"casey" poems
A Saturday, slow and sleepy
Unfolds like old attic linens
And drifts along
Like pipe smoke through the reeds
On a Saturday, bleak and weary
We just can’t get our act together
With hollow talk of book nooks
High seas back road voyages
And pints of Casey’s best bitter
On a Saturday, slow and sleepy
Taking action is hard to do
So slip into a daydream
And meet me out on the fringes
Where the sun and the moon fade from sight
And time is no longer real
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
Nostalgia isn't what it used to be
Neither am I
Bewildered I am at how it turned out this way
Dreams and reality have to coexist
So they say
Unfortunately
That's the truth today
You see me and Casey had a good thing going
We were more than compatible
This was a love incomparable
We held hands, kissed on the street
We were happy, it was neat
This is the part where I get hurt
One day it was over, all in a blur
Something about us not being right
She moved out of the house and into the night
I'm not big on introspection
Now, I've no choice
I'm at the intersection
Of dreams and reality
With love somewhere in the middle
In search of a compass
Pointing to where I need to be
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
As Captain Jack kisses of the last roach
Lavender's in the boathouse window shouting that she's grown wings that she's gonna fly
over Old Casey's boat above the painted lake past where the music surrounds
permeates with the pulse of noise
Green Hat pulls me over says my name is Corey
or Kelsey
Kelly's a **** name I tell him back home people call me Blow
Enter Tennessee the cinnamon sipping reds smoking sonofagun
Are you Kevin?
I ask the fingers that familiar flight of touch leading me
down and
down and
down towards our game
"Never have I ever" howls the young Indian chief, scarf draped in madness
the fearless warrior Peepeeohpee
Someone has trapped the moon behind the window the house on the hill someone has fed the fire with its secret light
This stranger this enigma this Laura I am her cousin
and everyone I touch is Kevin
Then with the sun Tittas steps off the boat as Jesus
sacred palms slashed from last night's ritual
Bums a cig from Drew or Not Drew with the thousands out west and the lotus flower arms
Floats on her back French exhales
As I look at our feet stained red with ink all slow spirals soft wind ***** flowers
then to the shore the fireflies still dancing through the dawn
Flying high
Secretly praying to each outshine the fade
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
In a busy town
In massachusetts
there is this college
BCC
At this cozy college
there are 8 buildings
But one has capture my heart completly
G BUILDING
Walk through the sliding glass doors
Around the corner
through the lunch room
To the Dinning hall
Noise assult my ears
Beeping video games
shouts of triumph
Kpop and metal music
Tables littered with playing cards
Yugioh
Pokemon
Magic
People as different as can be
From all corners of the social spectrum
Popular
and geeks
Join together in a crazy dance
A swirling brightly colored tango
Joined together
by mutal intrest
Riker, dear Riker
puple fadora ever present
My "Co-Pimp"
a founding father of the trolling company
Damien, Oh damien
Your strangness growing stranger
Your hair of deception
Another founding father
Jose, Dear Lord Jose
You're pervertenss proceeds you
Cat calling
Video gaming
Holly, sweet Holly
Looking innocent and sweet
Masking your wildness
underneath
Nathan, My Naten
My best friend through the ages
Opinions flying
Jungle juice by your side
Casey, My sweet sweet Casey
Ghost story devourer
Trusting you with my secrets
Everyone's little sister
John, John of the lake
Annoying as hell
but loveble all the same
only kind things to say
Josh, Or should I say Shoji
Big Brother
Laptop out
Video game in
Matt, My lovely Matt
This is where we met
Fate intervined
brought us together
This is where I belong
This island of misfits
This G building gang
This is my home.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
There was no joy in Mudville,
The air was cold that night.
For the hockey team was losing
And shorthanded, following a fight.
With 5 minutes on the penalty clock
And 1 minute left in regulation
It seemed as though the season was over
And the team would be heading to the unemployment line by the train station.
The next face off was won by Mudville,
And they dumped the puck down the ice
Wilson raced down after that 3 pound puck, and out of nowhere came Johnson, a pass to score as he fell down the ice!
Tied with about 30 seconds to go, the crowd gave an almighty roar
Because they tied the game shorthanded,
Johnson, a defenseman had scored.
The teams headed into overtime, and you could cut the tension in the air with a knife,
For in hockey overtime is sudden death, the next goal would win the night.
And after a 10 minute intermission, the teams returned to the ice
The referee skated out to center, and dropped the puck between two anxious Sticks.
The duel was on, and both goalies were tested
But neither one would fall for the forwards tricks
With overtime ended, we went to a shootout,
This seemed to be the only way to decide the game.
And after Wilson stepped back onto the ice, he scored giving Mudville a chance to win the game.
But Jeralds would tie the shootout in the second round, and Johnson, following him would do the same. So after a miraculous stop by Mudville's goalie, it would fall onto Casey to win the game.
A hush fell over the crowd, as Casey stepped onto the ice, he took a deep breath and started on his way,
He skated wide left stick handling down, his head up at the goalie trying to get him out of play.
Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey was shutout.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
Osprey flood-pathed junctures
in the
middle
of Paradise.
Overexposed and diluted
by the
sounds
of the missing heartbeat
and the
loneliness
of the beakless egret
we all feel.
The expression of
the sunlit
reflective pool,
for the
paradise
we know and sense
and understand.
Not quite at the
end of
earth,
but almost.
While the ball
of fire
exposed and
diminished,
flourishes to the
very end., and
awakens on the beaches
of Casey Key,
toward the dusk of
the beautiful day
in paradise…
I smile
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 3:16 AM UTC
One tiny water droplet dances,
On a river of rushing air.
She races 'oer cumulus cliffs.
She tumbles down the nimbus stair,
And as she whirls mid the frozen flow,
Her body begins to turn to snow.
Relinquishing her liquid status,
Spreading forth her crystaline lattice,
She leaps from the cloud tops of her birth,
Forsakes the sky and drifts to earth.
Now me...
...I come...
Grumping down the stony street,
Back turned to the sky, eyes glued to my feet,
And lurking in my furrowed head,
Myriad troubles, worry and dread.
No time to look round, no time to see,
No time for laughter, no time to be.
Suddenly, a glint, flashing, captivates my eye,
Causing me to look upon a small speck drifting by.
One perfect snowflake, like a musical note,
Piroettes, hovers and lands upon my coat.
At once, the black veil distorting my sight,
Dissolves to reveal the truth and the light.
I look up, breathless, for now I can see,
The whole world is dancing and smiling at me,
And my cares, so tremendous a moment before,
Now seem quite tiny and sort of a bore.
I must thank this lovely creature who has perched upon my sleeve,
But all I found was a water droplet, slipped down into the weave.
And on that winter afternoon as I stood beneath a tree,
A small voice whispered on the wind and sighed...
..."Remember me."
Later on, the moment past, now back my daily trials,
And I, caught up in deadlines met, far from thoughts of smiles,
Reached for a pen to make a list of certain things to get,
Looked down my arm at the sleeve of my coat,
...and saw it was still wet.
(For Casey)
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
Why do mechanics need manuals when they’ve fixed it before?
Answer my question or I’ll walk out the door!
Didn’t they attend trade schools or get O.J.T.?
Why need repair manuals? That what gets me.
I just want a mechanic who won’t refer to a book.
Just fix my car already, don’t give it a second look!
Why do pilots run checklists and reference their charts?
Just push the dang button and hope the plane starts!
Didn’t they go to flight school and pass all the tests?
Pilots fly most days, so who needs all that mess?
I want a pilot who knows without referencing a chart.
Just get on with the flying and prove that you’re smart!
What about the doctors who are practicing still?
Why can’t they get it right? And that includes the bill!
They’re always researching new studies in journals
When time’s better spent attending patients’ internals.
I just want a Marcus Welby, Ben Casey or Kildare
Instead of keeping up to date, I just want them to care.
Why do lawyers review case studies and legal decisions?
Such antics in my book leave them open to derision.
All that studying in law school should have been enough.
After passing the bar they should already know their stuff.
I just want an attorney who’s a know-it-all ace,
Not a book worm mouthpiece to plead my case.
Finally, the poets, being wordsmiths their art
You won’t see them referencing a checklist or chart
But look, in their hands, just what can that be?
A dictionary? Thesaurus? Are those what I see?
A real poet never needs help reading Shakespeare or Keats
Using Webster and Roget would make all of us cheats!
If a poet is real, the words should just flow
I think that all poets should automatically know
The right words to use, and literary crutches forgo
How dare they try better vocabulary to hone
They should come up with good things to say on their own.
I’m looking for poets who’ll just know what to say
Like Lewis Carroll’s poems in his heyday:
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogroves, And the mome raths outgrabe.”
Don’t bother looking up his words, for that would be a dumb thing.
Using a dictionary or thesaurus, you might actually learn something!
Oct 26, 2019
Oct 26, 2019 at 10:20 PM UTC
i was looking for you
but found a girl named Cacy instead
except im not entirely sure how she spelt it
maybe Kasey? Casey? Kacie?
She told me she wanted to start going by Cass (Kass?)
though
i told her that i knew a girl named Cass
and even though it was a lie
she couldnt tell
or maybe she could
but either way she said that the name
"Cass"
was a "fuckable" name,
a name that was bound to
"get some"
and i had nodded with that sheepish grin
you hate
and started to shake
with that embarassing nervousness
that annoys you
and she held my hand and lit a cigarette
she told me that she hated smokers
but that it "blurs the edges"
i told her that i was all edges
she asked why
and so i told her about you
and how i was looking
but how i had found her
and how i very much preferred to have found her instead
she gave me a cigarette
and i coughed because you know i have asthma
i said thanks and called her Cass
and she had smiled because i think she was starting to grow
quite fond of the sound of the name
i coughed out my name
and she told me about how Peter Pan was "hot" and how wendy was the
biggest **** ever
we laughed
and we smoked
we talked
and we shivered
we went inside
and we slept
and i didnt cheat
even though Cass was quite fuckable
i slept
and dreamt of her rather than you
and woke up much happier than i have ever been.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 3:45 AM UTC
it's visual anthropology, I swear.
it's everything can't you see!?
I'm on my bed.
I had a great dream about you,
I'll even say it, you said you'd make love to me,
so I anxiously listened to Pull My Daisy by Allen Ginsberg afterwards, he certainly was mad but was genius but I do care about my health, though.
So, I ordered the speeches of Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King. Lincoln said a lot, he advanced a conversation but appeared to lord over the common man, the man who works in the field, the man who goes to war to fight. Martin Luther King didn't say much, although Common says freedom is free.
I smoked a cigar and poured some orange juice, too. I can now smell the cigar and enjoy orange juice. I saw a white bug outside and felt deep. The specific kind, unknowable. I'm nervous tho' about today. I have to be up at five AM. I could sleep more but I won't, instead I'll write a clear and coherent prose-poem about the circus because I do care about my health. I will love myself and maybe take a shower because I do care about my health. Molly Casey, who knows, I forgive you if you forgive me, and if whoever said "ugh" apologizes, I'll be happy. But first, or later, we'll have to accept that life is unfair, and that you have to be professional to make it through.
Here, look it, I'll tell you everything and more, and all the time, if you tell me I'm sane and beautiful.
How badly do you want bad? I want bad, sometimes. I want good more often that's why I do this dear Molly Casey. And when you said you'd sleep with me, did you think? No, I don't think you thought and I don't think you mean it. No, when you said you'd make love to me, in my dream, did you think? No, I don't think you did. But know, you inspired me. As a conciliation for my inability to be profound, or for being too profound, or too much of a thinker, or for being overly cautious, I want you to know that biology is interesting and that when I write several words down in my poem book and in my phone to use later, I think I'm working.
Here are those words:
1. faced
2. changed
3. is
4. cognitive
5. multiple
6. vision
6. droplet
7. positive everyday experience
8. I lie
9. ought to listen to that song
9. cause
10. zeal
11. prudence
12. in the dust
13. self-criticism
14. work
15. chill Castro
16. not SA - SF although SA isn't bad
17. me
18. my friends
19. All encompass dropper
20. Only human
21. All too human
2:38 AM December 12th 2018
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 6:54 AM UTC
the long thin fingers of a girl of twenty-four
wrapped tight around the handrail of the L-train
bright-blue-eyed but for the temple bruise
*he loves me
and the mess I made*
everything tattooed (everything everything)
invisible on her cheeks and in the hollow of her shoulderblade
her lower lip and wristbone
but for the temple bruise
darker by two shades
a four-in-the-morning-night cottoning her tongue
not-the-first of many and her long thin fingers
white-knuckled
little joys to light on the handrail
not his warm-hot-ice-hard chest
or his loud voice (woulda been real handsome
if his eyes weren't so cold)
but for the temple bruise
*i
fell
in
love* so many times that day
the first sunday of its kind--not drenched
in imperceptible airdrops
the red-brown beard of the business suit
and the freckles undermining the punk-rock
vibe of the dark-eyed fox-girl
but the thin white knuckles
and the temple bruise
--none more than her
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
Pad and pen,
here are Casey’s thoughts again...
Driving down the highway, Jason is strapped in because Casey’s in denial again. She doesn’t want to lose her little one.
Wake up Casey, you’re dreaming. He’s gone.
You drove under the influence.
What’s wrong with you?
This is what you get. He’s never coming back.
Driving silent like a mime with its mouth sewn shut.
You’re just like a mime, living in a black and white world.
You’re gray matter Case.
You’re a nut-case.
Where’d you put your straight jacket?
You hit your brakes to assure Jason will be safe.
Convinced that at every intersection there’s a conspiracy against you,
sure to get hit.
But Casey, it’s too late. This is what you get.
He’s never coming back.
Why’d you have to reach for more?
Lock her up.
Strap her in.
Casey's off the deep end... again.
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 1:18 AM UTC
When I heard about it I was hurt, saddened, mortified.
I couldn't believe someone I remembered to be so full of life had died.
I remember playing D&D; for hours at a time.
I remember our characters always doing something out of line.
I remember your brother (as our DM) playing a little frog to help us get back on track.
I remember stealing only pens and that same little frog eraser at walmart, just to have security stop us outside and ask me for the nail polish back.
I remember our photo shoot, and the picture of us standing back to back.
And the one that looked like you were staring at my shirt, we all had a big laugh about that.
I remember when you and I became close, and were together almost everyday.
I remember how reckless we were, but wasn't that always our way?
I remember karaoke nights, going clubbing, parties at Casey's, and trips to Niagara Falls.
I remember through everything what a good friend you were to me, I remember that most of all.
I love you and miss you Jon.
I will always remember you.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
When I was growing up
we had Flowerpot Men
On the television with Little ****
Their names were Bill and Ben
who were very strange men indeed.
They were made out of flower pots
and had a hat on their head to match.
This strange gangly flower lived between
It was an odd sight to watch
If you've seen it you'd know what I mean.
But we were glued to the black and white screen
Watching Bill and Ben jig around their pots
Little **** had a squeaky high voice for a plant
It needed the Woodentops dog with the spots
Who used to have legs that were on a slant.
Casey Jones used to put a smile on my face
With his stripy trousers and a very big wave.
Those were the days with Watch With Mother
The happiness and enjoyment it gave
As I sit now watching Celebrity Big Brother.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
"I always make a living so, that I can make movies. I never make movies to try to make a living. I think that's a big mistake that new comers do. They always focus on how can my passion, pay me. And I think that's a terrible place to start. If the reason why you're doing anything creative is to make a living then I think you're doing it wrong. You get into it because it's a true passion , it's something you really believe in or don't get into it at all."
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
As the sun begins to retire for the day, we sit here in my black, 1965 Lincoln Continental convertible, gazing upon the glowing city skyline that is illuminated in orange and red, a perfect complement to the burning house at the bottom of the cliff.
This shared moment couldn’t be any more perfect.
I look over at her.
How did I get so lucky?
With her I don’t have to talk. I can simply enjoy her company, me eating a vanilla cone as she inhales a burger and fries.
Food gone, she looks longingly at me, so I extend my right arm to share my ice cream.
She is so adorable. Her inherent beauty is magnified by her quirky imperfections, especially that slight under bite and scarred face, some scars more pink and fresh than others.
The sun finally disappears, and we are cloaked by the black, star-filled sky. I continue to marvel at the smoldering house, taking it in, processing it, and developing it as if I am a photographer in a dark room.
Reaching for the ignition, I pause. I lean back in my seat and close my eyes for a very brief moment. All I see is the pathetic expression on his face, his struggle. And those ***** cuss words he spat at me – if only I had had soap, but I didn’t. I lean over to Casey and take off her collar, throwing the encasement of her old life out of the car and into the endless mystery that lies beneath us.
The blisters on my left forearm begin to sting and throb, the heat disrupting the stillness of this reality.
I need a bag of ice and a bottle of whiskey.
I can’t wait until we are settled into my apartment, enjoying that cheap air conditioning as we cuddle and watch re-runs of the Andy Griffith Show.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
O' Casey had been told where the meeting was
senior members of the IRA would attend
he didn't know and thought that MI6 would be there
duped into assassination was a dangerous masterstroke
others knew that he was dissatisfied with the hierarchy
so if it transpired, he would be a likely target
If the real resaon was found, they would never forget
the old mainland action would be re-ignited
and the Brits cleverness found to be short-sighted
the peace process was a sham, arms locked away
Adams and McGuinness in suits, smug faces
while they postulated and mixed in high places
'You realize what were doing?' The ***** said
'Rather, let them carry on with their empty head.'
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 3:06 PM UTC
People believe evil is the great adversary of man
That evil is the actions conducted after sin's temptation
Or horrifying deeds done in the name of something unholy
What is evil?
Evil is a marshmallow that falls from your stick into the fire's ashes
Evil is finding a hole in your favorite sock
Evil is getting a paper cut on your tongue from licking an envelope
Evil is getting splashed by a passing car in winter
Wet, cold and soaked to the bone
Evil is having your dolly broken from childhood antics
Evil is getting beans in your burrito when you ordered without
Evil is watching time speed up as you get older
Evil is watching the clock slow down when you want to leave at 4:00
Time is a *****
Evil is a child's balloon popping
Evil is ice cream and they are all out of sprinkles
Evil is turning on the light switch and the bulb doesn't work
Evil is a red light
Satan lives at intersections
Evil is getting homework that cuts into your playtime
Evil is watching your dad make himself a PB&J; sandwich, eat it in front of you and doesn't offer to make you one
Evil is being told you have to go to bed early
Evil is when you run out of ideas
(I wrote this poem with the help of my daughter Casey)
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
Take my advice,
always think twice
before you let in the devil
and give in to vice.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
Words are trickling
out of this fountain
pen that are not my own.
Plagiaristic. Echoey.
Your words forming
on my lips and fingers.
Your art, my life.
How I yearn to make
my voice the one
that is heard.
Instead it chokes
like Casey at the Bat.
It splinters like
the spreading chestnut tree.
Where I should have never
kissed you and you
never should have kissed me.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 6:33 PM UTC
The Polo Grounds, when first seen,
are a most magical shade of green.
Hand in hand, me and my Dad
head for our seats in the right field stands.
It’s the Cincinnati Reds in town
to play the New York Mets.
There’s a double header scheduled,
How much better could it get?
Cincinnati took the first game
by a score of three to nil.
My hot dog was delicious
Dad had a beer to swill.
The nightcap was a wild affair
The Mets won thirteen- twelve.
You could look it up, as Casey said,
if you should care to delve.
We rode the subway home that night
side by side, me and my Dad.
We reminisced about the game
Like the most knowledgeable fans..
The Q44 from Flushing took us
up Queensboro Hill,,
past Carvel and Booth Memorial,
I remember it well still.
My father turned to look at me
as five decades creased my brow.
Making us the self same age-
What he was then, so I am now.
Thirty years, about, it’s been
Since last I saw my Dad.
The dead don’t get to baseball games,
Which I think is rather sad.
He can’t enjoy a summer night
on the wrong side of the grass.
And an ice cold beer is greatly missed-
He can’t pour himself a glass..
In memory, we still can walk
With those who came before.
So I took my Dad to a baseball game-
What was I waiting for?
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 6:28 PM UTC
My old name is dead to me.
That's why they call it a deadname.
The person who had that name breathes no more.
She was killed by my own hands.
She was named for both of her grandmothers,
some sort of sentiment to come from a careless mistake.
Maybe this is what made it so easy for me to **** her
because her name was a throw-away.
Her middle name came from the title of a movie
that her parents had once liked.
But the movie is old and bland, and the plot has no meaning.
So her names are futile attempts at trying to right a wrong,
trying to make up for something that can never be fixed.
I killed her.
I wanted her dead so badly,
so I killed her.
My name is Casey.
I am not heartless, though.
She wanted me to be Casey.
Although I killed her, she still means something to me.
I had to **** her in order to move on.
She knew that.
So I am Casey for her.
Casey.
It means spear.
A weapon.
Fitting for a murderer.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 1:46 PM UTC