"snacking" poems
for Hazel and Joe
Just walking the parrot
Said the lady on the beach
He's so shy you know this bright bird
If he were to sit on my shoulder
Seeing you children come toward him
He'd fly off and away with the gannets
So he stays safe in his basket
Swinging on his perch to and fro
Snacking on cuttlefish and a millet bar
My son Steve brought him back from Belize
He's been my companion four years this June
No, he doesn't speak but he does a fine squark
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 3:39 AM UTC
I was molded by his own hand
sculpted to perfection and eager to please
who else other than my husband
for without Adam, there is no Eve
at least, that was before he slithered into our perfect life
pounding our perfect garden into the ground with his slick feet
conniving and a brute,
he convinced me to take a bite
and share my fruit with man
for what is mine is his
my knowledge is his
I am his
together we ate
snacking and licking our fingers with glee
wiping the secretions of the fruit of mankind
against the tree we tore it from
until our Paradise's pastures declined
the wildflowers overtrodded with weeds
the singing waterfall vanished
only to be replaced by an evil, magmatic spout
and our tree,
our once bountiful, glorious, fruitful tree
decayed from the inside out
Adam's burning glare rotted my fruit and my seeds
until they and I dropped to the burning embers on the ground
like nicks off of a pebble that was thrown too hard
or like hairs from the back of a matted mother cat
that has spent far too many heatless winters hunting
for a different life,
for any life
with no more than a curse from Him,
I became the failed experiment of humanity
tossed into God's own graveyard
left to rot with my stolen seed
Apr 29, 2022
Apr 29, 2022 at 1:16 PM UTC
I’m walking up hilltop, two men pass, one says,
'Fuck the French, they never have the bottle for a fight’.
To have got here they passed the old Cathedral.
Did they glimpse it as a relic - exploded by incendiary,
ostracised in dubiety, seen fit to feature
only in the focus and snap of foreign tourists?
It is two days before Ramadan. Tonight Tornados
will tear between the Euphrates and Tigris
to illuminate Babylon... live on CNN.
At the top of the hill I pause,
staring at stained glass fragments
still suspended in the apex of frames
and view snacking office workers,
seated upon the benches that have replaced the pews.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 12:30 PM UTC
This Prince was handsome to the extreme.
He had definite movie star looks
That is if movies had been invented
back all those centuries ago.
She was the most beautiful princess
in all the kingdom.
He could not think of anything other
but to make her his bride.
So he set forth on his quest of the heart.
But when he rode up to her castle
though the haunted forest of whispers.
across the river of doom
and the desert of the dragons.
he arrived at her door
and proposed marriage to her
she said
No way!
Apparently, she hated men
and in fact, had a strong
penchant for girls herself.
Not one to dwell on the mysteries
of a woman's heart,
the prince said to himself
fucketh her.
And he turned to a life of bachelorhood.
Never ever to marry.
He bought a Harley Chopper
Dated pretty cheerleaders
and slim models with full bosoms.
And he never once caught his wife
in bed with some guy like his married friends did.
when he got home unexpectldy all was as it should be,
He took up hunting and fishing with his buddies.
raced sports cars at high speed.
spending lonely nights at ***** bars
drinking double malt whiskey
and the finest flagons of ale.
he never heard of ********
or a ******* honey-do list.
Nor did he ever get hit for
child support or alimony.
He kept his castle
and his beloved gun collection
And was as rich as blazes.
HE lived on a diet of fried food
bacon and eggs with sausages and beans
Hot chicken wings and tacos.
snacking on potato chips and gassy pop.
a diet that caused him to
blow enormous loud farts
which made him a revered legend
amongst his cronies.
who all thought he was as cool as hell.
He had loads of money in the bank
And not once in his life
did he ever put the toilet seat down.
And he lived
happily ever after
The End
Goodnight Children
all go. To sleep
Sweet dreams.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 4:23 AM UTC
It was daytime:
I was seperating siamese twins
at the waist
Like a government
trying to quell a rebellion;
I was reconfiguring
scarred old wooden toys
for Santa;
shining scuffed shoes--
pennyloafers with nickels
in the slots.
It was daytime:
I was decapitating
red-haired stepchildren
who had grown
sour from neglect;
removing brilliant succubi attached
to a wholesome family's
soul.
I was snacking on a
nerds rope,
washing babies mouths out
with soap,
slapping pink cheeked
toddlers on their feet.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 11:54 AM UTC
The rapping and tapping,
the hitting and slapping,
sipping and slurping,
The munching and crunching,
the snacking and slacking,
hunching in a darkened room,
Facebook steals your youth.
Jan 2, 2010
Jan 2, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
In the sky tonight hangs a perfect Half-Moon,
when I looked up above, I thought about you,
in your paint-stained clothes and all your artwork, too,
memories of our friendship flourished and bloomed.
With your hands so hearty and your talents unbound,
I saw close up how you artistry astounds,
I remembered our fights, disagreements and tears,
but we always remained close friends over the years.
I sure miss our talks about art over wine,
snacking on crackers and cheese every time,
yet the thing I treasure most about you, my friend,
is the respect and love that will never end.
______________
See Nolan's toilet here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/contemporary-art-paintings/graffiti-tag-art/Duchamp-new-contemporary-art.html
See Nolan in his paint-stained clothes here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/contemporary-art-paintings/graffiti-tag-art/Graffiti-MSK-nolan-painting.html
See all the amazing artwork of Nolan Haan here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/
_________
The "Half-Moon Inn" is the historic building/art gallery I lived in that Nolan had restored with the help of his partner-at-arms, Mitchell.
Read my blog story for all the exciting details and breath-taking photos of The Half Moon Inn and it's lush, tropical gardens!
http://dee-light-full.blogspot.com/
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 7:15 AM UTC
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you
I missed the feeling of your **** between
my lips
and your ***
when it drips
down my chest
and my thighs, pressed tight
are still slippery on the inside.
I’m an eel moving
with the pull of your current.
I’m a siren
singing full volume in the desert.
I want your elixir
your kingdom ***
in the bedroom,
but you’re not dreaming.
Late night snacking
on this *****
you’ve got a craving
and my hips
won’t quit
until you’re shaking
reeling
from the thrill of it.
Daddy goes down,
but his last call doesn’t come til’ sun up.
Shape me and mold me
every color of
your ****** deviancy.
I’m not a cure,
but I’m fixing
to explore the furthest reaches of your boundaries
of this bed
of your – flexed fingertips.
I’ll wake you with my mouth
if you put me to bed with yours.
I’m pleased to please you,
sweet release in these sheets,
tangled up inside me.
Your aftershocks got me shook.
To the boy with the eyes,
the color of the sea –
I fell into more than your bed.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
My cherry tree stands quite tall, bearing fruits and flowers
Good for climbing and snacking, breathing and thinking
Walk out upon a limb, and lean against a branch
To calm and relax and hang out with friends
Laughing and joking, playing and singing
Hot sticky summers, made all the stickier by cherries
Sunshine dappled grass beneath the tree
The perfect Treffpunkt for all us monkeys and goofballs.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
The little rat ******* was slick
on his very quick snacking trip
he licked the traps clean
a rodential machine
sooner or later, he'll slip
The glue traps did the trick
that's where that monster did stick
nevermore seen
his demise sticky obscene
I hated being
such a ****
The traps erstwhile effect
not rats but mice subjects
licking clean the traps
as final sticky naps
the end of this, project
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 7:31 AM UTC
Another attempt
a few more hours in the gym
a few skipped meals
but
more snacking
more unhealthy food
more failure
I can never be who I want to be
I can't be the best I can
Because I'm already straining the ropes.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
i.
***** blond hair and braces,
beanie and a sweatshirt,
you were the secondary third wheel
along with myself.
you put on all four hats and
nearly choked on your soda
at someone’s ***** joke.
ii.
hair parted sideways,
black-ringed blue eyes,
we vaguely remembered each other
and talked a bit before going back
to the ones who had originally brought us.
the blue was pretty and you had a bubbly laugh
and were dressed nicer than before.
we finally memorized each other’s names
and when it was time to go,
we hugged and I told you to
drop by again soon.
iii.
braces off and longer hair,
your board had a new paintjob.
we enthusiastically greeted each other
with a hug and an exchange of names
and we ended up sitting at the computer
for most of the afternoon and evening.
we talked without restraint and
had definitely become easy friends.
iv.
hair shaved off on the sides,
the rest slicked back like a new-age greaser,
you smelled slightly of stale cigarettes
when I tucked my face against your neck
for our routine hug.
I squeezed you tight and brushed my thumbs
across the leather of your jacket.
you were angry and stressed but didn’t really show it
and I wasn’t sure what to do with my still-new
feelings for you.
I held your hands outside that night
and asked you to quit again,
because people come and go and life’s too short
to make it even shorter
by ******* on a stick of chemicals and tobacco.
you said you’d quit soon and thanked me for being there.
v.
you stayed over
and we spent most of our time
swapping songs and playing video games
and snacking on poptarts and arizona.
I woke up the next morning to find that
you hadn’t slept
and wondered what you must have been thinking about
that could keep you up all those hours.
vi.
we saw a bad movie together tonight.
our heads bumped multiple times
and we both had to pull up our legs
since our heels barely touch the floor comfortably.
your forehead would wrinkle when you were looking up
and it gave you an air of maturity
that I didn’t know you could pull off.
I wanted to kiss you
but didn’t know what you thought of me
so I didn’t.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
You were letters of a time away and floating on my air as rain pelted our windows and soaked my hair.
Cold with our own ambition and the sky swarmed by grey clouds ridden with my nightmares, dreams, essays that i turned in past the due date and wine you took from the back of your mothers liquor cabinet.
Your car sneezed and coughed cancer cells perpetuating when you turned the key. from the dents on the side and the tobacco scent on the seats i knew you took this from the junkyard on the south side of the boulevard.
You thought you were the problem but I was the one snacking on empty prescription bottles and then chewing glass for dessert blood running down my chin and giggling at the hopelessness that I felt in my soul.
I swallowed broken vases and cut up my esophagus as you spoon fed me unrequited love. i thought we were going to
make it but we only got to the gas station before the car broke down and i went home.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
i am nine
and learning
by osmosis
secret women's business or
the art of pie making
production line style
to the uniniated
i sit perched on a stool
in the corner, out of the way
boxed in by fruit
it is a heady place to be
as scents of apricots(bought)
blackberries and apples mingle
sweet woody and exotic,
with the citrus tang
of zested lemon that sits
in an ever growing
pryamid on the table.
ginger and cinnamon motes
float in the oven warm air
and flour clouds the room
and settless in drifts
and dusts the collection of bowls
on the table
my mother aunt
and mrs blunt,the neighbor,
bustle about the room....
my aunts girth designates her as chief baker
and she rolls out pastry with
gusto...fat arms swinging
penduously, humming to herself.
mrs blunt is the pie filler
adept at judging the mix
and making the gelatonious
gooey syrups filled with sugar
and spice, chopped crab apple
and lemon zest.
mother is the friuter, she peels
destones and cores
chopping up apples, apricots and peaches...
leaving berries and cherries intact(sans pips)
and then later she mans the ovens
watching for the golden crust
and bubble of pie juice...
before removing
them to cool on poppa jacks
old oval dining table...
me I sit in wonder,
snacking on fruit,
and balls of leftover dough
swooning with the smell
of stewing friut.
Next year my true apprenticeship will start....
Until then, I listen to the murmer of gossip
the passing of secrets,
the bonding of these women....
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
you marvel at your beautiful reflection,
but then remember the undeserving *******
who stole
your third mistress.
so you rob a hardware store
and gouge his eyes out with a screwdriver
and watch him bleed to death
while snacking on a bag of Cheetos.
you're too lazy
to pick up the crumbs.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
Im boarding a metro in a city you've been to, two seasons before, venturing a street that you've walked back in summer trying to see what you saw, like that unusual statue you were so fond of. I did find it, I think, that it looks better in your photos. Im looking out from the window of a small teahouse I came across, wedged inside a small alley. I wonder if you've ever found this little place-you'd probably fall in love with it more than I do. I guess a city looks offbeat in changing seasons, like the way you'd always be able to tell twins apart, but how they tend to be so similar in so many ways. Im here trying to adjust my scarf and it is not easy to think how you were snacking on your third ice cream and complaining how tropical the weather here was. You are eccentric about the places you go, in a foreign city with nothing but a map and hand signs to rely on, telling me about that one little shop on a street with a name I've never heard of, In a city with more metro lines than my fingers could possibly count, with such longing to return to that I, wondered what caused you to be such attached to a place where no one could understand you, that people walked in a different pace and spoke in a different tongue, that rain there didnt fall as often as it did here, back where you were telling me about unfamiliar cities. I am, constantly thinking, more about the cities you've told me about, and less about you. It wasnt until I got lost in the same city the same way you did that I realised I loved the way you portrayed places more than the actual place itself because two seasons later, I find myself looking for the ghost of you in a city I've never been to.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
Eat your brains for kings pleasure,
While snacking your soul on ancient lore,
find the meanings twice and you die,
running on borrowed time,
to weave the web of lies
hidden plainly on layer of skin,
I slowly peel off and savor,
as you deconstruct my walls,
building a home out of the rubble,
to hid away from glances,
lancing through tired eyes,
perpetually trapped in the hills,
which never see beyond,
the painted black highways,
our galaxies ellipses through,
and occasionally super colliding
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
There’s safety in numbers
I’ve oft heard it said-
Unless there are ninety cows
stuck in a shed.
Those numerous ruminants
Munching on hay
Produce mucho methane
in the course of a day.
Ninety odd bovines
Snacking on grass
Take in the fuel
And produce moos and gas.
Those flatulent heifers
Many cow pies produced
Until a stray spark
blew a hole in the roof.
It was shocking to the farmer
And a blow to the farm,
But at least we take comfort
That not one cow was harmed.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
Its in her head
all planned (born with super abilities)
and she builds
like no other can
a silken trap
tougher than Kevlar
harder than Steel-
and eight legs to spin with.( all wrapped up for snacking on)
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 8:14 AM UTC
My mother keeps dropping hints
About the increase in size of my waist
About the decrease in space between my legs
"Are you really going to eat that?"
"You shouldn't be snacking that much."
"If you're hungry, you should probably just drink water."
"That won't digest well if you eat it now."
"You know that's going straight to your gut."
Sometimes in the silence of our house late at night I can hear her whispering, "You're not good enough."
I love you too, mom.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
Far beyond need, I take
Far beyond want, I grab
Far beyond desire, I covet
and upon having all that is wanted, more to want will be created.
I live a perfect life! Forever running after the brand name with the most ***
I want and I have no reason yet to doubt that I deserve.
Let my neck break before it turns from the tv!
Let my jaw snap before I stop snacking with it!
Let my heart attack before it aches for the misfortune of another!
Let me die peaceful and alone.
Worth money and nothing else.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 11:46 PM UTC
The Single Prince------ a fairy tale for adults ---By Jude Kyrie
He was handsome to the extreme.
Definite movie star looks
if movies had been invented
back all those centuries ago.
She was the most beautiful princess
in all the kingdom.
He could not think of anything
but to make her his bride.
So he set forth on his quest of the heart.
But when he rode up to her castle
through the haunted forest of whispers.
across the river of doom
and the desert of the dragons.
he arrived at her door
and proposed marriage to her
she said
No way!Apparently, she hated men
and in fact, had a strong penchant
for girls herself.
Not one to dwell on the mysteries
of a woman's heart, the prince said
fucketh her.
And turned to a life of bachelorhood.
He bought a Harley Chopper
Dated pretty cheerleaders
and slim models with full bosoms.
and never once caught his wife
in bed with some guy
when he got home unexpectedly
He took up hunting and fishing with his buddies.
raced sports cars at high speed.
spending lonely nights at ***** bars
drinking double malt whiskey
and the finest flagons of ale.
he never heard of ********
or a ******* honey-do list.
Nor did he ever get hit for
child support or alimony.
He kept his castle
and his beloved gun collection
and lived on a diet of fried food
bacon and eggs with sausages and beans
snacking on potato chips.
a diet that caused him to
blow enormous loud farts
which made him a legend
amongst his cronies.
who all thought he was as cool as hell.
He had loads of money in the bank
And not once in his life
did he ever put the toilet seat down.
And he lived
happily ever after
The End
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 6:35 PM UTC
I seem to grow in ever direction,
With new branches sprouting from every pore
They do not need the sun
To be true,
They grow faster in its absence.
My photosynthesis feeds so greedily,
It consumes light.
Yet the feast never stops, continues
With invisible source.
Light is the appetizer,
Smiles the side
With darkness bringing
Endless entrees.
Crunch!
Crack!
Snap!
Snacking smacks fill the empty air.
My skin crawls as my mold,
Spreads and consumes.
My own movement sickens me.
I am disease.
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 2:47 AM UTC
*Dedicated to William Shakespeare, Gene Roddenberry,
Lewis Carroll and Franz Joseph Haydn.*
The power scythe roared and quivered;
Had he chops, he would have licked them -
So rabid was he to taste the fray.
Verdure clad stalks by the thousands
Eschewed all feint of
Futile resistance -
Falling like spineless wimps
Before the carbon breathed Leviathon's
Cyclonic advance.
Pausing only to quaff
A long draft of energy potion,
Toro relentlessly carved a swath
Across the battle ground -
Vorpally snicker-snacking his way
Toward the mission's
inexorable termination.
A single command
Brought the roaring vortex to a halt.
Victorious, sans medals or ceremony,
Captain Toro was debriefed
And escorted back
To his lonely barracks
To sleep, perchance to dream
Of past and future triumphs
In the jungle wilds at the confluence
Of Prairie and Missouri Avenues.
August, 2007
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 11:42 PM UTC