"assistant" poems
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
She wanders in from the street
People stare, flabbergasted
Very odd, unheard of in fact
She doesn’t know her size
So like Cinderella, she tries them on
Randomly selecting pretty colours
Silvery, glittery heels
She twirls for the mirror
Sales assistant sighs
Wellingtons for the garden
If she had one!
Satin ice skates
She would glide on the icy pond
Pretty sandals
To feel the sand between her toes
Boring, black brogues
Perfect!
With no pennies in her pocket
She wanders back to the street
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
Off the train I hit the streets
and start laughing. This is ridiculous,
incomprehensible. How can innumerable bipeds
have individual inner lives. Why are they doing
what they’re doing? I have no answer
New York City but to also go about my business
in this case prepare for surgery, survival.
But why survive with so many exact replicas
to replace me? A swarm of ants or hive of bees,
social organisms they’re called, climbing
over each other, avoiding bumping and amazingly
making way, anticipating the sudden turns
and straight paths of others, strangers but brothers,
sisters incubating, the cells of a small
***** nodes of a single semi-conscious organism.
The concept of a higher power that cares
for me is also risible yet how else
can I explain the surgeon and his team,
robots and magnetic resonance imaging machines,
all primed and trained to save my life.
They are not particularly interested in what
I do with my time. I am immediately
in love with the Irish brogue of the head nurse,
the Indian skin of the physician’s assistant.
The long extraordinarily thin
fingers of the famous surgeon. All
mine to savor (and the other cancer patients).
Despair, lose all hope
that’s what the sign says at the gates of hell
and at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center the sign says
Be kind to our customers who are waiting and suffering.
Yesterday’s suicidal thoughts: the mind
is a clever servant, insufferable master. Therefore,
meditate on this: absolute need, dependence on the Other.
I still like Hombre, The Shootist and Ulzana’s Raid
but realize those dead heroes
were subordinate to society: the gun manufacturers who armed them.
Thus, I go for cancer tests, accepting, not predicting results.
Hero accepting help.
A torrential rain following five days of flooding,
tornadoes out west busting up wooden towns
all because too many of us are hoarding plastic, herding electrons.
None of us know how it will end, what the outcome will be
(of our surgery). The best that can be said
is Don’t forget to breathe. And you might
as well believe in that higher power.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC
I am a chubby girl
And when I sit on busses
And hear the people behind me laugh
My heart skips a beat
I am a chubby girl
And when it rains
I am paranoid people think
I am wearing a sheet not a coat
I am a chubby girl
And when I walk
My thighs jiggle and
Sometimes they clap
I am a chubby girl
And when I see a shop
Assistant mutter I curse
My size
I am a chubby girl
And when they shout their words
Leaving needle marks
Instead of punctuation
I cry
I am a chubby girl
And skipping dinner just
Made me hate myself
I am a chubby girl
And throwing up just made
The pain come out
I am a chubby girl, wait
I am a girl
And I am beautiful
I love my body like my mother
Loved my baby cheeks
Like I should ve done
From the start
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
12/30/2013
I Met the **** Hater
Have you ever seen someone so beautiful
that you felt like crying?
Have you ever felt so utterly Disgusted by someone
that you wished they were dying?
Do you think I feel gay guts and gayness in my genes?
Or did society manufacture me - one of their gay liberal machines.
I'm not sure which is better,
Either way you'll make me a martyr.
But I'll be your Hester Prynne baby
with my Big Gay Letter.
I cannot erase
that look on his face.
when he told me **** **** Go Away.
I'll punch you in the face just for being Gay.
A separation of message and mind.
Hateful judgment is not hard to find.
When I stand in the shower,
or sit down on a park bench,
I'm a **** to him clear as gay.
It's like he thinks I ate some magic flower.
My girlfriends don't fare much better - to him called a bar *****
This guy is the part of society that makes being gay scary to say.
He thinks Gays making out in public can't be allowed.
He thinks Legalized gay marriages should be disavowed.
He thinks Animal *** ********** and ****** are because of gays.
He thinks Gay **** between two women might be more okay.
He thinks *** should **** more gay people.
He thinks Criminalizing ****** would make things more equal.
He thinks Adam's choice of Eve or Steve is all that matters.
He doesn't care about myself, or your heart's fragile rathers.
This man is the **** Hater.
Not a rare breed at all.
He could be your waiter,
or your teacher,
maybe even your sales assistant at the mall.
I Met the **** Hater,
while I made out with a guy at the bar.
The **** Hater was kinda old, yet strong and tall.
But I didn't fall
down.
or become dehumanized.
When I caught a glimpse of his face
and saw that utter look of Disgust
that I just cannot erase.
I saw it in his face - the **** Hater's
'Homo Hate.'
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
Black power!
I stopped hiding from my roots, I do not let my natural tightly coiled strands become chemically manipulated into bone straightness. I'm no longer hiding from my roots.
My natural hair will represent this
I went on an interview today for a position as a dental assistant, checked out the office on the website right after and then
oh no
The staff is all white, what if I don't get hired because of...
Black Power!
I stopped hiding from my roots; the sun is not my enemy. I no longer veil from its rays because the fear of getting "blacker." Look at that skin; love its rich deep melanin. Follow my movement; I'm no longer hiding from my roots.
My black skin will prove this
The other night I went out with a couple of new friends,
to be more precise they were homemade Alantians.
Born and raised in Atlanta!
It was a nice warm night, and at the end of it they wanted to take some pics to post up on their instagrams. But guys wait; let’s get into the light, I don’t want to appear all dark next to you light brights. You are all mixed which makes you effortlessly good lookin'
snap
Ugh I hate it I'm to black, don’t post that.
I stopped hiding from my roots, I rock my tightly coiled natural strands.
I'm not ashamed of who I am, Look at my skin and its deep rich melanin
Walking with my fist raised up in the air to represent what I on a daily contradict.
Black Power!
Forgive me, I'm new to this. When I was growing up the things that embodied our black nation was never accepted.
Black power! I'm ready to follow this radical movement.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
"Beep-beep.
BANKERS TRUST AUTOMOBILE LOAN
You'll find a banker at Bankers Trust"
Advertisement in N.Y. Times
When comes my second childhood,
As to all men it must,
I want to be a banker
Like the banker at Bankers Trust.
I wouldn't ask to be president
Or even assistant veep,
I'd only ask for a kiddie car
And permission to go beep-beep.
The banker at Chase Manhattan,
He bids a polite Good-day;
The banker at Immigrant Savings
Cries Scusi! and Olé!
But I'd be a sleek Ferrari
Or perhaps a joggly jeep,
And scooting around at Bankers Trust,
Beep-beep, I'd go, beep-beep.
The trolley car used to say clang-clang
And the choo-choo said toot-toot,
But the beep of the banker at Bankers Trust
Is every bit as cute.
Miaow, says the cuddly kitten,
Baa, says the woolly sheep,
Oink, says the piggy-wiggy,
And the banker says beep-beep.
So I want to play at Bankers Trust
Like a hippety-hoppety bunny,
And best of all, oh best of all,
With really truly money.
Now grown-ups dear, it's nightie-night
Until my dream comes true,
And I bid you a happy boop-a-doop
And a big beep-beep adieu.
4.7k
She was vengeful.
But against whom could she retribute her vengeance?
The rich guy who ***** her and ruined her life?
The police for harassing her in the name of interrogation?
Lawyers who tormented her and ***** her all over again with the twenty questions?
The inconsiderate jury who were bent on paying their children's school fees?
The lab assistant for lying to the jury that she had absolutely no sign of being ***** and she was making this up only because she got pregnant in the act?
The parents and teachers of the evil vandal who made him that way?
The media who were more interested in making it to the front page rather than sympathizing with her?
The government for taking safety precautions so lightly?
Neighbours who looked her down with contempt?
Or herself for not being strong enough to protect herself.
Whom could she blame?
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
Despite assurances that his treatment would be gentle,
Thoughts of the grinding drill made him feel rather mental.
But soon his spirit returned to high
As the pretty assistant brushed against his thigh.
All was well until he got the bill
Which gave him such a horrible chill.
But soon he was back to his usual mood of cheer,
As he looked forward to
His next taste of Willy’s Pub food
And beer.
NS 22\1\2016
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
Take egg, invite *****
Mix for five minutes to two hours
Dependant on assistant
Feed at about body temperature
After 9 months or a little sooner if needed
Your childling will be ready to *** out
Decorate in nice new clothes and feed
After 5 years place in greenhouse with others
Come back in about 12 years
It will be totally unrecognizable to what you started with
Now dependant upon cross pollination in greenhouse environment
You may have unwanted seedlings of its own popping up!!!
So choice of greenhouse at an early stage is essential
If that doesn't present a blight they are now hardy enough to plant out!!!
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
Ang Wheelchair, [Bow!]
Alalay sa may karamdaman
Sandigan ng may kapansanan
Kublihan ng mga tampalasan ng bayan
Gamit sa pang-uuto sa sambayanan . . .
Ang Wheelchair . . .
Translation:
The Wheelchair, [Bow!]
Assistant to the sick human
Support for the disabled man and woman
Convenient cover of the corrupt gang
Used for fooling the people all and one . . .
The Wheelchair . . .
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
You sit in your chair, crazy lenses on your eyes
As you perfect your perfect human disguise,
Poking and prodding inside of my skull
With ice picks and drills, never anything dull.
My jaw is locked, and my tongue is now tied.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” you tell me. You lied.
I lay here, strapped down, for what feels like hours,
As your assistant sits in the corner and glowers,
And you slip me some music as if it’s all okay
As blood rushes and gushes out, clear as day.
The buzzing and shaking is all just too much,
And I can’t stop my body from quaking at your touch.
Quaking in fear that this will go horribly wrong,
For I have already been trapped here far too long.
A smile grows on your face as my heartbeat quickens,
And you laugh as it gets louder, and as my body stiffens.
Finally, days later, I’m released from your experiment,
Only to find out, in six months, I’ll be back again.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
The Dentist's Assistant at
the Dental Clinic
is without man.
For the 15 years I've gone there
she has watched movies
and has been single.
She has a rabbit.
Her life revolves around
her DVR and
trips to Disneyland,
but the needle that holds her spinning universe
up
is that rabbit.
Like an immovable Jenga brick,
one as stone,
the one that can't be pulled,
held onto so tightly by the other bricks --
their love.
But with enormous force, you can tear it apart.
That one little brick and the whole tower
collapses. Smashing the table.
Destroying her.
The simplest way to **** someone is to tear out their heart
and show it to them.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 7:40 PM UTC
"Turn back the pages of history,
and see the men who have shaped the destiny of the world. Security was never theirs,
but they lived rather than existed,"
said Hunter S. Thompson
at age 17,
before he became The Duke,
and shaved off a leg in Doonsbury cartoons,
before he rapped the sharp corner of his shot glass,
so too many times,
on the inch thick enamel,
of the Woody Creek Tavern bar top,
and waited until closing time
to begin blowing lines,
out of the divets he'd made.
The people clapping,
the moon attacking,
the red bone blood of America pumping past his eyes.
After he died, everyone there had a Hunter story:
Hunter shot his hot girl assistant in the *** by mistake,
but he felt like **** about it.
Hunter had a dozen red cheeked lasses he skied with,
but he never messed with them.
Hunter showed up in a Cadillac convertible packed with
strippers dressed burlesque.
But it was hard to tell just exactly what he was up to with
the strippers, the peacocks,
or anything else.
Alot of the stories had ****** implications,
but what they mostly implied
was he was cool about it.
He didn't write any of those stories.
Despite all evidence to the contrary he liked his privacy,
and what peace he found in rare quiet.
And he made **** sure they'd shoot his ashes
out of a ******* canon when he died.
The canon is still there.
So are the peacocks.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
There was a magician from Bath
I couldn't help but laugh-
While performing his magic
His act turned quite tragic-
He sawed his assistant in half
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:12 AM UTC
Listen to the stories
men tell of last year
that sound of other places
though they happened here
Listen to a name
so private it can burn
hear it said aloud
and learn and learn
History is a needle
for putting men asleep
anointed with the poison
of all they want to keep
Now a name that saved you
has a foreign taste
claims a foreign body
froze in last year’s waste
And what is living lingers
while monuments are built
then yields its final whisper
to letters raised in gilt
But cries of stifled ripeness
whip me to my knees
I am with the falling snow
falling in the seas
I am with the hunters
hungry and shrewd
and I am with the hunted
quick and soft and ****
I am with the houses
that wash away in rain
and leave no teeth of pillars
to rake them up again
Let men numb names
scratch winds that blow
listen to the stories
but what you know you know
And knowing is enough
for mountains such as these
where nothing long remains
houses walls or trees
<~>
“I would recommend On Hearing a Name Long Unspoken. This poem is from Cohen’s 1964 collection, Flowers for ****** which deals with the trauma of the Holocaust and its legacy in 1960s Canada. In this book Cohen describes himself as a ‘front-line writer’ trying to understand totalitarianism, and the poems aim to critique his readers’ complacency in the violence of the world wars, anti-Semitism and colonialism. In On Hearing a Name Long Unspoken, Cohen asks his readers to consider how atrocities ‘that sound of other places’ also ‘happened here.’ He wants us to remember the lives of real people, to remember where people have found solidarity and protection, as well as how they have been oppressed because he is concerned that the stories that are told about the past will make it feel distant and unreal.”
KAIT PINDER, assistant professor of English at Acadia University
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 3:24 PM UTC
Brian was the perfect teammate. We were team parents and out numbered 3-2. But he was a strong enough player to hold a level playing field. When bases were loaded, he was the catcher and tagged our children before they could score a run. His commitment to our team made us strong and we did the best that we could to hold them on base during the teenage years. But their team was stacked. Three heavy hitters ready to stand up to the championship team… Wow! What an amazing game we all played together. And I had an outstanding coach.
But one day, one of their player’s was injured and could no longer play the game. It was a sad day, the day we realized that we were one team and that one of our star players would not be there to help bring our team back to victory! We suffered a few bases, but even though we did, we still came out winners….
Krystalyn married the man of her dreams. She brought 2 new players to the game, Joel and Zoey. 3 runs there. Sean has gotten sober and is in school to be an oral assistant. Score 3 more. I have moved on to be G-Ma and the proudest parent I can be… I scored 3. Brian fell in love, remarried and shared our family victories. 4 more runs.
What an awesome team. We are sad that Brian was injured and cannot play anymore. We will miss our coach. . But, we are happy he and Jay are together now in the bleachers and keeping score. We are still winning…. 13-0.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
Five thirty in the morning
Waiting for the first bus of the day, are a woman and her husband
Don't know how old
But a little round, a little gray, a little bald.
I guess is it was the woman, who was going places
They were dressed up
But just a little
So I guess they were going to Praha
Early
So maybe for some sale
No really
I am certain it was the well dressed lady who was going to the Golden City
To do some serious shopping
Today he was just an assistant
He looked bored as hell, holding the nail polish, while she fixed up her nails
Sure he did!
But, I am sure he knows that if he didn't do this
He'd be left to his own devices
That means drinking himself to death at the football club
And not knowing what to do at a birthday party even if he remembered when anyone's was
But I am sure he's happy he doesn't have to
Even though two minutes of holding nail polish is a veeery long time
At least that is how I recall it from when my mother made me hold it as a child
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
I stepped on the stage again,
My act was supposed to be the showstopper;
This circus was still breathing,
And I wasn't modest claiming all the credit;
The schedule was followed always,
It had been followed this time as well;
The magical act of mine was to be recorded.
I bowed a greeting quickly,
Followed it up with a bouquet sprouting out of thin air;
Delivered it to a girl in the 7th row,
Neither by foot nor by hook I did that;
Yes my magic wand I flicked smartly,
Making the flowers reach the girl so cute;
The audience sure was impressed with me.
I saw clapping hands in the stands,
Not much later did I speak of a vanishing act;
And I made an assistant vanish into a box,
Then followed a fiery act & my head was aflame;
Like the agent of the Devil, I appeared,
Soon underground I disappeared;
Didn't stop on the floor below strangely.
My assistants were none there to put out the fire,
I panicked and called for help but none arrived;
Soon the fire gelly would run out and my head will burn,
But I hadn't been married yet & my inamorata was upset;
She wasn't going to forgive me for my crimes,
Whether I had committed them or was innocent;
Now I felt my hair burning and the stench sickening.
I was about to find my doom's onset,
Still, the fire was getting colder & bolder;
Now I didn't feel burning in my hair,
The flames were now blue as I could see;
Out of the body was that experience,
And now I regretted each one of my sins;
Suddenly on my stomach, I felt a million pins.
I still wondered if any of it was real,
At least the pain felt real and I was in hell;
By now there was no point repenting it,
The sin committed was grievous I realized;
No Punisher will take it easy & forgive me,
Here the executioner was my own inamorata;
Never did I think she could be so cruel.
I then felt my head being supported,
And I was brought back to my senses;
She then helped me into a standing position,
And it was her who had again breathed life into me;
The vanishing mechanism had failed this time,
But my ceased breath had breathed a new lease to 'us';
I just looked at my inamorata with desperation & guilt in my eyes.
There was such kindness in her eyes,
I just knew then that I'll be satisfied.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
While working on the formula for his next destination.
Dr Who made an error with straight forward multiplication
His assistant broke his train of thought with some ill timed ‘do-gooding’
Though she knew he couldn’t concentrate while eating Christmas pudding
When the tardis landed with a routine solid “thump”
He opened the door in a tee shirt, and took a backwards jump
“This doesn’t look like China.” he mused, looking out the door
And went to get some warmer clothes so he could go and explore
He finally re-emerged wrapped in layers of bedding
“Where is the basic farming? Why are those people sledding?”
“I wanted to study parrots and all I see is penguins.
I aimed for Riceland, not Iceland” He turned and went back in.
Jan 12, 2011
Jan 12, 2011 at 1:35 PM UTC
The first time I learned what *** was, I was 10. My parents didn't even have "the talk". No. I found out from a boy, grinning as he rubbed his erasers together. I asked my mom, "Mom, what's *** and because *** IS SOMETHING I SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF, she said something like "You're to young". TOO YOUNG TO KNOW HOW LIFE IS CREATED?! And let's not forget the time I learned what gay meant I thought it was a bad word. The word my classmates laughed at and called each other. I watched my first Modern Family episode in the third grade, my closed minded comments spilled out and increasing got more homophobic as I watched my fathers laugh feed into my immaturity. Looking back, I'm disgusted. I was a candle, dim but had the potential to light the dark room, surrounding me. I just hadn't been light yet. The time I realized I was a feminist i was twelve. So eager to please and maintain my perfect child persona, that being told my "bra strap showing was disgusting" I cried my way through pre algebra. To ashamed to tell my friends or family. LIKE YES. I HAVE **** UNDER MY SHIRT IS THAT A ******* PROBLEM?!All I could think of was how my MALE ASSISTANT ******* PRINCIPAL CALLED ME OUT AND ISOLATED ME ALONE, MAKING ME FEEL ASHAMED OF MY BODY AND MY GENDER! I shouldn't have felt ashamed of sexuality **** I shouldn't have felt ashamed of my gender. NOBODY SHOULD EVER FEEL ASHAMED OF THEMSELVES. Here's a letter to past, present, and future self, and to all those little girls who were raised to be closed minded and ashamed, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL, EVERYONE IS WORTH LOVE, YOUR BODY IS NOT HERE FOR MALES TO GAUG AT. YOU ARE MORE THAN A *** ITEM, AND IF A MAN EVER MAKES YOU FEEL ASHAMED OF WHO YOU ARE, KICK HIM IN THE ***** FLICK HIM OFF, AND WALK AWAY. BECAUSE HONEY, US WOMEN ARE BETTER THAN THAT ****
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
she put her baggage on the scale at the airport
and the assistant said it was too heavy,
so she missed her flight,
and back home she went to try once more
to fit some things inside the closet she shared
with her husband who was unprepared
to see her come back through the door
for his greatest skeleton was lying on the floor
the other woman that kept the closet full
"that's why this bag is much heavier than before."
so she left it with him.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
The Magicians Assistant
hidden behind cape and robe
the magic hat contains secret treasures
the seductive mistress with smiling face
brings slight of hand in different measures
now you see it now you don't
the trick is more than meets the eye
some will understand while others wont
they hide inside a box and cry
he waves his wand over the table
making things appear so real
but the assistant is doing as has been told
he gets all the applause it was the deal
Gomer LePoet....
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
Mary, you hardly get talked about, except around Christmas.
Then pastors,preacher, ministers and teacher speak highly of you.
As being the birth mother of Jesus.
Except, you're so much more.
You carry a truly blessed load.
When we speak of Christ.
Many don't comprehend, we are speaking about you.
Gabriel came with a message from the Lord above.
Pointing out more than you imagine or ever thought possible.
But you found favor with God to be with a son.
One the world know as JESUS.
He will be great.
Son of the most Highest.
And seated upon a throne.
Your first born-born to you without assistant of a man.
For with God nothing is ever impossible.
Mary, hardly spoken of besides around certain events.
Then again, so is Jesus.
His teen years, we barely know.
His youth, we barely know.
Same about Mary the mother of the most High.
Who soul magnified the Lord?
Mary, the greatest mother we know.
Blessed are we.
For we are children's of the King.
Sing out loud to him.
And recognize his mother.
A lady called Mary.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
Where Phil's ship set sails
With the biggest whales
His legend has tales
And he spouts no fails
In the depth of nails
His hammer has gales
With winding winds of hales
He keeps to his trails
Leaving quests that impales
Five consecutive NBA finals scales
With LeBron and Leonard's pails
He fetches more water to rescales
With Lakers, his thirst now flails
Bringing hope his ship prevails
Logan Robertson
7/15/2019
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC