"bonzai" poems - Hello Poetry

Schwinny, Baby, You were supposed to be my Bicycle. So I don't ask for anthing special. No dark Harley divas To whisk me off into the sunset. But I thought we were at least On the same road together. So please. Don't go droaning on how Life got too complicated. I mean, You've got one flimsy gear. And don't go moaning how The road got too bumpy. I mean, You went blind bonzai batshit over burnt black tar pavement. You just Let go. Threw away your Chain of reasoning Faster than I could brace for impact. So am I bleeding? Yeah, I'm bleeding. And the worst part is, I still need you! No, No, no. Not like Pom Pom pammy Needs her purple-plated pogo stick Nor like Princess Paris And her prissy pink prom queen limo, No. I mean I need I need you like Alibaba needs his golden cherub camel, Like Ben Hur his crimson-fury chariot. Because work is 37. Blocks. Away. And it starts in 16 minutes. And the bus is really unreliable. So we ride again, Guts against the wind. But now I've got all ten fingers and toes Crossed, Two by two, And point in fact, Racing down Guadalupe with Forked Philanges Gets really hairy. But your suicidal tendancies simply scare me. Your thirst to incur first degree burns, Fractured femurs, And flayed skin whittles my patience To tire track thin! Think I'll Roll my dice with a Segway. She'd be a quaint, play it safe kind of girl. Type to show off To a Mom and Dad Reveling in rosemary jubilation. Aw, son. We knew you'd land a keeper. That's my boy. But in ten days tops, I'd begin to miss your fiery imbalanced breath. I'd yearn for your bipolar 180 turns that Make my heart skip that terrible, syncopated beat. So let's just say, I'll give it one more shot. But ***** just promise you'll stick around a little longer. It's storming outside and We both got a few blocks to go.

0

Feb 4, 2010

Feb 4, 2010 at 10:17 PM UTC

robby-cale

Bike Breakdown

Schwinny, Baby, You were supposed to be my Bicycle. So I don't ask for anthing special. No dark Harley divas To whisk me off into the sunset. But I thought we were at least On the same road together. So please. Don't go droaning on how Life got too complicated. I mean, You've got one flimsy gear. And don't go moaning how The road got too bumpy. I mean, You went blind bonzai batshit over burnt black tar pavement. You just Let go. Threw away your Chain of reasoning Faster than I could brace for impact. So am I bleeding? Yeah, I'm bleeding. And the worst part is, I still need you! No, No, no. Not like Pom Pom pammy Needs her purple-plated pogo stick Nor like Princess Paris And her prissy pink prom queen limo, No. I mean I need I need you like Alibaba needs his golden cherub camel, Like Ben Hur his crimson-fury chariot. Because work is 37. Blocks. Away. And it starts in 16 minutes. And the bus is really unreliable. So we ride again, Guts against the wind. But now I've got all ten fingers and toes Crossed, Two by two, And point in fact, Racing down Guadalupe with Forked Philanges Gets really hairy. But your suicidal tendancies simply scare me. Your thirst to incur first degree burns, Fractured femurs, And flayed skin whittles my patience To tire track thin! Think I'll Roll my dice with a Segway. She'd be a quaint, play it safe kind of girl. Type to show off To a Mom and Dad Reveling in rosemary jubilation. Aw, son. We knew you'd land a keeper. That's my boy. But in ten days tops, I'd begin to miss your fiery imbalanced breath. I'd yearn for your bipolar 180 turns that Make my heart skip that terrible, syncopated beat. So let's just say, I'll give it one more shot. But ***** just promise you'll stick around a little longer. It's storming outside and We both got a few blocks to go.

71

Dads first girl after mom Was a painter named Charlotte Shari for short, like her blonde hair That's how she wore it She had a tattoo of a dragon, And liked pink orchids And her mom had bonzai trees Around the garden She let me cut out pictures of bears And glue them to cardboard, daisies in my hair Daddy and Shari broke up when I was 9 Doesn't last long for a druggie and his dime I still hear her slippers On the stairs, up and down Charlotte The Painter is a doctor now

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Sep 19, 2013

Sep 19, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC

calli-kirra

Shari

Dads first girl after mom Was a painter named Charlotte Shari for short, like her blonde hair That's how she wore it She had a tattoo of a dragon, And liked pink orchids And her mom had bonzai trees Around the garden She let me cut out pictures of bears And glue them to cardboard, daisies in my hair Daddy and Shari broke up when I was 9 Doesn't last long for a druggie and his dime I still hear her slippers On the stairs, up and down Charlotte The Painter is a doctor now

15

Everyone’s looking for an escape, a virtual reality with alternative facts, virtual because it’s almost reality, except it’s reality without all the commitment, and within, a virtual reality we can augment, what it used to be like back in base reality, and we can ponder on where the time went, & when I say time, I’m referring to the time in reality spent, because after all reality is the only thing real, and the experiences within them are the only thing you can’t invent, see the truth is the only thing that exists in actually existence, yeah sometimes truth is stranger than fiction, ask Buckaroo Bonzai, ask Stephen Hawkings ask Steve Jobs and, ask yourself why you’re alive, why you put up with the pain, why you put yourself through, why you still hesitate to act on instinct, when you know there’s nothing to it but to do it, everyone too scared to speak up, but everyone wants to be a hero, there’s not much purity to speak of, and evil seems to wear a halo, hey bro, or sis, or whatever label, you label yourself with, there’s not much untainted land left, there’s not much clean water, the days are getting shorter, and the nights are getting longer, the hearts are getting colder, but the earth is getting hotter, plus these days reality is such a pain, it often doesn’t seem worth the bother, maybe the rebellion can’t begin, because maybe it’s already done, but then again maybe it’s only getting started, and maybe the games have only just begun, and if this is the case, then you know it’s already on, but just one question before we begin, are you Ready Player One? ∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

0

Sep 19, 2018

Sep 19, 2018 at 8:05 AM UTC

aaronlalux

Ready Player One (Augmented Virtual Reality)

Everyone’s looking for an escape, a virtual reality with alternative facts, virtual because it’s almost reality, except it’s reality without all the commitment, and within, a virtual reality we can augment, what it used to be like back in base reality, and we can ponder on where the time went, & when I say time, I’m referring to the time in reality spent, because after all reality is the only thing real, and the experiences within them are the only thing you can’t invent, see the truth is the only thing that exists in actually existence, yeah sometimes truth is stranger than fiction, ask Buckaroo Bonzai, ask Stephen Hawkings ask Steve Jobs and, ask yourself why you’re alive, why you put up with the pain, why you put yourself through, why you still hesitate to act on instinct, when you know there’s nothing to it but to do it, everyone too scared to speak up, but everyone wants to be a hero, there’s not much purity to speak of, and evil seems to wear a halo, hey bro, or sis, or whatever label, you label yourself with, there’s not much untainted land left, there’s not much clean water, the days are getting shorter, and the nights are getting longer, the hearts are getting colder, but the earth is getting hotter, plus these days reality is such a pain, it often doesn’t seem worth the bother, maybe the rebellion can’t begin, because maybe it’s already done, but then again maybe it’s only getting started, and maybe the games have only just begun, and if this is the case, then you know it’s already on, but just one question before we begin, are you Ready Player One? ∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

46

old, old withered hands grasping the edge of a red handled rake, old man stands upon lone green hill lavish under sweltering shadows and swaying stems of daisies, lavender and petals the hue of burgundy cherry lone house on a hill spotted passageways out into sweet oblivion where the sky and earth greets with hello, this lone man stand on a hill raking as he goes the pebbles in the grass clutter like trinkets ringing affectionately, simple land, simple hands he mumbled solemnly to himself trying to lead him to believe the day she left was not the last he would smell her perfume dark, curly locks piercing gaze of sapphire greyed into wisps of smoke ashes swirling in the wind her hair rustled in the wind chocolate brown and olive glimmers and the slightest salmon pink painted on her lips, smile like in still pond water his heart aches melancholy, raking the pebbles left in his garden the one he nurtured for her of dewed lotus and blossoming peony, twirling bark of ancient sakura showering the garden with cascading petals, almost like snow, shining in the garden the way his heart ached for her sweet voice only sound of trickling pebbles chrysanthemum dotted golden yellow spurred in sweet dance with the lilies bonzai trees twisting, elegantly unfolding over the expanse of the bowdoin, unfurling like in memory the way her words would spill like spilling sunlight at dawn, or the way her steps carefully planted from stone to stone across the trickling river bend, currents adorned with that of galloping salmon, the color of her lipstick so long, lovely song the old man could no longer see wide eyed, his grip faltering with fatigue, raking the pebbles in directions line meeting line, like the rhythm of his frail heartbeat, eyes tired and dull long shadow after his frame a thousand butterflies fluttering in the slight breeze, mumbling to himself lean on, one of me believing she was still watching over him, smiling and caressing his sore arms, breathing through the beauty in the garden

0

Mar 29, 2016

Mar 29, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC

decem

Lean on, One of Me

old, old withered hands grasping the edge of a red handled rake, old man stands upon lone green hill lavish under sweltering shadows and swaying stems of daisies, lavender and petals the hue of burgundy cherry lone house on a hill spotted passageways out into sweet oblivion where the sky and earth greets with hello, this lone man stand on a hill raking as he goes the pebbles in the grass clutter like trinkets ringing affectionately, simple land, simple hands he mumbled solemnly to himself trying to lead him to believe the day she left was not the last he would smell her perfume dark, curly locks piercing gaze of sapphire greyed into wisps of smoke ashes swirling in the wind her hair rustled in the wind chocolate brown and olive glimmers and the slightest salmon pink painted on her lips, smile like in still pond water his heart aches melancholy, raking the pebbles left in his garden the one he nurtured for her of dewed lotus and blossoming peony, twirling bark of ancient sakura showering the garden with cascading petals, almost like snow, shining in the garden the way his heart ached for her sweet voice only sound of trickling pebbles chrysanthemum dotted golden yellow spurred in sweet dance with the lilies bonzai trees twisting, elegantly unfolding over the expanse of the bowdoin, unfurling like in memory the way her words would spill like spilling sunlight at dawn, or the way her steps carefully planted from stone to stone across the trickling river bend, currents adorned with that of galloping salmon, the color of her lipstick so long, lovely song the old man could no longer see wide eyed, his grip faltering with fatigue, raking the pebbles in directions line meeting line, like the rhythm of his frail heartbeat, eyes tired and dull long shadow after his frame a thousand butterflies fluttering in the slight breeze, mumbling to himself lean on, one of me believing she was still watching over him, smiling and caressing his sore arms, breathing through the beauty in the garden

76

Bonzai Tree Hang me from your palm Comfort me with your leaves Blanket me in your bark And sing me a lullaby, so sweet Your twigs will sway So here I can lay Finally a peace, with your melody I’ll stay here forever in your embrace My final goodbye, Bonzai Tree

0

Mar 4, 2021

Mar 4, 2021 at 5:02 PM UTC

M_S_unspoken

Noose

Bonzai Tree Hang me from your palm Comfort me with your leaves Blanket me in your bark And sing me a lullaby, so sweet Your twigs will sway So here I can lay Finally a peace, with your melody I’ll stay here forever in your embrace My final goodbye, Bonzai Tree

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