"mitten" poems
****
*****
…………………..slick……slippery……………….
………………snatch……...vagina…………………..
……………mitten…………..kitten………………….
………… pookie…………….treasure………………
…..……..pudding…………..poontang………………
…………..poonani…………..scootie………………..
……………smitten…..………nookie………………...
………………sweet…..……...candy………………...
………………..warm……….mound……………….....
…………………...sink……pink………………………..
……………………bush….trim………………………..
……………………………..…tight………………………………
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
A sea of white
Favors hallowed ground
Where dotted lines track snow angels
And souls are lost to release
A druid spell conjures delirious bliss
Tasting the snowflakes
Kissing the cold air
Hugging the entire sky
A great and simple magick stirs
Holding mitten hands
Warming nuzzle noses
And the smell of her hair in winter
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:54 PM UTC
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
Ye, champagne and roses,
A bag full of poses,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
From London to Denver,
you're glowing my ember,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
I know that you're fluffy,
You're cute and you're puffy
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
The sun is a-shining,
The silver a-lining,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
The moon is a-gleaming
For you I’m now dreaming,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
So, come ye, and take me
For you will not fake me,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, kitty-girl, kitty-girl,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, why do ye purr?
I love you, my kitten,
So put on your mitten,
Oh, ye little kitty-girl, that's why you purr!
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 1:07 AM UTC
The sky was overcast,
A gloomy sort of feel to the air,
A gray haze cast over the corn stalks.
The breeze was brisk,
And brought goose bumps to my skin.
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself,
Reminding me of how you used to hold me.
I took a deep breath and watched my exhale
Disappear into the wind, my imaginary
Cigarette smoke leaving my system.
Only about an arm’s length away,
I thought I saw something fall.
Looking up into the sky,
I saw nothing, but
When I put my hand out,
Palm up,
A small white flake landed on my mitten.
Autumn had passed, winter was here.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
masked
from the winters snow
surrounded by the color of cleanliness
never have we touched his thick coat
with mitten less hands
for we know how cold burns
i stride
wearing my printed smile
stainless steal
plastic shine
tasted less stale
when i was a child
i used to play piano
giving mocking birds words of their own
so they too
will forever be free
like the ideas of a writer
racing through his pen
drawing out
my lovely mothers eyes
deepest blue
like the oceans blanket
always comfortably draping me
till she closed them shut
was the day i played broken keys
snow settles as the color white
only in my memories
hands became mitten less
for i
know how the cold burns
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 2:56 AM UTC
He looked at me with luscious
devious eyes so, I winked asked
him did he want some action; his
look was of a fatal attraction and
his mind locked me in ******* his
eyes denuded my flesh as he suckled
my breast, I coiled in pleasured duress
He licked his lips as I submitted to his
lustful toying, moans acknowledge my
attraction to his lascivious actions and he
salivated ensnaring nakedness in roped
interaction
As his appetizing admonishment began;
I wickedly grinned and to his chagrin;
tightened my bonds, splayed cheeks
coaxing me to seep as his tongue licked
in calculated dips and I shuddered in
satisfaction with each sip
Wet lips began to quiver; each taunt
delivered, hands slid behind back with another
toy he attacked, eight inches long in & out, I began to
sing a song as pleasure surged, wracking my body;
begging for more each time its full measure dipped
into my treasure
I looked up as he turned me over dripping wet,
I smiled, winked again with another wicked grin,
fore, he had no idea what he'd gotten into; he tied
up the wrong nymph, thought I was just a sweet
kitten; had him smitten after gettin' a taste, as if,
he'd lost his mitten playing with this sultry kitten
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 4:50 AM UTC
Sparks jettisoning into the crisp blackness,
A vivid orange against the backdrop of ebony silence,
Fairies of fire, winging their way home
On an unexpected breeze.
The bonfire a crackle, at once dangerous and comforting,
A furnace ablaze with light, livid and burning with raw energy,
Luring its annual admirers ever closer,
As moths to a flame.
The people, hatted and be-scarved, huddle, cluster,
Sparklers whirling before them, glitzy with extravagance,
Their wispy signatures hanging in the air, short-lived
And fading, fading into nothing.
And only now the fantasia of fireworks commences,
The artist experimenting with line, with colour, his audience captive,
And then at once, a dazzling fountain of jewelled light: ruby, jade, opal, sapphire,
A painting of shimmering castles in the sky.
And a middle-aged man with his son, glove to mitten; in his arms, a daughter,
Her bright gaze betraying the hands over her ears,
A snapshot of dizzy delight, breathless and enchanting,
A simple picture of rare beauty.
Later, with the remnants and debris of the evening lying discarded,
Dying, the brave bonfire, now petered out, sizzles and smoulders,
A scarlet and amber glow lingering on,
Still warm with the memories of youth.
Copyright Vicki Watson 2012
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
If I could take you
Home
In my pocket
You know that I would
My Great-Lake state
I'd hide you in my
Closet
And lock you inside
My mind
For if Jersey ever found
You
She just might
Kick my Mid-West loving
***
This love affair is
Growing out of
Control
I find myself day-dreaming
Of the time we
Shared
You live in my skin
Everyday I long
To be reunited
With you
Detroit
Flint
Grand Rapids
Streaming straight through my
Blood
An IV attached to my
Heart
You twist in my head
I can't sleep
At night
No amount of
Counted sheep
Can cure
This disease
The aching pain
Of my soul split
In half
Well over
Seven hundred miles
I've taken
Trains
Buses
Planes
Cars
And if I had it my way
Nothing could keep us
Apart
I pray that one day
We will be together
Once more
I will leave her for you
I will
Just not now.. No..
You see, New Jersey has a bit
Of an attitude
And if I left right now...
Well..
It's tricky, my dear
But I promise
One day
Some day
I will be yours
And you will be my
Little mitten shaped
Love
And then,
Only then
We will know what it's like
To be
Blissfully happy
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 8:36 PM UTC
In the mitten
The ground rolls
In glaciers' paths
Her wooden teeth
Fertile and free
Beneath canopies
Of evergreen
Cravings breed
On beaches
Of golden sand
And freshwater seas
The beauty of erosion
Aesthetics genetic inclined
Mother Earth divine
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
stealing other poet's poems
is so rampant and rife
looters will attest to the works
being of their original life
with a swag of online poetry sites
used by plagiarists plundering
no poet's heart and soul efforts
are dismissed from the sundering
pilfers of verse ever busy themselves
they're such industrious thieving elves
should they take a fond liking
for what you've written
they'll stow your wonderful lines
in a crook's mitten
copyright and true possession
of materials you've produced
get no attention from they who've
a penchant for something re-produced
under our radar they
do the wicked deed
could be said they are
so unethical of creed
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 7:05 PM UTC
smitten
by your face that looks like a kitten
written
poems that make me feel beaten
rotten
thinking about you often
bitten
on the heart, so listen
sweeten
my life like it's slitten
a poem of ten
dedicated for you like a mitten
on cold days
Feb 12, 2025
Feb 12, 2025 at 5:04 AM UTC
Lately I have a downy Frown
Letters read have clearly Degraded
Supposed was Angrily written
Hot Hands, here's a Mitten
Stand up Fast, Lookin a tad Dizzy
Stay on your Toes, Keep Bizzy.
you can say it out LOUD.
But I know you still think about it
When you're all Alone.
Thoughts rummage-in
Cool Down, Hurry the Air is getting Thick
Everybody looking Sick.
Follow the Trace, keep Quiet.
If you're not, we will find you silent.
Hide your Face, it's too Late now.
The Wolves Too are on The Prowl
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
She held his palms,
rough against the cool air
passing through small gaps of skin.
She breathed the frost
through her rasping throat,
curling it with her tongue
as it left her lips.
He watched her with intent,
his eyes unable to leave her.
They moved with each other
under the dim street lamps,
their mitten covered hands
bound tightly to one another.
Finally,
she managed to mumble those words,
so soft and sweet
as they wafted into the night sky,
filling the stars with a drunken glow
in their deepened atmosphere.
Finally,
he was able to receive them,
take them in
and feel his bones rattle,
his heart race,
and his mind pulse.
They were in love,
wandering on a bitter December,
unable to comprehend the enormity
of what they had tumbled to.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
Every thought you have ever had
Whether good or bad
Sprung from the recesses of your mind
A deliberating consciousness that is blind.
Every feeling you have ever felt
Was wound tightly with a deterministic belt
Every word you have ever written
Was written with a hand wearing a causal mitten.
Free-will is an illusion and always has been,
However, this is perhaps one elephant in the room
best left unseen.
Dualism is a false philosophy.
We are a causal system,
In a Universe governed by a causal piston.
Libertarian free will is a delusion.
However comforting it may feel to be free,
I had no other option that to write these words,
And be me.
“Man can do what he wills but he cannot will what he wills.”
― Arthur Schopenhauer, Essays and Aphorisms
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
I'm on the
Corner waiting
For the black
Sedan to pick me
Up I've got this
Piece of paper telling
Me this stranger's name
I shiver because it's cold
There's a little girl
At the stop light who
Is in a car with her mom
She smiles at me
An inoccent kindness
As she draws on the foggy glass
With mitten fingers
She won't know why
I stand here for
About ten years or so
So I smile back while
Her mother growls
And drives away
Dec 2, 2010
Dec 2, 2010 at 8:09 AM UTC
while reminiscing through
the thickly pined forests,
the gurgling streams
and fiery sky, blinking
through the notches and scars
with blazing beauty,
with sea's gentle drumbeat
and silvery descendant of heavens,
caress my numbing hands
with a mitten woven with
precious gems and
heartstring
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 12:35 AM UTC
We loved you
Pumpkin pie
And you
Bahzie boy
My bridge to the
Equine kingdom
Mitten, you made
My wife like cats
Begins a tragedy of three
A tale of other kitties
Stanley wandered too far
A tragedy of traffic
Babad not as far…
Both waited for us
No one wants to die alone
But still, we’ve been blessed
Goldie, I’m glad
You loved me
Little dog with
A heart too big
Thank you, Sue
For trusting us with Trudy
What a lucky man I am
To garner such love and trust
And of course, biggie guy,
He who once was named Hunter:
Gunther.
(Inset sadness here)
Chessy taught responsibility
With insulin shots at 6 & 6
Tristan y Isolde
(Stanley and Zolda)
Operatic lives lived
As comedy/tragedy
And, et-hem; yes
Even you, Ms. Berry
Past denizens
Of Chateau Flobo
Let’s not not leave out
The current cohorts:
Free spirit, wild child
Lucky Ducky
Biggie boy found you
You adopted us
Ms. Black-in-the-box
Moved herself in
And Fred—well,
Fred is just being Fred
They all found us
Not the other way around
From a big family,
We’ve loved/love a big family
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 7:24 PM UTC
The way that winter comes at me,
as if a stranger from a side street
cold and dark accosting me. I turn
my collar up. He hollers, "You, there!"
Faster I walk, fear chilling me,
a lamp post but a grey ghost in the fog.
This **** winter, mugs me. He hits me
in the face with frozen fists. He grabs me,
stabs me in the side with knives
of ice, slices at my heart, the home
of hope. Supine, frost forming on
my brow, I pray to boughs of willow
trees; pines will sing my elegy. My mind
drifts like snowdrifts: a mitten lost...
fingers, nose, toes frostbitten...
a lake of isolation...a sleigh with no
horse...a blizzard of insanity.
My blood thaws the frozen ground,
then freezes.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 10:34 AM UTC
I walk down the snow covered way
Only hearing the snow screech under each stride
I close my eyes and think of what it used to be like….
The flames of the sizzling fire crackling to each kindle thrown on,
I was happy then
Cocoa & cookies always warmed me up
Life was so easy no worry no cares
I can feel the sun blind me while I sled down the hill
Life’s little pleasures were always so sweet….
I open my eyes to reality again
My world now that is masked with a dull light
I sit down and cry for a while,
I take a deep breath
Walking back home my breath puffed before me
Tears steaming off my face as I wipe them away with my mitten
I get inside & retire for the evening
I look out the window my face wet from weeping
Sigh one last time and close the curtain to call it a night
Bye sweet world you are still quite a sight
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 8:49 AM UTC
****
*****
…………………..slick……slippery……………….
………………snatch……...vagina…………………..
……………mitten…………..kitten………………….
………… pookie…………….treasure………………
…..……..pudding…………..poontang………………
…………..poonani…………..scootie………………..
……………smitten…..………nookie………………...
………………sweet…..……...candy………………...
………………..warm……….mound……………….....
…………………...sink……pink………………………..
……………………bush….trim………………………..
……………………………..…tight………………………………
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
Of Baseball, Poetry and the Human Condition
~~
From “The Art of Fielding.” by Chad Harbach
"You loved it,” he writes of the game (baseball), “because you considered it an art: an apparently pointless affair, undertaken by people with a special aptitude, which sidestepped attempts to paraphrase its value yet somehow seemed to communicate something true or even crucial about the Human Condition.
The Human Condition being, basically, that we’re alive and have access to beauty, can even erratically create it, but will someday be dead and will not."
~~
and thus, the circling noose grows ever small,
binding the obvious and unblinding the oblivious
more than the mere, poetry in baseball, for both forms of art,
knowledge intuited from watching the catcher's body weave
this way and that, a dancer en pointe, arms raised in worship,
addressing the heavens with a body's broad brush strokes,
all to catch with concentrated skill, a lazy, towering popup,
climaxing oft with an exclamation point -
a perilous desperation leap
into the dugout encampment of the inimical opposition
yeah, yeah, sure, sure,
you knew that,
tho daring to verbalize same,
before the age of thirty,
presumed maturity,
was not an act of the sane of heart,
or the sound of mind with body melded
what you dared not admit was that the conditional principle,
was primal and not tangential, though perhaps,
some itinerant fathers foolishly mumbled incoherently
of life's linkages and motifs parallel
of
that desperate beauty, the ferric magnetic irony,
that our full access pass to envisioning the finery,
imaging the stuff of our own daily creation genesis,
whether concocting undisciplined disassembled parts,
called words,
into a singular line, a stanza that froze your lungs from
the boredom of the regularity of heaving and breathing,
was in no way different
than the curvature of the boy's arm
in desperation outstretched, seeking spectacular safety for
a well hit ball of cork into a worn leather mitten and thus
confirming his humanity to the watching tribal membership
and these momentary moments of momentousness,
will live forever until we die, judged of equal stature,
a soldiers stripes, ribbons of his theaters of service,
medals of the honor and the errors of his own
truthful, youthful and crucial
human condition
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC
Run away with me.
Place your mitten-hand in mine
And discover what it is like
To be children of the wind.
Run away with me,
To a dream of a field
Where angels play at snowy dawn,
Clueless of where we are really going
Yet hopeful nonetheless.
Run away with me
Far from this world
Of rust and stormy hollows
That only ages our hearts
And wishes to turn us into orphans.
Run away with me.
Lace up your boots,
Kiss your mother goodbye.
Meet me by the river
Where we will run away
If only to sit under a tree,
Knee to knee,
Foreheads pressed together,
Staring into each other's eyes
And grinning with our baby teeth,
Thankful that for a moment,
"We are here,
We are here,
And we are not there."
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
I'm constantly lamenting zero notifications on the newsfeed because I live in Plato's cave as nothing but a living shadow. I never see myself being happy, just euphoric, and the difference is an obvious jut between the peaceful Bodhisatva making eternity his home in the calm moon-lit night of China-like hills in Oregon, and ****** pressed into a varicose vein and kablam, hello peace. Hello, peace.
I'd say I'm manic. As in I'm elastic, and life makes my brain muscle so ******* spastic, I can't help but wonder if I've wandered to far into the realm of happy-sadness because everything I do is spoken word in ad lib, I'm not so sure about this
self-help stuff, this
self-improvement, the idea is soothing, but I think I was late to whatever point was made in its benefit
*** I still feel sad, and that's it.
and somebody telling me how to feel good just makes me feel worse *** why don't I feel real? why does it feel like everything I do is a near-life experience, I'm just waiting to wake up and as far as I can tell, it's the same as waiting to die-- I'm not trying to be depressing.
I'm just looking for the lesson to lessen the mess on the desk of my head.. cluttered with butter, shattered and muttering my final dictates to whatever half of me knows it's all okay forever and ever.
I'm still in love with everyone I ever said I was, I try to pretend her blood-soaked departure isn't the reason I fake a British accent at parties to make myself seem more attractive to everyone including myself, but who am
I
kidding?
what kind of trick is it to wear this mitten, even if I admit it and it's just a part of me indulging in the holy trinity of my father, my son, and the holy ghost.. who IS the holy ghost?
I'm the holy ghost because I have never met myself beyond mirrors and photographs and it's not quite the same as the way I knew you. I know all of you better than I know myself.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
Our English language? A curious thing!
Hammers don't ham and fingers don't fing,
Grocers don't groce and ushers don't ush,
And why is a rear called a toosh, not a ****
What is the plural of mitt? Is it mitten?
And what's a caboodle if there is no kit'n?
Do women count coins when they go through their change?
Is all lucre filthy? Are bedfellows strange?
You can't have the willie, the heebee or jitter,
And patter is noisy unless it's with pitter.
If a guy's queer, is he gay or just odd?
And if a girl's skinny, is she still a "broad"?
Can you do a flip? That's an interesting word...
Flip a house or a pancake or even a bird!
You'd never say fum without fee, fi or foe,
And why do we go to the bathroom... to go?
Slim chance or fat, they are one and the same,
And **** can be naughty unless it's your name!
So if you love words and you don't take them lightly,
You'll find by and by that you can-can write rightly!
Source: http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/war-of-the-words#ixzz35Z943NKD
Family Friend Poems
Our English language? A curious thing!
Hammers don't ham and fingers don't fing,
Grocers don't groce and ushers don't ush,
And why is a rear called a toosh, not a ****
What is the plural of mitt? Is it mitten?
And what's a caboodle if there is no kit'n?
Do women count coins when they go through their change?
Is all lucre filthy? Are bedfellows strange?
You can't have the willie, the heebee or jitter,
And patter is noisy unless it's with pitter.
If a guy's queer, is he gay or just odd?
And if a girl's skinny, is she still a "broad"?
Can you do a flip? That's an interesting word...
Flip a house or a pancake or even a bird!
You'd never say fum without fee, fi or foe,
And why do we go to the bathroom... to go?
Slim chance or fat, they are one and the same,
And **** can be naughty unless it's your name!
So if you love words and you don't take them lightly,
You'll find by and by that you can-can write rightly!
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
i have two hands
and one mitten.
where is the other pair?
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 9:15 AM UTC