"fortnights" poems
Whispers hello as the first streams of sunlight
inch their way in through their black chiffon veil,
gleaming on our garden of stale breath,
and down feathers.
Whispers goodnight as his proud freckles
become the constellations outside my window,
and the moon stretches her arms
for another night's work.
Whispers sorry after his words became feather-lances
jousting through my arguments until my armor
was askew and torn
at its paper seams.
Whispers tales of tomorrows and fortnights
to come under illusions of rich greens, blues, and yellows
he will finger paint on my forehead
like a warrior.
Whispers goodbyes, sweet and forlorn,
as he realizes promises and paints will not keep the morning
from snatching his prized possession from his cotton laced roost,
leaving him alone with just the rays of the sun
to admire his tail.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
Your pompous smirk shakes my core
Violating my thoughts, you know you've won
My woeful cries wishes for your attention
An obvious cry out for affection, you think we're done
Please enlighten me on what flaws of mine get under your skin
Violating my ego, you know you've won
My constant apologies blooming from my ironic regret
An obvious invitation to take my all, you think we're done
I realize that it will take fortnights to rebuild our island
Violating my hope, you know you've won
My blatant loneliness only calls for you
An obvious cry out for affection, you think we're done
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
New York drowns in the California-made blue
The child of the voodoo kisses the sky
Her indigo ligaments are laid bare
While she falls, chasing smoking rabbits
She is small yet she soars
With her proportions falling on deaf heads
She remembers the knights of the dawn
Tangled in her gallivanting hair
Without knowing her doors
She noses her way through her window
The modest parachute travels
With the nomadic East
She recognizes heaven by taste
Knowing that she believes less and less
Seeing all without need for the travel
Ignoring the scrutiny of a gavel
Leaving in the morning
Not stopping until the fifth night
Learning for forty fortnights
Stopping to rest every second year
What a bright-eyed soul!
A sparkling visage
Adorning all her wanders
The world is at her command
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
The genie inside the bowl
told me of his lowest day eighteen fortnights ago.
The day he did not feel like a genie.
He awoke yet his eyes cried for the return of rest.
The one wish he could not concede
plagued his mind.
He did not know
how. He could not bend
the rules of time
to fulfill the most human
desire which is to wish
to never have to wish
that the present day
was not a bad day.
Like the transaction
between a poker dealer
and the man with no fear
in his eyes,
we barter with life on a cyclical game of poker.
Sometimes the house wins,
and it hurts like a thumb tacker.
A pair 2s is so inconsequential against
life happening.
No genie can stand in the way
of life happening.
The genie in the bowl
told me to make the most of this low day
happening, go on a stroll,
to take care of myself
and recognize that today is just a bad day.
Perhaps tomorrow will be better,
in the meantime get some sleep
and to try again tomorrow.
The genie in the bowl did give me a wish. Now I know how to recognize a bad day.
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 10:01 PM UTC
It has been a year since I first met You—
innumerable changes have been made.
Knowledge You knew before these words I wrote.
Regardless, my gratitude is in this ode:
Two fortnights less five, in the month July—
a night I’ll ne’er forget—in which Your birth was
two thousand and eleven years prior.
Seen in my choice of caravan—car not foot.
Trees in motion around me— rise and dive,
still nature now epic— vast, powerful waves.
An ocean angered, queued by Your great will,
staggered me— I dreamt then to float on that lea.
Now submerged in awe, my lungs fill, I drift.
Thoughts’ vessel stays empty, my mind lost at sea.
The storm passed, all was calm and all was clear-
o’er that water I rose, beached by blue skies.
The shore out of sight, but it I saw.
Blinded I had been. For years I was oppressed—
vogue logic stifled creative free thought.
You needn’t say, I knew then what to do.
I found a pad and inscribed wild scribbles-
what I rendered I knew not, yet I did.
Erratic lines became a map of fate.
Three stood on a gorge tall, I being one.
I found that land within rivers bound
While wading in dialogue I found it.
It being the thought which soon would blossom.
Hardly quick though, Your seeds need time to grow.
Unsure when to harvest, yet I knew then
to appreciate art of prose and verse.
To convey the feelings only I knew.
To know the powers one wields with a pen.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:52 PM UTC
"I have two cats!"
he said with a laugh...
as he fell to his knees...
and rolled on his back...
The time was all there
but the money went flat.
The essence of nightshade
That will do that.
So onward he marched...
and later he squeezed
but rightfully so,
the windowless breeze.
With fortnights on days
and cherry blossoms in bloom,
Mr. Finnegan woke up.
It was half past noon.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
August the month,
I hate you with passion,
You are the most sad month,
You often impeach manly happiness,
With abnormal efficacy of fate’s power,
Your vice and evil ploys borrows a lot ,
From the throne of thy name’s selfish cradle,
Dumb-founding Fetish of the Roman self ,
Though you gave me chance to visit the earth,
But in crude culture circumcissionally agonized
I hate you august for the demise of great lives,
You have swallowed to remove a living realm,
In the un-couth ways of cruelty on horn of fate,
You ate Ceaser , Cleopatra and Catholic Paul john II,
I now caution and warn you to stop your evil ways,
For the two fortnights you will be around wi’ us
Don’t scuttle man’s peace whatsoever possible,
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
*(I sometimes shake my memories
when they find themselves twisted
& highly vivid)*
this way—
no that;
I want to remember the way
your hair felt entwined in my hungry fingers—
you were sitting there beneath the tree under which I had grown for nearly 1500 days,
but you had taught me more than all of those years
in just two fortnights’ time.
I remember how chilled your face felt—
how the evening looked so good on you
(you always had such sad eyes, you know,
& the moonlight fed them in ways you never realized you hungered for).
I was there for a day or so,
just enough for me to trip (& fall),
just enough for you to push me over the edge.
I don’t quite know what brought us there that night,
halfway between you wanting to go home
& me never wanting to leave your side,
but I held my hand on your face, in your hair,
waiting with all certainty that you would wrap your arms around my waist,
drawing me in to let me
breathe you in.
(how sad I was to have such faith,
& how sad you were to have none at all.)
these days, you’ve cut your hair
(perhaps the memories of my lingering fingers weighed you down,
a blanket too warm for the season),
& I don’t even recognize your casual howareyous
(the ones that used to keep me up at night & early into the Texas sunrises;
do you remember those, too?).
no—
instead I see them for what they are:
casual.
so as I lay here in lace & nostalgia,
in the very place we once whispered our desires to each other,
& my hands so heavy with all the things I’ve gathered for our next conversation,
I will instead empty my palms, and,
like you,
release what burdens so heavily.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
sure,
i need to
stop drinking
and stop
smoking but
when bad habits
become consistencies
that let you
survive the nights,
the ability to
shake the
rusty smell off
the fibres on your
back become
a bookmark
that prevents you
from turning the page
in a fear driven
halt of wondering
what happens next,
the stench that
trails through
teeth to nose
is a tail to
a comet that won’t
burn out,
the embers of each
cigarette that kiss my lip
burn out like previous
feelings towards past lovers,
I was in a state
of loving memory of
having love and memories
until a therapeutic graze
of absolution picked me up
and brushed the bruises off
the bottom of my feet
given by
stomping the ominous
solitary of rock bottom
so many ******* times,
I still drink
and I still smoke
but when a
tedious whisper
tells you to stop
hurting and stop
hating when hurt
and hate is all you’ve
felt for fortnights
exceeded
you can’t just pick
the scars off of your
skin and liver
and walk past mirrors
without urges of
cardinal knuckles
and tremors coexisting,
i wish to stop
like you tell me to,
i wish washing my clothes
would dredge the stench
of yesterday clean,
but maybe the toxicity
of the past is stained on
my skin and
not my clothes.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
It’s sometime past midnight
on a wednesday,
stumbling around the
house once again,
where floorboards
cry out and I resent
every thing I said
and held back,
every cigarette
that whispered
until my lungs
turned black,
shards of beer
labels collide
with dust piles,
ashes skidded
aimlessly on
the pine,
hopelessly wandering
looking into
hindsight
was only
a mess to
clean up,
I haven’t eaten today
but the dishes are *****
it’s 11:30
and I’m glued
to the bedsheets
as the bed weeps
with each toss and turn
comes contemplation
to cross and burn every
memory embedded,
the bedroom smells
like cloudy ashtrays
and things unfinished,
our paths crossed
in october,
and yesterday was
tough on everyone.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
Stubborn boy
Always treading mountains
Studying tables and configuring signals
Sending them deep into space
So far gone they will become black again
Reading slow
Maybe even more so
As capricorn’s last noise
Fills the air so clear
Purges the ocean of its madness
And the treasures buried deep below.
Stubborn boy
Will you not forgive yourself
And keep your lexis to you and God
For even now you
Cry a tear nobody will hear
Shake a violet ‘till the last petals whither
And fall to your feet.
Stubborn, stupid boy
And a rotten small thing
As it crushes you into a tiny
Uneven sphere of sadness and a grievance not so
Uncommon in funerals
And a marriage two fortnights awake
Alas a gift given is a gift taken away
A violet shaken is a flower unjustly undone
And a stubborn boy
Is a thing everyone will try to keep away from the darkness
But will not keep the darkness away from him.
Tried and true
You will suffer with the rest of them
It’s written here
In the oath you signed while your eyes
Still knew not the world
And your palms
Clean as a morning sky
Still brushed along the pavement /
Crafted globes.
Nov 11, 2010
Nov 11, 2010 at 7:14 PM UTC
Today probably marks one of the final occasions
Upon which I will visit my grandfather
Long years have made him weary
A war drawn through many winters
He is deceptively small, hardly more than five feet
But like an iceberg his hidden self is vast
Travelled the world on military campaign
He does not speak of this part of his past
My family makes prompts in asking
How he crossed the Channel, entered Germany
The frontline combat that ensued
Has never escaped his conscience
At the slightest mention of the Battle of the Bulge
His face glazes over, and he is brought back
He relives instantly, right in front of me
The soldiers who died, friendly or not
I never asked if he killed anyone
And he would never tell me
The men of his time were moved to terrible actions
They returned home numb or wrapped in plastic
I cannot imagine such an experience
To be held so near my age
Spent several fortnights living in a foxhole
The bloodiest battle, taken by surprise
My father’s father like many fathers
Did what he had to do
He remains a soldier to this day
My respect is endless for the mighty
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 1:31 PM UTC
i've watched 677 fortnights,
and got bored 'til 678th came.
today i might see the merry lights,
dance, as it tells me it's strange name.
show wonders; of depths and heights,
no blunders, just spectacle or same.
to clear and flush all those petty spites,
watch betelgeuse get engulf with flame.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
When I was small and quiet, reserved, demure and sad
And I sat alone with my thoughts, watching,
I didn’t know you. You who were a wish of the future,
Not real. You were miles from me and robed in black doubt.
At fifteen I found the truthful facts of me. I detached
From reality. I brooded and drowned in my truth.
You were not yet there.
At sixteen I found those who taught me to swim.
I swam out of my self-imposed desolation.
To find you. Not knowing at the time what you’d be.
You were now present but out of reach and out of want.
A year later, everything has changed. After, rejection,
Abandonment, love and hate. All the unseen sides now shown.
Now four fortnights have passed. This winter isn’t as harsh
As the ones I remember. Many days take me to spring.
I see colors brighter now than before. Do you?
Each breath breathes deeper and tells me this is no thaw.
Have you breathed deeper this winter?
Seen brighter?
Tell me when your senses reach chaos moreover,
And I will go with you where they lead.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 10:59 AM UTC
It is as it is,
and was ere,
again I’m paired to
restroom pantile,
resilient sickness
can redefine docile
to nothing northerly,
o'er the day is
only forgery
to an nightly
mainstay,
this white flag
has been waving
to porcelain for
oft fortnights
shining footlights
on an innocent reflection,
allay this suffocation,
let me breathe again,
foremost is always
surviving tomorrow,
though I'm a swain to
the ***** of today.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
A multitude of fortnights passed us by,
We passents of time, our sorrow, we tried.
A spell of brief written touches.
Time and space were arranged.
The earth turned and turned.
Time and space were burned.
The wind ceased carrying sound.
Passing time, the end inbound.
Pigeons carried the desire.
Hearts in smoldering fire.
Speed takes breath aback.
A journey, lips on your neck.
The movement, speed squared.
Our shadow never cared.
Risen to the peak of feel.
I peek and never conceal.
You and I, both sore.
The loss a shared core
The night brought silence.
Menacing unspoken words.
King and queen, both know.
The kingdom fades slow.
The sun dawns, all rays travel.
Light reveals and starts to unravel.
Secrets that we knew.
Far from too few.
All the birds fly and sing.
A message for the king.
Couriers travel back and forth.
The only direction is north.
When then the sun sleeps.
and the night creaks.
Feel what she seeks.
And speak from their beaks.
Undrape the play.
Hear what I say.
Mind tries to reason.
Such a blue season.
A wordsmith works his furnace.
The wood is scarce - he burns his.
Labouring day and night,
Keep that flame alight.
Hammer and anvil entwined.
All my words are kind.
Walk the rope, you won't fall.
If you're scared, I'll take it all.
When a chapter ends so low.
We only reap what we sow.
Cast the light, we will make it right.
The beauteous fields are in sight.
My love is free.
Come write with me.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 5:42 PM UTC
*Found on the date of nine – two – three – two – oh – one – seven -
On that day a far greater kingdom of Persia shall be reborn.
United again their prince of war shall endure a crude destruction.
The fires of Hades soon spill out upon the seduction.
Six fortnights later the earthly engine grinds to halt
Followed by rumors on every side.
The very laws of nature open their rightful vaults.
The power of lesser animals can no longer be denied.*
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 9:45 PM UTC
Carved into a bright orange locker that left emptiness yet a subtle joy
Though only half of my time in adolescents were spent here
It still has some sort of comfort
like a torn up teddy bear has to the oldest daughter
Limp and cold
as its steel lifeless bearing stare back with so much content
Soon
in half a dozen fortnights
I'll be on my way
Such a unseeable fortune not yet told as it sits on the tip of the tongue
of someone betrayed by fear
Not as lifeless and dry as it once where
but slightly damp
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
My dearest Leopold:
The blind birds propaganda course is enlightening. Yeah, Ive taken it, In fact, Ive taken it once a week since June 7th, 2015. The boat started sinking on that day as well... Probably just a coincidence. I apologies if I come off as acclumsid but that devil has got my mind in a twist. I think being an afterling of this great man is an honor, unfortunately I'm not sure that he enjoys my company.... He already has his own little Heinrich Himmler. The button nose girl popped up again. This time outside of a dream. Quite a queer circumstance... She never stops bluttering and she is a bit of a daggle-tail and feather-head, but I feel what I feel. Anyways I can hardly believe it has been three fortnights since last we had correspondence, But the elves are riding scamper like a horse and its been quite a hassle to get them off.
Always with flerd,
-Lorenzo
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 11:26 AM UTC
Years since acquaintances,
Months since 'You and I',
Fortnights since 'We',
Weeks since "I love you's"
Days since separation,
Hours since your 'Goodbye',
Minutes since tears,
Not even a second since you.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 9:12 AM UTC
How many more days to pass?
Days that has been infected
by the guilt ridden
heart of mine.
How many more fortnights to pass?
How many more teardrops to fall
and wrong words to strike
until the day i thrive?
How many more disappointed sighs
and displeased faces
until the blurry future
reveals itself?
How much time did i loose
drooping away,
dreading the consequences
of my failed deeds?
Vague lies that i told myself
to ease my conscience
coming back to me
to torment my dreams.
I pity the girl that ones
avidly awaited
a blissful time ahead
without actually earning it.
Muffled screams of my past
echoing from deep down
yearning to break free
from my rotten core.
A life all to myself
and people that care
still the person i turned out to be
is not the person i wanted to be.
All the aimless days
pushed forward
all for that one moment
that will reveal what i want.
But what if that day never comes?
Oct 10, 2024
Oct 10, 2024 at 1:54 AM UTC
There's a sweet tale yet untold
Embroidered by the time alone
Two young crossed lovers,
Caught in the midst of throe
Your eyes, my quilt during nightfall
Your lips, inked on my blue soul
"You are a hallmark of perfection", she wrote.
Sadly, he didn't fancy reading.
I have waited countless fortnights
Only to witness thee, my kryptonite
"You're my certain in this world full of uncertainties" he said.
But his echoes did not reach her.
You are her utopia and you are his euphoria
"You're meant to be but not on this lifetime", cursed fate.
Cruel how time can turn passionate lovers-
Into strangers with some memories.
Maybe, some tales end happy
But not all stories will, until then
He is ,still, her achilles heel while
She, is his forlorn unrequited love.
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 6:15 PM UTC
I've worn out my welcome
I've worn out my shoes
Spent too many fortnights
Drinking the blues
I've drifted for ages
My coat sullied and threadbare
Dancing for habit
For the hearts no longer there
My song has long faded
Like the owl's late at night
So please let me go
I haven't the fight
Let me go wander
Let me drift away
Then let go of the memories
Embrace your today
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
Recently lock down began
You may say
This is not the time to write a poem
When darkness falls drop by drop
From the sky.
In this cursed timorous moment
Breathe is confined,
Infected by incorporeal virus
Present in the silent outline of the city.
This is not at all a time for parasitic dream dalliance.
I myself too is a socially isolated person of pessimistic attitude,
Whose, vanity is a part of genetically accumulated negativity.
When people speak of moonlight and starry nights
I am frightened in apprehension of darkness.
When people speak of blooming of flowers
I wait wakefully in apprehension of a storm.
In every morning, I dream idle dreams of the evening.
My friends know quite well
That I am a foolish ancient mirror of psych lateral inversion.
.
Yet I wish to dedicate few moments of this tragic conjuncture
In the name of poetry
In this scary time of screams and uproars
Once again I want to start
The protesting parade of indomitable words
With the crime of antisocial psyche.
O' gloomy time of locked down city
Can the defeat be admitted so easily?
Where is that moment that can resist
The inevitable course of impending sunrise?
Can the clamour of birds become silent
Out of fear of horns of buffaloes?
Can the poison droplets fatigue the seeking thirst of enlightment
Of the descendants of light?
Will the deep paddy of green fields
Admit defeat so easily
Out of fear of unruly flood of Ahar ?
In fact, the words are not so simple
In fact, the words are not so simple
In this ominous darkness of ENDHAUBAALI
Once again,
skillful shadow war.
Every person of the locked down city knows
Patience matters, only patience.
The enemy will perish without a trace
Lockdown, Lockdown, lockdown comrades,
Lockdown the city;
Under silent raid; like a new Stalingrad.
The world conquered enemy
laughs horrible laughter at the
extended banks of the Luit.
But for that the heart is not trembled.
We want triumph and only triumph without the fear of death.
The country men are ready
Prepared with well-skilled, proficient and disciplined array
Will go forward with sword of thunder
Built in the workshops of science and technology
When clarion call comes.
New Saraighat is calling us.
Every citizen of the locked down city knows what is needed.
A little patience and some sacrifice.
In this cursed darkness of Endharubali
Once again well-skilled shadow war
The experienced wisdom of locked down city knows
Patience is a must, only patience
The enemy will die of drying
without tracing the host
The enemy will die of hunger
without finding out any trace.
Locked down for two fortnights
New Stalingrad, new Stalingrad.
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 7:01 AM UTC