"daintily" poems
Paris;this April sunset completely utters
utters serenely silently a cathedral
before whose upward lean magnificent face
the streets turn young with rain,
spiral acres of bloated rose
coiled within cobalt miles of sky
yield to and heed
the mauve
of twilight(who slenderly descends,
daintily carrying in her eyes the dangerous first stars)
people move love hurry in a gently
arriving gloom and
see!(the new moon
fills abruptly with sudden silver
these torn pockets of lame and begging colour)while
there and here the lithe indolent **********
Night,argues
with certain houses
18.6k
*We all
Dance around
A fire with lipstick
On our cheeks in lines
Powdered in patterns that* will
Accentuate the contours of our bodies
Symbols written in eyeliner so daintily
Adorned like ink meeting paper we are
*Decadent 287 temptation 285 ****** 307* flame 300
*The savages you have created with media we chant
Eninimef eninimef eninimef eninimef we chant*
In a circle circulating the world with our starving
Bodies that whisper of synthetic beauty and
Neglect naked and perverse we are posing
For your cameras capturing exploitation
And degradation because ****** 307 we
Are ****** 307 temptation 285 the savages
You have created with media eninimef we chant
We are the heat of broken records and burnt out cigs
Play us like your out of tune guitar our G-strings are so
Much more loose unlike the noose of your hands grazing*
Our skin we sing what you want no matter how deep
No matter how long the song we are exactly what
You want *the savages you have created of me –
The savages you have created with media –
Eninimef eninimef eninimef eninimef
We chant – we chant – we chant – we
Decadent 287 temptation 285
****** 307 flame 300*
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
Let me love you in Silence,
I want to watch you,
observe all your pores
and spots where fine wrinkles have settled.
I want to see you
dance daintily like a flower
or grunt and hoof your way through space
like a grubby animal.
Either exalted or halted,
I want to hold you,
to cup your soft surrendered hands just like a clam shell,
and to cocoon
your weary beating body.
Let me love you in silence,
from afar
like a deer
hiding in the forest,
peeking out at the mysteries of the world.
I want to love you deeply
like the ocean loves the land
as she kisses its gentle shores
and runs away all too soon,
called by the moon.
I lay on the dusted hardwood of our home,
your washing the dishes and the fragrant smell of soap fills the air,
I lay underneath the door frame
tracing my eyes up and down your sweet body, your strong back hunched over. Hard working arms cleaning,
oh the little love secrets I keep to myself.
I want to run through meadows picking the most vibrant wildflowers
so I may lay them at your feet,
gently
quietly.
This yearning in my soul
words do not know this love,
these intangible feelings exuding.
I want to bathe you
in a claw foot tub
and in the silence
watch your eyes grow wide,
I want to see the wonderment
of a whole galaxy of stars glimmering inside you
before noise ushers such things away
before noise pulls me from this fantasy.
This dream that we are living,
it exists,
I know it does.
You can live it too, please please,
just close your eyes
and let love linger for a moment
feel loves sweet breathe
as she breathes in silence,
as she breathes
inside of you
and inside of me.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
I feel mean and nasty.
I cuss out everyone I talk to behind their backs, saying
'That asshole!'
Or,
'What a pussy!'
For no reason but that the caffeine wears me thin.
My only child-friend is Bubba the dog, who gives me those eyes,
'I've never tried watermelon before, please Jilly can I try it!?'
And, of course I say yes.
Dogs love you even when their food comes late.
He's a pit bull. I feel someone of importance when I walk down the street with him, you know,
'Move it, coming through with my friend the tan pitbull with the sad eyes! We don't have all day! We have to eat watermelon!'
He lays in the sun and I think of things.
'Why is he afraid of water?
Why does he step so daintily over obstructions in his path?
What does he really think of those
cats he chases...does he want them to sit down and eat watermelon with us?'
I want someone to eat watermelon with us.
Danny is at work, and the sun is high in the powder blue backdrop it calls home.
We want a watermelon friend.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
There's a black cat
walking flat,
his back feet
dipped in
marshmallow droppings.
His tail flicks
like a reed in the swamp,
and he can't
help but run through legs
swiftly
hopping on furniture
daintily
belly all soft and white.
Silent is he,
catching the almost-full moon
in his bright whiskers.
Padded paws,
a black tail snaking
twitching as he
squeezes to rest
in tight spaces
wide eyes as green as
a kiwi fruit
with the seeds cut out.
He bats his toy freely,
ears up then
hears a rustle
at the screen door
and sits
transfixed
but only
for a moment.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
Dress to **** don't show everything.
Pass smiles, be polite to everyone.
Keep your voice down, never to laugh out loud.
Eat a modest portion, and only one piece of cake.
Walk gracefully, poise in every move.
Sit up straight, legs daintily crossed.
Hold your wine glass by the stem, never by the bowl.
Take a sip by looking into, never over the glass.
There's nothing in the world like proper etiquette.
You can always tell a lady has good breeding
by how effortlessly classy she is.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
the nature of this night
spreads its thin harvest upon my table
a gruel and water porridge feast
with the fanfares of her jaundiced hand
many more lined up with eager grin
for the warmth of paupers kinship
thin blanket wrapped round our shoulders
snow gathers at feet
she captures the moment on paper
the image of all of us gathered like when we were young
the grandiose illustration
with its brilliant colour fanfare with
jugglers and wine swilling laughing men blinded by drink
chorus line of female dancers who wear costumes of the hundred years war
lead the assault on the last bastions of the ignorance of bliss
all descrying that we can ill afford to be sleeping
while empires are built in our namesake
the so daintily shod soldiers whos feminine wiles misunderstood
have taken over the dancehall beneath us
and have taken up song
the grandiose illustration
caught by her pen on sketch pad
has leanings to the Marxist revolutions
and philosophys of the rhetorical
but in the end we join them and
drink the port sing the song
a thousand years of tales to be told
in the eyes of a single girls sweet thoughts
epic landscapes filled with noble men and storybook girls
the grandiose illustration
shows the two of us on the beach
with the sun racing down to touch the high towers of miami
and fill the laughing joys of thouse who toss and
tumble in the breaking waves
the nature of this night
in one small corner of the illustration
a simple window with the shade drawn
that says goodnight
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
A boy in jeans,
A boy in trousers,
A boy in braces,
A boy in blouses,
A girl who smells like summer sweat,
A girl whose makeup hasn’t set,
A boy who swears,
A boy who doesn’t,
A girl’s shoulder,
A second cousin,
A girl who smells of **** and beer,
A tattooed boy with a silver sneer,
A skinny girl who’s got T.B,
A boy who daintily sips his tea,
A girl’s left leg – bare or stockinged,
A boy so cold his knees are knocking,
A nasty ****
A suede-head killer,
Kate Moss,
Sienna Miller,
Vivienne Westwood’s crazy teeth,
Bow-legged loons on Hampstead Heath,
Blue eyes, brown eyes, grey eyes, green,
Cold eyes, big eyes, sad eyes, mean,
Darling sweethearts in flirty skirts,
City-Boy ******** in well-pressed shirts,
Elbows, throat, wrists, knees,
A consumptive girl’s chainsmoking wheeze,
Blonde girls with their hair in plaits,
Skinny boys, short boys, muscular, fat –
Girls with pink lipstick like strawberry frosting,
I’m telling you man,
It’s ******* exhausting.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
A hundred threads
Whitely pass
Into the red curve.
The sea of grass and I survey.
Delicate folds shape the mass
As a cobweb napkin.
I sip daintily at
Stark faces in
The brilliant musk.
This is a struggle to
Recover my black bones
From velvet soul-eating sleep.
Here, inside of a glove
Which always seems to
Have an extra finger or two.
Continuing in a serene orbit,
Just a figure on a rail,
And silver day is an idiot greyhound,
Bounding instantly afterward
Rather like a run in a stocking
But not at all.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 2:48 PM UTC
The steak tartare had painted toenails
And manicured hands of polished silk;
Mouth with apple, daintily wedged,
Floating in a bath of milk.
I helped myself to a silky ****
Sliced across it's still-pink grain,
Seasoned with a squirt of lemon
And coarse ground pepper, for a tang.
The seasoned broth was the finest gravy
To moisten the neat cuts of meat,
And sweetened fat, in a frothy pie
Ended the repast, with a treat.
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 8:44 AM UTC
i.
they say that when you drown,
it's nothing like in the movies;
it's silent.
there's no splashing,
no screaming,
no kicking or crying for help.
just
silence.
and i guess it's true,
for i am drowning --
there is water in my lungs,
pouring into my heart,
filling my veins and escaping from my eyes --
yet i cannot speak.
i am rendered speechless
by you.
ii.
i'm not so sure if it's
the smooth white sand
ingrained in your skin,
or the intricate seashells
that are your daintily painted
fingernails.
maybe it's the pulsing red
of a moon during high tide
that shines through
your scarlet lips,
or maybe
it's the crashing waves
filling the ocean in your eyes.
maybe it's the way you sweep me up
and pull me under,
stealing my breath,
invading my thoughts.
or maybe it's how you
are unpredictable.
you are in alliance with the erratic skies
and fickle moon,
and yet,
no one can control you,
no one can predict your next move.
iii.
i find it fascinatingly beautiful
how easy it is
for you to destroy yourself,
how you hide within raging whirlpools
and tear yourself apart from the inside.
people are afraid of the ocean,
but the ocean is a part of you.
who knows, though?
maybe you're scared of the ocean too.
iv.
beware the girl with the ocean eyes,
for a heart that is eaten away by the sea
can never be whole again.
(a.m.)
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
Fairies dancing in the breeze
swinging daintily on flowers leaves
teasing animals as they fly
gone in the blink of their eye
Sprinkling dust as they go
painting nature to and fro
delicately leaving their mark
was that a coy flutter, hark
Giggling as they sprinkled a bee
he sneezed, they tittered prettily
mischievous little sprites
playfully sharing delights
Nighttime falls, they leave the ball
on the wind they sensed a call
homeward bound they meander
leaving behind a world of wonder
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
My jealousy is not a thing of beauty.
I don't wear my envy
daintily on my sleeves,
I scribble it on my hands and face with a
cheap green crayon.
Looking at you feels like my heart
is microwaving aluminum foil on high.
Not because I'm jealous of what you have but because
I'm jealous of what we could've been together,
had circumstances been different.
If one day you had sat here
instead of there and maybe we would've been friends and
what if
what if
what if—
I'm jealous because apparently
there are people in the world who don't spend every minute
overthinking
who don't feel the need to
analyze every little detail and wouldn't it be nice to breathe,
to breathe and not
think.
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 10:05 PM UTC
You sit daintily on her lap
And everything’s a frenzy
Not a sunset fiesta
But an angry cataclysm of molecules
Ricocheting into hysterical radioactivity
And I sit quietly
Warily
I watch mine become hers
During brief moments
Of searing mania and the pit
Of my core is unraveling
And my heart is two patters too quick
In the most sedated of ways
On days when the wrinkles of your hands
Match another’s
And when you are no longer my own.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
Daintily- swirling in pockets of clarity
Fragments that once roamed alongside me
are left to decompose
It's
Unforseeing crystal ***** of bones,
Floating like petals of disdain,
Meet others alike with steel crunch
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
Transfixed I stand
in front of the sun catcher
daintily dispersing
the colors
of the rainbow
filling my heart
with poetry
The breeze makes
the reflections dance
and my kitten paws
the moving photons
in vain
chasing shadows
that will never be
Fleeting moments
of glee
caught by him and
me
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
In moments of raging to the hospital, the jolts from the road, the squeal of the tires, and the tripping of your feet only multiply your anxiety. Delicacy is suspended amply in the air, hanging daintily on the thread of life and death.
Delicacy is the soft and inconsistent beeping from the cardiac monitor. It controls your thoughts; yet is only a shadow on your radar. It shares the rhythm of the pounding in your head, and the thumping in your chest. You strain to shut everything out, leaving only the shy quiver of breathe slithering out from their lax lips. Their lips tremor under the reign of some foreign enemy, and their eyes flutter from an unseen truth. It is the suffering you wish to unburden them from, the pain you would inflict upon yourself in return for both their lives intact.
Delicacy is a light fragrance, a mixture of disinfectant and sweat. Is it the scent of creating a life, or the imminent end of it? Beads of perspiration stream down your face and sting your eyes.
The sweet caress of silk treads faintly underneath your fingertips. You rub the back of her hand, clammy and fragile. Rubbing the skin, you forget who the comfort is more for while footsteps pierce the stillness in the air. A figure dawned in white appears before you. Their form blurs in and out of focus, their voice a toneless muddle seeping through your cloud of stupor.
Delicacy is a whisper flashing goosebumps across your skin, "We can only save one of them." It is the realization that too much pressure, and two months premature, is a cocktail dyed with poison. She looks to you with eyes of understanding and acceptance.
Delicacy is the collapsing of all you know. It is the berating of incoherent words tumbling from your lips for the pure sake of escaping. You're swiftly taken from the room, kicking and screaming to the hallway.
The unsettling tick of the clock mocks your every fiber. You **** the void of silence with the tapping of your foot, taming yourself from barging your way into the room. With the screaming from the bed, the instinct of protection, the stiffening of your back, the nurse quickly ushers you back in.
The soft and consistent rising of the baby's chest is surrounded with the light fragrance of life. The plush fibers of the yellow blanket tug on the skin of your fingertips. The fascination apparent in your eyes, look to her while wondering how this little body will have the biggest impact on your life. Delicacy is the soft whisper flashing goosebumps across your skin, "We made it."
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
Long table laden in lace
mismatched silverware
chipped plates
cloth napkins and crystal cups
beneath a canopy
of knotted branches
framed between two hallowed trunks
snaggled twigs cling
to lanterns and ribbons
strung across the foliage
for the Moonlight Feast.
When the sun sinks
the guests begin to arrive
with their flowing gowns
thin veils and hats
lace gloves
masked faces
shaped like wooden birds
slender heeled black boots
daintily stepping through grass
to find a seat
at the Moonlight Feast.
As they sit
drinking their wine
tittering through
frozen smiles
one man walks
wearing a frown.
the woman by his side
pale as the moon
hair like the sun
they sit at the head
of the Moonlight Feast.
They look nearby
at the less traveled road
where a young man
walks with not a penny
they run like wolves
on their hands and knees
and strike him down
limb from limb
he is torn
and brought
to the Moonlight Feast.
The frowning man
gave a toothy smile
and as well did his queen.
The guests all ate
of the flesh of a beggar
who they slaughtered
alone on the street.
Their titters all turned to
shrieks and howls
while the moon shined bright
over these Moonlight Beasts
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
Greens and gold of lattice work cascading down the tree,
This epiphyte, so infinitely, delicately free.
A lattice work of green finesse, a miniature Cezanne
With exquisiteness of spiky bloom embellishing it’s charm.
Cascading down the grizzled trunk of gnarled and twisted hand
The hosting ancient Kamahi looms loftily, so grand.
Looms aloft with leafy bough so softened by the show
Of ruffled, pinkish bottle brush amassing high and low.
Hordes of buzzing, bumble bees so clumsy in their way,
Tumbling from flower to flower collecting nectar’s day.
With afternoon the waning sun lies hot on sultry air
And little girls in pretty frocks skip by with not a care.
Summer grasses long and dry stand statuesque and straight
With sweet laburnum’s perfumed heads a nodding by the gate.
Young heifers graze in clover in the dell down by the brook
And the fantail dances daintily seeking insects in the nook
There’s a special, quiet majesty pervading here, so fair
With the thistledown afloat, so still with golden motes in air.
Fills my soul with gentle feeling and a rolling tear, unplanned,
For this blend of quiet ambivalence through my beauteous rural land.
Marshalg
“Foxglove” Taranaki.
NEW ZEALAND.
19 January 2014
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
She will always be my sweet sister, Hilda pretty and fair,
Daintily seated on her chair.
She is like a wild rose blooming on a coast,
For I will always love Hilda the most!
She is like a Summer morning the birds mistake her for it,
Cross is she? Rarely even a bit.
There she sits pretty on the lea,
She is quite a fond treasure for me.
I love her so much,
I would love to buy her pretty things and such.
Beauty always stays with her,
And never does it cur.
I love you, Hilda dear,
And so glad am I that with me you can stay all the year!!
~Marian~
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
The dolls house was an escape exist masquerading as child's play,
Emerald curtains open for all the neighbours to see.
Gentle, delicate, Miss China lays the table rather than in bed,
Spreads the table cloth rather than her legs.
The tea set lies daintily on the table for when he comes home
When her mother plants him a kiss in the garden to grow.
And watching the car park on the fading lawn
She wonders if window panes feel happiness at all.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
Every morning when I am making tea,
I wish most fervently,
To become an electric KETTLE.
It most certainly won't matter to me,
I'll accept it most gracefully,
Be I of ceramic or METAL.
For one moment I'm dancing with glee,
The next sobbing most piteously,
These wretched hormones don't SETTLE.
Once I whistled so daintily,
Now I breathe so monstrously,
No longer a rose PETAL.
I may boil, then boil most furiously,
Then click off automatically,
Before I sting like NETTLE.
Splutter, bubble, gurgling I be,
Then cool and calm..so peacefully ,
There I ..in fine FETTLE!
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
She rolls a joint on an old DVD
Balancing the smooth plastic on her knees
She always wraps it so daintily
And when she’s done she looks up at me
She says, “Hey, you wanna smoke?”
I say of course, I’ll never turn down a ****
She lights it up with such a splendid grace,
Spillin’ ash all over the place
The smoke billows around her pretty nose
And into her nostrils I suppose
Two braids hang below her ears
Smells like **** and licorice whenever she’s near
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 9:04 AM UTC
The electricity
vibrates
between them,
creating overloads,
surges of energy,
releasing tensions
in maximum-abundance.
O boy, fiber optic
feels really great,
it seems so brilliant,
love at our fingertips!
But what if,
what if,
I want to
wet my whistle,
taste her
daintily,
paint her
town white,
feel her
heartbeat for real?
Guess, they're the
million dollar questions
that computers
cannot answer
that make us so poor,
so frustrated in cyber-love!
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
I long for permanence
Not a rush of euphoria that disappears in an instant
A permanent face
That beams when he meets mine
A permanent heart
That stays loyal as a soldier would for his country
A permanent body
That never allows me to feel its absence
A permanent soul
That would be ready to rescue my every fall
While the world and I longed for these worldly things
It recently struck me how very selfish I have been
To not be in gratitude of He who is the King
He's not mere permanence, he's infinite
I call him 5 times a day
And if I need him more
I just have to raise my two hands and He's there
He gives me wealth when I deserve it,
Love when I need it and least expect it
Pain when I deserve it
How could I complain?
How could I ask for more?
He has all that I need.
But women are women
We crave to feel loved
Some grow impatient
Some succumb to temptations
Deluded, they thought that this worldly love, that is hurting them, is true
I believe that whoever He sends is written for me
And so I shall wait
Daintily patient on calm days
Deliriously in frustration on rough days
But this wait is still a wait
To the lads who are all smitten
Break those walls if you dare
Actions, not words will allow you to overcome these walls
Even if you do, I can't guarantee that you've sealed the deal
Until the right one comes,
I will stand happy and tall
Though I am very well aware
That I am quite small
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC