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Elizabeth Dec 2015
In my white tights, I watched
Dad cry in our kitchen.
He rested on the sink,
Palms sweating and white-knuckled.
We heard Mikey by the door
Ask dad politely
With a defeated whisper
For a comforting pat,
A silent scratch behind old
Folded skin on his Rottweiler ear.

The home phone, chunky and beige,
Laid face down on the wooden counter
Soaked in saline.
Dad was to take Mikey
To the vet in the evening,
Bring him home, cold and cancerous,
And rub his webbed, iced toes
Between index and ring
In a fleeting moment, one last time.
But he never picked up the phone.
It laid dormant, an incessant hum
In Dad’s brain, radiating to the base of his spine.
Instead we each
Kissed Mikey’s brow,
Smushed his extinguishing face
In our palms,
Turning off the lamps.

Mom took off my untwirled tutu,
Putting unmatching pajamas on me.
We forgot to pray, both pirouetting
Thoughts between our fingers
Of what death is like.

I woke up to French toast
And my answer
Served on a blue plastic plate -
A smudge of tear on the rim.
The phone lay on the counter
Crusted in salt, adjacent
To Mikey’s frayed and rusted collar.
SophiaAtlas Sep 2021
HAPPY 41ST BIRTHDAY MIKEY!!!!! :)
Oil and vinegar,
Sugar and spice;
everything looks nice.
Your wit and charm,
sends long walks of
harmony into a world
of a never ending
façade.
Put's on his best smile,
but he will always be
a broken man.
Stay's at home,
I try my best to
console him and he
Put's his head high,
and thinks no one will
notice.
On the way, he imagines
reactions, that someday
he will have a perfect world,
made the way he wants it.
Making plans for Mikey,
to make sure he's a happy man.
Al Drood Feb 2018
Hot summer evening and out on the patio
Nikki grins widely and flicks back her hair.
Red wine drips down (stupid Mikey spilt pouring!)
and pools on the stones down by Nikki’s feet, bare.

Mikey has gone off indoors for some smokes now,
leaving her smiling alone in the dusk;
Tom Petty sings about love from the hi-fi
and Nikki considers a long night of lust.

Mikey is back now, his hand on her shoulder,
cigarettes flicker in soft twilit breeze;
out of the shadows a moth flutters wildly,
dancing erratic near crackers and cheese.

Nikki dramatically shrieks like a schoolgirl,
brave Mikey swipes with his blue baseball cap!
Down goes the moth in a torrent of swearing,
battered to death on the neatly trimmed path.

Into his strong arms the killer sweeps Nikki,
carries her off to the bedroom above;
there in a wine-fuelled frenzy of passion,
Mike and his girlfriend make candlelit love.

Radio news on the following morning
tells of a fire in a suburb of town.
Talking head says that the couple had no chance;
died in their sleep as the whole place burned down.

Out where the tape cordons off the burnt ruin,
smoke mingles with windblown ashes and dust;
Nikki and Mikey are joined with the moth now,
blown down the street by a hot summer’s gust.
Donall Dempsey Mar 2019
GRANDFATHER CLOCK

"When granda died
he turned into a clock!"

I was 7 or so, so this seemed
an acceptable fact.

"Oh we still kept him in the corner
wound him up every night."

I glanced at the nothing in the corner.
There was only a slab of sunlight dozing.

"Oh we had to pawn him
a long time ago!"

I gasped: "Noooo!"

"Oh he had to go
he had only one hand

and his pendulum
was broken."

Sam the dog barks
asks if I am coming out to play.

I of course am
coming out to play.

Auntie Nellie scolds
Uncle Michael.

"For God's sake Mikey
will ya ****** well stop!"

Mikey sticks his tongue in cheek
a characteristic tic.

"Can't ya see the poor child is
ejeet enough to believe ya!"

Whenever later I chance to meet
a clock that could be my granda

I touch its face tenderly
stroke the mottled glass

"Ahhh Granda!" I smile
giving him a great big hug.

"TickTock!" says granda
"**** ****!"
My da's da died before I was born so I never knew him...only shards of stories...fragments of who he might have been. I used to walk around the farm imagining him doing the exact same back in the day of say 1922.  When I was as small as stupid and as impressionable as hell my uncle would answer a normal question about my granda with a tall tale such as this. He'd tell me the most surreal things with a straight poker face and I love him so much I believed anything and everything he'd make up. If my father gave me his love of poetry...it was Uncle Mikey who made me one with all his glorious making up! Nellie used to scold him about this but it didn't stop him as the words coming out of his mouth grew into an enchanted entangled forest. He was the treasure trove of my childhood and I was rich beyond my wildest dreams.
Tim Isabella Oct 2015
I think a lot about calling out sick.
Not so much for a cold, or an upset stomach
Not even a broken bone, no
I wish I could call out sick and say
"Hey, boss, I'm sorry, I can't come in today
I'm hallucinating  that the foliating leaves
Are leaves burning our world to the ground
I can't go outside or I'll burn"
And then he'd say to me
"Yeah, Mikey, no problem, hopefully someone puts those fires out for ya"
And I'd close all my blinds and keep all my lights off and hide under my blanket
And it would be okay
Or maybe I'd call in and say
"There are toxic germs slithering and trying to slide their way into my pores"
To which he'd tell me "We've all been there, take care of that ****, man"
And I'd spend four hours racking up my hot water bill in a boiling hot shower
That feels more like if I'd gone outside and felt the burning leaves land on my body
Or maybe I'd say to him
"Every single nightmare and demon from my past is screaming in my head
So loudly that I cannot hear a single thing in this room,
I don't even hear myself speaking to you right now, sir"
To which, I have no idea what he'd have be cause I couldn't hear it
But realistically, I would lose my job so fast, that,
Much like in a cartoon, when they run and kick up a dust cloud behind them
You'd see nothing that was there before, just the smoke
But tell me, if so many people call out sick because they decided to drink their demons away
Why can't I call in sick because of my demons?
Why is a hangover a good enough reason to call out
But locking yourself away from any and all pill bottles or sharp objects
Because you're too depressed to roll over and kiss your girlfriend goodbye
Before she leaves for work not good enough?
Why are we afraid to talk about mental illness, but Ben Affleck's divorce is all over magazine covers?
Why do we try to cover up what is very clearly a very real problem in this country
No, instead we talk about Caitlyn Jenner
Instead, we talk about Jennifer Lawrence, and her leaked naked pictures
Instead, we have passionate debates about the color of a dress
But we can't admit that the voices in our heads, or the panic in our hearts, or the depression in our souls, or the spinning in our minds, or the screaming in our ears are real
The only thing worse than feeling all of this
Is being too ashamed or too afraind to talk about it
We bury it like it's any old newspaper
When we should treat it like our mortgage papers
Or our tax refunds
We must stop shaming, or this generation is gonna be dead before they even get a chance
Yeah, I think a lot about calling out sick
And saying "I apparently spent all night on the bathroom floor having a panic
Because I woke up here with no memory, and my head is spinning and my body aches
My hands can't move from the stiffness of slamming them into the floor all night
My eye is swollen shut from when I fell to the floor and smacked it off the sink"
And he'd tell me "Put some ice on that ****, Mikey. I'll see ya tomorrow."
This poem stemmed from a completely rhetorical conversation I'd had with someone about mental health sick days.
Kitt Jul 2017
A baby clutches his mother’s dress
Unaware of how it will save his life
Unwary of the saving grace that will come to rest
The child is soft and clean
His name is Eugenius, the second of three
After Richard, before Michal
He is just a babe, no bigger than an infant can be

A toddler clutches his mother’s dress, the hem
Unaware of tragedy
Unwary of the Horror that awaits him
The child is frightened and shaking
His name is Gene, the second of three
After Richard, before Michal
He is just a little one, no taller than Mama’s knee

A child clutches his mother’s hand
Unaware from behind her skirt as they are herded
Unwary of the disaster to come from the cart
His name is Genie, the second of three
Before Mikey, after Richie
He is just a child, no higher than Tata’s knee

A boy holds his brother’s hand tight
Unaware of the danger he is in
Unwary that the coin from Mama’s skirts will save his life
The boy is healthy and strong, though not for long
His name is Gene, the second of three
Before Michal, after Richard
He is naïve, but soon to grow up prematurely

A prisoner holds his own shirt, unsure
Unaware of the pain that is coming
Unwary that he shall walk away nevermore
The prisoner is hurting and ******
His name is “Gefangene,” the second of two
After Richard, before the crimson mess
He is crying for a ****** towel carried by

A handicap clutches Mama’s leg
Aware that he cannot cry as she shuffles him out
Wary that outside her skirts is the hunt
The handicap is hurting so badly
His name is Gene, the second of three
After Richard, before the new bump
He is unwilling to believe

A kaleka holds tight to his brother’s back
Aware that he is a burden
Wary that he is a load
The kaleka is waiting, waiting.
His name is Gene, second of three
After Richard, before Theresa
The kaleka is ready for release

The dziecko holds again to Mama’s skirt
Aware that he is now free to leave
Wary that he will never be independent
The dziecko is elated and mourning
His name is Gene, the second of three
Before Theresa, after Richard
The dziecko will never be the same

Sixty five years later
Gene holds Rosie’s hand tight
Aware that he is old now, having lived fully
Wary that death is imminent at last
The great-grandfather is peaceful and content
His name is Tata, Grandpa, Gene, husband, and more
He is the last one left of his war
The survivor is ready to reunite with his family
He gives thanks to Hattie’s skirts
That kept him alive though the hurts.
Eugeneus Borowski is my great-grandfather, a child Holocaust victim. This piece is currently featured in the World War II poetry unit in the syllabus of a literature course offered through Northern Essex Community College. The only surviving first-hand account of Gene’s experience is a cassette tape of an interview he gave many years ago.
Gotta find a new way
To scribble the pencil on paper
To draw letters and words
Sentences and paragraphs
Chapters and books
Because there's just too much going on
In my mind
It's like a cement mixer filled with rock and mud
Turning 'round and 'round
Mixing that **** into concrete
You can put your hands on the spread product
And the imprint will dry in the block
Forever for to contrast the size of your hand today
With the size of your hand in 25 years
(Barring a catastrophe that demolishes the concrete)

Always hoped my mind would be a deep well into which could be thrown a cavalcade of essentials,
Knowledge, wisdom
Intellect
I've kept my mind open for them
And yet they weigh me down
They make me feel awful, like being squeezed across the chest by the not particularly strong arms of an aging circus  sideshow barker

Take what you will
Lighten my load
For Gods sake take the fear
Of being happy without feeling this ominous depression

This is the point where I rail against how unfair it is that in Colorado and a few other enlightened states marijuana is given due credit for it's medicinal propensities while 10 hours away in Oklahoma you can still be thrown in jail for possessing even a small amount.

People, scoff if you will
I need medicinal marijuana
I know that nothing else is going to bring me a modicum of joy such as it has for so many years

And I know it's wrong to be more excited about hooking up than in communing with God, meditating and contemplating on His Holy Name.
It's wrong
It's got to be a sin, obsessing about ***
While my desire for God wanes and
Flutters like a flag at a losing race
I'm sorry I feel this way
But I do
O Jesus I trust total honesty
Means a lot more to you
Than puttin' on the show
Pasting phony smiles
and lying, making out like their love for Someone they've never seen is consuming them with the same passion had it been a new boyfriend or a special girlfriend with flesh and blood and sinew and tendon and breathing heart and beating lung
Speaking words
Emitting odors
Skin to pinch
Glorious laughter in your ears
Guffawing at your stupid jokes, she likes you!
Mikey liked you, dear, I know that means a lot
Maybe ask them if they want to go see God with you
But if they don't you'll be disappointed
And if you're as depressed as I am
You'll stay home and hope they'll decide to hang with you

Because there's too much information
There are too many idiots walking the terra of this country
Too much misunderstanding
Too much pressure
Too much unloving intolerance
Too many headaches
Too much wringing of the hands.
Mister, you wouldn't recognize Jesus on the street if He personally placed your hand in His side
You don't want to know him, do you?
The Truth is a terrifying concept
Don't get too close to it, get burned by the light
You can't handle the truth, afraid you'll see it in the mirror
So you hoist the beam from both your eyes
Because someone said if you did that you could judge rightfully
But you didn't get that the beam wasn't a literal object , that it in fact could not be removed
None but the Christ Ever had the right to judge you
He judges from love, always seeing the value in the man, long past forgiven all sins
But they'll run from Him
I think he'll giggle, knowing they'll eventually come around
Maybe he'll have to show them
But for right now I don't see Him
My faith may be weak
But I need some ******* relief
I have a feeling He wouldn't mind
If nothing else He'd be pleased that it made me feel like living again

Scuse me while I load a bowl
Let me get a few tokes
Then you come back
And I guarantee you'll notice
A much friendlier, social man
Sky Nguyen Mar 2015
they are not even a boy band, and that name is pronounced five sauce,
they're pretty lame, but they're all i've got,
when calum breathes, ashton laughs , mikey screams and luke smiles,
i swear all i have in my stomach are butterflies.
if you think i dont love them enough,
then you have to read this poem and screencap..
i tried (:
Jeanette Feb 2015
Feeling alone in room full of people
is like a corpse on the shoulder,
it's like anchors at your chest.
I do this trick where I disappear
just long enough that when I return
no one will call me.

I don't want to be alone,
but I feel like vase that breaks,
and every time I try I am less whole,
and in a different shape.

I'm always scared that I am getting so **** old
when I still feel like I fit in my mother's lap.
With her hands through my hair,
I can finally sleep,

but I have the same weird dream where
I am 15 and I'm making out with Mikey
in the restroom of Russell's party.

He is lifting my shirt and I tell him if he stops
he can still tell his friends that I let him touch me.

Mikey smiles and leaves, and again
somebody else is telling my story.
hkr Apr 2013
i’m 6
you’re tall like a “big kid”
i’m small, i fit in your lap
you like pokémon cards
[and the spice girls, that’s our secret]
last week you tried to runaway
you didn’t know where to go, came home
you should have gone
under the table

i’m 13
i have the coolest brother because
you work at an amusement park and
this roller coaster is fast
[your friends say your girlfriend is, too]
you aren’t mikey anymore but
not michael II either because
you’re purging daddy out
so you go by mike

i’m 17
i’m watching your band
again and
your phone keeps ringing
[she’s calling about mike’s baby]
i think i’ll pick it up, mikey
tell her you still like the spice girls

i’m 22
cleveland state?
it’s part of her deal
you’re stuck in ohio
[just like daddy]
but you’re getting out of columbus:
i gave you bus fare
under the table
Max Neumann Jul 2021
Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic Metropolis
June 13th, 2021

Esteemed Readers and Writers, Gangstapoets and Hangarounds,

Gangstapoetry proudly declares that CREATION 96 is now the second unit of our Global Movement.

We are welcoming our new members. You are now a part of us. Much Love.

Tizzop


GANGSTAPOETS


**** 13.8  *  MIKEY DA STREETWISE  *  EAZY LEGS *  ADORABLE GREGGIE  *  MONICA MATADORA  *  SLY BOOTYGIRL  *  COLLAPSIN CHAOT  *  THE LADY REVENANT  *  BEEN  *  WOOZY WIZARD  *  TELLY  *  CRATERSKATER  *  CHEYENNE IS STARVIN  *  CASPER THE PSYCHOTIC GHOST 


GANGSTAPOETS


DESERT SAMURAI  *  PRESTON  *  ALBOW  *  SNOWBLADE  MUTANT  *  SAMBA  * 
UNKLE OF DOOM  *  PLAY  *  ANTWONE  * 
BOBBY BUTCHAH  *  TINA  *  JOEY  *  DREAM SEEKER  *  TRANCE DISCIPLE  *
*  MOTH  *  DR. ****  *  KOBA COBRATONGUE 


GANGSTAPOETS


SVETLANA  *  GUNJAHTOOL  *  LOUIS ORTGIES  *  MISHU BRAVE BEAR  *  GÖKHAN TATCHOUOP  *  DESOCIALIZED KID  *  WIND DIGGER  *  SABIÇ  * JUAN  * DEAL  *  LUCY TARANTULA  *  TEXAS HOLD ME  *  SOUTHSIDE DRILL ASSASIN  *  SHAWN  *  JAMMED JAY 



GANGSTAPOETS


THCO  *  TIMMY ROTTEN  *  PLATIN ZIPPO  *  WORLDWIDE WAGGING  *  ZOMBIE NEIGHBOR  *  BUTCH  *  KWAME'S LOST SON  *  TRANCE24/7  * JIMMY  *  JOSE, FELIPE & CATHERINE  * LAST OPTION PHIL  *  KIAN  *  MAX NEWMAN  *  MAGIC GOON
**** its a slow night !
Mike said from across the table nursing his coffee inbtween passing the flask between us under the table.

Jack you pick up many fares tonight?
Bout the usual drunks bud but no its not been the best night .

Honestly I was happy bout the down time I was nursing hangover and truly didnt feel like dealing with peoples **** .

Listening to Mikey was bad enough he loved to ramble on about old stories and hookers he had nailed in his cab .

I swear I think sometimes he lived in that *******.
He certanly dressed like he did .Wearing the same clothes from last week .

You guys ever actually eat or do you just exist off ***** stories cigarettes and coffee.

Hey Susan you know I only come here to be in your presence .
Yeah right Jack hey you got anything in that flask you passing back and forth?

Sure do sweetheart I said as she leaned over the table she took a hit from the flask **** near emptying it.

Id care but I was to busy looking at her cleavage.
Hey leave something for us ***** Mike piped up.

Yeah well thats the cost of your buddy here looking down my shirt .
And what wonderful view it is sugar I said as she refilled my coffee totally ignoring Mike as usual .

What the hell man you wanna piece of *** I can tell you.where to look but dont let that ***** take all are ***** Jack.

Funny thing is its never are ***** when I buy it Mickey.
******* man you know I would share if I had a bottle .
Yeah I really cant say bud never seen you ever have one you *****.

Yeah ******* man.

Mike never could handle being picked on.
Alot of loud mouths couldn't .
Mike was one of many but he was a good laugh on a ocassion and kinda grew on you after awhile course so does a tumor so he wasnt exactly my favorite person in the world.

Course I never did like people .
I saw all there worst sides driving them the drunks least were semi honest .

The yuppies never paid you any mind you were there ride nothing more.

**** Jack I ever tell you bout that couple a few weeks ago I picked up?
I knew mikes silence wouldnt last long.

No you didnt .

Hell man so I do a pick up at the Raven you know that dive off Atlantic?

Yep been there many a time .

Well anyways I pick up this couple let me tell you from they were making out on the sidewalk I knew I was in for a show .

The chicks got this hot as **** little black cocktail dress on .
******* guy barely can tell me the address cause the chicks all over him.

So I head to the address well no sooner Im heading down the road I look back in the review and this ***** is going down on him I mean she's putting a Linda Lovelace to shame back there.
No **** well I know your demented *** was happy beats a drunk passing out in the backseat ******* himself .

No **** sherlock mike replied .
Anyways Im like ******* enjoying the **** out of this fare .
So much so a figure why the hell not *******.

Are you ******* nuts?
How the hell you going to drive and ******* truly you are one sick **** Mikey.

**** hell man I'm a professional brother unlike you .
Really you got to loosen up and live or this job will drive you nuts .

Yeah like your sane I thought to myself .

Anyways she's back there going to town like she working a ***** scene .
Everything's feeling good but I just kind of lost myself for a moment
Swerved hit the **** curb .

And I hear this guy ******* almost scream.
See when I hit the curb she bout bit his **** off.

******* funny **** the guys yelling get me to the ******* hospital she's keeps telling him she's sorry.

But thats not all of it he's going off cause he cant figure out what he's going to tell his wife .

Aint that some **** and to top it off the ******* didnt even tip me.
I cant imagine after almost giving him *** change why he wouldnt want to tip you Mickey.

Oh like I'm some ******* for getting worked up watching this chick go to town on this guy.
Okay hotshot being your so more noble than me what would you had done so differently .


I sat looked at this fellow cabbie trying not to laugh.
Honestly mike .

I would have pulled over and left the meter running till she finished .

I never was much at multi tasking like yourself .

Fuack you Jack I heard Mike say as I left a tip on the table and was on my way out.

Be careful out there Jack I herd Susan say.
Dont worry sugar I always am .


Stay crazy .

Gonz
Yes before you bring this to my hangover attention I know this is a a short story cause im a alcoholic not stupid hamsters
Max Neumann Oct 2020
GOD
i trust in you and you love me
forever protected, the umbrella
maybe i'm scared, here and there
i, then, close my eyes and speak to you

you, then, answer me and calm me
we don't need any poetry, God
it's you and me, it's you and me...
YOUR SON, Mikey, Tizzop, Max

protect my mom and my dad,
my brothers and sisters
Elias, Christoph, Katharina, Chris,
Alin and Valerie, Andreas, Dennis

Nicholas, Eden, Beza, Milly, Janet,
Albin, Richard, Robin, Davis, Gisi
and their LOVED ONES. FOREVER.

i do thank you from the bottom of
my heart and my soul.
forever yours, Mikey, Tizzop, Max
Onoma Dec 2019
configuring pieces make

me laugh...guess I'm loose

in the dome.

Mikey boy, do me a solid and

tighten up those figures of

yours.

make sure it stays on the up

and up, here's my open arms

just in case.
Jaelin Rose Sep 2013
No one sits with him,he doesn't fit in
But we feel like we do when we make fun of him
Cause you want to belong,do you go along?
Cause his pain is the price paid for you to belong
It's not like you hate him or want him to die
But maybe he goes home and thinks suicide
Or he comes back to school with a gun at his side
And any kindness from you might have saved his life
Heroes are made when you make a choice

You could be a hero - heroes do what's right
You could be a hero - you might save a life
You could be a hero - you could join the fight
For what's right....

No one talks to her, she feels so alone
She's in too much pain to survive on her own
The hurt she can't handle overflows to a knife
She writes on her arm wants to give up her life
Each day she goes on is a day that she's brave
Fighting the lie that giving up is the way
Each moment of courage her own life she saves
When she throws the pills out a hero is made
Heroes are made when you make a choice

You could be a hero - heroes do what's right
You could be a hero - you might save a life
You could be a hero - you could join the fight
For what's right....

No one talks to him about how he lives
He thinks that the choices he makes are just his
Doesn't know he's a leader with the way he behaves
And others will follow the choices he's made
He lives on the edge, he's old enough to decide
His brother who wants to be him is just nine
He can do what he wants because it's his right
The choices he makes change a nine-year-old's life
You could be a hero - heroes do what's right
You could be a hero - you might save a life
You could be a hero - you could join the fight
For what's right...

Little mikey d was the one in class
Who every day got totally harassed
This went on for years until he decided
That ever again would he shed another tear
So he walked out the door
Grabbed a 4.4 out of his father's dresser drawer
And said I can't take life no more
And like that a life is lost
But this ain't even about that
All of us just sat back
And watched it happen
Thinking it's not my responsibility
To solve a problem that isn't about me
This is our problem
This is just one of the daily scenarios
In which we chose to cause a riot
Instead of doing the right thing
If we make a choice
Be the voice
To those who won't speak up for themselves
How many lives would be saved
Changed, rearranged
Now it's our job
To take a shot
Now don't keep walking by
Now why didn't you try
Cause you don't want to exist
And never be seen
So let's wake up
Change the world..Our time is now!!!!

You could be a hero - (our time is now) heroes do what's right
You could be a hero - (our time is now) you might save a life
You could be a hero - (our time is now) you could join the fight
For what's right, for what's right, for what's right
Love it :)
Mike Hauser Sep 2014
Four buddies growing up relying on friendship and luck
Sticking together through the thick and the thin
All that we did we did together as kids
Knowing that we always would win

Thinking it'd be cool right out of High school
To stand up for nobility
We joined in the war which added four more
Then packed our bags and readied to leave

Said goodbye to our Moms not sure how long we'd be gone
As the four of us boarded the plane
Or when we'd be back as a matter of fact
If we'd even ever come back again

They gave us boots and a camp an Uncle named Sam
With the rest being history
They made our lives hell which is just as well
Cause hell on earth is where we'd soon be

Figured for fools that would never lose
As the war around us tightened up
Billy was first to go and wouldn't you know
We all took his death pretty rough

The next day was Frank when he felt the yank
As an IED took off his legs
I still have the dreams where I hear him scream
As he sat in the sand and just bled

If we weren't here we'd be in a bar with a beer
Sitting back shooting the breeze
Instead of this endless beach with no sight of the sea
And Frank bleeding out from the knees

Now with only two left playing hopscotch with death
Knowing wars nobility was only a lie
It's down to Mikey and me wondering who's next to leave
On that one way train to the other side

We walk around these day with blank looks on our face
Wondering what we're doing here
We'd cry if we could but our tears ran out for good
With death being so good at his career

Of course death won't be mocked as he punched in the clock
And Mikey was the next to leave
Now that I'm all alone all I think of is home
And the three buddies that are no longer with me
And how this all started out as nobility...
Nina McNally Sep 2013
Day- Septemeber 15, 2013 Time- 11:46am
When you were born
With those BIG blue eyes
Looking up at your mommy and daddy
With that cute little button nose like your daddy
And you're cute little ears like your mommy
You're so much like your mommy and daddy
And yet so much different in so many ways
We'll just have to wait and see! ❤
7lbs 2oz. and 20inches
You're such a cute little GIRL
Born into a big family
Who will always be there for you
And PROTECT you
And you're COUSINS, Mikey & Connor, will be there for you, too
With LOVE & CARING
So all I have left to say, baby girl,
*"Welcome to the world and the family, Avery!
You're gonna do great things!
WE LOVE YOU!"
©9/2013
McNally/Flanders, Inc.
Mike Bergeron Oct 2012
The last drops have been swallowed,
And the last vestiges
Of post-wage labor
Libationary sorrow
Swagger slowly off
Into the night
Across cracked pavement
Like slugs after rain.
I pick up the chemtrail
Left by my father
And follow it to
A makeshift master suite
Wedged between a
Rundown groundskeeper
Shed and the unkempt
Wilderness beside the
Desolate bike path
In rural Seekonk.
The rest of this comatose
Town in this overdosed
Commonwealth
Are separated
By enough trees
And undergrowth
And small
Night creatures
Calling to each other
In the dark
That they can't hear
The nightly
Rattle of .38
Rounds my father
Sends flying into the trees.
The pistol was my
Grandfather's,
Brought over from France
In 1947.
My father cries
As he pulls the trigger
Over and over
Sporatically,
Like a Sung Tong,
His eyes wild,
Darting side to side
In milky blue trails
Back and forth
And up and down
Across the dark
Chasms of his
Eye sockets.
When the chambers
Of his firearm
Run dry he fills them
From the box
He took from my basement,
In his old house,
Where he stockpiled
Ammunition for
Twenty two years.
I've learned to stand east
Of my father when
I make the visits
Expected of children
When their parents
Are old and trapped
In the recesses of
Their insanity
Or nursing home
Or empty nest,
Because he always
Aims west.
I wait for tonight's
Box to be empty,
Then slowly walk
To where my father
Is huddled,
Clutching the pistol
Like a teddy bear.
He is breathing heavy,
And has **** himself.
He hears me coming,
Turns, and smiles
Upon recognition.
"I got em good mikey,
Got good, not taking
My land from ME
Mickey, never going
Blow south,
See it?"
I pull the pistol I've
Brought from my waistband,
The one my father,
Gregory Bishop,
Gave me on my
Eighteenth birthday.
The weight in my hand
Is deafening,
The illegal ivory
Is seamless
And cold against
My palm.
I raise my arm,
Aim,
And pull the trigger.
Maxx Dec 2017
A bucket of freshly picked wildflowers
rest at the mud room door
the hum of washing machine
eases almost into a state of permanence
he wet himself again
he can't change himself
his bed is on the first floor
because fear lurks on the second
demons patrol every staircase
he's created his own Alcatraz
to keep himself safe
we do a puzzle
we read the sports section of the daily local
"I like this guy"
"go birds"
the only words i hear this day
the washer is still running
we look out the window
i see a fall day so beautiful
nature could not interact with itself
so harmoniously
he sees something else
something tragic and discordant
something evil that is always at his side
this ancient child
this hurt hermit
whose suffering remains unsung
saves me from despair
every time time i bask in the purity
that is his smile
and when the wildflowers are gone
and the washing machine stops running
a new meaning will be brought to
innocence lost
take this moment to be grateful for your completely intact mental facilities
Sh x Sep 2013
Find poetry in the way
he bites his lips and breathes heavy,
which happens to be the same way she
hides behind her long fringe.

and also the way they both look at each other
speechless, breathless, empty.

Find poetry in the way
his mother shunned him once she was told,
or in the way his brother sneaks out in the middle of the night
to speak to his little brother,
and check up on how he has been doing without his mother's embrace.
Maybe you can find it in the way his sister cries to sleep at night,
whispering under her heavy breathing,

God, bring Mikey back home,
please tell mummy his heart aches too.
please tell mummy he just wants to be loved too.
please tell mummy his lover is just as human as i am.
tell mummy he makes Mikey smile, i haven't seen him smile since
Forever.

Perhaps your muse will be the way she paints,
with a burning passion.
Her mother is proud.
Her daughter is the best there is.
"Have you seen Jenna?" "Oh isn't she wonderful."
"Have you seen Jenna?" "Oh she's just busy today."

"When was the last time you saw your daughter, ma'am?"
"i never knew she.. i thought-
no, Jenna, you can't be dead"
Mum, i am drowning in my own blood.
but do not worry, i am **wonderful.
—⋅ < DEUS EX MACHINA > ⋅—
I. Within
progeny of The Stars

cosmic void
regal seething bordellos
of eloping holy light
in its sinewy grasp

darling, we dwell in a
beautiful place
where the paper-thin veneer on
what is, what has been, and what is to be
has cracked and peeled away
divulging the secret cosmos
until matter is no longer matter,
silence, no longer silence

cosmic cold
permanent light
permanent darkness
similarly, simultaneously

out of the ether,
out of the nothingness
compounded within nothingness,
exploded forth energy, time, space

and so was physics,
the story of how our makeshift universe
came to be

II. Coalescent
with physics came energy,
and with energy, entropy—
there was a fundamental need
to form and exist as a whole

from the broiling chaos
coalesced a semblance of order

a thimbleful of electrons and photons
pooling and burbling
abstracted and reified

and so was chemistry,
the story of atoms and
the quantum waltz

III. Altered
ionize the corona
a faint breath of life
found its way

idealize time:
a walk of six billion years
idly made its way into our present

life-forms emerged,
alive as the sprawling acanthus
springing from the grave

furiously clawing at the barren,
fruitless earth
we suckled the heaving ***** of mother nature,
greedily drinking her life-giving milk;
fragments of her being embroidered into cristae
generation after generation

ever-changing
we evolved

and so was biology,
the story of these life-forms
and how they kept

IV. Value & Definition
a thimbleful of love to encourage modesty
since you can't make deals with the universe
accept what you are made of

during your life
the gates of darkness open and lock your soul in order to test you
are you brave enough?
do you dare?

if not, simply lay down your bruised body
kneel on your scraped knees
and pray
you're not inhuman if you have strayed
if your soul has been played by pain

nothing is absolute: not a poem
neither a castle, riches, human power
the oceans, the skies, nor the twilight
in the smallest of intervals~
we are golden urns pouring out of the sun
momentary shadows
decaying naked as we came, in short-lived grandeur

the perfect constellation of the universe:
deus ex machina et machina ex deus

and so was history,
the ongoing story of us
and our cultures

V. Acknowledge
neither absolute nor relative
it simply is, as is, as has been, as will be
god doesn't need to be proven
just think about the way insects recognize humans

just tell yourself this is just physics
tell yourself that chemistry, biology, history
could even begin to define infinity

suspiria de profundis
iridescent harmony of the spheres
in the quiet black, hear those arias of nirvana
~DEUS EX MACHINA~
inspired by my former science teacher's numerous lectures on the poetry of our universe. this one's for you, ms. m. simply beautiful. ty for stopping by.

"and in the salt chuckle of rocks
with their sea pools, there was the sound
like a rumor without any echo

of History, really beginning."

-Excerpt from Derek Walcott's "The Sea Is History"

Thank you so much, Mikey, for asking me to do a collaboration with you. It's an honor to have done my first HePo collab with a poet as gifted and eloquent as you. Much love, ~Reignier <3

Apologies, know that this note is awfully long. This is my first post in a while and I just want to say thank you to all of you who've been with me since the beginning. Your love and thanks means so much to me. I found what I've been seeking, and I can honestly tell you that I'm back (if school permits lol). Please put any suggested tags in the comments so I can add them.

PART 1 OF 2
Max Neumann Dec 2019
between mind and soul
there is a strength-giving rock.
that rock protects all of us...



YouTube:

Xavier Naidoo - Der Fels
// Allein Mit Flügel -
Live aus dem Mannheimer Schloss
"Alles, was ich sagen will, ist: Ich glaub' an dich".

"I just want to say that I believe in you".
Elizabeth Sep 2012
These blue walls have been everything
Soon to be nothing

My possessions stay whole in my life
My persona is (mostly) intact
I still have the love of my cat
The feel of my soft blanket
The comfort of my books
And I can't comprehend why this doesn't give me strength

These grounds
O, the beautiful trees, planted by hands of the family
The flowers, the precious flowers
The graves of my protectors
Mikey
Jeffy
Chipper
The time capsule, planted for my enjoyment upon the day of graduation must now be prematurely returned to society

And it
Hurts
To hear my loved ones tell me this is petty, this is minute

Let me remind you of the gentle breeze on your cheek as you read a novel on the hammock
The crick that runs through our woods, the deer and morels that reside
The blackberry bushes on our hill, the view of the sunset few experience but us
Every night
The immaculate view of the heavens from our front porch
The sound of cicadas in mid June
The aroma of pine trees
The vibrations of frogs congregating in our swamp
The swamp itself, two to be exact

Have you even seen the second swamp?
I have
In fact, I've witnessed our slice of heaven repeatedly, I appreciate it
I love it
I live it

This is my ohm
This is my sanctuary
This is my religion

And like a conversion, this will be difficult
New rituals
New systems
New life
It's hard to respect the fact that this is necessary
In a way, it just feels
Frankly, unnecessary

As I lie in bed and think of all that I am about to
Lose
These blue walls feel constricting under the green roof, inside our barn shaped home
They feel sad for you, because

You will never understand the beauty within these 17 acres
We are moving
Luis Mdáhuar Aug 2014
I never asked for this
But when does anybody get what he asks for
or knows what he wants
or what he is chosen for
I only see people
behaving like circus monkeys
not even trained tigers have that look
a tiger is a tiger till death
be careful
It is only your life at stake
too much tolerance breeds blandness
dust under the rug
chatter and gossip
vomited on the radio, the news
injecting fear and chocolate blood
without any risk
spreading only a rotten stench
as if joy meant showing your colgate smile
just like a giant billboard telling you to let go
of the fight
not to resist and become like Mikey Mouse
with four fingers and the grin of death
****** got more style
I’d rather listen to an angry *****
than any anchor woman
or any senator
than any businessman
or lecturer, teacher, parent
I’d rather be depressed
or with a pain in my stomach
like the one I felt when a
frustrated love
told me...
"never change"
when I expected something else
move allong the narrow path
Mikey Pooler Jan 2016
Earth's approaching              population's

                                    ­                        8 billion

An era united by                                 artists

8 billion

Thoughts one has when                   broken

Becoming wise once seeing     soul's fixed

new color's shown       when we're in love

when we're inspired               it's beautiful

feelings of                                       being lost

burning those walls down

using it's fire to navigate the mind

to share art with them


they'll follow with        walls down as well

                                 that's how I define love

not just burning those walls

burying their very exsitance

building a city over the grave
  

to create a change for         the mind state

the greater good                 of individuality

of society                                     and culture

courageously                       *Mikey The Poet
A poem to be read three different ways can you see them all? -M.P.P
vinny Jun 2016
i see your double dipping
from multiple straws your sipping
he's buying you mikey kors
as my texts are ignored

you know i'm a sucker
for secret victoria
34B mediums all day long
i'll get some more for ya
pulled pork sandwiches
with orange cream soda
yoga pants from lemon loulou
if it's just me and you
even though you spread the love
all over the PNW
when i gave you my extra key
it wasn't for a rendezvous
with you know who
and eat all my steaks
with your favorite fan base

it's true your double dipping
though i'm not tripping
but i think i'm done
contributing to your
*retirement fund
Mike Essig Jun 2015
Dear Louise,

At 2:30 AM after
two hours of sleep
I feel I am looking
through a keyhole
and reality
is sneaking up
from behind
to give me
a much needed
kick in the *****.
Somehow, I have fallen
into a hole so deep
I can't climb out.
The arena of death
destroys the illusion
of safety and
at some point
the naked heart
cannot recover.
Everything seems
after the fact.
Everything is
after the fact.
You can't change
anything after
a split second ago.
I feel a curious desire
to do the right thing,
but there are not
enough right things
to go around.
Is life accessible?
Is life inaccessible?
I have the curious urge
to puke out forty years
of my life's garbage.
Maybe I'll change my name
to Antonio or Ivan,
move to Hiroshima or Dachau
and see the world
through the binocular
but astigmatic
eyes of a tiger.
If you asked me
to describe someone
I really know,
I'd be very hard put.
As a kid I wanted
to be a writer.
I wasn't sure
what that meant;
early ideals can **** you
but you probably
deserve it.
I know I am wrapped
so tight that if
I spring a leak
I'll sink in a day.
Could there be a way
to fence my life in
and keep the world out?
I am consumed
by fatuous sincerity.
I'd write down
all the options
int this case
but I loathe
the **** fascism of lists.
My hormones seem
to be deliquescing
into a viscous pâté
of late life protoplasm.
They belong on a shelf,
not in your pants.
I guess if no one else
will make use of me,
I'll have to make use
of myself.
This is a difficult task.
My life has been
a long preparation
for something that
probably won't occur.
For too long I have
defied almost everything.
A strong man would simply
drink himself to death,
but I'm not that strong.
Many of my sins of omission
are beginning to bother me.
Perhaps the only real use
for today is today.
Maybe I need to get
back to the basics:
eating, ******* and dying.
How to maintain
my equilibrium in the face
of incomprehension?
Waking up is a kind of homage.
Or could it be that
I don't need to change?
I'm just this.
Anyway, it's 2:30 AM
on a long night
in a strange life.
I'd better go.
Dawn may creep up
and release the
stench of coffins.
Louise, if you get this note
and understand it
please let me know
because I don't.

Sincerely,

Mikey
Someone put a stamp on this and mail it. Please.
Max Neumann May 2020
time was talking to me in a bubble of dreams
asked me if i was ready for a new experience
since time doesn't speak to you normally, i stuttered:
ye-yes, i'm ready, bu-but where will it take me?

well, young man, time said, it will take you to
a country that has never been discovered
this country is made of islands, thousands of them
nobody lives there, except orange birds and fish

but forget all the islands, they are lifeless, excluding one:
home to a man who is called golem the violinist
he consists of letters and is mute, he can not speak a word
how will i talk to golem then? i asked inquisitively

time didn't answer my question; it just smiled gently
i blinked and afterwards, i arrived on the island
swarms of orange birds were roaming the air
silver waves were surging against my naked feet

was i really dreaming? i pinched myself and it hurt
i was not dreaming because i could feel the pain
suddenly, i could hear a violin, slowly played
i turned around and saw golem, his eyes closed

golem was huge, athletic and coated in tattoos
the entire body was covered with the alphabet
golem's head was nodding to the melody of the music
puzzled, i asked him which song he was performing

he didn't answer; i had forgotten that he was mute
i asked again, he put the violin aside, devoted mien
golem raised his index finger and placed it on a letter
it was an "s", curiously, i followed his finger, as he continued

i finally read the words "sunshine adagio in d minor"
but at this stage of my life, i was just listening, passively
today, i depend on music to write, on orchestral sounds
"sunshine adagio in d minor" was played by the golem

he presented me the grace and strength of the violin
i could never visit this island again; never in my life
golem enchanted me so heavily, my memory is erased
i can't remember the way to his island anymore

it is not on any map, nowhere, but i kept something:
golem introduced me to breathtaking music, heaven yeah!
and the violin has been inspiring me since then
sunshine, adagio in d minor: i do admire you, song

i thank you golem for your gift and for your time
maybe you'll read this one day and tell me the way back
back to your island, back to the birthplace of muse
i love you brother, you are like kin, all yours, mikey
Today is a good day.

YouTube link to "Sunshine Adagio In D Minor": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGbC730C4BA
Donall Dempsey Jul 2020
PÚCA ULCHABHÁN( GHOST OWL)


"So, it's afraid of the dark y'are?"
Uncle Mikey squints at me.

I give a nod hoping
the dark doesn't hear me.

This is not just dark
but country dark.

Unable to even catch sight of
my own hand in front of my face.

As if the darkness
had solidified around me.

My body melted away
and I only a tangle of thoughts

floating through the air
being both there and not there.

"Sure don't ya know
your grandfather was born a ghost!"

Uncle Mikey attempts to
comfort my six year old self

"And sure wasn't your grandmother
a banshee for over a century or more!"

Granny in her chair
turns up her eyes.

I sit stunned at
all these revelations.

"And your grandfather
had a terrible habit of

turning into
an owl!"

I can hardly believe
what I am hearing.

"So if the dark
ever comes after ya..."

"Yes...yes...!"
I wait with baited breath.

"Then your grandfather
will give a hoot and

no one not even the dark will argue
with a  a natural born ghost!"

Outside an owl hoots.
Uncle smiles to himself.

After that the dark can't
lay a finger on me.

*

Nyctophobia struck deep into the heart of my six year old self. I was a townie and the dark never touched me until I experienced Cork country dark which was terrifying...you simply vanished into it as if it had consumed you and you were in the belly of the beast. Uncle Mikey had a unique way of dissolving the dark for me and did a good impression of an owl as well.
Nyctophobia struck deep into the heart of my six year old self. I was a townie and the dark never touched me until I experienced Cork country dark which was terrifying...you simply vanished into it as if it had consumed you and you were in the belly of the beast. Uncle Mikey had a unique way of dissolving the dark for me and did a good impression of an owl as well.

It was a strange sort of comforting but it worked...after that I always thought the dark was afraid of me and didn't want to argue with a natural born ghost!
I feel my life slipping away
As my soul enter this page
My path is unclear
Death could be near
Ignorance of death
Is bad for your health
But so Is car crashes
And the newest fashion
People dying over Concords
Same time a new life was born
Cut the umbilical cord....

And along with it cut all the *******
Give me all the positive
And take away all the negative
Make a newer picture
Get a different mind frame...

Now im spitting spoken word on a street called Concord
And everybody saying Mikey B please do an encore
So Live life how you want to live it
I'm living the life of a poet
So let me live it...
Max Neumann Dec 2019
how disturbingly insidious you are.
you must hate me, don't you?
i mean who are you?!

you're playing tricks on me like crazy. that's for certain. and if anything is for certain in our drug-plagued country, then it is this certainty: that you ― the child-like dictator ― want to rule over me.

let me explain to the reader why i am saying so:

an hour ago, i was taking my son to kindergarten. closely to the chest my little daughter eden; sleeping in a baby carrier.

after i had dropped off my son, ideas for new poems were going through my head.

i eventually decided to write a poem on drugs, written from the perspective of various mind-altering substances.

well. fine.

i got home. my wife took eden out from the baby carrier. i was ready to write. only one cigarette first. smoking on the balcony. don't need my kids to inhale toxical fog. and don't need to know them about my smoking habit.

suddenly, out of the blue (no: out of the dark) ―

out of the dark, you made my heart beating faster. my heart was racing. my heart was banging against my chest.
secretly, you creeped through the area between skin and soul.
seconds later, you made it somehow to reach my mind.

inside my head, you were not saying anything. i don't hear voices and i'm not crazy. (that's the second certainty i am gaining from writing this poem.)

you're not a talker, child-like dictator. you're a quiet addict, depressed and scared to speak with others. because you do fear people, closeness and love. you fear them so much that you want to do drugs in order to feel something else than fear. and to numb how afraid of love you are.

a poor creature you are. but your attempt to ****** me quietly today: it failed.

and you know why? because i have friends. and many of these friends have been struggling with their own dictatorships. feel me.

i won't let you make my decisions.
gonna stay clean.

for me. for my family.

adios amigo. don't pressure me like you do. try to love me as i love you.

try to love.
try to.
try.

mikey
That's it. Ah. And some music for you guys on hellopoetry. Cause today is a good day:

YouTube: "OFFICIAL Somewhere over the Rainbow - Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwoʻole"

God bless you, IZ. And all of you poets and readers on hellopoetry.

I am grateful to Eliot for establishing such a beautiful place for many, many people from all over the world.

One more note: help for every addict: Unprejudiced and for free.

www.aa.org
www.na.org
www.ca.org

What are you waiting for? Asking for help means to be strong.

— The End —