"casio" poems
Plaid slacks
Feather cap
Argyle socks
Flip phone
Mullet hair
Greasy hands
Crusted fingernails
White belt
Sketchy beard
Members only
Casio watch
Deck shoes
Muscle shirt
Tribal tattoo
Chest hair
Plumbers crack
You look great, Mom!
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
An eyelash on my cheek.
I caught it and blew it.
With the wind.
A star shoots across the sky.
I tied a knot.
A four-leaf clover.
I almost stepped on it.
11:11.
Says my Casio digital watch.
A coin lying on the sidewalk.
I flipped it down the well.
Fingers crossed.
Eyes closed.
I feel lucky.
I wish for you.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
bottlerocket,
ski click &
shoot.
[empress impressed.]
petrol souls drift the skin & aetherous
of our holy mother lake midday.
by alpine,
lymph node,
spine of glimmering fish;
i never truly thought that love could destroy.
[to display the paradise boon and boom salute.]
her knife atop the stump.
*
yon machines construct art-form of reservoir (yon being short for yonder),
knee-boarder-boy wake to wake, he wags his tail when he dreams.
[lakeside.]
tribal the beach: a family drunk on juiceboxes.
rolling rocks. tall boys
& boulders/ bountiful canyon kids
with their beautiful gasping dogs.
****** knee **** and gallop at the foot of a mountain/mound &
sugar ants stomped, longing to empire.
mom bunches her fists into sand
of stolen crag, listening closely for her childhood in the whistle
of a casio conch.
margaritaville will do.
[to **** or kiss beetles.]
kiss;
the bitty prince.
maintain a steady alliance with all lifeforms and flora.
life is programmed as thus;
algorithm of love.
bright honeydew soaked slabs of wood,
or plank, tabletop treatise.
wet pile of seeds.
young small birds hoard seeds for winter;
teeter into spring;
& upon summer find solace in swift slip-n-slide daylights.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 7:35 AM UTC
Not a moment sleeps
when our motion wakes
and perpetuates a new arising
The greatest races ever run
are those without a finish
and the hares become confused
to which it becomes obvious
of why the hero was the tortoise
An anti-hero now
when a Casio watch
measures nano-seconds
The western world is exhausted
and the road stretches
past the horizon
and the East have been running long
for over 4,000 years
and they don't even need an inhaler.
So who is laughing now?
Well the answer is quite clear;
whoever found it funny.
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 12:51 AM UTC
it's the smallest voices that scream the loudest
I've never been a fan of the trending hero
or the underground superstar.
slam poets make me sick.
your attitude is a well concocted ploy
to touch indie hearts and
I hate it.
I love the ignored
the militants
the trashman painter,
the gas station attendent that
makes ****** artcore ******
in her boyfriend's garage
the sixteen y.o. with a tape recorders
and a circuitbent casio
howling blood into an old
speakercummicrophone
slash and burn
leave your best work sitting
on a park bench for me
ignore the plight and shove
your fingers down your throat.
I love the broken. the hurt.
the misanthropes the schizoids
**** victims
homeless
suicidal
single mothers
drug addicts
if that fire is in your shattered
legs reflecting the age of
a
billion dead scaffolds
soul of revolution raging
knife in paw
I will fall in love with you
and sigh at the detrious
in your wake.
let me see you naked and crying
my own wounds fester quiet
when everyone else is asleep.
have a drink,
you earned it.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
I tell everyone that
you broke my heart.
But if I press my fingers hard
against my chest,
a little to the left of the bone in the center
that’s curved to fit the shape of the right side of your temple,
I can feel the steady
thump, thump, thump
of it,
still alive,
still in one piece,
still beating. I think
my heart is stronger than my body
most days,
when I can’t force myself out of bed
because my pillow still smells
like your shampoo and
my heart still beats:
thump, thump, thump.
When my knees give out
because I find your
“Essentials of Strength Training and Conditioning”
textbook right where I told you it would be,
my heart still beats:
thump, thump, thump.
When I stand in front of the fridge,
motionless,
staring at the notes you’ve written
in the margins of the takeout menus,
my heart still beats:
thump, thump, thump.
When I lay down on the floor and
stare at the Casio keyboard under the couch
where you left it,
my heart still beats:
thump, thump, thump.
When my fingers,
still melded to the shape
of your hand,
can’t grasp the doorknob
or my next drink
or the telephone to call you,
my heart still beats:
thump, thump, thump.
I tell everyone that
you broke my heart
but I think
the only thing you left whole
was my heart.
The rest of me is thrown around the room
in broken bits and pieces,
memories littered like body parts
across the hall
and the floor of a room I once called ‘ours,’
but my heart still beats:
thump, thump, thump.
My heart still beats
like eerie jungle drums in the dark,
like a clock and I have a hangover,
like a leaky faucet and a copper basin:
thump, tick, drip.
My heart still beats.
(You didn’t break all of me yet.)
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 11:37 PM UTC
New gold Casio watch,
Loosely hangs from my wrist.
It hits the bottle harder than I do,
Against my best wish.
Swish of whisky down my throat.
I've never been one to boast,
About newly bought possesions.
But this watch,
This gold Casio watch is the exception.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
Do you know what time it is?
Is it springtime? It tastes like springtime in every word I wish I could say to you, but I choke on petals and potting soil in the meantime.
Is it Sunday morning? It tastes like Sunday morning every time I speak your ancient name that led me out of Egypt.
Is it naptime? It feels like naptime in every toss and turn I take, even though when we lay down, we don’t usually rest.
Do you know what time it is?
You don’t wear a watch. But if you did, it would probably be a Casio watch. Because you’re subdued and kind of smokey and there’s nothing shiny about you
Until you laugh from the pit of your stomach and I feel like I’m home.
You don’t wear a watch. And I’m glad because it shows off your arms more. You don’t need to cover them up and you actually don’t need to cover anything up, ever.
Wait. Is it naked time?
Do you know what time it is?
Is it dinner time? Like the time when you smeared barbecue sauce on my face and got away with it?
Is it wintertime? You make me feel kind of warm inside.
Is it bedtime? Because even though your eyes are the color of ice and your spine is made of steel and your biceps feel like bricks, you are the softest and gentlest person there is.
I’m afraid that the clock will strike twelve and you’ll see that I’m just a maid in rags who has mice for friends. And that I am actually not a princess.
I’m just a girl with a funny name who has completely lost track of the time.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
Checkin on my stew,
its stewin.
Checkin my casio watch,
its tickin.
Only acouple horas to go,
my excitement will burst and billow like snoww
because nights like tonight don't happen often.
Once a week.
Its Thursday eve *******
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
YOU delirious about the coastal span - from
the country that went on a hot year - then become the
beach your body: spread out - fragrant and hungry!
Like the perfume ad page, which is torn off
thick copies, magazines that chock short of pictures!
The one on you lies, I, which is released by the wind,
large pickaxes, mooring the sky, then sprinkling wildly
I started this guerrilla, facing my own shadow,
your spicy sand bath, quartz that grows hearts
Late afternoon. The sun goes past: yellow past
soon it was broken and glowing, the blood of a snake
I've repeatedly looked at digital numbers,
Casio - waterproof, 200 meters - an hour of the day
*
If the sea yells, the sentence is the waves!
He did not carry any name, until he called the bay
Place turtle loggerhead, from far journey,
Thousands of miles pilgrimage, to the sand he had hatched,
littered, food wrappers and beverage cans
This ******* like undesirable verbal abuse!
*
What have I found? Or broke it? I'm a farmer
threatened insect pests, certainly can not keep, seeds per
Seeds, immature rice. The season is short-lived.
When I see the location of the taxi to the North,
I also had to go back there, fold the map, then
stepping like a man's footstep -
like the song I heard from Springteen - and
write down a poem that I am afraid of his verses.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:35 PM UTC
In those apricot-tinged nirvana days,
cigar smoke filled the stuffy restaurant in which we ate.
At the table across from us sat a couple in their fourties,
Him, a toupee-wearing, finger-clicking car salesman,
and Her, the blonde in a tight dress,
glossy white mink and even glossier white stilettos.
She talked enthusiastically about the new eastern religions,
Groups that offered "clarity" and "spiritual guidance" to the dissatisfied Miami girls such as herself.
She said that she wanted a new way of life.
(Secretly, she wanted the young guru who'd promised it to her.)
Toupee protested:
"But honey, we ain't no slaves to the machine!"
The gold Casio watch on his wrist and the tacky pearls she sported said otherwise.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
Is that the time already?
I muttered in my mind
Peering at my watch
I could have gone on my own
It was fine
The passenger seat was comfortable
The engine was almost silent
But loud enough to know the car was speeding
The road stretched endlessly
But the journey was abruptly short
*
As I looked around I saw little of interest
Not much at all, only a few blades of grass on dirt patch
'I'm sorry' he said
I peered at my watch
It had stopped completely
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
superficiality in my bones
in my thighs
in my smiles and hidden lies
a double ghost, I lost my flesh
somewhere in the unsuspected mess-
Wait a second, don't go yet
I'll lure you in with my black turtleneck
Black Turtlenecks and Kanken Backpacks,
Oxford shoes, Casio watches
Can't you see I'm too cool to forget
I'll carry around this 800 page novel that I haven't even finished 1/10th of
I'll risk the weight to carry on my show
If you haven't deducted quite yet
This is my artwork I'll force down your throat-
A walking masterpiece printed of the internet.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
Less than a question,
stuck playing all the old games;
a face carved from wood.
Stuck playing midnight,
quoting Castro on hunger;
Loss of appetite crucial
to understand
the feeling of having none,
but this is just greed.
I eviscerate
and consume nothing, woeful.
Flesh does not have me.
Ticking Casio,
breathing time into nonsense.
Digital. Solid.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC
I woke up blurry eyed to the syncopated screaming of my Casio clock.
But I didn't mind,
because in 2 hours time
I'd see those pretty green eyes
and you'd finally know how much I've changed.
And to the beeping of my Casio clock
I remember the 4 page apology about being a Casio ****
But I didn't mind,
Because in 1 hour and 59
minutes time
I'd no longer be searching to find a way to say what's on this paper I've signed and we can be friends.
I look in the mirror and I look like **** to be honest my looks haven't changed a bit but I've bought these ******* expensive jeans,
the same ones that haven't been cleaned since I kneeled down in your ***** and cleaned
the bits
from your lips and stroked your hair whilst I waited for an ambulance to come.
But you wouldn't remember that.
And so today would be the first day of light you've seen reflect from my skin since you gently peeled me off like a used band aid.
But I didn't mind,
because in 1 hours and 29
Minutes time
You'd remember why you ever held my hand
And
Even if it takes ten years id work to become something worthy.
So with my unclean jeans on I spray some of that same genre of deodorant,
Clean my teeth freak out about forgetting a haircut and say **** it at least I found ten dollars for the train fare.
And with my **** hair I didn't care,
Because in 40 minutes id be there,
And breathe the same air
The burning stars we once shared,
And so I check the time,
And so lose my mind
As the train arrives in about 5,
Seconds.
And I watch it race away from me as I sprint through the rain in my special suede shoes.
And as I walk in cold boots
I realise, that I don't mind
Because in 29 minutes time
I'll be lost in the warmth of your eyes
So I jump on the next train
And the officer decided to pick my brain
And I have to get of the train,
In the rain,
To buy a ticked again,
Because I don't look 16.
But I don't mind because in 19
Minutes time,
I'll be with that one perfect kind.
So I squeeze the letter in my pocket as I finally jump off at Perth station.
Pulsing with anticipation,
I run without a pinch of patience
Through the rain under a storm,
And I'm finally here.
I look around.
I sit down.
And you're nowhere to be found.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
Before you, I never knew an "us."
I came and left as I pleased because I could.
Understanding it didn't hurt me to do so. At all.
Maybe the people I met felt a different connection.
Maybe the weather was brighter for them and the colors more vivid.
Then, in the middle of the sweltering summer heat, you were there.
Wearing a Casio watch that also functioned as a calculator with a half-smoked cigarette in your fingers, nails painted black.
You were so, you. Raw. Unfabricated.
And I loved it.
I loved you.
How we chain-smoked cigarettes and how you wrapped your arms around my waist while I heard the most euphoric laugh ever.
I wish I realized how similar we were. That for us, this was a first.
To wake up so early to meet someone and feel as if each step gets lighter as we near. To whisper in the dark while being unable to close the proximity between us, but feeling the tension of needing to.
You were not another piece on the chessboard.
For me you were real.
And I can't bring myself to provoke a conversation, but I’m thankful.
And wish I could’ve gotten to know “us” longer.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 3:10 PM UTC
"Wear clothes". Of course I know cats and speeds. I'm sure this is my child. In addition, "My Mom and I" are the last day. Children are located in Africa, Germany, Italy and Italy, including birds, flies, ships, ships, Europe, Germany and Rica. He struck him. Children, dogs and sports are dangerous. Sea, ACI, Jung, Balance, PSA children (ACI, Jung, FSA balance). Please send your parents ... "Kenyan, my son, little boy, outside." Europe in Europe Robert Roberts Stolica is the world's largest city. 10 Robots, Robert Roberts, Bob 500, Casio, So Burn Soto, Italian Bean Vifef Philo of Lincoln, 100, Italy Sicily Sicily Kenya 100100 bottles; OXXO VINDOO 10, and Cicero, in 1996, wanted 200,000 miles to his father's computer network. Spank's painting of Spankskaya Octavil of European Spank is 200 and 4 Evolution models. (USA); Over 100 countries, including 60% of Kenya and Kenya. Italy. Hendrik, pigs, media, tobacco, Tanzania, children and diseases. Tisma October 12, October 10, 200 - 200 - Mark Roberts and Bob Robert - In 1996 two pigs, 1000 songs, six Italians, S 200, and others. 4 English is a must-have camera. But 100 percent, Canada and Australia are four dimensions and three dimensions. 1 2: Black, 6, 20, black, scared. Under the Canadian virus, **** and Verenighe are 200 liters of the Stepteni. Clean ******* and ******* Fourth, our brothers and sisters are celebrating the 500th anniversary of the exaltation of the 100th anniversary of the 100th anniversary of Brazil's Robert Field at Brazil's 100th forests in Italy, Australia, Kenya, Eritrei, Fruit, Australia, Kenya, Eritrea and 100 forests. December 12. 10. Emotions are controlled. George, George. Store your clothing and ask for feedback. Beware of health, cats and makeup. I am a young man. In addition, "my mother, my name" is the last resort of the city. The fingers beat the fingers, legs and bridges. Children and others can see that George, Europe, Ukraine, especially Skoriop Moscow, Germany, Italy, Italy, Africa and young people. He said that the government of Canada is honored. 161 ******* and more. Not important. Kids know (ACI, Jung, Balance, FSA). Animals, dogs and toys are dangerous. Complain to parents, but ... we will not do it. "Kenny is our son, but we cannot see the Right Way West.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 7:50 PM UTC
It is undeniable, when in the embrace of the great pipe *****
At the venerable old Episcopal church on Third Street,
Or wholly encircled by Tiffany-issue stained glass
At St. Joe’s in South Troy (ostensibly the “ironworker’s church”,
But gifted with its invaluable windows
Through a mixture of noblesse oblige, piety,
And a certain venal pride)
That there is a presence, a corporeality when the tune rises
From the pipes, be they iron or wholly human in origin,
Which is steadfast and implacable in the certitude of faith.
I’d heard the tune on another occasion,
Some half-dozen blocks north of the gaggle of churches,
Emanating from a squat, red-brick edifice
Which seemed a bit unsure of its own solidity,
As if the trust placed in mortar and block
Was somehow a bit presumptuous.
The voices were reedy, a tad threadbare and careworn,
And the accompaniment was unprepossessing
(A single guitar, perhaps, or an ancient and wobbly Casio
Rescued from the beyond by some kindhearted DPW worker)
And, though the voices were pitchy
And the harmonies a half-step or so amiss,
One hopes that it would constitute an acceptable offering,
Even not having fully shed the cloak of reticence
Which can be so difficult to unclasp on the road to devotion.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
Next me is a wall
or rather a semi wall
for alluding to an imaginary pathway that guides
or rather
divides people who want to study in the casual study room versus the quiet area.
There is a circular hole in this black wall next to me
and past the black paint, I can see the particle board
that makes up this wall. Then past this particle board
there is space- nothing, a power supply to the outlets built in that I am using now , a camera maybe, cables to the tv on the other side of this semi-wall.
Next to that are my 2 wall chargers that charging my computer
and my phone. And of course my phone, computer
but also, Casio watch and two band-aids- barely visible on the white table background.
Before me
is my laptop
not you,
but my laptop.
next me is my water bottle
metal
a used paper towel
moist
hand cream
closed,
three books
my headphones
next to me is an empty seat
and you are not in it.
but you are not even so specific
as these objects,
you are vague and elusive
you are always leaving
whoever I think you might be
once
maybe right here even
opposite where I sit now
we sat together
and tried to study and couldn't
I gripped your thigh tightly
and desire for you
and an assertion of your presence
and my true love for you
flowed through me
so legibly
and now the spirit of love
has left that person
and passed through so many others
who are also
not
here
now
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC
In the bloom of youth, we were all awkward and weird
and contrived in our own inexplicable and ineluctable ways.
We were all sunglassed fictions, heroes in our own heads
and less than that in the slow gnaw and chomp of reality.
We might croon, leather-jacketed, about the dawn before a disinterested audience of wights, hollow-eyed and resigned.
We might jam on a Casio keyboard atop a file cabinet
and hope, idly, someone, someday, might eventually get it.
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 4:50 AM UTC