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"viands" poems
119 Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of “Potose,” and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines! Cautious, hint to any Captive You have passed enfranchised feet! Anecdotes of air in Dungeons Have sometimes proved deadly sweet!
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Talk with prudence to a Beggar
The *** with match, lit the fire scolding kettle with burnt goaless ambition. claiming snobbish golden prowess paid in wanton , savage, screaming tuition. "It is I" said *** "Who has sent aromas of worlds preperations in lifes gluttonous lust smiling rewards genorously hailed with slothed culanary trust..." "tis true" whispered kettle "It is I, the *** forged in iron clad who in laborious toil so generously cast my sweet savory scraps amongst your soot and soil..." "tis true" hissed kettle, "For I, the *** adapt in multiple arrangement of compliment and comfort where you lack with singular solitary function wailing, seared and scarred in black..." "Tis true" whistled kettle "I, the *** filled in glorious substance and magnificant sustenance praised in lifes delicate, vital, victuals and viands in with which I do enhance..." "Tis true" howled kettle "Yet it is I, Kettle, in further fashion of design than copious function in fare do not heed your song and dance..." "Blah" clammered *** "For it is I, the lowly kettle, sing to each melodious morning to begin the days unknown magical soaring..." "Pishaw" growled *** "It is I, kettle, bestowed in somber, modest truth of fact nakedly express that you too, my dear *** are simply black..." "humbug" steamed *** *** humbled... kettle mumbled... "It is in each honorable day we serve our distinguishable stay in detectable unadorned identicle way. "Tis true" said ***
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Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 3:27 AM UTC
*** and Kettle
You don't much like me visits there But scarce do you lament For, I bring you home the finest cuts To sizzle in the pan..... The lovely ladies behind the counter there One grin vies to meet me, all doe-eyed If you knew she had a one-tooth denture I guess you'd smirk away, ungreen .... But I get the chops I want to eat Nicely packed pink; no seeping blood And succulent steaks indulged on me Saucy supervisor slips me secret smiles..... Hot and heavy glances jet my way By sly lady-workers in the back row When you turn your skeptic back Regarded by none, but cautious me...... Cute cashier rises on fleshy thighs Slow she sits; lets her skirt ride high She eyes me hooded, lashes long Then, downcast when you join me..... Can feel the electric tingle from her touch As I fumble redly, to pay the coins Deliberate counting, her scent assails Her hungry heartbeat..... oozing charm..... But, for all the alluring looks and promising smiles There's you, my love..... to grill my viands And hardly home, I fall on you...famished; Devour every morsel, shred and piece of you! Star Toucher, 27 March 2013
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Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
Butchery blues
Here we broached the Christmas barrel, Pushed up the charred log-ends; Here we sang the Christmas carol, And called in friends. Time has tired me since we met here When the folk now dead were young, And the viands were outset here And quaint songs sung. And the worm has bored the viol That used to lead the tune, Rust eaten out the dial That struck night’s noon. Now no Christmas brings in neighbours, And the New Year comes unlit; Where we sang the mole now labours, And spiders knit. Yet at midnight if here walking, When the moon sheets wall and tree, I see forms of old time talking, Who smile on me.
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The House Of Hospitalities
i come to me like winged dryads and lift my prostrate soul to heights untrodden adrift with clouds      of unstarry skies                          windblown to rainbows                             without pots of gold between the uncheckered intermission of shade and light come to me ii to elysian fields he roams gazing at the threshold of beauty basking at the fountainhead of truth nutritious viands that feed the soul empyreal heights                       laurel wreaths                   meridian sunshine          of nectared sweets                witchery of words                      full blaze of glory                                                poesy's gorgeous kubla khan then all vanishes like dreams like streaks of shooting stars like enchanted fairyland . . . he is a poet
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May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
poems
I’d sing to you soft songs If you walked along with me By the sea, harmonizing; Eulogizing each wave before Ignoring the temptation For libations and viands. The sands would demand Hand and hand we stroll And roll with the moment, The foment feet way At the end of this day. I’d revel in this with you New waves making lights That night tries to hide While inside we create The greatest love and joys Toys for the fates, caress And dress us as royalty. Loyalty and gratitude transform As we form into a pair. The wind ruffles our hair. I’d breathe in the sea air Sharing the breezes with you Doing nothing but strolling Unrolling a memory for two Who both understand this Is what it is; a beginning Winning a celestial prize For eyes that celebrate This date as only ours; These hours our dedication, A presentation to us both And loth to walk away We so want to stay.
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Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 5:15 AM UTC
LE MER AUX DEUX
I’d sing to you soft songs If you walked along with me By the sea, harmonizing; Eulogizing each wave before, Ignoring the temptation For libations and viands. The sands would demand As hand in hand we stroll And roll with the moment, The foment feet way At the end of this day. I’d revel this all with you New waves making lights That night tries to hide While inside we create The greatest love and joys Toys for the fates, caress And dress us as royalty. Loyalty and gratitude transform As we form into a pair. The wind ruffles our hair. But clouds don’t talk out loud And tell you all this about me, Or rout me out of my dream Not as real as they seem to be These illusions often delight me But rightly, dissipate in the breeze Then, on my knees, I pray There will be another day That is just like this one That has just begun. Until then, I thank my luck That what a buck can’t buy Has just passed me by Bringing good fortune And a clear sky To weary eyes. I’d revel this all with you New waves making lights That night tries to hide While inside we create The greatest love and joys Toys for the fates, caress And dress us as royalty. Loyalty and gratitude transform As we form into a pair. The wind ruffles our hair.
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Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 4:30 PM UTC
PRETTY PASTORALE
staring at this blank paper that may satiate its starving gaps with my pain as viands and my tears as water, because hearing your beloved mother be proud of someone else's daughter was too bitter for me to savor
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Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 12:18 AM UTC
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