"nonchalance" poems
yesterday i saw dolphins
i swam with dolphins
their black knife jackknife dorsal-whatevers
slicing the water, scalpels into flesh,
disappearing, reappearing, disappearing,
reappearing
a herd of silent Lamborghini cracking jokes at my expense
(looks plural to me)
yesterday i saw dolphins
i chatted with an old man
who said they're laughing all the time, diving for *******
"Oh yeah, we get dolphins here,"
he might as well tell me Jesus lives there, too
or some kind of black magic came through
making these creatures appear
his nonchalance is weird
yesterday i swam with dolphins
well, saw, not swam, viewed, not caressed
but
all i want to do is see them
all i want to do is breathe with them
all i want to do is float in the same sea with them
my heart ripped to pieces in appreciation
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
I log into the network of my self-esteem,
To see the hearts and the wows and the laughs flooding in.
A simple 'like' wouldn’t cut it anymore
‘Likes’ were so 2010, even 2010 was bored.
‘Cause that’s the zeitgeist of the age, you see,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
Loves and kisses are a dime a dozen,
With a million friends and followers double.
National debates and social justice petitions,
Real crises, distorted renditions.
High definition photos of disaster zones
Flash up against cat videos on every smart phone.
Snapchat filters do not lie,
Just tell a story of hours gone by;
Selecting the perfect background, the ideal shade
To express love on the dozen’th date.
But that’s the zeitgeist of the century,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
To document in minute detail, with extensive pictorial evidence
Clockwork days of humdrum nonchalance.
And perhaps the generation that came before
Would call it vanity, vainglory, or something more.
But it ain’t like they were without their sins,
We didn’t invent tabloid columnists.
And now that we are at the end,
Let me sign off with this request:
Like, comment, and share your love
Let your heart fall out of your shirt cuff.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
Face after face after face,
they stare out at me.
I look into eyes
full of hope and pain,
fear and courage,
longing and loneliness,
and the faces,
the voices,
the yearning
are all my own.
How are we to find
the one who is looking
for us,
with that unique blend
of terror and anticipation
that makes us
their "perfect match?"
We each want to
change our subscription
to the romance channel.
No more docu-dramas,
please!
So much history,
so many angry
silent nights
The full moon mocking,
cold and distant.
Please care.
Talk to me.
Hold my hand--
Dance with me!
Be fun!
Make me laugh--
Don't hurt me.
Please,
don't hurt me!
We smile bravely for the camera,
affecting a nonchalance
that is gone forever,
and we show our friends that
we have recovered--
the surgery was completely successful!
See?
The scar is barely visible,
true.
But tell me honestly,
can you really feel life Now,
through the scar tissue of
Then?
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 3:05 PM UTC
I am a controlling boyfriend.
No, I am not a male, nor do I have a girlfriend to abuse. But I am the crazy stalker controlling boyfriend.
I have realized something in myself:
I am free with my boy and his casual flirtations, but am extremely jealous and possessive of my girls, when I have one.
Or even in my present case of not having one, I want to possess her as she has possessed me. I want all your time, all your thoughts, as you inhabit mine.
“How do you handle the jealousy??" It's funny, I don't get jealous when I have both partners in my bed, or in my arms. That is when I’m most content.
I get jealous when outsiders are flirtatious or show interest. It's also funny, I'm more annoyed when people flirt with him thinking he’s unattached.
I don't get it either; just a quirk of mine.
Perhaps my nonchalance with my boy is merely grown out of our time together. In nearly seven years, not one has managed to create a rift. Those who have tried have failed, and he and I have come out the better.
Patience is a virtue I do not possess, and the longer I go on incomplete... mayhap my own fears make me dig my claws into a new potential. Fear that someone else will charm such a rare unicorn away from me/us, and we’ll be left again, searching.
Nor is this a new feeling, for this young woman. A year ago, I felt the same overwhelming possessiveness. Then again, it would not do to compare the two; they are two different people, who hold different qualities.
The bitter jealousy I now project I have tasted before. The shock that I’ve become my own controlling high school boyfriend fills me with disgust.
Unbeknownst to her, I imagine her not only in my bed, in my arms, in my life… but also on my knee. I’ve never before considered someone as both lover and submissive.
Unbeknownst to me, would that make my jealousy grow or fade, were I to possess her in every way I’ve imagined?
Obviously I have some things to work on.
Firstly, finding our unicorn.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
I realize I am too compassionate;
I feel everything at a 100% rate,
and I loathe it so much.
Why do they come on so strong all the time;
it mentally drains me.
I am destined to die early;
I can't see myself living past my mid-thirties.
I learn how to accept death as it is,
and I am slowly learning how to let go.
I want to cry, I want to scream;
I want to voice out this indecipherable torment inside of me.
But no one will understand,
and no one will know;
this mask of mine can't be taken off.
It is what I desire,
yet I want to scream the truth out to the world;
my alternating flow of thoughts,
my constant battle;
it goes down with me to the grave.
This happiness is an illusion;
There's a second mind that takes over,
and blocks away all of the hopelessness.
It brings forth a temporary elation,
a nonchalance,
a pretentious ease.
Is this better?
Does it make me better?
Or does this delude me to the point
where I become more destructive
and cause more harm than cure?
Why does my mind run so much?
Why does this version of me exist?
Because I am born empathetic.
Because I am human.
Because I hold a great understanding of myself,
and a greater awareness of how I am.
But not behind in the how it came to be.
No one holds the answer, and I am forever left with questioning all these endless why's and how's.
Everything else is left unanswered
perhaps until the day I die.
— Y.H.
the end of the tunnel,
gentle fervor.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
He means very little to me-
on a regular, uninterrupted day.
But when he talks to me,
he is maliciously welcoming.
He's toxically enduring
and determinedly warm.
It's possible Stockholm Syndrome,
it's definite injustice.
Sweet, sweet injustice.
Sweet interruptions.
My sweet bitterness to his sweet nonchalance.
And then;
sweet realisation that I may not be alright,
but merely distracted.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
A simple glance causing colors to dance
upon my pale cheeks
Your smile and wit full of nonchalance
leaving me stumbling for an adequate response,
to fully express the way I feel
But alas I'm left tongue-tied because I'm head over heels
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 12:58 AM UTC
I notice the tiny pulse of frustration in the back of his neck
I notice the way that he sighs and slumps over
I notice how his elbows splay out so his face bobs lightly over his desk
A buoy dancing over a wave
I notice the way he glances at his friends before he answers
I notice the way he shapes his mouth into a grin before he speaks
I notice how his eyes squint a little when he laughs
I notice how they dull when he doesn’t want to listen
I notice how his shoulders hunch when refuses to hear
I notice the boredom in the lines of his back as he considers
I notice the way his leg jiggles as he bounces his foot lightly
The ever-present dichotomy of professionalism fighting immaturity
Of a thirst to learn, fighting against ignorance, justice calling
I notice this inner battle of boyish nonchalance and masculine defensiveness
I notice how his eyes dart lightly over his chosen comrades before he writes again
I notice the way he presses his forehead into his hand
As though he could pull ideas out
And read his thoughts printed back on his palm
I notice the consistent rubbing against his face with his fingers
Phalanges to stimulate the thought process
I notice the hesitation before his pen scratches the page
Piercing the paper with words he must call his own
I notice the claim of responsibility and the toll it takes on his physique
I notice the fatigue of struggling to create
To feel, to create, to feel, to feel
I notice, throughout all the time I’ve been noticing him
He has not noticed me once
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
When the universe is carefree
And there’s happiness in the chaos
Wild and wide, cannot be tamed
Many worlds coexist throughout
Here we are on this celestial body
Trying to find answers to our origins
Many questions and confabulations
Our daily meditations yield no path
We are caught in the web of time
Going back and forth with our life
One form to another, inexplicable cycle
We can be carefree as the universe
Maybe the answers are hidden within
The path we have taken is flailing
Our unsure steps swerving us away
Time has come to be carefree
Join the chaos and find meaning
Align with the universe’s nonchalance
The answers will appear before us
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
I would live all my life in nonchalance and insouciance
Were it not for making a living, which is rather a nouciance.
4.6k
city in ruins
acid green night sky
flames in skyscraper windows
the flakes of ashes
filtering the staunch air
if you breathe in you can
taste the souls of the dearly
& painfully departed
I roamed the underground
silent subway system
in search of an easy ****
long black coat trailing my
fast-paced footfalls
dried blood smeared on a
restroom door
the smell no longer made
me sick
I throw it open
& step inside
the room reeked of
sweat and vile
death
the hair rose on my skin
as I faced the mirror
to greet my weary, shadowy-eyed
reflection
it was then that I saw the
pair of yellow eyes
watching me
& before either of us
could blink
I hurled my dagger at
the corner ceiling above the
empty stalls
spearing the small winged
demon
it fell to the floor in a heap
of rotting dust
there was no time for me
to react
when a figure burst through
the doorway
a dark-skinned girl with
long braids
who didn't catch my gaze
as she slammed her
purse on the filthy counter top
& began to apply her
makeup
"What are you doing here?"
I asked the young woman
stunned at her nonchalance
she never once stopped
moving the pink brush against
her skin
"Gotta go to work,"
she said briskly
as if the whole doomsday planet
was a waste of her
time
I had forgotten there were still
people living in
hell
who bothered to look
pretty
I said no more
& went on my
way
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
Nature’s fine composition
Music that is so closer to the heart
Humming along with nonchalance
Swaying branches join the harmony
Winds dance to the timeless rhythm
Silent echoes from the mountains
Calling out to solitary souls
Solitude is an eternal bliss
When one is in tune with nature
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldret, Kenya;[email protected])
Do you remember one era in Kenya?
During the dark days of dictatorship
When Daniel arap Moi
Was the tyrannical president of Kenya
And darkness of leadership
Loomed like the dark clouds of el Niño
When forty district commissioners
Out of the total of forty two were kalenjins?
Whose main work was to spy and terrorize
As the people forlornly groaned under the heavy
Yoke of state terror of tribal torment
When the president claims that
He was not aware of such tyranny,
When we used to sing a lame poem
Of jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo!
On empty stomachs with no hope of food
No hope of jobs or even education
Street children swelling on the street
In total political nonchalance of arap Moi
As he only gave free milk to his own kalenjin youths
In Kabaraka schools, the Kabaraka school which was
Overfunded by the poor tax payers money,
Please President Uhuru Kenyatta as good as you are
With your dear humane heart of Bantu conscience
As you are armed to teeth with modern education
**** sapiens Gentility and polished diplomacy
Superb in quality of thought and supremacy of choices
The government of Kenya is yours and the people of Kenya
Are your political darlings, true bandwagons for ever
Kindly listen and buy my poemetics, my dear president
Remove Daniel Moi from the state house of Kenya,
Let not Daniel Moi be your adviser
Ignore him and embrace Kenyans
For common future happiness
Even if Daniel Moi is old, the truth is different
He is not a good man, he is full of Machiavelli
His full badness is measured in absurdity
Of terribly and horrendously crashed *** crushed
Testicles of poemcrats and political leaders
Of Kenya of yore and today,
Truth meted in When koigi wa wamwere became
A permanent staff of kamiti maximum prison without pension
Wangari Mathai beaten like an animal in a hunters trap
Ngugi wa Thiong’o jobless and detained without trial
Raila Amolo odinga’s testicles went missing
He looks for them on daily circadian
But once he nears their political pigeonhole
Then elections of the times flops, O! Poor Odinga!
President Uhuru Kenyatta with your suave intellect
You won’t get a pretext to say that
I was not aware or not informed
Please dear darling of the people
The people of Kenya in their 42 tribes
Novate Moi with the people
And your legacy will smile.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
194
On this long storm the Rainbow rose—
On this late Morn—the Sun—
The clouds—like listless Elephants—
Horizons—straggled down—
The Birds rose smiling, in their nests—
The gales—indeed—were done—
Alas, how heedless were the eyes—
On whom the summer shone!
The quiet nonchalance of death—
No Daybreak—can bestir—
The slow—Archangel’s syllables
Must awaken her!
3.4k
.
oOOo oOO OOo oOo
oOOOOo OOo Ooo OO oOo
OoOoO Oo
ooO •naked feet tread
with nonchalance•unafraid
of what receding tides might
bring•hardened heels soften
to sunlit reverence•children
frolick accompanied by
unguarded peals
that ring•towa-
rd the ocean
vast we halt
to face•we
look to the
horizon and
dream of un-
seen lands•we
lift one foot with
the other in place•
is this all we are...
just impressions
in the sand?•
.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
1.
Inhaling poison like it’s a sweet spring breeze,
an antidote to the pounding heart and aching stomach empty of comfort or substance
Meeting with pavement in a tiger’s crouch
fingers float toward parted lips
awaiting the taste of relief in the form of smouldering leaves.
2.
One tentative epidermis approaches another
tendons and ligaments straining, aching for contact
attempting nonchalance in the lamplight privacy of early morning,
cocking ears to detect voyeuristic insomniacs
who would disturb the disorderly expressions of early experimentation.
3.
White lady dusting the concrete path, sterile and unconfined
laid new before careful feet making their way to shiny metal boxes
bundled in seasonal expectations they trudge through stardust
on their way to blood borne obligations,
leaving behind careless tracks in ****** flesh
4.
Blazing sun presses down on shoulders hunched behind compact table tops
peddling penny prologues to unabashed strangers
bartering unwanted pocket change for rejected trinkets
haggling over half-dried finger paints and unfinished chess sets
rescuing garish afghans from dusty closeted life.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
She used to be your sun by day
And your moon at night
You never ran out of light
Your happy meal at the end of a long day
She never left your side
Not even for a single day
And when the night is deep
And you're short of sight
She became your extra eye
That kept you safe like a knight
She loved you with everything
She gave you everything
And gave up everything
Including her pride and sense of being
She gave you her heart
And offered her soul
But nothing she could ever give
Was ever enough to satisfy
Your perpetually gnawing greed and empty soul
You've lost that girl
Now you have to live
With this monster you created in her
You broke her fragile heart into a million pieces
And now you must make peace
And collect those broken pieces
And forget all about the beautiful morning kisses
Now she's nothing more
Than a collection of warning signs
And all the signals
You get in a danger zone
She's all the wrong turns you've ever made
And all the U-turns you never made
You ignited a spark within her
But that wasn't enough
You added gasoline to it in open air
A bonfire without stories
That's how lonely you left her
A bonfire that turned to a bushfire
She engulfs everything in her wake in flames
And you can't even take the blame
She's gone out of control
And you can't even call a fire brigade
She's the loss to every bet you've ever made
All the coins you've ever tossed
And she's all the lines you've ever crossed
And she's going to burn you
With the fire you started within her
Such is the beauty of a Goddess
You refused to see beyond her flaws
Now you're forced to see the beauty
She created out of them
And smell the fragrance
That oozes out of her pores
With somber elegance
And a tactful nonchalance
And embrace the fact
That you're not even worth a second chance
Perhaps you'll learn to find pleasure
In the mischief that lurks
In the dark sky of her beautiful eyes
And decipher the mystery in her smirk
But until then keep on scratching the surface because her heart is cold as ice.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
These walls have witnessed too much:
Fallacies hang on chipped paints,
Too weighty for their own self-murders,
Forming a plastic smile, remaining incumbent.
Air conditioned with rife medicinal regrets,
Coldly wafting in its nonchalance,
Armoring itself for another wave.
This time, the finality catches its last breath
Dyeing the molecules with dying grace
Like an ouroboros forking its venomous tongue on its own end,
Tasting not death, but imminent immortality.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
THE RAVE DAYS
THC
H20
Ecstasy
Recreational Dreaming
And And
Very Yes
Excessive Screaming
HAVE LEFT AN AMBIENT HAZE
Heavenly Limbo
Acidic Elation
Velocity Futuristic
Erratic Trance
Acrobatic Artificial
Nonchalance Manipulating
Bass
Intelligence
Eternal
Narcotic
Temptations
Hacienda
Astoria
Zoo
Enclosure
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 8:33 AM UTC
Pompeii stood proud near Naples.
Close to Herculaneum.
When in August of AD 79.
Volcano magnificent erupted.
Without nonchalance.
A buried city born.
Complete with frescoes of erotica.
Were subject to ancient censorship.
City modern with flowing water.
Trendy port.
Gymnasium.
Modernist by all accounts.
Population 20 000.
Mostly perished in brimstone's evacuation.
From the deepest depths of hell.
Suffocated nearly all.
Asphyxiated on vile fumes.
Eruption cataclysmic.
City buried far underground.
By written description.
'Tis believed that hell on earth unleashed.
The day following magical celebrations.
Worshiping Vulcanalia the Roman God of Fire.
Ironic tragedy procured.
Few survived the tragedy.
Those that did ran free
Anarchy, starvation.
Mainly petty larceny.
Landscape near destroyed.
Pliny the Younger wrote in a letter.
Vivid description of images seen as Pliny the Elder tried to rescue a few.
Felt perhaps had a duty to do.
Was admiral proud of the Roman fleet.
His life taken in forfeit as citizens from the ash world perished.
Pax Romana followed tragedy.
Dealt such a wicked card.
Embalmed in ash citizens lay.
Locked forever on the spot as they ran away!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:35 AM UTC
Warmth of the sun, and not so far away
holds my very soul, on this lovely day
I read every word over and over again
each precious note sung thousands of hymns
to our love, as you leave with keys in hand....
You call me your beauty, you call me your lovely
so many times before, each word grabs my heart
strikes me one more time with tears, as we part
on this very lovely day.....
I thought you were gone, like an old newspaper
sweeping through my life, with your tidal waves of thought
basking in the morning sun, so very alone
I look at you remembering , the love we had so new ...
Realizing the words won't come, the nonchalance of it all
the dreams are no more, please let me bask in the sun
my longings you never kept, next to your lonely heart
you just didn't know you consumed my very life ...
You want to taste it on your impish plate
you want me once again, so sorry you have to wait
that day has forever gone, but it was so very sweet
that precious love of ours, you had sweep me off my feet ...
My darling this is goodbye. in this warmth that had begun
our love can never be delivered in the original form
the scent of your closeness, brings wonderful memories
but please just let me bask in the morning sun.....
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
*It’s raining, drizzling
I am walking in the rain.
The heavens are weeping gracefully
Their faces hidden from sight
I dance and prance in the rain
In jovial nonchalance, lost in thought
Wondering, marveling and wringing my mind dry
Why the heavens are beside themselves
In such an out-pour of emotion.*
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 7:01 AM UTC
forgive him for he knows not
why?
he keeps dipping his pen in company ink.
his fallacy is confusing luck with skill,
wealth for good taste and the inherent belief
that money buys everything!
her love which you spurned
your indifference at every turn,
that nonchalance
that lack of concern,
is now, the reputation you’ve earned
hey silver tongued Romeo!
this ain’t no game of poker,
get your feet right back on the ground,
and get to the place
where you once belonged.
© 2021
Dec 26, 2021
Dec 26, 2021 at 10:02 AM UTC
If someone were to ask me which one do I like better,
Singapore or Xinjiapo?
I'd definitely go with the latter.
In Singapore, the replies are slow,
Filled with an extra dose of nonchalance.
I am more at ease in Xinjiapo,
And can be wicked, if given a chance.
Singapore has busy weekends with curfew,
and I often worry.
Notwithstanding the pressures of the job,
So, it's better to be safe than be sorry.
Although Singapore is closer to me,
And easily accessible by bus or train.
I don't really know if the rendezvous is,
Really worth taking all that pain
Xinjiapo is more fun and cool,
Oh, how I wish I could go back one last time.
to WhatsApp you what I wrote here,
and not necessarily make it rhyme.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 11:53 PM UTC
He touched our hands
But unconcernedly this famous man
And would not look us in the eye
For fear of contact or what might be worse, connection
And we could hardly blame him, for after all
He had each day been singled out for close inspection
By ones like us, in awe of his celebrity
Circled in the shade of his perfection
Hoping for the star-dust sprinkle of acuity
Or sparkling eyes, admission to his inner cult and clan
He wore blue jeans
And scuffed sneakers as a badge of proof
Of his coolness and unconcern
While we his audience with concealed attention
Enviously eyed his hairy confidence, unconsciously
Imitating in each phrase that low convention
Made small adjustments to our store-bought suits and ties
And nodded several times in bright pretension
Made small amendments to our smiles and lies
Flicked photo-phones in pursuit of custom and routine
He gave a speech
A flippant interview, this famous creature
A well tossed phrase, a rounded cliche
Poured forth like brandy in a glass, convivial
Or apple cider-ed vinegar in pewter mugs
A sardonically French-accented phrase habitual
Well humored, heavy lidded with testosterone
At interlocutor women with the pens and pads
Delivered in a low and purring monotone
For all the world as lovers, each to each
He stretched a smile
A modulated shift of teeth and beard
"Genius? Not I" with deprecation
"My shallow intellect, so poor and so ephemeral"
Delivered in a tone that mocked inclusion
While we assumed an elegance, unintentional
A nonchalance that shields the wide charades
Unmoving in our breathless, but conventional
Genuflection to the the notion that pervades
Our addictive appetite now sated. For a while.
He kissed their cheeks
And stroked their arms, with sensuous ambivalence
But absently, as if he cared so little
In his farewell. 'A bientot' he said and 'Au revoir'
And slipped away amongst the moving Milan crowds
Creative and creator, irredeemably a star
With, in his wake the smiling scriveners staring
At his retreating back in Stark excitement
In the middle of the circling and squaring, at
The alpha-wolfic effigy. The Shepherd and his sheep.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC