alex-t - Hello Poetry

Ordinary people carry action figures on their dashboard and stop in still traffic on their way to work to stare at the circus billboard wishing they could be the incredible flying man who soars above the Ferris wheel and disappears beyond the horizon. The human cannonball lives with his mother in a musty basement filled with old baseball cards, beer can memorabilia, an ash stained billiards table, Chicago Bulls jerseys, and pictures of Goldie Hawn and Evil Knievel. The human cannonball has high blood pressure, frequent anxiety, a wheat allergy, a jaw that pops when opened too wide, a crick in his neck, a bruised shoulder from falling into the net over and over.

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Oct 30, 2012

Oct 30, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC

Into the Net

Ordinary people carry action figures on their dashboard and stop in still traffic on their way to work to stare at the circus billboard wishing they could be the incredible flying man who soars above the Ferris wheel and disappears beyond the horizon. The human cannonball lives with his mother in a musty basement filled with old baseball cards, beer can memorabilia, an ash stained billiards table, Chicago Bulls jerseys, and pictures of Goldie Hawn and Evil Knievel. The human cannonball has high blood pressure, frequent anxiety, a wheat allergy, a jaw that pops when opened too wide, a crick in his neck, a bruised shoulder from falling into the net over and over.

30

kicking lonely through the autumn leaves you wondering how life came to this. but we're all still here, like everything you miss: the moment, the moon, the mirthful child's bliss. staring like strangers who swear they knew, sitting on benches while shadows grew, rising up towards the night's debut, moving like moths near the light of you.

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Sep 30, 2010

Sep 30, 2010 at 7:13 AM UTC

everything you miss:

kicking lonely through the autumn leaves you wondering how life came to this. but we're all still here, like everything you miss: the moment, the moon, the mirthful child's bliss. staring like strangers who swear they knew, sitting on benches while shadows grew, rising up towards the night's debut, moving like moths near the light of you.

9

Time will tell what you let it steal Then your hopes and dreams will never be real The sun will soon forget to stand And you’ll miss your chance to hold her hand All this can happen while you’re blinking When you forget about wishful thinking.

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Sep 27, 2010

Sep 27, 2010 at 12:53 PM UTC

Wishful Thinking

Time will tell what you let it steal Then your hopes and dreams will never be real The sun will soon forget to stand And you’ll miss your chance to hold her hand All this can happen while you’re blinking When you forget about wishful thinking.

6

**I killed the calendar on the wall, Skipped the glorified ceremony and all. Pieces of plans soared through the air, Nearly brushing my cowlicked hair.** *To the Disrupter of my Dreams, The Screaming Sleep Waker, The Insolent Sun Beams: You are punctual and I am ****** **Why must we only meet like this? I’m staying here all day long. You can’t stop me. Unless you bring me a hot cup of coffee…** Sincerely, The Sleeper of Five Hours

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Sep 26, 2010

Sep 26, 2010 at 9:21 AM UTC

The Sleeper of Five Hours

**I killed the calendar on the wall, Skipped the glorified ceremony and all. Pieces of plans soared through the air, Nearly brushing my cowlicked hair.** *To the Disrupter of my Dreams, The Screaming Sleep Waker, The Insolent Sun Beams: You are punctual and I am ****** **Why must we only meet like this? I’m staying here all day long. You can’t stop me. Unless you bring me a hot cup of coffee…** Sincerely, The Sleeper of Five Hours

14

I throw all my questions to the midnight sky. They rise and ricochet off the crooked constellation And slowly sink back down, Spinning silently 'til they reach their destination, A pothole in the ground. Buried beneath dust and dirt Lay the answering words, Tucked away like coffins Hiding from the birds.

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Sep 24, 2010

Sep 24, 2010 at 8:31 AM UTC

Answers

I throw all my questions to the midnight sky. They rise and ricochet off the crooked constellation And slowly sink back down, Spinning silently 'til they reach their destination, A pothole in the ground. Buried beneath dust and dirt Lay the answering words, Tucked away like coffins Hiding from the birds.

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