"spooned" poems
In tunnelled darks, pastes of reminisce
Outward disjoint points to irrelevance
Spooned and coned in cold mountaintops
The darks of sorrows and trails of struggles
Persistence patterns of self satire in gloom
Sunken in identity crisis of broad oceans
Stormy seas spotlighted by beatific stars
Trajectory of spilled ice in recurrent motions
A mere past cocooned by fears and tears
Clouded in thoughts that cruise and decline
Greyed white imprinted by sudden sadness
Madness echoes on arched ancient bricks
Checkered maniacs of fulfilled passions
Filed and iced in cased prolific memories
Cascades of sunshine tickles to warmth
Orchards of glow that bloom and grow
Picked, ticked and unpacked from boxes
Attacked, nurtured and stored in bliss
Eventful lessons unfolds in untold augury
A mission as the known permeates and fade
Windowed eyes all line up in parade
Mirrored lights digest the haunted haste
A stranger to self, an ally to another
A dance of bright entwine a twist of blur
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
I was a hot cup of water
Freshly set on the wooden table
You the sweet, dark leaves
That floated past the steam
The minutes pass
And though I became dark
I was so much more
Just you and me, sweet tea
But we cooled
You, spooned out
I, quietly drank
and
it
was
all
gone
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:41 AM UTC
Do I know what you are thinking?
Perhaps....
But come into my kitchen,
and let's see if this other fragrance
makes your nose swoon....
Bright red little apples,
spooned with a sweet,
slightly spicy sauce
soften,
turn pink,
exposed to quite
another
kind of heat...
And that fragrance,
well...
Close your eyes...
Yes...
That's it!
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
As I lay beside my darling
On an early Sunday morn,
I could feel her rounded softness
Sleeping under blankets warm.
My mind caroused the memories
And loitered on it's way
And found itself deliciously,
Immersed in golden play.
I remembered something special
In the way my little boy would look
As his eyes rose up in wonderment
When I read his favorite book.
And the joy involved in feeding
A hungry little mouth
When the porridge spooned all over
From the eyebrows heading south.
A tantalizing moment
On the beach down by the sea,
In the warm December sunshine
With my happy family.
We were running in the black sand
Drawing circles with a stick
As the surging waves approached them
Laughing little boys were quick.
Laughing, happy moments
And some sad ones like the day
When dear old Meg, our Labrador,
Got sick and passed away.
Young Boaz in his sadness
Climbed the big tree to it's crown
And it took a lot of pleading
To persuade him to come down.
And young Solly played the taniwha
At the Cornwall Park school play
And a better taniwha has yet
To grace the stage today.
A natural in his element
This young comedian
So hilariously funny
As he drew the audience in.
The tender, loving moments
As we both strolled arm in arm
Through the verdant Ferntree Gully
With it's sunlit grace and charm.
And the towering eucalyptus,
Hanging wood smoke in the air
And the whiplash resonation
Of the lyrebird hidden there.
Of Buttercup's wild parties
When fancy dress was king,
When everyone would whoop it up
And laugh and dance and sing.
When mum's and dad's and little kids
All joined the happy throng
With spud mashing as a ceremony
And a night of fun and song.
Of sitting in the garden
With your feet up and a book
And a cold beer at your elbow
And a barbecue to cook.
With the easy feel of family
As they go about their day
And the joyous sound of summer
When two noisy tui's play.
Memories of yesterday
Moments in the life
Of ecstasy and agony
And wonderment and plight.
And the ordinary ness of everything
And the magic everywhere,
Like the auburn in the sunlight
As it strikes my darling's hair.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
10 October 2009
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 7:36 PM UTC
Pluck one fat orange body from the water
Slippery fins pinched between finger and thumb
Wiggling, wriggling struggling for life
Pointless life with a five second memory
Fat drops of water leave trails across the counter top
Plop, let it fall onto the plate
Gills flexing
Mouth agape
Open, close
Blank eyes stare upwards
Watching reflected light from the water ripple on the ceiling
The first thing to be spooned out
Spread over fresh toast
Like butter before jam
Goldfish on top of eye jelly
Fat orange body still wiggling
Wriggling, struggling for that pointless life
A five second memory
Gills still flexing
Mouth moving slowly
Open, close
Empty eye sockets now watching nothing
Still staring in mute horror
How strange
I hear no one questions
No gasping people with pointing fingers
Screams of horror as they flee
Nothing...
No one cares
About goldfish on toast
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
Latte and scone please
Henry said
with jam and cream?
the barista said
no jam or cream
Henry said
just plain
the barista said
I like scones
but I love them
with cream and jam
she looked at Henry
plenty of cream
he smiled
yes cream has it's place
I guess
he said
she poured his latte
and placed a scone on a plate
and took his money
and gave him change
yes sometimes cream
makes it special
she said smiling
he carried his tray
to his table
and sat and stirred his latte
and spooned off
the top cream
and eyed her
as she served
the following customer
she was an Italian
(the barista)
who spoke good English
and had the darkest of eyes
and black curly hair
the scone was good
and he enjoyed each mouthful
without jam or cream
and he captured in mind
the barista
for his night-long dream.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
Memory of your mother
rolling pastry
and you watching
her hands
and the rolling pin
and the way the pastry
was pushed down
and out
and then she took
the pastry
and put it over a dish
and spooned in
the cooked beef
and onions
and then placed another
rolled out piece
of pastry on top
and forked down
the edges of the pastry
and she said
do you want
the end clippings?
and you said
sure why not
and she gave you
the clipped off pasty
raw in your hands
and you began to eat
noticing how red
and raw and worn
her fingers
and hands were
and how tired
her eyes looked
and wiping hair
from her eyes
with the back
of her floured hand
she pushed out a sigh
and you saw there
how a thousand dreams
of young girls die.
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 10:03 AM UTC
We met over 40 years ago. Floating buttocky halves
spooned into pastel fruit bowls, even drowned in
Del Monte syrup, love at first taste. Your flesh
a luminous hue, hovering on the border of cream
and August skies; your flavor pure as dreamed pleasure
grazing my waking tongue, a melting sweetness
streaming down my throat; your name, a single syllable
promising delight: pear, barely sound, mere parting of lips,
and hint of breath, apple-green p, the sweetest
diphthong ea, all the air in the world, closed in rounded rr‘d
finality. A perfect word, reducing your rumpled, pinnacled
self, to one gorgeous, Old English syllable: per.
Right now, six of you sit ripening on my windowsill.
A sky-blue towel shields bottoms against further bruising
from the wood even at birth you instinctively flee, hanging
off trees in swelling green-gold tears, yearning for earth,
or growing to maturity in bottled, olive-green light, your dying
breath suffusing aging liqueurs like the oldest I ever drank,
the summer I was 19, a century-old brandy served in snifters
the likes of which this working-class boy had never seen.
I tilted the giant crystal bowl; the fragrant liquid elongated
in mimicry of its remembered self and seeped into my mouth: a pear’s
ghost enveloped in flame lay down to rest on my tongue. We both
were saved, at least for that night. Pear. Look of women I love
but don’t lust after, I want to conjugate you: I pear, you pear,
we pear. Like raspberries, Mozart and love, for me, sufficient proof
of God’s existence. I trust you. Lead me by the tongue to heaven.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
I have been unmade and made anew
bolts loose, screws askew
metal stitches holding jagged words abrew
Light a match, no make it two
don't smile at me
I know its true
don't construe my issue
with you
respects not owed and its not due
don't feed me lies
my trust you blew
spooned shards of glass
masked subterfuge.
Don't cast me out
don't look away
I'm a stowaway
renegade
castaway
what makes you think I will obey?
I know the face that I portray
like I'm asking to be betrayed
but cut some slack, bits of leeway
I'll scrounge for scraps
don't make me pay
you cut my tongue, I won't soothsay
the odds for me will soon outweigh
just watch I'll drop this masquerade
and I'll cutaway
to counterweigh
this disarray
replay
this wordplay
display of
swordplay
'cause I'm a stowaway
renegade
castaway
-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 11:57 AM UTC
Sitting in a chair counting spots that passed before my eyes.
The insect smiled and said "hold still" i missed one.
They swirl this way and that.
dont move Please. be still.
Not an easy task
a fever of 104.2
could you. I think that I shall never see
a poem lovely as a tree.
Sitting on my blanketed chest
The insect did his best to sing me a lullaby.
his breath was horrendous but he meant well.
He stroked my burning cheek and
changed the cool washcloth regularly
on my aching head.
Then turned my pillow to the cool side again.
There my friend.
He scuttled under with me and snuggled
his hairy legs were itchy and rough.
small price to pay.
eh wot.
Oh yes we have no bananas
We have no bananas today.
Captain if we keep pushing her like this
she's gonna blow.
We regret to inform you that
the price of tea in China is now
High as gas in California.
Chicken broth he brought
with a silver spoon to boot
The insect waited patiently
as I swallowed then spooned
the next load in.
"Here let me wipe you chin."
Ladies and gentlemen and all ships at see
The Hindenburg has landed
oh the humanity.
This is not the end
No not the beginning of the end.
But more, the end of the beginning.
Help me up Mr Checks. I think I gotta ***
Oops forgot to raise the lid.
Mr Checks. Can you have room service come up.
we need more Trowels. Uh towels.
Stop hogging the remote. Where's mom
Have you seen my Teddy with one eye missing.
To bed to bed
You sleepy head .
Tarry a while said slow.
Put the *** said greedy glut
Lets stuff before we go .
Mr Checks.
All hands on deck.
We dont have enough lifeboats sir.
The iceberg is sky blue and beautiful dont you agree.
What do you do with a drunken sailor
early in the morning.
Heave ** and up she rises
Early in the morning.
THIS FEVERISH DREAM TO BE CONTINUED.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 11:49 AM UTC
12:53am, January 3,2025
New York City
<>
*A Traveler notates these words to my attention, but only because I make myself
a convenient target, for truthfully,
it is addressed to one and all,
to the royalty of:*
We,
*who speake out loud, to all those who ***** these damp woods full of wet words, that spring up overnight, ripe for the plucking, there for the taking, an exacting where & when they did not even exist
the twenty four prior*
These purloined overnight creatures are
white and black
*lettered truffles, like the pages on which we inscribe, the letters raw, exquisitely tasty, shaved, measured in grams, but only when shared with others, in the privacy of our open minds, after being spooned from within us with exquisite care upon the pages that decorate our lives, sprinkled
with great care and cunning*…
*but when consumed, our five senses rage with aromatic pleasured pain, for these letters, so tiny, so powerful, grow only when
combinatory, individual bitty granules,
but when leavened, they enhance, provoke!,
they sauce, the*
flavors of the ordinary
*of our experiences,
creating the extraordinary
when interacting upon
our five robust senses*
*for without the spaces of delineation,
our jumbled words are but the
random jingle jangle of the sounds
of night winds, rustling a tune
pleasant but incomprehensible*
*Here I take your leave,
with the liberty taken
for speaking in all our names
to a Traveler
who so succinctly captures our work,
the glue of our interactive Us,
Our,*
Collective of Individuality
Jan 8, 2025
Jan 8, 2025 at 9:20 AM UTC
I am knees deep in a quick sand
designed for people like me
by a system that thrives
on a climate of fear
Obtaining knowledge while selling my soul
Profit driven suits,
splurging words about our rights
and our duties
Camouflaging their own self-interest
Playing monopoly on knowledge
Convincing us,
that chasing that silly piece of paper
is the only option
Concealing the true cost that
comes with knowledge
One most of us will never be able to afford
An ocean of debt,
one I will surely pay until I'm dead
Behold the loophole though,
silver spooned fed mouths
need not sink nor swim
That hollowed shaped silver
holding them high above ground
While the rest of us sink
limb by limb
into a quicksand that was designed for people like us
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
you are so ****** in the head.
they say "crazy can't see crazy"
but, baby, i looked you dead in the eyes,
and man, someone stirred your brain with a fork.
cerebellum penetrated by tines.
amygdala spooned into their mouths like lukewarm soup.
sliced a knife straight through your hypothalamus.
left the rest to swirl around in that thick skull of yours.
you're used goods, they told me.
you passed your expiration date.
a little too ripe around the edges.
i could see that.
you asked people to palpate your skin,
like checking cantaloupe.
you spit out your seeds in between
inhaling smoke and ******* down liquor.
she warned me that you were a wild one.
rebellion and fierce independence.
all lions and tigers and bears,
sutured together with wolfish teeth
and hyena laughter.
forever breaking out of cages
and biting the hands that fed you.
now if only you could see it too.
or if only i'd saw it earlier.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
Orange squeezed, tea brewed, bacon fried
Self showered, beard shaved, robe wrapped
Wife kissed, tea brought, eyes rubbed
Juice sipped, toast munched, day discussed
Sugar stirred, tea drunk, watch checked
Kids rattled, cornflakes spooned, plates emptied
Mum fussed, kids grumped, teeth cleaned
Noses wiped, shoes on-ed, lunch packed
Stragglers awayed, byes waved, friends greeted
Office called, PC packed, car started
Wife snuggled, door closed, journey begun.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
A warmness
Thats spread on the bed
A passion that is fully cupped in
Palms
A hot liquid flows in the hug
And bit by bit
You are spooned in love
_________________
@Shashi 27th April, 2010
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 3:55 AM UTC
The academy of hungry men
opens for business
only when
the night draws in.
The night is time for being thin,
Cholesterol is fat and won't get in.
I have a tin of boneless ham
A rich man me, in the academy and
where hungry men would hunger on,
I'd eat the ham
and then be gone.
No fees to pay
and words cost just enough to widen out
the mouth, which then tightens up a belt to say,
the academy is not a place to play.
The gravy train left on the boat or so the
hungry man in ragged coat
informs me.
Clever men in the academy
not me,
I'm just passing through and
on the way to something new but
the night drew in and
so I took a pew and with a pewter spoon
spooned up some watery stew,
it's what they do and when, in
the academy of hungry men.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
Precipice candle-lit
camouflaged burns torn
woken fast in ****** bayonet
frocks insatiably milk churned
I tripped and called out your name
on falling prowling came to mind
through an unknown gate, late
and then I woke dizzy
spokes unfettered but meaning less
than before
while wheeling down hills of never ending
clever proportions swung
towards Home
Precipice candle-flicked
dark on the front
escaping to the black
houses of clutter
where no one lives
and camouflage licks
dashed hopes from the wounds
of all fires ever there
inflicted and spooned
undertow slept
as I dreamed
pistacchio nuts in dry lap
watching a harmless movie
go away Scene
come back in the Act
splinter my porous nut
over a hard stone of sultry solace
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 4:47 AM UTC
I carved her face from a pumpkin,
spooned out the flesh to a red bowl
traced out the lines where I wanted
her eyes to be.
I retrieved her heart from a pip
unravelled from the lungs of a satsuma
it was sticky, oozed a milky wine
so I wrapped it in tin foil.
In her sockets I placed half-boiled eggs
sliced down the centre
the yolked irises dripped down
orange turgid cheekbones
When she woke up, the walls shuddered.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 1:16 PM UTC
Cause of such a weighty plight
yet worthy of each new bulge.
Prepping is most of the simple delight
to a confection so rarely indulged.
Thank God for "Sammy's Gym & Sauna!
Sweet Belgium chocolate, melted and
cooled to fingers delicate touch.
Spooned in a slow perfect dribble,
covering in a shroud of flowing sweetness
the perfectly rounded mound, centered upon my dish.
Hardening...encasing within my final sumptuous goal.
Fresh whipping cream, beaten to
frothy clouds of mouth watering heaven.
Newly roasted pistachios, shaved coconut,
and the final crowning glory.
Candied cherries adorning
the mounded delectable height.
Not one, not two, but a few.
Still not nearly enough
my conscience won't be bothered.
Gluttonous greed must be snuffed.
With self-dedicated glee
I make me another.
A couple more hours in the sauna tomorrow.
One final decoration...
for presentation's sake.
A newly budded rose
centered for my eye to behold.
My pleasure mostly done
I am ready to partake.
Mouth salivating,
taste buds anticipating,
I reach for my spoon.
Just as...
*Warming flesh...
Streams flow the valley of your breast...
Cherry cascading down a descending
river of melting cream...
A rolling boulder of passion's anticipation.
Tickling and enticing heated flesh.
It's cantering end at the pooling pit of your navel.*
My spoon is tossed away.
With luxurious sublimity
I dine from your hallowed plate.
My pleasure is most certainly won.
Yours, my tasty,
"Sunday Morning Delight"...
not nearly done, only just begun.
© S.Loeding
All Rights Reserved
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
So, on the morning of his sixteenth birthday, Doby Greenhorn prepared to leave. He packed some provisions; a compass, a large box of matches, some rope, a leather bottle full of water, a little money, a sturdy walking stick and some other odds and ends his mother threw at him. And, as the poem goes…
“As I set out, in early morn, the whole world for to see,
These are the things my blessed mother, came and said to me.”
“Beware the fettered Giant, In the valley down below! Restrained by iron ringlets, near the well where lovers go…
Beware the flaxen Ferry, if you see him down the lane, he’ll offer you the world and more, but only bring you pain…
Be not dismayed by goblins if they’re out during the day, just teach them a new riddle and they’ll let you on your way.
A blackened cat upon the road will bring bad luck it’s said, unless you chase it down at once, and beat it till it’s dead!
But most important, is that song, which lures all men near… The sound like golden honey being spooned into your ear! A song which sparks that deepest longing, a sense of warmth and cheer!
The song of evil Sirens is the thing which most I fear…
So put thy hand across thy breast and make a solemn pledge, to never follow lilting tunes up to the waters edge!
And if you do, and see a maiden bathing in the sun, more beautiful then any queen that ever had been won! With eyes as green as sun bleached moss and face pleasant and fun, Who’s magic makes it quite impossible for you to run!
Then draw thy dagger from thy waist and place it to thy beating heart, and plunge that steel with all thy strength, to lay thy noble breast apart!
Far better be, to take thy life and keep thy soul embowered, then ever kiss those bitter lips and have thy flesh devoured!
For Sirens never eat the dead, and though thy blood runs ruby red, thy honor rests upon thy head, and follows thee to life after…”
”I made the pledge, and kissed her face, and off I went my path to chase! With dagger hanging from my waist… That dagger dangling at my waist… “
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 10:09 AM UTC
Starry eyes
soft hands
red lips
daring smile
brushed cheeks
Cool silences
heated touches
under clothes,
sparks sizzle
mouthing lust
cradling hunger
******* seduction
pressing desire
Stolen glances
furtive nods
open legs
graceful back;
sprawled apart
lights off
always are,
fingers invade
hands clasp
playful bites
exercised tongues
mouths explored
rough caresses
skinned alive,
beneath you.
Devoured clean
each gasp
shuddering ecstasy
tastes tangy
mouth over
mine whole.
Rolled over
pinned down
held up
crawled over
arched high
we come
clean.
Long received
wishes unveiled
want realised
fancies overturned
lust cold
power charged
but
empty socket.
Leave me
opened up
spooned out
messy bruised
cut bare.
Hollowed out
carried away
with sneaking,
light feet.
Wondering lonely
your whereabouts;
touching who
under covers
right now.
Lost darling
snatched love
tapered heart
stranded crush;
sing alone
sad songs
without me.
Empty rain,
weak winds,
nothing everything;
you’re lost,
without me.
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
balancing punches against my waist line
with creatures and cancers that got
close enough to figure me out.
fingers nestled and danced with a thin boys spine
they spooned honesty
through quick teeth with
impossible intentions.
never planning but learning lessons.
planting gardens around
a king on his throne
soft as sand
who gets thrown
off by the sweetness
that floods through his veins
when a tender lipped tulip
breaks and bends in front of his eyes.
wilting in water
and falling on pine, a look from a mother
and they're dead right on time.
grasping fortunes for reference
as to cause birthed through preference.
fouled by income, the souls follow in some
and the door is unlocked like in a waiting room
but no one ever dared to get up and walk out.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 11:08 PM UTC
Billy awoke one day to find he was still human.
This shouldn't come as a shock to most of us, but he'd bedded down
the night before
like a kid for Christmas morning.
He'd paid good, bad, and mostly clean money
for a bad of magic
and steadily spooned it into himself.
He'd reeled and wailed, giggled and shook
limbs and fingers, tongue and teeth
formed cryptic, crazy angles
as he unraveled and wove himself
into something new.
But he awoke once more, staring at the same craters in his ceiling.
No stronger, no uglier, no freer than he had been.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC