#sardonic - Hello Poetry

Rip, rip, rip! Red glazed paper Cling, cling, cling! The falling sugar Whirr, whirr, whirr! Grinding of the beans Stir, stir, stir! Till the surface gleams Drip, drip, drip! Dripping black ocean Sip, sip, sip! The bitter decoction Sweetheart Ain't it sweet enough To believe there's someone we're made for But it's never enough sugar in that sachet Why does love last as long as it's paid for?

0

Feb 14, 2020

Feb 14, 2020 at 1:41 PM UTC

nishwokobi

Sachet

Rip, rip, rip! Red glazed paper Cling, cling, cling! The falling sugar Whirr, whirr, whirr! Grinding of the beans Stir, stir, stir! Till the surface gleams Drip, drip, drip! Dripping black ocean Sip, sip, sip! The bitter decoction Sweetheart Ain't it sweet enough To believe there's someone we're made for But it's never enough sugar in that sachet Why does love last as long as it's paid for?

18

I'm a stable chaos Living lucidly lost Destructively balanced With life and death crossed I'm a cursed romantic A solitary horror My path is satanic I'm bounded to torture My feelings fade dimly My care will start dying This world has grown quainter There's no point in trying.

0

Nov 26, 2018

Nov 26, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC

PeacefulMoth

Sardonic Smile

I'm a stable chaos Living lucidly lost Destructively balanced With life and death crossed I'm a cursed romantic A solitary horror My path is satanic I'm bounded to torture My feelings fade dimly My care will start dying This world has grown quainter There's no point in trying.

12

My mother dearly wanted to be Dorothy Parker. She yearned for a taste of the power that comes from a truly witty response. She craved to deliver A statement so powerful and sardonic that it would terminate all argument or discussion. My proximity made me an easy target to practice on as each of our arguments ended with a bon mot delivered with the all the acerbic flourish of Bette Davis. As I listened to her footsteps receding down the hallway I had only to take one more breath before the footsteps reversed direction and - standing at the doorway to my room - She would deliver another culminating witticism turn, leave and repeat. In the fifties and sixties an intelligent woman – a single mother of three with no high school diploma, but a surfeit of imagination – Savoured what little power she could find even if it was a fiction, a delusion or just a punchline sharp enough to draw blood.

0

Oct 12, 2017

Oct 12, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC

joe-thompson

Drawing blood

My mother dearly wanted to be Dorothy Parker. She yearned for a taste of the power that comes from a truly witty response. She craved to deliver A statement so powerful and sardonic that it would terminate all argument or discussion. My proximity made me an easy target to practice on as each of our arguments ended with a bon mot delivered with the all the acerbic flourish of Bette Davis. As I listened to her footsteps receding down the hallway I had only to take one more breath before the footsteps reversed direction and - standing at the doorway to my room - She would deliver another culminating witticism turn, leave and repeat. In the fifties and sixties an intelligent woman – a single mother of three with no high school diploma, but a surfeit of imagination – Savoured what little power she could find even if it was a fiction, a delusion or just a punchline sharp enough to draw blood.

24

I prayed to God in the silent house, In the quiet stillness, in came a mouse, Yes, in scuttled Horatio the Mouse, Sardonic God has sent me a mouse, So, a little fur friend, God's blessings don't end, This mouse is way too hyperactive, I ask, does it come from a mouse collective? Is Horatio pregnant? think twice. Shall I be plagued by furry mice? I bought poison and mousetraps, too bad, Is the mouse collective about to be sad? Thus spake God, in the silent dark house, "I shall send you a fur friend mouse?"

0

Mar 3, 2016

Mar 3, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC

julie-grenness

GOD'S PLAN!!

I prayed to God in the silent house, In the quiet stillness, in came a mouse, Yes, in scuttled Horatio the Mouse, Sardonic God has sent me a mouse, So, a little fur friend, God's blessings don't end, This mouse is way too hyperactive, I ask, does it come from a mouse collective? Is Horatio pregnant? think twice. Shall I be plagued by furry mice? I bought poison and mousetraps, too bad, Is the mouse collective about to be sad? Thus spake God, in the silent dark house, "I shall send you a fur friend mouse?"

14

Have you lately realized How much self absorbed Heterosexual amorphous Hominem ad narcissists *Love their oneorientation Love their self esteem pen Love their uncanny purse Love their rightful rituals* They abide to admiration *They wear polite persona They share unrelentlessly They know salt and peppa* Immortal talent n'crowd Inspiring dear friend days Interrupting pink panther Integrity by wild abandon.

0

Jan 20, 2016

Jan 20, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC

ImpeccableSpacePoetess

Ad Homunculus

Have you lately realized How much self absorbed Heterosexual amorphous Hominem ad narcissists *Love their oneorientation Love their self esteem pen Love their uncanny purse Love their rightful rituals* They abide to admiration *They wear polite persona They share unrelentlessly They know salt and peppa* Immortal talent n'crowd Inspiring dear friend days Interrupting pink panther Integrity by wild abandon.

16

Sitting in my home The power hasn't gone dead I'm writing in a storm Letting the wind carry thoughts from my heart Up the spine down to my pen Thoughts like... You and I snuggled together our bodies United against the cold or more accurately, me sitting on this couch alone, playing a video game that's old Or wondering what it would be like if Zelda went cyberpunk or if banjo kazooie was an rpg, Or if pokemon was a platformer, these weird daydreams interest me

0

Nov 13, 2015

Nov 13, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC

neroameealucard

Writing in a storm

Sitting in my home The power hasn't gone dead I'm writing in a storm Letting the wind carry thoughts from my heart Up the spine down to my pen Thoughts like... You and I snuggled together our bodies United against the cold or more accurately, me sitting on this couch alone, playing a video game that's old Or wondering what it would be like if Zelda went cyberpunk or if banjo kazooie was an rpg, Or if pokemon was a platformer, these weird daydreams interest me

8

turns out that the more water you drink the dryer your mouth is when a pool of it runs down your throat leaving your tongue sardonically parched and writing poetry in classes filled with numbers doesn't make them any clearer (however it does make you clearer) people self-sooth all the time playing with lips hair squeezing arms clicking pens and wearing dresses results in legs sticking to chairs eating a lot makes your abs hide stay away away away you won't for long the more water you drink the more parched you become

0

Apr 9, 2015

Apr 9, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC

sweet-ridicule

drink

turns out that the more water you drink the dryer your mouth is when a pool of it runs down your throat leaving your tongue sardonically parched and writing poetry in classes filled with numbers doesn't make them any clearer (however it does make you clearer) people self-sooth all the time playing with lips hair squeezing arms clicking pens and wearing dresses results in legs sticking to chairs eating a lot makes your abs hide stay away away away you won't for long the more water you drink the more parched you become

20

My goal could be a post office, and maybe hangovers.

0

Mar 15, 2015

Mar 15, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC

Listerineyedrops

Chinaski [10w]

My goal could be a post office, and maybe hangovers.

3

before I can write, I have to stop and consider the new nail growth that has pushed nail paint further up as my tiny talons become more worthy of their name. earlier, I pointed at the individual students one by one; they hesitantly mustered words to match my unclear expectations; hoping to avoid my sarcastic cackle, or the full blown eyes gleaming like the deepest darkest black marbles wedged in my eye sockets, their words trailed off, along with their interest. I don't try to find a broom that fits my grip. mine has always been the right fit, and I've had the ability to travel through time, and somehow connect one vague memory to the next, adding detail and sharpening what was dull and lifeless, so the imagery is mechanically pointed and precise. My face paint is strategic war paint, but brown, never green. At once I'm judged as foreigner, of foreign origin; young (you're THAT old?) they will never know that I fear my own image and imaginings worse than they fear what power my pen wields. to bear the weight of an expanse of thoughts-- strenuous, burdensome, careful responsibility-- with relief only once words materialize on a page, on a screen, that they will never read. for no witch was born witch; she was made so once her dreams shriveled and resembled the lifeless frogs in her hands.

0

Oct 1, 2014

Oct 1, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC

thisbirdgirl

my world, my wicked words

before I can write, I have to stop and consider the new nail growth that has pushed nail paint further up as my tiny talons become more worthy of their name. earlier, I pointed at the individual students one by one; they hesitantly mustered words to match my unclear expectations; hoping to avoid my sarcastic cackle, or the full blown eyes gleaming like the deepest darkest black marbles wedged in my eye sockets, their words trailed off, along with their interest. I don't try to find a broom that fits my grip. mine has always been the right fit, and I've had the ability to travel through time, and somehow connect one vague memory to the next, adding detail and sharpening what was dull and lifeless, so the imagery is mechanically pointed and precise. My face paint is strategic war paint, but brown, never green. At once I'm judged as foreigner, of foreign origin; young (you're THAT old?) they will never know that I fear my own image and imaginings worse than they fear what power my pen wields. to bear the weight of an expanse of thoughts-- strenuous, burdensome, careful responsibility-- with relief only once words materialize on a page, on a screen, that they will never read. for no witch was born witch; she was made so once her dreams shriveled and resembled the lifeless frogs in her hands.

33