"candidly" poems
As you fanned me
and fed me grapes,
you let the sweat drip
down your lobe.
On a night as wet
as this, slip off
your robe, expose.
my fingertips scaled
your knuckles,
fumbling the thing
you held out to me,
burning so brightly.
All before you stopped
to talk to someone
more important
than me.
You moved so candidly.
You sat down at the bench
In a dress all black and
backless.
I've seen it in a dream.
With the moonlight flowing
down the river, your neck,
and spilling onto the banks,
your shoulder blades,
your hand crept across the keys
like the most beautiful spider
I had ever seen.
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 11:34 PM UTC
I walk through campus wearing
black leggings and those faded, leather
boots. I’m even wearing an
infinity scarf I bought full price at
Anthropologie and a pair of tiger-striped
cat eye sunglasses. **** I look good.
On top of it, I’m smoking a Parliament
menthol, my red-lined lips whipping
smoke into the dead air, creating
a grey cloud that some would call cancerous and
others, ****
But no one notices me, and, candidly, I
am okay with that because I notice me, and
I am a big red dance button that demands to
be pushed. So, I push myself and
groove down the brown brick road all the way
to classroom 114 in the science building.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
Of ***** friends I've had but seven,
Despite my years are ripe;
I hope they're now enjoying Heaven,
Although they're not the type;
Nor, candidly, no more am I,
Though overdue to die.
For looking back I see that they
Were weak and wasteful men;
They loved a sultry jest alway,
And women now and then.
They smoked and gambled, ****** and swore,
--Yet no one was a bore.
'Tis strange I took to lads like these,
On whom the good should frown;
Yet all with poetry would please
To wash his wassail down;
Their temples touched the starry way,
But O what feet of clay!
Well, all are dust, of fame bereft;
They bore a cruel cross,
And I, the canny one, am left,--
Yet as I grieve their loss,
I deem, because they loved me well,
They'll welcome me in Hell.
2.9k
"She smells raw mangoes
and chrysanthemums,
what a combination!
how exotic"
enamored city boy mused aloud,
kissing his newfound lover
a village belle,
under the shade
of a chattering peepal*
a rendezvous, so elating
he could never imagine.
"They didn't pay me much
to pick the mangoes, still not ripe;
had to pluck flowers in the afternoon,
for decent wages"
she candidly told.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
Clearly observing the wicked danger lurking within you…
What a paradox to witness a change of benevolence ridiculed by your truth.
If only you understood what it takes to genuinely smile,
You could move mountains across those magnificent cerulean skies.
Even after our unpleasant confrontations, so cruel and wry.
You deliberately chose to dance around to a distinctive rhyme.
Using your words of trickery, resembling a serpent hissing fear.
You untiringly strived to strike fatal arrows through an artificial crack on my fortified shield.
I gave you only one chance to earn my professional trust.
Then you destroyed it with mendacities absconding from your Machiavellian filthy mouth.
Candidly, after foreseeing your vile pestilence emerging from within.
I erupted in an outburst of laughter to have ever believed in your skin of sin.
Beware, you have revealed an irrevocable glitch that is deceitfully sly.
It portrays tyranny and narrow mindedness, depreciating with every malicious try.
Running cunningly through your veins oozing massive animosity in disguise.
Have you not scrutinized the gruesome language intensely stimulated from your heinously gazing eyes?
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
The knicks and the knacks of you and I.
The knicks as you chisel tru the glass enclosure around my heart.
The knacks of.. of.. of.. you on I…
Tear the walls down,
I mean beat the walls now.
The knicks and the knacks that have come to define our pact,
our pack,
our.. Knacks..
I visualize and shiver,
even in the shower the gentle whisper..
Touch…. Your… Toeeee……s
Oh stop it,
ur making me blush,
making my heart rush
The knicks and the knacks that have come to define US…
But wait,
hol-up!
Isn’t that what you wanted US to be?
The ability to derive pleasure selfishly.
Your narcissistic tendencies,
expecting me to conform to this atrocity…
But I did…..
Oh yes I did…
and foolishly,
candidly,
unrepentant in every way,
I enjoyed every knick,
every knack,
in our little knick knack
------
you can check out this poem and my other works here http://tonipayneonline.com/poetry-by-toni-payne/
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
The sun, a blazing circle of celestial fire
Hangs low upon the horizon,
Its fiery glory reflecting orangely
On the wind-whipped, blue-green sea.
The late afternoon sees my love and I,
Arms and legs entwined, ******* naked on the beach,
Rapt in appreciation of that blest moment
When sun and sea join in mystic communion.
And yet, all is not golden:
When one mentions the word "legs"
Once is certainly grammatically correct, yet
One does not convey the true situation to the reader.
You see, my lover is the sad possessor
Of a fifty percent deficit in the podial department,
Whilst I have a full double complement.
And thus to so-called act of generation
(Most times mis-named, for which I thank the gods)
Is a feat requiring great dexterous equilibrium.
However, my love's club foot (speaking candidly,
An admitted visual defect most times)
Now comes to the rescue of Eros' urgent needs,
With the aid of a little mutual ingenuity.
Balancing carefully on my dear one's abbreviated podex,
Supported carefully by the discarded surgical boot,
A passable **** can usually be achieved.
Only the halitosis appears irremediable.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
If this vast azure emptiness can prove
An aghast endless vacuum measure
Take it for granted, research process sure
It will fuel your thought resources, true.
Mining specks and dots in deep space treasures
Boundless designs shine assigning pleasures
Unfurl within mind in gaseous beams
Overflowing the banks of conscious streams
Filling the utmost sanctum with soft skills
Milling vacuum with colorful quills
Calming the pulses with embracing lulls
Warming all lives with fundamental pulls
Creating a sense of duo, I and you
Love and dislikes and points of view.
Feeling satiety in charity
Finding synergy in activity.
Minting amity in society
keeps you young aged muddling in daring dreams
Deeply engage you cuddling realms supreme.
So what? if this vast thought mine be blanked out
Will the ghost mute vacuum follow suit?
If sense aides guide a slow downward exit
And mind bids the fairy lids to close it
Will the sun bewail, bemoan and eclipse?
Or will the same smile prevail on red-lips?
If souls sunset in seamless sea of mind
Will lights spill out; team up to stay behind?
To form anew a fresh long microwave
To indent a start with a soul suave
A new spectrum to perceive the forces
For the soul that constantly resources
That differently formats transceiver courses
The energy that cannot be destroyed
But that which can be candidly portrayed
On a vast emptiness fluidly stolid
On a continuum vividly solid
On a clean canvas without dimensions
In a brave new world that cannot mention
A name which is beyond comprehension
A frame that doesn't fall on known convention.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
hyper-jinxed like an old talkie
scrap the fat off the cow!
swipe that smile off your face
to watch the sunset fade away.
batshit crazy
candidly rogue
an eventful leap from far fetched lore
gory details please spare me
a big fat ***** and a way to reap
the pretties from the twits.
but the lee-way from the stars beyond
sometimes gets trapped into hairy armpits.
then their neon pink hued blue eyed trolls
take their slippers to the snow.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
eventually,
i will eagerly experience
all your fifty-four flavours
but in this moment
i'm only in the mood
for neapolitan
every inch of surface
melting with the graze
of my tantalized tongue
guided by the tempting taste
of your vanilla-scented skin
i candidly drizzle
chocolaty syrup
onto your milky mounds
before i suckle the center
and tease the cherry ****
tenderly between my teeth
but i'm in the highest hopes
for the strawberry flavors
especially after the fruit
has been sufficiently savored
by your luscious lips
(both pairs of them)
and covered copiously
in carnally-compelled cream
finger-whipped
by a duo of digits
or maybe three
until you sensually scream
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 6:03 AM UTC
Bringing to light genuine poetic gifts bestowed upon a peculiar genius; a macrocosmic telekinesis with heterogenetic keenness
Sagacious enlistee receiving tuition without a fee - earned a transcendental degree in a ceaseless state of commendable, chimerical reverie
A golden dispensary of wisdom dramatically uplifting humanity candidly; treasure full of esoteric mysteries transporting wondrous abundance through bundles of subject matters and earning a celestial masters.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
O peaceful moon, shining gently o'er the fields,
In your soft light I see a tree, a hedge, a glistening pond;
And the soft night sounds of rustling reeds and swaying boughs
Intermingle with the nightly warfare of a million creatures.
But hark! From the new housing estate across the park
There comes a rather different sound. Through an open window
Comes the healthy thwack of flesh on flesh and muffled shrieks of joy
As Isaac and Wendy Bumsenfotze indulge themselves un peu.
Isaac's got his gasmask on, and his rubber flippers too
And (speaking candidly) looks an unattractive proposition
Especially now his skinny chest towers o'er his massive ********
All four mighty manly inches of it from tip to curlies.
Lying trussed up on their bed, atop its needed rubber sheeting,
Lies Sam, their well-trained patient pedigree crossbred donkey,
Upon whose good-natured, hirsute, unsuspecting person
Nameless atrocities have often been performed in Eros' name.
What are they going to do tonight? I bet you'll never guess.
Well, Wendy's strapped her ***** on and intends to use it first
On Ikey's waiting well-lubricated back end
And then it's Sam's turn and ***** the R.S.P.C.A.
And while Sam is getting poked by loving Wendy,
Old Ike will not be idle: camera-phone in one hand
And mail-order sjambok in the other, he'll record
Their motions and lacerate them both simultaneously.
Underneath his gasmask, Isaac gets a bit sweaty and excited,
And once their party's over all three will doze off:
A truly lovely scene. But they will be soon by woken by
The morning sun glittering on Wendy's cast-off legirons.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
Stopped on the shore
to snap a picture,
"can you pose more candidly?"
you asked the water,
while the sun scurried
across the sky to duck
behind the horizon for fear
of the ensuing argument.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 6:08 AM UTC
When I watch you
smiling candidly on shiny paper
laughing, surrounded by the remaints
of your friend's cigarette smoke
or
when I watch you
in your old, worn-out-with-love Levi's
with the overused Adia's running shoes
standing, with me for your shoulders
like I was on top of the world
I say
when I watch you
you framed Kodak memory of a father
who used to be the handsome hero of my life
used to be my best friend
I smile
through your faded memory
I smile
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
Fittingly meticulous, finicky
Precisely mitigating routine
Tracing excessively
Over cornered mezzanine
Stray penciled lines
Candidly contrived
Archaic dossier
Balanced centers
Unavoidably erase
Guiltily lost the way
Confused compass oscillates
Irregularly unanticipated
Perpetually transitory
Tender heart insecurity
Ego sensitivities in vain glory
Sacrificed arrogance dignity
On the day of defeat
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 4:29 AM UTC
And each morning as she slept
I'd take her a tray of poetry
A croissant of commas warmed from the inside out
An ounce of assonance
A cup of freshly squeezed couplets
A bowlful of rhymes
That inside she might find
Our promises of forever
The memories we crafted together:
I’d take her a teapot of
The little things we’d forget
In the busyness of daily life
I’d take her a knife to spread
across the toasts we’d host
To the moments we cherished most
To our victories and our regrets
And every morning as she slept
I’d place a kiss on her head
As I placed beside our bed
A tray of poetry,
The words she so carefully, cordially, candidly
Composed out of me.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:40 AM UTC
It’s been a while, but I’ve figured out
Why my life seems so different now.
Working on being your new fixation
In a costume of my own creation.
I know I’m not who I used to be,
I’m used to being shut down,
Silenced,
Ooh, their words were violent,
And I ended up someone I’m not sure I want to be.
But that doesn’t matter anymore…
‘Cause I’d do anything you want,
Be the girl of your dreams, too.
I’d say the things you’d like to hear,
And change my looks, my heart for you.
I know it’s sad and reeks of desperation,
Yeah it’s tragic, but it’s true…
Honey, if you would just love me,
Maybe I could love me too.
Baby could you kiss me in the moonlight,
And see the stars in my eyes,
And let me take the pain away.
All those thoughts you’ve had today -
They don’t mean anything
As long as I’m around.
Please, just use me like I’m using you.
My heart tells me it’s choosing you,
And all these stupid things I do
Only promise me that I’ll be losing you.
And I know I’m simply sad and eighteen,
And life has much more planned for me.
What’s that look supposed to mean?
We used to speak so candidly.
And now I know you want to leave me…
But I’d do anything you want,
Be the girl of your dreams, too.
I’d say the things you’d like to hear,
And change my whole ******* self for you.
I know it’s so very sad and desperate,
Yeah it’s tragic, but it’s true…
Darling, if you would just love me,
Then maybe I could love me too.
Can you please just ******* love me,
So that I can love me too?
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
She sat by the mainstream area,
its ubiquity reminds her of such
hunkering for a man's silhouette,
stationed and immobile, beside her.
She spun her head, noticing
how candidly dull everything, and
everyone is. Yet, realizing among
it (and them) all, it was her--
the most unfortunate of all.
She felt the solitude, for herself.
Reckoning where to go, and
what to do. Whether to blame
herself, or to curse the world
for her miserable mishap.
She needed the prowess, so
she picked up that piece
of tissue paper to write on.
She poured out,
disgorged her thoughts. And,
on that moment, for once
at least, such miserable mishap
into a blessing in disguise
had transformed to.
She became a poet,
at least for once.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 4:19 AM UTC
jasmine streams fill the soul
lilacs vivid sing
poetry by shallow brooks
see how comes the spring
syllables resting on lips
be tinged in reprise
may deepening twilight be
melted into your eyes
by traces of this lake
few tales candidly string
through brightest flowy blossoms
see how comes the spring
how silken breezes drown
fuse in sun's saffron arms
may tulips finest be
paled against your charms
amidst nature's romance
restless orioles sing
crooning by shallow brooks
see how comes the spring
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
Mi Chica Española
Novia
Your body a rose
But a full bloom sanctuary
Of goodies
Por favor me perdon
Good deeds I mean
Catch
My starving lust
You a saucy serpent
But then a saint
Wet my lips a kiss
And quench their dryness
Hiss
Into mine ears your secrets
Canndie
I mean candidly
Woo!
I lied,what I meant was candies
Shhhhh!
Just sweet my tongue your candy
And salve my sores
For amidst my fantasies
I hold a thought
Yea,the ****** your lips bring,as you licks
Por Dios
This
Is what the oceans call tender
When they row at the banks
Violeta
The desires you print in mine eyes
I mean not the color
Lo siento me olvidé
You're a scholar,I should know
Now
Drench me depths
But so abyss your Eróticos
And dignify mine passions
Dignify my decays
With the very romance your language cuddles
Gracias
Mi Chica Española
©Historian E.Lexano
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
My mom is mischievously, mysterious,
with her momentum.
But perfectly perpetuating her
purpose on earth.
Never wavering wondering, or
wishing for it all.
Only knowing.
She is in her palace.
Filling her chalice.
Toughening the callus,
That's needed..
Necessary negativity to neutralize,
The highs and balance the lows.
Candidly correcting the corrupt
With a simple smile.
Lifting the leveled and the loveless,
With ease.
There is no tail,
That could make a wail.
Only mine of I fail,
But, I won't walk that trail.
I'll take the teachings and trials,
She will give.
Learning love and limits
With a laugh.
I just want to say,
Thank you
For my life and the love you've given.
You're perfect, just for me.
May 11, 2022
May 11, 2022 at 6:04 PM UTC
once when we were speaking candidly
in the car or maybe at breakfast
I told you how much I love the you
that comes out at night in your room,
the Bogeyman beneath your glasses who
leaps out of the shadows and, like a
ravenous beast, topples me over to
devour my tasty flesh —
you shrugged at my suggestion and I
wondered if it ever occurred to you
that your lust simmers so near the
surface on those nights that smell
so heavily of *** —
when I asked if you noticed any
Bogeyman in me, you only admitted
that I become more “blunt”, not
commanding, necessarily, but
straight-forward and concise —
it makes me think of those shivering
nights without clothes when we haven’t
made it beneath the covers yet
as something like a ritual where we
shed our daily roles and put on
those of the beast and his master,
where I conquer you and clean up
your spoils, leaving only a
slick orange sweater and a
hasty a capella symphony, a
prelude to sweet and somber slumber.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
And these dreams will be the death of me.
Broken sleep &
relentless lethargy.
I'm out of control,
so I'm told.
I've slipped outside of my soul,
or so I'm told.
My nose runs consistently,
Yet I don't have a cold.
Now everything hurts,
and yet I feel so cold.
REM dream sequences;
play me on repeat.
play on repeat,
Everybody hurts too but they carry on,
Won't admit defeat.
Not me,
I bend under the pressure,
Malleable,
& then break what's,
Valuable.
I'm weak at the knees,
alieness in alloness of stress;
Please let me rest,
Stop stealing my shut eye by looking in to mine,
I walked the line,
But crossed it,
No going back now I think,
I shudder each time I blink.
And in dreams I believe I could be happy,
Or at least not so sad,
Wishing to feel those feelings
That I've predominately lacked.
Now in dreams I wait to see a GP
in reality,
So he can endorse these feelings into clarity,
Prescribe me patronisingly with 50mg of setraline;
"I'm sure alls not as bad as it seems"
He says so candidly,
Whilst I'm sat here,
can't even speak,
trapped at the mercy of these endorphinemachines.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 5:05 AM UTC
I'm not pretend, I swear to god.
Whom I've only recently strarted to believe in, and only because I desire something.
And I am pretend in my Imagination, that much is true.
But my perception is scarred and blurred anyway, and what is real and who am I and who will I be? Do I really care?
I guess you know. Or you think you know, which is knowing to me.
But all this time I've know what I think is the secret: you are what others think because the you in your head is so violently different to the you displayed and for sale that only others can know you.
You are like a subjective and ambiguous bit of poetry, only you know the hidden meanings and deliberate devices, so you are biased. You expect people to see these tiny nooks like they are filled with neon, shouting, hollering: 'I Am Here!'
But they don't. Thy find other, obvious things, that you overlooked as being too obvious.
Then someone comes along and analyses you so candidly, picking up all the tiny bacterium you never noticed- so that you are more than willing to explain the complex juxtaposition of your existence, because they tried to understand. And admitted that they missed the grass in the field of daisies, they never assumed they knew you, they never announced it to the world with badly suppressed glee; that they had solved you like a childish puzzle in three seconds flat.
And people want to be loved, but I think they want to be understood. And we are all a little mixed up.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC