"fritter" poems
Day by day I fritter away
Observing decorum as best I may
Meet me as you meet — reserved somebody
Leave me as you leave — dull nobody
Dreary, weary, listless, spiritless
A resting spirit clamours to emerge
Unguided, wild, free and seeking
Boldly defying reserved somebody
But how, just how do I unleash this defiant spirit
For it is to cross all conceivable limits
Oh but a mask, of course a mask!
The perfect accessory for this task!
Careless of propriety
Boastful of daring
Acting against my will
Or in tandem with it?
This mask — just now I can't discern
Ponder I do with great concern
Does it shield my identity
Or render truth to it?
So now just what fun in masks
One may ponderously ask
Masks, bring to life fantasy
Fantasy, a realm of our reality
Reality, wherein lies multiplicity
Multiplicity, within each individuality
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 11:04 AM UTC
I don’t know what to order so I order the cheapest thing on the menu
I don’t know if you have lotion, but if you do could I use some
you pulled something out of your pocket, that attracts the consumer I’m sure
it looked lip balm, it looked like blush, but it was lotion
you walked me to your place
made me a whisky and soda
you had mint, you put it in
before then I had read about that only in novels
I didn’t go home soon
I was thinking of polyamory, the next morning at noon
the next morning at noon
curly hair, brown skin, brown skin, curly hair
nose ring, curly hair, brown skin, nose ring, and curly hair
guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt in the morning
I’m mourning over my Catholic upbringing
and do I always have to tell the truth when I write something
I don’t wanna drink and drive like I don’t wanna drink and make love
make love with a woman
I don’t wanna drink and just fritter and **** away
**** off guilty conscience
you’re wrong socialized conscience
let me dip my feet, let me submerge
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
I dream of a society
Where the ideals of beauty
Are less focused on superficial concepts like one's waistline
Or how decrepit their smile lines made them appear
But rather one where the focal point of unanimous adoration is,
As corny as this may sound,
One's morals and where they land on the gradient of human compassion
In this utopia,
The elderly aren't seen as catalysts for repugnance and a wrinkling of noses
But rather as symbols of eruditeness and beauty
The type of beauty that influence or money can't obtain
And it may be conceivable that instead of wasting my days squandering over my physical appearance,
I can just fritter away the days
Strumming my ukulele along to the tune of my American dream
For I have yet to actually awaken from my adolescent slumber
Breifly enough to grasp my dream from the bubble floating above my resting head
And nestle it securely in my pocket
So it doesn't forgo me
In search of someone less complacent with bewilderment about their future
Who dreams of social and economic prosperity
Instead of someone who's apathetic at best about whatever career choice they've chosen for the week
Maybe that's just it
That maybe I don't want the conventional American dream of fame or fortune or recognition
Is it feasible that maybe my American dream isn't to rise from sqaulor into a soulless mansion
Whose corridors boast success
But lack warmth and presence?
I suppose that my American dream encompasses more than just America itself
It lives in the eyes of every human being on the face of the earth
It's nestled in the gaze of a starving child
And the stare of anyone who's ever felt a tongue's razor edge
And all I'd have to do is delve into their eye sockets and plant a seed
A seed of hope and compassion
Or whatever I deem fit
Perhaps I just want to shield myself
From the world's disapproving glances,
Those fleeting moments of eye contact that convey condescending judgement
Maybe I'd just like to make a difference to things sans the media’s snide opinion
But despite my juxtaposition to society's critical assessments,
I know that I can't run away from my fears or problems
So maybe I dream of a society
Where I can remain headstrong even in the face of opposition
Because I'm aware that not everyone's going to love each other
And spout sweet nothings about peace and understanding from their hind quarters
So maybe I'd like to help be a driving force
That wards off the world's shadows
So the sun can continue to shine on my American dream
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
I live for pleasure
And it bores me.
Out of measure,
I live deplorably.
In all frankness,
I always tell lies.
Reality is a mess
I lately despise.
Why not let go?
Why not fritter away?
Because I may never grow
Lest I see the end of the day.
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 2:27 PM UTC
Red Yellow Green
So many colors to choose from
And than so many different types
Big Macintosh, Granny Smith, Golden Delicious!
But in what way will you have it?
Will it be a pie, or a **** or maybe a fritter? So many ways, so little time in the day to make it all!
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
You were amazing, I’d like to think so.
While you constantly scorned your finest poems
I’d squander on the disincentive ruins of a thoughtless mind
coaxing my envy to calm.
I longed to see what you saw and how you saw it.
You became the conquest,
the prize of my eyes, to affection’s surprise.
I started playing with words and sentences I had never read nor said before,
reading Plath and Baudelaire to join in your mind’s conversation.
Always striving to surpass your expectations of me, expecting nothing.
I gazed at you often, marveling at your squalor as if it held great significance.
Infatuated with your capricious mind, your pathetic whims, I craved for your approval.
For you, were the idol.
A far cry from the adolescent shell of a man that I cocooned in.
Jealousy would eventually consume me.
No manner of abuse or lust could explain
this psychotic affection towards your promiscuous apathy.
I started writing poems because of you, they were never any good,
I feared my crudity; you liked them all.
You always knew what they spoke of and I could never imagine yours.
But to you every opinion mattered.
The truth was still writing itself in your mind when you chose to fritter away
fornicating on all fours secretly, desperately, looking for the one.
Would you give it all up to write again?
I apologize for not telling you,
you were my first poem
I couldn’t impress you.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
Love's not better, the second time around,
not with you at least, in quick time I found;
you hadn't changed your frame of mind,
you were too ruthless and still unkind.
The years had only made you bitter,
the time you had with me, you'd fritter;
I had more good things to say and do,
than moan and whine or compete with you.
My one divorce for you was not enough,
you still remained embroiled and rough;
so you caused me to go and make it twice,
because your love to me, it wasn't nice.
I only wanted for you to meet me halfway,
but for you, there's only one ****** way;
you wanted to be the domineering one,
well now the place is yours...have fun.
But don't expect to see me anytime soon,
can't stay with someone crazy as a loon;
love's not better the second time around,
not with you at least; that much I found.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 10:21 PM UTC
Leavening levers leave us
fishy, wishing without precision
for fettered fritter letters,
feverishly licking with distinction;
Finnish fishermen finish
squishily dished deliciousness.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
I could eat a dozen
Perhaps I ought, I glance at
The box, white and untouched
Alone on the table, sweet air inside
I can’t help but break the seal
Revealing ****** frosting, perfect lines
Would anyone know if I took
Both a fritter and macaroon?
Lord help me, no restraint
As I grab a fistful
My waistline can’t trust me
My tongue simply yearns
For every single pastry
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 3:42 PM UTC
The clam doth fritter my mind
So close that shell, tightly bind
Protect the flesh, soft body hidden
Predators, everyone forbidden
Rigid shell scalloped in unison
Form the bond to close within
The frilly layer undulating rhythm
Soft body concealed and hinged
So perfect beneath hardened chalk
Worming tongue
Gaping mouth
Wordless talk
Oh to rest inside your precious womb
Forever bask in your rosy gloom
Hold my body with your silken lip
Precision pulse throb through your grip
Mixing Love, Patience, Hope for the world
Depositing on your pink precious pearl
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Steady pounding upon the bronze sides of hordes of men's helms,
only to realize the impenetrable god's gold is the fate of another realm.
Reincarnation, heaven and hell, 70 virgins, and many more voodoos fritter among as distraction, constructed to insurpassably shadow this pain.
Will the truth be revealed as a nonsensical stalemate?
Can we finally graduate to a more evolved interstate, and gravitate to the knowledge we accumulate over life's days.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 5:16 PM UTC
The boy stood on the burning deck,
His ******** to the mast,
A very wise precaution
When Oscar Wilde went past.
But Oscar was a wily chap
And threw the lad a fritter;
And when he stooped to pick it up
Oscar ****** him up the *******
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
tweet my injustice
Let's all us combustus
and fritter away french fries
from the local till us nuts
Freakin' Friday
Meek and Nigh may
take away the saltines from the
mouths of youths
and put a large bass in my
kissing booth
I am Xavier
I am Charles
I once supposited a pack of
Marlboro's
Shamus mc **** Batman
the 'copter's on down furrows
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
To all music morons
Glued to their earphones
The look-alike clones
Sunk in the dune of tunes
In the crowded buses
In public places
With drooping eyes like a yogi
Cracking heads and bursting ears
Thinking it the only escape
Salvation’s gateway
Balm for boredom
Pleasure’s pinnacle,
Don’t just fritter away
The one chance to be here
For a brief while
And leave with a blind existence
And a blasted hearing,
And before it’s late
Redraw your fate
Take off the headset
Open the yogic eyes
And in the yogi’s spirit
Give the world a good look
Recreate in her beauties
Make her melody your pastime
Her rhythm your heart’s rhyme,
So you don’t regret
When your time comes along
That you never could tell a bird from her song!
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
Ibkek sits idly by
the meadow's green and varied blooms,
paid only inattention.
He, not minutes passing nigh,
envies but this bumble
who black-and-gold buzzes onward
with purposeful zags. "She fits
so nicely here," he mumbles.
"Why, even duller drones,
though weak and puny, have a place."
The worker, she might envy
Ibkek this, his freedom's moan
to fritter life drinking,
but busy harvests push instead
her bee-bound thoughts, set upon
a queen's idyllic kinking.
Feb 28, 2010
Feb 28, 2010 at 8:55 AM UTC
1
Because I was born into poverty
I learnt some of life's most valuable lessons
2
Because I don't over-rate my skills
I suffer from few disappointments
3
Because I could not flatter nor compromise
some people kept away from me
4
Because I recognise the ways of the world
I am not easily fazed
5
Because I know life is too short
I don't fritter time away in idle indulgence
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
How can this be allowed for our people
worked all their lives.
Trying to save for their own retirement
and reap the rewards.
They labour hard and toil over the years
finding they can't as it nears!
Eroded away the money they thought was safe
wrongly by employers.
Government changes depleting their nest eggs
then having to work longer.
Pensions worth far less than they'd expected
many retirements affected!
Placed on the stock market by speculators
too much squandered.
As it's not their own money to fritter away
to get it will take longer.
Not able to retire on the original date
some may not last the wait!
Unaffected are the wealthy usual story
they never lose out.
Richer by the day without any idea
from their high perch.
Viewing the masses in total disarray
gloating it makes their day!
The Foureyed Poet.
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 6:53 AM UTC
I
Am human
I
was
born,
I,
For reasons
I
Don't
Know,
I
Am conscious
I
Want what is mine.
The only planet I might
ever touch with my toes
in my lifetime, the only planet
that our children may
ever, is in constant flux
as humankind fights on high
between the minds that
can't decide on the price
of life in this land of freedom,
minds on high that can't
decide if a government
should protect its citizens' best
interests or preach
individualism until the best
is a corporate Wild West.
Until when? The time
Has come.
It is.
You can see it.
Look what you've built.
Gaze upon social implosion and cry.
I
Am nothing
With
Out
This
Blessing
I
Am a part
Of
the
We
as the
Us.
You want to see God?
Feel your face with your hands.
Look at yourself in the mirror.
Assess what you've become.
At some point in time,
The value of commodity
Became The value of a human life
At some point in time,
The value went intangible
Became the money We need, when
Our leaders all fritter Fiat funds
For access to guns and bombs.
(Bigger and Better, Baby)
(❤)
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
all that is the sea
in
one
full
wave:
the fritter of each line
reaching for shores,
the multitude of eyes
in in phosphorescenr sand:
memory etched
in flumine! erased by
the arrival of blue hands
rinsing all, leaving foam
of passing tides already
full with derelicts.
sibilance of breath speaking
its origin and now
i swim past all ruins,
moss, seaweed, crush of
light and opaque contest,
lifting with the voyage
of a ripple, and back to
your breast,
i dream of fish!
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 3:52 AM UTC
I can't seem to catch a break
My luck is marred by misfortune
I pass the dance squads grooving to tunes coming out of their ghetto blaster
Shaved ice and snow cones
Party foul!
Lamps busted get an adhesive
They went sightseeing
Dabbling in the art of hiking
More or less wandering
It may sound off putting to some
He is a delightful chap
He's good with wingnuts and transistors
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls
Cut up the buckwheat
For an incomparable meal
Empty out the ashtrays and spittoons
The epilogues of habits
Solve improper fractions
You got nothing else better to do
Recite the silicone soliloquy
Fritter away the votes for the popularity contest
Because you've spoken your mind
Here comes The Pony Express
Here I come looking disheveled
We're all onions, peel back the layers and look for yourself
Play it by ear
We can hear you panting
The lazy work horse
With a hostile mentality
And portentous attitude
Go alphabetize the tiles in the bathroom
"Crime is common, logic is rare"
But she has defied that statement
When she waltzed in, and looked for the emergency exits
And found a sense of humor amongst her latchkey misery and love life tragedies
As the clueless boys on blue try to fill their quota
And the ones in deep thought assess situations
While putting lipstick on pigs in a blanket
During the inspection of a chalk line ****** scene
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
there are no magic secrets in the mud
beneath our feet but worlds have passed away
while it was formed and our own great display
marks just a stage in passing drought and flood
each one of us from hero down to dud
knows that we have so little time to stay
and yet seem hasty to fritter our day
in silly matters that just waste our blood
time was we might have made some sort of stand
against the forces that push down so hard
to turn our efforts into so much smoke
but we are left with only a weak hand
remaining on what seems the final yard
and sense enough to understand the joke
May 15, 2011
May 15, 2011 at 5:26 AM UTC
It explains
All childhood gains
The damp soil and people all plain
How easy was it to obtain
Fritter, butter, tea , paratha on a plate
And the gentle smile gone not in vain
Of weak limbs and sight living their tales
A sudden flash and all is blind
A slight whisper and all is behind.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
I fritter away my bread
to keep
the sparrows happy
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 6:22 AM UTC
time
no,
there is no
time
there isn't time
to birth
there isn't time
to live
they are all
wrong
so *******
wrong
and
they don't wanna
waste time
not even a second
but
there is no
school time
there is no
bed time
and you have to wait
wait for them
wait for your
turn
life
goes on
and you have to
fritter the hours
there is no time
to ****
there is no time
to hate
there is no time
to earn money
not even a day
to spend it
there isn't
party time
there isn't
time to drink
there are
just you
and there is
just time
[and it's enough to drive you crazy]
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC