"fritters" poems
64
Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair!
Some Vision of the World Cashmere—
I confidently see!
Or else a Peacock’s purple Train
Feather by feather—on the plain
Fritters itself away!
The dreamy Butterflies bestir!
Lethargic pools resume the whir
Of last year’s sundered tune!
From some old Fortress on the sun
Baronial Bees—march—one by one—
In murmuring platoon!
The Robins stand as thick today
As flakes of snow stood yesterday—
On fence—and Roof—and Twig!
The Orchis binds her feather on
For her old lover—Don the Sun!
Revisiting the Bog!
Without Commander! Countless! Still!
The Regiments of Wood and Hill
In bright detachment stand!
Behold! Whose Multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas—
Or what Circassian Land?
2.7k
F l e e i n g I m a g e s-
mindscapes framed in glass
the world looks fragile, delicately beautiful
drowsy rhythm smells like green chilli fritters
colours stand out amongst our greyness
awake-yet drifting away
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
24.10.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
Wakey Wakey, rise and shine
greet the morning with a smile
wide awake and feeling fine
dancing with this boy of mine.
Twisting on the kitchen floor
the monkey, the jive and many more,
the mashed potato, the hustle too
he follows my lead with a giggle or two.
There's a hound dog, a jailhouse, some blue suede shoes
as we Rave On with Buddy and Peggy Sue
Reet Petite makes an entrance and whips up the crowd
"Turn it up Daddy, I want this real loud!"
Then on to the Land of a Thousand Dances
even the dog's grinning wide as she prances
we take Three Steps to Heaven and meet Cathy's clown
then on to the next one, no time to sit down.
So I'll fry up the bacon as my little bug jitters
and poach us some eggs with some sweet 'tato fritters
as I sing of Lucille, Maggie may and Delilah,
then Shake Rattle and Roll to those Great ***** Of Fire.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Filled with the fullness of measure
Of Christ, the wholeness of his stature
In grace, endowment and wisdom--
No faliure alibi hast thou to tender
Why you can't glitter in thy kingdom
Calling in life, be it as a preacher,
Sportsman, teacher, trader or musician,
Save you are super fool--a politician
That fritters away the flourishing treasure
Of his country: promising always an elephant
With vain bogus budgets and speech lofty;
But for maze, could only deliver folks an ant.
But here are the effulgent stars: Lo,
Behold *baba Adeboye! see *bishop Oyedepo!
Thy own gift can shine for the entire earth
Also to see, without comparing thine glory
With another's, focusing on the blessed berth
Of heaven, when your labour and life cease.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Through the midnight alley, he seemingly fritters
With red-lit embers and gleeful priding strides
Eyeing shadows which wretchedly, wincingly vanish
Mocking him with disdain and false pride
But confident in his wits and smiling in his head
A different scene played through his mind
“Those shackles cast, yet dreary glisten
Emboldened by tears in which all hide
Was I too once alas meand’ring servant
To boss, landlord and the like
Each day making payments on existence
With deposits of my mortal flesh
Twixt daylight, moonglow, aye, all through ether
Run ragged by both birth and death
Until I breathed by chance the misty freshness
Of life’s emboldening, wild sea
And encountered with senses anew
In a love unabashed
An untamed earth for me
Each of her breaths I savor as the tend’rest morsel
And my eyes embrace the endless expanse joyfully
For I know not where I’ll float in this ocean
And each outgoing rush carries doubt
But if I hasten my passage with fortitude and reason
The open depths of life wait for me.”
So off he goes, anxious for trials and glory
He floats on legs which he rows with his dreams
Which serve as a map to solace for those who may not falter in aspiring
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 1:28 AM UTC
Eight legged critters
and eyeball fritters,
in a soup I made for two.
I'm going to have a bowl for me,
and you're going to have one too!
You'll sit right there and have a guzzle!
Try to resist, I'll get a funnel!
Don't try to untie that rope!
Stuck to the chair are we? 'O dear!
Stuck to the chair, so HERE!!
GULP!
Mar 3, 2021
Mar 3, 2021 at 7:20 PM UTC
Cakes Cookies Croissant
apple fritters
pie
so many choices
frosted or not
mayhaps sprinkles
ahh the calorie laden
sons of *******
Each bite
another nail
in your double wide coffin
accursed gods
wheat thins for everyone.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
Curtains drawn
and time fritters away
headlights slice into the stillness of night
a lighthouse searching for souls lost in the dark
punctuating the seconds as minutes pass into hours and hours into days
the heat that mingles with the cool night air
create droplets that inch slowly along misted glass highways
oblivious to you and me
rocking in perfect motion
upon an ocean tangled up in sheets
a mess of limbs and hungry lips
and hands that plunge roughly
causing brows to furrow
angry waves on angry seas
searching for Atlantis within hidden depths
a nimbus of satisfaction flirts around your mouth
cresting into a tsunami
brighter than a flash of lightning
close your eyes
I’ll kiss your crown
we don’t need forever
just a promise of right now.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
Alcohol encourages unusual behaviors,
As many may attest;
The fruit of drunkenness,
Embarrassment.
When I was ten, I saw a thing,
I've been reluctant to report,
But 45 years have come and gone,
And I find I have to tell someone
The tale of Christmas at my Gran's.
The neighbors came by invitation,
Arriving in style for a rural celebration,
In steady form, as alcoholics will maintain,
Little wobble in their walk,
Little slurring in their conversation.
What struck us into consternation,
Was Charlie's hairpiece, new and black,
Banded at one end, a horsetail piece,
Inverted and trimmed into a toupee,
How he'd figured out the thing,
Only alcohol could say.
The evening was funny,
With everyone not staring,
Taking sideways glances,
I'd say, "Please pass the peas,"
And look the other way,
Grinning slyly at my brother,
I ignored the warning glares
Coming from our mother.
The dining room grew warm,
With food and warming ovens,
My father trying to lead a conversation
About cows, and horses, Grandma's fritters,
Anything to keep the room from titters.
When old Charlie commenced sweating,
The crow-ish blackness of his hair
Revealed its shoe polish beginnings,
Trickling down behind his ears,
And then a rivulet released its flow
To wend its way beside his nose,
And dripping, dripping down, began
To drench his shirt, first the collar,
Vaulting lapels to his middle,
Until a river of black sweat
Drove to his belt, and trickled in.
T'was all that I could do
To look the other way,
To put Gram's napkins to my grin,
As Charlie's horse tail wig ran threads
Of shoe black down his nose and chin.
To this day, I cannot recall
Just how the evening ended,
I only know that afterwards,
For years, the family extended
The tale of Charlie's Christmas spree:
White shirt, horse toupee, and black ink,
Caused our parents to bring warnings
Of the dire consequence of drink.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 1:59 PM UTC
She is of the opinion that the way to get out
of feeling stuck or dragged in life is
to turn off all lights off in her room
and ****** Fall Out Boy songs
by playing on repeat.
She glows
when silence becomes as a whole
and fritters away every morning;
the hues and harmonies
of unfrequented places
floating
The foretold stories of her hums
to her heartbeat
as to sync with her departed smile
it seems to move such a scope
for hope
from Clouds of Atlas
only to cauterise all in flames.
Time past,
and comes last in sight
when she is at ease
and those unseen awful thoughts in her mind
wane away
Her body stumbles and her words fumble
like life and fear equal shadows
of used things-
Doubt,
that she is.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Kids splashing a puddle,
A couple sharing a cuddle,
A village getting a filled up well,
The soil below giving out a beautiful smell.
The cool weather and the raindrops chilled,
You feel them and your stress gets killed,
You prepare some tea and fill up the mugs,
Sit by the window and listen to the bugs.
If your day is going bad and your mind is at a
freeze,
Open the window, sit back, and feel the
monsoon breeze,
I mean, afterall,this is the time to forget life's
jitters,
To sit back with your loved ones and enjoy a
plate full of fritters!
From taking pictures to going for a walk,
Maintain your silence and let the nature talk,
For it and only it can soothe all your pain,
It's June, and the channel it uses, is the RAIN!
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 1:14 PM UTC
we are engines
filters
carbon dioxide emitters
absorb fuel as
corn fritters or gruel
bodies sinew
sitting on tissues
wiping our exhaust pipes
with dollar bills, sometimes run
out then get stinking rich
on money or dope or ***** or hope or passion
or fun or lose ourselves making gasss.
expect all the critters
to listen to bow down
beasts of omission sometimes
then amazing machines issuing
grace and great feel
passion heats us to 98.6
then we get fevered
and cry.
Cleaving to
pity?
Or cleaning the
pipes?
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Garner the relics of my shattered aura,
Unfetter me from the scaffolds of despair,
Frazzled by the quest of divinity,
My entity crumbles, segments scatter,
Marred is my spirit,
By the halitosis of demons that crowd my
mind,
Marooned in the island of pugnacious
beasts,
My faith dwindles, peace fritters away,
Fawn autumn leaves,
Blown by the gales to the kingdom of
solace,
Pity my soul, deride my existence
"Thee are nothing, but a fallible
saunterer, in the dynasty of abomination,
the reign of feigning fidelity."
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
I have a bug under my skin
crawling within the depths of my
soul
it fritters on and about
like a teapot
short and stout
ready to release the contents of its
spout
screaming and shouting
LET ME OUT!
it loves to write
frightening details
on starry nights
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
I’m blowing the whistle on they, those morally compromised fey
Who prey on the crowd all complaining aloud as collapsed mortgage fritters away.
Whilst the fat bankers dance a jig all the rip offs are ******* the pig
And at the end of the day, these protagonists say, “The Controllers here don’t give a fig!”
It’s the Federal Reserve that’s to blame and old Greenspan is floating in shame
‘Cos the system’s a sham and they don’t give a **** and nobody here’s naming a name.
Now the greed and the arrogance flows, how extensively, nobody knows
They all cover their bums and they snigger to chums as the de-frauded now come to blows.
For today’s finance, Government, sport and the God factory’s… all just a rort
On the verge of collapse or at least in prolapse, leaving truth and integrity…..BOUGHT!
M.
Auckland, 16 January 2016
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 7:37 PM UTC
The squall rousted the last of the roses,
a flutter amongst the mango blossoms.
The storm billowed with savage abandon,
a waterfall cascaded down the wall.
Lightning graffiti scrawled across the sky,
charcoal thunder rattled the fogged windows.
I held her trembling hand and stroked her back
as she leaped at the sound of every crack.
We breathed in rhythm — a steady tempo —
in-out, in-out, our tempest ritual.
He came to report a discovery
of roe while cleaning the rohu for lunch.
Spicy fritters added to the menu —
swift improvement to inclement weather.
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 1:32 PM UTC
She is an unhealthy obsession which fritters away my attention for anyone else, and whom I can only become haunted by and consumed by but never taken by.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC
Winds have brought the glad tidings of the first drop of rain;
For the showers of blessings we await..
For the rusky scent of the earth
For the rainbow in the sky
For the heavy downpour
& the water puddles
For the hot fritters with tea &
The season of love for you and me.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 12:47 PM UTC
The hunger for meaning gnaws my soul,
And the strings of emptiness pull down my spirit,
To a darkness even fear cannot fathom.
My heart cries out in grief, as my body becomes a husk,
My soul in fritters, shredded by blades of a pain,
It can no longer contain.
For some reason, my waning light,
Continued to best the winds of agony.
Even the when desolation drowned my beaten spirit,
My soul held on to the branches of hope.
Until you came, and in your arms my heart found a home.
It all makes sense now, seeing how far I’ve come.
The admiration for resilience is purely misplaced.
For every mile I walked, your tender heart carried me for more.
Where my spirit was broken, you mended with love.
My heart thanks you for solace in great storms,
I savored your worth, and you tasted like my future.
And now my soul beams with smiles of a child well fed.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
big eyes wider than a full moon
or a plate of milk
instantly appearing to change
into white seas
of no boundaries or
moon cheese , take a bit of me
and savor the tang
the smell
the sharp knife cutting into smaller
bites
while the griddle makes fritters
in hot spattering oil
and we are hungry and thirsty
and bereft of
dandelion greens and turnips
or last night
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 3:24 AM UTC
Hope.
With ugly, battering wings -
Fritters away its feathers in its cage.
It is the cage that encases my entrails.
It perches on my bones,
And its sweet tweets echo within
The nothing that is my body.
No, I won't be convinced by you today, little bird.
As if things will ever get any better.
Hope.
With its sharp, red beak.
Pecks away at me -
Until there's no lies to be said,
And no one to hear them.
No one at all.
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 5:51 PM UTC
I got to work this morning
and darned the sock
I was wearing.
Pulled weeds.
Talked to some folks
about foodways
on the Kentucky frontier.
Started a fire
and cooked
dandelion fritters.
Pulled more weeds.
Plyed some yarn.
And drove home in the rain.
Ready for my days off.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
My fancies are bitter flies,
Sparks of looming light,
Twinkling in the dark.
My fancies are Drowsy evenings,
Which echoes the silence of a careless glance,
To soak up the pleasures,
Of disobedient thoughts.
The bindings of love has grown such filmy wings,
And took a farewell flight,
Into the sunset sky.
Now I thus leap,
into the darker caves of the mind.
These scatterings of memories, Flower,
But, for the moment's whim.
And the fallen leaves of confusion,
swollen with hope, rides on the canvas of winged surprises!
To dance alone, all but alone,
With the illuminations of catatonic bubbles,
and with illusions,
Of Beautiful Shadows.
And, I float on the surface of colorless nights,
With all allusions to the shrine of the dead past.
From the solemn gloom of numberless days,
The staccato of memories fritters like secret stars,
Wishing to hearten a timid lamp.
But the sky seeks slaves and claims obedience,
From the mysteries of ageless time.
But, as you see,
My fancies have always been Fireflies,
And, Scripts of screaming tales,
Which would be Written on dust with flowers and scars.
My fancies 'are' fire flies,
Specks of Troubled light,
Twinkling in the dark.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
Mangoes are sweet, a fire is too hot,
Flowers are nice, a raining device.
Two eyes are as cold, as tales too thick,
To be told.
And shotguns are quick, like an aged old memory of rings.
A sickening joy, and all colors of a toy,
She's Counting the breeze, as my curtains release,
the breath.
And a history, who hosted, the castle of prunes,
Sang to the tune, of all spirited debates,
Now, Fritters like a meek and mildly innate,
Shape.
But, Partly, in parts, of all particles, in flux, starts along with statute of laws,
Of loss, and all locks-
As, Innate.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
A password forgetter
I knew
asked me what could
they do?
I thought for a while,
then said
with a wry smile,
"Just get on the 'phone
to GCHQ!"
While reviewing new battle ships,
in fleet form on the river Rhine,
Angela Merkel, wanting to dine.
ordered on her mobile, calimara,
then overheard Barack Obama
suggest doughnuts, pizza and dips.
Angela retorted with Aw! Gee!
Barack, I know what you had for tea.
According to my twitters
at breakfast Putin had fritters.
You're wearing red boxers - I'm told;
Michelle's choice of knickers is gold.
TOBIAS
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 2:35 AM UTC