"mole" poems
For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.
For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.
For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.
For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.
For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.
People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed and redeemed; never throw out anyone.
Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of each of your arms.
As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.
The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.
The beauty of a woman is not in a ****** mole, but the true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows!
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!
With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!
It has the plethora a room for everyone
and time for timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?
You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
You may have by now
seen women million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one!
Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 4:52 PM UTC
**1.Language
Dissolved in a kiss
their eyes created
a new language.
2.Symbol
there was an eloquent
black mole
under her lower lip
3.Silence
The unruly crowd
fell silent
in her profound presence
4.Delusion
Her lover, an anthropologist,
suspected her as a new species!
5.Take bath now, not for cleanliness
Her bathing him wasn't
about cleanliness;
amorous explorations aren't.**
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Bees build around red liver,
Ants build around black bone.
It has begun: the tearing, the trampling on silks,
It has begun: the breaking of glass, wood, copper, nickel, silver, foam
Of gypsum, iron sheets, violin strings, trumpets, leaves, ***** crystals.
**** Phosphorescent fire from yellow walls
Engulfs animal and human hair.
Bees build around the honeycomb of lungs,
Ants build around white bone.
Torn is paper, rubber, linen, leather, flax,
Fiber, fabrics, cellulose, snakeskin, wire.
The roof and the wall collapse in flame and heat seizes the foundations.
Now there is only the earth, sandy, trodden down,
With one leafless tree.
Slowly, boring a tunnel, a guardian mole makes his way,
With a small red lamp fastened to his forehead.
He touches buried bodies, counts them, pushes on,
He distinguishes human ashes by their luminous vapor,
The ashes of each man by a different part of the spectrum.
Bees build around a red trace.
Ants build around the place left by my body.
I am afraid, so afraid of the guardian mole.
He has swollen eyelids, like a Patriarch
Who has sat much in the light of candles
Reading the great book of the species.
What will I tell him, I, a Jew of the New Testament,
Waiting two thousand years for the second coming of Jesus?
My broken body will deliver me to his sight
And he will count me among the helpers of death:
The uncircumcised.
21.5k
i have a mole on my right shoulder and an always swollen heart,
i often feel lonely, i have eyes that see art.
at night i'll think i'm pretty, like when my hair falls in rings
i say the word love often so i guess i love many things
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
Saturday night, I’m getting crazy as usual,
taking pictures of my cats because they just look so beautiful.
Yea, some people go out, but I’ve got so much to do,
boys line up to take me out on dates but I tell them to shoo.
“Who are these guys?” you wonder, but don’t worry about that,
you wouldn’t know them because, they’re from a secret, hot guy frat.
I stumbled upon it once when I was out doing cool stuff,
like dancing with a king, and jumping off of bluffs.
Then one day, I jumped right into the hot guys secret lair,
and after I landed they could do nothing but stare.
I thought that they were looking at the mole on my face,
and I was right, but they loved it and begged me to stay at their place.
Not for the night, but forever, they didn’t want me to leave,
and who can blame them, I’ve got a badass weave.
But I had to decline, I just wasn’t ready for that,
so they said, “Come back anytime, even if you get fat.”
And with tears in my eyes, I bid them goodbye,
started my jetpack, and flew off into the sky.
I don’t have pictures of any of this because they were burned up in the fire,
but I can definitely assure you that I’m not a ***** liar.
But anyway, back to what I’m doing tonight,
I know that you’ll be jealous, you can’t help it, that’s alright.
I’m meeting up with Michael Scott and crew, but that’s not really a big deal,
we see each other every day, one time he tried to cop a feel.
Well, I may have just imagined that, which is probably pretty weird,
But I gave up on normal long ago, like my mother always feared.
Which is why I’m sitting here on Saturday night, talking to some cats,
who have low self-esteem because the media made them think they’re fat.
Those cats on the MeowMix commercials always look so thin,
no matter how hard regular cats try, they can really never win.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell them, “Let’s just have some fun.”
So now we’re watching TV, because, what else would we have done?
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 12:09 PM UTC
Sometimes my eyes
Are the skies
Of the desert
Dry as the lies
That they told us
Sandy brown
On the ground
Parched particles
Pointy patches
Of cactuses
Insects and mole rats
Little lizards that run fast
And you may ask
Where is the metaphor
Well, everything is a
Metaphor for everything else
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
Well.. if you must know!
our next door neighbour Mrs. Blue,
she and her husband are like rubber and glue,
So what does she do behind his **** back,
shhh..she dates her oompa loompa butler instead
Oh? tell me more Mrs. Snotnose!
Everyone knows I don't like to gossip!
I am not making this **** up right!
there's a rumour going on about that sneaky Mrs. White
(whisper)..She took some fat off her ****
to hide that ugly mole of a nut!
(giggle) Bejesus!, really?
Of course Mrs. Dullardmost!
Wait till you hear about Mrs. Brown,
she wore a fake necklace to the charity event at Hotel Crown!
but not everyone is elegant and classy like me,
the sweet natured that I am, you know I let people be
Oh Mrs. Snotnose, you are the epitomy of noesis!
*(I would have been on my way,
had it not been for all your delighting prey)*
how is dear Mrs. Red doing after that,
you know, that.. incident in her flat?
Oh dear, who doesn't know about that flat incident!
but you know I dont like to pry!
you couldn't take it out of me even if you would try!
I couldn'tell you what I saw through her window,
but um, well, if you really must know!
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 2:53 AM UTC
Today. I give up.
I got up to you,
I climbed
all the stairs of the seven storeys, until
I got there, where
I forsook
the costume and the mask,
the desire and the expectancy.
I left them all neatly folded at the door.
You will find them in the morning when
you will wake up and
you will leave sleepy for the office.
You probably won't put them into consideration.
You'll step over "i miss you",
over "i'd love to",
and you''ll hit the little"why" in its belly while
he slowly pulls your sleeve.
Don't worry,
I am better now.
I forgot about the dimples and the mole.
How does your voice sound?
Your eyes... are they green or brown?
That yellow t-shirt,
that plaid shirt...
I do not even care if
you will see the pile
waiting for you outside the door.
It's not like
you have not seen
my backpack every time
we met...
Today I give up.
Because
I am not made of concrete,
and that's how the breeze that
you carry with you
always
unbalances
me.
Because
I really know how to ride a bike and
I do not need training wheels.
Because
I am not afraid.
Because
I have courage.
And especially,
because
I have nothing to do here.
It's empty and deserted.
It's nothing.
Today I quit.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:05 AM UTC
Starting with coverage from BBC2.
Brushing calm shadows into
pastel hills.
A rhythm paints terrain a
sugary brown.
Flicks of green create
fauliage serene.
The clean tasteless air is
cotton soft.
A effortless stream runs
cobalt clear.
Where salmon gymnastics begin
each year.
Squirrels practice dance routines a
glamorous red.
The doormice dressed and ready
for bed.
Continuing coverage on Ch4.
The perch, the tench sat together on an underwater bench.
Discussing bait and hooks whilst flicking through some fishing books.
What's he eating? Mr Mole,
it looks like cheese and ham
on a soft brown roll.
There's a chicken and a fox that
live round here.
Seriously, they've been dating each other for about a year.
Now, if you take the next left,
then over the stye.
There's a duck lives there,
call in and say, hi!
Poetry by Kaydee.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
‘Earth’
maybe a mole
in the mountain of space.
But the story is bigger
than any epic tale.
It's the one scoops
the bottom line
of the bottomless space!
Small simple finishing
tells the complete tale
'as above, so below'.
One that takes into
account all the matter
and the entire space.
The story goes on
The fine earth takes its place.
Now the mountain
sits on the mole space!
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 10:06 PM UTC
Do you want
to hear
a story droll?
About a dog
with a kind
soul
Outside,
that night,
I heard the winds howl
Inside
was the sound
of an intermittent growl
I opened the door and he
slipped out
Some time later, he
came back with a pout
Reprimanded he was
for coming back
with a muddy taint.
Remorseless,
head raised, he
stood there defiant.
“Okay, Scot!
Let’s see what you got”
He gently
dropped
his big scowl
and Out fell,
in my palms,
a baby owl!
Apparently he had
peeped far
from his tree hole
When Scot was
beneath that tree
sniffing a mole
Frightened but fine,
the owlet
was a bit choosy
So we went,
to put him back,
in his tree hole cosy!
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 6:01 AM UTC
Slithery, slider, scaly old snake,
surely your body must be a mistake.
Your eyes, mouth and tongue wisely stay on your head.
It seems that your body is all tail instead.
You gobble your dinner, you swallow it whole--
a mouse or a frog or a turtle or mole.
Ugh!
Why don't you eat ice cream or chocolate cake!
Oh slithery, slider, scaly old snake.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
“I remember the bed just floating there” is how Phil Kaye started his ‘repetition’ poem.
I remember pausing the youtube video after the poem ended.
I remember burying my feelings under 3 blankets and 4 hours of binge watching spoken word poetry.
I do not remember the dreams I could have had.
I remember the set of nightmares that visited religiously like the downstairs neighbor tired of how loud my heart pounds at late evenings.
I remember, very clearly, how they went.
I do not remember if I have written them down.
Dream one: he peels my freckles off my skin; he says he needs them because his coffee is too light. I scream while he calmly adds pints of the cheeks to his cup. He says I can never be as quiet as the girl who managed to sneak into his ribcage and build herself a bedroom.
Dream two: We are standing in the great library of Alexandria. He pulls the sea from underneath my feet and stuffs it into his back pocket. He says he needs it because he is tired of drowning himself in uncertainty. I start to cry and he says: Aries is the god of war, and women born under this sign confuse war for love.
I remember the mole on his left ear growing bigger in my nightmares without me ever watering it.
I remember he smelled of tangerine trees and broken records.
I do not remember if his face looked like the man I almost fell in love with last winter, or my father.
I remember the first time I saw my father after he came back from Ukraine.
I remember his brown leather shoes that oozed of old spice cologne and neat scotch.
I remember his hardly worn pair of glasses and the pieces of me they never cared to read.
I remember the wrinkles that seemed newer than his glasses slowly colonizing his hands... the hands that never held me as tight as the dress I wore to my school prom hoping it would catch my ex’s attention.
I remember that dress.
I remember it had a floral print reminiscent of the season that I was named after hoping maybe it would remind him I’m part him.
I remember realizing he will never remember.
And now, I sit on a carpet of autumnal leafs as crisp as my tied tongue and as dead as my fears, trying to turn my love for him into more than just a memory.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
there was a little elf as funny as can be
he lived in the woods inside a big oak tree
he wore a funny hat and a his ears were big
he would play a fiddle and do a little jig
one day in the woods he saw a little mole
he was sat there crying poor little soul
the elf he went to see what had made him cry
then he asked the mole what was the reason why
the poor mole was lost he had lost his way
while walking through the woods he had gone astray
dont worry said the elf i will guide you back
then off they walked together down the woody track
they strolled along together for a little while
elf he found his hole and mole began to smile
mole he said goodbye and elf went on his way
the mole he climbed inside his hole and slept the day away
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 9:03 AM UTC
Collecting thoughts, imagination as vivid as the colours of a sunset.
The endless saturday, the drinking, the endless sun.
As the sun beats down on your face, and they reveal more and more skin
You look around and lovers are everywhere
None of them care
The day is to bright and the future is endless
Colours blazing brighter than the sun
All the girls, don’t want a son
But you can care less, the sun is endless and so is your life,
Every time the sun is up, you find the fountain of youth again.
Turning you from 18 to 7
Caring is not your middle name
The world is your toy
So skate around the board walk listening to 3005
Searching for a new potential lover
new goal
You don’t look for cover,
like a mole
Cause you are reincarnated
You remember that school is today
but why go on such a beautiful day
the future is now
whats the point of sitting around like a cow
The ocean as blue as the sky
where your dreams are shelled
in a bright yellow sphere
and as the sun goes down after the day
Now son don’t be in such a dismay
Forecast says, you’ll be young forever
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
Snow is failing and winter is in real bloom
Snow flakes are falling down being so soft
And in my blanket I remember with gloom
Your image dances in front and just in aloft
Pain of loneliness travels in heart and soul
I love you and still celebrate your presence
How can I forget your cheeks with mole
When you have left your body with fragrance
Please come our my sweetheart in winter
I will die without you I just do understand
This winter is season of togetherness to stir
Our hearts and bodies on same musical band
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 4:28 AM UTC
there was a little mole he dug underground
looking for adventure the little mole was bound
he packed a little case for his holiday
things that he might need while along the way
mole he started digging for three months and a day
till the ground got hard he had hit some clay
then one final push the little mole was through
in this place so lovely a place he never knew
it was full of beauty and the sun was shining bright
the little mole was happy it filled him with delight
then he took a stroll in this adventure land
all along the beach playing in the sand
he was having fun on his holiday
in the land he found so very far away.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
Sunflowers in the sun
feeding from the light
like a golden watercolour painting
Field mice nibbling
Bees buzzing
Coming out to play
In the middle of a wheat field
Turned over
looking up at the dust particles that fill the sky
Oh how wonderful it would be to become a mole
Or fly.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
for Sylvia Plath
O Sylvia, Sylvia,
with a dead box of stones and spoons,
with two children, two meteors
wandering loose in a tiny playroom,
with your mouth into the sheet,
into the roofbeam, into the dumb prayer,
(Sylvia, Sylvia
where did you go
after you wrote me
from Devonshire
about rasing potatoes
and keeping bees?)
what did you stand by,
just how did you lie down into?
Thief --
how did you crawl into,
crawl down alone
into the death I wanted so badly and for so long,
the death we said we both outgrew,
the one we wore on our skinny *******
the one we talked of so often each time
we downed three extra dry martinis in Boston,
the death that talked of analysts and cures,
the death that talked like brides with plots,
the death we drank to,
the motives and the quiet deed?
(In Boston
the dying
ride in cabs,
yes death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
O Sylvia, I remember the sleepy drummer
who beat on our eyes with an old story,
how we wanted to let him come
like a sadist or a New York fairy
to do his job,
a necessity, a window in a wall or a crib,
and since that time he waited
under our heart, our cupboard,
and I see now that we store him up
year after year, old suicides
and I know at the news of your death
a terrible taste for it, like salt,
(And me,
me too.
And now, Sylvia,
you again
with death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
And I say only
with my arms stretched out into that stone place,
what is your death
but an old belonging,
a mole that fell out
of one of your poems?
(O friend,
while the moon's bad,
and the king's gone,
and the queen's at her wit's end
the bar fly ought to sing!)
O tiny mother,
you too!
O funny duchess!
O blonde thing!
6.2k
I have lived long enough to see the best and worst in ones self.
I love the shape of my eyes,
I love the curve of my lips.
I hate the weird mole on my cheek,
I hate the crease in my chin.
I love the shape of my chest,
I love the curve of my hips.
I hate my toenails,
I hate my brittle bones.
I love my ouward confidence,
I love my unconditional love.
I hate my worrisome ways,
I hate my anxiety.
I love my near perfect smile,
I love my xylophone ribs.
There are days I want to love anyone but me.
There are days when loving myself is harder,
Than getting out of bed in the morning.
But I am done feeling sorry for myself.
I am strong.
I am powerful.
I am radiant.
And on some days,
I am exquisitly beautiful.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
underling animals
in times
of quake-
slight
swellings
in brain
of maybe
one mole
bottled
now
for sea-
if on a baby
your hands
would be
so cute
but as
an adult
you glove them-
world as wheelchair
the wheelchair
from which
god rose-
as sporadic
surges
switch on
the sink’s
disposal
pull thorns
from the rabbits
you dream
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
amsterdam. tension. relief. release. accent. bowl. swig. bowl. bowl. reverend. mole. alley. fifth beer. bowl. sixth beer. blur. catching up. *** standing up. normalcy. hiding. secrets. bowl. friends. family. couch. spinning. smiling. exit. diner. bathroom floor. steam. bowl. her legs. beautiful. her teeth. beautiful. it hurts. keep going. sleep. sweat. 8 am. warm wind. splitting headache. packing. bowl. relief. amsterdam.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 6:02 PM UTC
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,
Since o’er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Call unto his funeral dole
The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,
To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,
And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm;
But keep the wolf far thence, that ’s foe to men,
For with his nails he’ll dig them up again.
5.1k
I love you for no reason
So it's not going to change with change of season.
I love you for no reason
I know it's hard to trust a guy like me
But i want to become a guy you want me to be
Pick out the good from me and leave the rest
Alter me into what suits you best
I will be proud to fulfill your every condition
I love you for no reason
It's you my princess that's all i need
What's in your mind i wish i could read
So that i can do everything before you say
I want to make you smile everyday
You are my desire my zing my ambition
I love you for no reason
You hair are like brown strands of silk
You are fairer than milk
Chubby chicks and baby soft skin
Pointed nose suits best with nose pin
Those plumy lips i can die to kiss
It kills me when you smile with a bliss
Your waist curves are like of a snake
Mole on your face is cherry over cake
Mind and body both you have got
I swear you are god's perfect shot
Beauty with mind is a perfect fusion
I love you for no reason
I will love you forever same as now
With you i am ready to take the vow
I wanted to be with you anyhow
After that my life would be wow
But i know you don't have the same vision
I love you for no reason
You for me is my sweetest dream
Your beauty is something i can not redeem
Best you have a golden heart
Your words hit my head like a dart
I can listen to your chit chat for my whole life
I pray to god to make you my wife
I will pamper you praise you serve you please you
I will hug you poke you curdle you tease you
It's going to b real or it's just an illusion
I love you for no reason
I know we are east and west
I m not good even and you are the best
We can't be together it will not work
How can an angel love a devil rebellious ****
One day may be you will say yes
Might be this poem works full to impress
If it's a no not a big deal
Hug me enough for my wounds to heal
I don't want to force your decision
I love you for no reason
I love you for no reason
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC