"whiled" poems
the shoes are imprinted with the paved streets
there is never enough time
our eyes sparkle
but the eyebags belied the many nights
whiled away
smiling at the stars
new maps every night
gazes change as the skies change
we traverse different longitudes
trees spill into trees
there never was a need to distinguish
our passports fading crumbling
paths always leading to each other
will we still be left with an identity?
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
You and I,
We got high
together at the seven eleven at seventeen,
and listened to Fall Out Boy as he sang ironic one liners.
And we'd argue about what it would mean; too high to believe
the other was right, and then laughed at passing cars.
We stumbled to the graveyard and told ghost stories with wine,
and whiled away the hours dreaming of knights and dragons
in crystal towers far away across fable and time. I'd lift my proverbial flagon,
and you'd ****** it away, and whisper
"What am I
to you?" So sudden, and I was too high to answer it right at the time.
I stumbled. I mumbled. My words were all jumbled, and all that came out was:
"Thou art mine friend." Kind of lame, that word at the end. But I ended the sentence
With a laugh. I didn't know you were serious...
But...
I should have cut a word from the statement. Because if I was being serious too,
I'd have whispered back "Thou art mine."
In my mind, I relive the moment over again and again,
before you left and stumbled off into the dark,
I say "You are my princess, I'm your knight."
I say "When it's all ****** up, you make it all right."
I say all the right things and it culminates in a kiss by starlight,
but I mumbled,
words jumbled,
And you took the bottle of wine with you as you stumbled
alone into the dark till it took you away from my sight.
That night I sat alone and soliloquised what I didn't say right.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
I fell in love with you in the purchase of a postage stamp
I put your face and body and mind on paper
The way your hair curls
The way you jump with excitement and flap your arms
like a kid would on Christmas morning
How you were always there to turn to
Although I couldn't turn to you because you were never there
And by there I mean here, with me, where you should've been
I fell in love with the train tickets to you
The little orange squares like golden tickets
Granting me access to see you
To touch you
To share the foam of my coffee and laugh with you
at the man dancing at the hot dog stand
And when you finally stepped through my doorway
I swear it was Christmas and my birthday all at once
Planting my head on your chest
We bloomed and grew to heights I never knew was possible
And while little flowers blossomed at the ends of my fingertips
they grew on the tip of your tongue as you uttered those words
Those words to whom I have told but one; you
If I could find a word to describe the feeling of reading
the last several pages of a book you know has become your favourite
I would tell it to you
The hours that we whiled away and the ones that took up
the most of our day to get to each others arms before they took another’s
all meant something
And while the last bitter-sweet pages of our story have been read
Know that there's a girl who still writes you
You dance on the pages of her notebook
And while the postage stamps stay un-licked
She sends these poems to you
For in her mind you will always stay
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
How many heroes have chosen this path,
Of least or no resistance?
In the face of overwhelming odds,
Or staring at cubicular, corporate submission;
Elect instead the stance
Of simply
Doing
Nothing?
Victorian ladies thought it amusing;
20th Century Centurions and Puritans condemned it.
The spoon-fed rich live it and lose nothing.
Russian aristocrats sometimes recommend it…
When spurned in love & up against it.
Oblomov, for instance, whiled his time away,
In bed, or staring out at the wood,
Writing meaningless letters and ignoring the day,
Yet it still did him some good.
Marat in his bathtub, Proust in his bed,
Still accomplished SOMETHING
Or we’d have forgotten them instead.
Is there still no virtue in doing nothing?
Against the tide of corporate work,
Aquarians rebelled with dance.
Later on, Generation X
Came to work in a greedy trance.
Peter Gibbons was hypnotized,
To escape his lifeless job,
Destroyed the office as it was downsized,
But was promoted by “the Bobs”.
Some lesson there, for those who strive,
That work alone is not enough.
Attitude is more important to our lives,
That revolt by nothingness is not that tough.
Abbie Hoffman was thrown through windows,
While preaching peace instead of wrath.
Despite nobility of cause, does humanity still go,
The inexorable way of sloth?
Sharon Talbot
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
Why does it take long to write a poem?
are months consumed into few fleeting feelings?
a poem is severed.
Of feelings that need to be let go of,
a delusion of a listen,
poem doesn’t listen,
what does it do?
An appearance for
no purpose,
but to be outside
is like braving the wind
to tell the wind you have braved it,
is this a poem?
None of us know yet.
Mounting feelings in an abandon,
a poem deceives,
and leaves them for dead,
for forgetfulness is eternal,
and the rest rot in several lifetimes,
but the burden?
Unburden, eventually?
The poem is ******
Can we let go of it at all?
It persists.
We let them know we were there,
to come face to face with selves of us,
that we have avoided,
does the poem really look out for you?
And asks, pretending you know?
Do we need no end?
We are here to while away time
and tell them
we whiled the time away.
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 3:18 PM UTC
Today while out on duty
the most surreal thing happened to me
and all this is true
ask the taxi driver
while senking of to have a drag
on vapor ***
noticed a taxi drive sitting on the car park
i was securing for the day
Knowing it would not be used
went of to tell him this carpark will not be use
and as I did leaning in his offside window
felt something rub against me leg
looked down
only a whiled rabit ******** on my foot
said to him look at this there is a rabit sitting on foot
if he had not seen it to I would have thought I was going mad
Buit there it was just sitting there
man weerded things happen to me
no wonder I so surreal.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 6:29 PM UTC
I fought
I caught
I tried
I lied
It didn't work out
Try a new thing
Your scent
Not meant
To steal
My feel
Away, the birds flew away
Dear Austin,
Don't throw
Yourself in front of trains
Your smile
Cuts wheat
From all the lit-up fields
The flow
The show
The things we hang from walls
You know
The drills
The chills
The thrills
Don't sweat
The things
That we stole from the sea
Your threat
The bet
Why don't they just see for themselves
We whiled
Our time
To things, things, things, things, things
You get
Your kicks
From novelty and svelte foreigners
I like to spy
On people in the library
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 8:22 AM UTC
‘We’re floating up with the Angels,’
Said the girl in the pale green dress,
She’d voiced the phrase in German
For the girl had hailed from Hesse,
‘I never have dreamt of a night like this,
We soar like the gods of old,’
Then they came and shut all the windows,
For the night was growing cold.
There wasn’t a shake or a shudder
From the platform in the sky,
The waters of the Atlantic streamed
Below, but they were dry,
A headwind slowed their progress
And a storm was coming on,
The flickers of distant lightning lit
The path that they flew along.
The following day, the coast appeared
But the rain set in the more,
Rather than land, the captain took them
Over the Jersey shore,
The weather was bad at Lakehurst, so
They whiled away the hours,
Floating up there above the clouds
And the steady springtime showers.
They finally dropped the mooring lines
As the crew stood by below,
When a sudden flash was seen up aft
And a roar began to grow,
The ship was lit like a candlestick
As the gas and the fabric scorched,
While a flame enveloped the girl in green
And lit her up like a torch.
The frame crashed down on the gondola
And all you could hear were cries,
It was almost as if the gods had screamed:
‘How dare you enter our skies?’
They say that St. Elmo’s Fire was seen
By the watchers, down on the ground,
But there wasn’t a trace of the girl in green
When the Hindenberg went down.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
My name is serenity, i live in a small town and i go to school like a normal teenager does every day, i have had amazing days, and i have had bad. I've been lost and I've been hurt. I have felt pain, I have felt betrayal. I love with all my heart, and i cry with all my might. I believe in many things, and have few things i can't whiled myself to believe in, I have a mother and a father. I may not be perfect but who is. All i care about is people i love and who love me. I am true to myself. I don't need much to have everything. I don't care what you think of me, because the only person that should care what they think is me. I trust but only few, I may not have the best life in the world but i would never trade it for anything.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
Time and again emotional you get.
My dear friend unnecessarily you fret.
Don't give too much stress to heart.
Using brains at times is such an art.
For woman's right you speak and say.
'Equal' doesn't mean 'identical', I say.
Wife became pregnant and you whiled.
Fair man why not you delivered the child.
Behind Veil a woman oppressed you see.
Respected, protected she appears to me.
Freely she walks about to work and study.
Not stereotyped, not just known for body.
Clothes so scanty and no effect on you.
Go to doctor, you are amongst the few
Your body should burn like sun in may;
If you are not impotent, saint or gay.
It is sad, tis man versus woman you think.
Wrong idea, instead both are interlinked.
A woman is like delicate, tickly flower.
Their guardians and protectors men are.
If you think lesser the garb more she is free;
Then oblige me, earnestly I request thee;
Bring your moms and girls in-front of me.
And show me how much they are free.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
We walked on through the thunderstorm,
umbrellas flying high above, our feet
soaked in the gutters where the shops
were all reflected, and though
it made us laugh to see the signs all upside down
and in the rain,
we felt for all the beggars who were shuffling
on their carpet bags, pain cascading over them,
those gentlemen, knights of the road, and on the
wings of fast sedans the grey light shone electrically,
and lost in our own silence unaware the world was
changing, churning through the sentences, a wanton act
of yearning
for the summer sun to take us and transport us to
a desert isle
we whiled away the darkening day by playing spot the phonies
and we walked on through the thunderstorm as
if we didn't notice
that the shops had shut but that's
the way it was.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
Steaming coffee freshly brewed,
Extra sugar to lift the mood.
Revision playlist on repeat,
Typing, writing to the beat.
Sleep becomes a dream,
Whiled away in memory,
Not imminent it would seem,
Leaves my mind empty.
I will stay wide awake.
I don't have time for a break.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
thousandth word
of picture's: where
to?
truce-drafted by
marks to be unmade...
as soon chit chatted
as whiled away passion.
yet, the by God of it!
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 1:15 AM UTC
You, me and yesturday
sometimes I don't where I am
yesturday still hurting me
not knowing where I am
you had your fun
played the man and drove me whiled
and now I don't know where I am
not sure what day it is
or if I am a man.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
O love, what times you've dwelled in thought!
Of deep, exquisite, tender things
O love, the wisdom you sweet sought
More precious than a diamond ring
O love, the Beauty your Heart taught
How resplendent, bright she soar and sing
For peace, humanity thy voice fierce fought
And velvet bliss to man you bring
Exalt the path of wisdom true
The fragrant unity of Hearts
That only devil would callous rue
God's innocent knowledge you impart
Turn my heart to red, from blue
Your love has no end, lo, no start
Like sapling to the sun, sweet grew
Your magic and magnificent heart
O love, the hours you've whiled away
At canvas of the nascent soul
Adorned with colours of the day
That beautify life's wall
O love, you have a brilliant way
Of rendering philosophy
O love, the Roses that you lay
Upon theology
O love, I pray forever you may
Beget the bardic Poetry
You laboured for without no pay
To end the people's sorrow, dismay
O love, paint my mind with the hue
Of heavens that you clearly see
Remake me new, with art that you
Have mastered like the treacherous sea
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 12:57 AM UTC
i've whiled my away...
this bowl's full of alms,
change flickers.
a monk's a mouthful.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 9:10 AM UTC
For the first time in a long time
When I put my pen on paper
I feel no burning sadness
A total lack of anger.
A good bed rest, with a loving girl added
I feel better now, my heart is free-er of strife
Making me have a better day, concern is not needed
Happiness around me, glowing bright about my life
But my worry refuses ceasing,
My concern ever increasing
At least today you smiled
As I wish we both had whiled
The day yesterday
With a little more like that
Always for you I pray
Even while we sat.
Your head aching,
Your body shivering
Scared to leave you
My heart was quivering
But today is a new day
I’m no longer stressed
With your happiness
I have been blessed
I’ll keep you smiling
All throughout the day
Because only for you
Does my heart burn this way.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 4:47 PM UTC