"daresay" poems
During youth I was quite the collector
of ocean cretin's annealed sandcastles
Though the hosts inside could not be cheaper,
their fleshy coats were worth all the hassles
Content I was amassing worn seashells;
monthly did this fine collection accrue
Though furnished, barren felt those wooden shelves,
as even pearls are lesser than a jewel
Still, the sand was warm; the waves were soothful
and regardless of what hollowness struck,
the beach granted a chance to feel fruitful
so long as one had either skill or luck
Alone was I, but daresay not lonely,
but I was not merry until married.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
Its different when you're with me.
Because all I paint is black and gray
Don't you agree?
Your smiles are filled with glee,
Like a finished canvas I daresay.
Its different when you're with me.
I make things a little blurry
Like an old painting that starts to decay.
Don't you agree?
When you're with them, I am filled with envy.
So colorful, so faraway.
Its different when you're with me.
I am a bit too gloomy
Maybe I should stay away
Don't you agree?
Your life is already a beautiful harmony
I'll just be in the way.
Its different when you're with me.
Don't you agree?
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC
Like an explosion;
But in s l o w m o t i o n, a tidal wave crashes
This ironclad vessel beginning to thrash
Through the flashes of light though I see a brief passage
The corroded bolts past their toll
Give way exposing the hull
Capsizing the flood gates,
Negating promise of a safe harbor ashore
Amidst the panic and commotion
Together we sank, into the ocean;
*Sailing the high seas of impassion
I was impassive, &
Like an anchor*
Love plunged to unimaginable new fathoms
Dragging us down;
Perilously we claw hand over fist
The sorrows we drown
Adrift the turmoil and wreckage
Bubbles ascend toward the surface
(Spluttered echoes of our last choked hopes)
Water fills our lungs expunging the air
Fearing the end I daresay;
Babe take my breath away
Death is only the beginning
But I’m afraid of the forward path’s embrace
Dead ahead through the currents we tread
Shallow water blackout,
There's no turning back now,
Let's die as we lived
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
Hero
H-E-R-O
One word, Four letters
Loaded with meaning
But what, daresay, is the meaning?
What makes a hero?
Well, there are stereotypes
Storybook characters, playing the role
Strong, brave, handsome
Chivalrous, even. Bold and daring
But that isn't a real hero
A real hero is weak, cowardly
They lack confidence, they aren't strong, smart, or handsome
They live their lives in the background
If they had a color, it would be something nondescript
A beige, perhaps, or a muted blue
They live and let live
Until the time comes, where they must step up
The true hero, they seize the moment
They act against their fear, they gain strength they thought they lacked
To save the day
And fade, into the background
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 6:16 PM UTC
it's real easy to feel like
we've done it all
wrong
phenomenal fuckyes then
phantasmagoric fear ragers
perpetual pity *******
blood middle knuckle crush
regretful bets hedged
hunched frozen tongues
and pointy unsaids
but sometimes
with mind wide-eyed
and heart roots writhing
I've seen it
way differently
a vantage point
where pushpull face-plants
are winning lotto tickets
because maybe
we were kindling of yes
unable to keep it burning yet
and we would have fumbled it
far beyond repair
I'm fairly certain
our heartfelt invites
to instant cohabitation
would have ended
painfully
badly
traumas tripping
over hair triggers
in a 3-legged race
two smoking pistols
and four red feet
even Hello
seems too intense
to mouth
and from this
particular perspective
I can see how
every decision made in fear
led to whinging karmarang
tied with two strings
I daresay
one day we might
look back with a smile
that it went down this way
because the initial who
were not strong enough
to shoulder the immensity
nor surrendered enough
to float the fragility
of newborn carbon
gossamer whorl
in fact
I push all my chips
toward that
maybe there is
fortune in false starts
we make plans
but I bet The One
has better ones
so I'm pretty sure
we should sit down
and listen
for that breeze
to whisper
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
It must have taken you a terribly long time
To plot your mischievous plan that day.
You waited for the perfect moment to commit the crime.
And I daresay,
Your well-executed scheme, taking place in trigonometry
Brought me pain
And sorrow.
Your need for my pencil resembles idolatry.
I may never love the same
Or let another person "borrow"
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 2:09 PM UTC
I am but a rose of beginning green,
imprisoned to darkness all day,
within a monumental fiend,
who covers up the radiance that I want to give away
Occasionally a small opening would be sewn
into the darkness' fiery grasp
and your pure radiance could be shown
concealed in a kindhearted mask
Share your light with me
and for you I will light the way
wrapped in an unfamiliar livery
prepared for our intimacy till the end of our days
We will cross waters on a homebound stretch
and become fuel for our endurance,
so beautifully etched
I'll take my chances, following the sun
the garden we grow
means that together, we are one
Share your light with me,
and forever I will stay.
my petals can become your livery
we need each other, I daresay.
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC
The whole thing smells like chlorine, which is extremely unsettling because chlorine always tastes green and a lot like hereditary paranoia. These pants were only two washes removed from brand new, and now there's a slit in the knee, a slit as precise as the shape my eyes make when I'm suspicious of wanderlusting newcomers who moonlight in my former prison cell. And I'm unsure if I should call it like I'd like it to be and say the **** things were defective or if I should investigate further as to where I placed my legs while hacking bits of plastic.
I'm TIRED of hacking at bits of plastic. I daresay if things start looking up, I could get there. I'm desperate, while this pumpkin-leaf hole grows in my chest, I'm realizing I'll never get to Lancaster at this rate. Sure, sure, I'm obsessed. I also have a blonde tail hanging from a tack on my shelf and a lot of cards tacked to my wall. They either resemble a quilt, a window or a complete mess.
I'm relying on plastic cups and the Internet to continuously foster this false sense of belonging. And I don't want to shatter it, but I'm terrified by the threat of a midterm and I feel trapped by my own sky. I mean, have you SEEN the prices for quaint bed and breakfasts? But the sad truth is, I would be haunted by insurmountable guilt at leaving her behind. The cash flow isn't flowing, either. I'm thinking I'll have to forget about it and sit at my shiny laptop on an empty desk, staring at the cottage cheese ceiling and wondering if God is looking back.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
Your eyes tell me to kiss you,
So I come to you and say kiss me
You don't say yes,
But you don't say no
And I get lost in the body language.
I thought I knew how to read it,
But the wine says otherwise,
So I say kiss me again,
Yet you tell me you're not ready,
For I haven't said you're beautiful enough,
I don't say another phrase,
Nor do I try a different approach,
I remain true to what I read from you
Towards me,
I might be wrong,
It wouldn't be the first time,
I daresay neither the last.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
If I think back to the time
that I am fond of most
I think it would have to be
drifting in the boat
peacefulness was abundant
on that summer day
floating about aimlessly
playing funny games
Looking to the sky I seen
a hole right through th clouds
so I fantasized that it was
a time warp here and now
I wondered if I'd get ****** in
if I went below
but all that came through it was
a lovely rainbow
It came down to the surface
and from there it did grow
So I thought that maybe this mirage
wouldn't go
but it faded quickly
into the growing mist
there I saw a dragon
its tail slowly flicked
as it let a deep roar
from its parted lips
I daresay I was mezmerized
by this very sight
this is why to this day
I shudder with the fright
of seeing something so unique
it cannot be explained
I can only chalk it up
to the games the mind can play
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
Breathe unto lifeless form
Heartbeats sailing on jagged rocks
Inside is a turbulent storm
Of a cynic who mocks
Oh Joy, that infernal thing
Have no use for it, that devil
Anguish it will always bring
Nay, to it I'll not be civil
Curse it, curse myself
Fleeting smiles untethered
Flight at once with deft
Never lastingly fettered
Price too high, I daresay
Sweetness leaves a sour taste
For the brave willing to pay
Would I do so in haste?
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
we sit. weary pupils dilate as we watch
the dying day mourn lilac tears onto
rosy cloud-cheeks,
eyes widen like it's an action movie
and the night has begun to wake
its warriors - or worse,
it's a documentary, and
someone's burning van gogh's stars
back into oblivion. lord, we're watching
universes fall and bleed
-but the film stops there.
our sentiments are unscripted,
it's just that chill that creeps up our
collars and strokes our
amygdalae enviously-
and i daresay, to our sightcaptor
who begins to reach her way in
and withdraw, simultaneously,
i dare speak:
do
not
touch
me
but it's hard to stay cool
when you love the face of the sun
and must sing her to sleep.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 9:59 AM UTC
The cutis anserina raise cold upon your arm
The brain dispatches a foretelling chilling alarm
It is panic that has you in its grasp
I daresay your destiny
Though somewhat delayed come at last
You focus your frightened gaze rapidly from left to right
Wishing the sun break the dawn and begone this haunted night
Your inner voice speaks to you
Turn round if you dare
The hair slowly rises on your neck
The cautious self tells you to beware
Ring covered fingers icy run up your spine
Struggling to remain conscious
Your heart is pounding
Counting breaths you mark the time
Drenched in sweat you stumble headlong into the dark
Unaware an actor on the stage merely playing a part
Flee as far as you wish and swiftly as you can
There is no eluding the touch of fears hand
It is panic that has you in its grasp
The arms of fate
Clutch you to her stone breast and hold you fast
They call your name
You must bow to the gods
And breathe your last
All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Nov. 25, 2017.
I
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
"...our poor romance was for a moment reflected, pondered upon, and dismissed like a dull party, like a rainy picnic to which only the dullest bores had come, like a humdrum exercise, like a bit of dry mud caking her childhood." V Nabokov
How easy it is to confuse love with hatred
Like what they poured on your soul was acid
Slowly but surely the two opposites bounded
Every moment you spent is now clouded
Welcome to the moment you dreaded
Because slowly that hate disappears
Was it numbed by all those beers?
No, I'm just tired of the pasts' sneers
"Remember? He made you happy!
No, I'm just tired of all those tears
Now it's your heart that hurts with my spears
All those pains faded away
Elsewhere, I led them astray
You're dead to me, go decay
I don't love you, I daresay
Surprise! Viciousness is my forte.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 7:58 PM UTC
~
trick poem belie
this smooth, until
frank and exposed
~
mind, lost, it...
now maybe daresay
it's hidden elsewhere
~
redundant guesses and/or
questions about life
make meaning certain
~
subtly different thoughts
grace realizations, which
our starkest blur
~
time, its eyes
your poem, blink
now; gray scene
~
bear witness, a
child consuming poison
like purpose, watch
~
now, slip knots,
firm words they
ghost, into tangle
~
steal night, to
quiet your tear
of joy apart
~
engineer, through your
close conversation, tempting
doors guarding secrets
~
end, the ramble,
only read literally
when words fail
~
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC
I'm not in love
with your words
I'm in love with
the way you think
not just
delighted,
entertained,
endlessly curious,
sufficiently bewildered
and longing to climb inside
the gears tick-tocking your mind
but that your brain takes me
into a state of utter awe
blissing me still
it's looking into
this distorted hologram
mirror where I'm seeing
more of me, but from
different perspectives
than the usual 2D
similar to me, yet,
inversely intriguing
it's live and undulate
reflective truth serum
rooting me in now
that's why I slid
right down your throat -
I speak your language
and apparently intuitively
know how to crack you
allkindsa open
(even if it takes a
white-hot light year
and unprecedented doses)
it's like with you
I'm the me-est me
I can be
it's so
magically delicious
I don't try to escape
inside me anywhere
you make me want to
be more here
with you
on the outside
share all the parts
I learned it best to hide
on the in
though I know
it's a wee bit ******
if these treatises become
merely the sheer prologue
to The Most Unbelievable Tale
of Mystical Love Perhaps Ever Spun
the fact that
seeing you is
seeing me
means
loving you is
loving me too
this could be
- so -
healthy
like shots of
marine phytoplankton
chased with green smoothie
and my ponderings
keep meandering
around this one thing:
what happens when
it gets to the point where
your pictures painted of me
completely override
my false stories
- forevermore -
when I eat
so much of the mirror
I become - fully -
the me I see
through your
Windexed eyes
I daresay
that’s levitating off
the porch of full potential
outside our diamond-cut pyramid
with the gold-engraved signage
hanging in front of our
intergalactic portal
where one
might have
once
looked for a door
that now seems
completely archaic
and unnecessary
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
To thy “stranger”, I would say:
Wouldst thee with flaming embers play?
What wouldst thou give me, for my lore?
A service, or gift from a distant shore?
Ah, I have it—give me a Kiss
I’ll be satisfied with this
“A trifle!" Yea, I do not jest
Since curiosity will not rest
I deem this the fairest price
For my confession of many a vice
In good faith I deign to wait—
‘til my tale is done—thy lips to sate
Sit, for though this tale is short
Thou art my guest in this misted Court
I am a child with a demon’s heart
A confection with a center ****
Through my veins runs not vampyr’s liquor
Rather, ground glass and honey are my ichor
Silk and lace may conceal the malice
But even such are stained, like a tarnished chalice
Raiment white I wear no longer
Storm and night by far are stronger
Tainted as the tainted come
Lust I’ve tasted, and then some
The sweet bite of teeth I’ve often felt
But mine own claws have more damage dealt
For how can shadows of bruises compare
To the unhealed slashes beneath my hair?
But lesser are all blades, fangs, and claws
Than the candied toxins from these tiny jaws
Words—not spells—in many tongues
Physic’ly powered by caged lungs
Caressing, weaving, setting hearts a-daze
Twisting, stabbing, fiery raze
Finally, sever, the building craze
Suffering will not this parasite faze
Their fresh hot tears—my wine
But at Death I draw the line
Darkness in an Angel’s guise
Deception, too, I despise
I can die
But cannot lie
Why so pale and trembling, my dear?
I daresay I know what will give thee cheer
Have my lips—a gift, not a payment
Into the void thy fears will be sent
Thou wilst forget all thy joys and regret
And stay for eternity, as my human pet…
How may I say this, with a face so merry?
Why, ‘tis simple—I am a faerie
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
As mad as a cat chasing rats that never leave the walls-
day in and day out-
spent following the scritch-scratch
of their god forsaken paws,
just out of reach.
That would drive any creature livid,
and I’m as mad as that.
Madder even,
I daresay.
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 9:10 PM UTC
it’s not that i was
made this way
it’s that i was forged
in the fires this way
born
blank
formless
ready to become
something
someone
raised behind
fragile glass walls
they tapped on
and i could not
defend myself without
cracking the seal
and being blamed
for destruction
until one day
the fire came
burning around my feet
and i had
to get
out
i smashed the glass
shards in my fists
blood on my knuckles
and i’ve been fighting
ever since
that day
i was not
supposed to be this way
i was supposed to be
a fragile china doll
but this is who
i ended up
a fighter
a warrior
an impudent
little girl who
doesn’t know
when to quit
supposed to faint
at the sight of blood
not be someone who
seeks it out
supposed to be
meek
and mild
mousy
not loud
and bouncy
chatty
impulsive
or daresay
even funny
but i am
a fighter
and i will not
be stopped
i refuse to be
walked over
for any longer
than i already have
and taking my
power back means
sometimes i must
punch
sometimes i must
snarl
bare my teeth and
sharpen my nails
but it also means
sometimes i must
stand
with all the power
i know i possess
underneath the
surface
hold it back
allow my spine
to straighten
and my shoulders
to stretch
remember words like
imposing
badass
competent
and for all i have felt
that i take up too
much space in this
body of mine
i am this size because
nothing smaller
could contain
what i have inside
let my full
height rise
and my full
weight surmise
to anyone and
everyone that i
might not always spit
fire and flames
but there is a furnace
roaring at my feet
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 1:19 PM UTC
beneath her feet
her most daring
feet
that traversed
the murky waters
of dawn, past mountainsides
of prayers, stallions the blackest mare
love combined, daresay silence annuls
the noise of heart and the shadow
casts its darkest immaterial stone
beneath her feet
her most daring
feet
the dead continue
to bury the living
and the living excites
the demanded hue of another blue
to hold close into the sky
whose also darling feet dangle
much like water’s fervent collapse
mantling the rivers, miles you have
walked without images of I
beneath her feet
her most beautiful feet
we go wind by wind in excess
of days
in the night’s blackest dress soiled
by light is inmost dance instep,
curated from machineries
beneath her feet
your feet I adore
which bony prominences hurdle
me weak, ruined,
where I lay
is always the cradle of Earth
your feet and I beneath
them, emerging from the possible life
of leaves in birdflight,
beneath your feet
your cold feet, unrelenting
on the unkind tomb of my body
your swift drop of feet, their
superfluous coming-and-going
love landing on my body – trampled, weighed down
beneath your feet,
your most darling feet.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 4:25 AM UTC
Tried to listen to your silent words,
To decipher those blank eyes mysterious,
But Love! Your soul is that still water,
which runs very deep, deeper and deeper...
Tried to read those troubling thoughts,
Those that are venomously eating you up,
Tried to think of a reason for your closed fists,
But, a smile that covered up your trembling lips,
made all my efforts go in vain...
But, I can daresay, that the smile that,
dances on your lips is not a genuine one.
And, that the cold silence that exists between us,
is far away from the comforting one that we once shared, long ago...
I wish, I could stay by your side,
through all your trials and tribulations.
I wish, I could, help you, and we would,
together win this dark, monstrous fight...
I wish, I could, make you smile wholeheartedly,
and never let those tears fall from your eyes.
I remember that lost smile of yours, darling!
which made my tired heart, beat up endlessly, all over again...
I wish, I was near you, my angel,
to rid you of all your terrible miseries,
I wish, you were not just a mere picture on my bedside table,
I was staring at... hopelessly, helplessly....
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
these winding, blind itineraries
and their purposeful turns;
bends on the wry pavements,
their naming of things
awaiting the return of memory
with an auspice, or a head with bounty,
i am but a bamboo in
the wind — slender gymnast
supple ground's tenement,
or daresay honestly, a creeping into
the world with roots close to
heartland, this poem
now, without feet and my eyes
with surgery-precision ruptures
the softness of all things held close
and divine like a secret,
swimmingly
light coming in
unabashed rooms
here now is a poem,
a homecoming.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
doubled & folded a two way mirror
see the blush on a pale bottom,
it is as white as me
read a book on “how to be a ghost”
working as crows fornicate,
black, love made with dead bodies
i floated over the lot of them
and i was so afraid, i did not know
what was seen on the other side
car lights, a saint to pick up roadkill
do not forget that ghosts watch
the birds echo, they might
verses were rehearsed & daresay
written on a couple dimes
we both have wings
while we both have wings,
i cannot fly –
oh, crows not the white of doves
i am dead & they eat my color, alive
fern to shield beads and eyes
***** pricking red bowels inside
should not know for literature
god’s couple of miles higher than
what the good book claimed
and he watches us from a mirror
the other side of a stage
we look so ugly, the crows eat my face.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
and his smile,
like crystals,
did not
appease her
until November’s
excited cheers.
(There were other crystals that interested her, you know; and she thought them beautiful. They hung above their heads on Thanksgiving, brightening the eyes that regarded her so fondly. Had autumn heard her prayers for love?)
and his words,
like shivers,
did not
grace her
until Winter
drew near.
(There were shivers that overcame her, too; and she thought them ironic. For something meant to warm her, she became colder than stone. Perhaps the seasons did not hear her.)
and his absence,
like caverns,
did not
rouse her
until April’s
many tears.
*(There were tears that fell from her, too; and she thought them ****** For where rain gave new life, the sobbing took hers away.)*
and his love,
like air,
did not
scare her
until Summer
was seared.
(There was a time when air seemed irrelevant; and she believed she could live life off a little. Imagine her alarm when the air was no longer hers to breathe, having been a gift to another.)
and it,
like time,
did not
distress her
until rejection
was clear.
(And it was then when she was swaying there beneath the chandeliers, teeth chattering so loud they overpowered the thump of her broken heart, and her eyes were so dry she could no longer weep, or even breathe through the emotion that threatened to clog her throat; she realized—)
that he,
like autumn,
did not love her
enough
to tolerate
another
year
v.g
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC