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My Dearest Dublin,
I know that photograph of you, you were with V, and
you wore a younger man's clothes
I long to see who you have become after COVID has had its way with the world.
Are you timeworn?
Is your spirit shattered?
Can you still feel the sun?
Is your soul still intact?
Do bike rides along the waterway still bring you joy?  
I feel I know this..
You are still
will always remain terra firma
ready to offer spoons 14
Your imagination runs free
you can vividly recall images of
a horse-shaped bar
strawberry swing
You have the capacity to travel 3165 miles
can leave a woman well ******
burning for you
You speak without speaking
move without moving
you simply exist whenever
wherever you want
Mind over matter, I guess
I feel I know those things about you
I desire confirmation.

Send me
a smile
a word
a hint
a song

I want to see you now
as you exist in all of your forms
More importantly
I want to see the man who you have become
The one who has been touched by love from a distance
held in place thanks to COVID
I want to read the lessons on your face
your soul in your eyes

I need the NOW photograph
confirmation of your love
Your undying affection
I need a hot bath
Your warm touch
Simply put

You have my heart
it is yearning for you❤️
For CBM of Dublin
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
poetry with two spoons and a salt shaker

~for poet, writer, Lora Lee, unexpectedly~

my symphonic orchestral accompaniment today, musically
unlimited, except by lack of disowning skill, a voice unkempt,
spoons and salt shaker, there in-nate rhythmic opinions off key,
worse, my manly word-smithy, out o’town in June, July, August too?

He, having an affair with my she-muses, left me bereft & berated,
helplessly hoping, the timpani of my words clashing, overrated,
woeful under-something, betraying my need for spicy sriracha,
poetry, sans hamburger helper, no-tasty, even less-than-average

everyone comes rushing in to the kitchen, hearing my to-sky-voices
howling, thinking something wrong, the four instruments rack up a cacophony of rhythmic-less noises, words emerging, to-a-person, they announce, “you’re no Allen Ginsburg, ppp-please not so early next time”

alas, they don’t know the poems are coming hot and heavy, guess I’ll
go outside, serenade them birdies in the trees, the striped bass in the bay, the rabbits procreating/sleeping/eating under their (our) dock

the squirrels know better, have skedaddled to the next-door-neighbor who feeds them classical stuff with a dollop of jazz creme mixed in, but I don’t care, cause I got all day, the rest of my life, to amuse me & you too

to refine the qualitative, to improve my creative, I’ve gone “native” and the rush is the best, the wind beneath my spectacles (haha) drives my rhyming to lowlight heights of prosody, besides seems

everybody has gone to a different beach, so it’s just me and the giant blackbirds cawing holy hell noises, and I’m thinking seriously about baking pie, but they just don’t get the hint, how annoying is that!


F White Aug 2017
bone traitor.
Skin viper
Edge Stealer
Ridge maker
Health reflector.
Mirror- you liar!
Rogue on the scale...
Signs that my brain has duped me;
Floating oily in the
Phantom aches
Blood test lies
Powdery remedies pressed almond abandon all cows
Bean curd body snatching
**** the doctor to get a clue

Girl in pain this isn't me so-
Who the hell are you?
Copyright fhw 2017
Raf Reyes Nov 2016
My grandmother longed to be like you
Silver, grey
But useful
I miss my grandmothers retorts about everything. God bless her soul
Anthony Steele Jul 2015
"call me spoons"
said "be giving you what you need,"
like a toddler, sat in high chair
mess face consisting mostly of chocolate pudding, eviscerated green beans, promises
promises "you are one of a kind."
a hand that can't win.
"you're special,"
the kitten no one adopts
can't be fixed
can't be fixed
can't be fixed
broken boy sitting at dinner next to cracked mirror metaphor
mess face consisting mostly of bruises and that's it.
bag of frozen peas on the eye
green beans became useless after dad ran out
spoons across the dining room
no words; body language says enough
"i failed you."
"couldn't give you what you need."
"what you need."
what you need
what you need
what you need? you.
you need you.
you need you.
spoons at the end of a rope
black eyes toddler can't see
blind reach
spoons isn't there
spoons isn't there
no object permanence means that while spoons aren't around, baby can't get what it needs.
object permanence means in 1997 when you cheated again and she found out
that there was no running away this time that you in this state will exist in abject permanence.
she can never unsee
bent spoons stained with street glue
black tar lungs and inability to breathe
mess face consisting mostly of
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
Asa D Bruss Oct 2014
Unidentified monograms
we are floating through a machine-gun pterodactyl
that shoots lay-zer tiger gamma-ray photon blobs at a flying bag of nuts.

We ride on a an escalator accelerating toward the speed of sound
towards a symphony that shrinks in our synapses and breaks our bonds. Without words we wander towards a waxy floor
and slip or just trip on a trampled stumbling block of sand.

And I cry at the sight of a man who will probably die for the sake of his pride; who had lied, and cheated, and been mistreated for the sake his gains that caused him pains, but were vain and empty and deserve no sympathy. (for sure)

He will endure for the glory of the cure which will have no discrepancy, and will illuminate the enemy
when it comes within proximity
of the light of God,
which burns all flesh.

For patience is a virtue that the universe attains to, with billions of years gone passing in a flash now.
With breath and reason there will be a passing of this season by the times and dates marked down at the bottom of the page under sub-section be
after "I am" and "I was" and  "I shall"
and there won't be a televised broadcast.
There will simply be radio silence for those who are listening.
(Yes they are indeed still listening)
Towards a siphoning of nitrogen out of air into the ground
without sound but with space.
All to be brought back out again
out to spin again;
begin again.
(Better than the last time)
Someone should rap this.
J M Surgent Aug 2014
When the sun hid behind
a cover of trees
You shone with the intensity
of the full moon.
Stars in your eyes
like twilight skies,
Beetlejuice, Orion's belt;
the big and little spoons.
Arcassin B May 2014
BY Arcassin B

i use to dream of being famous,
i use to dream of having a car,
i use to dream of having,
that would build a better me,
people workin 9 to 5,
searching to be free,
but all you fear is yourself,
not me,
you thought you could put me down,

but i got right back up,
and said im stronger than your demons,
speaking in tounges , feeling stuck up,
preferably speaking,
but you know you cant ignore it,
all the people on the planet.

"Im On To You"
By Arcassin Burnham

blood drippin from your mouth,
i can smell ,
dangerous without a doubt,
hot as the fire , in hell,

im on to you,
if people say im foolish , idc,
im on to you,
its not just me its you and me,
im on to you

can i be the bee,
getting the nector out,
or can i be the misery,
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