Perfect - Hello Poetry

May 2013

R

Complicated Friendship or Relationship or Whatever the kids call it these days...

I didn't mean to say friendship,
I meant to say more.
Would it really be a bother if
I just so happened to open that door?

May 2013

Jada Tower

who am i?

who am i?

i'm tired eyes and bed hair.
i'm coffee stains on the pages of my favorite books.
i'm dry humor in the morning when all i want to do is sleep.
i'm my favorite song lyrics blaring through the speakers on a long road trip.
i'm a stranger sitting on a park bench watching people live their lives
while all i do is sit and observe.
i'm all the places i've been to and explored on sunday mornings
leaving little bits of me when i go.
i'm the tide splashing at my feet while i make pictures in the sand.
i'm a quote from my favorite movie that i've seen too many times to count.
i'm shorts and a tank top on a warm summer day
then boots and a coat on a cold winter night.
i'm a fishing pole in its stand on the bank of a murky lake.
i'm late nights out with friends
when i should really be at home in bed.
i'm the thrill of sneaking into somewhere you shouldn't be
and the terror of getting caught.
i'm goodnight kisses
and early morning hugs.

so who am i?
i am these fragments
pulled together, making me tick.

May 2013

Arrywill keepya smilin

I give my all don't push my fall.

I'm sick of feeling
seeing or hearing.
why  would I turn?
to hear that real burn?..
I don't look the best,
I'm sure not a ten,
give me a rest,
I'm stuck in this nest,.
how can I fly if you just make me cry,
why such  a deal  if you know how  I feal...

-  glayz  *welch

May 2013

Flower child

Untitled

This time it's not the voices in my head,
This time it's myself instead,
How do I bare?
What do I do?
Why am I so ****** up beyond repair?

May 2013

Jackson Jones

Plateau Kids

Someday they’ll look back here
and tell each other,
that the end started with us.
We are the plateau kids, the ones who lost it;
We who watched the new millennium
sink into place as our monument to apathy.
The derivative of a derivative is our only construct left standing now.
The de-evolution of a soul, spiraling out,
becoming thinner and thinner the farther it reaches,
leaving us hollow scarecrows
still guarding the dead field.

We are a generation of potentiality,
lost in twisting teeth. Clockwork gears
churns us out, hollow men pushing hollow men
through and out doors, into a world of excessive emptiness.
Fertile though the mind may be, it’s lost on us.
We are the spectators of progress, the ones who watch and
laugh and drink and **** and snort and smoke
and post and pop and dance and steal and die.

Beauty stopped with us,
and all was lost.

working draft

May 2013

Barry Andrew Pietrantonio

Ode to a Depressed Flag

I sit here,
still,
waiting for a wind.
A breeze, a gust,
anything.

I see my friends,
worn out,
war torn.
But I, I sit here,
still, bored.

I sway,
sometimes,
when students pass.
But the breeze soon fades,
it never lasts.

But of everything,
what keeps me going,
is when they pledge their allegiance to me.
It makes me proud to wear these colors,
and represent my great country.

I may be sad,
to be a flag,
that sits inside all day.
But I will always be proud,
to represent the U.S.A.

Copyright Barry Pietrantonio

May 2013

Charles Bukowski

Mama

here I am
             in the ground
                            my mouth
                            open
                       and
            I can't even say
                       mama,
                          and
the dogs run by and stop and ****
on my stone; I get it all
except the sun
and my suit is looking
                                   bad
and yesterday
                        the last of my left
                                              arm           gone
very little left, all harp-like
without music.

at least a drunk
in bed with a cigarette
might cause 5 fire
                             engines and
                             33 men.

I can't
           do
                any
                       thing.

but p.s. -- Hector Richmond in the next
tomb thinks only of Mozart and candy
caterpillars.
           he is
                 very bad
                            company.

May 2013

Charles Bukowski

all that

the only things I remember about
New York City
in the summer
are the fire escapes
and how the people go
out on the fire escapes
in the evening
when the sun is setting
on the other side
of the buildings
and some stretch out
and sleep there
while others sit quietly
where it's cool.

and on many
of the window sills
sit pots of geraniums or
planters filled with red
geraniums
and the half-dressed people
rest there
on the fire escapes
and there are
red geraniums
everywhere.

this is really
something to see rather
than to talk about.

it's like a great colorful
and surprising painting
not hanging anywhere
else.

May 2013

Charles Bukowski

This

self-congratulatory nonsense as the
famous gather to applaud their seeming
greatness
you
wonder where
the real ones are
what
giant cave
hides them
as
the deathly talentless
bow to
accolades
as
the fools are
fooled
again
you
wonder where
the real ones are
if there are
real ones.
this self-congratulatory nonsense
has lasted
decades
and
with some exceptions
centuries.
this
is so dreary
is so absolutely pitiless
it
churns the gut to
powder
shackles hope
it
makes little things
like
pulling up a shade
or
putting on your shoes
or
walking out on the street
more difficult
near
damnable
as
the famous gather to
applaud their
seeming
greatness
as
the fools are
fooled
again
humanity
you sick
*******.

May 2013

M W

Intro to Myself: An Ongoing Update

As I look at me,
rounding face, less pronounced than past.
Tell: "Looking good hair."
Tired or sad eyes...both tonight.
Flat-lined lips,
pressed but not clenched.
This is now.
Now is gone, seconds ago, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years...
This was me.
-----------------------------------------------
Chocolate Mocha
in a small white mug
dappled around with
a fox that looks like a rabbit,
a baby blue elephant,
a bear with a red afro...or is it a lion,
around the bend
a cow,
a goat,
and there's the bear.
All present and staring with itty blue eyes,
watching me drink my hot chocolate.
This is me tonight.

May 2013

InLove000

:(

No One Stays The Same!

May 2013

LDuler

Enough

Now
I have had enough
Of living beneath the debris
In the low shadows
I am sick
Of living small and hidden
In the cupboards of life
Sick of going through the hallways
Unseen, unoticed
I no longer want to be invisible
I want to emerge
From behind the veil,
Push the curtains aside
I am claiming the crown
I want sunlight and nightfall
To belong to me
I want the beams to bend at my fingertips
I want the wind to submit to me
I want to be immortal
I want to be the captain
But the problem is,
I am less and less
And nothing
Yet still aching for something
Still reaching for what I can't obtain

May 2013

Redshift

******* a trumpet vine.

three sets of withered, wrinkly hands
with chipped
tired
pale-pink nailpolish
flutter in the air,
describing.

three froofy perms
one browny-gray
one white
one salt and pepper
bob
jutting forward,
one
wobbles a little.

Grandma wears
a green-foam party hat
with a thin, white elastic band
that runs under her wrinkled chin
it sits atop her fuzzy perm
comically...
she smiles
at me.

"Ah! my cappuccino! you remembered i like it, didn't you?"
she chucks her great-granddaughter
under the chin,
grins
"oohh! look at these gardening gloves! Cidi! look at these gloves! i like the green ones."
she hands them to her white-haired sister
aunt cidi told me
this year she is
ninety-one
oh, and the gloves were really
blue.

aunt cidi
misses uncle harland
he was buried three or four years ago
in his uniform
i remember sitting next to him
at awkward family reunions
eating hotdogs
i never saw so much mustard
in my life
he could never hear me
when i tried to talk to him
but he smiled
anyway.

the talk turns serious
suddenly
over our black coffee
crossed legs
sweaters
and chocolate cake
grandma turns grim
in her lime-green party hat
"did you end up killing that trumpet vine in your yard, Jeanie?"
aunt jeanie's head wobbles a bit
she squints
wrinkles her nose
"i TRIED to!"
she scowls.

schemes of ******
plotted by three chunky-earringed
sweet
old ladies
who are a little late
for the 1940's
but never too late
for a handsome
soldier
"we're older..."
says aunt jeanie
"but not THAT old!"
they all
giggle.