"milquetoast" poems
Thought I'd have a cuppa
to assuage my carnal thirst
I didn't know what I should drink
who I should have first
I thought of my friend Jack
Daniels to his friends
Life of the drunken party...
But it's only 9am
Then I thought of Harvey
who'd come in from the coast
But i really do not like him
'coz he's a milquetoast
Ah! I know who's perfect!
Tho I could be wrong
But he's tall, dark n handsome!
So very hot and strong!
He's uplifting! RICH!
He makes my heartstrings tug
He is bold yet mellow...
... and that good lookin' MUG!
Yes. I think I'll try him
he's got get up and go
He's the deep and "brew"ding type
*he's my cuppa joe!*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/23/2016
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
"Y'got city hands, Mr. Hooper."
I felt his coarse hands grip mine, too;
I lived through Mr. Hooper vicariously
as I looked down at open palms
spread to the heavens,
illuminated in the flashy brilliance of the glare.
I saw wrinkled, calloused eyes peer into mine;
I stood on that rickety old dock
in my fitted and worn wool cap,
faded denim shirt matching pants
and dingy white tennis shoes.
"Y'got city hands, Mr. Hooper."
My ego crestfallen as well,
pride in my intelligence proven in the Academia
withering, as the gritty gap-toothed
leery-eyed barnacle of a sailor
peered inquisitively into my soul.
He saw the smooth hands--
ah, but the callouses engraved deep between joints
on my fingers; a musician!
His eyes grilled, "In bourgeois leisure,
smiling meekly dwelling within milquetoast afternoon hours,
or,
from downtown haunts sweating jazz in the midnight hour,
dancing screaming cursing moaning lovingly?"
My eyes cast down again.
But I know not of the city as my abode!
I know the ****** and the farmer
more than any contributor to painted landscapes, nay;
they are my acquaintances, neighbors, cousins, brothers, and sisters!
For I have lived on the water;
I have eyed the vessels
commandeered by the gritty, grubby,
greased captains of my soul,
as I float buoyed in their wake,
eager to catch a semblance of the waters
that trail before them.
I live treading their wake,
eyes open and pencil in hand.
And lo;
I found sanctuary in the vast fields of the rustic farmer!
For I ate breakfast of the freshly-slaughtered calf;
I drank its mother's milk,
eggs fresh from the poultry den--
I squawked along with the mother hens.
I took in the bucolic smell of the country
atop the rugged tractor,
eyeing squinting
grimacing like a smile in the sun
burning burning down upon stiff backs
and leather necks--
I, the leaves of grass scattered
in the wake of the farmer,
I, the bails of hay furled tightly
sitting patiently in the once golden meadow,
I watched the tractors and their commandeers
disappear in the bombinate horizon;
the sound of insects ushering in the night sky
like unrolling the starry-eyed carpet
before the hazy late afternoon moon.
I watched, I lived,
waiting coiled in their wakes
eyes wide open and paper clenched in hand.
I lifted my eyes to once again
hear his curt admonition:
"Y'got city hands, Mr. Rhine."
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
Oh Glenda (Miz Gee gee)
years elapsed since, I didst hawk
verboten fruit adrip
from yar verdant bough,
thy strong craven raven
doth still twitter and flip
sans thy testosterone switch,
where woody pecker missus grip
ping re: egret ting prospective
relationship nixed thee
as gull friend material, hip
mistress, though heron eye did pay lip
service verily orgasmically quip
yes...wren doer ring
more'n commit Freudian slip
which peeping cardinal tip
towing thru nested tulip trip
gave balled oriole peck whip
ping lil *** pistol be
friending chirping ***** riot
inserting thingmabob
after pants sigh did un zip.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Egg gad unlike rob bin duck cradle
yar mature red breast all aswirl
asper a stationary dreidel
mammary ducts mine mouth pursed
yar ******* mine gums did ladle.
Only in memory, aye
hungrily thirst and thirstily hunger
fort deux aureole dye
still affecting this gab
bird, who didst deign
as milquetoast guy.
Whenever this birdman alone
his thoughts metaphorically drone
worm wayward toward
***** thatch, where
hello kitty doth purr and groan
of quintessentially
***** coiled hair moan
ning softly as thee
bared naked lady lies prone
admiring pinkish puckered
def flesh tone.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC
No milquetoast kids dare summit jungle gyms
nor dream from monkey bars suspended
o’er perilous mulches, heads filled by the sanguine
rush of juvenile enthusiasm for garden hoses
bruised knees and peanut butter sandwiches;
Only august lad or lass may escape those sandboxes
to tumble into the cavernous ball pit of emancipation,
last dino bones dug up and whirling whispers
lost soon as spoken across merry-go-round envisioning
fantastic autumn nights that promised monsters
Forsaken mud pies dry and crack, no more edible
with juice box than without, hopscotching into
sportsball cartoon boom box jumprope Sunday songs
of Jesus midwest bedtime prayers, sincerest supplication
application for wellness heaven and bully protection
We seesaw through scraps of nostalgia, frolic
into slip-sliding wet hot summer drops to mask
messy tears, swimming defiantly away from repentance
but begging a little help from God to keep the rusty
swing set chains from breaking now as we push higher
Sure, it takes some work to build a playground right,
and what sign do we have it's safely been constructed?
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
foresaken scalpels
dig close to past lacerations
i think regret did me in long before you
there are pictures in a box
i remember burning
all the ashes ingested like memories through music
youre strong now at my expense
cant say im feeling like coming around
theres a song i used to hear
its to remind us of an end
we write to move on
but im still choking beneath my wound
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 11:53 PM UTC
Torn Between A Phantom And An Unfledged Adolescent
Its Always The Same
A Little String To Pull Me Along
And A Frayed Veil To Control Me
Whatever The Case, I Am Your Insignificant Stray
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
I've got a list of songs
About how this started,
Ranging back a month or two.
And when I give them all a listen
In a straight line,
I can't help but think of you.
You'll hit your friend
And go to hell
If it won't cost you a dime.
You'll wish me well
And drink to me
But I can't make you mine.
I'm tired of settling
For milquetoast men who cause me pain.
Every time he looks at me,
I see you staring back in vain.
He only wants to **** me
And maybe **** me up.
And I'm convinced he's only human
When ***** fills his cup.
And in spite of all the danger,
I'm gonna stick around.
Even if that ******* on his bike starts
To weigh me down.
Cause I can't turn back now
And I can't change the past.
And I can't make sure that that last relapse
Will surely be your last.
But I'll stay with you
And bargain through
Til this day fall south.
And I'll lend my words
And fight with you until my teeth hurt my mouth.
What's on my mind is
I can do better
And I can find a guy
Who won't spend his time wandering around,
Trying to get a free ride.
They let you off easy,
But I can't do the same.
So **** you, honey,
I'm sick and tired of playing games.
Like Lennon said,
we're playing mind games
And you make me feel that I'd be better off dead.
Twist my pain
And make it your own
And I'll do the same.
But the outcome for both of us is clearly the same.
We're both headed for destruction
But you will follow through.
It's gonna happen some day but between he two of us,
I would rather it be you.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC
I’m sorry if you wanted something else;
A rubber stamp, a milquetoast or a sap.
I’m sorry my independent nature is
Like giving your face a hefty slap.
If it seems I am apologizing for myself
To make an excuse for the way things are
Trust me when I tell you what I am sorry for
Is that I have let this thing go on this far.
Dressing up in formal clothes
Won't make us into something fine.
As long as we believe a fantasy
Soon we will cross some kind of line.
I apologize for not recognizing the signs
That told me how you felt about love.
The idea that the two of us are equals
Was a thing you could not rise above.
You couldn’t accept truth was important
And only make what we had implausible.
The kind of relationship you wanted
Was not only wrong, but was impossible.
I guess it got easy for me to fake it
And walk around in a huge pink fog,
Pretending you were a handsome prince
And not accept you were another frog
I don’t believe the truth can be hidden
For but a very short while if at all.
To base a relationship on dishonesty
Will ultimately make the thing fall.
Yes, I ignored the messages you gave me
I’ve been through enough of this to know
That I was part of the reason we failed;
That this is the way it would have to go.
I can’t let you completely off the hook.
Your answers to my questions were a ruse.
I am not equipped with a fairy godmother.
I never had a pair of enchanted shoes.
But I was never wishing for a magic life
Just a hope that love could turn out real.
But one of us can never do it all alone;
Half of it will be about how you feel.
Dressing up in formal clothes
Will not make us into something fine.
As long as we believe a fantasy
Soon we will cross some kind of line.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 4:52 AM UTC
blessings and curses
warlocks and muses
some of the fleeting melodies this world uses
diminishing moments
crescendoing hours
the allegro of my heartbeat, facing these encounters
the event that struck a chord
intrepid, might i add
the milquetoast that's the real you
and the ego you wish you had
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 11:43 AM UTC
Latte Liberals, from Berkeley to Boston
Have a new world of fun to get lost in:
Let Progressives have fits;
Monster trucks, flashing ****
Are now trending in Cambridge and Austin!
It's a scene you were taught to despise
As imprudent, plebeian, unwise . . .
Like that milquetoast George Fwill,
William Buckley's ghost Bill
in his coffin is rolling his eyes.
Though you scold, as you cluck like a hen,
The great party goes on on, ending when?
Twenty-twenty will tell
Whether Liberal's hell
Was created by God or by men.
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 8:53 AM UTC