"flavoring" poems
It was a Friday night,
I was on the phone with my grandmother when I looked at the clock suddenly remembered,
it was time for the ritual.
I immediately hung up on my grandmother,
and stripped of my clothing.
The ritual required I be naked.
I then took some goat cheese out of my refrigerator,
and put it in the microwave.
I waited.
The goat cheese seemed like it took forever to melt,
but it only took a few minutes.
In those few minutes,
I just sat there,
and played with my left ******
Finally, the timer went off,
and it was done.
I took the melted goat cheese,
and poured it onto my body.
It burned,
but I suffered through it.
I would do anything for the Goat Gods.
Anything.
Once the melted goat cheese was poured onto my body,
I began to lather myself in it.
Soon, I was covered in melted goat cheese.
The smell,
was horrendous,
but in a way,
I enjoyed it.
Then, I removed the goat blood from my refrigerator,
and poured it into a ***
which had been on the oven all day,
waiting.
I began to boil the goat blood.
I took a sip of it.
"No" I said as a shook my head in disappointment.
I had been ripped off again by my goat blood dealer.
There was no flavoring in it.
It tasted like goat blood.
So I threw in some carrots,
and a dollop of horse radish.
While it was boiling,
I went to my bedroom,
to my closet,
where I found my goat mask.
A real goats head I had carved out and made into a mask.
I put it on.
When I had it on,
I felt like one with the Goat Gods.
When I returned,
the goat blood was done.
I poured it into a Tupperware container,
sealed it,
and put on my shoes.
By now,
the once hot and slimy goat cheese,
was dried,
and stuck to my body.
It was crusty,
like the crusties you get in your eyes,
just all over your body.
I walked out the front door,
across the street,
to my neighbors house.
I tried to open the front door.
Locked.
They knew I was coming this time.
Last week,
they forgot.
So I left the goat blood on their front steps,
and left.
When I got home,
I immediately went to the TV,
sat down,
and turned on "Antique Roadshow".
I looked out my window,
and saw my nervous neighbor grab the goat blood,
and bring it inside.
"Soon they will join the Goat Side" I said as I repeated it to myself, "Soon they will join the Goat Side".
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
*she returns from her classes,
ballet, yoga, core something and Zumba for flavoring,
her hair, an upward, toe pointing cannon of mop mess,
her face glowing flushed,
one look and I know she is both,
morphing high,
wipeout exhausted
a little ritual she performs somewhere between
"it was great and she (the instructor) killed us,"
auto sub conscious,
she looks herself over,
twisting elegantly like the
Argentine tango dancer she is,
in the mirrored closet doors
raising both arms to see (show off)
the sums of her endeavors,
the exoskeletal musculature
she has earned,
a life long effort,
like a prize fighter as he
macho enters the ring,
an alpha male gesture
if ever there was one,
made over to say,
hey boy, look at me!
*and the boy looks her over,
always thinking, but never revealing,
that it is her muscles of mindfulness and mercy,
that take his breath away, the ones that are worked out daily,
the ones that surround and work the heart beating,
the lung inhaler of humans in need,
exhaling the richest
oxygen for others to breathe
and the boy does his service,
providing a "wow" or "very impressive,"
only you and he know his real thinking,
and his muscle memories secret,
you to keep, just between us,
and his secret identity, only love poetry...*
8:52pm 7/20/17
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
The middle class idea of theft--
where we eat at semi-fancy restaurants
seated at faux leather interior
deep seated dimly lit coves
dine in a sarcophagus of tasty mildew.
A youth lends their smile
teeth faintly shine through,
but roughly cut short of sincere;
on their lapel in fine print the label says Sandy.
Flexing water spotted plastic
black brim borders
and articulated names of food
that would put all of Italy to shame.
Porcelain plates hold lofty portions
of what is purely compensation
as texture and flavor remind me of my adolescence
this is when Playdoh and Crayons are used for flavoring.
A slate for my signature is provided
and the upside to this all
was the perfection of a pen they lent me
it was ball tip and bright pink--
finally something I'd be glad to take home with me.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
My mind is going weird again and hurting my head
I don't know what to make of it
I think
I want a male me
Or just me. I want another me. Doesn't necessarily have to be male. Can be female. Why not both. But I want another physical and spiritual embodiment of who I am as a person
A part of me just wants to hug and hold someone. And my head is automatically choosing said person, but the feeling of the mere hug and contact is overshadowing the identity of the person by a few degrees
I miss calloused hands roaming my body. And I miss body heat. I miss legs I can entangle mine with. I miss the crooks of necks. I miss snores emanating from a chest and hearing the rumble in the air from it. I miss tired faces resting and appearing destressed. I miss light groans as a body shifts positions in their sleep.
I think I can pinpoint what it is that I miss. Because although all sound like physical and verbal responses, it is not the actions, although they always go hand in hand.
I think I miss intimacy. But what is necessarily intimacy?
There's a few definitions as soon as one googles it
A close familiarity or closeness. A private, cozy atmosphere. A closeness of observation or knowledge of a subject.
My chest aches and pounds as I try to put my finger on what it is I'm searching for. The more it aches, the closer I am to finding my answer
Intimacy.
In-tih-mah-see.
In-to-me-see.
See-in-to-me.
Intimacy is to see in to me.
It is to let and allow someone to see you for who you are, to know what makes you a being.
But not necessarily in your head.
Intimacy is the knowledge of how another person's mind control's their body. How the body reacts to acts that can cause the mind to blank or move forward just off-beat of the body.
It's dragging your fingertips over their body and feeling the goosebumps rise as a laugh comes from the mouth over the words "popcorn butter is actually coconut oil with artificial flavoring" and feeling your eyes connect the dots between those goosebumps to their face and your brain noticing the connection between noises and nerve endings.
Intimacy is a weird state to be in. Because too much can cause the mind to blank and overload itself with serotonin and dopamine. All the while there is never enough time in the world to drag on that forever feeling
It's the act of getting lost in a person and discovering bits and pieces of how you affect said person.
In body, in mind, in response
I think I'm done because I don't know how else to frame my words. My head hurts and my chest pounds with equal force. I believe it's time for me to bid adieu and deal with this in the dreamscape
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
You're a little pastry box wrapped in blue tissue paper.
You’re the first bite into
every brownie,
every ****
every pie,
every cute little confection.
You're that thin ribbon of caramel across a layered slice of cake,
You're the sugar still lingering on my recipes,
the little puffs of flour with each turn of a page.
You're that extra dash of cocoa
and that sprinkle of vanilla and
the egg stained finger prints on jars of paprika
and cinnamon
and nutmeg.
You're the soft crack of a brown egg,
the raw taste of extra batter..
The sizzling butter in the bottom of a pan
You're every scent of spices and salts and frosting
and the sticky sweetness of glazed honey.
You're the walnuts and sprinkles on top of last summers birthday cake.
You're the peppermint sensation on the roof of my mouth
and the sweet flavoring on the tip of my tongue.
You're the delicate drizzle of chocolate
over a homemade batch of sugar cookies,
the finishing touch.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
the server (waiter) raps
praise upon the sushi,
its integrity,
the harmonic
of its construct,
the curated singularity of
each rice grain
the innate elegance of
the thin sliced,
nearly translucent,
au naturel, organic,
ginger root
the skin smooth paste of
green wasabi,
grown naturally
along stream beds in
mountain river valleys in Japan
genuinely puzzled,
when he,
the old erstwhile poet
unabashedly weeps before all
no hero he,
just an overcome one,
his tears flavoring his food
mourning the
celebrated abuse
of his verbal children,
those natured nurtured babes
the stuff,
the words of his definition
each weird word,
loved for their cultured,
unique quality of their history
grown in languages's
perpetual petri dish
asked if something was a matter,
answered yes,
"this plated performance,
such an extravagant essay
on the beauteous wonder
of life's bounty,
left me wordless"
and she, burst out loud in laughter
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 8:03 AM UTC
You taste of Hawaiian Punch and cigarettes,
Like sunshine in the dark.
One taste is of youthful play-
Sweet and **** artificial flavoring.
It would taste lovely in a park,
On the lake
When I was ten.
The other taste is one of hardship-
Blackened lungs and bad habits.
It tastes bitter in your mouth,
In the dark,
When we lay together.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 4:35 AM UTC
She is obscene, ******* inbetween
I shouldn't haven't to explain what that means
Only a handleful don't find her scary and overwelming
Ok so I'm letting the angry apple flavoring do all the writing
Who is really listening, honestly
This psychotic chick will always be the one and only
Sorry if you were expecting me to sing
I suppose this was not enough
Oh well I'll keep sipping while you're guesstimating the measures you should be taking
Here's a secret, I mentally teeter totter unstably
So does the rest of poetfreak
Let's start a toast and forward the drinking
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
My Woman, My Partner
we need today it seems identifiers moreover,
as we slice, dissect, and categorize the W’s of our
individual experience,
by defining ourselves as pieces of categories
Today, woke with this title-to-be-poem in my head,
My Woman, My Partner
I like particular, individuating descriptors that distinguish
rather than categorize, summary’s that capture the
roomy broad and small strokes, the subtleties of capturing~
encompassing an image total, and yet intuitively tasting and
comprehending the depths and flavoring of our totality,
a combinatory humanity
my choice was My Woman, which was comprehensive
and distinguished, yet upon consultation with said person,
for pre-authorization approval, it was returned to me with
an engine-heart additive, that was both a word that denotes a
binding, ties, equality, and takes it to another, even ever
highest level,
*this essay on how I came to title this poem, well, is the poem
in its entirety, it is the process, the point, the summary and the
minutiae of all I wished to convey.*
Sunday Aug 13 8:03 AM
Aug 13, 2023
Aug 13, 2023 at 8:11 AM UTC
*As summer reluctantly gives way
And autumn waits at the doorway
Visible changes come their way
Though they are not for long to stay
Cool is the wind that blows in soft hum
And leaves fall with the bee’s thrum
When they fall curling in hundreds down
In a deluge of colors, the lands drown
Some leaves are seen swirling afloat in the space
And some fall softly across the landscape’s face
Of all the trees, the maple is a sight to relish
Which the eyes can never ever relinquish!
Orange and red, ochre and brown
Like the sparkling gems on a queen’s crown
In a variety of costumes the Earth parades
And everything, seen in a medley of shades
The trees are loaded with fruits ripe
And squirrels dart up to savor the pulp
Autumn is the season for gathering crop
When from the towering pines, acorns drop
As autumn tightens its strangling grip
And the blizzards blow in mightier sweep
The trees are stripped of all their leaves
And many a bird, deprived of its arbor, grieves
With the cruel bite of savage frost
Flowers fade and all their glamour, lost
As the days grow cold by and by
Birds in flocks begin to fly
They take on wings to warmer climes
Before the snowflakes fall in bits and piles
Soon the season falls into hushed silence
And waits for the winter with resilience!
Variety, we know, is life’s flavoring spice
And all seasons have their beauty and grace
But each has its own distress and decrement
And the only way to be happy is to be content*
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC
Insult me, an I'll smile
Kick me, and I'll say sorry
Spit in my face, I'll wipe it off and say thank you
Wrong my children, and I'll rip your still beating heart out of your chest,
Shove it up your *** for flavoring, then cram it down your throat
Have a nice day!
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
The Serpent’s Meat
“…and dust shall be the serpent’s meat…”
Isaiah 65:25
An expanse broken only
by the small wooden house
with a chimney
and surrounded by
a reddish thick soupy dust
clogging the air and dampening
the senses:
seeping in the cracks in the wood on the walls,
flavoring our cereal in the morning and
musty kisses exchanged under a creaking ceiling fan at night.
Waking, we find a dusty film and salt flats
weighting our faces and bodies-
wherever the sticky-sweet was leftover
from the night before
when our bodies had arched; hip-bone mountain ranges
rising and falling while
the sun rose and set, scorching every minute
into nothing, and yet
there is something.
There is something
about the dust sparkling on the ends
of your eyelashes, the way it
mixes on my tongue
I spread your thighs,
and I come
away mud-faced,
and you come
away panting.
The dust, mixed with your wetness,
red like war paint-
evidence of my conquering
the landscape,
which is your body.
The valley which rests between the hills
nestled against the expanse of the desert, all
leading to the muddy forest
which is buried between the crevices.
The salt of your earth,
I cannot escape it.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 1:19 PM UTC
Herbs in the window
Slowly flavoring the stone
Of a fire-lit home
A whistle so shrill
Pick some dried sage from the sill
The tea is ready
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
We Just Wanna Live, I Just Wanna Live
Discussions about justice, but ya'll out here killing kids
Trump ain't no puppet, He gon tell it how its is
Building million dollar bombs but ain't no food in our fridge
To me aint' no black and white just a killer and a victim
Home of the equal but you already stole that
We all equal but i guess you didn't mention you get to **** my people
Dressed in all blue, Badges
But they just point and shoot like they ain't practice enough
To protect and serve, ha
More like to discriminate and burn
burn a race to the ground
Everyone scared of death
That's what white people pray for at night, hoping for another day to live, hoping to get that pumpkin spice latte in the morning
Never having to pray not only for your life but your son's too.
Melanin,
Sun Ray Savoring,
That chicken flavoring is what makes us
Everyone wants to be black
Until its actually time to be us
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
The roaring sea collides on the rocky shores
As we watch
From heights above
Inside the lighthouse
Between us stands a cool breeze of harmony
Wondering
To take this relationship further
Perfect are we
A bond so unbreakable
Eternity carrying
As hearts renew
Our words be timeless
Lifelines singling out
To someone not true
Deception
Is a honey bee sting
Flavoring a taste
So souring to be turned out
Enviable confinement
A query so embracing, I rather not
Who else
Can interchange a dominance of passion
Sep 8, 2009
Sep 8, 2009 at 9:03 AM UTC
it tastes like bile in the back of your throat
feels like tears stinging behind your eyes
like a migraine just beginning
like a high pitched whine at the highest volume
it seeps into things unrelated
tinting your favorite colors
flavoring your favorite foods
putting white noise in all your favorite songs
it leaks onto your friendships
staining arms after hugs
leaving laughs polluted
reflecting in eyes that’d trust you with anything
it screams at it wins
the sound one of terrifying joy
“burn!” it commands
but you are made of stone and mortar
it fills your chest with unease
your fingertips with trembles
your mind with final conclusions
your lips with lies that taste like sugar
“I don’t” but you don’t mean that
“I don’t want” but you do
“I can’t” but you can
“I won’t” but you will.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
A line has been drawn
And you have nothing to say about the height chart in the door frame
***** smocks
The ebbing and flowing of passengers in the middle seat
Who do nothing but leave coffee rings everywhere they've been
And say, "my left shoes has a sturdier soul than I do!"
Then forget to close the toaster oven
Rusted lamp posts and artificial flavoring
The Kettle telling The *** "don't do me no favors"
I see clear coasts and those who've missed their boats
They should have taken their piece of cake
Now, this is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you
Getting back to business and usual
Better make that eyelash wish count
It's a free for all
It's sibling rivalry
For all the brown-nosers
Who live up to their reputations of raised leg urination
Give me a pull start
And then demote me to cabin boy
-Tommy Johnson
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
The juices you know you’re sipping
The mango peach goodness
********** these fruits
Tasting their sweetness
Drinking the sugars
Drowning in the flavoring
Yellow in the cup
Yellow in the eyes
Enjoying the dancing
Reaping the benefits of your fruit
Slipping in extra flavor to drown in it
Make a man go crazy over a peachy princess
But the juice in the golden holy grail
Is the truth of planting seeds in the soil
A fruitful soul can grow
But keeping the poison will put you below
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 1:32 AM UTC
My brothers and I, sat on the front porch,
as cool sweat beads trickled
from our foreheads
to the bottom of our chins.
My mother swatted
the screen door open.
She stood, with the hem of her pink apron drenched
in flour, looking like the neighborhood Betty Crocker.
She was holding three bomb
pops for three darkly
tanned children.
We ripped off the parchment,
revealing the frozen crystal
beads latching on to each pop.
We looked at each other
as we concealed our childish snickers,
and on the count of three
we started our favorite competition.
We began licking our pops
Like dogs lapping
water on a hot day.
Twenty licks in, my tongue,
started to lose speed,
and my world, temporarily,
played
in slow
motion
and I was left with a throbbing pain in the middle of my head.
My pop was almost gone,
When I licked it so hard
it did a somersault
in mid air until it reached
the cement ground
and formed a patriotic puddle
around my feet.
We looked at each other,
faces stained with blue raspberry artificial flavoring,
as our boisterous laughter filled the air.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
Snowflakes look like powdered sugar to put on your French toast
Gather to make Snow Cream add milk, vanilla and sugar
Under the scope it looks like shaped etched ice crystals
Put colored flavoring on it and make it a Snow Cone
Lay down and make a Snow Angel, build it up and make a snow fort
Too much makes a blizzard for snow days too little makes a dusting
Copyright 2015
All Rights Reserved
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
Time after time
In the depths of my soul
Nothing makes me happy
Knowing my heart is mended
Every veins stappled and taped
Rigid crevices filled with cement
Each dominant strats I have endured
Dissing this blood with artificial flavoring
Have you ever seen such gruesome illusion?
Engineering my way to this makeshift completion
And by the time it's done, you won't tell the difference
Ready my tools for I have a confession
Tinkering hearts, that is my profession
Spectred recondition, deceitful reconstruction
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
lasing fallacies
facilitated by flunkies
fictionalizing facts
for freedom
re-done interiors
inferior to craftsmanship of old
offer glimpses into consciousness
of the common folk
squandering birthrights
for a burger richer in trans fat
and bacon flavoring
atop an evangelical spire
I peer into soulless zombies
seeking connection
with my kin
only to have reality slap me back
as wolves are kin to pugs
but they cannot coexist
storm clouds gather
night falls
tears drop
I am alone
bone dry dust bowl
harboring fuchsia scorch marks
landscape scars
fracking remnants
humanity’s blight
my line of sight tracks trite sprites
pixie wings and bath salts
eating dog faces for jesus
or worse
feces
out of hunger
horrified I recoil to a safe spot within
again
with old friends
in the din
I win
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
and with strange aeons even death may die."
-Abdul Alhazred
Piercing light digs itself into my eyes
A spread of bird calls funnel past open windows
I lift my throbbing head off the splayed pages
It seems that morning breeze has been perusing my book
The Necronomicon
With groggy effort, I go about my daily routine
Brushing leads to breakfast which leads to brooding
Today is Saturday and I am beyond unimpressed
Not many activities catch my eye like they used to
I think I’ll go for a swim
Thankfully, the empty lap pool provides a haven
Loneliness was never an outstanding issue among our family
That pervasive sense of dull dread invades my heart, yet
There is a thin verisimilitude between loneliness and contentment
I muse upon the power of individuality while submerging
Half-past 11, I notice some peculiar glow spreading in the lanes
Emerald ooze steadily overtakes a pair of arms and legs
It is not long before this strange goo overtakes my skull as well
Instantaneously, terror plunges deep into my amygdala
I assume sounds of thrashing water and stifled screams
How does my body drift deeper than physically possible?
When does my mind disconnect from our tangible world?
Just why are suction-cupped serpents binding me?
Questions spill over the brim and are not met with any answers
Nonetheless, I embrace impending death
Visions assault a cloud of sensory panic
The chlorine chaos takes on saltier flavoring
I see images of cyclopean kingdoms draped in sea growth
Stupendous beings lumber with apocryphal disregard
To these incomprehensible entities, I am dust
They relinquish me back to my microscopic world
I do not know why the cosmic horrors revealed themselves
All I am aware of is that this was a mere glimpse at true evil
One born millennia before the most ancient of stars
One that will persist millennia after such bodies have extinguished
I sink back into the water, exhausted
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."
-H.P. Lovecraft
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
…and if again he is the flavoring,
why perchance not allow my waltz
to frolic circles round your
Sage Advice-
Throughout all the whimsy
and laughing silent kisses
(bubbled pinked ribboned fluff)
there sequestered sits
MY ultimate sincerity severity.
Quit scoffing whilst you’ve lost your savor
his Now is my favorite flavor.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 3:46 AM UTC