"mannerism" poems
you are may
i am december
kisses exchanged
during the bluing hour
child like
staring at you
in wonder and amazement
frosting night
falling snow
flakes in your auburn hair
i walk you home
in the cold frigid air
holding your hand
dreaming of you
you are rare
a beacon
a lighthouse
in a storm
in my daydreams
you are the pixie, the fairy inspiring me
at night
you are the siren, i surrender to
a trifecta of youth, beauty, personality
you are refreshingly young
spring in my wintered life
preternaturally beautiful
perfection come to life
your femininity bewitching
your youth intoxicating
your mannerism seducing
i would do anything for you
oozing sensuality
innocences
of a woman on the cusp
you hunger for sophistication
to be worldly-wise
seeking passage guidance
from an experienced traveller
the trade, the deal, is timeless
refined by evolution
i am humbled
to have been chosen
the ultimate champion
of your ****** selection
in turn, you are my trophy
the spoils
of a never ending war
i know our time is short
the span of a bloom
a season at most
i know the outcome
seen the devastation
the problem is
we think we have time
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Fed up and in a bad place,
These aren't just emotions of anger and regret for
The situation at hand and the problems
That they are trying to reflect on america to start
Something we could not come back from,
Race wars,
Afraid to ride my bike down the street
Because of racism,
Afraid to date Caucasian girls because of racism,
Afraid to be black but proud,
Because of racism and these crooked white cops
That hide behind badges like cowards and pick away piece by piece at
The people that hasn't started any war since the assassination of
Martin Luther,
Any rule you abide by in law,
They'll still shoot ya,
And make it seem like you struggled or make it seem like
You tried to grab the gun from the holster and fight your way out,
"I'm not resisting ,.,... Stop shoving me , stop punching me , you
******* *****
Naughty by nature , but my mannerism's heaven sent,
When will these cops (pigs),
Stop killing our people and making families moarn,
We're all created by God , so why do y'all just leave people
Torn,
America Peace with love and prayers to my brown skin angels,
It's bad enough with black on black crime at every angle,
Y'all ******* up!!!
Protest , peace treaties , Misunderstood riots,
Using this against us ------> " You Have The Right To Remain Silent",
**** That!!!!!
Yelling to the world that the Justice system is biased,
What's drakest must come to light , well the future's at its brightest,
I love all races , I have white friends,
I wonder would Jesus come When the world ends,
But can't end it with a race war,
I'm ready to spread the word if you are,
Doing it for the kids and the poor.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 6:58 AM UTC
You’ve got those eyes
The one’s they talk about in movies
And that smile
That echos around my head like a the bass at a concert
But I’m in love without you
Because he also has that smile
And he holds me just right
And he has that mannerism where he pushes his hands through his hair when he’s nervous
And I’m not afraid anymore
Of your destructive fear
Or your eccentric need to impress others
Or your obsession with what I wear
Because I’m in love without you
Never thought I’d feel this way again
So
Please don’t still love me.
Sep 24, 2021
Sep 24, 2021 at 6:32 AM UTC
Sorry but not sorry
For the things that I have done.
Sorry but not sorry
For all the pain under the sun.
And all the longing to set ourselves apart
From the will of the masses,
Though we clearly stand as one.
And the reticence to play our part
In building on new bridges,
Though we clearly need them now.
Short story long,
Long story short -
Sorry but not sorry
For writing off this song.
Sorry but not sorry
For all the excuses that I make.
Sorry but not sorry
For not owing back what we take.
And all the mannerism along which we pretend
To care so much about the future,
Though we clearly act for our only sake.
And the conflicting messages that we must send
As we aim to **** the messenger,
Though we clearly all covet his fame.
Short story long,
Long story short,
Sorry but not sorry,
For writing off this song.
Sorry but not sorry
For casting off one more blame.
Sorry but not sorry
For the ills that one must name.
And all the finger-pointing with no concrete action
As we forget the final hour,
Though we clearly hear the call
And all the conflicts that we set in motion
As we bow to the god of power,
Though it clearly draws our fall
Short story long,
Long story short,
Sorry but not sorry,
For writing off this song.
Jan 8, 2023
Jan 8, 2023 at 2:47 PM UTC
My mind is elsewhere...
and the only person I have on it; is you.
My mind goes back to that night; the way you spoke to me, touched me, looked into me, The way you kissed me...
The intensity and passion between us was so magnetic that even shadows could not bare to lurk.
Obsession, possession, love.
I want it all for myself.
I filtrate your thoughts, you obsess over it, you want to do more than just **** me.
You feel guilt.
Nobody has ever looked at me like that...
The mannerism of it was, was something I have never had or felt before.
I feel his thoughts, pulsating through my every nerve, my desires are not to be obsolete.
Our energies, it's intertwined in a way that I have not with anyone else.
An image, a reflection... Of me.
You are me, and I am you.
I want to feel you again, in person.
I feel you spiritually and it makes me miss you immaculately.
I see you in my dreams, waking thoughts, my soul longs for yours.
I know you feel me, I know you love me, I can feel it.
It's creating a hold of heartache inside of you, you are dared to not even breach because of your priceless ego that stops you from what could make you someone completely different.
You were hurt, and to never trust a woman again was your broken promise you made to yourself.
Yet, you saw something in me when you met me, and decided to run away and treat it for what it was not because of your broken soul that you were not ready to face.
Complacent, stubborn, you already know you are mine, and I already know that I am yours.
I've adapted, but I still think of you.
Profusely, I still remember the gleaming stare in your hazel eyes.
Yet, timing is a matter of precaution...
Sep 7, 2021
Sep 7, 2021 at 10:25 AM UTC
Life, in a mannerism, they proclaim
Is fragile, untouchable, limitless, rather a chain
Life, the folks sing, as delightful and indescribable as it is, is only here to stay
I do not know where, I do not know why
But thoughts mingling within my nerves apply
A paradox of significance within the definition
Of the purposeful journey we call life
Albeit the good, we choose to focus rather unwisely
Precisely of course, over delusional mastery
Understanding only comes in hand when necessary
When it threatens our existence, calling Bravery
You see, humans as smart as we are perceived to be
Might as well be a laughing stock to the rest of the scene
What we value, we fail to pursue, what we preach, we fail to reach
Would it hurt to let go of Prejudice?
An individual who has been imagined by generations beforehand, woven by bits of uncertainty and; well, where is he?
Hold on, here comes another
Violence and Destruction stand on the porch
Should we let them in? Should we not?
They are there, ready, ready anytime temptation hits now
Humanity degrades what she has created
Humiliates what she has achieved, and criticizes her dignity
Worth has lost its value, hence wonder
What have we done to help save her?
Sense has lost all contact
With wicked games being played, selfish pact
Response no longer yearns for Suffering
Such that, we deceive our own sect
Where is Understanding when we need her?
A few doors down the street, go ahead and wake her
She has not heard from us for a while now
Last time we spoke, I reckon, was when our own path was in danger
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 5:57 PM UTC
I’m forever in her shadow, in the darkness I wait,
The situation consumes me, as I'm left to contemplate,
I look exactly like her, in every single way,
I mimic her movements, it’s a game I like to play,
I blend with the darkness, I follow her when she leaves,
I know her every mannerism, I even copy how she breathes,
I will do anything to lie by her side,
As I step from her shadows...no longer will I hide?
She loves me, I know what’s in her head,
As I wait for her to come home..
...and see me in her bed.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
my goddess dies each dawn
with the rising of the sun
and is reborn; renewed
in the sick, slighted
mannerism she awakens.
even with noticeable differences
the sky projects her face
as she lightens my burdens
and burdens my nights
with her glowing.
this shining has come for time
that it's been needed
where i've stood; judged
for the sinful mannerism
of my paganism.
but you're lost in the twilight;
daydreaming
in the middle of the night
that day will break the dark
and again, you'll see.
i've never needed any light
for my goddess is here;
she's been for ages
and she will be
once i'm gone.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 5:12 AM UTC
breathe in the air for me because I can't
bright but dark and suffocating, the stars squeeze me,
watching as they dance through each other like
french tips tapping on a foggy windowpane
pale blue grey lips trembling as they tug up at the corner
the elegant stretched fingers of mannerism -
alien, beautiful, silver and glowing
and throwing away all that came before,
looking toward the future, already there,
waiting for me
waiting for us to catch up
breathe for me because I can't
neck stretched too far, too far back
eyes cast toward the darkness, lips open, screaming, quiet
as the planets swirl in the deafening distance
and I bury my nails in my sides and it burns like
acid rain hissing as it strikes the ground
a high ringing somewhere in the distance in this empty office
stage lights striking the tops of eyelashes in the right position -
comforting and familiar, warm
but the eyelashes tremble and it's all you can see,
the only light in a dark room that could be stretching on forever,
blinding light, burning and staying for hours after as you sit, waiting,
waiting for sight
waiting for sight to catch up
(I still can't breathe)
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
*** for me generally lives in one of two places, either the primal or the spiritual realm.
Primal *** is the *** I share with others because of our mutual, base level attraction, whether it’s in a smile, or a smell, a physical feature, or even something like a mannerism. You compel me, is what we’re saying, and our desire to learn each other is way way up there — though likely naked and on top of each other, wherever it may be.
Spiritual *** is the *** that happens where our entire lives cross and our minds collide and invite each other. What happens when our eyes tie together, dressed or bedded, sharing a look that says, “I know. Exactly.” What happens where words are few or many, and each one custom tailored, in willing wishes to reach specific ears clearly.
What happens under equalizing warm or cold wind in the snow or in the sand.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
Among the more irritating minor ideas
Of Mr. Homburg during his visits home
To Concord, at the edge of things, was this:
To think away the grass, the trees, the clouds,
Not to transform them into other things,
Is only what the sun does every day,
Until we say to ourselves that there may be
A pensive nature, a mechanical
And slightly detestable operandum, free
From man's ghost, larger and yet a little like,
Without his literature and without his gods . . .
No doubt we live beyond ourselves in air,
In an element that does not do for us,
so well, that which we do for ourselves, too big,
A thing not planned for imagery or belief,
Not one of the masculine myths we used to make,
A transparency through which the swallow weaves,
Without any form or any sense of form,
What we know in what we see, what we feel in what
We hear, what we are, beyond mystic disputation,
In the tumult of integrations out of the sky,
And what we think, a breathing like the wind,
A moving part of a motion, a discovery
Part of a discovery, a change part of a change,
A sharing of color and being part of it.
The afternoon is visibly a source,
Too wide, too irised, to be more than calm,
Too much like thinking to be less than thought,
Obscurest parent, obscurest patriarch,
A daily majesty of meditation,
That comes and goes in silences of its own.
We think, then as the sun shines or does not.
We think as wind skitters on a pond in a field
Or we put mantles on our words because
The same wind, rising and rising, makes a sound
Like the last muting of winter as it ends.
A new scholar replacing an older one reflects
A moment on this fantasia. He seeks
For a human that can be accounted for.
The spirit comes from the body of the world,
Or so Mr. Homburg thought: the body of a world
Whose blunt laws make an affectation of mind,
The mannerism of nature caught in a glass
And there become a spirit's mannerism,
A glass aswarm with things going as far as they can.
1.6k
Zero tolerance,
For abuse!!
Zero tolerance,
For misuse!!
Zero tolerance,
For racism!!
Zero tolerance,
For no mannerism!!
Zero tolerance,
For unnecessary hate!!
Zero tolerance,
For unnecessary fates!!
Zero tolerance,
For violence!!
Zero tolerance,
For lack of common sense!!
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 3:42 PM UTC
It was not weight or girth that made his presence heavy,
But a gravity.
He was like snow,
Out of the corner of my tiny eye,
Calm and silent and heavy, solemn.
Falling, too.
He was falling slowly.
His hands were in the pockets
Of his black jacket,
And I’d never known that to be
A mannerism of his,
Which meant he was acting.
Unfurling from him,
A long stream of steam, like the breath of a dragon.
I saw him steel willed,
Magma veined,
As powerful as I‘d always suspected,
Found hints of at the end of the fraying rope
He’d given me to hold onto.
I saw, scorching through the cracks in his skin,
Peeking through the edges of his eyes and reflecting in his glasses,
Something much bigger than he now looked,
And I released my own gray air into the winter.
The icy sidewalk burned on through the soles of my tennis shoes.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
She was beautiful as the sunset
But her soul was darker than the night
She was so easy to smile
But her smile was full of deceit
I thought she was a friend from when I first saw her,
She was charming and sweet and very beautiful,
Soon we became close and I would say even inseparable,
But in beneath the beauty, she was just a facade,
Like an illusion she was hypnotic,
Her mannerism was full of elegance,
Deep down she was an earth filled with secrets,
Her only flaw, she was a beautiful liar,
And my only flaw was I believed her,
I thought our friendship was a garden of dandelions,
Dreamy and aloof from the world,
Later i realised it was just a garden with weeds that were toxic,
With every secret I shared, I thought I was watering a beautiful garden,
But then later, she would come to prune and plant seeds of deceit,
Everytime I let her into my soul, everytime she would intoxicate me with lies,
I thought we would be forever, the kind of friendship to pass onto generations to come,
This was until I found out she had been feeding me lies and lies,
Everything about her was based on a lie,
From her gentle smile to her graceful walks,
From her fake loyalty to her easy charm,
She indeed was beautiful to the eye,
But all that beauty was nothing because her heart was full of illusion
I bet herself, she believed in her lies that she carried them around with such ease,
She was a beautiful liar and I once believed her,
I once was hypnotised by her, but now I know better,
The beautiful girl was just but a beautiful liar
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 2:16 PM UTC
"Is it just me?"
No.
It's never just you.
Anything you might think someone else has already thought.
Originality is weakened but we still mix up odd concoctions
of the things we find to ring true.
Billions of bell towers all chiming at once,
making a muddled melody of mannerism.
If you listen, and you must listen closely,
the tunes that sound the same differ.
Mostly as a whole all our minds sound similar.
Our spectrum of emotions are on the same wavelength frequently,
but our inner voices speak in different frequencies.
Every unspoken idea, like a dog whistle, no man can hear,
combined with subtleties become me.
Just one me.
Even if you completely agree you still only see with your personality.
I guess it works out.
Being different and the same.
It turns the human race into some kind of a game,
like a search and find puzzle where we're all looking for each other,
and hiding from ourselves.
Do any of you think this is true or
Is it just me?
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
I have got this idea,
a stupid wish, a nonsensical desire
of being in a car accident.
Hear me, I want you to.
I prefer to be in the backseat,
seat belt on, and a frequent mannerism
of looking down, in front
on the driver's dashboard. I do that,
I always want to know the speed
and how fast the others outside this space
of metal and cushion. I don't want to be the driver,
knowing myself, I would not get myself into one.
I am a safe ***** that is all.
Then, here goes nothing -
I want the car to crash. I still haven't made my mind
on where or what are we going to crash.
Maybe a wall. Maybe another car. Maybe a post.
I want it to be something solid, but not alive.
Trees are the exceptions. I want the car
to kiss that solid thing, head on.
I don't want the pain that may come along,
I don't want to call it a near death experience,
I want that instant where -
everything seems unreal
or too real my head would not be able to
understand. I want that portion of time
where I decide do I close my eyes or not,
that moment that I will have my life question itself.
And I don't wish death I don't wish to live, either.
Just that moment, where I could think
how instantaneous life can be.
I want that tick of the clock
the clashing of realities and dimensions..
I want that moment,
I need to feel that moment of being just between death and life
where everything doesn't matter anymore, but I still know
they exist.
I have this stupid idea,
nothing so important, nothing so surreal
but to wish this
is the demand I am willing
to pursue.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
we are the people
who care only
when there's no care left
we are the people who are void of empathy
we are the one who speaks
while our emptiness sparkles within us
we are the hero's we are the losers
we are everything what we desire to
we are just not ourselves
we looked upon as a stars
we looked down as meagre ones
whatever we feel is alien to others
we are missing ones, we lose ourselves in shapes of others
we are seeking ones, we are loved ones
without love..we love only where's nothing left
it is insane to expect, why do we still care
while everything hurts-- the people, their words their actions
we are everyone and everything
what we long to
we are just not ourselves
not to be longing not to log in with spirits
we desire to hold a spirit-- while our spirits shrink within flesh
we are the forgotten ones , we are the victorious
here are the notions we must not take for-granted
despite we do, till it is finished
it seeks us everything- we finish it without seeking
we begin it without finishing; we finish without starting
we dwell upon sadness, we dwell upon frightfulness
we desire to be whatever we wish to
we are everything, we are everyone
we are just not ourselves
silence holds me like a forgotten friend
i answer with all my sinking-- where to be how to be what to do
these are all the wondering i wonder every now and then
with all considerations, i wonder how to ****** lost souls
to transplant the missing gaps, not to desire a thing
we hold onto despite; we let go with ourselves
we are everyone..we are everything
what we desire to
it's only..we are not just ourselves
the extra ordinary matters to meet the ordinary ones
time for everything, time to do all chores
we beseech our manners without mannerism
we leave a mark which nothing heal
the materialism overshadow us-- we sign with our gestures
to make it worse..without realizing
we realize when its gone..yet we don't amend
we are our shadows, we are our fleshes
we are souls we are the sinking hearts
to be seen everywhere, to be felt in each pattern
we are everything we are everyone
what we desire to
we are just not ourselves
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Every year I get older,
always marked by the same date,
but this year I'm feeling colder,
lacking heat even with my hate.
Every year I get older,
I'll be dead in years by this rate,
and there's so much weight on each shoulder,
have I just shown up to life too late?
It's my party and I'll cry if I want to,
we've got no social games, so what else would I do?
It's my party and I'll die if I want to,
"It's all downhill from here" oh god, was that true.
You know it's just my mannerism,
to have an annual aneurysm.
You know I was never one for optimism,
so here's my annual aneurysm.
Every year I get older,
that's just humans fault and fate,
and we all get bitter and bolder,
well, maybe that's up for debate.
You know it's just my mannerism,
to have an annual aneurysm.
I was never good at criticism,
so here's my annual aneurysm.
It's my party and I'll cry if I want to,
tears change my eyes from green to blue.
It's my party and I'll die if I want to,
just 'cause I'm growing doesn't mean that I grew.
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
Jim
To start I am amazed and baffled why such a loser as myself has had the privilege of knowing so many uncommon people. If nature won’t tolerate a vacuum then God will not allow a deficit life so if one is incomplete he will surly surround it with the right amount of good people.
Old Abe said it right ‘It is right and fitting that we speak these words here to honor these lives so honorably lived. I can say that about Jim and this also he was a prince among men if I do this right the words will convince you.
He had a gentle way and nature he spoke softly but a softness that flowed to you like ribbons that bounced in a little girl’s hair how delightful. He should have been a doctor his hands his mannerism was ideal for that job. I guess thats what made him stand out so strongly like a gentle calm breeze if you came in a panic his soul would float down around you like a parachute first it safely brings you from great anxiety and exaltation to a graceful landing then gently envelops you in its silken embrace. I had this privilege of watching him inter act with his wife as I said and truly he was a prince and I was the beggar that benefitted richly from the sidelines God knew my needs.
He was called from this life but all the days he filled before his home going are the sustaining force noticeably seen felt with keen awareness you know that a gentleman passed this way. In the lives left behind there is a blend of sadness and astonishment you realize you are looking at the work of a master workman who left behind a tightly and perfectly fitted family this unfortunately is sadly rare in this society that boast of its accomplishments.
As a friend his breadth and depth was sufficient you weren’t a burden he had a way of dispelling trouble making you understand with wisdom and unerring judgment then with ease you could extricate yourself from the problem. His heavenly father filled him with tenderness it stood him and others well in a somewhat crabby world. If you’re pressed and anxious about life take from this life expressed. A portion of the good will you need use it as a defense Jim couldn’t be everywhere but God saw fit to make an original that you can duplicate benefit from and be a part of his ongoing legacy. Thanks friend for a life lived well.
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haldenton › Portfolio › Jim
Jim by haldenton
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 2:48 PM UTC
Window after window
People live
Like animals in a zoo
Each one in their own personal space
In disregard of all the others
Canned conversations
I look in each window
Trying to gather something I can use
A swatch of color
A gesture
A mannerism
A point of conversation
Constantly gathering data
Discarding ideas
Filing what is clever
Building an amalgam
The fluttering eyelashes
Soft, husky voice
Tall, straight posture
Graceful movement
All learned
Bought
Blended
I have built myself
From used parts
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
His eyes were summer rain, so new and inviting.
But they were speckled with storms,
and soon he looked as damaged as you.
His face, a cocktail of 1 part sunken in and 4 parts tired.
You don't know who he is,
he doesn't know who he is,
and then a stranger is living in your home.
Every mannerism of his multiplied by 12, 7 days a week.
And your avoiding meals,
date nights,
and sleeping in the same bed.
You still love him but you can feel your life being consumed by the tics,
every repetition a crack in cement.
It is still possible to repair a broken sidewalk, let a flower grow from its scars but hes falling deeper with every flick of the light switch or pace of the hall.
x12 x12 x12
You wonder if, like everything else, his heart will break twelve times too.
Or is that the only thing that's safe from his hell.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
You watch me, with that charming Cheshire smile
Corners crinkling
The dimpled pleasure of intelligent company
Holding my breath
Hearing the richness of your baritoned laughter
I am surprised with the lax
Mannerism of your movement
How the hinges no longer creak
Echoing the stillness
Of your once prone psyche
Like magic
Some fantasy
Of child like wonder I am consumed
Consumed by the elegant freedom
Of your words
As if you had never fallen so far into your self
Lost your down the rabbit hole
Playing poker with a madman
No you have seen
Madness
And come back whole
An aged man
Monsters both vanquished and not
Lurking
Inside a placid brown
How daintily you conduct your self
A bear
Civilized
Not a hair out of place
Not a twitch
Not a grumble
Or complaint
As if I was porcelain
Something bound to break
You handle me
Like a crumble cake
This old school tender
This utmost gentlemanly grace
This strangeness I now have to face
No turmoil
No storm for me to brace
I fear I am the one out of place
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
i hate talking to people
one might think this comes naturally
like breathing or something
but it's more complicated than that
communication is like
setting your humor,
your mannerism;
and your vocabulary,
in par with
someone who won't
give two *****
even if you were to
get hit by a bus
or something
its like im trying to permeate a membrane
that’s constantly mocking me
and blocking me from entering,
from belonging
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC