"rinds" poems
A favorite color, too bright for my eyes, a
favorite food.
A fruit left longing for a rhythm
a rhyme.
Sit down and ***** with rinds under nails
smelly.
Citrus acid and sweet juicyness drips down
my hands.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
Though you've barely had a ramble
are no wayward canine daddy of note
that brief encounter in our brambles
has left the experts fearing a cancerous growth
So we starve you of your pine nuts and bacon rinds
so we can feed you anaesthetic
and betray you to the thief of time
only to make you, I imagine, feel pathetic
And you often so full of life's exasperate scurry
I worry
will the shine stray from your eyes
those hazel pools of so much of
my feeling mature, just for
pertaining to a creature's care
we all seem in too much of a hurry
to stifle what little spirit
that surrounds us
to wear
down on every minor aspect
of childish delight
in this silent sacrament
of the aging process
and with arguably years
of your fatherhood left
in the very ***** some dry eyed savant
decides it correct we should tamper with
Tomorrow I will snuggle you in favoured, bouncy eiderdowns
that will blanket your unknowing
and treat you as if
you were an eastering child
on cured hams and other saltiness
after you awaken
from those strangest enforcements of sleep
and through our eyes we will trade more secrets to keep
And we will hope, as we only can, that it was for the best
For you, Yorkshire's son, or Sheringham's
And consider with all of your
exhuming breath
That we meddled, stilling over life
To cheat a slightly delayed death.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
The braches of the faint oak were bewitched to a dark gold under
the orange, thick silk sunset.
The wood, as the sun lowered, changed from apple green
to golden billow
which swept foamy,
rose clouds along a now cucumber, blurry horizon.
Plump plums and fruit rinds
litter ripe walkways alongside the flower beds who's tickled buds
are closing slightly as the fickle sky, gone nine, turns to a majestic
Indian blue and the June monastery's milky swirls are lit by the sugar lump stars.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
It is nothing,
a mordant of the soul,
an elixir, a panacea, a placebo
for my lesions, there in the thistle, grows
our drastic garden of red posies and hyacinths,
such little things, on the verge,
lilting as the decorum begins to bobble
and slump sideways, and murmur,
on Mondays I can swallow the octave
of your absence, tendrils and all,
red quince limbs parting from the deluge
and in its wake, the wreckage
of black pumpkins and purple corn, hanging
pendulum at our door,
the Autumn lights summon a lavish song to harvest,
thirty seven colours in the brocade you gift me,
tangled and heavy the years upon my bones
begin to spur and flower
into cunning disruptions,
and stratify upon my body like rinds of ricepaper,
vellum for another wish
in the complacent burial of mango flesh,
listen,
as my song liquefies,
drowns you, inundates
each alveoli, and our love
in the swallowing gush, perched,
begins to shudder,
devoured by its symmetry,
stem cells all akimbo
in the shallow pitch of days
bound in a nostrum of wine and liquorice
it is nothing, really,
a mordant for the soul, a tulle filament
twitching in a raincoat of lightning....
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 4:35 PM UTC
What happens
____ to space______
between us
This is the
human race
Ah, Vey?
Just pray
Overly smitten
But not seeing
clearly picture-prey
He or she runs!!
Little darlings
here comes the sun*
The lime doing the time
Falling trees of coconut
Feeling- overloved
Deviant artist
splat coconut milk
No Security Cat
comfort box
So out of recession
Killer fox______
Chocolatey coconut
Cleanse my mind detox
Almond Joy concession
Rise up Face Botox
He cannot
read you
Haywire always
wired up his words
Hurried Hazelnut
coffee if you mind
Over-sugared
Increased brain
functions bitter rinds
So commercialized
The Cocoa Puffs
Going bananas
monkey ***
Lexie Vamp Vex
Mr. Ed overload
of Oz colors baboon
Going up Air Balloon
So many airheads
The Rainforest
GQ he's gone IQ
((Quarterly Neck of the woods))
Not orderly Outback
Steakhouse
Dinosaurs
******
Vicarious
No shortcut
The nervous system
The fast have a drink
furious
Cracking a coconut
Her Safe______**
6-6-6 combinations
Could crack her
Coconut oil neck her
City Girl call her
Intellectual brain
Singing
Gene Kelly
umbrella
Raining coconuts
(On Overload)
Strawberry Fields
This will be short
Yeah right forever
shortcake, not any sort
The trend of
coconut
Nearer because
of you I am
further
She was the
Brazilian Nut
With her
blind gut
((Coconut Houdini))
Island of Bali
Beauty of Judy
Somewhere so over it
rainbow
King Kong
Hairy chest banging
coconut drink slurping
Of girl talk
Strong New Jersey
Stamina
***** of Venezuela
Overload of
Prima, Donna's
Instant Karma
going to get them
Knocked them off
there feet
Where is my
John Lennon
He has the best beat
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
Yoke smiles
And twinkles from the eyes
Blend them together
Whisk, whisk, whisk
Till it all bubbles to
A perfect frothy fluffiness -
Heat some love
And tender words
Add fruit of human kindness
Mix, mix, mix
Some rinds of laughter
Blend it all well, in folds
Cup this
Into lightly buttered hands
Of giving
Then warm the heart
And put it in to bake
See happiness rise to a perfect gold
A simple recipe - the soufflé of life
Crisp outside
Molten and soft happiness within
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
Pork Rind, Oh Pork Rind
As I reach in your bag
I am truly amazed
At the flavor you have
I know where you come from
Just don't know where you've been
After all the truth is
You are a pigs skin
You often come with a bonus
I am seldom at loss
The piece with the hair
Which in the end I can floss
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
There were two balloons
and a vinyl kite wedged
in the branches of the lemon tree
and I ate a sandwich
with cheddar cheese
and watched a little girl
cry.
She was sweet, weak, sad,
she had a lemon scented sigh.
I imagined how and why
and when she would stop
to dry her eyes.
But those tears that flowed
will wash away the tears
that flowed down yesterday.
It eased the weight of thought
off my mind and rent
the lemons from their
rinds.
And each new lemon seed
grew another lemon tree,
and each new lemon tree
grew fresh new lemons innumerable.
And each balloon and vinyl kite
that floated in the breeze were caught
and held for ransom for little girls' tears.
And each little girl with years
and years and years will be a little woman
that has no time for kites,
between the money spent
replacing them for
crying little girls.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 1:23 AM UTC
You'll eat meat
And love a bacon sarnie
When you're ******
You'll smash a biryani
But when it comes to
Chopped pork, rinds and ham
No one wants to eat spam
In the Great War
We survived on rations
And beat zee Germans
With ******* passion
The lads didn't complain
About what they had to eat
Whether it was a le carte
Or mashed-up meat
But these days
That's not your jam
And no one wants to eat spam
It's great in a fry up
And ******* lovely in a butty
Get the kettle on
And get comfy
And enjoy
A cup of ******* tea
And eat your spam
Perfect with ketchup or HP
And don't complain
That it ain't real meat
Just get it in your gob
And enjoy this tasty treat
But most of you
Are to blame
And like the majority
Don't think it's the same
You're into avocados
Poached eggs and all that
And can't stand the thought
Of a chopped pig in a can
When you were young
You should've listened to your nan
Now it's a ******* shame
No one wants to eat spam
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
All these lemons appear in my life
yellow is always so pleasing to the eye
like sunshine
How many can I juggle before I slip and die
Bitter to the taste
Rinds are a waste
I'll squeeze them all
throw the juice in your face
I hate lemonade
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
I throw my words to the compost heap
with the rinds of so many others.
The poetry that has been deciphered
til there is no surprise left.
I ***** them in to incubate
and fertilize the fields of my heart.
Then I shall glean them
to harvest the poems of my Soul.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
Summer friends share watermelon slices
while the water laps the shore,
while sea-salt air dries on their lips.
And both of them think that “Days
like these, with salt and sugar on our lips,
make for the best kinds of kisses.”
So summer friends share watermelon slices
while they dance in the sand, and
around each other just enough, and too much.
And both of them think that “this day is almost
perfect - and it would be if she were
holding me.”
When summer friends run out of watermelon slices,
they lay on the beach,
quietly wishing and wanting.
And both of them think that “I wish
she looked at me the way she’s looking at those clouds.”
With their fingertips inches apart.
Summer friends lay amongst watermelon rinds
while water laps the shore,
while sea-salt air dries on their lips
And both of them think that-
Both of them say that
“I love you.”
Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 11:11 PM UTC
From my new book, Poems of Ancient Rome and Greece, available in paperback on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as eBook on Kindle, Nook, and Apple Books: https://www.amazon.com/Poems-Ancient-Greece-Christopher-Saitta/dp/B0DS6933HB?ref_=ast_author_dp
My mother the sea,
She woke my sandy eyes,
Just to tell me she had to leave,
Draw past the markets where the fish are sun-dried,
Snarled by the coral-rough hands of divers deep.
My mother the sea,
She left her running tab
Of the grocer’s choicest greens,
Thumbed the velamentous rinds and spiny scarola,
Her xylem and phloem are the slow moving cruciferousness of a breeze.
My mother the sea,
Charwoman of tides,
Who dips and delves upon her knees,
Who scrubs her brothel-coves with chamber lye,
Cyprian mistress of the salt-stained sheets.
I have looked for you, mother,
A scugnizzo amid the striped awnings of the marketplace
~ like sails to the sky ~
Where the fishmongers hawk their pride
Of conch, cavallo, and black sea bream.
I have looked for you, mother,
Walked sun-forged along the boardwalk,
Amid the neon-mascara of signs,
Hand-in-hand with only the ladyfingers of salt and vinegar fries,
Toward the crisp syllabub of pebbles and sand.
A beach is window-warmth spread free, cosmopolitan,
The longeur of eyes crushed in the glass-dust of cities.
And in the sputtering of the frosted spume of tides,
Held broken seashells in my hands like broken needles,
Heard the pump-click of the ventilator through your mask of sand.
My mother the sea,
A naked convalescent,
Whose ever-turnings have taken
A turn for the worse.
Who will know her by her death, who but me?
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 8:29 AM UTC
crazy means hell or not
I see rain as falling rainbows
and clouds as eyebrows
and black and white as
mixtures
of grey of peach pie and mustard greens and
oysters and pork rinds
to be eaten devoured
tasted a palette I suppose
of obstacles seen as challenges
as hills as things to climb
as dark as sight is in the night
with dawn on the horizon.
All suns are bright all pies sweet
all taste is keenly inspired,
I write to expand the palette
demand that all taste
the differences.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
For if the world
is a bell
ringing
in the emptiness
of a letter.
Words
Are the
rinds of
otherworldly fruit
swollen
in my throat.
Then what
creature, sprite
or, phantom?
rings the doorbell
and is gone.
when i come
to scribble
the crumbs
of poems
upon an
empty porch
drinking moonlight.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
watermelon rinds
and
osprey eyes
float down from a pink and blue sky
kiwi peels
and
albatross heels
surface around a pink and blue wheel
walk, run, turn, keel
the colors bleed and it's hard to see what's real
olive pits
and
garbage spit
chugging liquor in an attempt to feel
white washed
blank walls
seeing pink
seeing blue
coating the barriers down iris halls
watermelon rinds
and
osprey eyes
floating down from a pink and blue sky
*I look up and feel alive hoping these colors never run bleed or
dry*
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Orange rinds and coffee grinds
Take me back to easy Sunday afternoons
Playing chess with former churchgoers in your tiny café.
I met a man who didn't believe in God
But instead put his faith into the Queen
"She protects" he'd say after ousting another piece of mine
"He forgets" he'd mumble as an afterthought, directed at no one.
But as it goes one fateful day
Student surpassed teacher
And didn't think twice about killing the Queen.
As if a bomb detonated just within the cappuccino brown walls
The chessboard flung against the wall
Causalities flying in all directions
A porcelain blood bath.
He left in a hurried huff
All owl eyes all snapped in my direction
I sat frozen -- shocked.
You broke the trance
Kneeled down to pick up the fallen Queen
Placed Her Royal Majesty in my right hand
Placed a free coffee on my table.
The café resumed it's normal character
Scattered chatter and newspaper shuffling
I took a sip of the burnished brown liquid
Tasted a hint of bitter citrus
And came to conclude that there exists a distinct conflict between
Power and Empathy.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
My Father, who means well, makes me lunch
A man who’s sandwiches could never be
trusted, who used the mossy breadends cause
thats how they did it on the farm but
I am the cry baby who rejects the
deadened bread, dark wilted lettuce spines
lettuce rinds, inedible, unclean
Perspiring, lovingly wrapped in cellophane
And now I’m old enough I must
so carefully control what’s
between my full, whole, mid-loaf slices,
Fret about gluten.
Jesus help me I’m so afraid of
invisible moulds and the taste of iron
in those glossy cylinders of upended campbells
tomato: quivering naked, vermillion in the pan,
like chilled organs they appeared hepatic
I’m sure the milk he adds is soured he
cannot be trusted, my father, but
forgive him he knows not what he does, I
know they didn't have much on the farm I
am spoiled like the milk, too sensitive, I
wilt, because I have become too hard to feed,
we didn't know what to do with this kind of love.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 4:15 PM UTC
I know I'm not an orange, but I feel like one at times.
My heart feels encased until someone peels the rinds.
Now I'm open for the tasting, but something in me dies--
I'll be left as bits of scraps; left to feed the flies.
Yea, I know I'm not an orange, but I'm rhymeless all the same.
To most wanderers I won't fit anywhere; I just can't be framed,
Though, perhaps, some may see challenge for another day...
At least that's the way I think everyone feels, anyway.
Look, I know I'm not an orange, but I feel acidic just like one.
The farmer's hand can't leave me be; the chaos is never done.
So I'm stripped and sectioned off for all the world to own.
I know I'm not an orange; I'm just a citrus fruit with bones.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 4:41 AM UTC
Fall is an empty street in Rome,
Of byways of dry-leaf stone and moth-haunted hours,
Of market stalls with their over-haggled and fingered rinds,
And melons moiled over and palmed and bruised.
The light blows like once-told ripeness from the basket of fruit.
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
Pork rind, Oh pork Rind
As I reach in your bag
I am truly amazed
At the flavor you have
I know where you come from
Just don't want to know where you've been
After all, the truth is
You are a pigs skin
Often the bag holds that bonus
I am seldom at loss
The piece with the hair
Which in the end I can floss
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
This ride I'm on
Leads to the dump.
I, refuse that I am,
Refuse to jump.
I ride with
Peels of poor me,
Rinds of regret,
Scraps of resentment,
Empty bottles
Of pain
And emptiness.
I, Drunk.
I drank
For forgetfulness,
In misery and anger.
Refusing questions,
Not giving answers.
I don't need
To hitch a ride
To the human dump,
The soppy landfill.
At any stop
I can jump.
Jump,
And walk.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
The moon is on the rise.
All the stars have filled the skies.
But the wolf ignored your cries.
Messages get lost, sometimes.
On his evening meal he dines,
then he's gnawing on the rinds.
They say that good things come in nines
and even lows will have their highs.
For the eagle in the skies
questions not what fate decides
and though the fox wears a disguise,
you must not care to hear his lies.
Although you think, he never tries;
he's ******* eggs while he confides
and you've already heard his lines.
You know you're leaving just in time.
Deep in your eyes, my heart still lies,
forever changing with the tides.
For every story has two sides
but who is it who will decide?
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
all lips and spit
rinds glittering pleasure
i'm lean sinew knotting heavy gasps
at nails and texture rawly rumples
the divine shale
your pertinent flavor strums a tattoo polished on my back upper
sprouted feathers
how contracting desperate talons
grapple cotton bedding
shouting mumbles of lipbiting
sweat
in tremulous arcs
of ***** lint
i gravitas surreptitiously
the cradle of your spark spitting electric engine gloved
in black hard fuzz
tickling the moist
tremor of
my rose petals splitting
tongue delivers
screeching love
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 12:37 PM UTC
They named their youngest
Sarah Sweet
And you would too
if you chanced to meet
There wasn't a thing
she wouldn't do
Well maybe one
to tell the truth
Her parents pleaded, and begged,
rubbed Genie bottles for wishes
But Sarah Sweet
would not do dishes
She could not even
stand to think
Of sticking her hands
down in the sink
From tuna crusted
casseroles
To globs of oatmeal
days past old
Green and what?
watermelon rinds
Banana peels
way past their prime
From brussel sprouts
to pigs pickled feet
Cereal bowls
in what appears to be
Clumps of one time
Shredded Wheat
And don't forget
the mystery meat
So many nasty things
the sink holds within
That it makes poor Sarah's head
want to do a double spin
From something purple
to something pink
Something with
an awful stink
Something swimming
for it's life
Something else
that lost that fight
A little something
that's half chewed
That one time was
passed off as food
A little something else
to heighten the mood
Who put it there
no one knew
So much grossness
In the sink
To turn the stomach
Of Sarah Sweet
Now you see why
Despite her parents wishes
Their Sweet Sarah
WILL NOT DO DISHES!!!
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC