"demeanour" poems
Inspired by a vintage ****** postcard from the 1920s - 30s:
The Muse sits resplendent
caressed in sepia tones and pastel cream
gilded with the glaze of a bygone era
her silk Charleston negligee
worn proud like a vintage ornament
perched on an aesthetically pleasing
shapely pert insolent *****
blossomed with tiny beads of sweat
the heat of such anticipation
entices the pearls of the ******
to pamper and pleasure their perversions
etched as if in a radiance of candlelight
the flickering limbs pulse their bloom
nimble fingers of dancing shadows
cupping the feline curves of a chaise longue
the purposefully out of place set piece
the fantasy of a gentleman's reading room
caked in casked sherry
and Nat Sherman cigar infused aromas
her elegant pose sumptuous reclining
elbow length satin gloves
sensually wrapped in wanton desire
two fingers clasp a Sorbranie Black Russian
smoked like a sultry gypsy
with a fervent demeanour
from a silver opera cigarette holder
beckoning with the cats eyes of mischief
over Pinced nez eyeglasses
with a fascination imbibed
in the praxis of passion
the peach skin of refulgent youth
directs the viewer downwards, slowly
survey each contour of olive skin
and stroke every hidden cleft of fabric
to glimpse the nubile thighs of grace
leading the eye to the arch of an ankle
slipped like a fitted glove
nestled in the cleavage of her calf
and the chastity of future wonderment
the forgotten photograph
captures a period in time
the memories of the muse
now in motionless existence
a demure allure forever frozen
once lost, but now
never forgotten
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
The Purple People come in many sizes, from small to extra-large – some are quiet and smiley, while others are louder and chatty. What they have in common, apart from the obvious distinctive pigment, is a welcoming demeanour that makes you feel that you have perhaps met them before or that you would like to meet them again.
I first met a Purple Person as I climbed the steps, looking for reassurance that I wasn’t late and that I wouldn’t stand out too much in my nervous newness. I’m not sure what it was about their purpleness, but I felt one step closer to acceptance as I walked into the warm.
I saw the matching purple banners and smiled at the attention to detail and the attention given to me which, while practiced, was far from forced and held a genuine purpleness.
I met other Purple People at intervals, each with the purple family likeness of a smile, even though their heritage varied in shade. The further I walked, the more I relaxed and found that some of the Purple People weren’t wearing the signature purple tee shirts, but it was clear they came from the same palette because their welcome carried the same purple weight and the same authentic purpleness.
This shouldn’t have been surprising, as I soon discovered that they each bore the same purple family likeness of the Purple King who welcomes everyone.
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 2:48 AM UTC
Solace is a cold and twisted mistress,
her touch is often empty: without love;
yet in her presence, I am rendered helpless
and thus I sit atop my house above.
My lover, with her lifeless, pale demeanour
just sits beside my hollow, broken shell,
the vision of the crystal sea beneath her:
my only comfort here within my cell.
Solace is a memory etched in darkness,
as if no words were written in a book;
although I know the sky above is starless
against my will she forces me to look.
I think of times I’d spend the whole day wishing,
I’d ponder on my future and my fate;
and now it’s for these memories I’m fishing
with nothing but my hopes and dreams as bait.
Solace is a stern, relentless teacher,
reality: her lesson taught in full;
a feral, vicious, unforgiving creature,
on the reigns of honesty she’ll pull.
And so I sit upon my house in heaven
with Solace, my companion and my friend;
I’ll fish until my soul begins to leaden,
until the sands of time come to an end.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
They say a dog chooses it’s Master
and i believe a submissive does too.
Because just moments within meeting him,
i swear I already knew.
Set aside any criteria
and any particular credentials.
That something you can’t quite put your finger on,
Is one of my fundamentals.
I let him look inside my soul,
i show him I’m a dreamer.
Already he’s controlling me
and has altered my demeanour.
My logic screams inside me NO!
-Don’t sell your soul to the devil.
But my senses scream inside me YES...
“In his presence you will revel! “
The more we talk, the more I feared
as he changed my personality.
Yet further i delve into his aura,
although anticipating fatality.
Throwing caution to the wind,
i ignored my logic mind,
Ready to give him all of me,
til he suddenly declined.
Confusion strikes, I feel a loss.
Not knowing what I’ve done.
He tells me you’re not serious
and only seeking bedroom fun.
I don’t know how to prove myself,
wondering if this is just a test.
One day he’s here, the next he’s not.
I feel so... Dispossessed? !
I’d usually give up once rejected
but I know I must persist.
My inner sub is telling me
she needs him to exist.
You see jus moments within meeting him,
something was oh so very prominent.
I’m sure he doesn’t know it yet,
but he’s destined to be my
DOMINANT.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
He is the inconvenient truth,
And always goes unnoticed.
I guess it's for the better,
I would hate to be ****** into,
His heart he hides,
Under the vacant smiles.
He is the boy who tells white lies,
And balms his good intentions.
I want him to tell me so,
I hate the fact he doesn't.
His mouth just seeps sugar,
What he thinks I want to hear.
He is a constant misconception,
And prides himself on his demeanour.
They think of him as nice, or kind,
I hate the fact I see the latter.
His delusions of how things should be,
Will never cloud my judgement.
For what I hate the most about him,
Is that I know who he really is,
And it's sad,
he wouldn't recognise reflection.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
Beat the rhythm
empty hand,
Iron cast chains
rattles command.
Ol' Boss Hogg,
baton raised
Self righteous fool
has need of praise.
In order that
he gain acclaim,
thinks with hate,
acts with shame.
Human beings,
commodity,
ships hold stacked
with those once free.
Bodies piled
upon high
you will not see
the strong ones die.
Scars embedded
on their backs
chained and shackled
to the racks.
We deal in branded
breathing stock,
Unload black vassal
from our docks.
Beat the rhythm
empty hands.
Iron cast chains
in far off lands.
We keep our skivvy,
wired hair blacks.
We work them hard,
we score their backs.
They do for us,
they work the field.
Grow the cotton,
pick the yield.
Keep the body,
take the mind.
Labour whatever's
left behind.
And if demeanour
does ever flinch.
We'll introduce you
Willie Lynch.
Beat the rhythm.
Empty hands
Iron cast chains.
Unfair demands.
Beat the rhythm,
shackled feet.
We take their worst
but can't be beat.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
I’m singing the blues
Saying good bye to my shoes
The red patent high heels
With the shine that appeals
The shoes that made me feel hot
Whether I looked it or not
Made me walk with a wiggle
Made my back side jiggle
Gave me a **** demeanour
Made my legs feel leaner
Helped me walk tall
On the days I felt small
The same red shoes, so sweet
That are now tight on my feet
Which squash my big toe
And somehow, they know
That I’ve got dickie knees
So I’ll never wear skis
Not to mention arthritic hips
Which cause a total eclipse
When I bend over
And moreover
I walk just like I’ve got off my horse
So I’ve got to bid farewell, of course
Part company with my lovely red shoes
That is why I’m singing the blues
…..They should sell on ebay pretty quick
….. I’ll spend the money on a walking stick
©Nicki Tilston
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
Something here is not quite right.
The days have become shorter
And we are no longer certain
Of our respective fates in the world.
The times have changed and now
We are all alone.
There is no longer any light
Guiding us and we are floating
In a dark space from which there is no escape
Or reprieve.
Blank looks become our faces
And we find ourselves wandering the streets
Again, aimless and without reproach
For our crimes.
The things that once motivated
And inspired us
Have long lost their appeal
And all of our prejudices and hates
Have come back to haunt us,
Again and again.
We no longer hope for a better world
For ourselves or for anyone,
But instead
Wish our pain upon everyone we see
In these cold and bitter streets.
The night is coming soon
And with it will bring an end
To all of this.
There is nothing left except pain
And suffering.
The distance between us is widening.
We no longer communicate.
All of our technology
Has enslaved us.
We will all die alone
And with a mountain of regret
That we will never share with anyone.
A noxious gas has descended
Upon humanity and is filling
Our very souls with its vapid waste
And toxic demeanour
And now we are forced to endure
The coming dark age
With no one
And nothing to protect us
Or save us.
We wait patiently for our fate.
There is no optimism.
The time has come
To lay down our defences
And submit
To the coming reign of terror.
It is no use to fight anything.
Our time has come
And passed us by.
We have failed.
We have failed ourselves.
We have failed our world.
And we have failed each other.
Goodbye.
Good luck.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
you're drinking, and then you can't control
the reaction upon entering the tetragrammaton...
one h is for hushed up laughter, for sighs (ah),
and then the alter deja vu
is a cocktail of:
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,
yeah, so many, so you can look at it rather than
say it... it's a sunny day, go out and play
or something... leave me with the anchor of ****
humanity dragging us down, or simply basing us
in the underwater fudge of mud to a standstill...
it's sunny, go out and play, ride a bicycle or something...
you know, living 20 odd years in an english society
i never had an english girlfriend, i'm told she's a real
firecracker fortune-cookie... my hands are cold,
i swear by the oath of the old Bailey i never touched
her thighs... scouts' honour, cross my fingers
and wear woman's underwear with a bowler hat
to match my serious demeanour...
yep, an Abbey Road's standstill... a fifth beetle
chatting cheeky chat chat of a chirp...
gurgles of fizz in carbonated wine known as champagne,
well that's me... or as the roadrunner said to
speedy Gonzales... hark a sayonara when changing
the gears to a 100m sprint world record.
the Mayan disease? ah right... excess spontaneous
laughter, unstoppable like a tide;
got chatting to a ms. khan... Genghis' great great...
great great great great great... great great granddaughter...
a doctor from pakistan... nice english accent
gets you all the pleasantries so everything can
go to hell... the sleeping pills prescription is waiting...
now the sick-note... so i don't crash a plane
into the Swiss elevations by "accident"
while sitting on an arm-chair of nails while everyone
else is farting into cushions.
honest to god, the tetragrammaton is like a brick
wall for vowels, you hit the ball against the four
walls, and the vowels are either ****** up
or they extract the consonant stability of the four letters,
and your safest bet to express them is
to laugh;
well, i do call it a Mayan disease... because
my stomach is aching from building a six-pack with
the giggles.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
You praised my heart and helping hand
And for the longest time I could not understand
How any of that could make me special
Until you used those words to describe her
And how perfect she is.
And that is the paragraph on how you broke my heart for the first time ever.
But even in my darkest hour, my darkest day
Your doings could not take my humor away.
I am more than what you did to me,
I am more than what you made me feel.
Even when you broke my heart
I could not be mean enough to try and tear you apart.
I cried so many tears,
But for the next few years
I wished you only the best.
Even after you left that gaping hole
Right there in the very centre of my soul,
I could not hate you, never hate you
Because I loved you, always loved you
Beyond your kind heart and helping hands
Your everlasting patience and my high demands
You understood me like no one else had ever done
You listened to me when I was undone
You cared for me when I broke down
And then you took my heart, my very crown.
You broke my heart, my spirit, my pride
But the one thing you could never take from me is my reflex to fight
I'll fight your impact, your demeanour, what you made me feel
I'll reclaim what you took me from me and reveal
Once and for all what I know to be my greatest strength
My love for myself. And that can really
For real
Unlike you
And what I once allowed myself to feel for you
Last the entire length.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 9:37 PM UTC
Holly and Ivy
Walked in the woods
Discussing who was the best
Holly was hoping her rosey complexion
Would maybe outshine all the rest.
But Ivy thought Holly was surely forgetting
The shock of her prickly demeanour
She was convinced for sure
The king would adore
All that was so special about her.
Now Ivy was bit of a hugger
You might say a lot of a clinger
But she was convinced
Her warming embrace
Would win over the king no matter.
And when the time came
For the winter queen crowning
The king of the woods was clear
He chose as his queen the lady he fell for
And it's Holly who now wears his ring.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
**** These...
... Liars And LIARS... !!!
Aren’t These Folks TIRED... ?!?
of ALL of Their Lies...
Deceit And YES Crimes... !!!
Cos’ It’s A CRIME To DENY...
The Truth From The Minds...
of Those Who SUPPORT...
What Comes From Their Jaws... !!!
These Days There’s A WAR...
On The TRUTH Now For Sure... !!!
From Rooms of BIG Boards...
To Those Filled With LORDS...
And This Year's ENSURED...
That Corona Has FORCED... !!!
MANY To... QUESTION... ?!?
If LIES Have Been Spreading...
MORE Than The Infection... !?!
And This... U.S. Election...
Has POOR Vote Collections... !!!
That Has Donald Trump...
And His People Flummoxed... ?!?
Because They’ve Been STUNNED...
By The Votes For... Biden... !!!
Having Claimed That He’d Won...
BEFORE... Postal Ballots...
Started To Cause DAMAGE...
To His Hopes To Inhabit...
The Whitehouse And Manage...
Like Some New Age Fascist... !!!
Or... Is THAT A LIE... ?!?
When He Could Be The Guy...
To Set The World Right... ?
And To Stop Paedophiles...
Who Are From Wealthy Tribes... !!!
Or... Is THAT FAKE News... ?
And Simply... UNTRUE... ?!?
Now I DON'T Have A Clue...
Unlike... Q'ANON Crews... !!!!
Whose Theories Are Deemed...
To Now Be... FALLACIES...
By These Media Teams...
Who Of Course NEVER LIE... !!!
Because Their Talk Is PURE...
And Don’t Meddle With Child... !?!
I Think There Are LIARS...
Whose Pants Are On FIRE...
Who... Should Be Retired... !!!
From Feeding Us News...
With Their Bias In View... !!!
As If It Is... " COOL "...
To Keep The Truth Skewed... !?!
When … Many of Them...
MAY BE Paedophiles Too... ?!?
When They’re In The Blend...
And Clearly Have Spent...
Time With Names … ALLEGED...
To Have Messed With Children... !!!
Something’s INCORRECT...
When Those That PRESENT...
Are QUICK To Suggest...
That They And Their Friends...
Are Cleaner Than Sheen... !!!
... NOT Charlie... !!!
... The CLEANER...
That Keeps Surfaces Clean... !!!
Well To Me Their Demeanour...
Needs A Bit More Inspection...
Just Like This Election...
of... TWENTY TWENTY... !!!
Where It Seems That...
... Court Scenes...
Will Define Who Will Be...
In The Presidents Seat...
America’s Shrouded...
In Much That Is Clouded...
And May Well Reveal...
A World of FALLACIES... !!!
Where LIARS Are PLACED...
In A Place Where They Make...
Decisions For MASSES...
Where Lies Become Standard...
And Be Things That RAVAGE...
Through CORPORATE SAVAGE...
And Liars Who Package...
New Falsehoods To DAMAGE...
A Future Where Freedoms...
And Lives Keep COLLAPSING...
Because of These Leaders...
Who’ll Leave The Truth CRASHING... !!!
The Future Looks TRAGIC...
When Elections Cause PANIC... !!!
PROTESTS And … Madness...
That Leave Things Unbalanced... !!!
Where Newsrooms Conspire...
... To Be FALSIFIERS...
of What... SHOULD Be Desired...
Reports That Speak TRUTH...
Instead of... FAKE News... !!!
That Clearly Requires...
An ABUNDANCE of...
...... “ LIARS “...... !!!
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 1:33 AM UTC
this is (not) a heartache poem
about
you or the way
your eyes stood glossy and
your mouth silent
in large crowds of people –
your
demeanour slowly playing
over me
time and time again,
even when i swore to myself that i would
shut you out
for good
but,
like your smile stuck in my brain,
it kept coming
back.
please understand that there is (no)
heartache here
because this is(n’t) a
poem
about how i spent my life in
paragraphs
filled with every beautiful,
treacherous
word i could think of
while you lived in
shallow, broken
sentences
or
how i could see you perfectly
through the flesh and bone and ********
that
nobody else knew about.
could you see
how much
i longed for you to
take me in the way i
was –
speak to me in the carefully rationed
words of your
stories –
anything that could’ve
brought me closer to you but instead,
only burned
inconceivably
in the wildfires of all you
cared about?
did i end up in those fires too?
were you so certain that i would just
forget
how you stopped sending me
the texts
that i waited
oh-so long for?
were you so certain that i
would have
let you slip away so easily
after the way you lead me to
believe
there was something
between us?
well, i did(n’t),
yet, just the thought of it
kills
me to remember how
you were the brightest star in my universe but
i
was just a mere speck of dust
in yours.
this will (not) be another poem
where
i dream about
watching every bone in
your body cave in
or
feeling your breath
against my ears
but (no),
trust me, there is (no) heartache
that i have
for you
or anything you ever did
in the last seven months we spent
together
that always left me dreaming
on a prayer -
but never listened to.
i know you didn’t want me.
i know you didn’t care.
i was just another one to you.
this is (not) a poem about
how i’m now
broken
because you left me
even though
you weren’t mine –
for where i am
now is(n’t)
heartache.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 4:33 AM UTC
I catch glances
As I walk through town
Daughters
Out with their mums
Who pretend to look off in the arbitrary distance
As I scan them
From top
To toe
And then the glances of their proud mums
Old women who huff
As I have the demeanour
Of a stargazing ******
The odd freak
Who cheers me on with his eyes
Machos, who like to hold the gaze
Which I like to hold right back
Thinking of my father in a coffin
To return a calm, worrying stare
Sometimes a fleeting beauty will appear in a metro window
And both knowing of the ephemerality of our encounter
We **** with our eyes
Before she is whipped off
Down the dark tunnels
I can hold a gaze with almost anyone
People are fascinating
I can hold all these gazes
Until
Some men stare back
And I melt
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 3:17 AM UTC
The strangest of things can save you when your mind takes its metrical dive,
Thank the lord for the consoling and tedious frequency of next door's vacuum cleaner,
And the birds have been calling to my soul these days, and forget-me-nots keep me alive,
The dandelion seeds fly on wind these days,
I am saved by their graceful demeanour.
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 6:07 PM UTC
*sailing on the blue-sea
sailing unknown-beauty*..
1.
the seas laugh in raucous-hacks
as the waves cough up the corpses of my dreams
at my feet, they come in from the swell of tides
seeming no more than
spongy sea-weed with sun-skin points
bloated fish who didn't make it
swollen seals with child
and the blue-boy on the whale's back
confident-smiles draped upon his demeanour
like a well-worn cloak of old-comfort
soft and velvety secrets hide inside the folds
of his true-age and pure-soul
nobody would believe
how many trips he had to make
to get to this shore
how many deaths he had to live through
to understand the purpose
how many tears he saw shedding
of nature's total-patience
how many of so much..
2.
on the back of a whale
he traverses the width of seas
the span of lands
the points of stars
the truth of man
and he grieves the piteous-souls whose backs break
so hard
on the interminable-wheel of penitence
turning and grinding
grinding
grinding..
always bent upon that gauntlet-grind
if they but knew how futile the turn..
carrying loads of mercy and goodness
only to see it seep out wounds ere journey's end
3.
cruel deified-laughter exists not
at man's readiness to crucify hope
with such four-square certainty
that redemption lies in suffering..
oh no..
4.
faint sounds of laughter on a broad-coast
whose sands give way to shy-dossiers
of nature's confidence
in the evening sun
secrets that I neglected to see.. first time round
have I failed myself.. ?
(but not again)
when awareness taps one on the shoulder,
is it not utter-folly to turn one's back on resplendence
that all the leaves and seas are willing to share?
*true-beauty lies in covert-blossoms
and opened-eyes
and saying.. yes
when the sun-breeze
dawns*
S T - sunnyday, 24 Nov 2013
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
It was the early days of the organic food craze
and my wife, ever a slave to the latest fads
(which disposition sometimes benefitted me pleasurably
but mostly cost me dearly)
made me run on an errand
(like: “Fido – go, fetch!”)
to get some organic vegetables
and arriving, I blurted out to the produce guy, stumbling:
*“Some ****** for my wife”* –
and that wise guy, Oxford-educated as he was
(though a failed Professor, so ended up at the greengrocer’s)
he said: *“That you must induce or encourage in your wife, Sir;
I cannot and will not be of service in that connection.”*
And I slowed down and I said:
“Well, dear fellow – for my wife, have you any organic vegetables?”
And Oxford-educated as he was, he did not understand such fads
having mostly a sedate and Classical demeanour
and he pointed his most English nose to the air;
and so I attempted again to sensible-phrase my inquiry:
*“Are your vegetables -
and this I ask on account of my esteemed wife -
sprayed with poisonous chemicals?”*
And the Oxford guy apprehended now, and he pronounced:
*“Poisonous chemicals for your spouse
you must procure yourself, Sir”*
Now, that was an idea. I knew Oxford-educated guys
were smart in some way or other.
And since then I have been free of my wife.
I have no need to run on errands for no baby, no more;
though I do have to count bars,
limited as my numerical skills are,
as is my verbal proficiency.
And the Oxford guy, meanwhile, I have it from the grapevine,
has set up an ******** Food Chain Store*, worldwide;
I knew he’d go places, sooner or later, far and global
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
The sunflower is drunk. Fork stuck
In the soil, like roots. It holds the
Skinny ******* in place. How tall
Would you be, if your spine did not
Droop over itself? Did your mother not
Tell you to hold your shoulders up straight?
Still you have scared me since infancy.
Your lanky demeanour, God’s scarecrow.
Upright in the field or against my Grandfather’s
Brick wall. Creeping up in the days.
You grow.
Oh, Cyclops! Your eye it scours
Me. Fixes me with a Martian stare,
Orwellian and deprived, though
Decorated with a halo. Your flower
A startling diagram of creation.
The big bang, black pupil, dark heat
And brown to flames, fans and galaxies.
My heartbeat is a speck somewhere,
I know it.
Sunflower, the awkward arbiter. The
Unknowable in your eye, always watching
But never watched. Your centre burnt like
Charcoal, inescapable void. Don’t take me.
Please, don’t swallow me.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
Reading poems is the way of discovering
that people write for fun, they write of
the very things that you think preposterous.
They write of love, and you write of hate.
Poetry is in many ways charade of indiscipline,
even gross indignity. Gives you joy rides and goose
bumps. Why do people write- poetry?
I deliberate and out of it curse people, write a poem
send it for publication. The laptop creaks. The editor whines
when flooded by my irksome mails.
In the streets of the city, and there are plenty, I see a rag picker.
I see the *****
I see the blinded with begging bowl, but singing. Chanting.
I see barely seven or eight a child pleading for coins and mercy.
I stalk away. Walk away. My hauteur a new demeanour.
Why do people write- poetry?
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
O! How I long endear myself
to thee,
in the urgency of my desire
to yield to the mercy
of this faithful destiny!
As soon I am about to commence
my new course of journey,
embracing the heath on the hills
and the dark of the mills
looking for wholehearted sincerity,
healing my long-lost gaiety,
prudence, and generosity!
O subtle, yet perilous gaiety that
was ignored by such disparagement,
and its fabulous tenacity!
Ardent, merciless tenacity!
That but shan't befriend the course
of thy adultery, yet praise thy ignominy
and infamy in an adorable, inherent manner!
But never forget that the entire breadth
of this journey
I devote to thee:
in order that thee would become my love,
my soul, and all the healthy demeanour beneath;
thou hath my life, kisses, and
the sacred secrets of my fiery health.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 8:58 AM UTC
I remember that summer by the lake
How you were surprisingly quiet that day
and nice to everyone which was weird
no sarcastic remarks
or swearing
so unlike you
your wit had died down
if we hadn't known better
we would of said you were distracted
But grateful for the change in your
demeanour
and teaching me to skip stones
If only you had taught me how to place my heart in my palm
and throw that away
instead
You weren't one for smiles
but you didn't like dramatic send offs either
that's why I was surprised when we found your cold body on the floor
bathed in the afternoon sun
In your fathers cabin
by that god forsaken lake
Under that red sky that turned everything the shade of your blood
Cassie slipped and fell and screamed
But I didn't hear her I was too busy focusing on you
willing myself to see a chest rising and falling
but all there was, was static
somewhere beyond Cassies screams
And Luke rushed to somehow clasp your wounds shut
The reflexes of a Doctor's child
But he didn't see that there was no more blood left to flow
and you were blue and cold
but you seemed unburdened of whatever
was eating
you
I remember feeling relief
I stood there
numb
We laughed at your funeral
At the irony of it all
and when your aunt got up and said you were the most
kind, generous young man
we almost died of laughter then
you were the most cold sarcastic S.O.B we ever met
but still loved you
Jake elbowed me and said "What would he do if he was here right now?"
I smiled "He'd jump out that ******* coffin and give his mother a heart attack"
Because it was you after all
You did love dramatic endings
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 7:28 PM UTC
Raven black hair; Bright,
Sparkling smile and demeanour.
The calm and the storm.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Primroses bow their heads as if laden with early morning dew, while
The sinking sun, across the North rise, casts a shadow of your face,
Into the cold dark copse; No goddess or girl. Ashen.
The path you used to wander, lies covered in memories of Yesterday
Here, we spent our youth amongst natures beasts and bugs,
Collecting Butterflies and conkers from the Ancient Horse Chestnut, and
Where the river crosses between the pines we sat, and planned
Somewhere here I look for answers…. Silence rains down.... Thoughts,
Trampled by giant grief. Skeletons remain, drawing deeper into darkness
Birds hush, the air drips with sadness. In the past I have lost keys
Now I have lost half of my DNA. My world has suddenly become smaller
Consequently I am braver in the daytime, night time extenuates my cowardice
It is easy to fall in love with grief, it’s surroundings and demeanour
It was over almost as fast as it had begun. Where now? What now?
Tomorrow I shall tell myself that life must go on, that she is with God,
Watching over us. Today I tell myself…Tomorrow never comes…
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 10:13 AM UTC
behind dark humour
behind a confident fake smile
behind a humble demeanour
behind growls and random sighs
behind seemingly a character's eager
behind lonely quick responses to one you like
behind oversized clothes over scars on your figure
behind acting like you can walk on a thin wire
behind jokes of saying you're much bigger
behind pretending you're not waking up tired
behind thoughts of shooting shots on a tiny trigger
behind explaining dreams of burning passion—fired
behind a simping hero, playing self villain's vigor
behind seasonal seasoning of a season to cry
behind truthful scripture, and thoughts of a sinner
suicide lurks behind a mind
Nov 20, 2022
Nov 20, 2022 at 9:22 AM UTC