"manicures" poems
did you know
that the
self effulgent light
of God it self
is **** shaped
as above so below
the inner revelation
******* above...light woven
*** hole below ...flesh woven
does this not infer
a magical operation
perhaps a hermetic
ritual of adoration
perhaps a puja
to the ****
with ornate
kaleidoscopic mandalas
replete with wrinkles
and folds
emerald toilet bowls
silk *** wipe
with full color florals
to be ingratiated
by **** art prints
and to be fussed over
and judged
by certified *******
clergy
then to cleanse
with fragrant ointments
that it may remain
unsullied by its
birthing labors
voluptuous
smoldering
fecundations
for purities sake
as god remains
free of limitation
it too
must remain
free of its forgetful
tarnished children
i build temple of ****
high above the people
the little *****
do they
even know
where they come from
how they may
devote themselves
to the grandeur
of the solar ****
and its bestowals
of clumpy torpedoes
the catechism
of the solar ****
to know
to adore
to prostrate
to proselytize
the glory of ****
to the
for corners
of the earth
to be faithful
unto it
to be obedient
and present
your *******
for ritual manicures
by the true initiates
the fussy
******* faeries
those who have
the secret knowledge
and remain true
to the lore
and precepts
set forth
of divine correspondences
to fully appreciate
its eminence
its glory
and have no
God before it
that mercy
will follow them
all the days
of there lives*
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
You pick every word I say
With rapt attention.
So I tell you about tangerine skies
In Vermont, how I shape them.
I tell you my dad invented Cuban cigars
In Argentina.
You heard about the prawns,
The ***** and the lilies. A story only I could tell.
I could tell it in fluent Yoruba.
You watch me sleep like I don't have a care in this world
Snorting away while chasing dragonflies and seahorses
In my oblivion.
You watch me walk in the shadows
My gait like gridless frames of a restless gate
blown open by the wind.
(If I was the night, I would be bright.)
Finally you see my hands well adapted to cutlasses and owes,
Irrespective experienced with oriental oils
and manicures.
'One day I will be king', I thought I said.
But you heard it from my mind.
You heard it alone.
Yesterday we owed this to ourselves.
Tomorrow we will be lovers
Today let's be friends.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
Helpful.
Holding Hands.
Chatting over email.
Have a lot of fun.
Always there for each other.
Go getting manicures with each other.
Playing soccer and kickball with my friends.
We got to the movies,mall,and restaurants together.
Bella, Jenna, Darla, Saanvi, Rebecca,
Caitlin, Isabella, Thalia, Laxmi, Sophia.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
the neighbor has just started to mow
cutting grass is his favorite pastime
he manicures the lawn nice and low
the sound of the mower's droning chime
seems to be sweet music to his ears
cutting grass is his favorite pastime
his lawns kept tidy over many years
the grass not allowed to get too long
seems to be sweet music to his ears
he's oft heard singing a barber's song
as he trims the lawn with his old Rover
the grass never allowed to get too long
he takes pride in his patch of clover
the blades of grass never look mussed
as he trims the lawn with his old Rover
about his yard he's meticulous and fussed
the blades of grass never look mussed
the neighbor has just started to mow
he manicures the lawn nice and low
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
A simple, well-cut black dress with pearls and up-swept hair. So, Audrey Hepburn.
The way the Japanese drink traditional and ceremonial tea.
The shape of a ballerina.
French manicures.
Horseback riding.
Victorian dresses.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
the neighbor has just started to mow
cutting grass is his favorite pastime
he manicures the lawn nice and low
the sound of the mower's droning chime
seems to be sweet music to his ears
cutting grass is his favorite pastime
his lawn kept tidy over many years
the grass not allowed to get too long
seems to be sweet music to his ears
he's oft hear singing a barber's song
as he trims his lawn with his old Rover
the grass not allowed to get too long
he takes pride in his patch of clover
the blades of grass never look mussed
as he trims the lawn with his old Rover
about his yard he's meticulous and fussed
the blades of grass never look mussed
the neighbor has just started to mow
he manicures the lawn nice and low
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC
AFTER you have spent all the money modistes and manicures and mannikins will take for fixing you over into a thing the people on the streets call proud and beautiful,
After the shops and fingers have worn out all they have and know and can hope to have and know for the sake of making you what the people on the streets call proud and beautiful,
After there is absolutely nothing more to be done for the sake of staging you as a great enigmatic bird of paradise and they must all declare you to be proud and beautiful,
After you have become the last word in good looks, insofar as good looks may be fixed and formulated, then, why then, there is nothing more to it then, it is then you listen and see how voices and eyes declare you to be proud and beautiful
1.7k
if i stopped eating
people would compliment me
on how thin i am
and when they saw the bruises
they pressed their mouths
shut tight
and just joked about
how clumsy i could be
with their easily uneasy smiles.
i don’t know if they
just didn’t see
or if they just weren’t
looking.
introducing him
to my friends was like
living in a ****** part of town,
having someone over
and hearing the racket of gunfire
outside of your window
and then having them say to you,
“oh, listen,
you can hear the fireworks
from here!”
and being too embarrassed
to correct them.
so maybe i’m not sure
if i believe in fireworks;
bombs are too often
mistaken for them.
but i can distinguish the difference
now, i can, and i will not
teach my daughters that when
he pushes you down in the dirt
and pulls on your pigtails
it’s because he likes you.
because when i covered up
those bruises on my body
in too-light concealer
like i’d never learned how to cover up
love-bites and tired eyes,
there was a voice in the back of
my mind that was telling me
that he only pushed me
down because he loved me.
i do not want a voice
inside my daughter’s heads
that sounds like me,
telling them that they deserve
their split lips.
i will tell my daughters to wear
boxing gloves over their manicures,
i will tell my daughters that
“love” is not an excuse,
i will tell my daughters that no one
is allowed to give you
a black eye and expect you
not to punch back harder,
i will tell my daughters
that you are not weak for getting hurt
because the weak ones
are those who let their anger
and insecurities
manifest themselves
in fists and words.
i will tell my daughters
the difference between bombs and fireworks,
i will tell them that they may sound
the same sometimes,
but fireworks don't ****
innocence.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
Ghosts unglorified
Watch the black angels weep
Demonic doctrines at play in our minds
In our homes, in the streets
Your diamond earrings
Your rhinestone-encrusted phone
Your manicures
Your shoe-shine labor throne
The devil is in the details
But only the dead can see
The big picture
Count your pills
Count your money
Count your friends
How’s that honey?
Ghosts with wide eyes
Watch the angels cry
Demonic ways at work in our heads
In our beds, it should be a crime
Devil is in the details
Every nook and cranny
When will we see the big picture?
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 11:27 AM UTC
Highheels and miniskirts
mascara and manicures
lotion and lipgloss
A girls world is a mist of all things non "boy"
and yet
it all sercretly revolves around boys
what he wants
what he likes
why are we trying so hard to impress them?
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 5:13 PM UTC
The idea of man has changed.
We no longer build things,
But have to take care of our manicures.
We no longer grow a forest upon our face,
But shave every inch of real estate;
Such that others others buy into our facade.
No more princes looking for a fight-
On their perilous journey to find the princess.
Now it seems all the princes are searching for another prince.
I think for the sole reason,
That man is trying to find a real man.
Someone to him to start a fire,
To swing a sword, or have unconditional love.
Bottled aggression turns into feminism,
Yet I’m not saying women are weak.
Very much to the contrary,
They can place a deep fear in any man.
That’s their job: to keep us grounded.
With two men or (wo)men,
No balance is found and the cycle turns.
A man that doesn’t fight gets left behind,
And will be murdered under his bed.
(His favorite hiding spot)
I understand the blame mostly falls on change,
But be a man, a rock, steady and un-moveable.
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 10:54 PM UTC
Calloused is defined as having a hardened area of skin.
But I would venture to guess
That if you looked at my heart
And compared it to
My feet and my hands
That my feet and my hands
Would be in better shape.
See manicures and pedicures exist
But regardless of all the wear on my heart.
There's no procedure that can soften it.
Life has taken sandpaper to me.
Marring me through
Missteps in love
And searing loss.
Leaving me hardened,
Which served its purpose,
At least I wouldn't be easily hurt anymore.
I avoided love.
Not out of fear, I'd tell myself,
But because I was done looking for it.
I'd tell people that I was waiting for love to find me.
And so I'm still waiting
Or hiding.
From the fear of opening up.
From the fear of softening.
It's hard to be yourself
When you know that
You're scarred
Or scared
Or both.
So the callouses come in handy.
Keeping me from pain and hurt.
Actually, I prefer the term hardened to calloused.
Simply for the sake of finding a better connotation.
I'd rather be hardened by my circumstances
Than calloused by them.
I'd rather be hardened by the hurt
Than calloused by it.
And if loss were to strike me in the face again,
I'd rather be hardened,
Instead of calloused.
But if you'd grab a dictionary
You wouldn't be fooled by my attempt,
At clever wordplay.
You'd realize that both are the same,
And that whatever I'd chosen to call myself
Didn't matter.
I was still as broken as ever.
Still scarred.
Still scared.
As hardened
As calloused
As ever.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
The manicured lawn behaves splendidly all summer
never pushing its way through the throngs
of flower beds and razor cut edges.
How pleasant to look at a tempting golf course
in my backyard with no nine holes in it
but a coffee club sunk just out of sight of the lawn-mower blades!
I guess that's a way away from the lady of the house
who cannot always see how men must tamper
with manicures and pedicures with brazen coffee cup
tricks to catch a bit of practice on handicaps and nine holes!
I like those Sundays, especially, when she goes off to bombard
the saints with a litany of rosary beads and complaints
on why I bring the outdoor golfing into her indoor lawns!
I don't want to talk about how poor my putting is though!
If I had all the money in the world tucked into my bank account
I could go off and buy me an 18 hole ecstasy
but that's not possible. So until my numbers show up
on the one dollar ticket, I'm happy to build my dream
on this one hole, 10 sq yard coffee cup implanted
retirement plan. How about you?
Author Notes
Mini golf course at home.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Part I
My body never prepared to run out of air
celebrate it?
I said Send.
I said it again and again. Send.
the world's loneliest flipping machine
withering from your obtusity.
I'm sclerotic.
Yes, yes that's it.
I want to stir you
strike you into soup.
I'll observe the dictionary,
every word will flow from me to you.
Flip, flip off the diver's board,
Blank and Blank by the shore
Color it in, out, up, down
I'm sclerotic.
Remember this, need this
counting people all in pairs:
I saw everything through sixteen vision,
bleary, misted with vanilla yous.
Soft skinned, little girls, hot and milds between their teeth
I don't hunt but I could.
Autumnal again and I'm just repetition
speaking of repressed rage.
Let us analyze the handwriting of every
colleague, drop out, ghost buster,
Coffee house inspired.
I'm sclerotic.
I'm walking through the forest and
you're not there.
Part II
I write because I'll die
I die, I die, I diee.
It's been too long since I went swinging
Missing my pour of moon to the tip top
of my new ceramic mugs.
It's all up for traps
the reindeer, the telltales, the chlorine.
Hyperextended among the cruel cats, where are the cool cats?
REVERSE back to nail polish
I got manicures as a little girl
Staring at my hair now
every shaved bit on my leg is its own waterfall. Hah.
I cry for my beauty
I was told I was wrong with
highlighters, colored ads,
illuminated in the eyes of old dogs.
Take a gulp,
I did and I walked
for every moment I regretted.
I walked.
Childish foolish acts, crimeful commitments.
I said Send. Send.
She said you might not like me but to never fret
you love me.
I'm walking in a tunnel
(Where's the light?)
and you're not there.
Part III
This is the beginning
of a low-budget film, black and white
this part is when the audience yells
"Someone fall in love already!"
I think there is something truly remarkable about me
(and you)
and the boy who cried wolf and
probably other people
too
I don't want my words to dissipate or fall
into space
disappear in the inners of the web.
I want them to creep in through the crevices
speak to the many as they
walk and see and notice.
I find a strange comfort in swinging at night in
an empty park
and a intriguing mystery the first time someone sighs my name.
I'm swinging in the park and
you're not there.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
I wanted to hug, you wanted to hide
I wanted excitement, from that you shied
I like loud, silly, always wanting more
You like quiet, sarcasm, contemplative to the core
Most older, are bolder
But you followed the rules
I followed behind
Tried to fill some big shoes
Now you try to hug and to me its feels weird
To have love from a sister, a friend I once feared.
You are still a mystery, so many things I don't know
But I hope over time, those parts you will show
Please know you can trust me, I love you so much
The sister I longed for, who rejected my touch
Look at us now, friends at last
I'm sorry if I hurt you, I’m sorry for the past
I only want the best for you and I’m truly so proud
Of this sister of mine, whose voice has grown loud.
Whose planning is immaculate and time management too
Who is teaching me so much, whose friendship is true
Who makes me laugh with just a look
Who has become an accomplished cook
Who has taken my hand in the figurative sense
Who is honest and open and gives her two cents
Who says, "I love you" in different ways,
in manicures and t-shirts and beach days
I applaud you my sister, for you have grown tall
In so many ways and I love them all.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
Flips flops hurt my feet
I can take it, I'll take em off
Walk in the street that's putting blisters on my feet
In my favorite grey tee
Our hands bumping but not touching
But I know you'll kiss me
You always do
I love these boys
That can rap so well
And the things they write make me feel so small
Michael I miss you
Daddy I miss you
This Florida trip might make it worse
I might begin to see things that'll make the burns hurt
My scars are bigger than yours
I'm a tough one
Don't touch me
I don't need your sympathy
I don't need a chair
Ill use a pen to tie up my hair
Manicures are a waste of money
Money I could use on us, honey
No, baby, you don't gotta carry me
I can take a bigger **** rip than any girl you'd meet
Ill show you
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
The Poet
Words are meaningless
yours in particular
ramblings of nonsense
formed together into patterns and conjunctions
assembled perfectly fit for the audience abode
with their glistening shiny shoes and matching manicures
I have no time for fingers that can't stand the feeling of touch
mine in particular
I need to feel at home
formed together into patterns and conjunctions
assembled but not necessarily fit
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
My love knows no Louis Vuitton or Cartier
she doesn't belong to the city
she lives in a farm with her parents and siblings
in the faraway country.
My love thinks not of manicures
her hands are busy in the soil
the flowers and plants relish their tender touch
from dawn to dusk she does toil
My love didn't go to uni
but she knows Keats, Byron and Shelley
even French, German and Russian poetry
lots of Sartre and Camus--she takes delight in philosophy.
My love is no Maria Callas nor Joan Sutherland
but beautifully she sings Schubert's lieder
opera and folk songs she takes delight in
like none other
My love never had music lessons
how she excels on the piano
she plays Mozart, Beethoven and Bach by ear
at the music-hall the villagers love her as she plays solo
I am the son of old John Mac Gregor
her next-door neighbour
I went to school never
too shy to date her
Dad and mum said
learn to write poetry
send her a sweet love poem
if she likes it, she will marry you---happily!
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
She rides a badass Harley and she doesn't give a **** about what the neighbors are saying, because she lives her life not worrying about judgements of the image they say she's portraying
But then on the other hand…
She loves bubble baths and babies, flora and fauna, manicures, pedicures and dancing, she likes holding hands and soft gentle kisses and she thinks poetry is totally romancing
But then on the other, other hand…
I've seen her fire a 44 Magnum and i can tell you, her targets are rarely missed
And the way she shifts a standard transmission she says it's done with flick of the wrist
But then on the other, other, other hand...
She speaks very softly with a pretty little voice, and her whisper is enchanting and crisp, her favorite thing is to snuggle real close, and the ways of the philanthropist
But then on the other, other, other, other hand...
She knows how to plow a field for growing, and shes shoveled her share of **** shes not afraid to dress a deep wound, or drink wiskey, or swear, or spit
She manages an office full of egos and divas, she hires and fires at will, and if your stupid you'll threaten her loved ones, shell definitely maime or ****
But…………..
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
Why is it that we believe in unhealthy relationships
We believe we can fix people who are worthless
We think that we can take years of suffering out of someone's life
With something we said one night
And we believe that all a sad person needs is a bottle of pills
Or another man-made substance that ultimately kills
We believe that to be happy we must make it artificial
We gotta smoke **** drink, get pedicures, manicures and facials
But we've been tampering with how we were created
Messing up our lives, our memories jaded
Because we seem to have forgotten who came to die on the cross
When everyone thought that all hope was lost
A youth pastor once said
"God knew what ****** would do, yet his son still was dead"
For 3 whole days
Until he rose from the grave
But we still rely on a human being to give the love we desire
When only God's love sears hotter than fire
Feels cooler than ice
Jesus paid the price
For forgiveness
Yet we forget how to forgive
It's sick
As believers in Christ we can do better than this
Better than praying to be better Christians
Better than relying on God to do the task we've been given
Because yes God is almighty, Yes, God can do all
But I refuse to pretend God is letting me fall
In fact God lifts me up, to my highest of peaks
And I know to praise God every day of the week
Don't get me wrong I'm not trying to preach
I'm just saying, I work through God because he can do much better than me
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Whilst perusing the internet
I happened upon a shopping site that
You could order the strangest kind
Of anything you find online
Like...
Dogs that talk
Pigs that fly
Birds that burp
Fish that sigh
Cows that cackle
Giraffes that might
drive your car
if you would like
Orangutans
with manicures
Floating souls
from the underworld
Ginsu knives
that slice and dice
A circus clown
that isn't nice
Chewing gum
that once was chewed
By the infamous
Mr.Magoo
A politician
that tells the truth
that is brand new
never once been used
A mirror that's
already cracked
with only six months
bad luck left
An iPod filled with
Disco tunes
A picture of Sean Penn
shooting the moon
McDonald's fries
with the salt licked off
A brown jar filled with
Whooping cough
A frog that comes
with its own warts
A visit from Mindy
minus Mork
A kite with only
half a tail
Escargot
that's really snail
Shorts once worn
by Daisy Duke
Scores and scores
of 70's Show tunes
Just about anything you would like
I found on this one awesome site
And desperately feeling the need
I ended up ordering one of each
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
Who are you? A princess?
How about a cowgirl?
Maybe even a vampire?
What are you? Kind?
Sort of angry?
Full of love?
You are you. And unless you let others know.
You may never show who you are.
You will be their judgement,
Their rude remarks, you will be the empty comments,
You will be whatever they make you into.
Be you and don't let other people sculpt who you are.
It was the biggest mistake of my life.
I'm a princess, waiting in a tower to be swept away by my prince.
I'm a girl, wishing for sleepovers, manicures and movie nights with friends.
I'm a mother, looking for my children who I will love with my whole being.
I'm more than they think. I'm more than they say I am.
They are not me and I'm done with this life.
I want to be happy.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
I used to write
about women,
looking in the mirror, peering
out from behind the bars of these walls.
I used to see them
in the kitchen,
by the stove, seated:
docile at the table. Their chairs
were always a little
askew--drawn back--
or maybe they just weren't there.
They'd wash--no scrub--
their hands among the dishes
until their manicures bled.
Then they'd stack the porcelain
in a heap out by last night's
******* and tomorrow's
cleaning.
Sometimes they'd smile
to themselves; a chuckle of menial
labor. But other times they'd cry
and groan and moan out the next
generation of household
women. I used to see
them everywhere. I wonder where
they've gone.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
force-fed lies by those elected to protect
reddens my raw throat
hoarsely shouting into the void
that oddly enough looks like
the populace at large
blank faces, replaced
gone are the impassioned speeches
and marching masses
instead we see
the insane rallying troop movement
my glass house sits very near
to the danger zone
and fall-out patterns –
asteroid minors look at a distant blue dot
thinking of simpler times
and solid foods –
Republican miscreants misrepresent
minorities
mandating moratoriums
on malt liquor
and manicures –
purest snow falls on the Peruvian plains
toxin free
drinkable
peasant farmers are handed land claims
on generational farms
today, PEPSI owns all precipitation –
hope fades
and faith dwindles
the reality of a global super-power
restraint less
and hungry –
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC