"seedless" poems
It was the watermelon diet, he said
That's what killed me
A lie as ripe as the freshest rind
Listen to the man
He was there at my deathbed
Though he never cared for my diet
It was the watermelon diet
not some virus
That consigned me to the Gods
The watermelon diet
Why now do they doubt my exotic pallet?
They've turned a blind eye to everything else
until now
For months, I guzzled nothing but sweet watermelon
Fat mounds of flesh between my greedy cheeks
The sheer volume of water left me bloated
Before I shed an immense amount of baggage
What else could be to blame?
Enough of your questions and on to the cremation
We'll see whether watermelon burns immortal
It began in Africa- no lie there
And comes in seedless varieties
I never planted mine
Though I wasn't want for trying
I can still taste the bitter juices as I lay here in my crypt
An artful coroner smelt a rat
Or a chance- to prove his mettle
Never heard of any watermelon diet
This is Palm Springs not Papa Nu Guinea
A sample of tissue foiled our grand conspiracy
Same thing that got Rock Hudson
But they kept a straight face
Kept to the story, mindful of my legacy
I'm not just any ******
Takes something grand and elaborate to dispose of me
An immigrant farmhand once told me “watermelon cure the AIDS”
And I believed him
At least that's what I'd have you believe
End
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
eagerly consuming the seedless watermelon leftovers from corporate victory picnics
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 3:25 PM UTC
I
Our ****** dreams, all seedless in the light,
Of light and love the tempers of the heart,
Whack their boys' limbs,
And, winding-footed in their shawl and sheet,
Groom the dark brides, the widows of the night
Fold in their arms.
The shades of girls, all flavoured from their shrouds,
When sunlight goes are sundered from the worm,
The bones of men, the broken in their beds,
By midnight pulleys that unhouse the tomb.
II
In this our age the gunman and his moll
Two one-dimensional ghosts, love on a reel,
Strange to our solid eye,
And speak their midnight nothings as they swell;
When cameras shut they hurry to their hole
down in the yard of day.
They dance between their arclamps and our skull,
Impose their shots, showing the nights away;
We watch the show of shadows kiss or ****
Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie.
III
Which is the world? Of our two sleepings, which
Shall fall awake when cures and their itch
Raise up this red-eyed earth?
Pack off the shapes of daylight and their starch,
The sunny gentlemen, the Welshing rich,
Or drive the night-geared forth.
The photograph is married to the eye,
Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth;
The dream has ****** the sleeper of his faith
That shrouded men might marrow as they fly.
IV
This is the world; the lying likeness of
Our strips of stuff that tatter as we move
Loving and being loth;
The dream that kicks the buried from their sack
And lets their trash be honoured as the quick.
This is the world. Have faith.
For we shall be a shouter like the ****
Blowing the old dead back; our shots shall smack
The image from the plates;
And we shall be fit fellows for a life,
And who remains shall flower as they love,
Praise to our faring hearts.
3.7k
Fewer than none, less than a void
I be seedless as grocery store grapes.
Empty as the grave I have yet to be buried in.
I want
I need
I burn
I am
not done.
Not yet...
I should throw it all away
every scrap that is left
every parcel and shred of evidence
of memory
that is my enemy now.
Too close to call it a tie,
I've been foreclosed upon.
That's it, pack it up.
They're useless now
just let them die.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
potion lost by unknown souls
effervescent masturbatory master debater
creationism is masochism told from the horses ***
past blast take my soul
make me whole and complete
separation anxiety is ***** envy
memories of mental memos crash past rushing fools
used and abused on cruise control
I misjudged your guided thistle
because missiles are meant for drones not home-oh
listen to the seedless man cry for his dead *****
tediously miserable always unforgiven
what lies hidden within the door
could be a deserted desert dessert
like an after dinner breath mint
or a succinct lunatic on the brink of such destruction
may be distraction fight or flight action reaction
marilyn charles though more bronson than you
Aren’t thou marked for death
broken gasp choked sob
undergod slaughtered in an abandoned euthanasia clinic
euphimistic innuendo more like in your endo
indoor marijuana smoke makes the colors run
my american flag has flown and fled
please jesus save our country bumpkins
napkins go in the lap not as hat
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
you know
they say
just a short time ago
humanity entered
interstellar space
outside the bubble
of our shining sun
few seem to notice
really even care
there's no man or woman
hopping or plunging flags
on distant faraway lands
just a machine, gathering data
and things
intangible
to you or me
i guess that's no surprise
given the way we've treated
this place
crowding it with metals on rubber wheels
coal plants with giant top hats or
explosive mushroom hats made from
radio active rocks and things or
tons of knick knacks molded from
oily wells and burning stacks or
grocer shelves lined with seedless
fruits and other mutant creations or
chemical sandwiches for lunch
and dinner
all the while
marveling at
how far we've come
i hope we find nothing out there
no planet should be treated
like
this
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
Their hallow heads hold fire after being carved by kids. I wonder how they do that, gouge a gourd for human fests. I bring them water every day, until they grow with might, these now seedless pumpkins that glow all through the night. They say they scare the ghosts away but none yet have I seen except the ones of the rotted skeletons that were once these.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
Thornless roses,
Seedless fruits,
Stormless seas,
Calmness fleas,
Landless routes,
Loveless Atul,
Are all unfeasible.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
Her hands are a mystery
If you look at them, you see his light
But if you look into them, you feel a consciousness of their own.
Their spirits embrace at a single moment
and all Time and all Trees pray
for them.
But the peach trees stand still; silent
They witness the reincarnation of his dreams
Chaos, absolute seedless chaos
A peach drops and dies.
In the darkness, the peach is unseen
Only eyes question death
Flooding, flooding, flooding
Only twelve million answers
Ravenous stars light the sky
by hunger for only their answer
But enlightenment is encrypted
in Latin and all the languages
of the world.
And her conscience is full and sleeps.
Who’s to blame her?
A vision of red may only wander
And wonder she is.
In China, dragons dance to their unheard
secret.
Oh, but the owls know.
Within their ocean of a soul
bathe the greatest whales
eating oranges.
They grow oranges in their minds
to keep the sun jealous.
Zealously, the gods blow
new passion every morning
Her suprasternal notch ignites
His lips bloom twelve roses
And all clocks stop, and fly
Yet their fusion reeks
Confusion lasting a few weeks
and a painting
A painting of stones born
by their bedside every time they
hug; free
Free love ceases to be a myth
It blinds an entire universe
into entropy for eternity
Her magic, as free, is trapped
in books and lost music
His breath, as lost, cradles
every word
The elephants walk through mirrors
into her
Her blue shirt falls apart
A heart beat crying, squanders
Every button, hiding the moon
A pomegranate seed as red as her vision
Her hands are a mystery
If you touch them, you
feel him, in all sadness and grace
You journey into space.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 6:54 AM UTC
A tree of blood soaks the morning
where the newborn woman groans.
Her voice leaves glass in the wound
and on the panes, a diagram of bone.
The coming light establishes and wins
white limits of a fable that forgets
the tumult of veins in flight
toward the dim cool of the apple.
Adam dreams in the fever of the day
of a child who comes galloping
through the double pulse of his cheek.
But a dark other Adam is dreaming
a neuter moon of seedless stone
where the child of light will burn.
1.4k
taking a substantial bite from the already petite slice,
he smiles and shoves the remainder of the fruit in my face.
“it tastes just like you; innocent and oh-so delicious.”
my skin crawls on every level imaginable submerged in flesh.
turning around as to hide my contorted expression, i just nod.
i absolutely hate him, but they claim he took care of me as a child.
“you don’t have to like him; he just needs acknowledgment.”
he grips my hands and spins me around. just like he used to.
but harder. much harder. i used to feel terror; it’s routine now.
stare at the concrete as spit projects on my face - internal meditation.
they never believe me when i bring it up. i get it, there’s no proof.
these marks around my throat – allergies from the weather.
you’re right, these bruises, they’re from rough housing. tough love.
literally.
he says the easiest way to discipline someone was reinforcing punishment.
you should see the strength he uses to test for ripeness at the market.
now imagine this: the watermelon is your skull, and his fists are knives.
i just avoid eye contact and clench my abdomen; the knees are coming.
“i’m going to spread you open today, boy; like a ******* ****** watermelon”
he loves seeing the liquid run down my chin – perfectly young and seedless.
and i react just how he likes it:
like his ******* watermelon.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC
Written spells and locked doors.
Mental dispels and cursed flaws.
Aching tensions and delusional illusions.
Illusive dreams and paths to explore.
Wide awake, like a bat...
My mind is on high alert, it never goes to sleep.
Constant mental chatter, an over-active mental state.
It is eternal and I live in the misery and learn to control it.
Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't.
My mind is it's own person, it's own monster.
It opposes different ideologies, beliefs, and conflicts, into one.
I question my mind and talk to myself like a mad clown.
Conversating in my own form.
Boundless amount of wit and seedless unpleasant jokes.
Dark and uncensored, explicit and provocative.
A ***** tongue with **** lips to make you want to play with me more.
But am I really what you desire?
Or have you created your own storm.
Do I reflect you?
Or do you just reflect yourself through me.
Smile through the misery, you can't die with a serious face.
Stitch up the corners and pull it up high so you never have to cry again.
Maybe I am you, or maybe I am just suffering through my own madness.
Maybe my madness has become someone else.
My actions of contradictory displays.
But you love me though...
Lets play
Oct 26, 2021
Oct 26, 2021 at 11:12 AM UTC
Satin ribbons
streaming thighs
seedless apple womb.
Fire of womanhood
birthing passion
burning lust.
Cherry stained lips
making love
to velvet glasses.
***** eyes
siren for Mars
tumid ***
Blooming roses
slippery as silk
sigh in red.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 6:34 PM UTC
The ****** queen
Ate seedless grapes,
Eyeless potatoes
And mandrake.
She washed it down
With honeyed wine,
Then went to bed
A ****** crying.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
*
None sow the seeds;
The dry seeds
of the deadly sins;
All just burst
to a form by itself;
Otherwise you will
surely find its
brand name;
trade mark
or even the
historical imprints
on its body;
Later it grows
to a tree;
A leafless tree;
To dry away again
as seedless !
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
I'm the seedless pumpkin you left out on the front porch in the cold morning sun to rot simply because you had completely forgotten about me at the end of October.
All I want is for you to love me as a child only knows how to.
All I want is for you to carve me inside and out.
To make me feel at the least bit beautiful for just this instant so I won't be entirely misplaced in your affection.
All I want is for to hold me in your tired arms when reasoning gives way to those interminable doubts.
If only I had just that one particular chance of a lifetime I'd carve your pretty eyes out to make them hollow just like mine.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:38 PM UTC
Doctored in genetic cauldrons
for wine seeking solace in perfection
engineered tactfully within testtubes
of formulae
extracted and compressed
its testicles removed
the grape rendered impotent.
how strange
that we surgically implant
and speak to inner workings
to consumerise
everything we need.
chickens battery farmed
cows turf grassed
pigs in poultry cages
men in monkey suits
playing god in the paddocks of doom.
maybe we should
just leave things alone
and nature will be fine.
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
Heart in heart conjoined.
A life and love
Conceived amongst
The thistles of fantasy.
I’ve found a rose
Destined to become
Its thorn.
I’ve found a lily
Alone
In the driest of valleys.
Kiss me,
And my lips
Will wither with wanting.
Petals
Fallen seedless to the earth.
And yet,
I love you.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
The forest and my sadness flow
like seedless cherries- the mystic
is musty.
the mist is mosaic.
I have a beautiful problem.
I have a very beautiful problem.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
Clinking my spoon on the white ceramic
plate, I count the steamy curls from my
coffee and the spots of yellow in
your blue eyes.
I want to take this coffee, pour it straight into
my stomach. I want to take your yellow-
spotted eyes and eat them like
sweet seedless grapes,
take them in so no one
else can see.
Apr 1, 2011
Apr 1, 2011 at 5:40 AM UTC
The leaves sway in the wind,
While the setting sun highlights the trees delicate tones,
With its pure white flowers and bright green leaves,
The spring flowers have already bloomed and gone,
Such as mother nature intended it to be,
Yet one tree has remained with a full bloom,
While among it lay the burned remains of its brothers and sisters,
So delicate,
So alone,
The rays of light are just strong enough,
This tree that stands has become a symbol of hope for what remains of humanity,
A white flag in the horizon,
This lone tree stands at the centre,
The centre of no man's land,
With smoke and bullets
This tree stands among a desolate unforgiving landscape,
Today the last of humanity will complete it's goal,
This tree will be the last of what once was,
The only living thing on planet earth,
In the future this tree will stand,
It alone has the greatest responsibility,
To spread its seeds to rebuild mankind,
The tree accepts this responsibility,
But mother nature nods her head,
"No more."
The tree will never bloom again and never shed it's seeds,
The tree begins to drop its seedless pure white petals,
The weightless petals gently reach the dirt without a sound,
Yet the weight of a single petal landing has sent shock waves around the empty world,
This is truly the end.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
I stumbled over a perfect dream
As the moonlight made me feel
Like I was the only one
She wants to give a smile
And whisper in my ear
Tonight you are only mine
As an empty page to be filled
With sweetest stories and some dreams
I runned into the world
With the heart sawn onto my sleeve
Forgetting about the wounds
That made me feel so weak
Into seedless grape I changed that day
Not by wish but by my faith
Kissing with the rain
Smiling to the moon
Dancing with my soul
I never thought I would
I stumbled over a perfect dream
As the moonlight made me feel
Like I was the only one
He wants to give a smile
And whisper in my ear
Tonight you are only mine
This dream I never thought I had
Made me feel like seedless grape
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
Earth,
This place of our birth,
Of all birth,
Has been blighted by Man's ****** curse,
We must sprinkle love from our golden purse,
It is time to restore our Mother Earth,
Come you there let us all help to nurse her,
Let’s heal Her broken heart and core,
It is time to open charity's door,
The Earth's rocky back is blistered and covered in sores,
Enough of all the corrupted words from the politicians' jaws,
Listen to me! I beg you and humbly implore,
Stop all the drilling, all this black lifeblood spilling, no more!
The oceans run sick with slick oil stolen from nations poor.
Time,
It sings of the end of life's rhythmic rhyme,
We are mired in catastrophic crimes,
The aging Earth is no longer in Her youthful prime,
We have smeared Her fair face with greasy grime,
Everywhere we drink champagne and waste time sipping wine
While outside the blessed Earth is in the twilight weeping.
©Rangzeb Hussain
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 2:17 AM UTC
He noticed that I hated avocados.
That I would push them to the
Edge of my plate of salad.
Every time I saw him he would ask,
“Are you eating your avocados today?”
I would say, “maybe”.
Because, maybe they would taste better that day.
We played this game for 12 years.
On my 13th year I started to love avocados.
They became trendy.
I spread them on my toast,
They were the dip I loved the most!
But on my 13th year,
He wasn’t here
To ask about avocados.
Aug 27, 2021
Aug 27, 2021 at 12:24 PM UTC
again and again, the world renews the spike in the palm
and north winds bear down upon the inky black
where dead stars illuminate the zodiac of our inner defeat.
an upturned display of seedless fruit against a backdrop
of discrete harm... and the south wind scratching at the twinkle
of a last act. a mirage of poppies and golden wheat
from which the bread of our maker is baked into the glamor
of so much solitude in a galaxy
in your house.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 8:42 PM UTC