"whimsically" poems
It's beginning...
As my day matured into the tangerine sun.
Familiar feelings effortlessly conjured as the same old tales were spun.
Some came in hues of marmalade
Traces of citrus that left in haste.
Initial sweetness on the palate that would fade
Only making way for a bitter aftertaste.
A few were wrapped in tints of ginger.
A jolt-like sensation that spoke...
Intense and unmistakable in nature.
Like glowing embers engulfed in latent flames and smoke.
Several bore the colours and scent of marigold
Boasting of orange petals whimsically waving to the clouds...
Whispering hints of rumours from days of old,
Days of when mine was the only silent face in a boisterous crowd.
The ones forged in bronze were few and hardly said.
Like the only compelling excerpt embedded within infinite chapters.
Hidden words in plain sight strung together boldly in red.
Rubies cast carelessly in the swiftest of rivers...
It is beginning...
The end of today as the sun grew redder...
I'd bide the sands of time as it slips away into forever...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
She picked it up from the seashore.
He encouraged her,
Flattered her with indulgence
To bring back her dying flame.
A girl once again,
She brought it home
In whimsically ebullient innocence!
On the polished floor
In a faraway city
It found it hard to walk
With the load of mollusk
And made a funny sight!
It strained its ears
But there was no sound of the sea,
No saline smell in the air,
Instead the water was sweet and insipid.
It went thirsty.
The food was alien,
It went hungry.
Soon they polished the shell
And celebrated addition of
Another showpiece in their room!
The crab had at last
Found a new home.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 3:06 AM UTC
I have found beauty in the whimsically ordinary.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
I ride higher
Than your suicides
You write:
Take me back,
I’m sweetly reminiscing of
Solar wings embracing
celestial winds
Sunsets of broken chords
Summer's shattered sword
Winter’s ornery
Jaded blue jays
Gray's vacant face
I salute your honesty
But blisters wrought on
A calloused heart
Cuts deeper
Than the oceans' void
Let me sleep whimsically
With rotten melodies
To keep me from
Changing the tone of
My stuttering dreams
But,
Soft, teeth speak
Like broken branches
On dilapidated trees
And
I’d spend
Eternity
In the chime of your
White fire voice
Or
Those olive green
Teasing eyes
Keeping me sheepishly serene
Whirling
Weaving
Into a timid peace
Yet our
Crashing
Tongues slam
Into sour Suns
Swallowing the seams
of interconnectivity
Scattering liquid beams
of entropy
I forget those days we
Wasted on the morbid
Memories
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 10:03 PM UTC
Why do I always feel excluded,
As though I'm worth only air?
I'm shy, that doesn't mean I have no interest.
Why do I feel left out,
when they won't invite me into their group?
When I work silently by myself,
No one willing to change this soundlessness.
I wish to speak up,
but my word's are trapped,
Whimsically working their way up,
wanting to say, "I want to help!"
Why do I feel so excluded?
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
I knocked on society’s door,
Hollow footsteps through the crevice of civility,
A ***** welcome mat with a broken doorbell;
No visitors wanted who were not invited,
And understanding was buried under the porch.
In Law’s front yard,
picketed with ire and arrayed with disorder,
Olive branches strewn across dry grass,
lay an empty briefcase marked in leather.
Gavel and irony betrayed her whimsically.
Garden beds in front of Understanding;
Plundered of roses and wanton petals.
Bland stems wilted amongst the weeds.
Relinquished of entitlement; water led
Towards apathy and entropy instead.
A house of Perhaps: vacant,
Open front door to empty rooms.
Leased to opportunity but vacated in days,
Renovations procrastinated; mocked by
The neighbor of dismay and wry.
Ignorance paved a new driveway,
The unanimous watch of Lively Cul-de-sac;
Gated community with hopes of manicured
Lawns and pools. Procreated in the minds
Of not wild men, but surveyors.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
Moon drops splayed themselves
as though crystal blankets on summers ethereal stream,
Violet memories traced her deep obsidian eyes
How she beseeched Lethe’s empty flow
Night stars dreamed of patchouli perfumed rhymes
Ebon blooms dance with dulcet tones,
And fireflies whimsically danced to tune
Unspent words whispered from bottles of hope stored,
Hypnotized by sweet bees, her heart swept laden fruit groves
─ As hunger ate her soul
Eucalyptus his breath against a smoked filled dawn
A wood fire burned and hands clasped content
Tender his silk fingers traced blush her lips,
Consecrated by night she devoured poetic blooms
Of gold the cauldron blazed how yellow the young flame
One drop be lemon acid boiled black she sang,
Tasting dreams on smoke tarnished in polished prose,
How she bayed to moon’s blueberry gaze and bled geranium red,
By his voice herbs and stones weep and she forgets
─ she forgets, only the night moon bleeds
© Arnay Rumens / A Sol Poet
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
The fleeing clouds have cleansed the tawny earthen meadows
Migrating sun doth steal away waning light of summer’s glee
High atop fir boughs bow in wind whispered homage
To the sapience the coloured leaves hath gleaned
The sweet scent of auburn brindled pinecone clusters
Ooze of glistening pitchy resinous fruit
Sticky figured squirrels chatter while they gather,
Stashing a survival cache of acorns and spinner seeds,
For another moment in sleepy winter tide dreams
A swirling eddy of spiraling leaves whirl beneath the tall timber
Fluttering gracefully with a gravity only falling leaves embolden
Enchanting like the evanescent timbre poignant piano notes decay
Writhing silent as summer Jasmine’s fragrant final bloom
Dandelion wishes soaring higher to kiss the fleeting winged skies
Lazily adrift up and over Cascade Mountain Crest
Fuzzy treetop flyers ascending far beyond darting dragonflies below
The sliver of golden harvest moon’s blossom aglow ,…
While wishing upon a shooting star's paling gleams
Serendipity sown about whimsically in the blustery wind
For to sow the will of untamed heart’s desires
A festive troop of Chickadees clinging like tiny acrobats
Foraging on ripened ginger hued fir-cone seeds
Wings to the sky wave goodbye to the deciduous cadence
Softly wafting with a pungent Lavender potion scented breeze
There is a secret place where memories go to hide deeply alive
Amongst the wild wood and impending leafless trees,
The only place on earth I've ever understood a sense of belonging
Where Autumn coloured leaves whisper in the gentle breeze ,…
“I would do it all over again”
Come September ,..when the leaves come falling down
© ... September 15th, 2016
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
there’s a semblance
of order
in the pink eye
of the street man
(that messianic soul
caught deep
in the binary)
glancing on
with rose colored glasses
and magical spoons
skimming whimsically
(and cocksure)
dancing on the
crab grass
with his
home grown *****
and cheroot
lost in a dialogue
(complete with
wink and jest)
embracing
the day with
spontaneity and cheer
grinning profoundly
(an incomprehensible grin!)
covering a nicked
and scarred
ear to ear
summer drought
or winter rain
are indifferent
in this mind
(culling on his own terms
with a honed discretion)
pundits would say
that he spoke
in a broken crow
or nigerian slang
(but only he knows
that eloquence)
cloaked, and head steady
behind whispers
of tavener
(he had always
said they were enough)
he gets on
with the rosary
to find
comfort lost
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 1:58 PM UTC
I want you to want me.
With raw, unweavering power, I want you to want me.
I want my scent, my voice, to dance whimsically into your senses.
I want my face, my body, to creep into your memories.
I want you to want me as if your very life is dependant upon my touch.
I want you to want me as if you were addicted to the taste of my lips.
I want you to want me in the way that I'm always wanting you.
I want you to want me in the way that I never stop thinking about you.
I want you to want me with a passion that burns hotter than hellfire itself.
I want you to want me with needs more intense than the wind and rain that falls from the heavans.
I want you to want me.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:18 AM UTC
The fact of the matter is that you
Choose to believe
There's no reprieve
From this constant, continual...
Consistent deceit
This contraceptive perception
Manifesting what you believe
'What happens once will come again'
From that there's no relief
That which you take heed from
Is imprinted on your skin
As if you can't reach within
For matters intimate
Second guessing and stressing
While vacantly sedated
Placating under false pretenses
-Keeping sated
-Faded
Like you were the product
Of this aftermath
Attacking the apt capability
Of all you lack
-Underhanded
In the most subtle approach
This perpetual cognizant apparition
Of these ghosts
Furthermore
They boast and beg recognition
Putting prescriptions to their name
Like defacing prepositions
Could well esteem their fame
I maintain that I refuse
To be a product of the masses
Drifting whimsically and making victims From my caprices
The end result of my fate
Never created hate
Only this conditioned position
From which I now must escape
I'd rather sit
Listen and contemplate
Than justify my shame
I'll take the pain
Of my twisted thoughts
Before letting them run astray
No one pray for me
Because I've done this once before
And sanction I will find
Within this mind
Before I hit the floor
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
She is Moonshine...
Harvest moon, radiant blast across the horizon
diminishing anything near the sound of her light
taunting us with the threat of reverting to a simple, normal
part of our world if we look too late or move too close.
She is Moonshine
Full moon, raising werewolves and iconic myths
making day of the darkness and drawing
florescent strokes across every able bodied pond
waving boldly coming too in due cycle
She is Moonshine...
Shiva moon, a promise and goodbye
deadly waxing and waning of war and peace
the confidently ignored reminder of our mortality
veiled carelessly by translucent clouds
She is Moonshine...
Day time moon, pale and out of place
whimsically demanding to be seen
unafraid of the brightest sun or the bluest mood
a broad daylight
She is Moonshine...
To drink, clear, forbidden and dangerous
Intoxicating, even in small portions
Promising to burn you from throat to belly
And warm your bowels through the coldest doubts
She is Moonshine.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
You're like the sweet smell of rain,
The petrichor falling upon my lips,
And you never cease to keep me in awe.
The delight of you is strong,
But you never stay long enough
For me to fully appreciate
The feeling of your presence.
So next time you greet me,
Stay,
And let me show you what it's like
To roam the earth so whimsically.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
My words flow whimsically through a
wistful longing sight — a dreamy, hazy escape.
And it had been dancing around you,
_each syllable adores you_ and all they were was a thought of " I can give you the seven seas and my sweetest eulogies."
Dec 10, 2022
Dec 10, 2022 at 11:12 AM UTC
winter is leaving
snow melts by the rise of degrees
and the sun beaming
every ice breaks
waters leave the structure
the air batters them down as it wakes
blooming arrives like a ghost
through the walls
spring awakes every plant
from big to small
warm breeze carries musical notes
trees and oats are shaking rhytmically
colorful gardens carry their fragrance whimsically
we receive another chance
to leave a trace in the winds
near the agricultural grange
let us tune our guitars
play our arrangement
and make the changement
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 5:33 AM UTC
We should sleep until we float away.
We must leave our shadows behind.
No cares and doubts, just us. Like travelers on a quixotic quest, unsure of where we are headed, or what lurks within, our hearts would guide us, our path, stained with memories that would lead us away from the night. Are we in love or lust?
Young and wild, we are immune to pain. Our footprints trailing ignorantly, our emotions concealing this darkness.
Proud rebels, we conquered the world. We couldn’t wake up because this was our existence. As uncertainty led us, we believed that we ran away from our wrongs.
Then the good times turned sour, we knew it would tear us apart.
It’s easy to say we had it all, youth, laughter and time. With each becoming a burden, we couldn’t begin to explain.
The summery sun, the warmth, the feeling to be alive made our bones stride whimsically and forced our habits to beckon greedily.
These crispy sheets, clean with memories, masks pain, lies and delusions with tangled moments.
Moments blinded with passion that deepens our emotions, making us build empires between what we “could be” and “should be”.
The voices in our heads waiting for the perfect time to strike, hinting towards a future, somewhere in nowhere, non-existent to the mortal mind. Rendering our resistance weak, making our escape inevitable.
We dreamt of this place, tranquil without darkness and filth.
Basking in the euphoria of our love; with each red light we confronted, we danced and kissed. We made sweet love off ecstatic shots.
We came alive through our raging passions and vile fantasies. We ran through these doors which revealed the world; vast and worth exploring, enticing our bodies.
We could not object, but we were not weak, our futures dared us. Some would think we were irrational, no! We were just scared.
Scared that we would leave this world unfulfilled, the very essence of life untapped. No one sees these shadows that hover, no one understands us.
This guilt won’t consume us, our love will not falter.
Though it is twisted and keeps burning in our minds, we can’t be consumed.
It gets harder to hold on but to set ourselves free, we will forge hope from our weakness and we will hammer our dreams into reality.
We are prepared to fight for what we believe in, no longer will we doubt ourselves, we will no longer be afraid because we will find the perfect place where our hearts will forever be in sync.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 4:23 AM UTC
A challenge for you:
Try to speak in just haiku
In your normal speech
Give it your best shot
It's really hard, but so fun
In verse, try to preach
Maybe they'll notice
Maybe they won't have a clue
Have fun either way
Live life whimsically
Put a smile on your face
Haiku-ize your day!
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
Wrath is something to fear for all parties involved
Really, wrath is a separate entity that is unaffiliated
With the situation entirely
It drops by when clever words drip and splatter
And whimsically decides that there is far too much violence
For the air to be so blue
And whispers encouragement lightheartedly
That red is a much better color for this aesthetic anyway
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
Looming night and artificial light,
A pendulum delicately balancing,
Draped whimsically
As if held in place
By an invisible sheer force of will,
Hanging, bustled from a rigid,
Spine-straight brown-black
Pole etched into by the
Fluorescent light that
Paints the golden leaves
A glinting orange duo-chrome,
The leaves flinging themselves
On to the hard, barely-breathing ground,
Gasping only when no one will notice,
Paved in a rainbow of greens and faint yellows,
Steady and straight as far as
The eye can tell,
Hoping the chill will turn to wind
To carry them away from
The only mother they’ve ever known,
Stable ground below offering
A fresh beginning and a bed
For the leaves to reside in
While they look for a new place to call home.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
Let’s ****** all the words
social norms dictate we use.
I’ll drown “beautiful,”
you slit “relationship’s” wrists
We can tag-team
the execution of everyone’s
favorite; “love.”
Do you want to use the chainsaw
or piranha tank?
We will gleefully
beat the **** out of—
stab mercilessly —
whimsically hang—
frolic & fire upon—
turn up the heat on—
keep the electric coursing through—
dance, continuing to pour gasoline over—
each *******
overwrought
dead-eyed
limp
word
until the populace begs us to invent more.
And we will.
Only a few.
We'll cackle as we toss the useless
words away,
saving the best
for the language we're inventing for ourselves.
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 11:20 AM UTC
Harshly they fuss, brutally ascend
The living are merely the dead sleeping
With tired minds and dimming spirits
Whimsically panting as they pass an unmitigated declaration of disarrayed yet binding love
The living sing
They sing of old men and babies being born
The children cheering
Sermons of legitimate advice and reassuring reminders
Integrations of baptizing and rebirth
Of anointment and atonement
Conjugal wellness
Tales of glory
-Tommy Johnson
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
My journey to purification began on a night where I pretended like you didn't exist.
I denounced myself a pagan of memories,
turned your forgotten words into forbidden hymns,
embraced them in my mouth before I climbed into bed,
and used them to sing myself to sleep
in all of the hours before I did not dream of you.
It was like burning a house with memories in it,
because you need the ashes to reconstruct a new one.
It was like holding your breath even when you're not in water,
because you have experienced drowning and do not want to risk it again.
I kept on telling myself that this was peace- leaving you was not enough so I had to leave myself as well.
Here is a version of me not at war with you- here is a version that is telling itself nothing has changed even though it is barely existing.
Here is a version moving violently around with nothing to restrict it- here is a version dancing whimsically alone.
Here is a version so small it cannot be stampeded on- here is a version so small it cannot hear its own heartbeat.
Here I am trying to struggle free of you,
Fighting myself so that you don't have a chance to.
But as the days go by,
I am hoping only my cocoon loved you.
And the self- inflicted scars will one day stop belonging to me
And,
belong to some other shell,
restricting the body of,
some other boy.
It is a trial to be free when you are an addict of the prison that held you.
I've been teaching myself about how wrong I am-
That I was not born to make a home out of love,
I am too poignant and sensitive
And cannot belong to anything.
Though the chains may be comfortable,
I need to sacrifice ecstasy so I can find a new lifestyle that is not inspired by their heaviness.
I need to find real fulfillment before it's too late.
Before the chains leave me instead of me leaving them-
Before I'm forced to gallop into any new home I see because I was never prepared enough to be able to stand alone.
I want to forget the way I lived for you,
I want to burn everything without feeling the need to say sorry.
Why must I wait for your forgiveness when everytime I find the urge to reconcile myself,
I'm forced to choke out apologies before I even act on anything.
Why must I lie awake unsure of the future,
Seeing things smaller than you trying to fill a void they won't fit in,
Holding me down so that I cannot be bigger than them.
I know now that I am susceptible to allurement as intensely as a mirror susceptible to light,
Because I am now a reflection of a love I barely experienced.
I stay awake in my sheets every night - praying for my own forgiveness,
Even when I have the ability,
To turn things that don't even hurt me into punishments.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
“You can have any wish,” the genie said.
“Any ONE wish?” the girl asked, a little disappointedly.
“One wish,” the genie answered, shrugging.
“Oh.. then” she said, thinking it over. “I wish for.. a banana,” she said whimsically.
“A banana?” The genie asked, hesitantly.
“Yes," the girl said, nodding her head.
A banana appeared on the table.
“As a banana pudding, please - in a bowl,” she amended.
The genie nodded, and a large bowl of delicious looking pudding took the place of the banana.
“With a spoon?” she asked sweetly, and a spoon appeared by the bowl.
She tasted the pudding and it was, indeed, magically delicious.
“A jewel encrusted spoon.” she corrected, and again it was so.
Then she blurted, all at once:
“The Spoon is In the hand of a handsome prince, who’s genetically identical to Timothée Chalamet and is so in love with me that he proposed a moment ago - to the delight of his father, the king, who knows we will both live long and happy lives, having several delightful children - that will rule long after us - but who, unbeknownst to anyone, has an immensely serious heart condition that, sadly, will claim him roughly fifteen minutes after he pronounces the prince and I husband and princess!”
The prince appeared, and the happy king.. It all happened.
As the ensuing dramas unfolded, the genie took his leave.
“It’s never just a banana,” he said to no one, snapping his finger and vanishing in a puff of wispy white smoke.
Jul 8, 2023
Jul 8, 2023 at 10:18 AM UTC
Right now, I need someone
I need someone to hold.
I need someone to keep safe.
To keep another safe makes me
Safe.
Feeling another's head lean,
Brush up against my cheek.
Noticing the tickle of an eyelash
Gliding, whimsically over my skin.
I don't feel secure
I don't feel lost.
I'm trapped in a limbo:
Peace holding me in stasis,
Sorrow reaching for my heels.
I need someone to hold
I need someone to keep safe.
No.
Not someone.
You.
Don't think I don't need you.
I need you in the morning
I need you at the sunset
You, more than anyone.
More than a father's love
More than a mother's
And when you ask "Why?"
I think it's obvious:
You're everything
I want to be.
In your dreams I see
My own desires
My own needs
Your eyes hold a glow so intense
I wonder that the stars shine
Through their petty jealousy.
If you still don't understand
I'll say it one more time:
You're everything
I want for me.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC