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spysgrandson Apr 2017
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...
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
#hayleoliz
#hayleolizpoetry
Marian Feb 2014
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~
Hahahaha!!! XD
I Miss Some Of The Meals My Mama Used To Make!!! ~~~~~<3
And Now My Aunt Hasn't Been Feeling The Best
And Weighs Only 60 Some Pounds
My Mom Has Been Trying To Help Her
And Hasn't Had The Time To Fix Those Same Kind Of Meals!!! ~~~~<3
This Poem Is Dedicated To My Mommy!!! (: ~~~~~<3
I Hope She Can Make Some Of Those Same Dishes Of Food!!! :P ~~~~~<3
Also, This Poem Is Inspired By Hello Poetry's Very Own Weasel
Who Suggested I Write A Poem About Food!!!! (: ~~~~~<3
So To My Mommy And Weasel
I Say "THANK YOU, DEARS"!!!! :D ~~~~<3
Hope You All Enjoy This Random Poem!!! (: ~~~~<3
You & I 
need each other 
for all our kneads
of body and soul.
vanish things Jan 2015
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?
Jedd Ong Mar 2016
"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
An attempt at "sketching" a cartoon. Originally a photo piece.
Brycical May 2012
electric faces
glow in the dawn's light, like the  
orchid's scent kneads thoughts
Sharina Saad Jan 2015
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...........
I simply love baking..........
Sarina Nov 2012
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.
ChawzzyScript Mar 2013
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
One of my favorite poems, from one of my favorite books of prose!
The "Incomparable" Kahlil Gibran
Atoosa Mar 2017
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
From The Prophet
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
Joseph Valle Jun 2014
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.
Caroline Grace Apr 2013
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
Maya Grela Jul 2015
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.
FS Antemesaris Mar 2016
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.
Apachi Ram Fatal Jul 2016
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
Litany Disgrace Devotion Embrace
Simon Quperlier Oct 2013
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?
J J Jan 2022
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.
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
We've had Tigger for about ten years. I remember getting him - "free kitten" sign on the way home from our boat marina all those years ago. My mom could get a kitten if my dad could get a motorcycle.

Tig was recently diagnosed with lymph cancer and we have been told that he has only a limited time to live. Tig and my mom have always been particularly fond of each other so I know that this news is hurting her most. Lots of sighs.
Michael R Burch Dec 2022
** Xuan Huong (1772-1882) was a risqué Vietnamese poetess. Her verse — replete with nods, winks, double entendres and ****** innuendo — was shocking to many readers of her day and will doubtless remain so to some of ours. Huong has been described as "the candid voice of a liberal female in a male-dominated society." Her output has been called "coy, often ***** lyrics." More information about the poet follows these English translations of her poems.

Ốc Nhồi ("The Snail")
by ** Xuan Huong (1772-1882)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My parents produced a snail,
Night and day it slithers through slimy grass.
If you love me, remove my shell,
But please don't jiggle my little hole!



The Breadfruit or Jackfruit
by ** Xuan Huong (1772-1882)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My body's like a breadfruit ripening on a tree:
My skin coarse, my pulp thick.
My lord, if you want me, pierce me with your stick,
But don't squeeze or the sap will sully your hands!



Bánh trôi nước ("Floating Sweet Dumpling")
by ** Xuan Huong (1772-1882)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My powdered body is white and round.
Now I bob. Now I sink.
The hand that kneads me may be rough,
But my heart at the center remains untouched.

Most of Huong's poems were written in Nôm script, a complex Vietnamese adaptation of Chinese characters employed from the 15th to 19th centuries. Through her Nôm poems, Huong helped elevate the status of Vietnamese poetry. A century later, she was called "the Queen of Nôm poetry" by Xuan Dieu, one of Vietnam’s greatest poets.

** Xuan Huong was apparently born in the Quynh Luu district of the north-central province of Nghe An. Xuan Huong means "Spring Fragrance" or "Scent of Springtime." Her father, a scholar named ** Phi Dien, died young. Her mother remarried, as a concubine. Huong grew up near Thang Long (modern Ha Noi), in a male-dominated society in which polygamy was permitted and men were more privileged than women. Huong may or may not have been a concubine herself. Very little is known with any certainty about her life. In 1962, Nguyễn Đức Bính admitted, "I don't know anything about the poetess Hồ Xuân Hương and other people don't know any more than I do." And yet legends do take on lives of their own ...

Keywords/Tags: ** Xuan Huong, Vietnamese, English translations, snail, grass, shell, hole, breadfruit, jackfruit, tree, skin, hands, sap, stain, dumpling, body, powder, powdered, sink, bob, swim, pond, heart, center, red, nom script, spring fragrance, spring essence, concubine
** Xuan Huong, Vietnamese, English translations, snail, grass, shell, hole, breadfruit, jackfruit,
James Floss Oct 2017
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!

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
step off the edge
Dhaara T Mar 2017
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
Mike Hauser May 2016
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
Lightbulb Martin Jun 2014
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.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f7fJuSAOEUY
If you would like to ear the song
RAL Dobbins Mar 2014
White foam and none.
The ocean air is thick and sweet as the sea kneads it's waves that corrode the entirety of my rib cage.
It botches stale breaths to chant hallelujah, screaming mercy, yelling bliss.
The seaside is the perfect place for a cup of black coffee.

Incan bean roast on a petrified mountain.
My stomach is a dark brown lake.
The tides rise and fall with my consumption of a dark brown drink.
The moon follows my dark brown sky.
It's a dark brown dye I preside.

I can say I've kissed a bean,
but only after I used it's blood to think.
And I take my coffee naked.
Sometimes things are just better that way.
Naked.

I indulge in book ink.
I could swim in book ink.
I could use book ink as an excuse to miss a date.
When I use book ink, I drink coffee.
I drink coffee and I use book ink.
I read you can do that once, I read you could do that in a book.

I read that just being tired isn't enough these days, but coffee helps.
At least that's what I wanna believe.
I think I just like the taste,
And what comes along with it.

It's an alcohol.
I wrote this because I like coffee.
Butch Decatoria May 2016
MOJO
                    Jack Russel puppy
                    chase locusts in the tall grass
                    swift and quick of wit.

HEATHER**
                           Tuxedo Persian
                            kneads my chest / at bed-time / purrs
                            *Mama cat nanny.
Raw words May 2014
I stare out the window wishing you'll come walking 
around that wall
Where are you 
For a short time I felt secure with you 
Did I do something to deserve the blank numb stares I give outside?
I'm obsessed and down at the same time 
Wishing non stop every minute of the days that pass for you to come back 
My heart is wrenched and slowly breaking 
Turning kneads into bitter broken leaves 
My poetry is sad
You're the one I want please be who I hope and who I was so sure of that you'd be 
I feel you watching me 
I'm sure you're not 
I promise I think he's my love 
Another husband? 
No. Security is what I felt 
I didn't question it 
he is it 
There I go looking out that window again
Come sit and wait for me like you once did 
Come see the rainbow after the storm the way you did 
Come snuggle my cheeks the way you once did 
Come lay with me tell me how amazing it feels to just be together 
Why did I ruin it
Alcohol 
It ruins more than livers
I can't walk anywhere without you in my front mind
I can't walk for myself without you 
I'm walking with the blues I have for you 
Looking again 
Is it him 
I'm obsessed.
My Dear Poet May 2022
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 your 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 heart 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 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.
I wish I had lived and met Kahlil Gibran. He’s like a friend I never had.
Shadows crept into the bowl
As the milk tumbled from her lips
Swept up in the torrent of taste
Forgotten in tomorrow

The night sky shed her velvet cloak
As the sun yawned from his bed
Red with the drippings of sorrow

Sweetness tinged his pain
Darkness filled his vision
Caught between the sheets of moon’s conquest
Lacking the hollow sky to fulfill him

The stars danced with the sun
But washed out from the intensity of his heart
They wither in the stomach of men

Grown cold in the vacancy
The sun kneads the moon for help
“Save my star children,” he cries
For without them my heart will wither and die

She shakes off sleeps grip
And plunges a knife deep into his heart
Where a cry of surprised anguish utters from his lips

While the sun lays dying in her room
Moon tussles her head
And with a regretful sigh
Throws herself into the empty blue sky
“Query”
from a word miner non-trumpeting
Beatle browed quarry man.

One emailing digital commoner bemoans assiduous,
zealously yearning xing worthy values undergirding
the storied renown quintessential peaceable operation
nations marvel lately kindling justice,
institutionalizing hope, gentility, freedom, equality.

Dummkopf Donald Count Drake
Hula iz destroying cradle,
where forefathers/mothers begot
America. He shows no demonstrable diplomacy
DURST donning duplicitous damning dingbat drive.

THUS...SPAKE
ZARATHUSTRA GAVE ME THE GREEN LIGHT

I call out President Trump blitzing, donning,
and flagrantly hoisting his arrested development
proof positive he lacks the acuity,
diplomacy, and generosity to invite kosher
or Goyim mandates.

As an anonymously, devilishly,
grouchy voluntary member
(as well a deplorable basket case)
of the one man literary duh vice squad keeping
a mostly straight and true reputation for Hilary Clinton
(versus his claim of her baseless crookedness,

she evinces qualities immediately evident
asper an old gnarled hickory stick), I will
stick tommy figurative guns in an
attempt to staunch the figurative bloodletting heaped
upon admirable Democratic constituents.

Concomitant with this near impossible mission
will be my unbiased opinion, that our FAKE
commander in chief aspires to abrogate,
denominate, and generate demonstrable gimcrackery,

invidious kleptocracy, and incorporate
questionable statecraft.
Analogous to an old chestnut tree apothegm
(well rooted to create self serving,
vassal hating (viz vacillating),
retreating, and re: tweeting

from conscionable, fashionable,
and inimitable laudable official,
regal unequivocal x all did (re: exalted)
gratuitously justifiable management,

this citizen banker does hint intend zealous altercation,
but bestir commonwealth, dutifully engineering
fairness, given hover into jaundiced keeper
LivingSocial lee, man hooverring
opprobrious presidential qualities!

Pointblank obnoxious
quintessential recklessness, subpar,
tacitly ubiquitous voracious
wickedness, xing yawping zapping,
and brokering capitalistic
demagoguery constitute
just tip of the metaphorical iceberg.

His blatant, downright
**** the **** the torpedoes
unleashed viciousness woebegone
lake luster personal gain
to shore up claque king coterie
of family, friends and wu tang
clan, wracked worst world wide

White House den of thieves, which wake
formerly somnambulant populace
to the utter void of requisite skill
unfairly acquired via host
of apprentice television show.

The terrestrial terrain teams now
teems with thuggery, skullduggery,
and raggedy quality people opposing necessary,
manifold linkedin kneads jettisoning important
human goods fleecing essential democracy,

compromising basis authors
of Declaration of Independence, and
framers of Constitution rang the
bell of life, liberty and pursuit of happiness.

The zero sum game trampling, traipsing traducing
basic birthrights botched, bumbled, and blithely
desecrated, via tattle tale telling,
tee totaling, trumpeting tyro
leaves tracks of depravity, gallimaufry.
Thus, (in my humble viewpoint), this mister Donald

(meister usurper  power monger meanwhile iz
***** kneal son nilly, higgledy piggledy, and
wantonly indiscriminately sans,
helter skelter lapsing into  
figurative seat of his back *** while
steam rolling, and letting swing
the wrecking ball like a Golem

howling, jabbering, snapchatting on the loose.
Trademark bully tactics trumpet
his abominable, execrable,
and irascible back *** steam roller
tactics to divert attention,

whence he plopped his paws into as
many profitable, questionable,
and reprehensible theatrics to offset
the mounting evidence of his nepotism
oozing pew tin utterances bring

cataclysm Cat toss trophy at mice elf
and doorstep of average American, who seem to
cower, fawn, and grant high jacking
identity guard, which crass
flagrant indiscretion inflict opposition
to progressive quests.
She teases me with please and sees the ease with which she kneads her seeds of plain jane ideas that inflame maimed ideals in the mind she unkindly winds to blind the mimes and hide the chimes behind my cruel foolish heart that she has ruled and ghouled apart with vanities and sanities sweet depravity that eats into the cavity in every meat memory that follows me until I am spilled and thrilled with the **** in the mirror, the bottomless fear that I see so clear is in time and climbs up my spine, but it doesn't rhyme.

Though she slay me
Yet will I love her
Prathi Sekar Jul 2018
Golden light fills the sky
Gentle breeze embraces me
Warm sand kneads my feet.
A soft gurgle escapes
When the waves tug the shore playfully.
Time has paused at this perfect moment
Or Is it my heart pacing as fast as time
Creating a perfect illusion?
I look at your lit face,
Eyes wide above that sunken nose
Brown hair reflecting the golden hue
The soft brush of your hands against mine
Jitters emanating from our bodies
I look into your eyes
shoving the muddles from my head
I lean closer
My lips brushing against yours
Our first kiss
Etched by the golden sun
The gentle breeze
In the Eternal truth
Levita Mar 2021
She walks among the slits of light that pass between the horizon and the sky,
She paints their colors with her laughter and delight in the smallest things.
She kneads the storm clouds slowly adding her tears,
Her voice, the thunder and her wrath, the bolt.

She the builder of worlds, of hearth, of home, of love,
The lioness and She Bear in one,
The thread of strength that holds so many lives together.

Yet, we must remind her she is not Atlas bound to the world,
She is like the seasons or tide steady and rhythmic,
She is all things ,
She is the title but she is more that , Mother.

She is divinity that walks the earth.
Like the goddesses warriors of old,
She shall forever battle knowing that those who stand with her shoulder to shoulder follow her unwavering into the fray.
With loyalty untold , beside this marvel of divinity,
This the holy feminine trinity that graces the world with her smile.
I wrote this for a friend. She is wild and so much more than I can ever put into words.

— The End —