"spiky" poems
8th grade.
That was the year everything
went to hell.
That was the year I went on a diet.
I decided to shed
my last shred
of dignity,
along with 60+ pounds
in order to impress the boy with the dark, curly hair.
That was the year I lied to my parents.
"Did you eat dinner?" they asked.
"Yes," I replied,
and they believed me.
They couldn't tell
that something wasn't quite right
with their perfect little girl,
who was starving for the perfect body,
and for attention from the boy with the dark, curly hair.
That was the year teachers began to ask questions.
Mr. May, with the spiky hair and burly arms,
glanced suspiciously at my pale skin,
eerily translucent and decorated with bruises.
Mrs. Fitz, who had recently been on a diet herself,
always made sure that I had a lunch,
although she never made sure I ate it.
Mrs. ***** a small woman with a big personality,
used to make comments about eating disorders
just to get a rise out of me,
and when that didn't work,
she went a step farther.
Mr. Daley, the 7th and 8th grade guidance counselor,
consumed every lie I fed him,
and when I grabbed a Jolly Rancher off his desk
on my way back to class,
he smiled with triumph,
as if he had cured me,
but he didn't see me throw it away
as soon as I got home.
Those extra 15 calories
would have ruined my chances with the boy with the dark, curly hair.
That was the year I couldn't leave the house without a sweater
because, even on the warmest day, I couldn't stop shivering.
That was the year all of my hair fell out.
That was the year I lost most of my friends.
That was the year everything went to hell
because of a boy with dark, curly hair.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
*On a bright and delightful Easter morning
A furry white rabbit, wiggled her pink adorable nose
Peeking through lush bushes
In a lovely and distinctive pose
And jiggled her cottony soft scut
Aiming into a vegetation
On this sunny day
With so much motivation
Quietly hopping into a blissful garden
Placing decorative filled eggs in pastels
With little time to rest
As she quickly inhales
Adding vibrant colours, to an emerald spiky blanket
And into a rainbow of unfolding tulips
Enlightening her way, like a dazzling carnival
For little peeps enjoyment, upon soft winds movement
Beginning in the latter daylight hours, as tots of all ages
Eagerly carried empty interwoven baskets, on their quest
Pacing through, as in peekaboo
And observing who competes the best*
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Near in the distance stood an ant on a chair.
Smooth but spiky skin with a flock of golden hair.
The ants name was Brian and his mum was the queen.
She drank lots of ***** in the largest nest ever seen.
Brian bucked the trend and turned to magic on the street.
Slight of hand his favourite or should I say 6 feet?
back to the story,
Brian was on a chair
Just about to remove it and levitate in the air!
The trick of a all tricks He hoped to be a star.
Make lots of money and travel wide and far!
The chair was removed and Brian floated high. No strings attached going upwards to the sky!!
Not a place for ants and this trick he did not tweak for Brian was last seen in a big birds beak.
The rumours quickly spread when attached to a tree twig was Brian's golden wig.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
Some people like fall, but not me.
It's full of death and decay, the gorgeous pieces of fire drift
from their skeletal homes and burn out into
sodden mushy brown paper.
Hard smooth and brown pebbles, spiky holey bombs, and twirly helicopter blades fall from the same skeletons and hide
beneath the paper, waiting for an innocent victim,
lying in the perfect position to slip someone up so that
they lose their bags and packages as they themselves go
slip slide crashing into the ground.
The victims are sure to rise up again, but with some bruises and bits of soggy brown, stuck all over their clothes
In fall, all the blooms of color decease, all fruit and vegetable and good green things die and leaves the world sodden mushy and brown.
Some people say they like winter, but not me.
It's a cold cruel and heartless season, robbing any last trace of life
from all helpless and left-behind creatures.
The vegetation becomes glazed over with melting glass and is the
one spot of beauty, as the only green left resides on prickly evergreens, housebound plants, and the occasional tacky
coat.
In winter, there is no way to leave your personal fortress without mountains of clothes, and so every person becomes a
chapped lipped, red cheeked, stiff fingered puffball.
Every time you jump into a mound of the white fluff that accompanies the dread season, some is bound to creep into your shirt and boots, freezing whatever it touches, and then ever so so slowly flowing along your skin, one of Gaia's little tortures.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 10:19 PM UTC
Smoke, it is all smoke
in the throat of eternity. . . .
For centuries, the air was full of witches
Whistling up chimneys
on their spiky brooms
cackling or singing more sweetly than Circe,
as they flew over rooftops
blessing & cursing their
kind.
We banished & burned them
making them smoke in the throat of god;
we declared ourselves
"enlightened."
"The dark age of horrors is past,"
said my mother to me in 1952,
seven years after our people went up in smoke,
leaving a few teeth, a pile of bones.
The smoke curls and beckons.
It is blue & lavender
& green as the undersea world.
It will take us, too.
O let us not go sheepishly
clinging to our nakedness.
But let us go like witches ****** heavenward
by the Goddess' powerful breath
& whistling, whistling, whistling
on our beautiful brooms.
3.9k
The barber asked "what would you like?
Quiff?
bun?
Mohawk?
slicked back?
side parting?
centre parting?
greased?
permed?
straightened?
skin head?
bald head?
spiky?
A comb over?
pony tail?
pig tails?
curly?
frizzy?
dyed?
mop top?
French crop?
blue rinse?
purple rinse?
step?
undercut?
shaggy?
dreadlocks?"
"No thanks" I replied
"I'll have a short back and sides and make it messy on top please"
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
railroad yard in San Jose
I wandered desolate
in front of a tank factory
and sat on a bench
near the switchman's shack.
A flower lay on the hay on
the asphalt highway
--the dread hay flower
I thought--It had a
brittle black stem and
corolla of yellowish *****
spikes like Jesus' inchlong
crown, and a soiled
dry center cotton tuft
like a used shaving brush
that's been lying under
the garage for a year.
Yellow, yellow flower, and
flower of industry,
tough spiky ugly flower,
flower nonetheless,
with the form of the great yellow
Rose in your brain!
This is the flower of the World.
San Jose, 1954
3.4k
The salt marshes and mud flats
And a nice sea breeze
Lots of flowers
Lots of colours shapes and sizes
Prickly ones spiky ones round ones
Red Begonias
It was nice being on the seashore
We've been there several times before
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 6:20 AM UTC
The air hangs heavy today
After last nights banging of the drum
Its strobe light pyrotechnics
The awe inspiring deluge
That washed even criminality from the streets
The old horse-chestnut tree who's shade I often steal
Proudly exposes its now swollen spiky fruit
We sigh together, this old friend and I
Another summer will soon come to pass
Let us drink its final rays
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
White cotton kisses
I pretend you occupy the space of this pillow
I remember your navy sheets
I think they kindly absorbed the blood
it was there, somewhere.
beating or gliding within walls of muscle.
This type of loving has become liquid and electrical.
It is certainly electrical.
spiky pains edging fingertips
Strands of copper threaded into the grooves of your fingerprints
It has a real colour. I don't know what that is.
It's weight fits inside your body.
It is manufactured.
Maybe the ***** triggered it.
Or the serotonin shots when I see your face.
All I have with me now is bone dry fabric and wadding
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
You measure in
vast spaces that my memory fills
Revolving.
I take you where
you thought before you might
get left behind.
Instead
Our Love is
sly references
to Private Jokes and
how your eyes light up
as you twirl around inside
your favorite Polka Dot Dress.
Knowing
“That’s when I think you look your best.”
With Egyptian eyeliner
to illuminate the understatement.
Kudos.
Deserved,
after all you do accept
(Not without forgiving humour...)
A latent tendency in myself
to elongate an awkward silence
after committing whichever topical
and firmly established social faux pas
given the setting.
Not forgetting,
my oft lauded lack of a certain finesse
Establishes
around my name a peculiar sentiment
Windswept spiky hair and caught-out schoolboy face
Notwithstanding.
Perhaps,
“it’s clever not to deny the girl”
her entertainment.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
To M.
See, I should have kissed you.
I should have kissed you when I had the chance to. Should have pulled you closer, stood on my tiptoes, my hand tightly clutching your neck, and kissed you full on the mouth. Should have run my fingers through your spiky hair, smiling as your arms closed around me.
I should have found you, the taste of tiramisu still on my lips, and I should have kissed you, giving you a taste of the happiness in a box that you'd handed me so timidly.
Your voice still rings loud and clear in my head, I hear it when I read your messages, that distinctive accent, eyebrows raised, cheekbones moving. And that smile, so sly and cunning, your lips slightly upturned. I should have kissed those lips when I had the chance to do so. Then and there, among tears and sporadic, almost desperate hugs, I should have kissed you. When you held on to me for just a little longer, your hug tight, your hands running along my back, I should have traced your lips with mine. I should have sealed that promise with a kiss.
"You never see a person only once in a lifetime," you whispered in my ear, your breath tickling me. "That's a promise," I choked on tears, "You hear me, it's a promise."
I should have kissed you; instead, I hugged you once again as you held me tightly and rubbed my back. I should have just reached out. Fate or whatever mystical force there is ******* us up pretty badly. If only I'd met you earlier. If only I'd known you before I got mixed up with the wrong person. I wish we'd had more time. I wish I'd done a lot of things differently. My heart drops in my stomach every time you say you miss me. Your voice will fade away. I won't be able to conjure up your face without looking at pictures, and all your familiar features will be blurred by time and memory. The ephemeral imprint of your skin against mine will soon be gone forever. My heart will grow cold.
The taste of tiramisu will linger, though. Always in the back of my mind, the unanswered question of what it would be like to taste it from your lips. Have tiramisu some time. I hope it tastes like me. You never see a person only once in a lifetime, but perhaps you only have one chance to kiss.
I should have kissed you.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
Swing high, swing low
To the different birds I say hello
Then monsters come to devour the pretties
They grin and show me teeth full of flitties
Swing high, swing low
A demon pushes me onto a spiky pillow
Then cotton candy softens the blow
and turns to blood
Swing high, swing low
I really do not know
Why the female body causes so much distress
When the moon decides that it's time to fertilize
Swing high, swing low
There are no seeds to sow, so
please, hormones, just leave me alone.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC
It is angel impact bullwhip vivid
Stampede fingers landscape obedient
Jail bust escape laughing run
Spillway thought stream fuzzy essence
UGG boot toe tubs and water stings
Earthquake tyrant Celsius fools
Pin lake petrol ice filled deserts
Spiky flames in outer space
Sculpture freak show withering exhibit
Fathom emergency breathe and ****
Nut shell gorillas invisibly cracked
Cow fed nirvana BBC
Shades of zero audio cauldron
Same vein madness virus mansion
Culinary horror infection procedures
Geyser rich nutrient pea-pod turmoil
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
A- She is just like me. A leader. A strong, independent, bisexual woman, she controls the alphabet from this end, and everyone respects her.
B-He's a nice guy, a bit pretentious, but nothing too special. The first time I saw Friends, I new that Ross was literally the letter B incarnated.
C- B's best friend, goes by male pronouns, but is gender fluid sometimes. He is much more genuine than B.
D- One of A's closest friend. She is cool, and kind of like a bad *** English teacher.
E- A **** Your typical school bully. He's dating D.
F- E's wing-man, but like the stereotypical wing-man, he is kind hearted, but too much of a shy follower. And he likes D.
G- H's brother. Good student, slightly over weight, and just as homosexual as his sister.
H- The "mom" of the friend group. She is smart and supportive. My favorite lesbian of the alphabet.
I- A real cool dude. Spiky hair and sunglasses. He likes to lean against brick walls and just look cool. Very cool.
J- He is K's best friend.
K- She is J's best friend.
L- He hangs out with M, but not too much because he really isn't found of her littler sister N. He's too much of a wimp for my taste.
M- She is a really independent confident girl. She goes on double dates with O, P, and her sister N. She has a side thing going on with the letter A.
N- She lives in the shadow of her sister. She kind of reminds me of my own sister.
O- He is P's best friend, and always tells him what to do. He reminds me of E, but they've never met.
P- Let's O push him around. He hangs out with O, M, and N. But his true love is Q.
Q- She is quiet, but strong. She is madly in love with P. They sneak out together a lot. She has over protecting parents.
R- She is the leader of the Q-R-S friend group. A transgender and asexual bad *** She supports Q and P, but not S and T
S- Tries to listen to her older friend R, but is just a good kid making bad decisions. She has a HUGE crush on both T and U.
T- Loves U. Strong male, plays football and works at a car wash.
U- She's a princess. Very quiet and polite. In a relationship with T, but I don't know her true intentions.
V- U's older sibling. A-gender and a CEO of some big business.
W- Same personality as H, but not as motherly, and bisexual.
X- The third wheel to the X-Y-Z clan. Also agender, and really just a fly on the wall. They sees a lot, but really don't like to socialize. But they really like going to the zoo.
Y- Z's beta. Her best friend, and wife. They are ride and die ******* for life.
Z- Just like A. Exactly like A. Only she is in a committed relationship with Y. She controls the alphabet from this end, and everyone respects her.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
Oh Bard, wielding a tool mighty and spiky
Mightier than either the sword or rod,
You reign as monarch in fancy’s domain
Sketching life in all variety and mode
Which with pain and strife fraught
Or bright with gaiety and grace
In finer yarn than the gossamer thread
On a fabric of words in befitting verse
You steal away from the noisy crowd
Into the stillness of the cloistered cell
To dwell with Fancy’s mystic charms
Weaving downy dreams at will
You recount forgotten tales of yore
Of ****** battles won and lost,
Of lovers united, amour defiled,
Conjuring memories from abysmal past
You hearken to the moans of lovelorn souls
And sing of beauty in ditties fine
Triggering sparks into flames grow
In umpteen hearts that pine and whine
Babbling with the brook rushing swift,
Racing with the deer loping past,
You wander into mysterious woods
Where flowers, their richest odors cast
Your ears intent on the song of birds
That comes floating from the far off groves
And the whir of cicadas on the bark of trees
Breaking the calm of twilight eves
Alone you saunter the stretching strands,
Watching virulent breakers in fury heave
Often your heart dancing with the tide
And swinging with the rhythm of rising wave
You feast on the gleam of the auburn sun
And the speckled blue of the infinite skies
Watching the day dying in flame
And the night in a diadem of stars vies
All that’s lovesome meets your eyes
And commune to you in profuse delight
Which you turn into rhyme and rhythm
For the whole of mankind to devour and digest
From your harp flow symphonies sweet
Songs of longing, love and lust
Of idyllic happiness, peace and bliss,
Fuelling hearts with vigorous zest
Though outlawed by the great sage of Greece,
Branding the poet, aberrant and a fool
Oft beneath the façade of his wayward thoughts,
Lie heaps of wisdom for the discerning soul.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 6:01 AM UTC
Ready my therapist, ready the tissues
Suicidal jargon and self harm, tenth issue
My tears, the alien plants to my fragile
sanctuary, ******* all the water and smiles,
Are changing to healthy oak trees,
Odd, in Blue Season, trees shrink to weeds,
The rain queen has become a frivolous giver,
And I remember how the cactus use to quiver
because Blue Season meant the Sun’s burning rays,
Well, the cactus isn’t **** anymore! Back to wearing his spiky clothes always.
Industrial air to countryside,
My fauna and flora haven’t died,
Actually they have multiplied,
The poachers, the self harm, hasn’t ambushed,
No, no! They have been seen about
But they’re less and success is a doubt.
Momentary depression, the lethal poison to
my sanctuary, wreckage seems to be subdued.
Jun 11, 2022
Jun 11, 2022 at 6:36 PM UTC
I feel like Godzilla in a frilly party dress
Wearing ribbons and flounces while causing distress
Or a jalapeno pepper in a pumpkin pie,
Dangerously spicy and living a lie
spiky and snarly like a cat in a cage,
yet trussed up in garlands that tighten with age
I'm sweet on the outside, I'm feeling quite witchy,
If you've read my poem, you'll say I'm just ******
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 12:26 PM UTC
Greens and gold of lattice work cascading down the tree,
This epiphyte, so infinitely, delicately free.
A lattice work of green finesse, a miniature Cezanne
With exquisiteness of spiky bloom embellishing it’s charm.
Cascading down the grizzled trunk of gnarled and twisted hand
The hosting ancient Kamahi looms loftily, so grand.
Looms aloft with leafy bough so softened by the show
Of ruffled, pinkish bottle brush amassing high and low.
Hordes of buzzing, bumble bees so clumsy in their way,
Tumbling from flower to flower collecting nectar’s day.
With afternoon the waning sun lies hot on sultry air
And little girls in pretty frocks skip by with not a care.
Summer grasses long and dry stand statuesque and straight
With sweet laburnum’s perfumed heads a nodding by the gate.
Young heifers graze in clover in the dell down by the brook
And the fantail dances daintily seeking insects in the nook
There’s a special, quiet majesty pervading here, so fair
With the thistledown afloat, so still with golden motes in air.
Fills my soul with gentle feeling and a rolling tear, unplanned,
For this blend of quiet ambivalence through my beauteous rural land.
Marshalg
“Foxglove” Taranaki.
NEW ZEALAND.
19 January 2014
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
I’d stop to indulge in my cursed writer’s rut,
And cease to perch beneath the spiky pine,
Like the winter snow my thoughts doth jut,
Beside a flame, on delicious dreams dine,
No forest bequeath or mountain’s soul call,
Just the spring of my writer’s pen approach,
As doth many a story on these blank pages fall,
The chilly snow, nigh the singing wind encroach,
Perhaps my mind in another universe doth roam,
Witness to more then what the eyes here fathom,
Like a child’s delight in summer’s soft moan,
Stories of Mermaids dwelling in nature’s *****
Star by star and sun by sun, stories here themselves doth tell,
Of beautiful Queens and Kings of valor, my pen doth here compel.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 4:42 AM UTC
Buttercups Diversify!
Posted by Olivia Kent on June 19, 2013 at 11:46am
View Blog
Buttercups Diversify!
In peach tinted temple of time,
Painted in poetry's dreams,
We kiss, we talk, we ,
Writing leisure through pleasure and pain,
I laid on your bed,
You bathed my shoulders so sore,
Left me smouldering with desires for you,
You donated to me, while we played in daylights sweet kiss,
A sweet single bright buttercup,
Dressed in waxen yellow,
Precious petals sparkling, shining ,
Glowing in the afternoon, after laying on the the spiky dry grass,
After dancing had passed,
A garden full of dreamers dressed in pink and white, blessed with fragrance, pure.
Collected from a century of rose tree,
The tree had seen much over the years about a century I was told,
Witnessed bombings in the blitz,
Watched mother's father's children's kiss,
Flowers of such beauty, dressed with a drizzle of love's sensation tickles,
As the dance goes on!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
the spiky pavement under our toes
running aroind like no one knows
our whoops and shouts are getting violent
but our true feelings may always stay silent
you're thinking only of getting to bed
but i look at the stars as you run ahead
they hold secrets we'll never see
and wishes and loves we hope can be
i bring my mind down to look at you
and find my feelings all askew
for you see, my loyal, beautiful friend
im falling in love all over again
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 9:57 PM UTC
It's a pity, its a pity
though we hate anything thorny,
and silently meditate on serendipity,
the cactus, we planted inadvertently,
among chrysanthemums and roses
we swear by,
grew real quickly, proliferated avidly.
Look at their ghastly smiles, prickly.
You find them raise and shine early,
on any weather, rain, drought or snow,
when the gentle flowers all are withered ,
and sleepy, they remain succulent and sturdy.
It's a pity, fragrant flowers loose heart easily,
but cactus, without fail, remain alert and cocky,
It's a pity, nice ones can't fight back and smile,
look, the cactus flowers ask for nothing special,
though spiky, they make us believe we are lucky.
Aren't we thankful, for their tender mercies?
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
oh my darling angel you are the reason i’m still a person with skin
you are the reason i wake up in the morning and smile sometimes
with teeth sometimes without but smile nonetheless//you are the reason i eat
with such gusto because i know you would laugh at the way i wolf down pasta//you are
the reason for the hole in my chest in your absence i collapse like a dying star//you are the reason
i’m trying so hard to be better and//you are the reason i called my therapist’s office and said hi
yes could i please have a listening ear//you are the reason all my cuticles are picked ragged like
so many spiky sea animals warning you not to touch//you are the reason for my writing
the note you left me to write calling me “stinky” still sits on my shelf untouched//you are the reason i’m
insecure about my taste in alcohol//you are the reason i’m not insecure about my laugh anymore//you are the reason that my hair is soft and//you are the reason
i’m shaving my legs again//you are the reason i care about *** at all and//you are the reason it
scares me so ******* much
you are the reason for much of my life as it stands now proud and tall and shaking
like a fawn still wet from her mother’s womb
Jun 25, 2021
Jun 25, 2021 at 10:36 PM UTC