"bandwagon" poems
I have never met my future self, but
I bet she still has dreams. I bet she won't
hold them in a plastic bag or treat them like some
concealed weapon.
My future self-wont be a childless human since
I have already birth galaxies of my own.
She will probably never be a vegan but will think that cantaloupe and olives will go great together.
(She will have a sense of humor.)
I don't know my future self, but I do
know she will still be half human and half
star and her DNA will still be all angelic.
She will most likely still be her own bandwagon.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
We perpetuate heartbreak culture,
teaching girls the man who holds her loves her despite the bruises,
or it was her fault; she looked older.
We fetishes shoulders,
prize youth from the young in return for pre-chewed gum,
swallowing down the same tired ideals from those who still wield them like flags,
waving their patriotism on poles of bone before a throne of medieval ********
They chant mantras with beer stained breath about how 'our' country 'bested' the rest,
but what about the brutality?
The blood split on foreign soil in return for prehistoric oil?
Our land is deemed pure so long as the violence on our hands never reaches our shores,
but the ocean is red and staining our sands.
How can you have pride in a country who's sole identity is based off having the worlds largest navy?
Congratulations. You bombed your way through countless continents, collecting cultures to gather dust on pedestals and alters
We sin on Sundays, drink till we're ****** then wave at the seven deadly's (they don't apply to us here).
We teach preschoolers nationalism before they can walk,
indoctrinate our children before they can talk.
George killed the dragon.
Hood gave to the poor.
we all jumped on the bandwagon before we realised the princess had no choice and the rich still ruled.
There was no voice in the tale for those whose wail could be ignored.
What about those without lines in the script?
Those kicked to the curb, then kicked from it?
Our pavements have no room for nonconformists,
they're tailored to for same mind, same mindless wanderer,
squandering on the lasted polyesters even though that mouth on the street hasn't eaten in over a week.
'God save the Queen' from the vermin;
the homeless have been tossed out of the trash.
Why help them when you could save your cash by turning a blind?
After all, out of sight, out of mind.
Welcome to England, we hope you like what you find
Because we’re not changing it.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
Oh my word, I remember
every little part of that weekend,
right down to the three-piece outfit
I had purchased at Bloomingdale's
the evening previous.
You know, ya hear stories
left and right about people
winning tickets to this n' that,
but ya never imagine actually
being the nineteenth caller!
When I revealed the occasion
this baby blue ensemble would
be worn in, the cute little saleslady
paused, looked up, and said,
"Why bother seeing him anymore?"
And I tell ya, there's plenty
other, less Christian yearly
Graceland attendants who woulda
flipped their lids had they heard
such malarkey!
Still, I just couldn't deny it.
She had a bit of a point.
This was mid-70s Elvis,
mid-50s Elvis' drunk uncle.
He had gone from Rolling Stone
to National Enquirer in nothing
flat, it seemed.
So all I could muster was
an understanding smile, because
she couldn't help but join the
bandwagon, especially when his
gut got larger and the rumors
became more outrageous.
Still, their loss!
I say that to this day,
because what Little Miss Shopgirl
and the legions of non-believers
did not think to consider
was the charm in "has been" Elvis.
A week before this legendary
concert experience, I had been
forced by circumstance to purchase
my very first pair of bifocals!
It was also around the time,
I'm sure, Harry left me.
So, the main event, I'm there,
third row from the main stage,
seeing Elvis for the first time
since our crazed youthful years-
a bedazzled jumpsuit walks on stage,
and I'm on my feet before I know it!
There was a little less swivel in his
hips. He looked a little tired, too,
all those years of singing do that.
How did it feel, then, to see the King
make his way across a cheap fog
machine, mutton chops and
love handles galore?
It felt like two lifelong friends
growing old, losing all those
frivolous people together-
"Are You Lonesome Tonight"
was still asked with the same
dreamy passion in 1973.
I've still got the handkerchief
he threw to me that night,
**** near lost it when I
caught the thing.
It's blue with polka dots,
ya wanna take a gander?
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 5:21 AM UTC
I was in an art museum once.
I saw a black and white picture hanging on the wall.
It was of a potato. Nothing else. Just a potato.
I was angry at first. I had just meandered through an exhibit of miniature houses that must have taken hundreds of hours to complete and a crazy amount of attention to detail.
This person took a picture of a potato.
I thought of what my hipster friends would say.
“It’s isn’t just a potato. It’s so much more. It’s art. It probably stands for famine or the Depression or a childhood friend...”
No. It is a picture of a potato.
I thought I would jump on the bandwagon.
So here is my poem:
Potato.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 6:33 PM UTC
Volatile vehicle vicarious voice
charting course on changing choice
guilty of your glancing guess
life of listening, liking less
stretched by the stripping strings
waiting with wasted wings
fueled by their falling fears
protected by prospective peers
This is about people that really don't have much of a personality or voice, until a bandwagon comes along that they can jump on.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC
Let me apologize to begin with
For the way I have to say this to you
Instant and digital with the flawless
12 point form in a unison moment
All these words flow like lies from a child
And flawed, a 1984 Brave New World
Jacked in and online, I swear to God
Microsoft is a virus in my veins and the
Side-effects leave me nauseated and yet
Comforted with the connection I feel
With everyone under this epidemic
And Mac is a twisted strain of my particular
Insanity. Glossy and chic in my pocket, on the go,
Steve Jobs is the ancestor of Doctor Wily
Making *** some bandwagon that needs jumping
Like SkyNet will make me safer, I’ve heard it before
I wish this paper was yellow and crackling
With the orange firelight it was written under
On a sofa, pipe in hand, with the Raven tapping
Melodramatic to the point of genius
Rather then the cliché that emotion has somehow become
And abbreviations become acronyms and symbols
Who has killed the fair maiden of language?
Beautifully laid and strung, pearls upon my page
Folded into my pockets and on the margins of reality
Like a child unwilling to wait to show his parents
The words escape and flee and I panic, pen trembling
Mind to tongue to hand and nerves in the ink
Like meter and scheme trying to restrain this infinite
Strand of DNA that is the flawless combinations of letters
And letters! Curved like a woman tempting and pleasing
To round my pen and finding sanity in the corners and points
Or the cursive dribble of calligraphic art practiced endlessly
By the scholars, monks, orphans, or even the X of a slave
Bearing his mark, leaving himself branded on the page
But I most apologize, I will get carried away
And that is not the way Times New Romans likes it
Mar 15, 2011
Mar 15, 2011 at 7:23 PM UTC
Roller coaster...
it propels you to the zenith of ecstasy
to hurl you surlily to the pits of agony.
It mocks your senses,
turns your sensibilities upside down,
pounds your heart to panic bewilderment.
It dishevels your tranquillity,
shoves you to a hysteric frenzy,
pushes you into the dark world of insanity.
Still, we cherish the thrill of its madness,
outwit each other
to jump on the bandwagon
that takes us to the holes of delusion!
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
I get lost in...
Hidden ideas and deeper meanings to what I'm feeling.
Looking for something real to believe in.
Over-thinking usto...start me drinking...
But I kicked that ***** to the curb and built myself a bandwagon.
That **** was poison, see...
I had to let myself help me.
Now when I close my eyes...
All I can hear is the...
Rattle-rattle-click, rattle-rattle-click...
The sound of round rotations, rolling over bricks.
Measured like a metronome...
Water droplets echo as they drip.
But if freedom is defined by the thoughts in my own my mind, then I'm frozen in the timeframe of tomorrow, never-yesteryear.
And I'm still a revolutionary, I expect the best in Here(point to heart).
And by that, I mean exempt from holding contempt for another mass of energy.
Another open ear.
Another open mind.
Another heavenly body.
Another mystical meteor shower.
Another alien species placed on this planet by a "higher power".
But who am I to point fingers?
To point out flaws.
To point out fraudulence.
To pinpoint the factors that built your facade.
To pick through your red brick fictons of how you think I should be perceiving god.
See...I get lost.
In a magic land...
With a tragic hand.
A tear in time and space...
A human definition of race...
One we so often judge with a 2 sided face.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 12:19 AM UTC
The city's shrouded in smoke today
smoke coats my mouth, throat & eyes
& I know, I know.
I should be writing in form,
in rhyme - villanelles, sonnets, terza rima
some say there's too much free verse, some say, it's like
everyone's jumped on the bandwagon
yet the most of the magazines still all want rhyme
but sometimes this is just the tune
your heart sings, a broken smile
& the way the images build up
waiting to sail like ships in the harbor
& besides, should we really be writing in villanelles when we are the Mad & I see now, the best minds of our generation, the gifted,
the naked wastrels of the coming apocalypse,
talking to lamp posts, screaming of Ginsberg's Moloch
& the wrongs they did us, yet not destroyed even as we scream locked
behind whitewashed walls in razor-blade glint & halogenic
glow of ECT or walk the empty streets at guerilla dawn
& dusk, bearing the ample weight of our drugged-up minds
like those martyrs of the old Soviet Union & clinging
on to memoirs of our stolen, interrupted, spiritual awakening,
searching for the redemption of litter in this hobo life,
changing countries like some change bed sheets,
others rooted by the invisible chains of familiarity & home, still calling
for the road, oh Kerouac, the fallen angels of tomorrow strung out on sweet
childhood memories & jazz in starved sunsets,
picking themselves up to pick at their scab wounds,
spitting at corrupt governments, bitter with alcohol,
writing poems of unrequited love to poets
far better than us, while Elvis croons
in the background & a Baboushka spits sunflower seeds
in the Russian town of my ancestors
& an open air film plays in black & white
& this colorless summer is nearly over
& they still haven't lifted their sanctions
them with their stone gods of war & psychiatry,
always lining up the next undesirables :
you could be next, yes you with the rainbow eyes
you the believer, you the dreamer of visions
Oh pity them, the children of smoke,
blind to the vagabond, the poet, the lover
lost children always seeking out the same roads
the city is shrouded in smoke
& I wonder if it's not always been there
& if we're living amongst blind men
ones that never read poems
or else how could all this happen
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
This is better than that
Abhor change, as always
Why not this?
It has been like this
Change seems a tough choice
Why make choices, yourself?
When choices are ****** on us
Let’s not talk
Lest someone objects
Maintain silence
Easier way to live
Why right the wrongs?
When we can’t spot the differences
Go with the flow
Join the bandwagon
Let’s maintain the status quo
We choose
What others have chosen for us
We do not differ
For we my stand out from the crowd
See, it’s a status quo
You fail to visualize
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
with all this chuggin' ***** on a caboose,
i'm gonna trip
the alarm system, get in trouble
for my accident, become a siren
and get wrong, rubberneckin' attention.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
**I refuse.
Driven waves by steady feet.
Metamorphic Rock soldier,
shaped by the wind,
but I am still here.
Evolution they fear;
I am my own.
My beaded drum,
I created its sound,
And so will move to
Its beat.
The Headed Index,
The Poisoned Voice;
The demons I
Have conquered.
They cannot understand it;
They cannot withstand it.
A force they cannot fathom,
Is a force they must destroy.
But I refuse.
Overcrowded BandWagon,
A Party of Four.
Tales of tails that fear their own
Direction.
I refuse.**
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 9:34 AM UTC
one thousand and one percent of the time
i'm tapped out of rhythm and straining to rhyme
i make up impossible stories and wish they were mine
and since they aren't, sometimes, i think i'd rather die
than live in a world where second class citizens are people who
are more connected to their emotions than me and you
who can't love who they love and instead have to lie
to get a good job or a role in society
we act like being who you are is actually a crime, you see,
you must be the norm for your family to be proud
there isn't a place here for people who're loud
you've got to jump on the bandwagon and be part of the crowd
there are no OPINIONS if you're not rich, male or white
called bossy or cruel when you have a bit of a bite
it's wrong apologizing for our daughters when on the playground they rule
beg pardon for her inherited superior leadership tool
because we may not realize that this is a good thing,
we've become ignorant of stereotypes, they've been ingrained into our brains
and the sad part is, no matter how much time passes,
they are almost sure to remain,
for our sakes and our childrens', society needs to CHANGE.
OKAY HERE'S PART TWO BUT IT'S NOT DONE SO.... optional (i would write more of this but i gave up, never going to be finished basically and it's really bad and I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT)
thank god the media is finally beginning to see our ways as strange
yet we still indirectly promote [anorexia, bulimia], shove it down each other's throats
advertising is a thing we cannot afford to misquote,
we may see the greedy product givers but our children do not,
our girls and our boys, they are sneakily taught
that you cannot be content, cannot be happy on your own,
they need to do what others do, you must buy this to be good,
there is no way in this world that you ever could,
be empowered, successful and handsome at once, you must have perfect skin
and a nice weave to match,
your own hair is _______, in public it falls flat
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
Come aboard tamed sheep.
Let us ride the bandwagon
Towards the high cliff!
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
Being Modest
So you think you know me,
but you don't have a **** clue,
I'll chop you up and put me in my stew.
You stupid selfish son of a *****
the things I can do never have a glitch.
I always have the perfect plan,
I'm the side kick and the front man.
You only know a little of a portion,
of my minds total distortion.
I come and go as I please,
if you ever meet me, get on your knees.
Whatever I write, you always read,
if you don't, I'll make you bleed.
Trust me, you haven't seen my best,
wont be discovered, til I'm laid to rest.
Never doing what I'm told,
more contagious than the common cold.
You all wish you could be like me,
to all the locks, I have the key.
I don't run, I don't hide,
things I've done, you always let slide.
I'm a god, I'm a king and a genius,
I have more followers than the evil Jesus.
You all wish you had my talent,
but I'm sure your efforts are very gallant.
Don't mean to be so conceited,
but being awesome deserves to be repeated.
I can move mountains, and walk on water,
with each day, I get more hotter.
If you try and slow me down,
your white underwear will turn brown.
If you soon don't jump on my bandwagon,
I'll burn you more than a fearless dragon.
I can heal people with a single touch,
maybe I think of myself to much.
Well maybe I do, what do you care,
all my secrets, I will never share.
I have an ego, I can't control,
long ago I sold the devil my soul.
If what I'm writing is to offending,
this is how my poem will be ending.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
i have been trying to do some spring cleaning,
like brushing out the cobwebs in my head,
but i always get stuck in the intricate silk and the thought
that i could be something.
i could be.
with each particle, i spin a new letter that fills a
good part of my curriculum -
the ABC's of love and Compasses 101 and
intro to new culture,
just so i can prove that i'm well rounded,
like the tip of my tongue,
like the merry-go rounds,
and the pupils behind my eyelids.
i know there was always a glint of worry
radiating from my mother's
half moon smile,
daring that i won't make it.
she never wanted to curse me,
so she spoke of opposites -
opposites attract (but we both know that isn't true.)
but this isn't about her,
this is about the days and nights i gritted
the enamel off of my molars to
pull myself off the bandwagon,
i've never really been into Natural Light beer,
(some call it Nattie Light),
or the fact that not being focused is what
i should be focused on.
this is about the one night stands with
Microsoft Word and my book of notes completed
with equations i knew i could never understand.
this is about the the day
i found
i could be the person
i never thought
i would be.
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 9:01 PM UTC
I have started writing a book. My ghost writing of songs hasn't picked up yet, so i have decided to jump on the zombie bandwagon. My book will not just be about zombies, but real life, with hidden metaphors and a more down to earth tone for a zombie book. Lol. It will also have some poetic type parts, with poems of hope and heartbreak. Hope it works. Please read the short sample included, and give me feedback. Thanks!
4:01 am
Will I ever sleep at night again? It's getting harder and harder to sleep in daylight too...The tunnel diggers, and the screaming of the "others". They are getting smarter and stronger. When I seen that zombie using a shovel, I nearly **** my pants. I mean, what's next? Guns? Knives? All i have now is this shack, my sanity (I think), and them. I have to protect them. She hardly even knows that I am here, but I feel like it's my duty to protect her, and her two little ones. The little boy is about nine or ten i'd say. The little girl is four and the splitting image of her mother. I have watched them for so long that I have grown attached to them. I feel like part of the family. If only they knew that. I must never tell...
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
My mistress in agony,
my beauty brewed in ashes,
I dine with the facetious and on the families in fashion,
come hop the bandwagon and land on fields growing glasses and a jugular covered in gashes will heal a life full of laughs and a death void of sadness,
I plead with you boys like a judge pleads friendly gabble dances,
like a judge gives phony gabble rants and rants plead deadly drive by flashes.
authority is the hoaxes in which the joker laughs and a televised revolution is the perfect gas,
we will all die in the end,
in agony some may add,
in misery some may brag,
and in infamy like flies drop dead bloated on good trash,
eat up children it's more than just a fad.
-fa5v_O
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
Have no fear, Have no fear
Fetch your Rifle!
‘You’re a soldier son – shed no Tear’
Intoxicated, Zombified – we must fight!
No matter where, How or When
Regardless if it were Day or Night
But, why must one man fight another
And for what cause?
And Why must one slay his own brother
Without a hesitant pause.
Tis it for country? Tis it for Pride?
Answer me!
Tis it a Bandwagon one must just Ride
At Night I wake to cries of Pain.
To those thunderous claps.
Slowly but surely I’ll go insane.
But for what cause? One always asks
Did we lose humanity
Under Gas Masks
If one does not fear,
then one simply lies.
For without such fear
One simply dies.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
Say something unintelligent
Be remembered for fifteen minutes
Your words are nothing
"High art" is what you call it
She calls it blasphemy
Yow know it is true
What she lacks in words
She speaks with actions of TOLERANCE
She lies
That is not tolerant
Just a mere bandwagon appeal
Hop on if you dare
She speaks the truth
Even if SHE goes against it
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 8:42 PM UTC
"Uuh, dude, your Hubris is showing.
Watch your fuckin' tongue, man.
It's cool to express yourself,
but now you're just being a ****
Hold thy beloved charientisms,
thy ****** knives in velvet sleeves:
You don't exactly seem to understand
the true power of those Words
you propagate so 'knowingly,'
as if a monkey with his own ****
but, if you do realize what you say:
you're a ******* *******
Well, which are you:
a tactless, spiteful,
foolish hypocrite,
or
an affectatious egoist
of a hypocrite?
I'd wager
an unhealthy balance
that it's both.
I've seen it for years.
You assume a lot
for how little you know.
You step on other people's sentences
with a mastered matter-of-fact tone
regardless of how true
those facts you spew
even ******* are.
There you go again,
borrowing other people's ****
without expressed consent
nor explicit intention to return;
we have a word for that, I think.
Either your behavior and morality
totally adapt to your surroundings,
and/or you're a ******* Hypocrite Fool.
Either way,
you cannot be trusted
once a back is turned.
Honestly,
if I had to guess,
I'd be hard-pressed to give you
the benefit of the doubt
by assuming the level
of consideration required
for maliciousness.
You just want all of your stuff for you,
and all of everyone else's for you, too,
and the crux is
you'll feign being pleasant
just until you get it,
then you come out of your ******* cocoon
and get all high and mighty, entitled, and condescending.
Last one on the bandwagon,
first one to throw a stone;
you're a real fuckin' winner!
All you tend to do
every time I chill with you
is berate others- oh, I meant "advise" others,
who may well be better off than you,
for having many problems
which you either could not understand,
or with which you find yourself,
you ******* Fool.
Every time I wonder
if I've become too indignant
as a direct result of your antics,
you remove my self-doubt
and reaffirm my reservations
by eating all my ******* cheese
or talking **** on my friends
behind the back of whoever it is
who has their back turned at the moment.
When will you learn?
When will you mature?
I guess nothing changes
if we tolerate **** in our faces.
Tread lightly, Elephant,
for you tread 'pon thin-ass ice."
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
planning
The other day Anna created a Pinterest board of wedding ideas (Cheesy, she knows). “It’s time to hop on the bandwagon,” she said. She insists every other girl she’s aware of - except her weird Yale roommates - has one.
We think her girls back home (in Oregon) - who didn’t go to college, are matching up with the Larrys and Gregs who stayed home to become auto mechanics and carpenters - and are now serially getting married. This trend seems to be exerting an odd, psychological pressure on Anna.
“You may be jumping the gun,” Sophie observes.
Anna’s never even had a long-term boyfriend before, but she wishes she had one now. A part time BF anyway, because who has time for more? Anna is self-proclaimed awkward with guys, especially cute ones.
She created a tinder account and uses it to see how many matches she can get - but she refuses to meet any guys there because she says she’s not “desperate.” She thinks everything about tinder screams awkward, unless people are just hooking up there - and that idea, in her mind, is absolutely disgusting.
saving the planet
Late last Friday night, a graduate friend of Peter’s threw a party at his house - far from campus. The house was packed with people and the music was thumping, the crowded rooms jumping - practically ******* - in time to a Sacramento horror punk band called “The cramps" that was playing on loop.
I made it through the living room mob to the kitchen, which was oddly empty and well lit. There was a disheveled girl gripping the island bar with one hand, like we’re on a rocking ship, while trying to light a cigarette with the other. I gently wangled the lighter from her - so she didn’t set her hair on fire - and gave her a light.
Afterwards, I slipped the lighter into her skirt pocket, and noticed half the island had coke spilled all over it. “I gave it a drink,” she said, slurring and wavering on her feet, “it looked thirsty.”
That’s when I noticed her now-empty *** and coke cup next to a soaking wet little cactus plant, two ice cubes now lodged in its dirt. I reassured her as I helped her onto a chair, “you were saving the planet.”
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 3:42 PM UTC
Manicured lawns, sculpted shrubbery dot the landscape,
Indifferent drivers of cars going to or coming from an escape,
Hydro parallel lines almost invisible but a contrary shape.
This is where life happens,
but don't get on the bandwagon,
for big city life, from inside the fence,
short walks to and from work, less tense,
d
e
s
t
r
e
s
s
if I had vehicular commutes,
a one hour sentence that pollutes,
if I lived further away,
I would be an employment cliche.
My ear buds on,
my music in,
I hear what I
want, on my
travels, where
the music opens,
the landscapes,
of my imagination,
manicured not,
indifferent not,
every workday in
every way is
a new and
exciting adventure.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
Please, let us be
The bringers of Light
Under one banner
Of those befallen of night
Though the way may be blinded
Locked by our fear
Our apprehension telling us “Please, do not go”
And suffer more comfort full of past woe.
Bringers of light,
What you have will pass
And change being the only
Thing to last.
So love it, know it
And advocate change
Since the in vogue attitude
IS to keep it all the same.
Never suffice, oh,
Bringers of Light, all of you,
With things as they are.
Yes, you go, necks out for change,
Change everything, since there is
Need for change,
And change that change
So the change is changing
And every changing change changed
Is best
Don’t settle (so change!)
For what’s better than change
But change, changer, and changest.
So raise high your banner
And herald in the change!
But before we step first,
We pause for mantra
“It seems so stupid
To risk your life for a cause.”
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC