"autographs" poems
In Anaheim the ultimate celebration begins,
People traveling from all over with fat grins
Luke, Leia, 3PO, R2
Autographs, merchandise, cosplay too.
Tattoos, nerd dating, panels and games
Sea of Slave Leias and other costumed dames
Everything you’ve ever wanted and more
This is the place you’re looking for
Fly solo, or come with family and friends
Party like a Jedi until the festivities end
From Lost to Disney, thank you JJ
Star Wars is back in a big bad way
Fans rejoice, happiness deep as a Sarlacc pit
There’s been an awakening, can you feel it?
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
She mentioned in passing,
That if anything was to happen,
They asked if I could be yours.
To shout at to tidy my room,
Clean the dishes,
Or tell me to **** off when my heart was broken.
You think your greatest gestures were the presents, tickets, trips, autographs,
The army of "Please look after this bear" Paddingtons,
But you're wrong.
It was the two sentence emails,
Telling me cocktails could take the edge off chemo.
It was teaching me how to swear.
It was the cough and mumbled 'Luvyuutu" over the phone, reluctant but not regretful.
That call she made probably ended,
With a pause, a gulp, a tremor in your voice.
It would be you who'd shorten such an important answer.
A "Yep".
A clack of the phone on the desk.
And a "Luvyuutu, Ferg." after you hung up.
Jun 24, 2011
Jun 24, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC
**** the Police
Coming straight out the underground
Young brother got it bad
Cuz I look Mexican and I'm brown
Can't forget to do diarrhea
on the sheriff deputies
Cuz you wear a uniform and a badge
think you deserve respect like a G
Biggest violaters of civil rights
in the ******* land
take advantage of everybody
cuz you think we're stupid and you can
Where are you going? What's your name? Are you on Probation?
California is not a stop and identify state
How about I cuff your ***
Take you to an alley and let out all my frustration
Am I under arrest?
Or am I free to go is what I ask
Boo bop & slit your throat
come up from behind with a ******* Chucky mask
I'm the worst ******* nightmare
there ever has been
A conscious, Chicano, 5 percenter
Moorish American free national citizen
How about next time you **** one of us
We hunt you down, home invade your family
and launch you all of a cliff in a bus.
Quick to leave a pig bleeding left for dead in a ***** ditch
***** sewed to your mouth, you wanna be me punk *** *****
Or we'll cut your head off
and stick it to a thousand foot pole
start the vampire nation, count Vlad's idea yea I stole.
14th amendment, 85 percenter
corporate security guard
driving a big *** truck with your undersized *****
and you think your all hard, you ******* ******
You're obvious and pathetic
I got no time to play
We don't die we multiply and the movement is here to stay.
Get off me stupid I ain't signing no autographs
Che Guevara reincarnated now who has the last laugh?
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
dear mother,
my mental health is not a spectator sport.
you do not get to tell me "you need to go to school to learn to be a decent person" when i am too depressed to get out of bed and then brag about my ACT score.
it is not your score. it is mine.
dear mother,
you do not get to tell me that you are sending me to a psychologist to "learn how to treat other people" and then ask me if i am okay. i am not okay.
dear mother,
you do not get to watch me hyperventilate under a bed on a school morning and get angry and then brag to your friends about my GPA. it is not your GPA. it is mine.
dear mother,
you do not get to scream at me for "upsetting your household" and order me to take easier classes and then brag to your friends that your daughter took 5 AP classes. yes, that is hard, but you made it harder.
dear mother,
you do not get to scold me when, yes, i stayed up all night but didn't finish my work but then brag to your friends about my success. it is not your success. it is mine.
dear mother,
you do not get to push me down and then comment on how wonderfully i got back up.
you do not get to cheer me in success and boo me in defeat. i am not a sports team, i am your daughter
dear mother,
you are not my mother. you are my fair-weather fan, and yes i am doing well now but i do not have time for autographs.
dear mother,
goodbye.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
O' Warped Tour
On the hot blacktop we stand
In front of your various stages
The beautiful bands grace us with their angelic,
or if they prefer, demonic, voices.
O' Warped Tour
The people we meet
Girls in bikinis
Boys with ****** noses
Teenagers sitting on shoulders
O' Warped Tour
Mosh pits in the front
Singing in the back
Crowd surfing
To running circle pits
O' Warped Tour
With your merchants
And band autographs
With your cigarette smoke
And crazy teens
With your summer days
And loud music
We never want to leave
O' Warped Tour
We love you
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
I thought about this long and hard
In fact I thought about it all the time
What would happen to belly button lint
If you set the stuff on fire
I collected more than enough
Over the years to see this through
So I went and invited a few friends along
The word it spread and the crowd it grew
All the folk from the town came out
They'd been collecting belly button lint just like I had
Not quite as impressive a pile as mine
I guess I'm the biggest belly button lint dust collecting man
That's (B.B.B.L.D.C.M.) if you want to simplify who it is I am
You might think that's something to be proud of
And believe me when I say that I am
After I got through signing autographs
We proceeded with my grand plan
The crowd stepped up one by one
To toss their lint onto the pile
Coming close to blocking out the moon
As the pile grew ever higher
(Finally the time had come to light up
the famed belly button lint dust fire)
It was Frankie who spoke up first
And said he'd be honored to flick his bic
That was the very last time we saw any of him
Frankie and the lint lit up like a rocket ship
When the shock wore off I turned around
And saw the whole town up in flames
I've had a lot of great ideas before
I'm not quite sure this was one of them
I now live in a hippie commune in the woods
Since my towns no longer there
It's kind of lonely without Frankie around
Although there's still that lingering hint of burning hair
I no longer collect belly button lint these days
I sure learned my lesson with that
Haven't worked out the details of my next grand idea
But I can tell you it involves a big ball of my ear wax
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
I never drove by that was the ***** way,
half time trying to hit a wet spot blind.
or killing the time of those who were never
meant to fall...
Got honor between the lines, I'll stop the car,
open the door, walk out suited
not you average gangster, look like the others
and no one running till I pulls out your
friend it anit here for a meet and greet.
More like say hello to, goodbye...
you bleeding on the floor, I'm a good shot...
One to the chest, you fell now one to the head,
you aint paid you bills now your blood
stained in the wind.
Casually walking back to the car signing
autographs of his followers.
This meet and greets been productive,
Family signing you off on the morgue...
I aint going to lie the only necktie I be
tightening is yours...
Tied to a chair, if I need information,
asking as politely with a ball hammer
and some pliers...
I had a few mouths shout off,
now they walk the street silently,
never **** disrespect.
Show what silence sounds like,
respect is fear
and I'm the scarecrow in the
field.
And you crows,
you worm eaters ain't seen nothing yet..
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 6:49 PM UTC
You are drinking yourself red-eyed and crumpled
on an unmade bed meanwhile I
am hating the world’s promiscuity and signing
autographs that serve no alternate purpose
subsequent to their ink-blotted conceptions and silently
my heart scratches and claws and penetrates
bone, muscle, and choked fat
to get to you
How will we know
when we’re no longer
young enough
to inconsequentially
rot our bodies
from the inside
out?
If I could
I would search for a space
impenetrable
by ants molecules and medium-sized atoms
that exists between
my pale finger tips and
your freckled
bare back moving
slowly up and down
If I could
I would be somewhere where nothing
is the tarnished byproduct of anything
where no one will remind anyone not to
clog their throats or minds or eyes
when they
shiver and choke on scarlet inkblots
and chug gasoline
and wipe away dirt stains
and drink each other’s shame
and form cuts on the soles of their feet
after rushing barefoot through beds of sharp stones
to reach other
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
I don't get impressed much
Pompous air
I am prepared
Introvert with no care
I disposed of rationality
I am red hair of despair
A soul wrapped in profanity
I digress quite often
Please no applause then
Watch the show
I am the soul of insanity and you answered me
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
Comeback
Perhaps I should be grateful
That I never was recipient
Of great applause,
Years of adorers,
Broadway’s honey,
Years of being stunning,
Grateful that
I never had to kowtow, bow out,
Miss the kudos and the fame,
Never knowing what life was
With and without them, since I never got them.
Never got to play Las Vegas,
Glad there never came a time
Of longing for a non-existent encore,
Cheering I no longer hear.
Hair going grey,
Kilos heading the wrong way,
You are asked to make a comeback,
Or you’ve asked to make a comeback;
Life feels boring,
No alluring pleasure takes the place
Of listener filled with earful grace.
You sweat and strain, extra kilos off again,
Get back routines,
Move as you did in your teens,
Flexibility, the voice retaining every nuance.
Frank and Cher came back again - and then again.
We followed each rendition, each gradation, limitation;
Cheered until the cheers turned into hesitation.
I am grateful that I never
Had the clamouring for autographs and tresses,
Shredded dresses, theirs and mine.
Never had the glamour and the clamour of masses,
Fervent need to make a comeback,
Coming back to audiences smelling wine:
Hard to define.
And still I play and sing and grow.
Comeback 5.28.2008/revised3.19.2021
Birth, Death & In Between; Time; Vaguely About Music; Arlene Nover Corwin
Mar 19, 2021
Mar 19, 2021 at 5:07 PM UTC
Sixteen songs have passed
And sixteen separate landscapes to wipe your hands with
And as I dream at night do I consider it
That a part of this doing is my half
Sixteen songs later
Sixteen quiet throats, yet I keep my mouth shut
And I shamelessly enjoy the gifts you give me
When we go to bed before I dream
Our love is in latin, it won’t last
Sixteen exhilarating chases, games, ever-expanding radii
Like irises on a road map, we flower through the countryside
We are an aneurism, we yell at walls, and we laugh
Sixteen family tree autographs
Sixteen sad songs, suicides, sixteen songs you keep on tape
Their last words bent into screams like pictures on TV
My dreams have become my trial
Seventeen’s my last
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
Welcome to Hell
Please keep soul inside body at all times
Satan is not available for autographs
God does not make house calls
You are not welcome here
Your body will be abused
Your mind will be mistreated
If you make it,
You can say you weren't
Defeated
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 1:43 AM UTC
They like it.
When it's positive.
They can't stand it.
When it's negative.
It's fame.
Oh, the publicity game they play.
Receiving many, many free type things.
Smiling and attending many events.
Least when they first starting out.
As the fame continue to grow.
Soon, within time they become inclusive.
As, if fans are too good to know.
This I don't sign autographs.
I guess they under the impression.
They made themselves.
It's the fame that has them thinking this way.
Scandals, affairs and the snooping of the press.
Now have them pretending to be someone else.
They might be Sophia Sunshine or River Jones.
Just to keep the scandals , from being known.
Spokes people speaking.
And trying their best to spin a lie.
Should have advised their client to be truthful up front.
The very first time.
Rehab.
Rehab on drugs legal and illegal too.
We all know of some famous person going through this.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 7:19 AM UTC
The last train to lost dreams,
is at the station, leaving soon,
if you ever wished upon a star
you ought to try the Moon,
it worked for me.
Anyone can see,
if you miss the train you'll lose out,
there's no stopping on the way
it travels blindly through the sleeping night
and wakes you up next day.
I've got to go,
just got to know,
what is hidden in the corners where
my eyes fear to look
like the pages full of autographs
I've got to have a look
and see who's there.
in my dreams I dare.
The last train to lost dreams
is a million miles away, through
the silence of internal night
into the light of day
and we don't pay
the ticket's free.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
A millions signatures,
on a million photos,
all by a different stranger.
Because, who really knows the people
in the limelight?
Who really knows
what they dowith their time?
The tabloids try.
The television shows say that they do.
The websites have photos and first hand accounts.
But who really knows,the people
who autographed these photos?
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 10:32 AM UTC
His uncle **** asked Benedict
if he would mow the lawn
of the old lady at the cottage,
which he did, then clean out
the cowsheds at the farm,
which he did, then take some eggs
to the local shop, which he did.
It was a hot day, he felt a thirst
so went to pub called the Battleaxe
and ordered a pint and sat and drank
it slow outside in the sun. He thought
of the clarinet he'd brought with him,
the jazz he played in the front lounge,
which his aunt Eileen said was very good.
Do you still have and play your accordion?
he asked her. No, she said not now;
I've not played for years. He remembered
her playing and singing Goodnight Irene
on it when he had stayed as a kid.
Long ago now, he thought, finishing his pint.
He also mused on his recent visited
to see the MJQ in the City and afterwards
he met the band on the coach at the back.
Asked questions, got autographs.
Then another visit to the City with his
two cousins to watch them do their martial arts
and afterwards showed them judo moves
he and his friends had done a few years before.
He took his empty glass to the counter
of the pub and walked out in the sunshine
wondering what his uncle **** would have
lined up for him next. There was talk of
digging trenches in the churchyard some
evening to lay pipes to the church and there
was that mowing of the grass he'd been
shown the other day. Yes, he'd do that now,
he thought, while the sun was out, the grass dry.
The mower was in a shed at the back, one
of those modern jobs, less work, less elbow grease,
less sweat. But also, those peas to pick
and shuck for his aunt. He wasn't done with his
chores for his keep, for six weeks, least not yet.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
No more book fairs or tours
no autographs signed
My words are my gift
the privacy mine
No talk shows or fetes
New York Times to eschew
Questions unanswered
—my thoughts unreviewed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2018)
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
Not by the autographs they sign
not by the clothes worn fine
yet to them with deeds divine
true are these heroes as distant star shine
…
young be a boy helping a blind man
old be a lady lending water in a can
smart be a nurse cleaning a bed pan
even a dog for its dying master ran
rude maybe a teacher yet for the poor a fees he give
hard might be a butcher yet a meat free for poor to live
cruel can be a soilder yet blood he doth give
a hunter even adopts animal kids to live
not by the image heroes they are
not by courage heroes they are
yet by acts of love none see
heroes of time tough little their deeds be
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
When I finally find
myself in the dirt
say
some 52 years from now
give my lampshades
and frail autographs
to my lady
with her married scorn
and scarred hands
that have held my own.
Only in death
will I see her clearly
as the day I met her
and
in our plantation house
you can find a tin cup
a stray look and
her sentiments
I never overlooked
quite carefully put.
Her ancient beauty
quite unnerving
and her eyes
ever fearful of my demise.
In my crystal clear
version of the way things were
you'll see her letters
that I have kept
still breathing hard
and holding fast
against my chest.
For
I have never loved another
quite like her
sharp teeth and red lipstick
on my dress
and
when we were married
the whole town came to see
what true love could
really mean
to us:
as thieves
as unbelievers
in all things.
Constant sorrow will follow
America
but not her
immortal and etched
into every doorway
of the south
and inside of my body
breathing out.
So much for I have lived
to succumb
to become the dirt
she dances on
to watch for her
in every crowd
spell her name on my tongue
breathing loud
and fast inside of her love
and her blouse
that stands forever
inside of our plantation house.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC
I would not trade one year of my life.
Not those requiring great caverns of energy
simply to rise and meet the day
nor those from which pain has burrowed
deeply in the delicate fiber of my psyche.
For every decision by me and others, each
grouping of words that have passed between mouths
every face that has touched or met my gaze
have left tiny autographs for me to read and interpret.
And I like who I have become,
observation, trial, success and error
all training my intuition,
I see her and trust her with implicit acceptance!
Guided by glory alive in sun and soil
knowing thyself is my greatest feat
I create my own creed with which to live by
a truth that is mine, and mine alone
no one can steal it, but contribute quietly
my teachers come in many forms
surrounding me in ways only I can understand
For I will live true to my genuine self!
recognize my gifts and use them for good
have intimate, meaningful and loving relationships
value human beings and bestow demonstration
learn always, my mind remained open
develop my character with un-tethered honesty
impact humanity in positive ways
embracing the present, in fullness and experience
because there is beauty every way we turn.
That I am alive in this moment is greatness
and wisdom begins with this realization.
“Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul.” --Walt Whitman
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
I want to sit and eat ice cream
Until I can’t eat any more.
I want wake up late each day
Until I can’t sleep any more.
I want to take people out to eat
At the most expensive places
And watch the joy spread out
All over each of their faces.
I don’t want to seem greedy
So don’t go off in a huff.
I don’t want an excess of things.
Really, I want just enough.
Just enough to buy presents
For the people I really like.
The rest of the salesmen
Can take a royal hike.
I want to go swimming in
A peaceful hidden lake.
I want to ride the bumper cars
And never hit the brake.
I’ll gladly clean up backstage
At a hit Broadway show.
I want to drive a fast car
As quickly as it will go.
I want to be in a big movie;
Have some speaking lines.
Be invited to the Academy awards;
The name on the card mine.
I want to perform at Carnegie Hall
So they hear me in the back row,
When I sing songs that I wrote
And receive a standing ‘O’.
I want some of my own poetry
To be printed in the NY Times
With plaudits and huzzahs
And a 12 point printed byline.
I want to have to sign autographs
When I got out to eat somewhere.
And, have lots of money in the bank.
And still have plenty to share.
As long as I am wishing here
I may as well tell the truth.
After all it would do no good
To wish for good looks and youth.
It’s not all that much different than
Making a list for Santa Claus.
So saying exactly what I want
Won’t give me a moment’s pause.
But if I get my fondest wishes
Everything I’d like the most
I want something huge and fun
And I am not trying to boast.
I wish everybody could get
At least a few of their list.
So, write your own list out today
And make sure nothing is missed.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
I wear my heart on my sleeve,
but that shirt is hanging in my closet gathering dust with
all the other things I have left behind.
The love notes,
kisses for autographs and picturesque photographs
are packed in a box. forgotten, but always in reach.
I am looking through one way glass at the world,
screaming at the top of my lungs,
but no one can hear me
and I try so hard to get their attention...
The attention of those who are never worth it.
One foot stands in the cool breeze of loneliness like the maudlin moonlight of a midnight freedom
while the other stands in hopeful cecity to feel the warmth of lips on my cheek
or a hand lightly clutching mine...
I am stuck between universes,
like the space between dreams and the waking world.
Here I live and here I watch.
...perhaps I'll run into someone, someday...
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
If this was my day job, I would have many hours to write
I would have time to ponder the right words to find the perfect rhyme
I would at times work late at night
I would dream of nouns , verbs and adjectives
I would have many poems and stories as well filling up many notebooks and computer folders
I would have more readers and faithful followers of my poems
I would have schedules and deadlines to abide by and maybe autographs to give
I would be living my dreams
It seems that it is best after all to be content with what I have, great friends like you to share my poems with!
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
The lens of the camera shutters.
Paparazzi mutters & shouts, camera crews clutter.
Screaming your name.
In awe of your presence.
To get a piece of your famed essence.
Magazine photo shoots you for the cover.
Photographers stare & hover.
Fashion photography or obscene ***********
Best eyes, best hair, best clothes or best bare.
Best lips or best hips.
Fashion victims & icon vixens.
Dressing room trailers for hair, makeup, & wardrobe.
Traveling for pictures circling the globe.
From actresses to recording artists, producers & directors.
From television & big screen projectors.
Velvet, lace, silk, or satin?
For divas white, black, or latin.
A flowing gown with fans all around.
A populated town with limos surround.
Hands, feet, & autographs splash with rain.
Thee walk of fame on it has your name.
Your aura has potential & appeal.
To worship, adore & kneel.
A red carpets beneath your heels.
Life, fame, success, wealth is unreal.
Happiness & joy you can feel.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC