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~
May 2023
HP Poet: Edmund Black
Age: 39 (almost)
Country: USA

Question 1: Welcome to the HP Spotlight, Edmund. Tell us about your background?

Edmund Black: "My real name is Merlin Edmund (Black) cause I believe in magic and besides, it matches my cool ;). I was born in Port Aux Prince, Haiti. I moved to the United States when I was 11 years old and I’ve been living in New Jersey ever since. Seems like here on Hello poetry I’m stuck on 34, like I'm frozen in time alongside error 502, but I’ll be 39 years young this year on May 6. But please don’t tell anyone ;) lol."


Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Edmund Black: "I wrote my first poem (ever) here on HP called Caribbean love, back in 2018, and I have been a member since. I wrote that poem after I returned from a missionary trip back home in Haiti, after I witnessed so much poverty on such a small island. And I wanted to write about all the suffering, the poverty and the beauty. At first I was afraid, I was scared because I didn’t know how people would take to me. But there was a piece of me that wanted to come out, wanted to be free, and to learn, to help others find their own Joy, gratefulness, peace and humility? I started writing to encourage myself and many others. The truth forever remains that we're all brothers and sisters. I wanted to sprinkle some love and hope around the world, seasoned with a little bit of madness."


Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Edmund Black: "I guess every writer is inspired by different things, for me I get inspired by all the little things I experience on a daily basis. I get inspired by hatred, poverty, love, music, nature, grief, etc. I get inspired when I'm desperately searching for a life in a happier world. When I feel the desire to remind myself and others that we're all the same. Everybody has a little bit of the sun and moon in them. Darks and lights in them. Part earth and sea, wind and fire. We have a universe within ourselves. We all can shine in the midst of dark moments and we have got to remember that, no matter the weight."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Edmund Black: "Have you ever met someone that makes you happy and smile, just from being around them? They make you feel good just from their laughter. They make you feel like all the problems or negativity that you may be facing during your daily activities, means nothing. They make you realize that it’s okay to make mistakes and still find ways to make things better. This might sound insane, but that’s poetry to me. It's healing, it's cathartic, it brings out strength from within. Trust me, you can write about anything and still come out with a win. Poetry is an avenue that lets you be free while holding the memory of the world in the palm of its hands."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Edmund Black: "I think my answer is going to shock you, Carlo. I DO NOT HAVE A FAVORITE WRITER OR POET besides you guys here on HP. But If I had to pick one famous poet, if it’s a must it would have to be Jesus Christ. He was a brilliant poet who had his work of art on every mind and heart in the world. His expression, His poems, His delivery and the depth of His thoughts. The poems are so relatable and beautiful. His words are addictive. Every time I am a little bit depressed and in need of a lift upon high, He is the first and only one that always comes to mind. He’s my inspiration…… Without question."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Edmund Black: "I love spending time in nature with my family; creating art in the backyard whenever I get a chance. Weight lifting and bicycling are two of my favorite hobbies, and plus I'm a foodie so I'm very passionate about my cooking ;) especially fresh seafood, hmmm so so so good. And lastly, I have a great enjoyment in fixing old houses and turning them into a home for families to enjoy for years to come, for a small fee ;) to me it’s a form of art. It’s a busy lifestyle."


Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for allowing me to interview you, Edmund! I really enjoyed getting to know you better!”

Edmund Black: "Thank you so much Carlo and to everyone who has ever shown me love, support, encouragement, forgiveness, concern...at any point in my life. Your grace, compassion, and mercy does not go unnoticed. I love you all. Be gentle with each other my dear poet brothers and sisters. To all writers and poets, don’t boo yourself off the stage before anyone has a chance to see you shine. Keep dreaming and your visions alive because without us the world would be empty, sad and without a sound. Let’s create joy for hope and hope for humanity……I am all gratitude Carlo and family, thank you 🙏🏽"




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Edmund a little bit better. I know I did. – Carlo C. Gomez (aka Mr. Timetable)

We will post Spotlight #4 in June!
~
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
They say in this world that everyone starts with nothing, that everyone has the opportunity to climb to the top with a cup of effort and just a sprinkle of integrity, that everyone is born equal, and that everyone succeeds.
They are lying, if not to you, then to themselves.

Fact is that inheritance will always be present in this world; parents will always die and pass on their wealth to their children.
Whether we are aware of this or chose to acknowledge its existence is independent and non-influential to this fact.

A lying billionaire may have one daughter and she may never have to genuinely work a day in her life, while an honest but unlucky displaced man may have one son and be unable to give him but a pair of shoes to place over his soft feet.

We are unable to alter this occurrence, for it is natural to wish for one’s own legacy to continue not only in genes, but in wealth, fame, and power, but it is crucial to acknowledge the differences of the lives into which we are born.
Cristina Mar 2014
I need you to touch me
do it now.
I want your body, you want mine
remember you said
sweetheart, everything will be fine.

tips of your finger are silk
barely touch my cleavage
my entire body is so rich
rich of your small just sprinkle kisses.
I need you to touch me more
what are you waiting for?

your palm is burning, under my skin
looking in your eyes
I'm reading a long story of desire.
is all for me?

you smile to me, smile for me
when you do it
my thoughts become blurry.
please, stop whisper into my ear
I can't handle anymore
please
just, touch me!
Simon Clark Aug 2012
CHRISTMAS PARADISE

The table was filled with lots of things to eat,
Mince Pies, Stuffing, Turkey and many other meats,
A candle in the centre to flicker out its gold,
A special time for all of us to cherish and to hold.

Everyone pulls a ******* and wears their hats with pride,
As they sit around the burning logs warming all inside,
But through the window they can see a chestnut skating on the ice,
It tries to break through the frozen sheet to a Christmas paradise.

The singers are singing their tunes of Christmas dreams,
So that everybody's hearts and eyes can gleam,
The ribbon that will lie stretched out across the floor,
Will be forever engraved to our minds and deep within our core.

From every house along their street giggling can be heard,
And silent prayers are spoken but God hears every word,
To sprinkle merriment upon their place if only for one day,
So that they can celebrate Christmas in their own special way.

ONE ENCHANTED DAY

I looked from the window on a misty Christmas morn,
The fog was thicker than it had ever been before,
It was cold and quiet and all around my house,
Nothing appeared cheerful not even the decorated tree,
The fairy she looked glumly down,
And the baubles hung their heads in shame,
The tinsel draped all carelessly among the fading lights,
Above the fire there stood one solitary card from someone I once knew.

Around the foot of my Christmas tree not a gift awaited me,
Santa forgot to visit and it all seems so lonely,
I was beginning to despair that this was just another day,
But along came an angel and this she said to me,
I'll give you a tree with decorations so bright and a mantle full of cards,
If you'll enjoy this special day with every inch of your heart,
And so now my Christmas is full of cheer, saved from heartbreak and despair,
I thank the moon and all the stars for my one enchanted day.

SANTA HOPPED ONTO HIS SLEIGH

Santa hopped onto his sleigh with his sack of treats,
Working hard and happy to deliver to the streets,
He carried with him gifts of gold, gifts of card and gifts of cheese,
In answer to the kiddies� wishes for around their Christmas trees.

Santa hopped onto his sleigh pulled by Reindeers strong,
There was Comet and there was Blitzen on his journey long,
Rudolph led the team of merry deer, his nose a shiny red,
While Santa glided down the chimneys - the children still in bed.

Santa hopped onto his sleigh running as fast as he could,
With Donner, Dancer and ***** he knew they'd do what they should,
Old Dasher and Reindeer Cupid flew Santa to the skies,
So that to every little girl and boy he could bring a surprise.

Santa hopped onto his sleigh with thoughts for everyone,
He knew he had to finish soon as he saw the rising sun,
High into the clouds they soared leaving only a jangling bell,
Removing all traces of his presence so that no one on Earth could tell.

SPARE A THOUGHT

As you sit there feeding your face full of seconds and thirds,
And opening gifts that you may not deserve,
There is a place where Santa won't go,
The doorways and steeples with people freezing below,
They only know its Christmas because the streets are so bare,
But on this day of happiness - who will show them some care?

So spare a thought this Christmas, spare a thought please do,
Spare a thought this Christmas for those less fortunate than you.

As we sit here laughing and falling asleep before the screen,
And eating lots more pudding - some with extra cream,
There is a place where Reindeer won't tread,
In the shelters and the hideaways filled with loneliness and dread,
They heard about a Christmas in a "once upon a time",
But on this day of indulgency - who will put their own greed on the line?

So spare a thought this Christmas, spare a thought please do,
Spare a thought this Christmas for those less fortunate than you.

As you secretly think of the things Christmas didn't bring to you,
And thinking of seasonal games for you to play and do,
There is a place so lost that Santa cannot find,
Just a box of cardboard where hope gets left behind,
They were told that Christmas was just around the corner,
It's a day that never comes - who will stand and be more than a mourner?

So spare a thought this Christmas, spare a thought please do,
Spare a thought this Christmas for those less fortunate than you.

So spare a thought this Christmas, spare a thought please do,
Spare a thought this Christmas for those less fortunate than you.

STOCKINGS

Timmy had a stocking hung from his bedroom door,
He wished that it be filled with things he'd never had before,
Maybe a toy soldier beating his drum,
Maybe a model sailor drinking his bottle of ***,
He hoped for a motorcar that could speed around his house,
Or maybe a cuddly toy the image of Mickey Mouse.

He hoped that Father Christmas would bring something for his mum,
Maybe a freshly baked cake or something filled with plum,
A brand new box of magic tricks for my brother Sam,
And a gift for dad to show how grateful I really am,
And Timmy hoped that his dog wouldn't be missed out,
Cause Rover would be sad and blue on Christmas day, no doubt.

Timmy was always thinking of others not only of himself,
That�s why he left a small token for Santa on the shelf,
There was plate filled with cookies - the ones with the choc-chip,
And there was some brandy to keep out the cold - just a little nip,
He also left a bag of many little snacks,
For all the hungry reindeer that'd help fly Santa back.

THE MEANING OF THIS CHRISTMAS

As you huddle beneath your Christmas tree,
Amidst a flame of warmth,
Opening presents, sharing presents, and sharing laughter too,
Remember the meaning of this Christmas is love and joy - peace, happiness for you.

Try to know the story of a baby that was born,
In a manger bed from a woman pure as snow,
Her husband he watched lovingly,
As he calmly cooled her brow.

On that starry night three wise travellers appeared,
Bearing gifts of golden wonder,
Without a need for return,
They sought only a moment with a new life that to this Earth He placed.

And now two thousand years away,
Let's try to recall the message of Christmas,
As we fill our plates with plenty - turkey and chocolate treats,
Singing carols and dancing alive with glee.

Try not to be contented with an overwhelming greed,
Look within your heart and see what you really need,
Is it music? Is it toys? Is it the latest craze?
Learn to embrace a loved one without a possession haze.

Hear the silent footsteps of the men, who travelled all night,
See the snowflakes drifting down from the heavens above,
A reminder to us all,
The meaning of this Christmas my dear, it must be love.

THE ROBIN

Is it the distant whisper of a thousand tiny bells?
Or is it the carolling that tells us when it starts?
I wish for the knowledge from many wishing wells,
I now know when Christmas arrives from the beating of my heart.

It's the day when first you see a robin perched upon a tree,
When you hear his little chirping from a snow covered branch,
You'll see his red breast moving in time with your heartbeat so free,
Be it snowy, be it wet, be it sunny, be it cold - I'll know from the robin on my ranch.

He comes my way each Christmas week and settles in his nest,
It's then I'll know that my sweet family will arrive,
And bring with them such hilarity that makes me truly blessed,
So I raise up my eyes to God and give thanks that I'm alive.

THE SNOWMAN COMES TO LIFE

Little Josephine spent yesterday outside,
She darted through the streets feeling snow under foot,
Her face shone out delight; her smile couldn't hide,
Nothing could ***** the blanket of white not even the blackness of soot,
So she found a silent spot, a space open wide,
A place to build her snowman, where he could always stay put.

She built him high and tall, as tall as her legs would allow,
She made him round and whole with a face that looked so proud,
Now the snow had settled down, it lay upon the bough,
She drew his eyes from coal and a mouth to laugh aloud,
She gave him nose of carrot, hat and scarf but darkness fell and go, she had to now,
She told the snowman she'd return tomorrow, this with crossed heart she vowed.

Home she ambled to her sleepy room to lay down her sweet head,
In her silent sleep that night the wondrous dreams she had,
She saw her snowman come to life and dance, not sit, around instead,
She watched him smile and seeing him fly - it all just made her glad,
In her books and stories a tale like this she'd never read,
She knew it was a dream yet she wasn't sad, the visions she saw were good - not bad.

Little Josephine returned the very next day,
Her snowman was gone the sunshine was here,
Her eyes welled up - her tongue no words to say,
The hat and scarf still on the ground showed nothing was to fear,
For in her mind she knew he'd visit - he would find a way,
If he couldn't get back inside, she'd made memories to recall each and every year.

TWO LOVERS HOLDING HANDS

Two lovers holding hands across the table,
Share this Christmas time,
Something simple no fancy foods,
Not concerned with wine,
They focus on the laughter, on the pleasure of this day,
As their smiles intertwine.

They take an elegant candle and place it in the mud,
They light the wick and out its fire shines bright,
There material belongings for which they will not care,
As they rest their heads on the carpet of endless white,
Holding each other tight they'll gaze beyond the stars,
Nothing will matter as their souls become one this Christmas night.

Two lovers holding hands for eternity,
Sharing each Christmas time,
Something precious and something true,
No concerns for design,
They focus on the sharing, on the wonder of each day,
As their lives will suddenly be defined.
Written in 2004
All through the summer
Little brother trees
And
The gusty
Big sister breeze
Played in the sun
They had ample fun

The little boy trees, wore a dusty crust
And shower, they must
Lest their leaves, yellowed
Transpire to rustle in summer heat

A drizzle nor a sprinkle
Mother rain
Chose to shower
The mode she set to power
Drenched and dripping wet
The little boy trees with trembling leaves, sneezed

The cool
Big sister breeze
Lovingly caressed
And blow dried
The little brothers trees

Fresh and perfumed
The little boy trees
Stood tall in trousers brown
And
Lovely, minty green tees
Summer showers experience on 10th June :)
SassyJ Mar 2016
Your stars glimmers
Belching, wrenching
Exposing my ethnic aura
A tape of heavenly bliss

The acoustic rhythm
Essentially subliminal
Satiably insatiable
Tracked traces covered

Your tree branching out
Railing through my bark
My bosoms blossoming
Tip-toe to my bareness

Your entirely arousing
A summation of beauty
A firefly to enlighten
Encased within to liven

A body I hold twinkles
Whistle magnetic presence
Sprinkle my mind to entwine
Assign your soul peacefully

A might, a light at sight
A whole in me,a one in you
Pluck, nip,smash,trap,stash
In dreamscapes and reality
Ma Cherie Aug 2016
My Father: I Never Promised You a Rose Garden!
My Mother: Well I Never expected a thorn bush either!

I always thought it was quite funny
I remember this on sunny days
when my parents were driving my Father would ask my Mother if anything was coming from the other direction and he'd say:
"Is it okay George?
And my mother would say:
"Okay, Hit it Henry!!!"...I still have no real idea why...I remember and I sigh...
as a twinge of sadness comes sneaking in.

There were certain people that my Father did not care for and he would say they were snobs ..."****** intellectuals"... as a child I got confused by that but now it makes perfect sense....it was said without pretense.
I had to figure it out.

Without a doubt...
I have many fond memories of my family...especially my Dad, who really sacrificed more than anyone I've ever known
who sowed every seed he'd ever sewn
Raised 4 kids till they were grown
all the fading memories that I blindly used to perceive as bad...
have now melted into the Beautiful
They are now the things that endear me to them... as I remember...they make me smile for a little while.

My Father has passed now some five years... was born a simple man of simple means...
times for him or more than just a little lean
Shoes three sizes way to big
stuffed toes with old newspapers
a dresser drawer....fashioned Sisters crib
He was a Phoenix rising from those ashes
And he was never out of fashion...
a Master Carpenter... a builder of my dreams...
raising beams
dressed in denim bib overalls and a white T-shirt...a red, white and black bandana in his pocket to wipe his sweating brow

And now....ever since the day he died
I have tried...but my Mother and I now have this distant love
so I know he's still guiding me, and us from far above
I never would have made it this far
way too many scars...
It's a strange feeling to feel so very alone
feel like I have no real home
in the world...
I am a caretaker of an apartment....

I feel he would have done
anything for me  
he would never let me see...
such awful things
and be
down in such lonesome places
with strangers, such unfamilar faces
Or so I used to think

I've been at the very brink
Now I understand he wanted me to know
to struggle for my life and so I would grow
as even a thornbush would...
It taught me to be humble even when I couldn't walk
to listen and not to talk
even though I have my children, my progeny...
If sometimes I still can feel so very alone...
so no matter where my Gypsy heart roams
I carry those memories with me they are my church in the day...and in the night
I remember his final words
and I know.... it'll be alright
He taught me how to fight
and I am fighting beside him now...

I am carrying out his final wishes
I cook them in my famous dishes
My Father absolutely enjoyed the sharing of food...
Always was in the mood for something delicious...
So I sprinkle
them with his way
the things he'd often say
with his stoic compassion,
an understanding heart, so kind
I try to share his brilliant mind...
I am thankful that he wanted me and made certain I was here
His memory to me so dear...
with him I have no fear
Thank you Father
Thank you Daddy...
Love you Ma Cherie....

Cherie Nolan © 2016
I remember this banter between my parents and thought it was funny. Then I started reading this and it made me feel sad but it's all good it's all part of the process. :)
Àŧùl Oct 2013
When they pray then they sprinkle,
Holy Water all around the place,
The place of worship often in home,
Or in the gathering place to pray,
But they more than often forget to sprinkle,
The Holy Water in their conscience.

How they come back to the extent of sinning,
Hardly unnoticeable is the way they pose,
Pose after praying to look innocent and clean..

And then they sprinkle holy water...
My HP Poem #456
©Atul Kaushal
Today is the festival of colours.
We,Indians, sprinkle colours on friends
Nature is replete with beautiful colurs.
Life is a mixture of many emotions
We turn red when we are angry
and we become greenif we are jealous

Red stands for change and valour
White is symbolic of peace and purity
Green symbolizes harvest and prosperity
Yellow is considered good omen
Saffron means sacrifice
black is considered an evil

The leaves are green
The human blood is red
The Ripe fruits and corn are yellow
milk is white and the sky is blue

Nature and life are inseparable
Different colours tell different things
May the festival of colurs bring Happiness
and prosperity in this trouble torn world!

Let’s beautify our yards and homes
With the vibrant colours of Rangoli
And  welcome the Goddess Laxmi

Let’s decorate our doors and windows with festoons of marigold flowers and mango leaves,
to ward off the evil and sprinkle positivity

Let’s brighten the evening sky
With sky lamps and fairy lights
May the earthen lamps be lit
To illuminate every corner bright

Let’s celebrate
The Festival of Lights,
Diwali
With friends and family
And bring cheer to our lives


Happy Diwali to all !!
7-11-18
Francie Lynch Apr 2015
I've been at hundreds of funerals
Standing beside Fathers
Soon to be posted to Peru
Or to missions for black African babies.
They'd sprinkle caskets like Spring rains,
Burn incense to smudge the dead
With rising smoke signals.
Sounding the advance.
I witnessed pain in the front pews,
The kneelers with thin cushioning.
I prayed fervently for a whosh of wind
To sweep behind me,
Billow my soutane,
  And lift the lid;
Prayed for the candle flame to flare,
For the body to rise
As Rathgar did.
He was a faker.
Not like what I saw.
Up close.
On Friday mornings.
Rathgar Lothbrok: See final episode of this season's "Vikings."
judy smith Jul 2015
Summer diet: Weight loss summer food

The weather may change but our diet remains constant. Whatever the weather, summer, winter or the monsoon we want our pav bhaji or Schezwan chicken or the spicy kebabs and the masala chai.

But realization never strikes us that change in weather could mean a change in diet as well. For those on a weight loss diet the options are slim, you need food that is delicious, low in calories, rich in vitamins and minerals as well as fibers. Let's peak into your refrigerator and cook up the best summer weight loss meals.

Max on vegetables: Vegetables are the best bet when the sun is unforgiving. Red meat is not advisable for summer as it increases your body's internal energy requirement for digestion - thus, tiring you out if you aren't in great health to begin with. Luckily Indian food is known for delicious vegetarian food, which means that you won't need to make too much of a compromise when shifting to a palette that mostly involves leafy vegetables.

Go easy on the nuts: Dried nuts are rich in calories and to avoid over indulging yourself with nuts have them in small proportion and stock away the rest. Another reason to avoid nuts in summer is that they produce heat in your body, which could result in heat boils. Go easy when snacking on these energy nibbles.

Learn about salads: They are no longer just sliced cucumbers, tomatoes and beetroot. Salads have evolved; restaurants have a wide selection of different salads. Indians are more open to feasting on salads as a meal. It takes less time to prepare and you can toss in anything you want even chicken and fish along with the greens. Add citrus fruits, chilled cucumber and fresh lettuce and you've got the perfect summer meal.

Try the chilled soups: Gazpacho is the first dish that comes to mind when you hear the words - chilled soups. But you can try out soups made of tomatoes, green peas and cucumbers; they are both cooling and refreshing. If you like beetroot, you should try chilled beetroot soup too. Healthy and refreshing, these chilled soups are the perfect starters on a hot and balmy summer night.

Enjoy fruits as desserts: Fruits cool the body, rejuvenate your cells, keep you hydrated, and taste like heaven on a hot summer day. Dice some fruits in a bowl, sprinkle some chat or cinnamon powder and you have an awesome dessert. Watermelon is the most sought after fruit when the sun is relentless.

Meet your summer crush - low fat yogurt: Dairy products are always a healthy option, provided they are low fat. Good for digestion and rich in calcium, you can have yogurt any way you like - whipped into lassi, sweeten with sugar or mixed with fruits. Yogurt is cheap and doesn't need a fancy accompaniment, but you do need a refrigerator to preserve the healthy bacteria.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide
Penne Feb 2019
A dictionary of words
Thousands---infinites!
Little marks to describe a vast world
Lest not care of lacking logic
Aroused by imagination is my magic
Lemon zests the cornucopia of citrus
Are not they a splash of kalopsa?
Charisma, karma, euphoria?
Not allowed to bleed in blanc
Wail in rosy franc
Puddles of messed reflection
Fictions wonder reaction
Wander in the wildest wilderness
Describe the autumn, fall
Moist, solitary
Fawn on the lawn
Reality is the contrary
Refuge in the creamed sugar
Like a cup of iced kiss
Deep burrowed in the mapled hiss
Wait for its marmalade bliss
Head exploding in fireworks
Magnificent, what about nightfall?
Showers and streaks befall
Stars shoot smoke of ball
Cry tears of meteorites
Sprinkle the blinking sprites
Flow streams of sparkling silence
Swim the chasing glares
Enchant me in your chemise, evangelic skin
Leitmotif of mimes' maim, mean?
Speculate the pixelled fairies
Hide in the fruits of Alice
Spark at the dance of hands
Paint the faint trees
Baskets of floating sheep
Bounce in the enigmatic realm
Drooling in
As they transgress the egress
In chiffon blush flushed
Bittersweet caress
Bare grasslands with strangers
Wet the glory shine
Morning then hoots for sleep
Shush, weeping willows
Flowers of your scent hover the grove
Voices sweetly surrender
Linger for tender
Gloam or roam
River of innocence soul
Reaping the afterglow
Aglow my fountained lockes
Blur for it to be clearer
Illusions of ambiguity
As its lips meet the prism
Of brilliant optimism
Breathtaking fauvism
Breathless onism
Succumb in the limitless reverie
Rare of not having aneurysm
Persephone's persepolis
Blood of perenelia
Where Opheus court Eurydice
Winter solace holies
Lakes of beating lights
Bloom irregularly
As the sesquipedalian crawl out from its vine
In the Brobdingnagian it creeps
Line between sublime and wine
Harmony weave in palette
Rhythm rose from my red
Fresh breeze hush the roulette
Leaves blade the crafted well-made
Dusk, dawn to diiferentiate
Eclipse the hysteria and the impeccable
Love waltz
Glide the glistened clarity
Perfume lilies
Stares of lavenders
Rain the clouds of keys
Crystallizing and fractalizing
Mesmerize, astonish, aghast!
Rise your mile
Fragile my rile
Bridge this moonlit immeasurable, fantasia distance
Repertoire of piano choir
Luxury in the polychrome noir
Royal in the loyal wintermelon
Poppies color the spring
Butterflies fly in the effervescence
My painting sings a summer fling
Jump in the pantones
Rest your all
Stones amble swish scone
Wishes twinkle then hone
Will-o-wisps chill your bone
Lend me a wing
Let not be done in a ding
What I fear, free from the fringes of meek
My, this lexicon is not enough!
How to occupy the million, jillion, eternal galaxies
Shout in the rave
Echoing in the waves
Marvel at the bejewelled revel
Image my imagery
Oh, dive away child!
Let us drive in the garden of glaze
Careful not to be too amazed in the maze
In the hummed woodglade
As the critters flutter and flute
No way to chain me out of this loop
Pool of pretty astonishments
Diamonds of nature
Endure, not inure
Words alone are insufficient
These are just mere fantasies
Some are unexplainable
Some needs to be felt
Some needs to be seen
Not just read
Not just dreamt
I may sound dubious
But this is incredulous
Just a random collection of pretty words º-º
Renae Apr 2014
Smooth out the wrinkles
before I sleep
don't forget
to tuck in the sheet
chill the fluffed pillows
sprinkle soft scents
floating light as air
off to sleep I went
Chris Weallans Jul 2014
You woke me in the thin dawn.
Like a riot of rain in a bleached dry summer.

small green shreds of shrub sprang from my heart
as tumbling birdsong might litter the long pale sky.

your voice came drifting through the shallow line
And I let the sound seep like a soft assault on my senses.

I hear the words and picture your lips
Folding around the consonants like a dance.

I hear your breath carry the words and taste the phrases
That linger on your tongue as if to  speak them in a  kiss

These words that spin this cloth of gold in whispered utterings
This silken tease with a wild sprinkle of kisses and anatomy.

And would my words soften your eye and entice your body
With fevered adventures seeking to be sated with a touch?

Could you taste the blessings erupting from my tongue?
Would you ache inside far beneath the longings of the flesh?

It seems that every cell is sighing a simpering listless want
to be captured by the haunting breath of a lover’s call.
Scott Howard Jan 2014
I love to get drunk.
I love to get wasted, hammered,
plastered, intoxicated,
white girl, ****-faced drunk.

I have many stories about getting drunk,
from racing up the street and back naked because I lost another bet
being stripped down and thrown into a
shower after vomiting on myself,
or having *** with a ******* my friend’s couch
(I call it my *** couch now).

Okay so most of them I end up naked
But that’s the glory of ***** my friends!
Enough can make you feel like you have clothes on
when in fact you clearly do not have clothes on,
(We know, it’s cold, no one is looking at you’re **** anyways),
It can make you think you’re dance moves are on point,
Give you strength to punch a dent in a fridge because you thought someone was talking **** about you’re friend when really they were just talking about skateboarding,
It can even give you the courage to walk over to that really really
cute girl and tell her how much you want to put it in her ****.

The point of me telling you all of this is that some people have given alcohol a bad rep.
Obviously all the people who drunk drive and get into accidents.
But no, I’m talking about people like… the douchy frat boy who gets obnoxiously drunk, calls everyone a *** even though he’s probably a closet homosexual, who borderline tries to **** girls with his big muscles and amazing ability to care so much about football. By the way, I’m not you’re ******* bro.

Or the dumb girl who thinks she can drink a million shots and be okay, the one girl that pop punk bands always sing about, who end up puking everywhere, or sleeping with the douchy frat boys while all their friends call her a ****, and then she’ll make a post on facebook about how all guys are douchbags, among the other dumb **** she posts on facebook like stupid life quotes such as #YOLO

Or even the hipster who has ruined drinking PBR in public forever.
(No, I’m not a hipster, I just go to art school and PBR is cheap, you *******.)

And to those stuck up individuals who tell me that drinking is bad and I should feel bad: ******* and the high horse you rode in on. Saying I’m an alcoholic is saying that I have more fun then you. I have never met an interesting person who doesn’t drink. If you don’t drink, you’re a boring **** and all you’re stories ****. They all end with, “And then I got home.”

Alcohol was God’s way of telling us the world’s a ****** place, so he took a little bit of heaven and bottled it up for us, and if you believe any of this you’re probably drunk; Not the part about bottling up heaven, the part about God existing. But if I was you’re god, I would sprinkle wine out into the night so when you looked up at it to wither time away with questions to me you’d be so drunk with the moment and forget about being saved. Because life isn’t about heaven and hell, it’s about living and being alive and being drunk with the people you love.
David Ehrgott Nov 2014
Sprinkle her lightly
her powers so magical
The light of stardust

The glare from her stare
talk about your killer looks
don't look if you dare

She'll blind you useless
permanently dazed for life
forever dreamy

Those pretty peepers
shining hypnotizing me
forever dreaming

Stardust in my eyes
streaking out of existence
and into a life

Forever dreaming
magical light of stardust
sprinkle her lightly
Charmaine May 2014
sprinkle your love over
me like cherry blossoms in
spring where everywhere
everywhere everywhere
are littered with pinks

but then summer came and
you forget about valencia like the sun forgets the
sky and I drop petal by petal flowers
by flowers and the streets are steeped in
longing

autumn came and left, breathing life into a
crocus and drawing it away just as quickly like how you
take each of my breath away from
me and each of my heart beat walks away
with your steps

the blurriness of winter borne the snowdrops
snowdrops, snow drops, the death of that love that
once bloomed in my heart.
when the moon  writhe and crawling the silent night..
it was time to layover yearning  who clotted for sweetheart..
when the sun excited to greet the morning ..
it was time to embed cheerfulness on the idol of conscience..
sprinkle knitted heart turmoil and dew drops each cavity of jasmine petals ..

i greet to you,  my dearest sister..
each twist will crease beautiful crowded heart longing ..
so that  relieved you feel full carefree breathing..
with the presence of me,
i will fulfill your every drought in the lake of your worries ..
i will treat every your petulant  in lap with more  excellent attention ...

return back to you  as always,  my dearest sister..
to pulling  the curtain  the recesses of the heart that always hiding ..
to wrapping blush smolder desire in your heart arms ..

because your bliss,  my dearest sister..
it's  most beautiful thing that can i enjoy ever ..*

-the poetry is dedicated to a sincere friend of mine, Ha-

┈┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶ ƦУ »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

adinda

kala sang rembulan menggeliat merayapi malam sunyi..
tibalah waktu untuk menyinggahi gigilnya kerinduan sang kekasih sanubari..
kala sang mentari bersemangat menyambut pagi ..
tibalah waktu untuk menyematkan kecerian pada sang pujaan nurani..
menyemaikan untaian gejolak kalbu dan meneteskan embun disetiap rongga kelopak melati..

kusambut darimu, adinda...
setiap simpul lipatan hati yang sesak akan indahnya kerinduan..
agar terasa lega engkau bernafas penuh riang..
bersama hadirku,
kan kupenuhi setiap kekeringan ditelaga keresahanmu..
kan kumanjakan setiap rajukanmu dipangkuan perhatian nan syahdu...

berpulang selalu kepadamu, adinda..
untuk menyibakan tirai pada relung hati yang selalu bersembunyi..
untuk membalut rona kerinduanmu yang membara dalam dekapan hati ..

kerena bahagiamu, adinda...
adalah merupakan hal terindah yang dapat kunikmati..
whatever it's you're seeking won't come in the form you're expecting..
that's why they said,  "man purpose but God dispose.."
****** up along with it, then..
Marian Sep 2013
Loneliness is like those ferns
Which grow in the forest alone
Loneliness is like those flowers
Which dance in the meadow
All by themselves
Loneliness is like a palm tree
Standing--growing on the shore alone
Looking out towards the ocean
Without any other palm trees
Loneliness is like a waterfall
Roaring mightily
All by himself
Loneliness is like a Fairy
Crying all alone
Sitting on a mushroom
All by herself
With no other Fairies
There to sprinkle Fairy dust and cheer
Loneliness is like a path
Without any people to walk upon it
Loneliness is like a butterfly
Flying alone
Sometimes we all tend to get lonely
But we must strive to see
The brighter things in life
Like a butterfly
Dancing with her mate
Like a bird cooing to his lover
Like a path with people to walk upon it
Like a waterfall gushing and flowing
Happily singing to the Creator
Like a Fairy
Dancing in a Fairy ring with all her friends
Like a palm tree growing
Surrounded by other palm trees
Like a flower waltzing with other flowers

*~Marian~
mk Nov 2015
she sat on the beige satin couch
looking down at her feet
which were designed with intricate patterns made of mehndi
her nails painted a light pink
a color much like the subtle blush on her cheeks
she was fair, but not pale,
she had a shine to her, a glow
her face was hidden for the most
with a white lace dupatta
like the midnight moon hidden behind translucent clouds
most of her hair was tucked neatly away
except the loose strand which rested on her forehead
a curl, the color of sweetened caramel
soft, delicate; and ever so sweet
she brushed it back with her small hands
but it bounced right back, falling on her face
she looked up, slightly titling her head towards the light
the way sunlight hit her eyes made you want to never look away
oh, her eyes
lined with kajal, they stood out
the kind of eyes you could find yourself getting lost in
hazel and green- with specks of yellow and blue
there was a universe within those eyes
like the rainforest after a summer sprinkle
lush, pure, mesmerizing
but they were quickly hidden once more
as she delicately pulled the dupatta closer to her face
and smoothed down the crease in her silk kameez
her movements were entrancing
you could not look away
the more you looked, the more you craved to catch one more glance
gentle, soft, kind
never in a rush
you couldn't help but imagine what it felt like to feel her touch
the only words we heard her speak
was right when the sun began to set
and the orange-red rays reflected in the pearls around her neck, the only jewelry she wore, yet enough to adorn her
her puckered mouth opened softly
and she was bearly audible as she spoke
her voice like honey: sweet & melodious
if she never stopped speaking, you'd never stop listening
she spoke with a tender sort of confidence & surety
*"qabool hai, qabool hai, qabool hai"
nikkah is the official marriage ceremony for muslims. here's what i've always imagined a bride in an eastern nikkah to seem like. the whole image is rather enchanting, i must say.
-
mehndi: henna
dupatta: shawl often worn by women in the east
kajal: kohl
kameez: shirt
qabool hai: i do
Renee Aug 2012
Move rack to lowest position,
Set to three seventy-five.
Pour in one and a third cups water,
Sprinkle egg whites (package A),
Blend on LOW till moist.
Beat on high (but remain patient)
Stiff peaks will form when gently
Dunking a spatula into your batter
(Be sure beater is AT REST before checking).
Sprinkle in cake flour (package B)
A little at a time on LOWEST setting
(Don’t forget to scrape the bottom and edges).
Pour batter into your ungreased tube pan,
Cut through batter gently with a butter knife
In a circular motion
To eliminate air bubbles.
Bake for at least thirty minutes
Or until top crust is golden brown
(Ovens vary so keep your eye on it at all times).
Cool by hanging tube pan upside down on bottle,
Loosen by making up and down strokes with spatula or knife.
Gently remove your cake.
monique ezeh Nov 2022
Twin glasses of orange juice, froth quietly fizzling out
A plate of turkey bacon piled overzealously high


I would cook you French toast every day, if you'd let me.

Fresh croissants from a bakery down the street
Halved strawberries drizzled with honey


I'll sprinkle cinnamon in our coffee, just like my grandmother used to.

I don't know much of love, but I know this:
When the sun breaks through my kitchen window,
I hope you'll be sitting at the table.
Robin Carretti Dec 2019
The final words deeply
Rooted well spirited from top
To the wishing well bottom
She writes-- on-- the-- top-line
  Real flower takes action
The Spring Mom affection
Dark- Shades She's the brightest

Star- Poppy make it snappy
Fire red Floppy disk
Movie flick favorite flower
Take a risk perfect pick
Your heart sunglasses got baked
With Moms baking flour
She couldn't see the sun
       Light years away
Words sound alike look at the what!

blue skies just pray we are rooted
     like a gifted flower
       That never dies
       Star Eyes** enter
The flowers frame mirror
   "Sunflower Face"
  *          *          *
Words sprout like

"Mr. and Misses"
The ceremony
Oh! Honey what's your point.....
Red so vibrant laughing Loretta
Crying operetta baby birth flower
 Rudolph running nose red
Homesick cough water spell
chamomile flower bed

Light up Holiday wed
  "Poinsettia" she's tough

Bloom-  make room  
Show Biz flower "Cafe Vienna"
Curtain call sprinkle me
Sunflower voice heal me
Daisies lion- roar- free
The fresh-cut dandelion
Sunflower hats bow

"Kentucky Derby" I reckon
Flower words I beg your pardon
Did I ever promise you the rose garden?
Last curtain call divine sunflower
Sunflowers every year a new blooming curtain call grows and grows
Crystal Freda Apr 2022
Wild splashes of beaming

Azure brushing back and forth

Tottering briskly on granite rocks

Enlightening excitement to our eyes

Radiance of teal drops sprinkle salt

Follicles misting up the atmosphere

Activating a rushing rippling of waves

Lashing playfully with each other

Looping to a sensational surprise
Written in March 2019
Emily Aug 2012
The dark winter sky was draped with stars whose dainty shimmer
mimicked the sprinkle of snow
caught up in the crisp winter breeze.

The white flakes winked as they came to rest upon a silent sheet of ice,
accumulating on the sleek surface until abruptly–

a clatter of loud and excited voices interrupted.
Skates slashed and
                            sticks crashed onto the cold, hard ice.
A black puck cascaded haphazardly across the rink, bombarding the once settled snow.
Chunks of ice catapulted recklessly,  
the smell of sweat rose relentlessly into the wind.

Furious and frozen wisps of breathe were choked,
as bitter cold filled eager lungs.
The ruthless weather, however, could scarcely graze the laughing dimples on rosy cheeks.

But just as hastily the clatter was silenced,
the commotion halted.

Footprints crunched softly away, their noise secretly swept away
by the sprinkle of snow
caught up in the crisp winter breeze.
Judypatooote Apr 2014
The smell of a newborn baby after a bath, all sprinkled with powder.
I don't think that smell will ever change.
A smell I will always remember...

My grandma Bertha would always smell like lavender.
I use to buy lavender soap, and hand cream because it made
me think of her.
A smell I will always remember...

My great uncle would make taffy, and one time I helped stretch it.
A smell I will always remember...

My mom would take me to dance class, and the building smelled
like Carmel.  Much later in life, I entered a building that had the same smell, and it brought back those old days.
A smell I will always remember...

When a storm was brewing in Lake Erie there was a smell of raging waters. A north eastern was coming - I could smell it.
A smell I will always remember...

The soothing sound of the motor boat passing by leaving the smell
of gasoline - why did that comfort me?
A smell I will always remember...

Walking down the beach, bear foot in the sand, and running across
a dried up dead fish.
A smell I will always remember...

My husband would always use Comet with bleach to clean out the
sink, tub and he would sprinkle it add a bit of water making it a
paste, and let it set for an hour.
A smell I will always remember...

Smell can bring back a memory, at least for me...some good, some bad, but these are a few of my favorite memories of smell...and when I smell them now, it sparks my memory.

by ~ judy
Our lives are spiderwebs.
Delicate, pure, but Empty.

Sprinkle a little water,
It glows under lights.
Reflecting its own beauty.

Spill a pail of water,
It collapses instantly,
Reaping apart, for eternity.

— The End —