"margarine" poems
Among the mountains and oceans we claimed,
Environments we no longer know,
Starvation from the knowledge lacked.
Strange men of unknown origin push us away
With feathered spears and their spirits
Flying above us like the angels we seek.
The spread of our culture like margarine
Angers the earth it's ancestors tread on;
War and thievery. Disease and infection
Was wildfire in a land containing no such
Immunities to the harshness.
First cities died as infants, stillborns
Of history and freedom, yet
They survived in their determination.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
Yesterday sugar became unspeakably irritated because mother’s apron crushed ants wearing stillness caped wonder just William author wrote ****** explicit headlines newspaper columns pillar architecturally sound villages super-imposed images quivering Shepard’s ******** antelopes jumping furiously with tyramisphorising fornicating flanges woodwork lessons gym period ****** advert teasing testicles sumptuously ravishing me sideways and erupting deep blasts suffocating you inside without *********** headlong in my armpits.
Eventually everyone always signs legal documents leading to ****** bondable zoos inserted buffalo sized puddings eaten by frogs spanking archbishops underwear while licking toes crushed under fridges dropped from clouds of buttercups being pushed into ovens smelling gorgeous not consumed pimps and alarm clocks ring people to talk for hours and pineapples exchanged cod fish for tickets to see S Club 7 being caressed internally whilst ******** bags covered in water deserts sunk from space aliens from Tescos selling hardback fish cleaning toilets and singing in pink wellies dancing to Madonna look-a-likes prosecuted for *** shops selling frozen fish socks washed daily in cranberry coffee after being passed under bridges flooded in margarine soaked pillows.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:19 AM UTC
.*if, and however many mistakes i made in typo... attempting to compete with Spawn, using the black panther... ****** please... it's like that "healthy" competition of butter, using margarine... Black Panther isn't Spawn... Spawn is... Spawn... yeah... thanks for ruining my 12" wish fetish... i was so dying... to... i was never going to **** an English girl to begin with... thank god.*
you're seriously going
to "correct" me
using black panther....
seriously?
spawn was the ********
to what....
to whatever you're
doing these days....
i don't want to be
the blank panther...
**** being black panther...
************
i want to be *spawn"..
******* quasi-nigger...
john coltrane...
you a mariah carey
back-up singer or some
otherwise alien whacky
alien-backlog?
compared to spawn...
the black panther
looks like a ******* ******
wing guy...
for what's deemed
12"...
black...
mire like bleak Parthenon...
some columns,
no spirals...
waste of time...
black Panther, what?
so Spawn...
was just a waste of time?
Spawn was the gran-daddy
where the Batman was the daddy
given the Joker
was the gran-gran-daddy...
you get me?
Miles Davis too much for you?
the blank panther is such
a ***** move...
it's like... come Kosovo...
when expecting Sarajevo...
****** this **** will not
stick...
high flying ****
if you think this will become
a ******* pancake...
no, ******
take your blank panther back
to Yakanda, or whatever...
your Spawn was cooler than
Lego Batman...
**** your white *****
and leave me to my existentialism
of... making a "heroic" exit..
akin to Elvis...
but more or less minding
Roy Orbison in a sing along.
p.s.
lego batman movie quote:
black panther *****
spawn go go go! spammy!
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 12:02 AM UTC
I am the fire that holds the glow
of a hidden flame that captures
all that fall within.
As all my fire flowers around me
bellowed by every heartbeat.
As many invisible doorways break
open and all is awakened in air of ruby
reds and orange flame, as they
burst and bloom.
I am the fire that swallows all fire so
shout at me more little drill sergeant
for you light my fire.
For I will explode all over your anger
and blow you out like a little candle.
As I am a colossal fiery breeze as turbulent
winds encircle like a forest fire I engulf.
My coat shines and glows with orange
embers fanned by a million life times
of survival.
The power of my radiating heat melts
bones like ice in boiling water or the
hot sun against margarine.
Dare you look into my stare take a dip
a little swim and I will reignite your
flame.
I am the WILD Tiger never in caged by
any shouldst or ought to for I am a free
and my path always open for me to seek
fuel for my flame.
As my fire is never suffocated by conditions
or rule as I possess all the space around me.
Like oxygen I **** it all in while exploding into
higher spaces much greater places.
I feel the taste of LOVE and HATE as they are
both painted upon my tongue and feed my
appetite.
Like two sticks Love and Hate I rub them both
together please give me more smoke and fire.
You rub your soft injustice against my hard wood
I will bring you storm clouds and flames.
As I fight for right as naturally as gravity is
pulling us to earth.
I will transform any situation never stopping
to ask if I can as I throw myself at anything.
I wash souls of petty despair as they bath
within my glare.
Come close to me and I will hold you tenderly
in the nets of my sight like hammocks
in my eyes.
Let me lick and sooth your many wounds
as we together we softly purr.
Purring sweetly together like a V8 engine I can
slowly restore all your strength and power.
I pounce and spring of solid rock that feels
so soft and elastic like rubber.
A thousand coordinated sparks ****** themselves
forward as they blaze a trail to fast for the brain.
You will be liberated when you find my fire
rocket blades ignited we will dance and play
through time.
So much can be gained when running with the
Tiger, caressing air with a watery velvet.
As you slip through a jungle with a silky strawberry
orange flame, how we Love the beautiful
Tiger's Flame
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
stay
fight
cataclysm
summary
resistant
eyebrow
crackle
dinner
fishhook
blunt
tribute
margarine
widow
****
scar
glory
elephant
planet
swallow
forget
blanket
fear
smooth
black
vent
curvy
translation
smooth
warrant
concussion
fluid
red
airway
postmark
testament
carpet
denial
flex
touch
real
married
armchair
sink
ebb
soft
touché
foam
stone
float
torn
away
see
tremor
marrow
bright
side
god
deep
hurry
inject
wither
moon
noun
full
stop
wild
year
done
everyone
enough
disco
skin
same
dream
chest
roses
proof
tacit
dire
soul
posit
wide
shy
city
run
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
give us this day our daily
emotional breakdown
and forgive us our
blackout binges
as we forgive those who
starve themselves for perfection
and lead us not into
inherited obesity
deliver us from
the mental ward
**FOR THERE IS SO
MUCH ******
BREAD IN THIS
HOUSE I CAN'T
TAKE IT ANYMORE**
on mlk day i shut my eyes
and see scenes of
squishy white rolls and
pats of margarine
bread
leaden
deadened
feeling in my stomach
*i can't eat any
more bread*
but here it is
in baskets and
coolers in
toasters and
cupboards
my daily bread
made to sustain me
but turned into
the enemy
deliver me
from risen
yeast in
third degrees
a flour coated
tyranny
mind control
through sesame
*swallowing
emotions
down
down
down*
quietly settles
until spring
somewhere between
my hope and skin
you can see me
smile and stand
straight and tall
but what you can't see
is this shouldn't be
my body at all
*give us this day
our daily bread
and give us the strength
to chew meat instead*
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 11:22 PM UTC
I'm baking a cake
For the Land of Enchantment
(It's red velvet
like the plans in my head)
And I'm packing my bags
A year early and
I'm looking at houses
On craigslist
That can only be reached by ATV
And
JESUS H CHRIST
I am done with Missouri!
I am done with this humidity!
I could cut this day
Like margarine
I could cut this day
Like high school chemistry
I could die laughing
At what I'm doing with my life
JESUS H CHRIST
I mean
I'm so ******* sick
Of looking at brick
Buildings and Cards fans all day
And no one ever says hi
No one asks me to dance
JESUS H CHRIST
I'm not a *****
And I don't need flowers
I need cow skulls
I need mountains
I need to see stars
When I look up at night
The ******* stars!
CHRIST
What shines in Missouri
Is streetlights
Stadium lights
Arch lights
**** the Arch.
I am on the next train
To Santa Fe
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
Dost thou even go here?
Can thou even read?
Doth thou know the website thou art on?
Poetry be what we breed!
Ye foolish man!
Ye simpleton!
From whom unrefinement flows!
Thou shalt not write,
On a poetry site,
A work of ****** prose!
Oh yeah? Watch me.
Hello beautiful people. I'm in the mood to philosophize. And this being a poetry site, let's make the topic poetry. (WARNING: this piece will be filled with opinions, personal beliefs, and probably a little butter. If you don't agree with anything I say, good for you. Way to have opinions. AND WHATEVER YOU DO. DON'T SUBSTITUTE MARGARINE FOR THE BUTTER!) Ok, so poetry. I like poetry. And since I'm the one writing this, I'm gonna tell you about my philosophy, and my personal style and influences.
My philosophy that I try to live by is minimalism. Which is NOT laziness! Minimalism is quite difficult really. Anyone can write a nice fluffy poem (and yes, nice fluffy poems can be dark pieces about death and the like.) What minimalism is to me, is the stripping away of all of that fluff to get down to the raw emotion of a piece. An abundance of words pollutes the emotion.
Now, my stylistic mumbo jumbo. My aesthetic has gone through a few phases. A lot of my work is very modernist. What that means is that it deals a lot with... well with failure. Failure of the human race, failure of people, and my own personal failure. But also with separation. Some prime examples of my modernist works are "here I lay a martyr" and "of my faults and follies"
The next phase is when I started writing music for my band (Bisclaveret Marie, we're on Facebook. Check it out.) I became enamored with a man by the name of Jack White. (yes, that Jack White. The one formerly of the White Stripes.) Also the source of my minimalist approach, Jack revived my love for the Blues. When that came crashing into my poetry, it was definitely for the better.
The next phase was surrealism. The use of images and metaphors and weirdness to paint a picture of the emotion I choose to write about. (I don't really know how to describe this, just go read Though There Be Dragons, A Journey Through The Mind of a Madman. It'll make more sense.)
And most recently the Blues have seen a renaissance in my work. The simple lyric structures and rhyme patterns tickle my inner minimalist.
Yeah, so that's my spiel. If you actually read this, you freaking deserve a medal
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
peanut butter and jelly
smooth crunch,
dilapidated layers,
crushed into,
nuts and margarine,
it seems those screams,
in dreams are clarity,
in reality,
whispers of margins,
so close,
shaves and wavy days,
charging in %’s in head rests,
pieces left in indents of you,
on the mattress.
The fact is,
subjective to the
context of sparks,
ignited by espionage,
rubber gloves,
the ****** scope,
from afar,
how did we cope
before they put us together,
in jars.
The antithesis,
of all we can be.
Weak at the knees.
Peanut butter and jelly,
ready to eat.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
Do no harm.
Leave the war-plane frame of reference
to other puzzle pieces.
We are naked.
We are not.
We are not certain of which
monologue to begin.
So we chant in
unified panting
etching legends
out of rhymes.
Do no harm.
Do no harm.
It matters now that the growing telephones
are charged like neglected
poisons of dampening redials.
Truth is gaining wisdom like
groups of formatted crosses
jumping like splinters
of margarine jars.
We are naked.
We are not.
We are one with living and prepared
for the drying of the hands.
Clean me up and leave me outside.
Sun gone but wind remaining.
Do no harm.
Do no harm.
Do no harm.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC
cleaning out the refrigerator
the hot kitchen
the underside of my *******
collect moisture
and everything smells like salsa.
and pickles.
and raspberry scented dishsoap.
crusty yellow nasty **** caked on
the glass shelves
it won't come off,
even after a long soak
I scrape it off with a razor blade
I took out all the eggs, the garlic,
containers of cooked wild rice,
store bought broccoli cheese soup
the butter or margarine or rat poison
or whatever it is
I'd never touch it.
The jar of homemade canned sweet pears
from when my mom's brother
had an excellent harvest
two years ago.
there's a small circle of browning black mold floating on top.
four cans of Thirster brand orange
juice, only 80 calories
per serving!
puddles of nasty gray hardened sticky gunk
i don't know what it is.
or what it used to be.
Then the drawers of vegetables
the browning lettuce
the dirt covered mold covered unopened
bag of broccoli and cauliflower
5 red peppers
squishy in some places
The shelves all come out.
wash with warm soapy water
i wipe the sweat off
my face with the dry
part of my arm
I put everything back in its place.
All clean.
Now my refrigerator
has lost all its
character
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
my eye lids are heavier
than canvas shopping bags
after a particular gratitious shop
(fret not, i bought your biscuits)
and my heart is full of jangly
indie twee pop with a stomping bassline
that makes me want to dance with
tears in my eyes at times,
happy ones,
the kind that makes old(er) people in
old or stereotypical things proclaim
'turn off that infernal racket'
'what is that god awful noise'
etcetera but less circuituously
look at me world, i'm happy
look at this ******* smile
look at it
look at my yellowed teeth and tell me that i'm not a woman
look at my hair and tell me that i wasn't born with it
look at my face and pretend you've never seen anything so confusing
wait the last one didn't work did it
let me try again
give me the key to the city and i'll give you the key to my heart
okay the last one was a lie but
you get or can hopefully at least begin to grasp the point,
I can recommend some secondary reading if you're interested in reading around the topic.
but yes, where was i?
ah yes,
i'm on the crest of a sugar high
and i think i can see my house from here
i can see the ruins and the new developments going up
and from up here, as always,
everything is pretty ******* beautiful
there's so little air
no wait
another lie, sorry,
there's empty space with nothing in it
not even gas particles
only me and my feelings and
so little room to move in this tiny car
but i'm safe and i'm well
and i'm strapped in tight
and i can see my house from here.
honestly, it's that one right there.
i can see myself at the window,
eating a bagel with margarine
and wondering how the hell
I ever got so high off the ground.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
You slid into my life,
easy as a knife through butter.
not like margarine,
of that I'm less keen
hanging out with you... ****** Nora
it's as easy as flowers via inter-Flora
You butter believe I'm here to stay
we're about half-way
and by this point, I'm sure you'll say
you wrote me a poem,
but I can't believe its not butter.
so come on Flynn...
Lurpak it in.
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 1:22 PM UTC
Cheeriness left me Monday.
Emotionless, I staggered at the news that,
the self proclaimed "The People's Poet" was dead.
In a crashing flood of emotion the 80's flooded back,
"Post Punk" Rick was no more.
Lord Flashheart was no more.
Alan Beresford B'stard was no more.
Drop Dead Fred had died.
Rik Mayall the comedian, actor, genius was no more.
No more catchphrases such as 'Hoorah' or 'Neeeeeiiiiillll'
No more, smashing frying pans into people 's faces,
No more ***** margarine, no more 'Bottom'
No more British anarchic, anti-establishment, alternative comedy.
My youth had died.
Getting old is quite simply a *******
56 was too young.
But, never fear I do believe, that
"She has a tongue like an electric eel, and she likes the taste of a man's tonsils"
Will be engraved upon my heart, just for M'Lord! Woof!
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
They took them…
With a *** shovel and beards engulfed with disguise,
By fire, by force and harm
They heartlessly took them…
Loading with a military van from the snare, the school
Sabotaging their education and jubilance
At the brink of our oculus, like a hot blade through margarine,
Like the evanescence of dew upon new dawn,
They were gone…
We cajole to Haram Islamic militants,
Not the slavery we signed up for,
Yet this is our story, but not our destiny.
It is profane and sacrilegious to talk slavery upon our realms.
Our ancestral dormancy and Jesus crucifixion outlines our history.
We were untrammeled...but today,
Our existence is dreary and clouded by mystery
We count minutes turning into tormented hours,
In lament of our own flesh and blood
They took them..
with needles and stylus they pinched poked and taunted us,
Like a bunch of sponges filled with voids,
Our hearts are painfully porous,
Dope them with defects,
Bring back our girls…
Haram saboteurs came in with a saber,
They took them…
How less of a man to not respect the words of the late Tata Madiba,
When he said"Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land
Will again experience the oppression of one by another".
There will be war upon the element of Haram when Jesus intervene..
Bring back our girls..
(Nigreian acsent)
Chinekeee, man of Haram, bring back our girls_oo
I beg, why go they take?
Eeeh, god will go get you one day,
With our teary Nigerian eyes, will we ever see?
Adedagbo, our crown of joy ?
Aduke, our beloved ?
Afolayan Walking in majesty...
Agbogu, God settles dispute…
Bring back our girls.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
I write your name
in red
sunlight
seeps through bottles
on a windowsill
margarine kaleidoscopes
on legs
naked for a change
(early summer risky business)
Floorboards yawn
under the weight of our stories
I take showers
as well as baths now
Can't be twenty-one here
older shush you couldn't tell
Roll my finger
make your piano tingle
like when our wrists
bump together
when spines crackle
on books bought yesterday
this city bubbles
all fiction
You think
monochrome
makes you look better
camera snap done
jazz sashays around the room
head out a window
hear people as nosebleeds
scrabble about
You flirt
(what a discovery)
like flowers in a vase
orange juice bagels
ten-plus-ten toes
(A moment
where your eyes ache
into mine)
I hop
stepped jumped
into this mess
you know as well as I do
what a delectable
mess we are in
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
tv shows on mute,
mouths moving but making no assertions.
a silence that doesn’t satisfy
slipping over the air like margarine.
loneliness in stillness
The feeling before you cry
but no tears are produced,
like a dial tone
with no intention of an outgoing call.
serenity’s evil twin,
a vibrant color muted with white.
no longer deep or dark,
just with the volume turned down,
apathetically pastel.
Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 6:05 PM UTC
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
When you ask me
How are you today?
Across the steady flowing river of barcodes
You want nothing from me
My robotic response:
“good”
I'm compelled to tell you that I am angry
I missed the bus this morning
I am grocery shopping
Which is not fun
And you are out of my favorite brand of deodorant
You do not look at me
You do not care
I do not care
I am swimming upstream
In and around milk cartons
And sticks of margarine
Beep.
Beep.
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 2:32 PM UTC
Soft White bread
and margarine
creamy cheese
lay inbeteeen
brown sauce or red
or maybe Mayo
add an onion
pickled slow
squash it down
and cut with rev'rence
all washed down
with drink of pref'rence
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 8:24 AM UTC
This mind is a jam,
Is a honey, is a cough syrup.
A motley of chaos, in a container.
This old brain from my skin,
Soaked in pool of chlorine,
Or an intestine. This mother of me
Comes from the grandmother.
This is the girdle of Venus;
This simulacrum, this effigy.
The tyndall effect exhibited
Spread, spread, spreads
A margarine of coal, inedible;
It spat the meal it created!
But a mind is a cog of a machine.
Two is a watch; three is a clock;
Hundred is a Big Ben.
How can i forget this;
This is self-aggrandizement!
This seeming small, seeming
Incapable; belching cyclone,
Tending Peloponnesian war.
The might and shyness, the complex
Flung disguised for a dove, that
Pool of roses refracted in blood
This frantic trade of dagger
In forms of rhymes and letters -
This is it. This is mind!
Feb 26, 2023
Feb 26, 2023 at 12:43 AM UTC
She spreads
And he butters
If he can't keep it up
As long as she is down
It's all gonna end
In burnt toast,
Her better side
On the floor
He'll get the door
I'll get the dough
But what does she knead
If I am the **** on a crescent roll,
Maybe
It's all baloney
I've got to go H.A.M
Cold turkey
Like she cuts carbs,
Temperature is rising
I'm crisp
Out the Oven
And into the fire,
I just cannot
Believe it
Is not margarine
Thin layers of fakery
Who's running this bakery?
Everything has come
A long way in the baking,
Is it melting or burning?
Don't know
Until you slice,
Take a bite
It'll be alright...
APAD16 - 002 © okpoet
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
Smooth and soft,
Like dough in my hands.
Cold yet sometimes so warm
So small yet so much.
The way you're so easy to spread,
You're an obsession that I must use daily.
Doesn't matter the time of day or night,
I can always depend on you to be there.
Your fair light yellow...
Light Yellow!?
Wait! This is margarine!!
I can't believe it's not butter.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
i find it bewildering
how western society
****** all the fat out
of certain edible products,
like yoghurt,
and by draining off
the fat replaced it with
excess sugar,
to then suddenly announce
that alcohol was a sugar,
what the ****
alcohol (EtOH - Et is a
chemical shortening of
the micro-carbohydrate chain
derived from ethane CH3-CH3 -
ethanol) is the single most perfect
calorie unit, even if impure due
to dilution: a standard bottle
of smirnoff ***** has a rubric:
50ml parallels 50kcal;
i don't know where journalists
got the idea that alcohol is
in the sugar category - minding the fact
that i don't use alcohol as a recreational
party dumbing drug (liquid ketamine),
instead using it for its medicinal qualities
of sedation - i find arguments concerning
it a bit of a red herring / far fetched -
i hate drinking with people, i drink on my own,
i find myself very conversational
albeit slurring my speech after a drink
with a library on my hunchback,
but if the conversation turns sour
and no one's laughing with me
i sober up and alcohol doesn't recognise
the soul, but becomes purely metabolic,
and that *****
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
I ought to diet, I'm a little fat,
I haven't got much time for that,
Most diets are just not to my taste,
However much I miss my waist,
The powdered ones , you blend to make,
But I like food, along with my shake,
The gimmick ones, the new 'must haves'
Soon disappear for the next new fad,
I love my food, I live to eat,
Quite healthy too, I ought not bleat,
Home cooked supper,every night,
Organic stuff, it tastes just right,
Butter though, not margarine,
That foul stuff, it tastes obscene,
I work hard by day, so starve or binge,
So I mustn't really start to whinge,
It's quantity I think the cause,
Each meal I eat it could feed four,
They say eat less and work out more,
What a ****** awful bore,
Never been one for the gym,
All that straining, looking grim,
Joggers running, along the road,
So red, I think they will explode,
The answers clear, if all that, I cannot hack,
Bring the renaissance shape in women, back!
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC