"coating" poems
My lips have always craved the taste of danger.
Maybe it is because I don't know what's good for me
or I'm in love with the high I get from it
The high that takes me to the heavens,
surpassing the pillow-like clouds
resting against the azure canvas
I remember the taste so vividly,
I salivate at the thought of it
It's sweet like candy,
the sugary goodness
rushing inside my veins
delicately coating my tongue
bites between my teeth
explode into a thousand little pieces,
dancing inside my mouth
Your succulent lips pressed against mine,
remind me of the taste of summer strawberries,
juicy and tender with citrusy undertones
we're kissing like there's no tomorrow
Oh how I feel your lips part from mine, then touch
and part again the way the clouds greet the sky
Before a rainy afternoon
How can something so bad taste this good?
Oh I'm convinced your kisses are a drug
Nice to play with, but toxic to the mind
Kissing you must be equivalent to intoxication
shockwaves through my body,
the paralyzing euphoria
I don't think I could ever give you up
This addiction is taking control
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 3:34 PM UTC
so it is, so it be.
life granted me a boon, come to me, the honey.
not the merest of coating, but a power enrichened,
capable of driving out the slow acting, daily killing,
poisonous venom.
makeover, coverup of tears of ancient marriage-madness,
black swan hate disguise, her lies, venom injection of
coffee blood staining love pretense, now just scar tracks for a
new boulevard.
the slow pour, the golden russian amber intertwined tones,
tongue tasted, inside me now, revealed in slow exiting, beauteous,
mellifluous tears.
you dance with the stars, I watch you watching,
clueless that my thee-flavored tears, dance and pour down
my face.
destitute, nearer my God than thee, god blessed this child's life,
love gifted from sweet bees, late in life, flew from my computer screen and sonnet-stung me with antidotes of
love n' honey...
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight
Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape
Summer again
I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening
For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….
She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…
The queen will be safe here
from the rabble
The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
Among these lofty cliffs
Between the raging circuit of the tide
Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
Here lovers learn
the debt of love’s bad timing
“Drink ye all of it!”
--the potion that assigns our sorrow….
She will not sleep—
while I chew this gum-- GUM?
Roll down the window!
Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings
As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity
…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly
Their hands steady the wheel
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
Went to my magwinya lady today,
she's contained at the canteens on north campus,
As she rose up her left eye was bluish ****** grey,
A lump in my throat formed not as big as the one on her face,
my eyes secreted their salty solution,
my mind quickly processed confusion,
"M-m-m-m-may i-i-i p-p-lease have five magwinyas"
She smirked at my muttered utterance as she began to fill the thin transparent plastic with the oily flour-filled *****
I reluctantly asked "What happened to your eye?"
She responded in Xhosa reasonably assuming my common cocoa coating meant our tongues matched until I told her otherwise.
Eventually she simply said, "Fight".
I said, "you got in to a fight?"
She said "Mmm".
I went over to my banana lady and said the magwinya lady has a black eye and she casually claimed, "Her boyfriend beat her yesterday."
Confirming what my teary eyes and lumpy throat knew to be true when I saw my sweet magwinya lady with a swollen eye ****** grey and blue.
Frustrated at the nothing I could do.
Powerlessly pirched on a brown bench as the black sparrows chirped pleading for a piece of my last magwinya,
Should I tell her to escape?
Is that even my place?
How many black eyes are blotched on this bruised land i, a fearful foreigner, trace?
I'll bury my brain in my book,
somewhat cowardly crook,
I'll see what i saw but take no second look,
like a camel's head in the sand,
I'll timidly tell myself these things are just too hard to understand.
Nov 3, 2021
Nov 3, 2021 at 6:43 AM UTC
Neatly coating the floor in thin white trails, woven into floorboards like cotton twine, sunbeams snake their way across hardwood.
Books scream to be read & my yellowed pages ache to detail my experience as a widowed reader of time.
Magazines pile, while my simple hands grow a day older.
Heat on my neck.
The driver of time exhales grandiose,
tells me to travel while I'm young,
visit regions on this globe that grow green with age,
listen to honest trumpets before I gray,
wade in pools of clear urgency.
He said:
"Find a walking stick out beyond the ether
laugh with veracity, poking fun at Saturn & the Stars."
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 1:20 AM UTC
People always seem to misunderstand me,
It's amazing how they can judge so quickly,
That's why I decided to always be the happy one,
The one to make jokes and everything seemed fun,
But what they don't know is that anxiety,
Floods through me.
How much I hold back from the things I really want
You see it's a cruel world out there
I learned how to people can stab you in the back and pretend to care,
How everything you do
is going to be judged by people who have no clue.
So I've learned to sugarcoat my opinions,
Hide behind a lie: a smile
Be the nice one in every situation
Someone who would go that extra mile
Still it wasn't enough,
In the end I was still misunderstood.
Even if my intentions were good
it still got twisted to some bad stuff.
So I just hold myself back
trying to save myself from all the heartache,
Avoiding the trouble my emotions would make
Sugar coating my opinions
In serious situations
Just drowning myself lyrics
Avoiding all the tricky topics
Yet once again they misunderstand me,
They come up with this version of my life story,
they'd assume I'm always lonely,
And honestly it makes me angry,
Because they don't even know me.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
It was early morning when she descended the steps
to the porch side, teacup in hand, dressed in her nightgown.
Steam billowed from her cup, and with a swallow
she examined her garden of weeds and unexpected peonies.
It was early for blooming peonies; frost, like glass,
still settled on the lawn, reflecting sunrise light of tangerine.
The radiant glow of tangerine
cast amber trails across steps
covered in an icy coating of glass.
Between her fingers she tucked her nightgown
and gingerly treaded the garden of peonies
that melted the frost in one great flower swallow.
The barn swallow,
perched not far from the path of tangerine,
must have also taken notice of the peonies
as he took the first steps
to nest-building. She imagined that his lady bird, also in her nightgown,
would enjoy the flowerbed of glass
that he chose for their home. Sipping her glass
of tea, she admired the familiar swallow
lover as she folded into her nightgown
bouquets of peonies that glistened in the tangerine
sunlight. She took the steps
back to the house, recalling her own swallow’s peonies:
Peonies
placed in vases of glass,
peonies lining the porch steps,
peonies presented over morning tea. With a swallow,
she carefully, methodically lined the tangerine
trail with the peonies from her nightgown.
Her nightgown,
stained with the rouge petals of peonies,
dragged along the tangerine
terrace of glass,
blood red with the memory of her swallow
lover’s peony-petaled steps.
The steps to the house creaked beneath her nightgown.
The barn swallow, quieted by the rouge of the peonies,
shut his glass eyes to the skies of tangerine.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
Her master towers over her with his hefty might.
His eyes pierce through the shadows.
Commanding and bold, he startles her.
However, she capitulates to his aura.
She succumbs to his will, a willing slave.
Confined by his power, she cannot behave.
His words are tender, his touch like a feather,
she pines for his control, her soul in his hand.
In the dungeon of rapture, they explore their appetite.
Her master, like a bat, hovers over the dim light.
Sweeps her with his wings to a waltz of submission.
And takes her to the ride of darkness and delight.
A coating of fear decorates her face.
He surprises her with acts that leave her afraid.
She is hesitant to continue her master’s calling.
But her body is dissimilar, peachy, and pulsating.
Her master takes her on a trip of ****** events.
Where she gasps with fright, moans with pain,
and pleasures herself to the sound of the rain.
He takes what he wants; she surrenders it all.
He puts her in her place with words of degradation.
Then showers her with warmth and affection.
Her master kisses her, just like aftercare.
In each other’s arms they find solace in times of despair.
May 24, 2024
May 24, 2024 at 3:56 PM UTC
I'm stressed, I'm angry,
They don't understand,
The rage that burns within me,
The fury in my veins.
"It's adolescent thinking,
That rush in your brain,
The twitching of your fingers,
The scorching of your heart."
Yet they don't seem to see,
With their condescending eyes,
That the feelings trapped within me,
Are more than adolescent.
The rage I feel to ****
The need for blood to spill,
The coating of metallic liquid,
Over my pristine knuckles.
To them I'm very simply,
A 'normal adolescent',
And my fury will flee,
When I finally mature.
But I can see it in their eyes,
The suppressed demons that they hide,
Away from the public eye,
From their 'adolescent' years.
So until I'm what they call 'mature',
I'll just have to stay,
Angry, uncontrollable,
And simply adolescent.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC
The earth in which tired
city feet desire to rest on.
Plushly thick forests,
be lost and never found,
coating yourself in saturated
autumn leaves that
reflect the pulsing warmth
in the golden sun.
Your sticky honey,
rich and sweet pools in mason jars,
tempting to silver spoon scoop and
spur morning teas.
Or the mocha
in newly brewed coffee,
the bold and the cream
swirling inside your crystal *****
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 1:32 PM UTC
sad? melancholic? nostalgic?
eyes flit to a distant memory, a
different time ー
nostalgic? melancholic? sad?
where stories weave in and out of
a young mind ー
sad? melancholic? nostalgic?
once weighed down by heavy blocks of unmelted ice ー
nostalgic? melancholic? sad?
but are now buoyed by words, floating up freely to the surface ー
sad? melancholic? nostalgic?
bravery bubbles up on the inside,
shattering the ice coating your tongue ー
nostalgic? melancholic? sad?
the word house finally opens,
but nothing comes out.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 10:22 AM UTC
As winter dawns,
United they come,
All at once
Coating the ground
With a perfect layer
Of feathery icing sugar.
Tickling our necks
As they swirl around us
They flutter in the wind
Like graceful butterflies
Thrilled to be free at last.
A simple exterior,
But as we dig deeper
We discover
That on the inside it seems,
Like a spider has woven in each one
The most intricate of patterns
All unique individuals
Different and proud
Like dust from the stars
They glisten in the moonlight
fragile diamonds
That melt at your touch
Thus we can say,
That snowflakes are,
A symbol of purity
Like innocent childlren
To be destroyed by reality.
They put us to sleep,
Singing hushed melodies
As they pass by
Like floating feathers,
Following the wind
In our eyelashes
When we blink
Serene and untouched
Falling from the heavens
God’s children
Blessing the earth.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 6:05 PM UTC
his writing caught everyone’s attention
like an artist i once saw on the street in québec
he stood out amongst the crowd in montréal
i asked to take his picture
he obliged
this writer is also canadian
and paints masterpieces
with words
his colorful lines sometimes float on jagged edges
brushes of sticky sugar coating are exchanged
for starker strokes of reality
tinged with weathered wisdom
creating shadows in his work
accentuating the light
there’s not a write of his
that does not stir emotions
his words linger
rolling around in your head
bumping into each other
morphing into new connotations
his easel alive
you wonder if he did that on purpose?
could anyone have that kind of talent?
yes…..his brush continues flowing
even after the paint is dry
suddenly at midnight i awaken
and hear another morsel
a word, a phrase, a color
that only made itself known
in the dark of night
understanding he's a favorite
i imagined audibly hearing a collective sigh
when he contracted cancer
would he now leave his canvas dry?
no, this courageous artist
bravely took his palette
and continued painting
his words that us awaken
now e’vn more radiant
with tragedy astride
and ‘tho he talks of dying
i pray that he will stay
but should his spirit fly
we have seen a master show us
how to walk into the light
©2016janetaylor
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
A stadium filled with thousands of bodies
all pressed together
knowingly aware
but not caring about the abundance of sweat coating their bodies, which isn't their's
or the amount of limbs pressed against them, which isn't their's.
A stadium filled with thousands of people
chanting
screaming
the words which fuel them
give them life
and a purpose to keep going .
A stadium filled with thousands of people
all wearing the same shirt
which represents their love
for simple humans
just like them
which give their life
purpose.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
*I foster a monster
Of my own creating;
"Self-defeating" he slithers
As his skin festers into smiling,
Unrelenting and repeating;
So I slit my throat
With the cold knife of self-loathing,
Coating my skin
With a red dress
Of the life I've been wasting.*
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
Betwixt an atmosphere of a holy nature
By a classic serenade of Christian lullabies
Unceremoniously my body sways to the beat
For every moment that elapses
More and more I become electrified
As in the wake of your presence
A song of budding amour is evoked
Try I may to suppress this sensation,
Though upon a lie I'd asphyxiate
Please do not allow me to suffer
To languish within a plethora of
A sheer and utter coating of blindness
Darling forgive me if I impose
I avidly seek for signs of proof
To know if this is real
What would happen?
© 2011 (All rights reserved)
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 7:04 PM UTC
The shivering eyeglasses lazily coating the ground
Break way to the budding of the season.
To reincarnate is to live the anomaly,
The evergreen boughs bend in the wind.
Coalescing crystals form dew on our morn
To leave a fresh taste, on lips, on tongue.
The time is imminent, but the dawn is young,
My white Orchid, born to the sun.
Simply, optically, it's to weak to touch
Unworthy digits, to blind to see.
My scarlet levees, to right to feel.
The ivory blossom, to right to be real.
Under the canopies, the shimmering outline
Moves closer until the mirror cracks
And our reflections are polymorphicly one,
Our hearts still polyamorously two.
I yearn to dream of lucid lavender,
The aroma surrounds the dream, still dreamed
The scent so real, or so it seemed
Encapsulating this moment in amber.
Until we sleep, until we fly
Together. Our wings open to embrace the quilted high.
Our mouths embrace to fill the void,
Unleash the magic, bathing us in light
Bricks and mortar overlap my thoughts
But time alone is not a wall.
Time alone, it cannot fall
And it still ticks with the beat of my pendulum.
Oh flower, oh life, vitality aplenty.
Your hideousness, a secret untold,
Withers to your beauty, yet to unmold.
Le voyage fantasme is here for me now.
And now the grains slip between my toes.
The sandcastles caress the glass of our hour.
It's never too late, but always on time,
So before the light fades, kiss me and say
"I'll sleep tonight,
I'll dream of you."
Orchid, my Orchid, love, my love
I'll dream with you forever.
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 7:39 PM UTC
From Potent Treasures despite Five Months past
The Sixth Great Angel suddenly appeared
Reminding my Lost Voice which Virtues last
And preached the Sermon of True Self revealed
How Wonderful must your Header advise
Being the Younger of your Sister's sprite
From there Unknotted Loyalty devise
Though snubbed by Pink Dandelions in spite
Now I can see why he chose over you
His Charming Sense knew your Heart was that Pure
And please keep on; Keep that Silver Disc blue
Coat them with your Wings from being demure.
Yes I Agree. Of your True Coating's stand
Thank you so much for reminding me at hand.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
my boy with fig leaves and lightning bugs
tied up in his hair, he kneels with
crimson palms pressed to the unquiet dirt
and hums an abandoned melody.
my boy with sunbeams shining through his skin on the riverbank,
neatly coating the grass in thin white trails, woven into footprints like cotton twine, snaking their way across brown earth,
ankles slick with mud and the dead things that lay just underneath.
my boy with rosewater and stained glass ashes
feels me bless him with blackberries and the softest crush of words,
ice cubed, beneath my lips,
as he wipes the ichor from my chest with callouses
worn down gentle.
the light echoes from his skin
there are no symphonies nor sacraments,
only cicadas singing warmth to shivering willows.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
French Fries
Frying, sizzling, greasy,
Salty, crispy, oily, potato nastiness
French fries are gross
They have no nutritional value
They're a pile of grease that you can't put down
They're a highway to obesity that never ends
They just keep sizzling in their pool of oil
Coating themselves in a thick layer of fat
They're greasy, salty, and down right gross
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
i used to be
afraid of death
isn't that funny
because now
i like killing myself
i like the feeling of
being torn apart by
other people's opinions
i beg them to tell the truth
even when i know
it's not what i want to hear
tell me
tell me you liked my hair longer
before i cut it short
tell me
tell me i'm too skinny
that i should put on some weight
tell me
tell me you're shocked
tell me i should know these basic things
i want the truth
not a sugar coating
and i don't exactly want it to hurt
but i'm starting to think
it is better than nothing
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 9:31 PM UTC
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
I ****** up. I know that. Guilt comes fast, asking what I was thinking. I was doing it for me, but mostly, I was doing it for you. I wanted what I wanted and what I wanted you couldn’t give me. So I let you give me something else, and I tried to be present, tried to accept it graciously, but my head was elsewhere. Guilt rolls down my back, coating it like tar. My head floating around in space somewhere between “do it for her,” and “this is not what I wanted.” Guilt sits down and pours me a cup of tea.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
There is nothing more comforting than warmth
Rays of sun painting my cheeks red
Blistering campfires that tickle my toes
My own blood trickling down my arm
As I looked into the bathroom mirror I felt nothing but
Warmth
Toxic words that had been spat at me disappeared down the sink
A blurry fist fight faded to memory
My black eye and bleeding nose ceased to pain me
All I felt was the red blanket coating my arm
It doesn't hurt
I feel nothing
Silver pens write terrible tragedies in red ink
But they also write happier endings for troubled minds
I am my own demise
My destruction
There is no conductor and my train is off the rails
Spinning, racing out of control
And stopping at a red light
Red lights that pool into one in my palm
Translucent, reflecting the light above me
I see red
I feel warm
I taste fate
She can't hurt me as long as I am warm
I will leave this world with no blood on my hands but my own.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
You were the crisp fresh air I breathed in
Awakening my soul
Clean and bearing no weight
I effortlessly inhaled you
Taking you in
Embracing you and everything about you
Chilled by your presence
Sending goosebumps down my spine
You were the opening of my eyes
But at the same time
You were the foggy air I breathed in
Suppressing my soul
Foul with a hefty weight
Choking as i tried to force you out
Slowly extinguishing me
Avoiding you and everything about you
Sickened by your presence
Forcing me to stop breathing
You are the sludge coating my lungs
Making me want to never breathe again
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC