"sweetens" poems
a curved pastry
like a prune danish
in a sway
a weaving kiss
anointed by a melting stick of butter,
pushed and puddled
deep and slow
the shape of a heart
with a hole in the middle
ooow dark fig
stinking rose
a comfort that sweetens with the grace of form
and pops like a trigger releasing a bullet
i covet
with eyes like erections
pants sticky wet
hot glue factory
for you love, my *** angel
red skin girl gaping
with circular yearning set in motion
tarnished petal mix meister
sinful hot house
for quaking tongue and lips,
a wild cherry *** kisser
spiked ***** blushing
lord of ****
solar ******* hero
flexed and oiled
to the rescue
a god send
triumphant and blessed
looks like a fast cigarette boat
hitting the speed bumps hard
she said yes please
dip like
nautilus of the black sea
What?
no loitering
no parking
not a through street
haahaahaa
****
that
****
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
The artichoke
of delicate heart
*****
in its battle-dress, builds
its minimal cupola;
keeps
stark
in its scallop of
scales.
Around it,
demoniac vegetables
bristle their thicknesses,
devise
tendrils and belfries,
the bulb's agitations;
while under the subsoil
the carrot
sleeps sound in its
rusty mustaches.
Runner and filaments
bleach in the vineyards,
whereon rise the vines.
The sedulous cabbage
arranges its petticoats;
oregano
sweetens a world;
and the artichoke
dulcetly there in a gardenplot,
armed for a skirmish,
goes proud
in its pomegranate
burnishes.
Till, on a day,
each by the other,
the artichoke moves
to its dream
of a market place
in the big willow
hoppers:
a battle formation.
Most warlike
of defilades-
with men
in the market stalls,
white shirts
in the soup-greens,
artichoke field marshals,
close-order conclaves,
commands, detonations,
and voices,
a crashing of crate staves.
And
Maria
come
down
with her hamper
to
make trial
of an artichoke:
she reflects, she examines,
she candles them up to the light like an egg,
never flinching;
she bargains,
she tumbles her prize
in a market bag
among shoes and a
cabbage head,
a bottle
of vinegar; is back
in her kitchen.
The artichoke drowns in a ***
So you have it:
a vegetable, armed,
a profession
(call it an artichoke)
whose end
is millennial.
We taste of that
sweetness,
dismembering scale after scale.
We eat of a halcyon paste:
it is green at the artichoke heart.
16.7k
Sunshine on delicate pink
warms and sweetens blackberry nectar.
Scents of nectar
attracts honeybees.
Amber stripes and transparent wings
weave a tapesry on my canvas.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
5.3k
All I see is up
The pink flower stretches to forever at the sky
I stare wishing to be among the clouds
Its anterior filters the sun’s warmth upon my soft arms
I sit upon the dark, sodden, summer earth
I am all to myself. Alone.
At home under their stems
So benign am I encased by the pink flower
The pink flower trembles under slight hand of a summer breeze
Honeyed are its petals,
But dangerous is its center
Pricking my delicate fingers
If I am not careful
Yet I watch a dragonfly land on it with grace
Fragile insect legs grip tightly at the miniature pointed peaks
Wind caresses wisps of hair around my petite face
I am like a fairy
Not knowing the wonders of the world
Only the kingdom of the pink flower
Moisture sweetens the air
Drenching it with the breath of nature
Almost as if a mother is breathing comfort into my small body
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
4.9k
The cyclist on his bike, fueled by sweat of curiosity,
Wondered
Wondered why it was that he could not fly
He thought therefore he became and on that bike of gold
He soared, the heavens a freeway for the blind
Finally seeing :
Earth is merely an elephant graveyard for the angels
The knowledge was a toxic pinball, corroding his insides as dust
He felt despair creeping like smog
(knowledge spoils)
Without thought or command his flesh imploded
Snapping like a boomerang at the end, the beginning
Of the universe.
And then he was a fiery star,
His bike of human mold cast down
(and sweetens)
Without restrictive ears he could comprehend
The slow mellotones of his fellow Fliers, Travellers, Stars
They hummed a warning to the man who was not
Of the hazards of thought
And the universe was silent again.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
A bee here
another there
the bee catchers busily chase
enjoy every bit
hit and miss
miss and hit
the urge to live is the sugar
sweetens the grind
keeps death out of mind.
If you keep death in mind
high is the cost
in the momentary dying
life is lost.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
It's here again
That feeling of doubt
I am at war with myself
I'm at the point of where I can't go back
Not this time I'm sorry
It's not you, It's me, is all I can say
Even my painted smile is fading
My mask is falling
I know you'll be there for me
But you know life is like flies
Friendship is born and it dies
It's like standing on the ledge
A breath away from spiraling downward
Past cotton candy clouds
I really don't mind this demise
My heart is flying
But my mind is dying
I know its to late but I want to start over
I'm going to rewrite the first page of my life
You know my mind could be fixed
But hell has a lullaby that is so calming
Come and fix me please
Play a game of doctor to fix my weeping soul
I don't believe my body could take another cut
What can I do?
It's here again
Doubt
I know this pain wont last
I know that this knife wont help
But to see the cotton candy clouds
Sweetens up the whole deal
But a hug just might help
One of flesh and blood
But once I get to close
I go spiraling down farther
Down to hells sweet lullaby
But this feeling
This feeling of doubt will go
It will go past cotton candy clouds
To a safer place
Past cotton candy clouds.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
(For Harry Clifton)
I HAVE heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow.
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out.
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie bearen flat.
All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop-scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.
On their own feet they came, or On shipboard,'
Camel-back; horse-back, ass-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus,
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp-chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again,
And those that build them again are gay.
Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in lapis lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird,
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instmment.
Every discoloration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent,
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.
3.4k
i see her empty heart
stand against the sky
and hear angels weeping
like sounds of beasts in terror
long-limbed beasts upon thrones of fear
in dormitories of white brides and crucifixes
daughters of cimmerian gloom
whose eyes are fallen night
vailed portraits of desire
like endless winter sky
and her naked breast sweetens
his mouth
in a shivering mist
as he falls upon her
like starving flames
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
The state of being with no suffering is Shakti
The state of awakening beyond sleep is Shakti
When love matures and sweetens that is Shakti
The fullness and fulfillment of masculine is Shakti
When the sweetness matures that is Shakti
The divine which resides in the thoughts is Shakti
Whatever work comes before us is Shakti
The state of mukti, the end, is Shakti
The braveness which destroys laziness is Shakti
The flame which is instilled in these words is Shakti
When the best of fruits are eaten that taste is Shakti
When thoughts of divine arise that is Shakti
Shankara who lives on top of the huge mountains, his lovely flame is Shakti
The lap where life flourishes is Shakti
The strength which guards the earth is Shakti
The flame which stops one from falling is Shakti (denotes inner strength that averts fall/defeat)
The tapas that eliminates confusion is Shakti
The finger which stops downfall is Shakti
The one who spans the whole expanse of sky is Shakti
Her highness who eliminates karma is Shakti
The inner flame which shines from within the heart is Shakti
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
Changes in my life
I was in a sad, dark,
lonely state
wondering about
my unhappy fate.
It really felt like
the end of the rope,
with no hope
but then I met you
and you gave me new hope.
Now, your radiant smile
brightens my day,
your lovely presence
sweetens my mood,
your kindness and beauty
give me bliss,
your beautiful aura
warms my heart.
A wonderful change
Not just a change
But a change in my life
a miraculous transformation
that sprung forth
a priceless sensation …
my love for you,
my dear, my only one.
wonderful change can
happen at any time,
even when we think
we are close to losing all hope,
all reason for going on …
Never give up hope on love and in life. Change is here, change is coming.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 1:30 PM UTC
The lilacs wither in the Carolinas.
Already the butterflies flutter above the cabins.
Already the new-born children interpret love
In the voices of mothers.
Timeless mothers,
How is it that your aspic *******
For once vent honey?
The pine-tree sweetens my body
The white iris beautifies me.
2.4k
The only thing that ties me to this quilt-patched land, is memories of a flag: red, white, yellow, and blue.
Red is the blood used to paint our doorways—protection from ghostly wolves that sought our firstfruits. It is fight, even if our weapons are terribly flimsy. Bamboo tinted spears, mashed with berry paint and maskara on our brows is our arsenal. We fight in, and with the shadows. Light chases them down. Memories of GomBurZa, Noli Me, Balintawak, Tirad Pass and even EDSA remind me of how the wounds are slowly closing. Red is the color of our scars.
White is the gifts we received from our conquerors. The plow and the print: an awakening of consciousness new. White is the color of skin that polished us. White is also the gift of void, bleakness and forgetfulness. In exchange for the new, we shafted the old: our language, our anitos. A gift of disconnect: resolute Babel collapsing, burying us in tongues filled with sorcerous lisps. We curl in vain our own lips to fit their shapes. We speak gibberish now. The ghosts scoff at us in an even newer language of their own invention.
Yellow is the sweet sun which kissed us tenderly—even as we were surrounded by bolo, spear, sword. The sweet sun fights to give us light, and reaches out to us misunderstood. It shaped our land—softened our soils and gave it fruit. It is mangos, and papaya skins, and ripe bananas. It gives us joy and sweetens our sweat.
Blue are the lakes beneath which linger our roots. With the water is our identity: our hearts, our gait, our dance: the light shuffling of feet, the sway of brown hands, the wind waving at the rice buckets bobbing on our heads. We were never a warlike people. When we are wounded, we seek refuge in our seas, in the saltwater wounds that so painfully clean us of dastard memories. They sting like a freshwater song. Like the harsh howling of the monsoon rains, and the tides rising and falling with our chests. Humming.
We forget and we remember, like the ebbs and flows of the shore, the coastal highways that we leave in peace, like a languid dance. They float in and out of history—as one hops in and out of bamboo rods as they dance the Tinikling. The songs, they string us well. String names like humble Rizal, larger than life, and manic Bonifacio, who looked us straight in the eye. Names that sing of the prairie wind—softly massaging the hard grains that we till quietly in the fertile soil.
Soil—what ties us together is our history.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
***Our story begins in a galaxy far far away
on the dark chocolate side of The Milky Way
the planets all look like cookies and donuts
boys and girls grow to be bakers and astronauts
they have five different planets that orbit two suns
****** is smaller and Butter is the bigger one
the first is Glazey-1 the second is Eclarian-2
spell Heaven backwards and Nevaeh-3 comes into view
the forth is my favorite, they call it Smore-4
most well known for it’s white melting core
and last but certainly not least is Oreo-5
it’s surface is hardest and is smallest in size
a special place for sure is this sweet solar system
planets sparkle after a sugary rain sweetens and mists ‘em
watch a cartoon, blow a balloon or hum your favorite tune
or you can do as I do, and wish upon Macaroon Moon***
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
The "i"'s of this keyboard know me better than the eyes of anyone I know
This aloof computer has seen me ***** ugly thoughts while "in real life" I don't bat an eye
I am a wounded owl in the night
fearing- free of reason- the sudden dawn
You might be able to help me, but the scars reappear when you leave,
the only magic trick I believe in anymore
(knowledge spoils and sweetens)
don't pity me when I say I can never be loved
You only love one shell of many
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
There is no cure for my self.
I will sit up nights
And read poetry aloud
And cry harsh tears as my words fall away into the darkness.
It is my nature.
A voice of sorrow lives in me
And it speaks, always.
It murmurs beneath everything like a brook.
It sweetens my days
And swallows my nights.
It is not without its merits
But it is
Painful.
I am a sad person
Always have been.
I ache, and always will.
Love soothes and frightens me
But beneath it grief runs steady
The only thing
That is always there
Heedless of any other turmoil.
It presses into me-
A small trickle, less than rainwater-
But it has carved me deep over years
Deep, deep,
It has cut caves into me.
It is the heart of me, the softness of the stone
It is my weakness and the source of my life
And I have hated it for as long as I have known it was there
But it
Doesn’t care:
It only knows how to continue
Not how to feel.
It doesn’t stop for love
Or for anger
Or for joy.
It gouges a path through all of them,
A deep, steady drumbeat
A persistent crawl
And I am witness to its slow erosion of me.
I watch with apprehension
An unwilling subject
A reluctant vessel-
For I know that as gentle as it seems
It has stripped away all this so far
And will go on
Until nothing remains.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
Your breath sweetens,
The taste of that kiss.
Quivering lips send ripples,
Down my spine.
Inhale in deep,
Exhale this passion inside me.
Breath again on my skin,
Put a soft blush on my cheeks.
As this gentle breeze,
Wafts and glides,
Swirls into the folds,
And ridges of my ears,
I ruffle like a dry leaf,
Laying on the ground.
I feel this misty portion,
In the hollow of my neck.
Like a blizzard envelopes me,
I lay now shivering .
Breathe into me-this sweetness,
A taste of ecstasy.
Flow tenderly sweet one,
And quench me of this desire.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 9:40 PM UTC
you have the look they say could ****
well i'm not dead, though sufferin' still.
i have a mind to tell your mother
the way you smile when you're with the other.
she'd say she warned me at the start
not to burp and hold the ****
whatever, no matter, i really don't care
im not even bothered, just gimme some air.
let me rip this old rug up
it stinks of old **** de la pup.
i had a gripe to air today
so I let it out and blew you away.
n'er the mare before the cart
show me your money and then your heart.
gimme a kiss, and make it quick
I can't take pleasure, it gets me sick.
a house that smells of fresh cut flowers
can't numb heartache, but sweetens the sours.
drop kick me out to the farthest field
I'll roll back home when all has healed.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
I stared at the big blue cloud,
It was in my hands,
It was so blue that it depressed me
But it was only fluffy candy
I picked a piece from the cloud
I digested it with my eyes and soul,
It was the brightness to a child's life
It was my only happiness
You look at candy,
As sweetness to your life,
but to me it was more,
It was the only freedom I had in the world
I bit into the blue sweetness
As it dissolved in my mouth,
It dissolved my pain,
I was sure everything would be fine again
Then, when the cotton got stuck between my teeth,
So did my hopes and dreams.
I felt like a fool for believing
A fool for trying
A tear slid down my cheek
Making the candy bittersweet
No Cotton Candy can make it go away
Rewrite my story
When they fought and screamed,
I'd try find my happy place,
Eat my sweet Blue Candy,
And just pray it away
I've tried everything
Clovers to Rabbit's Feet,
But this heavenly cloud
was the only price to pay
If my life was all drunk and dead
Would it **** to find my demise-free zone
And just eat some Cloudy Candy instead?
If wishes came true,
With every bite I took
I would have father with me
A Mother to love me
I kept eating the candy though
Even if it didn't taste heavenly anymore
Tears kept streaming down with every bite
I kept the harshness inside
The faster I ate, the more it hurt,
I couldn't swallow the lumps in my throat,
The pain developed inside of me,
Like a tumour, I was a waste, never needed.
You eat all the Candyfloss in the world, it won't work.
It just sweetens the pain, lessens the hurt.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC
Its name has a warm ring
yet is the coldest place on earth,
so cold, moisture freezes inside the nose.
A mere sneeze can project a spray of silvery crystals
scattering like stardust.
No tintinnabulation sweetens the ears.
Sound falls dead like a grounded lark.
Conversation has an icy chill.
Life here exists with no excuses.
Slippery slopes bear no blame for
never reaching your destination.
Brutally bound to the flake white canvas,
existence is forceably cohesive.
And if you ever chance your arm to quit,
a valedictory shake of the hand
will leave you in the grip of winter.
(There will be no husky rescue)
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 8:57 AM UTC