"waif" poems
In her gauzy garments
Above the bowing trees
The moon has many lovers
In the sighing breeze.
They all take her dancing
In exotic lands
They give her sparkling diamonds
They kiss her milk-white hands.
She is round & fullsome
Or slender as a waif
When she is then waning
Her flowers are kept safe.
Silken skeins of darkness
When she's waxing full
Are parted by her brightness
She is NEVER dull!
Her beaux are all so courtly
But she eschews them all
Her only love can make her pale
She burns at his call...
She lets out her moonbeams
Through her eyes they weep
She loves the one eclipsing her
They can NEVER meet!
She, so strong within her court
Will curtsey when he comes
The moon has many lovers
But she's taken by the SUN.
Catherine Jarvis
(C) 12/14/2019
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 12:07 AM UTC
This poem was written after watching a few hours of slam poetry on Youtube. Let me know what you think...it's my first shot at slam poetry.
There are so many words flowing around out there about the big girls. The thick girls, the curvy girls, the p-h-a-t phat girls. About their plush and soft exteriors, their abundant backsides, their willingness to accept themselves and their hopefulness that others will do the same. Their….thereness.
They are beautiful, don’t get me wrong.
They are beautiful.
But what about the skinny girls?
The small girls with petite builds and large hearts and an aversion to the word short. The size two and under girls, the drive thru can’t gain a pound girls, the I AM NOT ANNOREXIC OR BULLEMIC girls.
The girls who will always be referred to as “pixie-like” or “waif-like” or “twig-like.” The perfect model body girls that all of the other girls hate…because of their lack of fat.
Aren’t they beautiful?
The girls with the size 32 bust line, the girls who, at 24, still shop in the junior sections of department stores. The girls who, regardless of their age, their strengths and weaknesses, their experiences, heartaches and joys, disappointments and triumphs, their want or need for life and love will always look like they missed a meal or gave it back purposefully with the intent of becoming even thinner. The girls who, no matter how ******* HARD they try, cannot even weigh 100 lbs soaking ******* wet.
Aren’t they beautiful?
The big girls have to search and search for cute and **** and attractive clothes because of their size. Guess what? So do the skinny girls. Do you know ******* hard it is to find a pair of pants with a size zero waist and a 34 inch leg? To finally find an extra small shirt that doesn’t have one of the top three cartoon characters of the time plastered across the front?
All I’m saying is yes, the thick girls, the curvy girls, the p-h-a-t phat girls…
They are beautiful.
But ****** so am I.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 11:58 PM UTC
A waif on this earth,
Sick, ugly and small,
Contemned from my birth
And rejected by all,
From my lips broke a cry,
Such as anguish may wring,
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
By Wealth's coach besmeared
With dirt in a shower,
Insulted and jeered
By the minions of power,
Where — oh where shall I fly?
Who comfort will bring?
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
Life struck me with fright —
Full of chances and pain,
So I hugged with delight
The drudge's hard chain;
One must eat, — yet I die,
Like a bird with clipped wing,
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
Love cheered for a while
My morn with his ray,
But like a ripple or smile
My youth passed away.
Now near Beauty I sigh,
But fled is the spring!
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.
All men have a task,
And to sing is my lot —
No meed from men I ask
But one kindly thought.
My vocation is high —
'Mid the glasses that ring,
Still — still comes that reply,
Chant poor little thing.
9.5k
Resplendent rose, luminous green,
Lucid paradisaical palette,
The jewel delivers
It's dyed, distinctive sheen
Graciously, unassumingly
Casting a pink and emerald crewel
Coalescing into traces,
Cuisine for sunbeams
Brushing nature's easel --
Bedecking the constellation lighting on earth,
Realizing among tureens:
Scalloped edge profusions offering
The spoonbill waif
Sweet adrenaline,
Fueling it's sojourn in the atmosphere.
Bird of prey, humming minstrel,
Airy, iridescent meddler
Between red blooms,
Distant gem's sparkle
Gracing redolent, languid afternoons
Cloaked in shimmering velveteen,
Beating velocious wings, remaining still.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 9:11 AM UTC
Ballerina stance leaner
porcelain poised demeanor
lined up for a chance at that old 500 gram repeater.
Yeah, a little firecracker,
a little fire eater.
Twiggy figure, ****** fire dome where her little wires teeter.
Excellent muse material
my ***** optics viewed ethereal
Beauty, and she knew it.
Arrogance.
Noted, duly.
Pittsburgh's resident fire ant, with a grace to match her face
And a whole crew of troglodytes racing to get a taste
So thanks Angela Chase;
I prefer the fantasy too.
And thanks to you my chickens won't be sleeping easy in their coup.
Loop Jabberwocky with Calligraphy
and dabbled in polygamy. purpose:
****** cyst bubbles to the surface.
Misinterpret the tongue touching and hand clutching,
you were baby girlie thumb-sucking
But thought more than twice about it when it came to dumb-fucking.
Pretty face: check
Depression: not yet
Appreciating phonemes, but still a nervous wreck
false carrot tops to bed, awkward with the ***** work.
Near waif redhead. Pittsburgh Boys. the city lurks
It's been a minute since the girl scouts got at me, I bought it.
Hop in the DeLorean tell Lauren that I'm off it.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 2:47 PM UTC
In a Strike
Lightning in Dice
I'm no Psych
Just a Mice
~
With a Slice
Be the Treasure
There's no Rice
But whole Pleasure
~
It's a Measure
To be Safe
Y'all Immature
Learn to Strafe
~
You a Waif
Me a Pure
Don't you Chafe
You Impure
~
Sea is Azure
Trust my Gut
But I'm Sure
I can Cut
~
Battle will Begin
Their's no Mercy
Who can Win
With no Thirsty
~
Don't be Nasty
Ships will Fire
They are Classy
Like a Choir
~
With no Tire
We will Roll
Do not Retire
That's out Goal
~
Burn the Soul
Fight with Urge
Do your Role
Let's Purge
~
We won't Merge
Enemy is tricky
To the Verge
Give them Hickey.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
Now here you come again to fetch me from the sea,
Ballast in my bones, this girl was born to sink;
A cautionary tale, I slip between the wood,
Limbs whittled thin and feet stained with soot.
But never-mind the waif; she waxes so pale
Drunk on dejection, I ponder the veil
Leaden and listless, for the sirens will sing:
Amaranthine is the color I bleed for the sea.
So I’ll spit out my sorrows wherever they listen,
Pumped me with pills and said that they fixed it.
The darlings have died off; the dolls are all broken,
Just left is me, thin-skinned and soft spoken.
And I’d rather lick knives than chew on love’s gristle,
Like a dog on a chain, I’d run when you whistle.
Far from it now, yet lost in the maze:
Chasing ways out for the rest of my daze.
Dec 18, 2022
Dec 18, 2022 at 2:18 PM UTC
~~○♢○~~
there was once
a girl unnamed
ever doubted
ever shamed
untamed fire
high & wild
she was a haunted
white-hot child
a wayward waif
she had no guide
no way to hold
her rage inside
*"you're a ***** little girl,
watch me as I wreck your world!"
bursting brain
as well as bubble
he brought her
a world of trouble
now unloved
unlovable*
charcoal lily
ragged ****
neglected garden
a bad seed
never knowing
her great need
a prickly thistle
tried to hide
all the pain
she held inside
chorus
for years she went on
in this state
unloved, unwise
and reprobate
no turning back
it was too late
wild parties
dating thugs
drinking *****
doing drugs
chorus
But deep inside
the little-girl-lost
a seed of faith
grew at last
she grabbed a hold
and held on fast
then, when things
were at their worst
she began
to hunger ~ thirst!
because her God
had loved
*her first!
"I've loved you, child.
I had a plan
long before the world began.
Please do not be sad or blue,
this destiny included YOU
you are SO important
to My story
you will bring Me such great
GLORY!
here below
in heav'n above
I'll show you how much
♡♡ YOU ARE LOVED ♡♡*
the woman changed
she was set free
who's the woman?
she is
ME
SøułSurvivør
(C) 8/16/2017
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 6:10 AM UTC
I'M A SHOPPING CENTER SANTA CLAUS
FOR THREE WEEKS EVERY YEAR
IT PAYS MY RENT AND BUYS ME FOOD
AND BUYS A CASE OF BEER
I NEVER REALLY LIKED IT
'TILL ONE DAY TWO YEARS BACK
WHEN ONE SMALL CHILD ASKED ME
JUST HOW I FILLED MY SACK
I THOUGHT A BIT AND TOLD THE WAIF
THAT MAGIC FILLED IT UP
HER EYES GREW WIDE AS SAUCERS
JUST WAITING FOR A CUP
I TOLD HER HOW MY ELVES
MADE THE TOYS FOR ME TO GIVE
TO TAKE AROUND THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD
WHERE ALL THE CHILDREN LIVE
SHE ASKED ME THEN WHY DID I NOT
FULFILL HER WISH LAST YEAR
I NOTICED THEN, HER EYES WELLED UP
AND I KNOW I SAW A TEAR
SHE SAID THAT HER POOR MOTHER
HAD LEFT AND RUN AWAY
SHE PACKED HER BAGS A YEAR AGO
AND LEFT ON CHRISTMAS DAY
SHE DIDN'T LEAVE ME ANY GIFTS
SHE SAID IN HER SMALL VOICE
SHE ONLY LEFT A LETTER SAYING
SHE HAD NOT OTHER CHOICE
SHE ASKED THAT WITH MY MAGIC
I MAKE HER WISH COME TRUE
I'D SAID I'D TRY TO DO IT
I WOULD SEE WHAT I COULD DO
I WIPED MY NOSE AND DRIED MY TEARS
AND PUT THE SMALL GIRL DOWN
SHE TURNED TO LEAVE AND WALK AWAY
HER COAT WAS CHOCOLATE BROWN
IT WAS A FEW DAYS LATER
THAT SHE CAME BACK TO MY CHAIR
HER EYES WERE BRIGHT AND SPARKLING
AND SHE WORE RIBBONS IN HER HAIR
THANK YOU SANTA FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE
THERE'S SOMEONE YOU SHOULD MEET
THIS IS MY MUM, SHE'S COME BACK HOME
SHE'S MY EARLY CHRISTMAS TREAT
YOUR MAGIC WORKED A MIRACLE
YOU MADE MY WISH COME TRUE
NOW I BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS
AND THE EASTER BUNNY TOO!
I DID NOT TRY TO FIND HER MUM
TO LIE WOULD NOT BE FAIR
BUT WHEN I LEFT THE MALL THAT NIGHT
I SAID A LITTLE PRAYER
I PRAYED TO GOD THAT SHE WOULD FIND
HER MOTHER BACK IN HER LIFE
AND THAT THIS SMALL, YOUNG CHILD
WOULD BE FREE FROM ANY STRIFE
I KNOW THAT IT'S A PIPE DREAM
LIKE WISHING ON A STAR
BUT I WISHED ON ONE A FEW YEARS BACK
AND SOMEONE HEARD ME FROM AFAR
I'M A SHOPPING CENTER SANTA CLAUS
FOR A WEEK OR MAYBE TWO
BUT LITTLE GIRL, WHEREVER YOU ARE
I STILL BELIEVE IN YOU.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
--And do not be indiscreet or unconventional. Play it safe.--
Listen here. I've never played it safe
in spite of what the critics say.
Ask my imaginary brother, that waif,
that childhood best friend who comes to play
dress-up and stick-up and jacks and Pick-Up-Sticks,
bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics.
Or form a **** Club where we all go
in the bushes and peek at each other's ***
Pop-gunning the street lights like crows.
Not knowing what to do with funny Kotex
so wearing it in our school shoes. Friend, friend,
spooking my lonely hours you were there, but pretend.
2.7k
Long and lithe fingers,
comfort moulded into cones,
is where art kisses geometry
and meets one of its own.
Her hands are to touch
manicured and glazed,
you feel home and lost
a Pharaoh now, and next a waif
The nails, you find and wonder
filed for a student and trimmed.
Not a wisp of colour
bare as a bone, naked and skinned.
Snug in a life song,
a pallbearer of untold griefs,
they are a stark sight
of colourless coral reefs.
On but a blue moon,
they’re a savoury rare,
when hungry eyes feast
on the riotous fair.
Why, one day, I ask thee?
She would smile and wouldn’t tell.
‘Never felt like’,
is her No Comment.
May 1, 2021
May 1, 2021 at 12:25 PM UTC
The owl-car clatters along, dogged by the echo
From building and battered paving-stone.
The headlight scoffs at the mist,
And fixes its yellow rays in the cold slow rain;
Against a pane I press my forehead
And drowsily look on the walls and sidewalks.
The headlight finds the way
And life is gone from the wet and the welter--
Only an old woman, bloated, disheveled and bleared.
Far-wandered waif of other days,
Huddles for sleep in a doorway,
Homeless.
2.3k
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass has never learned to cope.
Once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope -
She casts the Curse, the Holy Verse, and shoots a shot of dope,
And stalks discreet Asylum Street her daily horoscope -
The stray was struck by random truck which was her only hope.
Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire:
“The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire.
Born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire
Where no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require;
Where faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar,
Infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire.
Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her -
Whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire;
Though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.”
Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene.
And now she’s dead, the rumours spread: “her age? a sweet 16,
With child, ***** her soul dyed red, her body so unclean.”
A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes,
In limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens;
And all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines
Which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens.
Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod
“In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod,
Neath scarlet trim with black, and grim, behind a robed facade -
“She’ll burn in hell and sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god.
Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire,
But Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir:
“The clueless search within the church to find what they desire -
Beyond the nave, a gravelled grave, the final Rectifier”
And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
Being the thing that I am,
borne into this world of man
A waif,
Scent of water lilly on a gypsy's cheek dancing at midnight
A song,
sung by demons under the blood moon in the month of March
A mere reflection,
In a child's tear
With the want for nothing more,
than to evaporate with the coming of the rising Sun
But the sun never rises here
and reflections don't evaporate~A
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 8:03 AM UTC
I am a raging typhoon of rampant enthusiasm
I will weave the lasting fabrics of agreement
Stitch and kiss all wounds
until everything stops bleeding for good.
You will succumb to hope
Its pure saline cascade shall cleanse you
Let me kiss each moan, until the countryside of your pain
Is coated in a shimmering rain of pleasure.
Weariness wipes away, coated like bare wood beneath white wash,
the doves sit nearby, waif children, they share their breadcrumbs,
they smile, and demure, until the worst in us all,
fades three shades towards forgotten forever.
I am here to heal you...
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 7:42 AM UTC
beard-red explorers
pillaging-horror practitioners
tribal-family groups
insurgent-nomadic roots
that
trailed wave-rammers across never-ending spans,
continuously-toilfully matters not the demands
women and men side by each
beastly-feasters no table safe
stand up for yourself or be a weak-waif
in the bloodshot soul-panes, fierce
pagan-purveyors by rites
despised-womanizers
siege-setters
monk-murderers
a blood-spilling bee
treasure trove crash n’carry
Thor had his hammer
every wave-rammer had an oar for every
pair of life-stained hands, the stains
were borrowed and the very life-drained out of others
blood-smitten berserkers, heart-stoppers
and yet
discoverer’s children
wandering wet-wilderness
found a Stormy-Stop, a few
actually, and one be Newfoundland
may-haps they settled in peace.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
I get high to get by.
It's the only way I see,
to ease the pain that's slowly
growing inside of me.
My friends can't stand the change,
they give me misguided looks,
they seem to look at me
like my face is full of hooks.
I hate to see them judge me,
but they don't really know,
I've found a path to happiness,
but it seems so false and slow.
They think I'm like a stoner,
smoking myself to space,
but really, I'm a loner,
looking for an embrace.
The only place I feel safe,
is tucked inside his arms.
I feel like a helpless waif,
so in need of his charms.
Cuz my parents bring me down,
and I'm unsure of my friends,
could anyone accept me,
without going through a cleanse?
Cuz I'm done with faking happy,
for everyone else's sake,
this little slice of happy
is for me, only, to take.
I don't know how to tell you,
that it's so hard to get by,
and if there's one thing that I've realized,
it's that I only smile when I'm high.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 8:56 AM UTC
*quiet now
no noise
sshhh
shhh now*
1.
kidnapped
out the blue
pretty blue-eyed waif
with bangs
screening her
fear
2.
today is the day
she learns of devotion
he will teach her
slowly
they have time
away
in the woods
far from everyone
nothing but sylvan moves for company
a cabin in the mountains
no easy access
but by trail
3.
how they learn of each other...
until law enforcement
decides to pay a visit
runaway man
has to hide
yet
loses no love
from the hostage
who protects
in the end
his demands are almost none
the ransom
merely:
to be left alone
*shhh
quiet now
they can't hear us
hush, baby
don't you cry now*
S T, 5 July 2013
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
I look for Leo, his tawny dress,
His noble pride. I see him ever,
In silent days his warmth his stride.
Our friendship moved, grew a lease
With eyes sleepy, tempered, so wise,
Always serene. How his waif voice
Would purrmurr, did chide and lift
Me from my human daze, my king
This spring is full of remembrances
And mornings that linger with mute
Vibrations and greetings. How, now
I fear the carpets pressed unmoving
And times caress unsoothing. I look
For you, with loving pause, and I cry.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
The Roman empire has fallen
sadness weeps bitter tears
how the mighty became poor old waif
and the west held their jamboree without ignominy
For once they were carried on shoulders in sedan trains
in pomp and ceremony the masters sought safaris and ruled lions
from Goa to Timbuktu the whiff of toast on marmalade n Darjeeling
jackboots and clipped voices rang in plantations n hymns in churches
The Roman empire has fallen
Tea two anti-depressants please
Oh no no how have the mighty fallen
unwanted unloved we cry diminished glory
no invites to Continental parties no lovers in Casablanca
the dusky maidens as footstool are Doctors at the corner Surgery
those hunky dark torsos ferrying cocoa to steamers heading Cardiff
are now earning two hundred thousand grand a week and drive Rolls
The Roman empire has fallen
now we just drink Bitter all the time
the mighty s of the universe are now *******
come see the bullies in the school playground playing the Raj
let me show you a place where four in ten cannot spell enterprising
did you know when not in the Tropics some go for weeks un-bathed
shock and awe jealousy n envy is the new black making them so mad
old n young no self respect, no dignity and now only sad mad bullies
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 4:29 AM UTC
My love of poetry is too great
for Philosophy, physics to glue the skin under my toes
to the floor.
A waif, only dandelion fluff,
I tease the turbid puddles
of wearying intellect.
Life is too beautiful
to compartmentalize,
to classify,
to set unsurmountable borders
on the pleasure that only poets and hopeless romantics comprehend.
Disoriented sight/smell/taste/touch/hearing-
backwards rainbows and the upside-down
scent of oatmeal cookies,
the melancholy of a forever-stilled honey bee,
are more golden than yellow metal,
and certain
more knowledge than a heaping pile
of doctors/lawyers/senators/scientists.
reality's only denizens
are Dreamers.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
A girls beauty only exists as an extant form of a decay
The ****** gets down on her knees
to pray
that God delivers her a good good man
to come, and demand, for her hand in marriage
A girls beauty will never exist as long as her lips haven’t tasted true love’s kiss
her legs are long and bare and
her face is rosy, fair
and that silky hair can be wound around his rough calloused fingers
The beauty of girlhood is being used
Desiring love and being pursued
And if he doesn’t think I’m beautiful? Do I have any worth at all?
Lost innocence is a beauty (a sweet sweet tragedy) so utterly unattainable, (only for those girls with their blue bell eyes and their waif-ish thighs) I’m left to wonder
am I even a woman
at all?
Mar 23, 2022
Mar 23, 2022 at 5:26 PM UTC
I will not raise my head today
For I must keep my eyes fixated upon
The tiny shadow in the crease of my own arm
If I blink, it shall swallow me whole
And send this body through a gauntlet
Of heaving breaths
Heaving breaths
And the blood in my skin shall course through my veins
So bitter and foreign,
Carrying lightning bolts of pain
Cold, but burning tremors of pain...
Healthy blood should not behave this way
I'd swear this was something injected...
But my bruiseless arms say there is no way
This is my body
I am this body
I am this waif, this witch, this wraith,
Drifting through these streets of nowhere
Moving left and right,
Left and right
Hither and thither...
With the breeze of the evil man's breath
And all I can hear are my toes on the pavement
Reminding me that
I am completely alone
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 2:15 PM UTC