"baste" poems
Why in Baste Eyes my Form checks expect
Yet cast my Security for his Expense
Which, I suppose, that Report I prefect
Was a File un-welcomed for my Good Sense
Though, I assure, was all to contribute
For his Sweets added to his Nationed Chest
That, to chillax, take Tidbits absolute
And brisk the New Day for his Talent's Best
Now this, resolved to wax Slime and Conflict
Thus put my Loyalty to Terms reset
More fruitful, more pruned, from Pride's Tome inflict
Then this Orrery - strike Rocks to Sky's bet.
In turn perhaps recover from this Fling
On Muted Clouds do those Falcons still Sing.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
Dil ke ehsaas hote hain bhut khaas,
Shayad tabhi umadte hai bhut sawaal iske paas.
Tuta dil or tuta darpan hai ek samaan,
Jodne ki koshish karenge tou hoga kudh ko hi dard jiska nahi hai koi bakhaan.
Dil, Dil se milte hai tou pyar hota hai,
Dil, Dil ke liye hi beqarar hota hai,
Ye lafzon ki bhasha nahi samjhta saab,
Ye tou us nayno ke andaaz ko hi smjh leta hai
Yaaron dil kabhi kisi ka dukhana nahi,
Beshak tutne ki awaaz aati nahi.
Par khuda kasam dard bhut hai hota,
Jab ye nanha dil hai rota.
Jab kabhi hum khud se hi ruth jatey hai,
Dil rota hai aur aankhon se ashq tapak jaatey hai,
Ye bahut nadaan hota hai,
Bin soche hi pyar kr leta hai
Bin ankhiyon ke dekh leta hai bahut kuch,
Bin kaano ke sun leta hai har raag sach much.
Haal apne dil ka suna nahi sakte
Ujad gayi hai duniya jo thi khubsurat isme baste
Sab kuchh es chhote dil me chhipa ke bhi chup rahta hai,
Puri duniya ka dard bhi dedo tou aah tak nahi bharta hai,
Kabhi khush hokar muskura deta hai,
Tou kabhi taklifon ko dekhkar tut bhi jata hai.
Collaboration by Manish Shrivastva and Sonia Paruthi
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
None but the cobbled Hackney will accept
Their Postcards sign this Doveling Bond, betwixt
So both decide a Limo; And dated Theft
Of many Soul-Chasers which do not Exist
From there both Virgins took a Scandal-Plate,
Wrapped in Hookahs only the Wise could see
Goodbye, First Perfume! Not from what will sate
The Photographed Script of what they should be
From this a Problem looms. In such Stone-Bowl
We become the very Thing we disgust
Hearts still cry out for the Thunder they stole
And baste their Image on the Throne they must.
Realise, just now, the Name of this Theme
From Enlightenment whose Founder they blaspheme.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
Forbegging yay Progress, me Most High Lord
Besoothe thaye Stock's High-Cast-Baste-Reborough
And Livvenny-Lug, quain Twill-Truth's-Be-Word
Would Sluggenny-Bust thaye Pell's Arthorough
Aye, take them Less to thore Summerful Sum
Therr quine bemime blubber-boost up-to-front
Shanty ye, Crown, dow Caraparcel's Hum
Laugh more shan't take much Desire on Wont
We porkify Lub-Senses wore Jiggers clude
Feast-Tea ye Merry; Jolly-Cant, digress
Till Ferry thaye Maidens; And Torque-Pie, ****
Rode ye Arkins - Road! Be thaye Kiss address.
Labber ye, Throne, deserve Cot's Privilege
Roar Pull-Course Attract; Mine Concubinage.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
the skull and spine of seventy seven men, extracted.
retribution far past putrefaction.
a pile of bones in the center of town, at the corner of washington
& rochambeau.
gather around.
do you believe in the boogeyman?
a glitch in the darkness.
an echo of rage, high chroma bacteriophage.
every faithless father,
every sister spared,
every ritual sung just right, a brief blackout,
reconfigured pixels of outer night.
[bobby’s sega genesis awakens on its own]
thirty three years to the day, he
died on that suncrest boulevard, returned today just to say “hey.”
graveyard family tree and the moon.
first as a manifestation of electromagnetic phenomena
in a videogame’s cpu. 1993.
second as a fully-fledged entity materialized via videocassette,
hungry for pizza and pure vengeance. 2001.
third from beneath bedrock, the quarry belly baste,
a body buried thrice, undead toxic tumescence,
a walking corpse heaving black plasma. 2020.
the sequel.
the son.
the spectral chosen one, he
rips out a throat or two, quite fashionably so,
a man about town throttled and disemboweled,
as friends and neighbors stumble and sprint to escape with their own godforsaken skin.
let the bone collection begin.
emerged in afterschool hallways to **** old classmates turned teachers.
emerged in afterhours offices to devour old buddies turned bankers.
emerged in the quiet dark homes of neighborhood flesh and folk.
blood soaked socks.
why? you ask, must all these people die?
vengeance? no.
that was a lie.
he killed those people for a laugh
& that’s that.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
Southern Icarus
by Michael R. Burch
Windborne, lover of heights,
unspooled from the truck’s wildly lurching embrace
you climb, skittish kite ...
What do you know of the world’s despair,
gliding in vast solitariness there
so that all that remains is to
fall?
Only a little longer the wind invests its sighs;
you stall
spread-eagled as the canvas snaps
and ***** its white rebellious wings,
and all
the houses watch with baffled eyes.
Originally published by Poetry Porch. Keywords/Tags: Icarus, flight, flying, hang-gliding, kite, glider, wind, canvas, South, southern, truck, unspooled
Note: The following poem unites Icarus with Tom O'Bedlam in a final, magical quest ...
Finally to Burn
(the Fall and Resurrection of Icarus)
by Michael R. Burch
I.
Athena takes me
sometimes by the hand
and we go levitating
through strange Dreamlands
where Apollo sleeps
in his dark forgetting
and Passion seems
like a wise bloodletting
and all I remember
—upon awaking—
is: to Love sometimes
is like forsaking
one’s Being—to glide
heroically beyond thought,
forsaking the here
for the There and the Not.
II.
O, finally to Burn,
gravity beyond escaping!
To plummet is Bliss
when the blisters breaking
rain down red scabs
on the earth’s mudpuddle...
Feathers and wax
and the watchers huddle...
Flocculent sheep,
O, and innocent lambs!
I will rock me to sleep
on the waves’ iambs.
III.
To Sleep, that is Bliss
in Love’s recursive Dream,
for the Night has Wings
pallid as moonbeams—
they will flit me to Life,
like a huge-eyed Phoenix
fluttering off
to quarry the Sphinx.
IV.
Riddlemethis,
riddlemethat,
Rynosseross,
throw out the Welcome Mat.
Quixotic, I seek Love
amid the tarnished
rusted-out steel
when to live is varnish.
To Dream—that’s the thing!
Aye, that Genie I’ll rub,
soak by the candle,
aflame in the tub.
V.
Riddlemethis,
riddlemethat,
Rynosseross,
throw out the Welcome Mat.
Somewhither, somewhither
aglitter and strange,
we must moult off all knowledge
or perish caged.
VI.
I am reconciled to Life
somewhere beyond thought—
I’ll Live in the There,
I’ll Dream of the Naught.
Methinks it no journey;
to tarry’s a waste,
so fatten the oxen;
make a nice baste.
I’m coming, Fool Tom,
we have Somewhere to Go,
though we injure noone,
ourselves wildaglow.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 3:57 AM UTC
He calls himself Dr Swalik
Take a long sharp skewer
Pierce the body in numerous places
But please, please do not pierce any vital organs
Place said scammer in a pre heated oven
100 degrees or gas Mark 4
When the agonized screams have reached their loudest
Reduce the heat
Baste liberally with honey and olive oil
Add chopped herbs of your choice
Re baste the scammer and turn up the heat
Gas Mark 7 would be about right
When the skin is crisp and golden brown
Serve up the scammer on a wooden platter
Serve with buttered new potatoes
And **** apple sauce
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
in my veins, these fiery flames, irritate like grains of forgotten names
call me insane, but at least I maintain composure and refrain from strangling myself deranged
even tho im convoluted, completely diluted and secluded from this polluted brainless blue ***
i can't shake these blunders of wonders that wake me from my slumbers and asunder like lightening after thunder
why is this society, full of variety, stuck on the wrong types of proprieties? to feed your satiety? to reach your notoriety?
continue to lie to me. stream the feed on live t.v. the glamour of no individuality. convincing there's something wrong with me.
straight faced frugality. absolutely no morality.
they feed on the weak. while they silently weep. "beauty doesn't come cheap, so take the leap! buy now and don't be unique!"
******* grotesque! I'd rather rip my heart outta my chest than ingest that wretched mess.
"beauty" is born not molded and formed from biohazard waste and paste. hows that plastic taste while you constantly baste your neighbors in hate.
I can't wait til the day you meet fate.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 6:34 AM UTC
I was teetering on the precipice
of something.
edging towards the glimmer.
mashing tongues,
you tore me limb from limb.
I'm glazed with sweat.
you baste me in honeydew.
in the bedroom we speak in vowels:
oooOOHHhhooo
uUUHhh.
AAAAaaahhh
The sounds of death,
Long awaited for.
I died like this every night and loved every minute of it, bruised down to my bones.
i i i, want moremoremore.
Give my teeth a whitening.
You are the eye of the storm
the first leg into a pair of pants
the bone with the best sense of humor.
you left me high,
but not dry.
accept this broken french as a gesture of my affinity:
je taime
tu me manques
je tadore mon lapin
bisou bisou
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC
It's here! It's here! One of the Best
And Brightest Days
Now's the Time to rev-up our Ways.
That Glazing Star, which spits the
Rays
Shone brightly through Helios, the
Highest Display.
Beaches un-roll their sleek-forming sands
As Pools de-frost their blue-tanned waves.
Swimmers do dive, and enjoy the Save
In Iberia's Coast rescue in Grand.
There are many Events in
This Hot-Baste Holiday
Worry not; For it will slowly
Pass Away
About a month-two - quill, quite awhilst
Just enough for me to produce
More Words in-rhyme.
Writing on Holidays must always be fun
For Experiences like these, pressed
Under the Sun
Tram-Tracked Thoughts, which does
Hurt to remember
Will be preserved - thanks to November.
Family, Friends, Extensions and Strangers
There the Bunch starts to get all blokey
Boring Concepts, birth these Megaphone Chaps
You world prefer to dance on their laps.
Maybe what I said meant something else
Those Words of mine touched Heart and felt
Such gradual boredom - in time I agree
For tunnelling Facts, with Evidence plead.
Nevertheless, let the Holidays sing
And let our Lives live that Full Extract.
Be Happy, Gay and Humble in Kind
For once the Headmaster whistles, you'll
Have a Sortie ahead.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
How to prepare a broken heart:
For this recipe you will need to acquire,
one human heart, and pound it out flat,
blood, eight pints to ten, and boil over fire,
four months of tears should provide for the salt,
add the better part of a soul, a few good intentions,
and pinch of "it's all your fault"
now add your hopes, and add your dreams,
ground up a little warmth and some smiles,
and sprinkle it all with a dash of defeat.
disrespect, shake and repeat.
mangle, beat, and crush with your feet.
tear open your chest,
**** it all inside, right under your breast.
heat at "Hell" for as long as it takes.
baste with fear and loneliness for the time that it bakes.
you won't know when its done; it doesn't come with a timer.
Just be patient; let the torture unfold.
when all of your faith in the world has receded,
and your bright eyes go dead and defeated,
when your childish view of the world grows old,
your dish will be ready - best if served cold.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 2:24 AM UTC
Wretched souls baste in hell
breaking earth and seeking bell
Minds forsaken deep in dark
Forthcoming hearts torn apart
Mystic lines streams down the pane
shadows emerge driving the train
Faceless demons reaching within
breaking my walls, stealing my grins
Go away and reappears
feeding, breeding, drip down tears
Shocked by the terror of fallible desires
Pushed into the well, burned by fires
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
These same Bells, thunder my Tame Mind's Design
Upon your Fortress knowing your Demand
Could lead to Confession; That which Clouds feign,
A Ruse much too daunted to Understand
Such Meme even the Ripley's Head would scratch
And ask Mental Surveys for him to choose
As why the Belligerent Leech would latch
Even if his Fish shakes her Kisses blue
So would these Bells wiggle your Drums allow
Then baste Solemnity another Shake
As to Theatres burst with Laughter and Bow
Throw Bleeding Roses my Heart goes to Wake.
As what it seems, the Human by Love's install
Programmed to Affect; Wired for Life's All.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
I wish you only knew of the brier we planted
But your eyes are always on the stars
I watch you pluck every note from the air
So vibrant, and eager to pass the jug around
-
Think of me too, Artemis, Baste
As the coals twinkle and turn
These moments have always been yours to burn
And I am but a goat - veiled and masked
-
Home is far, but I have my thoughts
I have my brother of tune
My thanks for the smoke, Sylvan Queen
I only wish your eyes weren’t hidden
-
We were flea-bitten in the first burrow
And found gold in the next
Red cardinal be swift, I carry many gifts
But I just don’t want to be in the middle right now
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
a mind is a treacherous thing to baste
but shes havin too much fun
runnin and gunning in the wild west of city streets
shes the star of her own reality show
but its never so real
she would have to think about consequence
never so real she would have to look you in the eye
she was a delicate beauty
now grown thin
stretched too far on the hard line
in the company of cold faces with dollar sings for eyes
she was a warm hand holding mine
when i needed it
never got a chance to return the favor
fore the streets swallowed her whole
a mind is a treacherous thing to baste
and she has slow roasted hers
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
We romanticize sadness blindly
even if it is not our intention;
we are programed to believe in the
tall boy saving the girl that is wilting like a flower
and the soft kisses that diminish the hurt.
We believe in the coffee
and the tea
and thick blankets that envelope your cold skin
and most importantly: we believe in the pain.
The truth is that pain really isn’t truthful at all
and it fluctuates like the beating of a heart.
We like to think that one day the sting of our sadness
- which is questionable to begin with -
will be washed away and replaced with the feeling
of one’s hand entangled lovingly in yours.
Sadness is not beautiful,
It is mostly just sad
And I advise you to erase the somber pulsing of your blood
And soak up the pastels that are hiding in your room –
Marinate yourself in every dip of a cloud
And then baste in the laughter of a pretty stranger.
This is all much easier written than done
As are most things
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC
Beware the Odes of March (tho’ this is not really an ode)
or
In the Italian Kitchen with Brutus and Cassius
or
I Come to Curry Caesar, Not to Baste Him
Julius Caesar on the Ides
Marches to the senate house
Up to him young Brutus strides
And, too, Cassius (what a louse!)
Then mean Brutus takes his knife
So does Cassius; you know the ballad:
“Lettuce chop cold Caesar’s life
And thus create the Caesar salad!”
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 11:18 AM UTC
Tightly embraced in fates lace
laying to waste in contradictory haste
em-placed
in dreams
to baste
in boiling blood
wiping my face of the disgrace im placed
ignoring the taste while i hiss at an accelerated pace
exhilarated but displaced
manipulated minds traced
blank stares and premeditated glares
im spaced.
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
teenager dreams, my friend's last sentences
we spraypainted the buildings in our hood
we lived this live, tryin to talk like legends
we didn't see an end anywhere, first we invaded streets
and then we gobbled down the city, if they were comin'
we beat em up, every baba that i construct
creates memories like the dawn of my childhood
fakers, jason warriors, half a kid, investment banker,
tremendous windows, art nouveau, and statues
statutes and club guidelines, rich business men
who bled to death in the rain, in front of their mansions
but i just took pictures, afterwards i chilled
there was no future for me, merely rappin provided a shelter
so i chained up my rage, but now i don't have to hide
i'm a giant-sized male and i endure feminists
as long as they never try to convince me of "values"
i'm a giant-sized male, mostly wicked and rotten
you got the palm in the back, catch 500 rocks, jason
into the p***y of queshaana, my name be tizzop
i am so true, find my face on dollar bills
and in downtown miami, where i'm shining with the sun
in order to negate a female's approach, just a pun?
i am macho like the rhymes, take you to the cinema
that much fun and a few nachos are enuff
to baste you with s***m, i got a hammer *****
and hammer nails like a banger, kiddo: set sail
everything been done, and we're flying to venice
fortunately, the beard is gone, gonna meet perla
straight into the face, always for the big splash,
they are just basslines, when i'm stressed out and
hand out codeine like jason to strangers
why you stressed out? i am styling myself walking
smoke during the videocall, like a chimney
fly over the curb, one hundred miles
hunting down the traitor, his name be freddy
but i scented that liar, ****** him good like a big daddy
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 8:16 PM UTC
¡Qué hermoso es ver el día
coronado de fuego levantarse,
y, a su beso de lumbre,
brillar las olas y encenderse el aire!
¡Qué hermoso es tras la lluvia
del triste otoño en la azulada tarde,
de las húmedas flores
el perfume aspirar hasta saciarse!
¡Qué hermoso es cuando en copos
la blanca nieve silenciosa cae,
de las inquietas llamas
ver las rojizas lenguas agitarse!
Qué hermoso es cuando hay sueño,
dormir bien... y roncar como un sochantre
y comer... y engordar... ¡y qué desgracia
que esto sólo no baste!.
721
With recipe of life,
I colonize mind
setting up red flags
to recognize the ego ingredient that
doesn't blend well
to serve my highest good.
My recipes includes a dash of love,
a cup of swirling dreams and
plenty of seasoning from emotions.
Time to cook and baste my mind
with intention of thoughts.
WALA!
The poem concoction is done.
Feast away readers, feast away
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 9:09 AM UTC
Butter-baste in haste
For better poet-taste
Reposting pastry
Poet-tastery
Pronounced as mastery:
Poetastery
Past repast
It goes down fast
Poetic firsts shall be last
Lyrically-paced
Poetry-based
Poetry's straitjacket, unlaced
Lack of meaning showcased
Aug 9, 2019
Aug 9, 2019 at 5:34 PM UTC
Badi azeeb hai tanhai iss dil ki
Apne tau hazaro hai magar
Milne ki chahat bas ek tumse hai!
Yaadon me khayalo me bas
ek tum he baste **
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
by: W. A. Marshall
To consider only those opinions
that confirm a particular belief
only destroys light
and ***** marrow
from the truth -
yet divisions baste
when courage affirms
the emperors liability.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC