"calamine" poems
Polka Dot, Polka Dot, a one pony show
Strange name for a child, but she loves it so
Cheerful wee girl with sweet smile aglow
Adores all round shapes, expects you to know
Her twenty one garments sport assorted dots
Basic eight pairs of footwear, orange and green spots
Gaudy bows for her hair, with colored rings, lots
Dot sees spheres imbedded in her eyes and thoughts
Blankets and curtains, guess what, dots and lace
The spotted mouse toy for the cat to chase
Walls with orbs and specks on all space
In the right light they reflect on your face
Dot's off to school with a polka dot hat
Coat, umbrella with circles, imagine that
Polka dotted notebooks, pencils and backpack
Rides pink spotted two wheeler, parks in bike rack
Poor Polka Dot started feeling sickly ill
Sent to school nurse where she refused a pill
Saw the Doc, calamine lotion and advice to chill
Spots! Chickenpox! Polka Dots notable thrill
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
it had to be ants.
the town turned out,
a pound a time,
to see the model railway
of dolgellau.
amazing as it was,
as you know i do like tiny things,
expecially trains.
more astonishing was the conversation,
face close, on ants that bit up his legs
at bingo, formic acid and calamine
explained in detail.
thre train went by, with tiny noise,
as he rolled up his trouser leg to show me.
the explaination as detailed
as the dioramal, on and on and on.
a nice man. my daughter saved me.
twice.
it was a good turnout, an excellent,
award winning model railway.
sbm.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
It crawls underneath your skin.
Distracts you from your friends
from your life.
You can’t help but scratch it.
Your friends try to stop you.
They pull your hands away
the skin on your wrist,
arms,
and legs,
are already red from your nails
they don’t want your skin like paper to tear.
They don’t want to see your blood drip out like paint off a brush.
You can’t help it
that itch is so demanding
it demands to be scratched
no matter where it travels to.
Your wrist becomes bright red with marks from your nails.
Your legs have red splotches over them from digging your nails
into your skin harder to itch through your jeans.
Your arms have red splotches traveling up them
and under the sleeve of your shirt.
Your face is sensitive from your nails digging into it so often.
You can’t win!
The itch doesn’t go away no matter how long you scratch.
It drives you insane.
It won’t leave,
I’m going insane.
The itch is so persistent!
I think I might need some calamine lotion…
Maybe some Benadryl...
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
There's a hole in my wall which the wind whistles through
And the wallpaper's mouldy and calamine blue
The carpet besmirched with a decade of grime
And the pattern is lost to a happier time
The journals and books where my memories stay
Have mixed and submerged in a fearful array
The curtains hang tattered in woeful neglect
Where the mildew and fungus and beetles collect
There's a hole in the floor where the mice have a nest
Where the walls creak and groan like a cancerous chest
And a puddle emerges from under the door
Like a serpent, it winds on the laminate floor
Underfoot, fragments of crockery crunch
Still stained with the leavings of long ago lunch
There's a rattle and scratching of verminous claws
The spoon never stirs so the *** never pours
There's a crack in the window that lets in the rain
Where it runs in a rivulet right down the pane
The mattress is rotten and rusted inside
Bacteria thrive and amoeba divide
The ceiling is sagging from waterlogged beams
And catches the sunlight with putrefied gleams
Like powder, the plaster is fast in retreat
With it's choking secretions, the air is replete
There's a trace of a life that was never fulfilled
Like a drink only sipped and then carelessly spilled
There's hope of a future and trinkets amassed
But frittered away and consigned to the past
The wires are old but the bulbs are still new
And pictures of vigor are hanging askew
As if from existence, vitality blinked
A carcass remaining though life is extinct
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
Its vines spread
Covering the ground that I carelessly tread over
a death trap to uncovered ankles,
not wanting to notice, turning a blind eye to
the poison that takes hold
Grabbing my skin, slithering up my legs
eating away the arrogant victim
Trip. Fall face first
Onto the dirt
vines and thorns, wrap around my arms
every inch of skin shown, poisoned
rubbed against the oils
Home, I discover the disease
itchy patchy red, not even calamine calming
my Incurable itch.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
Her children have all grown
off to college
with great expectations all of their own
they're too busy
to pick up the phone...
so she sits all alone
and talks to her cat
(that sits on her lap)
staring at her
with an inquisitive look
(as if reading a book)
pages of years...
stories of tears
laughter and pain
jumping in puddles in the pouring rain
first day of school
standing up to bully's that are cruel
Halloween lights
pajama party
nights
flying kites
Picnics and plays
on sunny days
Tooth fairy's
milestones
anniversary's
skinned knees
bandades
sunscreen
bee stings
Calamine
Valentines
Art classes
guitar lessons
Thanksgiving
blessings..
(tick-tock/tick-tock)
goes the clock on the wall
that's witnessed it all...
now that she's all alone
her children all grown
except the purr of her cat
who sits on her lap
with an inquisitive look
as if reading a very good book.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
I fell in when all encompassing dread peaked
and the tank was arid nothingness, absolutely.
Feeling so god **** sorry for my brain, and it's stem
surrounded by meat and physics and 80% water; under treachery of psyche
a calamine coward shaking hands with the people
attempting change, attempting decisions, never attempting novelty
and always senseless in the presence of evil friends
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
Cranberry juice is not meant
as a topical medicament
for the treatment of private part itches,
I found out when I confided to
this girl online
that I had this serious itching
predicament
in places I didn't want to mention out-loud,
I told her how I had tried
Preparation H, Lamisil,
baby powder, Cortisone ointment,
Eucerin, and even Calamine lotion,
she said I probably had
a yeast infection, that
men can get them,
and her having the usual equipment
that tends to get this type of malady more frequent,
I took her suggestion of one glass a day
of cranberry juice.
Poured one glass over the offending itchy parts
before my shower each day.
When I told her her remedy was not doing anything but staining my privates, I heard her laughing, she dropped offline for ten minutes.
My face turned red when she finally came back and said laughing,
"I meant to drink it!"
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
---
hair as flame
a furnace dream
skin as white
and
rich
as
cream
dress slit
up the side
for show
eyes
as
green
as
peridot
lacquered nails
a ****** red
she grows
on you
until
you're
dead
once she wraps
you in her vine
once your
heart
is so
entwined
she'll make you shake
she'll make you twitch
she'll make you burn
she'll make you itch
once she has
you as her own
she'll wind
her
tendrils
'round
your
bones
no calamine
will assuage
she'll
wind
her
vine
'round
your ribcage
no amount of love
will sate
in the
end
you'll
suffocate
but before that
she'll send a strain
of poison ivy
to your
brain
it will torture
burn like lye
you suffer
hell
and
then
you'll
die
SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
(C) 4/15/2014
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 3:24 AM UTC
Could it be how I was raised that developed the attitude?
Designed to go the distance displaying my aptitude
This world is an enigma, don't get lost in the labyrinth
Feel like I'm fine china tossed in the cabinet
Self-esteem and self worth is self made
Living in the struggle like a bad hand, but well played
A human race more into partying and self destruction
Bottled emotions released for self construction
My motto is do me and the right people will follow
Hit you in the head with reality uneasy to swallow
These trials and tribulations remain a constant on the daily
From the snap of the ball to the grave when you hail Mary
Poetry is my saving grace, my perfect place
When I need to relate or for saving face
Lust, jealousy & envy makes them be a friend to me
Make sure you keep your foes close or the end of me
The chase for woman with taste forbidden
Downfall, whatever it takes for winning
The thrill of victory, agonies of defeat, gradually to my peak
Run this like track & field there's no need to run heats
I'm fine tuned, shine like the beginning of June
Burn you to ashes, Florida bakes when its high noon
Tell me what's rain to a typhoon? A casted shadow on a full moon?
**Eclipse reigns like a monsoon! **(official line right here)
Bringing the pressure like a desert heat, drop you to one knee
Casting illusions like you proposed to me
Be who you are reach the heights where you suppose to be
Words will leave you staggering from the whiff of potency
Love w/ potion number nine, smoother than calamine
Turned my heart upside down, bottom, my valentine
Put it your all and fall hard, don't give your best its on to the next
Separated by genitalia just an opposite *** same intellect for respect & ***
The body is truly a temple, built for longevity
Let your spirit on this earth proclaim it now, heavenly
Age making us wiser in this body as a lifer
Healthy/active lifestyle on my Popeye, time to pay the piper
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 10:26 AM UTC
*She dresses in paisley
Wishes on daisies
Falls asleep to the televisions glow
Drinks Calamine tea
The tea she believes
Brings about memories only she knows
Wears perfume on her finger tips
So when she points it smells like this
Lavender with a hint of ginger
She has a yellow bird that talks
A pink and purple frog
She dresses in mink come winter
Her shoe leather is patent
The only way she will have them
Her tribute to the 70's
She herself is a secret
Hoping that she can keep it
As she floats across colorful seas*
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
I pick at your mind
Like it is last months shingles
Can't break the habit.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
*She dresses in paisley
Wishes on daisies
Falls asleep to the televisions glow
Drinks Calamine tea
The tea she believes
Brings about memories only she knows
Wears perfume on her finger tips
So when she points it smells like this
Lavender with a hint of ginger
She has a yellow bird that talks
A pink and purple frog
She dresses in mink come winter
Her shoe leather is patent
The only way she will have them
Her tribute to the 70's
She herself is a secret
Hoping that she can keep it
As she floats across the seas*
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
The pond by your father's place always froze over
The ice always reaching no matter whether the weather was freezing or not.
The silence on either side of the window panes killed you, you said.
You told me the patterns on the glass reminded you of bleeding.
You used to have donkeys, and they always loved you.
Bringing them pears and soft touches behind ears.
I was a boy, still, but it all made sense.
The way that your mouth moved
when whispering memories to me.
I remember that Spring that we fell through the ice.
Jangled nerve endings felt stabbing. Cold knives.
Wet hair. Lucky to make it out.
The last time you saw me you told me, "You're bleeding..."
I smiled and spat once and said I was fine.
I'd tripped on your driveway whilst walking to see you
and busted my lips on your mailbox.
You wiped one ring finger, stilled my moving mouth.
It was only a little. (Blood, that is.)
You wiped it again on my shirt.
You ***
I wish we'd drawn pictures in the snow with it.
The Winter has claimed me, I think, since then.
Blizzards well up in the corners of my eyes from time to time.
Snowbanks form on my brows when I furrow.
I furrow a lot now.
The bees in the tree at the edge of your father's place
Stung up your back and neck that Summer. Remember?
Calamine smile, you had me pull out the stingers.
Your dad's debit card, wiped across your back.
"Declined," I said.
You laughed.
And the pond, in my memory, still looks iced over
Even though that was July.
Right after my birthday.
Last month, saw the sign, said your father had sold
his place. Our place.
He misses you too.
I wish you here now.
We're all getting old, but I can't let myself grow.
I'm not any smarter, I'm just clothed in cold
And I forgot how to feel the way we did then.
I'd like another plunge, through thin ice, I think.
Anyway, I hate the Summer time.
The heat's too mean.
You know that about me.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 12:29 PM UTC
She dresses in paisley
Wishes on daisies
Falls asleep to the televisions glow
Drinks Calamine tea
The tea she believes
Brings about memories only she knows
Wears perfume on her finger tips
So when she points it smells like this
Lavender with a hint of ginger
She has a yellow bird that talks
A pink and purple frog
She dresses in mink come winter
Her shoe leather is patent
The only way she will have them
Her tribute to the 70's
She herself is a secret
Hoping that she can keep it
As she floats across the seven seas
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
Mother today
my brains got sun burnt
spent to long outside
humming on my own
and now my brains are burnt
not sure my mind is functioning right
and trying to scratch them
is making my fingers bleed
thank god I bit my nails
or what a mess that would be
thinking is not hard
just skips farts and starts
and to seams to make some sense
mother should I put some calamine on
do you think that will help
might just cool it down
think I will try it.
Ouch that burns!
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC