"pom" poems
a black bat
hangs upside down
digesting a fly
his face almost human
a flying Frankenstein
he excretes
puddles of guano
like miniature buttered popcorn
a dark and wavy goulash
gods gift
to beetles and worms
dizzied overheated men look on
to an uproarious variety hour
of song and a high heeled kicks
inspiring
a tempest of throbbing
whisky drenched
folded ***** and cash
trouser trout fish,
undulant
sexed up
tape worms for love
pulse the night
egging on bunny **** pom poms
devout finger puppets of Eros
for
shimmering ****** lipstick twilled vibratos
sequined tassel spinning areolas
and lavish come **** me dance girls
bring down the house in flames
making hearts apostate
clamoring
and melt men like steaming everglades
the bat
hangs from the chandelier
licks his black lips
and looks on to panorama of hieroglyphics
hearing music
a thunderous nonsense
witnessing visions
of
flies, tasty white winged moths
and the thrill of screams
while biting the head off of another bat
in a claret stained red velvet cabaret
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
Somebody is shooting at something in our town --
A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street.
Jealousy can open the blood,
It can make black roses.
Who are the shooting at?
It is you the knives are out for
At Waterloo, Waterloo, Napoleon,
The **** of Elba on your short back,
And the snow, marshaling its brilliant cutlery
Mass after mass, saying Shh!
Shh! These are chess people you play with,
Still figures of ivory.
The mud squirms with throats,
Stepping stones for French bootsoles.
The gilt and pink domes of Russia melt and float off
In the furnace of greed. Clouds, clouds.
So the swarm ***** and deserts
Seventy feet up, in a black pine tree.
It must be shot down. Pom! Pom!
So dumb it thinks bullets are thunder.
It thinks they are the voice of God
Condoning the beak, the claw, the grin of the dog
Yellow-haunched, a pack-dog,
Grinning over its bone of ivory
Like the pack, the pack, like everybody.
The bees have got so far. Seventy feet high!
Russia, Poland and Germany!
The mild hills, the same old magenta
Fields shrunk to a penny
Spun into a river, the river crossed.
The bees argue, in their black ball,
A flying hedgehog, all prickles.
The man with gray hands stands under the honeycomb
Of their dream, the hived station
Where trains, faithful to their steel arcs,
Leave and arrive, and there is no end to the country.
Pom! Pom! They fall
Dismembered, to a tod of ivy.
So much for the charioteers, the outriders, the Grand Army!
A red tatter, Napoleon!
The last badge of victory.
The swarm is knocked into a cocked straw hat.
Elba, Elba, bleb on the sea!
The white busts of marshals, admirals, generals
Worming themselves into niches.
How instructive this is!
The dumb, banded bodies
Walking the plank draped with Mother France's upholstery
Into a new mausoleum,
An ivory palace, a crotch pine.
The man with gray hands smiles --
The smile of a man of business, intensely practical.
They are not hands at all
But asbestos receptacles.
Pom! Pom! 'They would have killed me.'
Stings big as drawing pins!
It seems bees have a notion of honor,
A black intractable mind.
Napoleon is pleased, he is pleased with everything.
O Europe! O ton of honey!
7.8k
pretty pearl anklet
adorning your foot
tiara crown
princess ***** cow
all dressed up in a dark red
cherry sequined
come **** me dress
black lacquered nails
body beautiful prepped
for ordeal by gang bang
and pretty girl strangle
torture blood ****
wiggle wiggle
**** pink aglow
glistening hive
your mouth piece
bilingual
fucky and baby talk
all manicured and bejeweled
glitter and tears
***** food
inch worm lover
little bludgeon
your excited
for a bed of nails
what a luxury
legs spread wide
***** drool melt
your scent
a silk **** cocktail
in thick puce
stained pink milk pom poms
****** beyond tabulation
come sweet cow
its time for slaughter
down on your haunches
you look up
thrilled
dark dreams do come true
i love you
like the bog loves bones
embalmed in spice
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
you went sledding
with the kids
while I filed the paperwork
and cried
I used to be your lady boy
shining in green pit-bar light
as you kissed me like
the kids were with my mother
stuck at the bottom of the
treehouse slide in a pile
in mud
laughing
when
in reality they were
just budding inside of you
fertilized with apple liquor
and the perfume smoking
from my chest as you
unbuttoned the first few
revealing the scar left by
my brother's first pocket knife
the skin of my young years
the skin I am wearing now
cut by these ******* papers as
you freeze
tearlessly
in a pom pom hat
teaching our babies how to make
the perfect snowball
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC
Straight Shooter
with No Chaser
Tell me
No Lies
Kind of
Communicator.
Pom Pom swinging
Rah Rah singing
From the front
Back
Or Side
Proudly Cheering.
Spirit Lifter
Mood Shifter
From low
To high
With
On time Laughter.
If things get crazy
Or someone comes against me
You got
My back
Quick
You're my one man army.
My Partner
My Friend
©Tina Thompson
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
Schwinny, Baby,
You were supposed to be
my
Bicycle.
So I don't ask for anthing special.
No dark Harley divas
To whisk me off into the sunset.
But I thought we were at least
On the same road together.
So please.
Don't go droaning on how
Life got too complicated.
I mean,
You've got one flimsy gear.
And don't go moaning how
The road got too bumpy.
I mean,
You went blind bonzai batshit
over burnt black tar pavement.
You just
Let go.
Threw away your
Chain of reasoning
Faster than I could brace for impact.
So am I bleeding?
Yeah, I'm bleeding.
And the worst part is,
I still need you!
No, No, no.
Not like Pom Pom pammy
Needs her purple-plated pogo stick
Nor like Princess Paris
And her prissy pink prom queen limo,
No.
I mean I need I need you like
Alibaba needs his golden cherub camel,
Like Ben Hur his crimson-fury chariot.
Because work is 37. Blocks. Away.
And it starts in 16 minutes.
And the bus is really unreliable.
So we ride again,
Guts against the wind.
But now I've got all ten fingers and toes
Crossed,
Two by two,
And point in fact,
Racing down Guadalupe with
Forked Philanges
Gets really hairy.
But your suicidal tendancies simply scare me.
Your thirst to incur first degree burns,
Fractured femurs,
And flayed skin whittles my patience
To tire track thin!
Think I'll
Roll my dice with a Segway.
She'd be a quaint, play it safe kind of girl.
Type to show off
To a Mom and Dad
Reveling in rosemary jubilation.
Aw, son.
We knew you'd land a keeper. That's my boy.
But in ten days tops,
I'd begin to miss your fiery imbalanced breath.
I'd yearn for your bipolar 180 turns that
Make my heart skip that terrible, syncopated beat.
So let's just say,
I'll give it one more shot.
But ***** just promise you'll stick around a little longer.
It's storming outside and
We both got a few blocks to go.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 10:17 PM UTC
The daughter of the village Maire
Is very fresh and very fair,
A dazzling eyeful;
She throws upon me such a spell
That though my love I dare not tell,
My heart is sighful.
She has the cutest brown caniche,
The French for "poodle" on a leash,
While I have Bingo;
A dog of doubtful pedigree,
Part pug or pom or chow maybe,
But full of stingo.
The daughter of the village Maire
Would like to speak with me, I'll swear,
In her sweet lingo;
But parlez-vous I find a bore,
For I am British to the core,
And so is Bingo
Yet just to-day as we passed by,
Our two dogs haulted eye to eye,
In friendly poses;
Oh, how I hope to-morrow they
Will wag their tails in merry play,
And rub their noses.
* * * * * * *
The daughter of the village Maire
Today gave me a frigid stare,
My hopes are blighted.
I'll tell you how it came to pass . . .
Last evening in the Square, alas!
My sweet I sighted;
And as she sauntered with her pet,
Her dainty, her adored Frolette,
I cried: "By Jingo!"
Well, call it chance or call it fate,
I made a dash . . . Too late, too late!
Oh, naughty Bingo!
The daughter of the village Maire
That you'll forgive me, is my prayer
And also Bingo.
You should have shielded your caniche:
You saw my dog strain on his leash
And like a spring go.
They say that Love will find a way -
It definitely did, that day . . .
Oh, canine noodles!
Now it is only left to me
To wonder - will your offspring be
Poms, pugs or poodles?
4k
There's a Pom Pom there's a puppy
Where's the Pom poms? Where's the puppy?
The are stuck together Pom Pom puppy!
Wait there is two!
Pom Pom puppies!
Made by me!
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 5:57 AM UTC
The Broom
A work out stick
Above the head
with a kick
Not pom poms
but even better
I dance with this
and make it much sweatEur ; )
Waist twists
firm swift shifts
shooBdoo with the techn9ne crew
fast stepping
twirling and bending
tap that tip to the floor
point it at the ceiling once more
sweep dirt? no way
personal cob webs go away
My broom is a tool
I twirl like a martial arts fool
Upper body exercise
with some attitude
a quickness
and now I smile
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
I want to start by telling you that I am on your team…I am on the same side as you…I hold the pom poms that are cheering for you and your life. You are a beautiful person and you matter to me. You matter to many people. What affects you affects me. There is nothing about you that would make me not want to be friends with you. We all have things in our past and present that we are not the most proud of and likely things that we loathe about ourselves. You are no different in that aspect as millions of other people. You are different to me in other ways though…. You are breath for me…you help create a space I can be myself in…you create a space that other people want to be in…you are good and kind and wonderful…you think about others and live your life for what is good and right…you have conviction and dignity and honor and love a faith and loyalty like I have never seen in another human being……. You are chivalrous…..
There is no way I can understand everything that is going on with you or why things are the way they are but I do know that your life is precious and gifted and important…I do know I want you to live it. I do know that I want you to do whatever you can to be happy and healthy. I do know I love every fiber of you… I am here if you need a friend…..I support you in all that you do on this path to getting healthy…with pom poms of course…
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 11:30 AM UTC
When I was in the darkest place
she showed up with a flashlight
And when I was so, so cold
she built a small fire
I know
if I were dangling from a tiny branch
poking out of a tall cliff
she would be there with rope
setting up nets underneath
I know this
because she did
Some days I am terribly sure
that not a soul gets me
There she is, though
with pom poms
(one that says *****
the other vanilla)
cheering
The world
just doesn’t know what compassion is
She defines it
And I love her
I owe her
And I got rope, a flashlight and some matches
so that one day
I can return the favor
And girl,
no number of wrinkles
could make you less beautiful
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
be au tifu lu ng ra teful talente
dd iff icult lo vi ng messy suppo
rti ve spitef ul w arm jealous caring
cr az ychar m in gs martd epress
ing br av et ** ug htle ss ge ne
ro us inc on sid er ate ad ap ta
ble m oo dy co m pass io na te
stub bo rn af fe ctio na te cr
itica lp ra ct ic al ar gu m en
tati ve w itt y un pr ed ict ablec
our ag eo us to uc hy friendl yrese
ntf ul he lp fu li m patien tflirty
sa rc as tic in te re sting boastf
ul cu rio us in fle xi bl er el
ia bl e cl in gy cre at ive ta
ct les s ** ne st emo tio na ld
isc ipl ine d fo rcefulsex yse ns iti
ve su lle n m od es tf ru st
ra tin ge n thus ia st ic hy po
cr iticalp lucky cl um sy am usingp
os essiv ecalm in g sn ide friendl
y pom pous ad ve nt ur ousch
ar ism atic br ok en and perfect
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
peach cobbler, that's what you remind of
the sweet, southern staple that everyone loves
but when the pom-poms fell from your hands
you told the girls in the van on the way to fun mountain
"I can't do those stunts anymore."
I still laugh at myself for my inappropriate and abrupt,
"WHAT!?!?"
but your collected calmness collected me
until i saw in the back of your eyes the collected fear
and realized the daunting fact,
that even though you were nearly 9 months my younger
in 9 months
you were going to have to be years older than me
we were raised to plan
but planning doesn't determine how life occurs
cause you never really plan to fall down
i know there were those who showed you love
but i'm sure being named "pastor's daughter" and labeled "cliche"
didn't do you any favors in the judgement days
and i'm sorry i only made you a dress to hide the bump
when you deserved a cape
to soar over that injustice
that no one has the right to serve
what its like to inhabit a body that is growing beauty
i don't know, but watching you
i have seen it can be ... a change
which, i'm sure, that doesn't even remotely explain ... does it?
no it's ... a Life Alteration of Volcanic Proportions
cause I'm sure, at times, you feel as if standing in the wake of an explosion
and sometimes the earth spews fiery filth at you
but i believe mothers are fire proof
cause they know they have beauty that grew inside
and when you look at that doe eyed, preschooler son
remember that love strengthens you
heaven is powerful
and you are both beautiful
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC
Bunny suit
white cuffs and collar
she's cute
you pay the extra dollar
black silk bunny ears
black stillettoes
she smiles at your jeers
always the pro
White pom pom tail
wiggles when she walks
your senses she assails
her ex-boyfriend stalks
Treat this bunny well
or in your drink she spits
she's ringing your bell
but to her your the pits
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
7 o'clock
a light summertime dream
just before dark
unfolding it's scheme
painted in sandals
clovered kissed toes
lovely green shamrocks
are standing in prose
a fierce looking cat
Amber eyes
silver fur
bunting her leg
and giving a purrrr
getting back home
nearly hour gone by
look to the tree
playing ball in the sky
it looks like the moon
nearly 3 quarter size
outlined in countries
is neatly disguised
it's actually a ball
playing with leaves
That thing called the moon
has some tricks up its sleeves
she saw it glide down
and bounce off of a cloud
tipping it's hat
and bowing to town
See you tomorrow
her group of new friends
this just the beginning
we're far from the end
No need for luck
with her beau in the sky
a 3 quartered boy
with love in his eyes
she bows to the moon
as her Gypsy skirt flows
silver cat walking
wherever she goes
shamrock tipped pom poms
will twinkle her toes
Another summer time walk
with his dearest of Maidens
her toes and her eyes
are moon dipped and ladden
Goodnight Moon.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
Though I wear no crown of decadent jewels pressed down around my brow,
It can be said that I am beautiful.
Needing no assistance from a mask of make-up and every hair doing as it pleases,
I am told that I am beautiful.
Without the burden of corsets, push-ups and garters; no cocktail dress draping my shoulders,
I look in the mirror and am satisfied.
I wear blue jeans, t-shirts and tank tops; tennis shoes, flip-flops and high-tops,
And still my legs are long and lean; my shape curvy and full.
And while I walk by, a southern sway in my step, you know you take more than a cursory glance.
I have attitude, and bluntness inherited from my line of honest folk.
I am country. I am bold. I am ruthless.
I am simple in the way that diamonds are simply compressed carbon.
I am beautiful in the way that only a southern girl can be.
I am a huntress with my 243 across my lap in a camo blind.
I am an actress as I smile and say “Bless your heart.”
I am a lover if there ever was one.
I am a fighter when the chips are down.
I am my father’s nightmare and my mother’s dream.
See me with my mut from the pound that’s better trained than your frou-frou, AKC registered pom-poo.
Join me as I sing the hymns my granny sang with the same tone and inflection.
I am educated with my poor country grammar I use only to spite those who think I’m ignorant.
I know more about tracking a blood trail than I do about propriety,
But I’m studied in the art of being couth.
My southern charm is mixed with brazen straight forwardness.
I am proud. I am American. I am beautiful.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:50 PM UTC
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Because you're worth it
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 11:06 AM UTC
Comfortable breach
together while the
trees listen
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 11:09 PM UTC
she was soaking in the crimson red bath
and it wasn’t water
it wasn’t champagne either
rewinding to the day
he went running in the wood with his son
laughing, joking they were
the sky turns rouge
just like the color of her cheek
blushing from the heat of the oven
waiting for them at home
smiling.
It all happened so fast
If his mind is like the black box on the aeroplane
then they found
a flash of an animal
startled by his car headlights
frozen to the spot
then what once lucid became the color of her hair
snow white’s jet-black.
fast forward to the day
two old couples sitting side by side
no words were uttered
it’s the most beautiful time of the year
outside was a celebration of color
lights flickering yellow
Christmas trees viridescence
the child’s cherry colored pom pom
but all that got a shade brighter
thanks to heaps and heaps of snow
not ivory but transparent
like those droplets
running from the corner of the dad’s eyes.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
There is a world that no one knows
Where life unnoticed grows and thrives
Where birth and death and all between
Are scrutinised, yet are unseen
Where innocence and purity
In white are welcomed, full of hope
Impinging slowly, edging in
Life’s colour forming character
Where independent yellow gloats
In fierce teen triumph ‘Look at me!”
With fun and laughter orange glows
And reaches high in happiness
Experience and independence
Rich lessons teach and edges darken
Their lives on show, rough judgement falls
And ‘I prefer the red’ is thrown
About and listened to and felt
And colours deepen, darkened hue
In wind and rain and sunshine showers
Red develops, life impinges
Bright happiness or blood-red wisdom
Growing older, growing wiser
Where petals turning in reveal
Quiet pom-pom introversion
While out-turned fingers stretch with glee
Prima donnas, dancing, twirling
Where purple self-awareness turns
Each pink and mauve and lilac from
The bloom of youth towards life’s wane
Yet far enough away, rebelling
Where days grow shorter, sliding past
Yet hands stretch out and cup each face
And noses breathe and fingers touch
And bees buzz past and voices rise
And babies cry and old men laugh
And yet unknown, unseen, life slows
Bright-eyed the purple-rinse brigade
With sparkle-induced energy
Remembering and reminiscing
Their days they fill with endless chatter
Late Autumn falls and nights draw near
White heads do droop and slip, like snow
Fine petals drift into the breeze
An echo whispering til Spring.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC
I saw you today..
By accident..
Caught me off guard..
Wasen't expecting it..
You looked the same..
Head deep into your phone..
Unaware of what's going on around you..
Restored friendships...
With whom you hated...
All because I left you alone..
And all because you cant stand...
To be alone...
Cant say I'm surprised..
You were always high school..
All pom poms on game day..
All talk..
Loose lipped...
Knowing nothing of loyalty..
Starved for attention..
Mouth running constantly...
To whoever would listen..
Always kind of wide eyed..
And not really there...
Yea...
Nothings changed...
Your still the same...
What can I say though..
I have no regrets...
Walking away...
From a ****** up friendship..
You did me so *****
Like we were in high school..
And if you hadn't noticed...
I graduated years ago..
The life you choose to live with you and your kids...
Just isn't okay with me anymore..
You hang out with 21 year olds...
Girl, your 30...
Your Regina George's mom..
Quit playin...
This **** isn't funny...
I hope you invest all your..
"Extra time" into your kids..
They need you...
I'll miss them..
Ill miss you..
I use to love you like a sis...
But I grew up...
I've outgrown your ********
I've hung up my gown and tassel...
Its time for you to do the same..
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 2:56 AM UTC
Losing control of the brighter things
that sit and smirk at me as
the twilight immerses itself
in the faint glimmers of reality.
Hold that fractured frigid shock
to myself so tight
it breaks and shatters
vomiting sterilized pom poms
laced with chocolate sticky kisses.
Struck me, Lick me, Luck my
humble circumstances as they dance
on the roof of my mouth
chilly strange deadly
turns to muck in the shmuck
at the corner of my brain.
In one moment I’m there
the next, I’m insane.
Minutes switch by slowly as the
natural drugs kick in
enlightening my sense of well-ebbing stretches
into a glass of string.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
you’ve got it all wrong, momma.
flaunting your grief,
striping that poor sycamore down to a ghost off tree.
we revel in skeletons,
and find the clean lines
that divide
what is right and what is wrong.
sensous and economical,
the dead sing us songs i am learning to answer.
you would never understand the appeal
of power.
am i a hypothetical to you?
bow to me, forgotten godesss.
broken girls find solace in persephone.
i’m learning new words like pomegranate,
a word you can **** on.
pom- thick, round, bittersweet bulge.
e- the one you slide over to get to gran,
a slow swelling, cancer or the rose.
finally granate, stones stopping your heart cold.
pomegranate, a word you spit out, seeds sticking to your teeth,. don’t you see i never could have stayed?
you only want gods who water your crops, who let you bow beneath their thrones, if you do so quietly.
i want my own throne, and i want to be loud. i want to disscus the fulitlity of existence, the burden of immortality.
i want a life like my dearest pomegranates,
bittersweet and complex.
in short, i left for a reason.
i am not your daughter anymore.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 4:47 PM UTC
.
P
o om o
m Po m
P mP P
o o o
m m m
P P o P
o m P o
m o m m
P P o P
o m o
m P m
o
m
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC