"delia" poems
Chrissie dried after her bath,
towelled under arms and legs,
a radio played from the other room,
cello sonatas, Bach,
Delia listened,
played a pretend cello
drawing an invisible bow
across invisible strings,
she'd played this that time
to that music teacher at college
before having her(sexually)
in her student bed,
Chrissie dried between thighs,
eyed her mirrored self,
plumpish, pink of skin,
love bites where Delia
had ****** and ******
Delia drew the bow slower
as the music slowed,
head to one side,
invisible cello
between opened thighs,
smiled, the woman
her father hired
to care for her
at term breaks
from boarding school,
Delia has seduced
and bedded in the first
Easter term,
Chrissie dried
between toes and feet,
towelled a final area
of skin, stood,
washed out the bath,
the Bach flowed on,
cello sounds,
recalling Delia moving
over her body like a snake,
tonguing over and over,
Delia closed her eyes,
the cello stilled,
invisible bow
blown away
like leaves in wind,
she lay back
and waited for Chrissie
to return, bathed,
dried wanting her
*** to heat
and burn.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC
Today I wanted to buy the copyright to the process of hallelujah
******* in joy the same way whales eat krill
You just bottle it up inside your lungs until you have enough
Inside my fridge I have vacuum sealed jars of hallelujah
There’s nothing religious about that
Jars labeled things like
Loss of virginity
Rob lived this time
The homework is complete
Hallelujah
It’s the same way prayer works
Backwards
Pulling bits of god like an inhale
I want to hyperventilate on your hallelujah
Like a gospel choir on speed
It collects
Over time
For instance
It was maybe a month in to sleeping at Delia’s and Toffer’s house
Before I realized
I didn’t have to sleep in my car anymore
You go into the bathroom to **** and realize
Hallelujah
A jar labeled
Found a Home for now
I know science can do this
For the sake of all that is a monument to a single life
So that on your death bed, or at your funeral
Everyone there can hold a jar
Cold and warm at the same time
Vibrating in their palms
In violent joy
Like mozzletoff cocktails
They are thrown
And when they shatter there is a song
That has been collecting for years
The same word in different tonal joys
Your life
Every good moment
Hallelujah
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
Delia
once seduced
the house maid
in half term
home from school
some posh place
where she had
with success
oft bedded
the new young
maths teacher
whose glasses
thin wired
she took off
before ***
in her room
for extra
tuition
(her father
from his fat
wallet paid
for extra
maths not ***
then after
leaving school
and the young
maths teacher
(sad female)
and having
bedded her
young cousin's
French nanny
she went to
some college
to study
the cello
and music
she had ***
the first day
with the thin
trumpeter
on the floor
above her
a girl with
luscious lips
and dark eyes
who after
a good ****
could play like
Miles Davis
so cool that
Delia
would play her
cello ****
like lovers
embracing
she and her
instrument
then have ***
to the sound
of Coltrane's
saxophone
and the girls'
******
wanting more
sighs and moans.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
(Written in 8th Grade)
As I grew up along-side of memories, I realized that my name grew with me; shaping and morphing itself into who I am today. But wouldn’t it be fun to not be me for a single day? Not have the name, Alice? I could be someone smiling bright, maybe Melina. Or might I try on the name Jessie. Nah, too laid back and chill; so I take the name off and put it back on it’s hanger. I could be haughty and proud, with my nose in the air; I could be a Penelope. I window-shop for more names, browsing among all the different personalities. Fern seems fun, friendly and cordial. Or I might stick around and act as a Sam. Boyish? Aw yeah. Just maybe not for me. I’ll be Stella, all book-sharp for a day or I could be a Chloé, exotic and beautiful. Or switch my style into the retro girly Natalie. What would it be, to have the name Katie, just for a day? Zoey, Liana, Stacy, Diane. Isabelle, Marilyn, Delia, Hannah. Maybe give my name an exotic twist, Alyssa? After trying on names of all kind, some just weren’t for me. Too ‘krazy’? Shy? Ecstatic? Cool? Like a huge circus parade with different costumes, the loud gaudy colors blinding me. Like all the different shoes at Aldo’s; sky-high heels, wedges, sandals, boots. I slip out the shoes, I peel off the names. Because for now, I’d like to stay in my own skin; as a plain old Alice.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
Fools may pine, and sots may swill,
Cynics gibe, and prophets rail,
Moralists may scourge and drill,
Preachers prose, and fainthearts quail.
Let them whine, or threat, or wail!
Till the touch of Circumstance
Down to darkness sink the scale,
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
What if skies be wan and chill?
What if winds be harsh and stale?
Presently the east will thrill,
And the sad and shrunken sail,
Bellying with a kindly gale,
Bear you sunwards, while your chance
Sends you back the hopeful hail:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Idle shot or coming bill,
Hapless love or broken bail,
Gulp it (never chew your pill!),
And, if Burgundy should fail,
Try the humbler *** of ale!
Over all is heaven's expanse.
Gold's to find among the shale.
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
Dull Sir Joskin sleeps his fill,
Good Sir Galahad seeks the Grail,
Proud Sir Pertinax flaunts his frill,
Hard Sir AEger dints his mail;
And the while by hill and dale
Tristram's braveries gleam and glance,
And his blithe horn tells its tale:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Araminta's grand and shrill,
Delia's passionate and frail,
Doris drives an earnest quill,
Athanasia takes the veil:
Wiser Phyllis o'er her pail,
At the heart of all romance
Reading, sings to Strephon's flail:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Every Jack must have his Jill
(Even Johnson had his Thrale!):
Forward, couples--with a will!
This, the world, is not a jail.
Hear the music, sprat and whale!
Hands across, retire, advance!
Though the doomsman's on your trail,
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
Envoy
Boys and girls, at slug and snail
And their kindred look askance.
Pay your footing on the nail:
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
1.6k
I have been breathing deeply lately
trying to find permanence I think
Because the money will not stay
and the car will not last
and the days turn to nights
and I sleep for tomorrow
and not for the dreams
I have been lost in wonder
And I wonder if there is a sound
for the breath of the spider
that Delia has just sprayed with raid
Or if there is a sound
for the parting of clouds
that reveals the sun
Or if there is a sound
for roots breaking a seed
And if that sound might be similar
to what my bones do sometimes
And right now
safety sounds like the click of the lock in the frame
and peace sounds like the hiss of the can seal breaking
and happiness sounds like the suction of lips
to my neck
to her neck
to our mouths
Each sound is a second
maybe less
Like being under hypnosis
snap
snap
snap
And as far as permanence goes
I have enough
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
Delia who had bedded her
French nanny at fourteen
and had hot *** with the head
girl at boarding school, now
lies beside the arts tutor named
Ms Shopton in college. She has
explored the woman’s body from
top to toe. Invaded each orifice
and landed her ninety ninth
plus umpteenth kiss. Sunlight
pours through the high window,
the woman’s scent and body
odour invades the bed. She has
kissed most parts that can be kissed,
scanned the woman’s skin, taking
in the freckles, the spots, the mole
inside the left thigh, run her finger
along the spine. She watches the
woman sleep, the mouth slightly ajar,
the perfect teeth, the tongue (who
knows where that has been) touching
the corner of the lips. She may well
get a high A for this piece of art work,
the effort put in, the juices taken out,
the ********* and touching, the final lay.
She breathes in the air, runs her tongue
across her own damp lips. She hears
the college bell, the time to get up, the
breakfast call, the wide awake stare.
The woman beside her sleeps on, lying
worn out, out for the count, lying there.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 3:47 AM UTC
You watched me, raised me, taught me how to use
my hands to make a fist and give massage.
Your home became a haven from abuse
that I endured, that you left home to dodge.
The friends, the barflies buzzing round your flat
would treat your old-soul brother as a peer.
They answered patiently the questions that
the man-child asked to understand his fear.
We were so close until the very end,
when Mom would live with me and not with you;
she wasn't sure you had the strength to tend
her, watch her wither as she chose to do.
I never thought when leaving then that I
would never hear your voice before you'd die.
Mar 6, 2011
Mar 6, 2011 at 5:41 PM UTC
Ah! wherefore should my weeping maid suppress
Those gentle signs of undissembled woe?
When from soft love proceeds the deep distress,
Ah, why forbid the willing tears to flow?
Since for my sake each dear translucent drop
Breaks forth, best witness of thy truth sincere,
My lips should drink the precious mixture up,
And, ere it falls, receive the trembling tear.
Trust me, these symptoms of thy faithful heart,
In absence shall my dearest hope sustain;
Delia! since such thy sorrow that we part,
Such when we meet thy joy shall be again.
Hard is that heart, and unsubdued by love,
That feels no pain, nor ever heaves a sigh;
Such hearts the fiercest passions only prove,
Or freeze in cold insensibility.
Oh! then indulge thy grief, nor fear to tell
The gentle source from whence thy sorrows flow,
Nor think it weakness when we love to feel,
Nor think it weakness what we feel to show.
967
Delia, the unkindest girl on earth,
When I besought the fair,
That favour of intrinsic worth
A ringlet of her hair,
Refused that instant to comply
With my absurd request,
For reasons she could specify,
Some twenty score at least.
Trust me, my dear, however odd
It may appear to say,
I sought it merely to defraud
Thy spoiler of his prey.
Yes! when its sister locks shall fade,
As quickly fade they must,
When all their beauties are decayed,
Their gloss, their colour, lost--
Ah then! if haply to my share
Some slender pittance fall,
If I but gain one single hair,
Nor age usurp them all;--
When you behold it still as sleek,
As lovely to the view,
As when it left thy snowy neck,
That Eden where it grew,
Then shall my Delia's self declare
That I professed the truth,
And have preserved my little share
In everlasting youth.
956
¿Fue en las islas de las rosas,
en el país de los sueños,
en donde hay niños risueños
y enjambre de mariposas?
Quizá.
En sus grutas doradas,
con sus diademas de oro,
allí estaban, como un coro
de reinas, todas las hadas.
Las que tienen prisioneros
a los silfos de la luz,
las que andan con un capuz
salpicado de luceros.
Las que mantos de escarlata
lucen con regio donaire,
y las que hienden el aire
con su varita de plata.
¿Era día o noche?
El astro
de la niebla sobre el tul,
florecía en campo azul
como un lirio de alabastro.
Su peplo de oro la incierta
alba ya había tendido.
Era la hora en que en su nido
toda alondra se despierta.
Temblaba el limpio cristal
del rocío de la noche,
y estaba entreabierto el broche
de la flor primaveral.
Y en aquella región que era
de la luz y la fortuna,
cantaban un himno, a una,
ave, aurora y primavera.
Las hadas -aquella tropa
brillante-, Delia, que he dicho,
por un extraño capricho
fabricaron una copa.
Rara, bella, sin igual,
y tan pura como bella,
pues aún no ha bebido en ella
ninguna boca mortal.
De una azucena gentil
hicieron el cáliz leve,
que era de polvo de nieve
y palidez de marfil.
Y la base fue formada
con un trémulo suspiro,
de reflejos de zafiro
y de luz cristalizada.
La copa hecha se pensó
en qué se pondría en ella
(que es el todo, niña bella,
de lo que te cuento yo).
Una dijo: -La ilusión;
otra dijo: -La belleza;
otra dijo: -La riqueza;
y otra más: -El corazón.
La Reina Mab, que es discreta,
dijo a la espléndida tropa:
-Que se ponga en esa copa
la felicidad completa.
Y cuando habló Reina tal,
produjo aplausos y asombros.
Llevaba sobre sus hombros
su soberbio manto real.
Dejó caer la divina
Reina de acento sonoro,
algo como gotas de oro
de una flauta cristalina.
Ya la Reina Mab habló;
cesó su olímpico gesto,
y las hadas tanto han puesto
que la copa se llenó.
Amor, delicia, verdad,
dicha, esplendor y riqueza,
fe, poderío, belleza...
¡Toda la felicidad!...
Y esta copa se guardó
pura, sola, inmaculada.
¿Dónde?
En una isla ignorada.
¿De dónde?
¡Se me olvidó!...
¿Fue en las islas de las rosas,
en el país de los sueños,
en donde hay niños risueños
y enjambres de mariposas? Esto nada importa aquí,
pues por decirte escribía
que esta copa, niña mía,
la deseo para ti.
1.1k
I can make it home.
No I can't.
Cross the street, to the park.
Do my stuff, walk back out.
Aww, cute dog!
Walk over to pet.
"His name is Frodo".
Little girl.
"I love that name".
Pet some more.
"It's Delia's birthday".
She thinks I'm part of the party?
"That's nice".
Pet some more.
"Did you see her open her presents?"
Cute.
"No, I'm just passing through".
Make my way, to the swings.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
How could such a tiny flower
over my heart have so much power
You will always have my heart
it was yours right from the start
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
Delia has seduced
the girl who came
with goods
from the grocer
(in the bed
she shares
with Chrissie)
before that
on the Monday
she had bedded
the post girl
who brought a parcel
(that time on the sofa
the bed being unmade)
and before that
it had been Chrissie's
best friend
(the weird one
but who had
lovely *****
now she is heading
to the girl
Chrissie had asked
to **** and sort
the garden
who has a
lovely ***
(Delia had seen
from the bedroom window
and wants to ******
but Chrissie is still
downstairs and spots
her(Delia) walking
down the garden path
with that look
in her eyes
Chrissie opens
the kitchen door
and calls Delia
where are you going?
Delia stops
thought you had
gone off to work?
not yet
Chrissie says
where were you off to?
Delia smiles
just thought I'd see
how the garden girl
was doing
Delia says
she's doing all right
Chrissie says
looking at Delia
why aren't you
at college teaching?
I'm in late
Delia says
wanting to go
and investigate
the garden girl's
behind and such
have you
made the bed?
Chrissie says
no not yet
Delia says
but I am hoping to
Chrissie sighs
well make it now
and don't forget
to put on the casserole
before you go
Delia nods and walks
back into the kitchen
with Chrissie
and closes the door
(she wanted to explore
the garden girl
and make love
perhaps or more.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 2:21 AM UTC
She knew
it wouldn't last
with Chrissie.
Chrissie
was too moral
too limited.
Delia wanted
more *** and *****
the fast life
to see the world
and play
Bach or Bartok
on the piano
at five
in the morning
before the light
was dawning.
Now she lies beside
that young student girl
whom she befriended
after the Proms
and who sleeps
beside her now
full of soft fruit
and juices.
A viola player
not bad player
up for it after
a few drinks
and dinner at that
posh restaurant.
She wonders
what Chrissie
was doing now
whom she was with.
The young student
is lying face
turned towards her
mouth slightly open
sleeping like some
picture book princess
or sleeping beauty.
Delia smiles
feels hungry
feels hungry
for *** again
wants to finger
the honey hive
**** the juices
nibble the soft fruits.
Her father
is in Spain
sunning it
with that
young rich *****
Delia scratches
her thigh
and thatch
feeling an itch.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 2:53 AM UTC
Delia has seduced
the French teacher.
She lies beside her
in the teacher's bed
in the private school
her father paid for.
It has been a good night.
Passions spent.
She looks at
the sleeping teacher.
Dark hair and closed lids.
Naked beneath
the sheets and duvet.
The other girls won't
get those French lessons.
Delia climbs quietly
from bed.
She'll shower then go
back to her dorm.
Still she sleeps.
Exhausted poor dear.
She showers using
the teacher's shampoo
and soap.
She dries using
the teacher's towel.
She dresses
into her nightdress
and leaves the room.
Back in her dorm
she climbs into bed
and runs over the night
in her teenage head.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 4:02 AM UTC
As I lay beside Beth
I think about Delia.
I guess I knew
it couldn't last.
She was
too wild for me
too immoral
and the last time
she slept with that
tall brunette
after the party
I knew that was it.
Beth is different
she's quiet
and loves me
constantly
and doesn't
betray me
each time
we are out
or after a party.
We met at a wedding
and Delia had gone off
with some girl
she was going
to live with.
Beth's parents
are good
and unlike
Delia's father
don't have an issue
with us
or what we do.
Beth has
turned over
towards me.
She looks
at me.
She smiles
I smile.
She touches
I touch.
She kisses
I kiss.
We embrace
face to face.
I smell
her perfume
and want to drown
in her eyes.
That long ago love
for Delia dies.
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 3:03 AM UTC