"lipton" poems
The ultimate Dragon Poem and a childhood favourite of mine which still sends shivers to this day...
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Little Jackie paper loved that rascal puff
And brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff oh
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on puff's gigantic tail
Noble kings and princes would bow whene'er they came
Pirate ships would lower their flag when puff roared out his name oh
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
A dragon lives forever but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys
One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar
His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane
Without his life-long friend, puff could not be brave
So Puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his cave oh
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
Is there room for context at this table?
We can move some dishes and shuffle chairs.
I’ve checked all four legs and they seem stable,
but choosing a placemat is like splitting hairs.
I notice the candle’s flame is getting dim,
and my fingers pirouette in the puddles of wax,
my hair needs a cut but I settled for a trim,
and I’m donating my salary and spending my tax.
I’ve told you every thought in my head,
except the ones that matter the most,
the facts that scald my cheeks to red,
now they’re burning up like charred toast.
I’d promise you whatever you ask for,
and I’d drag myself to deliver each time,
but I’m ignoring the truth at my core,
and I’m confessing to you in mime.
Sit across from me with crossed legs,
see magnets becomes our eyes,
“come closer together” both begs,
but we’re determined and polarized.
There’s no world existing around us,
and there certainly is no group,
you listen while I ramble and make a fuss,
over the death of Lipton’s Alligator Soup.
We turned Heaven into a Hell,
we took a skeleton and made a shell,
We dragged our nails down the walls
scribbled ephiphanies on bathroom stalls,
and silenced a story we could never tell.
And all the things that have driven us apart,
in truth have only made us stronger.
and my love you are actually my heart,
I won’t question it’s beating any longer.
If you’re stuck with a choice
you should flip a coin in the air,
then listen to your mind’s voice,
‘cause your answer will be there.
When it comes to heads or tails,
you already know your favourite side,
you’ll pray for it as the coin sails,
ignore the outcome but absorb the ride.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
Tens of millions of men, women and children murdered
But what do we care?
Genocide-systematically killing, ****** and harming
But what do we care?
We say "never again" that turned into "never again, again"
And twenty-thousand children born for one-hundred days of forced pleasure
Families ripped apart, homes destroyed, and murder-murder
We say it but do we get it?
Do we really GET it?
Do we really grasp the fact of people's lives being ended forcefully for no other reason than someone "disagrees" for no other reason than someone's "different
But what do we care?
Blue eyes, blonde hair, bright skin to the right
Brown eyes, black hair, dark skin to the left
Those on the right go home,
Those on the left no longer have homes for concentration camps are now their homes
The sent of freshly brewed lipton tea has now been replaced by the harsh fumes of zyklon-B
Unsure of their next meal, if you could call it that at all, unsure of their next beating, the next time they'll be ***** unsure of what'll be theirs last breath before death
Feeling unsure and not secure
But please tell me, what do we care?
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 3:05 AM UTC
Keep-A-Breast
Apple
OtterBox
Acu-Rite
Dial Aquafresh
Oral-B
ACT Garnier Equate
Hanes
On the Byas
Rude
Toms
Dakine
Acu-Vue
Ponds Degree
Preferred Stock
Mighty Wallet
Hot Topic
Keurig Dixie
Donut Shop
Domino
International Delight
Peter Paul's
Best Yet Great Value
Instagram
Facebook
Snapchat Yik Yak
Forever 21
Adventure Time
FSC Bic The Poetry Foundation
Staedtler Pilot Sharpie Microsoft
The Norton Anthology
Toshiba Dell Expo
Lipton
Emerica
Anti Hero MOB Shorty's
Bones Thunder
Shake Junt
Swingline
Pandora
Tommy Hilfiger
' Jill Greg Ashley Courtney
Judy
Bob
Janice
Shannon Kelly
Robert Emily Jeremy Darrin Liza
Bill Joe Dominic Sean James
Gav Jordan Tony Eric
Christopher
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
*My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun -
In Corners - till a Day
The Owner passed - identified -
And carried Me away -
And now We roam in Sovreign Woods -
And now We hunt the Doe -
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply -
And do I smile, such cordial light
Opon the Valley glow -
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let it’s pleasure through...
-Emily Dickinson*
And I do smile, the white bright Colgate chiclets
stretch under my lips. The crooked thing, the
clever turn of my mouth,
we all pass a point in life when this is a means to an end.
Stop. Do not collect 200.
Again. Again, I thought "Send me straight to hell"
because it's not fair for me to feel this way any more.
I want to shoulder the brunt of it and throw it up and down,
white linens to the wind.
A dramatization of who I have come to be,
fueled and fired by alcohol and lack of sleep.
A stuck Lipton in the vending machine,
"I want to start a social movement of direct experience"
Sure. We'll do that. Let me get back. . .
let me get back to this blue screen for a bit. I want a change.
I want to see some change! Let's throw our
phones away and start over. Depression falicitates our
efforts, but I had my pleasure. I had my kicks though.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
Inspired by “The Swing” by Laurie Lipton
Alone allows.
I have permission to find out the plight of my Windex bottle,
cramped into a cabinet, cross-legged and scrunched
into a smaller package than I was ever intended to be.
And I can peek out if I want, spit my tongue at the cat
or let slivers of light slice my face. I can dangle my feet,
pricking with gravitational pull: forward and backward,
high upon a rafter in my bedroom—at least where I used to keep
my bed, now pushed out into the hall
to make room for my ropes and pillows and flight.
A doorbell brings shoes with laces that tangle
and slap me around my ankles; knitting needles
that would surely find an eye socket, and a tea set
with a cracked spout and cold leaves stuck to the bottom
of cups and saucers, round as my words
or the doilies and handkerchief corners—worn to shreds
by the wringing of arthritis and go away.
Please, go away.
Alone allows.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 2:11 AM UTC
what is heaven to you?
heaven to me is a place your mind creates;
a place where you are happiest.
I imagine your heaven being a garden
with petunias and hydrangeas.
you are kneeling with a small shovel in your hand
digging little holes in a flower bed
to place the little flowers there to live.
your cancer is gone
and so is your emphysema.
your legs are perfect
and your arms don't have bruises on them. ((your skin was always so sensitive))
you've got on your green striped shirt
with the matching green pants.
your cigarettes are in your pocket
and you are humming and singing an old tune from 1951:
"Hey good lookin', whatcha got cookin'? How's about cookin' somethin' up with me!"
you have that same front porch I remember
drinking the same Lipton cold brew sweet tea.
that's where I think your heaven is.
where is my heaven?
right next to you.
singing, planting flowers, and sipping sweet tea.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
I drink lipton tea
And sit and think about what we could be
Soul searching like a ghost
Girl let me hold you close
Come with me quick
Before my pain ends this note
I drink lipton tea
And sit and think about what we could be
When financialy I could be the foundation
Me and you could multiply to fill our nation
Or seclude ourself from the world
It could be just me and you baby girl
I drink lipton tea
As I sit and think what we could be
Mentally we could already be
Bcuz I live with you in my dreams
In a blue painted house
With a black painted gate
I work from 5 to 9
And always come home on time
I drink lipton tea
As I sit and think what we could be
So at the end of this rhyme
We could get lost in time
Hoping the nay sayers never find us
So at the end of this rhyme
You can see what I see in me and you
The love we can make and things we could do
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 7:14 PM UTC
Leaving your place
embrace among smokers
desperately taking their last inhales
Complimentary Lipton tea
I forgot such things exist
covering up the mistake
of hour long stops
turn, turn, bump, lean
This tea can't save my stomach
Yet
I am happy
I was able to exist with you
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
when you said that i'm not your “cup of tea”,
it had me trying out every type of blend
until i got so addicted
i couldn't stop.
i suppose i forgave you then because
you've always been the kind to like
Lipton with milk and sugar
but i prefer my earl grey black and unsweetened.
that showed me how literal your words could get.
once i tried to add creamer and sugar cubes
into my cup and i cried
because it was horrible and i'm sorry you had to
have your Lipton strong and bitter for a few months.
you should have told me earlier,
you didn't have to scald your tongue.
the other day i saw you with her
and you were happy.
i couldn't help but notice she has beautiful skin
and that her smile is gorgeous.
it's all right because you've finally found
someone who's your “cup of tea”.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
I stutter, words burn,
Lipton shades drench our desk,
I turn your world like a dollar,
But you were already rolled out
You might play my smile like a violin,
Those feline eyes, in there wounded design,
It is fur that can’t trim,
Shedding ****** like ashes,
Petting you, as the comforters descending,
Blood is a blooming bass,
Whispering,
“You fit in my vase,
The sun you may taste”
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 12:12 AM UTC