"lollipops" poems
Lollipops to cigarettes
Cooties turned to pregnancy
The cute little girls and boys we once knew at recess are no more, some are drop outs, some are on the news for ****** and others have seemed to disappear from existence
How did this happen?
How did the life we knew so well as children, filled with jump rope and four square, turn into the monstrosity of modern society
The drama now is about boys, drugs, and flunking school, the only so called 'drama' back then was when someone else had the blue crayon you needed to finish your color by number
Computers, televisions, and phones take over the lives of children nowadays, the big pass times when we were kids was to go back in the woods behind our houses and catch salamander, play hide and seek and cops and robbers when it started to get dark
Now?
It's lying to your parents to go out and get drunk, skipping class to go smoke **** and and turning the lollipop in your mouth into a cigarette
Did you ever consider that the lollipop tastes better? That maybe this sticky strawberry mess gives you a better outlook on life?
When you're a kid and you're happy with your crayons and hopscotch you don't care what problems you're faced with: if someones lost; find them, if someone's feelings are hurt; say sorry, if you wanna lose weight; lose it
This lollipop of yours has turned an upside-down world right-side-up again creating brighter perspectives and healthier pass times
So instead of curling our fingers around disgusting cancer sticks and pregnancy tests, maybe we should grab hold of that lollipops taste and lever let go...so the only downfall to life, is cavities.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
Cherry lollipops,
Roses, typos, mistakes, signs
And blood are all red.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
I was distracted from colors so bright
By the scrumptious cakes and chocolate bars
I walked through those doors, taffy past my height
Where I saw sweet teas and candy cigars
Bins filled with lollipops and gummy bears
Colorful gum ***** and chocolate coins
Chocolate dipped plums and delicious pears
Oh, how very sweet! The ache in my *****
One man so strange tapped me on the shoulder
“Hello,” said the man, breath scented of smoke
“There is more candy out where it’s colder”
I follow him out. He hands me a coke.
But to my surprise, no candy outdoors.
In the trunk of his car and on all fours
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Roly poly helicopter
Spinning and toppling on a splatter of pink liquid paint
The sharp sound of blackberries and the taste of an oboe
Under the neon night sky glinting with frozen lollipops
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
Senior Present
I walked in to the school this morning
To see all of the teachers
Munching and nibbling on food.
I turned down the hallway to be greeted
By a glorious sent that hit my nostrils
I watched as kids floated down the hall way
Towards the smell, they were just out of reach
Of the food, as the smell led them to a closed door
Of the teachers lounge.
Inside were all sorts of candies. There was a candy
Of every type, all shapes and sizes. No one was left
Out every teacher had there favorite kind some ware.
There were cakes and pies,
Fudge and brownies,
Ice cream and frozen yogurt.
There was healthy food
And nut free snacks.
There was lollipops
And twizlers.
It was Halloween all over again,
With a twist of fancy,
It was a dessert buffet
Just for the teachers.
It was a way to thank them for all the
Time they spent teaching us the same thing
To have patience for all the questions, to help us
In till we understood, staying extra hours to help us.
This food display is a thanks to not just the teachers
But to the janitors, the special education helpers
The nurses, librarians, office and consoler office ladies
The police officers and the principal her self.
I thought it would be nice to give you all a special treat
A present, instead a prank, since it is my senior year.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 8:26 PM UTC
*she just shakes her head
she meets me on the street-corner, me from work, she from dance,
in the grayling dusk of a thank god it’s a freedom Friday night,
I greet her with words semi-adventurous -
“come with me, few errands to run, keep me in good company”
to the candy store we go for to purchase my weekend eve
lottery tickets and blow-pop lollipops, just in case some
kids appear, a surprise omen as they come
trick-or-treating just before Thanksgiving
the Bangladeshi candyman calls out a long prayer
in his native Bangla
she asks “what’s that he’s saying?”
“Oh, just wishing us a pleasant Sabbath and
may his gods smile upon our good lottery fortune”
she just shakes her head, from side to side
emerging from the store, walking home in the
now doubly ***** darkly dusk,
a set of white teeth from a passing shadow-man says to me
“you’re home late and have a great weekend,”
she asks, “who is that?”
“why,” I reply, “that is our very own personal postal carrier’
she says:
“he delivers mail to ten thousand people all in buildings tall,
yet knows your name, your face,
where you buy your lottery tickets,
your coming and going hours,
how came that to be”
but waits not for an answer
she just shakes her head, from side to side
I show her my secret entrance to our apartment house,
the fast route to collect our mail, dry cleaning in one fell swoop
a secret door, secret elevator taking us directly to our apartment
a secret elevator which is under the direction of
Bimal from Nepal,
who I greet in Nepalese, (my tutor)
I, asking after Brian and Bryce, his 100% American boys
now she says nothing, but before our door, as I go key digging,
she just shakes her head, from side to side
later she says:
“let’s order in, apprise me of your expertise,
some exotic fare from Manhattans First Avenue,
known for its aphrodisiacal powers
afterwards,
you must tell me each dishes name,
in its tongue’s nativity,
but much, much later,”
and as she speaks, grinning,
she sticks out her tongue,
while she just shakes her head,
but this time,
up
and
down
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
#
*Today's my daughter's wedding day.
And a wonderful thing it is;
To see her so excited,
So happy to be his.
But once she was my baby girl;
My only girl, love of my life.
But now she is a woman,
And just became his wife.
Once she was my baby girl,
Loved her mommy, and her toys;
But then, I couldn't stop it,
She grew up, and loved the boys.
Today's my daughter's wedding day.
How fast the time did go;
From little feet, and Sesame Street,
To a wedding gown it flowed.
From pretty locks, and lollipops,
She grew up straight and tall.
From baby things, to a wedding ring;
How I loved her through it all.
And now she will go forward,
To enter married life.
To share the good and bad times,
The happiness, and the strife.
I wish them both, the best of luck;
With a prayer that I will see;
Him bless them with a baby girl,
Just like he gave to me....*
#
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 2:15 AM UTC
i was weaving through lit-up boxes
with lollipops as joysticks.
i was following a fairy that left
a trail of violet pixie dust
behind her iridescent wings
and streams of what do you want to play?
i sensed the glare of a drunken owl's eyes
singe into my back as i traced letters
on the surface of a toy chest:
i'm sorry baby, it read,
yet he lowered his gun until it reached
just the tip of his wings
and he fired.
he fired life into the words i wrote,
life that made the words i wrote surround me,
suffocate me.
he was drunk on restless nights,
wanting to
f
e
e
l
love again.
love, love, lust, love;
does he even know the difference?
suddenly i felt the flat surface
of a blade stroking my back,
teasing me of my death.
are you having fun?
do you want to know what real fun is like?
his embrace stole innocence from my lungs
and the kisses he planted on my cheeks
burned holes into what was once a rosy pink,
into what was once of joyful skin.
you lost weight, he acknowledged with a smirk,
you look amazing.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 8:17 PM UTC
The moth with newspaper wings sat under the arrow lungs of the eyeless
blood dripped falcon, more whole than the super-glued roman sculpture.
Next door a 50’s con held up church with a roulette table in the kitchen,
and boarded up the massage parlor
downstairs.
The eye of the man was a centrifuge of ducks, mallard and hen, spiraling
outward into evaporated roach-ground
asphalt.
Next door, slits in the picket fence displayed perfectly formed **** & broach,
empty shoes made of feet below, blending
fields.
The marble foundation formed from twine lollipops and fuzzy candy tabs,
ice-etched to the frequency of splintered seashell
angels.
Next door through the forest of knives a spaceship bearing gargoyles peaked
bodies through collages of faces in technicolor sepia
mitosis.
The heiress molted into tiled pieces, her own dog and sunhat caught in blizzard
cuneiform, kaliedescoping again to fractalled inchworms cemented in motion.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
my earliest memory are clouds
whirling fans
sticky heat
a car ride
greasy fingers
pepper lollipops
sugar coated stories
telephone polls
sheep cows horses
sheep
so many sheep
the window sweat
rapid spanish
windmills
burning sun
then I saw them
they were perfect
in a meadow
puffy
soft
warm
they went on
and on
and on
i wanted to eat
sleep
bounce
STOP
i screamed
STOP
WHAT?
WHY?!
STOP.
is it a doe?
NO
is it a cat?
NO
WHAT THE HELL IS IT?
a cloud
a farm of clouds
don't you see it?
no.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
Splish splash
The waves crash on the sandy shore
Attracted to the ground up rocks
Like children to lollipops
Or bees to flowers.
Splish splash
The waves are getting fierce
Rain is starting to pour
Like a child with a hose
Spraying their brother on a warm summer day.
Splish splash
The waves are like skyscrapers
Towering above me
Maybe I should go; I’m all alone now.
Splish splash
The waves have formed into one
One giant wave covering my island
I run away, up the mountain.
Splish splash
The devastation is done
The buildings lie everywhere
So do the bodies
I am the only survivor.
Why
Why did I survive and not the wise old man down the street
Why not the old merchant who only sold oranges and beets
What would father say?
I know
I know what he would say
He would say, “Because you are you and no one else is you. That’s why you survived.”
Now he is gone
Splish splash
The waves are calm again
Attracted to the sandy shore
Like children to lollipops
Or bees to flowers
Mar 19, 2010
Mar 19, 2010 at 3:15 PM UTC
this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons
for the Hopeless Stargazer who immortalized his Subject with one hundred and eight sets of fourteen lines in iambic pentameter
for ***** tight clad teenage boys who envied frisky fleas, struggling to make holy ungodly passions with cheap arguments and metaphysical pick up lines
for Disillusioned City Dwellers, who, wandering lonely as clouds, stopped to quietly reflect upon wind-beaten moss-covered crags, and heard God’s whisper thunder from petals and blades of grass
this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons
for Bespectacled Slave Drivers who submersed idle minds in anthologies, forcing them to **** neon yellow on dreams deferred and rivers; slicing and dicing Grecian urns with red ball point pens; bruising and battering, in blue ball point, roads not taken; scalding supermarkets in California with pyroclastic flows of graphite
for those pushing to tear apart lines and letters, reconstructing ,deconstructing, agonizing, imaginizing, bullshitting, and brooding on to crisp white sheets in times new roman twelve point font
for the Monsters and Lollipops that exist in the millimeters between a skull and a brain
this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons slumbering beneath Restless Leaves Under the Moon
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 10:39 AM UTC
I can't end the year this way,
the title of this piece won't sway,
It is not an anchor to hold the stay,
but wait and listen to the choir singing
as they practice in the church hall down
the road, with too many cars, so listen...closely
and you may hear the high notes on
a night clear like this, just like this,
the information that swirls on and on,
about people, places and events,
homeless people kicked out of the park and tents,
political figures mishapen by absolute power,
absolute greed,
absolution to them a quick rinse in a shower,
more information feed my gluttonous mind,
I absorb none of it as there is newnews to find,
there is a woman out there
who has a reputation for causes,
wicked witch in the East beyond Oz,
gut check as some said
world paused to remember well,
so much left to do there as well,
Oh Africa!
The world's greed for your resources,
makes nasty fodder for the choices,
as to who is in charge this week.
So much pain, it is plain to see I can't write about it all, it would take an eternity.
A loss this year like no other, but a life to celebrate, who will Madiba motivate?
Natural disaster, filled with remorse after the eye of and storm has passed,
loved ones looking their loved ones lost, some evil gang backfills, a brand
of poison into the the void, the pain the anguish, in lives,
to steal the aid and make it their prize, to be aportioned at their will and price.
And George is back in the news...sad, so many things this year that make me
want to ball up my fists and punch the air, walk down the streets until I begin
to shout and let it out, harm no more, harm no more, anniversaries of bullets,
and little ones who touched, so many with who they were, I wonder who they would
have been,
I am not being flip and this is not Christianese, but God knows as the spirits they are
and He is.
There is no one poet
who can say it all,
there is no one place
that tears did not fall,
this may be a wrap up,
I have left so much out
and it falls so short,
maybe the ink I spill
is wrongly placed.
Tomorrow night at midnight, let's just embrace REFRESH!
not forgetting
lessons learned
poetic stripes
maybe earned
by writing or typing or wiping away tears
I could go one, but that is one of my fears,
...losing you.
©DWE122013
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
Chimney smoke from a neighbours house seeps through an open frame.
It conjurers images of home in days of innocence, long gone.
Cowboy games and scabs on knees and ice cream as a treat.
Nightmare monsters slain with a mothers hand across a brow.
Lollipops and lemonade a perfect day complete.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
You at least went.
so that meant the party could finally be awkward.
that's homeroom
at your personal Harvard
your low self esteem was the head dean
[ claimed you had promise ]
then promptly vomits
but you promised to maim
your lollipops with hot topic's
most goth night-shade of hemlock
iron-on, henna tattoos
for your thin lips.
like two gates
to a birdcage
where you keep
ravens...
pecking the tip of your tongue
where your brave words die
for lack of oxygen... pecking
the flesh off the skeleton key
to the heart of your insightful
comment,... stymied -
a black raven
savors the succulent eyes
of your hurricanes, so
braille maps for blind rage
fly off the shelves... fly like
led zeppelins to
fresh hell.
you lose your window seat
on the wing of a prayer
to Charles Bukowski.
now you're scowling a gilded smile
at all the Ed Hardlys'...
good thing you brought Jello Biafra Shots
to the shindig... cubes of gelatinous absinthe
each with a sugar box
lodged in supermax insecurity prisms...
fey emeralds.
monochrome rubicons
you pop
when cross.
like wainscoting the panic room
that came with a deejay
who thinks you're
a boy who got
lost.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC
Notice how he has numbered the blue veins
in my breast. Moreover there are ten freckles.
Now he goes left. Now he goes right.
He is buiding a city, a city of flesh.
He's an industrialist. He has starved in cellars
and, ladies and gentlemen, he's been broken by iron,
by the blood, by the metal, by the triumphant
iron of his mother's death. But he begins again.
Now he constructs me. He is consumed by the city.
>From the glory of words he has built me up.
>From the wonder of concrete he has molded me.
He has given me six hundred street signs.
The time I was dancing he built a museum.
He built ten blocks when I moved on the bed.
He constructed an overpass when I left.
I gave him flowers and he built an airport.
For traffic lights he handed at red and green
lollipops. Yet in my heart I am go children slow.
3.3k
i always find you in the strangest places.
i find you in song lyrics, dog toys, and timber old spice.
i find you in chicken flavored ramen noodles, every shade of blue and purple, and horror movies.
i find you in rainbow coloring books, permanent markers, and colored pencils.
i find you in the grass at memorial park, folded slips of paper in my back pocket, and gourmet lollipops.
i find you in hot fudge sundaes, too-big tshirts, and icp snapbacks.
i find you in chik-fil-a receipts, gumball machines, and arcade games.
i find you in white roses, blue ribbons, animal crackers, and sour gummy worms.
i always find you in the strangest places.
but these strange places are everywhere.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
This.
This is decorating my living room, and only my living room,
With every available piece of holiday cheer.
This is sitting by the fireside, drinking apple cider and listening to the woman who can recite Twas the Night Before Christmas by heart.
This is shortbread cookies.
You may ask if you can have one.
You may, but not the one who looks like a man.
His legs have been broken and icinged back on. He is special. .
This is not enough wrapping paper.
Too much wrapping paper.
My dad will never learn how to use wrapping paper.
This is managing not to fight with my sisters on the darkest days in winter.
This.
This is skating on black ice in winter boots,
Using icicles as lollipops,
This is mittens, hat, scarf, forgotten on the snow man.
This is the fort you couldn't knock over,
This is making lists.
Breaking lists.
Writing and rewriting.
This is advent calenders.
This is candycane addictions.
This is pleasant smiles from the grumpiest holiday shoppers.
This is the reason I love Christmas time more than Christmas day.
And this,
This is not a miracle.
This is a tradition that is older than I am.
This is the family I can always count on.
This, is home.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 9:20 AM UTC
Neon Stella Artois lights and sly hellos
It commenced as we were flew spinning
Ticket stubs and ink -stains
Oh, as our love flirted we both were seeking
Brooklyn Subway stops and ***** clothes
We perched by the equator but only when beginning
Backwards flasks and *******
Then winter solstice was challenged by spring’s springing
Strands of soft pearls and wishing wells
We shivered the anxious touch of a faux July summer’s evening
Empty bar stools and firelight
It was still bitterly February but with the mockery of songbirds floating
Two Thirty Seven A.M. and sea shells
How can the world deceive us in this fashion: fools, we accept ever-knowing
Buttered bread and hindsight
Dawn will crash with frostbite and these daisies will pay the price of their beauty’s sinning
Wine before noon and payphone bills
Wind will eviscerate this moment for once you have touched the sun the ice is more than suffocating
Dry heaving and ribbons
We were only waiting then at the heart of a train station for the stretches of shadows to lengthen
First drags of cigarettes and blue diet pills
The glitter within the dew drops stolen from our tired eyes when our first summer was stolen
Cheap motels and kitchens
We could barely exchange syllables, our melodies quarreling, our blood had thinned
Calendar pages and black lace *******
The euthanasia of the spring would have hung us too if we had breathed it in
The Last calls and lollipops
One can repose more gently in the absence of color than in the theft of sin
Bitten manicured hands and autumn leaves
We used to sleep in a room with wonders, windows, and blankets within
Midnight whispers and rooftops
It was the only place that could soften the swords in all this ruin
****** wrappers and painting supplies
Today is cruel, it cannot be summer if the world doesn’t spin
Happy hour cocktails and goodbyes
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
in love, in lust
in bed, in dust
we lie together
blind and deaf
mere sheep
till the day of death............
tell them i'm government
that i did came
only peace and virtue
flow from my name
and if you don't listen
it's a god ****** shame
far from fame
i cure thy lame
the youth i'll train
to die
to fight
to pillage
to plight
with pen
with knife
from darkness til light
to believe and receive
to **** that which you conceive
with anger and greed
an unstoppable seed
drug and arm these streets
the bass and the beats
under the cadillac seats
next to the stamps with which you eat............
god is online
a friend of mine
in a lighted box
with airwaves of angels
joining both you and me
why can't you see
the ******** they feed
the bulletins and tickers
lollipops and stickers
flashes and flickers of truth
but we don't see
for our eyes are covered
when we are mothered by them.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 1:55 PM UTC
i can't talk too loud
i think my whispers are stolen too often
by those who have no clear thoughts of their own
i'm not paranoid
just used to it, these things they came true
long ago.
Thoughts swirling around and above my head
i look up only to see nothing but words
i can't reach them
there's too many
the air is a maze
and its too loud for me to get through.
Everywhere is the slightest bit of air you pushed out
i thought i could catch it
i thought i could breathe it
i was wrong
i was naieve in my ideas
about you.
Never thought something like this could hold me
wrap me up in tight bonds of love
hold my hands by the ceiling
my body left to be devoured by you and your hands
and i am consumed by a spark
glowing in the dark
a thousand miles away.
You sit me down and i am on fire
i am not able to see my self again by the light
the morning light
the night, the night
and i break inside, down
and its closer than i have ever broken before
and we sit here stillness
in the silence
and **** green lollipops.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
I walk down sugar-coated streets,
stumbling over rumor weeds poking up through the cracks
and fearing the whispers that I think I hear.
I watch the candy people walking around,
******* each other dry one way or another
like leeches with sweet teeth.
They make sour faces,
like ******* lime soda through a Sour Punch Straw,
but they keep ******* because there’s nothing else to do in Candyland.
I have to look really hard to find the sweet people.
The gummy ones, the melt in your mouth chocolate ones.
Sometimes I find them half-eaten and discarded like office lollipops
and sometimes they’re melting under everyone’s Red Hot gaze.
Sometimes I only find wrappers
and I get so angry that I think I might melt myself.
Because these people have been eaten.
****** nibbled, gulped down
like nothing more than a quick Kiss that means nothing.
But no matter how small they were, they still mattered.
They mattered to someone,
but now they’re just slick remnants on cellophane or foil.
And what hurts even more is that I couldn’t save them.
I’m not Princess Bubblegum,
I can’t protect a candy kingdom.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
And the prophets all dressed in their Sunday's best,
Waiting for the secret of the sacred test
While the little red birds and the big black crows
Sang a tune, "One above, one below"
And as she whittled the knife cross her wrist,
She came across an ancient tryst
A place she knew from way back when;
The place she knew that she would end
It had hands like hers, and vulnerable eyes,
But the mind did not shake, the soul not disguise
It drug her away from the beady-eyed ones,
While she stared from below with a mouthful of guns
It took her away to a quiet room,
Where around her was no one she knew
She turned to look at its face, but only emptiness
She turned to ask it a name, but only vagueness
And what did you mean when you said you had a dream
Full of colorful squares and the butter king?
And why did the man drinking gin from a can,
Provide such a riddle on the night of the ******
"He'll come to you in chains, so take what he gives"
Does this mean that I'll die, and he lives?
Is redemption the path for the doomed and the great,
That comes only when called upon by your fate?
Where then is this world, with chips, ruffles and pearls?
Where is my ticket to? Heaven or Hell?
Either way, I'm not meant for this realm,
Where I'm flying blind with no one at the helm
The haunted attic days are over
No more crimson, no more clover
The lollipops are frozen, the crisps have turned black
They possess everything; I only love what I lack
So rid me of here, or obliterate it all;
Being "self-contained" just isn't my call
I could be strong and keep a tight trigger,
But these unborn chicken voices are bigger
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 11:33 PM UTC