"lorde" poems
I cannot recall you gentle
yet through your heavy love
I have become
an image of your once delicate flesh
split with deceitful longings.
When strangers come and compliment me
your aged spirit takes a bow
jingling with pride
but once you hid that secret
in the center of furies
hanging me
with deep ******* and wiry hair
with your own split flesh
and long suffering eyes
buried in myths of little worth.
But I have peeled away your anger
down to the core of love
and look mother
I Am
a dark temple where your true spirit rises
beautiful
and tough as chestnut
stanchion against your nightmare of weakness
and if eyes conceal
a squadron of conflicting rebellions
I learned from you
to define myself
through your denials
audre lorde
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
The world is full of shade and prose
And I don’t know what to do anymore
Audre Lorde said “silence will not protect you”
But I been weaving my silences into a survivor’s quilt
Because I’m tired of surviving
And I’m cold and want to use it as my blanket
Out there in that cold *** world
The world is full of shade and prose
*** workers on boulder highway
Wanna be poets writing in spanglish
White privilege, patriarchy and all
I kinda wish I’d write songs instead of poems
You know, songs about love
But no
Cuz the world is full of shade and prose
Bus stops/stop and frisk
Judgment day enthusiasts/Holocaust deniers
I am tired of “it happened before I was born”
And “I feel guilty but I did not ask to be privileged”
And when I say: Then do something
They ask me “what?”
I reply: NO
The world is full of shade and prose
The chicken never made it across the street
There is so much deconstruction
And so little relief
We will soon end up homeless
And will have to pawn the master’s tools
Or maybe just sell them at the swapmeet
For a dollar or two
I mean who cares as long as we’re in love
If at the end
The world is full of shade and prose.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
Give me fire and I will sing you morning
Finding you heart
And a birth of fruit
For you, a flame that will stay beauty
Song will take us by the hand
And lead us back to light.
Give me fire and I will sing you evening
Asking you water
And a quick breath
No farewell winds like a willow switch
Against my body
In a dark room.
audre lorde.
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
When Michael Collins came, first from the courts of England,
which in low and lofty Londoun lately were helde,
while Thames there with treachery and treasoun did truly ring,
was Ireland ill split and beset with ignoble stryfe.
Yet there a land lately formed was, where still folk lyve on mydllerde.
Though it is not in this warlike time of Dev that we our tale do set,
after these tymes of troubling stryfe, contentioun salted still the land.
Fine Fail and Fine Gael, then foes many yeres remained
till noblest amongst them, in qualities none lacking,
did do battle in old Dublin and vanquish the dred enemy.
That mon who dreded nought, nightly then held his court in fair Dail Eirinn.
Enda was called that man, and everysince has his noble courte endured.
There, as Chrystmasse came, was assembled his cabinet fayre:
there Sir Wilmore the red, who waited on the grete lorde in readiness.
There with grete courtesey, the kings coins to keep, sat Sir Noonan the balde.
There Sir Reilly, learned in lore of leach and herb, who on erde had little left to lerne.
Eek Sir Varadkar the gaye who granted was, the grete kinges horses to groome.
Laste, the lovely layde Burton, who, the rede rose of Wilmore would long after carry.
Other knyghtes numerous were there, but of these now, nought will I
tell,
for fallen to feasting were this fayre companye al and fayne would I not,
in tedious trials of descriptioun, your patience for to trye.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
Bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark,
Now she's gonna play and sing and lock you in her heart.
-Lorde.
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 6:20 AM UTC
Landing at Belfast International Airport always made Byron feel better, but nowhere near the way he used to feel when Megan was alive. He was glad for the busy workload ahead of him, a very welcome distraction.
The latest nightmare revealed more to him than usual, which, according to his phsychiatrist, was a good thing. Climbing into a cab, Byron opened his laptop and immediately noticed the little envelope at the top of the screen. Messages from the site. Beautiful Words was a luxury, especially since adding his new friend, pen name Maiden, real name, Holly.
Byron could be a normal person on the site, no disfigurements, no judgement, and nobody would ever know about the fire, his failure to save his Megan.Of course, people could read between the lines but that was unlikely.
The message from Holly read "Dearest Phantom, i was so moved by your latest poem..." It went on to state her amazement at Byrons last name, Lorde. " is it really true? so, your name is lord Byron in reverse?" Byron felt a little flutter of excitement at the thought of someone noticing his name, for the first time,.
Byrons mother was a lover of poetry, especially romantic poets, hence his name.The opportunity was irresistable , her name being Lorde.Megans grandfather would poke fun at Byron, saying he was lucky his mother didn't like Edgar Allen Poe.
He almost replied immediately but noticed he'd reached his destination, shutting the laptop, promising himself to pay more attention to beautiful Words, Holly, Jester, and the rest of the crowd.
Byrons shrink was moonlighting at the local hospital, community work made him feel more human, less robot-like."Well well well," Byron and jake were friends from way back, even before Megan.After the fire,Byron would surely have given up, had it not been for Jake.He poured them both a mineral water while Byron made himself comfy, he knew the drill. The age old cliche, lay down on the couch, close your eyes, "Count backwards from 10, slowly drifting off the closer you get to 1,".
Byron could smell the smoke, taste the charcoal at the back of his throat. He could see her, more clearly than before....
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 11:32 AM UTC
"But every song's like gold teeth, grey goose, trippin' in the bathroom.
Blood stains, ball gowns, trashin' the hotel room,
We don't care, we're driving cadillacs in our dreams.
But everybody's like cristal, maybach, diamonds on your time piece.
Jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash
We don't care we aren't caught up in your love affair
And we'll never be royals,
it don't run in our blood
That kind of lux just ain't for us
We crave a different kind of buzz.
Let me be your ruler, you can call me queen B
And baby I'll rule I'll rule I'll rule I'll rule.
Let me live that fantasy."
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
today i woke up to a spirit.
i opened my eyes to nothingness, but i could feel the warmth radiating off of the dip in the bed.
at first i was dumbfounded
where were you? could you be the spirit?
and so i fell in l-o-v-e with it.
wherever i go the spirit follows.
i feel it hold my hand
i feel it massage my shoulders
i feel its l-o-v-e giving me subtle back hugs through my days
seeing its blank pages and crestfallen words in a misted silhouette
dripping invisible ink and cloudless skies
it is not tall or short, nor boisterous or timid
its l-o-v-e lives in hushed sighs
thriving in times of need and want
licking at insecurity and toeing the line between warm and unwelcome
the spirit’s words fill the stillness
replacing anything that was missing with a brand, NOT-MISSING, in bold red font
sorting emotions into definitions and not feelings
it plays lorde on tuesdays and falls asleep at three a.m.
organizing my books alphabetically because everything must make sense
things always needs to make sense
It listens.
the day you left i fell in l-o-v-e with a spirit.
the embodiment of your memory
the sweetness of its silence
the comfort of an embrace
i, reality, woke up today
you, abstract, seep into crevices where you do not belong
turning everything into meaningless greyscale
poking out of my head and into my business
into my life
into my spirit that reeks of ink and dust
as i choke and gag on the imaginary memories
slurring on sour, dingy and desperate hidden behind my teeth.
my spirit and i play mitski on fridays
it doesn’t speak
and it dare not sing along
prodding at delusion, the spirit wipes my tears
mouths that it will be here forever
smiles that you are a future tense
that the bed was always empty, and the warmth was my own heartbeat
that my soul would not let me down so easily
you left in a future tense
where the bed is not empty, and i do not wonder of nothing
where you will speak, and you will laugh, and you will play christmas songs in the middle of july
rebranding everything missing NOT-MISSING to memories
and once the spirit leaves me, too?
at least i'll be prepared for the emptiness
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 3:08 AM UTC
" Don't you think that it's boring how people talk"
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:32 AM UTC
"Poetry is not a luxury... Through poetry we give name to those ideas which are until the poem nameless and formless."
by Audre Lorde
Oct 9, 2023
Oct 9, 2023 at 4:27 AM UTC
Like...it feels like whole world and the, you know, uh...all the smily candy teeth and stoned-out-of-their-mind ******* with their lip service to some techno-God of...what? Acceptance and power dynamics, or empowerment or whatever... It's like they're out there building these monoliths to themselves...like, mirrors made out of diamonds that's all positivity and critical theories and **** even Heidegger or Nietzsche thrown in there, Foucault, Lorde sometimes, a lot of other names, too...so much to remember when you wade into the world of identity, right? But it's also so sugary that I get a headache, like, when I see the steel roots that they're...repurposing? I keep tripping over them and stuff, I dunno.
Queer's a word I hear mostly coming out of only my own mouth, maybe the walls...if wall's could talk, right?...and that really tells me a lot, I guess? About what it means to be a *** but like, not really? And how I'm totally not trans? I mean I'm still BASICALLY a boy, right? Like shouldn't I be like, calling myself a girl if I'm not a boy, etc.? The stony monuments to Liberation...they're using the big L right?...tell me so. I'm so close but still not good enough, or something like that. The binaries are there for a reason, etc. Not even that. Just a quiet, like...exclusion? Joke? What I wouldn't give to be a fully-fledged ****** or a true ****** y'know?...card-carrying member of the conference, where I can actually cry and my voice comes out in something other than a croak and people look at my tears and hear my words and say, Yes, that's real and that's okay?
Whatever though. I'm probably wrong anyway, right? I'm just half-baked, or not exactly full, or...what's the word?
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
a song. “400 lux,” you said. “lorde.”
i nodded. i knew it. i loved it.
*we’re never done with killing time, can i **** it with you?*
first driving so slow, creeping through the dark suburban roads, the car’s headlights sweeping over front lawns and pale bitumen, breaking through the shadows from the trees on the nature strips.
then driving fast, on the highway, on the overtaking lane all the way to the city, where we wander aimlessly street by street for a long time but it’s really only an hour or so.
and then where we crash - a cosy little coffee shop with dim lighting and low seats - open twenty-four hours and the perfect place for you and me and other people like us, because there are others like us, i know it. i see them in the passing windows of crawling cars and across the cafe at two thirty am when i’m sipping my hot chocolate and holding your hand over the coffee table.
“do you ever yell at people *‘i want to **** you’* but like in your head?” you asked.
i tilted my head and nodded a little.
you nodded too, leaning back in your seat relieved. “yeah. good. me too.”
and so it goes.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
i did something
new tonight
(just an fyi)
i sat
on a wet rock
next to a creek
in the rain
with a brown umbrella
darkness looming,
i thugged it out with jay-z
i lived for the city
with stevie
i raged against the machine
i found my own bravado
with lorde
i settled down to rose darling
and i found all
the voices
compelling
as i watched leaves
fall then
hit the water
moving in a rush
i looked up at
the grey clouds
and stared at my
black shoes
i twirled the
umbrella to
watch water
spray out
and i thought
to myself,
"am i just a big mouth?"
because that's what i feel like
a big yapping
mouth
yet i am
almost always
clothed in
s i l e n c e
...alone
quiet
no words are
uttered from my
lips
the majority
of each day
then why do i
feel so
loud
when i live
in my mind
when i consider
my life
through
the tick. tick. tick.
all i do
is
think think think
/consider/
weigh
and it
gets me
nowhere
but deeper
into this
abyss of
memory and
fantasy
what are
the rest of
the humans doing?
am i in
s p a c e?
i seem to
be
in a different
realm...
and now i'm letting you know.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
These days it's all greasy bangs, candy chapstick leaking onto my skin, and my deodorant sliding out from under the bathroom stall, no more
lorde songs playing from the radio, girl scouts singing in the backseat,
or
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
What's with the roller-coaster
of anticipation and dehydration
that goes with these daily adventures?
Can't stop yelling, reliving the fact that normally
I would be sitting at home
listening to lorde and feeling sorry for myself
but instead I'm hazing in a land of
1/4 adults, all the rest
sugared-up, sunscreen-sweating, scream-yelling and cussing middleschoolers
with unlimited access to rides that makes our t-shirts see-through
and our hearts hide in our throats
from all the loud, loud music and words
that goes along with having packaged fun.
So while I'm sitting in a cracked leather seat
the metal bar indenting on my skin
and my glasses stuffed in my bra,
I remember to jus' remember
that middle school is one hell of a ride.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Gripping onto my life
Like razor blades across finger tips
Which bleed onto blank paper
The pain whips hard, frenzied
So, once gain, the bottle beckons
Swallowing the rawness of whiskey
Harshly burning my throat
Looking for drunkard, obscure haze
Cursing the scars on this bitter face
A wasted and worthless life
Surrounded by unwanted wealth
What is money but another curse?
The darkening rage suddenly takes me
An anger like some twisted hurricane
My name, blistered on these lips
I am, forever ****** Byron Lorde
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
My necklace is a rope,
and my pendant-- my boulder heart.
It snaps the nape of of my tired neck
while my knees quiver stubbornly, locked and trembling,
until they give way with my hollow spine.
A paralyzed portrait on the petrified pavement,
people walk all over me,
careful not to step on the cracks that engrave my porcelain corpse,
oozing out rivers into the soles of their soulless feet.
And now with my fragile frame and my heavy heart I wait
for the world to crash down beside me
and the debris from the wreckage to cover me
from the tepid breeze of the storm staring me down.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
Sharply awaiting a detection without your own inspection...
Is not sufficient to illicit a response from the deficit.
No one hears your tears louder than the fears you use to drown
your frown with excuses that don't help..
So lets get up now shall we?
Get up and exercise the gift bestowed to lift above
Sift and wade through the shade of your immorality and find
reason
Its there somewhere :) I promise
Go ahead,
Look
Inspired By Lorde
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
Lorde the silence in my room is louder Boom
Stay alone avoid been provoke
The Red Orange Yellow flicker beat sparklin up my heart
I never watch the stars cause the so much down here
Used to dream of you but not the sweet kind
Im prince from the marbles smoother than a storm
People talk to me their voices juss burn holes
So I juss try keep up wit the Red Orange Yellow Flicker beat sparklin up my heart
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:37 AM UTC
"Baby really hurt me
Crying in the taxi
He don't wanna know me
Says he made the big mistake of dancing in my storm
Says it was poison
So I guess I'll go home
Into the arms of the girl that I love
The only love I haven't ******* up
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
I do my best to meet her demands
Play at romance, we slow dance
In the living room, but all that a stranger would see
Is one girl swaying alone
Stroking her cheek
They say, "You're a little much for me
You're a liability
You're a little much for me"
So they pull back, make other plans
I understand, I'm a liability
Get you wild, make you leave
I'm a little much for
E-a-na-na-na, everyone
The truth is I am a toy
That people enjoy
'Til all of the tricks don't work anymore
And then they are bored of me
I know that it's exciting
Running through the night, but
Every perfect summer's
Eating me alive until you're gone
Better on my own
They say, "You're a little much for me
You're a liability
You're a little much for me"
So they pull back, make other plans
I understand, I'm a liability
Get you wild, make you leave
I'm a little much for
E-a-na-na-na, everyone
They're gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun
You're all gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun"
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 4:22 AM UTC