"constance" poems
I dream of drinking from the river
rushing its abundance of life
through soil beds rich
with unknowing purpose
to reach the sea & combine
with all rivers & make its long journey back
to the tops of mountains
feeding new life & making
the same journey
all over again.
This recycling of life
emanates & pours from every crack,
& every chirp of the cricket
brings a willful reassurance--a notching of time
in the constance of life.
I am here, we are here
& the world is waiting for us
to see its beauty within ourselves,
because I am that beauty & we are all that beauty
& everything we do paints the picture
with different colors, shapes & strokes
& an image of life on this planet
emerges from our collective brush.
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 10:32 PM UTC
Touch me like I am,
a moonbeam of delight.
A sky diamond no flaws,
a flashback through time.
Seek solace in midnight memories,
a weight in golden worth.
Arrest me make the suggest,
to hold me in utter nakedness.
Pretty dancer whiskey bottle,
phone on repeat dead line.
Custody danger never to be seen,
another round null no sound.
Constance in the coffee shop,
scouting out potentials.
Blows off steam outside church walls,
ringing bells magical three tolls.
Great thinkers diseased,
malady of souls.
Faking it 'til they make it,
open your eyes.
Sorrows of another night,
off the wagon.
Pick you up,
lost cause.
*Judas.
Judas.
Judas.*
Desperation,
a blinded soul.
© Sia Jane
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
<!>
Four Irises tall & gallant, looking though
slighted worn out, a tad bedraggled
they are springtime survivor stragglers
of the Great Spring Weather Battle.
living in an open trench, battle conditions,
wind-whipped by constant strong breezes,
raked by intermittent machine gun rain,
familiar weapons of the “handover” season
loyal guardians of their pinpoint position,
remaining on duty, standing at attention,
dignified amidst the serene, nearly summer, now,
accepting quietude & gratitude of surround soundings
arrow-straight, in dress uniforms of royally purple,
four lead a cohort of unbloomed green fellows,
protecting their charge, an ancient marker of time,
rusted-green bronze sundial, symbol of continuity
these four, boon companions to human and animal,
shall persist long after I cease to dabble in this art,
they greet their admirers in full regalia, every year,
long, long may they live, die and be yet reborn!
here, in place, when we arrived four decades ago, a tiny forever,
changelings heading a processional of the summer season,
greeting all with a simple story of constance of change, of beauty,
leading our Summertime Commencement Exercises
May 26 ~ 27, 2023
May 27, 2023
May 27, 2023 at 4:55 PM UTC
She's searches for the path that takes her right,
But of course; it's out of sight
She's makes life long commitments
For in her belly there is a figment
"Three months old"
she says "it is distant"
Her mom asks with Constance's,
how she's supposed to take care of something of her own,
because when it comes to her own self;
Well, she is all alone
every night there is a wish she grants
too find away out what she can't
For smoking ****
and doing wrong deeds
Doesn't fit her needs
For she dreams higher
She wants to be admired
Not undesired...
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
methinks thou confuseth
thy heart's impatient beating
with the tremulous and sonorous
summation of the immeasurable
wail of clocks ticking, begging,
listen!
these wondrous matches glorious
arranged in heaven,
where weighty watches
and yellowed human calendars
long ago dismissed, irrelevant,
discarded.
marked full well,
they did
upon thy heart,
when as babe
you drew first breath.
when thou will receive
love's bounty,
nothing more and nothing
less.
heavenly their watchfulness eternal,
impatience does not grant favour
to love long lasting,
ever true,
even if struck anew
with first impatient glance,
for much thought and endeavor,
masterfully planned,
thy turn scheduled,
recorded, awaiting only
for inevitable
discovery.
for though the streams of spring
rush full fleshed,
swollen forward,
thy truest love is
best read in the
gentle constance of
a gentle lake's
modest waves lapping,
like a beloved's
best ring finger
stroking thy cheek
in one continuous
caressing.
need not thou lament,
nor groan
with impatient travail,
fare thee well,
for the sails,
the course inexorable,
the destination prescribed,
foretold and heralded
upon the flags of thy eyes,
the banner of thy words,
that rest prepared upon
thy fullest and hungry
lips.
chance is but a
secondary miscreant,
whose role is but as narrator.
let's him speak infrequent,
but when comes his time
to conduct his sale,
well behooves you to
listen to that littlest of voices
you so oft disregard,
victim of your willful
fears!
the time, the play, the locale
all matched and set,
now we await only
your demonstration and forbearance
to honest augur the
greatest courage
to speak the hardest phrase
e're spoke:
I love thee more than myself.
for whence
can only be,
when thou breakbeat
the chains accursedly nominated as
Me First.
shout the key out loud
In the hour, nay, the instance,
thy first believe,
then long life and long love
can then
and
only then
commence.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
Meet me under the 'Clock Tower'.......’you said’ cold....
The missing sun hibernated, could not melt your denial
Your promise smudged, felt its docile absence
And I knew....gathered in moss, under the stone of lies.
Mistrust hung itself, swung above the entrance....rivalling
My happy cove. It creaked to a heartbeat....b-bump, b-bump
Shelling out memories like peas. I recalled the very first time
I captured your eyes, the hesitation we felt......to blink and turn away
A thief stole and robbed the essence of you ......no stone
Unturned...I absorbed the waiting, dragged my heavy soles
Where is your foot print? Your imprint prescribed for my wellbeing
Two to be taken each day....preparing the cradles that rock my feet
Absurd, now I look back, that your word of promise...pretended
You named her "Constance", or was that the 'She woman'
I glimpsed you attached to last week. When huddled
Together under your 'love' umbrella, soaked in one another
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC
I am nothing.
I tried to think
of a clever metaphor
To compare myself to
An amusing analogy, a simple simile;
Am I an ocean or a tree?
A storm or an endless galaxy?
I go round and round in this
desperate chase to
Define myself
Know who I am and wear it like a badge of honour
But
After years of searching for the perfect definition I chose
Not to.
I am undefinable.
The very definition of "definition"
dictates the necessity of one thing I lack
And that is constance
I am ever-changing
And that is about the only 'definite' thing in me
So if you ask me what I am
A smile will dance on my lips and
A shrug will lift my shoulders
Because for now I think
I found my answer
I am nothing
And
That
Makes
Me
Everything
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC
This is about a friend who inspires me. a single mum, though not through choice; working as an escort, though not through any real choice . . I could have written about her daily grind, stubborn persistence, commitment . . though, when i babysat for her, i grew to know a different side of her, so . .through her daughters eyes, I'd like you to meet my amazing friend
Constance
Her blocks are the building of my life....
Her palate ? . . A rainbow of crayons,
Glitter for stars upon sparkling smiles.
Pride set . . Within my sunrise eyes.
Her strength . . my faith . . In a Mothers arms
This worker bee queen pollenates my mind
With fine aspirations . . We Blossom . . I bloom
This bagel baking children's entertainer . .
My Educator . . Guardian of the School gates . .
My Guiding and providing angel
Wears Big Girl Pants . . with sassy pride
In the absence of an insufficient man . .
Never complains
Who, when I ask why . . Asks why not ?
Chides my moods and minds me kind . .
Listens . . and listens . and listens and listens . .
Tells cinema for bedtime stories ,
Giggles when I wobble ,
Tickles outrageously,
Ties her smile . With a lipstick bow
She Breathes gentle truths . .
Dries my tears discreetly . .
Proves and improves her worth
Everyday . . She's A . . . Sunny side up
Spaghetti hoop spell and
My Candy-floss Mind spins
Glistens . . with Magic
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC
The fall out of the alphabet
Letters in the atmosphere
Spinning as planets
With gravitational
Motivational
Habits
Continuously
With individual
Entities as phrases
With mouth
Attractants
Words forming
Magnets
To the eyes
Memorizational
Remembrance
This do
In paragraphs
Blood and bodied
Configurants of
Metaphorics
In vowels and consonants
The constance
Sentences said by
Existence in alphabets
Of the fall out
Deciphered by the brainstem
Of mens
Difference
Every one has a pen
And writes gibberish
To deliver it
To someone
who just might give a ****
The fall out the alphabet
Preparing for the aftermath
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
Ubiquitously, ideas are conceived,
I wholly in you as you are in me,
This father tells his son with certainty.
Escape, we cannot, this universal reality.
Right or wrong dualities, balance, not explained,
Its instability privately entertained,
The constance of truth’s demise.
Words, alone, cannot suffice
When clarity is shadowed by
Renown contrived lies.
Freedom relents,
Best wishes set forth, then go astray.
Evil dominates good’s intent,
When humanity ceases to speak, ignorance’s silence reigns.
Those chosen step forward alone, while the rest fade away
Into the dark truths, they’ve conveyed.
Their beliefs, a glowing flame’s frenzied trance,
Drawn to, the timorous souls, who’s to say,
For such admiration would not behoove to take the chance.
They desire to part from their union with despair,
Willing to let self-identity disappear.
Granted access into an incredible nothingness,
No need forever the seeking of more,
There to find, the new you, self assured.
Told, they are, others less fortunate cannot relate,
For they have not been chosen to reach this special state.
Foolishly they never ask why?
Those who have gone before them have yet to send back a sign.
How much you believed in them and they you,
Within the moment after, you knew,
All the words exchanged and trusted were falsely construed.
You’ve lost, yet have they won?
Who’s going to tell the truth to your four year old son?
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC
As I see her walking from a distance
That silhouette made of pure grace
Her vibe that sent waves of good constance
Her steps toward me making my heart race
She's standing right before me
This queen of my deepest fascination
From this planet my mind begins to flee
All the way to heavens very constellation
Her mouth is moving in slow-motion
Her voice takes my breath away
She's blabbering out a mortal commotion
But on my face only a smile does stay
In this world of exquisite entity
She's perhaps the centrepiece, the highest bid
Every inch of her perfect entirety
All this comes from someone who hugs me and calls me stupid
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 2:19 AM UTC
A candle burns somewhere inside of me
And keeps its light despite the steady rain.
I wonder at its constance in the cold
That, flickering on occasion, never dies.
And through the dark a glow reaches my eyes
Like a distant sun; rising and fading
I wait for the sound of thunder fading–
This storm has so recklessly lived in me,
And with it’s biting wind, has stung my eyes.
Though only raging from within, the rain
And sky both fall and weep as daylight dies
But still the candle burns despite the cold
Larceners masked as lovers leave me cold;
Deceivers and thieves with faces fading,
Whose winter hands freeze when summer’s warmth dies–
Craving heat I cannot offer, watch me
Shiver. Each doubt descends like falling rain;
An infinite dance behind my closed eyes.
And the uncertain glow still meets my tired eyes
The blood in my veins boils while theirs stays cold
Those hands I once held and fell for like rain
Those flames for me perpetually fading
With their trails of dark smoke following me
Yet my sallow light persists, it never dies
The sky is drenched in black, the old sun dies
I watch it pale and sink before my eyes.
But it will resurrect again, like me
Each morning from the heavy sheets and cold
The flame will not go out, the darkness fading;
Fleeing from me like quickly passing rain
I stand with burdens heavy in the rain
Holding onto the light that never dies
Wishing to feel the hush of the storm fading
No saltwater stinging and staining my eyes
For once, to feel fire chase away the cold
A heat or heart that warms but does not burn me
.And sometimes the rain gets in my eyes
Sometimes light dies, and leaves me cold
Yet still the candle burns; No longer fading.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC
Sonnet.
Bizarre déité, brune comme les nuits,
Au parfum mélangé de musc et de havane,
Oeuvre de quelque obi, le Faust de la savane,
Sorcière au flanc d'ébène, enfant des noirs minuits,
Je préfère au constance, à l'opium, aux nuits,
L'élixir de ta bouche où l'amour se pavane ;
Quand vers toi mes désirs partent en caravane,
Tes yeux sont la citerne où boivent mes ennuis.
Par ces deux grands yeux noirs, soupiraux de ton âme,
Ô démon sans pitié ! verse-moi moins de flamme ;
Je ne suis pas le Styx pour t'embrasser neuf fois,
Hélas ! et je ne puis, Mégère libertine,
Pour briser ton courage et te mettre aux abois,
Dans l'enfer de ton lit devenir Proserpine !
1.3k
Known for leading charges in to debauchery.
Fearsomely handsome burning blue eyes that long outlived his passing.
“Didn’t leave life unlived, did he?”
Reformed, unrepentant; grown wraithlike, diminished.
“If you give up, don’t moan about it; go back.”
The scholar who led a rebellion against performance.
The Lion in Winter.
The Ruling Class.
My Favorite Year.
Born August- the son of Constance, he grew up.
He gave up drinking- he did not give up smoking.
Cigarettes in an ebony holder, green socks, overcoats and trailing scarfs.
Good parts few and far between.
Waiting…you could wait forever.
Together with fine people, good companions with whom I've shared my belief.
My belief,
that one should decide for oneself,
when it is time to end ones stay.
I bid a dry eyed grateful farewell.
Audiences, critics, curiosity seekers
“My Favorite Year”
unlikely to win awards,
he clutched his statuette.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
Swear to the sky
I am grounded
to the horizon of your smile
swear to the beat
i am shaken
by the sound of your silence
swear to the wind
swear to thunder
I am wandering
with your constant whims
take my word
you are the cloud
Dripping the soul of my sky
take my words
I wash my soul
at the river of your unspoken thoughts
swear to love
YOU are bliss
YOU are the constance of a hidden variable in life's equation
Discover the self
take my word
A trance state of mind conveying dreams of you
Is where I have called home all along.
Take me with you
All I need is you
Caressing the wrinkles of my soul
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
i first felt confused.
everything seemed to slip between my fingers
were they even my fingers?
now i was completely terrified.
this sense that everything was foreign like i've never seen these surrounding in my entire lifetime.
i didn't
couldn't feel myself.
my
it
those fingers.
i saw them move as fingers do, but they didn't seem like my hands, my fingers, my flushed palms.
it felt surreal.
even the people i knew seemed unknown to my eyes.
it gave me this churn in my stomach.
a churn that screamed "danger".
but why?
don't i know these people?
i should know how they act
how they talk
how they walk
how they move.
but when i saw them talk
when i studied how their lips formed around words
i heard nothing.
there was no familiarity in their voice and the words they spoke from their mind to their tongues.
it sounded
like static.
like white noise.
the nothingness that's heard in a room of complete silence.
i felt like white noise.
that fuzziness; the pins and needles kind when you haven't moved in hours.
i could've brushed it off.
maybe tried to refocus my brain into thinking that
"yes. all of this is familiar. don't be so dumb."
but i couldn't.
all i felt was bile in my throat as i internalized my imminent panic.
it was settling there in the pit of my stomach all because
i couldn't recognize my own voice.
i couldn't recognize their faces.
i couldn't recognize where i was nor could i recognize why i was there in the first place.
what was my purpose?
why do i wake up, go to school, come home, sleep.
why do i do these things that give me little to no substance in my life?
this regular schedule
of constance.
that's what caused this white noise.
the white noise that pressed anxiety and stress into my chest
making it heavier
making it harder to breath
making it worse.
i hated it.
but i couldn't do anything about it.
this white noise.
oh, how much i despised the thing.
but
all i can do is revel in the moment until it passes.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
(À Brunette, le chien de Sophie.)
Objet si cher à ma Sophie,
Toi que nourrit sa belle main,
Toi qui passes toute ta vie
Entre ses genoux et son sein ;
Que ton sort, heureuse Brunette,
Hélas ! est différent du mien !
En amant elle traite un chien,
En chien, c'est l'amant qu'elle traite.
Et pourtant, cette préférence
Qui peut te l'obtenir sur moi ?
Ai-je moins de persévérance,
Moins de fidélité que toi ?
De mes fers **** que je m'échappe,
Enchaîné sans aucuns liens,
Toujours battu, toujours je viens
Baiser cette main qui me frappe.
Le pur sentiment qui m'enflamme
Vaut ton instinct, s'il ne vaut mieux ;
Et le feu qui brûle en mon âme
Vaut le feu qui brille en tes yeux :
Mais près de ma beauté suprême
Je suis trop coupable en effet,
Quand je hais tout ce qu'elle hait,
De n'aimer pas tout ce qu'elle aime.
Dans le dépit qui me transporte,
Souvent je ne connais plus rien.
Le grelot que Brunette porte
Serait mieux à mon cou qu'au sien.
Soins, constance, pleurs, sacrifice,
Je vous crois perdus sans retour :
Je n'espère plus de l'amour ;
Mais j'espère encor du caprice.
Écrit en 1792.
1.1k
no one can fathom
their mercurial will
no one can know
what life will fulfill
I've tempted fate
I live on borrowed time
because I've met you
I've experienced the sublime
when Lachesis cuts
woven threads of my life
I'll look back on moments
of happiness and strife
my life's constance is love
your smile is my bliss
while I'm still alive
your happiness is my wish
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 1:31 AM UTC
~
in a realm of change
a state of constance
yet lives where
flux and flood
in lucid flame burns,
a rock of hope
lies beneath.
wings of strength
are mother’s arms,
our safety from
malaise and harm.
yet even here
with deepest love
an eviction lives,
awaiting...
imminent.
this nest of love
would turn to rust,
if from its grasp
of comfort
could the eaglet ne’er
himself rid.
throw out the old,
he must.
to usher in the new;
and serve this
comfort-become-his-death,
a notice of eviction.
so good bye to
this old year,
hello to
newness’ cheer;
thy usefulness,
once new to us
is gone, and
with it goes
thy uselessness.
for more than e’er
we need a
renewed spirit of
youthfulness.
fresh arms and legs
to bear the weight,
with eagerness;
to stretch with
widening gait
toward change;
an ever fluid-ness
made possible
by willingness
to serve this
ever-grey-and-old
-turned-year,
an annulment
of a marriage,
its annual
notice of
eviction!
~
*post script.
reading all your poetry this fine morn,
the final day of a well-used year, this tumbled out.
credit to you each for thoughts and snippets,
adopted and infused here into this notice of eviction.
happy new year to each, to all,
who within these HP walls read;
who lovingly inscribe their thoughts
on posts their own, as well as others;
who breathe such wondrous words
that take our very breath away.
hugs and warm wishes
as you evict the old and cheer the new!*
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
there is life beneath the surface
beyond what we can see.
i sink,
holding my breath.
my eyes clamped shut,
afraid of what might be found.
i do not want to fall
but i do not want to rise, either.
i am small in comparison to it's vastness,
it's significance.
it is a never-ending chasm,
and my feet blindly search for the bottom
as the darkness swallows me whole.
when i open my eyes,
i can see a narrow tunnel of light
gathered at the surface in the distance,
sparkling.
the sea is a torrent,
and comfort is found in it's constance,
it's strength,
it's ability to **** off our fragile souls
until nothing is left but a shell.
i do not want to leave.
but my lungs,
they need air
now.
i want to breathe
i do not want to sink any further.
and i am fighting
kicking
not ready to give in.
i am being pulled down by a monster
who looks like me,
coming out from the depths of the water.
and there is no longer wonder and mystery
in the darkness.
i wrench my body away from it's claws
still bound by the weight of it's grip,
and i am tired
worn
but unwilling to stop moving toward the light
until i rush to the surface,
emerging out of the water,
fear pumping through my veins.
there is a moment of waiting,
calm,
before it becomes clear that
the storm is over.
i am alive.
i am free.
-j.m.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
Idole de ma vie,
Mon tourment, mon plaisir,
Dis-moi si ton envie
S'accorde à mon désir ?
Comme je t'aime en mes beaux jours,
Je veux t'aimer toujours.
Donne-moi l'espérance ;
Je te l'offre en retour.
Apprends-moi la constance ;
Je t'apprendrai l'amour.
Comme je t'aime en mes beaux jours,
Je veux t'aimer toujours.
Sois d'un cœur qui t'adore
L'unique souvenir ;
Je te promets encore
Ce que j'ai d'avenir.
Comme je t'aime en mes beaux jours,
Je veux t'aimer toujours.
Vers ton âme attirée
Par le plus doux transport,
Sur ta bouche adorée
Laisse-moi dire encor :
Comme je t'aime en mes beaux jours,
Je veux t'aimer toujours.
1k
Ode XXVI.
En vous donnant ce pourtraict mien
Dame, je ne vous donne rien
Car tout le bien qui estoit nostre
Amour dès le jour le fit vostre
Que vous me fistes prisonnier,
Mais tout ainsi qu'un jardinier
Envoye des presens au maistre
De son jardin loüé, pour estre
Toujours la grace desservant
De l'heritier, qu'il va servant
Ainsi tous mes presens j'adresse
A vous Cassandre ma maistresse,
Corne à mon tout, et maintenant
Mon portrait je vous vois donnant :
Car la chose est bien raisonnable
Que la peinture ressemblable,
Au cors qui languist en souci
Pour vostre amour, soit vostre aussi.
Mais voyez come elle me semble
Pensive, triste et pasle ensemble,
Portraite de mesme couleur
Qu'amour a portrait son seigneur.
Que pleust à Dieu que la Nature
M'eust fait au coeur une ouverture,
Afin que vous eussiez pouvoir
De me cognoistre et de me voir !
Car ce n'est rien de voir, Maistresse,
La face qui est tromperesse,
Et le front bien souvent moqueur,
C'est le tout que de voir le coeur.
Vous voyriés du mien la constance,
La foi, l'amour, l'obeissance,
Et les voyant, peut estre aussi
Qu'auriés de lui quelque merci,
Et des angoisses qu'il endure :
Voire quand vous seriés plus dure
Que les rochers Caucaseans
Ou les cruels flos Aegeans
Qui sourds n'entendent les prieres
Des pauvres barques marinieres.
1k
In a clapboard boarding house I lie
And I am half-organic;
Several days ago, a new friend
Smiled. I watched his unscarred hands extend
An invitation cordial;
A half-hour, and I knew the panic
Tasted on the air potential *****
Eyeballs rolling from the ordeal.
Now I feel a man primordial
A human made to mould.
A person finds there’s constance in decay
When all their friends are cold.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
(A Sequel to The Corpses Have Hearts to Speak)
Let me start my tell-tale long,
Or should I say my paintings old
Of question marks scribbled
With some words mingling in my specter—
The unseen are the most visible things;
they exist for what we believe
what we fear,
and reasons we never die to seek;
they drench, torment
and foreshadow time
as we slowly unveil
the skin we dangle in;
Let us see inside our own first—
Using a fatal mirror we loaned
Do you know who you are?
Do you do what you do?
Do you love what you are
and what you love?
What is it, that you love?
Aye, after the long journey
Of fragranced fragments I knitted myself
I will recite what I have known of myself;
I am the irony of the fragile lies
I am the thought of every sordid heart
I am none yet I am whole;
don’t call me demon,
for I am not angel
But back to the realmity
Call it, darling, my story perhaps
Realm of reality—
Within the shades of the eternal fifth day;
In a room full of world
I find a young soul crouching,
Loved yet unloved—
Beautiful yet ruined and ******
Wrenching my unbeating
Blackdusted heart
So I say to my ethereal self;
I am no more—
Yet how can I feel
That she is full of life
Yet dead beneath?
Make it clear,
I desire life for twice
She is hellbound to death
She would torment life
For the smile of old grey death
Oh,
and I would abandon my last daydream dear
For ungrateful loves long ago;
Is life, so underrated?
Is life, not so precious?
Is life, stop—
Do life, just stay still without a change?
Is life, a constant darling named Constance?
Oh,
such joy it is to live
and laugh?
Oh,
such joy it is,
To see what my ethereal self
Can never grasp
Ever again
Of love,
separated between world
Self—Regret
And constance
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC