I'm going round and round,
and I'm afraid of falling off,
because I know that if I slip,
there is no catcher in the rye.
Innocence is never preserved,
and reaching for that ring is scary as hell,
things just don't stay the same,
and that's the truth.
It's so bitter sweet,
it's a torturous love,
it's the happiest you get,
and the hardest you fall.
But if I slip,
and if I fall,
will you catch me,
one last time?
Will You Catch Me One Last Time?
I'm 16, so I'm allowed to idolize Holden
***** girls with lousy guys, drives me crazy
Maybe you shouldn't feel too sorry.
Old Sally, so **** good-looking but a pain in the ***.
"Oh, darling, I love you."
"You're probably the only reason I'm in New York right now"
I told her I loved her; it was a lie.
felt like five hundred thousand years, looking at all the phonies.
Ivey League guys with ****** voices,
a witty bunch of actors drinking their tea
and rubbernecks stand around to watch.
I was a ******* wolf, just wondering for intellectual conversation.
Just give old Caulfield the time to spoil your evening
because he's not sorry at all.
"A small project I did for the Catcher in the Rye where we were to make poems with words from chapters 17-19. They are suppose to be about his relationship with Sally or the feelings he has about her. Enjoy!
Thank you ~
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
behind laundry doors
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
and broken walls
in bathroom stalls
and carbon fumes
from children’s pranks
and sidewalk dung
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
and open sores
for pig in poke
and silver tip
thick red tape
and pimple nape
so out of norm
the joy of life…
in basic form
it is easy to become lost in the blinding lights of new york city
and the deafening sound of yellow taxi cabs and screaming
neighbors and the chatter of mundane conversations between
people who are ghosts in every sense of the word with
their paper thin hearts and transparent minds and the inability
to feel something other than the heavy weight of coffee
in their stomachs
it is easy for people to say that when new york city was made
God himself struck down and said "let their be light" but all i ever
see is the blur of motion as everyone runs to jobs they
all hate working with people they despise and then spending
their money at stars that don't even shine in poorly lit movie
theaters when the real ones are in the sky and in new york
every expensive restaurant is vegan friendly and boasts animal
rights and shames everyone who doesn't but no one
ever wonders what happens to the ducks in central park during december
it is easy to fall in love with new york city.
with the magic that it spreads with the euphoria that you feel being
surrounded by others with it's almost frightening ability to
take away your loneliness and manipulate you into thinking you
are happy, it is easy to fall in love with new york city.
it is also easy for you to say that you lost yourself in new york
because even when you say it no one will hear you
over the sound of madison square garden and it is easy to
call new york paradise it is easy to call it the city that never
sleeps because everyone stuck there is paralyzed
i've often been told that i embody the catcher in the rye and i'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing
At least Holden
a sister, at least
he was rich,
at least he was
Someone told me
that too, but I didn't
imagine I'd be
for tobacco, love,
than the pangs of
absence. What a place
I'm treating this site like a personal blog.
As the world admonishes
the curiosity and heroism of youth
their mother's milk spoils inside,
and the hopeful
This poem was a response to "Catcher in the Rye."
finished the book,
and pondered upon why
it seized to conclude how it looked
the catcher in the rye
stood up and took
a stroll down the aisle
i saw that You looked
a Marvelous Connection of Eyes
i lift my head once in a while
only to see an Astounding Sunrise
a hundred feet, feels like a mile
but, Love has blessed me with eagle eyes
only, from a distance now
studying, carefully, Your Astounding Fragility
Forgetting, many of thousands of words
as You Wander so Elegantly
I wish I had some nerve. I could really use a blessing like her.
My childhood was a lonely one,
sat dust-lunged in my room,
while others had fun,
I'd sit in the gloom.
Surrounded, with old books and toys,
football, at all, wasn't my thing.
Not 'one of the boys',
my own lonely king.
Ruled empires, of plastic and prose,
my imagination, sensational flights of ideas!
It actively rose,
along with my fears.
Oh! But if chance would be given,
to redo those days in new ways,
same way I'd live 'em,
in radiant haze.
Once again I feel like exploding
Tear it up before it lets me down
Inside out and I never feel like trying
I hate it more than you will ever need to know
Borderline and thoughts written in margins
It's not enough to get me through today
Always thinking I haven't got enough time
Hard to believe it's only a lifetime away
This is a poem I wrote in my first copy of The Catcher in the Rye, which I no longer have in my possession. Dug this up in an old conversation.
— The End —