"wantons" poems
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes
Which starlike sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud that you can see
All hearts your captives, yours yet free;
Be you not proud of that rich hair
Which wantons with the love-sick air;
Whenas that ruby which you wear,
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,
Will last to be a precious stone
When all your world of beauty’s gone.
3.9k
Needle, needle, dip and dart,
Thrusting up and down,
Where's the man could ease a heart
Like a satin gown?
See the stitches curve and crawl
Round the cunning seams--
Patterns thin and sweet and small
As a lady's dreams.
Wantons go in bright brocade;
Brides in organdie;
Gingham's for the plighted maid;
Satin's for the free!
Wool's to line a miser's chest;
Crepe's to calm the old;
Velvet hides an empty breast
Satin's for the bold!
Lawn is for a bishop's yoke;
Linen's for a nun;
Satin is for wiser folk--
Would the dress were done!
Satin glows in candlelight--
Satin's for the proud!
They will say who watch at night,
"What a fine shroud!"
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not the night,
nor the day,
offer a hand
to me in the
pit
not the dark,
nor the light,
give me hope
that I can one
day escape
not the smile
nor the frown
entertains the
thought of
survival
not the future,
nor the past,
wantons a
clue to my
past, or my
future
Mar 15, 2011
Mar 15, 2011 at 6:36 PM UTC
I'd wanted to see the moon again –
Pockmarked and ivory, entering and
Innuendo, like crisp leaves under foot;
“Crunch, crunch, crunch,” and so went
The cereal before sog. Parallel, the same
Suffering’s smeared come my bones
Under foot, under cloud and ‘ever as I’d
wander empty if even with you. You've
Turned back and continue to study,
“Away.”
I'd wanted to see the moon again -
Come the scent of fried wantons and
Neon glance; “Crackle, crackle,
Crackle,” like hot dogs over fires, only
Hindered, the hiss of a boy’s tears atop
Flame, so long as I'd understand empty,
If only with you. But your two’s atop
His lips, a smear upon the line we call,
“Horizon,” and so continues, this study
Of, “away.”
And I'd never see the moon again – So
Silence became the sun, a blight, a
Bright, the, “shiny,” I'd wish banned;
Like the eerie, like the day dad’d packed
His bags or day he'd finally died; If only
To accept this solitude, miasma
Subtracted you, with everything else,
But emptied you. An impasse atop
Endeared eidetic, as I’ll try and I’ll
Recall and I’ll fail, this test to finally
Forget.
So I’d rest with an, “F,” he’d rest in
An urn and you’d rest, simply rest, at the
Top of your class, without fault, and a
Graduate, your study of, “away.”
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
Flame-licked wantons chase
Skewered scorpions
And tofu-tossed blood
To the echoes of heroes howling
“Gambei!” (“cheers!”) and a
Smoke stained Huacheng Road.
Like a scribe before the oracle,
I tuck atop hydrant,
Squatting in an unfamiliar scene
And allow this ink to sink atop paper;
An artist, not so much, but a dreamer
With firecrackers for brains
And brains for the scene
And sense of it all –
I could get lost in this madness;
I could fall in love with this madness.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC
You try
making up for your
thinness of character
by slurping the thick
syrup of Chinese food
the broccoli a glittering slick
of sauce
too rich for me
saccarine
the chicken glowing
in the neon light
in its neon sauce
radioactive under the dim lamps
the curling carpets
and wax flowers
You know I don't like it
here
you know I'd prefer
a switch of sweetness
from morsel to mouth
know somewhere
in the stitch and sketch
that is your brilliant brain
that noodles decked
like a war hero
lack charm
in the dark
could you pass the wantons
and take me home
to your warm nest
to the scritch of old blankets
that smell your spiced,
and soapless smell?
to a place where
past the books
I'm not allowed to borrow
and the sleep
we do not share
there glimmers
naturally,
occasionally
like lake water
where the streetlights don't show
something more tender
than snow peas
in a sticking sauce.
May 22, 2011
May 22, 2011 at 6:19 PM UTC
Lightning split the night in two
and thunder through the headphones.
Rain hit skin sparks.
Sharp as pins intoxicating tingles.
Muddy toes on naked cement
and ringing ears silent oblivion.
At the edge of heaven angels peer
Jealous wantons
To slip for a moment
into bare humanity. Drunk
on life’s electric chair.
The legitimacy in doing something
wrong.
Taking the step into the sun.
You can’t find apples in heaven.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 12:38 AM UTC
christmas is all lit up in different neon color lights
with trees proudly standing ***** dressed
in festive colors
giving their scent of divine pine
beautifully decorated wreaths upon each welcoming door
while in debt shoppers are purchasing obligatory gifts
for loved ones
not practicing what it is about
christmas is a time to acknowledge JESUS
be an example of who we are to become
where do all these presents
lights and decorations come from?
it has been made into a pagan holiday
just a reason to shop for wantons and what nots
rather than humbly know HIM
to know HIM is to keep it simple
be modest and gracious
for HIS omnipresence.~~lorilynn
copyright*lorilynn 2010
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 3:36 PM UTC
i love ethereal fantasy
that can only be seen
by the window of the soul.
take me to the glorious places
i can’t reach. give me the
vibrant colors to
quench my thirst. i love the
beauty that doesn’t exist
but only in dreams.
there is still the wantons
of little girl dreams that
can only be feasted by
the eyes that see the
wonders of wonderland
in faraway castles. ~~lorilynn
copyright*lorilynn 2010
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 5:48 AM UTC
Neither of us can recall
What made us drift apart
But time and distance didn’t take
Michael from my heart.
I still remember flashing eyes
And highlights in his hair,
And how he told his stories
Of what he saw out there
Among the passing people
Who if they only knew
Were missing all your glory
All the joy that was you.
You were younger, so sublime
In eagerness to learn.
And I was understanding
Of the candles one must burn
On the way to manhood
Seeing how the world is run.
Watching you discovering
Was a blissful kind of fun.
And laughing when you saw
That people can be dense.
Living lives of self denial
Just did not make much sense.
So we laughed and cuddled
Both exploring white hot ***
We carried on like wantons
Bewitched by a pleasant hex.
We wandered too, in happiness
Like all the world was all brand new.
And now that I look back on it
I think it was for you.
Even then, I felt the weight,
The honor of it all,
To be the one to be there
When your heart felt the call.
Now the years are gone away
And now we meet again.
Now neither of us is a youth;
We are middle-aged men
But both of us remember it
A time of joy and love
At a time we both agree
Was like a gift to us from above.
And we both treasure the moment
A kind of dream came true.
A carousel we made ourselves
Just big enough for two.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
I show no mercy for the weak
They’re shattered branches caught
in small maelstroms in the air.
I show no remorse for bonebrittles
They cover skulls with mummy bandages
throwing them into creaking galleon beds.
With breeding wantons from cauldrons
and crinolines strewing quicksilver bars
of metal
I synapse ***** in shock of their
existence.
They seem to be invisible wraiths
disguised as Presbyterian halo’s in
the brain
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC