"covets" poems
A breadcrumb I am - the morsel of my old dough,
a piece of chewed bread rotten, missed near a toe,
shredded by the sons of righteousness and “normality”,
entombed I am under the carpet to fulfil “morality”.
Mum added the yeast for me to grow, as well as flour,
Hoping my crust would golden as a vivid live flower,
She sprinkled little salt into me, to know the grimes,
Sugar too, for life brings out the salt to eyes, at times.
Dad poured the water, to soften toughness uncalled,
For man is kind too, not merely clay masked, walled -
And above all, they added affection and compassion,
They wanted me to satisfy mineself, not one’s ration.
Into the oven, 9 minutes, under fire: I show colors,
The warmth turned the heart warm for all others;
I am left to rest, to harden the shell and eternal body,
To be perfect as ma and pa wish: not adverse, shoddy.
But the stale, unpuffed, unfresh bread of this world,
covets but loathes what is good and not yet twirled,
It wishes for me to inhibit mold and evict dignity,
Mais allez, étrange moi, expose me not to malignity.
The least of their gurgling sounds puncture heads,
And the weakest of their advice the spirit dreads;
The making of me is the capacity of mine flexes,
Your ingredients suit not me, mortals and sexes.
Days yearn for you, not this battle of complexes:
You, mine old dough who suddenly “complex” is,
My parents baked me on low heat nice and gentle,
And they sear me with words not for me, mental!
Know you: Pita, Kmajj, Brioche, Shrak, or Baguette,
Bread is bread, could be different, but it is no threat.
Jan 18, 2023
Jan 18, 2023 at 9:27 AM UTC
When on a crisp morning, her blush in daylight
speaks to me in silence, suggestive sweep
of eyes scan notice looks, smiles, select
moments for admirer to choose chance.
~
First touch is hair, fingertips enter,
while soft languor covets skin,
just this, enough to arouse eyes,
hands feel blessed teasing love.
~
lips drawn toward a meet
of anticipation, smiles become
ready form to grace each other,
eager, anxious delight begins.
~
Your taste while I look inside
sultry eyes, saying go, go
draw my hips against yours
hands slide and shoulders …
~
While now tongues play
gasps and fever arise
my need to taste all of you
begins, soft lips, just love.
~
Our bodies now connect,
I feel your ******* as we
begin to breathe in one
another’s *** – *******
~
a blouse began my passion
that now slides along my chest
feeling your ******* draw to
my waist, I’m eager, eyes close.
~
Will you please unlatch my …
yes, as zipper falls and finger-
tips touch inside sliding sweet
lips delve into a grasp of me …
~
I lean back against today’s wall.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
Sitting alone
Wrapped in darkness.
Its cold embrace
And emptiness,
Reminiscent of a life
That I once had.
Her touch,
A seductive slash
Upon my lacerated skin.
Her kiss,
A tantalizing poison
Upon my parched lips.
And yet as she turns her back
Is as the sun wanes
And the moon covets its light
With a foolish, jealous glow.
And even as twilight arrives
The moon still doesn't let go.
And as she walks away
With a flick of her sharp hair
And a roll of her dark eyes,
She leaves me a crooked smile
Which captivated
And I was mesmerized.
But suddenly,
Through the darkness
Appears a stunning bright lantern,
Breaking my trance
By beaming brilliant rays
And shining with compassion.
Sitting, no longer alone
I bask in the inspiring aura.
Warmth enriches my heart
With a revitalizing swell,
Reminiscent of a life
That I once had as well.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
Madly-
I am missing you:
As surely as the meadow covets the soft embrace
of morning dew;
as sure as the sky slowly awakens its canvas
to the suns soft stroke of salmon pinks
and crimson reds, light magenta's, oranges,
amber's, and pale silk Persian blues.
In these moments of absence, I am,
in more than one way,
completely enraptured by the thought of you.
Your loveliness, your smile, your kiss,
your magnificently adorned brown bluish green speckled eyes,
undulate in my thoughts brightly like moonlit folds
of surf crashing into the core of me:
slowly soaking through the sandy shores
of my equally undulant, brisk, and fluttering heart.
Then, as an off shore breeze crosses tenderly about
my waist and fingertips, seductively enveloping me,
I am reminded of how closely we laid:
Tangled beneath our blanket of fervor,
side by side, with a mutual breath of passion
as excitement cascaded through our paralleled sensoriums
and quickly translated into a fiery touch of the lips,
as a fervid scratch of the hips,
and finally into a shared exhale of relief
as if to whisper to one another “come closer, be mine.”
Still, even as these grains of memories feather effortlessly
down into my thoughts like the sands of an endless hourglass
encased with the echo of your inviting voice
enchanting me with sweet nothings,
I am left with a yearning for your physical presence.
I want you here.
Time inches along and as I slowly lie my head down to sleep,
hands clasped shut between pillow and ear,
I am, in my thoughts again, reminded of your ubiquity,
of your enamoring effect on me,
of how no matter the distance nor the time between,
baby you are here, captivating my thoughts
-madly.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
As I sit in the station
A kid comes into view
Extremely obnoxious
Raunchy and rude
He wears lots of spikes
Has piercings galore
Wears his hair in a mohawk
Biker boots on the floor
My Flesh wants to judge him
As a Punk and a Freak
But my spirit is willing
For Your eyes to seek...
*Oh, give me Your vision
Let me see through Your eyes
Let me not judge the lost ones
In no way despise
They could be Your jewels
They could be Your prize
Oh, let me be gentle
Let me see through Your eyes*
I go to a restaurant
And there at the place
Stands a derelict person
With pain in his face
He stares at my burger
And it is clear
He's starving hungry
And covets my beer
Do I move from the window
And relinquish my seat?
Or buy him a burger
And french fries to eat...
Chorus
There's a lesbian woman
Next door where I am
She has a Butch haircut
Is hooked with a femme
She has a loud voice
A masculine walk
We never converse
We never talk
We say polite things
Goodbye & hello
But she might be hurting
How could I know?
Chorus
Jesus I'm blind
I'm deaf & I'm mute
I want Your compassion
I want to bear fruit
Let me see through Your eyes
Let me hear with Your ears
Let me speak with Your voice
Assuage all their fears
Give me Your hands
To dry all their tears
Chorus
The enemy waits
To tell them his lies
Let me feel Your mercy
Let me see through Your eyes
SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/31/2016
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 2:18 PM UTC
I keep aware of the dry crusted cup covering me, trapping me and my thirsty dreams, sealed, and the glass is the kind not clear not sure, what is on the other side. My palms fit flatly against the surface and my ear presses against the silence, searching for a tone deeper than my own shy scrawny voice. Because I talk in memories and in daydreams and my words are so muffled while passing by those purposely planned for now junkies. They toss their names into the air too urgently and I mistaken their desperate greetings for a sharp goodbye. Inside this cup I can see perfectly their whole lives ironically strict and guided. Their critical hard hearts that carefully ration its beats each day at a time, scared of losing their spontaneity; and I feel a certain kind of sarcastic love for those constant people that stumble and scatter their hopes and desires, spread thinly, threaded loosely. Their cups are cold and wet and they are jet black satisfied. My fingers curl into tight fists, white knuckles, knocking on the china glass, china cup. I only wish it would crack and collapse, puncture a hole to peer in through. Tiny cuts skim across my hands, the skin is breaking and the cup with its taunting fits of laughter, covets me completely. Bang bam deep boom, tap tap, crack, just crack, a small crack, to compensate for my suffocating reality.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
Sister wants the jewels
Brother eyes the deed to the house
Aunt Jan covets Grandma’s wedding ring,
She has for years.
Uncle Ted asks about the furnishings.
Casually.
Like carrion beetles we swarm
seeking the juiciest bits for ourselves.
Masking avarice with feigned grief
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 12:17 AM UTC
I've got my opinions as any other;
Hopefully, I'll be clear and you'll understand
that our silent words are useless -
For the trees will willingly clap their hands.
The one true God spoke into existence
the birds, fishes, plants, mammals, Earth
and all forms of life including...
Humble beginnings of Mankind's birth.
The sound of our individual voices
is something that God covets and enjoys;
He wants our unadulterated praise verbalized
with heartfelt, cheerful, and celebratory noise.
Our real outward expressions of faith
for acknowledging His holy ways
can only be accomplished via...
Sincere, loving and audible praise.
So open your mouth during Church worship
and praise Him without doubt!
For your silent words are useless -
Causing even the rocks... to cry out.
Author Note:
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 3:51 PM UTC
the crystal clarity of each drop
Is my very own
Glass Menagerie.
You are beautiful
In Every Way...
what matters not,
boy or girl,
when entitled to
Beautiful Poet:
that covet,
covers and covets the world
in any language
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
Lasers on my lunch
Greedy golden dog covets
Even satsumas
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
A whirlpool of thoughts swirled
as I slowly jogged around the park.
Amid the futile struggle of light,
against the approaching dark.
To never let go of the strings of past,
as stubborn as a flickering flame.
The road ahead mirrors the bygones.
We needn't look far for the blame.
The crushing burden of modern life;
facing the music with his head unbowed.
He gets on his feet with wounded knees,
and smiles at the succumbing crowd.
Innumerable choices present themselves,
as many as the peppered stars, abundant.
Each with unfathomable potential, yet
the path chosen invariably redundant.
He walks about the infinite desert;
the scalding ache of complete isolation.
He covets the presence of a nearby soul,
whose essence is but a mere reflection.
I drew in a lungful of evening air;
the immediate difference, so stark!
Yielding to the juggernaut of conformity,
as I slowly jogged around the park.
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 8:59 AM UTC
The ten commandments say nothing,
in the translations I’ve read,
against coveting my neighbor’s good
fortune,
timing,
intentions,
sense of style,
or the countless other intangibles
gifted by Nature
and our DNA's mischievous inventions.
I’m a strict constructionist,
when it suits me, and especially so
with documents carved in stone
by invisible hands
having no recorded fondness for the market.
I’d trade places with any nameless witch
caught cavorting in her coven’s canopied oases,
their cauldron-ringing capers
and care-free cackles cheered
by owl hoots and cricket song;
Or the smallish, self-sacrificing spider
who rather than a cigarette gets a close-up
view of his mate’s spinnerets dispensing
the silk sheets to wrap him
as a happy meal deferred.
I also envy their creepy hatchlings
who weeks later will climb to the tip-tops
of firry fingers, cast a single wistful thread
and wait for the wish-fulfilling wind
to carry them lifetimes away.
That’s how I could stiff this chill
that taps me on the shoulder, and chase
after a far-off warmth I’ve weened
since my weaning was done.
I count these covets no sins.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 6:37 AM UTC
Can it be
I'm the only one left?
The rest of humanity seems to have gone to shame.
I'm not even sure they are human,
I don't even think they are sane.
The rest of the Humans are gone.
I am only left.
Yet to be replaced by a race,
of hate and greed.
Where everyone covets and wants what others have.
So now I wait,
to be replaced.
By one of these
Aliens.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
Raw
Misty
Morning
mossy beds
seaweed drying
upon clam-adorned rocks
deep mud pilfering
shoes and small things
all forgotten
when tides come in
better to be on shore
than to be out searching
better to be safe
instead of stuck waist deep
in clay-like mud
magnificent
nefarious
stealing
sludgy
thick
mud
the water is cold
as is the mud
mind the tide
the seaweed clothes and covets
what is lost
The clams find homes
in what cannot be found
the mud paints
the pale shoes and things
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 8:00 AM UTC
There is a storm brewing on the horizon.
The shadow covets my harbor,
unimpressed with all the shelter I have sought to avoid it's black cloud claws.
This sickening frame of perspective
soaks up the sorrowful rain;
convinced there is nothing outside of painful growth.
The thunder fills up any space for other thought
and I am overcome with the angry vibrations of particular nature.
Other roots sing out to the rain with acceptance and understanding.
I look to their placement and try to pray alongside the healthy,
but just as contentment ascends past my roots
lightening thrusts it's late night epitomes deep into the soil.
Oh, song of few fragile petals,
although you have been over pruned by unconscious hands,
you are not of that love.
Containing so much more than black eyes and regretted births;
remember the newness of every day.
Keep repeating those memorized murmurs of broken poets,
but keep the beauty of communication
let the mesmerizing misery fall back into the sky.
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 8:38 PM UTC
With silence he is crowned
And eyes which spilt eternities
The future he thinks
To hold the leash
And the past he covets
Beside the fire
It is his desire
To think of it
There is no sleep
And when the sun
Slits the horizon
the wound gushing on pale sky
He squints bloodshot eyes
And he is alone
There is no sleep
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC
Sacred eyes
Those that I cannot kiss
She covets the life
I covet the feeling
We may not touch
We'll always disagree
But I'm still dreaming.....
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
I want to feel you breathe,
So cool and languid,
A gentle rise and fall
Of your sweet skin...
Oh so calm and temperate
Like the resting waters
In the glassy fields
At nightfall.
I want to rest my head
Against your flesh,
Pale and cold like
A cooling, winter sunset...
And kiss your [cadaver] eyes
All the while drifting lightly like ash
Along the soft currents
We are carried through.
The tempest carries our bodies
To the Sleepless Coventry
As the Albatross flies
Over head, leading and bleeding.
The night with the eyes of water and
Painted in decay, cries for
The tragedy I wish to
Live...
And 'tis such a tragedy so,
For I want to love you
In the most ardent
Sense, my darling.
My sweet love, I wish to feel the fire inside your
Heart to keep me warm in my coldest hour.
My ocean soul covets the
Warmth and the silent curves
Of your tender body, becoming
One with the waves...
Like a lone kindling flame
Beneath the sparkling waters,
We burn together, attracting
The teeming luminescent.
Dearest lover, let us fall together into the sea...
Hold me tight in your arms...
And these lips will
Caress your watery eyes,
And bring you the loveliest
Cloud of dreams.
Hand in hand,
We are Shadows by the stormy sea...
Restless Shadows and the Sleepless Coventry.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
Electricity to commence the lesson
Shall we start the heart of a selfish man?
For She is the flame that will spark the love of his heart
The match that will ignite the passion
Which already lies hidden within.
She longs to take his boreal love for the Moon
That bleak, frigid, misled, infatuation he deems love
And bring it to Her summery affection;
The southern ardor of Her passion.
Her heart beats a solo nocturnal anthem
to his fleeing step,
his narrowed eyes, and lashing tongue.
With hope of an aubade
to waken his affections with the dawn
Her heart sings on.
She covets the charm of the Moon
Whose commensurate beauty is looked upon by him
With more favor than a rose from eden
Or any part of Her own.
He thinks of the moon as he falls asleep
And each day he wakes,
Weeping to see another dimple upon the moon's teasing face.
Yet as he sleeps he dreams
And never recalls
Until the lightning shakes his house
And he wakes to thoughts of Her
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
in the hour of our frozen gleam
the minute of our fire.
in the year of our immortal toil
the day of our desire.
in the crease of our unyielding
lies surrender to the void.
to the matador, the bull
and from the horn, aplenty -
nothing good.
II
a masterpiece of blink, the love
that seldom loves the monument -
that stands before the world, a surge
of effortless bewonderment.
a shattering renewal
of a timeless thing to ponder with.
that carries every angel
far above the dread of human steps.
a sovereign note to fugue
is Love that covets
what it's never met
and nothing can consume it all
too ill equipped to join
with it.
III
summer past your face
is how the spring resolves
how winter sleeps.
the dead are long, but life
evolves to swell upon the earth's
descent... to buttress the oblivion
that howls amid the heaviness.
the weight of our conniption
fits the coma, mostly
now and then.
IV
pearls are made of glass men
that shill.
and the willing dark
contains it all.
and It
the dream
we fathom with.
and All
the pearl
we can't
recall.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 8:10 AM UTC
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
For sorrow now knocks,
and racks upon you
its thousand woes
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
As the mourning dew,
adorns your withered rose
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
For the thorny nest,
now covets.
That blackened heart
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
As from this bed,
you’ll never come to wrest;
Ever-nested in ****** vines.
You’ll writhe, each ****** day.
So forgo any and all hopes of rest
And—
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
Whilst the furrows deepen,
and the time for tears, comes down weepin’,
to dole over joys no more leapin’,
joys that strain, under sadness, now seepin’,
As unsown fruits ripen;
and become the unworthy’s reapin’
Truly,
heartbreak’s come
and taken all—
worth keepin’
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
Not for the people’s pay,
no—
for the fool that you are,
swayed as you were,
like child’s play.
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
The people restless;
clamour, bicker and fight.
In wait for their beloved Pagliaccio;
the clown with wit and humour rife.
So adorn your mug with that ghastly white,
and let them gaze.
Upon the clown of wit and humour rife;
not a man suffering under muted plight,
nor one vengeful;
of horrors, in spite.
For you, by fate have been chosen,
to carry,
this chip and blight.
Now, heavy heart, make light
and brave these jagged waters,
that ill-humour has tasked you smite
Go now!
Caper in. To the jester’s tent.
But beware;
be not seen under the searing light.
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 6:00 PM UTC
Do you realize?
After birthing heart-felt prayers,
have you seen them rise as sweet perfume?
For their glorious scent fills God's nostrils
as His Presence consumes Heaven's throne room.
Do you know?
Our Father covets this sacred incense,
that burns in the cries of His Children.
He is forever mindful of us
and our continuing battle for overcoming sin.
Do you want answers?
Christ Himself hears our pleas directly -
No phone operators are standing by.
He desires daily conversations with us
until the day when... we join Him on high.
Author Notes:
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
Three hundred sixty five thousand
rats are born daily.
One or two could be a mouse and
these numbers aren't failing.
The rat pops out
and starts racing through the maze
the bells are loud
He sits in class dazed
walking across the Stage
completely amazed
in rage.
This is it?
Off to the rat factory
constructing little rat watches
too costly for his hourly
jealously he covets
his rat mouth tastes sour.
Comfort, a paw swipe away
promised he was Happily Ever After
he'll get it someday
One way or another
Even if he hasn't to steal, cheat, and lie
Even if he has to die.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC