"ampersand" poems
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a fermentative reality,
Where words are symbols of relation
That you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
And how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August, Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repitition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Black hat, white shoes, and I’m red all over.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
*(asterisk)
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
superimposition of celestial ampersand:
a continuity of all things
stars hanging loose in the pupil
of this deadbeat word.
typhoons in a swirl of tempestuous ballet,
dogs shivering in the blue cold,
biting their canine integument the way
scarabs would, sinking in a temporal flotsam-way within tectonic display
of text
hectares of blank stares bringing
to life lysergic field of black birds.
and then some
equal number of evocativeness:
continuing on into the ground
are the bones warm in their compost.
the sudden fragrance of rat ****
appeals to the masses.
too much laughter in flooded thoroughfares pockmarked by
the vehement jam of staccato jackhammer.
choking us is today's headline
in supreme obbligato - its stench
reeks of libidinal perfume etched
in the flesh of the rigmarole.
one filthy day in Manila.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a figmentative reality,
where words are symbols of relation
that you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
and how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August 28th
Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repetition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
Asterisk*
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
you told me to prep for a new season, that what was dying is now dead
said we must steel ourselves with warmth against the first frost, it was the worst no
it was a testament or
just a test
& here, where we carve our winters from the gentle curve of the ampersand
from punctuation that's meant to bring us closer but only moves us further apart
like the swell of a gentle tide &
even the beach must face bitter winds filled with eburnean matter meant to cling to our skin
we will reenact this act, this ampersand
you are the skin
i am the surf no
i am the sand
no
i am the snow
&
nothing is warm
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Who's that leopard in ecstasy
(and Ampersand Cornelius Gray)
who learned to trot briskly under lamp poles
and rescue a ***** worn mug from the clay
that which bore them.
She signaled with a passing glance that the entrenchment should pass,
giggling eyes that sparkled from pearls and concrete teeth.
I pivoted on the unmoving coordinates, the universe revolved.
From within her a spirit rose up and clasped my face in its hands,
and I, red with terror, dove head first towards the sands.
He howls out, burdened.
He is unaware of my condition, beneath the waters;
here I lie in wait,
too, in weight.
Here I lie
beneath the crushing force of the universe.
On the bottom of the sea, the top of the Earth,
a smokestack, of golden flames, fills my heart,
rumbling, confident and unafraid.
The Leopard sits, its paws splayed out on a bed of ferns.
Upon its raised position, it lies, basked in ethereal warm light.
The fierce awe of strength and knives of metal,
racing above ground on knees of silent, yellowed corduroy.
Who waits with the Leopard, alone and cold?
Who knows the beast the captures my wonder?
Here I lie, in servitude, enslaved in my claw cave.
My paws are pale, in this oddly worn nave.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
To say I thought about you
was an understatement.
My lungs ached with the
sound of your name
pouring out with my breath.
It sounded so lovely paired
with an ampersand and mine.
My heart fell into rhythm
with each syllable that tumbled
from between your lips.
It pounded so longingly
within the walls of my chest.
My nose savored the scent
of you that wafted into
my nostrils when we passed.
You smelled like pine needles,
cigarettes, and the cold.
My eyes locked onto you
and your vibrant red hair as
you walked alone in a crowd.
You always stood out no matter
how many people were there.
My hands would write each
whispered word I had of you
dwelling deep within my mind.
I never had so many words
until the day I met you.
I still think about you, and
that is still an understatement.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
"I always wanted to wander."
"To wander? To where?"
"From Walla Walla to Uganda."
"That's a wide world to wander!"
"You wanna?"
"Wanna what?"
"To wander?"
"To where, Uganda?"
"Youbetcha!"
"I don't want to onomatopoeia anymore!"
"Are you refusing me?"
"You're confusing me!"
"Do I do that usually?"
"Yes, and it's abusing me!
"I didn't used to be."
"But you see it's no use to me,
So start talking lucidly!
You're coming across abstrusely
By talking so loosely.
You've got a lot of 'splaining to do Lucy."
"It started out grand!"
"But quickly got out of hand."
"But you fail to understand."
"You should have planned."
"Is that a reprimand?"
"You're like the ampersand."
"I don't understand."
"It means 'and per se and';
The pronunciation became bland
And three Latin words became 'ampersand'."
"But, don't you need a vacation?"
"What is the relation?"
"It's a matter of pronunciation,
And sometimes punctuation.
Some words deserve elimination.
Yes, and some deserve illumination.
Thus my original illustration.
In the interest of communication,
Some things deserve enunciation."
"I will accept that explanation."
"But, I'm still hugely fond of
The two of us going to Uganda;
As we internationally wander
I'm sure it will make you fonder
The more the two of us wander."
"But I really don't wanna!"
"Don't wanna what?"
"Go to Uganda!"
"That's what you don't wanna?"
"You betcha!"
"It's okay. They probably won't letcha."
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 1:08 PM UTC
wring your mismatched hands together they don't belong to you but they're still yours
you watch old reels, the war replaying on a silver screen
relearning a past you still don't remember (your hair used to be short, but you like it better long)
your smile is crooked when you look at him
you don't know if it's fondness or hatred (or something in the middle,the point between rage and bone-breaking love)
he'll never understand how easy it is to make men into machines
but the blueprints for your breathing patterns are hidden away in ones and zeroes in the back of your mind
your tongue and teeth are stained with your old body, ten thousand lifetimes ago you still feel your arm sometimes
ghost aches haunting your every step
when you close your eyes you see an ashtray, blood filling your eyesockets like saltwater
you've forgotten about that night (1942, the war playing in the background as you looked at him, soft around the edges) stars falling from his palms into your chest
you're an ampersand, your fingers interlocked with his
when you ask him what it was like
(you aren't sure what you mean, but he is) he says, soft around the edges,okay
and it's enough
war isn't pretty, it's a tragedy and so are you but it's enough for now
press your fingers into the sway of his back
cough russian winter into his lungs
and try to forget about it
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
I believe I can be free from you
That the memory of you is less a tattoo
More of a bruise
Painful
Not permanent
Yet a memory
still
Is what you held me
And yet still lingered briefly
was the belief I had in being your wife
Your King’s crown
Only a fool’s gold
from Jill Scott’s script-ure
Karma is my favorite *****
and I won’t even have to wish her on you
Your demise
already Materialized
in the form of Your weakness’s
Imprints on me
To be clear
This is about me now
My evolution
almost makes me want to thank your ***** ***
Because What I’ll do with this hurt
Is God’s work
Breaking generational curses as I
Dare to heal in public
The audacity of me
See...You never understood me
Never bothered
You may have taken my first time from me
But you were the only one slaughtered
You’ll never forget
The night you killed your soul
I’m your tattoo...yet stranger
Judgment day will be your toll
&...
For me?
The ampersand runs deep
A magnolia blooms in my womb
No longer A tomb
for all the Ways
yo mama didn’t love you
Will you tell her you hate her?
Once you do
Will you tell her to
“Get that look off your face you act like you never been in pain before”
Look her in the eyes when you do
That’s your thing right?
It wouldn’t be your first time anymore either
You don’t have **** to lose
Gon head...Let that hate sink deeper
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 8:54 AM UTC
you are the draft
of my poetries
that I have kept hidden.
you've taught me how to render
all these feelings to be unspoken.
you are the song
by which the octave
of my voice can't reach;
and yet I still try to sing you in secrecy.
you are the art
that my simple mind
can't seem to understand
but it's okay, because I feel you
and that's what gives these emotions
an infinite ampersand.
you are all these,
and yet to me, you are still nothing.
because in this life, that is all we are, and is all what we are ever going to be: nothing.
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
day 1: today i found out about the machines. sometimes i can feel your hand in mine. you used to grab it and pull, like you couldn't go as fast as you wanted to without taking me with you. war is never pretty, but you sure are. were. you were pretty. i still remember the last time i saw you.
day 2: do you remember when our names were joined together? people used to spit them out in one go, 'cause there wasn't a day either of us went somewhere without the other. they don't do that anymore. wish you were here.
day 3: i had a dream about you last night. i still can't feel my left arm. i miss you.
day 4: they're working on building machines that look and act like people. maybe i was a test drive. i still miss you.
day 5: i remembered something today (this is rare for me. if you were here i'd tell you why). you used to curve around your sketchpad, like it was a part of you. one night (june. i don't remember the year) i traced your spine and you shivered. i think about that a lot. i'm not sure why.
day 6: i miss you.
day 7: i love you.
day 8: remember our old bean plant we had growing in the windowsill? you used to fuss over it so much. (i used to fuss over you so much, too, but to be fair you're slightly more important than a bean plant. slightly.) you wasted a summer's worth of water on that **** thing, and never regretted it once.
day 9: we used to fold into each other during brooklyn winters, when the heat cut out and we had nothing but each other. now i just have nothing.
day 10: i can't get drunk now, either.
day 11: i saw my gravestone today. yours is right next to it, did you know that? they're both empty. they never found our bodies.
day 12: monochromia. that's what you had. i wonder if it went away after. you never saw colors and i saw too many.
day 13: i dreamt about you last night again. i've been remembering more. it's slow, but steady. fragments of memories every day. maybe one day i'll remember it all.
day 14: again. i think my subconscious is trying to punish me. i wish i could just forget again. maybe it would make everything easier.
day 15: again.
day 16: i haven't left my bed in twenty-one hours. this is the only way i can see you.
day 17: i wonder if you'd have married her if you hadn't died. a part of me (i'm sorry. all of me. every single ******* atom in my body) hopes you wouldn't have. it also knows that you would have. i miss you.
day 18: it's your birthday.
day 19: anachronism: a thing belonging or appropriate to a period other than that in which it exists, especially a thing that is conspicuously old-fashioned.
day 20: hello again. i missed you.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
When the ampersand means more to men and the sword
becomes much mightier than the pen
it's time to leave Mesopotamia alone and
travel down the river, home
to the sea.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 7:07 AM UTC
The guitar that you play every day
Is dusty like the lies you leave
Scattered on the floor like your vintage vinyls
Cigarettes you hate to smoke
Burning the lips of the girl
Whose bleached blonde hair you die to dye
Your empty wallet
Your empty hands
Your searching eyes
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 8:22 PM UTC
Will I remember the reminder?
To turn on my brain again
I woulda thought I'd be kinder.
Dead red-eye at the day's end
Leave the silver in the sink
Let the dishes sit and soak a dream
Spot the terror in your rearview
So far closer than it may seem
Spot the drips drip dripping down
And I'm speaking like a black-white clown
Full of thoughts, but they're in your voice
Nothing better than a broken toy
This kid is churning like a big machine
Just like a cheetah on a T.V. screen
He's just an elemental, mental boy
Iguana man: search and you'll destroy
Make up a letter from the magazine
Pair of nail scissors and the short clippings
Nothing so near and dear and true to you
as how familiar smells the duct tape glue
You know nobody told the bumble-bee
And now you know that it was news to me
Strung out coyote stepping off a cliff
And he could fly except that he's scared stiff
You know I'd like to change my name
Into the curlicue, ampersand
So that I'll always stay an inkblot stain
Until the books all rot and turn to sand.
III
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
Foetal positioned in the womb of her ampersand,
a child to the connected string of unholy clauses,
always adding more and more and more
and,
and,
and,
stuck in the expectation to carry on,
creaked and crusting under the weight of the words
you promise you’d put back after you used them.
It’s getting hard to distinguish between rest and end.
ъ
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
President ****
A massive old grump
Talks like a garbage dump.
Throws the country into a slump.
Has no heart to go thump.
Gave racism a big jump.
Gathered fascists into a clump.
Now we all have to ****
He should be inconsequential
As he has no credentials.
Nothing presidential.
Statesmanship? Purely residential.
He’s mostly pestilential.
No morals evidential.
Facts ruled non-essential
To mindless millennials.
Suddenly he has at hand
The highest office in the land.
Confetti and a brass band.
No ceremony is too grand.
The laws he doesn’t understand
With money ostentatiously fanned
He showed he had the winning hand
But still can’t spell words like ampersand.
Now we’ve made him king of all
Among villains he will stand tall.
We should give Ghostbusters a call.
This **** has us against a wall.
A wall to be built that will surely fall
But for now he is having a ball
With American bigots in full thrall,
Their white God has heard their call.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 2:45 PM UTC
I respect therapists
like I respect anthropologists,
they dig and encounter an ampersand,
they can always inform beforehand
and foreshadow results,
but they found my bones
below 6 feet
and can’t form an answer,
they knew where to search
they found the ticking finger
pointing at lazy fissures,
and buried blisters
but dripping shovels
keep raising a faded flag
that says
“they’re nothing here keep moving”
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 1:10 AM UTC
I daydream f a r too much.
My eyes must have been kissed by the starry sky
& ampersand &
the wispy clouds are tickling the very tip of my nose,
and
oh
yes,
I am on my tiptoes.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 5:31 AM UTC
~
so obvious the mistake
the ordered disorganization
the summation of a man's life
in an ampersand -
a logogram connection
tween two words,
finally, properly sequenced
error then trial, then error then trial
perception - my life is an endless trial
punctuated and worsened,
periodically pierced
by errors
made of your own free (not really) choosing
*"whenever confronted by a fork in my road,
I always chose wrongly"*
and aye, here's the rub
the same mistake made repeatedly
example prime:
falling in love is just another way of saying
gonna end badly
and you constant cravenly confess
to yourself the ending unbecoming cause
you can read the handwriting on the wall
for your specialty is
only love poetry for dummies
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
she said her name
was: "Zeta Ampersand!"
"Wot?" I wotted?
her Da had named her after
some mathematical function
Ampersand she just liked the sound
she even signed her self
ζ (& ) "...the artist formerly known as
my self!"
"59 & 509...both primes!" she smiled
"30, 031...isn't!"
"!?!" I said
I watched a snake
of sweet sweat slither
between her cleavage
"...the Buckmisterfullerene molecule is
like a soccer ball...blah de blah.."
"Uh huh..yeah...I'm...eh...listening..."
to my heart beat
wildly out of control
she an Everest...I the foothills
said she liked
Daft Punk & kissing
"Now there's a coincidence..." I whispered
Daft Punk I didn't know but
I had a 1st Class Honours
in kissing &...stuff
we made love with
AROUND THE WORLD on replay
"Call me Z..." she sighed
*** with her was like
voicing alveolar sibilant fricatives
"Gee Zee...geeee!" was all I could say
I was an quantic entity
experiencing wave/particle duality
for the first time forever
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
\'how is it that even something like
---- ---- ---- poetry __...=
{}? can be confined to little
//. prisms +±#
and language%
is like__'
''~ the untimely sun
(I want my words to be the moon
''/'"//]
ever waxing{
and waning|
and unable to describe) |||//
^^how is it that even
love*'
is dealt with in little words ;;
spat out in little moves
and falls away without leaving anything behind ..≈
and what is a poem ˚
which cannot confine &;;_
..))) all the sounds that i need
¶•• each little
chk, sk, tw, cr, wt, mx, zb, ydˆ
. or every
sh, wh, au, oh, lu, qi, je, ei~
and rhythm is measured in ⁄ ⁄
› metres and
rhymes .‹
'' like falsetto archepelligoes
stretched out in fixed times ...'"
but words are never enough˜
for (me/you)..//¡!
and •°love is like·
weather balloons
all adrift
with
the day.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 6:32 PM UTC
i was born with a sickness that dripped from ***** blood bag
she was born with gold ribbons tying her skin together
i wish i could have pulled a little harder
unraveled her from the outside in
she said i was small and insignificant
i told her to water me
give me incisors
sharpen them like the knives in my kitchen drawer
you won't recognize her
can you drown in the forced love of yourself?
i love me i love me i love me i love me i love me
is that why i can't dig up the old roots that she buried inside my chest?
i am filled to the brim with artificial self love
where does the love for other people fit inside?
im a broken puzzle piece that only fits inside itself
i thought i had found all my pieces but really
it was an ampersand
trying to make a bridge to cross from one life to another
smooth sailing
oh mother
oh father
you created something that looks like how scratches on a chalkboard sound
i am
so
so
sorry
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
A tisket, a tasket, tinker with the aforementioned
I can see I have missed an engagement.
Expect to establish a celestial tuber, reflecting only
the light of a dark white inference.
AMPERSAND, bitchez
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 6:10 PM UTC