"curtsey" poems
In her gauzy garments
Above the bowing trees
The moon has many lovers
In the sighing breeze.
They all take her dancing
In exotic lands
They give her sparkling diamonds
They kiss her milk-white hands.
She is round & fullsome
Or slender as a waif
When she is then waning
Her flowers are kept safe.
Silken skeins of darkness
When she's waxing full
Are parted by her brightness
She is NEVER dull!
Her beaux are all so courtly
But she eschews them all
Her only love can make her pale
She burns at his call...
She lets out her moonbeams
Through her eyes they weep
She loves the one eclipsing her
They can NEVER meet!
She, so strong within her court
Will curtsey when he comes
The moon has many lovers
But she's taken by the SUN.
Catherine Jarvis
(C) 12/14/2019
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 12:07 AM UTC
Get out. Get out of here.
If anybody poisoned the waterhole
it was certainly you.
Put the squish of your smile away
Why sheaf the knife in a lipsticked rictus
if it's going to end up in my back all the same?
Oh, spare me the theatrics.
If you only mean me harm
I'd rather know.
So that I can curtsey
and take the high road.
Mentor, if you taught me anything
during that winter
it was not to be weak.
And so you have my best regards.
And now you may get out.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
You start a baby doll,
a small doll,
a good doll.
You are raised
a smart doll,
a big doll
that takes care of herself
from the earliest age.
You know how not to ask for much,
since your parents argue quite a lot,
and your father is a bit afraid,
as if you are about to break,
and your mother seems a little sad,
and maybe just a bit too sharp.
And no one seems to know
what they should do,
so, you, the big doll,
decide,
it’s up to you.
You learn to be the perfect doll.
At three you speak like an adult,
polite and poise,
you never scream,
you rarely ask for anything,
you curtsey and you learn to sing,
you lie about well…
everything.
You never mind
where you will go,
you never stomp
and whine a ‘no’.
Whenever should you want a thing,
a lump of guilt will make it sting.
Whenever you will want to cry,
you’ll learn to keep it deep inside,
because good dolls never cry.
And for your efforts,
you’ll get rewards,
they will give you golden clothes,
they will crown you as the best
and never check if you’re distressed.
In diamond shoes they’ll make you dance,
and as you prance you’ll start to bleed,
and it will be your secret thing.
They will shake your parents’ hands
and happily they’ll nod their heads.
They will lift you from the ground,
hold you,
tell you, they are proud.
And that is true,
though it does not reverse the hurt.
You will be the perfect doll,
perfect figure, pose and all,
and should you fail,
even once,
even just a ‘C’ in class,
your back will break,
you’ll be exposed,
that you have never been a decent doll.
They’ll discard you,
throw you out,
because no one loves a fraud.
Should you keep your perfect look,
you will catch someone on your hook,
and you will never know what you should say,
for you have thrown your tongue away.
You will lie, to you and him,
about every
single
feeling.
You will never say,
that you never loved them anyway.
Perfect dolls don’t act that way.
You will never get what you want,
because you’ll never say it all up front,
you will chip and finally break,
and there is no other way.
Us, perfect dolls,
we’re built this way.
Jan 22, 2020
Jan 22, 2020 at 3:47 PM UTC
Behold the King!
The Monarch, he comes.
Men of High birth to bow at the waist,
Head down, avoiding direct eye contact,
Less the King perceive from them a threat.
Women of the Court a deep curtsey,
Eyes lovingly appraising and focused on his Majesty,
That he may appraise them in return,
Maidens in hopes of finding his favors.
Common people, to sprawl prostrate on their Faces,
Eyes always down cast, to never look upon his Royal Presence,
Thus in turn, never to be noticed by the King.
Alas, though commoner I be, I peeked a look and beheld,
To my surprise, the mighty King was completely naked!
Shocked even more to see, His Majesty publicly exhibiting,
His oh so, insignificant manly short comings.
That indeed, this so called Princely man was in truth,
No more nobler than me!
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
. . . .
, , ,
/ / \ .
/ a \
I cascade no .
want of wish \
to see warm no
a silent light prayer no
choir radiate just . thing wave from for /\ else
and the fun at will
curtsey corner candles times do
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
and so they fell …
Tears as pearly quaver
Salty in their pas de deux from her realize
A can-can polka in strip tease of soul bare
How vibrant, albeit transient in masquerade, their desire
A dance of miniscule quandary in micro adventure
Frilly knickered, in slivers of the truth
In folly, a spent of friendship abandoned
Curtsey now, in diversity of no embrace, why?
…for our lives are but a piecemeal of conversation
Random etymology in lesson
A three penny opera with no beg your pardon
The once bemused attar of forget me nots
Their fragrance now heavy in the air
…and the diminutive whys, wander rhetorically, in and out
of the bungle bungles of reality… because they can-can
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 3:47 AM UTC
There was an Old Lady of Chertsey,
Who made a remarkable curtsey;
She twirled round and round,
Till she sunk underground,
Which distressed all the people of Chertsey.
1.4k
*Bow to each other
Take her hand
Hold her closer
Look into her eyes
The first strains begin
The lilting tune of a violin
The swell of horns blowing
A melodic rhapsody
Her heels click
Upon the marble
The dance floor
A motley of pastel
By delicate fingertips
She holds up her skirt
Shimmering satin
Light prances across
Carefully weaving
An iridescent mirage
Every sublime swish
Bewitching the crowd
The kingdom's people
Fall into a lull
Every eye beguiled
By a dance spellbound
She follows his lead
Their every step
Blending exquisitely
Beyond compare
Billowing hair behind her
Strong arms around her waist
Barely any effort
Swept her off her very feet
She chuckles in delight
Her toes grace the floor once more
The last few twirls
As the music dwindles
Bowing low as he kisses her fingers
Her nails gently brushing
Against his cheek
A mischievous hint
Before perfect etiquette returns
She dips an elegant curtsey*
"Thank you for this dance
Fit for a princess of every sea"
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
You cling to me.
You cling to me.
You cling,
And you cling,
And you cling.
LINGER...
You cling to me.
And I to you,
And I to you,
And I to you.
But at the opening credits of another white dawn,
I must bow down to the system,
RISE,
And curtsey to conformity.
It's the heaviest regret of my day; leaving you.
IRON.
Before the day has even begun; leaving you.
LEAD.
And when I do,
I forget the slopes and hills of your face.
How they rise and fall,
As we disremember a perfect dream.
I step out into the clutch of bitter airs,
Eyes down, catching the ice's gleam.
The glazed pavement plummets,
So I glide to follow it's dip,
But my hazed movement's done its
Best to make me slip...
And this is something now.
Heaven, heaven sent.
This is what this is now.
Formality's been bent.
And so I'll try to always
Let you know just what I meant.
But before I spill my guts out,
These butterflies must ferment.
A step back
Languish,
Drink,
Lament.
For my words come best post all of this,
And I sense a hovering dent.
(Confusion incoming)
To dent this sacred framework
Of fearlessness, excitement and neccessity.
Thumping intensity.
Then you comfort me like a child.
And the needle has been threaded,
But I've always feared the sewing.
I'm such a child in your arms,
Oh where is this going?
No, no, no.
No way of knowing.
SCRUB...
Paint chips off the wall,
The bath has run too deep,
But I welcome the confusion
That in my mind you keep.
For everybody knows
That what you sow, you reap.
So when I see that smile again,
Tangled brain-vines will weep.
I'm thinking....
I'm thinking too much.
I'm drinking too much.
Parallel lines: the worst and the best.
And it's the heaviest regret of my day; leaving you.
Protest,
Protest.
December 2010
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 1:38 PM UTC
. . . *I diluted myself for you
I spoke less and moaned more
I softened my spirit
I offered up yeses that once would've been no's
I held my tongue between two fingers
And wore pretty pink lace where there once would've been the blackest leather
I put fewer cigarettes between my lips
And instead pressed them together
To keep you from remembering
Why you didn't love me before
I put on an apron
To play my part
I served you smiles on dinner plates
And sipped white wine in place of whiskey
I put hearts in a lunch box
To keep you company through the day
Then mourned who I once was
While you were away
. . . I thought that if I was softer
More feminine
More pure
That you would be kinder
That I would fit better in your arms
That if I didn't talk back
My lips would taste sweeter
That you would listen when I spoke
I thought that if I became weak
We could be strong
That if slaughtered my Independence
And laid it to rest at your feet
That you would want to stroke my hair like you once had
When I stopped standing my ground
In the kitchen where I performed
And let the peanut gallery at the table
Critique my every adjective
Only to curtsey before their taunts
That when doors closed
You would whisper that I had done well
That your heart had space for me again
I thought that maybe if I hid it when I bled
You would leave the whiskey alone and finally come to bed*
. . . ***But instead
I committed a ******
I killed the woman that I loved
I took a spirit and trapped it in a box made of yes dears and I'm sorries
By replacing her combat boots with pointe shoes
And her pride with warm baked cookies
I slit her throat with a knife made of compromises
Chained her ankles to the kitchen table and forced her to dance before lesser beings
I made an arrangement of the wild roses that made up her lips
And left her unprotected without any thorns
Then cut out her tongue and made her watch
in stunned silence
when you trampled through the garden with clumsy careless feet
I murdered the woman that I used to be
Sacrificed everything just to find that you never loved me*** . . .
. . . But fear not, even the goldfish who lies belly up can swim again . . .
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
Curtsey, Clean, Cook Nice.
Betty Crocker, Ball and Chain
Girlfriend is better.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
I'll keep my jaw clenched tight
My fist firmly grasped
And my eyes will meet yours
When I deny you what you want most
Your poison no longer infects me
What's mine isn't yours to take
I'll shake you off easier than I can shake the wind off my back
Cause you lack everything I want in a man
And you're a child who toys with my emotions
Look at the pain and commotion you caused
The damage is done
And I'll stand on this pile of rummage
Of twisted words and lies that slowly burn
I'll gracefully curtsey, smile and wave
Cause this girl is gone, and you dont have a say
In wether or not I stay
You have a small ***** anyways
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
I would have wished you happy birthday.
I would have been a friend like you wanted me to be and wished me happy birthday.
I would have shown you that I cared and wished you happy birthday.
I would pretend you didn’t broke my heart a week before my birthday and the least you could have done was messaged me wishing me a happy birthday.
I would done that for you.
I would have stayed for you.
I would still let my heart fight my head everyday for you.
I still tell myself you letting me go was a curtsey when it felt like a betrayal.
I still tell myself I’m better on my own when I didn’t feel this bad holding onto the littlest part of you.
I still hold on hope that I could change your mind to miss me when you clearly don’t.
I would have wished you happy birthday.
Dec 27, 2024
Dec 27, 2024 at 3:20 PM UTC
When I am around you,
I’m confused like the way
cars curtsey at one another
at four way stop signs
when no one’s really sure
who got there first,
or if it’s their chance
to go next
And then before anyone
has a chance to blink,
some will say **** it
and the curtsey contorts
into a slow motion collision
that leaves people crying,
saying sorry, and momentarily
their lives pause for each
other as they evaluate
their damages
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 5:47 AM UTC
I write these words
Whilst sitting on the can
Can you fold paper?
The paper man can!
He is sitting right next to me
Stuck to the wall
He's rolled up quite neatly
In a cylindrical ball
I'll pull a few sheets
Cause I'll need them for wiping
I'll do it right after
I finally stop typing
I'll wipe once or twice
And turn around a check
I think I'll wipe thrice
To be sure, what the heck?
I'll flush it all down
In a brown yellow swirl
I'll wave to it goodbye
Then curtsey like a girl
Wash my hands, wash my face
I'll grab for Fabreeze
I'll spray it like mace
Smells like sweet island breeze
I feel so relieved
As I head for the door
That my ****** excretions
Are in me no more!
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
Under hung from the sweet tarnished leaf
The lingering sent of ash
Softly breathed new life into
January’s subtle bow and curtsey
Overwhelmed by the bitter glossy fog
The swaying sent of twig
with anguish blew harsh winds into
June’s sacred lost and found
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 8:52 PM UTC
"Finally decided to do your hair for once."
"Chris, thank you, but let's focus on the dance."
"With this awful song?.. 2, 3, and hup!"
"We walked the aisle to this.. do try to keep up."
"Now now Jayne, that was probably ages ago."
"Oh, then explain why first anniversary's tomorrow."
"Ahem, now lunge, slowly, 4, embrace me."
"Can I ask one question? Why the hell did we marry?"
"That's two - you really should work on your spending."
"Sniff, and you should spend much more on washing."
"Judge Michel looks concerned, would you stop being upset."
"But I'm the one smiling, with great hair I might add."
"Steady, and land.. Yes speaking of which, why now?"
"I'm leaving you for Michel.. do not forget to bow."
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
The day is hallowed
A fresco croft of Sunday shire
made Gabriel in stallion- manes,
Decanted into bottled ships
of scalloped Wedgewood
promises.
Trees
slope away in careful rows,
Well- fed matrons
fountain pruned
wear puff-ball cheeks
of flouncing gourd
that curtsey in bewildered
corns of desiccated flora
,
flawed by scorn of August forays
left as unkempt graves
.
Much more than these
stand poplars, ordered
keepers on their plated watch in
ruffled smocks of coppered
lime to tame the knee- worn
names of climate ,buckled
down the yarrowed lanes.
This day retains
its hallowed mien
as I pass through
these borrowed years
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:45 PM UTC
At night, white roses glow as bright as the moon
and as round.
They curtsey in the breeze, necks dipping.
Underfoot, pea flowers explode across the dirt,
imitating the scattered stars above.
In darkness, the most vibrant grass is deepened
to a celestial backdrop.
In this garden I can’t help but think
the moon must be a narcissist,
looking nightly down upon
her mirrored sphere --
Ah, how beautiful I am!
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
The cartography of my mind is yet to be explored,
I have traversed many plains that were jut ideal
of verses but not journeyed upon.
Trajectories of northern eclipse were where I discovered
the white sheets of new reflections, Never trodden
upon till I versed over the crisp placidity.
I wandered onwards after leaving footsteps of words
that would either be evoked in memory or
be just negated and never walked on again..
Gerontogeous locations were where I found my dreams,
lucid apparitions of what had concluded thought my days.
vivid but untruths, just figments of minds restful whispers.
I awoke refreshed that moment entwined in thought of
what that tumble-drier of imagination meant.
but it faded in moments like a bubble popping in the breeze.
Portside is where I sailed upon the breeze of morality,
I was used to this place, intentions, ethics that manners, and
curtsey defined me, right and wrong a definition of character.
Upon my travelling I was meet up with recollections that
were of my meeting of others on my journey of life.
For every action has a reaction and defines you the most.
The opposite sister of the dreams, where I delved to travel
upon memory of all that was. Now seen recorded in HD
[High Definition] sounds and smells were explored upon.
Memories ignited by aromas, reliving that precious time
now faded but remembered, in sight and sound even
though no longer there. I smile at this as I walk on.
*"My mind is a projection of many different sides I have travelled
within many times,*
"Each time discovering something new about myself.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC