"kneads" poems
Teresa climbs on the bus
before the sun, if she has
the fare
to get there, where she
makes the bread; she's been at this
two of her nineteen years
yet she has fears, they will
come for her--green card or not;
though they like her rolls
she kneads the big ***** pulls,
pinches, a sculpting of dough, a laying
of trays, one after another
then, from the Iglesias,
they come, decked in their finery
though she does not see
she only hears the litany
of language she can't comprehend,
a clanging of trays, laughter
the urging of the jefe to work
faster, bake the bread; the communion
wafers did not fill them
now they are here, breaking fast,
forgetting the words they just heard
the songs they sang
Teresa does not complain; she
is glad to feed the worshipers, though
they will never know her name
nor will they stop for
her in the pouring rain,
the blistering sun
Teresa never wavers
next Sabbath will be the same:
dawn, the dough, the oven
it is the work--her hands
which make the bread others break,
the grace granted to serve
holy, holy, holy...
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
My Mama's Cooking Is The Best
She Cooks And Bakes Me
All Kinds Of Delicious Foods
Such As Scalloped Potatoes,
Ground Turkey Meatloaf,
And Even Tuna Pies
She Bakes Me
The Sweetest Cakes
And The Most
Mouth-Watering Pies
She Makes Them All
By Hand, Of Course
She Kneads Her Bread With Ease
Delicate Lily-White Hands Caress
The Bread Dough Laying Before Her
She Makes And Bakes
The Best Meals You've Ever Heard
So Now She Has Less Time
To Make Those Delicious Foods
And I Am Beginning To Miss Them
And So Is My Hungry Stomach
~Marian~
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Clarity has claws
Within her pouncing, padding paws
Laps up goat's milk raw
Grapples a teddy bear to songs
Tied to a robe's string
Well, she plays with literally everything-
Her eyes say exactly what she means.
No **** Clarity is a cat I call to come back
I find myself pleading for her return-
With the promise of a salmon snack,
In exchange for lessons learned,
But I only capture glimpses of her white and black
As she flashes by the doorway,
Always only doing things her own way.
Since her trust is hard-earned,
I coax her cleansing burn.
She climbs up my bare leg
With her razor sharp needles,
First thing in the morning without any warning
Clarity,
Why did I beg you to come near? ! don't tear !
I only wished for your soft vibrations in my ear !
It's so impossible to change your nature
I wasn't bleeding before you were here, but your message is pure
You only come running when you're hungry!
&Would you really eat me if I died?
The way you watch with such wild eyes,
(I'm sad to know I shouldn't be surprised)
Your tapping tail compromises your position,
Your crystal clear intention
To play with your prey before you ****** and eat them
Clarity,
embodying the way her name hides and smiles, pounces for a scream
as if she were mean!
Sneaks off to surprise her next unsuspecting victim
-
Tummy full,
Warm purr, a welcome buzz
She comes, she plays with, she eats my ego, she loves, she kneads, she purrs, she leaves, I plead
ah, Clarity
-Hayleo Liz
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
"Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
-Ozymandias
I.
O wait for us, Colossus
as we wait - and throw you
to earth: from heaven’s gates judge you
unworthy - to hades’ lands assign,
where your iron limbs make mincemeat out
of anguished homes - by tyrants
you were thrown but floated aimless past
the drifting realms where once lay hell,
and fired you your rocket boosters - apollo’s gift
blinding still your eyes -
II.
next, awake: the visage of the Child
in your face - languishing, affronted:
two vast and trunkless legs of iron glare, only to grow
rigid still - slumping at His feet: with heart-engine smoking,
eyes hollowed-black,
lying in slumber with giant's knees bent,
in grasslands rest and where hearkens the plain - He cries out:
’tis you!
though dwarf, He is - he kneads your iron
by grass, and your wounded legs the earth
now christens, snd blesses still your sleep.
III.
He moves forth with grass blades and twigs,
crown you a nest; and bear stones unrolled to where
your feet first kisses ground.
-2.17.16
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
my abuela kneads my hands
like masa. thrift store perfume
dusts her dough crust fingers
and chokes the hundred years
of her kitchen like yearning.
abuela
¿cuándo dejó de cocinar?
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
Then said Almitra, “Speak to us of Love.”
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them.
And with a great voice he said:
When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.”
And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, it directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
-----Kahlil Gibran
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
electric faces
glow in the dawn's light, like the
orchid's scent kneads thoughts
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 8:34 AM UTC
The soft butter melts slowly
Caressing every inch of
this white soft and fluffy...
from the top of the dough
To the center.. and it falls
gracefully to the bottom
Golden brown color it turns to
as it mixes with some brown sugar
dancing, rocking the buttery bread
attractively rise and shine....
Beautiful...
the whole kitchen of mine.....
The aroma of sweet cinnamon fills the air
My mommy's kitchen homemade bakery....
the true meaning of love is here...
The labor of love
passionately blends
in every dough it kneads
in every bread it produces
seduces the young and old
Calling all bread lovers..
my attractive butter sugar buns
seductively smiling
waiting for you to grab
one, two, three...... and sold
In mommy's kitchen I bake
with love...........
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
Daylight in the castle,
there is the king and the queen.
She is of Europe, floats like a bee
upon clouds, these saltwater beacons
drenching for her hair to dampen black.
And he thinks she seems angelic,
each morning, opening umbrella limbs
stars & stripes he gave her last night.
Shine and prim kiss-kneads,
nobody can tell that he loves me.
The pond across the way, I drown
in the flesh-earth, memory of our space
just ruffles swaddling where he tastes.
I am his handmaid as I am queen,
when light surfaces on my snowbank
ever ghosting the skin of knobby-knees.
Daylight in the castle,
beams for more than just a queen –
clumsy, odorless of the love she’s seen.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC
A wanderer, I explore grasses high as my knees
Far away, grey foam breaks from the stiff seabreeze
To my left, a stark mountain frames the sky
My tireless bare feet follow memories nearby
As I inhale familiarity, my heartbeat slows
And earthy remembrance kneads through my toes
I'm not scared as blossoming storm clouds appear
For I remember what happened when I was actually here
Nostalgic breaths of wind soon whip at my face
Surrounded by vastness, this awe I embrace
To a place lost in time, I'm fervently drawn
Funny how you can only miss something when it's gone
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 9:31 AM UTC
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
Kahlil Gibran
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
Legs astretched like venomous broomsticks
Fangs drooped lazily like a calm nosferatu,
Those eyes gold as sun on styx, treasures
that spun flame between his every blink--
Sandpaper tongue dragged over black hair
Nibbling his own wrist momentarily, then
Locking sleepy eyes on you, ascending fleece--
Retractable moonbeams flex teasing attack
then kneads, falling like a lullaby back into
uncapturable dreams; purring in the spirit of poe.
Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 3:55 PM UTC
The theologian's heart sits heavy in his chest.
He has searched, sought, and out-thought the best.
Yet, he has nothing to show for his quest but gray hairs and a book nest.
Scoffers scoff as scoffers do.
Such is expected, for the Way is few.
The theologian needs not a pat on the back.
Nor gold, for he has no lack.
He knows that of making books there is no end,
He has no credit by which to lend.
Still he writes, and still he reads
Still he taps, and still he kneads
Until his heavy heart stops beating.
Now he'll see if his theology was fleeting.
Such it was if not God he's meeting and if not Christ he's greeting.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
There are places you exist
in a flowing green dress
that kneads against your body
with every passing breeze
and sand nips at your heels
as you curt by tonned blocks
of cement that smother grass
just off the sidewalk.
They nuzzle киоск stand,
and long to lift self up
to a sea-blue, backdrop dream
that dissolves for years (and years)
and erodes to sewers beneath
with every Charlotte rain
and crumble once again;
a gray-eyed contrast true
of beauty vining through
a city that snuffs roots.
You, and there you go.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
Winters here are unpredictable.
There are days when the fire stays in, when I watch the log pile shrink by the hour.
Other days, a weak sun raises the temperature by degrees, as well as the spirits.
Today, there's a chill in the air, so I call my friend to meet at the local bar -
that means I won't have to burn any logs.
She works here in the village, turning pots, then decorates them with the traditional blue designs
for tourists to buy – if she's lucky.
At the bar, she tells me about her new project. She knows exactly what she wants.
Ideas spin in her head like the pots on her wheel.
This time, she says, she's determined.
Her enthusiasm doesn't last for long.
She drifts away, staring into the middle distance, lost in private thoughts.
I study her hands- always tense, never still. Her slim fingers engrained with the red earth that she shapes.
Her wedding ring hangs from a chain around her neck, leaving her hands free from obstructions while she kneads the clay.
In the background, beer glasses crash about and a dog is barking somewhere outside.
Her eyes flick towards the T.V. High on the wall.
Sometimes, when an important match is on, there's football, but more often than not, like today,
there's a violent American film with subtitles in her own language.
She shivers, then comes back to me, pulling her scarf closer around her shoulders.
She tells me she's seen the film before and knows the plot well.
It's the one where the husband gets drunk and tries to **** his wife, but no one will believe her.
She looks tired.
She says she's been up all night trying to fix a faulty thermostat - that the heat of the kiln was too high and broke all her pots. Then the main fuse burned out and that she'd have to get an engineer in to fix it.
After a while, we embrace and part.
Walking home, I think of my friend and how she could never bear the space between her hands and her precious creations.
The air feels chillier now and an icy wind has started to blow.
I expect by the end of the day there'll be snow on the ground.
But there again, it might just rain.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2013
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
Practically disbelieve prophetic sustenance
Pre exist convince self sacrifice austerity
Lead solitary lonely strife unravel dysfunction
Slowly impede on sanities senses spirit bend
Empath way to escape betray forgive pain
Obey Frey free from Cain disintegrate
Holy guardianship vindicate Lord Lucifer
Emancipate misused divinity behoove
Sacred energy bitterly keep on enlightened
Sorcery face El-light what immaculate forgery
Divine Sphere of influence follow through
Underworld Godspeed enchant exuded kneads
Forbidden prayers left lay Ilahi arrest turn off Sylph
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
The boys in tattered clothes huddle in streets like
bees
So primitive and uncivilized they don't even know
what an iPhone is
Looking famished hands stretched and standing
on their knees
Unfolded palms begging from the men in suits
and ladies in heels
Hoping the heavenly grace may fall on them so
they can find bliss
Their mama at home suckling the young kids
With their dark flopping ******* which produce
milk like beads
The father is dead the uncles are nowhere, who is
responsible for the needs?
So she sends the small boys to the streets where
poverty recedes
They get the few collected coins and buy flour
which their mama make the dough she kneads
These kids with their mama don't know about
education
They never go to school or work so everyday is a
vacation
Bitterness engulfing their lives and can never
avoid depression
****** insanity and malnutrition because of diet
ration
It's miserable to watch such beautiful beings
suffer in frustration
Why can't me and you reach out for them, or all
of us as a nation?
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
Somebody threw you
Away. Wow. To stay.
Black cat
Splat!
Fur ball
Hiss! Rrrawll!
Then Buddy Boy sounded
You rebounded.
Now, shifted
Impulse conflicted
(Claws on paws
Teeth unsheathed
Twitchy touch
Playing rough)
Now relaxed
Switched back
Lil’ Draculina loves him
Under chin
Loves me
Kneads me
Right back
Black cat!
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC
From downstairs there are heavy sobs –
from my bed arms length away,
hushed purrs
Before he goes
to sleep, he kneads the blankets –
I lie still, watching perfect
little paws making
their way to comfort but
-- there is no way
to apologize
for scruffing his neck
scolding him for the death
of a snake who was only
hiding in its cage
to forgive
him for tearing apart
countless carpets, posters,
skin from the back of my hands
and now the heart of that woman downstairs
--there is no way
to say cancer
or goodbye
without cringing
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
#
*When love beckons to you, follow him,
though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
though the sword, hidden among his pinions
may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him
though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth, so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses
your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
so shall he descend to your roots
and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire,
that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you
that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge,
become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear, you would seek only love's peace
and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness
and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
into the seasonless world--
Where you shall laugh.. but not all of your laughter,
And weep.. but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught, but from itself.
Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say,
"God is in my heart,"
but rather,
"I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love,
for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires,
let these be your desires--
To melt and be like a running brook
that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart
and a song of praise upon your lips.*
~Kahlil Gibran#
Dec 19, 2021
Dec 19, 2021 at 8:00 PM UTC
I love this moment
where time has slowed down
Your fingers learn to take a flight
just micro-millimeters above the ground
And the earth, she quivers
when you are so close
Yet not, not yet...sinking into my skin
But I love this, how love flows
Your lips merely touch
my eyelids falling with the weight of diffidence
To my sigh, my warm breath falling on your neck
You smile as a consequence
I love this moment
The vibration of your voice
reverberates through your chest
as it invades my palm, as I silently rejoice
It flows through and meets the synchronicity
of my beating heart
Oh how my name gets new meaning
when it flows from your warm lips
still exuding the fragrance of love
I love how your gaze rips me apart
into mere bubbles in the universe
How your soul kneads into mine
And are we even you and I anymore?
I love how your existence echoes every time
How I fail to decipher which thoughts
belong to you and which are mine
Do I love you or do I love my reflection in you?
Or do I love the reflection of
your reflection in me,
that mirrors through you?
What substance is this love?
I know not, but I know I love this moment
I wish, though,
I could live this moment
even when I opened my eyes
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
Let us focus on forgiveness
Make it our word of the day
Whether it be of yourself or someone else
Sit back and watch what it creates
As it takes the heart of the hurting
Kneads and melds it into shape
You've never lived until you've learned to give
The bitter taste of bitterness away
Take hold of the hand of forgiveness
Leading you wherever it may
You will never go wrong with the path it is on
Where forgiveness is the best of all ways
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 8:41 AM UTC
Mama told me
Never Fall in love
with a blond girl
God above
Seemed to say the same thing
But I ignore my God and
yours never meant **** to me
Now this blond girl
she makes me half
as good as I can be
Or is it bad to say?
All I want is today.
Start over start all over
Is it something different?
K.
1-2-3 go!
Mama told me don't you ever
fall in love with a blond girl
Lord above
he would be so angry.
The blonde is bad enough
don't let her B White!
No that just ain't right
but I had to
put up a fight
with my God and I
don't care about yours
going to stick with her for sure
She makes me so complete.
I didn't know I was empty
until she filled me up
now my cup overruns
with formless fullness grace
And I see her face in my dreams
Yeah she's wearing my
favorite pair of blue jeans.
Now on your knees
Mel kneads
Happy birthday girl from You
it means a lot that you stuck
around by my side cuz you knew I'd
be alright one day.
How did you know
something I didn't know myself
I was ready to retire
put myself up on the shelf
But you made me
Come back out and I'm
so **** glad I did
Whoah!
With you I'm finally rid
of all The pain.
Oh My heart is
a crane it
keeps reaching out to give
the
love love love
Whatever love you
give to me is multiplied
And it pours forth
like the sun Shines
Mel
a need.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC