"mores" poems
After years of aimless wanderings
Leaving behind the cities of midnight revels
And the fevered journey in metro rails,
I am back at the land of my people.
Wherever I went,
Under which ever roof I slept,
I had carried my land,
As a jewel in a casket
And ensured it rested safe
Ever under my pillow
As I moved with aliens
Unable to merge with their cultural mores,
I saw my land glimmer in darkness
Like a dew drop on a moon blanched leaf
When I sweated in the blistering sands
A patch of green landscape, like an oasis
Wafted me in a cool embrace
Then dreams poured in like star light
And I wandered in the meadows of my youthful love
My heart struggling to forget old longings
And memories lashing upon me like tidal waves
Pursued by that inalienable shadow
Suddenly being born in flesh and blood
I hastened to the streets of my youth
With hopes galore and plans vivid
But alas! There is none to recognize me
Oh! I am a stranger here
An unwelcome stranger among total strangers
Now I wonder which is truly my land?
The one left behind or the one just landed in?
Oscillating between these two worlds,
My fractured identity looms large
With worms of memories wriggling in my flesh
And a myth suddenly dying in my brain
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 10:37 AM UTC
****
My buddy
My man
The only time id eat a ginger bread man
****
I huff and I puff
And I blow nothing down
There ain't nothin but a couch and some Doritos I could even knock down
****
Couldn't hurt a fly
But I might blow smoke in your eye
****
So nice so fly
Man I'm high as the sky
****
Where am I?
At the store craving some s'mores
****
I like twix too
Don't call me a Jew
****
We all have fun
We laugh
But we're too high to run
****
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
Hats off to Demosthenes!
Democracy, democracy,
But..
In Australia,
Bit of a failure,
Forced to vote for politicians,
We elect politicians....
We need leaders of power and vision,
Not talking heads on television!
Compelled to vote in a democracy?
Still our lucky country,
O tempora, O mores!
Democracy, democracy,
Hats off to Demosthenes!
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
If I were a chocolate bar, life with you would be so sweet
Being around you, I feel like quite a treat
Gotta love Hershey's: the kisses and hugs
And on Valentine's Day combine with Doves
Like Reeses or S'mores, we compliment one another
Flowers, wine, and chocolate for a significant other
If I were a chocolate bar, life could be Grand
Although on a hot day, I'd melt a little faster than planned....
As a chocolate bar I'd be broken and shared
Spreading gooey goodness to everyone there
Maybe being a chocolate bar isn't quite for me...
... But it's fun to imagine just how it might be!
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
**I peer at the world
And all I see is
possible impossibilities
fictional realities
counterfeit originality
impotent functionality
locomotive staticity,
and rigid elasticity
beside Beastie humanity...**
*I look at the world
and all there's
are peaceful wars
Less Mores
widely locked doors
criminal laws
a stinking rose
and fragrant "choos"
I look at the world
and sadly I see all those...
I even see stepped on toes
on sand-less shores...*
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC
Sailboat on a purple sea
Yellow skies are all she sees
Lonely Captain at the helm
Lord o’er all her ocean realm.
Sailboat on a purple sea
Sailing through Eternity
The yellow skies reveal her ardor
Searching for inlet or harbor.
Where she can safely drop her anchor
Without hostility or rancor
Stay forever, or a day
If on a whim she sails away.
To search again for other shores
Unmindful of the ocean’s mores.
Sometimes storms impede her course
Fill her journey with remorse
Thunder sounds a deaf’ning roar
Through driving rain, can’t see the shore
Lightning bolts around her flash
As if to call the Captain brash
For thinking that she has control
Over purple ocean’s vitriol.
If ever she regrets her plight
When yellow skies turn dark at night
And midnight storms have lead to loss
She rights the ship and bears the cross
And waits for morning dawn to break
Sun through last night’s rain will make
A rainbow reaching far away
Certainly it will show the way
To steer her sailboat that day.
Sailboat on a purple sea
Yellow skies are all she sees
Buoyant Captain at the helm
Lord o’er all her ocean realm.
PwL 04/21/15
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
When I'm a grownup,
I would like a home away from home.
A cabin, perhaps, isolated from the world,
where there would be a lake in my backyard.
Maybe I will also have a treehouse, or a hammock,
where I would read and watch my children play in the water.
Then we would roast marshmallows and make s'mores,
and catch fireflies in the bushes.
My husband would sing silly songs and play his guitar,
and make my children blush with fiery laughter.
When the kids would fall asleep in the bunks,
a cuddle would be awaiting in front of the fireplace.
Where we would watch sappy old movies,
and savor our salty popcorn and sweet milk chocolate.
Together, we would laugh and cry.
Together, we would have escaped the world.
Together, we would have been happy.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
deli meats and cheeses
i look past them at soft crinkling smiling faces
and i drink my java
warms up my hands and ******* and i sweat
in my coat
walking up and down the isles
I see trail mix
and sunchips
and sweet sweet sweets
the yummies
that i adore
chocolates
especially
dark chocolate cocoa orange cherry strawberry berry red brown
it's the sweetness and saltiness
of summer time ice cream
It's the cold crispness
of carrots and snap peas
It's the warmth and comfort
of big muffins and a plate of hashbrowns
at Perkin's
after a stressful morning
spice smells
of pad tai noodles
sourdough bread, fresh baked
crunch crunch on the outside
soft hot squish
inside
(save that part for me, i eat them separate
-you laugh)
how many times did we
laugh
about how you ate that bug
and we were never picky
*cherries
all those cherries.*
we ate nutella
on bread,
washed it down with cold organic orange juice
from a cafe neither of us had ever heard of
and tofu
tofu tofu
always cooked perfectly (we wondered how they do it)
(i still don't know)
chocolate, melting slowly
"you missed some."
-------just an excuse to kiss me.
i giggle
peanut m&m;'s
turn my tongue colors.
Watermelon at a potluck
wedding cake
cheesy potatoes
and an extra helping of bread
(we laughed so hard at the white bread, squished into a cube)
ruby red
made you wince
I drink it straight from the bottle
and smile
remembering every kiss
that tasted of grapefruit
in that tent
every kiss that tasted of salt
from the eggs?
or from the sweat on your lips
the sweat on your lips.
we kiss more
i smile into your lips
i remember that, especially
we never got sick of each other
nutella on everything, now.
especially on s'mores
i smile with every memory
i put my hands in pockets, the cold rushes to meet my face
in the ice cream aisle
i cool down as i graze
through the tubs or corn syrup and double churned triple churned
cream with extra fudge
sherbet
i chuckle to myself
memories memories
of sitting up high
with you,
sand on our toes
chocolate caramel fudge coffee
on our tongues
love
in our hearts
you remember.
the taste of that summer
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
I have witnessed this upon the shores
the ****** of morals,causes,mores
and scores of promises
made and broken by
trip tied tongues with words yet spoken
in the days of heraldry
when men could be
the killers in society and still
be free.
I saw it too when dreaming in a tree
Peru I think it might have been
but every scene was set for me
in the quicksand by the sea
and I side stepped them each and everyone
now it all is gone and faded as the past will do
into another image
who could believe the tale
that men in chain mail suits set sail
to set upon the citizens and sit by while the slaughter fallen
the fruits of hell with chain and ball on.
Hard but even harder still imagining that men still will
bang the drum
so hungry for
another moral ****** score.
it's war
and that is what we got
so take a *** of ale put on the suit of chain link mail
and go and meet
your season of no reason where the only reason you will find is the unreasoning of the deaf and blind.
War.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
for three weeks we'll embark
to sleep amongst the tree bark
easily remembering this is not a theme park
bring the s'mores and your best ghost stories
i'll lock them away in the diamond quarries
the insatiable nightmares will prey
on us beyond the light, we'll pray
at night they go away but if they
want to stay we'll stand and fight
fly a kite of grey and laugh and play
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
Sam walks around the galaxies
and reaches for each star that he passes by
Hoping he’d get warm from even just one,
– or two
of those flickering lights
And I stared.
Sam wanders in circles
looking for utopia
under the bushes, above the clouds
Out there somewhere
there might be a Shangri-la
And I stared.
Sam examines the deepest seas
Two hundred, then five
– a thousand meters below
wondering if he can still build a campfire
and enjoy his sweet beer and s’mores
And I just stared.
But Sam stared back.
Sam pulled out his empty heart
and stitched me up in there
curious of how it would feel
So together with his heart I beat,
then I was beaten
Because Sam was a scientist,
and he wanted to know what love is
He wanted to test if it could ****
and I –
I was just his willing experiment
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
The line for the local convenience store
Stretched out to Market Avenue’s dirt curb,
Past makeshift street clowns juggling the poor
And the sex-stench of “Population Curb.”
We make like big balloons who self-implode:
Fires to fight fires, guns to fight guns,
Fighting for survival makes mores erode
When a dark illusion has fooled billions.
Little John waits in line with his mommy,
No more than a decade, he learns to shoot.
Life was quiet like a dark raging sea,
Now we shake from a screen and men in suits
Fear not, trembling people of the world,
There is a way to end the gun violence,
To stop making canyons of the knurled:
Guns for all! Shun to think of gun absence!
Automatics in the professor’s desk,
Two pistols strapped to Sally’s little thighs,
End common fear with something more grotesque:
Endless rivers of red and eyes for eyes.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
Life is
A s'mores poptart
No matter the conditions
Or the temperature, it will always be a poptart
And it will always be delicious
The gooey insides
Melt in your mouth when warm.
The crusty top
Provides a nice crunch, but once on the inside,
Things are best
But once it is gone.
It is gone forever.
Cherish your poptart
You never know when it will be the last in the box
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
your eyes don't glisten like they used to
just saying it's not something usual for you
*so I guess you're heavily imbued
with this crestfallen attitude?*
yea I know,
I've changed in the same way
my own little reverse-breakthrough
Risque foreplay with ultramarine Bombay
before stepping in to emcee the Devil's soiree
And no, you really don't --and honestly never did-- know me;
you only knew one of many façades I brazed
on my face
in the midst of a cliche
New Year's day typa haze
During the phase of
my infamously tempestuous craze
I was precipitously *(ignited
quite possibly by my own
flaring sparks)*
set ablaze with praise
but my mores seem to be misplaced
probably somewhere in the frenzy and hysteria
So I guess I'm left to embrace my untraced boundaries
*And get my viridian eyes back to glistening
on their own viridescent terms
Not codependent on the hollowed adulation
and sweet-talk from bamboccioni*
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
Never have I taken love
for granted or in vain.
If some perceive that this I've done
I'm sorry for the pain.
For love, that peerless gift of all
should never be denied.
But understanding's needed
and in hearts it must abide.
Absence makes it greater still
as distance magnifies
The longing harbored by each heart,
though social mores defies.
So cling to love through thick and thin
through unrequited pain.
Reality is just the one
and love of self, the gain.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
though said to be golden like that of Eris,
the mores which you so savor are hollow with worms.
your stony statutes, finally crumbling, now
remind me of rose-colored saran wrap:
stretched too thin across the epochs
to bind each lawless Julia at present.
able now to be whole—free from your unadulterated peace,
spun, measured, and cut are your class lines at last.
and so with a sigh of relief so great that it could echo across
all of the Caucasus,
your Ovid, cast away, has returned.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
I’ve gone insane.
It's nothing new.
Been down this road a time or two.
But this time I've made a decision
About the health of my cognition:
I'm staying here!
No round trip!
For why would I when there is this?
A world exactly as I need it.
Everything just as I see it.
Reality made me contort
To rules and norms and other sorts.
I've bruised my limbs,
Threw out my back,
My everything is out of whack.
I'm done I tell you!
Through with it!
That box, that there, I cannot fit!
And in the past you have always
Coaxed me back to your mores.
And I would whine and ***** and moan.
Throw a tantrum. You would groan,
And you would say I must behave:
"Proper people don't act this way!"
I don't doubt this:
Your forced fed fodder,
But I have no interest in being "proper."
So I’ve gone insane.
And I’m staying!
Not because it's easy.
Not because I’m lazy.
But because, going back?
Well, that would just be crazy!
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC
A Bountiful Sky for Foolish Old Men
early up, haunted-stoked~woked by a multilingual sky,
an impish childish creation of an immature god,
inconsistently incapable, of making up his moody mind,
whiny then smiley, cloudless besotted, morphed
into crystalline blue of a well behaved in Sunday best,
warming the souls of the begotten and the misbegotten,
the hardened and the poetic souls, tho he laughs at
himself, for he too is both, curmudgeon and a mr. softee,
whiny child in rapid aging body, wearing of discovery
of new places for to ache, pains that don’t fit med scales
of 1~10, unless it is the Richter Earthquake formulation.
despite all, his eyeballs seethe, immaculate degeneration still
allows the seeing of broad brush paint strokes of the team of
angelic artistes that do the detailing of the palette above,
how!
they, love their big bold brushes that sky swipe atmospheric
residue into 31 Baskin Robbins flavors, with swirls of caramel
chocolate butterscotch that make the man’s complaints whisked
into who-cares-a-damn anyway ice creamery reverie and all
that other stuff disbarred from the aborning morning clarity of
“good morning ole man, where’s my coffee” diurnal tuning that
the women hums, reminding those in the earshot crowd of one,
that s’mores and chores, tasks and at lasts, dogs need walking, gardens watering, cushions plumping, evening dishes moving from dishwasher onto wallpaper-covered shelves, geese-away-chasing, and loving poetry
by a poetoftheway scribbling…
8:01 AM Frieday, Jun 30
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 8:32 AM UTC
My eyes smell sleepy, he, refusing to depart,
But there is coffee on the nightstand,
The odor, infiltrating the dozy brain's heart.
Annoyed with each other,
They shout and fight
Like teenage siblings Commissioners at the SEC,
Arguing over bathroom monopolization,
The tongue stays sidelined, feigning net neutrality.
The bed smells empty,
For the **** has crowed,
Yogi David commands your presence
At Saturday morning Eight O'clock yoga services.
To get to his Sinai on time,
Early departure, an FAA requirement,
Car, ferry and foot you will deploy,
In the winter, special skis and snowshoes,
That blessed by his mantra,
Enable you to walk on water.
In the kitchen there is sisterly conversation,
Yes, puttering and muttering and discussing,
Sister's grown child texting, he's making the pilgrimage
To see Mama, alone, unexpectedly,
Six hours driving.
Friends and countryman,
That is how you spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e
Sleepy master dwarf refuses to concede,
Says when kitchen noises retreat,
Back to him you will supplicate,
They (the other dwarfs and body parts),
Have a big convention to better communicate..
Departure comes without a kiss,
But not without complaint,
She always says I love you first,
Which is natural,
She being a girl.
Now the bladder starts to whiny~chatter,
What about me, what about me,
Don't you love me, and me rhymes with P!
While the stomach quietly snores
Have been well-fed
but a few hours before,
He dreams of some more....macadamia crusted s'mores...
I could verse you more,
No problem that's for sure,
But you got the point:
The morning smells.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 7:18 AM UTC
Wide, grey waters rolling in
Invisibly it flows
Like a spreading carpet over mud
Inexorably it grows.
Created by a lunar force
And global winds at play,
Twice each day the tides do surge
To crest and flow away.
Twice each day the tide rolls in
To cover shoals of sands
And beds of oysters, muddy brown
With squirting water glands.
And twice each day the seabirds flock
To alight on draining shores
To harvest succulents and *****
And other tasty mores.
Oyster pickers congregate
In flocks of white and black
Red beaks plunging deeply
In green pastures for a snack.
Amazingly, they all take flight
A thousand beating wings
Which heel about collectively
Inking out all skyward things.
A thousand, million wavelets play
Across the level span
Pursued by wind’s relentless glove
In a patterned, surging plan.
And each reflects a kiss of light,
Each wavelet in the run
Collectively illuminate
Like diamonds in the sun.
Above the waves the seagulls ply
In corridors of air
In squadron flights of symmetry
To weave and wheel with flair,
Their raucous calls at distance
The poetry of sound,
In tidal terms, a symphony
Of seaward things profound.
The haze at the horizon
Of salt spray in the air,
White ,crunchy shells on beaches,
Pohutukawa’s everywhere.
A feeling of things tidal
In a lazy, salty way,
And enjoying the quiet beauty
Of this lovely, coastal bay.
Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
4th March 2009
Nov 27, 2009
Nov 27, 2009 at 2:20 PM UTC
I am the stain blue candy leaves on your tongue
eyeliner slightly smudged from happy tears
bubble gum that popped on your face
and bright paint stains on brown hands.
I am messy handwritten cursive
and glossy red lipstick prints.
I am singing off key and dancing in parking lots.
I am the laughter that makes your stomach ache
and I am the quickening of the heart.
I am gasping for breath
as I am the sweet smell of summer.
I am sunsets without end
and s’mores that leave chocolate on your hands.
I am not clean sheets unless they are a fort
but I am bold ink that bled onto the next page
and sometimes I am broken glass
clear but for your blood on a jagged end.
Sometimes I am sobbing on the shower floor
and exquisite pain that makes your shoulders shake.
I am fists clenched so hard your nails cut your palm,
the cold and powerful waves of a seastorm.
And I am learning that’s okay.
I am not in your box
and I am not yours to define;
I am mine.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
“Quite a piece this doesn’t come along every day”He was tapped into her forever mores or heretofore reservoirs of passion.The creme de la creme her pursed mouth prim. She couldn’t wait to lick him higher watering his rim. But after he breaststroked with her he has taken a bite fresh ****** fruit she broke. He spends all his time extolling her virtues, what’s left the first virtue ****** painting feast. For his eyes *** all day. Planting her nest.Lay Lady lay. He made this avocado melting pot-her fondue smelling hot what’s next to pursue such charm. His ears pierced like a fire alarm. blazing the fireplace. Her blush deepened like she was diced. To the ******** Asking for so much more.You were wearing your erotically to die for **** me shoes.He was the Hollywood ******* I was going to *** crave you knock you down.
Like the colonel of **** mustard spicy so **** hot.His hair deep brown. He lengthened got bigger what a shot. How the carpet just spread me to bounce my buttocks.She tried so hard to lay everything out from his bowl his manly sword like a dual. He steamed out like Maddocks Taurus bedroom eyes of the bull. So much to roll her feet heated so penetrated him to the floor.The rain was heavy and thick dripping with your creamy avocado puddle
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC
She was gooey like maple syrup
& marshmallow s'mores,
stronger than a mountain lion
protecting her cubs,
wore prescription rose-tinted
sunglasses with GPS,
she'd been around long enough
to see through most of the
flimflam and negativity,
was agile enough to laugh at
her own cheeky caricature,
wouldn't put up with the travesty
'neath debauchery's cunning
still, she wondered as most do,
what was to become of a world
so engrossed in the overthrow
& disparaging mockery of others
she bade her time waiting to grow
older and wiser in hopes
she'd be around long enough
to experience a sunrise view
in universal accordance
before her own last sunset
ultimately bit the dust,
burning in all-inclusive ashes
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
72 ways to tell if your crush likes you
Always sent me in the worst preteen spirals
Because I wasn’t exactly sure how to casually check to see
If his pupils would dilate during our conversations
And, after a few seconds of my intense evaluation, he’d stop
And ask if he had food stuck in his teeth
And, if so, then I should be a pal and tell him
Because he wanted to impress
My best friend when she walked into the room.
That summer you two held an-end-of-the-year bonfire,
Where everyone brought their troubled old exams,
Bradburying their barely year old textbooks,
While toasting marshmallow s’mores atop the education protest.
My contribution was something more of a retribution,
Because I brought the poppiest, peppiest, most duplicitous,
Beauty magazine I owned
[It made me feel ugly and unwanted,
Judged me by my choice in mascara,
And set me up for heartbreak all too young].
As I watched it catch fire and morph into molten,
I couldn’t help and laugh,
Relief flooded through my veins when I saw that,
Even when the deemed beautiful is destroyed,
It crumbled down to the same unidentifiable inked gray,
Earth to earth,
Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC