"mentos" poems
During a walk through the hallway
of the primary school
I find hallways
filled with turkeys and leafs and stiff scrawled characters.
What is Mr. Smith's class thankful for?
Flowers and toys and cars and dresses and pink and purple and soccer and skirts and barbies and family.
How could you sum up all of the things you are thankful for in one word?
At the end of the hallway I am faced with a choice:
*What are you thankful for?*
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What am I thankful for?
Happiness, and family and security and nature and
friends.
I am thankful for friends.
I am thankful for laughs and chatts and cries and sobs and games and smiles.
I am thanful for ****** contortions and 80s dance sessions,
for inabilty to speak.
I am thankful for hobos, eating on the side of the road,
and for devious scheymes of intoxicatation.
Hep beni anlayan bir arkadaşım var müteşekkirim
and who listens to my sob stories.
I am thankful for singing in the rain.
And styling hair in the sink
for screeching and howling
and hissing.
I am thankful for obkirchergasses,
for Ströcks and for ice cream plarlours.
I am thankful for mentos,
and walnuts.
I am thankful for bad lip readings and hilarious youtube vidoes.
I am thankful for unknown languages and nymphs
and for eloquence.
I am thankful for good taste in music
and for strong opinions.
I am thankful for dancing indian pirates with demon chicks and fireballs.
I am thankful for two-headed teenagers and barbeques.
I am thankful for God and healthy choice prayers,
and Hawaii get aways.
I am thankful for huge, hanging sweaters and crazy, funky leggings.
I am thankful for deep talks about the world's lack of beauty
and for poetry buddies.
I am thankful for dodgeball playing mice,
and poor old wenches.
I am thankful for pirate and mermaid adventures.
I am thankful for the looks we get:
looks of loud disapproval,
and whispers of quiet exasperation.
I am thankful for golden men and loud singing,
for crazy dances with crazy cousins and cute brothers.
I am thankful for Aunt Jemima.
I am thankful for banging on metal bars with rocks and shouting at the top of our lungs.
I am thankful for climbing over gates in order to not step on cracks.
I am thankful for amazing humanities teachers.
I am thankful for a laugh when the day is over.
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How those kids manage to fit all of their thankfulness into one word is beyond me.
Even the one-word things we are thankful for, must be described with a million words.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 7:42 AM UTC
Faking Bad
In anticipation of my
Evaluation to be declared
Non Compos Mentos
I slept under a bridge
For three days
"Getting into character,"
But on the morning of
My intake interview
My hair fell perfectly,
I mean I looked like
A ******* rock star.
College girls on the bus
Were giving me their
Numbers and my skin,
Which I'd purposely sunburnt
And caked in the finest filth,
Glowed like an Australian
Chippendale dancer named Weegie
And even the female Assisstant D.A.
Who had busted me for vagrancy
Waved her ******* from
The third story building
Of the Courthouse.
No matter how much I
Tried to speak gibberish
Poetry and philosophical
Tracts spewed from my mouth.
Shuffling past the park
I beat eight
Grand Masters
At chess on move 1
Inadvertently I solved
The Phi Epsilom Theorem
By kicking stones
Into an algorythym.
When I arrived they didn't
Make me wait at all.
My caseworker giggled like
A schoolgirl while I told her
Each day was like an endless shift
In a Chinese fish- gutting
Sweatshop and every one of my fellow
Employees was motivationalist
Richard Simmons.
She ungirdled her enormous
**** and as they spilled
Like fishguts onto the desk
She began to howl
**** me, **** me, oh ****
Me right here in
Front of the open window
On State Street as everyone
Watches me ******* the strongest,
Healthiest, smartest, most popular,
Well-adjusted man in the world.
The rest of the examination was
Also a success.
But as I left the Mental HealthCenter
feeling marvelous
I accidentally bumped
An old woman with the door:
"Watch out you manic-depressive
Schizoid with Socially Avoidant
Features klutz."
-Thomas L. Vaultonburg
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
You smirk
for you think she's the dirtiest.
BABOY.
And you saw the clerk
failed to punch the mentos
and put it in the bag.
You didn't tell.
You cursed her and
almost hit your LED TV
with your coffee mug.
MAGNANAKAW.
You don't seem to remember
one seminar you took two sandwiches
which you said
you'd give one to your friend but didn't.
You love the idea
of putting her fellow thieves to jail
HAYOP.
Was it only yesterday
when you stole the key to the test?
You thought of reviving death penalty.
MAGSAMA-SAMA KAYO SA IMPYERNO.
And you timed in and were paid for the day's work
which you never did.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC
Poets go blind from writing by moonlight,
But my artist smites the moon with her luminance,
I write by her subtle, cyan, rays
And would gladly go blind for, with her, my eyes find their fill quickly,
She is the unexpected wind bouncing off the water’s surface,
And my chest is the sail,
Lifted, pushed, expanded and fulfilled to its most righteous purpose,
If the world is a stage than she is the red velvet curtain,
Commanding a sway so slight and savory
That other rags rent and burn,
No matter how mesmerizing the performance is,
A sudden hush or vibrant ovation is demanded in her wake,
A sultry swirl of goddess and girl,
Too precious to be stored with other jewels,
Elegance with every hinting glance, every rowdy inhale,
And every placement of those sinister legs,
That rams would think twice to scale,
The bend in her back is the stroke of my oils,
The pout of her lips is scarlet meat to the lions,
And the feel of her hips sum up my surreptitious desires,
Like good jazz things seem to pull back
Before the cathartic crescendos,
But to put it bluntly dear, the next time you’re here,
It may pay to freshen up with a Mentos.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
i look at you
and a taste in my mouth
tells me,
"i like what i see."
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 11:46 PM UTC
the vein clasps mentor rr rr s
exposed to coke AND mentos
vehement contamination - - correction
facility of the soul - pull-off / pull-over
push-up - pedestrian, panicking, my
map marks nothing in the nested
rest-stop
CASTLE, CASTLE
correction facility of the soul
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
On a cafeteria table,
in the middle of February,
the kind where it gets dark at 5pm,
sat eight minature figurines made of shells—
brown, speckled, like a calico cat
with googly eyes on the middle of their heads,
one business man with a black derby,
one with a pretty pink bow,
or even one with blue suspenders,
and all their chubby bellies
rounding out over their pants. The woman
with her iridescent nails, bony fingers,
the skin pressed thin against her knuckles,
lines them up in a perfect row, tilting
their heads into one another as if
they are having a tiny conversation
admist the numbers being called—
B14! She stamps in red. B14!
A man pushes a cart around the tables,
like one mows grass around graves,
with fifty cent candy bars and potato chips
on flimsy paper plates. He asks the woman
if she wants ice in her Pepsi, but she just blows
a long sigh of smoke and flicks the sparks
behind her back. He doesn’t ask her to pay.
G56! She touches the head of the figurine
with the mustache. G56! I’ve lost count
of how many numbers I’ve missed,
but then there’s you, your hand on my thigh,
creeping, your fingers pushing
my cotton skirt up, up, and up—
O74!
We play with acrylic chips instead of stampers.
We’d like to win the lottery tickets,
maybe cash them in at the gas station
after we drink a couple iced teas and snack
on Mentos cause we ran out of money
two bottles ago.
The figurine with the fishing pole has one pupil
that lies at the bottom of the eye,
lop-sided, and staring at me while I pretend
that I have G47! or pretend that this isn’t
the first time you’ve brought me here, G47!
instead of a real date. Or pretend
that I can’t hear the woman cough, and cough,
and cough as she switches stampers between every ten calls
or touch this figurine or move that one, just slightly,
this way or that or
N44! She doesn’t have it. N44!
I don’t have it.
Don’t worry, child, you’ll have it all someday,
she whispers, sideways from her mouth,
with your thumb making circles around my hipbones,
and the man pushing the cart, the squeak of the wheels
B7! But I don’t have it. B7! I don’t have it.
I don’t have it.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
you’re the mentos to my coke
you make me all bubbly
and open me up
but boy you can make me explode
Nov 10, 2019
Nov 10, 2019 at 12:01 AM UTC
Straddling the line of popularity
Teetering on the edge of trends and personality
As soon as I'm about to fall into them I revert back to introverted me.
This dissent from narcissistic sorcery may slip you into mental dysentery
Though reading into the stains is not necessarily a necessity,
It's a little difficult to ignore the symmetry.
Hock-up spit onto this canvas, rip up another piece for my portfolio.
Lock-up your kids inside the frames of your family's mementos.
I'm lashing out like diet coke infused with mentos.
I'm not your son, not your husband, nor your best friend.
I'm that guy you **** for fun sometimes on the weekend.
I used to hate people in school who said they "failed" when they got a "C",
Now I hate the people who say they're broke when they still have money.
I'll grab your skate-up , lame-duck, askin "Have you ever ate nuts?"
We need some action. Got the lights, the camera, but don't take cuts.
Shoot a provisional peripheral glance at my pay-stub.
Always take pride in where you came from even if it ain't much.
The glass is still half empty if you're only half full of ****
Some days I'm a dog. Any day I'm a typical cat.
So on the days it's raining cats and dogs, I get really wet.
No...wait...not like that...
I mean I'm thrown really out of whack.
Spilling every drop of sporadic synaptic spit onto this paperback.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
falling in love with your best friend
is one of the scariest, yet most lovely experiences
to be forever intertwined with the one who knows
everything about you
like mentos and diet coke
so exciting yet makes such a mess
and neither of us want to pick it up because we're too busy laughing
love is dangerous but with you
i love a little risk
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
seventy candles flicker in a room full
the sweet union of voices
sixty-nine times before that day
the man walked the moon when I was ten
I had heard stories and so I dropped
the mentos
as my son speared it into the sky
giggles erupted and hearts soared
As our chins tilted toward the sun
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 5:17 PM UTC
Like a 4th grade science experiment
Of a tornado in a bottle
She can't control her temperament
And her explosions look so mottled
Her colors splatter on the walls
When she finally explodes
She pours out like Niagara Falls
With soda and mentos
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
let's start with a henna tattoo
work my way to a real one
let's get a cartilage piercing
or maybe get two for fun
read all Shakespeare's plays
and his sonnets before the year ends
write a novel sometime soon
watch every harry potter with friends
see something that's Broadway
read 150 books in a year
have an author sign
a book that's been so very dear
Spend the entire day in bed
or sleep in the family car
in the playhouse out back
in a hammock somewhere bizarre
do something with a love
write a poem for him
slow dance in the rain
and dance away the dim
watch a sunset together
the light slowly appearing
a kiss in the rain
stargaze with day nearing
let's go visit mexico
or Germany, Ireland
let's fly in first class
or helicopter to be grand
see the hollywood sign
or the northern lights
or England or the gum wall
ride in a limo to see the sights
paintball or zip-line
perform a play on stage
try surfing in blue water
or mattress surf, not acting my age
learn to actually skateboard
see a favorite band live
eat German chocolate
run a kilometer or five
get my master's degree
have a chance to paddleboard
finally sing in public
get a guitar to play a chord
or why not have a paint fight
play twister with a mess
walk through a drive through
skinny dip and not fess
put mentos in coke
swim with my clothing on
write in wet concrete
streak across the lawn
tp someone's car
buy a coffee to be kind
smash pie in someone's face
carve initials to remind
so there's my bucket list
spelled out for all to see
the only question is
who would want to join me?
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC
Where'd you get this joy,
Can I tell you a secret,
Did you know that there's a game,
Something fun and it's recent,
We call it Child's Play,
It will be pretty neat,
Let us play it today,
It will be something sweet,
As the timing goes on down,
Or does it escalate,
Let there not be any sound,
All will participate,
Let us go gathering in,
This may just numb your mind,
It is a child's game,
And it is one of a kind!
- ɛռƈօʀɛ -
Whispers into distant darknesses
Mend to your battle stations
One by one the flies fall down and then
Hourglasses lose their sand
Ticking tocking goes the clocking
Don't you run to hidden places
Wipe those tears from off those eyes
We don't like sudden somber faces
This is what we call child's play
No matter what you people say
We play until we cannot think
There is that joy that won't decay
I guess we have to play it smart
So carefully listen to me
There's no sense in playing at dark
There are demons coming for me
There's no sense in playing at dark.
There are demons coming for me.
Like mentos running from a shark,
I'm lost inside a massive sea.
.
.
.
Someone, please come to help free me.
.
.
.
Just like a moth, you'll forget me.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
I know you mean well but you can't speak for me
forgive me if you'd writing seems like it's driven by apathy
I want to grow up but I can't right now
I have enough personal issues of my own to iron out
I'm still shy as all **** and insecure as ******** and bacon
I'm constantly on edge like a diet coke with mentos that's been shaken
But then that's my own cross to bear
having to fight things in my head that no one would know they're there.
And it seems when I make an effort no one gives a ****
So really, please don't speak on something you can't understand.
Like I said, I know you mean well and I appreciate your concern
but it's my mistakes and my life, I'll always have demons to burn
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Stars are big *** mentos, and the space between the stars is coke. Sometimes the coke manages to touch the stars, causing a chemical reaction, leading to a supernova.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 6:41 PM UTC
when I was 11 I bought a pack of mentos
I still have the wrapper, a memento
of an earlier time
do you ever wish we could go back to where we were?
Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 6:47 PM UTC
Temptations capitvate my dreams
Outcomes of these uncontrollable thoughts
Seem as hazardous as mentos
Recklessly dropped into a vulnerable bottle
Of fifty cent drugstore soda.
Pop the top off
And replace my logical strain
With ingorant emotions.
Once enslaved by my own command,
I am finally free.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:52 AM UTC
These shrunken hands
Sinking beyond my body
Common places, common days
My arms dissipate, regardless
My ribs compress like cliche metaphors
A long, drawn out CPR
My lips sting
And my body laughs
Like the dying rattle of a miser man
And my eyes
Dry like the wind
I sit
Lukewarm tea at my tongue
As I stare and try and try
Make this mess at my chest and my skin
Mine
Make my box of random trinkets
All different sizes but each in
Their own, small compartment
A mess but my mess and my mess I understand
But these clothes spill from my drawers and from
The bottom of my bed
And soon it’s just itching polyester
And nails-on-chalkboard fibre
My face is drawn tight
On the brink of spilling static
Cause under these nerves
And vessels and sinew
I’m just soda and mentos
And time
Oct 22, 2023
Oct 22, 2023 at 2:32 PM UTC