"salts" poems
He smiles so bright like he has teeth of gold.
Projecting the reflections of his own inceptions.
I'm done grieving the words that once killed the inner me.
Verbally abusive was the past that didn't last.
He shattered my hope like splintered and shattered glass.
As far as the moon is to the sun is he to me.
I can picture his face but to me he's faceless.
His voice is like the echo of a stranger.
He salts his words with flatter,
it doesn't matter, they are tasteless.
His speech is drenched in hypocritical lyricals.
Transmissions of emphatic subliminals
transformed him into an emotional criminal.
If people would obey the limitations of their naive believes.
Maybe they would know that he calls me once a year...
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
Dope, money, and hoes [x9]
[Verse 1: Da$h]
Ain't write it, thought of this when I was drunk driving
Like I had a license, been swerving through the intersect
Just to make the ******* wet, breakfast: yac and cigarettes
Feds about the only threat, spit nasty like my throat is strep
She working at the pyramid, shake her **** for some bucks from Tut
Pharaoh to the marrow, Cleopatra roll my dutch
Dour blunts they double stuffed, got a ***** stupid chopped
Used to squad these faggots' wives, the ******* that I used to pop
Wear the **** I used to cop, respect your elders lil *****
Ain't even of age to drink, I get your ** to buy me liquor
'Linquent **** I live for it, they tryin but might die for it
These drugs got my brain, money got my mind finding fun in crime
******* love my rhymes, to be honest I love their mouth at campuses
Looking for talents just like I'm a college scout
Ask her what she shout, I’m ashin' her on the ******* couch
[Verse 2: Da$h]
Dope, money, and hoes, getting dope money from shows
She sniff her coke then she blow, **** it, I don’t judge it though
Sugar free, no love for sure, just put 'em on Sepulveda
Benefits and bank rolls, all a ***** really want from her
And when she bring it back, call my brother hit the trap
Invested in a couple packs, will probably see a couple stacks from what he talkin
Money hulking like Bruce Banner
Panarama day dreaming, While she downin' my ***** on camera
Life's in action, piping, smashing whatever you call it
Smoke a 'Port and I'm off but they ******* think I lost it
And my dog facing blunts while I feed my pups bath salts
Infiltrate my castle, take your face like it's a mask boss
Pass raw flesh and bone, money long like small intestines
Homes I'm taking breakfast, long as getting checks involved H´z *****
Cause if you ain't know, AraabMuzik
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 12:16 PM UTC
The boy haden't bathed in over a month
His **** crack was itching and burning
His underpants were soaked in slimy, wet muck
And his toes a thick jam were churning
His armpits stank worse than a fat pigs raw ***
His breath smelled like rancid fish
His hair was so oily, matted to his head
His own mother wouldn't give him a kiss
"Enough!" he cried as a passing fly died
When he raised his arm to exclaim.
"I must bathe right away! I am long overdue!"
"I sure hope the washcloths are brave."
"To the bathroom man!" He shouted as he ran
And his underpants sloppily squished
"I will remove this filth and brush my green teeth"
"And my mother I will kiss!"
"The closet's ahead!" He said as he sped.
And he stopped there to get some stuff.
Some soap, some shampoo and a towel or two.
But he knew that it wasn't enough.
Look though he might, to his horror and fright,
Not a single washcloth could he find.
Then panic set in 'cause the stink of his skin
Was driving him out of his mind.
He looked yet again but to his chagrin
The washcloth shelf was bare.
The washcloths had run off
For they would not wash
So filthy a boy on a dare
"Oh what will I do!" "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!"
The boy cried as flies swarmed his head.
"I'd **** myself but I already smell"
"Far worse than anything dead!"
Then one washcloth came back
Holding it's nose and a sack
Of bath salts that smelled like dill.
It said to the boy "Go pickle yourself!"
"And give me a nausea pill!"
So the boy rejoiced and filled the tub
With water, hot as he could stand.
And using the bath salts, he jumped right in
And the pickling began.
He lathered the washcloth with water and soap
And scrubbed with all of his might.
Away he washed all of the filth
'Til none was left in sight.
He washed his hair and brushed his teeth
And dried and dressed himself well.
And the washcloth exclaimed as it hung on the tub
"Holy crap! that was pure hell!"
So the boy now clean ran to be seen
By his mother he loved so much.
And she gave him a kiss and said "This is pure bliss!"
"I can kiss you and keep down my lunch!"
The moral I'll tell you and true I will be
So no one will say that I lied.
Don't wait a whole month to take a bath
Or you washcloths may run and hide.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
Big ships, small ships, yachts and dingeys
Floating across the mighty sea
Carving their way, displacing their weight
To keep afloat the Captain and First mate.
Old ships, new ships, schooners and cruise liners
Have crossed paths throughout the ages old
Once to explore, make claim, pirate and fight
Now to wine and dine on a luxurious bite
Salted beef, rock hard bread and weevil-friendly biscuits
A 3 course meal fit for Old Salts alike
Weevils & worms and bugs of all kind
Along with sparse portions of meat, you might find
French wine, filet mignon, sushi and pastries
Buffets and fine dining, variety is key
All you can eat, whenever you'd like
No chores, no work, just eating all night'
What a contrast exists between these two worlds
Only 2 to 300 hundred years apart
Once grimy, risky, arduous and fraught
Now fancy, lazy, and much to be bought
What if the Old Salts could teleport to today
And live aboard our floating hotels?
With no masts to climb or sheets to tend
Would they break or would they bend?
I suppose that switch would be easy enough
But send us back to Pirate-ridden waters
You'd be sure never to hear from us again
Swabbing the deck would **** us alone
Not to mention the food and disease of back when.
- BPW
Dec. 11, 2013
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
There was a time when in late afternoon
The four-o'clocks would fold up at day's close
Pink-white in prayer, and 'neath the floating moon
I lay with them in calm and sweet repose.
And in the open spaces I could sleep,
Half-naked to the shining worlds above;
Peace came with sleep and sleep was long and deep,
Gained without effort, sweet like early love.
But now no balm--nor drug nor **** nor wine--
Can bring true rest to cool my body's fever,
Nor sweeten in my mouth the acid brine,
That salts my choicest drink and will forever.
3.9k
Ocean
bluing beneath
my hands brushing over
warm Caribbean bathing salts
at dusk.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
Forgive me Father for we were too blind to lead our hearts, misled by our fragile thoughts and irreconcilable differences.
Forgive me Father for the misinterpretation created in in my head by dilemma and submerged in trauma;
I was blind to trust and numb to disregard our own fresh wounds rubbed in salts in guise of words.
W o r d s
Cuts like a knife, straight to the heart and insidious
Like an uninvited guest, it stays till you're completely exhausted.
Drowned myself in vulnerability to trust the stranger
Unsure of the grave repercussion and danger.
Forgive us Father for losing ourselves in pain and game
For we were too naive to comprehend
Until we embarked on suffering till the end.
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 2:50 AM UTC
clanking clank slurp, ka-boom
the slop runs down a throat
merrily merrily terribly chilled
the gunk rolls down a throat.
the
forks spoons knives
plates salts salads
and wines
ding and echo like
soft butterfly tea parties
all gone rabid.
throughout the walls of pictures of food
and the butterfly echos echo
and dinging cups splash
and forks click and clock
(and and,..and!)
hold my breath.
clanking cubes of ice
bing against one another
Gluttonous Pig slobs them down with
a spoonful of spicy French soup
Pigman talks to Pigwoman; spittle flying out of
his piggy chops.
he stares at my forehead
they see my odd selection
she's laughing insanely at a joke
I'm holding my eyes inside my head
while
all on my plate sit the legs
of baby spiders
all on my dish are darting
sow eyeballs
pitcher plant garnish
and frozen grey custard for dessert; (echos still in the restaurant)
I gag outloud
the Fat Pigman scoffs at this
my heart pops inside its cage
and the waiter rolls his eyes at the mess.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
I am the orchestrator of my own destruction.
For it is I who reins down fire on my own temple,
And it is I who salts the earth so the seeds of good intentions will never grow.
When the turmoil on the inside is hidden by the calm exterior,
It is I who tears down the beautiful façade to reveal the churning black poison underneath.
When the polite smile shows only an angels face,
It is I who cries out “Deceiver!” and rips away the mask to expose the devil within.
For I am the orchestrator of my own destruction
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
Your left claims my right’s rest—
knuckles hum, sweat salts the air.
Sharps snag—a tangle—undressed,
metronome skips our heart’s fanfare.
Breath clots where sighs arrest,
heel hooks what the pedal bare.
Skin maps chords upon our *******
Teeth script scores we swear.
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 9:30 AM UTC
What an odd ingredient sadness is.
It salts a tear, bittersweets a kiss,
Hungers us for the things we miss,
Ever abundant, such a convenient thing,
I can find it in everything.
A death, a birth, I cry for both,
Gild a sorrow, a wistful hope,
Ripe melancholy I savour most,
Yet a pinch too much is a lethal dose.
I was often told it shouldn’t be,
But the clown that frowns was the perfect me,
Thin taunt and cackle, ghosts everywhere,
Sometimes I hide, but it’s still right there.
Perhaps I’ll woo this lifelong friend,
Embrace this thing I cannot mend.
Odd comfort in a peculiar way,
To know this thing is here to stay.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
I convinced myself one day I could fly
Open my arms and allow the wind to carry me
Soaring through a brisk, warm air
Light-headed and dizzy as I see the earth rotate
From underneath my feet
And I realize the rotations that seemed ambient before
Have all gone away,
And I’ll be just like a bird
Bones hollow, a secret song swallowed away inside them
Free to go wherever I want
Without being looked upon
Surrounded by patches of deep, lovely, singing blue!
And I’ll forget what death means.
Forget blazing, unrelenting, merciless fire
Forget old salts and their adventures, in an honorable grave
In the slow, murky, wet, deep, dark, time-stopping coral grave underground;
I’ll forget muffled screams of dust and grime from six feet under
I forgot the wish
or dream
or ambition
or aspiration
or objective
So when I jump
There was no failing in my legs,
Or in my feeble, ****** heart
Or in my always-moving brain
There was no faltering in my breath
No secret wish for death
Just a quick, hasty JUMP!
Exhilaration and innocence
Frivolous yearning
An evanescence hoped for by many
Because it’s worth it.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
Melting madness and shimmering isles
The bubble-gum boils in drug pedophiles
Let's teach the East to love Western style
We come in with strap-on's and pillage with smiles
The rest of the world watches their watches
People keep saying we're at hour eleven
We're changing the design on our gold lockets
From a heart to a blackjack, Seven Seven Seven!
The college boys assure you that they know the lyrics
And the meanings behind them for they've been enlightened
They swarm out like locusts and pretentiously parrot
Verbatim the textbooks they read when they're frightened
That they'll die with nothing to show for their efforts
They want everyone else in the world to remember
That they did exist on some scale of importance
Even though we're just spun yarn of grass, dirt and oceans
Intelligence streams the consciousness seeds and conscientious objectors it seems
So pardon me for the fallacy of pardoning tyrannical dictator queens
It seems these days to be discovered you need to cheat on your spouse or your lover
You'd think that with all the war crimes we've seen we would have hung at least one or the other
We've got two parties, so pick one or scram! (Look at them squirm as fast as they can!)
They're starting to think for themselves again! Quick, strangle the market and feed this man
Acid and bath salts and give him some tear gas and send him on in to disarm the smear traps
And **** everyone so we'll jump to conclusion with no where to turn, the final solution!
I'm drunk again and we're falling in, the shoreline is riddled with explosions
We don't speak of the war, we have no comment, we're almost out of original content
We're frantically searching for a brand new contest to prove that our nation is still the best
Whether you're China, Russia, Israel, Pakistan, the U.K., or India, the U.S. or Japan
Let's take all the gangbanging **** out of Oakland and drop them in to the Atlantic Ocean
Or better yet, set them loose in Uganda, let's see how long they last in Rwanda.
I'm done with religion and socialized medicine, this aristocracy of pull and deception
So for once in our lifetimes, let's seek a vision, because God knows people can't make ******* decisions.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
The
weight of the world sitting dumbly on
those fructose eyelids.
They, in turn. melt into the mummified
morning.
laying in the corner forever like a
favorite-shirt
ruined in the wash.
Every other stripe on you is stained pink
from
some cheap volunteer tee that ****** up
The whole load.
Each ray from the blinds
Takes some life away.
Searing past you- into the floorboards
with
quiet fury.
Time passes_
It shoves us down into compact spaces.
(but)
I thought of you
In a shoplifter's prayer.
(There is something left that evaporates out in the form of you)
I imagined you
Still.
But growing
Like
Crystal salts
Crusting up the pores of the earth.
Vapors fumbling upwards to rehydrate
My dry fingers_
We make decisions . that stick around.
We break off blisters. Rip little things that hang off our lips.
We take breaks before we need them.
Take too long to say
**** this.
Thoughtlessness.
*Somewhere out there, they are screaming loud.
Somebody either cares or
Doesn't.*
The marks on the carpet know better than
us
How to last forever
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
She’s so cute I wanna eat her face,
like I’m high on bath salts,
she’s vegan,
but takes my tongue like a cannibal,
eat your hearts out Haters,
cut my ear off and send it to her like Van Gogh,
ear off a part of the big picture,
or rather painting we’re painting she gets the first stroke,
we’re wild like animals untamable all in all the time,
into the deep end head first Geronimo cannonball,
Black Swan dive she’s gone alive,
the Pied Piper the Eyed Viper the venom & the antidote,
and I quote a quote I wrote myself,
“She’s the answer to my prayers”, the reason and the hope,
she’s the answer to my prayers,
and I don’t even pray,
okay actually on the low I do pray,
and I’ve seen a lot of amazing things but I’m still amazed,
I’m amazed,
and tomorrow isn’t promised today,
and tomorrow never comes,
but she comes and when she does she comes in waves,
I’m in a daze,
honey glazed and lovely crazed,
my bed’s a mess haven’t made it in days,
bed’s a mess but when we’re together we’ve got it made,
so perfectly misbehaved it’s insane,
lost myself then found my self all up in her maze,
and usually I’m not religious,
but she’s so delicious I must say,
thank you Lord or God Amen to her I give all thanks & praise,
and she’s so cute I wanna eat her face,
like I’m high on bath salts,
she’s vegan,
but takes my tongue like a cannibal…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Venice, California; 2018
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
i am the melting sun beams dripping from the children's running sneaker...creeping slow into the ocean of nose hairs sparkling with iodine and rosemary...father farther to the cosmic goop of motherhood and magic mounds of twirling gases...rancid beef so evergreen as if the princess is licking loudly on the frogs back...green of colour my third eye melts her fantasy into rainbows of toxic firearms...leaking valuable oil all over her wedding dress...come into the third eye and hammer away the truths of 1000 years...to fowrad this message is to embrace all that is the third eye...magic and numbers spiral towards the center edge of my reason...pure and criticized like goblins with tiny feet...reach up into your third eye and pull yourself into it with all your power and all your might....stay with it for just one night and reach for the spare tires in the third eyes trunk...don't forget to fill it with melting bubbles of fantastic hot sweet golden ratios where infinity smell like dust bunnies and dust bunnies smell like crystal salts and volcanic ash...spew forth third eye and share the vision of ecstasy and freedom...never cover the third eye with hate and regret only wash it with happiness and fullness...let the third eye rule your heart and towers will melt into concrete and paper will fill the sky...only the can the third eye truly be the way to see your path....spiral softly third eye and forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and forever see with the third eye....
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 8:01 AM UTC
You're a little pastry box wrapped in blue tissue paper.
You’re the first bite into
every brownie,
every ****
every pie,
every cute little confection.
You're that thin ribbon of caramel across a layered slice of cake,
You're the sugar still lingering on my recipes,
the little puffs of flour with each turn of a page.
You're that extra dash of cocoa
and that sprinkle of vanilla and
the egg stained finger prints on jars of paprika
and cinnamon
and nutmeg.
You're the soft crack of a brown egg,
the raw taste of extra batter..
The sizzling butter in the bottom of a pan
You're every scent of spices and salts and frosting
and the sticky sweetness of glazed honey.
You're the walnuts and sprinkles on top of last summers birthday cake.
You're the peppermint sensation on the roof of my mouth
and the sweet flavoring on the tip of my tongue.
You're the delicate drizzle of chocolate
over a homemade batch of sugar cookies,
the finishing touch.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
Osama
Obama
Mothers killing babies
Cops killing kids
Kids killing kids
Facebook
Twitter
Online dating
Connected more than ever
Yet never more far apart
More suicides than combat deaths
Generation Y me?
Marriages don't last
A broken family is a typical family
Legal Marijuana
Bath Salts
****** is higher than ever
No more cursive writing
A degree doesn't guarantee a job
Just debt
Gay marriage
Equal rights
Politically correct
Because everything is offensive
Donald Trump for president
Caitlyn Jenner from the chopping block
Skinny jeans
Trust fund kids
Starbucks junkies
Disney Star Wars
Men to Mars
Internet wars
Cam ******
Electric cars
Hookah bars
A generation founded upon instant gratification
This is the world we live in
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
I guess we were bored,
Or looking for something new.
And there was a party coming up.
Someone's hosting debut.
So we thought we'd ask around,
See what else was to do.
And our **** dealer told us
He sold other things too.
He nicknamed it dizz,
And it sounded quite fun.
So we talked all about it,
Decided to get some.
We all pitched in,
Asked for five or ten pounds.
And went and collected it;
Tin foil bound.
Accompanying us
Was a sober mate.
He said it would be fun
To watch and spectate.
So we unwrapped it,
Crushed it,
Poured it,
And drank it.
The taste was disgusting,
Of abstract chemicals.
But we swallowed it down,
A moment; seminal.
They said twenty minutes,
So we sat and waited.
Our hearts were pumping
Way before eight.
And we went downstairs,
Sat on a sofa,
Biding our time,
Sipping on cola...
And there.
What was that.
A feeling.
It entered the chat.
Some warmth,
No stress.
And then a
Very deep breath
Of fresh air
And emotion.
Like emerging from the bottom
Of a very deep ocean
You had been down for years.
Reggae was playing
At very high volume.
And none wanted staying
Where we were.
So we got up keen,
And started dancing.
One even went on the wet trampoline
And bounced
Up, down,
Up, down,
Could've gone till sundown.
And the sky was gorgeous;
Metallic, steel blue
Mixed with orange and yellow.
It was quite the view.
But time was
Moving on,
So we packed up,
And were almost gone
Before keys jangled,
And the door swung open.
A parent walked in,
And caused a commotion
Of boys rushing out,
Mumbling words and plans.
We left quite abruptly,
And sprinted and ran.
Once round the corner,
We couldn't care less.
Nonchalant as usual,
We enjoyed the success.
And we walked and talked
About pure, utter, *****
The iPhone X, some girls,
And the absolute banger that would be tonight.
So we strolled around,
The sun on our faces,
Feeling elated.
Going some places.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 7:01 PM UTC
All that I owe the fellows of the grave
And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates
Lies in the fortuned bone, the flask of blood,
Like senna stirs along the ravaged roots.
O all I owe is all the flesh inherits,
My fathers' loves that pull upon my nerves,
My sisters tears that sing upon my head
My brothers' blood that salts my open wounds
Heir to the scalding veins that hold love's drop,
My fallen filled, that had the hint of death,
Heir to the telling senses that alone
Acquaint the flesh with a remembered itch,
I round this heritage as rounds the sun
His windy sky, and, as the candles moon,
Cast light upon my weather. I am heir
To women who have twisted their last smile,
To children who were suckled on a plague,
To young adorers dying on a kiss.
All such disease I doctor in my blood,
And all such love's a shrub sown in the breath.
Then look, my eyes, upon this bonehead fortune
And browse upon the postures of the dead;
All night and day I eye the ragged globe
Through periscopes rightsighted from the grave;
All night and day I wander in these same
Wax clothes that wax upon the aging ribs;
All night my fortune slumbers in its sheet.
Then look, my heart, upon the scarlet trove,
And look, my grain, upon the falling wheat;
All night my fortune slumbers in its sheet.
2.4k
I.
A louse in a house
or a mouse on a blouse.
A bell that goes ****
or a gong that goes ****
A gap on a map
or a cap on your lap.
A drink in the sink
or an ink that stinks.
A spleen on a screen
or a queen who is green.
A bow in the snow
or a crow that glows.
II.
A wash or a whip,
a lip or a lop,
a top or a tip,
a car or afar,
a bar or a war,
a door or a snore,
a bore or a nail,
a flail or a whale,
a run or a bun,
a sun or a moon,
a spoon or a bus,
a fuss or a sigh,
a cry or a cheer,
a fear or a smile,
a while or a pen,
a den or a cat,
a mat or a hat,
a bat or a glass,
a vase or a weight,
a mate or a fork,
a cork or a mop,
a cop or a stop.
III.
Apples and artichokes, ants and antelopes,
bees and beers, books and brains,
cucumbers and chimneys, ***** and coats,
dogs and drains, dots and dominoes,
ears and eejits, elephants and exams,
flies and flutes, files and friends,
grasses and guts, giants and gyms,
horrors and hiccups, horses and hills,
igloos and irons, irises and idiots,
jumpers and jackets, jodhpurs and jellies,
kings and kettles, kites and kittens,
lions and lamps, lemons and lunches,
mums and monsters, mosses and moths,
noses and notes, nightmares and needles,
oblongs and orang-utans, organs and oranges,
paintings and pennies, ponds and pants,
quiches and quizzes, questions and queues,
rainbows and rings, rascals and rabbits,
snakes and sprouts, sweets and salts,
trumpets and trains, tables and toasters,
umpires and ukuleles, umbrellas and uniforms,
violets and vests, violins and vials,
wheels and wings, windows and weeds,
xylems and x-rays, xylophones and xysters,
yachts and yoghurts, yards and yaks,
zigzags and zephyrs, ziggurats and zombies.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
I got a gift of butter, now
Good butter it was claimed to be
I don't think it was from a cow
And if it was, it cowed me
A beard was growing on the stuff
A goatish beard without a doubt
Ah. it was sickly, sour and rough
With poison juices seeping out
Ah, it was slick. ah, it was grey
I don't think any goat produced it
I had to face it every day
Oh, how I wish I had refused it
The salts a thing it never knew
In fact I'm sure they never met
It sprouted spots of green and blue
It made me ill. I'm not right yet
'Twas made of grease and wax and fat
And substances too vile to utter
You may be sure that after that
Ive rather lost the taste for butter
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
A scintillating ocean.
Refracting light across the spectrum,
colours beyond white, black, and red;
Mirror to the universal spirits.
Crystalline forms growing
like families of fungi across the horizon.
A mycological configuration
of salts and waveform reflectors.
A frisson of diamonds.
Seizures of globular light, elliptical rainbows.
Twice-reflected hollow moonbeams.
Creating.
Cubes in the molecular structure,
Silent carbon and quartz,
as from some distant caverns
unseen by any eye.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 3:11 PM UTC