phil-smith - Hello Poetry

Thank God I'm not the idiot I was in high school. Thank God I'm not the idiot I was freshman year of college. Thank God I'm not the idiot I was yesterday. Tomorrow, I will thank God I'm not the idiot that I am today.

0

Dec 13, 2014

Dec 13, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC

Untitled

Thank God I'm not the idiot I was in high school. Thank God I'm not the idiot I was freshman year of college. Thank God I'm not the idiot I was yesterday. Tomorrow, I will thank God I'm not the idiot that I am today.

5

WE CONSIDER THEM VERMIN-- these visitors to the rotting corpses of our loved ones. But what if they’re only there to say hello? And when’s the last time you paid them a visit, anyway? Well let me tell you something: the maggots and worms know where we're going. Billions of years, billions of ancestors, busily moving through their lives in isolated blips-- They’re just data now. And did John the Amoeba, feeding on sunlight, ever think that somewhere down the line his great-something-grandson would be a poet? A doctor? A teacher? A football player? Did he ever think that his great-something-grandson would sit in his room and listen to the Mountain Goats? To be honest, probably not. Grandpa’s a stranger. He got sick when you were young, but you could never remember the name of the disease. But it all came down to the fact that he never recognized his own grandchild— he was an ancient basket case whom you loved because that’s what you were told to do. You were 13 when he died, and his passing gave you an excuse to be sad, which worked out pretty well because sadness was the most stylish emotion at Marblehead Charter in 2007. Grandpa won’t be there on your wedding day. He’ll be with the vermin, saying hello. But you won’t mind— you still love him anyway. Because one day you'll be in his place and your grandson will be getting married and you won’t be there, but he'll still love you anyway. And somewhere down the line, you’ll be someone’s—something’s—John the Amoeba. And you know you would be proud.

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Dec 10, 2014

Dec 10, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC

John the Amoeba

WE CONSIDER THEM VERMIN-- these visitors to the rotting corpses of our loved ones. But what if they’re only there to say hello? And when’s the last time you paid them a visit, anyway? Well let me tell you something: the maggots and worms know where we're going. Billions of years, billions of ancestors, busily moving through their lives in isolated blips-- They’re just data now. And did John the Amoeba, feeding on sunlight, ever think that somewhere down the line his great-something-grandson would be a poet? A doctor? A teacher? A football player? Did he ever think that his great-something-grandson would sit in his room and listen to the Mountain Goats? To be honest, probably not. Grandpa’s a stranger. He got sick when you were young, but you could never remember the name of the disease. But it all came down to the fact that he never recognized his own grandchild— he was an ancient basket case whom you loved because that’s what you were told to do. You were 13 when he died, and his passing gave you an excuse to be sad, which worked out pretty well because sadness was the most stylish emotion at Marblehead Charter in 2007. Grandpa won’t be there on your wedding day. He’ll be with the vermin, saying hello. But you won’t mind— you still love him anyway. Because one day you'll be in his place and your grandson will be getting married and you won’t be there, but he'll still love you anyway. And somewhere down the line, you’ll be someone’s—something’s—John the Amoeba. And you know you would be proud.

62

I drove to Judah's Funhouse Orchard to pick my own apples and build my own lavender dishes, but I put my new friends in a -famous- basket. Oh, how it overtook me with its windswept stories! It told me of a fat, shiny snake, but we were drunk, and the only person at the party whom I cared about gave me a slinky smile and told me to leave. So I left with a hurricane in all of my pockets, and I played darts with the basket's forgotten, fairy-dusted nephew. Illuminated by a single lightbulb in a concrete cavern beneath my mother's kitchen, I learned to give up my apples and forget my lavender dishes, because my crudely-woven drunken comrade is now a shining sober picture of my sordid, henpecked past.

0

Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC

Judah's Funhouse Orchard

I drove to Judah's Funhouse Orchard to pick my own apples and build my own lavender dishes, but I put my new friends in a -famous- basket. Oh, how it overtook me with its windswept stories! It told me of a fat, shiny snake, but we were drunk, and the only person at the party whom I cared about gave me a slinky smile and told me to leave. So I left with a hurricane in all of my pockets, and I played darts with the basket's forgotten, fairy-dusted nephew. Illuminated by a single lightbulb in a concrete cavern beneath my mother's kitchen, I learned to give up my apples and forget my lavender dishes, because my crudely-woven drunken comrade is now a shining sober picture of my sordid, henpecked past.

17

I imagine you to be a nightmare lizard poet I imagine this constantly, and with all my brainpower

0

Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 11:16 AM UTC

Imagine

I imagine you to be a nightmare lizard poet I imagine this constantly, and with all my brainpower

2

I have waltzed with sunset ease into your broken dressers. I have juggled like schoolyard doctrines with guts forgotten. For every shepherd, there is a butcher. For every artist, there is a garbageman.

0

Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC

Trash Day

I have waltzed with sunset ease into your broken dressers. I have juggled like schoolyard doctrines with guts forgotten. For every shepherd, there is a butcher. For every artist, there is a garbageman.

8

Deep-fried success! Dinky potatoes and little Schwarzenegger on a hornswoggled bun, oh yes-- How they soothe my lubes, breathe my bubbles, and skip *** straight to breakfast.

0

Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC

Every Winter Morning in Early 2014

Deep-fried success! Dinky potatoes and little Schwarzenegger on a hornswoggled bun, oh yes-- How they soothe my lubes, breathe my bubbles, and skip *** straight to breakfast.

8

I haven't the energy anymore. The pangs of gentle zest tricked me out of my boxers, and left my only brain, grinding against tight denim. Without a calling card, the mulch fell down like French Rain. We were buried in its turbid gyrations. The sky was bright, but we could not see it. Like a lemon, Like a waffle, Like a sack of potatoes, I unhinged my door and challenged my reality with a rotting submarine. Now my eardrums are all of a sudden flooded with the lingering noise of every curse I've ever heard, but I find myself only mildly offended. Checkmate! Touchdown! Presto! You sunk my battleship!

0

Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC

Game Over

I haven't the energy anymore. The pangs of gentle zest tricked me out of my boxers, and left my only brain, grinding against tight denim. Without a calling card, the mulch fell down like French Rain. We were buried in its turbid gyrations. The sky was bright, but we could not see it. Like a lemon, Like a waffle, Like a sack of potatoes, I unhinged my door and challenged my reality with a rotting submarine. Now my eardrums are all of a sudden flooded with the lingering noise of every curse I've ever heard, but I find myself only mildly offended. Checkmate! Touchdown! Presto! You sunk my battleship!

21

Lust lust lust lust lust Lust lust lust lust lust lust lust Oh, ******* it, lust

0

Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC

A haiku

Lust lust lust lust lust Lust lust lust lust lust lust lust Oh, ******* it, lust

3

With providence, I spin the turbid gears of a certain Olivia Robson. I hear the whispers of a secret automobile. I wreck those around me. I wreck them all, Paul.

0

Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC

All of them, Paul.

With providence, I spin the turbid gears of a certain Olivia Robson. I hear the whispers of a secret automobile. I wreck those around me. I wreck them all, Paul.

5

I ate a conquistador I ate a holiday I ate an afterthought I ate a bagel Gosh, what a breakfast it's been

0

Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC

Breakfast

I ate a conquistador I ate a holiday I ate an afterthought I ate a bagel Gosh, what a breakfast it's been

5