"decorous" poems
Her mind lives in a quiet room,
A narrow room, and tall,
With pretty lamps to quench the gloom
And mottoes on the wall.
There all the things are waxen neat
And set in decorous lines;
And there are posies, round and sweet,
And little, straightened vines.
Her mind lives tidily, apart
From cold and noise and pain,
And bolts the door against her heart,
Out wailing in the rain.
5.2k
Inside the bunny suit
my ears are still small
and round, and percussive
sounds come to visit me
costumed in white muffles.
Inside the bunny suit
a bead of sweat itches
my nose to rabbit fidget
and wiggle-twitch where
my fingers can’t reach it.
Inside the bunny suit
a thin layer of nylon dots
inserts its silky self
between me and everything
I fumble to touch.
Inside the bunny suit
the outside world’s broken
up by a half-dozen holes,
and green strands fuzz the focus
of each fragmented peep.
Inside the bunny suit
probing orange lights
make kaleidoscope shapes
through those same cut
openings. They distract me.
Inside the bunny suit
I can smile at and feel
closer to the fantastic
creatures who surround me
in their own decorous skins.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 6:17 AM UTC
Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.
I want to tell you how your face
enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . .
hangs above my desk
like my own muse.
I want to tell you how your hands
reach out from your books
& seize my heart.
I want to tell you how your hair
electrifies my thoughts
like my own halo.
I want to tell you how your eyes
penetrate my fear
& make it melt.
I want to tell you
simply that I love you--
though you are "dead"
& I am still "alive."
Suicides & spinsters--
all our kind!
Even decorous Jane Austen
never marrying,
& Sappho leaping,
& Sylvia in the oven,
& Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale,
& pale Virginia floating like Ophelia,
& Emily alone, alone, alone. . . .
But you endure & marry,
go on writing,
lose a husband, gain a husband,
go on writing,
sing & tap dance
& you go on writing,
have a child & still
you go on writing,
love a woman, love a man
& go on writing.
You endure your writing
& your life.
Dear Colette,
I only want to thank you:
for your eyes ringed
with bluest paint like bruises,
for your hair gathering sparks
like brush fire,
for your hands which never willingly
let go,
for your years, your child, your lovers,
all your books. . . .
Dear Colette,
you hold me
to this life.
2.4k
I apologize if my eyes,
Tend to wander into your worlds.
Penetrating the walls you’ve built,
To get a sneak peek into your last nights
And next years
And what are you doing todays.
I apologize,
If my ears air-waved into your waving dictions,
Dropping tones,
Dimming voices,
Dictating the peace you want yourself to attain
Through the side conversations
And the cocktail effects
Attending, to what you’re not aware of.
And I wasn’t aware that you are going to treat me that way;
I gave you my heart over dinner
Last night; under the table your family was sitting on-
As we put on our decorous smiles
And threw our shy giggles;
Cracking up with strong inner laughter within,
Because the same
Lost, upset, wild
Shoot first ask later couple
Are pretending to blush over “grown up” jokes
Made by our fathers
To test our inner surfaces;
I gave you my heart over dinner last night,
And that was
THE last night;
Because my heart and yours
Stopped exercising their vividness
On a Tuesday morning.
They, stopped writing musicals of us,
For my heart was executed
And yours got shattered-
Nowhere to be found;
Martyred in between the lines of a political message
They wrote with your blood
Forgetting about mine,
They carved their letters
With the nymph in a black sweater;
And the river that she used to own,
Took her away
Before anyone can see,
The disfigured goddess now list in the sea
Of blood-of my thoughts and reflections.
My voice,
Now layered into dissimilar tones;
The lowest, is the one I use to constantly pray for you
And the highest is for me to scream for your fallen eyes.
I stand steady
Against the tidal waves
And write on the walls
The poetry I kept inside,
The walls you’ve built;
The walls everyone builds
And I try to penetrate
To get a sneak peek
Of their last night’s
And next year’s
And what are you doing today’s.
Because my walls are destroyed
My pillars are demolished
My life is but a living memory of hers,
And my eyes are nothing but thieves,
Staring their way to steel the words
From the faces in the crowd
In order to write something
That can get me to forget
That I am mourning;
That in my head plays a sad guitar,
With a silent base
And a lost drum beat.
I apologize for writing this,
For letting your eyes conquer these papers
For letting your ears hear those words.
I apologize for feeling the urge to apologize
But that’s what I grew up on
And no one can seem to get rid of their bad habits…
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
I love John, she said, euphemising me to play dead,
I said sure but inside my head I started picturing him in my bed.
Outside the filthiest room I sneakattacked and started to consume,
our lips began to fume and his smile erased the gloom.
Skipped the bread for some red wine, at least it wasnt moonshine,
couldnt walk any further on the line since it felt too ******* fine.
I knew it would be trouble as soon as I got stung by his stubble,
so we formed a brown and grey bubble, made the population double.
I find myself hiding, from all the decorous chiding,
we're foolishly sliding, in our bubble of bliss we're confiding.
Slippin by the sleeping moose, watch the penguins as they snooze,
No need to even zip the ***** since he's the drug I choose to use.
Inhale the scent of his collarbone, entering my safety zone,
watch him while he's getting ****** the smell of weed's like his cologne.
Catching the sunrise, never knew that it could comprise such a beauty of that size,
but seein' it through his reddish eyes, makes me wanna demise the kingdom down between my thighs,
just give it away to this guy so I can keep on getting surprised by the Castlewood morning skies.
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 5:25 AM UTC
Lying teeth
-
Creep
Dearer.
-
silence roars.
The closer it contracts,
further it draws away.
Astonished to find
You're still confined inside
Your mind.
Destroy the weaker
and hide behind reticulum.
In the realm
of a hollow crown
I absconded,
endeavoured to uncover.
I‘ve left myself behind,
an inch
beneath water
decorous
A wisp of smoke
as it climbs.
Carry your shame,
rise to the chime,
an unfamiliar invitation.
Bring your mind back around,
around to this
callous.
The room begins to gratify;
You tax,
obambulate,
depress.
diminished.
Penduluming
will never
mollify,
placate.
The moment you appreciate,
Passing.
-
Treasure motive
abhor being.
Be succinct.
Prove,
Demonstrate.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 7:18 PM UTC
My days are grey, my nights are treacherous
I've spent so long sleeping but paranoid
Too many vices, I chose temperance
Vapid flings give way to the perilous
My slow conversations with life devoid
My days are grey, my nights are treacherous
One edge is straight, a knife, my preference
Trivial suffering makes me avoid
Too many vices, I chose temperance
I've cloaked myself, remain ambiguous
So, in midday, I have tempted the void
My days are grey, my nights are treacherous
No addiction equates to elegance
What is the point in a teen self destroyed
Too many vices, I chose temperance
With depression, I remain decorous
My mind flirts with bloodstains and carcinoids
My days are grey, my nights are treacherous
Too many vices, I chose temperance
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
My garden blossoms pink and white,
A place of decorous murmuring,
Where I am safe from August night
And cannot feel the knife of Spring.
And I may walk the pretty place
Before the curtsying hollyhocks
And laundered daisies, round of face--
Good little girls, in party frocks.
My trees are amiably arrayed
In pattern on the dappled sky,
And I may sit in filtered shade
And watch the tidy years go by.
And I may amble pleasantly
And hear my neighbors list their bones
And click my tongue in sympathy,
And count the cracks in paving-stones.
My door is grave in oaken strength,
The cool of linen calms my bed,
And there at night I stretch my length
And envy no one but the dead.
1.5k
Another plateau; endured a turbulent flow which arouse a golden glow exhibiting the decorous gifts I bestow
Overflowing with fervor; ebullient projections submerging your presence – carrying the easygoing essence of your adolescence
Fluorescent sparkles encircling your aura; an increasingly zealous glimmer awakening your chakras.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
buttered noodles O stay hot you quickly cooling wrigglies!
and you, naked geisha
sing me to sleep-
but disobey your decorous caresses
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
It's certainly not a fond habit of mine,
But there comes an inevitable time
To redefine the value of every borderline.
Pick apart the pretty pieces
And unfold all their concealing creases;
Can the paling be restored with mere polish?
Our decorous veneer has run dry,
So I'll bid you one final frivolous goodbye.
Albeit I must sincerely confess:
They were never the best,
Ergo it hurt less.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 11:26 PM UTC
“The night is raven as you peer that analytical stare,
It is in this way you are blinded by your own eyes,
Sanguine of the gods that exist for all their acumen,
As that of an labyrinth mechanism turning day to night,
Beside the bonfire I think of all that I have descried,
Now no usual noises only the unusual or unexpected,
In autumns that we were with morn dew and argent sun,
That is now left of yellow not gold burnt fibrous leaves,
Of how the world will be for still there are so many things,
That I have never seen in all the forests in every season,
If I should live in a coppice and sleep underneath a sapling,
By a bonfire in different lands thoughts of my incongruous life,
No coppice of saplings that I could not make a glorious home,
I go where the old odeon gather decorous worthy and robust,
The world’s society has long foundered people throughout time,
And they would not sigh and tremble and vex me with a song,
Struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes fatigued,
Gusts upon my hair as I sit beside a crackling fire,
The times from having seen the unchanging earth afore,
So you may take of that elegant rose leave me with a thistle,
For they know not life without the dendrite to wither”
By Andrew Guzaldo 01/05/2019 ©
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:06 PM UTC
I love John, she said, euphemising me to play dead,
I said sure but inside my head I started picturing him in my bed.
Outside the filthiest room I sneakattacked and started to consume,
our lips began to fume and his smile erased the gloom.
Skipped the bread for some red wine, at least it wasnt moonshine,
couldnt walk any further on the line since it felt too ******* fine.
I knew it would be trouble as soon as I got stung by his stubble,
so we formed a brown and grey bubble, made the population double.
I find myself hiding, from all the decorous chiding,
we're foolishly sliding, in our bubble of bliss we're confiding.
Slippin by the sleeping moose, watch the penguins as they snooze,
No need to even zip the ***** since he's the drug I choose to use.
Inhale the scent of his collarbone, entering my safety zone,
watch him while he's getting ****** the smell of weed's like his cologne.
Catching the sunrise, never knew that it could comprise such a beauty of that size,
but seein' it through his reddish eyes, makes me wanna demise the kingdom down between my thighs,
just give it away to this guy so I can keep on getting surprised by the Castlewood morning skies.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 5:03 AM UTC
I love John, she said, euphemising me to play dead,
I said sure but inside my head I started picturing him in my bed.
Outside the filthiest room I sneakattacked and started to consume,
our lips began to fume and his smile erased the gloom.
Skipped the bread for some red wine, at least it wasnt moonshine,
couldnt walk any further on the line since it felt too ******* fine.
I knew it would be trouble as soon as I got stung by his stubble,
so we formed a brown and grey bubble, made the population double.
I find myself hiding, from all the decorous chiding,
we're foolishly sliding, in our bubble of bliss we're confiding.
Slippin by the sleeping moose, watch the penguins as they snooze,
No need to even zip the ***** since he's the drug I choose to use.
Inhale the scent of his collarbone, entering my safety zone,
watch him while he's getting ****** the smell of weed's like his cologne.
Catching the sunrise, never knew that it could comprise such a beauty of that size,
but seein' it through his reddish eyes, makes me wanna demise the kingdom down between my thighs,
just give it away to this guy so I can keep on getting surprised by the Castlewood morning skies.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
This love is lying on the banquet table
Overripe and bruised
Love, the meaning of fear and of life
Censoring my dreams
My greatest joy and deepest abyss
Treacherous love, chaos and despair
Addiction of bliss and departures
Swirling in my veins, storming my cellular barriers
Plucking the threads of my well-designed tapestry
So prudent in all its decorous imagery
Love running through the threads
Severing heartstrings
Scissors sharp and twice as cruel
Only this is
Colder than love
Love is hands pulling at laces
Teeth biting necks, grazing skin
Deeper than thorns, deeper than midnight
Tearing never fulfilling
Empty words written only in water, crying
Love, is somehow not meant for me
Yesterdays loom stark and white
Empty bathtubs I never filled with memories
And the pull of you brings me only pain, only pain
But love is demon bitterness
Singing your name in my ear
Your eyes, distant, turn to me for a second
Love kicks me back into illusion
Maybe
He loves me
Hanging on the warped wire of crazy
Bruises down my throat
Wanting to believe
This thing that rips me up and cares not
Somehow needs me too
Killer elite
Naked crying always leaving
This love
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 5:36 AM UTC
Underneath
the veil
of perfection
she is vulnerable
without her decorous cacoon
she is
tender
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
On the edge of madness she held my hand and said:
"The best things aren't always perfect, do you know that?"
*Rose tinted papyrus and silver parched ink,
words written; heart stretched to a brink,
and I sought to picture, yet she peers through:
smiles and sparkles at every word said to.
Bright yellow dressed in a sleepless blue,
sometimes pale pink brushed in maroon.
Haunting and decorous; a palette uneven,
drawn infinitely close and I, completely smitten.*
"More than an offering of affection;
a heedless and selfless dedication."
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 10:58 PM UTC
REPOST:::
Oh the imperious whiffs
of this nefarious breeze
dare not to enter
the somber chambers
of my wretched heart
for this decorous sufferer
is drenched in sobs
packed with
limping complaints
inscribed
on its strewn crimson walls
lend them no passage out
let obscurity grasp them
in merciless clutches
until my soul
divorces my body
forever
© Badee Uz Zaman
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
I’m not supposed to be grieving
My Baby wasn’t supposed to die
How did this happen
How did I wind up counting dead roses
How did I wind up being reminded of proper funeral decorous
I can’t explain what’s going on
Something happened when that boy came along
That boy who started dating my firstborn son…
What has that boy done?
I’m not supposed to be burying my baby,
Shouldn’t be standing by a pile of dirt with no one to clutch my hand
I shouldn’t have ice in my heart over my pride and joy as I hold his jersey
How did anything ever go wrong for us
How did a present, devoted, loving mother and a smart, strong, sweet boy end up here
How could God let us find ourselves in a cemetery we have no way out of
I can’t reconcile this horrible day with real life
Something went terribly wrong
When that boy came along
I’m not supposed to be crying this hard nonstop
It was all so nice a week ago, throwing big parties
I shouldn’t be making a speech about my son in front of everyone
He supposed to be grounded for when his music rattled the room every day
But he’s not home, he’s supposed to be with me but he’s not
How did that boy who’d been so polite to me bounce into our lives and end everything good
Everything was wonderful like a Hallmark card
Until that cursed boy came to tear it apart
How? Why?
Why, why, why?
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 8:15 AM UTC
Decorous dearth,
Peek out those lucid veins
Drive me wild
Tyrent child
Taste me in thy rain!!
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
While we’re renaming things,
can we please rename “United States” to “AAAmerica.”
I know I’m tired of scrolling to the bottom of every pop-down country list.
And ARE we united? Really, even a little?
That awkward moment when you’re already said, “what?” three times,
and you still have no idea what the conversation is about, but you can tell,
by bouncy and eager expressions, that the topic is loaded. Never sit at the end of a table, dining halls get noisy.
Has a song ever been your safe place?
What if it keeps you warm in a storm,
by getting you up and movin’?
Oh, what about the inimitable effect of a handsome guy?
Now, I don’t engage in decorous affections,
but ‘Cute Soccer Guy’ (I’ve mentioned him before),
wakes us up, by just showing up, oh, we play it loose,
and all, but he makes all of our hearts beat a little faster.
P.S. Don’t you love the AI tool that lets us scrub others out of our pix?
.
.
A song for this:
Twiggy Twiggy by [re:jazz]
The Trouble With Boys by Little Eva
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 11:24 AM UTC
the people around me,
i’ve seen them shedding skin like it’s so natural, so human;
as if growing was as simple as breathing,
as if your reflection was never supposed to show you
struggling to stay inside your body
as if you didn’t belong inside of you.
as if you could grow with your body,
unlike the bones i wore on my exterior.
maybe that’s why, of late, i haven’t been feeling human at all.
maybe that’s why growing feels so much more
like breaking this exoskeleton that refuses to acquiesce,
refuses to let me get out of this unscathed.
it leaves me ravenous and pathetic.
my skin wanting to consume Your flesh was no act of romance,
but a denial of who i am.
this calling, this crepuscular craving of identity
caves its way into my conscience.
for i have words that come by every some time,
knocking, begging to be let in,
but there’s no keyhole in my door and the **** lost its will so long ago.
moments past the gloam,
a nocturnal sacrifice,
i moult until the shards of dawn cut away
at the failure of synthesizing a decorous skeleton,
at the loathing that follows the inadequacy of my individuality,
at the wounds of dissension,
and i am left
asphyxiated, bleeding, catatonic,
with the grief of old bones broken, just like the new will break again
tomorrow.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC
the beginning and end of every sentence is indefinite
this is the aim of every death
keep the door wide shut
let the groan steep
and exit in the blue of night
its all a blur
mouth decorous bloom
and bile above
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 7:17 PM UTC
Effortlessly beautiful,
A killer body on a penguin look.
Playful at heart,
Yet a smooth criminal on her dancing shoes.
Devoted n decorous,
The brain box acts childish n crazy too.
Like diamonds she attracts.
Old timers and princes longs to be her boo
Severe yet polite,
This melanin angel gets hell loosed.
A queen of moods,
She can hurt so bad n make u feel good.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
"Route no.5!" the porter exclaimed
With a decorous softness
The rested passengers *******
Who never knew their destination
So tedious was the tyranny
Of the lives of the gentleman at the back
How commendable it is!
Never dare to trap peace
The stepfather of that lady passed away
I'm gently humble my lady
But not so fond of your tragedy
Oh brother! Such a great lover
Of music and rocking songs
But that's really not necessary
We're not so accustomed of unpleasant noise
Everyone's so pretentiously violent
With the possible exception of that porter
"Route no.6" the porter exclaimed
With the decorous softness
The rested passengers stormed
"Hey...! Now you have started looting common people ..just rethink of your bus fare"...
I slept in peace...
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 12:50 PM UTC