"carats" poems
She never had a diamond
To grace her small left hand,
No sapphires or anything
Except her plain gold band,
No sparkling jewels of any kind
No precious stones or pearls,
Although she had one ruby
Her fourth straight baby girl,
She must have wanted riches
For 'tis natural to prefer,
But she settled for her babies
Who were shining jewels to her,
The only carats
dad was able to buy
Were on the dinner table,
Food for three square meals as well
So her only rings were the dinner bell.
3.7k
I have one wrist shackled to my watch strap
dragging me to obey the sweeping hands of another
like a traffic cop ordering hours of peaks to start and stop
relentlessly spilling time from a once brimming cup
splish splash out into oceans of flashy imaginings
I need the delicate precision of a jeweller's screwdriver kit
to make sense of the shared purpose of the springs
pushing the wheels to wear green amber red carats
tiny diamonds that aren't meant to sparkle
but sit immovable within sealed circles waiting
in partnership
inexorably waiting
patiently forever for the sun to release its shackle
the chain dripping a ting a ting
from the earth into a new star
winding up the decayed orbiting
to trap the same diamonds on a second
hand swept somewhere afar
and with a roll ex-galaxies expired
their guest president bracelet
their gasped jewelled weight
in loving eyes of liquid gold
not ordering us two
to be a slave to anything
now time shone
free could not be sold
apart ever again
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
Cold.
Not the chill down my arm
but the one down my spine
at the sight of decadence
at the show of extravagance
at the display cases with
carats and watches
plastic women wearing
someone's house in fur
and silk and adornments
covering their arms like a
Christmas tree gone awry
with its baubles and lights
bringing neither peace nor goodwill
to their men who foot the bills
after a night spent with slots and
levers and cards and mysterious
figures that disappear into lifts
that reach infinite heights before
plunging into clear, crystal waters
that sound like diamonds and the
view you see makes them say
'Oh it's beautiful' but
the waters are shallow.
A beautiful mirage.
Still too cold for me to sell my soul.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
i'd say my love for you
is your treasure
which nothing but carats
could measure.
it would take forever
to melt it down,
but only a second
to be your crown.
my love for you
is my pride
that nothing, not even crystal seas
will be able to hide.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 5:48 AM UTC
The patheticness of the human race has become rather unbearable to me.
Self image and personal wealth have become more popular than shows on daytime TV.
The average American consumes more ******** than their daily food intake.
Letting social networks become our main source of communication was our first mistake.
There is no escape from the sounds of the keyboards endlessly typing out our lies.
We think we are the almighty but every time we speak another one of our brain cells dies.
Look what we've become,
the sum of,
technology and TV.
The right to own a gun,
was fun till,
the gun was pointed at you and me.
Funny how we want to change the world but are not willing to change ourselves.
Blaming the presidents because there was no change and then retiring them to a dusty shelf.
"How many carats is her wedding ring?!", the guests ask, as if that's what a marriage is all about.
At the speed we are heading there is no doubt that we will soon die out.
Look what we've become,
the sum of,
technology and TV.
The right to own a gun,
was fun till,
the gun was pointed at you and me.
The silly nonsense of technology and TV have overrun our lives with dramatic balderdash.
We stare, hypnotized, into the ridiculous lives of those on our TV's.
The plastic ***** and plastic *******
are not better than the rest.
Don't you know you look just as fake as the puppets on the strings.
You're not fooling anyone,
look as you melt in the sun.
But we do not realize their lies, we're the puppets on the strings.
The patheticness of the human race has become rather unbearable to me.
Self image and personal wealth have become more popular than shows on daytime TV.
Look what we've become,
the sum of,
technology and TV.
The right to own a gun,
was fun till,
the gun was pointed at you and me.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
I
I lied
when I said
“I’ll be home soon,
don’t you worry about me”
I just didn’t want to hear you
burst into tears
through the receiver
for it would also rain
down my cheeks
under the shadow of my helmet.
II
I lied
when I said
“Victory is ours”
after two nights and a wake-up
the only thing that was ours
were the dead bodies
of my comrades
bullet holes looked like
constellations
a mixture of green and red
on the concrete sky
III
I lied
when I said
“Prepare a feast,
decorate the streets,
the hero
is coming home”
when all I did was cower behind
a fort of soil and barbed wires
shaking
barely breathing
white knuckles
tightly gripping the Garand
as they circled the area
like vultures
searching for prey
in a desert full of bones
IV
I lied
to keep you from worrying
about my safety
because dear,
no one is safe
on the battlefield
V
I lied
as I took my oath
each word piercing my throat
like swallowing needles
when they pinned on my uniform,
the entire collection
glistening in the
morning light
the clanging noise as I march
like church bells
ringing a haunting sound
echoing through the hallway
the weight of the carats
is nothing
compared to the weight
of my guilt
VI
I lied
when I told you
that I was a hero
when I came home
but son,
the real heroes
are six feet
under the stone.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
smudges on the glass
were wiped away each night
by a mute custodian
who found a biography
in each set of prints he made disappear
with clean cloth and vinegar
he could tell which ones
were made by children, dragged there
with promise of ice cream, later
oh, the young lovers' prints
were unmistakable--eager tracks being led to more
and more promising carats
and the thin marks left by the frail
made him wonder, if this would be their last
precious purchase: a reckoning; a remorse
the cases held diamonds, rubies,
by the score, but the silent sentinel
saw only the surface
that was his world,
one of transparency, and fickle
reflections
he reluctantly erased these fingered tales
the marks life left anon and anon, for he knew
it was his duty to wipe the slate clean
to allow resurrection,
renewed vision of a bejeweled
world, just below his sight
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
you say you stand for democracy,
but do you really know the meaning of the word?
you tell me he was a dictator, yes there were 18 elections, but all of them were rigged, he was corrupt,
but tell me,
is not this system worse?
where a party can only stand if it has the money to launch a campaign, where votes are bought by those with the wealth, only looking to protect their own interests?
you have chosen to directly ignore all of the evidence placed before you
that tell you you're wrong;
he could not have had an agenda when he described the democracy you hate so much as "the most perfect democracy he's ever seen",
you've ignored every piece of legislation he passed, all to give rise to greater democracy to the real people of the country
and you tell me there's political repression when there were 80% turnouts and over 30 other parties in each of those elections.
you are so blinkered by those walls around your mind
you don't want to accept that he could have done it better than you
because you know that once you acknowledge that,
once the world acknowledges that
all you built for you
and that other 1%
will be taken from you,
as it should have been long ago.
i don't know how it's going to happen,
not now, not in this lifetime,
but in lifetimes to come,
people will be taught that the meaning of the word
democracy
lies in demos, the people
and that those big conglomerates,
no matter how much money they have,
are not the demos.
that there is more to life than your capital accumulation;
their health, their education; their basic human rights
are, and always will be, more important than how many zeroes
are written in your will,
and that no matter how much they drill it into you,
you are beautiful, you are unique, you are important
so stand tall and proud, hands on heart
because there is more to life than the money you make.
how this will be taught, i do not know,
but as a starter, maybe we could try teaching the cats themselves
that there is more they can do for the world
than sit on thrones of gold,
and there is more to life
than how many carats they have,
and i think a brilliant way to teach this
would be to **** all of their friends and family
until they realise that money isn't all that important,
and however malicious an act that would be,
i could rest safe in the knowledge that my death toll
would not be a fraction of theirs.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
Birdie birdie you look so purdy.
Making charm of everything else unworthy.
Birdie birdie you are so sharpie.
Parallel comparator to you is running slowly.
Birdie birdie your eyes are so glittery.
Carats of diamonds now 'coming jittery.
Birdie birdie you needn't worry.
With me you will always be happy.
Birdie birdie I know you are hearty.
To you delay no more my journey.
Let me in your life soon and scurry.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 4:18 AM UTC
A statue in the middle of the blue space,
With no windows on all four walls,
Downcasted eyes on its pretty face,
Tears streaming down from it like waterfall,
Made out of marbles cold like winter's kiss,
Begging me to keep it warm,
Stuck in this chilling dawn as time freezes,
Yet its diamond encrusted chest might make me succumb,
To its every desire.
I woke up with you next to me,
I'm hugging you tight,
Unsure if I've set you free,
Yet your smile had turned bright,
Your tears halted its stream,
Your eyes starts to beam,
I feel the statue crumbling to dust,
Except the heart that is made of what's 'neath Earth's crust.
I'll carve a better sculpture for you,
Where it'll never turn blue,
And hope will shine bright through its eyes,
The mouth will no longer have to speak comforting lies,
Its hand will grip tight and close,
A bouquet of dark red rose,
That I'll give everyday.
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
More valuable life
With more ways to measure
The merit of strife
And option of pleasure
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 12:22 PM UTC
Je suis orpailleur
Je vis d'or et d'eau bien fraîche
En attendant Godot.
Je plonge dans les entrailles de ma muse
Armé de piolet, pelle et battée.
Je sonde à belles dents le fil des eaux
Je me prélasse dans le lit de la rivière
Et jette dans la battée sable, eaux et graviers
A la recherche inlassable
Des paillettes couleur de colza et de tournesol
Sélectionnées et assaisonnées par ma Muse
Jusqu'à ce qu'elles se précipitent et fondent.
Je me nourris d'elles et elles de moi
Elles me mâchent et me mastiquent
Pour faire jaillir en moi des geysers d'huile philosophale
En attendant les lingots de Godot.
Et dans chaque mot que je dédie à ma muse
J'engloutis ses carats nature
Sans colorant artificiel
Sans huile de palme
Sans conservateur
Car je conserve en moi les pépites
À l'abri de la lumière jalouse de God-haut.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 2:54 AM UTC
Dans un tronc d'angélique
J'ai creusé une cachette pour ma muse
Electro hyper sensible
Et j'ai béni de l'écume des anges
L'hippocampe qui haletait
À la proue de mon équipage.
Ma quille bien encastrée dans l'étrave
J'ai pris la mer étale à tout ballant
Vers la montagne d'eau
Où résident les ors des muses.
Des ondes amoncelées pleuvaient des perles lustrées
Des vertes, des bleues, des peacock,
Des pamplemousses, des aubergines
Et je ne voyais rien de leurs galipettes
Je cherchais l'or nu des mots sous la couette
Je ne voyais pas les perles offertes du silence
Je ne voyais pas les colliers, les coiffes, les parures, les couronnes tressées
Je cherchais le verbe fait chair dans les paillettes
Je ne voyais pas l'iris multicolore des regards mouillés
Je cherchais l'or, les carats
Je ne voyais pas dans la nuit force cinq
Etinceler l'once du sourire complice
Des dents de l'hippocampe
Qui me toisait derrière sa muselière
De perles et fougères
Exigeant que tel un orpailleur je fasse ripaille,
Que je me déchaîne sans délai
Au cœur de la nacre sacrée
Au cœur battant de la grâce
Bis repetita
Au nom du Roi
Bis repetita
Au nom de la Loi
Bis repetita
Au nom de la Foi
Bis repetita
Au nom des Muses.
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 1:11 AM UTC
cannot publicly acknowledge the existence of angels,
Such an outrageous act has been outlawed by the council.
So here I am to tell you about these nonexistent beings.
They come from a place called heaven, a serene place
Lying in the clouds that do not fade; they are everlasting.
In heaven they soar free, using their feathery wings,
Which glisten like scheelite in the eternally dawning sun.
Their halos are a gold, 10 carats more pure than the element,
And seemingly glow, even in the most minimal light.
And their souls, as pure as a diatomic gas,
As white as the everlasting magnesium flame.
But most importantly, their souls glow like the firey sun,
Always ready to make us happy, and eternal in existence.
But I once again forget, as a note is passed my way,
That “angels,” in fact, “do not actually exist”
Signed,
The council.
It also says to stop talking about these forms,
Or I will be detained... then executed...
Welp, that’s a sour note to leave on...
Bye.
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 10:44 PM UTC
The United States
we
stand tall_____*
The ring-size
The shebang seat
Hasn't been anything
but a ball just stand
Or sit in my heat
To the Senate
falling for the
Testimonies
The culture of
colliding ceremonies
coming to America*
Above the
surface
Delicious
Atmosphere blue
Nitrogenous*
The new
Bicentennial
He cannot take
his falling star eyes
off of you his love
((Like Pluto))
dimensional
Starbucks stir-spell
stars
She loves to
sit casually
Your feeling wiped out
Being flagged down_____
All stripes the
American way
Bank of America
Let's travel to
((Bombay))
No time to do
your essays
Be more sacred it pays
Super America
Stop eating the
whole cow
(U) night Ed) United
We feel entangled
What we believe
in is lost
Amazing in all sizes
From head to toe
from birth
Trembling hands
of fate
We all fall down huh?
Niagara Falls her-Ray
Tall riveting sunshine
King Charles charming
French Cafe ring
Henry the 8th carats
Striking
The finest
grains
in her
cup to his
Viking
Artsy gals of the
archway falling for your liking
Milky Way
We must not battle
Broadway
Falling out of love
But they say its
((Your Birthday))
Have a good time
On Flag day
And star bright
American to the
Mediterranean
Buffets for the Pig
and whistle beauty
met her eating beast
Pirates of the Carribean
American side dish
Bacon bits with
String beans
Clerical positions
((Compromising Liaisons))
Fort Myers Pelicans
Brooklyn Belt Parkway
My exit was
Rockaway Parkway
Take me back
Now this world
Full of chemicals
No time for even
The Protocol
Bewildered minds
bifocals to vanish
No food to love
garnish
We need to exhale
American big day
Male sale----I got my ring size seat*
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
love is
fifty carats
of
sunshine
shining
in
your eyes.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
Ton arrière-train
Surgit du fond des abysses
Comme un aerolite,
Un diamant
De 3106 carats,
Une pierre d'exception,
Un Cullinan
Que je scinde en neuf
Pour chaque incarnation de ma muse
Qui éclate en mille facettes
Quand je lapide sa majesté.
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 12:28 PM UTC
Unlikely, impossibly and so goes the probability that anything ever occurs In quantum or is it Guantanamo?
not that I go there
just interested.
Lots of things,
how many carats in whatever bell rings?
who gives the blessings?
what are collections for when
they're collecting the homeless
to ship out of town, who pays for the piper or the ferry and by the way, who's merry Christmas and where does he drink?
Stuff and nonsense pays rents due
anything extra?
well that's up to you
but
let's keep it secret
we don't want Christmas
to know.
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
Where I’m from
the cat gets disowned for her curiosity,
but not before a lengthy trial
a litany of pejoratives
testament to synonyms.
Where I’m from
the persecution does not end
until the pyre has been built,
a verdict conceived of perceived faults and failures.
Where I’m from
singularity is superfluous.
You’re only as good as the clarity and carats
of boulder you shoulder with a Colgate Smile.
…
Where I’m from
I will be publishing
under pseudonym:
a witness to individuality in need of protection.
Jan 19, 2022
Jan 19, 2022 at 11:40 PM UTC