"talcum" poems
You breathed your last breath from the air
in this room;
that threadbare Persian carpet
holds flakes from your skin;
hairs from your head
corkscrew the dented cushions
scattered and idly waiting on the sofa;
bed linen scented with your sweat
the goose down doona that stole
your last warmth;
sleep spit and tears
human moisture that permeates
the acrylic layers of your pillow;
an eyebrow hair wedged in the tweezers;
a clipped nail that flew off
somewhere out of sight;
that new toothbrush used only once;
your flannel and towel still drying out;
the wet press footprint on the bathroom mat;
the talcum powdered slippers
abandoned under the brass bed.
Each moment of everyday
we shed ourselves
shed dead cells and renew -
a cycle of shedding
until the last
shedding of ourselves.
© M.L. Emmett
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
Talk me down,
In meadows,
Lush,
Come touch me,
Undress me,
Love me,
Hold me,
In your heart and head,
As one,
Ravish me,
On fire,
While dancing through your art,
Hold my heart,
She'll kiss you,
When absent,
She'll miss you
Up and down,
Inside out,
She'll come long to greet you,
In style,
Fantasy met,
Talcum dusted,
Gold plated,
Saturated,
With her lovers art,
She bows to him,
I due respect,
And shares with him,
Her heart!
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 5:42 AM UTC
Talk me down,
In meadows,
Lush,
Come touch me,
Undress me,
Love me,
Hold me,
In your heart and head,
As one,
Ravish me,
On fire,
While I'm dancing,
Through your art,
Hold my heart,
She'll kiss you,
When absent,
She will miss you,
Up and down,
Inside out,
She'll come along to greet you,
In style,
A fantasy met,
Talcum dusted,
Gold plated,
Saturated,
With her lovers art,
She bows to him,
In due respect,
And shares with him,
Her heart!
Ladylivvi 31/05/2013
All rights reserved!
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 3:00 AM UTC
DON’T LET THE ROBOTS WIN
The red sun gazes upon a blue moon’s reveries
While the baker glazes over our doughnuts memories
5-9 TV talks of talcum dreams,
Suicide sweet
****** machines.
Fascist fornication with communist candy
Tastes kinda like Yankee doodle dandy
I whisper over the roar of a glazed man grazing,
Dazed, and drowned,
to the Automated telenation:
“Don’t use self checkout lines,
Don’t let the robots win!”
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 8:36 PM UTC
a serpentine plume
of saharan dust
unveiled by radar
an ocean spanning
exhalation
of opaque
talcum haze
seeping into and onto
cracks metal glass
amid caustic
simmering
and listless
longing
for cicada drill
and aircondtioned din
to mute
Tom Spencer © 2018
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
I'm slipping,
stepping silently through
mountains of air
wind
whipping this clay shod body
earth and sod and
stones to small to see
I'm stuck,
this pen wedged within
my corpus callosum,
not big enough to handle the task
not up not *****
doesn't have the stuff.
I'm all.
Honest, to the tip of each hair on my head
cut and styled, and put into place;
truth bubbling out
from behind crimson painted lips;
but so that I may not mince words, / there is nothing straight about me
save the razor's edge / with which I detail my semantics,
my words cut with conveniences / resilient as talcum powder
you / we have so much to look forward to
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
The snowflakes fell
Like talcum, softly, from a rusted tube.
Pure and silently, the
Pine trees shrugged
Against the blanket they were forced to hug-
Evergreen arms
Cut the blue sky and
The white clouds became gray,
And they cried.
As a mirror thrown against
A brick wall in the dark,
The wind blew harshly,
Demeaning,
Unforgiving,
Like tiny knives, tiny shards
Of broken glass, fast and hard.
Drops of dew looked up to the sky-
And now it is springtime;
Spring is the temple,
Love is a new day
To open your eyes and
Count the
Births,
And blooms,
And beginnings
And things.
The raindrops fell in a gentle mist,
Fat and slow,
Onto blades of dark green grass
And when they landed,
They kissed.
Light
Tangos on the tops of heads,
Perches in the hair like
Crown jewels,
Liquid like gold
Above faces of lovers-
Lovely, bright, and bold.
Births,
And blooms,
And beginnings,
And things.
And now it is springtime,
Stuck inside a blissful moment,
Snapping vintage photographs in
Hues of yellow and green,
Chartreuse, something in between-
Light falls down though eyelashes,
Dancing upon toes of shoes,
Hoping this moment doesn’t
End too soon.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 4:23 PM UTC
you are everything
you are everyone
you are every cliche
you are the sun,
you are the stifling heat
that cannot be escaped
you are valentines cards
misdirected and misshaped,
you are hotmail,
you are myspace,
you are my face,
hungover and exhausted,
you are lost kids,
you are something that was fun,
you are not getting shotgun,
you are beer
that's been in the sun
too long,
you are a sad song,
that's not been made better,
you are the hole in my sweater,
or my pockets,
you are the chalky sugar that's
passed off as rockets,
you are the first drummer of the beatles,
you are evil,
and i don't mean that jokingly,
you are choking me,
like turtlenecks,
or high stake bets,
made on the wrong team,
you are what seems like
a good idea at the time,
you are past tense,
you are jeans caught in the fence
preventing teens from sneaking in,
you are cold wind on a dry winter's day,
you are Coldplay's last two albums,
you are too much talcum powder
you are convenience store flowers,
you are forced,
you are hoarse
voices in place of song,
you are wrong,
you are the weakest link,
you are outdated references,
you are beverages,
that have lost carbonation,
you are hesitation
that leads to regret,
you are the new york mets,
you are first impressions
that i make on the elderly,
you are Beverly Hills Chihuahua,
you are foie gras,
you are aqua
and their music in my head,
you are cold beds,
warm beer,
empty freezers,
old tears,
fake appeasers,
new fears,
you are the moments
when it feels like no one's near,
you are searching for Waldo for hours,
you are any buildings "bigger" than the cn tower,
you are fake,
you are first date awkward silence,
you are last date awkward silence,
you are violence,
you are hybrid suvs,
you are bees,
you are black flies,
you are forgetting an event is black tie,
you are something nice to forget,
you are socks that are wet,
you are the slow driver in the left lane,
you are fame,
you are fleeting seconds
never to be recaptured,
you are the man on the corner
screaming about rapture,
you are actors selling out,
you are stains on a couch,
you are lost remotes,
you are failed attempts to save face,
you are everything
that has ever graced
this time and space,
here and above,
you are everything,
you are love...
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC
The lingering scent of talcum powder
The essence of mandarin and ginger
It awakens thoughts of you in ember
The gist of green tea remembers...
The aroma that reminds me of you.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 5:04 PM UTC
I am here and it is the day after.
I lift a pile of unread mail off of a chair and open the blinds,
And watch the sun boil the dust in the air. I set and I take it in.
The room smells of old corsets and perfumed talcum powder.
An antique Lady Schick Consolette hair dryer
Hides partly obscured under the heavy frame of the carved mahogany bed
Along with stacks of magazines and catalogs and…………
God knows what else lurks there.
And I realize that I am the only one now lurking,
Looking into a room that had been forbidden to me
The soul domain of the lady of the house.
But she in not here to make things tidy for this impromptu visit.
She would be so shamed by my eyes taking this all in,
Her secrets, her pills, her special candies, her oils, her perfumes -
All of the alchemical accruements of femininity in jars and tiny boxes.
And the symbols of her wizardry, her diamond encrusted Eastern Star ring,
Pendants, broaches, earrings, necklaces, bobbles, bracelets, clasps, loose pearls-
From a strand I broke long ago during happier days.
The sun dust boils from this cauldron now,
This stuffy, over stuffed chamber of perfume and chocolate,
Of daybeds and special treatments, laxatives, gels, powered and pills.
I dream…..a can of gas and a match would be a fitting end
And then I see it on the dresser, an old photo of a family, a pretend family
And a face is cut out of it, his face…….and so I feel, for a moment
Her pain and see the world has she may have seen it. So be it. It is done.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
The wheels trample over hope,
they ground human minds
until they crack, until they exude
diaspora, and become sidewalks again.
The feeling
of freezepops icing the tongue
has been relinquished
because of the engine's lion moan,
suitable
for flesh and vitality.
We rumble over a bridge, the brakes reveal
their mouths and the hurt inside of them.
We lumber to a stop beside a park,
beside a bridge,
beside a river,
beside oily waters and
fire slapping the beach.
You and I,
are across the river.
There is a fountain filled with marble men
grabbing the thighs of marble women
with eyebrows wrinkled
towards their pelvis'.
If our souls could be soft again,
malleable,
we could wrinkle them in our laps
at pitstops.
I look across the aisle,
at a girl in a black pea-coat.
She knots her hands in her laps
and scratches her knuckles
with white nails.
I am
looking for the soft ore of hope
still nimble in the water fountain
of her lap,
your lap.
The engine,
this bus filled with bobbing eggs,
can break yolks.
This engine
can grind love down to a talcum,
a dust able to resign itself
to knotted hands and the jewelry boxes
of flesh.
This engine
works child's tongues in its wheels,
churning out adults,
churning out civilization,
churning out nothing.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 7:57 PM UTC
1. To The Sun
Burning, golden heat,
Streams of ember fuelled bright light,
This land comes to bloom.
2. To The Moon
Mysterious ball,
Haunting the black still of night,
Forcing the tides in.
3. To The Stars
Glitter, twinkle, shine,
Talcum upon the canvas,
Countless stars dazzle.
4. The Solar System
Swirling and twirling,
A gravitational pull,
Saturn, Earth and Mars.
5. The Ocean Waves
Watch the ocean wave,
Goodbye, it chants, to the calm,
Crash the rocks; power.
6. For The Sea
Pebble dances on
the current ripples; skimming,
Reach the sea’s deep floor.
7. Sandy Shore
Inch wearily down,
The dunes cushion the restful,
Comfort in each grain.
8. Mighty Mountain
Diminished beneath,
Towering nature stands proud,
Bold mighty mountain.
9. Volcano Roar
Rumble; make fire,
Lava flow and trees tumble,
Dramatic scene; ash.
10. River Flow
From trickle it came,
Striding like Goliath came,
Now smooth harmony.
11. Daylight
Creep up; slowly rise,
Paint the break in red of morn,
Sleepers yawn and wake.
12. Darkness
Cloudy night, no stars,
Street lamps turned darker than black,
Serene and eerie.
13. Cold Air
Rows of people quake,
Shake in the shivering freeze,
Winter chills the bone.
14. Warm Breeze
Clothing slips; undress,
The warmth of a summer wind,
Bending daffodils.
15. Tall Tree
Sleek, slender branches,
Heavens closest creation,
Green leaves; solid bark.
16. Petals
Spiritual ring,
Loop around the sacred rose,
A petal surround.
17. Leaves
Absorbing sunlight,
Reaching out; decorative,
Crunch under my feet.
18. Dried Grass
Water never comes,
Brown and dusty blades remain,
Dried barren desert.
19. Green Grass
Flourishing springtime,
Shoots pushing through aiming high,
Green and vigorous.
20. Wild Woods
Nettles, flowers, trees,
A lake of lily pads; frogs,
Untamed – natural.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:52 AM UTC
Martha Maguire's mother
entered her daughter's bedroom
her daughter was asleep
in the bed
Martha what's the statute
of Our Blessed Lord
doing in your bed?
Martha woke up
bleary-eyed
hair matted
what?
she muttered
the statue
what's it doing
in your bed?
Martha looked around
at the Sacred Heart
of Jesus statue
beside her
on her pillow
**** me
how'd that get there?
she muttered
language Martha
in front of Our Lord
sorry Jesus
Martha said
nodding to the statue
and moving away
from Him carefully
so He didn't
fall side wards
into the bed
what's it doing there?
it's the Crucified
I know who it is
I asked you
what it is doing
in your bed?
I got lonely
and had no one
to talk with
Martha said
you can talk with Jesus
without having Him
in your bed beside you
it's not decent
what would the priest
have to say about that
I don't know
her mother said
Martha moved
to the side of the bed
can you go now Ma
I want to wash and dress
for school
you've nothing
I've not seen before Martha
a few things
have developed since
you saw me
in the bathroom last Ma
Martha said
waiting
for her mother to go
if your Da heard
how you speak
he'd slap your backside
so he would
the last time Da
saw me backside
it had talcum powder on it
and a ****** *****
Martha said
her mother
raised her eyebrows
and sighed
and walked out
of the room
and closed the door
sorry about that Lord
she said
to the Crucified's statue
Ma has no sense of privacy
she moved off
the bed carefully
and pulled the sheet
and blanket
over the statue
and patted the head
the head of the statue
peeped over
the blanket at her
won't be long
just going for a wash
and clean and brush
me hair Lord
she said
she gathered up
her towel and flannel
and giving the statue
one last look
she went out
of her bedroom
and walked across
to the bathroom
and closed the door
she removed her nightie
and dropped it
to the floor
and stood there
gazing in the mirror
in her *******
and bra
musing softly
there's no sense
of privacy
with Ma.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC
Let him wait,
she says,
drying under arms
after her bath,
the towel rubbing the skin,
talcum powder
on the side
ready to be applied,
he downstairs waiting,
impatient no doubt,
pacing up and down
or sitting smoking,
cursing under his breath.
A woman’s privilege
to take her time.
Beauty cannot be rushed.
She moves the towel
further down,
rubs between her thighs.
Even as a child
she imagines
he was impatient,
unable to wait,
unwilling to be kept
against his will
until the time was right.
She smiles.
She senses
the towel’s roughness,
the rub of skin.
She recalls the wedding night,
the shyness **********
she blushing,
he awkward all
fingers and thumbs,
she turning her back on him
to put on her night dress,
he looking away,
unwilling to view,
she in bed
covered to the neck,
he **********
bit by bit
avoiding her eyes,
she studying
the ceiling
the patch of grey,
he with night attire on
climbs into bed,
she feels him near,
his body nigh touching,
his hand out stretched.
In the dark,
she recalls,
they fumbled
and searched
and touched,
with grunts
and moans,
and woos
and ahs,
the night went on
until sleep
eased them
to a settled bliss,
ending with
that sticking kiss.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
I met a girl named Alice Klar
She was the finest girl I saw
We made my day all bright and nice;
About the night I can’t speak at all!
Alice played with words all day
She’d find some Wort and write a play
To Lebenstraße she’d walked just twice
Even though I’d beg and though I’d plea
But I can’t recall for the life of me
Why that day Alice stopped for tea
Running along she’d chase the mice
Until they fell into the Spree
I’d always worried that her talcum hair
Would bring on suitors far more fair
But I never imagined that her vice
Would be an expat Fräuline eating rice
Amid the essence of food and the summer heat
When there in the Platz the two did meet
And a strong stark woman with heart of ice
Swept Alice Klar up off her feet
Since that day I’ve had no song in heart
Except for brats and hounds that bark
It’s now despite want of love and spice
Her memory fades into the dark
Still I have hope though you may scoff
That this man I am can surely boff
Another ribald maiden low in price
Then that old ***** Alice I can write off!
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
Torn margin, yellow age
Empty whites, nothing pages
Much powder, talcum trees
Birds, endoskeleton, bees
Shredder circling claws reach
Ring, ring, ting, and some bleach
Mula lost, wormful peach.
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
MY MOTHER’S HANDS
My mother’s hands
washing potatoes
washing kids
washing pans.
My mother’s hands
on bitterly cold days
******* yet more washing
on a pregnant line
the line growing nothing but
nappies
her hands blind
with the cold.
My mother’s hands
ironing clothes
ironing clothes
ironing countless knickers
for my seven sisters.
My mother’s hands
taking my hands
in hers
such love...such laughter!
My mother’s hands
patting talcum powder
on another baby’s ***
Mum being Mum.
Me, kissing
my mother’s hands
for all...they’ve done.
******
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
i
She walks past you
features limp
protective hand in the small of her back.
You won't know that she bleeds too early.
ii
She rushes past mothercare
sideways glance at the cardboard baby
talcum powder clouds, cotton socks.
You won't know that there's an empty cot
at the foot of her bed.
iii
She soaks the sheets with tears and milk
full ******* that ache when your baby cries.
You will have been told that hers never woke,
and hold yours tighter as the nurse draws the curtain.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 11:42 AM UTC
*In the flash of lightning he met
penetratingly expressive eyes of a dancing doll
Electricity of those rosy smile lit the dark room of his heart
with thousands of glittering lights
His stomach giving birth to a number of fluttering butterflies
Nearing her presence of closeness, heart beating a new rhythm of jazz
Black silky hair like a peacock feather daintily fondling by his cheeks
Crossing his sight with a glance
Dipping his heart in her fragrance of lavender talcum
Losing control over his neck from adoring her
With the inner oracle whispering
She's the one for you !*
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
tall all
talk awkwardly
Tallahassee seasonableness
talcum cumulus
tally alley
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
Talcum powder
And water
And a few
Other things
Something pink
Smoothed onto
My innocent cheek
Like a mask
Fancy
The sneaking
Into your closet
The blouse
Falling off my shoulder
High-heeled stumble
I’ll understand this
When I’m older
The curiosity
Testing borders
Pushing limits
It’s always been
In me
This glimmering
Faggotry
Oct 7, 2022
Oct 7, 2022 at 2:01 AM UTC
My mother’s hands
washing potatoes
washing kids
washing pans.
My mother’s hands
on bitterly cold days
******* yet more washing
on a pregnant line
the line growing nothing but
nappies
her hands blind
with the cold.
My mother’s hands
ironing clothes
ironing clothes
ironing countless knickers
for my seven sisters.
My mother’s hands
taking my hands
in hers
such love...such laughter!
My mother’s hands
patting talcum powder
on another baby’s ***
Mum being Mum.
Me, kissing
my mother’s hands
for all...they’ve done.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
you smell like
the colored power
of talcum and pigment and makeup
it smells warm
musty and thick - but warm
it's in between your hairs
and in the palm of your hand
and seeped into the nape of your neck
and I'm so close
it's on me too
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 5:02 PM UTC