"honeydew" poems
*Stranger I have roads in my eyes ,
The cement lies wet in solitude
Your footprints it waits to imprint
I robbed the sun from the world
In my eyes the sunflowers turn to him
On the sides I planted
Honeydew and daffodils
Their fragrance bids goodbye
to linger on my window sills
Come stranger visit them someday
While you resist your world to be on my way*
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
*I have cut my feet
while walking with you,
I have lost all my sleep
while staying awake with you
but my friend, for you
all these are just sweet honeydew
which I will drink & sink my pain into,
as these precious moments
are only for few!*
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 6:15 AM UTC
The flowers are exceptionally cold this season
The rain leaves much to be desired
Mr. & Mrs Sunflower are expecting seedlings.
Good old sounds of pitter-patter on the mud;
"Delve deep little ones - for the earth is rich and good".
Standing two meters tall
Where did I leave me shovel?
Grannies dead and buried,
Grandad he went to war.
Yes, in our house, like a bees -nest
There's honeydew; it feeds us
Gosh, I am so very tired
I need to take a rest
Lying here - just catch my breath
Let Mother Nature do the rest
R.I.P as they will say
One day upon my grave
Lest we pray; behold, my children laugh
And rise again shall I,
Through the wonders of an age old myth
Of time and evolution - life!
Now praise the Lord my soul to give
And keep me warm inside
A glow of peace in troubled times
My memories, a myth
God Bless You!
© all rights are reserved B M Coldwell
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 8:34 AM UTC
Remember curiosity,
The reek of home,
Sleeping with a
Mouthful of fevers.
Remember gold,
Roasted muscles,
The shackles in your thighs.
Remember me,
When you discovered
Hearts of past lovers
Live in your fingernails.
Remember you,
A mad-driven star,
Biting waves with such
Honeydew eyes.
Remember patience,
Threaded into your skin with
Pear tree splinters.
Remember:
Even God knows limits.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
there are no more games to play
no more running around in circles
until our heads spun
and our legs gave out
under the weight of our laughs
no more twirling under
the sun at noon
with nothing
but the sounds of the forest
to be our tune
we left it all in the dust
slowly crawling away
inside our under-lived lives
until we were so far removed
from that swirling stream
of long honeydew days
that we could not even remember
how it felt to run barefoot in the rain
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
crickets serenading the crows to sleep
trees send out calls to one another on the wind
rustling branches
what a masterpiece the stars make
nestled in the spun navy blue of the night sky
fawns and deer scream to one another
grunt warnings and snort dry grass
baby bunnies chirp to distant moms
being chased by auburn tailed foxes
the frogs try and calm their throats of the
incessant pockets of air that erupt from their
stomachs
the moon's veil casts lacy shadows on the leaves
filling the gaps in the branches
white moonwashed asphalt sparks with diamonds
the sun trying to break the barrier of darkness
pushing and bulging over the horizon with a pop
hazy pink lemonade spills over the edges of
distance mountain ranges
orange Starbursts melt on the tips of the crows' claws
lavender wax seeps around the sleeping bunnies
still chirping in their shortening sleep
the stardust that fell during the night
sparkles like dew on the blades of grass
and floats like fairies through the
apple juice air
thick and warm cinnamon roll clouds
roll by in the liquid gold sky
the scent of cherry pie and toast every morning
in the summer
and the scent of honeydew melon
with bamboo extract right before
dusk.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
God is spoken
From a potent Thing
we smoking Trees
Gaia birthed the bloom
breathed the boom
in the canopies,
In the wind flew the bees
and grew the pleasantries
Prana pushing
thunder through
sQuishing lemon trees
like a hundred new
Whisps of mists
and heavy deeds
Sit with honeydew
The gist of this
the lemon breeze
(We) Going tunnel view
Fits and Shakes,
seeking remedies
digging under you
Might be
dicking under you
Might be
Torn asunder true
Pirate borne to plunder you....
Sweat means gold,
what's been found
with lemon -ease?
I've been told
What in our eyes
is what we ever see's
7 seas,
more like 7 deeds,
filled with deadly feeds
Demons like to pleade
with ready rease,
Virus, the life that
spread disease
(it alters our sense
and what we please)
~Ahem,
***no te comas
la verdad
del diablo,***
today to trust
Might feel bad, but
none brought low
There's an easy in
WE Strong Standin',
N0ne brought low
and now we win
amen, a man
none start south
Its begun...
Light as
Potent as my prayers
**** the make-believe
***I can't wear it, ah
Dark is
Ever reaching
What do you receive?
***What you carrying hah?
Balance
(Is) an even preaching :
What we choose to be
***I can bear it ; hah
Come and help me unweave
those who have been so deceived
Those stuck in in the mud of ...
sputtering " how can it be ?"
**** the you or me, mentality
When Neurons Fire free
and Serotonins drained in me
You Might find Saraswati
sweetly swathing me
In glowing rivers,
poured off the moon
With Omens looming soon
With Omens looming soon
I been choking on my doom.
Dreaming
with Both eyes open
and a heart awoken ,
poorly stoking gloom
Too blind to see hope
but stoked, still
mocking roving
Vroom : im off to tokin soon.
Sh!t this blunt be totaled soon
I Might be total loon
an inverted magic man
who most often enwomb
those caught on the moon
Those stuck in the tune
For those who hear
this earworm, this tea room sloom.
This is for Those muted in zoom:
I've found traction in heaps
Breaking as hard and often
As the risen yeast
When you pass on the least
My Passion is to find
the passion of peace
its Stuck In the grasp
Fashioned with the sap
of my last energies...
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 12:27 AM UTC
As I rounded the hill
Face to face with the still
That I'd only heard rumors spoke of
With no one around
I sat myself down
And proceeded to sample the stuff
As sweet as honeydew melon
Got my feet to a geling
Made me feel like I did in my youth
Sat with a dumb gaze for a while
Then got the biggest of smiles
When it came to me what I should do
So I went with my plan
And opened a stand
Right there on the mountain side
When word in the forest got out
I never had any doubt
That all of the critters would be stoping by
You should have seen them all guzzle
As the squirrels ordered doubles
Then proceeded to tell wild nutty lies
It was quite the fiasco
When they brought out the cowboy hats and lasso's
As the party went well into the night
They paid in nuts and berries
Which was fine by me
With them I made different flavors of shine
In flavors I made 32
So I wouldn't get sued
By Baskin-Robbins who has 31 at this time
From all the flavors I made
Boysenberry was the fav
The raccoons made up a dance called the boysenberry crawl
Which was a big hit
At the discotheque
The beavers built in the early fall
We made a deal
I would sell them my swill
For a little piece of the pie
We were all getting rich
I have to admit
It's quite the relationship, the beavers and I
Of course the beavers got greedy
You know how beavers are needy
Couldn't leave well enough alone
Figured they had the right
Who's going to pay for these lights
That make this the best disco in town
They started charging a cover
Which didn't go over
As well as they would have liked
Plus they doubled the price of the *****
Which left little food
On the woodland creatures tables at night
Things went from bad to worse
When they started to curse
Me, "The Man" for the troubles they had
I barely made it out alive
By the skin of my hide
When I packed and hit the road mighty fast
Things had been going so well
Before it all went to hell
And me and my still were forced to leave
Now still to this day
You know why I always say
That famous line, passed down in time
"Leave it to Beav"
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 10:51 AM UTC
bottlerocket,
ski click &
shoot.
[empress impressed.]
petrol souls drift the skin & aetherous
of our holy mother lake midday.
by alpine,
lymph node,
spine of glimmering fish;
i never truly thought that love could destroy.
[to display the paradise boon and boom salute.]
her knife atop the stump.
*
yon machines construct art-form of reservoir (yon being short for yonder),
knee-boarder-boy wake to wake, he wags his tail when he dreams.
[lakeside.]
tribal the beach: a family drunk on juiceboxes.
rolling rocks. tall boys
& boulders/ bountiful canyon kids
with their beautiful gasping dogs.
****** knee **** and gallop at the foot of a mountain/mound &
sugar ants stomped, longing to empire.
mom bunches her fists into sand
of stolen crag, listening closely for her childhood in the whistle
of a casio conch.
margaritaville will do.
[to **** or kiss beetles.]
kiss;
the bitty prince.
maintain a steady alliance with all lifeforms and flora.
life is programmed as thus;
algorithm of love.
bright honeydew soaked slabs of wood,
or plank, tabletop treatise.
wet pile of seeds.
young small birds hoard seeds for winter;
teeter into spring;
& upon summer find solace in swift slip-n-slide daylights.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 7:35 AM UTC
Eat honeydew on your honeymoon but don't elope with a cantaloupe for obvious reasons
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:52 PM UTC
His dog chased her
through the woods.
The rifle can **** from
three-hundred yards.
Watch her leap logs
and sidestep
sticks grabbing
at her shoulders.
There are three Gods
in the woods,
behind any tree.
No one is as ruled
as the lawless.
No one is as sedated
as the frenzied.
Sympathy couldn't be
measured in screams,
but measured
in her breaths.
Beyond the
honeydew horizon,
the senseless cease.
The half-life of eyes:
her only escape.
Where the tree-trunks
are furnished by the
candied corpses.
Her feet chomp at the
prostituted ground.
She will die, here,
whether she lives
or not.
For what is stolen,
stays.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
whats up
comin at cha
from a different perspective……
I
don’t have to be a gangsta
pack heat
rock jordans
300 dolla feat
ice coated nines
blindin muthafukkas
actin all hard
causin a ruckus
I roll wit style
my own I made
not actin like a *****
still getting paid
I
been married 10 years
still eatin that same salad
real love is better
than ******* tryin to act valid
see if fake *** **** is what you sellin
my crew see threw
be handed out honeydew melons
I’m a new kind a rapper –
See I
help ya move
and loan cash
same friends
since way back
roll deep
smoke ****
life cheap
retire neat
buy a yatch
drive a jeep
grow my own
still a freak
I’m a different kind of rapper –
you can call me Sammy T
or MCDJPJS, if a please
i bring it hard
put ya on your knees
have ya starin up, mouth all agape
but when I still don’t touch ya
you be callin ****
try to knock me
down like Cosby
***** I’ll trap ya
sell ya *** to Pauly
feed ya mushroom
set you in a field
play some grateful dead
watch ya spirit yield
Im a different kind of rapper –
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
light my fuse on fire and set me aflame
watch as you singlehandedly set me ablaze
what is it like to watch me burn, baby?
I'm no better than cinder, ashes in an urn.
lately I feel just like charcoal residue,
remember when I was sweet and wet like honeydew?
do you remember when I was good to you?
how much longer can we pretend?
that we know when this war will end,
I can't express how badly I miss my best friend.
charging towards each other from opposing ends of a battlefield,
no matter how much I beg,
your sword you will not yield.
pull out your guitar and play a chord
I don’t know how much longer I can afford
to run around on this chessboard
moving pawns and rooks
when we should be swimming in ponds,
and reading books.
thoroughly covered in brambles
I‘ll wait as you amble
who knew we could get so tangled in something we thought we could handle?
we’re filled with pride and jealousy,
resentment and envy too
how can we come back from this?
what did we lose?
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 8:21 PM UTC
those outtakes after dusk.
those you & me girl / high on the distillation of living trees.
we balance our bodies
over the edge of a creek
********* for minerals
&/or wet peels of gold.
fruit of pine
& animal fat for flavor,
you jump stumps &
stretch lungs to worship.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 2:03 AM UTC
Muse of yonder laid me rapt,
faded in her nape 'twas the golden sun.
"Pull back the drapes and weave your path,
may thy wisdom reach you now and then."
Wet with sound, cosmic hum, we mapped
the rosy hills blooming from the storm.
With honeydew eyes I awoke and laughed,
dawn shineth through a window open.
- Dylan Whisman
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
If I were a painter
I would craft a goddess, hung
Immortal to some museum
or midst the the dusty collection of some baron
With body, flawless
Form, divine
And all of her admirers
Turning the muses flanking Apollo, jealous
But the real fire, the life giving spark
Would flare mad passion in her eyes
And the thundering, A call;
Theodora, freed from the patriarchy of old Byzantium
A bearer of the old magic, ghosts dancing from another time
Her beauty would be harmonious
To the glittering brown-gold of honeydew
And bursting,
Like a symphony loud and tremulous
All the true aesthetes, trembling
That a painter got to meet a woman so
To set his heart afire
And if I had been born a sculptor
If I had been given the power to shape
My crowning achievement
The great anthem of my time, spent
Would be a face;
A chin, gently tilted skyward
The eyes, sparkling with that unknown sea
Hair disheveled, parted, smoothing the cheeks
and the glimmer of lips,
Softly pursed;
But the eyes, the doorways to that tidal force
All of the dreams
All of the feelings, trapped and rolling, the ocean beneath
Would burst forth; A thousand church candles,
Or a gathering of street lights.
If I were a sculptor my greatest achievement would be cast in Lady's Dream
Not for the skin, but for the glittering eyes
Or if I were a composer
Working on my symphony
I would have the brasses buzzing,
and the strings
A chorus of thought
And the melody would be defined not by the loudness
But the silences
The gaps of deep thought, juxtaposed
Amongst the roaring
The soft gasps of tide being pulled back to sea
and all of the sweet undulations, the rivers of a mind
If I were a composer the audience would get a glimpse,
The briefest moment,
Of the beauty
Of quiet
The deepness
Of thought
But I am merely a poet,
A poor shaper of words
Strung out on hope,
Gambling on luck,
Trapped, eternally, to the brightness of the sun
And lost to those whirlwind emotions that govern men so
And for a moment, smiling,
I got to know the wildness in another poet's eyes
The softness of her smile,
And if I could spell love in her heart
I would
But I am merely a poet,
A poor shaper of words
And with these powers
I can merely say this:
When I say beauty
and the thoughts fall loosely on the page,
hopefully bringing forth a smile
When I say beauty,
When I say beauty
What I mean:
You.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
Dropped like honeydew, appearing as a dark temptress
Tasted in smoke
Touched in hot burns - callous bites edged on your skin
Flames of spice, ambers, dusted vestiges of breaks in bones
Hidden in an underworld fantasy - craters of the deceased, and suffering - diver of the dark abyss sitting comfortably
Suddenly they break their thick callous skin
The scalding crack sears others' eyes
The burst! The rebirth! The transformation has commenced!
Rising higher,
To the pinnacle of life where peace and understanding sit at their bedside
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC
I watched my very own
Charles Bukowski
eat a tangerine outside of
the arthouse
where we were reading.
His name is not really Bukowski,
but he has told tales in the same
vein as the Laureate of Drunkards
for longer than I have been alive.
I have listened to that same back alley
patois,
and barroom wisdom for long
enough that I feel a certain level
of comfort in calling the old gizzard
this municipality's own
Charles Bukowski.
The grizzled old poet
is telling wanton tales
of love and honeydew.
He goes on and on,
recounting the times
that he's drunk
strong potato liquor
with Bengal tigers
in the backseats
of roaring taxis
on his way to parties
hosted by zebras and
gazelles.
We each light a cigarette,
pausing to smoke for a while.
Seeking to continue
the conversation with
my salty comrade,
yet knowing my own
stories cannot compete,
I surge onward nonetheless.
His interruptions jam my
traffic before I can even make
it onto the onramp of his
particular, peculiar highway.
His mouth is already working,
though his tangerine consumed.
He's chewing his next story into
digestible, deliverable bits.
And, now he's chewing the rind.
His mouth,
his words,
his life,
and my own for all of it,
is full of
zest.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2017
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
Orchids bloom in unison, erecting from my brain.
Pounding impulses take hold that nothing could subdue.
In this life you've painted floral all boring and plain,
So I would like, in return, to paint you floral too.
Cryptic, like the night sky, are the bruises on your chest.
Burning galaxies of bites now light your new-found skies.
On the ground are teeth marks planted, bear traps set to rest.
Keeping guard of what is mine that hides between your thighs.
Red rose petals on your lips, romantic stains of blood,
Made more vibrant with each kiss that I'll force onto you.
On our tongues we taste and share in your ******** flood.
It fizzes in its ecstasy, mollitious honeydew.
But best of all, the syzygy when you and I are fused,
The two of us and love itself all where we need to be.
Now the impulses you've forced have left you worn and bruised,
Painting you in love and lust and ownership by me.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC
Center of the day begins to unfold
Already gone through the marshes and mixes
Alive & full,
Lick our lipses
Do what we can to get our fixes
Skin as oily
as Honeydew
You caught me in a full-on looptiloo
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
i am a passenger
free to roam on the east sides
of redundancy and table manners
flower markets thrive on dawn skies
arranged as tourist spots
the baker's fair selling eggshells
cracked on cobblestone soup
meatpies sold out too soon
appleseeds scattered for birds
i sweep them all up
and see patterns grow on my skin
let it not be said i did not try, i did not do
for too soon the the heat covers the shade as well
and not even the acacia can go without thirst
fill my cup with honeydew milk
and add bittergourd and salt
i can let philistine warriors come from the backroads
and enter the frontlines
if only to join you
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
Flushed thoroughly by
The sink, lukewarm
My face a weathered apricot
Pore-scape.
Mirror twisted like a landslide
Hushed glances
I'm bitten by miscellaneous pupils
And iris'
Widen'ed like copulation
Given honeydew twilight hours
Shaken estranged to breath cold and thick like smoke.
Crossing over-incarnated
Begrudgingly.
A longing for Rococo
And VW buses.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
look what you do to me honeydew
one glance into your eyes and my heart melts like liquid goo
you've got me so enamored over you
i really just don't know what to do
...
the blue light bounces across your chocolate skin
as my love for you continues to grow within
...
oh look what you're doing to me honeydew
why won't you take me home with you
we can just kick it
it doesn't have to be ******
smoke a blunt and talk like intellectuals
we can be the modern day bonnie and clyde
changing the culture side by side
...
oh look what you've done to me honeydew
my soul rose from its darkness anew
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 10:03 AM UTC
green-eyes, dark-hair, sun-smile
i want to protect & learn & build with you.
for your time i'll offer you stars & honeydew
& arms to warm you nightly.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC