"pistachios" poems
You have ripped bellbottoms a shaky smile,
The sandy curls that cascade down your back.
You smoke till your lungs go black,
You sit in the blazing sun meditating till you go tan.
You play the tunes of The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix,
That suede jacket you wear every Tuesday.
You decorate your room with blankets so the colors keep you company,
The daisies you wear in your hair till they go brown.
You let your cigarette dangle from your thin lips,
That gritty sound you make when you form words.
Your eyes are always clouded with memories,
You wear those circular shades to hide from people.
You wipe the tears off of people’s faces,
Smile when theres nothing to smile about.
Your hands are tatted with henna, and you wear the shirt of a tie-dye spider.
All you eat is trail-mix of pistachios and sun-dried apples.
You ride in a Volkswagen with windows down to feel the breeze.
Your peace sign is like “the healer” to all pain.
You take a pull off hookah and a bite of shrooms just to chase away the madness.
You create your own reality.
When the rain falls down you fling your head back and yell to the world,
The face you make when you see animals.
He’s like an eagle, ready to sore through the sky and bring positivity.
Don’t ever tell me you’re not a hippie, because I’ve never seen anyone as unique as you.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
She said she would be willing to get a matching tattoo
with me. A flower permanently imprinted on our skin.
She likes orchids, I like lilies. And even after moving
away she understands my addictions; growing old,
the rain, Team Gibbs, bats, my love for pistachios
and maybe even my need to come back home.
As much as I love Ohio, it’s nice to go home
every once and awhile. Saving up for my tattoo
is not easy when I keep spending my money on M&M;’s and pistachios,
especially when my mother isn’t there to pinch my skin
and tell me to put my wallet away. She’s not old—
but I certainly feel like I am when she says she’s moving
away from me. I toss and turn and move
in my sleep thinking about how home
will never be the same without her. The cats are getting old;
their time is coming. Maybe we should get a tattoo
of them instead of flowers—light and dark brown skin
warm and cuddled together, munching on pistachios.
I remember when I first became addicted to pistachios.
It was a church Christmas party and the wine was moving
closer to my hands. Mom said I could, as I felt the buzz of my skin
react to my fourth glass. She shook her head and drove me home
laughing at my sneaky attempts to act sober. A tattoo
was out of the question; what would I think when I got old?
Our relationship now has changed, intimate friends never too old
to dance or talk about our *** lives, throwing pistachios
at each other or plan out our future tattoos.
I am going to miss her, and she me, as she moves
on with her dreams, starting over, building a new home
In a place we’ve never known, but always in the same skin
that I have loved my whole life. A soft, toasted skin
that has been passed down to me for my days of old.
Born, nurtured, taught and loved in my mother’s home;
home-cooked meals that surpass the freshest of pistachios
so I would one day learn how to cook. No matter where she moves,
my mother will remain deep in my heart, my skin—like a tattoo.
She gave me my skin and approved of my tattoo,
provided me with a home complete with pistachios
and an old promise: her heart is unmoving.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 8:03 AM UTC
Ramadan comes with lots of prayers,
Fasting and doing charity,
With the fragrance of heaven,
Which still lingers in our mind,
To Allah alone, we turn our hopes and intentions.
Ramadan does not leave empty handed,
It leaves with a golden handshake in the name of
EID UL FITR.
To celebrate with family and friends,
Reaching out our hearts,
Extending happiness,
Sewing relationships.
What better than a sweet dish
Sev khurmo (vermicelle cooked in milk with raisins almonds and pistachios ),
To hail in oneness,
Joy and prosperity.
Happy Eid Mubarak
To all on Hello Poetry.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 4:49 PM UTC
She
so___- she
And__ He__ so
Never ending
She Comma
Do-So
Shop to Soho
Electronics
Like a Saint
Satanic's
His or hers
Nic's and Pix
Never the end
If so_______
Yes Sir
The math flame
Password
To end the
dating game
Hot green
tip
pistachios
Like the long sentence_____,
Your
Nephews
He was
Huh? ,
So compelled
to be sentenced
The time
treacherous
Was so long
At that end is
where
you
belong
Column
his
comma
She comma
Prima Donna
Oh! Donna
A love
should
be in
the
moment
Too
many
Dots?plots/whatnots
You forgot
semicolumn
The head page
Semi-sweet
column
End chair
Kingdom
Knock on wood
Getting
splinters
He used
Plastic
condoms
Braveheart Lion
Twisted sisters
I was
at the
very end
Wella
She -Comma____
The money
Higher up
Society Brianna
Barcelona Cafes
Giraffe ladies
boisterous
drama
Begin now
The beginning
Never met her
middle-section
Which breed?
She-comma
She could
make
Anyone's
bad heart
Drug fix well
The good
heart
Should be ended
Dead end____&
the
morgue
Her long tongue
All She__ Rouge
The question mark
All parts dots here and?
What is
next!!!
You hear
the ring you jump
Off the cliff
the text
Meet me
greet him
Chances
are
never
The front
It was
a front
Fine print
you
could
see
Smitten
written deed
And
left her
money
Heavenly
bliss
This
paper
kiss
Did you
miss
Her
signature,
Never a
good gesture
She-devil
Comma,
Never good
ending
movie
Feature
Never ending
Please visit
and come back
Do I need your opinion?
.,, ... ??
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 9:22 AM UTC
drink, drank, drunk
into submission,
a fact; death awaits.
inevitability flows into
sanctity
at the end of a six-pack.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
pistachio nuts - or the clams of the the forest,
not among the helter skelter
birch tree scouting and marking territory,
but among the aged oaks
and pristine scents of pines among
the fallen pine needles in zigzag promenade -
indeed pistachio nuts like shellfish,
slightly opened ergo healthy -
clams or mussels, once opened then
healthy for the palette - still a bewilderment
to care with a hydrochloric acid cauldron
that the stomach is -
that's the prior bewilderment, the other
being this madonna-whore complex
that Anaïs Nin represents -
i've eaten a prostitute's *** (her own
anatomical definition) - indeed smothered
in creams to ease a professional approach to
a lack of relationship stimulation -
science says that eating the female *** is
like downing a range of antibiotics -
i can imagine - why is she suddenly this hailed
saint of scissors applied to a middle-class
straitjacket? what the hell is going on?
ah... i know, the longer a feeble secret is allowed
to ferment, it goes from being vinegar
to being wine to being a fruity ***** -
well shiver me timbers!
ever walk into a brothel with 7 prostitutes waiting
their bus for £110 an hour and not feel
intimidated asking for a glass of water?
i have... they eye you like hyenas,
a true spirit of solidarity that feminism forgot,
7 prostitutes eyeing you, then you say
'can one of your pick me?'
'you can't say that, it's not allowed!'
'oh, aren't you a talker, you'll do.'
every single brothel i've been too always reminds
me of Jack Daniels - i don't know why,
the burnt auburn sweetness of charcoal or something,
add the skin creams on the ****** smeared
like an insomniac creating a synthetic approach
to sleep with amitriptyline (25mg) and alcohol
and you've just bought yourself a treasure island
crucifix.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC
[9/28/13 6:07:47 AM] Saeng Graham: on earth does not mean , they were born from the same time realm
[9/28/13 6:08:02 AM] Saeng Graham: this puts them in perspective
[9/28/13 6:08:07 AM] Saeng Graham: well - for example
[9/28/13 6:08:15 AM] Saeng Graham: my twin akemi whom you heard sing
[9/28/13 6:08:22 AM] Saeng Graham: well she's actually my younger twin sister
[9/28/13 6:08:24 AM] Saeng Graham: fire
[9/28/13 6:08:32 AM] Saeng Graham: but because we both are from 2 years apart ,
[9/28/13 6:08:45 AM] Saeng Graham: and are bOTH gemini
[9/28/13 6:08:47 AM] Saeng Graham: there's a counter balance
[9/28/13 6:08:51 AM] Saeng Graham: -
[9/28/13 6:09:07 AM] Saeng Graham: i THINK
[9/28/13 6:09:07 AM] Saeng Graham: so i think -
[9/28/13 6:09:09 AM] Saeng Graham: maybe
[9/28/13 6:09:12 AM] Saeng Graham: thata
[9/28/13 6:09:24 AM] Saeng Graham: you are my counterbalance - imaginary friend from your childhood
[9/28/13 6:09:42 AM] Saeng Graham: and you are mine - kinda like doing pulling each other up throughout time and space
[9/28/13 6:09:52 AM] Saeng Graham: ''''''''''''
[9/28/13 6:09:55 AM] Saeng Graham: so.
[9/28/13 6:10:08 AM] Saeng Graham: now we've defined that YOUR act form is VERY MUCH NOW IN THE '3D' WORLD
[9/28/13 6:10:17 AM] Saeng Graham: OR AT LEAST
[9/28/13 6:10:22 AM] Saeng Graham: your essence - is possible in that form
[9/28/13 6:10:25 AM] Saeng Graham: weellllllll
[9/28/13 6:10:29 AM] Saeng Graham: then anything is possible
[9/28/13 6:10:34 AM] Saeng Graham: SO IF YOU ARE STILL HERE
[9/28/13 6:10:37 AM] Saeng Graham: AT THIS POINT
[9/28/13 6:10:39 AM] Saeng Graham: I'VE GOT A PARROT ON MY SHOULDER
[9/28/13 6:10:44 AM] Saeng Graham: AN EYE PATCH ON MY EYE
[9/28/13 6:10:49 AM] Saeng Graham: AND I'M ABOUT TO ROCK YOUR ***** ****** WORLD
[9/28/13 6:10:54 AM] Saeng Graham: jokes -
[9/28/13 6:10:59 AM] Saeng Graham: it's double at.....jazz hands -
[9/28/13 6:11:13 AM] Saeng Graham: shot of moonshine
[9/28/13 6:11:17 AM] Saeng Graham: **** of spicy morning zoot
[9/28/13 6:11:22 AM] Saeng Graham: and some roiboosh tea,
[9/28/13 6:11:27 AM] Saeng Graham: a little bit of wine
[9/28/13 6:11:37 AM] Saeng Graham: some smutted rasberrys and age old pistachios
[9/28/13 6:11:38 AM] Saeng Graham: which hum
[9/28/13 6:13:03 AM] Saeng Graham: frightful actually , how ************* scary bryce is.. like....i wouldn't like to have my 'revenge' concocted by him...dark kind guy....nice...but dark....arty kinda dark...so you know it's the kind of super smart kinda dark......but then super emotion kinda dark too....they aren't that hard to spot....
[9/28/13 6:13:11 AM] Saeng Graham: but the bryce i'm talking about
[9/28/13 6:13:17 AM] Saeng Graham: - yeah he's all over the place
[9/28/13 6:13:20 AM] Saeng Graham: always with the bee's
[9/28/13 6:13:22 AM] Saeng Graham: and stuff
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
Cause of such a weighty plight
yet worthy of each new bulge.
Prepping is most of the simple delight
to a confection so rarely indulged.
Thank God for "Sammy's Gym & Sauna!
Sweet Belgium chocolate, melted and
cooled to fingers delicate touch.
Spooned in a slow perfect dribble,
covering in a shroud of flowing sweetness
the perfectly rounded mound, centered upon my dish.
Hardening...encasing within my final sumptuous goal.
Fresh whipping cream, beaten to
frothy clouds of mouth watering heaven.
Newly roasted pistachios, shaved coconut,
and the final crowning glory.
Candied cherries adorning
the mounded delectable height.
Not one, not two, but a few.
Still not nearly enough
my conscience won't be bothered.
Gluttonous greed must be snuffed.
With self-dedicated glee
I make me another.
A couple more hours in the sauna tomorrow.
One final decoration...
for presentation's sake.
A newly budded rose
centered for my eye to behold.
My pleasure mostly done
I am ready to partake.
Mouth salivating,
taste buds anticipating,
I reach for my spoon.
Just as...
*Warming flesh...
Streams flow the valley of your breast...
Cherry cascading down a descending
river of melting cream...
A rolling boulder of passion's anticipation.
Tickling and enticing heated flesh.
It's cantering end at the pooling pit of your navel.*
My spoon is tossed away.
With luxurious sublimity
I dine from your hallowed plate.
My pleasure is most certainly won.
Yours, my tasty,
"Sunday Morning Delight"...
not nearly done, only just begun.
© S.Loeding
All Rights Reserved
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
I've been told
there's a place
called Heaven,
where the sea
meets the golden desert,
mountains rise up
& tall cedars kiss the sun.
And in this place,
anise-spirits flow
& pistachios grow
in abundance.
Angels exist there,
honey-flavors drip
from their pretty mouths.
One in particular,
has the sweetest lips,
like baklava,
I am intoxicated.
They sing to me
songs of hope
& I am swept away,
swept away to that place
along Mideastern
shores.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 6:01 AM UTC
There's traces of you all around this room.
Like long-forgotten relics
of a reality I had forgotten existed.
So much has changed,
but I don't know if you can say the same.
How can I?
I'm still lost, flustered,
out of breath, and tired,
but somehow, I feel on the right track.
I'm pretty sure you felt the opposite.
I stopped drinking, but nights like these
make me want to pick it back up.
Where'd I put it down?
I guess this is a sorry.
This is a "I'll see you soon" apology.
This is a "I don't regret much" statement,
but I'm sorry all the same.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ'✿⊱╮
Small, sweet milk-white squares
Fresh fruits and nuts chopped
Hazelnuts, pistachios,
cashews, dried cherries
Honeyed-almonds, crunch
So toothsome
Yum!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
It is hard to get at the green kernel of anything.
Most truths do not lie open and ready, most
must be cracked with the teeth:
splintering shell and flaking husks
that lodge in the throat.
We know that the greasy
salted heart of the matter suffers too.
What is edible can be salvaged.
All else is waste.
(All day the secret sat in my mouth
heavy on my tongue, waiting to drop.)
In the dark, watching a glittering tower block
of sugar slowly fall into itself, collapsing
so deliciously into sublime black.
At the last, each crystal submits
to the swallowing tar, as they must,
as they were made to.
But all is not lost.
Shoulder to shoulder, the projection
flickering light and shadow onto our faces;
obscure features now
altered, now defined by the swinging loop
of the video.
(Who can find the pulse of a darkened room,
say for certain that this, yes
this was the exact place and
this was the exact moment-)
We emerge different people.
It is later.
I have dug to the bottom and eaten every one,
my pockets littered with
smooth hulls and grains, dust-
the day almost over, dusk
tucking away the grey skies
and all the city's lights dampened by
mist; it is too cold for this-
But words sometimes spill themselves:
Every year I take out my grief
and shake it,
try it on for size like a winter jacket.
It still fits and its pockets
are overflowing with shells.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
I have mixed feelings about pistachios.
I love the taste, but I hate the mess
of it.
the peeling, the flakes under your fingernails,
the pile of shells,
all make you look like a gropey glutton.
but it tastes
so
de-
*******
-licious.
so whenever I eat them, I get a sensation
of half pleasure
and half disgust
in every bite.
it's the most balanced thing i've found in life
so far.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
Pebbles and pistachios wrinkle in our pockets
like my mother’s attic wedding dress. From the side your nose
looks like an oil well. The gas station is 2.5 miles
away from here. We’re walking there for bottles that we’ll empty
and then leave next to churches in place of slaughtered lamb.
Sky punctures our wrists. You tell me the weather will be painting itself bruised
fireworks for the next week; I tell you about yawning.
It is summer and I am thinking about your hand overwhelmed
by sweat and how two years ago it was winter and your hand
was still broken but I made you hold my wrists anyway. Last
time we were in the park we drank like muskrats. Corporeal *****
stained the grass like knees: varnish for the ink that grappled
the insides of our tenderly wired bodies.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
**It's the pen-equipped rebel, real nutty like pistachios.
Never looking back at the past, or the path he chose,
Tries to keep his passion stowed, but it's such a challenge,
When the world's attacking me, I'm never taking damage.
I use words to my advantage, and the ink stains are my varnish,
Shielding me from any weak attempts to try and tarnish me.
I can weather any weather, whether worse snowstorms or better.
I think I got this poem thing to a Tee just like the letter.
I can turn a pebble to a mountain,
One rebel to a thousand,
Cut myself and bleed, turn my death into a fountain, of youth..**
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
.
She watched as the poor stood at the back of a truck and
received their portion of rice
and thought,
now that’s nice
Then gazed as the middle class pulled up to a window
and were handed burgers, fries and shakes
and thought,
that’s all it takes
She then smiled as a white gloved, tuxedo wearing
handsome young man presented her with
roasted duck with pork and lentils,
macaroni and brie with crab, mushroom risotto with peas
and pomegranate pavlova with pistachios and honey
becoming a happy observer
and thought,
it’s so nice to have a private server
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
thumbs,
purple while pistachios lay laughing with closed
mouths
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 2:25 AM UTC
wine and
pistachios
(the expensive,
shelled ones)
at 6am.
one might say that
baby is refined
but baby is really
just an ugly drunk.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 6:03 AM UTC
Out all of the
handful
of pistachios
that lay in the
empty crevices
of my palm, you
are the saltiest
and most bitter,
of which takes
the most effort
to crack open
that pale, thick
almost impenetrable
shell,
to obtain your
sweet nourishment.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
When she was with me,
I held her gently,
so tightly entwined.
I respired,
upon her breath,
her mother's milk,
skin soft as silk.
I feared her death,
to detect a tiny thrum,
of which to my ears,
were a silent drum.
Unleashing tears.
I held her and shuffled,
my thoughts were muddled.
She was fragile,
and I unagile.
Finally murmurs and squeaks,
proved her heartbeats.
Light as a feather,
my love forever.
I didn't want to let her go,
movements slow.
I knew the feeling,
to lose unseeing,
but i had to give in,
to the pain within.
Her beauty and softness,
became wrapped in darkness.
I had to leave her,
knowing again I'd see her.
As years go by,
I still creep in,
from time to time,
to descry the light within.
Seeing by gentle rays of moonlight,
her golden hair bright.
Though dingy compared to her eyes,
so vibrantly blue,
a mesmerizing hue,
filled with delight,
and suprise.
Simple things she likes,
love and laughter,
no sense of disaster.
Now she's five,
and so alive.
I want to wait for what her future will hold,
watching her grow as I become old.
I always want her with me,
as days pass quickly.
I share my pistachios,
and tickle her nose.
Will she remember these things,
when she grows wings,
and flies from me,
to the man of her dreams?
I can assuredly guess,
my future in sadness,
when I have to say "goodbye",
to my little princess...
my sweet Lorelei.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC
I grew a tail and climbed
higher than the sun
I used it to curl around the moons of planets we dream of corrupting
I can't climb higher than our mistakes
it has been a week of nightmares I haven't retained
interrupting
it's hard to seek a world free from our blame
give me the correct answer !
don't open that box !
my tail is caught in that mystery
It's only humanities loss
Jan 4, 2023
Jan 4, 2023 at 6:07 PM UTC
She's a mystery
our little vase.
just sitting out there
in the cosmos
all alone
with her hour glass
figure. It's time
to wake up and don
the 'morrow...
oh, such a powerful
p
r
e
t
t
y
new dress!
Einstein visits my bathroom
walls spouting bright ideas
about (ILL)uminati nation,
and it's coffee drinking
friends.
I'm sorry sir, but I don't subscribe,
I sleep very well, thank you.
I've lost half a front tooth to winter
already, tripped over laundry
baskets and almost broke my neck doing
the limbo...and the makers of Beano can't
keep enough stocked on the shelf,
oh no,
not I.
It's crazy how clumsy
i'm becoming of late.
tumbling into shell,
little green pistachios
tender meat
fledgling tuition's
not this sweet thing,
I'm not buying what you
ladies and gents want to sell,
I'll keep my wings,
my hearts and flowers,
no disrespect,
Thank you just the same.
I was never into Halloween
or the things that bump
into the night, or cackle
like mad hens in my half wake.
I prefer love, not the half light,
not the lime stand where Mr. Todd and I
have had quite the conversation yesterday,
who does he think he's fooling?
Ill advised, I might say, to play with
such things, such as the sweetness of
the naive flock, let's just say I've
been properly introduced
and my eyes are open,
and leave it there
on the ***** step
with the musical instruments
and the rainbows, I prefer
to be colorless like the page.
No trade darlings, nice try,
but I love you...
and anytime you'd like
to take a ride into the outfield
and watch the ballgame,
from the sidelines of a
couple of overheated stars,
remember, beautiful rays am I,
in which you may trust,
an accidental supernova,
see how the star's tracks
are blinking, winking, and
tapping out love letters
in Morris code...all for you
baby, all for you,
I intend to blow this pop stand
walk off into the fog, whole,
in love, with or without you.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
my bottom lip burns, middle chapped and spiced, I worry that my limbs aren't strong enough to bare what you've had and what you could have.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 9:43 PM UTC
i give a **** / Roman salute every night,
each night, just before i fall asleep,
but the words recurrent with the
ghostly gladiators captivating western
society like a terrorist are: BUT, YOU, MADE ME!
your pithy apathy can get you
so along - IT'S GOOD TO BE CRITICAL
OF AMERICA AND FEEL AMBIVALENT
OF SAUDI ARABIA...
cocktails in Bucharest
are like cooler-shakers in McDonald's:
all fruity flavoured fairies with -
wingspans of pigeons at Trafalgar Sq. -
cos' we pecked those pistachios like mad.
Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil, und Jude außen Europa:
inviting Muslims undermined European culture
excluding Jews made it all the more simpler
for the once cultured press to write hopes rather
than facts. the emperor came, the emperor went,
lost, forgotten, shamed the love for a neighbour.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
That kind of a dayam
day
hopes peeled and cooked
before a reasonable hour
so i stayed in bed
say no more
hopes rekindled
by an unexpected response
and i waited again
ahm seeing a pattern
no call no show
oh sorry this happened
i wretch these sorry words
forward with apologies
tv, cab, pistachios
can make a lot right
on a bad night
when you take flight-
sorry. I don't usually do that
klondikes like candy
isn't even sensible
as words
snarls into something
we don't want
[There is not enuf here
to convey the rising clenching
clawing for a way out]
part of
and this
this i am
is the one
to find
and
eviscerate
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC