"helena" poems
Oh Helena, how I doth know thy pain
Mocked is thine love when at love's feet thrown
Love hath looked upon thee with disdain
And yet still for him thy love hath grown
Do not despair Cupid's arrow at thine door does knock!
Upon thee, loves eyes an awakening will be placed
No longer can love's spiteful eyes see thee and mock!
And to thine love will he quickly rush in haste
But first know before one is to have thy way
A comedy must first be struck upon
Alas Puck! Disaster hath struck and a game we must all play
Before order is once more restored and the past foregone
Oh no! Now a love thrown upon thee unwanted
Mockery suspected, no more of this dost thou deserve
Evermore another feeling given to thee daunted
But now sit back, let the story unfurl and observe!
Finally soft words to thee spoken so craved
At once entranced but then felt thee a fool!
From nowhere sweet words so spoken must be depraved!
And in thine heart feeling loves sting ever so cruel
Now thy dearest friend! Intertwined within such a conspiracy
Such betrayal! Dear girl know it is a mistake
Albeit twisted and buried in the cruelest irony
Thy dearest friend, thine love she does not wish to shake
Through troubles and trials thou maketh thy way to a beautiful field
Fast asleep next to the love thy value ever so
Puck, fix thy mistake, give Helena her love to finally wield
And at last house a mutual love to forever grow
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books,
I make out your movement, M, the moody turns
Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of
Family names, you marked me like a maternal
Emblem of the generation’s matriarch,
You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons
Maria Helena from the Midwest,
Who crossed the mountains in a wagon,
Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles,
Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco,
And her own daughter, my Mimi,
Who muttered merde while she drank martinis.
In my own time, you materialized in
Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom,
The women in which I knew you growing up,
Then Molly, who made dreams out of
Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette,
You embellished my most favorite things.
In my monogram, you aimed my impulses
in your masts’ diametric directions
Towards competence, towards imagination.
In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug
With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk.
You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me
To meander among your fundamental family,
The sumptuous L of melt and mélange,
The meticulous N of man or monk or money.
Even W, which matches your mien in mirror
It warped wicked witch while you
Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined
The mutilation of those two majuscules formed
My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized
From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
So it is eighteen years,
Helena, since we met!
A season so endears,
Nor you nor I forget
The fresh young faces that once clove
In that most fiery dawn of love.
We wandered to and fro,
Who knew not how to woo,
Those eighteen years ago,
Sweetheart, when I and you
Exchanged high vows in heaven's sight
That scarce survived a summer's night.
What scourge smote from the stars
What madness from the moon?
That night we broke the bars
Was quintessential June,
When you and I beneath the trees
Bartered our bold virginities.
Eighteen -years, months, or hours?
Time is a tyrant's toy!
Eternal are the flowers!
We are but girl and boy
Yet -since love leapt as swift to-night
As it had never left the light!
For fiercer from the South
Still flames your cruel hair,
And Trojan Helen's mouth
Still not so ripe and rare
As Helena's -nor love nor youth
So leaps with lust or thrills with truth.
Helena, still we hold
Flesh firmer, still we mix
Black hair with hair as gold.
Life has but served to fix
Our hearts; love lingers on the tongue,
And who loves once is always young.
The stars are still the same;
The changeful moon endures;
Come without fear or shame,
And draw my mouth to yours!
Youth fails, however flesh be fain;
Manhood and womanhood attain.
Life is a string of pearls,
And you the first I strung.
You left -first flower of girls! -
Life lyric on my tongue,
An indefatigable dance,
An inexhaustible romance!
Blush of love's dawn, bright bud
That bloomed for my delight,
First blossom of my blood,
Burn in that blood to-night!
Helena, Helena, fiercely fresh,
Your flesh flies fervent to my flesh.
What sage can dare impugn
Man's immortality?
Our godhead swims, immune
From death and destiny.
Ignored the bubble in the flow
Of love eighteen short years ago!
Time -I embrace all time
As my arm rings your waist.
Space -you surpass, sublime,
As, taking me, we taste
Omnipotence, sense slaying sense,
Soul slaying soul, omniscience.
4.4k
It's almost 10:30 pm and I am thinking about the woman on the radio
who sang about how she's made of "dirt and stardust"
and, sleepily, I wrote those lyrics on the back of my sketchbook
And about how I wish I had an
accent,
every word drenched with butter
or spices
the flavor of my country
but instead I just have
grease.
As I'm writing this the flashlight's
spot of light
is half-spilling onto my wall,
"Helena Beat" is stuck in my
head, and has to stay there because
I wrote it down.
I know tomorrow I will wake up
with a cramped hand
and remember that I wrote.
look back on it, and think that it is
stupider
than I
thought.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
O fair Helena descending-
How could you not look at me?
You were once Narcissus in the meadow;
Kissing the soil-
Blooming with lavenders-
Basking in the afternoon sun-
Where did all your sunshine go?
Your blurry reflection-
of somberness;
heavy eyes;
calloused hands;
disheveled hair;
timid air-
Dismayed the goddess in you.
Faded golden lyre;
Withered Pierian roses;
Crushed altar of flame;
Mortal madness!
Ascend back to the divines-
Depart from this mortal coil;
Be the Narcissus in the meadow.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 11:35 PM UTC
The pale sands shadow your skin
The moon’s light bares you no justice
Its shine is nothing compared to your eyes
Nor does the ocean beside me, twinkle greater than they do
The goddess of the night waits atop her throne
Eyes that pierce the clouds and space itself
With the face that sent many ships to the deep of the ocean
The heart and mind to mend and destroy
You are my Helena, my Calliope, my Cassiopeia, and the River Queen Cleopatra
The waves splash my feet, my love
My boat is bound for lands dangerous
The white sand grips my feet, and I grip back
I wish not to leave you my goddess
Wait not for me, Lunar Matriarch
For I shall not return alive
Leave my body afloat dear Gods
Let my ship burn, my men die
I shall never see this beach or my Aspen Harlot afterwards.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 6:52 AM UTC
Lipgloss dripping candy lacquer aquamarine
Wrought silk enfolding shadows of her shoulders obscene
Drugstore ribbon laced her feet just as in my dream
She reduces me to liquid in an urban machine
On the asphalt a virile shellac.
Power like a thousand ships of industry steel
Columns fall to soldiers at the clack of her heel
Sirens’ polished poisoned fruit that drives one to ****
A Dahlia's vitality shunted and left to congeal
In that pool, then a wave of relief.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
Mercilessly wandering through it
Nothing everywhere
Material world
"Accidents Happen Live! at 8p.m. ET"
And then I get it..
The moment I log-in
To a vapid, cheap place
Where something like
Humanity is shown
Like a shot of humanity
Morpho helena.
Honeysuckle.
Sevruga.
Followed by
A restless sigh
You-can-be-anyone Barbie:
"But what do I do with my own hair?"
I grew up in a lie.
Like a shot of *****
The realization makes me shiver from inside out.
Horsepills & champagne at midnight
My real-fake bedtime story takes flight.
But really
If you don't tell me
I'm pretty this instant,
I'm sticking my head right in the oven.
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 1:18 PM UTC
At the apex of the Empire State Building
Beneath a resilient misty gray sky,
A perfectly dreary day to die
She's at her lowest low
In heeled shoes a mile high,
Youthful skin, but nothing behind dead hazel eyes,
Rose red lips which never spoke their mind,
A purse full of pills she'd rather leave behind
Beneath rich chocolate curls,
Helena's madness quietly unfurls
Her courage to jump, her fear of death
Weighing the outcome of future incomes
Against the agony of piling debts
She came down from her delusional high
When daddy's substitute for love called money ran bone dry
With the sky the limit, her mind is trapped
By the lie they told Helena as her life was mapped
Line by line they fed her from birth:
"A scholarly piece of paper and a lovely figure will define your worth
Choose wisely little princess, or your life will be hell on Earth"
Turning her back to the street below
Her courage to end it begins to grow
She closes her empty hazel eyes
Cranes her neck towards the sky
And whispers "Death do you hear me? No longer am I shy"
In her delusion she heeded Death's reply
"Come now dear angel, let's see you fly"
A rush of adrenaline was met with demise
Now nourishment for the maggots and the flies
Antidepressants mimicked the body of their owner,
Fractured bottles, tops open, pills strewn all over
Beautiful bones shattered against the pavement
Released she was, from her own mental enslavement
Trickling down the drain, carried by unrelenting rain
Into a New York sewer towards the darkness below,
A bright crimson flow
Quenches the thirst of a starving rat king
Entangled in thirteen tails as he lay dying
Grateful is the king to Helena's sacrifice
For he is trapped in this sewer and awaits his own demise
A glimpse he tasted from the world above
Bitter-sweet is the blood of a girl without love
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
The slow dance with yourself, prom.
No partner in crime, no getaway.
Caught, red and white all I see.
The sirens of my heart, ringing.
No Heer, No Ranjha.
No Paris, No Helena.
No Laila, No Majnu.
No Romeo, No Juliet.
Ties and Dresses
Corsage and Coronary
Royal Red carpets
straight from the heart.
Epileptic lights
Face in a sea of masks
Empty hands and waiting eyes
Welcome to the Lonely Masquerade Ball.
Where no faces exist
home of the masks.
Where no hip is free
Siamese twins.
Only heart that beats alone.
Only open eyed one
Only closed lipped one
Soulless, Loveless.
Hordes, Masses, Groups.
Flurry of flamingos
Cackle of hyenas
Litter of rabbits, garbage.
The ugly duckling
Oscar Wilde
Stars on Earth
Rainbows in storms.
Missing posters, wanted.
Revolving doors, wait.
Get the getaway car
Go Go Go.
Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 4:33 PM UTC
Geografia I
Quando a Vila Jaiara era do mundo
O centro vital; se mais longe houvesse,
Lá chegara, aos saltos, de susto tomado
Em mim mesmo; silente rezava o missal.
Corria pelos campos – a savana, cerrado.
O medo do sistema heliocêntrico
Ainda não perdera: o medo de ser
Só. Eu vivia com meus irmãos e irmãs –
Éramos uma centena de bichinhos
Em torno de nossa mãe adotada,
A quem chamávamos de Senhora.
E em torno dela, tudo girava, girava...
Os grandes mandavam-nos, sorrateiros,
Andar pelo cerrado em busca de tudo:
Gabirobas, cajuzinhos, goiabas ...
Na Vila Jaiara havia tanta coisa mais.
A casa de Helena; de deuses onde doces.
Que à caminhada tornava clara para nós.
Centro luminoso em que a ceia do Senhor.
Não havia São Paulo ou Rio de Janeiro –
No máximo: Belo Horizonte, Araxá
Povoavam nossos sonhos.
E talvez Ouro Preto e Divinópolis –
Onde Dora reinava...
- Goiânia, São Petersburgo e Tegucigalpa – só no Atlas.
Anápolis era outra estória: a cidade, o comércio longe demais...
Ali na Jaiara estava o centro de tudo
e no centro de tudo o amor:
Laíde Epifânia me nomeara “Maninho”.
Naquele tempo, na nossa vila, não passava um rio.
Mas havia a fábrica de tecidos, onde Jorge –
Noivo de minha irmã – tecia a união e afeto
E me ensinava a andar de bicicleta.
Do Vietnã, só soube no ginásio.
./.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 5:28 PM UTC
From the 4 corners of Addis
Sunday school students
At a Meskel Square make a throng
All the procession beating a drum
Ululating and singing a song
With a passion strong.
"Queen Helena (Elene)
Mother of Constantine the Great
Found the true cross
Buried under
A dump-mountain long
By those who read Jesus
The incarnated word wrong."
"Advised by a monk
Led by an incense smoke
The whereabouts of the place
As she saw in her dream/revelation
(326AD)
Queen Helena managed to unlock."
The n-curve of the smoke
As a pointer
Allowed her a go ahead
To dig the mountain
Beneath its bed.
That is what Ethiopia
Has been zealous
To commemorate
To date
(For over1600 years).
At sundown
When by the patriarch
And the mayor
The bonfire is lit
Priests and deacons
Sing and dance circling it.
An electrifying vibe
Overwhelms
Spectators' spirit
Proving the event
A hit.
"Fail not to note
The cross is power,
Perseverance
And soul's medicine
To our sin an antidote !"
An ocean of vigil light
Accentuated by the darkness
Of the night
Allows souls' flight
To the extreme height.
At last if the bonfire
Falls towards the right
It will be
Celebrants delight
Specially if a rain
Puts the fire out.
Celebrants return
To their home
To attend petty
Similar events
That ripples across
The nation
In the same fashion.
On the morrow
Returning back
To the ashes' bed
They draw a cross
On their forehead.
On 27 Sep
Tourists in droves
Come
To Ethiopia
For a first hand knowledge
" Ethiopia raises
Its hand to God
Demonstrated many fold."
Here reflecting is a wise thing
In the division of the cross
To avoid a similar thing
Ethiopia(During the Era of
its emperor Dawit/Middle age)
has received
The right wing.
At a cross-like
Mountainous road,
It is placed
At Geishen Mary's church
Which the laity takes
As Saint Mary's abode.
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 12:02 PM UTC
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear the unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unwritable wrong
To be better far than you are
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest, to follow that star
No matter how hopeless,
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into hell
For a heavenly cause
And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will be peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world would be better for this
That one man scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
Writer(s): Mitch Leigh, Joe Darion
Copyright: Helena Music Company, Andrew Scott Music
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Our final steps
are never meant to be
one step on the moon
or a leap for mankind.
It was your memory,
intangible.
metaphysically physical
synaptically existing.
My mother's
mothering
mother, Bernice.
or
A lover's
loving
love, Helena.
or
Writer's
writing
wrote, poems.
Apr 10, 2025
Apr 10, 2025 at 5:53 AM UTC
Elba
this sea is tungsten. it seethes at my touch
as white as bone, although not made of bone.
my heart goes undeceived. these waves
clutch at the shore and loose calamity.
surrounded by horizons i grow small.
Helena
the light is gentle under the surface.
the surf comes to me as soft sounds
not unlike small breaths.
my own breaths slow
to the scale of atoms.
my heart grows round
and perfectly smooth––
this does not taste like defeat.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
There’s an eruption,
as delicate as mid-teenagers’
jeans could topple its ugliness
There’s an eruption,
turning the streets and its
cigarette butts upside down
There’s an eruption,
sprinkles of salt in
every man’s heart,
vivacious more than what it seems
There’s an eruption,
the veins of a business man
is clogged as he watches the graph fall
There’s an eruption,
Hemingway;
in another Earth
called for a shooting spree
all the way off to madness’ extinction
There’s an eruption,
the anxiety steams as some of us
chokes down and digest
the indigestible memories
There’s an eruption, all over selected
rooms of each suburban
addresses and houses
There’s an eruption, the words of some of us adhere
serves as the thick barrier
of revelations
buried beneath the soils of turmoils
and tumors residing inside our heads
There’s an eruption, it keeps up, stops, breathes,
stares, flashes, keeps up, stops, stares, flashes,
keeps up, stops, stares,
flashes, keeps up, stops,
stares, flashes, keeps up,
stops, stares, flashes, keeps up, stops, stares, flashes;
keeps up forever. . .
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
when Helen tried to
commit suicide I didn't
know until she told me
at the Oklahoma! premier
when I said I hadn't seen
her in so long and she
casually stuffed her
hands in her pockets
and said *Well, yeah,
I tried to **** myself
and was in a place*
so I took her face
between my palms
and kissed her forehead
which was out of character
for me, back then, but I wanted
to pull the black out of her brain
with my lips.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
Corsican born, and an emperor mighty indeed.
Who from obscurity came up to prominence,
who from French shores the attacks of armies repelled,
who had at his disposal, Europe's resources,
who to Saint Helena from French shores was expelled.
Of old Italian nobility he was seed.
Shortish in height, yet towering in ambition.
Military genius of the highest distinction,
whose military strategy is second to none save
Alexander. Whose courage is held in reverence,
whose cradle at infancy was kept in a cave
from strong invading imperialist French forces.
He gave up an empire so vast at Waterloo;
A threat to the memories of his victories past.
Mighty Napoleon, who at Austerlitz excelled.
You did on the beautiful older Josephine cast
your loving eyes, which were hypnotized with passion,
yet focused on so lofty an ambition.
Not even your love for her would rival your love
for world conquest, for which you assiduously strove.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 1:46 AM UTC
We are dying, the world is ending...
The fact is inevitable, yet we pretend that it will never end, we think that nothing will go wrong in our lives, so we ignore the warning signs. We ignore the amounting number of wild fires that burn our neighbourhoods, the ever steady rise in temperature, the ever increasing number of deaths in natural disasters due to our populations. I'm not a "SAVE THE EARTH, SAVE YOURSELVES" person, I just think that we have to wake up from our perfect little dream societies, and at least accept that accidents are imminent and that we don't just do something after the event has happened, but be prepared before it happens so that more people don't have to die from unpreparedness that was at the fault of our governments ignorance towards something that may only happen once.
After hurricane Katrina struck the U.S. Government spent billions on hurricane prevention in that affected area, while the rest of the coasts of the U.S. Stand vulnerable and naked to even the smallest of hurricanes.
Another example is mount Helena in Yoho National Park, we know that anywhere from tomorrow to fifty years that she will erupt. But as the world does everything but pay attention to it, there are unknown scientists taking measurements of the volcanic activity and becoming more anxious by the minute trying to save the uncaring world that live below the mountain.
There are hundreds of examples that I could rant on about, but no one wants to hear it because it conflicts with their tiny little perfect worlds.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
She had always been a dreamer
never believing 5"2 had been the issue.
A Napoleon comfort complex cultivated
Believing personal leadership was inevitable
St Helena would never be an option.
Her akimbo pose was to die for.
ADÉLIE, of sometimes higher ideal
your eyes gaze without feeling
across the Channel deemed possibly truculent.
Blinded by this scary Palladium
you should only untangle due blame.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
I am disappointed.
I let you go
That you may
Find yourself,
The sparkle in your eyes
That bore through me
May burn bright.
The firm round beasts
Taut with desire for a touch,
That heaved at every breath,
Every turn of my words
And glance ...and I
Withdrew from them,
And your quivering lips.
Dying each day a thousand death,
Pining eternally till yesterday,
Like the lover in the Grecian urn
To liberate you and liberate me
From the there after, routine and
Mundane. To preserve the spark,
Blow into it, create a new word
Every moment, not be a wife
Or just a husband! But creators,
Challengers to Jove's throne.
The fire once again stolen.
Ahh..But pasted on fb what do I see!
Sagging ******* dim eyes,
Dead, limp locks, stable pasted smile,
Dotting over a fat boy and a ***** palsy pet.
Pretending to be happy with them
And a glorified clerical job.
I am liberated from pain,
But this freedom gives no joy,
Ah Mephistopheles!
I scream not in agony
Having lost my soul to Helen
But in the absence of pain.
Helena has become a fat
Dull mommy cooking
Noodles for fatso
And ***** petty Paris.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
Your flaws run deep,
Like the valleys through your face.
But do not look at that with your
Aging eyes
For all you will see is your
Slowly creeping demise.
Look with me,
At your wondrous face,
Can’t you see?
There’s not a thing out of place.
Your emerald green orbs light up with a spark
Your greying hair, is luxurious and still maintains the dark
That you wore as an oh so youthful teen
Before you married, when you were living the dream.
Though losing its marbles, your mind remains sharp,
You sit here with me, creating art
And everyone else, you seem to have lost,
Their cheerful interactions now met with frost.
You tell me you’re worried, that I’m to be next
That you won’t remember me after the fix
Your shaky hands move towards mine
In an attempt for comfort in desperate times
Because time is now slowly running out
And I believe in you, but I have my doubts
So we knit and we knit and then we crotchet
And when day time tv is on we pretend we’re okay
And then the one day I made plans to hang out with my friends instead of visiting you,
It was the very day I lost you.
September 18 2015 5:47 pm
The time I got the call.
I wasn’t there for you at all.
I knew you weren’t well that day.
And I still decided to stay away.
The last day of the school term, I thought you were fine
I truly believed we had more time.
Turns out even if I wished, I still was wrong.
I should’ve stuck with you all the way along.
I never got to tell you, that very day,
That despite the disease, you were beautiful in every way.
Though your flaws run deep, just like a valley,
To me, in my formative years, you were my greatest ally.
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
Mississippi, Mississippi River
rocking washed up young souls on the rocks of chemical throws
where i laid my feet and childhood from the shivers -- cold cold never.
oh life you made me think about the memories
and death you made me think about the could it be's
sunlight moonlight lovesight midnight tripping
bluesy tunes and muddy water anthems
fire pit light of this overwhelming
can not breath can not breath i'm falling
into my self into my heart i'm seeing
your faces twist they look so fake and ugly
and still the light is red and overwhelming
take it back here i'm back--
forever was just a moment.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC