"genevieve" poems
Here is the link to hear my poem "Genevieve of the Deep" in an audio form.
xoxo
https://soundcloud.com/nayokenza/a-visceral-collection-of-thoughts-genevieve-of-the-deep
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
Who was I to think we had something worth keeping?
Certainly not you.
But why.
We played the game.
I thought I understood the rules.
I thought you were trying to break through.
My walls oh so high
They hid the sun from you
And you saw my darkness.
In the dark you found truth.
Unable to understand it, you ran from it's grip.
Too tight around you,
the darkness is unwelcoming.
If only you knew that if you held on a little longer,
the sun was to rise and from truth love were to arise.
But you disengaged.
Saw the truth and convoluted them into lies.
Now nothing.
But a heartbroken metaphor
for I think I miss you more.
You've moved on,
naturally and genuinely.
I sat here,
stupidly.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
scorning sun bursts into the aisles of graying curly waves,
punching yellow teeth and candied sweets with the
green of loving laughter that i've not heard in years.
you taught our fingers to bleed of bramble dew.
so sticky in our attempts to keep Genevieve's crystal filled but,
clear of improper pounds. collected ounces that rudely
overflow, are picked with mudded, forested feet.
consumed so clean and sweet, from thorns
between the brush, the aisles buzzed of summers paths
that only lead us where we knew.
through the scales and passed the cords
where drying life would heat our warmth,
nights would drop with echoing sounds like trains
slowly passing through our country's vacant crossing.
you voluminous sap of unaccounted ooze.
you sweet maple so never barren or dull.
you flame of northern light.
take me back to the path we passed
where cords are dried to burn
where frogs croak in Côté's creek
where my memories live and yearn
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC
umbrae
for Genevieve
your prayers include a terrible notebook, an invalid friend, and a man believing separately that we are here to place turtles upright. when you walk into the ocean you walk into the ocean on your hands. you do this to protect your knees. many think you are magnificent and these many you are on the verge of telling about the Saturdays that bore you and about the spider you repeatedly squash. the resurrected spider that is not a gift. if you could you’d give your youngest son a woman he could either swim through or swoon inside. a woman who could put him to sleep and rock in a chair the boat of her belly so untroubled to be thinking twice about twins. you’d be sad, or sleepy, and get to choose.
before I go to war
the dark readies in the oven.
my father washes with a wet sock a knee exposed.
my mother
wears one dry sock which she removes
and makes into a puppet. or an oven mitt.
both
silence the hand.
idolatry
a red wheelbarrow, maybe-
but not
so much
depends
on a poem
about it
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
In less than a year you digested
a Puerto Rican baseball player,
certified horse inseminator,
disc jockey, your sister’s
father-in-law, a woman
named Genevieve
and me.
Not much left after the pan
is boiled dry; memories,
residue and grit.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow
Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear,
The hunter of the west must go
In depth of woods to seek the deer.
His rifle on his shoulder placed,
His stores of death arranged with skill,
His moccasins and snow-shoes laced,--
Why lingers he beside the hill?
Far, in the dim and doubtful light,
Where woody slopes a valley leave,
He sees what none but lover might,
The dwelling of his Genevieve.
And oft he turns his truant eye,
And pauses oft, and lingers near;
But when he marks the reddening sky,
He bounds away to hunt the deer.
1.3k
There are these sections in Gen's brain. Partitioned off by veined red walls, white wooden walls, and metal walls covered in padlocks. Behind each wall is another Gen, essentially. Every room supporting some variation of Genevieve. It's very busy, very cramped.
The Quiet Room
This room is quiet.
Happy?
Sad?
Is there even a Gen in here?
Gen?
WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!
GEN!!?
The Blue Room
This room is filled with hazy blue mist.
The Gen blends in.
Nobody seeing the Gen in the blue room.
Like the quiet room, we don't even know if she's in there.
But we can hear her.
Faintly breathing.
Sort of.
The Yellow Room
This room has walls made of music.
The walls sing!
The Gen in the middle of the room smiles!
And sings!
This Gen is heard!
It smells like paper in this room.
Paper, and laundry detergent.
And a little like ink, too.
The Maze
We think this is where the REAL GEN,
The Big Gen,
Got trapped.
There are doors in these maze walls,
Leading to more walls and doors
And rooms.
We haven't found her yet.
She's in here somewhere.
She's probably scared.
Lost,
A little confused.
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
............ morning
I say this sincerely and from the bottom of my heart, you are incredible, fascinating, and impressive
Ahhh, thanks JC.
I’m flattered you think so because I feel quite ordinary.
You are the most extraordinary and exotic orchid in the jungle
And then you say stuff like that, that makes me wonder what you wrote before is true.
I don’t understand
That is so untrue, that it makes me wonder about your previous sincere comment
It is true in my heart and soul, please never ever doubt it, accept the compliment, deeply and fully !!!
............ next morning
I accept the first one.
Baby Girl, what I write about you, is inspired by you, it is what i see and feel, please believe and accept the compliments unconditionally, as I don’t say what is on my heart casually
............ next morning
Good morning Sleeping Beauty, how is the fairest flower in the forest this morning
This flower is wilted.
My flower has awaken, opening, unfolding to the glory of the sun, inspiring the birds and bees that swarm around her, vying for her nectar
Be a good Parisienne girl, and accept and bask in compliment of one of your many male admirers
That’s my fav poem yet. Hmmm, many male admirers....
............ next morning
A little poem for you this Monday morning
Chère Reine, ouvriez votre coeur, laissez moi secher vos larmes, aimer votre ame.
Baby Girl, be kind your you inner little girl, she needs your attention and love too
Truer were words could not be written today
Reine...isn’t that queen?
Yes, as in you are my Queen
My dearest Queen, open your heart, let me dry your tears, love your soul (sound better in French)
Everything sounds better in French
Did you like the Queen poem
(remember I’m sensitive artistic type of guy )
Yes, I liked it..., sending you a loving kiss
............ next morning
Your baking is always superb, you are my heroine..., call you Chef Girl Genevieve
I don’t post the stuff that goes amok.
I am no chef. That is an earned title and I def do not qualify. I just like to play in the kitchen with sugar
you are a grand chef in my eyes
Faux chef Genevieve
here we go again, am i going to have to write another poem of how great you are
I must have blown some other kind of dust in your eyes
You are like a wickedly delicious ice cream sundae, made up of complex layers of intelligence, wit, charm, and sophistication. And the cherry on top, is your stunning elegance, femininity, and beauty
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 9:33 PM UTC
She is who she says she is
Perhaps in another time
Her muscles rippled with a mannish gleam
And her labors where of the masculine
Herculean
But now she is feminine
Concealing her strength
Beneath soft garments
Concealing her past
Under a new name
Genevieve
Who was once Gene
Now is free to be
Who she wants to be
The rooster
Becomes a phantom limb
Split and turned in
Sleeping
How freeing
For her outsides
To match how
She feels within
Thick lips strong chin
Broad shoulder
Deep voice
I am fascinated
It never bothered me
In fact I saw it beautifully
Variety in humanity
Why should you be
Bothered
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
Did you know ...
That there is no one in my world besides you with whom I can spend my entire day doing whatever comes along with never a thought for anyone else
Feeling completely satisfied because we are together?
Did you know ...
That there is no one besides you whom I can talk to openly and honestly
Knowing our love will only grow and feeling a need for nothing but our conversation?
Did you know ...
That there is no one more comfortable for me than you
Whom I can enjoy silence with and never have a need to fill space between us
Because there is no space?...
Did you know ...
That no one has ever made me as happy as you have or loved me so completely
Never have I known true intimacy until we grew to where we are?
Did you know ...
That in loving you
I have experienced feelings far beyond any I could have imagined and far better than I believed possible?
-Genevieve Bartels Wichmann
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
Genevieve is a frump
a big fat lazy lump
walter decided to dump
she really got the ****
and gave him a mighty thump
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
You are most definitely
no muse to
one of Picasso's
paintings.
You are most definitely not:
Fernande
Eva
Olga
Marie
Dora
Francoise
Genevieve
or
Jacqueline!
I am most definitely
not a painter
but a
poet 'El Poeta'
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
She was perusing the linoleum trails when I walked into conoco gas at 6:49. I bought $20 of unleaded at pump three.
"I miss my jeep, but I sure don't miss the gas mileage"
she giggled from behind me with a filmy grocery bag bracleting her wrist. He name was Kiyomi, a Japanese citrus. "When my mom was pregnant with me, that's all she would eat. She joked that she'd give birth to a fruit instead of a baby."
She told me she plucked her shirt from the hamper when I complimented her outfit, and about her **** neighbors" with whom she shared a complex. I made an excuse for the dirt sponging my shirt and tattooing down my legs. "It's from landscaping", I said as a way to somehow justify it. I felt like I'd known Kiyomi a long time when we said goodbye.
With a half tank of gas, I started up Genevieve and we rolled off our opposite ways. It was as I walked up and down King Sooper's ribs of commercial aisles that I was so grateful to Kiyomi, the fruit girl. She showed her humanness to me. We hung up our social normalities like jackets, and spoke in the unfabricated way children do. Friday, June 3rd, roughly 6:53 pm, a girl of soil and a girl of fruit collided in connection. Like it was natures very own conversation.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC
He went ashore with the duty crew
The moment they got their leave,
And headed home for his two by two
And his waiting Genevieve,
He wore his official navy rig
With the medals on his chest,
Had taken pains that his suit was clean
And his blue jean collar pressed.
He followed the crazy paving that
Led up to his cottage door,
Could only see a glimmer of light
A smidgen of light, no more,
A heavy footfall came to the door
And flung it out wide, apace,
While he stood grim, and staring at him
A man with a stranger’s face.
Then Genevieve came breathlessly out
Went breathlessly up to him,
I want you to meet a cousin of mine,
He’s staying with us, meet Jim.
The sailor took a step in the door
And shouldered the man away,
‘I see,’ he said, ‘not seen him before,
I’ll see if your Jim can stay.’
They settled down in the kitchen, sat
Across the table and glared,
While Genevieve had served up a meal
A meal that had been prepared,
‘So who’s your cousin related to,
Your mother’s side, or your Da’s?’
She stopped for a moment then to think
‘It must have been Grandpa’s.’
But he’d grinned over the table then
At Genevieve, this Jim,
And that was the moment the sailor knew
That he’d been suckered in.
‘I don’t think this is your cousin, dear,
But there, I think you knew,
And hit the stranger fair in the face
With a plate of boiling stew.
I think that he scarred the guy for life
For his skin came off in strips,
While Genevieve took a paper towel
And tried to save his lips,
‘Take your mate to the Rose and Crown
And buy him a cooling beer,’
The sailor said, as he cuffed her head
‘For you’ll not be staying here.’
David Lewis Paget
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
Genevieve
Genevieve
14 hours ago
J.
Funny, what the human mind does to protect itself.
He was broken, as I was
And I thought I could fix him.
No
I thought I could be a solution.
I wanted to be the answer
That the universe whispered in response
To his nights alone in drunken tears.
Wanted to be the perfect fit
To the gaping hole in his chest.
But I was not prepared.
I gave up my heart and soul
before I really knew what that meant.
I gave him my mind and my will;
Everything, anything he wanted that I could give
I gave
I let him take all that he wanted from me
Let him run my soul dry,
and what was left,
What he didn't want
I threw away.
I was too young,
Too naive to understand
The gravity of my choices.
That is,
Until he told me
that it wasn't enough
I wasn't enough.
I was not freedom.
Commitment is not a freedom
And he didn't want any of that.
So there I was, left with only pieces
of myself.
Not enough left to put back together
To make a whole.
Just a hole.
Empty and lost.
I was in love with him,
and to be fair,
He loved me, too
But not for who I was.
But for who I became for him.
When he tired of that,
He found someone knew to sate his interest.
And failed to mention the change.
Coward.
It's so fuzzy now.
Hazy, even.
Like looking through a ***** windshield at twilight.
I can't even remember a twinge of that love.
Not even a pinprick of the agony.
The holes in my soul don't ache anymore,
Not for him.
Funny, what the human mind does to protect itself.
To the man who captivated my thoughts for 2 years, and left me with nothing but scars to show for it. This is not complete yet, I'll be making some changes here soon.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
My heart is molding guess I'll make a stew
with that nasty grotesque faux love laying around sloughing off from you,
My Spirit had desirable lust wanting you and faux *** the Love which now I see was your ingredients to place in your cauldron of something to use later on.
My Love was not false and never a fake but you decided to ****** my love and raise some ridiculous stakes! It is no wonder why you cause
so much pain with your own agenda in mind dripping of lies and deceit!
My heart has been molding, my bones in
pain because of you but as you get comfortable ;
Lay down with your eyes asleep a written note
Good bye with less than me saying a peep.
With azzwipe drawn all over your
windshield and with punctured
tires won't get you very far. So take a blunt hint!
admit your fake you weasel cause that's exactly what you are!! And now your hand can do the manipulation so take that disgusting falseness you sale as love for all I care our love has been killed.
Genevieve S.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
I think I'm spinning candy floss or is it raining sunflower seeds?
beads of sweat to make a necklace around my neck which I'm saving
for an abacus but need some more beads yet
I'm drowning in the dandelions which roar into my ears
I'm floating in kaleidoscopes and colouring in my years
But if I gave a **** and I'm sure I don't
I won't be tuning in.
There are keys for locks for clocks and keys to unlock locked up shops
my tongue is getting tired.
It was a random day in a random way when the winning number won
stardom was my Genevieve
I do believe that's true
two bullets in the barrel
One for me and
one for you.
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 4:24 AM UTC
aristocratic air
bountiful glory
but don't forget
even beings birthed straight from a supernova
still rot like the least of us.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC