the heart is a flighty thing
driven by whimsies and fancies
butterflies and crushes
you’re flying!
the butterflies are so buoyant!
but butterflies can weigh you down
the soft tender wings
crumbling
into something painful and heavy and
sickening
and the lovely flapping is incessant
and it’s too much
and skin turns green yet you
cling
because the heart is quick to bounce around
how boring
so it leaves
this doesn’t feel like “it”
so it leaves
but we are simple creatures
we crave attention
love
moths and butterflies aren’t very different
you’ve been eaten alive
inside out
upside down
but isn’t the lack of gravity
thrilling?
when the crush starts crushing you
and you gasp for air
it’s bruising and hurting make it stop
but it’s so bright
it hurts my eyes
the radiance is too much yet i will stare it in the eye
is this love?
it isn’t tender but it’s strong and bold
and i like it
i crave it
i want it
my heart has seen the mistake it has made
it didn’t fly away
and now its wings are gone
How then shall I sleep and dream,
when I close my eyes those scenes stream unabated clip by clip
from memories of the times I wasted?
Youthful follies say the wizened old
who lived in times of long ago when paths were certain
with well-planned markers paved upon the way.
Dreams were simply monsters pushed back into closets
and hidden under beds;
prim and proper ruled the day and eschewed the night,
forgotten whimsies used to frighten wayward children.
Obligations interfered when the storm of you came rushing in
to crash against the breakers on the beach of duty to my class,
with walls of aristocracy preventing breaches ~
There is no room for pauper poets in those mansions
far above the stormy shore.
The haberdasher is open for all
who come to visit the quaint little town~
he sells silly notions of every kind:
bells and buttons, beads and bows, musical
whimsies to delight and upright a frown,
perhaps a potion designed and refined,
dolls and dresses, lace and chiffon, dainty
kerchiefs for dandy's distain, balloons
for the party, flowers for the ball, nice
little gumdrops and large lollipops, bees
for bonnets and crayons to draw cartoons
for the king, plus fancy traps to catch mice.
The haberdasher will have what you need
(in the back room he may even have weed).
Written: February 28, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mayhem prevails as calm dries and stirs rise.
A ruckus erupts as words and deeds blend.
Oh, the wrath, related storm, and squall size.
Building burning blaze, to draw in hearts trend.
Dance and bustle, spark the soulful lost fire.
Wrath symphony loudly incites the crowd.
Rumpus drew seeing their whimsies were dire.
Slashes and ripples, ruffled wings, brisk loud.
Cloud voices, balk colder, fire with purpose.
Cyclone whirl, heat, and mayhem hurl the mind.
Through life, wards meet in a stirring service
Spoons, fluff, defiance, and keenness behind
A spark of hope with all this lapse and strife.
Grief may spark split, but it can propel life.
The first chirp of the robin near my shut window pleaded
The blackbird, song thrush, chiffchaff, and pheasant pleaded as well.
The sunflowers, cornflowers, and marigolds that needed
Prayed for his help; he was as silent as a silent spell.
Fishes, amphibians, reptiles, and weak invertebrates
Hares, squirrels, owls, puffins, swans, geese, and willow ptarmigan
Lions, leopards, tigers, elephants, and monkeys with rude traits
Prayed; the cosmos seemed as though curled. The sun's silence went on.
As playgrounds were snow-covered, in gloomy moods, children prayed.
Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and cousins called. He said:
When I was shining, your minds seemed seismically swayed.
Can't you, when I am cool, with your inner warmth, march ahead?
Winter's whimsies play vehement games on the sun, so sure
Which element of nature, without him, can their wounds cure?
To be swept higher and higher
On the breeze of a pink-salmon dawn
Troubles and cares? Swishhh
All gone!
And what’s this?
I’m neither young nor old
I’m eternal and glowing
Ecstatic and bold!
There’s a poor,
Huddled family with no food on the shelves
But—Viola! Here’s your banquet.
Now, don’t stuff yourselves!
I see an old man in grief
His life’s nearly done
Presto-chango!
You’re young, so go out and have fun!
This New Year’s dream surely can’t last
The time for childish whimsies has long ago passed.
But—I’m still soaring with glee in a world so enchanted
My Covid 19 New Year’s wish
Has really been granted.
The ancient stones stand silent
As they have throughout the ages,
Keeping their seasonal assignments
As the world around them changes.
Thousands of years pass
And old stones become forgotten.
Modern granite slabs arrogantly carved
With lessons of what should be learned,
Instead of those things best observed
Through spirit and nature, unadorned.
Stoñehenge steeped with ancient wisdom,
Georgia Guidestones misquided modern whimsies.
memories unfurling
on the shores of time
calligraphy strokes
tracing wild whimsies
of my yearning heart
curling frayed remnants
between the fingers of
forgetfulness forlorn
both glass slippers
vanished in the night
love notes scattering
to feral autumn winds
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 29, 2020 for contest SOUL SLIPPER sponsored by KAI MICHAEL NEUMANN - RANKED 6TH
Hold me in your eyes,
look upon me in tender interlude
embrace me in the center of your dawning light.
Let your essence speak
and whisper sweet nothings
- or - stirring somethings
to my soul
the power and purity of your poetry thrills me!
Awaken my being with a new palette
of mellow musings
and watercolor whimsies.
Plant virgin taste buds to bloom anew
to taste life, as if, for the first time
reborn, with a constant craving of never getting enough.
To make pearls out of grit
is to make sorrow and hardship a thing of beauty.
Wisping winds whisk whispered whimsies willows’ way.
By the pond, we ponder potent possibilities posed by pollinated passions.
As we divine dallying delights depicting developing days,
Moonbeams mobilize to mob us on the mossy mound.
Tinted glass whimsies
Seductive slowly spun
kaleidoscopic pairings
changing in illumined awareness,
tinted glass whimsies
“How far can you bend the light?”
Sculpting temptation,
seeking colored fancies
in cylindrical designs
consistently different
“Do you dream in color?”
Mosaic contours flow,
prismatic burst of joy,
variegated vivid visions,
not alike another
“Is your heart the variable?”
Passion is vibrant
intensely hued brilliance
ever changing within
twisting and turning patterns
"Did you know sunsets could dance?"
Painting evening heavens
amethyst shades,
moonbeam reflections
woven in stardust eyes
“Nothing ever appears the same when you are in love”
Good night Soupers
hid insecurities within
ambiguous humor &
convoluted whimsies,
rules consistently changing
in a game which required
hardly more than breath,
nothing less than obscurity
twisting a fallible fancy,
seizing day's intangibility
Poetry is the air I breathe,
lifeblood trickling 'tween
luscious marrow in my bones,
existentially rooted crux reflecting
Amen's utterances & hallelujah certainties
'round reality's technical formalities
foreshadowing furthermost prevalence
of comprehensive earthy assumptions
& defining whispered whimsies,
exhaled betwixt sunrise's saturated ache
for fiery transpired virtual presence,
literally composed of complicit
synchronicity resoundingly set ablaze
mid expounded otherworldly desires
He was poetically intolerant,
she thought herself an Emily
writing sonnets 'how do I love...'
he indulged her feeble whimsies
in light of other finessed talents,
essentially, larks amidst boudoir's
uncommonly emboldened expertise
Dear Lord,
I know the end is soon to come
My frightened heart beats like a drum
Past events in visual recall
In rapid succession I appraise them all
WAS this my life after three score and ten
The avariciousness of a thieves den
WAS this my life ignorant still
Low in Spirit and weak in will
WAS this my life a degenerate mess
Rejecting assistance with such casualness
WAS this my life filled with wanton delight
Nonsensical whimsies without any respite
Dear Lord, I want to cancel it out
Forgive me my sins in alarm I shout
Lost Sheep, YOU are my chosen one
Throughout YOUR meanderings a light has shone
YOU have faltered oft I know
But throughout each betrayal I have loved you so
YOUR cries for help have not been in vain
YOUR triumphs my loss, each confession my gain
YOUR deeds good and bad are in your eyes
So few of mankind do apologise
Love is YOUR gift on your sleeping face
Peaceful at last in my constant embrace
Theresa Stephens
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