"pouted" poems
It was a rainy night. He took out his umbrella, opened it, and it soon engulfed the both of us. "Hey, you're getting wet," he said. He pulled me closer to him, his arms like the umbrella protecting me, protecting us from the drizzle.
I snapped out of my daydream to find him weirdly staring at me, and asked him, "What, do I have something on my face?"
"No, it's just... why are you staring into space?"
Our footsteps made little splashes, puddles reflected a thousand images of us. These pictures from nature will not last for a lifetime but the rain was our witness, as if the skies were crying at a matrimonial ceremony.
I took a step away from him to let the memory of him soak in me. He stands there in the rain innocently, with umbrella in hand, waiting for me to respond. Breathing out, I told him: "Ask me what I think of you right now."
"Wait, what? Are we going to play a game?" That usual what-is-going-on look still stupidly plastered on his angelic face. "Well, what do you think of me right now, then?"
I didn't hesitate and the first word that automatically left my lips were 'umbrella'.
"Umbrella? Do I look that thin to you, really?" He said dryly as he gave me an uninspired look. He shook his head in disbelief and pouted. "And I thought you'd relate me at least to the rain."
"Umbrella: definition for a protecting force or influence," I told him as I stood in place. I side-glanced at him to find a spark lighted up in his eyes as his shoulders loosened. "You're my umbrella because I need you in rainy days and sunny ones. Literally because of your stature to block the sun or cover me when it rains," I laughed. "And it's not because you're thin like one, silly. But how you comfortingly stretch out your arms to me when it's a bad day for me. How you guard me from others' icy remarks. It feels like a need to have you around wherever I go."
He cleared his throat jokingly and added, "Might I say I also take you high like Mary Poppins' umbrella." He burst out laughing as I glared at him for his poorly done innuendo.
But right there and then as I rolled my eyes at him, he dropped the umbrella, grabbed me by my waist and kissed me as light as the raindrops kissing our skin. He broke off after a while and said, "Getting wet, are we?"
Before I could claw at him for his second pun, he released me as I chased him down, not caring if I would get a fever later. But sometimes I just wonder how did I come to like, fall in love, and love him-- basically feel every emotion with him. In all truth, he wasn't just my umbrella, but also my home whom I'll always return to at the end of all my days. Umbrella or home, he is my shelter.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
the haunted house looked too much like your ribcage.
the rides only reminded you that you're not scared of dying.
your lips looked so beautiful while they pouted around cotton candy you pretended to eat.
i look at you and my whole body feels like a roller coaster.
i just want you to be okay and i don't know if you can be.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
Little Red Riding Hood walked through the woods
Singing and swinging her bag of baked goods
When out of the brush leapt a wolf with a smile
And some florist’s advice for the innocent child.
So off went the girl, picking bunches of daisies
While Wolf raced ahead with a step none too lazy.
Then at Grandmother’s door he knocked and said
“Let me in dear Grandmother, it’s your little Red."
So with grandmother’s blessing he let himself in
And ate up the oldest of little Red’s kin.
Then Little Red Riding Hood came through the door
With nary a clue of what was in store.
After noting her “grandmother’s” ears, nose, and teeth
Into Wolf’s gullet she went with a shriek.
As the transvestite wolf began snoring like thunder,
Along came a huntsman, who cut his belly asunder.
Out came Red Riding Hood, Grandmother too
While Wolf, so oblivious, kept sleeping right through.
With a few heavy stones, a needle and thread
Wolf, far too full, finally woke then dropped dead.
After a party of baked goods and wine,
The huntsman gave Red a great wolf pelt so fine.
“Thank you, dear huntsman,” said our little Red,
“But I’d rather skin wolves on my lonesome instead.
I know things now, of these beasts and their wiles
I’ll give them a lesson, with blood and with style.
Teach me to stalk, to chase and to shoot
The best huntress I’ll be - and the cutest, to boot."
The huntsman, he roared with his big booming laughter.
In a voice that rose straight up to the rafters:
“Why little girl, have you a taste for the hunt?
You’re better off sewing, though I hate to be blunt.”
But little Red pouted, and threatened to cry
So the huntsman gave in, with a shrug and a sigh.
The huntsman- he was a formidable teacher.
Now Red lives in fear of no living creature.
Today, when Red Riding Hood walks through the woods
She carries bags of new, furry goods.
And when out of the brush leaps a wolf with a smile,
She smiles right back: “You’ve picked the wrong child."
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
Saturday afternoon
cycling up a 1in 6 hill
then along the road
toward the farmhouse
you dismounted
and laid your bike
against the fence
and waited
to get your breath back
the farmhouse door opened
and Mrs Putt came out
and said
Jim and Pete are out I’m afraid
her daughter Monica
appeared by her side
they’ve gone out
with their older brother
Monica said
ok
you said
tell them I called
sure I will
Mrs Putt said
I can go on a bike ride
with you if you like
Monica said
Benedict won’t want to have you
to drag along with him
Mrs Putt said
Monica pulled a face
and pouted her lips
I don’t mind
you said
better than riding alone
well if you don’t mind
Mrs Putt said
mind you behave
yourself young lady
she said
and went indoors
and closed the door
just get my bike
Monica said
and went back behind
the farmhouse
you looked around
the farmhouse
and the surrounding fields
and trees and waited
after a few moments
she was back
riding her bike toward you
where we going?
she asked
lets go see the peacocks
along Sedge lane
you said
and so you got on your bike
and off you both rode
she beside you
in her summery dress
and sandals with her
brown hair tied
in bunches
you in jeans
and open neck
white shirt
the sun bright
and hot above you
the birds flying
and calling
the clouds puffy
and white
I’ve always wanted to go
bike riding with you
Monica said
but the boys don’t let me
but I am now
you nodded and smiled
wondering Jim and Pete
would say if they knew
she’d got to go
bike riding with you
she chatted on about Elvis
and the film in town
and how she’d like to go
but no one would take her
and how her brothers
teased her
and her mother
nagged her
after a while
you came to the peacocks
in a wire cage
by a large house
just off the lane
aren’t they beautiful?
she said
peering through the wire
her fingers holding on to
the cage
standing beside you
yes they are
you said
but of course
the **** bird
has the beauty
the hen
is just dull
and ordinary
odd that
she said
wonder why?
don’t know
you said
I’m not dull
and ordinary am I?
she asked
looking at you
sideways on
no
you said
you have
your own beauty
do I?
yes you do
and she blushed
and looked away
and the peacock
called out
and moved off
opening its colourfulness
and Monica did a twirl
making the patterns
move
on her twirling dress.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
He left her in white.
He left her in awe.
He wasn't there, he didn't arrive.
She smiled and waited,
waited until sundown.
He never came.
He left her alone.
He left her with nothing.
She pouted and shook hands with the departing guests.
He left her.
He was nowhere to be found.
She walked, barefoot and red,
eyes blurry from the rain.
He left her,
he ran away.
She passed strangers,
who laughed,
cried,
gasped,
ignored.
He stayed away, nowhere to be found.
She was home. In the dark.
He was gone. In the dark.
She took a bath in her wedding dress.
He never took off his tux.
She laid in an empty bed.
He laid there.
Dead.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
He stirs, slowly...
watching the spoon,
break the fog,
settling over his morning cup...
opalescent eyes,
scanning the sleepy blue,
of daytime horizons.
Porcelain fingers, shift
into hard, ceramic claws;
first smoothing up,
snuggly cotton pantlegs,
and then running them down,
forcing his navied thighs, to separate.
The fork, in the road,
as I crawl in, between them,
headlights, and a glossy smile,
on full beam.
He jerks, with surprise
at the unexpected motion,
lips, arrested in a subtle purse--
a pinched pink,
pouted gently, outwards
to blow away the steam
gathering, around tense fingers.
I mimic the tension,
with my own, slaking lips.
Hands shift,
to cup him,
and slide, upwards.
Suddenly, he needs two,
to grip the mug.
My tongue, slicks out,
wetly,
to follow his ascent,
as he stands, upright;
neapolitan soldier,
with the suede skin.
The heat,
gathers,
in my palms
flushing his thighs,
and it circulates, warmly
against flickering flesh;
mouth, moving limberly
to drink him,
under the table.
My feral eyes,
fix his drunken ones,
as we both take each other,
in.
"I hope you saved some cream, for me?
Good morning, honey."
Jun 13, 2025
Jun 13, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
After many working days of giving of myself in love patience and endurance There are joys in the mist and I'm Thankful
The days past have had their struggles and blessings.. I have been facing the challenges ..
The mentals cares and the growing pains that comes with time experience and rough edges..
I know Sleep has been a thing I have chased, and tried my hardest to pin down.. by accidental falls..
Sleep where are you my heart calls.
But yet my days catch her sometimes..lolzz I mean really..
I crave for certain events on days.. its absence quite chilly.
Yet there are many delays..
But this Wednesday I needed Wednesday the rains fell and poured me replenishment to my thirst, and dear love Wednesday loved me.. dearly gave me the rest I needed.
Wednesday fell upon me, and gave love, like cloud nine times eleven sent.
I tried to hold on to Wednesday and pouted as it had to carry on...
Now its Thursday and as I labor my eyes cry for rest to sleep as I'm pushing and working strong.
This day has been long..
My off days are Thursday and Friday..
Sunday and Monday may bring, rest and love, flowers, and kisses and sweet misses
of sweet napping's I'll say..
ahh don't delay..
@ selinasharday_rose H.E.R #POETRY 2023 S.A.M Published.
Sep 8, 2023
Sep 8, 2023 at 2:26 AM UTC
his essence
cascades across
the grain of my frame;
as his eyes dilate,
imbibing in the beauty
of motion teasing the lull
of moonbeams as it
dabbles
against the infinity
of our minds
beholding
our reflected image
in mirrored composure,
as our delicacy of want
pushes
towards an edge
of lustiness
entwined within
warbled notes
of rock wrens
singing love songs
as they dip
their wings
on early
summer
morn's
my eyes close
as softness of
lips touch upon
mine own; sending
thoughts to lucid
stillness of serendipity
bathing our contoured
frames in dulcetness
aligned within pouted
hunger tasting one
another in unity
kaleidoscopic prisms
alight in our eyes
as the lull of the moon
pulls the ebb and flow
of the ocean's current
as our bodies move
in rhythm with its
motion of each
cresting wave
crashing against
the shores of
our soul's fluidity
burbling in ecstasy
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
I fell in love with a boy at a coffee shop
who always ordered vanilla chai.
I knew it was love because I could
never get up the courage to speak to him.
I fell in love with a bony fingered,
anorexic boy in my math class.
I think it was the way he did the problems in his head,
so he could use the paper for listing
everything he wanted to eat that day, but wouldn’t.
I fell in love with a girl who had dreadlocks
and burn marks on her neck.
I always fantasized about touching them,
asking if they still warmed up her skin.
I fell in love with the older man at the tutoring center.
I failed Spanish so that I could spend the next semester
eye ******* him from across the study table.
I've always had a thing for married men.
I fell in love with girl who pushed up her
***** and pouted for football players.
It may have been unrequited,
but at least I didn’t catch anything.
I fell in love with the person
who left death threats in my locker.
I’d never known someone who felt
the same way about me as I did.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
*the cost
of
'a post-strophe fee'
is a pouted heart
placed in parentheses*
(yet still on that ledge:)
1.
like the tail of a kite
caught on a wire
or high branch of a tree
waiting to be eased off
and breezed out
free
it hangs upside down
seeing 'everything'
tipsy-style
as its force is slow-drained
2.
this apostrophe
is
the mere tail-end
of a dragon
(in a pit of exhaustion)
dragged in deepest-red ink
leaving an inimitable trail
with emphasis on sincerest care
brackets are just (two curves)
which jealously guard
all what lies inside
while giving so much
love in indivisible power-curls
3.
better to
let nature runs its course
of rivers flowing
and wild winds
while beetles walk on stones
yet
while trying to make a mark
with missives in the sand
the waves make sure
to wash them all away
best then
to let know
in this now
that some things never die
(it's enough for veracity to flap its weary wings)
4.
flee then
this finest core-duel likely
there's always..maybe
the next now
(all the previous
were not quite squandered
in cold flight
but unexpected loss)
and
no use hiding from one's (own) shadow
for kites will take off
and fly high
in the sun
where shadows have no place to hide
*futile wondering
if it really
(has to)
spell
catastrophe
it does not*
(it really does not :)
S T. Saturday. 27 July 2013
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
She is like an indie film played backwards, just a bunch of beautiful pictures.
And her eyes roll like rizla between the italian mans fingers.
She smokes with pouted lips, as if ready to kiss her lover.
She looks the same when he pulls on her hair and glides his tongue over the skin of her neck.
And she smiles the same smile when his teeth graize her *******
Her eyes also roll when his hands hold onto her waist and she remembers the lipstick stain she left on the end of her cigarette.
She leaves the same stain on the rim of his .... forefinger.
‘I don’t know why I like you so much.’ He whispers into her curls.
‘It’s because I remind you of hash and tobacco.’ She replies.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 5:32 AM UTC
Once upon a midnight, dreary,
Top Hattie twinkles, lipstick smeary,
...spinning girls like Mischief Managed all glittery on the ball room floor,
I was taken, most completely.
...Batting lashes indiscreetly.
D'lilac lips that pouted sweetly, a Circus Girl that knew the score.
I pinched myself, could i be dreaming?
Of this Nymph, this Empress gleaming?
was her Diva charm misleading? Shoe Addicted Troubadour.
A Siren in Styletto thrilled me,
Abracadabra wish fulfilled me,
......Medusa eyes that drew, yet stilled me- Retro-Futuristic roar.
Like an Airborn Unicorn descending,
advanced upon me unpretending.
my heart of Dragon Scales extending for this Cupcake Thief I'd cover for.
"Mirror Mirror" she whispered, smirking.
Countessa Fluorescent had caught me lurking,
and sent my Great Pink Planet jerking, Cosmopopping, Centrifuchia war.
My Beautiful Rocket was set to swinging,
No She Didn't hear the ringing
in my ears the Twilight singing, to the Limest Criminal on the floor.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 7:17 PM UTC
time runs backwards
what is fast is deemed slow i motion situs
mon river flow
out of notion soul
and into the empty pools
so shalt the water rise
deserts no more
but ponds o hexagonal 5 pouted stars
as universes collide
other must die
there is no choice but freedoms reins
ring those bells
the chichi tolls
on sacred soil they were built
and energetic pathways meet at meeting points no less
are the beggars than the high class hookers ( thieves)
smokes
from the cattiplliers lips are but clouds on distant horizons
jasmine juice
electronic sitar
to the waning moon glow
dip
hose
MUTHfuckin sails mate
where is the *** in my tummy tum tum
note please:
he french resistance
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
I'd massage your entire body
*trill fingers slowly down
your spine*
Pouted lips
Beautiful body
Hips wide
Legs parted
Side to Side
Electric fur stands tall
Clenched toes, static in your veins.
I'd massage you until
your skin sings songs
that your lips don't even know
the words to.
(electric veins)
Until your heartbeat sounds like
My last name.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 5:26 AM UTC
Zebra-striped cushion covers on soft-white chairs,
cream topped calorie delights, inviting -
this patisserie in Nairobi:
"you're welcome" the smartly outfitted
African girl spoke in flawlessly accented English
as I pore over the menu - a posh girl
dressed in haute denim and a sleeved top
walks in and spoke French in pouted lips
as she found her corner spot, reading;
an Asian couple walk in, wife in hijab
and baby in tow, as the man sneers at me and
answers 'assalamu alaikum' on phone
as I ponder on identity when
the French matron in Yoga tops walks in
saying namaste to me, and calls out for Henry -
her outfitted and bespectacled pomeranian
oh don't we all want to be someone else
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
Wild woman
Uninhibited by inhibitions and
Unburdened by her need to be
In the limelight
The spotlight on stage with
Off key notes and
A voice of sin
Wild woman
Devil woman
With her wiles and winks from
Afar
Just far enough to make me want
Make me pine for what once was and
Can never be
Wild woman
Kink woman
Teeth to neck and
Chilled fingers on feverish flesh
Reminding me
Taunting me as
Whispers of lust
Flood my ears
Oh, wild woman
Wicked woman
Pouted lips and
*** in heels
Who wants when drunk and
Forgets when sober
With no care for her actions or
The hearts she breaks with
Fluttering lashes and
False promises.
Wild woman
Drunk woman
You’ll forget it all
When morning comes.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
*if you're looking for an apple
then you've come to the right place
i'm red and ready for your pouted lips
i'm smooth, glossy and juicy like heavenly nectar
i'm true, wholesome and authentic with no toxics
and with me you're guaranteed full health and happiness
if you want to cuddle
you've come to the right place
i'm long, slim and yellow with a smoothness that's hard to beat
i am good when you travel, sweet without being cloying
your banana boat song is a hymn to my tropical warmth
and i'm suave and exotic to the hilt, you can't do better than me
if you want to drown in sweetness
tangelo is your lady, and you've come to the right place
i'm buxom, round and absolutely oozing with juice and sugar
i'm exotic and you find me only where good taste is supreme
and believe me once you **** my depths and drink my juice
you're forever a great believer in aesthetic cuisine
And for you life can be gulp after gulp of sweetness and joy*
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
She came from a favela
Steep slope above Rio
Color of dark chocolate
And vanilla of mestizo
Worked the narrow streets
Walked them like a queen
Bad boys knew her beats
Her stir did leave a sheen
In translucent woven sheets
Swaying hips and pouted lips
Bad cops along her favela beat
Always whistling as they glimpse
Flava of favela became queen
Said so long to to steep streets
Tin built hut and streets unclean
Became the Queen of Rio
r 18Sept13
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
And I loved you there
Lips pouted in rebellion
So many leaves to shred
So many ghosts to chase
The glass doors were closed.
And I loved you there
As you deciphered numerical impossibilities
On another plane of reality
Brow furrowed in intimate concentration
I averted my eyes from the questions you pondered.
And I loved you there
Angry fists filled with contempt towards yourself
Unable to find the words
A mirrored universe between us
And you can't get through.
And I loved you there
My incredible, awestruck son
Trapped, forever a child
Contemplating the mysteries of life
You discovered the truth of this world.
An angel's smile struck your lips
And I loved you there
As you forgot it all.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
It starts like an earthquake underneath my head.
Three quick shakes,
A pause,
Then three more.
Air bursts from her pouted lips
And I run a comforting palm up and down her side.
"Shhh," I whisper into the skin of her neck
So she knows
That I know
That her tears speak for us both.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
Monica had a sulky expression
and pouted her lips
you watched her
as you waited
for her brothers
to come out
of the farmhouse
they won’t let me
come ride bikes with you
she said
but I can ride a bike
I have my own
she leaned against the fence
one foot resting
on a cross beam
it’s not up to me
who goes on bike rides
you said
but you could say
you want me along
she said
you do want me
to come along
don’t you?
why do girls do that?
you asked yourself
looking beyond her
to the farmhouse
hoping the boys
would show soon
eh?
she muttered
don’t you?
if your brothers
are ok with it
I don’t mind
you said
but they won’t
say that will they?
she said
folding her arms
and giving you
the big stare
maybe if you ask your mother
they might
you suggested
seeing her lips set
in a thin line
where a smile
should have been
she’ll side with them
Monica said
you’re too young to ride
with the boys she’ll say
Monica mimicked
in a motherly type voice
she put down her foot
from the fence
and walked toward you
you noticed she was wearing
a green dress
with flowers across
her small bust
she stood in front of you
her hands wrestling
with each other
I want to go with you
she said softly
please say yes
and they’ll listen to you
you studied her features
the way she tilted her head
and the eyes
how they searched you
the farmhouse door opened
and the boys came out
excitedly getting on their bikes
and riding up toward you
run along a play Monica
Pete said
yes go play
with your doll and pram
Jim said
I want to ride with you
she said
Benedict wants me to
she added
giving you a staring gaze
no he don’t
Pete said
he thinks you’re a pain
in the ***
no he doesn’t
she said
he said he wants me to go
Jim laughed and Pete said
sure he did
like he wants you
to kiss his ***
now go off and play
she looked at you
her eyes deepening
I don’t mind
you said
she isn’t coming
Jim said
now go away
or I’ll call Mum
and see what she says
Monica poked out her tongue
and walked away
the boys began peddling
their bikes as you did yours
but looking back
toward the farmhouse
you saw her give
a one finger up you sign
before she went indoors.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
You raised them
You should keep them
And pay all their bills;
What you raised spills
Over into the common weal
And fears become real
As they are ignorant
Greedy and mean
Worst we’ve ever seen
And no hope of salvation
From your creation.
Are you afraid of your kid?
Is that what you did;
Let him or her do whatever
And you never told them
What is wisdom or whim?
Let them do what they please
As long as they don’t sneeze
In church or belch loudly
Then you can go on proudly
Bragging about your good child
Until they run totally wild
And get themselves arrested.
Then your lies are bested
And your laziness outed.
No wonder you pouted.
When things go wrong
You want someone to come along
And take care of things
And pay the fines that brings
Because they are sweet, down deep.
Then you go back to sleep
Because life should be easy for you
And the things your kids do
Are not your fault, so back out to buy
More magazines about movie stars
And slobber over newer cars
And ***** about the schools
Not teaching them the rules
And how to pursue them
Then you go out and sue them
For teaching what you do
And not what kids should do.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 6:13 PM UTC