Best Cuticles Poems
O, Valencia's prized possession,
perfected in your prime,
to pluck you without resistance
from a beaming, bowing branch...
Gravity's gentle transaction
would roll like attraction into my open palm.
To feel your textured tenderness within an easy grip,
senses saturated with sun kissed sleekness...
How juicy you must be underneath your polished peel.
Tenderness is just one press away
from these longing lips.
Digging in, cuticles' thirst would be quenched
like a manicure's pleasure.
The citrus mist would burst beneath your flesh
with the sound of captive release, freedom's sigh.
Fragrant as orange blossoms under active inhales,
sweet as honey perfumery,
tantalizing taste buds would smoothly
squeeze your ethereal pulp upon them,
dripping with delectable desire fulfilled.
Seamless in freshness, unblemished,
each bite would be a lover's delight,
binding beauty, external with internal
in this connoisseur's lifelong find.
2-18-2020
Written: February 13, 2023
____________________________________________
An anathema for,
pilose nettle burns,
an art form of unstable feathers,
tropes across the ivory cuticles.
Melted mascarpone in a figurine,
pearlescent obsidian,
hooping sapped spirit,
sight of the blue sky.
within her boneless flesh,
the artist grumbles severely,
in a strained, velvety voice,
jumping into the air.
Prima picture goes away,
with feeble equine acclaim,
the nest of the forlorn swan,
embracing an ethereal dawn.
Whimsical soprano,
barely etched in matte black,
diploid remains,
a flawless fleck of fascinating fright.
Rakish Requiem for an,
unrequited magnum opus,
rushing on pinewood stains,
on the cusp of collapse.
As she droops on the ladder,
the impresario draws the
opera curtains closer,
while soothing music,
numbs her toes.
When Requiem strolls,
across the stage to the tune of
Mozart pianissimo,
he manages to pull off,
fulfills a task with accuracy.
2nd place contest winner
self-harm was my only real friend since i was born
i didn’t know at first
who she was
but then i realized-when biting my fingernails started to hurt, but i didn’t stop.
then she changed-evolved
i didn’t know how to let my feelings out, so i turned to her
i still bit my nails, and it still hurt
but then i started taking out my anger on the objects around me, and myself.
and she’s still changing.
when i’m not biting my nails, im hitting myself.
when im not hitting myself, im biting my nails till my cuticles are bloody and red.
now, when i’m not pulling out my hair, im cutting
and when im not cutting, im pulling bald spots into my hair.
after all she’s don’t to me.
i still run back to her when it gets bad, over, and over again.
Overcoming Obstacles
His actions all appeared to be wrangling
Horrible voice wish we could be strangling
Message was becoming both loud and clear
To questions asked, he was no way near.
Bernie had been hop, skipping and jumping
Up all of his supporters would be pumping
Languishing loud voice begging and pleading
And forward to some book not be reading.
Said current President's performance was poor
And Hillary supporters started keeping score
Before arriving Obama had been doomed
Republicans had nailed and sealed his tomb.
Failure by Republicans he was set up for
Not only that their policies are now closed door
And many problems in future Obama must face
Door shut was immoveable and did firmly place.
Definitely for failure his assignment was designed
Before he even started was set so far behind
Off from fingers will bite all of my cuticles
Upset by all the Republican prepared obstacles.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran
"The Parnassian Hand" - A Poem by David Hart
Five fingers hover over black print
Apposed on a white sheet.
Tan flesh, short cropped nails and
Overlapping cuticles--an old hand--
A buxom hand--a hand delighted to treat.
Words, numerously luxuriate on holey
Crimpled sheets.
Words astonishing and boon
Words effulgent and true
To arrange? No. Avast!
Now pondering in this hushed room
Gazing athwart still and attent.
Ahoy to the words!
An august phrase for rent.
Words awhirl or bedizended
Words behooved and apt
Words echt and moiling
Aye, perhaps diamonds of fact.
Five fingers hover over print in black
Print regaled and caressed by an
Amorous attack
Yawn said Saudi Arabian prawn in a bin liner watching a cake. Chopping cutting cuticles cubicles clubbing clang clanging clam. Drama is not an item in a scene. It is merely to disguise battling molluscs and lettuces in flowery beds. Aroma of lemons should never play on a boat in a bath that is less than five metres wise. Traitor training tapping tuning turboprop. And fish wave peas around in the air. Quite quickly and dramatically but the Ukraine is a base for a nine mineralised lake of great ice. But ice cream is a bad idea for it can run away thus leaping down cliff paths dexterously. How rather incredible. Wow. Questions should be delivered in an atmosphere of greatness as flotation is great in bins don't change dams and beavers enjoy 'other' beavers company in turbulent carpet writhes or under prettily patterned summer dresses. Bomb then. Themselves. Turn thrice a pitch. Good. Poignancy of a branch. *** geraniums grabbing gators. Gatorades. Hahahaha now go kiss a fragrance. *** cordiality coughing chews chant chant chant. Xxxx confrontationally. Peanut dome equals z.
Kisses good-bye; waved out the door.
Sitting at the shore. The water is still rolling.
You want to know how much longer I'll be here for.
We'll all be here till death is at the door. Methadone,
morphine will squelch the pain, but for that ONE day
when it won't work anymore.
All the threads have been cut around the spool ahead.
There will be nothing but pain and nothing at the store.
People like it when I'm cheery and I don't know where to
put myself anymore.
Sit, stand, lay; I have no real reason to stay. I am warm
and cozy under this hood. My body is clean. That is
understood. My cuticles are disgusting. Is this the purply glut
they talk about in signs and symptoms of the dead and dying?
They are not the nails you see in Cosmo for manicure ads, you
know, manicures to die for.
My mouth feels mucky and brushing my teeth is a chore. I can't
remember one breakthrough from another. Holidays forever around
each corner; it would appear I'll still be around, what a drag; the wet blanket.
Dead broad walking down the dining room hall.
If I could cry and know the river would actually wash these tears away
for GOOD; I'd lay down and weep for weeks on end if it we're understood
that this would be the bloody end.
Tears aren't painful, nothing more than a wash. Not everything is as someone else says.
Lights catch random particles, drawing attention to the eye. Heart beats out of rythm. Smoke clouds magically appear as thoughts bluntly dissipate. Into thin air goes the brain, gliding down memory lane. Day brought Déjà vu, followed by awkward agitation. Fear drives choices, fueling the machine; misdirected. Procrastination leaves margin for error. Thoughts corrupt the already polluted mind.
Speaking thoughts out loud is a cause for concern but preoccupation leave us feeling trapped. Searching for a way out takes over all priority causing an over stimulated mind to lunge for relief.
Quickly fixed by applying temporary bandages to hide emotions can't shake waking up feeling regrets and projecting anger. Dwelling on the past, medicating anguish, inevitable anxieties begin forming conclusions with little rationality. Left with a bitter taste from nibbling on our own cuticles.
Excuse me, while I hold tight onto my crutches. Self consciously, I'm lead into the bathroom. Overly critical; analyzing myself; the correct answers lose gravity. As if to be rotating on the axis of the universe, I surrender to myself with the power of my own beliefs. Chalking it up as the simple result of over-stimulation.
QUIRKS
A chewing the side of the tongue,
No it's not gum
Rub the corner-point of my collar
with two fingers
Sucking on my lower lip
While skeeting spit between my two front teeth
Rub my elbow on my side
Excessive winking my right eye
This be normal to me
Picking skin from around my cuticles
Pop-crack my fingers, ankle, neck
Put bing-cherry tomatoes in my hot chocolate
LOL-I'm making this stuff up
For what it's worth
These are some funny QUIRKS
2/9/18
FOR CONTEST: QUIRKS
SPONCERED BY: Madison Demetros
Where's the fun in forever?
Miguel taught me to wonder,
Cause ever since you've made your entrance,
It's been a never ending thunder,
And like the tears in my pupils,
The rain falls everlasting,
And from your smile to your cuticles,
Everything about you are has me Fasting,
See this desire,
Burns like the 3rd degree,
And just like some fire,
I grow from the sight of your attire,
You have me on edge,
Spitting soul through the wire,
And every time I get a chance to leave you inspire,
Desire like the wind,
I'm waiting for you to blow,
Like Kamakazi Men,
You really take me higher,
And just like a fan,
You're what I admire,
The flame that you carry,
Like the Olympics on hire,
See you have me in a trance,
Body warm like Alicia,
Damn right You're on fire,
See I'm trynna be your man,
But until then,
It seems as if I'm on hire,
Settle these fiendish thoughts,
Because you make me flyer,
Addicted due to my Desire....
Looking at your smile
Turns my frown upside down
And hearing your voice
Speeds up the pace in my pulse
Feeling a rush of energy now changed
The words that once was a curse
Turned out to be a blessing
From the time I laid my pupils on you
And had me in a daze feeling so amazed
Running my cuticles against your skin
This is the next chapter to Chronicles
Because now, I’m Happy Go Lucky
Looking so funky as the way I throw a little switch in my walk
Revealing the curves of my hips
Imaginations running wild as into the vibrations of parts
Guarding my heart having to say,
Can I feel some sensation?
My reply is “Child Please”
Right now, I’m just Happy Go Lucky, looking so funky.
In spring
gaze into my hazel eyes
see distant horizons
flat-lining
the congolese savannah,
touching bruised clouds
against your creamy skin,
hives peppered
with puce contusions
your pummeled complexion,
clinging to warm clay
your frantic cuticles
scratch twisted wrists
in tiger stripe slashes
as night wolves screech
an anthem of loss.
Blackened clouds
smudge charcoaled
crimson tinted skies
as humid breath
exhales.
But now
these fists clench
like knotted rope
as ink clouds etch dusk
and punch the night
with their thundering.
hands tied to trade overseas
the sands, in time, taking their toll
cracking cuticles of overreachers
while nations shake in anger
an explosive declaration
missiles making patriotism fly
white elephants lead the stampede to war
their endemic tactics failing the front
a fox-faced woman's ruse
railroading objection to crude comments
drilling deep in the peoples' psyche
bootstraps their sole possession
a road to hope paved long ago
How often do shadows cry
And if they do
This means like us
they feel to
How often do whereabouts
dispose of their founders
The emptied hands pivoted gruesome
To only expire before you lose them
This is why my eyes cry
Late night movies
Midnight hours, how do you spend them
When letters feel “ no need to reply”
To where do we send them
A curious mind in eye sight
A figure taunted
The difference in people is
“Don’t let your personality dye”
Flesh wounds appear the same
Determination’s found in change
Could you spare me some change
A course of new events
Hand prints on the face of cement
Try not to take life out of context
“I’ll be home soon”
Read his final text
History is somewhat of a vex
Sort of a temporary fix
A day, a age, that some of us miss
How do you become a person
Or exhibit the features of everyday people
Minus the wars, the battles, the ether
Trouble awaits
For those of us who refute
Similar choices brought
About in this place of being
Bloggers are subsequent to ignorance
Just the lack of reading
Express’s the true meaning of being for real
The objective to live and protect yourself
Minus the kill
Sometimes glory comes as a steal
Did you think love was beautiful
Black coffee, cigarette buds
A raspy voice
from a figurine with seductive cuticles
A slice of pie
Banana’s and caramel
On top of our lie
Apart of me is fiction
And some of you is true
A journal
Do you commit yourself to unfulfilled comments
Did you dust your hands off
Wash your face
and forget to accept the necessary compliments
If I’m shady
then you weren’t around
Too far gone, dancing in the sun
Musically
you love the violin
Sympathetically
you can’t sing without the gin
Well a hundred and forty six degrees of drip droop is a plant no longer upright. So uptight were the non furling leaves and stem. Plasma dormant. Formation formatted form fakes. And now begins the tidally adjusted bud. Loosely forever alone. With capacity of a land. An untameable free colour adaptable. Sap not a steeple of garden bed. Dig dig dig. Coloured cubes can clap. Cuticles of tinted petals. And a writhing growing mist. Alteration. Derailed. Alliteration deemed. Stepping stones then. Good. *** questionable honour *** adjudication z