"sideward" poems
man who wears a hat sits still near the back unmoved by the world or the exposed breast of a statue (brain waves do not discharge through a fedora)
tag attached: bald is sanitary
oranges have more delicacy raw smelly and afterward singing allons enfants de patrie ding dang **** like that, all frog-ese so we don’t understand chanteused stiff basso profundo to excite to let us see with the clarity of a dream curled with hate set firm, firmer in the arms of a sleeveless girl then slung to sea level white as a leopard’s eye
remember its peroxide bathed, bleached inclined on the pillow just at the angle of expectancy without a hat sideward glance and the crippled heels of angels sparking down the hall
bulletin: young man willing to wear false beard to ease the pain for all
or trumpet blues broken played horizontal touched by seaweed hands in the light of boats (unfurled)
slowly
and the memory dies slowly half-forgotten, half-remembered
halved again
slowly
only
to begin
again
grim molecules of love
4.9k
i miss the "talking stage"
i miss having butterflies from seeing you across the room
i miss the sideward glances
i miss blushing from feeling your eyes on me
i miss the flirting
i miss trying to get you to like me
i miss losing sleep just so i could talk to you
i miss being able to say goodnight
i miss falling in love
but the talking stage turned into dating and i finally had all that i never knew i would
but for you the butterflies began to die, you wouldn't glance at me anymore, you stopped flirting, you went to bed without sayin goodnight, you stopped falling in love
and now my butterflies have turned into snakes that eat me from the inside out
you don't look at me at all any more
you stopped smiling at me altogether
i don't blush
im still losing sleep but not so i can talk to you but because you haven't said goodnight
no, you said goodbye, you said goodbye a long time ago and you haven't said hello since.
goodnight, sleep tight, dont let the bed bugs bite, i love you.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
Retro Morn: Re-Reading Jenny (1.) and Her Purple Hat, (2.), Listening to Vonda Shepard
I am a beautiful woman, and reliably informed so,
by handsome. men, lustful fools, and one too many
sideward glances
in a difference place, musical needs call me out to retro smooth me
away from the waves of nausea of news repeats ingested, the lesser
qualities of human beings basic basest nature, I inhale subdued
Jenny’s defiance of life’s expectations and Vonda’s voice
smooth my discordant emotive candles that won’t stay lit,
add in a touch of melting Joni & Divine Ms. Bette,
gets me slow kickstarting
and I have not reached
the lofty plateau of
twenty five years of age
*but my mom, the Queen Regent, reminds me royalty possesses
very old souls, which Is why I’m caught out listening, dancing
awake to the music of her youth* and hear her discreetly humming the tunes, even though the phone connection broken minutes earlier
she signed off with a practised Elizabethan airy disturbance royal wave of her hand, instructing this raining (no, not reigning)
Queen to “darling go write a poem…”
don’t we all listen to our mothers?*
my name is brandychanning
music inhale subdued kickstarting a poem
Dec 13, 2023
Dec 13, 2023 at 12:35 PM UTC
When I sit among the oaken seats
surrounded by Your endless faithful,
the angelic choir in my ear,
incense cleansing my soul of woe,
I am there. I am there beneath
Your golden altar presiding, steadfast;
I am there. I am there feeling that same spirit
that has endured for millennia and imbued the souls of
our greatest writers, our greatest poets,
our most beautiful songs, our most saintly people,
and our drive for charity which
no force of evil in the world can ever, ever undo.
I sit there in awe, astonishment and fear,
as Your humble and quaking servant
raises Your True Body and Blood to the heavens;
You are among us!
Not riding in a chariot of gold nor bearing an ivory crown,
nor in flaming glory nor terrible thunder,
but amongst the sick of heart, the poor of soul,
the vain of face and the dreadful of mind.
It is then when I hear those chanted words
from the mouth of Your servant,
whatever tongue of men they be uttered in,
that I come to fully understand Your unchanging core:
"Through Him and with Him and in Him,
O God, almighty Father, in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
all glory and honour is Yours,
forever and ever. Amen."
The goosebumps upon my skin,
the shiver down my spine,
the sideward glance to your tearful faithful;
my own eyes brimming amidst such wonder.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
Some kind of craftsman is working at his bench
Peeling ribbons of soft wood under a dim lamp
He watches the growing pile of discarded strips.
The timecard is now an electronic monitor
An old woman at the factory wishes
That it were instead a thick piece of yellowing cardstock
So that she could use a hole punch.
Somebody’s daughter is dancing naked in the yard
A business man drives by and hopes that somebody will photograph her.
He is remembering the blush on his lover’s face
When he first saw the photo of her and her sisters
Flat chested, unclothed, and splashing together in the bath.
The waitress from town has left for school.
Somebody there is brushing the hair away from her eyes
And wondering whether or not it is a good moment to kiss her.
Meanwhile there is a young man sitting in his regular spot in her diner
Wondering if her eyes really were the color of the winter grass
He is contemplating joining the army.
A wiry beggar is sitting outside of a convenience store
He asks for a cigarette and gets not even a sideward glance
Later he asks a thin, young thing for a few dollars
Once she is gone he goes inside to buy a pack
And smokes them immediately.
There is a funeral processional going through town.
There is a woman at the end driving with clenched hands
She feels guilty because of her anger
But the traffic is making her late for work.
You may now kiss the bride.
And he does.
The older women are crying.
Without any of these things
It seems we would be left with nothing,
but an insatiable thirst for punctuation.
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
She hums a few nursery rhymes
Tiny tender stomps
Swinging forward, swaying sideward
In her womb randomly, gracefully.
Little feet listen as her heart
Drum rolls the beat.
In tranquil nights, sudden kicks
Danced her to sleep.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
She was almost tempted
To jump from the bridge
Despite the crowds that
Passed, despite the coldness
And filth of the water below,
But she didn’t; she walked
On and slit her wrists in the
Hospital corridor instead;
In some dark place no one
Noticed until the blood
Followed her footsteps
Like a worrying child.
Two men stopped her
And took her to nurses
Busy at some sideward
Desk; found her in the
Corridor, they said, blood
Everywhere, doesn’t answer,
Though, we’ve tried that,
Won’t say a dickybird,
Maybe she’s dumb or deaf,
One man suggested, standing
Back as if to see her better,
Watched the young girl as
If for the first time, taking
In the blood soaked jeans,
Tee shirt, hands and arms
And turned away, nodding
To his companion, with a
One of those druggy types,
No doubt, suggestion in the
Slow movement of his head.
Then she was gone, taken by
The nurses behind curtains,
Low voices, murmurs; their
Interest slipping away, the
Men moved on, chatting
How Cardiff would do in
The next match, and don’t
Tell the wife about the girl,
She’ll get the wrong idea,
Then there’ll be hell
To pay, one said, walking
Through the doors into
The afternoon sunshine.
She was almost tempted
Speak, to say how the devil
Tempted her to jump, how
The voices told her what to
Do, but she said nothing,
Just watched the nurses
Dab at her slit wounds with
Wads of bandages and frantic
Touches of their hands, while
Up on the ceiling, she noticed
A fly buzzing around the naked
Bulb, looking for a way out
From death; just like me,
She thought, just like ****** me.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
After history with Mr Finn
about Saxons or Vikings
or some such thing
you walked home
from school
with Helen
along St George’s Road
the afternoon traffic
hustling and bustling by
and Helen said
that Cogan boy
pulled my plaits
and called me four eyes
and said I looked
like a pug
I think you look pretty
you said
do I?
she said
yes
you replied
and don’t mind
about Cogan
you said
tapping your jacket pocket
(where you kept
your six-shooter cap gun)
he said he’d smash my face
but he never does
he’s all mouth
and short pants
you said
Helen put her arm
under yours
and squeezed it
nice of you to say
I’m pretty
she said
no one’s said that before
and she looked ahead
and you stole a glance
sideward on at her
her plaits held in place
by two rubber bands
her thick lens spectacles
which made her eyes
larger than they were
and her small nose
beneath the bridge
of the wire frame
you looked away
carrying the image of her away
storing it in your mind
and she said
my mum likes you
she said you’re not like
the other boys
around here
o
you said
thinking of her mother
large as life
pushing the big pram
squeezed into
the huge coat
nice of your mum to say
you said
she pulled your arm closer
to her
her dark blue
raincoat
against your black jacket
you sensed the six-shooter
against your ribs
thinking of Cogan
and firing a cap bang
in the back
of his head
my mum said
I can go
to the cinema
with you
on Saturday morning
matinee
Helen said
o good
you said
not caring what
the other boys might say
with her along side you
in the sixpenny seats
you in jeans
and open necked shirt
and she maybe
in that flowered
red dress
white socks
and black battered shoes
sensing her arm
on yours
as you approached
the traffic lights
at the big junction
catching a glimpse
of her smile
as you both crossed
the road
when the lights
turned green
the afternoon sky grey
rain seeming near
smelling it in the air
thinking of Helen
and of a snatched kiss
but you didn’t think so
or didn’t dare.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
daydream dances
sideward glances
sipping from his mug
pensive eyes
muted sighs
absentminded shrugs
heavy drinker
over thinker
bizarre state of mind
across the table
sitting, staring
wishing he was mine
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 9:38 AM UTC
everything is energy moving
forward, backward, sideward,
warding off the black white finity,
crashing upward, downward, frontward
this is limitless
now let's fly
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
each breath was held
as each card was laid
each look was downward
as each hand is played
each look is sideward
as each sigh is inward
*each inhalation
is held on exhalation*
each card that was placed
so strategically
built a house, not a home
but just as easily
your sigh rocked foundations
and a groan broke the ground
all of a sudden, our house
*Fell
Down*
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
possessed
injected
sublime
veins
uncontrolled
spasm
travelling
upward
sideward
downward
rocket
fuelled
ignited
star
burst.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC