"cantaloupes" poems
Stop resenting me
For the way I shop
The things I do
To make sure
My food is fresh
I confess I feel blueberries
In my fingers
To make sure they are firm
Not too ripe
I confess I shake
Cans of spaghetti and ravioli
So that I know
The sauce is not
Congealed
I confess I pull frozen waffles
From the back of the freezer
Less likely that they thawed
And refroze into
Oddball shapes
I confess I smell trout
Before I buy it
Placing it against my nose
In the most unabashed
Way
Spare me your hate
About my consumer habits
When I know it has nothing to do with
Food
As long as I bring you warm release
In the darkness of your desires
Pull your tangled hair the way
You like
Bite your darting tongue
In mad hunger
Deep appetite
As long as I reawaken the
Woman
Primal animal hidden
Within
Turn your heat into a river
For a long passionate
Swim
As long as I attend quickly to your
Every ***** command
The craving of your ******
Insatiable
Demand
Then I can squeeze french bread
In quiet and peace
I can sniff cantaloupes
Without suffering ire
Or grief
I’ll take you tonight
In that filthy way
You like
Until then
Leave me alone
I’m shopping.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:15 AM UTC
In Benidorm there are melons,
Whole donkey-carts full
Of innumerable melons,
Ovals and *****
Bright green and thumpable
Laced over with stripes
Of turtle-dark green.
Chooose an egg-shape, a world-shape,
Bowl one homeward to taste
In the whitehot noon :
Cream-smooth honeydews,
Pink-pulped whoppers,
Bump-rinded cantaloupes
With orange cores.
Each wedge wears a studding
Of blanched seeds or black seeds
To strew like confetti
Under the feet of
This market of melon-eating
Fiesta-goers.
5.7k
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Apples will be cantaloupes
depending on their nurture;
and so I cherish rainbow hopes
for our collective future.
Oranges elect their hue
improving Nature’s seal,
while pronouns stifle what is true
suppressing the appeal.
Fruits may choose to change to nuts
and fowls select their plumage.
Why settle in Tradition’s ruts?
Such rigid roles do damage.
Nuts in turn, may feel like flowers,
picking how and when to bloom.
So ambisexual thought empowers
androgynes to court their doom.
A leopard, too, may change his spots
(or turn into a vegan bunny)
No law’s tittles, neither jots
make Speciesism funny.
If you decide to see it so
the sky above is yellow.
Perceive as pink the grass beneath
and better times must follow.
Gender? Merely social constructs –
preach it to the masses
until tradition self-destructs
and *** takes off her glasses.
Babies need no Dad (nor Mother):
sexist labels, obsolete.
Love is blind. There is no other.
Bats must bark and chickens bleat.
Integrated water closets
show how far we have evolved:
urinary bank deposits
(with no member account involved).
Foolish thinking from the past
(like water being wet, and such)
calls for re-education, fast.
The State will lend its human touch
compelling all to sing the hymn
with genderfluid motions…
so birds can preen their scales and swim
in dry and waveless oceans.
(Yet “hymn” sounds sexist said out loud –
we ought to sing a “her” instead…
no – make that “us”, since we are proud,
lest misconceptions be misread.)
Shake a healthy dose of salt
upon this strange post-modern food.
May God re-set us to default
with human common sense renewed.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
etymolo gicilato
pervy and scribe
justa lovidactil
otta wormsandside
ima scribble bluey
evological snide
scriptiburgis outcast
meatiyum pride
urdadidafactus sum
party thatribe
looping over cants
and the meaningless tide
looping over cants
and the meaningless tide
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 12:04 AM UTC
It was in a musky instrument shop
that I found myself hungry, so hungry.
I didn't know any Russian.
I told the old cashier,
a small woman with a brown bun-top,
that I'd really like some food.
She cocked her head,
shook off the dust, and jarbled back at me.
"Please," said I, as dough-eyed as one could muster.
She pointed to the door.
My belly grumbled.
I fell away sideways, walking out all lowly-like.
I began through the doorway
and the shopkeeper woman screeched.
I heard a moan come from above me.
There stood a 9-foot-tall, Slavic boy,
plagued with acne, hooked nose, and sallow cheeks,
with a metal clamp around his neck, right next to the door frame.
I thought he was drapes, ragged window drapes,
but he existed there and then with hands the size of cantaloupes.
The shop keeper whined and pointed at the boy.
I looked up at him,
and he, down at me.
She spat into a tissue and then shooed me again.
I grabbed his chain off its hook
and stoically proceeded out the door.
The boy dragged his feet behind me, begging and crying.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
on a hot summer day of popsicles and cantaloupes
we're on the asphalt playing tag and pushing swings;
my pigtails bouncing from skippers and jump ropes.
i'm wearing suspenders and a bow tie
and you're in a baby blue dress with sunflowers in your hair
and there are gems in the corners of your eyes.
we're walking across balance beams and meeting halfway
but the sound of 80s music blaring
from the windows of my mother's voice is calling me away.
i look into the young sunshine in your eyes that lured me to stay.
on a rainy spring day of dr. seuss books and board games
we're under a blanket fort making shadows and telling secrets
with our minds getting so lost in stories until we forget our names.
i'm clenching my pink teddy bear, in love, yet in fear,
and you've glow sticks and their light in your hands
let's dance and go crazy, you whisper in my ear.
we're singing into hairbrushes and playing dress up
but the sound of the doorbell ringing
from your father's door taunts us, saying we obsess too much
but we don't care.
you kissed me for the first time and i knew without it i'd be messed up.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 7:37 AM UTC
I saw the way your expression would change when I would talk about a ****** act I’ve committed.
You wanted me pure
You wanted me whole
Hearing the ring in my ears when you’d speak of how many girls souls you’ve laid to rest.
How they were propped up and popped open.
I was next,
But something told me not to be another victim.
How he cut them open and dug them out like cantaloupes.
He dug into genesis and didn’t know he killed creation with every lick.
He committed genocide with no remorse
And wiped it off as satisfaction.
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 3:26 AM UTC
Apple my favorites’ fruit of all apart from grapes,
I like them to, but they are too small
Cantaloupes I like they are a juice orb
But an apple I can carry in my pocket.
I like to hold it in my hand and looking at it,
Trying to recollect any figure I could recall.
Sometimes it reminds me of a red leather ball
Sometimes it reminds me of a ****** rose with stick and all
Sometimes it don’t look like that at all
I look at it with great heed, it isn’t circle, it isn’t oval
And it most definitely not square at all.
Some apple’s are sweet some are not
Sometimes i peel of the skin and other times I eat them raw
I sink my teeth in it and bit out the biggest morsel of them all
Shredding it to its bones in not more bite then bite number 3 or 4
And then looking at it trying to recollect any figure I could recall
Sometimes it reminds me of a sand clock,
Sometimes it reminds me of a crescent moon, two in all,
Sometimes it don’t look like that at all
But whatever shapes it may take no matter what texture
Apple will always remain my favorite fruit not the green ones they are bitter
I like deep coral color apple, kind that my father bring they are softest & sweetest of them all
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 3:18 PM UTC
In the park, soft-study of sands and swings,
Where the birds while away the unabridged air
Like rains on green, copper roofs ~ their wings.
So I have touched my rainy fingers on the fountain’s surface,
And tum-tumed at the dumpy belly of a dog,
So I have felt the vendor’s balloons like cantaloupes for freshness,
So I have a pocket-change of smiles for all.
At the fountain’s edge,
Like green-molded quaystones feather-singed
By the touchstrokes of the arcing wings of the sea,
Or like a saucer of warm milk
For the alley-cats to drink the milkiness of sun
And then with their paws,
Plink at overturning the day into porcelain shadows.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 6:54 PM UTC
Her name was this unforgettable charm
I was overwhelmed
By her sky like beauty
Ever widening
Into separate heavens,
Her voice
Will promise you
The song of forever
She is enigmatic,
Pressing into my ribs
Like a ghost does
When it flies back home,
She was firm
As two cantaloupes
Dripping and dripping
I love her;
Her core to her sky
Once, twice, into eternity
There’s a crater
That matches her hand
Scarred into my heart
Maybe and often entangled together
She appear as daydreams
But she is real,
I feel it more
Then I care to admit,
Like a Plath’s poem
She pinches the heart
Of her reader,
She can lick the truth
From your false face
O’ her eyes,
Can start a drama,
As her friend Isabelle says,
She reads books
Of only dead people,
So does she talks to their ghosts,
Slowly she moves
Like a never fading colour,
Filling up your tea cup
Maybe with something more than tea,
You’ll know her more
When her honey dripping voice fills your ears,
Nothing is new
Nothing is mystery
Apparently
She is
Fragile
Fervent
She is unskinned
And
Red
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC