"macaroons" poems
My soul's hot pink,
like them bubble gum squares,
cool, strawberry fizzy drinks,
and a thick candy ice cream.
Those warm, glazed over doughnuts,
cupcakes with light sprinkles,
jelly beans, tufts of cotton candy,
and a tub of small macaroons.
My soul's hot pink,
like them candy hearts, sweet or ****
chocolate coated easter eggs,
lolipops, and sugar rocks.
Those creamy cakes, fruity tastes,
of gum drops, frozen pops,
of sno-cones drizzled, cookie wafers,
and sweet marshmallows; smoothies.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
You're a spoiled brat.
Daddy's always bought you everything.
Expensive clothing, expensive phones, expensive holidays.
Daddy's cash even bought you friends.
You think those girls actually like you?
You think they can't see your spiteful ways?
They're there for the $3 macaroons or souvenirs you gift them.
You think anyone who does not wish to hang out with you is below you.
You treat them like dirt.
Every time I say Hi to you, you completely ignore me,
as though I'm not even worth your time.
You only hang out with the 'pretty' girls,
or rather, your definition of pretty.
Underweight while wearing revealing clothing.
I've had enough of you.
Wake up or you'll eventually have no one else and you'll be left on the curb, alone.
But,of course, you'll always have your designer shades!
That's a relief, isn't it?
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
no
of course not
a disease is a disorder
with symptoms and signs
an internal dysfunction
a...
disturbance
in the design
No
I am not infectious -
I touch this boy so,
and see!
He is still a normality
A ******* fiend
An hourglasss devotee -
I am not foodborne, no,
Unless you count
the macaroons
pistachio green
and lemon too,
what a taste
of boyhood,
schoolboy blue
I am not acute,
a one-time sneeze.
I am not
a short-lived
Green coughed
wheeze,
I am not
the plunger in your vaccines -
I am the pistol red and glitter
in your
genes
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
White girls can get stuck too,
the same way that no money
sandwiches you between two
slices of dreams you cannot bite
into, because we cannot pay for that
school—stuck like peanut butter.
I want things, but mostly
I want to be able to stay at the
university and learn so, someday,
I can teach others too.
Teach them to love good and
truth and not care that they are
not the businessman or engineer
with a steady job.
All they—all we—have to do
is be willing to clean the bathrooms or
flip the greasy burgers if we have to.
Hands that are working and honest
are always good hands, no matter
what they do.
When I tell people I love English
and writing, the man or woman instructs me
to pick something more practical—be a
technical writer, a reporter, an advertiser.
But I love my poetry, and no one can
ask me to sell my happiness
and design for a nice house and a
maid who cleans because hubris
has rusted my joints.
I am not a hero or a martyr
for words, but I am a woman
who would humbly scrub toilets to
feed her children, write poems at
night, and be happy.
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 4:32 AM UTC
This morning breakfast was two coconut macaroons
and a novelty- sized pecan pie.
All from the cafeteria.
When you’re going it alone, it’s the small things.
I can still hear the echoes of sleep as it recedes,
8AM, throaty yelps - panic -
and it slurps down the drain.
**** I’d give anything for a drain snake.
**** I’d give anything for black coffee
and a hood on this ******* coat.
Just above the below and below the upper,
I’m hovering somewhere in midfield.
But we didn’t cover this coordinate system in geography,
or what to do when you’re drowning
in waves of self-righteousness and the desire to be hip.
I need that hood. And probably new shoes.
When your roommate is an egg-shaped vampire
optimism can be hard to come by.
Her munching marks the stroke of midnight,
and I reach for the sleeping pills.
Oh for the perfumed winds of personal space.
Oh for the prairies of carpet and private bathrooms.
Oh to have hot water at 9PM.
Sing sweetly of home ye golden-thighed youths.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
(The sun is somewhat dimmed, as though I'm looking through a film.)
Losing myself in the crinkles of your eyes
As you smile carelessly into the camera
I remember
The way you scrunch your nose a little
The way your lips remind me of cherry blossoms
(It's a little cold here. The temperature is falling.)
Even as I lay in bed shivering and battling my fever
I remember the nights you wished you were here
The nights you work as a bartender, carelessly picking up girls over the counter
Do you serve them all poisoned holy grails?
(A hollow whirring. That's the sound I hear when my ears are blocked.)
Your favorite song plays in the background
I remember
When you said my voice was soothing
When you said I meant something
Ed Sheeran probably didn't mean it
But now I cringe with every note of his
(The brightness before me is blurring. Are those my tears or is it just the water?)
It was beautiful, really
But pink sakura petals do not bloom in this region
Even the colour pink is distressing to me
Since we matched in winter through spring
(You nicked my heartstrings. How do I mend it?)
I find you in all the little things
Cigarettes, temples, business trips, huskies,
Harry Potter, Radler, Netherlands, salmon,
Macaroons, banana man, an 18 grand television
Round and round, the second hand runs on the face
The sun goes down and down, signing off the days
Round and round, you're running in my head
I go down and down till I reach the seabed
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
On the best day, she did not wear a dress,
She had work and was under unusual stress.
He had the day off, but there was so much to do
With all those chores, he still found time for a surprise or two.
The house was clean, and the groceries bought
And when she came home, the first surprise was got
Pumpkins, pumpkins everywhere!
Big and small and warty and fair
Her favorite day had pumpkins galore,
With pumpkin macaroons made to match the décor
Her man loved romance, and was charming to boot
He was crazy enough to share in his pumpkin loot.
She loved his quirky gesture, done solely to make her day
So when his second surprise came, she knew just what to say—
When he hit a knee and said, “I mustache you a question,”
Her brain was slow to understand the desired accession
With adorable ardor and love in his eyes,
He declared his love, though his anxiety was hard to disguise
He pleaded and begged and made himself look a fool
Overwhelmed, her heart answered before her cheeks could cool
Instead of pity and shame at his ardent endeavor,
She smiled and made this his best day ever.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Twelve different voices
Eleven coffee cups
Ten vibrant table covers
Nine aromas blended up
Eight piping pastries
Seven large bags
Six ringing smart phones
Five tail wags
Four tiny laptops
Three macaroons
Two smiling faces
In this one room
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
*speckled cityscape compulsion
<>
it is 6:40am.
the ending credits roll on a Hannibal horror film
that I’ve seen many times.
but it’s just an old rerun, familiar deviltry,
slept through it thankfully
the kitchen window gives up a sunrise,
but it’s just an old rerun, familiar deviltry,
a streaking swath of burnt and bright,
so oft described, the color commentary
previously immortalized by better poets
than me, easy found elsewhere.
the speckled cityscape in this pre-awakened urbanity,
it is their moment, these red flashes, all about,
tall buildings chanting “stay away from me”
to you sleepy pilots, looking for a strip to safely land
in a tumbled jungled of obscene density.
still, they highlight against a river of deep, bright oranges,
burning surrounded by the most beauteous array of shades of blue,
compelled against my will to thankful write,
for gifts such as these cannot be so casually dismissed,
cannot be willfully ignored, to do so, denies our genetic commandments.
a hopeless, thankless task to ask of oneself.
the perhaps intrusive. Sunday, maybe the babies
will visit, macaroons, pre-halloween bags of candy bars,
at the ready, pre-opened by small, tall inner children for sensory testing.
Milk Duds, Heath Bars, Whopper malted ***** Hershey white chocolate,
checked by adults for safety and quality control.
all these I see, in realized eyes and whimsical musings,
in perfect silence, for the Sunday city morning
is worshiping the coming day in a church like silence,
where each patron fills in the empty sounds
with hymns of their own making...by moving their lips
in fervent unspokeness
the sky river reflects more modestly in the East River,
for a reflection is always a second best version.
30 minutes later the real and the apparition both,
disappeared, and a palest sheer blue, white streaked sky,
just an old rerun, familiar deviltry.
why is the sun rising
is so worshipped,
for there will never be a full day of
just sunrise colorations,
but the speckled reds still
a true color, still showing,
on perpetual guard duty,
bidding adieu to its
morning lovers,
until tomorrow,
in my city of lips.
sun. oct. 20 2019
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 8:21 AM UTC
If I were pink
What would you think?
If I were blue
Would you be too?
If I were green
Would you be mean?
If I were yellow
Would we still be mellow?
If I were black
Would you attack?
If I were brown
Would you turn me down?
If I were beige
Would we still engage?
If I were heliotrope
Could we go elope?
If I were vermillion
Could we go to a cotillion?
If I were maroon
Would you buy me macaroons?
If I were aubergine
Could we go to Dairy Queen?
And if I were cerise
Would your affection cease?
Brent Kincaid
4/7/2015
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
if all our minds were candy dispensers
then a penny for my thoughts would get you a taste of sour on your tongue
you'd grimace and scowl and feel it in your lungs
and i'd ask "did it feel like running through a candy store when you were young?"
caramels,
chocolates,
cinnamon candy too
there's always enough bad thoughts to go around,
which one do you choose?
I'll take the pills they tell me to
some sugar helps the medicine go down,
isn't that true?
i'll just have to wait and see
and in the mean time i'll try to believe
that being 24 is really hard
at least that's what they've told me
a heaping double scoop of asperity
leaves my guests looking at me warily
giving me just a cake sliver of clarity
I'm getting tired of eating macaroons,
I hope my time here in candy land ends soon.
Nov 4, 2021
Nov 4, 2021 at 12:50 PM UTC
It's tough long distance and we die daily in our ritual rebirths
who i met then will not be the same man who will stand before me in a matter of weeks
it seemed that i had wished upon a star for a love that returned me to us at 14, the melancholy boy who drew cartoons and watched obscure japanese horror flicks , who cooked me dinner as i baked lemon pies and macaroons to add to our movie nights, i didn't know then , that love didn't feel like rainbows and sunshine but like a heavy day where the sky is riddled with thunderstorms all on the verge of breaking and none dare to let loose a single drop
Yet this is different too , not quite the same innocence but a similar flexibility of the building pressure and it surpasses me,
when i look down and see your hand has ripped a hole in my breast
i've always been told not to let a man touch my naked heart and that i must guard it against all kinds of pain , but how can i ? How do i stop the rivets from popping off the chastity belt around my soul? How can i not let him in? When the cuddles are like molten gold and the conversation flows like wine and there are moments that capture all of time in one look
But of course , maybe i am premature in my judgement, there is a darker side to you, but i respect death and decay and the asylum worthy thoughts of your mind because
they are a constant in mine
What is it i feel , is it real? we are both so young ( well you are 6 earth years ahead of me) ? has time really come undone? what is
this new feeling of fear that i'll lose you to some girl at a bar who , lord knows , won't be able to hold your heart in the way i can , or maybe she can, maybe she's all yours and you'll break my heart like the aunties said and then i'll have learnt my lesson
Too late , i shout as i streak through the garden , not a cloth on my body
i'll revel in these mystic sensual delights , and dream of far off nights in far off lands
i already know i can survive a broken heart , even when i didn't know i had been broken
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 2:03 AM UTC
of tossing the chevron throw pillow
from my bed to the floor
even on nights I’m sleeping alone
I stretch across the entire Queen size mattress
press my body against the cool white of my other pillow
pretending it could be some body, your body
perhaps, sometimes finding myself
thankful that it is not. In my mind
we have already dated –
showered together, read books, cooked dinner.
I’ve eaten macaroons with your mother
taught your sister how to knit.
In my mind I’ve already imagined
you let my dogs leash drag on the ground,
I get jealous of your best friend,
you think Bukowski was a feminist.
We’ve broken up, blocked each other’s numbers.
I already made a spotify playlist of heart break,
have already tired of the songs.
So when you come after midnight,
and toss my throw pillow to make room for yourself on the bed
I already know where it will land on the floor beneath my window.
I’ve already practiced picking it up
to place it back on the bed in the morning.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
The games
The small-fry
Ketchup she squirt's
Talking heads
sugar on my
miniature flirt
tongue
Burger bands
Gimme___ Gimme
((Mini Macaroons))
Don't big change me
My eyes like
((Rocky Racoons))
Movie Mania
Beatles miniature
I want to hold
your hand
Lucy in the sky*
No chip diamonds
Cool Hand Luke
American girl doll
Exchange for
my red bike
Twilight zone
dimension I___
Cannot read
the numbers!!!
I-phone oranges
compared to
small apples
That's me
Mini Cooper
Car drinking Snapple
The shooting
star*
Just gas up
V-Wagon
mini car
(Mini Bow)
ladybug
kissed her
Coffee mug
The red and
black dots
treat her
like a lady
Small bits of aroma
The smaller sticky
yellow
notes what votes
Mini-me camera
Mini hot___ Hollywood
dog dachshund
* * * *
It's mini
mealtime____
Adorable
Presentable
The Dollhouse
lodge Mini
Disneyland___**
No copying to
resemble
Mini Fruit
salad merger
Red Robin's Burger
were overly generous
Mr. Big
imaginable
so small
Superman's
flight of rage
So-Huge_____ and long____
turned him if I only
had a brain
((The Tinman))
mentally touched him
Sprayed his oil can
in mini heart size
Hello Dollie
collector
magnifying glass
Handcrafted
Pleasurable kind
and small
Broomstick
Witchcraft
Miniature leader
Knock on
heavens door
The Doorman
The Penthouse
Mini Bavarian
creme
Me doughnut
The cool breeze
off her fan
Big thumb
((Thumbelina))
The mini frog
Hit too many
London fogs
Mini White castle
burger chips off the
miniature block party
Meat tenderizer like trolls
Las Vegas
money slot machines
Those miniature dolls
((Minerals Top Ranks))
Gemology
produce
more blues
******
Adolf ******
generals
Cereal boxes
Sly Foxes Attention
How her
features met
his smaller
side_______
Royal hot blues singer
Mini He pops dishes
All Banana nut's
When it
comes to
Monkeying
around
With________?
miniature swingers
cereal___*
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 12:23 PM UTC
in most instances there is no real
criticism - just the debate as old
as the life of Aristotle, so lagging
behind modern liberty -
the deviations of the two extremes,
the nicely polished marble
and the coarse flint - a debate
concerning nouns -
one man will venture into marble
synonymousness -
another man will venture into
flint synonymousness - but still
the monism of saying one thing
adversely or conversely -
one layer on top of another,
like a wedding cake - sooner will
the adverse noun usage emerge -
sooner too will the converse noun
use emerge - and make battle for
what society is entitled to -
well, both! the pleasantries of the nouns
surrogate and mother, damnable
essentials of two homosexuals and
a ********** - i know, the former and
all the pleasantries and pigmented macaroons,
the latter and dirges and the dingy
back alley - one stands up for pleasantries
the other for the coarse mountain view -
one sees a mountain of the jagged panorama,
the other a normal distribution curve -
both have peaks, one's a woo *** slide on
your *** the other a carefully calculated
descent - so you wonder how certain words
are encoded to create a certain emotion -
one thing to understand a string of words:
do this do that, walk over here, walk over there -
and the other string of words:
feel this, feel that, think this, think that -
perplexing - mostly the dichotomy of seeing
and hearing - a dualism is an acceptance of
the two extremes as a constant -
a dichotomy is a lack of acceptance of the
two extremes, they are never consolidated -
dichotomy represents an active game of ping pong,
dualism represents: a ping pong table,
two ping pong rackets and a ping pong ball...
but no actual activity - dualism in theory,
dichotomy in practice.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
only among poetry do you feel so
guilty having written much and read so little;
then come the chances to appreciate other genres,
and having appreciated such genres, become
all too willing to change
the genre of your expression
into something worth attention
when none was required;
such is poetry, an art of beatified
speech where there was none
to begin with;
and where adequate reading was enjoyed,
no other arithmetic of adequacy
was expressed, given the tongue's
complications of usage, i.e.
no beauty ***** joining him
for a scene at the opera, blah ha;
no tsar that met him ever left talking
about him with a feeling of jealousy -
the concert of concubines
and the nagging of the tsarina to keep up
appearances:
now watch the nagging darwin in me
with a monkey's face doing the juggling act
of ooh ooh oh ooh for the mouth's
shaping into a protruding of lips awaiting a trumpet!
blows a desire of the many sires, and hence the shipwreck
of the aristocratic hearts gathered into a populace
of a little city without silverware and serf hands
providing the chess moves of moveable silverware
for entrée, main and dessert of edibles macaroons: ah those
feasting eyes and corsets... how eager the scythe in hands
that sweated for the eyes to be so tearful and yet unsatiated
at a table of candlelight and ahem aha manners of using napkins;
i'll concern myself with courtesy when i'm able
to express myself in saxon or bavarian:
burping after a carbonated drink at the table drank...
and indeed i'll ease out a **** on my way out from
the splendour to an applause: without a necessary crescendo
of my own undoing!
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC