"breadcrumbs" poems
I've never gone anywhere
without seeing crows.
In fields and malls,
classrooms and bathrooms,
they're never missing.
Sometimes they'll come right up
and those moments are petrifying
because there aren't any breadcrumbs
but the bits of fears on shoulders.
When they land before you,
you can feel a massive pressure
on your chest, trapping you
and catching your breath.
I know other people see them too.
I've seen people cursed
with crows always hovering,
whispering in their ears,
pecking at their insecurities,
and screeching self doubt.
Mine is never far behind me
and he'll never leave.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
*i think, you should stop going to italy, for one, oh **** me, keep going on hedonist piss-fuck fests to places like mallorca, but stop going to italy, you're making my stomach ache from laughter, with what you come back with, the so-called "innovations"; somehow i'd just poach my cauliflower, and drizzle it with fried breadcrumbs, and serve it as a side-dish to fried eggs (2), and some tatties; for goodness sake, even cauliflower cream soup makes more sense, garnished with some fried chorizo!*
first it was avocado on toast...
who the **** puts avocado on bread?
i can imagine putting it in pasta...
but on bread?
hey, what the **** does
the acronym f.a.d. mean?
i don't know, and i won't google it...
o.k. avocado on toast...
nothing near guacamole,
but fair enough...
but what i discovered... pushes
the button where i turn into a fox laughter
(fuchslachen) -
i couldn't stop...
you can find it in the weekend
section of the saturday times newspaper...
written by nicola m.
cauliflower and mozzarella pizza...
you have to be ******** me...
cauliflower? on pizza?
one of my housemates at university told
me an anecdote:
i was in a restaurant once,
and asked for a pizza with no cheese...
he continued:
and then the head chef came out and
asked me... are you, insane?!
a bit like: bread... but no butter?
and i thought i was insane eating a watermelon
today, whole,
the red pulp, and the outer layers including
the skin included, allowing myself
a gorilla imitation cameo gimmick...
but i thought i was mad...
but there's avocado on toast...
and now... cauliflower on pizza...
it's a ******* side-dish!
wait, don't tell me... you're going to put
some potatoes onto the pizza the next frizz
comes along... right?
how about beetroot?
thankfully, if i have some
wacky ideas in terms of culinary escapades,
they happen, drunk, after 12a.m.,
and i'm the scientist, and the experimental rabbit
2-in-1...
a newspaper column?
apparently, you get one, putting avocado
on toast...
or cauliflower on a pi-zzzzz-ah...
to be honest, even though i haven't tried it,
grilled aubergines on a pizza could work...
the toast? marmite and cheddar...
english people should stop glorifying holidays
in italy... they're ****** cooks...
an italian would just look at
a pizza with cauliflower and say: cosa?
i'd suggest heading to scotland first,
and picking up the vibes from some haggis.
**** me...
avocado on toast...
caulifower on a pizza?!
now i can die happy, 'appy,
clapping: encore!
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
I live in the basement, never venturing
upon those stairs, I hear her voice...
"Come up and see me its been to long,
Holding my ears singing my favourite song
repetitively until she is drowned out of
my thoughts. rocks tied to her voice as it
sinks out of view.
I use the stairs that open to the outside,
Lingering looking at this place I called home.
Venturing in the old ford, she lets me drive
it when food is but breadcrumbs and eggs
old enough to birth the dead fetes of a partly
grown bird. I look out though a ***** window
screen, this trip takes two hours each way.
I always wonder if my bald tyres are ever
noticed, but I'm not hindered by the thoughts
of this. So much to see when driving in solitude.
I stop at the side of the road picking cherries,
I slump them in the boot. I may eat upon this
morsel or just hang them outside watching
them swaying in the gentle breeze.
My father just looks out the window.
Doesn't talk much these days his eyes are sunken
like the titanic splintered between two pools.
I move his chair and his arm falls at his side.
collecting it, I put him palms resting on a blanket
He's so gaunt now, he was a strong man now but a shadow.
I look at those cherries lingering above the ground,
shaded from just picked to becoming spoilt, but i
just leave them swaying the aroma fills lungs with
life's eroding perfume, I breath it deeply within.
This is my home, "she never calls me for dinner anymore,
I just make my own, the washing up is festering in
my ignorance, like a garden of petrification flowering.
Saying bye to my dad, I get in the old ford.
Its time to pick some fresh cherries, the tree
is looking unkempt. Its blossom is in honour
of a mother, I hang them all there. My
Mother hung there for a long time ,but she's
long gone. So I bring other cherries to the tree
to show that she'll never be forgotten....
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 8:47 AM UTC
December, 1870
After the beef was gone,
after the pork and the lamb,
and the fowl and the fish
and the dogs, and the cats,
and the rats in the gutter,
the butchers turned to the zoo.
We ate the wolves.
We ate the wolves
broiled in sauce of deer,
the antelope truffled and terrined.
We ate the camels
with breadcrumbs and butter,
and when they were all gone,
we sharpened our knives
and primed our guns
and came back for the elephants.
The gunsmith Devisme did the deed,
hurled an explosive ball
through each of their docile heads.
They fell like mountains,
like the pillars of Dagon
pulled down by mighty Samson,
and then we hacked them up
and carted them away to the kitchens,
to feed the wealthy and the rich
in the clubs of bright Paris.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 4:51 PM UTC
Do you miss her
The Hell's Mistress I used to be
Pretty smiles
Prettier lies
********** you with my eyes
Skinning you with my words
I miss the power that came
In lying to everyone
This angelic facade is suffocating
I miss slipping off the mask
And slipping into your head
Making you my puppet
Then getting bored
And making you wish you were dead
Shoving my knife in your back
When you came
Walking into my life like it was yours
Following my breadcrumbs
Swallowing them whole
Who would have thought
You can hide arsenic so well
With just a hint of sugar
And a short enough skirt
Do you miss her
The Black Widow in my web
Eating you alive
To fill the void inside
Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 11:22 AM UTC
I've had enough of all this wind and reindeer
We otter go away
Holidays are important, my parents tortoise that
Weasel have to look on the internet
You know I can't bear the heat
But here's a spa hotel where I'm sure they would panda to your every need
Alpaca suitcase right away
Toothpaste tube, cattle class
Purple stripes, rows of lights
A newly formed castle white
In concrete, steel and glass
Cloud-high halls, giant pots
Re-charging bodies strewn around
Turning deeper shades of brown
Volcanic sand, hot black rock
We watch a floating city, blazing light
Like a dying star, fade into the night
-
Ali, where do these bananas go?
What kind of tree is this?
How far does this levada flow?
Ali takes the tourists out
He throws some breadcrumbs in the water
He likes to feed the trout
Madeira born in forty five
Ali told me many things
Ali, our levada walking guide
His family was very poor
He collected mussels from the shore
And sticks to burn for heat
For today his mother said
I have no food and we must eat
We have to eat
Ali, where are all the vines?
How long before your boots wear out?
Do you drink the local wine?
Do the tourists drive you mad
With all the questions that they ask?
Ali smiles, shuffles us aside
To let some others pass
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
"every heart, every heart, to love must come, but like a refugee."
Be wary, little, pretty one:
If you wander too far for love,
you may lose your citizenship
in the country of your own life.
Be sure of the direction you take.
Leave yourself a trail of breadcrumbs.
You may need to find your way back
to the safety of your own sanctuary.
The world already has too many refugees.
You do not want to become one more.
~mce
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
I sat by the lake
sipping coffee and feeding the ducks.
In between breadcrumbs,
I dialed his number.
"Your call could not go through."
I grinned;
Could not, not would not.
Long since the city summers,
I finally found our stillwater space:
a sense of security that felt
as serene as my remote arcadia,
disturbed only by the footstrokes
of a hungry mallard passing by.
No breadcrumbs for him.
"Call failed."
Call failed, not I failed,
and I picked apart the stale bagel
to dip in my coffee
and feed to the ducks.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC
Cold and dark the solstice night
But shadows dance inside by candle-light
Pampered spruce holds centre stage
Calendar counts down the days
Festive holly berries red, mistletoe with white
Cards suspended on a string, flashing fairy lights
All is quiet in the house
Nothing stirs except...a mouse
He has no fear
Of cat or trap or carving knife
On his mind is something nice
Perhaps a chocolate-covered nutty treat
Beneath the Christmas tree to eat
Tonight no usual pickings poor
Of meagre breadcrumbs on the floor
For tonight he dines like a king
On fruit and nuts, dates and cake
A little bit of everything
All the Drambuie chocolates he ****** dry
He could not stop, he knew not why
Then he passed out on the floor
One hung-over little mouse, his head so very sore
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC
What comes after 'Z'
cannot be expressed
by letters or words.
I'm afraid, it's a bit of
snickersnee.
For they have their say
in our struggles and fears,
in our laughter and tears,
in our sighs and moans,
to deep within our bones.
They're in our very own
heartbeats, great and small,
in that place within us
where some rain must inevitably fall.
Where they came from is no mystery,
but we each tend to use them
in the secret hours
of our private history,
like a trail of breadcrumbs,
like a bridge we jump from,
never mindful,
never loyal,
always on the tip of our tongue,
and there it toils...
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 11:08 PM UTC
Today I went on a treasure hunt.
Not in search of one-eyed *****
Or
A new life for myself,
But rather
The old one.
Not for the sake of nostalgia
Was my search,
But for a poem.
The words of someone else
That you thoroughly believed
Carried your heart
Into my own ears.
But I was deaf back then.
Before I developed my selective hearing,
Insisting on my revelation miracle.
Until I
Limited my ears
Only to hear
Your lamentations and tongue-lashings;
Before I chose to
Blind myself
To the
Kindness
Hidden behind your fear.
In our prehistory,
You sent me
A piece of your heart,
Still sopping with heartbreak
Beating with rejection.
You sent me
Someone else’s poem
And now I wonder,
If you knew
You were planting a seed
That when watered,
With months of silence and
Countless looks that passed right through,
Would grow into a beanstalk
That I would climb
To reach back into
Our
Brothers Grimm Love Affair.
With no happy ending in sight
I stepped higher,
Knowing what turmoil I had left
Above.
I awaited the curses we cast
And the wishes we wasted
And I was poised for war;
With my armor coated,
Repellent of
Sarcasm and aggression,
I marched back to look at our battlefield
Ready as any warrior.
I was not ready, though, for memories
That looked as appealing
As Prince Charming,
With the face of
A queen.
No, my love
We did not have a
Happily ever after
But, our
Once upon a time
Wasn't half so wretched.
We were the
Fairytale in reverse.
Meeting at the ball,
In all our glory.
Leaving breadcrumbs
Back to the life that was familiar;
The ones that we didn't realize
We were running away from.
But at the ball,
Looking more beautiful
Than any princess in all of the land,
I met you
On your throne,
Refusing to Rise
In all your queen-like splendor,
Hearing from my
Little bird
That you would request
My presence.
I, your humble maiden,
Approached with
The caution of
A girl who only had
One shoe,
Breaking under the weight of memory.
And while you
Were offering me riches,
I was playing
Goldilocks,
Trying to find the home
That was just right
To rest my heart.
Little did I know
That I had bumped into Rumpelstiltskin,
Thinking he was gold
Luring me away
With me thinking
My heart was sold.
Only now
After I found
That gold weighs
Far too heavy
On someone
Who's only just grown wings
Is it that I find the moral of this story.
And so,
As I gaze at you,
With your now fair maiden
I say a solemn
“Thank you”,
For sending
Your love letter
In another's handwriting,
Because,
Although I never struck it rich,
I realize that the treasure was not in the
Happily ever after,
After all,
But all the magic
In Between.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC
She’s lovely and petite,
Long flowing blonde hair,
The target of constant
Unwanted attention,
The **** of many crude jokes.
Though you can’t deny it
There is a kernel of truth
To every stereotype.
Shallow. Yes she is shallow.
Shallow as the flood waters
Three inches deep, powerful
Enough to sweep your car
Into a watery grave.
Superficial. Yes she is superficial.
Superficial as the thin layer
Of paint on a Renoir or Monet
Colors translucent and divine
Deep and lustrous
Transporting the imagination
To a world of romance and joy.
Clueless. Yes she is clueless.
Clueless as Sherlock Holmes
As he solves a mystery as dark
And complex as any labyrinth
With nary a clue, save for a trail
Of breadcrumbs and a scent of
Gardenia.
Airhead. Yes she is an airhead.
An airhead like the thinnest of air
Atop the mighty Himalayas where
Holy men choose to transcend the
Mundane and commune with
Spirits subtle and ethereal and ultimately
Unknowable.
The world sees her beauty and perhaps
Only her beauty, but they are blinded
By their shallowness, superficiality,
Cluelessness and a brain wallowing
In the clouds of misty ignorance.
Therein lies the joke.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
The old man said to me "son, timing is key"
I said, "old dude you look like a man who heard about rythym".
Old felines like you come a dime for a dozen, always poppin of yang about isms and schisms .
Naw fresh meat. This buds for you, If I really knew then what I thought that I knew
I wouldn't be grading your papers with exes and checks but I see in your eyes that your vision is short.
You think you hot **** but aint all that smart.
FYI pops I think that you reading me wrong.
You cant see my dimensions nor fade my intentions.
So you think they broke the mold. you have this thing down cold.
This has never been done before you.
Here ,wipe your nose.
Hey Senor senior if your so informed,then please pass along a few high value pearls.
How bout the one telling about what women want cause you really cleaned up in
the female department .
The old man just smiled and said "pearls before swine.
Just drop a few breadcrumbs to find your way back".
Off is the direction I want you to truck he said.
Don't forget Wonder is the best kind of bread he said
You must be slow or just light in the head he said.
Yeah, whatever.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC
What do I have at my disposal?
A knack for always wanting to write
My intuitive messages down.
But it’s got no substance,
It’s got no meat.
I’m all bread and cheese and
Condiment without any meat.
It’s fitting for a vegan, I suppose,
But not for a poet.
The poet has to lead breadcrumbs
For the reader in order to get to the meat
Of the poem, the substance, the protein.
Where is it?
I’m lacking substance where I have all these
Nice little toppings and sauces and vegetables,
I have a dipping sauce for this sandwich,
But no meat!
I have to go to the store,
I have to keep honing my skill.
I have to develop a hunger for meat.
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 6:53 PM UTC
I'm going to cut your supply
I'm going to starve that destructive fire from oxygen
The one which burns within you
That desire to hurt
I'm going to sweep your breadcrumbs from my doorstep
Take back your sullen energy
You who delight in sowing destruction
Look into the mirror of your empty eyes and see what's inside your toxic well
Your jealous empty heart contains nothing but deceit and destruction
Your blatant lack of empathy has unveiled your deepest secret
You have showed the world exactly who you are ... and finally we believe you
No more alibis for you
And once a serpent's head has been cut off
It will rage out of control ... but only for so long
Before it is no more
Like one who has been struck with madness
Like an addict without a drug
I am no longer your supply
I will save my empathy for those who deserve it
And I forgive myself for unknowingly enabling you by buying into your games
But most of all ... I'll be good to myself
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 4:04 PM UTC
My Evidence professor told us
Testimony is not believable
Unless other facts back it up.
That terrified me.
My word means nothing
Unless I’ve left a trail of breadcrumbs
But I was raised to clean up
After I eat.
The chemotherapy left Dad a full head of hair,
And no one questioned his diagnosis.
Yet you search for scars on my wrists
As if corroborating evidence is necessary
To prove I’m not ok.
Our nation was founded on the ideas of liberty and justice
And I have the right to be thought of as
Innocent until proven guilty
Clearly you paid attention in civics
Because you hold on to this principle
With every ounce of willpower you possess.
The only thing is,
I didn’t realize mental illness is a crime.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
I buried my father:
In the St. Augustine Cemetery
I visit at the old gravesite of the deceased annually
I saw the quiet grave keeper still standing there looking dazed and confused
By the looks of things:
My father resting place
still soaks up all the tears
My mother and other siblings said to me
That to visit any one grave site wasn’t their kind of thing
I buried my father underground: It have been so long
Since then, the birds would come to the house of my father
Looking for breadcrumbs from days old bread
The dead will not be forgotten, his name will lives on
When I was a toddler, he fed me white rice with butter
Sprinkled with black pepper and grated cheese:
With my weak voice I was say “thank you: he was so please
I buried my father in the St. Augustine cemetery
It’s one of the saddest places to visit,
Unlike seasonal passes tickets
So adjacent, those graves: so annoying those wild crickets
He might be far away from his home,
but not from our hearts
Everything on his grave seem so square and flat,
But the most outstanding piece was the letters that read
R.I.P: what I saw was (Rescue Innocent Perry)
Sometimes, I wondered about the dead
About their done deals: their final feast
I buried my father there, but not his memories
I saw the old mahogany tree still standing tall
the pieces of kindling wood, he made for grilling,
I will always remember him, and I know he might be
Thinking of me, his poetic daughter especially on that day
when I accompany him to cut the branches from the
old Mahogany tree, just to make backyard wood fire
For the family breakfast, lunch and supper
I buried my father: the naïve share cropper:
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
sister sinister
mister sinister
sinning through the day
no work and all play
living today, leaving behind
a trail of breadcrumbs too close to mine
the birds pick and choose and I am left a loser
thanks to sinister games and pleasure
the crumbs are gluten-free, but the bread devours me
I am baked, no candied apple tree, not if no one waters it
retracing my crumbs is impossible when birds are pick-and-choosers
better to use inedible yarn perhaps
then getting lost in a labyrinth of hopes that trap me
would be fine if I could find a fine line to walk
but I would only trip as the bull feasts and talks with it’s mouth full
if only I did my research, I could teach a preacher
to ****** a bull and bind him, burn his trail of crumbs behind him
Even then my crumbs would turn to ember
My next loaf won’t finish baking until September.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
.
Not knowing
chokes the imagination,
draining all common sense
Thoughts spin desperately
as vacuous emotions
paralyze actions,
restricting sensibility
Lethargic expressions
wander the mind
searching for answers
While minutes become
hours that never end
on days you wish
you didn’t exist
Pathways once trod
now retraced, examined
of every “what if”
step by agonizing step,
seeking breadcrumbs
leading back to a beginning
long before now
Darkness plays on sunny days,
every shadow startles
in breaths not taken
for fear that this is it,
falling on your knees,
pleading to the sky,
tell me
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 1:09 PM UTC
Forward minds rewind-- loose from time's spider web
meeting at the cherry blossom tree, a cool winter's breeze rustles leaves.
She say the dominoes begun to fall,
we agree to meet again, breadcrumbs in hand.
Meeting at the cherry blossom tree, a cool summer's breeze rustles leaves--
the dawns of many pass; thousands of seasons change.
We agree to meet again, breadcrumbs in hand;
together, planning an escape from our sacred safe-haven cave.
The dawns of many pass; thousands of seasons change...
still waiting on others to awaken and meet at the ancient table--
together, planning an escape from our sacred safe-haven cave
re-membering ageless words, to awaken throngs from their zombie-like state.
Still waiting on others to awaken and meet at the ancient table--
you, having doubts, I, lacking a confident self until
re-membered ageless words, to awaken throngs from their zombie-like state.
Love vibrations shake all of the wrong foundations loose.
You, having doubts, I, lacking a confident self until
forward minds rewind-- loose from time's spider web.
Love vibrations shake all of the wrong foundations loose--
you say the dominoes begun to fall.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
Following breadcrumbs of hope down a zig zag path
Through the Forest of Destiny
Glimmers of wishful sunlight
Transform the ominous foliage
Painting castles in the sky
My fairytale writing its own chapters
With every twist and turn
Watchful for Wolves
Who threaten to devour my optimism and **** my passion
Evil Queens who show me ripples of ugliness in a mirror
Held too close my face
Searching for the Prince who's kiss will
Awaken me from the nightmare and
Hold my hand as we walk forward
Towards Utopia
Everlasting in this fiction
I'm clinging onto aspirations of a better life
Dreaming in technicolor of
Another new beginning
Sailing in a pea - green boat through the perfect storm of these emotions
With a one way ticket through this looking glass
It's time to write
A Happy Ending!
(C) Pixievic
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
All the pretty birds
perched on leafy branches
chirp to the waking morning,
“I am here. Where are you?
I am here. Where are you?
I am here. Where are you?
I am here. Where are you?”
And the puppy dogs
all starve for something
While the cats of fortune
laze about the alleyways.
But the pretty birds
all the morning long,
“I am here. Where are you?”
The tardy businessmen
and their non-fat lattes
squirm in BMWs,
Honking at traffic
with the most colorful swears,
“I am here! I am here!
I am here! I am mad! I am here!”
High-octane housewives
power walk the parks,
Gabbing. And the old folks
tossing breadcrumbs to the ducks,
Mumble to long gone loved ones,
“Where are you? Where are you?
Where am I? Where are you?”
But those ****** birds-
Those pretty, ****** little birds-
They have it figured out.
They know the secrets
to Happiness:
‘I am here.
Where are you?’
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 4:27 AM UTC
letting the wild finches pick apart
the truth of the matter
and carry it away
we look down and
all we have left
in our hands
is our responsibility.
For,
to live with someone in which we desire them, is to live with someone
in constant state of fear.
flinging our authentic selves
onto the ground
like breadcrumbs
feeding into the delusion of ego
winding up
hungry
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
You were like breadcrumbs
left unpurposely by my digestion during breakfast
You stayed on the kitchen table 'til noon,
'til Mama swiped away the remaining crumbs,
and I have lunch
with another dish--a different meal.
Something else, but not
you.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 8:02 PM UTC
a polish pork head terrine?
my ******* god...
how can the jews and the muslims
take to culinary criticism of
their own, respective gods?
ever watch the t.v. show
billions? where they're having
breadcrumbs fried pork
ears?
last time i heard...
the best pork is encapsulated
within the pig cranium....
all that excess cartilage?
yummy finger licking good...
seems funny though...
it's not exactly discussing bone marrow...
it's pork head...
all that excess cartilage...
and mingled with sweet & sour
gherkins...
just my idea of Anastasia...
a porky's head...
chicken hearts / chicken livers....
raw Baltic herrings?
who the, **** needs to glorify
american hamburgers...
if not some jerking-off
megalomaniac?
you eat, what is given,
you don't ask for nuances,
you don't make excuses...
you eat what is on the plate..
you **** the omnivore "gimmick"...
pork head flesh,
meat mixed with cartilage?
tasty as ****
so why would islam
or the partial strand of judaism
be so critical concerning the most
economic carnivore animal being
farmed, herded, industrialised?
the monotheistic celebration of god...
within the confines of a criticism,
so trivial would make a god laugh...
it would appear the dogma was written as a joke...
earthquake and hurricane
are o.k., but pork?
the ******* bubonic plague!
i love how "god" is celebrated,
but at the same time,
kept under a critical acclaim
of having one of his creations,
namely pork...
given a punching bag status of criticism...
since, what is so ******* pristine,
and spectacular, about chicken, lamb
or beef meat?
according to islam... mad cow disease
never happened.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 9:19 PM UTC