"coldstone" poems
Tonight I was face to face with a boy who used to ask me out
Constantly
Years ago
Today I ordered a scoop of chocolate ice cream from him
as if it were some usual encounter with a Coldstone employee
No acknowledgements
Just him, me, and the held out ice cream between our distance
It's funny how things change
It's funny how things have changed
And it's quite hilarious how I've changed.
I tend to always search for a group to "fit" in to
But on the contrary I do not.
And just because he forgot who I was
I, along with him, did too.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
Mnyamata
I am so proud of us. Of you.
We could've given in so many times today, we were so tempted. We wanted each other so badly.
But we held out.
From 12 pm to 12 am, we were strong. And we laughed and we talked and played arcade games and ate ice cream like little kids. And even though we gave in just now, even though we did what we'd promised not to do, I am so proud. We held out so long and that means we can do it again.
We will do it again.
And after, when you were driving me home, you, in what I interpreted as an apology, talked for 10 minutes listing every reason why you love me. I cried and you opened the car door for me and held my things and called me your teary princess.
And my mom is frustrated that I'm home late and I'm afraid that the Pale Man from Pan's Labyrinth is coming to eat me, but at the same time, I'm at peace. A melancholy peace where I think about bad things just so I can make them good. I hope you have peace tonight my love. I hope you can remember every single kiss. And I hope you know that I am so proud of us.
Ndimakukonda
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC
You carved a middle finger out of my icy heart
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
*A suggestion of blue within blackness ,
of faith tendered by 'anguish'
Daffodils disguised in tall grass ,
rows of black and gray 'coldstone' strafed in unchecked greenery
Burgeoning , stalwart , once heroic entities
receiving the tempered breath of nightfall -
repetitively and forever
Cut granite profiles tinged in
sunlight and wrought iron , guarded
by water oak and magnolia sentries*...
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
Trees hold memories from over a thousand years.
You can feel so many emotions running through them.
The sky with those clouds tell a story.
you just got to have the eyes to see the words.
The wind blows through the leaves
they clap together and make a song.
open your ears you be able to hear.
The mountains are always full of joy.
Can you feel the vibe of them smiling?
The sunset glimmers in the sky
as the sky goes down.
Can't you feel the warmth of its kiss, on your coldstone cheeks?.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC
I met Solomon today.
We met at Ecclesiastes.
And while having lunch with him,
I asked him to tell me how it feels to be dead.
And he said
"Death is a permanent sleep".
I know that already.
"It's all darkness," he further said,
"Darkness, darkness all the way.
Silence, silence forevermore "
That sounds freaky.
"Yes, and even more in this case,
You'll not receive credit alert again".
"???"
"Yes, and even this your big phone-sef,
Some dumb *** will claim it,
and be pressing it anyhow.
No more emails too,
No Facebook nor WhatsApp messages.
No phone calls nor text messages.
And then, those pictures you took while eating
Ice-cream and fooling around at Shoprite and Coldstone,
You won't be able to post them again.
You will not know what comments you got,
Nor what silly emojis were dropped on them.
No one will tell you how fat you look
Nor how much flesh you no longer have,
Your frown will be but nothing to see,
Your smile too will have no meaning.
No birthday parties, and no more hangouts,
No teasing, no laughing, no funning about
No Christmas rice and chicken stew.
No clothes, no makeup, no shàkara.
You won't even hear when your friends laugh
Nor laugh at the cries of your so called foes.
No football match to watch or argue about
No Betnaija, no updates.
Your girlfriend too will find new love.
You'll no longer get her meechà-meechà
No love, no hugs, no kisses too.
No groaning, no moaning, no mènè-mènè
No sunlight nor moonlight play,
No Nepa light nor candle light
Darkness, darkness all the way
Silence, silence forevermore
You won't receive newsletters too,
Nor read newspapers in your grave.
No need for hope from promises made
and no more pain from those letdowns
Like something that never existed,
You'll be gone forevermore.
Gone into the dark,
Dark, dark silence.
So live life more, as much as you can,
Eat well, sleep more, work out, dream.
Cause no trouble, curse no one.
Be your self and have more fun,
Take less work and live just right.
Let good deeds be your footprints"
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 2:05 AM UTC
deep \ inspace
Old man &/ withered
@in the center
lying.in a
crypt
suspended by nothing
stormy &/ coldstone / Morpheus
black.@in
deepempty \ inspace
dying.is a
person/ified
Old man sleeping
&: the movement
of molecules
is his @in a
deepemptydream \ inspace
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 10:40 AM UTC
I’ll be brief (about poetry writing)
giving up:
expelling of textual agitation in my breast,
expulsing supplies no more the longest relief,
its medicinal efficacy, worn down, placebo equal,
run its course, a good grief, displacing tired belief,
loss of poetry, boon companion, not too late, nor
too soon, conceding, everything due a finalization
woman prevented me from walking in the
tropical storms frothiness, opining to my whining
“that’s no way to cleanse a soul, you’ll lose your life,
not that weight that’s moved up inside, up from the gut
into hearts blocked chambers and clogged spokes.”
thinking the vocabulary, needs a thrift store trip,
to give it all away, besides, prove it, a good taxing,
donating might be quite righteous undertaking, like
flushing of the ewes, needs some new nutrients for the ole
two handed sleight legerdemain.
promised brevity w/o levity, no floating, keeping my feet’s grounded, my animal kingdom, my editorial staff, says a good quitting time is hard to find, addiction, a rolling stone, needs a coldstone fence immovable.
grabbed rucksack, inside Hafiz, Ogden and Walt Whitman, all very good company men, head to the poetry nook, to get my soul brown deep tanned, and enjoy excellent conversations with the Lord,
‘bout childless women, why cancer, and if there be a decent chance we could work out a real substantive cooperative truce between
deity & humans,
one that could hold for longer than a day, a good working relationship ‘tween sky, sun, water and wind, ok, fractious occasional, but on the whole works ok, gotta makes some more notes to keep my new boon above, my new oh lordy buddy well-contented, non-grumpy.
p.s. being an admirer~reader is almost as good as being a writer
9:00 AM
Mon Jul 13
2020
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 5:04 AM UTC