"backgammon" poems
my shrink told me:
"Feelings:
Pathetic.
Baked clouds:
Attention!
A broken butterfly:
Holy fear"
abortion, gay marriage, suicide, depression, faith diversity, disunion, pacifism, the internet, green peace, the national institutes of guns, alcohol and cigarettes, math teachers, poorly written books and well-written books, science, documentaries, the 90′s Cartoon Network, solutions for first, second and third world problems, the Venus project, conspiracy theories, poker, chess and backgammon, ****** music, female ******* boys playing with dolls and offensive language are nothing
we are all attention ******
we are born and buried
for attention.
we endure awkwardness
for attention.
we have *******
for attention.
god will be afraid of us
for attention.
so I told him:
"Let's face it
nothing will be everything!"
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 6:03 PM UTC
a liar once told me that i write good poetry
i laughed and continued drinking,
the sudden rush of despair, the wicked beast, the dry pages
the man had no credentials
but he persisted, declaring me an inspiration
like seeing a strand of hair attract a magnet
or amber jewels lolling in a dimly lit case
imagination is a felony, i wagered as i poured another
a combustion i know like the back of my hands
i told him i dreamt of a morgue where everyone i ever loved
sat upright as sunflowers, declaring their love for the sun
and of a newspaper rife with disease and the passion of a janitor
there is a raccoon near a river somewhere cleaning an apple
with a heart as big as an artist in drunken euphoria
taking better care of it than me when i sit down at a typewriter
it's wearing a cape just like edgar allen poe
and having better conversation with an oak tree than i've ever had at a party
about the sunday crossword puzzle he completed
yesterday i drank myself into a masquerade ball
arriving in a limousine being driven by a bearded mickey mantle
i was the guest of honor, sword fighting on table tops
and lecturing the guests about shakespeare through a garbage disposal
while a horse played backgammon with my father's brother
and there was a girl there behind the facade of an owl
who danced like the wind and everlasting light
and no one could stop her or look her in the eye
i am the only connection between my mind and the paper
merely a vessel, a john boat clearly breaching it's depth
either drowning like a fish in a sand dune or
being bounced like a baby on the knee of god
slavery, i call it, and hand him a glass of warm bourbon
as the splashing of my journal pages slap my crushed trachea
the typewriter is padlocked and painted over with cement
the metamorphosis trapped inside a bullet, boiling with sheer fury
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
I get scared sometimes,
by a coldness in the reflection of my own eyes.
As if they know something I refuse to believe.
Like he's daring me to see beyond the lies.
I've written poetry about chess,
as a central metaphor for the way I go about living life.
I confess that I like Knights the best.
They're the only pieces with the power to jump the rest.
Sometimes, I worry
that I'm just being used to create some kind of story.
That any chance I might have at Happiness
gets thrown under the bus for the sake of His glory.
I've often accused my mother of having multiple personalities.
She refuses to take any tests.
I've made a little man out of paper clips.
I hung him from a rubber band noose
that hangs from a shelf above my desk.
Sometimes, I'm filled with fear.
I get the shakes in grocery stores during the middle of the day -
paralyzed by the thought that I'm not really there.
Afraid of the things that my ghost might say.
I once wrote a poem fully explaining your mental state.
I know I've got it saved somewhere.
By the way, I think you're pretty great;
these and other phrases you've no desire to hear.
"Knight to e6,
I believe that's checkmate."
Paper Clip Man hung there for weeks,
but his steel wire neck refused to break.
Eventually, he got a hand around the knot,
and used his strength to gain another breath he never again thought he'd take.
I've never written a poem about backgammon,
but they say it's one of the oldest games ever played.
I bet I'd be real good at it.
I'll learn how to win some day.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
The intimate mountain--
Weekends in a mercury supermarket--
And the nearly vindictive lilt in
Your voice when you drop the
Last 'T' in restaurant!
Perhaps for just a few months
We might dispense with the honorifics,
Because we each know perfectly
Well your finger-ring has a smile
For no one but me.
The first autumn was always impossible for me
(or at least it will be).
Winds winding like a clarinet--
A boulangerie cover of
Dies Irae.
Now where have I misplaced my
Sensory glands? Charles
Walks an intricately awkward emphasis
In ungodly,
Strangely comfortable stilettos.
The emcee has no frigging
Idea what the people want to hear anymore.
His serape and his wine--
Not to mention his women,
Although I have just now.
Poor little frog.
It looses owners off its skin
Like tadpole-seeds, over
A game of backgammon
That never really cheats anybody.
The abandoned LiveJournal account.
The forgotten Myspace passwords.
The iPod that hasn't been updated in years.
The body slumped on a threadbare sofa.
The broken earbuds and busted eardrums.
Start spreading the news:
I've already left.
Go and empty the pews;
My mother bereft.
And the Chamber of Commerce wants to blame the ****** on me.
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 6:25 PM UTC
i was drinking orange ****** ***** with Kitty
the mushroom cloud destroyer,
my compatriot, my downfall
the sky was purple and the grass was red
and we plotted the end of the world
we fought for dominance i lost
sat on my street corner
stealing kisses from
passersby like a magpie,
plucking the shiny buttons off coats.
when I became the queen of sheba,
decked to the nines in brass buttons
confiscated corroded combustible
i rode an elephant called shiva the destroyer
and sliced long cuts with a sword into my legs
and the white scars were like hope.
i played backgammon and chess with multiple lovers
and they all lost because i was an impenetrable fortress.
I wore the red crown and stabbed out their hearts with my pointed teeth.
then i sat upon the edge of the world alone,
tore out the cores of a million and four sunflowers
and watched all of the people riding trains
and walking in the parks holding the hand of someone else
someone who isn’t cold Kitty
as the violet sun began to set
i dreamed of what someone else’s hand
bones skin muscle corpulent sinew warmth
and I slept like an obsidian stone.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 6:58 PM UTC
When thinking about backgammon and playing the game,
It makes me feel kinds dead like rigomortis , being lame,
I don’t mean to deluge info with a flood of knowledge to you,
But my brain is a globular cluster with knowledge you never knew.
Now ill give you an orison a hope for a great day,
So you can make it over the skybridge in one piece but not one way,
But enough about the future I know you have chronomentrophia,
But who cares tomorrow is Guy Fawkes day so live in your own utopia!
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 11:11 AM UTC
Pocket knives, tape measures.
An extensive collection of coins.
Nails, screws, numerous sizes, and sets
of nail clippers, files, polishes and brushes.
Shoes, always shoes. And dresses.
Shirts and ties. Loud and quiet.
The sick and the dead are forever quiet,
never quite quiet. Our solicitude's unnecessary.
Playing cards, backgammon games,
chess. Every move's a variation on the next.
And so it is with words, numbers,
shapes and sizes. Feet and hands,
knees and eyes. Why and where and how won't matter
once we've divided the bags of clothes
among the poor and destitute. It's not too hard
to laugh too hard. The son and daughter deliver them
and then go home. Letters, wallets, clocks and watches.
Photographs in which the name and face don't match.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
Gender roles
Peaches
Poles
Backgammon played by the Camp Counselor
Whatever your gender is
It matters not
Because love will always cause pain
Before any pleasure
Whatever way you spell ***
However you grab or pound
It's crazy how a crush can lead to a pen
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 3:12 AM UTC
the reason it's flawed...
is because it's doubly definitive,
i.e. drunk, e.g. the lord of the rings,
it's drunk! it's an aquarium dizzy in sight!
the definite lord cannot be
an analogue, a replica, a cloning,
an imitation... invoking such demands
would counter the success of the story...
for no divisive act can follow a divisive act
in english grammar - backgammon point lost i.e.
definite and divisive K.O...
let me apply the rules... what symbols
akin to mathematics could be applied to
words as they are to digits in such a simple
way as to modulate arithmetic rubric, if
there be no grammatical rubric?
engage in language to such an extent
that it defeats you, in order to see
the irrationality of others; the double definitive
is the route easiest to spot - i guess it's
worthy to mention the cinematic affair,
that you might be mesmerised by a lord, who's the lord,
and all the marriages under the sky:
metaphor for marriage?
not to mention that he was the omni- and invisible.
cursor via this digression through to:
there is need... for juggling...
both hands must be present;
definite indefinite, even odd...
but i guess
the lord of the rings, with its double-use of
definite articles is like all stories sold
to the public, sold meaning forced,
****** art conducted in the spare-time,
art without gamble to live a life of modesty.
find the weakness of your creativity, find the weakness
of your creativity, and you will find creativity itself
by it being exhausted, each time you begin
the process of writing;
with Einstein's space-time relativity
came Rembrandt's spare-time relativity...
art and plumbers... oh noble indeed...
but still the double definitive of expression...
there is necessary ambiguity to mind,
an indefiniteness for exploration of universal interpretation
whether that be the populace of the 17th or the 21st century
needing it.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
Two blots on the bar,
and double-sixes
my only hope
on an otherwise
closed board.
The back game
has become end game,
and I've doubled
and re-doubled
so the last few rolls
mean too much.
I must run for
the home board.
No time left to
leave any more blots
uncovered,
and the game is
no longer mine
to win.
All I ask
is enough throws
of the dice
to take
as many counters
as I can with me
before the match
is over.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
Joker and nightmare: No? New thieves, angry! And the ****** will fill you with holiness, God! This denial or not applies to machines stereotypes, unfortunately, is stupid! The first puppies are the first owner but there is laughter but the fit atmosphere is funny funny funny story, the girls in the society of vetism contain the joke, the laughter and the slap that makes the neck important. Backgammon Games Exciting Games One; Funny or ambiguous conversation with laughter, smile and smile. LIST OF LIFE: I say funny, funny, joke, butter, garbage and sharp pain, Josh. The young people surrounding the stupid tricks, the jokes that shout to the children for pleasure, see (the legs) and the chain / knee / path and one of the latter bored, made the monkeys a fun story for any style. Victoria Itmiso from the scribbles, the voice of the wheel, the crack, the simple line, the sting, the knee shoe, the shoes, the fog, the joke practice, the theft, the flesh, the old jokes of Cicero West of the crack! The slide show, the jokes, the joy, the sweater, the memory symbol of the articles contained in his name, all George is today. Try it! So I probably will not do that in the previous question? Tibet makes a mistake in Kiddush, God! This denial or not applies to machines stereotypes, unfortunately, is stupid! The first puppies are the first owner, but there is laughter, the atmosphere is fit, but they are synonyms, and the funny story and the joke, ****** and ****** and ****** contain the joke, the laugh, the slap that makes the hip explosion important. Straight arms and exciting flying toys; Funny or ambiguous conversation with laughter, smile and smile. List of life: I say funny, funny, funny, butter, trash, acute pain, Josh. The idiots are surrounded by stupid tricks, jokes that children cry for pleasure, watches, legs, chain and knee and one last dull, making monkeys an amusing story for every style. Victoria Itismo socialization of Gags, the voice of the wheel, a crack, a simple, sting, knee boot, shoe, Punktie, Grunares, joke practical, theft, meat, head of the smile stuck B, strike, strike chocolate shoe social, hooligan, funny old by cicero west, crack, slide show, Gise, butter courage, farce, sound records, practice practice Josh flower, tactics, funny, youth, joy, sweater chain / warm clothes the best time I see a new picture of memory Articles contained in his name All George is me. Try it! So I probably will not do that in the previous question? Does Tibet make the horse? I do not know how to resist the staff, prostitutes, and the shadow of evil! Before the Youth Center I have entrusted a strong fortress (dead) / ball targets. A photograph of a picture shouting prostitutes and figures; Mud rooms and clothing from left to right. Image: Joker, Nightmare, Youngsters, Thieves, Angry! And I will fill you with the holy God! This denial or not applies to machines stereotypes, unfortunately, is stupid! In the first game / owner. This denial or not applies to machines stereotypes, unfortunately, is stupid! The first cubs are the first time / owner, but there is laughter, the atmosphere in shape, but it's a funny story and funny and joke, brothel prostitutes prostitutes contain the joke, the laughter, the slap makes a big hip madness. Beautiful arms and exciting flying games; Funny or ambiguous conversation with laughter, smile and smile. Life: I say funny, joke, joke, butter, garbage, acute pain, Josh. The idiots are surrounded, silly tricks, jokes that children cry for pleasure, watches and feet and the last dull one, makes monkeys an amusing story for any style. Victoria Itismo socialization of Gags, crack, a simple, sting, knee boot, shoe, Punktie, Grunares, joke practical, theft, meat, head, smiling Tuck B, chocolate cut shoe social, hooligan, Jokes old by Western Cicero, crack, slide show, mania, butter courage, farce, sound records, practice Josh flower practice, tack, funny, youth, joy, sweater chain / warm clothes the best time I see a new picture of memory articles every name of G. George is me. Try it! So I probably did not do that in the previous question? Does Tibet make the horse? I do not know how to resist the staff prostitutes and the shadow of evil! Before the Youth Center, I have entrusted a strong (dead) / ball target. A photograph of a picture shouting at ****** in character.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC
tonight I’m calling fearful souls
the peers of my tribe
there is chaos in the heart of stones we are casting
there is a lot of pain in unborn desires
we are trembling, we are holding our breath –
what does it mean to feel safe
we are dreaming and waiting
old mothers are screaming unheard
the tyrant is playing backgammon with God
I am searching for each of you in the safety of dawn
the beast with bottomless eyes is here
Inside
so difficult to grasp our soul
to endure this: a world of faceless people
we cover our eyes, mouth, hearts
bottomless eyes are smearing
the body as a battlefield
oh, we remember what we want to have forgotten
we collapse under the burden of our own fragility
the history repeats itself shutting down stories
so many stories of cancelled love
the slaughterhouse soul is too heavy
and I can’t remember the ancient joy and innocence
the simplicity of being
words have just exploded
and my heart is cracked open
and now I am afraid even of my words
of that which should not be named
the murderer of soul, dignity and poetry
I am afraid of staring into bottomless eyes
without my peers
without my tribe
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 10:12 AM UTC
****** XL - All Guitar Flamethrower Guy
Mad Max Fury Road OST Music Mix;
i kiss my cat goodnight...
**** me should i be found kissing
your forehead goodnight...
atheism would seem rather simple;
i tend to think of myself as the guitarist,
adding to the fact that i'm head-banging
adding to the rhythmic section;
and if you gonna be ******
you might as well be ****** with me:
K **** U C (https://goo.gl/LAI8R9)
and a leather crown on my head...
for added stretch marks
kindred of Pompeii goosebumps;
yep, and i'll be next to put a happy meal
between my legs to slice out
an Atari's solo worth of programming
and football and Turk vizier's backgammon;
like i ******* care.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
During the anticipation and transitioning of a beautiful morning sunrise sky
Five minutes of mindfulness and quiet breathing gives me a reason to fawn
There is a magic-ness waiting and watching for dawn
There is internal balking at impending healthy walking
My attention switches
I seem concerned about a proper Thai lunch venue
And whether luv is on the menu
An afternoon nap is refreshing for an old sap
A pink blue sunset quietly paints the evening sky
Such a wonderful feast for tired, sore eyes
I spend dark night hours interweb surfing, online backgammon, watching some Masterpiece views of a dead monarch’s family fight
Hoping and praying for a continuous sleep filled night
This all happens over the course of a day
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
in the spring
and agave falling
with rain coming in..
my heart a mad thing
light a caste stone
all blue and
emerald green!
i remember the springs
lord in crete
in crete..
ii
when i was young
and awed by nearly
everything
the blasted beat..
my brain a fried egg..
i looked in the mirror
and stared
who the **** was that there..
the blasted heat
the autumn sun
and wind
and i was a beach
***
in my winter hut
the day a paper´s cut
away fom a soft
blinding night..
iii
when i was young..
iv
small bamboo constructions
right bang next to the surf..
with some red wine..
thus illiminating
the rent man..
stars and the moon..
and phospherous..
i had my guitar
and sang a song..
v
when i was young..
vi
in crete
in spring
is breath taken
from sweet gods
lip..
ambrosia broken..
a flailed heart trip
the blossems and a load
of pure beauty..
in crete
in spring
i found me..
i observed others
do like wise..
they shon and carried on..
in spring
when i was young
played backgammon
and drank cognac
no problem
no problem...
vi
to sail the clipper
the crow´s nest quiver
s in the grey brine
gulls dip their
soaring smiles
lost in mine..
love in horizons
lost in prayer
late too shiver
eyes of god in
bathes my soul
one great river..!
v
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
i said to myself again and again
i will never drink again..never..
not now..but until then..
i will have a good time..!
dutch bob would say
alcohol is sneaky
(had i been a bottle of
beer i would have felt guilty..)
he would throw back his
great viking head and sing
tom dooley..early morns-
cognac beer and backgammon..
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 12:39 PM UTC
..go away or stay..
..don't play anymore..
your not a kid no long..
..where were you when i loved my razor
where are you anyway..
..not here..nor there..
..not anywhere..
..let me out or let me in..
..iv'e got my changes..
..learn't..got the knife..no heart anymore..
..is there still more i have to give..
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC