"blazers" poems
When I first met you, you took me back to the 70’s,
With anarchy, *** pistols and beer soaked blazers,
****** jeans and pipe dreams and your love for jumping off of tall things
under the impression you could fly,
You spoke to me and I felt the whole weight of my body collapse down,
And to this day I thank my knees for not buckling.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
~
*i have never particularly cared for him or for his style of play. there is a fine line between knowledge of one’s talents and arrogance and i have always thought Kobe walked on the downhill side of that line, when doing so was unnecessary. of course it did not help that a Lakers / Blazers rivalry cost the Blazers at least one NBA Finals berth… most of us are, after all, most likely to gravitate toward our hometown team.
but on seeing this post from Kobe in the Player’s Tribune, i found that i simply must acknowledge the classiness of his retirement penning...
instead of a letter, the guy writes a poem. how can i not embrace this?*
~
BY KOBE BRYANT
LOS ANGELES LAKERS
Dear Basketball,
From the moment
I started rolling my dad’s tube socks
And shooting imaginary
Game-winning shots
In the Great Western Forum
I knew one thing was real:
I fell in love with you.
A love so deep I gave you my all —
From my mind & body
To my spirit & soul.
As a six-year-old boy
Deeply in love with you
I never saw the end of the tunnel.
I only saw myself
Running out of one.
And so I ran.
I ran up and down every court
After every loose ball for you.
You asked for my hustle
I gave you my heart
Because it came with so much more.
I played through the sweat and hurt
Not because challenge called me
But because YOU called me.
I did everything for YOU
Because that’s what you do
When someone makes you feel as
Alive as you’ve made me feel.
You gave a six-year-old boy his Laker dream
And I’ll always love you for it.
But I can’t love you obsessively for much longer.
This season is all I have left to give.
My heart can take the pounding
My mind can handle the grind
But my body knows it’s time to say goodbye.
And that’s OK.
I’m ready to let you go.
I want you to know now
So we both can savor every moment we have left together.
The good and the bad.
We have given each other
All that we have.
And we both know, no matter what I do next
I’ll always be that kid
With the rolled up socks
Garbage can in the corner
:05 seconds on the clock
Ball in my hands.
5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1
Love you always,
Kobe
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Tell me, Gentlemen:
while you soared higher than your fears and dreams could ever reach, into the blue crystal infinity,
did you hear the voices of angels echoing off the wings of geese migrating south for the winter?
how did it feel,
fighting for a nation that measured your worth in disheveled water fountains, mop buckets, dust rags, and potato peelings,
defending stars and stripes stained with the same molten white abhorrence smeared on ******** bombers?
did it hit you like a G force?
when you climbed into that cockpit, audaciously red, the blood rushing to your head, was it bitter hand fulls of cherries sweet?
when you returned home through back doors and alleyways to face an Uncle Sam with burning crosses in his eyes,
when you stood curbside at your own homecoming parade feeling confetti and streamers tickle the bridges of your noses,
tell me how it felt, Gentlemen.
will my brothers and sisters who fight only for tennis shoe wealth, understand the worth of those medals on your scarlet blazers?
if I listen hard enough to those jets breaking the sound barrier will I hear your story?
tell me, Gentlemen,
what was it like to fly?
infinite respects,
Curlie Fries Mcgee
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
Ladies, in thier ballgowns wade,
thier masks they have made,
so they wade across the ballroom floor,
for the sign on the,
Big. Brass. Door,
a masquerade, it reads,
A Masquerade.
The men,
ready in blazers and tuxes,
wearing thier masks,
awaiting thier midnight mistress,
thier...sexy seductress.
Then, the man in black and white,
guides his mistress inder the moonlight,
for a dance, perhaps a kiss,
at the stroke of midnight.
At midnight, the clock sounds,
and all you see is the spinning of gown after gown.
Ding. **** Ding. ****
the sound becomes a beat,
ready and awaiting the eager dancers feet.
Ding. **** Ding. ****
the couples dance, but not for long,
for this...
this is the, Last. Song.
Ding. **** Ding. ****
At the end of this song,
the men and women,
reveal themselves, and at long last,
they shed thier masks.
Then the man in black and white,
grasps his ladies hand, and holds it tight,
then he gets down, on his knee,
and her gasp...
brings an end to this story.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
Single life is sweet
And a lover’s life is a dream
But then there is that
Space in between
That doesn’t seem real
At all.
It’s the fall
From cloud nine
To the loneliest limbo.
It’s watching sparkling sugar coated single earthlings
Below show off their uncommitted free spirited
Confectioner outfitted
Figures and naked fingers
Bubblegum ***** call blazers
And frosted fickle flaked fedoras
Suiting each been-there-done-that suitor
In runway Yong Wild and
Free
And then you see
Above
Airy fairy angels in love
Wearing pale peachy perfection
And creamy chiffon
Adorned in pearly promises
Baby’s breath and fresh roses
French kisses and rubbing noses
And of course
The stupid
Valentine’s Day cards.
But you are far
Away from either world
You are a girl
In silent confinement
Trapped
On Cloud Five nothingness
Like a time bomb
A volatile child
Ready to explode
At any moment
So kept
In icy isolation
So that no one
Could hear the cries
Of your eruption.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:31 PM UTC
Yeah those wild hooligans, those mini hell raisers
What was their motive? to be trail blazers?
They're smoking squares, and sneaking out
Facing alota scares, but never cry a shout
They're simply cool, calm and destructive
Shoutin out obscenities, and being abruptive
Yeah the boys remain true, to themselves and their crew
Simply bein themselves, and askin who are you?
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 2:33 PM UTC
A new thing has happened, a new consensus reached, new wise men crying out in the streets. A message as strange, as it is bold, conveyed to those who are of yet not very old, spreading like fire to those who desire it.
A wisdom that fills the mind with understanding, and the heart with wrath, they no longer desire the common path, a small few among many, the trail blazers rise.
The wise see through the facade, leaving the lies for the fools, and the pawns, they see the existence with no purpose that the masses adore, In ignorance they find peace, in the lack of knowledge they are content.
A lie no different from the last is enough to throw a life away without regret, blindly excepting whatever is presented as a worthy cause.
An absence of knowledge, and a surplus of faith, spiraling towards an unavoidable fate.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
Imagine a single breath,
left alone in a hollow chest.
Grey seeping into white
Color bleeding out like a pen,
Violating the marrow of my bones.
The blue-black of my veins,
Lost against my feathery skin.
The union of so many memories,
Real and imagined.
Black blazers shrouding me,
with prayers and tears.
Convinced in the everlasting,
As much as I was for awakenings,
I close my eyes (and dream).
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 12:24 AM UTC
I haven't really laughed since 2009
He said,
He then divulged his struggles
As I did mine
We spoke of the mutual regret about not keeping in touch
But with conflicting schedules, relocations and studies
It is comprehensible we veered in opposite directions and lost contact
My estranged bestfriend
We reminiscenced about the time when we were school kids
In stiff shirts, massive floppy hats
And giant blazers we practically drowned in
How eager we were to go home
When the siren went off at 3:05pm
The shanenigans at the pavilion
In sixth form
When we were the lords of the academy
A strong grip on my giant mug as if it were the holy grail
Stirring my something that ends with cinno
Huddled in the corner of a cozy eatery
In his company once again
it felt as though I had arrived home where fire burns incessantly in the fire place
On a winter's night
With a soft blanket over my shoulders
We laughed about my truancy
And how he got kicked out of the ruby team on account of his rather lanky physique
He imitated our biology teacher and tears flowed down my cheeks
That kind of laughter
You feel in your core
And your whole body shakes
So captivated by the various discussions
We both forgot to sip on our steaming beverages
He narrated a few short stories about the events
that have taken place since we last conversed
I in turn narrated mine or lack thereof
He emphatically tilted his head to the side
God, I had missed those gestures of his
It all came flooding back
His mannerisms
The way he moves his hands when he speaks as if he is trying to literally hold the conversation
For what seemed like a lifetime Before saying goodbye
Dead-eyed
We stared into each other's eyes
Almost as if to telepathically say
Do you remember the time
When we were so alive.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
So I said to him
"I've got my demons"
Two bit termites that eat me away
'Cause I was never a real girl
--would you look at her nose--
Lying *****
And then he points back
Says look at them skeletons
Hanging from the closet
Among button down shirts and sanctioned blazers
But they're made of plastic
Some cheap bio lab representation of what's meant to be human
NO I scream
And my voice bubbles out like tar
Paving over his cracked ideals
Sealing up the sink hole where I buried my heart
--saving it for a rainy day--
And I slam the door in his face
Hoping it hits the ******* nose he stuck in my business
Hounds are scratching at my door
Whining for a chance
To rip apart the rabbit
That's hiding in my head
I stand up and let them
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
The moralist is playing again,
bleaching your hair
is an unspoken uniform,
with so little soul
acetates don't get played.
New words gets bandied "plebs",
but without the de-rigueur Corduroys
or navy blazers,
we are all be tarred
with the same brush.
Meanwhile the coach exhaust fumes
abnegated our pilgrimage to Stamford
and we all now agree we
lived beyond our means
in exiguous Britain
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
For Rodney, whose light never seizes to shine.
middle fingers up, middle fingers up - put your fists up!
The Black Blazers;
they march and trot over,
the heart of the city.
Like seasoned veterans of war.
Unknowingly striking,
as they would on a gruesome battle field.
Buttoning their starch-pressed white shirts,
at the break of dawn,
like soldiers with bullet proof vests.
With the hope of becoming the hero at work,
even if its just for the day.
Elaborately folding their carvats,
some wonder,
'Do we really need to leave?'
Looking at their love,
in deep slumber with a hint of a smile on their face.
They take one glance at the mirror,
never looking back,
they go off to protect,
they go off to war.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
Cashier’s line, foot tapping, texting, heavy sigh
The steady beep of the checkout
The kid in the baseball cap in front of me
His headphones don’t contain the music
“I don’t wanna be a solider mamma, I don’t wanna die”
The bus whines as the light shifts from yellow to red
A woman coughs, violently choking on years of tar, she looks around anxiously
And rights herself with a casual flick of her cigarette
A couple briefcases walk by, donning blazers and red ties
“Ya gotta be the best if ya wanna make it there. Brilliant! Boom boom boom!”
A woman sits inside a cafe, the spot where people do their people watching
Instead her infant captures her attention, cooing at the pink bundle in the stroller
“Yes you are the cuuutest little thing aren’t you, aren’t you?”
A man flicks his wrist to glimpse the time while he pumps gas
Silent, wanting to be elsewhere, that’s why he’s filling up his tank
A swarm of tourists, each waiting for the others to advance so that they might ****** the prime spot for a photograph
Their voices melt into one excited static
Cars honking at bicyclists and bicyclists yelling at pedestrians who yell at bicyclists
The river flowing quickly beneath my feet planted on the bridge
The Earth alive, rotating beneath the river
The Earth hurtling through the galaxy, through the universe
A passerby scolds me for not moving
Hurrying along
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
i am afraid to see you,
because i am afraid you will covet parts of me
that i have cultivated on my own.
the color yellow,
regina spektor and ukeleles, blazers and old dogs.
pieces of you embedded in me.
yours.
but mine are sunny days, and glittery pop music
the way i drive my green car too fast
and my red lipstick
my habit of singing reckless harmonies
to the songs on the radio
going away to college and dyeing all my hair pink.
mine.
i don't want to see you.
because harmonizing with you means losing something that i found on my own, and leaving my red lipstick on your face--and we both know it will come to that-- will only leave my lips pale and wan and you telling me to slow down means that i will never drive alone again and whether you tell me that i should or should not dye my hair and run away i will do the opposite just to spite you and not for the happiness that is finally mine.
and ********* you do not get to galavant back into my life with your
"Happy birthday! <3"
and your
"I'll be in town this weekend, can I see you?"
and run my life again with your manipulative ********
that i learned to absorb into my bloodstream,
or spit back into your face
because i had to get rid of you
i don't want you to know what my new favorite book is.
or about that one movie that i've watched of my own accord more than once
or the song that makes me cry about the future because these things are mine. I do not belong to you anymore and I will never belong to you again so long as my heart is my own and if i have to give up seeing you forever to make that so, then so be it.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
I was dragged here against my will,
Though these places aren't foreign to me.
The same hollow men with blazers on.
Women in dresses stare at the clock.
This is truly the worst.
Great, one's glaring at me.
Come on, I said "clock." I'm minding my own
"Aren't you going to get me a drink?" she asks.
Was that a question or just a command?
I don't really understand women.
"I think you have the wrong man," I say.
See, I'm trying my hardest to leave alone.
She leans forward, begins to impose.
"What are you, gay?"
Arrogant's not my type.
What do you want me to say?
I watch her hand go for the glass.
She's not aware I've played this game
Too many times before.
So I catch her wrist and turn it back,
and water spills all over her.
A crowd of men pick me up.
The most glorious of strikes to the face
Sending me back to where I belong,
My comfortable couch I ride alone.
If that's the world, I'll just stay home.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
The alcohol that you measure in your graduated cylinder
is not the alcohol you binge drink on the weekends,
is not the alcohol your parents drink out of elegant crystal,
but they all burn.
Burn like the knowledge that knowledge gets you swallowed into the abyss of faceless statistics only to fill up the remaining desks left by those who care too much not to.
Life is too short to worry about why 1, 2, 3 has turned into your abc's while life screams just shut your textbook, please. There's love, and *** and drugs just waiting for you to realize that school rots the brain, not Mary Jane.
But Mary Jane still sits with her nose in a book, knowing life doesn't end when the graduation caps fly up,
up,
up to the top of her class, because money may not buy happiness but without a solid education financial stability is a joke, and it's a matter of time before you crash and burn,
burn like the alcohol in your red solo cup, chugging away the inevitable:
life is wasted by the try-hards and the try-nots.
The geeks and the nerds whose potential is squandered by the system, teaching them how to read rubrics and recite rhymes and reiterate the same ******** spoon-fed to them by those who failed to exceed to the limitations of the textbook.
The hippies, the druggies, the ones who can be found in the dark hallways and back rooms and hugging the outside walls all see the futility in it all. so why not jump out of an airplane without a parachute because each joint only lasts a few puffs, and the high only a few short blinks until you are thrown back down to earth.
High school reveals how you will survive life: in one impetuous bright burst or one prolonged apathetic smolder. But all the blazers and all the late-night homework-doers will have to put out the flame or turn off the light sooner or later.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
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Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
One day we will be dead.
Our daughters will flood
the buildings of power like we
never had the gall or opportunity to afford.
They will bleed on the steps of
civil law and **** along the the stark
black lines of “rules” like pale meat pandering
for sympathy within their own box.
The powder on our faces and the cotton-silk
of our garments will stifle the very licked down,
spit smothered lies they raised us with,
gutting the cage and raising the dead.
What will they do when we amass
like the folds between our legs, bellowing
like the sounds of our *** and forming
in the clean cut lines of blazers and slacks?
Can they get a handle on the heave of our
******* Can they take the pulse of our
wombs? Out, in, out, in, like the very ******
they aided us with.
How many months in a lifetime do we
have to bleed and clean to earn ourselves
the right to humanity?
Our girls will know more than this;
mark my words. Our children will see
the right they were born with.
We will be free, we will be free, we will not
be silent.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
Recircled czars drenched
In the blood of despotic swayers.
Encircled proteges with the
Aura of treacherous thorns
Keeping vigils in the basilica
Of authority
Year in,
Year out .
Selfsame partners in politics,
Selfsame partners in crimes,
Selfsame partners in progress
Selfsame partners in poor
governance,
Setting subservient subjects
In perilous bays of hopelessness.
Scale of disengagement
Dangling carrots of
Intimidating threats.
Recircled ideas.
Recircled inhuman governance.
Recircled personages.
Recircled wasted years.
Deluge of prognostic plans
Sinking boats of tale.
Decades of experience yielding
Inexperienced tzars.
Torn garb of treachery
Covered up blazers of falsehood.
Stench of stasis enthroned on the
Stool of power, wrenching
corruption from the grip
of guilt.
Populace sitting on sulky
directing the horse of
hardship with the
wailful whips of
perseverance.
Epochal terms of wastages
roll in
and
roll out
like a spiraling
viperine grass
snake
beneath the
hybrids of weeds
on a crest of
spring cress.
Yet, promises promoting
Superannuated gains of
Effortless dividend.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
The look in your eyes
hooks me,
taking me back to the days
of my grandfathers, dark
whiskey in hip-flasks kept close
to their chests, eating tinned fruit
and singing to warm themselves up
on cold nights
I remember the sound of their voices,
thick and throaty, as if forty
cigarettes a day had eaten
into their chords
I wear their blazers sometimes,
Over a red dress, imagining myself
before they thought of me
wondering if they felt the rain fall
on their face as blood washed the
souls of their shoes
I know that your green eyes
are searching my face for signs and
similarities, the past threatening to
seep through the open pores
of my skin
I am corrupted
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
Blood courses, velveteen.
Alabaster & bistre limbs
inosculated, drawn up
by a methadone sun
to flirt with July skies.
Vertigo fails to fool-
we once loved at night only, scoring rind,
moaning premature world weary woes.
They appear now like blue-violet trail blazers,
defiant against the doubt of heady heights,
guiding me to you:
my codeine haze, my shoegaze rhapsody,
‘Close my eyes / feel me now':
ours is the real thing,
kissed by the fervent fire.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC