"soiree" poems
your eyes don't glisten like they used to
just saying it's not something usual for you
*so I guess you're heavily imbued
with this crestfallen attitude?*
yea I know,
I've changed in the same way
my own little reverse-breakthrough
Risque foreplay with ultramarine Bombay
before stepping in to emcee the Devil's soiree
And no, you really don't --and honestly never did-- know me;
you only knew one of many façades I brazed
on my face
in the midst of a cliche
New Year's day typa haze
During the phase of
my infamously tempestuous craze
I was precipitously *(ignited
quite possibly by my own
flaring sparks)*
set ablaze with praise
but my mores seem to be misplaced
probably somewhere in the frenzy and hysteria
So I guess I'm left to embrace my untraced boundaries
*And get my viridian eyes back to glistening
on their own viridescent terms
Not codependent on the hollowed adulation
and sweet-talk from bamboccioni*
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
Always____**
Days
Months
Up to our loved ones
necks
Getting callbacks
and lookbacks
Will I be
most likely rejected?
Until dusk to Dawn
The full moon turned
What will be expected?
Shoved mouth to mouth
brewed into the
Starbucks
With any luck
It's hard to make
a buck $
The Dawn Lightning
Striking again wetter
Ridiculous remarks
and kicks
in the pants
He shoved
me into a romance
But we never
ended up where
I wanted to go
France
The editorial the
Mediterranean
Slim chance rainbow diet
The villas of the exotic
flowers riot
Vacationer in vineyards
Grassy bear
Mr. Griswald
Vacation despair
Party pushovers
The sour cherries OOh!
La Wee Vacation,
The push and shove
What's up
Doc_____*
The jilted Jump always
a stump
What-what
about the
President
Trump
Shoved me right
into
this poem
sonnet
Documents of
Vacations places
of memories
The Jack ***
Surrounded by
screwdriver
Or meeting the
screwballs_______
Or goofballs
Sesame Street parade
Big bird feast
His face climbed
Mount Everest
Dry mouth lips
((Frenchie Vermouth))
He's the
right fielder
The field Mr. Costner
on her left dreams
The toast all shoved
around the town
chauffeur
Don't shove me
inside
your world
vacation
Big problems not
like ordering
the best pizza
in Brooklyn
Memorial day
shoved into a soiree'
Unbelievable traffic
American Major
problem leagues
Upscale love signs
and graphics
To resolve this
Vacation big shots
The London
Hotshots
Society
At the worst time,
I had to do
Political speech
Don't shove
me or leave me
If you're not
going to please me
And not your
payroll to
tease me
He's next on the move
pushed to be shoved
I rose
I suppose
He shoved me
He gazed upon me
Like another ticket
to his vacation
He dazed with
his eyes
not to be loved
But all yummy
To take a bite
Apple strudel
pie
But dark ends
of petal
flowered bright
The last word
struggling to
feel shot
My payroll got me a raise
My own vacation
to myself big praise
to love me
Not to be pushed to
love someone
A vacation is to be
with someone that
treats you
on a pedestal
Don't shove me this
is my portal
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
we did what we could that night
and a supernal being is ashamed.
this is the drift of thought
in the vast ocean of gilded gold
frothing at the edge of rotund:
giving back a silenced enigma,
spewing the answer in an exhaust
of white rancid smoke
dharma burns plastered to cigarette.
burning and burning, afloat are the high-pouncing embers looking for fleeting shades and dagger-ambulations
of a shadow's swagger in tectonic soiree.
we did what we could that night.
like a flash of lightning at the back
of hoarded hills,
or say, something brutal and brash with
modern sensibilities we never jell —
we come not with softness or life
peering out of our eyes like little girls
serenaded by mad men in the eve of
forlorn nights. we did what we could
and some god cringes, winces away
like the erratic dance of candleflame.
the leviathan black spreads its parasol
and we are no strangers.
when our veraciousness starts to pierce
the veil, the populace should start
to worry of their trapped conditions.
we came here for something:
be it flesh, be it wisdom, be it plain inebriations — we will never flinch
at the squalor of tomorrow's sobering.
keep in mind, kaibigan.
it's all levitation and transcendence.
the darkness wept as the car
groans near the end of its immaterial life.
i flick the last cigarette into the grey-faced pavement.
all oceans drowned,
all shadows burgeoned,
all fires emerged plump,
this silent radio rivers
through the wave of this ephemerality,
the onomatopoeia of strangeness,
the thud
of the senseless head of metal
on the body
the clackety-clack
of hours thereafter!
ayeayeaye! the streets sing no mild
appendage. the solstice is lost
in the length and precision of all things.
bringing ourselves to the brink of absence,
our pallid selves set ablaze, emblazoning
the quick life of matchflame or rumble of
thunder — the steady phoenix of
that night! this is learning
to breathe again, o, what currents purloined in vicious swarth as we keep
this river flowing into our throats,
jamming our souls to compelling music.
remember kaibigan,
it's all levitation and transcendence.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
I wonder how you are
Because my Mom asked me about you today.
She misses you, you know
I told her,
We live in different worlds.
You,
In your glitter-filled, amplified, distorted, boozed-up soiree,
And I,
In your memory.
And in case you were wondering,
I miss you, too.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
Nothing like, a cat soiree
Dancing cats, it's their forte'
If you're ever in thoughtful doubt
Need to smile, but can only pout
Find the cats, at their hangout
As they sing and dance about
Doing jigs and Rumba ques
Square dancing, a happy view
Tapping out to follow thru
Catty moves, line dancing too
Here Merengue, there is jive
Frolicking free, fully alive
No better joy, of feline scenes
Kittens cavort, like dancing fiends
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
Eyes the color of twilight hours,
looks down from a canvas throne.
Captured for an eternity,
her languid form, in repose.
Queen of all she surveys,
within these crumbling walls.
Moth eaten Brocade, silk spider's web.
Marble stairs and dank halls.
Once the matriarch of a dynasty,
that lived beneath this roof.
She still exerts her own will,
as watches, uncaring, aloof.
She is within the very mortar,
that binds these ancient stones.
Her blood is on the very air,
that chills you to the bone.
The floors and she are now as one.
Listen! You can hear her footsteps.
There within the mournful wind,
hear her laughter where she once slept.
The ballroom still hosts soiree's.
Muted music of bygone years play.
While in the South Rose parlor,
you can feel her pull take sway.
She will conjole and pout,
until you agree to stay.
Then she'll lead you to the cellar,
where all her guests must pay.
These windows, on a stormy night,
show shadows walking by.
Tattered curtains fall into place,
while evil hides from prying eyes.
But do not feed the impulse,
to enter and investigate.
For within these walls, her spirit dwells
and for fresh blood, she lies in wait.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
on the wagon, off the wagon
driving the ******* wagon off the road
and i woke up crying in that ditch
i tried sobriety
but there is a lot of shame leading down that path
these days i watch my beard grow
the string of confusing thoughts is stretching
a mind-fuck of disorganized pictures
underexposed faces, smiling
for what reason, i wonder?
that head-worm ******* me dry
i still get out of bed (most mornings)
to a soiree of boredom
a cocktail-party of great pretenders
what is the sum total?
i wish i was still in that ditch
crying my heart out
drunk
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
<p><p>Les environs magnifiques de Squaw Valley .les détails classiques avec une touche rustique par Summit Soiree.jeunes mariés tiré à quatre épingles et Virgile Bunao faire ce qu'il fait le mieux ;prendre un beau cliché après l'autre .Ce mariage va tirer droit vers le haut de votre liste de favoris .je vous le garantis .Voir beaucoup plus ici .\u003cp\u003ePartager cette superbe galerie ColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsOudoorStylesAl Fresque <p>C'était un régal pour capturer Sarah et la session d'engagement de Daniel pendant Thanksgiving 2012 à Charleston .Le temps était maintenant en train de refroidir et de s'installer de l'apogée de la chaleur fou nous avons tendance à obtenir ici .mais qui ne les empêche pas de regarder si frais et si dans l'amour .Je comptais les jours avant leur mariage <a href="http://www.modedomicile.com/robe-demoiselle-dhonneur-c-60"><b>robe de demoiselle d'honneur</b></a> .à photographiez des scènes qui ont eu lieu .Je ne savais pas comment époustouflé je serais au milieu de ces montagnes .Lake Tahoe est un endroit magnifique et la joie de leurs familles et l'excitation Sarah et Daniel présentait à chaque fois mon appareil photo et j'ai regardé les faits Squaw Valley incroyablement picturesque.Being si élevé .chaque centimètre de cet endroit avait une lueur intense .Tout brillait .Sarah brillait .Daniel brillait .La verdure brillait .Lors de la cérémonie .la petite niche dans les bois .nous étions à eu un peu de lumière magnifique .À ce moment .il était clair que je devais laisser à Sarah .Daniel .leurs invités .et le soleil de faire toute cette journée mémorable .Ils ont fait Photographie <p>: Virgil Bunao | planification de l'événement: . Sommet Soiree | Robe <b>robe de demoiselle d honneur pas cher</b> de mariage: Monique Lhuillier | Cérémonie Lieu: Plump Jack Inn | Réception Lieu: Plump Jack Inn | Restauration : Plump Jack InnMonique Lhuillier est un membre de notre Look Book .Pour plus d'informations sur la façon dont les membres sont choisis .cliquez ici .Virgile Bunao photographie est <a href="http://www.modedomicile.com/robe-demoiselle-dhonneur-pas-cher-c-20"><b>robe de demoiselle d honneur pas cher</b></a> un membre de notre Little Black Book .Découvrez comment les membres sont choisis <p><a href="http://modedomicile.com/goods.php?id=2423" target="_blank"><img width="240" height="320" src="http://188.138.88.219/images_ld/td//t35/product_thumb/1/4187435353535_396606.jpg"></a></p> en visitant notre page de FAQ .Virgile Bunao Photographie voir le</p>
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
If I should die on Christmas Day
wrap me in ribbons and sing me away
be merry and thankful and have a soiree
If I should die on Christmas Day.
If I should leave on Christmas Eve
invite all my friends and help them believe
that sorrow is fruitless and love is reprieve
If I should leave on Christmas Eve.
If I should pass on yuletide high
drink hot apple wassail and pass out the pie
share stories of soul bonds and laugh till you cry
If I should pass on yuletide high
If I should set my spirit free
let Christmas on earth rejoice for me
make crazy, bright baubles and trim the large tree
If I should set my spirit free
If I should on that day depart
give purposeful gifts of love and of art
for Christmas will shine from my heavenly heart
If I should on that day depart
If I should die on Christmas Day
thank God that He chose to take me that way
the ending is perfect in script and cliche'
If I should die on Christmas Day
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
doll face
lavender thighs
rose gold heartbeat
alternate endings tracing cheekbones
like broken glass
your sawdust jawline
summertime soiree
knee-buckling faith
a mouthful of metaphors
forevers
daisy chained couplets
some purple skylines
feathers
cotton
hushed loving between
celestial bodies
grapefruit and coconut sugar
closing time
deities not quite worshiped
revered
hightop/high heel
purple jolly rancher
dress and tie
fingertips
hips swaying from side to side
windchimes
music
moments
love or truth
now or never
healing
breathless
full of life
merry-go-round mindset
happy dizzy
revolve around the sun
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 12:51 PM UTC
Mr. Ivories
entertains with elan,
daily during cocktails on the mezzanine level.
Jolene always orders a Black Russian,
mine is a Dewar's and water.
We drop a fiver in his basket on the Steinway,
along with a request for "Ebb Tide",
Jolene's personal favorite.
He conjures an image of Fred Astaire at keyboard,
his tails flipped elegantly over the piano bench,
like long black raven's plumes.
Jolene points out two announcers from CNN,
seated opposite. Makes us feel
important by mere association.
Our waitress asks, would we like another round
before the hour's end, as we speculate
about Mr. Ivories' musical propensity.
Time escapes in moonlit harmonic vapors,
leaves us already longing our next soiree.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 12:07 AM UTC
My jeans between the sheets
Feel like strangers on my legs.
All six of my dollars,
Wadded and shoved in the front pockets,
Smell like last night's soiree.
I get up,
It's 2 pm,
And glare at my half-naked body
In the blurry mirror.
I like myself when I don't eat,
But I swallow a handful of cereal from their kitchen
For Mom.
I can still taste the cigs that he hates,
And old beer is sticky between my fingers.
I can't remember getting this bruise
Or this one. Or this one.
I bruise like a peach.
I do remember sloppy kisses
With my roommate,
How her lips were softer than mine
And I remember feeling full
Of love and of *****
I am happy.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
She calls it "Soiree for the Somber"; where clowns dance and fools are golden. They speak often with their severed tongues and only on occasion do their hearts beat. I am there. Where she is. And soon our bodies will die of lonely deaths; funerals for coffins. Our minds are where masks go to cry, except there are no tears; only smiles. A museum, where there was once paradise, of drowning arts and melted portraits. Look at these walls and songs of diamond, here we pledge allegiance to the Play. I can feel the air is thickened, thickened with liquor; the atmosphere carries miscounted steps. Listen. Hear it. The noises in the night, the mourning of the sad. Here is where we pledge allegiance
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Since its inception, Aarong has been determined to bring about effective changes in the lives of artisans and underprivileged rural women, by facilitating and advertising their handicraft. Today, it has become the foundation of independent cooperative groups and family-based artisans. Now, it is known as a contemporary life outlet, among people not only in Bangladesh, but all over the world.
This wedding season, you can adorn yourself with one of Aarong’s festive looks. On November 17, Aarong launched their latest product line – the Wedding Collection.
Aarong has introduced a series of looks and styles to try out this wedding season for brides, the bridal entourage and the wedding attendees. What’s more, they are promoting Jamdani, Muslin and Katan sarees as the choice of outfits to wear for the bride and her close ones.
The line is introducing bridal wear in some uncommon hues, moving away from the routine “red” to peach, pink, purple, blue, green and beige. These unconventional colours can also look grand on the big day, and this is the idea that the creators of Aarong are attempting to establish.
Jamdani saris will be incorporated with remarkable embroidered and printed blouses, helping ladies look regal on their special day. The wedding entourage also has a lot to look forward to. This special compilation includes Katan and Jamdani sarees, paired with embroidered blouses, ideal for any reception soiree. Katan sarees can be worn in bright or bold colours and contrasted with multi-layered pearl jewellery and complementing blouses. Furthermore, the collection also includes Jamdani saris in light shades such as light pink, peach and white, and these can be paired with frilled petticoats or dupattas.
Along with gold, the creators encourage the brides to try out silver jewellery with complementing stones, layered pearl neckpieces and hair ornaments. Hence, the looks are a mix of modern and traditional, and are not only advised for the bride, but also for the close relatives or wedding attendees.
This collection also comprises of saris, appropriate for the bridesmaids, the cousins, the sisters, and even the parents of the to-be-weds. Aarong has prepared similar ‘matching’ attires for the bride and the groom, that are perfect for particular occasions like Holud, Mehendi, Aiburo Bhaat, and so on. For the bridegroom, as well as his family and friends, there is also an exclusive range, that includes Sherwanis and Panjabis. Aarong also provides a variety of gift options such as ceramic dinner set, cushion and bed covers, as well as women’s accessories, such as bags and purses.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
Sing for me, oh wind chime!
Winds are blowing from north to south,
Skies are darkening from up above,
Rains are showering over a white robe, and
the globe is dancing with a mild glow.
So sing for me, oh wind chime!
Blue jays are pecking at an oak tree,
Spinning around squirrels who are as carefree,
Unaware of a herd of deer roaming free,
their intelligence only bettered by their calling soiree.
So sing for me, oh wind chime!
Even as the prairie of a backyard is so beautiful,
when winds are so peaceful,
flowing the dandelions along plentiful,
depositing themselves on young ones a handful.
So sing for me, oh wind chime!
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
The seesawing sun of solipsy,
A satrapy of soliloquy,
Sol was once but now is she,
Sailed off into a darkened sea,
Sith some solitary soiree,
Goodbye my Sirius from Wi!
Oh solely solar solemn stigmata!
Sun’s sobriquet solitaire staccato!
And sonorous salute sonata!
Sing past swaddling clouds of terracotta!
A crucifying crescendo armada!
And endless stars in space of Satá!
Insatiable story of a Son’s redemption,
Who stole away the sins of man’s convention,
A cross and form at right ascension!
The astronomy and mythology of the aforementioned,
Whom but was pierced for our transgression,
The tale that lead to man’s discretion.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
Your face is oblique
But it's quite unique
Don't mind the critique.
Apply a pound of cosmetics
Transform your looks of a derelict
Into an Anna Kendrick.
Here, take this bouquet
Use a striking sobriquet
And own the soiree.
Sting like a bee
With your Master's degree
In bottomless energy.
Crack jokes like a nut
Leave them hanging like, "What?"
Blend your humor and your guts.
End the night like milk
Drag your dress of fake silk
Call a taxi driver of your ilk.
Head home like a killer
Laugh proud at the mirror
Because tonight, you're the winner.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
Chums are settling
in the back room
of the Feast House ~
post and beam
ember dreams
gray fog fingers
and draping fiords
holding patron's gaze
Dandan is nestled
in a fireside chat
(with a song from Jeremy
playing from
the high rafter)
*sail east
and greet the dawn
young man,
distant shores
are converging*
Old habits
die hard
for the Great Dane ~
whistling tunes
in a somber minor,
baritone sounds and
orchestra strings
rising from a
distant, muted choir
Ruby lips
and finger tips
scour the
cockeyed soiree
*the safe house
is old
and rendered,
but well
worth noting*
Filling jars
with pickled pears,
the specialist
weeds the
white maggot
and siphons his
favoured grog
"...shackle the outhouse
my mates!
the foreign scrum
is bolting!"
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 2:37 PM UTC
Electronic invitations are sent
to this festival of pen, paper, and ink.
No one ever shows up anymore.
I don’t mind.
It gives me more time with this notebook
and a head full of fire.
On Sundays,
the coffee is $.87 and I can have
all that I can swallow.
Today, it came black
in spite of my request
and as I made my
attempt to doctor it
into submission,
it spilled.
The next thing I know,
I have a reem of coffee-soaked
napkins and I’m hoping these
pages can be
salvaged.
After doing the best I can
I hit the john to wash my
hands.
Stepping away from the ******
is a man in a suit and tie.
He shoots me a baleful look
which I gratefully return.
He didn’t stop to wash his hands
in his hurry to get away from me
so I know that his cleanliness and godliness
are about the same distance apart.
Upon my return to my wrecked altar
of ritualized scribbling I notice that there are
heavy beads of cream hanging on to the edge,
same as me.
Instead of wiping them up
I head outside and light a
cigarette.
There is a young couple
contented with their quick,
cellophane wrapped sandwiches,
Doritos and sodas,
a fine picnic supper.
I sit so that the wind is in my face
and the smoke blows over my shoulder
into their suppertime soiree.
Upon my exit
they shoot me a baleful
look.
I earned this one.
And, I gratefully
return
home.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Its a place we all know, too **** well
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
John McClane **** sure, excelled
A simple Christmas soiree, ***** and drugs proliferate
Hans crashing the gate, with Red Dawn, to liberate
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Hans and Co, heading off to hell
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
John McClane **** sure as f*ck, excelled
Six hundred million, in negotiable bearer bonds their prize
Not Brazilians, but Germans, as terrorists, disguised
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Expensive suits getting ruined, no one got dry cleaning bills
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Takagi had a walk on part, I hope that, I'm in his will
Counting up the bullets, none left to be spared
Putting Hans on the pavement, Huey Lewis (lookalike) can't be repaired
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Bearer bonds upon the sidewalk, wish I was there
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Pocketing some negotiables, nevermore financial cares
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 8:20 AM UTC
cheers to
the new open doors
the start overs
and the forgiveness
we will be facing
as we dance along
the beautiful storm
with music inside us
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
I received my official
(unofficial)
unsolicited
free of charge
diagnosis today. From a stranger
on a bus.
Seems I lack balance,
everything in perfect portions
salty and sweet
wet and dry
meaning and irreverence
acceptable and perverse
a place of equilibrium and symmetry.
I find this state - unsurprising
Painfully predictable
transitory
a beacon for chaos.
Disorder only exists
against the theoretical backdrop
of order.
Nature unrepentantly marches towards
disorder
chaos
unbalance
asymmetry.
To hold balance, one must
shut the mind - close the soul
to new ideas and experiences.
Lest the delicate state
of transition be undone. Completed.
Balance is just a wobbling bubble.
driven aimlessly by currents of air.
Until the sphere inevitably - pops.
Entropy prevails,
We already knew it would.
always has,
always will.
Chaos snacks on tasty morsels of order.
Like little hor de' ourves
served on a shiny tray
at an impromptu soiree
universally,
eternally.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
above the tumid silence of our lives
where we might have a chance encounter
with the ill comforted;
removed from hope and desire
in the stale winds of impermanence
as pollen on the breeze
to look upon us, magnanimously
in eyes with tears
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 7:54 AM UTC