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Elihu Barachel Feb 2015
Your Damnation slumbers not, in Hell you're going to burn
EVERY Queerass ******, CONDEMNATION you did earn
-
So while your still alive, skip along your merry way
Soon you'll be in Hell, God your soul will slay
-
Pretend it isn't so, deny the Word of God
When you finally burn in Hell, then I will applaud
-
Tisk-tisk oh ****** Fruitcake, my poem you don't like?
Read it to your buddy, and every single ****
-
Read it ****** Fruitcake! Read the part where you will BURN
Read it Fruitcake Queer! Your DAMNITION you did earn
The Silence Apr 2017
Something I have not quite understood
As to why it is part of Christmas.
Tis the season,
For fruitcake.
A little bundle of squishy undercooked bread
Stuffed with candied fruits and nuts.
The loaf of
No thank you...please.
Though seemingly undesired,
The dessert reigns on.
Wrapped in clear plastic
So that you may marvel at its artificial glory.
Tied off with a bow.
Ready to be received by those you love most.
Tis the season,
**For fruitcake.
I realize it is far past Christmas but it snowed yesterday. It seems appropriate now :)
Larissa Frost Dec 2020
I never liked
Fruitcake
Just like the way
I never liked
The way you treated
Me like trash.
So I showed you
The way out
And I survived
Ironic though
people still
eat fruitcake.


                      -L. Frost
Blowing a plume of toxic smoke.                  Into the nebulous reflection of a pallid wasted face                                                      He grinsfrom ear to ear.                               The blood painted vulpine smile of a lunatic clown.                                                      The mirror  image confuses the conflicted. Yet it speaks rancorous truths                                                                 This is a very special day indeed.                Fruitcake Day.    We have all been released from the cages   The human zoo has opened the gates of hell.                  Party hats are donned by the very special people as they walk about doomed to mortality. Let them enjoy brief moments of light.  Placid and placated. Walking in a daze. Give them Thorazine lollipops and free passes. The bat cages are lying in wait
Olivia Kent May 2014
Darling was a fruit cake,
soft,
moist,
sweet,
always very fruity,
crunchy,
Demerera sprinkled on the top,

sat on the lawn,
had a picnic,
my darling fruitcake,
oh my beautiful fruitcake,
I left my fruitcake,
on a plate edged,
with gilt,

All of a sudden,
awe,
shock,
and horror,
all of a sudden,
a weird bird came,
she pecked away my lover,
she stole his eyes,
he could not see,
she fancied him as her ****,
that bird!
(C) Livvi
Ha ha ! **
Elihu Barachel Feb 2015
Tell me ****** Fruitcake, tell me Fruitcake Queer
Do you wipe the **** from off your ****, after ******* your sweet dear?
-
Or does your partner lick it off, while you 69?
Yummy yummy chocolate! A flavor so sublime
-
Hey ****** Queerass Fruitcake, did it ever come to mind?
That you're going to burn in Hell, you'll be there for all time
Macstoire Mar 2014
You can yank me out of Yorkshire but I still want Yorkshire pudding
You can send me south but I’ll still go bargain hunting
Even though it is that I live in the South
I still have a hint of the northern mouth
Well that’s what the southerners say
But I’m sure to you it doesn’t sound that way
Anyway regardless where I am at
I’m Yorkshire bred and that’s a fact
To present this case to you
Some traits of yours; I have a few
I chose cheese to partner fruitcake
And forever search for savings to make
I always speak what’s on my mind
Which at times southerners think unkind
Though they themselves aren’t so good
When it comes to small talk in moments stood
A stranger is a momentary friend to a northerner
Whilst the southerner stands awkwardly waiting
I know which I would rather be
Let’s just say it has its’ own tea
So I am most pleased to see
That so much of you has rubbed off on me
For you my northern family
Are in my thoughts more than you know
And without you I would not be so
For my Grandparents in Redcar, Christmas 2012
Duncan Brown Sep 2018
Not long after the beginning, and a bit before the end, the Almighty said to Noah: “Is that your real name?” “Yeah”, said Noah: “you gave it to me, your ever generousness. I was hoping for something a bit more romantic, maybe even an extra syllable or two, or become all psychedelic and have a hyphen and a double barrel, but Noah is functional. I’m not complaining, a lot. After all what’s in a name? Wouldn’t a cactus be just as uninteresting if it was called something else? Why am I and my not very exciting name so humbly in your almighty and quite tedious presence?” asked Noah. “I’ve had a great idea”, said God: “and I want you with the very boring name to be the first to hear it.” “Can’t wait to hear it your Denseness, even if it is only half as brilliant as the square wheeled chariot and deep-fried ice cube you nearly invented for us last week; and as for the three-armed jacket, well what can I say? Jacob wears his every day and I won’t tell you what he does with it at night, as it involves folk music. And didn’t the Paisley patterned boulder illuminate the landscape?” said Noah “Oh good”, said God: “I do so enjoy it when the minions are attentive to my every word and trembling syllable, What’s the point of being an Almighty if you can’t Almighty it over the lower orders from time to time?” “I couldn’t agree more, your Bampotness. Even if you do appear to be a few slices short of a full loaf on occasions. So, what’s this big idea you’ve had?” said Noah. “I want you to build a boat, the biggest and bestest boat there’s ever been” said God. “Why”, said Noah, “we live in a desert, we don’t do boats; never have done, don’t get a lot of call for them in these parts, your Obliqueness. Ordinarily you’re every utterance is a symphony of sound and beauty to the sticky out bits on the abstract countenance you have so generously created for me, O Guano features. Couldn’t you do another plague of frogs and locusts? We loved those. Your subjects haven’t eaten so well since. Very tasty they were indeed, and so much more nourishing than the daily fare of cactus bark and centipede you dish up to us as we go about our increasingly diminishing mortal trespass. I hope you weren’t baffled by the paradoxical construction of that sentence. One Almighty’s punishment is another lowly minion’s business opportunity. I was running a fast food joint while it lasted. Made a change from the normal feast, where you have to catch your dinner before it catches you. Eat before your eaten that’s the Law ‘round here. It makes you feel more like a recipe than a person on occasions, your Compostness.” “Be that as it may, said God: “I’ve got some drawings which Eve helped me to make” “Eve?”  said Noah: “did you say Eve?” “Yes” said God: “Eve”, that’s what I said, she likes me more than all the rest of you put together and that’s why she’s my favourite” “This will be good” said Noah: “let’s be having it. Let’s see the cosmic blueprint of a less than useless boat that Eve devised” “I helped to devise it as well”, said God: “In fact I done all the pencil sharpening, and here it is.” Noah sniggered and said: “That’s not a boat it’s a camel!” “Brilliant, isn’t it?”, said God: “you’ve got to hand it to Eve; she’s a genius at this kind of stuff, and she says it will make me look jolly clever as well. And that will stop all you ungrateful and wretched minions from smirking and sniggering every time I have a wonderful idea.” “This is even better than the ten commandments, three dos six don’ts and a maybe” said Noah. “My Ten commandments were wonderful” said God: “even Moses said so.” “The only reason you have ten commandments”, said Noah: “is because you have ten fingers. If you had seventeen fingers we would have seventeen commandments; one for each digit. People who use their toes to count their fingers should avoid life’s mathematical complexities. And as for Moses ‘The Born Leader’ he’s a party hack. He’ll agree with anything you say as long as he gets his name on the tablet. He’s publicity mad. When he grows up he wants to chisel the definitive text on cactus attraction, for the benefit of future desert wanderers. Eve says he a bit of a Freudian fruitcake on the quiet, whatever that is. She also says, his mother told him he was adopted, and he’s never quite got over it.” “Why would Moses want to get over a cactus, seems jolly silly to me” said God: “He’s a complete basket case, according to the local grapevine. Never mind all that, let’s see the blueprint.” said Noah: “A wooden camel, only a cosmic idiot could imagine it. If it was a wooden horse it could have been sold to the Trojans, or a wooden cat to the Pharoahs, and I’m told the antipodeans go a bundle on timber budgies, but camels; nobody wants one, not even other camels. How did someone as colossally dense and as infinitely thick as your self acquire the surreallness of thought to imagine it in the first place?” said Noah. “You’re a bright little chappie for a minion”, said God: “Eve told me about the Greeks and their wooden gee-gee and I suggested a boat, then Eve pointed out that this was a desert, and consequently we need a desert boat. ‘One that floats on sand’, I said. ‘Not quite El Plonkero’ she said. Then Eve said we have to adopt and then apply some lateral thinking to the problem. She pointed out that we live in a desert and that we need a boat that sails in the desert. And then I had the mostest cleverest thought I’ve had in ages. We need a ‘desert boat’ I exclaimed. And Eve said I was a true plankton eater. She says the nicest things to me. A ‘ship of the desert,’ she says, ‘and what’s a ship of the desert?’  Quick as a flasher in the rush hour, I said ‘a camel’, and Eve replied that I was quite bright for a log, and that camel plus ship equalled wooden camel to sail away from here to some other paradise she called Hollywood, ‘Land of heavenly bodies and the drop dead gorgeous Brad Pitt.’” “And you believed her?” said Noah. “Of course I believed her”, said God: “she’s Eve and if you can’t believe in Eve what else is there to believe in?” “There’s an answer to that”, said Noah: “but you’d toast me like a heretic on the happy juice if I repeated it, your Doorknobness.”
rootsbudsflowers Jul 2016
She sends me snippets of her body in photographs. If I was meant to forget her then why would she torture me so? Her hands and her hair. Her eyes and neck and lips. So vivid in a glimpse, I can taste her. Not so innocent when she's unzipping her top in this shot. Not so sweet as she sends me her bare hips.
Photographs.
Are such.
A tease.
Why throw it out of it doesn't go bad?
Brandon Navarro Aug 2014
We are groups of people
made to hate
because of who we love
not what we stand for.
Did no one listen to
your parents?
You treat others how you want to be treated
not
throwing beer bottles
and whining when it misses their head
not
coming at them with a knife
because a man is holding a man's hand.
We are taught as kids
being gay isn't okay.
You could be a murderer
but you can't love another man.
Why?
Why
can't I love who I love.
People would rather
have a man dying alone
in the hospital
because his boyfriend of 35 years
isn't his husband
than letting love flourish.
People would rather **** us off
than understand.
People would have broken homes
where kids come home to beatings
their head shoved in an oven
*****
molested
beaten to a pulp
cigars burned out on their arms
and hit with beer bottles to
the point of being broken
than to let a happily loving couple of two men
to have that child.
They would rather see
a red sea of bodies
than to allow us
to live.
People would rather say
"******"
"fruitcake"
"***"
"fairy"
and watch their child slit his wrist
for every time he looks at a man
and feels a twinge of love
than to let him be happy.
They would rather torcher and torment children to the point
of mental breakdowns
rushing blood
soar throats
living alone
on the streets
no love
pretending.
Than to let them be them.
People love purple
that it means freedom
but I like the rainbow.
Rainbows have a million colours
and not one colour is quite the same hue.
No one hates rainbows
or the gorgeous colours it has.
Not many notice the differences
of them so,
why can't everyone
treat other people
like we're rainbows?
Anonymous May 2014
"And now please welcome today's anti-terrorism speaker, Anonymous!"

[anonymous applause, dwindling out]

"Thanks, everyone. The reason I prefer anonymity should be self-evident, but just to make it clear, I wish to avoid the recrimination of the hostile element."

"Before I got here I was just reading, and believe me I'm still not believing, but it would seem, on the whole, that planetary aggression is on the slow."

A hand is raised
A hand is ignored
The speaker moistens his lips
Prepared to emit a bit more.

"I have stats and stories
Tortuous anecdotes about little girls and boys
Food and sanitation is a crime itself
And I'm prepared to say we live in our own hell."

Arms upheld wither down
As new hands reach for attention
But the speaker ignores them all
Intent on his own presentation.

"The reason for hate
Is more or less clear
We fiercely believe one thing
As they devoutly believe another.

But do not fear!
We are right and they are wrong
They saddle their own children with a death song
No cartoons of basic morality
Just legs with bombs
Made to go off remotely."

An angry rustle
Amidst lowered hands
Quieting now
Like they're getting the hang of it.

"Humans are robots
Programmable, malleable and sometimes trustworthy
Highly complicated machinery!
Indoctrination is the virus
That seeks to destroy the outside."

Again the raised hands
And eyebrows too
All these fluttering robots
Fluttering in a pseudo-free zoo.

Ignoring the obvious
The speaker plods onwards
But modulates his voice
Against their trained reactions.

"We need to accept and enfold
An ideology only thousands of years old
To mutate and twist
Into what our children might wish."

Someone yells "Disney!"
Another mutters "Black whiteys"
But there are a few
Who remain to hear it through.

"Despite what you think
Despite who you are
Against all you've been taught
We've come quite far.

You may not know your son
You may not know your daughter
But leave them alone
And tomorrow may happen.

Put the guns aside
Drink from your hidden bottles without shame
You are who you are
And you should let them be them."

This is not what anyone wanted
Anyone over the age of ten
This is not what anyone wanted
With children and the urge to brainwash them.

The room trickles out
Leaving the most devout
Devoted to the future
Any future left standing.

But amidst this group
Are hard-liner elements
And one has a voice
Cutting through it all
To ask, "What about bomber babies?"

And riding right on top
Is a fat slobbery Republican fop
Demanding in his self-entitled way
"What the **** about America?"

The speaker shrugs
As if to indicate
Which question
Is more stupid.

"We seek to leave the planet
And develop tech to make it happen
You go your way
And we go ours."

The room is smaller now
They indulge in eye contact
Personal communications
Words, hands, heads and eyebrows.

The speaker sighs
As if on the cusp of absolute honesty
Then spills his true guts
To these few radicals and emissaries:

"Our worst enemy is ourselves
Through millennia fashioning our own hells
Subjugation of non-prominent DNA
Believing destruction will pave the way.

But on a not-much larger scale
We're just cheap entertainment
For every other race
That crawled up this hill."

The crowd is slightly subdued
Probably more from shame
Than anything
Because shame is in the DNA
And experienced by everyone.

But we can always rely
On some fat Republican to decry
"But not me!
And for sure not my children!"

And now even more file out
Hearts emptied and minds afloat
Now it's just the sweating speaker
And a few odd haters.

"We're a microbial phenomenon
Miraculously still alive
And still inept
At staying alive."

He waves a casual hand like a maestro
And behind him the stage glows
A 30x30 screen descends
Illuminating bugs as they crawl.

"We're slightly smarter
But no more hardier
Than Hymenoptera
Except we can leave this planet."

Red-faced and obviously insulted
The old fat plushy storms out
Leaving now just a few
To adopt this future-flung view.

"We need to terraform and colonize
Sure, and design space suits
Pleasing to the eye
But ultimately,
We need to get the hell gone."

One clap, one frown
The speaker shrugs
As if wondering
Why aren't we all gone?

And so he is left
With the clean-up crew
And one fruitcake
Who asks
"Will God come with us?"
Daisy King Aug 2013
Dear Daisy,, age 8, family fruitcake:
Keep at it, but don't feel proud about it.
Just keep going, because it's working.

Dear Daisy, age 11, addressed to boarding school:
You will learn something from this torture.
You will learn about forgiveness.

Dear Daisy, age 13, subject- your disappearing acts:
You are not ugly or undeserving or fat
or anything that she told you. I know you feel alone
but you could tell someone what's going and speak out
because you're not stupid if you open your mouth
and you ought to be more like what you want, not a clones.

Dear Daisy, age 15, congrats on the weight lost and gained!
You went through hell, and yes, you proved it
you can starve yourself, harm yourself, and tell lies very well
but you put the ones who love you through hell too
and you're lucky they love you anyways and for any whys
so just don't do it again.

Dear Daisy, age 17, subject: stop:
It is not your body that did this and  you did say no.

Dear Daisy, age 19, to UCL halls:
He deserves better and he's not right for you
and you're not the girl for him, you're pretending to be her
and you know it too-
You love him so much, so let him go.
That would be the kindest thing to do.

Dear Daisy, age 21, to Amber Ward, High Mental Health Institution:
You've been losing your mind for more than a year now
but you have looked and seen it's actually been far longer.
This is real now, and you haven't a clue who you really are.
With these new eyes, you can see you've made yourself up
since you were younger,
and you believed your act until it became true.
Don't look back and don't pretend you have't realised
what you can't un-see now, even though it was easier
back then when you didn't have to care.
And who knows? Maybe you will always feel this-
anxious and confused and scared,
but at least you're not fictional. You can become fact
so don't look back. That's the cowardly thing to do.
Just keep at it, like you did when you were 8
because it will work, and it will this time too
but then you were doing it for everybody else
and now, who the hell are you?

Dear Daisy, received yesterday:
don't stress and lose sleep for worrying
because you've got a Masters waiting and you don't want to get ill
and don't worry because tomorrow may be unthinkable
but it's coming. It always does,
so calm down and sit still.
Marshall Gass Jun 2014
Crew cut kiss curl stood
above the goose steeping generals
with empty heads and olive green
jackets
dangling aluminium  war medals
for shooting ducks across the border
flying over Seoul

“Nfeuirok2fmdfiwe384194u3ujriwejm"
crew-cut kiss curl yelled.
“I told you 091874874814729”
( his swedish education was now showing!)

The train pulled out of pyongyang
with two thousand dead
that fed the famine. Only the driver
was alive clutching a loaf of bread.

stacked with cardboard cutout missiles
atop 1920s tanks and
painted with bloodred honesty
the entire nation goose stepped
to crew cuts orders.

He was as nutty as a fruitcake
but nobody laughed when he loaded
his only nuclear missile to bring down
the last remaining duck heading to Siberia.

Ha ha!

Author Notes
This is not a joke. Or is it?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
SWB Aug 2011
It can’t be TOO hard- being a duck that is.
My stomach growled watching a tot feeding a duck in the castle garden,
then my famished gears started turning.
Right.  That’d be nice- I could go for some bread and a swim.
Ducks don’t even have to work for food- not these ducks
-they get fed.
I have to shop for bread,
and that’s not the half of it.
First I have to get to the bread,
which means risking it in my tired van
or sitting on a bus with a perfect smelly stranger
or pushing my luck crossing a bustling street.
And then, if I’m not way-laid…BREAD!
But I can’t just stuff it down my gullet,
and sure as day nobody’s gonna feed it to me.
The worst that can happen to a duck
eating bread
is getting its head wet…or choking on fruitcake.
Just when I was feeling particularly underprivileged
on the food chain,
I thought of my great grandfather
and his wooden decoy duck bobs
still sitting on my hearth back in Indiana,
and I thought of the dogs he used to chase the felled birds
and I thought of the bullets and the sharp October air, and the teeth,
and I felt silly.
Elihu Barachel Mar 2015
So Kevin kicked me off, he kicked me off his site
Says don't bash ****** Queers, so I'll do that just for spite
-
Hi-yea Kevin hi-yea, how's your ****** ***?
Don't you like my poem? Don't you like my sass?
-
Why is that ****** Fruitcake? Because I tell you where you'll go?
You'll go to Hell and burn, and your poetry forgo
-
When's this going to be? Sooner than you think
The Lake of Fire awaits, you teeter on the brink
Biscuit and sorghum syrup happy faces with Georgia peach butter and blackberry muffins , childhood favorites that tickle the palette !
For a bag of Fall persimmons , a handful of roasted pecans I would gladly cross the Alcovy River naked as a jaybird !
Rutabagas , turnips and cracklin cornbread would be my staple of choice if marooned on an island , a Frosty Root beer and mothers egg custard !
Peach ice cream and scuppernong jelly , fig preserves and tomato gravy !
Columbus grits and Claxton fruitcake , Vidalia onion rings , Elijay apples !
In my next life I relish the very thought of becoming a Cardinal , turned loose in a muscadine arbor ! The most heart stopping  , meanest scarecrow ever made would be no match for a wise old crow in a watermelon patch ! Mockingbird busy in a old plum tree , a honeybee in a clover field as far as the eye can see !
Copyright November 5 , 2015 by randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
JoJo Nguyen Feb 2013
There's a Tale of hare
named Bugs, wisecracking
Brooklyn speedster
who raced against
a Tortoise green.

Mercedes grey speeding
along, distancing
a schlepping spect,
a North Face jacket
on fruitcake's trek.

4000 fast
and sleek.
8 slow
and green.

Neither racers strangely
notice that child
born on dented stripes,
warning bumps
by side road way.

Is life a sacred race?
Marriage sacrament
a finishing face?
Dying memories trace
a cove and net
lacing U and who?

What's up Doc?
Eating healthy,
eating carrots?
I hear your voice
who's love does bare.

False Saffron leiter  
extort and retorts weiter!
Komisch verwaltung
Schwartz holzteer
baiting babies to finish fear.

A cartoon film
skipping and tear
telling a child's tale
reel ending here.
you see they say i’m a spy

but i say i am a writer

i really hate these people in here

you see they a rev nutty as a fruitcake

and they have no brains

but they are poor

they just think they are giving me what i want

you see, as i write these thoughts down

they say to fucken me

that i am a spy who is trying to bring the universe to earth, yes i am

and this lady, needs to leave me, cause she is spoiling the aura

of what i am doing here

there is nothing fucken wrong with what i am doing

but i don’t want to squabble with them, or get in cat fights

cause these people are dangerous if you run them up the wrong way

ya see, everyone wants to come here to have

a bit of peace and quiet,

but there versions of peace and quiet is queer, dudes

this lady claims people are poisoning her

she is a real CRAZY lady

and needs to be locked up for 2000 years or something

ya see only little babies do what she does

and i can’t understand why she is nice one minute

and suddenly turns nasty, dudes

yeah dudes, she has these crazy delusions that

the world is out to get her

and i am trying to bring her to outer space, to let her sing

but in hindsight it appears, she doesn’t want to sing

i don’t believe she is getting married

who would marry an ugly woman like her, anyway

she’s an old fucken hag, one minute she’s nice

and the next minute she’s nasty

also she has people to protect her if she tried to **** herself

ya see she’s nice but she can turn nasty

and is she just pretending to get married

to try and fool people,

so i want cronus to get into her mind,

but she hates mind games

and she is nutty as a fruitcake

and i hope she falls into the river with the old memories of the loch ness monster

can emerge in lake burley griffin

saying, if this woman is forced to **** herself, let’s keep her alive
Elihu Barachel Feb 2015
How "Gay" do you suppose, do you suppose you'll be
When In Hell you burn, for all eternity
-
Every ****** every Queer, every **** and ****
You're going to burn in Hell, while Satan ***** your ****
-
He'll tie you to a stump, barbed wire he will use
Sulfuric acid boiling hot, out his **** does ooze
-
Then there are the Demons...can't wait to get their turn
Pumping ******* pumping, in the place of no return
-
When they get tuckered out, a red-hot ***** they will use
They'll ram it up your ***, while they put to you the screws
-
Yes-sir-ee you'll be so "Gay", while you burn forevermore
You ****** Queerass Fruitcake, God does you deplore
David Aug 2014
Despite impending loneliness threatening to suffocate me, one optimistic thought came my way as I strolled wearily homeward today from my work at the library.
Some compensations for isolation might prove as written in the following list.

1) I am not required to retire to bed or awaken at any given hour.
2) I possess the rare ability of being allowed the choice of my own meals and also the given time at which I prefer to eat, whether it be meager or hearty portion of vittles. Perhaps I may fast from breakfast altogether, and then again may feast upon indigestible dainties such as doughnuts or fruitcake upon retiring, accompanied by a novel of my given choice.
3) I am free to write poetry or from such to refrain according to my mood.
4) If I spill my tea or bread and butter falls onto the floor, who cares?
5) Nobody can demand me to clean the house even if it looks quite untidy.
6) If I sing or hum out of tune, there is no risk of anyone laughing at me.
7) If I fall into a trance of reverie and am out of touch with reality, who can upbraid me?

The list could go on and on interminably, but to sum the matter up, in short, I can most thoroughly indulge in all my whims be they ever so eccentric in tranquil solitude with no threat of a wife to nag or henpeck me. I am free to cry, laugh, sing, daydream, talk to myself, and every other foolish or wise thing a healthy man might crave to accomplish.
Thus musing upon these blessings, I strolled homeward with a lighter heart despite life's insurmountable obstacles.
copyright David upon August 11, 2014
Mote Dec 2014
I pulled out a scarf and pretended to be a fortune teller;
thick insense, marijuana. Lottery smile.
I'd never lie about my lucky document shredder, my broken down motorcycle.

Not like cheap wine poured over cellulite; a hog dripping blood; she hunter fed on leaves.

Should the basketball hoop fall at a different angle and spare your clavicle, you would
see smoke signals from the squatters place- their fruitcake is delicious.

Can't be sure about their dog though,  their dog had rabies and a collar that says FREELANCE.

I put too much hot sauce in the hashbrowns. I was still drunk.
I told my boyfriend his fortune was insincere,
that I am [today] a dead pilot and a stripper and a jilted florist all before noon.
Bridget Becker Sep 2010
Grandma’s table stood firm and square,
against her Irish charm.
She chopped the chicken and Friday cod
as though they'd done her wrong.
“Mother MacCree!” was her favorite curse,
when her cleaver missed the  mark.

Grandma’s table could tell the tales
of shenanigans four stories down.
“There’s Jason O’Flannigan, drunk, poor soul,
and Marie, God love her, chasin’ the fool,
waving a fryin’ pan, can ya blame her?
And sure it’s a cryin’ shame, God  forgive me.”

Grandma’s table repaired our clothing,
With motley findings carefully chosen
from handpainted fruitcake tins.
We eagerly sorted through buttons and snaps,
carefully snatched up the nearest match
she sewed on dresses, blouses and hats.

Grandma‘s table is with me now,
the center of daily life.
Stained and scarred on wobbly legs,
a journal of ten thousand days.
Her legacy softens each crevice and nick,
like a cloth of white Irish lace.
Revised
James Hodge Feb 2013
Trapped in the rabbit hole, forever a lifelong journey
To meet and greet the cards and paint the roses red.
Sipping tea from cups that look more like forks.
Where has the Hatter gone, along with his parter the Hare?
And what of Mr. Dormouse? He's gotta be in there.
The Queen of Hearts has faded away, like a palpitation.
The Cheshire cat has spent his nine, giggling in the dark.
Dare we speak of Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee?
They got a domestic partnership, and live forever as combs.
Then we come to the White Rabbit, who seemingly late
had to be eaten, and tasted rather great.
The most pleasing thing to my mind
Was that the flower bed, soft for chattering lilies and roses
Was now harder than fruitcake, severing their vocal chords.
Now they just stood there, silent and foreboding.
All the while, I was the hub of Wonderland.
That's what you get when an Amazon goes down the Rabbit hole.
(Inspired from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass)
Allen Wilbert Sep 2013
Hey everyone have you heard the news.
Someone has loosened all my screws.
Some might say I'm cuckoo for cocoa puffs.
I may be crazy but I need no cuffs.
Weird I am but in a good way.
When I talk, I always spray.
Mentally ill people call my strange.
My brain just needs an oil change.
Nothing wrong with being unusual.
My feelings of you are evenly mutual.
At times I can be very odd.
I can't help that I am God.
Not rich enough to be eccentric.
Not poor enough to be egocentric.
My elevator doesn't go to the top.
As a baby I must have been dropped.
Someone blew out my pilot light.
Never been accused of being bright.
No one on Earth is more flaky.
If I'm nervous, I become shaky.
Its fun being nutty as a fruitcake.
Leave me alone and give me a break.
You might say I'm off my rocker.
To all beautiful girls I am a stalker.
I have never played with a full deck.
Sometimes in my pants, I have a wreck.
Many of my marbles are still missing.
Kids in school were always hissing.
So what it my attic is a bit dusty.
All my brain cells have become rusty.
Even though on walls I like peeing.
I am still a human being.
ManVsYard Nov 2014
Are you a fruitcake?
Are you all kinds of nuts?
Do you eat poultry
and
turn in-to chicken butts?

If we are what we eat
I guess I'll say moo!
Oink cluck, glub glub,
and
****-a-doodle doo.

I do not eat crows
road runners,
or
turkey gizzards
monkey or elephants
or brown to green lizards.

So, guess what's for lunch?
Yum, fried Alligator,
with octopus legs,
bye bye
see ya later.
Third Eye Candy Apr 2013
have you ever left your raincoat
and then
suddenly
the only cloud in your Kansas
finds you leaning into a black wind
like icing on a fruitcake
hat-less ?
your hands in your [ ragged empty ]
you call pockets
clutching threads and mending holes
with numb
prayers
faith-less
have you then ever found your raincoat
over shoulder just where you left it
only to stumble upon your hat
or one that looks
just like it ?
and then you put it on
and the ****
thing
fit ?
if you have then you know this is me
lending gently, you my coat.
hoping you take it for the love what comes from within
too busy sparkling in prisms, to regard a grain of doubt -
just something crazy twinkling
on the surface of whatever
you must have only
just finished.
Third Eye Candy Feb 2013
i'm the cinnamon star-struck lotus-eating speck  
on your windshield... driving out the demon
in your blind-spot
guess you can see me too... but you'd rather not yet
that'd be too real... diving like walking
is what  'other people'  do
but we're not... anything less
at all the
parties

kiss me and i'll be fine.
but if i
know you -
and i think
i do
then this
don't mean i love you
( Love You )
it only means
i could

Eternal...like fruitcake and the sky
Elihu Barachel Feb 2015
******* are so proud, of their sin so black and vile
Abomination! Is the word, for their habit and their stile
-
They march in a parade, their perverted pride they flaunt
Lick each others *****, and God Almighty taunt
-
God will not be mocked, ******* will find out
They'll be sent to Hell, this without a doubt
-
Tisk-tisk oh ****** Fruitcake, don't you like my rhyme?
Soon you'll burn in Hell, you'll be there for all time
-
Will you be proud in Hell? Will you march in a parade?
You'll have a red-hot dildow up your ***, and your "pride" be so displayed
Elihu Barachel Mar 2015
Ostracized and banished! Banned and throne out!
Kevin and Allpoetry, they give me a big flout
-
Just because I write, that Queers will burn in Hell
They kick me off their site, my *** they did expel
-
Kevin Kevin oh tisk-tisk, don't you want to burn?
Guess what oh ****** Fruitcake, your Damnation you did earn
-
You'll roast upon a spit, you'll fricassee and fry
In Hell you'll have a "Gay" old time...I won't even say goodbye
-
Hey Kevin Kevin ******...write some poems down in Hell
Write about your TORMENT! In fire you can't quell
Ryan P Kinney May 2015
Christmas Presents
by Ryan Kinney

For those I know and know I have some special gifts. Call it poetic materialism, or even selfish regifting.
I will give you what you don't want and take what I want, because such is the spirit of the season.

For my mother...
This old bird no longer caged, she gets to look on the other side of the bars this time.
Her freedom, so precious, that she will be as far removed from those who incarcerate her soul as possible.

Dad...
He gets another stumble in the hallway.
A head first dive into a bottle of pills.

My brother...
He gets a brief reprieve from alcoholic rage and abandonment issues.
His fiancé gets to bear the weight of these sins. It's a package bought with her dignity and sold with her respect.

The half-brother...
He gets mothered and smothered,
coddled and cooed,
held and supported, so much...
That he's unable to stand on his own.

My half sister...
She gets ___.
It's not like I'd know what to get her.

Grandma...
She reaps what she has sown in the cold, barren winter of her life.
Her years of hate finally cashed in
for an empty house.
The gift receipt bears the inscription,
"Wish you were here, (but not really)."

The murderous, ****** cousin...
He gets cold, prison justice.
A gouged eye for an eye.

The ******-addict cousin...
She gets undeserved sympathy..
As she drops another burden on this family.
Her seven deadly sins, rosy cheeked and innocent, get to ask,
"Where's Mommy?"

What of the countless other cousins, aunts, and uncles...
They get silent nothings.
A commodity given with the sentiment of fruitcake.
Every year I get it,
I give it away.


Now let's move on from family,
As they have moved on from me.

The ex-wife gets to unwrap another year of her inner rot.
It's a flamboyantly gorgeous package,
adorned with crisp $100 bills.
What about the outlaws?
Who used to be the "in" thing.
They get my absence.
Another alien transmission expelled from their bubble.

And how about my best friend...
Well, him, I like.
He gets new family, new hope, and new dreams.
His son...
gets life, our collective legacy.
A promise of future triumphs and heartaches.
His fiancée...
She gets domestic bliss.
All the joys of diapers and laundry and feedings.
These gifts,
paid for with each of her child's smiles.

The techie, my shy secret agent...
She gets her first year as Mrs...
And unemployment.
But, at least they are together in their poverty.

Now, what does one get a Love Toy?
She gets all my unrequited love..
The bulk of my desperation and loneliness,
packaged as an ******.
It's an awfully cheap thing.

My gay friends...
They get an epic dance party,
The likes of which only those from the "other" side of the rainbow could throw.
While the mundane from the dark side hurtle their sticks and stones.

The pseudo-grandma...
She gets my respect and admiration.
And gives, always gives,
Wisdom.

What of my new college friends...
They get finals and stress and hunger and house fires and...
Kinship in the academic struggle.

Finally, Me...
What do I get?
Because that's all this is about.
You didn't think I'd give without expecting something in return?

Well...
I get to ***** about why I hate Christmas.
SwanMansWoMan Jan 2020
I met this guy online
Who implicated that I am his one
After only a few hours of messaging?
I was confused
Our conversation was empty
No interaction
No humor
No quiet connection
Just empty conversation

So why does he think I am his one?

None of what he says makes sense
Or seems to hold true
Is this fruitcake a sign?
I think so.
App dating is not for me
Because apparently I just attract fruitcakes like him
Jenny Gordon Apr 2019
[the Japanese' term for women over 40 was it?]



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXII)


We're "friends," and so I penned of him fr'intents.
And likewise we discussed in sheer betrayl
Just how he liked erm, *******, to scale,
Til I found by degrees how it will thence
Go:  he's a man.  THAT said a mouthful.  Hence
It's NOT what I want, nor believe.  In frail
Excuse for girlish dreams, it's what he'll hail,
Despite all my um, protests.  It's his sense.
Sigh.  Thus we draw apart, cuz I won't do.
O if I'm as a fragile violet you're
Quite heedless of in passing, trampling fer
All that my petals, ah, tis nothing new.
I'm not a siren who is brazen, poor
As your hot passions.  Therefore none now woo?

26Apr19b
Oh, but to his credit, he kept telling me it was all about "choice," and "freedom,"--men like to say the opposite of what they mean, don't they?

— The End —