"basting" poems
I am the product of my mistakes,
attitude, the way to success,
sometimes they make me stronger
sometimes a sense of pain.
Poetry is just the thread,
that sneaks out of my face,
basting those feelings,
with the rest.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
The swallow of summer, she toils all the summer,
A blue-dark knot of glittering voltage,
A whiplash swimmer, a fish of the air.
But the serpent of cars that crawls through the dust
In shimmering exhaust
Searching to slake
Its fever in ocean
Will play and be idle or else it will bust.
The swallow of summer, the barbed harpoon,
She flings from the furnace, a rainbow of purples,
Dips her glow in the pond and is perfect.
But the serpent of cars that collapsed on the beach
Disgorges its organs
A scamper of colours
Which roll like tomatoes
Nude as tomatoes
With sand in their creases
To cringe in the sparkle of rollers and screech.
The swallow of summer, the seamstress of summer,
She scissors the blue into shapes and she sews it,
She draws a long thread and she knots it at the corners.
But the holiday people
Are laid out like wounded
Flat as in ovens
Roasting and basting
With faces of torment as space burns them blue
Their heads are transistors
Their teeth grit on sand grains
Their lost kids are squalling
While man-eating flies
Jab electric shock needles but what can they do?
They can climb in their cars with raw bodies, raw faces
And start up the serpent
And headache it homeward
A car full of squabbles
And sobbing and stickiness
With sand in their crannies
Inhaling petroleum
That pours from the foxgloves
While the evening swallow
The swallow of summer, cartwheeling through crimson,
Touches the honey-slow river and turning
Returns to the hand stretched from under the eaves -
A boomerang of rejoicing shadow.
4.3k
i sweat and sweat and sweat and sweat
my under arms are always wet
basting myself in my own vinaigrette
i’ll never be the cool guy in the corvette
blasting his tunes with an old school cassette
with a blonde on his right and in the back a brunette
i’ll always be this soggy piglet
you’d think i could just shower and then i’d be set
but NO! don’t you see these pits are a leaky faucet
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 4:46 PM UTC
I think that a Bar-B-Q is an extension of a guys manliness.
Or manhood.
Now before all of you start disagreeing with me,
listen to this blondes logic.
When a man goes to purchase a grill
There are many factors a man has to take into consideration.
And they are, in this order, as follow:
1. Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid
2. The size of the grill
3. Rotisserie?
4. Accessories
5. Bar-B-Q covers
Let us take each consideration in turn.
Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid.
Propane men:
Some men want instant gratification. Twist a **** or two, push a button here and instant heat. Give it a few minutes to build to the right temperature and BAM! In with the meat. Once done, turn a **** or two and walk away. No muss. No fuss.
Charcoal men:
Other men are more inclined to take their time. savor the experience. They enjoy watching the flames build and turn into a glowing bed of meat searing heat. When everything is just right, they gently place the meat. They stand gaurd over it. Tending to it. Every once in a while poking it to test if it's ready. These same men will sometimes sit snuggled around the glowing embers afterwards. Watching the heat fade and cool. Then they will ask their woman they had served "How'd you like your steak babe?"
Charcoal Fluid And Men:
Some men should never be allowed near a Bar-B-Q that requires something to stimulate the flames. It always ends in disaster and or injury.
Size Of The Bar-B-Q:
O.K. Now this is a touchy subject for most men. It has been known to cause envy, jealousy and has broken up a marriage or two. Men think bigger is better.
When buying a Bar-B-Q , a man thinks about; cooking area, the possible need for side burners, portability, and the all important factor of presentation. That's right. How will it look to the neighbors and guests? Will they be properly impressed with it? Also, can it handle the extra meat when company comes over? Heaven forbid it should let him down and make him look foolish.
Rotisserie:
This is an important decision. Does having your meat spin make it better? I think that this is more of an individual decision.
Accessories:
Now we have reached a critical point. How to accessorize. Of course, every man needs the right equipment to ensure success. And all of the tools need to have a long reach and be durable.
Tongs, fork, knife, spatula, basting brush.
Some men even splurge and go for a flavor injector. Now that's a man who cares about his meat.
Bar-B-Q Cover:
Finally we reach the last consideration a man has to make. To cover or not to cover?
Men! Always, with out fail, should cover. It is for their own protection. And it shows you care.
Thank you.
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 10:50 AM UTC
Waves of stain glisten
on my rainbow days
Its as if moonbeams danced
around my torrid dreams
and slapped me into next week
Tattooed ****** images
seeking to find some
god forsaken purpose
constantly playing hide and seek
behind my eyes
The trickles down the water pipe,
we dont recognize their underlying sins
that flows beside us
We don't think of mercy.
We think of wrongful morality.
Turning a page of lust,
we become stripped
of our innocence.
Its a life of unexpected metaphors
seeking countless divisions
inside a cave of infinite darkness
My thoughts caressed
twisted views of my past.
Then I start to realize
maybe they were all true.
Pulling the covers over my head,
basting in my own selflessness,
I cowered within
but in peace
Nov 11, 2024
Nov 11, 2024 at 10:34 PM UTC
They've been waiting for a Wonder Woman film for thirty years
That's how long it feels for me
But i know my time will come
Let's just pray to Osiris that i don't
mess it up
I just want a Wonder Woman
To come save this asphalt heart
Perform some wonder on me
Let me forget all the things that are my fault
Basting in something better me
Is still better than sinking into a puddle of desperation
I can go on alone
I have plenty of closure
Something else tells me
That it isn't the best way
So i will answer my instinct's qualms.
Wonder Woman
Please perform your Wonder on me
It's something every straight man needs
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:32 AM UTC
Dear John:
Do you?
*I do.
I did.
I'm done.
Overdone.
Undone. Metaphysically strained.
And I need a thermometer to check my rarity.
I'm developing a crispness
And drying out, in want of basting.
I'm done, John.
Sincerely,
Mary Donne*
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
She is consistent and particularly patient
when I am distant and purposely averting
the blue of her searing gaze.
I am not selfish, just fearful of extreme flame.
I cannot handle the heat all at once,
I need it in smaller doses.
On nights I feel local I try to relax,
try to enjoy her touch
soft and warm upon my neck,
hands like butter across my back
basting me with fingertips,
a slight sizzle of skin
like a pig on a spit
I keep spinning over her uniform heat,
the kind of heat I need in order to allow
the all of me to be prepared for her.
She's got me close to done.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 12:01 AM UTC
Your eyes tell a story, down a path
leading to an eternal ocean
of past lives and loved lies
basting in the hopes and dreams
of permanent destruction
Devine perfection
perceived as crippled obscurities
fearful of who's identity is portrayed
keeping signs of divinity at bay
avoiding the love of the guides
covered in humanities tainted prides
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
The light of the sun creeps across the duvet
under which you and I are entwined.
Our limbs entangled like a pair of neglected earphones,
stowed away in a now unused jacket pocket;
both of us pleasantly unable to ascertain where our body starts
and the others begins.
The room smells like stale cigarettes and wine,
which is only intensified by both the heat of the sun
and the warmth of our own biology.
The aroma transforms from stale to fresh as I crack a new bottle,
pouring us both a healthy glass,
whilst you light our last cigarette;
Taking a few draws then passing it to me,
along with the over-flowing ashtray.
Our unwashed skin is sticky with dry sweat,
accumulated during sleep and **********
Our mouths rancid from the wine
and the lack of toothpaste applied.
To the naked eye there is a thick and smokey cloud of filth
occupying the space above our heads;
creating an atmosphere uninhabitable to anyone but us.
This mass of pollution combines with the salt-filled air,
streaming in from the open window;
making for an interesting cocktail of unpleasantness.
To all this we are blissfully unaware,
and we just lie there,
basting in it;
caring not a jot.
Our thoughts only for each other
and the tingling in our nerve endings
when we catch the others eye.
For eternity we lie there,
until one of us has to ****
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
some days I feel fit for life
a real contender in the race for...
whatever the goal is.
the vacancy sign is buzzing on my forehead
trying to remember what i'm supposed to never forget
but too often i always forget.
obviously today is not a fit day
today is not a day that goes down in the histories of
elegant thoughts or grandeur revelations
flagrancy has its consistency basting at the bottom of my spine
who knew thoughts like this could still be mine
****
i'm not supposed to think things like that
if i were projected onto a screen
mindful of the electrical patterns governing
where exactly my eyes have been hovering
the views expressed do not reflect the views of Jeff's heart
please, avert thine eyes and let go of your pride
if only it were that easy.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Sol oh paniter of visions, curator of those under your light. Your passion is easily confused with fury and your momentary absences are known to be a time of danger and chaos
Basting the blessed and decimateing the damned,a infernal bliss.
General of the soil, those born from it follow your call under you they toil. maestro of the bloom and birds their harmonious notes in the air ,smelled and heard, from the plains to the berg but at the coast is when that celestial sovereignty ends.
Enters,a vision, Oh Luna; soft yellow dipped and dyed in the honeied hues of the horizon or a radiant alabaster, stark and chilled. cut from the heavens, apart of the city resting on that which scratches the sky but only visitors in the sights, you Nobly looking over. Teach me as you are, not as they say ,cold but ever observing seen every day.
You the Choreographer of the waves they dance by your direction, beautifully and brutishly birthing rainbows from their violate bombardments, for the birth of Brilliant ideas they have been the midwife.we lose and find ourselves in your teachings
Raising higher as you we age, as one should, on the path of the sage.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall,
How I’d wish to love them all.
An angel for a night to sleep,
A passion for my heart to keep.
Fluids drip drop down her spine,
How lucky I am to call her mine,
Whomever her may seem to be,
Resulted from my fantasy.
Its lonesome here in darkest night,
I’d love to come…
And take a bite,
Of forbidden fruit as sweet as lore,
Tasting lips and basting more.
It’s hot and heavy in this bed,
I’m solo here with marvel dread.
Reflecting on my loveless life,
I crave the scents of a luscious wife.
Oct 7, 2023
Oct 7, 2023 at 2:35 AM UTC
~~~
I'm watching the road to eternity
perhaps
I'm just basting cries
to the hopes of attracting a moonbeam
a reflection
within your eyes
A twisted path
from dawning time
that leads
through push and shove
A breeze that moans
through bows aloft
and swirls the dust of love
~
My footstep
stubbed a root
so gnarled
I tumbled
astray the path
Though I returned
to sacred ground
my fate so befell your wrath
~
I stand alone
amongst the weeds
where a Fragrant Rose
once bloomed
I cannot see
nor feel the warmth
within your heart
entombed
~
And still the years
creep past forever
dark shadows veil these skies
Your rose defies
a memory's tether
No reflection
within your eyes
~~~
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
A rat!, Is that a rat i see
or was it a cat, a fat cat sat atop a christmas tree.
Each year they tell us,
it seems they tell us earlier each year .
About the goose thats getting fat,
the pig thats ready for basting,
the time thats almost upon us,
when the old and infirm die in their freezing cold flats.
it's nearly here the media sounds, promoting, prompting people into debt.
The shops scream out, its time for letters,
send them quick, so as to catch old santa's sack.
treating the parents with contempt,
knowing full well that they are the cause, for their children's flack
No longer the holy belief,
no longer a workers relief,
they just keep banging away,
creating more and more grief.
Telling people they need more to store, be it in the loft, the garage or the cellar down beneath.
Pray they used to say,
pray for peace and harmony,
bring the world together,
lets stop this greed and misery,
stop the greed and misery,
buy buy buy, buy up all you can,
so those fat pig corporations can get fatter and buy up all the land.
(c) Robert Kingston 29.11.15
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
they have been
basting
in
dreams
of
you
am
i
an
knock-knock joke
taste my lips
?
...
..
.
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
A small girl with braids steals snapshots out a squoval window
Every soul, each object in the long cabin
is overcast with a sheen of sleepy,
jet fueled jet lag
But daylight, pure and natural
shines through on the small wanderer, basting her in possibility
The plane interior is pale, cool gray
with sky blue accents
Matching this, the child-woman wears comfy, muted 3 day sweats {luggage lost}
and the snow capped Rockies she gazes upon tie it all together:
Silvers, grays, whites, and
A Touch of the Blues
She'll get somewhere soon
but for now she'll just
be
Mar 21, 2022
Mar 21, 2022 at 7:07 PM UTC
Are You Going...?
*Benedíc nos Dómine et haec Túa dóna quae de Túa
largitáte súmus sumptúri. Per Chrístum Dóminum
nóstrum. Ámen*.
Miz Busy with her homemade apple pies
Uncle Alfie lapsing into a snore
Young lads and lassies making goo-goo eyes
Miss Billie’s cookies (shhh…they’re from the store)
Children frolicking only with their ‘phones
Jolly old Ed basting burnt barbecue
An altar boy gorging until he groans
The teenagers’ gross game of choke and chew
Young marrieds getting into a squabble
Politics roaring like a thunderstorm
Bubba came drunk; he’s beginning to wobble
Tox ‘tater salad that’s gotten warm
Unidentifiable glop upon a stick –
No, I’m not going to the parish picnic
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 3:45 PM UTC
Writhing sea of dancing faces
Roiled by electric currents
From a storm that I can’t see-
No high, no low, no ebbing
Just tumaltism from
One Sean cut to another.
In the middle is a wooden box
Painted big and black and square.
On it is a Nereid
Arms out flung, long red hair flying
Turning in the basting of the spotlights
So willow-thin above the starfish in the tide pools.
Powered by the lack of sun
She floats her rhythms
On the breakers
And becomes a beacon
For lost eyes and hopeless dreams.
How I wish I was her sister
Cousin or best friend.
How I’d love to fusion with her
Show her where she got her licks.
But I hold back- I don’t dare it
My time was yesterday
Today is hers alone
I must be jetsam on the shore
So sad that my tide’s moving out as
Hers is rolling in.
If I could only be her peer
Instead of Sea Waif’s mother.
ljm
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 9:03 AM UTC
She lay basting
In the sun rays
Gleem
Her eyes of green
In the calmest of
This summers breeze
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
the kid inside of you
disappeared and
became something
else.
a wolf that disguised
itself as a lamb
you destroyed
life.
you set traps to only
appease yourself
you mangled
viciously.
you were determined
you were strong
taking others
selfishly.
you now roam alone
the victor basting
in self
glorification.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 7:04 AM UTC
I am stealing my last breath
Working well until my death
Sitting still and still I tell myself
This is what I am looking for
Kissing, touching, and loving for
Savoring and wanting more
Like Cupid’s last crust of bread
I am brown and dry but still rich tasting
Basking, basting, and baking
With all that delicious love
I take myself to bed instead of
Staying awake with my racing brain
Fulfilling my last best dressed wish
I rest to lay my aching head
Softly sinking in a red pillow
Till they find me dead in my bed
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC