"ballon" poems
do you want to know how does having feelings for you feel like? well baby, having feelings for you is like playing the piano for someone who can’t hear. having feelings for you is like that moment where you start to dance and the song ends. having feelings for you is like hitting repeat on my favorite song and forgetting the words every time it starts over. having feelings for you is like playing roulette with all the barrels loaded. having feelings for you is like having amnesia, waking up every day unable to remember why there’s a hole in my chest. having feelings for you was like finding out there’s no milk after i had already poured a bowl of cereal. having feelings for you is like drowning without the water. having feelings for you is like being locked in the dark while getting told to “look on the bright side”. having feelings for you is like knowing what a funeral feels like without ever going to one. having feelings for you was like being reminded of the first time i ever accidentally let go of a ballon as a child. having feelings for you is like unconsciously reaching to put my arm around a dead lover in my bed while asleep. having feelings for you was like spending years next to a hospital bed where you were in a coma you chose to stay asleep in.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated ********* here they put ***** into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?"
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number.
Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all.
Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes.
The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.
5.5k
I fill the void with hunger,
I fill the void with getting lost with people by my side who’s faces i recognize
but who’s souls i do not know.
i fill the void with you.
i fill the void with you because even though i know that we do not fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces that i wish we could be
at least
i’m not
alone.
i fill the void with consumption
i fill the void with cigarettes
i fill the void with inhale after inhale
until my belly is full with the heaviest of thoughts
and my nightmares circle around and around my skull until they come to rest exactly where you always said that i had that golden crown,
the one that i could never see.
i fill the void with madness
i fill the void with pointless anger,
seeping from my throat and drowning my tongue
tasting bitter like a rotten lemon
but the bitterness is better than tasting nothing at all
and it sticks to my chapped lips like an old friend.
i fill the void with endless calculations
meticulously measuring my emptiness clinging onto my insides
with a measuring stick
and even though i measure with repetitive precision,
it never measures up to my own highest standards
and I fill the void by hurling insults at your face
and even after you’ve closed the door, like a poignant period finally occurring at the end of a infinite infinite run on sentence.
i continue to spit, spit fiery slurs that in reality fall more like water droplets that ultimately accumulate mid air
and last a little while,
but never outlast the darkness that is fiercely stuck to the soles of my shoes.
And I breathe it back in
and I breathe it back in
just to feel a little bit more full.
I fill the void with a look of contentment that i plaster on my face because
i
i
can feel when you are looking
i fill the void with confidence
i fill the void with courage
i fill the void by carrying fear across my chest and over my shoulder like i’m going into battle and never
coming
back.
i fill the void with the hope that i can hope hard enough to fill myself up again
but no matter how much i fill
i can feel my insides draining
faster than a bottomless kitchen sink.
and regardless of how hard i clasp my hands against the gaping hole where i used to gently hold a relentless summer,
i can feel that the coldest winter has begun to replace it.
and i can almost still feel its warmth
just like I used to when i used to..
when you used to say you could feel it too.
my frigid fingers lock around my neck as i finally release that empty feeling that buries my deepest desires
and i feel my wild beating beating heart finally submitting to resolve.
and i realize
that i can never be full.
I realize
that I will never be full.
And so i float away
like an abandoned ballon
just like my mother said the others did
and when i join them there
they remind me that at least i’m not alone.
and they tell me that perhaps in the end
the point
was not to be full anyway.
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC
fly with me.
i would do anything.
build a plane,
rent a jet,
buy a hot air ballon;
maybe even drink a nasty *** red bull.
sprout wings, and fly.
with you.
forever.
i would do anything.
Feb 20, 2010
Feb 20, 2010 at 7:34 PM UTC
i feel shy,
i feel my toes curl
and my muscles tighten
stomach flutters like an engine
heart speeds up before take off
i strap my mind in before it floats
it would get stuck in the clouds
love, as a gas would be light
lighter than helium it flies
with the combined effort
my heart and stomach
lift off the ground
a hot air ballon
filled with love
| |
| |
lit alight by you
we slowly flyaway
sharing our small
hot air ballon
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:26 AM UTC
To be a pirate the things I,d see,
the high waves as the ship goes
up and down, down and up on
the sea. Arrr I feel sick over the
side I will mostly be.
Swab the decks so they be as
clean asthey can be, **** this
boat of wood the splinters I be
getting, I be needing tweezers
and me mummy.
I want treasure, I want to bury
it where no one can see, I,ve done
this many times but I keep forgetting
as I have a poor memory.
I want to be a pirate, the things
I would see, but I want to put my
flag on themast a smiling skull it
would be.
I,m not a normal pirate as they
seem to say, I be to nice, and
I,m not very good at sea As I,m
always over the side giving the
fish food that comes out of my tummy.
I,m a pirate all can see, I dont
have a sword as I always be cutting
my tummy, I dont think I,m cut out
for this life upon the high sea.
I think ill do kids parties with my
ballon sword, no more cuts for me just
out of breath, as it keeps popping in me.
My choclate coins I must remember
are not to buried or to eat, there for
the children arrr no choclate for pirate me.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
Roses are red,
Communism is also red,
Crimson like the tide,
Prickly like a pear,
Salty like lakes in Utah,
Fair like a figure skating judge during the 1998 Winter Olympics
Communism is like a warm Winter's breeze,
Like an honest politician,
Like a benign amputation,
Like a decently priced cup of coffee,
Good in theory, but seldom attained
Goodnight moon,
Hello baboon,
Farewell ballon,
I am the bafoon,
Is it too soon,
to lampoon,
to swoon,
to cocoon?
Let us fly,
high in the sky,
with some guy,
and just say bye,
to the tired old eye,
of my.
O'SIGH
Mormons are people,
Sew r da Jews,
Wat Hath we rot?
Too Soon?
Whitman
Shelley
Keats
Poe
Dickinson
Angelou
Eminem
Those giants of yesteryear
Praise be to the deity,
Of the ethereal plane,
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
candles of fire and flare
balloons float high in the air
their way of showing me
they finally care
the end of the rainbow
my soul now knows
the end is like the ballon
I've seen where it goes
doves fly peacefully
protectively on my side
I lay asleep
Eyes wide
I dance and giggle
as people cry and wiggle
life was complicated
death was simple
violas laid on my grave
tombstone reads:
no longer a sinner
no longer satan's slave
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
One inane cyst on the heel of this once beautiful planet,
Us parasitic worms slowly deflate our ballon of necessity; oblivious to the destruction.
In our absence this terrible moth could cacoon and metamorphose
Into a wonderful creature, and return to how it once was.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
Mine drukne indvolde afskyr deres beholder.
Gennem nervebanen sendes stødende gnister af had.
Hvor vil de overbevise og kalder på den sødmede gift
hvor vil de have dens spreden af koma lignende afkom.
Først ubehagen,
så oppustet smerte der brister som en ballon
og brændsel med selvantændelige kræfter.
Den springer og opkast omsluger horisonten
af mennesker,
klipper,
udviskede farver.
Ujævne striber af rød er udfyldte billeder
der drypper en anelse ro på mine øjne,
det leder
det fører
ind gennem nervebanens flod.
To mørke eller fire
i hvert fald én
gør døsig
gør modig
gør opgivenhed
udholdenhed.
De dage der kommer er vel taget imod
i skrigen og styrke og tomhedens sod.
Selskrevne ord fordamper salt.
Efterladt,
afsluttet,
genfortalt
i latterlige evig kedsomhed
der udfylder fyldte *** af bevidsthed
hvor pladsmanglens rod eliminerer sig selv.
Usammenhængende lort skaber lyrik
gør intet som helst
og findes for ingenting.
Jeg læner tilbage og betragter et snitteværk
en udhugget skulptur.
Stærke farver vender tilbage i kindrødt
gennem abstrakt maleri
og så rammer svien af blomster og fryd
på eksperimenter af målrettet kunst.
Skammende lys i hvid og i sort.
Nøgterne syner synes skarpe for blikket
og lukker en port.
Brosten for brosten lægges på ny
og en fejl af en vej af smil og meditativ.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
I clutched tight to the string of A red ballonIt clung to my hair, making it stick straight upA red ballonI drew a picture onA red ballonThen let the air out ofA red ballonI watched the drawing shrink on A red ballonAnd listened to the air coming out ofA red ballonI bounced and kept in the airA red ballonI went outside withA red ballonThe wind got faster, and blew awayA red ballonIt flew into the skyA red ballonUntil there was nothing left of A red ballonPlease tell me if you findA red ballon
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 4:23 PM UTC
I am excited for your adventures,
But I fear I'm more excited
Than you are anymore.
We used to have fun,
Laughing and being silly,
Now it's hard to send a text
Without asking, "Really?!"
I want to knock some sense into your head,
I want you to know he isn't that great,
That you act differently now
And all because of some stupid date.
You may think I'm just jealous
But there is no reason to be,
I can be myself around my beau,
You won't and everyone else can see.
We played TMNT in college,
Our imaginations took control,
And now they can't because we're older.
Our lives now seem pretty dull.
I'll explain further,
If that's what you want.
Remember making ballon animals
instead of reading Kant?
Or maybe you'll remember
Our crazy delofting crew.
We tore down beds
For people we barely knew.
We used to do things on a whim,
But had responsibilities too,
You used to care abou your grades,
Now I question if you do.
We both survived college
And you had an awesome G.P.A.
Then he came along and well,
you ****** it all away.
Now it's all about drinking
And trying to be that girl.
We used to make fun of them,
The ones who had to wear pearls.
Now if you want to go this route,
Let me buy you some Uggs and a North Face.
Because no friend of mine would change
for a guy or to fit into a new place.
Don't get me wrong,
I want you to do well.
I just hope you don't settle for him
Because you aren't yourself.
He's a nice guy and I can tell he cares,
But until my friend's personality can return,
I won't like you two as a couple,
And I pray you'll eventually learn.
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
She wore her red shoes to Romeos funeral
and misssed the stale smell of his cheap cologne
and that his lips had always tasted of whiskey
she picked up a card and some flowers and a strange ballon
for $29 and some spare change from the drug store
on Kentucky Ave. where someone had stolen
her favorite alligator purse
somewhere in the distance a train pulling box cars
whistled to the magpies with their wings spread up above
just hanging there like kites
and she wore a pretty blue gun strapped to her thigh
right over where he had left his teeth marks on the forth of July
the one he had given her on the Valentine's day
he had spent in jail for attempting to rob the jewelry store
for the necklace she had wanted for Christmas
the December before
the same Christmas all he could give her
was his favorite skull and crossbones ring
tied around the broken piano string
he had once tried to wear as a tie
they had meet the night he stole her record player
and she had happened to be on the wrong side of the road
as he made his way from the scene of the crime
completely unaware she would steal his heart
before he would see another sunrise
but that was all before he took a bullet to the chest
after avenging his brother that was left to die
without his knife
they had found his body in the theater
with his shoes full of blood and a smile on his face
and she knew as his body was lowered
into the cold cold ground her new favorite color was going
to be blue come next Valentine's day
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
writing for non-recognition
“It was exhilarating to get the chance to be useful, which is always an issue for a writer.”
Garrison Keillor
a hundred readings, so flattering,
the heart tickled, nicely fluttering,
then one day it is a thousand,
and the crushing soul flattening
has set a new higher,
a low base needs an achieving
in every thing
**** writing for recognition,
need a few thousand, ten will fill the bill,
now
to consider myself ok average,
which shhh,
I know I am
now have to choose each word
with great daring caring,
worthy of the great writer
whose devotees demand,
offer a simple choice, want want
pleasured ooh ah's of perfection or
face sacrifice
on the poetry altar
of the Feed Me Seymour plant of
being ignored to a
vegetative death
**** writing for recognition,
you want my I-curse,
steal my purse,
reach in, take my cigarette styx,
exhale a **** poem
**** writing for recognition,
please don't read my hand crafted,
diamond cutter designed,
succulent crap
go away, don't like me, and for god's sake
don't dare love me,
that's a killer,
then my busted ballon ego can't be taped
back together again by Humpty Dumpty's men
after this will never revisit the prior past,
that will not - shall not exist
one anonymous poet
spilling with unfazed unglued fluency
disregarding what pleases,
writing spilling that which surged
that electrify
my soul
and then never
to them return
**** writing for recognition,
no more subbing
no more sinning
no more using
just me using me
up
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
I went to the ocean today
It was warm and muggy, I longed for the spray
We drove the short distance to park
Then took our time to look for the shark
With a towel, surf board and shades
It does not take much to make the most of the place
I picked up a straw on the way to the shore
I thought of the moments of pleasure it gave just before
So many at the beach this time of year
So many enjoy plastic cups filled with cheer
My feet hit the sand, it’s warmth filled my soul
The sound of the gulls filled my head as they soared
Pink beach towel spread out, I positioned myself
Watched as children laughed and played for their health
When my skin became hot I decided to go
Into the surf crashing to and fro
First steps are tentative, the braver I become
As the warm ocean laps around my tum
Seaweed strands wrap round my legs with
Burst ballon strings and single use bags
Bird feathers are scattered and head for the sea shore
I dive beneath waves through bubbles am born once more
As people we live the way we want
We must incorporate our waste in agreement
Otherwise we have no luxuries you see
No straws to make our fizzy drinks quite so fizzy
No lids to hold our mommas milky coffee
No plastic bags to carry our goods from the shop so cocky
So embrace the ocean and all that lies within
But do it now before it’s turned into one mega bin
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 4:09 AM UTC
i saw my face in a photo from the year before this one
and it stopped me dead
i saw the naivety the fears of cancer the longing the entanglement the
hot air ballon dreams
the high school mindset the veganism the tension in my shoulders the thoughts stored in my cheeks like a squirrels nuts
the loss the drowning the infallible belief that we all deserve better the stubborn Irish blood the streaks of summer the
waiting
i took a photo today of my face
and all i see is the
honesty
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 11:13 AM UTC
At the peak of midnight
sequined eyes peek
wide awake,
soaking up the leak of light
pouring from darkness.
I am drunk and high
as a kite stuck in a tree
a red ballon touching palms
with the clouds;
Ive done too many shots of moonshine,
drank way too many stars.
I am lit.
Extremely intoxicated.
The houseparty upstairs is live.
I can hear it through the wall
and like a pendulum I two step,
solo dancing to the music,
the rhythm of crickets;
intrusive thoughts in my head.
Welcome to insomnia,
the club that never closes,
the city that never sleeps.
Where the mind just keeps
wandering into wonderment,
drunk on belief,
****** on a dream.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
i remember going to sizzler
with my mom and my 2 brothers
and some random guy and lady---
all at the table.
and she'd load up the tray with dinosaur nuggets
and cabbage
and parsely
and split pea soup
and swirly icecream
of which you could fill a bucket and
only get a light scolding from the waitress with her 4 freckles.
i'd eat that stuff,
and there'd be faint music and clinking
and dishes breaking
and children laughing and crying
and burps from old people
and farting
from overzealous husbands
who would proclaim flatulance as being a sign of
gratitude for one's meal in
China
if you've ever heard.
and the carpet would be drenched in animal ****
and the air
thick will fillaments
and greasy dust--
and my eyes would water,
and the memories
would be a haze,
but it was always rather pleasant.
and the best part was the red ballon with the 'S' logo.
and it'd pop usually upon arriving home after you sit on it or something like that---
Then many years later
i went back with a friend
and his dad who happened to be pretty drunk
and we were listening to Lennon's "Wheels Go By''
and the waiter
was younger and better looking and had less disdain--
and i just got chocolate icecream.
but there were no swirls.
the swirles were long gone.
dead even.
dead .
and then i flicked my ciggarette into an immaculate ashtray
and a few ladies
talked about the lunch specials.
and my stomach gurgled
and we went
to ihop instead.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 12:30 AM UTC
Floating from moment
to moment,
the red balloon
travels through and past
every phase of life,
never staying long
in one spot.
It was made for this
purpose;
to fly and soar
in the atmosphere,
wandering, observing
and wildly free.
At times, it longs
for an anchor
to hold onto for a while
and be still.
It knows no other way.
Always alone,
even in the midst of
others of its kind.
The red ballon
endures its long
journey alone,
plagued by its
difference and
uniqueness.
Ever unknowable
and misunderstood;
an enigma for the ages,
full of mystery
and longing.
It floats along,
collecting memories
and stories,
often dreaming of
finding anchor,
of reaching peace
and discovering
its true home.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights 22 May 15
Friday
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
When I think of you,
My Mind detaches my Heart from my Body.
It floats alone.
It teeters to the rhythm of the words you say.
It nests itself in the warmth between my legs,
When you say "I'm still hurt".
It elevates and rolls in front of me,
As if powered by hot air.
But it easily deflates like helium balloons,
To the point where it sits empty on the floor,
With its legs straight out in front,
Cracking its toes and rolling its ankles in confusion.
Sometimes my Heart stands on tip toes,
Reaches with fingertips extended,
Waiving at my Body,
Pleading for me to put it back in its place.
But my Mind pays no mind to its advances.
My Mind's ulterior motive is to divorce my heart,
To separate entirely.
To be completely distant entities.
They were once lovers,
Who've now found comfort in each other's pain.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 1:10 PM UTC
You know what they say when someone's in your dream.
They say if someone's in your dreams they they say either you have feelings for that person.
Or You could be just think about me before you go to sleep.
In this dream i said "i feel like you're a ballon and i'm a little kid who is jumping to get you.
And you keep slipping away.
You told me well keep holding on and you'll get me.
I'm very insecure when it comes to you.
You ask me why I get jealous.
Of course I'm to shy to give you an answer.
But the real answer is....
I don't want any other female to catch your attention.
I don't want any other women to get closer to you than I am.
I woke up this morning asking myself what did my dream mean?
Is it telling me to stay or let go?
Do you want me to stay or go?
I barely know you but I'm fascinated be everything you do.
I love the way you hide everything from me.
But i hate that about you also.
I guess this is a sign.
Lets see if one day you'll be mine.
e.s
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
at your own pace you fill yourself up with good thoughts, a gradual build leading to a much fuller space
Your unique essence being released into the world
And as you feel the returned good vibrations of those you touch on your journey, you become aware of what filling yourself does for others but also for you
A high of all highs with views you never knew existed
Flowing with life and it's exciting twists and turns
You appreciate just where you are and how far you have come
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
Like a well oiled engine, my heart whirrs in pleasure at your sight
Found a biker boy and rode into the sunset
I'm a ship honey. Take me from my harbor
A sailor caught my helm and sailed into the horizon
Are you a black hole? Because you **** me in.
The physicist sat me on his lap and we got lost in space
Are you Messi ? Because I'm a Ballon d'or.
Shots were fired. Goals were scored. And they ruled the field together.
I have reached the top tier of Maslow's needs.
After extensive psychoanalysis, we found our counselors in each other.
If you're a rebuttal point, I'll always have you covered.
She and the debater found their grey patch amidst the black and white.
I'll make you a sandwich if you are male, white and a misogynist.
She found love with the racist and waited on him hand and foot.
I'll draw your heart with HB pencils and make an acrylic out of our relationship.
The artist found her bluetiful and incRedible.
I'm a South Indian who loves dosa, an uneducated Bihari, the patanjali promoting Hindu, the Muslim terrorist, the Christian converter, the Russian spy, the fake Chinese, the blond cheerleader, the ladyless female football player, the classy British, the poor illiterate, the fat American, the mannerless slum dweller, the conservative Indian woman, the dumb **** the unromantic geek, the bald science teacher, the old librarian, the charisma less nerd......
Stereotype found it's soulmate and lived happily ever after.
I fall in love with words. Ink is my blood. Emotions and thoughts are my food.
The poet smirked and said," Haha! Nice try."
~Pacific Wolf
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:06 PM UTC
Welcome home,
My soul gently seeps into my body
Filling this hollow existence
Like helium to a ballon,
Honestly,
go
you
I’m letting
sorry for
For if I could know
I would of kept you away from the heat
As you would snow.
Now you’re back I’ll let you flow
For now you’re the reason I never gave up hope.
God is great, welcome home
You magnificent, amazing, beautiful soul.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 1:00 PM UTC
Marcus,
I left a message on your answering machine
but you have yet to respond. It's been
two weeks, perhaps more. I lost count.
At the moment, the streaks have accelerated
and multiplied. They resemble an arial view of
cyclists competing in the Tour de France; they're
like multitudes of ***** pennies vying for that one
eternal slot.
Hey, man. At least I tried. I'm drained of all that
is sacred. The me you knew as a child, is still that
innocent figure left standing by the door. Except
this time, he's not coming back anymore.
I guess you could say I'm finally free.
How silly it is to depend on such modern
machinery. Man has come this far just to end up abandoned.
And yet man is constantly searching for a self to wrap up
in a tidy little package; to display for the entire world to see.
I thought I'd drop by, in the form
of random sequences; this present motion
is like a ballon being released from it's
needy little string. The desire was always
following me around, but now
I'm fathoms deep in the sky;
Drowning happily.
Marcus, if you find the time
to put aside the nuclear children
and wife. Please call back,
so we can have that man to man
talk you promised for so
many years.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC