"chocolatier" poems
this girl I know
who always wears summer dresses
and a smile
lent me a book on awareness
but wants it back before
she goes to work in a conflict zone
for the red cross in september
she travelled in a big red bus
to a surfers festival in donegal
where she worked
in the big red bus café
on her breaks she surfed
smoked loads of ****
listened to reggae and ate falafel
last Wednesday she received a
back payment from the social welfare
and felt guilty about it
so she donated half of it to charity
bought donkeys for three Ethiopian families
spent a small fortune on ingredients for a friends dinner
and paid for my vegetable soup
she stopped at a chocolatier
to buy one solitary chocolate
and then ate it hurriedly
while she chatted to
a circus guy she knew
about a party she had missed when she
was on the big red bus
while skimming through books
in the spirituality section
wearing her summer dress and a smile
she said she felt sick
from having eaten the chocolate too
quickly and was sad that she hadn’t
taken the time to enjoy it
today the red cross sent her for
a chest x-ray
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
I want to go to Austria
and taste the cake
visit every stone-
wedged cafe
and watch the
chocolatier
Oh this life is
wonderful
where I can fall
asleep and
meet you in
Vienna
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
The horse breathes in the city, the world of unrelenting pistons
And steam from the jingling harness, and the jangling windows
That reflect the bolting sparrows like fire arrows in the coming night,
Viennese darkness is like the smell of the chocolatier mixed with snow,
Sealed in a sachertorte with the alley-crack of the riding whip on coach,
Viennese sunshine is like the baker’s soul, rising on flashing coppers and tins.
Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 9:25 PM UTC
*concerning an English lass... i rather 'ave a kebab than eat that **** to be honest: she's had more **** than me -stani! well yeah, thank **** for that, i don't need gangrene on my mouth as necessary lipstick; i liked Queen and Freddy Mercury too! but that ain't the point!*
shady concerns for East Europe by
feminists concerned with
prostitution are only subvert assertions
of post-colonialism; one
***** doesn't mind another,
write like a **** darling,
you'll get anywhere - the *******
are from England or Corseted France,
uptight ***** let's face it,
real "rebels", instead revellers of Ibiza,
and nothing more, Brussel's toothpicks
rather than chopsticks fidgeting over
some other worthy capitol; i mean, who needs
a chocolatier nation to govern us
when we're all suddenly diabetic?
turn my women into ****** i turn your
men into ******** cock-users un-necessarily
circumcised by the St. Paul's doctrine on
his way to Damascus - because those
retards should have, have your feminism's worth
of **** to boot - index and thumb
insignia on the Ire forehead: L: LOSER;
cos' you are - fudge-pack those sheep
off **** off the Dover cliffs and i'll won't
gang bang you silly with a Welsh tongue,
ole V!
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
when he grows up
he'll be a chocolatier, he supposes.
yes, a chocolatier.
what dim light holds money
compared with the brilliance of cocoa's richness?
many times he traded a crisp dollar bill
to the cashier, for a Hershey's bar —
the cashier, he knew, had drawn the shorter straw.
he could not understand big people
in their big buildings
with their big cups of coffee,
aching with bitterness all day long.
what they needed, after all, was a bar of chocolate.
what do you like to do? they'd ask him, those big bitter people.
sometimes he wondered the same thing —
what did they like to do?
did they like to sit at their big desks
and hope for bigger checks, someday?
he knew what he liked to do.
“i like to make people happy,” he told them,
“and i like to eat chocolate.”
they laughed at him, sometimes.
he didn't think it was funny,
but he liked to see them smile.
"would you like some chocolate?" he'd ask.
they would look confused, almost
like they weren't sure he was talking to them.
they said sure, they wouldn't mind some
chocolate, and he
would give those big people
a little piece of chocolate.
but their eyes would ask him what their
mouths would not:
why?
he was practicing, he said,
to be a chocolatier.
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 8:46 PM UTC
The real fairy tale life
Christmas eve, cuddled up with blankets and homemade hot chocolate (it's chocolatier and creamier than normal hot chocolate) and marshmallows, with a stupid old chick-flick that you've watched every year for the last 10 years, because it's become your tradition, and then putting the kids to bed early and hiding their presents and getting everything ready for them, because even though you'll be tired all day it's worth it to see them smile.
Going to the grandparents and the in-laws on boxing day because Christmas day is your day with the family, and having fun, playing board games because you can't beat the classics, sitting down for a dinner and laughing at ****** ******* jokes.
And then when the kids fall asleep, loading them into the car and going home, ready to go back to work the next day, because you work a full time job just to support your family to make sure they're never missing anything. Only to get ready for new years eve and partying the night away with your friends before escaping to kiss at midnight...
That's the real fairy tale life, not the marrying royalty and becoming a princess but marrying the one you love and starting a family, because not everything has to be perfect, just as long as you're together
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC