"announcements" poems
Soulless,
We quenched our dreams with thirst;
bought the heavens,
Waving a country of radio love
As fee,
United under one Internet
Two Chocolate paper ******* announcements
And $6 New York Halal meat.
The mortal man always drinks his sea--
So ask your doctor about Nixon
And lift the verbs off your skirt
For Nemo
who replaced Icarus
And now twerks at synods
With strip club oven oil glued
To his left fin;
The same one God used to bet Satan over the soul of man.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
My grandmother used to bake pies
in the kitchen where I lived as a boy.
She would spend all day mixing
and kneading,
singing her old lady songs to herself.
I would get to lick the bowl.
This was my prize.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
My sister and I would play outside
almost every sunny day.
Magic kingdoms made of mud and bricks.
Toy soldier citizens of mock empires.
Barbie doll victims of terrible wars.
Bubblegum music from the top forty
traced the pattern of our lives.
Our country had a new flag and boys
in school still had short hair.
Little girls wore skirts and dresses and
pony tails were still the normal fashion.
Black and white television set turned to
the latest American sitcoms. We would
laugh at Granny and marvel at Endora.
Mr. Sullivan would present the latest rage,
the latest quartet or singer from England.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
We wore peace buttons on our coats,
and drew "smiley's" on our books.
We talked about what we were going
to do to make a difference in the world.
We admired the Fab Four and worshipped
at the altar of glorious possibilities.
We knew it was going to be beautiful,
because that is what we were being told.
Every morning at school we would sing
"God Save the Queen" and "O Canada",
say The Lord's Prayer and
hear the announcements.
Teachers talked about the future
as if it was a land of possibilities.
We did not know the black and white visions
would be transformed into colour horrors.
We had no idea that the dreams of peace and love
were going to be forgotten. Who could predict
the grey soul of adulthood? Where have
all the beautiful people gone?
My grandmother used to bake pies
in the kitchen where I lived as a boy.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 5:10 PM UTC
Last night I was
experimenting empty body with twin bottle.
Spewing colors out of mouth,
like it's a god **** celebration.
Whispering "happy birthday"
for every friend I've had to put in the ground.
Whispering "happy birthday"
for every time I've wished I was one of them.
I was mumbling existence
until I became unconscious scientist,
collecting data,
hoping if i continue to announce births
that we'll all be born back to flesh
that feels like home, that sings
like porch light wind chimes
that stops the announcements of deaths.
Or at least, strings together
those who want to cut their ties.
Happy birthday.
Research shows my edges
were strung a little too tight,
holding needle in hand,
i plucked away the stitching
until I was all unraveled, stay spilling over
at the seam. Everything seems low.
6 feet under, making poppy flowers
out of freshly turned graves. Happy birthday.
My vice is bath tub overflowing with drunk bodies,
leaking love into the crevices of laughter.
Testing out the theory that arms
can be used as medicine.
Turning experimental phases
into investigations. You know,
people can be placebos too.
Happy birthday.
Happy birthday.
Happy birthday.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
I watch tv with the sound turned off just so I don't have to hear anything that reminds me of you anymore.
Chest down, I'm trapped against the ceiling and I'm flirting with the impossibility that limbs so heavy could take me this high.
Neither of us know what day it is, one of those afternoons before December that never really rises and I am keeping the lights on just so I can promise myself that you're not really here.
You see, I get the usual 'I can't breathe without you around', but I can't float, even with you standing over me.
I lead-lined my lungs with both our insecurities, tied my tongue so that I can only make my eyes speak. I can't cope with mourning the lost words that hang in the air everywhere other people have been and I choke on you every time I speak.
And my bones break like insecure scaffolding every time I stand,
they tell me I weighed myself down with all these useless metaphors,
that they never had all four feet on the ground.
You pushed me off balance. My joints could never hold out long enough to hold the both of us up. My bones are like the wood that didn't get enough water:
I break under your touch. I crack when you speak.
You're still telling me you're leaving.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC
I cleaned out an old drawer
of odds and ends.
paperclips and the door to a battery case on some remote
an orange candle stub, from Halloween I think
batteries and four flashlights, though only one worked
and parts of things I'm sure made sense to keep at the time
I have no idea what they are now
I cleaned out an old drawer
of things forgotten
my daughter's picture in a setting unknown
a letter of gratitude from a friend, for what?
a postcard from Barcelona
graduation announcements for a friend's child
I don't think I sent a gift
I cleaned out an old drawer
of memories and my past
a ticket stub from an evening with Isabel
a newspaper clipping of my son in scouts
old mother's day cards from the kids
New York City subway map from October 2001
Memories of adventure and affection
I cleaned out an old drawer
and sorted, discarded and remembered
batteries went together in a small box
old fortune cookie notes in the trash
memories dusted off and replaced
out of the drawer and back into my heart
My life has cabinet drawers
stuffed with junk and trash mixed with treasures and tools
I think I'll clean my cabinet more often
To organize things that I've needed
like my mom and dads enduring affection
kind and playful friends'
Throw away useless things
like anger, resentment, and regret
to make room for treasures
And to be reminded of what has been
a real childhood of play and discovery
magical children and the wonder of them
my beloved's steadfast love and respect
I cleaned out an old drawer
and found some peace.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
Someone’s world jumped
onto a cold set of tracks
at Jamaica station
early last week.
Someone’s world jumped
into the universe next door,
leaving us all for
being too human.
At the time,
I was trapped at Penn Station.
A pain spread
about my stomach
like a pen pressed against
a sheet of looseleaf.
MTA officials made announcements,
calling it a mechanical malfunction.
9 to 5 businessmen in
deep black suits with bluetooth headsets
groaned and bargained
for passage home,
ready to ride
through a stranger's graveyard.
Little kids ran through shops,
fingers sticky with frozen yogurt
and popcorn- surprise treats
used as pacifiers.
I sat in a well known coffee shop
pondering life and death.
The word suicide didn’t hurt
like it used to, but I felt
connected to this stranger.
I thought about
that person’s lover,
that person’s sister,
that person’s mother,
that person’s friend.
I thought about how
all of their galaxies stirred and switched gears.
A planet of theirs- tremendous or trifling in their own imagination-
collapsed and changed the course of everything.
I wondered if their galaxy halted and
each star and planet mourned or
if their galaxy smoothed over the craters
and dodged all the meteors and
didn’t even blink.
My galaxy shifted and
clouds laid thick.
Stars dimmed their lights in harmony.
A few years ago
or even a few months ago,
I would’ve cried
and thought
about following this
stranger to train station heaven.
But now,
I thought about
my sister’s galaxy,
my mother’s galaxy,
my best friend’s galaxy.
Now,
I felt sadness
but I also felt love.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
Nature's contributions cascade along the steep trail.
Numerous white patches and yellow splotches
set on a blanket of green
amid immense coverings
so blue that it seems parts of the sky have fallen.
Pinks protrude like boulders in a creek
while reds try to hide around rocks and crevasses.
Faded petals,
past announcements of spring
now reside alongside signs of birth,
buds seeking an identity.
Arrays of mature blossoms parade full and ripe
along a path of short lives and slow deaths.
Fallen relics, grey and mossy
display across the emerald carpet,
a memory of another time.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Her eyes, your solemn witness
are so unlike mine
I am untamed!
a loose humanoid chained
in gold
always spinning
under high beams
like it's no big deal
(while you reside
in your mind)
but why
can't I dream too?
I wanted you
to stay
you energized me
(every contact
left me broken yet intact)
Hallelujah!
You're outside!
Traced your face
in refracted light
Stand-still silhouette
Crop her
out
Fill the void
with blackened foil
while she makes nasty
public announcements
(and loves the attention
creating irrelevant banquets
and barbecues)
This was never my war
so hold fast to us
or crawl or
meet me at the door--
Wherever the blame feels
a little less
and confess
I was the one
you were looking for
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
Have you been searching for that perfect gift?
Want to say something special, give someone a lift?
Are you popping the question? Is it someone's birthday
But you're just not quite sure of the right words to say?
Is the one that you love feeling lonely or sick?
If a card or a letter just won't do the trick...
Pick up the phone call Poetically Correct
With our help, you'll achieve the desired effect
Just give us some details, and in a short time
You can send someone special, a gift that's sublime
Anniversaries ~ Apologies ~ Any Occasion ~ Baby Dedications ~ Bachelor/Bachelorette Party ~ Birth Announcements ~ Condolences ~ Congratulations ~ Eulogies ~ Father's Day ~ Get Well ~ Graduation ~ Holidays ~ Love ~ Proposals ~Reunions ~ Roasts ~ Secret Admirer ~ Special Friend ~ Surprise ~ Tell 'Em Off ~ Told U So ~ Valentines ~ You Name It
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 11:48 AM UTC
the world keeps walking ahead,
and i’m still at the platform,
watching trains pull away
with everyone whom i thought
would wait for me.
the announcements echo names
that are never mine,
and the doors always close
a second too soon—
as if the universe decided
i was meant to stand
in the silence
between departures.
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 12:06 PM UTC
Roses and jasmines. All vowels extended until you barely make the words out,
approaching, then rushing and receding past, early mornings. The flower boy;
Wake up calls, admonishments, family fights and announcements, old stories,
dire oaths, colourful threats, affected love, who, this loud mouth? Lady next door;
Squirrels that shriek like birds, competing for turns to puncture the solemn silence;
Paperboys and milkmen, school vans and church bells, pressure cooker whistles,
whish of reed broom on jagged floors wet with cleaning water, motor noise, aircon:
Two years: that vanished like a dancing drop on a hot pan: beauty hiding the pain
Ending like the slowly turning reflection of the halting fan on my breakfast bowl:
Ja..asmi...ines and ro..oses, squirrel shrieks, now familiar story of the family next
door, wash whish, silence: who is that faint spectacled figure on the cabinet glass?
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 2:36 PM UTC
We are a generation,
Indeed, a nation,
Raised upon foreign warring.
Scapegoat aggravation.
Bushes and *****
Clamoring for horror and hoarding.
Conspiring against a population,
I watch through youthful aging.
With my childlike eyes, I see
The target they're blaming:
Afghan families having more
in common with me,
Working class American,
Than those transparent heirs
With the world's wealth and arrogance,
Ordering for the villagers' obliteration
Through boys from our nation.
We are a generation raised
On media sensation
Of militarized devastation;
Animal exploitation;
Technological manifestations
Providing privacy infiltration.
Material attainments;
Mental frustrations;
Fiat debt enslavement;
A nation entranced by
Senseless parading.
Tempting decadence and
Announcements with no evidence.
The September bounty of edifice
That fell with no hesitance
Still echo its unfounded,
Preemptive pretenses.
This murderous reign;
this senseless parade;
Advertisement cyclical
in their game of charades;
Dog on a chain;
Famine causing no pain.
Permissible opinions
To be solely maintained.
The damage, the waste,
The heinous race and class chase.
Oppression remains thoughtlessly dangerous,
As moral responsibility brings no attainments.
Chowing down on maimed millions
Bellowing from enslavement.
Fortunately, elder,
Rothschild, Rockefeller, or
Those above them whom
Remain blackened, faceless:
Resistance shall come
From all places, all ages.
Such as this generation of mine
Inheriting increasing complications,
With the type of America
You wish to keep in rotation.
I'll carry the flag containing
Your mistakes as a symbol,
To remind those behind me
What not to rekindle.
To the Boomer who stews
In your white collar suit,
Still refusing to shake
Your destructive pursuit,
Still asking me to lick
Off authority's boot:
Growing up in this nation,
With childhood innocence,
I grew increasingly aware
Of the land of such ignorance.
I had such thoughts since
Early adolescence,
I was not blind to larger lessons.
Only since supported by
Actual, factual supported confessions.
To the Boomer tied to his convictions,
Now will you see-
That isn't going to work
For us or for me.
I'll bring to this world
Whatever I please.
Which so happens to be
Truth, justice, and peace.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
returning
to the place..
to remembered beds
and nourishing breakfasts..
home of
our growing years..
this one nestled
in imponderable
Animas mountains..
these reflections
of an autumn retreat
now daily receding
into November bleak..
a white bench
vantage by streamside
afforded absorption of
the stream's flickering lights..
and later reflected
by a ridgeline full moon
decorating the dining..
life friends together
celebration and renewal
of many good years..
a white bench
also gathered reflections
from distant heights
where nighttime chills
painted evergreen and aspen
setting lanterns aglow..
the glow casting shadows
on the valley's red cliffs
those red markers of our
formative days..
a white bench
now gathered the sounds..
an old train's
whistled announcements
evening and morning..
a reminder of time
enclosed in this
valley of stillness
which we were favored
knowing once more..
a white bench
gathered the guests
from distances afar..
their life glows
and shadows
in conversations revealed..
overlaying past
with present..
end and beginning..
Logwood
we returned...
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
25...
When you were a kid you thought that you would be married by now
Have it all figured out
The career
The home
The car
The kids
Now you're here and holy ****
Do we ever really figure it out?
Adulting is hard
Your Facebook feed is filling up with engagements and baby announcements
but your reading the newsfeed in the liquor isle of Safeway
Beer or wine tonight? Hmm maybe *****
"Psh who wants to be a boring married couple"
That's what you think to yourself
Trying to convince yourself that it's okay
Drown out that little voice in your head saying "you're gonna be alone forever"
It's like walking on a tightrope
One side you have it together and the other side you still might as well be that 21 year old college student ordering shots at the bar
If someone has this figured out- hit a homie up
Until then, I'm just doing me and I guess I'm doing fine
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:30 AM UTC
Suitcases get tagged, prepare for jetlag
As you mount the stairs to the plane
Four layovers on your way over
You hope it doesn't drive you insane
Announcements vague as your house slips away
Leaving for another country
You flew the globe and moved your home
Five times before you were twenty
Now the transit stays just can't faze
Your ******** travel attitude
You never feel sick with the seats you pick
And adjust well to the altitude
But something inside nags and asks why
You're always in constant motion
You wonder how it would feel now
If you'd never crossed that ocean
You forget the feeling and just quit dealing
With memories left behind
But the thoughts come back, you've got some packed
In the luggage of your mind
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
There's a box down in my basement
It's not hidden far away
It's a box that's full of history
things from, well....another day
It sits there like a statue
Never opened, all forlorn
Holding pictures and their secrets
from a time when I weren't born
It's blue with brass side stapping
It takes up two cubic feet
It just sits there in the corner
Yelling...OPEN ME....but, be discreet
Love letters and photos
unfinished projects from the past
Newspaper announcements
Lots of things you want to last
It's a box that is worth sharing
Stories living in a box
It sits there closed and oh, forgotten
It sits there closed, there are no locks
There's few around who've seen the contents
Even less who know the names
Of people in all the pictures
It's not just sad, it is a shame
The box is full of untold stories
A love story that should be heard
It's written in two lovers writing
No need to translate, not a word
It is the tale of two fine people
Parents of my wife, they say
This box tells of Margaret and Charlie
They both are gone, before this day
It's musty when you smell it
But, isn't that how things should be
There's school reports and lockets
A father lost when she was three
I think of them when I look at it
Artifacts stored for none to see
I never met them, but I miss them
They'd be proud of who she came to be
this box is Megan's life force
It helped make her strong and proud
It shows she is an Edwards
The contents scream it really loud
there is a box down in my basement
It' a box of writing, reams and reams
I look forward to our meeting
One quiet night inside my dreams
The people who filled up the inside
Are my family, though we've not met
I'd like to take this chance to tell them
Their girl is safe, they need not fret.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
You are still keeping heavy arms,
You did not stop explosive devastations,
The earth is clamings trials – not once,
Have troubled vital forces for whole nature,
United Nations orders been ignored,
Intrudes feeling free for invasions,
Increasing wars revising what agreed,
Incoming time inclining independence,
Indifference for all asleep,
Discourage poll possessions intentions,
Remaining backwards countrys in need,
Would left among nations in faceless,
Despite foggy announcements on stand,
Among the stars would shine the planet,
Don’t leave your children on the sand,
And face cold judgments for a wild,
Pretending for the future bright,
Its hard to watch hearts children crying,
Forgiveness doesn’t have a chance,
Missed way to all the human kind
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
" I met her two years back in a park,
I swear it was she, who approached me first!
Don't know if it was an excuse or coincidence,
We were sitting opposite,
She basking in the sun, reading for fun...
I too reading... but with a seriousness too deep to notice nature...
Then she suddenly approaches me and says,
Hey!! You are reading the same book as me,
I glanced up in surprise (or was it 'awe'?)...
and notice her holding up the same book,
Paulo Coelho's 11 minutes...
and I smiled but before I could say anything,
she squeaked, *"Guess even you like books with **** things"*,
and I finally finding my senses, exclaimed...
*"It's a Coelho Classic. **** things are better in real"*
We became friends and met now and then,
but to cut things short...
One year later,
It was few days shy of august,
We were holding hands,
walking around the plaza,
when she suddenly drags me into a dark corner,
looks me into the eye
and then breaks into a tight hug,
She leaves me surprised with an intense kiss,
my mind dizzy, and we let go of eachother
as the city lights become dim...
Two years later,
I thought nothing could go wrong,
I was married to her and was working in a top post,
but destiny had thought something else for me,
I didn't know how things ended up like this...
I was on my knees,
and there were hundreds people running opposite of me,
Red and blue lights discoed in front of my eyes,
Sirens and announcements filled up my mind,
Only men dressed in black and blue came towards me,
They had shields and protective gears,
they had formed a circle around me.
My girl was crying about 300 meters away,
held up by these dressed men,
crying for me I guess.
I noticed that I was all wired up in a mess,
a machine tied to me ticking,
and I only sweating...
Two men with a toolbox ran towards me,
they were observing my torso,
No, maybe that ticking machine...
And all I could do was look at my crying girl,
and wonder if she would...
if she would, for the last time,
Hold me tightly... "
- © OutcastDreamer
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
Within a second, the bright autumn sky burned into a dark, smoky nightmare.
7 more hours until school got out,
but only 4 more crashes till the world falls apart.
While cookies and juice were in my hands,
The nation had a situation in theirs.
When I arrived home,
Daddy was staring blankly at the TV.
Mommy hit the couch before her shoes hit the floor.
I sat down with her and watched.
While I enjoyed the movie,
My parents feared the truth.
We watched one building fall
just as fast as my mother's heart.
We saw the second building fall
half as fast as my father's heart.
When the third plane hit the pentagon,
the sudden sound of sadness flooded the apartment.
And as the final plane fell in Pennsylvania,
the night died in silence.
The next autumn morning felt cold and misty,
and I drowned in my thoughts of the movie.
The announcements came on at an unexpected time,
and silence flooded the school
like it did in my house the night before.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 4:27 PM UTC
"Jumper'. Seems to be the word to use.
Not a fluffy, woolly, jumper
or a long jumper.
But a jumper none the less.
You stood in the shelter on the platform.
Avoiding the rain like any sensible soul would.
You're shuffly, but seem normal. Another commuter
waiting for the next train.
The droning intonation crackles over the speaker:
"The next train does not stop here."
You don't stand back from the platform edge.
Stepping out into the rain (why is he getting wet? I wonder)
You calmly stroll towards the edge, brazenly crossing the yellow line.
The penny drops. So do you.
A casual step like going down a staircase.
A thud, a rushing train. You're gone.
Red stains the tracks.
As I frantically dial 999 I can't even see you beyond a few parts,
surely not parts of a human?
A jumper. Not a fluffy woolly jumper.
"The next train at platform 4 is delayed. Please stand by for further announcements.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 3:13 PM UTC
They said your name on the announcements this morning, but you weren't around to hear it.
They spoke it just like anyone else would, but the tone they had was all wrong.
The curves in the letters of your name -much like the curves of your hourglass figure- did not drip off the announcer's tongue like they should have.
They were summoned from the front of their brain rather than the inkiest depths of their heart.
They said your name flat, grim and thin like dull graphite.
They read you prayer, but I'm not quite sure what it contained, because the moment they spoke your name on the announcements this morning, the floor rushed up and up and up until the crack of my head met the vanilla scrubbed tile.
The room blurred and the room buzzed and the announcer continued to talk in his unsharpened pencil rasp, and I hoped and hoped and hoped some more that they played our song at your burial.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
I New York City;
*
i en afgangshal med himmelrum og stjerner som loft hopper en gruppe asiatiske piger i takt med højtaler announcements på deres side humper en krop forbi iklædt pink handsker og pink sko glaskrystaller i øjnene én enkelt glaskrystal for enden af stokken under det højthængende flag overhaler jakkesæt og mappedyr turister og gamle mennesker og små børn og alle dem der altid bliver overhalet
*
I New York City;
*
på en gade der krydser med en anden ser jeg høje sko på det vinteroptrukne asfalt snefnug sætter sig fast i nyopsatte frisure jeg hører lyden af én enkelt hæl der fastlåses i sprækkerne mellem fortovskanten og én flise der optræder mønstre i fortovets cement mon alle på Manhattan bærer høje hæle i vintermånederne?
*
I New York City;
*
alle blikkene kører som elevatorer op og ned
jeg tager trapperne op på perronen og jeg møder flere blikke
altid dette i New York City; (og alle andre steder)
blikke
blikke
øjne der løber op og ned af kroppe
min krop, der er så kold.
*
I New York City;
*
jeg går og jeg går jeg befinder mig på L, M og F toget jeg er på Union Square igen
jeg er på upper East Side køber franske bøger til et fransk-amerikansk oplæsnings-arrangement Rien ne s’oppose à la nuit, og New York City du viger heller ikke for natten ikke for blikke ikke for nogen.
*
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 9:16 AM UTC
her entrance was full of
beautiful blue-hued stars
filled with the nuance of a touch of romance
inspired by her i make clear announcements to my heart
that this daughter of moonlight
treads the path to my dreams
alone scatters pages of rose scented poems
along my veins to the point of creations fire
even her tears spent for me are gracious and kindness
after her entrance
blue stars settle on the bare floor
in exquisite patterns that flavor the minds meal
that lends its rich texture and sensations to the bodies temple
she lay in repose like a field of summer wheat swaying
in the cool breeze
she lay in the folds of my blankets
like the queen of hearts
a luscious liquid in her every move
softly she speaks every embracing word
that cools your heated brow
comforts your beating heart
she knows just what to say to ease you
she knows just how to weave you
beneath her entrance
her barefoot leavings are a track
that have led many to their unwitting tale of woe
where from a great distance can they
with longing and tender expressions put to page
placed ever so delicately into envelopes
headed for the mythical west coast
the land of palms and glitz
forever summer
in the land of golden statues
after her entrance
i have within my grasp
a poem of her
a poem of her moment
a rich tapestry that is woven into
the fabric of her Paris fashion catalogue
where she is a French princess in prints 8"x10" glossy
poems © 2018 mark john junor all rights reserved
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC