"afterschool" poems
the skull and spine of seventy seven men, extracted.
retribution far past putrefaction.
a pile of bones in the center of town, at the corner of washington
& rochambeau.
gather around.
do you believe in the boogeyman?
a glitch in the darkness.
an echo of rage, high chroma bacteriophage.
every faithless father,
every sister spared,
every ritual sung just right, a brief blackout,
reconfigured pixels of outer night.
[bobby’s sega genesis awakens on its own]
thirty three years to the day, he
died on that suncrest boulevard, returned today just to say “hey.”
graveyard family tree and the moon.
first as a manifestation of electromagnetic phenomena
in a videogame’s cpu. 1993.
second as a fully-fledged entity materialized via videocassette,
hungry for pizza and pure vengeance. 2001.
third from beneath bedrock, the quarry belly baste,
a body buried thrice, undead toxic tumescence,
a walking corpse heaving black plasma. 2020.
the sequel.
the son.
the spectral chosen one, he
rips out a throat or two, quite fashionably so,
a man about town throttled and disemboweled,
as friends and neighbors stumble and sprint to escape with their own godforsaken skin.
let the bone collection begin.
emerged in afterschool hallways to **** old classmates turned teachers.
emerged in afterhours offices to devour old buddies turned bankers.
emerged in the quiet dark homes of neighborhood flesh and folk.
blood soaked socks.
why? you ask, must all these people die?
vengeance? no.
that was a lie.
he killed those people for a laugh
& that’s that.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
I have come to a conclusion.
We are in an endless cycle.
We wake up and think about food.
We eat sugary cereals for breakfast
so we go to school or work thinking about food.
Afterschool, we watch food and beauty advertisements
that make us feel bad about ourselves,
so what do we do?
Shop for food and clothes to make us
"feel better" and to "fill the void."
After shopping, we get tired and watch television
where we, yet again, shovel even MORE food
into our lifeless pieholes.
We also don't want to cook anything,
so our meals consist of Campbell's soups, frozen pizzas and leftovers of whatever casserole is in the house.
Even after eating dinner, we are tempted to eat more,
so we have DESSERT!
Because of our constantly on-the-go lifestyle, half the time we are not even conscious of what we're eating.
Ironically, yet predictably, we go to sleep thinking about what we will have for breakfast the next day.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
it was raining
that day after
class
seventh grade
and I,
socially akward
braces
gangly
quiet
abandoned my thick
black glasses,
tossed away
refrain
and
danced in it.
"get out of there."
this came from
my gym teacher
on duty
afterschool.
dripping wet,
I kicked a puddle
his way
in response.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 7:03 PM UTC
36 hours...
Hanna called out to her friend Jory at
8:00am
She walked ther ten year-old brother to school at
9:30am
Afterschool, she hung out with her multiple friends and rode the train to Central Park,
She arrived home at
12:00 am
and her father soundly beat her.
Understandably.
24 hours...
Hanna skipped the first two classes and arrived at school at
11:49 am
She made out with her first boyfriend, Marcus, behind the dark school stairs during lunch.
Than, at
1:46 pm
during Calculus, Angela, her best friend, subtly slipped
some **** into her knockoff bag.
At
10:35 pm
Hanna fell asleep reading Hamlet.
12 hours...
Hanna found out Angela was in a serious street accident yesterday, but she had made it.
Yet, she decided no to visit and go to school
solving Angela's problems for her.
30 minutes...
Hanna broke up with Marcus and went back to those same stairs to think.
15 minutes...
She picked herself up, but left behind her knockoff.
2 minutes...
She decided not to pickup her brother.
Almost...
There...
Instantaneously.
Now Hanna exists only in our minds,
only to really live through my mouth.
Where she was last, her toes were bare,
her knees bent.
A classic diver's pose;
arms out.
A perfect splash, barely caused a ripple.
The audience, a monarch, flitting through and quiet.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
bathroom mirrors left wide open
in the light, it's shadow: orange
slapped cheeks stinging from palms wide open
popped it and shes off the ledge
the numbers crunch and sum us equal
from 50 to 14 and now the same
years picked off by hungry gulls
they're swallowed, won't be remembered again
created-creator, destroyed in thoughts
at least now our ****** eyes are trained
its unfortunate, they're fixed on petty "nots"
but the knots are tight, only relieved when frayed
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
I usually take for granted
All the things my mom does for me
The things she sacrifices
And goes without
So I can be happy
So I can have what she dosen’t
So my childhood would be better
Than hers
Instead of getting herself new clothes
She survives on the same ones
From years and years before
So I can have new wardrobe
Each new school year
She pays for activities
Afterschool fun and sports
That aren’t required
Aren’t needed but wanted
She drives me back and forth
Waiting for the day I could do it myself
Listening to my pointless stories
And putting up with my bad habits
Helping with decisions
And giving me wisdom
That I get annoyed with
But I know she just wants the best
This poem could go on
And on and on
About all the things
My mother does for me
I know not everyone is as lucky
As I am
With a mother who would do so much
Just to see me happy
And I will always be grateful
For everything she does for me
Because she loves me
And because of that
I love her
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
I remember back in the day when we stuck and broke the curfew rules.
We tried hanging with big kids but they were too cruel.
You remember when we tried to puff the smoke.
Try’na hang with the local crew and act like we were tough.
Man those days were fun but life in the hood was rough.
We didn’t realize that the times we cruel,
We just had our fantasy dreams, that one day we’d rule.
We used to kick it afterschool and spit raps in cyphers,
Knowing school was over, it used to get us all hyper.
Man you was funny sometimes corny,
But you still made me laugh.
Remember when we stole chips and candy from Moe’s old store,
We got grounded a week doing house chores,
I thought we’d never see the sunshine again.
I miss those days.
Especially because your not here.
I tell those stories often
because the memories are dear.
You was my main friend.
Thanks for everything.
Rest in peace.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
When I drove through the city tonight I noticed how quickly I felt alone
The gift for you was my only passenger, for you did not take it, since I never saw what you have shown
Back and forth back and forth, my fuck-ups, terrible choking you to death as I cry while I eat my food
The sweater choking my neck is the last thing to tell me to be good
Please take me back to the flying saucer, the gloomy pine bar not-so far, the afternoon afterschool naps groggy with young happy love
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
So today, I realized that I was depressed, based on the poem "my fear" that is evident. so I told some people. Like my English teacher, who has been very supportive of me this past year. He quite possibly understands me better than my parents do. But what He said after I showed him "My Fear", shocked me. He said I needed therapy, to get someone else's opinion on my life, which is true. So I decided to get a second opinion, from my band director. I love my band director, He gets me. So I told him that I was depressed about family and stress and school. and He started talking to me about this, and how it effects my playing and ect. But one thing He said was that I need to use this pressure, for that was what it boiled down to was pressure, and use it as motivation. And so I left, feeling a little better. But what really got me was that when I enter the band room afterschool, to grab some music to copy at home, my folder is missing. Now folders rarely go missing, because we have our own spot for them. And I did eventually locate my folder, but the thing was that 4 pieces of my music were missing. a exercise book, a chorale and 2 festival music. Now I know that when I put my music away after class, which was 6th period, we only had one class left. but I KNOW that I had my music in that folder. So sometime within 50 min, someone took my folder out and took my music. Now that, that is out, the fact that I was depressed than this incident with my music made me paranoid, it was not a good combination. I almost started to cry.... it was terrible.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
*approximately what gives
this is all surreal
i can’t conceal my disappointment
in sports cars and movie stars
or in maladjusted hearts
the insurance agents start a non-profit
the cotton industry is limited
bitcoin is a big business
triple your money in a minute
first let the world know
that you are too empty to show up
purchase your retirement
in plastic suitcases that roll sideways
finalize the divertissements
divisive and subversive
i look forward to reading my book
and growing my soul
its an internal process
the way that we respond to death and beauty
can we still see the forest for the trees
so many artists starving in our apartments
lying on the carpets
and drowning in their stench
paper and pen meet later
and you sprinkle it
like capers on a salad
start spreading the idea that we are human
and we have intuition
somewhere there is music
waiting for you to intrude
upon her dinner
smells like a fire muted by desire
i am retired here and now
so stop beating up your puppies
they’ve never done anything wrong
the wheels go round and we lift off the ground
the hills become invisible and we are in the air
later the stewardess returns to your chair
and asks you if she can help you
you produce the illusive gesture
and hope she understands you
while slutty stars ***** our hearts
you are determined not to hide the scary parts
we embark on the ride of a lifetime
her mind is gone but her spirit is strong
hungry eyes **** near **** us
despite those sky lines and eyeliner
these lips are willing if you are up for it
while blind men
are killing each other at the office
growth is a forest
a rhizome in our porridge
burnt to a crisp we forage for our dinner
the dust is giving us its powers
dreams are shattered like blank cartridges
stardust and partridges
farms and families glisten with meaning
peace is finally coming
to a theater near you*
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 9:56 PM UTC