"chelsea" poems
*"Are you are reptile,
or a mammal?"*
<licks lips and rubs chin>
*"Cold-blooded,
warm-hearted?"*
<grips knee with left hand>
*"When smelling a blooded roast beef...
...do you get hungry and share?"*
"Or do you eat the guests first?"
<holding long-blade carving knife>
"You see, I like to think that you're both bugs, that you bug me and neither of you have any power what with my holding this weapon?"
<waves knife around erratically>
"Also, I don't like sharing..."
**I only throw
my banana
at Chel-Sea
I only throw
my banana
at Chelsea
I only throw
my banana
at Chel-sea* *
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
The riled route master and the hacked off hackney carriage weren't bothered by the boris bike, they simply barreled along the bus lane oblivious to the wobble, blind to the blindsided and bent on beating the amber to red, til they were halted by the growth factor of a chelsea tractor straddling lanes and field testing the choice of right or left and failing the screen test set by the sat nav, thereby giving opportunity to the swarm of office staffers snatching their chance and chancing their luck, dancing past with their fat chance of swiping in before nine and avoiding the chagrin of the boss who's been the bane of their short sojourn through the city of lost dreams, chance encounters, thin fortune and rushed hours. This is London.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
At the bus stop on Praed Street
Just arrived on the train
Awaiting the bus, in drizzly rain
On the opposite side
Outside Paddington station
Is the evidence that we are a fast food nation
Burger King, Le gourmet brasserie, Chelsea deli, KFC, Subway, La Taarza cafe, Bagel factory, Costa, Chicken cottage, Bonne Bouch, Victors cafe
I can't see much more
But there are further food stores
We must be obsessed
With coffee and food
Can this be good?
Our waist lines are growing
Our pockets are empty
Yet there's fast food a plenty
There must be a market
They are filling a need
Is it our laziness or greed?
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
Never have I seen such an Avid Score
Then draw your Players back to your Credit
Once Clocks have wrung your Springs tight before
Now ring Best Conclusions to your Debit
So your Tendons ripe and joined Model Bro
Each with Burned Spectacles for Thigh's attract
And he taught you well; A Flame burning so
**** Timbers do kiss your Tongue's Good Act
The Green Elf was right. If you could agree
That Advanced Levels only stunt your Mane
But just Read the Play; And Scripts follow free
Your Lion-Born Instinct is one and the same.
Chelsea has Won. And wore Arsenal's Shirt
The Meaning of which, Tie's Variance still hurts.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
A delicious little bakery
is only down our street
the smell of baking bread
well.. it really is a treat
It is run by Mrs ******
she is just so very charming
but she is a little clumsy
it's really quite alarming
You see,
she does her best to make the cakes
and bake such tasty bread
but the currants just go everywhere
and in the pies instead
And in the Cornish pasties
there is very often nuts
and in the fruit pie filling
bacon and beef cuts
But she seems to be quite fancy
well there has been many rumours
of her and the deliveryman
well... she flashes him her bloomers
But she really is so charming
poor soul.. she has the worst mishaps
like when she inadvertently
displayed her finest baps
And no one will forget
when in came a group of nuns
all asking some tea cakes
but out popped her Chelsea buns
But she really is a riot
you can't help but love her so
she give you all you ask for
in a bargain box 'to go'
And she takes care of her customers
and gives out treats to sample
you'll never go home hungry
you'll end up with quite a armful
So if you get a moment
take a stroll just down our street
to Mrs Dingle's bakery
she really is a treat.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
There is a vicar from Chelsea
Who alas is not very wealthy
Often he dines on communion wine
And curried bat from the belfry
He lights a lot of incense
To hide his flatulence
He gets a bit high
Perhaps that is why
His sermons never make sense
--The vicar gets his knickers in a twist--
The old church roof had seen better days
The pressing need was a serious fund-raise
So the vicar abseiled down the tower
As the village watched by the graves and flowers
With a flurry his cassock flew up in the air
Shocking pink he wore under there
Flapping around it covered his face
As he dangled there in embarrassed disgrace
Someone called the fire brigade
A turntable ladder came to his aid
When at last they got him down
Humbled and grateful he kissed the ground
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
Theres a team in London,
Which team in London,
What do you mean?
There are many,
You have South, East, North and West,
I want to know who shall I be?
Shall I be Chelsea or Shall I be Arsenal?
This is what they said to me,
Go wash your mouth out son,
Go get your fathers phone and call the Arsenal team,
Support the blues.
We play in blue,
Down the bridge,
East Stand, Shed Stand,
Wherever I maybe,
Sing the chants,
Do us proud,
Support the boys in blue and white,
Come on Chelsea, Come on Chelsea.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious
asked my opinion on Mayakovsky
I read him Corso Creeley Kerouac
advised Burroughs Olson Huncke
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Is he that good and kind? Am I that great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.
3.9k
he is home
he came
from siam yonder
shouts from the ground floor
heralded his return
smile escaped from my static face
call out
his name
thunder, rain
dark face
swivels to the left
five foot ten rises up from the plastic chair as dark as him
i
expect a hug
but lo
i am not a child, not anymore
a protocol of high fives replayed
and the traffic of words return to the highway of arsenal, chelsea, man city
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
You're going to read this wrong,
Every single one of you.
Because you are not me,
And you cannot see what I'm saying.
No amount of stressed syllables in these lines can
ever describe what it means.
To me.
Why I wrote it.
Why I let you read it.
You will never understand
My understanding.
And that's okay.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
It's the first time we meet.
I can't get a read on that sweet summer smile, or the words that drip like thick robes of gold honey; soft-spoken and seemingly slow motion, a quite complicated question pours viscously from your lips.
You ask me, "What is your name?"
Now honestly, I considered honesty. Truthfully, I prefer anonymity, but it's considered rude to not share some glimpse of identity. Albeit reluctantly, I must decide: Do I introduce myself as "Chelsea"? Or as "A Window-Pane Made of Glass Too Thin"? Well honestly, honesty isn't always the best policy.
It's our first date -
Instead of worrying about which outfit I choose, I worry about the disclaimer I wear on my arms. I worry about the first time your gaze inevitably falls upon the self-inflicted displays of pain that dress my paper-thin skin. I worry, will you see a warning sign that reads "DANGER: Do not touch"? I wonder, will you listen?
Or will you choose to swallow me whole, a bitter pill with a list of flaws longer than the side effects of your favorite antidepressant. Do the benefits outweigh the risks, do you take a trial of me to see if I'll make you feel better or feel worse? Do you pour me down the drain when you find out I'm not good enough?
It's our first kiss -
A moment tainted by guilt that the sweet taste I leave behind on your lips is not saliva, but antifreeze. Drink me down and I'll poison you from the inside-out, and there will come a day that I'll be the taste you'd do anything to erase from your mouth.
It's our first fight -
And then our second, and our third...
The sand is slipping through our hourglass too fast, as we drag our blood-stained feet through a wasteland of eggshells and glass. All that remains is a crimson trail of mistakes, meandering back to the spotless place we started at.
It's the first time we meet, and
You ask me for my name. Silence.
Should I introduce myself as "Chelsea"? Or as "A Window-Pane Made of Glass Too Thin". If I'm being honest with myself, I go with the latter...and you'll walk away to avoid the mess that comes after.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
She took the colors of rainbow
And came around me in splendid array
Like a sunshine dressed to **** me five days in a row,
She sat across me to sway
My mind and my heart to bend and bow.
Within eyeshot distance
In a beautiful blue dress my lady in love
Appeared in dream like trance
Remind me of those bluebells in silky glow.
Over her glowing skin my emotions ponder
Sparkly as fire and set me free from the torments
Of her thoughts in sleepless nights that wander.
My eyes held hers only for few moments.
She flipped her hair and wrapped it around
Her neck showing her shoulder in more detail
To make up my mind about her to turn around.
Her starry eyes open wide with beautiful smile.
Looking back at me as she gloats.
Twirled her shimmering hair few times,
She orchestrated rhapsody of delights
And snapped my mind into lucid dreams.
She is irresistible that I can only whisper
Melting in love with my burning desire.
Tilted her head as she made up her hair
And left it undone as she had me set on fire.
And slowly she letting me in
Watching her over again and again.
She opens up my heart into growing sensation
As she slowly letting me in
Only to find my unconscious mind.
She touched my heart and soul deeply with love
Under her hypnotic trance so profound
As she speaks, all my love that she can deserve
Her voice cast a spell on me to surround.
She brought her hair together with a bow,
Now her wish is my command,
She locked my heart forever with love.
I can’t think of myself without her to woo,
I told her I wanted to see her every day
And whispered ‘I don’t want to miss you’
Her name is Chelsea, she lives by the bay
She winked at me and said, ‘me too’.
Near the puzzle table we started to play
Mental map of our love to display with no clue
She promised me she never broke up
And her love grows stronger every day.
I am stuck in love and waited up
To cuddle with her every night and day,
Need her now more than ever
Until my last breath can stay
We always be together and forever.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 12:51 AM UTC
We met through a latched gate
down a straight concrete path
With flowers and grass on either side
To a white cottage with a
Thick thatched roof.
To the right of the front door
Was a climbing, yellow,’ Chelsea’ rose.
The garden was an orchard of tenderness with
Five elderly leaning apple trees bearing fruit.
And David Austin roses in a variety of colours
Many wild and cultivated flowers grew and plentiful
Of bird song.
Roger and I sat together at a small
Table and chairs
And were given a delightful meal
Of chicken and vegetables
Followed by ice cream and mixed fruit salad
After resting with cups of tea
I wandered round the garden to see all the
Beauty of this wilderness and a boat in a large
Rather dilapidated shed
Later to be rebuild into a fine garage of
Original Suffolk stone and two wooden doors.
Our time together was very precious to me.
Filling in much that I had heard about, but
Never encountered, from a very dear relative.
In the afternoon we went into Bury St Edmunds central
To see the Cathedral, Abbey Gardens, with resplendent
Flower beds frequently replenished in an abudance of colourful changes and the antiquated book shops.
The day was concluded with strawberries and cream in the
Park sitting on a bench in the sun.
We had a long journey back to Watford.
I never forget this day so unusual was it
Made by my friend.
Love Mary xxxx
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 4:51 AM UTC
It was silent as Chelsea crept into the room
There I lay, nestled to sleep with a teddy bear
The moonlight on my back, soothing light
She awoke me violently, shaking me ashen
And my eyes widened in terror at her face
It didn't take long for her to find something
A tool to suit the job, my punishment
I was a bad sister, always was I wrong
So she found a pair of shoes, my shoes
And I braced for the nightly beating
But Chelsea had something else in mind
As she removed the lace from one of them
She gripped an end in each hand, staring
And she moved on top of me, saying;
"I hate you, stupid attention *****
She placed the string over my throat
And she pressed down very hard, frowning
I felt my airway constrict, and I struggled
She put her knees on my elbows in anger
And my begging made her push harder
As I began to see gray, I remember a tear
But not the many that I released, I know
Because I felt it patter onto my dying face
And I sputtered and arched my back, hoping
And Chelsea only pressed harder, murderous
As I drifted out of consciousness, I heard
My brothers voice, sweet brother Damien
And he slapped Chelsea and pulled her off
As I curled up and breathed delicious air
And he caressed my face, and hugged me
That night acted as a catalyst for hatred
And within myself I bred a monster
But I suppose I cannot give credit for
My mistakes, to the true genesis of pain
I just haven't found anything else to blame
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 4:15 AM UTC
so
here we Are:
Arnold......Shortman,
Shorty......Meeks,
Mr......Meeseeks,
Ezekiel......Whitmore.
Morphine,,,,,,Morpheus,
Neo......Geo,
OG......Sour,
Sour......Diesel.
DeeDee's......Brother,
Cousin......Vinny,
Vinny's......Lover,
Brothers......Grimm.
Grim......adVentures,
Billy......Madison,
Hansel,,,,,,Gretel,
Chelsea......Grin.
Grimace,,,,,,Misery,
Mister......eBonic,
Bonny,,,,,,Clyde,
Kyle,,,,,,Kenny.
Kenny......Powers,
Powder Puff Girls,
"Girls Girls Girls",
Girls Gone Wild.
Wilee......Coyote,
Coyote......Ugly,
Ugly......Betty,
Betty......Crocker.
Doctor......Parnassus,
Doctor......Krieger,
Doctor......Horrible,
Doctor......Evil.
Evil......Knievel,
Felix......the Cat,
Captain Jack Sparrow:
"Captain......my Captain".
Tinman,,,,,,Scarecrow,
"Rowrow Rowyer Boat",
Bo......Burnham,
Earnest,,,,,,Vern.
Verdict,,,,,,Votive,
deVotion,,,,,,Vengeance,
aVenging......Evey,
V,,,,,,Vendetta.
Denace......the Menace,
Crystal......Globes,
Snow,,,,,,Aesthetics:
Skeletal......Shedding.
Head,,,,,,Tail,
Sally,,,,,,Jack,
Jack......Rabbits,
Magic......Hatters.
Shattered......Glass,
Glasgow......Smile,
Guile,,,,,,Vega,
Akuma,,,,,,Ryu.
You,,,,,,Me,
Beneath......the Bleacher:
Jeepers,,,,,,Creepers,
Reapers......of Seeds.
Seeds......of Chucky,
Chuckie......Finster,
Principal......Muriel,
Yuri......Gagarin.
© Copyrighted Jesse James Adams
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
You spoke those words to me as you departed from my sight. My sorrow overflowed, nothing meant anything to me but your words. I never got over you, Chelsea. It took me a few years before saying that didn't hurt, a few more to get the courage to see your Facebook page, and yet I still have no courage to say anything to you. I don't want to be pushed away again, the fear of falling has left me flightless.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
I’ve been craving female companionship as of late. The need to have her in my presence at all times. I want her, face against the wall with joyfully erratic breathing, hands tied behind her back. I want her on all fours, head swivelled my direction with a smiling look of pleasure. I want her legs wide open for me, only because it’s me, only because it’s her. I want my tongue to make musical instruments of her ******* and ******** I want her to put me in her mouth so I can see her eyes tearing with shameless sin. I want her in her parents’ bedroom, I want her in tut rooms and auditoriums, I want her in the back of my car, in McDonalds, in elevators, under restaurant tables and on top of kitchen counters, I want her to say my name under soft moans during rough rounds. I want her in as savage a manner as possible.
I want her sitting in silence with me. I want her to listen to my ramblings, to sit there and be present. To exist. I want her to have her own ramblings, to educate me. I want her lips to be available for me at all times, for my head to make pillows of her chest. I want to introduce her to Ben Howard and Tom Misch, to Planet Hulk and The Pixar Theory. I want flowers to remind me of her. I want her to cradle me when Chelsea loses, to stroke her hair and rub her tummy when she has monstrous cramps. I want to hear ‘I love you’ over loud laughs between soft kisses. I want her on butterfly wings. I don’t know who she is, but dear God I want her to laugh, because I know I’m going to love her laugh.
I want so much from her, I want her to want so much from me. I want so much that I never wanted before. Only thing I’ve been wanting was to feel again, now I need to feel again in order to get what I want. I want her. I want more than me.
I’ve been feeling a certain emptiness
I feel like I’m not enough
I’m not enough to make myself as happy as I want to be.
I feel like there is nothing more I can do for myself.
For so long, I’ve been happy because all I’ve wanted, I’ve given myself
Or I’ve taken, but
I don’t satisfy myself anymore,
And I can’t take what I now want.
I think, for the first time in a long time, I feel lonely.
- Kata
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 4:27 AM UTC
Leaving the room, the subtle scent
only for those, daily encounters
it is of night,
meeting a lover, darkness
perfume weighs heavy, in the air
clinging to her, silk skin,
accustomed,
clutched, pinched
pencil shape skirt, ribbon
drawing the inches,
sewn bustier, each stitch
climbing gentle curves, lace
ornamenting her *******
a drop gold pendant, swirls
teetering, cobbled streets
Blahnik, green Ossie shoes
their final destination, grand floors
Regent home, four story,
Chelsea, London
her beau Fabiano, open arms
champagne in hand.
© Sia Jane
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
Common arguments like which decade is better
the 90's, 80's, 70's or the 60's
each had its advantages and each had its disadvantages
good things and bad things
the same can be said for the 00's and the 10's
I'm a 90's the same decade that we got the TV show Friends
Common arguments like which football team is better
Arsenal, United, City, Chelsea or Liverpool
each club had its chances, had their time
We stood by them through the good times and the bad
the same goes for every other team
I'm a Liverpool fan, the 2005 Champions League final was like a dream
Common arguments like which *** is better
Male or Female
Each are equal but have more sexes to compete with these days
we might hate our opposites at times but we love them really
Common arguments like which country is better
U.S.A, England, Russia, China or any other country
We all have our problems, we all have our good points
Leaders might argue and fight but social networks have connected us
Our leaders might not realise but we have more in common with each other than we ever knew
we are all united in our goals and our dreams
that is a statement that is true
Common arguments some times go to far
people get hurt
one word fixes most arguments
"SORRY"
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were opening one's lips so gorgeous and so creamy
greasing me stamen on the unfucked bonk
while the bangers let it rip in the alley
Those were the diseased minds and that was Newfangled York
we were squirting for the wads and the meatballs
and that was gobbled snog for the creamers inside Gloria
centrifugally stiff is thus those of White House Nazis
Ah but you copulated telescopic didn't you basket case
you just acidified your jockstrap on the shoulders of the scrum
you copulated telescopic I never once heard you use sign language
I input you, I don't intake you
I input you, I don't intake you
and all of that balling hard on
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were gorilla—like your ****** *********** was absolute epic
you leaked me again you frocked slap—up old salt
but for me you would **** an unzipping
And shaving your tongue because the creatures lust after us
who are barked at by the Daleks of *** appeal
you Rohypnolled yourself you emitted jet so what?
we are radioactive salvo we shoot full of holes the stride piano
*** one fine morning you copulated telescopic didn't you cocker
you just blunted your extremity on the cattle
you copulated telescopic I never once smelled you emit
I intake you, I don't input you
I intake you, I don't input you
and all of that balling hard on
I don't mean to insinuate that I slobbered over you peanuts
I can't withhold *********** of each crouched ****
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
that's oodles I don't even kick—start you that thick and fast
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 3:36 PM UTC
I am not who you see,
I am me
The Clumsy, dorky, sometimes ******
The one who will try to make you feel
When you cannot feel anymore,
The one that will stand up for you,
When you are limp, on the floor.
The person that will make sure,
Your information is correct.
Sometimes to be a pain in the ****
The one who will cook, but only if its
For her and another, or more.
But never for herself.
The one that tries to give the best advice,
But never asks for them to listen.
Sometimes she thinks she is male,
For always wanting to be right.
But at the same time, she is female.
Whiny, crabby, always up in your face.
She is indecisive, she doesn’t know half of the time.
Her name is Chelsea.
She is pretty cool.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 12:20 AM UTC
The Empire State Building is a giant middle finger
Concrete is broken, NYPD, taxis racing, red light green light
I enter the hand of the city through it's capillaries breaking mad concrete
Warm gusts of **** grime, and transportation swallow me
The city feeds off dreams and hope which we personally, willingly give up
We all somehow learn to accept this fate
The passerby no longer human but broken mirror
The hand inundates my eyes from breezes of tomorrow
The spacy apartment, and the affluent career and the acquantanceship
Of the handful of New Yorkers that run the hand: all questionable plans today
It's as if the hand's grasp, although sharp and brick, would venerate your intellect, guaranteed
If that's the case, I see wizards of wisdom everyday snoozing on concrete and cardboard and plastic
Bearded, black with dirt and skin, threads ripped by a world inferrior than the one in thier minds
Empire "Middle Finger" State of intellect, scrapping billion dollar clouds
Sardine can subways, escalators, elevators, high on crack **** speed of sound
The cash nerve system meltsdown into golden chips to feed the pigeons
Glass and steel craft spaces for modernity to be sold like a Washington Heights *****
You can feel the growth of the hand at the end of your intestines
It's a warm, uncomfortable vibration revealed in your ********
Foreign tongues buzz through the air, through your hair for 19.95
New York needs a haircut, some profound discipline so we wake up from this bizzare life of welcomed pain
You once charmed me with hopes of culture, open minds, connections, real connections, love and laughter
Yet, Today I am hungry in Murray hill
I am cold in Chelsea
I am broken in Union Square
I ***** in SoHo
I have fallen in the East River
And I bleed on financial monoliths
Someone have mercy on my wills
It is an intention trying to be fulfilled
But failed when it became self-aware
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 11:44 PM UTC
"The actual pressure must be made more pressing by adding to it consciousness of pressure, the shame must be made more shameful by publicizing it." Karl Marx
Edward, Julian & freaky Chelsea:
Why didn't they hack Time Warner &
Give people things they truly need,
Like a good 5-cent Fattie,
Free high-speed internet & cable TV,
Canadian hockey & **** channels included?
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC