Best Sizing Poems
"I dream of Candy!"
Sweet cakes and peanut butter squares
A living diabetic's nightmare. -- My heart
sings to the beat, Under the Neutron Star Crunch
Sweet sugar cookies and peanut butter bars
Taunting whoopers,
Dancing dum dum's,
The sweetest silhouette show - in my room
Dreamy, Creamy Cupcakes in the afternoon
Cinnamon Cheerios cascade on my spoon
Sweeter than my sweet tooth
Now and later - a forever honeymoon
Jigglin' my jelly belly boo berry Butterfinger delight
I'm in love, licking the icy ICEE all night long
Extra freshness, once I crop a top off of a mountain dew pop
My eyes sparkle like diamond dazzle razzles in the sky
I LIVE to fabricate my very own sugar extract R.E.M. Sleep
Savoring the sound of saliva trapped in my mouth
THIS night - ovulated buds - wait to feast!
Enjoying delicious dulce music sleepy symphony
Braggin' and embracin' a pinata pillow escapade
Enchanted by a cotton candy crave - calling my name
Lalaloopsy licorice and lemonade tea
The best-wet dream I've ever seen
Marshmallows of solitude dulcify every fresh fantasy
Enticing in a bright slushy skittles daydream freeze
One fat sunny bowl of cereals and cane
Crackerjack spell --- chocolate chip swirls,
Caramel lumps constipate the brain
Sizing - peanuts and in a popcorn party payday
Wrigley's wild winter Spearmint Breath parade
Give me, give me, some Gummy bear Dessert
---------"Another Fruit Ninja hair DAY!"
Watermelon Taffy stuck on the top of my gums
Swallowing the whiteness in a whistle pop bar
I FELL LIKE A SWEET SUGAR STAR!!!
Glaze of glory erupts deep down my throat 24/7
Bubblicious, mint twist, Sunkist the best Twizzler breakfast
Yummy in my twinkie tummy, drooling over frosted flakes
One more strawberry smoothie 44 oz cup
Counting each and every Pez popping'' up
Goodnight light,
It's time to get lost under the midnight moon pie sky
SELF- Huggin'' and snugglin'' to a new sugar rush high
:-D
WITH JUST ~ONE KISS
I rise, like fire in your eyes.
Feel the burn, as I discharge my flames.
Like Frankenstein,
I will make you come to life.
Out of the sea,
I rise like the tide.
Move in slow like the moon,
provoking, your endless passionate doom.
A giant wave you can't control,
sinking you like a ship below.
I'm the fever burning deep inside,
in and out at 105%.
Like a drum beat from the wild west,
I'm the rhythm pressing up against your chest.
Re-sizing the power of the blazing sun,
blistering your complexion till my job is done.
I'm the force you find in number 8,
a hurricane, destroying at an atomic rate.
I'm the south and north pole,
the magnet that attracts your glow.
The mass that holds your gravity in place.
a body that magnitudes the smile on your face.
I'm the exhaust,
running through your system.
I'm dangerous, and beautiful like the open shores,
One kiss will lead you wanting, more and more.
Passing like the wind,
holding on to my bliss,
Kiss after Kiss.
Lip against lip,
Be prepared for all of this.
by;p.d.
Has anyone noticed the praising of Trump has stopped?
Maybe they no longer believe he's the cream of the crop.
Have they finally realized he's a repulsive, fascist beast
who has ordered American cities to be brutally policed?
ICE arrives masked and armed, grim reapers wearing black,
creating chaos on countrymen, hell bent on the attack.
Have the blind eyes of his legions finally come awoke,
and on their words that glorified him, do they now choke?
Revenge belongs to the righteous One. It's not ours to take
1st Amendment right to peacefully protest, do not forsake
We can offer our prayers to the legitimate Prince of Peace,
asking for the grueling violence in American cities to cease.
I detest red hats that promise to make America great again
What will it take to shut him up and his power to restrain?
There's a purple hat saying that the laws should be upheld.
The Constitution is law, and ICE invaders should be expelled.
"We the people..." what do these three words mean to you?
I don't think we the people are to blame for the hullabaloo.
If you could add a line or two, what would you have to say
about the ICE raiders? How would you make them go away?
*I really hope I don't feel the need to write about this lunacy again.
** Is there no fix for the glitch of giant sizing the images we attach?
Old men in blue jeans
Dungarees – that’s what they were called,
heavy, blue denim, metal button fly -
form that followed function. The “cuffs” were
rolled up because inseam sizing and “pre-worn”
softened and frayed only occurred if you got
them from an older sibling.
Time has a way of softening things, Dungarees
included. They shaped themselves to your needs,
became one with your movements, stayed with you
through the tough times, went to town with you,
wore the scars and tears of youth moving forward,
taught the lessons of toughness and tenderness,
of reliable, responsible, dependability.
The clothes did not make the man, the man gave
meaning to the clothes, imbued them with his ethic,
his love, his success and failures, stood with him
in welcome rains and barren fields. The jeans,
flannel shirts, boots, weathered face - caught
between an ever present grin and grimace -
awaited each sunrise with a purpose.
The blue jeans are now faded by age,
highlighted by wear and tear, creased
in the rutted way of old roads – necessary
but untended. They offer the comfort of memory’s
warm embrace, the unspoken bond of a friendship
shaped by the demands of life.
They still walk together, these old men and their
blue jeans, more slowly but no less proudly,
for they have grown old together and know
that “the clothes did not make them men”.
John G. Lawless
1/1/2015
I bent down to pick up a penny from the frozen ground.
I could smell myself, the acrid stench of sweat and soot,
the taint of vapored vagrancy
that marked my movements, masking me from the reality that used to be.
I hate me and what I am, more than you could ever think to,
but more so becuase you do, with your limp laughter and scared stares.
I never knew my life never needed me to know it could all go away in a single day.
I see it all through dirty windows draped in singed eyelashes and gutter grime,
the pathetic gazes from afar as another afternoon of sale shopping and shoe sizing is ruined
by my appalling appearance.
"How dare you be here! What's wrong with you?"
"Go get a job you junkie, you slob, just jump a bus so you can't disgust us with your sewer
shoes and hard luck blues. You deserve the dirt and a kick in the teeth from the steel-tipped
toe of a jackboot too. No one wants to see a scummy sack of crap like you, bending down to
pick our scraps off the frozen ground."
The helping hand of man slaps the taste of humanity from my mouth with each volatile volley
of acid arrow analogies angrily slung and fired furiously from the bows of bastard
businessmen and bleach blonde bimbos.
My weary wounds fill with the sea-salt of sarcastic statements and unflattering finger
gestures from frat boys as I bend down to pick up a penny I found on the frozen ground.
"Head's up means luck," Abe smiled at me, and suddenly my thoughts began to run
differently.
I took a long look at the lingering light of one of the sweetest sunsets I had ever seen, and
the simplicity and majesty washed over me.
There was no use in listening to abuse and accusations and obtuse observations any more.
I was being shown a door.
Wrapped in the warmth of the amber and amethyst glow, I finally smile for a little while and
close my dirty windows against the icy winds of waning words.
Tomorrow, someone will bend down to pick me up from the frozen ground.
Love is a blank canvas, a phantasmagoric fantasy,
to pucker up with glossy lips, the subtle soft brush
against the opposite sex, with eye-shades drawn.
Love doesn’t know the body yet, still sizing it up.
It doesn’t know the femininity and masculinity of art.
O Leonardo…O Romeo…Ah Juliet…O Venus!
Love craves the parts that match up, some the same,
others staining the cheeks, straining and draining strength,
magnetic and quaking, erupting and earthshaking.
Love weakens knees, draws attention from the whiteboard,
sharpens the brilliance of the sun, dots the i’s with hearts,
Nearly breaks the blank canvas with its passionate volume.
This canvas sans focal point. Bubblegum pops, primroses
afloat with ribbons and strings, ponytail tugs, pastels and
honeysuckles. Swings way too high - the girl, the guy.
My son and his family drove down from the big city,
out to the countryside with open fields and steams.
They brought their standard golden poodle along,
a curly-haired fellow, name of Timmy.
Timmy had never seen a cat;
not even a mole or a furry rat.
Visiting country kin, he was checking things out.
Everything went fine that very first day.
Cats went about paying him no mind.
He walked about just passing time.
On that second day there was a big mistake.
Being a city dog with more worldy ways,
to add pleasure to his hum-drum days,
he thought it time to befriend these country kin.
The cats had never seen a dog this small,
only those on stilts, big, long and tall,
like Pyrenees, big wide mouths and teeth to match.
With barking big dogs on the scene,
up a tree they squirreled, never to be seen.
But this golden-haired fellow, with city clout--
they’d give him benefit of instinctive doubt.
Mama cat was even so bold
to sniff this city slicker right on the nose.
Sizing him up all the while, a friendly rat, she surmised,
a might bigger than some she had seen,
playing cat and mouse, yet acting so coy;
that is, until that overgrown golden-haired rat
walked up to Mama’s black baby boy.
Mama’s two other sons, another black and a blue,
began to gather nearer this city dweller, too.
Timmy politely extended his nose.
black son cat extended his razor-sharp claws,
with a bristled tail and fierce hissing jaws.
Timmy let out with a painful yelp,
as Mama cat called all boys in for help.
Cats surrounded and gave chase to the dog,
life-fearing circles around the cedar tree he’d log;
four hissing cats hot on his tail,
poor Timmy yelping in a desperate wail.
The master of Timmy gave rescue,
but Mama cat and her three grown sons,
strutting in pride, putting a dog on the run.
Written by: Carolyn Henderson
For Constance LaFrance's Cat Poem Contest
Won 9th Place
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When you have fallen fast asleep,
I'll crawl toward your hall and creep
out through your door...
Advancing quickly through the gloom,
I'll prance into your living room
and as you snore,
I'll pulverize your rug and purr,
while sizing up your Douglas fir,
and when I...
LEAP!
I'll dangle ever frantically,
until each spangle from your tree
is in a HEAP!
I'll SLASH your floppy socks's toes
and GNASH your boxes tops's bows
in savage bites!
Then lift, at last, my pretty tail
and spritz a blast of 'Kitty Male"
...to wreck your lights!
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Warm Heart Warm Hands
Evening fell with blizzard snow along the lake
It had turned to a thick smooth sheet of ice
Shades of gray black set in with the twilight
Ghost images of swirling snow
Changing forms and shapes over the frozen surface
Vanished and came to life again as I approached
I have been lost for hours walking aimlessly in the shadows
Of tall pines and blinding drifts
To emerge from there to here, no hope in sight
Then, through the obstructing snow, danger approached
A large gray wolf moved with conviction in my direction
In erratic movements left and right it stalked
Trying to hide between each snowflake to attack
Sizing me up as a meal or snack
The beast launched itself at me
Hysterical red eyes, dagger large fierce teeth
Demon growls exploded from deep within the beast
Sounding from a long history of savage lineage
To intimidate and frighten me
As it lunged full force to seize my neck
The long gun was at the ready
Fingers nearly frozen to the trigger
I fired the death shot to the brain
The sound roared through the valley
Quickly, I drew my hunting knife
Slit its belly clean open
Plunged both my frozen hands into the beast
To feel the hot wet flesh and organs of the creature
Blood and heart stopped pulsing but served their purpose
I could feel tingling in my fingers, so
Frost bite had been averted
I stayed the night side by side with the animal
Warm heart warm hands till morn
Sun burnt open on a new day
And with it this spectacle
Blood and guts
Some surreal survival
As I wrapped my bloodied hands in the green scarf
Marched in the direction of a glow
Coming over a snow covered landscape
Altered by the drifts
Still lost with a long way to go
Once upon a time not so very long ago,
There was a man with old shoes, which let the air flow
He travelled to the shoe shop with money in his hand
To buy another pair of shoes, of the same brand
To his surprise when he picked up another pair of tens
They didn’t fit upon his feet, he checked that they were men’s
So matching up the shoes, the elevens seemed to fit
He bought the bigger size, he’s confused, just a bit
He wonders if they’re down sizing to save upon shoe leather
Due to really quite hard times, in this economic weather
Now he walks upon the pavement with a hobble and a creak
His shoes need breaking in, to stop the blisters and that squeak
Naked Coffee Shock
So. It’s early Sunday morning in DC
Visiting my locale Mickey D’s
I’m not too bright about anything
Simply wanting a cup of Joe
Before I go to church
The help as usual is friendly and polite
(Some say they’re not but that’s alright)
2 ugly men walked in behind me
Clearly they were there to sin
Both had no clothes on so things went south
They were erect
(and I don’t mean posture or the building of a house)
I averted my eyes at the appropriate moment
These are hard times and getting harder
Not wanting to be party to this depravity and crime
I tried to leave but…. Never mind…
“Reach for the sky!” The nude men shouted
Then struck up a conversation
(I thought this was salacious and unkind)
So. I geared up my stronger serious mind
Became sophisticated and refined
I told them they are in the wrong place and time
Informed them the church is close to here
If they were so inclined I’d take them there
Repentance is a goodly and Godly thing
“Ridiculous!” They cried
They wanted more than a house of God
It was the apple pies they so desired
I told them they looked silly and kinda dumb
Reminded them they had no guns (obviously, they were naked)
There was no way to fake it
The only thing they threatened were some smiles
So. The manager told them there are no pies
And sizing up the situation, continued
“Can’t either of you read?”
The sign is clearly posted
“Shoes are required”
You are not properly attired
So kindly leave
I always knew you would belong to me one day
And knew too that there would be others
You and I could never be forever…
Moving from shop to shop I’d eyeball parts for you
Sizing up what you would look like
When my dreams were finally realized
The only man you could ever love.
Nikola Tesla had nothing on me
When I imagined your comings and goings,
The competence of feminine curves
Leaving nothing to be desired.
The flawless logic of your imagination,
The joining of appendages to body,
So perfect in every aspect,
And skin forever supple and yielding
No other woman could compare.
All components tested well in advance by
The man who might be your God.
Now my research completed
The real work could finally begin,
From the ground up you came together,
Seed of my imagination blooming at last
Dreamlike was the realization of your beauty
Until naked you stood complete before me
As if asleep perhaps, or waiting for my command.
I pressed the hidden switch
And felt your soul receive its spark
A slight hum and smell of plastic barely noticeable
Hmmnn, I thought, and added perfume to my list.
Your smile seemed so perfectly full of life
As your body temperature rose to meet mine.
Softly you engaged yourself in my life,
Digital sensitivity part of your program,
You urged your potential onto living flesh,
Your hand so gently placed in mine.
But as I yielded to this new passion,
I confess that I wondered for a second or two,
Just how long the two of us would last.
Brian Johnston
May 1, 2015
Poet’s Notes:
This poem shows an individual working on a relationship as a scientist might approach it, trying to build into the other the answer to his heart felt dreams of what a perfect relationship would be like.
A Room with a view
Tight-dressed woman, heaving heart
Sizing hips for overweight
My inside motive
Lust leads me fly half a mile
To indulge storming senses.
Vision I nurtured
Years back, intruding my thoughts
A swarming brain, empty bed.
Now expanding stain
Like crowded private bookcase
Gathering dust, vision blurred.
======================
*Inspired by the title of a British Novel of the same title by E.M.Forster.
Mischievously waiting for his depart
Perfect wifey all morn, pure art
Dropped the act as she heard his car start
dead bolted the door, patted her back
Then off to his office in a dart
burst through the door with full intention
Knowingly entering a place forbidden
Thick air, you could slice, built up with tension
The third drawer down held the key
Unveiling the details, he forgot to mention
There in the center, a bundle of mail
Although, not surprised, her face became pale
Startled, she shivered as a picture frame fell
A picture of them on the day they wed
Rested for a moment, wasn't feeling so swell
Tachycardia severe, thought she was having an attack
anxious and faint, her vision was black
overwhelmed, she sat there sizing up the stack
For a moment she wished she could play naive
But she had come too far. There was no turning back
Each letter gave her a sting of defeat
she dropped and trampled them with her feet
wine in hand, closed the curtains and had herself a seat
Lying in wait for him to show
The words she read, they played on repeat
The longer she waited
The more anger marinated
He was probably out with a lady he dated
Should have arrived hours before
Infidelity was the one thing she hated
If only he had been home on time that night
Perhaps things would have been alright
She would have yelled in his face with fiery spite
Then one or the other would leave
But instead, a different fate played out for this fight
If only he would have been on time that night
Perhaps things would have been alright...
i love the early morning rasp of his voice
the birthmarks and burn scars
midsummer skin
i love the sticky rash of lust
the way a heart ticks until it implodes
the sugar soaked kisses
i do not love the way he smacks my face
the way he pushes too hard
the ways he does not love me kindly
i do not love my swollen cheeks
my bruised hips
my blood
i do not love my blood
i love the touch of innocence in the morning
before i have upset him
when we bask in apologies and ignorance of all our yesterday's
when the whispers are not wasps nests and he grins like greek god
when everything is beautiful except i say stop and he doesn't listen.
everything is beautiful except blood vessels clawing at the surface.
everything is beautiful except trying to scream when you've forgotten how to breathe
"please don't" puts him at ease
"don't touch me" doesn't mean anything
"i love you" tosses the dice
i lick arsenic off collarbone
slice the tongue, gargle blood
say goodnight like it's the last
could be the last
he cracks my bones between boulders
between fists
there is no difference
between matchboxes and kisses
seduction and resistance
him and his father
i feel like the guy that plays the flute
calls the snakes.
he slithers around my body
like intimidation
like he's sizing up the prey
like all those secrets in the wasps nest have been beaten out
swarming
buzzing around my head
like he makes me call him "honey" because he knows i'm drowning in it
and the one stinger i have would change nothing
who strikes first dies first
and i'm feeling courageous
feeling like a death wish
he paints me in blacks and blues.
violent hues.
the canvas colored in control is quite the masterpiece
and she's tired of being sculpted
tired of being the victim at his hands
cold and cracked.
i do not love the aching of nostalgia
the dry empty palms
the fear of hearing his footsteps in the middle of the night
but i love the fresh faced stranger in the mirror
the skin that does not rip itself off
the comfort in silence
in safety
i love sunsets that look like honey and breathing in
knowing i'm not drowning anymore
saying "you will never be a real man"
and knowing
knowing
i have stung him