"fizzing" poems
Its my body, my money, its up to me what I do with it.
But everyone else is wearing it.
I cant help the way I feel.
Blonde
Red
Orange
Brown
Purple
DMs purple with pink laces
school skirt altered in the textile lab 3" shorter
hormones racing, zipping, vibrating, fizzing till the top pops
stairs made for stomping and storming
cackling laughter crackling down the telephone wire
clothes left on the bedroom floor abandoned for a girl crisis.
You cant read my mind
read my lips
read my body
read my journal sandwiched between the midriff covering cottons gran bought for Christmas and the skimpy lace thong I'd be grounded for buying
Mother's mattress sanitary towels tossed aside
for shamefully purchased tampons
instructions included
and time has passed
and masks have fallen
and I find you there in the muck and the mire
and dust you off
until
I see your face - all mothers lipstick and glittering pink eye shadow
and the smile that stores secrets in a treasure chest.
Your legs shake like Bambi's but you get to your feet
and nestle yourself into me warmly, strongly until you fall right into me
and you run and you run and you run and you run and you run
right through my veins
giggles throbbing through my pulse
pajama parties and homemade perfume radiating in my eyes
and there you are
and there I am.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
The storms have set in fast this year
The wet skies a little sticky to the ear
Chalk fizzing in the water but it doesn't affect us in town
and again the leaves have skipped amber to brown;
the ships dock faster every September that rolls around
and the captain keeps telling us he's found less, and less-
by now we've all been wearing the same stuff for years
- Bar sodden coats and lipstick smears
but the word with my friends is since that summer on the shore
We've never come this far inland before.
It's the last term now and the older years that are closest
tell us that the new kids catch on faster, they've noticed
but that's something we're not supposed to discuss
soaking up heavy sunlight like a dusty curtain letting its motes spin
And in the backrooms - new fashion is emerging
and again we're handling with faux grandiose -
the kids at the bottom of the class need this stuff most.
we're not likely to forget.
and that moment when the girl in the pink stood and told us
she wasn't convinced she needed us anymore
and lunch was silent.
All the men at school act like they care
But cold chairs and icy fingers forced their hand
and god knows I'm not quiet anymore -
but I don't think i'll miss the school gore.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
There’s a place, where licorice vines have climbed,
Deep in the night, that only children can find;
Where leaves of waxed paper on trees are hung,
And what grows on the branches is sweet to the tongue.
Garlands of butterscotch, chocolate, and mint,
In their bright wrappers, sparkle, and glint;
Bubbling springs of sarsaparilla, through the valley are poured,
Washing sugar beaches with reeds of sour chord.
Swedish fish swim in soda geysers with bliss,
While fizzing pop-rocks spurt, spittle, and hiss.
Sunset clouds of cotton candy sweep past in the sky;
Trees sway in the delicious breeze that smells like apple pie.
Skies will rain down skittles, when there is a storm,
Pelting molasses window panes in a giant swarm;
Sour gummi worms are dug up, free to take,
In the grainy, nutmeg layers of the coffee cake.
Carmel creams, Mary Janes, Black Jacks, and Almond Joys,
Coconutties, Jawbreakers, Carmel Rolos and Long Boys--
All these grow, in lines straight as peppermint sticks,
Planted in brown sugar, on fields of cinnamon toothpicks;
But when the sun lets out its first ray,
The entire land just melts away
And children don’t remember where they’ve been,
That whole night asleep, but they wake with a grin;
And through the whole day, their dreams will entice,
Until they visit again, the Land of Sugar and Spice.
8/9/11
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
we got a goldfish,
for my little boy.
a tank, some coloured grit, three plants not two,
must practise goldfish fung shu.
all the water testing guff
and of course a filter.
a sunken ship
and a treasure chest .
we paid the pirate...
and took our ***** home.
so we set Bruce.
( for that was the name chosen).
up in pride of place on sidboard.
the list, above,
was positioned after meetings of commision. water tested to the highest degree,
filter fizzing, wizzing,whirring.
Bruce swam in his bag
in the tank,
for a time as instructed.
then released to a slightly larger freedom.
he swam and swam,
golden scales a flickerin.
we, (that being, mr just about three and his dad)
fed him, watched him poo, and eventually,
read Bruce,
a bedtime tale or two.
one fish, two fish by Dr Suess went down a treat.
the little man then,
was bundled off to bed.
thoughts of Bruce left our heads.
the evening lengthened.
we retired to sleep the sleep, of ignorance it conspired.
for in our planning we forgot one thing.
a devon rex cat,
who has a bath weekly,
a penchant for tuna,
no top to the tank.
so we thank the lord
for Bruce. however,
brief was his reign.
now we introduce
to you....
Murtle the turtle
who has a glass pane,
sitting above her head.
just in case......
the cat likes, turtle soup.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
My friend published a book
of collected Scots Proverbs.
200 pages and more, filled
with countless ways of saying
"Don't show off."
And that precious wisdom,
generations in the making
percolated through smokey thatch
in dismal dripping glens,
Tattooed into tenement bricks
with the soot of dead industry,
added to the diet
with the excess salt and saturated fat,
Paving the roads
on which all ambition travels south,
And fizzing through the lager
on its way to the head
Now hangs around the kids
like the stink around an ashtray
and stifles any pride
they might invest in themselves.
They will pass it on
with their genes
and their endless disappointments,
despising anyone who rises
above the station
at which they are
eternally delayed.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 4:15 PM UTC
Once upon a time, Everything was in a bottle. All the little universes were fizzing little bubbles, and the paths between them were made of clear clutter. There was a cork on the bottle, sealed and marked with an old sort of stamp, the kind that drips wax all over the glass and reminds old seafarers of rolled up scrolls and dreams thrown into the waves.
And once upon a time, someone melted down the wax, eased out the cork, and took a sip. All the stars burned spicy as cumin and the black holes left a sour sort of taste behind. It wasn’t a very orderly sort of soda. It wasn’t a very perfect one either. But it was the most delicious thing in- well, not in the universe. That’s what it was made of.
Once upon a time, Everything was in a bottle. Then, it wasn’t.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
Raindrops, accompanied by morning coffee’s aroma
Ice cubes and cola, that galaxy on the surface of the fizzing soda
The smell of old books, while reading as you sat on a sofa
Simple joys, euphoria, now free your mind from the entire enigma
Rasasvada, the taste of bliss in the absence of all thought
Maybe the mental state in which your mind experiences drought
People watching, people praying, people playing,
people like droids
Over the course of history, we’ve discovered hundreds of thousands of asteroids
The first one is Ceres; now ask yourself, “Do I exist”?
Are you suffocated by the alienating effect of urban life;
which you still can’t resist?
Inside the neon-soaked metropolis, transgression,
and the ignorance of youth
Truth realizes itself; and that is the truth
Dusk falls, starry night, the slumbering dark will rise
What made you think that you are wise and that you’d never compromise?
It is only while the city sleeps that you can understand its heaviness
Of what? The weight of your consciousness
It was once said that the smallest thing that you’d see is human kindness
And if not, what else will explain mankind and his varied emptiness
Death defies and completely violates the laws of the universe
The prophets did not write their words on papers, in a verse
They are engraved inside the minds of street hooligans and space vagabonds
Wars don’t end wars, trivial things, and worshiping new gods with brands
Humanity, please keep your sanity.
Regress towards simplicity and put away your vanity
People watching, people praying, people playing,
people who forgot what it means to ‘be’
The ebb and flow of life are as strange as
the creases on your sweater
You, a slave of order, creature of magnificent wonder
A being who seeks purpose and solace, in your thoughts you dwell
So long, tonight I hope you sleep well
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
Sadie was a doubtful one
Her mind was tightly shut
When faced with the fantastical
She’d fold her arms and tut
She pranced around her garden
With an playful evil aura
And dealt a merry flattening
To all that passed before her
Their bodies lay around her
And an imp of mischief found her
She loved to trap and poison
And wished she’d been a spider
When a fizzing overtook her
When a rumble grew inside her
When a shrinking and a shrivelling
Across her form did tickle
And soon did Sadie realise
That wishes can be fickle
Her legs and arms divided
Her eyeballs multiply did
So sorry Sadie scuttled
Alternating creep and crawl
She tippy-toe’d across the grass
And past her victims all
And sadness was upon her
And with mourning in her eyes
Her grief compounded hunger
And an appetite for flies
Her lengthy limbs belied her
Sorry Sadie was a spider
She loped along a lily
And her sorrow turned to guilt
Her carapace was aching
For the blood which she had spilt
She wept a web of anguish
With her sticky little tears
She wound a downward spiral
Like the falling of the years
Her malice had been stunted
Her fangs were dull and blunted
Sadie gained existence
On a web of worldly woes
She fed her tiny tummy
Where the buzz and flutter goes
And she learned the price of living
So she killed just what she ate
And she knew why killing needlessly
Was such an ugly trait
And with a human soul inside her
She chose to be a spider
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
What is hoped trickling between
splintered crags of hard matter
as between slabs of sliced I
like water through the desert crust
the beginning-end fusioned whole?
it resplendent through the cracks?
What might be enough
for its time being
might be the first loosening
a knot’s dissolution
beginning
unwrapping light and breath
deep underground
after prying like suffocation
the thing loose, never budged,
still you yanked, pulled,
screamed, spumed, more than
frustration through your fingertips.
For the brain, don’t be fooled,
s’more the psychedelic fruit
than just saying apple computer
the pulpous embryo of imagination
feeding
what seed, sprouting tendrils,
protracts without desire
(but causing desire)
ever outward, growing, clasping,
(hinging on unhinging) meshing
an electric net
and collapsing a shock they say
until the taste of its taste
is so succulently pungent
that after hours of dull mumbling
its projection upon the mirrors
it bursts in puffs of screams
short tense contractions
[image fizzing, over-heating].
Like a cracked computer reading
an animal program: *Alpha Beast
of the Ill-Illusioned*. Or: *Runt Wolf
of Gaia, the Undarwinian Survivor*.
Software ones and zeros digitizing
the command:
Must do the act cannot be done.
Till it breaks. Unimagined.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
the bow of your back, taut
sweat sticky
opiated and fizzing,the air stirs
and does not settle
the garden caged between your ribs
cracked and sprouting,paint
fumes sputtering out of your
fingertips,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
hurricane
the bow of your mouth, sweet
spit tacky
thunderous and crowing,skin
smelling of smoke and apples
the starstuff wrapped in your fist
aching and bruised,your knuckles
purpling and swollen,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
hurricane
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
My belly, a pimpled basketball,
puffed with pasta,
and my chest, just a hoop and a net, swishing wine through.
Spent my last ***
on cookies and cakes
stuffing my cheeks in backwards
with gushing gobs and slushy slimes.
I go mad like a fat queen.
my hot mouth,
now a thick, cocoa-creamy swirl,
as it turns into a custard-filled pastry of its own.
I do what I can to feel bliss among ****
Try to ignore the flies fizzing like seltzer.
The candy wrappers scattered wherever
like broken-into envelopes.
I feel a large thumb press, press, press
my skull to my ankles.
Tossing chocolate chunks square into
my throat like bozo buckets.
After a while
It stops being "eating"
and turns into a factory of into me and out of me.
In the end, the delicious part always gets too salty and
salt over salt is trash
and nothing stays
an ****** for more than a couple
pinches of this or that.
my body yells at me, because it wants nothing more but to
**** devil-face with those teeny-tiny, delicious
throbbing minutes.
I can't feel my life
and so I have to eat dinner on the floor.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
You confide
A secret crush
And lips collide.
Conscience slaps libido
Tasting party tongue
You're all undone.
Pounding beat
Shaky feet
Fizzing heart
Fall apart.
Tomorrow is analysis,
Dissection, and dismay.
Tonight is heady chaos, and delight, and disarray.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
Late at night I am creative
in the form of a fizzing soda bottle
pomegranate deep purple liquid
poured into a glass tumbler three fourths full
standing on a chair moving cereal boxes
that tall glass bottle in the back of the cupboard
splashing it in the tumbler clear and sour
half a teaspoon of sugar and a squeeze of lime
mixing until I see the pink froth on top
drinking it down before I realize what I’m doing
Flash back to a few hours before
“you smell good” is what he said to me
leaning in, whispering it in my ear
Well how do you like me now?
breath full of fruit and something sharper
I can’t say you’d approve of the way my brain buzzes
but I know, secretly, you would understand
Jun 30, 2011
Jun 30, 2011 at 1:34 AM UTC
Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
They sit alone, and look over the sea,
Or into each other's eyes. . .
She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand,
Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand.
'A lovely night,' he says, 'the moon,
Comes up for you and me.
Just like a blind old spotlight there,
Fizzing across the sea!'
She pays no heed, nor even turns her head:
He slides his arm around her waist instead.
'Why don't we do a sketch together--
Those songs you sing are swell.
Where did you get them, anyway?
They suit you awfully well.'
She will not turn to him--will not resist.
Impassive, she submits to being kissed.
'My husband wrote all four of them.
You know,--my husband drowned.
He was always sickly, soon depressed. . .'
But still she hears the sound
Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going
Swiftly and steadily, and the dark sea flowing.
She hears the dark sea flowing, and sees his eyes
Hollow with disenchantment, sick surprise,--
And hate of her whom he had loved too well. . .
She lowers her eyes, demurely prods a shell.
'Yes. We might do an act together.
That would be very nice.'
He kisses her passionately, and thinks
She's carnal, but cold as ice.
1.4k
Dizzy daydream
Falling to the sky
Fizzing fingertips
It's too late to cry
Muscle spasms
Invisible straight-jacket
Anvil on my breast
Brokkr strikes the red hot gibbet
Sparks fly
Into the sooty black
Anvil cracks
There's no turning back
Dimming embers
Just a feeble glow
Black soot freezes
Falls as bright white snow
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 4:25 AM UTC
Let us insert one crying rose into the sizzling muzzle of your gun
Tonight, please extinguish your flame of hatred and put down your gun
Let us insert one crying rose into the sizzling muzzle
Soon, the fragmented pieces will be reunited by the love of the flower
We, stand up from our crying, are the people still be living in this world
Morning, we visit our dear ones’ grave yard
Together, we will enjoy a moment of bird singing and a sweet potpourri
Before leaving, retrieve a smiling rose from the tree next to their sleeping bed
Pin it high on our chest
From now on, WE WILL
Cherish our life as every sunrise is the last day
Each day decorate restaurant of Le Petit Cambodge with tons of fresh red roses
Under the swaying crystal chandelier celebrate the night in smiles
On Boulevard Voltaire, watch the leaves of London Plane rustling in the wind
Dance and swirl with the happy melodies wafting from the Bataclan Concert Hall
Listen carefully, the singing of “La Marseillaise”can be heard far away from “Stade De France”
Let us, all the world, join it and sing it high with our heart
Tonight, please extinguish your flame of hatred and put down your gun
Whether or not you use your gun to take away our life
You will NERVER take away the LOVE for the world from us
No Matter we are alive or deceased, the world will love us forever
In love, we are with this world, no regret and no fear
FOREVER
Tonight, please extinguish your flame of hatred and put down your gun
Are you willing, give us your hand, let us all embrace this world
You will walk into LOVE
At this human world
It could be a world without countries, nationalities and religions
Only have red flower, green grass, blue sky, fizzing breeze
And
Endless Endless LOVE
Ever and Forever
…
…
To Dear Paris from California USA
11/17/2015
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
She breathes
Constellations straight into my lungs.
She leaves
Stars fizzing gently on my tongue.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
A lover asked me
to be her rock
and I agreed.
On the moon tide
she ebbed
far out to sea
leaving me
naked and raw
upon the shore.
Then
after a while
back she flowed
gurgling and fizzing
round my bare rock
her spumed up sultriness
teased my longing ****
And in this way
in the ebb and flow
long months we loved
until she ebbed
more than she flowed
and I chose
to no longer live
marooned
on a barren rock.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 3:54 AM UTC
I'm so afraid you'll be the kind of guy to say "I love you" in the exact right way at the exact right time when the candles are fizzing in their own puddles, never glancing at that piece of tantalizingly soft pale skin right above my slightly sagging purple velvet dress, opening all the doors and paying for all our insanely expensive dinners at Olive Garden-
the kind of guy that will never keep me waiting for more than three minutes-
or say that no, you'd rather have cheese pizza because you secretly don't like pepperoni even though you know I love it, and I don't know what to say because
that's the kind of guy I've always wanted and it would be silly to think that I would love if once,
just once,
you would be the kind of guy that forgot my birthday until the last minute and gave me his sock as a gift.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:28 PM UTC
I have become a slave to the pen
unraveling and consumed by my thoughts
I'm in constant search of a thought worth having
and indulging in
so sick of the junk food crammed in
My mind is swollen and bloated
fizzing and falling flat
So tired of all this loathing...
trying to find away to make the sun shine again
Faint whispers of my soul say I'm creating black holes again
The mind either a tool or a weapon of mass destruction
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 8:20 AM UTC
N64 Flow
Controllers Rattling
Mario Battling Bowser
Solar Traveling
Star Foxin for hours
Toy Boxes, Trinkets, and World watches
Sipping Soda fizzing
Eating crunchy Frito Snippets
Watching ***** Wonka
wishing I had a golden ticket
Scraped knees, Bicycle Tracking
Wilds woods equal childhood
Blueberry & cheery picking
Kisses from a girl who was
older are still vivid
No witnesses were present, but presents were still given
In the form of innocence
It's was nothing but child play
Assorted memories
Become a part of my current day
Who's to say that I've changed?
As I reminisce, my past was forged of oddities, deceptions of tall tales and everyday Odyssey's
Pictures of wild women, explicit ***********
Disney diluted story's and fictional prophecies
Depictions that lacked religion
Late night Toonami dreams
Insights from other youth
that didn't make sense logically
Visits to the water fountain periodically
Teacher said there's no such thing as dumb questions
but they never answered honestly
Everything I've learned from life
I've already learned from Monopoly
I'm always landing on GO,
therefore I'm moving with the green
House rules obviously
You can interpret that as currency
in our current state physically
But I just see it as a
constant stream of positivity
To create is a state that is channeled by electricity
Childhood memories is my youths ticket for authenticity
Those days were full of fun and madness
This excitement couldn't have been replicated by a smartphone nor tablet
Sunshine & green grass actual outdoor access
Inhale curiosity, exhale the astonishing
Running at full speed, gunning at high velocity
The excitement was never ending
a continuous lottery
Summer books I would never read
Instead, I drew in the summer breeze
Illustrations of disfigured stick figure's and murderous scenes
I realize that I have no idea, who I'm destined to be
I don't know where my next travels will lead
I am but nomad upon a land with no wagon or steed
**** these contraptions for my actions speak louder then screens
An N64 and one controller is all I need
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
On the New Year's Eve,
As the clock hits midnight
and marks the new beginning
- The show begins
In a flash,
the night sky
gets lit on fire,
Fiery flowers hissing and fizzing,
their crackle and boom
steal the silence,
and in the midst of this frenzy;
I begin to ponder
that with each passing year,
we are racing towards - our destiny,
so I look back
and question myself
to contemplate
the mistakes I made,
the promises I break,
the unrealistic goals - I set,
and in this moment
I know why many of us
(when entering into the new year)
misses the mark
just like the kids who were
shooting rockets - in the dark...
Dec 31, 2020
Dec 31, 2020 at 5:00 PM UTC
Bubbles rising the walls of chilled glass
Bursting and fizzing in a golden pink haze
Similar to the color of early fall sunsets
The fizzy feeling... of bubbles bursting
As they crash against your lip
And cascade around with your tongue
Sunsets and sunrises in their radiant yellow hazed blush
With cool breezes and warm sunlight
Crisp and fresh every breath
How I sip and savor all of it that is you
You've filled my life with a pink haze
You've left me in an eternal golden hour
I love my rosé colored lens
Every explosive kiss
Every fresh breath and beautiful thought
Every bit of it is my favorite
Because you have tainted my view
Can i thank you enough?
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
They sit alone, and look over the sea,
Or into each other's eyes. . .
She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand,
Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand.
'A lovely night,' he says, 'the moon,
Comes up for you and me.
Just like a blind old spotlight there,
Fizzing across the sea!'
She pays no heed, nor even turns her head:
He slides his arm around her waist instead.
'Why don't we do a sketch together-
Those songs you sing are swell.
Where did you get them, anyway?
They suit you awfully well.'
She will not turn to him-will not resist.
Impassive, she submits to being kissed.
'My husband wrote all four of them.
You know,-my husband drowned.
He was always sickly, soon depressed. . .'
But still she hears the sound
Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going
Swiftly and steadily, and the dark sea flowing.
She hears the dark sea flowing, and sees his eyes
Hollow with disenchantment, sick surprise,-
And hate of her whom he had loved too well. . .
She lowers her eyes, demurely prods a shell.
'Yes. We might do an act together.
That would be very nice.'
He kisses her passionately, and thinks
She's carnal, but cold as ice.
1.1k
I find it quite amazing,
that you don't realise how my lips tingle and my heart swells
when you make me,
yes,
make me,
kiss you.
Just a friendly little peck, eh?
You could be kissing your Aunt Mildred,
your lips remain so dead
and your stomach so still.
I'll give you one of my butterflies,
if you want one.
The brushes against my back,
my cheek,
the brush strokes that paint sparks along my skin,
leave your hands lifeless.
They resuscitate me.
When you say you 'love me',
I don't think you understand
how many times I've imagined you whispering those words,
in a thousand different places,
in a thousand different situations,
in a thousand different ways.
They float through the air,
stopping time and creating pixie dust,
before falling into my ears,
forcing tremors throughout my once stable foundations.
In reality,
you could be asking somebody to pass the salt,
your voice is so flat.
So why can I not stop fizzing?
If you grow old and look around
and find yourself alone,
don't worry.
Don't cry about how nobody ever wanted you,
about how nobody ever needed you
or loved you till it hurt,
hurt so bad they almost hated you.
Because they did.
I do.
I do.
****
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC