"bowtie" poems
Don't just stand there
and adjust your bowtie
ACKNOWLEDGE ME
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
Give in
Get up.
Covers off
Silence the drill sergeant
2 seconds in
And I'm late
LATE
LATE!
French shower, PSSST! PSSST!
Dress like a clown
Keys,
Cash
Phone,
Out of the door
The street as empty as my mind
The sky, puddles of grey
No one.
No movement
A really dead raven on the door step
It had been drinking
from a bottle of fabric conditioner.
I let go of my balloons.
Spin my bowtie
A kaleidoscope paints the air.
Approaching from the distance
buzz! buZZ! bUZZ!,BUZZ!
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
There once was a man with a bowtie
And a little redhead girl
I'm gonna tell you the truth now
She loved him and he loved her.
They sat around the table
With fish fingers and custard, ice cream
They talked about his big blue box
And her family
In the middle of their midnight snack
An alarm rang from TARDIS, blue
He told her he would be back
In just a minute, or two
He accidentally missed his mark
Twelve years had gone by
But he just sauntered out
Waving and saying "Amelia, hi!"
Twas the first time they saved the world
When Amelia was just nineteen
Two years later he picked her up
On the eve of her wedding
But then the cracks in the universe
And all of space and time
Consumed the Doctor, all of him
But that's not the ending rhyme
The night she and Rory wed
Amy jumped out of her chair
"I remember you!" She shouted
And the Doctor appeared there
And so the Raggedy man came back
No more in the crack in the wall
Amy's imaginary friend
Bowtie, suspenders, and all
Later came an astronaut
Her name was River Song
She lifted her hand and against her will
Killed the Doctor, gone.
But, hooray!
The Doctor wasn't dead
It was wibbly wobbly, timey wimey
Stuff messing with their heads
And Amy had a daughter
Name? Melody Pond.
But the only water in the forest is rivers,
So she was really River Song.
Subtract love,
Add hate
Daleks scream
Exterminate!
Angels, Angels everywhere
Take a little blink
In the ground and in the air
And then they took Rory
"Come along Pond, please!"
He said with a cry
She turned to him and said
"Raggedy man, goodbye!"
"No!" He shouts in despair
"It can't be true!"
He stands over their grave
Oh Ponds, he loved you
He sits on the steps
Letting River fly
Too grief stricken to hurt
Or even to cry
Dreams are broken
Time stands still
The Doctor runs up
A small rocky hill
Afterword, it reads
By Amelia Pond
We love you Doctor
And we're sorry we're gone
There's a girl waiting in a garden
She'll be waiting for a while
So go to her
She needs a smile.
Tell her she's a fairytale
Known by many, loved by more
Not best in the universe,
But most important in the world.
She went with him and took his hand
He showed her the stars and distant lands
Together they ran, their spirits high
Until they day came when they said goodbye
Goodbye, Ponds.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
You me the dog our kids
White fence
Two cars kids toys
Elvis on the radio
Wonderbread and bananas
Pinesol on hand / Folger's at wake
A granite island counter
Our lives are now a life
Our lives
Fat red bowtie on 'em
We're yamaha piano keys played all night
Presents under the tree
Pantry stocked; cars washed; bedtime;
And now becoming domesticated
Isn't as nightmarish
As we thought
It would be
In college
It's bliss & bliss & bliss &
Going well & better
than Mom n Dad
& saccharine &
Dreamy
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
There's this girl, nothing like a toucan, she's better.
With a blue bowtie in her long brown hair she
still mesmerises me every day and I let her.
But there is another guy with whom she'd rather be.
And every day she smiles at me with her twinkling
eyes and gentle stare making me experience the slightest tinkling
And whenever she says hi or just anything at all
I float, I climb my big white cloud hoping not to fall.
It starts to storm, another cloud turns up out of the blue
and another, but these aren't white, they're grey and
larger than mine, larger than I ever dreamt of one to be.
I must seek a lower cloud to chase because
the higher your hopes and cloud rise, the stronger
the pain that flows through you when you collapse
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
Somewhere there exists a girl.
She is kind, and soft, and sweet,
And a reader, a lover of books.
She would read every one if she could
People say she looks just like her mother.
She doesn't know what to think.
Some place in the world there is a boy.
He is shy, and peaceful, and small,
He is adventurous, dreaming of planets unknown.
He would wander the galaxy forever,
Trailing after him stardust and clouds.
Nobody notices him.
Connecting them is one person.
They are creative, and caring, and bright.
Protective of the people they love,
Even if those people overlook them.
They feel too small to make a difference.
They want to find a purpose.
Three people, so very much alike.
Simalar in so many ways, yet still different,
Each unique in their own right.
All existing on the same Earth.
Seperate, but never apart.
They like being themselves and each other.
The only downside to their lives,
Is that that have to exist together,
Stuck in the same body, unable to change.
Each wishing to fit their own mold.
But they can't leave each other.
Sometimes the Girl in control.
She is the happiest of them,
She loves her body, which amazingly
Fits her, like the perfect glove.
She wished to make the others just as happy.
The In Between doesn't hate their body.
They like how soft they look some days
Like when they can look in between.
But they still feel wrong sometimes.
They don't feel like they can complain.
The Boy has it much worse than them.
When he has control his body is wrong,
The opposite of what he need to exist.
He deals with his problem though.
He binds his chest and wears button ups.
But that doesnt make it right.
Nobody knows that they share.
Most people are content being one thing.
With having a solid identity.
But it wasn't their fault, it is how they are made.
They didn't ask to be a river.
But they still follow the tides.
They wouldn't change who they are.
They get along fine with each aspect of themself
Compensating, trying to feel whole.
They have tricks to help them feel right.
But perfection doesn't exist.
Dysphoria comes as a storm.
Turing the river into a rushing waterfall,
Full of doubt and self-loathing.
Certain things help calm the storm,
But sometimes it just keeps raining.
They push through the floods
Of anxiety and doubt and fear.
Giving themself a bowtie for the Boy,
A beanie for the In Between,
A skirt for the Girl.
They persist.
And they live.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
Take a deep breath inventory
Of yourself
Do not count your hands or feet
Not your wandering legs or
Wavering arms
Do not take inventory of your clothes
Not of your favorite shoes or
Your special hat—not even your
Coat that you save for those cold,
Cold nights
Ignore your car—payments or paid off
Your home—apartment, trailer, mansion
Your work uniform—whatever that may be
Make emergency stops only
You are still several miles from
The intersection of contentment and identity
And you have not been there
In far too long
Do not take inventory of how you look
In a summer dress or a tuxedo and bowtie
Don’t count your history with
Drugs and alcohol
Don’t count your computer, your television
Or that collection of movies
Or albums
Or books that you’ve been working on
Don’t take account of your ability to curl
Dead weight
It’s just curling dead weight
Don’t count the number of visible abs
You have
Or your BMI
You are so much more than a body
You are so much more than possessions
Your body and belongings have not
Done you well to feel like you belong
Instead take inventory of your joy
You have some joy don’t you?
Count your friends
Count your love letters
Count the moments when it rains
And you have an umbrella
Count the last time you had strawberries
Count the start of every kiss
Count the paid off credit cards
Actually, count those twice
Because freedom counts for twice as much
Account for all of your freedoms
Take inventory of playing catch with your dad
Your last home-cooked meal
Account for the last time you rode a bike
When you didn’t think about exercise, you just felt the wind
Count the times you wrapped birthday presents
Count the smell of the last bouquet of flowers you were given
Count the last time you went to the zoo
And you swore, nobody ever fell in love with the
Animals quite like you did
Cause you have an eye for beauty
And you’re seeing it everywhere
Take a deep breath inventory of the beauty you have seen
And when you can’t seem to find anything that matters
To take inventory of
Count those dark moments where you still
Have the hope to rack your brain
To try to find a memory where you had joy
If you still have hope to try to find it
That is joyful
All on its own
Because I know they can be hard to find sometimes
Those things worth taking inventory of
But I have found the greatest of these things is love
Not the way I love Pulp Fiction and Casablanca
But the way I love my wife
And my father and my mother
And a good rescue
Cause that is what I’ve had—a good rescue
And life is sweet like honey
Not because it’s easy
And certainly not because I feel good all the time
But because I have found joy in a rescued life that I can hope in
When I take a deep breath inventory
I have to realize all I have is love
The rest will go away someday
But not my hope and joy and love
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
*magdalene just wanked off st. peter, and i’m like...
magdalene just wanked off st. peter.,
the pope was caressed by tabloid headlines...
and jesus did a miracle streak of shit-smear in leather,
gagged the dsm iv into s & m translation;
i used to play the guitar once... but i got choreographed
into a back-up dancer / mimer role -
and then i sold 1million singles in the first hour of the realese.*
self-love amiss is a potato patch of the revelatory,
self-love quotes from what the greeks missed
in threes: the furies stagnated into the eye of the graeae;
i can write about my **** life
in the same way you write to idealise your **** life,
9/5 on the black mustang... who ran out from the better’s
sardine packing of expected, tight...
he’s got life... not a reminder of a cloned bricklayer
for a bricklayer just to suggested a bowtie of an accent:
i will not make england my home just because i can speak it...
i’ll speak english so well i’ll make the english feel
like lower class... if not migrants;
and i did... some boy from cyprus thought i was posh
enough to practice conservatism at a private school teaching
that mathematics using a, b c, d, semi-colon... ah... grammar;
unless of course it was all rather unnecessary,
then i abide by the law of knock down ginger...
and walking beneath the a12’s batty man’s legs sign for gills.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
Silver sparkles
Lost in a sea of purple fabric
Hair singed straight
Face painted
Laces stealing my breath away
Bittersweet, the hug
From an oft-absent father
The sinking feeling, unsatisfied
Without a clue as to why
Dread mounting, anxiety shouting
“You’ll be the prettiest girl at Prom”
Matte black
Broken by a silver bowtie
Hair combed back
Neat and orderly, obscuring
The sea of butterflies I hide
Euphoric, the hug
From the lady I’ll escort
Bright flashes in my eyes
Thumps of congratulations, I am
The lucky man to take the prettiest girl to the ball
“May I have this dance?”
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 7:37 PM UTC
it was a very dreary grey day
(much like today)
it was a very wrinkled old man
with a blue bowtie
with yellow
polka
dots
who stared out his window
into the fog
and said
"today will be
a perfectly lovely
day to die"
he took his cane
and
slowly
slowly
slowly got his
coat
(it was tattered and wrinkled and worn)
he considered
calling his daughter
to say
goodbye
but she was always
too busy
with that desk job
of hers
(she had not come home for christmas that year)
he did
however
say goodbye to
his wife
"goodbye" he said
"i love you horribly
see you soon"
he left a dozen
tulips
(she had always hated roses)
on the grass
in front of the
marker which
he had chosen
so
carefully
then slowly
slowly
slowly
walked home
bones (and soul)
creaking as
he went
he straightened
his little
blue bowtie
with the yellow
polka
dots
and laid down
on his side
of
their
bed
(he didn't want to wrinkle her side - he had enough wrinkles for the both of them)
he smiled
and said
"goodbye house
thanks for the
memories
be good to
whoever gets
you next"
and closed his eyes
then slowly
slowly
slowly
went to sleep
(he & his wife now live in a lovely gated community on the upper east side of elsewhere)
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
You and me were invincible
Just two kids against a small town
You told me I was beautiful
But you were the king without a crown
And you said that only I knew
God, it was like your smile put the stars in the sky
The soundtrack of our summer was you and blink-182
Our last summer day, we danced with your preppy silk bowtie
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 8:29 PM UTC
That frat boy’s
Bill Nye
Bowtie
Has got me thinking
Do kids these days
Even know who Bill Nye is?
Or **** Van ****
Or Andy Griffith?
Some of my heroes from way back when
Is Eli Wallach
Ever going to ride his horse
Steal corn from Mexican villages again?
Do kids these days even know food comes from the earth
Not from a can?
I can’t imagine growing up
Inside
Except to watch Bill Nye
The science guy
And play Oregon trail
Home alone
On Friday nights
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
A warm coat on a snowy day
Words meant to be said
Stories told over and over
To-Do lists left in her head
Promises made
Bowtie for a worker’s uniform
A pair of red gloves
Umbrellas in a storm
A charger for a phone
Many different passwords used
A library book now overdue
And lessons learned too
Places which have been explored
Goals which have been made
Random keepsakes they hoard
The way that things have changed
Textbooks for a class
What makes someone strange
Combinations to a lock
Setting the alarm clock
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
I want to find a Boo-Boo
for my Smokey Bear
So now that you’re aware
of this just stop your
staring at me
Please hear my plea
Next time you
talk to Yogi
ask him ‘bout a
Boo-Boo Bear for
Smokey
The forest fires burn
burn, burn, burn, burn
Keep tryin’ to contain them
but those whack-a-moles
yearn to be free
Please listen to me
Next time you
talk to Yogi
ask him ‘bout a
Boo-Boo Bear for
Smokey
Smokey needs a
Boo-Boo Bear so
when he retires
he’ll take over his work
preventing forest fires
Can’t you see?
Please hear my plea
Next time you
talk to Yogi
ask him ‘bout a
Boo-Boo Bear for
Smokey
Mark Toney © 2021
“Created in 1944, the Smokey Bear Wildfire Prevention campaign is the longest-running public service advertising campaign in U.S. history, educating generations of Americans about their role in preventing wildfires … Though he has already accomplished so much, Smokey’s work is far from over. Wildfire prevention remains crucial, and he still needs your help. His catchphrase reflects your responsibility: Only you can prevent wildfires. Remember that this phrase is so much more than just a slogan: it’s an important way to care for the world around you.”—smokeybear.com
“Boo-Boo Bear is a Hanna-Barbera cartoon character on The Yogi Bear Show. Boo-Boo is an anthropomorphic bear cub who wears a blue or purple bowtie. Boo-Boo is Yogi Bear's constant companion, and often acts as his conscience.”—Wikipedia | Boo-Boo Bear
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 11:50 PM UTC
With frosty breath and empty-shell shoes,
I await the steady driver who returns for me,
to hurdle our car down cliff into sea
with cracked headlights and bowtie come undone,
what more could Night or Water honestly have won?
Moon painted gleam masterfully upon my eye
from falling trees and ivy-shined leaves,
whispered in their ears from knoll-bound knaves,
"The sun gone over, never to return for you."
They watch for pleasure, sent-to-ground from dew.
I ramble on and on along rocky coast line
over iron guard rails with trusty companion,
head-tilt weighed a stone above water,
gone plunging in toward black surface below,
face-first and tongue-tied with heart so hollow.
Up, up, awake. All but a dream.
Soaked tie above bedframe,
slept in mustard blood sheets.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 12:06 PM UTC
He's a rather proud man
Rather proud of his appearance.
Crisp suit
Bowtie just right.
Ship-shape shined shoes.
Lapel aligned.
Hair slicked left
Right hand tucked in his pocket.
Ray Bans perched on the bridge of his nose
And the slightest little grin
Almost trying to say
"I told you so."
He's a very precocious man
A man who knows.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
i wither...
~away
i float from my consciousness, watching myself listen
to endless dribble of the ignorant pro-tagonist of life.
the limitless waves of gray faberic framing the brown bald
and blonde hedgehogs poking their heads up to electrify their
deaf ears and blind eyes – blind eyes
to the world of a real mind.
-they cant see as i see – this life (of theirs) means as much as the DIRT holding the ground of the ghosts in wooden boxes under the rocks
mouths moving words flying
silly tongues flapping – saying nothing – begging for nothing while across the gray,
dull words of hip-hop and pop don’t stop…
contradicting the history of blood and turmoil
ridiculing the bowtie wrapped around the neck of authority – maneuvering the black and white pieces of a chess board - an antiquated system crumbling – the backbone of an elephant standing tall while ignoring the memory of those dishonored by them – they forget – the ever-forgetting elephant no!
the ignorant elephants whose eyes have been gutted by its own tail – these elephants don’t wail
i wail, scream, howl and groan I weep (inwardly) as I stand cold, engulfed in smoke and smog. I scoff, scowl, and scorn openly inwardly at the treachery and horror that life brings
forgetful is that elephant that kindness is not weakness warmth is not love and a smile is not always real – gripping clawing scratching grabbing clutching to a life that means nothing – than recycled water in the perpetual flow of a ****** river
theyweep theycry theybeg theydie
and they are faded...
…into memories – and the gray infinite abyss of the blue collar drone.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
I've never received a drunken text.
I keep on hopping, this one to the next,
I see them every day, searching each
other, kissing, loving, they reach
out and hold arms and hands, I can
not contain my stare, a jealous man
does the wrong things. Someone please,
decently put my many needs at ease,
at least my inner vain can feast on less
fortunate girls, unequal to my being,
too good, but they will never be seeing
that, if I don't hurt them, bound to make a mess.
It has to end, it can't go one for ever,
I'll be waiting for that day, whenever.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
Shocked by a shockwave
A ship lost at sea
Waves graciously high
Sorrow seemingly deep
A brutal balance
Beaming with angels
Waiting at the gates
To welcome what we've lost
It's God's golden gift
To give life to earth
Like a bumble bee
Gives life to a flower
Caterpillars die
Cloaked in a cocoon
To give birth to a
Beautiful butterfly
The sun leaves at night
But it keeps it's shine
Even when it's dark
To come back the next day
Precious pedestals
With red rose pedals
Names engraved in stone
And letters sealed in tears
Paints us a picture
That life is a gift
Full of surprises
Wrapped in a bowtie and
God takes what we love
Right out of our hands
Just to make us love
What we have even more.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
An initial for a name
A bowtie under his chin
An arrogant manner
Frames his smirking grin
So very smooth
Knowing what to say
Then you realize he said nothing
As you’re walking away
You're not on the inside
So you’re on the outside
He knows the difference
In you he won’t confide
He walks around with that air
A master of corporate speak
He talks footprints and solutions
But your counsel he does not seek
He says he loves the action
And it makes you wonder
Mingling with liars and thieves
And those who will plunder
How can he be trusted
When he has mastered the game?
He seems to know everything
But to him you're just a name
He will upgrade at a party
He never makes eye contact
He needs to feel important
With him it’s all an act
He’ll use every big word
And name drop with a smile
You can’t win with him
It’s all part of his style
Then one day he’ll quit
And pretend to care in transition
But he’ll just read his texts
And move on with his transformation
He’s never been real
It’s all about the money
You never feel his warmth
Because he’s such a phony
You know those birds of a feather
Always flocking with one another
So don’t be fooled by his manner
He’d sell our country and his mother
He'd sell his soul too
If he had one to sell
But he made a deal with the devil
Who will see him in hell
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 11:25 AM UTC
I see you at the drive through with that silly bow tie & I don't get tongue tied because I don't know you and I told everyone I think you're interestingly cute not on a **** you're so hot shallow way but unique. I don't know you & I'm not infatuated with you I just find you interesting.
It's cold outside I can tell winter is sadly making it's way in this desert town and I have to warm my car up in the morning... What a drag.
I'm lost right now I just want to spill my guts out to some random person about my life and I hope they can make sense of how completely confused I am... I think this Is a journal entry rather than a poem.
My best friend and I aren't speaking & I got so drunk I texted the boy I'm madly in love with twice in the most pathetic fashion and woke up with a hangover and some shame and drove over to Starbucks walked inside to see the guy with that silly bowtie.
I have to get out of Reno.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
Love, is like a clock.
My first love ended with four knocks.
His soul transfers.
Yet, he still knows all the answers.
He saves me time after time.
His blue box is a sign.
Though you don't know if it's true.
You, may have just seen Doctor Who.
Ignorant you are to make fun of his bowtie.
All his tales are true, never lies.
Everyone wants to know what he used to be.
But all he replies is follow me.
Through the vortex, time passes fast.
And this journey to the end of my life, will always last.
The Doctor, never excepts a word in return.
With every trip, the more I learn.
The galaxy is unknown to me and you.
But is explored by Doctor Who.
Protecting our world and lands a far.
The Doctor is my wish from a shooting star.
You can see him, if you just think.
And remember, just not to blink.
Angels, lurk behind turned backs.
Their hands, covering their faces, ashamed of what they lack.
Creatures from all across the land.
I see double, standing side by side on the sand.
Monsters are real he says...
As he puts on his fez.
The padorica has been unlocked.
And then closed and stopped.
The Doctor, the protecter of galaxies.
Is the only person I wish to see.
On my doorstep in the middle of the night.
To travel through time, and save the light.
Jan 26, 2011
Jan 26, 2011 at 12:15 PM UTC
What does she do when you sit in distress?
Your bowtie askew, this I asked:
What does she do when you stay up late, a restless fit;
an empty plate,
you do so sit, what does she do when you silently wish?
What does she do when you cope and pray, when you have wasted your entire day;
dreaming and hoping,
but to your dismay, what does she say when you look away?
What does she say when you laugh and cry, and how does she feel when you say goodbye? Does she smile, and beg to stay? I bet you wish it were that way.
What does she do when it comes to you, is this the life for just two, or are you rushing by too fast? Or must you hide behind your mask?
What does she do when you seem content, but can't muster a single, calm reply,
when I ask...
What does she do to your heart that I can't grasp?
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
Liken to the sun in the middle of my universe
You reach me across the expansion
Pulling me away from the edge
The teetering tower
Shaking, creaking
Whirring back and forth
Streaming like my consciousness into the void
That the self has become
But I had let you go
Like so many others before
You fall back into your life to live
While I wander out here
Existing
Devoid of the limitations that are set out by mortality
Dieing a deathless death
With each heart beat
That echo's
Passing me by I become
Godly
Always outside of the world I so long to be apart of
A physician of the soul
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 2:21 AM UTC