Long Nonchalance Poems
Long Nonchalance Poems. Below are the most popular long Nonchalance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nonchalance poems by poem length and keyword.
“What are you afraid of?”
…
This question is often brought upon me; I feign nonchalance and am perceived as someone who maintains intrepid behavior. However, that is simply untrue. Brazenly, I am quite a “wimp.” While my fears cannot be held to a simple definition, I present this ultimatum:
My greatest sentiment is entangled within love, yet love is what terrorizes my fragile being the most. My friends and family give me the very affection I need to survive, yet the thought of it being taken away haunts me. I fear that one day, everyone I love will lose the mutuality we share; that one day, my raw emotion will be what drives their repulsed selves away. When their disgust consumes them, they eventually abandon me; we will part, not on good terms but out of the profound repugnance they hold for me.
…
My foundation is built upon the lessons I’ve been taught by others, as I perpetually mature through them. Losing someone who has nurtured my ethics throughout my life would be losing a part of myself; without them, I would be an undone puzzle, longing for my unfulfilled life to be completed. Maybe then, I would finally feel whole.
…
The individuals who I’ve grown with have treated me with respect, and have provided me with a sense of belonging. If they were to hurt me, or damage my sensitive soul, I would continually exist while unrepaired. The thought of someone who I trust hurting me courses fright through my spirit. It would not only break the sense of faith I have in them, but I would find it hard to believe anyone in general.
…
To heal is to move on; but I possess memories, memories too unbearable to simply be forgotten. I fear that I will be unable to forgive and forget what has been brought upon me. Just like everyone else, I have struggled greatly, and I find it hard to neglect the pessimistic emotions tearing at me. But what if I never heal? You cannot forget if you haven’t been burdened with memory, yet not everyone forgets. So what if I don’t?
…
Abandonment, loss, damage, the inability to heal; aren’t these all a part of life? Though I don’t want to die, I feel as if I fear existing; life itself overwhelms me, when it shouldn’t, and though what I go through is normal, the anxiety overtakes the feeling of living. Maybe life itself scares me; maybe I’m just.. weak.
In the chamber of silence where souls converge,
Masks lie in wait, the nocturnal guardians of our being.
Adorned with grimaces and velvet smiles,
They are armors against the unknown arrows of the estranged world.
Oh, how they descend like curtains over our fragility,
Sitting so carefully upon the shoulders of pleasure, the cloth of outward beauty.
We learn to parade with them, in a masquerade where every step is watched,
Where each breath, heavier than the last, is veiled by studied nonchalance.
Few are those who dare shine without the borrowed mask,
To stand bare, in the harsh light of day, unafraid of the whirl of rejection.
Even rarer is the creature that, in the human garden, stands unwavering in its truth,
Unfettered by earthly fears of 'seeming' and 'not being enough'.
The mask, once a shelter, becomes the dungeon of the spirit, still in the shadow.
A surrogate of identity, which over time melts into the skin of existence,
Making it hard to discern where the persona ends and the self begins.
You see it, hanging there, lightly, on the hook prepared by the world,
A means by which anonymity weaves its web around our essence.
It is a game of appearances, where we are all unknown thespians on a vast stage.
To traverse beyond the false face and to see the raw core of your proclaimed existence,
Is the art that binds us, without unraveling the ties that keep that sliver of secret,
A silent call to acknowledge the soul, even beneath the daily makeup.
It is not just denial, but the desire to feel understood, even behind the shadows.
Power, the world says, lies in hardening the heart, but how deceitful is this thought!
For true stature arises from embracing vulnerability, a force that lifts us from the ashes of prejudice.
You, be that gentle murmur of your truth in every counterfeit day,
Be that fragment of sync with oneself, amidst a choir of disparate voices.
Do not fear to dance, even when the dance embraces the void, authentic and raw.
In the world of men, to be seen as you are is a gift you offer,
A brave smile in the face of a world that demands you to be unyielding, impenetrable.
Love and be loved, as once said by a sage long asleep,
For in this recognition lies a whole universe of love, before it even begins to be infinite.
Can you see the radiance in her smile? That beautiful row of white goodness that makes me forget there are other people existing in the world. Can you see the sensuousness of her skin? That caramel chocolate sensation I love to drown my thoughts in... I know you can see the way her hips sway with such perfect synchronicity, the image alone conjures thoughts loving in perpetuity. Can you see her hazel eyes? Twin pools of perfection to cool this body on a hot summer day. I am but a watcher; if I were a collector of beautiful things I would spare no exertion to have her be mine.
Can you smell the scent of her femininity? An aroma so intoxicating that I will never want another high. Can you hear the sound of her voice? That calming husky baritone that brings waves of peace to my conscious mind. I know you can see that lovely mane of hair, that black hair with the specks of gold and red to entrance every eye. I am but an admirer; if I were a man of means I might have the courage to speak to her.
My eyes avoid catching hers in a moment stolen, so afraid am I that she will see the hunger brimming therein. I look at her and see everything that I am not but everything that I need. I see laughter and that carefree nonchalance of youth and brevity that I so crave but that elude me. I envy the water that gets to cascade down her body when she bathes. I envy the wind that gets to caress her long luscious legs as she dons that skirt that invokes feelings in me that are not easily suppressed. . I envy the sun that gets to warm her body when she is chilled. I envy the moon that watches over my sleeping beauty as she dreams of people she does know. I envy the man who gets her sighs and knows her dreams. I envy him not only because he is all she wants but because he is all that I can never be for her.
While my heart is the one that loves her with the fervour of a thousand fires and the intensity of a million lifetimes; he kisses her, touches her and holds her and she loves him to a place beyond distraction; he is all that she thinks she needs, he is her man. I am left to watch and admire from a distance. How can I compete? After all, he is the man of her childhood fantasies; all that I am is a girl who fell in love with the wrong goddess.
First draft
I
By his deeds he was duly judged
And by his greed he was condemned
To the bowels far beneath the Earth-
Cursed tenfold to rot and feed the maggots unfed.
Stark Kilns was his doomed name
A man who burnt with hideous flame-
A name to forever tumble to oblivion
With its proprietor’s ruins and vision.
Not a soul wept
Not a tear on cheeks crept.
Not a soul attended the funeral
Save Kilns’ only overdue Aunt Feen-
A shrunken lady of a hundred and fifteen.
There petched on the solitary scaffold
Was the casket, a sad but terrible thing to behold-
For every inch of it gleamed of black-
A thing that still makes me tremble as a feeble stag.
The old priest by dogma read the eulogy
And alas! The casket was lowered
To the bowels of the cemetery
As the Sun hid its pale face
Beneath the horizon.
Thinking that this had brought the end
I turned away from my hiding behind the fern
But my attention became arrested
By a hollow sound, as if a drum had dropped.
There, the very black casket had reached
The base of the grave harder than intended.
Or perhaps the undertakers were in haste
For I had noticed them on edge and none chaste.
Then the undertakers fell to filling
And cursing that grave which today
Is marked by nothing but a pale olive tree
On which every evening perches a mute owl.
For ten years, that olive tree has never a fruit borne:
For ten solid years the owl has had itself sworn
To keep guard on that tree, that hideous tree
And Wait for its doomed master, I presume.
It had braved through like the very true son
Who had lost to the claws of cold death
The best dad in the world. So it had braved
Through the rain and cold that had plagued most days
How the town stirred upon becoming sentient
Of the cold guest at Kilns’ resting place.
Nothing but the owl was on the people’s menu
Many a townsfolk went to see for themselves
How the owl stared back with so much nonchalance
How the creature just glared back, its huge eyes inert.
The townsfolk upon leaving would but mutter:
“A ***** creature! I never trusted Kiln’s death.”
It came that these very townsfolk then sat
And secretly planned to bring to its death
This inert guest upon Kilns’ grave.
II
"Aurora Spills"
Aurora spills like a waterfall
light from the eyes
saltwater tears
crocodilian
scaled in the weight of worth
a drop in the ocean of fate
breaks the seaweed fields of stories
they wave her in
rippling time away
fingertips dance mesmerising
the stinging strangers
wrapped around her legs
treading water in deep
infested notions
the coolness of
irreverent nonchalance
romantic or not
pulls her under covers
like warm blankets
heavy comfort
calls the broken
floating towards
the shabby matrix
new gates of life open
mirrors crack like eggs
the vision reflects
both light and dark
demon and saint
their remnants
embers, still
in the coldness
of prickly gloaming
like glow worm glen
fireflies red and glowing
sparks ignite
a rapturous bushfire
from cinders
billy tea leaves overturned
empty cups read
the yolk of a heart
never lies
fried casually
by the over easy
in shallow pans
of poetry
under microscopes
of blithe mordant critique
minute shards of gold
are slowly sifted
from the flotsam dross
some wisdom found
in the muddy fertile mind
shooting up
from 6ft underground
like small green plants
growing under rocks
with centipedes and
the petulant poison of spiders
in pink reflection
insurgence blooms
war never waits
silently the Pandoras smile
understanding all and nothing
of a small life distended,
swelling love
for that which was stolen
where bursting broken blue weeds
undo frozen jewels
diamonds sharp for the cutting
shiny words spells of insanity
delicious moments
melting time swallowed
spoken without voice
listening to ghosts
scratching through walls
where life floods
from glass boxes
coffins of buried treasure
banished
kaleidoscope colours
overgrowing
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“The Lady in the Lake”/ Elysian Fields
https://youtu.be/IjX8xfZ7sg0
“Out of whose womb came the ice
And the hoary frost of heaven
Who hath gendered it
The waters are hid as with a stone
And the face of the deep is frozen”
LYRICS/ “The Lady in the Lake”, Elysian Fields
https://genius.com/Elysian-fields-lady-in-the-lake-lyrics
Beirut.
You’ve always been the life of the party.
I’ve seen the sun smile at you,
on Saturday mornings.
As your women
hung over and wrecked
with Jesus crosses on their necks
waltz through streets
trying to find a ride back home.
Your green wooden window panes,
always left open.
Always left waiting.
A sign of hope.
As if something holy
or someone with a red cape on
would come
and save you.
I see it
I feel it
The pain
The terror
I see the bullets
That have pierced through your walls
Left you with nothing
Your anarchists
Your extremists
Your people
Your children
Are all fighting
Over a hit
of the fix you gave them.
Oh Beirut,
what have they done?
I see the clouds of smoke rising
I see your people left bare
with secrets to strip off
and hang on the laundry ropes
that fill your skies
The writings on your walls say it all.
You’ve lost your soul
You’ve lost your spark
Corruption
Destruction
You made the rules
and then asked us to break them.
I’m not sure who to blame.
Them,
Or you.
You left me high and dry-
Lost in the alleys of your dark streets
I didn’t know who to blame.
So I asked around, Beirut.
I asked the men on motorcycles
who snatch purses from old women.
I asked your nine year old
gypsy beggars.
I asked your officers
and the teenagers in cellars,
who in another world could’ve been heroes or poets.
I asked your university students,
but they were too stoned to comprehend my questions.
High on a drug of complacency
High on a drug of nonchalance
High on a drug of compromise.
So
Numb
Numb
Numb
I asked your gods.
Your middle-men.
The pictures on the walls
of your many leaders.
I asked your fathers
Your rapists
Your artists
Your lawyers
Your educators
I even asked the old man pushing a cart of oranges in Hamra.
But nothing was to be found…
Not even a tad of sanity…
Not even a sense of security
You couldn’t give me that, could you?
Oh Beirut.
You’ve always been the life of the party.
But I’ve seen them frown at you,
when dawn breaks and you walk out on them
hung over and wrecked
with a cross around your neck
walking over shattered beer bottles…
trying to find a ride back home.
Ahhhhhhhh....To Be Young and In Love
_________________________________
Two Lovers at a party
Reuniting after Break
Not too long after New Years
Since then she's been away
He is playing the cocky host
With high school friends today
His fraternity's party
Before school gets underway
He looked happy to see her
When she finally did arrive
A big smile spreading and
His blue eyes looking bright
But with his old friends, a girl
Who once left his heart in tatters
His new lover tries very hard
Not to look as if it matters
He comes over to check on her
"I'm having a great time,"
She says casually, "Go on.
You just do you, I'm fine."
Yet she watches from the corners
Of her dark shining eyes
Hoping this gnawing little fear
Does not mater'alize
Since New Years Eve he'd raptly
Called ev'ry day and night
Saying the sweetest loving words
Her heart coming alight
But she fears he's a college player
A fraternity boy just messin'
With a cute young Freshman girl he's met
Without any real deep affection
She doesn't see him for some minutes
And starts to get slightly peeved
He sidles up from nowhere, saying
"You wanna sneak off with me?"
She protests against it
Lays her nonchalance on thick
He better not think its easy
To pull off this little trick
A kiss on her neck, a grin
A soft whisper in her ear
"C'mon now, Pretty Lady
Let's just slip on outta here?"
They make excuses to the party
Before really polite to do
They come up to his room and then
He says, "Oh my God, I missed you!"
His cool facade falls down
And he says the most tender things
He hugs and softly kisses her
Making her insides sing
Relief spreading through her
So much strength in her reaction
She tried to be so tough
But he melts her with his actions
Swept up in their reunion
He brings her to his bed
Holding her so very firm
His scent swims in her head
And she clings to him so tightly
In passion's dance and then
A love bursts deep inside her like
She will never know again
Upon the day when I was new
You held me at your breast,
And from that day love did accrue
For both I do attest.
You brought me to a place unknown
With slates of painted wood,
Where cheerful circus themes were flown
Above my neighborhood.
We seemed to nest for hours
At night in satin blanket trim,
My curious nature flowered
While yours eyes grew tired and dim.
The bears and clowns did entertain
Those few and fleeting days,
Until my innocent domain
Had overstayed its phase.
For soon the crawling was replaced
With awkward stepping feet,
A challenge you had bravely faced
Without fear of defeat.
Sweet infancy was soon eclipsed
By toddler nonchalance,
For “I can’t like it” pursed my lips
With every smug response.
You bore the brunt of childish acts
With ever loving ease,
Till school time called for pink backpacks
And alphabet expertise.
Soon Girl Scouts meetings filled your time
And clarinet your ears,
For you would plunk down every dime
To see me enjoy those years.
But then the teenage years ensued
When self-esteem is low,
You lifted me from anxious moods
When I had reached plateau.
Our arguments were common then
I thought myself all knowing,
While you’d repeat to me often
That I still had some growing.
We made it through till high school’s end
When college had arrived,
You made sure that I would attend
And my obstacles survived.
Through crying phone calls in the night
And stressful social scenes,
You’d hug me with unyielding might;
Upon you I could lean.
When graduation finally came
You looked so proud and calm,
“I made it through!” I did proclaim,
You knew it all along.
I am grown and on my own,
With life ahead of me,
But through this piece I hope I’ve shown
Just what you mean to me.
For all the memories in the past
My best friend you remain,
And all the troubles we’ve surpassed
Have not all been in vain.
For through these times I have found
An idol strong and true,
And may I say, loud and profound,
My idol, Mom, is you.
I felt an anxiety attack approach,
as I was Perched on my mushroom.
So I reached for my anti-foreboding dope,
with my hookah ready to consume.
As I inhaled the first hit on my fungal chair,
I felt the unease dissipate.
As a large smoke ring went into the air,
my nervousness finally took a break.
Low and behold to my surprise,
I saw the white rabbit leave my domain in a panic.
What followed him I could not believe my eyes,
a girl chasing him, with eyes crazed and frantic.
I caught her attention,
as the rabbit made a liberating flee.
She stopped at the foot of my mushroom,
clueless and carefree.
The absolute nerve of this child!
Can't she see I'm in a self-medicating fog?
She must not get me riled
So I decided to ask who she was.
She told me she had forgotten, had no notion;
but knew who she was before she got here.
It was because her height changed after sipping a potion,
making her feel unsure, absorbed with fear.
She said I would feel the same,
once I escaped my chrysalis.
When I get my wings,
my identity will fall into a proverbial precipice.
I told her not at all,
I knew this for a fact
My form will not change my mind;
it will stay intact.
She got boiling mad at my response,
I expressed her temper was unnecessary.
I went back smoking with an air of nonchalance,
Keeping my demeanor arbitrary.
I decided I would use her for my amusement,
making her cite a poem, she butchered in half.
I kept puffing away, trying to smoke out her nuisance.
blowing passive aggressive fumes, with each paragraph.
The visit was cut short when she insulted my size
As I walked away I left her some good advice
I told her to eat a mushroom to get back to her height.
Then I left with a bruised ego, clutching my hookah pipe.
Accepting what is as is, let us rise,
ascending vibrationally each day,
wiping away tears in all moistened eyes,
walking the talk being the way we pray.
We already are, as we are, complete,
recognised in moments when thoughts are still,
in the void of silence, feeling upbeat,
sipping soma nectar to our heart’s fill.
Employing lower mind and senses five,
these instruments bestowed aid us in life
but God’s breath alone is what makes heart jive,
suffused in love mists, heart fully bliss rife.
Who we are in time we may get to know;
first things first, let us make flow of thought slow.
First things first, let us make flow of thought slow,
employing mind only when is required,
that shifting to heart, nurturing soul’s glow,
cravings of wayward ego are retired.
The compulsion to think is ownership
we assign to objects of attention,
so if nonchalance be way of worship,
we erase the cause of needless tension.
Living as of need and not as of greed,
compassion holding out a helping hand,
divine love pheromones in our heart breed,
invoking bliss as and when we demand.
So natural is path to soul’s ascent;
all we need to do, is grant love consent.
All we need to do, is grant love consent,
recognising God’s spirit in each form,
that then thus simply following the scent,
we ignite in heart, a benign bliss storm.
Knowing by feeling and so becoming
the flame of love and light that has no name,
God paves the way for our soul’s homecoming,
fulfilling our mission in life’s end game.
Time is an illusion and so is space,
so liken hermit, this life as a dream,
where we grow in love by God’s sublime grace,
by resting thought forms that endlessly stream.
Ceasing to weigh and size, embrace surprise;
accepting what is as is, let us rise.