"minuets" poems
I apologize for my thoughts and my actions
But you must understand that I am what they call a man.
And no matter how perfect any woman thinks iam,
I might as well be nonexistent.
For women are the most alluring, sinful ,angelic animals on earth.
I am simply bewitched by your existence.
I can not resist directing an ****** daydream,
Every seven minuets.
The being of your facts,
Makes me want to fall to my death beneath your feet
Something about those hills
That makes my teeth want to sink into my lips.
That voice makes me want to do one thing:
Hear it moaning.
No matter how hard I attempt to be an angel,
My devil enduringly conquers.
We refuse to admit that a
woman is stronger than a man.
We could easily succeed
in having a human being develop
Inside of us and painfully ****** it out of a diminutive hole
Nine physically and emotionally draining months later.
“We could probably do it better than you can.”
We just act ignorant and
Heedlessly assume what is logical;
However, in the reaction center,
that every man denies,
lives the manifest verity that:
Women.
Are.
Stronger.
To be born into a stormy emotional spectrum
With color and darkness
Alone shelters the truth for you.
Fact: A man does use his small head much more often then
His actual head, simply, because men don’t know how to use it.
How convenient it is to be born with two heads.
let its roots anchor into your minds and consume your conscious.
-Arizona
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
roll a cigarette
and check one more time that we got enough
change to get on the bus
share an orange drink
and thouse powder donuts
it began raining five minuets ago
but we didn't even notice
your hands buried inside my jacket
snuggled up to my neck
i'm looking over your head at the road
we come down
pulling a suitcase and chasing fallen leaves
and here it comes just as you fire that cigarette
im tellin ya its magic, light one and the bus will come
we bundle our butts into the very back seat
of your standard smelly old city bus
and you kiss the tip of my nose
i tickle you
they come and go
mister and misses public and all their friends
but your all i see baby
we get home and first thing you do
is go fix your makeup
LOL baby LOL
i think the cat might be the only other soul awake
within a thousand miles
and you got to look good for the cat
kiss the tip of my nose and ill tickle ya
still got a powder donut left
lets frame this puppy and call it my masterpiece
im gonna try baby
we are gonna be ok
i need hope
i need a future
lets make candles
lets make baby bottles
lets make dust bunnies
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
Hildegard of Bingen
the most musical abbess
of the year 1097 a.d.
met with Jung the unconscious detective
and Ginsberg the howling poet
for lattes at some Starbucks
in a vibrating city
on a shimmering afternoon.
Angelic minuets keep flowing,
effervescing through my chakras
like tonal champagne . . .
the glowing femme declared.
Beams of ethereal light infuse me,
tsumanis of energy tempt me
to dance right out of my habit.
Ignoring the possibility
of seeing a naked nun drink coffee in public,
Alan mused behind his hornrims . . .
I get what you mean
like I have felt the same perfusion of joy
watching cans of peas and ayahuasca
dance with talking bananas
at the A&P; Market near my pad in Brooklyn,
can you dig it?
Still suffering from his Freudian hangover,
Carl reframed them both . . .
Any conclusions or convictions
drawn from such experiences
may not self-verify because
your introspective identifications
attempt in vain
to concretize the amorphicity
of decentralized psychic sensations
which reach conscious awareness
only at the expense of extension.
What did he just say?
Hildegard asked Alan.
I have absolutely no idea,
the portly poet answered
as he doodled an intricate mandala
on his hemp napkin.
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
I'm in love with you.
That's what she told him every night.
But she was so ******* blind.
Blinded by love, and blinded by a boy.
You can live up to three weeks without food, and a week without water, but without oxygen you can't make it past 5 minuets.
So, to show her devotion, to prove how true her love was, she made him her oxygen.
Every pulse of her heart she tied to him.
She didn't breath unless he said it was ok.
She only lived and fully experienced moments when she was with him.
Now, one might think, if he was her oxygen, what was she to him?
He liked to pretend she was his oxygen too.
But only when he wasn't busy, or he was bored.
He filled her head with hope for the future, and a life just for the two of them. He craved any and all attention, so he played along.
But at some point, he got tired of her.
Tired of her dependance. Tired of a little puppy dog trailing along.
So he called her up.
He tried to be decent, he tried to be nice, but with a short call he ended it.
He ended her.
Imagine all the air being ****** out of room.
Imagine being held underwater, your lungs are screaming for air, but you won't get any.
You slowly start to lose consciousness.
It gets black and fuzzy.
And you drift into a deep, lonely sleep.
That's how she felt.
Without her oxygen, she was dying.
While he was sitting at home watching tv.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 5:02 AM UTC
He taught them well
~for all the teachers here~
He cared enough,
So much so,
Reasoned with them.
Never diminishing their simplest prose,
Even if it rhymed with rose....
He loved them in his way,
Once his student,
This year, then forever.
Their woes he read,
In every submission,
No threat treated idly,
He knew but one grade,
Caring.
One rule strictly observed,
No touching,
In this sad age, a crime without
Any absolution.
Then came a day.
School arrived, pre-bell by ten minuets,
His customary arrival time.
This day different.
The long corridor to the classroom entree,
Lined like Noah's ark, two by two,
On each side,
His students past and present aligned,
They would not let him pass,
Till he hugged each and everyone.
Thus, they taught him well the meaning of
Just rewards
For they were his,
Yes, they were his,
Not for the taking,
But for the giving.
His subject,
Creative writing,
of course!
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
On a slow train
out of the Savannahs sudden exile,
the sunlight swallows me,
a calligraphy of days, hours, minuets, now
inscribed on my limbs,
syntax gives over to a dry, dry sound,
and parched, the aftertaste of sloe gin
inhabits my ribs, the lay of bones,
a labyrinth of absence,
and this velvet ache
at my wrists, a pure burning,
burning the memory red,
words swell and crumble with a kiss,
what absence, Soul of Winter,
what absence is this, spreading
over roadmaps, soliloquies, nights
stretch into mornings, always mornings,
as my fingertips pull daylight from an orange
in dream alphabets that soon dwindle
to vowels, the word, harbour, bends
the old alder beyond what it can bear,
so many ways, you say, to live like a prisoner,
at home, the rooms
are all windswept, reckless
chairs overturned , abandoned
in this, the evenings parable,
love is no more
than a syllable in a bottle
of shattered blue glass,
a poem written on the underside of a childs teacup,
their jump ropes curl like adders
at our feet, the thread
from where I dangle
in doorways and twilight,
as I bide time, perilous
over train tracks, your fingers
trace tally marks along my vertebrae,
the hollows darkening in a pathos
of blue rheumatism,
and in the carnivorous tremor
of my body breaking
like the spine of a book,
the paper gone pink at the edges,
like azaleas and bruises,
erosion, after all is the altar of the body,
and there are scars beneath my temple,
and this ache, still, in my wrists,
unbearable when it rains,
ghosts inhabit my lungs,
wrung from the silence of shut windows,
eternal clotheslines and linen
span for miles across the Savannah,
and the early frost is at last,
calling me home....
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
I dance of minuets of the nights
Of grieving hearts and lonely souls
Trapped in time and in their sorrows
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 2:22 AM UTC
An international wire transfer was made last Monday.
2,000 dollars were sent to China from America.
I expected the money would arrive in China in 2 days.
Like, how it takes 2 days for my yearly 35,000-dollar tuition
To be sent from China to America.
I continued my week as usual.
I went to Aldi, a German company,
To get some groceries.
It was fast and cheap with good-quality products.
I went to Walmart, an American company,
To get more groceries.
I waited in line for 30 minuets.
It was slow and cheap with known-brand products.
That international wire transfer made last Monday,
Still wasn’t received on next Monday.
It went through an intermediate American bank,
Because my bank itself doesn’t do international transactions.
My money is still on its way to China from America.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 6:31 PM UTC
My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if I'm mistaken, after all.
Please, don't be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don't rush to you bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage,
your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table's four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please don't pay me much attention.
Dignity, please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, don't take offense that I've only got you now and then.
My apologies to everything that I can't be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone that I can't be each woman and each man.
I know I won't be justified as long as I live,
since I myself stand in my own way.
Don't bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
then labor heavily so that they may seem light.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
(start with a bow and a swish)
we are a thousand beating symphonies
variations of a familiar theme
treble clefs and four/four rhythms
chord progressions up to E
(sorrow and anger and love and hate)
arpeggios and interludes
minuets quadrilles and waltzes
the refrains, the fermatas, the reprises
we are a thousand sweeping overtures
(the last note rings through an empty auditorium)
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 4:48 PM UTC
I snuck into the party with an ID I hastily made
and stumbled, out of step, into the poetry parade.
In this beautiful country club, I'm surrounded by my betters.
I wave my kindergarten rhymes to show the men of letters.
In the echo of the learned men who came this way before me
I hear the patterned minuets, that if followed, lead to glory.
I chafe in those traveled ruts and I long for something varied
and I hope to spark a unique verse, between school and the cemetery.
May 21, 2023
May 21, 2023 at 8:48 AM UTC
time is important
to those who use it wisely
and use it like it should be
instead of staring at a clock
just watching minuets
and seconds just fly by
but that's unheard of
art is to be looked at
not stared at nor studied
for a message
it is merely eye candy
not the newest puzzle for someone
to try and solve
but that's unheard of
music is to be listened to
and enjoyed
to be treasured and loved
as upbeat poems combined with
flying notes that escape from
speakers and headphones
but that's unheard of
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
... that's HUGE.
my little dog got a dew claw
hooked in her bottom eyelid.
don't ask me how.
i had a heck of a time
keeping her still...
she was struggling.
when the claw was finally
extracted (i spent 5 minuets
praying. calming her) i found that
i had not pulled it up and
out (unhooking it so to speak)
IT HAD BROKEN OFF
SAVING HER EYE.
i pray for protection for this
beautiful little creature.
GOD HEARD ME. and answered.
♥ Catherine
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
The chatter in the room is almost mundane
The woman behind me has a dog she’s keeping outside who the neighbors aren’t too fond of because he’s a bit loud at night
I got to my hair appointment almost 15 minuets late as I slipped through the door of the I suppose modern styled ‘Yellow Strawberry’ my mother was on the phone
She wears this head set that wraps around your neck and never realizes she yells when she is talking to people and it makes me cripplingly anxious
The mirrors are tall and filled with unimpressed faces glaring at us as my marvelous royal purple polyester velvet skirt glistens in the sunlight peeking in from the dropped shades
I mutter out the time of my appointment apologize that we are late and give them my name
I know it is spelt wrong in the computer, and the odds of one of the people in here having a dog named bella are unbelievable high
As I’m escorted back to my hair dressers station I remember, I need to repaint my chipped glittery red nail polish before I pick all of it off and feel disgusting
But this particular nail polish is extremely difficult to get off and I regret every-time I paint my nails with it
But it looks so god **** beautiful in the sunlight and my lover adores the color against my almost porcelain like skin so I indulge from now and again
I am here to hopefully cut about three inches off of my hair, it’s getting too long it sits painfully at about an inch or two below my shoulders
Four months ago I cut off about 10 inches and I felt about 50 pounds of anxiety lift from my chest
I think my fears started to manifest in my curls and the knots that kept returning reminding me over and over again I needed a desperate change
And now I’m finding myself approaching another much needed change, it’s nice
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
it was put on the board.
my teacher told my to stand up in front,
of my 6th grade class and,
read the assignment.
i stared at it for a while,
and i started to read,
to, then suddenly the letter t,
flipped upside down and decided,
to become an f
the the o became a c
the c turned into an n
i could feel all eyes on me.
my mate whispered "today"
i said today,
still trying to figure out how that matched the board.
we turned itself into,
me.
but i finally remembered what i say first.
its been 3 minuets now and,
all i had read out loud was,
"today we"
will and be started to move around the board.
then all the letters switched around,
and
f
e
l
l
o
f
f
the board.
the only thing still there,
was one word.
then my mate finally whispered to me,
"today we will be"
and i said that.
then i turned back to the board.
while i was attempting
at sounding things out
my mates couldnt handle it anymore.
they bursted out in giggles.
i read "poet..try?"
and got a detention for delaying the class.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
83
Heart, not so heavy as mine
Wending late home—
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune—
A careless snatch—a ballad—A ditty of the street—
Yet to my irritated Ear
An Anodyne so sweet—
It was as if a Bobolink
Sauntering this way
Carolled, and paused, and carolled—
Then bubbled slow away!
It was as if a chirping brook
Upon a dusty way—
Set bleeding feet to minuets
Without the knowing why!
Tomorrow, night will come again—
Perhaps, weary and sore—
Ah Bugle! By my window
I pray you pass once more.
1.2k
We never talked
Anymore
And when we did
The conversation
dripped
Like a dried up
Desert stream
Funny how then he’d seem
Like a tidal wave of talk
Not letting my words walk
Anywhere
Near his extremely important
Ten minute
Explanation
In which he’d sum up that day’s
Cartoons, football matches, car trouble, his hard day of work that ended at lunch
How drunk he got after work, how drunk he was going to get that night
While he fetted without a slight
Thought of me.
So understandably
He was exhausted
And couldn’t
Wouldn’t
Didn’t want to hear
My ten minuets
Of how I missed
The boy who kissed
Me
At a movie theater
Read all my pathetic poetic
Love letters
Told me I was a better
Writer than I thought
Fought for me
Drove across highways for me
Was in love with me truly, madly, deeply
Who told me constantly
That he loved me
When I didn’t believe it
He loved me
When I didn’t want to hear it
He loved me
When I’d just finished crying
He loved me
I miss the boy who never made me feel
Alone
Whose cell phone
Didn’t mind listening to my voice
And given the choice
Would listen to it
All night
Long.
But that boy’s gone.
And I’m left to pick up conversation
With this
Affectionless alien.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
Like poetry in his ears,
She whispered softly
As the sun and moon set together
Putting the universe into an un-ticking frame.
The humans, now plunged into fear as time has now stopped,
And their bedtime stories of religion and science both have collided into a twisted grim tale.
A horror story?
A horror film.
A chainsaw massacre in its un-bloodied glory.
Death.
The stopping of ones time for ones self.
Its unimaginable stopping of minuets thickly spread
With the promise of heaven
And the blackmail of hell.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
this noisy head i live in
it just never quiets down
theres some motherf#@ker screaming at two am
about some unpaid bills or parking tickets
and some other idiot going on and on about some girl that left
somebody is always throwing trash out in the common area
little bits of some ancient relationship
small parts of some old mystery
just want to tell em all ''will you all please shut up"
stop that godawful freakin racket
some fool on the roof shouting poetry just when your drifting off to sleep
another idiot in the basement throwing monkey wrenches in the works
always somebody causing some kind of ruckus
just want to scream
"can we PLEASE get some peace and quiet for five minuets"
this crazy head i live in
i want to move
to some nice quiet country house
where you never hear a sound
peaceful with birds chirping
where i can get some rest
not this confounded noisy head i live in
not this apartment building of lunatics i call a mind
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
All yearling spring birds far from distant home,
Xanthic in Gothic gospels soot and yolk,
Where's one's soft spoken voice to calm me on the phone?
Formidable pulses,
The danger of convulsion's spread on like buttered oil!!!
Enormity soil's the defendant delirium...
Such agnostic aquariums stinkingly similar upstate!
Broken lives to sunset drive,
Specimen speckles,
Forcible tassels hover one's decree!!
Litigious locust's buzz creepingly,
Indecently exposing all's funk!!!
Concauctions of fake adoption's,
Concievers break locks off trunks!!!
Omit me out of this obdurate oasis,
Wherein one feel's spacious,
Free to cometh and goeth!!!
Freedom doth thou know?
Operatic Mrs and Mr's,
Minuets for thy ridiculed wishes!!
Ponderer of newness,
Cleaner's as thy tub spills over,
Thy heels click together just to get thy kicks!!!
Hit the streets thou feathered bird of no beak,
Thou tally marker of no means!!!
Foreman to thy own people's idea's,
Nourish me with a new novice,
Nurture me with heartbrake hotel,
Buildeth me a standing ovation of a one love palace!!!
Brave heart fairytale,
Doth thou stand to move about?
Listener of radio tunes,
Art thou close??
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
It is as if I am alone in a sand desert
In my chair, of course,
(See the poor photo, the head inadvertent)
Bay watching the sunset perform,
Except for the gusting 25 mph wind,
Easy-pretend it is July Fourth.
The sun sparkles my customized
Fireworks.
This time I have the desert deserted,
The bay is empty, the few pleasure boats
Obeying my cease and desist request.
Just me, the water sun sparklers,
The wind, and of course, you,
Besides me, as I have countless imagined.
Our crooked dock
Finger points back at me,
Sagely saying, enough poetry for one day.
But the dock is always crooked jealous,
Unless I include him in my sunset poems
So now he is smiling, albeit crookedly.
Some of you have,
Spent a few minuets of your day
Writing/riding along with me on my
Fire engine hose of words dousing.
Water welled up at 3:56 when I
Asked for a miracle of my own,
After waking and reading your poems for hours.
Here I am scratchin out one last at bat,
After being
Mesmerized by your goodworks,
Wondering why, again, I try.
So now let us write a breakup stanza.
I'm breaking up with you,
Until earlier-than-dawn tomorrow,
Though I was but one of many of your
Lovers took and taken,
Now discarded, I won't take no
For answer.
My shirt shivers, my forelock whips,
The clouds have banked my sun,
The wind is stiff, brooking no weakness,
I am total alone, how to make you believe,
That letting go, is difficult, almost impossible.
Until when, when we kiss again,
The back of your neck is my map,
My tongue the bridge between us.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
Born again
I have been born a hundred times but like the inches between my thighs it is never quite enough
I was born this morning I woke up mourning my flawed skin but when I use cover up it is not jut the blemishes I'm hiding.
Born again into highschool and by the second hour it is your sweet sixteen,
And you're jealous fifty girls bodies you've seen.
Born again and by the end of the day, you've graduated from seven minuets in heaven
by now you're more comfortable with showing photos of your naked body than your naked face.
Born into the whispers of *** deprived teenage males who's idea of a good tale is talking about the circumference of a women's chest
and if she's a size zero,
Well I have zero tolerance for unrealistic standards.
Speaking of unrealistic since when was it real for a women only to feel worthy to a man when's she's altered her body.
I grew up in a society with make up adds on tv full of women who have inches between their knees and my peers beg please,
Please,
Please can I look like that as if photoshop could be found In our makeup bags.
Born again into a mans world where some women are still underpaid due to the gender they did not choose to be.
Where third world girls cannot go to school because they obviously cannot handle the task of picking up a tool as difficult as a pencil?
They die again.
We die again
and again without the enlightenment of knowing that we were born with
hairy legs,
crooked teeth,
oily skin
and braless.
We were born worthy and real,
we die to feel acceptance and love and somewhere in between we give up loving ourselves
and we accept that as were born to believe that that's the only way to live.
Many believe that suffrage ended yet we still suffer,
but it's our choice to endure the pain.
Be born again but this time be born in the rain unafraid of your make up running down your face.
Wash it off.
Be born again.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
the lens of perception
gives distorted answer to the postulated mind
so you crawl thru the muddy sunshine
to her cool bed
through the ink and sweat
of her armpit flavors
to her eye
and steal away her thoughts
and childhood twisted memories
perception beats me about the head with its difficult fists
its angry it always has been
it skitters along on broken insect legs
and speaks in a undefined whisper
it ransacks my pockets of hope
perception is a choice they tell me
i can change it anytime i like
but its stained face waits for me when i shut the light
its reproach waits for me in the uncertainty of her spread legs
in the halflight of morning
she lay sleeping and perception crawls slowly over her
leaving no part of her uncaressed by its warm hand cold eye
and in that slow torture of silent revere i begin to see her differently
i see the flaw in the logic chain that lead her to me
from the far distant mountains where we met
i see the flaw in the chain of events that lead my former
lover to follow a spike out the door
i see the lust chain follow the young and willing partner
as she spreads the flower of her dark treasure
i see these chains and wonder how they bind me
to what fate
to what doom
i cannot perceive
this demonic symphony rolls on ever onward
through the years
through the misery and madness
through the joy and laughter
through the miles and minuets
the lens of perception ever distorting ever tainted
by the cool soft touch of a womans hand
its driving me mad
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
Its not where you are or who you are...its the hours, the minuets and the seconds you have in life...they might be the scariest times or even the happiest but I'm sure of one thing you have to make em the most exceptional times...being in hospital having people care, after they saw I was knocking on deaths door!!! Maybe I do have something to live for...I can adapt to the new surroundings, I will not perish...but then again all good things don't last forever, and life isn't as good as it seems...not when you're me anyway, I mean I lost the girl of my dreams, the only person that knew me and the only person I can be real with, I lost my niece who still had a long life to live which was cut short by a driver...and I missed 2 weeks of school! Today 11 May 2015 @ exactly 14:13pm I'm sitting in my room, which looks like the atomic bomb that hit nagasaki paid a visit!! Everything is different now, I miss Caitlyn even more, I wish I could turn back the hands of time, I wish I could have gotten my niece and nephew off the road, I wish life was back to normal...but I guess that's all those are...wishes! I wonder if she thinks about me or even misses me....I wonder if my niece is smiling with the lord Jesus up in Heaven...those two changed me! I was never the same again when they walked into my life!! Anyway, that's all I have right now #StayCool
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:51 AM UTC
he stairs into the soul of the creature that stands before him
he listens to the quite whispers but hears the screams of angels
he looks into the ***** of the goddess, far past the chest, into the heart
he sees the light of sunshine, the warmth he knew but was never shown
he waits for the right moment of light where he can see the shine of her eyes
he loves that everyday is a gift just to spend ten minuets with her
he believes that one day this goddess will set him free from the prison of his mind
he longs to touch the skin that taunts his wondering eye
he dreams of one day showing the world just how much he loves her
he holds the peaceful beauty that rest's her forehead upon his lips
he feels the gentle rhythm of the heart beating against the chest
he knows how much that heart pumps for the one that she dreams about
he accepts the fact that she harbors love for someone else
he understands that he was there before he knew beauty's name
he lets go of the one that he holds so dear to his heart
he closes his eyes and nods off into a world where she and him live happily ever after
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 12:26 AM UTC