"giddiness" poems
Is it just me?
What is it about you that makes me go all starry eyed and cliché?
Is it my own penchant for giddiness?
Your own words, she is in perpetual romance
You also said, A vampire would come,
To take my life.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
The taste of bitter toxicity
The feel of obsidian
The sound of inhalation
The excitement of exhalation
Heart racing and it begins
Butterflies start to dance
Rushing flow of ecstasy
giddiness embracing
Flying higher and higher
Freedom and happiness
awareness with every touch
bliss
Heart compressing
Stampede of hysteria
Slow crawl into desolation
Loosing grip
Falling faster and faster
servitude and disorientation
Restlessness with every thought
desperation
The taste of bitter toxicity
The feel of obsidian
The sound of inhalation
The excitement of exhalation
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 12:08 AM UTC
DJ turn it loud
DJ slow it down and go silent
DJ rev it up
DJ cool down a bit
I'm the DJ who drops the beats
The bass trembles in your tendons like a banjo string being played
And vibrates your collar bone like a cell phone in a theater
I'm the DJ who shoots arrows into hearts
The guitar solo swirls your vision like a sheet of fog
And pulses through your entire body like a defibrillator
I'm the DJ who ramps up the emotion
Sorrow courses through the crevices of your brain bringing you back to the world outside
Giddiness is wired through your toes and fingers and guides you away from worries
Anger pounds in your heart when that special pattern of drum beats and guitar chords remind you of your ex.
DJ turn it loud
DJ slow it down and go silent
DJ rev it up
DJ cool down a bit
I'm the DJ who drops the beats...
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 11:19 PM UTC
Surely you,
Jester.
Unduly-expressed.
Lambasted,
insulted.
Abrasive ...
au naturel?
I think...
Surely not.
Unless,
Had the aforementioned not just the will to rip through my throat,
but too the audacity to penetrate the inclement root you call heart.
Well, I had made my decision.
and lo!
I would have stood by it too;
had my own form of insecurity been given the chance to wilt.
Not further admonished on
how to think. how to act
How 'one' should primarily be.
Instead I lie bludgeoned,
berated;
and by the very thing that
antecedently spurred
a cascade of unsophisticated giddiness.
That too was far from the cry of a
Devil-may-care persona.
I would almost weep the lost opportunity,
Whereas I should simply, and most ardently
Just be.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:56 AM UTC
Thirty three years we go back,
Of course I think of you when I hear it.
Thirty three years of listening, questioning, understanding...
Of course I think of you.
My mind isn't a spigot I can turn off
and forget the water that flowed through.
I think of you when I was proud to be your wife,
proud of your accomplishments.
What does she know of those?
She doesn't know you.
She doesn't know you.
She hasn't loved you through the rages and disappointments,
through the utter giddiness of new fatherhood,
through your father's death,
your mother's pain.
She didn't thrill with each promotion,
plan homes,
plant gardens,
hope for thunder,
dance in the rain,
live on bagels for lunch,
play badminton in the dark.
She hasn't dried your tears over a son's illness.
She didn't play bridge with friends
or know their son who died,
the tow -headed little boy who made us think of becoming parents.
What comfort can she give?
She doesn't know you.
She knows this creation you've become
in Hollywood jeans
and weekend hikes without attachments.
She knows your daughters as bait--what a great dad--
your sons as accomplishments;
your wife as an anchor
who held you down, held you back
when all along I thought I was your support.
She doesn't know you.
And neither do I.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
Talking to you never gets easier
I fall back into fifteen
Every time your name is on my screen
The giddiness, the waiting
Waiting to see what you say
But now it's been almost ten years
What do I want to hear?
I'm not sure
Why do you tell me things aren't good with her?
At the absolutely worst timing
I have someone now
And you're not around
We're just talking
Jan 12, 2024
Jan 12, 2024 at 12:00 PM UTC
"what's the best part about having a crush?"
*the giddiness,
the fantasies,
the butterflies.*
"what's the worst part about having a crush?"
*the fact that
the butterflies only exist in your stomach.
the fact that
the person at the back of your mind every minute and hour of the day --
doesn't think of you.
the fact that
all you can do is continue living, trying your hardest not to immerse yourself in the reverie.
the fact that
at the end of the day, some things don't work out the way you want them to.*
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 8:14 AM UTC
There is a rush to throwing yourself into a wave.
A certain giddiness or
a daring hope,
that this time
you will make it to the other side.
Head high and anxiety low,
Able to reassure yourself that
Yes, you can do it.
It is such a rush
that when the ocean breaks on your head,
you know that underwater is temporary,
And bearable.
So here you go.
Set your eyes on that wave,
tell yourself,
this time I will do it.
I will never know
If I don’t try after all.
So what if I have been here,
been trying, for years?
The water laps at my neck, as I cough.
I have been at sea for so long,
my muscles ache, heart most of all.
I keep trying, though
My lips are blue,
glabrous flesh has wrinkled,
And I can hardly see
for all the salt in my eyes.
Brine?
Tears?
I can’t tell.
Though I crave to rest,
The sea does not care.
Each attempt leeching heat,
and locks growing green as kelp.
I fear that should I rest now,
I would never see shore again.
But rather,
find my new bed is one of the sea,
Where I could sleep,
undisturbed by the crashes above,
and never drown.
Mar 3, 2020
Mar 3, 2020 at 6:32 PM UTC
Dearest Mr. Green,
It was an honor to have my heart broken by you. Your book, The Fault in Our Stars was one of the best recommendations I may have ever crossed. I thank you deeply for all the hours of pure giddiness and tortuous pain that you created in both Hazel Grace and Augustus Waters. However, I do have many questions about Hazel's future: does she ever loose her battle to her cancer? What happened to Augustus's parents soon after the loss of their son set into reality?
Your story honestly had my heart ripping slowly into pieces, the way you described how Hazel Grace and Augustus had crossed paths and went down a beautiful road into the hearts of all your readers... gave me the deepest appreciation of the young fighters of childhood cancers.
As a daughter of a cancer survivor, I've had my fair shares of visiting support groups with my mother while she was going through her treatments. I remember the panic I felt every time she went in for PET scans and Chemo, worrying for any ounce of her body to betray her. Thank you for making the pain and worry of cancer so beautifully worded, and the uncertainty of how quickly cancer can easily take the happiness away from someone.
Thank you for the hopes given to me when you wrote the heartfelt words, “Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.”
You are truly an incredible soul with a heartbreaking habit of writing books with main characters who tend to die of some serious form of illness. I find you to be both evil yet so perfect when it comes to your stories. You are my inspiration. However, I am slightly upset that AIA is not a real book. It would be quiet a wonderful rollercoaster to ride.
“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like betrayal” Yours, could not have put my thoughts onto paper in any more of a perfected way.
Yesterday, you gained a new fan. I adore you as an author and person. I really do.
Sincerely,
m.b
July 11, 2013- I have yet to hear a reply...
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
Our first date -
a bottle of cheap whiskey
and awkward glances.
The taste of it sweet upon my lips,
before I got to taste you.
Through drunken ramblings
and childlike giddiness
we learnt so much.
You were more intelligent than me,
I like that -
to be challenged.
I'm challenging enough,
I don't need the added intelligence.
And soon one cheap bottle of whiskey
became two.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC
bitter ****** taste,
Defeat.
On the back of one’s tongue
Waiting
Stomach acid-like
to get you
when you are most lulled into your self-centered world
to soak you to your core
in cold, cold water
but you, oh noble you
waisting so much time in youthful giddiness about the job well done
now see it wasn’t
can take it back
well, no you cant.
but you can move on
that is,
unless you drown yourself in it
defeat.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
I remember when there was a time that
you would look at me and my heart would smile,
and I was told, "That is how you know he loves you..."
When your heart smiles.
I remember when I think back on the times when all
I had to do was just think of you and there I go grinning,
feeling giddy and warm like sunshine;
yet I've not felt that in such a long time.
Where did all that go and will I ever get it back,
do you know? Instead, my heart stopped smiling
and I don't have that grin, that giddiness or
feel warm like sunshine anymore.
Where I'm at it's dark, cold and confined.
I watched you from a distance and saw your
face no more, but I'll always remember those
moments we've shared together and watch
over you from beyond the nethers;
help you to keep alive those feelings of
when your heart smiles, the giddiness
and the warmth of sunshine until
the stars die out; until time erases time.
Creative Writings - Reina J. Morris
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
Toddlers can put green crayons in the freezer without
Anybody questioning them and I
Have a problem with that.
I have a problem with the fact that toddlers can put
Green crayons in the freezer and tell their parents that they are
Preserving
The Earth and that they’ve been learning about
Animal adaptations and conjunctions in school
And that they
Love
Their friends.
I have a problem with the fact that a
Toddler’s idea of
Beauty
Is a butterfly landing on their finger during
Recess, a snowflake on their tongue, the
Grogginess of staying up past 8:30,
Scooby snacks, Dora the Explorer,
The satisfaction of scraping the
First chunk out of a tub of butter, the
Giddiness and fear at your first sleepover,
The one where you had to timidly shake your
Friend awake in the middle of the night because you could
Not for the
Life of you find the bathroom.
I’m not ashamed to admit that
I haven’t said I love you in a time that
Lingers like the smell of burning.
It’s always love you or love ya and I’ve
Forgotten what it feels like for those words to
Caress my lips, to guide my heart
Out of its cage into the
Stale air.
I want to be considering beauty like a
Toddler. I want to be watching Dora and
Learning about conjunctions, but instead I’m
Crying because I can’t fit into my jeans right and I
Don’t know how to do makeup. I want to say
I love you and let it
Ring in the air like
Frozen music
But I can’t
Because you’re
States away and instead I brush my hair
So many times for people who don’t even like me that
There’s no personality left.
I have a problem with the fact that you
Moved on so quickly and left me with the
Loves me not flower petal and that
Dora the Explorer is not on Netflix
Anymore and the price of Happy Meals goes
Up everyday like the age of my
Heart
And that
Toddlers can put green crayons in the freezer without
Anybody questioning them and say that
They
Are preserving the Earth.
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 4:29 PM UTC
*sitting on park bench
she jogs
a smile
a burn in my brain
a strong breathe
little giddiness
took doctor appointment
he appreciated
for burning so much energy
understood
why people sit on....*
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 7:12 AM UTC
i want to scream you through my mouth.
i don't have to exist any longer, as sun
shine or stretched clothing that doesn't
fit any longer, the shirts in your drawer,
the scarves fumbled with and discarded
underneath the stairs of a community c
ollege. if you want this, would you tell m
e. i don't have to step outside this door,
not once or twice without you. because,
of course, there are better things. i don
't think i make any more sense than pre
tty birds that cheep unicorn songs, and
grow shelters for their green-houses. i
could write you a song, if you'd like.
when the sun shines for the second tim
e, i'll let you know. right now the clouds
are labelled grey, and drawing islands i
n the discovering sand does not remedy
seasonal blues unaffected by the medic
ation of your smile and racing for play-g
round swings that cut up my thighs any
way. if i could put you on repeat, i woul
d, but life ain't youtube, and people ain
't paintings you can put in a frame and
hang on the wall, they ain't songs you
can listen to until you go cross-eyed wi
th giddiness. i'm not new anymore, i'm
words i've already written, places i've
already been, i am people unfamiliar b
ecause i've talked to them for so long.
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
I wake up early,
Can't wait to start my day,
anxious for every monday,
Trade coffee for a mint.
What am I?
Spend half my time sighing,
The other half moaning ;)
I dazes off and think of:
Lips,
Eyes,
hands,
Tounge,
Voice,
Shoulders,
Collarbone,
Chest,
Jaw,
Warmth,
Arms,
feelings.
What am I?
Full of anxiety,
Fear,
Pain,
Passion,
Warmth,
Giddiness,
Joy,
Sorrow,
Excitement,
Yearning,
Thanks.
What am I!?
"why my dear,
You are in love."
I...I couldn't...be. . . .
yet I can't Help but to run to his embrace.
What am I!?
"Why my dear you are in love"
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Triumphant am I when I see you stumble
Impishly witnessing your short fall from grace
My ego is puffed up with your simple proof of humanity
Your hands flailing as your feet benignly betray you
Gathering my own importance close, I feed on your shame
I take frantic pleasure in your failure
My lungs inflated with harnessed laughter at your plight
I move closer-taking all of this in...my skin humming
My mind keenly focused on your suffering
I have no expendable sympathy for you
I register your cries-they dust my ears with echos
I won't offer you the help you so desperately need
Giddiness-crawling up; determined, hot in my throat
Tasting bitterly...suspiciously like the bile of my own flaws
Straining to recapture my ignorant bliss, my eyes root for you
Recognizing my self-reflection, I swat it away with a fervor
Swallowing, I clamp it there locked in place-I begin to choke
Questions of my own imperfections threaten to suffocate me
Who am I to relish in your demise, when I carry this stained heart
My hands tainted, anointed by the trembling of my secrets
With a wretched mind, denial forlornly guides my tongue
Flushing out the haphazard judgements I cast on you
As I stand here stricken by my will to desparage your choices
Am I not solely responsible for the poisonous kiss of my words
My shame mounts, my dignity absent in the wake of this purge
Standing exposed my arms in disconnect, legs lead and water
And then euphorically the words become less insistent, quieter
Slowly my throat releases, my gasping breaths regulate themselves
Realization settles in heavy but clear
Could it be when I am judging you, I'm truly critical of me
And if so, I am forced to wonder almost reverently...
Were you ever really here at all?
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 5:07 PM UTC
Thank you.
Such abused words.
Too often they are a lie.
Lists of names barely remembered,
slurred together in a hasty speech,
a meaningless slip of arrogance.
I had no audience,
no beautiful faces
like drowning lights,
yellow eyes in a smoky room.
Fearful and cold,
I wrote them alone,
birthed in my mind
by desperation and giddiness,
those flighty muses.
But you were there,
my euchre girls
and boating boys,
and I held you
tightly to my chest.
I release them now
my handful of
teardrop butterflies,
And they fly home to you.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 10:59 PM UTC
Impulsive drones, these machos you have flimflammed,
Wolfing your proportionality like a **** brewed nectar of grapes,
When flimsy limb frills no more interweave, expertise reprogrammed,
Are you the lone from infinite frames murmuring, “once more, he escapes”?
Indignation ******* broadcasted, ferocity wrought into the fiber,
Prior, where narcissistic pathway architecture once lodged aloft,
Calloused acknowledgement of her duffel, abrupt pang, necessity for a prescriber,
My mettle is feeble of the soap opera, hanging one’s topper in my breath, I coughed,
The cauldron perpetually gurgling with spume, mingling itself,
Gyrating with giddiness as if my noggin was a top trinket,
No dust crumbs in any bustle ever jubilated atop my pit-a-patting instrument’s
Masses are anticipating for my enveloping blanket,
I perhaps beam till the cattle wham the timepiece, though seldom do I chuckle,
Shall journey with the ensuing waft, no comma for a buckle.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
I promise I don’t love you,
Not how I did,
With immature giddiness
And worship.
I promise I don’t want you,
Not how I had,
With every dumb fiber of my
Body, my soul.
I swear to you I am ok
Alone. Unlike those days
We were apart; those days
We were together.
And honestly,
Half the time I think of you,
I feel guilty.
It isn’t out of love.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 12:02 AM UTC
On a chariot built on MRF,
Wearing jeans tapered;
She came along on the misty road,
To become the three day neighbour.
Seventy two hours,
Companionship formed on nerves.
The mountain boy saw
Perfection incarnate in the girl.
Giddiness was newfound freedom,
From the everyday, the mundane.
City girl, she with hair amber,
Object of desire she became.
A brave question burning holes;
Embers on his mind's hand.
He asked late, but in time,
"Where do our feelings stand?"
Rattled, she took a pilgrimage.
To the basketball court.
******* her eyes shut,
The biggest frog stuck in her throat.
Fifty seven minutes invested,
Pondering on this question.
Changing lives in the future,
Was then not thought, not mentioned.
"Yes", slow, measured response,
A jig for joy, delighting the teens,
Naivete thrives and blooms,
Where experience hasn't been.
Arms around her waist,
She let him feel like the one.
Their heads over heels,
Quickly, both made a run.
Breathing consciously,
The pair arrived at a Church.
Colonial structure, abandoned it beckoned,
An unbroken pew, his search.
He led her in, held her at
An arm's length.
Distance never crossed before,
His face came forward, an achievement.
And brushed softly
Against her mouth, his lips in trance.
He was sure when fire was found,
The Early Man danced the same dance.
Simple moment, evanescent,
It had to end of course.
Neither pulled back from the other,
Someone had opened the doors.
****** out of his revery,
Brought back to working cognition,
Realisation of the first kiss,
Dawned, it was beyond imagination.
Fourteen and in love,
Armed with a strong belief.
Life would never separate,
Him from the love he'd received.
Child, you were wrong
Says he, Seven years now dead.
Remembering the day she left,
A thousand tears were shed.
Impossible
Were his wishes gallore.
To find her, reach her, to hear
Her voice once more.
Years spent in isolation,
Anger and Hate never his friends.
How does one feel animosity,
When the heart wants amends?
Amber angel, if you ever see
The mountain boy, do reach out.
Never a need to make up for time lost,
But return the love he had found.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
She is an angel, I think. At the very least, she can fly. A few times now I've glimpsed her stretching her wings in the privacy of her bedroom, naked in front of the mirror or in front of the windows. All I can see are the curves of her legs and hips though the tall keyhole, and often the feathers that cover her bare, dark skin. There is something empty about her when I see her there that I feel the need to fill, shadows pushing her closer to the crimson curtains that flutter with her movement.
I often linger by the door longer than I should and imagine her flying, a contrast to the soft sky and clouds surrounding her, the light air only lifting her farther up.
I've knows for three years that she wants to leave me. I can often sense it in the way she breathes and blinks slowly and moves about the kitchen. She eyes me as if we speak completely different languages, and sometimes I believe we actually do. I'm too this or that for her, but her image is unchanging in my mind. I will let her fly from that open window any moment she chooses. I can do nothing; I watch her life simply through a keyhole.
She seems reluctant to jump. With my mind I will her to test her wings, as a child tests the water of his grandmother's swimming pool before diving in, limbs flailing. He can swim, though the cold water is hard to breathe in at first, and he moves from side to side in chilled giddiness.
The rustling of her wings keeps me up at night, as I lay in bed half asleep, half dreaming, in a hot and clustered mind. And I keep one eye open, too, for I know in some day to come that she'll be gone when I awake.
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 12:57 PM UTC
amidst cavorting delightfully, enjoying thorough
frolicking gingerly, foreign hick hating slo
hip-hopping insouciantly sustaining row
biological status quo
kvetching lamely moreso mother became pro
naturally physically rumbling,
heard all the way in Oslo
supposedly twerking, undulating vivaciously
wantonly x2c wisely yielded – nada no
zona pellucida anchored byte size ******
potent embryonic fetal moe
newlweds nocturnal merriment
moma's ****** marked march 1959
lovingly joyusly, insemination happened ha low
bullseye clenched diploid fertilization
guaranteed germinating heiress
while squaqking lichen Apache at Diablo
ma late mother did should know
upon awakening upon tautly stretched exertion
during dilating ****** which jiggled like jello
three score orbitz round el sol, warmed cockles
and muscled away brutally cold degrees
tab billed an igloo,
or circa six decades
drafted exuberant ho...ho...ho...
cuz, i.e. thencee at 362nd day
baby in belly did fully grow
December first nineteen fifty seven
sanctioned newly minted papa
to sing a capella for he's a jolly good fellow
quintessential nascent
kickstarter heady everflow
though wintry dark,
a “hi” beam illuminated
newborn girl with dayglow
sans, mechanical engine ear
papa (an honorably discharged army vet)
all spit and shine groom,
who wed a bride somewhat callow
first time parents with giddiness did saul fully bellow
Boyce and Harriet Harriet countenance
twas (like an elf on Christmas eve) all aglow.
--------------------------------------------------------
Dear Sis – I knew not what else to do
thus, this poem crafted fur ewe
a doe ting maternal gal – whose time on Earth flew
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC