"waltzes" poems
Meet me in Valhalla
When the battle's done
The cries of enemies long slain
Have faded one by one
Hold my hand, brave brother
As our glory's crowned in blood
The sword strikes deep but still
Our souls will rise above the mud
O warrior, our destiny was
To fall in foreign lands
Within our veins flow rivers strange
Our mouths pour forth with sand
We do not fear the bitter dark
That waltzes round our eyes
Hold my hand, brave brother
Led by the Valkyrie we die
We march on toward golden shields
To fight under burning suns
Meet me in Valhalla
When the battle's won
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Is there tear gas in this room?
Because I can't stop crying
The gas crawls down my esophagus
And crushes my wounded heart.
“God this hurts”
I keep typing,
Praying to computer screen
That I'll forget the smell of your hair
I type till my fingers bleed
So I can forget what your touch feels like
How our lips fit perfectly together.
“God I hate myself”
The only phrase I think of
When I'm pleading for things to back to normal
Back to the days
Where you didn't want to to crack open my skull
And see all of the ugly things
That drift around my cranium
“Baby please I'm sorry. I’m a mess,
A klutz, who waltzes around with stupidity
Baby I get this feeling in my head
When you are not around
I want to keep writing you these love letters
By sliding them under your doors called your eyelids”
But I can’t
I sit alone in the bus called life
Looking across my seat
I see you, my love
Holding onto the bar
Your pretty Blue headlights
That make me drawn to you
Your pretty Blue headlights
Covered with the rain I caused
I'm a rain man,
you see, when people get close to me
I get scared
And force the skies rain to tears with pain.
The only thing that floats in my mind
Is that I hope the man of you life
Buys you flowers
Sunflowers especially
And shows up to your work unexpectedly.
I hope you can travel to Paris
and keep a long list of all of the countries
you've cuddled in.
With him.
I hope you he can handle seeing the stars
From your eyes every time you guys cuddle
Under the moon light.
I hope he can teach you how to slow dance
And I hope that he can teach me
On how to be a better man.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Scent like its spring
feel like the summer breeze
in the meadows were chartreuse weeds
Sweet Gardenia, dearest one
your petals shine the moonlight
and grace the rays of the sun
a touch of you,
deliquescing as canvas hues
how the world's heart told tales
in visions anew
Of any color you choose to be
white, as resemblance of purity
your scent forge to every desperate nose
a sneeze which bring forth arose
and with all to guarantee
your aroma is no match in any of thee
Oh Gardenia, Sweet Gardenia
vulnerable, gentle and free
sailing the skies above, praising every tree
sigh, as she waltzes with me
But Gardenia, Sweet Gardenia
when will the world stop hating you
grieving in delitescent
burying your every truth
shadows washing, dreams forgetting
soon as winter swept all of you
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
If today was for giant caterpillars,
giant crowds,
giant sounds,
and chaos, then this evening must be for
Blueberry fingertips
white wine in my glass
the music of an accordion
and a paperback novel.
Breeze in the window that waltzes with ribbons
and fills the bottles I’ve collected for the past six years.
(soft t shirt from the first time I fell asleep on his couch)
mmm, stop WORRYING.
It is no time at all for any of that.
Take the time to take the time to take your time.
shhh, brain.
hush, mouth.
Quiet Quiet Quiet
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
On nights like this
Tired eyes reminisce
Of a former life
Like French doors opening
To familiar gardens
Where prunes grow on fingers
And lavender blooms
In the iridescent luster
Of warm water droplets
Serenading shoulders
Where reason and chaos blend
Into peach white tea
Swallows carry songs
Through their wings
Stirring decadent incense
Of exhaling trees
Sunlight waltzes with
Saturated leaves
Their indelible patterns
Rhythmic marigold sleeves
Carefree meanders along
Luscious promenade, swathed
In pomegranate-stained poppies
Ripe for the picking
In them, a fragrant ecstasy
Alive inside this memory
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
coloring inside the lines is impossibly bleak,
with a hissing noise
atomic locomotive
rounds the bend,
extrasensory perception is not
a mindless gift,
it's a train station in the clouds,
tracking all my starting points to you,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.
you leave in opera
with secrets and grievances
under the radar,
and your ready-made
wings catch in the power lines,
you're coiling like smoke
in the arches of my cathedral,
a sense of elegant decay
while sweeping up the debris,
committing arson
with the paraffin of my temporal lobe.
yesterday's fairground waltzes,
ghosted lullabies,
and woodland hymnals,
set in a context not of
resolution and closure,
but of contradiction and assimilation,
break the bond,
away they float on purveyor belts,
one too many molecules,
one too many departures,
always on the surface of everything,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.
Feb 16, 2023
Feb 16, 2023 at 7:27 AM UTC
When stretch'd on one's bed
With a fierce-throbbing head,
Which preculdes alike thought or repose,
How little one cares
For the grandest affairs
That may busy the world as it goes!
How little one feels
For the waltzes and reels
Of our Dance-loving friends at a Ball!
How slight one's concern
To conjecture or learn
What their flounces or hearts may befall.
How little one minds
If a company dines
On the best that the Season affords!
How short is one's muse
O'er the Sauces and Stews,
Or the Guests, be they Beggars or Lords.
How little the Bells,
Ring they Peels, toll they Knells,
Can attract our attention or Ears!
The Bride may be married,
The Corse may be carried
And touch nor our hopes nor our fears.
Our own ****** pains
Ev'ry faculty chains;
We can feel on no subject besides.
Tis in health and in ease
We the power must seize
For our friends and our souls to provide.
3.6k
Eline Dandelion
My dandelion, everywhere in spring and summer days, you are present
Soft is your tender touch when I drag you close to me
Oh dandelion, your beautiful cotton hair, like the aroma of red roses in the air,
It enamours me when I breathe it in,
And the wind that carries its aroma waltzes with enchantment to the tune of Lara’s Farolito
Dandelion, you are the flower that is ever present
Your light and gentle body occupies the dreams of my arms, wishing to hold your delicate, light frame.
Your seeds of love have long ago landed on my mind,
And I have planted them, too, in my heart so that this heart only beat for you.
But these seed are like any other seeds.
The farther away you are, the less likely they will grow, and flowers wilt
The closer you are, the more beautiful the flowers become, bloom.
Eline Dandelion, of all the other flowers and even dandelions, you are my favorite dandelion.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
I.
White flakes touch the street—
Their millions melt, dying
The way they were born.
II.
She blinked, shaking the
Snowflakes from her eyelashes,
And blushed like summer.
III.
A two-step blizzard
Waltzes in the windy air—
Winter masquerades.
IV.
In the darkness, steps
Crunch and echo in the snow,
Miles away from me.
V.
The buildings weather
The snow, but everything else
Crumbles under white.
VI.
After the snow, trees
Like middle-aged heads of hair
Became old and grey.
VII.
The hot chocolate
Stains my teeth, which once were
White like today’s snow.
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 2:25 PM UTC
A Beautiful and A Bitter Shroud
When I was little, I found a magic box,
tucked under the eaves where
we were told not to go.
Something compelling about the
forbidden, triangular space,
sealed off by lath and plaster,
made me resolved, beyond curious.
I kicked and pulled until plaster shattered
and wood cracked, delightfully.
The large box was filled
with silk, organza and tulle,
the proud-worn gowns
of my mother's college days.
At those ***** she danced
in them, hair coiled up
and earrings sparkling.
It was not about the men, I knew,
but her need to be admired.
I don't recall a punishment
for opening the box
but she relented and allowed
my sister and I to put on
her finery and pretend.
We wrapped them round us
and twirled to imaginary waltzes,
stepping on long hems so many times
that the gowns all came undone.
The rags were put away
and the room sealed up.
In my youth I recall but a few
times Mother gave in
and let us be children
or fairy princesses for a while.
Now she is old and finally
trying to wrap me in her shroud,
to make resentment drag me down
and envy of me, crippled with self-hate.
But that no longer works
and I tell her, finally grown
that this is not allowed.
I summon up pity and vague sympathy,
even if love left long ago.
I tell myself that
everyone dies alone.
Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 4:16 PM UTC
You see a kaleidoscopic spongesque speck pushed into a blur over your vision,
Sitting on air & feathers.
You sit on air rather than feathers,
Incased in drywall,
Surrounded by your worldly possessions,
Drowning in sweat,
Suffocating from air,
The hum of coupled fans waltzes’ into your skull,
A metallic mind prints mass media
Via a melodramatic faux-vintage situation into your skull,
There’s the pitter-patter of post-traumatic pondering in your skull,
A Mexican Coca-Cola clutched in your left hand,
Phillip-Morris owns the pocket on your breast so that they sit closest to your heart,
Pabst Blue Ribbon has carved rights to your liver,
You have an over analytic sense of humor and well-being.
Now you decode your day.
Now you chastise your intuition for lustful engagements with shadow people.
Though you have no qualms with this,
You enjoy yourself from time to time.
But cannot you imagine a more climatic proposition,
In a less disposable universe?
Where corners are cut,
Shoving dignity & quality out the door
Is where impractical risks are made.
However,
All you ponder now is the blur pushed into the edge of your eye.
Perhaps it is a microorganism rendezvousing with another microorganism.
Though they would have no concept of predetermination.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
Upon this shore my unsure feet stand
Slowly sinking into soft sand
Seashells shine as they catch sunlight
And drifted wood is washed all but white
Seagulls swoop from skies and soar
Birds and prey at a natural war
The sunrise glow fades
Air grows hot
In warm display beach is caught
Illuminates the sea below
From surface to undertow
A gentle ocean breeze waltzes by
As if the water breathes with a sigh
Enhancing sunbeams that darken my skin
Tranquility I am soaking in
This morning view so peaceful and bright
Where all is well within my sight
How many summer days remaining to waste?
When snow arrives I'll miss the taste
Of saltwater bitter on my tongue
The cool sensation filling my lungs
Upon this shore I memorize
The horizon distant from my eyes
The light outside fights the darkness within
And my cares float out as the tide rolls in
Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 4:49 PM UTC
As the last waltz playing in my jacket ceased,
Loneliness and longing spilled out,
Along with a few coins and a recorder
From my roomy coat pockets.
The phone booth stood there,
Frosted by icicles of promises
Never thawed to life,
Yet a haven from my impasse;
A womb for the stranded & unwanted.
I closed the door behind me,
And fed the phone a few coins,
Punched your number with numb fingers
And fogged up the insides of the glass,
As I waited to hear your voice.
“Hello?” You said, but where were my words?
I must have lost them on my way,
I must have fed them to the phone
Along with the paltry coins,
Could you hear what I wanted to say?
“Hello?” You repeated, a little alert,
I listened to your silence, trying to smile,
It sank like warm music on my heart,
Waltzes and sonatas were so cliché.
Where were my words? Just one would suffice,
Couldn’t I sum us up in a single word?
I couldn’t find the kigo to our season.
I had lost it, left it with you,
That and my voice
In the world I was forced to leave,
And all this while I was held,
Tenuously to you by this phone call,
Till I heard the strained dial tone again,
In this silent world I’ve come to inhabit.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
His mother's dumb face
His father's cold drinks
It's all fun and games
'Till the happiness sinks
He'll walk straight inside
Not announcing his presence
Stare fear in the eye
And inhale killer's essence
Walk up to his room
And open his door
Foreshadowing doom
That box on the floor
Within it? The metal
He stole it for fun
The steel 'shakes his settle'
In the form of a gun
He tugs on the hammer
And pulls back the slide
Waits 'till the clamor
Of anxiety subsides
Remembers the beatings
His father would lay
Remembers the feeding
Of lies in the hay
He waltzes down stairs
With the gun in both hands
At the very last step
He nervously stands
He won't just say 'blam'
And pull back the trigger
His thoughts make a plan
A process much bigger
Confronting them both
At the small kitchen table
He didn't once choke
When he said "I am able"
He pointed the gun
But his resolve soon shattered
And in shame, shot himself
Saying first "It won't matter!"
His plan had recoiled
But his mission still stood
As the bullet hit oil
And caught fire to the wood
And the flames licked and climbed
And the roof burned and caved
And the family died
In the fiery blaze
And the town down the road
Never did realize
The church choir sings odes
And a young lady cries
But never word flew
Of the evil within
'Till the killers mind slew
Just a boy and his kin
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC
white lotus
now stung thrice
by a self centered bee,
could you ever forgive me?
don’t say a prayer
for me now,
as three roller coaster trips
down unknown uteruses
await
more skulls
for that crescent bearer
adorning a blue throat
to wear as a garland
as he waltzes
his way through
the raging funeral pyres
of the cremation grounds
in soul filled Varanasi
© 2021
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 11:28 AM UTC
To our darling Veronica
With affection, she I call “Sweet Pea”
The lady’s smile, I always see
When she waltzes by with sponge and mop
With a cheerful wave to all that lot
Who never see her scrubbing there...
To tidy kitchen, loo and stair,
Who never see her great technique
Let alone defer to speak.....
Sweet Pea we’ll miss your great finess
Your bright and cheery fix of mess,
Your happy way of making right
That which most refuse to sight,
May you find your life’s real gain
Dispelling old folk’s aches and pain.
May you have sweet days of bright
Without a cleaning mop in sight.
Love and a great big kiss of gratitude
For the wonderful sparkling world you have given us.
Love from us lot @ VPT
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
In fairytales spun with threads of gold,
Fantasy weaves tales, but truth untold,
Dreams painted in hues of perfection,
Reality's absence, a cruel deception.
Characters clad in virtues so divine,
Yet life's complexities, they undermine,
For in the real world, shadows persist,
Fairytales evade truths that exist.
In castles tall, love's kiss breaks the spell,
But reality's truths, a harder sell,
In flawed hearts, love's journey is strife,
Fairytales deny the tumultuous life.
Happily ever after, a whimsical notion,
Life's challenges scorn such devotion,
For happiness waltzes with sorrow's song,
Fairytales mask the struggles lifelong.
So, I loathe the tales with happy endings,
Reality's narrative, it keeps transcending,
In life's tapestry, flaws are an art,
Fairytales, a facade, keeping us apart.
Jan 15, 2024
Jan 15, 2024 at 6:46 AM UTC
When I look into the mirror,
I see a girl with high hopes, yet broken dreams-
A girl who hides behind a mask,
which deems to be happy and sane.
But underneath,
a small girl lays.
Frantically giggling at the mess of her refection.
She stares with innocent eyes
and a smirk on her face and mouths
failure
dragging me into the mirror, she waltzes around my feeble body
chanting in circles
failure, failure, failure
each time getting louder
failure
she steps closer
failure
she grips my shoulder and laughs into my ear
failure
shivers run up my spine
I know it's true
the lights go black leaving me with the cacophony of silence
the word still lingering in my mind
failure
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 9:05 PM UTC
I found you, cast away in the shadows,
hiding from the laughter, of those
painted clown faces
I found you, on the rooftop
sat with your arms, clasped
to you, wrapped around
Searching through the crowd
blinded, the lights of this
crazy, maddening fairground
Colours forming, moving
the Northern lights, blazing
blues, green, pinks, yellows
Kids and lovers, screaming
the Matterhorn spinning,
a frisbee gondola swinging
Midsummer Fair, a fresh green common
distracted, I turn, the Midnight Express
decorated, loosely dressed women and men
Axles rattling in and out
Ferris wheels, bumper cars, waltzes
Ray Davies playing, side stalls and games
Rubber ducks hooked, fathers shadowing
***** misplacing baskets, a high strike to the bell
in among mirrors, I now find myself reflecting
A cacophony of sounds, noise
music of Bob Bradley penetrating
these convex mirrors, movers and shakers
I pace past drag queens, circus freaks
footsteps moving in timely accord
the Helter Skelter, confused, disorderly haste
I am the whirlwind, climbing outside
the spiral tower, to the top
stars and constellations above
At its peak, I see you
you've climbed onto the rooftop
again
I always found you here
hide and seek, morphed into
children's games of sardines
I find you, you have hidden
I stay with you,
until we are found
Together.
© Sia Jane
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
Only in Paris
waltzes a fly like flies are --
twirling in Paris.
Apr 11, 2022
Apr 11, 2022 at 3:35 AM UTC
It is me and you,
shuffling in cool dirt above shards
of glass that wait
for naked toes to dance.
A lover’s trance
waltzes towards the edge
of dawn.
Summer never ends
when beating hearts
warm sheets on
cold nights.
Eyes my sea.
Hair my beach.
I stand **** and
unafraid of oceanic
monsters, hidden
deeper than can be explored.
Let us explore and defeat!
Live in paradise!
Swim naked every night
beneath gazing stars which
linger above sunburned scalps,
tender with exotic dreams:
Wish for this to remain
perfect
untouched
more pure than
elements on tables
reminding us we are only
recycled symbols.
Misstep,
draw blood,
warm the soil.
It stings.
I think of bumping into
jellyfish on our beach
and
how to get rid of them
without disturbing
everything else.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
A desperate desperado shivering as the sun sets,
casts it's silky shadows upon the hollows below.
Beneath the cascading denizens of light,
a puff of smoke waltzes across the December sky,
a patient without his insurance with nothing left but
callous empty third-person reassurance,
"everything will be better" as she said.
But better is always easy when your hand isn't writing the letter.
Save your proverbs for an open ear,
this one is half deaf and full of itself,
despite your intent,
your lack of action perpetuates malcontent.
After all we're all just passing moments
gone and forgotten, evicted,
convicted of being a gutless mime,
going through the motions,
minus a true notion.
A confused calculator short circuiting under an oil leak
spitting out numbers, complicating already complicated complexities
subtracting numerals adding funerals
dividing families multiplying tragedies
It's just a numbers game, and we can't participate
we're just the studio audience, recorded live without any life.
Flashing signs tell us when to laugh and when to cry,
pre-determined automated messages contrived to convince.
And I'm stuck spinning in the corner,
with my hands on my head.
Senselessly blurting out: Why?!
But don't mind me, I'm just another lost soul
trapped with my head in the sky.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
1.
Late-spring's dilemma
Is unabridged and sweet;
Beardtongues and fuchsias peer through grass blades:
Blotches on the bristly canvas.
Camellias? Still in April.
2.
Slices of rye shift on my plate;
Miramar’s war machines whip overhead;
My mouth opens into the Gulf of Kuwait;
The toast becomes
Moldering lips of Pendleton.
3.
There’s a single-story house on a hill
That to helicopters
Looks like an easel.
Great canyons open
To the south and west; the street clings to time—
A pianist’s metronome
Waltzes crosswise on an eardrum.
4.
The eucalyptus bends the deafening breeze.
Are you still dredging Coronado's cradle?
(The tide
Disintegrates the illimitable skyline.)
5.
An unlit Anza-Borrego beats about my ears,
Stars piggybacking the horizon.
The cacti shrivel:
Glitter in a hurricane.
6.
End-of-spring guesses
Prey upon a betrayer’s conscience.
Stilted, they flash ephemerally.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
Being fatigued has its benefits: I don't give a hoot.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXVI)
Talk to the silence as a train growls thence
Through wooded stretches, 'neath the bridge detail,
Sans more than rumbling deeply on that scale,
And think of how wee cricket voices fence
These ghastly plains with fiddling oer suspense,
Nor listen cuz--those days are gone and fail,
At least my solace in their joys does, pale
Expanses washed in moonlight not mine hence.
Or not the maple's knobby roots as twere,
Its canopy of shadow lace I knew
Last year, that freedom of the lake in tour
Gone, I remember, as tinnitus to
Effect half waltzes with the clock's demure
Tread, ticking, whilst...what is't that no man woo?
09Jul17b
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC