"mincemeat" poems
"Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
-Ozymandias
I.
O wait for us, Colossus
as we wait - and throw you
to earth: from heaven’s gates judge you
unworthy - to hades’ lands assign,
where your iron limbs make mincemeat out
of anguished homes - by tyrants
you were thrown but floated aimless past
the drifting realms where once lay hell,
and fired you your rocket boosters - apollo’s gift
blinding still your eyes -
II.
next, awake: the visage of the Child
in your face - languishing, affronted:
two vast and trunkless legs of iron glare, only to grow
rigid still - slumping at His feet: with heart-engine smoking,
eyes hollowed-black,
lying in slumber with giant's knees bent,
in grasslands rest and where hearkens the plain - He cries out:
’tis you!
though dwarf, He is - he kneads your iron
by grass, and your wounded legs the earth
now christens, snd blesses still your sleep.
III.
He moves forth with grass blades and twigs,
crown you a nest; and bear stones unrolled to where
your feet first kisses ground.
-2.17.16
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
Blown glass Ornaments
Sprinkled with crushed glass frosting
On the fragrant tree
Below, a child stares, beguiled
Nearby the hearth snaps and pops
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 11:45 AM UTC
I. i was seventeen and bitter and you
knew nothing, old man.
because you said, "look how she hurts him, using her gender--"
(no, her *** her womb ******* sultry eyes they've sexualized since age five,
to make mincemeat of astronaut dreams, to make docile queens breed and)
"-- as a weapon"
would you not bring, at least, a knife to a gunfight, old man?
(have you ever had nothing but a knife against a bullet, 500mph to your head?)
II. i hate you. i hear my words in your voice,
in that awkward cadence, like you're telling an sanitized moral,
some comfortable truth, perhaps, or maybe the secret to your
moderate publishing success. can you leave my words alone
III. i'd like to apologize, maybe, a little, for the insolence.
i'm not really a rude person.
i'd like to prove that while staying honest, but what would i say?
"i'm sorry i'm a **** "i'm sorry you're a ****
i'm sorry this world's a **** i can't do the reading tonight
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess,
Who invented a purely original dress;
And when it was perfectly made and complete,
He opened the door, and walked into the street.
By way of a hat, he'd a loaf of Brown Bread,
In the middle of which he inserted his head;--
His Shirt was made up of no end of dead Mice,
The warmth of whose skins was quite fluffy and nice;--
His Drawers were of Rabbit-skins,--but it is not known whose;--
His Waistcoat and Trowsers were made of Pork Chops;--
His Buttons were Jujubes, and Chocolate Drops;--
His Coat was all Pancakes with Jam for a border,
And a girdle of Biscuits to keep it in order;
And he wore over all, as a screen from bad weather,
A Cloak of green Cabbage-leaves stitched all together.
He had walked a short way, when he heard a great noise,
Of all sorts of Beasticles, Birdlings, and Boys;--
And from every long street and dark lane in the town
Beasts, Birdles, and Boys in a tumult rushed down.
Two Cows and a half ate his Cabbage-leaf Cloak;--
Four Apes seized his Girdle, which vanished like smoke;--
Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat,--
And the tails were devour'd by an ancient He Goat;--
An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore up his
Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies;--
And while they were growling, and mumbling the Chops,
Ten boys prigged the Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.--
He tried to run back to his house, but in vain,
Four Scores of fat Pigs came again and again;--
They rushed out of stables and hovels and doors,--
They tore off his stockings, his shoes, and his drawers;--
And now from the housetops with screechings descend,
Striped, spotted, white, black, and gray Cats without end,
They jumped on his shoulders and knocked off his hat,--
When Crows, Ducks, and Hens made a mincemeat of that;--
They speedily flew at his sleeves in trice,
And utterly tore up his Shirt of dead Mice;--
They swallowed the last of his Shirt with a squall,--
Whereon he ran home with no clothes on at all.
And he said to himself as he bolted the door,
'I will not wear a similar dress any more,
'Any more, any more, any more, never more!'
1.4k
Table,
My father and I sat
In our timeless silence
That brewed away beneath the lights
Like a sweat that never breaks.
Sister and the Stranger
Sat flanked by pillars,
With two full glasses of
Blood-lit wine
Simmering warmly like
Lamb's hearts
Dropped into bowls.
Never do I love my sister more
That when she wears that little fishhook
Of a smile,
A grim refusal of her lips to flicker down,
Making mincemeat of photographers,
Men in bad jumpers,
And garrulous psychopaths.
It was crueler than any frown.
Far more efficient.
The Stranger buttered her bread-roll all at once,
(A damning thing to do this afternoon)
And dinner turned to coffee
Without a hitch.
I noticed that the whole evening was
Done in a deliberately cut-glass way -
Two siblings painting themselves
Into the people they never wanted to be,
To make a bloody-minded point.
*She’s not one of us.
She’s nothing like us.
She’s nothing like mother -
Absolutely nothing like mother!*
And as we stood waiting for the car
My sister turned to me and said –
“I thought my expectations of daddy were low.”
She swiped at her flapper-girl haircut,
“Turns out my expectations
Have a basement.”
We only notice class
When we need to shut someone
Out.
We only notice class
When it's all we've got.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
i’m part human, part crime scene.
once you were finished with me, i was mincemeat.
something only fit for dogs.
i could **** you in your sleep for what you did to me.
god knows i’ve planned it out.
dear god, here’s how i would **** him:
a knife to the throat first, then
open up his chest and stuff a baby doll inside.
mercy is not for girls like me.
darling when you touched me it felt as easy as breathing
(while i was drowning)
i was a child who wanted to play at love.
you were a man who wanted to play at violence.
somehow, i thought we were the same.
did you ever love anyone else the same way you loved me;
all hands for taking and ribs for breaking?
or was i something special to you?
was i a fresh flower waiting to be dissected petal by petal?
she loves me. she loves me not.
she loves me.
i remember the stories you told me.
the songs you sang to me.
if i remember those, i will forget
the violent colours with which you painted me.
i remember you.
too much.
every man with black hair and blue eyes looks like you.
every girl with black eyes and blue lips looks like me.
take that mirror off the wall and show me my face.
pale as oleander. paler for remembering.
and remember something.
remember, i am not the child i once was.
remember, i am an adult now.
remember: i am no longer yours for the taking
i am no longer yours for the breaking.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
By- Neelabh Sourav.
Translated from Assamese by: Bibekananda Choudhury.
I saw a variegated face on your hands
I saw a chequered venomous snake
Eyes bulging
Cheek nose swelled up like the character
in the painting of Van Gogh
Coughing intermittently
I saw an amazing sight on your palms
Magical actor fingers
I got startled on reading
What have you written
How dare you
Making a mincemeat of people
What an astonishing devilish pen I saw
On your hands
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 10:33 PM UTC
Its blinking at me,
And its listening.
Its pondering my friend,
yet we are mincemeat
in the presence of absence.
The hole of the whole
Devouring, and falling out on its own accord.
Let the hand go to work and put the mind to rest,
Quiet the outside and lose yourself to dying-
on a sheet of paper,
on your way there,
in a waste basket ,
in a blown gasket.....
Find a space between the void
and peer into the eyes of a world
a tad perturbed
when you look too long
and things move to fall
that would not have before.
...but who's to boast?
Encapsulated in capsules
to see where my cap goes
to see the eyes of souls.
to know to atoll.
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 10:20 PM UTC
"Hark the Herald Angels sing!'
The children sing out loud.
Darlings,
With winter kissed shiny cheeks.
Scarlet capes and furry muffs.
Fluffy in snowy white.
Shiny black buckled patent shoes.
Huddled together.
Singing songs of Christmas joy.
Several girls and one tenor boy.
Lantern keeps them safe.
Offers holy glow.
To show the children.
Just which way to go.
For it is the season to be merry.
Mincemeat pies a glass of sherry.
Only for the mum's and dad's.
Won't be long til Christmas is gone.
Gift wrap popped away.
For soon it's Christmas Day!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
The string on the kite spool is made of doll hair
Mincemeat pies
Someones trying to get my goat
It's the stutterer with a broken nose trying to read aloud
"Ch ch ch choo choo choose yo yo yo your battles"
"A a a and d d d don't le le le let any any any anyone fi fi fi ffff fight them for for for for you"
I'll give it to him, it must of taken a lot for him to muster up enough guts to do that
There was a sign the said "Canebreaks" do they mean sugarcane or a rattle snake? I'm not going to check it out both are bad for my health
Over on the other side of the park is a hot blooded swindler
He's selling provisions
Tiny morsels of food for outrageous prices
For anyone with a dormant and insatiable appetite and no concept of money
He's bound to find someone who will take him up on his offer sooner or later
Over in the crowd I hear someone asking people to join her in a hostile take over or was it a harsh take down? Either way no one was into it
I'm not too sure she was either come to think of it, probably blowing off some smoke
Under the gazebo I see kids taking something
I guess sweaty foreheads that sheen and quavering ligaments are just modern ingredients to coming of age
But is couch lock necessary?
Now I'm face to face with my fifth grade teacher
She's got tenure now
She's barefoot and has a dour look on her face
I can feel that she's tired of the same day in day out life she lives
But I guess there's no way of knowing for sure
Oh no, someones got a gun
There is always "That Guy"
Everyone runs, scatters
Moms pick up their children and run to their cars with their husbands right behind them
The drunks stumble, bumping into one another
Only when danger is near do you see how nimble and limber people can be
The gunman scales the chain link fence and fires of a few rounds and shouts, "I DON'T GIVE A **** IF THIS DOESN'T FIT THE ALLOTTED TIME SLOT!"
"ALL OUR CUMULATIVE SCORES ARE MISGIVEN AND THOSE WHO HAVE DESECRATED OUR VOWS WILL BE OVER TURNED!"
"IT'S A RACE TO THE OTHER SIDE AND IT'S FIRST TO THE FINISH!"
He put the nose of the gun to his face and pulled the trigger
His brains dangled on the chain link fence
Why did I have to over shoot the turn and wind up at this weird *** picnic/fair/festival/bloodbath thing?
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
Falling upon a crooked stone
That lent itself some space
In the highest tenements
A malevolent elf smelt.
In the borders of mistrust
Where the baddies grow
Getting fat on mincemeat
Trying not to show.
A scraping of butter
To put on salted bread
Was never brought
To justice, no whistle said.
Love Mary x
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
Lydia
wants to go
out skipping
her skip-rope
but there's rain
coming down
outside of
her window
Gloria
her sister
is snoring
on the bed
behind her
her boyfriend
(Gloria's)
is asleep
beside her
mouth open
in a wide
oval shape
her brother
Hem is out
getting wet
good job too
she muses
watching rain
pouring down
she wonders
if Benny
is outside
(he's the boy
in the flat
whom she likes
both of them
9 years old)
she goes out
from her room
passes down
the passage
and opens
the front door
and looks out
at the rain
the milkman
shelters out
in the door
of the man
with the large
boxer dog
LYDIA
Benny calls
out to her
from the high
balcony
of the flats
where he lives
she sees him
he's waving
come on up
he bellows
I'll get wet
if I come
she replies
go along
by the side
up the stairs
he tells her
she hadn't
thought of that
so she runs
by the flats
by her own
up the stairs
and along
the narrow
balcony
where Benny
is waiting
watching rain
falling down
what you doing?
she asks him
nothing much
he replies
what about
playing chess
in the flat?
he asks her
don't know how
she replies
what about
Ludo then?
seems boring
can't we play
something else?
she asks him
you can be
Mrs Earp
the wife of
Wyatt Earp
Benny says
and help me
shoot badmen
in gun fights
she agrees
and they go
in the flat
where his mum
is making
mincemeat pie
just playing
at cowboys
Benny says
to his mum
his mother
nods her head
smiling at
Lydia
the small thin
girl who looks
underfed
with dull hair
flowing down
from her head.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
In March 2001, Melania granted green card
asper elite EB-1 program
intended for renowned academic researchers,
multinational business executives
(linkedin with Uncle SAM)
or those in other fields, such as
Olympic athletes and Oscar-winning actors,
who demonstrated
“sustained national and international acclaim”
until...now, when (FAKE trophy wife)...
besieged with WHAM!
The Don whips to defense of
(legal residency status),
sans his third wife
imbroglio finds the president flat footed
regarding spouses' granted citizenry permission rife,
where details concerning former
in vogue Slovak model now cushy life
challenging her right to live in The United States,
the most Democratic nation
plus concomitant abrogation
afforded robber Baroness admission
dispensing hot button issue of CHAIN MIGRATION,
where sentiment underscored verbatim
"Some people come in,
and they bring their whole family with them,
who can be truly evil. NOT ACCEPTABLE!”
The above on record as authentic Trumpian tweet,
hence quoted with poetic license,
a prime example how two
(or more faced) president didst react to un seat
fairness, which November twitter
allowing parents with bearhug he did greet
legal residency of her parents,
Viktor and Amalija Knavs, as Elite
who received figurative green light
despite riding piggyback
Nsync with military beat
ting back pesky atop flimsy green card,
the freedom appetite got whet
scrutiny, and now a ironic Gordian Knot set
tilled and solved making mincemeat to pet
files, particularly equality
for those skeined alive in the DACA net
ready to boot innocent offspring
of supposed illegal aliens on the next departing jet!
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC
Mulled wine and mincemeat pies,
Santa Claus and Christmas eyes.
Warming fire fuels the carols.
Feeds them with fir scented love.
Turkey breast and roast potatoes.
Christmas wishes sent from me.
Unto one and all.
To all of you a ** ** **
Lots of love.
Run along and have a ball.
Livvi **
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
Splendid leaves, all a swirl, spindly, wheeling, driving, curl,
Amid the woods, the leaves unfurl; there stands a wild, happy girl.
No ornament, goal, or mere décor; undomesticated; poor,
Weapons wet with demon gore, stirring, bracing, running, roar.
Sweet, and kind, her sharpened mind; on shelves of books her eyes have dined,
Soothing anger, knots unwind; stinging, stabbing heart resigned.
Born away, aloft, on high; suds and laughs, the fiddler’s sigh,
What’s that, my dear? Of course, I’ll buy; or bake me in a mincemeat pie.
Night and chill, the moon’s dark air, a wind that draws her close ~ I stare,
The woman sighs away our care; upon her lips mine own then dare.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
Ah, so she’s
Got that mincemeat
Mumbo jumbo
Going on
The Biloxi banality
That girl knows the proper way to get toasted
I’ve seen those types tapping their toes
In blues house ho-downs
But this little Mississippi mugger
She must have made off proper
Skinned to the bone
I got no money no more
Cash strapped and wallet gone
****** if I didn’t get taken
By a Podunk prom queen
You gotta watch for them mudslingers
***** sly and mean
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
Flightless mincemeat waiting for the ****
by farmers plow,
below the till,
a stir about,
an upward ******
up through the earth new life is pushed,
through valleys low and skies abound,
their colors shake the hardened ground,
a life among the stars aglow,
Their fate, it lies beneathe the snow.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
I don't play video games or do anything involving interaction with those who don't understand, don't want to understand, won't [ever] understand, cannot understand that this is how our twisted world works. I try not to wake the dormant rage sleeping in my bones like a feral beast, some lithe lethal six-armed war goddess of terror and the winds of unpredictability, goes by A Revolutionary's Fury. That lady will steal common sense and all manners, swipe your self-control and make you dance at her whim, a puppet made of mincemeat and dreams. She got a third eye, she got a river for a soul, she got a pet tiger who can **** the strongest dragons and whip up clouds that obscure reason. Fury's a scary lady and I'm not going to hand over the reins.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
*I wish you blue sky
Good coffee , warm relations -
and hot mincemeat pie
German chocolate cake , deviled eggs
Oyster dressing and eggnog with a sprinkle of nutmeg
Pumpkin pie with a dapple of -
whipped cream
I wish you spiced apples and -
sweet holidays dreams* ...
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
A certain little mermaid
wished to have feet
to walk
to run
to dance
perfectly to the beat
A certain gingerbread
knew his feet were key
to run
run
run
and escape tragedy
When a certain princess fled
She would have never seen her beloved again
As the clock finished stricking twelve
****
****
****
if not for her feet
whose slipper led the prince right to her street
A certain large monster
is known for its abnormally large feet
and when one sees its footprint
they can either give a
shriek
shriek
shriek
Or they can flee and not become mincemeat
So you see feet are important
very much so
Whether in fairytales or real life
They allow us to go to and fro
So next time you consider what you’re grateful for
Take a though for your feet
although real life’s isn’t a video game
they are your cheat
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
"Notice that
I am not laughing"
He said this from
Another room
While my stepmom
Laughed
"Where are the jokes
now? Why are you
So **** quiet?"
She asked him this
While looking at me
Silence from the
Other room was
The only answer
She held the paper
In front of her and
Read through it again
Aloud
"Enlargement of ventricles
In the brain
Inconsistent with a
Forty five year old female"
She laughed again
And stared at the paper
Through the paper, really
"Well,
I don't feel bad for myself
I feel bad for you guys"
She poured another
Glass of Chardonnay
And walked out
Onto the porch
The foggy panes
In the double doors
Rattling as she closed it
I stood there
In the kitchen
My only company
The clicking of his
Keyboard from
The other room
And a plastic container
Of week old scones
I thought about
How nice she was
How pretty her
New haircut looked
How well she could
Decorate a room
How she still
Emptied my trash
Cleaned my toilet
Made mincemeat pies
How when I said
"Thank you"
She always just
Nodded silently
Or said "O.K."
I felt the space
I was already putting
Between myself
And her
The sour swelling
In my chest
That seemed to sit
In the back of my
Throat and eyes
Perched itself on
The back of my tongue
As I thought about all this
I heard him stop typing
He was tasting the same
Sourness and
Thinking about
How empty a bed
Can be at 1 A.M.
When someone
Else used to consider it
Their bed as well
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
i am filled to burst
misunderstood
savoury on paper
but with such a sweet centre
you question me at first
for i don't sound so appealing
one bite and you're obsessed
your greedy lips
kiss my hard crust
lick my sugary top
and engulf my mincemeat each day
and then i disappear
and you forget all about me
'til next year
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
On nights when I'm not awake
And the times during the day when I fall to dream
I tear off my skin and play alive
and laugh with people I never knew
do things I don't normally do
and conspire daring pacts with
people that walk by, people I never really say hi to
when I'm awake and out in the gray midday
wishing the world was mine and mine only
(And in the morning while I lie awake
I think to myself, if that day I finally find someone sweet
I may ask them to bash in my brains to mincemeat)
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
Pitter patter
Pitter patter
Tip-toed on supple feet
Through the house
Down the hall
Quietly discreet
The inhabitants of the household
Resting, sound asleep
Attempting not to breach the trust
I've worked so hard to keep
Anonymity is conducive
From past high levels of deceit
Striving diligently for a common goal
But one that can be reached
Not adapting to a stagnant life
Through the strangers that we'll meet
But protected by a safety net
Like a child under sheets
Not stampeded by the raging bulls
While others count their sheep
But hidden deep within the lions den
Where one can hear his own heartbeat
Has the beast succumb to his hunger
Is there nothing else to eat
Shall I end up as a midnight snack
Transformed into a pile of mincemeat
I grab hold of my foundation
Made from bittersweet concrete
Safe from harm or danger
A place where fear is obsolete
A gentle roar is humming now
The air begins to stir
I feel something approaching
I fear what will occur
Has my time come to its ending
Through the darkness I see light
I recognize the sound I hear
It's my mother, wishing me good night
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC