"sweeteners" poems
You don't know
As much as you think you know.
Life isn't an episode of FRIENDS.
Six people can't be happy like that
For ten years.
And a small coffee shop
In New York
Can't stay open that long
Anyway.
Les Mis wasn't based
On a Shakespeare play
And you sound like an idiot.
You can't rhyme.
Dr. Seuss is not your favorite poet,
And you're allergic to artificial sweeteners.
And, I kid you not,
You're going to turn 17
To find that your favorite TV show
Is an MTV adaption of "Teen Wolf"
And you won't even be sorry.
You're going to tell your name
To strangers on the internet
And they'll give you a new one.
(And it will be
The best decision of your life)
You never get over Paris.
Or road trips.
Or libraries.
Or oreos.
And on
January 9
Next year
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
*etymology extract: as was said, they'd read my poetry
on the front, among the billions, a few might tread,
from everyday Monday through to Sabbath,
thus said, archaeologically bound: Egypt, Josephus,
the nativity play, xylophone, and too much
indoctrination acquired to walk like a peacock,
and indeed more strut likening to a crow;
for indeed the waterfall of skulls, the dead sea
which reaches depths higher than peaks of architectural
adventure in man levelling mountains,
exploring sea depths and excavating depths
of the prized orbits: such restlessness never once
but countless times before; so soon forgotten
among the revision of partitioning, that nearer
Israel's resurrection on a foreign continent
than a neighbour's resurrected breath on the continent
concerned... leave unto Persia that book,
and unto Africa the judgement over Egypt...
but so your toying in global affairs is gluttonous in
sugars of hoped for sweeteners in applicability,
paying remnants of the economic enrichment i too remember,
20 to a room... 20 to a room... with baked beans soup
and white bread to send breadcrumbs home...
oh but my scottish compatriots haven't felt the full
**** of immigration, they haven't!*
why not talk of Kazimierz Prószyński
like you do concerning Auguste and Louis Lumière?
oh, i get it, ******* in the hood...
Europe is really foreign accepting the existence
of the once famed commonwealth,
as the present time, with the resurgence of
Israel, which can't be split equally, fathered
and equally brothered among the constituents
from the Baltic to the Black Sea...
from the median to the red...
best keep the sea lions bopping along with dear tourism
in the over-salted sea,
should the dead sea attract more sacrifice than the
touristy hill outside Jerusalem.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
— just what I was afraid of.
Or
just maybe
the sweetly stale echo of muffled cries
forced down your throat
by a monster too greedy
Or
just maybe
the sweetly rotten hint of a fondness
that died trying
to grow into love
Oh
just maybe
there’s still a chance
for you to exist
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
Christ,
I left my head in
the haze of sweeteners
I left my stomach in
An ocean of skimmed milk
I left my faith in
Your warm embrace
I feel a unicorn's horn
Piercing an entire canyon
In my mind
If I have a third eye
Then Christ, it's calcified
(I must purge this curse
Wash it in white dye
I must revitalise
Unless I'll die)
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
This sure feels like rock bottom
About all the sorrow and misery you could fit into a ******* person
without having their god **** skulls implode from sheer insignificance.
I dont matter.
Draining out blood for more space,
more space for artificial sweeteners.
The further I get,
from myself ,
the better off I'll be.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC
you are sweeter than pure sugar dancing across my lips
you are made of the sweeteners of life
the flowers in the garden of Eden
the foundation of the Earth
from the lands of milk and honey
to the land we stand on
to the air we breathe
to the sun that warms us
made with God's very hands
the heavens must have been proud after creating you,
the closest thing to a human angel on earth
©L.F.
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
So much strain
comes from the confinement
children and young adults face
but the only solution people have
are either more boxes
or shame and isolation.
How can there be no solution?
How can there be no life
for those who are tired
of waiting in boxes?
The earth is made
and intended
to be our oyster,
but we have drained all sea
for the oyster to live in.
The world is not an oyster,
it is merely the shell.
It is the lie told
to eat the food you don't like.
It is the diet soda
eatings its way through you.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
With the blatant
Guess work
Of a my
First chemistry
Set
The girl
In the denim jacket
Reaches for
Creamers,
And sweeteners,
And sugars.
First one
Then another
And then the first again.
Each time
Tasting her
Iced-coffee
To see
If it is just right.
A child cries in the corner.
Her father tries to console
Her screams.
I laugh to myself
As I wonder if her
Coffee didn't turn out just right.
The girl in the jacket
Is still
Mixing
And tasting.
She has pretty auburn hair.
Across the street,
The railroad crossing
Sign swings down.
Crying out a
Familiar
Ding, ding,
Ding, ding.
A group of graduate
Students
Discuss the complexities of art
Over a yellow pad
And some chai lattes.
"There's more to it than that,"
The oldest one says,
His voice raised as he stands.
I take a sip of my coffee
And look to the counter.
The baristas here
Don't smile on Saturdays.
The cute one makes a mocha,
While the other takes an old man's
Order.
The girl in the denim
Walks toward her seat,
A backpack in hand.
The crossing gate still chimes.
Ding, ding,
Ding, ding.
I debate adding some
sweetener
To my coffee,
But remember
I like it black.
I debate
Discussing the
Complexities of art
But decide I like
it
simple.
The crossing gate
Continues to ring
Ding, ding.
I like it better
Here during
The week, when
The baristas
Remember to
Smile.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
Caught in a haze from your natural high
Artificial sweeteners to get me by
I lost all sent, your Persian sigh
Lust and Life
An evening sunrise
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC
And I don’t think you understand.
I just want to sleep with you - but it’s not about lust
at all
I just want to hold you - close enough
to taste your every thought
So I may catch any hint
of artificial sweeteners
in time.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
I'm in Space, the new mute planets I'm praying my feet will make their home. Inside a platitude of evolution. Where are the real breathers? A vocabulary doesn't make expert writers of trite and frequently used dactyls. Words and artificial sweeteners precede and postpone the myriad attributes of this season's abundant human inequality month.
Your dry shampoo rocks my world and my nostrils love it. Dawn's Spring birds are quickly disappointed by the inconsistencies of the mediocre business model. Lies and dishonor admidst affluent and educated consumerism. As if ugly was a viable reason to lead a resistance against conformist gestapo tactics of suburban play soldiers.
4:09am with Lemonade & Judy. Still w/o honesty or compassionate understanding. The squash and zucchini are up too early and our Chialet specifications may or may not be included in the rates for opening up the Walgreens mouth much too early. Dishonesty is far more expensive than blood letting prose length to carry the diseases out qually
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 5:12 AM UTC
it is a good tray, wood and silver
handles, holds the sugar bowl.
saying that it
is best that the flour bag be moved.
some mornings early groping, mistaken
for the bag next door. is not good in tea.
not that i take sugar, yet she does,
or sweeteners.
the space station flew over, as
did the geese, this morning.
monday.
sbm.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
Break Time
by Michael R. Burch
for those who lost loved ones on 9-11
Intrude upon my grief; sit; take a spot
of milk to cloud the blackness that you feel;
add artificial sweeteners to conceal
the bitter aftertaste of loss. You’ll heal
if I do not. The coffee’s hot. You speak:
of bundt cakes, polls, the price of eggs. You glance
twice at your watch, cough, look at me askance.
The TV drones oeuvres of high romance
in syncopated lip-synch. Should I feel
the underbelly of Love’s warm Ideal,
its fuzzy-wuzzy tummy, and not reel
toward some dark conclusion? Disappear
to pale, dissolving atoms. Were you here?
I brush you off: like saccharine, like a tear.
Keywords/Tags: 911, victims, survivors, grief, loss, heal, healing, tear, tears, coffee, break, time, milk, artificial, sweeteners
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 3:20 AM UTC
That is my joy
that's where my being oxygenates
for I know to keep some on side
they have to be offered inducements and sweeteners
By those who want me isolated and driven mad
but
while at work, I delighted in watching all of the races
get along , no usual picking on the Asians or others
suddenly everyone is united except me of course.
It was great to see the blokes being courted by the ladies
No Hopers suddenly able to glide in front of me
with a fine lady on hand, while I sit on my lonesome
It really made me happy for them to be happy, I know I'd have some lucky breaks, so it was good, watching others
get the attention and me out of the spotlight
I saw any romantic interest for me is immediately swarmed
and prised away, lulled by bribes and inducements
sweeteners to help wreck any link up
that man's gotta be isolated
so I let them go
to get what will give them succor and relief
did I go bring a wife back, I could have done
but let them keep her at least I know they will
have to provide more than natural, that made me feel good
for she would be courted and spoilt
and swanned over to keep her away from me
this unlover foisted on too, to confuse and tease me
and mind-play me with all their negative offerings
I know they would offer
distractions, inducements and sweeteners
to keep her on-side
the poor small thing needs all she can get given her situation
I put her in place for a better take than would naturally come
I told her, use the situation to your advantage
so I feel good knowing I helped somehow
for I know, as with all things false
sooner or later, things will fall apart
for what is not real can never last
the Devil will ask for its debts and it won't be from me....
and if you lay with rattlesnakes
sooner or later you will rue the day.
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 11:40 PM UTC
Every moment, bleeds into the next,
Coffee stained countertops,
Hazelnut creamers and splenda sweeteners.
You couldn't explain it,
but you could try.
Blueberrie and cheese danish,
While I imagined watching us
Through the eyes and lives of the people we were driving by.
Diabetes ruined your vision,
I was your eyes in early morning,
And at night.
The black suburban doors creaked
When you opened them,
You would slam them closed,
So I slammed them too.
The faint auto part store smell of grease and plastic,
Pungent dashboard dust and cup holder crumbs.
Passing daybreak sunstream tongues of red and orange,
With vivid shrouds of purple, blue and gray movie screen clouds.
Bird speckled in ways, that awes, stuns and cliches.
I fumbled through the cds and tapes
As we drove down the way,
Routine etched into everyday;
You would always turn the music down,
And I would turn it right back up again.
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 3:44 AM UTC