"curtsies" poems
the curtain has risen,
and miniscule snow flakes,
make their appearance,
darting to and fro across the sky-
their stage.
they quickly find partners-
one bows, the other curtsies.
and they begin to dance
twirling and spinning,
weaving stories with every move.
they dance a breathtaking ballet,
an astounding performance.
at the end of each snowflake's performance,
they sprinkle the world around them,
making the atmosphere light
as the lawns turn white.
inside a cozy house,
one filled with the spirit of the holidays,
two people sit at a windowsill
on the second floor.
they watch contently,
at the beauty just outside their window.
the two people-
a content boy and a wistful girl,
are wearing slight smiles,
as they enjoy the bliss of winter
and each other.
fingers interlaced,
with shoulders touching,
the boy plants a kiss on
the girl's forehead.
and they get lost in the moment,
watching the ballet
together.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
Tiger Lily,
Glowing bright
Soft velvety petals
Swaying violently
Against the storm
Swirling winds
Entangle her soul
Struggles to be free
Its wrath subsides
And the flower stands tall
Tiger Lily
Brightest of them all
Wearing the yellowest of bonnets
The greenest of gowns
She curtsies up and down
And turns to the sun
Petals tainted wild gold
Amongst murky swamps
Tiger Lily
Shining ever so bright
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC
People these days
You don't know how to act
You follow the trends
And fill in things you lack
You'll be their best friend
But then stab them in the back
In our black sentence and prescriptions
You dance to your death
Playing around with things
Like acid and ****
With your gay canters
And chemical glee
With your low crooked curtsies
And your ignorant flee
You'll
Turn
Out
Like
Me
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:19 AM UTC
Maybe one day I'll make finger sandwiches
for classy luncheons
in a pagoda in my backyard.
We all will be jolly
and have balloon laughs
as we sip our aged merlot.
And my young children will waltz in
with their curtsies and bows and then
go off again to be with their nanny.
And I will be occupied
with the things in my pocket
so I won't know what the dark is anymore.
I'd rather live in the dark though.
In a raunchy studio apartment
with a semi-attractive but
the most beautiful woman
who is educated
and still knows how to color.
My children will understand what it means
to be alive and I'll let them decide
if they appreciate it or not.
We will feed the ducks every Sunday.
I want to be among spirits not bodies.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
MARION! why that pensive brow?
What disgust to life hast thou?
Change that discontented air;
Frowns become not one so fair.
’Tis not Love disturbs thy rest,
Love’s a stranger to thy breast:
He, in dimpling smiles, appears,
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears;
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding ‘frown’.
Then resume thy former fire,
Some will love, and all admire!
While that icy aspect chills us,
Nought but cool Indiff’rence thrills us.
Would’st thou wand’ring hearts beguile,
Smile, at least, or seem to smile;
Eyes like thine were never meant
To hide their orbs in dark restraint;
Spite of all thou fain wouldst say,
Still in truant beams they play.
Thy lips—but here my modest Muse
Her impulse chaste must needs refuse:
She blushes, curtsies, frowns,—in short She
Dreads lest the Subject should transport me;
And flying off, in search of Reason,
Brings Prudence back in proper season.
All I shall, therefore, say (whate’er
I think, is neither here nor there,)
Is, that such lips, of looks endearing,
Were form’d for better things than sneering.
Of soothing compliments divested,
Advice at least’s disinterested;
Such is my artless song to thee,
From all the flow of Flatt’ry free;
Counsel like mine is as a brother’s,
My heart is given to some others;
That is to say, unskill’d to cozen,
It shares itself among a dozen.
Marion, adieu! oh, pr’ythee slight not
This warning, though it may delight not;
And, lest my precepts be displeasing,
To those who think remonstrance teazing,
At once I’ll tell thee our opinion,
Concerning Woman’s soft Dominion:
Howe’er we gaze, with admiration,
On eyes of blue or lips carnation;
Howe’er the flowing locks attract us,
Howe’er those beauties may distract us;
Still fickle, we are prone to rove,
These cannot fix our souls to love;
It is not too severe a stricture,
To say they form a pretty picture;
But would’st thou see the secret chain,
Which binds us in your humble train,
To hail you Queens of all Creation,
Know, in a word, ’tis Animation.
1.3k
In the remembrance of bows and curtsies,
Amidst the shed leaves,of pale memories,
I stood marred by, and married to your heart,
Thus, in question,your each and every part.
But like the sun at night stood forgotten,
Looking for a love never-begotten;
And seeking all the answers I was due,
Much like a priest sworn,did I worship you.
But unanswered prayers had love, undone,
Thus then against me, your self-conceit won.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 12:23 PM UTC
I.
April made port.
The hordes of sand stood ready; surveilled
the eccentricities of April with a judging
eye. Lightwinds seem to sturggle pathing as if
they were still learning cantrips. No blood no magic.
All is well with my soul.
The crooning of the bony earth woke the
slumbering April-bud. It sang in seismic trembles.
We danced with the needles that recorded this symphony.
The ticking of your hair. The elevated pulses of
sharp, angled red; we rejoiced in the every spike.
Ruminations preserved.
II.
Sometimes, I wish there were
parking lots for ants in front of a bar
where they would swap stories while
drowning in vats of apple saliva.
Their antennae would sway to and fro,
and there would be proper queues which
would make the sight more stunning and
post-apocalyptic. There would be lots
of kissing. There would be courtesy and curtsies.
There would be stories about patriotism; how
they so love their Queen and would fight
for Queen and colony and breadcrumbs and peas.
There will be no discrimination; no one
shall look at one ant and say, “Hey, sugar-lover;”
the winged will fall in line as much as
the crawling red and black.
Ruminations reserved.
III.
O cold, cold, Earth, t’was your day, in echoing chime!
The miters sanctified by satyr priests bore bare
relations succinctly longed for and wanted! Godspeed!
The atmosphere wears its gown, the Aurora, in celebration!
The drum-line needs no motivating, it goes ever on, the snares
rumbling in sync with the fire-ants marching in time,
the fire-ants marching in time! Never before had a white flag
been as unnecessary. O cold, cold Earth,
cruise the orbit with this enchanting chanting, ever-going on.
Ruminations deserved.
IV.
The Queen is dead.
Long live the Queen.
Ruminations unheard.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
Lady Elmore sniffs
as Polly enters her room
with a tray with teapot
and cup and saucer
and sugar bowl
and a jug with milk
and curtsies awkwardly
her black and white uniform
neat and tidy
she notes sitting up in bed
and staring,
Polly holds the tray
getting heavy
looks at Lady Elmore
through tired lids
stands still after her curtsy,
place it here Polly
the lady says
pointing to her lap
in the bed
her hair in a mess
grey strands breaking out
lips pinkish
eyes stark and black
or dark blue,
Polly puts down the tray
with careful art
makes sure it is safe
stands back
stares
waits hands in front
of her stomach joined,
Lady Elmore sighs
looks at the tray
is there breakfast?
Polly says yes Madam
Susie is bringing it up soon
(if the silly mare
hasn't dropped it),
the teapot is heavy
the lady says
can you pour for me?
Polly moves forward
and carefully pours tea
into the cup until
near the rim and adds milk
then stands back and waits
and watches as the lady
places two lumps of sugar
into the tea and stirs,
you may go now Polly
make sure the Simmons girl
is not too long
with the breakfast
Lady Elmore says stiffly
as if words were made
from bricks or stones
to be spat out,
Polly nods and says
yes Madam I will
and goes off and out
and closes the door
with a slight click
and leans against it
and sighs wondering
where Susie had gone
hoping to God
she wouldn't be long.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
In a losing
there is not much architectural
panaché.
It’s a
dislinear philanthropy.
The sort of desolate impala predator in recycled NatGeo covers;
The last time I saw my grandma, she was in a lucid litter; her bed a dwarven vault umbrella.
I was yet to understand blood.
When she passed, she left without much weeping. My father-
A people’s baboon- sailed in still ebbing.
In those feralities, there's a lack of certain
strategy, blasphemous is the antelope's unpinnable traversing,
all but for
the mountain beast
who still lurks in the weeds. Crimson then often filled those pages.
There were a lot of funerals in mere naming; curtsies of fathers
of fathers of classmates.
I didn't know them much more than in movies, as described
then to me,
they missed a certain mark(frequently in the appetizers.)
In splatter and sploosh, in spilling and splash maroon- the droplets - danced in
my drowsed peripheral; imagine the photographer, it feels, that in every such photo, it is the same one.
So when you were lowered, I did as those films, and wore black-tie cotton and hugged,
and hugged,
and I wrote a poem, that I should think, you would hate, and implored that you heard the rummage
in the sighs of the snow and the cracklings, and that you read the other poem and scoffed less. Only now have you begun
to leave and it's most hideous, my friend, that you do so,
so spectacularly underwhelmingly.
And it is the grey that is left, which I find most tasteless; ghasting in recurrence that ends in a
lump, upon which the camera lingers on, for it is
feebly
glass.
Oct 26, 2019
Oct 26, 2019 at 7:34 PM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
A plain white sash across his chest;
with black trousers and matching boots.
"They look so happy together," Sarita
leans over to my ear, a smile in her
voice as everyone cheers.
"They really do." I say back. "Long
may they reign."
Hand in hand, Donna and Dean
descend down the steps as Paul
emerges from the crowds, the cheers
dying down.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Donna, Dean!" He embraces Dean like
a brother, and kisses Donna's hands.
He has a playful grin. "Welcome to
Luciuscemi!"
"Thank you for having us," Donna replies
as she looks around. "Oh my, you weren't
kidding when you said everyone was coming."
"We all have love for you. And we are all
thrilled about your marriage."
Donna turns to face everyone. "Thank you
all ever so for all your presents. Even now,
my men are still unpacking. To everyone
for wishing me and my family well, just know
I am greatly touched and humbled by all of
your support and kindness."
As she curtsies, we all cheer and return the
favour.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
I shyly approach her. "Queen Donna."
"Little Queen Lyn," she chuckles as we
embrace. "Ah! You look lovely!"
"Compared to you, I'm a plain Jane.
How long did it take to make a fine
dress?" I stroke my finger on the vibrant
embroidery on her skirts.
"Months. I'm just glad it was finished in
time for Paul's fine event. Same with
my love's jacket!"
I see Dean and Paul laughing together.
"By the way, thank you so much for the
rose-silks you sent me. And the crates of
wines and teas. You are quite the
connoisseur for your age. The book you
supplied me about each and every one
of those herbal teas is very impressive."
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 6:12 PM UTC
beautiful like a rainbow on a cloudy day
She twirls in her bright yellow galoshes and coat
that angelic face towards the sky
Her bright blue eyes bring the sun but her dark black hair continues to praise the rain
beautiful like the dazzling lights on the stage
light brown eyes twinkle as she curtsies to the audience
perfect golden curls making her shine
Silky music resonates from the cello and she seems to be suspended in time’s strong arms
beautiful like the strokes of vivid paint across her page
brilliant green eyes intensely stare at the paper
the brush end in her mouth as she smudges a line
her handsome red hair is in a simple knot at the nape of her neck, all speckled in red, blue, and yellow
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 6:34 PM UTC
Dad was a blowhole,
Mom, a plankton feeder
Who never neglected the pod.
The hunters would come
In their little asinine ships,
Looking to stick our
Good sense with sharp points,
Harpooning us into believing
We'd be better off dead and used for fuel.
But Mom would read to us
Stories from books about high water,
And tip those boats right over.
Nothing dared swim in our wake on such nights,
She was queen to the waves,
Who in bows and curtsies,
Became her subjects.
Little did we know this long, arduous journey
Was driven not by kingdom, but by extinction...
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 3:45 PM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"But I'll admit, how Paul is looking at those two is
bothering me." I raise a brow. "Ainhara, you
go and speak to Sue and Yidna, tell them I will
be there shortly."
Tucking an apple blossom in her hair, she curtsies and
leaves my side, joining the diverse conversation,
and joyous laughter.
As I walk up the steps, I see Edmund and his wife
walk down, I smile and nod their way which
they return and I am by Paul's side.
"Why is the King pouting now?" I roll my eyes.
"I legit may poison Brandon's food," he says.
"Paul!" I hit his arm.
"What! He's tempting me to do it! He's all
over Esshi!"
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Oh my," I facepalm, "You're upset that Brandon
is entertaining Esshi?"
"Yes," Paul pouts. "No fair, I saw her first! She's mine!"
"Oh Paul," I sigh and laugh, "Sometimes I don't
know what to do with you."
"You can help by assisting Luciuscemi take arms
against Huarean."
"Behave yourself!" I hit his arm again. "You are not going
to war with Brandon."
"He's flirting with my girl!"
"Talking, not flirting. There's a difference. He's not you!"
At that moment, Esshi giggles in response to
Brandon's comment.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"I'm the only one that should make her smile
and laugh like that. She's too adorable!
So, I'm gonna wife her!" Paul says.
"I won't let you. And no, I am not jealous!" I cut him off and
walk down the steps, smiling at his antics.
"You're not going to stop me, Lyn!"
"Challenge accepted!" I wave my hand and
walk to Kim, Donna, Dean, Sue, Ainhara and Yidna.
"What was that about?" Sue asks.
"Paul's upset Brandon's talking with Esshi."
"Seriously?" Yidna tries not to laugh.
Kim only chuckles and Donna shakes her head.
"Between his incessant flirting and playful nature,
it's a wonder how Esshi has not exploded from
shyness. She certainly is a timid thing." Donna sighs.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 6:32 PM UTC
with dripping elegance
the Venus' Pride
the False Indigo
with proud long stem protruding
the Blue Curls dew
covered extend
roadside curtsies to all
who pass by
dancing
like cultured pearls
in the morning
light.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
the sea sings its august notes,
curtsies and prances like
a two year old colt,
believes that the wind
forgives its cold voice,
rises and falls –
its icy engines strong warriors
battling beneath the clouds,
its flowing barrels voices
of gossiping steel.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 3:42 PM UTC
When the flower blooms
She smiles her pleasent hues
Her juices ooze
Advancing petal and raising shoots
A blubous tower in her youth
She curtsies, twirls in my view.
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 3:08 PM UTC
curtsies and torn panty-hose
i am the the tiny pieces of dust you inhale
how does somebody tear my panty-hose for me
if i have already done it myself?
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Ainhana, Esshi?" I call and they enter,
both were in similar fitted peacock lavender
elegant dresses that reveals their necks
and the slim waists; their hair packed into
neat buns. I smile, "You both look lovely!"
"As do you, My Lady," Esshi curtsies.
"Let us make way," I smile and they nod.
After quickly embracing my mother, I began
to make my way to the entrance my palace,
my ladies in toe.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
The afternoon coats the land and skies in
orange and red, but it's a sight to behold. The
air is so crisp and the birds glide and sing.
At the foot of veined marble, a grand white
carriage with sculpted timber being led by
four horses. The guards stand by the door;
the flag of Aurelinaea flapping in the wind.
"My Lady," the coachman smiles and bows,
"You look exquisite."
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Thank you," I chuckle as he opens the door.
One of my guards helps me in and my
handmaids before closing the door. As the
Chief Guard gallops on his horse, giving orders
to his men, I see my mother stand by the entrance.
"Safe travels, my dear." She says, waving which
I return as we ride out, on our journey
to King Paul's palace!
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
Lord Elmore is busy
as Polly enters his room
with a tray with teapot,
cup and saucer,
milk jug and sugar bowl
and shining silver spoon,
he is at his desk writing,
glasses on,
grey hair clipped close,
he looks up when Polly
stands near him,
ha tea,
well place it here
so I can drink it
after I've finished
this sentence,
he says,
looking Polly over,
at her uniform,
neat the headpiece so so,
Polly curtsies,
holds the tray steady,
tries to get a glimpse
what he is writing,
but can't,
she sets it down carefully,
then stands back,
hands at her side,
he pours some tea
from the ***
stirs in milk,
he looks at Polly,
you look tired Polly,
are you well?
she looks at him,
yes Sir,
never better,
he studies her,
her trim figure,
neatness,
good I am glad
to hear of such,
he says,
Master George is due home
from the Front sometime today,
he adds,
looking at her eyes,
bright and shining,
her mind sparkles
at the news,
but she tries not
to seem too excited,
o good my Lord,
she says,
that is good news
for you and Lady Elmore,
and the thought of their son
bringing her into his bed
that night electrifies her body,
yes it will be good to see him
and in one piece too,
so many of our men dying
and wounded,
he says mournfully
looking at the papers
on his desk,
yes Sir,
she says,
picturing their son
kissing her lips
and other places
she is too excited
to think about,
he nods,
ok Polly best let you
return to your jobs,
good work,
he waves a hand
to dismiss her
and she nods and walks
from the room,
he is busy again writing ,
head down,
she looks away
and goes out,
closing the door behind her,
a thrill of George coming
runs through her body
and she does a little skip
along the passage
on her way back
to the kitchen
and Mrs Gripe
and more work,
she pictures him whispering
words in her ear,
soft bed,
warmness,
kisses and he working her
in a different way,
the thought
brightens up
her up until now
dreary day.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC
Buried inside—we blameless pets
rove mollified through worlds of kind.
Rough n’ tumbles polish curtsies
for a tempered pair, spotless n' blind.
Never to slip, never to falter,
ever, we pets, sturdy in hollow.
Leap in rhyme, step with reason
‘to splitting morrow—grit n' swallow.
Nov 10, 2019
Nov 10, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC