Thought often makes a black bird of me,
Leaves me perched on the storm clouds\' gray.
Claws scraped into a watch post on rotten wood
Abandoned by termites left for lichen to exude.
Flea ridden wings twitch irritably to conceive
Finding no cause for flight or reason; no drive
To do, just to watch the shadows cavort about
By the fires of intent or deriving thought,
Undulating on the dirt, making monstrosities
Of branches and tree trunks before black skies.
Even the vengeful desire to join the eagle in abuse
On the mountainside on the innards of Prometheus
Is an untapped and muted humor. Umbral caws
From the distance leave me presiding subdued.
EtudeEtude12 years ago in Typographical More Like This
He said those words
He didn't like the way he said those words
He didn't like those words
Upon a revision
he felt more comfortable
with the way the words read
Appelt ParkA paper taped to the tree statedAppelt Park11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that fishing was strictly forbidden
for two weeks so the river could be
repopulated with fish.
I'd rather have gone to the dam,
but I didn't realize it then.
Davor and I sat on a bench
watching this outdoor aquarium
while we smoked cigarettes,
talked music technology,
and cleared our heads of the week.
"If you took me out of my environment
and dropped me into a new one
with hundreds of strangers,
I'd probably bite
the first hook out of there
"Probably," he says,
"Excellent metaphor, a poem in the works.
Write it down."
I don't really do that anymore."
The Glass Moteperpetuates lonesome in the sand,The Glass Mote12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
belonging to the shelves and miskept stacks
of a bedroom. It is a cooled chaos, a verdant
wolf eye bead in which we are by movement trapped
in lunacy! A mid-game molecular Jenga tower in which
I play a part as you do, tenant to a tentative position
bearing the weight of every thing on the shoulders of
every one, captured frozen at the fall.
Wooden cheques suspended en masse descent, pieces fixed
clacking against each other or finding themselves
harsh against their neighbors' back - or lucky to
touch vertically momentarily and proclaim soul mates.
The beach extends beyond vision and having no golgi
apparatus it is clear the dusk green shard of glass
in which we are transfixed is between sea and seawall.
Particles are playing like children peering into
Cheerios trying to find answers in the alphabet,
all torched god gave you was, "O!, O!, O!, O!" and a Sun
that always rises after twilight, raising temperature
like days and giving Sisyphus' descent in g
EscapeI'm trying to escape,Escape10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
trying to get away,
trying to ignore what they do,
forget about what they say.
No move I ever make,
can ever be one right,
every simple thing I say,
always starts a fight.
I'm sorry I'm not perfect,
the way I'm supposed to be,
the thing is your slowly killing me,
why can't you see?
I'd really like to run away,
where someone would understand,
to someone who could see my pain,
and gently take my hand.
Hush Little Baby - FinalHush Little Baby - Final13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
-Hush little baby, don\'t say a word-
No one cares why you're screaming
No one will hear you anyway
-Momma\'s gonna buy you a mockingbird-
And Mock is what it shall do
It\'ll wipe that grin right off your face
As you sit there, crying in disgrace
-If that mockingbird don\'t sing-
It\'s because I let it die
Let it waste away
Just like I will to you
Don\'t worry, it will happen someday soon
-Momma\'s gonna buy you a diamond ring-
You can\'t say I didn\'t treat you well
Just to be fair
It\'s gonna fit just a little too tight
Watch it cut to the bone
As your finger begins to swell
-And if that diamond ring don\'t shine-
It\'s because death\'s reflection
Got lost in your eyes
As you begin to realize
It\'s now your turn to die
-Momma is going to always love you-
she decided not toshe decided not to13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sometimes, I just pray
for another attack.
Bombs, planes, boxcutters.
I don\'t care how.
I just pray
I do it because
I really just want
everyone to hold hands,
and to be able to cry
That\'s not a bad thing.
It\'s really not.
(she wasn\'t sure
why she decided not to.)
-she seeks solace-1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
from the crevices of her mind
because it's the only place
where innocence still remains;
and it is the only place
where she can think
without the corruption of the world plaguing her mind.
Josh.Or:The fear of boring him-Josh.Or:The fear of boring him10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I was wearing a skirt
in the kitchen
for the very first time,
as a friend of
mostly masculine clothes.
(in the usual sense.)
Fresh water and coffee beans
were - once again -
this blinking messiness' most cheering feature.
(the faucet: drip drip drip)
to pour it out and spilled.
you said: "shit". In moments like these
I want to climb across the table
my face along
the side of your neck, your black
hair smelling warmly
of you and your retro shirt
and feel your tight shoulders squirm
with suppressed irritated laughter.
Instead I drummed my nails on the table,
trying to look casual,
and listened to
the mildly pitiful sigh
of my ever sarcastic
little red radio.
FlawedInsecurities.Flawed5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Screaming at me,
clawing at every inch
of my body.
That little voice inside my head
sounding strangely like my own,
tearing me down,
from the inside.
Each hate-filled blow,
hits harder than the last.
Each self-inflicted cut,
hidden in shame,
nonexistent to the piercing eyes of others,
visible only in that lonely mirror reflection.
little dotted lines drawn
over every flawed bit of me.
Not pretty enough,
There is not a perfect inch
within my being.
Why can't I be beautiful?
Losing timeLosing time14 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
And suffice it's said, most people think back to a time they were confused to clear their mind, thus they can learn something new. There-four we may too be confused during our days and thus will be apt to learn something too.
Box box box box box box boxx ciircle ciircle ciircle ciircclle something- hey fuck off, no fair, wait your turn, i had him first.
Hello my name's Brett Banfe have you heard of flowerrrrrssssss- fuck off! Hey, I'm doing something, opiug-buggeroff -- piss on splat.
Fuck you, I dont care what Jesus said, I'm Bill Gates. Enter my gates.
They're right now in front of you so enterrrrrrrrrrr
Hi Springtime. Just in time for tea. I've been waiting for you.
Have a glass, dear. DRINK UP BHIOTCH. Oh that?
That's the neighborhood dog, sure does have a stinky belch
doesn't she/he/she/he/she/she- I opened a door.
Oops. Did I say tea?
I/you meant blood::..
Are you confused about time?
Map [ this virus for me, Scotto. ]
Dearrrrrrrr Captain Stuii
Joni Mitchell was on the radioI saw a plastic bag run a stop signJoni Mitchell was on the radio11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
On Park Avenue and
The green light was on a smoke break
And we were all sitting like Christmas presents
beneath a concrete tree.
The tires romanced tiny pebbles
With novelty pick-
And Joni was singing on the radio
about Cold Blue Steel.
You hummed along and beat
against the glove compartment.
Seems to me, that's something you'd do.
When the wind lit up, plastic bag-
Break lights, red and shiny.
I saw it settle on the cactus
in the median
Next to the man selling Grapevines.
You turned off my radio, and the light changed.
The Best Poem Ever WrittenThe Best Poem Ever Written13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Someone is going to produce
The best poem ever written.
It will be blessed with one hundred and three lines
Of genius, and a hint of luck.
The lines will not be overlong
But not too
Each stanza will be written
With vigor, on purpose
And will never exceed the limit of
Or something like that.
In this poem there will be a man.
This man, though, will not be a hero.
Nor will he be a loser.
He will be just the right type of
Everything and have only one tragic flaw
Which will be...
This man won\'t hate women.
He will respect them, but not to that
Too much point; this man will not
Be whipped by anyone.
The man will do a good deed,
And that deed will be rewarded.
Perhaps with diamonds, or a
Lovely maiden. But that maiden will not be
Too love-lorne; she may have had her fair share of men
And is waiting for the right one.
This maiden will not be a stereotype.
She will not belief in fate, but rather good fortune.
Her facial features may be slight and pretty
-i. the world would be a better place if-1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
no longer existed
there is far too little time
to hold such bitterness in our hearts.
ii. the world would be a better place if
we found homes
in each other
home is where the heart is,
and my heart lies with you.
iii. the world would be a better place if
to believe in ourselves
it’s okay to fall
when you will rise once more.
iv. the world would be a better place if
the scars that adorn our bodies
in our flaws.
v. the world is a better place
because of your kindness
and everything you do.
zoloftthere is this beautiful poemzoloft12 years ago in Open More Like This
every time i read it,
all my poems dissappear.
HeldWe loved like arson:Held9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
glow floats around like smoke, and distorts us,
restless, and tangles around the rafters,
the room imbued: remnants of star-fuelled lust.
We loved like fireworks, comets and fireflies.
We traced paths through constellations for hours,
across freckled skies, tasting the stars
with every kiss. The night went on for miles.
Now a cathartic still whispers, lingers
as the room burns orange in the morning's
luster. The carmine light bares a warning:
To keep my distance, or I'd clash with hers.
I leave her to draw the blinds, casting shad-
ows like prison-cell bars across the bed.
reali swear to Godreal10 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
that i love mine as much as
you love yours and that
if i could find the words to say it,
i would. if i could
find the perfect words, if i could just
close my eyes and instead of thinking
i love him i love him i love him
think of something poetic and real and un-cliché,
just for a second,
i would. but
i am-he is-we are poetic,
The One Where The Cake IgnitesThe One Where The Cake Ignites10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Phoebe is in Central Perk with Ross.
Ross is writing a poem to Rachel,
unlikely as this may seem. Phoebe
listens to him recite it, then Chandler
walks in on the last few lines: "And Joey
is a noey like Hannukah with Monica,
so you see, you're left with me." "Monica
and Hannukah?" says Chandler. "Gee, Ross,
I thought you quit poetry." (Titles) Joey,
elsewhere, is cooking with Rachel.
They're baking a birthday cake for Chandler.
Joey's idea. They're counting on Phoebe
to keep him stalled. So, naturally, Phoebe
tells Chandler to write a poem for Monica.
"It's Phoebe's poetry workshop!" Chandler
relents, but writes four lines for Ross:
"Oh Ross/So cross/Becoss/Of Rachel."
Monica arrives in the flat to find Joey
and Rachel cooking. She screams. Joey
belts her - she falls unconscious. Phoebe
senses violence, contacts Rachel
psychically. "Something just happened to Monica!"
Chandler's ode has riled Ross.
He demands satisfaction from Chandler,
produces two pistols, whereupon Chandler
AC ExpresswayMile after mileAC Expressway12 years ago in Other More Like This
in the backseat trying to contemplate sleep
between the nucking sounds of the two next to me
the only thing that comes to mind is semantics
and the shore
leaving behind large cement blocks
adorned with neon lights
painted on the insides with desire
as electric rainbows, containing colors
while my hands drifted.//telegramawhile my hands drifted.11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
escrevo para te dizer que
nasci torto no crescendo do céu
pútrido como a manga do teu espaço
escrevo para te dizer que sei de mim
que sou dos dias e dos matagais
das sombras frescas e dos sismos
escrevo para te dizer que soçobro da cafeína
para te dizer que te escolho
dos rios, da calçada
dos gritos dos taipais
da sombra dos edifícios.
i write to tell you that
i was born crooked in the crescendo of the sky
putrid as the sleeve of your space
i write to tell you that i know from me
that i am from the days and woods
unsullied precincts and typhoons
i write to tell you that i am
the rest of caffeine
to tell that i choose you
from the rivers, the pavement
from the screams of blind venetians
from the silhouette of the buildings.
'Best Friend'You left me here,'Best Friend'9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
alone in the cold.
I can almost see the wind blow.
It brings back memories,
memories of you.
The way you used to smile,
you know, back we were two.
three musketeers minus one, "best friends".
The warth of your hug,
and those silly jokes you told,
while trying to cheer me up, force one smile out of me.
I opened up to you, telling you everything.
& now thinking back I realize...
you told me nothing.
Nothing worth knowing, anyway.
Whatever happened? Did you just get bored?
I'm not always cheery, not always interesting,
but I thought best friends was more than that.
Maybe I was too eager,
eager to believe I finally had someone,
some to call my best friend.
you were the closest to it,
almost the closest I'd ever had.
now you're just every other "friend" in the hallway.