"kneaded" poems
Pulling
stretching
An oxidizing elasticity
all the while
a morphing
of shape and size
a marble of muted grays
resurfacing itself
and the pages it touches
with a softness that cannot
be touched
only destroyed
back into a density
to take away
the mistakes
better left
unseen
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
Strewn about
Pushed and pulled
Kneaded and formed
Torn between fluctuations
Waves of highs and lows
Guided by incessant duality
Indecisive self esteem is a certainty
Inevitable and constant is change
Enjoy your main character moment
It always goes just as sudden as it came
God complex with a hint of self loathing
We dance on the scales of our emotions
Just because the pain is carried well
Doesnt mean it isn't heavy, the weight of it is always felt
Survival is sometimes met with guilt
Youre invincible to everyone except yourself
Stay balanced and level
Integrity above all else
Do whats right when noones looking
Or be tortured by the secrets you can never tell
Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 11:08 PM UTC
Reaching out [to you] with hands
that kneaded dough before dawn,
and bleached kitchen worktop while
bread rose in the oven.
My skin carries a chill brought in
from the garden- And
my hair, damp under the elastic
I tied it back with, smells of
almond-oil conditioner.
These old clothes
have been folded with lavender,
for too long, in a drawer-
And the knees of my jeans are black,
with fine-foam-dust, from carpet
I’m part-way-through fitting.
My toes are cold and my feet are grubby
‘cause I didn’t wear shoes
when I hung out the washing.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 9:40 AM UTC
O THOUGHT, fly to her when the end of day
Awakens an old memory, and say,
"Your strength, that is so lofty and fierce and kind,
It might call up a new age, calling to mind
The queens that were imagined long ago,
Is but half yours: he kneaded in the dough
Through the long years of youth, and who would have thought
It all, and more than it all, would come to naught,
And that dear words meant nothing?" But enough,
For when we have blamed the wind we can blame love;
Or, if there needs be more, be nothing said
That would be harsh for children that have strayed.
3.3k
They say I can't chase you next
Can't seek out the moon over Mexico
or relive the tears I shed on the plane
home,
I can't feel the tirelessness of our forever
like the hope that dawned and set inside your eyes
I memorized every stitch in the broken couch
and I can still see us there
You're studying, I'm sleeping,
Planting rhubarb and watching our trees grow
Lightning shorted out the reception tower out back
As I sat on the end of our bed, mind blank, and laughed
All the glitter on the stone patio and the shirt left in the rain and the socks hung to dry on a hook you
Forgot
We kneaded pizza dough and watched Roseanne
That I jumped on you in the middle of the storm as you held me,
Kissing while UMF raged
In one loud, still moment
You are stopping me at the towel shack
Finding my legs under the restaurant table
Shoving my mittened hand in your pocket
Asking me to stay
Messaging me
and I know I'll chase you again
I just can't be with you now.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
So soft and loving,
Your hands on my face
I felt special and warm
I knew you cared
So deft and strong
The way you kneaded dough
I learned at your hands
To feed those I love
With your hand in mine
I always felt brave
I could conquer any thing
A little squeeze was all it took
My hands on your face
Gentle and loving
I hope you felt special and warm
I hope you felt how much I cared
Your trembling hands
Would spill your food
So I fed you with the same
Hands that prepared your meal
Your hand in mine, I was still afraid
You couldn't give me that little squeeze
So trembling, I held tightly
Til my hands had to set you free
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
*I unload your god in that laissez-faire way
where the bandages mend and have no need to be placed,
formidably, regret to admit the moonshine in my hair
looking Gothic, but beautiful:
sober the men’s breath as it falls, falls, falls
not more mild than a snowstorm in its final lapse.
Sat there to be dreamt. He put his hand to his beard,
and I would have kissed if had I believed
that he was not merely trying to haunt my body,
the hair I kneaded into air.
It flowers, and flowing these marzipan sands
where God lays man next to his wife,
she bears the peaches: juicy, ripened, but not to eat
expecting us to swallow ourselves in turn, spin the bottle.
I could not care less for the braces in his lips –
or their fur, but gums beneath like peaches.
**** it out until the pulps mirror,
you have the skin of a four fruit, or an eighty,
flames high as kites. But suffering for each flicker-knob
and dating a girl who smokes cigarettes in bed,
I know he could not support that, your god.
Morning comes with a glare, now eating her hair
the involvement of some odd raconteurs. I beat them
and they beat my ******* for their heat –
God is a cabin boy with genitals in his palms,
said he would love the women as long as they are gone;
if he does not see me, the flames, I cannot exist
not more than falling falling falling hair.*
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
to be
kneaded,
in squashy,
jelly ecstasy,
falling over
tumultuous,
a largess of
festivity,
woman,
not as much
as your walk,
talk or nature,
but that one
boom-rocket,
eminent, salient
feature,
lickety, suckety,
twistety, pressety,
lurety, bitety,
fever,
closety, graspety,
claspety, grabety,
clungety, playety,
severe,
twins to be
tended, a little
gorge, to lash
tongue betwixt,
to be clasped,
lurch after
each tip,
tender,
half-earths,
cast on a
potter's wheel,
sun baked,
shaped in
rain's fluidity,
winter's rigidity,
summer fire,
lover's calm,
luster's oasis,
sumptuous,
lush spread,
breeze at
a tree top,
monuments
in rhapsody...
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
You know, if I had a penny for every poem I have read with the theme of
"You don't know what you have until it's gone"
I would be a rich man
It's a shame that it took me seventeen years and a handful of special people
To realize that sometimes clichés are correct
I am not sure if you are aware
But each time you inhale
It is called an inspiration
And each time you exhale
It is called an expiration
So here I sit
Echoing a process that has been perfected throughout the millennia
Except I guess perfected would be a strong word
Because we don't have it right just yet
You were someone who inspired me
To become someone who I could be proud of
Someone whose own stories set my blood on fire
And filled me with hope that I could take the raw elements
Of myself and forge them into something great
Because that is exactly what you did
Just a milkman's son
Who ended up becoming the smartest man I know
Who taught thousands of students
Both privileged and poor
And couldn't tell the difference between the two
Who inspired two generations of people
To learn
To love
To laugh
Whose little gestures meant the world
To everyone who had the fortune to inhabit yours
Your five sons went on to become
Doctors and lawyers
Businessmen and police officers
Even if one wanted to be a clown
You married a beautiful woman
Who walked with love in her heart
And kindness kneaded into her hands
Your grandchildren, while there are a lot of us
Each owe you for the knowledge and kindness you instilled in us
All this from a milkman's son
This poem isn't goodbye
Because each time I draw inspiration from the atmosphere around me
I am thinking of you and I hold that **** breath for as long as I can
Just waiting for inspiration to hit me
I squeeze my eyes closed and hope against hope that everything is going to be okay
Because I am too scared to let that inspiration go, I am not ready to expire
So grandpa,
Please
For me
Take that breath.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
In summers past, hot and hazy,
we wandered northern shorelines,
sand whipping salt brine and
vinegar enveloped, marveling that
even the Amish possess swimwear.
I lingered at the taffy shop,
toe-raised peering through smudged
glass and candy bins, spying
both worker and robo-worker
pulling long tough ropes of
salty confection and memory.
Our time on the path is pulled taffy,
event-pummeled, tugged asunder,
reunited bittersweet.
baked boardwalk beneath feet,
cobbled personality planks
stretching taffy of time
In summers past I was there.
In summers present i am there.
In summers beyond we are back
there once again
folded and kneaded
smiling, reunited.
This is the back-end of forever,
yet do not fear;
the dying of the light
is the dawning of the dusk:
a wheel that we spin,
a point that we traverse,
a keeping of a promise,
a memory of a scent,
a vision of disorder,
and the chaos in the calm.
Cower.
Rejoice.
Repeat.
Amen.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
Forget the onion and all its layers
thats obvious
You are undeserving for such a cliché
So I invite a different perspective
Think of a base, flour and egg kneaded together like I need you,
so dense in identical morals
Folded with mirrored ideology of future fortuity
Dipped sensually with a sauce so thick,
Thicker than blood or water,
Blended as one to create a sea of red as deep as our hearts pumping vitality
Sprinkled softly with the most palatable, mouth watering mozzarella
Each placing full of utter affection,
Long lost stares while you sit innocent to me feasting my eyes upon your moreish persona.
The only quandry we must face is whose decision that day of toppings to showcase
Who gets the chance to tease additional flavours, delicious tasters
To open eyes to attributes unseen before,
Hopes set high to electrify taste buds
Wanting the other to crave more
Ingredients brought together for a flavoursome pizza
You are my hawaiian
As i,
Your meatfeast.
Opposing trimmings
Eachothers 1st choice
One anothers perfection to quench their dying hunger
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC
(10/25/12)
The black days of history that many do not know
And many refuse to accept - of how the black man
Helped AMERICA to be the greatest country yet.
They was brought here as slaves because the
Color of their skin !
But their minds was never searched to see
What lied within.
Every ethnic group that came to the states
Had many a hardship that they had to face.
Every race that came was given a derogatory name
Which they had to accept and had felt the shame.
But they all contributed to this great nation of ours
Which is now known as the greatest power.
These are just a few facts of what the blacks
Had given to this nation, and many of these
Became part of our salvation.
FACTS: )1) john love- invented the pencil sharpener in 1897
2) Joseph lee -invented a bread making machine that mixed
The ingredients and kneaded the dough in 1895
3) Thomas l Jennings was the first African American to receive
A patent in 1821 which was for a dry cleaning process.
He used the money earned from his patent to purchase
Relatives out of slavery and support abolitionist causes.
4) madam c.j. walker (1867-1919) daughter of a former slave
Who suffered hair loss in her twenties and created hair care
Products , and allowed her to open a factory and school to
Train hundreds of black women to be economically self sufficient
And become one of the first female millionaires in U.S. history.
There is still something that burns in my heart
And when I think of it -it tears me apart
Of all the people in this great nation
That have been put to the ground
There lies one race that still lives
Way below the poverty line and
The government says there doing fine.
The “AMERICAN INDIAN” who had
Most all treaties broken and of this the
Government hasn’t spoken.
Many families of five and more
Living in a shack without a door
Just a blanket to stop the wind
To me this is a crying sin.
The Indian charities having to buy
fifty five gallon drums for water
And many of them on “back order”.
I know that I started writing this poem for the blacks
But on the Indian nations - I can’t turn my back.
We have to help one another, for we’re all
Sister and brother.
GOD BLESS US ALL
© L . RAMS
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ'✿⊱╮
Sugar, butter, eggs cream smooth
Wisp of vanilla
Grated orange zest, kneaded
swirls, braids, round twist, "S"
Gloss with beat-egg wash
Bake gold brown
Seeds!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 4:23 PM UTC
It was beautiful to touch
the curve of your spine
outside, gray skies dance
over umbrellas, foam cups of
sugared coffee sit tight
between gloved hands
everything is m o v i n g
yet in here, I am still,
limbs kneaded to the
curve of your
s
p
i
n
e
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
**his body is bread,
made of dough kneaded
through generations
she knew.
he sensed her cannibalistic urge,
even before, from her irregular breath,
now, under her garter belt half untied
he feels
a knife.
he knew she was
the exquisite red wine
matured in the
wooden barrels in darkness of time,
found only on the table
angels dine.
her blood red
intoxicates even from a distance,
he desired the sweet and sour
of her tender flesh,
goosebumps infest like pox
when he closes his eyes
and imagine
licking clean the chalice
filled with her.
The jealous moon
looking down at them,
from her high perch whisper:
"You are made for each other
no doubt"**
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:32 AM UTC
how much time left do I
apply my mined
knot kneaded
burial
ache
?
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 10:38 PM UTC
When these summer squalls have subsided,
I will reap the kernels of my discontent.
bushel by bushel,
I will harvest my wistful fields
until they are barren of want, and come fall,
I will take my troubles to the mill.
lined-up and counted,
I will bake them in the sun,
and when they are dry,
I will grind them with a stone salvation.
under a December sky,
I will bleach them with a mild amnesia
so they are as white and soft as springtime snow.
Then, baker befriended these kneaded woes will rise--and this time,
I will feast on the bread of my shortcomings.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
Caught hold of a cloud
Wandering in the sky
Mixed, kneaded
Under feet...
With a large piece
Made huge *******
With one piece
Made navels, deep
With a piece, buttocks
From memory
Thighs
Arm pits
Feet
Fingers
******
******
Deep,
deep,
deep......
While lying exhausted
It started raining on me
Un ceasing....
Pregnant with rain babies
In womb
It was indeed a female cloud
Raining...with out a pause!
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
###
*these candy-painted lips
this gum drop smile
kneaded out of thoughts through the nights
left by the indents of lingering fingertips
###
I gazed at her
as she slowly, surely, unconsciously,
peeled the batter off my face
leaving nothing but
her vanilla touch*
###
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
home
is your
midnight lullaby
dripping like honey
from the back of your throat
and your
anxious tears
dripping like sand
from the top of an hourglass
home
is the
perfume of orange blossoms
passing through my lungs
as we run through the orchard
and the
rotting smell of garbage
passing through the streets
as we climb onto the school bus
home
is the
sweet taste of dates
mixed with sugary syrup
kneaded into perfect pastries
and the
metallic taste in your mouth
mixed with the guilt in my stomach
kneaded into a sticky dough
home
is the
falling of ocean waves
over our heads
as we scream-laugh through the water
and the
falling of bombs
over our city
as we sit together in silence
oh
how I wish
I could simply return
home
but
home
no longer exists
because home is
you
Jan 9, 2021
Jan 9, 2021 at 10:39 AM UTC
A chest of boardwalk
and nails unscrewed,
an arsenal of rusty
marching faceless
graffiti, musty
multi-eyed designs and grinning
tiny men right beside,
with lips rose-pearl, sharp-end.
Right beside small carriages to lend.
Wall art wiping off like a fresh tan
once winter comes, scrubbed
with air-carried sea salt,
reabsorbed into brickish mortar and tin-ringing
structures that overlook sweezshing shoals;
dough-rolled hats kneaded on shake-grain shores.
This is where the wolf pup goes
after it snatches the children of my wide-eyed games,
figments of nativity babies
and their red-cheeked discord.
Wailing betrayal
in a swaddling maw,
Vanishing into these walls,
and like that, more pinched-lipped mini-men
lull this predicament into a then-ling
ceased, ignored as the child-pile
rises in the wolf's den.
The umpteenth hour:
i flip through old calendars and
fill in the boxes of dates and
reassemble daily fates
in my head with pink marker
tracing my palmsandpickingupsomethingwhatisthat—
oh.
just child #62
all plump and fat
growing in my throat,
rapidly birthed
with a nasty cough.
spit in my lungs.
and she cries
and then it's novoctuary (or just june)
and the paws claw kindly, schlep-ripping
my featureless form like knocking at a door,
and this is the departure
of my never-was newborn.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
I love it whenever Cookie. . .
kneaded her cute paws on cushions. . .
slept on my bed. . .
slept near the TV. . .
slept on top of the furniture cabinet. . .
slept in between my legs. . .
gave us Norman, Zoe, Vincent and ****** (but he sadly left us so soon). . .
played with her kittens. . . and. . .
defended them whenever Buddy bullies them. . .
gave me gentle gazes. . .
gave me gentle meows. . .
looked at me with her big, innocent eyes. . .
played very energetically. . .
showed her the moments where sheʼs still a kitten at heart. . .
she comes whenever we call her. . .
she responds to calling her name. . .
was very affectionate. . .
melts my heart every time. . .
she rolled around whenever she was playful. . .
she told off Claudia sometimes. . .
comforted me without any effort. . .
I love her tri-colored coat, her beautiful innocent eyes, her cute face that I will dearly miss. I may have not shown you how much I love you, Cookie, but I will always remember you through your babies. I will protect them.
I love it whenever Oli. . .
knocked over things whenever he throwed a tantrum. . .
bit or scratch me gently when I irritate him. . .
whined when I hug him. . .
ignored me whenever I call him. . .
would give me a meow of warning before biting me. . .
followed me home the first time I saw him. . .
gave me that irritated gaze. . .
can be sweet when he want to be. . .
screams whenever he fights with some other cat. . .
doesnʼt want to fight other cats. . .
lightly bumps my hand or lean whenever I touch him. . .
slept beside me. . .
slept on top of the refrigerator. . .
doesnʼt care about pleasing me. . .
knew that I love him so much.
Oli knew how much I love him. I love the black spot on his lower lip, his orange eyes, his white and orange coat, the cute pattern of his front paws, his long orange tail, his innocent face, his gayness **** I love every single detail about you, baby.
I never thought that you impregnating Pola was a blessing in disguise, because I didnʼt know that you would leave us so soon.
You might be gone, pero lahat kayong mga dumaan sa buhay ko ay may kanya-kanyang espesyal na lugar sa puso ko. Miss na miss ko na kayo. Sobra. You guys are perfect. You didnʼt deserve any of what happened to you. Iʼm sorry I couldnʼt protect you guys from this cruel world. One day, you will get the justice you deserve. And the same goes for all of the animals they abused. Hindi natutulog ang Diyos. They will get what they deserve.
October 15, 2019 - July 22, 2021
October 14, 2019 - July 22, 2021
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 3:13 PM UTC