Best Rock Candy Poems
Merry Wulfman!
Santa Snickers
Jingle Jugs, and
Rudolph's knickers
Happy Crackers
Mistle twits
Porky pudding
Snicklefritz
Frosty gnomes
Disgusting tarts
Home Sweet Cheeks
and Uncle Farts
Happy New Tweets
Merry Tickles
Santa Jack says,
Pass the pickles....
5. Turkey, cake
& Mull Cider
Pumpkin pie
So open wider (By Edlynn Nau)
6. Got indigestion
I feel ill...
too much turkey
I need a pill! (By Jan Allison)
7. Chocolate truffles
a fork or spoon
my tummy's swelling
I must stop soon (By Tim Smith)
8. Hard rock candy
breaks my teeth
Someone help me
Pwetty Pweeth! (By John Wulf)
Please keep adding verses my Happy Soupers!
Written January 8, 2013
The morning blues in a lily on the pond
Wake on the wrong side of the road
Penniless pockets play the vagabond game
Ride the tiger recently tamed
On a long road to nowhere, horizon's stain
All's my name sitting next to me
Lie down with graceful angels deep in the snow
Or on wet grass recently mowed
I've grown accustomed to the scent of your mane
Spelled chug-chuga-chug is my name
Oh why do flowers never bloom in the snow?
They never have a chance to grow
No, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore
The oaks and pines getting clearer
Much to a land unafraid to spread its wings
Listen to Woody Guthrie sing
Bacon sizzles in the rain and sunshine reigns
We've reached the line of no return
Of the big rock candy mountain we will sing
For the next week my phone won't ring
…the seeds of neo-Nazism are germinating
Markus Nierth, former mayor of Tröglitz, Germany 2015
Germany’s rock candy windows and cookie like shingles make seeing the oven inside impossible. At first, the obsessive compulsive cleanliness of Nuremberg’s post-WWII streets is a joy. For a child of the melting pot, born after The Big One, it’s painful to recall the grimmer aspects of the Third Reich with their proposed eugenics. Nuremberg [rebuilt] roots in an elitist past hiding behind half-timbered houses of wattle and daub. Once the seat of the Holy Roman Empire seeped in power, then, a base for Hitler’s wunderkind rallies—now a soul-blighted bloom, a minor stop on the tourist trail.
Street walking pedestrians—the silent middle, staid, detached—stroll or bike along paths, immersed in white dreams. The pogroms of terror, stolen homes, and bridges made from Jewish Cemetery stones lie beneath layers of pristine paint and plaster. The Jews victimized for centuries, and the war trials, a mere subtext to tour guide chatter.
xenophobia
tamped down like an ash banked fire
waits to rise again
on a bellows breath of rage
spray painted on railroad cars
The site of my pilgrimage, The Palace of Justice—walled in panels of ashen mahogany—retains a dour mien. Judges, jurors and those to be tried, still use this hall. After-images of skeletal camp dweller and vain glorious generals rise wraith-like from the polished surfaces, paneling, pews, and copings. Greek God’s glower. A bronze crucifix castes judgment on all who pass: God fearing, or atheist. Justice is not present; horrors are not passed and conscience is now presented to the world as a fanatic in a suicide vest.
First Published in Artificium UK 2016
Fish and chips salty air
Big fat bottoms sat on stripy deck chairs
Sticks of rock candy floss and bottles of soda pop
Sand castles and buckets and spades
Dad with binoculars pretending to look out to sea
But looking at the bikini hot babes
Little child paddles in the sea
Little child has a pee
Ice cream and jellyfish
Punch and Judy ventriloquists
Bare flesh everywhere sea breeze tussles hair
Walruses laid on beach towels everywhere
Courting couples walking hand in hand
Games of cricket and Beach ball on the sand
Annoying music steaming from someone's radio
A scream goes out as a crab bites someone's toe
The smell of suntan lotion mixed with sweat
And the smell of cigarettes
Waves rolling upon the shore
A baby wanting it's diaper changing lets out a might roar
Burgers and hot dog's from a van
Guy's with muscles parading the beach as though saying to the girls
Look at me I'm all real man
As the girls giggle and wiggle
As the hot Sun smiles down
On a day by the sea.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015. May.
It's Halloween and as we know
It's a special time of year
There's scary things and ghostly beings
Meant to bring out fear
There's lots of innuendos
I hope you do not mind
If I can take the liberty
As some may not seem kind
They're meant to make you Snickers
And put a smile upon your face
Please forgive me for my twisted mind
If that is not the case
I'd like to know, if you'd mind
If I tricked you with my treats
Your like a tasty candy bar
I'm sure you're sticky sweet
I'll take you to the Milky Way
Or maybe even Mars
I want to squeeze you Bun so tight
My rock candy is so hard
You're like a Peppermint Patty
You take my breath away
I'll bring you years of Almond Joy
I've so much more to say
When you lick a Lollipop
It makes my poor heart race
I wish that you would unwrap me
Let's cut right to the chase
I'd place some Miniature Kisses
All around your luscious Mounds
I'd start with licks, then give you my Twix
Till you shout O Henry loud
To taste your Whatchamacallit
I would give 100 Grand
And move my Butterfingers
All across your skin
You can bet that Mikey likes it
And his Pop Rocks would explode
How many licks would it take to get
To the center of his Tootsie Roll
I'll be your Sugar Daddy
If you will let me be
I hope to Skor, at least once more
Without the Musketeers 3
I'd share with you my Payday
If that is what you choose
Then we could Rolos over
To 5th Avenue
I promise you no needles
Can I poke you just in fun
I hope you've found Good Humor
And it's the best Bar None
Once I took a holiday within my mind. I saw spectacular vistas and lovely hidden places as I walked across the clouds.
I continued on amid the cerulean, cotton candy billows and retraced ginger steps of trepidation.
I tiptoed the dark corridor where colorful memories of our first encounter lay sleeping.
Careful not to wake them from their peaceful slumber I stood quietly for a moment in reverent remembrance.
I then moved on toward a field of stargazer lilies that represented the many adventures we shared.
As I glanced skyward, a heavenly body cast its glow upon a trellis bed of blushing red morning glories and my mind bent to pluck that memory.
As I moved on with my prize held close to my heart I strolled along a tangerine rock candy path through a forest of days gone by, yet there was no melancholy, only splendid bliss.
As I clutched these bliss filled memories, into a sandy clearing I roamed.
A Tahitian breeze whispered like a warm baby's breath implored me to hold these feelings forever.
A seashell's joyful tears wept beaches of rare pearls that now traverse the landscape of my mind creating the perfect place to get away and dream of better things.
Craving cheese Doritos,
Crispy chips and Cheetos.
Caramel apples with
Cashew coating will do!
Cooking some rock candy
Captain Crunch could cherish!
Cancel the celery!
(Just dreaming of my childhood days. Sure can't eat this way any more!)
Aug. 23, 2016
Gumdrops and Raindrops Nursery Rhyme
Raindrops patter in such sweet, sweet songs
How I love their song - to sing along.
Jelly beans bloom in the peppermint's lane
Cinnamon bear showers dance in my brain.
Sour cherry drops hang from Boston bean trees
Whistle pops toot a song for my breeze.
Root beer barrels jive with fruity dots
In storms hot tamales do turkey trots.
Splashing through my puddles of gumdrops green
Lollypop flowers make quite a scene.
Foil wrapped kisses sparkle like rain dews
Sweethearts and sweet tarts play peek-a-boo.
Drizzles rain down flat Necco wafers
I duck hard hail so like hard jaw breakers.
Sassafras sky pounds with taffy torrent rains
As sugar babies chant their sweet refrains.
Abracadabra jujubes appear
Licorice buttons and rock candy clear.
I turn my bumbershoot upside down
To catch tasty rain so I never frown.
3-28-23
Contest: Children Sing to Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Hard Rock Candy bandit,
Desperado of the Country Club
Fever pitch daydreams wait in line
For heathen sacifice to your hunger.
Foolish mortals - all of them - to beg...
You are a star triumphant - singer of the latest,
Greatest song...
You are the heart blood of acceptance
On the trigger of your gun...
A natural phenomenon glittering in shards;
A veritable weapon
Pointing towards the Sun.
Glossy 8x10's line the room in which you sleep
And dream of paranormal men..
Await the future dining on erotic violence...
And oh...the dreams...
Hypnotic, languid hours of indeterminate meaning
Where reality has no prescence
But one compelling voice
Raised in anger...
And chivalry is not a word for children
Whom the World would lull to ignorance
While the World caters to the negligent....and the cruel.
Someday this World will know you.
Someday this World will know how real you are to become...
And past the void beyond the last dark dream
Your script awaits completion
....In the bottom drawer of a cherry red spaceship
Shaped like your favorite car.
And the dreaming...
And the dreams of sheltered sweetness...
They still abide in patience.
Don't you know, sweet silly child
Hard Rock candy bandits
Always win......
He stumbles and trips,
walking through the dark forest.
His new shoes hurt his sore feet.
He continues on.
Brushing past a sodden branch,
the brittle limb snaps and breaks,
It pinches his hand.
Quickly he licks his finger.
The stiff sap is thick and sweet.
He finds it tasty.
Reaching out he snaps another,
it tastes like a candy cane.
He is the hunter
searching behind heavy eyes,
head upon his soft pillow,
sleepy little one
filled with dreamy illusions
of floating marshmallow clouds
raining sweet nectar
on golden lollipop trees.
Atop rolling gum drop hills,
seen through filmy eyes,
he rides a cherry caboose
on dark licorice whip rails.
Outside he can see
wispy strands of sugar floss
rise from butter cream rivers,
as Swedish fish jump
over rock candy boulders
of brightly colored sugar.
Now he runs laughing
in striped candy cane forests
where gooey gummy bears play.
He eats all of them,
waking with a tummy ache
from his drowsy fantasy.
8/26/2015
Kartoffelpuffer
Alone in my kitchen, snow outside my window
My heart returns to winters past, where a little girl
Stands beside Gramma, the other one…
From Germany, who grew her garden,
Vegetables and plum trees, peach trees, and pears.
Grapes on the trellis, elderberry, raspberry.
She cooked all the time, warm breads, stollen,
From the old country, her talents were keen
And she knew how to use every piece of every food
Like God gave every flower a color.
Wild or harrowed to delight the flesh, soothe the soul.
Onions and rock candy in hot syrup for ear aches
Sugar and oil for coughs, unless there was honey.
Spatzel by hand, and chickens from the coop.
My favorite came from the lowly potato.
She would stand and grate, and grate, and grate.
One potato at a time, resembling lumpy soup
It turned to pink for some strange reason I never knew
And with her magic she would begin to pour scoops
Of liquid potato into her big black heavy cast iron pan
And the tantalizing aromas began to fill her kitchen.
And Grampa would come in from work
Uncle would come in from chores
And I would get the chair at the back of the table
Against the wall.
And Gramma would place
Crispy brown sizzling potato pancakes
Applesauce
And I would eat.
Once upon a midsummer’s night,
I dreamed a dream of horses white,
of Billy goats and little fishes-
of dogs and cats and childhood wishes.
I dreamed of a dragon living by the sea,
and of the child I used to be-
of carrousel music and brass rings-
hard rock candy and cabbages and kings.
I dreamed a dream in black and white,
of a fire breathing monster and a gallant knight,
of sailing ships and an oaken tub-
of black birds singing and a rub-a-dub-dub.
I dreamed of candlesticks and cockleshells,
of little lost sheep and silver bells-
of turtle doves and diamond rings-
sealing wax and old kite strings.
I dreamed a dream of what not to eat-
green eggs and ham and pickled crows feet-
of someone named Spock and a mother goose,
of a nutty squirrel and a stupid bull moose.
I dreamed of a pie-man on the way to the fair
and of a poor doggie whose cupboard was bare-
of a crooked man and a crooked mile-
a crooked fence and a crooked pig stile.
I dreamed a dream of a merry old sole-
his fiddlers three and eggs of gold-
of spinning wheels and long silken hair-
of sleeping beauties and maidens fair.
I dreamed of cinders and slippers of glass-
of mice and pumpkins and knobs of brass-
of a golden harp that really sings
and of clocks and hats and other strange things.
Too tired, i thought io myself, to lance this wound again
So I'll let the sufferings flow where no good tidings go
And we'll call it a truce in the end.
Oh, tell me once more,
How this life of ours should go,
Cause the words fall to the floor anyhow
And the small town girl's turned penthouse femme fatale
Oh but we knew how these city streets howl faux freedoms
In the face of the soft-skinned and weak minds
But mine's been all the weaker for believing poison is love
And I drank the barrel dry till I went blind to the holy light
Damn these tears and this darkness of soul
But if that's the case babe, mine's been rolling in coal
Oh, I ain't a scholar, nor master of schemes
just a two-bit pauper with sprawling rock-candy dreams
the letters don't fall into place like they did once before
And I don't search for the gold in folk's smiles anymore
I've been drowning in sin and the lifeblood of all lies
Worst part's been hiding a lost soul behind brown eyes
Tell me honey, how's life been to you?
Well, the winds tell me the sound's still alive and well
Ah, but the wind ain't so kind in the dark when your wrapped in loneliness
And broken strings on a battered guitar have lost the will to tell the tale
New strings sell good, but you pay with your heart
Aren't we running out of pieces by now ?
Well baby, meet me on the corner of 5th and eternity beyond
Of the hope and fiery passion we learned to burn in till we went wild
And can you find your way back to the stars babe?
And can you take me back to our unscarred years
before we spilled the blood of dreams not yet born
Are you ready mama?
Whisper it to me low...
In that voice of a longin soul...
Let's go.
© Robert
Form:
Tufts of ghostly cotton candy,
Backlit by lavender sage,
Caught in rocky nooks and
crannies,
Sky islands of stage.
Sugar whipped and frothy,
Clouds of pink and blue,
Melting in the moisture,
Disappearing with the dew.
Sticky light, fluffy grains,
Momentary treat,
Saccharin violet bliss,
Diabetic feat.
Rock candy gossamer, air-
whipped, spun,
Majesty's paper cone,
Rainbow sprinkles of
precipitation,
Air and water and stone.
Xylose billows, sucrose puffs,
Mouthwatering bits of sky,
Trapped by sierras, amethyst,
Until they melt, die.
Aged and mellowed, golden whiskey in a wide mouth Mason jar.
Poured over sweet rock candy, was the guaranteed cure,
of ticklish throats; sprained ankles; hair loss; hang nails and more.
Always kept on hand, for times of desperate need,
of which Grandpa had a profound proclivity for.
No glass nor tablespoon was needed to dispense this elixir.
Just twist the ring, pop the lid, up end the jar and let it slide
down your parched throat..ummm, I mean, soar throat.
I remember well, my first bout with laryngitis at the age of seven.
Grandpa hurried off, to get the magical jar of homemade "Cure".
Minutes later, he came in, carrying the jar like a precious jewel.
Pouring some of that honey hued nectar into a large serving spoon.
Tasting it first, making sure it hadn't gone bad, of course.
Then he slipped the spoon edge between my lips.
Boy-howdy, my eyes watered, I coughed for a spell.
Then slept like a baby.
Entry for: The Road To Well Ville
Hostess: Deborah Guzzi
Placement: 6th