"benched" poems
zelle ma belle
(zelle is an interbank system for sending cash in an instant to someone else’s bank account)
sent her an unexpected $250,
at 4:00am, of course,
a check-plus for her life,
because she revel reviews her day at school,
as special person day, teaches them well, and
anointed, appointed unsolicited confirmation by them
“as part of our family”
how they crave her body, her touch, at scary movie parts,
her kitchens diner size menu,
her refusal to ever disappoint,
her candy drawer supreme,
her crayon color visions which they execute,
her zen sense of their moods,
and for me,
for calling them without hesitation
my grandchildren
indeed more here hers than mine
she asks me why the $$ and poet doesn’t lie
but thinks quick at 7:30 am while bed prone,
“you won Nana of the Day award”
the only (grandparent) on the floor with two kids in her lap,
for the magic show,
all the rest,
benched, chattingly adultry things
she thinks on it and says
“ok, I accept!”
p.s. also, I have yet to inform her of the (my) elimination of a
crystal champagne flute while doing my manly cleanup from Friday night lights dinner pink champagne celebrating
le weekend’s arrival
olp
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
I had Joe Willie from jump. The Jets were off the chain
Baltimore benched Johnny U cause he knew the game. And played it too.
The AFL was full of bells and whistles.Speed kills
Three yards and a cloud of dust. Get real coach. We shootin rockets to da moon. High tops . Cmon pops.
Change the guard.
Them people ain't done nothing to me said Ali.
Da Nang ain't my thang. He was the greatest. Still is.
The Haight was great. Oh yeah Kent STATE.
1968. Open the gate to the house of the rising sun.
Joplin. And Jimmy. Marvin and Tammy.
The Doors and Hair. ****** in the air
What rhymes with Agent Orange...... Nothing.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
I get the crust and the gristle of a thistle once a missile shooting out into the sky and I cry, wonder why. Never sure what I feel for the meal of a deal and then words more like air slip the breeze in my hair, butterflies in the skies killing what kept my alive. Oh too bad, well how sad, if the songs last lines din't matter it'd harm, it'd make the soul so very mad. Here I fall, there I stand like a robot dancing to the tunes. It's demand. Hear I laugh, hear I cry. I hear the screams and feel the burn, so why? Why unsure, of what's telling me my life is so impure. Threatened heart, from the strings that wrap it, tearing it apart. Feel the clench of a bundle of what you yourself have drench and so benched. And you threw to me the horror show, I never so have thought would reckon me to be. I, to be, it's master and it's longing family, here I cry. Hear "I" cry. For I exist in heart, but never, not in mind. There I stand once again as a memory of all that I pretend. If I tried, to be real, the pieces fall apart inside. So I hide, then I quiver and I shake as 'me' is inside. I can touch to the shelter covered in the unbelieving, underachieving to be who I know I am to be. Or at least what you see. I crush the old me and start anew, though I grew. I, immortal to myself have stomped the true. And I become something greater than simple little shrew. Do not lie! For I see with one eye, the look through me. What you see is a host, not the ghost, that lives on. "Awh, look at me. I'm so strong!" Laugh along. Child there. Where? Oops, forgot to care. Now I stare, towards the end that's never ending like this script. Never ending. Twist and bending. Don't kid me, I'm no kid. I'm the body of a youth, but I am dead. I've destroyed myself, if others didn't do a perfect job. Hold up stop! I'm letting go, a bubble that will pop. It will burst, destroying me, if it doesn't **** me first. Here I stand. Hear I cry. There I go. I have died.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
Black blueberries buttoned by *****
Black blueberries buttoned by *****
This wasn't yours to loose
Nothing was yours to loose
Black blueberries backed by bench men
Bench men that sit on side lines
Thinking
When will the golden moment be
To break through; proving themselves
Worthy of the benched boxes they be in
Everyday
Because
They believe in benevolence
Black blueberries busting through my *****
Black blueberries busting through my *****
Better than bullets
Better than bullets
Better than bombs and turrets
Better than ballistic knifes and skillets
And arsenals of ignorance bettered with bills
Bills I pay to ensure my life is ready to die
Is it a matter of our collective thoughts?
Those black blueberries are buried
And not because I am becoming a black blueberry I say this
But because life begins with black blueberries
Who all turn into nothing but pale *****
All conformed
Not to natural laws
But to the cognitive bacterial infection
Called education
Turning us to blue blueberries
Blue blueberries
And grand building bannered with ********
Black blueberries are bored
Black blueberries are right
Black blueberries are always right…
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
so it begins when it begins
blasé grass serrates
past herds of carabao dreaming anxiously
of the day's toil;
the countryman stilts through
mounted in gray mountain
with dippers, casserole, mirrors
with imprints of ******** clad women
and women who are (really ******** clad) ready for bathing work,
collections of red days and even
tenderly the ***** sing attenuated songs of rooming-houses —
the crunch of basil over the afternoon.
waft of a pasture's death my eyes well
up rivers and ponds of elation. dog days, feral nights limp behind rusted
kennels and makeshift asylums
there is nothing left of the world
(this small world
that only rises when bellows
of festivities harangue the many streets
bending in them, the curve)
men moving from neck to neck
of bottles — (in the north there
is only four corners of bottle: gin,
pristine brook; in the Visayas is
the redolent Vino Kulafu of the same
potency) plucked out of the vermilion
and on benched careening on half-painted gates crooning Sinatra
gets stabbed, bloodied on the floor,
named after elegies; native chicken held
upside down and beheaded as many blacker days stifled; what do you make
out of this?
carabaos, equines, hens line up
the slaughterhouse behind the
TODA; you know a fine day when
it happens — breaking eggs
against the lip of the kaldero. crumbled
archaic sensurround, barrage of
simmer round the clock cycling
before the child wakes and wails to suckle
our mothers, faster than repose
of milbrightlions of stars falling asleep
to silent radios, leaving windows
open revisited by the eve of cold.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
11am
today i was sluggish
I ran a 6:45 mile
Beat my mile time
Benched 235
New max on bench
Almost have an eight pack
And somewhat feel unhappy
I've adjusted
My body is a temple
That society and culture busted
Warped by mocking of blemishes and dimples
Six pack well built
I fall in that circle
Mal nourished till I tilt
Collapses when i turn purple
Guided by past achievements
Visions of success
To forget what belief meant
Gain mass the more you digest
Calories, Carbs, and proteins
Vitamins, liquid, and BCAA's
Work hard
Workout harder
Appreciate where you were like other would if they are you
We are all victims turned into the very perpetrator we rejected
Look in the mirror
Change or accept
Fight or conform
Satisfy pleasure or live in comfort
To be honest
I haven't felt a reason to be happy
I appreciate when times are good
But I'm still not happy
And i refuse to ruin someone's day
Or hid my emptiness behind a smile
And until I find what I am looking for
Tomorrow at 9am
I'll be at the gym
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
I searched for a feeling that made me feel like a million
Went to hell and back sometimes had to be a chameleon
But when my time to feel it I was rocky road ready
When I saw your hidden treasure i knew dinner was hot and ready
So I step into the abyss deep in your ocean for that buried treasure
When i cracked open your box i found ecstasy and pleasure
My land was ready for you to drop the bomb on it
Had my soldiers ready all protected just in case of crooked mission
You wanted me to Iraq you and sneak up from behind
But I'm cautious so what I give you is hard to find
My friends said I was fraternizing with the enemy
But when your soldier is at attention with a dime piece ain't **** you can say to me
I cooked you dinner while your dessert on the menu
The funny is to me you used to cold like with the flu ha chu
Finger itching finger licking for a taste of that bubble yum
soon as you let me enter it became on and popping like some bubble gum
If you the enemy i surrender my flag to you
what you got is boss no suit and tie but loyal
moscato had me feeling like i hit the lotto
especially when you spread it like butter and show me what you used to ride my bike like Throttle
I'm going all in i hope my soldiers don't shoot quick
I hope she nasty and her intentions is to meet my kids
Round 4 still at war on that kitchen floor
Round 5 we park benched to the subway doors
i love your sweet nectar your bee hive has stung bee
No poison venom just love uncontrollably
I’m deep in your treasure giving you techniques to remember
My Love and Head Games will keep you saying"Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?"
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
his fist clenched
his mind benched
her eyes black
her jaw slack
and bleeding
her blood red
him out of his head
the child hiding,
crying....inside dying
violence never asks
never is the answer
for the victims
it is slow death
for society a cancer
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
Though
Their bodies are benched on Church Street,
Their minds are capable
Of startling flight,
Time travel,
Trans Universe travel,
Invisible train travel
They take the blue line -
"All aboard for Valhalla, Inferno, Acadia, Hades,
Bliss, Abandon, Elysium, Pandemonia ..."
They sway clutching the overhead strap,
Eyes glazed, rheumy, vacant, or fiendishly happy,
Transfixed by the scenic whir that no one can see
But them.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 4:10 PM UTC
Press play:
Sensitivity has a dilution
A crutch of pollution
Pull up your sleeves
Sign here; it's nothing
Delighted by gumption
Anger to please
I'm spending and speaking
Skipping while speeding
A life that is mine
Plural me is fine
Zebra in the room
Taste of a perfume
Dandruff nearby
Unlatched or able
Benched and be tabled
Ignore the zoom
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 3:49 AM UTC
Ricardo KAKA is not just a soccer player. He is the sun shinning on the soccer field. When he smiles it fills everyone up with an enormous sense of joy. When he gets benched, it's like an avalanche after an earthquake just destroyed every building. But when he scores even the opponents' stadium has to clap. When he plays is the conducter of the syphany. Some say "Bend it like Beckam." but I say "Ball up like Kaka."
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
As far as I know you are still there
Sitting
Waiting for a peace that will never arrive
Waiting for me
You patiently sink
Away into the splintered wood beneath you
Softly your lips brush your fingertips
A breath with the power of a butterfly
The claws of steam grasping the clouds
Floating far above
You
Blindsided by guilt
A murky puddle of fate surrounds your boots
Tendrils of anger escape through flared nostrils
Still
Sitting
Waiting
For a man that will never arrive
Wind is flowing past your hair like a stream
As fragile as the china in your shop
And I suppose
I am the bull now
Tearing through your armour as if it was tissue
You sit still
Waiting
for a love that will never arrive
Waiting
for a peace that will never find you
Waiting
for a woman that will never come
Waiting
silently
for me
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
I was wandering
like the others when
Music!
rang out over our heads,
The Fiddler was benched
in the square--
with an instrument
strung: beautiful red
strings.
They were quivering
like tendons,
The Fiddler plucked
music from them,
from us--
Strangers danced about,
silly at first
and then slower
confused and close--
I remember the spinning,
the blind Fiddler grinning,
the red strings singing
their promises to us,
I was dancing
like the others
and in all of our loneliness
we danced our feet raw
to the tune
of The Fiddler's jig:
A Call To Threadbare Hearts
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
We're squeezed in a topsy-turvy
Screw-ball world;
What's upside is down,
What's inside is out;
Your smile's a frown,
Your whisper's a shout,
And the flim-flam man
Just pitched a curve.
We're headed to second
After rounding third,
And first is stolen;
This game's absurd.
So, I gather up my bat and ball,
I've read the writing on the wall,
I've turned, running for home.
We've been tagged on bad calls.
We were safe, but now we're out,
Exiled, banished, conflicted, confused,
There's nothing good on the news.
The umps and refs have all been turned,
We've been benched,
We've been spurned.
Behind me,
Someone calls out,
Play Ball;
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
Just below the surface of the clouds above the jets sits every passenger waiting to live in a fury of turbulence, the time i smile most. I’ve been benched like a burnt out class b wide receiver waiting for some stories from the stars out tonite in rural michigan. The clouds solemnly swear under oath to bury the hatchet convoluted in a he said/cumulonimbus said argument that i’ve been trying to break up since i’d been daydreaming about her on a quilt. A spare tire by the treeline. A spare, tired heart in a beat up way. beating. it beats.
If you ask the willful, they don’t always reply right away when you’re out here. In a subconscious picnic of memories hog-tied in wicker. I’m waiting for nobody that knows I’m here to appear over a hill running like little house on the prairie to apologize for no reason. The world doesn’t owe me anything, but debt is wheat, easily swayed. One minute, I don’t know it very well. Easily swayed to anchors.
Anchors my love, anchors.
And dirt.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
I’ve not been feeling too clever
I’m under the weather
head in the clouds
for crying out loud
a catchphrase of cliches
this purple haze
was man-made
not in China
from a ******
I tried to squeeze
into my genes
I guess my but
is too big
can you ever forgive?
- this interruption
the language corruption
just trying to do my best
been studying for life’s test
my final exam
gone ham
and turkey
I like to do it *****
feel the soil between my toes
plant my feet and watch me grow
I am a giant
of egoic proportions
my stoic abortions
killing ideas before they’re born
feel free to yawn
go take a break
I will be right back
for goodness sake
you need a nap
your poetry has become absurd
we used to hang on your every word
now this sloth has found a new tree
yet still, it’s a sin for me to sleep
maybe I should try gluttony
and see what else I can add to this cacophony
am I even still making sense?
- or do I need to be benched
I’ve taken more shots at goal
then I care to remember
still keep missing the hole
despite having a mentor
I meant her
she was my teacher
she taught me time waits for no man
yet here I am
still head in the clouds
she wouldn’t be proud
but then I’m not too clever
I’m just under the weather.
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 7:26 PM UTC
Selfish fluidity smells
Of silence on the tip
Of our tongues when it comes to
Parting ways
We are so young now
Weather blows outside
Of our window as the thoughts
Of penetrating experience come
At us like the sideways rain
We were so young then
Telling one another
That these places were
Meant only for us and that
The food tastes so fine as does
The wine
Solely and only for us
We acted so young then
And in the heat of our sheets
Our bodies sweat from deception
Intentions benched loyal to
A creation we stumbled upon;
Like gold in a miner's pan
We fought so much then
Nothing will make the difference now
We have gone too far down the road
Clothing spread out like bodies of the dead
Snow fallen on the hills with the trees
Naked in the winter wind
We never danced so much then
Levels of breaking points
Weary tired bodies of bent joints
Eyes keen on seeing every difference
Too much too little and not enough
A story with an ending like
All the rest
We tried so hard then
A new person in the day
Lively energetic caring generous
Lo' the next day comes to be filled with
Malice destruction chaos and disdain
Two sides to every coin
Two sides to every man
Two sides to everything
We were far apart but
Together then
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 3:22 AM UTC
I'm meeting this girl
For the first time today
I don't know if I was 'benched'
Well, what can I say!
.
I looked out the window
For the first time today
It's the same old cityskape
But the weather has changed!
.
I had this epiphany
For the first time today
The world just goes by
Nothing's ever there to stay
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 10:23 AM UTC
You were with me.
That was true.
It happened; do not deny it.
Don't deny. Don't forget.
Leave it be. Don't touch it.
Put it on a shelf; stand next to it; and then staple yourself to the floor.
Forever in that moment is where you belong.
I can move on. You can not. You are not Allowed to.
I can scan; you can not. The field is mine. You are Benched.
This double standard is ripping us apart.
Or maybe, we're already torn.
No, we've been torn since we started.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
Im know it seems cliche , but i love to be beside her, even in side her, but lately it seems like a cold gravity pulling me into a hopeless struggle to know if im deemed worthy in her eyes.
Can I be? Is this a short time thing?
all I have is time but wasting it is not an option.
I don't wanna be that piece, only needed when in the sheets always hyped in the beginning then lost, empty when leaving.
its like I know what I am, and I keep on being it,
nothing but a piece never to puzzle or be completed.
am I just pathetic? Cause **** i sure regret it. I just can't accept it, I put up, then shut up, and just take bein basic.
I'm pourin my confession, baby I need acceptance, I feel lost in transgressions , over thinkin I need re insurance of my position.
leave back all the negativity, I wanna focus on the humanity.
make me more than just a man to see,
and make me your man.
I wanna understand I wanna feel you.
give you advice help you grow, I want you to want the need too.
you say the spark is gone but it takes two to make a fire.
I wanna burn you up with desire, cause I'm hos down with just tired.
I get it, I'm just your pillow. A thing for head rest.
I confess I enjoyed at first, but its light on, and I'm heading out.
heard you playin the field, thought I would been first pick at least. But fears forget it now.
sheesh, I'm benched, and too see how it plays out with other and not me, is a pain i refuse to audience, .good bye, I'm better off not alone, and see lies rather then sleep on them
by linguist musician
aka Emmanuel hernandez
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 1:35 AM UTC
Does true pain really go away, or does it get benched till another episode kicks in.
Jun 27, 2021
Jun 27, 2021 at 9:19 PM UTC
When I was a child, I was told to be good,
We were never the most amazing children forward from conception.
We tried to please. Compliments were scarce, but not unnoticed.
In my disengaging years, I was clever enough in school to pass (all but one or two usually did). I'm into life-long learning. I didn't get to grade two because I was seven.
It was never suggested that I might be the smartest, most prodigious brain in school, any school in any district in North America. No one framed my finger paintings and straw art.
I was okay in sports. Most sports. Never got a Participants' Ribbon. Make the team or get cut. Pass the ball or get benched. My parents never knew the coach's name, usually didn't know where the game was played. Do something else. Practice. Oh, and the medals, trophies and team pictures are lots of fun.
And, you will handle them every so often, and remember...
Later, I found out I wasn't ugly. I've my share of blemishes, but there are plenty of kisses and dates out there to go around. Trust me.
I wasn't described as David, recently stepped off his dais, or, the heartbreak of thousands, the man you want to be in the mirror. Actually, we all look much like yourself... the same.
No one told us to be clever with money. That, if it existed, belonged to my parents. I didn't get any. I did take out some garbage cans for two old girls on Tuesdays, for fifteen cents. Ask Boomers about their jobs. There's lots of stories about earning money.
We belonged to the Age of Entitlement. Grew and matured expecting a good education, a fair wage for a fair job, a planet to live on with some intermitent world peace.
You are entitled to the same, Dear Millenials.
The same way. It works wonders.
And don't tell anyone (especially your kids) they're ******* Royalty.
We know how Majesty ends.
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC
I laugh into the face of doubt and questioning
As they dare to knock upon my door
As I know all the reasons
They have come here for
Thinking to put what I do in reserve
Doubt thinks I'll give an inch
Dust your shoes off and take a walk
Doubt you've been benched
Questioning I have no use for you
Here in this heart of mine
This that I believe in can't be touched
No power here you'll find
Both of you get back on your path
One that leads elsewhere
I have no need for either of you
You're not welcome here
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 5:05 AM UTC
All magic disappears
When the truth settles in
I dreamt of something fleeting
But forgot it shattered a long time ago.
I can see it in your gray eyes that we are not the same,
You have heavier steps, darker shadows, a sadder smile,
While I am benched on the sidelines, a few years too late,
And a billion lightyears away.
Oct 12, 2024
Oct 12, 2024 at 8:34 AM UTC