"ingenuous" poems
She seems pretty queer
Yes she does
Something odd
Something peculiar
Is it in her insouciance
Is it in her audacity
Is it in her pirouettes
Spun with such vivacity
Is it in her defiance
Is it in her nonrepentance
Is it in her reveling so free
A form full of glee
Sometimes impetuous
All times ingenuous
Aflame with passion
An immersive intoxication
Cracking down on this mystery
A perplexing dichotomy
Let's remove the misfitting pieces
In sync with commonplace notions
Alas what dismantling of a girl
at peace with her pieces
What uprooting of a girl
at home in her body
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
“Angelica arguta”,
He shows her his wildflowers
“Angelica Susannah”, he says.
And prodded further by her
His heart.
Lingers briefly with the night;
Her affection has power,
But not enough
To keep him
From marching off to fight.
Tristan, son of One Stab,
Brings wildness from the mountains.
Lovely woman from the East,
Fascinated by her,
His passion.
Revels in her bridal bower,
And stops her
Loving any other.
Alfred, eldest son of his father,
Full of rectitude and romance.
Angelica abandoned,
Adrift between the mountains
Becalmed far from the sea.
He takes advantage,
Snatches her soul with riches,
But never captures
Her longing heart.
Years pass and one son gone,
The other lost and mad.
Year of the red grass and
Happiness found
Is felt too soon.
Tristan loves young Isabel,
But Angelica is his doom.
Yet only he survives
The waves that lash her shore,
“Like water in the ice,
She breaks them.”
And in the Spring,
Is gone once more.
Angelica Susannah is buried
Above the box canyon in the meadow
Among the many dead.
Near Samuel’s heart,
The executed Isabel,
And others who follow soon.
Until only Tristan remains,
Left to hunt his nemesis,
The bear inside him.
And dream of one wife lost,
And a lover left behind:
Angelica Susannah
Beside whom he should lie.
He is slain by the bear in Sixty-three,
After forty years of solitude.
And laid to rest in the plot
Between two women he loved,
Isabel, his ingenuous wife
And Susannah, his tragic love.
Do their spirits meet at last
And wander the golden fields,
Or ride out to bathe in the hot springs,
Under the moon of the falling leaves?
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 10:37 AM UTC
I put this cigarette between my lips
in the foolishness of maybe
it could make me poeticize.
Ingenuous thought when I know the only
drug able to mess with all my system is you.
More effective than nicotine, fogging all my mind
More dense than an smoke that I stubborn to
take to my lungs, your smell clogs my aerial vias.
More rough than the cigarette material
rubbing my fingers, your words scratch my skin.
More agonizing than abstinence, *your distance makes
me writhe inside my own body,* facing an intern fight
that always end in riot because I can’t decide between
leave you on your own luck or convince you that
we can be the lucky of each other.
And here is the living proof, here is the poetry
that i’m only able to extract from the collateral
damage caused by you.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
the wine
the words
the screaming torrents
all
groove cutters
some sharp
unripened, immature,
but drag marks made
because they,
rain rutted, sun baked
features permanent,
landscape of and on
parent child
the one
the same
some seasoned
accident chanced to breathe,
some ingenuous clever,
fully formed,
immature only
in the
youthfulness of the pain
for a lifetime
always on the tip of tongue
lingering
the child struck the parent
seventeen stitches on the head
the parent struck the child,
pleading mocking begging
his life to take
charge
neither pressed
charges
for
the wine
the words
the screaming torrents
all
grooves cut
had charged them
both
had changed them
both
thirty years plus
of immaturity,
testimony,
their sentences
are being served concurrently
nothing has changed
only the depth of the grooves
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
Absconding from nebulous qualms
of your own chicanery
I am here now to disabuse the anomalies
of the ingenuous
irascible thoughts that relegate
your capricious effrontery of your
disparate soul.
Magnanimously,
I would return such a favor,
however audacious....
yet with such a unique situation,
aberration is truth.
To censure such thoughts,
I leave now with a voracious eloquence and you...
alone, forever.
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 6:40 PM UTC
i can see
your soft footprints
in and around
the green, the yellow woods
and that blue turquoise
offering you a ride
fluttering his wings
the white, black, green birds
holding stars in their beaks
in clouds you can walk;
it makes me envious
so ingenuous you are
as ye know not,
a Pandora box
is just an allegory
for your own
fulgent eyes
for through string of hopes
and wave of dreams,
for upon cloud floors
and blinking realms,
when you take your walk,
the earth's dear lady,
the whole universe
wants to keek and see
the sparkling wonder
that originates upon your eyes,
such is the moment of
ecstasy that, let alone us,
even all non-human forms
realize from you,
and your concomitant smile,
what true joy looks like
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
A composition plays softly
I listen
A caressing sense so cooling
Feeling deeply
A velvety mistress
Appeared
Lovely
As a ingenuous tigress
Tender like a lamb
Grazing in green pasture
A woman so committed
To love suddenly
Emergence in a blink
Abundance is she
Our moment in time
In a vision her beauty fades
As I open my eyes
She is no more
Sep 7, 2009
Sep 7, 2009 at 11:22 PM UTC
“i have something to tell you”
she whispered
i looked at her and could tell
exactly what was on her mind
her words were written all over her
like a third grade chalkboard
etched with multiplication tables
her eyes were glossy
and the only bit of color in her face
was within her cheeks
she looked as if her lunch was about to come
right up into her lap
her fingers were writhing
her eyes were roaming around the room
holding the worry that consumed her
she told me that she had never in her life
been so in love with someone
and that she was afraid
not afraid of me hurting her
but afraid of her hurting
because if there was nothing
in life that she gathered
the lesson would still remain that
she would always
get hurt
she would always cry
she would always break
eventually
i gently took my hand
to the side of her rosy cheek
and croaked,
with what seemed like cotton in my throat
and liquid coals in my eyes,
“i know”
she looked into my eyes
and i into hers
in the way that only lovers do
and with our lips pressed together,
her hand passionately grabbing
the back of my head, gathering
fistfuls of my hair as if it were anchoring
her to the harbor of clarity and understanding,
with my hands gripping her hips
as if to steal her away from the
atmosphere for a minute,
we sealed our fate
as libidinous lovers
(but also ingenuous best friends)
k.n
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
I can still see
the tidal wave
pushing past
the kindness
of your eyes
hatred over love,
like
the crashing of a village’s
chapel after
disaster—
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
I may not know the future
but hope not its a bizarre
I may have rescued myself
But things still are baffle
M lost in words of dilemma
Maybe true story
M done being glorious
No more analogous
Too much to peek in my shadow
And peer through my skin
But now the time has come
To be sage
And not think under others wage
To be ingenuous with myself
To seize the yen
And go for zenith
But in my comfort
Not in others thought!
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
Pull your mask out
Let your guard down,
You need not hide anymore
I see you for who you are
Not what I desire to see you as
And I've got to say:
From where I'm standing
You couldn't be more bare.
Finally, stripped off of your facade
I see you for what you are
You're just as clueless as I:
Here to discover life!
Now, let's take this plunge into the abyss
And realize all our forgotten realities,
Sketch on each other's silences, we will,
For repainting these faded colors is fill;
For we know: time there's none absolute
But for our time together made of absolutes.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
Blaring drumbeats of the heart
Cloud his ailing vision.
Legs are about to give in to
Steely eyes that feast on his
Fatigued body.
Stumbles on a pebble; feeble wrists
Snap as his hands kiss the jagged rocks.
The pack of rabid wolves approach,
Licking their lips with anticipation.
In a circle they go taunting, sneering,
Relishing at the sight of terror incarnate.
Why so savage?
Why prey on the innocent?
Why do your steely eyes long for my flesh?
A graceful angel hunted and persecuted
Regardless of his noble acts.
Don’t you know, ingenuous man?
It’s the law of the land.
He who is adored by many will be hunted
By the few
Vacuous minds subservient to envy
Who will not rest until
Your head is on a silver platter.
Don’t you know, ingenuous man?
It’s the law of the land.
Hunt or be hunted.
Resist and the demons shall flee.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
**Children
Inquisitive and Ingenuous
Nimble yet gullible
Blessings and catalysts
In their parents' life
Children
As pure as gold
Can be cast in the most beautiful of the Moulds**
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC
When the night was still and quiet. And the sound of the blood rushing through my veins filled my ears, the only way to silence it, was to slip out into the night. AND like the hunter that spawned me, joined in the struggle for life and death, I was alone, unable. And those around me didn't understand, they shunned me, she cursed me, calling me vile names. I did not know why. Even now, do I know why I am driven? Why I cannot relent or repent or confess or abstain. How could I know, I have never been here before. And not one will lead me to that knowledge.
Those feelings are still a part of me. These veins are still a part of me. I control them. They do not rule me. To fit in, it is demanded, to change the one part of me I cannot change. And because I cannot, I do. That too is the mark of a good man. What enemy must a warrior battle to be appreciated and not taken for granted?
And as the blood, the love, is slowly drained from these veins, it is a painful death. My heart withered in my chest. My breath was taken away, no breath offered in return. Suffocating only because I am loyal, true and committed.
I am becoming a shell of what was once a powerful man. Weakened in these arms. Beaten to submission. Pride removed, replaced by fear.
Only fools have no fear. A broken man I am. What price, at what cost, is a place in the virtual worlds? Reality eludes the master. And the rope, the one I once held with honor, now binds me. As my feelings are pushed aside, like unsaid words, as sand in the eternal sea. Closer towards the cliffs I am pushed. Her appetite for destruction is never satisfied. Feeding it has removed my bones, only my spine supported this emptiness.
With creativity in bondages, manipulate and conquer becomes a formidable weapon. Slicing away, layer by layer I became what it wished for me to be. Silence of tongue and emotionally tangled in the convoluted mind of misunderstanding... I lost strength from the ***** of a virtual reality, once I was ingenious but have been reduced to ingenuous.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
After a while there becomes a feeling of apathy
A hollow and empty feeling
A decrepit emotion
Running rampant through your veins
You no longer feel ingenuous
But instead replaced by obsolete
The parsimonious sentiment seeps into your pores
As it soon takes control of your whole body
But we revel in this emotion
This quandary emotion
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
In this court of thorns and roses,
There are immense threats that life poses.
However, through this endeavour,
They spar to undertake and sever.
They, the ingenuous wonder who 'they' are,
They are the spirits and psyche that haul you afar,
They are the facets that stow you awaken,
And the vital force that fore you of the forsaken.
But, though you are stirred,
Which is everything except the eerie wind,
You still don't possess the viciousness to brawl,
Or to discern the phenomena that enable the pneumatic to at least sprawl.
Sprawl, let solitary, its hard enough for you,
As an intellect, to understand, to *****
All the thoughts and doubts you wish to abandon,
Until by the stupor you understand, that they who you wished to envisage were the omnipotent and his drudges that are abounded.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 1:32 AM UTC
*According to my father I am a bird
Or a plane
Perhaps Superman
I don't know
But he sure says I live in the clouds all day long.
My mom calls me Complicated Simplicity
Ingenuous youth following the erroneous direction
A perfection gone wrong.
My understanding brother accepts me fully
He really loves me I swear it's true
Well apart from the fact that he's convinced
The very essence of my being just doesn't belong.
My friends believe me to be a box of broken promises
Potential, talent and beauty well hidden
A girl who gave up before trying
Even though she knows she's very strong.
Now you may wonder who actually am I
I am still trying to figure it out
But it keeps getting harder and harder
In this evergrowing, judgemental throng.*
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
His demeanor was
cleverly ingenuous.
Quite ingenious.
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 7:40 AM UTC
I have yet to acquire the love
That is spoken of fondly in faint whispers
By naive, young girls
The all consuming
Saucer eyed
Butterflies-in-your-stomach love
The love that makes one sick
With anxiousness
And giddy
With excitement
And while I wish I had felt it with you
It seems like a terribly hopeless thing to be in
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
Hey
Do you know
how much you can inflict in me,
oh-so-easily?
Do you know
how I cherish every feeling you leave,
because that's all I have?
Do you know
is it you, or me,
who is being ingenuous?
Do you know
it's you who make me write ****** poems,
in a language that's not my mother-tongue?
You don't
thank you for that,
and everything else.
Sometimes, ignorance really is the bliss.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 6:16 AM UTC
i aspire to be a kaleidoscope, a useless commodity,
many bits and pieces merged together harmoniously.
the vessel holds sturdy, regardless of my peccant deeds
to have you glance inside of me, observe all of my colors bleed.
see easily my artistry, view the roots surround my arteries
painted with every color of the palette of sublimity,
forming iridescent trees of immaculate coruscation,
appraising the vestige of my aberrant nature.
everything i will ever be is dripping down like watercolour,
pastels falling off the page and landing on another surface.
i beseech your ardor and tendency to be besotted, but
omit your yearning to examine my detachment.
i am corroding under your duplicity, sinking in your inertia
drowning in your astringent disorder of ignoring my existence.
you attempt to dissimulate the deterioration of your artifice
and ruminate the feasible consequences of mild adulation.
what do you envisage as you imbibe from the silky waters
of my fluid emotions, and my convoluted pantomimes?
my enigmatic essence is slowly decomposing and
hovering intermittently in detrimental cessation.
you constantly contravene with the archfiend within yourself
and wage onslaughts in your mind on your impertinent abstractions.
and i am afraid it is interminable, but i will still hold dear my
sanguine complexions and continue to hope for auspice.
you articulate your pronouncements with ease, and implore
that your austere endeavors are deeply earnest, but
the significance of that word unravels on your tongue,
and is meaningless, turning to ash in your mouth.
i supplicate for waves of benevolence, ardent winds and
ingenuous conversations. anchor me, or disengage.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
woooooo all the girls and boys goin crazy trying to make the boys and girls go crazy
we're all a LIttle crazy but not
generally crazy for another except in
the ways we have
deluded ourselves again and again
That is why we want
to drive another crazy because of the comfort
in a fellow insanity plunge
of scattered ingenuous kisses
*i love you i love you i love ......................... the .. way you make me feel?
is this real?*
life, love is self-circled
and fairy lights aren't half as romance as his hands
bloodied; hers trembling; was it the other way around?
collarboned and cheeky and it's ALL about the bones, right? ***** ur reliability unless u have the eyes to back it up sweetie
trash talk is mainly between me and the mirror
recently
so here you go
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
Alone but not
when others fail to treat you well
and when you suffer from demons within
You rely on those demons
to come and save you
all over again
a concept I believe
others without demons
can ever comprehend
Because people can't be trusted
because I'm too ingenuous to see
overly kind and take their side
instead of my own
In my hearts eyes
it's crystal clear
that I can't always be accepted
who would
but my demons do
so why seek love
Anyone would see me as insane
but I chose to be this way
because I'm done
burdening others that fall for me
I should be fine on my own
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
The masculine assault upon the reluctance of the “coy” woman lies at the heart of Marvell’s best-known love poem—perhaps the most famous “persuasion to love” or carpe diem poem in English—”To his Coy Mistress.” Everything we know about Marvell’s poetry should warn us to beware of taking its exhortation to carnality at face value. Critics from T. S. Eliot on took note of the poem’s “logical” structure, but then it began to be noticed that the conditional syllogism in that structure is invalid—a textbook case of affirming the consequent or the fallacy of the converse. Has Marvell made an error? Or does he attribute an error to the speaking persona of the poem? Or is the fallacy part of the sophistry that a seducer uses on an ingenuous young woman? Or is it a supersubtle compliment to a woman expected to recognize and laugh at the fallacy? These alternatives must be judged in the light of the abrupt shifts in tone among the three verse paragraphs. In the opening lines the seducer assumes a pose of disdainful insouciance with his extravagant parody of the Petrarchan blason:
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine Eyes, and on thy Forehead Gaze.
Two hundred to adore each Breast:
But thirty thousand to the rest.
An Age at least to every part,
And the last Age should show your Heart.
Although the Lady is said to “deserve this State,” the compliment is more than a little diminished when the speaker adds that he simply lacks the time for such elaborate wooing. It is also likely that most women would be put off rather than tempted by the charnel-house imagery of the poem’s middle section where the seducer, sounding like a fire-and-brimstone preacher, warns that “Worms shall try / That long preserv’d Virginity.” Finally, the depiction of ****** intimacy at the poem’s close, with its vision of the lovers as “am’rous birds of prey” who will “tear our Pleasures with rough strife,” is again a disconcerting image in an ostensible seduction poem. The persona’s desire for the reluctant Lady is mingled with revulsion at the prospect of mortality and fleshly decay, and he manifests an ambivalence toward ****** love that is pervasive in Marvell’s poetry.”
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC