"sillage" poems
greece, even, in the nostalgia decades sometimes wore american clothes
but she spoke no english, was starkly unilingual
save for the french "sillage". she was the reason they teach you safe ***
and abstinence: the reason they couldn't trust you
she dressed more american than everybody else; she was a beautiful cockeyed anachronism
your jimmy stewart baby blues on her, brandy-sanctioned
better than the everyman. and a hallucination of your stand-in therapist
asking you "why should there be guilt if there is pleasure?"
and you replying horselike/illogical "it is the unconscious fantasy that i can be torn apart"
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
You've taken too long to come haunting,
wading through instances of mud, of regret,
until my wanting has all but dissolved.
You've broken my spine with curious fingertips,
an innocent ghost with fireplace eyes,
where questions went unnoticed, unsolved.
You've come knocking with empty cages,
pulling behind what you'd begged to forget,
you spoke to my spine like needles, absolved;
until my teacups are dust on the shelves
and your flowers don't wilt, but burn,
of stove and house and noose and all.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
While in Istanbul one night, the woman showing me the city asked:
-“What do you look for in a man?”
My mind immediately fixated upon you.
How to tell world that the sillage of your touch remains upon my skin
That my nights end with your breath upon my lips,
And the early morning dawn is infused with your scent.
After a few moments, with a sad smile I said:
“I don't, I have already found him”.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
although
you’ve never been
in my bed,
why do my sheets smell
of that lingering fragrance of you?
© 2021
Aug 31, 2021
Aug 31, 2021 at 6:22 PM UTC
Cooling air, the senses assault
Done is the day, I’ve earned my salt.
Daytime light has turned on me
On moonlit streets such trickery
The pleasant splash, those leaves on foot
Make drunk these nostrils, nectarous soot
Pensive mood floods the mind
And of their beauty I’m truly blind
I do not think of Autumn whole
Only alms within my bowl
As you’ll see I’m leaf inspired
Though their rudiments I have mired
Autumn ring, the chilling tenors
Rejoiced and played in earthly manors
That icy rush makes cold the spirits
Yet conflagrates ye adherents
That festive smell, incense the air!
No motive o’yours ever err
And though the day leaves more hastily
These changing leaves get the best o’me
Transient seconds plump and inspir’d
Of your natural portraits I’ll never tire
The mountainside, my most treasur’d mosaic
Whatever great works, it’s more archaic
Falling to the ground, like listless colorful rain
Whether as the nemophilist, or seated behind a pane
These little souls returning to earth
Fill me with the greatest mirth
Though they exemplify an age ended
Verbiage they have transcended
I’d fill my days with gallery mileage
Gladly glut with their splendid sillage
As they flit, the stuff of dreams
In their midst, pure sophrosyne.
Day or night I’m overcome
Eyes wide open and stricken dumb
Overcome with words and tune
Bursting forth, this ideal plume
And like a flower, complex in bloom
Can’t be captured, hemmed and hewn
Vapor these words, though fall inspire’d
No due medium, pen or lyre
Untouchable this golden essence
Wealth of ideas, gone in seconds
Appropriate, it seems to me
My head, my thoughts a leafy tree
Arrives the autumn, gold and dun
Thousands escape when I reach for one
So I’ll just watch in quiet awe
The beauty whole, no hem nor haw
Not try to make that art my own
Won’t reduce it to rhyme and tone
I’ll simply revel their naïve lull
Ephemeral, yes, but never dull
Shout out happily in leafy halls
Marry to words what return my calls
Leave thou ****** in pulchritude pall
And question not what comes of fall.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
I didn’t notice it at first
Because after you walked out of my life
It took me a few moments
To discover the new ache in my heart and the incurable weariness in my bones
Remnants of the bruising love we shared
I think it was supposed to be a reassurance that you left a piece of yourself behind
But really it was just a reminder that you left.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
If I could take my last five minutes of breath
I'd share them with you
Wrapped up in roots trees
of your island
As rain falls and crashes into the shivering morning blue
we are hidden undercover
tangled in our own undoing
the fullness, the delicious sin of your fullness
in my hips
makes me cry out
and grab onto everything
to make you stay
here in this moment
I am like a young restless animal
eyes wild and naked
in your arms
We come together
like little disasters
earthquakes and hurricanes
violent and tumultuous
the unrelenting madness
in this dimly lit room
we make love
like some force of nature.
I am awake I am spinning
out of my hurricane mind
that can only be sated
with me screaming your name
like merciless pounding rain
on pavement
and skin
Make it last for as long
as I have the taste of you in my mouth
the slow, deep magnetic pull
of your body to mine
tracing small circles on your skin
branding soft kisses
in the secret places of you
until there you are
buried deep within me
and I am helpless
I feel the earth vibrate into my bones
in every pore
each dying for release
each one stronger than the last
inch of you
wanting and wanting
to be yours
to be mine
and in a few brief moments
transcendence
and crash breathless
into each other
only thing left is a faint sillage
and our racing heartbeats
like horses pounding hoof to earth
It feels like some ancient dance
or a dream
of a thousand suns
or the stillness of stars
in their endless celestial trance.
Nothing is as transporting
than the scent of your skin
the erratic beats
underneath my ear
I have no sense of time and place
anymore
I want more
than just words
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
She walks away with flare
Leaving the scent of jasmine in the air
And I sink in the remnants
Of her vocal impressions
As I drop back into the arms of silence
Heavy with recollection
As real as the floor I lay against
Seeing her figure disappear
Into the darkness of a hallway
Too many times
Over and over again
I reach out a hand to call her back
But only the disturbance of air
Replies back in sad despair
Her presence is now only a remembrance
Of molecules scattered
Touching the receptors in my brain
Touching battered tatters
Forming abstract images of infatuation
Where her face melts and withers
Into the vague imprint of frustration
Losing its individuality to sillage
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 7:15 AM UTC
Moment forgot
being shot back by perception
at the crack of a straightened back,
Sounds inhale the expectations,
But what I'm hearing is just the rolled paper smack,
Sillage of smoke, brown herb stained with chemicals, stains my browning lungs.
Moment forgot,
she's taken in synthesized orenada,
but known pretender.
music makes moment remembered,
Derive in reverse
thoughts release, at peace
Just cotton caught in the breeze,
ladders won't stand against the clouds, a stilt for the mind is her trick.
Moment forgot,
that quick.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 3:58 AM UTC
absence,
vaporized
by absinthe
& the vined
insignia of
sillage
silhouetted
by a
carmine seal.
a fragrant
testament
of her
presence -
omni.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
i want you to regret everything
you've loved before me and lost
i want everything else besides me
to lose their eesome ways
everything you write aureate of me
and the sillage of when i go outside
without you to burn as if the sun was in your hands
as all your promises will be mine
mine will be yours and i will walk between these
valleys
with you and when this world burns apart
i will follow you to the stars
and despite my lustful appearence desired from your eyes
to the ****** of your hips and wrists to mine
i want you to be inside my minds, hold my thought's hands
be in my nightmares, and stir my dreams
there is no condition you've put me in
so i must ask you put yourself in the same
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
A lingering scent
Never permanent
Is meaningless.
A mere shadow of the memories
It may bring about
Burying your face into a scent
Gives no presence nor relief
Increases longing and nothing else
The smell of a love
The smell of a hate
It all fades
And it is nothing but a scent
Without mass
Without meaning.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
I feet this heavy sensation thats full of dread
I feel it all around, assuming sleep paralysis
4AM that I started planting subliminal thoughts in my head
Specks like vessels, I had consciously felt before
Struggled against the feeling, a feeling from what I did
I loathe my youth, platonic love, and morbid existence
And there's nothing more candid
Waiting for another chance of life is not right
I'm not like the feckless, like the bandits
Covers may bring sorrow from swive and dives
As long as you’ve got something to say then
It doesn’t matter too much how you say it
Lost, I highly recommend you stay alight
Your jawline against mine is was like...
A wave loudly clashing against a long shoreline
The sillage you had left behind was majestic
You're not like the limpid, like your kindred
Getting rid of your oarless secrets that'll befold
And there's nothing more candid
Glowing white lips that fade
Into silver comely light
Away in a padded close
My paracosm lies prostate
Upon the wings of mine
Upon your ditzy toes
Upon your nacreous face
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
alone in this zone
surrounded by trees
that drown the sound around me.
There is a luminous numinous light;
catching a finch's feathers just right
and making me wonder if I'll leave a sillage in time
like it's wings left in the sky.
or like the tide in your eyes;
left in my heart.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
Hearts go racing,
Pulses burst out,
Tummies flip over,
The moment you arrive.
Your silhouette is slim n supple,
Your smile so austere n demure,
Your sillage smokes life,
In every path you pass by.
But catching your attention,
Is like a pie in the sky,
Oh we hail you Goddess!,
You bewitched us n dumped into a slumber.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
Abandon de soi
A la lumière
d'un clair de lune
Démission
Rupture
A la faveur d'un clair obscur
Se retirer
A pas feutrés
dans le silence
en partance
vers la voie lactée
Départ
pour un ailleurs
aux confins des mondes
Déployer ses ailes
Prendre son envol
vers d'autres rivages
Abolition du temps
et de ce passage
Ultime voyage
Dans le sillage
des Etoiles
caro royer
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 3:23 AM UTC
To be found
Laying
Beneath the hovering sheath of smoke
To clamp your wet lashes
Together
As the dust lands on your lids
To follow the sillage to the light at the end
Of the road
To be carried down the winded path
Sheltered from the thick
Ferns
begging
To lift your chin
To wrap their jagged
Fingers
Around your neck
To hear the hollow laugh
Echo in the darkness
Of the rose amidst the thorns
As the wind brushes your cheek
he scurries past
Bearing you
In his arms
And as he sets you down
Gently
The earth beneath bare feet
you understand
when he reaches for your hand
for his, too
is leathered
all the same
leathered
and trembling from the the strain
Of years of letting go
mp
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
Sagacity aside,
she scarcely suspected that
the strong, stimulating sillage
of her seductive scent
should stay since our sunset send-off,
sweeping me from stormy, sallow stress
into sunny, sanguine somnolence,
suddenly sundering the
strange, subconscious shell
that once surrounded this stray soul,
that once safely shielded it,
severed it.
Succumbing to the
sophisticated sorcery of her
svelte shape in the
sanctuary that is
supreme silence set under a
shimmering star-suffused sky,
I stared up
at the soaring silver sliver,
slowly sailing a serene sea of space,
shining shadows upon this
superbly secluded street scene,
where I
satisfyingly suffered
a symphony of sybaritic splendor:
the saturation of sweetly sung sounds
soldered to my psyche
by that superlative
(surely supernatural)
specimen.
The significance
of such a sensation was surprising:
some several seasons spent,
the setting still sneaks to the surface
of my spirit in settled solitude;
or sprouts spontaneously from the shallows
of stark, sensible, serious subjects;
or spills from my system storage
in those special stages
shortly before slipping into slumber.
Similar to a succulent,
sensitive scar whose scratch
shocks the senses
and swiftly steals sedulousness,
savoring the stretched span of those
several
spellbinding
seconds
last summer
shoots me into this
secret,
selfish
bliss,
to which I
sincerely
submit.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
Abandon de soi
A la lumière
d'un clair de lune
Démission
Rupture
à la faveur d'un clair obscur
S e retirer
à pas feutrés
en silence
vers la voie lactée
Départ
pour un ailleurs
aux confins des mondes
Déployer ses ailes
Prendre son envol
vers d'autres rives-âge
Abolition du temps
et de son passage
Dans le sillage
des Etoiles
Ultime voyage
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
Faced with a dying light,
You both stand with match stick in hand,
But you still remain lost, and undecided,
With nothing to strike it on,
You’re both aware of pain,
And the emptiness that comes in sillage,
But your future still lies,
In the understanding of one another,
You wait at her back door,
With a letter guided by pen and written in love,
In the hopes of new beginnings,
You want,
To be understood by the other and loved by no one else,
We all make mistakes,
And we second guess ourselves,
But it’s all in the hopes to find,
True love, in someone else,
She’s aware of your love,
But has questions for you and herself,
Whatever comes from this love that may dismiss,
Mature from it, and don’t lose yourself.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 2:55 AM UTC
Her scent is left faded yet not forgotten,
A tarnish in my deepest soul,
The sillage of your presence
Lingers ever more. Could I ever ask you to return?
Absolutely,
But I fear the darkness of rejection,
More than never knowing.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
In Memoriam,
Where is the face that launched a thousand ships?
Girls of the age of the waves are named after her
Helen, whose Sparta is now a mundane village
No one breathes in her mythical sillage
No one grabs her golden belt above the hips.
Where is the lithe Hermes and his winged sandals?
Women of today wear him daily on their necklaced throne
Around the neck and the perfume, a scarf is thrown
Do you know of this French house creating scandals?
Does Apollo know he has been sent into space
In an intricate horse of iron called eleven
Here’s hoping he saws the strings of Lyra
He, bringing poetry and Letters to grace.
What about the boastful Paris and his pride?
Cursed by Aphrodite and Helen’s eloper
What would he know of the City of Lights
Paris, paradise of lovers to reach new heights…
And what to say of fair Spartan Hermione
The incarnated actor making much more money
From Hermione to Emma but none of the myth
Both had to fortunately grit their teeth…
Ajax the Lesser who forced himself on Cassandra
Still tears your household and floor asunder
Warrior whose name now scrubs the dust
Off nowadays lame palaces, bound to rust…
Homer, father of the epic poem of Greece
You should hide under your sheep’s fleece
What would you say to the yellowish Cyclops
Benighted idiot, pondering on donuts!
Lyon, March 2- March 4, 2017
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 8:19 AM UTC
he speaks to me
like there is danger somewhere
the morose tone in his voice
the echo through the lanai
a soft sillage after he leaves
I stand until the morning weeps
my hands hang, so daring
over the dew drenched brow
of the balcony
the sun rises
not enough for warmth
it sits low in the sky
cold, creeping slow
what are you waiting for?
will you just sleep there
on the mantle of your unfinished sky?
sated, spoiled
dumb to your devoir
assoil yourself
you are a doomed star
rise, already
so that you can set sometime
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 2:37 AM UTC
Chiliad years Logaphiles were written for us in many Eurythmic Forms to help comprehend ones Alexithymic;
The Orphic Lyrics of
Luftmensh Scops,
The Evanescence of Classical
Pieces of Merak Musicians,
The Timeless Dotish
Word in an Aubade,
The Aeipathy behind a
Bindlestill Writing Effable
Lines to an Auralize
Of an Epoch Poem,
The Sillage of
Camhanich in the
Lyrics of a Trouvaille Song,
Many Vagary were
written under the
Angelic Moon Phase
with Mid-Summer
Nites Dwaat Melliflous
of the Lite Breeze
through the Trees
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC