"famish" poems
1125
Oh Sumptuous moment
Slower go
That I may gloat on thee—
’Twill never be the same to starve
Now I abundance see—
Which was to famish, then or now—
The difference of Day
Ask him unto the Gallows led—
With morning in the sky—
9.7k
Jealousy
Is hell
Because I do not enjoy
Myself,
And well
I enjoy all of you-
You
With your smooth moves
Perky and peachy attitudes
Teach me
To be as sweet
As you-
Beautiful
Can be cruel
Not like it is on tv,
Or beside me
Everyone shining,
Smiling,
While my smile feels
Like hiding
Under this wax mask
A painted canvus
Of pale and black
Don't look at me
I'm a heartattack
A bad act-
Broken glass
Of a painted doll
I am a leo lioness
Right?
Righteous-
Your hieness
Sparkles on my eyelids
But you see
I have enough pride
To hide it-
Its priceless,
Really hillarious
Sometimes I feel
Like a bad *****
But I'm none of this
I am the pray,
The gazelle in the grass
But I am also the lion
Waiting to attack myself
Because you see,
Jealousy
Is hell,
I am the lion
I am the gazelle
I am heaven and hell
In a vessle of myself
See what you will,
Your critiques are nothing
My only enemy is me
My only savior is me
I am a lion
But I am also
A sheep
Don't look at me
Sometimes I cry in the mirror
Blink my mascara tears,
Blurry mess-
Can't fit in my old dresses
Tearing apart at the seams,
Literally
Filthy
Famish
Crawled out of my skin
And made some bad habits
Declining wealth
Declining health
Laughing as the scales tip-
After all I am a person,
Not permanent
Why should I care
Oh,
But I do
I do when I look at you
You with your talented hands
With your spider lashes
And good moods
Teach me to feel
As good
As you
My lipstick smears and screams
As the paintings on my face mock me
So will my body,
My body thats bruised
And missused
Perfume to cover the *****
They'll see my cherry lips move
But they won't hear me talking
Its perfect,
The mask of confidence
My incompetence
Is a perfect fit
No, really
Its lovely
When I wear it,
People love me!
Because people think
I love myself
No
Jealousy
Is hell,
Beacuse I do not
Love myself
I love everybody else,
Even the ones who
Say I am full of it,
Selfish leo,
Selfish lion
Exaggerated ego-
Winking eyelids
Sparkle,
Wings to my forehead-
I flaunt
What I don't want,
Because you want me to
You want me
To love me
Like you do
All of you
I remember the words
From my mother,
Jealousy
Is not a pretty color-
Its crimson red,
Exposed
Like blood,
I've had to sew it up
No-
Don't look here
Not at my guts,
Look at my eyelids
Are these not enough?!?!
These cherry lips
Tell you to sush
Less of a lioness,
More of a cub
I know
I am my own predator
My own pray
I am
All of the above
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
A whole piece of cake
In exchange to a slice of your head,
Fed you with excessive sweetness
And made me famish for your entire mind.
I recall the nights
Of your faraway look almost imperceptible,
The riddle of your smile
And your tales of departure.
With nicotine on your lips
And caffeine on mine,
I was the silent listener
Of your careless narrative.
Such brief moments harbored inside me,
When like your furtive grin
And sly glances, ensnared my thoughts
Craving more from fragments of your soul.
As time made its scarcity known
And fondness its urgent manifestation,
The sugar note and saccharine gift
Snatched you completely away from me.
Today in coffee city
Alone or with company,
I relive a fraction of yesterday
Out of the same blend of coffee
And from the small portion of the same cake flavor.
Smoke from cigars fills the air
Like wispy apparition of yours
I make out on every stranger’s face
Across the other tables.
A sip of coffee and a bit of cake
Serve as reminders if not comfort
Of how little you cared to say goodbye,
Leaving a bittersweet aftertaste.
I stir this cup
Divining the future,
And all I see is my self.
Over the counter today and tomorrow
My Italian tongue says, “Tiramisu.”
As my English heart whispers, “Pick me up.”
Maybe then as liquids turn
And as circles run.
I will find my own reflection
In your staring eyes.
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 1:54 AM UTC
1265
The most triumphant Bird I ever knew or met
Embarked upon a twig today
And till Dominion set
I famish to behold so eminent a sight
And sang for nothing scrutable
But intimate Delight.
Retired, and resumed his transitive Estate—
To what delicious Accident
Does finest Glory fit!
2.6k
All the night in woe,
Lyca’s parents go:
Over vallies deep.
While the desarts weep.
Tired and woe-begone.
Hoarse with making moan:
Arm in arm seven days.
They trac’d the desert ways.
Seven nights they sleep.
Among shadows deep:
And dream they see their child
Starvdd in desart wild.
Pale thro’ pathless ways
The fancied image strays.
Famish’d, weeping, weak
With hollow piteous shriek
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman prest,
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
In his arms he bore.
Her arm’d with sorrow sore:
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.
Turning back was vain,
Soon his heavy mane.
Bore them to the ground;
Then he stalk’d around.
Smelling to his prey,
But their fears allay,
When he licks their hands:
And silent by them stands.
They look upon his eyes
Fill’d with deep surprise:
And wondering behold.
A spirit arm’d in gold.
On his head a crown
On his shoulders down,
Flow’d his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
Follow me he said,
Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep.
Lyca lies asleep.
Then they followed,
Where the vision led;
And saw their sleeping child,
Among tygers wild.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell
Nor fear the wolvish howl,
Nor the lion’s growl.
1.6k
hungry for power
while the poor starve from hunger
the rich shall cower
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 10:23 AM UTC
money, fame, glory
Childhood was so rough the only option was to come up with a story
Adulthood came early and taught me to be discerning
But in a world full of colour hues its easy to pick the shivering blue
Fell into a whirlpool, a black hole so dark my memory vanished
But these lessons I learned taught me to survive in famish
So I worked for the juxtaposition because I deserve lavish
So stunning and blessed I came to be
Never let that light die in me
I knew I would make it with the right opportunities
So I learned how to be hardworking and ambiguities
A humbling story and sometimes sad
But I am grateful and cherish moments I will always have
But I moved on, looking good, getting back
Everything they took from me I used to have
Aug 27, 2021
Aug 27, 2021 at 10:14 AM UTC
we have our plots and flotsam
and plod joyless; rain smitten.
we join the heap of foil and protagonists
in the tale of our distemper.
we whimper in the dark of our hard furnace.
fumbling for trinkets of mirth
where no god has birth
even as a dented
trumpet
to a hairlip...
Or a Name that comes First.
and yet we sing. but -
the song is wrong righted. a blight
blighted and a long drum
mumbling benighted
in the silk light
of our simple
worms.
our apples ache. our knowledge, rots .
but our temples, at the core
seed the valley. we famish the mountain
but feed the foothills of our strange
and strum the harps of Oblivion
with our mean thumbs.
constant gardeners of hard loss and flight.
and the Night's Sun.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
Years ago, before I got hitched, I had lunch with my gf on Valentine's Day at a renown steak grill.
Cute waitress sat us on a table and took our orders.
After a few minutes,
she came back carrying the sizzling steak.
Borne more out of famish than anything else,
I exclaimed,
"Wow. Smells good!"
To my elated expression,
the pretty waitress replied,
"Tastes better than it looks, sir."
"Oh yeah?"
She mused,
"Definitely!
We cook it with love po, sir."
Fast-forward 5 minutes later.
I called the waitress back.
Showing her the teppan of ****** beef,
"Sobrang hilaw yata pag-ibig niyo, miss."
I am a book
written on pages
made from the skins
and flesh
of sacred sinners,
bound by the bile
and discharge
of their entrails,
knotted together
by their vacuous veins;
covers glossed
by their fat and tears,
adorned with
their evergrinning teeth,
embossed
by their boiling grimace,
foreworded
with the bliss
of their anguish death;
their bones
used as quill,
its brush
their hairs,
their blood
its ink;
the tales
of their agonies
retold.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 2:45 AM UTC
O,
Ye samaria
Harken unto us,
For this is how far the Lord has brought us
"We Gehazi"
For
By our afflictions
Did thee left us
In the stench over the gates of the city
There
We sat in our rags
And wobbled in the burns of the fiery sun
But
When night invaded the peace of the sun
Was the burns gobbled wholly
Allowing the malicious cold breeze
Pierce through our bones and marrow
Like the arrows of the syrians
Yet
Now and then
Will thy hearts
Befriend compassion
And serve us with the remains of thy garbages
And yea,
Their pungent aroma we gasp with delight
And although,it came with a bruised satiety
It curbed our curse and anxieties
We were wasted,yet death feared to waste us whole
But
In the times
When thy comforting abundance
Was clutch and struck by thine enemies
Did thy desperation for quench
Plunge through our lungs and stomach
Like
Thee,we were hoist by famish
Yet exceedingly
And our souls will bleed relentlessly
When we prayed and wept
"Why sit we here until we die"
There
The spirit of the lord
Descended in our midst
O,we unclean
And made us more valiant than thine armies
We bacame conquerors of thine enemies
When
We stride
Through the valleys
Of the shadows of death
And every step we made scaled our breath
Yet through all,and Truth
His rod comforted us
And oblivious of our fate
He set banquets in the tents
Of our enemies
Our rags did he made the finest robes
And in our care did he bade their luxuries
O,
Ye doubtors and despaired samarians
Harken unto us
For we carry the glad tidings of the lord
Behold!
Ye all on this day
Shall witness the great abundance
Of the lord
And testify his mighty works for all
UNCLEAN
2 Kings 7 vrs 3
©Historian E.Lexano
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
A standstill!!!!
The planet's spinning out of control!!!
Mistaken identities are non friendly!!!
A false temple shalt be erected
The saviors ressurected
For didn't thou heareth?
No more sadness
No more tears
To famish a costly spirit!!!
Open murderer's
Wilt **** with a smile
The land of the old
And persecution's trials
Wilt shake!!!!!
Trembled cake!!!
No layers of good taste!!!
A volcanic comeback
For all to see,
As the fish and the trees
Come to their boil!!!!!
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
Your deep seated treasure trove of words on love
layeth at the throne and is sealed in a crystal case,
meant to be broken in case
there is an a famish in the kingdoms,
an unquenching,
an unending,
an unfading
hunger for love.
The haybarn of mild prosperity.
It transitions with frequencies
ranging from the cosmic dimesions of the galaxies
to the unforgiving, mauve depths of the ocean.
It resonates with my ambivalent soul,
at an existential level
as thy velveteen buds
are of my photvoltaic stem.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
I can only summon feelingfulness like the passing of a dove,
postponing its arrival mid-air, somewhere along the tucked
bramble across Poblacion, starting with metaphorical sensibility
or an insensibly bland space to procure wanted meaning.
Girls prefer roses and their bright foreheads diademed with more
flowers, and boys, their chiaroscuro or lack of a color thereof, seems
to be fitting in this maladroit contrast, and so I begin, as always,
with your very vague and caged memory. Your face, the whiteness
of snowcapped alps. Your strut, my slalom in a treacherous course
of words reduced to whisperings, to flutings. Your voice, though nuanced,
flitters with an overtone of arrogance: if sound was clothed, yours would
be flamboyant ermine. And the line in front of you before I, my arbitrary turn,
assimilates into a picturesque form of waiting somewhere in Cubao.
I wanted to smash myself with train-speed towards the metallic turnstile,
which, would then famish me even so, just as much as I wish to be a car crash
somewhere within the outskirts of your town, heavily vandalized by the swill
of squalor hefting itself like the rest of the world conscious of its viscera.
This is how I start you – like waiting for the sun to emerge by Borobudur,
or the clandestine *** of mildew and grass, a hundredfold of images appear
before me and I cannot choose upon my whims and caprices. Are you a dove?
A spear of Sun? A thunderous crackle of an impending rain? A harlequin?
A moseying cirrus? Or just another by-stander in the crowds where I ultimately
seek your being?
This answerlessness measures my knowledge of star, and my breath snuffed
out of me while I sigh from exhausted penchants, outweigh dissimilarities and symmetries.
A progeny from all superseding conundrums arises: are you a retrogression of a wave
back to its saltine wound, flailing in brine? Or are you just the vast sea and nothing else
on a fine and lucid day where children skip stones and chant name-callings?
I sense the peril in this undertaking, and much to my chagrin, I still
do not know how to end you.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
My heart cries
The cries hurt
My beloved love gone
Love buried down and deep
Six inch never to bloom.
Once a lovely vase
Beautiful and fascinating
Till knocked down
By a ravaging missile
Missile with a burning heart
Ready to famish full family.
Deep inside my heart weeps
It is shattered
Broken and separated
Tattered
I wish for someone to mend it …
I hope a Guardian Angel will come along
One day
One century
Just to comfort my bleeding soul
Blood of tears.
Fast and furious she will come
A walking succubus you may call
Ready to ******
And drop you to dying hell
She will expound the pleasure
But later suppress your life
Then isolates and disappears
Moves on to another miserable soul.
My heart cries
It hurts indeed!
Bitter like gall.
She continues her profession
Capturing my loved ones
Bruising my life
Oh Dear!
August 26, 2015
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
i went! Starting of the dulcet earth
and
1 foot
in front
(of the one Flute
spraying a magic twiddling famish
of achy voluminous nerves so close
to the skinny sheathe of light) and i WENT! stumbling up into the
enormous gulp of gods hard left hand and the light was s o loud i could hardly smell the oceans claret spinning spiral downward down we go like the
we go down into hades smart arms he said he loved the way we sweet
and gross
and sticky
with sturdy absolute nothings our unlike hands onto the bashful plume
of our very drunkest strings
and forza the abrupt closer our hearts, their devious septums, and twain that vermilion truculent fold and hit furiously the tempest:
GRAND little miss. she's a lady sumwut like you
raven scalped and lush with curving mounds of plush sensual fever
my strange electric scar
on my plain arm
your hands
and VERY VERY
Mar 26, 2011
Mar 26, 2011 at 12:13 PM UTC
not a single force on earth could
famish the flame that
grew from a single kiss and i
feel so empty without your
hooked wings surrounding and the
heat of your lips on my
jugular vein
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
Let go of the stress man I was deeply depressed so famish in fact I needed to rest. I found a link between the inner deity and myself. Owning specialization doesn't require special explanation this information is my interpretation The poetical series of compositional arrangement cavemen cave in to this statement. Nowadays it's all about the "catch phrase" I'm dis-infatuated with writers they sound so foolish and basic. Thread by thread sitting at the table to make this. Simple sensations are fragile so how will they battle? Just like nature surrounded by the unnatural. The light brightens more and more your muscles tight and sore lobotomize the audience with my origin. My metaphoric euphoria.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
Suffocate me, all of me, in love;
defile my senses, leave me deaf and blind.
Drowned in the overwhelming tide of desire,
How I wish I have thee next to me,
my passion will not tire.
To love thee is a neverending rapture;
To be in your embrace, encaptured
by your touch,
wrap me in your shroud of euphoria.
This changeless hunger;
fed and never appeased,
So I, who famish at possession's goal,
Must kiss and kiss, yet receive in return
Empty smiles on empty hearts.
To love thee is an endless longing;
So long as he feeds my hunger with affection,
So long will he stay my being’s addiction.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
She loves enormously
the very last demeanor of desolate sun,
the way stars undergoes the distance
and all the tussle they had with moon,
She faith not in earth,
not those peeps which appears famish right after having regale,
She wail not at funerals now
for god has whispered truth
and kept her arouse
from seven lethally sleep,
The way she perforated and annihilated his heart,
The way she gave her clangers the name of freedom,
The way she opted the arms of her paramour and made him watch that in the downpour of October,
The way she sheered without any au- revoir and burned him breathing,
he loved anyway,
That night was black
the sky was plenary,
the moon was serene,
under the aged tree,
her hand over his chest, starkers
they were slumbering, commingling two soul,
that was the final night,
that was their final powwow,
After that night ' My mom kept continue the yarn',
there was no her and no he,
Before any toughie comes in my cerebrum she ended it saying ,
"She shot his head
And cut her vein
for they mastered their devotion
they conquered their fate
when they found them under the pines
blood was everything that left "
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 7:28 AM UTC
a friend told me of a good cure for nightmares
she said to take a bail of hay to bed
to feed the poor famish equines
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
On a Wednesday morn at work I was after food,
so I said to my manager, "I'm off for a break dude!"
I walked out of the employment building and thought, "I can't wait to eat,
my stomach's proper churning and my belly wants a treat."
I bounded to the shop
with the I'm starving hop.
When I got there I grabbed some peanut butter, crisps and bread
and glistened with the fact that I was soon to be fed,
I went to the woman at the counter and remarked, "Hi! Hope you're well, can I have this please?"
She replied, "Course you can!" I felt my famish ease.
She rang it all through and commented, "That will be £3.63!"
I went, "Sweet, just let me get the fee!"
But when I reached in my satchel for my wallet I did a ohhh **** **** ****
I've ******* left it in work!
So I said to the woman, "Oh **** I've not got the moolah on me (I felt a right ****
can you just put it to one side and I'll be back in a bit?"
She riposted, "Ahh, don't worry about it, for your forgetfullness I'll cater,
just take the goods and bring the cash in later!"
I was like, "Are you sure? Wow, that's real swell,
awesome awesome, to you all of well!"
I left Sainsburys feeling the goodness in life flow,
and then I spotted this lovely crow!
It was on top of a discarded receptacle that once held a Mac D's
and the remnants of the scoff it was trying to seize,
I got my phone out and went, "Ohh, this ace bird attempting in it's gob sustenance to flick
will make a really mint pic!",
but it was a windy time and the paper holder went out of the crow's reach,
from her grasp and blew up the street.
I felt crestfallen for the winged thing, my being started to lag,
until I remembered what I had in my bag!
I tore open the bread and broke it into tiny parts and said, "Here you go mate, I know that other foodie you did miss
but have some of this!"
And then it occured to me that if someone hadn't gave me the stuff I wouldn't have been able to do that;
I felt the warm in the universe, I heard a joyful clap,
because kindness reciprocates wherever it is found,
from person to person to bird, from the top to the ground,
and when I looked back and watched the crow nibble on the bread before it flew away,
I realised this was turning into a wonderful beautiful day!
(P.S. I went back and paid the woman a hour later!)
Dec 22, 2019
Dec 22, 2019 at 7:27 AM UTC
I crave quiet more than palest sinners
Do their peace of absolution and lift
Toward tolerable circumstance wherein
Green fields flowing beneath warm winds
Play a simple, serene music.
I pray in the gray throng’s heralding din
This drowning siren die away and leave
Faint thhought to famish, feign, or forge beyond
Splitting bone and aching sight in face of
Plain, revolving day’s hissing tread of night.
I lay subtle or naked by degree.
The myth of common speech harbors the vague
Extremity, solidly-stateed airs,
Whims of purchase, the purchases of whim,
All paid with the natio0n’s prismatic mirror.
Then say this man, a spawn of time, should feel
Abrupt and free? Even to imagine
Will-tuned guitars flourishing and dancers
Sweeping across a mosaic of red tile
Inlaid upon the wrecked and shattered ground?
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC