"quixotically" poems
Surreptitious incitement,
Deliberate grazes,
Salacious gazes,
Languid depravity,
Lazily gnawing at my cravings.
Nudges of adoration,
Filling my concavities of falsehoods.
Seemingly small pensive moments,
Instigating momentous intrigue.
Cavernous aches where your heart should beat against mine.
Brushing against destitution,
While we wrestle involuntary solitude.
Day dreams leave me shamelessly wondering,
For you are abstract,
Asunder,
Yet even quixotically,
You leave me enamored.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC
All time bird can be crow only ever
Black in colour scavenging all day long
Caring nothing about neatness or anything!
Dogs eat the bones they throw clearing flesh
Efficiently bringing by hovering everywhere!
Full meals or bits of meats they share with all
Going by the policy of united we stand ever!
How healthy and active the crows are ever
I see standing on the balcony of my building!
Jack of all trade these guys do hard work long
Keeping their noise heard all round the place!
Loitering round us they pester us to give food
Many a time when we come out to see the sky!
Nothing we can do but offer some leftover foods
Obviously irritated to avoid their bickerings!
Popular among birds like mynah, sparrow, eagle
Quixotically crows overshadow them by numbers!
Regularly they start their chores like we do
Surprisingly very early in the morning itself!
Tickling nook and corner of all materials all day
United they raid everywhere sans rest ever!
Verily they are indeed hard toiling creatures
Whether it is summer or winter in the whole year!
Xerox copy of black crows reminds of uniform dress
Year after year without change or colour fade ever;
Zealous lot these creatures indeed we have to imbibe!
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 3:17 AM UTC
I'm a lost beat in a generation that I don't belong in
This accent isn't my own, and nothing is really just nothing
On drunken nights I feel you, your words stumble upon my sight
And I feel, I feel... static, ecstasy, loneliness
This beauty which you claim of blossom fields and grey empyreal
It mimics my inner-manic. Estranged voice that dauntingly whispers:
don't claim to the beauty you see
Satellite heart, you're losing your signal, again
I'd build a ladder to the sky and climb every star,
past the moon and beyond, if I could.
I've tried, you know I've tried.
Although I refuse to recline,
denial itself fixates truth:
I'll never be able to fix you.
To quench your thirst, to ease your pain, keep you awake
I'd make you stay, forevermore upon your desire, you know I would.
In my mind, I'll hold your hand without interference
And if tears do in fact dry on their own,
I'll cry yours along with mine until they do.
Feverish trembling of reminisce will not exist, not here
Outside these city walls,
To a place afar from calendar days and neon glistening hours
We will dance atop telephone wires
The soles of our feet tracing back to the sound of that very first call
*gliding, floating, drifting
recklessly, carelessly, quixotically - - -*
And if we fall, love, imagine that imaginations fly.
It's been said, as they say, that everything, everything ends
We are not everything, however. We are merely ourselves alone
You and I, it is just you and I, dispersed, coffee of the sea
For no reason other than our own, we rage in reprise as
Metaphors among caffeinated tides.
We are not infinite, immeasurable, imperishable
Our ancient bodies have long been buried in one-an-others heart
We are our own. Constant as the silence of sound.
Ceaselessly, immersed in the slumber of our dream
We are, we are, w e a r e
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 5:38 AM UTC
Swollen bellies and bruised hips,
Rolling into the celestial waves
Of black velvet and diamond eyes.
We are transported away to dream.
Dancing through the poppy fields,
I find metallic harmony,
Played upon the strings of copper.
The curls of ivory trapping fingers.
The Mother of Pearl, whispering,
Says in sweet melodic tone,
"A rabbit is a curious, but timid man,
Formed to teach a lesson to the proud."
She then quixotically bated her lashes,
Took a drag of her scent and blew,
The billows of smoke waved across
And the sky melted to dripping words.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 12:59 PM UTC
I
"*We spoke of men
as often as of poems.
We tried to legislate away
the need for love –
that backseat ****
& death caressing you.*"
–Erica Jong
ah, this side of paradise!
there's no comfort in the wise,
no comfort at all. I roll it up how I was
taught to, half cancer half plant,
wait around for the next one.
*ever feel like a ****** I'd asked her
once, waiting on a corner, fishing for a lighter.
no, but I feel like Sylvia Plath.
I had responded: can I be Anne Sexton?
it seemed right, that is, my severe rejection of emotions via denial, via wanting to tear out my hippocampus,
stomp on it, trying to forget every walk to every room and back, to every house and back.
she herself was severe, though, this friend, more sad in an intrinsical way, more dull and rotten than I, via bad chemistry, while I was just a
case of depressive charlatanism gone bad.
Right?
I searched for acceptance in every bed cover's crease and dollar bills I handed them to buy me smokes.
I searched for it, hands on me, and then before then I had searched for it while he asked what's wrong?
You need to tell me what's wrong!
I love you! You need to tell me! Are you ok?
You are funny if you think I responded.
I likened my staring state, I fixed it in my head as a piercing quixotically sad one, once.
My silence was a story in itself.
II
"*You loved a man who spoke
like greeting cards.
'He ***** me well
but I can’t talk to him.'"*
– Erica Jong
It was ultimately guilty,
this time removed from pleasure.
The whole situation, blows to the face
and little slaps of course,
I felt the need to send myself into
a sort of temporary sleep so I forgot
but then would wake up again
because that would mean they won
and this is why I concussed myself once.
He tells me he cares and it's not
that I don't believe him but
it's that I don't believe myself.
I apologize for my being a burden and
he asks me why.
I suppose I am used to it
and if I could stare at him
it would be the same old stare.
*"We shared that awful need
to talk in bed.
Love wasn’t love
if we could only speak
in tongues."*
– Erica Jong
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
Quixotically adorned
In a creaking suit of armour
Stumbling from set back to let down
I am learning to smile enigmatically
As though my thoughts are far away
Which is so often the truth
And my memories are bitter sweet
Because that's what they are
And so.....
Behind this slight disguise
I bumble and fumble through life
Assuming a face of serenity
A face which is not really mine
But one I wear for public view
My creaking suit of armour
Protects my vulnerability
And hides my secret heart
By Phil Roberts
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
Quixotically adorned
In a creaking suit of armour
Stumbling from set back to let down
I am learning to smile enigmatically
As though my thoughts are far away
Which is so often the truth
And my memories are bitter sweet
Because that's what they are
And so.....
Behind this slight disguise
I bumble and fumble through life
Assuming a face of serenity
A face which is not really mine
But one I wear for public view
My creaking suit of armour
Protects my vulnerability
And hides my secret heart
By Phil Roberts
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 2:01 PM UTC
O girl let me tell you,
For me its only you
My life began with myself
When I knotted the tie by myself
I dreamed about one personality
I by myself or it came to me itself
Can not say succinctly
But An unknown face and an unknown identity
Every night as it was happening frequently
Quite interesting coz its amazing quixotically
To dream of a person whom I don't know
Its like reading a book, whose title I don't know
One thing, I've designed you as only one of mine finest art
That i cannot let you by my heart
But exactly I'm designer of my own dreams
Own dreamland and own schemes
Every night, in the dark I was with you
every day in light, i was searching for you
As I was with you for around twelve years
Without any frustration and without any fears
Afterwards now that it became known
In the face of you girl i started flown
Then how could you meet me one day
And Let me go away second day?
Girl If you could, its not you
Its not you, i didn't designed any personality like you
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC