"tastefully" poems
People only ever want to ask me about
the poetry -
those verses about
busted up noses in outer space;
about the pros working
way down passed
the corner of Broad and Main;
about fistfights and hard, hard drinking.
But I built a flowerbed this weekend...
Twenty two tastefully irregular stone blocks
in a crescent moon shape,
filled with the blackest of soils.
The sweat of toil.
The digging.
The planting.
Exotic grasses. Asian maybe?
Purple and yellow flowers.
Zinnias or some **** thing.
All covered in a thick blanket of brown mulch.
It's a fine thing to have dirt on your hands
instead of blood.
No one ever asks me about flowerbeds.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 10:12 PM 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
I see you from across the room
I've known you for years
But I get this feeling inside
Like I just met you
And as I watch you
You slowly walk towards me
And my insides start to melt
As you get closer, our eyes lock
And I feel things I've never felt
You move me, make me wobble
Once your close enough to touch
I can't help but giggle
You put a finger to my lip
And I secretly smile to myself
Your fingertips move down my arm
Softly landing on my hip
You caress my face with a gentle touch
Then get closer until there's barely a breath between us
My knees go weak
This is all just too much
I sigh and lean in to your mouth
Your lips surround mine
Removing all my doubts
I can feel it in your kiss
And a sudden bliss overwhelms me
This electricity is too hot to miss
I go in hard, I can't help myself
My arms around your neck,
I feel you losing control of yourself
No holding back
I can't help but want for more
And in a flash
We're lying naked on the floor
Fingers, legs, hands and arms
We're completely intertwined
From our souls to our hearts
I feel love to depths divine
And there's no greater sensation
Than when your body finally enters mine
It's an overpowering friction
I'm surprised we're not engulfed in flames yet
These sparks are flying
I've never been hotter
The sweat starts dripping
We've never been wetter
The passions an electric surge
And my body's on fire
I fight the urge
Taking myself higher and higher
I'm lost in you
In your touch, in your eyes
And I'm surprised how unafraid I am
A guilty pleasure with no shame
We climb together as one
A game that we'll both win
Reaching peaks we never knew existed
Crying out in ecstasy
Again and again
I sigh...
And sleep
Cuddled in your arms
Heart and body
Safe from harm
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 4:27 PM UTC
I Intend Inspiring Indians Internationally
After Accounting All Aspiring Appointments
These Thermal Things Though Tastefully Testing
She Seldom Sleeps Some Sultry-Smothery Styles
Often Opening On Object-Orifice Of Operation
Crudely Caring Cant Cross Covering Case
About All Astral And Attractive Allocations
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
Headless chickens running aimless toward the almighty dollar
Blindly staring at the knife"s stainless steel amidst all the squaller
My thirsty soul argues against my numb skull to hold a thorough audition
They lewdly feud about potential candidates accrued to search for recognition
They conclude on a suspicion they mutually feared as a result of blind ambition
Search preludes the admission, that I found my dream car with no keys for ignition
Don"t question authority especially when it's the majority
Everyone knows the world is flat and let's just leave it at that
I bought water from you now I have ice to sell
I have a great story but no one worthy to tell
Hindsight should really be at least twenty fifteen
Because to admit we just don"t know is too obscene?
Blissful ignorance"s repugnant scent wafting through the cave
Mindless sheople"s chainlinked brains all dancing at the rave
Fire flickering Shadow puppets tastefully riding the next wave
Puppeteer wizard behind the curtain telling them how to behave
Misaligned redcoated frontline soldiers falsely labeled as brave
Life"s ironic conundrum puzzle, choosing which children to save
Diseased cement steadily drying in a world ever ready to pave
Hungrier than I"ve ever been, yet sickly devoid of things to crave
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 5:06 AM UTC
Remember when you traced over my photograph
in green paint
and it made me look like Shrek?
I hated you for that.
You're a talented tracer though;
I'll give you that.
Remember that one time you made a list of things I like
in your notebook?
I found it romantic in a tastefully subtle way.
I like that you noted my affinity for knee socks.
The song and the item of clothing.
Remember when I wrote you that poem
on Hello Poetry?
It was kind of cliche
in a charming sort of way
You never admitted to reading it,
but I know you did.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
Even a wayside **** can ignite
greater passion in the heart
than a well potted garden plant
at the centre of a tastefully landscaped plot
Even a child’s prank can be more hilarious
than all the cranky jokes of an acclaimed comedian
Even in the warble of a lonesome bird
there can be more flooding melody
than in the well tuned violin of a music maestro
There can be greater poetry in a simple ditty
than in all the lines of verse in a great epic
A tear drop may contain greater salinity
than all the waters of a great ocean
Perhaps a simple nod of head or a wink of the eye
communicates much more than a whole bunch of words
I don’t know why I love the dainty flowers of May
than perhaps the exotic lotus of the day
Don’t we love the homemade fare served with love
more than all the delectable cuisines of a posh restaurant
The small things of life thus,
prove much bigger than big things
Just as the joy of life is not always ruined by fatal errors
but by the recurrence of injurious little things,
Greatness is achieved not through momentous actions
but by the little things done in a great way
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
coy verbal foreplay
tastefully twisting two tongues
risque rhythm ... breathe
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
The poesy of chef's soup du jour,
peppered in a skillfully
pauperized simmer
or sublimely enriched dish of
ultimate truffle butter grandeur,
tastefully rendered in the
aromatic broken bread of
delectable poetry's bouquet
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
tv tucked-in to premature sleep,
t'is elementary that I
I awaken midnightish,
mission most unusual
sherlocked~unaccomplished,
to disembark from the day's
shellacking
glancing out the window,
many of the yellow lit windows
decorating (not littering) my cityscape,
precisely the color of the tastefully ostentatious
but breath taking
canary yellow diamond five carat ring
I will never buy you,
that shall be the ring, always,
She-Lacked
not because I can't
not because it is impossible tho most extra frivolous ridiculous ice cream scoop
upright~downright double silly,
buuuuuut
because
certain things in life off course,
and are truly better for just
the wanting
than
the having.
but not you,
of course.
Of course!
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
All our pains and all our fears
drowned out with tastefully selected beers.
We dance and laugh to forget all night,
we stay up kissing until morning light.
You wake up gathering your things from the floor
your face now different
not like before.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Somewhere in the furrows of pink and gray
flesh, nestled between delicate arches of pelvis,
in what was supposed to be bowels and pulsating warmth,
lies the wish for chemotherapy.
Old images of skull-white sundresses
glimmering with the glory of summer days in the world of Perfect Thighs
fester imperceptibly,
buried in some remote corner of the midbrain
that smells like half-digested chicken parmesan;
each memory’s tastefully arranged––
rows of wheat, sharp as disinfectant,
sour with antimetabolites and metastatic guilt.
October levels prospects like a hurricane,
and as your mother balances a salad fork between chalk fingers
the full plate in front of you reminds you of ruptured organs.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
Most women do not
cook and and clean house
in preparation
for violent invasion.
But you did,
the countertops ache for lack of dust,
the appliances self-conscious in their sterility.
More than sufficient-
for anybody but the figure on the doorstep;
who, using only a key
has already torn through
your first, only, and tastefully painted
line of defense;
has pulled pins from verbal grenades to throw upon
bursting into the kitchen,
where you waited
white tablecloth of surrender and
tea like a peace offering.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 9:59 AM UTC
I'm so angry.
I really am.
You are college students.
You think you could tastefully
Complete a project on eating disorders.
I very well know that
Demi Lavato is a beautiful woman.
Is that honestly all you can say?
How could you possibly romanticize this issue.
My throat burns because of the acid.
My teeth are ****
I brush them three to five times a day.
I lock myself in the guest bathroom in the building
So that I can ***** in private.
I can eat a whole loaf of bread in three minutes.
When I was in high school
My mother tried to force me to eat breakfast.
So I filled multiple gallon bags
Of cereal and rotting bagels and toast.
I don't eat meals with people.
I bring a take out container to my dorm
Once a day
Stuffed to the limit with food.
And I eat it in ten minutes.
And then I *****
And sometimes I cut
And sometimes I sleep
But I don't even cry over it.
I itch my legs at family meals
Because taking another bite seems unbearable.
It's not something I care to discus.
To tell me that men can't have eating disorders
And that women are the only important ones.
I am a woman
But that makes me feel even sicker than my ED.
Ana and Mia are pansexual.
They don't care who you are
And they don't care if you hate them.
They will become your best friend
And they will stalk you
And destroy you
And they don't give two *****
If you're asian, white, male, or 300 pounds.
It's still a big deal.
I don't care if you have a BMI of 0 or 100.
It's still important.
It's still a big deal.
And you're offensive.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
I took a drink of cool, clean water,
That came from within a wishing well,
It tasted sweet and filled me deeper,
With precious life that came to me.
I wanted more, of this cool beverage,
So, took another drink, then took two,
It filled my body with such robust flavor,
That on my journey I could now venture on.
When coming upon a run-down farmhouse,
Where wind blew whispfully in swaying trees,
I picked a pear from the nearest pear tree,
And held the fruit in hand so gracefully.
The pear was sweet, the juice ran rapidly,
Down on my chin, onto my denim shirt,
I felt the grit, the fruit soon was tastefully,
Set fire to my tastebuds so endlessly.
I glanced upon the cornfields so lonely,
Standing tall and giant they reached for sky,
The greeness filled my mind with fancy,
Then, so I wandered to fields to further see.
Within the field, a lovely, young beauty,
Was pulling corn from the green, green stalks,
Her smile, a greeting, to me weary wanderer,
I took her hand and handled it so tenderly.
She said she spent her days in the cornfields,
I sensed she wanted to switch places with me,
To wander aimlessly, through nearby counties,
In search of self so then so senselessly.
But me, a mortal, mere man of mans' time,
Would what give readily to find all the day,
To stand silently within cornfields, green I see,
To shuck corn from the cornfields so handily.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
This dream of consciousness will not end alarmingly,
though it leaves lines on Billo's face
smushed against pillows placed
strategically
The strategy?
To look tragically well put-together
to get her to lie in the bed I made hastily
Well - I say this, but the presentation's done tastefully:
Big blanket tucked
IN with style
OUT of luck since I've not been...
...touched in a while
I grinningly smile - it'll all be ok
(I'm not much for physical lovin' anyway)
...beyond hugging and kissing and getting to stay
for the night curled up close whispering "sweetie, sleep tight"
I've not got these dreams, but I've some aspirations
No sweetie, I'm not sweaty,
- I've no *** persperation
My room is too cold with the wind's drafty laughter
My bed is too cold since I've not quite yet asked her
to lie with me and lie to me that she is the one
and I will be won over,
over-nighting done right
...
Left to the imagination, day-dreaming's my vision
Pigeon-holing my gamboling gambling rambling
Not quite in shambles, see?
I get it: regretting is letting me settle into misery
"Mysterio the (not-so) great" is dutifully bound to wait
Patience is love doctors' medication - "Just wait!" they prescribe
and in time their patients' trepidation will end.
Inner peace outer space and I pace.
(without her face to grin at)
synapse fired
for nodding off on the job
**** awake, up for work
Woken, spurred
on toward spoken word
March forwards - four words
Reverse reverie never hurt
"But I don't dream!" I think
Does it stop me from trying?
From lying to and by myself,
in doubt in a drought
Good - buy myself a drink:
rootbeer, two shots of espresso
let's go, caffeine-Billo tag team
on the rocks, off the clock
(talk about self-deprecation, why don't you)
Chew on the cubes with contextual frustration
The drink's gone, I think long and hard at long last
ARRRG I yell in a fit mentally I'll
sleep on it.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
I wish the words of my mouth
Could work like a fine stitching
Closing up the holes in your heart.
But I never have the words
To make it all go away
If anything, I just tear it all apart.
I'm not eloquent
Or tastefully soothing
But my heart beats in the right rhythm.
I try to say all the right things
Instead, I stumble and fall
I guess, truly, I am just winsome.
I watch your painful confusion
Unable to help
And we both seem to tumble into turmoil.
I wish could gracefully
Be your divine savior
But unfortunately I'm just a harlequin girl.
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 1:53 PM UTC
fifty years later
you girls wear their old dresses
over sky
blue leggings
lace
and fabric that smells
of lost time
you found them
in stores
with high ceilings
and a sloppily simulated
rustic vibe
you love your
waists tastefully
cinched
and collar bones
concealed
you twirl before
the full length
mirrors and
wish oh how
you wish
you could
have been born
then instead of now
everything
was so much classier!
the women
were a different
kind of beautiful
women
who smoked
in their bathtubs
cardboard hairdos
unraveling
women
elbow deep in
baking
soda and dishsoap
soft secretive
smiles overtaking
their
faces
as they rattled
through the
medicine
cabinet
for a snack
(twice a day)
pregnant again
for
the fourth
time
yet
thin as a rail
somehow
ghosts
in their own
skin
silent but
deadly
crying manically
because of
the smoke
in their eyes
choking gently
on the powder
all over their tight
lovely complexions
dinner ready
at six
sharp as a rusty nail
fantasizing
about what it would be like
to fall in love
with another woman
scuffing their knees
and showing the raw
skin off to all
the young men
with sunlight left over
from childhood still
swimming in their
eyes
or walking home
in the rain
without an umbrella
and having that be ok
slapping their
own faces
at such trecherous
thoughts
obsessing
over how
their mothers did
it with
so much **** grace...
but yes
girls
their clothes
were simply
divine
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 11:33 AM UTC
The old heads sell distraction
Different prints and different licks
Concrete beds display the newest fashion
Pick them hearty while declaring dysfunction
Beam another bystander towards electro shock
Tastefully tenacious in it's rearranging
Bars for consumption
The eyes suggest cancellation
Now you declare this space fit for sanity
Now I crumble for chaos
Displaced for a momentary diplomacy
but lines blur inside a mind prone to wandering
Remnants gather for a pre shatter shindig
A bright glow illuminates conviction
How coy these means for destruction
a shell claiming stability
a vessel containing absurdity
Crack seat sofa with the medical magazines
Wait on a number for my neutral reckoning
Diagnostics come free
A proper requiem is not included
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC
O! Happy day!
For on this day I find myself
In love with every girl:
In the innumerable masses of licentious courtesans
Parading their every facet,
Every inch of bare supple flesh
Their thread-bare scraps of clothes
Can tastefully expose,
I have chosen a mere handful
That do so skilfully!
And so I act;
Mutilating the leafy genitals of lesser lifeforms,
Pruning them into a pleasing shape
That it might entice them to reciprocate
And replicate;
Presenting to them dashing symbols of consumerism,
Such as ingots of saccharine fat
To please them now
And spurn them later
When they wish to regain their shapely shape,
Or compressed ichor borne of ancient remains,
Cut into a pleasing sparkle
To please their primal preference for shine.
Surely this will win their affections!
O! Happy day!
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:49 PM UTC
Freedom was a writer from whom his name was stolen.
That of whom left his breaths on every page he wrote the meanings of which, were torn from his chest.
He was the fruit of his works,
of his labour.
And was the whistle in the wind that blew that blew through silence.
Hanging tastefully in the air.
A sweet sensation.
Who grew from dismality, was named and married to him as Hope.
The growths of their union,
the words of the tormented writer and the melodies of the candied breeze,
were songs of story sung for acres.
And who’s dawned legacies are the working times of their lovechildren,
Emancipation and Liberty.
Jul 21, 2021
Jul 21, 2021 at 9:15 AM UTC
i.
Gracefully,
She tastefully-
Amazingly,
Loveth me;
ii.
Thankfully,
I'm blatantly,
Her king of
Dream's, wherein
Sparkles gleam,
And satellite
Ring's; maketh
Babies from me
And her's trail.
iii.
Europeasian braille,
For the sightless, europosia;
We teacheth those without hearing to heareth,
meladrona to those that fear, to be fearless, and bestride the pinnacle of perheava.
iv.
Blithe of the era-
That's never ending;
Eternal, amour
Unbending.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
Aesthetically speaking music’s a salve to the soul
Capturing and lulling someone into a wakeful stupor
Releasing and recapturing one’s attention almost intrinsically
Owing to its eclectic nature.
Sound’s itself a marvel on its own
Tastefully quaint
Intimate even when it’s absent
Cold and warm when it sees fit.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
Wild Things
In ancient of days a scribe inscribed his world in beautiful detail in exquisite penmanship he gave life to
Nature and her creatures never had the plumage of birds been described in such detail as you gazed
Upon these wings were you not carried aloft did not the wind stream passed your face didn’t you know
Exhilaration beyond compare hear the eagle scream know the fear that the prey must have known it
Was hard to break away but there was so much to see then he placed the wild wolf standing on the rock
Did not your feet feel the stone beneath your very stance tried to inmate at least slightly this lord of his
Domain hear his cry for his mate and then the excited call for the time of the hunt had arrived the scent
Was on the breeze you could feel the lust for blood something was going to be sacrificed for the pack
Tonight just when you thought you were most tired from the chase it ended then he brought out the
Panther changing the pace from speed to stealth and stalking now the great stag would be pitted
Against muscle and cunning you moved without sound in a territory you know well fleet of foot you
Gain ground on the subject of interest trees and undergrowth your shadow alone touches them as they
Provide cover now you can practically feel the body heat with one final leap it is all over hot blood
Steams skyward as life slips away a deep growl in the underbrush announces the approach of a curious
Bear there won’t be a fight today the berries have been tastefully plentiful today how they glisten in the
Sun and they seem joyful as they dance by the moving wind downward you go and you come across a
Trout steam icy clear the water roars by the fish seem extra charged today it brings a heightened
Awareness to your own senses everything is rich and right with this world outside the abbey a long
Assured future of many days much activity thrilling times await all on this blessed journey
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 5:38 AM UTC
I hereby resign myself
To lie in a bed,
Overheated and always tired,
Next to a body that I never touch
And never
Touches me.
I will drive the miles
And spend the money
On a friendship I can't afford
And be ignored
When it's convenient
Like the all the rest
of casual acquaintances.
I will pick up every odd shift
For a few more dollars
That surely
won't be in my pocket
For very long.
I will sing the same sad songs
On the occasion
I might at last
Have made it to the shower
Because although I still have water
I might've lost power
And still done nothing
To fix it.
I'll be the texts
At 5am
When the rest of the world
Is sleeping in bed
Likely dreaming and spooning
With breaths regulated
By their cyclical,
routine naïveté.
I'll be the cold body next to
No one
When the morning comes
In the next state over
In the back seat of my car
Wishing I had enough gas
To take me further.
I resign myself
To second place,
The hell for the always over looked.
I'll read another book
And wonder how easy
Fictitious lives must be
Only spanning two hundred pages
Of tastefully flawed existence
With a diligent persistence
To come out better in the end.
I'll stand lonesome as a highway ****
Blown in on the back
Of some filthy bird
Who dropped me off
And never noticed my missing,
Never knew I was with him.
I will never flower.
I only wither.
Cem
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC