"pecan" poems - Hello Poetry

There's a place for me in a field of Bluebonnets under a Pecan Tree, with Texas Longhorn lowing to passerbys, and mockingbirds flitting about cloudless, grand skies.

0

Mar 12, 2013

Mar 12, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC

keith-anderson

Somewhere in Texas

There's a place for me in a field of Bluebonnets under a Pecan Tree, with Texas Longhorn lowing to passerbys, and mockingbirds flitting about cloudless, grand skies.

7

Pecan-Pelican, feathery nuts Pelican-Pecan, shells and guts Could fly away, most likely shan't For a pelican can but a pecan can't

0

Nov 10, 2013

Nov 10, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC

ben-jones

Pecan/Pelican

Pecan-Pelican, feathery nuts Pelican-Pecan, shells and guts Could fly away, most likely shan't For a pelican can but a pecan can't

4

Throughout our childhood, our grandmother would turn to us, in her yellow-lit kitchen, brandishing a rubber spatula or meat tenderizer to warn us against falling to temptation. She’d witnessed too many good people disappear into what she called a consumption of the soul, and as my cousins licked sugary batter off their spoons, no one could have known that one day the candy-coating would melt from their eyes to see their mother for what she had done the last six years that now showed in her trembling hands, glossed vision, and a temperament that splashed into anger, flowed into melancholy as easily as she had found herself downing bleary bubbles at the brim of a precipiced fountain. She was promised her very own message in a bottle, and this keep-sake manifested in cousin Libby’s dreams, floating down a wine river that gushed from the slashes in her mother’s wrists. Somehow I knew these nightmares were born from warm and heady “sleep well”s mumbled from across the darkest of rooms which held so many glass ghouls with names and strengths so real, they even scared my grandmother into silence as she stirred the pecan pie for Easter dinner. She offered to let me lick the spoon clean, but I simply asked for straight sugar instead.

0

Feb 16, 2015

Feb 16, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC

b-wynn

Gluttony

Throughout our childhood, our grandmother would turn to us, in her yellow-lit kitchen, brandishing a rubber spatula or meat tenderizer to warn us against falling to temptation. She’d witnessed too many good people disappear into what she called a consumption of the soul, and as my cousins licked sugary batter off their spoons, no one could have known that one day the candy-coating would melt from their eyes to see their mother for what she had done the last six years that now showed in her trembling hands, glossed vision, and a temperament that splashed into anger, flowed into melancholy as easily as she had found herself downing bleary bubbles at the brim of a precipiced fountain. She was promised her very own message in a bottle, and this keep-sake manifested in cousin Libby’s dreams, floating down a wine river that gushed from the slashes in her mother’s wrists. Somehow I knew these nightmares were born from warm and heady “sleep well”s mumbled from across the darkest of rooms which held so many glass ghouls with names and strengths so real, they even scared my grandmother into silence as she stirred the pecan pie for Easter dinner. She offered to let me lick the spoon clean, but I simply asked for straight sugar instead.

17

Soft shapes touch a child's finger, Memories of their sweetness linger-- Helping grandma roll the dough In her kitchen long ago. I like the shape your cookies take When they spread out as they bake, Like the changing shapes of crowds, Melting snow or summer clouds. Oven-hot and placed on racks, Lined up , lying on their backs, Coming from a single batch, But none of them a perfect match. Toll house cookies, soft, convex, Each perfection, like the next: Chocolate chips their surface grace-- Freckles on a child's face. Pecan ball aren't perfect spheres, But they're gentle little dears: Bottoms flat, sides dented slightly, With white sugar sprinkled lightly. Sugar cookies cold days cheer, Shaped like angles and reindeer Glazed with frosting sweet and white, Decked with sprinkles all delight. Santa's Whiskers, coconut rolled, Long fat logs of sugared dough, Cut in portions smooth and round, Pecan bits, cherries abound. Molasses crinkles' faces lined Like old men's--the friendly kind-- With lines like back roads on a map, Dunked in milk before a nap. Oatmeal cookies, shapes amorphous Juicy raisins budge enormous, Semi-blobs, their texture rough, Sometimes packed with nuts and stuff. So many cookies through our life, Since we became husband and wife, In their sweet aroma and taste Years rushed by like cars in a race. Looking at their shapes diverse Reminds me of our love at first: We weren't sure just where we'd go And all we had was cookie dough.

0

Dec 17, 2017

Dec 17, 2017 at 11:05 AM UTC

john-niederbuhl

Cookies

Soft shapes touch a child's finger, Memories of their sweetness linger-- Helping grandma roll the dough In her kitchen long ago. I like the shape your cookies take When they spread out as they bake, Like the changing shapes of crowds, Melting snow or summer clouds. Oven-hot and placed on racks, Lined up , lying on their backs, Coming from a single batch, But none of them a perfect match. Toll house cookies, soft, convex, Each perfection, like the next: Chocolate chips their surface grace-- Freckles on a child's face. Pecan ball aren't perfect spheres, But they're gentle little dears: Bottoms flat, sides dented slightly, With white sugar sprinkled lightly. Sugar cookies cold days cheer, Shaped like angles and reindeer Glazed with frosting sweet and white, Decked with sprinkles all delight. Santa's Whiskers, coconut rolled, Long fat logs of sugared dough, Cut in portions smooth and round, Pecan bits, cherries abound. Molasses crinkles' faces lined Like old men's--the friendly kind-- With lines like back roads on a map, Dunked in milk before a nap. Oatmeal cookies, shapes amorphous Juicy raisins budge enormous, Semi-blobs, their texture rough, Sometimes packed with nuts and stuff. So many cookies through our life, Since we became husband and wife, In their sweet aroma and taste Years rushed by like cars in a race. Looking at their shapes diverse Reminds me of our love at first: We weren't sure just where we'd go And all we had was cookie dough.

44

THIS is what love is. banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning making origami cranes out of butcher paper even when I forget whether it's mountain fold or valley fold and my crane turns out looking like a seamonkey in a blender wildflowers! striped button-down shirts and plastic dinosaurs singing Juanes at the top of our lungs (Gah, you know I can't speak Spanish.) laughing at the serious parts in movies having the patience for when the words don't come out and I have to stop and think (for a very long time) and half the time it doesn't make sense anyway. impromptu dance sessions on the side of the road doors flung open, radio up chocolate chip pancakes out-of-town adventures mailboxes. LOTS. balcony raves with lots of glowsticks and let me borrow that top! just letting me sleeeeeeep the smell of new pointe shoes of New Orleans of bluebonnets telling me when I look awful (please) making me eat things that I don't like SNUGGLEBUNNY TIME drive-thru people who hate our guts That's What She Said's. praising Buddha naked dysfunctional kites paying in change at Chicken Express late night phone conversations when I sound drunk (but I'm not, I'm tired. I just would rather talk to you than sleep.) silence. cupcakes, uniform closets not shaving our legs in the winter shadow puppets, rap songs, Slumdog Millionaire making once-in-a-lifetime faces looks that speak oceans pecan pralines and symphony orchestras you'll never play with again but for that night you're family and you'll never forget it. matches (aren't always for candles) thousands upon thousands of candids and the not-so-candids saving kisses in your pocket for later Neverland, Disneyland, cats yellow dresses and stage make-up watermelon Jolly Ranchers saying my name like it's wrapped in blankets and knowing that even though I don't say it as much as I should: I do.

0

Apr 27, 2010

Apr 27, 2010 at 1:51 PM UTC

bailey-b

Love is.

THIS is what love is. banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning making origami cranes out of butcher paper even when I forget whether it's mountain fold or valley fold and my crane turns out looking like a seamonkey in a blender wildflowers! striped button-down shirts and plastic dinosaurs singing Juanes at the top of our lungs (Gah, you know I can't speak Spanish.) laughing at the serious parts in movies having the patience for when the words don't come out and I have to stop and think (for a very long time) and half the time it doesn't make sense anyway. impromptu dance sessions on the side of the road doors flung open, radio up chocolate chip pancakes out-of-town adventures mailboxes. LOTS. balcony raves with lots of glowsticks and let me borrow that top! just letting me sleeeeeeep the smell of new pointe shoes of New Orleans of bluebonnets telling me when I look awful (please) making me eat things that I don't like SNUGGLEBUNNY TIME drive-thru people who hate our guts That's What She Said's. praising Buddha naked dysfunctional kites paying in change at Chicken Express late night phone conversations when I sound drunk (but I'm not, I'm tired. I just would rather talk to you than sleep.) silence. cupcakes, uniform closets not shaving our legs in the winter shadow puppets, rap songs, Slumdog Millionaire making once-in-a-lifetime faces looks that speak oceans pecan pralines and symphony orchestras you'll never play with again but for that night you're family and you'll never forget it. matches (aren't always for candles) thousands upon thousands of candids and the not-so-candids saving kisses in your pocket for later Neverland, Disneyland, cats yellow dresses and stage make-up watermelon Jolly Ranchers saying my name like it's wrapped in blankets and knowing that even though I don't say it as much as I should: I do.

67

Once I saw a monkey man, driving down my street in his monkey van, kids tried to run away, but monkey ran, he brought the children to his monkey land. If they got out of line, with monkey man, they'd get a slap, from the back of his hand. The favorite nut of monkey man, was the pecan, he loved pecans, the monkey man, he eats as manys as he cans. Unlimited lifespan, has the monkey man, currently lives in Iran. Likes to read comics, batman, superman, while getting, a monkey tan. Been around, since the caveman, had the monkey man. Used to be a doorman, had monkey man. Wanted to be an anchorman, but there was a monkey ban. Not a woman. Not a man. M o n k e y M a n .

0

Apr 4, 2017

Apr 4, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC

spaghetti

I Saw A Monkey Man One Time.

Once I saw a monkey man, driving down my street in his monkey van, kids tried to run away, but monkey ran, he brought the children to his monkey land. If they got out of line, with monkey man, they'd get a slap, from the back of his hand. The favorite nut of monkey man, was the pecan, he loved pecans, the monkey man, he eats as manys as he cans. Unlimited lifespan, has the monkey man, currently lives in Iran. Likes to read comics, batman, superman, while getting, a monkey tan. Been around, since the caveman, had the monkey man. Used to be a doorman, had monkey man. Wanted to be an anchorman, but there was a monkey ban. Not a woman. Not a man. M o n k e y M a n .

32

* Quiet echoes bring the night of cricket song and firefly as masks of clouded abstract shades intercept Foaming colors take the eye to moments of shadowed dreams, crimson plumes beneath a starlit canopy Footing soft on dry grass down paths not yet worn, wandering along fence line silhouettes A golden sphere, above mature pecan trees appears as curtains lift igniting the northern sky in beaconed majesty Slowly puzzle pieced mist clears and bursts of color, rainbows of dark bands announce the arrival as this evening’s lunar show begins amidst heavy sighs and mesmerized smiles Soft in splendor, basking in myth, the full moon, distant yet touching the soul This night is shared, beyond horizon’s glare and focused thoughts of two places, two hearts, one sky Whispers follow beams of ancient descent, silently finding her, hoping she will sense and know…that it is this moon that is ours*

0

Jul 22, 2016

Jul 22, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC

Stephank

One Sky

* Quiet echoes bring the night of cricket song and firefly as masks of clouded abstract shades intercept Foaming colors take the eye to moments of shadowed dreams, crimson plumes beneath a starlit canopy Footing soft on dry grass down paths not yet worn, wandering along fence line silhouettes A golden sphere, above mature pecan trees appears as curtains lift igniting the northern sky in beaconed majesty Slowly puzzle pieced mist clears and bursts of color, rainbows of dark bands announce the arrival as this evening’s lunar show begins amidst heavy sighs and mesmerized smiles Soft in splendor, basking in myth, the full moon, distant yet touching the soul This night is shared, beyond horizon’s glare and focused thoughts of two places, two hearts, one sky Whispers follow beams of ancient descent, silently finding her, hoping she will sense and know…that it is this moon that is ours*

19

professor Burke and professor Lee two mathematicians who could not agree loudly voiced their differences at half past noon having daily lunch at the Greasy Spoon the subject on the fateful day was Pi and they could not see eye to eye a disagreement on the thousandth digit had Burke turn red and caused Lee to fidget said Burke “No you are off by one!” spat Lee “Your math is poorly done!” Burke shouted, “Lee, you have gone too far!” reached toward the counter for a candy jar but his hand instead encountered pie a hideous gleam sprang to his eye he flung the pie with all his might hit Lee full face, eyes wide with fright but Lee recovered and found more pies Boston Creme took Burke between the eyes apple, custard, lemon, berry pecan, pumpkin, key lime, cherry pies of every kind were thrown plates' radius squared remained unknown the police arrived to break up the fray took the two meringued men away many hours later in the quiet cell with pie for ink and tempers quelled the two stood looking at the wall upon which lay their equation scrawled said Burke, with both their faces long “Well, what do you know. We both were wrong.”

0

Mar 14, 2019

Mar 14, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC

crow

The Great Pi(e) Fight

professor Burke and professor Lee two mathematicians who could not agree loudly voiced their differences at half past noon having daily lunch at the Greasy Spoon the subject on the fateful day was Pi and they could not see eye to eye a disagreement on the thousandth digit had Burke turn red and caused Lee to fidget said Burke “No you are off by one!” spat Lee “Your math is poorly done!” Burke shouted, “Lee, you have gone too far!” reached toward the counter for a candy jar but his hand instead encountered pie a hideous gleam sprang to his eye he flung the pie with all his might hit Lee full face, eyes wide with fright but Lee recovered and found more pies Boston Creme took Burke between the eyes apple, custard, lemon, berry pecan, pumpkin, key lime, cherry pies of every kind were thrown plates' radius squared remained unknown the police arrived to break up the fray took the two meringued men away many hours later in the quiet cell with pie for ink and tempers quelled the two stood looking at the wall upon which lay their equation scrawled said Burke, with both their faces long “Well, what do you know. We both were wrong.”

30

Why oh why do I love pie? The ABCs of it and the LMNO-Pie of it A Apple Pie B Boston cream Pie C Cherry Pie D Dutch Apple Pie E Equation Pie 3.14 F Fruit Pie G Grandma's Gooseberry Pie H Humble Pie I Ice Cream Pie J Jell-O Pudding Pie K Kidney Pie L Lemon Meringue Pie M Moon Pie N Nutty Pecan Pie O Oreo Cookie Crust Pie P Pud'nin Pie Q Quick Set Frozen Cream Pie R Rhubarb Pie S Sweet Tater Pie T Tuxedo Pie U Upside Down Pineapple Pie V Velvet Truffle Pie W Whip Cream Pie X PIE IN THE FACE Y Yummy Pie Z Zesty Lemon/Lime Pie Now you have the XYZ of it and the PIE of it Why oh why do you love Pie?

0

May 31, 2015

May 31, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC

warner-baxter

The ABCs of PIE

Why oh why do I love pie? The ABCs of it and the LMNO-Pie of it A Apple Pie B Boston cream Pie C Cherry Pie D Dutch Apple Pie E Equation Pie 3.14 F Fruit Pie G Grandma's Gooseberry Pie H Humble Pie I Ice Cream Pie J Jell-O Pudding Pie K Kidney Pie L Lemon Meringue Pie M Moon Pie N Nutty Pecan Pie O Oreo Cookie Crust Pie P Pud'nin Pie Q Quick Set Frozen Cream Pie R Rhubarb Pie S Sweet Tater Pie T Tuxedo Pie U Upside Down Pineapple Pie V Velvet Truffle Pie W Whip Cream Pie X PIE IN THE FACE Y Yummy Pie Z Zesty Lemon/Lime Pie Now you have the XYZ of it and the PIE of it Why oh why do you love Pie?

32

Picture pecan. Plastering, painted prints. Plummeting. Languid Leaves. Listless, lethargic lives. Littering. Sacrificed scenery. Shattered, struggling space. Sabotaging. Beauty dies This time of year.

0

Oct 26, 2012

Oct 26, 2012 at 5:06 AM UTC

cardboard-grey

Eulogy

Picture pecan. Plastering, painted prints. Plummeting. Languid Leaves. Listless, lethargic lives. Littering. Sacrificed scenery. Shattered, struggling space. Sabotaging. Beauty dies This time of year.

11

You were the Barbie jeep engineer. You were the 5-card pinochle player. You were the gripe to do the dishes. You were the patient mall bench sitter. You were Elvis Presley records and paper backed crime novels. You were my new antivirus software. You were the chatter in the middle of an NCIS episode. You were the "It's okay, sweetie" on the other end of the phone. You were the voice of every bathtime storybook. You were the baking soda on my first wasp sting. You were the green Ford Escort parked outside my middle school every afternoon. You were the loudest clap at my graduation. You were the sticky caramel corn crumbs in the living room that held the place together. You were the laughter You were the toolkit when my pictures hung crooked. You were the cornerback baker, the pecan pie maker, dance recital seat saver and the road trip driver. You were the puppy-dog pill-giver and the broken heart mender. You were the church goer and the goodness seeker. You were the black-haired teaser and the very best secret keeper. You were a prideful wig wearer and wheelchair rider. You were a cancer fighter. You were my first call. You still are.

0

Nov 28, 2015

Nov 28, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC

ladybird6b

Why I Wear Your Fingerprint

You were the Barbie jeep engineer. You were the 5-card pinochle player. You were the gripe to do the dishes. You were the patient mall bench sitter. You were Elvis Presley records and paper backed crime novels. You were my new antivirus software. You were the chatter in the middle of an NCIS episode. You were the "It's okay, sweetie" on the other end of the phone. You were the voice of every bathtime storybook. You were the baking soda on my first wasp sting. You were the green Ford Escort parked outside my middle school every afternoon. You were the loudest clap at my graduation. You were the sticky caramel corn crumbs in the living room that held the place together. You were the laughter You were the toolkit when my pictures hung crooked. You were the cornerback baker, the pecan pie maker, dance recital seat saver and the road trip driver. You were the puppy-dog pill-giver and the broken heart mender. You were the church goer and the goodness seeker. You were the black-haired teaser and the very best secret keeper. You were a prideful wig wearer and wheelchair rider. You were a cancer fighter. You were my first call. You still are.

32

I'm from Sister Shubert's rolls and homemade chicken and dumplings From bowling late on Thanksgiving night to trying to be the first one to find the pickle in the Christmas tree I'm from the smell of my mom's famous pies (pecan, chocolate peanut butter and Kentucky derby fresh from the oven) From "Sweet Caroline" and "Oh Happy Day" I'm from the macaroni and cheese I never realized was good From "Dance with the cow in a patch of clover" and puzzles on Nana's steps I'm from Rook parallel to the bathtub From my three favorite windows in the whole house and crazy surprises in my lunchbox I'm from reading dad's sermons over his shoulder early on Sunday mornings From lightning bugs and fried okra to the quote board and pickle pancakes I'm from biscuits with honey for breakfast every Saturday From McDonald's delicious chocolate birthday cakes I'm from ***** feet and a pitch black washcloth And that's the only way I'd want it

0

Aug 9, 2013

Aug 9, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC

currin

Nostalgia

I'm from Sister Shubert's rolls and homemade chicken and dumplings From bowling late on Thanksgiving night to trying to be the first one to find the pickle in the Christmas tree I'm from the smell of my mom's famous pies (pecan, chocolate peanut butter and Kentucky derby fresh from the oven) From "Sweet Caroline" and "Oh Happy Day" I'm from the macaroni and cheese I never realized was good From "Dance with the cow in a patch of clover" and puzzles on Nana's steps I'm from Rook parallel to the bathtub From my three favorite windows in the whole house and crazy surprises in my lunchbox I'm from reading dad's sermons over his shoulder early on Sunday mornings From lightning bugs and fried okra to the quote board and pickle pancakes I'm from biscuits with honey for breakfast every Saturday From McDonald's delicious chocolate birthday cakes I'm from ***** feet and a pitch black washcloth And that's the only way I'd want it

14

~ Painting a picture of porcupines playing Pincushions out in the field Purple and pink for this playful perception Plans of their purpose revealed Painful endeavors of pacified pranksters Presenting a pie at their place Pecan or pumpkin, pickle, pineapple Pieces are smeared on their face Putting the paint on some powder puff paper Pleasure in each stroke is plied Pausing to peer at the porcupines playing Prancing in pansies they hide Puzzling problems with pretzels and peanuts Posturing people to prove Pistachio perfume in prime presentation Preaches that peaches will move Polishing pastels on pre-printed pages Prized the possessions we seek Paisley the plumes of a peacocks posterior Portraits now come take a peek Pampering piccolos play the piano Pure as a pelican’s prayer Picking a parcel of plum flavored pudding Poetic prose fills the air Pleats in my pants shout in proud proclamation Puddle my pores they perspire Poodles on playgrounds prevent prosecution Plotting my hearts pure desire Passion precedes every past tense of parting Piled with a presence so true Painting a picture while purposely dreaming Promising my love to you

0

Dec 11, 2014

Dec 11, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC

jack-3

Perfectly Presenting my Love

~ Painting a picture of porcupines playing Pincushions out in the field Purple and pink for this playful perception Plans of their purpose revealed Painful endeavors of pacified pranksters Presenting a pie at their place Pecan or pumpkin, pickle, pineapple Pieces are smeared on their face Putting the paint on some powder puff paper Pleasure in each stroke is plied Pausing to peer at the porcupines playing Prancing in pansies they hide Puzzling problems with pretzels and peanuts Posturing people to prove Pistachio perfume in prime presentation Preaches that peaches will move Polishing pastels on pre-printed pages Prized the possessions we seek Paisley the plumes of a peacocks posterior Portraits now come take a peek Pampering piccolos play the piano Pure as a pelican’s prayer Picking a parcel of plum flavored pudding Poetic prose fills the air Pleats in my pants shout in proud proclamation Puddle my pores they perspire Poodles on playgrounds prevent prosecution Plotting my hearts pure desire Passion precedes every past tense of parting Piled with a presence so true Painting a picture while purposely dreaming Promising my love to you

33

Uncounted words on the page, attempting to mimic brilliance Predictable as playing Russian roulette with an automatic Forced sterility, impossible as drawing a straight line The wrist won’t comply, simply cannot, no reason to attempt it We fool ourselves with second hand ambition, discard our own greatness Quiet and sublime, carelessly letting our spark burn out Do you remember what it was to be a child? Nothing but used up memories with no sound Black and white like some old movie, lips moving, no voice Barefoot dreams are all that remain for me Empty promises made to one’s self, surrendered so easily Nights of Bach on the radio, hiding behind closed doors and cheap wine Days of endless monotony, dark stairs and the smell of scrubbed mildew An afternoon spent in your arms, making love under the pecan trees I almost saw your yesterdays, beautiful creature, when I met your eyes, laying there A little girl, running with a sparkler in each hand, screaming her defiance to the world Holding onto what’s left of each other, two halves, trying to make a whole

0

Mar 22, 2012

Mar 22, 2012 at 9:17 AM UTC

worn-down

Hyacinth

Uncounted words on the page, attempting to mimic brilliance Predictable as playing Russian roulette with an automatic Forced sterility, impossible as drawing a straight line The wrist won’t comply, simply cannot, no reason to attempt it We fool ourselves with second hand ambition, discard our own greatness Quiet and sublime, carelessly letting our spark burn out Do you remember what it was to be a child? Nothing but used up memories with no sound Black and white like some old movie, lips moving, no voice Barefoot dreams are all that remain for me Empty promises made to one’s self, surrendered so easily Nights of Bach on the radio, hiding behind closed doors and cheap wine Days of endless monotony, dark stairs and the smell of scrubbed mildew An afternoon spent in your arms, making love under the pecan trees I almost saw your yesterdays, beautiful creature, when I met your eyes, laying there A little girl, running with a sparkler in each hand, screaming her defiance to the world Holding onto what’s left of each other, two halves, trying to make a whole

25

Wrong Wrung Ring Ring my doorbell, Wring my neck, Rid me of this mortal wretch. ***** Wrench Can you fix it? Get your toolbox You're ill-equipped I don't qualify Quality Quantity I am not enough For this. Too tough To kiss. Rough life I've lived. Live Life Lie Lay back. Just take it. Let it happen. Swallow Swallow me up. Swallow me whole. Throw me down into a hole. Wholly Holy Even God forgot me. Oh his drones did try. Saxophone & sweat Promised hell when I die. Choir girls & Inquisition Tore my words, tried to burn me alive. Then the good chaplain, Samaritan? Charlatan. Daddy out of the way, Me on the streets, Mommy where he wants her Worship at his feet. Fret Bet. I am not afraid. My debt is paid. In blood, in tears. Lost dreams, lost years. Country roads, cold beers. Bare Bear Burdens I am brave. Strength Truth Power You'll have to cut them from my flesh. Fresh Blood Brooding o'er my funeral, Don't worry about my death. I still feel pain, I still draw breath. My hearts not cold, My soul is still old. I haven't set a thing in stone. ****** Skipping rocks. Flying planes, Sail away from the docks. Shoot me into outer space, If this is Hell, Heaven can wait. I'm dancing with the Devil & God is always fashionably late. Create. Tell Tales Tails I'm not done yet. Evolving Incomplete Completely me. Pecan pie & sweet tea. Nature Treks Blessed Be. Naked Exposed Second for the money, First for the show. This is a test, No time to be gauche. Gross Shocking grace. There's still sand in my grave. This cannibal inside Still has a taste. Human body beneath my tongue, It's essence still fills my lungs. Chest Heart Beats against this cage. I'm too young to feel this age, So don't you dare save the date. Once the wolf works with the mirror It's finally free. Then I promise, You'll be seeing me.

0

Jun 11, 2013

Jun 11, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC

kayla-anne-schneider

Almost, Not Quite.

Wrong Wrung Ring Ring my doorbell, Wring my neck, Rid me of this mortal wretch. ***** Wrench Can you fix it? Get your toolbox You're ill-equipped I don't qualify Quality Quantity I am not enough For this. Too tough To kiss. Rough life I've lived. Live Life Lie Lay back. Just take it. Let it happen. Swallow Swallow me up. Swallow me whole. Throw me down into a hole. Wholly Holy Even God forgot me. Oh his drones did try. Saxophone & sweat Promised hell when I die. Choir girls & Inquisition Tore my words, tried to burn me alive. Then the good chaplain, Samaritan? Charlatan. Daddy out of the way, Me on the streets, Mommy where he wants her Worship at his feet. Fret Bet. I am not afraid. My debt is paid. In blood, in tears. Lost dreams, lost years. Country roads, cold beers. Bare Bear Burdens I am brave. Strength Truth Power You'll have to cut them from my flesh. Fresh Blood Brooding o'er my funeral, Don't worry about my death. I still feel pain, I still draw breath. My hearts not cold, My soul is still old. I haven't set a thing in stone. ****** Skipping rocks. Flying planes, Sail away from the docks. Shoot me into outer space, If this is Hell, Heaven can wait. I'm dancing with the Devil & God is always fashionably late. Create. Tell Tales Tails I'm not done yet. Evolving Incomplete Completely me. Pecan pie & sweet tea. Nature Treks Blessed Be. Naked Exposed Second for the money, First for the show. This is a test, No time to be gauche. Gross Shocking grace. There's still sand in my grave. This cannibal inside Still has a taste. Human body beneath my tongue, It's essence still fills my lungs. Chest Heart Beats against this cage. I'm too young to feel this age, So don't you dare save the date. Once the wolf works with the mirror It's finally free. Then I promise, You'll be seeing me.

111

Ketchup on French Fries and big juicy Burgers All kinds of Candy just loaded with Sugars Cold Beer and Pizza and Buffalo Wings These are a few of my favorite things! Cream in my Coffee with Crisp Apple Strudels Spaghetti and Meatballs and Schnitzel with Noodles Warm Pecan Pie with a Scoop of Ice Cream These are the foods that I see when I dream! Chocolate Cupcakes with Caramel Icing Cookies and Brownies and Fudge – so enticing Turkey and Dressing and anything Fried If I say these aren’t favorite foods then I’ve lied! When the scale breaks, when my clothes shrink, when I’m feelng fat, I simply forego all my favorite foods And then I don’t feel so Bad!

0

Mar 2, 2015

Mar 2, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC

phil-lindsey

My Favorite Foods (a Parody)

Ketchup on French Fries and big juicy Burgers All kinds of Candy just loaded with Sugars Cold Beer and Pizza and Buffalo Wings These are a few of my favorite things! Cream in my Coffee with Crisp Apple Strudels Spaghetti and Meatballs and Schnitzel with Noodles Warm Pecan Pie with a Scoop of Ice Cream These are the foods that I see when I dream! Chocolate Cupcakes with Caramel Icing Cookies and Brownies and Fudge – so enticing Turkey and Dressing and anything Fried If I say these aren’t favorite foods then I’ve lied! When the scale breaks, when my clothes shrink, when I’m feelng fat, I simply forego all my favorite foods And then I don’t feel so Bad!

15

In flashes, her face dances on top of a broomstick body. She refills coffee cups and her stomach with butter pecan ice cream and lovers' saliva. But her lovers are strangers and her mouth is a place where secrets are locked behind smoke stained teeth. In flashes, her ambitions escape into the jet black night. Cigarettes dropping like sputtering fruit flies. A size seven New Balance buries a Marlboro corpse, burning out like the light in her kiwi eyes. She returns to the diner. What echoes reign free.

0

Apr 7, 2015

Apr 7, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC

joshua-haines

In Flashes

In flashes, her face dances on top of a broomstick body. She refills coffee cups and her stomach with butter pecan ice cream and lovers' saliva. But her lovers are strangers and her mouth is a place where secrets are locked behind smoke stained teeth. In flashes, her ambitions escape into the jet black night. Cigarettes dropping like sputtering fruit flies. A size seven New Balance buries a Marlboro corpse, burning out like the light in her kiwi eyes. She returns to the diner. What echoes reign free.

26

It smells like summer on the island Like laundry and leaves Like late-afternoon lakewater And pollen-filled breeze I remember my summers on the island The bunkbeds and bonfires Beaches, bikinis And dirt roads under dark tires Birch trees and blackberries Blue birds and sour cherries Two hours on the ferry Summer on the island Lawn chairs and lemonade Hammock-hanging, holidaying Laying in the lazy shade Hiking high into the bright blue sky Deep inhale and satisfied sigh We had been waiting for this Our summer on the island Cold tides and closed eyes Penny candy and pecan pie Crop-tops, flip-flops, tree-forts and drop-offs Crayfish, crayons And breakfast on the dock at dawn This was summer on our island Millions of mosquitoes, minnows and movies till midnight Eating smores in the smoky firelight Running through the trailer park in the rain after dark Our summer on this island Everything was my favourite part I loved it all The grass The trees The foamy waterfall Sun, seagulls and sand dunes Either services or sleeping in till noon Sweet island summer, over too soon Summer on the island Was a lifetime ago The island was my summer But I’m letting go.

0

Jun 18, 2014

Jun 18, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC

ariel-evangeline-baptista

Summer on the Island

It smells like summer on the island Like laundry and leaves Like late-afternoon lakewater And pollen-filled breeze I remember my summers on the island The bunkbeds and bonfires Beaches, bikinis And dirt roads under dark tires Birch trees and blackberries Blue birds and sour cherries Two hours on the ferry Summer on the island Lawn chairs and lemonade Hammock-hanging, holidaying Laying in the lazy shade Hiking high into the bright blue sky Deep inhale and satisfied sigh We had been waiting for this Our summer on the island Cold tides and closed eyes Penny candy and pecan pie Crop-tops, flip-flops, tree-forts and drop-offs Crayfish, crayons And breakfast on the dock at dawn This was summer on our island Millions of mosquitoes, minnows and movies till midnight Eating smores in the smoky firelight Running through the trailer park in the rain after dark Our summer on this island Everything was my favourite part I loved it all The grass The trees The foamy waterfall Sun, seagulls and sand dunes Either services or sleeping in till noon Sweet island summer, over too soon Summer on the island Was a lifetime ago The island was my summer But I’m letting go.

41

*My persona would be red clay along the river shoreline . My hair , the green grass infused field . My body is akin to tall Pines , Mountain Chestnut , awe inspiring Oak and Pecan Trees.. The salt of my physical being , the child of histories shed tears anchored within the very blood that flows through my circuitry . Her waters are my soul revealed , Appalachia begat a grateful son of Georgia that seeks the shoreline .. Called across the surface of the sea to the waiting arms of my Creator .. Sky blue eyes on watch forever* .

0

Nov 30, 2015

Nov 30, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC

randolph-l-wilson

Georgia

*My persona would be red clay along the river shoreline . My hair , the green grass infused field . My body is akin to tall Pines , Mountain Chestnut , awe inspiring Oak and Pecan Trees.. The salt of my physical being , the child of histories shed tears anchored within the very blood that flows through my circuitry . Her waters are my soul revealed , Appalachia begat a grateful son of Georgia that seeks the shoreline .. Called across the surface of the sea to the waiting arms of my Creator .. Sky blue eyes on watch forever* .

3

This morning breakfast was two coconut macaroons and a novelty- sized pecan pie. All from the cafeteria. When you’re going it alone, it’s the small things. I can still hear the echoes of sleep as it recedes, 8AM, throaty yelps - panic - and it slurps down the drain. **** I’d give anything for a drain snake. **** I’d give anything for black coffee and a hood on this ******* coat. Just above the below and below the upper, I’m hovering somewhere in midfield. But we didn’t cover this coordinate system in geography, or what to do when you’re drowning in waves of self-righteousness and the desire to be hip. I need that hood. And probably new shoes. When your roommate is an egg-shaped vampire optimism can be hard to come by. Her munching marks the stroke of midnight, and I reach for the sleeping pills. Oh for the perfumed winds of personal space. Oh for the prairies of carpet and private bathrooms. Oh to have hot water at 9PM. Sing sweetly of home ye golden-thighed youths.

0

Feb 28, 2013

Feb 28, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC

Maryhill

an ode to college

This morning breakfast was two coconut macaroons and a novelty- sized pecan pie. All from the cafeteria. When you’re going it alone, it’s the small things. I can still hear the echoes of sleep as it recedes, 8AM, throaty yelps - panic - and it slurps down the drain. **** I’d give anything for a drain snake. **** I’d give anything for black coffee and a hood on this ******* coat. Just above the below and below the upper, I’m hovering somewhere in midfield. But we didn’t cover this coordinate system in geography, or what to do when you’re drowning in waves of self-righteousness and the desire to be hip. I need that hood. And probably new shoes. When your roommate is an egg-shaped vampire optimism can be hard to come by. Her munching marks the stroke of midnight, and I reach for the sleeping pills. Oh for the perfumed winds of personal space. Oh for the prairies of carpet and private bathrooms. Oh to have hot water at 9PM. Sing sweetly of home ye golden-thighed youths.

24

we took the long way to Hadley and MacFadden, goin' about twenty-five in twenty-six ways... twelve sheets to the wind at a cosmic chili banquet. we wove through the tambourines and headlights - cruising through the pinch in the grid, on the Eastside. where Margret hustles feathers from very still pigeons, and Mosley, that little runt Mosley conquered Connie Haskel's Willow Tree in the backyard. we were coming up on something special in our Hometown but we were low on gas, and had just bought Beer. this scenario was on repeat. night after night in the sultry debauch of a languid stroll in a couch rocket. glaring at the skirts on Perkins and 5th, that eat seaweed and cough drops. they're so hot you just wanna drive a better car. we used to park - at Todd's Mom's and walk to the Slaughtered Hog and order a rack O' ribs and drink moonshine, smokin' that **** and sitting next to ****** jockeys in jogging suits and headbands that say " i sweat profusely, when I want too. " And Carmen What'sHerName? used to get our table 'cause i figured out the location of her section. she would smile and bring pecan pie and flash those eyes that said " i'm off in an hour " . we sang to Muzak - and left our To-Go Boxes at the table; stumbling through the lot fumbling for the keys to the TARDIS. and thinking about Carmen.

0

May 3, 2013

May 3, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC

third-eye-candy

Carmen Is A Detour

we took the long way to Hadley and MacFadden, goin' about twenty-five in twenty-six ways... twelve sheets to the wind at a cosmic chili banquet. we wove through the tambourines and headlights - cruising through the pinch in the grid, on the Eastside. where Margret hustles feathers from very still pigeons, and Mosley, that little runt Mosley conquered Connie Haskel's Willow Tree in the backyard. we were coming up on something special in our Hometown but we were low on gas, and had just bought Beer. this scenario was on repeat. night after night in the sultry debauch of a languid stroll in a couch rocket. glaring at the skirts on Perkins and 5th, that eat seaweed and cough drops. they're so hot you just wanna drive a better car. we used to park - at Todd's Mom's and walk to the Slaughtered Hog and order a rack O' ribs and drink moonshine, smokin' that **** and sitting next to ****** jockeys in jogging suits and headbands that say " i sweat profusely, when I want too. " And Carmen What'sHerName? used to get our table 'cause i figured out the location of her section. she would smile and bring pecan pie and flash those eyes that said " i'm off in an hour " . we sang to Muzak - and left our To-Go Boxes at the table; stumbling through the lot fumbling for the keys to the TARDIS. and thinking about Carmen.

17

Aching – attrited chilled billows loft my lung clingy house cat punching the damage in morse code into my abdomen muscle - vein spasm reverberate comforts deep-chested camping socks sweet potatoes desiccated apricot and pecan cascades

0

Jan 26, 2014

Jan 26, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC

meagan-moore

12/10/2013

Aching – attrited chilled billows loft my lung clingy house cat punching the damage in morse code into my abdomen muscle - vein spasm reverberate comforts deep-chested camping socks sweet potatoes desiccated apricot and pecan cascades

12

I think of you as you often think of me with longing and desire and with hope and faith that our paths will soon be as one I think of you often with more than passion; with pure raw emotion more deeply rooted than the shady pecan tree embedded in the back of my yard I think of your smile; soft and subtle always rare and unexpected always for me because of me and the way you make me laugh I think of you as you often think of me and remember all the reasons I fell in love with love

0

Sep 29, 2013

Sep 29, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC

priya-patel

I think of you

I think of you as you often think of me with longing and desire and with hope and faith that our paths will soon be as one I think of you often with more than passion; with pure raw emotion more deeply rooted than the shady pecan tree embedded in the back of my yard I think of your smile; soft and subtle always rare and unexpected always for me because of me and the way you make me laugh I think of you as you often think of me and remember all the reasons I fell in love with love

21