This is one of the shortest poems I’ve ever drafted. Many people think my poetry blocks are separate poems, but they’re actually all one post – I think it’s in being ethnically Russian that makes me so verbose. Sometimes I think I’m entirely composed of words. Enjoy. – Elle
In a cream sweater, I lie polished in the sand Me, right there, with just the right tan Your diamond slippers Soft chain-tainted, frozen and milky bite Sweet medallion, golden skyline Treasured and regarded Held too tight
Never enough It’s never enough I’m never enough Never enough It’s never enough I’m never
Like cobblestone paths that I walked along in the summertime Sweet and concrete Soft like the horizon That falls like a ghost, which I warned you about Not once, twice – not once, many times Sweet, hazel eyes Blemished skin Soothing fireplace memories and lullabies in notebooks Lined with crisp-white, apricot pages Laced garments Torn to pieces Left for those who traveled never too far away from where they were raised To lay down forever, at least in the garden Until the fountain ceases to calculate its own mistakes
Tell me what it is you dream about
I flat iron my hair, and I separate the strands They fall I’m beside myself And I think of diamonds Gazing at the dandelions on my coffee table I notice that the table leg is about to come apart
Never enough It’s never enough I’m never enough Never enough It’s never enough I’m never
I told him he could have Any part of me that he wanted All the marble he envisioned Chilled and defeatist, but forever unmoving Sparkles that shape the tide of your marked ingenuity Cold heaven, sacred Worn out walls of fibers and satin sheath At sundown, we rest and reprieve Find solace in the mistakes that counted against us One by one
Rosemary falls beneath you like evangelical riverbeds Rainfall on a crisp white, bestowed meadow Damsel in distress, sitting at Cape Cod Breathing in the marine layer Decadent, but desolate perchance A personal favor for nobody In particular
If you have a minute Cos you always have a minute For me Save me some time Buy mine sharply, but not robustly Golden edges Soft-lit amber haze that spins like a year of soft rock (lamenting, slowly) Lightning Moons that belong to seasons and Seasons that belong to no one In particular
If ownership is inconsequential of time And we all have time For other people Do we, do we? What is it that we desire? If only If only I could have made my mark by now
I lapsed into a momentum where I could not shift my gaze correctly at the afterthought of How I made sense to nobody And nobody made love to me Why would they? Would they, even? Would I let anyone see me in that still? When my hazel eyes bend like the seas How could I summon anything more glamorous than how the evening resides in a French solitude that complements my need for quality alone time
When I am not made of silk or marble but Fragments of broken chamber orchestras That cascade like I’m running away from forever A soft drink on a Wednesday, in gloomy July A honeymoon for your favourite runaway bride
On the flight, they asked if I wanted alcohol And I erupted in a laughter that was Seemingly inappropriate For the vague informality of the occasion.
In rapture I used to be unable to feel thrills because my being did not accept them as kind One amongst the wolves Rambunctious and heroic in nature, but a hero to no one
Don’t get me confused I do find it amusing How the symphony plays all of their longest songs just for me And how nobody ever really takes hold of your name Or your posture When you’ve Spent your life Awake by pretense
An effort to be In combat, like a dove, A soft sparrow, seemingly longing for an ending to the illusion With whom? With whom do I share my fears! What cave do I run to when I’m cold, covered in mud Shivering and despondent
They know my face but haven’t counted the dots on my cheeks They don’t know what I look like when I cry Or why I do If I ever Decide to break the stillness of my figure That makes me heavenly in God’s eyes
There is no reason to run I say, I say to myself; I say it often. Settle here forever in the dawn of the styrofoam melted cacophony where I and you melt in two interchangeable pastel colours Decide to go on a journey because we are Bored And so tired of being chained to our demonic vanity mirrors
Alone But in plenty Of patient, never-forgetting ambitions & daydreams
I lost the ending to our story I just Let it slip Away from where I sleep at night
Portrait of Princess Tatyana Yusupova (1850) by Franz Xaver Winterhalter, oil on canvas
A chance for melancholia to clash with the force of nature To detract from a foreign film A lost, aching still An avalanche of surprise Beguiled by sheer imagination and phosphorescent icing
That smothers a kingdom like the holiest ghost Always bittersweet to the liking Made for sharp, pristine vengeance
Sans Titre (Untitled) 115 by Eliane L. Guerin, oil on canvas
In my own reserved portrait of solitude Gazing vibrantly at the majestic cars that drive by The classics, the tragic The ancient and recumbent Reoccurring in stunning ways I could not even think to properly illuminate in due time Typing Silently Wishing you were next to me Smiling The way you do The way you do So magnificent Eyes glimmering in concave and crimson, blue God, I was this close to being obsessed with you
I feel like A teenager An angry one A bitter fool Mad at myself because I brushed away the The fleeting thoughts of nah, he won’t like me if I say that Nah, he won’t like me if I wear that Nah
The Bath (1874) by Alfred Emile Leopold Stevens, oil on canvas
I’m moving in circles because I forgot how to dance I forgot how to feel alive I trip over my own words Everything is in disarray I thought you were going I thought you were going I thought you were going to make it work I thought you were I thought you were I thought you were going to make it work with me I thought you were I so thought you would have Made it work with me And that would be Meaningful Hopeful Spontaneously planned Crimson and clover all over Soft rubber bands
Now you’ve got me in a pit and you Hung up on me I threw my cellular device on the street I don’t want to talk to anybody Anybody at all Anybody at all Anybody at all Anybody at all
I’m not writing another poem about a boy that doesn’t have the strength to come Tell me it’s not working Stand there in your clandestine flesh Stand there, giving me a real piece of yourself Look at me with dandelions in my hair
Mending the Gown (early 20th century) by Adolphe Borie (1877-1934), oil on canvas, figurative artwork
Don’t say I’m too charming for you Tell me I’m too alarming for you Tell me I scare the living daylights out of you
And you’ve got other girls calling you Answer the phone in front of me Take the flowers out of my hair Push me down on the tar-stained sidewalk Bully me like you do on your bad days Get your way
That’s how I want you to leave me
Not like Not like Not like Not like Not like Not like Not like Not like
Open Air Interior Barcelona (1892) by Ramon Casos i Carbo, oil on canvas
A free verse poem interpolating love and boredom, those mutually excluded. I write about my surroundings and how I respond to them; I write about you and how I’m feeling enamoured, but I won’t make this a love poem. www.paypal.me/LilacDoveCA
I’ll slip like a satin glove One abstraction over another, turn the pages, can’t stop reading textbooks on topics I haven’t reached yet in my academia London print and soft pastels to remind me softness still exists In little teacups filled with daredevil laughter
How do I Distract from the blue light filter I’ve got this covenant, this modern-day orchestration A plate of cinnamon toast for two With soy whipped cream and untouched, fresh blueberries A breakfast in the comfort of our living room With the television on, Vintage advertisements Try it for yourself, buy it, now! We put our heads in our hands, switching places Serenade me, serenade me Run away with me
Impressed by my collection of 14.2 carat diamonds I knew it wasn’t right, but I find it hard to stop myself from trying When you hear me tell my truth, you think I’m lying A country house’s ceiling covered in coral-buff-pink that doesn’t compete with the furniture and artwork in the room I don’t believe I’ve lived this life before I say silent goodbyes to the waves when I swim towards the shore Never settling in life because there’s always something more
But I’m patient, I can wait I know how to play this waiting game But I’m patient, I don’t hesitate to hesitate I know how to play this waiting game
You spend your life attached to the poison You see the same things in every new person But I – I find waves to weave my carefully knit spiderweb The remnants of my being (but I swore I could be tranquil) I engulfed you like a macrophage I brought you to the Heavens They asked me for all my pennies and I said all I could offer were dimes In an aster black & dune-white coin purse With wild daisies in watercolour Where I keep a ticket stub from our day at the ballet Our day in the sweet vermouth from the South Your shots of whiskey – endless, hopeless- almost!
But I found you out by the car, near the diner with the half-lit sun-kissed sign That illuminates the grey tones of the weakened sky I’ve yet to find a relation that feels like spiral twine In due time My dear one It always takes time
Crumpets in bed, you’re so sweet; why are you doing these things for me The back of your Carrera that you lean on when I find you Down, downtrodden In a medieval, Victorian garden I found roses that smelled like the ones you once bought for me I wrote secrets down on receipts for other people to find And they’ll have no idea what I’m talking about What I’m writing about They always have no idea what I’m composing about What I’m going on about Often too timid to say what I’m handling out loud (In the wild Texan landscape, I screamed without making a sound)
But you, cast like the sun’s sharp, contrasted rays upon the deep blue, dark steel water body that is Where I swim against the current because it’s the closest I manage to get to what others feel from amphetamines A satin blanket with a cushion for our picnic by the bayside
You, there, me – laughing when I look at you Think I know why you do the things you do But nobody is ever sure of anything, how can they be? I’m the Chicago princess, the flat-rate bourgeoisie Things that make most sense to you don’t mollify me In the orbit of the moon I am your apogee
How is your gaze so familiar when it’s just out of sight? Inoperative like a 1990s old engine Civic brake light But I’ll be the warm air watching your gunfight With the resilience and nepotism of stunning graphite Like the perfect backdrop Like an ivory white snowstorm while indoors I’m what the mosquitos won’t ever bite
I think it’s sweet, how people give you their time In a palace where everybody always feels they’re running out of such a concept, The ballgame isn’t enough (Oh, you think you’re so tough?) Pour me iced green tea Show me you can be there for me Tell me I’ve been disillusioned Replace the terror in me
Satin-pink signature bowtie on the back of my tulle dress, and flower petals arranged to counter my dismay I am a lovable girl Who loves in the most appropriate way
The kind of girl that sends you straight to fame Ambition my only pursuit, I write you love letters on the train
I am bored with how it hasn’t yet rained In days In days In days In days In days In days In days In days
