"hazels" poems
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I alone can contend against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Curl round me as though you were frightened.
Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your ******* smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
Until I even believe that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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i.
I intentionally failed to wish you
a happy birthday this year,
though I know significant dates,
hours, moments, people,
by heart.
I still search for you in boys
I mistake for bandages,
the ones with eyes almost
the same shade of your hazels,
lips resounding your laughter,
resembling a wisp of your smile,
But they aren't you.
ii.
Sometimes I pretend you're dead,
because it's less painful
to stop reaching out into voids.
iii.
My mom still blames you
for everything that preceded that year.
Though you probably had no idea what happened
when we stopped talking altogether.
Can you believe it's almost been three years?
iv.
My dad wonders who was my 'one that got away'
Though, I'm pretty sure he knows
it's you.
v.
Remember how I mentioned Sylvia Plath?
How most everything she wrote
brimmed with melancholy?
How I loved every single word?
Especially that piece
where she talked about expectations
and disappointments.
You'll never know that
up to this day I still think
people are selfish enough to
always, eventually turn into the latter.
Even you.
vi.
It's sad I never got the chance
to tell you about Ted.
How she loved him so much,
she just had to figuratively dive headfirst
into the flames-- burning herself,
what was left of her--
after she found out
he never really loved her
the same way
she loved him
in the first place.
vii.
*truth is,
some of us
never learn to accept
the love we think we deserve.*
viii.
I don't know if you still read my poems
or if you still think about me,
about us, sometimes.
Every time you fall asleep past eleven,
a part of me hopes you do.
because I always remember you--
in birthday candles, red ribbons,
off-tune voice records, golden arches,
concrete sidewalks, pedestrian lanes,
the last flickers of city lights
softly fading out of the blue.
I remember you
in everything, in everywhere,
in everyone.
It's useless, no matter how much I try to forget.
No matter how much I just want to forget.
I want to forget.
But, how could I?
When forgetting means forsaking
the very memory of you.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 6:00 AM UTC
It was an arbitrary day
at the arboretum
the ferns were all wondering why
a rash of rogue rhododendrons
were roughing up the azaleas
while mighty magnolias stood meekly by
A patch of tiny cyclamen giggled girlishly
while witch hazels waved green wands
and the willows wrung their hands
and wept and wept
'cause they knew what was really going on
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
Arms that rested on her wide hips
I miss her 'grape-ulent' lips
How onto me she tightly clung
While my harmonic mp3s sung
The walk by nature's green
Moments we dared to dream
She sung alongside Dido
Oh gosh, the "Darling" title
How occupied she kept us
Cut my wings,back down to earth
For all that's happened was worth
I miss placing my arms on her ***
And towing her close to my body
I miss her soft grip on my "daddy "
The look in her eyes when in control
I miss ******* her glorous beach umbrellas
How she ardently put off the lights
I miss the many long and busy nights
Freezing and so I miss her furry furnace
I miss the soft moans of pleasure
She was an undisputed treasure
I long to drink again from her chalice
I miss the tear filled hazels of lust
Thighs like tectonic plates in Earth's crust
I miss being trapped by those stalactites
Her harmless but arousing love bites
I miss having her thrilling ride
My body would yield and abide
Her little laugh when things got real hot
My rock hard cable in her USB port
I miss the warm cool of her wetness
The milking machine greatness
I miss how whispers talked
Till late after we'd ******
I miss diving alength
I miss losing strength
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,
Ca’ them where the heather grows,
Ca’ them where the burnie rows,
My bonnie dearie.
Hark! the mavis’ evening sang
Sounding Clouden’s woods amang,
Then a-faulding let us gang,
My bonnie dearie.
We’ll *** down by Clouden side,
Through the hazels spreading wide,
O’er the waves that sweetly glide
To the moon sae clearly.
Yonder Clouden’s silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours
O’er the dewy bending flowers
Fairies dance sae cheery.
Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou’rt to Love and Heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
My bonnie dearie.
Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die—but canna part,
My bonnie dearie.
While waters wimple to the sea;
While day blinks in the lift sae hie;
Till clay-cauld death shall blin’ my e’e,
Ye shall be my dearie.
Ca’ the yowes to the knowes…
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Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,
Ca’ them where the heather grows
Ca’ them where the burnie rows,
My bonie dearie.
Hark! the mavis’ evening sang
Sounding Cluden’s woods amang,
Then a-fauldin let us gang,
My bonie dearie.
We’ll *** down by Cluden side,
Thro’ the hazels spreading wide,
O’er the waves that sweetly glide
To the moon sae clearly.
Yonder Cluden’s silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours,
O’er the dewy-bending flowers,
Fairies dance sae cheery.
Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou ‘rt to love and Heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
My bonie dearie.
Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die—but canna part,
My bonie dearie.
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The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade:
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse on his ***** their image receives.
Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view
Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew,
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade.
The blackbird has fled to another retreat
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat;
And the scene where his melody charmed me before
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.
My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,
With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.
'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;
Short-lived as we are, our enjoyments, I see,
Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we.
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Sweet or sour,
She's a bit of both.
Her sweetness drains by the hour,
Her heart drowned in loathe.
She has a comforting smile,
Hazel eyes that sparkle with life.
Her features change after a while,
Expressions showing she is bathing in constant strife.
She bursts into a river of tears,
Regret clawing its humble way in.
She has nothing to ease her fear,
And "it" begins to win.
She wallowed in sorrow,
"It" weighing her down like a massive boulder.
As she prayed to not wake tomorrow,
"They" tapped upon her shoulder.
Her dull hazels met with theirs,
As "they" gave her the brighest smile.
The stranger's intentions were unclear,
And she knew "they" weren't vile.
Time flickered on by,
Seasons slipped by fast.
Her hopes were high,
And "they" asked her at last.
She was happy now,
And would be eternally.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
i.
he tosses you a chip,
its worth, its worth
it moons over your greedy soul
and you mask them all
with your chained lies,
to your silenced smokes
that wobbles up to your
sunken, tired eyes
ii.
you've been awake and to
the miles along the rims of earth,
your little brother's math assignment
scored over twenty out of fifty
and he told himself to make mama proud,
he, then, scribbled cartoons and addition signs
iii.
you've been awake and to
the valley gaps of the sunshine drizzles
your little sister's finding it hard to
participate in the maze of real life
unkempt to her own voices and she told herself,
"maybe I was just meant to be kept in streets-capes"
iv.
and your home rested on the mountains
of well-lived dreams gauged into your veins
you've tasted perfectly soggy cornflakes
in the morning and in evening, you
could taste the shrill of cicadas, blooming
into the stars-tied rose crescent
and it shut down, I've read novels like these
and heard Kurt Cobain sang to these
it was wonderful, but I'd liked it better
when the sunflower hopes rested into your veins
v.
the eleventh time he tosses you a chip,
it lays perfectly still in your palm
the twelfth time, it took over your greedy soul
with your tear-stained hazels, it whispered
rambling, gambling Willie,
do not let it consume you, as it did Willie
but it still echoed when you knocked on the door
rambling, gambling Willie,
"I'm home," you've been awake
but then, you've found none anymore
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
The seats are aging
Orange leather with
Cracked faces the
Lines of wisdom
Of ninety
Thousand sitters.
Entire ecosystems
Live on the shining
Polished silver of
Handles dulled
By sweaty palms.
Sightline through
A window
A passing loco
Blurred brief
Images of
Unknown faces.
Sightline to the
Chamber behind
The metal snake
Winds down the track
A touch of vertigo
From uneven motion.
Sightline to
Cascades of light
Brown curls
Flowing over
Porcelain shoulders.
Smooth skin
Sweet as aspartame
Skii slope neckline
Heavenly form
Yellow dress
Slight movement
To the heavenly forms
Pouring through
White earbuds.
Sightline to Sightline
Meet in the air
Muddy brown
Graced by
Kaleidoscope
Greens yellows hazels browns
Electric charge
No other passengers
Perceive.
The doubled thump
Wump
Picks up speed with a
Coy smile
A sunrise blossoming
Over Eden
The birth of an
Angel
The thirst of desert
Sands
Quenched.
Beauty erupts
From the shared gaze
Held 6 stops
Past hoyt-schermerhorn.
Immediate
Immaculate
Connection
Fire through the air
Static charge
Primal lust
Infinite joy
If I could just
Say hello
Hi
You've enraptured
My soul
The epitome of
Beauty.
I sit instead
Stuck
Deer in headlights
****
My twisting insides
The grey says
Such monstrous
Things to itself.
Her stop.
****
Broken gaze,
Disconnected
From the maze
Of her eyes.
I lament.
Sightline back
To page:
"Those that have crossed paths are not memories
Nor is the yellowish dove that sleeps in oblivion..."
I lament some more
At the poignancy
And the loss of a stranger
Made just for me.
She probably would've
Broken my pumping
Gears anyway,
Sayonara, c'est la vie.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
The fresh savannas of the Sangamon
Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass
Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts
Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire;
The wanderers of the prairie know them well,
And call that brilliant flower the Painted Cup.
Now, if thou art a poet, tell me not
That these bright chalices were tinted thus
To hold the dew for fairies, when they meet
On moonlight evenings in the hazel bowers,
And dance till they are thirsty. Call not up,
Amid this fresh and ****** solitude,
The faded fancies of an elder world;
But leave these scarlet cups to spotted moths
Of June, and glistening flies, and humming-birds,
To drink from, when on all these boundless lawns
The morning sun looks hot. Or let the wind
O'erturn in sport their ruddy brims, and pour
A sudden shower upon the strawberry plant,
To swell the reddening fruit that even now
Breathes a slight fragrance from the sunny slope.
But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well--
Let then the gentle Manitou of flowers,
Lingering amid the bloomy waste he loves,
Though all his swarthy worshippers are gone--
Slender and small, his rounded cheek all brown
And ruddy with the sunshine; let him come
On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake,
And part with little hands the spiky grass;
And touching, with his cherry lips, the edge
Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew.
1.4k
blood blot
a hideous music
like fixed stars
a chaos of shattered glass
you can hang your hat on
bamboo shards make a ****** wound
gold spun hair
on floral linen
blemished soaking red
like a shaking rat in a cats mouth
Hazels glistening ****** a pretense
salutes celibacy and high end moisturizer toilet paper
to shock simplicities morals
of an excretory affair
a dark chandelier hangs in the balance
torpedo runnels through chambered knots
unleashing treacherous sanity
sins crib
theater of purgation
father forgive her
she took a ****
an idealist without ideals
the grand masturbator
a simulacrum of a lubed god
in nights dragging shade
oracle of a ruddy opera and legs over head
flexed crimson wattle rolls
theories invite anti theories
light invites darkness
silence yields
shadows throat
and cacophonous whispers
a grind house temple of gods and demons
in horrendous geometry
of inflicting malice
until the serpent ascends
from black pitch hells
like a bomb through the skull
lusts antidote
waterloo of the soul
annihilation point
the cadaver smiles
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC
We leave the well-beloved place
Where first we gazed upon the sky;
The roofs, that heard our earliest cry,
Will shelter one of stranger race.
We go, but ere we go from home,
As down the garden-walks I move,
Two spirits of a diverse love
Contend for loving masterdom.
One whispers, 'Here thy boyhood sung
Long since its matin song, and heard
The low love-language of the bird
In native hazels tassel-hung.'
The other answers, 'Yea, but here
Thy feet have stray'd in after hours
With thy lost friend among the bowers,
And this hath made them trebly dear.'
These two have striven half the day,
And each prefers his separate claim,
Poor rivals in a losing game,
That will not yield each other way.
I turn to go: my feet are set
To leave the pleasant fields and farms;
They mix in one another's arms
To one pure image of regret.
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*One berry
hangs
alone
silently
decomposing
in
a
wilting
wait
of
just
S
u
p
p
o
s
i
n
g
I
hold one
shining berry,
(yes, dear)
&
do
so,
with
hazels
doe-ing
One berry
hangs
where all
other orbs
f e l l,
squashed
between amused
fingers
for
I
wish
upon
just
one
kiss
|
^
/ \
●
that
clearly
lingers
**One
berry hangs on ever green***
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 6:39 AM UTC
Glossy lost eyes meet you in the back hallway, your carrying a box to the rehearsal room and she is walking back to grab more.
Alone in the hallway, only seconds before someone will turn the corner and your moment will be a blurry memory of the 300 hall.
¨do you regret it?"She asks, voice like the sound of a mouse, You did that to her. She cant even make eye contact with you. You ruined that friendly relationship between you two.
You were drunk you tell your self, its not your fault.
You did not know that it would ruin her,
and soon its too late, another student is turning the corner, calling her name so he could catch up.
You turn away, and keep walking, and maybe if you had a little more time you could tell her:
Yes I regret it, I regret every day hurting you and ruining our friend ship over a picture. I miss your hazels eyes looking at me while you laugh, I miss it all.
but thats what happens in high school **** love.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
I admit
I am pathetically in love with you
Frightful it might be irrevocable
Girl pining away for someone whom she's invisible to
The oldest story in the book
I pale in comparison to all the others
I know, I get it
Not aesthetically gifted
Perhaps if you had taken a peek into my soul
You'd have found how stunning it is
I grow more delusional by the day
envisioning how your hazels would sparkle
When halation encircles you in auroras fluorescence
I am wrecking my brain
Trying to sound profound
Words splattered on a page are all I have to offer sometimes
Verbalisation fails me
I suppose I'll have to be content with this unembellished declaration
( which you will never see)
It feels organic anyway
I am plucking all this from the bottom of my heart
As I force these feelings to wither away
I attempt to convince myself that this was just perhaps an inflated crush
I am saddened by thoughts of what could have been
It burns
The catalyst I need to move on is my acceptance of the fact that even though we live under the same sun
the problem is, it doesn't cast the same shadow
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
The keg had been flowing for hours
when I spotted you on the foyer,
your sienna eyes locked onto my hazels,
O boy, it was an instantaneous attraction
as well as a reaction, everything around us
seemed to disappear, nothing mattered,
not even the small talk we tried to engage in.
We said something about fresh air
& floated into the great outdoors.
You were'nt even my date, but
we acted as if we had been
friends & lovers forever.
Autopilot was engaged on the beetle
as we drove off into the cool night,
oblivious to all surroundings but us.
Golden earring was pounding out the vibe
that was quickly developing within us,
rust never sleeps was next & we both
fervently confessed there would be no fight,
no fuss, no muss, as we both wanted to *** up each other, smother ourselves in a warm embrace, spread some love & grace.
The parking spot under the street lamp
was the perfection spot, an awesome location
for some lovely-lovemaking. You were sizzling hot, I mean smoking, got my motor burning,
scorched my heart with the proverbial desire.
Your pretty face spoke volumes as I traveled
along your sweet-contours with my kisses & delicately searching fingers. To my surprise,
you wore no ******* which increased my posture & within what seemed like hours, we made our juicy-connection in several various states of intertwining bodies.
The German designers are brilliant,
as the capsule-sized VW is the most intimate
space on the planet. It is just the right amount of room to lock onto eyes, spread beautiful thighs and taste delicious cherry pie. We were streaming into each other as it dawned on me all at once why so many people own bugs, it's a tight place to make a special deposit & they're cheaper than a Porsche.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
I was a kid
Content with walking the world
Looking at nothing but my feet
Until we crossed paths
And I looked into those hazels pools
Pointed like mine to the ground
Not wanting to cause fuss
What made me go after you that day?
I thought maybe there was another
That would help me
Take my eyes off the ground
And you did
I looked at the world threw new eyes
Not focusing on the what ifs
But that what could bes
When I took your hand
I felt the world shrink
Like anything could happen
We could do anything
I would like to leave this tail on the positive note
But that wouldn't be telling everything
Through dark times
Your eyes drifted
Your grip on my hand loosened
And my eyes started again drifting down
While yours stayed up
I was happy to see how you have grown over our time
But now I'm back to watching the ground
Waiting for my star to return
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
Her sky blue
His dull hazel
My demon green
Every pair a mere reflection
Or window to the pain
Her eyes show her death wish
Avoiding my gaze with quick swish
of her hair. Those blue eyes
They tell us no lies
His eyes show the hidden dejection
They show a fear of rejection
Those hazels dulled now
Always forcing mine to bow
My eyes the demonic curse
I couldnt think of anything worse
They twist the world
To an image i could behold
We three friends
Three pairs of eyes
Three types of pain
Three prisoners who want to be free
Only the night
Lets me to go fight
Lets her go to the knife
and will let him have a life
These dying eyes
We each despise
They give us away
They always betray
The false glee
Revealing the desire to be free
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
*Deflated euphoria
Enveloped in the evening glow
The drone of the tooth
And nail battle to be
whirring down to silence
Beholding the glory
Of your hazels
Artificial gaiety
Awakens
Vicarious thrills
Emoting through you.*
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
I remember the first time I saw your striking blue eyes.
You were walking past me and for some reason our eyes met.
My awkward hazel met your beautiful ocean blue.
Usually I am afraid of meeting eyes, but for the life of me I couldn't look away.
I remember looking at your eyes while you laughed with your friends, mocking me for something I had done.
For some reason, I was still in love with your beautiful ocean blues.
I remember dancing.
I remember looking over and there you were with your beautiful blue eyes.
Even though nothing could get your attention off the bass, the dancing and the powder running down your sinuses and the pills dissolving in your stomach,for some reason, you couldn't keep your beautiful ocean blues off of me.
This time, the tables had turned.
It was you longing for my awkward hazels, and me acting oblivious to your beautiful ocean blues.
As if they didn't make my heart race and my knees tremble everytime I got a glimpse of them.
But soon you will forget my awkward hazels, and I will be left longing for your beautiful ocean blues.
- 4 / 08 / 15 Catherine Roussouw
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Looking behind me
To my speckled map:
Paths I've traveled
Treasures plucked
Darkened days,
Complete Mind-fuck'd.
Recollect the eyes
That've met my hazels,
The hands and finger tips
Signatures on my soul,
How love felt like wings
(Or like sinking in a sinkhole).
There are thirty years
Or 11,299 days
That feel like bricks in a bag.
Some are light
Some are sad.
At the bottom of the bag
Are four bricks I cannot reach
The beginning years
As a new earthling.
The other twenty six
Contain seven light weight bricks:
Years of joy and laughter
Of friendship and love
Years of belonging
And stories thereof.
The rest of the bricks:
Nineteen
Are labeled lonely and
Dark and heavy and
Soaking wet
(if bricks can be that)
With salt water tears.
So many so many years.
So here I stand
At life's rest stop no less
To unpack these bricks
My shoulders bare indents
That breath as I undress
Because the bricks are my story
But armor I wear as well.
My heart thuds thuds thuds
Within my protected
Chest citadel.
Unleash and unload
Review and reconcile
Ask myself if ANY OF THIS
Is ******* worthwhile.
I need to stay at this stop
'N take time to ponder
Before I resume
My lonely wander.
I need to learn to love you,
Solitary life.
Then I will succumb
To be your wife.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
Everyone keeps telling you to 'Quiet down! Hush!'
Confusion on your little face, big questioning eyes.
You are still young enough to be wholly you,
And 'too loud' has no meaning.
Your voice is you, its timbre and pitch and volume, all your own,
They are telling you to change.
This will happen to you, again and again, my hearts own child,
I cannot prevent it.
But I will not ask you to hush,
And my heart will weep the day I hear you check before you speak,
The day that a subdued, sorry whisper emerges
From where a ***** roar once dwelled.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
Cemented in my chest
Were memories in the shapes of leaves
Fallen to the sidewalk once it'd gotten chilly, we met in Philadelphia
Outside some bar you got kicked out of
And you broke your hand on the wall of
The hospital next door
You spent the summer relearning how to write in print and I spent it analyzing the irony in what had happened,
Everything goes back to that night In Boston
Cemented In my chest
Are images of my first night out
My The Wonder Years shirt and
Cut off shorts, I was invincible
Unstoppable we were
Until the city lights
Made their move and
Swooped you away
I stopped seeing you outside bars
And behind them instead
When we were kids I'd never imagined
You in shackles made of taxes
It's weird how we chose our paths
You followed an addiction that filled your
Bones when nothing else could
I chose to stay empty
My fear kept me from prison
Your fear kept you from living
What's a home when the cobblestone
Was the first thing to rock you to sleep
At 14? You had alcohol poisoning 13 times before
Cemented in my chest
Are what ifs
Have beens
What would I be had you never crashed into me that night when you meant to start a fight with some man you claim couldn't see the same blue in my eyes?
Does anyone inside have my eyes?
Because I see your hazels in every single city light
I moved to a farm last year
To clear my mind
Of what had been cemented
In my chest since we were kids
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC