"catchphrases" poems
Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
Thugs with Pens
Hell-bent; not on cultism
Just airing the other sentiments
That don’t make it to primetime
Thugs with pens
Not poking out eyes
Just venting spleen
Sick of the lies
Thugs with pens
Deserve to be heard
They don’t poison your brain
With stacks of *****
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Can change your mind
In ******* time
Thugs with pens
Can make a dent
They don’t need to insert
Un-readable, un-interesting
Covert small print....
Thugs with pens
Don’t need no script writers
Or advisors nor signatories
Witnesses, nor dodgy men
With gold plated fountain pen nibs
To make amends
Or throw in no hidden clauses
That secretly **** your life blood
Thugs with pens
Don’t aim to pierce your skin
But make their mark
Deeper within
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Completely uncensored
champions of free speech
The establishment want suppressed,
silenced, deleted; terminated.
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans don’t
Schedule meetings
To fix the minutes
And schedule another meeting
And keep ‘minutes’
As square angled
And unproductive
As formal conversation
Thugs with pens
Aim venomous ink
At headless politicians
That squawks like chickens
Bending over
For the *************
Bank-beefing corporations,
Controlling the masses
With ***** little catchphrases
And mounds of munitions
And illegally enforced restrictions
On your movement and free expression
Honest men
Have nothing to fear
From Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
These “thugs” seek asylum
From countries
Where the law’s
Not bought and bent
Thugs with pens & aerosol cans
Are made to wear monikers and masks
Thugs with pens
Don’t turn on its own
Neighbours and citizens
To perpetuate myths:
A ****** ************* lie…
A thing that never happened!
(That’s for all of you dumb wits
out there
Who believe most of the ****
That’s drip fed
Your sensation addicted minds
Most of the time,)
Time you started reading between the lines
In fact get a pen
Or an aerosol can
Write your own lines
Start broadcasting
Reclaim your space
Before you’re completely neoned
Into the shade
And corralled under the spell
Of a TV screen
Or an anger raising headline
That conducts the flow
Of the status quo
Load up your magazines
With ball point pens
And sharp edged writing nibs,
Strap on a belt of aerosol cans
Reclaim your right to free expression
In public spaces
Join the rag-tag army
Of intuitive
Self-knowing men
The End: is well begun,
George Orwell
Should never have written
That blueprint,
‘1984’
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
The first time I saw him, it was through the glass window of the space that he moved into right around the corner. I thought it was a weird spot to move into but shrugged it off because it was none of my business.
The first time I met him, he was wearing the exact pattern of red and black plaid that I’ve been looking for whenever I shop. I stared at it and felt a little defeated that someone found it before I did! But I made no comment.
The first time I spoke to him, I thought nothing much of him at first. the words I used to describe him were “ordinary, typical, run-of-the-mill”. He was…simple. he spoke like he would steal those cheesy catchphrases like “she was like a shot of espresso” — which is what Andrew Garfield said about Emma Stone. And so I walked out of there as if it was just another Monday.
Several Mondays and cheesy catchphrases later, that little place around the corner that was made of brick started to feel more comfortable, and I saw him more often. Slowly, I realized that there is some charm in simplicity. Eventually, I stopped using the words “ordinary, typical, run-of-the-mill”, and I started using the word: familiar. There is so much comfort in the familiar.
At this point in time I seem to always find myself back at that familiar little brick place around the corner. at the end of each day, I go there hoping to find solace. And I always do. If I was into those cliché phrases I would describe it as a warm cup of hot chocolate after a long, rainy drive. It’s a fireplace during a snowstorm. But saying those cheesy catchphrases would be really lame of me, so…
If I were to put into words how I now feel about this person… This must be how it feels when people are looking for a new place to move into. They have this image of their dream house or fantasy apartment. maybe they picture a place with a marble countertop, a dining table made of mahogany, and a ceiling high enough to hang a glass chandelier from. But then, just as they had given up on searching for that dream place, they come across this little cottage made of brick and hardwood floors. There is a leather couch in the middle. They take a seat. Suddenly, they can picture their life there so clearly: nothing but the pitter-patter of the rain drumming on the window pane, the sound of the coffee machine running in the background, and a slice of chocolate cake waiting for them in the refrigerator. It was the familiar feeling of comfort after a tiring day. It was so far from what they had first pictured, but they are absolutely certain that they want to make a home here.
That is how he feels to me now. So far from what I had pictured, but certainly where I want to be at the end of each day. But the funniest part of all of this is: He was the one that arrived there in the first place. He was the one who moved into that quaint little building around the corner. He was the one who found me. And I am the one waiting here; hoping he finds a home within me.
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
What of our dark American tome
can we read to our children?
Will they sleep to slave-cries
and tear-gas?
Will they someday play the game
cops and hippies?
Will they understand words like
"peace" or "love"?
Or will they become funny catchphrases
of a bygone era?
Will their culture be hewn of
plastics and contracts
or the red-brown earth?
Will justice become a name and
no longer an idea?
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
Wake up sleeper!
Your summer days are over.
Tidy up and prepare for winter,
lest you be caught off guard.
For we have a steeple with lots of faces,
and symbols and catchphrases,
and pulpits and pews
—but never a
Duluoz and Kerouac.
And do not mistake
silence for absence.
And patience for
impotence.
For just as the sun rises
from the east.
So shall justice be served
for the least.
So then, let us say:
May our days be numbered,
and our troubles few.
And may this sweet surrender
bring us life anew.
iamthe_avatar ©2017
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
I always thought one day I’d write something worth reading
So far, just lines and lines, used up catchphrases
I slumber in the pine needles and breathe in the scent of cut
Juniper
Bathe in the shadow of sundials as the day fades, turns smiles to
moonlit slumber
In the green grass among the dead leaves I lay my head and listen to
leaves changing color
On the cold sand I listen to high tide turn to low, the rolling of the rocks and the
breaking waves of foam
The birds in the trees sing of bamboo forests in her backyard, blue room where she
collected rocks and lucky charms
Books with pages torn out, arrowheads she found in the field, a feather in
her hair
Pale blue eyes which reflected my dullness, reading Camus by the door
She used to read to me, when the sun was sinking and my head was spinning from the
last cigarette
And hold me like a child, hold me with my eyes shut and my lungs screaming to speak one
simple phrase
To grab the pen, to open my eyes and speak symbols onto the page, make my ballpoint
sing
To read a word worth reading, to write a line worth writing, this is my desire
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
Cheeriness left me Monday.
Emotionless, I staggered at the news that,
the self proclaimed "The People's Poet" was dead.
In a crashing flood of emotion the 80's flooded back,
"Post Punk" Rick was no more.
Lord Flashheart was no more.
Alan Beresford B'stard was no more.
Drop Dead Fred had died.
Rik Mayall the comedian, actor, genius was no more.
No more catchphrases such as 'Hoorah' or 'Neeeeeiiiiillll'
No more, smashing frying pans into people 's faces,
No more ***** margarine, no more 'Bottom'
No more British anarchic, anti-establishment, alternative comedy.
My youth had died.
Getting old is quite simply a *******
56 was too young.
But, never fear I do believe, that
"She has a tongue like an electric eel, and she likes the taste of a man's tonsils"
Will be engraved upon my heart, just for M'Lord! Woof!
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
You are not a Roman
In life, no matter your country, we do as the Romans do
If you are not a Roman you will be unhappy
Romans go to school and have high school sweethearts
They get good jobs, get married, reproduce, retire and die
It is a wonderful thing to the Romans.
The right thing
The only thing
Just as long as it doesn’t get interrupted by tragedies like cancer, cults, art, or radical political opinions
The Romans like
Action! that releases adrenalin
Fatty, sugary, salty foods
Endorphins
Catchy musical patterns
Games!
Catchphrases
And love stories *** tee hee)
There are a million ways to not be a Roman,
But most roads lead to Rome
The Romans smile on those who do as the Romans do
They adore freedom
To be anything you want to be
To be yourself
To be as the Romans are
Why would it be any other way?
Would you be angry at a dog ******* on a fire hydrant?
They are instinct devoid of the context that created it
The Romans don’t understand Why? anyone would want to do Otherwise
Clearly
The Romans
(Quite understandably mind you)
Understand
Who wouldn't want all this?
The only thing I want is you
We'll live on the outskirts of Rome
Eating Thai fusion
Discovering new chemicals for our brains
Electricity
That still registers a signal
The movies we've seen
Before
And before that
We'll wave at the strangers in a strange land
A dried-up decaying laugh track
Dust dancing in time
A place I care less and less about every day
Every
*******
Minute
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
Molten phoenix,
Paragliding paralysis,
Ruminating catchphrases.
Anvil ********
Discordant dream concert
Spacebound ocean blue.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
friday morning,
we wake up hungover
from last night's binge drinking,
because even though we love our jobs,
no one really wants to work for their entire lives,
when so many things are unanswered,
perverted, and misconstrued.
hashtag all of those millennial catchphrases,
to garner hearts from your friends
who you haven't seen in years,
friends who work in San Fran,
Chicago, Greenwich Village.
crank up your laptop speakers,
as Neon Indian's Polish Girl
plays that **** synth,
and take a drag from a P-Funk,
before your Grandma hits your
shoulder with the newspaper daily—
right after she speaks in Vietnamese,
asking you what is your name,
because she has Alzheimer’s.
but in these social media days,
isn't everything that is worth mentioning to your sister,
everything that is worth fighting for,
everything that is ****** in this world,
on the internet (maybe, just Twitter tbh).
screenshot the cat meme you like,
save it,
share it,
move on.
if only she wasn't allergic to cats,
maybe it could have worked out.
that was 7 years ago.
*** ova it. Then, mix your red bull with your coffee,
because the next 10 hours of your life,
will be revolving around caring about people
other than your ungrateful and ingratiating ***
don't cry,
when I say good-bye.
stay for a while, under the shade of the rooftop
where the deejay spins Frank Ocean
and Frank Sinatra records,
as everyone is drinking scotch, or Yuengling,
and ashing over the veranda bansister,
; the bad boys try to open their souls
to the good girls. and the bad girls,
reveal too much to the good boys.
we devoured those drugs, as though
they were jelly beans from a convenience store,
and then we broke into the store
and ate some more.
break the coals on top of the hookah,
puff, puff, pass—
inhale, exhale,
fit the deformed piece
back into the Dinosaur puzzle,
and crawl back into bed,
pull the covers over
your trembling body,
shut your eyes,
and reflect,
for the day is heavy with regret
and unsaid things.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC
I needed a new job so I got one. If only I were
a master manipulator, I'd have a million catchphrases and a walking stick.
At dawn my friend brought me a magic radio that made all of my worries go away.
I tuned it just right and caught a station out of detroit.
Twin foil balloons float in the backseat of my car, something worse than limbo.
I dribbled a beautiful skull yesterday and jammed my finger -
then I wanted to
visit the scene of the plane crash to look for my mood ring, for the remains of the vestment he
kept folded in his back pocket.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
Lost minds
To the TV
Repeat tagline
Catchphrases
Disease
Internet ignorance interconnected
The polls are open
We've already projected
The results are close
But the people have selected
The next war monger
Mongrel
Expect
Death, secrecy
Lies
And hunger
The people of an
Invisible god are
So easily bought
Yet they give away so much
Sacrifice any inner peace
For their own sense of
Power and security
All the while still
On their knees
Waiting,
Praying
Voting
For their inner beast
This is the hell we seek
We speak in tongues and
Cheeks
The dumb will speak
Repeating these decrees
Segregation
Congregation
Separation
Modern nation
From the pulpits
And stages
They feel safe
When all their
Fear is in cages
And say they
Trust in the one
The god is a gun
Cruel religion
And a senseless vision
Evolution of the
Human conditions
Stuck in rendition
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 5:53 AM UTC
My thoughts will maim you like Kano
Thinking of the pain-o makes you start drinking the draino
Count your days bro
Time for a puzzle for your brain-o
What likes kit and kaboodle but not the rain-o
I’d tell you but you wouldn’t get it
Like tots listening to Coltrane-o or Jimmy Hendrix
I’ve gots one more question, use your noodle
Pay attention! Better stop picking at your cuticles
Some kids only get to draw yankee doodles
They tag along at home while they eating ramen noodles
Other kids go to games with the family poodle
In the booth they get to sing a song, the Yankee Doodle
How much wealth do you think is in the bottom half?
Only 1 percent belongs to most, the riff raff
Inscribe that graph on my epitaph
On my deathbed, I just want to hear my children laugh
Many fellas feign money through poverty
The reality of my situation doesn’t really bother me
I’m full of funny sayings like Plato and Socrates
Such catchphrases as hey baby **** on these!
I’m just kidding I would never-ever do that
I have a reputation as a forever-ever cool cat
Whose that? Is he a juul rat? How many tats?
Henry, no, and none. Now say where’s your daughter at?
The poor burn wealth about as much as anyone
Though some can’t easily earn health for they many sons
She turn tricks for her son’s Trix and lego bricks
But in the end we all churn the same River Styx
How much wealth do you think is in the bottom half?
Only 1 percent belongs to most, the riff raff
Inscribe that graph on my epitaph
On my deathbed, I just want to hear my children laugh
Rich and poor both drinking coca-cola
Stress and storm both scary like paranoia
I’m thinking there’s a little societal unrest
The greatest generation watched King Kong beat on his chest
I want to scream just like Ann Darrow
Yelp for help but the people’s views too narrow
The news only shows what the shiny shoes say to
Not much we can do, so we wait till they get their due
Nothings gonna happen if we don’t make it
So write in, call in, tweet in and even pray it
They won’t admit it if we can’t force them to say it
Our last hope’s revolution, they’re not outdated
How much wealth do you think is in the bottom half?
Only 1 percent belongs to most, the riff raff
Inscribe that graph on my epitaph
On my deathbed, I just want to hear my children laugh
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 2:40 AM UTC
I feel so useless in my own life when the memories of us come flooding in.
The uncontrollable hunger I feel inside me can’t be fed by the distance I have laid between us.
Hiding years of sadness, to the point of madness. With the hope that the memories will one day just be memories.
But instead they are turning into a haunting dream that will not go away. Your laughter has become the demon that turns my body cold.
The sign that I will once again have a sleepless night when the waves of you come rushing in. Washing me with a grief I cannot explain.
Like little scenes playing on a loop in my head; Your smile makes my tummy ache. And your charming catchphrases bring back old times, when you were mine.
I have developed a craving for the pain your dreams bring me. Covered in tattoo memories, my heart stings with anticipation. The sleepless nights are becoming a part of me, like a sickness I don’t want to cure.
Once again spellbound in your presence, my mind has somehow mastered.
The dreams are becoming so life like, that when I wake I can still feel your touch, your voice drifting away in the background.
The confusion that covers me looks a lot like shame.
It has been many summers since I’ve seen you, but somehow my self-conscious had found a way to keep you with me. Forever, without my permission.
In reality, I know I don’t want you anymore and I’m quite happy with my life.
Maybe it’s the way we left things that is bothering me? I could have handled that a bit better I suppose. I never intended to break your heart.
Don’t worry, my punishment is a lot worse than the deed.
You are now just a memory that has been anchored by a forgotten love; I no longer wish to have.
As another sleepless night awaits me.
(From my book, The Words I Never Said)
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 12:36 PM UTC
I am tired of truth,
Of certainty,
Of data,
Of arguments,
Of news,
Of memes,
Of catchphrases,
Of ads,
Of cursing,
Of judgment,
Of coherence,
Of passion,
Of sharing,
Of exposing,
Of convincing,
Of fearing,
Of discussing,
Of trying,
Of holding the world on my shoulders,
Of hating,
Of eloquence,
Of pretending,
Of believing,
Of disbelieving,
Of being alert,
Of being numb,
Of hearing,
Of seeing,
Of being in the same places over and over again.
The time is right
To move on, and move on only.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 10:53 PM UTC