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8M 2d
A sweet sponge cake
With snow-white icing
And a single candle
As big as a basketball

The table's covered in silk
Confetti all over the walls
And the floor, too
It's time to celebrate

The candle lights up
They're hesitant
Too good to eat, they think
Noisemakers distract them

But there's no noisemakers to be found

One of them grabs the knife and sighs
It has to happen
The other make a wish
And the room goes dark

The knife makes a deep cut
Unexpectedly, jam comes out
They're scared
Invisible noisemakers continue to play
The cake remains still, unaffected by time

The one with the knife did not know what to do but throw it
And it hits another, but not the cake
Jam falls, drop by drop

The silky tablecloth gets ripped
It was never strong enough
Noise grows deafening

The birthday child cries
This went in an unexpected direction.
8M 2d
Jam
You looked outside the window and smiled
"Can you make some jam for us?"
Obliging, you did so
You didn't know what flavor they wanted

So you did every single one
Blueberry, raspberry, banana
A plethora of colors comes into view
You always wanted to be an artist
To embrace the colors you see
A chance to be happy
But you're stuck making jam for them
Forever and always

At least it tastes good
Lyn-Purcell Jul 19
Knife cuts the scone smooth
Happy thoughts with bitter taste
Fragrant memories
Scones with strawberry jam, one of my favourite snacks!
Which does bring back unpleasant memories, but still
Lyn ***
I sit here.

Viewing a blank slate.

The black blinking line mocks me.

I've been here for hours.

Where are the thoughts?

The words?

Where are the rhymes to save the world?

The language to disintegrate the pillars of inequality?

The stanzas to make me rich so I can quit my day job?

I should be making as much as an engineer.

They don't contribute as much to society as I do.

I rhyme, I'm a sentence builderd.

I build societal commentary with words.

Me me, I'm a word boy.

Do you have any idea how much student loan debt I'm drowning in?

It's low tide in my mind's sea.

All I can imagine --

and picture

-- is myself placing a toothpick under my big toenail and kicking the wall in front of me as hard as I can.

Or maybe I can use a flat-head screwdriver to pry off the nail from the bed.

I could use a tack hammer to tap and slide that under.

A serrated sickle perhaps?

Move it maybe.

Liberate it from being on a toe.

It wants to be on a thumb;

a much better class of nail.

Toenails of the world unite; you have nothing to lose but your jam job!
Toes.
English Jam May 12
It's........it....'...s..........it's......it.........IT'S.......­..too......tooolate.......too...late

A delicately placed glove upon a hand, mock-gentle and pale
Marks his return
Emerging from the shell of feedback and tortured sounds

Carelessly shattering the eyes of doubters, until they softly thrash for mercy, wailing in an unearthly manner

Taking violent pleasure in crumbling love to a rubble, making the remains march to his fascist regime, his sexualised abuse, his blistering dictatorship

His tongue is dry, his jawline jagged like a ***** of fresh metal, his fingers slender and spidery
  
He strides silently, yet none can miss it, seizing attention in a
heil-ish fascion

His iron grip dredges my thoughts, infecting my hopes with his overflowing venom

He thrusts his black ink that peppers my skin with thousands upon thousands of dots, encasing my body, filling my mouth, prohibiting my free will

Twisting me to spiral downwards into his imagination
I descend into the darkness

The darkness ripped from my most volatile, filthy nightmares

The darkness that laces the web of black holes, that decimates any shred of light it can find, deliberately, harshly

My centre of gravity follows him to the sewers of the abyss, a cesspool of pain and stylised sexuality undiscovered by light

Everything starts swirling around him, revolving as though he is a star and all else is the merest of planets that are his to command

I'm going down now
I'm going down
I'm going dow-
E McNamara Dec 2017
Sticky
Always grabbing
For compliments
For approval

“You’re so pretty.”

Like jam hands
Young and desperate
Sweet and clingy
Searching

“They can’t resist a beautiful girl like you.”

Is that all I am?
“Beautiful”  “Pretty”
That’s all they tell me
Am I nothing else?

“I wish I looked like you.”

Is there no head on my shoulders?
No spine in my back?
Is “pretty” all I have?
Am I nothing but a picture to look at?

“You’re the pretty friend.”

Gooey jam hands grabbing
For any kind words
Of how my looks dazzle
Because

That’s all I’ve ever heard.
Now I’m a "pretty” shell
With nothing worth noticing
Inside.
Call me strong. Call me creative.
Andre Vrdoljak Oct 2017
Breakfast for lunch,
Breakfast for supper.
Jam on toast,
I'll have another.
Poetic T Oct 2017
Tasting the moist interior
                                 with my lips...
my tongue tickling the innermost  
places of delight..

Cream slips down my throat
                     as flavours
entice me
     to consume every part greedily.

I lick my sticky lips, fulfilled I fall to sleep..
Sarah Levene Sep 2017
Her soul is wilting
Wilting
A word she knows all to well
All of her plants have started wilting long ago
How can you keep something else alive
When you're barely living yourself
Her leaves
Are crumbling
Split ends like spilt branches
He says:
"Your hair
Is only as good
As the head its growing on
And and your head
Isn't doing so well itself
How can you expect anything beautiful to grow from so much darkness.
Trees
Don't grow in the dark."
She
Tries to get her thoughts out of the Dark
The midnight abyss she calls her mind
But she
Has never been good at climbing
Cliff faces
look down
and laugh at her attempt to ascend
She
Pretends like she can't see them staring
Arms growing weak and weary
Her roots
Feel as if they're about to break
But she never gets a break
Never gets to rest
She's stressed
who would have guessed
That Behind
her Big smile
Lies
Wilting leaves
Split branches
And broken roots
Ready to fall apart
No one seems to see
That the only thing
Keeping her together
And Grounded
Is the ground itself
And even that
Is only as stable
As the world its sitting on.
This is a possible piece for my schools poetry jam so constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!
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