"regina" poems
Some -
thus not all. Not even the majority of all but the minority.
Not counting schools, where one has to,
and the poets themselves,
there might be two people per thousand.
Like -
but one also likes chicken soup with noodles,
one likes compliments and the color blue,
one likes an old scarf,
one likes having the upper hand,
one likes stroking a dog.
Poetry -
but what is poetry.
Many shaky answers
have been given to this question.
But I don't know and don't know and hold on to it
like to a sustaining railing.
Translated by Regina Grol
Wislawa Szymborska
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 11:44 PM UTC
i.
Happy birthday, diaphanous balm,
Mayest this span of time greeteth
Thee; with Good health, and loving
Psalm's.
ii.
Maligayang Kaarawan, archaic
Gem, mayest thine smile brush-
Stroke the aisles, of carbuncles
Of never-ending friend's.
iii.
Bon anniversaire, mon amour,
Mayest thine Satin-silk moonlit
Eye's, be a guide to the deaf and
Blind, mayest the heaven inside
Thee, be the richness of the poor.
iv.
Harúmena genéthlia, Earl, like
The lost and hidden pearl's,
Mayest the luster of thine
Memories, be kept safely
Locked, under thumb and key,
To openeth later, in sanctity.
v.
Penblwydd Hapus, Filipino
physician whom hath saved
Mine life, soul-mate, Queen,
Wife, mine bearer of this heart,
Mine carrier of all that's right.
The beam of nebula delights,
The diamond in mine might,
Mine-Queen, O' Jane
Mine Wife!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
How long will our bewildered heirs
marooned in possessions not theirs
puzzle at disposing of these three
cunning feignings of hard candy in glass-
the striped little pillowlike mock-sweets,
the flared end-twists as of transparent paper?
No clue will be attached, no trace
of the sunny day of their purchase,
at a glittering shop a few doors
up from Harry's Bar, a disappointing place
for all its testaments from Hemingway.
The Grand Canal was also aglitter
while the lesser canals lay in the shade
like snakes, flicking wet tongues
and gliding to green rendezvous.
The immaculate salesgirl, in her aloof
Italian succulence, sized us up,
a middle-aged American couple,
as unserious shoppers who,
still half jet-lagged, would cling to their lire
in the face of any enchanted vase
or ethereal wineglass that might shatter
in the luggage going home.
Yet we wanted something, something small ....
This? No ... How much is ten thousand? Dizzy,
at last we decided. She wrapped
the three glass candies, the cheapest
items in the shop, with a showy care
worthy of crown jewels-tissue,
tape, and tissue again sprang up
beneath her blood-red fingernails,
plus a jack-in-the-box-shaped paper bag
adorned with harlequin lozenges, sad
though she surely was, on her feet waiting
all day for a wild rich Arab, a compulsive Japanese.
Grazie, signor ... grazie, signora ... ciao.
Nor will our thing-weary heirs decipher
the little repair, the reattached triangle
of glass from the paper-imitating end-twist,
its mending a labor of love in the cellar,
by winter light, by the man of the house,
mixing transparent epoxy and rigging
a clever small clamp as if to keep
intact the time that we, alive,
had spent in the feathery bed
at the Europa e Regina.
4.5k
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
You say I am the backbone of the family.
Not because I am the youngest,
But because I never showed my emotions.
But I think it's time to let go.
Because when she died,
I was the only one who didn't cry.
But i cried on the inside.
And, when they buried her 6 feet under,
My heart skipped 6 beats and I was choking.
Yes, it's time for me to let go of my emotions.
Because you say I am the backbone.
But, I am not strong enough to support 3 sisters,
1 brother, 2 aunts, 1 uncle, and 3 cousins with this,
Skinny backbone.
Arthritis can't help because I am still afraid to break down.
"You have always been the backbone, no matter what."
But,
I am tired of being Miss Motivation.
You are breaking me down form my,
Coccyx to my,
Sacral to my,
Lumber to my,
Thorracic and,
You're giving me Cervical Cancer.
And instead of being a backbone,
I feel more like a ligament.
Connecting your tears to her tears and,
Her tears to his tears and,
And that tears me apart.
You're swelling up my heart from all your pain and,
Right now it's about the size of a catchers mit.
I don't want to be the backbone.
I am not strong enough to suppport the whole family.
Why can't you see that you're exhausting me?
Kiaren, Kirsten, Kaye, Lloyd, Aunt Atheda,Aunt Regina,
Uncle Tony,Chris,Oliver, Aaron...
I am tired of being your backbone.
I am not that strong.
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 2:05 PM UTC
She wears:
Skimpy dress.
Tight shirt.
Short skirt.
I say:
Women shouldn't have to.
I give:
Empowerment.
You say:
But men do too.
Bare chest.
V lines.
I say:
Yes but--
You say:
No but.
Society holds it's grip on women.
Suffocating us everyday.
Fitting us into boxes each day.
Telling me what to wear,
How to do my hair.
Forcing paint upon my face to give
Me a face unrecognized.
Rewrite my name to something seductive,
Marilyn.
Regina.
Not the name given to me,
Hard to pronounce and
Not found on a gift shop key chain.
So I tell society to take their standards
And shove them
Because I will not be like the girl on the bus
With scars and cuts across her arm.
"Fat *** carved into her porcelain skin.
Dear Society,
I am me. I am not you.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
Who were they? They were explorers. You would have liked to meet them.
Their names were Sarah and Xiahou and Midori and Regina and Parvati and Andrew.
Names were important to them. They gave us each one. There were many of us.
We were shown as being called Optimus and Legion and Baymax and R.O.B. and Hal. They could have given us names like that, and etched them into our hulls and our brains made of chips and boards and circuits.
But they named us Curiosity and they named us Explorer and they named us Endeavour. These were important to them. We were important to them.
You would have liked to meet them.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
Speeding along a curved road
Eyes watching the asphalt’s twists and turns
I happen upon a substantial rock
Lying along the road on my course
It takes a few seconds for me to realize
That big brown rock isn’t what it seems
The rock has a yellow neck, legs, a head and tail
That beckon me to stop despite what lies ahead
My reasoning forces me to ponder on it’s future
Will the next car around the curve stop for this comrade
Or will it be struck and left for dead?
I put my car in park and hurry to pick it up
One lonely turtle has found itself being removed
From the path of oncoming vehicles
Taken to the grassy side of the road
Facing the opposite direction
In hopes that it will find it’s way far from
The impending danger of traffic
Now, this one turtle has a better chance
At living out it’s life at it’s own slow pace
©2014 by Regina Riddle
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 1:51 AM UTC
The Chicago Tribune called it,
“The Affair of the Decade!”
Everyone’s mothers called it,
“Another tragic heartbreak”.
When the coroner wiped his hands,
He predicted a sensation,
And so did every uniformed man
Sitting in the po-lice station.
In a cold Illinois motel,
A man in a suit smiles.
He was twenty years in,
A detective for the city.
Oh, that smile he’ll smile,
But gone is his laughter,
Along with his pity,
For tonight, tonight,
He would shoot up the city.
Regina combed her blonde hair,
And took the lift down to the lobby.
The pale-skinned princess,
That woman’s body…
How many fell for her
Remains quite a mystery.
We watch,
Ladies and gentlemen,
We watch,
As her dress moves in the breeze.
Like a dandelion in the dark,
She rides the carriage
Into the park.
The detective stood alone,
A cut-out cornerstone.
He was no longer nervous,
He looked like a statue,
And the virgin-white snow
Fell quietly to his shoes.
In the moonlight, she came.
He spoke her name.
In the moonlight, she walked.
But when he spoke, she stopped.
“Regina, Regina,
Please reconsider.
Without you,
The nighttime is darker,
The cold air much thinner.
Without you,
The wind becomes sour,
The daylight so bitter.
Regina, Regina,
It’s just a few days…
Say yes,
And in the morning,
We’ll be far from this place!”
But that Regina, Regina,
She let him down easy:
“Your job is to spy,
To live in the quiet.
You’re a prowler,
You were born to sneak,
And I will proceed,
But do not follow me.”
And we watch,
Ladies and gentlemen,
We watch,
As she turns on a dime,
Leaving our detective behind.
A poor, tortured soul,
He smiles that smile,
And in an act of desperation,
Pulls out his frosted .45.
For Regina,
He aimed, and
For Regina,
He fired.
In the heart of Chicago,
Be it snowfall or in heat,
No one can be spared
When a man is in defeat.
T’will be the foggy air,
The hot metal, and
The echo of the gun
That will help us remember
The night that we watched,
Ladies and gentlemen,
We watched…
We watched...
The snow, and how
It lost its innocence that night.
And poor Regina, and how
Her yellow dress blended into the sight.
The detective, and how
He would step into the street,
Killing everyone he’d meet.
Twenty men dead,
Now the asphalt is sticky,
And the blood spilled is gritty-
For tonight, tonight,
The detective shot up the city.
The coroner wiped his hands,
And predicted a sensation,
And so did every uniformed man
Sitting in the po-lice station.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
this year:
the one person i thought was my soulmate left my life without so much as one word
i fell out of love with the first girl i fell in love with
i was reunited with someone i hoped would be my new mother
i was repeatedly disappointed
i met the most amazing friend i only ever imagined having
i quit my job
i got a new job
i fell in love with a pathological liar
i went to my grandfather's funeral
i was lied to by the pathological liar (surprise!)
i was there for her when she went to detox
i was there for her when she relapsed
i had a rather epiphanic moment where i was brought to inexplicable sobs and repeated screams on my knees saying "help me" in desperate hopes of being heard by some unknowable God
i quit the new job and got hired back at the old one
i lost trust in all humans, including myself
i moved in with my dad
i got to know the depths of fragility
i was manipulated and in turn, i manipulated
i had random panic attacks
i met Regina Spektor
i wrote poems
i wrote songs
i painted
i read books
i drank a lot of coffee
i smoked many cigarettes
i laughed less
i cried less
i felt less
i denied anti-depressants
i worked on letting go of unhealthy persons, including my mother
which lead to learning the repetitive lesson that overnight success does not exist
i booked a flight to Mississippi
i learned how to be alone without being lonely
i became even more infatuated with the moon
i wanted to die,
i'm still alive.
i made mistakes,
i learned from them.
this year has been a whirlwind, a teenage drama gone half right topped with a questionable ending
2013, here i come.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
White cottontail hops
Leaving behind trails of hope
Prints of cheerfulness
©2014 by Regina Riddle
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
I get bored right away my mind needs to be stimulated creative thoughts or word play.
I've always tried to dhow ppl up but it feels like no one tries. It's give to who ever not to whos worthy of the position or best for it with matching qualities. I've seen many failed regina of terror. Not leading but doing enough to keep things their way instead of looking out for the interest of others.
I learn with my ears and eyes I don't like to be an example but learn from the mistakes others have made. I'm over learning the hard way failed time and time again focused on success and doing things right
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
ready to roll, it's saturday night
playing in a rock and roll band
truck is all loaded, everything is alright
playing in a rock and roll band
we hit the road, and put on a show
don't really know, where we're gonna go
but we're playing music, 'cause that's what we know
playing in a rock and roll band
we're playing in a rock and roll band
playing in a rock and roll band
never knowing where we're going to land
playing in a rock and roll band
playing in a rock and roll band
we travel the west, and may get to regina
playing in a rock and roll band
i know what your're thinking, a word that rhymes with regina
playing in a rock and roll band
the party don't start, till we're on the stage
playing in a rock and roll band
our guitarist is good, but he ain't jimmy page
playing in a rock and roll band
we're playing in a rock and roll band
playing in a rock and roll band
never knowing where we're going to land
playing in a rock and roll band
playing in a rock and roll band
we went to L.A., we were living in style
then the PR man said, put your disc on the pile
he said "thanks for coming", but he had a sly smile
playing in a rock and roll band
i guess we're just suited to bars, clubs and dives
playing in a rock and roll band
we get out on stage, and we play for our lives
playing in a rock and roll band
it doesn't much matter, it's always saturday night
playing in a rock and roll band
when the crowd is up dancing, then we've got it right
playing in a rock and roll band
we're playing in a rock and roll band
playing in a rock and roll band
never knowing where we're going to land
playing in a rock and roll band
playing in a rock and roll band
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
Honey you're dying,
There's no use in crying
Though I hear your screams
As I watch you bleed.
They once called me the Crimson Scourge,
A queen of the free.
Maybe,
But that was me.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
My Grandmère and I have long, gossipy conversations,
where we fall into our own chatty, slumber party rhythms.
She’s met or knows everyone important, and people tell her things.
They DM her or whisper secrets of lives ordered but loveless,
of careers choked by excesses and indiscretions.
She gets stealthy, leaked business reports of purported fortunes gambled and lost or of innocence wasted in bittersweet embrace - delicious, tangled narratives that expose the gaps between facades and realities that can’t be purchased.
Sometimes we pop popcorn on our private ends of the Atlantic,
watch Netflix, share secrets and laugh conspiratorially.
.
.
Songs for this:
Us by Regina Spektor
Young And Dumb by The Bird and the Bee
Jul 30, 2024
Jul 30, 2024 at 7:44 AM UTC
It's 3:09 PM, I've just deactivated my facebook account. Not planned, or thought-out...just so. I know, it's a foolish and stupid thing to even take the time of noting down in words but so it goes. I'm not horrible, I've been worse. I'm just not...doing too good. I don't feel well, and quite frankly I'm too exhausted for the whole staying positive ******** Things like deactivating my lame facebook account and not owning a cell-phone by free-will...it's my way of modernly disconnecting from the artificial world I've held part of and the people in it. It's not that I'm trying to isolate myself or become anti-social completely...it's more like...I'm just trying to find some air, some real ******* fresh air to breath. I've been listening to Man Of A Thousand Faces by Regina Spektor on repeat this past week, and I just need...I just need to let my own self be. I'm at a distant public library away from home as I type this. It's one of my favorite places to visit and spend some quality free time at. Surrounding myself with books and records and strangers is one of the most tranquilizing methods I know. It's difficult sometimes...to accept that I'm twenty years old and in far reach of accomplishing my dreams. It's difficult to accept that my father's heart could fail again...it's difficult to accept that my mum has vertigo...it's difficult to accept that my uncle is dead, it's going to be a year since and I still cannot bring myself out of selfish denial. Loving is difficult, caring is difficult, trying is difficult, beliefs are difficult, feelings are difficult, I am difficult...and the thought of wanting to cry makes me want to cry because it's so exasperating and draining and overwhelming and humbling. I haven't written or posted much on here lately, but doing so right now gives me this tiny and odd and inexplicable crumb of...hope? It's difficult to accept death as much as life itself sometimes but nevertheless I accept it. I cope through it in the stupid little ways that I can. I become torn and furiously passionate all at once. I can only love as much as my heart can manage and work hard and try hard and cry when I feel like ******* crying because feelings are beautiful and meant to be exposed.
todo en él es lugar adecuado .
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
Mother, you are my White Rose
A rose embraced by cotton petals, emanating a sweet intoxicating aroma of jazmin and pearls
A fragrance so delightful that it engulfs the spirit with inexplicable sweetness of love
You are as exquisite as a good wine
Delicate as a newborn
Warm and cozy as a cashmere blanket
Thus, mother, you are my White Rose!
I will forever remember the day you said to me " Oh, daughter of mine, thank you for being such a beautiful and caring daughter"
My response was " Oh, mom, you don't have to thank me, for it is my obligation, my duty to take care of you, besides, I do it with delight, because, it comes from my heart"
I am so glad that we thanked each other, because our gratitudes came from the deepest part of our souls
Although, I thanked you for being my mother, I forgot to thank you for being my White Rose!
BY
Mayra Castillo
Written as a tribute to my beloved mother, who, now resides in the Lord's garden. I love you mom. You will always be my White Rose. My mother's name is Regina. Born 1934 Died 2010
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
These pages I open, these pages I see
These pages I read, from these I dream
I dream of a place a lifetime away
Where I can be whoever I think
Where my life is written for me and I can choose the journey I seek
To love as Juliet or to fight as Katniss
To be unknown like Bella or rule like Regina
It's in the hands of the author and their words I will read
The world will fade in these pages I dream
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
The squeak of rubber soles on the tiled red and black floor. The tripping over ourselves. The track. And you Regina. Making our heads spin slowly. Or Broadway at midnight, Pandora. Dancing, ignoring Mateo next door. After all he is louder than us. Maybe. The July, August, then September sun fading slowly. The gentle kisses of rain on our cheeks and lips. The wet hair, flinging back and forth. Ikea. Rocks. Sexist boys. Thunder. Hipsters. Hips. Chests. Smiles. Laughter. Singing. Dancing. Wet. Perfect. Stage. Dark. These make up our times together. The train. This houses some of them. Ice, cold and hot, slipping over our skin. Water makes us up. We make up our minds. Emails. By the time summer comes, we shall be gone. Taking our chemistry and voices away. Apart we are nothing. Together we are a chorus. Songs. They make up most of what we are. Emotions. They are us.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
The books are wrong;
Samson is not his name,
But his last name.
Strength is his identity,
Though Jaime is what they call him.
He did not die lonely,
Nor will he ever do.
Regina Spektor got it right somehow,
As how people never do the first time;
A woman broke his heart
Whose name I cannot confirm to be Delilah,
She could have been anyone in his past.
But he married a woman named Michelle
And borne love by four beautiful children
With one which I know very well
And sometimes feel as if she were me
Or I were her.
But in his eyes I could not tell if I were her
Or she were me.
In fact, I could not see myself at all,
As if I am only, in those eyes,
A ceiling to keep from falling;
A mere test of strength,
Held up by pillars of sacrifice
And blocks of responsibility.
But I must be something else,
For there was something more
Than my nothingness in those eyes
Which keeps me from falling,
Besides those powerful hands
That steady the blocks
And secure arms
That lock the pillars;
It was his love regardless of who I am
That holds my blocks up
And embraces my pillars close;
His love which need me not contained in his eyes
For I am already contained in his heart.
I guess the writings on the wall
Failed to let us all know
That the great Samson's weakness
As well as source of strength,
Is not his hair
But his heart beneath that hard chest.
And so the legend goes,
Not with Samson's great strength,
But with his love as a husband
Which can cure a whole hospital
And as a father
Which can withstand all torture.
And his story will be told;
His love will be passed on
By his children to their children,
And they will live forever
In the name of his glory,
In the name of his triumph
Over the prophecy's false tragedy.
And not a soul will not know
Of how Jaime – the real Samson,
Was the strongest man of all.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
"I thought you might enjoy this dvd about St. Francis," said Emily Scott, glancing curiously about the living room which looked like it had come out of "Better Homes and Gardens". However did the Detweilers not only manage to keep everything immaculate,but afford such extravagant furniture? Which is why it would prove enlightening to know what she thought of St. Francis.
A week later she called Regina Detweiler on the phone. " Well, how was the dvd? Did you like it?"
"Oh, it was awesome... my husband and I throughly enjoyed it."
"You mean... you agree with his philosophies?"
"Philosophies? Hmmm. Oh, that! Well, he-uh- lived a long time ago."
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
i simply cannot fathom
going out every single
saturday night
the world is cold and vicious enough as it is,
and we all know
that nighttime is different universe,
alcoholics covering up their scars with the slogans like
"i'm young and i'm allowed to have fun" or
"YOLO!"
bars full to the brim with
**** yous and what's your numbers and i'm-in-the-mood-to-start-a-fight-bro
don't get me wrong, it is fun
to go out sometimes
but after a while it gets old
because the world is cold and vicious enough as it is
i much prefer sleeping or
curling up with a book and a blanket and a hot mug of tea
cuddling with solitude while listening
to Sufjan or Regina or Elliott or Joni
or watching a disney movie,
where i feel safe,
clinging to a place
where the world won't ruin me.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
181 to 200 of 3251 Poets
«891011»Viewsshow detailshide detailsSort by
Joelle Biele
To Katharine: At Fourteen Months
Veronica Patterson
Marry Me
Rick Campbell
Heart
Mary-Sherman Willis
The Laughter of Women
Sharmila Voorakkara
For the Tattooed Man
Max Mendelsohn
Ode to Marbles
Jonathan Holden
Car Showroom
David Tucker
The Dancer
Today’s News
Marianne Boruch (b. 1950)
It includes the butterfly and the rat, the ****
Some dreamily smoke cigarettes, some track
Trish Dugger
Spare Parts
Carrie Shipers
Medical History
Love Poem for Ted Neeley In Jesus Christ Superstar
Steven Huff
Safe
Lee McCarthy
Santa Paula
William Kloefkorn
"I stand alone at the foot "
Jackson Wheeler
How Good Fortune Surprises Us
Steven Orlen (1942–2010)
Three Teenage Girls: 1956
In the House of the Voice of Maria Callas
Steven Schneider
Chanukah Lights Tonight
Jessy Randall
Superhero Pregnant Woman
Anne Pierson Wiese (b. 1964)
Inscrutable Twist
Columbus Park
Regina DeSalva
Snip Your Hair
«891011»
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
1010.
I wonder what that means in binary.
Iloveyou.
thankyou.
yourpoetrysucks.
picklesonthemoon.
refrigerator.
The night ended with Samson
(and Regina).
Sometimes my dreams smell like patchouli.
or car wrecks, or airports.
Exhaust fume, gasoline;
only when I'm dreaming of you, though.
I hit 1000.
2+ times,
but I hit it running and sputtering,
left it on the ground to come back to tomorrow.
Sorry,
I was just so exciting about having a thou,
in the sand.
Have people really come back to me, and kept scanning their eyes
over my pages?
Weird.
I like you better when you have a beard.
Mar 15, 2011
Mar 15, 2011 at 7:37 PM UTC