"flounce" poems
In Manolo Blahniks,
While her chair wears her jacket
And her fingernails play Orpheus
On a cigarette
packet,
A cold goddess in stone
And a flounce of french lace,
Gravelled footsteps
don't lift
Her resting-bitch-face.
So I announce
my arrival
With an unconfident cough,
Her eyes still
on the sunset,
She tells me to...
****
off.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 3:41 AM UTC
When I wiggle, wiggle wiggle,
People giggle, giggle, giggle.
In the middle, middle, middle,
I'm not so little, little, little.
When I jump, jump, jump,
My big old **** **** ****
My rear end **** **** ****
Goes bump, bump, bump.
Once skinny as a rail
I’m more like a whale.
Because of what I did
Ever since I was a kid.
Any old kind of candy
To me was simply dandy.
Follow me around and
I’d eat it by the pound.
Mom would bake, bake, bake.
By belly would shake, shake shake.
I couldn’t flounce, flounce, flounce
My gut would bounce, bounce, bounce.
Now I’m round, round, round,
To the ground, ground, ground.
I eat just like a pig, pig, pig,
That’s why I’m so big, big, big.
Once skinny as a rail
I’m more like a whale.
Because of what I did
Ever since I was a kid.
Any old kind of candy
To me was simply dandy.
Follow me around and
I’d eat it by the pound.
When some say diet, diet, diet,
I reply to them quiet, quiet, quiet.
Every time I try it, try it, try it.
My body doesn’t buy it, buy it, buy it.
So i just live for lunch, lunch, lunch.
I love to eat a bunch, bunch, bunch,
And I have a basic hunch, hunch, hunch,
The same will go for brunch, brunch, brunch!
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 5:34 PM UTC
#
shackled to a notion
rubbing through wrists
in rusted remains
of beautifully easy
it's a slow bleed
through insults slung
in fear the unmaliciois
only noticed in hindsight
calling the innocent a *****
doesn't breed hate from love
the duke-yeilding cowardly lion
flings back like a monkey
##
breaststroking a marathon in tears
wading through pain I never caused
pelted with double-barrelled denial
THIS IS NOT WEAKNESS
there is no waver on my solid ground
torn flesh and compound fractures
cannot break harder than history
still, gavel strikes
in sucker punched cracked ribs
that look like a past that ain't mine
###
keep hacking off pieces
maybe I'll fit into those pretty boxes
your liars left as gifts
nasty reminders that trust has sharp teeth
maybe that's just you
biting back any hand that gets too close
pandering in placating platitudes
ain't my bag
flattery fails to flounce from unfettered friends
####
can't be beat into submission
with unspoken broken rules
can't run from a truth in plain view
this is what it looks like
to believe what you know over
what you've lived
I'm not running
I'm not biting back
I'm not going anywhere
then again, why would I
I'm not the one afraid to love you
https://soundcloud.com/user-166761247/a-fourth-in-time-to-cracked-selections-of-music
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 8:04 AM UTC
There’s a lagoon in my head separated from the fierce ocean of confidence by a low sandbank.
The sand dawdles to diminish its size, with melancholy waves halting its ruckus,
Water was never that loquacious, only cooing hastily on the salty air
Quaint grains of mushy rutabaga make it hard to finagle,
Because the sirens beautiful song entices me to sink
So I flounce hysterically, unable to calm my mind.
Her fair face freckled with sand gleams with odes of despair,
Adding to the mournful steps of the receding tide.
Waters once at a healthy level, wisp the fresh sea foam away.
Jagged rocks now poke out from the depths,
The vibrancy of her seaweed hair messy and curly, shrivels.
The timid sand portrays such reserve in its frantic company,
The waves crash on cue with such force,
Predictability is only her turquoise concealment
Ephemeral brine absorbed by desire,
Encapsulated by the beige powder,
That cannot dissolve.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
I flounce across the midnight way
Not one to return anyone's gaze
As I cut through the winter haze
And stumble through the open gate
That leads into an open hall
Where people laugh
Screech
Squawk
Cackle
As pools of yellow hit the walls
I sidle into a cushioned bench
Nobody dares to turn their head
So I fixate on a drink coaster instead
Then order cider from the serving *****
The jungle animals make noises beside me
Screech!
Squawk!
Roar!
Hiss!
My chest tightens and nerves snap inside me
I sidle out of the cushioned bench
Nobody dares to turn their head
No words of farewell or good fortune were said
As I escape the malt-y, acidic stench
Down, hill, down dale, up street, as I pale
My addled head throws me to and fro
Through the winter haze I go
Till I'm home again
And realise
That once again I have failed.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
Ever since I can remember, Barbara has been coming to our home
With her poofy hair and her powdered cheeks, all in a cloud of pink perfume.
She would speak in the fragile, broken voice of a woman well beyond her years,
And Mother would beckon her cheerfully to sit at the table in our dining room.
With whatever coffee was in the *** and whatever Danish found,
Mother would prepare the table and invite my older sister and I to gather round.
From noon to three they’d gab and chat and flip through the catalogues
That Barbara the Avon Lady had brought.
My sister and I would thumb through glossy, vibrant pages
Of blushes and eye shadows, eyeliners and mascaras.
But I, I would thumb quickly and tire even faster
At the conversation of the table that awaited me, inevitably, after.
With feigned interest, I would sit there a bit
And watch as my older sister would, more patiently, fake it.
I’d grab a cookie and then leave
Mother with her checkbook and her bitter black coffee,
Barbara with her perfume cloud and cheeks all porcelain powdery,
And my sister, with her blonde hair, which was just like mine,
But which tried, much harder to grow much faster.
Yes I would flounce away with my neck-length locks,
And go play with my younger brother.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
I cry in love, I love in hate;
sorrow t'at no-one should create!
Whenst no gladness runs my heart's brake
It's thy own image t'at I'll make.
I remember lightly t'at day
As I caught thee on my morn way
With some radiance on thy brow;
thy words to me began to flow.
How at thy gaze my heart fluttered;
and as we stared my cheeks ripened!
Easily didst t'eir shells turn red;
and my body, numb went with sweat!
Ah! T'ose docile roots within t'eir ***
cunning creatures of o'r smug Lord!
With eager thirst t'ey peered at us,
sketching a poem as we conversed!
And t'at quaint note I filch'd from 'em-
what a gay song on t'eir young stem!
I knew just t'en how thou doth feel-
from yon crisp leaf and its mild seal!
Seized it as I two nites af-ter-
mine heartbeat fastened with lau'hter!
'pon learning thy name on its end;
so dearly crafted by thy hand!
O! How thou planted into th' cells-
th' living plants, amongst t'eir wells!
T'is piece on loving confession-
and such tender expectations!
I danced gaily in victory-
immersed myself in vile glory!
Ah! Didst I flounce myself right outside
To lure and bringst thee t'wards my side.
'Twas th' start of o'r story;
and my at-first-sight love for thee.
O, in thy arms I weave my might;
and in thy warmth, I findeth delight.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
Stardust traveled nonillion miles
Life struck, all somehow
All to let me see your smile
All to kiss you upon the mouth
Beautiful, Good Earth spins and spins
Day and night, allow
To hold your hand [a considerable win]
To hold you close, my guiding shroud.
Oh bird sing sweet, mellifluous melodies
And for my love, endow
A tree who's branches wrap round thee
A tree that's fast, fearless of flounce
Season, oft, may change its cloths
But see me, lough
Deep, deep down- koi and Thoth
Deep, deep down, thy heart I house
Traveling Universe without destinations
I find it all, now
To be a thing of thoughtful, [marvelous] creation
To be a journey, in and out
No matter how many words one uses
The thoughts, ideas, avow
My simple truth, because of you (Miss)
I was lost, but have been found.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 2:26 AM UTC
The roses lift their wearied heads,
To witness my half-hearted death.
They bow in the most solemn honour
To my corpse and rotting flesh.
And as the ants try drag me together,
They only pull me apart again.
Greedy bites of my insides,
Tried and denied a new friend.
I just waited for the therapy to delete the problem,
And fought against the fight.
Til all at once I finally broke,
And I could never lose this sight.
The vines grow across me now,
Silent sepulchre to possess.
I toss and turn in my perpetual sleep,
Til there is no skin left.
As I'm ensnared in my ivy tomb,
Who left me here to bleed?
Was it your poorly executed handiwork?
Or my own special needs?
A dried zero carved with liquid,
Resembles the prisoner you made of me.
Zero oh so lonely,
But not existent to see.
Still my skin peels away,
Wind runs through my scattered guts.
And as the raw meat finally decays,
Know I've had deeper cuts.
As the last wisps of hair linger in the breeze,
Do you ever reach to catch them?
Maybe this time I'll trap you in my web,
Except not with lies, but truth instead.
You helped build this self-made cage,
I tore free past the thorns.
I'll tie you in knots of lies you made me believe
In a dead shell a soul reborn.
The bony remnants of my fading body,
A harrowing sight indeed.
Butterflies dance and flounce right past,
And never know that it was me.
They kiss my new found fatal wounds,
In beauty you'll never perceive.
I'm ethereal, eternal,
Though my internal never again seen.
I've forgotten you now,
For I've no emotion for you left.
And never again will the roses lift their wearied heads,
To witness my half-hearted death.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
You are no longer the
tortured tumescent terror
you were at twenty.
After sixty, the ****** urge
waxes and wanes,
but still arrives
promptly when called upon.
A kind of peace lives in this.
Arousal now requires love,
whereas when young
it arrived at the glimpse
of a leg or a skirt's flounce.
This is more personal
and more satisfying.
The young deserve lust and
the tempestuous heartbreak
it inevitably brings
when mistaken for more
than it can ever be.
Those older need the touch
of a beating heart
as much as the touch
of simple, hot flesh.
No time remains
for the merely casual.
Your desire reminds you
of ruins, fallen towers,
the pressure of mortality.
You want the body beneath you
to touch your soul as well.
You want to touch it back,
to make it gasp and moan
but to hear it in your heart
as well as in your ears.
You want to hold it close
and keep it near forever,
remembering that forever
is not nearly as long
as it used to be.
No time to fool around;
find someone real
and clutch them as if
they were your last chance,
which they may well be
at any age.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
in the hustle of minutes
cracking underneath the dome of blue-black pressure,
it is in some strange way undiscovered
that our bodies decree the foolishness of hours.
triggered to a stirring, these thrills that seek flounce,
a **** stretch of linear roads that connect to nothing.
the daily commute sings elegiac, pressed against
signs foretelling of destinations that still themselves
know not of a trap of steel when our lives
start to bind madly against us, a rebel.
overtaking us, our lives, in speeds all ruthless
and forceful, like an instantaneous drag of something that persists
to writhe out and refuse to be pinned down.
a roomful of hollow yet nobody to notice equally,
this given purpose, or a deeply stabbing fabulation.
our able bodies give way no longer and break,
reduced to threadbare, this senseless act of worship.
of wasting away hours and mourn the passing of twilights.
we can no longer choose – we catapult into the pith
of these contestations and resign longer than imagined,
our ways are discourses, our life so suddenly
insecure of our remorseless entrails, oh how we have starved
ourselves for long and heed like stone,
the suddenness of our aches when our souls
cease to believe, when our hearts refuse to unfurl
a love christened with silence, when our hands
insurmountable with the mountains deadened
by a plenitude of echoes reaching for a still image -
ourselves, dragged buoyantly and airless –
wearing a face of torment we cannot voice out.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 4:54 AM UTC
it is something that has
made me once laugh.
and now that it is something
that is done to perpetuate
a divinity of its savoir faire,
or unfurl the evocativeness of
sartorial workmanship,
it is something that inhabits
me like an imagined pit
that a body should plummet into
and crash, having fallen off
from the boughs of a bottomless dream.
like snow or silence, drops onto its vastness and fastens in it such felicitous rigor greeting it
like an old companion, reminding
me of these unimpeachable occurrences: as a wrinkled log is petrified, where mosses pullulate to archipelagic green, where wild ivies sprawl like children in the high-afternoon, or clandestine Paraneoptera ensconced somewhere within the triviality
of demarcated stones in
the dark's cunning edge,
my body knows its peace,
all borderless without flounce
flourishing in its still life.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 1:58 AM UTC
you felt like a new texture, a fabric i'd never slipped through before,
but darling,
you and i are merely old habits gussied up in
tulle and a paper mache artifice - ghoul masquerading as prima ballerina
fouette for me baby, twirl me dizzier than a whirling dervish
and flounce me on my head to spin out over this choreographed failure.
i've shoveled so much chocolate in my mouth-hole this weekend
i think i'm rotting from the inside out,
made of only sugar blisters and quicksand sores
that are bursting new caverns to life
crafting a base relief depiction of my longing into my throat,
how deliciously destructive!
i'm loony-eyed swooning over this 90-watt moon replica
and these reflector paint stars!
oh, i think i'll trade the entire night sky for this masterpiece
and a macrame bandage for my chest,
much more utilitarian than the atmosphere i drown in these days.
my reckless howling and witchcrafting whimsy
have loosed my lungs from their cage,
wheezing out an incantation into the far-reaching wind,
Everest is ablaze under my spell
sobbing it's ice into the earth and
melting it's bones to ash in my palms.
some men just want to watch the world burn,
i, however, merely want to reconstruct it
from the bottom, up
shoveling all of its innards to the surface
and making the unseen
known.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
In the department called
freedom of
expression,
where the language is quite
Anglo Saxon
there's no room for the weak
or for those who
don't curse when they speak or
describe most emphatically
and graphically detail each
****** function.
An adage in old age is, **** them,
the men down in Whitehall with
no ***** for billiards and
the bankers who spank us with
high rates and interest
can fester away and
testing each day as it comes are
the bums and the drop outs queuing
for hot tea and handouts
and **** them too.
To be free to express is a gift,
nonetheless one we must use
with a modicum of
compassion but the fashion today
is to curse the **** away
and each expletive pronounced only comes back to flaunt or to flounce and there's not an ounce of common sense in the pretense I may feign by reigning my words and refraining from swearing, I
say
**** 'em again.
If I hang I'll hang well and stink to high hell and that's one way to express what a god **** awful mess
we're all in.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
!IT'S IN HER KISS!
"Arra..!" she smirks
"Sure, give us a póg
ya auld rogue ya!"
I chuckle at her
Orish-ness.
"S'ea...n'ea?"
her eyes question in Irish.
"Tabhair dom do phóg!"
I challenge her gladly.
And in the kiss
the exchange of bliss
a tiny rolled up note
passes from her mouth to mine.
Her tongue firmly
in my cheek.
Speechless I...
. . .can not speak.
She turns and with a flounce
sashays off
an angel
in dirndl dress.
"Slán leat...mo buachaill!"
thrown over a naked freckled shoulder.
I unroll the tiny tiny scroll
smile at what is written
her telephone number
with several x's beneath
in red indelible ink.
Two tiny tiny eyes
drawn in blue
with one eye closed
in a wink.
***
"...póg..." - a kiss
"S'ea...n'ea?" - "Yes...no?"
"Tabhair dom do phóg!" - "Give me your kiss!"
"Slán leat...mo buachaill!"..."Goodbye...boy!"
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
I used to sing at the top of my lungs
and only think of colorful air
passing over my tongue
but ever since you left
every time I sing, I think of you.
You were taken from me too soon
without a chance to say a last
I-Love-You.
Sometimes it's a dull ache
but sometimes I'm doubled-over in pain
and it hits just when I think
I can finally see the sun.
Because how can the sun still shine
when its rays can't find you?
You'll never flounce through the
screen door again
on the way to your favorite
wooden bench
but you still
float in and out of my dreams
and it's such a bittersweet pleasure
to see you there.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
!IT'S IN HER KISS!
"Arrah..!" she smirks
"Sure, give us a póg
ya auld rogue ya!"
I chuckle at her
Orish-ness.
"S'ea...n'ea?"
her eyes question in Irish.
"Tabhair dom do phóg!"
I challenge her gladly.
And in the kiss
the exchange of bliss
a tiny rolled up note
passes from her mouth to mine.
Her tongue firmly
in my cheek.
Speechless I...
. . .can not speak.
She turns and with a flounce
sashays off
an angel
in dirndl dress.
***
"Slán leat...mo buachaill!"
thrown over a naked freckled shoulder.
I unroll the tiny tiny scroll
smile at what is written
her telephone number
with several x's beneath
in red indelible ink.
Two tiny tiny eyes
drawn in blue
with one eye closed
in a wink.
***
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 5:19 PM UTC
Slamming doors,
Stomping feet,
Angry tone,
And vicious eyes.
Screaming.
Yelling.
Harsh words.
And instead of flinching,
Unlike then,
Right here and right now
My fist clenches,
And I want to scream
"What power do you have?
Other than inflicting fear upon those that are weaker than you?"
And I feel nothing for those that have
Left me bruised and scarred,
Spitting up blood during my
Graduation ceremony.
Not contempt,
Not anger,
Maybe a little fear.
And when I feel rage
Coursing through my veins,
I'm suddenly calmed my a thought,
Sweet and Simple:
"My Bluebird."
And it's a song,
It's a smell,
It's a feeling of warmth and calm,
It's sanity in a good way,
Insanity in the best way.
My Bluebird of Peace,
Brings calm around me,
Brings the sizzling, explosive temper I possess,
Down into nothing.
He lifts me into the light of day,
When I'm overcast.
He pulls me into the warmth of human decency,
When I don't feel human at all.
There's a certain "who-knows-what" about him,
And I'm more than willing to find what it is,
And hold it to my heart with all the defensive protection
I can muster up.
Golden rays of sun,
Glistening down from the heavens,
And I'd rather be here with him
Than anywhere else.
A sky so blue it wraps you in the warmth
Of the sweet summer breeze,
That you almost can't feel because the humidity coats your wind pipe.
And birds flutter and sing in the distance,
And the soft call of a crow can be heard farther off,
And a song thrums in the back of my head,
And I feel a flounce and flutter in my heart,
And I want to feel the beat of his heart
Against my back
As we fall asleep.
The smell of apple cider
On a winters day,
And the warmth of the fire,
As my hands spread across a blanket,
To link fingers with his.
I want to remember
This feeling of being in love
Forever.
Yet I know,
I will be in love
With him until the end of days.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 6:42 PM UTC
Tonight,
I am manic.
A vast new world,
A different taste
From my dysphoria
From my fears
From my anguish.
I am hyper,
Hyper-active,
Hyper sensitive.
I twirl and flounce
All around
All around you.
I can be brighter
Than the sunset
And lighter
Than the stars,
But this isn't that.
This is random giggles
Taking my medication late
And cooking too much
Talking too much
Thinking too fast and too much
All at once.
This is reckless behavior,
Heightened *** drive,
But it's a back-and-forth,
Because my *** drive doesn't function
Without you.
It's a to-and-fro because you keep me in check,
You keep me at more of a balance
Than I had been.
But the mania
Still poisons
My mind.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 8:00 PM UTC
Here we go
Dancing and spinning
Skip it, don't drip it
Pour pour away
Can’t stay, sorry
Gotta bounce
Might flounce
Just scamper
Right on away
Catch you next time
- Jay M
August 30th, 2022
Aug 30, 2022
Aug 30, 2022 at 12:39 PM UTC
MAN OF IRON
My fingertips
touch your dress
remembering
the first time ever
caressing your curves
...through it
your body covered
in its flowers
remembering
********** you
your dress
gently resting
strewn gracefully
across a chair
tame now
in the moonlight.
Once again
tenderly I
take it
(unfasten it)
fingers touching
its hem &
longingly
(lovingly)
...iron it.
*******
Guess this is MAN OF IRON PT.2 IN 3-D!
*******
A MAN'S WORK IS NEVER DONE!
Remember every
flounce & frill
of your white summer
frock
how enthralled I was
by how it fell
capturing the swell
of you in it's
...every motion...
the two of you
captivating my heart
only now realising
what a *****
of a dress
it is to iron!
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 2:39 PM UTC
poet ramble
on the walk of a dove
a flounce of a pea
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 3:06 PM UTC
his dignity went missing in action
turned out to be
a prisoner of war
to hoax a virtue, she fed him champagne from her palms
there on the rose garden battleground
then chained him with her finger
strangled him with affections
aphrodisiacs laced with venom
that girl spun epic tales
everything a knight could dream to
wail drunk from
a lightswitch, is how she played
damsel to tyrant
and my brother, built of sheer trust
tripped for every bit of it
threw his heart her way
she ducked, unbeknownst to him
and love was all they spoke of
her's flat, his mountainous
and he glowed for a while
open arms and skies and woes
let pride fledge from the windows to his soul
of course, she sported pomposity
as if it were a twee, fluffy keychain
brassily bouncing against her candy apple carriage
modeled impudence like another bangle on her bronze wrist
what a mess of smacking lips and pursing pouts
batting caterpillar lashes, same as cracking whips
twirling obsidian curls with magenta claws
because everyone knows straw spins itself to gold
then alas, to black
mercy, he rooted for her
and boy, she ran with that
sprayed spite like perfume
spewed crooked olive branches and lucky clovers
elixirs of brown sugar and sweet pea until she was a dead ringer for
the cover of vogue magazine
glossy, bold, paper-thin and ****
then gone
or that gaudy billboard near exit ten
she posed like a lady of the night
but all he noticed was a princess
what a witch
what a sweet, stupid prince
nonetheless, my baby brother loves her
even after she's whittled him down
to a welcome mat for high heels to flounce over
'cause she can't have that trail of filth catch up to her
so in her wake
my best friend, my closest kin
sacrifices half his sanity
to cover her tracks
as he waits for
whichever comes first
his dignity, or her
to come crawling back
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 2:05 AM UTC
are my lips too thin
so the words cannot flounce
or somersault with flair
they break their pretty necks
land with a painful yell
and flounder in your grimace
helpless
are my teeth too crooked
like a metal fence deformed
the sentences tear and topple off
flattened children in the muck
mangled by dogs
their sad filthy hands pinch your ears
hopeless
if i dressed it all up
like a call-girl, ruby lipstick,
fishnet stockings on my thoughts
and i danced out the poetry
on your lap, in the dark,
would you be fine with me
being in love with you?
i don't know
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 1:51 PM UTC