"clinquant" poems
Tipsy daze were just foreplay
for the passionate midnight sexcapades.
Every Sunday
Drinking champaign,
Not practicing self-restraint
Sneaking into privet estates
Dive into the grotto pool.
My late night wicked pagan lover,
Two lonely hearts bonded over confessions in the dark.
We were nympholepts in retrospect.
All clinquant, in gold light
But turned to heathens, in the night.
Dancing in rhythmic eruptions of fevered delight.
Wondering eyes are tantalized
You are luxurious, feral, **** boy personified.
I was mystified by the wild & eroticized by the style.
A Huckleberry Finn identical twin, ohh but of corse
-You had a Porsche.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:34 AM UTC
Forgetting about that uptight blight.
Emanate apathy
Unapologetically.
Cheers to you Baby Jesus,
I'm all jacked up on pink Moscato; by noon.
Without a clue of what to do
Retreat to a beach
For a gala beset by an erubescent sunset.
What marry monarchs,
All clinquant, in gold light
All turn to heathens, in the night.
Perpetually transfixed
By a curious mix of
Rhythmic eruptions & fevered delight
Like fairies & nymphs
Amidst the moon of misbehaving.
Wondering eyes are tantalized
You are luxurious, feral, **** boy personified.
I was mystified by the wild & eroticized by the style.
A Huckleberry Finn identical twin, ohhh but of course
— You had a Porsche.
But we were far from bonafide.
All is well,
Who really gives a **** about a relationship cuff…
I was inherently drawn to the effervescence, of your soul.
Together in disconnected bubbles
Like a glass of champagne,
Sparkling to the surface effortlessly.
Daytime friends and nighttime lovers;
Nympholepts in retrospect,
Carefully tip-toeing around
Blossoming curiously & compromising cantor.
Over winsome side-long looks
The burgundy hardtop drops down
Into my body & out of my mind
Tipsy daze were just foreplay
For the passionate midnight sexcapades.
A midsummer’s night moonlit dream
Manifested midst the trysts of Spring.
Every Sunday
Drinking champagne,
Not practicing self-restraint
Sneaking into private estates
Dive into the grotto pool.
Worshiping the Sun, not the saint.
My late night lover show me your wicked pagan birthright.
Two lonely hearts bonded over confessions in the dark.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
I didn't eat for three days
so I could be lovely
like Yolandi Visser who's above me
if I don't eat meat
will there be extra room on my seat?
for adventures- oh
I wanna live like louis
cause you're so aw
and I'm so ew
should be the other way around
but I'm bowin on the ground
you a she-ra
he-ra
no ska
hip-hop double dutch
south paw
fighting like a gang from the hood
grew up on the rough streets
of GV
oh Jeez
so tough
smoke ****
post a pic of my blunt
love to hunt
'cause I'm so cool
be jealous of me
and my shirt that say skee
****** with the fuckbois
guys,
I think I need to grow up
haha
jk
messin with the sub
tellin my mom to shut up
I smell like shtub
ugh
I'm so oppressed right now
white privelage is hard
I'm a smart teen
marred
as an ignorant delinquent
teeth clinquant-
I can be eloquent
but I'm treated like an infant
so frequent
I act like a miscreant
nobody seems to understand
I don't even think I do
get that lotion 'way from me
gotta get tanned-
uh
dya see my abbs
dya see me ***
I'm a piece of meat
rare and raw
with seasoning
dress code
don't tell me otherwise
underneath american skies
it's all about your size
supersize the food
downsize your weight
keep it down
keep it low
till gravity
brings you crashing down
in a geneva gown
close-rubbin-
gap thighs
'cause it's
mcm
wcw
tbt
to when I did fbf
anacronyms
I don't even know how to spell it
what a ****
bathroom wall vandalism
"fat *****
haha
so gangsta
so tough
I have it so rough
middle class white kid
you've got to be kidding me
praise cthulu
giant squid.
meme
2k15
ah
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
Words
words to say
words to say for those who possess a quiescent soul
vibrations forming into susurrus breathes,
spun by Love.
Love is an oxymoronic, overly celebrated,
seemingly sempiternal happening that is eternally ephemeral,
lasting
a
very
short
t
i
m
e.
Love speaks with words that no matter how
dis-joint-ed
sound wonderfully euphonious -
a sonic euphoria
a billet-doux made from absolutely nothing
but
the very
rawness
of being absolute.
Love is a little more than
chimerical.
Love is a clinquant aubade that requires redamancy.
redamancy.
Love requires love to exist in it's eternal shortness,
to exist
in the mere seconds that are allowed
to exist in the ephemeral time frame of a blip in space
of decades and decades that no one will rememeber and that will not matter to the masses
and
will mean
absolutely nothing to everyone else except
for the one that is awake enough to look directly at
Love.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
She's the girl with the matte lipstick,
Deep, bold red that flows in her veins
She throws them fierce on her fragile lips
Warning every man she's more than a kiss.
She's the girl with the matte lipstick
A deeper red than the roses she was given,
One look at the mirror and she's all set
To rule out the world with her head set high.
And she will be stronger than you and I,
For her soul is clinquant with
glittery gold
Of fading scars and past mistakes
That she will one day conquer all on her own.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
There's alot of things that i think about now
that sends signals of pain to my head
When they pop up in random moments
fleeting moments of significant memories
I once held so dear.
But i can't think about them anymore
I'm not allowed to remember.
Remember how much i miss the color of your walls
deep red
And how long i spent looking up at them when we layed in your room
The way the sunlight came in and bounced off the walls
Giving your room an eery red glow
even though you never let me part the curtains.
Remember how much i miss your bed spread
how much comfier it was then mine
The amount of time we spent entangled in them watching movies and playing games
Kissing
touching
I feel you most when i'm alone
I feel your ghost still around.
Remember how much i miss having my fingers tangled in your hair
Or the way you were scared of being alone when it rained hard
When we went to the theme park for my birthday and we got on the ride i was terrified of
But you were so excited about it and so brave
so in some way
I enjoyed it more with you.
Definitely not allowed to remember when you took me on our first date
you made me try your salad and i almost puked
You got overexcited and tipped the waiter too much
Or the first time we ever met
on that really awkward double date and the awful
Photobooth picture with them
we were in the background of 2/4 of it
And i'm pretty sure that was my favorite worst picture of us ever
I wish i still had it.
That's right; I miss your euphonious voice in my ears
I miss the time we spent together
even if it was ephemeral
It was the best year of my life
I miss the corny photo we had that so many people thought was oh so charming
Every photo of us was really
we looked so clinquant next to each other,
Even though that was all just chimerical.
I miss it all
I have dredged up that word about you so many times it's almost sickening
How i've wanted only one person for so long the mere idea of someone else touching me makes me
Want to throw up
I miss your smile most of all
so much
It lit up the once so quiescent soul of mine
I feel like this longing for you will be sempiternal.
Can you miss someone so much it starts too circulate in your veins?
I guess sometimes someone gets under your skin and as much as you feel you must tear apart that part of yourself
No matter how many years have past
you feel if you ever did that you'd lose a part of yourself.
Well that part of me died a long time ago.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
Clinquant stars shied away from her splendor
Harrowing nightmares banished from my sleep
Rambunctious, my soul singing in tenor
Illicit smile, this heart is hers to keep
Sophrosyne; she's the envy of many
Tall tales, myths, legends; all insufficient
Intellect complements her high beauty
Nay nebular thoughts, for she is sapient
Eclipsed behind her eyes; wondrous kindness
Morning zephyr at the end of winter
Allure that cured this poet's mad blindness
Roused the humor in this foolish jester
I wished her joy, from the very first sight
End may come; she's the source of my delight
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 3:23 AM UTC
i love the way you
feel me up in public places,
****** to nameless faces,
tell my friends to ***** themselves:
"it makes me feel protected".
command the god of heaven down,
wear your flimsy clinquant crown,
weave tales of fictitious sounds
that i will "soon" be making.
i love the way you never bathe
i love the way you never shave
i love the way you never made
an effort just to please me.
-
and the rain fell backwards that night
and the fires restored houses
and we all took showers and got
dirtier
and
dirtier
and
dirtier.
May 26, 2011
May 26, 2011 at 5:24 PM UTC
Fable II, Livre V.
Je suis un peu badaud, je n'en disconviens pas.
Tout m'amuse ; depuis ces batteurs d'entrechats,
Depuis ces brillants automates,
Dont Gardel fait mouvoir et les pieds et les bras,
Jusqu'à ceux dont un fil règle et soutient les pas,
Jusqu'aux Vestris à quatre pattes,
Qui la queue en trompette, et le museau crotté,
En jupe, en frac, en froc, en toque, en mitre, en casque,
La plume sur l'oreille, ou la brette au côté,
Modestes toutefois sous l'habit qui les masque,
Moins fiers que nous de leurs surnoms,
Quêtent si gaîment les suffrages
Des musards de tous les cantons
Et des enfants de tous les âges.
L'argent leur vient aussi. Peut-on payer trop bien
L'art, le bel art de Terpsichore ?
Art unique ! art utile au singe, à l'homme, au chien.
Comme il vous fait valoir un sot, une pécore !
C'est le clinquant qui les décore,
Et fait quelque chose de rien.
La critique, en dépit de mon goût et du vôtre,
Traite pourtant, lecteur, cet art tout comme un autre.
Quels succès sous sa dent ne sont pas expiés ?
Qui n'en est pas victime en est le tributaire.
Le grand Vestris, le grand Voltaire,
Par sa morsure estropiés,
Prouvent qu'il faut qu'on se résigne
Et qu'enfin le génie à cette dent maligne
Est soumis de la tète aux pieds.
De cette vérité, que je ne crois pas neuve,
Quelques roquets tantôt m'offraient encor la preuve.
Tandis qu'au son du flageolet,
Au bruit du tambourin, sautillant en cadence,
Ces pauvres martyrs de la danse
Formaient sous ma fenêtre un fort joli ballet,
Un mâtin, cette fois ce n'était pas un homme,
Un mâtin, qui debout n'a jamais fait un pas,
Campé sur son derrière, aboyait, Dieu sait comme,
Après ceux qui savaient ce qu'il ne savait pas,
Après ceux, et c'est là le plaisant de l'affaire,
Après ceux qui faisaient ce qu'il ne peut pas faire.
Quoique mauvais danseur, en mes propos divers,
Pour la danse, en tout temps, j'ai montré force estime.
En douter serait un vrai crime ;
J'en atteste ces petits vers.
Mais que sert mon exemple à ce vaste univers ?
Je n'en crois donc pas moins le sens de cette fable
Au commun des mortels tout-à-fait applicable.
Chiens et gens qui dansez, retenez bien ceci :
L'ignorant est jaloux et l'impuissant aussi.
1.2k
Leafy loss born of the sunset;
The clinquant remains before the frosted evening
Encircled her form of jeweled pirouette,
As summer sighed with peaceful dreaming.
The fading firelight shimmers out again,
As she wades through the diaphanous aether.
She wanders slowly through the darkling glen,
As her feet pressed upon the crinkled embers.
The skeletal limbs of the trees welcome her.
Divine, yet earthly in grand rufescence.
She delights in their desire as harvest moon stirs,
Awakened and humbled by her elegance.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC