"pouts" poems
music lives
music breathes
music loves
music grieves
music courts
music shouts
music wins
music pouts
music grows
music clings
music clicks
music rings
music sings
music sighs
music weeps
music dies
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Yellow is
a high-minded mood
the extravagance of sunlight
to be touched--
before long
by colors of play
____________
It is of hair
tendering golden sun
brown pennies for lemonade
____________
Yellow is
bumping into the screaming end
of a lit
cigarette
_____________
Yellow is
dripping from the eaves
onto an empty soup can
_____________
It is
spindling sparrow song
from highest perch on roof
his pitch can aspire
_____________
Yellow is
in rattled doorknob
an infant's sweet
voice wanting – in
Reciting menu
above mattress
edges into sleep
two dark eyes
plead
for yellow
waking
Mother into morning--
“juice.... eggs”
Yellow ____
is
opening a car door
at the shore's
unmistakable!
Smells of life
warmth and breeze
touching strings
those kites
of sense
harmonics
above the tone
octaves of excitement
to see to hear to touch to taste
to know
again –
the ocean of my mother
as she calms the waves,
ignores the pouts of us
with stuff to lug out to the beach
the towels, pails and shovels
Picnic basket, cooler
lotion, comic books, her magazines
Mom looks out
She is a good swimmer
Her glasses, dark
Preside
reflecting beauty –
“Take your sister's hand.”
Yellow are the squeals
Feet thrashing sand
of cannot wait
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
because the sun
shines
alone -
it takes up the whole sky
and it is the only thing that makes the day bright.
and when it has to share the sky
with more than a few clouds,
it pouts
and hides
and the sun
is selfish.
because the moon
stays.
it shares the sky with its thousands of stars,
and together they make the night more beautiful
than anything could
alone.
it goes away slowly, so that we won't miss it
all at once,
and if it's gone completely then we know -
it's only for a night
and only because it has to.
it will be back
because the stars aren't the same without it.
the moon is better than the sun because
without the moon
it would just be us
against
the night.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 5:28 PM UTC
My friend Amelia (real name, of course, redacted)
is something of a pained Ophelia.
The play's the thing, the part brilliantly acted;
She stands alone by Hamlet's side,
She sighs and moans and pouts and pines,
and waits for him to be attracted.
But Hamlet I know; He's a friend of mine,
and for her heart, he doesn't pine. He's out to solve his father's ******
Let him go, Ophelia. It's all right. He won't be dissuaded by your ardour;
your love won't keep him long distracted.
Senpai; My Liege; it all rings far more familiar than it aught.
"Notice me!"
"Notice me!"
or then again...
not.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
I sing of life at state expense
a state devoid of common sense
addicted to obesity
impolitic in body weight
yet headed for austerity
as other people’s money ends
plebeian class-revolt transcends
our bureaucratic history.
They stack the monthly welfare decks
complain the service second-rate
those sullen clients, thankless louts
pajama-clad with tattooed pouts
whose girlfriends swell while babies cry;
the fathers mumble, sagging high
and wait in lines. The women try
to fool the lunar period
conceptions waxing myriad
while teenage dads discover ***
and social workers cash the checks
the daily urban nightmare is
enough to scare a nation broke
in clouds of marijuana smoke:
the cashless global mystery.
The breeders born in tropic lands
are tempted till they take the bait
no baby-momma understands
what family means, what life demands
Your undertakers overstate
in order to remunerate
your Democratic history:
a bankrupt urban mystery
the not-so-Great Society.
The ghetto sperm-donation ploy
makes babies but maintains the boy
to run around from mom to mom
slow-motion population bomb
as if to merely demonstrate
that social program funders wait
till number-crunchers aggravate
the urban teenage welfare state.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
pulsating underneath my tingling human flesh
trillions of red blood cells dancing and swaying
simmering underneath my dreary basset hound eye bags
flaming fire and desire born out of my own need for sleep
shaking are my cold and violent hands
while my body pouts that it does not get its way
if my physical manifestation were free
it would spend a million dollars on things it doesn’t need
if my legs broke out of their rightful imprisonment
they would dance until they were drenched in a sticky humid sweat
chains bound my wrists to prevent my imminent collapse
from the rush of a mind blowing high i did not endorse
i will sit in silence on the edge of my seat and wait
for the rollercoaster ride from hell to end
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 9:29 PM UTC
Truancy is a ***** with ***** stamps and skunky hair
her constant need to blow smoke up the ***** of those trying to try
is inconvenient at best, irresponsible at worst,
maybe amusing in the eyes of the elders.
Been there, done that
she rolls her eyes and pouts
slits her wrists with carnival glass
so she bleeds the multi-dimensional colors imperceivable to human eyes,
an entirely different color spectrum,
ultraviolet, super violent,
tasty and warm.
This young lady is no lady at all
just a little girl,
vulnerable and scared
and a total ****** *****
grabbing her ankles and thumping in dumpsters,
pretty little thing,
with scabs and gin
and cute little *** stains.
Leave her be,
this street walking angel
she never learned her lesson,
too swag for education.
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 10:20 PM UTC
that’s the thing with those trophy wife types,
never really mandible in *** like a jaw ought to be,
too stiff, too anorexic model type:
pooch pooch a handbag full of duck quack pouts of the lips.
i like mandible women, scary scarred women,
the types that will grow into fond babushkas
and cook you a broth.
ah all this crap with daddy longlegs walking into a paparazzi
web of flashes is ruining the red carpet,
i was about to frizz it up into cushion afro softness
that would be quicksand for high heels.
i need blotches i need survival skills that hold the skin together,
every wrinkle, every passing jest of “irrelevance,”
every amulet glow of feeling through the kaleidoscope of depression,
jet-lag i call it, although i rather call it trombone,
with the numbers it was bound to happen, leaving the mammalian
kingdom and entering the insect kingdom, it was bound to happen,
the lost identity tiling the earth, ploughing the eardrum for symphonies,
it was just waiting... just waiting... like a spider waiting
with the flies of the urbanisation of green & green...
can’t change my mind... blotches on skin and bulges of missing protein
on the hips... perfect girth for child rearing...
i don’t like perfect... it’s supposed to have an aesthetic aura of an art
gallery... instead it has an aesthetic aura of hygiene of a hospital;
i arrested all the beauticians while talking to the paediatricians
painting my nails with u.v. liquorice in this hospital of hygienic looks
but unhygienic romping pompoms that swayed man to chlamydia.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
(This poem is on the earthquake that people in Sikkim,India had faced on 18 September 2011. I was one among them too! P.S- on this very that is my brother's birthday! So i remember it more profoundly....just read on to find out more. Certain words mean the following out here-
MG MARG- MAHATMA GANDHI MARG.{Marg means street.}
LAL BAZAAR-refers to a marketing place in the capital of Sikkim,i.e,Gangtok)
MAAL ROADING-Maal road is generally found in most of the hill stations in India. But in my college, Maal Road has a different and funny meaning.)
DISCO COMMITTEE-refers to the DISCIPLINARY Committee in our college,which takes stringent actions against the guilty.)
18 was the date-
When a bunch of girls had decided
to travel through the city.
But I was the one who wasn't prepared,
As it was raining pretty heavy.
The girls planned to eat,roam and shop about,
through the MG MARG and LAL BAZAAR!
Fortunately for me due to some unavoidable circumstances
the plan got dropped....
And all I could see was girls making unbearable pouts!!
In the evening,
when people go out MAAL ROADING,
I went to the shop with a company
for buying a recharge card as done daily!
Though I bought it,
I somehow forgot to scratch it, I rather kept it inside my bag.
Strolling down the campus
We sat on the football field
Watching the players kicking the ball in glee
With their boots,shorts and tee!
At exactly 6:10 pm, there was a great turbulence,
which caused a whole lot of purturbence!
Yes, that was the 6.9 that shook us!
People running to and fro to save their lives,
some shirtless,some barefooted and some in towels!
With buildings shaking and cracking
there was nothing
but utter horror and shouting!
People seemed like Refugees,
With no phone networks to contact friends,relatives and families!
We were told to sleep with our room doors open.
But how could we when there were still tremors coming?
SHAKE! and people would be out on the streets!
Such a day it was, when Mother Nature had terrorised us!
Still the authorities couldn't help themselves from separating boys and girls!!
If they happen to meet each other,
They would have to face the DISCO COMMITTEE all together!
Huh!! When will you get rid off this mentality?
So that we can live joyous and peacefully!!!
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
Selfie... Selfie... The trends been going selfeye...
With this trend comes a blend, pouts... like they are kissing themselves for being screen ******
With social media in place, selfie is the one with pace
They even got an app out for it instagram, that make people instapout
People get 1000 likes for posting instant selfie, giving false notion of that they are friendly
People chatting all night long becoming woolly when it comes to confront with face on
Do you know the fun fact, selfie kills more than shark bites
Futile competition of FRIENDS + LIKES = NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY over the time
Close ones want to know how are you doing, a mere picture of you is just a façade
So when are you dialing that number in your phone, just to know how you forgot to talk
The very same social media that promise to bridge the gap, made you incapable of having a conversation with the very same friend’s list you flaunt
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 2:15 AM UTC
Little drops of his favorite coffee stained his body, residing as freckles.
They show their quiet walks, with massive dogs and shattered mugs.
They show the bright stars that dissapear when the fog creeps up.
They show the times smoke perched against his smooth, spotted fingers.
She aligns his spots like costilations in the twilight sky
As the sun stays longer, and those mornings are chirp, those freckles apear like April rain showers
They show their stolen kisses when she pouts her warm lips like a new born baby
They show each time she's fallen in love with him, lost within his eyes
Quiet morning couch, he grins at her and sips at his coffee
She starts to count
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
We sit by the river
on the grassy bank
our bikes parked by trees
Milka says
no ***
Auntie Flo's come
I look at the water
who's she?
I say
she looks at me darkly
my bad week
she says
I look at her
is that why you
were so long
coming down
this morning
while your mother
was giving me
the works?
What do you mean
the works?
She says moodily
you know
tea and biscuits
offering me stuff
being nice
talking warmly
walking quite seductively
across the room
I say
so while I was having
to bathe myself clean
and stuff
she was coming on
to you?
That's a bit strong
just being nice to me
I reply
she fancies you I bet
if she wasn't
so ancient
she'd be at your door
Milka says
jealous of
your mother?
I say
no annoyed that she
has the nerve
and with you
for encouraging her
you should take pity
on her not
encourage her
Milka says
she pouts her lips
and stares ahead
at the flowing river
I just sat there
didn't have to
encourage her
the tea was nice
and the biscuits
quite scrumptious
I say
aren't I nice
and scrumptious?
She asks
turning and gazing
at me
shame about Auntie
I say
and it is such
a lovely day
and the grass
is quite tall over there
and well that's it
I guess
yes it is
she says
so make the most
of me as I am
and be nice
she kisses me
and we lay down
on the grass
and make the most
of what we have
and curse Auntie's arrival
and she thinks
of what may have been
and I think of her
and try to keep
my thoughts
quite clean.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
Miryam walks along the beach
in her swimming attire, some red
and flowered design, Benedict
notes, walking just behind, having
left the two Moroccan guys behind
with the camel, with whom she'd
posed while he took camera shot.
Bet they don't do that everyday, she
says, swaying her delicious backside
side to side. No, guess not, least
not by the look on their faces,
Benedict says. She laughs, does
a Monroe kind of walk and wiggle.
We came down here last night, she
says, it was quite romantic what
with the moon, stars and warm air.
She stops and turns to look at him.
Was it about here? she asks. He
gazes about him, at the sand and
tufts of grass, the sky blue and the
odd white clouds, could be, hard
to say, it being dark and all. You
found your way around all right,
she says, smiling. Well, a guy gets
to know his way around after a while,
bit like a ****** gets to know the sea,
the rough times and the smooth,
the high tides and the low, when
its best to set out and when to stay
in port. She frowns. Is that what it's
like for you guys? Just like that? No,
he says, just being philosophical, in
fact, it was a good evening, a fine
**** he says softly. Is that all? she
asks. She stands there her hands
on hips, her head to one side. No,
of course not, it's just us guys hate
to get all soft about these things,
he says. She pouts. Soft? These
things? she says. Can't you just
say it was romantic? She says, is
it hard to say that? A fine ****
Is that easier to say? It's just one
syllable instead of three, he says.
She turns and walks on through
the sand. He follows, taking in
her figure, her side to side ***
the tight red hair. OK, he says, it
was a romantic night, I loved the
whole set up, the stars, the moon,
you and me, the sand, the soft tufts
of grass, the *** the kisses, the holds.
She stops and turns and gazes at him.
It has to mean something, she says,
otherwise we waste our lives in such
pointlessness. He nods, zooms in on
her small **** her eyes, her whole features.
Sure we do, he says, you're right, it
was one fine romantic never to be
forgotten night. She smiles and walks
to him and kisses him and holds him.
He holds her, feels her, senses her lips
on his, and out of the corner of his eye,
he sees the two Moroccan guys and
camel walk away up the beach, they'll
never know this, he thinks, feeling smug,
far beyond their lives or random reach.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
I'm glad I'll drive your next girl insane
With my phantom kisses that
May or may not have left stains on your brain.
Because you see, as perfect as she will be,
I **** red lipstick and trilbies and kohl
And it's rare in a woman to be able to watch Top Gear
Without thinking of safety hazards, and seatbelts.
I hope she knows that however loose she wears her hair,
She'll never be as wild as me.
And as cool as she sounds,
I have a bite like a kiwi,
And I always leave an after taste that isn't strawberry and sugar.
So yeah, she's suave and calm and collected, and that is **** fine,
I'll give her that.
But I'm sarcastic.
And I call you out when you become too boring,
Like for instance,
Not making me mad at you at least once a day
For making me think about things that I would like to just blitz over
As I do with many other things
Like the people who loved us.
Because all we needed was each other.
And although she pouts,
I smirk.
She has big eyes, but mine are of lynxes.
I'm your own personal minx.
And she knows I'll always be wrapped around your neck.
And however close she gets to you
I'm always right beside you, inside you
Every breath she takes,
Every mistake in love you make.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
Allure
Beauty from the sultriest with even steady glow exquisite soft lines is perfected in the creature
Dreams are resonant the eyes smolder all tender entry viewed from lips of lushness
Crowned with hair beyond mortal texture it perfectly accentuates loving doll quality’s full mixture
The promise held forth borders crossed unable to envision your dumb all filled with doubt as she pouts
The soul engages as the eyes flame and burn with passion the heart beats with hard thumps
Heavenly body formed from flesh in its force you reel emotional exhilaration extends to enthrallment
Hands touch the visible world seems altered the blood seems to halt its flowing the mind *******
Reconsider the alignment of the stars surly you have passed them in the silver moons glowing stream
The exotic has burst forth on a common stage all has juxtaposed the delirium takes free course
The dance now begun the coupled whirl started here ends among the marveling distant clouds
Enchantment has found its boundless geography it not on any maps it’s truly the heart at it’s source
Governed never the reins to this wild and free spirit has never been made that would be injustice
Has loveliness limits are the galaxies measurable how can they when their ever growing and bestowing
Featureless flawless curvy arts greatest inspiration told through a form that’s made to love and hold
If genius is ever is to be expounded bring the beloved of all men set her in the midst her essence flowing
The world speaks of desirability its fount its ever coursing real ideal is found in timeless womanhood
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC
Drink deeply
The fever inside eyes
Lost inside whispers
Hidden
Beneath intoxication;
Where
Fingers
Tangle ecstasy to
Burn on the thrillsssssssss!!
Schhhhhhhh!!
Rage the pendulum
Hips
Rocking...
Finger-tip trails
Quiver-sink
Petulant pouts
Pressing positions,
Spanked!!!
Beneath palms;
Ahhhhh!!
Shiver-scream his name
Deep throat cry!!
Molton
The crave,
Writhed in
Arch,
Beneath a
Quickened pace,
Beautiful rising bask of
Bodies bathed...
Tongue feathers
Feeding the fuel of
Burning desires;
Ohhhhhhhh!!!
Ravage-me-gently,
Make love to me...
Until we are
Sssssssspent;
Saturated between lips
Anointed
In sacred secrets...
Moistoned, sheathed
Inside the tremors
Swollen, in wet cradles...
Pooled...
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC
Rose of a champion
Thought, in a beautified accord
Set to waiting hours, a needs complexion
Where we are, the tale of unity to its peaceful order...
Skip, argue or define
The truth, we removed by bounty of pouts...?
Sated avarice, and the curtness of kin caught in a notorious lie...
Welcome a shadow to breath, when a harrowed eye allowed...?
Is a requited girth, of when, any of a decency's curse?
Has found me, in a live and by chastity's purpose
Handsomer skills that agree, in no known terms...
I had the taste of pride, like a reality of sin, to accuse
Why...?
No man with a tradition of sincerity, is this island commit
Without the sigh of me, the irony to dwell and seek tight
The course of another ship of fortune, that has seldom to wit:
Look, an eye of poise, if not intellects poison...
Made manifest by the only few, of bared conscience
That has us for curiosity's fool, but you, for another hero to loan
A flower of understated chaste; a victim of letters of prescience?
Tall tales of nothing more than a drunk hysteria?
Here is your mind, in my way for one more timidity...
Think and details of weal, we will know until votes ***** drama
To a reaching hour, no one above another, like acts of humanity...
Sep 4, 2022
Sep 4, 2022 at 3:17 PM UTC
Isn't it funny when someone
gave a indirect grin,
not actual, but written on-screen.
When someone, reacts, boldly expresses.
get depicted by their cyber mess,
without cleaning their cases.
expand thy network, Make's ourselves classy,
but some emotional outbursts,
looks cheap and fancy
lovers thought, oh how solemn their toasts!
but ninety nine percent see,
that the intimacy was lost.
Cats and dogs fought in style and fashion,
their vocabularies enlightened
when they are in a mad mission
Wanted to express and hit a person.
masters of indirect strikers,
haters for all season.
Vices, come! trends easy as left and right.
Poser-murmurs see those pouts.
Oh boy, I just lost my appetite?
O
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 6:49 AM UTC
finger-paint yourself a picture
on a canvas destined for nothing more
than late-night
one-night
kisses
arrange fabric on a doll
that was store bought
for perfection
owned by jealousy
mocked by
lessers
stain lips
to never speak
gentle words
train lips
to reside
in perfect pouts
school eyes
in fluttering
slitted
hooded
gestures
arrange toes
into smooth, unbroken shapes
to be molded
in a set of high heels
high ballers
high flyers
being higher on the food chain
only makes you
more likely
to be consumed
and if we are anything
we are
consumers
limited
to materialistic consumption
we dress ourselves up like
a sweetshop-confection
topped with gucci
and laced with victoria's secret
lucidity
it's not hard to see
what we're about
if this is a judgement
of clear intentions
we are the clear
winners
our faces are perfect
optical illusions
standing on an assembly line
waiting for someone to take a shine
to the curve of our hips
lips
chest
there is nothing to confess
our cards are laid
only after
we
are
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
Walls were pressed and hammered
Therapy for workers, curing pangs of comforts
They sat between fleshy webs of knuckles
On lunch break they would pluck pouts of moldy fruit
If only she could hear summer of 98’
Glimmering puddles and sinkable reasons
She could test her strength with Goldfish and a drippy, chocolate cupcake
Matching deserts of skin covering joints young enough to bend
They spat against another, sweating. Tapping
Smoother than honeymooners in a convention center
Frigid or uncontrollable, no one could tell
The breezeway connected teeth, the left chipped in the corner from
A muddy softball game. Their team won 7-2.
Wide enough to squeeze uncooked macaroni shells between
Became the dusky neighborhood game.
Transitioning humans, males most likely, whispered fears between that gap.
He was different. He waited in outside the doors, near the trash bins
With grumpy janitors, muttering, “fuggin’ kids” and things like that.
She loved how ugly they were then.
Her thoughts trailed him, what was left of him, as he paced
Searching for the mug he left there, no
There, holding wet tissue, no
Soggy cupcake liner
Cupcake, shortcake, cake, cake liner
Rainbow or musty brown from 346 degrees Fahrenheit
Baking Therapy Class held in her kitchen
Maybe because she could pound at the dough and it would never fight back
She neglects the finale of rumbling coffee exhale since she knows
He’d never come back. Not here or any party she threw.
But on another hard drive she saved photos of September 20th.
She’ll flip mindlessly through a Cosmopolitan, until she can forget his name
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
Supine, wrapped in scarlet,
only eye open, third.
I create her skin, flawless and golden;
her hair becomes the color of midnight
on the ocean,
blood at night.
Suspended, bound in purple,
capitulation, freedom.
These lonely visions, they are cobblestones in my twisted path of memories both past and future, overgrown with weeds of time and worn around the edges; an uneven course winding in and around and back again, with branches, heavy and black,
so black,
on all sides.
Where are you, dearest?
I smell acrylics and oils and linseed
and the windows are open; traffic hums on the hill and your brow is furrowed as your brush caresses the canvas, each stroke, love manifest.
Later, you will sing for me
Fluid, mercurial, she sings and paints
and broods
and pouts
and wipes her cheek with her thumb, smearing alizarin crimson on her pixie face.
Time stops at her beauty
The moment falls into my guts, burrowing into
my insides forever;
the plants by the window,
the deep red smear on my angel,
the sound of camelhair hitting canvas, forever mine now
to cherish and carry
with me as I trudge this
desolate and dreary landscape.
*When I come home,
you will sing for me*
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC
ARROW
I am as a slave
To an errand I cannot wave
Where I go, I cannot say
But where I am, I cannot stay
There is a face behind this string
And even he I cannot see
But once he pulls, I obey
For then I am finally free
First they lay me down for years
Amongst steel that is sharp and thick
But then the day draws near
Bearing foes with stones and sticks
Though I am small, I am fast and sleek
I don't fray my path is strict
At first sight, I am nothing to fear
At first strike, I am a lot to bear
Without a doubt I bring despair
Often leave them deep in grouch
Pain I caused, beyond repair
I felt his rage by how he pouts
We both clinging to his life
See him fight with all his might
As he drips onto my head
I fade away at my journey's end
SEYI KING
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 5:23 AM UTC
when i look at her
i see a simple girl
someone with no expectations
someone content with
what she has
not wanting more
always smiling
even when humiliated
she laughs
thinks every thing's funny
and is happy
she can make others laugh too
even if it's at her own expense
she doesn't ask for much
no demands
never pouts
just flows through life
almost nonexistent
not many would notice if she left
or didn't come
there might be a few probable
tsk tsk's
if she passed
but this is the path she chose
this is the path she follows
though pathetic to some
to her
this is her life.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
good equestrians you know like
young things who giggle all pretty
major embellishments of lipstickglaze and
sourpuss pouts skin smooth as
vanilla in summertime:
nymphs if you only
champ at the bit to have your
hair brushed to be
carrotfed and bootkicked into
stockholm races (sing this song
wear your
habit on your sleeve or
break it fast
come now sister let’s
put on some tea and
watch the jasmine bloom I hear it’s
particularly fragrant this
time of year.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 5:14 AM UTC