"nonchalant" poems
Come spring, she leaped across the grassy dune,
Beaming with sheer joy as she hummed a halcyon tune.
Her beauteous almond eyes- the biggest, the brightest.
A bonnie spotted doe in her warm, homely forest
Come summer, by her gushing little lake she played.
When upon a solitary, pensive buck her eyes she laid.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While his eyes curiously lingered, hers wandered on ahead.
Come monsoon, he adored her eyes, her gilded coat, her bushy tail.
The passionate warmth in her eyes with affection made him frail.
Yet, she went on with her blissful life- devoid of any care.
Oblivious of the buck who always stopped to stare.
Come winter, by his side chattering happily she grazed.
Soon, his feelings faded; by almond eyes no longer crazed.
Like currents in the water, apart they drifted and drifted.
New lake. Nonchalant silence. No words were said.
Come fall, she found that he still leaped through her mind.
The emotion she once scoffed in her heart now enshrined.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While her dull eyes wistfully lingered, his wandered on ahead.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
I remember,
My usual nonchalant demeanor going completely bananas in my cubicle of a room
After enlisting to deliver you ice cream.
No, not just any ice cream,
Strawberry with bananas and gummy bears.
I thought it as an awkward combination
But when I got in the car,
The sparrows were flying in two adjacent v-shaped formations.
Slightly puzzled, I pondered if maybe one day I'll meet a sparrow, or anything with enough courage to brave the skies,
Soaring, knowing in time, their wings will tire, and locating a perch is then of importance.
Because life's goal, humans and creatures alike,
Is to find a whisper of a nightingale's song,
Or, possibly, the eccentric taste of a spoonful of their favorite ice cream.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
Don't "talk ***** to me.
I don't want that,
Not nonchalant naughty nouns,
Or violent verbs,
Or anxious adjectives.
I want to be drippingly adorned and intrigued,
By adjectives that ache and torment,
By verbs that are vibrantly vital and tantalize.
I want to be left longfully lusting after lambent language.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
I slip the straps and release the clasp
of your over-the-shoulder boulder holder.
Gravity asserts itself, and you sigh as
I wonder if I should get even bolder
because
The jaws of love masquerade
as petals of a flower
so
Just say if you want me to stop.
We are, after all, in the middle of a shop.
I was attracted when I saw you smile.
As we passed in the frozen food aisle.
Now people are staring though the window.
Shocked at my nonchalant innuendo.
And if your purse metaphor extends to this.
We can go to the Bank for a little kiss
though
I may not be able to afford
nine feather mattresses and a golden pea.
But if you could make do
with a lilo and a marble
then …
You've pulled Princess.
© Pagan Paul (30/05/17)
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
I watch the prom Dance,
In an awkward stance,
my friends walk in with dates,
and the excitement Abates.
Alone in a corner,
I mope like a mourner,
With no partner to dance with,
No gentleman to prance with.
Amidst the mirth and cheers,
My eyes fill up with tears.
I rush out into the open air,
And by Jove! I see Voltaire!
With his satirical charms,
He draws me in his arms.
As I sway to the beats,
I'm waltzing with Keats.
Causing my funny bone to arouse,
Enters P.G. Wodehouse!
Using nonchalant wittiness,
He acknowledges my prettiness.
And then walks in Shakespeare,
Who wipes away my tear,
And my senses curdle like curds,
As he showers me with words.
While I repress the excited child,
I'm swaying with Oscar Wilde.
I'm rendered helplessly mute,
With his phrases so astute.
With a proposal so verse-y,
I'm serenaded by Shelly B. Percy.
And before this fantasy can spoil,
I fox trot with Conan Doyle.
And thus literally seduced,
into putty I'm reduced.
I am platonic-ally smitten,
By the genius of what they've written.
The dating circus can’t make me cry,
because a host of paramours have I.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
74
A Lady red—amid the Hill
Her annual secret keeps!
A Lady white, within the Field
In placid Lily sleeps!
The tidy Breezes, with their Brooms—
Sweep vale—and hill—and tree!
Prithee, My pretty Housewives!
Who may expected be?
The Neighbors do not yet suspect!
The Woods exchange a smile!
Orchard, and Buttercup, and Bird—
In such a little while!
And yet, how still the Landscape stands!
How nonchalant the Hedge!
As if the “Resurrection”
Were nothing very strange!
10.3k
Inches below the surface, I can feel the sun just ahead, threating my lost consciousness and tearing my body apart.
The incandescent light pierces the ground, the mountains scream fire upon the sky, crackles in the ground appear beneath my feet. What a pitiful anxiety made of sand!
My body stretches, incoming dehydration, thirst and isolation; motherly desert, fatherly wastelands...
Let me burn down to ashes and blow me to the wind.
Make me feel uncomfortable and let me disappear in peace.
I can feel the drought claiming my pain, gathering the dust that used to be my skin and remain in solitude, just like a snail then I find myself stuck in the nonchalant rage of the day.
There is nothing alive, there is just an infinite ruin of land, dead soil and dying lives turn into stone by act of time.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
As dark clouds thunder on a grey day,
Resounding across the arid plains,
I hear the loud cries of a bird,
It cuts across the rhythmic drumming of the clouds,
He's quiet for a moment, then I hear him again.
Through the trees I see him,
Royal, an electrifying metallic blue,
A peacock, stunning, strutting,
Fanning his train of feathers,
Eyespots of majesty, stroked with mossy hues.
He dances in a flamboyant display,
In spot light, as lightening flames the sky above,
Nonchalant, a blue crested head turns with pride,
His ornate train, shimmering, beckoning, to and fro,
His moves, a courtship ritual of love.
His iridescent trail woos in style,
A life of its own in its opaline shades
Golden, blue, brown and green,
Colors of the earth, gloriously resplendent,
A gathered spectacle in his plumage.
As drops of rain touch the earth,
He is still high on the wings of romance,
His feet in motion,
His feathers spread for his mate,
Quivering, glimmering a love dance.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
'Neath canopy of paradise
Super troupers' shafts of light
Illuminate his terpsichore;
***** he struts, the impresario
Gyrating on spindle shanks;
Needle thin and knock-kneed
He dances a samba
On stage of verdure;
Midst Elvis blue-black thrusts,
Steel rimmed amber orbs
Seek admiring and desirous glances
From the dour drab hen,
Mousy in her beige twin set
And mottled tweed skirt;
With nonchalant disinterest she exits
The arena; audition over.
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 11:40 AM UTC
Donald Trump's presidency
Is one of the greatest achievements in art I have ever experienced
And Trump is a true artist
He takes words from the page
Like corruption, disenfranchisement, xenophobia
And brings them to life
Highlighting fear and paranoia so clearly
Contrasting the blacks and whites
Emphasizing anger
While reminding us we're mere infants
In the digital age
And warning us of our seniority
And capitalism's
We all like to think life has meaning
Until we hit an animal with our car
Then that's just the way things are
And I'm staring at an absurdist painting
Of a child driving a car
Through a herd of sheep
As I watch a heist film
Where the robbers turn their guns over
To the mentally unstable guy in the group
Trump is a national artist
Placing riots on the map
And drawing infernos on the Internet
His art forces an opinion
Everybody has something to say about him
And it's all true
Even the pages he ripped from his own cabinet
Tried to villainize him in their script
But he was already an anti-hero
The humor is that the mud slung onto him
Is dirt kicked up from his own tires
I guess if you surround yourself with hateful people
You're surrounding yourself with people who probably hate you
Trump's art is deeply conflicting
He reminds me of the people who want me to live in shame
Yet he embodies the individuality that separates me from that shame
His insecurities remind me of myself
High school is the White House in the eyes of a kid
And I had secrets I wanted to share
But felt I couldn't
I learned things
That changed my entire perspective
And didn't think people would understand
Afraid of being assaulted for my indiscretions
I hid behind a boisterous personality
And a nonchalant attitude
Trump's art evokes sympathy and hatred that feels so strong
When he holds a mirror defining our worst qualities
To a man viscerally opposed to his own reflection
The confliction of emotions
Is the hallmark of great art
We are all artists
The lines we write or the strokes we brush
Are in our actions
And Trump's canvas displays
A life filled with accomplishment
Inspiring me to live my own life
But I still wake up in cold sweats
From the American dream
That anybody can be president
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
How treacherous.
How boring.
It was a time between three and four.
A time between eleven and one.
The pre-emptive witching hour.
The incidental grey area.
My mind was a-buzz.
My thoughts were flashing.
I knew not what they were,
But I was morose and melancholic.
I could not work.
I could not sleep.
I could not think.
Chaos had become my order.
And infinity had become my moment.
Then, there ahead of me,
Stood two women,
Straight and strong.
One was a Siren
The other, a Muse.
I thought hallucinations.
Perceived ideas through a ******* mind.
But alas, they were real.
I touched them and reacted.
Warned against their poison.
Their mercuric tongues.
Their stolen hearts.
Their arachidonic souls.
And their odd Tsavorite eyes.
They walked.
I followed.
Into a labyrinthine hive,
They sauntered.
Nonchalant angels,
Indifferent to my stalk.
In the centre, there lay
An abyss.
They sat on the edge
And beckoned me
Forth.
I accepted, curious, yet cautious.
And through the Song of the Siren,
And the Myth of the Muse,
The blackness beckoned.
I fell, I flew to my mind’s end.
Accepted my descent, unknowingly.
The air was still. The tunnel black.
And I landed softly.
Alone. Safe. Hungry.
So, I walked to the edge.
The Siren waited. Offered her tail
And walked.
Crawled into smoke, was a Rat.
The Siren pointed, then followed
The smoke.
Rat awoke, to run to my foot,
Up my leg and towards my shoulder.
Rat pointed too,
So I walked to the edge
To appear in water.
Glistening and moist
Stood the Muse,
With a smile on her lips.
Again her tail led me,
As Rat jumped to the Muse.
We glided in the water,
Blinded in the dark,
Until we reached a cave, having dodged the rocks.
Inside, I was left,
Save for Rat.
The Muse flew off, a smile on her lips.
Drowning, by my waist, was a rodent. Erinaceous and small.
I lifted it up and placed Hedgehog on the opposite shoulder.
Hedgehog thanked me,
And showed me the way.
A niche in the rock.
We entered, all the same.
On the other side was a bed.
There lied the Siren and the Muse.
Seductive and Bare.
I was pulled forth.
Their tails were strong.
Their tongues were mercury.
Their hearts were stolen.
Their souls were arachidonic.
Their eyes were Tsavorite.
I was poisoned all along.
In vapid lust,
Morose passion,
Melancholic ecstasy,
It ended.
They have left me
Only with Rat and Hedgehog.
Here I will die.
Led to be abused.
All that shall be known
Of my boring and treacherous
Witching hour
Is this story.
I dedicate it to
The Muse,
The Siren,
Who are but one girl.
And to Rat, Hedgehog and me
Who is but one *******
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
I followed a boy on his impromptu journey to the forest (or at least what I once thought it was).
he walked with a nonchalant disposition without saying any word. his gestures demonstrated it all.
it’s ludicrous that I reluctantly stepped forward to the vast and dense forest in front of me. I was not scared at all. I discovered amity within the zigzagging branches and peace in this endless labyrinth.
and after a long and intense journey, the dazzling sunlight captures his figure: his tanned skin was wrapped by falling leaves, laying down at the top of the rock (in which I always wonder to see what he’s dreaming).
for once in my life, never have I thought silence could be so much pleasing as that.
Aug 14, 2022
Aug 14, 2022 at 9:19 AM UTC
You make me feel so stupid
When we play chess
The way you en passant all nonchalant
You chase me into castle
From there I watch you intently
The way the Russians watched Bobby Fischer
In his hotel room
But while I wait for a move to develop
I become the Boredest Spazsky
My mind in a stalemate
As I try to crush your Sicilian defenses
As much as I harangue
You leave me in zugzwang
Which confuses my feeble mind
For I may be a pawn
But I'm the king pawn
Which means the board usually revolves around me
But your queen takes that instantly
And I'm left in a fool's checkmate
I wish you could see things from my side of the board
You'd see how desperately I wanted the king
All the complex and unique obstacles in the way
But instead you just sit there
And laugh at me losing all my pieces trying to reach you
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
I’d love you less if you were here
crowding my dorm bed, nibbling me,
rubbing me like sandpaper
I’ve come this far all by myself
I am a stone, leave me alone
Let’s keep it nonchalant
don’t kiss me on the lips
don’t label this a situationship
because then one of us would need to care
Feb 19, 2022
Feb 19, 2022 at 9:50 AM UTC
Confined to the skyscrapers
Elevated mechanically
To the secluded corners
Flights of stairs are daunting
The bustling crowd is distant
Parks and kids nonchalant
About the lonely resident
Prisoner between cozy walls
Blocked in the secluded world
Heart yearns to join the bustle
From the rooms of skyscrapers
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
THE MOMENT BEFORE THE MOMENT
( for Linda Rose Parkes )
The sea stands
by my daughter's side
like a huge monster
she has tamed.
"See...sea...my friend?"
she pats and pets it.
Both of them smile
for the camera
as if either
could never die.
This the moment
of the photograph
that fixes them
both in place
held in a forever
of black and white.
The moment
before this moment she
had ****** her hand
into the sea's massive body
and like a surgeon or
a magician
brought forth
a shell.
To her it is
a little miracle.
She plunges her hand in again
conjures up a bikini top.
Blue with white
polka dots.
On her next slight of hand
she creates bladderwrack
with such a casual
nonchalant magic.
"What is..?" she
enquires of me
She falls in love
with its sound.
Will "bladderwrack...bladderwrack...bladderwrack!"
all the way home.
She is my tiny God
making a universe in her own image.
The camera clicks
captures the creator in the act.
Her pet sea gazing at her imploringly
like a Kraken on a leash.
She pats it with a splash.
A wave licks her toes.
The sun shines in glorious
black and white.
Her laughter
my prayer.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
Commit ****** then flip an ounce, a nonchalant verse that promotes the internal joust, with
pride earned as the only badge that counts.
Tap the snare drum for a bar, or vibing melody,
our backwards society stereotypes "thugs" as, "what drugs are they selling me?"
Rap is art in raw form,
intended to excite the youth who see death as a norm, the daily street storm.
Women de-humanized for a buck,
men taught to only treat them good if they **** and don't run out of luck.
The concrete jungles can only have just one king upon a throne, as the vicious cyclone continues destroying futures of the youth unless they succeed in the booth.
Youth commit ****** then flip an ounce,
pride earned needs to be denounced.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 5:06 PM UTC
*Luscious and curvaceous
Sometimes with a pout
Airing some disapproval
With the wave of her hand
She turns back and
Gives a nonchalant glance
Sometimes disapproval
But her side glances
Reveal a different story
The gait of a ballet dancer
There’s rhythm in her feet
Voices her opinions
With her surreal notes
Her piercing gaze
Tears down all defenses
Here, helpless soul
Is mesmerized
It’s a luscious night*
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
I once was told
In Broooklyn New York
I had a lackadaisical attitude.
It was the first time I was hearing
That whimsical adjective !
So lackadaisical I was !
Looked like an illness
The way they said it
It seemed I could contaminate.
So I stopped a few seconds to think and dissect the word
Lackadaisical
I lacked a daisy somewhere !
Sounded like I lacked a fuse in my brain !
Next thing I know I was checking the word
In my reminiscences of the Oxford English Dictionary
Or may be it was Webster's
And it said in black and white ferns I lacked purpose
I wasn't properly lazy, I just lacked directions
I lacked enthusiasm, stamina
I was devoid of zest
I was blasé
Insouciant
Careless.
Translated into more French I was nonchalant and better said
Jemenfoutiste.
It was during an encounter group
And they threw that lackadaisical attitude ******** to my face
And guess what i did ?!
I just kept on smiling
Jemenfoutiste to the extreme.
And they kept saying
See what I mean, you 're so ******* lackadaisical , man !
You're so pathetic ! You're so apathetic !
It was Winter in America like Gil Scott-Heron would say
And it felt so good, so warm,
As far as I could see,
To be called lackadaisical
And not laconical.
I not only lacked a daisy
I lacked a bunch of tropical flowers indeed !
Like bouganvillea, orchid or hibiscus
Anthurium, jasmine or bromeliad
I lacked sun and sea
Strange as it was
Even though I was near Atlantic Avenue, Coney Island
So I was lackaseacal and lackasuncal
But what I didn't lack was ants in my pants
And until today they make me dance
My forever lackadaisical dance.
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 12:59 AM UTC
*We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury*
Friendly - they say hello
In mischief and spite.
Warm or cool under your feet
They swerve near nonchalant districts
And foamy lips
Destructive - they leave without saying goodbye
A routine they developed
Over the series of washed up regrets
And maroon sediments
Attached - they stick like superglue
To the pang they forgot to tell you about
They leave and take a part with them
And inevitably imprint themselves onto you
*We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury*
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
Plans made and calendars marked
Two days away from expectation
Quickened heartbeats at the thought
Eyes close and dreams dance
Arrangements completed early
Nothing left but to wait
A nonchalant mention of something to do
A promise to another
Red circle reminders overlooked
Our day forgotten as is our night
Sincere apologies, no other thought
Eyes close and heart cries
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 6:20 AM UTC
Do you remember that time of innocence?
When the horrors of the world were invisible,
and you were so much more than invincible?
Do you remember when you didn't doubt for a second that you were amazing?
When you wore those "crazy" things,
And sung at the top of your lungs, unashamed?
Do you remember when you raced outside at every opportunity?
When catching fireflies were the only thing you could think about in the summer,
Other than swimming in the open sea?
Do you remember when laughing came so easily?
When you didn't catch the naughty things in kids tv programs,
And when you had a million perfect life plans?
Do you remember when you woke up early, because you couldn't wait for the day?
When you spoke so fast, because there wasn't enough time,
And when you created a trillion random things, because you wanted to?
Do you remember dancing, or bobbing your head to some random tune in your head?
When you ran out into the rain, without shame,
And screamed until your lungs ached?
Do you remember when you learned everything, and wanted to still know more?
When you were so proud of getting one thing right,
And not caring if you weren't perfect?
Do you remember watching your older siblings, or grown-ups do things, that made you say "I can't wait until I grow up!"?
When you loved yourself, without a doubt,
And had the power to do anything, or be anyone?
I do.
And I wish I could have all of that innocence, and freedom back.
I wish that openness, and self-love had transferred into my more mature life.
I wish that nonchalant way of doing everything had stayed.
I wish that careless way of dancing and singing had tagged along.
I wish that I had stayed carefree for longer, instead of quickly becoming cynical, and depressed.
I wish that I had never pushed to be a part of the grown-up conversations.
I wish that I had never rushed into intimacy.
I wish that I had held onto my wildest dreams.
Because, now,
I regret every time I said
"I can't wait until I grow up!",
Because each time I said those words aloud,
Its pushed me further away from my imagination and wilderness faster, and harsher.
Because each time I said those words, and every single adult around me said that I should hold on to my childhood,
I replied with anger and irritation, not knowing the hell that I was rushing into.
I want to go back,
Don't you?
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
One day someone will be taking care of me
When I'm sick and when I'm hurt
Someday I'll come home to a person
Who washed and folded all my shirts
Maybe in the future he'll make dinner for me too
And know how I'm feeling even if what I say isn't true
I'll work all day and get home so tired and worn
And maybe he will do, and feel, the same
We could just lay on the ground and order a pizza
Eat half of it and pass out where we lay
Wake up at four in the morning, only seeing silhouettes in the night
And hold each others hands as we find our bed without our sight
I'd make him surprise meals, maybe way too soon
And discourage myself as he's out so late that day
He'd come home and I'd tell him what I'd created
Although now its cold/ soggy/ not the same, he'd still kiss me and say,
"Thank you, baby. I'm sorry I was late, did I make you cry?"
And I'd nod and look nonchalant... or at least I'd try.
When we're apart, I'll think of him all throughout my time
Thinking of future gifts and laughing too hard at his past puns
Maybe looking like a lovestruck idiot in public
But he would know, that's just how my mind runs
And seeing each other again, I'd make sure to feel his face too much
He'd let me, since he would love my touch
He'd watch me sleeping ugly, with drool and farts and noise
He'd probably record it to blackmail me later,
Threatening with laughter to show it to all his friends
But little would he know that I could do one greater:
Revealing the albums of candid photos and videos in my phone
And I wouldn't be able to help it, he would just be so cute-prone
We may argue over something silly, something stupid, and I'd refuse to see him at all
Looking away when he walks by and ignoring him when he talks to me
He'd be hurt, and he would tell me that, my icy heart would melt away
And I'd hug him so tight and apologize for being a meanie
He wouldn't say anything, what if he doesn't hug me back?
...what if he never again placed his hands on my back?
What if I ruin everything? If my personality is immature and strong
He'll have had enough of it and he'll gently tell me he's letting me go
I know I'll cry, asking if he still wants to keep the gifts I gave
And my heart will be trembling as I fear he may say no...
Because each moment was a whirlwind of him
I'm afraid I'll ruin my future before it begins...
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
I remember it was cold and quiet. We stood up beneath the scattering stars.
Silently staring at the landscape outspread in front of us, where the mountain touched the sky.
Losing count on the steps taken, you wondered how many dreams townspeople had to reach the summit tower seen from afar;
Spreading lights randomly with no purpose to guide. Little yet arrogant. Like a candlestick being put on the top of the world, accidentally.
Or maybe, incidentally placed to embody the messiah for those who would discover it that way — which might be peculiarly irrational.
Despite the lame fact, it still mesmerized you. I just knew the moment your starry eyes were seen in the dim night. And out of the blue, it captivated me too.
We sneaked from the despotic night, releasing laughs from the deepest and most untouched alley in our lungs. Our fears were freed.
Nonchalant towards the thing ahead of us, even to the time that felt prematurely withered.
"I remember once this priest brought hope to our house, and we just followed him since then", you said. That’s how you told me that miracle wasn’t the thing that kept us living, but hopes that enlightened.
Unyielding lost in the most chaotic ecstasy I have ever encountered. It became that moment when a knock on the door wouldn’t be able to break our reverie.
Modest. Humble.
We then walked unafraid through the open door that led us to the home where the sun rises.
Aug 14, 2022
Aug 14, 2022 at 9:26 AM UTC
he told me i was living in fear
and i thought i wasnt supposed to be here
a sign hangs above his living room couch
"the police ruin everything"
i want to disagree but i control my thoughts
i build a wall between them and my mouth
the same one he built
and her and them and we and us
i can tell by the furrowed brows and tell tall signs
by the words that come out only when we drink our nightly wine
i climb on top of him
in his room of american flags, broken records and leopard ware
faux patriotism and hipster runoff mixed with nonchalant dishevel
i kiss his sweaty neck
my mind is always down south
even now
where my toes peep out of my socks
curious of the present moment and the theme of tomorrows thoughts
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 9:32 PM UTC