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Madhukanta Sen Aug 2016
Had Lindt chocolate the other day
And pistachio ice cream the day before
With my family.

The little children
At the impoverished crèche  in Kolkata
For which we chip in
Were too far off
For me to share it with them too...

They would have loved it!

So I resolved
To treat them to chocolate
When I visit them in winter...

But how do I get them Lindt?
There are people wanting your love. Love them.
Jenny Gordon May 2017
and you said:  "I hope you like chocolate."



(sonnet  #MMMMMMCCCLI)


I've not had choclate, nor a taste, in pale
Excuse, for that in days, perhaps cuz hence
You called yourself that, and my hunger thence
Was only for whom stole aught else, t'avail
Me of:  just you.  And oh! how that detail
In lieu of packaged squares, eats me and sense
Out of both home and hearth, ne crumb to fence
The **** is't? yet smudges in betrayl.
Oh, Adrian!  There I must leave off.  Were--
What?  Savour ah, minutest crumbs, roll too
Across your tongue that darkest morsel your
Soul yields itself up to, and ah, foil to
Glint, crinkle, tease, nor but in silver tour
Hold lo, exquisite heights:  what's I love you?

17May17a
Last I checked, chocolate merely demands you eat it.  Oh wait, it doesn't even do that, kick me.
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
Um, my apologies to Lindt, dunno where that flavour originated when I first tasted it.
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y7FeeKWVi5Q]


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLVIII)


Lindt was the standard for good choclate, hence
Gone to the dogs as Dillon's to avail
Tastes like the thing itself, whilst in betrayl
Swiss choclatiers own powdered milk for sense?!
And our Wisconsin pride on top fr'intents--
Or what? I nibble one and t'other, frail
As private testing is, and call both pale,
Milk choclate nothing to the real stuff, whence?
Charge me with aye, a fault and swear tis poor,
I'll put on Broforce' soundtrack, thinking too--
Ha, what?!  Being "friends" is--stop there as it were.
Trust in the LORD with all thine heart--and do
Not figure.  I love Andrew.  Rain blots fer
Effect aught blue skies, and no choclate's you.

10Apr17b
I swear my chocolate-stained face and fingers, look incredibly innocent, I do, I do.
Lauren R Aug 2016
10 miles. My current distance from the first time I noticed you cared. You were smoking ****. You blew the smoke away from my face. You knew I was allergic. You wanted to hold my lungs like cherry pits in the palms of your kitten's milk bowl hands, china dish. I wanted to thank you, I wanted to hand my heart over.

8 miles. The distance between me and you. The distance I tried to fill with footsteps, with begging rides from father, with bus, with FaceTime calls, with long texts. The distance that burned its way into my curtains, floated to my ceiling and stuck, burrowed its way into the night and sighed.

.8 miles. The distance between you and the person I replaced you with. The distance between a Red Dwarf and the moonlight that filled my heart up with Lindt chocolate and new yelling mother and darker messy hair and lower too loud laughs. I wash your favorite red plaid shirt from my hands and my Rolling Stones tank top, your cheek from mine, your jokes from my sheets.

0 miles. My current distance from the first time I noticed you stopped caring. I told you to stop flirting with addiction. You dragged your fingers up my arm, tied the tourniquet, choked out my blood, found the vein, breathed out hard, and then replaced me with all the drugs you could ever want and all the empty you could ever hold.

I guess some old habits never really die, only the people sick enough to try to stop them.
God, what are you doing?
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
oh don't get me wrong, i ****** a black girl before, it's not like i was gagging for it, i was having a little birthday party celebration, and making some **** fine cocktails... music-wise? well... you have to go beyond a bob marley track, or some ****** rap... anything jazzy? sure... but what will get a black girls attention, so that she pulls you for a snog in the kitchen, and takes your hand and walks with you into your bedroom and you start the act? cedric 'im' brooks (http://tinyurl.com/y9kdyzq8)... as my jamaican dealer once said when i mentioned some of the afro-music i listened to, all he said was in that nonchalant black way: culture, apparently it's a genre in its own right, trans-genre that is, encompassing all veins of the output; but i do get the fat-*** problem and the need for a long phallus... so much butter to pass... but this black girl had the phisique of a white woman... so... you join the vowels and H in the orchestral onomatopoeia of pleasure... and as ever... nothing can beat a bass guitar rhythm... **** air guitar! **** excessive ******* solos of rock music... just give me the bass... the barry white of instruments... so yeah... i love it, when she rides you so hard that her coccyx is ramming so hard against your soft region just above your phallus that it aches the next day.

i know i drink too much, well,
   there's a "too much"
   as there is: enough,
   to also make the best *******
potato mash on earth...
fried onions in butter,
   garlic paste,
   a teaspoon of cream cheese
infused with garlic and herbs,
a pinch of smoked paprika,
   olive oil infused with the meat
you were frying,
          crème fraîche,
         a pinch of some sort of
bbq powder...
           i know i'm forgetting
                                  something...
        never mind...
better than the sloppy job
the english do with potatoes,
and, **** me, they've been living
next to the potato popes (the irish)
for quiet some time...
all they do is add milk to the mash...
yuck! ugh...
                  i cooked too much
of them, and with only two people eating
about 7+ well rounded examples...
all of them... gone... ****!
     so they must have been good;
but what's worrying is the case
of the belgians...
   they're and were eating too much
chocolate...
   now they're having *homer simpson

hallucinations...
   they're envisioning walking chocolate,
breathing chocolate,
   chocolate lollipops...
   i swear to god the belgians are
choc-philic to the point that they
need a flesh with a tinge of their
                obsessions for sweet stuff...
i don't like where the belgians are
heading,
         i'd say: hey! move that obsession
back to congo!
                     as much chocolate
as you like!
                   me? i always preferred
vanilla ice cream, not that i lick much
of it... as it turns out,
   a woman's genitals is like licking
a new-born piglet...
   hell, **** floats my boat anyway;
       oh come on,
  you can only be a decent pornographer
if you can also have a joke on the side...
but the belgians? i don't trust them
with their walking chocolate policies...
    just tell the people that
middle-aged feminist (whatever)
  professional women asked for an import
of male prostitutes...
                            to save on travel costs
they once had to spend travelling
to their vaginal meccas for a sorry 2nd place
on the maternity ladder,
   the ones who didn't freeze their eggs...
and embarked on their ***-mission
   (great film by the way,
  **** misja (***-mission) - 1984 -
            director: juliusz machulski,
starring  jerzy "the legend" stuhr)...
    but like i said, i've stopped trusting
the belgians with their chocolate hallucinations...
i'm switching to the swiss lindt
  and the english cadbury...
    these are the days where you can't even
trust a german sausage (either).

p.s.
you know... my female cat is
   actually offended
about seeing human genitals?
  i have to cover them when taking a ****
with my hand...
  either that, or **** like a woman,
sitting down...
               every time she's relaxing
in the bathroom and i'm about to
unload a niagara falls
and she sees my genitals...
phoom! off she goes...
    but when she doesn't see them?
            well... one less scar on the eye
translated into the ***** of memory
to be revived...
huh... funny... how you can think of
memory as a metaphysical *****
rather than a function of a physical *****
i.e. the brain...
    given memory exists in symbiosis
with both brain, and the eye,
e.g. photographic-                     memory,
and the narrative memory
  currently showing in the cinema
of your life.
Laura Mar 2018
Head torn against itchy familiar grasslands, I lie in a field of decaying cow ****. Sixty years ago, Great Uncle Adolf owned upwards of 8 large cows that would roam on the endless back green property of our cottage in the Kawartha Lakes. Hazy recollections from distant Easter's tells me at least three must have died eventually due to a heatwave in the early 90's. Their skulls sitting in the back ***** overgrown pond for a time, sweet yellow daffodils and sharp wild strawberry's framing it into place. When my brothers found the skulls, they spent an afternoon sulking and moping out of character on the rocky shoreline of Balsam Lake. They aimed their ruthless rocks at stinky dead catfish floating peacefully, throwing for every pang of 12-year-old pain they felt towards the somber history. When I found out, I must have just eaten my Lindt bunny and shrugged unimpressed, but my mom would have said I cried.
I was young back then, but now that I'm a full-fledged adult, I sympathize with the greens for enduring endless winters and **** storms that I haven't. My cottage has been taunted but never shaken by the continuous tornado warnings that curse the northern lakes, but she aged steadily in spite. Waves of modernism guiding her burgundy wood panels. Air conditioning, flat screens, and the down feather pillows my grandma collected and sewn for each sunken crisp bedframe before me, replaced by industrialized cold artificial fluff from Ikea. Now that I think about it, I didn't really mind breaking my neck. This cottage lacks truth, but gains in history, my favourite place on planet earth, all greens, blues, and natural floral arrangements that put the edible ones to shame.
There's dirt and mud here too but I always choose to be blissfully ignorant. If I ever ask my mum about the shambled green roofed tin cottage on the corner of the always pebbled School and Omega Roads, and their Jesus warning signs I get kissed lips and back glares. There's more to this old country town than they put on. There's a story waiting here.
Right now, I feel it's roots on the phone with you Jordan. Because you only remind me of my grandpa when I'm here, his tall slender frame, strong jaw and warm charm that makes old women gawk and causing shrill laughter in the presence of ripe anger. He didn't let my mom wear nail polish cause it was for ******, guess I'm from a line of ****** huh?
This one time at Christian camp they tried to teach me to meditate by picturing Jesus with me in my favourite place. It was so weird seeing Jesus sitting perched in this tall birch tree, looking at me, looking at the old broken down barn that waits for me to smile back. The sky orange, celestial, fiery. I sort of wish you were here and not my mental perception of Jesus, he sort of freaks me out. But in this open field where you could walk 8 miles in any direction and find grass and only grass. Sun and only sun. Trees and mostly trees, sometimes poison ivy too if you took the wrong turns. I am surely free.
I know all the turns with you too. But that's only because I'd done them over and over again, and still I'll face a dead end. I'm not sure we can solve each other like my Papa's Sunday morning crosswords, we're more like his raspberry jam with burnt toast. But I do know that I want to have more greens like the ones in this field. Build more pillows, farms, and people. I want more pastel pinks from the cheeks left kissed in the fresh mornings on Lake Ontario where our teen selves and adult selves get caught up in some interlope of history that isn't supposed to happen. Another Kate and Leopold situation, a timeless love analogy gone too long.
Today in this field it is peaceful, when the tall grass blows with steady patient wind, it feels like your soft lips. When the birds chirp annoyingly overhead, and I hear my brothers laughing loudly from the brown rusted dock, it feels like your aged smile.
I think Monet got it right when he said, "I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers", because without you I couldn't paint these words all day.
THIS DIWALI

Instead of spreading pollution with crackers, please, please, please a tree plant

Because manind has taken a wrong turn; in Nature, there is a deteriorating slant;

Every ******* we burst, will pollution in our environment immediately increase

A tree planted by us, or even indoor plants small; this will definitely decrease.

Also, instead of making China richer n more powerful; who, on our  land encroach;

Let us buy mud "diyaas", from our own poor brethren; come, let us, them approach.

Mithais enjoy let us, our own traditional ones Laddoos, Pedas, Jalebis

After all, Cadbury, Nestle, Toblerons, Lindt, Lindor etc are not our alibi.

All our hard earned money, let us, in our country, for our India keep

Encourage let us our own arts and crafts, at Tribal Jewellery, please do definitely peep.

Feel very good I, when some deeds useful and good I do, boost they, my morale.

In my important endeavor, please do join me, I bet you, it will also increase your morale.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
Mohan Boone Apr 2020
massacring a lindt bunny into pieces with a rolling pin 
and passing
him
around

frying black peppercorns - laura's cooking
and embers
still glowing 
in the morning

grandparents, grandchildren
buckets and buckets and buckets of tadpoles and 
cold, cold
pillows

all actors in my saga of 
drunken webs and 
400 year old
trees

like an unfurling fern taking heed of its surroundings

guarded but bold
a cracking egg
an old person driving a mobility scooter on a 
busy road

settling into ways
slowly growing wings

each hour of each day and each day of 
each week

i'm
inching. 
forward.

creeping,
grasping,
reaching,
towar­d that new beginning

for i am convinced
that in this here and now

there is

NO 
place.

for the end.
Maddy Oct 2018
Watching squirrels perform acrobatics on phone wires
Admiring blue jays in October
Enjoying skaters at Rockefeller center from a restaurant window
Giving a donation to a homeless man and his canine companion
Eating that Lindt chocolate very slowly
Taking a bubbly bath while drinking white wine in a crystal goblet
Loving someone exactly like you did in a younger time
Say yes

C@rainbowchaser2018

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