"bandana" poems
The fox
runs alongside the astronaut,
who looks at a picture frame.
Around the fox’s neck, a white bandana.
There, on the spooky
moon, his only company is the fox colored aluminum.
The aluminum
fur of the fox
blends into the moonscape. The ship is empty aside from them and the spooky
remanence of the rest of the crew. As the lone astronaut
works to return home, his only comfort being the bandana
and the picture frame.
The frame
that holds a photo of a woman, standing before the ship of aluminum.
Tied around her hair, the bandana
which has since been given to the fox.
The memories it brings ever haunting the astronaut
making the moon ever more spooky.
The spooky
feeling is not eased by the frame
as the remains of passed astronauts
are trapped in this aluminum
ship, the lone survivors being the man and the fox.
He keeps his thoughts on the bandana.
Her bandana,
given to him on a dark and spooky
day, which he then gave to the fox
so he may pretend the woman in the frame
isn’t millions of miles away from them. A fox of aluminum
and a lonely astronaut.
The astronaut
chooses to focus on returning to the woman without her bandana.
He works tirelessly to get the aluminum
rocket ship off the spooky
and desolate moon, and back to earth, to see the woman in the frame.
By his side on this barren rock, looking up at him, stands the fox.
The astronaut refuses to let the spooky
atmosphere deter him from his goal of returning the bandana to the woman in the frame,
ever thankful for the company of the aluminum fox.
Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 11:03 AM UTC
In the annals of New York City
An amazing hero is acclaimed,
Known as "The man in the red bandana"
Welles Remy Crowther was his name.
Born in Nineteen seventy seven,
This New Yorker, born and bred,
Could have escaped death's destruction,
But chose to rescue folks instead.
All his life he cared for people,
Loved his family, kept them dear,
But on that day of 9/11
His higher purpose became clear.
An Honor Student, Lacrosse player,
Former fire fighter, too,
When explosions rocked the building,
Welles knew what he must do.
Rescuing with calm authority,
Directing people toward the doors,
He found a woman so disabled
He carried her to the 61st floor.
In the end, before death took him,
Twelve people were brought out, saved.
No one knows where Welles is buried
In his 9/11 grave.
Later, when his mother told
Of the red bandana Welles had,
The survivors saw his picture,
And knew Welles was the brave lad.
Only 26 years old,
Welles Crowther manned up in strife,
That young man is New York's hero...
... for twelve gave HIS VERY LIFE.
Soul Survivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 11, 2014
13th anniversary of 9/11
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
Her greatest fear was
going color blind,
invoking domino effect,
she embraced rainbow colors-
whenever a chance she found.
Now, she walks at the front
as if she is the official bearer of colors
in our frenzied blueberry hunt,
up in the high ranges of Western Ghat's
tropical rain forests.
Our nostrils are special,
"colors we see, make us madly sing"
chants rend the air when-
fragrance of ***** blooms wafted in the air.
"Just like the smell when python opens mouth"
said a voice, to the uninitiated,
"Quit white, paint everything coal black,
or is it the other way round?"
"This place is magical can't make a choice"
"Look! I found a serious irregular lake down there"
"I didn't realize I was walking in rounds, around a closed mall"
"White light is a cheat, pixie laid us is in the village green"
"Y'll fall down"
"Green was what i asked for
got thick,red, gooey mud"
"Why panic?"
"Hey meet Mr.Yellow smile,
kiss him a pretty, magenta
***** thought, good night"
"I've a deep blue psyche,
in nightmares I see ***** whales"
"Wounded bleeding heart,
she was nursed back to health
it beats me,
she limped back to her old green monster"
"Hear that distant drums?
brick red monster of the woods
mating with a black cat"
"A ritual of the tribes?
is it meant as a crude joke?"
Sitting under a tree shade,
I hear for the first time in my life,
a white ant's dark wintry song,
lilting, it spoke about the life
as the queen ant's *** slave.
**"Hey love this ***** magical feat,
anything is possible,
how reality takes a beat"
**** it, three times over,
on the bank of the river, then in water.."**
"Blue grass, blue grass
sing all the way up to the mountain pass,
where ***** plants grow thick like ***** thoughts,
a nightingale in funky dress
singing ***** songs and regale all"
"That lush lass, her hair tied with a red bandana
is a smart *** **** her"
Someone screams in delight,
evening spreads a magical light,
more laughter, catcalls,
the sassy chick just LOL
Pass..pass
A big headstrong hornbill, surveying the scene,
gives a mating call
the hillside reverberates with its sound.
(C) K.Balachandran
[email protected]
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 7:19 AM UTC
Remember how I'd smoke after school
outside your classroom window
watching you pack up your briefcase,
pulling your arms through your blazer sleeves?
Four cigarettes in a ring
between my thumb and fingertips,
an "okay" sign.
You preferred jean dresses with the hips cut out,
knee-high fishnet socks,
my hair wrapped curiously in bandana red
with my eyes outlined in black.
I stole condoms and Twinkies,
brought them to your apartment
after you'd call to unwrap me
like penny candy
on the mattress in the middle of your floor,
each tear in synch with the teeth
of your zipper releasing.
A green wrapper
and an empty trash can
next to my book bag.
You licked your fingers
after the last bite.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
On love and astral travelling,
Through the stars we're wandering,
On the universe we're pondering,
My eternal love, Napoleon,
Intangible man, but full of fun,
Our jewelled cloak of stars,
We've journeyed from afar,
Shape shifting, glittering,
On love and astral travelling,
I'm no Carlos Santana,
I have no scarlet bandana,
I am the oestrogen,
Old Josephine,
Where haven't we been?
I have no testosterone,
You're my "Yes, master!" Napoleon---
On love and astral travelling,
Sentimentally wandering,
Are you Angelus or Incubus?
Reminiscing, reflecting,
Comical groupies for loving,
On love and astral travelling......
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
This is a Bleeping Bopping Boo.
Bleeping Bopping Boo lives on the biggest bandana in Boston.
Bleeping Bopping Boo eats big black butterflies, blankets, blue bananas and bears.
Bleeping Bopping Boo likes beating up babies, belly dancing, bouncing on buffalo's back and abducting bananas.
Bleeping Bopping Boo breaks into buffalo bodies, blame babies for bad stuff, and blabber all day.
Bleeping Bopping Boo banged my back against a box. Oy the Bleeping Bopping Boo./Users/mlackritz/Desktop/Screen shot 2012-05-22 at 3.22.47 PM.png
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
i saw a gypsy traveller in a caravan
bandana and some earrings a funny looking man
he said he would read my fortune
if i stepped inside read into my future and what it had to hide
he looked in to my palm to see what it might hold
then began to read this is what he told
told me i would meet someone that i never knew
that i would find a loved one then one heart would be two
said i would settle down with a family
happiness and love there would always be
then i met a stranger while walking home that night
who i fell in love with the gypsy he was right
we settled down together and raised a family
the gypsy knew my future and told it all to me
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
Some people see the potential in you
And some don't
Many who see it are jealous
And want to destroy it or steal it for themselves
Even though they can't have it
Because it's not meant for them
Some people have nothing financial or
Little material things to give you
But they got your back for real no matter what
They put their time, energy, respect and faith in you
Because they love you and see the greatness in you
Before you even knew you had self-worth
Or while you were at rock bottom
And some are just faking the funk
Pretending like they like/love you
They’ve been acting like something that they’re not for so long
That they no longer care about knowing who they really are
That fake smile never changes like the joker from Batman
Just leave those people alone and let that stuff be about them
I don't believe in a having a big homie
I Trust in a God, or a mentor
And I don’t care about proving
How black I am, how hood I am, or how tough I am
By sagging my pants, wearing a red or blue bandana on my head, hands, or in my back pocket
I don’t want to carry a gun, knife or
Talk trash when I know I can’t back up what I say, to protect myself
I know what it’s like to run away from your pain, guilt and loneliness
By covering it up with hate, *** relationships, **** hanging out gangbangers and having a bad attitude
That’s in my past and I hated that person
Now I’m about appreciating life and staying true to myself
A professor once said in my philosophy class
I don’t care if people think I am a good or bad person
Because people are always
Changing their opinions
Based on how they feel or what they’re going through
I once saw this quote in a movie
A Bronx Tale “There is nothing worse than wasted talent”
Don’t waste your time on things that aren’t important to your life.
By Shannon Pollard
© Fall 2013
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
I miss the holy ghost of her smile.
The silhouette of her head in the night
on my pillow. Her beauty alight.
She was rain on my fever. Rain
through my window. An innuendo
of heavenly morning light. Heart heavy
as the moon on its way to Montana
wearing my blue bandana.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
No trains in this town
Not the passenger kind, anyhow
Unless you are a hobo
Riding the rail
Singing clickety-clack, clickety-clack
Dreaming of a girl
A pint of Beam
A lost dog named Woof
wearing a red bandana
Warm nights
Sunshine
Sweet Georgia.
r ~ 5/25/14
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Inside,
you sleep on the floor.
Empty beer bottles
stain the edges of a
wooden coffee table.
Parking tickets
sit on the ironing board
that blocks the door.
Outside,
you smoke a cig,
tie a flag into a bandana
and snapchat yourself
tripping on route 66
because L.A.
swallowed you at Sunset;
white text quotes
Hunter S. Thompson.
You're so ironic,
but you'll never be him.
So desert your phone
and take a real trip.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
Out my window
the same world
different day, day after day
I want to grab my bolt bag
tie a red bandana
around my sweet mutt's neck
hop a train, act sane
for a change
Georgia's down the tracks a spell
and Birmingham's half-way to hell
New Orleans in September
sounds pretty good
Woof and me
living free
no cares to carry on our backs
singing clickety-clack, clickety-clack.
r ~ 8/13/14
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:07 PM UTC
I feel like a comic strip hobo
With no money for deposit
And still I step from slapstick to cement
and hope court jester is enough here
I have come out of the rain
and into your home
Drawn to you
Though there is no pie in your window
No ghostly fingers of your sweet smell
beckoning me in
You make me feel
Like a ghost in a graveyard
Praying for a new harmonica inhale
and exhale
So that this music can sound more like a dance for two
A panic waltz for feet trying to match your grace
And today
Darlin'
There is honey between my teeth
A sweet sound
Our love is backwards
Blacklisted
An elbow torqued and knuckle gutted dry heave halleluja
Arthur Miller would have written a satire about our love
I remember our early conversations
You said you didn't believe in god
I said that he was a fantastic literary device
You said though you didn't believe in god
that people themselves could be godly
I suddenly wondered what you would look like with a jerry curl
"Let's not call it godly," I said
"What then," you said
I don't know
I just know that
Your eyes are like second winds
like Breathcatch memories
of highway carjackings
where you were the one left on the side of the road
The warm summer pillow of your stomach
And the peel of my face away from it
Is sticky like candy
Your stomach is like candy in that way
So is my face
I can be sweet too
Your smile is speechless
like the speakers are speechless
And the music has stopped
and our bodies are still
save for your smile
That quivers like fire
And I am a comic strip hobo
With a bandana backpack
and not much to offer
But I am drawn to you
You make me feel like harmonica breath
You make my mouth feel like honey
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
That American bandana in my closet?
I stole that.
Her mom liked me and let me borrow it for our fourth of July party,
and when we were giving our stuff back I forgot it was in my room.
Then I saw it and decided, this is mine now
I don’t think I’ve worn it since.
In the eyes of the law we call this an “adverse possession”
the intent to own and keep something that isn’t yours.
I know she’d roll her eyes if she saw me putting our relationship into legalese.
That stormtrooper nutcracker?
That was a gift,
a Birthday gift,
an April Birthday gift.
Who the hell gives a Christmas present as a birthday gift?
She did.
I kept it.
And with gifts there is no “consideration”
which to lawyers means a bargain or exchange of promises,
a gift is a “I love you and want you to have this
because I like to make you happy.
But also, if we end I want you to look at this for the rest of your life
and wonder what would have happened
if we could have survived that last fight?”
You don’t get to bargain for that, you get the gift and the grief.
and she gets to know that you’re going to miss her every day.
Sometimes I wonder who the lawyer really is.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Socrates on the Courthouse Lawn in Liberty, Texas
“Strong minds discuss ideas,
average minds discuss events,
weak minds discuss people.”
-attributed to Socrates, but no one knows
Imagine if you will old Socrates
On an old wooden bench on the courthouse lawn
Playing checkers with all the other old men
On an old picnic table throughout the day
He lifts his old straw hat in the leafy shade
With his old bandana he wipes his old bald head
And sagely asks the old questions of us
And through his dialectic dismantles old cant
And that must be why, as the ages pass
They’ve made for him a monument here in the grass
(While passing through Liberty, Texas I saw on the courthouse lawn a marble slab engraved only with “Socrates”.)
Liberty County Courthouse - TexasCourtHouses.com
Liberty, Texas, Bed & Breakfast Hotels (usatoday.com)
Socrates (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 9:25 AM UTC
looking around me, 19 second stop at a red light and already the large, bearded man with the scar on his cheekbone is grumbling, scratching at his bushy mustache and drooping Yankees hat, so faded it could almost be a B for the red sox
there's a young woman, ***** blonde hair cascading down her back, almost gracefully; seemingly too small for the rumbling white pickup truck she sat in, scratched and almost a tint of blue from this angle; one hand at the wheel, one tickling the feet of a giggling newborn at her side, for a second i wondered who the father was-
and over there, a skinny Hispanic boy by the side of the road, walking with threadbare sandals flapping against the hard cement, there's a hopeless look in his eyes-
an old man with a 5-inch long grey beard, almost touching the steering wheel; he's either Asian or he's squinting into the sun, can't really tell from here- wrinkles lining his worn face
a strong-boned Japanese woman, hair in a tight bun driving a Ferrari
a red-haired bespectacled boy, pale as chalk, his face covered with freckles (or was it acne?); couldn't have been older than 17; he looked like a Robert or a Charles, definitely not a Samuel
in front of me, a red Chevy truck with a license plate LUVANN, i wonder if Ann is still with him- i crane my head upwards trying to see the man, all i can glimpse is a blue-and-white bandana-
i wonder who all these people are,
what are their hopes and dreams, do they like ******* jacks? banana splits?
where are they going?
who will miss them when they're gone, or will anyone-
then the light turns green and in a puff of smoke,
like a blur-
they're gone.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 3:12 AM UTC
Bought a painting of Jaden Smith,
now wait before you diss,
give me a second to explain,
there’s a story that goes along with it,
see he had a show in LA,
and of course it was on the 7th,
3rd show of the tour,
and the tour was called Vision,
I hadn’t planned to go,
didn’t even know about the show,
until my brother Alpha told me about it,
and the cards aligned in a row,
see a few days before,
I’d backed my car into a wall,
and I had to take it to East LA,
to get it fixed in other words resolved,
now it just so happened,
that the day I took it to get fixed,
was the same day as Jaden’s show,
now that’s some Cosmicness,
see the show was downtown,
and I usually don’t go east of the 405,
but this time I did to get my car fixed,
and I asked a friend to pick me up because I couldn’t drive,
so she picked me up,
and then my other friend told me of an art show,
at a place called The Brewery,
and man how I love art shows,
so after dropping off the car,
and went to The Brewery,
where I bought some art,
because I like to collect future history,
now the girl that had picked me up,
was having a rough day,
because her brother had died 6 months earlier,
and today was his birthday,
so she had to leave,
and go to the beach,
and I stayed behind,
to let her have some peace,
and as it so happened,
there was another anniversary at a gallery called The Hive,
I told you the cards were in a row,
and of course the stars were aligned,
so I went to the next art gallery,
got a ride there from a beautiful Polish chic,
bought some more art at there as well,
I guess I am what a Collector is,
then it just so happened,
that I was walking distance from Jaden’s show,
so I walked through downtown,
until I arrived at The Novo,
now I didn’t have a ticket,
and the show as sold out,
but I found a side door,
and it opened right up,
I went inside,
and got with the vibes,
man that kid Jaden,
knows how to get the crowd hyped,
during the show,
I kept seeing someone in the front row,
try to hand Jaden a painting,
a painting of himself,
after the show,
I was thrown Jaden’s yellow bandana,
then I exited outside,
and away from the arena,
when I got to the exit,
I saw the kid with the painting,
it had Jaden and Willow’s signature,
and as I said before I collect paintings,
so I bought it right then and there,
blame synchronicities,
so it’s not so much I seek out art,
as art comes to me,
all part of the vision,
of starting the Art Center in New Zealand,
where we can feel safe and socialize,
and remember what it was like when we still had feelings,
and all that I see now,
in this painting I have,
of Jaden Smith,
dressed as Batman,
bought a painting of Jaden Smith,
now wait before you diss,
give me a second to explain,
there’s a story that goes along with it…
∆ LaLux ∆
The new book is 100% FREE here: www.scribd.com/document/388173677
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 6:30 PM UTC
Putting on the rainbow bandana
A sense of pride surged through me
But only for a minute,
Then I walked through the halls,
Wondering who knew the real reason
I was wearing those colors
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
I heard my mojo calling
in the sound of a million crickets,
singing their song in splendid harmony.
Under the smiling moon,
I saw shadows amongst the conifers,
in a place we once called home.
And now all I have
is your handmade dreamcatcher,
a bandana with your fragrance
imbedded in the paisley
& memories of you on me.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
She wore her bandana
like the bikers do
& walked with the aire
of a tiger
& when I looked
down,
I saw
the cutest toes
painted
the deepest rose.
She just looked at me
with a twinkle
& a wry smile
& she sauntered away,
the fragrance of honeysuckle
trailing behind her.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 6:38 AM UTC
I just knew
it was the bandana that did it
& not my rugged-ways.
I take the full blame,
it was not your twinkling eyes,
nor the soft kisses you gave me
up & down
my aching body.
Your lovely pert *******
made no difference
& the way you held
me did not matter,
'cause someday
I just knew,
you might scatter.
The fresh fragrance
of your flawless skin
was of no consequence
& your sweet taste
was no big thrill.
O yes Lil' Darling
I do confess,
you did steal my heart,
you killed me
with your lady-finesse,
but I just knew,
if I could blame it
on my paisley scarf,
it would make it easier
when you left.
Lord knows,
how much
I miss you.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:51 AM UTC
All the good times I've had
happened when
I was wearing a red bandana.
It didn't matter where I was at,
sleepy towns,
ice cream shops,
near rivers or
on even mountaintops,
if I had my handkerchief on,
things were gonna be a-okay.
Love is a beautiful thing,
it's more beautiful
when your sigother
wears her own red bandana,
all through the night,
you can dance on paisley-stars.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
tin cup flowers
and cars slurring by
a broken man touch the earth,
sad bandana wrapt around his hand,
God gives him road.
the dirt believes in what his hand reminds
i feel the moon,
and taste the sky.
you're wind in the washboard,
swallows dipped in silver and *** sweep in and out of-
sparrows sparkling and-
kicking stones to the side.
********* pockets.
i fell off the whole universe just for a moment.
no apologies
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC