"boylston" poems - Hello Poetry

Composed wandering the Commons, quietly listening to the sounds of Childish Gambino Confused Looking for the sixteenth time for An escape from the Pru Sipping a glass of Sam Adams Boston Brick Red at a corner of WHISKEY'S on Boylston Stopped in at Ben & Jerry's on Park: Bought a cone of ™ Paid for it with my Bank of America® VISA® P L A T I N U M P L U S ® Checked in on foursquare and read the protest tweets on my verizonwireless® hTC® ThunderBolt™ with Google: @OccupyWallSt #NYPD collapses on #Sanctuary and begins arresting clergy and occupiers inside. #D17 #Re-Occupy #OWS \_Retweeted by Occupy Boston @HoraceBoothroyd @OccupyWallSt Links to sanctuary/clergy violations? Erst I wandered the sights and thought of thoughts Tweeted a picture of the “pro-corporate” march Pictured Headlines: Area Cop Arrests Area Man for Obeying Traffic Signal "Didn't anybody tell him that's not how its done round here?" Cell of Young Idealists with ties to Low-Level Terrorist Organization Busted & Detained: Found Plotting the Grassroots, Digitized, Non-Violent Overthrow of the Status Quo Op-ed: City upon a Hill: “Whose city?! Whose hill?!” #SOPA #NDAA #OCCUPYBOSTON ~D.B. Guy, 12/17/11

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Nov 3, 2012

Nov 3, 2012 at 3:35 AM UTC

donald-guy

Another for #occupyboston

Composed wandering the Commons, quietly listening to the sounds of Childish Gambino Confused Looking for the sixteenth time for An escape from the Pru Sipping a glass of Sam Adams Boston Brick Red at a corner of WHISKEY'S on Boylston Stopped in at Ben & Jerry's on Park: Bought a cone of ™ Paid for it with my Bank of America® VISA® P L A T I N U M P L U S ® Checked in on foursquare and read the protest tweets on my verizonwireless® hTC® ThunderBolt™ with Google: @OccupyWallSt #NYPD collapses on #Sanctuary and begins arresting clergy and occupiers inside. #D17 #Re-Occupy #OWS \_Retweeted by Occupy Boston @HoraceBoothroyd @OccupyWallSt Links to sanctuary/clergy violations? Erst I wandered the sights and thought of thoughts Tweeted a picture of the “pro-corporate” march Pictured Headlines: Area Cop Arrests Area Man for Obeying Traffic Signal "Didn't anybody tell him that's not how its done round here?" Cell of Young Idealists with ties to Low-Level Terrorist Organization Busted & Detained: Found Plotting the Grassroots, Digitized, Non-Violent Overthrow of the Status Quo Op-ed: City upon a Hill: “Whose city?! Whose hill?!” #SOPA #NDAA #OCCUPYBOSTON ~D.B. Guy, 12/17/11

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I'm thinking about you a little bit. Okay, a lot. Maybe because your lips were the last to touch mine (6 days ago) (and counting) Or maybe because you tried to Skype me from your roof last night. That was sweet of you. But also so very representative of your lack of l o g i c & r e a s o n. You worry me. Did you know that? Maybe. Maybe I think about you because you're great at *** I'd like that to be the reason. But it isn't. Because now when I think about you I don't think about ******* **** I think about when you kissed me in that stupid deli. I think about when you danced with me down Boylston. And how you always tell me to smile And how, for some reason, that makes me want to frown. And how being with you makes me want to tell someone I love them. But not necessarily you… And how you inspire me to create things. Anything. Like stream of consciousness poetry. So thank you. But then again This didn't turn out very well, did it?

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Aug 15, 2014

Aug 15, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC

sass-v

A Stream of Consciousness Poem About a Boy I May or May Not Like

I'm thinking about you a little bit. Okay, a lot. Maybe because your lips were the last to touch mine (6 days ago) (and counting) Or maybe because you tried to Skype me from your roof last night. That was sweet of you. But also so very representative of your lack of l o g i c & r e a s o n. You worry me. Did you know that? Maybe. Maybe I think about you because you're great at *** I'd like that to be the reason. But it isn't. Because now when I think about you I don't think about ******* **** I think about when you kissed me in that stupid deli. I think about when you danced with me down Boylston. And how you always tell me to smile And how, for some reason, that makes me want to frown. And how being with you makes me want to tell someone I love them. But not necessarily you… And how you inspire me to create things. Anything. Like stream of consciousness poetry. So thank you. But then again This didn't turn out very well, did it?

27

i was beneath the bed listening to the in-out thinking about how we all take the air differently when josh came with the cold outside and drunkenly mistook me for Christina, found his unusual place and passed out in stiff shadows, smelling faintly of fireball cinnamon whisky-- plenty of moments reserved for sinking or abandoning ship, receding into that quiet place, hungry for a will and a way when matthias finds me ransacking the kitchen cabinets, i am rattling the underground Seattle with a clorox induced vengeance because i only seem to find peace in leaving an old place clean, running my fingers through jello shots that have disintegrated sometime in the 3 am when for a few minutes we must have all been asleep. ( all the while Adele ) hums in the background--a languid Hello solemnly stitching itself into my memory something to later hold dear, some fragment of an adolescence that was realized on this night, when I was removed from the place beneath the bed, stolen from the house dreaming that I was found inside the mouths of strangers that passed alongside Boylston with their misshapen bodies coiled in streamers and various liquors so when i return at 7 am still wide awake and waiting I examine my ******* in the foggy mirror of the bathroom before taking what I would endearingly refer to as the dirtiest shower off my life--- how could such a thing be so? I'm curious myself. I've spent two weeks cleaning an old place.

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Jan 9, 2016

Jan 9, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC

broooke

Cleaning an Old Place.

i was beneath the bed listening to the in-out thinking about how we all take the air differently when josh came with the cold outside and drunkenly mistook me for Christina, found his unusual place and passed out in stiff shadows, smelling faintly of fireball cinnamon whisky-- plenty of moments reserved for sinking or abandoning ship, receding into that quiet place, hungry for a will and a way when matthias finds me ransacking the kitchen cabinets, i am rattling the underground Seattle with a clorox induced vengeance because i only seem to find peace in leaving an old place clean, running my fingers through jello shots that have disintegrated sometime in the 3 am when for a few minutes we must have all been asleep. ( all the while Adele ) hums in the background--a languid Hello solemnly stitching itself into my memory something to later hold dear, some fragment of an adolescence that was realized on this night, when I was removed from the place beneath the bed, stolen from the house dreaming that I was found inside the mouths of strangers that passed alongside Boylston with their misshapen bodies coiled in streamers and various liquors so when i return at 7 am still wide awake and waiting I examine my ******* in the foggy mirror of the bathroom before taking what I would endearingly refer to as the dirtiest shower off my life--- how could such a thing be so? I'm curious myself. I've spent two weeks cleaning an old place.

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