"fiona" poems
Here are the names of my lovers,
The women I sleep with, whom
I use, like they use me.
Spent, they discard me, for when their pleasure needs
Satiated, they climb aboard another man.
What they do not know,
Is that in my mind, in my ears,
everywhere,
I did not let them, or you go,
We are still romping,
For I
Take them as needed.
I need them all,
For my pleasure needs, like my unshaped heart,
Addictive, endless.
If your is name is here, I do not
Apologize.
Pink
Adele
Lilly Allen
Anna Nalick
Bess Rogers
Beyonce
Brandi Carlisle
Cat Power
Colbie Callait
Duffy
Eva Cassidy
Evanescence
Alison Sudol
Fiona Apple
Florence Welch
Grace Potter
Ingrid Michaelson
You
Joni Mitchell
K.D. Lang
Kate Nash
Kate Voegele
Leona Lewis
Lizz Wright
Madeline Peyroux
Marie Digby
Mary Wells
Norah Jones
Regina Spektor
Sara Bareilles
You
Sara Haze
Taylor Swift and Tracy Chapman
Tristan Prettyman
Vanessa Carlton
So many others, used so long ago, I can't remember the faces,
Which can't be googled.
Use them hard, use them often, more than daily.
Bluntly, I tell you
Your name is on my list,
Even if I do not disclose it.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
What was it like?
The fight?
Well I’d say it was like…
Eowyn valiantly facing off with the Witch King
It was like Obi Wan flinging droids around with the flick of his hand
It was like saying “Hi” to Scarface’s friends
It was like the feeling Shrek got when he saved Fiona
It was like the moment when we first realize Scar will betray Mufasa
It was like watching the Joker toy with Batman’s head
It was like watching King Leonidas **** Persians in slow motion
It was like John McClane actually dying
It was like the green burst of light from Voldemort’s wand
It was like…
It was like…
It was like ******* off the Don on the day of his daughter’s wedding subsequently forcing the Don to leave a horse head in your bed.
Woah dude, that’s too far. The fight between Timmy and Johnny at recess was not like that.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 4:41 PM UTC
Shrek
Ugly ogre
Happy villagers
Are so so happy
Shrek the play
Fiona a beautiful princess
Shrek and Fiona united together
What is meant to be will be
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
Fiona told me that all poems should start
with roses and violets of red and blue.
So: Fiona’s a cool blue to Liz’s flaming red heart.
And I the daisy closely combining the two.
the daisy smiles up at the sun.
to soften the fearless red rose is its goal.
Forever intertwining the daisies and roses roots run.
The violet has such a friendly soul.
Forever laughing you and me.
Broken with companionable silence.
The violet, daisy, and rose create such a scene.
Our life together is such a colorful riot!
Together forever they will grow tall.
So tightly knit are their stems they will never fall.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
THEY broke into my storyline:
confections served were not so slight
still i missed out on YOU at first,
that trace YOU gave of sheer remorse
put that now in you head,
sweet THING!
my guilty pleasure feels like savoring.
a palate to transpire any doubts -
a skill of tiger on the prowl
it's the plot of a mindless fling,
i care for YOU to be within
though such acting's bound with letters' dire ******
i see YOU TWO again to have my bliss
i read YOU out,
i spell YOU!
then write YOU down
i read YOU out,
i spell YOU,
then write YOU down
it's been a while i had my click
with all the fluff i cared to think
i thought this time WE may never part,
but YOU are in the line with change of heart
it's the plot of a mindless fling,
i care for YOU to be within
though such acting's bound with letters' dire ******
i see YOU TWO again to have my bliss
i reread YOU out,
i spell YOU!
then rewrite YOU down
i read YOU out,
i spell YOU,
then write YOU down
Nov 22, 2022
Nov 22, 2022 at 3:21 PM UTC
There is a boy in the library, ignoring the crazy lady talking through the window.
I feel like telling him she is nice. And probably not half as crazy as the librarians in this town. She has 2 children. They live in Greece. And when she cries, her dogs hide under the deck.
But he probably doesn't speak English.
Hardly any of these people sitting on their backpacks at the library do. And even if he did, he wouldn't listen.
He is reading. Its a good book. I know its a good book. I've read it. Now I feeling like telling him to leave.
He should not read it here, underneath the colour wallpaper. He needs to find a corner of a beach, so he doesn't have to cry in public. And he has to cry, because if he doesn't, I know the crying will happen inside. And his eyes will turn a shade darker with the smoke of their deaths, and his muscles will strain to rip from his ridiculously alive tendons. His eyes are already black, and I do not think he can afford to find more darkness.
Not that I would know.
He might pick cherries for a living and flirt with a trailer park attendant called Fiona is his spare time.
But I have a smell for the scared and enclosed people here. I can see the kracken hunters and the faerie kissers. They show themselves to me accidentally and I turn watch them destroy their dreams.
People ask me why I am cold all the time. They do not understand, because the boy at the library closed the book before he could cry and I knew he would be destroyed anyway
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
eight, nine
nine, eight, nine
Hello, father, spare me a dime,
and pay the mime with
five landmines;
**** off the bridge if
we've got time.
Appalachian Yeti-man:
set fire to the trashcan.
Call me hobo-stan,
and if the beard fits
grow it.
Show it;
show me the D.
Dentistry,
stay with me;
Explain for free:
"Dichotomy
of the mind"
thoughtfully,
for a time.
Robot-o me,
Mr. Oregato.
Set phasers to ****
stunningly.
Make fun of he
for bad grammar
and intellectuality.
He dumber;
me smarter.
She's aderall;
I'm martyr.
Destroy my innards,
Captain.
I need them not.
She leaves me rot,
and he feeds me Scott.
Scottie doesn't know
that Fiona and me
eat him in a van while
he's sleeping.
Cannibal,
call me Hannibal,
and she's the Jane to my
Tarzan,
pulling the fruits of
my loom.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
Try your best to escape and free
Your mind is not your identity
Your genetics, your family tree
Your looking glass eyes can see
Through the window an fatefully
Change your perception of reality
And redefine who you are to be
My new persona is in a coma down in Barcelona
Now I'm Jonah in love with Mona from Arizona
Drinking corona with Fiona in the streets of Verona
Creativity is a proclivity that unshackles our identity free
Journey with me far from the vast sea of mental captivity
Exclusivity of proactivity creates a glorious life of festivity
Consent to your dreams to the absolute umpteenth degree
Augment your schemes and forget about the no guarantee
Reinvent thee extremes, and you will never be a life absentee
Remember as you read that we are all connected eternally
On this marble together spinning we are all just guests
Wandering around trying to solve our personal quests
Humans being we happened to be, but only temporarily
May as well attempt and squeeze life to death and manifest
All your aspirations and ambitions should be put to the test
All so blessed with a mind, and a beating heart in our chest
So why not invest the rest of our time to aspire to be the best
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
Audrey, look out the window and see your dreams.
Brydie, lay on the carpet and think of home.
Charlie, stand in the garden and let the rain wash the pain away.
Danielle, shout at the skies for this awful weather.
Ellen, smile as you see a rainbow in the distance.
Fiona, stick out your tongue to soften their fall.
Gemma, pretend there's nothing falling from the sky.
Hannah, dance in the rain in that favourite dress of yours.
Imogen, jump into puddles, one after the other.
Jade, wave to the people going past in their cars.
Keri, open your hands to cup the cold water.
Laura, laugh as the neighbour's umbrella turns inside out.
Molly, hope the grass is better for football tomorrow.
Natasha, sigh as you drive through it all.
Olivia, read a book by the nice warm fire.
Paige, sleep through the hammering of the droplets.
Queenie, scream as you dash through the storm.
Rhianne, fall back onto that squishy armchair inside.
Steph, pray for the sun to come out soon.
Tuula, watch the leaves huddle against the kerb.
Una, listen as they patter patter on the rooftop.
Victoria, take off those sodden shoes.
Whitney, snap another photograph or two.
Xandra, run to get back home to your family.
Yasmeen, follow the trail of the water on the window.
Zara, give up waiting for the rain to stop.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 7:01 AM UTC
Si può o non può avere sentito un po 'di qualcuno di nome Kelly Clarkson sono sposati lo scorso fine settimana .E il suo matrimonio?Total .TOTALE .Svenire .Le nostre LBBers talento ultra dietro Archetype Studio Inc. ha fatto gli onori di catturare il giorno e stanno dando a noi anatre poco fortunati una sbirciatina a tutti la bella .
e dire la verità .un piccolo sguardo a Tennessee fattoria matrimonio di Kelly è tutto quello che dobbiamo sapere che siamo con tutto il cuore in amore .Non siete d'accordo
?
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Prima di testa fuori nel fine settimana .abbiamo pochi vincitori super speciale !
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Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
this is a translation of a poem written in spanish called "tus palabras"
*"...You say you understand, but you don't understand,
you say you'd never give up seeing eye to eye,
but never is a promise, and you can't afford to lie..."
—Never is a Promise, Fiona Apple*
I love
sitting down to see the words come out of your mouth
watching how they flee desperately
like caged wild birds
only to become musical notes
that disappear like flames after consuming their fuel
making melodious sounds while they wither away
I'm fascinated
it's like watching a half-drizzle rainbow vanish
as the cloud moves away
I get wrapped up
only because they are
a marvelous illusion
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 5:00 PM UTC
How shocked was I when my mistress, Filthy Fiona,
Told me one summer's day she had one up the spout;
After all, the silly ***** was on the pill (and in any case
Half the time my seed had gone up the lesser used route).
But, accidents will happen when you least expect them:
Maybe her recent attack of diarrheoa had upset the apple cart.
O, how relieved was I when she told me she had booked herself in
To the Marylebone Abortion Clinic for a good old pump-out session;
And, even better (much better), I wasn't expected to foot the bill
As her private health insurance would cover it nicely,
Thank you very much indeed, God bless you, my darlin';
The excessive premiums were clearly a fine investment.
Like the gent I am, I offered to drive her there in my pink Porsche 911,
But she insisted I need only pick her up after the remedial session
As she had made other travel arrangements to get there; and
One cannot argue with a dame under such trying circumstances.
How I would have relished the amusement of those who saw the ****
Arrive in one bloke's car, deposited caringly with a consoling hug,
And collected by a different chappie, with a kiss on her plump cheek.
But, after all, 'twas only fair I found out later (with a gay grin)
When she told me she really had no idea who the father was
Although her two selected chauffeurs were the best two bets.
How I laud the foresight of the percipient abortion law reformers:
Our sad world has more than enough unwanted ******** as it is.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
This land upon each foot of yours walked, might be so cruel,
And you cannot be a deaf for those guffaws from everywhere:
Wherein, from that voyage of foolishness they live to prove,
Lies the night behind, for they are blinded from the truth.
Keep breaking the walls which hinder to once greatest moment,
Soon, will be freed from asphyxiation, after they realize your existence
Do not prolong your agony; they are just a bunch of stupid creatures
For there will be someone to hold you on your dejected hours.
True beauty can be sought by the heart; never by the eyes,
Let your thoughts alter the pain and foresee but frozen fires,
Cry for tears; they are trying to break your broken wings
Someday, you will be fled into the azure skies to exalt everything.
So, wake up each morn to taste the sweetness of the dew
For what sudden image you can behold in the mirror is really you.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 5:26 AM UTC
****** Mary sunset
Soft tequila sigh
Ivory teardrop tumbler
Disregarded sky
Street breeze through the window
Kettle on the stove
Chopin in the parlor
Empty pack of cloves
Resonance of redwood
Essence of the earth
Shrine to Mother Mary
Sacred ****** birth
Portraits on the table
Gazing toward the floor
Cobwebs in the dresser
Tucked behind closed doors
Violins descending
From the upper room
Dissonance impending
Lost in worry’s womb
****** Mary sunrise
Flower pillow sigh
Alka Seltzer tumbler
Halfhearted goodbye
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
1. Silence always means he's thinking about his deep and everlasting love for me.
2. Farts are his way of glorifying my existence. And burps always get a "God bless you."
3. Him and Gary the get-well-gorilla want me to be happy.
4. On OKCupid, the opening line of his first very first message to me was "Bonjour! While reading your profile, I noticed you're into gaming."
5. He found that street, you know, with the black mailbox at the end of it.
6. I have never wished for him to "find an antique rocking chair to die in." (ESOTSM)
7. We will have a hammock in our attic. And a room for our four cats, named Fiona, Penelope, Montozo, and Ernesto.
8. We will kiss in a tent in a woods, and then kiss in Paris, and finally settle which is more romantic.
9. [R]Otman's Ottomans is our future enterprise.
10. Oh, and, uh, I guess I love him, and stuff.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
The shake of the leg while crossed
Not the way to walk but I am moving forward non the less
I dance in my chair and feel so blessed
A singing morning full of spice
Coffee is extra strong, on Friday that is nice!
I woke the girls with my voice
I had headphones on and was singing loud
Music of my choice ; )
Something to make me feel proud
Fiona sings of a Better Version of Me
I sing along ever so happily
Wake the girls - make them shine
Tell them how beautiful they are, talented, special- mine!
Good Morning Friday! Good Morning my girls
Rise and shine
Sing with me..give this day a whirl!!
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
After our 3rd 16-hour shift we skipped down the gravel road in the 4 am dusk holding still numb hands
hysterically laughing about a snowman made of ****** fish ice and decorated with intestines
to our room of splintered walls and sand infused beds.
Drunk on sleep deprivation and the movement of the conveyor belts
Fiona demanded of the 4 am twilight that our work be easier tomorrow
I told her that tomorrow could always be the hardest
she told me that I’m Eeyore because my contemplation always looks a bit like pessimism.
A week later I stuck my finger in the pus filled lesion of a salmon
and worried that I wasn’t existing well enough
I asked Fiona if she thought we were more ourselves dressed in layers of sleep deprivation
She cut 3 tails and stated that we must experience more life when we’re awake for 18 hours a day.
This place had forced the clean carefully constructed versions of ourselves to collapse
but she didn’t want this coarse damp translation of humanity to be what we intrinsically are.
Water and pink slime slid down my rain gear as I processed her words and the fillets sliding by
60 salmon later she spoke again
“You said once that every person you meet has some sort of impact on your life.
Maybe you’re always you but never the you that you were before this moment
because who we are is infinitely changing
we won’t always be grime.”
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
-
Yesterday at school,
as I was walking through the halls,
a girl, (who I do not know the name of for sure, but that's not important right now) before walking past me looked up and into my eyes as they were already intent on her.
She was beautiful,
you must understand.
And her eyes pierced through the fog that the melancholy environment of the school had left upon the halls.
And when she smiled, I swear all else around me stopped,
all things inside me rapidly expanded,
filling my body with an awkwardly warm feeling.
When I smiled back to her without meaning to I remembered looking into the mirror that morning and seeing my face, with it's too large nose and it's skin invaded with acne and a few scars and even fewer whiskers.
All these vain trifles of mine own face quickly evaporated from my mind as her eyes made their way back in.
I looked down at the ground around her feet and noticed nothing but her feet.
Covered with black China flats which were covering black tights that wove their way up her calves and thighs where they disappeared under a brown backed floral dress which again, stood under a denim jacket.
God **** my short casket of knowledge when it comes to women's clothing
but God ****** if I don't know a stunning girl when I see one. If I see one, and I saw one.
My eyesight slowly wandered up again to her eyes
and thinking back on it now I am wondering how I had enough time to take such a clear mental picture and save it in my smoke filled brain.
And as I looked up I found her eyes again, looking back at me.
She continued smiling and said hi.
I continued smiling and more or less grumbled hi.
We each continued walking in our own, opposite directions.
I don't know her name.
And I have a friend named Fiona who played a tree in our school's production of Wizard and Oz.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
she'd the option to skin you alive
- hack the flesh off with the band-aid -
but she dared to do it softly
in this deliberate slaughter of dignity.
she wrapped her arms around you
and then prised your persona away.
still, she slips into language you taught her
and perceives it as her own.
in part, you're a souvenir:
the crisp packets on her bedroom floor.
the toiletries on her bathroom shelf.
the scent on her pillow.
the look in her eyes.
the rest of you is tucked away -
your laughter lies with her high school photos
and the clothes in her closet aged with moth-eaten decay.
you'd take less offence if she'd buried you under the floorboards.
now read it back. who hurt who? am i her or is she you?
i am the compost laid below your buds
and narcissus' wobbling reflection.
i project what you want to see:
(spoiler: it isn't me.)
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
Half the time, I convince
myself you don't care,
hardly ever talking to me
outside of school,
still never kissing me again.
Then other times,
you're so cute.
Having the picture
I drew you, of
Marshall Lee and Fiona.
And how whenever
we sit together,
you are always touching me,
constantly in contact,
elbows or shoulders or legs or hips
touching.
Or giggling with me
about Catbug,
the adorable cartoon.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
**It was a September morning
As beautiful as ever
bestowing to everyone
The golden sunlight ,rare and precious.
And there I sat under the old oak tree
an old forgotten friend
etched in my childhood memories
but washed from my day to day life,yet always present.
The tree was reminiscent of my childhood days.
Those delectable days with Fiona,Thomas,and Liona
Are now paltry memories
That keep me euphoric even in my dismal days.
Now even they are gone
to different parts of the word
but this old oak tree
has been a witness to both my past and present.
Had the oblivion taken upon me?
That I had forgotten my promise
to remember and cherish him throughout my life
But he still keeps his promise, as true as light on this earth.
He seems to smile to see me today
A unique smile, delicate, bold, unnoticed.
Welcoming me heartily
Embracing the unknown new me.
His leaves rustle
Expressing umpteen emotions
In a voice and language alien to everyone else
Just known to me.
I could sense what a fool I have been
To have forgotten my friend
But even though we had drifted apart
Oblivion failed to erase our friendship.
Thus sitting in front of you,my friend
I write and dedicate this poem to you
so that even though my existence is washed away
You be remembered and become immortal in memories !! **
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
Screaming at the top of your vocals
So loud my ears automatically shut off the sound
Or such a deep whisper
You make my tears come falling down
Face to face with the echo of my own fatal existence
And the reality of all our largest fear to come true
And who luckier than I
To have every bit of detail spread
From who I've been in contact with
To who I've laid in bed
And to feel so sorry that you can't sleep
Night after night till you can't weep
No room to breathe
I can feel the slime on the breath
Of the constricting snake
One who I've seen oh so many times
Evil and Devil
Feeds on sorrow and corruption of the mind
But a girl like me has no doubts
I've seen myself through
The toughest of drought
My little life has never felt safe
Only within the bounds of my perilous reality
Fiona on a ledge
But will not look over the edge
Only out at the distance
For nothing is dread ♥
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
You seem to be my Clyde to my Bonnie
You seem to be my Martin to my Gina
You seem to be my Bobby to my Whitney
And you are more than I could ever ask for
You get on my nerves
You call me names (but in a friendly way)
You tell me your honest opinion
And you even check others when it comes to me!
You are my Micky to my Minnie
You are my Homer to my Marge
You are my Peter to my Louis
And you are someone I can trust
You helped me up whenever I was feeling down
You showed me that giving up wasn’t an option
You treated me like no other!
You can be my Simba to my Nala
You can be my Prince Adam “Beast” to my Belle
You can be my Shrek to my Fiona
And you can be more than just my friend
You honestly opened my eyes
You made me change my mind about dating
You always told me I was beautiful!
You will forever be my Lucious to my Cookie
You will forever be my Jamie to my Fancy
You will forever be my Dwayne to my Whitley
And I plan on making this last forever
You seem to be my friend
You seem to be my lover
You seem to be my other half!
Honestly
I think you’re my best friend...
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 12:23 PM UTC
There's this feeling and it comes
from specific moments.
moments of familiarity
and peace.
I'll be driving the same road I've driven everyday for two years
and the sun shining through the trees reminds me
that I'm here and there's a reason I'm here
and there's a reason I'm here now.
I'll be sitting in the barn with boys I've sat in the barn with for hundreds of hours before
and Dylan will laugh in the way he does and Liam will strike his match the way he does
and I'll sit back and smile and be proud of this moment
I'll be proud of these people I choose to spend time with,
people that have chosen me.
I get that feeling when I look over from the passenger seat
and I'll see Fiona twirling her hand out the window the way she does
and she'll be blasting The Cars
and that's how it's supposed to be
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
7 am
On a cold
Hardly carpeted
Floor of a one
Room apartment
In a ******
Not quite big
But big city
Full of bugs
That flit
And fly
Around me
In flashes
Of astounding
similarities
And I’m wide
The **** awake
Because of the
Cats in heat
And the glimpse
Of the future
In a kitten
Named Fiona
Who is attacking
My outstretched
Hand on the floor
And I wonder
If she really thinks
It’s a spider
Or five snakes
I mean
I really have
No idea what
This chick
Is seeing
Then
The sounds of a
House being
Torn down in
Charred and
Smoke painted
Pieces of wood
And personal things
So sorries
And oh wells
Floods the
Room from outside
And swells to
Replace the
Cats who have retired
To slumber
And the kitten off
Exploring somewhere
And still I lie
Eyes wide
Waiting for the
Appropriate time
To get my coffee
And bagle
And finagle
My way through
Another day
Of the same old
Same old
That old grind
The old grind
The five to nine
After nine to five
And I dive
Into
The image
Of coffee being
Ground and
Its sounds
Lay me to rest.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 11:56 AM UTC