"colander" poems
fischers rap
on a hot tin roof
bristol creek pools
over rock and seed
english wolfhound (and the barkbuster)
stroll pine lane
vibrant colors
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
forest green
field mice squander
in cotton wind
goats and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and ****
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
hidden
in swollen grey logs
creepers fill the
cut stone walls
coy wolf high
on a frayed white rope
eagles perched
at trudy’s bend
catamounts laze
on a snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent
through a failed ground rock)
brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the spirit jamboree
quizzical squirrels
crack their nuts
as pillow clouds float
over telegraph trail
12 point dances
on talus and scree
hen hawks float
in a big hard sun
clydesdale and coach
trot copper smith road
(glancing down
on finch and the warbler
whistling through
colander row)
lavender fills
the peat soil box
mountain cats
guard the heavenly gates
black eyed ridge
is wide and open
the country squire hails
this fruitful land
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
The one with the
crack
along the middle,
dark and so thin
words could fall through
like water in a colander.
Under the grand chandelier,
a slew of sheets
spat with confident blue juice,
cardboard-covered notebooks,
a team of paper ***** to be tossed
towards your wooden jail.
Sketches of mice, polar bears,
a recipe for rabbit at his right elbow,
red Shakespeare
and a well-read thesaurus
as scruffy
as recently rinsed blonde hair.
You always ***** the lid
on your own *** of ink, black,
sleeping silver scissors
near your French dictionary
and shells over a plastic
sunglasses case.
The table
in the room
in the house on Tomás Ortuño,
serenity bathing you,
a golden spark
of solitude.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 5:07 PM UTC
.
When you caught my wandering eye,
love was a small word to hide behind,
an improper play seen through a diaphanous veil.
There was a new star in the sky, a mint room,
still searching for a lost dream.
I sit and watch a world die, and another take its place,
a kaleidoscope colander, as silence has its throat cut
with delicate skeletal lace and a face of porcelain.
A whisper to the zephyrs of second glance
echoing through the histories of the future,
a plea from a roving orb like a mute scream.
Did you hear me talking to the wind
where the wild things grow, recapturing misty joys.
As the Horns of Cernunnos reflect the primal stag
and the cusp of the Moon vibrates a soliloquy,
you caught my wandering eye.
© Pagan Paul (17/08/17)
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
“Just don’t leave marks,” we said,
Profiles illuminated by the hazy Manhattan skyline.
Wine trickled down our sides
As I learned I’m just a number in your phone
So maybe I’m just someone for you to ****
But ******* does it feel thick and rooted.
I’ll press your words back onto your skin
So you’ll know I’m not just a myth,
I’ve been here all along in the echo of everything you do.
I filtered life through a colander
And you’re all that was left.
I’m open and star-shaped for you.
If you’ll hold my hand in a diner,
Will you hold it in central park?
Let our lips realign,
Let me wrap you up again
Let me fold into you like origami spoons.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
The many voices of the evening
gramophone the sky voice the cell phone
the tablet the notebook, that monotone
observer of mutations purveyor of maladies
the persistence of memories, pale pink light sink
burning in the fires lighting up the skies
an old pang, smitten clang, the pain balm
mug-life, pen-knife, kettle-strife, all the sheaves
them echo-songs that haunt the drill-wells
that are cut wounded and wear fetching
chants, to an yearning oblation
bay leaf, curry leaf, yes, them colander coriander
there's a rhyme of charlies, looping from
our holy wars to now our holy hours with
the ombudsman, the omniman, the only God
who used to thunder for the ****
old Zeus, the Lord of Betelgeuse, him who we
called dead, exhumation, exculpation, exaltation
an ancient loneliness that calls from the nether
depths, now science, now freedom, now pagan.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
Those spuds were all dug up,
using a fork of tempered steel,
The potatoes with all seeing eyes,
Met harvest with a fleeting glimpse.
Popped neatly in a washing up bowl.
Given a wholesome freshening shower.
Into a cooker where the pressure built so.
In their hearts they softened you know.
The bubbling water, it did go.
Pressure off with the flick of a switch,
The cook she stabbed them,
The son of a *****
Relieved the rather hot sensation,
Through the colander they went dry and amazing.
Drizzled them with just a trickle of milk,
Added a touch of butter and pepper.
Now with the seasoning all complete,
Mashed to bits.
Let's all eat.
Dinners up,
Sweet!
(c) Livvi
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
your body is a dazzling colander;
filtering my pieces out.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
Floating on restless waters, tonight,
broken moons breathe in waving clouds;
Time is a colander, through which
life escapes, never to return; Yet tonight
the beanstalk remains tangled;
I sat watching swans in the moonlight
where the canal and stream met;
Rock the boat! Peace is a botheration.
Could the road that diverged loop
back to the fork? Walking backwards,
tonight, leaves and assorted bits of paper
fly forward; After the off-licenses close,
someone's dashing for the last bus
before dawn, running in reverse; three
hooded figures lost in the cemetery,
walking backwards; The moon
weeps tears of mist, that
ripple spreading inward in the puddles
after the rain; There's a weeping firefly
crawling in the sink; Or the kitchen-lamp?
Bubbles die to the siren-song of crickets.
Is there is an Ithaca fabled?
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
My biggest fear is that everyone will eventually discover how positively unremarkable the soul beneath this husk of a person always was,
To shy away from the cringing passersby as they gawp mercilessly at the offending blemish of my existence.
I'm trying to learn how to like myself, but it's a pathological, preexisting condition to be able to identify all of the things wrong with me simultaneously as an individual and as (un)contributing member to society.
I don't mean to be so cruel, for I know in my heart that self-love is paramount to intelligent, peaceful, pleasant enlightenment,
It's merely that I sense some ubiquitously negative energy whenever I make the attempt to muster up some sort of internal kindness.
No, it gets wasted on all the strangers and non-strangers in my socially habituating dwelling.
I'll share with them the stars from the sky and the very constellations from their hearts and make them feel positively dynamic and optimistic and they'll walk away from me with a cushy spot for hope in their pockets.
And I'll retreat to the shelter on my back, drained as if the flow of my mind were poured out in a colander, leaving the pulpy, distastefully rude thoughts that remained to wreak havoc on my crippled self-esteem.
I'm so sorry that my kindliness is some lewd pantomime of genuine altruism.
I'm sorry if I destroyed the ethereal, impossible image of who you fashioned me into.
I was always afraid that this would happen.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
What he knows to be her lamp,
Exhaled bronze light.
Obsessively unflinching mid-range stare,
Front teeth pushed forward, from the placement of his tongue over the years.
A vague un-answer,
Obfuscating, leftward facing eyes complete with matching set of lips,
In an unusually high voice mentioning predictables
Dragging behind the boat.
Purple refracted nylon extra tensile-strength line.
Half mesh half polyester, with a carefully closed-door shave.
Couch ridden drone strike 3 floors due north.
Considering the symbolism of when I got my coat back from her room. Saved her the trouble of throwing it off her bed.
Forward through brick, laid algorithmically and FedExed in, he could have an answer but would have significantly less automobile.
Both first and last name lower case tonight and many others.
Silent E Novocained.
An on-again off again lightbulb. Colander as lamp-shade.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
The last girl I kissed told me I have a heart like a colander,
it is 2007 and I have not met you yet
there was no reason for my feelings to be wet grounds in coffee filter
I had yet to need the caffeine, but with you,
it lays there soaking
more than five years of boiling into unattractive brown sequins.
I am still kind of the same: still hear
pinecones hitting the roof and think that rain is falling
still dream about ************ in front of my biggest infatuation.
My heart still strains a bunch of gunk, I think it could be a kidney too
but now it simmers for a while first and stores
images in locket cases, now sometimes I believe in love,
it is 2013 and my name means serene
yours is “wealth” for every bit of love you can collect, are keeping.
The last girl I kissed would not believe I gave any at all
I even rejected the sea
because inside every conch, I heard creatures who could touch me
if I would just climb into their shell-walled places.
When I was thirteen, I attempted to cook pasta without water,
this was also when I was obsessed with
cutting every photograph in my mother’s reserve
either to display it on my white plaster door or to **** those pictured.
I murdered eight different family members and myself
nine times without even sending them through a paper shredder.
I am still kind of the same:
though I soak everything up before I can throw it away.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
You called me golden
Like, perhaps, I could be a California river
And now I know that I am that swollen western stream
Scattered with pebbles of treasure
And you are the man that is sifting through me
Marveling at a beauty I cannot see:
Telling me how the sun made me sparkle,
Bragging about the curve of my body through the hills...
I know that I am that western vein because
I know I give more than I take,
I know I could never stick around for long...
I feel like you're like the others
Who held me in a colander and
Walked away with all I could give them.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
He was tired of the ordinary and he wanted something new.
He wanted to hear the sound of the moon.
He wanted to taste the tides.
The sound of the cacti growing in the desert was like music to his ears,
but he could not remember anymore exactly just what it sounded like.
He wanted to go back to when he did not have to remember
because he could hear it always,
but he could not go back.
Time had put him where he was
and he could not turn back time, but it was not just a matter of that.
He knew that somewhere he had lost his understanding of himself, and with it
his conception of the world
became skewed.
He did not properly understand
the instrument with which he experienced the world
so he was not appropriately situated to judge what he experienced.
Once he understands what he is
he sees his flaws.
he sees other things too.
The rays of the sun fell in a multitude of rays through the trees,
the canopies acting as a colander; taking up most of the rays
but allowing some to slip through
where small trees and shrubs seemed to congregate.
One of the rays fell on the boy
and as it did he opened his eyes
he was no longer a boy.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
The self-contained sunlight trickled
through her apricot skin, the dream-like sense
of suspension receded into the driftwood calm
as the birds glued to the wind chime
danced their static waltz. The closeness of
her body in the hotel room's single shared bed
focused like the uncasing of glasses from
a cotton shirt's breast pocket. The entire
room dulled as her hair fell away from
her eyes still closed but staring directly
into his neck, innocence beading her skin
like sunlight through a colander, her relaxed
breath fomenting a juvenile refinement, like
drinking cranberry juice concentrate from
a crystal champagne glass. His eyes filled
with admiration, not necessarily towards
her but the unconscious movement of her
cheek nestling against his shoulder.
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 2:04 PM UTC
Not alone
Like block shaped wheels our lives stumble at the chapters we write
Corners seem dark and teeming with doubt,
alleyways call in echoes of our name,
as if tempting us to crawl when we cannot walk
“Fear begins the parade at our fragile hearts”
Shades are drawn and slotted with eyes watching,
voices ring the halls of the buildings looming large,
rumors of pointed fingers find our ears in colander fashion,
dripping fear at our feet
“Waves conduct sound, crashing vividly as we hear”
We cry,
hoping these tears will somehow wash the pain,
fill the gutters and move out to sea,
casting waves upon unsuspecting shores
“Wishes…more waste than want…at least of these eyes”
When of the shadows a touch,
softly at first, then strong upon our shoulders fall…
comfort leaps to our hearts in sing song praise,
wishes become goals and finish line adventures
“What is this light, soft yet sure, found within”
We are not alone, darkness hints at light
and butterflies fill our air with prism’d colors and soft breezes
collecting on our damp cheeks and drying the aftermath
of our understanding of reality
“Dreams of these nightmares fade into happiness”
We find footprints in the dirt…two which are not our own,
closely, yet affectionately following our way and bringing direction
to our dreams, yet the nightmares still flourish
but we do not feel so alone
“Fences built may keep us in yet… may keep us out”
For this hand, from a distance,
climbing mountains and fording rivers
leads our hearts to the safety of love just beyond the bricked wall,
the ivy covered monolith, the chain link disaster
which once stood locked
“Finding that a breath may exhale peace…again”
Now stands open of the arbor of hibiscus
blooms and teapot pourings fore our eyes…open and hopeful of the coming truth
once lost beyond our dreams…and we breathe
for it feels right to breathe while standing in the darkness…not alone
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 9:12 AM UTC
Like block shaped wheels our lives stumble at the chapters we write
Corners seem dark and teeming with doubt,
alleyways call in echoes of our name,
as if tempting us to crawl when we cannot walk
“Fear begins the parade at our fragile hearts”
Shades are drawn and slotted with eyes watching,
voices ring the halls of the buildings looming large,
rumors of pointed fingers find our ears in colander fashion,
dripping fear at our feet
“Waves conduct sound, crashing vividly as we hear”
We cry,
hoping these tears will somehow wash the pain,
fill the gutters and move out to sea,
casting waves upon unsuspecting shores
“Wishes…more waste than want…at least of these eyes”
When of the shadows a touch,
softly at first, then strong upon our shoulders fall…
comfort leaps to our hearts in sing song praise,
wishes become goals and finish line adventures
“What is this light, soft yet sure, found within”
We are not alone, darkness hints at light
and butterflies fill our air with prism’d colors and soft breezes
collecting on our damp cheeks and drying the aftermath
of our understanding of reality
“Dreams of these nightmares fade into happiness”
We find footprints in the dirt…two which are not our own,
closely, yet affectionately following our way and bringing direction
to our dreams, yet the nightmares still flourish
but we do not feel so alone
“Fences built may keep us in yet… may keep us out”
For this hand, from a distance,
climbing mountains and fording rivers
leads our hearts to the safety of love just beyond the bricked wall,
the ivy covered monolith, the chain link disaster
which once stood locked
“Finding that a breath may exhale peace…again”
Now stands open of the arbor of hibiscus
blooms and teapot pourings fore our eyes…open and hopeful of the coming truth
once lost beyond our dreams…and we breathe
for it feels right to breathe while standing in the darkness…not alone
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
.
Like crooked wheels our lives stumble
between the chapters we write
Corners seem dark and teeming with doubt,
alleyways call in echoes of our name,
as if tempting us to crawl when we cannot walk
“Fear begins the parade at our fragile hearts”
Fear begins as shades are drawn
and slotted with eyes watching,
voices ring the halls of the buildings looming large,
rumors of pointed fingers find our ears
in colander fashion, dripping fear at our feet
“We long to speak as waves conduct sound, crashing violently as we hear”
We long to speak but we cry,
hoping these tears will
somehow wash the pain,
fill the gutters and move out to sea,
casting waves upon unsuspecting shores
“Wishes, more waste than want at least of these eyes”
Wishes, more waste when
from the shadows a touch,
softly at first, then strong upon our shoulders fall,
comfort leaps to our hearts in sing song praise,
wishes become goals and finish line adventures
“What is this light, soft yet sure, found within?”
What is this, darkness hints at light
and skies blush among prism colors
and soft breezes collecting on our
damp cheeks and drying the aftermath
of our understanding of reality
“Dreams of these nightmares fade into happiness”
Dreams of footprints in the dirt,
two which are not our own, closely, affectionately
following our way and bringing direction
to our souls, yet the nightmares still flourish
but we do not feel so alone
“Fences built may keep us in yet, may keep us out”
Fences built fall, as this hand, from a distance,
climbing mountains and fording rivers
leads our hearts to the safety of love just beyond
the bricked wall, the ivy covered monolith,
the chain link disaster which once stood locked
“Finding that a breath may exhale peace, again”
Finding that a breath, neath arbors of hibiscus blooms
and teapot pourings, exhales open and
hopeful of the coming truth once lost beyond our dreams,
and we breathe for it feels right to breathe
while facing the darkness, no longer alone
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
My peace is in bits,
My bits are in pieces.
I'm forced,through a colander through dreams what got broke.
I'm choking on a passion which hangs round my neck.
I'm broken and battered,
Life on the whole is doing me in.
I'm fighting a battle
Got not no chance of winning.
There will be no awards for me in this role.
A tumbled disaster I've lost all my goals.
There is monster living under my dress,
My monster is criminal, it's first name is stress.
It affects my being, it affects every function.
Between here and there and then and now.
In my dark space
I'm stuck at the junction.
I so detest it.
(C)LIVVI
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
Yesterday, I plucked up the planet and dropped it into a colander. I shook it through, taking out all the ships and lifeboats, the yachts and canoes. Putt-putt boats and blow-up rafts. Every life vest and floating device was carefully removed.
Today, I cried for twenty-four years. The oceans began to rise and the coastal towns fell off the shorelines. Everyone fled the coasts, but it did not matter. After twenty-four years the world was covered and all things green with life were drowned and flooded. When my tears slowed, I scooped out each eyeball, wrung them out, and then placed them back into their sockets.
Tomorrow, the water will recede for twenty-four years before I find any solid ground. When I do, I will crawl out from the sea and let the sand scrape at my body. The tide will wash over me until I am sprawled out, absorbing the rays on my speck of land in this ocean-world.
The sun will sink into my skin. I will dry out. My brittle remains will crack and flake away when the sea reclaims its only island.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
a dish containing my bones
& several vital organs
laid to rest on a bed
of colander and sage
a pretty platter
a selfless oblation
one hopes a gift of such
heart might be atoned
& wrapped in a cocoon
& sent away to float the sea
my insides ravaged
my restitution complete
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC
There once once was a time
When you still felt young and full of life
Until the world came to a stand still
This is all the same old rhyme..
Stuck without time moving with the Earth, "Forward."
You begin to stack up the Memories in Books of Journals
of your teenaged years
Cutting you open
With cold blades of "Future Fears."
You are young...Yet older.
Years whisk by you quite quickly..
Until stagnation and Lazy Wastes
of your Colander fill up all of the year's spaces...
Sickly..
Old and not young enough to be part of those "peppy and in Crowds"
However, your not old enough to be among the respected old timers...
Alone in the center - tears of regret fall down your cheeks...
Until Your Higher power's Voice
Get's sick of lending you tissues..
From his voice...….
"Keep on Going and Become" - his Booming and distinct voice speaks.
Jun 2, 2021
Jun 2, 2021 at 11:36 AM UTC
Mnyamata
I pretended you were laying next to me, stroking my hair back to kiss my face. I smiled contentedly, and on my exhale, remembered you were not here. A physical ache pains my chest. As if heartbreak was literal.
I feel like I'm losing you. You're slipping through my fingers like sand, and I'm trying to catch you with a colander. Soon enough you'll be smoke that I'm trying to catch with my bare hands.
This is the most alone I've felt in a long time. I pray but God is silent.
Tonight will be a long night. If you wake up and read this, know that it's not your fault I'm crying. I'm not sure why I'm crying. I have to many reasons to choose from.
I hope you sleep better than I will.
Ndimakukonda
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
a while back.
a colander full of popcorn.
a blue light in my corner of the house.
a dying man more cheerful than I am.
a sofa or a bed, never both full.
everyone wants to be alone.
no distractions, only work to do.
forgotten hot dogs in the crisper - better put them back.
memories of phantom pizza from the last time we were happy - I've reheated these leftovers over and over - the plate burns my fingertips - maybe I won't have an identity - maybe I can start over - maybe i can do it right next time, how I was supposed to do it right this time, the last time, and the time before that.
the refrigerator door seals my fate.
plants of the same seed grow farther apart, reaching for their own sun in the sky.
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC