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"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
0
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
Decadence of a Muse
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
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47
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.
0
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 2:48 AM UTC
Purple People
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.
0
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
Solace
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.
0
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
Destined to be mine
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.
0
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
Gentleman
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.
0
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
Dixieland Chant
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
0
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
Red Shoes Blues
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.
0
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
Pessimism
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.
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61
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.
0
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
a convulsive attack of a Mayan disease
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.
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54
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.
0
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 9:37 PM UTC
Fighting Fire
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.
0
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
Holly and Ivy
**** 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 “...... !!!
0
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 1:33 AM UTC
“LIARS” ... A Poem written by Big Virge 5/11/2020
**** 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 “...... !!!
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102
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.
0
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 4:33 AM UTC
this is (not) a heartache poem
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.
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100
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
0
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 3:17 AM UTC
Gaze
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.
0
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 6:07 PM UTC
Saved
*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
0
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
on the whale's back
*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
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62
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
0
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
organic food for my wife
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
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35
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.
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Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
Sunflower
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?
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Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
Why Do People Write- Poetry?
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.
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Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 8:58 AM UTC
THOU ART MY LOVE
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
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Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 7:28 PM UTC
Jump Out that fuckin' coffin
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
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48
Raven black hair; Bright, Sparkling smile and demeanour. The calm and the storm.
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Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Caming Bak
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…
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Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 10:13 AM UTC
Across Granite Grey Fields
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
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Nov 20, 2022
Nov 20, 2022 at 9:22 AM UTC
Suicide mind