"pistachio" poems
Flashback,
To that time we played blackjack
I was impressed by your ability to shuffle all the cards just like that,
&then; you showed me a magic trick with pistachio shells
Oh what a friendship it is when someone buys you peanuts and opens all the shells
Yeah confession;
You're in my sci fi screenplay
I think I wrote about you in the most innocent way
And theres a song that,
I currently have on replay...
And a smile that can't help but shine when I see your face
What a moment it is when you're sitting there on the bus and you just want to photograph it
Life's a chess game, and now its your move..
I'm standing on the front line,
I'm giving my horsey to you (haha)
Oh this life's a chess game,
One wrong move and I'll lose....
But here right now we're at a stalemate
All my pieces were going but the piece that remains, patiently waits
For you..
Oh with you I never want the game to end so soon
And I know that we can't fall in love
Cause we've got different ones for us
But what a friendship it is when none of that matters no more..
You're the chess opponent I've been waiting for,
You are.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 3:31 AM UTC
Icecream!
Vanilla, strawberry, pistachio, chocolate, mango, orange whatever flavour,
Must have icecream,
Icecream in a tub,
Icecream in a cone,
Icecream in a cup
Icecream in a bowl,
Icecream in a spoon,
Lick them all.
Icecream in the morning,
Icecream in the afternoon,
Icecream in the evening,
Icecream at night and in the middle of the night.
"Give me a break baby,"says daddy.
18/9/2020
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 8:20 AM UTC
if ever there were
gods or goddesses of desert
of the drylands
of parched earth some call home
they would be surprised to learn
of the miracle of
this Spring deluge
unfurling forth
from deep within
the crusty dermis
of this sublunar territory:
hydrangea and ***** apple flower,
intermingling their hues
of mauve and lilacs,
as well as the color of sky
blooms of the succulents
popping open
in celebratory dance
in wild fuschia
sunray butter:
a dazzling botanic trance
hollyhocks of magenta,
veils of bougainvellia, too
sweetpea clusters
curling in the trellis
weaving heavy-scented magic
through and through
a private orchard of lemon tree, and apple
olive and pistachio grove
One would not guess
the endless giving
of this desert treasure trove
And I feel like a goddess
of mythology softly spun
like Demeter, or Ceres
ancient Egyptian Renenutet
my hands spread out
in the licks of gentle sun
for as spring pours forth its honey
all through this barren land
I , too reawake
and flush out all the infected,
dust-scratched sand
I welcome in
the waters of abundance,
of love, of light under stars
let new energy wash out
old poisons
my radiance spilling far
Reaching out unto the Universe,
cradling this heart
I cup the buds of blooms,
of nectar
to inseminate my dark
allowing me
to release the past
and seed within me, lit
the atoms
of new
start
unfolding bit
by tender
bit
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 10:05 AM UTC
Todd Totally Toad
Finger Smell McGee
E-I-E-I **** You
Captain Sally Potato
Blackhole Sound *****
The Glass Candy Imagination Man
Dew Snot
One-Eyed Duce Leg of the Cement Dimension
The Guy Who Makes Sailors, Pirates and Fisherprice men shake their Buoy.
The Saccharine Snake of Compatibility
Yeti Jenny ******
Johnny Loch Ness **** Deck.
Chicken ***** McGillicutty
Blanket Face
Rev. 3D Trigonometry
The Little Pistachio ****
The Killer Doll That Only Exists in My Alternate Universe's Self's Imagination.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
Quaint
pink curtains and tablecloths.
White walls.
The sugary smell of almonds, pistachio
and butterscotch skip around the room,
playing hopscotch and Mary Mack.
The display is impressive,
I can smell each grain of sugar
in these petit cupcakes and dollops of icing.
And then a little girl wails!
Mommy won't buy
her anymore
sweet treats.
Bawling--
the girl does an angry-stomp-dance-
and then a woman, livid--
storms up to the counter.
I said half dozen almond biscotti.
I can't take these to my book club.
Isn't anyone here competent?
Her booming voice has no effect
on the lone,
tired African-American woman behind the counter.
She seems disassociated from the present chaos.
The dark circles under her eyes
and the surrounding pursed lip wrinkles say everything.
Excuse me, but I've been waiting
on a refill of the complimentary coffee
for over ten minutes now
an uptight gent in a business suit complains.
When the woman behind the counter
pulls out out a shotgun--
there is silence.
This ain't what I wanted
she whimpers just before
the weapon gracefully slides
under her chin--
--!BAM!--
As I walk out the door,
I wonder how long it will
take for someone to realize
that's not red icing or sprinkles
on the cupcakes.
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 10:32 AM UTC
a taste of frozen snow
how about pistachio
chocolate fountain
or vanilla chateau
could be strawberry fields
maybe mixed
with honey and wine
or collected from
the lower slopes of
confection perfection
call it what you like:
Dondurma,
Kulfi,
Cornets with Cream,
perhaps like Agnes,
Queen of Ices,
wading deeper
into blissful sugar,
waffling
back and forth
in endless
flavored dreams
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 12:56 PM UTC
There's spring and there's summer, there's all that's in between
no listless skies of anodyne; now nature flaunts and preens
What beauty fills the hungry eye 'neath a sky of blue, serene
verdant vales soaked in sun, awash in palettes of green
There are pastels that awaken and deep shades that passion brews
created hues that trickle...sprinkled with 'chartreuse'
There's the green of 'asparagus' and that of 'artichokes'
Of 'forest', 'ferns' , of 'moss', a brush of different strokes
Fragrant plants of 'mint', then 'myrtle' and 'green tea'
'Emerald', 'jade' or 'harlequin' and 'malachites' that be
Off creamy shells, just 'pistachio', 'green apples', then of 'pines'
It lies too in 'sap' and 'teal', in 'avocados' and tangy 'lime'
There's green of the 'mantis', in 'jungle', 'hunters' and 'shamrock'
The lithe 'parakeet' fluttering and the lazy sanguine 'croc'
In blessed 'basil', ' pickle', in 'pear', 'olives' in 'bottle green'
'Gourds' and 'peas' that farmers grow in cultivars pristine
'Tis there in 'aqua' and 'seaweed', in the ripple of 'sea green' waves
In 'turtles', 'sea foam', 'anemone' and a 'tropical glistening lake'
From 'laurel green' to an 'army green' , in 'sage' ( a shade of grey )
The color of 'grass' , the murky 'swamp' , hues in array
There's 'neon' and an 'Indian green', a 'Persian' one to mystify
A 'midnight green' to bright 'fluorescent', oh, for green rainbows in the eye
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
I am the mutt mix ****** soul'd ***** tongue'd,
Animal boy,
Feverish *** green like February Tree moss eyes,
Siren song blink of a kiss,
***** yellow dress,
around her knees,
king,
Queen,
Peasant,
peasant,
going def like grandfather Navy Time,
like Beethoven's 7th dream,
wine induced inspirational serene beauty,
with a sharp stale touch,
of old leather,
boiling like Texan Hot weather,
****** orange lipstick,
No food,
only the bacterial salt,
left on the pistachio shell,
That some,
Hispanic goddess,
For an hour,
200,
dollars,
left as she,
got dressed,
and fluttered away like,
smoke,
like,
memory.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
I wake up to let the dog out
And am greeted by your collective clutter--this family!--
***** cups and plates, cushions on the floor, old socks tucked into the couch, cracked pistachio shells intermingling with dried berry blood, ear plugs!
I wade into the bog of filth to begin my daily duties. I can hear your voice say, "No one ever helps me around here!"
Truly I am a modern Cinderella--I think-- beaten and worn down by those who don't appreciate me. So Christlike!
It smacks me in the face.
The realization that Christ was crucified last night and is dead and buried and won't rise until tomorrow,
And the disciples have no idea that he will indeed rise!
I am no Cinderella.
I am a murderer going about her business without any remorse for her crime.
What a grim day Saturday can be.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ'✿⊱╮
Milk-white, shredded filo dough
spun gossamer-thin
Wrapped nest for pistachio,
almonds, cinnamon
White baked gentle gold
Hot honey
Serve!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 11:10 AM UTC
Sometimes
I feel like nut
& when I do,
it's a pistachio.
I love to act tweaked,
paint myself green,
hulk it up a bit.
I have a jester's hat,
it's bright & colorful,
tipped with eight jingle bells.
It's perfect for the days
when I play
the village idiot.
By the way,
I'm not a brilliant guy,
I just like to stare
wide-eyed up into the sky.
And I ain't no bigot to others,
not even toward midgets,
'cause they're part of my family,
& we love to play stupid.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
Coffee
Heath
Bar
Crunch
Will sabotage those taste buds,
Like Dublin and its Mudslides.
So blast off with that,
Fossil Fuel,
And don’t let me
Catch you.
‘Cause I’ll keep you,
My Maple Blondie.
I’ll capture you,
And hold onto,
Those Cinnamon Buns.
You’re the Crème Brulee,
Of Chocolate Macadamia,
And the Cherry Garcia,
In my every breath.
You’re the Chunky Monkey,
To this Chubby Hubby;
The Dulce Delish,
for this Americone Dream.
Can’t you see I’ve just got,
A sweet tooth for you,
And your Phish Food?
Your Chocolate hair,
Key Lime Pie eyes,
Strawberry Cheesecake lips,
And your skin is a delight,
Much like Vanilla Caramel Fudge.
Did Ben and Jerry create you?
Please tell me they did!
So I can eat you,
With my cup of Boston Cream Pie,
And I’d eat you all up, Well,
Everything but the…
Half Baked, Karmel Sutra,
Which I’d lick,
Like a cone of Cake Batter,
And then dip into,
Like Cookies and Milk.
Imagine Whirled Peace,
On top of this Mudpie,
And then Split,
Like a Banana.
That’s the kind of Brownie Batter,
I’d stir with you,
And then add a scoop,
Or two,
Of Turtle Soup.
And you would yell,
PISTACHIO PISTACHIO!
Where for art thou pistachio?
And with a bowl of Peach Cobbler,
And a spoon of Vanilla,
I’d look at you,
wink,
and offer you a pint,
of my Mint Chocolate Chunk.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
no
of course not
a disease is a disorder
with symptoms and signs
an internal dysfunction
a...
disturbance
in the design
No
I am not infectious -
I touch this boy so,
and see!
He is still a normality
A ******* fiend
An hourglasss devotee -
I am not foodborne, no,
Unless you count
the macaroons
pistachio green
and lemon too,
what a taste
of boyhood,
schoolboy blue
I am not acute,
a one-time sneeze.
I am not
a short-lived
Green coughed
wheeze,
I am not
the plunger in your vaccines -
I am the pistol red and glitter
in your
genes
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
Pistachio, when I first learned your name
It was long and reminded me of nothing—
The always-full ice cream bucket,
My third grade class and asking if your namesake
Came from a tree or a bush.
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 7:49 PM UTC
*It's optional
Like the fading of skies
Early, wild, or remorseful.
All the impalpable space in the lights
Scaled in weighty gilt and curls
The locks and gold of sun,
early as it sets on a moiety of moor grey
Brushed by shadows of agonised poplars
on a spiral land of sheer pistachio blanket.
Muffled by lyres played from the trumpets of
convolvuluses, behind spears of the brain-
an imagery commence to carouse
into planet deep.
A promenade atop the tulle of skies,
an optional way to live.
Saunter and fall onto slopes, shudder, meditate
and hit a bee coffin pebble on the temple
Where there are options to live, to bleed.
Like the lurid sunrise sifting on
yellow-green nuts, and dandruffs combed
like granulated sugar
Oh the taste of chemistry
on the shea butter candles.
It's sanguine and optional,
your farewells on laden calendars of poems
A promenade- back into sea of spears and flames
A cadaver veined in pink,
bearing plethora of methanol
down pulverising bone.*
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC
I would burst for you
effloresce on the spot
a kingfisher at heart
honest as the morning
pick any tree for me
I will be that sunbeam
phenomena in between
the pistachio branches
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
~
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
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
she is inescapable
fringe coefficient
a strange perfume tonight
lips to the phone
he took her on a laptronica trip
bitters and Absolut and pistachio
listening to the frightful sections of an unused movie score
and playing a new game
—studies in paralysis
no sympathy, no violins
just musette and drums
just an avalanche of images
frame-by-frame
May 14, 2023
May 14, 2023 at 6:24 PM UTC
I never want only two,
three scoops for me,
double cherries on top
of each one,
pistachio,
chocolate
& vanilla.
Spill some nuts,
crushed cashews
all over the place,
I'm going to dig my face
into this delicious dish.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
I'm as
The starving squirl
That stashed his last pistachio
Is he mad!?
No,
He's nuts
And he has guts also
For when his seeds grow
His young
Will have the tree
More than martyr
More than father
Thinking further
Before his daughters
Were even thought of
He did things
So they could eat
Endless fruit
Is what they'll reap
From what I sowed
Some time ago
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 1:01 PM UTC
Cheers to the one that
finally makes it work, the
time the door stayed wide long
enough for a fall breeze in loafers or
corduroy pants to blow down the
walls of your heart and sit you
down on his patent leather futon
the laugh that stuck around to do
battle with every grizzled teardrop in the
middle of the afternoon
the chance worth taking because all
things can be generalized, but the
best can break free
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 10:52 PM UTC
I coloured my world today
my hands smeared in pastels
canary yellows
ripe peaches and cardinal ochres
pink from a flamingo sunrise
a passionate cerise
Splashed
an array of feisty blues
a flamboyant turquoise
a topaz tango
a twinkling periwinkle
Streaked it with
beams of gold
contoured lilac smudges
lavender tipped edges
in custard pineapple floats
Splattered emeralds, toned pistachio
fern greens with swift finger strokes.
Tempered it with
muddy crusty earthy browns
rock coloured sandy mounds
reined in royal purple
the sensual blaze of a flaming sunset
the dark indigo of a gloaming sky
agate drops a few
a silver sliver of a crescent new
I coloured my world
with my eyes
my fingers, my hands
my hues
....just the way I wanted to
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
where both left
and right
form the bowl,
appraising
pale cream or pink
seductive space
between,
a slight break in
a seamless join,
catch your teeth
on to break
resistance and
free the
shy but
meaty pearl,
exercise with
a muscular finesse,
salty taste,
kernel shape,
wanting more,
the
pistachio.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
she asked him: why did you leave Edinburgh? and he didn't reply, but upon thinking out his reply to a deaf ear: because i didn't come here for you; 'lona 'lona, whisper sometimes, and i'll give you a cat's whisker.
i was in venice,
yes,
i drank absinthe the wrong
way
on a beach,
spent three nights in a hostel
with a bunch of girls,
took a hebrew girl
for a taste of tourism,
listened to the shofar
before i entered a synagogue
outlet extension reading
the 613 commandments
on a computer screen...
venice's pavement traffic and eating
pistachio gelato,
nothing much,
i still preferred the Gothic distancing
of Edinburgh's nights
where i could be with cold-hands
and warm heart inviting;
basically i don't like tourist basins,
or tourist wombs for that matter...
am i looking at something predictable?
yes, i am, a billion other sperms
will see the same thing
and perhaps write about it to insinuate
poetic ambitions - too clogged up
your thinking is to redeem yourself
in poetry - you're hardly dislodged
for the art - get a guitar and couplet it
for a star-riddled pop music hit,
go on, on your way, elbow push through
the queue... go on, on your way...
oh wait, you need clapping to spur
you on?
here's my clapping onomatopoeia:
blah blah, blah blah, blah blah;
yes, i was in venice,
didn't really care to write much about it -
i actually didn't, just now,
a sobering memory,
not the type of memory that gets
you drunk...
well it's there, a bit like the Maldives,
and it drives the delusion
that global warming isn't creeping
about the place like Nosferatu.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 7:31 AM UTC
I coloured my world today
my hands smeared in pastels
canary yellows
ripe peaches and cardinal ochres
pink from a flamingo sunrise
a passionate cerise
Splashed
an array of feisty blues
a flamboyant turquoise
a topaz tango
a twinkling periwinkle
Streaked it with
beams of gold
contoured lilac smudges
lavender tipped edges
in custard pineapple floats
Splattered emeralds, toned pistachio
fern greens with swift finger strokes.
Tempered it with
muddy crusty earthy browns
rock coloured sandy mounds
reined in royal purple
the sensual blaze of a flaming sunset
the dark indigo of a gloaming sky
agate drops a few
a silver sliver of a crescent new
I coloured my world
with my eyes
my words
my fingers, hands
my hues
....just the way I wanted to
Jan 14, 2025
Jan 14, 2025 at 11:17 AM UTC