Our Captain (Robin Williams Remembrance Poem)Oh, Captain
We’ve never had,
A Friend like You.
You came to us as an Alien,
from the Planet Ork.
But through the Years,
You made Home in Our Hearts
We Saluted You over the Airwaves
We Watched You get Sucked in a Game,
And Haul Your Family in the Big Rolling Turd.
You were a British Nanny,
Who was actually their Dad.
A Business Man,
Who was actually Peter Pan.
A Crazy Scientist,
Making a Being called Flubber.
Who Just Wanted to be Free.
You were a Robot,
Made of Rusty Old Parts.
We’ve never had,
A Friend like You.
You became the Man of the Year,
And the Wax Figurine Exhibit
Of the Twenty-Sixth President
Of the United States of America.
You Were the World’s Greatest Dad,
And the World’s Greatest Therapist.
You Had a License to Wed
And be a Kid,
Who Grew Up Four Times Too Fast.
You only Won One Oscar.
But that’s okay.
We Love all Your Other Works Anyways…
We Will Miss You
Anything You WantI could write you a sonnetAnything You Want1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
But, well, I’m no poet.
Fourteen lines of words,
That only mean as much
As you believe they do
My love for you.
I could sing you a song,
But, no, that’s all wrong.
Someone else’s words,
Or even my own,
How you make
I could draw you a portrait,
But, no, wait,
Art isn’t my forte.
No pencil could show
Your eyes glow.
I could take you away,
But, no, we could just lay,
Here for forever.
And no vista
Could ever compare
I could give you my heart,
But, no, let’s not start
On how bad a gift
That would be.
Let me just say,
My dear, today,
I love you, just how you are.
Dedicated to Robin WilliamsThe earth cries,Dedicated to Robin Williams1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Its roars of weeping billow across the sky with deafening volume.
The clouds groan under the weight of their own tears,
The ground is flooded with their sadness.
All over the world, people mourn.
His family and friends, his fans...
Parents, grandparents, and children alike.
We have lost a role-model, a childhood...
All mourn for the loss of a legend..
A hero to many.
One who has bestowed so much happiness,
So much laughter and encouragement,
While he himself battled a war within his being.
How could this be? We ask ourselves.
How could someone so great
Fall to such depths?
But as these inquiries burn in our minds,
There is something greater to cling to within our hearts...
The mark he has left on the world.
never become a writeri.never become a writer.never become a writer1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you will become a perfectionist,
picking life apart
with a magpie's eye,
hunting for the beautiful bits
until you can make yourself
a sparkling throne
in the center of a junkyard.
ii.you will write when you're sad.
you will write when you're happy.
whenever you feel something,
you will vomit the emotion out
into some sort of literature.
when you're finished,
you'll be empty
and surrounded by
pages and pages of
everything you once were.
iii.you will try to make
pain sound delicious,
painting over the ragged wounds
with pink paint
and candy-coat lies.
you will learn
how to decorate graveyards.
everyone will play in them,
but you alone will see the headstones.
iv.if you fall in love,
you will turn your love into a poem,
and you will always like your own words
more than you like the real person.
you'll become so selfish
you'll disgust yourself,
but you will not be ab
breakups. | romano vargasbreakups. | romano vargas1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Hey.. I think we should just.. call it quits." he said, and his voice was dull and monotonous. You shift in your seat uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. Your boyfriend, your third boyfriend this month was dumping you. He grunts and takes his glass of wine and sips on it. "It's not you, it's me."
'Yeah, right.' you thought out, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.
"No. It's okay," you then responded, getting out of your seat. "I totally understand. In fact, I was actually thinking the same thing. We weren't really having a healthy relationship, and yeah. It's just not working for me," you then take take out your wallet and placed a few dollars on the table. "It was nice meeting you, though."
He nods his head curtly, "You too."
You give him one last smile — this was probably going to be the last time you see him. You might not see him again, unless some kind of coincidence happens and you might bump into him with his next new girlfriend. You highly doubt that w
Stop Romanticizing Poets 2K14This is how I write my poems:Stop Romanticizing Poets 2K141 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
You’re blonde and you have blue eyes.
You’re the perfect subject for my next great hit,
a long rambling epic or a two page sonnet
which would start by comparing your hair
to rays of the sun and your eyes to the ocean
at daybreak. Even if you’re more of a dishwater blonde
than sun-colored, and your eyes are less ocean and
more sky, I swear I write this poem and think
vaguely of you.
But here is a secret: I’m not writing a poem about you.
I’m writing a poem about the idea of you.
And I don’t know if it will be a love poem or
a break-up poem or a “please don’t go home and
commit suicide” poem or one of those
heartbreakingly honest poems that feels like
you put your pencil on paper and bled.
I don’t write poems like that often.
No poet does, not really,
we write poems about you and your blue eyes
because we don’t like how bleeding feels,
and it is much safer for us to pretend to fall in l
in the blink of an eyeshe was born on a day whenin the blink of an eye2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tectonic plates were crashing against each other
and i think that’s a good metaphor for her:
she was always the kind of person who fought
battles, even ones she couldn’t win.
she was a mess of moments she should have
taken seriously and too many times she tried
to laugh off the pain.
i learned how to care about other people
too much by watching her.
diagnosed as a grenade, she told me one day,
sure to blow up in someone’s face.
you’re going to be fine, i told her.
just let me leave, she said and
i wish i had, but i couldn’t,
not until she kicked and screamed her way
out of the doors, resenting everything
that stayed, a friend by memory alone.
i still have the scars from her detonation.
i will probably carry then with me until
i, too, leave.
fast friends make fast ends make sad ends make
wondering when she stopped caring
enough to not even want to say goodbye.
to the new girl, don’t worry: