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Tommy Randell Feb 2017
Put Guinness on a mermaid’s tail
And it will turn to milk
Put that milk in a glass of tea
And drench away your ills

It will make all old men frisky
It will make all young men strong
And the mermaid’s tail will vanish
To give all men what they want

The seal will graze the meadow
The salmon swim the lanes
All Tax and Debts will vanish
We'll ride the gravy train

The taps will run with pennies
The pumps will pour with gold
There’ll be no lack of plenty
And the Craic will not go cold

But, should we drink this liquor
That has such a magic touch?
Could a glass so filled with wonder
Be filled with just too much?

Is Mermaid's Milk a fishy tale
Too marvellous to be true?
Have the Old Wives and the Fairies
Gone a step too far, or two?

Young men in their innocence
Old men in their prime
Should they fish the strands and beaches
Through the hours of Opening Time?

Well for the good of all the Craic
Pass the teapot down the Bar
If there's magic in the Mermaid's brew
I'll drink it by the jar

But let me never not drink porter
It's the Blood in Ireland's veins
For with Mermaid's Milk or The Guinness
My thirst is still the same.
A poem I wrote to be said at Irish Trad Music Sessions. It is my joy to play the Bodhran (drum) and recite a few tales and this one often gets me a cup of tea or two.
Umi Feb 2018
Mixing tea, let's say lavender with something as simple as milk
Must sound silly and weird at first glance, as both come with their
own tastes and flavors which seem to not match at all.
Even the most unmatching couple can find bliss, harmony and
perfection in their very relationship, however.
Such as for the tea;

The milk manages to soften, embrace, advertise the taste of lavender
while leaving a pleasant aftertaste which is alike a ghost poorly
detectable, but present nonetheless after all.
With some sugar to sweeten this experience, it becomes divine,
something I would never have thought of, of such an odd couple.
The image of the lavender becomes overdrawn by the milk,
Engaging in a pure, creamy, brief white which reflects light just
in a majestic sense.
This is a taste to become lost in whilst reading a book in the best
of lightings, together with someone who causes your heart to race
and just turn ablaze

~ Umi
Umi Dec 2017
Milk with such a loving taste
makes it hard to drink without such haste!
Warm, sweet oh I can't get enough,
don't worry my dear I will not be rough,
I cherish each drop of this flavor
let me consume it with my best behaviour.
Oh Rin, thank you for calming me down...
And always remember this when you frown:
I will be here for you, until you smile
Until your day becomes happy and worthwhile
So please my dear, wear a smile on your face
it expresses your cuteness it expresses your grace
thank you for being so kind....
I am glad theres a person like you I could find <3

~ Umi
For my friend Rin
Chris Aug 2015
Spilled milk becomes less of a cliché
When its spreading, eating the table away
And you're afraid to wipe it up without a towel
In case it swallows up your fingers as well.

I shouldn't have knocked the glass over, I know
It's too early for the messes to start
But I thought I saw you staring in the window
Your ghost is part of my morning routine.

Milk-drops crawl to puddles on the floor.
White created a home in pores of the wood
Erasing letters photos and poems scattered there from days before.

And the biting glass in my palm
Isn't making this house any cleaner.
And the screaming
Only makes the house sound emptier.
inspired by my muse
Please come and find me
Playful whispers in the dark.
Who am I calling?
I suppose...
My baby,
Can I call you baby?


Oh sweet lullabyes in the night,
Hold me tight in constriction.
Squeeze a little bit tighter, love.
I don't know how much time I have left.
Delusional!
Oh bitterly hopeless
Alone on the void
Scratching at air for any oxygen my depraved lungs can find,
Suffocating on your love,
Choking on your divinity.

Oh darling,
My sweet crimson lover
Dancing on the bridge of death at the break of dawn,
You swing me in your arms,
Torched tongue behind your tight toothed grin,
Your hair grows stars, and your arms bend time,
my fatal partner in a tango to the edge of the earth.

Darkness as you torture me
Wrench my soul willingly
Foolishly and ignorantly
Pulling my strings
Through obligation
And autopilot daydreams
Painting patterns
On an inky black sky

Orange slices on existential beach
Sparkling warm coast,
The cosmos like a bright sunny day above.
Bitter ashes mix and churn with the sand,
I'm sinking,
Quickly,
Help,
Help me!
But you just watch.
Mournfully?
Guiltily?
I sink until I hit the bottom
And there I lie,
Falling asleep to my tears.


The zodiac locked fate,
Fish and Virgins! Fish and Virgins!
Poets and failures,
Academics and frauds,
Spring and summer to autumn and sadness,
My eternal indigo diary,
My blueberry lipstick,
Leaving light stains on my love-lorn letters,
Lavender scattered in the envelope,
Mailed to you on Sunday,
Delivered along the milky way,
A sickly jazmine blend,
Of cherry blossom confusion.

Blood red,
Soaked through,
The same old colours fill my thoughts.
So many clouds for a sunny day.
Raining garnets,
Thick and playful,
Flooding the streets with sweet poison,
Bathing in my deep obsession,
Drowning in my addiction.

Waiting emptily,
In an empty white asylum,
With an empty mind,
Waiting for you,
My answer,
My meaning,
My red and blue jumper.
Not standing up to stretch,
But sitting still,
Letting my bones grow stiff,
To creak under my weight,
Like an old back porch,
Made for a pair of old lovers,
Desolate and dilapidated,
Withered by neglect,
Empty.

A pointless pray for solace,
In hope you will come,
My prince of milk,
My fifth science,
My escape from this never ending sporadic spiral down into the murky, dusty, purple fog of asinine and inane.
My peace of mind.
My baby.
Can I call you baby?
David N Juboor May 2015
Last night,
I spent 45 minutes
In the bathroom
Because my doctor
Told me I needed more
Calcium in my diet.

He says calcium
Will make my bones strong,
And if I want to grow up
To be as big as my dad
Than a hefty glass of milk
Should do the trick.

I'm lactose intolerant.
But to this day I wonder,
Is calcium the culprit?

When an infant's bones
Are crushed by tanks,
And all that is left
Is the dust,
That you wipe away
With the palm of your
Blood-stained hand,
On an unmarked grave
Too old to remember,
But it keeps on
Coming back.

Back to a time
Where potential meant
The possibility of
Developmental potency.
Not the supposedly
High capacity for
Danger.

Like the flowers
In the spring,
Build their spine
From our breath;
Change is the
Life in our blood.
The minute an
Eighteen year old's
Parent's swallow the fire
Of an IED 6,032 miles away,
Believing their child fought for,

Change.

Verb.
To make or become different.
Verb.
To give or get foreign money in exchange for:
Verb.
To remove a ***** diaper from a baby
and replace it with a gun.

Where do you run to?
When sleep
is the only place
In a thousand miles
where you can find God.

When rest
is the only peace
you haven't felt
since they said
the war is
finally over.

When dreams
Are the memories
Of your children’s
Stardust

When you
Can’t adjust
To the lack of future
Freedom liberated
From materialism

When no
Dictionary
Has your definition
of Change.

Noun.
Something you find in your pocket.
Verb.
Something you find in yourself.

Change,
Is not something
You can touch;
But it's something
You should want
To feel.
fujimountain Feb 2015
Vivid thoughts of you keep revealing themselves as expeditious memories.

How idiotic of me not to appreciate the time shared because I assumed the pleasure was in your company not for your presence but how the thought of your imminent arrival forced a smile before you even entered the building.  

How seconds were lifetimes yet minutes briskly swept by.

Time was our birthright and our only luxury, it was also a curse we couldn't shake off like a birthmark at the centre of my forehead.

Please believe me when I say I recite your name daily yet I find myself cursing at the sky because no matter how valiant my effort. I feel it slowly taking away the little I still have of you.
her milk is him

her eyes are full of good tidings,
washing my body with lavender soap cake,
all the dirt crumbs of a hard life drained
into a circle of holes that carry away carings,
to places where their squeaking can’t be heard

her hands, pillows for a head so sorrow-weighty,
her body, her hips, a bed upon to rest,
and he wonders,
how did he exist before she become his nest,
her hair of grass, now, a coverlet for twigs and strings,
when then he laid his body down for disturbed sleep

her milk is him, a restorative that refreshes his content,
how did, once upon a time, he let existence subtract
his time on earth without any relativity, time unrecognizable,
he was in no one place, pathless, subsidizing nothing,
unable to distinguish tween the straight and the curved

her milk in him, whitens his soul, she calls out,
you are my shepherd, my king, my David,
my white marble sculpture of our current existence,
when you drink the white of me, it is I who is fulfilled,
when you write of me, your milk is me

Luke 24:44
Then he said, “When I was with you before, I told you that everything written about me in the law of Moses and the prophets and in the Psalms must be fulfilled.”
Nicole Alyssia Aug 2017
truthfully,

i think i enjoy wallowing in pain.
i'd rather feel angst, crippling pain,
the depths of despair,
and to cry myself to sleep at night

than to feel
dead.

so often i confuse the
longing for intensity
with the intensity of love.
Sebastian Macias Aug 2017
Sometimes these things just work out
Issues with agenda's made by the universe
Like the swaying of the leaves on a tree
It is so natural, you gaze at it's beauty
Talk a walk down a busy street
Everything is so quiet in your eyes
Soft breeze hits your body as you continue
No clutter, no bother, nothing planned
Life has requested nothing
Life can take everything
It is the maestro, the captain
It can lend it's gifted hand
It will strike down at any given Sunday
We are but souls in a playground
It's always funny when we see more than this
Umi Dec 2017
Oh your milk which calms me down
I love it so much that it forgets why I frown
Please Rin, please let me enjoy being close
I wouldn't want yet to doze
Though the land of dreams is not as sweet as your gaze
Please don't lleave please let me admire your face
Its those piercing eyes of yours which I chase
your warmth which I can enjoy
So what do you say dear, do you wanna cuddle ?
After we leave eachother in a puddle (of sweat)
From being close....

~ Umi
girl gonzo Oct 2018
myopic frames on a stern temple remind me that once he too wandered recklessly and felt ardent
empowered by time on his sleeve
there was nothing he couldn't conquer and nothing standing between the open air and breathing it in
i suppose the difference here is i grab the breath of air and hold it in my pocket for when i stop being so nervous

marshmallow heart
the road only goes one way and the streetlights hover and coil eternally, you can never meet the epilogue
a drive-thru drink in one hand while you feel your hair tangling into a mess of a beehive, the one that likes to unwind in soft tendrils on a weak pillow
heart racing for the constant fueling of a near empty tank telling you to go further this time, this time
time isn't yours


holding in a cough
i too have tried to drown waterbugs
my cheek pressed against the tiles of a kitchen floor, hand perched languidly as my fingers make circles in the tiny swamp i made in the middle of the room
but i forget laying there until i hear my own soul walk in with bare feet addressing the elephant in the room, the one that hasn't left since i was sick with bronchitis that winter years ago
and i want to tell her to come here, to come back inside myself so it doesn't feel so cold this season of frost but she brushes me off with the temperament of a child
"i don't exist, i never did" the words dawdle back and forth from her back molars to her incisors  
and i remember when i felt like i was dying when i hopped from one state to the next but realizing a little to late that if i were to go back my dread would jump on the back of my shoulders and force me to look it into it's shiny face and show me the mild nuisance of what it means to be alive
so my soul closes the door and i hear the keys rattle and i myself sink into the warm arms of someone i spent my entire life with
a small note on the existence of what it means to have a soul in a universe that is obsessed with facts and evidence
Ormond Jul 2017
.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
We are tangled in the hope of night.
The lips of the milky way, creaming us,
Stains and is **** with a taste keening;
All is creation.  My meteors crash
Into your ruptured Earth.  I flame
Upon your must and moisted furrows
And my toes are locked, rooted in yours.

Body of ocean, milk and sky,
In the deserts of the day you are true
Oasis.  The curves and waft of your sands
Seethe and sodden my barren plains,
Are erasing all my wandering memories
Of an endless sky and now your eyes
Are the only stars I know, and your skin;
A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering.

Body of ocean, milk and sky,
Your ******* are the heaving of grasses
And wind, loft and laden in the rounded
Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful,
Ripe and strange.  Your hair is an endless
Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed
With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun.
In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.
.
Luz Hanaii Aug 2016
Why stay with those that cause you pain?
Maybe you think they'll change?
Perhaps you pray they'll grow to love you
and that the skin from their eyes will be shed,
recognize all the good you've done
and magically repent.

You wait and wait putting up with the shame,
the anger, the chaos, the fights, the pain.
Maybe it was that good day you two had
and you're betting it will stay.
But the next day, a slap to your soul
makes you wonder, "Should I Fold?"

If you ask me, I will tell you that I've heard,
"A bad relationship is like sour milk,
once it sours won't grow fresh
no matter how many times you go back
to the fridge and check."
Will be sour, never fresh!
So you know who you are
It doesn't mean you have your **** together
Just because you carry an umbrella doesnt mean you know the weather
You're not the designer just because you bought the sweater
Smothering an animal doesn't automatically make it leather
Besides, there are other things that die under pressure
So whatever
Just because you read a book once doesn't make you the author
You're not a sail boat just because you can float in water
Not fitting in doesn't mean you're from mars
Just like e-cigarette smoke doesn't turn it into cigars
Having a map doesn't mean you know where you are
They said you're bright
You're not a star
You don't have your **** together
You just know who you are
You're still doing better than I am my friend
CK Baker Feb 2017
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay

there are swings now
and empty barns
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak of the past
...and little dogs
not big ones

the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from a warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say

and flanders
(the holder of those pigs)
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun

i can still hear the screams
of river dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees

think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane
they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
sara Aug 2018
I'll see what I can make
out of the leftovers I have.
Although, it's never too long
until the milk turns bad,

until a love turns sour
in an online second;
since, an online minute
wastes a real-life hour.

But in a snap-shot moment,
I can find life for weeks
on my stash of sugar truths,
until I forget to eat;

forget to breathe;
'til I don't even need to sleep
because the lovehearts on my photos
sing such soft melodies.

And despite the fact
that often I can't sit at ease,
somehow this perfect madness
always tastes so bittersweet.
a poem about the addictive nature of social media
Peter J Jun 8
I
imagine
the milk
in your mouth
that leaves me adrift
at the dead starved tip
of your tongue.
#i miss you
mars May 16
i sit on
cement because there is no
beach. i biked here to smell the
sea and listen to soft broken TV
waves
often times air smells
like something at least but this air smells
like nothing empty.
it doesn’t smell even of
sun maybe this is what the space of cement smells like in your
throat.
i sit on
cement because there is no
beach. i must be on top of a
gutter because the sound is not
grey fuzz but glug
glug like a stone throat trying to
swallow a gallon of milk in one
go.
glug glug seaside cement
symphony i don’t like
milk.
thoughts on leaving Amsterdam for the day to be at the water. again, any (harsh) constructive criticism is VERY welcome!!
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