"simper" poems
Here in the morning gloaming
burning
my skin flaming
as I imagine red kisses
from smouldering lips!
How easily
in anticipation
you make me whimper
before with pleasure
making me simper -
each kiss
another hot coal
placed on my rawness
with searing softness.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 4:26 AM UTC
I lie strategically in place
Innocent framework fused
With royal carapace
Frail and allknowing fingers clenched and intertwined,
Mimicking the honest silver circuit in the night sky
As candid as the shore
Each slumbered and delicate breath
Vitally delivered from those sublime lips
Both damp and potent
I get a candied wind of
An accidental consolation
To my crippling worry
Sorrowful, I am, my love
For eavesdropping, but
My reveries are your keepsakes
And I,
Watching you sleep, carefully
In A placid coma, caging waves of covenants
And exhaling tokens of a life once dreamt of
I envisage the unvarnished truth,
your marrow as my sustentation,
Your veins, My lifeline
Where each filament of platinum and sorrel remain entangled and sprawled in forever, impeccably
And how drawn out and vexing
My intervals of lingering for you
Have been
And then you leak a sigh in a dream
And exhale a veil of whispers
Directly to my ribcage
And I simper, cradling you tighter
So you can breathe my craving,
My contented tribute
To my one veritable sentiment.
And I seal it all in the midst,
Of a drifted and slumbered and deathless
Kiss.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
First the Governor, the Father:
He suggested velvet curtains
looped about a massy pillar;
And the corner of a table,
Of a rosewood dining-table.
He would hold a scroll of something,
Hold it firmly in his left-hand;
He would keep his right-hand buried
(Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat;
He would contemplate the distance
With a look of pensive meaning,
As of ducks that die in tempests.
Grand, heroic was the notion:
Yet the picture failed entirely:
Failed, because he moved a little,
Moved, because he couldn't help it.
Next, his better half took courage;
She would have her picture taken.
She came dressed beyond description,
Dressed in jewels and in satin
Far too gorgeous for an empress.
Gracefully she sat down sideways,
With a simper scarcely human,
Holding in her hand a bouquet
Rather larger than a cabbage.
All the while that she was sitting,
Still the lady chattered, chattered,
Like a monkey in the forest.
"Am I sitting still ?" she asked him.
"Is my face enough in profile?
Shall I hold the bouquet higher?
Will it come into the picture?"
And the picture failed completely.
2.1k
Your infectious smile,
Like a drug with uncontrollable side effects.
That real, genuine laugh,
Sweet like damp pines.
Those piercing, beautiful eyes,
Sharp enough to rip through my chest and suffocate my heart.
The lips that drew me in,
Like rosy vines tugging at my soul.
Your fine brown hair,
That tangled my mind with absolute rapture.
Arms of ivory gold,
Wrapping me safely with false bliss.
Your angelic body,
Tailored so perfectly to mine like destiny.
A soothing voice of honey,
I could listen to for hours with a simper reply.
That is just the beginning,
Of what makes you lovely.
Only the start,
To a story of your undying loveliness.
~S.C. Kelley
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
My grandfather's not dead
but you act like he is
the way you tiptoe around the closed oak door
way you whisper in a scratchy voice
when you talk about the future
way you pop in your
set of pearly whites
and bare your teeth too easily
when he asks you for a glass of water
and your brassy trumpet tells him
of course, dear, are you feeling okay?
You think that I've caught on
and know better than to trade him secrets
beneath the cracked door to your bedroom
like copper pennies for freedom
and that I don't remember him
throwing diving sticks at the bottom of the pool
then snatching them up and waving them above his head
far from my six-year-old reach
or when sitting upon his knee as a child
I would pick at the edges of the sepia photos
as he traced the veins of our family
back to seventy-second great-aunts
and royalty
I help you count the red pills
as I recall my favorite hiding place
(your fireplace)
and you shake your head and scold me
that was an awful place to hide
what if there had been cinders?
I tell you
we live in Texas
and tuck my wishes back into my pocket
and mention that Granddad thought it was
a fantastic place to visit
and that I would sit there for hours
and pretend I was a phoenix
from the old mythology books
in the musty back of your closet
You laugh as you slip him his pills
you can't possibly remember that
But I remember and
I insist on discussing college while he's in the room
his wrinkly eyes smile when I plot out my dreams
and he knows that I know
but I keep our secret anyway
you simper at my mother
oh, isn't she precious
hopeful and hoping a cure will be found
but you don't realize I've already discovered it:
Pretend like nothing has happened
Don't let them see the ticking hours on the mantelpiece
As long as we know that we're not older
beneath these transcripts and chemotherapies
the real world doesn't matter
not really, not at all
My grandfather's alive
even if you think he isn't
but he is
and he's sitting in your drawing room
so why don't you pop by for a visit?
we're only pretending, anyway.
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 8:33 PM UTC
As I lay here restive. I cannot help but conjecture what could come to pass.
Thy dimpled simper, impales my soul and elicits bliss in my *****
Oh! The butterflies, how they flutter inside me, yearning their sweet, rightful release.
Ah, it cannot be, has this young mistress vexed this dispassionate beast?
Do I dare brave ask if I am worthy of such a divine, angelic monarch?
I ask thee, do I dare reflect on my chaotic life; do I dare torture myself, knowing I will falter.
Alas, I must!
I must attempt to become the merit. I must become her love, her heart, her soul, her reason to be...her King.
For she is...My Queen.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
Like you were a first trip to NYC,
or a perfect view of the cosmos
from that clearing on Sylvan Avenue,
I was agape and fawning while you sauntered
out from your double doors, to the end of your driveway,
to where I rocked on my heels eagerly
on Allen Dr. at 6:23
Come 7:15, we bedecked your body
with stripped and frayed Armani
in tribute to the Walkers we've seen;
cool-white fluorescence drew emphasis
on the harmony between your ivory simper
and each cobalt marble that rolled
and flicked beneath your tuckered eyelids
by some sort of beatnik artistry.
Frankly, my chest swelled with fever
when I noted the scrunch of your nose
askance to liquid-latex applications,
or the way black cherry sap wept
from the corners of your mouth
while dislodging the blood-capsule
in-between your molars
and your stately, hollow cheek at 7:50
And I noticed around 8:00,
when I had slowed you to a halt
near the crosswalk on Montauk
between Coastal and Le Soir
to fix the scar-tissue on your chin,
that if I ever knew there to be one,
you made a most stunning zombie
with my Tom & Jerry cap lining your scalp;
Which made the stain left by the makeup
worth the trade of my hat
in exchange for your company,
as we picked up a twelve-pack
at the 7-11 just down the street
before we returned to the party.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
It's stories above where the butterflies rustled,
Whirring between the lights in aeolian bustle.
I'm smiling spritely at a neon halo,
While my organs writhe in jacqueminot El Niño.
Wading the nightscape with a glitched simper,
I could not change nor attempt to tinker,
Just breaching the moments passing to linger.
Fingers, then palms, then lips, then black,
Then for a few seconds the world collapsed.
A breath, a sip, some wit, I'm back.
Shed the murky vision of captive cataracts.
And now,
The sylph saunters in epitomized elegance,
And I've buckled on the inside to the resonant reverence.
I follow the fragrance in her wake as paralyzed sedatives,
And anything I might say could only lack eloquence.
Then magnanimous mantras attract exact,
It seems way down the rabbit hole I've finally met my match.
There's a mesh of flesh, a smooth caress,
Then I wake and realize these were not visions yonder death.
Particles of my brain erupt,
I can't explain away the unfading elation of touch.
Every pose palatial down to the pixels,
I'd gaze deep in the sheen of her mind gleaming as crystals.
Her eyes open like daybreak in flashes,
Sunstreaks glint over the horizon of her lashes.
There's morning songbirds behind the taste of coffee,
I think she's figured I'm just a well decorated softy.
Unveiling my most human of contentions stripped to the eclipse of logic,
My former self laughs in tones pitched sardonic.
Euphorically strumming at gossamer heartstrings,
Etched in the fabric as sakura carvings.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
The ugly jazz in your stride,
Your snow drenched tombstone simper,
And your bruised peach overcoat of skin
Have been dethroned but
Will never be replaced.
My hearts a museum and
You're the big T-Rex all the kids came to see.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
You can find my grave
buried beneath the practiced,
perfected simper.
Don't confuse the glow behind
my lids as life. No one's home.
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC
i
sacchariferous exhale's, I shalt insufflate into her bronchi
An Ode of enchantment, a beacon of escarpment, Filipino oblige;
We shalt junket all the way to France, the way politician's do
Concord, oh amour', at the end of the day Cogitation's, sky blue.
ii
The artist's shalt adumbrate ourn outter appearance's, as ghost's
They shalt brush us onto an primeval canvas, Enlargement ****
Phosphorescent simper she giveth, as I grace her foreign perfume
Thither the acropolis, to mine land of Greece, Corinth, in all tune.
iii
The people their do greeteth her, they layeth out the red carpet
White wall's of these spítia, nacre full of plenty, open market's;
The children here art collaborated in epoch, decorative style's,
As mine queen shalt seeith, they weareth golden leaves, wild......
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/ pag-ibig magpakailanman.....
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
simper, spew roses, eat the toenail of the author
but
NEVER
NEVER
tell
the
truth !
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 4:23 AM UTC
Thy dimpled simper, ah such blissful beauty.
Every time it arrives, I fall, fall so hard again.
The imprints in thy cheeks, puts me under such incantation.
The upward curling of thine lip, holds me fast, unwavering.
The way your eyes peer, surpassing my comprehension of how such virture willingly gazes upon mine own soul.
I cannot swim.
Without remorse I jump, jump right in. Into the depths of thine heart, my personal himmel.
Frightening storms of endless love. Something I about, have only read. Its everything I've ever wanted to obtain and give.
Such heartache can I afford? To acquire such love but lose my soul? I asked myself then answered.
Of course I will pay the price! She deserves all and so much more. For this fair maiden has given unto me, reason to be.
If mine own soul is not satisfactory, I will merrily consume any and every soul her love demands.
For it, Her Love. Commands me.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
Hay un dragón cera de mi corazón
There is a dragon by my heart
Quien hizo una noche una obra de arte
Who made one night a work of art
Sus palabras de miel todavía suenan en mis oídos
His words of honey still ring in my ear
Como si estuviera todavía aquí
As if he were near
A pesar de que hay un centenar de kilómetros de distancia
Though he’s a hundred miles away
Parte de el simper permancera
Part of him will always stay
Incrustado en mi piel
Imbeded in my skin
Todavía mi Corazón tiene que ganar
Still my heart he has to win
Este dragón es el guardián de mi luz
This dragon is the keeper of my light
A partir de un simple día que hizo en la noche
From a simple day he made into night
Que era la oportunidad que trajo este portero
It was chance that brought this keeper
En mi mente, esta hermosa criatura
Into my world, this beautiful creature
A mi dragón, tan cerca y tan lejos
My dragon, so close and yet so far
En mi corazón, que le dejo una cicatriz apasionada
Upon my heart, he left a passionate scar
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:42 PM UTC
Poem
Sitting indoors alone
Sipping a drink in the zone
While sitting on my throne
Welcome to the love zone
Writing lyrics creating a poetic
Relic to please the physic
Of the female genetic
Your love is energetic
Your life entertaining my mind
Creating visions so sublime
You and I drinking wine
Lay back kiss and rewind
Every word you whisper
Brings an ear to ear simper
I feel the vibes getting stronger
I love being your lover
Girl you are the world
Girl Kiss the nerd
Girl sweet on the nerve
Girl Kiss the nerd
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
remind me again how wilting pain can prove to be
tell me things that my body had forgotten awhile
my simper has gone and so have my quips
there's just pain, a sea full of it, deep down
my armor a wreck and my senses diminished
i know the nobility is nothing more than wisp
i can look into the mirror and find surprise
the sincerest effort of a man is to just survive
(for Mae, our dear fellow poet. get well soon.)
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 2:50 AM UTC
sonorous symphonies simper at the
soirees of my sincere
sibling while I
stand by
scowling
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
Villain. You have stolen my grace.
When I poise myself to smile and simper, your bitter shadow fills my mouth and makes me shudder.
When I ascend the steps to my royal quarters, I trip on the memory of your presence by my side.
When I lay in bed, artfully sprawled across the velvet sheet, your forceful weight crushes my limbs and my lungs.
When my eyelids flutter shut, intent on transporting me to dream-land, all I see is your divine, ethereal face.
When I fall in love, I am eager to forget and begin anew with my sweet knight in disguise, but your crestfallen expression slows my pace.
I may be free of you and your enchantment, your enthralling spell, but by the gods, Villain - I couldn't protect it all, and so you have stolen my grace.
May 15, 2020
May 15, 2020 at 8:26 PM UTC
Hello happy hour!
I see you're now reduced
to fifteen minutes of
soft drinks and
smiling depression:
simper and wine.
check that...Sprite.
But I'll drink to
nagging doubt anyway.
Cars are now a kick.
Who knew gridlock
could offer such joyride:
the drive home each day
my ******** sabbatical.
I wrote 3 letters the other day
(the handwritten, paper kind)
and feel a little
like Jane Austen.
I think she'd like Dr. Pepper,
but not Mr. Pibb.
Too foppish.
Then there's this:
the wax and wane
of life between the bed
and the couch.
There's six degrees
of separation
through the five layers
of this reusable face mask.
Speaking of masks:
"one for the money,
two for the show,
three to make ready
and four to go."
And somehow I know
I will never breathe it in
that way again.
Random curtain calls:
I'm so starved for someone
to talk to; the mail lady
had me at "hello."
I offered her a soda.
Mail order catalogs are king.
The Saturday Night Special
from the burglar alarm brochure
was my final good buy.
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 1:03 AM UTC
She flows in strange vessels, dripping out of her pores like music notes drunk on the moonlight debris. She heaves like a thousand seas and rips apart the patriarch with purple fingernails and cadaver bones. Her breathes are colored with the taint of regret, as if every inhale is a worry and every exhale is a doubt. Yet she speaks in soft shelled stutters with a trip of the tongue here and a pitch of the poem there. Her hair encircles galaxies with its twist and in each braid has surfaced such ships as Titanic could’ve dreamed of. Her hips sway in time to each blink that surveys her, staring at the endless wasteful energy she pours forth from her ****** innuendo wink and her children’s storytime simper.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
Life, I believe is a journey.
It is a lesson never complete.
Just when you think a sequence is over,
you realize that it is still in motion,
was there all along
and will always be there.
I think what I loved most about him
was something he made me find inside myself.
Something that was always there
and still is here.
Something infinite.
Something fusia and raspberry
vivid green
and cracked in stone.
Something caged
yet open to the sky.
Trees can whisper solitude
and roses simper sweetness.
It takes a willing heart
and a good pair of shoes
to learn their wise
and timeless message.
Melt this numbness.
Park my car forever
and stir my feet
through grass and
gravel and damp
earth and road and
every path till my
heart stops and my
breath runs
out.
Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 10:51 PM UTC
They exchanged glances and
The occasional
Simper on the
Subway for a
Period of time.
One thing they shared in
Common was the street
The escaped to
On their lunch breaks.
He, the high-class, affluent luncheonette.
She, the lenient yet eloquent café.
For her it's a brief
Getaway to some
Liberating
Arcadian.
She could be at peace.
Except not this time.
Not this time at all.
He was traipsing
Right up to her.
Her heart is racing and she has lost her breath.
Then he says, "will you have lunch with me, dear?"
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
I thought of an odd personality facet I have earlier today in class
I grin, smile, beam, twinkle, simper, leer, smirk
my cheeks feel as if they were about to burst
like a balloon that when I'm around someone who breathes
the balloon slowly expands into a rubbery piece of rubber
and right when it's inflated fully...
it pops.
all of the air floats away and makes someone else's day
and I'm left cold and let's face it, sad.
this cycle repeats constantly
and I don't know if I should breathe
because if I do, someone else will be happy and it wont be me
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
there is a sensitive innocence
in the way you touch you hair
the thoughts held underneath
and the words that simper there,
i wonder if you’re still breathing
or whether you’re already dead
i trust his cruelty has you seething
why don’t you cut off his head?
there are no more angels here
they’ve all decided to fly away
across the moon & into a grave
we have nothing more to say
no–not even a goodbye song
will be muttered in his wake
for he’s already left you empty
there’s nothing more to take
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 1:57 AM UTC