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Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Here comes the sun little darling's
We all get burned
 Is it your turn
     "U-Turn"
Oh! Where I thou
"Green light Diner"
It's telling us to Go
    *       *       *
The Earth beauty faces
I will be your direct sunlight
In plain sight to the daylight
her blossom tree
All I ask come for me
Her face could eat
The divine flower laced

French brie
Tie a yellow ribbon on me
We have so much to see
Let it be sun-face Moms
apple pies
The Sun  "Watchtower"
Someone knocks you off
Your "Bill" on the Ice Queen

The Goddess rodeo waitress
She got you roped in between
The cigarette 1940 case hostess
             "Rose"
I suppose the sunflowers every booth
her smile sets in place

The stain-glass window Notre Dame
Rock and roll hall of fame
The earth kids rainbow chalk
Sun-fun treetops like a beanstalk
Napoleon Elementary Watson
New Jersey Diner capital admission
The Peking duck *** luck

European beauty hunter's menu
Any luck this will be awhile sip "Starbucks"

1-Antipasti cute Shiba Uni
2-Consomme Chicken soup
3-Sun-face to the soul fruit loop
4-Chicken pepper Salsa
Sun-face lights up Visa
5-Hearts of Artichokes Mona Lisa
6-Soy ****** salmon
My sun worshiper man

Fish tacos hummus
St Thomas
Rome was not build
In one day
The windpipes and
the tablecloths Oh! yikes
Full of dream pipes

Sun tan stripes and zebras
Couscous salad big star dipper
Egyptian Gods camels back
Sun-face diner no time
for the sun-chip snack
Diners from 1920-1940
Sun-face air force dresses

Medieval times two swords
Holy lords Easter parades
" Ice-cream Spumoni"
Dinner in the sky
Robin red breast fly
Italian artwork Coliseum
Look up in the sky
It's a bird shaped
Paper plane bad romance
going insane

Waffle House  jukebox rock and roll
Hall of fame whats in a food name
Cowboy steaks American Flags
Cajun chicken legs fruits and figs
At the caboose Ladybird jet lag
Valentine Diner chairs
got footloose homemade goose

Purple rain Prince maple
pancakes
Bananas and strawberry fields
lake sun in shape of a snowflake
Forest Gump changes to
Presidential Trump
Vitamin C  honey bunches of Oats

Yummy floats of egg cream
Open table Sun-face dream
Eggs light she's not finished
over easy
Pristine of carrots with
artful daisies
Thanksgiving turkey

Rings of napkins holding
A time well-bred marriage
Well known landmarks of
Carats
Long ago time she saw the light
Daylight Knight like a scale to weight

Whispers of wine and grapes
Sun face courtesan love escape
Sun Faces trillion times mansion
Sun-faces never go out of fashion
Sun faces and dinner places the best in the world eat heartily Drive in and Diners all over the world have a medieval touch with the Vikings and melodies from the heart  of the surface  her smile will always be there everywhere she goes the Diners place her with Rose
Nigel Lloyd May 2015
Thin and crispy, round and flat
A staple of the proletariat
Two for a tenner
It makes you wonder
And delivered to your door on the back of a Honda.
sara Aug 2018
I'll see what I can make
out of the leftovers I have.
Although, it's never too long
until the milk turns bad,

until a love turns sour
in an online second;
since, an online minute
wastes a real-life hour.

But in a snap-shot moment,
I can find life for weeks
on my stash of sugar truths,
until I forget to eat;

forget to breathe;
'til I don't even need to sleep
because the lovehearts on my photos
sing such soft melodies.

And despite the fact
that often I can't sit at ease,
somehow this perfect madness
always tastes so bittersweet.
a poem about the addictive nature of social media
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
Lizzy Sep 2014
Shrink yourself
Oh she's fading away
Hold her bones together
As the movies play

When a diet becomes an addiction
I felt myself give in
My mind was hooked on these
Skinny thoughts

Bones dance in my dreams
And I couldn't be shaken awake
Yes I'll be skinny like the others
Beautiful like I want

But there's nothing beautiful
About your hair falling out
And passing out and hitting your head
And freezing in the summer
And constantly falling asleep

There's nothing cute about
***** in your hair
And on your clothes
****** noses
And aching bones

Nothing glamorous behind that bathroom door
Just a stupid girl
With her head stuck half way down the pipes
slay Sep 2018
Pleasure remains, but so does the pain, I’m going insane

Are you talking to me? Nah, I don’t think so
Are you asking me if I am mad at the world?
Well I’ll have to think, I guess, maybe? I know!
But I really can’t hear you, I have in headphones
Can we take a break? Cause I gotta smoke
Yes, and each one, it is killing me slow
Well technically fast,
E-R the better
I’d love to be deader than how I already feel in my guts on the inside
Black tar suffocating the fluids inside of my spine —
*****, you are a dime

Pleasure remains, but so does the pain, I’m going insane

“Why you so guarded?” Can’t get this enough
Please shut the **** up, my feelings are stuck
I can’t get enough of the **** from the plug
To put me in a coma from smoking too much
Every time I come thru, I water his buds
He got that good good
that fefe
That neek neek
Good gas got me prerolling
His blunts for the morning
When I'm not high, I'm boring
It's my niche through the torment
To numb all external stimulation endured on my journey
In the basement of a haunted house with all Windows boarded

I'm lonely!
Hopelessly, truthfully, desparingly torn between
Extending my warmth or further retreating
I just wanna die without leaving my momma cleaning
The mess of myself all cold and depleting, and
Soaking the carpet to live or to be in.
Beside myself now, oh, how ******* convenient.
The whispers of a woman in a moment once fleeting , but
That won't be me, will it?
Someone make me see different!
One of the versions of myself that I live with, because
I am infinite.
Still I'm human, I have limits
I could still push myself further than what im currently doing,

WHAT AM I PROVING?
i just wrote this *** imstill working on it
Lizzy Oct 2015
i've tricked them once again
i made them believe that everything was fine.
******* I'm good,
even after all this time.

i'm too good at lying at lying to myself,
I'm too good at pushing away the pain.
and even tricking myself
into believing I'm okay.

you're telling me to breathe
but my throat keeps closing.
you tell me to sleep,
but every night is darkness without dreams.

how am i supposed to write,
without spilling blood on the page.
but this is my job now,
and i need a decent grade.

like forcing a bird to sing for food,
you're wringing me out.
my mind dripping to the floor,
i can't create beautiful things anymore.

i'm writing everything over again.
repeating
repeating
repeating myself.

what do you want me to say?
that everything will be okay?
you want me to make my own light,
give myself a nicholas sparks ending.  

because now I'm exposed,
I'm standing in front of you all.
and you can practically see the blood
dripping down my wrists.

with the world standing behind me,
its hard to keep my focus.
"make it pretty" she says,
"don't let them see you're already dead."

i can't turn tears to holy water,
or my own blood into wine.
i can't create beauty,
staring Darkness in the eyes.
Sara Kellie Dec 2018
Every time I pull it off
it goes off in my face.
It's in my eye and
on my lips,
I look a right disgrace.
My ***** though
she loves it so
I do it all the time
and if I feed her
from a tin
I'd feel it was a crime
because she just loves
those sachets
that I can't pull open
without getting
covered in
gravy
flavoured
splashes.

Poetry by Kaydee
What
were
you
thinking!!
Osiria Melody Feb 14
With nimble hands, the opening of a plastic
bag transpires,
Dire need to consume food, edge of bag rips
A roar of condemnation, sneering at you
Contents of food fly out from its captivity,
Dispersed across the floor like lawn sprinkler
water

With frightened eyes, overcome with the rush
of tears as if they were competing to fall out of
them,
Food stares at you and relishes in its final
moments,
Should I abide by the five-second ru–
A gargantuan foot bears down on food, like one
slamming his foot abruptly on car brakes
Cccrunchhhh, cccrunchhh...

Such a tragedy!
But, by the way, this pair of shoes sure look
better than mine
With nimble hands, you seize the individual by
the neck and–
Sssnapppp, ppopppp...
Dire need to feel remorse, but none embraces
you

With nimble hands, the opening of a plastic bag
transpires,
Don't ever touch my food.
Thank you.



Melody
2/14/19
Don't you hate it when you eat a snack from a plastic bag, open it up, only to witness one of the edges ripping?
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
You can feel it spinning
                                         fast
the Chinese, Japanese, American and European junk
orbiting at several thousand miles per hour could
                                                           ­                             punch
a hole in your armor, future. Thanksgiving passes, then Christmas.
A nuclear detonation, we absorb that fact. The scientist in us
delays sadness by recording observations. What is is,
sorrow's for tomorrow.

By reducing probabilities to near zero I hope to avoid sorrow.
In yr suburb.
In history when there were many fewer people we still found reason
to cross space, explore, trade and war. Now
                                                             ­                 overpopulation
may not be the problem but food and water shortages
get our attention.
                              I have Korf's fears.
And hear what I want to hear.

Some hear singing, some hear speeches or complaining.
Martin Luther King sang his complaints, dreamed of a brotherly nation
which came to pass, spinning fast, past Thanksgivings, past jailings
into reconnaissance, small wars, drones, renaissance, inventions.
At the border,
                         where the Juaristas fought Maximilian:
Benito Juarez (1806-1872) Zapotec Amerindian who served five terms as president of Mexico. He was the first Mexican leader who did not have a military background and also the first full-blooded indigenous person to lead a country in the western hemisphere in over 300 years. For resisting French occupation, overthrowing the Empire, and restoring the Republic, Juarez is regarded as Mexicoxs greatest and most beloved leader. 

Each soldier chooses what war at what border, or just
                                                            ­                                   shows up
spinning with the planet.
The neighborhood and surrounding nature is orderly.
But always there is implied force, violence holding it together,
                                                       ­                                                       chaos
is contained
kept out of the playground, government buildings, childrenxs games
but lies within
the force maintaining order, a spinning tumor, a gyroscope of
                                                              ­                                                inertia.
The force of the spinning, the speed of the force bring one to one's
      death
seasons, weather, earth.
                                         While the emperor's being beheaded
enduring seeds are discovered and invented, cross-fertilized and bred.
Corn, yams, potatoes, sunflowers, rice.
                                                           ­       Food is life and a good study,
useful discipline
                           daily meditation.
                                                     ­   The fighting man protects the farmer
and the farmer feeds the fighting man.
They elect the governor
                                        who serves the people. Peace out.

Peace and war are transitory manifestations of spinning
electrons, planets.
                               The sun's a nuclear detonation, essential
to spring and planting. Food is life. Seeds endure
if man goes to his daily discipline. If woman is man.
Birth and death
                           together are orderly, the border can be known,
voluntarily. How we live together, by prayer or force,
is our story.

Knowledge
from laboratory to starry corridor keeps us very
                                                            ­                         versed.
Did Juaristas consider the rights of animals not to be eaten?
Not during that spinning.
                                              And perform the history that surrounds us.
All that can be done
is written in the spinning:
"The people of the land, the Indian farmers of North America - like their counterparts in Mesoamerica, the Andean region, and the Amazon - have continuously cultivated maize, beans, squash and other crops for more than five thousand years. One of the salient features of their traditional farming systems is the high degree of biodiversity. These traditional farming systems have emerged over centuries of cultural and biological evolution, and they represent the accumulated experience of indigenous farmers interacting with the environment without access to external inputs, capital or scientific knowledge. In Latin America alone, more than 2.5 million hectares under traditional agriculture in the form of raised fields, polycultures, agroforestry systems and the like document indigenous farmers' successful adaptations to difficult environments."
--Wikipedia,  "Benito Juarez"
-- Altieri , Miguel A., Foreword to Enduring Seeds: Native American Agriculture and Wild Plant Conservation, by Gary Paul Nabhan, The University of Arizona Press, 1989

www.ronnowpoetry.com
M-E Feb 23
I was just
a cookie
.
drenched in
love
.
melted in
sweetness
.
in her cup
of tea.
slay Oct 2018
Painted realize
Real lies
Contoured my jawline
Choked out fragmented, underchewed bites of asinine rhymes
Forcing my way back up mucked in stomach enzymes
Didnt anyone ever tell you to take your time?
Take smaller bites?
Or like women with strong personalities you bit off more than you could chew?
Drank far less tea than you once thought to brew
Did your mother ever blame herself when you couldnt finish your plate,
Or were you forced to sit there until its contents were scraped
Like the walls of my brain?
Digging my nails so deep into my hair i siphoned a drain
Relinquishing my lungs from the broth of my distain
Now that's where she really sealed my fate;
Letting you up from your dinner place before you cleaned your nightly plate
And so forth you learned what you wanted to take
Was alright with the woman who slaved hours of her day away
For the perfect texture,
Temperature,
Taste testing testamur
SO WHY NOT ME?
No man will ever know all the baby hairs ive tamed,
Couches ive rearranged,
Backs of earrings I've misplaced,
Shaved my legs,
Beat my face,
Smeared a fragrance down the nape n pinned my curls back only to let them fall with the grace you couldn't show.
Setting the dinner table, to which I was prone,
Pouring tea for two until I realized I was drinking alone.
Khoi-San Nov 2018
The infamous Cuban fog
Roll's of the ceiling
Arroz on Pollo
*** and ice
Flamenca tunes serenade
the
crescent moon
Decadent
bites
Celebrating
Havana Nights
I thought I'd write something
From my bucket list
Damon Beckemeyer Aug 2018
The pizza took her place in bed. It slathered itself all over her.
The pizza objectified my body.
It slid between her *******, leaving traces of red sauce and strands of hot, almost liquid cheese in the nook of her cleavage.

It slowly dripped off of her ******* as she spread its residue across her *****.
From there, the succulent, almost watery juices rolled off of her teet and onto her folded legs as she knelt there in the store window.
Everyone could see her.
But as long as those who were most enthralled came inside to purchase a pie or two, no one seemed to care.
Tanya Feb 7
I’ve always been mindful of
the food that enters my body.

Perhaps,
I should have read the label
before consuming Your lies.


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