’t forget that.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
My then boyfriend
Now husband
Never forgave you for putting your hand on my thigh,
Casually mentioning the ******* beaches in the south of France.
Your daughter needed a chaperone on your family’s upcoming vacation.
You went and I stayed of course
The ******* beach all the poorer for my absence.
I am not the kind of girl who
Finds herself at Disney Paris at the end of the movie.
That’s not the way this movie ends, anyhow.
12 years later
One lung lighter
Tens of millions denser
and poised to send your daughter
to Dartmouth
Or Tulane
Or anywhere she’d rather.
She’ll have everything the world could offer her
In exchange for her father.
A parent shouldn’t have to know.
So I forgave you the hand thing
And the lewdness of a drunken survivor
Poised on the lip of an ever-widening hole.
If you asked to take me now,
I think I’d go.
I’ve always wanted to see the Louvre.
I can almost hear it:
The clicking heels and murmurs,
Your overwrought humanities professor explanations of this or that and me humoring you with appropriate reverence as always,
And the dead certain silence of the thing we will not speak about,
Pointedly conspicuous in its absence,
Filling the space between.
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 2:43 AM UTC
a bone colored evening sighs razor blades across the sky
deep seeded (den)rut tur(ned) on an axis,
spinning the evening into an oddening.
the pantry is bare.
somewhere, a baby cries for the love of a mother
who is slumbering in half-sleep,
hoping the child will forget she knows her
and forget to weep.
the sun dipped it's radiance hours ago
to wake another part of the world,
leaving a chaperone dimly lit with wonder.
moon-gazers stare.
"Why is he there?"
legs are tangled, twisted fates,
star-crossed lovers long to touch
under the watchful pin-pricks of the night sky.
souls align to be snipped of the mate's burden.
And the cows, with their moon howls,
lay low in swept grass showers,
watching the entwined shadows
watch them with fascism fascination.
waiting to pounce.
hushed silence fills the air.
hands clasp and unclasp,
fitting in the empty spaces you never notice
until they're filled; emptied again.
the sky blows a wish.
light is exstingui(shed).
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 9:38 PM UTC
The air electric with nervous anticipation
She has a chaperone for a civilized coffee
His smile breaks the ice with “ciao” now
Spanish steps descent in nervous chatter
Ascent with butterflies and a sublime kiss
Bedroom explorations as two become one
“Will we” devil battles with “we won't” angel
Their eyes tell of bold Cupid’s lovers spell
Breakfast chocolate kisses in romantic Rome
Tosca may have jumped but they fell in love
Checking out cannot mask their parting pain
How long will it be until we meet again?
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
Now I found I, a canty fellow
Like a lark found a common twig, an unlikely chance like finding identical popcorns
As I bask in the sight, the crowds held hands as they plea nailed eternity on the cedars of calvary
Thinking I gave you all the clues, I chose to marry the eagle that conquered the stone than a crippled hawk with theories and philosophies that bind him to a chair talking like white noise on a broken idiot box.
As he asked my hand for a sip of wine, my inclination grew like curiosity for this rather unexplainable reality
"Take My hand and sip beyond the humanly" I nodded like a crow lurking beneath me was my chaperone from decades ago.
I grab held of his cloak, even to a point where all my ribbons to devote!
But my chaperone rang "fallacy!" took me by the throat refusing to let go.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 11:16 AM UTC
it becomes a glaring match
between me and the girl
on the other side of the island
we go at each other like
tiger cubs, too young to
know when we have sunk
our teeth in too deep.
no chaperone to break
us up and send us away
to our corners
we keep going until
one of us has ended up laying
cold on the floor
it has become
a staring contest
between me and the orange
bottles as its fine print shouts
at me the signs i have
to look out for
just so i can be sane
safe
alright.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
When the raps are givin'
Lyrically by me
I'll leave ya head spinnin'
Like a disco ball
Haters on the gall
But all I do is make one phone call
I got homies to hoes pack 44s
Check the iced chromed door
Of jeep four by four
Ya sweet as a nectarine
When I hit the scene
I turn ****** skin green
Brooklyn bounce more to the ounce
The drunker I get
The harder I hit
The more some ones bound for a casket
No remorse check the source
I was credited before I was edited
The Black Capone
I'm raps chaperone its my love jones
Me and my ***** my gun
Close like lelo and stitch
Got multiple attitude so I'm rude switch
Personalities
So nobody can keep a tally on me
Its me the big the biggest competitor
Leave ya competition in sweaters
Cuz I'm cold as anartica
Glocks stay blazin' hot than africa
Bomb flows like Boston massacre
Who asking ya?
About me the only yosef mos def
With the mathematics statics
I crash it if ya show y'ass? I'll cash it
Put you on the corner
Reckless ruthless as Ike to Tina Turner
Embrace the dread **** the feds
Still taking my daily bread
Born sinner this is the philosophy of a winner
Ya unknown like Brian Skinner
Thinner ya need up ya weight son
Cuz ya falling lame son uh the don
Back to set the record straight
If ya gotta problem I'll.make ya death date
U see me I see u
Bullets hit ya temple now ya in ICU
Cuz I'm young witty and nasty and clean
Saw ya fuckin' head off if ya know what I mean??
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:04 PM UTC
Brings up the hole in my dreams, white dressed mannequin overlaid with sequins,
her dress form baring my hide, skinny legs in skinny jeans, faced with her blue eyes.
This constant storm of thick regret, plays aching words through my stiffened threads. I am startled by the tinge of when he picks at my strings, his fingers cueing up my grief, I'm
transfixed by such staunch memories.
From this September thru December all that is anxious wrecks this time, blending stages of unconsciousness with the right to bide these rhythmic tidings outlined by the rigor of her whines. Bent by the rocking of the sea and the buried screams beneath, herein these mouths are tanned from where these voices once laid command.
Subtly superior, yet haunting in its serenity and clause, the metal stretched across her jaw, and while the dove is drugged, she cannot bestow her love, she is betrayed thru the very lens that halted life's immenseness and intent. Draped in her hospital gown, even her crown forgone, her gurney replaced her throne, no more royalty will she ever know.
Soma sudor, spit begrimed at ends, tiffs being had with friends, he takes away the organs, sends me back to consciousness with the bends. Every lock of hair I wanted, every piece of night I held, all my organs have been dismembered, all the luck I had is lost. In the corner of my iris there's a prime instance of despair, something left on a scrap of paper, though I could swear it looked like underwear. When the locusts fill this mind with every cadence indisposed, then they flourish on my body, leaving once they've eaten off my clothes.
Hours were my pajamas, where I slept once, now I lie. I'm the afterthought of courage, even in this heady nausea I once found sublime. Here this corpse doesn't leave a shadow, missing time where love bid supine. Even the wind it curdles in me, where no heart beats from this life.
With a child inside this bullet, art existed on her face, twice it eradicated lying, but not the ****** debt betrayed. Simple sin on the interstices, connected by the dots where pleasure writhes. All my hands are covered by this fever, where my mind has gone to die.
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC
How she wanted to be a man,
to be the conqueror of worlds.
Glory will be in her hands.
She will speak of her mind,
and the nation will listen.
How she envied every man.
He who has the strength,
to make his dreams come true.
And he who has the pride,
to speak of all his women.
How she wished she was a man.
To be free from her disguise,
as she ventures through the night.
And to roam the wildest streets,
no chaperone… on her own.
Yet, she wouldn’t sacrifice,
Her pretty pearls and laces.
Some true lady’s delight.
And she won’t give up her gift,
to bear the child of her man.
Sep 7, 2011
Sep 7, 2011 at 4:39 AM UTC
I'm sitting on the porch, watching you analyze me
Guess I was crazy to think any of this was behind me
And I don't know what's worse-
A chaperone in wolf's clothing
Or being led to the slaughter
By your one and only...vice
It must be nice to have an army
All I got is a dissonant symphony
That we used to play, back in the day
Before these times of euphoric disarray
So you can perform for whichever side you're on
Cause I'm used to being alone
And I just don't care anymore...
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC