"candlewick" poems
your love is like a candle
untroubled to handle
crafted with senses
your candlewick heaves
and chases untimely
blue and smooth
it trails divinely
melts under my touch
and dresses down
a molten savor
weak and steady
it lugs me flavor
uncharge the flame
in the cold throughout
that shapes me with form
then burns me out
scorching and
heavy; a vibrant tone
never here to stay
but it's where i go
when i'm alone
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
Dad’s blood vessels
wrap around my ankles.
His numbing sclerosis infects my toes.
Mom and Dad sing I alone love you
in an octave with the front-man
on stage.
They cry together,
subdued through flickered smiles,
and I understand what it is
to be devoted in
the way a fire fights to
cling with candlewick.
I can feel it coming back again,
he whispers near her ear lobe.
The arches of his feet tingle
as mom’s veins tangle with dad’s,
his spine reignited by the warmth
of their flame.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Beware the sour duchess with her cobra tongue,
Come marionette, fall at her feet, the carnal cherry flower maid,
She hides in the devil's gap tooth,
In his pinstriped pockets full of rosary beads and candlewick,
She steals the heart-shaped cosmic superstition,
Demure with dulcet debauchery,
Forged in a grand dalliance of coquettish repulsion with his valiant renegades,
Vagrant of prayer and petrichor,
Buying fancy for the maudlin dolls, the ethereal actresses nursed to betray,
These childish ordeals rosy with youth,
Turn to lilac smitten executioner under the glass of a silver boulevard,
She writes me foolish want in this presence of gods and criminals,
Sell me your kisses and fingertips bruise my aura with your architecture,
Sleeping sound in your dominion the sheets are always warm.
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
you're not half bad
at your candlewick blossom snuffing -
got your braggart game up loud
in your repetitive silence
beaming at the doting strange phoenixes
darting in between your
bending fingers,
snatching up my flames
in their return to their
static progress on
life skills that are lingering
far too long
in the forging stage.
baby, baby
please -
tell me those aren't
your voices
slithering up the tall
columns of echoes,
wailing out
overzealous,
too pompous
orations.
nevermind -
my mind's pretending
to sleep somewhere marvellous
in this mind-field
of
the littlest
pink *******
trying to act like
i don't suddenly feel
as if
the tomorrow
up next
will be bringing
a different star.
so i just sit here -
pointing my toes at occurrences
that i really wish had've gone down
a whole lot more
differently,
praying that
by some miracle,
tossing a bit of dust
from my careful bag
(paired with the experimental
levitational practices
i keep doing in my free time)
will somehow
make room
for all these
eggshells you won't stop
throwing onto the floor.
too many have found me
playing patty-cake
under that possessed streetlamp
down Hardy,
the one that always seems to flicker
when i walk by -
snatching back its potency
just long enough
to highlight the
unsolicited red apple ritual
happening in my
cheekbones.
i've got a game to catch.
not trying to be the dawdling girl,
throwing all of her hopes
into the air,
willing the destined one
to be something that will
cradle us both.
you gotta be on this
wick snuffing trip
searching for something a little more than
a butt-tossing buddy.
better get a pack of matches
and try to beat me to it,
'cause i'm putting up my fire-red can
and the light's gonna follow me out.
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 12:21 AM UTC
You saw Judy on the south wing
of the old folks nursing home
near to Mr Atkinson’s room
carrying towels in her arms
I need to speak to you
you said
what about?
she asked
you playfully bundled her
into Bob Atkinson’s room
(he was either
in the lounge
or out down town
hobbling along
for small items of shopping
or at the second-hand
book shop looking
for boy’s annuals
of yesteryear
which he read
from cover to cover
before cutting out
the pictures
and sticking them
in albums)
what are you doing?
she said
what if Bob comes in?
he won’t
he’s out
you said
but what if he does?
she whispered
well unless I was rogering you
to kingdom come
I don’t think he’d mind
you said
pressing her 5’5’’ body
against the door
and looking into her
grey blue eyes
she gazed
into your eyes
and said
what do you need
to talk to me about?
I think I’m in love with you
you said
she sighed
that’s the umpteen time
you’ve told me that
she said
she dropped the towels
on Bob’s bed
and put her arms
around your waist
and drew you closer
you moved your left hand
around her back
and your right hand
on her buttocks
and said
that’s because it’s
umpteen times worse
or better depending
how you look at it
she kissed you on the lips
and you sensed
her tongue touch yours
her eyes closed
and you closed yours
the room becoming
a far away place
her perfume blending
into the air about you
the ticktock of Bob’s
old clock on the bedside table
like some metronome
setting the pace
as if it was all part
of some song or some
deep aspect
of a Bruckner symphony
she pushed you away
and said
it’s nearly break time
and people will wonder
why we’re not there
and put one
and one together
ok
you said
removing your hand
from her ****
the warmth still there
her eyes still captured
in your inner self
thank you
for the Chagall postcard
I’ve put it on
my bedside table
along with that photo
you gave me of you
got to go
she said
and opened the door
and walked off
down the passage
you looked around
Bob’s room
at the ticking clock
and the blue
candlewick cover
and the picture
of some boy
cut out of some
old annual
chasing a dog
over a field
and Judy’s lips
and tongue
seemed still
to be there
in your mouth
and her hand enfolding
your waist and back
and Peter in the pants
going all slack.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
Freedom is sweet,
like the rain.
My darkness has not subsided,
But has rather been enlightened-
A candlewick flickering…
Brought unto the sun.
An aura evading waves of renewal
Glimmering violet and indigo,
Happiness in vertigo.
An awakening of willingness
To begin the great vagabondage
That most refer to as the future.
More so; the unknown.
And it is okay to not know-
The unseen is mesmerizing.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
If I were a better person,
I'd tell you that I've liked you
The way you consume food
not caring what others would think so
Your smile that all along
has been my medicine
I liked the way you scold me
and call me stupid things
I was happy with the very idea
that you became a friend.
But I am me,
not the person I'm expected to be
The complications gave in,
all the best I've had within
I was a candle with no candlewick,
nowhere to lit a fire in
I cannot tell you that I have liked you,
in the next life, I promise to.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC
Mr Cutler had passed away
the room was cleared and ready
for the next resident
clean sheets
pillowcase
fresh blankets
the curtains taken down
and washed and dried
and put up again
but that didn't stop Sophia
penning you in
standing with her back
to the door
blocking your escape
he is dead now?
this Mr Cutler?
yes died the other day
you said
nice bed
she said
you looked at
the candlewick bed spread
blue and smooth
yes guess so
you replied
you gazed at her
with her blonde hair
tied in a pony tail
her ice blue eyes
focused on you
her Polish English words
harsh yet also soft
you could **** me there
she breathed
rather than said
too risky
you said
more exciting
she uttered
her Polish tongue
brutalizing
the English
who will see?
the old man dead
who else
will come in here?
some old boy might
come in by mistake
you said
an audience
will add to the fun
she breathed out
the words
you could smell
their sensuality
no I can't
I have baths to do
you uttered
looking at the door
behind her back
they can wait
she said
or you could
bath me first
she said smiling
I've got to go
you said
someone might need me
I need you
she uttered
here on the bed
I can't
you said
if you try to leave
the room I will scream
she said
I will say you try
to touch me up
as you lot say
she put one hand on a hip
and the other
against the door
they wouldn't believe you
you said
let's try
if I scream loud enough
and cry they will
she said
she mimed opening
her mouth and screaming
ok
you said
no need to scream
she smiled
good boy
I like you
she said
moving away
from the door
and unbuttoning
her blue overall coat
revealing her tight
short dress
her ******* pressing out
the top
she dropped her overall
on a chair by the window
and drew the curtains
that's better no?
it made the room darker
the shadowy light
made the moment surreal
come on
she said
mustn't waste time
and she began to undress
and you stood there
open mouthed
and doomed
when someone
called your name
down the passageway
Mr Elks needs you
where are you?
oh ****
Sophia said
dressing quickly
and standing
by the sink
out of sight
of the door way
sorry
you said
maybe another time
and you opened the door
and closed it behind you
as Matron arrived
ah there you are
Mr Elks has been
calling for you
I think he needs to go
to the bathroom
o right
you said
just been making sure
the place is ready
nodding back
at late Mr Cutler's room
ok
she nodded
and gave the door
a quick look
and then went on ahead
leaving Sophia dressing
and forsaken
no ****
for her today
and followed Matron
with no
more to say.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
Thursdays were
Tilly's half
day closing
I met her
outside her
workplace shop
and went for
a coffee
and cream bun
opposite
where she worked
busy day?
I asked her
too busy
never stopped
she replied
where do we
go after
having this?
She asked
is your mum
home this time?
I asked her
she's not back
for an hour
or two yet
Tilly said
your place then?
If you like
she replied
so we ate
and drank up
and got a
bus to her
mother's place
Tilly got
out her key
and unlocked
the back door
and went in
I followed
a large clock
went tick tock
follow me
Tilly said
we climbed up
creaky stairs
to her room
sunlight shone
on her bed
a dark pink
candlewick
bed cover
lay on top
she undressed
quite quickly
so did I
into bed
Tilly said
so we did
and were just
starting to
get engaged
when we heard
two voices
down below
in Tilly's
front garden
we lay still
who is it?
I asked her
Tilly got
out of bed
and looked out
the window
my brothers
sawing wood
at the back
she whispered
best get dressed?
I asked her
not just yet
she came back
to the bed
and made love
half an ear
for voices
then lay there
afterwards
exhausted.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
I’m the frog’s first love.
She is my first hate.
While she masks herself in ambiguity,
I look from the stretches of dream.
I want a flower’s outwardness, she said––
With a counterfeit smile.
And I believed in lover’s luck,
Because her eyes made me hot;
Slowly,
Like the wax beneath the candlewick slowly deliquescing.
You’re welcome to my ways, she said.
And my choices snickered.
There were bloodstains on white couches,
But my fantasies were ruled––
Through split second stares.
For I have left my mind, and put on love.
She remained bare.
The time’s ripe for a roaring girl––
To devastate me,
And leave me to drown in my own dust.
The end we all love.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
Your sweet touch, that I never had
Those eyes were incredible
You moaned & I wallowed in your cozy molecular vibes
Vivid delight, we slumbered under night skies
Above our heads, that dark oracle
The elevation pinnacle, mountain high
Our brilliance mingles, marvellous tides
We tango’d until the morning light
Moonlight struck again & that was it
That irreplaceable clash of light & revery
Face of Anodis, form of a deity
That candlewick scent, sonata romance
Golden allure, overflowing dance of shine
Hot poolside loving, dainty
Aroma! The bouquet of fragrance
Elegant, cedar wood musk ripples the air
Your cozy temper, suave features
Perfection, stylish as ever
Free waters, blessed & saintly perfume
We walked along the very edge
As if cheated, or meant to be
Mother’s arms, wrapped neat
Warmth surrounds, astonishing rapture
Taken away, blissful breaths
Transported to another land
Thee, queen of divinity, and our life once new
Gentle hold, soft spoken exchange
Be mine, yours truly
You whisper in my earlobe,
“I’m yours, darling."
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 7:56 AM UTC
The evening dragged on like the burning of a candlewick. My mind drew a blank page as I tried to remember what I was doing. The house felt bigger that night. I longed for him to come home complaining about the smallest things that I took for granted whilst I poured brandy into his glass and lit the fire to heat his cold hands from the blasting winter. Flick- light of the dying bulb illuminated the drawing room projecting shadows of inanimate objects onto the walls of peeling paper. An uncanny sensation churned at my gut. Trundling down the narrow corridors, I reached the kitchen, catching the eye of a half empty rouge drowning in its own sorrows. I took a sip, admiring the gleaming cabinet holding his armory, clenching to the wall. I pulled out good ol’ smith and Wesson, inspecting its little impurities. I noticed a chip in the receiver and a **** in the barrel but surely this would not hinder its performance. My mind filled with dark thoughts the longer I held the revolver, so I placed it back in the cabinet locking the door. My hands shook from the exhilarating fear that swept over my body as I raced to put the key into the drawer on the other side of the kitchen, in order to smother the malicious feelings that had seeped into my mind. Sip. The tasteless wine slipped through my lips and made its course around my hollow body. No matter how much I drank, it would never fill the black void that his love once called home.
As I held the dwindling glass, I looked around the empty shell of a room. It caught my eye, the raven sat upon my window sill, his eyes dark as night. I looked down at the rouge as if it was never ending like the river of amnesia pouring down my throat but no matter how much I consumed, the raven always seemed to be lurking among the shadows like a renegade. How did he know of my where abouts? He disappeared before I even left the woods.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 5:59 AM UTC
The bungalow stood empty after he died
Garden shoes hugged the porch step
The glass panelled front door showing
Pale translucent echoes of familiarity
Through its six oblong windows.
I was never allowed to visit
After the day of the funeral
Never able to bounce on the
Cream candlewick double bed
Which had been home.
Or to collect cuttings from the
Dilapidated garden, just a rose
Or two would do to recall a day
Of Summer and deckchairs
Tea and cakes eaten with care.
I was never allowed to embrace
Years of happy holidays shared
Breath in the beauty of memory
Deep down where flowers grow
Never allowed another Spring.
Love Mary xxxxx
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 7:46 AM UTC
Lisping along in the bravado nights
of banquet halls bursting with chandeliers
red carpets and butterfly maidens
serving delicacies of ordered neatness
tested in kitchens of manicured chefs
waiting in breathless expectation
of acceptance from a guest list
of the countrys best men and women
the chief gobbler looked at the lovely wife
of the chief guest
and gently slurped his birds nest soup
as the waitresses on wings flitted by
watching in delight
as his ******** showed clearly at the thoughts
raging in his bald head.
He wanted this woman?
and they all approved willingly
that someone must lose his head
to the heavyweights lust
and for the upkeep of the national pride
before he picked up his chopsticks
and gold embossed napkin
he flicked it twice
and the chief gobbler was whisked
behind a red bleeding curtain
and his wife was taken
on a candlewick bedspread
of green and gold
draped with the crescent moon
and scimitar.
ask no more questions
on where we are
or lose your tongue forever!
Author Notes
Despotic and dangerous.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 3:25 AM UTC
Out of the mouth of a terrible dogfish she came,
A modern-day Cinderella, but avid shoe geek,
Stabbed to death by stiletto on the Castle Turret,
Done in by her own spiked heels.
There was even a sign posted
Warning of the danger,
"Wear the wedge instead,"
Jiminy Cricket had said.
"I'm no fool,"
Her final utterance
Before tripping out in Thule.
All this just to dance with a wretched boy,
The scapegrace,
Who laughed derisively
In his maker's face,
Then stole his wig.
And as he fled with Candlewick
To the Land of Toys,
He dreamt of Lederhosen & feather hat,
To be seen in Tyrolean as the real McCoy.
Alas, here came the Northerly Wind,
Angry at the boy's lack of moral fiber,
To cast him out & lay bare his sin.
And as the rope passed
Unnoticeably 'round his wooden neck,
On this noose he did swing,
One long shudder, he was done and hung,
Stiff & insensible yo-yo on a string.
The moral of the story, boys & girls:
Fairy-tale Romance is like having
A venomous snake for a pet,
It's cool & fun & magical,
Until you get bit.
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 12:16 AM UTC
My whole being slips as I kiss with my lips
somewhere down by your hips
and my ship's coming in.
You begin with a smile that touches my heart
I start to melt
but I know you felt real,
I become steel and you are the furnace
a whole mess of heat that beats in my chest
in your breast.
I like morning time best,when you wake
and I take hold of your fingers and linger a while
just watching you smile at me
asking for tea as you dress,
more mess
more heat
but you beat me to the punch line
this time.
My whole being turns on these kernels of trust
where the roof over our head
and the candlewick bedspread is fed into the thoughts that whirl round in my head,
and I'd just like to say
you look so good today
but you always do
to me.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
Go when none has ever went
To the deepest bottom
Walk among those who found it hard
Who see white as black
Fire the candlewick
Let it burn, it is your fuel
The only light source
Fools will laugh, **** those fools
And when water pressure
Makes you dead, remember my son
Your body will back to the surface
So you’ll never be alone
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 6:55 AM UTC