"almond" poems
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
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Come spring, she leaped across the grassy dune,
Beaming with sheer joy as she hummed a halcyon tune.
Her beauteous almond eyes- the biggest, the brightest.
A bonnie spotted doe in her warm, homely forest
Come summer, by her gushing little lake she played.
When upon a solitary, pensive buck her eyes she laid.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While his eyes curiously lingered, hers wandered on ahead.
Come monsoon, he adored her eyes, her gilded coat, her bushy tail.
The passionate warmth in her eyes with affection made him frail.
Yet, she went on with her blissful life- devoid of any care.
Oblivious of the buck who always stopped to stare.
Come winter, by his side chattering happily she grazed.
Soon, his feelings faded; by almond eyes no longer crazed.
Like currents in the water, apart they drifted and drifted.
New lake. Nonchalant silence. No words were said.
Come fall, she found that he still leaped through her mind.
The emotion she once scoffed in her heart now enshrined.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While her dull eyes wistfully lingered, his wandered on ahead.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
***** ***** I **** *****
***** get ****** when I **** *****
No ifs, ands, and/or buts!
I **** ***** I **** *****
Nice girls are nice, but no good for nut-sucking.
They'll need a serene night to green-light a butt-fucking,
but that'll be easy with ****** ol' slut-fucking!
Boo to the nice girls! Praise be to slut-fucking!
I have a list. A list? Yes, a list of all the ***** I've missed.
I've never ****** or ****** these ***** and thus my nuts are ******* ******
So when I **** the lucky **** my nut removes her from the list---
another dumb cumbucket struck from my nut-sucking,
**** it, **** slut-fucking bucket list.
***** can be white, brown, pink, or almond.
They can be skinny with big **** or skinny with small ones.
***** can be perky, preppy, or posh,
with their brains and their clothes all shrunk from the wash.
But other ***** are pretty and funny and smart.
They can lift your thoughts from your **** to your heart.
They can talk about science, music, or art.
They can put you together or pull you apart.
But don't trust these ***** Don't! Don't you dare!
They'll force you to trust them and love them and care.
And then they'll be gone and then you'll be aware
of that hole in your heart that that dumb **** left there.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
(Part 1: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/738250/almond-eyes/)
Come spring, she leaped across the grassy dune.
In her ageing almond eyes, fresh wisdom strewn.
Unthought of now- he who had once been her all.
In a forbidden forest, a smiling lean buck stood tall.
Come summer, standing afar she did quietly spy;
Studying his ways from the curious corner of her eye-
How chilled he liked his water, how green his grass…
A polite little nod if ever he happened to pass.
Come monsoon, away she cast the lessons of the past.
Throughout their graze, on him her gaze.
Playful fights they feign; adorable moments in the rain.
She’d fallen tame; her clumsy hooves not to blame.
Come winter, cold truths in the icy winds blew her way.
Her lean, smiling buck wasn’t really hers per se.
He smiled much the same at myriad doe and antelope,
Yet, in her shivering heart flickered the scantiest of hope.
Come fall, she finally forsake her futile trail.
Turned her back with a swish of her bushy tail.
Beaming with sheer joy, she hummed a halcyon tune twice over.
For bucks would come and bucks would go, but the river’d go on forever.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
A pair of glimmery eyes...
Almond brown
Shimmery eyes....
There lies misery untold...
and a true love to unfold...
From beginning to the end
Tears are their only friend!!!
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful ********** backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, ******* iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer ***** good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
I hear stories of an ancient land so pure.
I see photographs of bluer than blue skies
over a lake of molten gold.
I drink kahwa flavoured with almond and saffron
and add honey, sweetened by bees from the valley,
my hips swaying in a crewel work on wool skirt.
I hear songs of freedom, I know people who fled.
The muezzin prays for peace over bloodstains and tears
while children still play under walnut trees.
Clouds gather to pray at Shankaracharya Temple
on a mountain dipping its toes into water
while empty shikaras speak of visiting ghosts.
Mothers whose eyes never tire, looking over the sunset
for long lost sons; wives who still lay out their husband’s
slippers on a carpet with frayed edges.
Postmen deliver letters to addresses long abandoned;
a generation of elders, eyes of agate, gnarled fingers, brew tea
surrounded by memories of children killed, daughters *****
I write for all people who live in war.
I write for the age of innocence to return.
I write for soft rain to wash away sin.
I write for the return to reason.
I write for peace to flutter gently through groves
of apricot, almond, apple and walnut.
Feel the pain. Hear the refrain. Smell the emptiness.
This is now. This is now. This is not in the pages
of a fading history text. This is now. This is now.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
O mistress, your gentle eyes were a warm angel’s song.
Your glazed almond skin was soft like a virgin's touch.
Bound me in chains of desire and sin in your love dungeon.
Your euphonic voice calls out to me like a raven’s tweet.
I licked my lips and pleasured my *******
My face flushed like a thorny rose.
I reached out to caress her tendril twine of hair.
She whispered sweet nothings that filled the air.
O mistress! Our love is wrong.
In the heat of this forbidden love
we embrace the eternal night,
sharing a kiss in the moonless delight.
My body’s a canvas, craving her touch
I yearn for her sweet **********
Pain and pleasure whips me to shape.
My love for her will always creep.
O mistress, come close to me.
Print your skin on my pale flesh.
Prepare me for my best nightmare.
Where you invite worship for this time.
You stab me with love like a swordswoman
and make art out of my darkness.
No demon or god can tear us asunder.
There is still beauty in this immoral hunger.
O mistress, I submit every ounce of my soul to you.
For you have your way with me for eternity.
The bellowing echoes of ****** rumors
will never take my love for you away.
May 4, 2024
May 4, 2024 at 10:06 PM UTC
“What do you think
The bravest drink
Under the sky?”
“Strong beer,” said I.
“There’s a place for everything,
Everything, anything,
There’s a place for everything
Where it ought to be:
For a chicken, the hen’s wing;
For poison, the bee’s sting;
For almond-blossom, Spring;
A beerhouse for me.”
“There’s a prize for every one
Every one, any one,
There’s a prize for every one,
Whoever he may be:
Crags for the mountaineer,
Flags for the Fusilier,
For English poets, beer!
Strong beer for me!”
“Tell us, now, how and when
We may find the bravest men?”
“A sure test, an easy test:
Those that drink beer are the best,
Brown beer strongly brewed,
English drink and English food.”
Oh, never choose as Gideon chose
By the cold well, but rather those
Who look on beer when it is brown,
Smack their lips and gulp it down.
Leave the lads who tamely drink
With Gideon by the water brink,
But search the benches of the Plough,
The Tun, the Sun, the Spotted Cow,
For jolly rascal lads who pray,
Pewter in hand, at close of day,
“Teach me to live that I may fear
The grave as little as my beer.”
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The almond pearls bounce on the leaves,
Drip to drench me with the heavenly boon,
What magical transformation the sky weaves,
Its wands of clouds creating another monsoon!
There's though a different spell on the ground
Where water flows like a river in high tide,
Silence broken only by a splashing sound
Monstrous holes yawning on all side!
You longed for it in the summer's pain
Hallucinating in agony the coming of it
You curse it now calling it a bane
As it pours from above and deluge the street!
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 6:54 AM UTC
She was probably the most beautiful,
of any woman he had ever seen.
She turned every head
and stopped time from moving
and movement everywhere she went-
His mind went woozy as he thought of her.
From what he already knew
she was not only beautiful,
she was smart and
an accomplished professional.
Was this a sweet dream?
If yes, he wasn't prepared to wake up from it,
no not yet!
Maybe she was just a product of his imagination,
which was impossible considering that she was standing before him.
She was a woman of exceptional beauty,
probably the most beautiful woman
he had ever seen!
Helping her to her seat, he was overpowered by something.
Wait,it was the scent of her perfume;
It was the mixture of something
he wanted to think he recognized,
which he didn't and something
he had never before smelled.It was nice!
She seemed so flawless,
He thought her bath was prepared
in the constellations by beautiful goddesses,
and her bathroom was the milky way galaxy.
Yes her skin was undeniably radiant,
accentuated by the presence of large almond eyes.
"Wake up!" came the weak old voice.
Bewildered by the old barn keeper's presence,
and momentarily unaware of his location,
he panicked and squinted his eyes.
Oh **** he was asleep, this was a dream!
IB-Poetry©️
3/2/2018
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 3:24 AM UTC
today's my birthday,
but i don't want presents
today's my birthday,
but i don't want wishes
today's my birthday,
but i don't want to be older
today's my birthday,
but i don't want a party
today's my birthday,
but i already have everything i want
they told me that my mom loved birthdays
they told me she'd stay up all night
baking cakes and cookies and pies
they told me she planned parties months in advance
they told me she loved to sing happy birthday
and that she had perfect pitch too
they told me she made me her
famous almond dream cake
for my first birthday
smothered in coconut frosting
with one little palm tree
precariously placed on top
they told me that she
learned to knit
just for me
to make me a soft blanket
adorned with the words,
my little angel, cara
today's my birthday,
but i don't want it to be
today's my birthday,
but i don't want to remember my mother
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
What is beauty?
Growing up I was told
lighter skin, bigger eyes, smaller nose thinner lips, straight black hair
thin body, smaller frame
smaller shoe size
There was no embracing of
my brown skin, almond-shaped eyes
longer nose, fuller lips, wavy voluminous hair thick thighs, larger frame
not size 6 shoes
No celebration of my own beauty what forms and defines me
until now.
I choose to not be the subject of another’s judgement of what is considered beautiful or not
to be molded into what is acceptable and approved by my culture, my society, people around me
I choose myself
my uniqueness and my acceptance of myself just as I am
is true beauty.
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 12:04 AM UTC
Quaint
pink curtains and tablecloths.
White walls.
The sugary smell of almonds, pistachio
and butterscotch skip around the room,
playing hopscotch and Mary Mack.
The display is impressive,
I can smell each grain of sugar
in these petit cupcakes and dollops of icing.
And then a little girl wails!
Mommy won't buy
her anymore
sweet treats.
Bawling--
the girl does an angry-stomp-dance-
and then a woman, livid--
storms up to the counter.
I said half dozen almond biscotti.
I can't take these to my book club.
Isn't anyone here competent?
Her booming voice has no effect
on the lone,
tired African-American woman behind the counter.
She seems disassociated from the present chaos.
The dark circles under her eyes
and the surrounding pursed lip wrinkles say everything.
Excuse me, but I've been waiting
on a refill of the complimentary coffee
for over ten minutes now
an uptight gent in a business suit complains.
When the woman behind the counter
pulls out out a shotgun--
there is silence.
This ain't what I wanted
she whimpers just before
the weapon gracefully slides
under her chin--
--!BAM!--
As I walk out the door,
I wonder how long it will
take for someone to realize
that's not red icing or sprinkles
on the cupcakes.
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 10:32 AM UTC
She gave you a smile.
Teeth showing and all.
You could almost hear
The crashing of her walls
As they hit the ground.
You go to take her hand
And she begins to twirl
A strand of hair between
Her fingers. Still shy and
Timid, the fragile girl.
Where will you ever see
Such beautiful almond shaped
Brown eyes other than standing here,
On this beauty. Oh, yes, you call
Her Beauty.
**** You can't help yourself
From imagining all that you would
Like to happen if given the chance.
But, not here! Not at Church for God's
Sake! He should strike you down in
This very moment… Yet, who could
Blame you?
When the prayer ends, you look
At Beauty one last time before
Having to take your seat. A hint
Of a smirk plays on her lips and
She looks down to your pants.
Oh God. She knows.. How
Embarrassing. This is a place of
God and this is sin..
Yet you can't help but to feel
Pleased.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
*stacking the arrows in piles
a triangle of fuego
furnaces blaze fire
infinite reminders
of the morning after
shafts of light
drift from window panes
remake our names in
god’s slumbering veins
from here to there a whisper
or was it a word
fellow companions
have you heard
the threadbare sisters
took their turns
climbing mountains in order
that we could learn
the ways
of green hearted sun-scrapers
sweet little dangers
fellow death chasers
full of music
givers of blooming veils
bouquets of snow and hail
almond shaped eyes
resplendent thighs
and a mind as pure as a lake
during an alaskan winter
in the frozen splinter
trees are taken from their roots
the women are bleeding
weaving you the meat and the story
outsiders are cast from clay into statues
with feminine bodies
curving like cotton candy
i choose to impress you
repeat the compliments
that land on empty stomachs
string together words
like a rosary of sweet nothings
simple deeds give thrilling feats
a chance to restore their honor
purity is unwashed in ***** soil
as i am cut from the cloth of the earth
our shirts are pressed at birth
white light forming fellowship
dimples in the cheeks of the mother
the earth’s bones torn out from under
the way we made ourselves invisible
the minute we realized our accents were noticeable
our actions were abominable
how could we ever repay
the generosity we were treated to
our ultimate needs are met by poetry
upon a ridge a silent figure wept
and held his head upon a bed of cement*
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
How long the day,
Delivering letters to friends,
And cranky, bald dog feeders. Home
Is forward, past those poplars.
Always I’ve been in love with
Their almond scent, just as I catch
Past, dragging feet and who knows
How many heartfelt "Thank-you's".
Home is... where the wife is sitting.
She's not keen on laundry, but,
I’m an exception.
Always are my blue shirts blue,
She likes to make sure. Just in case I meet
With him; that carrion shaker,
Mr. Reaper.
“Hello.” I'd say, and tip my cap,
Along my silent nightly rounds;
Perhaps he'd humour me, if he could
See me. He's searching. For me? No.
That’s not right.
The lamps are thickest
In the dark, and that's just how
he likes it.
Even if I tip-toe, tip-toe, tip-toe around
Him, he'll still turn his hood toward me.
A courteous, creaking greeting.
That chill I get.
Matches only the fear
From losing fingers, as I push envelopes,
Catalogues, and restless dreams
Through many metal slats.
But even I, can't quite see,
When the sky turns milky-grey...
That perching, questioning hand
Placed gently on my shoulder;
Pushing down as I bend my back,
Kicking over milk-bottles, sometimes
accidentally. I shake it off.
Get to bed! I say to myself, mostly
Always, to myself.
Slap on some cream
And
Get to bed.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 5:56 AM UTC
i am not the girl you will fall in love with upon first sight
i am made of late nights, busy days, and a long hard past
i am not a pair of legs
i am the sum of all my thoughts
and everything i aspired to be when i was little
i am not a pair of almond-shaped eyes
i am a soft kiss on your cheek and your face nuzzled into my neck when it's 2 am and you can't handle everything
you will not fall for me upon first sight
but you will fall for me
slowly
as you get to know me
and i wouldn't have it any other way
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
Creature of myth, you have to be real
I know you're there, I know you exist
Can't see nor touch but indeed I feel
That should suffice to say the least
No one I know has seen this mythical creature
I stand by my beliefs... I simply just do...
This being unknown to aged texts or ancient scriptures
Allow me to document, I'll keep it true
*"A magnificent neck that tapers into a head
Much like a halo, wearing a luminescent crown
Azurite for eyes like many have said
A golden mane majestically cascading down
Almond shaped face, with cheeks slightly scaled
In the centre were dimple-like nostrils
From it's mouth, a voice; demure and frail
Speaks in verses from a time frozen still
Within the cage right under its chest
I know that calmly there lay beating
A huge, magnanimous heart does rest
Embedded deep within a physique so beguiling
Its spine is perfect, as if forged by a divine mould
Limbs are long, but with gait so light
Non terrestrial wings that into nothing they fold
Stretched around is smoothened skin milky white"*
That is all I have got to offer so far
Matched the words to my mind's bewitching visage
No one has seen it; thus ensured that they cannot mar
In my head will forever be etched the image
Creature of myth... Please be real
Know that I am blinded, I just want to see
Not for the others, you don't reveal
I do believe... I just need to convince me...
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
Center of all centers, core of cores,
almond self-enclosed, and growing sweet--
all this universe, to the furthest stars
all beyond them, is your flesh, your fruit.
Now you feel how nothing clings to you;
your vast shell reaches into endless space,
and there the rich, thick fluids rise and flow.
Illuminated in your infinite peace,
a billion stars go spinning through the night,
blazing high above your head.
But in you is the presence that
will be, when all the stars are dead.
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WHEN cold December
Froze to grisamber
The jangling bells on the sweet rose-trees--
Then fading slow
And furred is the snow
As the almond's sweet husk--
And smelling like musk.
The snow amygdaline
Under the eglantine
Where the bristling stars shine
Like a gilt porcupine--
The snow confesses
The little Princesses
On their small chioppines
Dance under the orpines.
See the casuistries
Of their slant fluttering eyes--
Gilt as the zodiac
(Dancing Herodiac).
Only the snow slides
Like gilded myrrh--
From the rose-branches--hides
Rose-roots that stir.
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Spewing hate as usual
Desperate for attention!
Creepy Duchebag rabbi
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
Hot cup, your large couch and a wooden floor somewhere abroad
You caress away my unexplained tears, "Sorry I don't usually cry"
"You will be okay", my favourite almond taste, how you always knew
Lyrics become far-off places when you search somewhere to hide
Daydreams,trusted moments and you remembering everything
You follow me in the rain, "What do you listen?"
"Everything" I say and then you defend my broken pride
Conversations become last escapes when lost in your soul
Airplanes, my headphones and a mind I miss in the arrival's room
You ask my hand for a waltz, "I don't know how to dance"
"Neither do I", your laughter the most wonderful sound
Memories become romantic adventures when covered in chocolate
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Daydreamer waiting for her surprise
She's always sitting on the bench outside
Watching through the golden glasses
She sees through her eyes a world that unties
Beautiful creatures and where love prevails
She always wonder why her beauty does not impales
As she holds so many wonders
A sweetness in her bright almond eyes, behind the glasses that sat crookedly on her nose
She focused her eyes on a flat prairie
Where the unaccustomed eye sees only ordinary
In hers, the dale was a beautiful swathe of shiny green grasses
Trees are clothed in delicious cream and pink blossom
Jasmines dancing to the winds, choreographing autumn breeze
The sun casting its last golden rays
Changing its yellow into hues of tangerine and fire red
Her perfect world, she whispers
She is a daydreamer
With eyes so full of love that will make you melt
She is beauty and love
Looking at her shadow slowly shrinking down her feet
Only her can see the magic
You will find her outside
Waiting for the man to share the same picturesque landscape
Seeing her reflection on him just like a mirror
Sharing a moment, a smile, a touch, a gaze
Closing their eyes to a slow and soft kiss
Alas; she is still waiting on this
Waiting to meet him flesh and bones
Dreaming about it everyday
This love she's never met,
Yet she seems to glimpse him in every corner
And because of it, her heart craves for blossoming flower
Her heart is bound to a fictional imagery of him
Creating imaginary moments and opportunities
Clinging to a false sign that precipitates desires
The desire to lay her eyes on him and feel his lips on hers
The desire to feel her body shivers with his skin on hers
The desire to feel his heart beating to her caress
the rush in her veins, with just his look
She will be an eternal daydreamer
Until she finds him sitting on the bench outside for her
For an eternity of love
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
We ended like the sunset. It was beautiful for a while, until it lasted. And months after we ended, I decided to go back to our place. As I walk along the shore watching the sun setting, I remembered the days that we drove to the beach on a late afternoon. You said it was because you know how deeply in love I am with the sunset and even took me to the best spot where we can watch it. We would spend our whole afternoon just sitting at the back of the pick up truck, looking at the sun as it sets. Like someone spilled a bunch of colors in the sky that don't usually belong, you would describe it. But for me, it was like a blazing fire lighting up the horizon. And soon after, I am lost in the moment, slowly drowning to it's beauty. The more I look at the sunset, the more I fall in love with it. And sometimes, I wouldn't even notice the tears falling down my face. You always thought it made me melancholic because it's like something was fading or ending. It was neither a feeling of loss nor an end. Rather, it's an overwhelming feeling that puts warmth in my heart. It was like coming home after a long, tiring day. Like the clouds promising a calm and peaceful night. We would be there and have our small talks whilst waiting for the sun to finally set. And then I would look into your eyes. I would look in those big dazzling almond eyes, drawn closer and closer. Suddenly, I will feel your lips pressed against mine and we'll promise to remember this feeling. And after a while, it starts to get dark and we'll finally decide to go back. This was one of the most beautiful things I would say that has ever happened in my life. But then again, all good things must come to and end. And so we did. Like a beauteous sun setting, fading slowly until it was gone. But I am keeping my promise to always remember what it felt like. And now I look at the sunset once more and it gave me the idea of you. Beautiful but temporary.
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC