"currant" poems
From whence we tip to toast the Cocktail new
Too pricey for a Sip, if you ask me
Still, those Pubbers demand your Freshest Brew
Either for Show or Truest Cheers that be
Now who composed the Price which I complain
May rob my Wages on half-month's budget?
You have Defense, though: Is that my Domain
To liver that Sign out of my Pocket?
I suppose either way Purchased or not
Those Senses concerned will take no Notice
With Baskets fare, Bread and Butter forgot
Mix the Lager still Best Friends acquiesce.
The Currant still topped, which to Celebrate
Ignore the Side-Bugs; Light the Good Debate.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
love written on palms
strapped in tandem
asked if i wanted to dance in the clouds with you
right beside me
cloudberry you're my beloved
involuntarily bloomed for your bee
the cure of your currant
leaves thoughts that are never vacant
love is abundant
golden fields cover my heart
touch my tongue
followed by the melody of a harp
up in the sky
ballads never quiet
always highly sung
completely
immensely
sprung
flung into young love
Sep 19, 2021
Sep 19, 2021 at 12:23 AM UTC
His sweat smells like Benneton
Fresh against the searing sun
I close my eyes and breathe in
The breeze that carries his fleeting aroma
Black currant
Bergamot
Cotton flower
Water
Cedar
White musk
Apr 14, 2011
Apr 14, 2011 at 8:25 AM UTC
I move through the woods in ritual
The trees have shed their leaves like
Third sons and eldest daughters,
They cling bravely until the wind uncurls their hands
and bears them away from home.
A scavenger, I search them out, hold them between finger and thumb,
Their last embrace.
Sometimes I will pluck a fading life from a branch,
melded amber and crimson,
the dregs of sun in their veins,
offered in the last vibrance of summer’s heat.
At home, I press them between pages,
tiny spells of weight and gravity
cast to keep their color.
I know this magic,
Autumn and I are kindred in this,
Our eyes are the same soft green and sepia of hiraeth
cradles of remembrance,
nets always cast back into memory.
Like all memories
There are a thousand useless,
The umber of old blood, trodden underfoot,
the seconds that dripped by unmarked.
But we hold the fragile, happy few,
High upon a shelf
the glowing phosphorus of laughter
The currant red of a last kiss
Returned to and returned to
Like an unanswered prayer.
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 7:09 PM UTC
I want you…
I want you instinctually and primitively.
Spiritually and physically.
I want to give you portions of me that I’ve never shown anybody; that will become distinctively yours - recognizable only to you and you alone.
I want to submerge you in a realm of ******** gentleness that perpetuates an aggressive kindness, that stimulates, and soothes every aching, yearning, desire that flows through your body.
Continuously…
I’m telling you what you already knew, that I will always be there for you, and you will never again feel alone or abandoned.
I want to give you complete and total satisfaction.
I want you and every little idiosyncrasy that makes you unique, that others have critiqued, because they didn’t understand.
I want to show you that I can…
I want to dwell in the depths of your being. I want to unravel your complexity.
I want to give you vibrations in the form of a currant that arouses sensationally, at a frequency that makes you hum melodies of ecstasy uncontrollably as you call out for me.
I want to initiate an explosion of soft convulsions from the warmth of my mouth penetrating every inch of your body rhythmically.
I want the waters from the spring of your masculinity to drown me, and then I want you to save me.
I want to embrace you each night and wrap you in between soft warm thighs, and welcoming arms under moonlight, until your torso is wet, drenched with sweat, until each kiss drips from the tip of your lips, and I caress your back with my fingertips.
I want to make love to you the way an angel would if she could.
I want to show you heaven and ethereal visions without limita-tions or specifications.
I want to give you happiness and pleasure unparallel, unlike any-thing either of us has ever felt, seen, or could create in our dreams.
I want to protect you from harm beneath my wings. I want you to believe in me…
I want you to come into my life.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
mind puddles (remembering e.e.c)
mind puzzles (action to inaction)
time on a treadmill
cryptic crosswords
(crystallize)
Act II
{experimental} overcome
black currant swirls
espy telescopical visions
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
7.11.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 1:10 AM UTC
“creamy unto delicious” he marvels and marvelously replies,
when a hazy memory from mournings past asks howz it taste?
this café au lait in a french handleless cup big enough to drown
your bad dreams, just the thing, the A way to start to day, manufacturing schemes to wipe the slate or just add to a long longingly “to never do” list, time frozen, whitened emptily clean, a familiar frenemy
but staying in bed on a beauty of mostly sunny, partly cloudsy day,
is tempting now that he is armed and dangerous with mug gigantic,
doing nothing is so sublime, until a lunchtime of Corona and lime,
reminds you that dinner planning will be needed under the influence of vin rosé, ordering by app so easy, marveling at the choicest array, easy quick under his non-currant existence, wordplay for no-audience
when there is no one there to disagree or temper your eyes appetite,
or bring you café with heart designs in caramel and white, or inquire
howz it taste so you nonetheless reply out loud with tears while wondering how memories live-on, in drinks and catch phrases,
you answer when she no longer, not here to ask, to gentle reprimand,
but answer the answer to everything, with an all encompassing
crémeux à délicieux creamy unto delicious,
reminder to David, you now, king of nothingness, shepherd of no one,
no longer need a real voice to answer unto anything
~for my lover of everything french~
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
you rise and fall like a symphony
(My silk screen diaphanous breeze)
I swim through your History,
(the coral reef of vivid crazy textured nonsense love)
saturated by the light refracted
into your marine metropolis
I coalesce into your voice
(melted butter creamed currant pastry)
and unfurl evenly.
(your solvent arms
propel my luck to fill every container
of your buoyant sounds)
you dance on my sidewalks like
Charlie Brown’s gang
(bobbing caricatured spreading smiley joke random)
you take my crinkling brow
and soften its creases
like newly pugged clay
Be my crutch,
my original thought,
my epiphany,
(reshaping nuance unforeseen renew reold aspiration),
my false laugh
(when I get hurt and love you too much to show it)
my recorded comfort
weaving precious merriment around my every gesture
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
Your love for me is like a black currant-
Red and pink inside.
You are wild outside, but sweet and tender inside.
Make me a promise to never grow old for your love for me.
I will never grow too old to have love for you.
What do you do when you have no-one to talk with?
I think of you, and how close you are to speak with.
Every day my heart grows fonder of you and your love for me.
When does your love end? Mine is never-ending, it never leaves,
and it will never fade.
What does your love garden grow? Mine grows flowers and currants,
all in a neat little row.
When you are gone, my love still goes on.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
Sugar canes are sweet, and you are, too!
Where do you go when you need someone who cares?
I just look at your picture next to my bed, and I know that you will always be there.
Letters are great, but hugs are cheaper.
When you need a letter, I’ll give you a hug if it’s cheaper.
Your love for me is like the night sky.
I’ll always know when you’re coming by.
When the moon is high, you’ll be coming by.
We meet at the middle of the month, and the end of the month, with no changes
to tear us apart.
If it is the middle of the month, I know we will be off to a great start.
Your love for me is like a diamond-a diamond in the rough.
You make my heart beat faster, and a diamond makes your love start faster.
But, I don’t need any stinking diamonds. Give me a hug-it’s cheaper, and more
loving than a case of diamonds in the rough.
Love is hard to last, but I know what is even more tough.
Having no-one to talk with with times get tough.
And, you help with both of those-love and someone loving to talk with through
thick and thin.
You are mine, and I know we will always win!! Love you until time stands still,
or until someone makes us choose love or our favorite pill!
Just joking, I love you still!!
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 7:18 PM UTC
i feel broken, used
like a pawn in the game of chess—when i know im worthy of a Queen
there's nothing to hold onto anymore, no wind in the door
i grasp the impossible, fight for the unseen
what is "real" isn't quite what it's made out to be
i close my eyes and wish for more—
all the hopes and dreams that have been forgotten
i stumble into rocks and stormy weather, one step closer everyday;
past depravity, sheer boredom—into bliss
pure j o y
the time will come, when my people open their eyes & unchain their hearts
their world will be exposed, and they will truly KNOW
everything is a lie!
hold onto something, just believe
a glimmer in the dark of the night
see past the façade
you're locked in a cage
trapped, forgotten
set yourself free..
live in love, in harmony
unite with your brethren! share your soul!
expose yourself for who you are:
a blessed being—a child of the universe
every star, your sister; every leaf your friend;
every person a drop of a water—
falling, floating, waiting
evaporating
endlessly
savor every breath.. taste every breeze
laugh at every closed door and know it's just as easy to break thru it than move on
acceptance is key
ride the currant, don't fight the tide, for it will defeat you;
it is steady, unchangeable
it will break you down
hold onto the moment—it is the only one you'll ever have
let your stomach drop, your heart sink, your toes curl
for there will be a day when your stomach curls,
your heart drops
and your toes sink into their destiny.....
fly high and never look down!
catch every breath, rest in every cloud
SOAR
listen to the emptiness; there's no repeat button
kiss your troubles away
know the path by which you have arrived!
there are thousands of forks in the road, which will you choose..?
i've counted the days, minutes, seconds into oblivion
why observe what can't be controlled?
find yourself in your aspirations
you will meet there, in the sands of time, your peace
hold onto clarity ♥
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 12:45 AM UTC
If I kept walking
Went along with the crowd
Would you miss me?
Cause sometimes I feel like doing so
Giving in to the currant
Just keeping walking
I'd be one among the many
Toss upon this moving sea
Alone - a long way away
Funny that isn't?
Alone among the many.
Where we are all alone together
The irrationality of rational thinking
Is that we must rationally account
The irrational aspect that comes with us.
Cause when does anything we do make sense?
The innocence of a guilty conscience
Is as true as the reverse
I don't want to be lonely
Don't want to be me at all really
Even if I did like solitude - it does not like me back.
But to be alone is different
Alone among the many
Makes perfect sense doesn't it?
Maybe you'll spy me one day
Just for an instant - watching you do
Before a wash of faces carries me away
Would you try to follow or
Would you think fondly of me or
Would you just convince yourself you saw nothing?
If the lather is the case
Then I leave my name with you
Where ever I might go - I will no longer need it.
I will be the Witness.
A terrible wallflower
Graceless and without power.
So maybe - I'll keep on walking
Unsure if I'll ever be anchor again
For what I know of love - there is nothing to gain.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 5:21 AM UTC
he grabs my leg and his claws sink into my barely-there thigh
his hand slips in the denim of my jeans
and when he kisses me,
it tastes like venom
i feel his toxin slither through my veins like a serpent
his ardent fangs gleam as he nips my neck,
and i know that he is the true definition of vermin.
my blood, red as cherry currant
crosscurrents with his slimy soul
his talons delineate my jutting ribs,
surely, he craves the control?
i writhe as he caresses the inside of my upper leg
and i realize,
that this will never end
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC
Am I selfish if you are all I seem to write about?
Always on my mind. Am I good at nothing else? Is that it?
Are you easy to write about? No. Yes. Who knows.
I know you are easier to write about than I am. That's why I don't write about myself.
Because what could I say?
I have nowhere to begin.
I am entrapped. Embodied.
A cleansing experience and a curse.
What am I? Isn't that one of the unanswerable questions.
How was college?
Who is she?
What are you good at?
What are you good at?
getting overwhelmed at the sheer immensity of life.
How the **** does no one else feel it?
I ask too many questions.
Topic change.
I am the sea. I am tumultuous.
Never stop running form one corner of the world to the next.
Never stopping.
I write my poetry in paragraphs when it's written down and in short bites when it's typed.
I wonder why that is.
It's urgent. This is urgent!
Thoughts like to shoot and confuse. Be my muse. Too loud. Can't tide me over.
I think this Mary is laced cuz my heart is beating… how does that rap go?
Hmm, Tyler?
There is a picture in my head of a happy summer blonde with the perfect matte red lips. She is making fun of me. She stares at me and teases me into a pit of madness. She always watches over me. She is my heart and she wants to hurt me. Masochistic pig. Sadistic wolf. Pink is my favorite color. I try so hard to be pink. Pink tries so hard to be me.
A little disgusting ******
Blackberry currant.
Pink *****
Popping pink.
"ck" is my favorite sound.
**** ****
Pretty little *****
**** ****
I want you to pound my pretty pink ***** pop.
That little **** is going to get ****** so hard tonight. Pound you with my ****
Please?
Surprise me, baby. Don't be like the rest. Because I know too well what to expect.
How did I come from such a beautiful creature? How do any of us get here, and why must I suffer more than they?
Nothing has ever been simple with you. Everything has always been so hard.
Beat beat be still my
pounding head. Before the floodgates open. She can't see me weak.
No one can.
But I am selfish and I'll stay.
No more running away.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
etchings are probably finer than carvings, i bet the latter are more country based, as in
rural. wood blocks made from twenty years .
he has done me a service, how to be happy . no need to buy and sell, we can look
and enjoy..
the wax came later, as did the currant slice. neither resisted, the cake one pound
ten pence.
i placed the white paper bag in the village recycling.
so very nice to me today too late, i have resigned. my self,
my work is honest.
i have turned it all upside down, and most of the crumbs are gone, with added blowings.
verb
verb: resist; 3rd person present: resists; past tense: resisted; past participle: resisted; gerund or present participle: resisting
1.
withstand the action or effect of.
“antibodies help us to resist infection”
noun
noun: resist; plural noun: resists
1.
a resistant substance applied as a coating to protect a surface during a process, for example to prevent dye or glaze adhering.
“new lithographic techniques require their own special resists”
sbm.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 2:28 AM UTC
My sweet Lady Sea, how she calls to me (a)
The Hurricane’s wind batters my white sails (b)
My heart locked away with her golden key (a)
Battered and broken by wind my will fails (b)
Through forbidden seas, I am lost adrift (c)
Carried by the currant of a love; shared (d)
Heart of mine, torn asunder with a rift (c)
I leave it open, all thoughts of mine bared (d)
As I lay aboard my raft, I now know (e)
That in the darkness of my heart I thrive (f)
To see the sunset in the west aglow (e)
My sweet and gracious Sea, I will survive (f)
The captain’s heart forever raging mad (g)
With the thought of she so ******** clad (g)
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
‘I’m tired, so tired,’ said Jonathon Black,
‘I can hardly stay awake,’
His wife just stared at the back of his head,
Went back to her currant cake.
She’d heard it all a million times
Was bored with the things he’d say,
She wished he’d pack up his things, sometimes
And quietly go away.
But Jonathon sat in his bamboo chair
And stared at the world outside,
He used to be full of energy,
But something inside him died,
He lived in the shadows of tides and scenes
That were conjured behind his eyes,
The throwaway remnants of others dreams
He’d capture in tears and sighs.
He spent the afternoon nodding off
Then woke with a startled cry,
‘You wouldn’t believe what I saw just now,
Right out of a clear blue sky.
A shadow crept from the bushes there
And it killed young Andrew Deems,’
Giselle had tutted and shook her head,
‘Just one of your stupid dreams!’
The woods, a favourite lovers spot
Stretched out from their own back door,
Giselle would go with a basket there
Looking for mushroom spore.
‘I saw you out in the woods today
But nothing is what it seems,’
She turned and snapped at her husband’s back,
‘Just keep me out of your dreams!’
‘It isn’t a question of that,’ he said,
‘I can’t control what I see,
Wherever a person’s thoughts are at
They keep on coming to me.
Even the strangers that walk on past
Have secrets they send in beams,
You’d think that they would be safe from me
But I’m the waker of dreams.
Giselle had wandered off to the woods
With her basket held on high,
While Jonathon found and loaded his gun,
Went after her with a sigh,
He found her there in a shady nook
In a huddle with Andrew Deems,
‘I thought I’d warned you, often enough,
You didn’t believe, it seems!’
He shot the lad as he tried to run
Then dropped the gun to his side,
‘All I could see in his dreams was you,
But now, that dream has died.’
‘And what will you do with me,’ said she
And bit her lip ‘til it bled,
‘I’m tired, so tired,’ said Jonathon Black
Then put the gun to his head.
David Lewis Paget
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
The ghost boys howled like loons. The ghost boys
had bodies that twisted away without warning, bodies
that forgot to root themselves down anywhere,
unless they were rooting their hands down onto skin
without warning. When I was younger I scraped my hand
onto my pronounced clavicle. My initial reaction was to bleed.
You loved the girls that lined the public bathrooms. They had
brown hair that reached down to their jawlines and they
filled the gaps and the gums of their teeth with orange juice,
to raise their blood sugar, after they vomited, after the cuts
appeared on their faces (doctors’ orders). Their cuts
curved outwards like fields of orchids. Back then, standing with them,
my stomach was sharp as a state I’d never been to.
I’d never been to Georgia, with its strong heat.
Your face in a dramatic bed is not without heat. I am not cold. I was born
in the state far north of here, the state with the birds (flycatchers, kingbirds,
vireos) and the gas station. The gas station never caught on fire, although
I had a dream of you in my bed: in it you were on fire,
the fire mixed with heartburn. Quickly you turned into my grandfather.
My grandfather liked to sit in his brown wool armchair
and smoke pipes and eat black currant pie and listen to Merle Haggard
on the record player, in the wooden house, next to the lake that in late
December rippled with waves. Grandfather died in December.
I still don’t know how to have dreams in black and white.
I don’t know how to lucid dream, either.
Your body, no matter what, mixes with shadow.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC
Scarlet, Mahogany, Currant
The palette I am forced to use.
Merlot, Garnet, Crimson
Colors are limitless, unless you are colorblind.
Apple, Ruby, Cherry
I paint with my little silver brush that escapes me from reality
*Wine, Blood, Sangria*
Red
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 9:00 PM UTC
Remnants of Helene are in the Northeast with gray skies and rain
September is saying farewell
Poet’s walk must continue
Until she came upon an imperfectly placed artwork by her feet
Mother Nature’s wonder
Amber
Canary
Honey
Sunshine
Biscotti
Sepia
Fawn
Ruby
Burgundy
Cherry
Currant
Rose
Mixed in with good measure
Splendidly arranged in Mother Nature’s Mosaic
Sep 28, 2024
Sep 28, 2024 at 10:18 AM UTC
Earth, nothing more than a stage.
Life nothing more than an act.
The happenings among us simply a scene
We have tragedies
We have comedy
We have horror
and we have romance
Some of us are the lead, some behind the scenes
But no matter your part
From the moment the curtain rises,
You preform.
You shine.
and your goal nothing more than when the currant falls..
....They applaud
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 10:51 PM UTC
You were the icing on my cake.
The currant in my bun.
Another came and ate you up.
I guess that now you're gone.
Must have been another bird.
A hungry one at that.
(C) Livvi
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
You've been holding onto rocks
to keep yourself
from being swept away
your whole life.
None of them
were strong enough
Until one day
You thought you found
the one
It was big
and it was sturdy
and you clung to it
But it never
clung back.
Now you've been
clinging to this rock
for a very long time
and the scenery has grown old
You've seen all
the seasons
So
many
times.
But you are not drowning
for the most part
And will take this peace
over the treacherous currant
and all its dangers
any day.
Lately you've noticed
this rock does not seem
big enough
anymore.
Have the rough waters
worn it down
without you noticing
or
have you
impossibly
grown bigger?
You cling tighter.
The rock
does not cling back.
A particularly rough storm approaches
the water is
stinging
and bites.
Suddenly
Your rock has crumbled
out
from underneath you.
You cannot
grasp all the bits and pieces
and put them back
together again.
This throws you down
the crazy stream
You bash into boulders.
They leave
Deep cuts
and
Dark bruises
You somehow make it through
rapids
But try to grasp at small stones
Hope one
could be a steady friend
But nothing sticks.
You hold the small remnants
of your lost steadiness
so tight
your skin is bleeding
Even cling to grass and twigs
won't hold
you cannot control
your pathway
anymore.
You fear
a waterfall.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
CRÚISCÍN...CÍSTÍN BAISE
(LITTLE JUG...LITTLE PALM CAKE*)
Auntie Mary’s
currant cake & blackberry jam
“Mmmmmmmm”
The jewels in the crown
of our forever summer
holiday
precious Corkonian objects
brought back to the lowly lowlands of the Curragh.
All the blackberries
that ever were
bursting with sunshine
& childhood
jumping into the jar for her
as if it were an honour.
They & I
transformed by her
love
& lovely laughter
cake baked
with smiles & chuckles
winks & singings.
Me on her knee...tiny
being kissed to bits.
Me being devoured
by an enormous hug
smothered in bosoms
the many many yellow flowers on her purple pinny.
Her blowing my curls out of the way
so that her smile could kiss me
more & more...er!
Me unable to comprehend anything
of her Cork accent.
Me saying “Yes..? ” & “No..? ”
in all the wrong hilarious places
(to my great embarrassment
& her great amusement)
her breath tickling my cheek
telling me she loved me...loved me...
& that I looked so good
she could “...ate ya! ”
Love as visible
as the flour
in the air
in our hair.
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC