"cheerio" poems
Don't discriminate
Just don't do it
All it is, is hate
Hate is made out of other hate
and hate only fuels more hatred
You pour gasoline on a blaze of loathing
with every discriminatory comment you make
It doesn't matter
if they have done something you believe is wrong
because you have done many things that are wrong too
it is not for you to judge
so black white brown both or polka dotted for all I care
gay les straight bi or into adhesive sloths (we adhesified furry little sloths need a little love too)
man or woman or sloth
punk emo crazy nerdy weird loser REALLY weird bookworm or literal worm sloth or adhesive sloths (like me)
nature freak or homebody
axe murderer or a cereal killer or a cheerio killer
it does not matter who or what they are
they are all human too. or all sloths. that too.
Just don't discriminate
and share the slothified love of adhesiveness
accept everyone as they are
even if they hang from trees and move in slow motion all day like me
even if they are rocks
because rocks are great
in fact this one time, I found this rock and man, it was absolutely hilarious it should have been a stand up comedian
okay well not a STAND UP comedian, because I mean... rocks can't actually stand up... but like a really hard and Sedimentary roundish stone shaped sit down (well more like lay around like a rock all day) comedian
Wait, what was I talking about?
oh right, don't discriminate!! :)
against other humans or other sloths.
or adhesive sloths.
...I'm not crazy! my mother sloth had me tested!
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
awakened by the
offsprings cry,
baby powdered
morning dew
showers the room,
coffee stained smiles
shine about
cheerio blanketed
kitchens,
so worrisome
for office tardiness,
the carseat won't lock
into place,
tire marks on
fresh paved driveways,
to daycare tears dry not
she's on time,
fatigued she plants
her seed to the office seat
to grow even less
awaiting to see the smile
of her child and say
her prayers before
falling asleep
-
awaked by the
offsprings cry,
gun powered
morning dew
showeres the village,
rotted teeth smile
amongst the
body-blanketed township,
so worrisome of finding
a slain mother
sister
brother
just like father,
the gun won't lock
into place,
they never will,
tattered couches
paved with the
***** of
slaughtered buildings,
mother's dead
tears dry not,
fatigued,
hands of
grungy drainpipes
plant beside,
holding stagnant
a somber sibling,
tremors ripple
crimson tides,
planted to
grow even less
awaiting to see
the smile of
his mother
his father
his sister
and say his prayers
with brother
before laying down
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
Like some goofy lisp.
Like left over from Surrey to Essex.
Lycan, Omish, with some Roudy Rawdy Piper.
Like a WWE event, no ropes in the ring and a whole
bunch of cheerios.
It sounded like chweer wee ohs.
I got England to laugh out loud.
We were all laying on the floor hoping
fuhat bassthard would gooh on a diet.
Like Van Gogh and his buddy whats his...
knuck knuck. Painting pictures of Marshall
Islanders for a vote or veto. Paul Goin and Vincent
Van Gogh sharing a lisp.
Sthounds like..... Ah gawd!
Shut up you sobbing limp noodle.
Try writing something we all can laugh at.
Humor me Socrates with Albert Einstein.
E equals MC squared.
One part energy, a mass constantly squared.
Cheerio old chaps.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
*I'm unapologetically a bit too sensitive
highly attuned to inanimate feelings
the lone Cheerio circling the drain is given
a kindred companion for its journey
considerate thought is given to the preferences
of animal crackers...heads or legs bitten first
many items are thanked before discarded
others parted with reluctantly if ever
a twinge of conscience is felt while pruning
perfectly healthy leaves from house plants
objects are arranged in pairs and groups
in a compassionate effort for inclusion
The Velveteen Rabbit makes perfect sense to me*
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
She ain't nothing but a cereal killer
She's ****** with a gallon of milk
If you need convincing, Cap'n Crunch is still missing
And that Chocula guy is down for the Count
She ain't nothing but a cereal killer
Gets her Kix pulling off her Trix
As she bids them Cheerio being more in the know
Than a bowl of FrankenBerry buried below Honey Oh's
She ain't nothing but a cereal killer
Winning them over with her Lucky Charms
No way to deny she eats them alive
As she Frosts Tony the Tiger like Corn
She ain't nothing but a cereal killer
Finds pleasure in the Shredding of Wheat
Using Fruity Pebbles to go along with her evil
As she spoons out her ***** deeds
She ain't nothing but a cereal killer
Easily making history out of Rice Krispy treats
What ever you do keep an eye on her Fruit Loops
That kind of crazy nobody needs
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
I woke up
the sun softly breaking through
resting on the wall,
i left my radio on
playing songs and songs
that i love
my hair is glued to my forehead
i feel it scratching against my skin
i look around piles of clothes
laying on the corner of my bed
empty bowls of cheerio cereal
my guitars laying up against a wall
one that is laying on the floor
two burnt matches on the floor
a poorly painted zebra mask
and a yellow leaf that fell from its place
a lot of dried pieces fell off the dead leaf,
old VHS tapes against the wall
***** dancing,breakfest club,ferris bueller , blues brothers
so much more
books piled in each other
dorian grey,to **** a mockingbird, a farewell to arms
i'm missing two books
i lent them to my friend
red ink from a pen on the floor
i had to keep the guitar cord at a certain bend to it would amplify
it gave in and exploded
a green paint mark on my wall
and a cut out mustache
an old keyboard of the 80's
sometimes it turns on sometimes it doesn't
notebooks of poems
and boxes of drawing i did when i was younger
a big jar with two dead roses
pencils and pens cross in and out
a little emptied out honey jar
filled with all my train tickets
my bracelets laying on the floor
except for the blue one my wrist
it never comes off
my camera lays beside the camera beg
drawings on the wall
and my hats on top of each other
and my sweaters all over the place
vinyl album covers
of the Beatles and Pink Floyd
My mom calls it a mess
i call it
me...
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
The village pump is where she was stationed
Her purpose in life, to glean information
Every morsel of 'news' she'd greedily savour
Though reluctant to empty her head, to fill up her neighbour's
That mucky young hussy's expecting you'll find
I'm certain I know who did it this time
He bought a bike, the crafty young fella
And no good came on it Doris I tell ya
He put one in Fram in the family way
And thas a good fifteen mile away
And if you ask me, he's too fond of his sister
If there's a young'un who's willing round here he'd not miss her
So lock up your daughter do she'll be the next
He'll be snouting round here before long I expect
And look at poor Bob, they say he's frustrated
They reckon his hip bone is half discolated
Same as old **** see him hick with his stick
All wore up and not sixty as yit
You don't look wholey clever yourself
Doris you really should keep an eye on your health
And Grandma Green has took to her bed
I'll drop by there today, 'cos same as I say
You're a long time dead
Well I should be going, I've said too much already
Cheerio now, and do you goo steady
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 3:43 PM UTC
allow me to celebrate the ant
summer miscre-ant in my kitchen
picking up pieces of pieces "to go":
a crumb of Meow Mix, a crushed Cheerio;
applied the usual eco-safe spray
detecting this way too feint for they
amassed to quest their innate objective
exploring and toting the prime directive;
hymenoptera tents with doors
four on the floor: cafes of poison
for caulking the cracks in the walls hadn't solved
the stay-past-your-welcome guests involved;
soon numbers diminished but still a few
creeping through unrepent-ant
I swept thrice per day to starve them out
yet brooms are too thick all crannies to rout;
surrendered and wondered, perhaps they are teachers
attempting to bypass my brainy block
too thick to buzz with what the ants know?
I squat as a toddler to take-in their show;
for hours observing them (off and on)
until an implosion of comm-ants sense
challenged my globalized conception
exposing my mind to ant redemption;
the ant is now my writing totem
trouble though they'll be next June
within this mantra is what they knew:
one moment one crumb to carry and chew;
insight's relative I realize
ants have their own frustrations with size
but ponder the ant when writing time's little:
at peace with a piece of ant-agonist vittle.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 11:51 AM UTC
I need,
You need,
And we all,
Comfort it is,
We plead!
Satisfied are you,
When it comes your way,
Cheerio!
I, too have found Comfort!
Cheerio!
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
they say cheerios make your heart stronger
but when you said "this is it. Cheerio" and left
i was leaft heartbroken
it was just a lie
all of it
i trusted you
to nourish me
and give me my daily fibre intake
but you didnt
you left me
by myself
and thats all i will ever be
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 8:20 AM UTC
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Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
Really?
Why don’t we just
Break it off?
This must be a test
Of endurance
Or self-sacrifice even.
We both don’t know
the waters around us
anymore.
There are no safe coves
or humble islands.
So we drown in the
fishbowl of our little whims
And tiny gripes.
That keeps us together.
I know that every-time
You get into bed,
You think
****
this guy,
again?
I hope he chokes
on a cheerio.”
And I’m thinking
****
this girl,
again?
Why can't it be socially acceptable
to **** someone
with a spoon?”
So why are we still here?
Why do we remain
When everything else has left
in boxes.
We eat our sorry cheerios in silence.
In bed
you keep mentioning a bowl,
that separates the milk
from the cheerios,
like I'm not good at code.
And I feel us growing closer
in scales.
Feb 18, 2012
Feb 18, 2012 at 1:41 PM UTC
*you know, i can **** before i become homeless; yes? ok... cheerio.*
when i experience no intelligence
after being educated, it's
hardly an expectation to
experience any after... desirably hoped for, that
which offers up the antonymous by-product that's
despaired after so freely, and all those more profitable affairs
of a literate nature to engage with: to be
enslaved likewise missing; oh the gravity
as nothing falling, the tears on my cheeks
with vide cor meum, ah, but you see,
i can stomach a cage and being caged,
should i be forced into a freedom that's
only homelessness.
oh so many insignias of pause that were never
given a mathematical rubric of allowed deciphering!
that grand pause of arithmetic in the undecided
length of pause between (,) (.) (;) and that italicised
pause of (:) readying (a) list(s) of emphasis; let alone
the hyphenation of all the lost emphasises of Pompeii
(embark tongue tied into the grapheme æ);
or embark asking between the threes that are
direct and indirect articulation of plurality,
given then the anti of pluralism is god, and that's neither
direct or indirect, consolidating the direct as prayer
and the indirect as atheism.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
Pray.
Fold your hands or raise them empty.
True worship is in the sand.
It's knowing your coasts.
Knowing where you stop and where the Mystery begins.
Setting invisible standards on scales
you will never step foot on yourself
and being completely ok with that.
Empty hands are easy to hold on with,
so he squeezes with all his might.
Tighter with each missed meal,
tighter still with each cold night.
He holds on to the stories of Sundays,
of Lion's dens and wooden boats.
So that in the darkness of poverty's grave,
He prays.
Staying true to that thing with feathers in his soul,
he finds laughter amid storms
and wrestles smiles through the pain.
He grows.
From some invisible seed planted some time ago.
Grandmama's kitchen was a regular glass-walled greenhouse
And there wasn't anybody around
that could look themselves in the mirror
should one day they take to throwing stones.
Pray,
Mama told him.
So he closed his eyes and spoke.
Truth to remove the cold,
bread of spirit to fill his hunger.
But when he opened his eyes he felt pain in his side,
so he prayed again.
Knees on the ground,
he expected the earth to sprout cheerio trees,
the clouds to rain blankets,
and Grandmama to come around the next corner.
Such was the mustard seed.
Often times he slept after prayer.
Not always of peace.
Sometimes he was afraid his eyes
would see the same world when he opened them.
So he held them shut and saw Grandmama in dreams.
Pray,
Mama told him,
for patience and peace.
His empty hands still raised,
Still empty,
he gazed into the rafters of the one place he felt safe.
Singing songs of Sundays
and praying like Friday nights.
He felt light wrap around him,
rainbows he thought,
because he liked the colors,
and he learned while he was hungry
to pray.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
Well sir !
Today we have, the usual, suicidal ****** paranoid drug addicts, skitzophrenic ******* that'll slice your neck open in a split second.
All the things you'd find in a mental institution.
Theres no place like home !
Walking these halls in my robe, and slippers.
You see darling, im not insane, they just think i am because well, im all of the above, ahahaha.
I didnt mean to **** that boy.
But ! He did say he loved me.
Who the **** would say that.
Filthy little liars.
He made it so ******* easy though.
But i did mean to **** him.
I didnt.
I did.
I didnt.
I did.
YOU'LL NEVER ******* KNOW.
There was this one day, they locked me up so tight, it left bruises on my ****** skin.
Oh **** !
Shh.
Shh.
Shh.
Do you hear that ?
What did the second one say ?
Well **** you too Elvis !
He wishes.
Ah, ****
Scars are showing again.
Oooh,theres a mirror in this room.
smash.
''Nurse !, Lunas done it again !''
****** Luna they called me in school.
But i killed them too.
Anyway, i sat there with a broken piece of mirror in my hands and carved pretty little pictures into myself.
But, i needed stitches.
Yay the doctor !
He makes me feel good, inside.
Probably because he ***** me so hard it leaves me pleasure until the next time i break a mirror.
He's older.
42 to be exact.
Im 15.
Isnt it cute.
His wife doesnt know.
Or his daughter, i went to school with that dog.
She was the first one i got rid of.
Cheerio.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
Kiss of passion laced with mellow hemlock for suicides pleasure in a kiss goodbye,
Entered the realms of dark skies as a kiss goodnight,
A toxic tranquility as drifting away,
Glides softly into serenity via gentle paralysis,
Up and coming in gradual waves as waving goodbye,
Cyanosis catches up, heart and brain devoid of feeling,
What joy,no pain,
Slips from a nightmare,
Shaking screaming
A fiery fury as hemlock laced kiss,
Hits the final spot before dying,
Crying a fatal goodbye,
Crucified as cheerio,
Blessed incarnate no fury,
For all is not lost,
Allegedly death is the last great escapade!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 7:00 AM UTC
Black hair
like oodles of shoelaces
on the surface.
Skin turns to tough rubber,
fingers are lollies
left to freeze in a dank cave.
Above, a melting sky,
wonky blue and white
too far from wrinkled hands.
Electronic voices stutter
into her ears, a gargly reply
floats to nowhere.
Each second adds up,
each second closer to blackout,
perhaps a slow-motion wave cheerio?
She drifts deeper down,
a wrecked puppet
asleep in the sea.
Unable to inhale,
throat begins to scrunch
like a paper cup.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
Even during the darkest of nights,
I am with this thought of my future,
Nothing scares me just enough to stop.
Even during the blackest of days,
I am with the memory of time past,
Nothing depresses me enough to pop.
Even during those hours of blues,
I dispel each of the purples in strait,
Because in being sad, I find just glop.
Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 8:51 PM UTC
i don't have a low self-esteem,
or precursors to justify
usage of internet paraphernalia;
i don't have a phone,
i don't use dating applications;
if anything i'm looking
at the hurts of globalisation
from a village perspective;
and to me, it all just looks like:
cow took a **** cow didn't take a ****
cow bowed on all fours to sleeps
to keep a patchwork of grass
dry from the rain... cow slept standing...
back then you just had to walk to
the next village to ***** in the gene pool...
now you're expected to travel to paris
for genetic diversity and a love story
worthy of the boredom of writing
hunting the digression of dating:
is monday the 12th of July good for you
and the imaginary caveman? no?
i thought so... watching rain in England
in sunglasses kinda precursors
naturalised use of sarcasm, given
the Great Wall of China and Hadrian's:
an army of Scots just jumped the wall
like 110m hurdle sprinters! what we to do?!
what we to do?! wait for the Mongols...
ah ha.. all in all.. good luck
and *cheerio(h)! ol' chap! bowler hats ahoy!
bop bop... like bloated frogs bopping along
to Sherlock looking at an aquatic snail trail
deciphering Cluedo.*
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 3:14 PM UTC
as the rain slides down
the window pane
and the moondrifts from
cloud to cloud
i remember my first
flatmate...
Jerome,
who tooks his smalls
home to be washed by
his mother,
who was fastidious about
trimming his ginger...brown
beard, but not so fastidious
in cleaning the sink...
the owner of Muffin, the budgeriagar who survived
being vaccumed up once,
but not twice....
Jerome, full of gay angst
and closeted pride...
who taught me...
love is not an animal
that can be leashed
but is a thing,
of wild untamed beauty...
Jerome....who gave love
in buckets and bunches
of floppy daffodils...
i lost him as a friend, many
years past......but some nights drear and dark
he pops by....to say cheerio
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
Cheerio, cheerio
Four AM they call to keep the awake awake
And lull the slumbering deeper adream
Clutching vapors of the musky night
Cool, humid, starry eve
Betelgeuse humming a tune
Rigel entranced by the melody
Alnitak, Alnilam, Mintaka belting along
While the nightbirds
While away the hours, embedded
Deep in the canopy of springtime maples
And chirp, and chirp, and chirp the expanse
Singsonging to insomniacs
******* of blue, red, orange, all grey
Parading the atomic clock onward
And every night they chirrup
Never before two o’clock- why at such a time
As the deadzone of slumbering night?
And there goes the first
Cheerio, cheerio
Good night, good morning nightbirds.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
I remember the day when love you'd say
Embrace me and take me to the place
where we'd both engage... In love filling the dull and pale page
Inspiring the knowledge of an ancient omniscient sage
I remember the scent that showered my senses
I remember the nuzzle and the puzzling glare
When you'd stare wondering if I would stay
and from this buzz magic we shared
And laying you on my lap studying your soul's map
Searching for the destination of your heart
healing the wounds along the way where the wolves marked
Will I ever succeed mending a broken heart? I wondered.
So many pieces didn't seem to fit
How do you survive going about as a wreck?
I guess you go on for there is ever someone next
Oh! Only leaving you more lonely
Your heart crying: "Somebody hold me,
Burn the sour of my throat that chokes me"
And honesty and loyalty you know no more
Only a cognitive matrix that has you feel like *****
You lost the battles but won the war
You are the monster of your love sore
The pieces leave wounds unrepairable and
inspires a behaviour unbearable
Leaving you in dramatic peril
But love you still have
Settling you know not, always quick to dance
but so many malevolent composers are there
Can you please them all?
Will they sit beside you on your bed after *** or leave and close the door?
A sham a shame, who to blame?!
Once red, now a black broken rose
squandering pink minnows
Sweet cheerio! And money band
Heart of gold and hands of sand
Will you ever find form?
Will you ever heal from the storm?
I hope the poetry of the moments keeps you warm.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
I was visited again by Death.
Not the hooded creature, but a shadow of my own cadence
slid across the cortex of my mind
the place
where the rational man falls to the unceasing siege of the animal,
where every edge of every plane of time thrusts itself and
interrupts our daydreams to inter seeds
of fear
of frustration
of hope
of anger
of things gone
of things we wish
of things we want
of
things we dare never speak aloud.
It (I) brought to me (myself) no vision of my own demise,
no recycled image from film or phone or fable. It brought worse:
My own house.
My own floor.
My own back
hunched.
My own legs
crossed.
My own head
bowed.
My own shoulders
heaving.
My own arms
flaccid.
My own lap
heavy.
My own son
Limp.
Brown curls on a blue forehead in a peaceful, lifeless rest.
A pietà.
---
I fade away as I appeared, and revive. A searing kiss on both eyes.
Brown curls on a pink forehead in a peaceful, mid-meal grin.
A Cheerio.
---
Wake up!
Wake up! Arise! Look out!
and See
and Be
and Grasp
the Goodness of All around You.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
That long June day,
The 24th to be exact,
The day I laid my eyes on you,
And my heart was under attack
There was a longing in my heart,
A strange void in my soul,
It could only be filled by you,
For me to be whole
I tried many hours, even days
To fill that gap,
But I did not know where to start
I know I just needed a part.
Should I talk to her?
Should I ask her her name?
What do I do?
What do I say?
Emotions came over me,
Temptation, nervousness, and bliss
Since then I have longed to have you,
Maybe one day you will be in my arms
That first class together,
Western Civ 101,
I looked over to you,
And I knew I was done
I had to try and have you,
It would only be right,
I told myself,
I would not go down without a fight
So I confessed my true feelings,
I poured out my heart,
I put it all on the line,
Hoping you’d give me a shot
So here I sit on my bed,
Thoughts of you,
Running through my head
I lay here and think,
What would it take?
For just one kiss,
On your beautiful, sweet, precious lips
You are upstairs in your dorm,
I debate whether to send this to you or not,
I don’t know if you should read this poem,
For I am confused and alone
I just hope you find it in your heart,
To give me but a chance,
To show you what it means,
To have a true, loving romance
A hope for a never ending bliss
Because I’d trade one thousand nights in hell,
For just one simple kiss
A kiss upon your lips,
So tender and sweet,
To hold you in my arms,
Cheerio,
You make me go weak…
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
Taking stalk, in some grace
That every thing has a place
A space for this and a space for that
So where's my place in my flat
2 beautiful sons, do they see me here
I hear them, sometimes a tear
For she feels left out as they get a life
But never a lonely little wife
Just a lonely mum who sees
The joy, the happiness and the glee's
that her sons have found their path in life
But never a lonely little wife
They love me strong, that I know
As I hug them hello and cheerio
Some days we don't see each other
But always they think of their mother
I get a glimpse of their eyes
Remember the days that have gone by
When they were never from my side
As we walked the streets, holding hands, with pride
I knew these days would come soon
so i sit alone in my room
I am happy and yes happy not to be
A lonely wife, oh that is not me
A single mum for many years
Shared the joys and wiped the tears
Loved my kids that is true
But singletons feel loneliness too
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 10:08 AM UTC