"norah" poems
Here are the names of my lovers,
The women I sleep with, whom
I use, like they use me.
Spent, they discard me, for when their pleasure needs
Satiated, they climb aboard another man.
What they do not know,
Is that in my mind, in my ears,
everywhere,
I did not let them, or you go,
We are still romping,
For I
Take them as needed.
I need them all,
For my pleasure needs, like my unshaped heart,
Addictive, endless.
If your is name is here, I do not
Apologize.
Pink
Adele
Lilly Allen
Anna Nalick
Bess Rogers
Beyonce
Brandi Carlisle
Cat Power
Colbie Callait
Duffy
Eva Cassidy
Evanescence
Alison Sudol
Fiona Apple
Florence Welch
Grace Potter
Ingrid Michaelson
You
Joni Mitchell
K.D. Lang
Kate Nash
Kate Voegele
Leona Lewis
Lizz Wright
Madeline Peyroux
Marie Digby
Mary Wells
Norah Jones
Regina Spektor
Sara Bareilles
You
Sara Haze
Taylor Swift and Tracy Chapman
Tristan Prettyman
Vanessa Carlton
So many others, used so long ago, I can't remember the faces,
Which can't be googled.
Use them hard, use them often, more than daily.
Bluntly, I tell you
Your name is on my list,
Even if I do not disclose it.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
I want a girl that sings like Norah Jones.
A heavenly voice to recite my favorite poems.
I'd ask for a lullaby every night before bed,
So every note may echo within my sleepy head.
Sweet syllables that spark the most beautiful of dreams.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
criss·cross (krĭs′krôs′)
~~~
verb:
criss·crossed, criss·cross·ing, criss·cross·es
1. To mark with crossing lines.
2. To move back and forth through or over:
noun:
1. A mark or pattern made of crossing lines.
2. A state of being at conflicting or contrary purposes.
~~~
Oh Steve,
you nailed me
one mo' time,
to this cross of mine,
it's composition,
wood of linear mish mash, and the
nails, of a clear liquid substance,
drops of contradictory emotions
insight inside,
your practiced spécialité,
disarming the self-arming, harming,
we let our minds assemble reasons why,
in order to ourselves
dissemble
I keep hammering myself
unsure why, unclear the charge,
unknown the inevitable outcome
but the lines are continuously crossing, indeed,
but the intersections dissatisfying, in deed,
which is why theses words sores,
seeded by your words,
both burst and languish,
taking to the limitless limit,
of deep water oil exploration
unsure if I want to discover,
unknown if I want to uncover
the essential oils,
the caustic causing lyes,
that anoint these graying hairs,
blind his eyes,
both resting upon a furrowed, burrowed,
a puzzled forehead expression of
confusion about such simple line items as
life everlasting
out of bounds,
out of town,
writing poetry,
down by Richie Haven's San Francisco Bay,
listening to Norah Jones, wailing plaintive,
another Pandora perfect choice
"Don't Miss You At All"
am I stuck on an endless, repeating rifle
firing blanks of repetitious, line life patterns,
or worse,
forever trapped in the colorless
spaces between,
wondering if I can answer-handle
Stevie Nick's pre-vision precsion
pinpricking, questioning,
about the seasons of our life
*" but time makes you bolder,
even children get older,
I'm getting older too...
and if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,
well, well, the landslide will bring it down*"
so in this out of state, out of mind,
drinking up these meandering ramblings,
experiential wondering not,
if
the summer sunshine,
only the
when,
it will return,
and the lines drawn upon my face
sun burnt,
cease their
meaning meandering
re life's line items such as
life everlasting
~
Market Street
San Francisco,
two thirteen two thousand sixteen
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
~
steps beyond his stalwart hedge,
white pickets lined with flowery speech;
’cross a boulevard of words,
the shade of tree-lined poetry;
he’s drawn to her celestial sound,
seeks comfort in her sultry voice.
pandora's lounge, her nightly stage,
in every breathy note she sings.
their presence here he’s prearranged,
respires her palette’s offerings;
each tapestry-a-washed crescendo,
her every soulful whispering,
incites his heart to joyous tears;
his ev'ry sense engulfed, aflame,
her afterglow, like sun's refrain;
to hers, two eyes an opening,
his ears to sounds beyond;
the tongue to taste, a bounty waiting,
her touch too sweet, his blood is racing.
spellbound by her bluesy song,
raptured by her fragrant breath;
to her rhythm his heart beats strong,
he's captured in her blue’s caress.
~
*post script.
i make no apologies in the admission that i'm easy prey for a bluesy voice, the feminine variety in particular. add a British / Euro tone and my soul may just melt. Norah’s... i’ve a jones for hers!
~
**Come Away With Me
Norah Jones
Come away with me in the night
Come away with me
And I will write you a song
Come away with me on a bus
Come away where they can't tempt us, with their lies
And I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won't you try to come
Come away with me and we'll kiss
On a mountaintop
Come away with me
And I'll never stop loving you
And I want to wake up with the rain
Falling on a tin roof
While I'm safe there in your arms
So all I ask is for you
To come away with me in the night
Come away with me***
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 2:22 AM UTC
i want you in your purest form.
i want you on the couch in the window on a Sunday afternoon after lunch.
i want you humming along to Norah Jones, stacking pipes and radiating good energy.
i want you playing with my hair, and watching the flutter of my eyelashes.
i want you to kiss me so hard your jaw hardens up and your breathing gets loud.
i want your hands clumsily pulling at my shirt and your heartbeat in your throat.
i want you close enough to hear what you're thinking.
take your time.
take mine.
i want you. nothing else.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
just a girl with an odd skin disease
should i cry should i laugh
opera houses and speckled faces with masks on
covering your face in a banal masquerade
while you're looking like an actor with an odd skin disease
perfect in your on ways with glitter on your face no one else sees
as a music box nearby sings a dreamless tune
opens up the case with dangling jewels for you to caress on your skin
the last rays of the sun touches upon you from the windowpanes,
allowing the radiance within shine for one last moment until night falls
and the dangerous erroticism of the sun finally releases as it nears the horizon
like the necessary evils of the full moon as it draws in the horrors of the night
a child you once were with less worries now beckons the dark in your jewels
glittering in the dark
stranded, alone and yet free
of the banal masquerade.
maybe they'll watch you maybe they won't,
in your parade towards the clouds.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 2:28 PM UTC
Oh how we lay
after a night we are now asking for forgiveness
next day, new breath
we lay together
relaxing with the sultry sounds of Norah Jones and others alike
that's my kinds of night
the night i know you're by my side
oh what a wonderful night
for hours non stop, each others comfort enough to blight
blight with lust or any of the kind
oh how we lay
i hope we always feel this way
though in my heart you will always stay
its too good to be true
you must be an angel
my angel
oh how we lay
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 5:31 PM UTC
lurking within sparkling feat condense\
hour glass illuminate woe genesis mass\
fabricate sound electrify time travel\
grow dull glow dim dose off luster surpass\
darkness insusceptible elate jubilant realm\
levitate gem regal helm oscillate plane black\
whole Elemental sprite Marvel excite knight Orion\
recite incite twinkle twinkle tittle star ajar\
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
Come away with me in the night
Come away with me
And I will write you a song
Come away with me on a bus
Come away where they can't tempt us
With their lies
I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won't you try to come
Come away with me and we'll kiss
On a mountaintop
Come away with me
And I'll never stop loving you
And I want to wake up with the rain
Falling on a tin roof
While I'm safe there in your arms
So all I ask is for you
To come away with me in the night
Come away with me
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
Notes passed in class
notes scribbled in ink
Notes to remind
notes to forget
yesterday's to do is tomorrow's regret
Tell me they will remember me
Tell me the song they play at my Ending will be cool and not that one by Norah Jones.
Play my ashes Hey Jude, or, I Get By With a Little Help-
from my friends,
Who will know when I am gone?
I got the invite in a song at a wedding in Mobile bay,
Maybe CCR or the Fleetfoxes gave it away:
the hints in these notes passed in class,
notes passed on from the verse
notes to remember, letters to address,
yesterday's to do is tomorrow's forget.
And all I can say in my defense
(of this regret) is that I wanted
One song more, the one that wouldn't end.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
if I
saw Norah
Jones this
time while
they'd freak
out and
lost their
marbles that
never cried
again Saturday
Night when
I thought
never to
get rest
with her
I care
to date
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
Not one but many,
Only few would differ,
Right about all,
And yet wrong about many,
Hopeful to be what you once believed to be ordinary.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
You know those nights?
The ones when you’re driving alone in the car and the radios playing old songs like
“Dust in the Wind”, Kansas
“Come Away with Me”, Norah Jones
You know, those ones?
and there’s this feeling of loneliness
sadness
emptiness
but they aren’t bad—
Just Comforting
it reminds you of a rainy day
as you drive you can see into the windows of the houses you pass
they stand out against the pitch blackness
the smothering darkness
the wool blanket that covers your head when you’re cold
stars shine soulless white
which contrasts with how you feel
but it’s nice
and you know you can’t touch it
you can hardly imagine its vastness
its endlessness
its infinity
all you can do is ponder
ponder the midnight navy blue sky
ponder the peculiar comforting houses and what they do inside
Do they laugh?
Maybe they're watching your favorite TV program?
a child could be crying, or trying to stifle laugh
Maybe their mother is asleep?
or baby brother?
Perhaps no ones home?
they just forgot to turn off the lights
You will never know
Although you can ponder
dream
imagine
wonder
think
and you want to go inside
Perhaps... its best to keep driving
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
Nursery Haikus
A selection of poems inspired by children I worked with throughout my time as a Nursery Practitioner.
Circle Time
If I had one wish
I would become the person
that you see me as
Theo
Happiest outside
Stomping stars, building, making
creating your world.
Norah
Come back and see me
In your bright new uniform
and tell your stories
Pre-School Huxley
I remember when
Our mornings always began
With tears, then stories.
Baby Huxley
Tutu in my lap, sequins in your pockets shine but we shine brighter
Eadie
You take my hand like
I belong to you, and for
The next term I do.
Rudi
Your contagious smile
Made my darkest days brighter;
light reflected back.
Lily
I watch you make art
and remember how it feels
to see true beauty.
Maya
Strong as your namesake
excited by the world and
the people in it.
Esme
The world is waiting
for you to come and change it
like you changed mine.
Pearl
The moon and stars are
waiting for you to take aim
and echo through you.
Cataleya
If only you knew
The power of your laughter
My little treasure.
Career goals
Glorified Nanny?
Early Years Practitioner?
They love me the same.
Jade Wright
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 8:22 AM UTC
I stayed
When I knew you were burying me
Convinced myself I loved the smell
Of the earth you piled over my grave
“Sometimes you have to get your hands ***** I laughed
I wasn’t the only one laughing
When I came to see you last
I didn’t know I had invited myself to a funeral
You didn’t close my eyes
You didn’t cover me in the funeral shroud
Neglected to inform me
I had died
“Miskeena”* they said
There wasn’t much of a crowd that day
You said you tried, you really did
The mourners reassured you
You did, you really did
Bisous, bisous*
You left without saying my final rites
But the water, snow, and hail
Washed my body clean without you
And I adorned my own body in white
By chance
If you see me again, please don’t be startled
I’m sure you’ve heard stories of how pretty I am
For a corpse
And when you come close
Don’t expect a stench or a rotten tongue
My skin would make the argan trees weep with joy
Yes, I smell just as good as I used to
You should have already known that I’m the kind of girl who can grow flowers
Even in a grave.
-Norah Khardaji
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 2:22 AM UTC