"buzzer" poems
Doubt is the lonely father of fear
Not a clad caped hero
Waiting to swoop in
And save the day
But a two faced killer clown
Wearing ****** crocs
With electric joy buzzer shocks
Sending surges through your veins
Sending urges that drive you insane
It may be in reason
It may be in season
But the summer heat
Can burn your feet
Under the fire of fire
Place you in stasis
As you wait to find were your space is
Letting others tell you were your place is
While they race to chase
A better life
Doubt can be better than blind
Adherence
You just have to watch out
For the dangerous side of doubt
Turn detective to fix the defective
And Steer clear of the fear
That disparages hope and reason
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
I still don't sleep well at night sometimes. I miss you, whoever you are, or maybe I just miss having someone close to me I can put all of this love into, an outlet for my affection. Whatever the case, I spend my waking moments wondering where you are and my moments asleep wondering when. It's honestly getting harder to tell the difference between the two, the two infinite worlds of possibility where wild, unexpected things happen. Or don't. Sometimes the reality is more interesting than the dream.
There's a certain sense of tranquil quiet when you're lonely that I can only appreciate for about 5 minutes before my heart grips against its iron bars, looking for a key or a file or a spoon to leap its way out of my chest to freedom and adventure. It writes Morse code letters on skipped heartbeats to you, but I am a miserable translator and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my past, for all the wrongs I've committed in the nebulous black leviathan night, the almost-nightmare state of bleariness and hypnotic suggestibility. Clarity only comes when you spirit your marble curved likeness in the warm wooded embrace I do so long for in waking life.
I ramble and you float away, O kind angel of faint hope, white stone wings beating tremendously in sync like the buzzer of an alarm clock, striking me asleep again for daylight, somnambulating across the barren black-tar desert in search of water and finding only more black sand.
The nights have become more torturous without your colorless gaze. Please get here soon so I can tell you about how I've known you all my life.
With fondest regards,
Christian
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC
i need it: the concrete floors
that send electricity through the soles of my shoes,
the ascent up stairs, cold metal under my palm
as lana sings to me and i give her my own words in return
and the pillars of my past rise up before me.
i need the now-familiar halls, the gleam of wood and glass
appropriately placed. i need the embrace of cold air,
heavy with home smells: vulcanized rubber, sweat,
fresh ice. i need my wall, my stairs, my home address: 112, 3, 12.
i need my family, related by blood and ice, by joy and frustration,
by elation and tears. i need the ceiling off its trusses,
the pitch black, the red lights, the resounding bass,
the cold and reverent silence as the bulbs sizzle back to life--
the opening face-off, teeth gritted, fists closed.
i need the smack of sticks against ice,
pucks stinging red pipes, blades scraping up snow,
the crunch of the boards, the red light and the deafening horn,
six thousand people erupting in screams, one entity,
every hand pointed to one end of the rink. i need the urge to
bite my nails, an adrenaline rush, i need to clock-watch,
i need to ***** and laugh and yell and grin, i need to
collapse and breathe when the buzzer sounds, three more points,
closer to the penrose, closer to the ncaa's--
i need hockey.
i need home.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
What do you see, nurse, what's going on?
What are you thinking, when my buzzer turns on? -
desk full of paperwork growing in size?
climbing into bed and closing your eyes?
perhaps you are aching from hours on your feet?
or maybe you're desperate for something to eat?
I'm sure being overworked is something you hate,
but shouldn't you leave that at the hospital gate?
I lay here riddled with cancer, moaning in pain
wondering if you care or if I'm a drain.
I wonder if a kind hand will take mine in care,
or if I will be met with a cold stony glare.
I know you don't have time to sit by me a while,
but would it really be too much to flash me a smile?
When you come with charts and machines to inspect
is it too much to ask that you show me respect?
I know you're all human and that you feel too,
but it isn't my fault you have so much to do.
Please don't excuse yourself with the woes of your day,
I'm scared and I'm hurting as life fades away.
I spent my life teaching with compassion and care,
but this cancer it grips me, I've nothing to spare.
Some of you have the most beautiful of hearts,
but the lottery of care, it tears me apart -
I worry if a smile is the last thing I'll see
or if you'll be looking at your watch, instead of at me.
I'm probably not you're first and I won't be your last,
but I'm the only me, present, future and past.
The life I have lived is fading; death hangs overhead,
Fill my last days with kindness, for soon I'll be dead.
So return to your training, your core values, be aware
are you the nurse with the kind touch or the cold stony glare?
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:48 PM UTC
Dear Nike,
No better felling then when I get that new shoe smell
Fresher than a spring breeze
Like a wizard making a new spell
I reach out and grab my Nikes
Pull them on my feet
They are
Comfy as a the softest cloud
Smooth as the purest silk
Magnificent as a majestic eagle spreading its wings to fly off into a deep red sunset
They make me feel relaxed as sitting in the shade on a warm summer day
When I wear you
I feel as strong as the Rock lifting a thousand pounds
faster than Usain Bolt shattering a world record and hearing fans cream his name
All the pressure off
It's just my Nikes and I
I'm a blur with my nikes
Fast as a cheetah sprinting after a desperately bounding antelope
Can't even see me
People try to keep up
All they do is trip up
When they glance up from the cold hard ground thick mud covering their face
All they see are my beautiful piercing green Nikes
Running down the court
Legs pumping
Muscles flexing
So much sweat pouring off my face its like a raging river
I taste the sourness of salt in my mouth
Next thing you know
It's all over
The buzzer roars
Everyones jumps on their feet
All eyes locked on the ball flying through the air
Fans screaming like angry banshees so loud it could make you deaf
Swoosh
And it's all over
There's a reason Nike means victory
It's because no one can even compete
Before the battle is started they've already been beat
People who don't wear them
Just haven't realized
that the shoes they wear are inferior
Do their shoes give them the power to jump one thousand feet
Sprint at the speed of light
Make exery shot they take
No
On the torn up field
On the scuffed up court
It doesn't matter
When I wear my Nikes
They make me fly
Around the world
Through white wispy clouds surrounded by beautiful baby blue sky
Across the endless oceans full of green and turquoise churning water and silver jumping fish
Through fields full of long dark green grass
Feeling the wind blow through my face like an angry hurricane
Its like I'm in the flashing streets Hong kong
Nike shoe game is just too strong
Love, Zach
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 7:52 AM UTC
The buzzer is ringing, the cookies are done
now I'll eat them one by one
The smooth frosting just like silk
wash them down with chocolate milk
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
Werewolf stood in front of a puddle.
Four inches deep. Maybe.
Werewolf looked away.
Stickers. Graffiti.
Flem’s Revenge Live Tonight!
The Nifty Nymphos April 24th.
Ballz Deep featuring **** Matikz and Tremaine The Truest.
I’m a long way from Cologne, he thought.
Werewolf knelt towards the puddle.
The wet filth smelled of hot blood.
Exceptionally hot blood, rather.
He spat in the puddle and turned.
One thousand drunk humans.
Ten thousand more, asleep, above.
Not misunderstood.
Cursed.
It’s a very different sadness.
Alexander’s Feast ended.
Rounding out his latest playlist -
Bashfully Baroque.
Werewolf checked the time.
Less than an hour.
He buzzed a buzzer.
I’m here for the Devil’s Cherries.
The What?
The, ahem, Devil’s Cherries.
He’s cool. Let him in.
And just like that, he was let out.
A line was forming for Flem’s Revenge.
While a bright moon reflected in Werewolf’s puddle.
Werewolf shouldered through.
Cursed.
Clutching his score.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 1:19 PM UTC
Opposites
I say love, You say hate,
I say curve. you say straight.
I say yes, you say no,
I say stay, you say go.
We agree to disagree,
to my heart, you hold the key.
We both beg to differ,
seeing you makes it stiffer.
I say pizza, you say salad,
I say rock, you say ballad.
I say front, you say back,
I say tic, you say tac.
I say you, you say me,
I say pay, you say free.
Sometimes opposites do attract,
all depending on the chemistry contact.
Nothing will ever tear us apart,
we have a title for the last ****
I say please, you say beg,
I say breast, you say leg.
I say *** you say ****
I say three-way, you say group.
Took forever to find each other,
almost gave up on the love buzzer.
Our love is so very strong,
we both have the favorite song.
I say food, you say drink,
I say Halestorm, you say Pink.
I say metal, you say alternative,
I say positive, you say negative.
I say blue, you say red,
I say single, you say wed.
Nobody said love was easy,
it can make you sick and queasy.
We love each other no matter what,
butterflies fill up our empty gut.
I say naked, you say clothes,
I say fate, you say chose.
I say car, you say truck,
I say *** you say ****
Love comes in mysterious ways,
this is real, not a phase.
Our love is happily ever after,
the key is a nice ***** and some laughter.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
I have new pronouns!
But first this poem doesnt rhyme.
I'm not sure if this is even a poem.
More of my...coming out.
A clarification of sorts.
At birth, the doctor said,
"It's a girl!"
Well, whoever stared into my mother's ****** looked at mine, and determined my sex/gender for me...
****
Wrong.
Errrrrnn.
(Those were buzzer sounds.)
My name is not Madison.
And though I am the proud owner of a ******
I am not a female.
My pronouns are not she/her.
My name is Ty. Short for Tyrus.
I am the proud owner of a ******
And I have not one, not 3
but 2 pronouns.
He/him.
And/or
They/them.
Either one of those is fine.
To be honest really don't mind.
I just ask that you stay away from she/her. :)
Thank you for following this "thing" to this point.
And thank you for using correct pronouns!
Please read the bottom thing:
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 11:50 PM UTC
So many scars I thought.
***** me, ***** ***** ******* me”
“Don’t do it I” I pleaded.
Cut, scratch, scrape the flesh
“Bleed you ******* bleed!
It doesn't hurt, it helps.
Not normal, what the ***** normal
You can’t destroy something that’s
That’s already destroyed.”
(He shouts at me)
“Look at me! Go on; tell me I’m not already broken.”
Empty eyes, reflecting nothing.
Inward staring; shutting me out .
He looked up at me with an air of indifference
Then handed me the blade.
So many scars I thought; so many nightmares.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
last night i almost
gave up thinking of bronzy brazilian girls
perspiring pure coconut oil, eau de margherita ;
supermodelas eating my dreams like concord grapes, lionesses
lounging on new york balconies, lithe, reading céline.
(esti ginzburg, on the phone, considers another pomeranian) .
almost stopped.
almost derailed strange vogue-like fantasme of irina shayk, standing legs planted
left knee out-thrust and foot
in ebony heel, cocked against the earth.
set being imitation of gloomy coal mine, east of prague. thin arms firmly controlling the
arc of her pickaxe, clothed in leather, high heels;
sheen of sweat holding her feline body in sweet embrace.
imagining that when shift's end buzzer echoes thru the tunnels she smokes a cigarette
on a bench in the women's locker, apple planted on old planking, elbows on her knees.
cover-alls peeled
down to her waist and her hair,
free at last.
(click)
on the tram back into the city all the smoked glass
cartier storefronts pass by like polaroids held in the hand. the same speed.
giggling, 'rina thinks of the six she could place
along her arm; gilt gold, brushed silver, diamant...
there are 11 smoked belmonts by the back steps; i did
little with the night. (tall shadow of a woman in a black dress and my mouth
a cotton ball)
that is to say:
i did almost give up thinking about bronzy braz ilia g rls ,
-
but i didn't/and so there's nothing else.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
Little orange dimples wallpaper my skin
Trying to palm my aggression by dribbling in agony
I’m free
Legs criss crossing
Arms are tossing in the air like I’m praising a buzzer
Building hopes and dreams on driveways and wooden glossed tiles
Behind me is a river of determination that I myself poured
This is where I am an artist
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
you came to the rodeo
with your latest portfolio
of sidekick apparatchi(c)ks
colorful lily - a realpolitik mariposa
and gloriosa - tall like a ponderosa
while i rode the appaloosa-
cool like - little joe
do they make you hum
a sweet song like i do?
sitting on your spanish saddle
booted to skeedaddle
when i beat the buzzer
while buzzards circled-
beneath a purple sun
you came that time
when i rode
-on the blue mesa.
r ~ 9/24/14
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Her body’s poetry
got my taste buzz
buzzing for honey
My body buzzing
with excitement
Her mind flirtatious ways
signal my body
like a buzzer
My mind buzzing
with ideas
Heart flares abuzz
like a blaze
I’ve heard the latest
buzz about her ecstasy
breathlessly waiting to
abuzz into her body’s heat
Shhhh,
Her body’s poetry
buzzing for my love!
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
There’s a clumsiness
to the way I unbutton my shirt,
hoist it over my head
and let it snuffle to the floor.
I stand there, *******
and unkempt armpit hair on display
but you’ve already almost
totally disrobed,
the light from outside
licking your spine,
dribbling down a leg
like melted sunflower petals.
We catch each other’s eyes,
except you don’t catch eyes,
you see the other person
looking at you
and you know what’s next,
the standing ****
dry skin and bellybuttons
viewed only by a fortunate few,
a bunch of names
like grapes squashed
into bed sheets
we won’t touch again.
I think this is supposed to be sexier,
my underwear flinging off,
boxer shorts champagne cork
towards the window,
your bra sunny side up
by the foot of the door.
Rather I watch you
peer at the skin I’m in
waiting for a shrill buzzer sound,
a number out of ten
and a spatter of applause
from a conjured-up crowd.
I think you look glorious.
I go to say this but my brain feels
as though it’s been whisked.
You walk over, slink your hands
towards my face,
put an icicle finger to my lips.
I’ve no idea what I’m doing
but you’ll show me the way.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 11:34 AM UTC
The Comeback snapped the ball
and looked desperately for somebody open--
I stood in the endzone
franticallywaving my
handsjumping
sporadicallyyy
HEY! I'M OPEN!!!
With an eye-roll hardly concealed
within a muddy helmet,
he begrudgingly tossed me the ball--
The buzzer sounded
and the fourth quarter ended
just as the ball was in my sweaty clutch--
But the visiting team had already clapped
each other on the backs and
my team waited for me in the
locker room
smelly and defeated.
Alas, I was the most distressed,
standing on the field alone
with the winning boon
a moment
too late.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
A new year is coming.
We want all the money.
Telling every woman bag back.
We was lost.
We fell off track.
Let's hope we do not relapse.
How could I worry about shot clocks, when I’ve been fighting just to make it to the playoffs.
Getting fired and hired and laid off.
You’re too focused on materialistic and pretend things.
Trying to impress your friends and these women.
I say all the time let’s move different.
This won’t fix none of the things that I’ve mentioned.
The relationship’s more like tradition.
We fight and don’t talk but we're moving on.
I still stay to myself, I’ve been traded on.
I can’t rush into something I keep my patience.
But you’re giving techs, fouls and a flagrant.
We know I can hit me a buzzer to win the game.
But why would I win just to feel pain.
Trying to fix myself and my mind-frame.
Stay true to myself in my own lane.
We all know these other women all want me, but I act expensive yet they all adore me.
To tie the knot won’t complete this story.
Better tighten up, soon they can afford me.
A couple of years of dating.
We on thin ice like we’re skating.
Don’t want to break, I’m just saying.
Believe it or not, I’m not faking.
Spent my whole life for this training.
For shot clocks...
So you can keep timing me or move along.
I should be writing a better poem and songs.
Self centered, you’re right and I’m always wrong.
If anything, you’re the one taking too long.
For shot clocks...
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 6:55 AM UTC
Play the cards you are dealt
There's not much you can do
Enjoy the time that you are granted
Before you start your life anew
Don't waste time with consequences
Made from un important things
Live like there is no tomorrow
Play before the buzzer rings
I've been dancing with the angels
At least a time or two by rights
Both times they said "you're not done yet"
Go back and watch out for the light
I've been dancing with the angels
Your light brought me back to earth
Your love is my guiding beacon
It's what showed me what I'm worth
At least I know which way I'm heading
Going up instead of down
I'm living life because I've earned it
I'm living life out on the town
You never know just when your number
Will get called and off you go
So, spend your time with someone special
Before you shuffle to the show
I've been dancing with the angels
At least a time or two by rights
Both times they said "you're not done yet"
Go back and watch out for the light
I've been dancing with the angels
Your light brought me back to earth
Your love is my guiding beacon
It's what showed me what I'm worth
Never miss a single moment
Don't look back, for it has passed
Be the one that folks remember
Live each day like it's your last
If you meet up with some angels
Give them a big hug for me
I've been up on two occasions
I may end up staying on visit three
I've been dancing with the angels
At least a time or two by rights
Both times they said "you're not done yet"
Go back and watch out for the light
I've been dancing with the angels
Your light brought me back to earth
Your love is my guiding beacon
It's what showed me what I'm worth
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
The smell of the turf on a warm September night
The roar of the crowd as the team scores another touchdown
It doesn’t matter; we don’t even react
For our purpose here is something entirely different
The buzzer sounds to end the first half
We take the field, excited and numb from nerves
Our hearts are pounding, the drums are beating
Our feet move mechanically to the beat
Quarter notes and half notes practiced for many long hours
Finally the reward sending chills through our bodies
Our feet stop; our horns come down
We smile at a job well done
Most people don’t notice us
They are so wrapped up in their technology
If they would only take 5 minutes and escape
Into a world of beauty and passion
This is marching band
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 10:31 PM UTC
Big
Red
Empty
But not for long
Socks Rapidly shot in
Just like a basketball at the buzzer
Boxers next
Shoved and forgotten
Undershirts crisp and white
Blanket the bottom like snow
Colorful shirts
Folded and at attention
Mimick a soldier at ready
Are deployed in
The warzone
Long pants
Almost forgotten
But, not quite
Athletic shorts
Scrunched up
Ready to jump at a moments notice
Swim shorts are strewn over
As a makeshift barricade between
Regular and
Fancy
Comfortable
Collared shirts
Zip
Unzip
Another pocket
IN go phone chargers!
IN goes computer charger!
IN goes deck of cards!
As fast as the eye can see
Zip
Clip on
The black bag of magic
Toothbrushes
Toothpaste
Dental floss
Retainer case
Last but not least
The most holy of holies
Deodorant is
Gingerly, gently slid into place
All Effluvia of
The Travelers Trade
Zip closed
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
Something about you
draws me in
from higher depths
I sway in disguise
to the pulse of 90s music videos
displaying on the screen
remembering the pulse
of my heart
as I look upon your bright face
vibrant with taste
or concentration
pouring coffee
precisely
right after the buzzer beeps
your new haircut strenuously
framing the corners of your
maleness
each strand a cut
into the interworking of
your hazardous blue eyes
rimmed in ribbon spit
a sci-fi adventure
daring to quit but
it always gets better
somehow
somewhere
deep in these depths
I no longer despair
but three plump days
stand in my way
after the promotion
after your life
getting back into motion
will you remember me
will you miss me
in any way
on hallows eve
like the brush of a sleeve
or the bunch of tight buttons
securing so fast my feeling that
I ache or admire
bind or perspire
muck in the mire
just to hear your handsome voice
as cheerful as sunbeams
cascading up and down my spine
like the thieves of dreams
bounding inside so merrily
hopeful for your attention
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
sometimes you can't only
rent space in your mind
to the ones you want to be there
this landlord
cannot control every tenant's
presence
but I think if you once leased
a suite
maybe even penthouse
I've got you in a
cramped studio
jacking up the rent
some people even own property
but you're on the way out
until maybe the last trace
of you
is a mis-labeled buzzer
or a letter
that never received
your change of address
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
Chili Powder infiltrates my kitchen
Oh boy Oh boy This is bitchen
I Flip the switch to Domestic Housewife
sharp knifes and measuring cups
I reach untop of the stove
to Find my Spatula
Flip my meat I got cooking
check the clock
as my buzzer rings
I stir the crock ***
My onions are suateed
My face is melting
But cooking
relieves me
I know that this will all pay off
when my friends walk in
Super Bowl Sunday
Even Jesus would sport sweatpants and his favorite teams Jersey
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
A rose atop the grenadine stairs
Signifies a portrait of love aflame
In memories we wish for the impossible
In life we wish to surpass reality
"Let dreams inspire life," the opportunist sighed.
When you're nice enough
No one gives you a second glance
Shrieks from down below
Make my pencil move slow
And the heart beat a double step
To a dance floor illuminated by the drunken
She nods," Another night, another life, another dollar."
Musing on this, I tip back
Seeing the slack in her black neck tie
Loosen
Revealing God's only mystery to me
Instead of five paces
Lets make it ten
I want to live longer
The sun is in just the right spot - the moon too -
To die today
"Don't you bet on no heaven boy," the preacher snickered.
"I only made one bet in my life," I said," And that
Bet was with the devil himself."
"Who won?" the crowd asked cheering.
"Who you think?" I answered back yelling.
A hush
Is more sacred
Then
Butterfly wings or
The reflection of the sun
On a moving river or
The wind through the needles
Of a young pine or even
The limp ear lobe of a naive deer
Since the seer is away on business
We will have to make do with
The good book and a bottle of whiskey
"Whiskey?!" shouted the bartender, "No one's
Ordered a whiskey water around here for YEARS!"
"I believe it," I muttered, "The only thing that suits me."
"Hombre?" he whispered, "You from around here."
"I'm from around here as much as anyone else is," I said, "We all just
Passing through."
Buzzer goes off
Ringer echoes through the hallway
Flash of light stabs through the pink window shades
A moan
From a man
Whose name is not known
Down near where
The car was parked last night
Instead of love
Give them faith
Instead of hate
Give them hope
Instead of justice
Give them free will
Reason will have to be the dagger
They **** each other with
Deep set cloud white in its sluggish passing
I knew a woman once that used to be my mother
We all change, don't we?
A number is just a number until it's a name
Take care, dear collide
Stores are emptying
And so is the bride
When the winter sets in
And the winter pass is filled
Take hold to whatever you've got
Every minute is our time
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
What if a job interview went like a game show:
each time you got the answer right,
you got rousing applause
followed by the thunderous roll of drums
and an explosive shower of shimmering confetti.
And just when you thought the celebration was over
and the quiet thud in your chest was beginning to return,
pretty girls in pink furry hats
would show off their long legs as they dance
from one end of the room to the other,
like you just won a million dollars.
But if you got the answer wrong
and your brow began to shed tears,
or your fingers stuck to each other, one by one
with each rhythmic inward dance of your knees,
the kind buzzer would go ERRGGGH!
Followed by applause
and a commercial break.
For if job interviews went this way
there would be no sudden gush of hormones
to kick-start your heart into high excessive activity
Nor energize your muscles to stretch
like thousands of short tightropes of flesh.
Rather, the thought of having to deal with
four imposing figures, staring at you,
ready to pummel you with questions,
in a battle ground filled with big tables and chairs,
would not feel like hell with fluorescent lighting
But like an event where you are a minor star in the sky
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 6:34 PM UTC