"waterlilies" poems
I still dream you hold my hand
as we walk across the pond.
but its surface was clean and unharmed by filth.
Your lungs were never deflated
and you would breathe so graciously.
I waited so long, my hair has grown
& your emerald eyes
had a lust for life.
I wish I could conjure your spirit when
they say how much they see you
in me.
But I'm left empty in the midst of all
they could never see,
I've grown up, but I'm never free
of the child you held in your arms.
I don't want to spend my life being haunted by a woman
that never fought her own ghosts.
Cancer is not a demon, it is an illness
and the zodiac you were born as
should be the only thing to touch you.
But still those weakened cells
took your body as their host.
Now I mourn you in the reflection of ponds
and wait for waterlilies to bloom in the place
of your face.
now I wait for your soft hands to hold me in your lap
and place a soft kiss on my forehead.
And when I think of my mother;
her poise and grace,
dresses of lace.
My desire for our souls to meet once more,
or to see your face in front of pearly gates.
—V.H.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
i.
impressionist,
where the grey
clouds and the blue
ice of winter
gather their ghosts,
winter, too cold,
too white, the
woodland hollows
dent,
summer love
discarded in
the frost,
the sky oaken,
the moon’s forget-me-knots
silvery dream.
ii.
clouds like wintery steel,
sunken, in a night pool,
the golds of my heart,
the lodestar gathers
moss and rook,
glimmers in a sky
of woven cloth,
her leaves, the trees
of winter,
her leaves, the dark
breath of the storm.
iii.
winter and quiet stars
brooding emperor
sleeping in the twilight
hour,
winter dreams of
strange ice caverns
where ice ghosts
dance with twisting
hair.
iv.
pond of ice,
snow bear,
snow dream,
sleep unwraps
wide avenues of
trees,
sleep, the dark girl,
the falling tide.
v.
twig breaks under foot,
earth’s thrones
settle in the lizardy light
the moon rises in the sky,
soft centuries of sky.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
How is it that I am now so softly awakened,
My leaves shaken down with music?--
Darling, I love you.
It is not your mouth, for I have known mouths before,--
Though your mouth is more alive than roses,
Roses singing softly
To green leaves after rain.
It is not your eyes, for I have dived often in eyes,--
Though your eyes, even in the yellow glare of footlights,
Are windows into eternal dusk.
Nor is it the live white flashing of your feet,
Nor your gay hands, catching at motes in the spotlight;
Nor the abrupt thick music of your laughter,
When, against the hideous backdrop,
With all its crudities brilliantly lighted,
Suddenly you catch sight of your alarming shadow,
Whirling and contracting.
How is it, then, that I am so keenly aware,
So sensitive to the surges of the wind, or the light,
Heaving silently under blue seas of air?--
Darling, I love you, I am immersed in you.
It is not the unraveled night-time of your hair,--
Though I grow drunk when you press it upon my face:
And though when you gloss its length with a golden brush
I am strings that tremble under a bow.
It was that night I saw you dancing,
The whirl and impalpable float of your garment,
Your throat lifted, your face aglow
(Like waterlilies in moonlight were your knees).
It was that night I heard you singing
In the green-room after your dance was over,
Faint and uneven through the thickness of walls.
(How shall I come to you through the dullness of walls,
Thrusting aside the hands of bitter opinion?)
It was that afternoon, early in June,
When, tired with a sleepless night, and my act performed,
Feeling as stale as streets,
We met under dropping boughs, and you smiled to me:
And we sat by a watery surface of clouds and sky.
I hear only the susurration of intimate leaves;
The stealthy gliding of branches upon slow air.
I see only the point of your chin in sunlight;
And the sinister blue of sunlight on your hair.
The sunlight settles downward upon us in silence.
Now we ****** up through grass blades and encounter,
Pushing white hands amid the green.
Your face flowers whitely among cold leaves.
Soil clings to you, bark falls from you,
You rouse and stretch upward, exhaling earth, inhaling sky,
I touch you, and we drift off together like moons.
Earth dips from under.
We are alone in an immensity of sunlight,
Specks in an infinite golden radiance,
Whirled and tossed upon silent cataracts and torrents.
Give me your hand darling! We float downward.
2.4k
i.
under a flaming bridge
blue islands,
sky-stream of
light, as the tranquil
waters unfold,
dream of
visionary seers
and haunted rooms.
gold sun running
like a tide,
pads of echoing cloud,
reflections like
mirrors on
the hollowy
water.
ii.
oil on canvas
pond of daydream,
water wrapped in love
and flower.
sunken, bird of grey
wire, fallen stone,
rippling ghost.
iii.
flower of ghost,
ink lady of sapphire
melting and sinking
like lanterns
in a chine,
where the night
wanders and the stars
lean against the sky.
iv.
watery isle,
rivery summer golds,
trembling pond,
flower of the dragonfly
flower of white sun.
v.
shadows in the leaves
monet fire of gold,
strange indigos,
violet sky,
water-dragon of the pond
water-dragon of the flowers.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
i daydreamt of monet at lunchtime
as i sat alone on the bench by the waterfall that marked the
and smelled the
and reminded me of the fact that
sometimes literal meaning is less important than the
smell of wildflowers and the and the way that under the hot july sun
the colors of the forest felt a little brighter
and my skin was more sensitive to the breeze than it perhaps would have been
had it only been sixty five degrees
and not eighty three.
and waterlilies are
,in fact,
a little more green than monet painted them,
and less blue,
but whatever.
or was it just that i hadn't eaten at all in two days
and that i was feeling a little light headed
and when your mind can't help but wander off on its own
then the way that the trees
and the birds
and the children
and the clouds and the sky reflect off of the water
start to remind you a little of monet
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
The waterlilies
Float above graceful Koi fish
White and cherry red
Amongst ripples cast through ponds
Of alternate dimensions
Whilst white sakura
Flow like the wind through long hair
Outside car windows
During the sunniest days
Of an endless rain season
Clouds glide across sky
Like those wet waterlilies
In search of lost time
Yearning for life in the warm
Recesses of all-being
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
You found me
stuck staring
at rearview mirror reflections
of wintry, dusk intersections
of everything leaving me
all at once.
A forced exhale
of asphyxia caged
in collapsing lungs;
my mouth,
a fountain spring,
that coughed out
pools of blood.
I wish I saw myself
the way you saw me;
not a red traffic light
wounding speeding cars
on winding streets,
but an antique heirloom
priceless enough
you'd only wish
you could keep
in a heart-shaped box
you saw in dreams.
But, I'd cut my tongue,
paint my lips cherry shades
to blend with cells that'd stain
handkerchiefs you'd offer.
Make you believe
this isn't going to foster
because you are indecision,
unfinished watercolor landscapes
of summer forest fire skies,
a sun-kissed Pacific wanderer.
And I am true crime
untouched evidence of break-ins,
remains of faulty locks and lights.
I am mosaics misaligned;
static, seabed cracks
from forgotten fault lines.
Gaping fissures of sand,
and salt that won't let me stitch
frayed skin-deep fibres
barely holding me in.
Oceans would have to empty themselves
into whirring cyclones and high tides
for our selfish sense of touch to collide.
Ice caps would have to sink
deep enough to even bruise my skin.
And I wouldn't want to watch
more Shakespeare end
before it begins.
*See, I am the one
with sharp edges,
but why
did you have to be the one
to clip my wings?*
There is only an abyss
without a trampoline,
a safety net,
a bed of waterlilies,
I could fall in.
And I am so tired
of paradoxes
and ironies;
of always being wanted
by someone who doesn't even
want to be kept,
of always being mended
and then left
with more dislocations,
and fractures,
one after another
each taking longer to fix.
Now, in shapeless parcels,
without return addresses
sent out into the void
these words will echo
of love
I never intended to borrow,
and shadows
of false hope
you never thought yourself
capable of
giving away.
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 6:02 AM UTC
i.
the grey ghosts
water to the sky,
pond to the
breaking air,
the blues are
cloudy
islands and
stars, lily pad
gold-green
dream of monet-
light.
ii.
love drifts,
scurries over
the water like
a dragonfly,
her wings the light
flowing, melting
in its breathful
streams
falling
falling
in the delicate
colours of
spring with
its tide-like
ebb and flow.
iii.
i held you
close and you
were the
aching spring,
the bright
opals of the moon,
i held you close
and all i could see
where the blues of
the pond, the
snake-silver
stream of starlight
and flower,
you were the
aching bronzes
of the rivery
pools, the still
water's paradise
of blue and white.
iv.
capture me
in the cloudy
isles of
the bright
lilies,
i am the melting
light, the frail
bloom with its
zen-like peace,
church of quiet
air, hopeful stream
of ache and light.
v.
ghost-enamels
of impression,
silently, the sun
sinks and the golds
of spring blossom
like a spell.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
I dream of rivers
and that sparkle of theirs
sleeping upon sunlit waterlilies
my eyes sink into
that shimmering night of mine
and there I see
yours darling as sin
unsure of what to do
unblinking, wishful, gazing into mine
have I darkened them?
that tenderness within them
tell me, was it my doing?
drowsy river droplets kiss
that throat of yours
like I crave to
I dream of rivers
and that singing voice
of theirs lulling me
deeper into my slumber
the sun sets into
that gentle pomegranate color
of your unholy mouth
as you avert your gaze
then turn it back
and you speak about my
stars while you think
I am aware not
of it but I turn
in my sleep and
I shine brighter than
your foolish infatuation and
my eyes sink deeper
into the night of mine
I am a river
and that gaze of yours
will not halt my flow
I crave to sing
in that forest of your
heart but then sweetly
I remember mine is starlit
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 7:55 PM UTC
The sky above him layered in
Like waves upon the shoal
And all the mountains knew his name
And he their waving roll
The earth beneath his treading feet
Turned stones like mortal coils
And all the footprints knew his path
And depth above the soil
His shoulders stood above the trees
A crown of stars his ears
And all the shadows couldn't bear to see
Nor stand beneath him in fear
Beyond no borderlings he'd step
Unless his heart was called
And with him birds would often sing
And perch on him their wall
As the waterlilies craved his touch
So to mortality, he was bound
And then off the earth one day he walked
Never again to be found
But still the memories of mid-earth
Hold fast in root and stem
For once a guardian walked this way
As a tree with a beard of men
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
Unable to get into the Monet show,
Too many people there, too many cars,
We spent the Sunday morning at Bowl Pond
A mile from the Museum, where no one was,
And walked an hour or so around the rim
Beside five acres of flowering waterlilies
Lifting three feet above their floating pads
Huge yellow flowers heavy on bending stems
In various phases of array and disarray
Of Petals packed, unfolded, opening to show
The meaty orange centers that become,
When the ruined flags fall away, green shower heads
Spilling their wealth of seed at summer’s end
Into the filthy water among small fish
Mud-colored and duck moving explorative
Through jungle pathways opened among the fronds
Upon whose surface water drops behave
Like mercury, collecting in heavy silver coins
Instead of bubbles; some few redwinged blackbirds
Whistling above all this once in a while,
The silence else unbroken all about.
“Monet” by Howard Nemerov from The Selected Poems of Howard Nemerov. © Swallow Press, 2003.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
new disney film about a little girl with arthritis and two alcoholic parents and she begs them every night to stop screaming
new disney film about a child that has a father in prison and a mother that can't make rent anymore
"when i grow up i want to be a divorce lawyer" said the four year old at recess to his friends
god's mouth gave us grenades and waterlilies
"if I buy this lipstick I'll have good *** for the first time in my life"
baby you're so much more than a Consumer Demographic to me
i'm good at bleeding
i'm good at apologizing when I'm not actually sorry
if it's sad just make it sound beautiful
is that blood gushing out of your nose or are you just happy to see me
romantic banter like "did you take your zoloft?" "did you take your lithium?"
there are no princesses here
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
~
*Once upon a timid willow
The sweetest songs of
A hyacinth girl
Floated on waterlilies
Had a sleepwalking lyric
The moorings of her heart
Overlooking undercurrent
As she dared all things
Gently down the stream*
~
Feb 13, 2024
Feb 13, 2024 at 12:13 PM UTC
No one so shy
as moonlight on waterlilies
of a blue-black night
Personne si timide
au clair de lune sur les nénuphars
Ce soir, bleu-noir
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
Leak
Hear the toilet cries
Escape from her, the heart knows
But the ship has sunk
Whirlpool
Choked with saltwater
Corrosives in tropic lungs
Breathe the sun, be fine
Float
Ice cream on soda
We were born waterlilies
Can we swim? Can we?
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
Sits She waiting in a nest
of finest silk strung here to there
and in the garden
over by the waterlilies
sits the mate whose name she bare
Wed they in June
5 years ago
in Copper Corners by the bay
and children 3 had She and He
with names like Do and Re and Mi
Loved He her
and She loved He
idyllic life had they
came then Charlotte (sans her web)
and stole She's He away
From what I know
they're all there still
at least they were today
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
WOOP it is all the same with u isn't it, my aquatic lover? would you please! take a moment to keep the drain in place. what EXACTLY did you think would happen when you told all the fish they were insignificant
now the waterlilies spit bile and the dolphins scream
baby, you wanted FREEDOM
these tsunamis didnt need your pity
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
I became island chains
in search of the mainlands;
horizon birds in the morning mist
fires lighting the distant sky
what else
when you smile like that leaning on your arm
I am dragonflies delirious before rain
I am the hummingbirds
I am all the waterlilies
I am going tumbling like the fall stream
drunken peal of the wind chime
gushing, crashing, ambling on
the gulmohars have come dashing down
now the street is crimson eyed
when you smile like that
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
Waterlilies.
And once,
Rue and columbine
(thoughts and remembrance)
Pretty flowers,
From me
(of me)
"Pretty Ophelia"
floating with flowers.
Pretty still,
Nothing more.
Was I never anything more?
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 6:09 PM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
Paul's courtyard is always one to
be admired; high cream coloured
arches with white statues of birds
upon sleek mint-green marble steps.
His myrtle hedges, high, hale and
trim, in spiral shapes that decorate
the courtyard; potted flowers and
trees by them.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
As the carriage rides down the mosaic
path to the palace; a glittering rainbowtic
mosaic orchestra for the eyes; me and
my ladies look to see the large-marble statues
built upon a large pond with waterlilies;
a life-sized history lesson of the proud
Kings of Luciuscemi from the first to
the current, King Paul, in his carved
regalia.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
The music grows into a crescendo as we
approach the palace. We admire his private
pool houses, each of various colours but had
mahogany steps and hanging flower baskets
and lights which makes me smile - I usually
came to Paul's court to discuss treaties but
to also relax and get away from home.
Paul always made sure his guests were
taken care of.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Look, my Lady!" says Ainhara and she points
at the benches of flowers; daffodils, roses,
lavender, rosemary, mint, white lilies
and many more. "He put flowers there in
your honour."
"Not just mine," I smile, "but of all his friends
from Kingdoms near and far. I am looking
forward to seeing him again."
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
Picking up,
the moon,
from a creek,
watery shadow,
silvery tears,
esconced in,
the the waterlilies.
the sleepless koi,
the gliding joy,
in my dream,
a widening net,
spread,
everyday,
over a gurgling rivulet,
salvaging,
your smile.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
She doesn't really want storms
It's just that she breathes dreams of storms
and what comes to her eyes,
those silly rainbows and
dead waterlilies and half-dried rivers,
makes she feel like a fat mad white rabbit
who is dancing and stamping
on you. She always knew it was you -----
Varieties of rain-clouds
Spreading like sudor glands on
her mosquito-bites covered skin
And the pores will not stop yawning
and drooling Anna Akhmatova's line
Dripping down her throat, her temples and legs; You will hear thunder *and
remember me, and
think: she wanted storms.*
She doesn't really want storms
It's just that she likes thunder and thinks it
as another form of sound waves her ears
used to eat a lot on Friday
and Saturday
nights.
Now it becomes faeces.
Your voice.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
All of these were at the Tate;
I know they were, for I took notes:
The plaster cast of an empty space;
View of the Thames with Pleasure Boats.
I know they were (for I took notes)
on open view, but Art? Well, maybe.
View of the Thames with Pleasure Boats;
Mother Feeding Crying Baby
on open view, but Art? Well, maybe.
– unless they take me for a fool.
Mother Feeding Crying Baby;
Man in Orange Shirt, on Stool.
– Unless they take me for a fool,
Damien Hurst and Jackson *******
Man in Orange Shirt, on Stool,
saying, "What a load of -------s!"
Damien Hurst and Jackson *******
Couple Drinking at a Bar,
saying, "What a load of -------s,
"A plywood model of a car!"
Couple Drinking at a Bar;
Monet's Waterlilies, and
a plywood model of a car;
fruit decaying on a stand.
Monet's Waterlilies, and
People on an Escalator;
fruit decaying on a stand.
No, skip that one; we'll come back later.
People on an Escalator;
a film of two men standing still.
No, skip that one; we'll come back later.
I'm certain that they'll be there still.
A film of two men standing still;
the plaster cast of an empty space.
I'm certain that they'll be there still.
All of these were at the Tate.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 12:45 AM UTC
Waterlilies sing
Hope plays her harp on jade moss
Summer’s melody
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 10:20 PM UTC
you can learn much
about love from waterlilies:
openness and trust,
seeking energy from the source, the sun,
and reaching deep within
to float above all chaos
swimming below the surface.
Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 3:31 PM UTC