"confection" poems
*i always imagine you so very graceful
through the masochists ordeal
a god form of supplication
seeing your face
in love
fascinated by shimmering kisses
that hurt, yet please
wet lips and sharp teeth
glamors that excite
cold blade licks dragged across
tender bellies
naval
buttocks
and flexed toes
stinging
then radiating outwards
wounds become lilies
mouth *******
tremulous weeping kisses
ecstatic cruelties
blood glitter sacrifice
your supplication
love pangs
i'm shaking apart over you
your countenance
a cascading dream
moved to tears of adoration
your limitless
yielding
like surrenders caress
an infinite communion
with fragile limbs
silky wrapped spools
innerness of desire veiled in a shroud
a faltering star that glistens crimson
nymph of purgation
ash volcanic
cells en-flamed with tongues that bite
subsumed in scented vapors
a confection of **** and ***
waves embrace ineffable shores
passed the discontinuity of life
I have the most immense feeling of love for you
am i not
the saint death
quietly following you
through life's labyrinth
innocuous
waiting humbly in the wings
i am all ache for you
a vice of kisses
a brief encounter
that eats your sight and senses
ushering you to immortal freedom
a swooning garland of fire that enlivens
the body electric
a mist of molecules
your tears intoxicate
i am new life with in you
budding embryo
that consumes its mother for nourishment
and saturates like dew drops
as it echoes through oblivion*
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
With those acid wash jeans
With that full sleeve of twirling black ink
With the drapes of long hair
I thought that we could leave the xplosion-club
After the confection of colognes
After the South African red wine
After the pounding music all night
Something **** about
A statue that can move
It's eyes
Something **** about
A man that thinks
Openly
We took the subway back to my apartment
You picked up a pebble and tossed it
I was quieter now
Would I let him inside? I have to at this point it seems
A charming prince
is a charming prince
I open the door.
Nothing bad happens, as I expect
I am a little paranoid I don't know why
(The club flashes back)
The door closes without its usual creek,
And we're inside.
Me and the charmer; I wonder, was he once a frog?
I have a funny feeling that I think came from the wine
Am I trashed or
Does he have horns?
Slimy toadskin, red eyes, 1000 inches of claws
Suddenly
Are upon me, Oh my God!
I tell it to leave mE ALONE,
It doesn't listen to me.
Every time I try to slip out of it's grip
I slide into a claw
Gushing this stuff from the movies,
It covered the bed and then the floor,
It probably leaked out from under the apartment door.
My cellphone rings in my pants pocket
I can't reach it because by then this grendel thing had broken me
Into two legs, a torso, two arms
And a decapitated head
While it eats my right lung, my left hand tries to desperately crawl away
He pokes it with a great fork; no escaping crums
The awful amphibian finishes and leaves forever.
He's never coming back
A winner-and-loser kind of *** I guess.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
A scarlet confection
Made to tasty perfection
For your mouth’s inspection
The tip of the toppings
The vanilla flavored frosting
Is so tempting to you
The taste bud’s elation
In what you are facing
Is something like devil’s food cake
The tiled floor kitchen
In the hours bewitching
Leaves your pulse a twitching
From the caloric intake
And the hours you shorten
By licking the shortening
They are a mistake
But they are your poisonous pleasure
Made to bake and yours’ to take
It’s a sweet treat we call cake
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
They say marriage is all about compromise. If that's the case, newlyweds Kia Parsons and Billy Bunning are off to an excellent start.
The UK couple had different visions when it came to their wedding cake; the bride wanted an all-white tiered cake with cascading sugar flowers. The groom, on the other hand, wanted to incorporate his love of comic book superheroes into the confection. So they met somewhere in the middle:
Julia Baker of Tier by Tier cake design created the cake for the couple's August 14 wedding in Milton Keynes, England. One side is the traditional-looking cake the bride wanted. On the other side, icing curtains reveal the logos of Marvel characters Captain America, Spider-Man and Iron Man, as well as Batman from the DC Comics camp.
"I loved every minute making this cake, as I knew it would be something that people would be surprised at and appeal to all the Marvel fans!" Julia told The Huffington Post.
In all, she spent 40 hours on the cake. It took 12 hours to make the sugar flowers, and the cake-baking and building took about 28 hours.
Needless to say, Kia and Billy were thrilled with the finished product.
"Julia did such a fantastic job and we were completely overwhelmed by how brilliant it looked!" the bride told HuffPost. "From most angles of the room, the cake looked like a traditional wedding cake -- just what we had wanted. It wasn't until the cake was moved for us to cut that our guests realized there was a hidden extra. Some didn't even realize until the photos went online after the wedding!"
On Tuesday, a photo of the cake began going viral when it was shared by the Life Of Dad Facebook page.
"I was surprised at how popular it was and how quickly the pictures circulated on social media," Julia said. "I have plenty more ideas to work on and I am calling these 'double-take cakes.'"
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth
www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
The write was written
red ice
twice bitten
his soul a black clot
a faucet for a neck
she fell in a crepuscular fold
odor of tincture fuckubus
red mouth
a snarling kiss
a hot hiss chariot
a black bite
her womb spread wide
for a tongue that didn't end
nail polished *******
like torn cherries
soft gauze tourniquet
a slow yield
milk petals and rivulets
a ghastly confection
leaning over like a spilled ***
her gullet a metropolis of jewels
forced throat bound
on a black cross
she sailed on a magic carpet
like a vampires fizz cocktail
a red ice float
of starvation
his mind a dead sky
a pageant of coiled clouds
he held her down
she levitated
they were in love
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
I think of you, my dear, a collection of perfection.
Your extracted sweetness churned into a sugary confection.
Honey forged from honest bees is said to taste the best.
I plan to eat the nectar from your consciousness, ingest.
Purity is known as that which is undisturbed,
Non-Contaminated and original...unfiltered.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
a taste of frozen snow
how about pistachio
chocolate fountain
or vanilla chateau
could be strawberry fields
maybe mixed
with honey and wine
or collected from
the lower slopes of
confection perfection
call it what you like:
Dondurma,
Kulfi,
Cornets with Cream,
perhaps like Agnes,
Queen of Ices,
wading deeper
into blissful sugar,
waffling
back and forth
in endless
flavored dreams
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 12:56 PM UTC
The bitter yet sweet of this delicate confection,
leaves me gawking at its quite utter perfection.
One bite sends me off onto a relaxing voyage,
with soft truffle filled clouds- never a shortage.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
Just stick it in
Pull it out
Blow your load
Gag her mouth.
Bound and fist it,
Cut zip-tied wrist then,
Bathe her in warm blood bathwater.
Watch her bleed out as an oozing cow mother.
This is how we do it.
This is how we **** ****
Boiled **** and ***** nitrates,
Bonging buttchug, grease infesting.
This is how we ****
This our mental state.
Disgusting epoch,
The party *** phenomenon.
Drunk girls, drugged *******
Pearl necklace confection, gourmands,
in stitches
Plagued with itches,
Stemming from ****** abuse.
This is why I ****
This is how I crutch.
******* on the inside.
******* on the inside.
******* on the inside.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
►☼◄
ओं मणिपद्मे हूं
I sing the Self – that mystic fable.
Lie to Truth as Cain to Abel.
Inner blight of fallen man,
enemy of Heaven’s master-plan:
your inner SELF! The guiding light
of Luciferian deception.
Mystic wisdom’s blinding sight;
purveyed as truth: obscene confection.
Listen well – please spare your soul
and sidestep this, the blackest hole.
Your self is sewage! Look within;
behold that putrid old abyss
then dive down deep into your sin
the fallen source of carnal bliss.
Inspire. Inhale in full the stench
from deep within the septic trench
unsounded depths, a cesspool’s source
depravity released in force.
Apart from mercy undeserved
on those whom Heaven has reserved.
Apart from Christ, your sordid purpose;
jewel whose bright refracted surface
glistens, beckoning to the feast
yet never can appease the beast.
I hail your lie, oh Inner Self
you silted continental shelf –
(or are you more a surge oceanic:
roiling undertow satanic)?
New Age myth, and Hindu idol
fallen god whose pull is tidal…
Brahman, Atman, Buddha, babble
lies repackaged for the rabble…
How deep do you intend to go
into our post – Edenic show?
How far the bottom? Whence the end?
Explore ! You’ll never comprehend.
You’ll find still worse – and yet descend.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
I’m the hot dog man!
x3
I put my sausage on your roll !
I put my sausage in your roll !
x2
Yeh!
I can go all night long;
Singing this crazy song,
Put my sausage on your roll,
I’ll put my sausage in your roll,
I’ll be your hot dog man,
You can be the hot dog stand,
I’ll put my onions on your roll,
Put my mustard in your hole.
Yeh!
I’ll be your jelly!
x3
I put my jelly on your roll !
I put my jelly in your roll !
x2
Yeh!
I can go all night long;
Singing this crazy song,
Put my jelly on your roll,
I’ll put my jelly in your roll,
I’ll be your jelly,
You can be my sweet confection Jenny,
I’ll put my sugar on your roll,
Put my cream in your hole.
I’m the hot dog man !
I’ll be your jelly !
I’m the hot dog man !
I’ll be your jelly !
Jenny !
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 9:13 AM UTC
The recipe for chocolate dipped strawberries
fresh ripen strawberries red and plump
given by the sugar plum ferries
Belgian chocolate wrapped in a 1/2lb bag
carefully selected picked by hand
just for you was written on the little tag
Place a pan over the heat on a low setting
wash the berries but be gentle and soft
to perfection of confection you are heading
Take the chocolate pieces one at a time
place them in the pan to slowly melt
be patient everything is just fine
Stir the chocolate in a very slow pace
careful now don't let it burn
this isn't a cook off or a race
When the chocolate is melted remove from heat
next you dip the strawberries till its covered
then place your berries on cookie sheet
Place berries in a cool place so it don't melt
freeze the rest of what you didn't use
I believe a little bit of bliss you felt
When you and your man are cozy in bed
have your confection ready to be served
give one to him so you can be fed
I'm sure he will ask where did learn this
all you have to say from a recipe
then you give him a passionate kiss
Nov 17, 2009
Nov 17, 2009 at 8:25 AM UTC
Honeysuckle running deep in nostril's recollection
Wafting nectar dripping in air, please stop
Must stay present, no time for memory swap
Sneaking in, yellowed dreams, desirous confection
O purgatory, keep me still, deviate no such inflection
Causeway flash backing egg yolk, and lemon spectrum
Road lined in runners, speckling scintillation
This loose maddening of honeysuckle titillation
Reverse your tendril's twist, quivers an ungated septum
Covers, green to yellow transitions, honeysuckle bedlam
I cannot dance down this lane for fear of you
Your ringlets curl, clasp, coil me
On such road of alluvial soil I see
How can I? Must I, escape steer of dew?
You're honeysuckle memory of all I knew
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
Lights dim,
Colour explodes,
For upon the stage there is magic
and in the orchestra pit there is music,
Young dancers robed in elegance
glide across the richly decorated stage,
And the night smiles by
with selection after selection
of sublime ballet confection,
The dancers dazzle and daze,
Their bodies hugging the music's enchanting embrace,
Upon their faces are the smiles of summer and golden radiance,
On their bare backs ripple muscles glowing with the sheen of sweat and glory,
Their breath comes in quick bursts as they fly through the air
and land as gently as a feather on the breath of a nightingale,
The girls are as bright as dawn's first light
and the men so supple and full of ecstatic zest,
These gifted artists were not from the snow-capped streets
of St. Petersburg
or from the steppes of the Bolshoi
nor were they from the giddy heights of the opera at Notre Dame de Paris
nor were they plucked from Covent Garden's glorious school of Royal Ballet,
No, it was none of those rigid and regimented corps de ballet,
For the vibrant and energetic dancers that mesmerised the audience
were living the pure joy of life,
These young men and women were from the poor villages and back streets of Cuba,
They brought the sun's warmth and delight,
They brought the lightning's energy and spark,
They brought the air of vitality and light,
They brought the moon's bewitching sophistication and surprise,
They brought the colour of life to their art,
This was a night of remembrance for the human soul,
What wondrous poetry in motion we can sprinkle and sparkle
if only we let our prejudices seep away,
Come, let go of the rat race sweat and pain,
Just ease back and let your mind be transported
to another time, another place, another type of magic,
Go enjoy a night at the ballet
and see human expression expressed through movement,
Witness tales of myth and wonder without a single word spoken,
One flick of the wrist
or the pointing of a finger
or even a tilted head
can say more and mean more than a hundred thousand spoken words,
Hearts full of love's deep lyrics told their tragic stories
through a mere touch or a caress,
Hearts were lacerated with a single swipe of a glance,
When two lover's shyly held hands and smiled
there was a thundering hush in the Hippodrome,
The lights changed from a cold blue to a pulsating red
and the orchestra showered the stage with glittering notes,
Drama, Music, Dance...
*This
was
Theatre.*
©Rangzeb Hussain
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 4:19 AM UTC
My Grandma had a purse shaped like a cobbler.
It was Blackberry and soap with a good dose of thyme.
She kept it close to her side, but behind her
so as not to impede her graceful march.
At some point the original strap had been lost
and replaced with a cherry red confection
that swirled around her arm and latched
onto the top crust that is always the most crunchy.
A few buttons were picked up along the way
and dotted the top layer like ladybugs dancing.
The zipper was never fully shut and there was often
a receipt sticking out, or perhaps her pink comb
that waggled in the air like a tongue in delight.
It wasn’t a big purse; just enough to satisfy
a healthy craving but big enough to care
were you not to see it present at dinner.
I have almost forgotten the healthy craving,
the smell of Blackberries, and why the ladybugs
should ever want to dance.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
You're a little pastry box wrapped in blue tissue paper.
You’re the first bite into
every brownie,
every ****
every pie,
every cute little confection.
You're that thin ribbon of caramel across a layered slice of cake,
You're the sugar still lingering on my recipes,
the little puffs of flour with each turn of a page.
You're that extra dash of cocoa
and that sprinkle of vanilla and
the egg stained finger prints on jars of paprika
and cinnamon
and nutmeg.
You're the soft crack of a brown egg,
the raw taste of extra batter..
The sizzling butter in the bottom of a pan
You're every scent of spices and salts and frosting
and the sticky sweetness of glazed honey.
You're the walnuts and sprinkles on top of last summers birthday cake.
You're the peppermint sensation on the roof of my mouth
and the sweet flavoring on the tip of my tongue.
You're the delicate drizzle of chocolate
over a homemade batch of sugar cookies,
the finishing touch.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
~~~
*On the edge of sleep you are the moon
suspended in a midnight sky
shining among all the stars in heaven
A ’twinkling in your eyes
You are my Sunday morning
sharing skin between the sheets
And lazy afternoons
That leave me full, complete
You are a life long journey
A path that leads me home
A fire to stir my passion
The only one I’ve known
You’re whispers in my coffee
Sweet echoes are my cream
You‘re the rage of lustful yearnings
In my silent movie screams
Just like a speckled puppy
You bring me youthful joy
Like a candy coated confection
That leaves me wanting more
You burn with fire and flame
That robs me of my sight
You’re everything I long for
An ageless guiding light
You are a timeless vessel, dear
The maker of my sighs
A keeper of my secrets
The flame I can’t deny
You are that haunting melody
Rewinding in my head
A bold and tasty morsel
That keeps my hunger fed
In dreams…you are the moon, love
Sweet whispers in the night
You settle on my pillowslip
To make all my wrongs seem right*
~~~
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 4:40 AM UTC
In summers past, hot and hazy,
we wandered northern shorelines,
sand whipping salt brine and
vinegar enveloped, marveling that
even the Amish possess swimwear.
I lingered at the taffy shop,
toe-raised peering through smudged
glass and candy bins, spying
both worker and robo-worker
pulling long tough ropes of
salty confection and memory.
Our time on the path is pulled taffy,
event-pummeled, tugged asunder,
reunited bittersweet.
baked boardwalk beneath feet,
cobbled personality planks
stretching taffy of time
In summers past I was there.
In summers present i am there.
In summers beyond we are back
there once again
folded and kneaded
smiling, reunited.
This is the back-end of forever,
yet do not fear;
the dying of the light
is the dawning of the dusk:
a wheel that we spin,
a point that we traverse,
a keeping of a promise,
a memory of a scent,
a vision of disorder,
and the chaos in the calm.
Cower.
Rejoice.
Repeat.
Amen.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
Have you seen her ?
Her skin is like winter
Her hair as strands of gold
Her eyes a cerulean shade
Though she has unsteady hands
Yes ! She is in Wonderland
The ground is of sweetly confection
The clouds are of candy floss
The waters , of buttermilk
Though each grain of sugar is a little white lie
Oh how gracious , sounding oh so pleasant
And her name is Alice , soft like the finest taffeta
Do you happen to know where Wonderland is ?
Haste , Haste !
Oh yes I do , I have been there many times !
You must be willing to devote yourself completely !
For wonderland is of other-wordly proportions
But if you must know , She is in a the pretty box . Motionless in white
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
You are
the Object of My Affection
my reason
my direction
The cause
of this infection
I can't break it down
.... in sections
Not a vote
in an election
My sugary confection
A whirlwind
of protection
A needle deep
injection
I can't stand
this harsh rejection
You are the seed
of my reflection
We share
the same connection
Perhaps thought
just projection
With further
real inspection
Was found
in that detection
I have no need
for our perfection
I'm making
the corrections
To be the Object of Your Affection
I hope it's not too late
that your love it still awaits
me
on the BRIGHT light of the sun.
Love you
Cherie Nolan*© 2016
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
Like sugar from a shaker, snow falls on Saul the baker
delivering steamy biscuits from the shop he calls his home
to a drafty run down mansion where the princess on her pension
can be testy with her tension, hence she's living on her own.
Today he took her order, "One fresh bagel, for a quarter
'cause I haven't seen the likes of one since I left my childhood home".
Well he'd never baked a bagel, but he's not one to finagle
and wanting just to please her, finds a recipe from Rome.
And he's thinking to himself, "I must be way out of mind~
no woman's gonna want a baker's life"
but he carries deep inside his heart, the will to be a friend
hoping someday she will come around and one day be his wife.
So to win her deep affection he packs up his best confection
takes his chances on the back roads, now iced over in the storm.
Finds her waiting in the foyer with her thrifty 5 cent lawyer
complaining 'bout the day old bread and... "this bagel isn't warm!"
So..... he heats it on the fire, 'cause her heart is his desire
but she won't accept the bagel for it's not quite the right form
And he's thinking to himself, "I must be way out of mind
no woman gonna want a baker's life"
but he carries deep inside his heart, the will to be a friend
hoping someday she will come around and one day be his wife.
So he runs back to his bagel board and pounds the dough and rolls a cord
and shapes the perfect circle to a bagel lovers dream,
He boils and then he bakes it and to her mansion then he takes it
piping hot but now she wants it with churned butter from fresh cream!
Well he's starting to get antsy but he knows the farmer, Clancy
whose butter is fresh-churned and known by counties far and wide.
He heads out to the pasture and he buys what he is after
and returns to find, 'tis so unkind, the princess, she had died.
The baker in his stricken state swallows the bagel off the plate
he calls the cops, pulls out the stops and serves the day old bread.
He gives the details more than once of how he ate the evidence
and though he thought his story bought, they arrested him instead.
"Tis a likely story", was the only thing he heard
although they'd bought his baked goods, they could not buy his word.
"The Baker is a Butcher", is what the tabloid said,
"better to take your bagel cold than take it in the head."
But all was not as it appears, she owed the butcher in arrears
and when they went to check her craw they found a hunk of mutton.
It ended all without a trial, the butcher he did reconcile
and posted "Pay the butcher now and do not to be a glutton."
And Saul was thinking to himself, " I must be way out of mind",
no woman's gonna want a baker's life",
but he carried deep inside his heart the will to be a friend
and it turned rather nicely as she willed him in the end.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
In God We Trust, For He Invented Reasonable Doubt
In Courtroom of the State of New York, Part 62,
where the only decoration extant,
in gold leaf letters,
a magnificent joke,
In God We Trust.
Words so incongruous
to the real time drama,
a poorly acted Law and Order episode
of which I partake,
(as Juror No. 1,
ergo you may address me as
Mr. Jury Foreman),
they stun me into stupefaction
every time we enter and the
Bailiff pronounces with much gravitas,
"Jury Entering"
A potpourri of a dozen Manhattanites,
with wisdom acquired
by the singular virtue of
having attained the robust age of 18,
noteworthy for being free of
criminal record,
having been nominated
to sit upon the jury that will decide
the fate of one Eric B.,
for what he may have done upon West 11th Street
one Summer night in
June Two Thousand and Eleven,
If adjudged guilty,
New York State can take,
incarcerate him for up to
15 years of his life
Predicate felon by the age of twenty seven,
Eric's resume consists of
four felonies,
two misdemeanors
a wife and two little children,
and a partridge in a pear tree.
Facts turgid and muddy,
Eric tells a story
one juror calls a confection of lies,
no one murmurs
much disagreement in the
tiny, overheated room
we have been sequestered to
replay
the 2012 version of
Twelve Angry Men.
But I am not his peer,
nor am I a seer,
common sense says
if appearances are what they seem to be,
he aided and abetted
in the forcible taking of
a nice Connecticut lady's cell phone
with his brother who just happened to be
released from prison earlier that day
A convoluted tale
ripe with inanities is told,
upshot is our defendant's tale,
his robust defense,
portrays him as the unluckiest man
in the whole world,
a good Samaritan,
*{chasing after the thief,
** ** his bro}*
against whom events have conspired
In Manhattan can be a harsh place,
where the natives
a tough lot,
tougher than the Indians from whom
they stole it all.
Our bridges we sell to out-of-towers,
all it takes is one to say,
what the heck,
reasonable doubt is
a ***** to overcome
so let him go
Jan, 2012
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
She is the object of affection
No matter how wide the selection
She gets in your head like an infection
She"s sweeter than any confection
But there"s a certain section
That I"m vying for inspection
Please no rejection or defection
Let me make a correction
I just want a you collection
Pardon the change in inflection
But I can"t hide the ********
Because when I look in your eyes and direction
I see more than my reflection
It's simply...just perfection
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 4:06 AM UTC
I left my heart in the top pocket of her denim jacket,
The sickly sweet sugar of her bubblegum rubbing off on it
Making it less heavy, making it beat steady
And each time I saw denim in my mirrored reflection
I wondered if she stole my heart to keep as her confection.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC