"fickleness" poems
What I bring to the table is Sensitivity, Sincerity, Compassion,
Honesty and Respect
What I bring to the table is Intelligence, Good Grace and Humour,
Understanding and Confidence
What I bring to the table is Generosity in spirit and Deeds, Calmness and Reflection, Strength, Bravery and Courage
What I bring to the table is a Caring Soul, a Good Heart and Faith,
Loyalty and Truthfulness and Trust
What I bring to the table is Versatility, Competence and Originality
What I bring to the table is the Love of Romeo and Real Passion
unrivalled..........
So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone!
Am I to blame if some chose not to see
Am I to blame if stunted pride and ego blinds
Am I to blame if stupidity and foolishness abound
Am I to blame if complexes and insecurities assail some
Am I to blame if dishonesty and fickleness is more appealing
Am I to blame if envy and jealousy blind eyes and minds in others
Am I to blame if they term caring and attentive as clingy
Am I to blame if they term Intelligence and Honesty as arrogance
Am I to blame if they term Strength, Bravery and Courage as Male
Chauvanism
Am I to blame if they term Intelligence Competence and originality
as Controlling
Am I to blame when they lack the Ability to look honestly and truthfully within themselves before pointing their fingers
So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone
So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone
at my table..........
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
"I'm afraid of the dark," he said,
but what he meant, I couldn't grasp.
I'm afraid of the light instead.
What more could terrify me than a future I have to face,
a gleaming torrent of certainty,
a resounding push forward,
but the dark?
The dark is my putty; a shadowy liquid,
a fickleness that prays on hope and fear,
and with it holds an escape.
He fears the dark because it can deceive him.
I fear the light because it is the truth.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
Imaging you when you were a school girl
Mini- sarong, small white shirt
A bag jam-packed with books hanging on your shoulder
Tiara in head, and two queues like two small dark snake
And those long eye petals highlighted with collyrium
Your two sapphires fluctuating in deep Blue Ocean
Impish humming birds were humming with their assiduous tongue,
to get your attention.
Let the Almighty curse their tongue was your supplication
Walking in two fickleness legs, licking an Ice- cream
Bewilderingly, you became my “A Midsummer night’s dream”.
Each second I encounter you in my Ruya
For years you are my Ruya.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
staying up late just thinking of all the could-beens and should-beens that could and should have been us.
what if we'd tried a little harder? persisted a little longer? held on to each other as tightly as we should have?
would you be by my side then, instead of the empty void staring tauntingly back at me?
would our hands be clasped together, interwoven,
your eyes that once bored right back into the back of mind haunting me wherever i would go,
your touch tattooed into the skin of my palms as they once were?
what if i hadn't let go?
what if i'd learnt fate's cruel lesson that
possessing the trait of fickleness never awarded anything but everything slipping past, earlier?
would you be willing to stay with me then, and forgive me for all the wrongdoings that i would inevitably cause?
would we have ever evolved into more than just an idealized dream drawn from a fragmented memory,
the idea of an irrevocable love that despite having been mulled over for what would've seemed like an eternity,
has never seen the light of reality before?
then again, everything does appear only better when it's all in your head.
when i can still pretend that you are who i expect you to be,
and i may be accepted for who i am truly,
excess baggage of unneeded insecurities and imperfections weighing me down and all.
is it better to be cleanly rejected or to be
torn down bit by bit,
night by night,
spent just staring at a blank screen and waiting,
hovering over imperishably,
pure naive hope fuelling the drive to continue delaying the inexorable?
foolishly believing that crossed fingers and
any lingering feelings that hadn't yet been sieved away by the
jaded culture we exist and drown in today
would perhaps, even if accidentally,
as if out of a fairytale that i starkly don't belong to,
send me a text back?
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 7:06 PM UTC
soft silly syllables sauntering slowly at sunset
after all ambiguous adjectives adversely affect our amicability
feigning fickleness funding fearfulness finding finality in foolishness
egress endlessly ever evading the
end
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
What Light speaketh,
Unto the Darkness?
Whom is more forceful?
Which is more tyrannous?
Must you succumb to Light?
Or fear the Darkness?
Or both?
Must you Succumb to Light?
In order to overcome Darkness?
And if thou dost not fear Darkness?
When why should thee succumb to Light?
Light doth not symbolize good.
Light is as violent as Darkness.
For both are to be feared.
Light to be feared because of its' fickleness.
And Darkness to be feared of its' unknowing.
Pick up thine poison.
Acquire light, and thou art doomed.
Venture into darkness,
And thou art doomed.
Tis true, that the creatures,
Lurk in the shadows.
But the Light dost not,
Have them vanish.
Creatures are not banish'd,
From the Light.
But Darkness makes them unseen.
Spark thine torches,
Look among the creatures.
Yet a torch is Light,
And Light is a fickle being.
Light is easily lost,
Only to find yourself,
Once again set in Darkness.
Darkness... where the creatures roam.
Light... where the creatures are known.
Light doth not make Darkness timid.
But Light shakes below the hand of Darkness.
Light is fragile, yet darkness in itself.
For without Light, You obtain darkness.
Once again, spark thine torch.
Look beyond where the Light canst grasp.
What dost flood thine vision?
Darkness.
Permanent, Light is not.
But Darkness...
O... Darkness...
Thou art eternal.
Overwhelming and omniscient.
The world hath been created amoung Darkness.
Therefore, humanity doomed by its' creator,
To remain in Darkness for its' existence.
And Light never to prevail.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 3:56 PM UTC
A girl sitting at the table next
restless, was slyly eyeing his pie,
kind of cute, like in childhood
it sure was, yet seemed a ploy
to gatecrash in to his privacy,
and give company, as it pleased her.
"The pie is blackberry if you fancy it ,
I''ll be glad, you can have it all,
I know there is no other left"
He played Mr.Nice guy,solicitous,
but behind that face of his,
was the arrows of light, hitting him,
from those sparkling eyes,
vying with each other, to build up
a halo chamber, almost visible around him!
Blackberry pie is no big deal, of course
he knows a whole hillside with
bushes full of ripe, succulent ones,
any day he could have his fill, raw
or as a flaky crusted pie backed by his mom.
But those sparkling eyes that in a moment
made him build castles in the air
had an electric appeal, he can't ignore.
The offer she said, was irresistible,
not a type she is who snatches,
dainty stuff from someone just bumped in to
"But the way your eyes did glint,
when you looked makes me ask
:haven't we met somewhere before?"
"There is a fickleness in this,love at first sight,
do you need to fall head over heels?"
a little voice within, that has a problem
in such things, kept raising a doubt.
"But without a first sight,there can't be love
may it be fickle, we'll tackle it the way it goes"
replies another,who seems to care for love.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
(G)
Life as a burden is decent
Treading in hatched up waterways
Swimming in the green brine ebbing tides
Drowned in emotive stances
A being intensified in rapid torrents
Ohh my…fickleness soaked in curiosity
(J)
Decent sounds pretty substantial
I lay acquainted to swampy lowlands
My footsteps have tasted salty waters
Stepped, wadding inside the muddy landscape
Inch by inch, halfway, fully submerged
Overloaded by the tide gasping for oxygen
(G)
Populaces catwalk with intellectual deficit
Footsteps bereft of creativity and eloquence
The grounds lay dry strangling the in-between
The desert begging to lose their sandy dry skin
The forest whispers with a revolt of transformation
The luscious green splash life sparking drones
(J)
Your analogy sways the natured array of trees
The inspiration stings the sun to radiate warmth
All patched in the blueness of bellowing skies
My lungs deflate even on intense inhalation
I tarmac on the passage of time, differently wired
Intermittently cyanosed in faded lived moments
(G)
For poetry and art scaffolds and shapes reality
It sparks life and eliminates the drone mentality
Artists arouse inspiration and boost human nature
It bridges the narrowing ledge of ( human diversity/ instead of/ diverse species)
It drives conversation and deepens basic pleasantries
Rotating notions, promoted to a present and active human
(J)
I object not, for human essence is essential
A foundation of humanity that inspires and frees
A deed that dips in the depth of a lush oasis
Most sunk and waving “a celebration of celebrities”
Falsified lionization, a control of master puppeteer
Amused by insight, the reciprocal contract of empathy
G= Graff1980
J=SassyJ
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
Come, I bid you listen, heed my words for I am truth
I’ve the wisdom of the old not the fickleness of youth.
Doubt me at your peril disbelief will be your cross
Ignore me when I whisper, oh that will be your loss.
Oh yes, I know you hear me I can see it in your eyes
I revel when you come to know I’m not telling lies.
Sure at times I might be twisted to suit a certain cause
But I am truth, and truth be told, that’s all I ever was.
So sit and learn some lessons that I will give for free
For I am truth, I cannot lie, I am HISTORY.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 12:11 PM UTC
She watches a drama on the television
calendar pages flying
from time’s prying fingertips
showing her,
reality is
slower,
trudging ,
dragging in its pain;
she paces quietly,
wandering down
lonely stairwells of her memory,
her feet shuffling,
slipping
on loose tiles
of broken promises.
the floor is covered in his tracks,
decaying leaves of fickleness, letters of blotted ink, thick gray scratches;
his unsaid goodbye, lingering
heavy and stale,
the air
filled with the smell of him,
scents of his self doubt and insecurity.
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 1:44 AM UTC
It was the rain against the windows
And the moonlight sonata playing
That accompanied my transition
Into melancholy insomnia
In the mid-morning deluge of the overcast sky
The reading of books and Freudian dreams
The watching of movies, Kubrick stare and all
Where emotions are captured and paraphrased
Amidst fight clubs and Fantasia
The Klimt surrealism outreaching from the walls
A lone piano listens, glistens; ripples of time
All dissimilar reinventions
Swirling in the incense smoke rings
Dancing in the flowing spirit air
Free and marvelous among vacant living room eyes
Memories recall the rain of Pasadena
Over rustic-themed modernism for
Eager tourists and the nonchalant few
Whispering words to descend the stairs
From the surface to below where thrusting cocktails reside
Years ago in the same position
But younger than I am now
At another desk with a bleeding pen
Pouring over the torn fickleness and skin I saw
Matchstick men smoking flesh roaches in alleyway shadows
Something hidden underneath the seen frailty
Single mothers courting hairless young men
Cracked anchor teens moving to a beat not of their own
Act of demon from the hand of God
Itching skin and slimy **** for sexes of all;
the men can take a turn in bearing the small.
Tales written from reflection and soul
Those wanderers and solicitors passing over the sick
The dead that laugh and the living that cry
Cold flesh injections stock markets for cattle to imbibe
Like so many humans do
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
There’s something about your pale skin
blanketed with thin hairs that makes
me care to become closer, to massage
your ache, to make you quake with
relief; despite your disbelief
about my interest in you, I really do wish to kiss
your manner and bathe in the
cool vibes you emit.
I want to hit my brain for
silencing my heart, for halting
its beats when my eyes meet
your sweet and enticing
form; It’s hard for me to say
if I’ll feel the same as yesterday
in the future, for fickleness
has been in my nature,
though it is an unattractive trait—
indecision and impulsivity;
Contemplation is a proclivity,
a natural occurring activity that
sends too many signals to my mind
and I waste all of my precious time
deciphering true feelings from
conditioned expectations
However, I cannot deny the tingly
sensation my body rides when I look
into your mind
And I’m quite curious to find
out everything about you while
keeping my own mystery unsolved
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal.
Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies.
I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events.
These beings possess no artificiality.
Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria.
Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal.
There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust.
Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control.
Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency.
Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline.
Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision.
My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation.
Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate.
Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign.
Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time.
I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew.
The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought.
Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation.
I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence.
The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Do not confuse my kindness for honesty.
Do not mistake this sweet spun fiction as anything more than a balm for the hurt.
Darling, I am lying through my teeth.
I am naught but a dark and terrible thing,
opened wide for the world to witness all my horrors.
Not unlike a mausoleum.
Yet,
not a mausoleum.
I am not filled with death.
I am not filled with anything.
Sorrow created me.
I grew up from a bed of grief and hemlock.
I razed myself through the inferno.
I stood,
the world cracked and popped
as my body trembled with resistance.
I am the goddess of wrath;
Of war;
Of chaos;
Of furious broken hearts.
Who is it that comes to me like dawn on the horizon?
All blinding light and shivering roses;
All you;
All you.
Gaze upon me.
Please.
My hands are warm but my heart is shaking.
I haven't been seen in centuries.
There is not much of me to know,
but if you touch me I shall bloom.
If you touch me I shall grow into you-
Like violets;
Like violence.
A sudden stifling,
deafening,
paralyzing sort of anguish sweeps in.
I don't want to be beautiful.
I want to be alive.
Will you place flowers at my feet instead?
Heather for my loniless,
Larkspur for my fickleness-
treat this body as a memorial.
Put me in a gown and set me on a pyre.
Oh, and I should burn for this,
but I beat on.
Wings against the sun,
I beat on.
Memories like woven gossamer,
like damp ink and rain.
Only the dust will remember us.
You may dismiss me now.
I will stare on with rapt attention.
Blindingly still, you shine.
And I did know you;
And I was close to you.
But there is nothing more to me than this:
The break.
I shift,
My bones hiss and pop.
I am a house settling.
I am a home burning .
I beat on.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
You all remember the romantic fickleness of being fifteen, right?
Of course you do.
Everything was
Brand New. (But we faced the world with Bright Eyes)
Once again I’m sealing up my dried-on spilt blue dye
With a kiss between the lines of liquor boxes
Wondering in which book my nose was buried
During the moment that time casually hopped aboard
a timeless train with a clocked-out rate
Its silent departure breeding a fantastical escape.
Only the ironic forlon echo comes much later.
They don’t tell girls who waste their youth away between the lines of pseudonyms
Between the shelves of musty libraries
Every other warm summer day until dusk
Just how old you’ll feel in the reminiscence of inde-alternative and cardboard boxes.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
He was wandering through the woods, when he saw her.
She had long golden locks like gilt thread, it shimmered and its ribbons gently moved in the wind.
She wore an exquisite gold lace dress, which barely touched the green grass of the ground beneath her.
She gave a quick glance at the gloomy man gazing at her.
The beauty astonished him; it approached him with steady small steps.
She was like the goddess Aphrodite, but rarer.
She was the meaning of beauty, the warm air, the longer days, the bright sun, and the worry free smile.
The definition of beauty is easy; it's what leads you to desperation.
As the beauty advanced, her gold lace dress became a fade orange and the beauty in the previous goddess figure faded.
Every moment and every second of this illusion to his eyes appeared as a dream to reality, the reality of the fickleness in beauty over time.
His desperate gloomy figure slowly turned into white happiness. There was no more darkness; all that was left of him was white icy flakes.
The golden locks became white, and the fairness of her face became filled with wrinkles.
She lost her figure, her beauty, her gold.
She often looked into the mirror wondering where that gold light went.
The light was still within their cheeks, but the gold figure vanished.
In his eyes she was becoming something more beautiful than a storm.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
Rise
From the ashes of your failures
Rise
From the red hot burn of hate
Rise
From the dissonance subduing your own unique flow
**Rise
Rise**
You are born to fight the fickleness of life
**Rise
Believe in yourself
Far greater than all your misfortunes combined**
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
is it really necessary? to come and go as you please? to share the fickleness of these autumn leaves? to bat your eyes and drain the blood from me? to wrap that filthy crook around my neck? are you prepared for that? to walk in front of me out of reach like every october breath? wont you reconsider? for all the possibilities and peril? for fear of what could quite possibly, probably, and preferably be the end?
yet you continue? and interrupt this perfect re-clusion? and break apart every sentence like a rotten soaked november twig? is this all truly necessary? to please yourself and go and come into days like a drunk naked december wind? to howl down my street like some great holy christmas beast come to correct me? to show me all the preferable, probable, possible, and parallel worlds? to burn all the red where the Tennessee hills once slept under blankets of green? to hold a conversation with this snow as you please to come and go like the first tiny snowflake that will begin to bury me? as you insist? as you pay me no rent, tax, or mind? dont you know? that you should take apart those frigid winter layers? that you should disregard that preoccupied, parallel, preferable, possible, and most probable gaze? why, oh my god, why must you play shy? myrma darby, wont you look here? wont you look me in the eye?
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 23, 2010 at 12:30 PM UTC
What are we, my dear?
Two songbirds tightperched
On a branch, livening the day?
I could say yes to that.
But you want to live by the sea,
So seagulls we'll be:
Wheeling and honking and diving
And coming home to shore.
But then, I never learned to swim.
So maybe two little scuttlecrabs
In broken bottle shells,
Holding claws and bubbling nonsense.
Still I have grander thoughts than these,
You and I as brightshining dreamthings
Houring our whiles away with magic
That is coldest when warmed
And floats farthest when the tide is out.
(Perhaps it is risky to indulge in dreams,
The fickleness of seconds ticking makes them
Sand under one's feet; but I have walked on sand,
And I have dreamed you,
And here you are.)
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 6:21 AM UTC
11/15/2015
it has been a while since
i've been to the wetland coppice
teetering close to the neck of
a somerset sourland hummock
soft rushes and pickerel ****
wild lavender and marsh elder
a Canadian goose choking on a
birch branch
it died.
it has been a time since I've been there
timber rattler and weasel
playing in the grounsel
September,
like Wallace Stevens: lonely in
Jersey city.
November dead
cold bright annihilating days
i sometimes walk a mile
cutting across dead garden snakes
they sit in the living room, playing
the Nile is full of waste and bile
i wait alone by this little grove,
hoping that my fickleness of
Conversation topics
can help me now
but my mind, it raced
like a dead horse at a betting show
Sunday morning,
Saturday night really
I read Wallace Stevens in the field
And dream about jersey city
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Colargrins
I pull daggers from my sinking heart, liquefy blades, and splash back in spades upon the staggering departure of my starts.
Ill finish even with a diminished will.
Im not always first, but **** it in the last minute in nervous fidgeting of my reality rippling through residual hauntings of the feel of the feeling of your reeling in the excitement.
Dauntingly, flaunting, the alarming charm of tongue, eniticing the romantic knifing of lungs, in spent breaths, confessed of the love of truth.
Rasp out the hiss, as whisps of winds licked from jackals lips.
Whip the words in willful waning of the facts.
Aim to ****
Ill just Relax to the drop of the ax
Im a ridiculous idiot
Meticulously breaking it down to absolutes, in my astute fickleness.
Lustily finding finesses in the regrets of others, smothering prideful chuckling of chummery in distractive strumming of the nothings, shielding the view of this place, changing the hue of my face in the light.
Step away from the light
You dont wanna see what lurks within the night
My lackluster mustering is the recipe for disaster.
Ill just master the disguise, with too much time, miles of smiles, lies, and cold hand shakes that imply my maniacal despise.
Hi!
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 2:58 AM UTC
There is a stillness
in the absence of the television’s
jarring advertisements,
lethal dramas,
and fast paced sitcoms
just gnawing away at what little time we have here.
The last hour has been a week
of the relaxation I pursue daily.
Stuck in a world where the constant
is a sprint on a treadmill,
meaningless because I’m moving nowhere,
as others move about a steady change of scenery,
I am beginning to feel hopeless.
Will I get to climb my mountain?
Will I get to trip and skin my knees on the rugged earth?
Will I get to lay on a cliff,
enamored with a view I never thought was meant for me?
Will I feel pain?
Will I feel triumph?
Will I simply get to feel?
These years are getting old.
This faith is turning cold,
fickleness growing bold.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 8:19 PM UTC
Those eyes
So sad
So loving, loyal and true.
Who can resist that look
From a dog?
Best family member
Of the animal kind.
So devoted to his Mum and Dad
And even uncle.
No fickleness here:
Unflinchingly faithful.
Loving to run and fetch
For his master or mistress.
Even bring in the ‘paper.
See him jump for joy
As you grab the lead
That he’s brought you.
It’s “That time”…
If you let him,
He’ll lick you all over
Before rolling on his back
For a belly rub.
(And his Missus is just the same)!
But those eyes have it:
Bottomlessly sad
So you just have to give him
Strokes and cuddles.
Paul Butters
© PB 21\1\2018.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC
Fickleness you are my foe
I used to find you sweet
A laughable, childish quality
Something I'd grow out of
But you've ruined me
I've loved so many
Only to lose interest
Fickleness you are my foe
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
We need to stop setting goals
and personal standards, based…
on the foolishness of our fears;
Human expectations, dumb notions
and the fickleness of desire is
no way to live. Measuring years
by our accomplishments is silly;
someone in the future will either
outdo us or destroy our efforts.
Can we create a meaningful legacy
that touches lives with God’s Love
or even move beyond… self-comfort?
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC