"toffees" poems
Dust motes and sweat stains
Faded graffiti over rusted steel plates
Advertising everything, from politicians to a massage parlor,
The engine roars disgruntled, in smoky rancor.
I stepped on your feet, said I was sorry
Tell me mister, could you tell I was lying?
Pushing through the rush-hour crowd
I finally found my footing and was proud.
Well, there’s something to be said for low expectations
A word of praise for cranky co-passengers.
Not that the polite ones aren’t fun,
When they smile and roll their eyes like they’re so done.
And it’s not that I’d ever expect sincerity,
At 10 on a rainy Tuesday morning
I’m not a nihilist, or even much of a cynic by default
But at 10am, I take nice with a bucket of salt.
I put on my headphones, crank the volume up to max,
Sway to the shrill screeching of pirated tracks
I’m sorry, did you say something? I can’t really tell.
It’s not you’re uninteresting, it’s just that this song is swell.
And maybe I could’ve made more of an effort
Gotten to know your name, exchanged toffees and emotional support
Maybe you’d have told me your story, if my ears were free
Maybe we could’ve found something worth a keep.
But you see, mister, it’s not you it’s me
At 10 on a Tuesday morning, I’m not the best company.
I hope, tomorrow, you’ll find a co-passenger worth your time,
As for me, facelessness suits me just fine.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:47 AM UTC
Lord,
let me choke on a chocolate bar
or drown in an ocean of honey
that those who grieve my loss may say,
"His passing was tragic - but funny."
Then lay me out in a caramel coffin
with a marshmallow pillow 'neath my head.
Dress me in garments of butterscotch
and I shall eat sugar the days I am dead.
Tuck some toffees into my pocket
plus a few peppermints (for my breath...).
Put a raisinette rosary in my fingers.
I'll sleep in a sweet diabetic death.
When I draw near to the pearly gates,
St. Pete, greet me with Hershey in hand.
Give me my harp and halo of licorice.
I'll enter the promised Candyland.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
Martha was shown
into a parlour
inside the front door
of the mother house
by a plump nun
in black and white
who looked like a penguin
out for a stroll
wait in there
she said
someone
will fetch you
in time
so Martha looked around
the room at the plain
white walls
the heavy curtains
at the windows
the huge crucifix
on the wall opposite
whose plaster Christ
seemed battered
an aged
the plaster had lines
and cracks
on the legs
and arms
and the hands
were contorted
like a crab
on its back
with rusty nails
holding them in place
she moved nearer
and reached up a hand
so that her fingers
could touch the feet
of Christ and run
them over the toes
and feel the nail
going through the feet
she rubbed her fingers there
she used to rub the crucifix
in her grandmother's house
the big one over
the double bed
and if she stood
on the bed
she could reach right up
to touch the face
and beard
and see if she could
hear Him breathe
or if she reached
really high
she could feel His nose
which on her grandmother's
Christ the nose seemed broken
and her grandmother said
that was where
her grandfather
had thrown a shoe in temper
and crack the plaster nose
will he go to Hell?
she recalled asking
her grandmother
O no
her grandmother said
not just for that
and she was pleased
because she liked her grandfather
and his simple ways
and hard toffees
she felt each toe in turn
moving a finger
over the plaster
and remembered
her school friend Mary
who had pressed
chewing gum
into the bellybutton
of the plaster Christ
in the cloister
of the convent school
back in the 1960s
and when Sister Bede
saw it she had to gently
chiselled it out
with a screwdriver
threatening severe punishment
to the girl responsible
but no one told
and even when she left years
after the bellybutton
of the Christ still had
the scar where Sister Bede
had chiselled too hard
there was a cough behind her
and Martha turned
and there was a nun
standing by the door
her eyes dark like berries
and her thin mouth
slowly opened
and she said
are you the girl
who wants to be a nun?
Martha nodded her head
and the nun told her
to follow her and she
went down a dim lit
passageway
the nun in front
pacing slow
each footstep measured
her hands tucked
out of sight
with only the sound
of her heels going
clip clop clip clop
on the flagstones
and the black habit
swaying very gracefully
as she walked
no more words
no questions
no answers
because no one talked.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
white posts with red eyes
flash by with driven monotony
the trees a green-grey blur
in the early morning mist.
the beat of the wipers
poens the door to
memories...
as we climb into the moutains....
spiralling sprinklers,
and hiding before tea....
a bedroom of purple,
bbqs for dinner....
lavender patches,
the home of master jack,
the old black cat....
silver hair like a curtain
to her waist...
a silver brush, always,
one hundred strokes.
the smell of tonic and gin,
russian toffees melting
on my tongue...
jam jars awaiting filling...
and
a caress,
with bony fingers,
on a young girls cheek.
a smile gentle and knowing.
a wave by the honeysuckle
gate...
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
Young child with your doughnut smile,
Your cockiness and native guile,
Here's some stuff with an 'S' to look out for
A smallish list to even the score,
In what you'll know is an unfair life:
Sufficient knowledge of Machiavellian strife,
Scissored words to cut the crap,
String and sticks to lay your traps,
Shell to listen to when adults blare,
Stone to polish whilst they glare,
Sleekly concealed hiding places,
Several artless piteous faces,
Sack to carry your thievings well,
Starched hankie for its awesome smell,
Salve to nurse your nascent pride,
Style enough to say "I lied",
Sharp pin in shoe-toe to kick any creeps,
Soles of rubber for super-huge leaps,
Some allies of similarly toughened mien,
Strong butter-toffees to keep the allies keen,
Stories of your devious plans to pass the time...
Since i'm tired now of trying to rhyme
This is where i leave you, small human being
Find the **** things and smash the adult fiends,
And when you're done, just wait for me
Next time we'll look at things with a 'T'.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 7:02 AM UTC
Father who loves and care
who removes tears
who controls our fear.
My dad is not same as all
as his features are odd.
He wants to make my future bright
so, he is strict slight.
He always keeps me happy
by giving me toffees.
Loving caring are his features
as he loves all creatures.
He cares is family a lot
as he is big love ***
I love and respect my father most
as love and respect is like a toast.
I am thankful to lord
for giving such a strong father as sword...
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC
Soft toffee
in wrappers
in a bag
in my hand
just take one
Ingrid looks
at the bag
then at me
they are yours
I can share
no problem
I tell her
she takes one
and untwists
the wrapper
on the sweet
takes it out
and eats it
I watch her
her slightly
protruding
teeth bite through
soft toffee
quite easy
I eat mine
put the bag
of toffees
in my coat
my uncle
gives me sweets
she tells me
if I’m good
and do things
I study
her brown hair
pinned with grips
her brown eyes
looking sad
do what things?
I ask her
she looks down
at her shoes
I can't say
Uncle says
it's secret
between us
the uncle
visits her
at weekends
her old man's
big brother
gormless ***
Jimmy says
who's seen him
in the Square
why secret?
I inquire
cross my heart
hope to die
she replies
wonder why?
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
After the last cottage receded I pulled out from the green grasses
Nothing was bothering my coffee Only getting colder like my heart’s paces
The one sight pricking the back of my eyes
Was of the person waving byes
Who wasn’t a friend of mine but someone else’s
They destined me the business You bolstered me then
Said just regularly get mounted On the commissioned rails
We’ll always be your men
If only you were now to witness Me when I have ran insane
As the flanging and clanking Enough of it I've had
Is only commuting me Into a division alien
And still looking out Through a misty and blue shaded pane
About to lose the bout I don’t like being alone in the journey, Ben.
Should we buy this book Ben? Jack you should read diaries and biographies
Momentarily I was with my colleagues Back in those cubic topographies
But Jack and Ben were just their namesakes Passengers as I crossed these depressive geographies
Only till pulling me where don’t know a four year old voiced Uncle will you please give me those toffees?
I candidly kept smiling as went back the kid
Of course kids don’t understand what I hid
They don’t see whether it’s December or May
They just see the tree in a different way
Anyway had to be at the corporation Couldn’t get offstage
Reaching the concerned documentation I saw the cover page
All true but my valid recognition It read I had chores of a big sage
It was beyond my cerebration Oh! Or my compatriots gave the proposition
And let me have the advantage!
You are letting me perform at a higher rank You set me sail to a farther bank
It seems I am not alone on this voyage You are with me as a special entourage
I was only being disjunctive
For I was looking with a different perspective
Knowing friends are with you in any of your tourney
I am certainly not alone in this journey
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 3:16 AM UTC
Goblins, gremlins, ghosts, galore
tricksters, treaters: not anymore.
Parties, parades, toffees, galore
masks, costumes, gowns to adore.
My black teeth sharp anticipating gore
I’m up on a chair behind the door
wielding something special in store.
So whatever you do, I implore
don’t you dare enter my yard
since you won’t leave unscarred.
Hee. Hee. Hey! ****** ******
Whatever neat and clever your riddle
my axe will split you down the middle.
Though you scream, squirm and squeal
You kids will be my very next meal.
Tobias
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 7:33 AM UTC
A note of 10 rupees flies through the damp sky,
Perhaps some well-to-do might have dropped it,
Perhaps he might have even forgot about it
Or just didn’t give a **** about it.
The parentless piece of cash floating carelessly,
Finds shelter in the tender palm of a young boy,
The No-worth paper finds immense value with him
It’s now become something of great joy
With the cash in his hand, he leaps off of happiness,
With colors of imagination about to paint its spoilage,
“Should I buy the machine that roars?”
“No No, I’ll buy myself a castle!”
“Or should I buy some toys with this?”
Perhaps he’d never seen paper of value,
All he knew of wealth were some old wrinkled coins,
“Aman”, yelled his partner in crime,
“What do you have there?”
Both of their eyes gleamed with innocence,
The Cash allured them to spend it, To waste it
And now- As they walk proudly,
Acting like the richest people in the world,
They get the shock of their life.
They wanted to buy the whole shop of sweets,
But
The Shopkeeper handed them few pieces of toffees
With gentle hands clenching on the sweets with young rage,
With disappointment and realization they exit the stage.
Aug 18, 2024
Aug 18, 2024 at 12:52 PM UTC