"candies" poems
You come in late, wiping your lips.
What did I leave untouched on the doorstep---
White Nike,
Streaming between my walls?
Smilingly, blue lightning
Assumes, like a meathook, the burden of his parts.
The police love you, you confess everything.
Bright hair, shoe-black, old plastic,
Is my life so intriguing?
Is it for this you widen your eye-rings?
Is it for this the air motes depart?
They rae not air motes, they are corpuscles.
Open your handbag. What is that bad smell?
It is your knitting, busily
Hooking itself to itself,
It is your sticky candies.
I have your head on my wall.
Navel cords, blue-red and lucent,
Shriek from my belly like arrows, and these I ride.
O moon-glow, o sick one,
The stolen horses, the fornications
Circle a womb of marble.
Where are you going
That you **** breath like mileage?
Sulfurous adulteries grieve in a dream.
Cold glass, how you insert yourself
Between myself and myself.
I scratch like a cat.
The blood that runs is dark fruit---
An effect, a cosmetic.
You smile.
No, it is not fatal.
17.8k
To raise
humble kid
is my priority.
I can
Make my CHILD learn
-
By preaching
By teaching
By giving
Knowledge of
Sharing
Caring
Loving
But...
She will not learn
by preaching!!
Rather
She will learn
By my ACTIONS..!!
If I don't
Share MY things
With My
Friends
Neighbours
Siblings
Cousins
She will learn NOTHING..!
*I can make her
learn to share.
By making her give -
Clothes to needy
Toys in orphanage
Candies to the deprived.
*
But by GIVING
she will
just learn to be PROUD
Rather
If she learns by
seeing me
SHARING
She will become HUMBLE..!!
To raise a humble kid is my priority..!!
Sparkle In Wisdom
11 Jan 2019
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:05 PM UTC
Lick the words
from my lips
let them slide down
your throat
like fruited jewels,
dark, hard candies
that melt into cream
a healing liquid
oozing into my
ventricles,
pumping milky beats
out through
your cells
permeating the deep
of my wild
My syllables will
wrap themselves
around your syntax
frothy hybrids
of buttered silk
and irony
heart-to-heart
conversations that
flow into the ether,
as heaven's night
endlessly begins
We twirl our tongues
into guttural utterings,
lustful verse
that glides from
slick-fervored ice
to an outpour
of lava
We feed each other
dreams
our saliva like honey
dripping with dawn's
tender glow
as we open up
like baby birds,
begging to be nourished
at all costs
Here,
in this lingual forest
Your breath finds a home
on my tastebuds,
my tongue
in your
cheek
In between the tumults
of our
exploding oceans
This
is how we
love
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
Black girls are the most juicy and sweet candies in the world: melanin masterpiece of nature, bubbly as sweet soda. Dark skin color is the most pleasant and sweet light color. Skin is like chocolate candy, sugar-marmalade taste of lips, only a dark-skinned girl can give the most juicy, juicy and sweet kiss with her big sensual lips. The skin is soft as chocolate sponge cake. Her skin shines beautifully in the light like jam, soft body parts like pudding. Lips and intimate places are so sweet as if juicy, hot, hot dark chocolate, feet like ice cream waffles. The color of her skin is like a sweet delicacy, a gorgeous dessert, sweet chocolate cream, chocolate mousse, an unforgettable sugar taste and you get into the taste, skin as if emitting hot moans of *** The blacker, the juicier and sweeter the skin, juicy relish, the hotter its sexuality and passion, like a panther with strikingly beautiful eyes, like a powerful magnet beckons to itself, fascinating for its beauty.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 12:52 AM UTC
You, with your supple and brown leather
I, with my gaze fixed on my father’s pocket
You, peeking out from its corner like a
Child playing hide and seek in a desolate ally
I, like the kidnapper, keeping an eye on your
Fragile movements, waiting for you to stumble
Into a dark corner and into my sinister embrace
So that I could get my ransom inside you, the
Little green strips of paper you contained
Toys, chocolates and kites my father wouldn’t get me.
You, with your expensive sheen, attracting me
To yourself like a gold ring attracting an eagle
Only to disappear as soon as my father left
For work and you, containing an enigmatic exchange
For little candies the definition of bliss to six year old me.
I, with my naïve mind thinking why I would get less
Candies and goodies when you would be frail
And devoid of those thin green leaves.
You, in the possession of my elder brother now
I, eight year old me, wondering if your gauntness
Made my father a dear departed.
You, I didn’t unravel the enigma of your long
Green leaves until I was thirteen and you
Resided in the back pocket of the Khaki trousers
My brother used to wear,
Now Tattered just like your old unkempt skin.
Dear Old Wallet, my dead father’s wallet
I liked you better when you were fat and fit,
Supple and shiny, brimming with coins and green leaves.
And when I was unaware, little and innocent thinking
You were a miracle for I only wanted toys back then
only to realize I need a lot more
For I am now cold, fatherless and bankrupt
But you are empty and thin, just like my
Dying mother.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
Maybe you're the colosseum. The code to get through the glass doors is actually just '1954'. You could put up the painting of me at auction, or I could take a cruise from London to the Islands North of Siberia, a stop in a department store in Northern Greece. I stop and take a ride in the middle front-third seat of a older friend's younger brother's car, and force all of them to come outside and see the spider's eggs at Bob-o-Link. Massive cornucopias of cotton walls entwined with silk.
In the department store I ask to be introduced to someone who can take me by the hand and recognize me by my number, show me everything I'll need to shoot a full-length feature, even how I can get to Prague so I can do a little shopping. But the horror of seeing is so frightening, and the girl that I came with wants to do nothing.
I find a little shop selling Czech candies, music, and newspapers, so I try to buy everything but the horror is getting closer. I'm in a lazy Susan, how often does that happen? One more turn and I'll lose my stomach contents and then I won't need anything.
I take a climb up a street that says "Smrzlinu Ahead," but the houses on the street are all either empty or boarded up. I drift in the soccer field, watching my legs, looking over my shoulder. I fall for a pile of clothes that can hide me but are also very soft to lay in.
Another cruise- tropical, perhaps? Somewhere for coy adults, who shed their skin in Winter when their eyes start molting off. Someday I will place both hands into the ocean, I'll dream huge, and go swimming until I start to laugh. One day I'll sink to the floor of the bourn, maybe the same day I wake up and I'm not swimming alone.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:28 AM UTC
Her skin looks pale,
White shedding brown,
like a golden brown velvet
strewn across a skeleton
made from Cleopatra’s frame.
There is nothing to it,
her sway is flawless
in her stilettos,
O’ God those stilettos.
She pave the roads with
blossoms of Primrose
and Calla Lilies, as the tip
of her heels stab the earth.
Her body melts cotton candies
in winter,
her curve bakes pastries
in snowy mountains,
It was an unbelievable sight,
like a sunrise, she climbs the edges
of the highest of peaks,
like the wind, she enters a heart by
the creaks; like a creep.
Perhaps nothing shall stop her,
Her footsteps continue to pierce
the soil, making a sound close to the
cracking of my knuckles.
She made people snivel and weep
when she enters the room
with her slender black dress.
She makes heads turn almost
to their full circle,
it would be death to steal a
peek, or glance, a peep.
She is the sun on earth:
hot and highly radiated
but too tempting to be left alone.
She is like the still waters:
calm, clean and serene
but too quiet to know the depth;
and still willingly jump in.
It is like believing again.
She is like believing again.
She is tiny as is her name,
It shall rhyme as the bell shines,
Her hair, her coiled twisted hair,
is much like herself: curled, twisted
bended.
Yet she is, perhaps, the twist in life,
the curl of wind on her bosoms, or
the bend of spines when eyes turn
to gaze at her splendor.
It is uncertain what she is,
but I know, vaguely.
She, like a Zinnia, shall be the
decoration of this planet.
She shall be, though exaggerated,
the reason for our existence.
She, corrupted and dangerous,
shall reclaim her spot in divinity
and shall forever more be
my source of inspiration.
Like a stream of clear water,
gushing down the torrent
ovately,
ornately,
creatively,
purposefully…
She shall see herself,
breathe herself and know that
only she is the one she could
deliberately fall…
…or fail.
The black sand shall be her dress,
the grey rocks shall be her stilettos,
that clear water be her conscience
as she takes on the world.
With her cursive eye shadows
she will see the funny side of
life; she will see it thoroughly.
She, regardless, will persist
and resist the failure
of herself, with the moist
creek on her seductive lips.
She is seduction.
She is temptation.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
Senior Present
I walked in to the school this morning
To see all of the teachers
Munching and nibbling on food.
I turned down the hallway to be greeted
By a glorious sent that hit my nostrils
I watched as kids floated down the hall way
Towards the smell, they were just out of reach
Of the food, as the smell led them to a closed door
Of the teachers lounge.
Inside were all sorts of candies. There was a candy
Of every type, all shapes and sizes. No one was left
Out every teacher had there favorite kind some ware.
There were cakes and pies,
Fudge and brownies,
Ice cream and frozen yogurt.
There was healthy food
And nut free snacks.
There was lollipops
And twizlers.
It was Halloween all over again,
With a twist of fancy,
It was a dessert buffet
Just for the teachers.
It was a way to thank them for all the
Time they spent teaching us the same thing
To have patience for all the questions, to help us
In till we understood, staying extra hours to help us.
This food display is a thanks to not just the teachers
But to the janitors, the special education helpers
The nurses, librarians, office and consoler office ladies
The police officers and the principal her self.
I thought it would be nice to give you all a special treat
A present, instead a prank, since it is my senior year.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 8:26 PM UTC
Saturn is in
line with
Venus tonight
but, nothing's easy
when you're down.
The clowns walk
around, dressed in
yellow; fast food smiles
and cheeseburger
souls, and nothings
easy when you're down.
The dancers with poles
and sadness, that Halloween,
fires burning, childhood
perfumed dreams,
kind of sadness fills the
navy blue night.
I can't find the North star,
and the jack-lanterns lie rotting
in the streets of Nebraska
and Kansas, and the candies
all gone, and the kids wait.
And I can't find
the deep blue shirt I bought
at Goodwill, and Billy Burroughs
is filled with worms and earth,
and Bukowski looks at Satan
and says, "what do you
mean, we're out of whiskey?"
I've never been much for the stars,
and family and Thanksgiving are
painfully overrated,
and nothing's easy when
you're down.
Nov 22, 2021
Nov 22, 2021 at 9:53 PM UTC
I had to go into the big city
well big for me anyway
a beautiful drive still dreaming I think
looks right down on the water that city
at Lake Champlain.
So what did you get?
Oh. You're seriously asking, alright.
Well, it's for a lovely couple this weekend getting married.
Oh I see, do tell Chef ?
I picked some beautiful ingredients
for pumpkin cheesecake
some candies...
I especially love the sunflower seed drops in magenta, violet, lime green, burnt orange, tangerine and dark chocolate,
they look like little fall tears.
I also found some vinted
honeymoon wine
A voigner
with a lovely fragrant crisp taste
Hmmmm...interesting, go on?
It signifies the full moon in June after the flowers turn into young grapes some honeysuckle Aromas followed by luscious mango and nectar
Paired with roasting chicken
& beautifully seasonal fingerling potatoes
and this amazing rustic sweet potato bread
gorgeous heirloom vegetables in a few various choices
delicately cooking squash
all seasoned to perfection bringing
nutty joy to all
in an aromatic feathery plume of goodness
finally...
green goddess dressing and roasted nuts, berries among other toppings for a brilliant salad.
Oh...well any invitations still open?
I'm not sure, but you can be my guest in the kitchen come along
take your hat off what's the hurry?
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Candies are sweet
But not as sweet as you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Candies are junkfood
So, it is unhealthy for you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Too much of 'you'
Diabetes may take due
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Eventhough you are sweet
Doesn't mean I have fallen for you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
There are many fishes in the ocean
And ***** animals in the zoo
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I prefer bread than candy
At least they give me more energy for the business I do
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If you haven't notice
I'm done of you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Love is a complicated mystery
To solve it, there is no clue
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
How long will our bewildered heirs
marooned in possessions not theirs
puzzle at disposing of these three
cunning feignings of hard candy in glass-
the striped little pillowlike mock-sweets,
the flared end-twists as of transparent paper?
No clue will be attached, no trace
of the sunny day of their purchase,
at a glittering shop a few doors
up from Harry's Bar, a disappointing place
for all its testaments from Hemingway.
The Grand Canal was also aglitter
while the lesser canals lay in the shade
like snakes, flicking wet tongues
and gliding to green rendezvous.
The immaculate salesgirl, in her aloof
Italian succulence, sized us up,
a middle-aged American couple,
as unserious shoppers who,
still half jet-lagged, would cling to their lire
in the face of any enchanted vase
or ethereal wineglass that might shatter
in the luggage going home.
Yet we wanted something, something small ....
This? No ... How much is ten thousand? Dizzy,
at last we decided. She wrapped
the three glass candies, the cheapest
items in the shop, with a showy care
worthy of crown jewels-tissue,
tape, and tissue again sprang up
beneath her blood-red fingernails,
plus a jack-in-the-box-shaped paper bag
adorned with harlequin lozenges, sad
though she surely was, on her feet waiting
all day for a wild rich Arab, a compulsive Japanese.
Grazie, signor ... grazie, signora ... ciao.
Nor will our thing-weary heirs decipher
the little repair, the reattached triangle
of glass from the paper-imitating end-twist,
its mending a labor of love in the cellar,
by winter light, by the man of the house,
mixing transparent epoxy and rigging
a clever small clamp as if to keep
intact the time that we, alive,
had spent in the feathery bed
at the Europa e Regina.
4.5k
The momment I realized
facebook
was a pokedex for people
Was the moment I realized
I don't want to catch them all.
Some pokemon aren't worth the trouble.
Let alone making it double.
Abra for instance,
I understand you like spooning
but if you're going to teleport
every time I throw the Pokeball,
maybe it's best you stay in the cave.
cubone:
Did you ever think maybe,
wearing the skull
of your dead mother
for protection
might mean
you have some serious family baggage?
Pidgey:
I shouldn't have to keep buying repels
to keep you away.
If I stroll through the tall grass
You appear every five minutes
Without realizing I AM IGNORING YOU.
Perhaps you should wait
until I throw another ball.
I'm trying
to catch different pokemon right now
Who fit my team better
Have the Nature I want.
You had your chance
to be in my party
When I fed you that Razz berry
threw the first ball.
Caught you.
then you Evolved
into this big mouthed Golbat
About to swallow me whole.
Trainers.
Stop spending time on toxic pokemon
Poisen types, koffing and wheezing.
Psychic types that play you puppet.
Don't throw the ball to them
Let their grass rustle.
Walk on by
I'm transfering mine in for candies
Catching Shinies
legendaries whom there are only one of in this world.
I stopped trying to catch them all.
I'm searching the high ground
taking time to look at their move set
Running around town with them.
We'll EV train each other,
Get every badge together.
BEAT THE ELITE FOUR
Get knocked down
Go to the pokecenter
Do, do, dodo DO!
Get right back up, together.
Because it's not about catching them all.
It's about healing the ones that you have.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
I pride myself on differences,
but know at heart we're all one
I tried to do the dishes,
but only two knives made the cut.
Now I wonder if I can
accomplish more than thought possible
judging dull wounds in grunting cans;
feeling pistol grooves and wrist slitters,
I am at home again.
Lying, mining, dying figure heads
make their way to the foot of my bed,
and ask if they may lull me to sleep
with dreams of pneumonia and epilepsy.
I ask them to politely leave,
but they perch on boasting names of society,
reciting to me, too condescendingly,
"surely, we know better than you."
Now all of their heads fit askew.
Save the money and excuse for material attachment.
Keep running through your doll houses.
I pull on my hair to make it grow.
You pull on heart strings to teach a lesson, I suppose
we're in the same sinking boat.
But you are my vital poison.
My body collapses- a muted a noise and-
each time I awake perfectly poised
at your feet and frozen mouth.
How will I ever make you love me now?
Life's a Hawaii postcard
pleading, "go experience the vibrant colors."
There's more to see beyond the rainbow trees,
but they'll still satisfy most cravings.
Every threaded fiber of my being
keeps me pondering
if cells are just too shy to speak,
or if they've always spoken through me,
whispering, "scratch to win the lottery."
I want to write children's books,
and release doves from hidden cages;
watch awe wipe over next generation;
use my candies as their safe haven.
Away this world that have caused them pain-
I Am its new name.
Affection is a mistress of mine.
I still crave her like sunlight.
stare into her eye until I am blind
She's addicting even after she harms you.
I'll keep my heals neck deep
in anxiously wading water.
til I sing it into deep sleep,
its current pulls me under.
and I am at home again.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Crawling down the streets
on pouring rain
darkness cares of creeps
hovering their pain
the lamp post on their niche
thunder blunders a hit
to an abbey
where we used to meet
with white lane trails
and colored vales
a flashback in memory lane
Time used to stop and stare
for a while
to vanish the pain, I bare
and look a step back
from the mile
There...
were we used to melt away
from cones of treats
and giggled from candies
we barely eat
with swirling clouds in play
gazing our hearts
in the moss of grass, we lay
Then a change led you to leave
you cared nothing
but your selfish greed
anxiously I gave all of Me
but just to realize
you gave nothing of thee
As I die
a sign in my heart reside
an echo awakening
a brave woman, a reborn rite
with wiped away tears
and faking leers
she flaunts out her pain
A brave woman
brave enough to begin again
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 12:04 PM UTC
There she sat in front of me with her red lipstick on and a smile that showed off her pearly white teeth that always seemed to light up a room
but something was off
Was it the sweetness I felt, disappearing when I looked at her?
Only the tingling on my tongue after eating too many sour candies was left as I saw her smile slowly curve down each day I saw her
She had a lot of sour moments now that I look back.
I miss the fresh peppermint laughs we shared
what's left now is a silhouette
a wrapper of what we could have been
and now as I sit here looking through her
I begin to crack from the way she makes me feel
She doesn't know
She'll never know about the red stripes she left on me
can a shattered candy cane be put back together?
it might seem impossible
some parts may be lost
but with some time
I'll be back on my feet again
and she'll move on to someone sweeter
maybe a gumdrop this time
Without losing her
I would never have found my marshmallows friends who I know I can always fall back on their soft embrace
They will be there supporting me till my expiration date
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 12:24 PM UTC
Every morning I longed to be by my mother’s side.
She was kind and true.
As true as the facts anthropologists find to prove our human roots.
They say we evolved from monkeys and such.
I say there are always lies in between truths.
My mother promised to keep me safe.
She made my world a rainbow dune.
Her all-natural perfume gave me the ability to touch the sky.
Her rhythm and tune collided to bring out a pleasant triad.
I touched the blue and white with my bare hands.
No, I did not hesitate, for she was kind and true.
She gave me life and spirit too.
So easily, I assume.
Now all I see is a flooded platoon.
I was all too naïve to believe in the wicked disease.
My surroundings were made out of candies and sweets.
I am disgusted by her attempt to keep my life platonic and safe.
My mother manipulated my innocence without a care of the sea.
She had forgotten to introduce gangsters, and demons into my docile life.
I was only six when it happened.
My beautiful, heartwarming mother took her life.
She abandoned me to face the demons all too soon.
I was thrown into the streets and lived an uneventful life.
Lee found me lying on the street with tears streaming from both eyes.
The rest of my childhood was spent watching Lee slaughter innocent souls.
I saw too much from my own baby blue eyes.
There were screams and body parts rapidly falling from sight.
I knew all too well that Lee was my savior, so I tried to fit in as an alien might try.
Too soon did I become what my mother would never praise and I did not put an end.
As children, we are too weak and need guidance to live.
We mirror what we see, no matter how wrong it may be.
I needed the right soul to look after me.
I did not have that and so I fell into dark tunnels, you see.
I am not to blame, so why blame the innocent and not those at fault?
Those that walked right past me when I was only six could have helped.
They had the upper hand, I did not.
I never did, I was just a little innocent kid.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
Welcome to my home, oh won't you come in?
Allow me to show you around, would you care for a drink?
Tell me your poison, maybe a highball of gin?
I keep it in the kitchen with the coffeepot by the sink,
or maybe you'd prefer a tumbler of crown?
Whiskey is right in the foyer by the doorstop,
there's nothing like a nip right before I bounce.
And if it's wine you crave, it's in the living room atop
the tube television beside the VCR in it's place.
But if you've a tongue for peach schnapps
then make your way to the crawl space.
Whilst your up there I say, would you do me a fave?
Look in the attic for the bourbon, it's beside my baby pictures,
and bring it down for me. I'm sure that I saved
some from the last time I was up there alone with self-stricture.
Oh you don't care for bourbon, then maybe some brandy?
The cognac is somewhere down the basement,
but ignore the rope and the candies.
You're unsettled you say? Then rum's how to spend
drinking the night away with me in the den.
OH! Just send a beer your way?! you should've just said!
A six-pack's in the bathroom, right next to the head.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
Remember 4th grade?
When we used to buy those orange candies and the blue marbles
But we never had more than 10 bucks so we always had to choose
But I guess the times have changed
Because all we buy now are packs of cigarettes and cans of *****
Remember 5th grade?
I memorized the rare candy cheat and you memorized the master ball one
Oh the good times when we used to play Pokemon and zwinky
But I guess the times have changed
Because now we're all about DOTA and call of duty
Remember 7th grade?
You fell in love and a week later you fell out of it
And then you smashed that thing... What was it? A photo frame?
I was just standing there trying not to laugh at you
And two days after that, you yelled at me for taking her name
Remember 8th grade?
We used to play basketball all day
I was 4'11" and you were 5'2"
And although it was just three inches
I looked like a little ****** in front of you
But some things never change
Like those marbles and the place where we buried them
I bet they are still as beautiful
As they were back then
Yes,some things never change
Like the part of my mind which memorized that cheat
A44A FB0B 6808 D662
I can't believe I still remember that ****
Yes,some things never change
Like the pieces of that photo frame
And the fact that you still hate her
And the fact that I still call her "The ***** who shall not be named"
Yes,some things never change
Now I'm 5'11" and you're 6'2"
But its still three inches
And I still look like a ****** in front of you
Yes,some things never change
Like the part of me which loved you then
Because I still do
And all these memories
that are made out of you.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
I found a scribbled piece of paper on my coat,
The wife wrote, "pick up some CANDLES" in a note.
I thought it said "CANDIES" hoping to discover,
that we finally would have candies,
In our cupboard.
So I bought in a rush:
Snickers, Abba Zabba, Milky Way, Three Musketeers, Reeses peanut butter cups, M&Ms, Almond Joy, Milk Duds, laughy Taffy....and such.
I called her and told her all the candies I bought,
She said, "CANDLES, stupid", so I hung up.
Jul 13, 2025
Jul 13, 2025 at 4:22 PM UTC
red is the colour of blood that courses through your veins, pumping that blood chugging ***** in your chest known as the heart. red is the colour of your skin when you blush, like that night when i mentioned how beautiful you were in the pale moonlight. red is the colour of that dress you wore to dinner, the silk draped from your body in the most modest way, yet you looked like a queen. red is the colour of the jewels i bought you after we went window shopping; i've never seen such a pleased look on anyone. red is the colour of your lips, and when you licked them, they looked as appetising as a cherry lollipop. red is the colour your face got when you got those candies from the boy you liked; the boy that wasn't me. red is the colour my hands got after punching the wall a plethora of times in anger. red is the colour of love. red is the colour of jealousy. red is the colour of anger. red is the colour that wasn't in your face when i last saw you, arms crossed on a bed. red is the colour that spilt from my open wounds after i received the news. red is the colour i last saw before i saw black.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
What you do to me
A chemical catastrophe
Surge of Serotonin
I take you like a vitamin
Like candies from Halloween
You fill me up
Sugar high
Now I feel I can fly
Sweet sweet sigh
What a pleasure
To stay by your side
A privilege
If now I'll die
For I know from now on
You're mine
-Sugar-coated Sigh, Margaret Austin Go
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
He smelt like smoke
as he leaned away from me,
texting himself with my phone.
We left the campfire outside,
in our shoes by the door
our socks overlapped in a tangle of limbs.
In that leftover guest room,
on the bottom bunk of the microwaved bed,
I remembered why I thought I knew what love was.
He was tired and needed a nap,
I was restless and cold.
Trapped inside because of violent temperate rainstorms.
This boy owed me stubbed toes,
thorn ****** through my jeans,
nicknames and rubber soles.
This was the boy who had always smelt of smoke,
who knocked over dead trees for me,
who lied about being able to rock climb.
This was the boy who went swimming in the ocean
before summer had properly began
when it was still much too chilly.
I taught him a new card game,
he beat me at badminton.
We played capture the flag and threw pinecones.
We sold cookies on the side of the road,
ate dusty blackberries,
traded innuendos and bad jokes.
This was sea-urchin boy,
slug boy,
the boy with the bird's nest hair.
This boy grew taller,
dropped his voice like a used bus pass,
looked past the top of my head.
He laughed when i stepped in a mud puddle,
dared me to walk in bare feet.
This boy suddenly went mountain biking.
I talked extra loud, in hopes that he would overhear me,
offered him rootbeer straight from the can.
Ate pretzels and learned to read his mind.
We shared our childhoods like penny candies,
switching all the peach ones for strawberry.
we agreed these are the best years of our lives.
He layed beside me, underneath as many covers as we could find,
taking up too much space and he knew it.
my cartoon boy.
My hand-drawn boy,
With smoke coming out of his ears
moved away.
We didn't talk again
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
1. You buy flowers and a card as an excuse to write a poem, even though you're single.
2. When " How Do I love you, let me count the ways"... And you literally lost count.
3. When Cupid calls you corny.
4. When you make a poem out of those little heart candies.
5. Cupid throws up a little in his mouth after reading your exceedingly sweet sonnet.
6. You bought your kid Valentines day cards for his class and wrote haiku's on every one.
7. You ponder the box of chocolates, and how it is like life, though it sounds familiar, you title your poem "Life is Like a Box of Chocolates".
8. You buy roses and a card filled with your sweet words for your ex, though she calls you a stalker, you are glad she called you.
9. You recite Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, and you're in the shower.
10. You suddenly bulk up on Pablo Neruda, ready to take on the romantic world.
11.As you look at your hellopoetry site while driving, you see a smear of blood on the windshield, two small wings, and what looks like a bow and arrow.
12. When you write a poem and have no one to give it to, suddenly Mom is the best Valentine ever.
13. When you go on the big date, secretly you have your own penand paper in your back pocket, writing verses when you excuse yourself from the dinner table.
14. When you write a poem for your wife, your side girlfriend and your mistress, just because it feels romantic, it is Valentines after all.
15. When you give the wrong poem to your wife, instead of the mistress.
16. Your girlfriend is suddenly a diabetic due to your sweet poem.
17.When you write a poem on hellopoetry and dedicate it to your Valentine, even though you don't have one.
18. When you buy yourself roses and a box of chocolate, write a beautiful poem to yourself, you might be a romantic poet.
19. When your secret admirer is you, the secret poems don't have the same effect.
20. Last but no least, you might be a poet when you wonder if Cupid is lonely and write an invite in the form of a sonnet to see if the little guy will join you for a poetry reading.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
Tell me,
Does the scarlet of a rose
surpass the turquoise of a tulip?
Which is larger:
The savouriness in poultry
Or the sweetness of candies?
How much more
Is the descant of a soprano
Than the rumble of a bass?
Honestly,
I'm not really certain.
But I trust what you tell me is right.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC