"breadcrumb" poems
On A Diet
The country is on a diet,
drinking coke with no sugar,
eating burgers with no bun,
running on the treadmill;
it's powdered protein for lunch.
It's straight tequila in the evening,
a light head and guilty fries at night.
The country is on a diet,
doing yoga over yoghurt pots,
training their minds with sudoku and solitaire,
rubbing salt and condition into their hair.
It's 6 a.m. gym sessions,
it's squats on the living room floor,
the country is on a diet, my friends,
and so we have no time for truth, or war.
The country is on a diet,
avocado in the breadcrumb,
aspirin in the salt-shaker,
food numb on the tongue
and those slim-shakes always failed to deliver.
Thigh gaps and mind-the-gaps,
all these signposts for a cleaner living,
no dust on the shelf,
no bags 'neath your eyes to hide
the lack of sleep
and your ailing mental health.
The country is on a diet,
drinking tea with no milk,
eating carrot sticks with best-value dip,
running on the treadmill,
we never get too far.
It's straight tequila in the evening,
it's "anything goes" in the dark.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
A breadcrumb I am - the morsel of my old dough,
a piece of chewed bread rotten, missed near a toe,
shredded by the sons of righteousness and “normality”,
entombed I am under the carpet to fulfil “morality”.
Mum added the yeast for me to grow, as well as flour,
Hoping my crust would golden as a vivid live flower,
She sprinkled little salt into me, to know the grimes,
Sugar too, for life brings out the salt to eyes, at times.
Dad poured the water, to soften toughness uncalled,
For man is kind too, not merely clay masked, walled -
And above all, they added affection and compassion,
They wanted me to satisfy mineself, not one’s ration.
Into the oven, 9 minutes, under fire: I show colors,
The warmth turned the heart warm for all others;
I am left to rest, to harden the shell and eternal body,
To be perfect as ma and pa wish: not adverse, shoddy.
But the stale, unpuffed, unfresh bread of this world,
covets but loathes what is good and not yet twirled,
It wishes for me to inhibit mold and evict dignity,
Mais allez, étrange moi, expose me not to malignity.
The least of their gurgling sounds puncture heads,
And the weakest of their advice the spirit dreads;
The making of me is the capacity of mine flexes,
Your ingredients suit not me, mortals and sexes.
Days yearn for you, not this battle of complexes:
You, mine old dough who suddenly “complex” is,
My parents baked me on low heat nice and gentle,
And they sear me with words not for me, mental!
Know you: Pita, Kmajj, Brioche, Shrak, or Baguette,
Bread is bread, could be different, but it is no threat.
Jan 18, 2023
Jan 18, 2023 at 9:27 AM UTC
He sails a sauce pan in the sink
a mast made from a spoon,
and maps his ocean black as ink
beneath a light bulb moon.
He is searching for the islands
that they call the ***** Plates,
with golden beach of breadcrumb sands
beyond the Gravy Straits.
Where macaroni dolphins leap
beyond French Fries Lagoon,
and sing their songs as sailors sleep
beneath a light bulb moon.
Beware the corn cob crocodiles
that lurk beneath the foam,
betraying folks with welcome smiles
within their bone strewn home.
He navigates the boiling oil
and safely through the ice,
to find a place to hide his spoil
away from other mice.
So island claimed x marks the spot
his sailing days at end,
and I at last wash up my pots
that so amused our friend.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
The sky lies on the horizon
like a smoke-coloured cat
draped over a sofa of heather,
purple as pansies but sharper,
scratching against boots and paws.
It washes across the landscape
in a swathe of paint,
broken by breadcrumb rocks.
Up here, the wind gallops,
almost spins me round
to face home again.
Water framed by narrow paths
like battlements, flicking
onto grey stones and sand,
smell of earth, damp air.
Our path drops down
like the side of a ship and the dog,
ginger beacon in a sea of bog-grass,
skids on his front paws.
I shuffle sideways, crab steps
slipping from mud to puddle.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
You intrigue,
With your unsubtle unsettled intent to decieve,
Breadcrumb clues
Your gender;
(don't care)
Your age
(don't care, but oft
Insightful)
<>
Only two things do I require;
Any name you wish to provide,
(So intriguing, always a poem in & of itself),
And from where you hale/hail,
So my imaginings can fly to you
With full embrace
<>
Sunday
July 20th
2025
Still & Quiet
in the sunroom
S.I.
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 7:22 AM UTC
a falling boy's
measured out footprint,
slipping in vain search
for a breadcrumb of solace
lost is spring, and green,
and bird nesting,
lost is his mother's smile,
he breathes in deeply
a memory of trees,
an afternoon sun
emptied of fertility:
a high wood on its last, teetering legs
urban air is everywhere
and wishes to be free,
but we are all carbon emissions,
separate living-dying pieces
polluted hieroglyphics
with nothing to convey,
fragments of a prayer
with nothing left to say
Aug 2, 2021
Aug 2, 2021 at 2:16 PM UTC
I lay breadcrumbs of my emotions
for you to follow. Each was nourished
with essence that enticed your heart onward.
I lay breadcrumbs of my thoughts
for you to listen too. Each sustained
with true meaning of delicate spoken words.
I lay breadcrumbs so many times,
some got lost along the way, others
never interested stale crumbs then faded away.
I lay breadcrumbs, but I started to follow
yours, and with each morsel grazed upon
I found the door to your heart & love had won.
"A breadcrumb trail to a hearts beating path,
"Who's trail will you follow today,
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
He sails a sauce pan in the sink
a mast made from a spoon,
and maps his ocean black as ink
beneath a light bulb moon.
He is searching for the islands
that they call the ***** Plates,
with golden beach of breadcrumb sands
beyond the Gravy Straits.
Where macaroni dolphins leap
beyond French Fries Lagoon,
and sing their songs as sailors sleep
beneath a light bulb moon.
Beware the corn cob crocodiles
that lurk beneath the foam,
betraying folks with welcome smiles
within their bone strewn home.
He navigates the boiling oil
and safely through the ice,
to find a place to hide his spoil
away from other mice.
So island claimed x marks the spot
his sailing days at end,
and I at last wash up my pots
that so amused our friend.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
Today I write an ode to Joe’s
Procurator, seller, and trader
For my better half it is your coffees
For me, your store entire, for
Your bounty fills my refrigerator
Treasures spicy from India, Japan
Brought to us by your Trader San
From south of the border
Travel goodies galore-a
Compliments of Trader Jose
Then there’s Trader Giotto from Italy
Without a doubt, his yummies call me
There are Jo-Jo’s, curries, oh cho-co-late sweet
And did I mention lotions for feet
There is Pilgrim Joe’s and Trader Ming’s
Who bring to us the finer things
The wines, the drinks, the healthy oils
I dream at night of all your spoils
By way of mention, I cannot forget
Baker Josef who serves to us
Tasty bagels, delicious baguettes
Arabian Joe’s and Joseph Brau
Bring us falafels and rings in our beer
Oh, Trader Johann's and Trader Jacques'
For bodies clean and lips that are fresh
Your Joe's Kids keep mummy's happy
Trader Darwin's help us all stay healthy
Did I, could I, miss anyone?
Don’t want to leave out even one
Your marinated meats, your frozen treats
From Diner Joe’s there are lunches quick
For us working stiffs, his heat-n-eats
Oh, pumpkin scones and cereal O’s
I should not forget your sample bar
Where tastys await to test for my plate
And did I say how amazing you are?
While others sell just fluff and stuff
Of your yummy goodness
I cannot get enough
So if one day soon the Joe’s disappear
I’ll not fret, no i’ll not fear
On me for sure you can count the cause
Right down to your last breadcrumb
For shelves will be bursting in my garage
Where I'll be holding them all, without ransom
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
My beautiful walking Angel,
please don't fly away.
It was only you who could lift
me, from the darkest night and
days
of life without her.
My walking Angel.
He talks as though he has one foot
above,
he walks this earth afloat
already. Leaving me fitfully to
wait, in my safely anchored boat.
He's so sure of his inadequacy,
yet I would gladly soak myself in fear,
just so that I could have him near.
Sweet glorious Angel.
Clipped wings yet so ready to fly.
If you were to die, then part
of me would surely go too.
I'm already bound to you.
We both chose immediately to
shield that which makes us,
from others,
yet to each other, we managed not
to yield to the temptation of
our defences.
In spite of the offences of those who've
gone past, leaving a lasting brand
in our skin,
of each terrible individual sin.
Each scar wrought within.
Innocent Angel.
I am completely vulnerable to you.
Usually so overly aware of danger,
I have already, affectively,
sworn my life to you.
This next page is yours.
Dangerous Angel.
Whether you lift me up to fall,
or pull me down to drown,
I shall walk where you tread.
A breadcrumb trail of tears in my wake,
as I am shaken awake from your
dream
Your soul left to rest in the gleam of
my eye.
An unsnuffable candle
to guide you back to me.
Athiest Angel, I was asleep before
you came
and awoke me with your kiss,
jerking my heart from it's
Ivy covered cage,
our instantaneous gauge
of our compatibility
creating a feasibility
of merging.
Gentle Angel.
You took my beating soul
and gouged it with
a caress,
spelt your name
and my destruction,
with your irresistible seduction
of vulnerability,
and tranquility
of purity.
My tender Angel.
Your knifepoint was always fated
for my ribs.
Take me with you if you leave,
allow me to anchor-
no better- hold you,
and embolden you to be
whatever the **** you want to be.
With your battered suitcase of a soul.
How many more kicks can you take
before they pack you in?
The irony in that the sin was never yours.
I abhor those who chose to lord over you.
Please come aboard my raft of
defiance, which is learning the science
of your chemistry.
Darling Angel.
I do not wish you to fall or fly,
instead remain afloat,
allow me to paddle my unshakeable boat
towards you,
with a view of amorous intentions.
My salvation,
who will surely be
my downfall,
my Samson.
I know what you have undone.
Me.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
they dance around the issue at hand
like two sparrows around a breadcrumb
and unaware of the cracks in their tiny hearts
they shed their fragile feathers, one by one
until neither of them can fly away
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
it’s just how it was.
and so things ended up the way they did.
we were quite a pair;
what with my impulsiveness and your rationality.
as i took a step back, each time i recognized the danger in your eyes, flickers unleashed.
this rendezvous meant meeting somewhere a little nearer than halfway,
not without leaving a breadcrumb trail of weariness.
see, we didn’t get around to the part of burning bridges-yellow and orange and blue flames standing tall. neither did we try dousing ourselves in gasoline just so it could stay alive, sparks like flirtatious moths attune to life.
all that we’ve resorted to was crossing the bridge and rightly so. for all we ever wanted was to learn the language the city lights spoke upon the ripples delving into atlantis’ reach. there wasn’t a need to get past the platform, plainly standing there already felt right.
this is what those weeks were all for. open-door kisses and treacherous things in the dark.
the laughing fits and slow dancing in your balcony at 2am, acoustics faint on your speakers were just ways we came up with in order to **** time.
things ended up the way they did.
your messages left unopened, my secrets i’ve bared onto your lips and your tongue was the ink you’ve etched yours with on my skin. for a while it meant more than that, we meant more than just a jet’s smoke trail of fleeting stars crash landing upon reality. we could only get to pretend for so long that the crash wouldn’t occur even as we’ve made an agreement that we’d still be alright and remain with an exchange of warm smiles and inviting eyes like the first encounter. but pretending could only sit so well in my chest but it can’t quite counteract this particular feeling rushing with intensity, an outrage that’s only worsened as those exchanges are kept.
so forgive me if i couldn’t keep contact, if all your calls go to voicemail-and i try not to listen to them but ultimately fail. the only compromise i aid to is to not reply.
that’s just how it was.
things ended up the way they did.
the passionate flames surrounded us keeping a close watch so they wouldn't engulf us
we were just bridge watchers content on not going beyond nor under
-“bridge watchers.”
May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 10:18 AM UTC
I want to leave a map of
Butterfly Kisses on your chest:-
I will delicately press my lips against your tender skin
And trace an intricate pathway of gentle poetry from
the very tips of your hair,
to the bottoms of your feet;
I want to make sure that
whenever your smile wanders off somewhere into the night,
it can always
re-trace its footsteps back home…
to me
I want to leave a map of
Butterfly Kisses on your chest:-
Itty bitty breadcrumb words and metaphors
To remind your next lover
(as a precaution)
Just how it is that you like your coffee.
I want to place the alphabet in your mouth
So that every time you kiss her-
You can tell her your story.
I will hide little poems
In the crevices of your mind
And anecdotes between
the hallowed out spaces on your spine
for you to remember
me
when you walk out the door
for the last time.
By: Lulwama Kuto Mulalu
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
To kiss
Definition:
Touch with the lips as a sign of love, ****** desire, or reverence.
Our kisses
are much less:
they're the marks of a coward, they're a breadcrumb trail of a fake.
Our kisses
are nothing more
than the simple action of lips on lips. Osculation. A contact without feeling.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
by a proxy delivered
a days sour face
its painted eye fixed on jacob's ladder
and salvation's cherubs
who seven times sevenfold tell the tale
but the tale is threadbare by the time they have spun the spin
all call each other rookies as they verbally fistfight
over the breadcrumb leavings
charred remains of her melted mind
smoulder weakly in the
interment rain
she would sit in the dirt
sketching beautiful things
known for being pretty for all the eyes that don't see
leaving the brick and mortar life
for everything imagination tells you
is so beautiful
you don't want to change the world
just want your world to change
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
The years have ground your bones
Into dry flour
Bleached white with acid
And sifted through drooping eyelashes.
I am butter softening slowly
Encased in crinkled foil
But I've lost shape
And '25 grams' are now 15.
We rub together
To form a reluctant breadcrumb
Under uneasy hands
With enough flour to fall apart
And it is bitter.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
Ever After
Its past the time for fairy tales,
or wishes that come true.
Much too late for breadcrumb trails,
too broke to buy a clue.
The knight in shining armor
has put away his steed;
the princess, if someone would harm her,
will scream a useless plead.
The dragons have free reign to roar,
the ogres feed on dreams.
Trolls control the bridge once more.
Futiley the princess screams.
Seem “Happily Ever After”
and the stories we were told.
Became quite a disaster,
youthful dreams bought and sold.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
He looks up at me with fragility,
his panic an unseeable mask from
reality.
I have lost him to his past.
I cannot fix this,
cannot change this,
but I'll try.
I'll try to make it bearable,
For him,
because I love him,
and that's what loved ones do.
"Is there anything I can do?"
I murmur, lighting treading
my words into the forest of his brain.
I shall remain here till I can find him
once again.
"No"
His face so weary with defeat
stares down at the floor, and at his
feet. In these moments I see him
weak.
Alone.
Like me, but not.
The Child the Parents forgot.
"Would you like me to leave?"
I stroke his hair, an involuntary
gesture, used almost to assure
myself that he is still here
with me.
At least in body.
"No"
The voice reaches out to me,
and speaks of beatings,
loneliness,
and pain. I watch the stains
drain him, so engrained in him,
it's hard to watch.
I want to wash his mind,
to find a piece of light to
curl between his fingers
and make
him cling to
tight.
I want to make it right.
And so I wait. Cast a breadcrumb
trail of bait, and will him
back to me.
Patient, and understanding,
holding and
hoping to travel an
embrace into the past,
and raft my love
to freedom.
Come back to me
Please
I don't like it when you leave me
Time always has an echo.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
A universe and me.
The meaningless broken ideas of the world and me
No forever and me.
The end and me.
You who are the meaningless.
You without the breadcrumb trail to completion.
You of whom without, would not make any difference.
You, are but a thought.
Without hope, bound and held in rope.
Surviving within that straining rope.
Breaking, slicing and cutting the rope.
Hanged at noon in a noose made of rope.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
She would hand out pieces of herself to those she found friendly
But when a person she thought she could love stumbled on through
She gathered everything she was and put it in their lap
Until one day the person she loved let her drop to the floor
Now when it comes to those she thinks she can love
She hesitates on handing them one tiny crumb
Jul 2, 2021
Jul 2, 2021 at 11:04 AM UTC
The people there welcomed me as they had done
A hundred years before. The door is there just where I found it.
At the back of the funhouse
Who is to say if I am the fantasy and the more real.
As I cross over slowly from this to that I hear the mad hatter. Lament his timing.
The march hare. Entered with a face of brass.
And a smile miles.wide.
He only knew the darkness inside the dream that I dreamt.
He had warned me at length of the wages. As pages crinkled and worn slowly turned with no reader enthralled.
Time ******
Folding forever into small origami. And ****
The hand is quicker than the eye.
but is it. Really?.
This is an utter flight of fantasy. Free fall.
Find the breadcrumb trail
To the edge of the woods.
Or stay if it suits you.
Time is of no essence here.
The door sits in the crack of forever and never.
Seek and you shall find.
Salvation awaits.
Or damnation like the gaping maw of the white whale.
Fulfill your destiny or
Choose to fail.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
I am the queen of the unfinished
series, conversations, books, hearts, and paintings
are the few that lie in my wake
Breadcrumbs that can't be followed
the trail that offensively goes cold
Yet, all I have been told
Is that I am
Just an instantaneous tornado
That leaves everyone reeling.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
It happens and I am out of body and the theme from the
Twilight zone is on a a loop.Rod Serling mumbles something to my
Fear.
Insanity crooks a finger and beckons from behind a hooded robe.
But this is a prelude to possibilities down the rabit hole.
So once again I turn my back. Scramble up hill the skinny trail rutted in deep.
Sleep is the breadcrumb trail. That never fails to walk me out of the woods.until next episode.
Man overboard.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
I believe in Fairy Tales
In magic swords and mystic sails
In pixie dust and prodigious whales
In dreamy girls and dragon scales
In binding spells and butter ales
In giant men and golden bales
In riding hood and racing snails
In blissful love and breadcrumb trails
In every sense the phrase entails
I believe in Fairy Tales
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 4:26 AM UTC