"whim" poems
Imagine that
I could write a salve,
compose an ointment of verbal herbs to heal,
even mere protect the already-torn-so-easy mental flesh,
just to disguise/hide the multi-colored bruising our
fickle mistress-in-common provides when you are down so far
another bruise joining the cast like a floodplain subsuming one more feeding creek bed into the shapelessness of indistinguishability
imagine that
where atoms hide eternal between creation and destruction,
borrow brief the set exact you require to restore the taken years
from fathers/mothers/brothers/sisters,
children,
return that which went unused by the uninvited, unseemly human whim of war and lies for no gain
imagine that
the deep sinkhole of despair that ***** one in, years in the formation, appearing in instance, and worse does not drowns but leaves helpless, unable to climb out, and all our scratching digs us in deeper until we cannot be, seen or heard or just be
imagine that
a check comes in the mail, payable left open for filling-in,
in the amount of full restoration, with no additional fees of guilt needed for deposit and cashing/caching out: and you wake up
and the stony chest is breathing lungs free
imagine that
and I do; for I am the smoke of return and rest, sky inscribing,
knowing precise needs and the screams and the years unfair taken,
they are screened through the five perceptions, and the word weaver
sets the loom for each peculiar requisition, no imagination needed
imagine that
you lament and anger demand verifiable proofs mathematical,
cursing the knights of false hopes with untethered regret
I do not imagine that; hear it and accept; my task, imagine that, making you imagine that, thus commencement of repair begins
when
we imagine that
for this how new healthy cells are born
quiet-now, go, imagine-that, now*
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC
The eyes lost
light
as the sun began
to dim.
They became less
bright
because of God's
whim.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
In the hour of death, after this life’s whim,
When the heart beats low, and the eyes grow dim,
And pain has exhausted every limb—
The lover of the Lord shall trust in Him.
When the will has forgotten the lifelong aim,
And the mind can only disgrace its fame,
And a man is uncertain of his own name—
The power of the Lord shall fill this frame.
When the last sigh is heaved, and the last tear shed,
And the coffin is waiting beside the bed,
And the widow and child forsake the dead—
The angel of the Lord shall lift this head.
For even the purest delight may pall,
And power must fail, and the pride must fall,
And the love of the dearest friends grow small—
But the glory of the Lord is all in all.
17.2k
.
I’m just a lonely traveler
on this earth
Sometimes it feels as if I'm
waiting for the sky to fall
with each passing breathe
of wind
Standing alone,
a windswept tree
leans downwind;
conspicuously wrought,
naked and bowed
by the grinding
silent forces
at nature's whim
Rootless tumbleweeds
roll by randomly:
broken off,
spinning clockwise,
never looking back,
timeworn and tired
of resisting the prevailing
high desert wind
and its unheld temper
Rattling the tinder
dry sagebrush
like songless wind-chimes;
voiceless fugitives
wreathing a bellowing silence
Jesse Stillwater
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
Behold!
The great
Leviathan, with
teeth of steel, with
feet of clay.
Subjected to this
giant's whim,
the sweet sojourn
of life decays,
Infected now, we
lie and skim; while
markets mire
mother's way,
rejected reason,
presses on, to
try again
another day.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
who’s most afraid of death?thou
art of him
utterly afraid,i love of thee
(beloved)this
and truly i would be
near when his scythe takes crisply the whim
of thy smoothness. and mark the fainting
murdered petals. with caving stem.
But of all most would i be one of them
round the hurt heart which do so frailly cling….)
i who am but imperfect in my fear
Or with thy mind against my mind,to hear
nearing our hearts’ irrevocable play—
through the mysterious high futile day
an enormous stride
(and drawing thy mouth toward
my mouth,steer our lost bodies carefully downward.
14k
Supposing that we lit some candles.
One for each person on this earth,
we would blow one out at a funeral
and light one up at a birth.
The world would grow darker
every time we lost a fighter
but with every new born baby
it gets just that bit brighter.
If you travelled into a city that was dark and gritty
you'd know that they didn't have many in their committee.
But.. If the light was brilliant and bright
it would send a beaming message throughout the night.
Saying "We are here! And we are alive!"
Not wanting to be alone we endeavor to collide
and form one giant, shining beacon
that burns so fierce we're sure it can't weaken
We sparkle and crackle and bend nature to our whim
the mighty fire so strong it just had to gave in.
With it we forged iron and buildings, cars and computers
and lit paths of lives to guide commuters
We lit up the universe as far as we could see
Improving our lives greatly with technology
obsessed with our professed fixture on practicality
we completely forgot about morality
Our fires forged weapons which we aimed next door
In one swift movement we saw the effects of war
6,000,000 candles extinguished
over arguments on which light is most distinguished
So fixated on this light we blinded our eyes
and the candle smoke filled the skies.
We thought candles were good, they elevated us higher
but now all we have is thick smoke and fire.
The fire consuming all in its route
the root of our lives follow suite.
It's eating the oxygen and burning the grass
the sand is melting and forming to glass.
The glass it shatters into a thousand pieces
more candles are lighting, the temperature increases
The resources decline, as do the candles
buried in ash a hundred thousand scandals.
Now only a few lit candles remain
as they slowly melt and fade away.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 1:39 PM UTC
I thought I saw him,
Standing so elegant,
No single expressed whim,
His skin and body vents
Can't smell what he sees,
Only the breeze through the leaves,
A forest fire blazed,
But the tree always stayed
Yeah, I've felt the wind,
And I've heard the birds,
Through the flowers I grinned,
I tasted the words
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
The ghost of you lingers on my mind
The echo of your words tangos across my heart
The feeling of excitement of falling in love in cyberspace
Sexting without remorse or grace
A friendship that hits below the waist
Intelligent conversations that strokes your passion and ignites your fire
I wonder if I'll have anything left to offer
Or would the sight of you take me higher up the ladder of my sinful desire
Your words drive my imagination wild
The touch on my skin, your fingers, lightly caressing my spine
This image in my head is so divine
Seriously hoping that one day, this feeling will be mine.
Pictures and thoughts exchanged on a whim
Something strange grows from within
Intellectually stimulating every part of me
Zeros and ones creates a digital reality
Here I am, imagining being in your arms
The sweetest words you whisper in my ear
My soul yarns for you to be here
Feelings your warm body against mines under the cover
I long for you, my WhatsApp lover
©La Vida Love
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
We killed
Hart Crane
Though he leapt
To his death
A poet’s plan
Or perhaps a whim
We hold the blame
We killed Freddie Mercury
And stopped the music
The callous political games
Blocked possible gains
In a needed cure
We killed Harvey Milk
We were the bullets
And the metal frame
Held the assassin’s hand
We hold the shame
We killed
The blond burnt boy
Encouraging
The hate
We killed the strung up
Beautiful boys
The hung up
Beaten up
Broken hearted
Brothers and sons
We are the progenitors
Of the violence
Through action
And more often than not
Through inaction
Maybe a little more guilt
Would serve us well
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
I guess I'm just tired.
I'm tired of crying,
of all the whining, ******** and moaning.
I'm tired of yelling,
screaming at the world in an effort to be heard when no one actually wants to listen.
I'm tired of being upset,
of being so sad that my entire chest aches each time the memories replay in my head.
I'm tired of pretending,
of playing a game in which I'm all right,
of wearing a mask to convince others they don't need to waste their time on me.
I'm tired of being alone,
of being so lonely I can hear my heart breaking,
of the quiet so silent that I can hear my hurried pulse as though I actually have somewhere to be.
I'm tired of being angry,
blaming others for what I'm going through,
telling myself that it's not my fault, it's theirs,
claiming that no one is at fault when it's all mine.
I'm tired of feeling crazy,
like there's no rational explanation for what I'm going through,
like no one else can understand what I'm going through.
I'm tired of feeling stuck,
like I can't move on,
like I can't go anywhere but down the hole, swallowed up by the misery and sadness.
I'm tired of needing help,
depending on others for survival,
of depending on the pills I swallow each day as if they're finally going to help me,
as if today they'll change their minds and actually make things better.
I'm tired of remembering,
knowing that you moved on long ago,
that you never really gave a ****
that you would rather die than see me again.
I'm tired of missing people,
of missing pieces of my heart,
as though one day they're just going to come back on a whim,
suddenly giving a **** about me again.
I'm tired of feeling worthless,
told over and over again by the actions of others that I mean nothing.
I'm tired of feeling empty inside,
feeling my heart beating in an empty cavity,
knowing there's no more emotions that will enter my system,
knowing that my emotions have long ago abandoned me.
I'm tired of not being able to just let go,
even though I know that you're never going to give a ****
even though I know you're going to do nothing to me but hurt me more.
I'm tired of wishing I could start over,
of praying to God that He'd let me begin anew,
that He'd give me a second chance.
I'm tired of dreaming of a life I will never have,
of those perfect moments that will never be mine because I have never been enough.
But most of all, I'm just tired of being tired.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
Hey honey
Isn't it funny
How lost you were
Not for me, not for her
On a whim
Just for him
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
GOD GOES FOR A WALK
God goes
for a walk.
it is the depths of Winter
but, at a whim
he makes it
...Spring.
Because.
He can.
I also, as it happens
have gone for a walk
& am surprised by
the sudden change of
the weather. . ?
...whatever!
He is wearing a yellow
gangster style fedora.
He looks like Marlon Brando
being The Godfather.
He sports the brightest of yellow
waistcoats
which compliments
the purple shirt...purple trousers.
He strides along with His
Paisley patterned Parisian walking stick
whistling the music of
The Spheres.
The World bows
before him.
He is well pleased
with Himself, un-
-til: He encounters me
coming towards him
dressed in a gangster style
yellow fedora
the brightest of yellow waistcoats
not to mention the purple shirt...purple trousers.
I, also, possess
a Paisley patterned Parisian walking stick.
We nod politely
saying nothing but...
He is miffed at me
wearing His outfit and
I also miffed at Him
wearing mine!
We pass each other
God & creature.
And ******* if He doesn't
make it Winter
on the very next step.
He was always
a Jealous God.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
Never will I be covered in tattoos
My legs and toes shall forever stay bruised.
I’ll never paint or carry a tune
Forever and ever, I’ll wear a tutu.
I won’t dye my hair pink or blue
My piercings will stay as the simple two
Nails cut short and hair in a bun
In ballet, this must be done.
Pink tights by the mound
Bobby pins all around
Leotards on the floor
Pointe shoes by the door.
Toes taped so tightly
Smiling big and brightly
Red lipstick adding to her beauty
The dancer moves so smoothly.
Turned out from my hips
No words coming from my lips
I dance sweetly to the sound
Ooh ballet, to you, I am bound.
Full of grace, never haste
Filling perfectly my costume of lace
Ever so sweet, my dancing feet
Step after step, I repeat and repeat.
Obtaining perfection is my key
It’s what I strive for, it’s all that defines me
Pushing harder and harder to reach my goal
It’s what I live for, ballet is my soul.
My toes may bleed
And my knees, grow weak
But I’ll never stop dancing…
Not until I reach my peak.
Pirouette, Pirouette
Dancer’s silhouette
Practicing at dusk
Dedication is a must.
Stretching my limbs
Choreographing on a whim
Alway aiming to be stronger
To hold my arabesque longer.
When I do finally reach that triple pirouette
and all is done and all is set
I put myself back into class
Aiming for a fourth, to be better than the last.
This is the life of a dancer en point
Risking the health of her feet, legs and joints
Just for that one perfect moment on stage
Where the ballerina stands tall and all are amazed.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
the desert heat surrounds me
my mind slowly baking
for the moment i am free
my mortal vessel aching
as my soul grasps at fatal misconceptions
a mystic door left ajar
locked in a state of introspection
i stare into myself from afar
all these colors all these things
what do they mean
to mirages we cling
a cryptic reality remains unseen
passed off as a silly whim of youth
neither tears of woe nor tears of bliss
these are the tears of truth
brought by knowledge's sweet kiss
ask me not why i cry
ask yourself "how too may i?"
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
The one is a myth
I bid farewell long ago,
Along with the illusion
Of lasting bliss.
That was a fairytale, I know-
Concocted to charm little girls
Whose parents could not bear
To break it to them
That they would never be a princess.
But maybe it was not a total lie.
Perhaps there are many ones
Just waiting for
The right moment in time
To stop you with a smile,
Maybe even stay a while.
Then when the season changes,
The one will too,
And you will be blue,
But then you will find someone new.
Is it like going to the library?
My heart is a bestseller-
Someone new takes it for a spin
Until a different story catches his whim.
I was the right book at the right time,
The patron has a wandering mind-
It is not a crime.
It is not like going to the library,
Because they check out my heart,
Then return it again-
But they rip out their favorite page
To keep as a souvenir of the adventure-
Because to them, that is all it is:
Another adventure, another conquest,
Another stop on the road to where they are going.
They do it without knowing
The trail of tears they leave
And the hot fire of rage.
The one is a myth.
There are over seven billion people here,
But that does not mean that for everyone
A prince or princess shall appear
Standing underneath the tower window
Calling, "Let down your hair!"
Hey, I never said it was fair.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
Like autumn leaves upon the river
and icebergs in the spring
I'm a captive of the current
driven by anothers whim
It seems I am adrift again
once more carried by the wind
with no anchor chains to hold me
nor ropes to bind me in
Will there ever be stability
within this soul of mine
will I ever find the one
that becomes the tie that binds
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 4:37 PM UTC
I writhe at your control
In my restless sleep
My body groans against
A dream of you, an image
Entering my mind
To infect me with your touch
And a whisper
Hot breath on my bare neck
Your will is my undoing
As I act out
Every whim
Until I wake gripping the sheets
My chest rising and falling
Under your hand
That I crave
Against my damp skin
Biting and scratching me
Into submission
I succumb
To only you
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
come on now
let's all bow
down before
the gold cash cow
where it is
we ain't got spit
sitting in
our money pit
still we crease
every knee
hoping cash cow
is here to please
of course then
on a whim
we'll get up and
do it all again
so come on now
let's all bow
down before
the gold cash cow
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
The Butterfly is blessed with beauty and grace.
The Spider is eerie and withdrawn.
She flutters around to find Her perfect place.
He captures the heart of His next pawn.
Their souls never finding peace.
One day, He sets His elaborate trap.
Frightened and out of the whim,
She is caught in His web and a sudden hap!
The unfamiliar face captivates Him.
His world comes to a cease.
They look into each other's eyes,
Both hearts beating as one.
He sets Her free and sends Her to the skies.
She is left to be stun.
Her own feelings begin to increase.
These two creatures are different.
Their love was forbidden and never to become.
Despite the belligerent,
The devotion begins to succumb,
And the sorrowful souls were release.
"Please merciful goddess of the moon,"
The begged and resort,
Fearful that their passion would end so soon.
"Do not **** our love in sport."
Wishing the hatred would decease
The answer was to be entombed.
Their love was certainly a hider,
And from the start it was doomed.
It was a love between the Butterfly and the Spider.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
The clouds he welcomed,
and let them play
While the sun descended
to kiss his rugged make
The winds would rage
yet come to him
as a petted bovine
tamed at whim
Like a ***** giant
stood the mountain tall,
in brooding silence
as he towered above all
Then the rains came, and
brought a stranger home
She was none like them
yet she seemed their own
In her winding bends
the mountain heard
the frenzied beats
of a heart so stirred
As the brook looked up
and the mountain down
she found calm
and him, storms found
The clouds he asked
how he could move
and mustered his will
for a measure of stoop
She looked at him
with a drowning feel
clutching at her banks
and digging in her heels
The bend showed up
like an eternal curse
carrying the aching brook
like a solemn hearse
One last time
she looked back at thee
the one she killed
in setting free
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
It was 3 PM on a Tuesday
in the summer, just before
my first semester of college.
I went out on a whim and
bought a cheetah print lava
lamp for forty six dollars
at some stand in the mall,
despite you persistently
advising me not to
waste money on
"insignificant ****
The next day it rained
from 7 AM until 5 PM
and I forced you to lie
in bed with me all day,
with the curtains drawn
& the lights out.
I wanted us to observe
the weird, red
shapes forming
inside my new cheetah
print lava lamp...
Something about it
captivated me.
I never had one as a kid,
And you just sat there
holding my hand for
fifty eight minutes before
I whispered, "did you see
how pretty that one was?"
You laughed gently
and shifted your eyes
toward my dresser,
at which point
I realized
that was the very first time
you looked away from me
since we had laid down
And
with that thought,
the butterflies
woke so chaotically,
I thought I'd never
catch my breath
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
Keys and notes.
Compliments of a king,
Through the halls the echoes ring.
Compliments of a queen,
Nothing to them they mean.
Keys and notes.
Compliments of a jester,
Nothing meant but to reject her.
Without her aware
He stops and stares
Not in her eyes
For those he lives to despise.
But through his mind to another,
To him a harmless loveless lover.
Keys and notes.
Compliments of a waiter,
Waiting for him to love her.
You'd think her a fool to serve him
But not much longer to his whim.
A secret key to her lock she's found
Running what was once blooming into the ground.
Keys and notes.
Compliments of one other,
For two too long the beat had suffered
Too long the keys out of tune,
Too long the notes out of sync with each other.
Better to play a lackluster tune
Or to just put an end to the song.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 12:44 PM UTC
Behind the eight ball
she sits.
Resigned.
From her pimp's
leash,
she's lead.
Deadweight, she feels
his ways and ills,
like cattle, that's branded.
Best she hustles,
or be backhanded.
Once molded,
she learns to light up
Big Daddy's cigar
and bring him his pie loaded.
More cabbage to fill his gold baggage.
Sometimes he spares a small leaf for her.
Though times she short, his fist takes sport.
And every night
she plays for the band
of her john's,
singing their song,
while a thousand ****** of light
inches along all wrong.
The nameless, faceless and most relentless
getting their fill.
A flower in her wails loves not fear.
However, Big Daddy's eyes are always near.
She knows better than to run
past the pasture gates
onto verdant fields,
free as a bird,
without a home, money or vocation
and ever so fearful of Big Daddy's gun.
A flower in her wails loves not fears.
As she remembers those first tears.
A Big Daddy's indoctrination.
It started off on social media,
a whim
a fantasy went wrong.
Three nights her body violated,
Big Daddy's cavalry,
descending on her picnic,
wax and whips,
a thousand ****** of might,
and the scream of the night.
Coldcocked.
Say hello to the new girl on the block.
A flower in her wails loves not fears.
Her youth robbed as the days morph into years.
Like a blur.
The guise, the lure, the drugs, the fear.
The trap.
Eighteen young became twenty-four old.
A lost puppy to her folks back home.
And every lost night
she struts her Prada dress a little higher
Big Daddy has a buyer.
Logan Robertson
7/27/2018
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC