"waggled" poems
I’ve been told by a friend to wait here.
As long as I stay here, you’ll be back past five o'clock.
I’ve waited—you came and opened the door.
It’s true; now I will dedicate my nine lives to you.
"She drinks her tea by midnight and lulls herself to sleep. You should waggle your tail and lie beside her. Every day except for Saturday." My friend laughed rigorously when she finished that statement.
“Why can’t I play with her every Saturday?” I asked her, trying to grasp her evading eyes.
"Just because," she shrugged and tried to climb the tree.
"Wait!" I hissed, but she’s nowhere to be found now.
I did everything she told me to do. Eat my food past lunch, play with my worn-out toy, and wait for her to be home.
At the exact moment the cruel sun rose and the light hit my body, I waggled my tail and lied beside her. Unfortunately, I forgot it was Saturday today.
I called her name, distinctively meowing in a weird manner. I cackled slightly; she wouldn’t understand. Biting slowly with her calloused hands and licking the side of her face, she still won’t wake up.
And I meowed until there was no sound left of me. My dear Celia, wake up, for you have to give me food now.
You still need to bathe me and play with me at the park. We’ll still wait for the night to come and watch TV.
Oh, Celia, I’d still spend my nine lives with you. Where have you been since I slept last night?
I’d still wait for you here at the table, near the window. Where the trees dance the delicacy of their sickening leaves. Oh, how we both hated the crispness of those brown leaves.
Oh, how you knew how much I hate autumn and how much I undoubtedly love the breeze of winter. The screeching of the winds and the snow falling onto the ground, where we both scrutinize its unique aspect. We were the same.
How you were covered in snowdrops, and you’d throw me inside the snowpack. I’ll hiss, and you’ll laugh.
"I told you not to play with her every Saturday," my friend whispered, almost with a faint cry. There was a hint of longing in her voice.
"You haven’t told me the answer, Ong."
"She grieves in her dreams, my friend. He visits every Saturday, spends a day with her, and goes home at exactly midnight. She’ll wake up tomorrow, bud," she answered in agony.
Who's he? " I turned to her, but she vanished once again.
Celia, I will love you for the rest of my nine lives. I’ll wait for you tomorrow. It’s okay to grieve for now.
I’d still wait for you here at the table, even though it’s autumn. We both got to accept that winter is already over.
It’s my first life with you in autumn.
Sep 9, 2023
Sep 9, 2023 at 3:10 AM UTC
My Grandma had a purse shaped like a cobbler.
It was Blackberry and soap with a good dose of thyme.
She kept it close to her side, but behind her
so as not to impede her graceful march.
At some point the original strap had been lost
and replaced with a cherry red confection
that swirled around her arm and latched
onto the top crust that is always the most crunchy.
A few buttons were picked up along the way
and dotted the top layer like ladybugs dancing.
The zipper was never fully shut and there was often
a receipt sticking out, or perhaps her pink comb
that waggled in the air like a tongue in delight.
It wasn’t a big purse; just enough to satisfy
a healthy craving but big enough to care
were you not to see it present at dinner.
I have almost forgotten the healthy craving,
the smell of Blackberries, and why the ladybugs
should ever want to dance.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
THE Weird, unstoppable & unexplored thoughts,
Waggled down the curves of me
With beautiful words of thy,
That guided me,
Without the hands of clock stopping mine,
From feeling what it has to be
Numb yet warm, loved & tuned.
While you triggered the awkward convos we made,
For you, deep here praise remained.
The reel or real interest you showed in me
As we have read in all those tales be,
I've also left a part of myself to thee
When you drown again to the imagination' sea,
If your stick hooks upon the part I've left,
Then shall you see what I left wasn't silly!
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 6:09 AM UTC
Lines and swirls
Circled in confusion
Crossing over
And back in illusion
Their minds entangled
And their bodies twist
They’re now in knots
That form a list
Of beautiful nothings
That scrawl themselves
Black and pretty
Across the shelves
Triangles leapt
From pen to paper
Love was sketched
Ink turned to vapor
“I love you’s” were exchanged
Hugs given
Desperate cries
All lies, forgiven
Hands waved goodbye
Heads nodded in sorrow
Fingers waggled
Air kisses follow
Feet paced away
Reluctant and slow
Regaining speed
They say, “Hello.”
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 4:20 PM UTC
In a faraway place and faraway time
stood square a cabin rotted pine and bramble flue.
Once haven for old crones craven - their skins thin-skinned slivers of brine;
now nary a soot line marked a witches' brew.
In the dark, swirling silver stark and creatures would quiver
held over pot-stew thither, along hymns of damning chanted.
Waggled tongues with an evil glaze would slither,
cursing in eye, toe, and liver the bubbling broth decanted.
Oh a malkin giggled and a paddock piggled;
sniggled in a mirth-marked cauldron's rubble double bubble.
With a whoosh and a swish a bony finger had wiggled,
as papery skin withered the drubble swuddle brubble.
On those blackest of nights, when wolves would fear the moon,
howls held loomed, choked on down the throat of dusk.
Hatred uttered its sleepy breath, pitch-entombed
and justice marooned under a tar most brusque.
Shadows danced incantation
for an occultish creation, oh the devil's bidding be done!
Flamed carnation, neither here nor there god-fearing,
cackling a primrose coronation; the stirring spoon spun!
Death-catcher chimes hung close upon the entry;
a dust since turn of century marred bone;
witches’ wart-encrusted noses crinkled at gentry;
chenille voices sung with celerity a hellish praise: Divinum Occultum.
A little duende ran down the cauldron,
gloom chanting a chant come out with a hurl.
Burnt feet chasing away all ghosts ‘n goblins,
unfurling like whisper from the concoction:
Doom upon all the world.
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 6:26 AM UTC
On Sunday he pressed his lips against my throat
in a joking sort of kiss
all waggled brows and hidden giggles
and I said "oh my god what are you doing"
and we dissolved into snickering
And on Wednesday me and he sat
and watched TV and played horror games
all terror and smiles and fond glances
and I said "it's your turn don't roll your eyes at me"
and I forgot my responsibilities when he did it anyway
On Sunday we shared a glance over breakfast snacks
and danced on stage and talked around him
all raised brows and aching cheeks
and I said "we'd have cute kids your hair, my everything else"
and I don't remember what his face was, from the ground
And on Wednesday, he laid on my couch
and I sat in my armchair
all relaxation and easy conversation
and he said "wait, are you really going to marry him?"
and I don't remember answering
And on Sunday we raised our eyes to heaven
and sang songs to the God my mother loves
all easy grace and accidental harmonies
and I thought "why would I marry him I love you"
and I sat alone
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Stands tall around me are walls I built.
A protection from thorny hands I seek.
Numbness and wittiness I picked.
To survive world of treachery and trick.
I jolt on the wall that loudly crackling.
They waggled in continuous pounding.
Crooked long veins sudden witnessing.
Having these walls crumpled is frightening.
Like every king's gate, I put faith in it.
Believing could make it strong a bit.
I prepare myself through fear I met.
Must face anything my fate would get.
Few monents passed, the pounding has stopped.
Leaves my mind with question why sudden nap.
Curiosity drove me to wall to tap.
Bricks fall down to earth with loud thundering clap.
Blinded by light, my eyes try to open.
Finds laying on ocean of buds a maiden.
Her tired blooded hands made my heart broken.
Tears fell out of my eyes, felt the pain.
I caress her while I moan.
Wishing the walls had never shown.
Looking back at my life I created and own.
Learning my life is like a stone.
The angels from the above cry,
making her body clean and spirit fly.
Having me touched, she doesn't deserve to die.
"Give us another chance!" my eyes won't dry.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
I can't compare to nothing
The jubilant, frost morning
When you put your arms around me
I felt seasick at seashore
At the dawn of horizons
Skylines curved, waggled smiles
As coquettish waves brushed our feet
Sand shining imprints
Stabbed under feet
Shines still the frost, jubilant morning
However me out of gears
On the sand of my heart
Close and perennial..
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC