"candyfloss" poems
I come from sunlight,
The sweeping of leaves,
South London streets,
Lurburnum seeds;
Hot semolina,
A spoonful of jam,
Hands full of gooseberries,
That's who I am.
I come from rose petals,
The sound of the fairs,
The smell of candyfloss
Mist in the air;
I come from warmth,
My parents hands,
Outings to parks,
Both small and grand.
I come from knowledge,
True and false,
From nursery rhymes,
And stories and pictures of God;
I come from gentleness,
A quiet afternoon,
From visions of loveliness,
Sewn on a spool.
I come from two worlds,
With different ways,
A threaded pearl necklace,
And sensible soles
A mother and father,
I think I knew,
I came and I wandered,
I looked at the view.
By Mary **
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
I absorbed,
Blotted misery,
Lapped with eyes,
Soaked-up transgressions,
Mopped-up history,
Was steeped in trials,
Ingested triumphs,
And truly assimilated.
But the ground is saturated,
My prints fill
With the brine
Squeezed out.
I am the salt on the earth,
Parched and cracked.
You preferred candyfloss;
I dripped the last drop.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC
Here are my eyes
my fried eggs
teal lily-pads floating
on white albumen.
Here are my elbows
like deformed peaches
my knuckles the peas
wrist corn on the cob.
Here are my teeth
my frosty Stonehenge
a ring of slabs
solid halibut.
Here are my ankles
four gobstoppers
cracking as rocks
under her size-five feet.
Here is my nose
fastened to my face
the garbage chute
meets hoover hybrid.
Here are my knees
two wrinkled potatoes
mashing in their sockets
as waves crumble on me.
Here is my hair
my straw candyfloss
unlike her buttered popcorn
curly-wurly waterfall.
Here are my tonsils
squashy strawberries
wedged at the back
of the cave I once made.
Here are my lips
azalea-pink sweets
flecked with salt
from our slice of sea.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
I'll ask you not to turn off the lights,
I want them to blind me
with their brilliant filaments
until the bulbs break
like a vase on a tiled floor,
the walls, the door go back
to being charcoal black
as they have been so many times before.
I have started to abhor
the roads that define me,
the words that describe me
and my traits,
the way I must walk in wintery air
to a migraine inducing wilderness
to be squashed into old moulds,
will this be adequate for you now and when?
What is this fall,
does it affect you, your actions,
your jumbled jigsaw piece thoughts?
These bruises are purple,
this brain is strained,
inject me with zest
until my wrist pains
so much it must combust.
Out of the glass is nothing,
a candyfloss cloud, a tree, a lawn,
it bores me,
an artist is needed,
paint a new canvas
swathed in colour
and things from my weekend dreams
lucid and intense.
I am a ******* up ball
of paper, unfold me, still legible?
Fold it again, an airplane
chucked into an angry breeze
or please,
if the lamps are tough enough,
watch my words illuminate,
drool across the table.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
they lived
like the only customers at a funfair;
weeks caroselling
with swollen rise and fall,
like the horses forgot
to gallop in circles.
they had their own world
of haunted houses
and helter-skelters
but the stalls were all out
of candyfloss
and, as they slotted coins
into cork-rifles,
they shot themselves
to pieces
without winning
a single prize.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
I watched the sky transform
Overhead,
As the sun set
It flourished more than ever.
I watched in awe
As it changed colour,
The clouds shed its white washed skin
And boasted an undulating opalescence
Of pink and lilac,
Soft like candyfloss,
I felt compelled to reach up
And sink my teeth into it,
Only to let the rain fall
Onto my lips and seep
Into my skin.
I traced the clouds
To the horizon,
Where fiery hues of
Orange burned bright
Like wildfire,
An irresistible iridescence
That filled my belly with
An inferno
Not even the Seven Seas
Could tame.
Before long,
The stars filtered through
The kaleidoscopic creation,
Illuminating the Universe
Like the London Skyline.
I pick one amongst the
Palette of scattered clouds
And wish that I can witness
This masterpiece
The same time tomorrow
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
Her lips scream
" KISS ME "
Then whisper
" kiss me now "
At once
a thousand nerve-ends wake
electricity
rampant beneath
tender
sweet
candyfloss skin
Anticipating contact
her inner rhythms quicken
from ‘ bump-n-grind ’
to ‘ swing-beat ’
Hearts play along
to the new tune now
She smiles with those eyes
the message of her mouth
Delight
I understand at once
Replying
without reaching for a word
No second thoughts invade
the privacy of spontaneity
I just move to accept
this luscious invite
In a flash
ecstatic urges awaken
erotica in our minds
as we close
our telltale eyes
a split second before
the precious
perfect impact
Seems magnetically
heads tilt
Moving closer
till our silently screaming
half-opened mouths
knowingly meet
in once vacant space
Intentions projected
instantly accepted
Mouths
express new feeling
Tongues
take on new meaning
Suggestions
of intensity requesting
passions
yet to be fulfilled
The warm silk
snake of temptation
reacts to vibration
Twisting
Rolling
Curling
*******
Chewing
Playfully biting
Unspoken promises
Exciting
She plays a sensual game
Active / Passive
Strong / Soft
Control / Yield
Secrets revealed
Releasing for a moment
our mesmeric communion
Poised in breathlessness
we stare
as we subtly swallow
the essence
of our watery endeavour
Eyes smile
that insatiable smile
Still thirsting
chemical reactions
conceived by our emotions
Speed of light sensations
send shivers down our spine
Time
sleeps for a moment
Lost
in a fragment of dreamscape
we too escape
“ Mmmmmmm ”
The gentle sigh
waves through the air
We lose contact
with our unwelcome surrounds
as once again we entwine
to re-enact
the passage of our bliss
A repeat
of erogenous stimulation
replays the symphony of desire
in a higher vibration
Mouths in motion
mirror dancing
Automatic reactions
assume control
Whilst my mind
Is with her mind
my Soul
is with her Soul
Her grip tightens
Wanting more
wanton more
Red-hot
lava in the veins
seeking to surface
in a fiery eruption
Our watery essence
Seems to feed the flames
Yearning
I hear her
Burning
I feel her
Softening
Stiffening
Pulsing
I'm in her.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 3:49 PM UTC
The man decked in blue
sits quite content
on a sofa
and observes wealthy offspring
waltz in flashing their brilliant teeth
glossed with potent peppermint.
These teens
don't know love,
lust is all it is.
While the Jazz bops away,
more whisky is poured
and they zip out to get jammy.
The man, mid-twenties,
kind of blue, dapper apparel,
has one on the rocks.
Sees them
walk in most evenings,
cute blondes with flawless skin,
guys in suits, bow ties, the works,
gaze into each other's pupils.
There are regulars,
Robert, the chap from Yale,
Quentin, sly guy at Harvard
and Carly, still at school the man believes,
who's coquettish, fresh,
these two want to have her
but she's astute,
knows just what she wants.
They're all after her in fact.
Every male in the room
turns their head,
can't blame them,
she's like Candyfloss,
all the men want a taste
but there's not enough for everyone
and they don't look like the sharing kind.
The man in blue
just grins to himself
thinking how grand it is
that he's single, sensible, secure.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
dionysus,
i beg,
plague me with your drunken spirit,
free me of my heavy heart,
let me revel in your happiness,
i beg,
let me,
let me.
dionysus,
king of the party,
spirit of the drugs,
protector of the drinks,
make me high
higher
than ever before
take me to ecstasy
let me taste your amphetamines
let me feel and feel
until i can feel no more.
feelings are boring now,
and they only feel like a deep, brooding ghost
waiting to pounce on me
and weigh me down.
DIONYSUS,
how long will i scream your name?
how long will i be tormented by your silence?
come to me with your fun spirit of party,
plague me with the spirit of relaxation,
i want what you can give me.
release,
sweet release.
i want it all,
i want to dream of trees turning into lollipops
and hydrangeas looking like candyfloss.
i want to be far away,
so far away,
that i can never come back down.
but,
but,
only for a bit,
only until i feel better,
only until i am happy again.
can you do that for me dionysus?
can you?
because, you see,
i can't do without help,
i need help to do everything.
i need help to be happy,
and you have what i want.
it feels like i am chanting the same thing over and over
you are just like everyone,
you all never listen.
YOU NEVER LISTEN!
you just sit and watch.
watching me drown.
i am plummeting,
and the most all of you can do
is to record my downfall.
and dionysus you have my cure,
but you won't give it to me.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
YADA TASHY ( "Originator Stone" )
Outside the first snow falls.
Her wounds are photographed.
Spoken of.
Described in detail.
Technical.
The overhead microphone
takes it all in.
Being dead she is
more naked
than she ever was.
Stripped of her
humanity.
She had ceased to be
who she used to be.
She is now
merely a cadaver.
The autopsy can not tell
her name.
She is Kuzuku.
Her mother called her
KuKu.
She had been born
with a caul.
KuKu was pregnant.
She was going to call
the child if it was a girl
. . .Yuki.
She couldn't conceive what
she would call it if a boy?
It was always going to be
a girl.
She liked candyfloss
and her hair up.
Now her hair is down.
It touches her shoulders.
As if her hair were
still alive.
The autopsy
wound by wound
tells of the hell
of her dying.
The voice is
deadpan.
Mechanical.
The coroner
breaks for coffee.
Bitter. Black.
"Ya da!"
as the Turks say.
"...with nothing..."
***
Kuzuku was named after the flowering plant/rampant **** Her mother always drank a tea made from it. Only her mother called her her pet name; "Kuku!" Her blacker than black hair always seemed like a living entity in itself as it danced upon her shoulders or splashed over her clavicles. She always wore off the shoulder dresses or tops even in winter cold. I once told her she had the cutest clavicles( "rekishi no naka de kawaī sakotsu" )in history which....always made her laugh. I told her she had well tempered clavicles and she laughed even more when the pun was explained to her. She had been born with a caul...a red caul. She it was who told me the Turkish tale or the Yada Daşı and of the Yadachy.
She had just met the man who would eventually stab her to death and she was greatly in love with him and his culture.
All these little scraps of humanity could not be disclosed by the autopsy which could never tell of how beautiful she was and what a joy she was to be around.
Her death was a horror tale told by a friend of a friend of a friend and hard to comprehend or believe.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 6:12 AM UTC
**The fairest hair, peroxide blond
beer shampoo feeding the roots
primped and pinned with paperclips
blown and set as candyfloss sticks.
Hydro-pack cream erasing the pouches
colourful lashes, stuck to the lids
with copyright brows by electrolysis
both almond eyes are now penciled in.
Lines of life filled with putty
trowelled in layers, foundations built
delicate cheeks, powdered, pampered
rouged and shaded, giving them youth.
Clinical lips, Botox injected
tattooed outlines guiding the brush
the budding artist colours by numbers
pouting, she paints in weatherproof gloss.
Turtleneck sweater hiding the wrinkles
genuine paste, drawing the eye
both purl and knit-one inside the jumper
pulled and snagged by glued on nails.
High heel shoes, stretching the sinews
of Lycra clad legs, holding them taut
a girdle of whalebone hugging the figure
gently molding, the form to behold.
With grace we age throughout the years
a time filled life, craves respect
hairs of grey are marks of distinction
an occasional blemish, a beauty spot.
Tiny crow's feet, signs of good humour
experience of life, lines proudly worn
for with laughing eyes and glowing smile
who need wear a plasticine face.**
... ... ...
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 12:15 AM UTC
To drift in the wind on the edge of a dream,
chasing our thoughts on the back of a moonbeam,
candyfloss mornings and effervescent nights,
cascading rainbows in a box of delights,
pretty girl smiles and puppy dog tails,
candy stripe slugs and polka dot snails,
ride the light on a sunlit wave,
into the void of the crystal cave.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
The subtlest nuance of cherry blossom,
Drifting down into the banks of my memory,
Twisting miniature pirouhettes.
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 1:57 PM UTC
Grimsby, a murky wee northerly town
And lousy with houses of seedy renown
The ladies wear only a loose fitting gown
Transactions are furtive and quick
And every street corner is coated in brass
With a ****** for every discernable class
In a spectrum of hues and selection of mass
All awaiting a dip of the wick
Diseases are spreading and taking a hold
With pimples and blisters and, finally, mould
But just when the punters are starting to fold
A saviour arrives in the nick
Doctor McNaughty, King of the Kink
And his brothel of many surprises
A welcoming smile, a comfortable bed
And some help with whatever arises
The rooms are fantastic, the ropes are elastic
With feathery leather and spikes
It wanders the street on mechanical feet
And it scoops up the punters it likes
There’s something to suit almost every wish
With strawberries and freshly whipped cream in a dish
There’s a bucket of springs and a kettle of fish
And the manacles, shackles and chains
A selection of ******* and optional clamps
There’re pulleys, tackle and half-pipe ramps
A physio suite for reduction of cramps
And the treatment of ****** strains
A marshmallow room with a candyfloss bed
And hookers of platinum, purple and red
And for those who are hankering after the dead
There’s a room full of human remains
Doctor McNaughty, Lord of the *****
A magical, mystical ****
With wonders galore behind every door
And occasional chicken or gimp
His visits are brief, but of major relief
To the multitude often attending
Then he’s off in a flash with a bundle of cash
He so loves a happy ending
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:25 AM UTC
I stared at the big blue cloud,
It was in my hands,
It was so blue that it depressed me
But it was only fluffy candy
I picked a piece from the cloud
I digested it with my eyes and soul,
It was the brightness to a child's life
It was my only happiness
You look at candy,
As sweetness to your life,
but to me it was more,
It was the only freedom I had in the world
I bit into the blue sweetness
As it dissolved in my mouth,
It dissolved my pain,
I was sure everything would be fine again
Then, when the cotton got stuck between my teeth,
So did my hopes and dreams.
I felt like a fool for believing
A fool for trying
A tear slid down my cheek
Making the candy bittersweet
No Cotton Candy can make it go away
Rewrite my story
When they fought and screamed,
I'd try find my happy place,
Eat my sweet Blue Candy,
And just pray it away
I've tried everything
Clovers to Rabbit's Feet,
But this heavenly cloud
was the only price to pay
If my life was all drunk and dead
Would it **** to find my demise-free zone
And just eat some Cloudy Candy instead?
If wishes came true,
With every bite I took
I would have father with me
A Mother to love me
I kept eating the candy though
Even if it didn't taste heavenly anymore
Tears kept streaming down with every bite
I kept the harshness inside
The faster I ate, the more it hurt,
I couldn't swallow the lumps in my throat,
The pain developed inside of me,
Like a tumour, I was a waste, never needed.
You eat all the Candyfloss in the world, it won't work.
It just sweetens the pain, lessens the hurt.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC
I lie and listen to her breathing
like the whisper of seduction.
The murmur of a promise
the sigh of a summer breeze.
The scrape of the chair
the roar of an engine.
The sand in my trainer
water gurgling through the pipes.
The turn of the wheel.
The meaning of my words.
Back to tranquillity
and she is once more
the wine in my glass
the cork in my bottle.
Marks to my Spencer
my chip ‘n’ pin.
The stone in my cherry
the warm breathe of the oven door.
Candyfloss at the fair
Blood in my veins.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:27 AM UTC
Cleethorpes
Shoveling sand up Sally's ***
n passing gas in the Lido,
Fitties camp n a loose hipped *****
somefuckers dog named Fido.
Oh yeah; shove-halfpenny with gennyreny
and pitch n toss in big alley,
candyfloss, Bruce Lee's Big boss
n slurping on Sally's valley.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 2:19 AM UTC
Bad news falls from his mouth before I can catch it. Hands and knees on the floor, searching, bad news escapes me. It buries itself in the carpet like hundreds of little black fleas. I claw at the fibres but words wriggle deeper into the floor. I try to crush them with pounding fists but they are strong.
On the edge of my vision I see them in clusters that make sense but, as I turn, the words scatter and squirm back into the carpet. Some of the words jump, biting. They leave me stunned and itchy. Some climb up my neck and make me shiver. I can feel bad news crawling over my scalp, feeding and laying eggs. I try to rake it out with my fingers- end up with nothing except hair.
I remember the man then, so I stand. I see my children playing with train track. Around them the floor is alive with bad news. Outside the Sun shines. The pavement, the trees, the grass, are crawling with nothing except happiness and summer. I tell the man that we are going to the park. These words are candyfloss pink and butter yellow. They drift like confetti at a wedding and bad news is scared of them.
I talk more and more about the park, swings and river while I get my children ready to go. The man says something about identifying a body. I catch these words but drop them quickly to the floor. They wriggle down into the carpet and I leave them there. The man pours instructions into his radio. Navy blue worker ants, easy to ignore.
I keep talking the happy words which hold bad news at bay. Bad news can't get me now. But I can see the man looks sad and cross. Bad news is feeding on him now instead of me. I notice the words he tips into his radio are infested with little black fleas. Somehow this is my fault. If I tried harder to catch the bad news and contain it the man would be safe. I care about that. Then I look at my children, bad news scrabbling around their shoes looking for a way in, and I care about that more.
I try to explain to the man that we must go. These words are deformed and don't make sense. Their wings won't work. They fall to the floor and bad news feasts on them. The man says we can go to the park, so we do.
My children run ahead. Bad news hasn't spread this far yet. I speak to friends in words of lilac and blue. Children's voices ring out over the river like silver dragon flies. Little black fleas are biting me under my clothes, no one can see them.
I see the police car out on the road, the man watching. I can ignore them. But my children are tired and hungry. It's chilly and we didn't bring jumpers or coats. Friends have gone back to their houses. It's getting dark and starting to drizzle. It's the happy words that escape me now.
It's time to go home and be eaten alive by bad news.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 7:22 PM UTC
Nowhere in the textbook does it say
How to get up in the morning
So that shivering of the ventricles
Wouldn't turn into flaming butterflies
As the rhythm whips
Last wails of the bell tower
In the blink of an eye
Rushes through your hair
And you are left alone
With a deflated pillow
That leaks the dream of
Candyfloss in the sun
Ultraviolet rays
Stretching
Through the desert of longing
Thirst satisfied by chemicals
Then you drag your feet to learn
From your mistakes
(without a permission to live)
As the cancer itself -
Backwards
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
My father took me to the circus, once.
Pink candyfloss spun in a web of sugar cotton
and the acrobats whose contortions mystified my childlike eyes
Flames simmered and sparks flew,
like that little girl's smile when she learnt how to love.
She's older, now.
And her father doesn't take her to the circus
or the zoo
because she's too old for it.
And she thinks it's childish.
And really, she knows that time ticks,
no matter what,
but she is resilient,
her reflection warped by someone else's ideas.
She can't bring herself
to think of what she has left.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
Flesh hooked on lampposts (ribbon-like)
Railings, bus stops, fences too
Unlooping miles and miles of eager skin
Colouring the pavement with vivid
Bone strung like windchimes (hoisted high)
In all the brightest places
Mainly on rooftops, we have an affinity
The sun splatters them pastel each day
Muscle- candyfloss on benches
Warm, thick (seeps into their mouths)
Chunks of wriggling bliss in the tighest corners
Embossed with sweet disaster sprinkles
Me me me; the essence of Me
My pulse spread out across the city
My veins in the underground
My heart cut up onto various plates
The pieces will take years to be found
And they're not all mine anymore.
But under the ivory moon
When I'm sighing, "I'm lost" to each night
My city rocks me straight to sleep
And walks me through the dying light
So while I'm here, my soul's all right.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
it's been a long trip since innocence
the distant city of joy
where my tongue believed in candyfloss
my footsteps in lyrics
sugar coated moments wrapped in colorful layers of truth
so many layers of truth
I since took a degree in doubt
they taught me how to earn a living
feeding fear to babies
selling carrots to dinosaurs
how all immortal things
are shiny posters on double-decker buses
running over bridges at night
fantasies are clinging to minds
like fluff to a sticky tape
when church bells ring till death do us part
I sigh, lift my pint and cheer:
another graduating photo.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
The best days
Are not the Best Days
Or even the good days
They are the unremarkable
Inconsequential
Days
When you take a step away from yourself
And observe the rise and fall of a moment
From beyond its swell
When you are driving fast
Through a slow-moving night
And the headlights are smearing themselves on the roads
Like they’re trying to redecorate
And the radio is singing Yellow
And you turn your head out the window
To find a moon hung there
Blue-tacked to the infinity of sky
As thick and yellow as your grandmother’s smile
Or when it is winter and the sun has set
But the world doesn’t want the day to be over
And so pulls a musty, mustardy-grey blanket
Right up to its neck and prays
That the time for streetlights
Will insist on running ahead of it
Or when the shadows grow long in summer
And they fall like dust on the sand dunes
You run down to the sea
And try to hold it in your hands
Until the tide prises it from your clenching fingertips
Or when the sunrise is pink
And the cloud caps skid
Like ice-creams on hot plates
And you can’t help but bask in
The creativity of God
The painter
Who’s masterpiece could simply not be framed
And hung on your kitchen wall
And for a little while you want to be able
To lick the colours and candyfloss
Until someone says that little rhyme
About red sky in the mornings
And a shepherd’s warning.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC