"confectionery" poems
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,
Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.
28 January 1963
20.6k
Rest your weary body
Drink from my golden goblet
The most delicate and finest of wines
A potion of wild raspberries, bitterness and jeering contempt
Assault the light that dare not shine
It is the elixir of a dispassionate heart
If you possess no fear
Taste the confectionery of sadness call
Where love frightened evades approach
Upon remembrance of the long dark fall
Sip from the golden goblet
Taste the cruel sweetness of pain
Damnation to those who denounce the motive behind the actions
Until the bed of anguish you have lain
But these rare wines have no equal in quality
Defiled by evil and cursed with shame
The unquenchable thirst for blood taints the golden rim
As the murderous night slew the rising of the day
So lift high the golden goblet and drink
An immortal taste of time
Accompany me into the world of melancholy
Where is served the most of exquisite wines
Come close now the hour when words become whispers
Demanding recompense for the crimes.
All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Feb. 8. 2017
Written for the Monster
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
Bright vegetables of the sea,
disordered hair, thin arms.
Tubes protrude among vivid coral,
an array of shades against a sapphire canvas.
Wobbly vermilion wires poke out
from under rust-coloured rocks.
A clown swims quick through the middle,
orange in a forest of fingers.
Pink bonbons, candy canes,
an underwater confectionery store.
Some throb with electricity,
small pools of violet light near their homes.
Others ***** rainbows
from deep open mouths.
Waltzing in solitude
as tangerine horses gallop.
More creatures weave past,
realise they are in a multi-hued hug.
Hidden paint splatters,
are they aliens of the deep?
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
Service station blues:
another meal beside the news
station stand, and as Tuesday
clicks into Wednesday
I wait in no queue to be served
by no one.
From behind the
confectionery battlement,
decorated with the money-off-percent
products below,
a professional service station stalker
walked closer,
(hopefully to queue in the no one
queue beside, behind, next to and near
me).
We waited together for some
service in the service station queue,
as midnight became morning,
black sky to blue.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
Her smile is a rush of a syringe; pushing deep within mine arteries, loaded. Her laugh is addictive, sedatation entereth me. I flyeth higher than any dope fix canst get. She hit's fast, quick; as her eye's art chocolate diamond's that hang on star-night string's, shiny, divined Pearl's wrapped in elegant Filipino linen of a queen. O' mine Asian dream, cometh into mine sleep and feeleth me, cometh in: the door's open, none hellion aloud to pass nor enter, just a place for us to swim. Whilst making affectionate confectionery amour' on thy foreign shore's, mantra's shalt be said as both of ourn name's art whispered: the setting sun to be the picture that goeth down as we dont stop the rolling around until dusk.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
_Together we melted,
Slower than ice cream but faster than chocolate,
Into a confection of infinite sweetness.
Tell me, how did it all turn to custard?_
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 4:27 PM UTC
get angrier now, there's no sense denying it,
force fed lies to ostracize little girls from buying...
free candy ladies. look over here, James has a pink truck and i swear he's not queer. ha.
i got bubble gum, i know you want some, yummy yummy in the tummy, stop right there I'll force it down
choke. digest. you didn't chew, see how it gets when you don't listen,
Jamison is a confectionery in the kitchen.
i can bake you cookies, just get down on both knees...please.
see i already asked you nicely, .... you know you don't want me to start shoutin' and get violent....girl.
i thought you were my world, how loud do you want me to shout it..
now your lying somewhere where no one can hear you cry
i never thought I'd see the day the cake baker took a life...
and i tried...so hard, what could i do, everything in the world reminded me of you...eat some cookies.
they're a little ****** but they're not bad, maybe mix it in with the batter the next time I'm mad.
it didn't have to be this way. you forced me to do it,
i am a baker by trade and now I'm covered in your fluids....
god this is gross, ... how am I gonna get these stains outta these clothes
start to choke.
looking at your ****** body.
the... the... the... cadaver is just laying there looking back at me
smiling.
in my cookie shop I'm panicking...start to wonder how i got pushed this far
now all the cookies are burnt and crumbling.
gotta put those bodies in the oven.
recipes and sweets mean nothing when you don't have love
bake this cake at three hundred and fifty degrees...
just until the hearts inside get gooey and melt over me.
wow.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 9:50 PM UTC
*The Bitter Gourd
Spiked like a Crocodile's back
Bitter it tastes
keeps
Blood Sugar levels
In Check
All The Confectionery and Sweets
Tasty &
Tempting to Eat
Stimuli To
Blood Sugar Levels
Imbalance*
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 4:14 AM UTC
duckling
in return for pity i offer you these
meagre meals:
my heart, substantial not to breathe from my chest but the offer will suffice.
bitten down nails -
stained confectionery colors, a brittle bone penance
stuffed thick cartilage
watery canthus
pure blood and guts that once held me upright.
I can only pray you'll forgive that I know
these choice cuts are not enough.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
The circular confectionery tin has been there every Christmas
often replaced, often changed for a different brand
either way
every year we curse our brains and slap our wrists
for the temptation which overwhelms us
and our carefree nature, wholeheartedly encouraged by our family
''Go on, it's Christmas.''
And so, which one do we select?
of course, the one we like the most
the one with the prettiest wrapper
or the smoothest taste
the one we laugh, bewildered at others for not liking
Sneaking downstairs at night to grab a handful of our favourite flavour
to make sure nobody else can have your preference
until
eventually
all of your favourites are gone
so you settle for the ones you like, but would never choose originally
these are the second best chocolates
they have a mediocre wrapper and a pleasant taste
but they are nothing compared to the ones you would always choose
But now, you've had all of these as well
and you stare into the near-empty tin, rattling with the dull sound of the unwanted chocolates
for a moment you contemplate why anybody would eat those ones first
the colours are mundane and the taste is far from favourable
until somebody else walks past
and they peer into the tin
a hint of pleasant surprise sounds from their lips
''Oh, my favourite.''
And they select the 'dullest' chocolate left in the tin
because the faded purple is their favourite colour
and the sharp taste of orange lacquer is their favourite taste
and they wonder why you ate all the caramel chocolates first
because they would have left them until last
And now the tin is empty
every chocolate loved
by a different person
with a different taste
and when you think about what you truly love
you finally understand
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
i
Confectionery amour', quiet peaceful girl, flower haired gem
Whilst we maketh love to the old spinning record, eyes content;
The moon to leadeth ourn feet, bathed in chocolate fountain,
We prance as freely Galloper's, thither the desert, cool mountain
ii
I'll meeteth thee at the playground, inked in ourn red blotch,
No ticking tumultuous hand, to ruin ourn plan's, none to watch;
A private invitation, a rosey petal to surrender thine oath and vow, a seeded rightful city, conversation open and aroused
iii
Charlatan's to be naysayer's, exactly as the rest hath becometh,
Ourn cloak's to be as spiritual coat's, dashing in none repugnance
The waterside to be ourn resting residence, the pasture plain's to awaken ourn brain's, as we shalt be marksmen of lass and lad.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Can this be my candy kingdom?
Solipistic modifier
Confectionery sweets make my teeth feebler
Weaker
the confines of my mind let me linger
Why can't I stop Abstracting
Is that a bad thing?
What is real and what isn't
Catch me navel-gazing
introspective nonsense
ruminating.
Can it be illuminating?
My mind feels fuzzy
I'll tell you one thing
...
Could this be my candy kingdom?
pondering.
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 7:23 PM UTC
If my path was lucky enough to ever cross yours again, I would tell you that in one of the filed away boxes, in my heart, beneath these ribs, are the dreams that I wished would soar higher and stronger than the winds, like birds that fly between the heavens. I am a statue at the mercy of the world, standing at the shoreline facing the cliff, I've never seen a blue, as blue as the sea, it sparkled like a jewel that I longed to possess, still it failed to make me feel happy. It's all I've ever wanted. But I never knew that I would feel homesick. The dreams sank as I trudged away, on and ahead in quicksand searching for the spiders web of coloured string. It was all I imagined and more, vibrant, tantalizing and visually pleasing, the real thing was much better than the dream. But when the adrenaline burned off I had dreamless nights and during the day I looked for another Prozac, something as beautiful as the powdery soft pastel colours of these little flowers I discovered last summer. Last week on another one of my unplanned trips I returned, with a sporadic buy of thirteen woven friendship bracelets, that inspired a familiar feeling, I could not bare to leave them. As I opened the suitcase finding a pocket I could stash them in, I came across the butterfly necklace forgotten yet hidden so well. It was zipped away and wrapped in a used tissue that I wiped my tears with when you put it on for me. I wondered about the past that I had forced from my mind and examined it for clues of my carefully planned life to which I stubbornly adhered to. Waves of obsessions and phases lapped at the edges and over spilt. Echoes of songs I was addicted to, replayed again and again for months on end until I felt sick. How I got into baking, cakes and sweets all kinds of confectionery. I baked day and night, treats for everyone who knew me. That was just me. If I loved something I loved it. And if I hated something I hated it. It was always just black or white. Too much or none at all. But nothing ever stuck, it never lasted. If I wanted it, I made it happen until it lost my interest. The necklace was my own iconic bombshell. I still love that butterfly necklace, I still love you. It was my own currency, an expired ticket to the absent happiness, it was the golden treasure once the dust from my eye had been removed.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Nostalgic butterfly's of confectionery Felicity
Whilst the draft sways to ourn archaic old style fenestella
Thou wilt be that Cinderella
As I mineself shalt be thy consort savior!!!!
Sentiments to hang as beads
Wherein ourn pictures wilt mark the streets
A Spaniard a Greek freak leaving puddles
Of ourn good tidings!!!!
Daisies shalt grow
Around ourn ancient abode
Yet even with none home
I already knoweth thou art mine roost!!!
I'll giveth thou confidence
If thyself shalt giveth me a boost
And telleth me
Thou loveth mine all
For
Tis I make mistakes
One day a beast
The next an angel
Yet canst thou forgiveth me?
For thou art mine flower bud rose
The comfort in mine toes
In between wherein the warmth never fades
Taketh me tomorrow amare
If thou dares
Do not leaveth
For we got now!
Today!!!!
For whilst I'm still a fool
At least I can say honesty
I'm a fool for thou!!!
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
A rural lady
With her ten year old baby
Comes in the market
Wearing old chappal in feet
and ghaghra- lugdi on body
While daughter in salwar-suit
Both are walking on the road
Without any fear of heat strokes
of forty five high temperatures
Looking at a confectionery shop on the way
Child's heart is tempting
Mother understands the matter of her mind
Without worrying about her poverty
She bought her a "kachori" for ten
Baby takes "kachori" in her hand
and walks with pride n all smiles
Soon baby starts eating
the "kachri " during moving on their way
It is the beauty of childhood
Which do not see the place
Just finishes the purse of mind anywhere it finds a space
This is the thing that shows the height of the relationship
That makes parents god for children
So maybe God is also pleased
Because in the summer we
avoid eating oil made items
On the other hand mother feeding goodwill probably do not harm health
Rupees Money Jewelry Clothing Is not anything
Only mother is everything
Winter heat rain can't break
the mother's protection
Because mother's love is pure
supreme of the super
Which is formidable
to every weather and obstacle
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 7:54 AM UTC
My sense of taste has turned liquid
and melted away like soft butter.
I need it to savor the summer days
of my inner orchard. I need it to
open like a pomegrante blossom.
I need a bite of the powered sugar moon.
I want to savor amber pears falling
from laden boughs, the plasy juice
of ripe peaches.
I crave the smooth velvet richness
of a mouthful of langage,
heaping spoonfuls of words
sweetened by liquid light,
the flavor of mellow memories.
I need poetry full of pastry –
« sugar pyramids of confectionery . »
Taste, where have you gone ? Have you
fled from the wineglass weary of holding wine ?
Must I create a feast of literary edibles
to get you back ?
Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 4:57 AM UTC
*Morning birds sing the praises of Dawn in the confectionery forest of home
Red-Tip hedges bustle with Springlike description , Mother Jay cackle and Eastern Gray playful volition
Simple shaded homes bursting with the wonders of rebirth , sunshine canopies appear as visions to Heaven , Red Fox banter in the Sorghum plat lowland , sprite Doves working fields of Millet and Sunflower , Magpie guards , tickled and curt
Hunter Bluebirds falling to earth for grasshoppers , back to the "Crows Nest" in their continual search*
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
White cream
You are the ultimate luxury. There is a great altar of love in me, you are so beautiful that you want to worship and kiss your feet, bow and bow before your divine beauty, there are powerful vibrations of love emanating from my soul, these are powerful signals of a deep obsession with love. The fire of my infinite love for you will illuminate and burn this world and hundreds of billions of worlds around me, my love is deeper than the universe itself, my whole inner world is dedicated only to you alone, all my thinking is crazy and dreams of you, everything says in me that I need only you are one among all worlds and universes.
It seems to me that my ***** will explode with ***** the heart will not sustain a huge amount of love, and the mind will go crazy. Thoughts about you are a cute sweet ****** of true love feelings. My heart is the soul of the soul and my male ****** ***** are completely in love with you, it is useless to even try to fall in love with another, it is absolutely useless, because I only want you alone in the whole universe.
The taste of your kisses is the taste of your sweet tender soul, these are kisses of higher and at the same time deep feelings. I want to thoroughly insatiably lick and kiss literally every millimeter of your body and soul. From your kiss and touch, I fly away to nirvana, it's a billion times better than *** is a taste of true love, a trillion times better than anything else in this universe. Emotions are amplified trillions of times and the heart is supposedly stopping now from a high amount of heartbeat, adrenaline of love and happiness is going through the roof. I feel nothing but love, passion, excitement and delight, only true happiness from the fact that you are with me.
You are my ****** *** muse of true love, ****** relaxation music. You are a flame that caresses, but does not burn. Cold, but sweet like an ice cream you quickly conceal from caress, sweet as sugar. You are a sweet white cream, skin like white snow. You are a masterpiece of confectionery, a divine dessert, too much juicy and sweet as the most expensive, precious delicacy of the highest pleasure.
Seconds with you are priceless, it seems that life has not lived in vain. I would have pounced like a wild lion on you with kisses. You are light as a cloud. You have the sweetest skin tone, the rarest and the most perfect one for the envy of all, so soft, tender, sensually **** It seems that the most beautiful and fashionable created for your image.
My male ****** ***** is in love only with you, he is obsessed with your beauty, he wants and loves you more and more powerful, every day he longs for you more and more and it cannot be stopped. I feel powerful to what extent you are beautiful. You are the supreme pleasure and bliss for my eyes, nerves, the heart seems to break from love, and the soul as if wants to escape from my body and have wild *** with your soul.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 11:23 AM UTC
Slab Of Flab Protrudes From Ab
twas an incremental subtle expansion of waist
most likely aside effects of one
or all prescription medication
to stave off severe melancholy,
social anxiety, panic attack, et cetera
whereby most everything thy tongue did taste
immediately delivered a randy paunch
to former washboard
smooth as a fresh application of gesso like paste
readying canvass
for partially naked self-portrait masterpiece
depicting naked body laced
with flat as a washboard physique
unlike present dis graced
whereat when sending a photograph
of shirtless self-try with futility
utilizing photoshop to get erased
displeasing equatorial zone of anatomy
saddled with unwanted
fatty tissue that defaced
proportionate rock hard stomach
with a slender man
about five foot and ten-inch build
evincing an aura of being chaste
gone forever analogous to temptation
gobbling house constructed
of cake and confectionery
that nearly did likewise to Hansel and Gretel
readying their not quite plump enough bodies
tubby slathered with baste
yet just in the nick of time
the two abandoned children aced
the sinister plot outwitting
cannibalistic cackling croaking old woman
inducing to break out into song singing
Sarasponda, sarasponda, sarasponda rat tat tat
Sarasponda, sarasponda, sarasponda rat tat tat
A doray-oh, A doray-boomday-oh
A doray-boomday ret set set
Ah say pah say oh.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
You tasted like magic
of the music at a party,
a little like an addictive
champagne on a night
of ecstasy and dancing lights.
We danced to the rhythm
of our lost heartbeats
like a couple of strangers
soaring to the heights
of bliss and crazy starlights.
You were the rest and relief
after an exhausting week,
and I wrapped my arms around you
to feel some electrified sensation
that would soothe my body
on a cozy bed of unfamiliar sheets
or on a dancing floor of drunk souls.
The vibration of the midnight tune
crawled over our skins
as though the healing melody
touched our deep-rooted wounds.
It felt so nice,
I thought you could mend me.
I kissed you in the breadth
of pain and pleasure,
thinking that the confectionery
flowing from your lips
was an eternal satisfaction.
I kissed you in the middle
of darkness and disco *****
in the middle of strange crowd
dancing in a room of broken bottles
and noisy harmony of heartbeats.
I kissed you like a Friday night,
and I found myself
on a Saturday dawn
in the middle of the road
having a hangover
from the music of your heart
and the bittersweet taste of your lips.
I kissed you like a beer.
I loved you like a stranger.
I lost you like a lover.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 1:21 PM UTC
deep in the flower
stationary
in the dark waiting to grow
hidden within the sanctuary
there where only faeries go
seductive as confectionery
sweetest siren silent sings
a message evolutionary
carried far on borrowed
wings
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 6:57 AM UTC
Merlot lips, promises sugary sweet
My candy girl invites with a treat
Her skin a study in creamy perfection
With her cherry lollipop, she gives direction
A music conductor with her baton
Directing my tongue hither and yon
Her natural flavors mingled with cherry
Saccharine sweet she is confectionery
Sticky and sweet loving complete
Into the shower to make us all neat
Washing and rubbing start a fire
Electrocuting each other, sparks from a wire
It is amazing what a Lollipop can do
Sweet little treat for me and for you
How many licks does it take to be gone
As many as possible just follow along.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
Took, passing, as
my chosen word
a comfort-food of preference,
celestial confectionery,
indulgent mewl of movement.
It's a prudent lie
I stir myself
this spoon
of porch-light parable,
a home-brewed benediction
simpers, intimate angelica
infallible
as love....
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 2:48 AM UTC
The sweetest of confectionery,
I swirl among my basin’s waves
The nectar of life’s love,
I embrace for such pain
An effluence of pure ecstasy,
I erupt to merely contain
Such haste, It pervades
The roots run deep, feel no hurt
The streams dig deeper, feel no fire
The thoughts fall deepest, feel no thing
Metallic clouds cover
a kingdom of sand
Not a chasm
Not a prison
Freedom tingles
I feel in every part,
the luxury inside
Yet it stops, I shiver
I drop,
I flop,
all is cold
I look into their eyes,
Empty holes,
speak goodbyes
No joy
None no more
All that lies of me,
is blinding foam,
dripping to the floor
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 11:11 PM UTC
Said One Of My Curious Comrades,
"Please Define Love In Lines Four,
Lines Should Not Be More Than Four."
Said I, "Dear! If Love Could Be Defined In Words,
Then It Might Have Been Understood By Everyone,
As Love Is That Sweetest Confectionery Of A Dumb,
Which He Eats His Bellyful, Knows but Can Tell Nothing.
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 6:54 AM UTC