"peeler" poems
Ngalala nendoda engaligqokile ijazi, ukuze
ngikwazi UKUMITHA izidingo zami.
Namanje ngisawenza umkhuba.
Umkhuba omubi wokungalaleli uma
bengishumayeza
Mabeshumayela izwi liyawushisa unembeza
kodwa mina njengeRadio Station ehlihlizayo
angnandaba
coz to-Night e Durban ngiyozidansela
iShumaya.
Ngicela utshele umfundisi wakho
Angangithandazeli.
Njengo R50,
Mina ngibomvu.
Ngibomvu izono.
Nginesono Sokuba Isoni.
Ngicela NingangiThandazeli.
A car accident, ingozi yemoto.
Shuthike bobalili BABELULA ngoba
AKUSINDANGA muntu.
Njengelanga liyozilahla kunina Bashona.
Njengokuphihlika kwe Glass, Bafa. I want you
to understand this, njengentombazane efake
uBra, Babhodile.
Ngicela NingangiThandazeli.
I had a fight with the school, Sangihlula
isikole.
Then The Church had a fight with me,
Wahluleka Umthandazo.
You tell me uNkulunkulu uyaphila?
Pho mayephila akazizeli ngani Yena, wena (are
you well) Uyaphi LA?
Noma ucwecwa amazambane uya PEELER?
Lento ayenzi sense like leaving your wife for a
side chick.
Tshela umfundisi wakho engangithandazeli.
NjengeDimoni, Angiwufuni Umthandazo.
Ngathi nguMatshidiso angfuni Nomthandazo.
Ngicela NingangiThandazeli.
Njengo R50,
Mina ngibomvu.
Ngibomvu izono.
Nginesono Sokuba Isoni.
Ngicela NingangiThandazeli.
Ukushona kwabazali bami kwaba isqalekiso
kimi
Ngalala nendoda engaligqokile ijazi, ukuze
ngikwazi UKUMITHA izidingo zami.
Namanje ngisawenza umkhuba.
Umkhuba omubi wokungalaleli uma
mengishumayezwa,
Kode Ngicela Ningangithandazeli.
Ningangicabangeli nginengqondo yami.
Ningangisukeli nginezinyawo zami.
Ngicela ningangithandi nginenhliziyo yami.
Nibaleke, ngoba anginayo icalculator.
NingangiZondi, ngiyazithulela angisiye
UNONDABA.
Ngicela Ningangithandazeli.
NgiyiNtandane ngizohlala kulesi Sibaya
Sikababa Nginibuke eSikhaleni sezinti,
Nginakhele icebo likaZungu Ngokunga Qondi
kwami lelizwe enithi liyaThandeka, Ngizoba
uMelusi wamaBhubesi vele aningiZweli noma
Nginesiphiwo eSihle nithi Ngi Bhekifa, ningenza
I shepherd ka Sathane nithi Ngi Lusifa
(Lucifer).
Ngicela Ningangithandazeli.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
Mr Peeler, Mr Peeler, why do you creep into my room at night,
and feed nightmares into my brain to give me such a fright?
Didnt your mommy ever tell you its naughty
to scare a little girl like me?
Mr Peeler, Mr Peeler, why do you hide in the shadows of my room
and why is there a stench of doom?
Why, once you've pulled my eyelids from my face,
do you run away as if you are in disgrace?
Mr Peeler why, with my eyelids did you make pretty butterflies
once you had ripped them from my eyes?
Why mr peeler did you have to be so cruel
and never let me sleep at all?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
my father was a
veterinarian
a lazy one at that
and when I was born
he simply stood by and
watched as my mother
circumcised me
with a carrot peeler
the trauma left its mark so to speak
mom and dad split up
when I was five
she ran off with the butcher's wife
he patented universal acid
a liquid that no container can hold
we don’t talk much these days
and the earth is slowly dissolving
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
Dancer
by Michael R. Burch
You will never change;
you range,
investing passion in the night,
waltzing through
a blinding blue,
immaculate and fabled light.
Do not despair
or wonder where
the others of your race have fled.
They left you here
to gin and beer
and won't return till you are bled
of fantasy
and piety,
of brewing passion like champagne,
of storming through
without a clue,
but finding answers fall like rain.
They left.
You laughed,
but now you sigh
for ages,
stages
slipping by.
You pause;
applause
is all you hear.
You dance,
askance,
as drunkards cheer.
Keywords/Tags: dancer, waltz, waltzing, applause, drink, drunkards, neon light, strobe, flash, flashing, crystal ball, chandelier, lap dancer, exotic dancer, stripper, peeler, strip, striptease artist, burlesque, Moulin Rogue, dance, passion, champagne, gin, beer
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 12:56 AM UTC
Jack and Keeler
Went to the Market
They bought a Peeler
And A Knife
Jack Peeled Potato
Found a Worm
Worm was Shy
Both said Good Night
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 11:14 PM UTC
Oh what I’d give...
What I’d give to write within
A book whose every page is made
From smooth banana skin
The texture firm but fair,
This I long to feel
Beneath my pen which glides
Over yellow, fleshy peel
Guiding, fixing clumsy script
To exceed its usual style
Putting pen to banana
Puts to my face a smile
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 6:49 AM UTC
For almost two years we’ve been sitting on a conveyor belt
Heading straight for the potato peeler, which will
Slice right through our thickened skins and puncture our vitals;
A cold cruel machine designed to sit
In industrial kitchens
Waiting for Sodexo’s next batch.
But we—
We’re from the farmer’s market and we are not
Four inches in diameter and six inches in length.
We are clunky. We are knobbled. We are
Purpleyellow and we are waterysweet.
We are not
Iowabland or a poem of rhyming couplets, yeah
We are free verse and we
Had *** because we’re friends.
Or maybe because
We love each other
In one way or another.
Or maybe because we’re lost
Or maybe all of the above, yeah—I don’t know, I just know
The potato peeler won’t accept us for a second.
That mechanical grip, slicing slicing slicing,
A fumbling tumbling in countless browntowhite progression,
It won't accept
Our color, our flavor, our beautiful swirling eyes,
And for a while I didn't either.
But whether we have two more months on the belt or twenty years,
I know that our knobbled progression to nowhere
Will have been one of everywhere.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
I felt the edge of my nightmare, grasping to the subconscious
worries that were clinging like venomous fangs delving inwards.
Dreams were a potato peeler on the different skins that
were pealed from my normality to what turned metaphorical
hairs white, I screamed in high definition of speechlessness.
Have you ever woken to find that the reflection of what was
coherent within your diluted dreams had clung to your eyelids?
Escaping the dreamscape of illusion and collecting into the
tear ducts of deliberations connecting eclipses of reality
that was a mirage of what I conceived in both verses.
I had awoken in momentary seclusion, short lived like a
verse of a haiku that versed much but bleed more than it
had versed. I was a paradox of complexity, my tribulations
were collecting in lagoons of reality about to burst.
I was immersed in a mirage of impulses and needed to visualize.
I felt the edge of my nightmare, and it penetrated like
satin fissures on my delicately woven reflections.
Those that stared back upon me, expressing their intentions.
We are a motion of luminosity and twilight and our
dreams weave a thin line that lingers in our dreams..
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
Before paper bills and money
We'd share all those beans,
Wild flowers too and honey
Not anymore but in lucid dreams
I'd strike a chord
One maybe two
But if you climb aboard
Many more, I'll show you too
With no baggage wish I were walkin'
Roads traveled and those not, havin' some fun
Sigh those bills!! no I ain't complainin'
Here on the eleventh floor, I'm just cleanin' my gun
Downed my whiskey, while the peeler swayed
I kissed goodbye to a beautiful flight
Lay rocking by the moonshade
"Make that a double" I said, "its a cold one tonight"
Before paper bills and money
Cosmic harmony was the terrestrial theme
By the Clyde over tomorrow's journey
I'll Breathe My Swinish Dream!!
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 9:23 PM UTC
The drive home--too soon--from the evening’s celebrations:
scattered street lights, golden hues moving in epileptic waves
the unconscious coast on the interstate
for you, the half-drunken dance with raw chicken giblets
which fell to a ***** floor, with a flying, broken peeler,
skins of butternut squash, my
confidence.
Four hours pass, I stay on the couch with my wine,
the cat, & fresh salt streams ‘til sleep arrives.
You left me to be
with a dead chicken.
Lonesome Saturday eve.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
Clouded by cobwebs
these days
you tell the same stories
and ask for news
forgotten by the next clock stroke.
You are no longer the apple peeler
whose hands never faltered
in wielding blade or teacup,
whichever was needed
to cater for me.
Though I bare your name
the syllables slip
and you must grasp
at faces I resemble
in the hope you’ll catch a memory
before it fades for good.
You were seventy-seven at my birth
and yet you stood
in photos with me,
constant in attention and love.
I do not know,
a world without.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
I spy with my weatherd eyes
A broken clock that shows me better times from my past life.
As these spiteful tides have turned me
Into a grumpy soul.
This desecrated ship of doubt
It's slowly peeling me away like a potato peeler
I need to grab my papers and maps
To find the breath that I was once searching for.
These scramblings of ramblings
So nonsensical
As they lead me to the fact
That you hate that I bite my nails
Like a hangnail you chew me apart,
Gifting me these splinters from this shovel
That I used as a kid to build mountains of possibilities
Which now leaves me a hole,
To bury my soul with.
Each stone I turn I see these regrets
That look like texts I that shouldn't have sent.
The heavens from above
Have blocked their facebooks
Casting her curses in cursive
Leaving me with my grave,
My shovel,
Memories of you.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
Taken from a sentient, spit forth and proceed. Like the hangnail that hung until you ripped it off, then told it about what happened. What ... what would happen in the coming months. Try to distance it: a runner in the coldest part of warsaw. The image that serves as the vessel through which I breathe, test tube attached to each struggle which is nothing. Everything vile in the phlegm of yesteryear. Why wait in this hypoxic state? Keep diving within and without.
Now - as if settled through writhing. Cold dex and cut-to-shit with baby's breath. Whittle me in the corner with a carrot peeler cause i ain't got the guts. Test the ceslestial light like a fuse box or put the lid on.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
I'm in between good and evil.
Ill care for you till the very end
And if I could I would seal her
Instead I just let it mend
If its not the same you'll be put in the peeler
lets just let it go let it trancend
I have a beatiful woman and I wish I could feel her
If I could I would make it start over again..
In love and love is what could heal her
Your everything and only thing on I depend
She's an ace that im the only dealer that can deal her,
"TRY IT' 'I will defend"
And if she says she's not around it's because my arms and legs conceal her
we're in the room she has lips to tend
Ill tell you the truth I still a bit fear her
But ill just let it go or let it pend
Im still in youth and when it comes down to it I was the one to steal her
Your the only item I posses that I wouldn't lend
Now were together and I automatically hear her
Any other thoughts just started to bend
All my letters start with dear her
And love at the end
This is not what I appear to her
Im probably another boyfriend
Over it now waiting for good moods to occur
So we can make love all over again
like souple Ill settle you down whrn my love stirs
Lets make sure this becomes a trend
And if you need it Ill scream It if it needs to be reasured
its not longer me, Its now me and her
the mysitc blend...
the end....
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
My Granny is 87
And has a new carer every week
Today’s woman is slight
But smiling
A South American beauty
Granny sits and explains
How the potato peeler works
And she beams
A bare spud in her fist
That this is something she has never used
That this is something she will bring home to her mother
That with this she could peel the world
And I believe her.
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 11:52 AM UTC
#***I once ran into a kitchen knife
Crazy, it came flying after my dear life
Gourds it must ,take by surprise
Dare not, humans and mice
Savvy a peeler, knew was not a cleaver knife***#
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
Attack of the Gods
Maya... I asked For Sweet Companion
and You Showed Up with a Laugh
Apology
For Simply being Human
And I said Thank You
I so often Feel the Same..
You Laughed Again
Like a a Star Studded Poet
Who never Left Her Home
Knowing Where Love Was
So I asked.. Where?
And You Sat there
Peeling Potatoes
Sitting on a Kitchen Stool
Just Sat there
Peeling, Again, and Again
Peeling
Knives on Flesh
Oil Wells, Animal Skins, Plows
All in that Potato Peeler
Potatoes Flesh Its True
But It started to Bother Me
Why Cant You Use Your Words,
I asked...
Thats when I saw It
No Mouth To Kiss With
Like a Mr Potato Head
With a Part Missing
Not Nothin to Say
Just Couldn't Say It
That Told Me Everything
Turning,
I Snapped the Fingers of Love's Heart
And Claimed the Wind Harp
of Life's Soul
Her Words
The Instructions of a General
Her Sound
Clear Intention Played
A ire FORCE FIELD
fOUR the Earth
Even
"The Star Be With You"
"And Also With You"
Navy Seals would Understand
Harmonizing Plurality
Diamond Faceted
Impenetrable Barrier
Of Life
Earth Song
Symphony of Light
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
We pull on blue nitrite gloves,
doctors paid in seeds and tea-candle light.
Our medical equipment has black and orange handles,
a serrated blade, a metal loop, a potato peeler.
Our patients wait boldly with no pain killers.
We plunge in our blades and saw
a lopsided circle with a jag,
then tear the whole piece up,
stringy brains follow.
This operation has no set procedure,
just simple pleasure,
a lost tradition
now remembered.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 10:51 PM UTC
She wasn't afraid of dirt, and never painted her fingernails
until she was old and her youngest daughter did it for her
But she planted Petunias in the springtime and made green beans
with Mrs. Dash and oil in a *** where they boiled on the stove
And she could peel five potatoes faster with
a knife than I could peel one with a peeler. And she dried her car
in the garage after it rained and pressed our shirts.
She quit guitar in her seventies, or maybe earlier I can't remember
because the arthritis was too much for her fingers but she
still sang and still made her pancakes crispy and still went
to church to sit on the pew next to last from the back
And she sang hymns with her sister until her sister was gone
And she drove a pickup into the woods at eighty and wasn't afraid
of getting hurt but she was afraid of the dark
She played Hand and Foot and Checkers and Rummy and went to
yard sales and sent cards to the sick and loved red roses
and the color purple but not the color yellow which she
told my mother she looked bad in and also my aunt.
She spoke with authority and knew what was right without having to ask
anyone but the Bible and she told you what she thought
and loved you no matter what and would always give you a job
if you were sitting because there was always something to clean
or fetch and there was little worse than being lazy.
She bought wagons for the grandkids and covered the fire at night
and sang about heaven and took walks up on the hill until it
got too hard to walk. And she never gave up and she always held
on so tight you could see her knuckles turn white because there
was no letting go.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
She wasn't afraid of dirt, and never painted
her fingernails until
she was old and
her youngest daughter did it for
her But
she planted Petunias in the springtime and
she made green beans with Mrs. Dash and oil in a ***
where they boiled on the stove And
she could peel five potatoes faster with a knife
than I could peel one with a peeler. And
she dried
her car in the garage after it rained and
she pressed our shirts.
She quit guitar in
her seventies, or maybe earlier I can't
remember because the arthritis was too much for
her fingers but
she still sang and still made
her pancakes crispy and still went to church where
she sat on the pew next to last from the back And
she sang hymns with
her sister until
her sister was gone And
she drove a pickup into the woods at eighty and
she wasn't afraid of getting hurt but
she was afraid of the dark
She played Hand and Foot and Checkers and Rummy and
she went to yard sales and
she sent cards to the sick and
she loved red roses and the color purple
but not the color yellow which
she told my mother she looked bad in and also my aunt.
She spoke with authority and knew what was right
without having to ask anyone but the Bible and
she told you what
she thought and loved you no matter what and
she would always give you a job if you were sitting
because there was always something to clean or fetch and
she said there was little worse than being lazy.
She bought wagons for the grandkids and
she covered the fire at night and
she sang about heaven and took walks up on the hill
until it got too hard for
her to walk. And
she never gave up and
she always held on so tight you could see
her knuckles turn white because there was no letting go.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
Suicide Room
There's a room where people go to do something banned and sad.
They go there to commit suicide.
I caught a glimpse of it in a vision after a ***** night when Emma had forsaken me.
The white wood walls are blood splattered.
Daylight comes thru gaps in a boarded up window by a corner.
A small curved potato peeler knife is what everyone uses.
Such a wicked and effective tool.
People ravaged by despair and failure come here to die.
It's a long list; the knife's always ******
Something from that dark multi emotional place came thru my vision and lodged in me.
What?
A ghost or the reason why?
Why all types of people go there to suicide?
I can't see it; it's hidden.
I do see what 5 years of failure in love has done to me.
Decades can be added to that.
So much **** in my head, life, heart, me.
My turn will soon be here to end my life in that room.
The Suicide Room.
Emma will be next, following me.
Death by razor sharp potato peeler.
Thanx Em.
I started to love you and look what you made me do.
I'm mad at you but don't hate you.
Quite the opposite.
Goodbye.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 5:20 PM UTC