"insouciance" poems
His blue eyes are like glacial-lakes, wrapping around his heart till he's chilled to the bone from the cold.
A deadly place where treading is no longer permitted.
His eyes are transparent and distant as the impersonal clouds passing overhead.
Even as I stands before him, reflecting off him.
I am still merely a reflection.
He knows my face, I reason silently.
From the hills of my cheeks, down towards the valley separating my lips.
He should recognize it all.
Instead a blank expression greets me.
A look of cold, solid insouciance.
I'm immediately angry with myself for wanting to justify his indifference's.
A reflex I've never been able to expel.
The vestigial limb on a skeleton.
A party favor from another time forgotten for the newly discovered toy.
I twist in the fridged winds wrapping around him.
My force giving under the great pressure magnified by his powers.
I never wanted to dance upon his breeze.
This realization makes me burn hotter.
My anger brighter than the northern star.
I welcome it, my amounting rage.
I embraces it with a raging smile.
His glaciers may be cold, immovable at times.
A pretentious notion I might freeze.
For I am the sun swirling in nova's ring and cannot be affected by his black iced personality.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
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
The golden light shines bright
But does not reach the abyss of my being
Yet.
An Oracle showed me the way;
But it is I,
who must now choose the path I take.
Leaving the insouciance of my place of birth
For the big, beautiful and scary world.
The path is, however, not the end,
What matters most is how the traveller crosses it;
Living for love, wisdom and knowledge,
On a path of tears, joy, and pain;
Is preferable to living for fake happiness
On a path of lies, deceit and sorrows.
The forest is waking up
On the dawn of a new day;
One where I will blossom like the Amaryllis
Until dusk catches up
And fate leaves me forsaken.
But before the slow marching of time
And its eternal sleep
Get to me,
I will make sure to fully live my life,
For one must die to live eternally.
From the dawn of adulthood
To the dusk of my life
I will make sure to get remembered
And to make you mine.
For I believe we share a fate,
A mind,
And a love.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 9:06 AM UTC
G is for generosity, giving from a large heart to those in need.
R reminds me of her radiance, running throughout her smile of insouciance...
And A takes me to the earlier days of her being so animated
that N then becomes, naturally, the necessity to remember her this way.
Now dining with the divine, D reminds me of her dying
but M marks my memories with her mindful magnificence.
And for this, another A because she's just that amazing,
that her absence -although now abundant- is always
alight with her angelic life.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Crescent orb radiates its crystalline sight,
languid lips coalesce like a tessellation,
the vexing vines wilder the incandescent-
glimmer but the burning impression remains.
Celestial bodies affixes a soliloquy amongst-
a halcyon tongue that revelate a rhapsodic-
episode.
Quiescent ambience rings a plethora of-
sentiments stinging on the mellifluous
lullaby. The lithe wildflower murmurs-
the euphonious recital of a sonnet that-
is unacquainted to the mind.
Luminous assemblies of fireflies retire-
behind the myriad of evergreen forest
as the insouciance wildflower approach.
Precocious primrose locked from the
scorching sensation of a wildflower
exhibited a lassitude facade like a -
waning lantern fiery on its final residues.
In the distant a wildflower and in
the presence, an idyllic primrose:
so scarce and so strange.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 7:37 AM UTC
I would live all my life in nonchalance and insouciance
Were it not for making a living, which is rather a nouciance.
4.6k
*left the soul deserted
a gamble didn't pay off
losing the heart to love again*
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
To be imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea,
by the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words,
provoked brooding that my comprehension of his susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen,
when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen.
By the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words!
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany,
but when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen,
I discerned this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance.
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and when I discerned that this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance,
I vowed to rectify the imbroglio for my quintessential cynosure.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance.
I vowed to rectify my quintessential cynosure of the imbroglio,
and fabricated a denouement to return her to halcyon incipient.
I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance,
until hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply.
She fabricated a denouement to return us to the incipience of halcyon
with ineffable felicity, and I remembered with ebullience my inamorata's words.
Hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply
provoked brooding that my comprehension of her susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen.
With ineffable felicity I found ebullience in my inamorata's words
and was imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
At the risk of sounding sexist
I’d like to pay my highest respects today
to the girl at my accountant’s
with the beautiful *******
Usually the only things that jiggle there
are the numbers on the ledger,
but today a couple of numbers
stuck out for me to admire.
She knew it all added up spectacularly well
as she bent down obligingly
and pointed out where I should sign
and showed me what I needed to see.
She knew and I knew that
capital gains and expenses
were comparatively insignificant here.
Saucy insouciance was the obvious upside.
Of course, I shouldn’t have noticed,
but then I'm afraid that's what happens
when you’re more
of a ******
than an entrepreneur.
Mike T Minehan
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 8:43 PM UTC
The night becomes you -
hair coiffed in fashion
illuminated eyes reveal attraction,
the scent of body oil
pervasive,
ambient music evolves
persuasive
savory rhetoric,
cabernet erodes my inhibition
no contrition, turn the ignition.
The night becomes you -
you wear it well
an amalgam,
ardor and insouciance -
redefining glamour,
ephemeral moments
dial down the sunlight,
I am slain - voice and accent
weave their spell;
black dust coat, white hat,
a pair of posh boots
they live to tell.
The night becomes you
rhyme scheme - lyrical poetry
sophisticated venue, table for two
ensconced, the
leather lounge,
similitude within difference;
undulation - cadences of
counterpoint -
poise and peril of duality
we inhabit the floor.
Postprandial, conversation extempore;
machinations of intoxicating discourse,
I could drink your words -
artistic milieu- beguiling imagery,
sonant susurrations
penetrate my being.
The night becomes you -
theoretical locutions
phrasing depth and humor,
undiluted amour, tensions resolve
frame by frame,
solidify the affair
and validate the rumor
subsumed in sequence, pulsating,
igniting the sapid interior flame
silver screen ending,
effusive reviews
two hearts collide and form one;
the cherub's arrow finds its aim.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
Acquiesce here my love
Ameliorate my heart
The assemblage of circumstance provides dulcet ebullience
An efflorescent dalliance conflated into cathartic becoming
My bucolic bungalow made upon your callipygous
A young Life’s denouement
Your evocative elixir fetching
An erstwhile emollient embrocation
Your eloquent fingers find their way to frisson
My felicitous chatoyant gambols in glamor like a halcyon incipient made ineffable by the look of the ingénue
The labyrinthine inglenook lagoon leisurely lithe
The murmurous daffodils wink at the insouciance of your beauty
A panoply panacea, the half shadow complete as an epiphany
Quintessential to feminine riparian resplendence
Your mellifluous voice, an opulent offing, the sumptuous summery soliloquy of an angel
Cools my soul like the smell of earth after rain
Your propinquity ripples the scintilla of my spirit
Your surreptitious smile like a zephyr quietly whispers
Its redolent seraglio sempiternal in my thoughts
As skyward gazes like saccharine gossamer lilt with the knowledge of our raveling juxtaposition
a masterful pastiche, the cynosure of divine revelation
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
A Woman of Many Words
I am a Woman of Many Words
I am drawn to all those places
That words congregate:
Libraries and bookstores
Road signs and billboards
Ticket stubs and subtitles
Nametags and license plates
Each one a journey driving inside me
I am a Woman of Many Words
I love the way the shapes feel in my mouth
The skittle taste of syllables
I am drawn to especially long words
With their phonetic entities stretching out like tentacles to reach new corners of pronunciation
Words like
Bibliophile and flippant-irreverence
Evanescent and Insouciance
Mellifluous and Effervescent
Mondegreen and Labyrinthine
Words like
Onomatopoeia and Tintinnabulation
I appreciate their weight on my tongue
The way my hands appreciate the thickness that is a fat book
I am a Woman of Many Words
I am attracted to their multitude
The space their figures take up on a page
The calligraphic punches
Typed up by keys
The carefully constructed
Brush strokes
Spouting
What is sure to be, nonsense
But I do enjoy the sound of nonsense in the morning
I am a Woman of Many Words
I cling to the lettered skyscrapers wherever I can find them
Because the familiar scent of scribbles across parchment is comfort food for me
I find them
On the backs of cereal boxes
And in Popsicle riddles
In fortune cookies
And alphabet soup
From magnets on my fridge
To junk food logos
And I hold on to them for dear life
For fear that silence should find me
And leave me empty
For fear it will take away the music of maracas
Made by words
Dancing the salsa inside me
I am a Woman of Many Words
because Words
Answer my Questions,
Soothe my fears,
and Humor my Whims
They are not always Right
But they are always Constant
They are not always Honest, in fact,
Mostly
They Lie
But ever so often
They tell such a Beautiful Lie
That you wish it were true
They sing from the rocks
offering Escape from
Terrifying,
Suffocating,
Mind numbing Silence
that echoes off my skeleton
I am afraid that silence will hollow out my insides
and leave me abandoned
with nothing between my Bow and Stern
my Forecastle all torn up
I am afraid of the skeleton inside me
So I am a Woman of Many of Words
For fear of silence
And contempt for truth
Because my words are sirens
And my shipwreck is home here
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
Insouciance first fall
we took the night half-illuminated
dreamy stereo sketchy static
through ear’s round bell
smile we owe it
slanted, bendable light moon
becomes another genre
to listen lilt
even before methods of lip
procure shaded meaning cohered
on a closed door – opened
finding a semblance of Sun
there, veiling
a traffic of cirrus
in the elongated road
of blue skies
it was time
to point-source a home
taller than grass in Summer
pinpointing scenes to exact
a long divide and make it
by punishing it post-peak,
let it drift with unrelenting
quickness
past mouthed rivers and from
the lessening fog
of the same morning
i
will puncture
it true, eyes set forth
into your absence
*you’ll
bloom
you’ll
bloom.*
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
Insouciance
If I could get into your insouciance,
I'd be aplomb,
Without a care,
Unconcerned.
I'd be a veritable dancer
Of nonchalance,
Cool,
Collected,
Harmoniously tempered,
A picture of self control.
Perhaps calm contentment
Would measure my equanimity,
If I could keep my equilibrium
After getting into your insouciance.
I propose to repose like a rose.
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
The evidence:
a thickened chest and a dim grin,
which triumph over my strong insouciance
After twenty two
plus hope,
though yet ungrasped,
the chasm between our scopes has not narrowed!
I glided past you, above the whim of time,
you did not notice
'We merely coexisted almost met but always messed it,
spinning around like two sides of a coin'
My resistance,
for once as a raised voice,
importunes the years!
I am inclined to remain unknown,
no nearer,
lest I upset fate
It is better;
one thing to do that I have never done:
send you a poem
(How Do I Love Thee?)
You are you;
I am I
What is meant to be will always find its way
Espy!
Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 9:31 PM UTC
~~~
Happy Hanukkah Brother Nat!
~~~
*this poem is not for young lovers,
seasoned soldiers of the heartfelt only need apply,
give me my merry mercy-naries to save me
from criminal holiday insouciance,
shoot me with the rounds of caring,
that come so fast
and last as long as I can
nod and wink...*
~~~
used to drink inspiration
from Manhattan sidewalk rain riveted cracks,
turn half overheard street conversation snatches
into half decent poems by Nat(chez),
professors turning phrases, upbringing a brain ratcheting,
choreographers, dancing in body and spirit and word,
in summation, a thief of opportunity...
these days, the pattern prevailing,
the El Niño de Natalino,
is drawing up works
from the wealth of messages and comments,
my troubadours, my y'all youse guys, share,
so as I compose,
not knowing where this goes,
I'm just simple knowing,
that a heartfelt reach out,
addressed as
Happy Hanukkah Brother Nat!
deserves the recognition of its sweet intent,
in a lyric all its own,
like a traditional festival
Hanukkah jelly donut (true1)
t'is the seasonal affectation of salutations
all commencing with happy,
never struck me as anything deeper
than surficial superficial,
but this time its textual emendation -
the inclusion of genuine brotherly love,
loops, Humpty Dumpty cracks and swoops,
and here I am fastening word combos,
when the clickty clack of the clock
says uh-uh, poem in the making,
natural verbal child birthing, sleep hours docked,
and here I am,
begetting instead of shushing
a day-older brain to get-thee-to-a-hideaway...
*this poem is not for young lovers,
seasoned soldiers of the heartfelt only need apply,
give me my mercy-naries to save me
from criminal holiday insouciance,
shoot me with the rounds of caring,
that come so fast
and last as long as I can
nod and wink...*
sooner than later it will be the Fourth,
and in my eyes a day-deserving of a fireworks spectacular,
though the month matters not,
the sentiments of brotherhood and live love,
independent and freely given,
deserves enhanced ignition recognition
and herein supplied...
you had me at the greeting so fleeting,
then ask my advice,
is there to be had a greater compliment,
so my mien and demeanor are now modified
an oath sworn, till the infamous 31st,
every passerby and child
will be bequeathed a shockingly rowdy,
Happy and Merry,
sincerity coated
and tinged with you know what...
~~~
Dec. 3, 2015
nyc
11:12 pm
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
The world is gray, it seems.
Beauty is simply a word,
not an inherent quality.
it means nothing anymore.
so ugly things are being called beautiful,
and beautiful things are not being recognized.
Color doesn't exist for others.
One sky reflects the same,
each flower is paltry,
the stars above no longer glimmer,
rivers no longer flow;
all beauty has suffocated.
but not for me.
black-and-white are barriers to me, that limit my life,
and so I break through that,
leaving rubble behind- dim, gray rubble.
In every breath is beauty, ever being, too, is beautiful.
and I will surely be ****** if I will
ever let the blindness and insouciance
of others condemn me to that lifestyle.
life, living, love, lust: every thing is beautiful.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 11:52 PM UTC
My mother sowed seeds from dawn until dusk
My father kept sheep-
My brother tended pigs in his backyard-
They all attended church every Sunday.
My sister was a *****
All had busted backs when they were fifty,
My sister had a big house in New York.
All had religion,
But my sister had the money.
At ninety, with everyone else long dead,
She lives in glorious luxury
Smiling gently at all those hard-working people
Who believe in god
Her ageless insouciance worn like a pearl.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
These days...
Are you sitting alone in the quiet and cold
or surrounded by friends with your colors and smoke
Are you thinking of me as you fall back to sleep
Or grinningly praising the silence and peace
Is your love still the same
Are you glad that I'm gone
Do you miss me at all
Are you happy alone?
Yeah
These days...
I knew that I cared more
**** probably too much
but now I can't eat or find joy in the comfort
of knowing you're finally happy - you're free
But did it really take you not talking to me?
God, just tell me straight
Did you want me to stay? Please...
know I'm around
Are we better this way
...these days
You're still my everything
Yeah, that'll never change
But I need commitment and love
not these tears you're proud of
You say you're a man; are you happy again?
Well, ****
I still see you and Zuri,
I still miss my lover,
but I need security the way you need me not to hover.
I want peace and partnership
You want casual relationships
We both can't win
and we're fighting again
These days...
I get it now
I really do see
Insouciance doesn't make you worse than me
and being so invested doesn't make me right.
We want different things -
is this worth the fight?
And one day I hope you will want to be mine
But you need some space
and I need some time
to forget your ambivalent shove toward shame
and the way that it hurt you to call out my name.
But I am still here
Your pain is still mine
and though I know love tends to fade over time
I swear that mine won't
One day you will see
One day you'll remember
And it will still be
...these days.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
Je veux donner l'idée d'un divertissement innocent. Il y a si peu d'amusements qui ne soient pas coupables !
Quand vous sortirez le matin avec l'intention décidée de flâner sur les grandes routes, remplissez vos poches de petites inventions à un sol, - telles que le polichinelle plat mû par un seul fil, les forgerons qui battent l'enclume, le cavalier et son cheval dont la queue est un sifflet, - et le long des cabarets, au pied des arbres, faites-en hommage aux enfants inconnus et pauvres que vous rencontrerez. Vous verrez leurs yeux s'agrandir démesurément. D'abord ils n'oseront pas prendre ; ils douteront de leur bonheur. Puis leurs mains agripperont vivement le cadeau, et ils s'enfuiront comme font les chats qui vont manger **** de vous le morceau que vous leur avez donné, ayant appris à se défier de l'homme.
Sur une route, derrière la grille d'un vaste jardin, au bout duquel apparaissait la blancheur d'un joli château frappé par le soleil, se tenait un enfant beau et frais, habillé de ces vêtements de campagne si pleins de coquetterie.
Le luxe, l'insouciance et le spectacle habituel de la richesse, rendent ces enfants-là si jolis, qu'on les croirait faits d'une autre pâte que les enfants de la médiocrité ou de la pauvreté.
À côté de lui, gisait sur l'herbe un joujou splendide, aussi frais que son maître, verni, doré, vêtu d'une robe pourpre, et couvert de plumets et de verroteries. Mais l'enfant ne s'occupait pas de son joujou préféré, et voici ce qu'il regardait :
De l'autre côté de la grille, sur la route, entre les chardons et les orties, il y avait un autre enfant, sale, chétif, fuligineux, un de ces marmots-parias dont un œil impartial découvrirait la beauté, si, comme l'œil du connaisseur devine une peinture idéale sous un vernis de carrossier, il le nettoyait de la répugnante patine de la misère.
À travers ces barreaux symboliques séparant deux mondes, la grande route et le château, l'enfant pauvre montrait à l'enfant riche son propre joujou, que celui-ci examinait avidement comme un objet rare et inconnu. Or, ce joujou, que le petit souillon agaçait, agitait et secouait dans une boîte grillée, c'était un rat vivant ! Les parents, par économie sans doute, avaient tiré le joujou de la vie elle-même.
Et les deux enfants se riaient l'un à l'autre fraternellement, avec des dents d'une égale blancheur.
1.4k
I chanced to meet a ghostwriter at my door,
her transportation failed just down the road
A sojourning doppelgänger of sorts
…an elusive reflection in need of a tow
Transmuting words to wine,
We both sip time to time,
‘Til they foment catharsis
And melt to sublime.
Breathless in afterglow,
From insouciance and hubris,
Words weather to sediment
That we’ll climb to the precipice
And once at the summit
We’ll cast words adrift,
Toast our glasses to flying
And then leap from the cliff.
I read your words by day,
to skirt the wiles of your will
but I know your heart by night.
Leave me, charlatan, to my waking hours,
I know whose ghost you are
why haunt my spirit in its sanctum by the light.
I contravene with tears
in the corners of your eyes,
Guide them back, and kiss their lids
And send them off to hide.
In dark whispers,
calling you and calling you
To join them by their side.
Why must you take me with you,
is this protest not enough?
My importune to tender ears,
“I’ve things to do, I must!”
Still you wrap yourself around my world,
My overflowing chalice
And turn the wine to liquid gold,
oh, ever clever alchemist.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Insouciance
It drives reckless souls
Out into the night
Spreading their unruly plight
Knowing nothing of fear, only of fight
Irresponsibility is a term
Those of this heart know well
As it's screamed from rickety back doors
It's reek seeps through cracked floors
Gets pounded deep in their cores
They are taking over this world
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
Wanted to call you my bestie,
But you’re stupid enough to want to best me,
I’m not into this crap of competition,
This crazyness to try and be my better composition,
Are you trying to hurt me,
Or are you just plain unasious,
You just got no true friend basis,
Your sequedry of your actions,
Will just get you unpleasant reactions,
But I’ll just greet it with my insouciance,
Because you got to face your own plans consequence,
Don’t come here and play “exegious”,
I know your true colours of deceitfulness,
Just keep note when tails are gone,
And everyone figures out all your wrong,
I’ll be good enough,
But then I’ll wish you luck,
Because you’re mad with these ends,
If you believe we’ll stay anything but bad friends.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
This is my American Spirit
Though I am loathe, but deserved to hear it
This is my generation in a long, sour drag:
Bohemes and hipsters, the self-important type
Self-serving directness with subtle insouciance
Self-righteous without e’er scents of conviction
Qualities, to all, vogue slimming befit
This, this is my American Spirit.
I’ll be the equalizer in a furtive game of chess
And acquaintance, its partner, arbitrating
I’ll wear the habit of means and humility
An ashen cherry, flicked, waiting to be
The pyrrhic finite ember and pastiche memory
Escape is apparent in discontinuity, my
Means to ravel a courser bond in someone,
As only a blush reminder only when they all clear it
Yes, this is my, my American Spirit.
We’ll have a game of butting desires
‘Tween all those appetites and some self-respect
Only, I know, to lose out in the end.
Is there a place for dignity to prevail
Or charm in an attempt likely to fail?
Can there be eyes open, minds or thought
To gentle pride its combatant ‘gainst
Unconscious abuses: yea or not?
But I will know irony as means to an end
Turned cheek from machination
That I can do, I can pretend
When the veil may be lifted—that I fear it
This, this is my American Spirit.
Of course I enable, for the cynosure, the dissonances
Supplant for fraternity fraternal-ligature
Too obvious is resolve ‘neath shaw of fleeting smoke
My own wants impeded, kept at a distance.
For, oh, Fortune! How you have written
Some conscience to mend it to others kept calm
A charity in practice as this cigarette is long
While vice, in all aspects, is the most correct wrong
But hummed out in truth as a fascist, he ought
I’ll turn to a tonic of strength to delude
That pretense and pride the conscience denude.
In some be it strong in others enthralled
Whilst ********* our prayer beads of looking-glass selves
Quietly burning the vestigial gods
That brought us a new light or perspective on things
And though we are loathe, we despise to hear it,
This, this is our American Spirit.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC