"tasteful" poems
At the most recent party I went to
I was only warm.
The complete opposite of what I wanted to feel.
And you said warm is ideal. Right?
And I said no. **** the middle.
I. Want. To. Burn.
From the kind of dancing that makes your back sweat
Hips swing
From the Afro Latin beats
Whine to the Caribbean dance hall music
Naturally stepping without getting stepped on.
Screaming in unison to the lyrics of a dumb top 40's song.
Breaking my back to some nasty reggaeton
Throwin it back to the 90's classic. OW!
Gettin intimate body to body in a tasteful salsa.
Baby baby baby you make me wana holla.
I want to sweat!
But no one's dancing.
There's too much beer pong.
And I'm warm,
Only from alcohol.
I'm leaving this party.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Think of me, just my tongue gliding from the bottom to the very tip,
Dreaming only of a tasteful sip
Under the table
If I'm able
To catch just a simple drip.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
My sweetheart you are so stunning and seductive
With a lovely attitude, to come and get me please
Your progressive style makes you more reflective
Embrace me come in my warm arms don not tease
Sky is under your feet and you have taken me over
Wind is playfully caressing your cheeks, curly hair
Your eye brows are archer this is what your armor
What a tasteful youth what a wonderful spicy flair
My love,life is at stake my love is now on the altar
Your graces can save me from the clutches of world
My life is like a ship without any rudder and harbor
In front of universal love your beauty is just curled
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
I hated
I hated me
No, i loved to hate me
I hated black
I hated black clothes , made me feel hot , never embraced the heat it gave me
I hated the night, a cold harsh wind seeping into my skin
I hated the sun, I was afraid of it
I hated that they made me hate me
I let it consume me
Things are different now, though
My thoughts are stronger
My vision is clearer
My body feels lighter
My smile is brighter
I love my skin better than ever
The sky hugs my melanin, i feel vibrant
free, i feel one with it
different shades of black, so many to choose
so rich, tasteful, so strong
cocoa butter kisses so sweet with every touch
I’m in love with my skin and so is the sun
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
I want to kiss her lips
Then lick around
her mound
Tastefully
A mouthful of her juices
It’s the only thing
That will settle me down
Truthfully
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 2:57 PM UTC
In the dimly lit chamber, we set the scene.
An owner and his pet, a game of primal and prey.
She kneels like an eager dog, a collar around her neck.
He stomps his feet and keeps her obedience at play.
The owner, like a magician, keeps tricks up his sleeve.
He wants his pet to learn— to be his student and please.
Commanding her to crawl, to fetch and beg.
Waiting for him to call her a good little pet.
She barks and whimpers, a puppy in passion.
Spins three times and licks her master’s feet without a whine.
The pet surrenders to her master’s might.
She delivers his sturdy leather boots in a straight line.
With a flick of the whip, the pet curls in elation.
Her master chuckles at her sounds of temptation.
Submitting to the cynicism of ******* and discipline.
She is flogged like a plebeian, forgetting she’s a citizen.
Pet and master, a bond so strong.
The two are bound by zeal, craving one another.
She wallows in the comfort of her belly rubs and treats.
And runs around with a rush of red in color.
She goes through treacherous training.
And yelps if she’s ever caught complaining.
Waiting for a tasteful gift: the eternity collar.
When she is ready, he puts it on with honor.
Jun 16, 2024
Jun 16, 2024 at 6:25 PM UTC
I want to call you
Milkyway,
That sweet outside,
That tasteful yet
gooey centre,
covered in a hard shell,
Yet you have
The beauty of the night stars,
Sky and all the wonders
It carries with it.
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
Three days, is what the HR rep said, somewhat sheepishly,
As if she was fully aware that boxing up one’s grief
In a span of a few dozen hours
Is a matter of wishful thinking
And certainly she sympathizes
(Indeed, as she speaks,
She spreads her hands in such a way
As you half expect doves to come forth in full flight)
Empathy being their stock in trade,
But the law and the handbook say three days,
And then you need to have your head
******* back on and looking forward.
Eventually, the mail brings fewer envelopes
Marked with embossed flowers
And subdued and tasteful stamps,
The usual flow of solicitous inquiries,
Pre-stamped and pre-sorted,
Inquiring as to your credit needs,
The condition of your windows and siding,
Resumes apace, and more than once,
In fits of inappropriate black humor and frustration,
You scribble, in bold thick strokes of a marker,
The addressee no longer resides at this location.
You return to nine-to-five,
Though your ghosts keep their own hours,
Stopping by to visit on their own schedule alone,
Prompted by the tiniest of things:
The dog scampering to its feet in a hurry,
As if someone was at the door,
The discovery of a long-unused pitching wedge
Standing expectantly in the back of the closet,
A song from long ago which was beloved
When you lived in the pairing mandated by Noah
Before you entered the shadow world of ones and nones.
Sometimes you give into the giddy madness,
And rise to waltz around the room,
Careening about unsteadily, clumsily
As you have yet to completely master
The difference in weight shift and distribution
That is required of a solo act.
The timing of these visitations
Often disrupts your schedule and sleep patterns,
And you think that perhaps tomorrow you’ll call in.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 10:38 AM UTC
You want me to steep myself in your fantasy
Like a bag of tea
But I am not a bag of tea.
I cannot make your dull story any more tasteful
I cannot be the woman of your dreams.
I will not make you any better
Because I am not a bag of tea.
Soak me in scalding water
I refuse to let myself go
I refuse to let anything seep
I am bitter and sheltered
And certainly not your cup of tea
I cannot soothe you to sleep
Or give you the energy you need
I will not nurse you back to health, becoming your new home remedy
Because I am not a bag of tea.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
there was a vase.
it was nothing special.
not very pretty
to look at.
it sat on a shelf
in a window.
it was behind
another vase, though.
the vase in front was
dustless and beautiful.
the vase in front had
flowers in it.
the ugly vase
sat for years
behind the lovely
vase.
the lovely vase had
everything and more.
elegant curves,
tasteful colors.
it was so beautiful
no one looked at
the curveless,
off white vase
behind it.
one day a child
ran through the
store.
the table by the window
was bumped
and the ugly vase
fell.
it shattered into
needle thin shards
and eventually swept
away.
the lovely vase
was bought that
day.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
I read a story today.
Like any good story it was layered upon the premise of the love between two perfect strangers.
Like any good story it was about romance that blossomed... and then flourished as quick as it was fierce.
Like any good story it spun a far-reaching web of hope and longing whilst still holding on to the uncompromising nature of responsibility to one's dreams.
Like any good story, there was a spot of intimacy. The gradual build up of physical and psychological attraction that culminated in the merging of two, was nothing less than tasteful.
Like any good story there was conflict.
But it was not the cliched garnish that involved oppressive parenting styles nor glaring racial differences.
It did not rope in the overused notion of "we're so different, we're two parts of a whole".
It was... a beautiful conflict.
One that does not allow the audience to choose sides.
In fact, it encourages you to think inward and root for both parties - be them together or apart.
If anything at all, it boils down to the pursuit of each individual's happiness.
Like any good modern day story, it ended with a breath held in a gasp. You hold it there for the longest moment and you have to close that breath with a heavy sigh of loss.
It also leaves you with ample room to deliberate the "what if" factor.
Happy endings last a while but sad ones... they rip a hole in you that almost never closes...
and you cannot help but go back to read it over and over again in the hopes of finding the elusive right answer or the best alternate ending.
Like any good story it was tailored in my fit. Because I envisioned myself in it. I got consumed by it. Overwhelmed by it, enough to almost break the pipes.
And like any good story, it's worth keeping...
In heart and in mind.
So I read a story today. And I didn't want it to end.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 6:26 AM UTC
Don't worry...
We give the world vision
Words with color
Tasteful. delicious. language.
We stroke sixty shades of beauty
Accent the body
Observe. perfect. imperfections.
We layer music like cake
A sonorous crunch of bittersweet flavor
Crisp. textured. harmonies.
We expose raw motives of human beings
The aperture is our eye
Zoom. Focus. Click.
Don't worry...
Don't let Corporate America fool you.
Sure, we need doctors, lawyers, nurses, and politicians...but at the end of the day,
that painting
that melody
that book
that photo
sparks dreams. desires. emotion.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
A kite with faded colors
and unwoven threads,
once made with care,
now not much more than shreds.
It hovered with sorrow
longing to fly free,
but found it was held fast
by an unwavering string.
The cord was not much to look at,
most people would say.
But it was charming to the kite
in its own humble way.
It was vulnerable in places
and had a knot here and there,
but it never once faltered.
In its task, it took care.
It held the kite tightly
and made sure it stayed.
Otherwise, the high aiming kite
would surely float away.
Although the twine was secure,
gripping the helpless kite,
without the kite’s grasp,
the string would never take flight.
The able piece of rope would’ve
spent all its days
lying dormant on the dust,
never to be raised.
The kite helped it dream,
to see the sky and clouds,
and the string made sure
they both stayed near the ground.
The kite had seen other ropes,
crafted more tasteful and long.
They were appealing on the surface,
but never as strong.
They always broke off,
not steady enough to stay,
but this plain, simple cord
was there day after day.
The kite learned to love it,
saw beauty out and inside.
They weren’t sure if they’d make it,
but they’d undoubtedly try
to hold each other in place
until the end of their time.
A simple, sound string
and a half-broken kite.
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 12:50 AM UTC
I am a vast dichotomy of tasteful ideals.
I desire to dream the dreams most people deterred.
Paintbrushes touch canvases then lift
as if unsure if they should grace the world with their
beauty or hold back with chagrin.
Bodies burrow under blankets with
banned books instead of men.
I warm myself with beverages in a coffee mug on a
rainy day rather than
a body lying next to me.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
**Love... Quite edible one could imagine.
Some may be famished beyond imaginary boundaries due to his or her own taste.
From sweet kisses, to bitter love, to varieties of flavor that spices up our lives.
We drink lover's spit if we care enough at the moment we see them, the edible ones because,
quite frankly the taste is so grand...
Only through time will we be seasoned to find perfection,
Until then it lingers, as our taste buds crave for more.
Something so tasteful that...
a man would swallow his pride,
a woman would eat her doubts,
a new born will sip it's nourishments,
a free food that no one could ever get full from...
Yet if prepared in the wrong conditions,
love could spoil and poison you, harm you,
destroy you...
So make the best out of the ingredients that you have,
To make it a grand feast that lasts,
before it all expires and goes to waste....
Let this marinade... Before it becomes your food for thought.
Let your cravings state that you are what you eat... lovely soul food.**
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
When reading a juicy book
Don’t rush
Take a moment to sample the plot
Allowing it to saturate your imagination
Contemplate the tasteful expressions
That spice up the story
Notice how the vivid imagery
Blends beautifully with the conveyed emotions
Of course the main ingredients are the delicious characters
Turning an otherwise average read into a satisfying experience
Allow it all to settle in your mind
Savoring the message it imparts
And once you’ve reached your fill
Turn the page for another serving
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
Glitters and red meters
givers and received perceivers
usher the gift of illusionary display
vision all the aspects of reality
Signal the surreal posts on trees
yank and spotlight my dreams
walk and split the glass panels
wagon us from societal ice
Glitters and red masks
course every vein of our being
pour the red wine and misplace
protrude every nautical sense
Read my palm, contact the wizard
grab my sight, take me to the moon
contactless,eventful and tasteful
contactless, easy and resourceful
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 4:49 AM UTC
Growing up my parents were always selfish. They'd rather subsidize tasteful cars than their own child's education so they could prove worthy of societal thinking.
They'd rather finance love through glamorous things instead of investing in actual intimacy.
Maybe if loneliness wasn't my parental figure then this existential adult life wouldn't be spent in monotonous cognitive states
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC
Cake and ice cream possibilties.
We find many trying to do.
Trying to be please by two.
Just to not be alone.
But behind the disguises is a unhappy soul.
For deep within, they know the truth will emerge.
And then the excuses begins.
When going through your joyful expeditions with one.
Truth sets in with the other.
While you hoping they don't find out about one another.
Cake is tasteful and enjoyable.
And ice cream is also favorable.
But they both fades away.
Which eventually the hunter will find out one day.
Unless, the women involved like it this way.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
“Haha! Dangling by his shoelace
- ******* shoelace - from his ivory tower!” Oh, **** me,
Priceless.
Watch - his hair is plastered spiderleg across his brow
His fringe as bland and tasteful as his alopecia will allow.
“The ****** Never took a little pride.
“Come on, don’t give me that. He never tried.”
And now he stands, and laughs, and someone’s died.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
I've been silent to let you speak now all I put to myself is noise,
it's not surprising to me that I got tired of your voice.
Your screaming got way too extra and it needs to be cut out.
So I put myself to where all I hear would be tasteful scream and shout.
By now I've given up on you,
because there's nothing else I can see to do.
You put this on yourself as well everyone around you.
And soon the burden will drown, don't forget your ego will too.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
The stars aren't as tasteful
as I'd hoped they'd be,
*You fickle moon,
You eclipse of a lover.*
Vinegar. That's what
those cosmic light bulbs we
call stars taste like. Raw
and savoring, bold & eccentric.
*Kissing summer on winter's lips
The cheek of spring still stings from autumn's hand*
And I'm marooned in this fine
red wine hour,
nostalgic in the art of reading
The hum of dragons pulse~
The whisper of the wolven breath,
This time around your blood
was thinner than ice.
Twisting the tendrils of our thistled love
across my snowy throat,
***Crimson is so ******* beautiful***
It was your job to swallow sunsets and it
was mine to throw up sunrises. We
followed the commandments branded on
my cheeks.
*It was the only bible we had,
Because my scars were worth
"something"*
When the roof of the sky meets the jaw of
the sun, the teeth are the clouds & constellations.
I fed the world my spine because it was starving.
chinking off marrow, and mouthfuls of my flesh,
Devour me.
*And in my wake you shifted the lapis void,
forcing my eyes open as gold tears spilt*
Streetlamps groaning at midnight,
will you watch the ravens with me at 3 a.m?
I'm not one for fate but,
destiny is mine for the taking.
Bones wish they're bending,
yet promise they're not breaking.
I bargained my soul and sins with Lupus,
and now I am his poet.
A daughter of aurora borealis,
buckets full of silver sloshing admist
my eyes.
When I no longer love you,
it will be silent,
and tragic.
.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
A beloved friend enticed my senses
Appeasing whines with tasteful tunes
Awakening amour at heights of suspense
To serenade me as spry I shall swoon
Euphonies swallowed my bones
Delighted be I to ever have found
Divine obscure ways to atone
Ghastly memories quite profound
Triumph has monopolized tribulation
Along hollow skylines nimble she fleets
Colloquies spewing frost shan't stand elite
Taunted be grief by elimination
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 1:28 AM UTC
Do you fancy
A lollipop feast
Salivary glands over productive
Just one day of sweetness
Wouldn’t ruin much perhaps
After party was tasteful
Lingering longer than it should
Picking up a lollipop after some time
Unwrapping took forever
Hesitated to shove right into
The colour appear rather surreal
Was it used to be?
Second thoughts always ****
Stood still with a unwrapped lollipop
Thinking if We should
Dec 31, 2021
Dec 31, 2021 at 11:37 PM UTC
My open window bears a gaping hole,
Welcoming and whining the sounds of my soul,
A tasteful mesh of stormy delight,
In a moment so blissfully lonesome tonight.
Whirls of wind that plow through the trees,
Rain drops pouring and ******* wherever it may please,
Slight brisk drafts of air cooling me at ease,
In this hot, oven-like bedroom, while I cough and sneeze.
Alarm clock sets for the dawn of tomorrow,
I lay here filled with bouts of sorrow,
How this beat of peace is simply a borrow,
Due to this I whimper, whine, and willfully wallow.
The openness of my window, this gaping frame,
The darkness of my bedroom, delightfully same,
Provides sense of solitude in this world, without blame,
I complain not a lick that this is the name of my game.
Jan 10, 2024
Jan 10, 2024 at 12:03 AM UTC