"frivolity" poems
a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night
when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness,noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream
down eager avenues of lifelessness
consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought
is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man,whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—
on such a night the sea through her blind miles
of crumbling silence seriously smiles
76.1k
Sipping the air of a city night
So heady in the cold
On the move under static lights
Little worlds about
To collide
Gravity frivolity
Draw broken hearts like earth bound stars
As the pull of every
Small storied point holds others back
From abysses beneath
Dark waters
Lone souls each and all
Compose this metropolis
Joy is to be
Discovered in insignificance
Where together
We belong
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 1:00 PM UTC
by Sara L Russell (2003)
"Who is this goddess?" Whispered the sun,
As the moon traversed the sky,
"This angel, silent as a nun,
This silver dragonfly?"
He moved in for a closer gaze,
His heart began to speed,
As through a misty, cloud-spun haze,
He watched the moon proceed;
Soft silver tresses graced her brow,
Her dress, mother-of-pearl,
billowed like sails on a dream-ship's prow,
or curved tsunami-swirl.
"Oh Lady Moon" murmured the sun,
"I burn, I swoon for you.
"Come let me kiss you, gentle one,
Before night passes through."
"Come languish in my warming arms,
To music of nightjars,
Come let me taste those subtle charms,
Dear lady of the stars."
"Ah, do not court frivolity"
He heard the moon reply.
"My purpose is to steer the sea
And yours to light the sky;"
"Why, if I languished here with you,
Tall ships would run aground,
And you must light each day anew
Or all nature confound."
The sun-god would not be deterred,
But kissed her trembling lips.
As they embraced, no sound was heard
Throughout the first eclipse;
Waves lay as mirrors where they kissed,
Until they drew away,
To drift back into heaven's mist,
As night melted to day.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 6:24 AM UTC
I miss the playground as it used to be,
Laughter, fun and frivolity,
Sliding down and spinning 'round,
Chasing the breeze and winning the race,
Hope was written on my face.
I see the playground as i wish it were,
Children playing and running free,
Climbing the trees and smiling,
Collecting the conkers and the dreams,
It's not how it once did seem.
I'm in the playground with my adult eyes,
Dealers, knives and the addiction,
Crashing down and going mad,
With legs of lead and vision so blurred,
If i had screamed...no one heard.
I'm in the playground with my fear and hate,
Shooting up and going under,
Paying but the money's gone,
Needing to slide when i'm feeling high,
I have kissed my past goodbye.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 3:39 PM UTC
The kite gets high, stays aloft-
quite some time displaying
enviable dexterity, for fun
do spectacular somersaults as much times
as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh
then look! how the wind gets *****
with her, if she has something
of a skirt, it goes up, up to an
indecent height, she doesn't have
that balance a player at such
heights should have kept always.
Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite
displays before the world at high altitudes
with a unholy interest
to show herself more accomplished
than what she really is, could you
pardon that frivolity, because she
has many more colors than clouds.
He admits abashedly that he too was
once in love with her frivolous attractiveness,
but he never could understand a kite;
in spite of the lightness, that makes
it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance?
After all what is a kite? her merit?
a strange arrangement that defies
common sense, all it can do is aimless flying.
Isn't it a charge serious enough?
even a dry leaf, or a falling feather
can do these acrobatics for a while.
What is the meaning of a kite,
kindly someone notify , if it has any,
meaningless flying is not for anything
of substance, what kind of play
is it, if it is perceived as one, by any one
why the folly of someone take us
for a ride all these years, without
a second thought, he wonders
who might have promoted it, had some
ulterior motive, some point to prove;
wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak
in everyday life .
He would suspect, in the bargain many
generations too spent their time
in this vein pursuit without any thought.
Any kite display a greed to go up and
stay there, till the time it is possible to float
don't want to be back, when wind is on her side
unless force is applied, what does it signify?
Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers
he knows, and he can't but appreciate it
and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud,
play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts
could such a liaisons are to be be tolerated
she knows how a cloud tastes at different times
Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her,
she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
Open, oh eye of ones heart
The spiral of desire continues with no end to it, if lies are to pollute the world it is time to purify yourself from them all, one by one.
A hearts eye, sees through lies, but that is not its only purpose in a chest full of light and compassion in which it can greatly be found,
It serves so much more, all sealed uner a truthful surface and a righteous core, careless about anothers looks, the way they speak, superficiality such as shallowness are wiped out by it completely,
The hearts eye sees anothers soul and what they truly are, a judgement far away from personal preferences or falsities caused by instincts of ones heart which are likely to bring light headed frivolity,
It cherishes the good, the beauty of the soul except for wealthy appearance, mavelovence within greedy devilish behaviour and spite,
Projected like a story, the fear of what they see is but of themselves, if such an eye hits a devil right on the head, exposing his treaciousness
What lies behind such a courtain of darkness, may it be good? Evil ?
Come pray by my side, if you shiver from that far away I cannot help you, as sadness clouds your vision in a courtain call of pure grief,
Let me open your eyes, so your wounds may heal.
~ Umi
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 6:19 PM UTC
A woman who dies in labour,
In the pains of pre-delivery
For no reason but poor midwifery
Is a martyr and a true martyr
Than religious charlatans,
For she has only died in heroic
Defense of life and its perpetuation,
She is better than you the user
Of contraceptives in odious fit of
Family planning frivolity,
With condoms and the stuffs
Weapons of your ****** war,
She is a true martyr
To allow live sperms to meander
The valleys and fountains of life
Without dodging them shrewdly
Through wiles of science and tech,
Sperms and ova when in a duel they are
God’s intent of life, and human lives
Alack, suffocating them is heinous
A sin as big as murderer
Or a terrorism of the Twin towers
Or a **** agent armed with gas poison,
Let them, the sperms enter the walls of life,
Minus fear of deathly virus, let them enter,
They intent to give life naturally, Godly,
And if they have Aids, then you are
A martyr who died in support of life
Against the wiles of the evil one,
You are better than him that
Masturbates to waste the *****
Of life, God’s grand purpose of
Them to be the first stations of life,
You **** them, you commit ******
Genocide, massacre, macabre,
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
Such a good young man,
If only they knew the side you keep hidden
The side that is darkened shadows that breathe my name
So sweet,
Indeed you are delicious
When fed to me from the depths of my very soul
On your knees with no questions asked
With a look, you do your job
Sweet and obedient
Good boys are
I keep you at my feet
My pretty little princess fair
Who dances in my ******* pink
How the people stop and stare
As from my depths you start to drink
Enough! No more frivolity
Suit up my pet
Bows tied and scented in heaven
Dressed in satin and lace
All hidden to the naked eye
And with every step
With every breath
You are lost in me
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
I do not attempt to justify my existence-
I get whimsy over the things that I find.
It must be the flickering of my bedside light,
my dreams of dancing under the pale moonlight
(my sanity in the precipice of my mind)
You tell me about the frivolity of human life
I'd be inclined to agree,
if it weren't for the fact that
you went under the knife
and chose to remain oblivious
rather than putting up a fight
(my sanity in the precipice of my mind)
See, I once had dreams of becoming a lover
Of life, of chance, and of a higher being
In the belief that I'd find a purpose
greater than the gnawing emptiness that
resides in me
(my sanity in the precipice of my mind)
But some days I drown myself
in the words of Kerouac
or a bottle of Jack-
Either way I'd find myself paralyzed,
sick and left to my own devices
I have burnt down the turret of my life
(my sanity in the precipice of my mind)
How do I accept my feeling of insignificance?
Lost in a place of doubt and indecision,
I am without relevance.
The childlike quality of my dreams
is no longer enough to sustain me.
My sanity, my sanity-
What am I without my sanity?
Find me; find me
(I seem to have lost my mind)
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
The Sun, The Moon and Love
by Sara L Russell, 2003
"Who is this goddess?" whispered the sun,
As the moon traversed the sky,
"This angel, silent as a nun,
This silver dragonfly?"
He moved in for a closer gaze,
His heart began to speed,
As through a misty, cloud-spun haze,
He watched the moon proceed;
Soft silver tresses graced her brow,
Her dress, mother-of-pearl,
billowed like sails on a dream-ship's prow,
or curved tsunami-swirl.
"Oh Lady Moon" murmured the sun,
"I burn, I swoon for you.
"Come let me kiss you, gentle one,
Before night passes through."
"Come languish in my warming arms,
To music of nightjars,
Come let me taste those subtle charms,
Dear lady of the stars."
"Ah, do not court frivolity"
He heard the moon reply.
"My purpose is to steer the sea
And yours to light the sky;"
"Why, if I languished here with you,
Tall ships would run aground,
And you must light each day anew
Or all nature confound."
The sun-god would not be deterred,
But kissed her trembling lips.
As they embraced, no sound was heard
Throughout the first eclipse;
Waves lay as mirrors where they kissed,
Until they drew away,
To drift back into heaven's mist,
As night melted to day.
Sep 1, 2009
Sep 1, 2009 at 3:21 PM UTC
Hypocrite women, how seldom we speak
of our own doubts, while dubiously
we mother man in his doubt!
And if at Mill Valley perched in the trees
the sweet rain drifting through western air
a white sweating bull of a poet told us
our ***** are ugly—why didn't we
admit we have thought so too? (And
what shame? They are not for the eye!)
No, they are dark and wrinkled and hairy,
caves of the Moon ... And when a
dark humming fills us, a
coldness towards life,
we are too much women to
own to such unwomanliness.
Whorishly with the psychopomp
we play and plead—and say
nothing of this later. And our dreams,
with what frivolity we have pared them
like toenails, clipped them like ends of
split hair.
3k
I want a girl who drinks whiskey
Not a sophisticated white wine woman.
I don't need more than one fork and I
don't know what to do with more.
I want a girl who drinks whiskey
who will watch the stars from atop a desert bluff,
naked, beside me, as cars scurry like ants far below us.
I want a girl who drinks whiskey
not a woman that sips reds and explains
my nihilistic future intents.
Life is to beautiful to plan on a ****** future.
I want a girl that drinks whiskey
and tells me like it is while laughing at
all the incongruities in that truth.
A girl that recites poetry and literature from
a truck bed surrounded by enraptured steers.
I want a girl that drinks whiskey
who pours her shots neat and drains her glass
Who lets each and every glass be
laden with experiences and laced with frivolity,
knowing that the cup itself
is nothing but a vessel for life.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
Hail to Thee, Immortal Three
Knowledge we sing on laud
Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates
Philosophy, to be human awed
Teach through time, consciously
Nod not, what others fraud
Socrates taught, Divine Being
God not of brutal Athens’ passions
Entity of Beauty, Truth Seeing
Goodness unseen in day’s fashions
Soul for unalloyed agreeing
Lessons humanities’ compassion
Talk eternal justice, everlasting life
Socrates’ Sovereign Right of Reason
Clearly mind deceived sense’s strife
Invincible perfection be God’s season
Thus, our key to knowledge ever rife
Priests who find this, absolute treason
No church or Socratic school
A barefoot man roamed to teach
Socrates mocked for looking a fool
His speech not one to simply preach
Plato witnesses a martyr’s drool
Cruel hemlock, words did so breach
Handsome aristocratic youth Plato
Followed Socrates’ Eternal Wisdom
But soon to find his own credo
In Medara to find Euclid and freedom
Egyptian geometry to provide dado
To Plato life, expression; not a system
Eternally an artist, Plato did develop
Philosophic circle in Academus groves
Bring Athens, world knowledge envelop
Discretions of sensations, be not oaths
What man may be, an animal jealous
Plato’s allegorical cave found in droves
As Plato once be Socrates’ disciple
So too, to Plato would Aristotle be
Passing comprehension archetypal
Successions of genius’ visions do see
Aristotle taking it step further, as vital
To science of hands-on discovery
And this is where we see a parting
Of two distinctly opposing philosophies
Plato being at odds, with science starting
Aristotle’s truth, finding no apologies
Things not happening by chance imparting
Frivolity of duopoly, dichotomy to Socrates
But a new era has surely now dawned
Science exploring an invisible atom
And the seen and unseen correspond
So to Aristotle’s, Plato’s, Socrates’ datum
Brilliant new philosophies have spawned
An abstract notion of conceived stratum
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
Can someone please tell me
On which plane we now reside?
Valuing the cheap laughs that the
Freakish Trump provides?
Existential crisis doesn't seem
Far off to me, when war and strife
Escapes our eye, in our frivolity.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC
So, how have you been?
I know it's been awhile.
I couldn't bare to watch this creature feature -
The selling out for style.
What good is luminescence
If there is nothing to be seen?
I choose to light my words
With colors-
Blues, and reds, and greens
And shower it with glistening golden streams.
So, pardon me as I purge my disappointment.
Where does integrity go
When the walls are burning down?
The lanes are blocked with gratuitous frivolity as meaningless as the strands of fiber drifting in a beam of sunlight-
Particles of bodies that settle on the coffee table only to be wiped away by a tattered cloth.
I cry out for the setting of the sun,
That glowing orb which destroys the mysteries,
And robs the seeker of discovery.
I ask,
Are the shadows being driven into the crevices never to be seen again?
There would be no depth perception without them.
A phantom weight is here,
Then just as suddenly as it came,
has gone.
The color is washed away in all the brightness.
What is left is white,
and not much else to write,
But of the sadness of the ways
it takes the texture from the days.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
Right now, it's unclear
how to feel about this latest development
between us
because
at any moment you're libel
to switch gears in your speedster train of thought
on to new electric spark tracks
of ecstatic playtime poetry frivolity
or serene raindrop contemplation
and, while the exciting allure of spontaneity isn't lost on me,
it can be a bit confusing
in terms of how one should express themselves around you
and how much of your baggage they're willing to cary
in addition to their own on any given day.
I'm not mad at you,
just confused and worn out.
But I suppose it's hard to find solid ground
on digital windows and words.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
There is a whole world of words in my mind.
At night, they dance around,
waltzing with each other.
Entangling themselves into sentences, into thoughts.
Spinning at their own fancy,
the music never ending.
And I, kept awake by their frivolity,
am terrified by the dust disturbed by their dance
on the floor of my subconscious.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
Momentary lapses of shyness within pretentiousness the size of a non-la-hat
offering shade from the sweltering sun,
confused the boy still residing beneath an
exterior of brashness. A wooing of rose or
lotus petals? Did she not enjoy such frivolity?
What of a bard letting words slide through
the air like silk, for I didn't possess such
romantic poetry.
____
Instead, I embarked upon a journey of false-heroism, took a bullet, figured it to shape me
into a man. I showed off the wound, blood soaking through the bandages--you seemed far from impressed by this display of stupidity.
Yet you played coy, bending over,
letting sunlight play through a thin
summer dress, highlighting inner thighs,
lines arching up into a dome of dizzy-
delirium so sensual it almost appeared sinful.
At night you'd undress before a naked
window, let shadows flirt across moonlit dew.
It was all I could do to keep eyes averted,
instead, living on dreams of unwrapping gifts
under the influence of feverish waves,
even though I never forgot to take quinine.
And after all the games, I had only to stay
still long enough for you to complete another sketch, take its lines, breathe together a new poem, unleashing torrents of words into my ear. A funny sort of unconventional, tactile courtship. You wanted for me to listen,
to test my patience, and once your head
was emptied out, heat arose from the bloom, enveloping me in soft petals, vanquishing
my fever, with a different feverish embrace.
Your eyes almost felled me with their complexities of virginal innocence and a whorish lust. The thrusts,
lips and fingers, the blended push-pull
of rhythm and wild abandon
caused me to lose myself long enough,
to find your soul drifting alongside my own,
amongst the stars that had always been shining amongst the light already written
before our birth.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
You playfully
tease your hair
back over your ears
and smile that bubblegum smile,
your tongue
in the corner of your mouth
you're thinking...
a penny for them I say
you laugh
and turn away blushing.
I reach for you
but pause
taking time to take you in...
breathing you in
upon a floral scented breeze
your hair is buttercups and daisies
tied in poesies
with chocolate box ribbons
your summer dress is dreamtime
sewn anew
from bedroom curtains
your bare feet freedom and frivolity
nails painted green
poking fun at conformity
and you...
You are mine as much as a man can own the wind
or tame the wild mountain river
but you are mine
and I...
I am yours until such time as you no longer love me.
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 9:12 AM UTC
is there any room for hope…
no longer is friendly white Jesus
waiting on a cloud with harp playing angles
that image has been replaced
with Catholic officials proclaiming
Alien saviors will soon be at our doorstep…
a doorstep sprinkled with nuclear fallout
and massive carbon and methane emissions
a doorstep in which hate resides
based on skin color,
religious dogma,
classism,
and anything else the media outlets
promote to the mindless ninnies
forever entranced by the glowing box…
a glowing box spilling lies onto children’s ears
forcing sexuality and violence on children’s eyes
promoting genetically modified foods
flavored with prescription drugs
for children’s mouths’
all the while singing about the future
and the world we are leaving behind…
and so many behinds must parish
so many parishes of Pharisees
pleading to the Presbyterians
that the Pleiadian’s
probably will save us all
from our own collective choices
or maybe they are coming to feed…
we feed on the flesh of the endangered
for status
we frolic in the delicate forests
for fun
we fight amongst ourselves
for fear
but I am free from that frivolity
seriously….
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Into the masquerade
Of her unyielding dream,
I see her flash into ambiguity.
A vestige of fluorescent
Transcendental light particles
Rising into the zenith,
Through a liquescent portal,
Into the reminiscence
Of her fanciful bloom.
I meander through the enigmatic
Labyrinth of her
Never-ending rumination.
Through the postern door,
Into a frolic of festivity;
A jamboree of her
Effervescent frivolity.
A sudden vision
Of our exuberant youth,
The romantic tryst by the fountain.
Our souls interlaced,
weaving in the wind
As we gaze at her fragrant,
Celestial moon.
The ambience of her earthly silence
Conjures the emergence of a stairway
Into her intuitive star.
Our ephemeral dalliance,
In an evaporating mirage
Of unrelenting fortitude,
Of what was once forgotten.
I take my enamoured bow,
With ardent strings of burning light
And fire fervently to seek
Her euphonious heart.
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
Why ask why I like your poem? Be courageous in your ideas and ideals. Be confident enough to know that your work is true to your vision. Artists of all kinds, but especially poets, are the philosophers and prophets of their generation. A revelation does not passive-aggressively seek to be worthy. It just is. Revelators, in the converse, often are compelled to seek praise with false humility via the age old pretentious depreciation of the value of their work in order to reap praise, which is the expected polite response. It is a waltz I choose to sit out. I feel it is less than honest and a disrespect to the poet and the poem to revel in such frivolity. Write for the sake of revelation, not for the accolades of topical praise. It is no business of the poet why a poem strykes chords with a reader. Simply allow it to happen. Talent and truth are not always equatable, nor are beauty and integrity always comparable. In the heart, a poet knows he is a poet. By the very construct of your words, Poet, may you be the caster of many spells. Thank-you for sharing a bit of yourself with me. I bid thee Love and Light.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
**Topsy and Turvy, hassled and harried
jostled among a jungle of jumble,
so busy they beavered, in search of a bauble
upon all the shelves, so deftly they delved,
... within the lair of the piffling frippary.
They ambled and rambled, so giddy they gambolled
and sought for that trivial trinket or trifle,
they rummaged and rifled, their eagerness stifled,
through struggle, they strived, from nine until five,
... within the lair of the piffling frippary.
Staunch but stressed, their zest so hard pressed
for until discovered, found and recovered,
they muttered and spluttered, and audibly uttered
within the lair of the piffling frippary,
... persuing that piece of paltry frivolity.
Now flagging, they floundered, not finding the foible
in shambles they rambled, revealing reluctance,
and ceding, conceding, they threw in the towel
on trembling, tottering knees they now tumbled,
... out of the lair, of the piffling frippary.
... ... ...**
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 10:42 AM UTC
a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night
when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness,noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream
down eager avenues of lifelessness
consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought
is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man,whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—
on such a night the sea through her blind miles
of crumbling silence seriously smiles
E.E. Cummings
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 4:07 AM UTC