Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Left Foot Poet May 2015
~

spontaneous men,

they say, are hard to find,
but me,
not in 100% agree
men-t
~
we, the early risers,
i.e. before she bestirs,

eyes still closed we shave,
with magic mouth wash green,
breathe dragon flames pepper-minty

go deep into planning-surprise mode,
so soon to be proving
ourselves in plenty
possession of

spontaneity

which, shockingly is just
the way she likes it...

~


P.S. Oh, what webs we weave when first we need
to get
laid...
Logan Robertson Jun 2018
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.

Logan Robertson

6/6/2018
Louis Brown Sep 2010
They put me by the door
And I could see below
800 feet to the ground
A solid green carpet
Looking soft enough to sleep on.
But the limbs underneath
Were sharp and deadly.
It wasn't a good day
For a jump I thought.
Who wants to jump out of a C-47
On their first airplane ride
Into the wild blue yonder--
No one with good sense
As I answered my own question.
I remembered hearing about
The guy who received a parachute
Not knowing it needed repair
But he had faith nothing happened
To a nice guy like him.
So when he jumped out
And didn't feel the jolt slow down
His descent to the ground
He looked up with panicked eyes
And saw the chute fluttering away.
He muttered a few cuss words
When he saw the ground come fast.
He didn't pull his reserve in time
And never heard the deadly thud.
Those were my thoughts
As the T-7 parachute
Opened with the snap of a whip
Just as the parachutist behind me
Started walking on my canopy.
I could see his boots sink in deep
And I hollared, get your sorry *** off
You low life no good *******--
A panic lingo that flowed out
Because I was scared crapless
At the turn of events.
Luckily my chute didn't collapse
And his chute started floating away.
No harm done except my nerves
Were a little frayed.
It only takes about 8-10 seconds
To get to the ground
From the time you leave the plane.
So I looked down and there it was
With the wind blowing about 20 knots.
I could feel myself swaying
Much like a pendulum on a clock.
I wasn't trained to land on my back
As I'd learned the five point landing technique
But then the ground slammed my rear
With a sledge hammer effect
Knocking the light off in my brain.
But I must have awakened shortly
As the wind had opened my canopy
Dragging me across the rocky landing zone
Till I became aware and remembered
To pull the bottom risers on my chute
To empty the air from it
So I could roll on top of it.
Then an instructor came by yelling
Get your *** up soldier
And take your chute back where you got it.
I responded accordingly
Wanting to keep my nose clean
And make the rest of my jumps
So I could get my Parachutist Wings.
It would take 4 more jumps that week.
I had to meet those requirements
Or they would send my derriere oveseas
Where a war was going on.
That was all the incentive I needed
To bust my **** gladly
And claw my way to paratrooper status.
Geronimo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
I thought sheepishly to myself
For my not so altruistic bravado.
Copyright Louis Brown
Katie Miller May 2019
Clumsy Love

It was clumsy the day they first met

A hot day in New York City, photography at a baseball game, purple hair, and overpriced lemonade. There was a 15 year-old girl and her friend, and there was a slight fangirl moment when meeting a 17 year old boy who was famous school-wide for his singing and acting. There was an exchange of names, a photograph, and a friendship.

It was clumsy the second day, too.

Persistently bought coffee from the little round shop with way too many sugar packets, a misguided museum employee, too much root beer, and pigeons that were startled by the boy yelling “44!”

The third day was no less clumsy.

There was a broadway show in Shubert Alley, an unknown desire, and a sleepless night for the boy, though the girl remained ignorant of his new-found crush. If only the girl knew that a year from now, a promposal would be reenacted, a first kiss would be given and taken, and “I love you” would be said. If only the boy knew that his “immature” desire would be replaced with love, and passion, and, well, her. If only they knew what would happen in the next 365 days.

It was clumsy that one night in the pool.

A sticky, humid heat in the air, string lights hung over head, four friends swimming in the girls pool, stars in the sky, and the boy, throwing the girl into the pool simply because he could. The girl loved him then, though she wouldn’t allow herself to think about it, so they remained as they were: friends.

It was clumsy that day in Hershey Park.

There were sharp turn on the Wild Mouse, a stranger met and then lost again, and the boy, who kept telling the girl of other boys who were staring at her. Maybe it was his secret way of telling her that he thinks she’s beautiful, but she never knew.

It was clumsy in the movie theater.

There was crab rangoon and smuggled sushi, an 11:00 movie about superheroes, and a returned wish to hold a girl’s hand, though the girl, somehow, remained oblivious still.

It was clumsy in September and November.

There was a girl with a broken heart, betrayal from the friends from New York, a different boy who was never meant to be, and the boy who was meant to be, listening to every word, watching every tear, and slowly, unknowingly, fixing her heart. Through three hourlong video calls, text messages, and abandoned lunch periods he loved her still, though he remained the friend that he knew she needed.

It was clumsy in December.

There was a realization of how much he meant to her, a lot of poems, a revelation of jealousy of the girl who was flirting with him, and a lot of tears. There was a still 15 year old girl and a now 18 year old boy, and she allowed herself to fall, in the clumsiest way possible, into him.

If was clumsy on Valentine's day.

There was a singing Valentine, as well as one with a bad pun, there was a comparison to a sister, there was a"Crazy Little Thing Called Love" and there was a hug. A question was asked that day "Does he like her?", But was disregarded with a shrug "He said she was like a sister, so I guess not". It stung her her heart just a little, but she accepted the hit that was unintentionally given. And clumsily, once again, she laughed and smiled, after all, he and to her.

If was clumsy at the cabaret Cafe.

There was some pie and ice cream, a song sung to her, though she only wished he meant it that way, a slippery cafeteria for and tights, a confession, and two questions. The confession being to him, that she was happy to know him, a question to her, does she like him, to which she lied "no", and when the question was returned, the boy avoided an answer when the girl returned a question.

It was clumsy the Monday afterwards.

It was clumsy when he wouldn't meet her eyes. She still can't explain how much that hurt her, it stabbed at her heart and caught in her throat. After all: her best friend didn't even want to look at her. Her heart was slippery and clumsy as it sunk towards her stomach. There were tears during first period, and a text after school from the girl who apologized for lying because she liked him after all, and was too afraid of rejection to tell him before, yet no confirmation came from him.

It was clumsy on March 3rd.

There were poems, missing heart beats, and grammar mistakes. There was relief and there was fear. There was nervousness for the next day, knees shaking, heart racing as she turned every corner, waiting to see his face.

It was clumsy on March 16th.

When she fell to the ground. There are six pink roses, a stuffed turtle named Cleopatra, and a PowerPoint slide with a pun. There was an expectation he had wished to live up to and there was success. She fell to the ground and feel into his arms and they both cried of happiness and shock.

It was clumsy on March 18th.

There were silent cellos, empty risers, a dark room and racing heartbeats. There were seven kisses before saying goodbye, they were her first. There were two definitions of perfect, coincidentally, there were also two names. There was a broken water bottle and a boy in a parking lot. There was a girl, now sixteen, and a boy, now eighteen, and they were talking in love in the dark.

It was clumsy on April 3rd.

There was a stairwell, a thought, a confession, and an "I love you" returned in the same breath of air held between them.

It was clumsy in the hammock.

There was an unbalanced swaying, a list of questions and answers, and a metaphor about falling.

It was clumsy at lunch.

There was an attempted hug, an accidental tackle, and a girl who tripped over her own feet.

It was clumsy yesterday, it is clumsy today, and it will be clumsy tomorrow.

There was New York City, coffee, Broadway in Shubert Alley, root beer, Hershey Park and movie theaters. There was a broken heart, video calls, realizations, poems, songs, and apple pie with ice cream. There were grammar mistakes, pink roses, turtles, teddy bears, silent cellos, risers, absent heartbeats, and stairwells. There was love unreturned from fear of rejection born from the roots of doubt. And then, there was love, and memories, and secrets. And they became them, and "us" was their new favorite word.
Commuter Poet Jan 2017
The early risers
Are ripped from their sleep
By tinkles and chimes
Of programmed alarms

They tread their cold floorboards
To peer in their mirrors
Observing dark shadows
Beneath their worn eyes

They are the ones
Who meet with bewilderment
The dark of pre-dawn
And ponder its death

They are the ones
Who half-asleep shuffle
Along broken pavements
Avoiding black puddles

They are the wearers
Of gloves and wool hats
Thick scarves and overcoats
And knotted shoe laces

A slumber-some army
Making their pilgrimage
To station and hospitals
Factories and schools

They are the ones
Who catch the first birdsong
The breaking of dawn
The crisp of the air

They are the ones
Who gaze at the moonlight
Wonder at stars
And think of the spring

They are the ones
Who live out the hours
Whilst we comfortable sleepers
Lie warm in our beds
9th January 2016
Men of Essex Men of Essex
Strong and true Strong and true
Like the mighty oak tree Like the mighty oak tree
We're with you We're with you
Anna Blake Oct 2017
it's you.

i would have never known
unless i saw
the light meet your face
that morning.

neither of us are early risers,
but i couldn't waste
a second.

above me,
at 6:40 in the morning,
a perfect blend of
blue, gray, and sincerity,
which was born
on the rising sun,
peered through an ivory curtain,
and landed on a gentle face.

infinity soaked gaze,
honey coated touch,

your color was
the crisp mountain air
through a rolled down
Jeep window.

your color was
a John Prine record
and local barbeque

your color was serene.
it was the light's reflection of
a summer enveloped
by two people
in love with
right now.

-Anna Blake
jcc  May 2015
black on both sides
jcc May 2015
b:\>blackonbothsides**
my alignment may be left,
but what i-m saying-s very right,
we-re always getting high,
but we don-t achieve new heights
i got this verbal glock locked and loaded,
so you know this whole audience in my sights

so our mind-frame may be the same plane,
but we-re on separate flights
day and night, the hatred b/t us blacks
rocks me the core
in school, we fail through
the easiest courses,
our reign in the motherland used to be so,
that the royal heir-s crown circulation
was tighter than most corsets

even back when they whipped the backs of
my ancestors,
when the blood was wet and coursing
modern day enslavement was being
set in motion and
some say to me,
"your cadence is like a ******,
stop trying to force it"

how so when i have this
rhythm and river flow
that can-t be found in faucets?
we lost it, our way has never been
the same since our civil rights gains
and tremendous losses, in the media,
were lawless monsters lacking a conscience

why do we only mention black people
in the illuminati talks?
i tell you what, i haven-t forgotten
that reagan ran iran-contra
man, it-s bonkers, crazy how we sold
our souls for a few dollars

black women twerking like they forgot
sarah baartman
ever since the 60s,
our growth has *******
we emerged as a race of progress,
but now all i see is problems

we aren-t erasing problems, right now,
we are a race of problems,
now how we gonna solve em
when the ink scars go deeper than
the reach of solvents?
racists beat me and embarrassed me,
but that just made me stronger,
so how you gonna rain on my parade
then expect me not to blossom?

we wanna be ******, hoes,
pimps, jump-offs, and playas,
funny how we didn-t get out
slavery too long ago,
yet chains and whips still dominate us
***;? that song was not a coincidence

a black woman saying chains
and whips excite her?
no artistic freedom for our black artists,
authors, our writers?
iggy azalea can be all she can be
and still be a "great writer"?

that couldn-t have fooled me in the slightest,
the highest risers and high officials are
working in the dark so heartless,
this proves that the worlds governed
by a power so awesome
i am just asking for protection from
premeditated arrangement of the "free" market

these arms races is the united states
and other nations displaying whose
bullets can go the farthest
this poem goes out to
the leaders and followers,
skeptics and believers,
the weak and fatherless
i hope this speech reaches the
rest of populous,
i-m a martyr, so let me
hang free for the audience

to me, this microphone is a living being
that i choke and never let breathe
but i-ll never let a mac-11 ever represent me!

i told my little cousin, “don-t you believe in
that ignorance you hear in the streets,
if you got a brain, you ain-t flippin' ye
or palmin' your heat,
and don-t you listen to all the
words you hear from elites

so if they are gunning for your head,
duck under the beam; so if they are
coming for your throne, civilly disobey,
don-t you let them take your seat,
“and once you-re in the race,” i told him,
“you better run on your hands
so you never see defeat.”

after i was done droppin' this knowledge,
this prolific deposit, he thought of
all the things i stated,
i told him, “our potential is far beyond the confines
of traps and the cages
so pool your wages and don-t conform
to the way the media portrays us”

so b/f you get the inclination
to declare that by my word choice,
i must be half white,
i-m pleased to let you know
that i-m black on both sides.
j:\>
jcc_
Àŧùl Jun 2013
Vision*

You & I get ready in the morning,
Go to office & work to exhaustion,
A 9  to  6 job at our office is tiring,
I & you meet in the lunch breaks,
Discuss work in middle of lunch,
Facing the obstacles in our work,
Busy in the various experiments,
Catching a look at the same time,
X-ray crystalograph is prepared,
Dizzying velocities of centrifuge,
Early risers - late runners to bed,
Heavy eyelids call us out for rest,
Reaching back to the home tired,
Junkies of love we'll stay awake,
Kissing we start the game of love,
Tickling yours body - you nibble,
Loving the foreplay we carry on,
Making love is a second priority,
Not always so energetic for love,
Over the edge we push ourselves,
Putting an extra effort as always,
Queen guides the King into cave,
Slow but steady our expression,
Zooming the oozing nectars out,
Under-relaxed we need a break,
Vacations are a really good idea.
My vision is of A to Z for the hotter part of our romantic & professional lives!
Obviously some years later but surely.
♡♥♡♥♡
My HP Poem #278
©Atul Kaushal
C H Watson Dec 2014
Get her out of those buckles, make her wiggle
    Learned fingers tracing her every silky crease
Manually adventuring amidst her supple folds
    Turning her over and over, send the air out of her!
And then an arm across her skirt, fold her lovingly but firmly

Now I can count on her to open next time I jump
Dedicated to that which cleaves tighter to us when the weather is worst, burns warmer on our skin when the nights are coldest, and makes us complain of raindrops in our eyes in dry weather...

a good woman's loyalty to a man
Sally A Bayan  May 2022
At 4am...
Sally A Bayan May 2022
(Cheritas)

1)

At 4am, serenity surrenders to the rooster.

Early risers snap from their slumber,
thinking, the world is on their shoulders.

Eyes close...thoughts for the day gather,
strength is renewed...mind gets sharper
while under the lukewarm shower.
:::::::

2)

Aromatic moments stir the cold sleepy air.

there's hot coffee, frittata and fried frankfurters,
day starts with good food, whatever the weather.

Between work and breaks, we count the hours
of an unpredictable day, til 9-5 pressure is over.
coffee, gardening or wine, undo the day's fetters.
:::::::


sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Breeze-Mist Jul 2016
My favorite juxtaposition
Is when a city goes totally silent
When the widest streets are empty
And the only sounds are quiet

The bustling stores are still closed
And no one else is walking around
The city looks amazingly different
With only a few men in the ground

The buildings stand tall and silent
While those up late tuck in for the night
And the earliest risers have yet to awake
To meet the ever blinking lights

The signs are as bright as ever
And the lights still work 'round the clock
But not a single bike, car, or man
Can be seen on the city block

I stand on the silent street corner
Feeling the moment rush through me
For stunningly empty cities
Are some of my favorite places to be
Someone  Sep 2017
Strength
Someone Sep 2017
I was strong.

I was strong when my preschool teacher told me that I was never going to be an artist because I wasn't talented enough.

I was strong when I told my first crush that I liked him and he told me he would never like someone like me because I was fat and ugly.

I was strong as I was bullied severely for 6 years in elementary school.

I was strong when a kid wrapped swing chains around my neck and tried to choke me.

I was strong when I was told by the school counselor that no one would ever want to be my friend in middle school.

I was strong when on the first day of junior high I was pushed off of the risers and onto the floor by fellow classmates.

I was strong when my parents got a divorce.

I was strong when I had my first panic attack.

I was strong after I attempted suicide.

I was strong when I was officially diagnosed with anxiety and depression.

I was strong when my father kicked me out.

I was strong when my brother beat me in my car.

I was strong when I had to act as hospice care for one of my grandfathers.

I was strong when my grandfathers died.

I was strong when my dad's wife tried to convince me that I was worthless and unworthy of love.

I was strong when my entire family abandoned me fight over only my brother in a custody battle.

I was strong when I failed my first class ever and almost lost all of my scholarships.

I was strong when my mom told me "whatever" when she was mad and I talked about killing myself.

I was strong when I wanted to drop out of college and relapse into my suicidal thoughts.

If I can be strong through all of that, I can be strong again.

I am strong.

Even if I don't always feel that way.
Stay strong.
Alexander Doss May 2010
Sleepy moon beams kiss the morning sky
Goodbye, as they slip  into the cerulean on
High.

I’d been walkin all night, the morning air
Unwinding the curls from my tangled hair.  As I drug
My emotions through potholed streets.

Tires crunching sand the sweepers missed,
Sliver boxes clicking the lights from green to
Red, steam clouds rise in a royal ascension
Bathing passers by in a ghostly hue.

Pulling my coat tightly I slipped though
Their procession unnoticed, ears pressed to phones,
Eyes lowered to ground, hands gripped on purse straps.
I sit watching the wisp of early risers become a
Thunderous herd or late risers walking nowhere.

I’d been walkin all night, the morning air
Damp against my face, cool and electric
Condensing on my cheeks, dripping down
My face where my tears should be. If I
Won’t cry for myself most certainly  the morning air
Will do it for me.  

AD

— The End —