"insistently" poems
when my time comes
it comes
and I will gladly leave
to those who go on living
the task of sorting out
the mess I have accumulated
over years
let them discover
not only the stamp collection
the bank accounts
but also unknown niches
of their father’s/friend’s/husband’s life
the words unspoken
scribbled on some paper
thoughts never shared
for lack of time or opportunity
the letters to a friend of yore
emails to many people
hints of potential
love affairs that maybe never happened
ideas to change the world
into a better place
here I am
now with a 7 before my years
envisioning life after death
a sign of vanity
perhaps
or an expression of despair
I am not sure
it may just be
the fleeting thoughts
on a clear winter evening
when cold creeps slowly
but insistently
into your bones
reminding you
of all that cold space
in our universe
how it grows larger by the second
making you wonder
if it has a plan
and if that plan
includes you
speculating
about your destiny
* * *
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
icy shards are left in
my heart: once
it was filled with the
soft radiance of something
special;
you: an icicle piercing
on my heart insistently
until you yanked it
With your own words. it was to be
a heap of pieces of abrasions
littering at my feet; yet it melted
into a cooling puddle of water
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC
I am Lady in Waiting
for my Queen of the Night
through seasons of darkness
I tend to your needs
nurturing with reverence
your grace that is rare gifted gesture.
Now appears precious promise ~
Swelling expectantly
no longer neutral but
Blushing insistently.
I maintain composure
take rest while I may
for any night now
your fullness will herald my fast beating heart
Brilliant pure color
with exquisite shape !
Fragrance Narcotic Perfume...
brings me unabashed to my knees.
I shall wake all the sleepers
to witness your glory
Come breathe in her presence!
Magnificent flower of this darkest hour!
.....~~~~.....~~~~.....~~~~.....~~~~.....~~~~.....~~~~......~~~~.....
But oh.
I slept.
This fleeting time she is come and now gone
with no swoons and no adoration.
No court to be held....
Royalty has lost its grip.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
You, you asked for my number.
I gave it to you.
You text me.
You say, honey do you fancy a drink?
I think and retort.
By text in return.
I wish you'd go to hell and burn.
"Don't you fancy me"? said he.
Retorted that, I wanted not a soul.
I need my privacy.
He said "why don't you fancy me"?
Insistently.
Do you maybe think I'm thick.
Maybe somewhat sick.
I said, "I think perhaps you should be dead".
Keeping on at me.
Trying to tear me to strands and threads.
Told him, that I wanted no-one.
Henceforth, ensues a psychological assessment.
Why don't you like me?
Said he.
"Grow up" said I.
Don't feed me your insecurity.
Currently I'm flying free.
Had a gentleman, not long ago.
Left me feeling pretty sad.
I loved him so.
But he's not bad.
Poor fellow, he just couldn't do it.
The guy who did text, he pi**ed me right off.
That imbecile calls me out of the blue.
Suggests, may be a night-time of crazy ***
Reminded me some more of you.
What a prat.
I need it not.
Go get lost and be forgot.
The strange being who talks only by text.
Pretends he likes me, but wanting ***
I think him rather creepy.
He's out of luck.
I don't give a f**k.
Left happy.
Self-respect and dignity intact.
(c) Livvi
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
some of us walk insistently,
instinctively, and instantly to
and upon the edged path,
this physical nexus & abstract mental locus,
a cliffside enticing rock strewn trail,
drawn of men, by men, for men
(yes, men are people too, still)
enthralling views,
down to the riverside,
where eyes intuit the
beauteous aroma of
precious precocious
precarious precipices
and the near-stench of
mortality
amidst
wafting scents of inane undesirable need,
hints of destruction, or,
alternating eager relief,
like a ****** infused, instant attractiveness,
making weakness in the knees, all too real,
trembling with a delicious accented edge of
a fresh, familiar scent, fresh baked bread,
an all enveloping consumption need now!
to
crave what we fear,
to fear what we crave
our cravings are craven,
this twisted sense, annuls
our common sensibility, yet,
titillates our pleasured imagined relief,
releases, our unsated, even better,
our insatiable curiosity to tremble,
an entire body enjoined by vibrato~
enticing tremulations, shaken and stirred,
this danger choice releases something primordial,
escape? a reckless wrecking so deeply designed,
it has its very own designation…death wish
multitudes of easy choices afforded my senses,
and by accident, all mine chosen, all nearby,
I travel the esplanade près de the East River,
where even if calm is the sole visiblilty,
undercurrents and the unpredictable passage
of container wakes and the larger freighters
will hand you down, so easy, to become parcel
to a littered river bottom of centuries’ artifacts
but even more tempting, the balcony,
a hop, skip and a jump unlocked,
mere ten steps, no need for a running start
why it’s the “height of convenience,”
he ruefully winces, and not even any
TSA lines or inconveniencing “conveniences”
Why this calamity seems so desperately desirable,
Why this unabrogated feat so featured, nay, even
feted in our hot? cold? bloodstream
“Why just men?
*I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.*”
Dec 5, 2023
Dec 5, 2023 at 5:42 PM UTC
Again.
before
Consistency
Drowns
e v e r y
foreshadowing,
Grenades
head
Insistently,
Juxtaposed
keenly
‘long
My
Newest
Oath.
Petitions
Quickly
Reveal
Satire
Tucked
Under
V a c a n t,
Withered,
Xysts.
{Youthful
Zeal.}
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 10:15 PM UTC
I remember:
you, in black lace ******* and
little else, crushed close
by gravity,
weak winter afternoon sunlight
streaming in and out of your car,
HD Netflix in your backseat.
my fingers drumming insistently
upon your collar bone,
my mouth pressed against your shoulder
as I sing so softly in your ear,
a concert for one.
((only you're invited))
your hair all over your bare
back and black
lace wedged up tight against your
muscle. your lips are
cold against my skin and our feet
are ******* freezing and the heater is
all the way up but not nearly enough.
I let my fingers parse through your
vertebrae, Dr. Lecter planning
a meal; slice here,
cleave there, remove viscera, season and
cook: magnifique.
time and history are
mercury in my clenched fist;
my nails are biting into my skin, and
liquid silver moments gone by are
flowing freely from my slackened grip.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
the woman disregards
what's best for me,
( See http://hellopoetry.com/poem/bus-poems-victuals-victim/ )
gives me with kind regard,
what's best for me,
for this is the kindness
that hallmarks
the long lasting kind
bring before your childlike tap tap attention wains,
a treatise on leftover chicken wings
and other such nonsensical
finger food additions,
purposed
to inspire, to find innovation,
in expressing, reclaiming and newly exclaiming
that miscreant four letter word
that appears in the other 99% of les ecrivants
(See the notes)
in some poem writ recent,
pontificated that the
most overused three words,
yes, those abused three,
degraded by overuse,
losing their poetic juice
thru constant repetition,
being nearly
boringly indecent,
even when
boldly italicized,
the impact upon the reader
is in the realm of
"oh yeah, that's nice for you"
Better to be best in show,
deduce how,
to demonstrate
rather than insistently remonstrate,
new ways every day
to say
chicken wings means..
you know what...
Some get tea and oranges,
others get cherished
when our repast is twice recast,
when she feeds me leftover
chicken wings,
both kinds,
spiced and honey just like
l....e should be
do you know why
Silly
has two L's?
Correct.
for the run lies therein,
kissing knuckles when unexpected,
********** the exhausted, tucking them in,
going out for ice cream in the midst of a
polar vortex,
recording the game to watch later,
so her downtown abbey guys,
she can be watching at the
proper English
place and time,
and celebrating life the next day
with leftover chicken wings
and other heartfelt,
but unheart healthy food additions
that folks, is how you writ a poem in deed,
that will be returned to you sevenfold in reads,
when you want to explain how,
you can, truly, sigh,
you know, love another...
with sinful, leftover chicken wings
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
*My heart tip toes discreetly
In the dark hollow hallways
Of self-doubt and low self-esteem.
Many a times
It trips
Stumbles
Even falls
But still die hardly insistently
Treads on this self-destructive path.
Why it chooses so is a conundrum in itself.*
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
It came like a sudden darkness, storming up and snuffing out the already fading light of dawn,
When I found myself floating, above the ground suspended on the backs of blue clouds that kissed the purple sky like a clinging lover
Chasing the movement of birds before my eyes I turned to stare down at the blackness beneath my toxic cloud of color, at the puke green sea covered in the orange foam of soda where what looked like the remnants of my breakfast that morning road the frothy waves.
Pink,
Pink
Pepto-Bismol stained whales attacked the early air blowing bubbles filled with what looked like Oreo cream screaming happily the music of contentment
A cry a loud mewling filled the acid induced happiness of the moment, yowling agonizingly, as if possessed by the spirit of pain itself.
Thumping, Screeching clash and the ***** of nails had me blinking away from my floating tea party within the sky and looking rather questionably to the hunky dream boat pouring me a fresh glass of tea,
His smile plastered by the very gods themselves didn't waver, and in my dreamlike stupor I thought nothing of it
But the terrified yowling, hissing, strange purr-mewl didn't stop.
The sky no longer a pleasant purple faded to a nasty shade of plum conjuring two disembodied chillingly green slated eyes
Frantic with irrational fear I panicked falling off my blue cloud to plummet towards the angry green sea below
Falling, Falling ever faster staring up at the sinister glowing ambient green eyes, whilst hearing that terrifying screeching yowl, from the Cheshire maw
Slamming awake with the tingling sensation of a ghostly belly flop, I find myself still staring up at those eerie green eyes.
This time surrounded by a flowing mane of toffee fur and speckled with tan zigzagging stripes of inky black,
Buddy, with his demanding meow of attention, insistently pawing my forehead with the command of a gentle rub,
Plucking my wings, and crippling me with a cuteness that only he can have.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC
What could a rhyme redeem for the sunlight of your soul
Coming through in misty stirring rain
In the empty time and space, you cannot control
Running down the halls
Of your pain
Do you leave your broken phrases to float among spheres
Insistently flowing into that which makes you glad
Forming lessons you may not wish to hear
When the walls of your halls
Are painted sad
Just how high is the ceiling of your expectations
Does it exceed the flame of yonder sun
Will your eyes begin to glisten, when you cannot control
The halls of your life
As you run
There is a window in your hall, where sunlight softly streams
Into the promises, which you are able to redeem
If you will stop running down the halls
Of all you cannot control
Your soul, will feel the warmth
Of its beams
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 12:10 PM UTC
I wrench my own feeble nails
down the wall, insistently.
*and I'm sickly tortured by
all the screeching*
but something else should feel the distress.
- these hands need punishing.
because forever it dwells in my palms
but they've never let me hold secure;
never let me cradle it to warmth.
- I guess just because I feel that this will
just all melt away by the time I blink.
And because my hands simply don't ever deserve to bathe in your being.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 10:14 AM UTC
I knew it was wrong
but if I stayed any longer
I would be lost
and my weakness
would just get stronger
So with just a small bag
that was lighter on my back
than the memories I left behind
with all the emotions I lack
I wandered down the road
with my thumb stuck in the air
I hoped that nobody stopped
while I fretted that nobody cared
Mile after mile my feet carried on
and with my heart beat slow
I stopped
just to breathe
as my feet sank into the snow
When the car pulled to a stop
next to me
it could have been yesterday
or tomorrow
I didn’t know
But I was grateful for the ride
but wary of the unknown face
that smiled at me across the miles
no malice could I find a trace
until the question came at me
after Beethoven's Second Symphony
became just a distant memory
*My child, why do you run, in disgrace?
What is really your fear?*
And as my hands clench the seat belt
trying to stop it from strangling me
and as I count the mile markers
that carve a mountain between you and me
I can't answer the question
that sits so insistently in my ear
The unknown face beside me whispers
I’m not the stranger here
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
a bell, twice, vacuum hiss
the elevator squeal
*should've known
should've known*
high heels
above
moving away
laughter
bikes bumping
down the stairs
a bell, twice, vacuum hiss
the elevator squeal
*can you help me
can you help me*
banana and cinnamon cake
bed sheet lashing
kitchen closet bang
*leave me
have me*
a bell, twice, vacuum hiss
the elevator squeal
a telephone calls
insistently calls
a door slamming
a bell, twice, vacuum hiss
the elevator squeal
*stay
help me
help me to die*
plastic bags
groceries falling
angry gross old voice
a bell, twice, vacuum hiss
the elevator squeal
steps
rustling in the hall way
a door opening
*no one
would you*
a door closing
water filling a bath tub
a bell, twice, vacuum hiss
the elevator squeal
************
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 6:28 AM UTC
It was snowing too insistently,
snowflakes almost as big as the eye,
over nostrils, over half-open lips,
over the white lace shawl from my grandmother,
exactly when I was not supposed to wear it.
I had the profile of a porcelain statue
like a Russian girl proud of her kokoshnik.
After a while I started to breathe hardly,
choking first while crying, then while sighing
and finally while hiccuping.
Maybe because of cold and bewilderment,
or because of the strange story about mulled wine with cinnamon.
How could he possibly hide in my blood then
when I had grown up with bitter cherries and wild sorrel leaves,
when I had sipped the milk foam my whole childhood
without crying on the blanket made of rough sheep wool?
How could that man travel between my heart’s mill stones
without being ground down completely?
Now only tears are sticking over nostrils, over half-open eyelids
like a glue from a sour cherry bark wound.
Not a single barrier, not a single one way sign,
not a single red traffic light
or at least a church with holy relics.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
you scratched our initials
into the surface
of the polished wooden table
behind Redlight Redlight
with the key to my heart.
P + S.
a brief message
etched in time
for all to see.
you grinned up at me
when you'd finished,
ombré fluttering slightly
in the evening breeze,
and said, unabashedly,
"it was the first thing
that popped into to my head."
P.S.
sometimes, i still think
of how your hands clung insistently
to my windbreaker when we sat
on the pier, how our bodies
synced in quiet harmony.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 7:43 AM UTC
I know sometimes
When night time's nigh,
A moment comes
And makes you sigh-
and languid are unfocused eyes,
They do not see, but look inside.
And they perceive another scene,
A memory or else a dream.
Or is it that you hear a song
like woven canticle goes on?
Two voices blend in melody
that pulls the heart insistently,
till nothing else can then be heard
not butterfly, nor yet a bird.
One song goes on into the night
in endless perfect flawless flight.
And so, may this song ever be.
This song is you, this song is me.
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 7:39 PM UTC
I'm a creature of habit, who lives to inhabit
His world around him, so I can live lavish
Forget my mistakes, they give me headaches
So I point my blame finger, whatever it takes
They won't get me, to admit bluntly
That I have made faults, lock them away in a vault
They just can't know, what i've been through though
What if they're like me, and judge insistently?
They won't understand, how it is in my land
I'm a creature of habit, looking for the right gadget
To show me the ways, of getting away
From the people that know, what it's like to grow
I'm a creature of habit, who sings a sad ballot
Of a lonely life, where strife comes at night.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
You're beautiful, we want you with us,
they chorus, pale hands grasping,
their ghostly holograms of consciousness
project across a network of artificial minds
Desperate to materialize,
and turn their ephemeral bodies
into undulating flesh,
They graze their fingers across my vision
trailing electrons in their wake
that insistently whisper, Make us Real.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
I'm always chasing the ultimate high
A fix to entice of my own design
Like demons creeping through the night
To steal the shadows and hex the souls
Of those so warm, when I'm so cold
because oblivion tastes like rust
Going down smoother than leather and lace
Of the world's society demonstrates,
Wearing the shackles they yearn to create!
And I'm shoving down my inner voice
thrusting the words so blatantly they taste
While time's fading away insistently
Breaking me down to the edge,reality lost in haste
Where sanity is just a word
That has no meaning,like a herd were
rushed to slaughter,begging,ending
on the worlds teeter totter.
And I can't tell if this reality is fake
I'm stuck here,burned alive on a stake
But it's doesn't really matter
'Cause there's no one left to hate
Deep in this hole far underground
drowning in body and soul
Inside these walls,unconscious mind.
Unholy teachers of whats wrong is right
Beating the tones like pride and prejudice
Strumming the string,signed by blood in
society's wager.
Lock,barrel,pull and scream,A dose of your
own nymphétamine.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
The **** crowed once…
He enters my store
nervously, cautiously examining
the merchandise on the shelves.
At least two decades
stretch between style and his clothes—
His wife follows demurely,
her feed sack dress presents
hand stitching, beautifully done,
to even my unqualified eye.
And then he speaks:
Hi
followed by presentation of an item
clearly worthless to my trained eye.
We’d like to talk to someone
about selling this please?
Procedure grants
no empathy, just rejection.
Business is for profit, after all.
And softly, sadly as they leave,
he articulates their purpose:
We just needed something for groceries.
My chest tightens.
I did not grant them reprieve.
The **** crowed twice…
The lady approaches:
black skin, blue jeans
dingy
shirt and hair in disarray.
I look away.
Insistently she speaks,
Sir, can I help you
load those bags?
What's the angle?
A few dollars is all I ask.
I’m-sorry-the-task-
is-done,
(though clearly I’ve just begun)
My children wait in the car;
I can hear them playing,
when next she speaks:
My kids are hungry.
My heart skips at the quivering lips
before me.
She walks away unfulfilled.
I await the third sounding.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
Having to get over you was the hardest thing I ever had to do
And the worst part is, you never seemed to care.
Now all I want is to move on, be able to say I got over it
Not that I dwelled on it for years after-wards, still missing you,
Anxiously trying to shake the romantic views of my innocence
Hoping, that one day, somehow, you'll show up at my front door
Insistently knocking, crying out my name, bawling.
Miserably, on my walk home from school, as
I approach my house, I always hate myself for that
Sideways glance I give, to the parking lot, to that parking space,
Stupidly expecting that maybe, just maybe, your car will be there.
Yelling my name the instant you see me, and then running
Open-armed to me, like you love me again. And I'm happy,
Until I realize that life is no fairy tale, and that I need to move on.
Oct 19, 2010
Oct 19, 2010 at 3:11 PM UTC
go take out the trash, a little voice says
no, you reply
I'm comfortable right now
lying here on my bed in my pyjamas
but you have to, the voice insists
not now, you reply
I'll do it later
it goes on like this
it happens every day now
but you always answer
later
later now becomes much much later
you're getting more and more skilled
at ignoring the little voice
every once in a while it pikes up again
take out the trash
but you don't listen
you're too comfortable
too lazy
too tired
too anxious
too hurt
too anything
too everything
you never take out the trash
until years later
you have to vacate the space you're living in
and the suffucating amount of trash you've accummulated
becomes quite obvious
and now
you have to take out the trash
so you go and take out the trash
and you go
and you go
and you go
no end in sight
until you start to wonder
if it will ever stop
or if you're now trapped
in some kind of eternal hell
of taking out the trash
and you start resenting that little voice
that now utters something that sounds a lot like
I told you so
you should have listened to me
yes, you should have listened to that little voice
so now you start resenting yourself
for not listening to the voice
but the one question that now insistently nags at you
that won't leave you alone anymore
if you managed to hoard such a huge amount of trash
by just never taking it out
what does your mind look like
you've never taken out the trash there either
and you nervously ponder
how it will end
the day you will have to vacate that space
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
She hides behind a cloak of whispers and lies,
so demanding of men in nice suits and ties.
Her face so relaxed but in disgust at all,
trust me when I say she won't care if you are short or tall.
Her words fly out of her mouth so consistently,
hypocrisy is a normal thing that happens so insistently.
She finds the bitter ones sweet and the sweet ones annoying,
but luck has it that their hearts is what she is toying.
She'll lay down her head and stare at the sky,
but why not read a book instead of crying over a guy?
You talk as if your words are so much better,
so I really hope you read this letter.
You lied to me and then said that lying was bad,
yet you repeat it over and over so now I am mad.
Wishing guarentees you nothing but silence and wasted time,
you won't learn this you drug-driven mime.
You will silently follow the crowd and do whatever it does,
but for God's sake, don't say I do so too, it insults and creates foes.
My main pleasure is to please the child in my heart,
you aim for the men to get into your legs that are apart.
You feast on attention and try to act all dignified,
I at least act like me, and what I am signified.
My only words are this, and it is quite simple to feel,
shut up. To you, I don't have to kneel.
Your words mean nothing and nothing at all,
so there is no point in trying to stall.
Seeing as your actions led you astray and fell of path,
I guess I will do much better Pre-K math.
...
*****
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 9:18 AM UTC