Best Mouthfuls Poems
Sitting on the window sill with the wind in my hair
I gaze up into the stars, pondering the great unknown.
Thinking back of that night, when I heard your first cry
tears of joy filled my heart as we carried you home.
Nervous and excited, a mother I had just become,
you were my angel, my being, my son.
You were all that I dreamt of, from my lungs, pure breath.
In the cradle I rocked you, before going to bed.
With gurgles and babbles you have filled up our lives.
With first footsteps, first mouthfuls, with sweet little rhymes
With first schooldays, first friendships, first free little moves,
Like doing your homework, and tying your own shoes
We followed your shadow from a distance not far,
giving you your wings, yet knowing where you are
The time has passed by, in a blink of an eye,
Soon you'll be leaving, making this mother cry.
Co-written by Charmaine Chircop & Tim Smith
October 18, 2014
Categories:
mouthfuls, childhood,
Form:
Free verse
They would ripen all at once
under a hot sun and hang
in a sugary glut only for a day
or two before starting to spoil.
I had to be quick and when
the time came,
I hurried home
from school to clamber up
the tree and seize
the fruit. Each was a warm,
engorged globe of flesh
with just a hint of give
when a finger was pressed
into skin.
No command,
not even from God,
could have held back a bite.
Mouthfuls of sweet peach
sent every pleasure bud
on the tongue into a spasm
and spilt the overload
oozing out of the corners
of stretched lips.
Great gulps
were hurried down the throat
to make room for another bite.
No savoring restraint held
me back, this was volume.
All afternoon
my face and hands
dripped a sticky syrup,
coating my shirt.
Finally I would have my fill
and sit bloated beneath
the tree surrounded
by peachstones some still
encased in leftovers
of pinkish flesh. Sorry evidence
to convict. Afterwards,
a terrible remorse always
took hold. Next day
I thought my stomach ache
was punishment from above.
Every year of my childhood,
in the heat of late summer,
I repeated the same sin,
suffered the same consequence,
hoped for forgiveness
from a wrathful God.
Categories:
mouthfuls, child, god, nostalgia, sin,
Form:
Free verse
and she said
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
but today I live in my daughter's happiness
All my goals I left behind to watch her reach her own
All my friends I do not see,to stay with her at home
Money might get tight,but what is money
compared to pure joy of a child
What is money compared to her almond eyes
Success lies dormant on shelves for years to come
But what is success compared to first giggles
to first steps, first mouthfuls and her little grabs
Compared to gurgles and babbles
to first time she calls me mama
and hold on to my hands
What is beauty in the world compared to a pearl
This innocent child,a coloured coral petite pretty girl
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
But today I live in my daughter's happiness
I had my days of wine and chocolate eclaires
roses on doorstep,unsigned love letters
with spiced cologne and enticing words
Today I live in my daughter's shadow
To watch her live her own dream
I watch her bloom in autumn gardens
from princess of hearts become queen
Tomorrow I will not be here
She might not get to see the white of my hair
the wrinkle in my smile
But,today she knows I love her
long more after petals wither
long more after a mother's hug fades
long after I shine from the sky.
Dedicated to my beloved Christina with love
Happy first birthday wrapped with barney hugs
and Winnie the pooh kisses :-$:-|B-)
Categories:
mouthfuls, angel, baby, beautiful, birthday,
Form:
Narrative
Breathe laden islands rise and fall beneath the lap
of crystalline water, a steam graced surface breached,
rosettes crest, their gently risings peaks to cap
mouthfuls of desire whose lower gate's lie unbreached.
Submerged beneath chest's hollow lies a navel fine
the round perfection of its form longs, for pointed tongue.
A sweeter base can't be found 'bove the water line
yet, men would gladly drown to go below hips clung.
Below, down deep, nectar bathes the pristine pearl,
and petals, rose-red gently part in delight.
The heat, the steam the bath, and the lovely girl
perhaps, perhaps, he thinks, we'll make of this a night.
Date: 3/6/13
Categories:
mouthfuls, love,
Form:
Quatrain
Rust sleeps without the churchyard
on the blunt perimeter rails,
on the bloom of iron stabbing up
into the pelt of rain.
Rust sleeps upon the fence posts
where the wire is nailed to wood
and the metal burns an ochre tint
beneath the sodium arc.
Rust sleeps atop the hinges
of the pub door so to screech
a shrill alert to drunken ears
of some returning ghost.
Rust sleeps upon the riverbed,
suicide pushed into the deep,
trolleys severed by the silt,
dead baby prams beside.
Rust sleeps in feasts of coma night
and eats small mouthfuls of the moon,
spits corrosion at the stars
and dulls this razor life.
Categories:
mouthfuls, death, life, philosophy, sad,
Form:
Verse
A priest once told me that the lump
on my hand was a ganglion,
a fortress of fat besieged by health.
At last it burst and the hand swelled
like an old man's,
shovel shaped and splayed.
It was her black pan, butcher's meat,
too many eggs; backed up
on a plate like silage.
It was her slight hands shaking,
the constant poking with a bread knife,
the endless journey to the
first biscuit from the pack;
a menace that caught our hearts
and buttered them,
teeth marks, crusty.
Moreover, tomatoes,
pulpy and bloodlet,
burnt my wicked tongue,
purged a shard of shame,
dare I eat a box full
bedraggled in juices
and spitting at the angle of a chop kept?
Caked at the start in the corner
of the pan, beached in lard,
over fried, sole fit, chewed in discontent,
longing for more
between the acceptance of juices;
hope swallowed with brittle rashers,
timbered and gathered.
It was the thought, the deed,
the plan, the wait and duty of it.
Potatoes, eschonced in the pot, sullen, strewn;
a flaky hand sliced them deftly,
washed the starch off and raked them in.
It was sausages, flame ripped,
dashed, blackened and wedged
on the barbs of the fork,
heaved in with fried bread,
salty with froth.
It was puddings,
sinewed and cut crooked,
corpuscles of grizzle
congealing the blood,
jaws working the skin like the cud.
Eggs like ignoble sea creatures,
speckled and stiff,
surviving on the rise and fall of breath,
morphing into another gender
or something to wonder,
to chew on, to mention, once.
Perhaps a bean to lubricate,
to allow a channel of liberty
but still reheated to a lump,
a thankless sweetener to a morsel,
not unlike news.
Tea, besugared and welcome,
a scald to erode stubborn detritus,
a wash to emerge from.
Between mouthfuls of talk we glided,
sometimes low to the ground
near silence, seldom
scuttling to any real height.
I suppose that was left for
pipe and ***, in the latter end,
when all offence was shut up tight
and we had regard again;
the smoke curled up
and carried our souls,
and mingled, indiscernible
and flowed away.
Categories:
mouthfuls, food, friendship, loss, memory,
Form:
Elegy
There you are
Not lost at all
Under all the bushels
Sputtered mouthfuls
Negative thought fire
Beating vehement pour
Readiness tread stand
Bright walk cloud tide
Looking up
Survive
Categories:
mouthfuls, faith, inspirational,
Form:
Light Verse
"The Letter"
"L" is for LOVE and the JOY that follows
"L" is for Learning flies high like a Swallow
"L" is for LIFE Lionheart all the rises and hollows
"G" is for DAUGHTER, hearts 2 as 1, flying free on the 'morrow
"L" is for Loquaciousness bees buzzing mouthfuls of honey
"L" is for Listen there is more to Life than mere money
"L" is for Linnet bird singing on the highest branch next to God
"O" is for ONE, "I Am", forever in your blood
"G" is for GLORY there is TRUTH to be seen
"O" is for FREEDOM Little Bird, 2 Royal Queens free, follow their dreams
(Lovejoy-Burton/Feb 2018)
gvlm
klb, mlb
Aerial/ Kate Bush
https://youtu.be/8UBzZKzu8Wg
Meaning of the name Lynette:
Linnet : A mainly brown and gray finch with a reddish breast and forehead.
In Anglo-Saxon the meaning of the name Lynette is: Bird.
In Celtic the meaning of the name Lynette is: Grace.
In Arthurian Legend the meaning of the name Lynette is:
Sister of Lyonors. In Arthurian legend Lynette accompanied Sir Gareth on a knightly quest.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lynette_and_Lyonesse
Categories:
mouthfuls, daughter, imagery, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
I once had a friend
who swallowed the sea,
with a thirst so great
it was awesome to see.
Gulping down water,
in large mouthfuls he drank.
Then into the sea,
I was pushed and I sank!
Sitting on a sea turtle,
I yelled up, "Please stop!
I'm sorry I poured
pepper sauce in your pop."
Categories:
mouthfuls, child, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
mouthfuls
thoughts never survive
to feed the poor
Categories:
mouthfuls, africa,
Form:
Haiku
Two Dogs at the Gateway
By Sy Roth
They slurped their saliva,
huge globs,
big, barking mouthfuls
dripping from their jowls like milky icicles
Teeth-bared lips,
They guarded the gateway.
Pleased by their vacated spittle,
their noses now sniffed the air, and
like a marching band of electric ants
they ogled the nearing invader.
Anew, the soppy, conglomeration of spittle
wells at their muzzles
forming a frothy milkshake
determined to expel the approaching trespasser.
His hands stretched out flat in peaceful kindness,
prophylactic, heavy-breathing
moseying him to the gateway
wraps him in a pulsing eagerness.
A satyr’s blessing upon him as he approaches
Where the two dogs growled ominous presentiments--
Twin Cerberuses,
Headache kin of dashed wishes.
Evening shadows stifle all desires.
Lips part in anticlimax.
He rolls to the other side
away from the yapping hounds,
away from the uncomfortable pauses,
away from the anticipation
onto a sterile, flattened field
where done yet reeks of a flaccid fantasy.
A grotesquery of mordant imagination
content to sleep on the other side of the booming roar
away from the slurping beasts,
he drops hands down to his side.
Tomorrows march on and the gateway,
a finale wrapped in the twins’ slurping,
slams shut.
Categories:
mouthfuls, anxiety, death,
Form:
Free verse
The death penalty.
What a laugh
And their pulling on strings
To keep this going
As their money bags swing
Lifelessly
From left to right.
How dare they take an old mans
Walking stick.
How dare they beat their wives,
Breaking the rule of thumb.
What catastrophe could place
This sodden child in their
Arms tonight.
She withers with fright
And is ever watchful of
The innkeeper
Who is paying his debt
To society with offhand eyes.
It is not the pangs of living
That silences her pleading.
Nor is it the throttler
With his sweaty palms so bleak.
It's not the putrid taste of
Tomorrows casualties
Or the attempts to stop the bleeding.
It is the innkeeper
Who is regarded as the man who
Sells perjury by the mouthfuls.
The innkeeper
With his iron stomach and
Scruples drunk
On sloth and negligence.
This wear and tear child
Can spot his hands through
The arched back of her manipulator.
His knuckles are white.
His knuckles are screaming
And singing the song of lechery
While he's avoiding whimpers
Of an exploited adolescent.
Avoiding interrogation.
Categories:
mouthfuls, adventure, allegory, angst,
Form:
Free verse
Crisp cool chardonnay drenches their lips,
it's flavour running rivulets over their tongues
eyes widen over the candlelit table,
and he thinks about giving her sons
Rich sticky risotto slowly prised from bowls
mouthfuls devoured in anticipation
he wipes his mouth with emphasised lust
and she thinks about sensual elation
Chargrilled sardines stare eyes from their plates
she plucks them away, eats them whole one by one
his leg quivers tremulously under the table
her sweetness burning like african suns
Creamy crem brulee drips from their spoons
slips down their throats, placating their hunger
he presses his appetite firmly to hers
her thighs draw him in to taste erotic thunder
Categories:
mouthfuls, food, sensual,
Form:
Rhyme
Out drinking with an
Australian girl I knew
We met her friend
Two days away
From inheriting a
Fortune
She insisted we sit down
Outside an Italian place
To eat
She ordered a bowl of
Gnocchi
First time I ever ate it
Two or three mouthfuls
Well wow
& the rich girl to be
Took off & stiffed us
With the bill
& I still eat gnocchi
& I still hate the rich
Categories:
mouthfuls, food,
Form:
Blank verse
Upon the first date (decades ago) with the gal,
whose troth aye did pledge allegiance to wed
we agreed to dine at an ex-mex eatery
in north Wales, Pennsylvania, where angels feared to tread
carefully scrutinizing bon appétit the menu selection,
a touch of Latin lick QED
all American version sans south of the border cuisine –
Quod Erat Demonstrand – translations spit out in rapid fire Hispanic
by a beady eyed inked kid named Ned
whose couture favored a punkish style
with spiked gelled green hair, piercings galore and
necklace with a genetically modified sizable
entombed glass encased amber ked
which beastly fully intact organism with a miniature grisly bear like head
momentarily hypnotizing me tell nudged out of trance sans this egghead
who make a selection by randomly
landing finger on an item feigning to be well bred
unbeknownst to the arbitrary choice this senior made
within an ample number of mouthfuls
of beans and rice that quelled hunger pangs
mine lower gastrointestinal tract,
felt a bubbling sensation played
though impropriety struggled with gaseous mounting perturbations,
what promised to be hot malodorous, would induce an air raid
from this “wind bag”, whose saving grace divine, when wallet of suede
discover herd visa vis tubby devoid of cash, thus and excuse to beat the tirade
of volcanic eruption found me bolting
out the restaurant door fortunately not waylaid
and madly dashing (like some comet fiery dancer)
performing a cheeky number hopping on one foot than the other –
since forceful blast triggered kidneys to be tapped, thus prancer
two step extemporaneously incorporated while await the ATM to disburse cash
legal tender coveted akin to Cupid sprinkling spell of romancer
while expulsion of noxious fumes from thine sphincter from this hob er dasher
brought relief as aye nonchalantly strolled inside
the cozy diner and slipped into me seat
disinclined to relate vents to future spouse,
the bodily aeration and stream of urine from me magic flute
which amazingly synchronized with the Maximus glute
from consuming food triggering tushy to toot.
Categories:
mouthfuls, animal, anxiety, desire, fate,
Form:
Blitz