"applauds" poems
They will be applauding me when I do the unspeakable.
Looking at the lifeless soul in front of me. Do they know something I don’t? Why does their gaze make me feel special?
You have figured it out, you are the chosen one, just like us. This is exactly what you had to do to win the game.
Routine is the answer but routine makes me spiral.
‘’The deities of running water let her hair flow’’ I read somewhere.
As simple as that.
Read between the lines my teacher said.
Go outside and chain smoke some cigarettes, it's not worth thinking like that.
But why am I confused when I see my body move… They don’t understand.
They will be applauding me when I do it.
You have figured it out, this is exactly what you have to do.
I'm so sorry you feel this way she said. I was expecting some recognition, while she hugged me with pity. No need.
Being really good at chain-smoking cigarettes, so I will.
As simple as that.
Read between the lines my teacher said.
No one applauds me.
.
Nov 21, 2022
Nov 21, 2022 at 9:18 AM UTC
Mannequin smiles with masks of plastic
stand and huddle, fight and juggle,
for their space in the crowd.
Elbows touching torsos,
torsos touching hips;
kisses under the darkness,
bonfire warming the lips.
A child sits on the shoulders of her rock,
hands resting in the lap of his head,
waiting for the fireworks to be ignited,
set off, lit and begin.
Eyes of raw astonishment,
watery with cold,
a deer eye mould,
looked up at the firework display.
Sharp colour crayon lines
were drawn in the night-time sky.
Sound followed,
cheers and claps, applauds too.
They were lost in the hollow hole
of the houses around,
this’ll be the one she remembers.
Her first display of sound and light
and she’ll remember how she jumped up and down
to carnival music and carnival folk, rides and light,
menagerie sights.
News from the blog regarding my new poetry pamphlet, check the link out>> http://www.coffeeshoppoems.com/2012/11/homeland-borderland.html
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
five o'clock on Sunday night
we down two bottles of pink ******* wine - classy
Jesus Christ applauds our dedication to his
"this do in remembrance of me" mentality
after four ******* hours of straight communion
we are one with the universe
praying only for security in something
“don't judge me,” she says “don't judge me,”
we've reached that point
we found ecstasy in dizziness - in daydreams
sure enough, we found there was
some kind of magic quality
inherent in these substances
that we were guaranteed to abuse
but it seems we must have been
the worst of marksmen
because I know we matched each other
shot for shot that night
and never once made contact
**** that
we went from being worshiped to ignored -
untouchable
like the ******* gimps of the Hindu caste system
**** Karma
what did we do to be so low?
it didn't make good sense
so we just kept drinking
because that's the only thing that did
Jul 31, 2021
Jul 31, 2021 at 1:40 AM UTC
Behind all his smiles and silly gestures
He longs to walk a thousand miles away
He desires to escape from everyday
No more small talk
Or large gatherings
The curtain has CLOSED
A contemporary task.
**In the eyes of the crowd
All they see is the proud facade
Entertainment is important
And all they care about
Forgetting the person
behind the PERSONA
a temporary mask.**
As his mask fades
Rabbits shift
into sparrows
No light at the end
Only cued applauds
Some flowers
And skewed imagery
An exemplary stage.
**Disappearing into the night
Unmasking the illusions he conjured.
The sinking reality comes back
As
Lingering
Silence echoes his longing…
A price to pay of the famed gift
Hoping this will be his last...**
~FINALE~
Justin G / Pax
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC
I’m the worst **** in the world
No one is worse than me.
For my next bride,
I shall marry the Queen of She
Ba (Academy presents her majesty.
Nominee gushes.
Audience applauds exhaustively.)
She will manhandle me,
Liquor on her breath,
Feathers framing ******
Inflamed blossoms drenching submissions
She told me to delete
The photographs,
Even though there were many
Caught her beauty in amazing graces.
She hated me
For putting up so little struggle,
Obliterating her splendor
Indifferently.
I wanted to prove
Deserving of her love.
she dilly-dallied, distracted.
I cried pitifully, “Where’s my girlfriend?”
Chain of events to nothingness
My desolate existence
One deficit after another
Honed to fragile cutting-edge.
I wanted her to pleasure me
With subtle painful tinge.
She brilliantly found fault
Every conceivable way to blame.
She accused, “you fiddle in noodle factory.”
She was the true artist,
Dissatisfied with the sound
Of my heart beating.
You want to play hardball with the big boys?
You better show up with bulging intelligent creativity.
You complain about
Every infinitesimal gargantuan thing.
Nothing makes you happy.
I will always love you no
Matter how impossible.
Looking back,
You were an impossible chance.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
Burnt out heroes
in amongst the burning plans of villains
Fearless- in amongst trying to be like your heroes
within comic feelings. Sounds comic; chiefly
read in pages of a lifestyle. Naked eye strips,
greyish looks of cloud lids filled with rain in my
eyes
Heaven is crying every night, a thousand
angels in a stormy night
Reminiscing fallen angels from that hole
in the sky. Human are too fallen; those lost
of conduct or virtue- a hole in their soul's closet
the devil that urge you. Church who; probed
questions of your faith to search you.
As I refer to you being trapped in your mind
off it's strict curfew
Even as a role model plays a perfect smile
there's still an act to keep thoroughly
But in that case when fans aren't around,
their face peels away the skins of lie
No need to practice your lines
no need to pretend to be a star out of Hollywood
like light's shine. Shyly acting free!
The end of the scene, a role model no longer blind
when they're now unseen
Skin grey
un rubbed emotions, and cracking sounds
drawing river lines on the skins display
All applauds are gone; just you clapping by
yourself under the clap of thunderstorms
Still feeling empty, even with the person you
brought home, bought home- to come and practice
those secrets tabs of your chrome
At times trying to be anti pessimistic
anti climatic, of all you've achieved and all
those childhood wishes
Swimming with the ugly fishes; selfish needs
you couldn't have had before
It's the role models, having crowds dancing
to their tune, all pressing their head on the floor
Can't mask a flaw, only disguising it until
it all comes out in the world
No role models left,
just the ashes of their dead careers and
immediate deaths. O yes, success tickles
the ears—as common sense becomes so deaf
All is grey, grey is the colour of my heroes,
forgetting they all started as imperfect people
Jan 18, 2023
Jan 18, 2023 at 4:09 PM UTC
Sometimes,
I imagine I'm some
mourning starlet
who sings Lana Del Rey
at the club
every Saturday night.
A honeyed halo of stage light
tangles itself about
the curled labyrinth
of my hair,
sparkles gold against
my tearing irises.
My mouth parts
and the war cries begin.
In the moments that
the melody offers
my voice repose,
I pound shots to the beat
of the drummer's ramblings.
The crowd applauds
my tipsiness,
their hoots of praise
shaking at the depths
of my eardrums
like an intoxicated tambourine.
My neuroticism
fascinates these people,
I think.
Not in an
exploitive,
let's-glamourize-depression
kind of way,
but in an
it is a truth universally acknowledged
kind of way--in a
******* cuz I've been there too"
kind of way.
See,
within my little,
concocted fantasy
of stage light
and music
and *****
the people don't judge me
the way they do
on the outside.
Here,
I am not
melodramatic or
overly sensitive or
disposable.
Here,
my war cries sound
a little less
like death and
a little more
like poetry.
Here,
they love me
in spite of the sadness.
Here,
we share a song--
here,
they sing with me.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 11:24 PM UTC
Funny how soon normal creeps up on us
and clears away the strangeness
with each sweep of the broom.
The sky looks the same as it did,
we walk, side by side, as we did.
And the death toll mounts, the police checks grow
We can measure metres without a rule
(though we did feet and inches when at school)
We learn to use Whatsapp and Skype,
just to see our families’ faces.
then we disinfect our phones, wipe away the traces.
We’re told to wash our hands for twenty secs
and obedience – unnatural – is what the world expects.
Strangers shop for strangers and an obedient population
applauds an institution on demand, at a given time
Then we go back into our houses
close the windows, lockdown the doors
consider the unseen enemy, and, once again,
mop the floors.
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 11:12 AM UTC
I hear you royally ********
Don't worry 'bout it.
It's all one's perspective.
Let's just say
Experience is what you have left over
From your mistakes,
And we know
Everyone applauds experience
Like a slice of apple pie.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC
Some recite distant waves of their time lines in a scatter
Repressed memories that come and go and fluculate with chaos
Mine are in order, like a precise file cabinet of a New York court house A through Z
1 to a million plus more filed in rigid manor
The room they lie in remains untouched on most occasions
It’s rare for me to make a visit,
But the grey cast of pulverous dust keeps people away
Including myself
Oddly enough, I wish I had the time to extinguish those files,
And completely erase everything that exists
And co-exists together within label
To revive and produce anew set of secrets
That bask in a solar energy structured room
With windows of 8 feet in height or more
So that the sun can give off a plentiful suppelment of vitamins
To keep the energy alive
To have nothing to hide
And showcase my pieces elegantly
For everyday shoppers to stop and glance,
A few applauds here and there as well
To jazz the setting up a tad
But unlike like most
I place the past so far back
It’s like the Rossetta Stone
Before she was found
All over again
When it’s finally discovered, I warn,
It will be rickety and impassible for any eyes,
News papers,
Or media to surpass
Almost as if a high ranked prison
Has just unshackled it’s most dangerous inmate
Set free on good behavior
How unfair the system can be, let alone unnerving
For now my files stay clouded and sunk
Farther than the Marianas Trench
With thousands of species undiscovered
Inaccessible to even think about attaining
So don’t worry about my inner demon being unleashed
Good behavior on good,
It's always on it’s worst.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 1:41 PM UTC
She’s a go-getter,
A real achiever,
Ambition burns her,
Dreams filled with fever.
Lipstick, red and slick,
Ears, gold spins and spirals,
Hair, long and beautifully curled,
Skin, supple and smoothly pearled.
Neck, exposed and proud,
Shoulders, open and marbled,
Chest, creamed and perfumed,
Hips, mini-skirted and revealed.
Posterior, raised and inviting,
Interior, poised and excited,
Exterior, rosy and aroused,
Inferior, dirty and discarded.
Money showers her at the town table,
Attention applauds her in the tabloid papers,
Men wine and dine her up and down the land,
Silken beds caress her shapely legs and soft hands.
Flaunted,
Used,
Abused,
Dreams sold.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC
IN BED WITH STEPHEN KING
backstage: Romeo
tries it on
Juliet 'its 'im 'ard
the slap
shocks the extras
they pause mid-make-up
Juliet's received pronunciation
slips back into her native Cockney
Romeo told to go forth and multiply
anyway, Paris is
more her type and
oooh his *** in ahhhh...those tights
Romeo's...ughhh....halitosis
she winces with each kiss
taste of garlic...cheap cigarettes
an audience applauds
the curtain falls
glad to be just Jane again
she takes time
to un-Shakespeare her self
boy but she could ****** a kebab
Romeo: once again Andy
her ex & yes yes
she wants *** but...not with him
Paris: now Peter
gives her a saucy wnk
"Hmm!" she thinks "Hmmm!"
she imagines him
nakedly mad for her
sans tights...sans everything
alas that wink was
for Tybalt...god ****
another night in bed with
- Stephen King.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 3:00 PM UTC
As I rise, cumuli are my clouds
Purple rippling through hot pinks and gray
Waving to me in tattered shrouds
Above horizon of shadowed trees, come day
Commit to memory ether and solar play
For never could a photograph
Or great master’s paintings depict or imply
Phenomena of heaven’s autograph
Inferiority, obscurity shadowed in my sky
What wondering adrift, now present to eyes
Sensational this morning’s vividness
Ballyhoo applauds first light of dawning
Awestruck I am within this immanence
Call forth flash of conception spawning
Clearest notion of earthbound belonging
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
It's a travesty to tolerate
The ugly mores of men,
When everyone's allowance
Condones release for them.
Where everywhere provision
Is made for man to shove,
And woe betide the meek
Who don the feathers of a dove
The world applauds the forceful,
Rewards are rich for he
Who tramples over daisies
And holds aloft the key.
Who forces his attentions
And speculates the win,
Despite the devastation wrought
In winning it for him.
It's a travesty to tolerate
This bovine charge of man
When all can be achieved
With an accommodating plan,
When compromise and levity
See consideration's way
Where success can be attained
With out bloodletting on the day.
I hear the snort of your derision,
Feel the snigger in your smile,
See the curl of lip descending
With your slit eyes of defile.
For this portraiture is global
The fighting man is King
And he who deviates
Is left bereft and vanquishing.
Sadness is the matador
Who casts his scarlet cloth,
To be shredded and impaled
By a maddened bullock's wrath.
To be tossed aside, asunder
Like a lifeless ragged doll,
Like mankind's brute tomorrow
When the final drums do roll.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
29 November 2009
Nov 28, 2009
Nov 28, 2009 at 7:17 PM UTC
She lingers,
She speaks-
She sings in my mind.
For she polishes these windows,
My eyes-
How divine.
Yet sometimes I’m a puppet,
Her precious marionette.
At times I want to cower,
Wish only to forget.
For those words she speaks freely,
Cage me up like a bird.
Making me feel less of a human,
A soul-
How absurd!
Yet even though I’m aware of this poison that she spews-
Sending chills to my bones,
Leaving me internally confused.
For I’m aware of her games,
Yet I’m completely content-
With knowing the consequences,
Still I don’t repent.
Yes, it’s killing me slowly,
Forcing myself not to breath.
Figuratively and relatively-
Casting my body out to flee.
For the porcelain in my sight,
Calls my name like a god.
My body’s screaming for mercy,
In and instant-
She applauds.
Released and freed,
She whispers in my ears.
Slowly and surely,
But she’s housing all of my fears.
For this voice that sang sweetly,
Praising me for the days-
Of vacancy of my body,
Turns my mind into a maze.
See her words create hallways,
One intertwining with the last-
Of memories from my present,
Being guilted by my past.
Leaving me feeling so helpless,
So alone-
So afraid.
But that same voice brings be comfort,
Satisfaction-
For all of those days.
Yes it’s confusing in a sense,
Perhaps even to the eye.
But for me this is a daily,
A struggle of the mind.
See my body is strong,
Yet I feel internally weak.
For these words that I’m writing,
My lips can hardly speak.
Alysia Marie 2018 ©
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
Our lives are roles in the constant show entertaining
unquenchible audiences of impermanence,
death applauds and bows his hat
the charcoal curtains slide in to dusk
and stage lights flash on break of day.
Everybody to your places!
stars are exploding in distant galaxies
and a black hole the size of twelve billion suns
is absorbing this universe as we laugh and as we weep.
Rome had fallen and we too shall fall as all things do
clap! clap! clap!
Our lives are told from our ankles
we're praying and meditating and chanting
while the candles bury cathedrals on their last few minutes of light.
clap! clap!
dreaded oblivion is in our rifles and bombs,
in our hearts it's lurking that ruinous leviathan,
The snapping inclination for decadence
is always there backstage shadow of mind.
Progress has been built on increasingly violent tragedies
there's only so much blood this sponge can soak
this earth can take.
clap! clap! clap!
Someday we'll be engulfed by cosmic grenades manufactured by
all those gods we read in books and pamphlets
and while our little corner of the macrocosm fades to black
it'll continue much the same some light years away.
The show must go on!
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
I've opened one too many doors inside this labyrinth of my mind
I've seen the birth and death of light in endless dark I will reside
I see the truth as sharpened knives to bleed the eyes from shameless pigs
I see the coffins filled to brims and all the graves we have to dig
I watched the heavens turn to ash and gazed upon the empty throne and as the burning angels fell I realized I felt at home a fitting end to holy tomes a burning city kin to Rome and as through concrete flowers grow the seeds of chaos will be sown
The sea it turns from red to black the sky applauds its thunders clap from whence we came we shall go back into our saviors endless trap
Pursuit of peace no shame be known as wisely told by three blind crones and all the secrets we'd be shown to break the cage we've much outgrown
And now upon the lofty sands we stand together hand in hand and to sing of battles long and gory remembering our hard fought glory
The venom seeps, the fangs that shred, the warm embrace of those thought dead, the sons of evil took their toll, the sun is dark, the jester folds
And when the end has had its run we flee to halls and fill with *** and give the praise to those we've lost to see this day but at what cost
For now they leave but never gone the tale of Gods will still live on they said our God's have met their end but see they lied they rise again
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 10:03 AM UTC
I've been writing in different styles
Trying to find something new
Yet it seems that all the good ones
Are mainly about you
Joshua if you're reading this
I just wanted to let you know
I could live a million eternities
And still never let you go
Because when i say i love you
It's not just for fun
I didn't think that i could love
But yet.. you're the one
The one who gave me hope
The one who loves me through my flaws
And now everyone knows
See the standing ovation? Hear the applauds?
This is not some crush
And you are not some guy
I know it's way too soon
But this life is for you and i
And for everyone reading this
Please share your words
And tell the ones you love
The things they've never heard
I love you
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
At the nexus where the planets collide
I find myself, whirling into a spiral galaxy of thoughts.
He is at his writing-desk on Mercury
I pull his hand away from the liquid-silver ink he writes with-
he has been making poetry again.
I dance with him on Venus, our toes
sinuously tracing a path through the clouds.
We visit Earth, home of
past lovers and sad memories, but it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
we fight on Mars, after I ask him,
"Why didn't you ever take me on adventures before?"
"Why didn't you ever ask?" but he doesn't see that
I did ask, only with my eyes, not my voice.
on Jupiter thunder applauds as gravity tugs us
closer
and closer together.
on Saturn we visit my father, who says to him:
a new era has begun. delight in her, and she will draw rings around you
she will encircle you with her affection
on Uranus we picnic through an eternal
vernal spring and the sky laughs with him.
the stars flicker with his shaking belly.
on Neptune I smother his soft cheek with kisses as he drifts to sleep
and floats awake, and I sink deeper in love because his kisses taste like pink seashells.
I reach Pluto and wake up from my ardent dreaming;
press my palms to the glass of my bedroom window.
My body is frigid- not from the ice of outer space- but
from the harsh October wind, and the realization
that this was only a dream.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
skirting the rusty rose of a brooch
dangling on canvas bodice as she leans
tightly over me; the waves of wrinkles
on her be-bangled red hands pointing to the
wrong punctuation; this is dream-building
in the fifth grade; don't end the dream
too soon, she gruffs sing-song like
a prize-winning racoon; and still applauds
the bricklaying we so clumsily feign
for our castles in the sky; tho she, too,
dies of cancer in the last year; the tubes at the
very last weaving through the canvas;
something of a final stitch to the making
of a dream; and so i think all dreams in me
they die in darkness and still i wonder
what happens to the crenellated castle
walls i abandoned scores of years and
many As ago; and still we pat our doeeyes
on their infinitile heads and **** our
cynical shacks-by-the-forest-fires back
into our heads, begging beneath the
damp light of early-onset reverie: save
us, won't you, from the stiff stillborn of
dreams our generation lost to the fantasy
of getting what the saddest, dreamless
dollared dupes decree; oh be better yet for me,
my naive sums, and take your brick-laying;
your canvas sheen; your impossible, doubtless
dreams with broach and gnarl; with gruff and
soundless trill; your soulful self metastasized
with every beat
to the happy grave.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
We are mules,
Moving matter here and there,
While men in suits and pristine
Combed hair,
Wax shined shoes
And a plastic smile,
Say "no, not here, there!"
Followed by some monotonous management bile:
"Yeah Ted, great squash game
Your blue sky thinking will pave the way!
Yeah bye..."
"Christ, that guys lame"
The office applauds and cements his fame,
While the mules keep ambling on,
Moving matter that doesn't matter
Until the last days light has shone.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
15th of April 2013
26 miles, 10,000 strong,
Ready at last after months of practice,
To test their endurance.
Proud family members, straining to see Johnny or jill run by.
Or to cheer on the wheel chair racers.
The Boston marathon,
Patriots day,
Flags flying
from the many countries represented.
People of every variety, old, young,
Each beautiful in their endeavor.
Most just trying to beat there own time
And be able to say
“ I ran the Boston Marathon”
Well-wishers bound the route,
On both sides of the road.
Hands holding out water bottles for the runners,
Other Hands applauding
Enjoying the day’s excitement.
“It’s another gorgeous day, here in Boston
For the 80th Boston Marathon”
Comment the watching newscasters.
The women start first, then the men
The Africans, tall and thin make the first rank of runners.
At heartbreak hill no one is surprised at the leaders.
Then the leader crosses the finish line.
First second third and so on.
Did you better your time?
Some, as they cross the finish line,
are so exhausted they just stand staring ahead.
Wondering how their bodies could have given so much,
while paramedics gently guide them to the medical tent
The crowd, amassed at the finish line, applauds
As one by one and in clusters of two and three
Runners reach for the finish line.
Suddenly there is a kind of wompf,
It’s an alien sound that doesn’t belong here,
Out of place with the laughter and the joy.
Then screams replace the joy and there’s a second explosion.
People are stunned, this can’t be happening here in Boston.
A cloud of smoke rises from behind the watchers
Flags billow then fall,
A South African flag, a Thai flag, one from Kenya
Why would any one want to hurt these athletes
Their waiting friends and families?
The sickness of this action so unfathomable
In one moment
Changing a day of joy and celebration
To a day of death and mutilation
Did these sick people mean to **** that 8 year old boy
Who’d come just to see his dad run?
Did they mean to carve off the legs of a that woman
Lying in pain on the stretcher,
Did they mean to bring down a 78 year old who had almost
Almost made it to the finish line.
Perhaps for the last time?
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
O, be my prayer to the gods, Venus
Strong waters of Stygian grey, they swell
At my feet, whilst I stand yours, Aeneas.
Olympus saw our hearts, both in a spell
But mortal flesh grows weak in senescence
It knew we should never be, for you are
Too perfect. I took this, such deliverance
From hopeless time, myself at your alter.
For if man were to couple with the gods
‘Haps, then earthly loves would not fade so fast
Take a gentle godhand, this man applauds
Aeneas is now a name for the past
She cries, Jove-blessed, ‘gainst my youth diurnal
Where a golden sky is ours eternal.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
His eyes feel like mad August;
his breath, hot like hope.
there’s oil in his insides,
and fire twisting in his veins.
He glances past the striped tent,
which rises and swells with wind.
He sees a cluster of trees drinking stars,
as whispers usher through their contorted alabaster marionettes.
His childhood was a stranded candle
arrested in bruise-colored nights.
The lone light writhed, howled;
but soon was strangled in wax.
He always planted those volatile reminiscences
in the soil next to his rotten garden heart.
and felt those sickly seeds turn crimson,
as each parasite boasted its own pulse.
His skin kindles coliseums
of gasoline-soaked bones.
Slumber-sunk fireflies keep a hollow flame going,
as shadows melt among the incendiary waves of his hair.
He meanders into the light-studded circus,
with a drop of sweat wobbling on his nose.
The spectators fasten his flesh with their stares-
and he slowly peers out at their silhouettes wriggling in the twilight.
His torches burst to life.
Scalding red veils crackling out of existence;
and immediately smoke tugs at his lungs.
His body hisses as he brings the chaos to his teeth.
A charring succession of infernos singe his throat.
Relics of his past heaves upward,
those tears, souvenirs of lonely Septembers, illuminated
between the feathers of phoenixes.
And that pillar of flame suspended above his lips,
cradled by deep liberating exhalations,
collapses within itself.
And the Night applauds.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC