"mademoiselle" poems
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
peeress: a woman holding the rank of a peer in her own right.
what tools fo you require?
a microscope, binoculars, perhaps an observatory telescope...
you ask to peer into my soul,
the heart of the matter,
and I object
not,
asking only for a workman's wages,
of honest preparation,
have you the tools to see me properly,
and when you love what you see,
will you have them by your side
to see the future close by,
and so far ahead?
do you possess within thy
secret places,
an archeological brush
to wipe gently away my ancient earths,
or a toy red shovel to remove fossilized
10,000 year old grains of old hearts,
or fresh, damp from this morning,
of words and sand from my inner
beach, even then, the tonnage may
require an industrial excavator
to clear, hold and perhaps contain
all that poetry, all that love that it contains,
so I ask, you, myself:
*Do you have the proper tools,
the necessaries and the necessities,
to find to store to relish and to delight
in what you may find?*
be an explorer,
and write of all your discoveries,
hurry, for the word
time
means in soul terms & the heart's specialized verbiage,
never enough
so girl scout/ mademoiselle peeress
you s t i l l
have much to assay/essay/uncover
re the meanings of love...
for there is as much to learn from the
quietus of love,
as there is, from the vibrant tumbling of
climbing to new heights
peer carefully...
5:44am
Wed Sep 10
Twenty Twenty Five
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 9:28 AM UTC
sugared fingers, the smell of Chanel
and I am flushed on red berry wine
and the charms of someone, dear,
who I would like to call "Valentine"
la vie en la rose
this red stains lips pink and
I see in pink, everything around me
as I dip my nose to my wrists, inhaling
*Sicilian oranges, Calabrian bergamo
Indonesian patchouli, Haitian vetiver
Bourbon vanilla andd white musk*
I giggle coquettishly and I am blushing,
For these sweet nothings
mean very much to me
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
If dogs could speak, O Mademoiselle,
What funny stories they could tell!
For instance, take your little "peke,"
How awkward if the dear could speak!
How sad for you and all of us,
Who round you flutter, flirt and fuss;
Folks think you modest, mild and meek . . .
But would they - if Fi-Fi could speak?
If dogs could tell, Ah Madame Rose,
What secrets could they not disclose!
If your pet poodle Angeline
Could hint at half of what she's seen,
Your reputation would, I fear,
As absolutely disappear
As would a snowball dropped in hell . . .
If Angeline could only tell.
If dogs could speak, how dangerous
It would be for a lot of us!
At what they see and what they hear
They wink an eye and wag an ear.
How fortunate for old and young
The darlings have a silent tongue!
We love them, but it's just as well
For all of us that - dogs can't tell.
2.8k
So she thinks I'm cute,
She thinks I'm **** and hot
I look in the mirror, beg to differ,
I think not
She told me she "really" likes me
But wants me to forget she ever told me
One-sided admiration is awkward, apparently
Says she
I tell her to chill
No need for embarrassment
Embrace you inner Jamaican
Don't allow awkwardness it's harassment
How cold is it, that I accept so easy?
Feeling nothing but relation in return
An empty heart, cold blood
And a mind in guilt, burns
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 4:50 AM UTC
i wander around your territory,
keeping my imprints on your skin.
a sigh of relief and a moan of satisfaction
take you where nowhere you've been.
flicker of my tongue,
the tremble in your voice
move closer,
closer as skin.
the smell of your innocence lingers
in my senses,
the taste of your fear excites me.
the look in your eyes
turmoil in your stare,
the awe in your face humbles my existence.
i a mere mortal in your sight,
a sight of the past.
the past is just a few seconds away.
an eternity will unfold,
walk my path,
uncloak my victim
stand in all your glory.
your presence hungers my foul
reason for living.
my tongue on your skin,
i taste you
you feed me.
your eyes provokes my inner peace.
what do you see?
is it life?
or is it death?
a swift movement,
a tragic death awaits.
my doppelganger sees how you live your life,
while i cant wait how to end it.
the beauty in my voice captivates you.
leading you towards your befall.
you yourself prepared my feast with
your false judgment.
i was never your reason to live
but you were mine.
you cling to my robe the way
you cling to your life.
too late mademoiselle i had your
tombstone made an hour ago.
i undress you,
and taste your love juice one more time.
ecstasy flows down your veins,
you moan in gratitude
i brought you wrath in return.
you cried in a bite-forced.
i smelled life,
i tasted life
but not yours alone.
intriguing i say,
so i sink both fangs deeper.
another blood of total innocence indeed
and it tasted just like mine.
you saw the horror on my face.
you smiled.
you *****
you let out a soft dying laugh.
delirium hits like a speeding car crashing.
i have killed my own
you deceived me.
you knew my planned deception all along
and countered on your own.
you ***** old hag!
you let yourself get killed
so i could **** him.
a creature of my own,
floating inside your womb.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:17 AM UTC
Venus sits below a contrail necklace
whilst the moon above sighs,
a ring around its lips guiding
shoreline ships back home again
to be met by merry wives.
Walking with the swell in their socks
the sailors tread on land,
trembling souls and uneasy hearts
make for nervous hands.
Their faces have greyed under
a stubble mist, grown out of a
no-mirror-broken-razor rage;
to kiss is to make red,
to be back home is to sleep in a bed.
Tight canyon cheeks are stretched-
flat canvas peaks, tanned bronze
by a sun that runs among
northern hemisphere, north-east sheets.
Chipped lips miss the taste of salt
so drink up the malt and take a rest,
not long from now he'll want
his mistress back, the woman
of the swell, this ocean's mademoiselle.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
I am
the red ripe apple of the sinful tree
the honey suckle of the bumble bee
the pink blushed rose of the secret garden
the stubborn spoilt lass never in pardon
the youngest daughter of the shining sun
the castle dream girl in sands of fun
the jealous lover of the crescent moon
the blowing wind in a strong monsoon
the first white swan in the silver lake
the seizmic tremor of a hot earthquake
the scarlet love bird on each window pane
the falling tear drop of clear crystal rain
the candle's flicker of each passionate flame
the mystery madam,mademoiselle or dame?
the copper butterfly in each serene meadow
the Sunday's church girl in snow flake's shadow
the brown eyed maiden of the deep blue seas
the pretty woman of ripe strawberries
the old fashioned girl in sweet proposal
the gold stringed harp in music's motion
the colored smile on a rainbow's face
the flamenco dancer covered with lace
the little mermaid in pirates'streams
the wafting wave in glittered dreams
the twinkling star of black silk skies
the little lantern light of fire-flies
the Cindirella in glass slippers
the happy verse of each romance
the soft wind's voice in a whispered breeze
the wood wind chime in sweet melodies
the Wishing feather of a free white dove
the veiled young lady in the power of love.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 3:26 AM UTC
She was a mischievous child.
Young, beautiful, playful, curious.
And at the mere age of six,
She had a secret.
Her eyes were two twinkling, shooting stars.
Stars that she had mischievously reached up and snatched from the sky one night with a butterfly net
When no one was looking.
She kept them safe, tucked away in secretive sockets so no one would know what she'd done.
They were her secret to keep.
The world spun on, and she aged and aged.
Her life went on.
She married, she worked, she had children of her own,
And not a single soul did she tell her secret of stolen light to.
Finally,
It was her last day on this planet.
She lay in her bed, covered in crocheted blankets, adorned in wrinkles
With her six year old granddaughter sitting at her bedside.
She felt herself starting to die.
She mustered up all the strength she possessed to sit up one last time.
She leaned over towards her granddaughter.
She put a bony, gentle finger to her pursed lips, and winking at the darling youth.
And then,
Mischievously, with a knowing smile,
She reached up and plucked the two twinkling, shooting stars from her eye sockets.
She extended a frail hand, palms filled by two orbs of pure shimmery light
And with a tender, placid touch
Set the stars into the sockets of her granddaughter
For the girl keep for her lifetime
Just as she had.
She slowly, calmly, laid back down.
She winked again at the youthful girl, who, in turn, put her finger up to her pursed lips.
Then, leaving her long-protected secret in the hands of her darling kin with new sparkling eyes,
The aged mademoiselle gently shut her eyelids over dark, empty sockets
For the very last time.
{alaska}
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
He was a man with an angel tattoo In his neck
He looked at me with passion and said salut mademoiselle can I talk to you ?
I looked at him without saying anything i felt like He did touch my soul in the first second I saw his eyes first thing he said is how long can you keep me for
I Said why !?
what do you mean !! He said i know your kind
Living for the feelings lying about their true colors it's a part of your beauty of being mystery to some people and a cold heart to some other people
How strong? , keeping everything in the inside , crying every night
Crying for letters
Wishing for life that you know you'll never have , you are mix of white and red
I can see throw you
you look so visible to me
broken heart
Living for the pain
you keep breaking your own heart before anyone will have a chance too right?
if anyone had chance of doing that he would be a special one and you've lose your self to your weakness you'll be Without an identity of writing or living
You have a pleasure of living with ....."your own kind of pain".....
-How !?
He stripped me naked heart
I had nothing to say or to Deny I was screaming in the inside
But calme in the outside
how he stripped me naked heart
How he knew all that about me
i never admit that , even to myself
Who is he!?
What did made him so angry at me !
He just walked awaya
I was Standing with words
Who is he !?
He did put a words print in my mind
I just can't forget how he did look at me
He lookd so deep in my eyes that he made me so insecure about myself
So lovelessness
So shameless..
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 8:15 AM UTC
this beautiful heist
of each other's soul,
blind to what she stole,
oblivious to her core.
Yet it was her own being,
that helped me in fleeing
each day,
but we never crossed paths
since the dawn of may.
The blind mademoiselle,
there's no way she could tell,
it was she who gave me eyes,
reason to wander in the world
looking for her
as each waking minute dies.
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 6:18 PM UTC
He waited for the bride
The bride in her holy divinity of love
The groom with his trembling heart
And the pianist with her shaking hands
Groom, blue eyed
Pianist, hazel eyed
Bride, grey eyed
Oh, how did the oceans and the soils of the earth met
The man said his vow to the bride with no divinity
For he loved truly a different lady
For his mademoiselle was the pianist
The pianist in her red dress
He truly loved the pianist
That he gave the best part of the church hers only
That the arts of the church's saints
Reflected on her skin as she played
But it was not right he knew
Oh, how torn and tortured he was
Fate and Destiny may will hinder their love
But the heart is and will always be true
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
**I nip your soft bud
ever so tenderly
during my nightly visits
to make you open your eyes,
and blush, I love the flush
spreading on your cheeks
mademoiselle,
but you bit
my probing lips lovingly hard,
it gave me new ideas
that you didn't expect me to carry out
in presence of morning mist, curious
that peeped from outside
the limits of this quaint pond.
I love the honey seeping out
without any effort from my part,
I am a blue beetle that loves
to smear yellow pollen all over.
Look! your buds aren't soft now,
***** they have become truculent,
if they want to rub me wrong
do you think, I'll back off?
I am game for a tete-e-tete,
better now, than later.
A beetle that find cozy warmth
within the purple folds of your petals tight,
every night; being a lotus
you should know what I seek,
let's get it together, single-mindedly
warm, fragrant, cuddly lover.**
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
Let school-masters puzzle their brain,
Blinded by revolt and disorder,
A schoolboy departs in a rage,
And a preachers deprived of his daughter
They met at the Café de Flore,
And talked over gateaux and coffee,
She said ‘Joseph, you're my troubadour’
He smiled and said ‘You are my Sophie’
The pair acted out fantasies,
Embracing the Louvre with ambition,
Romancing across des Champs-Élysées,
With purity and inhibition
Back in humdrum Buckinghamshire,
The locals did summon a meeting,
While beneath the old Notre Dame spire,
Sophie said ‘Can you feel my heart beating?’
Then back at the Café de Flore,
A Mademoiselle served them merlot,
She said ‘j’aime votre poésie,
Et votre femme est un angelot’
Let school-masters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning,
The schoolboy perversely proclaimed,
‘My buoyant soul will not be returning!’
(March 2010)
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 11:08 AM UTC
a mishap fudged together in a blur
by the onerous fate autonomy
a throw away girl
death addict
in a racket of echoes
fingernails
******* and spit
for relics of witchcraft
in a foot licking satanic ritual
she picked him
like a con mark
for the realization
of her shadow dream
to escape from form
in a shaking bed
spread herself wide
feeling the black sound
like musical water
to drown in
with weight
that holds immovable storms
of brazen villain's and glistening *****
who pumped her mouth like gas
for obliterations throat bashing she loved
causing the hideous end of herself
splayed straddled a ****** archaeology
of kisses withering in an ancient pudding
razor peeled ******* blooming
betrayed whorish curdling screams
in a deviant propulsion
glitter mucous and blood
drizzled from her lush red smeared lips
with tears of mascara
in a ghoulish basement
an object of desire for demons
on the ceiling
she abandons all hope
lubricated her **** and ****
opened her thighs
for a freakish novelty
of soaked vibrating machine gun tongues
for a hemorrhaging orgiastic suicide
her blade slit tongue
still undulating
and pinned it in bits
to a **** toy
******
for valentine's day
her love and guts like a buffet
glamorously featured
with photo pics
in Mademoiselle magazine
smiling cockeyed
drugged and staggering
she put a rope
around her neck
as if in an embrace
and blew her brains
a spiraling horror
of diabolical appeal
in a ghastly enterprise of roulette
of pants off dance off
scattered gauze bikini
and a head wreath of hair
glittered like a half-eaten pomegranate
under disco lights
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 12:01 PM UTC
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Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
Madrigal.
Mes deux mains a l'envi disputent de leur gloire,
Et dans leurs sentiments jaloux
Je ne sais ce que j'en dois croire.
Philis, je m'en rapporte à vous,
Réglez mon amour par le vôtre :
Vous savez leurs honneurs divers,
La droite a mis au jour un million de vers ;
Mais votre belle bouche a daigné baiser l'autre ;
Adorable Philis, peut-on mieux décider,
Que la droite lui doit céder ?
(Réponse de Mademoiselle Serment.)
Si vous parlez sincèrement
Lorsque vous préférez la main gauche à la droite,
De votre jugement je suis mal satisfaite.
Le baiser le plus doux ne dure qu'un moment ;
Un million de vers dure éternellement,
Quand ils sont beaux comme les vôtres :
Mais vous parlez comme un amant,
Et peut-être comme un Normand ;
Vendez vos coquilles à d'autres.
1.6k
She wears strength and darkness equally well,
Like a sunflower who stands through dust to see the light,
Growing up she was always half goddess and half hell,
Wrapped around her finger like under they’re under a spell,
Every man she’s encountered truly smitten by her sight,
She wears strength and darkness equally well,
Foreign and intricate, “Bonjour mademoiselle”
Men; tons of them but none, fit her quite right,
Growing up she was always half goddess and half hell,
Unique and earthy like an iridescent seashell
But also prudent with a deadly snakebite,
She wears strength and darkness equally well,
With a blazing fire in her soul as pure Noël,
That will keep you warm through the night,
She wears strength and darkness equally well,
Growing up she was always half goddess and half hell.
~d.v
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 12:06 AM UTC
Oh dear villanelle
You seem to be the death of me
Trying to write you, all seems unwell
Stubborn mademoiselle
You are, only wanting a very specific rhyme scheme
Oh dear villanelle
Why can’t you be kinder, my voice yells
Word play seems a challenge
Trying to write you, all seems unwell
All lines to end with an –elle?
Why not a –eek, or a – yike or an -ouch
Oh dear villanelle
What a villain –elle
You seem to be
Trying to write you, all seems unwell
I do wish that villanelles
Will never be confined to one specific form
Oh dear villanelle
Trying to write you, all seems unwell
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
The kid’s quiet
then she teeters in,
all glamour and glitz.
The Ritz is asking,
Mademoiselle, for your
curtain call dress,
a glitterball gown,
dragging by your feet—
oh, but her shoes!
Duty bound cardinal
red swim in the eye
like the carpet you
ought to premiere on.
It matches the lipstick
rub, your lips a yolk
as though you had drawn
over the lines, a smear
having caught the pearl
shawl around your neck.
Those your grandmother
passed down, you say?
She would be so proud.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
He was That Guy in high school.
You know who I mean, That Guy
who scored the winning touchdown,
who won a National Merit Scholarship,
who got accepted at Yale and Princetown,
who made everything look so easy,
Who was voted best looking,
most likely to succeed, most athletic,
who got blow jobs from grateful cheerleaders
and even ****** Mademoiselle Marsh
the **** French teacher as a senior
the day he gave the valedictory speech.
Everybody knows some Guy like That.
He is the Golden Guy who will never rust.
Only This Guy made an honest error.
The country at war, he felt his duty
and joined the Marine Corps in 1967.
He left a leg at Hue during Tet
and won a bunch of medals, but
a very Different Guy came home.
Yale and Princetown were ghosts.
He rented a room and tended bar
and he could hop those drinks
faster than anyone else,
but mostly he sat in his room,
saw and spoke to no one,
spinning reruns in his head
and drank and drank and drank
until someone discovered him dead.
Twenty-four and game over.
Sure, you knew That Guy.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
We can write words of gratitude on paper,
Or to all the world her virtues make known,
Or ev’n pour forth our love to her in measure,
But, in vain, try to move her heart of stone…!
Here is a friend who taught us much we need to know:
Right from wrong and weak from strong,
Lit and English, too;
All this time she’s been working steadily tho’ slow –
She’s stol’n our hearts ‘ithout even attempting to woo!
…One day we will remember, tho’ some wish not to,
These days of pain and pleasure, we all have in school;
There are those you thank for every small thing they do
But how to thank her who made a person of you?
We can write words of gratitude on paper,
Or to all the world her virtues make known,
Or ev’n pour forth our love to her in measure
But,
Oh…! Oh…! How to move her heart of stone?
May our sorrowful year with you remain in our memory
As a farewell serenade, a sad and tearful melody.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 5:34 AM UTC
~for Vinnie Brown~
even your kindergarten crushes?
what burdens you seek to retain,
the edgy border of delicious and pain
is a raggedy cut line,
as lost lovings, rhymes with duality
Once upon a time,
a middle aged man
left the woman he married,
the one who drained and cruel reigned
over the destruction of his-dreams,
for one accidentally stumbled into,
the love who blurred his edges as well,
between forgotten happiness and
pain so awesome bad when she grew tired
of his life's complications,
she left him,
weeping on the corner of Broadway and 83rd Street
was that 20, 30 years ago?
a memory
from no matters land
but
the physical ache that marred the hearth in the chest for
months and months,
sent him to the doc who smiled sweetly
but gave him, had no, no relief for
busted grownup hearts
with normal EKG's
that remains a treasured affirmation to this day of
life's capacity to love that comes with
an ingrown danger
of never forgetting
did you know the French outlawed the use of the term
Mademoiselle in '12 (Mlle.)?
I loved that salutation,
calling my one true lovers
with the soft feminism of that address
and still do
and you want to recall
kindergarten crushes?
Mister Vinnie
possesses a lovely contradiction,
holding onto
lost lover sickness
that lives on in good love poems
this my new found poet,
is how that he, this aching heart,
fast approaching his shore line for one last return
and final departure
repays a sweet compliment,
from one who complements
anothe man's lovely's insane desire to
never forget any of it
~~~
reading Vinne Brown's poetry
https://hellopoetry.com/vinnie-brown/
and listening to Joni M.
at 3:09AM;
never wise,
but full of hindsight
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 3:19 AM UTC
Plush carpet, soft light
Hotel foyer at night.
Oh, what a fright!
I might be a looker,
don’t mean I’m a ******
Did my lipstick suggest that I might?
“Madam, how you like this play”?
The disgrace on my face gives me away.
What did you think I was going to say?
“Hey, Jack, let’s get out of this place”?
(That’s three questions in four lines
so for clarification of this causation
my effect carries no invitation).
It’s a case of mistaken identity:
You didn’t sent for me,
so can’t pay rent for me.
Baby, I ain’t no lady… of the night.
That’s not why I came here,
and it’s not the same, dear.
Quit with the Shakespeare!
This chick has much to protest.
To signal intent for your frontin’
you should wear a carnation or somethin’,
be discreet, don’t hang out the bunting.
So, I attract, I won’t deny fact,
but your attention is bordering on hunting.
It’s a case of mistaken identity:
You didn’t sent for me,
so can’t pay rent for me.
Baby, I ain’t no lady… of the night.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
The Mademoiselle I saw in the sea
Her dress impersonating the rhythm of the air
Her messy mahogany hair impersonating the rhythm of the dress.
The waves had their own cadence
just like how her tresses would cover her all of her face but her eyes
the waves would cover all of her body but her face
She was pretty tall. Even for the waves. Out of their reach.
She had the fingers of an artist. Shy and beautiful.
And every time they made way through her hair to her ears
Her beauty unfolded a little more.
Contemplating the sunset, she’d wrap her arms around her shoulders
I realized it isn’t everyday that you behold such magic when
the glowing sun, a crisp circle in the ****** sky
revealed a path in the meek waves that led directly to her
Impulses to take the initiative, capering all over me without fail
Though completely stupefied by her beauty, I could still remember every detail
Whether it was her eyes that gazed upon the horizon
or her toes that twitched under the water owing to the cold.
The interspace between us. A little extra than I asked for
Her silhouette against the subduing sky. I knew I was falling for her
Dear Mademoiselle I saw in the sea
Though enamored by all, you’re something more to me.
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, I fancy you to set me free
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, agree to receive my apology.
Wasn’t undaunted enough to talk to you then,
but I bespeak if I ever see you again
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, I wouldn’t just let you be
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, I’d tell you
I’d tell you, you feel like home to me.
Mademoiselle, I saw in the sea, i’m not lying when I say I misseth thee
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 8:20 AM UTC