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Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Here comes the sun little darling's
We all get burned
 Is it your turn
     "U-Turn"
Oh! Where I thou
"Green light Diner"
It's telling us to Go
    *       *       *
The Earth beauty faces
I will be your direct sunlight
In plain sight to the daylight
her blossom tree
All I ask come for me
Her face could eat
The divine flower laced

French brie
Tie a yellow ribbon on me
We have so much to see
Let it be sun-face Moms
apple pies
The Sun  "Watchtower"
Someone knocks you off
Your "Bill" on the Ice Queen

The Goddess rodeo waitress
She got you roped in between
The cigarette 1940 case hostess
             "Rose"
I suppose the sunflowers every booth
her smile sets in place

The stain-glass window Notre Dame
Rock and roll hall of fame
The earth kids rainbow chalk
Sun-fun treetops like a beanstalk
Napoleon Elementary Watson
New Jersey Diner capital admission
The Peking duck *** luck

European beauty hunter's menu
Any luck this will be awhile sip "Starbucks"

1-Antipasti cute Shiba Uni
2-Consomme Chicken soup
3-Sun-face to the soul fruit loop
4-Chicken pepper Salsa
Sun-face lights up Visa
5-Hearts of Artichokes Mona Lisa
6-Soy ****** salmon
My sun worshiper man

Fish tacos hummus
St Thomas
Rome was not build
In one day
The windpipes and
the tablecloths Oh! yikes
Full of dream pipes

Sun tan stripes and zebras
Couscous salad big star dipper
Egyptian Gods camels back
Sun-face diner no time
for the sun-chip snack
Diners from 1920-1940
Sun-face air force dresses

Medieval times two swords
Holy lords Easter parades
" Ice-cream Spumoni"
Dinner in the sky
Robin red breast fly
Italian artwork Coliseum
Look up in the sky
It's a bird shaped
Paper plane bad romance
going insane

Waffle House  jukebox rock and roll
Hall of fame whats in a food name
Cowboy steaks American Flags
Cajun chicken legs fruits and figs
At the caboose Ladybird jet lag
Valentine Diner chairs
got footloose homemade goose

Purple rain Prince maple
pancakes
Bananas and strawberry fields
lake sun in shape of a snowflake
Forest Gump changes to
Presidential Trump
Vitamin C  honey bunches of Oats

Yummy floats of egg cream
Open table Sun-face dream
Eggs light she's not finished
over easy
Pristine of carrots with
artful daisies
Thanksgiving turkey

Rings of napkins holding
A time well-bred marriage
Well known landmarks of
Carats
Long ago time she saw the light
Daylight Knight like a scale to weight

Whispers of wine and grapes
Sun face courtesan love escape
Sun Faces trillion times mansion
Sun-faces never go out of fashion
Sun faces and dinner places the best in the world eat heartily Drive in and Diners all over the world have a medieval touch with the Vikings and melodies from the heart  of the surface  her smile will always be there everywhere she goes the Diners place her with Rose
Now bold to keep hold
of child idle wishes,
when in all a boy's life
the bliss is true with kisses.
Verbose promises mostly misses.
&
What is corporeal is made real
in beloved eyes' appeal
yet just one is giving real deepnesses,
heaven half realized in their weaknesses.
&
A young sunken heart congeals.
Framed in little honest pictorial pieces.


(Can you see the furrowed brow
Consternation crinkles his babyface)
&
No kisses but fish lips in wallet sized b&w
No love lost boys of Indian summer nights
I see with my mind the questions wade
Discovery of Why oh why
“Kawawa mo” sadly see it on his face.
&
In wallet sized black and white, kids in
Photo booth time machine, young trysts
Proof of life, fake smiles in matte finish
Click click flash, wishful first kiss missed.
saige May 2018
velcro wallet
was navy, i think
gray plastic zipper
grandma gave you
i had a locket
it had your picture inside
but you threw it away
because you looked like a rabbit
apparently
hair fluffed, eyes puffy
two teeth and two hours
of squirming on a photo booth

plastic coin pouch
small crayola blue
walmart sticker on a side
but it never made me smile
not like that piggy bank did
yard sale treasure
dinosaur-shaped
no smashing to withdrawl
our tooth fairy dollars and dust
still, you crammed stink bugs
down the long neck's back

now, a denim bag on my bed
rhinestoned one in the closet
and your wallet is
real leather, i think
has superheroes on it
rough and grungy
as the comic books in the attic
or, did you toss those too?

who needs a screwdriver
without a *****?
that's all money was
just hardware we didn't have
much use for
but there is more than one way
to use a tool
so here, i'll paint it straighter
who needs a coffin without a corpse?
especially when we were
so full of life back then
Harriz Sierra Dec 2018
Lie to me about crying...
Lie to me about you
Lie to me about everything
that you do.
Lie to me, please.

Lie to me about love,
Lie to me about hate,
Lie to me about the truth you hid
From me when we had our first date.
Lie to me.

Tell me your lies, without the truth
Separate your disguised
face,
Sing me a lullaby that's full of disgrace.

Don't tell me the truth, don't tell me you lied.
Just tell me the reason why
you cried.

Just lie to me, cause I can't handle
the truth,
Even our first kiss was a lie,
When we kissed on the kissing
booth..
She lied to me,
I couldn't handle what's left,
Kenechukwu Sep 2018
I am being pulled from left to right
Every candidate claiming to be the light
Promising heaven, earth and even twilight
Once they win they forget you and take flight.

Gun to our heads by the future leader
'Better vote wisely or become a casper'
Ballot boxes filled with forged paper
Hold your peace or it is a recipe for disaster.

If wishes were real, beggars would ride
Voted for a meal, while the politicians lied
my country is a deal, sold as a cheap bride
All they do is steal, it's time to say goodbye.

You know we are back to the embers'
there's always someone's blood they forget to remember
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
We are in a fine mess with honorable villions.
My view on elections and voting in some countries.
Joey fonseca Sep 2018
A man sits alone
In a booth accompanied by
his own lonesome
But although ther is no one there
He is not alone
His nose is buried
In his book
Keeping him the company
That he really wants
I'd say I 'miss you'
But can that possibly
convey the true
sentiment
of how I feel
each day?

I say 'no way'
A torment
is laid
A sacrifice
that must be made
This road before
I've paved
but this time
with new waves

No longer the waves
of goodbye
Yes, it's true
before we tried
Tears were cried
A mountain climbed
But alas,
it was not time
The bells hath not chimed

What is due
is due in due time
And good times
are what await
While I sit here and wait
Though my wait is over
For no more
will I second guess
I know who's best
Forget the rest
It is you I will hold
against my chest

A treasure chest
but not filled
with cliche jewels
and like items
No, instead
filled with what is
truly priceless
What money can't buy us
What each of us
is searching for
Longing for
Like a knock upon the door
or a child wanting more
Not prepared
for what's in store
Like one who's out
begging and poor

For so long
on the 'other' side
But not this time
for that time
has ended
and in the end
all wrong is now right
because I have you
right by my side

No longer that fear
that I kept inside
Wanting to run
Go away and just hide
But no matter
how much I try
(which I admit isn't much)
I can not hide
what I have inside
for you
Yes, it's true
A love that is true
Complete in its virtue
An everlasting truth
So cozy and cute
Like an old couple
smushed together
in our favorite coffee booth

But no toll
at this booth
More like
a 'kissing' booth
A carnival fair
Cotton candy
in the air
Along with the
ever-present
and ever-lasting aroma
of love
that together
we share
Hand-in-hand
Sit or stand
and into each other's
eyes we stare

To others
may not seem fair
But we're too love struck
to care
Our hearts
with each other share
A caring so deep
That a trench
in the sea
still couldn't possibly
in any way effectively
convey what we see
What we feel
What's inside you
and inside me
How we
just 'BELIEVE'
I feel it
Don't you?
I know you do
You feel it too
We've known for so long
What we now know is true

So, here at the end
our story begins
An epic journey
of sadness, heartache and loss
But the price must be paid
And in full payment we made
Day after day
But the cycle we break
Having cost us the cost

All that sh*t we just tossed
No more carrying of weight
Mark your calendars
This date
Because the waiting
is gone
I can finally see straight
Warm inside
Feeling great
And with one foot
First step I take
As we take the plunge
I would dive off of the Sun
or forever I'd run
Do all that must be done
You are now
and always have been
my number one
Never a contest
to be won
It was yours from day one
And will be forever
till time is done

I love you.
Written: November 23, 2018

All rights reserved.
Lou Dec 2017
If there were better words
I would sing 'em.

For now,
Silence is a crowd
And I'm making it as their leader.

Or only true believer,
In words.
Or lack of them,
regardless,

It's a mute commute to what you want.

Was it my bad, behavior?
that was feeling you-
before you were feeling me
around my neck

I get it.
Out of respect
and for heart murmurs

Its true,
I can feel it;
Me, mute is a commute that you want

This train had to keep moving.
The conductors wife is at bay.
Many people are apologetic.
But many more have destinations to make.

Like crying baby.
And a grin,
from a lonely man in his gazing,
fading lying chair.

For you
And me-
In this booth.

Mute is our commute to what we want.
Mute is our commute to what we want.
Wrote this when someone was slowly fading out of my life
'And when was this? I dunno, I dunno:
like everything else, twenty years ago.' - August Kleinzahler

I
Whosis slunk next to the rastamagnet
dj booth, in a limabeanhued suit
jacket, limabean sleeves rolledup to
deploy albino ancons for jostling.
II
My ****** lungs ached; gluttonous Venomised
pelicanbills. Cig o' no mercy, cig of life.
Serpivolent smoke is nicocreaming
ceiling of this dive Dasein dosses in.
III
Unrequiting snoutcloud of her chuffing
form siffles thru her mousy enamel.
'Light reflecting booster technology',
advertising Boswellox, scents her hair.
IV
Male Black Widow Complex boings in my brain,
as the vogueress exits conceivable zone
of address. Yet she cigawrenches
my stalking thoughts across the pumptup ballroom.
V
O those farouche salad nights following
swotting up in the humid Octagon!
Male Black Widow Complex, th'always boinging,
lidded by lemony orange lager.
VI
I crashed Crasherkid frabble, rocked to
DJ Shoppinghour feat. MC Niche Jah.
My Sax Pustules & Dead Kinnocks LPs
accusingly mouldered in my heart.
VII
Crasherkids twatted then, dated now, now
grooveriders haggard. But time was the thud
of arterial Cherry7up
was the dub of their youthful BPM.
VIII
Triptown beefnecks w/ classic legoman's
Acid House ecaf (before e-cafes
had come & gone), mandy stag party.
I still slow my pace at their fearless napes.
IX
The rock club had delusions of grunger,
crush at the bar was lumberjack cubism.
Era of Jingajing-chicka-jing-jing Kurt,
anno domudhoney, left a zeitgash.
X
& in the goth club, cadavolescent,
guylinered Xennials listened to
Placebo, but poo-pooed manginas.
Identi90s: genres, not genders.
XI
Blotto elbows on sudsy bar, I cross
lanky barkeep's gulchy palm w/ nugget
for latest in a lost count of snakebites.
Streak of **** is a broom in a skinnytie.
XII
'I'm hyperboring as much as you!' quip I
to a cheetahthinking softdrinker.
There'd be no ruction if pickled franion
spilt his Tab Clear Kaliber, H2ooze.
XIII
Yestreen's teen mums of teen mums, renubile
on the glash. Simuladies who soft soap
saps to buy them...a drink, QVCexy.
If shopgilfs surrender the goods, QVChy.
XIV
Whosis, tattie-bogie of the floor,
turned Turok w/ liebestorschlusspanik.
But his limabean lines are jejune, even to
zirconia Zsa Zsas on the zhelf.
XV
Whosis, lima green last chancer, I'm a
aphroluddite like you. Both crud dancers
too, corybantersauruses. It's all
smoke 'n' mingers & we've got lunge cancer.
XVI
'There's a party on the hillside, would you like
to come? Bring your own cup & saucer
& your own cream bun!' Friends joyride
home dead, so ride dead joy home alone.
XVII
Simian, simulacrum, something for
the weekend, sir? Or are weekends just for
something before ip dip dogshit
******* ******* silly *** meet the kids then what?
XVIII
Stereotripe, not Stereospeare, yet unknown
plexors would kick in. Or was it the joypop?
Popliteal self on higher neon knees,
Mother Brown's got nothing on me!
XIX
Anansesum of my fancy footwork,
Bez in blossom under tiger strobe.
Chemical cochise, call me 'Tarantulip':
totem, tarantism, bruxism, bloom.
**
Yeah, I liked DJ Offroseanne before
the coward sounds of Simoncowellland
killed Cool. Taxi for the Corpse of Cool/
fetch your coat, love, you've pulled the Corpse of Cool!
XXI
Since the ears dot, aural laurels were hot.
& the beat authenticity lays down
is still the drill sergeant instrumental
that leads blind zeit pipers of all pied geists.
XXII
Lima bean fugue, forearm flash, Dear John tats.
Nocturnal vernal mental of the comeup
becomesdown w/ no summerlove, bad trip
(Raggaman Kafka say 'Uneazee Dreamz').
XXIII
'Taxi Driver' cinematography,
neon printcest of clubland signs dimmens.
Pick up your tuttifrutti braindamage
- time to go home, hungover twichildren.
http://www.pilkipedia.co.uk/wiki/index.php/Boswellox
There has to be more, the more that takes you around the corner to the park
to the grocery store and to the bohemian hangout
the more that takes you around the world, to the highest cliffs

to the foreign currency exchange booth, to the flowers growing on the side of the road
the more that brings you to your hometown
to the tea cooling on your mother’s table
to wearing old house slippers
The more is for “the you”
who knows the "it" is built on that, which came before it
because the "more"
lives in the comfort of knowing
somewhere it has a home
(where it takes root)


My mother lied to me today
When I found out I had to say
Oh Mother why’d you tell a lie
and from me this thing try to hide?
With a coy smile she looked at me
and spoke in a voice so softly
My dearest son it is my job
to keep you safe, away from harm
At times that may in fact include
in order to hide or seclude
the things in life you should not see
because you’re simply not ready

You may discover on your own
Much later in life when you're grown
But when you're underneath my wing
Your one concern is just to sing
Life’s worries I will take for you
The stress and hurt I will shield too
Life asks a lot and has its pains
and slowly these things you’ll be trained
But in due time; Have patience son
Life's not a race, no need to run
So take your time; stop and enjoy
One day you will not be a boy

Out in the world; learn on your own
Keep with you all the things I've shown
And piece by piece on each you'll build
For you I wish a life fulfilled
There is still much you need to learn
I shield from you all the concerns
It's somewhat understandable
You might be slightly gullible
Because you're simply not aware
So many things from you I've spared
Allowed you distance as you grew
But always kept an eye on you

I gave you room to let you fly
To stretch your wings; explore the sky
And you may not have seen me there
but I did not just disappear
No matter the heights you could reach
I always had more I could teach
So even though at times it seemed
Untethered and were not a team
Could not be further from the truth
Clark Kent changing in a phone booth
When needed became Superman
If duty called I lent a hand

Free range to fly all on your own
Solve problems with the skills I've shown
A carpenter; I gave the tools
But up to you how you would use
My hope that given in due time
the skills you had would exceed mine
And there you'd fly so high above
As I look up; heart filled with love
Amazing heights I know you'll reach
This life we live is up to each
of us deciding what to do
And I'll always believe in you

And just remember as you fly
Wherever you go or how high;
Into the world I've sent you off
to learn life's lessons as their taught
So when you look you might not see
Think I have gone; Can not find me
But whether up or down below
I just want you to always know
You are my son and I love you
No limit to what you can do
The distance might be further now
But since your birth I kept this vow
That you would be under my wing
To keep you safe and watch you sing

Obviously I meant to have this ready
and present it yesterday but it
just didn't work out that way.
=)

Written: May 10, 2018

All rights reserved.
i am holding hands with a girl at a pet store.
i love how her voice changes for each of the animals, high and breathy for the calicos, round and bubbly for the angelfish, sonorous and slithery for the python. she loves them all, even the great hairy tarantulas that scare me beyond my age.

i am holding hands with this girl who’s halo of hair glows banana yellow beneath the heat lamps in the reptile section, a girl who offers a finger to the teething kittens.
“can’t we have one?” she asks, in the voice she uses only for me.

a voice i can’t describe without using her name, the kind of voice that makes all of time and space obsolete, oblivion just aftermath. i imagine joan of arc heard something similar the first time she picked up a sword.

she is still holding my hand, and i feel like im drowning in my affection for her, sinking into cartoon quicksand. i don’t want to let go. so i don’t.

“are you two...together?”

this is not unfamiliar, but the womans voice, the voice she has chosen, is strangely acdic. this woman has laced her tone with arsenic, without even a teaspoon of passive aggressive sugar to hide her poison. she inhaled, puffing herself up like a frightened lizard before her final words.

“there are children here, you know.”

in the future, i think of a thousand things to say. we are children too.

two girls holding hands after school, two girls holding hands in the movie theatre, two girls in a booth at tony’s pizza, two girls sharing akward first kisses while they hide behind the wall of a library.

two girls holding hands in a pet store on a saturday afternoon.

i know now they see us through funhouse mirrors: distorted, disturbed, our monstrous bodies taking up too much space, spoiling innocent spaces with our imposing sexualities.

our innocence never ours to begin with.
Eno Sep 2018
Theres still 5 more lives
Connecting and disconnecting
In this scene
An American diner
In south west England
Sat in a booth
That holds thousands of shared
Experiences
And narratives that only we feel
With characters we played and knew
There’s no stronger drug
Than those things humans have collectively been through
But I didn’t think of this
When I looked at you
Magnanimous
Stupendous
Gallant
Eloquent
I’d never seen you look this good
Not in years
You’ve just upgraded
Your vehicle in life
No paper boy bicycle
Doing the rounds
But a brand new direction
You don’t need to worry for the next 3 years
Joined a scheme that will take you where you want to be
I wished it was me
Poetoftheway Feb 11
the Hail Mary transgression:
falling in love with me when it crosses over the line

guilty of the same, so even when I condemn the errant woman,
with an ice block from a Northeastern pond of no soft forgiveness,
which is still and yet, the only cutoff ending appropriate

but you woman, deserve to learn that
emboldened fantasy that crosses broken bold lines,
is a jagged rot that doesn’t cure the dreamy unreality of
the-cannot-be,
it’s pouring hot water on scalding burns entrenched

guess time to share that your fantasy is the
number one commandment
that this boy also violates routinely so he has a phd of experience,
and the burn proofs when he thot he too could be,
Cervantes, the knight errant, lover of the impossible woman

I, guilty as charged by “The Duke,” am an idealist and bad poet,
so many poet-women here I secret cherish at levels that are nonsensical, absurd, ludicrous
and hold the fantastical fantasty of them dear,
so close and so near, so mine

wrote them each love poems, and they know it,
now, here, in my confessional booth,
my priestly punishment always the same,
ten thousand Hail Mary’s,
but I cheat the cohen priest,
and just write another poem,



this one is about the line that never can  could  will be
crossed, hail mary!
The Duke from Man of La Mancha
Matthew Harlovic Nov 2018
I toss and turn at night nervous the inferno might
swallow me whole if I leave a light burning bright
so I keep to a crawlspace that I call my room.
Home alone, roll the stone, seal me in this tomb.
The Lord will heal me soon. Has the Spirit always loomed
over me since youth? Where's the proof to back the truth?
I opened up about my life of doom-and-gloom to a sleuth
who replied with nothing from across the booth.

© Matthew Harlovic
Seb Tha Guru Jun 11
Back in the booth
Ready for truth
This ain’t nothing new
Just something to do.

In the quick sand of life,
got me stuck like glue.

Got me thinking, should’ve turned this to an interlude.

Now I’m back in the booth.
Hope you’re ready for truth.
This really isn’t nothing new
Just something to do.

I love you through everything.
I’m no longer the muse.
Its got my ****** like,
**** what’s gotten into you.
Heather Moon Feb 2014
Dad
So my father,
he goes into the store to buy his $10 a pack for cancer
while he still attempts to hide his addictions from my sister and I.
Now I don't think it would bother me oh so much
but his frugal attempts to sweep the dust under the rug is like using a mop instead of a broom...
We see the crumbs leading to your door from the cookie jar.
Yes, we all have flaws, but you,
you
weave shamefully through the under layers of darkness, devoid of any resemblance to a heavenly nature, you fall like a night creature weaseling through crooked creaky cement alleyways, your gremlin spirit set ablaze.

LIFE, I revel and roll within the taste of each second, I run the grain of life across my tongue until saliva fills the creases and far reached corners of my mouth. I tap my finger to my lips like a true virtuoso, a connoisseur of life. Life.

My father's addictions completely derail me,
not even so the notion itself, I mean yes, but his blatantly obvious ways of avoiding confrontation not only from us, but also from himself.
Like Pinocchio's nose, my fathers back gets hunched more and more, his breath quickens when we draw close.
Father you are not prey, in fact if there be a predator, it is you unto yourself. I can no longer help but to roll my eyes when you tell me for the fourth time in the day that you must take out the trash so as to have a smoke.
I am fed up, excuse me sir, the trash will still be there no matter how many times you take out the "trash" .
The only "thing" that won't be left after you're repeated offenses of the benign chore will be you're dignity because you are so naive and ignorant in the way you dodge truth. How can you live respectfully when you don't respect yourself? Nor do you value what you are spitting out to your own daughters.
I am addicted to life,
I breathe it in with passion,
I embrace the truth within me
and have an eagerness to expand my wisdom.
How come father you do something that you know is a betrayal to yourself? How come you hide away in that old bar, the one with the flashing(flickering) light on the outside, dingy worn out red leather(plastic)booths on the inside, the bar located in some musty  little hole in you're brain and a blind spot on you're heart.
You sit in the back in a lonesome booth slumped like some chump, stuck in a stump, you ooze and wheeze not even grasping for air, no fight left within, you are like mucus, a toad melting into the ground. Sinister and swindling in the greed of you're gut. Your ***** mopey yellow eyes and the shameful acceptance as you indulge in the baths of life's luxuries whilst you poison your body, trash what you hold dear and continue to block out that little annoying voice.
The voice with the cracks in it,
worn out from you're games, the voice that nags and pleads. The one that catches you before you order another round, take another smoke break, the one that pulls you, tantalizes you with it's simple sweet natural charm in hopes of distracting you from your self harming ways.
The voice that chimes in the second you raise your fist to punch me. The voice that is screaming at you when you lock eyes with mine and can see my fear.
Yeah that voice, the little punk one that returns even after the crime of your actions has been committed.
After the music stops and it's just you and the world.
but even then
I don't think you will hear it.
You're living on the edge of the pavement father.
No you wont hear that voice, not when you're twisted and contorted into the sideways way of things. You killed that voice long ago, when you wound yourself deeper and deeper like a clock in time,
when you twirled yourself into that little empty pub, with a quiet pool table, with no hope, a sanctum of greed.
Yes, you're guilty, yes it was you.
It was you who killed the voice inside of yourself.
You killed it when you traded
your dignity and your truth
for yet another
$10 dollar pack of
emptiness,
lies,
and forfiet.
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