"californian" poems
Cutting out for a day.
Ducking into my room, my bed.
Thigh highs and a big tee.
Hair down, slow motion.
Everything easy.
Blaring arctic monkeys in my little room.
Smoke a pack, burning close to my lips.
Nicotine chaser to my
Otherwise closed-door emotions.
Stronger.
Add jack and green green Californian.
Glass eyes and a twisted tongue.
This is what the young are running to these days.
This is what I want to do,
Just have to find a way to be alone.
Can't wait for this,
For happiness.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
i love/ the water.
gonna set my sights
on a sunny californian day.
thought of you,
oxytocin coursing the grooves of my brain.
and you/ in rising colors.
i love/ that.
that polyeurithmic song of again and again
our bodies.
dark parked cars.
neighborhood bedroom lights, on then off.
we continue/ in tongues.
i love/ the sand and scent
of life. of finding ourselves,
in ourselves.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
Need adventure Helicopter not included
I mentioned before California is like cereal it is full of fruits nuts and flakes well add Larry to the list he
Found himself out in the yard in a lawn chair and the unthinkable happened he come to the conclusion
He was bored now that just won’t do not in Los Angeles so to solve the problem he dashed down to the
Army surplus store bought a bunch of weather balloons stopped along the way got a tank of helium
Brought them home filled and tied the balloons to the lawn chair then tied the rope to his jeep went in
Got his pellet pistol sat down in the chair so with figuring at release he would float up thirty feet one or
Two ways to get down use the pellet gun shoot a couple of balloons float easily to the ground or if not
That you’re just about even with the top of the house surly you can get the house underneath you to
Jump Off on the roof now Larry wasn’t mechanical so anything to do with engineering was out what was
Is that wonderful feeling of being up there so he pulled the rope there was a slight difference in the
Expected feet not thirty but he shot up and leveled off at sixteen thousand feet ever feel your rope
Might be missing some length well if the thought ever crossed his mind about the pellet gun idea two
Things he was certain about he wasn’t bored and he didn’t want to shoot any balloons deceleration the
Other Way was not an option so what’s a not to bright Californian to do well besides holding on for dear
Life and freezing you added yourself into nature mixed bag nothing left to do but let nature do her thing
So eight hours later he drifts into the Los Angeles airport corridor of all people you would meet a pilot
Trying to land three hundred people calls the tower with this message I passed a man setting in a lawn
Chair with weather balloons and by the way he is at sixteen thousand feet and he has a gun to scrabble
F-16 would be too much even for California so good news for Larry they sent out just a Helicopter and
Brought the lame duck back to safety just another day in the state it’s hard to be surprised in but some
Still succeed
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
I mentioned before California is like cereal it is full of fruits nuts and flakes well add Larry to the list he
Found himself out in the yard in a lawn chair and the unthinkable happened he come to the conclusion
He was bored now that just won’t do not in Los Angeles so to solve the problem he dashed down to the
Army surplus store bought a bunch of weather balloons stopped along the way got a tank of helium
Brought them home filled and tied the balloons to the lawn chair then tied the rope to his jeep went in
Got his pellet pistol sat down in the chair so with figuring at release he would float up thirty feet one or
Two ways to get down use the pellet gun shoot a couple of balloons float easily to the ground or if not
That you’re just about even with the top of the house surly you can get the house underneath you to
Jump Off on the roof now Larry wasn’t mechanical so anything to do with engineering was out what was
Is that wonderful feeling of being up there so he pulled the rope there was a slight difference in the
Expected feet not thirty but he shot up and leveled off at sixteen thousand feet ever feel your rope
Might be missing some length well if the thought ever crossed his mind about the pellet gun idea two
Things he was certain about he wasn’t bored and he didn’t want to shoot any balloons deceleration the
Other Way was not an option so what’s a not to bright Californian to do well besides holding on for dear
Life and freezing you added yourself into nature mixed bag nothing left to do but let nature do her thing
So eight hours later he drifts into the Los Angeles airport corridor of all people you would meet a pilot
Trying to land three hundred people calls the tower with this message I passed a man setting in a lawn
Chair with weather balloons and by the way he is at sixteen thousand feet and he has a gun to scrabble
F-16 would be too much even for California so good news for Larry they sent out just a Helicopter and
Brought the lame duck back to safety just another day in the state it’s hard to be surprised in but some
Still succeed
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
I’ll bloom in spring
Alongside the Californian hills.
When the rain paints
The terrain green
With speckled white wildflowers,
I’ll tiptoe on sunlight
to touch the sky.
I’ll be the brightest star
They’ve yet to discover.
Shooting, shining, falling,
And wished upon.
Dry land, crispy and brown
Underneath my feet on
A winter night.
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 2:03 PM UTC
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** and moan
about us drinking all the milk
that you didn't help pay for
and then drink each last beer
that you didn't help pay for
while the guy who bought them and got to drink none
is busting *** at work
making him able
to buy yet more things
for you to take for granted.
With friends like these..
By the way,
where's the last few months' rent?
You know, for all the months sense your parents stopped payin' it?
Oh, I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to assume
that you would assume some responsibility
like the rest of us
to whom you ceaselessly complain
about how un-fucking-fair
your spoiled ******* brat lifestyle is.
You can't even keep a plant
you want for personal reasons,
so how is it even fair to assume
you could get and keep a job?
How foolish of me!
At least you can roll a good joint
with **** you didn't acquire
and papers you didn't buy.
A ******* professional, you are.
By the way,
that soldering iron
you neglected to leave the house to pick up
would be ******* fantastic to have,
but even a walk half a mile to the post office
is too ******* strenuous
for you.
By the way,
do you want ants?
Because your heap of cans, bottles and dishes
is a great way to get ants,
but you get all vindictive and indignant
if anyone tries to clean "your space"
in my ******* house
you haven't even paid to live in
for many months.
While Money is far from everything,
and I wish it was a non-issue,
kindness and good intentions
will not even begin to pay
the bills, the mortgage
or these exorbitant Californian property taxes;
and, even if they did,
I fear you'd still fall
rather short.
Perhaps-
no, not even perhaps:
I've been far too nice far too long
to people who couldn't be ******
to show some ******* respect.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
Reno, if a troll messeth with thee, forgiveth them
Their bound not free.
Reno, when the clown's maketh bad choices
Silence them with silence, not voices.
Reno, thou art a dear friend to me, so I thank thou
For always caring, and sharing what tis I believe.
Reno, thou art a being with class, and hopes art high,
Be thyself girl, let the poetry like bullet's fly.
Reno, we've been through this same type of hell,
Yet we don't quit do we? We're not trapped in some cell.
Reno, child of the lighter side,
Open thy mind, continue to expand, taketh that freak poet ride.
Reno, west coast poetic, like medicine thy word's art alphabetic
To soothe a person's bad day, into happiness in cool shade.
Reno, I shalt continue to back thine wonderful work's
And even whilst its us others do hurt, showeth them love always!
Reno,
What a blessing to all of us thou art
Reno,
Poetess by birth
Californian muse heart.....
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Reno dedication/friendship dedication
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
***** faced angels in leather
swinging off neon signs
inside my head
I wanna get on that highway
& drive to
the motel of lost hopes
retrieve my teenage dreams
with a broken bottle
get me to the USA
Californian beaches
Louisiana swamps
Beatnik bums
all the things
that have called to me
in my head
not like other little girls
I never played with dolls
always dreaming of playing with fire
on the long dusty road
spitting out ghost shrapnel of Iron curtain
barbed wire
& I got lost in a Berlin subway once
& dreamed
I was in New York
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
I found myself missing you
Craving the sound of your voice
And the taste of your neck
And the feeling of your fingers
Tracing the edge of my scruffy jawline
And That look in your eyes that reflects
All of your Californian dreams
And that's when I realized
I Love You
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
her jewels melted away in the saltwater
her crown broken by jealous girls
but she sat on my wood floor
the prettiest in blue lace dream
a beautiful song breathing on the still air
and her eyes full of doubts washed away with tears
held her hand till she found her strength once again
she knew how to dance
so i cleared the clutter and
let her dazzle
let her shine
she smiled once more
put aside her silver screen dreamy voice
and talked all night bout the adventures and
the balloons chased with laughter's joys
and you could feel the sunshine in the room
from the beauty of her voice
from the beauty of her soul
she smiled once more
and whispered a song just for me
questioning but gently
seeking but giving
when i saw her last
she had returned to the carnival of californian hills
once again the rare talent with a gift of light in her eyes
for thouse who have the strength to dream
fly free and true beautiful one
be who you are without fear
you are loved
so dance...shine
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
She egresses from a pool of blue and straight into the colorless, Californian dregs of summer.
Each passing plane reminding her how stuck she is.
The question remains whether some people are doomed to just survive, a yearning for freedom following them around, until they learn to numb themselves to such aspirations.
Faraway trains pass by.
The sound in their whistles knowing the events she will litigate with herself for years to come until it empties the contents of her soul.
Mar 16, 2023
Mar 16, 2023 at 9:29 AM UTC
my best friend has a boyfriend
and i want to scream
the love inside me is bubbling
it is rage on a californian summer day
my best friend has a boyfriend
and i want to scream
she is holding his hand
and he is touching her cheeks
he is tall and fair and quiet
he is what you were not
he is not you
but my best friend has a boyfriend
and i want to scream
i want to tell her to run from love
because it ends up in pain
i want her to teach me how to
fall in love again
i want her to tell me
how it felt when they first kissed
i want to know if it felt as mystical
as magical
as terrifying as us
my best friend has a boyfriend
and i want to scream
because everytime i see them
i think of you and me
dark and so much taller than me
speaking in tongues all native to me
silences that spoke more than words
my best friend has a boyfriend
and i want to scream
they have gotten what i have not
they are living what i will not
the death of us is the beginning of them
my best friend has a boyfriend
and i want to scream
this life is beautiful
but without you, thats hard to see.
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC
so the *** debate is raging
like a Californian
wildfire in the forests,
people are "presumed"
missing...
i'm sat watching
back to the future
(beats star wars, every,
single time:
the ****** is more obvious)
and then drinking...
i always wanted to
taste a lobster...
and listening to the best of
billy joel...
scratching my mustache...
BELGIANS IN
THE UK!
then fiddling with my bead...
my beard...
i have a beard?!i
**** i have a beard!
i took, fiddling with my *****
the wrong way...
after all ****** airs
have the same feel
as ***** hair...
a bit like cleavage...
so...
you're donningv
the buttock crack
up-front?!
funny, eh?
making fun of the phallus...
how about feeding
a Donnie Disney with your,
puppies?!
how about that?
***
if women do need
no men...
do what we do...
**** off anal-style...
we do the **** projective...
you cut out utilizing
the ******
look... 'appy bunnies"
if ai am about to turn
into a *****
the female right...
all the rights you require...
sure... have them...
but what sort of right
is it,
when there's no
existentialist argument?
go on... please...
make your dodo
and your
mixed-raced argument...
mono-racial is
the new neanderthal...
call it...
we're not progressive enough...
we're too ********
to mingle ethnicity...
call it!
call me halfway house
between down and
the ******
call it!
call it!
***** better call it!
(through gritting teeth):
call it!
i said... call it!
be your progressive "self"...
call it!
i'm ******** for not mingling
adequately enough with
crafting a trans-ethnicity populace...
neanderthal...
***** call it!
guess what... i love the laced
take on history via the Anglophone
re-reinterpretation
of Darwinism...
i love the neanderthal take on thiongs...
i'm bilingual, schizophrenic,
the sort of mongrel that...
has no place among
the duo-ethnicity... "mongrels"...
lucky you, lucky me...
i'm sorry... the F extends just so far...
two languages, orange man, bad...
but a congregation of
a dual ethnicity, green man, god,
and "the" good...
whatever suits your favor...
i should care,
i won't care,
i don't care,
i will, to never ever give a ****
about caring;
like god "said":
on your own;
i much prefer the freedoms
of the jungle,
than the restrictions of a zoo.
it's billy joel, "by the way"...
life will go on...
obviously a life much ********
than the intelligent people are used
to...
but... if that's what you allow...
then you're deserving it.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
You were born with thunder rumbling from between your lips.
Your words were learned to be feared.
the promise of being trapped in the rain was too frightening for anyone to listen.
You were a flower that had begun to wilt,
covered by the shade of those towering above you,
and when they stole the last ray of light,
you learned to become your own sun.
Lightning shown in your golden-brown eyes.
Fierceness and a refusal to take any odds into consideration.
You struck hearts into beating again,
you struck minds into thinking again.
Your soul is a flood raging over hills. You are washing down every crevice of the world;
drowning and sweeping away things that will never measure to your strength.
You are a Californian wildfire.
Beautifully destructive and distinctively fearless.
You are crackling heat in valleys where thirst will never be quenched.
Don't be offended when they turn away,
some people just can't take the heat.
You have grown into a refusal to let the natural disasters inside of you sit still.
You have taken every ounce of nothingness that you felt and turned it into a brewing storm.
We will hear that thunder rolling from your lips this time.
Sonnets were written about your icy smile years before you were born.
Poets know the beauty of a powerful earthquake that could send cities crumbling,
Everyone knows the beauty of a powerful woman that can send worlds crumbling.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
We hiked mountains and dove into ocean temples
We tasted apple candy, fried onions and sushi platters
Without you to nourish my soil, my earth shatters
In my mouth lingers the dry taste of our kindred kiss
Longing for a touch that is now long gone
I trudge when I walk back to where we walked
In dreams I call (your name), in dreams I fall
Back into your arms…emptiness… alone!
October 2017, Lyon
Dedicated to my former Californian lover, Aaron S.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 7:01 AM UTC
She turned off the mist
It seemed
In the morning hour
Of a Californian day
Where the beat of cars passing
Outweighs that of
the mechanical beauty industry
Where dry cracked swimwear
Rests on Los Angeles' golden sand
And where the sun has ran away
To somewhere a lot more sane
And less powerful
She had had enough
So she collected her last tax refund
And packed her case with paper bills and not much else
Called on an old favour
from an old friend
Who drove her away
To somewhere not far
But far enough
In Oakland
The streets were unknown
And she liked that idea
Dragging herself through the day
Without stopping to think
Or admire the views
she didn't care much for beauty
Not to mention love
And was happy enough to die alone
Which she did
She left at seventy three
Buried in a plain black coffin
With no one to wish her goodbye
Or well done for starting a life alone
Just herself
Under the Californian brown earth
Where the sun had begrudgingly returned
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
I want you like the Colorado clouds
want to pour rain over the Californian desert.
Please, I am thirsty. Quench me.
Let me drink your nectar — it tastes like sunshine.
Loyally I will suckle your pistil,
even after the reason you ignored me did.
Relax — I want you...at ease.
It's OK — I want you...happy.
Don't worry — I want you...dreaming.
Come to bed with me
Grab my cheeks and squeeze them.
I am a child.
Tell me my eyes are galaxies
you want to swim in.
Your breath tastes like stale beer
but I steal kisses selfishly.
They tickle my ******
short-circuiting me to a cloud.
I am in your cloud.
I am rain.
Cross the ridge and
let me pour.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
don't eat it,
but don't tell me
"It ain't Texas enough."
I know.
We are in Seattle,
the owners are Chinese,
and I'm Californian,
so it's definitely not Texas.
It's a mutt.
"Dog food," said a customer.
I don't blame. I ain't mad,
they just pay me to be here.
Jan 20, 2020
Jan 20, 2020 at 12:45 AM UTC
My heart is fleshy and soft inside like an orange.
Beating with the morning and acidic in the night.
My heart, you peel it slowly as the spray hits you with every rip.
Fill in the gaps
You dig your nails into my heart almost as deep as into my back.
It's marked with little red crescents like a Californian sunset behind blushing clouds.
Fill in the gaps
You and I are an orange ripped in half begging to fall in place like puzzle pieces.
Like mountain ranges on orange peel.
Fill in the gaps
Invert me and let every peak meet every crevice.
Seal the nothingness between us and make it full and dark and beautiful again.
Fill in the gaps
And let us rot together until we're swallowed whole.
May 20, 2010
May 20, 2010 at 11:08 PM UTC
He never wrote me
love letters like
Heathcliff and Catherine and
all the other grandiose characters
in those old, Victorian Romance
novels. In fact,
he never wrote to me
at all.
Not a single word,
a single letter;
not even his name
on an otherwise
blank sheet of paper
roughly shoved into an
already used envelope.
Maybe he took my words and
burned them like my dog’s
ashes like Auschwitz and
Californian forest fires.
An abrupt end to
an abrupt start
created and destroyed
by the sure hands of God. Mother,
you were never one for words.
I thought perhaps I’d
have a dream. See
your face in the mirror;
feel your presence walk
through a door. But
what childish hopes to hold
in the frigid face of reality.
Cold like the snow (you loathed to shovel)
like a can of Diet Pepsi on a hot summer day
(your favorite)
like global warming seasons
and the chocolate bunnies you
used to put in the fridge
(for Easter).
Cold like corpses
your corpse
six feet under—
tombstone in the sun,
no light will ever warm you.
Dearest mother,
I have not heard
a single word
from you in
over four years.
Dearest mother,
dearest mother,
dearest mother
what do your wings look like?
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 1:20 AM UTC
Ripe, bitter, sour and oh so sweet.
Dangling off of a Californian tree.
Living within peels so stringent and
containing cascading juices so pungent.
He leaves you wanting, aching to know more.
He lures you in with the irresistible sweetest of enchanting
songs and ballads.
But what you didn't know was, that the ending
melody left you in a note that made you feel as though
you were drowning in a sea of rotten,
forgotten, and lost once loved dreams.
You became addicted to his freshness,
to the zest of his scent.
You became seduced, captivated even.
You let yourself become vulnerable
and susceptible to his touch.
You slowly opened up your wounds.
You let your friable bandages flow free.
You even let him lead the grand dance.
You let him twirl and spin you to the point
of reaching a state of trance or reverie.
He took you on romantic evening picnics,
he brought you to the oldest of antique boutiques,
and he even painted you angelic
mosaics in oil.
Ones comparable to those grandiose and imposing
works' of the masters.
At last he casted you under his spell
and he enticed you once again.
He had the charm of a thousand
and he was spontaneous in all his ways.
He never failed to surprise you.
They say he had an oriental descent
and this would explain much.
But when you least expected it,
he touched your wounds.
You felt an unbearable pain,
and a strange surge flow through you.
It burned, to say the least.
You almost felt your incisions
blister under the effect of his acid.
His yellow and aureolin tint
seemed only to be a facade.
An illusion, a charade to the naked eye.
But in that moment you could see through it.
You looked at him with pain-struck eyes,
full of confusion and disappointment.
You couldn't really identify the look in his.
You realized that he really had nothing to do
with his cadmium yellowish golden tint.
You felt as though you were fainting.
You were sinking and all the sweet
memories you two shared, flooded your
sight.
But then he said, "look at your wounds"
and you did as he ordered.
You looked down and shook off the stupor
and came back to.
You looked at your wounds and
became staggered and managed a mere "thank you".
For your wounds were no longer swollen and irritated.
He had healed you.
So when life hands you lemons,
don't make lemonade.
No, instead care for those
misunderstood beings,
and tend to their needs.
Because the lemons in our lives
are all too prevalent and far too
misread.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
I met a boy in Carolina
with eyes like the Californian sun
He said he wanted to kiss me under the sky
that was made of silk and velvet
I thought the sky looked nothing like silk
Just endless afflictions of stars, like twinkling people
Boundless constriction of atmosphere and something else
not quite reflected back at us
I didn't want to look at the sky because I thought his eyes
shone brighter than any star
with the innocent sparkle of boy-hood
and glee
And I wondered what it was he saw in
me
In my own dark eyes that must've reflected the sea,
some dangerous dark devouring ocean
What made him smile?
Was it my lips?
"Your eyes were always like the moon"
I remember you said
And even though your hands were shaky
Unlike his steady fingers
that did not stutter
sure of themselves in this world
And even if his stance was not
flighty
I could've sworn I saw a little bit of you
In this boy with the southern accent
with eyes like the burning sun
When he lit his cigarette with purpose
And looked at me
The same way you did
With wonder
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
Just can’t kick it.
Don’t know how to fight it.
Sick with grief.
No sign of relief.
My throat tightens,
My stomach churns.
Every night I yearn
To see you again,
To have your love
Hold me close.
Kiss away the pain,
Bring the peace of a dove.
Wrap your arms around me,
Pat my head.
Play these memories
And sit here alone instead
So sick
Tired of living without
Always in debt
Like the Californian drought
This ache never ends
My heart never mends
Because you left
Lost so many,
Loved so few.
My iron strength
now coming unglued.
Afraid of living—
Of failure, of success,
Dread “second best”.
I’m the choice they choose
when they choose to settle for less.
I have so much to give
But I’m scared someone will take
(And break) my heart
that’s already been broken,
And on the mend,
Then broken once again.
Get hurt without even trying
So if I try
I just might die
From the pain
That, right now, has me going insane.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 5:46 AM UTC