In the theater, awaiting the curtain rising,
My woman looks at me and I say
She punches me in the arm,
Cause once again I read her mind,
For I know she is silently making her shopping list.
In the kitchen, looking confused, she is
Thinking what the heck did I come in here for,
Smiling, I suggest a cuppa tea might be nice,
And she looks at me queerly and says
Goddamn it, stop doing that!
Driving home she turns to me
And I say, yes, a veggie burger at Houston's
Would be a great idea for dinner.
She can't hit me cause I am doing the driving,
But she does make some laughing, teeth gnashing noises,
Which are most comical.
I am no Houdini, it's quite simple,
After 5 years, I read her like a book,
A book of my poems that she has inspired,
Entitled the Mysteries of True Love.
In the sun room, smiling.
May 25, 2013
The morning started with a shower
Arms braced against the wall in a kind of supplication
Pushing hard so damn hard you want to fall
You let the water wash your dreams and pain away
The morning started with you leaving
Saying I'm so nice as you walk out the door
I know your tired cause we didn't sleep
I remember your whispered promises that were quickly disposed of
The morning started with you lying next to me
While I played Rilo Kiley
So close I could touch you but I could tell you didn't want to be touched
"Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can’t move
Awake but cannot open my eyes
And the weight is crushing down on my lungs
I know I can’t breathe
And I hope someone will help me this time..."
I played it in a moment of honesty
My one true expression as I watched the distance grow between us
I wanted to fuck you again cause I hoped it would mean something
Thank you for teaching me that the third time is the charm and the fourth is for sleeping not fucking
It's hard to find this kind of rejection early in the morning. Thanks for staying open late to accommodate me.
The morning started with me laughing at you when you said where's the underwear?
Writers can laugh at painful parallels and prophesy true unintentionally but not uneventfully
It doesn't help me not want to fuck you again
So we fuck again for the third time. The last time.
You kiss less when your not drunk
The morning started with some smoke and water and generic Advil
Proscribed to all the fallen like vitamins
You look good naked
Next to me
I wonder what this morning will bring?
This morning started with me inside you the second time
You made me cum inside you like you wanted something that I had to give
Maybe love maybe pain -you did like to be hurt
You didn't remember that I said I want to hurt you less cause I actually like you
I choked you cause you wanted it more than me
I feel like Kriegers robot arm sometimes
Perhaps we could just affix a cock to the arm and I could be replaced
Go on vacation to the city of lost whore sluts
I hear the buffet there is wonderful
The morning started with me inside you
On the kitchen floor
I threw you up against the wall too hard
You fell down so I took you right there
On the linoluem Under flourecent lights
You were so tight and tender and tough
You fucked me desperately like you hadn't been getting enough
Sorry for banging your head up against the fridge
The morning started with you next to me
Both of us drunk
You kissed me right
Out of the many there are few that do it
It's a weakness for me and dangerous to believe in the power of knowing through a kiss
You dry humped me like a dog on speed
It felt good
That and the kissing
I said no
I wouldn't fuck you
Like I said before
You said it had been to long
That you never did this
I said I needed to wait
That I liked you
I didn't want you to be just a fuck
Not just for you
But for me
Sometimes even seasoned whores need to feel special
I said that I'd fall too quick
You can be very persuasive
The morning started with me on the couch with your friend
We had makers and he had Jameson
He called it neat but it had Ice
I didn't say anything
You told him that you knew me for a long time and that i was gay
In retrospect it probably helped that I talked about color and carpets and paintings and poetry
I tried not laugh as we tried to pass of our little deceptive parody
Sure it was successful but what does it really say about me that he'd believe it
Oh the irony of pretending to be gay to get a girl
The things we do
He left after a long soliloquy on decorating and fashion
I think you might be like me and sometimes confuse the facts of your friends and stories with your dreams
I thought your adept practiced and surreptitious deception was endearing
I wanted to kiss you all night so I was glad he left
After he was gone I told you in the bathroom that I wanted to kiss you all night and you dropped your pants and peed in front me
You looked at me like no big deal and said what I don't care
I really starting liking you then
The morning started at the bar the night before
You sat down and smiled and flirted with me
You told me I would have to wait a year and a half to fuck you
As we drank way too much and both grew more beautiful and gracious with every ounce of liquid forgetfulness
The morning started the night before at your work when I hit on you cause you were laughing and smiling and had a little halo
The morning started like any other morning
With lies and rejection and sweetness and passion and loneliness
If I knew I was going to be used like this
I would have used a condom
Not to just protect against the std's but to protect from intimacy
I hope I won't fail on both counts
A little worried
That's why I write this story
A smile like gold,
A heart like dust.
Eyes like the rain,
A face that will only bring pain.
He tells you things,
Like how you look nice.
He kisses your cheeks,
And makes you blush.
Uses your body,
Like you're a doll.
Tells you sweet words,
To make you fall.
Pushes you down and takes control.
He doesn't care about you,
Or anything in this world.
He tells you he loves you,
He tells you he cares.
He tells you he will always be there.
His lips only speak lies,
His hands only do what they know how to do;
They softly brush your heart,
And then they tear it apart.
I am a sheep and
I eat grass.
Grass is good,
sheep are nice
No one knows
my secret vice:
That I stupid
Misery will them
engulf, I know,
'cause I'm the
They Sold My Name!
No big deal, your name, your email, bought n' sold daily,
Like a baseball card, your picture and vital stats are on the internet,
Your credit card in the fine print tells you they love you much,
But the data they collect, might get credited to such and such.
You're fair game if your sign up for anything.
Now I know I am getting on in years,
Tho spry rhymes with die, I flatly deny
Any notion that
My great beyond is just around the corner!
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name!
Got a color brochure
Suggesting that when my travels are over,
A nice place to rest my head might be
St. Michael's Cemetery.
St. Michael's Cemetery
7202 Astoria Blvd, East Elmhurst
Friday hours 7:00 am–5:00 pm
In case you want to check it out too...
Tho I live not in the Borough of Queens County,
My zip code but a hop, skip and jump away,
The cemetery adjacent to the Grand Central Parkway
Which is actually quite thoughtful of
The mass marketer who dreamed up this scheme
(And got paid a plentiful amount of bounty).
My kids could wave as they drive by,
On the way to LaGuardia or JFK, (airports)
And say, guilt free, they visit me regularly!
Sadly, their plot foiled,
I will be buried in
New Jersey soil,
Near to my pop, who liked the
Wide open spaces of suburbia
And shopping on Route 4,
Where the selection is great
And there is no sales tax.
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name,
And I am now target marketed,
Niched, pretty soon the boys from AARP
Will come calling, reminding me of the gap
Tween Medicare and the poor house!
Ok ok, grow up you say, tho your hair is full,
And not even a hint of baldness shines forth,
Nonetheless, its color is zebra striped gray,
And when someone says they got my back,
I think, please, please take it and keep it....
Dear St. Mikes
You might ask for some of your money back,
Cause this sily scribe is a member of the tribe,
Some call "those dirty (hint: it rhymes with Mikes),"
It starts with K and ends in yikes!
But thanks for thinking of me anyway.
I hide in the noon-time shade
And the passing
A little cream,
And I stir it into
The steaming cup
As horns like thunder
Blast the kid with the Frisbee,
And the blue-jay
Arches its small
Watching for anything
How old is she?
Asks if I want anything else.
I suggest a life
Would be nice.
Far, far wiser than me,
And tells me,
'Those little things cost extra.'
Copyright © 2008 Richard D. Remler
"One may have a blazing hearth in
one's soul, and yet no one ever
comes to sit by it."
- Vincent van Gogh
I probably never meant anything
to you in the first place darling.
I probably have gotten attatched
with no promises to look forward with.
I probably didn't have even the smallest
place in your broken and torn heart.
I probably gave you a reason for all those
days you purposely ignored me as payback.
I probably substituted your true beautiful lover
maybe I kept her spot nice and warm for later.
I probably loved you unknowingly quickly,
my heart never really had a limit at all,
especially when it came to you.
A douche will only date a model, but at least he's honest.
A jerk will date anyone, but only make the models feel beautiful.
A decent guy will date the girls with a low-average bmi, say he doesn't look at size, but his actions say otherwise.
A nice guy will date a fat girl, but marry a skinny one.
A good guy will marry a fat girl, but wish, every day, that she was thinner--and she will always know.
A rare guy will date a fat girl and not realize that she's fat. She will feel beautiful and think she's a model.
But he's a minority, and non-model girls are a majority.
There's a solution:
Starve until the fat disappears.
Until every guy that has ever preferred a skinny girl over you;
over a girl that looks like you
-- or worse --
is even smaller than you, but not small enough,
would finally consider you worthy.
But don't get too thin.
Guys complain about that too.
Now you're not pretty enough,
Starve until you're just right --
and then they'll tell you how great you look;
ask you how you did it.
You'll lie, yet again, to maintain the facade.
They'll think you're disciplined --
but they don't know just how much.
You can starve so they're happy;
put on a smile to make them think you are too. Because you never will be --
they've destroyed your mind with their standards; you've destroyed it with striving to live up to them.
You'll marry a guy who tells you you're beautiful, but your eyes are broken;
an ugly, obese girl relentlessly stares back.
She tells you your husband lies.
She tells you food is bad, purging is good.
She tells you your husband would prefer someone skinnier,
You'll never be enough -- all because some teenage boy hung up a poster of a
model on his wall --
and he decided that she was the ultimate goal, and, thus, your destiny emerged.
Drifted off into a lovely slumber, dreamt a little, even. I've never worked for a company thats actually valued me and maybe cared about what I felt or said.. (until now) I dreamt I was on a tennis court, it may have been basketball, hell, even netball, and I was introduced and had something to do with the implement of this brand new sports court. I gave a few words, there was a crowd listening, it felt like an important moment. I was wearing a suit, as I was talking, from the corner of my eye I spotted my dad, he was beaming at me, at the people, at the situation. I finished my speech and instantly wished I had done it better. But he got up and wanted to grab a moment in the spotlight too, he was so wrapped up in the glorious moment! It felt nice that I could have made him proud, made others or myself proud.
I'm not much of a poetry person.
My best friend Adreishka Moonlight (She is a poet here) told me to try it out. Here I am, there you are reading this.... Nice how life works huh?