"flitter" poems
Wings a flitter
Iridescent feathers a glitter
Hovering briefly at a flower top
Usually not long enough to truly stop
This precious one of avian design
I see delicately perched upon a twisted vine
The sun glinting off the ruby throat
Making it easy for on this one to dote
Although this perch may be brief
It does bear out my belief
That the light of her essence
Has me blessed in her presence
Medicine, absent of strife
Filled with the nectar of life
Life that bears the scars of complexity
Yet revels in the miracle of synchronicity
Placed on my path with divine intention
I would be remiss to discount this intervention
And yet fail to mention...
A renewal of mon couer and the magic of living
For this is the medicine that hummingbird is giving
And for me it is so easy to see
She is Nenookaasi
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
I'm fine.
The lie I say every f**king day.
The lie I say multiple times a day.
I wake up from a sleep that hasn't rested me,
And I lie. I'm fine.
When the woman I love asks if I'm okay, I lie to her.
I'm fine.
When she's breaking down due to her own issues,
I stay stong for her. Tell her it will be okay.
Possibly another lie.
I bury myself in these lies, to make sure everyone else is okay.
I'm fine.
The only reason, the ONLY ******* reason, why I haven't attempted for the 3rd time, is because I am scared of the impact of other people.
I'm fine.
I don't care what happens to me.
I care what will happen to others.
Laurens future. Her own mental health.
My Mums heart. I can't take a son away from my Mother.
My sisters big brother.
My Dads nipper.
My nephews uncle.
I'm fine.
My best friends. I couldn't forgive myself if I made the group smaller by 1.
I'm fine.
It even extends to work.
I can't let others take on the burden of doing the work I should be doing, because I ended it.
I'm not that selfish.
I'm fine.
Its the crippeling debt we're in.
How the f**k can I let the person I love put up with that on her own.
We barely live pay day to pay day.
And how can I do this to a family that hasn't even started.
I'm fine.
I am fine.
This constant feeling of something catastrophic is about to happen.
This invisible ocean I'm drowning in.
This explosion that is happening in my head, that I'm constantly holding back.
The thoughts that flitter in my head so easily.
I'm fine.
I say it with a smile.
I say it with purpose.
I say it with a heavy heart.
I'm fine.
My mouth says I'm fine.
My eyes scream for help.
I've been so good at lying, I've convinced every other communication I have.
My actions.
My words.
My mannerisms.
The jokes I flood into every conversation.
I'm fine.
I try to laugh as much as possible.
It helps convince others I'm fine.
It helps supress.
If I don't laugh, I die.
Or so it feels.
I'm fine.
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 8:58 AM UTC
There’s a sickness
or a ringing
in the early hours of night
and it creeps and creeps and creeps
till you’re begging for the light.
There’s a pinging, pinging, triumph
of wisdom in your eyes.
You have grown and now you know
not to take me by surprise.
It’s a slow infatuation
seems to ebb and flow with tides
or with the special flitter-flutter
of un-all-knowing minds.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 6:48 PM UTC
You wore a Rolex watch
which was fake
and didn't even tell the time.
I know that isn't a crime.
Nor is buying complex coffees
but it did perplex me.
I ignore this, naturally.
But before the finale,
before you forsaked me
into the Vally of the Dead
where few did tread.
I saw the cracks.
I saw you slack and caught a glimpse
behind that facade, behind the blinks
to see that you were flawed, just like me
Still, I ignored this.
I didn't take you serious,
blind to your spurious nature.
Nothing more than specious appearance.
It wasns't till the Persecco
that I felt your echo.
And it all came pouring out,
All the more doubt than before.
Adore turns to abhor too soon for my liking.
I can't stop you if you're a quitter.
Just like I can't stop the bitter memories,
flitter by my mind.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
It is docking it is tocking in the winter garden locking
over still and heavy knocking that defies the very dew.
We see storms and angels crumbling under load of dearest kindling and the fire and gases burning in the skies where clouds are churning and the snow, hail, sleet, and ices come to split the air in slices as it settles over houses, villages, shoes.
Waiting huddling drawing the blankets hot and heavy with a fear of powerful nature in the windy savory few.
Now we see and hear the howling like a wolf entangles scowling as she tries to say her fowl and angry message to the blew.
I am never quite so settled as when all around me crumbles and the anger of the desert makes the inner anger moot.
And the people seem to gather in their individual lathers but they all believe the madness that the storm will never pass. But pass it does and finding with the dawn a calm descending, yes, a calm that is so different that it seems to crush our ears. We are happy to look outward and even hear a skylark and to see the streaming sun rays flitter over piles of snow.
Ever angled up in heaven we almost see a dragon or a cannon that's protecting rampart walls.
And we know that we are safe here but it was such a battle that the scars are not quite healed.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 2:17 AM UTC
The scientist-psychiatrist
the psychologic sociologist
has proved with his statistics
and his data-riddled literates
that nothing will be crippled
if they sweep the city clean
if they slay not only Tybalt
but the whole Verona scene
so they ****** it from our hands
from our brains and those to come
as the Ravens sear across the lands
and bindings come undone
They watch the pages flitter by
and cackle with delight
as the populace of fiction
by their hands is ripped alight
The licking of the laces
by the hungry tongues of flame
will ravage on the characters
you've come to know by name
Montag barrels forth and finds
the Fahrenheit has risen
Hester screams and claws her mind
out of this hellish prison
and Dorian will clamber up
to sit atop the pile
and weep for Pictures yet to sup
upon his looks and guile
And you'll watch as they obliterate
the city from within
de-storying our Paradise
so it won't be Lost again.
But I, Calpurnia? I warned you
that the fiery clouds would rain
I told you all, fictitious youth,
but you called me insane.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:52 PM UTC
Bent over the stream
of laundrywomen drench
words that flitter to and fro,
rinsing and revising spoken prose
across whispered conversations
Fading away into the piercing gaze
of an endless summer’s haze
the laundrywomen have mastered
the art of washing the soul with only water
and well-meant poems as soap
as if it were the cloth in their hands
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
Come rhyme with me
In a bit of
Harmony
But suppose
We juxtapose:
Lemon drop
Bitter
Tear drop
Bawl
Sundrop
Flitter
Raindrop
Fall
Duck
Duck
Goose
A little heaven on earth
Before all hell breaks
Loose
~
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 8:07 AM UTC
Here we are again standing on the precipice of war
Paralysed by the past and the greed of our forefathers
While the inside battle has raged since birth
Good enough? I think not.
History only repeats its worst parts
They saw a green orb signalling GO GO GO
Faith in illusion the yellow-blue glow
Look but don’t touch! You’ll break it child!
But, they silly foolish daisies flitter flutter in the breeze
What nature? What love? What future? Roars the uncanny double
As it reappears, so much better now at creating disposable monstrous insects
Death? Very well, I guess we accept. We’re ***** for pain
But why walk into the river with rocks in your coat?
You’ve never been to war they gloat
As the wax drips steadily sealing our fate
And so those monstrous insects march by one by one
Hurrah! hurrah! here we go again old sport!
Jul 8, 2024
Jul 8, 2024 at 1:33 AM UTC
The wind blown trees
Make the rustling of leaves
Fill the wood with sound
From the top to the ground.
Birds of the morning flitter and fly
Singing songs to nature, telling it hi.
Squirrels race about, going to and fro,
Hiding nuts away for an upcoming snow.
Bursting from the horizon come the sun’s rays,
Painting vibrant colors on a new dawning day.
A palette of orange and red on the sky,
A glorious morning, a new sunrise.
May 1, 2010
May 1, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
money from my hands like rain from clouds
copper suns and zinc moons and dead grass green presidents
pitter patter, flitter flutter
falling from the spaces between my good sense and my fingers
into cashboxes and registers.
and what are these heavenly satellites and stars spent on?
what are those famous dead men buying me?
tiny luxuries that vanish like morning dew
trivial things, unneeded and wasteful
a month’s supply spent in a day
by some lazy, jobless child
with little common sense and no self-control.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
It seems that I am indeed
Just another lost soul
Perhaps Floyd was right
Maybe the world is a fishbowl
But you see, the trouble
In all of this nonsense
Is that I still hope to see
You hop over my fence
Please tear down my wall
Oh, won't you come in?
I've been feeling comfortable
Yet numb, dismissing my sin
So what are we?
Essentially good, or not?
Do you find favor in Socrates?
Is Nietzche's idea the one you bought?
Let's question, let us wonder
Should my thoughts go assunder
Don't tip or toe, or go tumbling under
Nevermind the noise, it's just thunder
Get caught up in the spark
The rigid structure of light
Because you are alive
So live this gift of your life
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
Look out my window to find
the shadow of the sun
done with playing in corners
So watch the mourners paint in black and gray
To their dismay, the corpse arises
to an elegant ballet of dissonance
with perfect timing and diligence
The taste of iron and sugar
bloom in my mouth, sweet and bitter
But still yet I am a slave to the flitter of
butterfly wings beating
so easily with a fleeting sense of obscurity
So yet i look out my window
to find the shadow at peace
but the insanity will never cease
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
The Lizard King drinks from his goblet.
The wood sprites flitter and flit from tree to tree.
The colossus eats his fill.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 10:24 PM UTC
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
of things sweet and in reach
separation causes a spirit to wander
to things they never teach
Affections flitter
Stomachs flutter
and things are not always
constant
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
Remove the cold, clean refrigerator water
Poured into your mind to become a bit hotter.
Poison-less, diamond-faceted twinkling glitter
Internal pulse pounds, skitter and flitter.
Your propane personality flickers,
Internal heat hushed, the teapot snickers,
But now higher, higher grows your fire
Melting into you is all I desire.
Louder, louder screams the steam
Announcing inner worth below the outer gleam.
The superheated shouts squeaked out your teeth
Can't compare to the bubbling beauty buried beneath.
Trickle, pour, add some more
You're the tea that I adore.
Sometimes bitter, though discretely sweet
Just a little time and it's complete.
Closed eyed sips make my stomach glow
Melting my inner, internal snow.
And through and through, every batch I brew
I can't help falling a little more in love with you.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
I am the wind of thought
that flows through time.
I am Homer and Achilles
Sophocles, Shakespeare
Verdi, Ibsen, and Williams.
I flow through the generations,
following imagination,
leaving dark Chaos to rule the past.
I am Zeus and Hera,
And deeper, Mnemosyne
Ananke
and
Chronos.
I flitter it seems as I pass
from moment to moment,
memory to memory,
soul to soul.
I am
Cleopatra, Jenny Lind, and Jolie
teasing, singing and dancing
to the delight of the Muses
I am Jesus and Buddha
Epicurus, Epictetus
Even Chinese too.
I am Descartes and Newton
Einstein and Plank
Math and logic
Love and hate.
I am God.
I am the wind of thought that flows through our minds.
I am the wind of thought that flows through our time.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
Swirling iridescent flitter
Too elusive to set still.
Superlatively attractive
Flitter butterfly-
If you will.
Beauty can’t be captured
True love cannot be torn
And oh my flitting butterfly
Fly away-
And I won’t mourn.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
I couldn’t wait for my class to end so I could run outside and find
el carrito (Stand)
I fell in love with the feeling and the taste before I even knew what love was.
I stood outside holding my mother’s hand waiting for her to ask
the times she did not ask I would pull on her plaid, decently long skirt and looked over towards the man selling raspados
She knew what I wanted and she knew how much I wanted it.
I focused on ...
el carrito
as if looking at it would be enough to call the gods of raspados to have mercy over me
They cost $1.50. My mother gives me the money
I run over
The man says
te faltan, no es suficiente (not enough)
I was devastated, I began to take step back slowly, I dared to not look at my mother with this disappointment.
I barely noticed the lady standing behind the man, she was the boss
I noticed she was looking towards my mother
Maybe she saw in my mother’s face something convincing, or maybe my confusion triggered a mother instinct
Whatever it was, it was enough
As I walked away slowly with my first heart break,
the lady behind says,
tiene antojo, tu daselo (She has a craving, give it to her)
I thanked her with my smile and with a slight flitter in my heart of happiness and even more with my taste buds having a celebration just by looking at how this raspado was being made
The beautiful sound of the mountain man, holding a metal, rectangular shaver of ice
containing it all inside until it was ready to be placed in the cup. The small stones pile one by one when crushed
Just big enough to hold shape and small enough to enjoy
Then the miel con sabor a tamarindo being delicately set on top, like a creamy blanket in liquid form
Si, con limon y sal, porfavor, y poquito chile (add salt and lemon, and a bit of spice... Please)
because my mom taught me how to be polite
and then, to my surprise the actual fruit
tamarindo on top, a light brown coloring with a soft cover on the hardened seed inside
It decorated with grace and delight, the treat awaiting for me
I felt the richness
There I learned my first lesson of kindness
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC
.
*I capture an image
as you flitter
through my dreams,
never resting to say hello,
never staying long enough
for me to enjoy
or appreciate your visits,
your mist like touch
as St Vitus Dance drives
you fidgeting
amongst my inner thoughts,
no care for the damage caused
nor the trails
of scented confusion,
yet wraith-like or feral ghost
your imprint leaves
traces of perfumed attention
in a tortured mind,
that linger with a hope
of a fleeting glance,
replaced with a second look,
and the tender torment
persists in the clinging grip
of pictures
sequenced to evade notice.*
© Pagan Paul (05/03/18)
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
They flutter and they flitter
Two lovebirds on the lam
Their beatings wings adorned with glitter
Tiny beads of dew reflecting in the sun.
From flower to flower they wander
A constant game of catch me if you can,
No time to wait or simply ponder
When procreation is now their only plan.
Short are the days their mission clear,
Their brief life's work comes down to this,
To live and love is what they hold most dear
One perfect union as part of Nature's bliss.
And while they dance we gaze
Lost in the beauty of their craft
Peering keenly through the wispish haze
As they glide and turn on every breath and draft.
Even the flowers smile at this fine show
Spreading their petals wide in welcome sign
Hoping that their alluring scent and glow
Will lead the lovers there to dine.
And so does nature prove it's worth
When such fine balance yields so much
As the pollen feeds the future birth
So too the flowers create from that gentle touch.
Mar 13, 2023
Mar 13, 2023 at 3:24 PM UTC
Back home, the snowflakes flitter
down
languidly
as if avoiding the sameness of the blanket below.
The fragrance of black coffee,
a conversation in subtle tones, and
Miles Davis’s smoothest meanderings
waft in from the study.
Bruise-blue flames give the room
a soft glow, lending a gentle luster to the cat’s
matte black fur, spine arched in luxurious mid-stretch.
Back flush to the ground, I take it all in with
young eyes, young ears, hungry for those
sensory delights. Soon, the flames
fade into simmering, lightless embers,
as the final barely-blown note dwindles.
She whispers “goodnight” in that familiar, hushed
voice, ending a vivid memory with a sweet refrain.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC