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CJ Sutherland Mar 2018
Is a birthday a birthday without
A celebration
A child of God on his creation

Is a birthday a birthday without
A cake
The sweet smell plus the time it took to make

Is a birthday a birthday without
Blowing out candles hot dripping wax
57 candles fire to the max

is a birthday a birthday without
Singing the song
A sadness lingered all day long

it a birthday a birthday without
A friend to share it with
Or are all these reasons just a myth

Pouring Rain   fierce winds   rocked my car
I walked the mall
Beauty Salon straighten my hair
No one to notice or care
shopped
Victoria Secrets, things I did not need but made me smile
The happness only lasted a short while
Sees candy, picked out my favorite kind
Still sad loneliness on my mind
Bed bath and beyond; rosewater candles
Surely the scent would cheer my mood
Perhaps
Chinese’s food
wonton soup and *** stickers To take home
Painful knee ended my time to roam
Reading comments,well wishers who
remembered my Birthday
I’m done celebrating now
ready for it to go away

Text messages Facebook too
I wish I understood I wish I knew
Why I feel this way
Tomorrow
will be
a bright
new day
Not sure why I feel this wat I spent my birthday alone
Hear my chants , feel their sincerity
Remove these negative things keeping me
A part of my mistakes and short comings
Can you reverse this downward karma for me
Otherwise let them punish i for my worth
Or lack there of, i know i deserve happiness
When i only want to see it on everyones face
Krishna dancing till i can see the light again
Remove all of the want and wonton desire
Replace it with love let me breathe in peace
And be one with the wind again
2.7.14
Reece May 2013
It was a dissonant melody that made the lonesome mole weep from his blind eyes
and there were mascara stains on the face of a pensive *******, lady in the streetlights
When the orchestral waves wound up at the shores of a sandblasted city
the denizens were too afraid to speak out against tyranny, and they died
Wistful wonderment in the souls of the children as they walk hand in hand
and experience the crumbling of wonton rocks in the skies of their homeland
A celestial boom, droning on the streets, and the women are beat

Are you outraged yet?
POSSIBLE Feb 2016
Come dance the Tandava with me and you too will be free

Creation सृष्टि
I am Shiva’s Shadow
स्थिति ..... I exist to support life’s precarious platform
संहार  ..... I feel Creation’s seed.... cosmic genesis

The first wave of flagrant eruption
Ending in the the cosmos’s destruction.

तिरोभाव There exists illusion
Which gives rise to me
The obliteration of ignorance.
We live in times of ignore-ance

Here I have little sway.
Years from now....maybe.

Until then, kali decides to dance with me. Primal संहार Destruction
Bloodlust and Fire
******* and desire
Quantum tantric tangle
***** the world’s funeral pyre

Goodbye beauty, Goodbye love

WE bring it upon ourselves, creating shells and building shelves
to stack the wonton clothes of identity, the context of all hells.
The layers are too many
It collapses
And if not, I'll ******* burn the scaffold.

I know why I am here now.  
To destroy tirobhava,
all this pain is an illusion
I hereby release this sickness from the world
in prophetic burning grace of emancipation अनुग्रह is foretold

To dance the sacred tandava
say goodbye once more and end it all.
[In Indian mythology,Lord Shiva is considered as the supreme lord of dance. This divine art form is performed by Lord Shiva & his wife Goddess Parvathi. The Dance performd by Lord Shiva is known as Tandava, which depicts his violent nature as the distructor of the universe. The tandava performed with joy is called Ananda Tandava and performed in violent mood is called Rudra Tandava. There are 7 types of Tandava. Namely Ananda Tandava, Tripura Tandava, Sandhya Tandava, Samara Tandava, Kaali tandava, Uma Tandava and Gauri Tandava. There are few people who believa that there are 16 types of Tandava. Tandava has vigourous, brisk movements.The dance performed by Goddess Parvathi is known as Lasya, in which the movements are gentle, graceful and sometimes ******]

Guide to sanskrit/the order of the tandava as Shiva dances it.
'Srishti' (सृष्टि) - creation, evolution
'Sthiti' (स्थिति) - preservation, support
'Samhara' (संहार) - destruction, evolution
'Tirobhava' (तिरोभाव) - illusion
'Anugraha' (अनुग्रह) - release, emancipation, grace
Jared Eli Aug 2013
I just bribed the ferryman, oh yes, I bribed him well
Don't matter how much mischief because we're both headed to hell
I bribed the man to take some time to tell me of his life
He told me of the way he takes the coinage for his wife
He told me he writes poetry, but only in his head
He wrote some lovely lullabies (and love songs for the dead)
The man is quite a cook and made some killer Wonton soup
Then he told me of his wish to make a knit and crochet group
The ferryman that took the ****** seemed like a really awesome guy
And it almost made it worth it that I had had to die
Backlit Desire Jul 2012
casket, casket, buried deep, will you ever let me sleep?
rising inch by inch to the top of ground, let out that beast that sleeps so sound.
poking, rotting, stench filled air, shall you occupy dying despair?
without a word, up forth it springs, to the madness that my heart still gleams.
crazed and cursed for ever more, you will decompose way before.
maggots squirming, loss of life, this is something made by a knife.
keen and sly it slips so nice, from under your chin it was a slice.
draining red no more, soaked and breathless upon the floor.
"why?" you ask, we'll never know.
falling faster ,faster for hells repour.
sticky, slimey cavern walls, over and over the calmness calls.
she lost her mind and found a pill. taken before against her will.
now she writhes and moans only to gurlge on that pink foam.
fading darkness coming fast, never did she think it would be her last.
now the demons tear and bite. each one overjoyed by her fright.
choking, coughing unable to breath, he sat up with liquid running down his sleeve.
razor clipped tendons from wrist to rut. an elbow bent like a ***** ****.
draining, pale, eyes rolled back. now its time to hit the sack.
another one found that their dying breath was nothing more than a **** fest.
painted senseless, it never to be told. lied, cried, denied, inside, confide.
let out that evil sin so i can make you live in hell again.
the devils might, needed no more, yet watching me from below the floor.
gripping, grabbing, groping, nothing to hold. not even a light in all the void.
wither, wasted, wonton, worthless flames flickering among your decrepit names.
say it once to me now! now again! i say. let me hear you forget to pray.
casket, casket buried deep...will you ever let me sleep?
tread Dec 2012
And the show is never over!

I don't even remember purchasing the tickets.

Welcome to a runny nose, and welcome to a style of up and down.
Because that's all up and down are; styles for the miles of crowded planet.

Drink your tired music like a bowl of wonton soup
Chunks will surprise you.

Swipe your debit, credit, hallmark card to purchase them

All of them.

Every inch of their REM.


I woke up to the winter concealed in valleys
Filled with fortune and ethernet cables.

What's your wifi password?

"Thanks, love."

Alright, thanks, love.


What a beautiful way to say "careful."

Carefree.

Curvature of some invisible decimal point.


I love you.
a quick poem originally written in June of 2012
glass can Jan 2014
I forget that my brain does not do __ when it should do __ and I slip under the coat of choking mustard gas that ***** the moisture from my lungs and eyes. A mustard seed of effort, small and yellow, cracked with no seeming dreaming thing of an eye has fallen like Hansel's crumbs from my hand and is buried with all my ambitions and dead dogs in the cold ground.

I hope it grows a kingdom of heaven, but prayers are wasted when they come from the wonton--and wayward kin of sinners who lead false farces and bring gluttony to dinner. I waste and want and cannot speak the language of those around me while we all whine and dine and **** and cackle

oh god
trite *******
*******
******* ******* ******* *******

I am not tired, I am bored, I am bored of lying and trying. Trying is the worst, and there is little reward for the cost of my dismemberment of ego.

Where is a pre-made empire for me when I need it? I should be handed down something, I cannot earn it on my own. I am a ruler, not a conquerer. I am a spectator, not an athlete. My narcissism cannot take the trying effort of building something of my own with feeble rewards and now I will die alone. Maybe. Maybe it's all hyperbolic.

I'm gonna say it. *******, I'll say it.
"**** it, how will I ever get out of this labyrinth?"
Martha Jordan Feb 2014
I've got a lot on my plate these days.
I glance around, find an empty booth, and slide in.
I hate my job.
The owner, an older Chinese man, smiles and brings water and a menu.
Money is tight, it's always tight.
Mongolian beef today, I think.
I have no passion for life, my dreams just confusing mashups of the past.
Wonton soup like always, the fried strips melting into the broth.
My friends are gone, lost to time and distance and I feel so alone.
The owner brings me a gorgeous looking plate full of food, I thank him.
The love of my life finds more excitement in his computer than in me.
Tender beef, saucy peppers, perfectly steamed rice.
I search books for romance, fiction won't tell your secrets or get jealous.
Half the meal goes in a box for later.
My bed is as cold as my heart, no sleep will deter my exhaustion.
An almond cookie makes the check easier to pay.
Maybe I should be on medication. Maybe I should break up with my boyfriend. Maybe I should cut my hair. Maybe I should stop eating. Maybe I should move back home.
I pay at the counter and thank the man for an excellent meal as always.
I tuck my credit card into my wallet, my feelings into the deepest part of my mind so that I can make it another day without falling apart.
At least I have enough leftovers for dinner.
I was Dreaming of You
My Lover
The Anticipaticipation of
Our Intimacy

I was wishing for Your
Strong Arms to hold Me
Lips so soft and Wet

Anticipating being Taken
Wonton for your touch
Giving back and Forth
Forth and Back
Till completely Spent

I believed we were Connected
Dreamt of Moments Ahead
Looking forward to
Mutual Gratification
Was Dreaming the Best Dream Yet

Soft, Cool, Clean, Crisp Sheets
Pillows upon pillows
To rest my Head
Leaving the Weariness
Of My Body
Melting softly into Bed

The Anticipation  
Even if just for a Day
Experiencing your Presence
Exploring each other in every way

Relaxation, Contemplatinion, Re- Fortification
Time Suspended
Melding together
Exquisite Wonder of Each Other
The Oneness of Us

Under A Canopy of Stars        


Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved
What can I say? My insatiable nature takes the reins again...
vircapio gale Oct 2015
i have holidays off at my new job.
no vacation for a year
or insurance
for six months.
i think
the work is fulfilling.
but if i get hurt, it'll be my fault, according to company policy.
i mean, i make it fulfilling
--to deal with the continuous,
hateful
and aggressive abjection--
punctuated
by climaxes
of
celebratory
prejudice.
political correctness  or explicit signs of empathy
are seen as the enemy. as problems.
anything organized or tidy is
"****** up."
i mean, my boss told me the other day,
"...like if I call you a ***, and you happen to be one,
you could just sue me! People are so sensitive nowadays...
My wife calls me a chauvinist, but I say i'm just old-fashioned."
young girls we pass in our company vehicle are called,
"Pre-*****."
East Asia is called
"Wonton";
and stereotypes are considered truisms.
ethnic slurs are the norm.
**** is a common,everyday
source of humor:
maple trees are called "Raples";
grapes are called "'g'-Rapes"
and small houses are called "****-Shacks."
a large kiln oven is called a "Jew-Oven."
glorifications of violence are welcomed with a smile
and the N-word is spoken with gleeful abandon.
if something is fixed poorly, it's "******-rigged" . . .
...they say they're not racist,
but perpetuate hate speech like it's a responsibility.
how am i growing to enjoy the company of such people?
to see any aspect of value here whatsoever?
what the **** kind of coward am i?
to allow this to pass without immediate and uncompromising opposition...
i must be dead inside
to trust my safety to such people
i say
i want to ***** my heart
and show them
how wrong and terrifying,
how hurtful their words are...
how i burn, impaled on stakes with each pronunciation of the word, "******."
rage shakes me awake at night
...though less and less...
as i understand the hate and fear,
the pain these men have lived with and seem unable to restrain
from spilling out;
as i begin to understand their conditioning
the origins of this inexcusable, ancient behavior
(or as i too become somewhat desensitized i fear)

but if i can see the potential for change in these earthlings,
i will go on hoping,
live happily amid hate
measuring with wide eyes the subtle shiftings
holding the intention of healing
of understanding
of presenting alternatives
of tolerance
compassion
and honest truths of self suffering
of other suffering
of self healing
and other healing
of self love
and other love
Dan McGowan Oct 2015
cold bitter sidewalk wind
duck into chinese place
find a place along the window
hot tea, wonton, fortune please
watching quick and furtive striders
sun rays make it through glass haze
warmth returns to my numb fingers
which pry apart the brittle cookie
the paper inside says “decide”
Persuaded by wonton doubt
While wanting to live again
Inebreation, a deadly device
Sure I can sit in solitude
But only in the past...
It is gone like betrayed comradyery
How it was so indigenous to my species
But now is so lost upon different faces

Tonight my friend said
How come the weirdest things
Happen to you ?

It made me more sad
How it was a question
But yet one without an answer
Except
Me

My brains not scattered on the wall
Just because im special.
And i have friends
How selfish right?
Oh well i guess we all have a right to live
God given? Sure. Right to the pursuit of happiness?
I persistantly sure as ****
Hope to god thats true

Oh well
All is biding in due time
Will happiness come from pen strokes?
Or the stamping of pitter pattering letters?
All I knows is that it will come from my hands
Even tho the only way i relieve tension
From soul and body
Is by screaming or singing out the hole
In the front my peripherals? Hobby?
Maybe
Calling of an egotistical standing
Singing for myself feels more becoming

Sea ore,
I am vain and think I am an omnificent
Creator
Of my own happiness
Decider of my own destiny


Defeat
SRM Feb 2013
shouting is usually the first thought
-- A fit of wonton rage at your inexplicable beauty and charm that my fragile feeble and all together fickle mind can't contain.
But I step back.

That's insane.

So I admire.
From afar.

Because that's easier, after all.
POSSIBLE Apr 2016
Almost died but this time I didn’t

the pain of an artistic with an academic life
being bound by wonton grasping
don’t even seem to  know who or what I’m asking
Got so lost again when a guide mentioned in passing

Theres a fork in the road up ahead
no choice is still a choice maybe end up dead
Always walk the darkest path until
i remembered the angel and made up my choice
pull myself up like I hoist
out the words when I’m verging on verbing in Voice.

Seen demons, I hear hell, Headache of pride make ya head swell
been sick as hell/ oh well
stuck at the bottom molding
unseen granting boons
in the moon-lit wishing well

But I ought to see my life as odyssey
like I oughtt to be the hero
more playful like the spirit
otter i otter be

Im stuck in feedback loop self
but the emerging, unfolding, ever so bold in its calling

states plainly that it is time to fall down shaking
cascading blood caking memory set
wrong or at least oblong in it’s making

moments
seem to make me lose my voice
so how can I preach

if I m not acting
how can I teach

If my arms ain’t out
mama how can I reach?

Wishing the earth calls me

yelling come back my child
Rest in my arms and forget

I am death living memory leech.

╭∩╮(Ο_Ο)╭∩╮
https://soundcloud.com/skelicles/4luarelyess-about-there
NuurSeraph May 2014
What kind of Sin dares Usher in
A devious man to lick his lips, gutteral gasping beneath his Breath
The Wonton Musing oozes a delicious Decay,
The Poured Out drooling, his Power Pulsing, A Foaming Fantasy Power Tripping
~to Control the Spiritual World
at his Will & Command?

Here's what he imagined:
Biblical Bribery.
Blasphemous Forgery
Who ever has the money or an Unbridled hand can piecemeal a Story for premeditated Zeal,
To make for a more attractive Appeal
Why need such profiled Idoltry?

To be Present
at the Moment of such a Powerful Man's Revelation, Spoken for and too You
To be blessed
with ears to hear Him
To worship
At the Alter of Salt
A pillar miraculous,
To Worship Within, in Him, beside Him.
A Scribe Sweats
To write furiously away
for later reference, Thus
Attention is spared and the Sermon Deemed for Organic Lackluster
"Scratch That
Oops
Edit
Kindly Repeat
Didn't quite catch That
Delete
Revise
Rephrase
Two or One spaced per Sheet?
The strain hurts my Eyes
When can We Break for Feast?
Are We Done for the Day?"


Can this be a possiblity
Can a misdirected, Unsupervised
Scrupulous Individual
Not quietly Misquote
The Word trianguled from Mouth to Pen to Paper?
The Words We have come to Believe In??
You Tell Me.....
please be advised this is not an attack or judgment or wish for a debate this my friends is simple poetry
alavandala Aug 2015
chugging a toxic concoction
liquid glass
underscore aftermath underscore bad omen
honestly personally to me
an omen is simply an omen
no connotations
you gotta do what the omen tells you to
then you go and do the next thing
no biggie
dilate my pupils
bless me
tick tick tick
tock tock
whoooooooooooooooooooom
and some fibonacci sequence song laced with electric guitar
what good does this do
you only ever speak in riddles


havent you ever had some of that good
wonton soup
i thought so
yeahicouldgowritepoetryinmynotebookbutitstogoonheretodaysoitiswhatiamdoing
Nathan Pival Aug 2023
Wonton soup

I got Chinese
For sure you and me

Out of surprise you came to my left
I gave you a right

Now you have a black eye

And now I have no soup
Time is wonton soup,
And that tall boy you stole last night
Is still inside your trunk.

Cigarette smoke and sunscreen air
Perfume the burning grass.
When all is placed on greenfly's wing
He tumbles forward - brash.

Cool pursuit, and time lapse too,
Persist the stagnant air
Of summertime and sweet plum wine,
Cocoons, a golden snare.

Black lace ******* disarray
I want to know your plans,
From shallow noon till dusty dusk
With warm and calloused hands.
(The Greater Prairie Chicken: a grouse of open grassland, is known for its mating dance. Males display together in a communal lek, where they raise ear-like feathers above their heads, inflate orange sacs on the sides of their throats, and stutter-step around while making a deep hooting moan.)

So how you gonna keep ‘em
Down on the farm after they’d seen Paree?
After “displaying together” in
Their own private lek--
Communal though it was.
It’s May in Hemetucky.
I just got back from my
Twilight constitutional,
As Truman called it.
Harry—since I was born in 1949—
Tribute for my first Commander-in-Chief.
The moon was misted,
More than half full,
Myself half in the bag,
As they say.

As you know by know,
I live in one of those gated,
Golf-coursed, over-55
Lunatic Asylums,
A communal lek, as they say.
I’m stutter schlepping around the block
In my pajamas remembering that big sign,
So full of promise--ACTIVE SENIORS—
A veritable sexually promiscuous
Welcome Mat.
I made an assumption, you see,
That children of the 60s grown old
Would relish a life of legal **** in a
Gated sanctuary with hours upon hours of
“Let’s Hide the Pepperoni.”

I knew I missed those years,
That era of bra-burning &
Birth Control.
“*******,”
Wonton ******* & *******,
A bowl of Won-Ton carnality:
Wild abandon, mature ladies,
Their ******* in a ***,
At the bottom of their purse,
(Thank you, Joan Osborne)


Joan Osborne - Right Hand Man Lyrics | MetroLyrics
http://www.metrolyrics.com/right-hand-man-lyrics-joan-osborne.htmlLyrics to 'Right Hand Man' by Joan Osborne. Let me use your toothbrush / Have you got a clean shirt? / My ******* in a *** /at the bottom of my purse / I walk. (www.advertise/right-in-the-middle-of-*******-poem.com)

Yet, I languish here
Here in the now,
Having shown my cards too often.
After 10 years here no woman
Takes me seriously,
Given my unserious reputation,
Not to be taken seriously.
Which explains why I spend
So much of my time in Italy
Lately.
Anais Vionet Dec 2021
Anyone can write a poem
I mean, they’ve never passed a law
and with the quick access to paper
and all.

Of course, the serial poet’s the danger
that keeps us up at night - someone lacking
the gene for rhyme control. Normal people can’t
imagine such wonton, naked promiscuity with words.

It’s best that we ignore them - to nip it in the bud.
A real collective effort is required - let us build
institutional archives - yes - we’ll call them libraries - to
lock such verse away - may it never again see the light of day.

If you catch a child with a pencil, slap it out of their little hand
because we cannot start too early in discouraging needless rhyme.

This public service announcement - pointing out this new “poetry”
trend - was made for the benefit of all.
spread the word people
ponny jo Nov 2013
Chains of smoke for lessons learned
Eyes to cry where eagles flit and fly
I stand alone again yet burned
Wondering on wanderings mote

Slipping inside, I notice
This was all, and ever wrote
Hereby I, to numb away
How didn't I notice frost?

A signal like a spire among Ghouls that beckon
Lore becomes my empire, while I float on again
Wonton desires cause ceaseless wresting
And shallows felt, bring on the wilting

Caught up again in uncertainty,
as shadows wisp by
Nothing left but wanting
And I wonder if it was altruism

Bells that thunder on like heartstrings
And I'm going through the motions
Bellows loud like eruptions underneath
And I am but a mountain singing

Play pain again
I'd love to feel
The echoes from the walls
Teach me what I'm missing
Derick Van Dusen Sep 2014
As the fire builds from tips of toes so too do the woes.

Oh my the passion rising from depths of lust to the core of wanting

A MUST.

I must have that which is denied, the kind of thing seen but not eyed.

I must posses that beautiful being, I am in need of her heartened sting.



She tickles and teases her way from my toes and on up my legs her passion goes.

She stops just short of my yearning thighs and whispers sweet nothings, "hellos and goodbyes"

She continues her fingers on their wonton ride. Motionless, breathless, she lies in wait as she claws at my side.

Bighting back the sting of the pain, I writhe in ecstasy as I scream out her name.

She digs in deeper, drawing tears to my eyes. I moan softly and whimper, covering my cries.

Demanding I do as she tells me to do, I fall to my knees and worship her shoe.

She demands attention and have it she will. She is my passion, my fire and thrill.
Fenix Flight May 2014
:'(
What we need
is a good old fashion
Best freind day!

So this is what I'll do

I'll ride that bus
to the station
and then stomp my fat ***
to your house
break down your door
and drag you out
and make you get on that stupid bus

but first I'll steal that shirt of yours I love

Then once we get off that bus
did I ever mention how much I actual like that bus?
I will drag you
To the China Gormet
sit you down in the chair
and order us some food
Our weight in Crab Rangoons

you like that wonton soup too right?

THEN
THEN
I will make you carry all that food
and lead the way to our old hang out
Under the playset
of the elementary school

ONCE we are settled
and snakcing happily
We will talk about stupid ****
lets add more inside jokes
to the list we already have

LIGHT BULB,
devils opera,
repo the genetic Carnival
It's only hard enough to stay Stiff

Please
Let us do this
Please
I beg of you

Becuase I can see it in your words
I can hear it in your voice
You're slipping away again
Just out of my grasp

And I don't want to almost lose you
Like I did last time

:'(
It has no business here!
That salty ochre, pallet-chorus,
Clear plastic red dotted sachet!

Your lust for condiments freaks me out,
Buddha-girl, eat your meal.
Time won't run out so quickly
Nor your intelligence nor your zeal.

Pursed lips slurp a bowl of noodles,
I think of your warm hands
And banks of rivers, and cigarette quivers
Ashes falling to black sand.

Happy as a clam in an oyster's shell
Life is one fell swoop.
Give me the keys, you doe-eyed girl,
For time is wonton soup.
JP Goss Oct 2014
Look not into that hopeful scene, away and down the alleyway
Of your new life—new memories gambol and of them a new past,
Look not into that hopeful scene, nostalgia when comes as a new god
An infant-you beseeching you, “I’ll guide thy hand down two hist’ries.”
Look not into that hopeful scene, the past is clear and now empty
Autumn is sweet, exalted still though with this cold, and bitter will
A hopeful scene as it looks not, as car-exhaust mornings spray cool
The baby-sitter years, or days under the eye both looking in
That hopeless scene, the beauty of this never-was, never-had, likely
Never-will. For the reclaiming of past selves as wonton, fickle
As the purchase of small antiques and filling up those jars of brine
Today’s home is a present-past, recalled in ferns up through the cracks
Sure as coating on thy heart, it wants us to return, to call on
Doors that long ago inured to wailing of their theft, so it goes
And capturing the long-ago: look not into that hopeless scene.

— The End —